#or spend forever explaining the tiniest details of it to paint the picture as well as a basic close-up could

[devondespresso]

the great thing about writing fanfiction is that i can almost do whatever the hell i want. the downside is that i can't just cut to joe keery making That Sad Face whenever the hell i want :(

[moon-lixie]

"Were you this touch deprived?" The amusement could be easily missed in between the calm of your voice that threatened to melt under his fingertips.

"Yes," he answered immediately, no time for thinking needed, "when it comes to you I'm always touch deprived, I can never get enough of you."

word count: 1.970k

genre: fluff, Hyunjin x gn reader.

song: Wrong About Forever - Jeff Bernat

Every great waltz has its spins that make you feel like you're flying as the music pushes you further, Hyunjin wasn't a stranger to this concept, nor was he ignorant to the part in which the two people dancing move apart, stretching their arms as far apart as physically possible while their hands stay clasped together.

He, more than anybody, knew what it was to dance, to give yourself to music and get lost quicker than he could even realise.

What he wasn't familiar with were the matters of the heart, at that he had always been clumsy and hesitant, comparing love to a dance.

That's exactly why he could never understand when you walked away; his mind couldn't wrap itself around the concept of you leaving for good, in his heart there was always hope for a last dance.

Your face was carved into his memory, he could draw your every feature down on paper as easily as he could dance with his eyes closed.

Loving you wasn't a rational decision, it was an impulse, something he had grown to adore despite the difficulties it brought along.

The music filling the room suddenly faded, leaving behind the thrumming of his heart reverberating in his eardrums.

He had to admit there was always a bitter taste when that moment arrived, his body not being able to push any further and the music coming to an end.

If it was his decision then he would spend every second of his life doing the things that he loved, without the need of a break, without knowing what an ending meant.

But wishful thinking only ended up hurting his heart, bruising it carelessly as if he wasn't the type to hope on behalf of the entire world.

With a loud exhale he allowed himself to relax, shoulders loosening and eyes opening slowly, as if rushing through the process would be a mistake.

The first thing he saw was his reflection, the rolled sleeves of his shirt, hair clamped together on the front of his face because of his effort, lips parted and chasing an extra breath.

His surroundings were one of those places that gave comfort due to the long time it had been the background of his happiness, his passion for what he did had been sprawled all across the room.

Dragging his feet across the wooden floor, he scrambled to gather his things, barely remembering to grab his phone that had been discarded on the couch when he arrived if it hadn't been for the light buzzing sound coming from it.

The device loomed like a threat over his heart, having the ability to mend everything or put an end to one of those things he loved with an inimaginable fervor.

An unseen message had been sent in blue, waiting impatiently despite not being the first one sent between the both of you.

You had contacted him first; after two weeks of radio silence you had sent four words his way, typical of you.

'Can I call you?' It was unknown to him how long he had spent staring at the dark screen, forcing his eyes to trace the eleven characters that shaped your unorthodox way of asking for forgiveness.

Forgiveness for what? That he no longer knew, perhaps this time you had gotten scared of how ever so well you two worked together and that's why you had decided to walk away, or maybe there was a chance you had just gotten tired of him, again.

The game the both of you played didn't feel like the typical love he saw portrayed in movies but he couldn't find it in him to care, after all, dancing around you had never bothered him in the slightest.

With trembling fingers he had typed an answer, one word, three letters, a simple affirmation.

He tried to be quick, direct and concise; searching the deepest corners of his mind for the answer that could please you the most and immediately regretting the dry response.

But what had been done already wasn't something that should trouble his mind, even if it came to you, the person he craved to have by his side the most.

So, he had abandoned the mobile as soon as he stepped foot in the dance studio, leaving it screen against the couch in hopes that would soothe his anxious heart if only for long enough to enjoy his dancing.

Now that it buzzed with the call that could be the one he couldn't help but walk cautiously forward and take deep breaths before picking up.

"You're done with dance practice, right?" If he had ever wanted to get high on something, it was your voice, along with every single detail about you.

His lips curled into a satisfied smile. "Oh, so you do remember my number?"

A dry chuckle resonated on the line, forcing his mind to picture the scowl twisting the features of your beautiful face, portraying the guilt you never owned up to in front of him.

"Are you free?" Of course you would dodge his comment, but yet again, he couldn't bring himself to care, simply humming in affirmation.

"Okay, then see you in a bit."

Dumbfounded, an amused laugh found its way out of his lips. "Should I know what you mean by that?"

The harmless exasperation painted itself across your every word as you answered. "Do I really need to spell it out for you, Hwang?"

He was inexperienced when it came to love, very much so, but he was an expert when it came to you, always knowing what you meant, what you wanted, the things you needed.

Walking in the direction to your apartment he answered, "I'm afraid yes, I can't know what you mean if you don't explain it, now can I?"

You laughed annoyed, staying in silence for a moment; he couldn't have pushed things far enough yet, he could never, because you happened to love him just as much as he loved you.

"I miss you, okay? Happy now?"

"Very," he said, lips curling in a lovesick grin that shielded him even from the way you abruptly ended the call.

No matter how much you tried to walk away from him, suddenly cutting yourself from his life, you always came back, always stayed in the tiniest of details around him.

Perhaps that had been his mistake, to accept you even with that quirk of getting cold feet, because if only he had stopped it at once then it wouldn't have become a habit, a necessary routine.

But to love is to get tangled so awfully that you can't find your way out, only further falling into the mess of affection and longing.

The two of you just had your special way of working and tackling things, for instance, you hadn't talked to him for half a month and still your spare key remained under the pot of his favourite flower of yours.

Victory grin plastered on, he reached for the metal piece, opening the door of your apartment as if it were his very own home.

Alerted by his steps at the entrance you came to greet him, arms crossed over your chest as if to keep a final barrier between you and the man that owned your heart.

"I missed you too." Was the very first thing he said once he found your eyes staring right at his; it made you smile and he felt accomplished.

"Of course you did." His words melted you in an instant, making you move closer to him and take his hand in yours. "You always do."

And how could he not? How could he bring himself not to miss someone like you? Someone whose mere presence was intoxicating, seeping inside his muscles and veins, putting his being at ease.

Gently, he allowed the pads of his fingers to trace the outline of your nose, your lips, your chin, before leaning in towards you.

A firm hand against his chest stopped him on his track, causing a question to paint his face with confusion.

"You're all sweaty and you stink." You scrunched your nose adorably, as if actually bothered by his smell. "Go take a shower."

"But I want to kiss you first." A pout made his lips stand out, well aware that it sometimes worked wonders with convincing you.

"Nope, no kisses while you're all smelly." And just like that the both of you were back to normal, not caring to drag things for longer than they should with explanations or apologies that fell into deaf ears.

Against your petition he moved forward and embraced you in his arms, suddenly set on stone in making you squeal in complaint.

Moments later dragging you towards the bathroom despite the verbal refusal that didn't match with your eager steps trailing behind him.

Leaving his things forgotten on the entrance along with whatever fear he had harbored in his heart about this time being the time you would leave his side for good, he closed the bathroom door and kissed you.

