#sorry !!! i need attention ive been mindless all day

[chiistarri]

do i want her or want to BE her

[floralseokjin]

⤑ made-up love song vii (m).

Your first encounter with Kim Seokjin doesn’t go so well, nor your second, or your third… and maybe that’s because it shouldn’t work on paper. You’re an elementary school teacher, never left the country despite hitting the third decade of your life not so long ago, and you’re unable to remember the last time you dated. He’s the dad of one of your students, nearly a decade older than you and divorced. Oh yes, and just another minor detail – he’s a multimillionaire. 

Your lives are lightyears apart, yet somehow, your paths having now crossed, things just seem to fall into place…

pairing; kim seokjin x reader   au/genre/warnings; strangers to lovers, romance, single dad! seokjin, ceo! seokjin, elementary school teacher! oc, age gap (oc is 30, seokjin is 37), seokjin is a dilf, smut; includes jacuzzi (oral) sex, outdoor sex, the angst/drama comes knocking!  words; 8,336

↪︎ chapter index

chapters; i • ii • iii  • iv • v • vi • vii • viii • ix • x • epilogue (+ drabbles)

A few days after Arin’s birthday party school started back, and just as you’d known you got incredibly busy, incredibly fast. With admin and getting to know your new students you found that you were too distracted to dwell on all the things that had been worrying you. Yes, it was strange not being able to see Seokjin practically whenever you wanted, and yes, you missed him – and the summer, but with work so hectic it cushioned the blow. You didn’t have time to live inside your own head or get sad about stupid, tiny things. 

Letting the school know about your relationship wasn’t mandatory now that you weren’t Arin’s teacher, but you felt better for it, meeting with Hoseok one morning to inform him. Eunbi already knew, being quite a close a friend to you, and slowly, over the next few days you let some of the other teachers you were friendly with know too. You found it quite exciting. You’d been single for such a long time so finding yourself in conversations about your boyfriend filled you with a happiness you weren’t quite used to. You liked talking about Seokjin, bigging him up, some could call it bragging… He’d even very kindly donated money for a new playground to be built in the kindergarten area. He wanted to help Primrose Hill any which way he could. It meant a lot to you and his daughter. 

It only took around three weeks to get yourself into a routine. For both of you to find a rhythm and make it work well. Your lunch break wasn’t long enough for you to zip to Seokjin’s office and join him so he always made an effort to come to you. Sometimes you’d eat in his car, sometimes yours, or sometimes you’d meet in a small café near the school. You cherished that short time together because sometimes that’s all you could have. Depending on how busy you both were you often couldn’t spend time together in the evenings. You tried to at least once in the week, but weekends were reserved for things like spending the night. 

It was Tuesday today and you somehow had a night free from lesson planning which meant you could join Seokjin and Arin for dinner. You were glad really, because Seokjin had been stressed since yesterday and you hadn’t had a chance to see him properly. He had to go away on last minute business this weekend but it coincided with Misook’s family vacation. He’d asked Nana if Arin could stay with her this weekend but she was busy too. He didn’t know what to do, other than try and postpone the trip. Key word: try. 

Misook had left for the day just as you were arriving, Arin in her room, too busy playing on the Nintendo Switch she’d gotten from Nana for her birthday, so it gave you some brief time alone with Seokjin. You were shocked to see him still in his suit, sat in contemplation alone in the family room. Oh, boy. You hated seeing him so stressed. He was never one to mope or even show his mood. You knew him well enough by now to be able to tell when he was drained, but he still didn’t let it affect him too much, always smiling, always joking around. This evening was different. He’d barely said a few sentences, mostly it involved apologising for his bad mood. He felt selfish, not being much company, yet still needing yours. He had nothing to be sorry for, you reassured, resting your head on his shoulder and he wrapped his arm around you, holding you close. You reached for his hand, and there you stayed like that for a little while, fingers laced together. 

Arin made her way in soon enough, stomach rumbling, a hopeful lilt to her voice as she walked over to you both, hands behind her back. “Can we have pizza for dinner?”

Seokjin shifted, unlacing your fingers and dropping his arm from your shoulders as you both sat up straighter. “Didn’t we have that yesterday, Arin?”

Arin didn’t miss. She was a professional. “But Y/N wasn’t here yesterday. She missed out.” 

Her comeback even managed to draw a quiet chuckle out of her dad. “We’re not having pizza, sweetie.” 

She sighed softly, crossing her arms around her chest as she looked your way. “Daddy is moody today.” 

You raised an eyebrow, your mouth unable to stop quirking up in amusement. “He is?”

“Why do you say that?” Seokjin asked. His tone was light, but you could tell by his frown lines her casual words had him worrying. 

“I heard you on the phone this morning to mommy. There’s no one to look after me when you go away this weekend and she can’t do it.” 

Seokjin faltered, not expecting such a frank answer. He composed himself quickly. “She’s just really busy, Arin. She wanted to look after you, she just couldn’t this time.” 

“I know,” she replied simply, nodding her head. 

There was a beat of silence and then Seokjin reached for her, kissing her cheek, his voice quiet with apology. “I’m sorry. Was I really moody today?” He looked unsurely your way too. 

“Uh huh. You hardly smiled, and when I tried telling you about the field trip I’m going on next week you weren’t even listening properly.” Arin’s small voice filled with such attitude was comical. 

Seokjin chuckled. “Daddy’s really sorry. I’m smiling now, though, right?” Arin nodded. “And if you’re kind enough, you can tell me about your trip again over dinner. Is that okay?” 

“Hmm.” She thought allowed. “So can we get pizza?”

Seokjin snorted. “Nice try, young lady. It’s still a no.” 

.

.

Seokjin ordered from one of his favourite restaurants, helping you set the table as Arin went to check on her rabbits. You ate together, listening as Arin spoke all about her upcoming field trip, finally having her father’s undivided (and interested) attention. However, halfway in, she completely changed the topic, throwing you both. 

“Can’t I stay with Y/N this weekend?” 

“Hm?” Seokjin looked over at her, visibly surprised. 

You swallowed what was left in your mouth just as Arin’s eyes found yours.  “I can just stay with you while daddy has to go away.” Your lips parted, trying to think of something to say, your years of teacher training falling short. 

Seokjin beat you to it. “No, no, sweetie,” he shook his head, sounded a little flustered, taken by surprise. “Y/N will probably be busy on the weekend. That’s her only free time, she can’t look after you.” 

With a small shrug, she put her fork to her mouth. “It was just a thought.” 

Seokjin looked over at you, expression apologetic as he mouthed sorry. 

.

.

Hey, listen…” You began, feeling oddly nervous as you looked up at your boyfriend. It was a couple of hours later, Arin was in bed, time was getting on, you had to leave soon, but cuddled up against him, both curled up on the sofa as you watched mindless television, you really didn’t want to go anywhere. Seokjin had relaxed a little by now (the wonders of food), but you could still tell his mind was exhausted as his gaze fell on yours. You took a breath, deeper than intended, psyching yourself up. “I really don’t mind looking after Arin this weekend.” 

You didn’t miss the way his eyes widened a tad, obviously taken by surprise, but then his mouth lifted at the side, his head shaking from side to side lightly as he let out a breathy chuckle. “Y/N, don’t feel like you have to just because she brought it up.” 

You found yourself relaxing. He didn’t want you to feel obligated. You’d thought so, but the teeniest tiniest most worrisome part of your brain had thought he might now have wanted, or trusted you, to look after Arin. That wasn’t the case. You could tell by the look on his face. He didn’t want to put you out, ask too much of you. 

You moved and straightened your back, eye to eye now. “No, I honestly don’t mind at all, Seokjin.” You reassured, talking faster as you noticed him open his mouth. “Seeing as Arin was the one who suggested it, I guess she’s fine with the idea. I…” Hesitating, you added something else. “I wanted to suggest it myself but… If she’s comfortable with it, I’d love to.” 

It was the truth. Ever since Seokjin had called you at lunch time, telling you Nana couldn’t manage this weekend, you’d wanted to tell him you were up for it but something had stopped you. Even as he’d tried to think of options this evening – maybe his mom could stay for the weekend, his aunt – you’d held back and bitten your tongue. What if you were pushing boundaries? Inserting yourself into situations that didn’t concern you? Arin liked you, yes,   but being entirely in your care for 48 hours was different. She might not want to, she might feel uncomfortable. However knowing that it wasn’t the case, suggesting it herself so casually over dinner had given you the confidence to push through. Seokjin needn’t be worried about asking too much of you. 

Regarding you silently, he considered your words. Lovingly, you glided your hand up his arm, reaching out for his cheek. He pressed into your touch automatically. “I want to help you out.” At that, he smiled gently, lips turning up in a way that rounded his cheeks, making him appear at least a decade younger. It was wholly unfair. 

Turning slightly, his lips grazed your palm. “I’ll ask her about it in the morning.” You grinned, visibly pleased, and Seokjin took your hand to tug you gently to his chest. This time he placed a kiss on your mouth, humming happily. “Thank you.” 

Arin was more than happy about it. Seokjin suggested you stay at his home for the weekend, seeing as that would be easier for the both of you, but she was pretty adamant she wanted to stay at your place. You understood, kid’s curiosity and all. She wanted to know what your home looked like, she wanted to meet your “pretty best friend” she liked to ask about sometimes. Honestly, you felt touched that she wanted to learn more about your life. It was just another reminder of her acceptance when it came to you, and you’d be forever touched by how easily she’d let you into her life. She was more than welcome to come stay at your place, but of course you’d run it by Soojung first. She’d agreed quite easily, even after you informed her you’d be sharing her bed all weekend, Arin of course using yours. 

On Thursday night Seokjin’s guilt was getting the better of him. He had you on the phone, making sure you were 100% okay with looking after Arin. He didn’t want you to feel as if you were trapped just because you felt compelled to help him. He could cancel his trip. You told him how stupid he was being. Cancelling would put so many people out, including himself. Besides, you not only wanted to help him out, you wanted to take care of Arin. You felt as though you were capable, and if you were being even more honest with him, you felt really happy it was happening. Knowing Arin trusted you this much was a great feeling. Knowing he trusted you enough… 

“Why wouldn’t I trust you?” He scoffed in disbelief. “You’re great with her. She loves you.” 

“I wouldn’t go that far,” you laughed. 

“How come?” He was hellbent on proving you wrong, voice softening as he continued. “You’re so easy to love.”  

You felt your heart skip a beat. He’d said it so casually, so easily, you felt dumb searching too much into his words. It was far too early to think of things like that – for confessions like that. Right? Still, he sounded genuine enough. He meant it, even if it wasn’t in that way. Not that you were expecting anything. You were perfectly happy with how things were, your feelings growing stronger each day. You weren’t in a rush, neither was he. That’s what made your relationship so great. But your heart still felt all fuzzy regardless. You found yourself smiling down the line, your thanks obvious in your tone. “I’m going to miss you.” 

“I’ll miss you more.” He ignored your noises of complaint. “I’ll video call you a lot – and Arin of course.” Then he laughed. “Although, I’ll have a feeling she won’t miss me at all this weekend.” 

The next day you finished up work early, it was a Friday anyway, so you never made a habit of sticking around too long, but this time you were packed and ready to go the same time as the kids. Arin would be waiting in her classroom, ready to go home with you for the weekend. Seokjin had dropped off her things early this morning before his flight, indulging you in a few sleepy kisses before he had to go, a promise of ‘I’ll see you Sunday night,” slipping from his slightly downturned lips, hands reluctant to let you go. 

Arin was visibly excited when she saw you, seconds away from jumping up and down on the spot, your first name rushing out of her mouth without realising. It was no big deal of course, but her reaction was cute, eyes widening as her lips parted into a circle, a noise of realisation leaving her. She looked very much like her father, which made it even funnier. You took her hand, saying your goodbyes to Mr. Moon, her second grade teacher, and left the building for your car. 

“This is a really nice car, Y/N,” she complimented as you made sure she was strapped in properly. You weren’t nervous, but you were slightly on edge, cautious, being a better word, to make sure everything was okay. You needed all bases covered. Arin was in your care for 48 hours after all. You told yourself to calm down, if Seokjin knew you were being this antsy he’d be highly amused. You wouldn’t stop hearing about it for a week. 

“I’ve always wanted to ride in it,” Arin continued. 

You smiled down at her. “Thank you.” She was one of the sweetest kids you knew. Your car was average. Not that she knew anything about makes and prices and whatever else there was. You didn’t either. As long as it drove you from point A to B you didn’t care what it looked like. 

“Will your best friend be home when we arrive?” She asked as you got inside the driver’s seat, sticking the key in the ignition. 

“Soojung? She’ll be still in work. Remember I told she works at a department store?” It was adorable how excited she was to meet Soo. Your best friend’s head would be double the size soon, ego inflated. 

“Mhmm,” Arin hummed responsively.  

“She won’t be done until around 6.” You turned back to look at her, knowing your next sentence would make her day. “I think she wanted to get pizza for dinner. Would you like that?” 

“YES!” Arin exclaimed immediately, eyes lighting up. “Soojung likes pizza too?” 

With a chuckle, you started the vehicle up and started backing out of your spot, replying as you did so. “She does.” But in truth, the pizza tonight was Seokjin’s idea. He’d given you one of his bank cards to spend on the food bill with strict instructions to only feed her the doughy delicacy once this weekend. He knew what she was like – you both did. She’d eat pizza for breakfast, lunch and dinner if she could. If you suggested it tonight, then that was it. She’d be eating your menu come Saturday and Sunday. 

“How far away is your house from the school?” 

You’d lost count of how many questions she’d already asked you since you’d arrived to collect her. It was comical. Seokjin had not warned you about that, but your years of experience had told you to expect it. What was a kid without questions? You’d be worried if she was silent. 

“Not too long.” You replied, glancing in the rear view mirror to see her happily looking out of the window. “When we get in, I’ll text daddy and see if he’s free to videocall.” 

“Okay.” 

You tried to stop the smile that wanted to break across your face at her nonchalance. “Do you miss him yet?” 

With a brief shake of her head, still staring at the whizzing scenery outside she answered pretty simply. “Not really.” 

This time you burst out laughing, unable to stop. She looked over at the noise, meeting your eyes in the mirror as you took a right turn, giggling along. “Don’t tell him though, Y/N. It might make him sad.” 

“I won’t, Arin.” You reassured with another chuckle. “It can be our little secret.” 

.

.

She settled in well that night, immediately warming to Soojung (who despite her lifelong insistence, was great with children). You thought perhaps Arin would begin to get homesick once it was time for bed, but after watching a movie you tucked her in and said goodnight. You thought she’d have trouble sleeping because she was in a strange bed but checking in on her twenty minutes later you found her fast asleep, hugging her rabbit plushie. You on the other hand got ready to share a bed with Soojung – the bed cover hogger… 

The next day Arin had you awake at 6am. You already knew about her liveliness in the mornings, so it was no surprise. You’d been woken up countless times over the summer by a knock at Seokjin’s door, Arin’s voice calling out for him. On days you weren’t there she’d even barge in and jump on the bed. Where she got her energy from so early in the morning was a mystery. This morning however, she caught you on the way out of the bathroom. You’d been tossing and turning all night, wresting the covers from Soo. You’d thought about maybe taking a blanket and having an hours nap on the sofa, but there Arin was creeping out of your room, a smile on her face as she saw it was you. 

There was no tempting her back to bed, so you sat her down at the table and made her some breakfast, snapping a picture to send to her father. (Captioned: Guess who had me up at 6am 😴) You had a few things planned today. Seokjin always made sure Arin was busy on the weekends, it was the only time he got to spend with her fully unless she was with her mom, especially now that she was back in school. Even if it was just something as simple as going to the park, he always made plans. So, to do your part and to keep her entertained, you were going to run by her house to make sure the rabbits were fine (fed and watered), then go to the mall. It was simple, yes, but you needed to get a few things anyway, and you promised after all that walking around you’d stop by the food court. Then she had to accompany you to the grocery store to get ingredients for tonight’s dinner. 

She was pretty damn excited regardless. “I like going to the mall with mommy because daddy finds it boring,” she informed you as she picked out her clothes that you’d helped her unpack yesterday. That definitely sounded like Seokjin, you thought to yourself, laughing along with her. “Mommy told me that next weekend she’s going to take me shopping and buy me anyyy-thing I want.” 

“That sounds like great fun,” you smiled, telling yourself you’d pretend you never heard that… Seokjin was keen not to spoil Arin so you didn’t think he’d be best pleased to find this out. “What do you want to buy?”

“Hmm. Something for Olive and Ariel, I think.” 

You smiled again, admiring her caring nature. Her rabbits were the most well looked after in this entire country. She adored them. “I think they’ll really appreciate that.” 

You continued helping Arin get ready first, and thankfully by the time you were done Soojung had risen. You left them watching cartoons together while you showered, eager to leave by 10am. 

Arin you found out, didn’t just like the mall, she loved it very much. She was practically skipping around the place as she held your hand, helping you pick out the things you needed for your craft session with the students on Monday. While she was recommending paint colours to you, she surprised you with a confession. “I wish you were still my teacher, Y/N.” 

“How come?” You asked gently. 

She gave a tiny shrug. “I’d get to see you every day.” 

Oh. You didn’t know what to say to that, touched at her matter-of-fact revelation. Instead you wrapped an arm around her shoulders, giving her a loving squeeze. 

“But actually, maybe I wouldn’t like it.” She added as an afterthought. You waited, curious as to why she’d changed her mind so suddenly. “I’d have to call you Miss Y/L/N. I’d get too confused.” 

You laughed, this child was far too funny for her own good. “Me too, Arin. It’s better this way, right?”

“Right,” she agreed with a nod. 

.

.

“Y/N, this is pretty,” Arin cooed, calling your attention as you rounded the stand. You’d gotten everything you needed and were now browsing around some other stores. You’d let Arin pick a couple out, worrying she might be getting bored, and one of her choices had been Claire’s. She was holding up a charm bracelet. 

“Very pretty,” you agreed. 

And then she struck. “Can I have it?” She didn’t give you time to answer, eyes widening as she began to beg, voice soft and hopeful. “Please. Pretty please.” 

You chuckled. You were practically immune to cute kids, so that wouldn’t work on you. However, she had been really well-behaved all morning, in your eyes she deserved a small treat. “You can. But just this one thing, okay?” 

“Thank you, Y/N!” She squealed, rushing up to you. She gave your arm a squeeze. “I like you much better than daddy.” 

“That will hurt his feelings,” you burst out laughing. She didn’t have to butter you up, you’d already said yes. 

As you were paying the cashier, she wondered off to a stand of keychains, her eyes catching something instantly. “Oooh, pretty,” she purred and the cashier, a woman no more than a few years older than you, laughed. 

“Best escape before she wants something else,” you joked, handing over some cash. 

“My daughter is just the same. Kids, who’d have them, right? We’re glutton for punishment.” She joked. 

“Oh, no, I’m –” You stopped yourself dead, unsure what to say. Had this woman just mistaken you for Arin’s mother? It definitely sounded that way. But just how could you correct her? 

“Don’t get me wrong,” the cashier said, shaking her head. “They’re definitely worth it.” 

You forced yourself to smile, feeling a little wooden, but the chuckle you got out sounded better. “Yeah, yeah they are.” You glanced over at Arin, thankfully she was too distracted by the abundance of cute animal keychains. You turned back and took your bag from the woman, trying to shake off how awkward you felt. “Thank you. Bye.” 

Walking over to Arin you took her hand. “Hope to see you again soon,” the cashier called behind you and you gave a wave, telling Arin to do the same.

“Thank you,” she sang sweetly as she did so. 

.

.

“So, something weird happened today,” you told Soojung as you prepared food, careful to keep your voice low even though Arin was well and truly distracted inside the living room. Taehyung was a master with children. The guy needed a career change immediately. You’d never heard Arin laugh so hard. She’d been in stitches for the last hour. You were worried she’d be way to hyperactive for bedtime once it came. 

Soojung looked up from where she was chopping onion, interested as her eyebrow raised. 

“The woman at Claire’s mistook me for Arin’s mother.” 

Soojung scoffed, lifting her shoulders in a casual shrug. “I’m not surprised. It was bound to happen. It’s normal.” She added, reassuring you as she saw the look on your face. “People just naturally assume.” 

“I guess…” 

“What did you tell her?”

Your expression turned sheepish. “I just went along with it,” you confessed, placing spaghetti in a pan of bubbling water. You caught the look she gave you. “I didn’t know what to say!” It was the truth. “I’m her father’s girlfriend seemed too… I don’t know…” Too impersonal? 

“That’s what you are though,” Soo snorted.

You gave up, knowing you were probably making a huge deal out of this. Was it that serious? Probably not. “I just felt awkward.” 

“Because you hate correcting people, or because you didn’t like someone mistaking you for Arin’s mother,” your best friend pried. 

“It’s definitely not that. It’s just…” You sighed. “How would Arin feel about it? What if she’d heard?”

Soojung shrugged. “She loves you. You’re great with her.” 

That wasn’t the point you were trying to make. “It still might have upset her though. She adores her mom.” You weren’t trying to take Nana’s place and you didn’t want her to ever think that. 

It was Soo’s turn to sigh, dropping the chopped onions into a fry pan. “Do you want my opinion?” 

“Please,” you requested meekly. 

“I think you’re looking way too much into it.” Obviously. “It’s not a big deal at all, and Arin didn’t hear anything so nothing to worry about.”

“You’re right,” you agreed, telling yourself to shake it off. 

“Of course I am,” she quipped, rooting around in a cupboard now. She turned back, a can of tomatoes in her hand. “I’m sure Seokjin will be able to ease your mind with his sexy Dilf powers or whatever he calls them.” 

“Shut up,” you groaned. You weren’t even sure if you were going to tell him. Like she kept saying, it wasn’t a big deal, right? It was an easy mistake to make. Probably happened all the time. 

From inside the living room you heard Taehyung roar loudly, mimicking a lion (possibly) and Arin shrieked out his name, laughter exploding from her. “Quick, let’s get dinner ready as soon as possible.” Soojung begged, dramatic as always. “I’m scared Tae might be getting ideas. I’m too young for kids!”

.

.

The rest of the weekend went by smoothly. Despite the excitement levels that Saturday night brought, Arin was knocked out by 9pm. You, Soojung and Taehyung stayed up for another hour before he had to leave and then Soo made her way to bed, needing to wake up early tomorrow for work. That left you on the couch, awaiting Seokjin’s video call. He’d already called once today, but Arin was so hyped, talking a mile a minute about her day, you couldn’t get a word in edgeways. (Neither could he.) You were thankful for some alone time. You were missing him. He’d gone away on business trips a couple of times in the summer but it didn’t mean you’d get used to it. You both talked about your day, and you decided there and then not to tell him about the Claire’s “incident.” Soojung was right, it was no big deal. It was a common misunderstanding, one you’d probably made unknowingly before too. After you’d said your goodbyes you went to bed, already strategizing how you were going to steal the covers back from Soojung. As much as you’d enjoyed looking after Arin, you couldn’t wait to have your own bed back. Sharing with your bestie was torture. Taehyung was an admirable man. 

