#fraud watch for life im afraid

[yuwuta]

as a true geto hater it brings me immense joy to remember that he got packed up by a suicidal anxious loser w/ the power of true love who hadn't even learned his own cursed technique yet and had been studying jujutsu for less than a year

[first-edition]

Fox and the Hound

Sum-Joffrey wants to send a message to your family after your brother embarrasses him, so he marries you off to his most unwanted man in his court, the hound. But will this marriage truly be a statement for an eyesore, or will it grow into something more. 

Cw for chapter- pregnancy, 18+ words and themes overall. Slight angst, brief mention of vomit and sea sickness, attempted r@pe, sexual assault, slight abuse, family death. Description of dying (start)

// A/N: just wanted to apologize for the broken links at the beginning of the book since i changed my username they haven’t been working but i assure you I’ll get to fixing them. I will also end up making a goggle docs with the entire book for downloading when this series ends//

previous chapter here.

CHAPTER 18

The first thing Sandor thought about in the day was you he day dreamt of your safety and the helpless thing inside you that took your body as refuge. He silently prayed that he wouldn’t have to be away from you for any longer. It was also the last thing he thought about before sleeping and dreaming of you. 

But he was more afraid of what his thoughts would be like after his body went quiet. 

Here he layed against the rock bloddied from the fight leg broken unable to move, not that he wanted too. Breanne of fucking Tarth, a women, took him down. He had put up a good and fair fight however but he could feel his life fading before his eyes. The image of you ghosting into his vision you calling his name sweetly as his hand caressed you soft cheek. You smile that warmed his soul. 

Oh he loved to see you smile. He loved to see you happy at his doing. It feels as though you have been together for years on end when it has only taken him 2 months to fall completely under your spell. He knows he won’t survive yet unable to move to end his own hes cursed to lay until he bleeds out or dies from starvation. But at least he will go out knowing he was loved and loved back. 

————

You stand against the side of the boat as you watch the rocky shore pass by slowly. 

“Your highness.” A man speaks to you. You turn around seeing the captain of the ship. 

“We are porting to widows watch in 20 minutes.” He says you nod. 

“I sugesset her highness is tended to by a meister while we take the day to careen. Her ladyship is carrying the further heir is she not?” He asks. 

“Thank you captain i shall take your kindness to the next meisters hut.” You say giving him a smile. He nods giving you a smile back before heading to his previous post. 

Over the course of 20 days or so on and off sea you and joss have become much more that a squire and royal you’ve become friends best friends. you will laugh and dance and tell stories, you’ve told him about your childhood and hes told you about his granted his wasn’t that long ago. 

You’ve celebrated each other birthdays and you now no longer allow him to talk to you anything but plain. 

“My lady.” Joss says walking up to you leaning against the side of the ship you smile at him nudging him with your arm. He chuckles. 

”youre looking more and more like a grown man with that stubble your growing.” You giggle at him. He nods feeling the stubble growing on his face. 

“Yeah. Ill have to find a barber when we dock.” He says. 

“I didn’t say i dosnt suit you.. however the prince Marco fraud over there hasn’t kept a meal down since we got on this boat. That says a lot. Im the pregnant one.” You say joss laughs as you both look over to Marco who wipes his forehead with a cloth. 

“D-do you still think of him?” Joss asks. 

“Of course I do. Everyday i pray for his safety and health just as i do yours. I want him to meet his child preferably in this life and not the next.” You say about Sandor. 

“Would you ever take another man?” Joss asks turning around facing backwards. 

“No..why?” You ask. 

“Even if he died?” He asks again. 

“I dont think, despite out beginning, i could ever take someone else i love him too much and i love what he gave me…why do you ask?” You wonder turning to him your eyes fix on his gaze as he looks across the boat deck to Lucy who hands the prince a glass of water. 

“There’s no point in wanting something if you don’t try for it.” You say to him. He looks back to you a blush forming on his cheeks as he realizes that you know who he was talking about. 

“I-I’ll grab you coat my lady.” He says before hurrying to your quarters below deck. Footsteps make your way to you once more you sigh as you see Marco coming to you. 

“It seems that the uh. The weather for this trip has treated us well?” He smiles. 

“We’ve stayed as close to shore as we can theres been no open water without seeing land through a scoop and were guarded by two man o’ war ships when my parents sent me off to kingslanding we went the long way comanded 4 storms three men died and our sips main mask was missing by the time i arrived and still. I had to endure of that wearing a corset and looking pretty. Meanwhile your vomiting up every fucking meal you consume on the charter of a little turbulence.” You say to him. 

“And yet you still have the energy to mock me.” He snaps back. 

“Yes. Consider it being hormonal.” You bite right back to him and turn to walk off. 

“Why do you fester against me!?” He asks leaving you to stop you back facing him. 

“We’ve been not but 2 feet from each other for 23 days and you prefer to fight on my name instead of getting to know it.” He says. You scoffs and turn back to face him. Joss comes back to you your cloak in hand.

“I dont need to know your name becuase i will not be taking it, as little as you may know, i belong to another. I wont belong to anyone else but him. As a care taken prince I wouldn’t expect you to understand after all your used to feeding off a silver platter and suckling from a gold breast.” You say as joss helps you put on the cover before you both walk to the end of the boat where you’re meant to get off to port for the day. 

————

The day is spent visiting a midwife not allowing a maester to touch you, having a meal with Lucy and joss at the inn you’re staying at and exploring a little before you became to tired and went back to the room. You were unfortunately told that the careening of the underbelly of the boat would take until the night so you should leave in the morning. 

Un happy about the news you reluctantly placed yourself in your room. 

You sit in the bras bath tub alone. You pick at your nails as you lean over the side your raised belly proving it to be a bit of a challenge. Your fingers move up to your hand glazing over the ring that is placed on your ringer. The jewels within it shine against the fireplace light. 

”im sorry i still haven’t made a name for you little one.” You say speaking to the babe within you. 

“But perhaps if your a boy then i will name you after you father? Hmm, and if your a girl I shall name you something beautiful like a flower or the stars. I was going to let your father name you but I'm afraid that wont be the case and id prefer you not go unnamed.” You sigh resting your head on your arm. you open your mouth to speak once again but you hear slight bickering out side your door before it opens. 

“You cannot enter my lord she is bathing!” Joss yells out at prince marco who stumbles into the room clearly drunk you cover your self sinking into the tub further. 

“Get out!” You yell at him. Joss grabs Marco to pull him away but he turns around and lands a hefty punch onto joss’s face causing him to fall to the ground before Marco kicks him. 

“YOU DARE PUT YOUR HANDS ON ME BOY!?” The prince yells before pushing joss out of the room and closing the door behind him bolting the door. Marco turns to you. 

“Get out. How dare you enter my room like this.” You bark out at him. 

“Get up.” He says you ignore his request sinking deeper into the tub. 

“You mock me, taunt me, refuse to conform to your duties as a princes!” He grumbles as he stomps twords you grabbing your hair pulling you. you welp in pain as he pulls you out of the tub. 

“AH! LET GO OW!” You scream out in pain as you drags you. You slip on the seat floor loosing your footing. He pushes you to the floor fighting above you. 

“No- NO STOP!” You scream tears welling up in your face as you fight under him. 

“You will know your fucking place!!” He grunts as he hits you across your face. 

“Ah!” You cry out in pain tear balling from your eyes and you continue to fight him stretching his face. He bails his hand into a first and punches you across your face twice. The taste of metal hits your tounge as your lip is split under the impact. You hear faint pounding behind the wooden door of the room as joss calls your name. The sound of a belt buckle clinking. You stop your fight as he holds you down. Before the imminent pain you could experience hes shoved off you two guards and joss pounce on him as he hollers out a multicellular of curse words before being dragged out of the room.

“Your highness?!.” You hear as Lucy and two others run to you wrapping a sheet around your naked body as they help you sit up. Lucy pulls you into her arms as you sob the pulsing pain in your face far from the pain in your heart. The fear flooded illness that could’ve resulted much worse.

”h-help me d-dress.” You say getting up weakly as she helps you. 

“Are you alright did he-“ 

“No. i want to leave now. Help me dress!” You speak. She and others nod. 

“Joss.” You say before he walks out after the guards. he looks to you holding his side from the rough kick Marco gave, his face bloddied. 

“Th-thank you. We will be t-taking a guarding ship the rest of way.” You say he nods to you before walking out closing the door after himself so your ladies can help you dress. You pull off the sheet holding your stomach before they slip on your undergarments and then and easy dress and shoes. They take the small bag you had packed for the night before you all hurry out. To the shipping dock. 

You board the guarding ship with the others, a few guards and joss, despite his condition help board over your items from the main ship before taking off back to the sea

Next chapter coming soon.

TAGLIST. If you’d like to be added to the tag list please leave a comment down below.

Taglist @stephyshadows@germansarechill@urfavbiscuit@daphneyblue@takemeaemond@holb32@allison-119@pxstelink@imsolonelyimissyou@myshitaccount@broadsdrinkwhisky@@evie-beanie@eulysa23-2@greeknymph18@rudiruds@ex160-blog1@im-an-assho1e@chompwoman@heartb8k2@lovely--lover ex160-blog1 @midnightprocrastinator

[thehopelessexception]

is it just me?

i've been observing a tendency surrounding women —mostly between 20 and 26— where we can't find anything close to love (from men). women are not dating, nor living a normal life, developing a femcel-like point of view. and im saying this because i want to be loved just like anyone else, but are we the problem? or is there something wrong with boys? i mean, ofc there's something wrong with boys; but every year pass by and every time is harder and harder to find someone willing to put the effort to make you feel loved and understood. was it like this 50 years ago? 100 years ago? i am very much aware that our mothers and grandmothers suffered in the world they lived in, generally with sexist husbands and mandatory tradwife lifestyle. but i am also sure that there was some exceptions, way too many more than today.

and we tend to romanticize the past, probably there's something to do with our generation. nor millennials or gen z, the ones in the middle. the girls who grew up with enough technology but not so much. the ones that went crazy over boybands and fanfiction and hung up posters in our walls. the ones that went crazy in 2018-2020 with deranged feminism just to realise, later on, nobody really cared and it maybe was a little over the top. the ones that filled our beds with stuffed animals repeatedly every time we woke up just to throw them on the floor at night so we could sleep. the girls who spent their teenage years on tumblr writing code (before men took that away from us) and making playlists of marina lana and the 1975 so everyone on the internet could see how cool we wanted to look like. probably the ones that suffered some kind of bullying in highschool or some health problem related to how we didn't fit in or how bad we looked at ourselves in the mirror (yk what i mean). we weren't the cool kids in real life or it was just me?

now i'm observing how hard it is to adapt that teenager to adult years. and maybe it's me but i don't feel like an adult. i am a tiny ball of anxiety. i suffer too much stress. i am trying to finish my degree but i don't know if im worthy of anything because i dont have money, and i don't have time to work and study at the same time because i spend too many time thinking about it and feeling a fraud and a failure.

i don't know how to talk to boys either —nor girls, in that way—. and until some days ago i was quite sure i was willing and capable of spending my whole life alone. i've given up to anything because i felt it imposible to be loved. but lately my mind goes up and down with that scene of jo monologue in little women by gretta gerwig. and it also goes with the hot priest monologue of fleabag. and today i rewatched the classic he's just not that into you. are we condemned to be the tedious rule? am i?

i've seen all of my girlfriends suffering the same mysery. and i've seen the extremes. women giving up the love they deserve —because they accepted the fate of being the rule— by dating a jerk just because they are afraid of loneliness. and i've also seen women giving up everything else just because they are not willing to give up love. those are us. hopeless romantics who watched way too many romantic comedies and somehow still expect to find someone willing to die for us just like dicaprio in romeo + juliet. —or at least a patrick verona—.

what i've never seen was actual love. all the couples i met... they don't look happy. they don't look in love. they don't look like they enjoy their own company even. they look exactly like a picture of instagram. they exist just to make us feel miserable even when it's obvious they are not gonna last. i've seen couples of what? 7 years? gone. broken up. they grew tired of each other and of course they never looked like they had anything close to sparkles in their eyes. chemistry? none. and maybe it is my anxiety speaking but i don't want that. i refuse to have that. i want all or nothing. i want always and forever. i want everyone to look at us and think "if i don't have that i'll kms". i want family —even tho im not sure i want to get pregnant, what am i a childbride?—. i don't want to change anything to fit in with the standards of a boy. i want marriage even tho im not sure i want to be legally married. i want the posibility, the future. i want the emotions surpassing myself. i want to not know me anymore and then knowing me again. i want to doubt myself. i want my heart beating so fast i could kill someone for them. i want to believe god exists. i want to laugh of happiness without they making a joke. i want my sundays to not be deppresing because i can hang out with the love of my life and have fun. i want to be the "and yet" of someone willingly enough to fall for me every single day even if i am kinda insane all the time. i want someone who cares. someone who fantasizes with spending the rest of their lives with me and is going to put the effort to get to know every single thing about me and stay because he's blown away. and aparently that's setting the bar "too high" because we are the rule and not the exception.

people always assume that by being a romantic i expect flowers every day and cheesy comments about how beautiful i look; and that would actually make me want to puke because i can do that myself. i am confortable with myself, i like myself, i love myself, i have the ego. i am not really asking for that much i just want someone to love me with every single thing that's probably wrong with me. what i want is someone curious and smart. someone who pays enough attention or wants to. i want the chemistry off the roof.

and contrary to anyone's beliefs the bar is too low about everything else. every single girl probably wants the same thing. is it that hard for men to understand that women want to feel loved?

lately —worldwide— it's all a competition of genres as if humanity doesn't need us to interact to survive. it's a loop that opened up in 2013? with the tumblr-4chan gate and right now got translated to the real world because pick-mes are back and being a man is cool. and suddenly that's how nature works!! because apparently women are boring and just a hole. maybe they all need to go all alexander the great. but it's getting boring. and we as women deserve love as much as respect.

[winters8child]

It´s been a long, long time

Chapter 2

If I had to describe Bucky Barnes in three words, I would say hes charming, courteous and handsome. So would any other girl in our neighbourhood. The girls loved Bucky and Bucky loved the attention. He loved the cookies they baked him, he loved that they sewed on the buttons back onto his shirt. He loved the fact that they all got giddy when he passed them.

Who could blame him? He was a 14 year old boy after all. Steve and I would watch the girls fall over themselves, while we enjoyed the cookies Bucky did not care to eat. Sometimes Steve would get a certain look on his face, as if he thought to himself "If I just could get the fraction of that attention…". Which always made me sad, because Steve was one of the kindest souls I had ever met. On a particularly hot saturday the three of us were sitting outside of our building, trying not to melt into puddles. Just as I was about to go back inside, I spotted two girls, staring in our direction. I did not have to think twice, why that was.

