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txttletale · 2 years ago

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I'm asking this genuinely, as a 19 yo with no education in economics and a pretty surface level understanding of socialism: can you explain the whole Bananas discourse in a way someone like me might understand? In my understanding it's just "This is just a product we can give up to create better worker conditions and that's fine" but apparently that's not the full picture?

alright so some pretty important background to all this is that we're all talking about the fact that bananas, grown in the global south, are available year-round at extremely low prices all around europe and the USA. it's not really about bananas per so--the banana in this discourse is a synechdoche for all the economic benefits of imperialism.

so how are cheap bananas a result of imperialism? first of all i want to tackle a common and v. silly counterargument: 'oh, these ridiculous communists think it's imperialist for produce to be shipped internationally'. nah. believing that this is the communist objection requires believing in a deeply naive view of international traide. this view goes something like 'well, if honduras has lots of bananas, and people in the usa want bananas and are willing to pay for them, surely everyone wins when the usa buys bananas!'.

there are of course two key errors here and they are both packed into 'honduras has lots of bananas'. for a start, although the bananas are grown in honduras, honduras doesn't really 'have' them, because the plantations are mostly owned by chiquita (formerly known as united fruit) dole, del monte, and other multinationals--when they're not, those multinationals will usually purchase the bananas from honduran growers and conduct the export themselves. and wouldn't you know it, it's those intervening middleman steps--export, import, and retail, where the vast majority of money is made off bananas! so in the process of a banana making its way from honduras to a 7/11, usamerican multinationals make money selling the bananas to usamerican importers who make money selling them to usamerican retailers who make money selling them to usamerican customers.

when chiquita sells a banana to be sold in walmart, a magic trick is being performed: a banana is disappearing from honduras, and yet somehow an american company is paying a second american company for it! this is economic imperialism, the usamerican multinational extracting resources from a nation while simultaneously pocketing the value of those resources.

why does the honduran government allow this? if selling bananas is such a bad deal for the nation, why do they continue to export millions of dollars of banans a year? well, obviously, there's the fact that if they didn't, they would face a coup. the united states is more than willing to intervene and cause mass death and war to protect the profits of its multinationals. but the second, more subtle thing keeping honduras bound to this ridiculously unbalanced relationship is the need for dollars. because the US dollar is the global reserve currency, and the de facto currency of international trade, exporting to the USA is a basic necessity for nations like honduras, guatemala, &c. why is the dollar the global reserve currency? because of usamerican military and economic hegemony, of course. imperialism built upon imperialism!

this is unequal exchange, the neoimperialist terms of international trade that make the 'global economy' a tool of siphoning value and resources from the global south to the imperial core. & this is the second flaw to unravel in 'honduras has a lot of bananas' -- honduras only 'has a lot of bananas' because this global economic hegemony has led to vast unsustainable monoculture banana plantations to dominate the agriculture of honduras. it's long-attested how monoculture growth is unsustainable because it destroys soil and leads to easily-wiped-out-by-infection plants.

so, bananas in the USA are cheap because:

the workers that grow them are barely paid, mistreated, prevented from unionizing, and sometimes murdered

the nations in which the bananas are grown accept brutally unfair trade and tariff terms with the USA because they desperately need a supply of US dollars and so have little position to negotiate

shipping is also much cheaper than it should be because sailors are chronically underpaid and often not paid at all or forced to pay to work (!)

bananas are cheap, in conclusion, because they're produced by underpaid and brutalized workers and then imported on extortionate and unfair terms.

so what, should we all give up bananas? no, and it's a sign of total lack of understanding of socialism as a global movement that all the pearl-clutching usamericans have latched onto the scary communists telling them to stop buying bananas. communism does not care about you as a consumer. individual consumptive choices are not a meaningful arena of political action. the socialist position is not "if there was a socialist reovlution in the usa, we would all stop eating bananas like good little boys", but rather, "if there's a socialist revolution in the countries where bananas are grown, then the availability of bananas in the usa is going to drop, and if you want to be an anti-imperialist in the imperial core you have to accept that".