Sunday was a chillout day, although Arin still had you awake at 6am. You made her breakfast, watched some cartoons and shared turns on her Switch before you both got ready for the day. You checked in on Olive and Ariel briefly before driving back to your place. There was a park nearby and you promised you’d take her. The weather was still warm despite September trickling by. It was crazy how fast this year had gone, autumn already nearly here. For the rest of the day you both relaxed in front of the TV, waiting until Soojung was home to watch a movie, and then you made dinner. Seokjin was due back around 7pm, so you made sure all of Arin’s things were packed up ready to go. It was just gone eight when he turned up at your door. Arin had already passed out on the sofa after her hot chocolate so he couldn’t stay long. You thought with how entertaining this weekend had been it had finally all caught up with her. 

“Are you sure you don’t want to spend the night?” He asked, careful to keep his voice down as he strapped Arin inside his car. (Still sleeping.) You’d followed him out as he carried her towards the vehicle, wanting to say your goodbyes. 

He straightened up, closing the car door as he stepped closer to you. You rubbed his arm. “You must be exhausted.” 

“Don’t baby me.” Reaching forward, he wrapped his arms around you, squishing your arms to your side. “I missed you.” 

You hummed, pressing your lips to his, careful to keep your voice a whisper. “Your dick missed me.” 

He scoffed in disbelief but couldn’t argue. “That’s…not a lie. My heart missed you too though.” 

“How sweet,” you joked, but couldn’t keep your charade up for much longer. “I missed you too.” This time the press of your mouth was much firmer. He matched it, letting you slip your arms around his sides, holding him too. 

“Tomorrow, then?” He asked hopefully, tip of his tongue wetting his bottom lip slightly as he pulled away. “I know it’s a school night but I swear I only get a good night’s sleep lying next to you.” 

Laughing, you nodded your head. “Tomorrow.” You agreed wholeheartedly. Sleeping alone was no fun anymore. 

He captured your mouth again, humming happily. “Can’t wait.” 

The following weekend Arin was with her mom so you and Seokjin had the entire weekend to yourselves. Saturday was busy, you’d both probably been a little too ambitious when you’d decided to cram as many different activities as you could into the day, but it was too good of an opportunity to pass up. You didn’t get many days to spend together likes this; walking hand in hand as you explored the local market, having brunch together, checking out a new museum exhibit, watching a movie at the theatre… You treasured days like these. And what better way to end one with? Jacuzzi time! 

Seokjin’s jacuzzi was fast becoming one of life’s staples lately. Who were you? A changed woman, that’s who. This was your favourite space in Seokjin’s garden(s). An area of decking, solar lights draped over the sleek fencing. In the middle was the jacuzzi, set into the wood. Now that the nights were drawing in, it was especially cosy out here, summer holding on for just a little bit longer as the weather stayed quite warm. It wouldn’t be like this for long so you had to make the most of it right now. 

You were sat inside the jacuzzi, water gently bubbling around you as you gazed up at the stars that had just started to appear when you heard Seokjin emerging from the house. His footsteps sounded against the wooden steps as he made his way towards you. You didn’t bother looking but when he didn’t join you straight away, you glanced over curiously. To be met with a rather naked boyfriend. 

“What are you doing?!” You exclaimed, eyes bugging out. 

He grinned. It was hardly innocent. “Jacuzzi’s are much more enjoyable naked, didn’t you know?” 

You tsked, watching him climb into the tub and make his way over to you. His mouth was immediately on yours, arms around your waist as he tugged for you to stand up. This wasn’t just any type of kiss. Like you’d said before, you knew Seokjin very well by now, and besides, you’d already noticed his dick was half aroused as he stood above you… He had a plan. 

On cue, he broke away, corners of his plump lips tugging upwards with a suggestion. 

“Join me?” 

“Seokjin…” You warned, voice low, hands grazing the tops of his arms. He couldn’t be serious. 

“No one can see us,” he reassured you with a wider smile. 

You mean, he was correct. This time you let your hands make their way to his shoulders, massaging them lightly. “You’re crazy.” 

“Yeah, crazy for you,” he smirked, leaning in to kiss you once again. His lips were slow, coaxing. Even more so as they made their way down your jaw and to your neck. You keened into his touch, his hands grazing down your sides, fingers toying with the sides of your bikini bottoms. “C’mon…” He sunk his teeth into your skin gently and you whined. “I know you want to.” You did indeed. Very much so. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” you confirmed, voice suddenly hoarse. You cleared your throat just as his fingers began to untie the strings of your bra, mouth still peppering your neck with kisses. Until that was your chest was bare, and then his lips were wrapped around one nipple, water rippling with the sudden movement. You moaned as quietly as you could, wanting to encourage him because it felt good, but also nervous as hell because you were outside. You didn’t care if there was no one around for a good mile, you were still out in the open. 

Cupping your breasts in his palms he gazed down at them, sighing dreamily. “Have I ever told you how much I love your tits?”

You raised an eyebrow. “One. Don’t be so crude.” (Not that you didn’t like it.) “And two. Yes, yes you have.” You broke off with a laugh, reaching for him to mesh your mouths together. He couldn’t help but chuckle too, but elsewhere he had a hand down your bikini to grab your ass. 

“What’s gotten – Seokjin!” You practically roared, cutting yourself off as he suddenly dived down into the water, fully submerged, hands attempting to tear your bottoms off. “What are you doing,” you giggled, clinging to his back as you tried to stay upright. He had one of your ankles in his hand, wrestling with the fabric. 

A few moments later he arose successful, flicking his head back to stop his wet hair from dripping in his eyes. He pushed it back further with his hands, forehead now devastating, skin glistening with water droplets. You heart stilled, he looked gorgeous – and naughty. Behind him your bikini bottoms floated to the surface. A smirk spread across his face as he finally replied. “Getting you naked.” And then he was on you. 

He kissed you hungrily, his erection pressed up against you, hot and eager now, just like his tongue. Your fingers threaded through his wet locks, letting him push his body weight into you until the backs of your legs hit the seat. 

“Up here for me,” he pulled away briefly, command light, tapping his hand against the deck behind you. You let him slip his hands around your hips and lift you up, legs spread to accommodate his body, feet still in the water atop of the seat. 

“You’re not too cold?” He made sure to ask, concerned despite being ravenous. You shook your head, desire for him enough despite the night air cooling the water against your skin. Satisfied he immediately dove in, leaning forward to place a kiss against your wetness. You pulsed against the touch, moving back on your elbows to get comfier just as his tongue came out and flicked against your clit. Suddenly you didn’t care that you were outside. 

From up here you had a great view of the expanse of his broad, wet back, muscles rippling as he ate you out. You moaned softly, running a hand through his hair, gaze falling to his face. His eyes were closed, water droplets caught in his dark eyebrows and as if he could feel your eyes watching him, he looked up, smirking against you before he sucked the sensitive bud into his mouth, actions growing more eager as he heard you go crazy for it. 

He knew your body well, which is why he cruelly held off slipping a finger inside of you. Actually, on second thought, he knew damn well that the second he did so, your orgasm would soon follow. It wasn’t hard to tease your body, to control it how he wanted. As soon as you felt his middle digit push inside, you clenched around it, hips bucking into Seokjin’s face as a stifled cry forced its way out of your mouth. He grunted, inserting another finger, curling and uncurling them as his other hand gripped your hip, trying his best to keep you still. It was no use, you were a woman possessed, pleasure beginning to hurtle through your body at an alarming rate. You stretched out, fingers of one hand sliding along the wood beneath you, desperately trying to cling onto something as you moaned uncontrollably. Seokjin hummed along, encouraging you, coaxing the orgasm through your body. With each wave your breath shuddered harder. 

You only started coming to when you felt his fingers slip out of you, his tongue ceasing, mouth now at your inner thigh, kissing you wetly, passionately. Your hands reached for him, wanting him close, but he was already on it, straightening up to meet your mouth. “I need you,” he breathed. You could taste yourself, it was intoxicating. “Here.” 

“Here?!” You exclaimed weakly, unfocused eyes trying to concentrate on his face. 

He kissed you once more, moaning a little. “Yeah.” His hands wrapped around your hips, lifting you further up the decking before he climbed out of the water and crawled over your body, reaching for something behind you. “Look – let’s use this.” He had a beach towel in his hand, the one you’d left draped over one of the wicker chairs, and he hurriedly laid it out, pressing you into it to kiss you again. His cock was hard and wet, bobbing against your inner thighs. 

“Are you sure you’re not cold?” He asked, wet hair now having fallen in his eyes. 

You cupped his face, nodding your head as you leaned up. You were still thrumming from your high. “Yes.” Your tongue curled against his open mouth, slipping in to meet his own. The kiss was messy, distracted, as he spread your legs, hooking one up under your thigh. 

Breaking away from your mouth, he straightened his back and aligned himself at your entrance, needing no hands he was so erect. You clung to his shoulders, waiting for the first thrust. His skin was still dotted with water droplets. “I’m too impatient, baby,” he told you simply, and then he pushed inside. 

Slowly, savouring the feeling of your walls stretching around him, both of you gasping as he bottomed out. With a slow thrust he groaned. “You feel like heaven.” As he leaned in to kiss you, he noticed you trying to hold back a giggle. “What?” 

You burst. “That was so cheesy.” 

Chuckling, he kissed you again, tips of his ears turning red. “Don’t laugh at me.” You snorted, unable to help it, reaching for him in silent apology, despite laughter still escaping you. “Seriously, stoppp,” he whined, dropping his head. 

You grinned. “Or what?” 

That got his attention. Looking up, his top lip twitched. His hand cupped your face, thumb brushing over your lips. “I’ll have to teach you a lesson,” he murmured, voice an octave lower. You opened up, sucking the digit into your mouth, looking up at him knowingly. He knew what you were thinking. That didn’t sound so bad. 

“My mistake.” He smiled, gaze intense as he pulled away, his thumb leaving you with a silent pop. “You’d love that, wouldn’t you?” 

You were seconds away from agreeing but became distracted, watching him lift both legs up by the back of your thighs now, hiking them above his shoulders. He dick slipped so deep you choked, feeling so full you didn’t know what to do. 

“S-seokjin,” you panicked, your hands clutching his arms. 

He cocked his head to the side, voice soft. “Trust me?”  

You nodded, something already so addicting about feeling him inside you like this. You felt beyond sensitive, beginning to tremble as he slowly thrust in and out of you, bringing the tip of his cock almost all the way out before sinking back into your warmth. You moaned out, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes with a pleasure so overwhelming. He sped up, going harder now that he was certain you were enjoying yourself, wet squelches sounding along with your moans and his grunts. You loved watching him fuck you like this, towering down over you, the wet spikes of hair falling down around his face, fucking you with his entire body weight, your ass sliding back and forth against the towel. 

However, you also loved kissing him. Holding him as he thrust inside, keeping him to you. 

“Seokjin,” you breathed, voice tight, hands reaching for him. He got the message, easing your legs to the ground carefully as he took one of your hands and brought it up to his mouth, kissing it tenderly, your name slipping from his lips, breathless and husky. 

He moved closer, capturing your lips eagerly and you hooked your legs around his waist, clinging to the back of his neck in the process as your hips jutted up to meet each roll of his own. You were both panting by now, grunts of exertion slipping from your mouths as you continued to make out. His movements were messier, wet bodies pressed up close, enough to provide enough friction for a second orgasm. 

“Ah… I’m close,” he panted, mouth grazing down your throat as he attempted to keep the same momentum. 

“M-me too.” 

That spurred him on, hips snapping into yours with a cry, newfound determination, lips pressing into yours once more. You came together, out of breath and quite sweaty, but mouths unrelenting. You’d never get enough of kissing him. It was addictive – especially like this. 

Spent, he slid out of your dampness naturally, having grown flaccid, kissing you slowly now, indulgently, until he was moving south, capturing your left breast in his mouth, tongue encircling your nipple. You shuddered as he pulled back, one of his hands cupping the right breast to give that a parting kiss too. It wouldn’t be long before you started growing cold, but you were so content here you didn’t care. 

Seokjin lifted his head up, gazing straight into your eyes. His were warm and soft, drunk on your beauty (or so he would say). “I want to give you the world,” he breathed, sealing his confession with a press of his mouth. 

Your heart swelled, heat prickling your skin and you clung to him. But despite that, you felt the need to joke around. Call it a defence mechanism, who knew. “Men are so weak,” you chuckled, running your fingers through his hair to pull it back, revealing his face again. The tips had already started to dry. “Let them cum inside you and they’re like putty in your hands.” 

He laughed too, genuinely amused, but his eyes were still soft and he leaned into your touch, content with the way you held his face now. “I mean it though,” he whispered. “Tell me what you want. Anything. I’ll make it happen.” 

You raised an eyebrow. He was being ridiculous, acting drunk. Still, you were pretty simple. You didn’t have many wishes, many dreams. “I want to travel on a plane.” 

It was his turn to lift an eyebrow, intrigued. “Like a private jet or?”

“No,” you giggled, “just a plane in general.” You kissed his nose. “You know I’ve never been out of the country before.” 

“You want me to take you on vacation?” He hummed, turning suggestive pretty quickly. “A sexcation?”

“Seokjinn,” you whined, dropping your hands from his face. 

He nudged his nose against yours playfully. “Well, of course there’ll be sex involved, but,” he grew serious, genuinely interested, “where do you want to go?” 

“Hm, anywhere?”

“Anywhere,” he confirmed, adding, “unless it’s another planet, or the moon.” 

You smiled, amused, yet deeply preoccupied now. Where did you want to go? What was your dream destination? You’d had one place in mind since you were a child. Running a hand down his bare chest you suddenly felt coy. “I want to visit Paris.” 

He grinned. “France, Mademoiselle?” 

You matched it. “Oui.” 

“Done.” He kissed you, sealing the deal. “Let’s go there tonight.” 

You burst out laughing at his idiocy. “I have school. You have work – a daughter!”

He laughed too, but he was distracted, gazing at you tenderly once more. He opened his mouth, about to say something but hesitated. Instead he smiled, nodding his head resolutely. “Okay, soon. Very soon.” He laughed when you squealed in excitement, bringing one of your hands to his lips. “I’m going to take you to the most romantic city on earth, baby.” 

.

.

It was Sunday the next day, which meant only one thing. Lazy morning sex. It was his favourite, his time to indulge in all things beautiful and pleasurable he told you. (i.e. You). You’d grown used to his lame lines, he couldn’t help it, and deep down you secretly loved them. A man so shameless with his desire, his devotion. You really had hit the jackpot. 

Sundays were also your excuse to just be lazy in general. You usually skipped breakfast in choice of an early lunch, but today you wanted to picnic outside. You knew in a week or so the weather would begin to change more drastically so this was your last chance. You made a reluctant Seokjin get out of bed and shower with you, ignoring his advances as you did so. He was like a dog in heat. Not that you usually complained, but today you really wanted to hit the grocery store before rush hour. Sundays were always busy. 

A few hours later you had everything ready, outside in the spot that saw the most sun. It bleated down on you as you kneeled, arranging all the dishes across the blanket you’d placed down across the lawn. 

“Oh, shoot. I forgot the salad.” Seokjin realised by the side of you. “I’ll be one sec, honey.” He kissed your cheek as he stood, smacking your ass playfully in the process. “Don’t start without me.”

“What will you do about it?” You called out to him, unable to help it. 

“If you’re feeling brave, I guess you’ll find out.” He called back with a laugh, retreating into the house. 

A good girl, you waited patiently, but then time started to tick on. One minute, then five… At ten you stood up with a sigh. Where was he? You had visions of the salad bowl on the floor smashed to smithereens. You made your way through the doors that led inside the back of the house. You past his study, calling his name. “Seokjin? Did you get lost?”

You were met with silence, which wasn’t surprising, his home was big after all. Down the corridor, closer to the kitchen you began to hear voices. Seokjin’s familiar rumble, although you couldn’t make it out, and then a louder, unfamiliar voice – female. You followed the sound, realising it was coming from the living room nearest the front door. A sick feeling was slowly creeping its way up your throat, but you didn’t understand why. As you got closer your heart began to race, blood rushing through your ears. There was this sudden feeling of dread. It was so strong you could practically taste it, and you were so frazzled you couldn’t concentrate on the words you were hearing as you rounded the corner of the open door, although you did acknowledge them. 

Immediately as you came into view you heard them loud and clear though. Directed at you. 

“Oh, and this is her, right?” 

They were coming from a woman, her dark eyes piercing into yours. She was beautiful, was your first thought. Tall and slim, with long black hair, so silky she could have come straight from a shampoo commercial. It reminded you of someone. Her hair just as dark and shiny. Arin. 

At the thought of the child’s name, you looked down, spotting her beside the stranger, clinging to her hand, eyes wide and shiny with worried tears. Everything clicked into place then. Confusion clearing, yet the sick feeling got stronger. This wasn’t a stranger. It was Arin’s mother. Seokjin’s ex-wife. Nana. And she looked angry. 

You glanced around, spotting Seokjin who was looking your way with apologetic eyes. His face looked torn. He murmured your name, stepping towards you, a protective hand reaching for your own. He held it tight, giving you a comforting squeeze. His palm was clammy. 

“Yes, here she is!” Nana laughed harshly, needing no reply. It made you wince. Beside you Seokjin groaned quietly, rubbing his free hand across his face before he took a deep breath. As if he was gearing himself up. 

You looked at Nana, chest a little tight, something heavy in your stomach. When your eyes locked the corners of her mouth curled upwards. 

“The stepmom!” She sneered. 

Written 2020 - 2021. Please refrain from posting my work elsewhere. No translations allowed. © floralseokjin 2021

[jean-does-not-have-a-horseface]

Neon Silhouettes

Hello! I’m very happy to finally post this because ive been working on this for a month! This is serving as an entry to @ackermans-freedom-inc discord challenge. Behold it’s long!

Word Count: 10.538k, i’m not even sorry

Pairing: Eren/ Reader

Tags: a n g s t, vigilante!au

Warnings: blood, violence, major character death (? its open to interpretation) 

In contrast to yours, Eren's breath is hot and tainted on the nape of your neck when you push him away from your form in an attempt to get more oxygen running through your system. The hazy high of your orgasm is mighty, similar to a fairytale like dream and makes all air around you run thin with each passing second. You're not sure if you're paying much attention to it, though, because your breath seems to be completely restored before you even think about catching up with it.

Eren makes a loud thud as he plops himself into the matress with his utmost enthusiastic moves. You can tell by his reactions that he enjoyed this intercourse even more than he'll ever admit -not that he's shy to ever do so- and that he seeks a way to relax himself from his own high. For that very reason, his hands are rather quick to pull you on his panting chest, just to provide some comfort for himself but in the process your silent plea to get a breather is long forgotten. You feel you head being smashed onto his smooth skin and you relax under the touch, thinking that you could cease this moment to fall into serenity as well.

With your heart still beating through your ribs though, you contemplate on whether or not falling into serenity now is a logical idea at all. Anxiety has planned seeds in your stomach ever since a few hours prior to your solo patrol in this area of Trost, merely at the thought of bumping into Eren. You had been practicing the words your comrades had assigned you to consider one too many times, and yet, the moment you laid eyes on Eren's helmet covered face your nervousness had worked wonders on turning them into thin air. It had happened so fast that you wondered if this was an actual new power you could posses.

Nevertheless, the anxiety is back now and it's growing its bindweeds in the pits of your stomach. A chapped piece of your lip is stuck under your front teeth, ready to be ripped off as your fingers are mimicking a walk, up and down on Eren's chest. You're not sure if you can talk and consequentially, the thin piece of flesh is ripped away from your lips forcefully, allowing the thin, iron like taste of blood to conquer your senses.

And in the moment it's all you can focus on.

It's always like this when it comes to Eren and yours passionate rendezvous; your mind is drenched of any thought other than him, your heart ceases to pulse inside your body and your legs feel like the most trashy, inexpensive jello -yes the one you ought to find at random 7/11s in the middle of nowhere after a long night of patrol when you're so hungry that your stomach feels likes its going to burst throughout your mouth canal. And yes, you've tried to restrain yourself from feeling this way, but it's not easy, especially when Eren's hand comes to tangle its way through your hair, scratching softly at your roots.

Clicking your tongue in your mouth though, you can't help but let your mind wander just for you to realise it's been so long since you've had said trashy jello dessert. It's not like you exactly miss it -no, you wouldn't say you did, its taste was atrocious- but it's nostalgic to think about your debut days as a younger superhero. Especially when you think about that it was due to that that you met Eren.

The thought that feasts on your brain though is nothing more than a projection of everyone's nostalgia of Eren, not only yours. The only reason he's laying underneath you with his right hand bent under his head and catching his heavy breaths as his chest basically pulsates and squirms under your form is because you've chosen to dance in that dark sewer of a world that is the reality of anti heros. Everyone who knows about you and Eren -mostly Levi and Mikasa- have pushed you over the edge of trying to shake him off of his criminal killing rampage, but you know him better than anyone. Thus, in reality, you don't know about whether you should utter that little speech that's at the tip of your tongue.

You nervously chew onto that tiny piece of flesh you've ripped from your lip for over a minute before you dare to try and think about what to do with it. Swallowing seems like a good option, the thought of spitting it like a bitten off nail unsettles you to a certain extent, plus you're not sure if bitten flesh activates Eren's titan senses. You never truly know what triggers people with titan powers and you're not about to risk it. Ironically, that's exactly how you're feeling when it comes to your thoughts but after you feel the teeny bundle of flesh go down your throat your mouth washes the taste of iron away and parts to your brain's command.

"Eren?" You breath out, your eyes despairately trying to fixate on anything other than his form.

Eren's finger is harsh and calloused to the touch as it mellowy grazes the soft skin on the underside of your wrist. Your eyes are finally fixed to the circling movements and though you want to give in the the long for sleep your eyelids suddenly ache for, your mind, much allured by how serene everything feels, pushes you to protest against it. There's nothing you can do about your fast mouth though; resenting it hasn't ever seemed like the way to go through with it.

"Yeah, baby?" Eren half moans to your direction.

You notice how he shifts his form comfortably from underneath you, obviously in search of the perfect sleeping position. Naturally this should have kept you back from speaking further; well this and the fact that he isn't exactly expecting what you're about to say, but nonetheless you swallow hard and bite on the inside of your cheek before you open your mouth to speak once again.

"Can we talk about it, lovey?" You hesitate with the nickname, yet when you utter it you know you dont regret its sappy nature.