Something in my stirred, something that I did not like. It reared its ugly green head and bit me in my heart. "Dont you get tired of it Bucky? Stringing them along?", I asked. He looked confused, because I had never commented on his little affairs. "Who said I was stringing them along? Maybe Im just looking for the love of my life?", he proclaimed. "Yeah right", I heard Steve mumbling under his breath. Bucky was getting kinda angry, which surprised me, because I had never seen him getting angry. "You are just jealous, thats all.", he said. I was caught me off guard,because all these months I had tried to not show any sign of jealousy. He was my friend after all, just my friend.

Before I could come up with an answer, Steve stood up and said "No Im not, I dont want to be like you, I just feel sorry for the girls. Thats it." and walked away. Bucky looked at me with an expression on his face, I could not decipher. Without a word, he made his way over to the girls and left me standing there. I spent the next days holed up in my room, reading or trying to more like. It felt weird, not to spend every waking hour with the boys. But I didnt want them to think that I was acting weird around Bucky. I assumed that spending a couple of days apart, might supress that ugly feeling of jealousy. I did not want to jeopardize our friendship, for a stupid crush. Because thats what it was. I was just like all the other girls, falling for his charm.

On the fifth day I heard a knock on my bedroom door. I assumed it was mom, needing some help in the kitchen. "Come in", I called. The door opend and revealed the exact person I was hiding from. "Hey, your mom let me in. I hope its ok", he stated. In that moment I noticed that, those days apart did not help at all. He was gorgeous as ever and I felt as stupid as ever. "Uhm yeah its ok, Im just feeling a little sick…so its better if you leave", I stuttered. "So you are not beeing weird?", he asked. "What? Me weird? No never, just sick is all.", I lied.

He seemed relieved, I felt like a fraud. "So we can hang out again? I mean when you feel better?", he asked. My heart made a jump at that thought, which made me almost jump, because I was afraid he could see right through my chest. "Yeah sure, I missed you…I mean you guys, Steve and you of course.", I replied. He smiled at that, put his hand on my shoulder and said "We missed you too, I would not want to be without my Lottie. My girl best friend".

Oh yes who would not want to be Bucky Barnes girl best friend.

Next Chapter

[m1d-45]

I wanted to write something to add onto the creator-with-major-trust-issues scenario but the words are not coming to me. So I will leave you with what little I have managed to put into words and hope that it’ll be enough to convey what I had in mind:

“Perhaps the Kamisato Clan of the Yashiro Commission was born to protect deities.” ← Ayato’s mother once said this (from Character Story 5)

“Everything comes at a cost.” ← said to the Traveler in About Kamisato Ayato: Price to Pay

The meaning of these two statements changed drastically before, during, and after the hunt for Ayato.

“Trusting another person isn't easy, especially for someone of high status. Place your trust in the wrong person, and it can quite literally cost you your life. But you have placed your trust in me, and of course I will not let you down.” ← said to the Traveler in About Us: Trust.

Ayato values trust, yet he easily trampled all over the Creator’s trust in him. He was once one of their highly favoured. And yet, he cruelly deceived them when they needed him the most. How does he feel, realising this?

- cryo anon

oh my god. oh my god. cryo anon. CRYO. bro forget the o im just gonna cry-

“trusting another person isn’t easy, especially for someone of high status.”

ayato, who holds loyalty in such high regard. ayato who’s been betrayed so many times in the past, who always has to be on edge, so having someone to rely on is something of incredible importance to him. he holds himself to the same standards, of course, never making promises he can’t keep, never lying unnecessarily.

when the hunt comes, he’s one of the first to take action, immediately telling the shuumatsuban to keep watch at ritou in case you showed up, always keeping up to date on your last known location. he regularly reports to the one on the throne once you make your way to inazuma, always promising he’s doing everything he can to keep their honor in place.

and he means it, really. he visits the city often in hopes of hearing any news, pouring every single resource he has into funding and hunting you, all in the name of the divine.

kamisato ayato is loyal above all else, and he will put aside all of his personal affairs to prove it.

“place your trust in the wrong person, and it can quite literally cost you your life.”

imagine his horror once he finds out. imagine the deep pit that opens in his stomach, swallowing his heart and eating at his lungs. it would hurt as a physical pain, the letter slipping from his hand- or maybe he’s in a meeting, and has to stay composed even as his heart races, has to keep up his image because he can’t show even a flicker of weakness.

definitely blames himself, despite the fact that the fraud was the one that manipulated him. he’d been in charge of inazuma’s festivals for years, he’s made so many minor changes to the flower or color choice simply based on you and what your vessels knew of you. everything he did was in one way or another for you, whether direct or indirect.

and he couldn’t recognize you when you were standing right in front of him.

“but you have placed your trust in me, and of course i will not let you down.”

he’s not selfish or cocky enough to think an in-person apology is the best course of immediate action. no, he’s well aware that seeing him could make everything worse, he knows he’s not the one you need to see. he knows the best thing right now is to give you space and let you heal, and to do his best from afar.

he hates seeing you flinch. he hates when you hesitate before grabbing something, he hates the small leaf you check your drinks with, he hates it because he contributed to your distrust of everyone around you, and all he can do is pray for forgiveness.

you’re the creator. the highest of the high. you should never be afraid, you should never doubt your surroundings, you shouldn’t be scared in your own home, and yet you are, and at least part of it is his fault.

ayato places such importance on trust, on loyalty, and yet he’d broken yours, the one person who he should never make afraid. all that he was was dedicated to you, and yet he only recognized you once it was too late, once you were bleeding out and his sword was stained blue.

he’s set the sword that hurt you—the one that you’d been so kind as to give him, the very symbol of his heresy—on a stand in his bedroom, blue blood still dried on it. it’s not a trophy, never, he’d never be proud of hurting anyone, let alone you, in such a way. no, that sword is a reminder, one he refuses to clean until he’s regained your trust. he will not wield your blessing until he has earned it, and will not wipe himself clean of the blame until you have forgiven him for it. why would he, when your opinion of him is the only one that matters?

it’s been nearly a year. dust has long-since settled over the blade, into the gaps between the wrap of the handle. still, he refuses to touch it, climbing into bed every night without much more than a longing look and a quick prayer.

he’ll wait however long it takes until he’s worthy of it.

[deweyedlikethedoes]

i was put too well together for so long, that now that i’ve broken free, im afraid that it all might come back to bite me. i was always jealous of seeing others be their unapologetic selves but i felt that if i were to live that truth, i would be condemned to spend my life on lists that said i was a problem, that i would never conform. now that my frontal lobe has finished developing, i care less about how my behavior affects those around me. don’t get me wrong, im still mindful and considerate; i’ve just learned that life doesn’t revolve around me, and people are too absorbed in their own lives to care about little old me. and although that has been a great source of comfort and for the first time in years i can make mistakes and be human and not be so pristine, why do i feel like there’s still someone in the corner watching, saying, “this girl’s too free?”

like when i want to be free and reckless, now im the villain of some sort. i haven’t gotten called out, but i feel like it’s only a matter of time; i’m the text book fraud, and everyone else can live freely but me. i know my actions have consequences, but can’t i make them freely for a time? like something as simple as missing too much work has me contemplating my entire life. i called out today. i called off last month. and the month before then. all valid excuses, and i haven’t been called out for it, but i know people can do these things and not feel a sliver of guilt. here i am still wondering if they think im becoming an issue, or if im just stupid and young, or if ill lose my job. i never do. job after job, ive thought this way. i had to be the perfect employee. but last year shifted something in me. always try my best, sure. but to move mountains for employers who would never do the same for me? never again.

[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.” 

[helisol]

dude im not sure you will get it after reading this either, but you Can read it now

okay so first of all do not expect me to adhere to rules of grammar or Proper capitalisation, I am writing from the heart

so it’s been said before by other people but if Quark and Odo didnt look like the aliens that they are but instead like two regular prettybois the fandom would do cartwheels over their dynamic and Not call them a crack ship. because really, their dynamic fucking SLAPS and I’m here to tell you Why.

their surface-level dynamic is “Respected and Talented Security Chief and Cunning Immoral Businessman who are in Love but pretend not to be” and that's just an off-brand version of enemies to lovers! which is excellent and for some people that’s all you really need to get invested in a ship.

but some people look at it and go “Hm, no, that’s not enough. I mean, they work as friends but it doesn’t really have to be romantic.” and to that I say you are Absolutely Valid, not everything has to be romantic.

it just so happens that these two fuckers have one of the most compelling romance stories ever, and it’d be a shame not to explore it.

so before I dive into the internalised homophobia and repression, I’d like to take a moment to talk about Quark as a character.

because if you have brainworms like me you can kind of see that its an honest to god greek tragedy.

this guy comes from a race of people where being kind, ethical and fair is considered Abnormal and Horrifying. and I’m not gonna call Quark out of all people kind, ethical or fair but,,, 

you ever notice how he’s A Much Better Person Than Pretty Much All Other Ferengi?

dont get me wrong, Quark is still a bastard, but every once in a while his True Character shines through. and I say True Character because guys,,, the way he behaves around other people is an Act. he’s pretending to be something he’s not.

he has to try so hard to be a good ferengi it’s honestly painful to watch at times. because he is a SHIT ferengi! 

he loves his friends- because that's what the ds9 crew are. they’re his friends! and it makes him miserable because that's not! normal! for a ferengi!

let’s compare Quark and Rom for a second. 

Quark reeks of self loathing because a lot of the time he just Doesn’t act like a ferengi is supposed to, and this drives a lot of conflict in the show. he knows how a ferengi should act, it’s just that he can’t!! fucking!! do it!! but he still tries and tries to fit into that mold, which straight up ruins his life on multiple occasions.

Rom is also not a Model Ferengi, but he lives without hating himself. and it’s mostly because he doesn’t care about how a ferengi Should act, he’s loved and cared for even when everybody knows that he’s a shit ferengi! because his non-ferengi-ness works to his benefit. it encourages and highlights his abilities as an engineer. the success and love he finds make it easy for him to be content with his true self. Unlike Quark, who doesn’t get unconditional love from anyone.

its so!! tragic!! because you can see what Quark is really like!! his true self!! he’s a nice guy who cares for people!

its right there all the time and it's so blatantly obvious. especially in episodes like “Body Parts”, “Bar Association”, “The Way Of The Warrior” and “Ferengi Love Songs”

his own wiki page literally calls him “a compassionate and generous man by ferengi standards” which pretty much translates to “not really a good ferengi”.

anyway so Quark is a tragic figure or whatever but we’re actually here for the REPRESSED! HOMOSEXUAL! TENDENCIES! that he and Odo both exhibit.

with characters like garak you don’t really need to have brainrot to pick up on those tendencies, because that was something andrew robinson chose to do, on purpose. 

and to be fair, Quark wasn’t intended to be Any kind of representation, not even by the actor. I’m just pointing out that he Does look and act and talk like a little gayman.

I will admit that he is Painfully Straight in the text of the show, but on a meta level he’s just. a dude who has a serious case of repressing his real personality. and taking it a step further- he also represses his feelings towards another man.

and that man is Odo.

a few things on him:

Odo is literally desperate to be a person. unlike Quark, who at least has the comfort of belonging to a society of people with a set of rules and expectations, Odo has never met anyone or anything like him in all his years of life.

like, we all know Odo basically grew up in a lab, right? 

with people who didn’t know anything about him. who he was so unalike that they literally called him “Nothing”

but he still learned to look and talk and act like them (because if he didn’t he’d feel *pain* which is very fucked up by the way?)

so we know for a fact that Odo wants to be recognised as a person- which is why he tries really hard to conform to the ideals of the society that raised him. instead of exploring his nature as a shape shifter he maintains a humanoid form, picks up a job and creates an entire personality around what he wants to be seen as. but not what he really is.

and that's the thing that causes all the conflict between Quark and Odo. the type of person odo wants to be seen as is the polar opposite of whatever the fuck quark wants to be seen as.

In the same way that Quark acts like a Normal Ferengi, Odo acts like a Normal Security Officer.  and in a cruel twist of fate, the Ferengi happens to be the antithesis of the Security Officer.

If you only look at them as the things they act like, and not the things they are, you might say they’re way too different to like each other, right? 

but,,, if you think about the fact that they’re both putting on this act,,, this performance of idealised versions of themselves,,, you can see that they are The Same. They Are Both Gay Repressed Loser Aliens Who Try To Act Like Things That They Aren’t!

Imagine you’re Odo. 

Imagine that you’re Nothing, because you’re not like anything anyone has ever seen- and because you are Nothing you don’t fall in love with anyone for years and years. since who could love something that isn’t like them at all?

But then one day this Thing shows up in your path and you just hate it. Because it’s not like anything *you* have ever seen. It’s disorderly and looks grotesque and it’s criminal to boot.

It’s all the things you learned would make a “Bad Person” It’s everything you aspire not to be, because if you were any of those things you would BE PUNISHED.

But the trouble is, eventually he’s not an “it” anymore, he’s “Quark” and you see him every day of your miserable little life because you live on the same damn station in space and it’s hard to avoid each other.

He also happens to be one of the only things in your life that are constant. He will never leave because he is stubborn and greedy and you just *hate him so much* that you’re convinced he must be doing all of it to spite you. And yet you also can’t seem to leave him alone.

So Odo Must Hate Quark. everything else is a non sequitur for him. he can’t not hate Quark.

because Quark is, and i’m sincerely sorry to apply christian fucking imagery to this, The Forbidden Fruit.

If he liked quark he’d admit some kind of moral failing. it would be the end of his act. but on the other hand...it might be a good thing, because at least he could have quark.

but Odo can never go through with biting into this apple because the consequences are horrifying to him. he could never have quark because, according to his performance, he would Never like quark to begin with.

and here’s a take for you: Odo's Brand Of Internalised Homophobia Doesn't Stem From Heteronormativity. It Stems From The Fact That He Was Kind Of Assigned Asexual At Birth.

and the show sort of alludes to this, for real! not just subtext! canon! except the writers used the wrong person. 

because instead of Odo having these Forbidden Feelings for Quark he has them for,,, Kira.

but since this is My Quodo Manifesto you’ll understand that i am 100% willing to just toss that part of canon out the airlock.

so Odo does canonically have that mindset of “no one could ever love me”  for decades he repressed any and all feelings of love to avoid getting hurt. in the show he breaks this cycle of repression when he takes a chance and enters a relationship with Kira. yay?

but we all know that aint it chief. and part of the reason why That Ship Ain’t It is the fact that Quark is Right There. and he is simply the more interesting choice for odo.

he and Odo literally share the same problem and have weird intertwined character arcs! they are both dreadfully afraid of not conforming to the ideal versions of themselves, so they reject everything that could challenge their Performance!

on some fucked up level they hate each other *and* themselves individually. and this hatred makes them reject parts of their real identities for the sake of protecting their image. which. yknow. in gay people. is internalised homophobia!

so you can see that they’re both repressing A Lot even if you view them as Friends, but the most important thing in this kind of romantic dynamic is usually,,, when the characters *stop* repressing.

and the thing is. the thing that Kills Me with these two. They Never Get That Moment. Thats Why You Need The Brainrot To See Them As Romantic.

