#they not only remember all my dietary restrictions but they remember WHY the foods i cant have are bad for me.

[ink-asunder]

Progressives from big cities talk big shit about how accepting they are, but I feel like if you come to them with any identifier that isn't covered in corporate sensitivity training, they have no idea what to fucking do.

Like. I experience psychosis. I tried being OPEN with my friend about it and giving them resources (articles and screenshots of tumblr posts that i felt summed up my experience) for when I had episodes. But they act like they're on fucking eggshells around me. They sidestep and look PETRIFIED when they accidentally say the word "crazy" (when I personally could not give less of a shit. As long as you're not CALLING someone crazy, then it won't warp your perception of what clinical insanity even is, so I probably won't even notice you saying it). But then they freak out and go "okay we're leaving!" when a VISIBLY mentally ill man starts screaming at a trashcan in the parking lot.

Less important, but still an example of the same thing: I'm a horse alterhuman. I identify as a horse on some level (and that level varies based on my mental state, tbh). I tried coming to this friend with THAT and the best they could do was blink and go "oh. Okay." And then they never talked about it since. Even when I bring it up or try making jokes about it, they just COMPLETELY don't react or look uncomfortable.

If I came out as a lesbian, they'd be all "oh I love and support you and accept you, and whatever you identify as is valid," but the second I say "Hey, I have this condition that makes me sometimes think that people are trying to kill me, so if I act anxious or something, you know what's up," it's all "oh. Okay. I mean, you know what's best for you. Do what you need to do to take care of yourself."

Like bitch!! My mental illness is not gonna bite you!! You're perfectly sensitive and normal about queer people, about people of color, about people with palatable mainstream mental health issues. But the second I bring something to the table that hasn't already been dropped in their lap in a perfect-PC-package, they balk like a deer in the headlights.

[devils-servent]

I just read your rules so I'm reasking. Can you write Sam from seduce me comforting a reader who is recovering from anorexia? I don't have a POV preference, just X reader.

Hello Anon your initial ask was totally fine FYI. But, Sorry this took so long. I am a procrastinator and I’ve been super busy. I was super careful to not make this too triggering and to not romanticise anything. So I hope you enjoy it. I hope you are doing well! Remember that recovery is not a linear process! You are strong and any progress is still good progress!

approx 1k words

TW: Mentions of Eating disorders (Anorexia) and restriction. Unhealthy thought patterns mentioned. concept of good and bad foods mentioned.

Tags: Sam X reader, 2nd person, Damien mentioned. Cuddles, fluff, tears. 

It was hard for you to have such a busy household. It wasn’t like you disliked having the boys around to keep you company all the time. It was truly lovely to have a wonderful family. However, their constant presence made it a lot harder to keep to certain behaviours you had in the past and to keep them unnoticed ‘And that is a good thing’ you try to tell yourself. You were right of course, not that the unkind voice in the back of your head wanted you to acknowledge that. You want to recover, to commit. But it's hard alone. Having five nosey, caring incubi in your house meant that you had to eat three meals a day at least. Full meals. One of them was always cooking for you, convincing you to try something new, or to have a cheeky desert. And you both loved and hated it. They encouraged you to eat foods you would never even consider eating before. You can’t help but wonder if they knew what you were going through, do Demons even experience things such as this? Or is this a purely human phenomenon?

There was unfortunately no way Damien didn’t know what you were going through. First thing you thought about when you had pulled up to the house the day grandfather had died was that you didn’t have to recover anymore, as there was nobody to make you. Living alone was the prime opportunity for you to have what you wanted, and that was all you thought about. Thoughts of frustration plagued you when Damien had told you his brothers had cooked for you when you had first met, that is when he revealed he could read your mind. He had promised to keep your secret, but that didn’t stop the others noticing some weird habits you had compared to the other humans they had observed. 

Over the last few months you had gotten pretty close to Sam, his brash humour distracted you from the voice in the back of your mind. Not to mention he was very attractive to you. He taught you a lot; about him, his culture and why he left the demon world. His dietary habits had begun to rub off on you too. Considering he worked out very often he ate lots and lots. He would always encourage you to eat what he was making, even if it was only a few bites. 

“Oh come on doofus! Please just try it? I'm sure you will love it!” he teased. Waving a fork full of chicken alfredo in your face. You had sat with him as he made it, it smelled amazing filling the room and your lungs with its aroma. Sam explained that you should have some protein with every meal and lightly chastised you on how poor your daily protein intake is. You resisted at first, unwilling to eat yet. You were worried he wouldn’t ever like you if you didn’t look how you wanted for him. But… Sam’s persistence wore you down. 

“Okay, okay, just as long as we eat together.”

Sam smirked and served you a portion. It was larger than what you would usually eat - ‘I’m supposed to be recovering, it does not matter’ 

“Come on” he beckoned you, “let's eat upstairs in my room”. You nodded, following him as he carried both bowls and sat down on his bed. His room was pretty, filled with workout equipment, trinkets, his game console and the books he was learning to read. You played with your food for a while, talking Sam’s ear off as a way to distract him. It worked until he finished his food. You should have known better that he always wolves down his meals. He looked at you with a concerned look, he placed his hand on your knee. 

"Do you think I’m stupid doofus?”

You looked at him confused, planning to feign innocence. You opened your mouth to speak but he continued. 

“I don’t remember what humans call it, but I know what you are going through. I can tell, and have been able to for weeks. I understand that it's hard, but I want to support you (Y/N) In anyway I can. And I will, because I love you” You looked at him surprised as he cupped your face and kissed your cheek. “I’ll still love you no matter what you look like, because I love you not your body.” He smiled and rubbed your cheek. “I'll support you even if you don’t feel the same. My love is not conditional” 

You sat smiling like a wordless idiot, grinning at him red in the face. He twirled the pasta on to the fork and held it up to you. “Now come on, just a few more bites,” he smiled. “Everytime I eat from now on you should too! you should try everything, even if it's just a few bites.” you grimaced and looked away. 

“But what if I-” you held your tongue. What if you become undesirable, what if he doesn’t like you anymore, what if he's lying to you….but what if he isn’t. You looked up at him, he seemed so genuine. 

“Come on! I'm a good cook!” he exclaimed. Besides it will be good for us” he paused,”good for you”.

“You promise? You won’t get tired of it, will you?” 

He nodded, beaming up at you. “I swear on my name” he moved his other hand from your knee to his heart. “Now come on, let me feed you. I’ll feed you forever if you need me too”

Blushed and let him feed you. Maybe you aren't alone this time and maybe, just maybe, you won't be again. 

[rarepears]

But also Hannibal latching onto this child that reminds him of a time when he was an older brother to a wonderful little girl and and and and" yep this is my sibling and I'm going to teach it everything I know. "

---

Seeing this paragraph makes me remember how my dad tried to teach me things unprompted. One time, he called me upstairs and I saw him on the rooftop. Later he told me to get to the rooftop to and decided to teach me how to stand on rooftop. So when you're on the rooftop makes sure you stand on the gap between the tiles so you have some kind of friction to not slides off. Do not literally stand on the roof tiles unless you trust your feet's skin to grip the surface.

So now I cannot help but imagines Hannibal trying to become the Best Big Demon Brother of the Year by teaching Shen Jiu how to handle human/demons organs. Shen Jiu is there because he cannot escape Hannibal (Hannibal is Hannibal, that's the only explanation I can give rn)

Aaaa

Oh man, I just realized a great potential comedic situation:

Luo Binghe has AMAZING cooking skills. But the issue is that his main goal is to make meals that Shen Yuan finds delicious... which means Luo Binghe only caters to Shen Yuan's taste...

And Shen Yuan has some fucked up tastebuds, okay? After a lifetime of hospital-approved gruel (and quite a number of dietary restrictions because of his medical condition too), plus Qing Jing peak's tendency for bland mild food - of which he especially suffered from during the years Luo Binghe was in the Endless Abyss, Shen Yuan's tastebuds were.. interesting.

He didn't have a habit of eating spicy food - he couldn't handle it at all! His food was never salty enough to be flavorful, according to Shang Qinghua, and he still couldn't handle too much meat or oil without feeling nauseous. (Okay, that was more of a mental thing leftover from his first life.)

But as a result, Luo Binghe's cooking isn't... exactly the tastiest for people that weren't Shen Yuan. And Luo Binghe. Because of course Luo Binghe would be more than happy to get used to food that tasted exactly like how Shen Yuan liked it and then it was just a habit.

But for Hannibal? Hannibal, who's a masterchef in his own right??? (Bonus, Hannibal doesn't know the backstory to why Luo Binghe cooks what he cooks.)

Now Hannibal is OFFENDED by Luo Binghe's cooking. Where's the spices, the Unami, and the salt?! He has to make sure that his little brother doesn't have to also suffer from the travesty of their father's cooking!

[More in #hannibal lector reborn as Shen Yuan and Luo Binghe's firstborn son AU]

[zincbot]

ALICE

Whole thang

🔫🔫🔫🔫🔫

ALICE EXPLOSION

1. are they associated with a certain color? what color do they wear the most?

I associate her with maroon, gunmetal, navy blue. She wears mostly blues and greys, some black. She has a yellow tank top that used to be white. None of her white clothes are white anymore, tinged pink by blood or grey by oil.

2. what sort of music would they like? have you thought about what genres or bands do they lean towards? do they have a favorite song?

She likes heavy metal. A silent enjoyer of dad rock. She doesn't usually put on music while she works because she likes to be able to hear her surroundings, but you can sometimes find her whistling or humming. She doesn't know the names of songs but i think her favourite is the entire Rush album "Moving Pictures" which she might think is just one really long song.

3. weapon of choice? any particular reason they chose their weapon?

Already Answered!

4. how crafty/resourceful are they?

Possible the most in the world. If you're looking for weapons. Alice excells at stripping things down to useful parts, at repurposing. Duct tape is her best friend. She makes things that work. For how long, it doesn't matter. She'll just keep fixing.

5. how do they typically dress? does their wardrobe lean more towards practicality or aesthetics?

100% practicality. Pockets. Durability. Warmth. Her three tenets. The first time she acquired her own clothes she looked insane.

6. how do they wear their hair? do they care a lot how their hair looks?

shorn. she shaves it down every so often and cuts it again once it starts bugging her. she doesn't like it long enough to grab, and she's annoyed by hair tickling her neck when she's working. other than that the appearance couldn't matter less to her. (at least, not anymore)

7. favorite animal? why?

Already Answered!

8. do they have a nickname? who gave it to them? if it's not derived from their real name, what's the story behind it?

i. really don't think so? nicknames just slide off alice like water. she doesn't respond to them. her name is alice.

9. favorite food? least favorite? are they a picky eater? do they have any dietary restrictions?

she's partial to meat and potatoes. mac n cheese. she loves pie. diner food is always a hit. not a big raw veggie enjoyer, also not a fan of "complicated" foods. if she can't figure out how it's put together she's not inclined to eat it. she is picky but not a complainer. she doesn't have any food allergies.

10. if they wear jewelry, what kind? do they prefer silver or gold? do they have a favorite gem?

she doesn't wear any. she doesn't like how it feels. gemstones as decoration don't interest her. certain minerals are good for specific reactions though.

11. what do they have in common with you? how are they different? would you get along with them?

we're both butch- no, but i think alice has a lot of my struggles with understanding people. she's different from me in that she's not introspective about it At All. i would be so desperate for alice to be impressed with me. she wouldn't be impressed with me.

12. how long have they been around? do you know their birthday? is their birthday the day you made them or another day? what do they think of celebrating birthdays?

as a character? around a year. in canon she's 49 years old. she doesn't know her birthday and neither do i. she doesn't mind celebrating someone else's birthday but won't do anything unless specifically told it's coming up so she has time to get something. her gifts are usually pretty middling.

13. what languages do they speak? how fluently?

english only. fluent enough. when she was younger she remembers learning a lot of big words. she doesn't like using them much.

14. are they any good with numbers?

better then she lets on. she's the type to let a calculation run in her head, spew out a perfect number, and then say "eh, around 50 or so". she doesn't see the point in getting bogged down with nitty gritty. her measurements are always accurate to the millimeter.

15. how big or small is their family? who did they live with growing up? do they live with anyone now?

if she had a family, she never knew them. those records were erased long before her fake identity was forged. growing up, she knew there were others, but rarely if ever saw them. she learned from overhearing conversation that it wasn't uncommon for them to die. nowdays, she lives "alone", but her house is rarely empty.

16. do they have any pets? what do they call their pets?

never. a potted plant is enough work already.

17. how did they spend their summers/free time as a child?

the first time alice experienced a summer outdoors, she was nineteen years old. the constant heat was new. and not enjoyed. she got very badly sunburnt. it was after her first winter, and she found it less dangerous than winter, with more resources available. they sent her on a job to take out a great wooden construct. she blew it to splinters.

18. their opinion on lying, stealing, and killing?

lying's necessary sometimes. it's usually not her style. stealing was something she didn't understand for a while. she still does it sometimes, but now she understands that money can buy goods and services. killing isn't something she's ever taken lightly, but it's something she does without flinching, these days.

19. are they quick to anger? what sets them off?

quick to be annoyed? sure. quick to anger? not anymore. when alice was younger she would hiss and spit and display fury as quick as anything. nowadays she's pretty immoveable.

20. if applicable, can they drive? if they have their own, what color is their vehicle? is the inside neat and tidy, or a mess?

YES. it's one of the things alice picked up the quickest in the outside world. the first car she called her own was a 1993 jeep wrangler, purchased close-to-new, with a newly acquired "transportation budget", "Ellie", she maintains like clockwork, and its still running to this day, a near 30 years later. paint job is usually a soft black, but she's redone it before. the inside is tidy at first glance, but stuffed full with weapons and tools.

21. their favorite place to be?

the garage. of all the rooms in her house this is the space that is uniquivocably alice. it's where she goes to unwind, where she goes when she's stressed, where she goes when she gets an idea. it's her place.

23. do they sleep well at night?

"well enough" - alice. she still has bad nights every so often, but nowadays she'll just get up and head to the garage.

24. how would you describe their voice? can they sing?

pretty deep, pretty casual. she doesn't tend to speak in long sentences. she doesn't sing, really, but she's a surprisingly talented whistler. you'll catch her humming from time-to-time and it's nice.

25. do they have any creative hobbies? (art, writing, music, etc)

none so standard. she draws up blueprints on occasion with a rock-steady hand, but her main art is her metalworking and electrical skill. her inventions and creations are where her creativity lives.