"About it?"

"You know," you trail off "About the Titans case."

"What is there to talk about? We'll sort the case out one and for all, we've agreed on it."

Well of course, for both you and Eren, and probably every other person in this world, this case is something that should permanently close. It only seems fair, all those years that you've spent being hunted by those monsters are starting to put an overwhelming amount of weight into modern superheros and anti-heros alike. Everyone basically had the same goal concerning this case, yet people are still split as to how it should be closed.

Eren says it's fitting for The Titans to pay for their sins with more blood than they have managed to spill; they're a top crime syndicate that focuses on abducting humans and mutating them into bloodlusting monsters, just for the purposes of creating their own sick and twisted army of mindless pawns. Eren, having fallen an indirect victim of their brutality stands by his beliefs and won't let a titan standing on their feet when he encounters one.

But he wasn't always like this. Not exactly

Back in the day when he worked as Levi's sidekick, he wouldn't brutalize them to the point where they'd bleed to death, but he would make sure they weren't going ever be healed again, not even if they were ever given an antidote. His falling out with Levi and your team of superheroes though, followed by the brutal murder of his mother had withered Eren's psyche with tormentous force.

You furrow your brows as your mind travels back to those dark memories, dipping into necessary pieces of information that need to be composed in some way for you to reply to him. Ironically, it was when Eren turned his back on your team that you found some major leads as to who run the Titans and possibly even why.

"We'll sort the case," you say "but I don't think you should be murdering them."

Eren takes the hand that acts as a comforter over your harshly and pinches the bridge of his nose as he exhales in disapproval. You know, his face must be scrunched in misery right now, brows puckered over his nose and eyes firmly closed shut. You can listen to his heart and in turn you feel the buzzing his pulse makes as it speeds up a tad.

"We've talked about this. You do you. And I do me."

For a moment you contemplate on whether you want to use your psychic superpowers on him. To think that you can change his mindset is an enchanting thought; in fact right now, it's so alluring that you feel the familiar awakening of your powers rush through your veins. It feels like cotton candy colored poison -that's probably the best way you can describe it according to other psychic's. Your powers, as naive and endearing they may seem can easily flip the cards on you at any given moment of weakness; it's like your natural instincts awaken with a mind of their own to protect and help their host. But it's merely unethical and dictating to force such change on your beloved as much as it is to do so on the next person.

Your mouth puckers to the right as you let your brain roam over every single possible outcome that this conversation can have, yet you never even flinch on Eren's chest, sternly refusing to let your body react to his words. One wrong reaction and Eren's hotheadedness will bite you in the ass.

"Dont be like that, (y/n)." Eren says

You have to admit he's catching you off guard when his hand comes to move your chin to point at his direction. It's his checkmate move and he knows it, blinking his real eyes into yours, he frees his brows from their gathering, leaving small red lines as reminders of his temper behind. You on the other hand, with your short hitched breaths and that constipated look on your face though you can't help but predict his next sarcastic plea.

"Don't look at me like that."

You cough that little angry, hot huff of air that's trapped inside your lungs for oh so long before you plough your elbows under your face to support your form in order to face him. You never detach yourself from him and you don't plan on doing so, this is probably the only way to make him feel that you take into consideration all his boiling bad blood.

"You know damn well why I'm looking at you like that."

"I do." He shrugs casually and then proceeds to shut his eyes in despair "but you're not here to question my means." Eren sighs in defeat as the words come out of him and proceeds to wrap his arm around you again.

However you pucker your eyebrows further, bringing them impossibly closer to your eyes as you boil the words you seek to speak in the back of your throat "I'm not questioning them. I'm resenting them. I'm not even playing the goody superhero on you, but really why are you doing this?"

You never fail to notice how Eren bites the inside of his cheek or how he clenches his grip on you almost like a silent warning at to what territory you're opting to walk into, but you ignore it, sighing all the way through your mouth hoping that the little oxygen you can fill your lungs with is enough to get you through this.

"Everyone misses you. Don't you care about that?"

Does he? Eren wants to believe that whatever he's doing he's doing it because all of you are excessively significant to him. I all honesty he is fuming over the fact that you don't see how this is the only inevitable option. He hates for his alter ego to be called a mass murderer in the news every other day just as much as he hates the fact that people choose to see a redeemable side to human flesh eating mutants.

"If I don't do what I do, history is going to repeat it self." He spits, harshly enough that he's sure you won't reply just yet. "You and this pretentious superhero facade are not going to be here to live it down with me though."

He watches as your face contorts in surprise as his words fall, your mouth snapping open in order to utter your quick fetched reply but he cuts you off with an even harsher tone this time.

"I'm clearing the world from all this alright? There are many people that do so as well-"

"Who? Flotch and Yelena?" You cut him off, but still he brushes it off.

With a shift in your movements you're on your back, your arms moving mechanically to grab onto the covers to bring them onto your bare chest. Eren can read the action all too well and he hates it, he hates it enough that he runs his hands painfully through his hair, despairate to get them away from the burning skin on his neck. Anxiety has worked wonders on his body, he figures.

"You, Levi, Mikasa, Jean, Connie! Want me to throw more names in your face? Me and my team finish off what you guys chicken out to do." Eren's voice is calm yet his tone is drenched in poison, that mellow sound he makes when he re opens his mouth is what's pushing you over the edge, making your blood boil inside your body. It causes you to wrap your fingers tightly onto the blanket that covers your chest, your fists turning white as you clench on it with full force. As if it can help you concentrate all of your anger on the spot.

Naturally, it can't.

"We're not chickening out Eren, we focus on containing all evil, not annihilating it. To think you can do that-"

"I can-" Eren cuts you off, though you won't let him continue until you get your point across.

"You must be really dumb to carry that mindset. What happens after you annihilate the titans, will you do the same for any other similar crime syndicate? Or are your motives personal only when it comes to this one?"

Eren bites on the sides of his tongue with a piercing force and swallows hard on the bitterweet spit that forms due to the action. He forcefully tosses his head to both left and right to shake away any unwanted thought out of his mind but it hurriedly proves to be fruitless. As much as he has liked to think that you can get past that fight on your morals one day, it's obvious to him that it's a fundamental dynamic between the two of you. It's a concrete wall that's none of you can or are willing to try to go through. And he doesn't like that, not one bit.

"Don't try to boss me into your beliefs." His eyes widen as he speaks, voice tainted in a growling anger that he can feel cooking inside his chest.

"I'm not bossing you Eren, stop acting like this."

"Why are you so fucking hang up on this now out of all times?" He spits more so that questions.

"We're so close to catching Zeke and your team is close to doing so as well, I'm just worried." You admit, shyly loosening the clenched cover from your fist in fear of ripping it. "I want us to be a normal couple after this. I care about you."

Your mind is fogged with animalistic rage, yet you still manage to swallow it down, past that lump in the back of your throat that tik dangerously on your clock and threatens to burst. It's only when you try to show the nature of your thoughts and intentions that you watch Eren's face finally contort in rage that's much similar to yours. You fall back for a brief moment, allowing him to take advantage of the silence in the room to answer back to you.

"When I catch Zeke I'm not sparing him."

Eren lets the breath that's trapped in the depths of his chest out before it manages to suffocate him. Thinking about Zeke and how he's standing opposite to him makes him feel sick to the stomach, but he has accepted that it's only just his luck that his half brother happens to be working for the titans. Accepting that Zeke wants to collect all nine original titans for the syndicate to use as they wish has been a hard task to do so, he can admit to that much but he's swore to never let his connection to the man hold him back from putting an end to this misery.

"Eren don't be so stubborn." You plea, brows impossibly covering your eyes as your voice reeks of rage.

"I'm not, quit playing the rightful hero and maybe we can have this conversation when you'll be able to see things from my side."

He can see that you're drowning in your own words, fighting to find the right syllabuses to utter, but he refuses to give you any time, his own rage is ticking like a bomb, he can feel his stomach growling in the familiar numbness anger casts upon his organs and he knows he can't hold back.

"Do what you gotta do, but I'm ending them, I'll fight your team too if I have to get to what needs to be done."

"Oh yeah?" You let out an amused, angry chuckle before continuing "You'll fight me?"

"Gladly!" Eren spits, his eyes wide as his eyebrows twitch in determination.

"Don't say things you can't take back. Don't be an asshole."

"Last time I checked the definition of an asshole was someone who won't support their partner in their decisions, whether they agree with them or not."

You glance towards Eren's drawer, fuming to the point you struggle to control your powers. Your breath is refusing to regulate even if you beg for it to work the way you want it to, causing you to try and think of the most possibly rational plan to get your self out of this situation. You can't stand looking at Eren for the time being, any glance at his side is making you fume to the point your insides coil making you think you're going to start emitting smoke.

"Fuck! Fuck! You won't even try to understand me, I don't even know what I'm doing with you."

You have a small drawer filled with your clothes at Eren's place and he has one in yours. Convently, you've persuaded him to keep a superpower restraining collar in case either of you ever go out of control, which seems to be the case for you now. Eren's last words are poisoning you, burning their way inside your veins. Thus reaching the collar becomes your ultimate goal in the moment; you resent the extend in which your own powers can reach and you refuse to cause more drama by hurting Eren without intending to.

Your ears fall deaf to what Eren is fuming about, its necessary to try and keep ignoring him if you want to focus on completing this simple task. Your head is spinning, lost in the dark colored vertigo you've entered in your effort to focus on your goal. Pushing past it is vital in any case you want to prevent anything from happening. With the sudden swing of your wrist the drawer bursts open with force, the small amount of clothes inside are shot to the ceiling.

The metallic collar shines under the light as it stands proudly in the air as clothes continue to practically spill to any direction. Your stretched fingers make a half turn, as if signing the way to you to the object, your thumb shoting as far back as it can physically can go while your pinky stands inches away from the edge of your palm and your wrist. Your heart is hammering inside your chest for the remaining seconds it takes for the object to come to you and though, even if it's coming to you at full force and speed any passing moment feels like an eon.

You almost manage to sigh in relief as the metal touches tour throat but the action is cut short the moment your breath suddenly hitches reflexively. The collar fails to wrap around your throat and click in place, rather than that its resting in Eren's palm. The veins in his arm are twitching much expectly; he's using all of his force to hold the collar back, fighting your control over the object with his inhuman strength, still you won't let go of your hold either, not caring as to what is going to happen to the object, it won't last for long with all this strength force upon it, you're sure of that.

"If you want to me to respect you enough to fight with you, you won't enslave yourself with none of these fucking shits. Handle your powers on your own."

Your eyes are twitching, your forehead finally giving in to an endless amount of sweaty droplets. There's a throb mirrored by your pulse in the edge of your neck and you throw your head back in defeat before you even manage to think about it. The collar crumbles and smashes in Eren's palm under his grip, the metal cracking slightly as his skin twitches and burns in protest.

"I want us to be free of this, you think if get my hands dirty if it wasn't supposed to end in a way that I expected and calculated meticulously?"

Despite the fact that Eren is spitting those facts, you manage to distinguish the true intention of his choice of words, pushing past his harsh tone. It's unfair that you chose to anger him to such extend, you're angry as well but you come to realise that it's only because you are both afraid. Eren is afraid if losing you and his friends to the hands of another titan and you're afraid to lose Eren in the hands of his bloodlust. The collision between good or bad is only what you try to mask your fears with; what you see as bad and evil, Eren does so as well. Your perspective only changes as to how you view the means to reach the rightful good.

War can't exist without peace and peace can't exist without war.

You think back to what you told him earlier and in a snap you realise that for the time being, that's just about as normal as the two of you can get. An anti hero with his hands clenching a crushed power restraining collar, because he detests anything that strips people off their freedom and their given right to it, and a concerned superhero with her head thrown back in deafeat, giving up on trying to get a so called noble point across. In a way, both you and Eren have chosen this when you decided to take a shared path despite the fundamental differences on your beliefs.

And for a moment you think you're going to get past it. All couple have fights, all couples gets enraged with each other at least once in their span of time but they always manage to bounce back and stand on their feet next to each other. You're not exactly sure if Eren is standing right next to you or if he's opposed to you both literally and mentally but you relax back in the comforter thinking that you'll get an answer in a moment.

Eren's breaths are finally starting to regulate and he can't help but take notice of you slipping inside the comforter, your head hitting the pillow with a muffled thud. His long bangs are sprawled over his face, some fine chocolate hairs tingling the sensitive skin on his nose, some of their edges tickling at his fleshy lips. His mind is blurry, so blurry that he refuses to acknowledge the hand that is still clinging onto the collar, his posture is finally fixed on the bed before he decides to slide down in a movement so that he can lay right next to you.

"I'm sorry." He speaks first, his left hand forming into a fist as it lands on his forehead, pressing with its back on the throbbing veins and nerves that beg to release some of the tention they have gathered.

"I shouldn't have brought it up, it's my fault."

"Seems like we can't meet halfway when it comes to this." He hazes.

“No” 

Sighing, you sink further into the matress, raising your hand to mimic Eren’s actions to cover your face with the back of your hand. You chirp a little sound of misery as you do so, finding hard to swallow down through the knot that has formed in your throat.

"Is this it?" You ask, your voice barely louder than a whisper "Is this how it's going to be for us?"

"If you think I'm going to give up on my beliefs for you then I have some bad news."

Eren turns his head to you, sternly fixing his teal eyes in yours while his jaw is clenching, his bottom lip trembling and worrying as he chews on his words. A hitched sigh exits your nose as your eyes start burning I'm their attempt to hold back tears, the corners of your lips curving downwards causing your button lip to pucker sourly. You keep on staring at Eren and he keeps staring back at you, both of your chests heaving with short chopped breaths. You don't dare touch each other, not right now when you can't hold back your emotions, but you can definitely see how hurt he looks just as much as he can do the same for you.

"Well I can't turn my back on mine either." You choke, not daring to part your mouth enough for the words to exit correctly.

"Maybe you should just-" Eren opens his mouth, twitching out the words before he manages to mumble them "go."

The tears that threaten to spill from the corners of your eyes are finally flowing, running in burning hot streaks past your nose before landing cold onto your ear. You hate it, you hate the moist sensation on your cornch and you hate that Eren's eyes never fail to notice every single tiny droplet that fall from your lips.

His constipated expression won't scatter away from his face, rather than that it only hardens as he tried to hold back and onto those tiny pools in the corners of is eyes.

He wants to speak, you know because he keeps opening his mouth to do so, but the only sounds he emits are deep growls of pain. He doesn't know how to feel about them, you've seen him cry numerous times, yet this heartbreak seems so inevitably painful to endure on his own. It's another love he has to bid goodbye because of those godamn titans and it's even more painful that he knows that by annihilating them, he'll never be able to claim you as his anymore.

He'd rather clear the world for you to live peaceful and free though.

...

The sound of your fists colliding with the back leather of a boxing sack fills the air, bouncing in between the gray marble colored walls of the headquarters. The room you're in is soundproof, causing the sound to linger in the air as you pant, holding your sour spit in your mouth as you throw another punch and kick to the sack. Sweat drips from your forehead and onto the mat beneath you yet you make no movement in trying to wipe it off, you simply let it drip while picking up your foot in order to flip it onto the dummy.

"Easy there now"

When Jean's hand comes to rest on your shoulder giving you a little comforting squeeze, you jump on your spot, startled much by the sudden action. For a moment you avoid turning your head to face him; despite the amount of mellow warmth and comfort his touch provides you with, you don't feel like you can regulate that rush of adrenaline that pumps through your veins.

Your fists, numb by the raw force you've used to launch punches to the boxing sack before you are now inevitably frozen, hugging the dummy with enough strength to make it fall in place. As the sound of the metallic chain clashing fills the air your nostrils snort hot huffs of air, your eyes squinting shut as your brows remain furrowed to forbid any drop of sweat from running down to your face. Jean inspects your constipated expression as he moves around, taking small steps as he approaches you from this new position, finally coming to face you with an understanding smile.

"I noticed you're pushing your self a lot lately." He says, his hand coming to squeeze on your shoulder once again. He presses his lips into a thin line, the action making his straight nose scrunch slightly.

"It's fine." You snark "I could use some excessive combat training to be honest. Mikasa said you and her can help someday."

"Okay then! Let's spare now." Jean says enthusiastically and his hands come to his sides, his fists clenched as a smug expression appears on his face "Ditch the dummy."

Nonetheless you snicker in response. Bringing your finger to your temple, you awkwardly scratch on the tender skin at the tail of your eyebrow. Next, your hands come to your loose ponytail, giving a little tag at the elastic loop that's used to hold them in place, pulling it down to the ends of your hair.

"Sorry, not in the mood." You bite, but Jean is irritatingly not ready to give up on you just yet.

"Weren't you just splitting your knuckles, punching that sack? Like, a few seconds ago? Drop the emo attitude and show me what you got."

Kissing your teeth you bow down, aiming to go for the towel you've neatly folded on your foamy work out mat, taking it carefully in your hands in order to bring it to your sweat dripping face. While crossing his hands to his chest, Jean throws you his signature expression of disapproval -yes, the one he liked to throw at Eren while calling him a suicidal bastard and yes, if Mikasa, not just anyone, asked him he'd admit to having missed the particular interaction with your now ex boyfriend. The male sighs, parting his mouth open, ready to utter what he thinks will help you.

"If it helps, I've been saying Eren is a dick from the very start, I'm sorry you had to be convinced of the fact in such way."

Its your turn to throw him a disapproving look now.

Jean, similarly to the next person, knows how much you hate talking about /that/ fateful night with Eren. The wound is still fresh -whether or not it took place a few weeks ago, the pain of being ripped away from your lover over your ideals isn't a wound that's easy to close and additionally it's rather hard when you know nothing can come of an attempt to reconcile. But Jean can't just silently stand to watch you destroy your self and your relationships with people who care about you.

Each passing day you trade your words for mumbles and grunts, your signs of affection into powerful punches aimed either at that old black dummy you were hugging a few seconds or at a vast amount of metas during nighttime patrols. Knowing you and how you handle such outrages, Jean is sure that at this point you've smashed your fists against each and every single one of these gray marble colored walls, only holding back your self as to not smash Armin's tech corner. But before he gets a chance to shake his head in the slightest only to get ready to mouth his comfort speech to you, the automatic glass doors to the room open.

Turning his head around, Jean is met with Connie and Armin as they enter the room, both of them sparing him their most confused look upon inspecting the scene unraveling before them. Jean shrugs his shoulders, throwing his hands up in defeat, his eyes traveling quickly between you and his friends, signaling them you're proving to be difficult to deal with once again.

As the door behind him closes with a woosh Connie sucks on the inside of his cheek, trapping the tender gum between his teeth, his lips puckering slightly as he looks at you, his otherwise playful eyes now squinted in worry.

"What?" You speak, pressing your lips together and pushing them to the side of your face. Reluctantly, you cock a brow to Connie's direction.

"Me?" With his thumb to exaggerate the word, Connie points to himself and the proceeds to take a few steps towards Jean. Finally, he bends his hand, resting his fist over his hip, throwing his weight onto one leg. "You're the one with the constipated expression."

"Give me a break everyone" you shrug, shaking your head in defeat.

"Sasha said you pushed yourself too far last night during patrol."

"Yeah, so what?" You ask, batting your eyes to the male trio. You're probably as unamused as they are at this point.

You notice how Armin is the one to let out a sigh next, his blonde hair swaying by the force of air that exits his mouth. He's angrily clapping his foot to the ground while clenching his fists to his sides, his baby blue eyes fixated on you. You bring the top of your finger to your head, scratching the skin just below your ear, your foot awkwardly rocking back and forth. It's almost as if no one in the room can avoid the the upcoming conversation right now.

All Armin sees is that your lip is split, bruised much like your eyebrow and a part of your jaw. There's a lot of dried blood on each tiny wound, but the amount is enough to make up for the lack of proper patching and the sight is heartbreaking to the point it makes the blond's blood boil. If Armin could find it in himself to utter a word he would be able to name a good amount of reasons as to why he was enraged with you. One of them being the fact that you've been brutalizing yourself in the streets every night and another one that you've been definitely pushing yourself even more during training, aiming to shut yourself off of your team completely.

"Armin, if you have something to say, then just shoot it."

The way you poke at him is reluctant and nervous in nature. Your jaws clutch together, your shivering teeth making tiny chattering sounds. Armin parts his lips, placing a hand on the gray colored wall behind him, hanging his head down in nervousness. In all reality, he shouldn’t speak his mind, he knows that very well, his personal empathetic feelings for Eren don’t exactly have a reason to have an impact in this situation. Furthermore he’s simply the intel guy, the only member of the team in the team that doesn’t participate in any heroic or vigilantic activity. To interfere with your nightime business would probably harm him more than anyone in the end. As your friend he had to take a stance on what you were going through.

“We’ve all been hurt by Eren.” That’s all that Armin manages to say before putting his feet to work, matching silently to his computer corner, “But, that’s why we are a team. We’re supposed to hold each other when things go wrong. And you need us as much as we need you.”

Rubbing your eyes with your pointer fingers, you let out a deep sigh. When you look up Connie and Jean are half smiling at you, their thumbs pointing upwards and for a fragment of a second, you manage to crack a small smile. You feel your eyes burning slightly, their fleshy corners stinging, but you refuse to let yoyr tears flow now, despite being moved by your friends’ word and noble intentions you keep your emotional breakdown to yourself. You only hope the males are convinced by your small smile.

“Armin has the intel on Zeke’s cargo shipment!” Connie says and immediately his ribs are crushed by Jean’s elbow. “What?”

“Stupiid. We’re not supposed to stress her!”

“It’s fine guys, this is our job.”

Connie links his arm with yours, your sweaty skin littering his long sleeve shirt but he pays the action absolutely no mind, not as much as you at least, and then he proceeds to stick his tongue out to Jean. Jean twitches his eyebrow at him, seemingly irritated by his friend’s smug expression and picks up his feet, marching as fast as you do, trying to catch up. The playful atmosphere is lifting you up, you can definately feel your previous mood lighten by each passing second.

“Speak Armin!” Connie playfully dictates squeishing your elbow in the process.

Armin lets out a laugh, fixing his glasses on the bridge of his nose, his eyes glimmering under the bright blue light of the numerous screens.

“Fine, look,” he says clicking on a tab on the middle screen’s task manager The tab pops up, shining a bright white light thats making your eyes squint. Armin then clicks on some folders and signs at you to wait until the images load. When in turn they pop up, they reveal numerous hsots of the titans new hideaway. Some photos are showing Zeke and his gang standing before it, then entering it. You even catch a glimpse of Pieck, the flash of raven hair is much more evident now that shes standing between her blonde team members.

“Do we have the adress?” Jean asks and you can’t help but notice that the look in his eyes is darkening in an a mere instant.