(this is where the second argument i see about this, 'oh what are you catholic you want me to eat dirt like a monk?' reveals itself as a silly fucking solipsistic misunderstanding)

and again, let's note that the case of the banana can very easily be generalised out to coffee, chocolate, sugar, etc, and that it's not about individual consumptive habits, but about global economic systems. if you are donkey fucking kong and you eat 100 bananas a day i don't care and neither does anyone else. it's about trying to illustrate just one tiny mundane way in which economic imperialism makes the lives of people in the global north more convenient and simpler and so of course there is enormous pushback from people who attach moral value to this and therefore feel like the mean commies are personally calling them evil for eating a nutella or whatever which is frankly pretty tiring. Sad!

tldr: it is not imperialism when produce go on boat but it is imperialism when produce grown for dirt cheap by underpaid workers in a country with a devalued currency is then bought and exported and sold by usamerican companies creating huge amounts of economic value of which the nation in which the banana was grown, let alone the people who actually fucking grew it, don't see a cent -- and this is the engine behind the cheap, available-every-day-all-year-everywhere presence of bananas in the usa (and other places!)

#ask

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hobiologist · 5 days ago

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busan blues | jjk

summary: south korea's most notorious drug king pin lived life as a ghost; never seen, yet never to be crossed. never in your face, but never too far away. never in the room, but always listening.

by day, he lived life as a shadow with a reputation -- ruthless, unforgiving, impatient.

at night? well, he was something just a little bit softer.

pairing: jeon jungkook x (f) reader; jeon jungkook x (f) oc.

word count: 5.2k

warnings: drugdealer!jungkook, drug references, violence, unprotected sex, rough sex, oral sex (f. & m. receiving), guns, pregnancy.

available on ao3

It was rare that there was anything Jeon Jungkook couldn’t obtain. Money, drugs, women, upper class luxuries. Ever since he had been introduced to the world that put the term ‘sin’ to shame, it had bowed down at the mention of his name. Never his actual name, of course. To the world of guilty pleasures and intoxicated misfortunes, he was simply known as The Ghost. Never seen, never heard; yet somehow possessing the ability to make moves no one saw coming from miles away. Tilt the world on its axis without leaving a trace.

He had acquired the business from his uncle who had been in his late 50s and looking to retire; put aside the life of living in the shadows and enjoy what he had left of it. Jungkook had been 22 and searching for his path in life — the timing was perfect, the moment inevitable.

He was now 27 and had mastered the business like an art form — at least mostly. He oversaw nearly every drug import and export that occurred in South Korea, with his base being in the heart of Busan. The city wasn’t nearly as busy as Seoul; less potential eyes on him and his operation. But he was close enough where he could catch an hour plane ride to the capital if he needed to.

“He knows the shipment is supposed to arrive an hour after the confirmation time. This is his last job, he was already on thin fucking ice.”

The words he muttered to himself had been nearly the first spoken by Jungkook in the past hour. Rarely ever out of his office, he now stood underneath the familiar pier, looking out into the clear sea before him. The night sky made it nearly impossible to see, illuminated only by the slivers of light from the moon.

The businessman was accompanied by two muscular guards about 8 inches his stature, both sporting black hair with fitted black t-shirts and slacks. They stood silently and watchful, more silent than the gentle waves around them. Each sported simple pistols near their waist, unafraid to use them if necessary.

When the sun rose, Jungkook owned a security company. It was how he had become acquainted with the guards who followed him around most of the day. They were quiet and loyal men — had been since Jungkook started the business.

Truthfully, his security business mostly ran itself. He had an old friend, Park Jimin, who had gone to college for accounting. He ran the books and formed schedules; he mostly worked remotely but he’d visit the office a couple days out of the week. It was fairly simple — clients who needed security paid in cash, Jungkook would supply the workers and Jimin handled anything inbetween. He was compensated well for it.

Jungkook did his best to make sure the finances for both his endeavors never clashed. The last thing he desired was to put his classmate, who knew nothing of his second life, in harms way. His personal guards were on payroll like everyone else the company hired — however, any overtime they received was directly from Jungkook, off the books. He paid them handsomely for their silence and loyalty.

Contemplating, Jungkook began to pace back and forth in the thinning sand, hands shoved deeply in the pockets of his dark grey, Giorgio Armani suit. His black tie was rather unruly—loosened thirty minutes prior when his patience had started to run dry.