The Ascent gives us an example of what happens when they both take their act too far. I mean, who could forget “Fascist!” and “Fraud!” That is what odo thinks of quark’s performance and vice versa, but we don’t really hear them adress the fact that they *are* playing these roles to a ridiculous extent.

We also never get an example of what would happen if they dropped their act instead of over-performing it. or rather we don’t get to see both of them drop it.

And the reason why we never get that moment is because there’s this one key difference between Quark and Odo. 

Quark knows that he’s constantly repressing his true nature and his feelings for odo. We pretty much hear him say so in the iconic root beer scene in Way Of The Warrior. he knows that he’s not a good ferengi but he keeps up his act.

So quark is aware enough to feel that sweet sweet self loathing. But Odo isnt self loathing as much as he is just self sabotaging.

and this subtle difference between them is why, at the very end of the show, we get “That man loves me, can’t you see? It was written all over his back!”

this moment is quark dropping his act and asking odo to do the same. he wants to hear a genuine Goodbye from him because they have known each other for Decades and they are Friends. but odo is so unable to express the feelings he’s been repressing all these years. that he self sabotages again and just walks away.

even though this is like. very anticlimactic. considering I just spent 2000 words talking about how Odo and Quark are Most Certainly Gay For Each Other.

The fact that their ending is so Weird is the reason why quodo is so engaging and appealing to me? especially post-canon quodo.

like, the amount of “what if’s” this ship has are Astounding.

What if either of them had dropped their act a little sooner? What if they both did, for just a moment, and it was the straw that breaks the camels back?

What if Odo comes back after a few years? What if Quark comes to get him?

What if, in that moment in the finale where Quark drops his act, Odo had returned the gesture? What if Gag-Reel Quodo Kiss.gif Real?

with the depth that I read into their relationship, those what ifs are really fun to think about.

anyway its 1 am and i’m not an english major so literary analysis is not like, my strong suit. plus most of this was written in a late night screaming session with a friend who has the exact same opinions as me. i just think aliens hot and in love. thats all.

[lord-explosion-baku]

The Return

Yandere!Midoriya x reader

warnings: yandere, mentions of violence, smoking, creepy, dark themes

A/N: This is just a short little snoot based on a scary story I used to tell around the fire while camping. Mind the warnings. 

It had been several years since Izuku Midoriya disappeared without a trace. The police and the heroes alike searched for months and months with nobody finding a damn thing. It was a national tragedy; Deku had the potential to change the world for the better and his loss would never be forgotten. There was even a day reserved for him where people would light green candles and place them on their porches and balconies where they would pray for his return. His mother wailed, his friends mourned, and you were free.

You were free. Free from those yearning stares, those two-long hand touches, those unsolicited gifts, and those unwarranted nighttime visits. You always knew you were never safe with Midoriya around—or possibly you were too safe—and when he stopped existing, your life had gotten better. Easier. You no longer had to live on edge, afraid of catching a tuft of green hair around every corner, spying on you through any window he could find, finding you even when you were out of town. He was gone. 

You were free. Until you weren’t.

It was all over the news: the surprising resurgence of the tragically-lost, rising hero Deku. You’d heard it and seen it. The man who claimed to be Izuku Midoriya had the same unruly, curly hair that bounced when he walked, the same eager, green eyes that complimented his innocent facade, and the same brutal scars from all those times he’d broken his bones that fed his emblem. He looked exactly like Midoriya, only more refined. He was more muscular, a tad taller, and there was a gleam in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. You’d heard from friends all about how he retained all of his memories from before his disappearance—even the ones that nobody would know about except for him—but had no memory of where he’d been or what had happened while he was lost.

There wasn’t a single soul on the planet that didn’t believe that Midoriya had returned. You knew better. You knew that he, whoever he was, was an imposter. But it wasn’t like you could prove it.

For weeks, you avoided places where you knew this faux-Midoriya was going to be. Friends invited you to ‘welcome back’ parties where Midoriya’s life would be celebrated, but you never showed. You didn’t take the main streets where you knew this new hero would be patrolling, always making sure to check the news to see every instance the camera caught him performing one of his many good deeds. You might’ve been getting a little obsessive yourself, but it was worth it to never have contact with the imposter.

It didn’t take much time for the long-forgotten creeping feeling to sneak its way into your home and on your skin. You didn’t think that faux-Midoriya would know to stalk you like the real Midoriya, especially since the real Midoriya had always kept that part of his life secret and safe, just as you kept the event that let you know Midoriya wasn’t really back locked away inside your mind. You hadn’t ever told anybody about it. Still, you knew he was watching you. You never saw him, but you felt him.

As the days progressed, this feeling only got worse. You would find bouquets of flowers left on your doorstep and little notes left on your car. You’d told you friends how you were feeling unsafe, dancing around the topic of how insane you thought the world was for buying that Midoroya had returned, but whenever you brought it up, you were met with rolling eyes and tea sips. Even Bakugou believed it was really Midoriya who had returned, and you’d only found out that little fact when you attended a rather large get-together at a nearby bar to celebrate a huge win for the Ground Zero hero agency.

The only reason you went out was because you thought Midoriya wasn’t going to be there. You missed seeing people, and you’d thought you were going to be safe since Bakugou never seemed to like Midoriya, but it seemed that years away from one’s annoying ex-rival softens one up a little.

Panic struck you as soon as you saw him. The imposter was chatting it up with another hero, asking them questions about their quirk and support items, much like the real Midoriya would be doing, when those soft green eyes slid over to you. His face lit up and he smiled that smile—the one that was only reserved exclusively for you, the one that made chills run down your spine.  

You were out the door immediately, shaking uncontrollably, crumbling against the bar’s side wall. It took a couple attempts for you to finally light the cigarette between your trembling fingers, but before you could take your first drag, you heard him speak.

“You really shouldn’t smoke.” His voice was like sweet cream, rich and soft. Your gaze went up to meet familiar kind, dishonest eyes. “You’ve always had such pretty skin. I’d hate to see you ruin it.”

“M-Midoriya,” you whispered, tone flat, voice hoarse. He crouched down beside you and brushed some of the hair in your face back and behind your hair. It was such a small gesture, but you felt completely violated.

“Hi, bunny,” not-Midoriya said, “It’s good to see you.”

You shook your head, because his appearance was absolutely uncanny. This man was Izuku Midoriya, only there was no possible way that could be true.

Midoriya seemed content by your befuddlement. You were sure he was enjoying this new life, eating up all the attention he’d gotten since his return, but he didn’t have you to torture. The real Midoriya could never live without filling you up with unease.

He eyed the cigarette burning between your fingers and clicked his tongue. “You’re shivering,” he mused, taking the cigarette out of your hand. He smiled faintly at its cherry, took a long drag, and put it out against the brick wall. Then, he clasped his hands over yours. “Do you know how much I’ve missed you?”

“Don’t-!”

His touch lingered like it always used to. He hummed and brushed his thumb down the palm of your hand, gazing up at you through too-long lashes. “I’ve missed that face you’re making too.”

You had to remind yourself that it wasn’t him. It couldn’t possibly be him. You knew better. You knew what happened. It wasn’t him.

“I know what you’re thinking.” Midoriya flashed a wide, pearly-white smile and brought your hand up to his cheek. He was warm from his blushing. He’d always been so warm. He closed his eyes and pushed your hands down to his neck—the last place you’d touched him when he was alive. “But you should know,” he whispered darkly, “nothing will ever keep me from my bunny for too long.”

“No,” you croaked, pulling your hand back. This wasn’t real. He was supposed to be gone. You were supposed to be free.

“Yes,” he crooned, eyes opened and gleaming with delight..

It couldn’t be him. It could never be him. Izuku Midoriya was gone, and this man was a fraud. You were sure of it. He could look, sound, and feel like him, but there was a zero percent possibility that he had returned.

You would know. You burned his body after you killed him.

TAGS FOR EVERYTHING(CLOSED): @ayeputita @yandere-inamorata @dee-madwriter @unboundbnha @rizamendoza1987 , @rubycubix @smbody-stole-mycar-radio @zellllyyyy @sarcastictextstuck @kpanime @lemonlordleah-shinzawa-kitten @captain-sin-allmight-queen @psionicsnow @wickedlewicked @ghost-of-todoroki @kattariapenn @im-an-adult-sometimes @bnhya @local-senpai @eggpienutbuttercroissant @usernamekate94 @reyvenclaww @hi-ho-and-hello 

[ask-de-writer]

SEA DRAGON’S GIFT : Part 28 of 83 : World of Sea

Return to the Master Story Index

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SEA DRAGON’S GIFT

Part 28 of 83

by

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

140406 words

copyright 2020

written 2007

All rights reserved.

Reproduction in any form, physical, electronic or digital is prohibited without the express consent of the author.

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Copyright fair use rules for Tumblr users

Users   of Tumblr.com are specifically granted the following rights.  They may   reblog the story provided that all author and copyright information   remains intact.  They may use the characters or original characters in   my settings for fan fiction, fan art works, cosplay, or fan musical   compositions.

All sorts of fan art, cosplay, music or fiction is actively encouraged.

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New to the story?  Read from the beginning.  PART 1 is here

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Chapter 8a: Exile’s End

Silor trimmed the sail of the boat given him by the fleet and tied the rudder.  As long as the wind held reasonably steady, he would continue to head west.  He stretched out on the bunk and brooded.

It makes no sense.  She had me.  No ship would take me in.  At the gatherings end, I would have been drowned.  Sarfin told me that she was behind this boat and supplies.  That can’t be right!  … Unless she isn’t done with me!  What kind of plot does that white-haired witch brat have for me?  Should I turn about and try for the Daroff fleet instead of going to the Pallant fleet?

He drifted off into a nap before he came to any conclusion.  It was evening when he awoke.  The boat was rocking briskly along, taking the waves quite differently than a big ship would.  He was still headed west, his course only a few degrees off the sky glow left by the setting sun on high, scattered clouds.  Hunger nibbled like a small fish stealing the bait from a hook.

Silor rummaged the lockers and neatly packed supplies.  Most of what he found needed cooking and it was too late to set up the solar cooker. There were a few things that were ready to eat, packed where he would be sure to find them.  In the package he found a note.  It took a bit of work with a bow-drill fire maker to get a candle-lantern lit.

By its light he saw written in a bold hand,

Silor, Lad:

Do not despair.  You have friends coming to your aid.  The power of the witch does not run through the entire fleet.  The more who work together against her the better our chances of freeing the fleet from her grip.  Light your lanterns and keep a watch to the southeast.  Do not shorten sail or alter course or we may miss you.  We are coming.

Your friend, Barad, Captain of the Grandalor.

In some fear that he may already have missed them, Silor lit his other candle lanterns and set them about the boat.  He ran one up to the mast-head and began to watch to the southeast.  

The moons were getting low when he spied a single spark on the horizon. The light blinked in threes.  He returned the blinks on one of his lanterns.  The spark blinked in return … just once, then went out.

Shortly, he heard a hailing drum signaling ‘heave to’.  He did, stowing lines neatly, out of habit.  The dark bulk of the Grandalor, running without visible lights of any kind, blotted out the setting moons.  Lines were heaved and secured.

Silor was a born deck-hand, otherwise known as a rigging-rat (though what a rat might be, none knew), and did not wait for a ladder.  He was up the swaying line to the deck in a moment.  A dark-lantern was uncovered, shining full on him and revealing little of its holder.

“Come wit’ m’,” said a feminine voice.  The woman led the way aft and down a companion-way.  At the foot of the ladder was a clean, tidy, lighted corridor with sliding doors.  One was open a crack.  His companion and guide put out her lantern, opening the door on the lantern’s back and neatly snuffing the wick between her fingers. Placing it on a shelf, she straightened and Silor saw her medium brown hair with its complex braid and fall.  

He recognized her at once, both from the descriptions and gossip that had been flying about the Gathering and from glimpses got while watching the feast that he had not attended.  Before he could speak she held her right hand to her lips and put the left on the hilt of her knife.

“Shoosh, lad,” she whispered.  “Oi need t’ know wye ye wadnae come t’ our wedding-feast.  Oi did spy ye near.  ‘Ave ye ‘ate for us?”

While he was still unsnarling the tangled net of her Arrakan accent, she moved.  Her foot behind his knee, a sudden shove and he was on the deck, a knife at his throat.

“No! No!  It was the witch!  You were sitting next to her!  I was afraid to go in for fear that she would do worse to me than she already had!”

Her brow wrinkled in thought but at least she pulled back the knife. “T’e wicken?  T’e w’ite ‘aired girl?”  Kurin a witch? Can he really believe such idiocy?  Barad did say that he was seriously beached on dry land.

A cabin door opened and Captain Barad emerged.  Saying with concern, “What’s happened, my dear?  Did you stumble?  Was Doctor Corin wrong to take you off the invalid list?”

“Nae, m’ ‘eart.  Oi but asked a quest’n.  ‘E’s answered ‘t.”

She stood, letting her knife dangle casually in her left hand, ready for instant use.  

Barad grinned at the little tableau for a moment admiring the combat skill that he had just seen through the slightly opened door.  You still surprise me, my Love.  I saw that bit.  When did you learn Arrakan Jitsu?  Your mother must have taught it to you.  He held the door wide and said, “Come in, Silor, and you too, Lady Tanlin.  We have much to discuss.”  He shut the door behind them.

Barad waived Silor to a comfortable chair and took one himself.  “Will you sit, Tanlin?  We are not Captain, Captain’s wife and a crewman. For now, we must be three friends with a common interest and goal.

Tanlin sat reluctantly, giving Silor a dark glance.

“Oi dinnae trust ‘im.  Tis nae t’ late t’ send ‘im bock t’ sea.”

“My Dear,” said Barad mildly, “we went to much trouble to get this young man for our cause.  Without taking the trouble to find if he can help us, it would make little sense to send him away.”

“Ye’re right, o’ course, Oi’m t’inkin’ wit’ m’ feelings, nae for t’e good o’ m’ ship.  Oi‘ll put t’e safety o’ t’e ship forst.”

