#and not to scare anyone but a parent trap one is still in existence

[lasshoe]

Incorrect Ted Lasso + The Parent Trap (or an AU where Rebecca follows Ted to Kansas)

[childrenofcain-if]

ENOUGH WITH THOSE TWO PRETTY BEST FRIENDS (C AND D), I WANT MY SAD LITTLE MEOW MEOW TO HAVE SOME SPOTLIGHT TOO 🤩 GIVE US SOMETHING WHOLESOME FOR W

(I was sold the second they showed up in a Leon Kennedy costume 🥴)

you were sitting across from W on their bed; camera equipments, scripts, piles of books and notebooks with creased covers and fraying edges surrounding the bedroom. W had taken to picking at the threads of their sweater’s sleeves, their fingers moving as if on autopilot, focused on you but never meeting your eyes for too long. they seemed to vibrate with some constant, buzzing energy; as if they were always on the edge of fleeing, some part of them always afraid that if they stayed still for too long, you’d deem them a weirdo and never even come near them again.

but that was just W, wasn’t it? this perpetual stillness tangled with nervous energy, like a candle whose flame kept shifting in the draft. they were here with you, yet part of them never fully settled, never quite willing to let the fear drop. you wondered if anyone else would’ve noticed the subtleties in W’s tension, the small way their shoulders lifted with every breath, or the way their fingers twisted in the fabric of their own sweater until their knuckles turned as white as their bones.

they’d made an awkward joke about their suitemate’s sleeping habits and you laughed, even though it wasn’t really that funny. to many people, the sound may not be particularly remarkable. to W, it was thunder and music, the thing that called them back from the dark, the thing they had been chasing since you two were children.

W’s feelings for you were a slow-burn disaster, a shipwreck that had been happening for years, filling up their life inch by inch. they thought about it sometimes like it was an oil spill, like they’d let it overflow so many times that now there wasn’t a place left in the ocean that wouldn’t catch fire if somebody struck a match.

they couldn’t pinpoint exactly when they’d decided they loved you; it felt like one day they just looked at you, and it was there, woven into the intricacies of their soul before there was even a possibility of your existence. loving you was as natural as breathing, as irreversible as rain hitting the ground.

you were now talking about something—a memory, something you’d done last winter, maybe—and W nodded along, but their mind drifted to how you looked under that sunlight filtering through their canary yellow blinds. it cast you in softened shadows and highlights, picking out every contour of your face and making you look like heaven’s teardrop.

you were lovely in a way that hurt to look at. W never said it, but they thought it a lot: that you were beautiful in a way that was calm and quiet and fierce all at once, like moonlight on water or fireflies in the middle of july.

it struck them sometimes, like a hammer to their ribs, that they’d been in love with you for most of their life. and how foolish it was, really, to be so irrevocably caught up in someone else amongst the innocence of their youth. but W had grown up with nothing they’d dared love—at least, not out loud.

their parents had taught them that love was a trap, that care was a weakness, and even as a kid, they’d been wary of wanting anything too much. of course, not that it stopped their heart from experiencing that want, that need.

your presence beside them always felt surreal though, like it was something that should have only ever existed in a dream. and yet, here you were, next to them, every slight brush of your skin a shock against their nerves. it was so light, yet for W, each touch, each accidental graze of your arm against theirs, was like lightning in the form of wistful wisteria petals.

they wanted to reach for you. they wanted to bridge that space, fold into you like they had as a kid, when it was easier to say “i’m scared” and let you chase away the dark. when it was okay to lean on someone and just be.

but things were different now. W wasn’t a kid anymore. and the years had left scars on them, scars they were unsure if you could even see. you hadn’t been there for the worst of it—those hollow, hungry days where they’d gone without sleep, without food, when they’d let their body waste away because somehow they thought it might make them someone worthy to be sticking around for.

feeling unlovable, feeling like they had to be smaller, quieter, like they had to take up less space just to avoid being left alone all over again.

they looked down at their hands, the bony angles of their fingers, the thinness that never seemed to go away, no matter how much they tried to pretend they were fine. they knew what they looked like—what they had done to themself, without ever really meaning to... what they continued to do to themself while meaning to.

but you were here now, and that was enough, wasn’t it? somehow, it felt like it might be.

the conversation lulled, and there was a warmth to the silence, like the sun spilling in through the window was made just for the two of you. W took a breath, carefully, as if they were holding something delicate in their hands, as if breathing too loud might shatter every single thing in the room.

they dared to reach out then, just barely brushing their hand against yours. your skin felt warm, grounding, something that pulled them back down from the dark place their thoughts so often took them. and it felt almost wrong, this simple touch, like they were stealing something precious. but you didn’t pull away; instead, you turned your hand over and let their fingers slip into yours.

“hey,” you said, voice soft, barely above a whisper, and W’s heart stuttered in a way that made them feel like it wasn’t so irreparable after all. “are you okay?”

“sometimes,” they started, the words tumbling out before they could stop them, “i forget that you’re real.”

you blinked at them, surprised. “what do you mean?”

they shifted, feeling awkward, feeling seen. “i mean this. being here with you. it feels like a dream, and i’m terrified of waking up.”

a faint smile touched your lips. “this is real, W. i’m real. we’re real.”

and they knew that, in some rational part of their mind. but knowing it didn’t stop the way their heart twisted in knots.

“you were the only good thing i ever managed to dream up amongst my nightmares,” W murmured, a confession they hadn’t even meant to give, something that slipped out like it had been there all along, waiting.

your hand tightened around theirs, and their chest didn’t feel so tight anymore, the edges of their thoughts not so cutting. with you, the bad dreams faded, the fears dulled, and the ashamed parts of themself grew just a little softer.

they remembered when you two used to have sleepovers, how you’d sleep side by side, and they’d wake up feeling safe, as if just being near you could make all the bad things go away. even now, all these years later, they knew they sleep better with you beside them.

“elmo?” you said, bringing them back. your gaze was gentle, the kind of look that made them feel seen, like you weren’t just looking at them but through them, into the places they only laid bare for you.

“yeah?” their voice was rough, the sound scraping out of them like it was pulled from the depths of their very soul.

“i’m really happy you’re still here,” you said, simple and honest.

insecurity twisted in their chest, old and familiar, a reminder of all the ways they’d been told they weren’t enough, weren’t wanted. the shadows of their parents’ abrupt abandonment lingered, whispering that they’d never be worthy of love, never be more than something to be picked up and quickly discarded. but here you were, your hand in theirs, anchoring them, making them dare to believe the contrary.

W tried to laugh it off, the awkwardness seeping into their voice. “you don’t have to say that just because i look like i might be having a breakdown soon.”

you shook your head, your gaze soft but fierce. “no, i mean it. i love you, elmo, cross my heart. and i’ve also… i’ve also missed you. a lot.”

“i love you too, cross my heart twice. and...” W swallowed, their throat tight, sapphire blue eyes shimmering. “i missed you a whole lot more. more than i can put into words.”

for a moment, there was only silence. you squeezed their hand again, and W looked at you, really looked, as if memorizing every detail, every line and shadow of your face. there was that familiar softness in your eyes, a warmth they didn’t think they deserved, but they couldn’t bring themself to let go of it. not yet. so they betrayed their self-effacing mind yet again, just this once.

and then, almost as if testing the waters, they whispered, “you know, this is a little embarassing to admit but i’ve always slept better when you were around.”

you simply smiled. “me too.”

the two of you laid your head down together, hand in hand, and when sleep finally claimed the tired blonde, all they dreamt of was you.

[nightcolorz]

There is something clearly unhealthy and immature about Marius inserting himself into Armand's every meaningful relationship with anyone else.

Yes, he helped Daniel in a crisis situation, but it seems like it could have done without the romantic subtext, right?

Then he became the maker of Benji and Sybelle. And this is the strongest connection, although he had nothing to do with these people 💀

It’s like he’s tying Armand to himself, isn’t it? He takes all his close people. Marius is literally everywhere.

While Armand himself is obviously trying to learn to live independently, without Marius and his influence.

Armand remains trapped in his power. He is afraid of loneliness, and all the people closest to him are attached to Marius for various reasons.

This thought makes me despair. Armand is still dependent on Marius. And, apparently, he's always will be.

Justice for Armand in a show, where Daniel will be on his side, without a sense of duty to Marius for taking care 🤞🏻

AGREED ITS SO FUCKED!!

It feels so insidious, like it comes off like Marius is intentionally sinking his teeth into Armand’s loved ones so that he will be inescapably a part of his life. It reminds me of how abusers r often family members the victims r regularly forced to interact with, but instead of this being inherent to the dynamic Marius is putting himself in those roles to be closer to Armand. I’m not sure that he’s doing that specifically with that goal, but I feel like it has to be at least subconscious.

I always think about how with Benji and sybelle, it seems like his only motivation is to insert himself into Armand’s life in a way that deprives him of agency or authority. He’s literally taking away his children by *making himself the father* and he’s taking away Armand’s agency to make choices for them by making the choice for him and then patiently explains to him like he’s a dumb child that marius just knows better and this was for their own good.

He basically does the same with Daniel, he takes in Daniel when he’s vulnerable and then isolates him from Armand so that Armand doesn’t get to be a part of his life anymore. It’s very parent of a teen mom deciding to raise the kids cuz the mom is too immature, but instead of a teen mom it’s a grown adult who continues to be treated by the parent like he’s too immature to have any relationship that isn’t being directed and controlled by Marius.

back to Benji and sybelle, smth that’s rlly upsetting to me about that plot line is how Marius begins initiating that dynamic by patiently inviting Armand to his house to reconnect with seemingly no strings or pressure attached, and Armand is very hesitant to open himself up to marius for understandable reasons so he is very distant and none responsive to this offer. And so since Armand isn’t budging, marius offers to help him out by looking after his kids, and Armand agrees to that and it’s kind of an olive branch where Armand is allowing himself to trust Marius by allowing him to be alone with his loved ones. And Marius takes that opportunity and decides to inescapably tie Armand to him by inserting himself into his family dynamic and ruining everything Armand has built by making it his own 😭😭 it’s so fucked, and it seems like such a direct reaction to Armand being distant and hesitant to open up to him

I think Marius does all this partly cuz he’s scared to loose Armand, and partly bcus he sees Armand as his biggest mistake who should have never existed, and in that feels responsible for controlling his life/“taking care of him” so that he doesn’t “cause any harm” that Marius would be responsible for. It’s also definitely an insecurity thing. I think Marius is insecure seeing that Armand is fine without him while Marius (guy who should be the “strong one” in the relationship) can’t stop thinking about him, so he tries to take control of Armand and revert back to their old dynamics so that he can validate his own power + validate his belief that Armand needs him

[t3a-tan]

Hi! I have read that au were Oliver is a human... What would happen if he found a tiny borrower child?

Human Oliver is certifiably the best at dealing with tiny people

Kind of a continuation of this

Word Count: 2,428

---

"Oliver? I found this toy outside… I think someone dropped it."

When coming into work that morning the last thing Oliver expected was to see one of the children he worked with pull a tiny person out of their pocket. At first glance it looked like an action figure— but Oliver bristled as he noticed the 'toy' was squirming; tiny tears glistening off of their cheeks.

Oliver was reminded of the tiny man he had seen not weeks ago who had fallen into his cereal bowl. He had mused with the idea of more tiny people existing, but he had never tried to seek them out. That man had been scared enough.

"It tickles…" The child currently clutching the tiny person in a…less than comfortable looking grip giggled. Oliver hid his wince behind a smile.

"Oh? Well it's good that you spotted it. One of my other patients' parents rang about a missing toy, actually. Thank you, Connie." Lying to his patients was not something he usually did as the trust he got from them was so important, but in this case he was lying in order to prevent harm rather than cause it.

Holding out his hand, Oliver watched as the tiny person was dropped into it, and as much as he wanted to right the situation as soon as possible he couldn't devote his attention onto the tiny person at the moment. Based on the first tiny person that Oliver had interacted with's reaction to being seen, Oliver doubted this one wanted their existence to be known by anyone else.

So he pocketed them, resting a hand over the trouser pocket and trying his best to keep still and to avoid straining the fabric and causing discomfort for the current unwilling passenger. He then focused on the session with his patient, hoping that the experience wouldn't be too traumatising for whoever he had trapped in his pocket.

…

Oliver was thankful that Connie was his last patient that day— once he had his office to himself again he sat down at his desk rather than the chair he sat on during sessions, reaching into his pocket with gentle but precise fingers until he snagged one of the tiny limbs within. They immediately began to thrash again once he had made contact, but Oliver still removed them from his pocket.

He knew he wouldn't hurt them… assuring them of that was a different story.

"It's alright…" He shushed, despite knowing they would probably be too panicked to listen clearly at the moment. Oliver carefully lowered the squirming person onto his desk. "I'm not going to—"

A pause.

"You're only a child…" He breathed, eyebrows furrowing with concern. If he had noticed such an important detail beforehand he would have been in a bit more of a rush to reassure them of their safety. Children were much more susceptible to lifelong traumas than adults, and Oliver wanted to prevent exactly that.

The tiny child appeared to be a boy, probably only eight or younger. He had an almost reddish brown hair and an almond skin tone, his eyes dark and frightened; filled with tears. The temporary eye contact he got was ripped away suddenly as the tiny boy struggled to his feet and began to run.

Oliver fought the urge to stop him. There was nowhere for the child to run to on the desk, so he only watched as he retreated and hid behind a stack of post-it notes.

The fact that he even could hide his entire person behind that stack was remarkable— but really, there were more pressing things to focus on.

"I'm sorry for keeping you in my pocket for so long. That must have been quite frightening…not to mention uncomfortable." Oliver spoke in a delicate tone, leaning his head down slightly so he wasn't towering quite so much.

"My name is Oliver… Dr. Oliver Oakwood…" He caught a glimpse of the little trembling ball curled up on his desk and only whimpering in response to his introduction. In fact, he thought he saw a tiny flinch at the mention of him being a doctor.

Oliver couldn't help but sigh, resting his cheek on one of his hands.

"Connie said she found you outside. What were you doing outside alone, little one? You can't be any older than eight." He tried to gently coax an answer from the terrified boy, treading lightly.

Based on the man who had fallen into Oliver's cereal not all that long ago, these little people lived in the walls of houses. Why was there a child all alone outside of a child's psychology practice? It didn't seem like the best place to live.

"I-I'm ten…"

Oliver's eyebrows raised slightly, almost not catching the shaky words. He's ten… His lips pressed into a frown. If this boy was ten, he was definitely malnourished.

"My apologies. Perhaps I need a new prescription for my glasses." Although a joke, Oliver wasn't the best at his delivery so it sounded completely serious to anyone listening. The child very hesitantly turned their head up to look at him, and Oliver remained still, offering a small reassuring smile.

"Are you lost, little one? I can help you get back to wherever you need to be and whoever you need to be with. I don't intend to hurt you or anything of the sort, so there's no need to be frightened— though it's perfectly understandable if you are." He made sure to keep his tone soft and non-threatening.

If he had been scary for a grown man, he was surely terrifying to this child.

The boy wiped his eyes slightly, hiccuping before opening his mouth as if to speak. They were interrupted by a knock on the door. Thinking quickly, Oliver murmured a small apology before placing his hand over the tiny child, not pressing down but making sure he couldn't squirm out of the grip nonetheless.

Kaleigh opened the door moments after, content as usual. Some people would say it was infectious, but Oliver kept up a neutral disposition despite her smile.

"Hey, Oliver. Helen said to let you know that she can't do the meeting tomorrow, so she's rescheduling it to the tenth next month if that date works for you too— her daughter tested positive for COVID this morning. She tested negative but you should probably take the test too just in case." She explained, tapping on the edge of the door slightly.

Oliver nodded. "I'll take it once I'm home and I'll email her about the meeting… Thank you for letting me know." He offered a polite smile, although on the inside he wished he had just been emailed about the situation later.

Kaleigh smiled brightly in response, nodding and shutting the door again. Oliver waited a few moments before letting out a sigh of relief, and lifting his hand off of the tiny child trapped under it. His expression shifted to one of concern.

"I'm sorry. Did I hurt you at all?" He asked gently. The squirming had stopped once Kaleigh started speaking, so Oliver worried he might have accidentally pressed down too hard. The boy shook his head, staring up at Oliver with…awe? What?

"Y-you…you hid me from her…"

Oliver blinked, his brows pinching with confusion. That wasn't the response he expected.

"Of course. I presumed you don't want to be seen by anyone else. You're already scared enough of me, so I doubt another giant would help." He tilted his head slightly. "Was that the correct assumption?"

The boy nodded quickly, eyes wide. Oliver let out a small sigh of relief, relaxing a bit. He was glad he hadn't needlessly trapped the boy in such a forceful manner.

There was silence for a few moments, the boy fidgeting nervously as Oliver observed, thinking about what to do now.

"A-are…are you going to let me go..?"

Oliver was once again taken aback by the boy's hesitant words. Did he think Oliver would keep him? Tiny people sure thought humans were barbaric creatures… he was sure the size difference only made those beliefs worse.

"Of course, sweetheart. You're a person, not mine to keep." Oliver leaned in slightly, now resting his head on his forearms, looking over the boy's unkempt appearance. It seemed that tiny people didn't live all that well. "Although ten is quite a big age, I will need to make sure I return you to your parents when I do let you go. Are they in this building?"

The boy shook his head, before beginning to tear up again.

"I-I'm lost… I fell in the lady's bag and she brought it here, a-and I tried to figure out where I was outside but then I got caught by the small human…" The boy began to spiral, hugging himself in a self-soothing gesture. Oliver's expression became sympathetic.

"Oh dear…" He wanted to physically comfort the child, but he also knew by now that his hands were considered the very opposite of comforting. "Is it alright if I hold you, little one?"

He fully expected a no, and would have respected that— but he was pleasantly surprised by the nod he received in response to that question. Very gently, and slow enough for the boy to change his mind at any moment, Oliver scooped him up into his hands and cradled him closely.

"There there…" He felt minuscule hands grip onto his shirt, his thumb rubbing circles into the tiny boy's back. "I'll get you home, I promise you that. And until you are home I won't let anything happen to you, okay?"

Being lost was already terrifying for children that weren't shorter than his thumb— he couldn't imagine how scared this boy must have been, especially considering these tiny people thought humans would do terrible things to them.

And Oliver had no doubt that was true of some humans. He couldn't blame them for being afraid; he could only try to assure them of their safety and personhood.

Once the boy had stopped crying, Oliver spoke again, this time trying to get the information he needed to help him get home safely.

"What did the lady look like? Perhaps I'll recognize the description." He asked, his tone still light and soothing. The boy sniffled and wiped at his eyes.

"S-she… she has light brown hair… a-and she's old. Mama says she's in her forties…" Oliver didn't bother to correct the child that forty was not old in the slightest, focusing on pinpointing the description on a person.

"Is her name Helen?" He tilted his head as he waited for confirmation. The boy perked up and nodded.

"I-I think so… but she went home. H-how am I going to find home now..?" He began to get worked up again, sniffling and eyes watering, preparing to cry. Oliver rubbed his back again gently, offering a reassuring smile.

"Don't worry… she's my supervisor. I know where she lives. I can drop by on my way home, alright?" He assured. The boy wiped at his eyes again and nodded. Oliver hummed. "What's your name by the way, little one?"

"M-Marcus…" He stammered in response. Oliver smiled again.

"Okay, Marcus. You'll be home safe in no time…"

…

Oliver stopped by the corner shop to buy a get well soon card and some sweets, just to use as an excuse for why he was stopping by— not to mention that it was the polite thing to do. He had Marcus in his chest pocket the whole time, speaking to him whilst they were in the car.

Marcus was a curious and bright young boy— he told Oliver all about his collection of broken crayons and the drawings in his room. He spoke about his parents, and told him about what borrowers were. There was no sign of the timid boy Oliver had first met— now he was just as bubbly and energetic as could be, and Oliver couldn't help but smile over that fact.

After reaching Helen's house, Oliver got out of the car and picked up her card and sweets, walking to the front door and knocking three times. He had put on a mask beforehand— he still had some disposable ones in his car from when the pandemic first kicked off.

She opened the door, also wearing a mask.

"Hello Oliver." She greeted, though Oliver could tell she was thoroughly confused by his presence. He held out the card and sweets.

"Kaleigh let me know that your daughter is sick. I hope she feels better soon…" He explained politely. Her face lit up.

"Oh! How sweet. Let me make you a cuppa before you head off, alright? Jamie has been in her room since this morning and I've wiped everything down, so everything should be COVID free." She stepped aside and opened the door wider so Oliver could come in. Oliver entered with a nod.

"You can take off your mask for now by the way."

Once he was inside she shut the door behind him and shuffled into the kitchen in her slippers, pulling out a chair at the table. Oliver sat down graciously, removing his mask.

"Luckily she's not having really bad symptoms at the moment… Mostly headaches and muscle soreness. She had a fever earlier but it's gone now." Helen began to talk and Oliver paid attention whilst at the same time very delicately removing Marcus from his pocket, taking the opportunity whilst her back was turned.

He hummed, prompting her to continue as he leaned down and carefully placed Marcus onto the ground, giving him a gentle pat on the head with his finger. Marcus hugged onto the appendage for a few moments before looking around to get his bearings. Oliver waited patiently, just to make sure this was indeed the right house.

"I had it twice last year and it was awful. I'm glad she doesn't get the more severe symptoms like that." Helen continued.

"I recall."

Soon enough Marcus had ran over to one of the walls with an outlet, prying it open just enough to fit through. He waved to Oliver before ducking inside, and Oliver waved back with a smile, watching the outlet shut behind him.

"How do you have your tea?"

He turned his gaze to focus on Helen again. His heart felt warm; relieved that the tiny boy was safe, and that his parents wouldn't be worried sick over his disappearance for much longer. He leaned his chin onto his hand, meeting his supervisor's gaze with a smile.

"Just one sugar please."

[sparklingcid3r]

thinking about how in the book the last thing pony hears after dallas is shot and before he passes out is darry yelling "he's just a kid!" like he could/ prbly was talking about dally and pony but also himself. do u think darrel was always being sooo strict w pony bc he also just wanted pony to not have to grow up as quickly as he eventually did?

Firstly, it’s been so long and I still didn’t need to remember Darry said that😭🙏 It eats at me in my sleep istg he gets sadder the more I think abt him

And second, yeah definitely! One of the points of Darry’s character (and all of the characters obvi) is to show that good people exist in too many different forms to assign the label to anyone. Even good people are prone to doing horrible things when they’re scared, frustrated, grieving, or angry. Darry’s trapped in a cycle of all four with veryyy little reprieve or breathing room, so he’s constantly wound up and snapping.

That doesn’t make him overtly bitter towards Pony for having the opportunities he no longer can afford, in fact it drives him to make sure those opportunities can last for as long as possible, and Pony learns how to create new ones to choose. Darry had that luxury for only so long, and now Pony’s starting high school and coming off the deaths of their parents, Darry’s on high alert in making sure Pony stays safe. I’d say it’s a pretty natural response, ESPECIALLYY when Darry’s the one listed as Pony’s guardian.

[crushedsweets]

Bing bong, I got a question.

What is Dina like in your AU?

Also, Merry Christmas!

-Bing Bong Anon

MERRY CHRISTMAS IM SO LATEE!!!

i realized i have no good footing for what i want dina to do in my AU. and so i kept putting this off. but i decided if i just talk, something will get out. so i got this.. THIS COVERS MY REWRITE OF DINA AND LAZARI!! <33

tw for cult topics, suicide mention, death, etc etc

i know i want lazari and dina's stories to intertwine.

i want them to be born into the same cult

dina is born to the leader. her birth is ceremonial and important, immediately she is treated like the second coming of christ. as she gets older, they begin to view her like a prophet of some sort - she's often referred to as a guardian angel just by existing, like her being keeps the cult intact and safe. blessings are attributed to her presence, loss is attributed to her absence.

as a result, she was kept under constant surveillance and incredibly isolated. she wasn't allowed friends, aside from some half-siblings who were still treated as below her. constantly being praised and treated like you are some sort of celestial being . . . really messes with someone.

in turn, lazari is in the same cult, but her mother was infertile, which the cult sees as a complete failure of a woman. so her mom sought out new forms of conception, and a demonic ritual involving zalgo took place. zalgo is lazari's "father", but she is raised by her mothers husband.

for opposite reasons, lazari is kept under constant surveillance and incredibly isolated. her mother is constantly doing rituals on her, trying to 'beat the demon' out of her daughter, as she regretted her actions the second lazari was born. she felt no love for her child. around age 7, lazaris mother does kill herself in front of her daughter. demonic tendencies begin breaking out for lazari

when dina is about 13-15, she begins sneaking out more often. it's just things like sitting on fields and talking to some random boys in the cult, something she'd NEVER be allowed by her parents.

one day, when she's out doing things she shouldnt do, she bumps into lazari. lazari is completely out of it, red eyes and black bloody oozing out of her mouth, all her veins are pure black and it looks fucking scary. and she bites dina. the next day, lazari looks normal.

dina doesnt tell anyone. she wasnt supposed to be out, she'd be in more trouble than it was worth to snitch on lazari. but shes scared, and she begins noticing changes in her own biology

her own veins darken, at night she wakes up black liquid fogging up her vision (crying a bit will get it all out), she is constantly ill, convulsing, etc. her own parents begin getting scared, and the rest of the cult begins whispering

and dina is fucking pissed. shes been given the entire world on a silver platter her entire life(aside from freedom), and lazari took it away in one bite.

after a couple months of dina's health and image deteriorating, dina is overcome with anger. she stumbles her way to lazari's little home, convincing her to go on a walk. lazari is suspicious but was raised to never deny authority, so they do.

dina guides lazari to the forest, deciding it her divine right granted by god to take lazari's life. completely convinced she is allowed to cast judgement on this 11 year old girl as punishment.

it doesnt work, very quickly they get physical - this 17 year old is trying to kill this 11 year old, but lazari is literally half demon. the second blood spills and lazaris adrenaline spikes, dina is slaughtered in the middle of the forest.

lazari tries to run away. but she is a product of zalgo, and zalgo is trapped in the forest due to slender pages decorating the perimeter. she'll stand at the edge of the forest, trying to get out, but there's some barrier that wont let her escape

and all the while, dina's corpse is being overtaken by zalgo

now lazari and dina are stuck in the same forest.