26. how good/bad is their hearing? what about their eyesight?

her hearing is incredibly sharp. she hasn't lost a bit of it so far. her far eyesight too, is still sharp as anything. i like the idea of her needing reading glasses, but i haven't decided if that's true or not yet.

27. how do they move? are they clumsy? light on their feet? do they use mobility aids?

alice moves steady and sure. she doesn't often trip or stumble. her footfalls are generally pretty heavy around her house, but she still remembers how to step light. she doesn't use any mobility aids, she's always healed up really well with home-made splints and wraps.

28. if applicable, do they have a favorite sport? do they play any sports or prefer to watch?

she's not really into sports. whenever she's zoning out in front of the tv occasionally some football or soccer will stay on for a bit. she's not caught up with the teams. i'm not sure alice 100% knows the rules to any sports, and you'd really have to do some convincing to get her to see the poing of playing em. she'd be a beast at rugby.

29. how do they show that they care about someone? how do they express that they don't like someone?

when alice cares, she'll pick you up whenever you need. she'll drop everything and bring the car around with no complaint. she'll fix things that break for you, she'll keep her door open. she'll notice little flinches, she'll start softening edges around them. it's all action, never words. conversely, when alice doesn't like you, she says "i don't think i like you very much."

30. are they associated with any particular element (air, earth, fire, water)?

earth, to me. and metal. sturdy, solid, alice is foundation, brick and wall.

31. do they smell like anything notable?

machine oil, 100%. alice smells like a mechanic no matter what she does.

32. do they like receiving gifts? giving gifts? what is their ideal gift?

she's not great at receiving gifts. she'll get something useless and grunt about it and keep it on a shelf forever and instantly notice if anyone moves it. she's not a great gift giver either, some of her gifts are inexplicable, and she's not gonna explain why she got you a full silverwear set where each item can flip open to hide something inside. her ideal gift is something she can use.

33. do they have any habits that aren't particularly self-destructive, just maybe odd?

she's governed at times by a strange flow of thinking. she gets caught in loops of repetition, of taking apart and repairing. sometimes she has to whistle. sometimes she can't. she doesn't know why. it's easier to follow the impulse. most of the time.

34. if applicable, how would your other characters describe them? i mean specifically the people around them.

i kind of want b. to meet alice. he'd describe her as "not that scary". (lying)

35. how would your character describe themselves? it doesn't have to line up with how they really are.

"i've got work to do."

36. do they ever return home?

almost every day, these days!

[librarycards]

ive been in recovery from disordered eating for some years now and would like to start observing kosher more thoroughly, but am concerned about the possibility of restrictions making it harder not to relapse. as a vegan, do you have any advice on maintaining a loving relationship with eating while still finding value in having rules around food?

thank you so much for this question! i think for me it's key to think about food and eating less as a set of discrete "behaviors" toward certain "safe"/"unsafe" foods (as it were) but rather as a holistic part of our lives intimately entangled with not only our social poitionalites but also our values.

for me, a vegan practice doesn't begin or end with food, and what i do or do not eat is not important bc of what certain foods "are", but instead the means by which they got to me, and the conditions under which they are / are not commodified/scraped of their connection to actual living things & systems of oppression. it's honestly hard to live a life with an actual vegan ethical framework while in what might be considered an "active" eating disorder - i know because i am trying to maintain this balance while also Not Getting Better right now. a fixation on the artificial stuff like calories, macros, and "health"-based moral measures is antithetical to an approach that considers the "how" and "why" of food, rather than the what.

i think that this has many parallels and overlaps with kashrut, which doesn't exist in a food-related vacuum, but instead among a constellation of halachic practices that help you feel more connected to gd, to your community/tradition, and more, and will help you materially live a life that will aid you in a more collective practice of tikkun olam. this isn't a set of restrictions designed to make you "perfect," after all. it isn't designed to remove you from community with others in favor of self-fixation. instead, it's a nonnormative way of thinking with what we eat, and imbuing food with a newfound connection to our broader practices of healing and liberation!

now, this is well and good, but what about practical matters? when on-the-ground shopping or ordering, it can be really helpful to go to aisles, spaces where everything fits a given guideline by default - that way, it's easy to catch yourself straying from checking to see if it's vegan/kosher and checking to see if it's "safe." same with spending time with loved ones who already make and incorporate these foods; there are tons of opportunities to eat spontaneously in ways that your brain might try to stop you from doing. i think particularly in the case of keeping kosher, if you pray, it's really important and nice to keep an open connection w/ gd in regard to the relationship between kashrut, harm, and healing. this is what i do each time a big fast day comes around, and inevitably come to the conclusion that the picuach nefesh mandate outweighs any excuse i can make for why i "should" fast. you will likely notice this if you find yourself using keeping kosher more as an excuse for restriction rather than a meaningful practice of connection.

what's important to remember is that so-called "dietary restrictions" are only restrictions due to an inaccess to alternatives, whether via inaccess to community/support or physical inaccess to the food you need. all communities that work, work based on shared rules/values/care practices -- so surround yourself with people for whom kosher is an act of care, not punishment. i think this is really the key: i don't view being vegan as a punishment, but an opportunity. for my comrades who also enjoy vegan food, it's also an opportunity to eat lots of food - including food that has challenged me in ed- ways. even though i am by no means a model recovering/recovered person (faaar from it) i find so much value and joy and liberation in the unrestrained, generous, and delicious meals we get to enjoy, whose excellence is only amplified by a grounding in intentionality and hope.

[another-whump-sideblog]

Jane’s Pets Chapter 57: Mistakes

TWs in the tags (be safe!!)

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When you wake up, you hear hushed movement and talking from a nearby room. You don’t want to leave the warmth and safety of the weighted blanket, but there’s still a lot you need to talk about with your new housemates. You drag yourself off the couch and shuffle over to the room with noise coming from it.

The room is a small kitchen, and all three of them are in it. It looks like they’re making breakfast. You start rambling before one of them can say your name again. “I’m sorry about last night. I don’t know why I reacted like that- well, I do, but… where did you learn my name?”

“…You told it to me.” Diya says.

“Really? When?”

“When we first met. You asked my name and told me yours.”

“I don’t… I don’t know how I managed to do that. She took my name. I can’t remember it normally, and hearing it… hurts.”

“What kind of magic is that?” Barron asks.

“Not magic. Just torture.”

“Oh. Oh!” Barron’s eyes widen. “So you don’t want us to say your name. What do you want us to call you?”

You haven’t thought about that. “I went by Bunny, before, but I don’t think I want you to call me that, either. I want to be able to go by the name she took from me eventually, but I don’t think I’m ready for that yet. So… I don’t know.”

“You can have the name Karen, now that I’m done with it.” Greg suggests as they mix ingredients. They’re probably joking, but you’re not positive.

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t have to decide right now.” Diya says. “And you can change your mind at any time. Why don’t you think about it for a bit, and then we’ll talk about it later?”

You nod. “That sounds good.”

“Perfect!” Diya claps eir hands. “Have you decided what you want to do sleeping-arrangement-wise? Again, you don’t have to choose now, and you can always change your mind.”

“Huh? Oh, like if I want a mattress? The couch is fine. Unless it’s easier for you to not have the couch occupied. I’m really fine anywhere, I used to mostly sleep on concrete. Because I didn’t have a bed. Or a house.” That probably wasn’t all necessary to share.

“Fair enough! I’ll be sure to get out more blankets and a pillow. Let me know if you ever want a mattress instead. Do you have any dietary restrictions?”

You shake your head.

“Is there anything else we should do to help you feel safe? Besides not saying your name.”

“I… can’t think of anything.”

“Let me know if you do, we want you to feel safe. We all have some issues like that, so we understand. We’re having French Toast, do you want some?”

“Yeah. Uh, is there anything I should do? I mean, like, to help you guys feel safe. Or to help make French Toast, I guess.”

Diya laughs. “Hmm… I guess I’d prefer not to be touched. Especially on the neck.” Ey glances at Barron and Greg. “Do you want to share anything?”

Barron mumbles something to itself that you don’t catch. Greg shakes their head.

“We’re almost done with the food, do you want to set the table? The table is through that door, the dishes are in that cabinet, and the utensils are in that drawer.” Diya points as ey talks.

You don’t have trouble figuring out what plates to use- there’s only one kind. It’s also clear what cups and utensils should be used for a French Toast breakfast.

It’s nice to help, even in a small way. You could never help Puppy or Kitty, not really, and it’s a very nice change of pace.

Barron brings a large plate of French Toast, syrup, milk, and some fruit to the table. You’re impressed with its ability to balance all of it at once.

All three of them sit down at the table and start serving themselves, so you follow suit.

“Oh, right!” Diya points at you. “Obviously you want to wear that collar. Which is fine, we’re not going to stop you, even if we don’t really understand. But do you think you can loosen it a bit? It’s a lot easier to do all sorts of things when you can get enough air.”

It’s a reasonable request. You want to be able to stop wearing it eventually, anyway, and loosening it is a good first step.

You don’t move.

“It’s fine if not! Just an idea.”

You brush your fingers against your collar. “I want to. I just…” You don’t know how to explain that you’ve never loosened it before, that Jane never said it was against the rules but the collar means you’re safe and you don’t want to mess with it. You know she’s not here and that you’re safe, but what if it falls off while you’re loosening it and she hurts you? You can’t explain it because it doesn’t make sense.

“Do you want to talk about it? You don’t have to. And if you do want to, it doesn’t have to be now.”

“I… I think I just want to eat, right now.”

Diya gives you a thumbs up and digs into eir breakfast.

~~

When Puppy’s bubble pops, Jane is ready to begin. She takes Puppy’s collar.

“Alright. Kneel, both of you.”

Kitty and Puppy kneel. Jane approaches Puppy.

“You did it on purpose, didn’t you? You thought you could get away with it, thought I’d think you just messed up, but I know you’re smarter than that. You attacked them because you thought you wouldn’t get in trouble for not grabbing Bunny if you did something else.”

Puppy shakes her head frantically. Kitty can tell she’s on the verge of tears.

“Oh? What were you thinking, then? Speak.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. They grabbed me, they were going to take me away. I don’t want to be taken away, I don’t want that again, I want to be good. I wasn’t paying attention to what Bunny was doing. I should’ve, I know, I’m sorry. I understand that I need to be punished so I remember to pay attention and keep the others in line.”

Jane grabs her by the hair and yanks her closer, speaking directly into her ear. “Don’t lie to me. You should know better than that, have I not punished you enough for your lies? I know you, I know you would’ve looked to the others as soon as you could.”

Puppy sobs weakly. “I would’ve, I would’ve. I don’t know what came over me. I couldn’t think of anything but hurting the person who grabbed me.”

Jane thinks for a moment, before a smile grows on her face and she lets go of Puppy’s hair. “You don’t know what came over you? Is anger so unfamiliar to you now? That’s quite the change from when I first took you, isn’t it?”

Jane pats Puppy’s cheek. “I believe you. Lucky Puppy, you won’t be punished for lying. But we’ll have to make sure you don’t let emotions get in the way of doing what I want again, won’t we?”

Puppy nods. Kitty can never tell if she actually wants to be punished, to be made “better,” or if she just knows Jane likes it when she acts like she does.

Jane takes Puppy’s face in her hands and gently tilts it to the side. “Stay still like that. I want to do something different. I want Bunny to see what I did to you when he comes back, and know that it was his fault. You’re so covered in scars that new ones wouldn’t stand out.”

Jane brushes Puppy’s hair out of the way and traces a knife around her ear. “You’ll still be able to shop for us, as long as your hair is down. No one will notice.”

Puppy’s breathing is rapid and shallow. In one swift motion, Jane slices Puppy’s ear off.

Puppy screams, but doesn’t move aside from a small flinch. Jane holds Puppy’s severed ear in her hand.

“Open your mouth.”

Puppy obeys. Jane puts her ear in her mouth. Puppy immediately gags.

“Don’t spit it out. Chew and swallow it. You have permission to eat.”

Kitty knows that if Jane was trying to get them to do something like that, she would have to threaten all sorts of things. But for Puppy, the order is enough. Puppy obeys.

Kitty stares at the ground. Jane will probably punish them if they close their eyes, but they don’t want to watch.

They hear soft crying, plenty of gagging, and what they can only assume is the squishy sound of an ear being chewed. It goes on for an eternity.

“Good Puppy. Stay there.”

Kitty is pinned to the ground in a moment, hands around their neck. They force themself to stay still.

“It’s only fair that I give you a chance to explain yourself, too. You let him go. You watched him leave and you did nothing. Puppy was restrained in the bubble, but you could’ve gone after them.”

Jane loosens the pressure around Kitty’s neck enough for them to speak. “I would’ve been put in a bubble too.”

“I don’t care. You could’ve grabbed him, and the bubble would’ve gone around both of you. Or they would’ve had to find another strategy. You made it easy for them. You let Bunny get away. You care more about him liking you than keeping him from getting punished.”

“…I’m sorry?”

“Is that all? Because that doesn’t make me want to hurt you any less.”

“I didn’t think of grabbing him!”

“You would’ve thought of it if you actually cared about Bunny staying.”

“There was a lot going on! I’m sorry!”

“Not good enough.” Jane drags Kitty by the hair to a wall with chains, which she shackles them into so that their arms are stretched out uncomfortably to their sides. Jane holds a knife.

Kitty is relieved. As long as they’re not in sensory deprivation, they’ll be fine. They can’t go back to it so soon.

Jane cuts their shirt off in three rough slices that cut into their skin. Then she takes out something that seems to be just a spray bottle. She adjusts the nozzle, and then starts spraying their chest.

For a moment it just feels like water, but then their brain finishes processing it and oh shit, oh shit it burns

It’s not hot. Jane has poured boiling water over them before, burnt them with all matter of things, and they can tell this burn is different.

“This scar will look different, with the splattering. Maybe I should cut something of yours off too, a finger or a toe. What do you think?”

Kitty can’t force sound out of their throat, can’t breathe. Their skin is being corroded and eaten away at by whatever liquid Jane is using.

Behind all the pain, though, they’re still glad they’re not in sensory deprivation. They’d rather Jane cut off all their fingers than leave them in the dark and quiet.

Kitty yanks on the chains and wildly shakes their head. They don’t want to lose their fingers.

“Hmm… If you can hold still for me while I discipline you, I’ll decide you learned your lesson without losing digits.”

Kitty forces themself to hold still. Pain sends involuntary tremors and twitches through their body. It just keeps hurting worse and worse, deeper and deeper with no relief.

Jane opens the bottle and sticks her finger in the liquid. She pokes Kitty and they hiss through their teeth.