“Silor, do you know how you offended Tanlin?”

Hesitantly he answered, “Is it because I didn’t go to your wedding feast?”

Tanlin waived a hand toward Silor and said earnestly to Barad, “Luve, tis m’ custom t’at’s involved.  Oi should explain.”

She turned to face Silor squarely.  “In t’e Arrakan fleet t’ere are twa kinds o’ reason t’ miss a wedding feast.  T’ey are bot’ ‘onorable.  If ye are detained by illness, duty, or distance is ane reason.  Such folk usually try t’ send word or congratulations. Tis a gaffe nae t’.  T’e ot’er does as ye did, an’ ‘angs about near t’e feast, t’ be openly seen as nae goin’.  T’ey’re ‘onestly statin’ dislike or worse.  T’at’s wye Oi worried about bringin’ ye on t’ our ship.”

Silor cast his eyes down and slumped.  “If I had known your custom I would have sent you my words of congratulation publicly.  Captain Barad has known me for five Gatherings and even offered me a berth on the Grandalor for the last two Gatherings.  He knows that I meant you no offense.”  He raised his eyes and looked directly into hers.  “I can only say that I am sorry.”

“So tell m’, ‘elp m’ t’ understand wye ye stayed away like an enemy.”

“It was fear.  Not of you.  Nor of you either, Captain.  It was the other one there with you.  The Dragon-witch.”

Tanlin leaned back in her chair and laughed.  Not at all what either Silor or Barad had expected.  “‘Er!  A young girl o’ twel’, maybe t’irteen Gat’erings?  A Dragon-wicken!”  She wiped an eye and looked at her husband.  The solemn look he gave back silenced her.  “Ye really mean t’is, donnae ye, Luve?”

Barad nodded.  “Most Dragon-witches are frauds.  They have some small slight of hand or other trick that they use to overawe people.  They always let it be known ‘what they are’, usually to a few at first.  Then, when rumor has grown enough, they declare themselves and rule by fear until exposed.”

“So ‘oo ‘as she confided in?  Oi saw nae sign o’ fear in any but ‘im.”  She pointed at Silor.

Solemnly Barad said, “Most Dragon-witches are frauds.  This girl is one of the rare exceptions.  You may ask anyone.  She spent most of a Gathering learning from the wisest and most dangerous of the Great Sea Dragons, Blind Mecat herself.  She has very subtly insinuated herself into the very fabric of the fleet.

“She has no need of fear.  Adult Captains and Masters treat her as an equal.  I doubt that she will ever try to rule the fleet or all of those in it.  She has the power to silently govern those who do rule. It is always done with debate and differences of opinion but in the end she has her way.  She is insidious.

“Kurin became the youngest apprentice in the fleet.  Two Gatherings faster than is normal, she became the youngest journeyman in fleet history. She remains unseen, hidden by being out in the open.

“Ask Silor.  He has lived with her nearly all of his life.  He knows.”

“Oi find t’is ‘ard t’ believe.  Oi’m sure t’at ye understand, Silor,” Tanlin said skeptically.  “Tell m’ t’e way o’ ‘t from t’e start.  Ye ‘ave convinced m’ ‘usband an’ luve but ye ‘ave nae convinced m’.  If ye donnae, ‘e ‘as agreed t’ put ye bock into yer boat an’ let ye take yer chances wit’ t’e Pallant fleet.”  Privately she thought, What a cargo of dung! Play hard to convince, you told me, Barad.  I will for you.  You know that he’s crazy.  You told me so yourself.  That’s what makes him our tool, you said.  A broken shell has sharper edges to cut with than a whole one… I wish that I knew what your plan is.

TO BE CONTINUED

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[winchesterbrotherstan]

Supernatural- Faith (1.12)

just look at this boy he was a BABY im :(

Pairing: N/A, Olive Winchester (OC)

Summary: After a hunt gone wrong, Dean’s heart is left failing, and Olive and Sam will stop at nothing to help their brother. Something dangerous about Olive is revealed

Warnings: cursing, blood-lust, screaming, heart failure, etc

Word Count: 7714

“Whatcha got those amped up to?” I asked Dean as he pulled three tasers from Baby's trunk.

“Hundred thousand volts.” Dean grinned.

I blinked. “Shit.”

“Damn.” Sam huffed.

“Yeah, I want this Rawhead extra fricking crispy. And remember, you only get one shot with these things. So make it count.”

Sam and I nodded as we followed him into the house and down the stairs of the basement. There was a noise coming from the cupboard in the corner, and Dean and Sam squared their shoulders.

“On three.” Dean whispered as he grabbed the handle. “One. Two. Three.” He swung the door open, and inside there was a little boy and girl.

They were balled together, ears covered and eyes wide.

“Is it still here?” Sam asked.

They nodded, and I moved past Sam, crouching in front of them. “Okay. Grab your brother’s hand, come on. We’re gonna get you out of here. Let’s go, let’s go.” I scooped them up, making sure they had a hold on each other as well.

“Go with her.” Dean nodded toward Sam, who followed me up the stairs.

A hand reached out between the boards of the steps and grabbed Sam by the ankles. The children shrieked directly into my ears, and I gasped.

“Sam!” Dean shouted, shooting his taser.

I turned around and grabbed Sam by the wrist, yanking him back to stand. He tossed Dean his taser.

“Take this!”

I could hear Dean taunt the monster as we continued up the stairs. Sam was panting harder than I was, and he pushed me toward the door.

“Get them in the car, go!” He shoved me out onto the front lawn before running back into the house.

I opened the door and dumped the kids into the backseat.

“Stay here, okay?”

They nodded, clearly frightened. I shut the door and inched back toward the house, on high alert.

“Dean!” I heard Sam. “Dean! Come on.”

My eyes widened and I sprinted down to the basement. “Dean!”

He was lying on the floor, eyes shut. The rawhead was dead next to him, and both were in a puddle of water. The taser was still in Dean’s hand.

“Dean.” I whimpered, crashing to my knees next to him and grabbing him by the face.

Sam looked up at me and swallowed hard. I shuddered.

                                                             ***

“Sir, I’m so sorry to ask…” The receptionist trailed off, looking pained. “There doesn’t seem to be any insurance on file.”

“Right.” Sam blinked. “Uh, okay.” He flipped through his wallet and pulled out a card.

“Okay, Mr. Burkovitz.” She read off as she hit her keyboard.

I sniffled as two cops came toward us.

“Look, we can finish this up later.”

“No, no.” Sam shook his head. “It’s okay. We were just taking a shortcut through the neighborhood. And, uh, the windows were rolled down, so we heard screaming when we drove past the house. And so we stopped, ran in.”

“And you found the kids in the basement?” The cop asked.

I nodded, and Sam gave them a verbal response.

“Well thank god you did.”

I caught sight of the doctor walking toward us. I patted Sam and nodded toward him.

“Excuse us.”

“Sure. Thanks for your help.”

“Hey doc, is he…” I trailed off, feeling my eyes brew with tears.

Sam reached me, grabbing me by the shoulders.

“He’s resting.”

I let out a breath.

“And?”

The doctor hesitated. “The electrocution triggered a heart attack. Pretty massive, I’m afraid. His heart, it-it’s damaged.”

I felt my chest clench as Sam asked something. The doctor answered, but I couldn’t focus. I stared at the doctor’s shoes, snapping back into reality when I heard the doctor speak again.

“We can’t work miracles. I really am sorry.”

The tears came back and I took a deep breath. Sam grabbed me again, pulling me into his side. He mumbled something to the doctor before pulling me away, toward Dean’s room.

“Does he know?” I asked.

Sam sighed. “Yeah. He does.”

I tugged away from him and ran into Dean’s room. I let out a strained breath. He was pale, so so pale. He had dark circles under his eyes, and they were glazed over as he stared at the TV.

“De…” I whined.

“Have you ever actually watched daytime TV?” Dean scoffed, sounding horribly weak. “It’s terrible.”

Sam padded in behind me, dropping into a chair. “Dean, we talked to your doctor.”

“That fabric softener teddy bear. Oh, I’m gonna hunt that little bitch down.” Dean growled.

“Dean.” I whispered, my heart aching.

He finally looked up, clicking the TV off with a sigh. “Yeah. Alright, well, looks you guys are gonna have to leave town without me.”

I scoffed as Sam shook his head. “What are you talking about? We’re not gonna leave you here.”

“Hey, you better take care of that car. Or I swear, I will haunt your ass.” Dean stared at Sam, serious.

“I don’t think that’s funny.” Sam shook his head.

“Oh, come on. It’s a little funny.” Dean tried to laugh, but he only wheezed.

Nobody said anything, and Sam looked away, fighting tears. I broke, letting out a sob as I looked from him to Dean. Seeing him so weak sent me into panic mode, and I let out another cry. Dean sighed and sat up, opening his arms. I made a bee-line for him, and he patted the free space on the bed. I crawled next to him, sobbing into his neck as he wrapped his arms around me.

“It’s gonna be okay, Ol.” He whispered.

I only cried harder, and I could hear Sam sniffle.

“Look, guys. It’s a dangerous gig. I drew the short straw. That’s it. End of story.”

“Don’t talk like that, Dean. We still have options.” Sam shook his head.

Dean lowered his voice, as if whispering wouldn’t let me hear him. “What options? Burial or cremation. And I know that’s not easy. But I’m gonna die, and you can’t stop it.”

I whimpered again, and his arms tightened around me once more. I heard Sam scoff.

“Watch us.”

                                                            ***

“Hey, Dad. It’s Sam. Uh… you probably won’t even get this, but uh… it’s Dean.” Sam let out a sob and I sunk further into the floor, leaning against the door.

I had been in the bathroom for the last thirty minutes, trying to settle myself while Sam tried to reach Dad.

“He’s sick, and the doctors… they’re saying there’s nothing that they can do… um, but, uh… They don’t know the things we know, right? So, don’t worry, Dad, cause… uh, Olive and I are gonna do whatever it takes… to make him better.” He sniffled. “Alright. I just… I just wanted to let you know.”

I stood and opened the door, wiping at my tears. Sam sniffled, looking up at me. My heart cracked and I ran to him, flinging myself into his arms. We hadn’t found much so far, and I was horrified.

I could live without Dad. I had lived a lot of my life without Dad. I could live without Sam. I had learned to live without him. But Dean? I had said it before and I would say it again. I had a dependency on Dean. Dean had raised me. I hadn’t been away from him for long periods of time. I didn’t know how to live without him, and I didn’t want to learn either. Sam held me against him as my sobs died down.

There was a knock on the door and our heads both snapped up. Sam and I detangled ourselves and wiped at our tears. I snatched the knife from under Dean’s pillow and slid it up my sleeve. Sam looked at me over his shoulder and I nodded, clearing my throat. He pulled the door open, only to reveal Dean leaning against the frame, looking like absolute shit.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Sam was confused, surprised, and overjoyed to see him, all in one.

“I checked myself out.” Dean spoke.

“What? Are you insane?” I asked, dumping the knife onto the bed and running to him.

He immediately slipped from the frame and leaned against me with a grunt. I held onto him, trying to keep him steady as we took baby steps toward the table.

“Well, I’m not gonna die in a hospital where the nurses aren’t even hot.” He scowled.

Sam huffed a laugh and shut the door. I helped Dean sit in a chair and pulled another one up right next to him, looking him over. He was still pale, still had bags under his eyes, and still looked horrible.

“You know, this whole I-laugh-in-the-face-of-death-thing? It’s crap.” Sam settled into the third chair. “I can see right through it.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Dean brushed him off. “Have you even slept? You two look worse than me.”

“Uh, no, actually, we’ve been up for the last three days. Sam’s been scouring the internet, I’ve been calling every contact in Dad’s journal.” I kept staring at Dean.

“For what?”

“For a way to help you. One of Dad’s friends, Joshua. He called back, told Olive about a guy in Nebraska. A specialist.”

Dean scowled. “You’re not gonna let me die in peace, are you?”

I cupped his cheeks and put my forehead to his. “We aren’t gonna let you die, period.”

“Olive’s right. We’re going.” Sam crossed his arms over his chest.

                                                            ***

“Ol, wake up. We’re here.” Sam shook my shoulder.

I grumbled and stretched out, pushing myself out of the car. Dean was leaning against it with a drained look on his face. I held a hand out for him and he took it. Sam scoffed at him and Dean turned and glared. I didn’t have to see his face to know what he was saying.

I’m trying to make her feel better.

“Man, you guys are lying bastards. Thought you said we were going to see a doctor.” Dean scowled as he looked around.

We were parked in a square of muddy grass, a tent pitched and well lit. The sign next to it read: The Church of Roy LeGrange. Faith Healer. Witness the Miracle!

“I think we said specialist.”

“Look, Dean, this guy’s supposed to be the real deal.” Sam coaxed as we inched toward the tent.

“I can’t believe you brought me here to see some guy who heals people out of a tent.” Dean scoffed.

A woman with an umbrella passed by and made a face at Dean. “Reverend LeGrange is a great man.”

“Yeah, that’s nice.” Dean snorted.

“I have a right to protest. This man is a fraud. And he’s milking all these people out of their hard-earned money.” A man was standing with a cop, arguing.

“Sir, this is a place of worship. Let’s go, move it.”

“I take it he’s not part of the flock.” Dean mumbled to me, and I giggled.

“When people see something they can’t explain, there’s controversy.”

“I mean, come on guys, a faith healer?”

Sam shrugged. “Maybe it’s time to have a little faith, Dean.”

“You know what I’ve got faith in?” Dean pulled me closer to his side as he spoke. “Reality. Knowing what’s really going on.”

“Dean, how can you be a skeptic? With the things we see everyday?”

“Exactly. We see them, we know they’re real.” Dean hissed.

“De, I think what Sam is trying to say is that if we know evil’s out there, how can we not believe that there’s good out there too?”

“Because I’ve seen what evil does to good people, Ollie.” Dean sighed.

“Maybe God works in mysterious ways.” A young woman spoke, overhearing our conversation.

Dean’s head turned and he checked her out, a smile growing on his pale face. “Maybe he does. I think you just turned me around on the subject.”

The young woman laughed. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

“I’m Dean. That’s Sam, this is Olive.” Dean held his hand out.

“Layla. So, if you’re not a believer, then why are you here?”

“Well, apparently my brother and sister here believe enough for the three of us.”

An older woman approached, putting her arm around Layla. “Come on, Layla. It’s about to start.”

The women smiled at the three of us before disappearing into the tent. Dean huffed. “Well, I bet you she can work in some mysterious ways.”