[incorrect-ikevamp-quotes]

Man. How did I forget that an entire subplot of Dazai's main story was just. Trying to trap him into having a single conversation with MC like a normal person I'm so akhdjgfkljshgskjd

I just love watching her, Arthur, and Isaac deadass plot with glee to get one over on Dazai it's killing me, this is some Hamlet level shit (no Charles do not stand behind the curtain to kill Dazai coming in the window!!! yamero!!!!!)

Also because I felt personally attacked (/j) when Isaac said this:

I love you Isaac but pls have mercy on creatives we only have one brain cell and we're trying s o hard oTL

Although, and I'll leave it under the cut since I'm back on my Comte-posting, but the way Comte talks about Dazai fascinates me. Also just as fair warning, I do broach a lot of the topics that come up in Dazai rt so trigger warnings for self-harm, suicide, CPTSD and PTSD, trauma, etc. I don't go too too in-depth, but they are there.

Comte: "Dazai is quite skilled at concealing what he's really feeling, even from himself, perhaps."

The way he instantly remarks on how Dazai is not only working to conceal what he feels from others, but also from himself. Tbh I think that's enormously perceptive, because at first glance most people tend to think Dazai is lazy, troublesome, flippant, or erratic (and sometimes, a combination of all of these).

I love that he sees to the core of who Dazai is and what he's feeling; fear. Dazai is afraid of hurting someone again, but I also think on some level he's made it an ontological problem; he's afraid of himself. He thinks his very existence is a negative entity, something that exists only to hurt and/or estrange other people, something wrong/different. I'd argue that's why he's so adamant about mood-making and keeping to himself. If you never express how you truly feel or live true to yourself, on some level you can't entirely reach others. Because fundamentally, being close to other people does require some level of lowered defenses and sharing. Ergo, never dwell too long or give too much of yourself away, never make a mark on anyone--good or bad.

As a side note, Theo calls him "a half-strewn dandelion puff" and I agree that's rather blunt, but on some level Theo operates on a level of utility. His entire operating precept is that life and work must serve a discrete purpose. And Dazai, in choosing to opt out of living with meaning/intent out of fear, makes this description entirely consistent with Theo's perspective of the world. Though his phrasing is harsh and perhaps one-dimensional, I do find it interesting that he comes to a similar conclusion as Comte as to what Dazai is doing.

Comte talks about it with such clarity and calm, he really does feel so parental in this moment. He's not necessarily minimizing the reality of how Dazai is experiencing the world, but he also clearly doesn't agree with Dazai's self-perception. Perhaps most striking to me is how Comte seems to understand that the only threat Dazai poses is to himself...Sometimes it feels like, in the case of conditions like mental illness/depression/etc. people are so eager to assume ill will of a person. This is only exponentially compounded if they prove to have striking intelligence and strategic capacity, the same way Dazai does. I guess I can't help but appreciate that Comte knows the difference between strong and scared, and even how the lines between the two can and often do blur (perhaps best exemplified in his relationships with Jeanne and Dazai).

(Side note: I forgot which event it was but, one time when Dazai was homesick for cherry blossom watching, Comte had the entire house filled with flowers to cheer him up [insert ugly sobbing]).

For someone so enigmatic, evasive, and distant, Comte still notices instantly that Dazai is much, much happier with MC. I suppose it makes me wonder if Comte knew all along that Dazai's real wish was to be accepted and loved as he was, but kept quiet out of respect for his privacy. I would offer too that sometimes people need to realize these things on their own for the information to have value.

But what really gets my ass is what Comte says right after:

This is my bread and butter (so is he but that's not the point of this particular TED talk). In the last few years I've done a lot of exploratory work on how trauma is mapped both internally but also visibly on the body. What I think is engaging here is that, while it could be read on a surface level as "body language gives people's true intentions away" I don't think that's quite what he's getting at. Or perhaps better phrased, it's an oversimplification. I don't think it's that body language can't communicate real and important information about people's lives. Rather, that people associate rigid and absolutist interpretations to singular mannerisms, which does a disservice to both parties. Nobody can know a person at a glance; to say that you do reduces the lived reality of the opposite party.

Comte gives simple examples and couches his words for the context of the moment, but I think that first line is incredibly telling. "But the body is remarkably truthful." It makes me think of how, in moments where Comte is overcome with anxiety as a result of traumatic recurrence, he has acute panic attacks (i.e. shortened breath, racing heart, trembling). How Leonardo's lethargy (i.e. napping on the floor everywhere like the hobo he is) belies the reality of his very real exhaustion, the emotional turmoil that comes with a fraught immortal life.

Dazai's endless struggle with dissociation and self-harm, the way he stood in the rain unmoving at the thought of MC returning home to the modern era. Whether to numb himself from the pain of that grief/loneliness, or perhaps more likely the self-immolation of subjecting himself to the re-enactment of the most harrowing moment of his life. To relive that anguish as a reminder; to abstain from making the same mistake ever again. Jeanne's endless bodily tension, struggles with basic self-care (appears to be interoception-based; reduced signalling of the need to eat/rest/etc.), and self-isolation to cope in a world where only the strong survive. Never safe, always alone, always defensive.

I think, for many people in general but especially people who have been through intense PTSD/CPTSD/etc., it can be hard to express these feelings directly. Whether they are forcibly silenced, ridiculed into self-derision/self-concealment, or are overwhelmed by emotions that are difficult to process--each manifests itself in unconventional ways. It means a lot to me when those phenomena are portrayed so sensitively in written works/media, that they're explored with real intention and narrative subtlety to communicate how hard it is for people who are wounded or simply different (or both, as often is the case).

Addendum:

Even more than that, and this is an observation at the end of Dazai's route, is Comte's open belief that life is something to be cherished. Of course, like any other person he has behaviors he won't abide and people he doesn't feel partial to, but by and large he doesn't take life lightly. Perhaps that's why he doesn't expect Dazai to resort to such measures again, in conjunction with the circumstances of his transition. From an outsider perspective, I could see how Comte might assume Dazai no longer wishes for that if he seemed to regret his initial course of action by seeking resurrection. There is also the implication that Dazai is always at war with himself, and therefore might give contradictory impressions; one moment he wants to live, the next he doesn't. This is precisely what led him to ask Charles for help to subdue his own 'cowardice.' (His terms, not mine. [bonks him]) There is a sizeable subset of s-word survivors who, after recovery, feel that their problems were actually solvable despite their despair in the moment.

Of course, that doesn't apply to everyone, but I think there's something to be said of Comte feeling such real affection for the mansion boys that he is stricken to find out what Dazai attempted. And perhaps unsurprisingly, very adamant to keep him from ever pursuing such a course of action again. He's incredibly vulnerable about his horror that he might have inflicted something on Dazai that he never wanted in bringing him back, though Dazai comfortably refutes any lack of agency in the situation.

I guess I feel very compelled by the duality inherent in Comte's glass heart, precisely because of how realistic it feels. His greatest strength is his sensitivity, but it's also his greatest weakness in tandem. His genuine care for Dazai--the unwavering belief that his life is valuable and worthy--ends up being the reason he doesn't anticipate Dazai's rather deeply entrenched self-loathing. And to be honest, I'm a bit inclined to agree; looking back on a third reading Dazai feels way too hard on himself. It feels like the young girl's death was more a catalyst for what Dazai was already feeling, than anything. Dazai wanted so badly to have a reason to despise himself (as he already disliked how different and out of place he naturally felt) and with this, his self-reproach could have a viable, rational explanation. A locus outside of his body by which to rationalize his self-hatred. Accident or not becomes irrelevant; he was involved, and thus he is guilty.

He reminds me a lot of that post that was circulating once about how cultish behavior inculcates intelligent people with more devastating pull than one might expect, because intelligent people can more easily and more insistently find ways to desperately rationalize their situation to function in that whirlpool of abuse. Dazai feels like he's in this same such Catch-22, so busy believing he deserves to be scorned (because of how well he hides his perceived abnormalities) that he takes steps to ensure and reinforce it. He wants and needs to see his reality make sense, and if it won't answer his designs he will find a way to make it so.

It fascinates me because Dazai is an incredibly complex example of someone who desires control, but instead of inflicting it with external rapacity, he targets his own internal state. I once heard a Buddhist explain: yes, it is a sign of disturbance to engage with others aggressively and without grace. However, it is also a sign of disturbance when the mind seeks to harm one's own body. Although Dazai's disturbance is not as apparent, it is there. And that's part of what makes him so excruciatingly compelling to me, in a lot of ways he is the manifestation of the Sisyphean suffering of being ill in a quiet way. In enduring and smiling and laughing because you don't want to burden others--or know you're not allowed to--all while you slowly bleed from the inside out.

[snowe-zolynn-rogers]

Chaos Is Among Us

Pairings: Eclipse/Polar, Kill Code/Glamrock Freddy, Lunar/Mini Music Man, Sun/Foxy (pre-relationship)

Word Cound: 1,155 Words

Summary: Unintentional bonding and the unholy act.

Warnings: Innuendo (mentioned) Sex (mentioned only), Creep (mentioned), Caps, Cursing, Death (mentioned only), Vomitting (mentioned only), let me know if I should add anything else.

Chapter 3: The Horrors

3:40am

Why Is This My Family?

Blood Moon: Why are both Mama and Dad and Peepaw’s rooms making loud noises?

Harvest Moon: Hey, @Moon, can we come over and visit? Maybe help with Plex patrol even?

Moon: Yeah, sure come on little ducklings.

Solar Flare: Thank you, my god that was awkward.

Moon: Why not just bang on the walls and tell them to keep it down?

Harvest Moon: Because that might involve telling Blood Moon what they’re doing.

Solar Flare: Yeah, and Blood Moon is the only one left with some kinda innocence and we don’t want to get rid of what’s left of it.

Moon: Makes sense. Just don’t go in Lunar’s room. He has Mini over. Mini is getting the railing of a lifetime.

Harvest Moon: Are all of you adults just sinners?

Moon: No, I’m asexual.

Solar Flare: No, you just commit crimes instead.

Moon: You got me there. But still. Sunny literally went out for ice cream and hasn’t come back for three hours now since I started my patrol. It’s quite funny, honestly.

Lunar: We’ve been done for a half hour, idiots.

Blood Moon: Done with what?

Lunar: Making loud noises. Yeah, it’s a game to see how loud you can be and Mini was winning. We played for two and a half hours and Mini still won.

Blood Moon: Ooh, is that the game Mama and Dad and Peepaw and Freddy are playing?

Moon: …Yes.

Sun: Wait, I can come home now without hearing the sound of the unholy?

Lunar: Yes, Sun.

Sun: Finally, I can stop hiding in Gator Golf.

Moon: Why are you bugging Monty? Are you two dating in secret or something?

Sun: What? No! Never! Monty and I are friends and he let me crash here to avoid Lunar and Mini Music Man’s unholiness. If anyone, I’m interested in Foxy.

Moon: You mean the guy who hit on me? That ancient little fleabag?

Sun: The very same.

Moon: Okay, who replaced Sun with a copy that’s completely lost its mind?

Lunar: Not it, I was busy.

Sun: Come on, his memory got reset, he doesn’t even remember hitting on you. And the new suit he got makes him much less of an ‘ancient little fleabag’.

Moon: I hate this family and I hate existing.

Harvest Moon: At least you’ve got your three ducklings free of sin, Uncle Moon.

Moon: Yeah fine, I’ll live for the ducklings.

Blood Moon: Can I be the cute duckling with a pink bow on my head?

Moon: Yeah, kid, we’ll get you a pink bow for your hair.

Sun: I have a box full of bows, c’mere kid.

Moon: Sun, that is the most creepy sentence you have ever written and I was there when you said ‘who wants candy until your parents come for pickup’. Please rethink your grammar choices.

Sun: LISTEN

Moon: NO

Sun: I’m allowed to spoil my grand-niece!

Moon: Not at the cost of sounding like a creepy uncle at a barbecue!

Blood Moon: Uncle Sunny, I’m here. Can I have my bow?

Sun: Yes, Blood Moon. I have a pretty pink one.

Sun: bloodmoonwithabowinherhair.jpg

Sun: Sending her back to you, Mama Duck Moon.

Moon: Hate that. Thanks.

Blood Moon: I GOT A BOW!

Solar Flare: It’s very pretty, sister.

Harvest Moon: You look adorable, twin.

Lunar: Ya look cute.

6:48am

Why Is This My Family?

Moon: @Eclipse @Polar I kidnapped your kids. This is a random note. I require coffee and bagels in exchange for the safe return of your kids that are all sleeping on me.

Eclipse: Oh shit.

Polar: Yeah, yeah, we’ll be over in an hour to collect the kids.

Kill Code: Oh my god, we scared the kids out of the house!

Lunar: Yeaaaaaah hearing your Mom and Grandpa getting railed does that. They’re safe, I’m currently taking pictures of Moon being trapped under your kids.

Eclipse: My god, they’re gonna need therapy.

Polar: We have attained coffee and bagels. We’re on our way up.

Kill Code: I’m on my way too.

Moon: Good, I’m getting lethargic you being out of my body so long.

Kill Code: I’m sorry!

Moon: Finally, hate you.

Kill Code: Listen, I forgot I wasn’t supposed to fall asleep! I was tired! I had my back blown out!

Moon: I don’t want to know this information.

Sun: Y’all are cursed. Your whole family is cursed. The adults at least.

Polar: I have acquired my daughter and sons, that’s all I care about.

2:25pm

Why Is This My Family?

Lunar: mynamespeteandilikejugsimmentallyillandimondrugs.gif

Moon: Lunar, that is so random, what?

Lunar: My therapist said I have something called ‘hd tv’.

Moon: …

Moon: You mean ‘adhd’?

Lunar: Yes, that’s the word! See, I wasn’t listening to Dr. Sheph again, I was zoning out thinking about the Saw movies again.

Moon: Lunar?

Lunar: Yes?

Moon: Listen to Dr. Sheph.

Lunar: Aw. Fine. But I’m still gonna talk about Saw during my therapy sessions and he can’t do nothing about it!

Moon: *long deep sigh*

Sun: Did you just really type out ‘long deep sigh’?

Moon: Yes, Sun, yes I did.

Sun: Alrighty then.

Eclipse: Hey samesies on the ADHD.

Lunar: I am now denouncing having ADHD.

Eclipse: Oh, come on!

Lunar: Nu-uh, don’t wanna bond with you over ANYTHING be happy I’m talking in a chatroom where you are.

Eclipse: Not even if I wanted to watch the Saw movies with you?

Lunar: …

Lunar: I’m bringing over my disk set of all ten movies, you better set up fast, you discount soggy Dorito chip. This will take 16 hours and 11 minutes minimum with no pauses.

Eclipse: Getting everything ready. Polar, GET OUT!

Polar: I’ve been evicted in favor of gore movies.

Lunar: You can join if you want.

Polar: Nah. I don’t handle gore well.

Lunar: Then yeah, stay the fuck out.

Polar: Guess I’m stealing the guest room tonight then.

Moon: You’re weird, Polar.

Lunar: Don’t make it sound like you didn’t puke watching them the first time.

Moon: Listen! Some of them got me yeah. Especially Valentina. And Joyce.

Lunar: You better shut up about Valentina and Joyce before I shut you up. No spoiling Eclipse!

Eclipse: I have no clue who those people are, I’m just happy to spend time and bond with you over ADHD.

Lunar: …I’ve been bamboozled by my hyperfixation into *gag* spending time with you.

Eclipse: We’ll you can’t leave now, the first movie’s already playing and you said you’d show me the movies.

Lunar: Alas.

6:41am

Why Is This My Family?

Moon: Sooooooo

Moon: How did bonding goooooo?

Eclipse: New hyperfixation! New hyperfixation!

Lunar: It was nice watching the movies again with someone who doesn’t throw up watching them.

Moon: Listen, I’ve apologized seven times now for throwing up on you during the Valentina scene. I’m sorry! At least we weren’t in a theater and I cleaned it up!

[astersatdawn]

Nightmares Forged From Fractured Peridots

Relationship: Midoriya Izuku & Sensei | All for One

Rating: Not Rated

Sensei | All for One is Midoriya Hisashi, Bad ending, Izuku has been vaulted, non-consensual (platonic) touch, non-consensual haircut, non-consensual Quirk use, referenced non-consensual drug use

Oneshot (Series) | 8.8k words

What a failure he was. Not able to stop All for One, not able to prevent his own arrest, not able to find his mother or the exit that would let them escape this labyrinth All for One used to trap them. Continuously running in useless circles of conversations with this demon in some desperate attempt to regain control. 

All for One sought a fantasy and deemed all of Izuku’s dreams as illusions in parallel. Izuku hated the tiny part of himself that was scared that those hopes were as futile as All for One insisted they were. 

-

[Or, another day, another failed escape attempt from All for One’s prison, and the consequences that come with Izuku’s failure.]

ao3 link: here

This is a sequel to Brimstone and Emerald Dreams (tumblr/ao3) but it is (probably) not necessary to read that fic before reading this one.

And just like that, it was over again.

He tripped, and then there was a hand wrapped around Izuku’s bicep—it was not a friendly gesture to keep him from falling, but a chain to drag him back to his cell.

“Izuku, what did I say about running in the halls?” All for One chided, maneuvering Izuku to face him as easily as manipulating putty in one’s hands. His other hand clamped onto his other bicep, keeping Izuku firmly in place, even though it was a paralyzing Quirk and not his grip that kept Izuku from running now. “You could get hurt.”

There were plenty of responses he could’ve said to that. He could’ve simply said that it’s too late for that. Izuku could point out the bruises from where his fists pounded against the walls, could point to the dried blood beneath his fingernails and the missing skin from his overly bitten lips. He could point to his own heart, rotting beneath his decaying ribs, or how his flesh sank inward despite how he fought for something more than a bone-brittle existence.

He could even scream about the thunderstorm in his chest, the one that rumbled whenever he was dragged to and fro on a whim, the one that raged when his father spoke of his mother’s treatment, the one that bristled with every patronizing word out of All for One’s mouth, spewing sugar-coated nonsense about the nuclear family he had shattered with his own two hands—how Izuku was always to be his parent’s child, an object to be smothered like he’s nine rather than sixteen.

Assuming he was still sixteen. 

He might be older, he didn’t know. Time is knowledge, and All for One, knowing Izuku is one to protectively cradle every detail close to his chest, would withhold far more than he ever gave, but still led him on with something like the possibility of answers, knowing Izuku would hang off his every word if it meant Izuku could gather one of those sparse fragments.

And All for One had given some answers at first. Not many. Some already known, others new, everything chosen with a meticulousness perfected by time. He’d kept Izuku in stasis as he carried his freshly woken body outside and walked around the barren streets of a city Izuku could not name—the only signs it had been a city once were the abandoned vehicles, the dilapidated storefronts with their half-burnt signs, and the charred scraps of bones and picked at skeletons. 

“I want you to understand where home is now, Izuku. There’s nothing out there for you—nor is there anyone who would accept you as you are, not like me. So stay here. You need to do nothing more than that.”

Maybe everything out there was truly all ashes. Maybe there was nothing, or no one, left for them to find. It was hard to be worried about a what-if when anywhere was better than here—it’s why he had to believe there was something else left out there. A friend, a stranger. Anyone. News to uncover. A sanctuary for two tucked away out of All for One’s sight. A desperation for a better life that kept Izuku running no matter how many times All for One insisted there was nothing better left. The world could not be lost, and their world could not be contained to just this place.  

He wouldn’t let the carefully selected scenery erase his dreams of hope, wouldn’t fall into the trap that was the logic of a megalomaniac man. Giving up on his wishes meant more than giving up on himself. He had to keep trying for the sake of his mother and whoever else still lived and fought another day in All for One’s Japan. 

So the statement “you could get hurt” was the most redundant thing Izuku had heard since he was brought here. It was far too late. Izuku was bruised and bleeding and holding on by the skin of his teeth. 

Telling All for One that truth was out of the question. 

But with the way Izuku was held, unable to move anything but his facial muscles, he knew a response was necessary.

“I know.”

“If you know, then you shouldn’t do it.” All for One sighed. “You’d get hurt less if you just listened to me, Izuku.”

Izuku held back a scoff. It’s obvious All for One wasn’t just referring to running in the halls, or any other prior admonishment for something treated like a childish antic. Ever since Izuku woke up here All for One played up the loving, concerned father as if that’s all it ever was. While he was not wrapped in layers of chains like he had been before, the thinness of his wrists, irregular doses of drugs that kept him even weaker, and the thick walls of the vault did nothing but remind Izuku that, as welcome as he was to be here, this was a prison and not a home, and this place had hurt his family more than enough. 

All for One had implied that obedience—that giving up—would change Izuku’s situation. Claimed that Izuku giving in to every one of All for One’s demands to act as the adoring son would make his quality of life improve, that he would get everything he wanted and that he’d never be in pain again. But Izuku knew better. If he agreed to that he may as well consider himself more corpse than man, for the heart that beat within his chest would no longer be his own. 

If getting more hurt would get him out of here, he would continue to accept that over succumbing to a bleak existence. 

Listening to All for One was not an option—it didn’t matter how frayed the rope Izuku clung to was, all that mattered was getting his mother out, and making sure enough of himself was left to go with her. Letting go—giving up—meant the end.  

He couldn’t give a half-hearted shrug in response, shoulders frozen as they were. Instead, all he did was mumble a quiet “I know.”

“No, you don’t. If you did know that we wouldn’t be here.” All for One’s hands squeezed his arms. “You’re making things far more difficult than they need to be.”

“I know.”

“Do you know how to say anything else?”

“Nothing that I want to tell you, and nothing that you’d listen to.” 

All for One sighed. “You’re proving my point. I’m not your enemy, Izuku. I’m your father—you can trust me.”

“Sure I can,” Izuku muttered, bitterness laced more heavily into his tone than it had been before. 

“What am I going to do with you?” He shook his head. All for One was silent for a long moment. Then he lifted a hand and his fingers were running through Izuku’s hair, curls falling past his chin. “I suppose that can come later. You’re overdue for a haircut.”

“It’s fine—” 

“It’s getting tangled.” All for One tugged on a small tangle to prove his point. “If you’re not going to take care of your hair, you shouldn’t let it get this long.”

Izuku bristled. It’s not like Izuku purposely let it get this unkempt—outside of Izuku’s rebellions, all decisions that should be his were instead ripped away from him. His schedule, from when he ate to when he bathed, were not his to decide. His clothes and appearance were not his to decide. Any tool, be it a comb or a toothbrush, were quickly classified as something Izuku would try and use to help his escape, and thus kept from him. With that structure, Izuku’s only means of managing his hair was with his fingers. 

“I can take care of it.” 

“Clearly not, you’re doing a poor job of it.” All for One ruffled his hair, making it messier than it already was, further empathizing just how much control he exhibited over Izuku’s every choice, or lack thereof. “Come on, let’s get that taken care of.”

Without warning, All for One adjusted his arms and lifted Izuku up. 

“I can walk,” Izuku spat out, unable to kick his way out of the hold. 

“You can, but you don’t need to. I can take care of you.” All for One squeezed Izuku like it was supposed to be a comforting touch. “And considering your display just now, I know you’re not interested in taking a walk.”

“I’ll walk,” Izuku insisted between gritted teeth. 

“And I’ll carry you. I want to take care of you, my little prince.” All for One ran his fingers through Izuku’s hair, passing by the knots that had formed since Izuku’s last struggle to pull them apart, and tilted Izuku’s head towards his chest and pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “I have too much lost time to make up for.”

Time Izuku would rather spend away from him, but he knew saying that would make All for One more unbearable than he already was. Every touch kept his hairs standing on end, the stone in his stomach sinking deeper than it already was. Already, Izuku was sick of it, and it had only been a few minutes. Every disagreement seemed to increase All for One’s clinginess, and considering Izuku had an unwanted haircut coming up, Izuku knew he was nearing his limit of coddling before he said something that would get him a worse punishment than usual. He couldn’t risk losing too many windows of opportunity, not when they were already so limited.  

Tartarus had been a kinder place to him if only because it kept him out of All for One’s clutches for a while, even if that proved to not be enough—how long had it been since Izuku first found himself in captivity, struggling and failing to get free and do what needed to be done? 

What a failure he was. Not able to stop All for One, not able to prevent his own arrest, not able to find his mother or the exit that would let them escape this labyrinth All for One used to trap them. Continuously running in useless circles of conversations with this demon in some desperate attempt to regain control. 

All for One sought a fantasy and deemed all of Izuku’s dreams as illusions in parallel. Izuku hated the tiny part of himself that was scared that those hopes were as futile as All for One insisted they were. 

It continued like that for the next few minutes: Izuku, stuck stiff in All for One’s arms, fingers in his hair, silent and stewing in his resentments while All for One acted all merry. They didn’t go to Izuku’s cell, but a hallway not far from it, that Izuku had already inspected through a mixture of his escape attempts and All for One dragging him around. 