“You sound like a cat!” Jane giggles and starts dragging her finger across their skin, like she’s finger painting. Kitty can’t tell what she’s drawing, the pain just seems to grow and spread out with every touch.

Kitty grits their teeth and stays as still as they can. It’s not sensory deprivation. It’s not sensory deprivation, they’ll be okay.

Jane picks up the bottle again, and dumps the remaining contents on their head.

Kitty screams as the liquid seeps through their hair and burns their scalp. They lean their head back as far as they can while restrained in their position, trying to avoid getting any on their face, but some drips onto their forehead.

They spend what feels like hours trying to keep the liquid from dripping into their eyes. They hear Jane talking and pained cries from Puppy, but they can’t focus on anything but their own pain.

Someone touches them, and they yelp. “Please, I’m sorry!”

They feel two taps on their shoulder. It’s just Puppy. Hopefully the pain the taps warned of will be from treating their wounds and not from Puppy torturing them at Jane’s request.

They feel a rag on their chest, wiping what’s left of the liquid off. They don’t cry, Puppy doesn’t deserve to feel bad for hurting them, but whimpers escape them anyway. Puppy wipes their forehead and gets what she can out of their hair.

Puppy steps away. Jane approaches Kitty again and holds their face in her hands.

“I think you need some quiet time, to think about what you did.”

No, no, no, not that, anything but that. Kitty tries to yank their head away, but it’s pointless. Jane grabs them by the hair and forces headphones over their ears and a blindfold over their eyes, and secures it all with duct tape. Kitty can’t do this again, they can’t. They try to plead but they can’t hear their own voice, and they’re drowning in their own personal hell in just a few moments. There’s a sharp jab in the crook of their elbow.

~~

“How does magic work?” You probably should’ve asked about it sooner, but your head is only just starting to feel clear.

Barron shrugs. “There’s a lot of different kinds of magic. Were you wondering about anything specific?”

“What kinds of magic are there?”

“I mean, there’s the kind I practice. I’m a mage. There’s subtypes, too, but that’s just what spells you focus on. Like, I do more protective stuff, with shields and teleportation. Oh, and invisibility. I’ve been working on healing magic, but I’m not good at it yet. There’s a lot of stuff you can do as a mage.”

“Like what? Wait, is Jane a mage?”

Barron looks slightly disturbed. “I… don’t know. From what I’ve heard, it doesn’t look like it. Most mage spells need to be planned in advance, prepared through rituals. Diya said that she didn’t seem to need any of that. She would make things appear and disappear on a whim. She didn’t need specific times or places to teleport. But maybe it just appeared that way.”

You nod. “What other kinds of magic are there?”

“The other kinds are specific to species. Any species can be a mage, but you can only be something like a vampire if you were born one or got turned.”

You blink. You can’t tell if it’s joking. “What?”

Barron laughs. “You were abducted by some sort of monster that looks like a little girl, and you’re surprised vampires exist?”

“Yeah! I’ve never seen a vampire! I’ve seen the monster- I like calling her that, a monster- who abducted me.”

You don’t feel the need to clarify that you weren’t abducted, you came willingly. The three of them don’t need to know that.

“You’ve seen a vampire.” Diya rubs eir neck. “You gave me to one in order to get your friend back.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

Ey shrugs. “Well, it worked out in the end. Your monster killed mine.”

You nod. “What other species are there, then? What could Jane be?”

Barron responds. “You know more about her than we do. I wrote down a whole bunch of questions to ask you about her, but Greg said it would be impolite to start interrogating you right away.”

“I’ll answer your questions. You’ve been answering mine.”

“Yeah, but you’ve been asking things like ‘where are we’ and ‘how does magic work,’ not ‘could you please go through your traumatic memories to satisfy my curiosity about your abuser.’” Diya says.

“That’s… true. Can we try to figure out what Jane is some other time?”

“Of course. Do you have any other questions for us?” Barron asks.

You have to think for a bit, but everyone is patient. “What’s… I guess I’m wondering what to expect. How long you intend on letting me stay with you.”

The three of them exchange a look. Diya speaks up. “We were hoping you’d want to stay indefinitely. Barron can’t protect you from being found magically if you leave. But obviously we won’t force you to stay. Me and Greg are both here because Barron offered its protection. You’re not intruding, this is what this place is for.”

For a moment, you are filled with gratitude. But this feeling… it’s familiar.

Oh. So you’ve been brought to a place where you’re promised protection, and the other people there are have issues supposedly explained by past traumas.

Too much, too much, the last time you felt like this it was a lie. Why are you trusting them anyway? What’s wrong with you that you’d fall for the same trick twice?

“I know it’s not ideal. We don’t even have a bed for you. But I can make sure she doesn’t find you.” Barron says.

You feel so stupid. But you know that if you leave, Jane will definitely find you. At least there’s a chance, however small, that it won’t be as bad here.

“I’ll stay. What can I expect day to day, then?”

Diya answers. “We mostly just… hang out. Barron has a job, but me and Greg can’t leave without being in danger. So we keep the cabin tidy and go on walks, and all sorts of things. You don’t have to stay cooped up in here, so long as when you go outside you don’t go outside the shield. You’ll be able to tell where it is. We have a computer, Barron made it so no one could trace us through it. And if you want something, Barron can probably get it.”

You can’t help but think it’s not that different from before. That even if they never hurt you, you’ll still feel trapped.

“Have you thought about what you want to be called?” Diya asks.

You frown. “I haven’t. Sorry.”

“It’s fine. Do you know what kind of name you’d like? Like, do you want a specific meaning?”

“I… don’t know. You said you have a computer?”

“Yeah! Do you want to look at baby name websites?”

You nod.

“Come on, I’ll show you where it is.”

~~

Master isn’t happy. Master is very angry, and Puppy was bad. So it doesn’t make sense at all to Puppy that Master gently bandaged up all the damage she did and told Puppy to go to her room and get some sleep.

Puppy is glad to be in her room, because she desperately wants to take care of her bunny plushie. All of her stuffed animals are lined up on her bed where she last left them. Wait, no, there are only five.

The bunny is missing. Puppy immediately drops to the ground, looking under her bed and anywhere it could’ve ended up, but she can’t find the Bunny anywhere.

She looks in her dresser, under the bed again, by the windowsill. No bunny.

She searches her dresser more thoroughly, digging through the clothes. She crawls under her bed, inspecting every inch of the ground. She flings the window open to look outside. No bunny, no bunny, it’s gone, it’s going to get hurt!

Puppy empties out her dresser, pulls the drawers all the way out and dumps her clothes on the ground. No bunny, no bunny- She rips the sheets off her bed, sending the other plushies flying. She hurt them! She gathers them back up (five, only five!) and sets them gently on the top of her dresser. They should be fine there. She’ll apologize for hurting them once she’s found bunny.

Puppy digs through the sheets and clothes on the ground, but there’s no bunny. She sobs. It’s her fault. Bunny is going to get hurt because of her.

A/N: Let me know if I should tag anything else!

Tag list: @eatyourdamnpears @whump-in-the-closet @scp-1296 @fuzzybucketz

[windowlessatmosphere]

Family Business, Ch.3

Summary: How Prapai’s family meets, and comes to adore, Sky near the beginning of their relationship.

Pawana has been waiting a long time for at least one of her children to meet someone they want to bring home. It’s never happened, but she refuses to give up hope. Now, at least, she finally has a shot at it. Her eldest, Prapai, actually has a boyfriend. At last. He’s been running around for such a long time, she’d nearly given up and focused on her two younger children. It surprises her that Pai is the one to find a relationship first, but she couldn’t be happier. Especially because Sky is handsome, kind, smart, and polite.

Of course, there is, as always, a caveat. She hasn’t actually met Sky. Everything she knows about him she’s had to shake out of Prapai, or one of his siblings. She’s brought up the idea of meeting him what feels like a hundred times at this point, and yet, nothing. It’s frustrating, to say the least. As Prapai seems to be allergic to the idea of a family dinner, she’s taken to calling Plerng and Phan, insisting that they try and arrange something. They both adore Sky, another sign that he’s a fine young man, perfect for her son. It’s really quite sweet, how all three of her children dote on him so much. Or it would be, if she could only meet him.

Good fortune comes to her after a too-long wait, in the form of a text from her son. Not Prapai, of course, that would be too much to hope for. Plerng texts her, asking if she wants to have family dinner that night at their favorite restaurant…with Sky. She texts back in the affirmative immediately, telling him to find out if Sky had any food allergies or dietary restrictions. He replies in the negative, and she calls to book a table at once. She makes the reservation for five out of habit, before remembering to bump it up to six now that Sky’s joining them. A second later, it hits her that Pakorn is out of town on business, and she adjusts it back to five. She apologizes effusively to the woman on the phone, excitement clear in her tone.

“Special occasion?”

“It certainly is,” she replies, beaming. She texts the family group chat, making it clear that all three of her children are expected to be there, and on their best behavior. She sends a separate text to Prapai, letting him know that Sky is absolutely expected as well. She can’t wait.

A few hours later, she’s done getting ready, nervously smoothing her hair into place. Generally, it’s the boyfriend who would be nervous to meet the parents, but, well…Prapai’s never brought anyone home. She arrives at the restaurant early and they seat her quickly, well aware of who their family is. There’s a fluttering in her stomach, and she takes a few deep breaths to calm herself.

Phan arrives first, and she wraps her daughter in a tight hug, demanding to know all about her day. She laughs and starts a story, only pausing when Plerng arrives, both of them hugging him in greeting. Phan finishes her story, and Pawana is torn between the urge to laugh and the urge to remind her that schoolwork should not be left until the last minute.

Finally, Prapai arrives, with Sky in tow. Even if she hadn’t been aware of who he was bringing, it would be obvious with the way her other two children jump up to greet him, hugging him and calling his name. She lets them get their energy out, standing up as Sky and Prapai approach.

“Sawasdee khrap,” Sky says, hands together in a wai.

“So polite!” she praises, smiling widely. “Call me mom,” she insists, drawing Sky into a hug. Finally.

“Yes, mom,” he smiles back nervously when she lets him go. “This is for you,” he takes a gold-wrapped package from Prapai and offers it to her, still looking shy.

“How sweet!” She’s completely endeared. “I see why my children all adore you so much,” she adds, a playful twinkle in her eye. He blushes at that, which gives her a rush of fondness.

“That’s very kind of you to say,” he answers diplomatically. So. Polite? Check. Kind? Check. Handsome? Absolutely check, she thinks, resisting the urge to ruffle his hair. Smart? She couldn’t imagine otherwise, but takes the opportunity to find out.

“My son tells me you’re in school for architecture,” she sits down as she speaks, gesturing for everyone to do the same. “Why architecture?”

“Well, I love math,” he answers seriously. “But I guess I always loved the idea of getting to create things, to help build the world.” Pawana beams at him, pleased with his answer. Her children are obviously endeared by it as well, based on the chorus of praise it elicits. Prapai puts a proprietary arm around Sky, giving his younger siblings a look as he does so.

She sighs, utterly content. Prapai has not only met someone, but that someone seems to be everything she could have asked for, and fits into the family perfectly. Yes, she thinks, she’s glad to have another son, even if the first two were…well, a handful.

[railrecipee]

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[allmightluver]

**bnha spoilers** I'm just sat here with renewed realisation of what All Might is going through. 40 years. /40 years/ he held and refined that power and dedicated his every waking (and sleeping if Vigilantes is anything to go by) moment towards the goal of defeating AfO and creating a society in which people could feel happy and safe. And now as it turns out AfO is still alive, society is broken and he has given a literal piece of his soul to this young boy leaving himself with only phantoms

Yes. I don’t think people quite grasp what all he’s going through.

It’s been shown recently to us that some, if not most, heroes have underlying ambitions in becoming a hero. Whether for money, glory, fame, popularity, doesn’t matter. They’re ultimately in it for themselves. Toshinori’s intentions from the beginning have been the most pure- he wanted to be a symbol that people can look to and know things will be ok. A symbol of hope. This boy was only around 14 years old when he decided this. What kind of 14 year old sees the world that clearly? Sees that people have no hope, that a veil of darkness covers them. The only thing I can think of is- Toshinori did not have a good childhood. Something had to have happened to a boy that young to stop seeing the joy in life so early, and see the world’s flaws. Truthfully, I believe he was an outcast- due to his quirklessness. Most likely an orphan, perhaps abandoned by his parents, as we’ve never seen him have any family. I do truly believe Toshinori has been alone all his life. I don’t doubt more could have happened to him as a child before he met Nana. 

Some may argue that Izuku is the same age, and therefore it shouldn’t be that hard to see why Toshinori wanted to be a hero at such a young age. BUT, Izuku had someone to look up to, ever since he was a child of four years old, to inspire him to be a hero his whole life *cough cough* All Might. Izuku also was quirkless, much like Toshinori, and an outcast because of it (hence where I assume Toshinori was much the same). But ultimately, Izuku wanted to save people because he saw his hero do it. It really wasn’t until Izuku was a bit older, has been in UA, has been on rescue missions, has seen what the heroes see, that I think he’s truly realized how dark the world really is. Toshinori didn’t have that. He didn’t have someone to inspire him as a child, someone to look up to, a hero to inspire him to help others. At that time, heroes hadn’t become as popular as they are in present times. Toshinori saw the world for what it was, on his own, at a tender age. I think that day Nana ran into this blonde hair kid, she eyed him up, noticed his scraggly form, looked into those captivating blue eyes, and saw a man who’s lived through the world’s horrors- experienced the worst it has to offer-, and wants to save everyone he can from the same fate, all in a 14 year old boy. 

Then after only a few short years with the woman he saw as his mother, she’s killed in front of him because of his own weakness- he wasn’t strong enough yet to protect her. The only other person his life, Gran Torino, literally abused him. He beat him to a pulp, taking his own emotions out on a teenager, and I doubt Toshinori said anything of it. He probably thought he deserved it. He’s still afraid of Gran Torino to this day, remembering the beatings and expecting more for his failures- even if he doesn’t know what they are surely he’s at fault for something, but he’s the only person who’s stood by his side for this long. Even while at a distance, and spouting nothing but criticisms along the way. But Toshinori had to put aside his own emotions to be that hope for everyone. He left everything he knew to go to a new country on his own, to learn how to be a hero, to be that hope for someone.

Vigilantes showed us just how hard he worked. Toshinori literally stayed awake with no sleep for days on end- 3 in the chapter I’m referencing- because people needed help, people needed saving, and no one else stepped up. He fought villains, rescued civilians, repaired damage, cleared rubble, (even accept and eat food that was against his dietary restrictions after his injury) whatever the public needed, all while draining himself further. He worked himself to the point of exhaustion because he had no help, once literally falling asleep while mid-leap across the city because he simply could go no further. 