I whacked the back of his head and Sam rolled his eyes as he led the way into the tent. There was another sign that read: Welcome All Faiths. True Believers Revival. The tent was full of people finding seats, a small stage at the front with a lectern and candles on it. Dean’s eyes scanned the place while Sam’s scanned the seats and I looked at the people. It was a weird vibe, and I did not care for it one bit, but we were here to get Dean better, not make friends.

“Yeah, peace, love, and trust all over.” Dean snorted.

Sam and I followed his gaze, landing on a security camera. Sam and I looked at each other and shrugged. Dean wanted to take a seat near the back, but Sam put an arm around him and pushed him forward.

“Come on.”

“Don’t. What are you doing? Let’s just sit in the back.” Dean pleaded.

“We’re sitting up front.”

“What?” Dean’s green eyes widened. “Why?”

“Come on.” Sam pushed again.

“Oh, come on. Sam. Olive.”

“Dean, just trust us.” I squeezed his hand and pulled him to sit in one of the three empty seats behind Layla and the woman, who was probably her mother.

“Perfect.” Sam grinned at me.

“Yeah, perfect.” Dean repeated, voice dripping with sarcasm.

We pushed Dean to the aisle seat, leaving me sandwiched between my brothers. An older man with sunglasses was being helped to the lectern by a woman.

“Each morning, my wife Sue Ann reads me the news. Never seems good, does it?”

The crowd roared in agreement, and I shrunk down in my seat. Both Sam and Dean noticed. Sam’s hand came out to hold mine and Dean wrapped an arm around my shoulders.

“Seems like there’s always someone committing some immoral, unspeakable act.”

As he spoke, I stared up at Dean, worried. I hoped this man could fix him. I couldn’t lose him.

“But I say to you, God is watching. God rewards the good, and He punishes the corrupt.”

Dean’s eyes were set on the man, narrowed. He was taking everything in, judging it all. I sniffled and snuggled into his side. I wasn’t entirely sure what we had just walked into, none of us were. I was panicked about everything.

“Is is the Lord who does the healing here, friends. The Lord who guides me in choosing who to heal by helping me see into people’s hearts.”

The crowd kept agreeing, and Dean leaned to whisper to Sam over my head. “Yeah, and into their wallets.”

“You think so, young man?”

My heart dropped into my stomach as the crowd fell silent. I looked between Sam and Dean, panicked. Dean grew embarrassed and he cleared his throat.

“Sorry.” He mumbled.

“No, no. Don’t be. Just watch what you say around a blind man. We’ve got real sharp ears.” LeGrange laughed, as did the crowd. “What’s your name, son?”

Dean looked down at me, hesitant. I nodded, and he cleared his throat again.

“Dean.”

“Dean.” LeGrange nodded to himself. “I want you to come up here with me.”

The crowd lost it, clapping like there was no tomorrow. Layla and her mother stayed still, and I tilted my head. What was their deal?

“No, it’s okay.” Dean shook his head.

Sam and I looked at him in disbelief. “What are you doing?”

“You’ve come here to be healed, haven’t you?”

Dean hesitated once more. “Well, yeah, but uh… maybe you should just pick somebody else.”

I glared at Dean, and he cowered away from me. It was obvious that he didn’t like being on the receiving end of the look.

“Go.” Sam hissed.

“Oh, no. I didn’t pick you, Dean. The Lord did.”

The crowd got louder, more excited.

“Dean Michael Winchester. Get up there. Right now. I will not live a life without you.” I spoke through gritted teeth, and Dean sighed as he slowly got to his feet. Sue Ann helped him onto the stage, pushing him to stand right in front of LeGrange.

“You ready?”

“Look, no disrespect, but uh… I’m not exactly a believer.” Dean grimaced.

LeGrange only smiled at him. “You will be, son. You will be.” He turned to the crowd. “Pray with me, friends.”

As the crowd lifted their hands to the air, Sam and I looked at each other. He reached for my hands and tugged me close to him. We stayed silent as LeGrange put on one on Dean’s shoulder and the other on the side of his head. Sam shut his eyes, but I couldn’t bring myself to do the same. I watched as Dean’s eyes glazed over and he fell to his knees. I felt myself shaking, and Sam was mumbling something, eyes squeezed shut.

“God, please.” It was a whisper.

I looked back to see Dean shaking. His eyes rolled into the back of his head and he fell onto his back.

“Dean!” I ripped myself from Sam and bolted out into the aisle, jumping onto the stage.

The crowd was going crazy, clapping, cheering, whistling. Sam was on my tail, grabbing Dean by the front of the hoodie. Dean’s eyes burst open and he gasped.

“Dean, say something!” Sam begged.

Dean only stared at something behind us. I turned, but the only thing there was LeGrange. I grabbed Dean by the back of the neck and tried to get him to look at me.

“Dean.”

He blinked, then pulled me into a hug, crashing into me. Sam joined us as he fell to his knees. I began to cry, and Dean held me tighter as Sam wrapped his arms around us.

                                                            ***

“So, you really feel okay?” Sam asked.

Dean looked unhappy, but after last night, he said he felt okay. “I feel fine, Sam.” He hissed.

“Well, according to all your tests, there’s nothing wrong with your heart. No sign there ever was. Not that a man your age should be having heart trouble, but, still it’s strange it does happen.” The doctor spoke as he walked into the room.

Dean recoiled. “What do you mean, strange?”

“Well, just yesterday, a young guy like you, twenty-seven, athletic. Out of nowhere, heart attack.” The doctor shook his head.

Dean seemed to think for a moment. “Thanks, Doc.”

The doctor said it was no problem as he left the room. Dean shook his head.

“That’s odd.”

I pushed myself up onto the bed next to Dean. “Maybe it’s a coincidence. People’s hearts give out all the time, De.”

“No, they don't.” Dean shook his head again.

“Look, Dean, do we really have to look this one in the mouth? Why can’t we just be thankful that the guy saved your life and move on?”

“Because I can’t shake this feeling, that’s why.” Dean mumbled.

I grabbed Dean by the cheek and turned him toward me. “What feeling, Dean?”

He sighed. “When I was healed, I just… I felt wrong.” He sighed, looking at me. “I felt cold. And for a second… I saw someone. This, uh, this old man.” He looked down. “And I’m telling you guys, it was a spirit.”

I nodded. I knew he had been staring at something, I just hadn’t seen it myself. Sam sighed.

“But if there was something there, don’t you think Olive and I would’ve seen it too? I mean, I’ve been seeing an awful lot of things lately.”

I looked at him. I hadn’t been seeing anything but nightmares as of late.

“Well excuse me, psychic wonder. But you’re just gonna need a little faith on this one.” Dean snipped at Sam, who blinked.

“I think what Dean means is that he’s been hunting long enough to trust a feeling like this.” I spoke to Sam.

“Yeah, alright.” Sam sighed. “So what do you guys wanna do?”

Dean slung an arm around my shoulders. “I want you two to go check out heart attack guy. I’m gonna visit the reverend.”

                                                            ***

“I’m telling ya, he seemed healthy.” The employee shook his head. “Swam every day. Didn’t smoke. So a heart attack? It just seemed kinda bizarre.”

“And you said he was running? Right before he collapsed?” I asked.

“Yeah, yeah. He was freaking out. He said that something was, uh, was after him.”

Sam and I glanced at each other.

“Did he say what?”

“Well, thin air is what. I mean, there wasn’t anything there.”

“Alright, thanks.” Sam sighed.

I looked up at the clock. Dean said he wouldn’t take long, but he did take Baby, so Sam and I were trying to make it to the motel before the rain hit.

“Hey, uh, your clock is busted.” I pointed.

“Oh yeah, we uh, can’t get it working. Just froze at 4:17.”

I swallowed hard and Sam turned back. “Is that the same time Marshall died?”

“Yeah.” The guy snorted. “How’d you know?”

                                                            ***

Dean tossed his keys onto the bed as he shut the door with his foot. Sam was on his laptop, and I was curled up next to him, knees to my chest.

“What did you guys find out?” Dean asked as he pulled his jacket off.

“We’re sorry.” I mumbled.

“What? Sorry about what, baby?” Dean grew instantly concerned, coming to kneel in front of me.

I bit my lip and Sam sighed. “Marshall Hall died at 4:17.”

Dean blinked. “The exact time I was healed.”

I nodded. “We’re sorry. We didn’t know.”

Dean looked from Sam and to me. I sniffled, blinking back tears.

“Oh, sweetheart. It’s okay. It’s alright. Come here.” He stood and scooped me out of the seat, taking it and placing me in his lap.

“We put together a list of everyone Roy’s healed.”

“Six people over the past year, so we cross-checked them with the local obituaries.”

Sam sighed. “Every time someone was healed, someone else died.”

“And each time, the victim died of the same symptom LeGrange was healing.” I looked up at Dean.

He nodded. “So someone’s healed of cancer, someone else dies of cancer?”

Sam nodded. “Somehow, LeGrange… he’s trading a life for another.”

“Wait, wait, wait. So Marshall Hall died to save me?” Dean asked.

I looked back down and Sam’s shoulders fell. “Dean, the guy probably would’ve died anyway.”

“And somebody else would’ve been healed. Not you.” I spoke softly, looking up at Dean again.

“You guys never should’ve brought me here.”

“Dean, we were just trying to save your life.” Sam pleaded.

“But now some guy is dead because of me.”

“Dean, we didn’t know.” I stressed. “We didn’t know. Look, if we hadn’t come here, we wouldn’t have found out! And this would’ve kept happening over and over and over again.” I sighed.

“Olive, what are you saying?” Dean looked down at me with furrowed eyebrows.

“She’s saying that we found this case because you were hurt. Without you being healed, more people would’ve kept dying.”

“The thing we don’t understand is how is he doing it? How’s he trading a life for a life?”

Dean shook his head. “Oh, he’s not doing it. No, something else is doing it for him.”

“What do you mean, De?”

“The old man I saw on stage…” He sighed. “I didn’t wanna believe it, but deep down I knew.”

“You knew?” Sam blinked. “What are you talking about?”

I sighed. “There’s only one thing that can give and take life like that.”

“What? What are you guys talking about?”

“We’re dealing with a reaper, Sams.”

Sam blinked. “You guys really think it’s The Grim Reaper? Like… angel of death, collect your soul, the whole deal?”

Dean and I shook our heads, practically in unison. “No, no, no, not the reaper. A reaper.”

“What?”

I reached over and snatched the laptop, pulling up the Wikipedia page for reapers. “There’s reaper law in pretty much every culture on Earth. It goes by hundreds of different names, but it’s possible that there’s more than one of them.”

“But Dean said he saw a guy in a suit.” Sam’s eyebrows furrowed.

“What, you think he should’ve been rocking a black robe? Sam, how do you guys know what time Marshall died?”

I sighed. “The clock stopped. Reapers stop time. And you can only see them when they’re coming at you. Which is why Dean could see it and we couldn’t.” I explained.

Sam shook his head. “Maybe.”

“It’s not maybe, Sam. There’s nothing else it could be. The question is, how is Roy controlling it?”

“That cross.” Sam mumbled.

Dean and I looked at each other, then back to Sam. “What?”

“There was this cross. I noticed it in the church and I knew I had seen it before.” Sam began to tear through the papers on the table, snorting when he found what he wanted. “Here.”

“A tarot?” Dean asked as I took the card, holding it where we could both see it.

“It makes sense. A tarot dates back to the early Christian era. When some priests were still using magic. And a few of them veered into the dark stuff?”

I nodded, catching on. “Necromancy and how to push death away. How to cause it.”

“So Roy’s using black magic to bind the reaper?”

Sam snorted. “If he is then he’s riding the whirlwind.”

“It’s like putting a dog leash on a great white.”

Dean nodded. “Okay.” He tapped my side and I slid off into the other chair as he went for a beer. “Okay, then we stop Roy.”

“How?”

“You know how.”

“Wait, what the hell are you saying, Dean? We can’t kill Roy.”

“Sam, the guy’s playing God. Deciding who lives and who dies? That’s a monster in my book.”

“No, we can’t Dean. Then we’re no better than he is.”

Dean crossed his arms over his chest. “Okay, fine. We can’t kill Roy, we can’t kill death itself. Any ideas, kids?”

Sam and I looked at each other and sighed. “Black magic is about spells…” I trailed off, unsure of what I was getting at.

“That’s it!” Sam jumped. “If he’s using some sort of spell on the reaper, we can figure out what it is.”

“And figure out how to break it.” I grinned.

                                                            ***

“If Roy’s using a spell, there might be a book.” I said as we bounded out of the car.

“Sam, see if you can find it. Take Olive with you.” Dean checked his watch. “Hurry up too, the service starts in fifteen minutes. I’ll try to stall roy.”

The man from earlier, who had been fighting with the cop, held a pamphlet out to Dean. “Roy LeGrange is a fraud. He’s no healer.”

I snorted a laugh, and Dean took the paper.

“Amen brother.”

“You keep up the good work.” Sam clapped his shoulder.

                                                            ***

Sam got down on one knee and clasped his hands together. “Up you go.”

I carefully stepped onto him and got a grasp on the window sill, pulling myself up the rest of the way. I tumbled into the house quietly, Sam following without a word. LeGrange and his wife had just left.

“Split up?” I asked.

He shook his head. “No, better if we stick together.”

I nodded as we looked around. Sam must’ve noticed something about a certain book, because he went straight for it, pulling it off the shelf. I went for the desk, pulling out drawers and shuffling through papers. Sam scoffed, then gasped.

“What is it?” I looked up.

“Found it, I think.” He said.

I went to his side as he flipped the small book open. Inside, there was a picture of a skeleton reaper, a picture of the cross he mentioned. Newspaper clippings on the people who had died. Marshall Law, who had died for Dean, was an openly gay schoolteacher. Another woman, found dead in the woods, was an abortion rights advocate. A third clipping slipped from the book and onto the floor. While Sam kept flipping, I bent down and grabbed it.

“Shit.” I mumbled.

“What is it?” Sam looked at me.

I showed him the paper. It was the man who was handing out pamphlets. David Wright.

“Call Dean.” Sam ordered, fishing for the keys in his pocket. “Now.”

I dialed Dean’s number as Sam gathered the book and the clippings. He nodded toward the window, and I hoisted myself over the ledge with a grunt as Dean picked up.

“Hey, pumpkin. Whatcha got?”

“He’s choosing victims he sees as immoral. And we found his next target. Remember that protestor?”

“Parking lot pamphlet guy?”

“Yeah, him. Sam and I can find him, but you can’t let LeGrange heal anyone, alright?”

“Yeah, alright. Be careful.”

“Always. Love you.”

“Love you guys too.”