In his line of business, structure was vital — deadlines, organization, punctuality. All of which were currently being violated.

Twenty minutes passed before the sound of rougher waves drew his attention. An hour later than expected, the small boat could be seen off in the distance, closing in on the drop off location. They never traveled large or in anything flashy; never wanting to stick out, operating in the shadows. Fairly content now that he laid his eyes on the boat in the distance, Jungkook turned his feet in the sand, looking at the body guard that stood to his right.

“When he drops off the load, please make sure all $50,000 is there and the inventory matches the order. Lock it all in the safe, then you’re free to go. I’ll handle distribution in the morning.”

The day had been much longer than expected.

On average, Jungkook was home around 9pm. However, he was beginning to encounter the issue of delayed shipments and logistical errors he had to fix. He wasn’t a fan of having to come out of the shadows — it put everything he worked hard for at risk.

One of his oldest workers, Jihun, was a friend of his uncle’s who had originally stayed on to make sure Jungkook easily acclimated himself to the business. He was a major part of the operation — performing background checks to make sure sellers were credible, scheduling meetings to perform trades and drop offs . What was suppose to be a couple years turned into five years and he was finally ready to retire. Jungkook couldn’t help but oblige. However, finding a replacement for him proved to be difficult. Jungkook had been attempting to do it remotely with the help of a few workers who had only ever communicated with him over email and had never seen his face. It was sloppy, but he was working every day to tighten it up.

The hum of gentle music on the radio settled him in for the 45 minute drive home. He relaxed in the seat of his black Mercedes truck, reaching for his personal cellphone he rarely ever used unless the sun had set. A warm smile spread across his lips as he looked down at the phone, clicking on the message thread titled ‘babygirl 💗’.

jungkook:

missing you, thinking about you. home soon, baby. 00:13

babygirl 💗:

missing you too, baby. 00:14

The message came with a photo attachment Jungkook immediately opened, halfway keeping his eyes on the highway as he drove through the night.

The attachment displayed a picture of a woman in a pink silk nightgown that hugged her curves, black lace v-line exposing the plump of her breasts just enough to leave something for the imagination. He muttered curses under his breath, quickly typing back a response while keeping his eyes ahead. He felt the zipper on his pants struggle to expand as he attempted (failed) to keep his wild thoughts at bay.

jungkook:

you’re fucking beautiful. be at the door when i get there. 00:16

The 45 minute drive home was a breeze, city lights flashing in the distance, loafer clad shoe pressed hard to the gas. His eyes played over the photo what felt like a million times, desire running through his veins like a river.

She had the garage door open for him when he arrived, liked clockwork. She made everything function and flow behind closed doors for him; where as he was in charge and structured in his daily life, she kept their home life in order. She always had a meal cooked, his clothes pressed, the house clean, their appointments in order, the groceries stocked. He cherished her; more than anything else in his life — in his world that was black and white during the day, she filled it with her radiant colors at night.

He parked his car, fingers slipping into the glove compartment to grab the golden band that waited for him. A soft smile on his lips, he slipped it onto the ring finger of his left hand. Unlocking the door of his home, Jungkook took in the smell of washing powder, accompanied by her sweet scent of vanilla and spring that filled the air, garage door closing behind him. His eyes immediately glared towards the dimly lit entry way, seeing the woman standing in the same pink silk nightgown she wore in the sultry picture.

A low groan emitted from his lips, dark brown eyes pooling with shades of lust that the woman found all too familiar. She gave him a teasing smile, softly curled hair pooling over her shoulders in a way that made her look angelic. He removed his suit jacket, laying it over the couch next to them.

“Strip.”

Keeping eye contact with Jungkook, the woman slowly began to shred her gown as she had been told. She was always a good listener when he spoke.

His daze followed her fingers as she removed the straps of her nightgown one by one. The fabric slipped easily from her fingers, catching ever so slightly as it slipped past the plump of her breasts. Jungkook’s breath hitched, causing him to loosen his tie, followed by the belt. He stepped closer to her with calculated steps, almost as if he was scared to touch her — scared to ruin the perfect image that stood before him.

The cold air sent shivers down her spine as she gently teased her hair, watching him stare at her in amazement.