Your lips felt unfairly soft against his, warm as a blanket that shielded people from every possible unfavorable outcome life could have prepared for them.

Sure hands moving to clasp on the hem of your shirt, slowly moving it upwards the further he got lost into the kiss.

Piece by piece he undressed the both of you until you were down to heart and soul, truths lying bare for eyes to pry and discover the biggest vulnerability in them.

Knowing the place as well enough as his own home, he turned around to set the water into the perfect temperature for the both of you, never cold.

Then he led you like you needed to be held, careful and attentive, eyes never leaving yours in a new attempt to learn every detail embedded in your pupils.

He turned you around, pressing your back against his chest and hugging you close until there was no space in between, his lips finding the way to your shoulder, pressing soft kisses meant to fix any remnants of doubt.

"Were you this touch deprived?" The amusement could be easily missed in between the calm of your voice that threatened to melt under his fingertips.

"Yes," he answered immediately, no time for thinking needed, "when it comes to you I'm always touch deprived, I can never get enough of you."

He couldn't be more honest even if he was asked to testify in court and make a pledge that allowed him to say nothing but the absolute truth, because he loved you with an intensity that sometimes could be mistaken as meek due to it's soft and innocent nature.

Hyunjin loved you the way someone loves something unobtainable, innocent and patiently, willing to wait entire lifetimes for stars to align and give him the pleasure of being in your presence.

Your hands moved to rest atop his where they were clasped together against your bare torso, thumbs escaping to rub soothing circles into your skin.

Trailing kisses up your neck he allowed himself to hope that every one of his touches reverberated with warmth all the way to your heart in the same fashion that yours did to him.

For you he would learn how to love properly, he would even understand to let go if that was what you truly wanted at some point in the future.

"I love you." The words felt like dripping honey as they slipped in between his lips for the very first time.

"I love you too," you answered, not even leaving time for him to panic at the sudden frankness with which his deepest sentiment had been revealed.

For a love like yours, he would always wait, always fight to make things better.

[reciprocityfic]

passing afternoons

title: passing afternoons fandom: little women pairing: theodore laurence x amy march  rating: m summary: ��did you have any dalliances after me?” she asks.

he blinks hard as his brain reels for a moment, as he struggles to comprehend what she’s saying. after her? there is no after her. there never will be.

then, he stops. thinks. she means...oh. oh.

she means after that time in the garden, in paris. when he’d first revealed his feelings for her, and she’d rejected him. left him standing there alone and feeling like an utter, hopeless idiot.

oh.

(laurie and amy spend a late summer afternoon talking about the past.)

author’s note: i've literally shipped laurie and amy since like fourth grade. so when i saw little women (2019) and found out it did my bbs justice, i basically cried. i've been meaning to write fic ever since, but alas, here we are almost a year later. i hope you enjoy it anyways.

i have another fic in the works that's longer and definitely more angsty, which i hope to post relatively soon. i also hope to write more fluff (also maybe smut???) for them in the coming months bc GOD i just love imagining these two together. in the meantime, i hope you enjoyed this!

xoxo, rebekah

passing afternoons

They enjoy being lazy after sex.

They’re not always afforded the opportunity, of course.  At night, they tend to fall asleep rather quickly afterwards, exhausted and sated and tangled together.  And the occasional forbidden interlude - when they’re some party or gathering wholly bland or pretentious and the two of them (sometimes tipsy, sometimes bored, always and perpetually desperate for each other) run off to some dark corner or isolated room where he lifts the skirt of her dress and the too-many layers underneath and uses his body to press hers against the wall as he sinks into her from behind and they pray their moans and the sounds of their bodies together won’t be heard - must be short and altogether swift, no time to dwell in the aura of the sensations and feelings between them.

But then, there are days when Grandfather is occupied with the business and the Marches are busy and they dismiss the servants.  It’s just the two of them in their grand house with time that seems to stretch on and on.  Sometimes they’ll make it a game of sorts, shamelessly flirt and tempt each other to see who will break first, but oftentimes they’ll share a look and a smile and then they’re off in a race to their horizontal surface of choice.

Today is one of those days, when they’ve nowhere to be, nothing to do, and are all alone.  It’s an unusually hot day in late September, and when Amy had complained about the warmth, he’d suggested she take her blouse off.  She’d raised an eyebrow and told him to go first, and then one thing led to another and now they’re naked and sore and satisfied, laying on their bed as the early afternoon sun shines in through their open windows.

He lays on top of the sheets on his back, head at the foot of the bed and hands on his stomach, staring up at the ceiling and trying to find imaginary patterns in swirling paint.  She lays parallel to him, but leans against the headboard, her long blonde hair falling around her face as she sketches him.  He hadn’t seen her take out the pad and pencil she keeps in the dresser near their bed, but he can hear the sound of graphite moving against paper as she draws.  He grins as he imagines her face, lips pursed and brow furrowed, wide green eyes focused and the movement of her hand knowing nothing but purpose even with the most casual of sketches.

They do not touch and do not talk.  Still, the intimacy of the situation - of being together and completely safe and comfortable with the person you love most in the world - is overwhelming.  Its warmth cocoons him, and he feels his eyes getting heavy as he lies there, a breeze blowing in from the open window and caressing his skin.

“You had your many dalliances after Jo, yes?”

His eyes snap open when he hears her question, his stomach lurching slightly and his mood dampening.

He ran away to Europe and drowned himself in alcohol, drugs, and women after Jo broke his heart, and he admits this.  Amy knows it, too.  And it’s not that he’s ashamed of that period of time, exactly - while he wishes he had, indeed, bore it better, he finds himself sympathetic to the plight of people scorned by love, however misguided that love might be.

He just doesn’t often talk about it.  Doesn’t like to.  In his mind and in his heart, it is only Amy.  Has always been, and always will be.

Amy doesn’t really like to talk about it, either.  He finds her inquiry curious, but answers anyway.

“Yes,” he tells her, although the word comes out sounding more like a question than an answer.

He waits for her to explain her line of thought, but she simply hums to herself.  He stares at the ceiling a moment longer, then leans up, resting his weight on his elbows.

She’s staring down at her drawing, her face just as he pictured it, pencil grasped between her lips as she swipes her thumb against the paper.  He watches as she takes the pencil out of her mouth and starts at it again, and he watches her for nearly a minute before opening his mouth to speak.

She beats him to it, though.

“Did you have any dalliances after me?” she asks.

He blinks hard as his brain reels for a moment, as he struggles to comprehend what she’s saying.  After her?  There is no after her.  There never will be.

Then, he stops.  Thinks.  She means...oh.  Oh.

She means after that time in the garden, in Paris.  When he’d first revealed his feelings for her, and she’d rejected him.  Left him standing there alone and feeling like an utter, hopeless idiot.

Oh.

He shifts on the bed, drops his eyes from her face.  He can feel his skin begin to flush from embarrassment.

They’ve never talked about this before.

Not that there’s much to talk about, he supposes.  He still hesitates to tell her - not because he fears she’ll be angry with him, but because he doesn’t like to talk about it.  If it were up to him, he would erase from his mind the memory of every woman he’d ever been with until only his wife remained.

But she’s asked, and he’ll be honest with her.