Their destination was a small multi-purpose room, shelves stocked with miscellaneous items ranging from hair care products to silverware. On the opposite wall of the door there was a sink, and above it, a mirror that captured the both of them: Izuku, glaring off into the distance, eyebags and pale skin illuminated by sickly lights, matted hair curling just beneath his chin, held tight like a trophy to All for One’s chest, who smiled not with that of deranged madman’s, but with something almost peaceful. 

Izuku would not be surprised if, before, this room had been a torture chamber, considering the centerpiece was a chair with multiple leather straps hanging off of it, which was right next to a miniature surgical table that already had a pair of scissors and a brush on top; even if it hadn’t been, he certainly felt tortured every time he was brought in here like this.

All for One gently set him down in the chair, and began to restrain Izuku. It was done with a practiced hand, one hand deftly tightening straps and buckles around Izuku’s arms, legs, and chest, while the other was still somewhere on Izuku—his hand, his knee, his shoulder, his head—to keep the paralysis Quirk in use. 

When he was done he ruffled Izuku’s hair and let him go. The second Izuku felt his limbs were his own again he tugged at his restraints, pulling up and forward and squirming no more than an inch. 

“It’s cute that you still think you can escape,” All for One cooed. Izuku felt the brush run through his hair, tugging and pulling with rapid strokes.“You’re not leaving unless I let you, Izuku.” 

“I literally just got out without you letting me.”

“No, you didn’t. You left your room, but you didn’t leave.” A yank. A few strokes more, each growing more gentle than the last, before it stopped altogether. He heard All for One set the brush back down on the table before he  walked over to the shelves, and picked up two bottles to compare. “And even if you found your way to the exit, I know you wouldn’t go, not without Inko.”

Izuku’s nails dug into his palm. He wished it wasn’t so obvious, if only if it meant Izuku knew something All for One didn’t. She had to be in this building, All for One had implied as much, and even if it was a lie, Izuku couldn’t take the risk of leaving her behind in this sort of place. Her presence was another cord for All for One to pull, but also a reward to give if Izuku submitted enough for All for One to attempt recreating the sham of a family he so desperately wanted. 

And he had seen her, more than once, since that condition became clear. 

Part of him hated that fact. He had fallen so far that he’d been seen as compliant, and yet, seeing his mother reignited him more than memory ever would. It was hard for those dinners not to, seeing the wariness in her darting eyes, her gentle voice gone mouse-quiet and fragile, resignation a heavy mantle on her shoulders, as playing her part meant she could see Izuku again. The truth of the matter was, as much as she was tether and treat for him, so too was he treat and tether for her. 

Every minute, every word, and every touch, was just another opportunity for both of them to break, and compliance meant falling apart faster—Izuku could only hope that his choice to keep fighting would give her the strength to not give up all the hope she had left. 

“...Where is she?”  

All for One settled on one of the bottles and grabbed a towel before heading back towards Izuku’s side.  

“Do you really think I’m going to tell you that?” The towel flapped out of sight before All for One tucked it around Izuku’s shoulders. “We just established her location is your goal with your escapades, Izuku.” 

From somewhere behind him, he could hear the squeak of a faucet, and then the rush of water splashing against the bottom of the sink. It wasn’t a consistent stream, as he could hear the water shifting as All for One’s hands moved under the water. 

“When will I see her?”

An amused huff. “You should know by now disobedient children don’t get what they want.”

“She’s my mother. If you’re going to discipline me then she should be involved.” 

“And you don’t need to see her for her to be involved, Izuku. You should know parents discuss things without their children.” Abruptly the back of the chair was pulled down, and Izuku’s eyes shut as warm water fell onto his forehead. All for One’s hands were back in Izuku’s hair. Instinctively Izuku tried to pull his head away, only for All for One to drag his head down more firmly into the basin, before using the Quirk to keep Izuku still. “You seem quite desperate to make some sort of progress today. Any particular reason for that?”  

The answer was a contradictory matter: there was a reason, in the same way there wasn’t one at all. A realization had struck him as he lay awake, waiting for the illusive mercy of sleep, that Izuku had no milestones to measure the length of his imprisonment. Izuku did not know when the last time he saw the sun or the stars was. He had no way to count the days, no concept of time—All for One made certain of that; the limited light in his cell never changed, and when his pacing and plotting became tiring Izuku tried to sleep with little way to distinguish between a minute and an hour. He had no clue how much time had passed between his imprisonment in Tartarus and the first day he woke up here—all he had was the memory of passing out in heavy chains in his tiny cell and waking up to the echoing chill of metal walls and the warm hand of a familiar-stranger Izuku never wanted to speak to again.  

All he had were those questions that he gathered and guesswork swirling inside him and melding into a desperate voice that slithered through him. Pick up the pace, his heart had hammered. Every minute here is a minute too long, every minute spent is another you fail to save somebody else, his toes restlessly curled tighter. You’re not supposed to be this useless again, get out, get out, get out, and his guts would spill out between his fidgeting hands, as he uselessly stared at walls for hours and hours as if waiting for sleep or death or salvation despite knowing he was the only one able to fight for it.   

Inaction built up every word, until the rambunctiousness of that inner voice had driven him to do something, anything, to get them one step closer to freedom, to find quiet in the adrenaline that guided him down labyrinthe halls, eager to find something more than fragmented hope. 

And instead he failed again. 

Now that voice was knocking, and despite the many ways All for One had to make Izuku’s body another prison, he could never capture his mind and silence a voice not even Izuku could quell. 

“No,” Izuku replied, and it couldn’t even be considered a lie.

“Nothing at all?” All for One hummed.  “There’s no shame in saying you simply miss your parents.”

“I only have a mother worth missing,” Izuku snapped before he could think. 

The hands in Izuku’s hair froze. Nails dug into his scalp, and a thick glob of horror swelled in his throat. 

He knew this would happen, had known coming into this room was a minefield ready to burst, and yet he walked right onto it anyway. There would be no simple, straight-forward punishment for this, Izuku knew that, too. 

“Oh? Then what about your father, Izuku? What am I worth to you?” 

Panicked eyes stared up at All for One, who stared down at him with a predatory smile and chilling gaze. It made Izuku aware of just how close they were—that if Izuku were anyone else, the hands on his head may have already pierced through his skull, uncaring for the mess that’d be left behind. 

Just as Izuku was desperate for escape from him, so too was All for One desperate for the affection of those he called his. The cost to them did not matter, not if it meant getting what he wanted, and denying him even the illusion of it invited the threat to return and rip away something more to get what he desired.

There had been one time before when Izuku had said something that caused All for One to snap like this. What exactly he had said was an answer left behind somewhere between heavy doses of drugs and darkness, but he knew it was something about All for One not being his father—something that opposed the illusion, and Izuku learned the best tactic was simply avoiding such topics altogether. 

And yet, here he was, implying this man had more value by not being around at all. A perfect contradiction to All for One’s disturbed fantasy.

What did he do here? Did he try to backtrack and appeal to All for One? 

No. He couldn’t—not even if he wanted to. Lies had never been his strong suit, but his honesty was still a fine line to balance. He was already due for an extension of the usual punishment, but now that he was in this more dangerous territory, he knew he could inadvertently drag his mother down with him if he didn’t take even a second to think. 

He didn’t mind digging the hole for himself just a little deeper if it meant making sure his mother stayed out of it.  

“I—mom might disagree, but I wish you never came back.”

Other words boiled in his stomach, words better left in the past Izuku could not completely bury, damning ones he vowed to never say, ones he hated himself for even thinking as he had searched his mind for excuses: I regret having missed you—loving you, thinking you were someone I wanted around. 

“How harsh, Izuku. To think you’d say such a thing after all I’ve done for you.”

“What you’ve done for me?” Izuku snarled. Snapshots of memories flashed across his vision: eager Quirk dissections on the couch after a long day and a mocking voice gleefully recounting a massacre, a warm meal for three with bites taken between chatter and laughter and desecrated cities beyond what they eye could see, birthday wishes that reminded him he wasn’t alone and isolated time lost in cold metal prisons, bedtime stories detailing dragons and sorcerers and suffocating visions of the death featuring people he loved. None of that had ever been for Izuku, no matter how often All for One said it was, no matter what Izuku once believed it to have been. All those resurfaced hurts and sickening thoughts festered within him. “You’ve done nothing, I wish you were a deadbeat—it’d be better if you were dead—”

Izuku’s jaw clamped shut without his permission. The dangerous expression on All for One’s face didn’t twitch, even though Izuku’s forced silence was a response enough that Izuku had not only crossed a line, but barreled far past the cliff’s edge. Without a word he shut the water off and lifted the back of Izuku’s chair back into a sitting position, and Izuku didn’t even have a second to orient himself before he was spun around so that he was face to face with All for One. He took Izuku’s face in his hands, cradled his cheeks and drew his gaze up to meet his. 

“What an unheroic sentiment from you, Izuku.” A chill ran through Izuku, hair standing on end, in response to such a cold voice. A drop of water trickled down his nose and crawled to his chin. “I’d almost be proud, but we don’t wish for death for our family, even in anger. Do you understand me?”

He felt a weight lift off his tongue, though it didn’t feel like less of one, considering it simply sank past his pounding heart and into his stomach instead. “Yes.”

“What was that? I can’t hear you, Izuku.” 

“Yes,” he said louder. Yet All for One’s expression did not shift, and Izuku knew at that moment he was expecting something more: appeasement. Izuku had seen All for One like this once before, only days after Izuku woke up here; once was enough to know it wasn’t worth ignoring again—he’d almost lost his chance for any opening to escape at all. He knew he wouldn’t be so lucky a second time. He was too close to teetering back into the very same darkness he was trying to avoid. One more wrong word, and he knew he’d never see light again.

A shaky inhale, a trembling heart—how useless of it to waver only now. How pathetic it was that he had to grovel at all, to cave into demands he had been clawing against not even a minute before. A hurried exhale—again, again—not fast enough as thumbs rubbed into bone. A desperate gulp—it was all simply another heavy stone to swallow. 

“Yes, dad. I’m sorry.”

How quiet those words were, syllables ashes on his tongue. The inflection probably didn’t matter—in the end, it was just another victory for All for One. Words had power, and for all the defiance Izuku could spout, if he was forced to kneel long enough to keep himself afloat, All for One would consider it another step closer to the obedient puppet All for One wanted him to be.

The strings dictating Izuku’s life were not all his to control anymore—one by one All for One plucked at the cords that created Izuku’s core, and as much as they vibrated with resistance, one day, Izuku suspected, All for One would be fed up because, as much as he tried, Izuku would never be what All for One so wished him to be. 

Izuku could not be here when that patience snapped. He’d already poked at the edges of it, and he was scared to find out what would happen to Izuku and his mother when he couldn’t bounce back. Yet, there was no telling how long All for One’s patience would last—while All for One was ancient, even he could not be forever patient, not when Izuku’s lifespan was far more limited than his. 

“Very good, Izuku.” The worst of the menacing aura faded, but Izuku knew it still lingered. He’d be walking on a thin tightrope until he was alone in his cell. “Thank you for your apology. You’re forgiven.”

For now went unspoken.

As if a final act of reconciliation, rather than the prize All for One saw it as, All for One held him like he was a pet owner comforting a sodden dog, petting his hair and holding him close. Izuku felt tears rise to his eyes, but these were not tears of relief. 

They were tears for all the things Izuku could never say, for all the pieces of himself he had to neglect to make sure they had a chance at getting out of here, for all of his failures and the mistakes he couldn’t name.

All for One would claim them as his, though. Tears for the regret of harsh words, for an imagined, repeating, grief if he were to leave Izuku again—even if both of them knew that was not the truth. 

They would both dream. All for One dreaming for it to one day be true, Izuku dreaming for the day he and his mother got the freedom they longed for. And in those dreams they lived, clashing and coexisting, determined to achieve their reality, utilizing every tool to reach their goals, and snuffing the other’s out until there was nothing of it left. 

Fingers threaded through his hair, and after minutes too long, All for One let him go. A wistful sigh. “Well, we do need to resume your haircut. I’d rather it doesn’t dry first—unless you have any objections?”

Another test. Izuku’s eyes flickered down to his lap. “...no.”

A doubtful hum.

“I need a haircut,” Izuku murmured. 

“That’s right, my little prince, you do.” In the corner of his eyes Izuku watched All for One pick up the scissors. Something twisted in his stomach—the scissors were less dangerous than All for One’s hands on him, and yet, the sight of something that could so easily be turned into a weapon left him even more unsettled. He wondered if it was because, once, he had been comforted by All for One’s physical affections, or if it was because he’d grown so used to them again; he hated the part of himself that wondered those things—it was the same part of him that didn’t offer another possibility that was kinder to his heart. “I’ll take care of you.”

A sharper twist. Izuku swallowed his tongue, and even though he was restrained but not paralyzed, he didn’t move an inch.

All for One’s movements were slow and thoughtful, but that didn’t keep him from chatting between each snip. 

A question about Izuku’s thoughts on a Quirk theory. Snip. Asking how Izuku enjoyed the book All for One had been reading to him. Snip, snip.  A harsh, off-handed reference to a hero Izuku admired—nails digging into palm and a clenched jaw. Snip. A quiz on the applications of a gravity Quirk that didn’t feel as theoretical as All for One tried to make it sound; tears bubbling within lowered eyes—a shaky breath as Izuku gave a careful answer. Snip.

Izuku felt a bundle of strands fall onto the back of his palm. Snip. They shook in time with every snip. Snip, snip, snip. His hair was pulled back and his skull jostled with it—the lost hair fell off of his hand and drifted onto the floor, featherlight and free. Snip. A hand on his cheek, the turn of his head. Snip. Up, down, pulled around gently like a little doll. Snip. Snip. 

Hot whirling air in his ear, something running through his hair. A chill as it dissipated. The room seemed to grow colder and colder as All for One kept swiping at his hair. Snip. The circling of a vulture around Izuku as if he were a corpse ripe for the picking. A passing thought spoken aloud Izuku had no response for. Something metallic set down.  

Hands on his cheeks and the edge of breath—they were so warm, but Izuku longed for the cold again. 

“Oh, you look so cute Izuku.” A kiss to his forehead and the ruffling of his hair. All for One moved to stand behind Izuku, one hand curled over his shoulder and the other under his chin nudged his gaze back up. “And so much like your father.” 

Izuku barely recognized himself in that mirror.

His hair was short, just a bit shorter than Izuku had ever let it get. It had always been a deliberate choice to never let it get cut to this length. Even as a child, this short curly hair had reminded him of his father. It may not have been as nightmarish when he was small, but now that Izuku knew more, having the similarities between them so starkly presented made him sick.

He could see the hint of his sharpening jaw, the shape of his eyebrows, the curve of his ear—similarities Izuku could hide when his hair was just a little longer. Before his imprisonment, he’d been considering letting it grow out even more, as if his thick hair could bury his secrets. Now even that choice was ripped away from him, and Izuku was forced to confront the things he never wanted to face.

Ignorance was not an option, not when All for One wanted to engrave this truth into Izuku’s very soul.

“Your father did a great job, didn’t he, Izuku?” 

A prompt, and Izuku knew he couldn’t risk ignoring it. Not after earlier. Bile soured his throat. “Yeah. Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome, Izuku.” All for One pat his cheek. Through the reflection Izuku could feel All for One’s unrelenting stare. What All for One saw at that moment, Izuku didn’t know—he didn’t want to know. Whatever delusion All for One saw fulfilled in this moment was one Izuku never wanted to understand. “You’ve had quite the eventful excursion today—it’s time we get you back to your room.”

All for One spun the chair around to face him and then reached for the first of the latches. Izuku remained still as they came undone, one by one. Twitched as the last one came undone, and froze again as he saw All for One’s expression: taunting, expectant—ready to make Izuku’s existence more miserable, even if that’s the last thing All for One would call it. 

Izuku remained seated. 

A hand ruffled his hair, and Izuku flinched at the touch. A light twitch of the lip, but All for One made no comment about it. 

Careful inhale—shaky, quiet, exhale. Izuku’s hands curled into tight fists. How pathetic it felt to be compliant, how much his heart raged and his mind screeched louder the echoes of every error that got him here, but even more clear was the one voice reminding him that if he didn’t leave himself the possibility of opportunity, there would be no chance he would save his mother, let alone himself. He had to get her out of here, no matter what. 

Izuku moved, slowly, eyes on All for One, whose face betrayed nothing, to get out of the chair. Every movement felt like a test, even as Izuku simply stood up before All for One. Not running. Now wasn’t the time to go, even if he wished it was. Even if Izuku wasn’t monitoring his every twitch with such intensity, he would know now would be a poor time to run, even if earlier he would have tried to catch All for One off guard anyway.

Once it was clear Izuku wasn’t running, All for One’s smile grew and he ruffled his hair. Some demented reward—a pat on the back for All for One, a signifier of victory that Izuku had been forced to hand over. Then did nothing else; expectant, again, and this time, Izuku had no guesses as to what.

Izuku shifted on his feet, warily eyeing the space between All for One and the door. There’s no way All for One would let him walk back unsupervised, especially not after the conversation earlier. A step out of line, and Izuku could imagine the dark encroaching on him, the heavy restraints—cold stillness and warm adjustments—the sharp pain in his elbow keeping him half-lucid, and his mother’s crying voice—whatever this was now was the true tipping point.

Don’t mess up. Run. You’ve taken too many risks today—no, not enough. Ignore your instincts. They’re the only thing keeping you both alive and safe. They’ve ruined this attempt. Move, freeze, figure it out, figure it out. 

“Um…” Izuku hated speaking first. Not only was initiating the conversation the last thing Izuku ever wanted to do, but it was inherently a risk. All for One waited for the day Izuku spoke to him of his own free will of mundane things, but when that day was nowhere in Izuku’s foreseen future, it meant more conversational minefields to maneuver than normal. “Was there, uh… something else…?”

The only response was All for One’s poker face—still smiling, not telling if Izuku tipped towards total damnation or his ability to fight another day. 

Izuku hated it, but he hoped he had the right card to play to get the clue he was missing.

“Um… Dad..?” His voice cracked.

“Sorry Izuku, I was simply lost in thought,” he said with absolutely no sincerity, but his tone didn’t sound as menacing as before—Izuku didn’t breathe easy, but he didn’t feel like he was about to be thrown off a cliff. “You’re quite eager to get going, aren’t you?”

“Um…” Sounding eager translated to wanting to get away from All for One, which while undeniably true, was always the wrong thing to say. His brain scrambled for some reasonable excuse. “I… I’m just… tired. Sorry.”

Something flashed behind All for One’s eyes, but before Izuku could decipher its meaning, it was gone.

“Oh why didn’t you say so?” Like it was an invitation, All for One swept Izuku off his feet again. His arm was already out to strike out when he froze, the answer hitting him far later than it should’ve. 

Because of course this was what All for One was after—no matter what Izuku tried, he never let Izuku walk between rooms without restraints that kept him from running, and especially not after any escape attempt. Today, the restraint was All for One himself. He probably only let Izuku get away without directly asking All for One because Izuku called him dad without prompting.

Izuku did not want to decide if asking All for One to carry him or calling him dad was the worse choice of the two. 

With robotic stiffness Izuku lowered his arm, and All for One chuckled. “You seem surprised.”

“It—it was just sudden…” Izuku stared at his twined hands. 

“Hmm. You certainly seem more tired—you’re quieter than usual.” Was that an admonishment or not? Izuku couldn’t tell. He raised his shoulders in a short-lived shrug. All for One adjusted his grip to make Izuku lean closer to him. “We should get you to bed.”

An underlying implication—no meal first. 

It was a minor punishment; it had been an internal debate in the earliest days, to eat the food provided to him or not. It was better than the prison gruel he’d been living off before—sometimes it was even recognizable as his mother’s own cooking, which was something that he couldn’t bring himself to reject regardless of the circumstances—but accepting any of it still felt like some sort of concession, especially when each meal was a roulette wheel of if he’d be taking another dose of drugs Izuku could not name. 

In the end, Izuku knew if he wanted to get the two of them out of here, he needed to build up the strength he lost while in Tartarus, even if the efforts felt futile, and he was, at best, kept at a too-weak baseline. 

It also meant this would likely get back to his mother, and he knew she hated seeing him hurt himself in that way. It hurt her emotionally, and made Izuku feel guilty when he hadn’t before—a small, but effective punishment. He could feel that guilt settling in his stomach now, his mother’s face on the forefront of his mind.

“Okay,” he murmured, even quieter, trying to sound more tired than he felt. 

Maybe this was the best outcome of the day’s events. While he made far too many mistakes today, it seemed  All for One might be leaving him alone sooner than he would’ve had Izuku not made such a massive blunder. 

All for One still filled the silence as they made their way back. Izuku was careful with his responses, slower—easily explained with the cover he’d given himself earlier. It didn't take long before the door to his cell opened again, and he was once again back at where he started.  

All for One set him on the bed in the corner of the room, and took his time to tuck Izuku in like he was a toddler again. He fidgeted with each movement, but didn’t outright stop it, even as All for One ruffled his hair and Izuku felt the back of his head sink further into his pillow. 

“Um… night..?” 

“Sleep well,” All for One said, giving no hint to what the actual time was.

Izuku closed his eyes, and listened for the sound of All for One leaving.

And waited.

And waited.

He wasn’t leaving, was he?

Izuku tried to keep his breathing even. He knew All for One had seen him asleep, but he’s not going to open his eyes to check if All for One is watching him fall asleep—or just watching him in general. That unsettling feeling creeping over Izuku’s skin was enough of an answer, even if in another scenario someone may have brushed it off as paranoia. 

This wasn’t exactly unusual. He would never get used to the staring; it was uncomfortable as it was normal. 

Worse, he knew All for One knew his status because of Search. Even when he tried to fake it, he’d know if Izuku was really asleep or awake—not like being in either state would change the situation. It truly didn’t matter to All for One, and that may have been the worst part of it all; it never mattered what Izuku did, his existence alone was enough for All for One’s attention to be on Izuku. 

This may have been another punishment in of itself. Izuku would have gotten back up a few minutes after All for One left and started pacing—there were too many pent up feelings inside him to sleep. When he was moving it was easier to focus on what he needed to do next; trying to sleep made it too easy to spiral into the past. 

It was no surprise he didn’t sleep often.

Only when Izuku’s thoughts became so incoherent that they stumbled over themselves did Izuku find himself passing out for unknowable lengths of time. If none of the words inside of him could be understood, there would be no regrets to linger on while he rested. 

All for One staring at him, combined with the restlessness simmering inside of him, meant there was no way Izuku would stop thinking, let alone sleep.

Could he think himself into unconsciousness? Plan and review ideas for future escape attempts with All for One sitting so close to him? Could those ideas get so loud they’d drown out all else—would they consume him if he let them ring loud enough? 

Something ran through his hair and Izuku nearly jumped out of his skin. “Trouble sleeping? Would it help if I sang a lullaby?”

Izuku kept his eyes closed if only so he didn’t glare at All for One. “...if you want.”

The fingers in his hair toyed with his curls as All for One began to sing something low and familiar—something from a collection of vague memories, so distant it was easy to forget. Nightmares hadn’t been strangers, even as a child. From his youth they had clung onto him, never letting go, growing from tigers to monsters with every year that had passed. 

And in those moments, when his weakness was made transparent in the dark, it was not always his mother he ran to.

He remembered a hand in his hair like this, shaking as his fingers sunk into fabric desperate for an anchor. As tightly as he held on, so too was he held, shielded from all other eyes, as Izuku would find comfort in a heartbeat and that low voice that always sang this same rhythm. He’d been so small back then, so small and unknowing, so easy to carry back to his room—”you need to let go of me now, sweetie,” his mother squeezed him as she set him back on the floor. 

He looked up at her, clutching the bottom of her skirt. “But I don’t wanna.”

She laughed, and with such a gentle smile, she spoke, “I think you’ll like what’s out there.”

Izuku glanced toward the door in the distance, soft sunlight peeking beneath the gap in the bottom. The light looked nice, but he couldn’t help but glance back up at his mother. “But what about you?”

“What about me?” 

“I don’t wanna leave mama alone.”

“You won’t be.” She crouched down to meet his eyes. “Because I know you’ll come back after you have some fun, and then the two of us will be together again.” 

Something tugged at his soul, and he looked back towards the door. His tiny fingers began to unfurl, but didn’t let her go. “You won’t be lonely?”

“No.” She smiled. Slowly, he let her go. “Have a good day, Izuku.”

He grabbed the handle, cold beneath his scarred hand. Yet he couldn’t help but look back, find a reason to stay a moment longer, extend this conversation before he was forced to leave her again. “Do I look okay mom?”

His mother shuffled closer, muttering something under her breath as she fixed his tie. “You look great, my little hero. Now get going, or you’ll be late.” 

“Okay, I’m going, I’m going. I’ll come back.” It felt like such a heavy promise, even though he wasn’t going far. 

“I know.” 

He opened the door and stepped into his classroom. Immediately, a group of heads gathered in the far back corner lifted up and met his eyes.

“Deku!” Uraraka waves.

“Midoriya-kun! Please be mindful of the time! You were almost late!” 

“There’s seven minutes before class starts.” 

“That’s two minutes before the five minute bell! Students should arrive at least 30 minutes early—”

“Isn’t that a little overkill prez?” 