^^These happen in succession of each other^^

No one stepped up to say “Hey, Mr. Number 1, you’ve been working hard lately. Let me help you!” No one tried to take over his position. Even the Number 2 hero, Endeavor, never tried to take some of his burden. His only goal was to try to be better than All Might in terms of power- he was never trying to be the hero that the people relied on All Might for. Everyone relied on him when things looked grim. He was the back up plan. And all of this happened before Toshinori’s injury. 

The only thing he ever wanted to do- help people- he can’t do (at least the way he’s always known how to). The ability to save people has been taken from him in the most gruesome way. He was finally able to fight the man that killed Nana, and in a rage that I’m sure echoed with all of the emotions of the previous users, he smashed that man’s head like a grape. But not without consequence. Several organs are gone. The pain is excruciating. He wears that man’s mark on his body for the rest of his life, never truly able to rid himself of the filth.

Then we have Nighteye’s betrayal. The man that helped him as a sidekick, the man that grew to be his only friend. Now some people may ask why Toshinori flipped like he did to Nighteye looking into his future when he was concerned about him making it through his injury. What I believe is Toshinori didn’t want to know when he would die (and really, who does). Now he knows he’s on a time limit, knows the clock is ticking. Time is running out to keep the world at peace, and with him as he is now, how long can this go on? 

I think the betrayal, doing something that Toshinori specifically asked him not to do, is what hurt the most. How can he trust Nighteye anymore? He already can only count on one hand the people he can trust, let alone befriend.

He’s wasted away into a skeleton, a shell of the man he used to be. He can’t over exert himself without his only lung bleeding in protest. It’s canon in the side books that he really doesn’t eat much, which isn’t good for his diet without a stomach now (he’s supposed to have several small meals a day). He is quite literally punishing himself by starving. (Granted, he doesn’t feel hunger anymore.) He’s a sick man, beyond medical help at this point. They can only stabilize him and hope for the best. For five years now he’s in constant pain, every day. He loses blood like sweat. Surely his veins are bruised and collapsed with how many times he would have needed to be hospitalized. Whether from losing too much blood, being too dehydrated or starved from “forgetting” to eat, or an organ failing as body continues to fall apart. “...even as my body rots and grows frail...” - Toshinori People are bound to stare at him as he walks down the street. A tall, willowy, skeleton with a grimace on his face and blood stains on his clothes as he coughs up more into his own hands. There would be the ones who outright ignore him when they walk by, the people who offer pitying smiles and sympathetic glances or just outright stare, and then ones who are afraid of his appearance- children screaming at the mere sight of him and running to their parents to hide from the monster. Each one is another knife in Toshinori’s side, an ache in his chest. If only they knew who I really am.

Losing Nighteye took a toll on his hero work as well. Mirai was a huge help in the past, and took care of all Toshinori’s paperwork, while also reminding him to take care of himself. Without him, Toshinori was even more buried beneath his responsibilities. Plus, now he was on a time limit. He even snapped briefly in his first meeting with Tsukauchi, accidentally revealing himself as All Might because he was under too much pressure, and telling the detective he literally couldn’t handle doing everything by himself (who graciously took over the paperwork side of things for him). 

He was living a double life now, having to lie to people left and right about who he was while in his small form, about how he became so sickly, why he was here in the first place who the heck is this skinny old guy. Surely he had multiple visits to the doctor while continuing to repair the damage done by AFO (there’s a limit to how much the body can handle at once. And things I’m sure continued to fail as time went on). Then he would be bedridden for as long as the doctors could keep him strapped to a bed, until he couldn’t take the people’s cries for help any longer, and would jump into action. (It’s also revealed he has something of a super hearing- able to hear danger- which may have been a form of danger sense of OFA that was never fully unlocked?. Either way, he surly could sense disasters happening while he could only lay and heal from his latest surgery. Those poor doctors must have had to re-stitch him several times). People blame him for not preparing society for his retirement, that he failed in passing on the torch so to speak, but in reality he did everything possible to keep society from falling for 40 years, doing all within his power just to keep things afloat. He is only one person. One human being, he can’t do everything despite trying to. Society failed All Might.

People blame him for not being a good teacher. He didn’t exactly have the greatest teacher himself to learn from. He’s never had to teach anyone anything, he just punches! He’s learning. And for his own credit, he’s an incredibly wise man, he has years of experience under his belt, and an intelligence score of 6/6, scoring up there with Nezu! He may not always have the right way to bring something up, but he’s doing his best. Yet even he blames himself for Izuku not being able to control his quirk better. Every time the boy hurts himself, it’s just another tally on the chalkboard of Toshinori’s failures. He himself knows the boy deserves better, better than him. Useless. Pathetic.

Then his friend from America, Dave, essentially became a villain trying to preserve Toshinori’s legacy after Toshinori told him about his injury. Dave went behind his back, threatened people, injured people (pretty sure people died), all for Toshinori’s sake. Something he didn’t want to begin with. Having to put your only other friend in jail for trying to help you surely couldn’t have been easy.

Oh, by the way? All For One isn’t dead. All Might will fight him again, publicly, have his weakened form exposed to the world, and have his own emotions toyed with as he finds out about his master’s grandson in the villain’s hands. Would Nana hate him for leaving her son alone like she’d asked, and dooming her grandchild to be raised by the greatest villain? Could he have done anything to save him? But Toshinori isn’t allowed to feel, he has to smile and push his own feelings aside once again, because there’s a villain to be fought, and only he can fight him. Despite coming out on top, he’ll have suffered severe head trauma, broken left arm, destroyed right arm, and several cuts and bruises that are sure to scar. And then, his quirk, the only thing that’s been allowing him to help people, the gift given to him that he carefully held for 40 years and molded into his own until his very consciousness was permanently carved into it, blows out like a match in the wind. And he’s done. Used up. Empty. Broken. Hollow. Alone, again.

He overhears his student, Bakugo, admit that he blames himself for All Might’s retirement. If he hadn’t been captured, All Might wouldn’t have had to save him, and he wouldn’t have had to fight AFO. Of course Toshinori knows that’s not true, his time was about to run out anyway. It would have happened one way or another. But how can he explain to this child that he wasn’t the cause of his hero, the world’s greatest hero, fighting for his sake, bleeding for his sake, being forced into retirement to keep him safe. Every time Bakugo sees the bandages covering Toshinori’s body is another reminder of the pain and sacrifice Toshinori willingly gave to keep him safe. Toshinori wasn’t held when his mentor died. He wasn’t told it was ok to be sad, that grief and mourning was a natural process, that it takes time to heal. He wasn’t told it was ok to cry. Instead his feelings were beaten out of him as he wondered if Gran Torino blamed him for Nana’s death. He already blamed himself How then, does he comfort a child mourning for him? For what he lost.

And then he gets the call to come to the hospital. Mirai, Nighteye, his old sidekick friend, has been gravely injured, much like he himself was only a few years ago, and most likely won’t survive the night. And to his horror, Nighteye is happy to see him, smiles at him, says he doesn’t hate him for what happened, only wants Toshinori to be happy. He can’t accept that, at least let him apologize, reconcile his sins before it’s too late! But it is. Another fractured piece of his heart gone.

Of course, seeing your students beat up and their arms completely destroyed must have hurt. Instead of being able to save these kids, they’re the ones that hurt themselves to save everyone else. And if Bakugo had kept OFA, things could have been very different (especially with what we know now of OFA and people with quirks). Toshinori wasn’t mad at Izuku for transferring it away, he’d never regret choosing Izuku, and I believe he still would have stayed by Izuku and Bakugo’s side should it have stayed in Bakugo, doing whatever he could to help.

As he tells Aizawa, “I’ve decided to live,” -that statement seems so melancholy, besides obvious reasons. It sounds more like another task he has to accomplish. He didn’t die he was supposed to die with the AFO fight, and now the whole life he lived is over. The world has no use for him anymore. If not for Izuku, he’d have nothing left keeping him here. But because his boy made him promise to live, he’ll do so. Though it almost seems like he says those words with regret. “I’ve decided to live.” Not, “I’m going to live!” “Nothing can kill me!” “I won’t go down without a fight!” No. “I’ll live if I have to, only because you asked me to.” The man is obviously and outwardly depressed. He has so many things against him. No doubt has severe PTSD, anxiety, among others. Not to mention his own physical health. Every day hurts. It’s painful to be alive. Why would he torture himself if he doesn’t have to? For you, my boy. You’re the only thing keeping me here. The only light in my dark world.

He tries to help Izuku find out the previous holder’s quirks, to help his boy in any way he can now that he’s worthless, and goes days on end without sleep, running his body into the ground. He even forgets Christmas. Only to find that by giving the boy the same gift he had received, he may have just doomed him to an early death, among psychological torture (danger detection). (Granted, he really doesn’t know how everything works, and he’s afraid to talk to anyone about it). His boy could live only half a life.

It’s only been a few months since he retired, and society has fallen into shambles. People are blaming him. People are dying. He watches helplessly as his colleague fight his fight for him, and end up battered, bruised, crippled, dead. He students, his boy, battle the monster he should have killed. Children are bleeding. This shouldn’t happen. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Is everything he worked for, everything he fought to protect, to build up, to inspire, is all for naught?! Did he live a foolish dream and doom the world? Was all the the friends he lost, tears he shed, the organs he destroyed, the pain he endures on a daily basis from the hole in his side, and the blood he continues to bleed every day, for nothing? The public, the ones he protected for so long, mourn his absence, but surely there are those among them who also blame him. The statue from his last fight in Kamino one that he never asked for was decimated in a mock of his catch phrase- the one that was supposed to give hope.

Now he can feel his own vestige speaking with Izuku in the OFA realm, even with out OFA in his own body anymore. His clock as nearly reached it’s limit, Nighteye’s prediction is due any day now. The only thing he wants is to see his boy smile at him, to give him some shred of hope. Yet the child remains unconscious, and Toshinori can’t even hold his hand from the bandages covering his arms. Will he still be able to fight? Is there any coming back from this now? Did I break him?

With all Toshinori has been through, I’m honestly surprised we haven’t seen him just outright break down. Anyone, anyone, else should have crumbled under the pressure of holding up the world for 40 years alone. And instead of being able to pass it on to someone when he can no longer bear its weight, it simply falls to into the abyss. People don’t credit All Might enough for everything he’s done. Most don’t realize the sacrifices he’s made. His character is so unbelievably profound and deep, it’s more than just the “I am here!” people focus on. He’s a deeply troubled, layered, complex character. And I can’t find fault within him.

[tanadrin]

TBH after reading the first paragraph of your latest post I thought the rest of it was going to be "and here's why all of that is laughably retarded and my take on how our institutions are captured by lysenkoists" - entire fields are badly wrong often, especially nutrition, why do you buy it?

I buy it because the science is reliable.

I don't know how you could characterize nutrition science as "captured by lysenkoists" in any form, unless by "lysenkoist" you just mean to generally disparage science you think is politically motivated. "X field is Lysenkoism" seems usually to be a lazy critique by people who want to dismiss politically inconvenient research without engaging with the substance of why they think a field or sub-field is wrong, which is the least interesting kind of critique.

The human body is complicated, so nutrition is hard to study. That sounds quite simple on its own, but it's very difficult to underrate the complexity of systems developed by random mutation and selection. I remember an anecdote I read once about circuits designed via genetic algorithm, which produced results that were difficult to understand. Individual elements usually had multiple overlapping functions, and there was one that had a closed loop totally unconnected to the rest of the device--but if you removed it it totally stopped functioning. Only after some serious investigation did the experimenters determine this was because of some kind of weak electrically-induced effect that this loop produced, which was nonetheless critical to the circuit's function. Most biological systems are designed in a similarly infuriating way, and the algorithms that produce them have been running for millions of years. On top of that, it's difficult to observe the human metabolism in action, and we're still not equal to the task of simulating it at any kind of realistic detail.

I think like a lot of biology, nutrition and food science has done quite a lot of impressive stuff given those restrictions, but "what are the causes of fatness in general, and the obesity epidemic in particular" are narrower questions that we've focused on intently only for a few decades. The obesity epidemic is recent, and for most of its history the science of food and nutrition has been concentrated on more pressing issues like how do we feed a rapidly growing world population, and prevent dietary diseases like rickets and pellagra, and not "what is the precise relationship of fatness to various health conditions, and what factors most directly control fatness."

The stuff you refer to as "laughably retarted" is what falls out of the evidence as soon as you start looking at it in any detail. These aren't controversial or difficult-to-replicate results--they're out of step with the common medical wisdom in some ways, but only because the common medical wisdom is often laughably retarded. Some doctors still get taught as fact that black people feel pain less acutely than white people, and until COVID hit and forced us to reexamine the evidence, common medical wisdom totally misunderstood how airborne particulates worked, based on a single totally misinterpreted study from a hundred years ago, even though any air pollution scientist could have set them straight. Because of a single anecdote by one researcher (I think Kinskey, but correct me if I'm wrong), a lot of gynecologists seem to think the cervix feels no pain at all, meaning IUDs are commonly inserted using sharp-tipped forceps to hold the cervix--and while this is fine for some, others find it excruciatingly painful, because it turns out that the sensitivity of the cervix to pain varies wildly among individuals. And these areas--pain, airborne disease, and gynecology--are comparatively tractable to study.

We have known since time immemorial that if you starve, you get thin and eventually die. Since 1761, we've had calorimeters that can give us a rough guess on the energy contained in food; and with those two tools you can rough out at basic CICO model. You could stop there, and treat all subsequent developments in the area as Lysenkoism because they didn't conform to your prior assumptions on what fatness is and means, but then you'd have no tools to understand questions like why obesity began rising toward the end of the 20th century, long after wealthy industrialized countries moved to a more sedentary lifestyle, how appetite relates to actual food consumption and exercise, what the metabolic effects of different foods are, the role of gut bacteria in health and how they're influenced by diet, and lots of other interesting questions. And, well, that would be laughably retarded.

[golden-pickaxe]

Coffee (Part 5)

Fandom: Vikings

Paring: Ivar x Reader

Type: Modern AU, Office AU

Wordcount: 3619

Warnings: reader drinks wine casually

[Coffee - All Parts Here]

A/N: Here is part 5!

Tagged: @youbloodymadgenius​ @punkrocknpearls @mootiemoose​ @istorkyou @dini73​ @heavenly1927​ @hashimily​ @peakywitch​

Summary: You are a graduate student at the University of Oslo, and have applied for a job as a personal assistant at the Lothbrok Corporation, without really knowing much of the position advertised. When it turns out you are going to work for the (in)famous Ivar Lothbrok, your whole life is turned up-side-down.