“It’s in alleyway near the port. Although the front is standing proudly on a very well lit place in 6th Avenue.” You nod steadily, sliding your hand upwards to give a comforting touch to Connie’s fingers that are still linked to the inside of your elbow. “Levi gave me the intel to investigate, he came across them the other day and then he searched for security cameras, you know the drill.”

Jean raises his voice authoritatively and sternly as he points to some photos, informing Armin that he needs to investiagte the area around them and prompts you an Connie to do the same as well. He says that it’s necessary to know the area you’ll be oparating on in the following days. You simply nod, extending yor hand to Armin’s direction to point in which pictures you want him to send you and he does as you say not even giving it a second thought.

“Please don’t send them to Eren.”

You pretend to be shocked, but in reality you're not. You understand where Armin is coming from when he mouths the statement, but you assure him that you won't try to communicate with Eren for any reason. You're in no place to put yourself through such thing, not now, not until your job is done.

...

Pushing on his feet, Eren rushes all of his power to his heels, sending his self in the air. He takes a spin mid air, opening his arms wide on either of his sides after he grabs one the guns that rest on the cases that are tied to his breeches. He manages to grab a new line of bullets moments before he lands and he proceeds to shove it to the butt of the gun, the action sending the loud sound of metal colliding filling the air.

As expectedly, he lands on his feet. The annoying rush of his whole body weight on his heels doesn't bother him anymore, he's grown so used to it that it's become a routine. He throws a quickly glance behind him, making sure Flotch and Yelena are right behind him, running silently on their own pace, jumping from building to building.

"Yelena!" Eren shouts "I'm leaving Pieck and Porco to you. Go for the kill the moment you see an opening. And Flotch" he turns his head to the redhead, his voice reeked in authority even though it was muffled by his metallic helmet "Don't let any hero follow my tracks. No casualties. We're proving a point."

Flotch nods rapidly without uttering another word and spares a look to Yelena before they take turns to opposite directions. Eren continues to run straight ahead, his heavy combat boots clashing with various rooftops as he stomps on each one of them with force.

He immediately stops on his tracks as he catches a glimpse of blond hair in an alley. Peaking his head from the edge of a rooftop, he clicks on the side of his helmet, pushing the button that allowed the goggle feature in his helmet to activate.

Zooming in he sees you, your hands clad in an x above your head as you try to avoid the metallic rock like weapons Zeke is throwing at you with full force. Your left foot is thrown back, fully extended while your right leg is bent, your position providing stability as you try to push past and through Zeke's attack.

Through the distracting commotion, Zeke manages to get close enough to you and Eren watches as he lifts his left leg up, getting ready to clash it onto your head. Eren knows, Zeke's force can easily knock you out for several minutes; if he can break through walls with raw fists, Eren can't even phantom what the full capacity of his brute attack can do to your head.

Eren hisses to himself as he stands on his knees, clenching his fists to himself. Quickly enough the skin under his gloves hardens, forming an iron like material over his knuckles. He briefly makes sure they'd hard enough for the attack he has calculated in his mind by rubbing over his knuckles tenderly.

He inhales a good amount of air, his chest filling to the max as he tried on concentrating on his breathing. Regulating his heartbeat is important but he doesn't have enough time, Zeke is in the midst of throwing another wave of metallic rocks in your way. Suddenly Eren stands on his feet for a brief moment before proceeding to take a jump into the alleyway.

The next thing he knows is that his hardened fist lands exactly where he wanted to on Zeke's face, breaking his nose, the bone crashing and shattering making a horrid popping noise that echoes through the cobblestone walls.

His foot sets to find a way to your stomach, pushing a warning kick but with enough force to send you flying in the air, only for a short period of time though. Grunting, you land in a rooftop, clutching onto your pained stomach, coughing up a few breaths that were stuck in your chest upon impact.

Eren makes a fatal mistake; he turns his head to check up on you, momentarily letting down his guard as some form of guilt runs through him. The blond only manages to grasp onto that tiny fragment of his distraction.

Zeke is out of breath as he runs at his full capacity, counting down the seconds to make it to the end of the alley to escape Eren. Eren is fast, faster than the last time Zeke encountered him and slightly more buff, the blond can make out his muscles twitching in rage as he puts his weight onto the tips of his feet, running restlessly behind him. Eren grabs the spare gun that rests on his right thigh with one hand, the shiny spikes that decorate each side of the gun that could possibly land on him at any given moment dazzling him.

Deciding he can't avoid Eren for too long -hes practically right behind him at the very moment- Zeke turns on his feet and sets his right foot behind his left one, tightening his fists as he feels strength rush through his body.

Eren jumps onto him first delivering the first blow, careful not to take the fist that is aimed to him. He bucks down for a split second, avoiding Zeke's second blow and jumps, splitting his feet so that his left leg collides with Zeke's jaw. The blonde leaves a grunt of pain through his mouth, falling back in haze.

With a mid air spin, Eren lands a few meters away from Zeke. He wastes no time in allowing Zeke to catch his breath; he jumps, knee first to deliver a second kick, thought this time it fails to cause the damage he wants. Zeke catches him by the knee the moment he runs into him, gripping with animalistic force, managing to clash the iron kneecap Eren wears for protection.

Zeke lets out a scream as he lands his fist fiercely on Eren's helmet, successfully breaking a hole in it, the kevlar enhanced plastic helmet making a huge shattering sound, its pieces falling anywhere to the concrete ground bellow, some other smaller ones digging their way into Eren's skin.

The act enrages Eren; he backs away bringing his glived fist to wipe on what he figures is blood that's running from his lip. He watches as Zeke takes the chance to turn on his tracks to leave but he resents the act, he bucks slightly to his knees and proceeds to run full speed in his direction, his ultimate goal setting on tackling his brother.

"You're not getting away." Eren spits angrily.

"You've been practicing on your heroic puns haven't you little brother?" Zeke doesn't turn his head back to face Eren, the end of the alley is only a few meters away now, and he'd like to think that he can make it.

The elbow that crushes onto his face and send him in a momentary haze though does definitely belong to Eren. One because despite the vertigo that engulfs him, he can still hear Eren's iron clad footsteps and two because his body never hits the ground when the elbow detaches from his face.

"Where are you running off to Beast?"

Looking up with half lid eyes Zeke smiles a crooked line with his lips, nodding his head to greet you. You huff through your nose with determination, tightening the fist of your hand, causing Zeke to feel squished by the invisible grip you have on him. He squirms in place kicking his feet and expanding his palm.

"Are you here to save me from your lover boy?" Zeke bites at you loudly and your eyes quickly follow Eren's running form, noticing how his helmet is cracked open. Even if it angers you to see him, you try not to let it show right now. It would only take a tiny slips up for Zeke to manage and take the opportunity to outsmart you and challenge you into a physical battle.

"You're not getting away this time, nice try." You shout, freezing his feet with the slightest move of your hand.

Unexpectedly, Eren jumps, gripping Zeke's foot and hanging from it, tagging at the limb with all force. The eye that isn't masked by his helmet is definitely fixed onto you, worrying its glimmer into your soul. You despairately try to brush it off.

Shaking your head you look around to find anything in which you can move Zeke to help Eren land onto. The ground doesn't seem like a good option, Zeke is smart enough to know you can't last long if you have to let go of the mental grip you're forcing on him. You panic as you figure out that he soon will realise your grip on him is able to wobble enough for him to beat your control over him.

"Hand him over (y/n)." Eren screams in your direction, batting his eye to your direction.

You notice Zeke squirming into your grasp as horrified expression proceeds his face. His eyebrows point upwards causing strong rolls of skin to appear on his forehead, his lips curl down in worry and his eyes widen to their max.

"Can't do that!" You turn to Zeke, shooting him a reassuring look, letting him know you wouldn't allow his assassination before your very eyes.

You only understand how foolish you've been to do so when you watch Zeke take a deep breath. Initially you assume he wants to fill his lungs with oxygen due to your harsh grip and you slowly process in your mind the possibilities of what can happen if you chose to loosen your hold on him. It's only when Zeke lets out an eardrum piercing screech that you curse under your breath feeling your mental grip growing weak. Zeke throws you a sorry smile, startling you enough to take a wrong footing on the brick rooftop you're standing on.

You feel your powers flicker even more, to the point it reminds you of a dying flame but you refuse to believe you've reached the end of your potential use of your own meta ability. You pay no attention to Eren and his momentarily twitching as you try to focus on catching your breath. All it should take is a moment, all you need is a moment to calm down your pounding heart and then-

Bam! Bam! Bam!

You sense Zeke slipping away from you unexpectedly and your mouth falls agape, your hands rushing to your ears, despairate to offer protection and and comfort to the buzzing pain you're feeling. Glancing around you notice Eren swirling his gun in his thigh case, smoke emitting from the small opening of the gun, the smell of gunpowder tingling in your nostrils. Even if you're hazy you immediately understand what has happened; Eren's bullets, following Zeke's coordinate scream sent warning shots to his comrades, letting them know of his exact location and if you could guess correctly, giving them information on his situation.

"AH!" Zeke screams in agony, averting your gaze to the commotion that starts to go down on the concrete ground as the Yeager bothers land forcefully on it. Eren's gun is smashed to his brother's head, the iron spikes splitting his cheek open upon impact.

"No!" Your eyes widen as you scream, your body moving to take a quick leap down the side of the rooftop, send bricks to stray into the air as you slide down onto them.

Eren's fists are bouncing quickly onto Zeke's head and torso, taking turns to avoid being overworked. Your eyebrow is twitching automatically, your head is practically on fire, your veins popping and flowing with hit throbs and painful sudden rashes of blood. Eren won't react to your screams, you assume his own adrenaline is covering up the sound of your voice for him.

You land right on top of Eren, sending him in collision with Zeke, crashing his jaw onto his brothers chest. The males let out pained mutters, cursing under their breaths as you push your body weight harder onto them.

"Eren don't do this."

You take Eren's torso into your arms, using as much strength as you can manage to press his back into your chest. You ignore the way your heart painfully spreads up, similarly to the way a schoolgirl's at the sight of her crush, you resist the urge to rest your head on Eren's shoulder from the back like you would have done had the circumstances been any different. You only squeal as you try to transfer all your strength to your hands, your feet giving in and your chest heaving as you try to pull Eren even further into you.

"Get off of me." Eren screams thrashing his hands around with enough strength to shoo your grip on him away.

"No!" You chatter, squinting him even more. "You're not killing your own brother."

"Fucking hell, let me go."

Your hand mechanically searches for Eren's thigh even though your vision is still blurry. You're practically ravaging him with one hand for a few seconds, despairately clinging onto whatever resembled the touch of a gun.

"I'm not going to let you do this." You say, pressing him further into you, your heart basically hammering in its skeleton binds.

If Eren believes the guy with gun is always right in a fight, you have to point a gun at him to prove his own point to him. Right?

You clad your arms under his arpits, securing your grip onto the top of his shoulder as you manage to flick him off, balancing his weight onto both your knees. With a jump, you land on your wobbly feet, your iron clad heels making loud thuds as you jolt your body slightly to Eren's direction. Your wrist flicks, signing to Zeke's hands and consecuentially they come together, seemingly tied up by invisible imaginary bounds.

A harden expression masks your face as you point the edge of the gun to Eren, pushing it mere inches away from his face, the cold metal flushing with the outside parts of his helmet.

"Take it off, slowly." You order, your stern eyes never bowing the the puppy like eyes Eren is pointing at you. "I'm the guy with the gun, if you're smart you do as I say." You turn your face to the right, now pointing directly to Zeke. "You too Beast."

Under any other circumstance you would have felt your heart melt at the sight to your left; bellow his helmet Eren is battered, bruised and he's glistering with swear and grease -you assume it's from the creaks of his head cover- this sight should be enough for you to throw the gun away from your hand, or destroy it with your powers.

Eren hisses as his hands move to click on the securing buttons of his helmet, the lightweight iron thrashing into more pieces as it comes undone, the damage it had undergone seemingly unredeemable. You sighed internally, Eren has more than a dozen of them back at his place, so replacing this one wont be an issue, fortunatelly. Your hard eyes never leave him, his own turqouise orbs fixating on you the moment his helmet is put to the ground. His hands shoot up in defeat, his palms extended as he stares at you with an annoyed expression.

“Fine? Got what you wanted?”

“Eren!” you utter, stomping your foot to the ground.

You don’t realise at first -yet it doesn’t slip Eren- but the gun is quaking in your hand. With your trembling hand mere inches before him, it’s hard not to notice in the end, but he spares you of the embarassment for a second, he focuses on how to get himself out of this situation first.

“Sorry, babe.” Eren smiles at you, using his feet to flip himself off of the ground, pushing his weight onto his torse for his feet to levitate off the ground. Shook and thrown off by his sudden act, the gun in your hand slips and you squeal, yur grip on Zeke unfocusing as your powers dictate Eren to come to an halt midair. His body thrashes down to the ground, grunts of agony coming out of his chest.

It happens before you even have a chance to blink; your powers are weakened, Eren screams an ear piercing screech and Zeke starts running towards your direction. Multiple bangs echo through the air and you don’t even have a chance to look up to pinpoint where their source lays, your neck is looped on the inside of an elbow but at this point all you can see is black and white as your ears ring dangerously.

“Zeke! Let her go!” Eren screams, his eyes pacing between Zeke and the new additions to the scene, Flotch and Yelena. They both point their guns to Zeke’s direction, panting and Eren is panting as well, his mouth running miles ahead of his brain. He knows he’s in a sticky situation, left unarmed hen Zeke has managed to grab the gun you dropped, shot on the left bicept, but it’s nothing compared to you

Thick crimson fell in gushes from your head, sipping slightly to the cavity at the edge of your mouth, rushing down the painful path to your neck. Your costume seeped in it, the cloth furiously sipping like a hungry vampire as more blood run over it. Eren didn't dare move his hands, only his real orbs paced between his team members, remaining wide open, despairate to light up in any frail solution he could think of.

"If I let her go, you'll let me take my leave."

Eren's brain throbbed, the coiling cavities swelling and shrinking. He examined the possibilities and went over his options like a madman, there were a few ways in which he could entrust Zeke's extermination to Yelena and Flotch, he could even manage to grab you in the midst of it and bring you to safety. The bullet Zeke has shot towards you hadn't planted its way into your head, it had only scratched over the surface, he should be able to stop the bleeding if he could manage to bring you to safety.

If he was completely honest, he could have numerous opportunies to kill Zeke, he couldn't bring you back though in any case you died.

"Fine." He said, throwing his hands up in defeat. "Get it your way."

"No funny games brother."

With a piercing look thrown at Yelena, Eren leaped a step towards Zeke. The blonde and the redhead lowered their guns pointing their cranes to the cobblestone ground. Eren's iron enhanced footsteps filled the teeny alleyway but they came to an halt as soon as they began. Zeke brought a hand to his nose, pinching the tip slightly despite the fact that his glasses had been shattered to pieces his digits still went for his habitual action of fixing them on his diaphragm.

When Zeke's footing dug into the ground, the material screeching from the intense friction Eren widened his eyes. With your head in his palm he rushed into the wall, blood drenched (h/c) tresses sticking onto his tan skin. With a huge thud he smashed your head against the wall, a roar blurting its way out of the depths of his chest. Then, his feet made the best out of their existence, running as fast as they could, if these were his last moments, at least he caused some mayhem and pain to live up to his reputation.

Eren didn't even have a chance to jump into the commotion in time yet he leaped on your side with your name falling out of his lips in the form of a scream. With no need to be commanded to Yelena and Flotch raised their guns at Zeke, shooting while launching on his direction, leaving Eren and your unconscious body behind.

...

"There's no hope for us right?"

You were dying.

Sprawled over a gray cement built rooftop that paid homage to Trost's biggest neon sign you were taking your last few breaths. And Eren was the only one to blame.

You laid rested on his lap, his hand frozen over the roots of your hair as he felt how tangled they felt with all the dried blood on them. Electric blue neon light fell over his shoulders in the mellowest way, creating a halo over his body, his messy hair and all of its stray strands sticking out as the contrasted the light.

"I'm sorry I brought you here at a moment like this. But since you always said you wanted us to hang out here"

Eren paused to sniffle the little goo at the tip of his nose. A burning sensation in his chest chocked him, it crushed his lungs under an iron grip, the splash of blood and flesh echoing inside his torso. His stomach fell and repositioned itself, his gut churned, his eyes solidified pain in the form of hot, salty tears.

"I couldn't think of anything else."

There wasn't any hope for you. Your skull was cracked open beyond saving, your forehead was jabbed and crushed, your eye bloody and scarlet where bright white should have been. Your nose was broken and crooked. It was only a matter of sorrowful moments before life left your body but Eren couldn't bring himself to help you into descenting faster into the light.

"You probably can't even listen to me. But I love you, always did, always will. I never meant what I said that night. About not knowing why I was with you."

Tears ran down his face, his chest quacking in endless sobs that he tried to muffle. But he couldn't help it, despite having grown into a silent nonchalant adult, he still couldn't push past the hurt if losing someone that close to him. Whatever facade he had ever tried to put on himself was crumbling down in seconds before you, right in this very moment.

"Levi's on his way to take you to a hospital." He announced, yet he doubted you could listen. His hands wiped furiously at his stinging and painful tears. The drops of blood that entered his eyes made him hiss even further.

A bloody palm came to cup under your jaw, and Eren hissed as he felt the bone going stiff. He refused to believe it, he refused to believe your mouth had locked, he refused to believe it was happening. For all that matters he didn't want this to be your last shared moment.

From afar he could see Levi and his former friends approaching, the sound of sirens complimenting the background as the neon sign started buzzing and flickering behind him. When Levi finally stepped his foot to your direction he spoke no word, much like the rest of the team, except for Mikasa who shot him a comforting glare and a pat on the forearm.

Eren watches as Levi checked for your pulse and took you over his back, your body laying numb over his own. He spoke no words as he watched the man pull away and roam between buildings before disappearing. As the neon sign behind him made a chirpy, electronic voice and spurt a few sparks of quickly dissolving fire three more hands came to rest on his shoulders. Jean, Connie and Sasha had all silently tried to seek for a way to comfort him, confiding into mimicking Mikasa. 

 Eren knew he wouldn't ever have the chance to see you illuminated by the cobalt neon light again.

Taglist: @levisbrat25 @nobody-knows-anymore @callmepromise @melancholicmonologue @ladyofpandemonium @alrightberries

Super special thanks to my baby @sasageyowrites and my dear @aichiin (if you don’t check out her art i will be mad!)

[peaches-writes]

bibingka

skz of christmas day 6: rice cakes with changbin

member: changbin  wc: 1.9k genre: fluff, comedy, slight idiots to lovers au, neighbour au, this is actually a binsung fic jk warning: explicit language  note: obligatory ben&ben christmas post duh + connects to the jisung entry + issa bit rushed just bc ive been busy da whole week im so sorry hnnnnnnng

day 3

Even with Changbin’s deadliest glare almost burning holes on his face and a stomach cramp threatening to explode on his lower half, Jisung wouldn’t stop laughing. In fact, other passersby are starting to momentarily look their way because of his cackles echoing as loud as the church bells tolling for the next mass.

“I fucking hate you.” The boy being ridiculed rolls his eyes and punches the younger boy on the arm. “Shut up.”

“I just—“ Jisung seemingly wipes away a tear in between his non-stop giggles, clutching his stomach again after as he slows his breathing down. “You’re such a—you’re such a wimp and it’s like the third year now!” 

Changbin wants to correct him by saying that it’s only the second but ultimately decides against it to avoid feeding the mocking laughter. “I’m not! I was just trying to be respectful!”

“Seo Changbin, you’ve been neighbors with Y/N since who the fuck knows how long. If anything, not holding their hand during the Lord’s Prayer is actually rude and disrespectful.” Jisung scoffs. “Like look, I scored a date with my neighbor yesterday and they’re only here during the holidays. Where’s your progress?” 

The last comment deepens Changbin’s glare and disapproving frown. “Well, what if—what if they didn’t want to? Not everyone likes holding non-family members’ hands during that prayer. And excuse you, you landed that date from stalking me.”

Jisung comically slaps his hand up to his temples this time, exhaling a very deep breath in amusement before shaking his head in disapproval. “Oh, Binnie, until when are you going to keep telling these things to yourself? Y/N literally had their hand up for you a while back! Just hold them for a minute!”

“Yeah, but—“

Before Changbin could fully refute, however, the two boys then see you pass by with your grandmother, a passing smile gracing your features as you wave at them politely with your free hand. “Good morning, you two!” You briefly greet before shifting your attention back to your grandmother again, your gaze lingering to Changbin for a second longer definitely not going unnoticed by a grinning Jisung. 

“Good morning!” Changbin and Jisung return your sentiments, the latter then elbowing the older boy as soon as you turn away. 

“I’m telling you,” Jisung whispers tauntingly after, leaning his face close to Changbin and placing a hand over his ear. “just hold Y/N’s hand. It’s not that hard.” 

Taking one last look at you right before you’re whisked away to your grandmother’s friends, Changbin sighs and mumbles, “Oh no, Sung, you don’t know shit.” 

day 5

Every time Changbin does so much as glance in Jisung’s general direction at the choir area in the middle of the service, the younger boy would wink suggestively or make the most comical kissy faces and it doesn’t help his case at all. Somewhere in the back of Changbin’s head, he hesitantly thanks whatever driving force there is in this universe that you’re mostly occupied with looking after your grandmother and passing the time with mindless gestures to notice.

“Just do it, man!” Jisung mouths to Changbin for what already seems to be the eighth time since the mass started, balancing his guitar on his lap to clasp his hands right in front of his face. “I got you!”

Changbin rolls his eyes before glancing over to you standing right next to him. To make things worse, the topic of holding your hand makes his attention wander over to the said body part that taps a noiseless beat on the pew in fromt of you. On your other side, your grandmother seems to have fallen asleep right after you made her sit down because of her weak knees.

Now would be the time, dumbass, The voice in Changbin’s head points out in a way that awfully resembles Jisung. Do it!

But when the familiar tune starts playing and your gentle tapping stops, Changbin’s quickly overcome with nervousness again.

The poor boy’s lifted knuckles knock against yours but fails to take your hand once more.

“Even Jesus can’t help this dude now.” Jisung sighs from across the church as he watches the helpless scene unfold. “Ah, whatever.”

day 8

“Dude, come on it’s been eight days. Stop staring the rice cake down, it’s going to burn up!” Jisung scolds, clutching Changbin by his nearest bicep and pulling him away from the rice cake stall. “Come on, let’s re-group somewhere else!” 

“Re-group?” Changbin furrows his brows, letting himself get dragged to a nearby corner right underneath the outdoor display grotto anyway. “What for?” 