“One, I suppose,” he murmurs.

“You suppose?” she questions.  She’s still staring down at her artwork, but her pencil doesn’t move.

“Sort of, yes,” he confirms.

She finally looks at him, her eyebrows pulled together and a frown on her face.

“How do you sort of have a dalliance?”

She looks genuinely confused, and he laughs lightly at the crease between her brows, sits up fully and reaches out to her.  He cups her face and uses his thumb to rub at the wrinkle of skin.

“Shall I explain?” he asks her.

She nods.

“I...tried to be angry after you left.  Just think - to be turned down by not just one, but two March girls!” he gasps playfully, and she snickers, pushing against his shoulder playfully before dropping her hand to run over the sparse hair on his chest.

“But?” she prompts.

"But I couldn’t make myself angry.  Not at you.  But I also knew I couldn’t just stay there in France and watch you and Fred Vaughn…”

He makes a noise in the back of his throat, and she rolls her eyes playfully.

“We’re speaking of all your affairs, and you want to tease about Fred?”

“It’s part of my story!” he insists with a wink, and she rolls her eyes again.

“Well, keep telling it.”

He smiles, and continues.

“I couldn’t stay, so I did what you told me to.  I went to London, as you know.  And when I first got there, there was a woman staying at the same hotel as I was.  We got to talking one evening at dinner, and one thing…”

He trails off, feeling himself flush again.

“...led to another,” Amy finishes.  “I understand.  I don’t need the details.”

She’s frowning now, even though her fingers still run over his chest, and he despises it.  He has half a mind to drop the subject, to kiss her lips and make her happy and forget life before, but he can’t.

“Wait, I’m not done.”

“Laurie, I don’t need to hear any more.  You had your dalliance, I’m not upset, and we can stop - “

“I couldn’t do it,” he interrupts.  “It didn’t work.”

She pulls back from him slightly, her eyes wide and curious.  She looks down his body.

“You mean you couldn’t...?”

He follows her gaze, and then snorts.

“Not like that.  It - it didn’t even get to that.  Amy, my dear.”

He lifts her chin, and she gazes at him.  He can tell she’s still confused.

“Every time I closed my eyes,” he explains, “I saw you - the face you made in the garden before you turned away and left.  It broke my heart.  It still breaks my heart.  And when my eyes were open, all I could think about was how her skin wasn’t as soft and her hair wasn’t as fair and her eyes were brown instead of green and she just...wasn’t you.”

“But with Jo...”

“It was different with Jo.  I could make Jo into anyone.  I could always pick out the tiniest thing that reminded me of her, in any woman, and then pretend that woman was her.  I couldn’t...do that with you.  Or maybe I didn’t want to.  In any case, being with that woman didn’t make me forget.  She made me remember all the more.  And I only kissed her for about a minute before I realized it was worthless.”

He stops and grabs one of her hands, brings it to his mouth so he can kiss her fingertips, before holding it over his heart.

“And that’s when I knew that this was different.  You weren’t Jo, and I wasn’t going to be able to just...drink and fuck you away.”

She’d normally gasp and swat him playfully for his use of the coarse word, but now she stays silent and presses her hand more firmly against his chest.

“I was in love with you.  Hopelessly and completely.  And I realized that all I could do was stay in London and toil away and... pray that somehow you would change your mind.”

Then, everything had changed.  Beth died, and then he knew he had to be with her.  It didn’t matter if she despised him, or if Fred was there.  He needed to be with her.  But before that, he had been rather resigned to his fate - to work for his grandfather and forever pine after Amy March.

God had smiled upon him, though.  And now, here he sits with his wife, Amy Laurence.  Married, in love, and happy.

“So does that explain how one can have a single, sort-of dalliance?” he asks her.

But she stares at him, eyes shining, almost with tears.

“You were going to wait your whole life for me?” she whispers.

He smirks slightly, turning away from her and shrugging, somehow embarrassed.  But she grabs his face, turns it back to her, and locks their gazes.

“What else would you have me do, my lady?”

“Oh, my lord,” she breathes, and kisses him deeply, until his toes curl and he can feel himself begin to harden once again.  When she pulls away, they’re both panting.  He wants to grab her, to gather her up in his arms again, but her pad and pencil remains between them.

He motions to the picture.

“Still working on that, Raphaella?”

“Maybe later,” she remarks, taking the paper and all but throwing it on the floor beside the bed.  She pushes him back so he’s laying once again, and climbs on top of him, straddling his waist.  “I have another idea how we can pass time this afternoon.”

She leans down and kisses his smiling mouth.

Yes, God had smiled upon him.  Had given him back his love.  And he’s married, in love, and happy.

Achingly happy.

[kimvtae]

Drag Me Down (To Hell) | 01

↬ Summary: There’s a darkness to your city, a murderous underbelly filled with crime and deceit that you’ve sworn to avoid at all costs. But the universe has funny ways of forcing your involvement in the form of a notorious mob boss and his young daughter. ↬ Pairing: Jeongguk x reader ↬ Genre: mafia!au ↬ Rating: Mature (for themes; subject to change in later chapters) ↬ Word Count: 7.770

Part 02 - Part 03 - Part 04 - Part 05

Trapped on the cusp of dreams and reality, you can almost imagine your phone isn’t ringing beside you. In your dream, you’re running. Running away from something faceless, but large, and for a good second you’re able to think the ringing is your screaming, but when your screaming stops and the ringing does not, you force one eye open through the haze of sleep and reach for your phone.

It’s not on the table next to your bed, so when it stops ringing you think you’re in the clear, flopping back onto bed, but then it starts up again, and you curse loudly. The phone’s hidden in your sheets by your hip, and before you can even get the device to your ear, your brother is speaking.

Or rather, spitting, “What the fuck are you doing?”

You snort, trying to bury your face into your pillow. “What a wakeup call, Taehyung.”

“Sorry.” He sounds angry, but you pay it no mind. Taehyung leads with his emotions, acting first and thinking second. If something’s worked him up, he’ll confront the problem as quickly as possible, as is made evident by his call at- six in the goddam morning, what the hell? “Good morning, love. Sleep well?”

“Until now? Yes.”

“And you call me rude,” Taehyung laughs. “Happy now? What the hell are you doing?”

You thank any lucky stars there may be that you don’t have any classes today, and can hopefully sleep again after you finally calm Taehyung down. “Elaborate.”

“You’re getting a job?”

You sigh into your pillow before sitting up, holding the phone in your lap for the time being. You knew there was no way to hide this recent development from Taehyung, what with how close the two of you have always been and how often he stops by your apartment, but hey, a girl can dream. But you’re tired of Taehyung paying your rent, of Taehyung paying for your classes while you mutter that you’ll pay him back when you can. You refuse to ask where the money comes from- knowing Taehyung’s involvement in… less than legal activities. You don’t ask, and Taehyung doesn’t tell. It’s a system that’s worked well for years.

“Taehyung,” you begin, pulling the phone back to your ear. “How did you even-?”

“I’m outside, let me in.”