With Ivar just wearing a t-shirt, instead of his usual well-cut suits, you could very clearly see the strong muscles in his arms, as you watched him pushing his wheelchair out of the pedestrian zone, towards the street. You had to swallow at the sight, hating yourself for the effect this man had on you.

 You walked along side him, finally realising what you had done. Just like a year ago, when the coin had dropped that you had really applied at the Lothbrok Corporation, it now dropped that you had just accepted his invitation to come to his home and let him cook for you. Him, one of the most influential businessmen of Norway. With his own fucking Wikipedia site.

Your heart was pounding rapidly in your chest at the thought, and you bit your lower lip, not quite knowing what this whole thing would mean now. And if it would change anything between you. You hoped not, but in the same way, you did hope.

 Getting your private life mixed up with your job probably was not a good idea. On the other hand, this whole situation kind of freaked you out, but in a good way. It was exciting.

 You and Ivar had reached the street, next to the national gallery, where a few minutes later the taxi arrived. Personally, you would never get a taxi in Oslo, as it was just insanely expensive, but with a lot of public transport, such as the tram you had taken to get here, not entirely being accessible to someone in a wheelchair, you could understand why Ivar had called it.

 Ivar maneuverered himself into one of the back seats, while the driver put his chair into the trunk of the car. You felt Ivar’s blue eyes watching you, as you rounded the vehicle to get into at the other side.

Even though he always successfully overplayed it, you saw that he was a bit self-conscious about his legs, often cursing them underneath his breath when they once again got into his way. He could move them a little bit, and also seemed to have some feeling in them, was even able to stand up for a few moments, if he could support himself with his arms. But in general, they did not really seem to be working.

In the office, Ivar hated to use his wheelchair, often just dragging himself from his desk to his sofa, his immense upper body strength enabling him to pull himself up with not much of an issue.

 Now, sitting next to you in the taxi on the way to his apartment, he readjusted his legs a bit with tight lips, appearing a bit nervous once more. You still could not quite wrap your head around what was happening right now, it all felt a bit like a dream to you. Just so, you managed to resist the urge to pinch yourself.

 Your boss, your grumpy boss, the infamous Ivar Lothbrok had just casually invited you to go out for coffee with him, had questioned you about almost every aspect of your life, paid for your drink, and now took you to his home to cook for you. It almost sounded like a very bad rom-com, like a romance story some bored, lonely woman would think up. Not that you expected it to end that way, of course. Even if you honestly wished it would.

 Until now, even if you sometimes chatted on business trips, your relationship had been purely professional, and you had only been over to his flat once, when you had brought him a set of suits to his home, when there had been issues with his dry cleaner. It had not really surprised you, finding out that he also lived in Majorstuen, actually not very far from you, although it had been a stress factor for you. Of course, he did not live in one of the old buildings, like you did, with paper thin walls, no elevator and wonky doors, no. He lived on the top floor of one of those new, fancy apartment buildings, costing a few ten-million krona, overlooking Frognerparken.

 When you had brought the suits up to his apartment, you had also met a famous Norwegian actor in the lift, so it was clear what kind of people occupied the other flats of the building. You had never been inside his home, had only delivered his suits to his door, but even the entrance and the lift had been very fancy and expensive looking. Admittedly, you had taken a stupid selfie in the mirror of the lift and posted it to Instagram.

 As Aker Brygge was, as stated, not far from Majorstuen, the drive was quite short, and the few minutes of silence were only broken by far too relaxing music coming out of the car radio. The taxi stopped in front of the apartment building Ivar lived in, and he paid the driver, while you got out, retrieving Ivar’s wheelchair from the trunk. You set it up and positioned it next to the car, for him to climb into.

 Ivar clenched his jaw a bit, obviously annoyed at something, even though you were not quite sure what exactly it was that he was annoyed by now, only hoping that it was not you. Well, at least you would have not far home now.

Ivar climbed out of the car, moving himself over to sit in his chair, before unlocking the breaks and rolling towards the door of the building, while the taxi behind you departed.

 Just as you remembered, the entry hall of the apartment complex was very posh, and you were reminded that this was a completely different world from yours. A different world from your shitty apartment, where you could hear almost every conversation your neighbours were having, and where you had push your full body against the bathroom door to get it to close properly.

 Following Ivar to the lift, the two of you got in, and Ivar pressed the button of the top floor. As soon as the doors had closed, Ivar’s eyes were on you, mustering you intently. His gaze was a tad intimidating, you had to admit, once again looking like a predator looking at his prey. Still, you managed to look back with a smile.

 “Are there any things you don’t eat, before I work my magic?” he asked, a smirk on his handsome face. You had to laugh at his choice of words, but told him about any dietary restrictions or things you didn’t like, and Ivar nodded.

 “Alright. I think I know what to make, then.” He leaned back in his chair a bit, biting how lower lip, a move that made your knees feel very weak.

 “Thank you.” It came out of your mouth, earning a very surprised expression from Ivar.

 “What for?” he asked honestly a bit confused, tilting his head at you.

 “For the coffee. And for inviting me over, and for cooking.” You studied his face, hoping to find something there, something that would give up his intentions, something revealing why he was doing this. You just needed to know, needed to know if you could get your hopes up or not. Was this really just a social call because you had been working for him for a year now, or was it something else?

 “Thank me after you’ve tasted my glorious food! Then I will gladly accept your thanks.” Ivar winked, and the elevator doors opened. Ivar left the lift, pulling his keys out of his pocket as he stopped at his front door.

 His flat was the only flat up here, and you guessed it had to be gigantic, covering the whole top floor. You were sure, his flat probably also had a roof terrace.

 You had to admit, this was another thing you found kind of intimidating about this man. The sheer amount of wealth he had, the wealth his family had. While you lived in a flat share with an old kitchen and horrible, tiny bathroom, with just a wet room and not even a proper shower, he lived in this extremely modern, borderline futuristic building, overlooking Oslo.

 Ivar opened the door, and pushed himself into the flat, with you following close behind, walking past him before he closed the door again behind you.

 Obviously you had imagined this place to be huge and expensive, but what you were seeing in front of your eyes was just.. something else.

It was less of a normal flat, and more of a large loft, most of the rooms merged into one big space. There was, similar to his office, a gigantic glass front overlooking the famous park, and West Oslo. The sun was still in the sky, the sunset not being for another one and a half hours or so.

 In the centre of the room was a big, beautiful white sofa, the kind where one could just stretch out like a starfish and not fall down. In front of it was a coffee table made out of driftwood and glass, the dark wood in stark contrast with the sofa. On the right of it were large, metal, urban looking bookshelves, filled with many thick books, some leather bound and old looking, dividing the living area from the ‘bedroom’, and there were a few doors opposite of the windows, that seemed to lead into extra rooms, probably the bathroom and other rooms.

 Behind the bookshelf you could see a large bed at the wall, so large in fact that you were sure that it could comfortably fit three to four fully grown people. It was covered and surrounded in white and grey furs, sheep and reindeer as far as you could tell from the distance. Furs also covered parts of the marble floor of the flat.

 There were many more furs on and in front of the sofa, and in general it seemed that grey, white and black, together with different shades of brown were the only colours in the whole apartment, making it look very sophisticated.

 On the left-hand side was a giant, very modern kitchen, seemingly equipped with everything a cook could wish for, with a large kitchen isle and a big table in front of it, a rustic looking piece of furniture, made of wood and carved with beautiful knot patterns, probably hand made by a very skilled Scandinavian carpenter knowing a lot about medieval woodcarving.

 The kitchen itself, you noticed, was lower than what you were used to, and while it confused you for a moment, you quickly realised that it was built so that Ivar could easily reach everything from his wheelchair, without having to get any help.

 “Welcome to my humble home.” You heard Ivar’s voice behind you, pulling you out of your thoughts. You swallowed and turned to him, looking at him as he watched you with a knowing smile on his lips.

 You could not hold back a laugh.

“Humble?” you simply asked, slipping out of your shoes and walking further into the big room, looking around.

 The whole flat was modern and elegant, yet had such a rustic and clearly Scandinavian aesthetic, it was truly impressive. Whoever was the interior designer, was truly a genius, and showed an amazing appreciation for medieval Scandinavian design. Similar works you had only seen in the Folksmuseet in Bygdøy.

 The walls that were not made out of glass were covered in picture frames, displaying either old Viking artwork or photographs of Norway and Iceland, of runestones and old temples. Somehow, it fitted in perfectly with the rest of the decoration.

 There was a door in the glass front of the flat, leading out, just as you had assumed, onto a large roof top terrace, furnished with even more rustic, wooden, and probably handmade tables and chairs, and, as cliché as it sounded, a beautiful hot tub. It was built into a frame, reminding you of a Viking ship, with a set of carved stairs leading up to it, probably so that Ivar had an easier time to get in and out of it, without requiring any help.

 “Alright, I admit, not so humble.” Ivar chuckled. “It was a present from my father when I started to officially work in the company. He had his friend Floki and his wife Helga design and build this whole thing.”

 That made you turn around to him once more. You knew these names.

“The Floki and Helga?” you swallowed.

 Floki and Helga were very, very famous, highly awarded architects and designers, often hired to design important landmarks and museums. Houses planned by them costing up to a hundred million kronas. They were famous for being able to combine the traditional aesthetics of their ancestors with the modern designs of this century, creating masterpieces that were rewarded all over the world. Now, looking around Ivar’s loft once more, it seemed obvious that this was their handy work.

 “Yes, The Floki and Helga.” Ivar chuckled. “The two of them almost raised me when I was a kid. With my parents busy all the time and me being bound to.. this.” He gestured at is chair. “Floki made all the wooden furniture himself. I am very lucky.”

 “Indeed you are.” You shook your head, unable to believe what you had just heard.

 Obviously, he had been raised by the two of them. Obviously, they had made his home for him, being like family to him, and being friends of his father, the most powerful businessman in Norway, and probably even all of Europe.

By now, you wouldn’t even question, if Ivar casually told you that he was descended from Odin.

 Ivar just shrugged at your words, although the expression on his face was a mixture of amused and pride. He bent down to slip out of his shoes, before moving his wheelchair over to a spot next to the door, where another wheelchair was waiting for him, this one looking a bit different, similar to the ones used by disabled athletes. Easier to navigate and probably a bit more comfortable. Ivar heaved himself up from his chair, navigating himself into the other one, a sigh leaving his lips.

 “I don’t fancy the dirt from the streets in my home.” He explained at your confused face, before he pushed himself towards you.

Oh yes, that made sense. Just as both of you had taken off your shoes, it would only be logical for him to also ‘change wheels’.

 A faint smile was on his lips, as he looked up and into your face, his expression soft and open, something you were not quite used to from him. His body language was relaxed too, his arms simply resting in his lap, as his head was once again tilted slightly.

He was truly a beautiful man, you had to admit. It was difficult to ignore, and sometimes you caught yourself staring in meetings, hoping that no one had noticed how your eyes had been practically glued to your boss. Solveig had made fun of you even more, when you had told her about it.

 “I think I’m going to start to cook now, before we starve to death. So, sit down, get comfortable.” He winked at you, before moving his chair towards the kitchen, in the process letting the wheelchair roll a bit, while he pulled his long hair into a tight bun at the back of his head. “Or would you like to help?” he looked back at you with a raised eyebrow, looking at you from underneath his long eyelashes. You had to swallow.

 “Well, I am still your personal assistant. So, I will assist you.” You smiled, following him into the kitchen. You hoped that reminding yourself that you were still his employee would calm your nerves.

 “I had hoped you’d say that, dove.” There it was again, that nickname. Your nerves were certainly not calm now.

 Ivar started to pull out pans and a cutting board, gesturing at the fridge for you to take out certain ingredients and washing them in the sink.

 You were not entirely sure what he was going to make, but you were positively surprised that his fridge and his whole pantry was stocked very well. You had to admit, you had taken him for one of those bachelors who had never touched their kitchen in their lives, and with all the money they had always ate out.

 But, as Ivar casually explained while you were preparing food, he enjoyed cooking for himself, and did so almost every evening.

While you were washing some vegetables, and he was skilfully cutting up an onion, he casually told you about the cooking schools he had visited when he was younger, and about the occasional dinner parties he threw for his close friends and family, where he cooked up five course meals for them all by himself. He moved around his kitchen as if he knew every millimetre of it, knowing the layout like the back of his hand.

 You enjoyed this far too much. You rarely saw Ivar this casual, only on business trips when he was not in the mood to talk about work anymore. And though you did not like to admit it, you were keen to know more about his personal life, to know more about the man behind the name Lothbrok.

 It was nice to see him here, in his home. He seemed so at ease, so open, the usual anger and annoyance he often seemed to carry around with himself in day-to-day life completely absent in this moment. This was his space, where he did not have to worry, to think about what upset him.

 This flat truly seemed to be his place, and his place alone. His kingdom far from the influence of other people. Here he was himself, independent of everyone else, everything built in a way that he did not need help from other people.

 Whatever else would come of tonight, you were just happy that you could witness this. You would see Ivar differently now, you knew. And would probably fall even more for him.

 You noticed it getting a bit darker out, and a quick look at your phone told you that it was already half past nine PM. It had not seemed that long, getting to Ivar’s home and starting to cook, as you had not even finished the preparation for cooking yet, but frankly, you didn’t even mind. The setting sun tinted the whole apartment in a magical, golden light, making it look even more beautiful and magical. Ivar’s face turned away from his work for a moment, his blue eyes wandering over the horizon, where the sky was slowly tinted in orange, pink and purple. A faint smile appeared on his face, before he returned his attention to the food.

 Absently minded you put your phone on the kitchen isle, before you grabbed a jar of mixed spices, which Ivar had instructed you to get for him while he was still cutting up vegetables. You read the label, not surprised that he had not purchased them in Norway, but in Spain, turning around, eyes still on the jar. Thus, you only noticed too late that Ivar was right behind you, his chair almost inaudible on the marble floor.

 With a slightly embarrassing yelp escaping your throat, you lost balance, tripping over Ivar’s wheelchair, falling over and landing straight in his lap. His strong arms were suddenly around you to keep you from completely falling to the floor, and your face probably had taken on a crimson shade.

 “Careful there, dove. I’m usually not that hard to miss.” He smirked, to your surprise not even remotely angry with you.

 You had once, in your third month at the Lothbrok Corporation, seen a small clerk run into him in the office, who had been a bit late and had not really paid attention. After Ivar had yelled at him for good twenty minutes, he had never been heard of again.