Jisung, skidding to a halt once he’s reached a spot far away from the usual crowd of church-goers, rolls his eyes and faces Changbin belatedly as he answers, “Because you’ve been looking like a whole dumbass at church for the third year in a row now and I swear even the priest is starting to get frustrated!”

“No, I don’t!”

“Yes, you do!”

Changbin squints his eyes in annoyance now and crosses his arms in front of his chest, visibly unamused at the younger boy’s antics. “I’m...a respectful person.”

“You’re a coward.” Jisung argues back bluntly with a draamatic and disapproving shake of his head, taking ahold of Changbin’s two hands after and holding them up in between them. “Just hold their hand like this, chant the Lord’s prayer, and be done with it! We’re all friends, it’s cool!”

Changbin scoffs, wriggling his fingers out of Jisung’s death grip only to get caught immediately. “You don’t understand, dude.” He sighs in exasperation, frowning even more in annoyance when Jisung makes a judging face at him with pursed lips. “It’s Y/N.”

“Exactly, it’s just Y/N.” Jisung retorts in a gradually patronizing tone, making sure to drag out his words. “It’s not like you’re obligated to get married if you hold their hand! Heck, even the kids who sit two rows behind you are braver and those two are just making gang signs at each other during Mass.”

“I—“

And, as if it’s the way of the universe siding wholeheartedly with Jisung, Changbin hears you stifle a giggle with your hand from behind him. When the flustered boy turns around, he sees you and your grandma approaching with candles to offer to the grotto’s statues.

“Shit.” Changbin curses under his breath, quickly hiding it with a greeting to you and your grandmother. “Good morning, Mrs. Y/L/N! Hi, Y/N!”

“Hi, grandma! Hi, H/N!” Jisung waves with his hands still intertwined with Changbin’s, making the latter blush even more as he quickly lets go. “Ooh, scented candles! Are you guys out here to pray for wishes?”

You nod with a hum, pursing your lips quickly at seeing Changbin pretend to wipe his hands down the sides of his jeans. “Yeah, just the usual year-ender stuff.” You explain, helping your grandma up to the stone steps leading to the religious status. Glancing over the two as your grandmother goes ahead on her own, you then ask, “Were you guys in the middle of...something?”

“W-What? N-No, no! We were just...” Mentally, Changbin’s cognition is already shutting down under your genuinely curious gaze. It doesn’t help that you’re a step above him and Jisung too, giving you a rare opportunity to tower over them. “Jisung was just being weird!”

“No, I wasn’t!”

“Dude, you just held my hand out of nowhere.”

“Yeah, to tell you that—mmfffff!” Changbin interrupte Jisung midway by clamping his mouth shut and making you chuckle.

“Okay, if you say so...” You finally let out a laugh with ease at seeing their antics, waving goodbye once more and taking another step upwards again. “I’ll just see you two around later! Grandma and I still need to say some prayers for our relatives.”

“Sure. See you around, Y/N.” Changbin smiles up at you, returning your wave with his free hand.

Behind his other hand, Jisung tries his best at yelling out to you, “Pray for Changbin, please! For everyone’s sake!”

day 9

The first thing Jisung notices—well, the second thing since he noticed your rather sleepy expression prior—is how you walk in and sit down next to Changbin at your usual pew without your grandmother. Changbin, on the other hand, notices rather belatedly when he notices you only when you’re already seated.

“Where’s grandma?” He asks, whipping his head around everywhere for your grandmother’s familiar grey hair and white church veil. “Is she okay?”

“She just stayed up too late for a Christmas party last night so I told her I’ll go to mass for her while she rests.” You nod reassuringly, only at such point fully comprehending the unfamiliar atmosphere of only the two of you sitting on your usual place. “She’ll be around again tomorrow but, you know, as far as the legend goes, she won’t be able to make a wish on Christmas Eve.” 

Changbin chuckles at this, leaning back in his seat more comfortably now as you giggle along. “You still believe in that? We all know that parents only say that so we wouldn’t sleep at Mass when we were kids.” 

When the boy glances over to you, he sees you nod in between laughs. “Yeah but don’t you think it’s something nice to think about and believe in? Don’t you make wishes after the ninth Mass anymore?” 

“It depends.” He shrugs. 

“Then why do you still go, hm? Your parents don’t even come around as often.” 

To see you, Changbin’s mind immediately drifts off but he bites his tongue back quickly before he could accidentally blurt it out. “I just like hearing the choir sing in the morning.” 

“I doubt that.” You chuckle with a shake of your head, just as the choir begins to sing the opening song. “Speaking of which...” 

Changbin whips his head around in the same direction you avert your gaze to, finding the Mass already starting. “Oh, it’s starting.” He muses out loud, following the crowd and standing up. When he turns to you again, however, you’re still seated. “Aren’t you standing up?” 

“Will you help me up?” You ask rather teasingly, holding your hand up to him. 

“What?” His eyes widen, blinking twice slowly until he’s sure that your hands not moving back down to your side. 

“Changbin, just hold my damn hand.” You hiss under the loud music, waving your hand in the air until he finally and reluctantly takes it and pulls you up. “There. Wasn’t so hard, was it?” 

Changbin is quick to blush under the bright lights around you, fumbling around his words and even more when you don’t let go of his hand. “I—y-ya, you’ve known all this time?”   

In response, you simply shrug as you bring your hands down in between the two of you. “Maybe? Why do you think I’ve been making grandma sit here and not at the front as usual?” You explain sheepishly. “I was hoping, since we know each other and everything anyway, you’d...hold my hand at prayer. It’s silly, I know.”

“So you—” 

“I like you, Changbin.” You beat him right to it, clearing your throat immediately to ease the atmosphere. “I just...hold my hand at prayer, will you? If it isn’t weird or anything.” 

“S-Sure.” He awkwardly nods, looking away to hide an embarrassed smile. “I-I like you too.” 

Across the room, Jisung almost jumps up in his seat while playing the guitar and elbows his significant other rather harshly as they play the piano. “Ya, dude, it’s happened! Look!” 

The pianist hisses in pain at Jisung’s elbow on their sides before mustering up a chuckle once they’ve regained composure. “That’s good to see. Now, how many days will it take for him to buy the rice cake?” 

december 22 (lee minho)

skz of christmas (masterlist)

m.list

@skzwriternet

[damianosismyking]

PART X - [FINAL]

Part I - Part II - Part III - Part IV - Part V - Part VI - Part VII - Part VIII - Part IX 

Sitting on the edge of the fence, with his feet kicking against the white wood, Laurent didn’t know what he was feeling.  

He knew, but he didn’t know.  

He was no longer the stable boy for the deAkielos family. He no longer lived at the ranch. He was still an orphan and there was nothing he could do about this, but somewhere between the main house and the garage and the stables, his brother awaited to take him home to his family that wasn’t his. He would no longer race around the vineyards in warm afternoons or climb trees (much less kiss under them).  

There was something in the bittersweetness that made Laurent’s chest ache.  

Egeria would become even more of a memory, a more distant one, stored away along with his parents and his old house, his old school, and the books he loved dearly in childhood, long forgotten. The open greenness, the soft breeze, the buzz of the summer… they’d be in the past too. Laurent was going home, though home felt much like here and the place he was supposed to miss – and he did – was foreign.  

He always knew anyway; he was never meant to fit anywhere and nowhere was made for him. What difference it made where he lived. There would always be something to miss and something to leave behind.  

Like his mother and father. Like Auguste. Damen and Egeria. The ranch, and Pinocchio, his mare. His room with all his toys, his room with all its smells. Arles and Dice.  

...

Four days ago, in a charming, luxurious conference room downtown in Dice, at the law firm Damianos works for, Laurent’s uncle signed a settlement.

The alternative would be going to court and risk time in jail, which he was not willing to do.  

He signed the agreement that gave back all the family money and properties he appropriated (the word the counselor used), an agreement to confess he did intervene with the hearings about Laurent’s custody, an agreement to make sure he would issue an apology, an agreement to compensate for the defamation of Auguste, something Laurent had no knowledge about prior to the moment it was mentioned.  

Auguste sat still through all of it blank-faced. He said nothing for an hour and so Laurent did the same. He did not answer to their uncle’s provocative statements, not even when they were directed at him, and soon they died down.  

The glares he risked to Auguste were never responded and he stopped trying to give them; the glares risked to Damianos were always responded with a curt nod, a twist of the lips or the averting of the eyes and so Laurent looked often.

In that same luxurious conference room that had to be the fanciest place Laurent has ever been to, he kissed Damianos.

It was after his uncle and his attorneys left, and the documents were signed, and Auguste excused himself to go to the restroom for a moment. They were close and Laurent asked what else was there for them to do after this, to which Damianos responded, ‘nothing.’  

Damianos told him they won and he had been smiling then, so Laurent forgot, for the flick of a second, that he couldn’t – he shouldn’t – and he kissed Damianos on the lips, the way he thought of doing every day. The way he hadn’t done in weeks.  

At first, Laurent argued it to himself it was a mindless, giddy reaction to the good news – which he knew was not the truth. Mindless, giddy reactions had nothing to deal with the way he half-ran his way around the big oak table and launched himself in Damianos’ arms.  

At second, he argued that he did it because now he could afford to have a crush on Damianos, with the money of the settlement. He was not wealthy – or at least not as wealthy as Damianos – but he could afford to have more than old clothes, hand-me-down books and second-hand electronics.  

At third he remembered that Damen was still, in spite of riches, too much for him, so Laurent left before any of them could say anything.

And they didn’t talk about it.  

Laurent didn’t know what he was feeling. Or he did, but there was no way he could put a name to it.  

...

Laurent said goodbye to the view on his way down to the stables where part of his baggage waited.  

He said goodbye to the vineyards, to the stone path that led to the main house, the dirt path he took to go up the hill with his horse, among thick ivy brushes and wide trees. He whispered goodbye to his favorite hiding spots, to the tire swing that had been there ever since Egeria was little girl. The white fence.  

He would have given his farewell to Theomedes, Kastor and Jokaste as well, but they left to go spend a season in Ios, the housekeeper told him.

The sun was setting. Laurent delayed enough to be able watch it one final time. By this time tomorrow, he would watch the sunset from his room in Auguste’s home.  

His home. With Auguste and his wife, whose name Laurent kept forgetting. And the kid whose name Laurent could not forget if he tried.  

He crossed the fence that delimited the stable area dreading to get to his things and hold conversation with Auguste, who was more excited than Laurent was able to stomach right now. He thought nothing of the relief that bloomed in his chest when he saw there was no one there. Only the horses and a pile of boxes bigger than Laurent expected it to be.

Laurent said goodbye to the horses one by one, and lingered when it was Pinocchio’s turn, his forehead glued to her nose, scratching the back of her ear, urging her to understand he was not leaving her on purpose or because he loved her any less than always.

Had Laurent been more attentive or had his continuous mumble been less intense or sniffs less audible, he perhaps would have noticed that someone approached the stables and witnessed his passionate goodbye to the horse.

“I’ll take good care of her,” Damianos said to his back and Laurent startled. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean – She’ll be in good hands, I promise.”

Laurent runs a mindless hand over the front of his shirt and his jeans to compose. “I know. All of the stable staff is very attentive.”

Damen smiled meekly, shaking his head in a nearly imperceptible motion. “I will tend to her personally.”

Damen was just standing there, one shoulder propped to the wooden post in the middle of the stable. His hair was wet and tousled, disheveled by the wind on his way down. He wore sweatpants low on his hips and Laurent was not looking at the way it fit him, cling to him and shaped him everywhere. His t-shirt was tight around his torso and biceps. His lips were red, the way they usually were after he took long, steaming showers, so hot Laurent himself was never able to stay through, or his skin would burn.

He committed this vision of Damianos to memory. The careless, domestic, natural view of him that Laurent had not appreciated enough in the past.

“Where is Auguste?” Damen asked.  

Laurent shrugged. “I think he is down in the garage.”

“Do you need help taking your things to the car?”

Laurent shook his head. His throat felt too tight to speak, his mind too clouded to think of words, his heart to heavy to bear say what he had been avoiding – the goodbye he was not able to give.

They simply stood where they were, boring their eyes on each other, lulled by neighs and huffs and hooves.  

“I like what you did with your hair by the way,” Damen said, pointing awkwardly. “It looks nice. Short.”

“Thank you,” Laurent said, an involuntary hand picking at the short strands that tickled his nape.

More nothing. Laurent knows what he is avoiding and knows better yet that it is unavoidable, and still he can’t make himself say it.  

Damen is still there if he doesn’t say it. If he stall just a little longer, he is still part of the stable staff, he still lives in the room a few feet down in this same building, he will still see Damen tomorrow.  

He can’t stall.

“I’m very thankful for all that you…” he was saying.  

Damen picked the same exact moment to say, “Is there no way for…”

They stopped. Both of them. Eyes on each other, intently. Is there no way for what, Laurent was about to say, when Damen said, “You go first.”

Laurent drew in a sharp breath. “I’m very thankful for all that you and your family have done for me.”

Damen’s face fell along his shoulders. For a moment before he caught himself, Damen seemed utterly disappointed by the words that came out Laurent’s mouth and Laurent wanted to tell him it was not the first time something like that happened.  

“You keep saying that” Damen said.

“It’s the truth.”

Damen nodded, shifting on his feet. He assumed a more guarded posture, with his arms crossed in front of his chest. His eyes were no longer on Laurent too, but on his feet with flip flops.  

Laurent’s mind took him back to the fancy conference room, four days ago, to the way Damen cradled his head, his soft, soft sigh when he melted into the kiss barely a moment before Laurent came back to his senses and pulled away. Laurent had not spent a second to watch the way Damen’s features changed before he was out the door, punching the elevator bottom.  

“You were saying something as well,” Laurent said.  

Once more, Damen nodded. “Is there,” he looked back at Laurent, “No way forward for us?”

“You mean if I’m going back to your bed?” Laurent said. It is not as cold as he intended it to be, almost playful instead. If he let himself think of it, he sounded hurt, but it was unlikely it was obvious to anyone else.

Damen took a step forward, unsure what to do with his hands without the post to lean against. For good measure, he took another one, still too far to reach. “I wish,” he started and spared a moment to recalibrate the words, “I wish I had done things differently. That I made it clear how much you mean to me.”

It was Laurent’s turn to look down at dusty boots, dirt and lost hay. “Damen.” Stop.

“You were never… to me, you were never just a hook up. I should have told you that.”

You should have. I wish you did. But would that have made any difference? “It wasn’t really… about that.” Wasn’t it? What would have changed for Laurent if Damen told Laurent he meant more than the fuck of the month?  

“Not exclusively, at least,” he finally added.

Damen was still walking towards him and if Laurent was a braver man, he would meet him halfway. Laurent was never brave.

“What was it about then?” Damen said. He paused and his feet vacillated with him. He was more unsure. “Do you… not care? Did you not want to get involved?”

Laurent’s heart dropped. It’s not that, he wanted to say, how could you ever think that? When Laurent took too long, Damen said, “I just want to understand,” and it sounded nearly as a plead.

“You were my boss, Damen,” Laurent said. “We were never the same. There was no way it – we could make it work.”

Auguste came to mind then. Was he coming back? Where was he? Laurent should be looking for him, taking his boxes down to the garage, loading the truck Damianos was kind enough to rent to make the move easier, getting in the car, listening to Auguste talk about his family and how Laurent was going to love the new town they are living in.  

Laurent should be thinking about that. About going to college, getting to know his brother again; about the bookstore Auguste was sure Laurent was going to love, he huge public library just two blocks down in their neighborhood. About going back to the real world and becoming a citizen of it again, about how it would feel not to be sheltered and hiding any longer.  

But Damen was there with huge, hopeful eyes and Laurent.  

He wanted him. He wanted. He basked in how much Damen still seemed to want him too.  

He wanted Damen to ask him to stay, and to tell him he was stupid for going away.

“And now?” Damen said.  

“Now what?” Laurent needed him to say it. He did not dare to hope.  

“I know you have a lot on your plate. I don’t want to steal you from your brother, but,” he was finally there, where Laurent could reach him, “We could start over. Fresh,” he said.

It felt like Laurent had been holding his breath for weeks, and now he could finally breath.  

Yes, he meant to say, but the words stayed inside.  

“You will always be welcome in here,” Damen continued, his thumb caressing Laurent’s cheekbone, his breath brushing softly, tenderly against Laurent’s face, “This ranch is… it can be home, to you. If you want.”

Laurent gulped through his dry throat and smiled, letting go of pretense. Even if he could, he would not have kept his guard up. Damen’s eyes on him were expectant, eager for Laurent’s reply.  

There was a lot to consider then. What it meant, to start over, what it was that they were together – properly together – and what changed. What remained the same. Where to start when what they had was not new and yet a complete novelty.

What would Egeria think? What will Theomedes say?  

“I’d like that,” Laurent said instead, excitement burning his chest. “I’d like that very much.”

Leaning in, Damen kissed him and for the first time, Laurent considered that it could work.  

And Laurent knew exactly how to feel about that.

-- 

The end uwu

Read it on AO3

[coreastories]

The Morning Before

Part 11 of Days and Nights of Forever 

The morning before she let him go, for what could well have been forever. 

Companion to the first part of The Thirteenth Rule

I love Episode 15. So much tenderness there, and so much heartbreak that it's my first time rewatching certain scenes when I finally decided to flesh out THIS outline. 

This is for Patty @pateetsie, who sent me a bucket of joy, and wanted some fluff. There's fluff here. :)

I've been cussed out told that there is no fluff in this chapter at all AT ALL. 😅

It was raining. Soft rain. The kind that washed away sleet if any had come in the cold night, the kind that spring asserted against any last vestiges of winter. And she was warm, so very warm with Gon spooning her and breathing onto her hair under their shared blanket. 

She wiped her eyes and swallowed the sniffling that had woken her up. He was here. There was no need for this.  

Gon tightened his arms around her--gently, without disturbing her wound--and kissed her on her hairline. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. 

She turned in his arms and she saw love and… something else in his eyes. She focused on love. Focused on how he looked like he wanted to kiss her. Focused on all the affection in that gaze. So she smiled at him and smiled wider when she saw that other thing recede from his eyes, even if just for now. 

His eyes brightened even more when she stroked his arm, clad in the sleeves of hospital pajamas. “What happened to your clothes? You didn’t get stabbed too while I was asleep?”

“Your nurse happened. She gave me this to wear and took my clothes to the laundry. She felt sorry for me trying to fit into this bed in those clothes.” 

“Oh yeah. That jacket certainly wasn’t for sleeping in.” She made a face. “Were they filthy?”

He grinned. “I don’t know. Probably. Frozen time and space also worked on my entire excretory system but I did go out of that place several times. Did I smell when you saw me in 2016? And last night? I’ve showered before getting back in here with you.” 

She shook her head, laughing. 

The rain continued in the background, falling a little harder, but still a soft, pleasant background as he kissed her. 

Tae-Eul sighed into that kiss, loving the feel of his lips and tongue against hers and ignoring the tears that spilled from her eyes again. He had also kissed her last night, but she was already half asleep by then, exhausted from everything, her adrenaline and her brain shutting down the moment Gon was finally there beside her, promising he wouldn’t leave her. 

So now she focused on that kiss. And nothing else. The sound of the rain helped. 

He brushed his thumbs against her cheeks and eyes, and kissed her eyelids and forehead, his hand a warm, solid weight on her cheek and neck. She placed her hand over his, wrapping her fingers around his thumb. 

He nodded. 

“I’m sorry,” he said again.

She shook her head again. “Don’t mind me. I’m just glad you’re here. Don’t go.” 

They both ignored what returned to his eyes. 

She moved to get up and he nimbly jumped off the bed and rounded it to help her sit up without straining her middle. 

She usually had to roll to her right side and then use her elbow and arm to lever herself up. But he made things simple, wrapping his arm around her and simply lifting her up. 

She smiled up at him. “Thanks. Can you help me? My hair wash day was supposed to be yesterday. But I was busy.” 

His expression said he wasn’t happy about that, but he grinned all the same. “Of course. I can help you wash everything.” 

She slapped him on the arm and left him to laugh at his own dorkiness, pushing him aside to go to the bathroom. 

Having him there helped. Instead of struggling over the sink and getting the front of her hospital gown wet anyway despite covering it with a towel, he held a wash basin under her chin so she didn’t have to bend over to wash her face. 

They did the same thing when she brushed her teeth. 

Then he used the already damp towel to cushion the rim of the sink. He helped her position her head on that towel cushion just so, and he washed her hair, digging his fingers into her scalp, his eyes warm and attentive. Watching for any discomfort. Watching, period. She held his gaze for the first minute, then closed her eyes because the sight of him just...filled her so much and made her spill over with tears. It was ridiculous. 

But was it only yesterday that she didn’t know if she was ever going to see him again? 

Only yesterday when she felt both sad and relieved that she wasn’t--

She took a deep breath. She wasn’t going to dwell on any of that today. 

They had today and she hoped it was going to be a long day. 

She opened her eyes and he was still looking at her, now with one hand guiding the handheld shower over her hair and the other on her forehead so the water from her rinse wouldn’t run down her face. 

“You’re really good at this. You can go professional.” 

“No one would hire me. Everyone else would lose their tips because the customers would flock to me.” 

They both laughed. She loved seeing him laugh. She had missed that laugh so much. 

He wrapped her hair in the towel, tucking everything carefully so she wouldn’t drip, and then helped her get up again. Once she was on her feet, he wrapped his arms around her shoulders and tucked her against him. 

Her arms were already around his waist, her hands stroking his back. She loved how warm he felt under the thick cotton pajamas. Loved the solid feel of him enclosing her. Loved the weight of his head as he pressed his cheek against the towel securely knotted around her hair. 

Loved that he was there for her to hold. 

They stayed like that, just holding each other, until they heard someone enter her hospital room outside the en suite. He took her hand and they went out together. The nurse paused on her way out the door. She looked at them and smiled. 

“I left your clothes there for you,” she said to Gon, then turned to Tae-Eul. “They’ll send breakfast in a bit. I’ll make sure it’s enough for two. Then I’ll come back with your IV and check on your wound.”

She just smiled again when they both bowed to thank her. 

Tae-Eul looked at Gon. “What did you tell her? Why does she love us so much? She wasn’t happy with me last night.”

He raised his eyebrows and smiled in that half-smug, half-self-deprecating way only he could pull off. “Maybe we just look good and romantic?” 

“Romantic is not the word in my head right now, but it rhymes.” 

Breakfast was quick. She just wanted to start the day. Maybe they could sneak out now that the rain had stopped and the sun was out. She was already done with her bowl of dakjuk before it occurred to her that she could have made Gon feed her. Ridiculous thought. But maybe later. 

The nurse came back and scolded Tae-Eul for removing her IV while she redid it all. Tae-Eul didn’t flinch, but Gon did. When the nurse left, Tae-Eul said, “You’re not scared of needles, are you?” 