“….You’re a work of art. You know that?”

Stepping closer towards her, Jungkook gently cupped her face, thumbs rubbing her warm cheeks. She smelled of vanilla body wash and ecstasy, drawing every inch of sanity he had left to the brink. She shivered as she felt his clothed body press against her skin, the bulge in his pants growing larger as he held her.

Catching the glow of her eyes in the dim light, he smiled at her briefly before meeting her perfect lips with his own. Their lips danced in a familiar, yet electrifying rhythm that sent sparks through his body. In 5 years they had kissed what felt like a million times but kisses like this never got old. She nearly melted into his touch, feeling her knees begin to weaken. He was so warm, so handsome, so hers. He smelled of amber and sandalwood, skin of his hands as soft as it had been when he left that morning. Good, she thought. He was unharmed.

Her fingers entwined in his pristinely cut hair, four carat diamond ring never catching on the gentle strands. It had been three years since they had gotten married. As with most things in Jungkook’s world, the proposal had been in the dead of night. He woke her up from her sleep, chanting about a surprise that couldn’t wait. With tired eyes she held out her arms as he slipped on her robe and carried her to his truck. She fell asleep nearly instantly in the Mercedes, the soft human of jazz music luring her to sleep once he hit the highway. When she woke up, Jungkook was kissing her cheek, luring her out of the vehicle and into a park that had the perfect view of the stars in the sky. He had walked her around the park for a little while, going over memories from their past and professing his love in a way only Jungkook could — calculated, perfect and with beautiful imagery. Once they had reached the end of the park, there was a picnic table next to the river in their sight. The table was covered in glowing candles, a small meal he prepared and 24 bouquets of the deepest red roses combined to make one large bouquet. One for every month they had been together.

He got down on one knee in a white t-shirt and grey sweatpants, asking her to be his forever. And she couldn’t have said yes faster. It was the proposal she had asked him for, back when their one year anniversary came around and he asked her if she ever considered forever with him. She told him ‘of course’, thinking he couldn’t have asked a sillier question. But she requested that her proposal not be anything flashy; just simple, meaningful and when she least expected it. And he had delivered in every aspect.

“So perfect like this. Look at you, baby.”

The wide palm of Jungkook’s hands groped the plush of her ass, kneading it ever so slightly as her eyes locked on his — sultry innocence and uncharted passion; he lived for it, breathed it even.

Locking in on her eyes, Jungkook slowly dropped to his knees, hands pressing into her hips and caressing her pelvic bone. She wore a small lace thong that kept nearly nothing to the imagination with its slit in the middle. He pressed a gentle kiss to her stomach, then to her clit. The moan she swore was gentle echoed through the walls of the mansion. It was way too big for just the two of them and their dog, Bam, asleep upstairs — but they called it home.

“You’re so sensitive. Been waiting for me to come eat you all day, haven’t you?”

She moaned a hasty ‘yes’, fingers gripping his hair as his tongue began to gently lick her wet folds, slit in her thong providing him perfect access. The familiar taste of her arousal earned a moan of appreciation from him. He had thought it was insane to say she tasted like home but he knew no word greater to describe the taste of her on his lips. She tighten her grip in his hair as she held back her gentle cries, lost in the way his eyes lazily met hers as he took his time devouring her.

In this space, time stood still. In this home, they were in their own world.

The cool touch of his wedding band against her pelvis made her smile, head dipping back in ecstasy as his lips began to softly suck her sensitive clit. As her orgasm neared, the touch of his ring brought back a distance memory.

“I’m not a good person.”

It was their second month together, his eighth month in the business. They stood in the middle of a crowded club, neither of their style but they made an amusing commitment to start trying new things together. They had both been dancing, smiles on their faces as the music ran through their veins. The freedom he had felt as they danced, the way his heart pulled at him like he knew what this was becoming — or what it already was. He found himself no longer being able to looking into her eyes and promise her a world with no faults. As she stared back at him her eyes sparked of something Jungkook couldn’t quite place. She gave him a gentle smile, tightening her grip on his hand that rested in hers.

It wasn’t the smartest conversation to have in a room full of people, Jungkook knew better than that. He was a ghost in his work life and he never allowed himself to be seen out in public during working hours.