 “Gods, I’m so sorry, I..” but you stopped, swallowing, not knowing what to say. You tried to get up, the jar of spices still in your hand, but Ivar’s strong grip around you firmly held you in place.

 The man tilted his head, eye flickering to the glass container you were holding. He let go of you with one of his arms, while the other one was still around you, taking the jar from your hands and placing it on the counter next to him. His blue eyes mustered you once more. Your heart was pounding. In the light of the setting sun he looked even more handsome than he had already.

 “I have told you, that you look good today, right?” he asked, his voice low. His hand had returned to hold you again, and you noticed his fingers carefully caressing your back, which sent a shiver up your spine.

 Your mind was racing, as was your heart.

You could not but stare into his piercing blue eyes, not sure what to say, how to respond to him right now, or if you should say anything at all. You were unable to think even one coherent thought, as you felt his strong arms around you, his firm body below you, and his hot breath against you skin.. wait. When had he gotten this close to you?

 Before you could really comprehend what was happening, you suddenly felt Ivar’s lips against yours, not firm, but soft, almost shily moving against yours. In that moment, it was as if your mind just gave up, and turned itself off.

[occultfolk]

Lets talk: chakras!

in this post, we'll talk about chakras! what they are, why its important to keep them balanced and how they can aid/hinder our spiritual journey.

FAQs |

I. what even are chakras? Chakras points of energy throughout the body where the physical and higher selves meet.

II. what do they do? each chakra corresponds to massive nerve centers and major organs in the body. each of the 7 chakras also contains our spiritual states of being.

INTRODUCTION |

so what ARE the 7 chakras? glad you asked! let's break them down, one by one, because in order to begin to unblock or even open our chakras, we need to understand them throughly.

before we begin, let's do a little meditation lesson. lie down on a comfortable, flat surface. now, using your pendulum, hover over each of your chakra points — if the pendulum moves with the flow of the position of your body, the chakra is open. but if it does not move, it is blocked.

now, this comes with a grain of salt because while it can be a useful simple way to check the chakras, it cannot be the only way you check them.

SEVEN CHAKRAS |

1. Root Chakra (Muladhara)

The root chakra represents our foundation. On the human body, it sits at the base of the spine and gives us the feeling of being grounded. When the root chakra is open, we feel confident in our ability to withstand challenges and stand on our own two feet. When it's blocked, we feel threatened, as if we're standing on unstable ground.

Location: Base of spine, in tailbone area

What it controls: Survival issues such as financial independence, money, and food

Mantra: "I can't grow from an unsteady foundation."

Color: Red

Element: Earth

Stone: Hematite

2. Sacral Chakra (Swadhisthana)

The sacral chakra helps inform how we relate to our emotions and the emotions of others. It also governs creativity and sexual energy. Those with a blocked sacral chakra could feel a lack of control in their lives.

Location: Lower abdomen, about 2 inches below the navel

What it controls: Your sense of abundance, well-being, pleasure, and sexuality

Mantra: "I always honor others but not before myself."

Color: Orange

Element: Water

Stone: Tiger's Eye

3. Solar Plexus Chakra (Manipura)

The third chakra, the solar plexus chakra, speaks to your ability to be confident and in control of your life. Think back to the last time you had butterflies or felt a pit in the stomach: That's the Manipura chakra at work. If your solar plexus chakra is blocked, you might feel overwhelming amounts of shame and self-doubt. Those with open sacral chakras are free to express their true selves.

Location: Upper abdomen in the stomach area

What it controls: Self-worth, self-confidence, and self-esteem

Mantra: "Self-love starts when I accept all parts of myself."

Color: Yellow

Element: Fire

Stone: Amber

4. Heart Chakra (Anahata)

The heart chakra is the bridge between the lower chakras (associated with materiality) and the upper chakras (associated with spirituality). As the name suggests, this chakra can influence our ability to give and receive love—from others and ourselves. Someone with a blocked heart chakra will have difficulty fully opening up to the people in their life. If someone's heart is open, they can experience deep compassion and empathy.

Location: Center of chest, just above the heart

What it controls: Love, joy, and inner peace

Mantra: "When I love myself, loving others comes easily."

Color: Green

Element: Air

Stone: Rose Quartz

5. Throat Chakra (Vishuddha)

The throat chakra gives voice to the heart chakra and controls our ability to communicate our personal power. When it's functioning at full capacity, it allows us to express ourselves truly and clearly. Someone with a blocked throat chakra will feel like they have trouble finding the words to say how they truly feel.

Location: Throat

What it controls: Communication, self-expression, and truth

Mantra: "I speak my truth, always."

Color: Light Blue/Turquoise

Element: Sound/Music

Stone: Aquamarine

6. Third-Eye Chakra (Ajna)

As we move up the body, we're getting closer to communion with the divine. The third-eye chakra controls our ability to see the big picture and connect to intuition. Think of it as the eye of the soul: It registers information beyond the surface level. Visions and intuitive hits are not uncommon for someone with an open third-eye chakra.

Location: Forehead between the eyes (also called the Brow Chakra)

What it controls: Intuition, imagination, and wisdom

Mantra: "I am open to exploring what cannot be seen."

Color: Dark Blue/Purple

Element: Light

Stone: Amethyst

7. Crown Chakra (Sahasrara)

The crown chakra, the highest chakra, sits at the crown of the head and represents our ability to be fully connected spiritually. When you fully open your crown chakra—something very few people ever do!—you're able to access a higher consciousness.

Location: The very top of the head

What it controls: Inner and outer beauty, spiritual connection

Lesson: "I am a vessel for love and light."

Color: Violet/White

Element: Divine Consciousness

Stone: Clear quartz

BLOCKED/OPEN |

now that we have a better understanding of the chakras, what they do and more important where they are, we can talk about the reasons we might have blocks, and the things we can do to reopen those blocks and therefore progress in our spiritual journies.

i read a book about charkas a while ago, and then i feel it explains the reasons better than i could, here is an excerpt from that book.

"A blocked chakra means energy is stuck or hindered. You might think of it as a blocked artery. In order for energy and information to flow, the channels through which they flow must be open. You will have difficulty getting to work on time if the roads are blocked by traffic. In the same way, the chakras cannot work at optimal levels when the pathways have blockages. These blockages can be physical, emotional or psychological, spiritual, karmic, or energetic.

The blocks can be physical, in the literal sense, such as fatty deposits in the arteries, a tumor, a cyst, or excess waste. We can create blockages in the physical body through poor dietary choices, lack of exercise, overexertion, and lifestyle choices such as overwork, drug use, or lack of sleep.

Blocks in the chakras can also be emotional or psychological, such as stored emotions from the past or mental illness such as anxiety, depression, or addiction. We accumulate emotional toxins and residue from not properly processing and digesting emotions and experiences. These toxins result in blocking the energy flow of the chakras.

Blocks can be spiritual in nature. They can come from outside spiritual forces or from within. If we refuse to honor the spiritual side of who we are, we block the higher chakras. Being spiritually rigid and strict can also restrict the flow of energy. Remember, whether the forces are external or internal, without your conscious awareness they can create harm.

Blockages can also come from our karma. The word karma in Sanskrit literally means “action.” In life we perform actions that are good or nourishing, bad or harmful, or neutral. An example of a good action might be giving money to charity. A bad action might be intentionally lying or deceiving. A neutral action might be making the bed (which, if you dig deeper, can also be considered a good action, depending on the circumstances). In the East, certain religions and philosophies adhere to the principle that we accumulate karma throughout lifetimes, and we carry it forth into our current life. The definition of karma, in this sense, assumes a belief in reincarnation and asserts that karma is not simply the action performed but also the consequences of that action. Good karma carried forward can give us favor in our current lifetime. Bad karma is a debt we must repay in this or future lifetimes.

Finally, the blocks can be energetic. I explained a little about energetic blockages when I spoke about my astrological chart. We are a part of this earth, our solar system, and the universe. The influence of the earth’s energy and elements, as well as of the energy of the sun, moon, and planets in our solar system, is strong and undeniable. Ayurveda, the five-thousand-year-old medical system from India, recognizes these energetic forces and acknowledges them as a means of healing. You can learn more about Ayurveda by reading my book The Wheel of Healing with Ayurveda: An Easy Guide to a Healthy Lifestyle. Ayurveda works on the principles of the five elements — space, air, fire, water, and earth — which work together to create the three doshas, or mind-body types, of Vata (space and air), Pitta (fire and water), and Kapha (water and earth). These elements and mind-body types are relevant in recognizing energetic blocks within your body and the chakras. This awareness will give you more tools toward your healing of the chakras and provide a superspeed highway to creating energy flow." — CHAKRA HEALING FOR VIBRANT ENERGY by Michelle S. Fondin.

so how do we unblock them then? well, its more complicated than can be explained in a single tumblr post, but i will tell you how to get the energies moving whilst you work through the blocks and figure them out.

we need to understand, that we are all different, and our spiritual journies will all be different. the same goes for things like chakras.

1st Chakra (Root)

Element: The root chakra is associated with earth, so walking barefoot in the sand, grass, or dirt can be beneficial. Any time spent in nature is helpful for this chakra.

Nutrition: Eat healthy red foods like tomatoes, beets, berries, and apples.

Wear and Decorate: Use accents of red and wear red jewelry, clothing, or shoes.

Sound: lam

2nd Chakra (Sacral)

Element: The sacral chakra is associated with water, which means swimming or spending time by bodies of water like lakes and oceans is beneficial.

Nutrition: Eat orange foods like carrots, oranges, melons, or mangoes.

Wear and Decorate: Surround yourself with orange accessories or tones.

Sound: vam

3rd Chakra (Solar Plexus)

Element: The solar plexus chakra is associated with the element of fire, so enjoy sitting around a bonfire or soak up bright sunlight.

Nutrition: Eat yellow foods like bananas, ginger, turmeric, pineapple, and corn.

Wear and Decorate: Wearing yellow clothing, jewelry, and accessories would be beneficial.

Sound: ram

4th Chakra (Heart)

Elements: The heart chakra is associated with air, so breathing deeply will help to clear the energy at this level. Drive with the windows open, fly a kite, or take a boat ride.

Nutrition: Eat green foods including broccoli, avocado, and leafy greens like kale or spinach.

Wear and Decorate: Accent your life with all shades of green.

Sound: yum

5th Chakra (Throat)

Element: The throat chakra is associated with ether (similar to spirit), so sitting in an open space under a clear sky is a fabulous way to get this energy flowing appropriately.

Nutrition: Eat blue foods like blueberries, currants, dragon fruit, and kelp.

Wear and Decorate: Use all blue tones.

Sound: ham

6th Chakra (Third Eye)

Element: The third eye chakra is associated with light. To balance and open this chakra, sit in stillness in the sunlight or relax in a window as the sun pours in.

Nutrition: Eat indigo foods including purple kale, grapes, and blackberries.

Wear and Decorate: Wearing indigo clothing or jewelry and decorating with accents of this color will be useful.

Sound: sham

7th Chakra (Crown)

Element: The crown chakra is affiliated with all the elements, so connecting with your wholeness rather than a single element is the recommended practice. Spend time in meditation, chanting, or prayer.

Nutrition: At this level, the nutrition is no longer for the physical body. This chakra is not nourished with food, but with spiritual practices. Practice self-reflection and curiosity.

Wear and Decorate: Wearing violet clothing or jewelry and decorating with accents of this color will be useful.

Sound: om

CONCLUSION |

hopefully you all understand chakras a bit better now! but, if any questions are to come up that you can't seem to find an answer to, my ask box is always open! (like my chakras).

[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.” 

[rpmemes-galore]

a few people wanted to know the story, so enjoy.  fair warning, its a long, rough read, with a buncha triggers possible throughout.   but hey, hey, enjoy, i guess?  will probs end up deleting this later today and gonna work on memes.  hope y’all are doing okay, take care. 

My relationship with my older brother has always been really... rocky. Without going into too much potentially triggering detail, he hurt me a lot when I was younger, so there's a lot of fear surrounding him. Saying that now as the reason for why I could never stand up to him for this.

A few years ago, my family decided that someone should move into our late grandparents home to look after the place, and I immediately volunteered. I loved that home, that farm. There were a ton of good memories there, and I was so excited when my family agreed. But, then my health took a downward turn and it was decided I couldn't live alone due to safety reasons. Enter, my older brother. He was in his late twenties at the time, and parents wanted him to finally move out, so they said he was going to come live with me there to keep an eye on me in case something happened. I wasn't happy about it, but he was the only one who could, and the only way I'd get to live at my late grandparent's place, so I agreed to it.

Right from the start, things were not great. He didn't help unbox anything except for his own belongings... No kitchen stuff, no bathroom stuff, just his clothes and computer. As it was just me doing it, and with my fragile health at the time, it was taking me a long while to get it all done. And that's when my aunt thought it was a great idea to start doing weekly visits, i.e. inspections of the place. She got pissed when she saw things still boxed up after a week of being there, but told me she was willing to look past it if it got put away soon.

I busted my butt getting everything put away, then. But I was contending with other issues at that point. He'd started messing up the house. I would wake up to find garbage and crumbs across the kitchen counters and table, dirty dishes dropped wherever he was closest to, and his dirty laundry dropped on the living room floor. His room started getting bad, as well. From about a month of being there, it started to stink. I went in a few times and there would be dishes with rotting food on his dresser. The floor was covered in a layer of food wrappers and other garbage. Dirty laundry was thrown everywhere. His game discs, which we'll come back to later, would be laying unprotected on the floor.

It just got worse from there. At the start, he'd tidy up a little bit after himself. If I asked politely enough, he'd throw garbage away or bring his dishes out of the room... only if I asked him. Three months in. That changed. He started getting snippy at me, slamming and locking his door if I asked him to do anything around the house. His messes were getting worse, and it was just me trying to play catch-up everyday. It got to the point my morning routine was wake up, head out to the kitchen while picking up any dirty laundry / garbage on the way, gather up dirty dishes from around the room and put them on the counter to wash, wash a few of them just to get a headstart, wipe crumbs off all counters and table, wash the rest of the dishes (I still don't understand how he could use so many in a single night), sweep floors if the crumb situation was bad enough. All this before I'd allow myself to have anything to eat or drink, due to sheer panic of my aunt stopping by unannounced again and seeing the place in this state.

My brother was working a very part time job at the time and, as soon as he left for his shift, I would pounce on his room. I'd haul out armfuls (plural) of dirty dishes which I'd then hurry to wash, I'd carry out at least one full, heavy duty garbage bag of trash. I would try to make his bed after brushing off the crumbs. All this in the few hours I had before he'd get back home. And he would always get incredibly pissed at me for it, which I understand. I know it was an invasion of privacy and, if not for the aunt, I wouldn't have done it... But the state of his room was going to get us both evicted, so I felt justified doing it.