Iida launched into a lecture about the merits of arriving early, and while Izuku let the lecture fade into the background, thinking about how much Iida cared about all of them soothed him. He went around the classroom greeting his classmates: smiles and laughter and previous days discussed—Kacchan’s words gruff and dismissive even as he leaned towards the closest conversation to listen, Todoroki’s quiet recollection of his most recent visit to his mother, Uraraka cheerfully recounting a few great sales she and Tsuyu stumbled upon as they wandered the mall the day before, Jirou recommending music to Kaminari and Yaoyorozu leading into a discussion on synesthesia, the updated score for Kirishima and Ojiro’s recent set of arm wrestling matches, another match demanded with Ashido and Hagakure cheering them both on, Satou passing out treats, each uniquely decorated and getting thoughtful compliments and gushing excitement and gratitude from the rest of his classmates.

“I missed this,” the words slipped out of Izuku’s mouth.

“Missed what?” 

“I… I don’t know.” Izuku shook his head. He set a hand above his chest—for such a lovely moment, his heart seemed so still. His fingertips felt so cold, yet his chest, unbeating as it was, felt so warm. Tears slipped out from his eyes, and he brushed it aside, watching it dry on his flesh as if it could give him an answer for why peacefulness felt so foreign. “But… but, I’m here now, so—” 

A startled gasp, a tight tug on his scalp—Izuku scrambled to sit up but his limbs locked in place, his body manipulated by hands that weren’t his. 

His pillow was gone. Instead, his head rested on All for One’s lap, and now he stared up at him, utterly frozen beneath that cold anger that had no origin Izuku could name. 

Yet, as quickly as that anger had appeared, it was gone, and All for One stroked the top of his head as if to heal the lingering aches. “It’s good to see you awake, Izuku.”

He slept? No, of course he had—pieces of the dreams still lingered, even if the gentleness that had tried to hold him was quickly fading into a longing ache paired with a quiet apprehension. But if he had been asleep, what had bothered All for One so much to wake Izuku up so violently?

“While you were asleep, I spent some time contemplating your punishment.” Of course everything before now hadn’t been enough—his teeth clenched, trying to figure out what could be coming, even if the alarm in the back of his mind already told him, if it was coming so suddenly like this, it wasn’t meant to be guessed. “Your sudden bout of tiredness gave me an epiphany, and so I decided that this time, I’d choose your punishment based on a gamble.” 

“A gamble?” Izuku echoed. What sort of gamble would All for One make while he was asleep?

All for One’s hand cradled his cheek, his thumb tracing the dark eyebags beneath Izuku’s lids. “Truthfully, I never liked watching you sleep, Izuku. My time with you was already limited, and even more was taken from me whenever you needed to rest. I had a choice to make when you were younger: did I let you keep a regular sleep cycle, and risk you running away from me as you grew older, or did I trap you within your delusions but knowing you’d physically always be close by? I made my choice, and we’re here now as a consequence of that.” 

Izuku shuddered—had he really been that close to being imprisoned in his own mind as a child? 

Then, a worse thought: there was a reason this was coming up now, and an unsettled dread crept through his veins. 

“But now I realize—neither of those had been the right answer at all. And so, that brings us to my gamble. I wondered how much your dreams changed, my little prince, and so, I decided to find out. Lullaby, Deepened Sleep, Dream Toggler, Gentle Dream, Dream Reader—all of those Quirks to test your subconscious. If they showed something I liked, then I’d keep things as they were before, and pick a different punishment.”

A gamble Izuku was always destined to lose, then. All for One would be the delusional one between the two of them if he had truly expected any other outcome—but maybe, the more likely truth was that All for One knew the outcome of his self-made bet from the start. If he hated his previous decision in hindsight, and found a better solution during the perfect time to implement it, there was no way All for One would pick any other alternative.

Even more violating was the fact that the kindest dream he’s had since he’d arrived was no longer only his to remember. 

Maybe Izuku should be more surprised that his dreams were intruded upon. Yet, with All for One’s obsessive need for control, it was surprising it had taken this long—already, his body was not always his own to move, and sometimes words he never wanted to say were ripped from his throat. So how long would Izuku’s mind be his sole solace from that control? How long did he have before even his every thought was overheard? 

“You’re familiar with the gift I gave your uncle, and I’ve decided I’m going to give you a similar one.”

“A Quirk?” Izuku couldn’t hide the horror in his voice—it was both an inexplicable worst case scenario and one that didn’t make any sense. “You—you can’t get that back, not without—”

Not without taking One for All. 

“I won’t need it until you’re ready, Izuku. Until then, I’d rather you hold onto it—it’s called Sleepless. Its purpose is rather simple: you don’t have to sleep anymore, Izuku—you won’t be able to even when you want to.’

That… that didn’t sound like the worst thing. He may not be able to escape his own thoughts, but more time awake meant more time planning to escape and getting out of here. He had to be missing something—there’s no way it could be that simple. 

“The best part of that Quirk is that, despite the purpose of that Quirk, it doesn’t grant any immunity to sleeping Quirks. You’ll still be able to sleep when I need you to, Izuku.” All for One tapped the skin next to Izuku’s eyeballs. “Maybe with this those eyebags of yours will finally clear up.”

Izuku’s eyebrows furrowed. “When…  when you need me to?”

“That’s right. Unlike before, I can spend all your waking hours with you, and when I have to go away, you can finally sleep. You won’t be able to use that convenient excuse to get out of spending time with your father. We can be together for as long as we want—isn’t that great, Izuku?”

Izuku stared up at him, wide-eyed with horror and rage. Every muscle in his body yelled with desperate need to fight, to resist; his skeleton desperate to rip away from his flesh and bring Izuku’s mutilated body somewhere out of All for One’s reach. But he couldn’t even shake his head, couldn’t even snarl every word trapped within his clogged throat. That demented, gleeful smile peered down at him, fully aware of the turmoil in Izuku’s gut, but eager to achieve an unexpected checkmate. 

Every waking moment spent with All for One, trapped in stasis when he wasn’t. Every expectation of Izuku’s imprisonment had just been turned on its head. Up until now every plot, every attempt, had been made when All for One’s eyes were drawn away from him. Maneuvering around All for One’s moods on a semi-regular basis was difficult, but if he had to spend all his time doing that?

When would he have the time to figure something out? How could he sneak away when All for One would watch his every move more closely than before? 

Izuku hadn’t thought there was a worse punishment than being half-aware in the dark—didn't think this situation could get any worse at all.

All for One’s hand fell over his face, could see the streaks of red light as something shoved its way through Izuku’s flesh, only had one thought as the sickly taste of Sleepless crammed itself into his skull, and its influence spread its roots beneath his eyes.  

He was wrong. 

[perpetuallyconfuzzled]

Yo’ can I nag and theorize about Beauty & the Beast (1991+2017) for a second???

You’re still here??? OKAY COOL CAUSE I AM NOT HOLDING BACK ANY LONGER, HOLD ON CAUSE ITS A LONG ONE SO while I can admit I did like a few things from the Live-Action remake version of Beauty & the Beast, mostly how stunning the cinematography and animation was as well as the music (I AM A SLUT FOR EVERMORE) the thing that was breaking my head was how obvious the movie was trying to justify the plot holes of the first movie like a ‘wink wink nudge nudge’ while accidentally making it seem worse???   and even more when I don’t think it was necessary cause kids either never realized or came up with their own little HCs on how that happened (And yes I will mention what my childhood interpretation was cause darn it I am actually proud of this many-year-in-the-making-theory that I keep adding on to and I refuse to be embarrassed about it any longer, heck maybe others thought the exact same thing too so I shall bite the bullet and be cringe as hell!) btw I divided this shit in case you just wanted to know why I thing the new enchantress was an asshat with her curse (The Nagging) or read the interpretation/theorizing I’ve been doing since I was a child (The Theory)

The Nagging half-

okay so first things first the new movie says that the beast would become a monster and the rest of staff living in the castle would also suffer the spell’s magic until the beast learned how to love and be loved by another, all before the last petal fell if not they would be stuck like this forever (except the staff, they’d become actual furniture and leave a mad beast all alone) mind you, ALL OF THIS was also taking into account that NO ONE would ever remember anyone that was inside this castle, including family members like spouses or siblings (heck even children or parents would forget)

Meanwhile the OG Disney movie said that the beast and those in the castle would fall for her spell until the beast learned how to love and be loved by another (same as always) BUT the last petal would fall on his 21st birthday, if he didn’t get his shit together by 21 he a monster forever.... and that was about it

Now that that’s out of the way, how is the 2017 movie’s enchantress nOT CONSIDERED A BIGGER ASSHOLE THAN THE OTHER ONE?! 

“Ah, yes! I will make you learn your lesson of compassion by making everyone that’s ever known of you forget y’all ever even existed even tho most of those villagers are your loved ones. I shall give you this magic rose whose petals will sporadically fall and you will NEVER KNOW which year will be your last of sentience. I will make you also stop aging while those outside (again, most are family members and friends) may age and die!”

and they DO outright state that MANY years passed with them waiting yet never aging, and judging by the villagers all living their life normally and having memories of time passing by I am guessing they didn’t get affected by that same magic (unless they are all trapped in a loop which is horrifying) 

“But wait!”

you may say

“Maybe that much time didn’t actually pass! all their family is there after all!”

My friend that means either the Enchantress gave the poor guy like 2 years to stop being an asshole and get himself a girlfriend somehow OR that those inside the castle felt time pass much much faster and both does scenarios sound hellish, actual faerie shit. 

How was this man suppose to do this??? Also the lady just sat there in the village waiting just for fun? to see if something did happen? Woman legit let a riot of scared villagers storm the castle of the guy she enchanted and let possibly kill/destroy a family member or friends THAT THEY DIDN’T EVEN KNOW EXISTED and did nothing until belle finally confessed her love for beast so she could walk in all casual and lift the spell. What if it was too late huh? just take the dead rose, tip your hat to the mourning woman and dead monster you cursed and walk away never letting go of the amnesia spell? MR POTTS COULD HAVE HIS GOD DAMN CHILD AND WIFE TURN INTO EXTREMELY BREAKABLE AND INANIMATE OBJECTS AND HE’D NEVER FUCKING KNOW

HOW IS THAT NOT EXTREMELY FUCKING MESSED UP?! FAE SHIT MAN I TELL YOU!!

She is somehow making the OG enchantress seem reasonable and that one turned a poor 11 year old who called her ugly once into a monster!

The Theory half- 

“okay smartypants, do YOU have a better idea?”

I DON’T KNOW BUT I CAN TRY!! I’ve had this cooking in my head since I was a kid so let me tell you what OG enchantress was doing and what was going on!

First point, yes I am a firm believer that the “Ten years we’ve been rusting” was not an exaggeration cause, at least in my kiddy mind, it made absolute sense cause it would explain why the beast was so nasty with Belle and acting like an animal, he’s lived like a beast since he was a kid! His table manners are absolutely the result of 10 years without needing hold a spoon to eat. The other thing that made me think he was actually a kid when he got cursed was the fact that he couldn’t read that well, he even admits that he knew little and that it was a long time ago since he had done so! Imagine being 11 and turning into a monster with your only guardians all becoming talking objects, don’t think anyone could really sit him down to help him read!  That and I remember watching a Beauty and the Beast Christmas movie years ago and believe me that prince does NOT look or behave a day older than 13 year old but that's mostly extra It could also explain why no one pay any mind to that weird castle on the hills. Admittedly I also thought as a child that the only logical conclusion was that the spell made everyone forget there was a castle with a prince nearby but after more thought (and falling out of love for the idea after considering the implications and how little that would actually help towards the beast since the curse was so he’d learn a lesson) it really doesn’t need such a specific or convoluted explanation like, if you see a big big castle that has no one going in and out for years you would assume it was abandoned and/or haunted right? most people would have stirred away from the clearly abandoned and creepy place! They were a tiny peasant village at the other side of the woods that was a day or so away from a cross road that either led to a main road towards more villages and the capitol or more woods and the lonely palace (judging by Belle’s dad’s navigating scene), and its also royal property so its not far fetched that most villagers wouldn’t be going anywhere near their so it makes sense the weren’t really up to date with the prince, do you know what your president, their brother or youngest son is doing right now and where they are living without using your phone, TV or newspaper? “okay but then the Enchantress was just legit evil, she saw some rude kid and cursed him! That was a kid!” Oh I am with you on that one but I can kind of think of her (fairy?) logic as to why she’d decide to curse such a young child. An old lady knocks at your door, it is a cold dark night, wolves are known to roam nearby, you know its about a day’s travel to the nearest village by horse how well would an old frail lady fair on such journey by foot? It’s a miracle she’s made it here and all she asks of you is a place to sleep for the night and in exchange she will give you her only possession: 1 single rose. Now imagine how self-centered and cruel the person must be to take a look at that person, scoff in disgust at how ‘ugly and old’ they are “how dare you ruin my evening!” and slam the door to her face. And somehow a child did that. Cared so little that they didn’t even let her sleep in the stables, didn’t even offer a scrap of food or a blanket, not even a “sorry but I cannot”, he scoffed, mocked her and closed the door, dooming the old lady to die in the cold or be eaten by wolves. How can a child this young already be this rotten? If this is his behavior as a child, what would happen once he’s an adult? No, he still has time to change and so she sets the curse, a curse that can only be broken once someone who’s never known love or been unconditionally loved must learn now before its to late, he’d have plenty of time to learn and reflect but if by the time he’s an adult he’s still the same cruel boy, then so be it. “okay but the staff! They also had nothing to do with this and she still turned them into objects, curse them by no fault of their own!” Yet they let the child grow ever more vain and cruel, fear his step and bend to his demands, he was a prince after all and a bratty one at that, obviously he doesn’t need adult supervision or help or love or guidance or sOMETHING. In the 2017 remake I felt bad for those in the castle who ended up turned into objects, their only sin was being at the wrong place at the wrong time while in the 1991 (and this realization started coming to me in middle school) they were put to serve and look after this young prince and somehow they let him become so badly behave that a literal magical being had to step up to stop this brat from becoming a monster, they were merely acting as tools, furniture, accessories to the prince’s palace. They were so afraid of a child they dare not anger him and let his temper go as wild as he pleased, so the kid less as an 11year old and more as just some prince that payed for their wage. The kid viewed them as nothing more than objects for HIS domain since that’s all they were good for in his eyes. And what if that was just the spell? To look exactly as how prince/the palace perceives you? The prince saw nothing but objects that’d always serve him so they became ageless objects while the palace saw nothing but a future monster so he became a beast (honestly the idea that everyone just saw this kid as a monster is pretty fucking sad) And it would make sense right? It makes sense the enchantress not only saw the child as a problem but also the servants, so she would cast a spell to show them all, now their lives are at the princes’ heart’s mercy, now they really had to step up and discipline the child if they wished to be saved from an eternal life as tools under the eyes of a monster

[0nlinejournal]

My tolerance for what I can handle on a day-to-day basis decreases substantially every year. Without access to healthcare I don’t know how many more years are left until I have 0 tolerance for anything at all. I am so tired of feeling this way. I am so tired of feeling like a little brat who is being a stupid fucking whiny baby about having to do literally *anything* when other people can do everything and thrive.

I know something is wrong. I’ve known something is wrong since freshman year of high school when I begged my mom for therapy. I thought it was just depression back then, or maybe a mood disorder, but my mother said I was fine and it was just hormones. But I knew the intensity in which I was feeling my negative thoughts was not at the same intensity of my peers. Now I don’t think it’s just depression, I think there’s an underlying issue that depression is a comorbidity of, but I can’t quite land on one in particular.

The last time I threw one of the options out there to a therapist (for the last year that I was still on my father’s health insurance) she immediately dismissed the suggestion saying I couldn’t have that because I wouldn’t have been able to do my job at the time.

I do all of my jobs for around 2 years and then I quit. I don’t know how I’ll ever have an “adult” job. I know that I’ll end up hating hit just after a couple of years, and then what’s the point in all the time, money, and effort I put into acquiring the skills for that “adult” job? How will I ever afford to exist in the world? How can I?

I’m upset with my parents. There’s so much weird shit I did as a kid that cumulatively should have been looked into. I still can’t fall asleep without literally rocking myself to sleep. I have to (gently) bang my head against the headrest if I’m a passenger in a car. I got in trouble for talking every single day in grade school, I cried every single day in grade school. I was smart academically but nearly failed every test I took. I harmed myself! WHY was I not taken to ANYONE?

I did shrooms for the first time this past year, and it was a generally awful emotional experience for me. I was reverted to a literal child. I cried the entire time. I felt so small. I felt like a toddler walking unbelievably slow around my apartment. Second time I tried to take a minuscule amount to see how that would feel, but I still took a bit too much. And that time I realized that the feeling that was laced throughout my body that made me feel like a child, was fear. I remembered how scared I was of everything as a child. I would lie awake at night crying until I fell asleep. Every night, I silently cried until I slept. Until eventually my dad suggested I get a small box fan for white noise at night. Life changing. But that was only one aspect. On this small unwanted shroom trip I realized that the feeling I felt in my body as a child was anxiety. That fear was pent up anxiety trapped within my bones. And only now as an adult I can recognize it. I cried so much. To think, I was so anxious.

I’m sorry, I needed to rant. I’m going to stop here.

[skylarmoon71]

Leonardo (Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles/Superman Crossover) - Extra

A lot has happened in a short space of time. That’s why you feel obligated to inform your best friend of the most recent development.

Laura Luthor was what most would call a devoted friend. When she returned from her marina internship, she was happy to hear about all the crazy things you’d been doing. Since she didn’t always have service out at sea, there were spaces in time when you had no contact. That’s why you felt the need to ease into it.

You should have known it wouldn’t be that easy.

“YOU WHAT!!”

You waved your hand around, trying to calm her down as she practically exploded sitting on your couch.

“Are you crazy!! That guy-turtle thing played a part in trapping you and keeping you in a freaking kryptonite prison for two weeks!! WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU SLEPT WITH HIM!!”

“Could you please keep your voice down!!”

She stood shaking her head as she paced around the room.

“This is crazy, did he hypnotize you or something? Damn, maybe it could be magic or shit! Is it red kryptonite!? How many fingers am I holding up!!”

She grabbed you by the shoulders and you just released a heavy sigh.

“I’m not hypnotized, spellbound or under the influence of any kind of kryptonite. I promise.” You took her hands, guiding her slowly back to the couch. Now that she was seated, she looked a bit more calm.

“I’m sorry, okay. This is just a lot to take in. When you told me what happened I just..It scared me..”

You can understand her fear, more than anyone you do. While Laura isn’t an alien with superpowers, she’s not completely helpless. That’s why it was important to keep her calm. You still remember the incident when she punched a hole in your wall when she found out one of your professors had tried to make a move on you.

Her strength was no joke.

“Leo might have gone about it the wrong way, but he was right. At that time I was dangerous. I tuned out everything. I was planning to kill that man Laura.”

She understands the severity of the situation. You know she also regrets not being there for you when your parents died. You’d kept the entire thing from her until she found out through her father. At that point she was all the way across the world. There was really nothing she could have done.

“Leo cares about me, more than I did for myself at the time. He was protecting me. It’s because of him I can look at myself in the mirror and not feel everything that would have come with taking that man’s life. He saved me and I care about him. I didn’t realize how much until that all went down and it wasn’t guaranteed that we would see each other again.”

Laura nods, still looking a bit annoyed.

“Just from the way you’re talking about him it’s obvious. It still boils my blood. Did you at least punch him, like once.”

You send her a look and she just grumbles.

“He’s lucky.”

You can’t help but smile. She’s sort of pouting. From the moment you told her your secret she’s gone above and beyond to keep you safe. You couldn’t have asked for a better friend.

“I love you too Luthor.”

She still refuses to look at you, folding her hands childishly. You giggle, leaning over and hugging her.

“I said I love you!!”

You squeeze her and she tries to pull out of your arms.

“Okay, okay love you too!!”

Laura’s visit felt like exactly what you needed.

It’s nice just to have someone to talk to, especially someone as eccentric as her. You try to go about your day, but you can’t help but smile about that night you shared with Leo.

Before you realize it, the day is over.

You’re back at your apartment after your classes. The night has brought you a sense of calm. Dropping your bag on your couch, you take a seat, just letting out a sigh. Your conversation with Laura actually went better than you expected. There was a part of you that thought she would threaten to find Leo and end his existence.

She’s that type of person.

The knock at your balcony door is a welcomed distraction. When you lift your head, your cheeks color.

It’s Leo.

You bolt over to the window before you even realize it. You smile a bit awkwardly, glad that your curtains aren’t completely transparent.

Hopefully he didn’t see that.

You unlock the door, and when you push it open, you’re lost in his beautiful eyes. You find yourself questioning how they could be that magnificent. Surely your mind is overexaggerating the effects. However when he stares back, he mirrors a similar expression.

You take a step back, and he walks in. All of his movements are slow, somewhat calculated. You hear the subtle click your door makes as he closes it.

“How was your day?”

You pull at your sleeves with a shy smile at the question.

“Pretty good.” You respond.

“Great now that you’re back!”

You can’t voice that particular thought, you need to be less transparent. He already saw your awkward dorky side when he kissed you as he left that morning to head back home. He’d stayed with you in bed that day until it became clear that his brothers were having a fit and worried about where he was. He was reluctant to leave, and you didn’t want to see him go, but you knew he would come back.

Now here he is again.

“My best friend, she wants to meet you.”

You feel like you need to get that out of the way.

“She’s the only one who knows about me. After what happened I had to tell her everything. She was scared when I stopped answering her calls.”

You really hope he understands.

Taking a step forward as he holds your hands. Leo can’t exactly say he’s surprised. You trust her, so he does too.

“I’m fine with it. I guess I owe her an apology too.”

You get why he would think that. With a smile, you squeeze his hands.

“She can be a little overprotective, so don’t be surprised if she threatens you. She means well I promise.”

Leo just smiles.

“I’m glad that you have someone like that in your life.”

You are too.

Now that you’ve said it, you feel a bit more at ease.

“How about we get some pizza, yeah?”

You’re about to pull your hands away to grab your phone, but Leo stops you with a gentle tug. You turn back to him with a raised brow.

“What’s wrong?”

He doesn’t answer, just takes a step closer. You’re a bit curious, but the second his eyes drift to your lips you fully understand. Your heart rate increases and Leo leans down, claiming your lips. Your hands smoothen against his chest as you lean onto your toes to meet every soft kiss. His hand lays on your waist as he pulls you in. Neither or you want to part, to separate, but you need to, just for a moment to breathe. Your breath comes in a bit labored and your blush darkens when his hand drifts lower, giving your butt a soft squeeze. You let out a little appreciative sound at the caress and Leo welcomes it.

“More..”

You insist.

He’s always happy to oblige. Your feet leave the ground as he picks you up, taking you straight to the bed.

~

The following week you plan for the meeting of the two most important people in your life. It would be a lie to say you’re not anxious.

“Laura Luthor.”

Her expression has been stoic the entire encounter, even when she shakes his hand. In your mind you’re sort of waiting for a bomb to go off.

“Leonardo.”

His grip is firm, and she just watches him in a way that makes you wonder what she’s plotting.

“Laura?”

“I’m okay.” She assures.

You relaxed when Laura pulled her hand out of his grasp from the shake. The expectation was she would just step back. Neither of you were prepared when she clenched her fist and delivered a harsh punch to Leo’s jaw. His body hit the ground with a thud and you just gape.

“That’s for kidnapping my best friend. Now everything is squared.”

She just folded her hands and Leo turned, a bit startled, maybe even a little impressed. You moved to his side, sending her a glare in which she just smirked.

“You’re welcome. That’s a little warning in case he ever hurts you again.”

Laura looked pretty proud of herself.

He realized then that he’d been giving incentive to never do you any harm.

Unintentional or otherwise. 

[existentialmagazine]

Review: Sunburn’s new atmospherically vast single ‘Bring Me The Sky’ channels alt-rock at its most personal

The four-piece alternative rock band Sunburn reign from Dublin, Ireland with a mass of singles to their name and performances under their belt. Most recently selling out their headline gig at Bello Bar, this quartet are ready and raring to get themselves in front of more and more faces, and with their first overseas tour of the UK planned for this January it won’t be long until they’re a name you’re seeing everywhere.

As they continue their built-up momentum on the scene, Sunburn’s latest single ‘Bring Me The Sky’ takes on a more atmospheric focus to their usually powering sound. Setting up the space with booming drums and a slow, lingering guitar riff, Sunburn instantly relish in the vast open-air of what this new single has to offer, playing out with distant reverberance and ginormous impact like an empty arena performance. It’s hard not to immediately feel chills down to your bones, swept up in a sound that surrounds you with not just instruments but emotions attached, moulding around you themes of longing and loss, as well as acceptance and safety in the all-too familiar unknowns spoken by someone that truly relates.

The opening lyrics carry with them a thoughtful reflection, in many ways finding comfort in the process of aging, and the time it allows for you to gain understanding for yourself and love for those around you: ‘I’m not scared of growing old. I feel these walls decay inside my bones.’ But while content in the passage of time for their own selves, ‘Bring Me The Sky’ continues to sing ‘Stuck in between us are rivers of gold.’ Through such beautiful imagery they heart-wrenchingly depict loss, alluding to the grandeur of the afterlife that keeps their loved ones trapped away from the life they continue to live on Earth. Leading into the chorus with the poetically written line ‘exit wounds on the ruins of my cocoon’, Sunburn strip things right back to their most devastating of moments, perhaps alluding to the loss of a parental figure in the referencing of a ‘cocoon’. The longer things are left to play out, the simpler their lines seem to become too, admitting without the smothering of metaphors or inference that all they want is for them to ‘Come down from heaven, I want you to stay.’ Everything about it is painfully gorgeous, ethereal even, capturing in sound and lyricism both the desperation that comes with loss as well as the unavoidable nature of its existence in our world. It cannot be denied, and ‘Bring Me The Sky’ in some ways finds a sense of peace within that fact, no matter how much the yearning still carries through.