“Good is subjective, Kook. Do you hurt people?”

There was a small furrow of his eyebrows that he prayed she didn’t see. He stared down at her eyes, looking back at him as if he controlled the stars. He’d never get over that, the way she looked at him. He was convinced he wanted to see that look for the rest of his life. Hold that trust close to his heart like a prayer.

“Sometimes. Not unless I have to.” He firmly spoke, fingers never letting go of hers. By now the song had changed but the people around them continued to dance, paying them no mind.

“Do you actually own a security company?”

“I do.”

“Is that where you go when you tell me you’re going to work?”

“That’s usually where my day starts.”

“If I ever ask you what you mean — all this saying you’re not a good person. Will you be honest with me?”

Jungkook answered without hesitation, taking himself partly by surprise.

“I will. You have my word.”

“Then stop talking and keep dancing with me.”

She gripped the couch behind her, feeble feeling arms being the only thing holding her up.

“You’re so wet for me, baby. Been waiting all day to taste you.”

“God, Jungkook.” Whimpers escaped her lips as her fingers tightened in his hair in an effort to brace herself. He used one hand to hold her hip while the other began unbuttoning his dress shirt that had become far too hot.

In the rush of feverish kisses and passionate touches, they found themselves moving from the living room to the california king with her cheek pressed to the mattress, his hips driving her to the brink of insanity and pleasure. He kissed the arch of her back as he thrusted his hips, the recoil of her ass making him feel dizzy.

“Who do you belong to, baby.” His growled his words like less of a question, more of statement. Tears of pleasure welled in her eyes and she melted into his steady pace, lips parting as she struggled to breathe out an answer. She felt so full, so complete — mind so empty, bliss unmeasured.

“You, Kook. I belong to you.”

“And this pussy?” He kept a hand on her waist as the other wrapped her curly strands around his palm, pulling her hair ever so lightly to the rhythm of his thrusts.

“Yours, Kook. God, harder.” She gripped the sheets, fingertips shaking with impending arousal. He always did this. Fucked her to the point where she felt insatiable and nearly incoherent; craving him so much it made her entire soul shake. Like an addict breaking sobriety.

“You’re going to cum again for me? So fucking greedy. Go ahead, cum.”

Her orgasm arrived shortly after, her fingers clutching the sheets as she cried out his name. The pump of his hips stilled abruptly as he pressed his head against her back, hands gripping her breasts as he released inside of her. He moaned in a way that rung in the woman’s ears, sex heavy in his tone and her name breathless on his tongue, heightening her climax beneath him. The ragged sounds of their breathing clung to walls of the bedroom. Jungkook pressed gentle kisses down the woman’s spine, savoring the feeling of being inside of her for just a little longer — safe, peaceful, perfect.

“Rough day at work?” She spoke after they had finished cleaning themselves briefly, lying in their afterglow and catching their breath. Her head rested on his chest, tracing his abs with gentle and familiar intrigue.

“Frustrating to say the least.”

“I could tell. You fucked a little harder than usual tonight.”

With her head against his chest, she listened as his heartbeat sped up. “Harder? Was I too rough today, baby?”

“No, never, Kook. I don’t think you could be rough with me if you tried.”

His finger pressed against her chin, tilting it just enough so that her lips met his in a warm kiss. It was lazy, thankful, still a little hungry — he always did a great job of that; expressing what he didn’t say with kisses. She relished at the taste of herself still left on his lips.

His fingers gentle brushed hair from her face, stroking the plump of her cheeks as he pulled her closer.

The sound of the central air slowly pulled them towards sleep, dinner long forgotten at the table in exchange for serotonin and coitus.

“I’ll be leaving early in the morning, around 6.” Jungkook lazily mumbled, arms around the woman’s body pulling her impossibly closer. She hummed in response, eyes heavy with sleep and satisfaction.

“If I’m not up, wake me when you get up?”

“I promise, beautiful.”

When the sun set, Jungkook was a husband.

She had been his secret. In the life full of drugs, money and evil he lead, he had somehow managed to keep her hidden away. It started off when they met 5 years ago during a charity event. Ironic, probably. She was an advocate for the development of cancer research and therapy for patients and families affected by the disease. Jungkook was an anonymous donor. He sat in the crowd but donated virtually under a pseudo name, assuring that he was always one of the highest donors.