Sam grabbed me by the wrist and pulled me alongside him, rushing to the car.

                                                            ***

“Help!” There was a scream, and Sam’s eyes bugged out of his head.

“Where?”

I turned, spinning on my toes to see Wright running around a car.

“Help! Help me! Please!”

“Where is he?” Sam sprinted his way, grabbing him by the shoulders.

“Right there!” Wright screamed.

I flipped the video camera open and aimed it to where he pointed as Sam dragged Wright with us.

“Bug, anything?”

“Nope! Gonna have to go off his word.” I let the camera fall to the side and cocked the shotgun.

“Where is he now?”

“There!” He pointed behind Sam.

“Duck!” I ordered as I aimed.

I shot, and nothing happened.

“He’s gone.”

“What?”

My phone buzzed, and I flipped it open.

“Okay, I did it. I stopped LeGrange.”

I nodded. “Okay. Okay, David, I think it’s okay.”

He nodded, turning around. He screamed, and I snapped up to see the ugliest, wrinkliest old man I had ever seen, as tall as Sam, sticking his hand into Wright’s head.

“Dean! It didn’t work! Reaper’s still coming!” I squeaked as I shot again.

The reaper looked at me and hissed, pushing his hand further into Wright’s head. I panted, horrified.

“What? I stopped him!”

“I’m telling you, it didn’t work! LeGrange must not be the one controlling this thing.” I whimpered. “Dean, I can see him.”

“Shit. Shit, okay. Okay. So if it’s not Roy, then who the hell is it?” Dean became frantic, and I took another shot.

It did absolutely nothing to the reaper, but he seemed angry as all hell. Sam shook his hand in front of my face.

“Olive, what the hell are you looking at?”

“Sammy…” I gulped. “I think I pissed him off.”

“Sue Ann.” I heard Dean grumble, then a thud.

The line went dead, and Sam grabbed me by the shoulders, trying to pull me into him and protect me. The reaper took its hand away from Wright and stared at us. He blinked before turning away and vanishing. I let out a breath as Sam moved to help Wright get up.

“I got you. I got you.”

“Thank god.” Wright panted.

                                                            ***

“So Roy really believes.” Sam sighed.

He was criss-cross on his bed, in flannel pajama pants and an old shirt. He was tired, leaning back on his arms as we brainstormed.

“I don’t think he has any idea what his wife’s doing.” Dean shook his head, running a hand through my hair.

He was sitting up in his bed, back against the headboard. I was laying down next to him, my head resting on his lap and my arms curled against my chest.

“We found the book.” I mumbled, pulling it out of my back pocket and holding it out to Dean. “Hidden in their library. Written by a priest who went dark side. Binding spell in there for trapping a reaper.”

Dean sighed. “Must be a hell of a spell.”

“Yeah.” Sam snorted. “You gotta build a black alter with seriously dark stuff. Bones, human blood. To cross a line like that, a preacher’s wife… Black magic. Murder. Evil.”

“Desperate.” I cut him off as I looked up at Dean, who was still smoothing my hair back. “Her husband was dying and she didn’t have anything to save him.”

Dean nodded. “She was using the binding spell to keep the reaper away from Roy.”

“Cheating death. Literally.” Sam sighed.

“Yeah, but Roy’s alive, so why is she still using the spell?” Dean asked.

“Right. Power went to her head, now she’s forcing the reaper to kill people she thinks are immoral.” I closed my eyes and sighed.

“May God save us from half the people who think they’re doing God's work.” Dean scowled.

“De, we have to break that binding spell.” I opened my eyes and forced myself to sit up.

Dean nodded as he flipped through the book, stopping at a picture of the cross. “Sue Ann had a coptic cross like this. When she dropped it, you guys said the reaper backed off.”

“So you’re thinking we gotta find the cross? Or destroy the altar?”

Dean nodded again. “Maybe both.” He sighed. “Whatever we do, we better do it soon, or he’s healing Layla tonight.”

                                                            ***

“That’s Layla’s car. She’s already here.” Sam spoke as Dean put the car into park.

“Yeah.” He nodded, sad.

“Dean…” I trailed off, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“You know if Roy would’ve picked Layla instead of me she’d be here right now. And if she’s not healed tonight she’s gonna die in a couple of months.”

I sighed, and Sam spoke. “What’s happening to her is horrible. But what’re you gonna do? Let somebody else die to save her? You said it yourself, Dean. You can’t play God.”

Dean said nothing, and I squeezed his shoulder. He reached up and placed his hand over mine. I pressed a kiss to the side of his head before getting out of the car. Dean and Sam did the same, and we shut the three doors at the same time, trying to make the least noise possible.

Dean still looked sad. I held my hand out for him as we snuck towards the tent. He took it with a sigh as Sam peeled back the curtain and we peeked in.

Layla and her mother, along with a small group of people, were sitting with LeGrange.

“Gather round, please, everybody gather round. Come in closer, come on up.”

“Where’s Sue Ann?” I whispered.

“House.” Sam answered, letting the curtain fall back as he stood straight.

We walked slowly over to the house, and I was thankful that the grass made our footsteps disappear. We ducked next to the side of the porch, hidden by a few bushes.

“You two go find Sue Ann, I’ll catch up.” Dean pushed me away, into Sam.

Sam grabbed me by the shoulders, tugging me to stand in front of him as Dean shuffled away. “What are you gonna…”

“Hey!” Dean shouted, attracting the attention of two men coming down the stairs. “You gonna put that fear of God in me?” He taunted, moving his hips from side to side like a matador waving a flag at a bull.

The men dropped their coffees and ran at Dean, who immediately took off.

“Come on.” Sam whispered, grabbing my hand and pulling me toward the stairs.

He pushed the door open. The entire house was silent and dark. I shivered. This place gave me worse vibes than the tent did.

“Where is she?” I whispered, and Sam shook his head as we turned around, trying to find her.

Sam saw something and grabbed me by the wrist. I peeked over his shoulder to see cracks of light coming from the basement door. He squared his shoulders as he led us toward the door. He licked his lips and looked at me over his shoulder. He put a finger up to his lips.

Stay quiet.

I nodded, holding his hand as he slipped inside, holding the door open for me with his foot. He picked me up by the waist and set me down in front of him on the steps, shutting the door softly. I padded down the stairs, stopping at the front of the room. There was a candle-lit altar littered with dead animals. Horns, blood, eyeballs, everything you could imagine. I felt bile rise in my throat, and it my eyes burned with hatred when I saw the center of the altar.

It was a photo of Dean, obviously pulled from the security camera from before he was healed. His face was crossed out. In blood. Sam gasped from beside me, and there was the click of a heel.

“I gave your brother life and I can take it away.” Sue Ann hissed.

“You fucking bitch!” I shouted, running at her as Sam flipped the altar over.

I caught a hold of her arm, nails raking down her skin, but she kicked at me, landing me in the ankle, and hard. An animal-like growl left my throat and I went crashing to the ground. I tore skin off her arm, and it was left hanging in my hand as she closed the door and put a wooden beam in front of it. Sam moved me aside and shoved as hard as he could, but the door stayed locked.

“Can’t you kids see? The Lord chose me to reward the just and punish the wicked. And your brother is wicked and he deserves to die just as Layla deserves to live. It is God’s will.” She cackled, and blood surged in my veins.

I wasn’t upset. I wasn’t angry. I was hungry for her blood. I wanted to rip her limb from fucking limb and watch the life leave her eyes as I did. The emotions inside me were too strong to be human, but I didn’t care. I wanted Dean safe, and I wanted Sue Ann gone forever.

“Goodbye, Sam. Goodbye, Olive.”

Sam looked around the room, trying to find something to help us break down the lock. I growled again and threw myself at it with the full weight of my body. I heard a crack, and I didn’t know if it was my bones or the beam, but it was something.

“Olive, no!” Sam shouted, but it was too late.

I threw myself at it again. The wood splintered.

“Olive, we can find another way out of here!” Sam shouted, shaking me by the shoulders.

I understood what he was saying. I was processing his words. But I was so angry, so utterly fucking enraged, that I slapped his hands away and went back to the door, slamming my shoulder against it. A splinter embedded itself in my shoulder and I grunted, gritting my teeth so hard they felt like they would snap.

“Olive!”

“Shut up!” I howled, throwing myself against the door one last time.

The beam cracked, and the doors swung open. I stood, panting. Sam stared at me and said something, but I no longer understood. I spit the blood that had made its way to my mouth and let out a huff.

“Dean.”

It didn’t sound like me. It sounded like some badly-edited creature from an 80s horror movie, but I knew what it meant. I wouldn’t be able to stop until Dean was safe. I turned on my heel and ran in the direction of the tent, leaving Sam to stare at me.

I moved as fast as I could, which seemed faster than normal. Sue Ann was hidden beside the tent, chanting something while she held up the cross in one hand. She had a bottle of blood in the other hand.

She screamed as I snapped the cross over my knee, then smacked the blood out of her hand, leaving it to shatter on the ground. I stood in front of her, panting with my teeth bared.

“My God, what have you done!”

“He’s not your God.” Sam spat as I tried to lunge at her.

I wanted blood. Her blood. I wanted to rip her to pieces.

“Olive! Olive, no!” Sam caught me by the waist, pulling me back. “No! No! Olive, stop!” He shouted as he turned me over and grabbed me by the face.

He stared, eyes wide. “Olive, go find Dean.”

I only stared back, panting. I wanted to kill her, and it was the only thing I could think about. He tucked my hair behind my ears and knelt down to be eye-level with me. “Dean.”

I nodded. “Dean.”

It was the same voice, that of a horrible creature, but it didn’t matter. What mattered now was Dean. I sprinted across the parking lot. A car pulled out in front of me, and the horn honked, but I was so focused on Dean that I jumped onto the hood and slid over it.

“Baby!” I heard Dean.

“Dean!” I screamed.

The other voice was scaring me.

Dean. Dean. Dean.

“Sweetheart! Oh, princess! Come here, Ollie.” Dean was within reach, arms outstretched.

I jumped into them, wrapping my arms and legs around him.

“Dean.” Still not me. 

I breathed. “Dean.” More like me. 

“Dean.”

It became my voice again, and my head started pounding. Dean held me in his grip, rocking me back and forth as I calmed down.

“Hey. You okay?”

It was Sam.

“Hell of a week.”

“Yeah. Come on, we gotta get going.”

I blinked, feeling drained. Dean kissed the side of my head, and the stupid voice popped back in.

Dean’s safe. You can rest now.

                                                            ***

“Dean, I’m telling you. It wasn’t her. It wasn’t Olive. Okay, whatever the hell is was was out for blood. The way she attacked… I’ve never seen anything attack like before in my entire life.” The middle Winchester presses as he peeks in the rear view mirror.

The youngest of the three is sleeping peacefully in the backseat, one boy’s jacket wrapped around her and the other under her head like a pillow. She’s been out for the last few hours. After they stopped the reaper, after she knew Dean was safe, Olive fell into a dead sleep.

“Sam, you don’t know what you’re talking about.” Dean’s tone is firm.

It’s a warning.

“Dean, come on! It’s like she wasn’t human!”

“Quiet.” Dean hisses.

He’ll be damned if Olive wakes up because of this, damned if she finds out this way. She doesn’t know.

“The hell do you mean, wasn’t human? We raised her, we know for a fact that she’s human.”  Dean speaks through gritted teeth.

“But Dean, the-”

“The what? The fangs? The look in her eyes? The voice? You don’t think I’ve seen her like that? Seen her out for fucking blood, Sam?” Dean cuts him off and pulls into a motel parking lot.

It’s late. He’s tired, and he wants this conversation to be over. Sam gasps as realization settles in.

“You know something.”

“I don’t know what you think I know, Sam, but I can promise that I don’t know jack shit.” Dean jams a finger into his younger brother’s chest.

“Fine. But the next time that demon comes out to play and skins someone, it’s on you.” Sam huffs.

It’s a trap. He didn’t mention that Olive ripped skin off Sue Ann’s arm.

“She’s not a demon and she can’t skin anybody.” Dean snaps, and is filled with immediate regret. 

Sam shakes his head. “You do know something.”

Dean sighs. He turns around to look at Olive. She’s still dead asleep, snoring and drooling like a baby. He sighs again. He motions to Sam and steps out of the car. Sam follows, and they meet at the trunk of the car. Dean hoists himself onto it, and Sam leans against it.

“What is she, Dean?”

Dean shakes his head. “She’s a kid. She’s a baby. My baby. She’s my responsibility, Sam. That’s what she is.”

“Dean, please. Just tell me what she is. She’s not human. That much is obvious.”

Dean shakes his head once more and looks up to the sky, tears in his eyes.

“Dean.”

“I can’t tell you, Sammy. You gotta understand.”

Sam scoffs. “Dean, she’s dangerous.”

“The hell she is!” Dean raises his voice, and this time it’s enough to wake Olive.

She shifts in the backseat, her eyes cracking open. Her brothers don’t notice.

“Dean-”

“She won’t hurt anybody. Okay? Not anybody that isn’t trying to hurt us.”

“What?”

Dean sighs again, and Olive strains to listen. 

“It only happens when one of us is about to die. When she knows for sure that something she can physically stop is about to kill us.”

Sam sighs, and Dean shakes his head, tears falling down his face.

“Look Sam, that's all I can tell you.”

“What is she?” Sam asks again.

Olive’s heart thumps in her chest. Sam is scared of her now. She hears Dean tell Sam to stop asking.

“I’m not gonna tell you.”

Sam scoffs, and Olive’s eyes threaten to fill with tears. Her nose burns. She can feel it coming.

“Dean, I love her, you know that, but monsters can’t be good. You know that. Push comes to shove, one day we will have to-”

“Don’t you fucking dare say that to me.” Dean cuts him off, and Olive finally begins to cry.

“She’s my kid. She doesn’t know. All she knows is that she gets protective. Now, she’s my baby, and I’m never gonna lay a hand on her. You hear me?”

“Dean-”

“And neither will you. Do you fucking understand me?”

“Dean-”

“Sam.” Dean snarls. “Do you understand me?”

Sam sighs, and Olive pops up in her seat. Dean whacks Sam’s arm upon seeing her. Sam mumbles an agreement, and Dean makes his way to the back door of the car, opening it.

“Morning, princess.”

Olive sniffs as Dean lifts her out of the car. She is drained, exhausted. Dean shoots Sam a look. The conversation is over, and he has no plans of starting it ever again.