It went on this way for a year and half. During that time, he made me bring his game discs in to get them fixed, had me pay for them, and never paid me back. I wound up in the emergency room on three separate occasions, all due to working myself to the point of over-exhaustion and aggravating already pre-existing health problems. Once, when I was away for a few days, he'd turned my room into a storage room. Ie, he threw all his laundry and belongings on my bedroom floor because he didn't want to deal with them. I wound up having to sort through it and pick it all up. He moved the landline phone into his room, essentially cutting off my contact to the outside world behind a locked door as my cellphone barely had any service there. He took food money from me, against my will, to buy his own... Would eat part of it and let the rest rot in the fridge until I cleaned it out. (important note, I have a lot of dietary restrictions. So it's not like I could just snack on it or share it with him. I just had to deal with him basically stealing my food money, then wasting it on food I couldn't even eat.) He would lock himself in his room anytime the aunt came by, making me have to face her wrath on my own, because I had no lock on my door, and I wasn't allowed to put one on. He would barge into my room uninvited, but get pissed if I went into his. He would expect me to play video games with him and throw a fit if I said no, even after I explained that I had too much cleaning to do and, if he really wanted me to play with him, he would have to lend a hand so it would be done quicker and I might have energy to play. He never did. He wouldn't empty out our cat's wet food and would just let it go moldy if I wasn't there for a few days... and would 'forget' to refill her water.

The only jobs he was expected to do around the house were emptying the cat litter for our one cat and vacuuming, both things I physically couldn't do because of severe asthma. And once a week, he was supposed to bring laundry over to our parents place to wash, as we didn't have a washer or dryer. I remember him vacuuming once the whole time we were there. He rarely emptied the cat litter, which meant I would wind up having to do it once in a while and just suffer through a serious asthma attack afterwards. He also rarely brought the laundry over. I wasn't able to drive, so I would wind up having to ask my mom to bring it over with her when she visited. Three jobs. He hardly ever did any of them, but still expected the house to be clean when our aunt stopped by and would be upset if it wasn't. He just didn't want to have a hand in getting it that way.

On the subject of other family, I tried reaching out. My parents would visit on occasion. They both knew how bad it got, they'd seen it at the worst. I'd even called my mom in a full crying panic more than once, when the aunt called in the morning to say she she'd be there in an hour... And the house wasn't clean. Mom had to come over and help me speed clean it, with me working through a full-blown panic attack, scared I wouldn't have it "clean enough" by the time the aunt got there. Mom is also the one who drove me into the ER. She knew how bad it was, but he was her golden child. The "can do no wrong" child, and I was always the problem. She would tell me I was making it out worse than it was, that it wasn't that bad, that it wasn't his fault he was messy, that I should just deal with it and clean up after him. Dad would at least seem sorry for me. He'd tell me he wished my brother would clean up after himself, but that there was nothing he could do. Aunt just didn't want to hear my excuses. She would yell at me for the state of the place, after I'd worked myself half to death cleaning already. She blamed me for it, threatened to kick us out over every tiny thing wrong. Made passive aggressive comments. Took pictures and said she would show them to the rest of our relatives so they'd know how we were destroying the house, ect.

A year and a half of this. I lost a dangerous amount of weight. I hardly slept, hardly ate, anxiety spiked so badly I was having panic attacks at least once a week, especially toward the weekend when I knew the aunt was coming. All of my days were devoted to cleaning up after him. I dropped hobbies just to wash dishes or pick up his garbage. I even pulled an all-nighter just trying to make the house look presentable... After I'd been in the hospital and spent a few days at my parents place recuperating, so you can imagine the state of the house.

Toward the year and a half mark, I met my now husband. When we decided he should come spend the weekend, I was both happy and terrified. I worked myself to the point of passing out to make the place look decent. I asked my brother to help, told him we would be having company, and was met with a slamming door in my face while he went back to his video games. Now husband came up, we had a great time and chose to make it a weekly thing.

It was about a month into that when I went away for the weekend with my then bf. At this point, he kind of knew how bad it could get and just wanted to get me out of there for a few days. He'd even given my brother a piece of his mind for not emptying the cat litter and making me do it, because of my asthma. So brother hated him. Told me to break up with bf for being "rude" to him. Even called my mom to complain about it and it I got chewed out by my mom for "letting" my bf at the time talk to my brother that way. I was beyond sick of brothers bullcrap. I was exhausted. Had been in the ER just recently because of him, again, and needed to get away. Bf took me up to a cabin and we spent the weekend there, had an amazing time. And brought me home. From the second I stepped back into the farmhouse, I wanted to cry. It was an absolute disaster, like the brother had gone out of his way to destroy the place. So much garbage, laundry, dishes, ect. I said goodbye to the bf, who was horrified and reluctant to leave... And I started trying to make a dent in the horror show that was the house. It didn't take long for me to breakdown. When I called the bf that night to make sure he'd gotten home safe, I told him how bad it was. And he invited me to move in with him. I jumped at that chance for more reasons than one.

Brother took immediate issue with this. He threw a fit when I told him. Straight up told me I was being selfish, that I didn't appreciate all he did for me, that how dare I leave, how could I DARE to move in with someone who talked to him that way!! I just packed up a few of my things and went with the bf. Just like that. I was out.

It was three months before I went back to grab a few more of my things. In that time, brother had gotten an eviction notice from our aunt and was having to move back in with the parents. And I don't blame her one bit. Let me paint a picture for you of what I saw when I walked in the house: he'd run out of room for garbage on the counter and table, it was stacked too high, so.. he'd opened the oven, pulled the racks out and was piling garbage up on them, instead. Guess what the only place that didn't have garbage was... The pristine garbage can. The living room floor was covered in his dirty laundry. He had run out of clean dishes and resorted to using Tupperware lids as plates, with the dirty dishes covering the entire counter by the sink or stacked in his room. Speaking of, I caught a glance inside his room. The smell was worst in there. I could tell there was food in there from the time I left... Didn't try to take a step inside, obviously, not that there was a place to step. Keep in mind, this is AFTER the aunt had visited and demanded he cleaned up. She'd seen it this way, blew her top, and he still didn't give a crap. I, on the other hand, panicked. Call it ingrained at this point, but I started frantically cleaning. It was only my bf who stopped me. Had to actually grab my hands and hug me to get me to stop, with me hyperventilating and close to a panic attack. We got my things and got the hell out of there. But not before I noticed my brother seemed upset that I hadn't cleaned up while I was there.

Brother's living back with our parents and has trashed his room there. He's still pissy at me for calling him out on the way he treated me, and thinks I'm still required to be nice to him because mom says I should... and that he did absolutely nothing wrong with the way he behaved. He's also still holding a grudge against my hubby for him having the utter gall to tell him to be an adult and clean up after himself. Mom still denies it was bad (even though she's dealing with it now) or that I have anything residual from that time, despite the fact I told her that I get panicky and shaky when the place I'm living, now, gets even slightly untidy.

For me, I'm happier than I've ever been. I'm essentially no contact with my brother and limited contact with my mom. Just got married. Living with someone who loves me and actually helps with housework, even without being asked! Still dealing with the trauma of living in a place that felt THAT stressful and unsafe, but working on it. Not holding out much hope of brother realizing how entitled he was / is, but eh. He's not worth the time thinking about him.

[aggresivelyfriendly]

The Future is What?

Hi all! So my imagination is big, and this was a flapping cape to its bull! Enjoy, or don’t, no judgement!

I owe it all to @dirtystyles

"Did I get it?" He feels like it should be rather obvious, but they've been at this, off and on, for most of the day.

Well, not this particular pursuit, but the pursuit of pleasure, his and hers, since he woke up hard and she woke up willing.

So she's very wet and swollen and sensitive too. The deluge had come and gone and come again, it's fair to say.

She smiled, but that wasn't an answer. Her eyes were hazy and she looked just as fucked out as him. But he really wanted to know, couldn't help but ask, both times.

It had started as pillow talk. "You remember that shirt you wore, like early on?"

She'd worn a lot of shirts, she can't stop herself when it comes to a clever tee, so she just raised a sweaty brow at him from where she is lying on his right laurel.

"You know the one." He nudged her with his hip. And he knew he was blushing and she knew he was blushing and she tried to think of red cheek inducing shirts? But then she started thinking how her lower cheeks were probably red from the friendly slaps he'd given her when their morning side lying fuck had turned into full on doggie. God bless younger men.

"I have a lot of cheeky shirts?" She shrugs, it jostles his balls.

"Heeeey, careful!" He warns but he's smiling and his dimples and eye crinkles are almost meeting so she climbs up to kiss him and lay on his shoulder.

"No, really, just tell me what shirt?"

She can't believe he's embarrassed. They've been dancing around for a month, and had been moved on to the horizontal mambo with glee weeks ago.

It had started innocently enough. Around Thanksgiving, she was texting the group chat how she hated that her kiddos were away and she was alone on the actual day. She'd used some crying emojis- it was dramatic, but she was in the right field for that. There had been a smattering or sympathetic responses, Harry had sent a thumbs down. Then with barely a moments pause he'd texted, "Wanna come over? I'm cooking way too much!" To only her.

"Why? You're not even American?" Had been her response. The shrug emoji made her smile. He was kinda weird, and cute, no, hot. So hot, but cute.

She should know better, she might be accused of leading man-itis.

She couldn't deny she was kinda into him. I mean, he was a dreamboat and they decked him out to full wattage daily on set, but she was his boss and older and had kids and had just gotten out of relationship and, and, and. To all these reasons she had to say, "shut the fuck up!" to her own brain.

He could be just being nice. He was seriously the nicest man she'd ever met.

Or, what if it was a move? Did she want it to be a move? No? Yes? Yes...why couldn't she have nice things? She was a badass, and now a single mom who deserved but didn't require love.

And he was an adult. She'd make sure he knew the playing field and rules. That they'd have to share home court advantage, if they were even gonna play to have rematches in the future.

More than anything, the most compelling thing, was the way he made her smile. She appreciated thoughtfulness, and the way her remembered names, preferences, dietary restrictions and favorite flowers, it just melted her. She really thought she'd lost the ability to melt when her vagina died.

She supposed the impulsive adventurer inside never died, even when made shy by more than one bite.

Of course, she texted back, "Address?" Just to him.

And three hours later she'd had an incredible meal and two orgasms.

Then, even with her warning him off, and some wise voice reminding her she often fell too fast, they'd fallen into each other.

On Christmas Eve, when he'd found her crying that her kids didn't come home until morning, he'd pulled her downstairs to excitedly play Santa and then given her a beautiful Gucci outfit, asked her to be his date at his best friend's wedding, and told her if he had to be away from family for Christmas he could imagine no one better to be with.

She was already on his hook, but line and sinker were now also accomplished.

So much for rules and boundaries, and home court advantage definitely looked like her at his house overnight whenever hers was quiet, and driving his car too.

So, that he was so embarrassed now surprised her. They had dove deeply into one another, been bare emotionally as well, they'd rehashed her divorce and her almost marriage. Then his past, his band, his homesickness and his tattoos. She was amazed he felt self conscious, laying with her naked, whatever the topic of her conversation tees were.

"Just tell me the shirt, baby." She knew that melted him right back. He really loved all the couple things they were falling into, she could see it when he preened at small touches or glowed at pet names.

"Um, well." She can't help but laugh, he's so good at action, both at home and when she calls it on set, but he gets incredibly tongue tied with words. Probably why he did music, too. Easier to share thoughts to a page than person.

"Cmon!" She said against his mouth, "tell me..." she bit his lower lip.

"The one about the future." He waits for her to fill the rest in.

"The voting shirt I bought everybody?" That concerned the future.

"Um," he rolls his eyes, she assumes at himself. "The female ejaculation one."

"Oh!" Oh!! She had worn that one to set. It was when she was kinda starting to feel Harry. She wanted him to think of her cumming. She supposed it worked, though she was a tiny bit embarrassed at her brazenness. Most days she thought of it as her best trait. Maybe it was, it was working for her, clearly. "Yeah, what about it?" He was avoiding eye contact. She wanted him to look at her.

He finally did, and he gripped her hips proprietarily, like he needed to be reminded he could, that he had some entitlement to her for this conversation. "Can you?"

Could she? Could she what? Oh, OH! "Um, I have. But it's not like commonplace."  She traced his eyebrows and perched on his hips. That was doing fun things to him. "Have you ever?"

He nodded. "But just once, and I'm not sure how I did it. I'd like to learn to master it." He gave her a smug look, well as smug as he could look blushing. The sex flush and sweat helped.

"Oh, you'd like to master it, huh?" She tickled him a little and he squirmed and they giggled together. "How long do you suppose that could take? I've got all day!" She was joking.

"I've got years!" He raised an eyebrow at her.

Years? With them? Why was that compelling? this was a fling. But so was her first marriage, she supposed. A lovely life changing short lived thing that turned into years.

The butterflies in her belly were familiar, from that lifetime ago.

"Alright." She crawled up and over his face. "Let's see that diligence, Styles."

He's really good at this, and they both seemed to  like when she's in charge. That's working for them when she's in her director's chair or using his face as a seat.

That one was too easy.  She came, but not like he was hoping for.

His long fingers played her next, and she thinks they may have nearly had it.

After that, he was too pent to just let that erection go to waste. That one may have been a wasted opportunity, if they had added some vibes or she had got her fingers down there they may have got it. Also, if Harry had been able to hold off longer.

"Sorry!" He'd breathed into her neck.

She could only laugh, yeah, sorry for today's first orgasm to her fifth. She knew how goal oriented he was though. "It's ok." She ruffled his hair and kissed him.

The nap was needed and inevitable. He woke up on a mission.

This time, he employed all the lessons they'd learned.

But her body was groggy.

"Harry, baby—"

"Hmmm?" He hummed from where he was beneath the blanket, head between her legs immediately after he pulled out. That'd be hot, but..

"Baby, I need a break." She pushed the blankets off and cupped his jaw before pulling him up. "And food."

"I'll cook for you." He got up naked as the day and she slapped his little ass as he went.

"That did it! It happened!" She laughed and he narrowed his eyes at her.

"You're a menace and a meany." He leaned over to kiss her on her sweaty forehead. "What do you want?"

"Whatever can be ready in the space of a shower, I'm so hungry."

"No!" He shook his head. "Don't wash."

"Ok Napoleón. I'll feel better if I'm clean."