The vocals only further embody the sound’s resonant core, at first low-toned and speaking from understanding and sincerity, but soon showing off their cascading abilities in powerfully released higher ranges. From gentle and intimate to unfiltered and achingly pushed, a raspy undertone details every single line, a rawness that’s always present and carrying through an all-too-human emotional weight - whether you relate to the lines, or simply feel the heaviness of their declarations. The choruses build is equally magical in combination, rising through even-further weighted drums, striking guitar twangs, echoey backing vocals and an all-around built-up atmosphere that embraces you like it were a tangible rolling fog over the hills.

Every word they bear and every sonic evolution they grow through is meaningful, and for anyone who’s experienced loss, you’ll find yourself right there grieving along with them. It’s worth it though, as while reflecting can often be hard, the remembrance often carries so much of the love we still hold within. Don’t miss out on experiencing that for yourself here, especially as Sunburn look to be a band you’ll be hearing of for a long time after.

Written by: Tatiana Whybrow

Photo Credits: Unknown

// This coverage was supported and created via Musosoup, #SustainableCurator.

[toomanyfandomsorkinafs]

ASAHHGGHHH I LOVE RANTING ABIUT CHARACTERS AND CONNECTING IT TO SONGS!!!

A Mask Of My Own Face - Lemon Demon

its about a person who thinks that the person they are pretending to be is the same as themself. They think that they are the only one in the world pretending to be themself.(SO TIMMY CODED CAUSE THAT BOY IS A WET CAT THAT PRETENDS TO BE BRAVE!!)

Fish in a bird cage - Fish in a bird cage 

The songs about the inherent wrongness and powerlessness of the fish and its situation, trapped worlds away from where it can exist comfortably and healthily. And it talks about how the ‘brother’ needs help the fish to actually live and have a normal reality.(Timmy and his godparents. Nothing else needed to be said.)

Slippers - Madilyn Mei 

It’s about wanting to do so much yet never being able to achieve them. Being so afraid of what would happen you never do it. (Every time Timmy does something for himself, it goes wrong. So he starts doing things for others and it still goes wrong.)

We’ll Meet Again - Frank Sinatra

“We’ll meet again, don’t know where, don’t know when.” (Timmy and his godparents when he has to lose them :( )

Disembodied Mind - Sparkbird

It’s about someone having trouble separating things that came from their mind and reality. So much that they start becoming consumed by their mind until they can’t go back. (Timmy and the secret wish. He can’t give up his fairies, he can’t. He can’t tell what’s real and what’s fake anymore.)

Human Being (demo) - Emei

It’s about a person is just a dick. Not even trying to hide the fact that they’re almost inhumane. (Okay less Timmy but it’s more like Timmy to Vicky BUT!!! Still good song!!)

I’d rather sleep - Kero Kero Bonito

This song is referring to someone struggling to grow up. They are almost afraid to, wishing to stay dreaming in which there’s no stress of the world around them. (The secret wish!! Timmy is scared to grow up and lose Wanda and Cosmo! He’s stuck in a dream!)

Devil Town - Cavetown

It’s about parents who are divorcing causing trauma to the children. The parents aren’t good either, blaming the children for the divorce. But the child isn’t too afraid because they know they aren’t the only one to experience this. (Okay while Timmy’s parents aren’t divorced, they aren’t good. But Timmy’s coping with his fairies and the fact that he isn’t the only one person to need fairies.)

Boys Will Be Bugs - Cavetown

This song is about the toxic masculinity toward teenage boys that is portrayed in society. The singer recognises that he doesn’t fit in with this stereotype. He doesn’t wanna be mean and bully anyone; he just wants to play with bugs. (There are like two episodes where Timmy basically becomes trans. He’s bullied for being odd and dumb. Cosmo and Wanda are his bugs.) 

Unsweetened Lemonade - Amélie Farren

Self-destruction, bitterness, and the decay of love and relationships. The lyrics contain a mix of dark, metaphorical imagery and introspective reflections. (I can’t explain why this reminds me about Timmy. He gives the vibe of being a angry child who tries and tries to redeem himself, slowly giving up on trying at all)

Doctor - Jack Stauber’s Micropop

This song is about the importance of self-love and the healing power of acceptance and kindness. The lyrics suggest that love is the only medicine for whatever feelings of helplessness the singer is experiencing and encourages them to take 'three of these a day' - presumably referring to acts of kindness towards themselves. In the outro, the singer seems to recognize that the struggles they face may persist despite their efforts, expressing that they may become 'sick again', emphasizing the importance of repeating these self-care practices to ensure their wellbeing in the long run. (This is fucking Timmy when he finally loses his fairies. He’s alone, he’s got no one. There’s no one that understands him like his fairies. He’s ‘sick’ again.)

Good Kid - Chris McCarrell, The Lightning Thief company

The character, Percy, explains his story from his point of view of trying to do and be good yet it never being enough. Always trying to be a ‘good kid’ yet no one believes him when he says he can be better. (Timmy?? Every time he tries to help, to do good, it back fires. It’s like putting out the fire with water but someone swapped the water for gasoline.)

If ANYONE has any songs that fit timmy turner pls tell me I wanna make my playlist bigger :]

[free-for-all-fics]

Namor fic ideas free for the taking! Just please tag me if you write something inspired by these. More than one person can pick the same prompt, and multiple prompts can be used by the same person. There are no rules.

1. Despite his hatred for the surface, Namor kidnaps adopts a surface dweller child. He whisks her away to a secret cave where he teaches her how to paint stories on the walls and builds a home for her there, giving her all the love and fine things she could ask for. Jewelry, dresses, books, anything her heart desires is hers. He gives her the best education he can provide, teaching her the language and history of Talokan. He’s recognized her as his heir despite the outrage and confusion it may cause. But as his daughter grows older, she becomes lonely and sad from being cooped up in the caves all the time and/or watched by Talokonil guards since she can’t breathe underwater. She can’t go anywhere alone. She misses the sun, dislikes not having any real friends, and struggles with feeling like an outcast. Namor keeps reassuring her that she’s Princess no matter what, that he’s working on something so she can breathe and survive the pressure underwater to be able to live in Talokan and take her place as Queen one day, but she feels undeserving of all that she’s been given.

She doesn’t remember her life before Namor, but starts to question what it must’ve been like - who her birth parents are, did she have friends, does anyone miss her?, etc. She doesn’t feel worthy of being Princess, future Queen, or even his daughter. Namor is at a loss, having kept his precious daughter hidden from the dangers and evils of the outside world for as long as he could. But maybe it’s time to show her the land and the sky? He’s heard from his mother about a place where the air is pristine and the water… a protected land where people never have to leave or change who they are…

2. Little Mermaid AU where Namor’s daughter is very curious and in love with the surface despite her father’s warnings and strict orders that she stay away from the land. She sneaks away a lot and goes undetected for a long time, but slips up and gets caught eventually. When Namor finds out, he’s so angry. The anger comes from a place of love and fear of losing his daughter and only child but still. They get in an argument and despite reader imploring her father to reconsider declaring war and attacking Wakanda, he won’t listen. She reluctantly gears up for battle and steps up to fight for her people as is her duty as Princess and heir to Talokan.

The reason Namor yields to Shuri is because his daughter, who didn’t want to be forced to choose a side like this, gets trapped in the aircraft with him and dried out, her injuries far worse than his. Despite her weakened state, she still stood her ground on the desert beach, trying to stop Shuri and her father from killing each other. She gets hit by the fighter aircraft explosion instead of Namor after pushing him out of the way. Namor, seeing his daughter lying near-motionless in the sand from the heat, her skin burned from the fire and littered in wounds, is scared for his only child’s life. As she flickers in and out of consciousness, he agrees to the alliance and Shuri helps get them both to water. Back in Talokan, Namor watches over and reconciles with his beloved child as they both recover from their battle injuries.

3. Tangled/Rapunzel AU: Reader grows up on the surface, raised as human all her life. She’s had a hard existence because she was born with pointed ears and got bullied and harassed because of it. She wears beanies and hoods all the time to hide them. Weirdly her family forbids her from swimming or going near large bodies of water - even to the point of having lived in landlocked areas most of her life. During a certain time of year, around her birthday, the waves and current seem more volatile and violent, the wrath of the sea unrelenting - causing many disappearances and deaths at sea. Sometimes the bodies are never found. As dumb, thrill-seeking, rebellious teens/young adults often do, she and her small group of friends go against her family’s orders and sneak out for night surfing/swimming. Things go to hell when weird white feathers start sprouting from her ankles and she wipes out on the waves, only for a man to start talking to her in a language she doesn’t understand. She realizes she can breathe and hear underwater. Wait, what? What the hell?

The strange man tells her not to worry about the feathers; she’s just a late bloomer. What does that even mean??? She’s freaked. Nope. This isn’t happening. No. This is too weird. She’s concussed. The waves must’ve hit her head too hard and she’s hallucinating. Or maybe she hit her head on the surfboard? Things go from bad to worse when the strange man with features like hers claims to be her father. He’s scoured the sky and sea for her all these years, and now it’s time for her to come home. She’s the long lost Princess, the King’s only child, kidnapped from Talokan as a baby. And the feathered serpent god wants his revenge on the surface dwellers who stole his sweet baby girl all those years ago. He wants his daughter back. And he won’t let anything or anyone stand in his way of taking her home or carrying out his vengeance. She’s coming back with him to Talokan, whether she likes it or not.

4. Reader has a hard time adjusting to being the future queen of Talokan. The many history, etiquette and language lessons, exhaustive combat training, and culture shock of having to rule over a whole kingdom of underwater people that she may not have known existed until recently and keep them safe and happy is a lot on her shoulders. Homesickness may kick in as she feels the stares or hears the whispers of gossip from passerby about doubts of her being a good queen since she was born a surface dweller. Angsty as the wedding day approaches and reader is so stressed and gets pre marital jitters so bad she considers breaking off the engagement because she doesn’t think she’s worthy of being queen. But Namor shows her that she’s perfect for the title.

5. Andromeda myth AU where reader is chained to a large rock by the sea as a sacrifice to appease a sea monster. Namor is either the sea monster she’s sacrificed to or he’s Perseus and is the one who saves her. Or perhaps Namor is both her sea monster and her savior? Dark? Angsty? Fluffy? It’s up to you.

6. Namor isn’t new to being a king and leader. But he is new to being a father. Balancing both his roles has proven to be more challenging than he originally thought. Especially when his one and only heir is just a baby/toddler who gets scared/separation anxiety when he has to go away to attend to pressing matters too complicated for such a small child to understand. His little one cries up a storm that’s so loud he swears it shakes the palace walls. His child is inconsolable any time he must leave them. Namor has tried to comfort his baby by telling them he’ll be back soon, only for their crying to start up again when he tried to hand them off to another Talokanil. He feels so guilty about leaving his child so often that he’s started bringing them with him whenever he can (only if he deems it safe enough, of course). He sits them on his lap/knee or cradles them in a sling he drapes across his shoulder and torso, made of only the finest fabrics. Holding them close while he’s on his throne or in a meeting, using one of his arms to play with his baby and keep them entertained/distracted with a toy (It’s his heir; he doesn’t want them to cry again and it’s good for them to listen in on Royal affairs sometimes since they’ll inherit the throne one day.)

However, someone isn’t very pleased at seeing Namor with a baby on his lap and has the nerve to voice it out loud. “K'uk'ulkan, we must— Is that your child??” And when Namor is about to introduce the little Prince/Princess, this person digs the hole deeper and says something along the lines of, “Remember your place, K’uk’ulkan. You’re a king first and a father second.” And hoooooo boy Namor is not having that. How very dare this person not only have the audacity to tell him to remember his place while forgetting their own, but how to raise his child? Incensed feathered serpent god, protective loving father.

[ktheist]

thank you, daddy. | m [ksj]

➼ premise. the last time you saw seokjin was when he went off to college and never looked back. uncle kim, a friend of your father who treated you like his own daughter, would complain about his estranged son whenever he came to visit in the new year and got drunk and turned into a pathetic sobbing mess.

that scared the fuck out of you because who knew old people could look so ugly when they’re crying over their child whom they neglected for the most part of his life?

well, that child grew up into a fine young man.

fine enough to afford a sugar baby.

➼ muses. seokjin x reader

➼ genre. ceo au. sugar daddy-baby au. college au. eventual established relationship. eventual housewife!reader. eventual husband!seokjin. eventual parents au.

➼ words. 19k

➼ warnings. 9 year age gap, multiple explicit scenes, innuendos, depictions of breeding kink, bondage, they’re both horny as fuck.

x

to say you’ve never given much thought for love, for loving or for being loved—would be a big, utterly fat, fucking lie. the fairytales and happy endings you grew up reading planted stars in your eyes and now you’re blind.

not because of love. fuck, no.

but because the meteor crash lands into your very existence and wipes away all traces of that little girl with starry eyes and a beating heart. in its place, rises a woman from the ashes of what she once was.

hearts are fickle little things. they love and they change their course and they find another sea to fall in love all over again.

not yours though. you keep yours locked up in a pretty little chest with gold ornaments carved into them.

when the boys you meet become featureless, blank canvases with the same old lustrous glint in their eyes, you turn to older men. and when even that fades away like the ashes they’ll be burned into in less than five years, you look for another source of entertainment.

“i’m so bored,” cliche, but true, “men are boring.”

“have you tried the taste of a forbidden cherry?” jennie kim smiles coquettishly, her eyeliner making her eyes appear more catty than they are.

“i can’t form emotional bonds with girls either, i tried,” you sigh.

“silly little petal,” she laughs.

“why are you talking like that?” you quiz, throwing your gaze in her direction but jennie simply struts your way like the small distance between you and the couch is a runaway.

“if you can’t feel love, doesn’t mean you can’t feel anything else, does it?” she insinuates, pushing her phone in your hand.

the screen is lit with a gold and black layout with multiple pictures of suited bodies—some are a bit tight and some fit just right. and on top of the screen, in fancy cursive, the words sugarlite winks at you tantalizingly.

“what’s this?” you blink.

“your new hobby, baby.” she smirks.

the truth is, you’re not sure if that exchange with jennie kim is real or not. you and her aren’t even that close. the only reason you and her would ever find yourselves trapped in a room together is if you’re playing 7 minutes in heaven, got paired together and shoved by your friends into some empty room with the most minimal lighting possible. instead of making out, you both choose to sit miles apart from each other.

still, that night marks the night of your descent to the black little hole of nightly wonders and the birth of a stone cold ego crusher. your first daddy was a charmer. suave, suit-wearing, deep voice that penetrates straight into your core. it’s impossible not to fuck him. but that didn’t last long because he was getting married to the woman of his family’s choice.

the rest? well, you barely remember the rest. they’re either old little bums with leery eyes and barely any teeth for a smile or fucking maniacs who teased out sides of you unbeknownst to anyone.

but they’re a little too much for you to continue seeing.

so you go through one man after another, meeting them at the lotus’ bar with tabletops shiny enough to make a run for your highlighter’s founder. the marble floor clicks with every step of your slick black pumps. the soft jazz spills into the hallway, breathing life into the portraits of people whose faces you’ve memorized but never know who.

they’re probably big shots in their own days.

the vicinity barely hosts more than ten people.

it’s because it’s 8 in the evening and on a monday night—it’s too early to be drinking on a monday night.

but those who do, are always the most fun.

your blood red lips curve into a smile as you spot the three men. one is in his mid 40’s and is sporting a beer belly. the other is behind the counter, mixing cocktails and wiping down glasses.

the last one has his back turned on you as he sits at the end of the bar as though warning anyone who’d dare to approach him.

well, that’s certainly not your possible target.

maybe he hasn’t arrived. you shrug.

“hey, handsome, how are you doing?” you greet the man behind the bar.

“miss seo,” he smiles, pretty white pearls beaming back at you, “business is pretty slow but i get by.”

the way the man at the end of the bar glances at you doesn’t go past you. it’s normal for men to steal a peek at this package they’ll never have a chance of buying even on a discount.

but what’s not normal is when the chair they’re sitting on scraped against the floor and a familiar pair of brown—almost pitch black eyes—flash with rage as they bore into yours, “____? what the—what are you doing here?”

kim seokjin.

you never thought you’d be seeing him again. and most definitely not in the bar you frequent for your night rendezvous. he’s lost most of his baby fat, obtaining a fine jawline that looks like they can cut you in half. yet his cheeks still retain their squishable puffiness from his younger days.

and his hair is dyed auburn, deep parted as his bangs brush against his forehead gently. a much different contrast to the glare in his eyes.

his overly thick glasses are gone—whether its contacts or lasered, you don’t care. his eyes are prettier  when you can actually see them.

the bartender’s gaze flits over the tall, towering dark-haired man in front of you. his eyes tell you this isn’t the first time a man twice the size of the woman he’s meeting flipped out at the sight of said woman.

“gee, you tell me. i’m just here to meet someone.” you say shrug, not yet connecting the dots.

the man’s thick set of brows knit together. they look like they might stay glued together forever if you don't do something about it.

“anyways, i’m not gonna snitch so chill your man tiddies,” you wave a dismissive, perfectly manicured hand.

the thing is, they’re not the bad kind of man tiddies. you have no complaints burying your face in them. it’s not hard to tell even under that blazer and vest he’s wearing right now.

just as you’re about to brush past him, large thick fingers curl around your tiny little wrist.

“what—“ you’re about to ask when the next words that slips out of seokjin’s mouth gets your body freezing like ice in the antarctic.

“miss seo hana,” he whispers under his breath and you almost visibly shiver in delight of his deep voice licking your ear.

that is, until you realize who he’s referring to.

his darkened gaze bore into you like a bottomless pit of destruction. one, if you fall, you’ll never be able to crawl out of.

“how did you know that name—well, my alias—whatever.” you glare.

“what are you doing on a fucking sugar daddy app?” he waves his phone in the air, the screen flashing too brightly for the briefest moment before your eyes finally caught sight of the familiar golden black-toned chat app.

the sender sent him a picture of a headless woman in a deep silken emerald dress. the same dress that’s hugging your curves in all the right places.

“are you—“ your eyes widen as realization hits you in the face with a baseball bat, “mr. kim jinseok?”

when only silence hangs in the air, you see the bartender approach in your periphery.

“miss, would you like an angel-a?” he cautiously asks.

it’s a universal code for asking if you need help. you give the man holding your wrist one last unappreciative glance before yanking your hand out of his grasp and smiles at the bartender.

“i’m good, thanks.” you say.

he hides his thoughts well, nodding and scurrying back to his spot where he stands, wiping the shot glasses behind the bar.

“kim jinseok? seriously? you couldn’t pick a better name?” you lift a perfectly trimmed eyebrow at the brooding man.

it takes him five whole seconds before he lets out a breath, throws his head back and sighs deeply.

“what about you? what about seo hana?” seokjin slips back onto his seat, swiping the half filled glass off the smooth surface of the counter and downing it in one gulp.

you can’t help but notice how his adam’s apple bobs as he takes the shot as if it’s his first of the night. you wonder how they’ll move underneath you.

“it means little flower in japanese,” you smile coquettishly, “gives them something to look forward to.”

you order a shot of tequila, making sure to throw in a wink at the bartender to show you’re fine. the fabric of his pants under your palm feels soft and his thigh feels like they’re built of muscles. you wonder how they’d look like kneeling on the mattress with your legs around them.

“i’m taking you home,” seokjin announces a second later, slipping out of his seat and marching towards the exit like he knows you’re going to follow.

you heave out a despondent sigh before the sight of a shot glass slips into view. the colorless liquid looks a lot like water but burns your throat all the same.

“thanks, handsome,” you shoot him a smile before strutting in the direction seokjin disappeared to.

you see the man’s back shrinking as he gets further away. his strides are bigger than yours and as much as you hate to run after a man, your heels are clicking against the walls and you see a girl in a rich emerald dress with her hair pinned up in the horizontally lined wall mirror.

seokjin must have heard but he doesn’t look like he cares. so he can’t blame you when your crimson nails brush against his shoulder and he finds himself against the aforementioned wall mirror with you in front of him, one leg wedged in between his.

“i’m not leaving without getting my pay,” you say, tainting his neck with your blood red lipstick, smirking when you hear the sharp intake of breath coming from the man you have pinned against the wall.

“i’ll pay! j-just...” his facade comes crumbling before you get the chance to sink your teeth in his flesh and mar his smooth, milky skin with a love bite.

“i like working for what i deserve,” you smirk and before seokjin could retort, you’re crashing your lips against his.

his whole body turns to statue as you kiss him and lick his bottom lip but not letting your tongue go past that until he sighs against your mouth. then, his hands cup your face and his forehead leans on yours within a lull in time after you’ve sated at least minuscule of your thirst for each other.

“i knew you since you were a kid,” he murmurs, eyes sweeping over your lipstick smudged lips.

“so did i, genius,” you roll your eyes.

and seokjin devours you, kissing you and biting down on your bottom lip harder than you like but you suppose it’s fair since he probably didn’t like being shoved against a wall either. but before your hand can snake down and cop a feel of his bulge, his own bands around your wrist and stops you just above his buckle.

“not here, not in public,” he says, breathing barely steadying.

“you do realize this is a hotel, right?” you have a sudden urge to roll your eye but you decide against it.

something tells you the attitude you’ve been showing is enough to warrant seokjin to never want to book you again. you’re yanked out of your reverie just as seokjin starts yanking you towards the lobby.

what is up with this man and holding your delicate wrist captive?

the receptionist’s eyes widen just the slightest bit before she puts on a perfect marionette smile. the name tag clipped to her lapel spells out “jung miyeon”.

“give me the best suite you’ve got,” seokjin grunts, finally releasing your wrist to fish for his wallet.

“that will be three thousand, six hundred and—“ miyeon trails off as soon as she sees the black card seokjin slides over.

“m-mr. kim, i-i apologize for not recognizing you sooner,” she fumbles with her words, bowing deeply.

“nevermind that, give me the key. i’ll collect my card tomorrow morning after i check out.” his words drip with a kind of authority you didn’t notice before.

was it because he was kim jinseok that only appeared to you as a sugar daddy and nothing more?

what good would it bring if he starts bossing around his sugar baby anyway.

“y-yes, it’s the lavender suite on the 18th floor,” miyeon slips a golden colored card across the counter.

before you can even check out the shiny little thing, seokjin’s already swiping it off the counter and gripping it in his hand like he’s holding on for dear life.

“well? what are you waiting for, little flower?” he looks back at you, those thick set of brows rising to the ceiling.

chills run down your spine as your stomach churns from the way he calls your name. it’s almost as though he’s taunting you for not being the freshly bloom you claim to be.

“just checking something out,” you smirk before brushing past him, “not much to see though.

seokjin quietly follows a few steps behind you, like a predator waiting for his time to prance at you. and true to your suspicion, as soon as you’re in the elevator, you’re pushed against the cool metal wall, a pair of whiskey lips on yours. his hand is under your chin, forcing your neck to crane up to touch his lips.

you can’t even complain that he’s not being so gentlemanly because his other hand is under your thigh, just inches from your ass yet not quite touching.

it definitely was the attitude, you think.

you don’t get to see how palatial the suite is nor appreciate its interiors because seokjin’s shrugging off his blazer and unbuttoning his vest before he roughly pulls on his tie. all of a sudden, you feel like a novice; unsure of where to put your hand when he’s taking care of himself like that.

but you don’t mind the view.

piece by piece, his clothing falls on the warm wooden floor until he’s in nothing but his pants.

“hands,” seokjin instructs and you blink, questioning if he’s for real but when those opulent honey brown gaze stare back at you as if he’s not going to repeat what he said, you bite your bottom lip.

closing your fists and bringing them together, you stretch your arms over to him. seokjin doesn’t even bat an eye when the belt snaps at his tugging. he wraps it around your wrists and your heart lurches in your stomach when he gives it one last tug before securing the buckle.

“tighter, daddy,” yet you still dare say.

that backfired though.

“eep!” an ungraceful yelp leaves your mouth when the man bends down, wraps one arm around your legs and hoists you over his shoulder like you weigh nothing.

“i’ll show you tight, petal.” seokjin’s low voice seeps into your bones and you have to cross your legs not to let yourself drip down your legs.

“ah! hey, no fair!” you complain when a smack lands on your ass but sigh in appreciation when you feel his hand on that same spot that seared with pain just a second ago.

the sheets feel like silk underneath you even when seokjin tossed you onto the king sized mattress unceremoniously.

“you could’ve saved some for me,” you whine as you watch him push down his pants and boxers.

but the regret soon dissipates when you see him stroke himself languidly, precum glinting off his tip like pretty diamonds. “think you can take it, little flower?”

“take off my dress—no, push it up and fuck me—i’m not wearing any panties anyway,” you’re fully aware what you’re saying.

“i know,” is all he says, caressing your hip where your panties would have ever so slightly protruded against the soft silken material of your dress—if you’d just wear one.

you’re too far preoccupied with other matters to ponder on what he means by that. for all you know, he might’ve only known when he spanked you on the way to the bed.

speaking of which, the bed doesn’t even budge when seokjin climbs on it but it dents underneath his weight as he crawls over to you like a beast sizing up his prey.

you swallow, teeth digging into your bottom lip almost painfully as you find yourself wishing the time would move faster and stop altogether so you could engrave this moment inside your head— the sight of kim seokjin’s hooded eyes fixed on the apex of your legs, his hand on your thigh just below where you dress ends.

but before he can reach where you want him to, your dress stops you from opening your legs any wider.