Previous Ep: Scarecrow (1.11)

Next Ep: Route 666 (1.13)

[heythrrdelilah]

Into the Dark (Sam Winchester x Female! Reader)

Warnings: None for now, however, from the next chapter on, there will be the following; smut, angst, fluff, mature content, and violence (come on it’s supernatural there must be some violence)

Word count: 1,800 even

A little about me since I am new to tumblr: I am 20 years old, from the southeastern part of the United States, going to college with the goal of getting my masters in science of nursing, and married to a Chinese born man. I am new to tumblr, but I have been writing on wattpad for 9 years and have recently discovered AO3. I love to write series, so this will be my first on tumblr but one of many in total. I write for many different fandoms, just be sure to write which one in the request. I will write requests for one shots, imagines, and series. I have been in the supernatural fandom since i was five years old, due to my stepfather (sad excuse of a “man”) who was a fan of Jensen in Smallville and had the need to watch the new (at the time) show that looked badass with Jensen in it. Ever since I have been whipped. I have always been a Sam girl, however sometimes, recently, I catch myself having slight feelings for Dean. I love feedback (good and bad) so i can learn how to improve for your benefit.  I hope you enjoy!  T 

Chapter One: 

You wake up from your deep sleep, three loud knocks came from your motel room door. You already know it’s the owner kicking you out at check out. The past few days have been intense and it made you exhausted. You checked the time on your phone, seeing that you were in fact, asleep for 12 hours. It was all made up time from sleep you lost the past few nights hunting the vampires who were murdering a mass amount of people in this small town. Doing it on your own was hard, but you managed to have success in every hunt. The knocks grew louder so you swing your legs off of the bed, shouting to the door, “Yeah Im leaving! Hold your horses!” You shook your head and began packing up, putting toothpaste on your toothbrush, brushing your teeth as you packed to save time. When you slipped on your boots and were about to head out, the motel manager was leaned up against the wall shaking his head. If only he knew that his life could have been one of the many you saved the past few days. 

You threw your pink suitcase into the trunk of your ‘67 Volkswagen Beatle and drove off to the diner down the road. You parked the car and sat at the same booth you have been sitting in the past four days. The waiter greeted you with a warm smile, “I heard you solved the case. Just about to head out of town?” She placed a coffee cup in front of you, already knowing what you’ll order. You nod and pull out your laptop, searching for any new leads. You thanked the waiter for searving your coffee, you weren’t much of an eater. You were definitely a foodie when it came to appreciation, you just always managed to not be hungry and forget to eat regularly. You scrolled through news articles from all over the country and found a possible crossroad demon case in Springfield, Missouri. You finished your black coffee, paid the waiter and hopped back into your car, map out in the passenger seat, following directions to Springfield. 

Hours later, you pulled into the small town of Springfield, Missouri and checked into a run down motel called the “Sanderson Motel” where you set up your laptop, ready to find more information. 

After studying, you changed into your pencil skirt that matched your blue blazer. You were going as an FBI agent, per usual, so you made sure to grab the right wallet with the badge on your way back out to your car. 

When you arrived at the scene of the latest body, you walked up to see two FBI agents already there. Just great, you thought to yourself. Now you had to pray these two agents wouldn’t suspect you were a fake. They were both handsome, probably ten or so years older. The taller one really managed to fill out his suit, with his hair tucked behind his ears it made his facial features really stand out. He was talking to a local deputy while the shorter of the two, who wasn’t bad looking either, was looking around the cones. You took a deep breath and walked up to the taller agent and the short plump deputy. You flashed your badge swiftly and began your performance, “I see you have beat me to the scene agent. I can take over from here though. Your supervisor has relieved you from this case.” You confidently moved the attention to the crime scene. “Can you explain in detail what happened here?” You asked the deputy, not giving the agent much time to respond. “Well as I was telling your colleague here, the girl seemed to have been bitten by a dog. I’m still confused why the federal authorities are involved with an animal attack,” The deputy looked as though he was easily intimidated as he nervously pulled at his pockets when he spoke. “Not everything is just as it seems agent. We just want to be extra cautious,” You state, glancing him up and down. You were normally shy, but you couldn’t be when on the case. It was like you were a confident new being. 

“Exactly,” Said the taller agent. He arched his brow down at you, “Can you remind me of your name, er, agent?” You nod once, internally standing on thin ice. Afraid one wrong move would expose you. “Agent McCall. Now, The body was taken to the morge already?” You wanted to confirm, mostly changing the topic back to the deputy. “Well gentlemen, I am going to take a look around,” you nod once and began looking around the crime scene. You could not help but to notice the taller agent had pulled the grungy of the two, to the side and were staring at you while talking. You tried to ignore it, not trying to worry yourself anymore than necessarry, but they began to walk towards you. 

“There must have been some mix up, Agent McCall, our supervisor strictly put us on this case,” The Scruffy one stated, arching a brow. They were onto you. You knew it. “Well, I guess we will see who solves it first then. You gentlemen contact me if you see anything… out of the ordinary. Okay?” You state, handing them a fake contact card before swiftly walking back to your car. You went back to your motel, wondering mostly about the case, but partially if those agents figured out you were an impersonator. You shook the thought from your head as you changed back into your blue jeans and white long sleeve T-shirt. You threw on your favorite boots to go along with your green cargo jacket. Next stop was the first victims mother.

You pulled up to the driveway of the middle-aged woman’s home, and noticed the black Impala from the crime scene earlier. It was hard to miss. Your eyes wandered to the window of the house. The FBI must actually have been getting better at their jobs lately to already be at the victims home this fast. You thought twice about going up to her door, they could blow your cover, however if you dropped in, you could listen in. You took a deep breath and walked to the door, knocking gently.

“I’m sorry in running behind my colleagues here. I didn’t want you to feel too intimidated by all suits. I know that’s the last thing you need right now. I’m agent McCall, ” You showed your badge before shaking the tall, brunette woman’s hair. She did not look old enough to have a teenage son if you looked at her. The agents looked up at you, slight annoyance gleaming from their eyes.

They nodded, “so nice of you to join us.” The agent with lighter hair grumbled. You made your way to the couch. “Ms. Winfrey, I just want to make sure I’m caught up, have you seen your son, contacting anyone strange lately? By lately I mean, anyone in the last ten years?” This was a normal FBI question that actually helped in the case of a crossroads demon. If it were a serial killer, the mother would think it was a normal question. “As I told your partners, not that I know of. The only person I could think of was an older gentlemen… ” The interview dragged on. The agents had asked some questions that seemed relevant to yours, so it went smoothly.

Outside of the home, the agents did not even think to look at you before hopping into their car and driving off. Maybe they didn’t notice you were a fraud FBI.

Hours had passed and you were watching the Winfrey house from a distance, in case anything happened. That’s when you heard a scream. You pulled the knife from your jacket and the gun from your passenger seat, placing it in your inner, jacket pocket. You stepped out of your car, and in a crouched position, you made your way to the same window you were peaking into earlier,right next to the front door. A man was standing close to Ms. Winfrey, stating what looked like, “we made a deal, time to pay your end.” You kicked ran into the door, but you weren’t the only one. Coming from the back door, you heard a loud crash. The two agents from earlier barreled in, no longer in their suits but casual wear. They were yielding a demon-killing knife, just like yours, and a gun as well. So these were obviously not agents. “You’re a hunter?” The lighter haired one arched a brow. He looked completely lost. You rolled your eyes and stuck your knife into the back of the crossroad demon. He was no longer an issue. He was too amused by the crash, he hadn’t noticed you right behind him. It was an easy kill.

“Now we can have that conversation,” You sighed and stuffed the knife into your boot. You turned your attention to Ms. Winfrey, who was clutching her hand to her heart, taking deep breaths. “What. The. Fuck? "She stated between breaths. ” Who are you people? “ She asked when she calmed herself enough. You walked over to her and shook your head politely, "it doesn’t matter who we are. It matters who he was. That was a crossroads demon. You have had to of sold your soul to him for something. I’m guessing your son did too, along with the other victim. If you never want to see us again… Stay out of trouble.” You swiftly walked out of the house, but not quick enough so the other guys caught you before you steppe inside. “Hunters? ” You ask, arching a brow to the men. They towered over your height. They nod slightly. “You?” The shorter of the two returned, cocking his head slightly to the side. Nodding, you pull the long sleeve shirt you were wearing at the collar, just enough to show your anti-posession tattoo. Not all hunters have them, however, the better ones did. These guys knew that. “I’m Dean, and this is my brother Sam. Winchesters,” The shorter one averted his eyes from your collar bone, smirking. “Y/N, I’ve heard of you two. Anyways, thanks for that distraction guys. it really allowed me to kill the crossroads demon a lot faster and easier than planned. I’m heading out in the morning so I am going to sleep. Nice knowing you,” You turned back to your car, making slight eye contact with Sam, the taller one. It sent a slight butterfly feeling to your stomach. What was that? You asked yourself, mentally slapping yourself. You don’t get attracted to anyone. Let alone a giant… moose-like guy you just met. 

 Next Chapter will be up shortly

[trueslove]

✧･ﾟ: * (  park jiwon  ,  cis  female ,  she / her  )  have  you  seen  violet  hwang  around  ?   i  hear  the  twenty-one  year  old  is  working  as  an  art  director  .  did  you  know  they  have  97  love  alarm  points  ?  if  they  ever  want  to  be  truly  loved  someday  they  should  ease  up  on  being  temperamental  &  enigmatic  .  at  least  you  can  say  they’re  disarming  &  convivial,  too.  /  love alarm blocked

                     hello  !  im  xan  and  ur  watching  d*sney  channel ...  just  kidding  we  do  NOT  support  big  corporations  who  just  wanna  take  ur  money  😔  im  22  ,  from  the  est  timezone  (  even  though  my  sleeping  schedule  ...  does  not  reflect  that  sjbdwjkbdjdw  )  &  i  go  by  she  /  her  pronouns  !  im  gonna  be  honest  this  intro  is  gonna  be  completely  winged  so  buckle  up  ....  and  meet  violet  😋 

━  ˙ ˖  ☆     quick stats + aesthetics  !

full name: violet hwang. 

nickname(s): vee, vivi.

zodiac: tba....

sexuality: bisexual.

birthplace: manhattan, new york.

current residence: toronto, canada.

aesthetics: maraschino cherries at the bottom of a glass, driving with the windows down at night, unanswered text messages, black nail polish, the sound of rain hitting the windowpane, kissing and not telling, smiles that don’t quite reach the eyes.

━  ˙ ˖  ☆     backstory ! 

was born and raised in nyc baby ! she’s a true city girl, grew up in lower manhattan ( the financial district if u wanna get specific ) to a family with lots of $$$$ thanks to her father’s position as a ceo of an investment bank located on wall street 

life was pretty smooth until she was 17 and her father got arrested for embezzlement and fraud </3 it was actually a huge scandal for the investment bank he worked for because it was a whole group of higher ups who had been in on these crimes. basically a bunch of already rich men trying to get richer ... disgusting ik /: 

her life changed pretty drastically after that ! the hwang name was all over the news, their family was pretty much disgraced by high society in nyc, not a very fun time for anyone but especially not for violet’s mom 

after her dad got arrested violet was uhh high key furious with him for ruining their lives with his greed and she wanted nothing to do with him, but her mom couldnt let go. she was still defending him, spending the money they had left on lawyers which included the money the family had set aside for violet’s trust fund that she would have had access to once she was 18 </3

 so her plans for college changed pretty drastically JSDBJWBDJW ( goodbye ivy league education ) she actually ended up getting into the university of toronto for visual studies on an academic scholarship 

so she made the big move all on her own....moved into a tiny dorm...and vowed to reinvent herself. she didnt wanna be labeled as the daughter of a white collar criminal anymore so she just made it a point not to talk to much abt her past to anyone 

her struggles as someone who grew up with $$$$ turning into a broke college student made for some embarrassing but funny moments <3 luckily though everyone else had their own struggles so no one found it suspicious JSBDJWBDJ

when love alarm launched three years ago, violet had just started college so it was really the Big thing anyone and everyone was talking about. since she’d never been a fan of other dating apps, she wasn’t gonna download it but her roommate at the time convinced her ! at first it was fun, just something she didnt take too seriously 

fast forward to graduation and she’s snagged a job as an art director for a little local museum, doing freelance art directing on the side to help pay the bills. low and behold one day a photographer hires her to be the art director to a shoot they’re doing for a badge club member who was in a very high profile and public relationship at the time

violet ended up working with that photographer and badge club member a handful of times, enough for her to catch fee-🤢 catch feelin-🤢 i cant even say it .. she’d never rung anyone’s love alarm before, so of course her first time had to be with someone who was already taken </3 safe to say she ... freaked out 

she was embarrassed above all else, but also heartbroken bc in her head like ... why would someone who literally is part of an exclusive club based on ppl ringing their love alarm care that she rung theirs ? she didnt think it’d be a big deal to them the way it was to her ( but also didn’t stick around long enough to find out jsxbsjbdjw ) 

when she was offered the block she didn’t hesitate to use it figuring it’s better if no one knows her romantic feelings ever again like that /: she’d delete the app but a part of her still likes knowing there are ppl out there who DO like her like that so ... Rip truly 

━  ˙ ˖  ☆     personality + tidbits !

she comes across as ... kind of a bitch SDJBJWBJWBDW it’s truly not on purpose she just has a pretty serious resting expression most of the time ( so she looks mad or annoyed even when she isn’t ) and she’s pretty difficult to get to know ? not to mention the fact that no one has ever witnessed her ring someone’s love alarm .. so all that combined just makes it easy to assume she’s some sort of ice queen when that’s far from the truth /: 

violet really isn’t one to open up too deep to people, but that’s got a lot to do with the past she’s kind of running away from ! so if you’re her friend most of the stuff you know about her is probably surface stuff, but when she’s close to someone she can make that fact hard to realize ? she just has a way with making the people in her life feel important so it’s easy not to be focused on how much you know about her 

never bothers to correct the people that misjudge her. if you don’t like her, if you want to make up assumptions and rumors about her, go ahead like violet really won’t stop you which can sometimes make meeting new people difficult </3 if you’ve seen the dating class webdrama chuu was in she’s kinda like oh seyoung’s chara joowon 🤧

if she wants to, though, she’s pretty good at getting people to like her / trust her ! she does this a lot in professional situations, which is why she’s been doing so well as an art director so far despite being so young 

she’s also very loyal to her friends ! if you can’t ask for extra sauces at mcdonald’s....if you can’t make a phone call to your credit card company explaining that a $3,000 charge to starbucks wasn’t you.....she’s your girl <3 since she’s relatively not bothered by the way people see her ( unless it has to do with her past ) she’s usually the one speaking up if someone she cares about can’t 

after the ... incident ... JSDBWJDBWJ she’s really not a fan of the badge club and everything it stands for ): BUT she continues to do art directing work for a lot of the members when they do photoshoots, or instagram campaigns, or if they have a pop up shop, etc. it’s good money and she needs every penny considering she’s living without support from her family 

cannot cook to save her life so she’s always eating out .. this really is why she’s taking those more high profile jobs she can’t budget .. but it’s better, safety wise at least, that she continues wasting her money on takeout aha <3 

pretends she’s not a romantic and is all about the ~casual flings~ but really she’s just afraid of serious feelings and the idea of a serious relationship ... it’s the trauma 😔 constantly jokes shes gonna bring the tinder whore era back JWDBWJBDJW she is sick of this true love nonsense ! ( the irony of this url ahaha... ) 

she’s the most social after a few drinks, since drunk her isn’t burdened by a mind that overthinks literally everything the way she is sober. if you don’t supervise her though she can get pretty carried away and probably get into some kind of trouble so she’s definitely not the person you want to be in charge on a night out !