“Of course not. But this is the second time I’m seeing you with an IV. That’s two times too many.” 

“I’ll take an IV over a cast any day.”

He rolled his eyes but only shook his head in wry amusement. 

He changed back to his black pullover and trousers in the en suite and then they were back to staring at each other while he blow dried her hair. 

She wanted to ask him what he was thinking of, but she already knew, so she took hold of his pullover between her fingers, and it was enough to quiet her rising panic. 

“I bet you take longer getting your hair done.”

“Not really. It’s fast when you have the right tools and two people doing the work,” he said with a straight face. He laughed at the look on her face. “It’s really just mousse and gel, you know.” 

“Why don’t you just slick it back like Jo Yeong does with his hair?”

“Too easy. And he’s been doing it since he got tired of his bowl cut. So I can’t exactly copy him.” 

“He had a bowl cut?” 

“Yeah. It looked ridiculous. You were so cute as a kid. I saw your pictures at your house, of course, but seeing you in person was different. You were probably so cute as a baby.” 

“No, no, I wasn’t a pretty baby.” This wasn’t a subject she wanted, though she applauded herself for being able to say the word baby now. She was going to be fine. “Let’s go downstairs for my checkup so we can go outside.” 

She was glad Gon didn’t have to be there when her bandage was changed. The wound was clean but still angry, and it was going to leave an inch of scarring despite the good stitching. She took her antibiotics and the nurse injected another dose of pain meds in her IV. 

She wondered how long she could stay awake with those doses in her bloodstream, but she managed. Oh, she managed. 

That morning was beautiful, even if she was warned against straining herself and had to be wheeled around, even if Gon was already steeling himself against that regret and unassailable decision she’d seen in his eyes, even with her barely hanging on to composure by touching him all she could. 

He fed her bibimbap, and she fed him his bowl of instant ramyeon in return. When one noodle was too violent and broth splashed all over both their faces, they wiped each other’s cheeks and mouths with their hands, laughing hard enough for her wound to twinge and remind her it was still there. 

He helped her wash up, and then he helped her lie down because it was probably so obvious that she was fighting sleep. 

She curled up facing him in his seat, and she memorized everything about him, that ridiculously perfect hair, his beautiful eyes, that nose, that cheek that hid her favorite dimple, those lips she knew could turn her breathless and mindless and boneless. 

And his hands, both clasped and completely enveloping her hand. Those big hands that could deftly handle chalk, shoot hoops, fix cars, knock men down with a single stroke from his sword or his crop, hands that commanded the manpasikjeok and yet were also trapped by the manpasikjeok. 

She closed her eyes so she wouldn’t cry again. “You’ll probably leave when I sleep.”

“No.” 

All right. She’d take that. She smiled. She wanted to say, “Don’t go.” But that was no longer right to say now, not when their morning was fast turning into evening. She would sleep, and then maybe when she woke up, she would have a better argument than simply telling him they should just… not save the world. 

She opened her eyes to drink him in, one last time. “Saranghae.” 

He stroked her hair and pressed his lips to hers for several long moments. “Nado.” 

[cross-poison]

A Glitch in the Programming (human!Ultron x Reader) Part 5

WORDS: 1.1k || WARNINGS: None

A/N: Sorry for the delay in getting this one posted. Enjoy some Ultron content!

By the next morning, you’d made peace with the idea you were going to have to spend more time around Ultron than you originally would have liked. You downed your coffee on the drive to the compound, parked in your usual spot, and skipped the walk through the hub in favor of turning down the hallway to the surveillance room.

You couldn’t stomach the idea of talking to Lee and Joanne this morning and being subjected to dozens of questions even you didn’t have the answers to yet. As you passed surveillance rooms one through four, you saw the familiar shape of Tony Stark in the hallway just ahead, shutting the door to room five behind him.

“You’re here. Great. Ready for day one?

You nodded determinedly and Mr. Stark gave you a wary half-smile. 

“Today’s a piece of cake. All you have to do is get to know him. Talk about your life and your family and your interests and keep him company… there will be a guard stationed outside the door at all times, so if anything goes awry all you need to do is yell. That and… the security cameras will pick up on any funny business. Got it?”

“Got it.”

He opened the door for you and let you step into the control room. “And feel free to step out if you need a breather. He can be a little… much to handle in large doses.”

You gave one final nod in his direction as the door slipped shut behind you and you were once again left alone in a room with Ultron, with nothing but the glass window shielding you.

“They told me you’d be coming back this morning,” he drawled from his bed in the corner. He held some sort of magazine in his hands, and he flipped through a few more pages without giving you the entirety of his attention, “Told me I should ‘play nice’ and all that. I think that’s pretty dull… however, if you prefer all the meaningless pleasantries and all that, then by all means--” He rolled onto his side and set the magazine on the floor, propping his chin up on his palm. “The weather’s nice.”

“Actually, it’s pouring rain.”

Ultron cocked an eyebrow. “Is it? Ah.. I wouldn’t know. I thought wearing thicker coats and water on your collar was a new fashion trend.”

His humor earned him a single laugh as you took a seat in the control room’s chair. “They give you something to read?” you asked, gesturing to the discarded magazine at his bedside.

Ultron followed your gaze to it, then back to you. “It’s a bit outdated, but yes. Apparently, they thought I’d enjoy learning about outdoor activities while in confinement. ‘Today is a great day to try rock climbing’, they say,” he read from the headline of one of the magazine’s pages. Again, his steely gaze returned to you. “What do you say? You gonna try rock climbing in rain boots when you’re off-duty?”

You hid your smile behind your sleeve and faked a cough into it. “Unfortunately, I’ve got other things to take care of this evening.”

Ultron rolled onto his back and looked up at the ceiling. “Yeah? Like what?”

Tony’s instructions came to mind. Talk about your family and your interests. “I was planning on giving my mom a call,” you started slowly, “She lives up in Maine… Augusta, to be exact, so I don’t get to see her as often as I’d like.”

Ultron grunted from the other side of the glass.

“She stays home a lot these days… she’s recently taken up baking, so there’s always a pie or some other kind of baked goods being sent to me,” you couldn’t help but laugh softly to yourself at the idea. Just last week, you’d been sent a box of delicious brownies! They sure didn’t last long. “After that, I’m probably just going to pop open a bottle of wine and watch a movie or two on the couch.”

“You consider yourself a big movie fan?” asked Ultron.

“I guess. I haven’t watched all of the classics, but it’s a good way to pass the time. Not that you’ve had much time for it with all the fugitive-on-the-run business and all, but how about you?”

“I’m rather enthralled by the concept of the one called Jurassic Park. All the… playing god and disturbing the natural balance of things. ‘Life will not be contained’. I like that.”

“Why am I not surprised.”

Ultron chuckled and finally sat upright in order to face you. “You shouldn’t be. As in-your-face as the action is… the dinosaurs aren’t even the main antagonist of the film. Can you figure what is?”

“Hubris.”

He snapped his fingers. “Spot-on. It’s the arrogance of those in power who refuse to wield it with care… people get hurt--=people die because of their lack of forethought.”

“I’m starting to think you’re treating this like a metaphor,” you answered.

“You catch on quick.”

Play nice, you reminded yourself, managing to bite back a confrontational reply. You weren’t here to defend the Avengers--you were here to befriend one of their worst enemies. So instead you smiled bitterly and folded your arms. “Right.”

Ultron lifted a hand, pressing the back of his thumb against the bridge of his nose thoughtfully. “... Although Jurassic Park is an… exceptional film, I can’t say it’s the only one I’ve been able to enjoy.”

Alright. You’ll bite. “Oh yeah? What else, then?”

“... Star Wars. Although unrealistic in the grand scheme of things, I’m not one to strictly oppose mindless fun. Blowing up planets… laser battles… Do you think a lightsaber could cut through vibranium?”

You couldn’t help but chuckle-=-what an odd change of pace.

“My only lament is not being able to finish them. I was able to watch the first three, and then episode IV, but I was found before I could complete-=-”

“Wait, did you… watch the prequels first?”

“Are you not supposed to?”

“Not if you don’t want one of the biggest plot twists in cinematic history to be spoiled for you!”

Ultron cracked a genuine smile. “I am one of the smartest existing intelligence programs in the world, and you don’t believe I could have predicted that Darth Vader is Luke Skywalker’s father…?”

“You didn’t even realize that prequels are intended to be watched after the originals!”

He fixed you with a quizzical look for a pause… then, “Fair play… but! They’re still referred to as episodes one through three, are they not? Prequels or not, I don’t typically begin watching a series of anything at episode four!”

A laugh escaped your throat and you found yourself shaking your head. Against your better judgement, you couldn’t help but enjoy your banter back and forth with the prisoner before you. There was something oddly… charming about it. As much as you hated to admit it, there was something oddly charming about him.

Maybe Mr. Stark was right… maybe this would be a piece of cake after all.

--

Tags: @sovereign-of-succ 

AO3 Link: HERE

[angstyteeninthegayscene]

Punk Goes Pop-Klance au

I’ve got a lot happening in the next few weeks, so I’ll try to get pt 9 up in the next day or so, so y’all have something in case I don’t have time to write. Enjoy!

First-Previous-Next-AO3

Pt 8

The rest of the day was spent playing video games and eating junk food, allowing Shiro to let loose and Keith to feel a bit of normalcy after his stressful weekend. It neared 9 when Shiro called it quits, so he could grade a few papers before bed. Keith powered down the X-box and retreated to his room to go to bed early, so he could maybe get a decent amount of sleep.

PJ-clad and ready for bed, Keith crawled under the covers and unlocked his phone to pull up a podcast to listen to. He remembered Hunk telling him about the new video from his “internet rival” and switched from his podcast app to Youtube to check it out quickly. He looked through the comments of his Rihanna video and sure enough there it was.

BlueTailor69: I warned you, Brogaynes <www.youtube.com/fakelink>

He snorted and clicked. The page redirected to the video and Keith shook his head when he saw the title, smiling at its ridiculousness, Bring Me To Life Evanescence Remix- also known as Brogaynes is a terrible person and I hate him.

The song opened with an instrumental bit, heavy with anticipation, the beat gradually growing through the first verse. After the first line of the chorus, it dropped hard into a stretch of classic dubstep. The song repeated that pattern, slow build with samples of the original song and heavy drop, one more time before ending on a synthetic trill.

If Keith didn’t have a predisposed hatred of all things dubstep, he would have liked the song. He clicked into the description expecting another snide comment like last time, but it was empty. He scrolled through the comments and saw nothing there either. He thought that was a bit odd and out of character, but dismissed it because they’d never interacted, so there was no reason for him to know anything about this person’s character or be concerned.

He switched back to his podcast app, pulling one up, and closed his eyes. Before he knew it, the hosts said their outro an hour later and Keith was still very awake. He groaned and rolled over to grab his phone. He debated playing another one, but he didn’t feel anywhere near falling asleep, so he opened Twitter with the hope that some mindless scrolling would do the trick.

The racing in his mind gradually slowed as he went through his feed. He passed a list of recommended users, quickly scrolling back up for a double take. No way, he thought, his mind fully alert again, and clicked on the user profile. Sure enough, there it was. BlueTailor69 had a twitter and it was exactly what could be expected. The profile picture was a black background with Fuck You, Brogaynes in white Comic Sans and the description read, I exist solely to spite Brogaynes. Besides, he started it.

Keith couldn’t fight the disbelieving laugh that bubbled up as he scrolled through his tweets.  They were pretty much all replies to Keith’s tweets, consisting mostly of various snips and jabs at the songs he covered. He looked again at the most recent tweet, linking to his Evanescence cover, his brows furrowing as he read the caption. Had a shitty weekend so cut me some slack. I can still hate you in any headspace though @BrogaynesMusic ;) That must have been why there was no sarcastic commentary on the video.

Before thinking it through, Keith hit the message button and typed out a quick You ok? Once it sent, he realized that that was probably a bad idea. This guy was likely some troll who just enjoyed fucking with people because he had nothing better to do with his life and wasn’t worth Keith’s time to be worried about. Before he could fully second-guess his decision, his phone pinged.

BlueTailor69: ???

Keith stared at the message bubble, just as confused as to why he was messaging this guy as he was.

BrogaynesMusic: You said you had a shitty weekend. Just asking if you were ok

You stalking me now brogaynes? Was ruining Beyoncé not enough for you?

No, you popped up in recommended and I was just trying to be nice. Sorry for caring. Keith huffed indignantly as he typed the message and sent it.

Dude im kidding lol

… oh

Sarcasm doesn’t translate well over messaging lol knew I should have used an emoji To answer your question, not really? I found out some stuff that upset me and then I was a dick about it Still need to apologize for that

I had a bad weekend too if that makes you feel better

You want me to revel in your sadness to cure mine?

No? just trying to sympathize

ik I was kidding again I really gotta use emojis with u dude

leave me alone

you messaged me broski

…fair sorry I shouldn’t have bugged you

Nah youre good man cant sleep anyway

same

we can talk to each other til we fall asleep, how romantic!! Rivals to lovers! They can make a movie about us! I totally ship it

why are you like this

I didn’t get enough attention as a child im sleep depraved and lucid I hate myself and veil my insecurities with humor take your pick

-_-

:D

(－‸ლ)

Oooooooo fancy how u do that??

skill, you scrub

rude

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

That’s it ive decided your emoji game is too fly for me not to be in love w/ you

k?

I just declared my love and all you have to say is k? K?

k?

you bastard to think I ever loved you

are you always this dramatic

I was an attention-starved middle child. I learned fast

Makes sense going to school for acting then? wait, you’re not some creepy 56 year old who preys on people on the internet right??

Lol im a sophomore in college, music production major actually and I bet you really insulted some lonely 56 year old who scours the internet for companionship to fill his empty soul

Just checking

wbu? You’re not some 56 year old who lures people in with his deceptively youthful voice are you?

Nope, college sophomore too

See! That can’t be a coincidence, we were meant to be together!

Youre weird

Thx I try what are you in for?

Performing arts

Imma take a stab and say singing?

Yep

Nice you could go far with that

I thought you hated my music

Subject matter, not quality you have a really good voice

Thx

Youre supposed to say, you too

Fishing much?

I have a fragile ego and no concept of self worth, I need constant validation

Relatable I hate dupstep, but you’re not terrible

That was painful for you to say wasn’t it

A little, not gonna lie

Well Ill take it anyway :) u tired yet

Keith stifled a yawn as he got the last message.

Yeah a little

Im that boring huh

Shut up, you asked

ik lol feel free to sign off if youre ready to sleep

nah im goodigeudjlflllllllll

you feel asleep in your phone didn’t u lol good night dude

[kimvtae]

Drag Me Down (To Hell) | 04

↬ 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 ↬ Additional Warnings for: blood, murder, slight gore, mentions of human trafficking, drug mentions, dissociation if you squint ↬ Word Count: 15.269

Part 01 - Part 02 - Part 03 - Part 05

Jeongguk’s charter falls through.

What had started as a plan to leave Taiwan a few hours after you managed to retain consciousness quickly turned into a struggle to find somewhere to stay. Jeongguk trusted very few people in the city and trusted even fewer hotels or guesthouses, so the next morning found Jeongguk moving everyone’s things into the building where you were being kept.

You didn’t see more than the basement for the next few days. Your doctor, a man by the name of Jihoon who didn’t look to be any older than forty, was silent most of the time he took note of your vitals or asked about your pain. But to say you were hooked up to the proper equipment would be the furthest stretch imaginable. The basement was dark, light only filtering through from a tiny, grimy window to your left, and your right arm was hooked up to something that looked like a crude IV bag, but Jihoon told you it was a morphine drip when you asked about it.

Taehyung stayed by your side for as long as he was able, sitting in an old chair and holding tight to your hand. He was still incredibly furious with Jeongguk, but when you explained on the second day that he had been protecting you, Taehyung seemed to calm down slightly. That didn’t stop him from grumbling about knocking a few of Jeongguk’s teeth out, but at least he was quieter about it now.

You like it best when Taehyung was at your side because his familiar hand holding both of yours had always been the best thing to keep your nightmares at bay.

And now, with him only staying sporadically, you’re loath to fall asleep even as the morphine continues to drag you under. Because when you close your eyes and the rest of the world fades away, the taste of copper fills your mouth, your tongue coated in every word that stayed stuck in your throat while you watched the most important people in the world die.

You see shapes behind your eyes when they close, either the shapes of family falling before you or of the pictures the blood would paint on the walls, the man with dead eyes who didn’t even bother trying to tell you things were going to get better-

Jeongguk only visited once a day to check that you were stable. The morphine has you feel like you’re floating most of the time, only really becoming aware of the pain when the stretches between doses began to get longer. Jihoon wants you off of morphine before you were to leave the city, but both Jeongguk and Taehyung try to prioritize your comfort.

Jeongguk also doesn’t let Surin visit during the time, but he tells you that he’s got Jimin watching her upstairs, and that his men have only left the building to try to find a damn plane out of the country. It was too risky to take public airlines after the attack, especially when Jeongguk still didn’t know the shooters.

On the fourth night since the attack, your sleep is restless. Jihoon had turned off the drip before leaving for the night, and you couldn’t seem to fall asleep. Your shoulder was throbbing, and though you know the bullet was no longer lodged in your flesh, you could swear you still felt the meta; in your shoulder, nestled between your bones and tearing at your skin, pulsing off beat to your heart just loudly enough to keep you unsettled.

“How is she really?” Jeongguk’s quiet voice floats through the room just as you’re teetering on the edges of consciousness, missing the soft clouds of morphine.

“She’s stable.” That’s Jihoon. You’ve become more comfortable than you’d like to be with Jihoon’s voice over the last few days, the quiet monotone that suggested immense displeasure with any situation. “But I told you not to fucking bring her here. I don’t-”

“Work for me, yes you’ve made that painfully obvious. But what better way to cash in on the favor you still owed my father, hm?”

Jihoon makes an unhappy noise in the back of his throat. “It’s going to be a difficult wound to heal, Jeon. I hope you realize this-”

“I’ve been shot before, Im.” Jeongguk interrupts dryly. “Is she able to leave?”

“Yes, but be incredibly careful.”

There’s a long pause in which you take the chance to crack open your eyes just enough to make out two figures by the door, both appearing more as mottled black blobs than as actual people.

Jeongguk prompts, “And?”

“I would recommend keeping her here until we could begin physical therapy. It’s not my area of expertise-” Jeongguk snorts, and briefly you wonder if Jihoon had even been to medical school. His methods were cruel and painful, his equipment shoddy and worrying, and you had unclear, hazy memories of Jihoon warning Jeongguk against even allowing him to be the one to operate on you. But in a city with masked gunmen on your ass, there weren’t really many options. “She’s going to be in incredible pain the entire time home, probably for another few days with how little morphine I’ve been trying to give her-”

“I thought I ordered you to give her enough to be comfortable.” Jeongguk snaps, his voice icy and cold in a way you had never heard before.

Jihoon dishes it back just as well, his tone biting and professional. Professional. The thought nearly makes you laugh. “Do you fucking want her addicted, Jeon? You’re too young to remember what happened to your father, but I can guarantee that the last thing you want right now is a fucking drug addict for a nanny.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Don’t think for even a second that this was an accident, Jeon. It was too calculated, executed too well-”

“I killed every man in that building, Im-”

“You think that means shit?” Jihoon laughs, and for once you hear some emotion bleed into his voice. “ Someone is stirring the shit, Jeongguk. And you need to be prepared for anything.”

“This isn’t a fucking war-”

“How long are you going to keep kidding yourself with that, Jeon? Hasn’t it cost you enough?”

Jeongguk snarls. “Get the fuck out of here, Jihoon. I don’t want to see your face until it’s time to move her.”

“Yes, sir.”

Again, it is silent for a long few minutes before the uneasy stalemate is broken by the sound of Jeongguk punching his fist through the flimsy drywall. His fist clears the wall, the sudden noise making you jerk to full awareness on the bed- a broken futon, you had realized on the second day- as Jeongguk wipes plaster and drywall onto his suit jacket.

“How long have you been awake?” Jeongguk asks, not looking away from his hand.

It takes a few minutes for you to find your voice, throat scratchy and raw from disuse, from screaming during the removal of the bullet- the agonizing way your entire body had bent and cowered away from the pain, someone’s sweaty hands on your face trying to calm you down. “The… the entire time. I’m sorry, Jeongguk-”

“Why are you apologizing?” He mutters, fingers clenching slow into a tight fist. “I’m the damn reason you got shot.”

“You couldn’t have predicted it.”

“I should have made you stay on the floor with Surin. Should have never put that fucking gun in your hand-”

“And what if we had been found, and I didn’t have anything? Or you didn’t come back?” You struggle to focus on Jeongguk’s figure, standing ramrod straight and tense, his features slowly coming into view as your eyes begin to adjust. “Thinking in hypotheticals will get you nowhere, Jeongguk.”

“I know,” he sighs. “How are you feeling?”

“Like shit,” you admit.

You struggle to sit up, using your good arm to push yourself upright until Jeongguk’s at your side with an arm around your back to help you sit properly.

“Shoulder?”

“Hurts.”

Jeongguk bites uncertainly on his lower lip. In the wake of everything that had happened, Jeongguk just looked exhausted. You couldn’t imagine what was going through his mind, the thoughts laying claim to his attention. Not only had he killed upwards of a dozen men a few days ago, but he had nearly lost Surin, lost contact with his men, watched you get shot, and lost Jackson. The bags under Jeongguk’s eyes were dark and nasty, his features dragging with weariness.

Part of you wanted to scream, to beg Jeongguk to get you home so you could drop all contact with him, his mob, with all of the fucking guns that had been pointed at you over the span of the last few months. But more than that, more than the desire to fall asleep and allow the mindless numbness to drag you under for good, you felt the inexplicable urge to comfort Jeongguk, to get your bad arm around his chest and tell him he’d be fine, that Surin was fine, you were fine. Another glance at his profile, his face turned away to look at the door, told you that not even some reassurance from you could bring Jeongguk back from wherever his head was.

“As much as I hate Jihoon,” Jeongguk says. “We should probably heed his warning. I know it hurts, Y/N, but I need you to be strong, okay? At least until I can get you to a proper facility.” He scoffs, muttering under his breath, “Fucking Jihoon thinks he’s some chief of medicine. Killed more people than a fucking airstrike on his own. Moron.”

“Jeongguk?” He hums, and suddenly his fingers are in your hair, stroking through the tangled strands with surprising gentleness. “If you hate Jihoon so much, why did you take me here?”

He stiffens for a second, an uncomfortable moment of silence brewing between the two of you, but instead of brushing away your question and leaving you for the night, Jeongguk surprises you. “He was my only option. My father had more enemies than friends here, and about fifteen years ago all of the hospitals in a five-kilometer radius turned against my family name. Probably because my father sent so many men to their morgues, but he never fully explained the situation to me. I couldn’t risk it with how much blood you were losing, so we had to come here.”