They first locked eyes when she gave a speech at the end of the event. She had been wearing a light pink dress with bows that fell on her shoulders. She wore soft white heels and a smile that showed how passionate she was about the cause. Her eyes scanned the crowd as she spoke, clearly having obtained training in engaging an audience. He sat in nearly the furthest row but their eyes still met. Immediately, there was something curious yet familiar that hung in the air between them — something they couldn’t quite place their hands on. Her eyes hovered over him a few seconds too long before finishing her speech, engaging the crowd and thanking everyone for their volunteer efforts.

He was a man of stealth but he was a man of opportunity.

So he waited until the crowd dwindled and the donors said their farewell before walking up to her, watching her begin to clear her speech material from the podium. He had suavely introduced himself — confident, with a sweet smile and eyes that hoped she’d give him a few minutes of her time. She shook his extended hand, introducing herself with a playful glimmer in her gaze that he longed to know more about.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Jeon. Have we met before?”

Jungkook woke up around 5:30 am. The smell of eggs and toast was the first thing to fill his nostrils. She had gotten up before him after all. She always did. As he came to, he felt the gentle presence of warm lips pressed against his neck, smooth hands sliding across his bare chest in a way that made his soul smile.

“Good morning to you too, baby.”

She echoed a hum of appreciation at his words as she continued to kiss his neck, hands sliding down until they reached the bulge in his boxers, caressing it softly.

“You drive me insane, do you know that?” Jungkook continued to keep his eyes closed, enjoying the sensation of her touch all over his body. She kissed her way down to the hem of his boxers, toying with the fabric. She pulled them down ever so slowly, cock springing out to brush against the plump of her cheeks. She hummed in desire, beginning to press soft kisses to the head.

“If we had more time, I’d ride you.”

He twitched in her mouth, a groan for what could have been leaving his lips. A sleepy laugh slipped from both of their mouths. She gripped the girth in her hands as she began to alternate between slowly tracing her tongue over the head and taking what length she could into her mouth, eyes hypnotized in pleasure as she savored the weight of him on her tongue.

The guttural moan he released sounded throughout the bedroom, precum sucked from his head as soon as it appeared.

“Tonight, then. For right now, keep sucking baby.”

When they finished, the couple showered together and both indulged in the breakfast she had prepared. She helped him get dressed in another dark suit that occupied his closet, pressed to perfection just the way he liked it. She prepared an iced coffee for him and a protein drink for the drive.

She had mastered the art of Jeon Jungkook to a science. She knew his routine like the back of her hand; knew what he would say sometimes before he said it.

Soulmates.

Before she knew it, she was watching Jungkook seat himself in the drivers side seat, practically pulling her in the car as he covered her face with gentle kisses. If his crew could see him now — tucked into the shadows of his own home, bathed in the glow of the woman who made his heart sing — they’d never believe he was the same person they knew.

“Don’t worry your mind too much today, okay? I’m feeling a little tension in your shoulders.” Jungkook playfully massaged the woman’s shoulders, getting a lazy but fond smile from her in return.

“Can I make a request for the masseuse to do a home visit for you? Or would you rather go in person?”

“A home appointment sounds great, Kook. Thank you for thinking of me.” She traced random lines on his chest as he held her close, eyes scanning her face in search of what she wasn’t saying.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

She loved that about him; his ability to know something bothered her without the need to pry.

“Nothing’s bothering me, I just haven’t been sleeping well lately.” She hated to lie to him. He always knew, without fail. But he never pressed. It wasn’t in his nature — with her, at least.

“I’ll make the call but if this massage doesn’t work, we’re seeing a doctor.”

She loved the way he spoke. So sure, so steady. He never left room for confusion or uncertainty, but he always took her into consideration.

He wanted to tell her that when she was ready to really tell him what was plaguing her mind, he’d be there. But he let her have it for now, not wanting to push her before she was ready.

“That sounds fine baby.” She gave him a soft grin, kissing his lips and stroking his cheek. She took a few seconds to admire him — the rosy tone of his cheeks that spread just a little as she stared at him — his big brown eyes that she never regretted getting lost in. He was everything she ever needed, she had been thoroughly convinced a million and one times.