“you have got to be fucking kidding me,” you groan.

but that despondency is short-lived. you hear the sound of something tearing and before you know it, seokjin’s hand is snaking further up between your thighs until his middle and index finger swipes up your lips.

the hum that escapes your lips is purely instinctual. the moan that slips past you, even more so. his fingers slide right into you and your stomach feels like it’s burning— your whole body feels like it’s on fire. you’re not sure if it’s seokjin that’s pressing his hand down on your thigh to keep your legs spread but you wouldn’t be surprised if you’re the one all too willingly spread eagle in front of him.

“seokjin, please, please, please,” you whine when he pulls his fingers out just as you’re about to reach the point of ecstasy.

“shh,” he hushes you up mindlessly, eyes trained on his erected self as he smoothes your arousal over his tip, the sight uncannily erotic for your hazed self.

you find a semblance of your sanity when he swiftly turns you over, the cool air hitting your aroused apex. he slips a pillow underneath your stomach. you’re sure your ass is up in the air.

perfect.

he’ll fuck right into your heart and you’ll be able to bury your face in the sheet as you scream like there’s no other man in this world.

and fuck you seokjin did.

all the way till morning.

until you’re sore and weeping.

and even then, you rub your puffy eyes and ask, “can we go for another round?”

seokjin looks at you with rounded eyes. he looks like the unsuspecting, as pure as the driven snow boy you knew back home.

a kiss lands on your forehead as you feel the soft sheets get pulled over your body, “maybe after we get some sleep and food in you.”

x

when morning comes, you find yourself in a too-large empty bed. no matter how far you try to reach the other side, it’d still feel cold and lonely.

“‘daddies are busy men, they always leave in the morning’.” you murmur the words jennie kim used to say to you back when you first started—in the beginning, it sounded humorous but over time, you find yourself mimicking her speech under your breath before slipping out of bed and walking to the shower bare naked.

your ass is stinging and you’re walking funny but it could be worse; you thought you wouldn’t be able to walk at all. the warm seems to wash away the knots in your muscles but also make your insides tingle with the residue of last night’s fucking.

your heart makes a funny flip at the thought that you wouldn’t be able to experience something so beautiful and feral and raw like that again.

biting your lower lip, you let your hand snake down in between your legs. but after five minutes and being nowhere near to the exhilarating sensation that kim seokjin made you feel. in the end, you give up and opt for taking an actual shower, lathering the floral scented hotel-branded shower gel and decent-smelling shampoo.

when you step out of the shower in just a towel and a towelette wrapped around your head as your eyes settle on a masculine figure standing by the bed, your first instinct is to scream. before you know it, your hand is moving on its own as it reaches up to the damp towelette, tearing it off your head and tossing it in the intruder’s direction.

except it wasn’t an intruder.

“do you do this often? get shy and scream like you never begged me fuck you while crying like a baby?” seokjin doesn’t even bat an eye as the towel falls off his face and onto the floor.

at the mention of your spilled tears, your cheeks heat up and your stomach churns. “i lost myself for a little bit,” you shrug, ambling towards him—particularly the box at the end of the bed that he was in the middle of placing before your fight or flight instinct kicked it, “i thought you were some perverted hotel staff who snuck in after you left.”

“you—” seokjin begins but clamps his mouth shut, staring wordlessly before shaking his head, “what do you take me for? i’m not gonna leave someone’s daughter alone at the hotel after i...” he says grimly but it soon disappears after he meets your eyes, “did that happen before? men creeping into your hotel room?” seokjin’s furrowed stare pierces through your soul but you pretend to lift the lid of the peach colored box casually.

“no, but a friend went through that once—oh, cute.” you blink at the pastel violet dress. the diamonds wink at you as they scatter across the neckline and seem to disappear as it disperses down the chest area.

the other box that lies next to it bears the signature black and pink colors of victoria’s secret. you don’t need to inquire what those are. stull, you take a sweep about the room and notice the lack of mess you’ve both made out of your clothes that should be littered all over the floor but are gone.

the only unfixable mess is possibly the bed. the duvet is lying on the ground next to the floor, one corner of the fitted sheet came off and the pillows… where did all the pillows go?

come to think of it, you did spot one in the second sink.

“they’re not for you.” seokjin says simply and you hum.

“and who are they for? the cleaning lady down the hall?” the towel wrapped around you slips off your body and pools around your ankles before you put on the surprisingly simple cotton black panties. the bra comes next to which you don’t miss a chance to gather your hair over your shoulder and turn your back on him, “be a darling and hook them up for me.”

“why? can’t they be for the cleaning lady?” he counters yet  his finger pads ghost over your smooth back and sends shivers down your spine. for the briefest moment, you thought about pushing him on the bed, crawling over him and trapping him underneath you as you pulled out his surely erected dick and rode him.

but the thought gets flushed down the drain when a callus fingertip trails down your spine and lingers just above the band of the panties he got you.

you twirl around, standing on the tip of your toes before placing a light kiss on his cheek which starts going pink and blushing. seokjin’s eyes go wide, one brow lifted in mild curiosity.

you peer at him through your lashes, blinking innocently, “thank you, daddy.”

and then, you push him to the bed—it’s surprisingly easy, considering how he’s a man twice your size, “and i’ll show it to you.”

“by all means,” seokjin offers as he watches with darkened eyes, you lowering yourself in what would be his lap if he was sitting. you giggle at the noticeable bulge that brushes your apex as your hand snakes up to unbutton his crisp white shirt—it must be new, probably came in along with your gifts.

“no,” his hand curls around your wrist and you feel the twinge of rejection in your heart, but it patches itself up when his next words hit your ears like an invitation to treat, “you only need my dick, don’t you?”

he unbuckles his belt and pulls the zipper down. you lick your bottom lip as you pull his semi-hard erection through the hole of his boxer. his fingers feel too rough against your sensitive flesh as he helps push the panties to the side as you lower yourself on him and sigh in pure bliss at the feeling of being filled to the brim.

x

an hour later, you find yourself having tasmanian salmon fillet with dutch carrot purée rolled in and presented by the chef himself with your legs tingling from the aftermath of your…. gracious expression for the gifts while the chef was sweating bullets for some reason.

still, his eyes are twinkling with a sort of anticipation before seokjin said a ‘thank you, it’s an honor to have chef lee himself present us the dish’ with finality in his voice. chef lee’s shoulderline sags as if he wants to say more but he bows and leaves like a trained professional.

all the while, you’ve already dug in, humming a happy tune in your head as you relish in the creamy puree taste that tones down the lime in the salmon. the cheeriness in your face doesn’t go away even when you catch seokjin staring at you like a predator eyeing a bunny. though you do take a sip of the orange juice and clear your throat.

“shoot. i know you have questions.” you announce.

“i thought your monthly pocket money is enough to buy a good apartment in myeongdong.” it’s a statement, not a question.

“it is, this is just a hobby.” you shrug.

seokjin doesn’t say anything. he just drills holes inside your head until you obnoxiously sigh.

“it’s exciting… siphoning money off lonely old men, i mean.” a giggle escapes your lips at the remembrance of the shocked and offended faces throughout your… career.

and you’ve only been doing this for a year.

“since sugarlite doesn’t let you see each other’s face, you’ll only know once you meet. but both parties have the right to walk away with a little penalty fee.” you explain, a coquettish smile on your lips, “they didn’t think the baby would be the one to cancel so it’s a big fuck you in their face when i do—you should’ve seen the expression they make!”

“huh,” seokjin breathes out as if he didn’t expect that.

“not all of them are old grumps though, sometimes there are hidden gems. young, fuckable daddies. they’re a little fucked up in the head, but that’s what makes the sugar life fun,” your left foot is running up the smooth, almost silken material of seokjin’s pants — particularly his leg.

“i don’t—” he tries to deny but you cut him off.

“i like your belt,” you offer, foot perched on seokjin’s knee, “personally, i think tom ford is the least abrasive but if we’re talking about quality, givenchy is—“

the screech of the chair against the floor is what makes you swallow your words as you inhale sharply. it takes seokjin two steps to cross the distance between you and him. his hands find themselves on either side of the hand rest of your chair. there’s a fire in your stomach that threatens to light up your entire body as seokjin swiftly pulls the chair to turn you away from the table and face him.

“get up. turn around. one knee on the chair.” he instructs and you oblige, swallowing thickly as you feel the breeze in between your legs when a large, warm hand pushes your skirt up to rest on your hips.

the first strike has you gasping as if you didn’t believe that the gentle, unsuspecting young boy you once knew would know how to use his belt on a woman. the second time, you know to sink your teeth in the tender flesh of your bottom lip. but somewhere along the line, you left your pride where no one could see and flinched and moaned as the sound of leather smacking against skin rang in the air. your nails dig into the wooden material of the backrest, you almost think it’s either going to break underneath your grasp or you’re the one going to break.

it’s only after the tenth strike that he places a hand on your stinging left cheek and kisses the other softly.

that duality of kim seokjin drives you mad.

seokjin fucks you raw and just like in the bedroom, he simply pushed your panties out of the way and slides right into you without so much as a warning—you’re not embarrassed of your sexuality; actually you’re far too comfortable in your own skin to be, but—that’s when the most embarrassing moan escapes your lips. you think you sound like one of those girls who pretended to moan for the camera but felt nothing. but you stand here, fucked and sated and corrected.

x

for the next few months you’ve been dropping by seokjin’s office unannounced whenever you needed a good fuck because college’s been giving you a rough time. he booked you whenever you’re available but even if he didn’t, you’d still let him fuck you when he showed up on your doorstep in the early ams. tousled hair, the first two buttons of his shirt undone, tie hanging and looking fuckable than the crisp suit, slicked back hair ceo his workers knew him as.

you hide behind the guise of being almost-like-family and the female workers swoon over the side of seokjin that laughed and joked with you as they watched you walk out of his office and towards the elevator. little did they know, he’d shove his tongue down your throat in that fleeting moment of the elevator going down.

they thought kim seokjin was a loving brother to his almost-like-sister.

your father, your mother, seokjin’s mother and seokjin’s father do too. and you suppose that’s why his father has been calling you more often than you like, inquiring about his son whom you somehow managed to get through when not even him or his wife manage to achieve such an arduous feat.

“i don’t know uncle kim,” you hold in an agitated sigh; your father gave your number to seokjin’s father without your permission and he’s been calling you everyday to ask about his estranged son, “se—oppa’s pretty busy even on the weekends—how do i know? it’s ‘cause i’ve been bugging him to give me some of his time since it’s been so long but he won’t budge! people saw us having lunch together? i forced him to get out of his dreadful office, uncle kim!”

you throw in a fake giggle with that poorly constructed excuse.

“i see,” uncle kim sighs, resigned, “well, next time you see him. tell him to come home sometimes, yeah?”

“sure will,” the tone you use gets sweeter when you smell the goodbye approaching.

with a well wish on your studies, uncle kim finally lets you hang up. you toss your phone to the side as soon as you do, turning to face the complacently smiling man next to you as he plays with your nipple.

“how long are you planning to be a rebellious son of a conglomerate family?” you quiz, a stern look on your face but it melts away as soon as you gaze into those deep brown eyes you find yourself getting lost in.

as much as you hate to admit it, kim seokjin has that effect on you.

“thanks for handling him so politely,” is all seokjin offers.

“i should at least do that much for fucking his son behind his— oh.” your eyes glint with pleasant surprise, the hand that seokjin held and guided in between his legs, is stroking him teasingly.

it doesn’t take long for you to climb over him, the sheets slipping off your bare bodies.

“it can’t be helped, i need to take care of my own daddy,” you giggle, rubbing yourself against him.

and take care of him you do. after the third time you met and the—you lost count of how many times you went at it by then, you know just how to move your hips to get him gripping onto the duvet and moaning in pleasure. the first time you made him cum so hard while riding him, the skin on your hips and ass got marred with bruises, seokjin apologized profusely and had flowers sent to you in the middle of class.

some envious souls side-eyed you for the disturbance and maybe there’s a rumor spreading around about you fucking a way older man—more ancient than seokjin—but that was easily dealt with by cornering shin jimin and showing her a video of her and professor haejung fucking in the back building of the architecture faculty.

another month passes until kim seokjin shows up at your doorsteps with flushed cheeks and an overwhelming scent of alcohol accompanying him.

“gosh, why did secretary min have to push this on me?” you complain as you drag the barely conscious kim seokjin to your bed, his hand feels like a ton of rocks on your shoulder and his body is at risk of dragging you down to the ground if he trips on one of the random things you have lying around on the floor.

luckily, the moment his body descends, it’s to lie on the mattress. because of his large stature, he’s spread like a starfish on your bed which means it’s the couch you’re sleeping on tonight.

that, you don’t mind.

the problem—the actual one that has you sighing in serious contemplation—is his innocent sleeping face with his eyelashes brushing the top of his cheek, his light skin somehow glowing with pinkness of the alcohol and his half-parted lush lips that look so kissable right now. they’re a glaring contrast to his stone hard chest and abs—you don’t need to squint to see the outlines of his abdominal muscles underneath his flimsy shirt. and you’re trying so hard not to look at the noticeable tent in his pants as he lies spread eagle on your bed.

“seriously,” you murmur under your breath as you sit on the edge of the bed, pushing his overgrown bangs out of his closed eyes, “how many hearts did you break in the last 10 years?”

in terms of looks, body and personality, kim seokjin has it all.

and you’d be lying if you said your heart didn’t palpitate in his presence even when you’re doing nothing but spending quality time, trying out new restaurants before your heart beats a different rhythm when he gets you behind closed doors.

you suck in a much needed breath of strength, “i’m just doing this because it’d be uncomfortable to sleep in those pants.”

your hand hovers above the bulge, quivering from your barely-held-together self-restraint as your fingers run over the shiny metallic buckle of his belt. but before you can even touch it, a hand clasps around your wrist and you feel frost seep into your bones.

it’s almost like the feeling of being caught red handed stealing cookies from the jar by your mother.

seokjin’s dark gaze settles on you like winter.

“i-i can explain, i wasn’t trying to nail you while you were drunk and unconsenting, i—“ you choke on your words as you feel yourself being pulled down and into a pair of muscular arms.

they’re warm and secure and surprisingly gentle. like a child holding onto his teddy bear as he sleeps.

seokjin’s velvety voice comes out hoarse but you can clearly make out the words he’s saying, “stay with me tonight.”

silence lulls in the shadows of your dimly lit room. seokjin’s steady heartbeat drums in your ears as he holds you against his chest. the warmth from his embrace doesn’t feel too much. it feels just right.

you yawn.

yeah, this feels just right.

when morning comes, you’re awoken by the sound of something loud hitting the ground. you grumble in curses, pulling the blanket over your head and turning the other side in hopes of putting whatever noise just now behind you. but then comes the next clang! and it sounds awfully close—like in-your-house kind of close.

the culprit of the noise is hunched over in your kitchen—it was a perfect fit for you but now it looks tiny and barely able to accommodate this giant of a man.

“whatcha doin’, daddy?” you ask just as the sound of glass scraping against glass hits the air.

seokjin turns to you with wide eyes—the kind of eyes of a man caught red handed. a second later, he’s yanking his hand away from the ground, hissing “ah, fuck!”

red oozes out of his index finger and you pad over quietly, tugging on his uninjured hand and making him sit on the stool you pulled out.

“i was trying to make coffee,” seokjin mumbles dejectedly.

he looks like the coffee machine insulted him by not working when he needed it to and when he tried tweaking it, he accidentally knocked over the mug and sent it crashing against the ground.

the first sound was the mug, the second one was a glass you left on the counter last night after drinking some water before secretary min knocked on your door and dumped a certain drunken man in your care. he knocked over that one in his fright of knocking over the pastel green mug that has cute cat ears on it.

“if i didn’t like you, i would’ve said you owed me a new coffee machine for breaking mine but i like you and the coffee machine broke yesterday while i was trying to make some coffee for myself.” you giggle.

you gently grasp his hand with yours, and guide his finger to your parted lips. the metallic taste of the blood makes you cringe but it goes away sooner rather than later. you run your tongue over his fingerpad, lapping over it until you’re sure that it stopped bleeding.

when you steal a glance through your lashes, you find yourself staring at a blushing kim seokjin. his face is tinted pink all the way to the tip of his ears and neck. your lips curl into a smile on their own. you push your hair to the back of your ear demurely, making sure to flutter your lashes twice before taking him in till his second knuckle.

the moment he audibly breathes in, you know you have him by the neck. but instead of giving into his desires like seokjin usually would, he presses his thumb on your bottom lip until you part your mouth enough for him to pull his finger, glistening with your saliva, out.

seokjin leans his head against yours and you’re reminded of the first night you spent together. he hasn’t done that once since then and for some reason, the mere fact that he’s came to you drunk, didn’t even try to fuck you in his drunken state when he should be horny as a bunny at the sight of you like he usually is and should be even more so with the influence of alcohol—sends a sense of trepidation in your heart.

you tilt your head ever so gently, brushing your lips with his. there’s no denying the flutter of your heart when he smiles against your lips but the sense of dread doesn’t go away when he kisses you—perhaps it’s because this kiss lingers longer than the kisses he gives you.

“i wanted to see you before i leave,” seokjin’s voice sounds heartbreakingly melodic to your ears.

he sometimes sings to you after you’re both spent and curled up against each other. but this time, it’s not the smooth velvety tone you want to hear. it’s—

“i’m free this sunday,” you offer.

it’s the kiss he places on your forehead and the trudge to your tiny storage door where you keep your broom—that makes your heart wretch inside your chest.

“do me a favor,” he says teasingly, “sit still and don’t move while i clean my mess.”

you have a habit of telling him to go sit somewhere whenever he makes a mess out of something in either yours or his place. it’s mostly because he proves that he’s only good with gadgets and answering calls while fucking you doggy style.

“alrighty, daddy,” you sing-song, skipping over to the couch where you can pretend to be on your phone while stealing glances at the giant who goes around, sweeping the floor and dumping the scattered glasses into a separate plastic bag before dumping that plastic bag into the bin.

seokjin smelled of floral mist—the bath & body work shower gel you keep in the bathroom—so once he’s done, there’s no enticing him for shower sex. and his self-restraint is surprisingly rock solid today so morning sex won’t work either—you tried with the finger-throating.

once he’s done, you’re standing in the doorway with the blazer secretary min placed on your couch before he wheezed out the door like the devil was after him. this feels oddly domestic—you holding the blazer for seokjin to put on and him, placing a kiss on each of your cheek like he doesn’t have a semi-erection painfully bulging in his pants.

“see you later,” is all seokjin says before he steps out of the door of your apartment.

to say you never saw your unanswered text and rejected phone calls coming, would be a big blatant lie.

x

two weeks later, you’re sighing for the third time of the day in the cafe at your college. seokjin stopped replying to your text on both imessage and sugarlite and you’re not one to grovel over a man’s feet—even if that man is kim seokjin and he makes your heart flutter.

“okay, what’s wrong?” kim jongin slams his chopsticks down with a hint of irritation and urgency.

“it’s nothing…” you trail off despite feeling all five pairs of eyes on you.

“we’re gonna say ‘oh come on, it’s not nothing when you’re sighing like a wife who knows her husband is cheating’ and you’re gonna say ‘it’s nothing’ for the second time and we’ll go on like this back and forth until you finally spill the tea so why don’t we just cut to the chase and get to the part where you do be spilling the hot mess of a tea?” hwang yeji goes off before she looks at you with a ‘you know i’m right’ look.

so you sigh again before finally bearing your worries and sorrows to your friends, “what does it mean when a guy you kinda had a thing with, comes to you drunk, doesn’t even try to cop a feel and then just disappears the next day?”

silence hovers over the table of six for the longest moment before jung wooyoung speaks, “he just needed a place to crash and a bolster.”

“nope,” shin yoona shakes her head in protest, “are we talking about an ex because it sounds like we’re talking about an ex?”

“yeah, sure, an ex,” you shrug, not really seeing the difference between being acquaintances and meeting again ten years later to fuck every chance you get as if you’re making up for lost time.

“that means he still loves you but he can’t be with you for some reason,” the auburn haired girl surmises.

“if you ask me, he sounds like a douche and a pussy,” lee chaeryeong says simply, digging into her spaghetti bologna.

“i know what can help with that,” jongin chirps, waving around a fry in your face as if it’s some fairy god mother’s wand.

him, yeji, yoona and chaeryeong are sharing a look you know too well. but you humor him anyway. “and that is?”

“club night!” yeji screams in your ear, her slender arms wrapped around your waist, squealing with excitement.

x

new year rolls around and marks the sixth month of the demise of your prolonged summer fling with kim seokjin which turned into the iciest winter too fast, too soon.

and on some nights, you lie awake in your bed, recollecting the times you spent with kim seokjin. whenever you’re not trying to seduce him while you’re out in public, you’re laughing your heart out over his unexpectedly good-but-bad dad jokes.

said night happens to be last night and you had to wake up at asscrack o’clock because your mother sent mr. jung to pick you up because you have dinner with the kim’s at eight and your family, namely you and your mother, has a tradition of spending five hours at a salon before the annual dinner.

so when you step out of your room after changing into a pastel pink dress and hear your dad roaring with laughter more than he usually would from the dining room with a “ah you really grew up to be your father’s son,”—you thought this was some bad, horrible, messed up dream.

“seokjin?” you feel your blood run cold as your stomach knots with unrest at the sight of the familiar face sitting across from your dad, facing the doorway where you’re standing.

he went easy on the hair gel tonight, letting his bangs cover his smooth forehead instead of having them slicked back like he usually would. and he foregone the blazer and vest—though he keeps the white button down underneath—for a beige sweater. round glasses perch perfectly on his nose and add to the casual, domestic look he’s going for.

the tinted bottle lying lonely on the table and the champagne glasses in your father and uncle kim’s hands tells you that they started drinking while waiting for dinner to be served. seokjin looks like 10 years have been taken off him with the white mickey mouse mike and chocolate malt drink of his.

“____, come help me with dinner,” your mother calls from the kitchen, unsuspecting of the tangible tension that hangs in the air as seokjin cast his gaze down to the hot chocolate mug that looks miniature in his hands but would need you to hold it with both hands because of its weight and how mugs are generally a bit big for you.

“but you have 10 helpers already crowding the kitchen.” you say unironically, watching the workers go back and forth behind your mother and auntie kim, carrying various plates of dishes.

silene lulls in the air for the longest moment as you feel eyes on you.

your dad is the first to break it, laughing, “____’s been stressed out with college lately, it’s her final year.”

“did she forget her manners in college too?” uncle kim backhandedly comments as the two elder men’s laughter fills the air.

that’s when a laugh forces its way out of you, cheeks hot with embarrassment and rage, “i didn’t expect seokjin-oppa to join us.”

“oh my, i didn’t tell you because i thought you’d know. you got closer recently, right?” your mother’s brows furrow with distress.

“yes, but seokjin-oppa must’ve forgot to tell me. he’s been super busy lately, right, oppa?” you shoot a faux smile at the aforementioned man’s way.

his unreadable dark eyes meet you for the briefest moment before he turns them to your mother, “luxean is expanding into the uk, telling ____ about coming home completely slipped my mind.” laughter trickles from his mouth, “guess, it makes for a great belated christmas surprise?”

“a very pleasant surprise,” you thank the gods that your voice doesn’t break as your words draw his gaze back to you, those enigmatic eyes boring into yours so you add, “oppa.”

“speaking of which, boy, when are you going to come over to jessom?” your father quizzes. jessom inc. is the company seokjin’s grandfather started and uncle kim took over after the old man died.

“there’s still a lot to do at luxean as the ceo before i can resign, uncle hwang,” is all the younger man offers, chuckling—even that sound feels natural.

it’s as if the girl he fucked for three months and ghosted isn’t standing 10 feet away from him, barely keeping her wits together.

“i’ve been trying to get him to join the team and he says this every damn time,” uncle kim sighs, tilting the wine glass to his mouth.

you end up joining your mother at the kitchen, standing in front of the chocolate mousse, running your fingerpad over the rounded edge as the sound of your mother and auntie kim not-so-discreetly gossip about some ha yeonhwa’s failed third marriage while your dad and uncle kim talk about the falling stocks of luxean. and all yet the sound of your heartbeat drowns out the conversation as you find yourself glaring at the one man who hasn’t spoken a word since the last time he was directly asked by your dad.

“when are you going to introduce your girlfriend to your pops and uncle, boy?”

seokjin shakes his head with a practiced smile on his lips, “i don’t have the time to date.”

‘cause you were busy fucking the girl you’re supposed to see as your little sister.’ the words teeter on your tongue but don't quite make it out.

the rage that lights up in the pit of your stomach doesn’t burn out even as you sit across seokjin once the helpers set up the table and what would have been a savory mouth-watering smell of the grilled kashmiri land is nothing but a slab of meat sitting in your plate. but you’ve managed to reign over your emotions enough not to explode in front of your family.

“can you pass me the salt, dad?” you ask, sickly sweet—a tone seokjin is no stranger to.

“thank you, daddy.” you smile at your dad who gazes over you with unsuspecting adoration—he’s probably glad that you’re back to yourself again.

that is, until the sound of someone choking draws his attention. kim seokjin has hand clasped over his mouth as his shoulderline shakes while he coughs.