You roll your eyes, hanging up on Taehyung before pulling a hoodie on and making a quick pit stop to the bathroom. Brother or not, you do not answer the door with morning breath. Plus, it was fun to make Taehyung wait. Despite it only being a few minutes, you see him tapping his foot and checking his watch through the peephole when you check. He had a key- the apartment was under his name, after all. You appreciate it, but wish he’d at least asked to be buzzed into the building.

“Tae,” you say after opening the door. “Why are you here?”

“Why are you getting a job?”

No preamble. You make a face like a wounded pup, but Taehyung doesn’t budge. His hair is bright red now, a change from the warm brown it had been when you saw him last week, but that appeared to be the only change. Shoulders still square, eyes still sweeping the room when he thought you weren’t looking, face the picture of innocence and ease, but eyes revealing snippets to the hardships he’s experienced. He doesn’t know, but you see the way his wide, warm gaze dulls when he’s not speaking animatedly to you.

You lead him to the couch, sitting on crossed legs while Taehyung sits on the coffee table. The coffee table he bought you for your last birthday. You want coffee and a nap but Taehyung’s staring at you expectantly, and you know there’s no way out of this conversation.

“I’m tired of being a burden to you,” you explain.

Taehyung’s expression immediately softens and he reaches for your hands, holding them between both of his. “Y/N, love, you’ve never been a burden to me. It’s my choice how I spend my money, and I choose to spend it on you.”

“But it’s been years, Taehyung,” you say, very consciously trying to keep a whine out of your tone. “You’ve been doing it for years. I can’t rely on you forever. I’m in my last year, Tae, I need to be able to provide for myself. Or were you planning on paying for my graduate school, too?” Taehyung perks up at your first mention of graduate school, and you quickly shake your head. “If I do go, you’re not allowed to pay.”

“Love, you know I don’t want you working.”

You roll your eyes, a familiar annoyance working its way onto your features. You weren’t thirteen years anymore, relying on Taehyung for every little thing you ever needed. You couldn’t let him keep doing this. Taehyung had brushed away your attempts to talk for years, but he couldn’t keep doing it now.

“It’s not like I’m joining the mob, Tae,” you tease, watching the way Taehyung’s eyes darken. “Just answering a flyer I found to be a nanny. Some picky rich dude in need of a nanny for his bratty kid, or so it sounds. Says he’ll pay well.”

Taehyung sighs, knowing that with how stubborn both of you are, the conversation won’t move forward without one of you giving up just the tiniest bit of control. He rubs at his temples and asks, “Name?”

“Park Jeongguk.”

Taehyung startles upright, staring at you so seriously that you jerk back, his name in question on the tip of your tongue. “Did you say Jeongguk?”

“Yes?”

“Show me the damn flyer, Y/N.”

You’re hesitant to leave Taehyung alone fuming silently in the living room, so you hurry to grab the flyer from where you’d shoved it in your backpack. Taehyung all but rips it from your hands when you return to the room, scanning it quickly and then in more detail as you wait, knowing exactly what the paper says from how many times you’d read it.

Help Wanted Nanny with flexible schedule and good experience with children Available most nights and weekends For more information contact Park Jeongguk

“You’ve called him already?” Taehyung asks, still not looking at you.

“Of course.”

“When’s the first meeting?”

“This afternoon.”

“I’ll drive you.”

“What-?” You watch as Taehyung crumples the paper in his fist, thanking yourself for your hindsight to write down the number already. “No, Taehyung. I don’t need a damn chaperone to meet a prospective employer. I’ve had a job before.”

“For a week, Y/N.”

“Because you made me quit!” You take a deep breath to calm the irritation coursing through you, closing your eyes as you breathe. The last thing you wanted to do was fight with Taehyung. He fidgets where he sits, likely feeling the same way as you. The worst fight the two of you had ever had was when you were fourteen and Taehyung was almost twenty-one, and he’d given you a curfew. Out of spite you hadn’t returned home that night, and Taehyung had walked around the neighboring blocks until the morning. “Listen, Taehyung. I love you, but you need to let me do this on my own. You don’t have to be responsible for me anymore.”

Something in Taehyung’s face breaks a little bit, his lips curling into a frown. “I still don’t like this.”

“I know,” you say, standing to press a kiss to the top of Taehyung’s head. “But it’s my life, Tae. Now, do you have somewhere to be, or can we watch the last episode of that drama you promised me a couple weeks ago?”

On the subway later that afternoon you can’t help but think about what Taehyung had said. You don’t want to, but once the tiny seed of worry has been planted in your gut, it takes everything you have not to let it grow into something more. A quick search on Park Jeongguk had only revealed him to be a young CEO of a law firm in Gangnam, no Facebook or social media to try and stalk. Taehyung still wasn’t happy that you were doing this and had made you promise to call him the second you left the meeting, and as the subway pulls into the stop closest to the address you were given over the phone, you were almost as nervous as Taehyung had been.

Your stomach is in knots by the time you’re approaching the house. It’s secluded, the nearest houses a good hundred or so meters away. The driveway is long; the house was expansive and expensive looking, more like an estate than anything else. There are pillars lining the front of the house, a porch wrapping around the front and side, stones clean and precise in their placement. It’s bigger than any other house you’ve ever been near, and as you stand before the front doors, your nerves kick into high gear.

Steeling your resolve, you knock three times with the ornate knocker on the right door. You were an adult, dammit. You weren’t going to back out on a prospective job just because your brother was overprotective and a little irritable.

The door opens smoothly without any noise, a young man with parted brown hair standing in the opening. He looks you up and down, cocking his head to the side without a word, his suit pressed and so dark that it almost didn’t look black.

“Name?”

“Y/N Y/LN,” you say. “I’m here about the nanny position?”

The man nods and opens the door wider. “Follow me. He’s expecting you.”

The inside of the house was even more spectacular than the outside. The tall walls were covered neatly with elegant paintings and tapestries, the marble floor shiny enough to see yourself in the reflection. The man doesn’t take off his shoes on the mat behind the door, so you don’t either, the heels of your boots clacking awkwardly against the floor. A spiral staircase leads from the foyer to the second floor, and you pass a small family room, a small kitchen, and a larger kitchen as the man leads you to a moderately sized living room.

Who you assume to be Park Jeongguk is sitting on the couch, one leg perched on the other as he reclines with a drink in hand. He’s looking over a piece of paper, and you’re a little surprised to see a mess of toys and books on the floor, building blocks and puzzle pieces littering the coffee table that likely costs more than your entire tuition. The mess looks incredibly out of place in the immaculate home, but Jeongguk doesn’t seem to mind. The windows behind Jeongguk span the entire wall, and from where you stand in the doorway you can see in the fading light that the backyard was large and closed off.

Jeongguk himself looks like the perfect image to complete the picture, relaxed in slacks and a button down, he’s almost too immersed to realize you were there. His black hair falls into his face and obscures most of his features until Jimin clears his throat and he looks up. His face, at first glance, almost looks soft, but there’s an underlying hardness you recognize from Taehyung’s features. Smooth skin and a nose that sits a little big for his face, Jeongguk was undoubtedly handsome. Now if only he wasn’t giving you the same scrutinizing once over that the man next to you had.

“Miss Y/N, I presume?” Jeongguk asks.

“Just Y/N is fine.”