"But it'll be like starting over. We're not finished yet."

"Baby, we have time. There's no rush." She reminded him. They'd talked about this. He was scared too, to many relationships sacrificed to fame. She didn't give a fuck; not her first rodeo and all.

He'd been right though. She'd met him in the kitchen and his breakfast in bed plan was foiled. Then they watched a movie, then a documentary.

Luckily that was boring enough, or they were new enough, a make out had ensued.

So here she was, splayed out on the couch, shaking, and she figured when her brain and legs started working again she'd be pissed there were no sheets to simply change. She had an upholstery cleaner somewhere.

"Yeah, yeah," she mumbled. "You definitely got it." His pleased smile, like when he nailed a take, it's her favorite, along with his kiss.

The future looked bright.

[melofanish]

Clumsy Your Way Into My Heart

@carlosreyesweek​ Day 6: AU!!!

Summary: When Carlos first volunteered to go grocery shopping for the station, he didn’t think he would be overthinking it as much as he is right now.

Cereal box shenanigans and loads of blushing later:

Carlos finds that he’s much calmer than he’s ever been since he got here. Maybe overthinking about food isn’t as bad as he thought it would be.

Tags: Carlos Reyes, TK Strand, Mentioned Owen Strand, Mentioned Paul Strickland, Mentioned Marjan Marwani, Mentioned Mateo Chavez, Mentioned Judd Ryder, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Grocery Store, Clumsy Boys, Firefighter Carlos Reyes,, Police Officer TK Strand, Pre-Relationship, Flirting.

Warnings: Blushing and clumsiness.

At the moment in which I'm writing this, this fic has been started less than 24 hours ago and was completed 10 minutes ago. My beta is going through it right now and I'm getting AO3 and Tumblr ready. As we've found out, AU is my kryptonite.

The hugest, and largest thanks and love to the one and only @lire-casander. The amount of love and support that I get from this woman is unbelievable. The help she's been on this fic alone is insane, let alone with everything else that I do. She's been a guide and a friend and this would not have happened without you <3

Read on AO3.

---

When Carlos first volunteered to go grocery shopping for the station, he didn’t think he would be overthinking it as much as he is right now. And yet he keeps remembering how Marjan can only eat halal food and Mateo is lactose sensitive, Paul likes spicy food but Judd can’t handle any. Captain Tommy -he still needs some time to get used to her not wanting to be called by her last name- likes white bread while his own soon-to-return Captain Strand won’t eat anything that isn’t full-grain. So he keeps getting more food, and more food, and more food.

He started out shopping like he usually would, keeping in mind the slight dietary restrictions; a few vegetables and fruits, several dairy and soy products, some poultry. And then he came to the realisation that it would be better if he bought food for more than one day’s meals. And then his brain supplied the wonderful what if I want to make a dish and I can’t find canned peeled cherry tomatoes, which he knows is not only highly specific but also highly unlikely. And yet he now finds himself dragging a cart on the verge of overflowing. And he’s still got seven more aisles to go.

He's so focused on studying the displayed boxes of cereal that spread across half an aisle, holding two different brands in his hands and moving right and left to compare them with others, that he doesn't notice a whole other human being on the way until he’s being run over by flesh and bones.

They immediately get into a fumbling battle, legs somehow holding up. The boxes in Carlos’ slip, so do the other person’s. Carlos manages to catch two cartoons, the faint recognition that one of them is sugar flakes -which he didn’t pick- runs through his mind before he focuses on yet another cartoon making its descent through the sky. He steps forward, and so does the other person. They crash in the middle, chest to chest. And this time, they all come crashing to the ground.

Carlos lands on a knee, hands already going out to hold onto the boxes, when a body slams into his. He drops the box, holding onto the waist person that’s half splayed on him now. He follows the flat chest, taking note of the APD logo on the side of his shirt and the rainbow pinned next to it, to the bare beginnings of a stubble, up across thin, pink lips and a sharp nose, to end at mesmerising green eyes.

It takes all of his will power not to gasp, but he can't stop the dropped jaw. The man is beautiful. There's no other way to describe him. His light brown hair lays a mess on top of his head, his green eyes sparkle with a mix of shock and surprise, and his teeth seem to find relief in sinking into his lower lip.

He feels movement around him, and then a hand makes its way between them and lays on his shoulder. He feels the pressure on his chest give way, manifesting as an exhale from the man. Carlos realises that he’s been holding his breath too, and sighs, his exhale mingling with the man’s inhale. And then a cart crashes behind them, and they realise they’re sitting on the floor of a grocery store in the middle of the day. Their bubble crashes.

“I’m so sorry, I’m so clumsy I can’t believe this happened!” The man says as he fully pushes off Carlos, eye contact breaking to pick up the dropped boxes. The apology finally breaks through Carlos’ hazy mind, and he let’s go of the man’s shirt, coming to a stand as well as he picks up the remaining boxes.

“Oh no, no! It’s my fault, I wasn’t looking,” he states, finally straightening up. "Good save, officer,” he adds as he steps back before he can even think about.

The man's eyes snap back to him, widening in shock before his face breaks into a small smile and then his head falls forward, chuckling and shaking his head. Carlos finds himself snickering as well.

"I can say the same to you, firefighter," the man says, nodding his chin towards Carlos' own AFD shirt.

Carlos looks at his own shirt before he looks back at the man. He feels like he knows him, he's seen him before, but he can't remember where or when. But the green eyes bore into his very soul, so he looks down at his hands instead, finally noticing the box of organic multi-bran flakes.

"Uhh, these are yours? I'm guessing?"

The man looks at Carlos' hands, eyes and mouth opening is recognition. "Yeah, those are my dad's. A disgrace to the very idea of flakes," he adds as he glares at the box.

“They’re not that bad,” Carlos laughs, and the glare redirects itself from the box to Carlos. Which makes him cut himself mid-laugh, only to dissolve into chuckles again when the man cracks the smallest of smiles.

“Are you just saying that or have you actually tried them?”

“I’ve tried them, my captain back at the station likes them,” he replies, moving a step back to drag his cart closer. “I even got a box here,” he gestures to the cartoon laying on top of the mountain.

“Pfft, and I thought my dad was the only one crazy enough to like these. Good to know there’s someone else like him in here,” he shakes his head in amusement, a sentiment Carlos shares. Of everything he was imagining when he moved states to join the 126, he wasn’t expecting to be talking to a cute officer in the middle of the grocery store, discussing cereal of all things.

The man takes a few steps back, reaching behind the corner of the aisle and dragging a cart up next to him. Carlos extends an arm to him, handing over the box, which he takes and drops into his cart.

Carlos can’t help but sneak a peek into it. There’s a very obvious mix of junk food and snacks, and healthy organic and full-grain foods. It reminds him of his new Captain. He hasn’t interacted with him much, the man getting injured a mere day after Carlos got transferred. But the rest of the crew has given him a list of all the dietary preferences, Captain’s included.

He looks up at the man, finding him alternating between looking at the ground and the shelves. Carlos has noticed that he already has three boxes of cereal, he couldn’t possibly need more. He looks like he wants to say something, or maybe he’s reading it wrong and he wants to move away. Either way, he decides to take a plunge. He’s already moved half-way through the country in a leap of faith, why not take another one?

“I’m Carlos, by the way,” he extends an arm to the man, “Reyes, of AFD.”

The smile that he receives tells him that it’s the right choice. The other man extends his arm, hand wrapping around Carlos’ in a warm embrace. If this is how his hand feels, Carlos can’t even imagine what a hug would feel like.

“Hello, Carlos, I’m TK,” he gives their hands a shake. “Strand, of APD.”

Carlos is so enamoured with the man’s -TK’s- eyes and smile that it takes him a moment to register the name. But once he does, he can’t help the quick and rapid blinking he does to clear his mind.

“Wait, did you just say Strand?”

“Uhh,” TK blinks back at him, turning his head to a side as his eyelids flutter in confusion. “Yeah?”

Carlos doesn’t pay him much mind though, what are the chances of this happening?

“Is your father Owen Strand? Captain of the 126?”

“Yeah, that’s my dad, how did you know that?” All of the confusion that was mildly visible on TK’s face is now showcased a full one hundred per cent, both in his facial expressions and tone of voice.

“He’s my captain!” Carlos exclaims. “I work with the 126 too!”

It seems to take TK a moment to come to terms with what Carlos is saying. But the moment drags on so long that he begins to think he just got this awfully wrong. He’s about to disentangle their still bound hands when clarity finally shines on TK’s face and he breaks into a wide grin.

“You’re the new guy from New Jersey,” he says around a smile. Carlos is confused for just a second, wondering how he knows about his previous state of residence when TK continues talking. “My dad told me all about you! He can’t wait to get back tomorrow and work with you again. Said he only had to see you on one call and he knew he made the right choice asking you to join the 126.”

Carlos feels the blush rising up the back of his neck and into the highs of his cheeks, but he can’t really stop it. He knows he’s good at his job, he knows he’s a decent firefighter. But having the son of his Captain relay what said Captain said brings a sense of belonging and validation he didn’t think he’d get a mere three weeks on the job.

“He… he said that?” he asks. He needs to know. He’s been worried, stressing himself out of his mind in fear that he’s not showing the best of his abilities. Not only did he travel 1.5 thousand miles from one border of the country to another, he also took a job with a team that’s already well-formed and perfectly working without him. They didn’t ask for him because they needed him, they asked for him because they just wanted to. And he’s constantly aware of that whenever they’re on a call and everyone is on top of what they need to be doing.

“Yeah, man, he did!” TK says. He then takes another look at Carlos, and he can only guess that he can read minds. “He said you’re sharp, careful and smart. You think twice as hard and act twice as fast. He said you carry the job like it should be, with respect and responsibility,” he smiles at Carlos, closing the step between them and bringing a hand up to run the back of his fingers across the logo on his shirt.

Carlos brings his own hand up, covering TK’s -one of many things he’s done before his consciousness can think it out today. TK’s eyes glance over their hands before they stare up into him, the faint emerald greens ripping his insecurities and uncertainties into shreds with each passing second.

“Thank you,” he whispers. He can’t talk any louder when they’re this close. “I needed to know that.”

The smile he gets in reply is worth the distance he travelled. TK drifts his gaze down Carlos’ face, and he copies the action. He finds TK’s lower lip hidden between the bite of his upper teeth, and he can’t help but imagine what they would feel like holding onto his own.

“Excuse me!”

Carlos snaps his head to the side, a woman with bright red hair standing there glaring at both of them. He sneaks a quick glance at TK, both of them stepping back as she steps forward, reaching between them to grab a box of cereal before she dumps it into her cart and moves along. He follows her until she turns the corner, no longer in his visual field, before he turns back to a blushing TK.

He provides a small, pained smile, and Carlos laughs at the expression he’s presented with. They’ve been caught in two of these situations so far, and they’ve only met for minutes. Carlos supposes it would be embarrassing if it wasn’t for the pull he feels towards the man. The pull that has both of them stepping forward again, until there’s barely a foot of distance between them.

“So, you’ve been here for three weeks, right?” TK asks. Carlos knows TK knows the answer. Captain Strand sprained his shoulder on Carlos’ first day here, and that was three weeks ago. He nods anyway.

“So, I’m guessing you haven’t seen much of the city yet?”

A twinkle of hope starts to bubble in Carlos’ chest. He has a faint inkling of where this is going, but he isn’t sure. He can only wish and pray.

“No, not really. I’ve been to a couple of places with the crew, that’s it,” he answers, pausing for a moment to take a breath. “I haven’t found a tour guide yet.”

TK chuckles at him, the sound sending waves of happiness through Carlos, even as TK shakes his head at him. “Well, then, I have a proposition for you, Firefighter Reyes.”

Carlos is playing into it without a moment to think. “Oh, do you now, Police Officer Strand?”

TK is nodding back at Carlos before the words are even out of his mouth.

“How about this: I’ll be your tour guide.”

Carlos looks up at the ceiling of the store, rubbing a hand through his chin and humming as feigns thinking. “What would your payment be?” he asks.

“You let me take you out for coffee,” TK says around a smirk. All pretence of a game falls through shambles immediately, and they’re back into an intense round of gazing into each other eyes. Almost as if they can read each other through them.

“Can I bargain for a cheesecake?”

The question seems to come out of nowhere and throw TK off his track. His eyes widen for a moment before he’s bursting into laughs. The loud, booming kind with the head thrown back and hands bracing his own chest. Carlos smiles at the sight, the closed eyes, the exposed neck, the sound that carries absolute joy; it’s a view he wants to see for the entire rest of his life.

“Ahh, that can definitely be arranged,” TK says once he manages to stop laughing.

Carlos doesn’t reply. Instead, he takes his phone from his pocket, opening the contact app and handing it over. TK takes it, types a few buttons and gives it back. Carlos looks at the screen to see that he’s calling a number. A number that’s been saved under TK Strand Grocery Officer.

A phone ringing has him lifting his head, just in time to see TK pull out his own phone, decline the call and press a few more times on the screen. He then turns it around showing Carlos his own number saved as Carlos Reyes Grocery Fire.

“I think there should be a fighter in there,” he comments, much to the amusement of TK.

“Naaah. That might be your job,” he replies, looking Carlos up and down. “But you’re straight fire.”

As if on command, said fire burns through his face as he blushes yet again. This time he doesn’t resist the urge to hide his face, lifting his hands to cover the warmth he can feel spreading to the tips of his ears. He hears a chuckle he knows is TK’s behind his shield. He doesn’t know how this happened, but he’s sure he’ll be able to recognise the sound out of a crowd of a hundred people.

He feels hands touch his fingers wrapping around his palm as they pull away from his face. TK then rests a hand on his cheek, and Carlos leans into it, eyes locked onto each other.

“I need to go. Call me?” Tk asks, voice flowing like butter.

“You can arrest me if I don’t, officer,” Carlos replies, voice just as soft.

TK nods as he takes a deep breath, the smile never leaving his face.

“That’s a good idea. After all, I do where you work”

From anyone else, that sentence would sound creepy and send Carlos running. But from TK it sounds like a promise he doesn’t want to lose. “Okay.”

With a final glance, TK steps back, breaking all contact they have together. Carlos misses the touch half a second after it’s gone. He moves back, grabbing his cart. He slowly steps forward, moving towards the registers. As he passes Carlos’ cart, he stops to peek into it before he turns back to him.

“Buy my dad cashew nuts and you’ll be his favourite tomorrow.”

As he moves away with a final smile thrown his way, Carlos finds that he’s much calmer than he’s ever been since he got here. Maybe overthinking about food isn’t as bad as he thought it would be.