“are you okay, oppa?” you flutter your lashes, making sure your brows knit with concern.

despite his coughing fit, he struggles to nod, a hand held up to say he just needs a moment. uncle kim indicates for one of the helpers to pour some water for his son before he hands it over to seokjin, hand patting his back like that’ll help.

the rest of the dinner goes by without a hitch. the smiles and giggles that pour out of your mouth are uncannily well crafted. then comes the post-dinner drinking session where uncle kim would usually get himself drunk and slurring and bawling over his estranged son.

but since seokjin suddenly came back—you suspect some time after he started ghosting you—uncle kim has been holding his liquor pretty well. him and auntie kim have been smiling more too, sitting side by side on the white couch, uncle kim’s arm is around auntie kim’s shoulder. the cordial atmosphere is possibly what makes your father compliment your mother’s beauty and her giggling bashfully, calling him an “old sap”. pun intended.

you rise from your seat in the one-person couch, heading over to the kitchen where you pop another bottle of wine, fill the glass up to the brim and down the fizzy golden alcohol once before strutting over to the hallway where the game room lies.

but before your perfectly manicured nails brush the handle of the door, it twists and the door swings open, revealing a surprised-looking kim seokjing.

your name spills out of his lush lips without him realizing it. the astonishment flashes across your eyes for the briefest moment before you notice the phone in his hand with its screen still lit. seokjin has been gone for the last 15 minutes after he excused himself for a phone call.

“i borrowed the game room since it’s soundproof for a call from work, hope you don’t mind.” he says with far too much ease, you feel your eyebrow twitching.

those thick brows are ever so relaxed while yours are furrowed as if you’re born like that. yet you take in one deep, much needed breath and exhale. placing the champagne glass on the tall black console pressed up against the wall—the helpers will get that once they do a last sweep before going home—and turn on your heels, the clicking sound echoing in the air.

“w-wait, wait—!” a voice calls from where you left a gawking kim seokjin.

a moment later, fingers curl around your wrist and stop you in your trek but you yank your hand back, twirling around and shoving him against the wall. those darkened eyes widen seokjin’s mouth parts and snaps shut twice before he breathes out, startled yet awed.

“what?” you spit out, hands pressed up against the wall on both sides of his shoulders which seem to be rising up just the slightest bit.

“you look great,” there’s a sort of tremble in seokjin’s voice—the only time he ever chokes on his words is when you’re on top of him. it always gets him.

you roll your eyes, “that’s a fact. tell me something i don’t know but deserve to.”

“we should go in first,” he tilts his head towards the ajar door of the game room.

“i’m good,” you shrug.

seokjin’s stare bore into you for the longest time before he finally sighs, his breath fanning your face gently.

“i know what i did could get me an award for the worst man you’ve ever known.” he begins and you scoff.

“the audacity to think you deserve an award.” you blink as though surprised before shaking your head with an unfazed expression, “appalling, truly.”

his lips press into a thin line as his brows knit together almost painfully, gaze clouded with unspoken words. there’s a sudden urge to wrap your arms around him and slap his dumb handsome face all at once. but you grit your teeth, seething silently as you keep him trapped between you and the wall.

a sense of deja vu washes over you.

yet instead of looking back at the night in the bar with revered melancholy, your heart thumps and writhes in your chest as it heaves from the sporadic inhale and exhale of air. that is, until you feel all the energy in your body drain and your hands fall to your sides. you feel the soft fuzzy material of seokjin’s sweater on your skin as you lay your head on his shoulder.

“you fucking idiot,” you want to scream but it comes out barely above whisper.

“i know,” he murmurs back.

his hand is warm on your back and his other hand is gently combing through your hair. you stay like that, in the silence of your breathing and the distant echo of laughter down the hallway, here but separate from the world.

“will you ever tell me?” you ask because—“ it’s okay if you don't want to explain and it’s okay if you’ll leave without saying anything but i don’t think i’ll be able to live  like this never happened and go on to be the almost-like-family our parents want us to be.”

but seokjin sighs and it sounds like a man who’s taken off his armor.

“my dad found out about us. i don’t know how but he showed up that night,” he doesn’t need to explain which night ‘that night’ was; seokjin came to you drunk and held you all night like you’re his world, “asked me to at least go for a drink with ‘this old man that’s not got much time left in the world’. showed me a picture of you and me hugging in front of your apartment and told me if i don’t come back, he’ll tell uncle hwang.”

his shoulder line rises and falls as sighs heavily.

at that, you tear yourself off him, eyes fierce and mind clearer than it ever was, “i fucking knew it! you couldn’t have left me because i’m me—i’m perfect. but uncle kim—i always knew he was a sly fox.” you mull audibly, hand on your chin, nibbling your bottom lip as if you’d chew that man’s head off if not for the repercussions of doing so.

seokjin blinks. once. lush lips parted as he stares at you with a mixture of disbelief and relief, “you’re not… mad?”

“no, i was really mad and—and i wanted to slap you but i didn’t,” you coo, cupping his cheeks, “because look at this handsome face.”

seokjin’s  shoulderline sags, as if the tons of weight of his shoulders have been lifted, his adam’s apple bobs as though he’s about to say praise to the gods but before he can say anything, you’re already gripping both of his wrists with all your might.

“let’s get rid of him.” you announce, eyes glinting.

“sorry—what?” seokjin blinks, brows rising, all the gentleness in them replaced with confusion, “i don’t like my dad either but i’m not about to commit—”

“then,” you guide his hands to cup your soft ample breasts, “i’ll be able to fuck whenever i want.”

“you mean ‘we’ll be able to fuck whenver we want’.” he recovers quickly, copping a feel of your breasts, a familiar lustrous gleam in his eyes.

just as the sound of voices echoing louder in the hallway, you say, “seokjin, do you trust me?”

it takes moment for him to study your expression, the fanatical playfulness has disappeared, replace with a sort of unshaken resolve if so much as says—

“with all my life.”

and with that, you stand on the tip of your toes, hands grabbing a handful of his shirt before pulling him in and crashing your lips together. he tastes like vanilla and chocolate from the mousse you had for dessert.

for some reason he’s turned down both the 1989 cabernet sauvignon twice, once during dinner and another time when everyone sat down in the common area.you find yourself licking his lips, imploring. a delighted sigh escapes your lips when seokjin’s mouth parts, his tongue brushing against the tip of your own pink organ but before you can go further than this, a shrill tears your eardrums apart.

“kim seokjin! hwang ____!

auntie kim stands at the other end of the hallway, eyes rounded and jaws on the ground. there’s a garnet stain on her chest, a glaring difference to the peach pastel color of her dress. but it couldn’t compare to the crimson on her face—if you squint, you think you see smoke coming out of her ears.

“oops,” you mumble, hand on your mouth as you blink innocently.

yet it’s the hand on your waist that makes your heart stutter in your chest. he leans down, his fresh, marine cologne filling your senses, his breath on your neck is hot, “if we walk out of here unscathed, you’re deleting the sugarlite app in front of me.”

you make a sound between a snort and a scoff, “the audacity is impeccable, kim seokjin.”

“you two! to the common room. right now.” auntie kim’s nose flares as she orders—the fact that you just laughed in her face after getting caught french kissing her son is probably part of the reason.

x

“what—how—i can’t do this,” auntie kim sniffles, heart on his chest as the other massages her temple.

it looks like the shock just added 10 years to her age.

you sit next to seokjin on the three person couch while the elders sit in front of you. auntie kim is on the one-person sofa with uncle kim leaning against the side of the sofa, his eyes focused on your every movement like an eagle sizing up a little rat. if you squint, you think you see his nose flaring. your father is leaned up against the console adjacent to you, his expression unreadable and your mother is sitting next to auntie kim, jaw dropped to the ground.

seokjin sits in poised elegance next to you, brows set in a strong unwavering line, making his eyes all the more forbidding.

“are you sure, sunghee?” your father asks slowly, his voice raspier than usual.

“i saw them shoving their  tongues in each other’s mouths for heaven’s sake, i may be old but i’m not blind, daesong.” she snaps.

the room falls silent once again as your mother’s quivering voice hits the air, “i… how long has this been going on?”

she looks up at you, eyes glittering like shattered pieces of glass. you would be lying if you said your heart isn’t palpitating in your chest. yet you’re unsure if it’s remorse or hurt because she’s looking at you as though you’ve committed the worst crime: tainting the family’s honor.

“six months.” seokjin says firmly, “ever since we started getting in touch again.”

the implication of you being in a relationship—is this even that though? you’re not sure—from the moment you first started talking again causes your mother to let out a woeful sob.

“and,” you place a hand on seokjin’s hand that’s resting on his thigh, making him turn to you as he places his free hand on top of your hand that’s on the one on his thigh, “three weeks since we found out we’re pregnant.”

all of a sudden, a weep echoes in the room and you think you hear the sound of something breaking somewhere. yet seokjin’s expression remains uncannily neutral. the only indication he’s surprised is the way his dark gaze lights up with surprise yet before you can confirm whether that minuscule twinkle in his eyes is felicity, your father grabs seokjin by the shirt and swings his fist right into seokjin’s handsome face.

“dad!” that’s the first real scream that erupted from you.

seokjin heaves out an antagonized sigh, face contorting with pain and the impact of the blow. but he doesn’t even dodge the second one even if he saw it coming, staring right into your father’s eyes.

and he would get a third blow if not for you.

“stop! uncle kim knows too!” you shriek just as your father raises his fist once more, his blood-flecked eyes burning with rage but for a different reason now, “uncle kim knows and threatened oppa to come home or he’ll tell you about us!”

“daesong, i—i didn’t tell you because the kids looked so happy together,” uncle kim pushes himself off the armrest and stands almost defensively as lies pour out of his mouth.

unfortunately for him, he’s a man.

a sob leaves your lips as you suppress the rest of your sniffles with a hand clasped against your mouth, “uncle kim forced us to break up even though we tried explaining. just now was a mistake,” you watch seokjin’s bruised face turn to you in your periphery, the wince washed away by your weeping declaration, “seokjin was ready to leave everything behind but i—i couldn’t bear to give the child up for adoption and when we met today—i’m sorry, i kissed you.” you look into seokjin’s stricken eyes, your vision blurred with crocodile tears.

“don’t be sorry,” seokjin says calmly, his hand twitches to touch caress your face but you father yanks him away from you.

“because he’s going to get married to chae seoyeon!” uncle kim’s voice rises in a mix of ludicrosity and frustration, “and the baby—is it even seokjin’s?”

chae soyeon. that’s not a foreign name. there’s only one chae family who has a daughter at a marriageable age with a legacy of a hundred years behind her.

“namjung, you…” you father trails off, hands falling to his side as he turns to stand directly in front of uncle kim.

upon his release, seokjin finds his way to your side, his arm around your shoulder as he pulls you into him. it’s almost as though he’s trying to shield you away from his father and the world.

“dad, that’s enough.” seokjin says calmly but his voice is ridden with icicles—you feel a chill go down your spine.

it doesn’t take a genius to know that he willingly let your dad hit him. if seokjin wanted to, he would’ve been able to throw both of your fathers off him if they came at him together.

you glare tearfully at the elder man, “i’m sorry, uncle kim, you may be older and the father of my child’s dad but—i can’t let you insult me like this.”

“insult—!” uncle kim echoes in disbelief, “if you hadn’t been such a sly fox—“

“watch your mouth, namjung, that’s my daughter you’re talking about.” your father interjects, his voice chilling your bones.

“oh, as if you don’t know what that minx is capable of.” auntie kim laments.

“____ is nine years younger than seokjin! he should’ve known better than to let this go on the moment he starts developing feelings for a girl he’s supposed to be taking care of like a little sister!” your mother shoots up from her seat, glaring down at the woman she once called her best friend.

“she’s not a baby to be taken care of, heck, she’s old enough to have a baby of her own!” uncle kim shoots a look at your mother, as if saying this it’s preposterous for a girl way over 20 to be looked after.

“you would know, wouldn’t you?” your father laughs drily.

“what does that even mean, daesong?” uncle kim hisses, challenging even.

“your mistress is younger than your son but that didn’t stop you from impregnating her, did it?” the words pour out of your father’s mouth and demand silence throughout the house.

“oof.” you breathe out, tears dried up—they say the fake ones don’t last longer than a minute.

“the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.” your father laughs again.

you thought it couldn’t get worse than this. but it’s when uncle kim launches himself in your father’s direction, that all hell breaks loose. time seems to stand still for one whole solid minute as everyone’s eyes grow wider as the two elderly, gout stricken, arthritis suffering men go at each other. there’s a sound of bones breaking as uncle kim throws a punch in your father’s direction and the latter tries to take a step back but freezes for whatever reason, causing him to receive uncle kim’s blow square in the face.

seokjin jumps in to stop the fathers but he ends up getting punched in the face twice—albeit the impact is lesser because the two men seem to be getting weary by the second.

in the end, one ends up on the one person sofa—auntie kim stood up to let uncle kim take her seat while lamenting about his bad knee. your father is taken to your mother’s study because she hogs the first aid kit to herself after pricking herself with the needle of the sewing machine.

she prefers breathing life to her designs at home rather than at the company.

one of the helpers is dabbing alcohol on uncle kim’s bruising face as he groans every time the cotton touches his skin.

you and seokjin are waiting for your turn to receive one of the first aid kits—either the one with your parents or his—in the kitchen. he’s pressing a bag of ice on that bruising area just along his jaw.

most of the helpers have been dismissed and the two that stayed have been helping out since you were a toddler so they would at least have a sense of loyalty—enough not to go telling everyone about the fiasco that just transpired.

“is it true? you’re pregnant?” seokjin asks softly, afraid that any louder, his father will come marching into the kitchen at the hint of uncertainty in seokjin’s inquiry.

“you literally saw me down a glass full of wine,” you point out.

his shoulder line sags as he lets out a despondent sigh. he reaches for your hand that’s on your lap and guides your knuckles to his lips, kissing them gently as if they’re the ones bruised black and blue.

the glimmer in his dark eyes linger still. it’s like they’re made just for you—to admire your existence and to trap your reflection in them as seokjin’s gaze meets yours.

“i’m sorry… for not talking things out with you.” he murmurs, remorse tugging on the muscles of his handsome face, “i was more scared that they’d keep us apart if they knew so i chose to live as a brother to you than a stranger.”

kim seokjin looks less like the intimidating, firm-as-a-rock ceo you reunited with six months ago. and it’s not the sweater that seems to swallow up his build nor the tousled, ungelled hair that softly brushes against his eyebrow. it’s the way those eyes look at you that reminds you of the midnight reflection of the lake behind your holiday villa.

once upon a summer vacation, you used to drag seokjin out in the middle of the night, claiming to look for shooting stars. and seokjin being the supposedly brotherly figure he was, followed you with eyes half-awake, tone dripping with doubt as he tried to persuade you to go back into the villa. there was no dashing meteor that crossed the sky but you wished for something anyway.

you wish everyone would be happy.

such simple times were bound to cease.

it was around then that uncle kim’s mistress made a scene at seokjin’s home with fire and fury and a 5-year-old kid hiding timidly behind her. you were too young to understand back then, but seokjin suddenly said he wanted to stay with his grandparents’ for summer and you declared you should go to your family’s holiday villa with you before that.

that was the last summer you spent together.

your deep mulling comes to a stop as you blink, schooling a well-practiced poker face. so much so, seokjin, the one that’s much calmer and more collected than you, is nibbling his bottom lip.

“you have a whole lifetime to make it up to me,” you teasingly say.

seokjin’s eyes grow wider, glinting with a hint of surprise.

“what? i’m quite the catch, you know?” you playfully quiz and he finally blinks, escaping from the reigns of stupor that tugs on his ankles.

the sound of angels’ hymn drums in your ears as seokjin laughs, shaking his head. his free hand that’s not holding the ice, guides the back of your hand to his lips. he kisses your hand once. twice. thrice and plenty more times until you’re squealing from the ticklish feeling of his lips brushing against your oversensitized skin.

when you try to pull your hand back, seokjin resumes his assault on your left cheek, your right cheek, and then your forehead and finally finds his way to your lips. you used to wish upon the gods that the palpitation of your heart is audible only to you. but as you wrap your arms around seokjin’s neck to deepen the kiss, you think you wouldn’t mind bearing your heart for this man to own.

x

seokjin comes back a few hours after he left with his parents, parked his car on the curb, walked up to the miniature door on the side of the gate and gathered you up in his embrace the moment that door swung open.

you giggle as you wrap your arms around him, feeling your feet get swept off the ground whilst your legs band around his waist, “you miss me so much, yet you have the balls to ignore my texts and calls?”

seokjin sighs softly burying his face in your chest, his voice muffled, “i’m sorry.”

that’s the third time he’s apologized today and with each ‘i’m sorry’ you think you hear his voice going weak.

you hum, fingers combing through his hair and brushing against the tip of his ear ever so slightly—smiling coquettishly at the shivers that vibrates through his body.

the first time you teasingly bite his ear while he was working, you ended up being fucked against the coffee table with your ass in the air as he spoke on the phone, voice completely cooled and collected.

“it’s okay,” you shrug simply, smile tugging higher as you lean closer to his ear, “i like your balls—i like licking them while i give you a handjob. i miss…” you trail off, giggling at the faint sound of seokjin’s guttural sigh, “your dick.”

it takes a moment for you to loosen your legs around him to tell him to let you go. albeit with a silent protest. still, you tug on seokjin’s hand with an index finger on your lips as you make a shushing sound, “everyone’s asleep but we should be quiet.”

yet when you’re about to take your first step towards the doors of your house, you find yourself tumbling backwards at the unmoving force that’s gripping your hand.

“i only came here to see you,” even underneath the dim lights attached to the gate, you can see the war raging in his eyes.

throwing your gaze down, you lift a dubious brow but look back at him without saying anything.

and seokjin seems to have the same idea as you, “it’s your family home. i used to come here every year for new year and pretend to play with your dolls to keep you entertained while dinner got served.”

‘that was twenty-years ago,’ your attitude tells you to roll your eyes but the way seokjin’s clouded gaze bores into you makes the words die in your throat.

it hasn’t been a day since he got punched in the face and sporting a bruise from said punch that your father, a man seokjin looks up to as a paternal figure, gave. whether it’s guilt or respect that’s holding him back, you’re not sure but all you know is, underneath the flames that flickers and dances in your core—all you want is to be with seokjin.

you just have a more physical inclination.

so you close the distance between you and him, the tip of your shoes brushing against the other while you hug his waist. he returns your hug almost instantly. it’s as if wrapping his arms around you where you’re in close proximity with him has become a habit.

“i’m fucking scared, ____,” seokjin says, barely above whisper, “my dad’s blackmail isn’t the only reason i left—i’m scared—i’m fucking terrified that i’ll end up hurting you like he hurt my mom.”

for the longest moment, words fail you. all you hear is the sound of your blood rushing in your ears and the thump of your heart against the constraints of your rib cages. emotions and heart-to-hearts have never been your forte. your parents too were lacking in that department.

“honestly, i don’t know what to say—except maybe this: you came to the wrong person to unpack that trauma, buddy. i mean, i act like a spoiled little brat who goes around being pretty and sits still like a marionette just so i won’t have to deal with my lack of skills in handling my emotions.” you half-heartedly joke and you hear seokjin let out a sound between a chuckle and a sigh.

“and that’s exactly what i’m going to do—i’ll stick with you like a leech—because sticking to you like annabelle means i’ll be locked up in a glass case and that’s not close enough—and i’ll trust you until you get bored of me and decide to throw me away.“

seokjin’s chuckle—a real one—is what warms your heart and makes you snuggle into his chest.

“if my life was filled with hwang ____ every day, i don’t think i'd ever get bored,” his arms around you hug you a little tighter and you’re warmed by his body heat as you chuckle to yourself, “and i’d rather damn myself to hell before i ever let go of you.”

“thank you, daddy, for coming to see me.”

in that moment, you feel seokjin’s body harden under your touch.

“what was that thing? at dinner?” seokjin asks out of the blue.

“what was what?” you look up at him, fluttering your lashes innocently.

the complexity of emotions flashing across his face makes you giggle. and that’s when kim seokjin put two and two together: that you saying that same exact phrase to your father at dinner wasn’t just a slip of a tongue—it was meant to shake up seokjin’s very foundation.

and it worked just as you wanted it to.

seokjin wanted to slap himself when he first heard it spoken so unsuspectingly—he thought he was the wicked one for picturing you naked with your eyes half-closed with your hand against your mouth as you suppressed your moans. all the while, you were looking at him with pure concern in your eyes while he was coughing his lungs out.

“speaking of daddies, we need to figure out how to fake a miscarriage,” you bring him out from his train of thoughts and seokjin finds himself clearing his throat in hopes it would push back the explicit image of your bare body and pleasured expression that involuntarily made its way to the back of his mind.

“or,” you smile, pushing yourself up against him and making sure your hardened nipples graze his chest ever so gently, “i can go to my doctor to get my iud taken out so you can put a baby inside me.”

“don’t.” seokjin almost begs, one hand rubbing his eyes, “don’t tempt me, please.”

you giggle, holding up a palm in the air with your fingers stretched apart, “five days—i bet we’ll be seeing double red lines in five days if we keep going like that time you took a week off work and i had a one week break.”

“fuck,” seokjin hisses almost painfully before his eyes search yours with unrestrained clarity, “when are you going back to seoul?”

“the day after tomorrow but i can tell my parents something came up and go home tomorrow.”

“i’ll pick you up at 8?” he offers but you shake your head, no.

“they’re a little… sensitive after the whole thing at dinner. i’ll have to let mr. jung drive me back so they know i’m not going on little detours—which is dumb because mr. jung could drop me off in front of my apartment building and i could pretend to go in, wait out for a few hours before leaving for my not-so-secret baby daddy’s place.”

seokjin’s lips curl at the word you call him before brows twitch just the slightest bit. it’s as if the thought of not being able to see you as soon as morning comes and drive back to seoul with you, physically pains him. but his facial expression eases as you peck him on the lips.

“i’ll wait for you at your place?” he says.

“sure,” you grin, “the new passcode is 3-0-2-9-6 by the way.”

“you changed your passcode? i mean— good good. that’s what you’re supposed to do after some douche who knows your passcode left you hanging high and dry.” his bangs brush against his smooth forehead as he nods even though there’s a flash of hurt in his eyes—or maybe it was regret.

“see you soon,” you place a one last kiss on seokjin’s naturally puckered lips. it’s gentle and sweet and unlike the other kisses you’ve shared.

when you pull apart, you can feel the slightest pressure around your waist where seokjin’s arm is—almost as if he doesn’t want to let go but decides against it. he’ll see you in a few hours but even a minute apart from you feels like a century long. and he’s got a lot of making up to do.

your hands on his waist fall to your side and his index finger curls around your own first finger, wordlessly pleading for borrowed time.

the urge to wrap your hands around this man’s slender waist isn’t easily disregarded yet you turn on your heels anyway because you know if you falter, you’d never be able to let him go even if you’re going to meet again in a few hours.

x

“i can’t believe we’re both adults but still can’t do whatever we want,” you huff, tossing your backpack on the couch and leaving your luggage next to said couch.

the delicious savory smell of the rice cake soup boiling on the stove while seokjin is placing down a plate of kimchi dumplings on the counter.

the sight of him with a light pink apron with a frilly heart-shape top half never ceases to make your heart thump faster inside your chest. you bought the apron so seokjin could fuck you in the kitchen while you made breakfast—because that’s the only thing you know how to make—but he ended up taking a liking to it and using it for a domestic purpose: actual cooking.

“welcome home,” seokjin pecks the top of your head while simultaneously returning your side-hug before slipping away to stir the soup, “how were your parents?”

“well…” you sing song, taking a seat on the stove with the best view of a pseudo house husband seokjin going around your average-but-not-large-sized kitchen and making everything around him look like miniature cooking utensils—like the ones you had for your barbie dolls, “they were so close to calling bullshit on my ‘emergency final year project meeting’ but besides that, they pretended like nothing’s wrong which is normal in the hwang household. anyways, how are uncle and auntie?”

“my dad outright demanded that i go to the meeting he set up with chae soyeon’s family.” seokjin shuts off the stove and walks over to the sink. “and my mom—well, she wasn’t at breakfast.”

the thought of seokjin meeting up with another woman while kind-of-officially seeing you makes your stomach twist with jealousy. somehow, uncle kim’s skin-stretched-over-skull and bald crown burns with ire at the back of your mind.

the man’s been a good friend of your father but he isn’t much outside of that.

“and? are you going to go?” you not-so-slyly ask, slipping out of the stool to take out the emerald tinted bottles from the fridge.

it’s not a new year without some soju.

“is that jealousy i’m sensing?” seokjin asks, a smirk gracing his handsome but bruised features.

the sight of the pink heart shaped apron over the practical, crisp white button down is oddly endearing rather than the seductive air he’s going for—if he’s going for anything at all. you learned earlier on that kim seokjin is a fine human specimen whose actions are naturally alluring and suave—you wouldn’t be surprised if women got their hearts broken over his smile alone.

you find yourself at a crossroad: one leads to a path of forehead unbotheredness and the other forces you to swallow your pride.

“oh great, we have an aura sensor now—do you sense that your rice cake soup’s  about to spill out of the pot?” you lift one dramatic brow before seokjin’s stare pierces through your soul, tongue forming the gentlest protrusion on his right cheek. calculating. studying.

then he turns around, tasting the soup with a spoon before tossing it into the sink and turning off the stove. he pours the soup in two bowls he pulled out of the second last cabinet from the left so flawlessly, if you were a guest coming over to visit a friend and find a man whom your friend is dating pulling out a pair of matching bowls like seokjin did—you would have believed, without an ounce of doubt, that he lives here too.

he sets the bowls down on yours and his side while you pop the alcohol open.

“and hell yeah i’m jealous,” you shrug as you tap the back of your spoon against the rim of the bowl so as to not let it excessively drip and hit the smooth surface of the counter while you’re guiding it to your mouth, “some girl you haven’t even met gets to book a slot in your ‘seokjin’s-future-wife-candidate’ while i’m duped as some sly fox who seduced you and trapped you with a non-existent kid.”