“Just Y/N.” Jeongguk smiles. “Come join me, Y/N. Jimin. You’re excused.”

Jimin salutes with two fingers against his forehead before leaving the room. You carefully walk around the mess of toys on the floor to sit on the opposite end of the couch as Jeongguk, the leather only giving a little bit as you sit. Jeongguk looks at the paper in his hand again, a careful smile on his lips.

“Y/N. Tell me a little about yourself.”

You recount the speech you’d spent the subway ride perfecting, telling Jeongguk that you were in your final year of university, about to graduate with a degree in economics, even though you weren’t sure exactly of your plans for graduation. You tell him about your schedule and mention that you’re available anytime you don’t have class, and fudge the truth a little bit when you say you have a lot of experience with children. You used to babysit for a neighbor when you were young, but it was only a few times. Though it couldn’t be that hard to be a nanny, right? As long as you’ve got a motherly instinct, or whatever.

“Why do you need a nanny?” You ask, after running out of things to say about yourself.

Jeongguk looks a little taken aback at the question, setting his empty glass on the coffee table next to a crude drawing of what you think is a monkey. “My work is very time consuming, Y/N, and I don’t like the idea of Surin spending her time alone. Lord knows she can’t keep growing up in the hands of Jimin and T-”

“Surin?”

“My daughter.” Jeongguk blinks. “Did I forget to mention her name?”

The tension breaks just a little bit when you laugh, nodding animatedly. “Yes, Mister Park, you did.”

“Oh,” Jeongguk chuckles, the laugh sounding almost forced. “Well, Surin is my daughter.”

“How old is she?”

“Five.”

“Ah, that’s a really good age.”

Jeongguk tilts his head. “Is it?”

“Yeah, everyone automatically loves five year olds.”

This time, Jeongguk’s laugh sounds genuine. “Yes, I suppose they do.” He hands you the paper he had been looking over, a quick glance proves it to be a report card with the name Park Surin printed at the top. But it’s the report card of a young child, and everything’s marked with checks and check pluses. Surin has mostly check pluses. “She’s very intelligent already. I hope that’s taking after me.”

“With a lawyer for a father I wouldn’t be surprised,” you say, watching the way Jeongguk’s smile hardens instantly. “So…?”

Jeongguk takes the paper back. “If you accept the job, Just Y/N, I’ll mostly need you on the weekends. Weekdays only if I have to go out of town. More often than not I’ll require you to stay the night. You’ll be responsible for picking Surin up from school a few days, if possible, serving her dinner and ensuring she gets to sleep at a proper time.”

“Regular babysitter stuff.”

Jeongguk’s expression is impossible to read as he stares at you, folding the paper into a little square to tuck it into his breast pocket. “I suppose. One thing I should mention, Y/N, is that I employ several men for security. There will be a code on the door and you’re responsible for making sure it is locked every night. Anyone you see patrolling the grounds are likely my men, but if you see anything that appears to be out of place, don’t hesitate to mention it to me.”

“Security?” Sure, the estate was grand and expansive, but you hardly thought that warranted more than a sturdy fence and a high quality alarm system. But actual men securing Jeongguk’s home everyday? That seemed a little excessive.

“In my line of work, Y/N, people are often unhappy with results,” Jeongguk says slowly. “And the last thing I want is a client coming after my daughter. I hope you can understand that.”

“I do.”

“Would you like to meet her?”

The change in conversation is so sudden it has you reeling, staring at Jeongguk’s amused expression for a few seconds before you remember there is a child in need of a nanny. “Yes, of course.”

“She’s in her room. Follow me.”

Jeongguk leads you across the first floor to a long hallway and stops in front of the third door on the right. There’s a piece of paper taped to the wood, Surin’s name written in scrawling handwriting, a picture of a little girl and a taller man drawn in stick figures. They’re holding hands. You think it’s absolutely adorable until you notice the tree in the background appears to be on fire. What the fuck.

Jeongguk knocks twice on the door as he opens it, gesturing for you to enter. Surin’s on her bed, writing in a notebook she has perched on her legs. She doesn’t startle when you sit on the edge of her bed, but she sighs and looks up, and you’re startled by the resemblance she shares with Jeongguk. Of course, she’s his daughter so she was bound to look like her father, but you weren’t expecting to see Jeongguk almost entirely in her features. Her eyes are round and expressive, wide and open whereas Jeongguk has clearly learned to school himself. Where Jeongguk’s eyes are a warm brown, Surin’s are a deep blue, and her nose is a little slimmer than Jeongguk’s, but the stark black hair and roundness to her face are all his. She twirls her pen with her fingers, the action a little awkward.

“Who are you?” Surin asks, voice high and breathy.

“My name’s Y/N,” you say, exaggeratedly holding out your hand. Surin eyes it for a moment before her lips turn up into a grin that matches her father’s. She shakes your hand, and you take it as a good sign. “What’re you working on?”

“I’m writing my story,” Surin says, snapping the notebook shut.

“Your story?”

“Well,” she giggles. “Any story I think of.”

“Oh? Can I see?”

“No!” Surin laughs, excitedly climbing onto her knees. “Do you like birds?”

You blink, caught off guard once again. You’ve forgotten how quickly little kids change the subject, how quickly they get distracted by their own thoughts and everything they need to make sure they say. “Um, yes? I like birds.”

“Me, too. But daddy won’t let me get one.”

“That’s no fun,” you say, pouting along with Surin. “Do you have any pets?”

“No. I have a toy panda! I want a real panda but daddy says that’s un… unrealschick.”

“They are endangered, after all.”

“What’s endangered?”

Surin ultimately isn’t interested in your answer; instead she grabs your hand and leads you to her closet, which looks bigger than your bathroom back at your apartment. She requests help reaching the coloring books on one of the higher shelves in the closet and you soon find yourself sprawled out on the floor beside her, her hair falling over her shoulder as she colors and tells you which colors to use on which pictures.

“Who’s that?” You ask, breaking a long silence to point at the stick figure Surin had added into a picture of a multi-colored fish.

“Daddy. He missed the trip to the aquarium.” It is a blessing and a curse of childhood that Surin does not sound bitter at all that her father hadn’t been able to attend a trip with her. “Do you draw, eonnie?”

“A little,” you confess. “I took a drawing class in school, but nothing more than that.”

“Can you draw me? As a superhero?”

“I can try.”

Surin’s questions come rapid fire after that as she asks you about your favorite songs and movies, if you like dresses or going to the park. Each time you answer, her expression seems to light up further, and it warms something in your chest to watch the little girl on the floor smiling because of you. Eventually, as Surin’s giggling uncontrollably at a lame joke you tell, there’s a knock on the door, and you turn to see Jeongguk standing in the doorway.

“Daddy!” Surin’s off the floor in record time, skipping across the room to launch herself into Jeongguk’s waiting arms where he’s kneeling to accommodate her height. He lifts her effortlessly, pressing chaste kisses to her nose and cheeks as she squeals happily. “Where were you!”

“Paperwork,” Jeongguk says. His expression is so heartbreakingly fond you have to resist the urge to look away. “Did you have fun with Y/N?”