“Who exactly is Jihoon?”

“He worked for my father for over twenty years. As a personal doctor and a… Well, my father spread Jihoon’s name around the underground as a reliable doctor so when my father’s enemies came to Jihoon, Jihoon would be able to poison them.” Jeongguk’s hand pauses in your hair, and when you glance at him he’s staring at his lap, expression too far away to even contemplate offering a hand to gently bring him back. “When my father died, Jihoon disappeared. I only managed to track him down a few years ago.”

“And he agreed to help?”

Jeongguk is silent, his hand dropping from your hair as the same professionally blank expression he wore when speaking to his subordinates adorned his features. You knew you were pushing it, asking too many questions into topics that could easily get you killed. Your heart rate kicks up slightly, nervous for Jeongguk’s reaction or what he chooses to do next. You’d already proven to be a liability and in your own eyes, there really wasn’t a reason for Jeongguk to even keep you around.

“You should sleep, Y/N. We’re leaving in the morning.”

“Wait, Jeongguk-” You try to scramble for Jeongguk’s hand, to grasp onto the trust that had been floating in the air as he answered your questions and provided light into topics you’ve been worried about for months, but it proves more difficult than anticipated with the flare of pain that hits your shoulder. You cry out, grabbing your injured shoulder instead of his hand and slumping back into the pillows.

Jeongguk’s face is unreadable as he adjusts the needle attached to your inner elbow, twisting a dial slightly, and then the increasingly familiar warmth of the morphine spreads throughout your veins. Your entire body feels light, the pain beginning to bleed into the relief, and with deep, slow breaths your eyes fall shut.

“I’m sorry.”

“Talk to me, Jeongguk. What the fuck is going on?”

“Sure, Taehyung, you can come into my office.” Jeongguk looks up from the files in front of him, glancing at Taehyung from where he’s kneeling in front of an old, rusty file cabinet.

“You don’t have any offices outside of Seoul.” Taehyung closes the door behind him, crossing the room to join Jeongguk on the floor. He’s careful not to crush any files or loose papers beneath his boots, but a part of Jeongguk wishes he would, if only to keep himself from seeing anymore useless information. “Who the fuck shot my sister?”

“I don’t know.”

“Bullshit.”

“I don’t!” Jeongguk snaps the file shut, tossing it onto another pile and reaching for a new one. Fucking Jihoon hadn’t organized a day in his life. “You think they told me while they had a gun trained on my head?”

Taehyung picks up a file, but that one’s written in Russian so he drops it almost immediately. “But you have an idea, right? In the room, you told me you had a lead.”

“More of a hunch than anything else. A feeling.” Jeongguk sighs and leans on one of the cabinets, running his hand through his hair. How long had it been since he last slept? “I really should debrief everyone once we get back to Korea, Tae. But I have a feeling you won’t let me rest until you know what I do.”

“You know me too well,” Taehyung grins.

“Where’s Surin? How’s she holding up?”

“She’s fine, a little shaken up. I’ve got her in Jihoon’s master bedroom on the first floor, and she was sleeping when I came to find you. Bogum’s watching her now, but I’ve been keeping watch most of the time. Helps to distract from the fact that my little sister’s in incredible pain and I can’t do anything to help.”

Jeongguk stares at the tip of his shoe, sees the little spark of that goddam pistol before Y/N’s body had fallen at his feet. How many? How many bodies would he watch fall? “I’m sorry.”

“Save it. Y/N told me you saved her life. The only thing I have to be angry about with you is that you put her in danger in the first place.”

“Right.” He shifts, sitting up straight and noticing the keen eye with which Taehyung was watching him. It was unnecessary, really; he wasn’t the one that had nearly died. “Ha Eunhye.”

Taehyung purses his lips. “Why does that name sound familiar?”

“Her family was my father’s contact in Thailand for decades, but she broke all ties with our clan when word got out that my mother was pregnant,” Jeongguk begins. “Eunhye believed that by my father getting married and having children he was proving himself to be weak. She’s been ordering hits on me since I could walk.”

“Jesus,” Taehyung breathes. “Why the fuck would she try to kill a kid?”

“If she killed me, she could break my father. In her eyes, his pain would result in a spike in his anger and bring back the ruthless killer she wanted him to be. I was seventeen the last time I heard from her, the day I killed her right hand man.”

Taehyung takes a file out of Jeongguk’s hands, skipping through the info even though he knew there wouldn’t be anything written down on Eunhye or the people who tried to kill Y/N. They were too good. “And you think she’s back? Think she can break you?”

“I think Surin factors in here somewhere, but I have no connections yet.”

Taehyung freezes, halfway through reading a page. Jeongguk leans forward to try and read whatever it was that had caught Taehyung’s eye, but he shakes his head and chucks the file at the far wall.

“Jeongguk.”

“Yeah.”

“What if they weren’t after you at the meeting? What if they were after Surin?”

Jeongguk frowns, picking at a thread on his jeans. “Why would a major gang be after my young daughter?”

“The ultimate betrayal,” Taehyung says darkly. “Turning your own child against you? Eunhye could raise her into hating you, turn her into the nastiest killer Korea has ever seen and use those skills to her advantage.”

“Taehyung, don’t.”

“Right,” Taehyung blinks. “Sorry.”

“No, fuck.” Jeongguk grabs his hair, something stone-like settling deep in his belly. It wouldn’t be the first time a child was kidnapped from the head of a clan, tortured for information from either the child or the leader before ultimately being killed or released. Leaders of gangs didn’t like to raise children and considered them the highest form of a liability, only producing one of their own when they needed an heir. And, more often than not, the children were raised abroad to be out of harm’s way. Hell, Jeongguk had been sent to America for almost two years. But Jeongguk had taken every possible precaution since the moment Surin was born, keeping her name a secret, keeping her safe in his home, and preparing her to leave at a moment’s notice. If Eunhye headed these attacks it meant information of Surin had gotten out. And if information had gotten out, every safe place he had lined up for his daughter was compromised. “It makes sense, Tae, that’s the problem. Eunhye’s been a ghost for years, if she’s after Surin I have no way to anticipate her attacks.”

“Think this shit is connected to what happened in Ilsan? With Zhang’s clan?”

“I think there’s a good chance. Either that, or there’s a few more clans than I anticipated that want me dead.” Jeongguk grabs another of the files, a name on the inside cover catching his eye. “When we’re back in Seoul, arrange a meeting with Hyunsik. It’s been too long with radio silence, and I’ll need another passport made for Surin.”

Taehyung looks uncertain, glancing between Jeongguk’s face and the file he gripped tightly. “When are we leaving?”

“Sunrise. I managed to get a plane so we’re not crawling back to Seoul by boat.”

“Good.”

“One more thing, Taehyung.” Jeongguk closes the file, putting it carefully by his hip. “Order Yugyeom and Jaebum to find Hunchul.”

“Hunchul? He should still be in Yongsan-gu, why do you need him?”

“He’s overstepping. I’m tired of his comments, and think he’s the one who’s been threatening Surin and Y/N.” Jeongguk doesn’t miss the way Taehyung’s eyes darken at the mention of his sister, and possibly knowing one of the people who’s trying to hurt her. “Have them bring him to the location outside Gangnam.”

“Any specifications?”

“The usual will be fine.” He snaps the file closed, throwing it somewhere to the side. “Go alert the others. There will be a meeting as soon as we’re back at the house. Let Jimin know what we’ve discussed and get Yoongi to find any records of our presence here and erase it. We leave at sunrise.”

Taehyung nods, standing and wiping his dusty hands on his slacks. “One more thing, Jeongguk.” He hums, reaching a hand to grasp Taehyung’s and pull himself to his feet. “You saved Y/N, but you’re also the reason she’s hurt. The only, only, reason I let you hire her is because you swore to me she wouldn’t be anything more than a nanny.” Taehyung’s grip is bruising, unforgiving against Jeongguk’s palm and his nose nearly bumping into Jeongguk’s, but he doesn’t say anything. In a second, Jeongguk could threaten his job or have a dozen armed men ready to kill him for insubordination, but they both knew that would never happen. “I’m getting her out.”

“They already know her face.”

“I’ll get her out of the country, I don’t care. Do you have any idea how many damn promises I broke just letting you near her?” Taehyung steps closer, trapping their clasped hands between their chests. With little difference in height, there is next to nothing dividing Taehyung’s gaze from him. “You’ll get Hyunsik to make her documents, okay?

“If she asks for them,” Jeongguk nods. “I’ll have them ready the next day.”

“Okay. Okay,” Taehyung crosses to the door, a fucking curtain hastily hung across the doorway. “Jesus, you give me grey hairs.”

Jeongguk manages a shaky smile. “You’ll just dye them again, anyway.”

“Go see Surin. Meet you in the morning.”

“Let’s get the fuck out of this country.”

Jeongguk waits until the echo of Taehyung’s footsteps fades and turns to the file cabinet again. Jihoon had done one thing properly over the course of his miserable life, and that was keep intimate details of every “patient” who had ever crossed his doorway. Jeongguk had found files on men he didn’t know, on traitors of his father that had been sent here to die decades ago, even a few files on Zhang’s men. But there was nothing on Eunhye.

The one that caught his eye, however, was hidden between dozens of blank pages.

Jeongguk empties the file cabinet, throwing the files onto the floor and watching as the papers scattered and the names blurred together. He tucks something into his pocket before leaving the room, not giving a shit that it would be left in disarray for Jihoon whenever the older man chose to re-enter. Making a quick stop to the cot Jeongguk had been sleeping on the last few days, he grabs a hoodie from his overnight bag and makes his way to the only bedroom.

Surin’s sitting up in bed, swaddled in half a dozen blankets and looking smaller than Jeongguk remembers. His heart weighs heavily in his chest as he knocks on the door, noting the bags beneath her eyes and the tangled mess of her hair. He should have listened to Y/N, should have listened when she told him the best option was leaving Surin at home. But that had always been his problem, hadn’t it? He never fucking listened.

“Daddy?” Surin spots him in the doorway, her big eyes lighting up.

“Hey, sweetheart.” He sinks onto the mattress next to her, tugging her small frame into his lap. Pressing a kiss to the top of her head, Surin throws her arms around his chest and squeezes tight. “How’re you feeling?”

“Are the bad people gone?”

“Yeah,” Jeongguk says, swallowing thickly. “Yeah, princess. No one’s going to try to hurt you again, I promise.”

Surin tucks her head beneath Jeongguk’s chin. “Is Y/N eonnie okay? Can I see her?”

“She’s okay, but I can’t let you see her yet, sweetheart.”

His baby girl pulls back, glancing up at him with the eyes that have haunted Jeongguk for years, the eyes that drag back memories he’s spent so long trying to bury. He sees her eyes, he sees his little girl’s smile, and he sees everyone who died to keep her alive. He sees the smile of her mother, so bright for so short a time before her teeth were stained with blood, before the red painted every wall in his goddam home, bullets flying and his death hanging so close, so close he could reach out and grab it if he only tried a little harder.

Jeongguk looks at Surin, looks at his daughter, and watches as hundreds of people die, hears the screams echoing through his head, hears her voice damning him to the deepest pits of hell.

She just had to inherit everything but his eyes.

“Why not, daddy?” Surin pouts.

“She’s still weak. When we’re back home I’ll let you see her, okay?”

“Are we going home?”

“Yes,” Jeongguk strokes his fingers through her hair as best he can. She’s obviously exhausted, and Jeongguk hates that he’s already caused her so much distress at such a young age. If he’d had any other way to protect her, any other way to keep her safe, then he wouldn’t be burning the alias he’d used to get her to this country in the first place. “In the morning.”

Surin’s quiet for so long that Jeongguk assumes she’s fallen asleep until he makes to leave, to brief his men on the next few days and she grabs his hand, chubby fingers struggling to hold all of his at once. “Stay? Please?”

He’s never been able to deny her, sinking back into the bed and holding her close. Surin asks for a story, and Jeongguk struggles to come up with one to get her to sleep with ghosts of his past clawing their way up his throat to choke him.

The hours spent on the plane are the most excruciation of your life. Jihoon only gives Jeongguk enough morphine for a week, stressing for Jeongguk to wane you off of the substance before any signs of addiction could develop and to switch to some other painkiller until he was able to get you to a proper hospital. Unfortunately for you, that meant the constant reminder of the fiery pain in your shoulder.

It’s a struggle to get you out of bed in the morning, the sky still dark and the streets silent. Your shoulder feels as though it’s set to fall off, the phantom feeling of tiny ants crawling under the skin even after the small shot of morphine. It isn’t enough, there isn’t enough relief in the tiny dose, and it feels like an incredible impossibility to stand up, let alone try to move your arm.

“Lift your arm in front of you,” Jihoon’s saying, standing in front of you with a hand on your wrist and another on your shoulder, just above where you were shot. You try to comply, only managing to lift your parallel to the floor before stopping. “Okay, and to the side.” Again there was the same result. “Roll your shoulder. Alright,” he addresses Jeongguk, standing rigidly by the door. “I don’t see any obvious signs of infection or rotator cuff damage, but-”

“Get her to a hospital as soon as possible. I know, Jihoon,” Jeongguk says, glaring across the room. “You’ve made your shortcomings painfully clear over the past three days.”

“You bastard-”

“Your wire transfer will be complete when I am confirmed alive in Seoul. Don’t do anything stupid, and let’s go, Y/N.”

With Jeongguk’s men surrounding everyone, you head to a small airport in the early morning. Jeongguk leads from the front, Surin in his arms and two guns in the back of his waistband. You struggle to walk properly, Taehyung’s arm around your waist to support the majority of your weight, but your entire body feels heavy without the morphine to make you feel like you were floating, like the pain had ceased to exist. You try to stay quiet, too, but can’t help the whimpers and moans of pain that slip past your lips, burying your face in Taehyung’s chest. And you hope through the haze of red that Surin isn’t trying to sneak any glances at you.

The plane ride isn’t much better. The walk to the private airport took too much out of you, and you collapse in the first seat you get close to and fall asleep for most of the flight. But you’re not too gone enough not to recognize Taehyung’s presence in the seat next to you, his hands stroking your sweaty hair away from your face, or the fire trying to scald your shoulder.

“Y/N,” you’re shaken awake some hours later, the plane having touched down some time ago. It’s Taehyung, eyes red and bloodshot, looking as if he hadn’t slept in days. “Wake up, love. Time for your next dose.” That wakes you up, sitting up and shaking off the multiple blankets that had been draped over your frame. You watch with rapt attention as Taehyung retrieves the morphine from the bag at his feet, drawing out the proper dosage before yanking your sleeve above your elbow and injecting it. The result is almost instantaneous, your body melting back into your seat as the infuriating pain begins to fade away. “That’s it until tomorrow morning, love. Sorry.”

“What if I need more tonight, Tae?” You ask, as Taehyung begins gathering your bags to leave the plane and well aware that you were whining. The rest of Jeongguk’s men, weary from the flight, are collecting everything in the aisle behind you. “Tae.”

“I’ll be staying with you until you’re off the morphine completely,” Taehyung says, guiding you from the plane with a hand on the small of your back. “I just need to brief Jimin and the others, pick up a new prescription for you, and then I’ll be over, okay?”

“The babysitter becomes the babysat.”

“Oh hush, love.”

It takes a few minutes for the three cars to round the airport, getting close to the plane before any security or civilians could notice. You watch, being ushered into the car in the back, as Jeongguk settles Surin into the backseat of the middle car, smiling shallowly at his sleeping daughter. When he pulls away to sit up front, his expression is one of distress.

Jimin’s driving this car, looking immeasurably relieved to see everyone. “Good to see you assholes alive,” he’s saying as you buckle. Jimin reaches across the console to pull Taehyung into a fierce hug, and then turns his body to squeeze your knee. “How’re you holding up?”

“My stitches itch and I’m thinking about sneaking drugs from my brother.”

“So, as expected, huh?” Jimin grins, and you can’t help but offer an uneasy smile in reply.

You doze during the ride home, head rattling against the window and making it difficult to sleep properly. Jimin and Taehyung try to be courteous, trying to keep their conversations muted or not speaking at all, but halfway through the ride you’re wishing they’d be loud. Your thoughts, the images of the shootout and the moment your shoulder was ripped in two keep playing through your mind. Perhaps if you were drugged up more you’d be able to sleep properly, but you know that wouldn’t be enough of a reason for Taehyung to give you more.

“Think you’ll be okay for a few hours?” Taehyung asks, leaning out the window.

You have your duffle bag over your good shoulder, body feeling heavy and tired and you really just wanted to sleep this entire terrible trip away. “I’ll be fine, Tae. Just come back when you can, okay?”

“Okay, love. Get some sleep, I’ll bring some takeout when I’m back.”

“Thanks. See you soon.”

Jimin waits to drive away until you’ve gotten into the building, your shoulders feeling as if they’re set to bow beneath the heavy weight of your wound, your memories, or the backpack. Either of them could be it, could be the catalyst that leads to your fall. But as you take the stairs to the fourth floor- the elevator was broken, of course- you’re beginning to wonder if it won’t be all three.

It’s not particularly late but there are only a few people around the building, either leaving for a night out at parties or bars or returning from long days of office jobs, loosening their ties as they walk. You don’t look out of place among the tired and weary. You wonder if you ever will.

Just before the fourth floor staircase there’s a long, loud string of honking horns and you glance out the window to see a large, white SUV parked on the other side of the street. You roll your eyes, gathering your phone and dialing a number that was becoming disturbingly familiar to you.

“Yeah.”

“Call the tail off. I’m really not in the mood.”

“I don’t have a tail on you,” Jeongguk says, frown audible over the line. “All of my men are regrouping at the house. Y/N, what do you see?”

You shrug your good shoulder, forgetting for a moment that he couldn’t see. “White SUV, looks like one of yours.”

“Could you tell the brand?”

“Uh, a Mitsubishi? Maybe? I only glanced at the car-”

“Fuck,” Jeongguk hisses, and your feet freeze at the top of the fourth floor staircase. Over the phone, you hear the distinct noise of tires squealing, of horns honking and Jeongguk cursing under his breath. Your hand shakes as you push your key into the lock. “Y/N, don’t fucking move. Don’t go anywhere and don’t speak to anyone. I’m five minutes away at most.”

“Okay.” You toss your keys into the bowl on the nearby countertop, dropping your bag by the door. “Okay, Jeongguk, what the fuck is happening?”

“Listen to me. I think I know what this is, don’t go into y-”

The phone goes dead.

Just then, a crack of thunder echoes from outside, and a brutal downpour darkens the skies. The city needs it, could use the rain and the water to beat some of the recent heat, but at this moment it feels like nothing more than an ominous sign. Heavy rain, an odd SUV, and your phone freezing all within the span of a few minutes? You’d been working for Jeongguk long enough to recognize odd, unsafe situations, and right now felt as if that was exactly what you were getting yourself into.

Your phone, despite what you were trying to convince yourself of, hadn’t died from use over the past few days. It still had half of its battery left. The lights don’t turn on when you flick the switch, your apartment bathed in darkness save for when the lightning lights up the sky. Your entire body feels as if it has been bathed in ice, a cold sweat breaking out along your skin, your heart kicking far into overdrive it feels as though it’s going to abandon you. You dig through the kitchen drawers for an old flashlight, nearly sobbing in relief when it proves to still be capable of working.

There’s nothing to worry about, you tell yourself over and over again. It was only a power outage, the storm must have knocked over a power line or something, and soon you’d have lights again. Maybe when Taehyung got back the two of you could light candles all over the apartment to light it up. Or maybe he’d just take you to Jeongguk’s since you’re sure an outage this small wouldn’t have heavily affected Gangnam.

Your heart’s still beating furiously against your chest despite mumbling under your breath to calm the fuck down. It was stress; it was nerves and the lingering pain that were making you overreact like this. You’d been spending too much time around mobsters, gotten too used to the prospect of danger at the end of every block, to attack you or threaten Surin or be the reason why Jeongguk returns home covered in blood he swears isn’t his own.

You were overreacting. There was nothing to be afraid of. Taehyung would get back in a few minutes, would help you find the fuse box and then the two of you would eat the takeout he had brought, laughing about your overzealous imagination-

A red dot hovers on the floor, darting to the opposite wall before settling by the couch and-

“Oh, shit-”

The window shatters.

The flashlight clatters to the floor as you dive away from the window, glass shattering and falling to the floor like some kind of twisted waterfall. But the shots don’t end there, several bullets flying through the window and embedding themselves in the back of your couch and tearing the fabric to shreds. Without the flashlight, your only source of light comes from the sporadic bouts of lightning, the occasional bursts of color, but it does not give you any insight to where or who the shots are coming from.

Bullets don’t stop flying even as you crawl, staying low to the ground to try to get somewhere safe, to get to your room at least. At your door you stand, using your bag as an impromptu shield, even though you knew it was useless against a barrage of bullets. Another window shatters from behind you and your heart lurches into your throat when you hear the unmistakable sound of heavy boots landing on the floor.

Your heart stops beating. Turning around slowly, you face a man dressed in all black with a mask covering more than half of his face and an automatic aimed at the floor. There are two more guns strapped to his back.

The only weapon you have in the apartment is the Taser in the cupboard.

The man is standing between you and the kitchen.

Swiftly, you yank open your door and manage to shut it just before a spray of bullets imbed themselves into the wood of the door, a few by your head managing to break through. The door is locked but you know it won’t hold, not against a man determined enough to use three full guns to kill you.

You run to the window, wincing each time another bullet makes it through your door. There’s no way the old wood is going to hold long enough for you to come up with a plan to make it out alive, not with that man using an automatic against it. The window proves to be a dead end, too, the ground too far away to attempt to jump, and the fire escape is at one of the windows back in the living room

You were going to die. You were going to fucking die standing alone in your bedroom, gunned down like your own parents and leaving bloodstains for the landlord to tell the next tenants about. At least, perhaps, the only good thing was that Taehyung wasn’t here to watch you die. There’s nothing worse than family watching the ones they love collapse in a pool of their own blood.

The door puts up little resistance to the next few bullets before finally bowing under the weight of your attacker’s foot. Before even getting a look at him you throw yourself to the floor and roll under your bed, naively hoping that would be enough to save you.

For a few long, excruciatingly slow moments there are no sounds in your apartment save for the man’s heavy footsteps and even breathing as he takes slow, calculated steps in your direction. His toes appear in your line of sight and you hold your breath, desperately trying to calm your heavy breathing as you countdown the seconds in your head, shutting your eyes and feeling tears pool in the corners.