really wants a dog but doesn’t think she’s cut out to be a pet parent it feels just as scary as the idea of having an actual kid so ... BDWBDJW if you have a pet ? she’s gonna be living vicariously through you <3 

━  ˙ ˖  ☆     wanted connections !

the photographer that hired her / introduced her to the badge club member she ended up having feelings for 

the badge club remember she had / has feelings for because we love suffering 😈

old roommates from college !! maybe even the one that got her to download love alarm in the first place hehehe

also a current roommate / roommates because your girl can’t afford to live on her own <3

someone she’s confided in about her past ( maybe they judged her for it and had a falling out, or maybe they remain confidants ) 

an ex bf or gf she dated while she was in school ! she never rang their love alarm ( even though this was pre block ) so maybe that’s why things ended between them. or maybe they never rang each others and it was just a mutual thing where they both didn’t really have feelings for each other and tried to date anyway and it didn’t work. or perhaps they dated and when violet realized she was starting to have those feelings she dipped before she ever got a chance to ring their love alarm bc she didn’t want to be exposed like that and commitment is scary ): 

spare best friend ? i’d use a knife emoji to show you how serious i am but i dont wanna scare anyone away aha .. i would just love a best friend plot 🥺

current flings / hookups or past flings / hookups ! i imagine most of them to not be serious but it would be kinda cool if there was someone she’s seeing now that she’s got the love alarm block that she’s actually falling for considering she’s never gonna be able to ring their love alarm hehehehe

people she art directs for !! i imagine she’s got a pretty long list of employers ( from badge club members to regular folk  🤧 ) so it would be cool to have people who hire her for stuff, or who collaborate with her for artistic endeavors since i’ve noticed we have a lot of artsy muses <3 

ummm maybe an enemy. but where it’s like .. the hate isn’t even that deep it’s just like oh you dislike me ? well i dislike you FIRST 😠 and they insult each other and try and sabotage each other like five year olds fighting on the playground like it seems super serious to them but to everyone watching it’s like ... can you guys just get over it you dumb babies KSDBSDBWD like they could probably be good friends if they just .. stopped 

and you’ve reached the end of this NOVEL of an intro post JDBJWBDJWBDW im literally so sorry i tried not to ramble but ..... its just who i am </3 please come shoot me a message to plot !!! you can use tumblr ims but im way more available / quicker to respond on discord so if u wanna add me there and plot u can find me at junhee mr. soft hands ʕ´• ᴥ•̥`ʔ#8172  i also did not check this post for typos so if u find one ... mind ur business 😭😭😭 

[akrona]

i have been more reluctant to leave my apartment lately as well as to do basic tasks like entering buildings, and finally sat down and interrogated these feelings. here is what i have found:

i am afraid to do things in public because i am going to do it wrong, and They will see me do it wrong. They know that i am actually a fraud and not a real person, but once i give Them evidence, i have failed and my life is over

who is They? nobody. imaginary. a vague concept i have in the back of my mind of some sort of omnipotent watcher who wants to see me fuck up, and somehow will ruin my life as soon as i prove my incompetance

so now i am trying to remind myself that my fear is absolutely nonsensical. nobody is watching me or taking score of Acting Like A Person points, especially when im running errands. even if i do somehow manage to fuck up a task like “buying eggs from the grocery store”, although i dont even know how i would manage that, the absolute worst thing that would happen is the cashier would maybe say to a friend “wow that girl was kind of weird, huh” and then go back to their job and totally forget about me

despite this, my animal hindbrain is not a very good listener to my rational arguments and keeps shouting “no they will see you!!!!” every time i open the door

[low-budget-korra]

The Legend Of Korra_Book One : “That’s Dark”

So reviewing TLOK made me not only caught up in the nostalgia of this wonderful and special animated show but also reflected on the journey not only from Korra but also from all Team Avatar.

 (Remembering that all this is just my opinion and some of the various interpretations that I have about the show)

 Book 1 is in my opinion the second best of TLOK and the darkest of all.

And reviewing I think I've noticed why.

Book One is the most "real" of all. All the problems there can be seen in the most different societies.

We have an ideological political clash in an environment where segregation between benders and non-benders is still a reality.

I think the whole atmosphere of Republic City is more dark , so at the very beginning we are introduced to those problems that I honestly think we can all understand. Fear of violence, lack of confidence in figures who hold power, a "savior" who appeals to the fear of this population and take's power, conspiracies for power, politics shit , social inequality , etc

Problems that are real at a international  level. I here in Brazil can feel and understand this in the same way as a person who whatch’s the show in Canada. I think 

Not to mention the urban colors and shades of grey and brown more saturated and not so bright (especially at night) , showing that the city is kind of a trap, something “Too good to be true." Its beautiful and scary at the same time.

So we have Korra, who in book one has 17 years (the same age as I when i started to watch the series) and as it is visible in her’s first moments, is that she has the “spirit of a kid”.

I think the expression "kid's mind in a Woman's Body" can define the Korra in Book One. She is naive, immature, spoiled, a bit arrogant, very self-confident, playfull...

I think it was one of the things that enchanted me in her and undoubtedly was what made me connect with her, because I was also, especially,  naive as she.

Korra comes with the glare for just being at Republic City, that childish naivete of thinking that everything will work fine, without consequences.

And it is precisely when she, for the first time, is confronted with the possible consequences of the  fight that she has just entered, she breaks. But before we talk more about Korra, let's talk about her nemesis here, Amon.

 Amon is a white and heterosexual man representing the patriarchy .... lmao im joking, or not...

Anyway, Amon ... The way he uses to subjugate and dominate his enemies, the violation he makes to achieve this ... I find it almost impossible not to parallel this with cases of sexual violence. Amom takes some of these people for himself, he forces something into them, they get devastated and depressed after losing the benders to him and also they look kinda of feeling humiliated by that.

So we have the terrible and beautiful  episode :"The Voice in the Night". Here we see  this 17 year old girl, absolutely terrified by the idea of ​​confronting this man who must be in his late 30′s.

I think that when Korra saw what Amon was capable of , it was the first time in her life when she felt truly afraid. And for us girls, being afraid of a man, especially when walking alone in the night , sadly still is a reality.

Anyway, going back to the show ...

After being coerced to fight on the front line against the Equalists for Tarrlok ( I will speak of him soon), Korra gains confidence and in her naiveness, invites Amon to a duel.

Amon not only arrives late as he is disloyal and does not come alone. An adult man ambushes a 17-year-old girl in a dark place with the help of his crew ... Man, this is dark ! And all the lighting and animation of the final scenes of the episode are excellent because it resembles more a horror story than a kid’s show.

The way they hold her on her knees, making her so small in comparation to him, who looks even more frightening. But not only this, because “be on knees” historically and culturally associated with submission and she was forced to be in that position. The way Amon holds her face makes it clear that the avatar was totally impotent since her rival had already crossed the “touch barrier” by touching her face.  The Touch for many people is something intimate and touch someone face is not only something more intimate but also associated with caring and love. And this motherfucker just crossed this line 

Amon accepted the challenge with the goal of destroying the Avatar independent of who she was. And thats terrible and scary, but also, so real for so many people.

After he leaves, Tenzin arrives and  ask if everything is okay and all. Korra then says that she still has her bendings and finally opens with him over her fears as she cries in his arms.

Then after, we have an episode more focused on love triangle and comedy. Cause its a kids show right?

 How will Korra deal with Amon now that she has already lost the first battle?

Honestly I dont think she overcame her fears there, I think she just buried them for the greater good that was defeating him. Something like “im scared as fuck but im gonna do it anyway”. And you need to be brave to do that

And after losing her bendings to the enemy in the final episode, when her worst nightmare comes true , she has nothing left to lose. And in desperation to save her friend and crush from going through what she had just been through, Korra discovers she can airbend. And this new wave of confidence makes her defeat Amon at his own game, exposing him as the fraud he is. But is that enough? I see later that she still suffering for losing all the other bendings, she’s still broken until Avatar Aang pass by to say “hey” and give her all the bendings back

(This scene had me on tears)

Tarrlok is a character that I just did not like. And guys since he saw Korra, he directed all the attention to her.

Of course he wanted to use her to climb the ladder and take Republic City's political power for himself. But seriously ... I know that maybe you find yourself thinking "Damn, you will put sexual subtext and sexual interpretation where they do not have". But listen to me.

Tarrlok is an older man who does not accept Korra’s "no" for his partnership proposals.

Then we have the episode where her confrots him by the arrest of her friends. Of course Tarrlok used the bloodbend on her cause she was ready to burn his ass down.

And it is logical that he would disappear with her so she does not unmask him to everybody. Now, though it seemed like something got at the moment, Tarrlok had it all ready. The place where Korra would be taken  and where he kept her arrested .

Of course, the most obvious answer is that the place might have been prepared to receive Amon, though he did not know that he was a bender so he did not need that metal box because a normal cell would work, but with all that happened , Tarrlok had this change of plans. I think he may think that she could bring problems to his plans and the let this as plan B

But then an now unmasked and hunted by Republic City police force and just before Amon invades the place, he tells Korra that he will run away and that he will take her as his hostage.

But why? If he had hated her for ending his plans, he could just leave her there to die of hunger / thirst. Not to mention that, Korra would definitely fight and delay him in his escape, so why take her ?

Another thing, Amon wouldnt hurt Korra, he doesnt even saw her as a person, he only saw the symbol, the Avatar and that must be destroyed but all costs. Tarrlok in other hand wants to use the symbol but also know the person behind, he knows the 17old Korra and would hurt her if he has to.

The politics, the intimidation, the haressament, the fear, the power dinamics between those 3 characters...

 **

Mako and Bolin do not have much development in book One . Mako is the love interest and Bolin is the comic relief.

 **

Asami has a very remarkable moment. She has to choose between her father and what is right.

And the Fire Ferrets certainly helped her in that choice. Especially Mako, Asami's mother was killed by benders, probably fire benders cause they kinda murder people parents sometimes, and Mako is a firebender. So relating to him might have knocked over all the rest of prejudice and anger she may have for benders until that.

This arc between Asami and her father is also about the loss of innocence. In that case, lose the innocence of thinking that our parents cant be bad people.

And even more, from then on, Asami is shaped much more like someone who makes right choices in difficult times, even if those choices are heart-breaking.

 **

Tenzin leaves his comfort zone. He will train Korra, who is someone who almost totally contradicts who he is. And right away, we see that he is an excellent teacher. All your patience, your diplomacy is inspiring and will certainly help to make Korra the most conscientious and mature woman at the end of book four.

He also has tough choices, and shows himself steadfast in them, doing everything to protect his family and friends.

 **

Lin, there's a moment I think is incredible. When she sacrifices herself to save Tenzin's family. Lin does not flee the fight. Just like her mother, she is determined in her goals. And we have more depth development  in Book 3.

**

In another post i will talk about the book Two cause this is already too big.

So i believe one of the main sub themes or simple stuff that i can see on book One is the Loss Of Innocence 

[incognitomiamigo]

Impostor syndrome while transitioning?

So I haven't provided a REAL life update since starting Testosterone. My journey began June 8th and I am writing this November 7th 2017.

I always passed pretty well but within the last two months I have began passing a lot more. Before, patients(I work in a hospital) would still mostly call me she/her pronouns but now i am consistently passing and its interesting because I find myself outing myself on accident in the sense I tell past stories where I am still female to my patients because I'm still not registering that I am completley passing now. Before when my co workers misgendered me on accident it didn't matter because my patients thought I was female anyways but now its more of a problem because again most think im male without second thought. It's also interesting because I grew up being socialized as female and when I came out as transgender I was treated as a transgender as in "I know you identify as male but you're still technically female so whatever" I don't know if I am describing it right but there IS a difference being treated as a cis male vs. Transman and so now I find myself in plenty of situations where I am treated as a cis male and it throws me off a hell of a lot. In return I think its triggering dysphoria because I want to so badly just be a cis man at times and it is so hard to always embrace my trans identity.

Evidence A: I was watching a patient on a different floor and he took his dick out while I was sitting there to do something and I was fine with it but he only did it because he thought I was a dude and another doc came in talking about dick issues and was like right man? Talking to me and I DON'T HAVE A DICK so I felt so fucked up from that because the more I pass the more I want to be.

Evidence B: I was always the fat kid. Like ALWAYS and since starting T I have gained weight. Mostly good but to me in my head no weight gain is genuinley good weight gain. Again I think this has to do with female weight standards being ingrained in me versus male. Anyways I know I'm not fat but the changes I have had have messed with my head.

The reason I use the term "impostor syndrome" is because damn its so stressful for me to go to male only places I feel like a fraud and fake and I get so frazzled because I don't know the first thing about navigating a male world or place and its overwhelming because im just afraid to be outed. And i know it's a transitional phase but it's a lot and wanting to be cis is draining.

So aside from the emotional aspect of transitoning I feel like not a ton of physical things have changed. I feel calmer and Its hard for me to cry. My thighs are hairier and my hour glass shape is becoming less intense. I have a little Stache I want more!!! I'm definitley growing facial hair like I literally didn't even realize how much until I shaved my face and people made comments about it. I was like damn is it that noticeable? I haven't been working out but am forcing myself to prioritize because body issues. I need to change my name and a consult should occur for me soon for top surgery. Also I have had some growth downstairs and thats been nice. I am thinking to post progress pics soon. I honestly don't think my voice has changed a ton.

Sexual identity changes??? YES. I am in a commited relationship however after several conversations my partner allowed me to sort of venture out with males and yeah it turns out I don't mind them. I definitley would use the term queer and I could get into a whole rant about it but yeah.

So overall its been a lot of internal changes with subtle external changes. However my mantra amongst this whole change is "be kind to yourself." Cliche yes, important to me. Yes.