“Yes!” She grabs Jeongguk’s cheeks, leaning back to look very seriously into his eyes. Jeongguk quirks a brow as she whispers as well as a young child can. Which means you hear every word from where you’re still kneeling on the floor. “I like her, daddy.”

“I’m glad. Go find Jimin in the study, sweetheart. He’ll get you ready for bed.” Surin doesn’t go before she gets a few more kisses from her father, waving goodbye to you once she’s on her feet again. When she’s out of sight, Jeongguk turns to you again, smile no longer fond but still kind. “She’s never warmed up to a caretaker that quickly. I take it things went well?”

“She’s a very sweet girl.”

“Yes,” Jeongguk ducks his head. “So what do you say, Y/N?”

It doesn’t take much time to think everything over. “When’s the trial run?”

“This weekend. I’ll be out of town on business in Daegu and will need you to spend the weekend with Surin.”

“Okay,” you say, nodding slowly. “Okay. What time do you want me here?”

Jeongguk looks remarkably relieved. “No later than four in the afternoon this Friday.”

“Okay.”

You follow Jeongguk back the way you came, catching sight of Jimin in a bathroom helping Surin brush her teeth, and the sight of Jimin, who looks like he’s made entirely out of muscle, whisper-singing a song about brushing teeth to a giggling little girl nearly has you snorting in the middle of the hallway. But when you pass the living room and notice how dark it’s gotten outside, time lost to you while spending time with Surin, your smile falls almost instantly.

“Shit,” you murmur, catching Jeongguk’s attention. He looks at you over his shoulder as you approach the front door. “It’s this late already?”

“I can have one of my men drive you back, if you’d like.” Jeongguk offers, frowning. A small crease appears between his brows when he frowns, you notice.

“No, no, that’s alright. I’ll just take the subway. My brother will be worried but I’ve gotten home on worse nights.”

“Your brother,” Jeongguk echoes. He hands you a small business card, nothing more than Park Jeongguk, CEO and his number printed in glossy ink. “Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer a ride?”

“No,” you say again. “I’ll see you this Friday, Mister Park.”

“Jeongguk-ssi or oppa is fine.”

“Goodnight, Mister Park.”

On the subway ride home you almost forget to call Taehyung, dialing his number a few stops away from your apartment. He demands to know everything about the meeting, and only relaxes once you relay everything and promise you have nothing more to tell.

“Are you gonna take the job?” Taehyung asks.

“Yeah, I am.”

From: Mr. Park [12:08] I’ll leave the list of emergency numbers on the fridge Along with bedtime procedures and such The code to the security system will be given to you on Friday Have a good week.

To: Mr. Park [14:41] Sounds good. Tell Surin I say hi

When you arrive at Jeongguk’s estate on Friday, the driveway is bustling with cars and men and women, dressed either in black and grey suits or in black pants and fitted sweaters. They’re all moving between the cars, packing boxes of supplies and long cases. Honestly, wouldn’t Jeongguk only need a briefcase and a few extra copies of the files for whatever case he was working on?

You recognize Jimin standing at one of the vans, speaking to a man with dark grey hair and a bitter expression. The man looks downright mean, and you drop your gaze as you pass.

“Oh, Y/N.” Jeongguk stands on the porch outside the front door. “You’re early.”

“Good impressions,” you say, mustering a smile.

Jeongguk nods. “You remember everything I sent you?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

“Eonnie!” Surin comes running out of the house, barreling past Jeongguk to come to a stop in front of you. You ruffle her hair, smiling genuinely at the sight of her gap-toothed smile.

“Hey, kid! Ready for our weekend together?”

Surin grins widely, tugging on your arm until you have her perched on your hip, her arms and legs tight around you. She talks animatedly as Jeongguk finishes giving orders to his men, and again you’re wondering why the hell Jeongguk has so many men accompanying him on this trip. You try to pay attention to what Surin’s asking you and saying, counting off on her fingers everything that she wants to do this weekend, but you can’t look away from Jeongguk’s worried expression when he looks over a file.

“All right ladies,” Jeongguk says, once all of the vans were packed and he was the last one standing in the driveway. “I’d best be going now. Surin, be a good girl for Y/N, okay?” Surin nods, holding out her pinky for Jeongguk, and he smiles affectionately as he links his pinky with hers, addressing you while staring fondly at his daughter. “Names are on the fridge, like I said. I don’t allow a later bedtime on weekends, no matter what she says. Got it?”

“Yes, sir.”

Jeongguk shakes his head, presses a lingering kiss to Surin’s forehead when she leans over to him. “I’ll see you Sunday, sweetheart. Y/N.”

You stay in the driveway until Jeongguk’s car, the last in the line, is gone, breathing a sigh of relief once all of the vans disappear out of your vision. Surin’s still talking your ear off, and you’re a little surprised that the tiny girl who appeared so closed off when you met her earlier this week could be this warm and friendly, offering to give you a little tour of the first floor of the house before getting started on playing. She steers clear of Jeongguk’s study and office, claims they’re the boring rooms she only goes in when she knows Jeongguk is alone in them.

It takes a little extra effort and a few texts to Jeongguk to figure out how to properly work the oven in the large, beautiful kitchen, but you eventually figure it out and get Surin seated with a plate of food. She proudly declares that she did all of her homework before you arrived for the weekend, which means movie time in the same living room where you first met Jeongguk. The TV is monstrously huge, but before you allow the movie to begin you help Surin pick up her toys from the floor and put them back where they belong. Surin wants a scary movie, jumping up and down eagerly on the expensive couch as she demands a horror movie, but to save your own weak heart you convince her to settle for an animated classic, one with very, very little horror.

Bedtime is pretty easy, even though Surin does try to talk her way out of a bath. You don’t budge, remembering the list pinned under a butterfly magnet on the fridge, and help Surin to wash out her hair. By the time she’s tucked into bed after three stories, it’s only a little later than her official bedtime, so you consider the night to be successful. As you leave her room, feeling a deep exhaustion on your shoulders that can only come from caring for a tiny human for so many hours, you glance quickly at your phone to find a few messages from Jeongguk.

From: Mr. Park [18:13] No time to call to check in. Everything okay? I’ll assume it is since I haven’t gotten any calls from the fire department. Oh, I forgot to mention. Surin won’t sleep well if she doesn’t have her nightlight. It’s on the dresser by the door. The one shaped like a ladybug. Have a good night.

You duck quickly back into Surin’s room, taking care not to make too much noise as you fumble for the ladybug nightlight on the dresser and press it on, watching as it projects green light in the shapes of different insects onto the ceiling before changing to purple, and then red, and back to green light. Surin makes a happy noise where she’s curled up in bed, and you smile.

To: Mr. Park [18:40] Done! Things are good here. Don’t worry, okay?

You don’t expect a quick reply, and you do not get one. Instead of worrying about it, you pocket your phone and take a quick trip to the bathroom before heading to the front door. It’s been locked since you and Surin entered the house hours ago, but you enter in the security code that had been written on a post-it on the fridge, (with instructions to burn or otherwise destroy the paper after you had the number memorized. The fuck.)