“yeah?” there’s a dangerously alluring glint in seokjin’s eyes as he folds his arms over his chest, making his biceps deliciously bulge against the thin, flimsy material of his light blue cardigan, “that my permission to breed you?”

ever since you reunited, kim seokjin has been proving you wrong over and over again when it comes to the unsuspecting, pure-as-the-first-day-of-snow impression you had of him from 10 years ago.

and that’s the thing: he does hold himself to a certain standard of appropriateness, denying your claims of his unspoken fetishes that you’ve noticed. heck, kim seokjin denies liking bondage even though he cums faster and fucks harder when you have your hands tied behind your back with his thousands of dollars belt.

you thought it was just the person he is: an all rounder, uptight, office man who gets flustered at the idea of anything besides normal sex.

so is it really a surprise when a gasp escaped your lips and your jaw drops to the ground as you blink wordlessly at the man?

“kim seokjin!” you manage to keep your voice even before you pause, the dramatic hand on your chest going down to your waist, “daddy,” your surprised face morphs into a coquettish smile as you flutter your lashes, “i’m hungry but not for food.”

the squeal that slips out of your mouth is inevitable as you feel the wind in your hair whilst your whole body gets hoisted up into a pair of warm, muscular arms. your own arms banding around his broad, masculine shoulders as a miniature heart attack knocks on your chest from the sudden movement.

yet giggles pour out of your mouth once the shock dissipates.

that afternoon, the sun spilled  onto the sheets and your floorboards.

and kim seokjin owes you a new bed frame.

which he did replace as your early graduation gift. since you have an inkling that you’re going to leave the place soon, you forgone the aesthetics for a sturdy, steel bed frame. it came in a month later because it was custom made. all the while, you’ve been staying over at seokjin’s.

but it’s a little further away from campus and as much as you like to appear like the mindless, sweet little doll that you are; you hate having to make seokjin drive you to class and drive another 30 minutes to get to his office when he could have gotten there in 15 minutes.

you throw yourself onto the bed, head folded behind your head as a pseudo pillow. shorts adored legs crossed, you smile down at the shirtless specimen in front of you.

“this is comfy,” you giggle, “thank you, daddy.”

seokjin yanked his neck tie off, shrugged off his button down and pulled the flimsy white undershirt over his head—you’re sure it’s somewhere collecting dust in your apartment—before he began assembling the bed frame.

a sweet velvety chuckle brushes your ear as the bed dips where his hands and knees dig into which are a few inches from your body as he hovers over you like a beast who found his beauty.

“my pleasure,” seokjin whispers before stealing a kiss from you.

“assembling furniture… me feeding you snacks while you do the handiwork… this feels like we’re newlyweds who just moved in together.” you wrap your arms around his neck, “though it’s a lot less roomy than your place.”

“my home’s with you… we could be living in a dump and my best part of the day would be coming back to you.” he rests his forehead on yours, rich brown eyes piercing your soul and warming your cheeks.

all of a sudden, you have an urge to turn your cheek at him. to shy away from kim seokjin. but the other part of you couldn’t help but grin, “the only thing getting dumped tonight is your cum in this p—“

“____,” seokjin groans, yet there’s no concealing the redness that’s spreading across his cheeks and the tip of his ears.

laughter spills from your lips as seokjin climbs off you and lays beside you instead, his face stoic. but as you begin poking his side, a smile begins to curl on his naturally puckered lips until your laughter and his mix together in this minute space with bolts, screwdrivers, wrenches and pliers littered all over the floor.

in the end, you find yourself with your head on seokjin’s abs which heave up and down in a steady rhythm. his hand is on your back, its warmth seeping into your pores.

“how about it?” seokjin’s voice shakes the comfortable silence that settles between you and him, “how does making a house into a home sound like?”

it’s almost all the oxygen got sucked out of you as well as the natural knowledge of how to breathe. you’re not sure how many milliseconds went by as your heart palpitates in your chest and your mind goes blank. the only thing ringing in your ears is the word ‘home’ in seokjin’s velvety voice that doesn’t sound like his usual cheesy sappiness—this time—this time, it sounds like he’s promising you himself, his heart, his entire purpose of existing in this cosmic universe. all those and more. just for you.

“what…” your body moves on its own, pushing yourself up from his chest, hair cascading down your left shoulder as you meet seokjin’s mesmerizing gaze.

the last time you actually hinted at a forever after, it was as a joke and no one, not you nor seokjin mentioned it ever again. as if from that moment in your parents’ kitchen with his bruised cheek and ice pack pressed on half of his face, you’re already his bride as you seal your vows with a kiss.

yet you dare not visit the idea that’s so ludicrous and so far fetching.

that is, until now.

an easy smile plays on seokjin’s lips. his hand that’s not folded underneath his head, is drawing circles on your ring finger that’s mindlessly resting on his abdomen. it’s as if he’s already half in love with the idea of a home and a family with you.

in his head, he’s probably got 10 different names for your future kids.

you feel something wet on the back of your hand as well as on your cheek, chilled by the aircon. and a sob escapes you as you dab the lower part of your palm that’s just above your wrist on your eye.

“whew,” you breathe out, “sorry, all 22 years of pent up trauma just came spilling out,” you want to laugh at your half-hearted joke but all you manage is a weepy sniffle.

“i didn’t think i’d ever find love,” you force out, holding back a full out tear jerking scene, “that’s so cheesy—see i don’t do well with emotions so this—this is what you’re getting by asking me to marry you.”

seokjin simply takes your hand and kisses it after he pushes himself off the bed and sits up. he gathers you in his arms and you’re getting choked up again from the way he kisses the top of your head.

“i shouldn’t have left you 10 years ago—maybe i would’ve been able to be your emotional support then, but that’d have made me more of a brother to you and it’d make things more complicated.” he mulls, torn.

you laugh, drying away the tears with your hands and placing your hand on seokjin’s hard chest, patting him, “i would hate to have you witness my high school phase.”

“why? bet you were cute in high school. wouldn’t be surprised if you said you were one of the popular girls.” he teases, booping your nose with the tip of his index finger.

“ugh no,” you crinkle your nose, “i had braces and wore one of those thick glasses—the only reason i wasn’t bullied is because my dad’s a sponsor for the school and all the kids’ parents told them to befriend me.”

“what’s wrong with braces and thick glasses?” seokjin blinks, almost offended.

you chuckle softly, “oh yeah, you wore them too, didn’t you? and your poses in school pictures were like those goody two shoes who are into space science and rockets.”

“luxean does specialize in supplying spare parts of aviation for the military,” he shrugs.

“sexy,” you hum, voice a little coarse and eyes a bit puffed up, but that’s no reason for you not to push the man down. his widened eyes are cute—it’s almost as if seokjin’s caught up in this vulnerable moment and thinks there’s no way you’d get horny and make a move just because you were crying your eyes out not even ten minutes ago, “shall we test the new bed frame?”

but kim seokjin wouldn’t be where he is now, both in life and in work, if he isn’t so apt to adapt. a glint flashes across his eyes as his lips curl into a smirk.

“get the handcuffs.”

the end.

x

epilogue.

“the baby?” you echo the words of the woman you call mother that’s at the end of the line and then you laugh, quite fakely, if you do say so yourself, “yeah, i don’t think it’s been 9 months yet, you know?”

“____, it’s literally new year’s eve again in a week,” she points out and you can almost imagine the dead panned expression she’s making, “were you or were not pregnant on new year’s eve?”

you nibble on your bottom lip, still mulling over the possible yes or no and the consequence each answer holds, “no.”

the line goes quiet—you almost trick yourself into believing she hung up if not for the long sigh that brushes your ear.

“but,” you sing-song, one hand on your swollen belly, “he’s coming and we’re naming him jimin because think about how cute it’d be when he tries to pronounce his name and he goes ‘hi i’m chimin’ like a chipmunk.”

“that does sound adorable,” she confesses reluctantly before quizzing, “did he name him?”

“yes, mom,” you want to roll your eyes but seokjin’s setting down a plate of pancakes in front of you and you mouth a ‘thank you, daddy,’ with your coquettish smile before speaking into the phone again, “me and seokjin make every decision together.”

“good,” she replies monotonously, “he should at least do that after acting so crass even if he’s supposed to—” she stops herself just before the flames begin to burn in the pit of your stomach, “forget it, are you sure you don’t want to dip your toes in the family business?”

“mom,” you whine and hum in appreciation a second later when seokjin cuts up a piece of the pancake and guides it to your mouth, “that’s the whole point of marrying rich. if i wanted to be a corporate slave, i wouldn’t have gotten engaged and agreed to get knocked up so we can have our child attend our wedding.”

“c-corporate sla—oh my—” she sighs, “you will be the chairman of gyeongwa. what did i do to deserve this, lord?” you hear your mother say in a whisper. something tells you she’s not looking for your reply but doesn’t exactly intend to hide her exasperations from you.

“i have to go,” you announce, your whole body freezing as you attempt to look down on the ground but only see the curve of your clothed belly.

“i know, i know,” the elder woman laments, “you’ve never worked a day in your life and seokjin can provide for you and the baby just fine but honey, think about—”

“no, mom,” you cut her off and if it wasn't for the alarm in your voice, she probably would have gone on about manners. you meet seokjin’s gaze, the man blinking his unsuspecting brown eyes with a complacent smile on his lips before realization hits him like a ton of bricks before the words even leave your mouth, “i think my water just broke.”

“i’ll get the baby bag,” seokjin’s words sound muffled as the stool screeches and hits the ground.

and then he’s gone.

there’s a sound of hasty padding somewhere in the room at the end of the hallway where the nursery is, followed by a thud and a vexed cursing before seokjin pops up next to you with a unicorn printed bag pre-filled with diapers, baby clothes and all the baby essentials you need, slung on his left shoulder.

seokjin finds you again in your bathroom, patting a light foundation onto your face and he sighs in relief. the mini panic that struck his heart when he didn’t see you in the kitchen after he came back, finally subsiding.

“d-darling, why are you putting on makeup?” he laughs nervously.

“duh, it’s for the video, i need to look fabulous on labor day,” you snicker at your own joke, not quite noticing the wary silence on seokjin’s part until a little later, “five minutes and i’ll be done.”

“five?” seokjin echoes and nods, “yeah, that’s doable.” and he laughs.

but then five minutes turn to ten and ten minutes turn to fifteen and seokjin bursts into the bathroom, listing out all the petnames he’s ever called you throughout the course of your relationship. “darling, petal, love, babe, we should go.”

“daddy, chill,” you say simply, curling your lashes.

and he would’ve possibly started running up the walls in anxiety if you didn’t gasp, curling clinking against the marble sink as your hand shoots down your belly where the ghostly pressure clenches around you.

“babe?” you squeal out and seokjin is on your side in a blink of an eye, one hand lightly placed on your shoulder.

you meet his concerned gaze, “i think it’s time to go.”

yoongi is already at the elevator door with the baby bag, waiting for you and seokjin like  the ever precise and competent secretary he is. he doesn’t speak a word throughout the ride, keeping his eyes on the road while seokjin’s gripping your hand for dear life.

“are you sure you don’t want some water?”

“i already drank water like five minutes ago.”

“the baby could be dehydrated.”

“i’m not thirsty,” you let out a breathy sigh, that forced smile glued to your face as your grip tightens while the pain throbs around your pelvis area.

when the contraction somewhat subsides, you finally pry your eyes which you didn’t know were screwed shut, open. the white buildings of the center come into your view and relief floods your system as you see it getting bigger with every mile you close.

it’s when you turn your head to tell seokjin that your hand’s a bit warm from the hold, that you find yourself gazing at glassy eyes that reflect your surprised o-shaped mouth. even if he didn’t say it, you already know.

“i’ll be fine,” you lightly squeeze his hand, the request for him to let go dying in your throat.

it looks like your tough, dependable, sappy, dad-joking loving fiancee needs this more than you do.

but as it turns out, your water didn’t break—you just peed your pants for the nth time—and the contractions you were feeling were just the baby kicking. and since you’re due in a week, the doctors decide to admit you in order to keep an eye on you.

so you lie on the fresh bed with white sheets that smells like floral and mint while the hospital-provided diffuser whirs in the corner of the room.

you hold your phone up, angling it to make sure to include half of seokjin’s body from his chest down to his upper torso where it gets blocked with his macbook that he’s typing away at.

it’s a shame that people don’t get to see seokjin’s tousled hair brushing against the frame of his glasses that are perched on his nose while he types away on his macbook, but some things are better left to the imagination—that and you don’t want anyone seeing any side of seokjin because he’s only yours to enjoy.

it’s only when the camera sound goes off, that he finally looks up and you take another shot with a peace sign pressed up against your cheeks.

“can’t… wait… to… meet… the… little… bun,” you mumble as you type out the caption, feeling seokjin’s soft peck on your forehead as he steals a peek at the picture you chose, “and post.”

“you didn’t tag me,” he pouts, his phone in one hand with instagram opened.

“everyone knows who you are,” you say mindlessly, lips curled into a vain smile as the notifications begin to pour in

“k period yeonnie.” he begins, “‘oh-em-gee, who’s the baby daddy?’ flustered emoji.”

“chae period, ryeong,” he raises an eyebrow in your direction, “‘miss girl, you didn’t tell me you’re pregnant. check dm’s. exclamation mark, exclamation mark, exclamation mark.”

chaeryeong is one of the closest friends you still talk to after graduation. she knows you’re dating someone and that someone being the man she called ‘douche’ and a ‘pussy’ because you asked her and your other friends for advice. she’s being a supportive friend though it’s questionable if she’s keeping that energy in the direct message she’s demanding you to check.

“real jongin,” seokjin continues, “‘who’s that at the back?’ side eye emoji.”

jongin took the news of you dating said ‘douche’ much better than the girls. so he’s just teasing your followers and other friends when he hints at seokjin like that.

“okay, okay.” you interject, raising both hands in surrender, “they don’t know you’re kim seokjin, ceo of luxean and only son of the kim family but they will know... once we get married and,” you tug on seokjin’s fingers, putting on your best pout, “i don’t want to show you to anyone because you’re mine.”

that seems to draw a suppressed smile out of him. it takes another, “daddy can i have a kiss?” for him to fully lower his guard and lean down.

yet instead of your lips, he presses a kiss on your forehead. the butterflies set flight anyway and you’re not complaining as you giggle to yourself.

and that’s when the shutter goes off.

“wha-” you blink once, lips forming an ‘o’ at the unexpected steal shot and seokjin stepping back five steps.

“love… you… to… the… moon… and… back…” seokjin glances at you and your heart stops.

“seokjin… this isn’t fair, you know how hard it is for me to get off the bed… this-this is descrimination against pregnant women! descrimination!” you fumble on your words but a sly smirk curls on seokjin’s lips.

“and post.” he taps the screen once.

ten minutes later, you’re sighing as your phone dings with notification and the red bubble at the bottom of your phone keeps increasing in number. “love you to the moon and back? i would never say something so cheesy.”

“you do though,” he points out as a matter or factly from where he was sitting before you took the picture.

the picture that he took shows his full side profile with his eyes shut while a smile graces your lips. even you can’t deny that it looks like a tranquil, loving moment perfectly captured in a single photograph. and it did give off the mysterious fiance slash baby daddy vibe you were going for in your last post. so you’re less angry.

ever since getting together, you’ve kept your private life underwraps from the eyes of your followers and friends. only posting pictures of yourself here and there with shopping bags of gucci, dior, chanel and every other high end brand in myeongdong.

once you and seokjin decided to try for a baby and once you found out you’re pregnant, you’ve been posting pictures in loose dresses or pictures of before your pregnancy.

and though he follows you, seokjin doesn’t really mind. you suspect it’s because he trusts and loves you enough not to worry about the men that occasionally flood your dm’s which you just ignore.

but you didn’t expect posting a quarter picture of him in a hospital room with your swelling belly would make him act so—so childish.

and he’s probably aware of it too which is why he’s keeping his distance from you even though the bed is a queen and it’s already 9-something in the evening and you’ve already had dinner.

“daddy, jimin’s asking you to sing him a lullaby.” you pout and you know that’s all it takes for the constant tapping sound to cease as he looks up at you through his glasses, ponders for the longest moment as he studies your expression and lets his shoulderline sag.

“if mommy promises not to slap daddy,” seokjin’s normal voice is oddly tantalizing as he joins in on your childish play pretend.

and that’s the exact reason you almost choke on your own spit and try to calmly giggle, cheeks heated, “why would i do that?”

“who knows? because you’re mad?” he suggests, a smile suavely curling on his beautiful pink lips.

“did you do something to make me mad?” you bite your bottom lip as you watch the man crawl onto the bed like a beast about to devour his predator.

“no,” he shakes his head, chuckling to himself, “i didn’t do anything.”

you hum. “good answer.”

a pair of the softest lips find yours. you’ve always known kim seokjin’s lips are the prettiest and fullest and softest you’ve ever had the pleasure of getting to know yet they send tingles down your spine each time you kiss them.

and the tingles burst into sparks, shooting all over your body like fireworks, particularly around your hips. and then, your lower abdomen.

you gasp.

the gripping pressure tightens like ghost hands around your belly.

it’s a moment later that your eyes focus on the furrowing man, his lips are moving but you can’t hear him from the rush of blood in your ears and the thundering of your heart.

“the baby’s… coming.” you manage to force out.

seokjin’s eyes widens and he disappears from your line of view as the light in the ceiling seems to get closer and closer but before it engulfs you, silhouettes begin to rush around you.

orders shout out and reports read out as you feel the steel coldness of the stethoscope on your chest. the sounds remain muffled and you reach out for the shadow wearing a blue shirt—the same color you remember seokjin wearing.

yet just as his fingertips graze your palm, they slip out of your grasp and you find yourself underneath a large spotlight, the smell of antiseptic more prominent than ever. it takes a moment for you to realize the shrill drumming in your ears is your own.

only when you clamp your mouth shut do you hear what the man in a mask is saying to you, “ms. hwang, you chose to go through vaginal delivery, we will be administering anesthesia… nod if you can understand me.”

you want to scream at dr. park to ‘fucking give me the epidural already!’ but all you can do is shake your head ‘yes.’

another figure with a hospital suit steps into your vision. they bend down and graze their thumb against your cheek—the tear wiped off on their glove listening dimly.

“s-seokjin,” you almost choke on your word, “i-it hurts.”

you feel his hand slip into yours, squeezing it softly as he whispers, “i know… and i’m right here for you… for our baby. now, you have to be strong for jimin, okay?”

“ma’am,” another voice on your other side makes you turn to the nurse, “when i say ‘push’, i need you to push as hard as you can. can you do that?”

you nod, nibbling your lips as you feel each throb of your heart pulsating against your entire body.

“one, two, three… push!”

x

blinding lights seem to flood your vision the moment your eyelids flutter open. the heart monitor beeps blearily next to you as your eyes begin to adjust to the luminescence of the sun rays.

“morning, sunshine,” the voice that greets you also happens to be the same man that leans down and presses a kiss on your temple.

“is it really morning?” you rub your eyes, reaching around for your phone but find nothing as square-shaped and slick that could be phone-passing.

the slightest movement is what makes the pain shoot straight up your spine and spread across your lower back down to your legs. you hiss involuntarily.

“hey,” seokjin whispers, “how are you feeling?”

“like my pussy just got t—” you begin but stop short when you hear the smallest coo coming from seokjin’s folded arms, swaddled up in a light blue blanket, “oh.”

you feel yourself melting into a puddle right then and there as seokjin lowers the bundle into your arms.

“he’s gorgeous,” you murmur, careful and quiet so as to not wake up the slumbering little bundle of joy that’s wrinkling his little nose as his mouth moves like he’s nibbling on invisible food.

you never thought a human can be this tiny.

“he has your nose,” the bed dips as seokjin sits on the side of the bed, his body warmth seeping into your pores.

“he has your lips,” you feel a smile curve on your own lips, “it’s nice to finally meet you, little bun.”

said little bun stretches his little fingers for the longest moment before he settles in between your breasts.

“he has your attitude,” seokjin comments, bringing his index finger to the baby’s tiny hand and chuckling when he wraps it around his finger.

you gasp, gazing up at seokjin with the most offended expression, “i’m funny, mind you.”

“mhm, yoongi would disagree,” he helps you put jimin back in the see-through cradle next to your bed.

“yoongi is like… the most humorless person i’ve ever met.”

“mhm.” seokjin returns to your side, plopping next to you and fluffing up the pillow underneath you.

“anyways,” you wave a dismissive hand, “did you get the video?”

“oh,” he cringes for the shortest moment and masquerades it with an innocent smile, “my phone’s charging.”

you narrow your eyes at him. one. two. thr—

“okay, here.” he pulls out his phone from his pocket that’s supposed to be ‘charging’ and hands it over to you.

you don’t even have to ask for his passcode because it’s 5-5-5-5. whether kim seokjin is practical or unbothered, you’re not sure. the sound of shrills flood through the speaker but it’s nowhere as bloodcurdling as the actual moment in time when you were going through it.

a gasp escapes your mouth as your eyes are glued to the screaming woman with beads of sweat trickling down her forehead, sunken cheeks and bags underneath her eyes as her chest heaves up and down while she holds her newborn.

so it turns out your ‘delivery makeup’ got washed off by you when you found out yesterday’s incident was a false alarm. and you didn’t actually get enough time to put on makeup last night because you got rolled to the emergency room.

and now you have this mess of a birdhead and almost-dead looking version in the video to commemorate your first child’s birth.

“i look ugly,” you begin to sob—they warned you about the raging hormones during your pregnancy but nothing could prepare you for the onslaught of tears from the cementing fact that you’ll never be able to recreate what’s supposed to be the most beautiful moment of your life.

“you looked stunning,” seokjin says from next to you, pushing your hair to the back of your ear.

“then why did you try to stop me from watching?” you glare.

you expect seokjin to freeze up. lose his words and maybe look away. but he doesn’t. instead, he meets your gaze as though you’re the truth he’ll whisper in your ears over and over again.

the hand that slips under yours is warm. and the lips that kiss your knuckles are feather light, “you are beautiful and i know you know that too, but sometimes you tend to forget that. and when i say you’re beautiful, you’d look at me dead in the eye and tell me ‘i know’ like it’s an insult—but you’re beautiful for me because your heart is a vast ocean of love and you’re beautiful to me because you’re unbelievably strong… in between pushes, your hand would feel so small and weak like it’d slip out of mine but then you start pushing again and your eyes… they start lighting up like the force of the gods are behind you and you keep going even though it looked like you were at your limit… and you went at it for eight straight hours… how can i call you anything but beautiful?”

silence lulls in the room as seconds trickle by like the sands of time.

you’re lost in those dark abyss of wonders which is ironic because is it any wonder at all, kim’s seokjin’s love for you, that is?

“that was so cheesy,” you let out a sigh as the first tear hit your cheek, “you need to stop making me cry like this.”

“is it my fault that you’re such a crybaby?” seokjin chuckles softly, wiping the tear away with his thumb like he did in the emergency room, “i guess, jimin needs a cry buddy anyway.”

that’s when the waterworks start. you smack seokjin’s chest in protest of his teasing for being your son’s cry buddy. and all he does, is gather you in his arms and chuckles but the jokes end there as he draw circles on your shoulder while you weep and cry and sob.

but then your mother bursts into the room, “oh my baby! you did so well.” she cups your cheeks in her palms and coos.

“why are you crying? why is she crying?” she notices the redness in your eyes that you couldn’t wipe away no matter how hard you rubbed when you spot her signature fur coat fluttering into the room.

“mom,” you choke on your chuckle while seokjin attempts to slip off the bed to greet your parents but stopping mid-action pulls you tighter to his chest, “i’m just happy.”

your mother’s gaze melts, her head tilting to the side ever so slightly.

“happy.” she echoes and then nods, “you do look happy.” but then her gaze falls on the man you’re snuggling into, “you still have a long way to go, boy.”

“i won’t disappoint you, auntie.” seokjin nods with ease, the name slipping out of his mouth effortlessly.

your mother seems to freeze for the shortest moment before she clears her throat, “ah-auntie,” she laughs sheepishly, “don’t be ridiculous, what would people think if you call your soon-to-be mother-in-law ‘auntie’? call me mother.”

“yes, mother,” seokjin smiles with an easy, practiced smile.

your mother clears her throat again, “where’s my grand—oh, oh, he looks like an angel.” she coos when she spots the little bundle of joy in his crib behind her.

“i’m glad you’re safe,” your father squeezes your hand.

you don’t miss the nod he gives to seokjin and the way the latter nods back—as if forming a wordless understanding—before he turns to stand next to your mother who’s cooing over your son.

auntie kim, whom you didn’t notice was also there, overshadowed by your mother’s exuberance, takes a seat on your bed while she gives way for her soon-to-be in-laws to have their share of their grandchild.

she sighs gently, “i got a new place…” she trails off, not mentioning the long arduous process of divorce with uncle kim but you and seokjin know what she means even as she forces a half-hearted smile, “you kids should visit some time. it has a backyard… maybe jimin can come and play there when he gets older.”

“we will, mother,” you put on your best grin.

that seems to help as she nods mechanically, the unspoken apology seems to restrain her from saying more. yet that would be a story for another time. she pushes herself up, but instead of going to meet her grandson that’s making little unappreciative noises from the disturbance, she goes to sit on the couch, probably not wanting to overcrowd the crib.

and in that moment,you realize, happiness doesn’t always come in the form of a glass slipper and a prince charming who comes to return it to you. sometimes, they come in kim seokjin-sized with his warm hugs, broad shoulders and arms that wrap around you like a blanket of security, surrounded by your favorite people in the world and the best blessing you could’ve ever asked for from the gods and the universe—a family to call your own.

fin.

x

note. and that’s all for this fic! do consider liking and reblogging if you like it <3