“Be safe. Eyes on the road and head on a swivel.”

“I promise, my love.”

Soon she was waving goodbye to Jungkook as he pulled away from the home and onto the road. She waited until he was far in the distance to close the garage door. Once he did, she double checked that the doors in the house were locked and that the security system was armed. She closed all the curtains and headed to the kitchen, opening a bottom drawer she knew Jungkook would never check. Inside the drawer laid two pistols she quickly checked to make sure were still fully loaded with bullets. Seeing that they were, she closed the drawer contently, heading to her office.

Her office was her personal sanctuary. Having one at his place of work, Jungkook understood how important it was to have your own space to relax and work on your ideas, so he never entered without her permission. That’s why she had been able to leave the positive pregnancy tests on her desk for the past few days without him finding out.

She was only about a few weeks along, nowhere near close to showing. She figured she had a couple of months before she had to break the news. This had never exactly been in their plan. It was somewhat an unspoken assumption that they’d never have children — with the lifestyle that Jungkook lived and how busy he always was, it never seemed in the cards. They had used the family planning method for years without difficulty. She had recently recovered from being under the weather and she suspected that threw the cycle of things off somewhere along the lines.

For now, she tucked the four tests in her top draw, lying next to yet another black pistol. Tears welled in her eyes and she held her cellphone in her hands, contemplating if she should just call him and tell him.

Her excuse ended up being that he was likely driving and she didn’t want to distract him.

When she thought it about later, her excuse was that he must be busy at work and she wanted him to focus.

Her excuse when he came home that night, earlier than expected and in a much better mood than the previous day, was that he deserved to relax and she didn’t want to ruin his good day with news she was sure would devastate him.

It hadn’t been something they talked about, even when they got married. He never brought it up, so neither did she. She just loved him almost blindly, a blessing and a curse she was aware of.

As she held him that night, listening to his soft snores and stroking his hair as he slept, her mind raced and she contemplated what life could look like for them if she confessed and continued the pregnancy. Would he have to give up what made him Jungkook? Would she be stuck at home to care for the child while he continued to place himself in whatever situations he dealt with on a day-to-day basis? She couldn’t fathom that.

Staring at his sleeping face, she sighed and put her thoughts to rest, enjoying the weight of his body in her arms and eventually drifting off to sleep.

She wasn’t completely oblivious to everything.

She had long known that Jungkook only wore his wedding band at home. Through some snooping, she found out that he always kept it in the truck, safely tucked away as the only thing in his glove compartment. He thought she didn’t know that he took it off the second he got in the truck to leave for work. Or that he put it back on as soon as he parked in the garage every night. She found out after they had been married for about 3 months, noticing the lack of lines on his finger whenever he washed dishes.

She didn’t think he was throwing himself at women when she wasn’t around. But she did worry that they’d throw themselves at him. She did believe he portrayed himself as single once he left their home. What she didn’t believe was that he was doing it for some adulterous reason. At least that was her prayer.

She knew more about him than he thought. But she’d never ask him about it.

In 5 years together she hadn’t figured out exactly what he did outside of his security job.

She knew it likely wasn’t legal and that his daily life was surely more dangerous than he let on. She held his promise close to her heart every day; the promise he made to tell her his true occupation — the one that paid for the house, the cars, the suits, the lifestyle — if she ever asked. Truth was, she found herself a little too scared to ask. It’s better to be unaware, she convinced herself. She somehow told herself that it was better to sit at home and be unaware of if her husband would come every night than deal with the fact that the man she loved could be the devil himself.

Ultimatums, definites — two widely different sides of the spectrum.

His love was all consuming like that; thoughtful, selfless, inciting, promising. She had never feared him, not for a single second. But what scared her the most was that she knew she could find out he was the reincarnation of sin himself and she’d still never turn away. He treated her too good, loved her too hard, fucked her too perfect, knew her too well. She’d make any excuse in the world for him and sometimes that terrified her.

So she let him keep his secrets for now. She had hers too.

authors note: i haven’t written anything in years so any form of feedback is appreciated. thank you for reading! :)

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