A man stands to the right of the door, visible through the small window there, and you tug your bottom lip between your teeth to avoid making any kind of noise. Jeongguk had said this was normal, that the other figure walking along the driveway was normal. But that didn’t mean you liked it.

A quick scan of the first floor shows a few more people patrolling the outside of the property, mostly stationary figures you could only make out since you were adamantly looking for them. There was a gun slung on the back of the man nearest the glass windows in the living room, and your heart plummets into the bottom of your stomach. The man nods at you. You can’t match the gesture.

Still, you fall asleep almost immediately. Jeongguk had mentioned you were welcome to any of the guestrooms on the first floor, and you choose the first bedroom in the same hallway as Surin’s room, far enough for privacy but close enough to hear if she needed you at anytime during the night. You remember all of the homework assignments you should have worked on that night, and fall asleep with a groan of displeasure.

When you wake up, Surin’s already dressed and sitting in the hallway, leaning against the wall writing in her notebook. You ruffle her hair and she smiles up at you, closing the notebook before you get a chance to sneak a peak.

“Can we make pancakes, eonnie?”

So the morning finds the two of you making pancakes from scratch because there was no mix in the entire walk-in pantry. Surin is the first one to throw the flour, which you retaliate with, of course, and soon she’s screaming happily as she runs around the island and throws handfuls of flour back at you. You end up burning the first few pancakes when Surin stands on the counter to keep tossing flower on your legs, but the ones you serve her earn two thumbs up- the highest form of approval.

It’s, admittedly, a bitch to clean up the kitchen after that. You have to give Surin a quick bath and change before even thinking of tackling the mess. But you refuse to call Jeongguk and ask where his mops and brooms are, unwilling to explain the Great Flour Fight of 2017 to him, and you send Surin to the nearest room with instructions to draw something for Jeongguk.

“Daddy sometimes hires a maid,” Surin says, startling you as you’re wiping down the counters. The kitchen almost looks clean now.

“Oh?”

“Yeah. They don’t go in his rooms or my room and don’t talk much. Daddy hasn’t brought one around for a while.”

You throw away the last of the paper towels and make a note on the paper on the fridge that you aren’t sure where to find more. “Do you like the maids?”

“They’re scary.”

Surin’s gazing out the window when you turn to face her, mouth in a straight line. Maids aren’t supposed to be scary, especially not to a young child. “Surin-”

“Let’s play in the gardens.”

It’s a little cold to be playing outside, spring not quite having warmed the days up yet, but that doesn’t stop Surin from grabbing her coat from the closet and sprinting out the backdoors, her long hair flying wildly behind her. And you play with her, tossing balls back and forth and picking petals off of flowers and try to ignore the fact that there’s a man with a gun on his back standing by the back door. Surin had waved to him on her way out of the house, calling him “Hoseokie-oppa!” as she went. But you didn’t like it. You really, really did not like it.

(That night, a tall man walks through the foyer as you’re locking the house. He winks at you, purposefully holding his pistol behind his back to keep it away from your line of sight, but that doesn’t keep you from taking hours to fall asleep that night.)

Sunday morning Surin wakes you up by knocking loudly on the door to your temporary bedroom. It’s too early in your opinion, even if it is a later hour than you usually wake for classes, and it takes longer than usual for you to shake the sleep from your eyes when Surin comes barreling into your room. She wants to go to the park, so after breakfast and a shower cold enough to shock your senses awake, Surin holds your hand to lead you off the property.

Jeongguk hadn’t said anything about the park, so you don’t bother texting him about it, knowing that the two of you will be home before his business ends this evening. Surin’s clutching her toy panda in her free hand, and it’s chilly and crowded by the time the two of you make it to the park.

“Surin, what’s your panda’s name?”

“Cloud,” she says very seriously.

“Cloud? Why cloud?”

Surin opens the pocket of your jacket to stick Cloud into it, his tiny head poking out at your hip. “It’s what daddy said he would name his puppy.”

With that, she takes off running to the nearest contraption to climb all over, joining a few kids that look about her age. You hover, always a few meters at most away from whatever it was Surin was playing on. Mothers and fathers were sitting on the benches around the playground, speaking and laughing with each other and keeping watchful eyes on their children, and you notice you’re the only one staying close.

“Be careful,” you warn, as Surin’s swinging between bars. She sticks her tongue out at you before hopping down with a surprising amount of grace and cartwheeling over to where you stand.

“Slide the slides with me!”

The slide is cold and hard on your ass, but you don’t refuse when Surin climbs into your lap to slide down the biggest slide. You help her down on her own, and then she’s laughing and screaming loudly when she continues to do it on her own, and the slight prickling sensation on the back of your neck can be easily ignored for laughing along with Surin.

Wait.

You help Surin onto a swing and help by pushing against her back each time she comes close, pumping her little legs to try and get higher. The feeling of being watched doesn’t go away, and every time Surin’s kicking away from you on the swing you glance around the park, feeling your skin break into a cold, uncomfortable sweat, as you search for something out of place.

There.

Almost directly to your left stand two people, a man and a woman, dressed in all black. They’re leaning against a van quite similar to the ones Jeongguk had in his driveway two days before. And it would be easy, so easy to believe they’re a couple of Jeongguk’s men with orders to keep an eye on his daughter, but you catch them staring at you each time you glance over. The man keeps his hand protectively on his hip, as if holding something hidden under his shirt. The woman has a wire disappearing from her ear into the hem of her shirt, and yep. Playtime at the park is over.

“Surin,” you say quietly, although you know the strangers likely can’t hear you. “Surin, it’s time to go.”

“But we just got here!” She protests, whining at you when you bring the swing to a stop. You’ve been here for hours but you don’t have time to argue with a child.

“I know, kid, but it’s cold, yeah? We should get home and get some hot cocoa.” Surin’s eyes light up, and you breathe a deep sigh when she stops putting up a fight. From the corner of your eye, you see the woman take a few steps toward you. Heart pounding and blood boiling deep within your veins, you gather Surin into your arms and turn on your heel. “Okay, Surin. Let’s go.”

An arm closes around your shoulders and unadulterated fear consumes your mind. Shit, that meant there had to be more than two of them. Before you can scream, before you can shield Surin or run to try and put any distance between you and the people, Surin’s grinning widely and squealing happily.

“Daddy!”

The noise you make is not one of relief.

“Hi, princess,” Jeongguk greets Surin. He squeezes your shoulders tightly and presses his nose to your temple. To anyone watching, it almost looks like he’s pressing an affectionate kiss to your cheek. “Don’t say anything that could cause suspicion. You’re right to be scared, and we need to go. Now.”

Your heart doesn’t even begin to settle until Jeongguk has led you to the gates of the park. You don’t try to turn around and glance at the strangers, but you do try to smile as Surin tells Jeongguk about her day at the park and how you promised her hot chocolate. Jeongguk keeps his arm around you the entire time, and though every instinct you have is telling you to shove his arm away and fucking leave, you don’t. You hold Surin even tighter against you and try to calm your breathing.

“You’re not supposed to be home until later,” you hiss, as Jeongguk walks you to a car you recognize. It was a black, nondescript car you remember him taking on Friday afternoon.

“Business ended early.” Jeongguk says. He opens the back door, and you watch as Surin climbs in to sit on Jimin’s lap and talk his ear off, instead. But she grows quiet as you stand outside the car, glaring daggers at Jeongguk. “Be thankful it did, Y/N. How were you planning on diffusing that situation?”

“Bite me,” you spit, finally sitting yourself in the car. Jeongguk sits next to you. The back seats and passenger seat were all empty, and the car ride back to Jeongguk’s estate is unbearably silent, and you sit as close to the middle of your seat as possible, not wanting to touch either Jeongguk or Jimin.

When the car arrives at Jeongguk’s, Surin tugs on his hand on the cobblestones and he kneels to make himself her height. Her voice is quiet when she speaks, and she stares at the ground instead of at Jeongguk’s face. “Y/N-eonnie promised me hot cocoa.”

“Did she?” Jeongguk asks, his voice patient in the way adults speak to children when they’re tense, when things aren’t okay but they can’t alert the child to the situation. He gently pushes flyaway hairs away from her face. “Jimin, take my little girl inside and get her hot chocolate.”

“Do you even have mix, boss?” Jimin asks, rolling his eyes at you as if the two of you were companionable.

Jeongguk says, “Figure it out, Jimin.” And that’s the end of the conversation as Jimin takes Surin’s hand and walks into the house.

There are a few tense minutes of silence, which you ultimately break by saying, “What the actual fuck, Jeongguk?”

“We should speak inside, Y/N.”

His tone leaves no room for compromise, and you begrudgingly follow Jeongguk inside and into his office. It’s not very large compared to the few other rooms you’ve seen, but it has enough room for his huge desk, three comfortable looking chairs, a bookshelf spanning the wall behind his desk, and a plant on the opposite side. It was decorated to look homely, but the entire room seemed cold and unused, and you understand why Surin chooses to steer clear of it.

“Jeongguk, what the fuck?”

Jeongguk fixes you with a flat look, sitting at his desk. “I am your superior, Y/N, it’ll do you good to-”

“I don’t give a shit who you are, Jeongguk. Surin was in danger today and it doesn’t even seem like you care!”

“Of course I care!” Jeongguk spits harshly. “But I know of those men that were in the park today, and know they have no power to hurt my daughter.

“Oh? Is that why you told me I was right to be scared?”

“I never said they were working alone, Y/N.”

The both of you are quiet for a long moment, Jeongguk appraising you. His eyes, which had seemed almost warm a few days ago, were as closed off and controlled as the rest of his appearance. You run your fingers through your hair for something to do. “Is your name even Park Jeongguk?”

“I think you’ll want to be sitting down for this.”

“A mob boss.”

“Y/N-”

“You’re a mob boss?”

“Please-”

“Not only a mob boss, but Jeon Jeongguk. Jeon fucking Jeongguk. The exact person my brother tells me to run from. The guy who rips off heads and serves them to the deceased’s family.”

Jeongguk blinks, gesturing to your chair. You sit again. “Where did you hear that horrible rumor?”

You want to scream. You want to scream and curse and run far, far away from Jeongguk and his house and his ties with countless criminals and dangerous organizations in the underbelly of the city. This was the exact world you never wanted to be a part of, the exact world you’d planned to avoid for your entire life. Yet here you were, sitting in Jeon fucking Jeongguk’s office, sitting in a murderer’s office, while he stared a little desperately at you.

“When were you planning on telling me?”

Jeongguk at least has the decency to look a little sheepish. “None of the previous nannies have ever made it this far.”

“So you were never planning on telling me.”

“There’s no easy way to approach the subject.”

“How about, ‘by the way, I kill people for a living and carry several guns, so if you still want to work for me sign by the dotted line!’”

“Don’t patronize me, Y/N.” Jeongguk says sternly. He reaches into a drawer of his desk and pulls out a metal flash, taking a long drink of it before looking at you again. “Taehyung already-”

“How the hell do you know my brother?”

At this, Jeongguk looks properly taken aback, capping the flash before answering. “Kim Taehyung has been working for me for years, Y/N. He’s one of my most trusted men. I didn’t know he was your brother until he tried to chew my ear out on the drive to-.”

“Were you even in Daegu?”

“Yes.”

Anger, fear, and smidgens of exhaustion flood your body. The day was still young, but all you wanted was to curl into your bed and wipe your memory of the past weekend. “You know what? Goodbye, Jeongguk. I don’t care what the hell Taehyung does, but there’s no way in hell I’m getting caught up in any of this. Lose my number. Goodbye.”

“Wait. What about Surin?” Jeongguk sounds a little desperate, his entire expression cracking into worry and unease.

“Yes, Jeongguk, what about Surin? You have a daughter! You have a daughter and you’re still doing this shit!”

“I don’t make comments on your lifestyle, you don’t need to make comments on mine.”

You snarl, “That’s not the same and you know it.”

Jeongguk is quiet for a long moment, staring at the wall just behind your head. His voice is dangerously controlled when he says, “I need someone to keep an eye on her.”

“Have one of your men do it.”

“I don’t want her being raised by thugs!”

A timid knock on the door breaks the heated silence and breaks the glaring contest you were having with Jeongguk. Before Jeongguk gives the okay or denies access to whoever’s standing outside, the door opens and Surin hesitantly steps inside, holding a piece of paper between her fingers.

“Daddy?”

Jeongguk’s entire demeanor changes in less than the blink of an eye, and all hostility disappears from his eyes as he sits up straighter and smiles at his daughter. “Hi, sweetheart. What’s up?”

“I drew this for you yesterday.”

Surin crosses the room and climbs into Jeongguk’s lap to proudly hand him the drawing. You know it’s the third one she completed yesterday, the picture of Cloud, Jeongguk, and herself standing on what she told you to be the roof of Jeongguk’s house. His eyes soften and he kisses Surin’s forehead several times.

“It’s gorgeous, Surin. Definitely refrigerator worthy.”

Surin beams at her father. “Really?”

“Really, really.” She grabs one of the pens off of Jeongguk’s desk and starts scribbling on the notepad resting at the edge. “Y/N.”

You hadn’t realized you were staring or that your entire body had relaxed immediately upon Surin’s entrance into the office. She was still planted on Jeongguk’s lap, still mumbling happily to herself. You force your smile off of your lips. You know what you should say, you know the answer you need to give, but it is not the answer that rings around the room.

“Only call me when you need someone to watch Surin. Not for anything else.”

Jeongguk’s face floods with relief, and it makes him look substantially younger. Almost like a stressed father. “Thank you, Y/N. Thank you so much.”

“I’m not doing this for you,” you mutter. “Goodbye, Surin. Mister Jeon.”

“Wait, Y/N, your pay-”

“Give it to Taehyung,” you say bitterly. “You’ll be seeing him before I do.”

You leave without another word, almost sprinting out of the estate and down the streets leading to the subway. You have no plans for the rest of the afternoon but you’re shaking by the time you get back to your apartment, whether with anger or fear, or simply because it’s cold and you’d forgotten your things at Jeongguk’s place, you weren’t sure. But you were absolutely, without a doubt, sure of how you were going to murder Taehyung the minute you saw him next.