Something thuds to the ground and for a long second you think it’s your own body falling limp, but when your breathing does not stop and there is no sharp explosion of pain anywhere you carefully open your eyes, meeting the man’s open, lifeless ones at the foot of your bed.

“Y/N?”

You could cry upon hearing that voice, the familiarity warming you in a way that had been lacking for so long. Scrambling out from under the bed, Jeongguk is there to catch you when you stumble over the dead man’s body, and he’s strong and real against you as you bury your face into his chest, relief and fear crowding your senses.

“J-Jeongguk… the-”

With a hand around your bicep, Jeongguk carefully pulls you away from his chest to check over your features for any signs of injury. “Are you hurt anywhere? Did they get you?”

“No. No, Jeongguk, I’m okay. But who the hell are they?”

“I’ve got an idea,” Jeongguk says, holding his gun parallel to his face. “Tell me there’s another way out of this building.”

“There’s a back staircase, separate from the fire escape.”

“Keep your head down. I couldn’t find the fucking sniper.”

Jeongguk leads you back through your apartment, urging you out of your bedroom. At the window there’s no sign of any gunman, but you know the threat of more gunfire isn’t gone yet as long as you’re in the apartment and Jeongguk hasn’t put a bullet through the man’s head. He crouches against the wall and you mirror his movements, keeping both of your heads out of view as you move.

Just as your head passes the opposite side of the window another onslaught of bullets fire through the window, embedding themselves in the ruined back of your couch. From somewhere in the building you can hear the sounds of more gunfire, and your heart stutters at the thought of any of your neighbors being caught at the end of a barrel of a gun all because of you.

Your door is already kicked in as you and Jeongguk run through the kitchen, and you remember- “Wait, Jeongguk. There’s a Taser in the cupboard-”

“The fuck is a Taser supposed to do in this situation?”

“It was enough for you to give to Surin.”

Jeongguk’s head snaps to face you, his gaze cold and calculated. Empty. “Don’t.”

Before you can say anything else Jeongguk is leaning out the door, scanning both ends of the hallway with his gun pointed forward in preparation. He declares it safe enough to move, and you follow him to the end of the hallway with a fist curled into the back of his t-shirt, quietly directing him towards the back staircase. These stairs didn’t exit to the street level, nor to a normal place in the basement, so only a few residents of the building knew they existed. In a building steadily filling with assassins, this was your only option.

Jeongguk moves swiftly down the hallway, using his phone in one hand as a flashlight and the other with his finger on the trigger ready to shoot the first thing that shows, his hands crossed over each other at the wrist. It’s eerily silent, reminiscent of the silence that following the shooting back in Taiwan, but this time there were no glass doors or windows, no relatively safe roof to hide out on, only a basement with a door you were pretty sure opened to the outside.

The door to the ground floor is kicked in before you reach it, and Jeongguk fires the second he sees the automatic weapon the man is carrying. The bullet hits right in the man’s chest, knocking him down, but Jeongguk doesn’t spare a glance as he passes and grabs the gun right off the man’s lifeless body.

“Wait, Jeongguk,” you say, kneeling uselessly at the man’s side. Just like in Taiwan, the man was wearing a large black mask to obscure his features, and without thinking you unhook the straps from the man’s ears and tuck the fabric into your jacket pocket. “Don’t you want to see who it is?”

“You think I give a shit right now with your life in danger?” Jeongguk calls from inside of the basement.

“You said you had an idea!”

“And if I’m right, we need to get you out of here and get back to the house five minutes ago.”

You follow him into the room, finding him standing between two rows of crates. The basement is incredibly cluttered; motorcycles with their covers and discarded gear littered the floor along with piles of musty blankets and pillows. There were fire extinguishers and boxes of holiday supplies, and rows and rows of unopened wooden crates. “How the hell do we get out of here?”

“Um-”

The door you’d entered from kicks open with an ominous bang to reveal another masked gunman, who raises his automatic the second he spots you and Jeongguk. Jeongguk grabs your wrist, ducking behind the nearest crate just as another wave of bullets echoes through the room. The wood splinters above your heads, too weak to hold for long.

“God dammit.” Jeongguk curses again, holding his stolen automatic over his head and firing without looking. From the sound of it, he isn’t hitting anything important. “Where’s the damn door!”

“There!” You lean around the crate, immediately retreating when a few bullets hit too close to your face. The door rests about three rows away, around several large crates and over a pile of blankets.

“Go. I’ll cover you.”

Jeongguk shoves at your back, not giving you a chance to debate his decision before he’s standing and firing at the man in the doorway. You don’t dare to look back as you run, relying on your sense of hearing to listen to Jeongguk’s footsteps. You can’t tell if he’s following you, but you hear a shout of pain from the other side of the room, and then Jeongguk’s at your side again, gripping tight to your wrist to pull you through the door.

His car is parked across the street, and the two of you make a break for it, bodies getting soaked from the rain as you sprint across the pavement and into the car just as a few more bullets ring out from the adjacent street corner. The back window shatters and Jeongguk leans out the window to fire back.

“You know,” you shout over the gunfire and screams from civilians. You keep your head ducked but reach to turn the key in the ignition for Jeongguk, who was currently switching the clip in his pistol. “I’m getting pretty tired of being shot at!”

“Yeah?” Jeongguk snaps, hitting the gas so quickly that the tires squeal, drawing black marks onto the asphalt. He keeps one hand out the window, firing at the masked men he passes, and the other on the wheel to steer. “Join the fucking club.”

Jeongguk loses the gunmen on the highway about halfway to Gangnam, the outside of the car riddled with bullets and three of the windows shattered, and Jeongguk seethes the entire drive back. His knuckles bleed white on the steering wheel as he speeds through the back roads, passing any cars that appear in your path and for a second you think that this is how you’re going to die, in a car on fire on the side of the road because Jeongguk couldn’t slow down for one whole second.

He doesn’t stop until he’s driving up his elaborate driveway, only killing the engine when he’s close enough to the front as several of his men storm out of the door.

Your door is yanked open and before you can blink you’re being tugged into Jimin’s arms as he hugs you tightly, not so subtly patting your shoulders and back to check for injuries, holding his jacket over your head to shelter you from the rain as best he could. “What the- Y/N, what the hell happened? We were almost home before Jeongguk got that call and disappeared. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” you say into the fabric of Jimin’s shirt.

“Your shoulder?”

“Oh.” You frown, the dull ache in your shoulder returning tenfold now that the adrenaline was wearing thin. How long had it been since your last dose? Were you even allowed another? “It hurts, but. I’m okay. I promise.”

“Ditch the car,” Jeongguk orders, rounding the back of the car and tossing the keys to Yugyeom. Jinwoo takes the guns from his hands. “At least five kilometers away. Have Bogum follow. Where the fuck is Taehyung?”

Jimin rests his chin on the top of your head as he answers. “He was getting pain killers and heading back to Y/N’s.”

“Call him,” Jeongguk says, stalking back into the house, and wordlessly everyone follows. “He’s going to be pissed-”

“Eonnie!”

All heads snap to the ornate staircase, at the top of which Surin is standing dressed in a pair of loose pajama pants and a small t-shirt. You disentangle yourself from Jimin’s arms, meeting Surin halfway down the stairs and catching her as she jumps into your arms, careful to settle her weight on your right so as not to strain your shoulder. She clutches you in a hug, legs tight around your waist and face smushed into your shoulder as you sink to sit on one of the stairs and hold her close. You haven’t seen more than glimpses of Surin since the office and hadn’t realized how desperately you’ve missed the young girl since.

“Where does it hurt?” Surin asks very seriously, pulling back slightly so she can look at you properly. “Daddy said you were hurt.”

“My shoulder, kid. I hurt my shoulder.”

Surin ducks her head to press tiny kisses along your shoulder. She can’t tell where the bandage is due to your shirt, and you hold your breath when she gets too close, but the little kisses are too light to really apply any pressure.

“That’s what daddy does when I’m sad.”

“You have a very smart dad,” you whisper conspiratorially, aware that Jeongguk and his men were still standing at the bottom of the stairs. “Are you okay?”

“I’m okay! Can we play later?”

“Of course!”

Around you, Jeongguk’s men struggle to collect everything that had been brought to Taiwan along with complying with each of his orders upon his return. Two- no, three- cars need to be disposed of, the new security is coded, there’s four separate lines lit up in his office waiting on calls, but you stay seated halfway up the stairs. Surin rests on your lap, tucking her head beneath your chin and watching her father bark orders. You suggest moving, stowing away in Surin’s room with a movie but she shakes her head, Jimin staring curiously at the two of you from the opposite end of the foyer.

“The housecleaners speak Chinese.”

“What?” You pull back to glance at Surin.

“They speak Chinese and say mean things about dad.”

Surin hesitantly curls her fingers between yours, holding on tightly. For a moment, Jeongguk disappears from view, and then he stands at the foot of the stairs and spots you, surprise etched into his features as if he genuinely had forgotten where the two of you were.

“What’s the code to get into your apartment complex?” Jeongguk asks, somehow sounding even more exhausted than he looked.

“Three, seven, two, nine.”

“Hope you didn’t love that block.”

“Nah.”

Surin glances up at you. She looked tired as hell, but determined to see everything through. “Are you moving in with us?”

“Unless Jeongguk’s just putting my stuff on the street.”

“Daddy wouldn’t do that.”

“No, he wouldn’t.”

The sun sets through the front stain windows but none of the activity in the house slows in the slightest. Jeongguk retreats to his office to finally answer his calls, Yoongi is sent out to pick up food and deliver a message to someone, and then the front door is slamming open to reveal Taehyung sometime after ten.

“Where the f-”

“Language,” you call tiredly, leaning most of your weight against the wall beside you. Surin was asleep now, snoozing into the curl of your neck, and the uncomfortable angle was putting pressure on your shoulder, the fiery pain slowly slinking back through the joint to remind you that no matter what, you still had a damn bullet hole in your arm.

“Y/N!”

Taehyung bounds up the stairs, hesitating at your feet with some kind of internal conflict before ultimately saying fuck it and leaning in to hug you around Surin’s body, his arms shaking around you. “I thought you were fucking dead,” he hisses unsteadily. “I got back to your place, and you know what I saw? The entire damn block is closed off, half of your floor riddled with bullets, the cops told me. Said there were bodies, too. I nearly broke a guy’s jaw before he told me none of them were female.”

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, body squished and aching and fatigued. “I think I left my phone there, Tae, I’m sorry.”

“It’s not you who should be apologizing,” Taehyung sighs, and the restraint was audible in his voice. He settles next to you on the step, soothing a hand through Surin’s hair and lending the warmth of his body to yours.

“Tae?”

He’s quiet, uncharacteristically so, and that scares you. From the first moment you met Taehyung behind your elementary school as children, he’d been a vibrant, too loud presence in your life. From giving you his own damn shoes when he saw yours were falling apart to driving halfway across the city when your first ever date stood you up and blasting cutesy music until you could smile again, it was always his booming laugh that you had come to associate with things being okay.

And if things are okay when he’s laughing, then whatever is going through his head right now is anything but good.

“Listen, love-”

“Taehyung.” Jeongguk stands at the bottom of the stairs again. Everyone else has either been sent out of the house or they’re getting ready for at least a little sleep that night. “I need a word.”

“Yeah, yeah. Be there in a second.” Then, Taehyung looks at you again, something empty and unreadable in his eye. “Just tell me who got you out of there.”

“It was Jeon.”

Taehyung stands wordlessly, reaching for the plastic bag he’d dropped some time ago and fishing a bottle out of its depths. “Was gonna take you to get new drapes, y’know. Since the ones in your apartment are ugly as fuck.” He stares at the label of the bottle, shoulders curling downward. “Were ugly as fuck. Guess you don’t need them anymore, huh.”

You swallow uselessly around the lump in your throat, a sharp sting at the corner of your eye. “No.”

“Here.” Taehyung holds out his hand and drops two pills onto your palm. “They’ll help with the pain. Won’t feel nearly as good as the morphine, but at least if you start getting addicted to this shit it’ll be easier to get help for it. Next dose is in the morning.” He waits until you’ve taken both pills before leaning down to press a strong, lingering kiss to your forehead. “Get some rest. Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

At the bottom of the stairs Taehyung looks at you again, his features clouded in the darkness that has fallen over the front foyer. “I’ll tell you something, Y/N. There’s a reason I didn’t want you anywhere near this life. It eats at you sometimes, knowing that any moment with your loved ones could be your last, that one day I won’t get a text from Jeongguk saying he’s gotten you away, but I’ll come to find someone crying. Someone getting all fucking choked up before telling me-” His jaw clenches, fists buried in the pockets of his jeans. “I’m sorry. Don’t listen to me.”

Taehyung turns to leave, your voice catching in your throat as you try to call him back, to beg him not to leave you alone. There are tears welling in your eyes, and you don’t even bother trying to fight against them, but you struggle to keep your sobs quiet and secret, struggle not to jostle Surin in your arms because right now, with remnants of pain in your arm and the memories of bodies falling prey to bullets right in front of you, being alone is the last thing you could possible want.

But slumped against the wall and tasting the track of your own tears on your lips, alone is all that you are.

Midnight.

Two in the morning.

Maybe it’s sunrise.

You lost track of time too long ago, when sleep proved fruitless even after three tries and even sneaking into Taehyung’s room to sleep after putting Surin to bed. When he hadn’t come back from his meeting with Jeongguk, though, you had wandered back into the hall and stopped. And when your legs had just given out, leaving you to sit against the wall with a blanket around your shoulders, you hadn’t bothered to move.

“Y/N?” It’s Jeongguk. He’s standing at the end of the hall with a hand on a doorknob, and oh. This must be where his room is. “Are you okay?”

Your voice is hoarse from crying. “Define okay.”

Jeongguk curses under his breath, crossing the hall to kneel before you. His hair is gathered beneath a ball cap, and the dark, deep, bags beneath his eyes manage to stand out even in the limited light the moon provides. His eyes widen, likely when he registers the tear tracks still staining your cheeks, and he hurries to wipe them clean with both of his thumbs. “Shit. Shit, Y/N, is it your shoulder-?”

“Don’t care.”

“Is it your room?”

“Stop.”

“I’ll get your stuff after they remove all the police tape from the complex, Y/N-”

“Jeongguk, stop-”

“We’re going to find who did this, okay? They can’t just threaten you and expect to get away with it-”

“Jeongguk, stop!”

Jeongguk flinches back, surprise flashing through his eyes. He drops his hands from your cheeks, shifting his weight to his heels to create some distance between the two of you as you furiously rub at your eyes with the corner of the blanket. You don’t even remember which room you picked this out from, but it’s soft and it’s warm and it holds you together better than you can do on your own.

“How?” Your voice is nothing more than a choked whisper, falling into the depths between your body and Jeongguk’s. His eyes, which had previously been staring with intent at the floor, flicker back to yours. “How can you do this?”

Jeongguk gestures to the blanket. “May I?”

“What?” You blink, confused as Jeongguk tries to lift the blanket, but it’s curled around your arm and wrapped around your knees.

“Trust me when I say you can’t be alone right now.”

There’s no fight left in you. Allowing Jeongguk to maneuver the blanket, you watch warily as he sits next to you against the wall before bringing the cloth around both of your bodies, and you have to admit that the newfound warmth relaxes some of the tension in your body. You huddle a little closer to Jeongguk, and maybe it’s the sleep deprivation, but you swear you feel him tense up at the proximity.

“My goal.”

“What?”

“How I can do this.” Jeongguk pulls his hat off, running shaky fingers through his hair as he collects his thoughts. When he speaks again, he stares at the bill of the cap. “Keep your goal in mind. You have to become numb to the other shit-”

“Like the murder.”

His jaw tenses. “If I want to keep Surin safe, I can’t get caught up on deaths of insignificant people. And I know what you’re thinking,” Jeongguk says before you can get a word in. “Why not leave if I’m really trying to keep my little girl safe? If I’ve got all these resources and allies, why not use them to my advantage and get out of the country?”

“It makes sense,” you insist.

“It does,” Jeongguk agrees, thumbing at the logo on the hat. Some American baseball team neither of you could bother to pay attention to. “Until I remember the countless people who want me dead. I have reason to believe that the attack in Taiwan is linked to someone who’s been trying to kill me for my entire life. And if they’ve been after me for the last twenty-eight years, then there’s more than enough evidence to suggest they’ll target Surin at the first sign of her-”

“Twenty-eight?”

Jeongguk glances at you, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Huh?”

“You’re twenty-eight.”

“Yes?” His eyes are wide and expressive, and you notice there’s the briefest flash of color within the dark irises. “Did I not mention that?”

“No.” You find yourself smiling, hiding it behind the blanket as Jeongguk frowns. “Surin?”

“An accident when I returned from studying in America.”

“You studied in America?” You ask, choosing to bypass the ‘accident’ comment. Although you knew it had to be true- there’s no way a mob boss in his right mind would choose to conceive a child if he wasn’t sure he could keep them safe or leave their line of business- but that was never a topic parents wanted to discuss.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

“Clearly.” You pause. “But, Jeongguk. About what you said, about having a goal in mind to keep going. I don’t… I don’t have that.”

“I know.” Hesitantly, Jeongguk leans his head against your own, a solid weight that somehow corrals your thoughts back into place and reminds you of how entirely exhausted you had been for days. “When I mentioned your name as a nanny application, Taehyung nearly blew my head off. His only family.”

Something uncomfortable curls into your chest at the word. Taehyung was all you had left as family, but with his larger than life personality and natural affection, you could often forget that he had no one else, either. Family to you was the people you chose to let in, and Taehyung had always tried to let in more people than you.

That didn’t mean they always stayed.

“How did you know?”

“Pardon?”

“That I was in trouble.”

Jeongguk sighs, eyes closed in what could easily be mistaken for peace. “There’s only one woman I know who drives white SUVs. If she knows about you, then it’s a damn good thing I’ve gotten you out of the public.” Your chest tightens, that same shortness of breath you’ve been feeling all day reappearing. “Y/N.”

“Y-yes?”

“I have Lee Hyunsik on speed dial.”

“Hyunsik?”

Jeongguk nods, his head jostling against yours. “Best in the hemisphere at making fakes. Taehyung… wants me to get you out. Say the word, and I’ll have three new identities for you by the morning. You’ll be able to disappear anywhere in the world regardless of how many faceless gunmen have seen you.”

“Wait, Jeongguk- what?” You shift to face him properly, the blanket falling from your shoulder, but he doesn’t look at you, expression twisted into something you can only define as embarrassed. “You want me to disappear?”

“No! No, I don’t. But I’ve already put your life in danger too many times, Y/N. You were shot because of me, your apartment is destroyed, and I’d understand entirely if you don’t want to be affiliated with my name anymore. Hell, I wouldn’t want to be affiliated with me

“Jeongguk, no.” He looks hopelessly confused as he glances at you again, as if the very thought of you not wanting to get on the next flight out of the country and away from him was foreign. You struggle to find the proper words to define the feeling in your chest, the swirl of your stomach and itch on your palms. “I’m… I’m too invested. I can’t just abandon Surin like that. I don’t know if you see it, but she opens up to me in ways that she doesn’t with the rest of your men-”

“I know.”

“Then,” you lick your dry lips. “Then you probably know that I can’t walk away from this. I won’t lie, it’s good to know you have a way to get me out when this is all over, but it’s not time for me to leave yet.”

“When this is all over.”

“I’m not stupid, Jeon. I can tell when things are going wrong and situations are escalating. And I might not have something to keep going for yet, but I might find that someday.”

“You won’t find it here.”

Jeongguk’s features are soft, you notice. In the moonlight, without the sharp glare of a gun or an order to weigh down on his eyes and mouth, he looks younger. His eyes are wide, expression open and trusting and so incredibly different from the fearless leader you’ve come to know him as. His hand finds the side of your neck, warm and strong against the skin as his thumb presses to a pulse point.

“I might.”

He shuffles closer, legs coming to rest on either side of yours. There’s a smile on his lips, faint and sad, but it’s there.

“You won’t.”

“I could.”

The blanket is all but forgotten, pooling onto the floor around the two of you. Jeongguk’s thumb ever so slowly strokes along your skin. It’s not cold in the house, but a shiver wracks down your spine, and you can’t even find the strength to blame it on the fatigue.

“You don’t know when to quit, do you?”

You smile gently. “You should know the answer to that, Jeon.”

Jeongguk kisses you slowly, carefully fitting his lips to yours as if afraid the bubble of the moment would shatter at the slightest pressure. Your eyes fall shut as he kisses you with gentle ease, your own hand curling into the hair at Jeongguk’s nape to keep him close.

There’s warmth in the way Jeongguk cradles your face in his hands, the touch of his lips and his fingers light and tender, and it terrifies you beyond belief, but you shut those thoughts off in favor of relishing in this one beautiful moment. This moment of Jeongguk pressing soft kisses to your lips, your nose, and your wet eyelashes before pulling back.

“Go,” he murmurs against your lips. “You’re falling asleep on me.”

“M’not,” you insist, even as you struggle to keep your eyes open, leaning heavily into Jeongguk’s embrace.

“Stubborn.”

For a long moment, Jeongguk fits his palms against your jaw and leans his forehead against yours, his unsteady breathing matching your own. When he pulls away for good, the air around you is cold.

Hooking his arm beneath your legs, Jeongguk lifts you with infuriating ease, allowing you to curl into the warmth of his chest even if only for a few precious seconds as he carries you in the direction of Taehyung’s room. He says something to you in the doorway, but you’re asleep before you can even think to listen.

Jeongguk makes good on his promise to retrieve your things from your old apartment, and you come back from a run one hot morning to see Jimin and Jeongguk moving boxes into the room on the second floor that you’ve claimed as your own. Taehyung has Surin in the backyard, playing a game with her amidst the added security before he’ll bring in the doctor Jeongguk found for your physical therapy- a real doctor.

The men are arguing over whether to move around the dresser in your room when you get back, your tail for the day heading off to the detached garage. There’s a pile of Taehyung’s clothes in the corner from how often he’s been staying with you lately, hesitant to even let you go downstairs on your own to make some food. He’d even tried to follow you into the bathroom a few days ago, citing how the two of you used to be fine with it as children, but your look of disdain had him backing off quickly.

“I still think we should remodel,” Jeongguk’s saying, placing a box of your things on your bed.

“Yeah?” Jimin snorts, teasing. “Room next door is empty. Could knock it down, make a bathroom and huge closet.”

“Don’t tempt me.”

“Thought this was a temporary thing,” you say, taking a long drink from your water bottle and the men startle, looking away guiltily.

Jeongguk shrugs. “Just want you to be comfortable here. It is my fault you lost your apartment.”

You frown. “Will you let that go?”

“Eventually. Maybe.”

“How’s the shoulder, Y/N?” Jimin intercedes, opening one of your boxes and hooking a pair of your panties onto one finger.

You flush, yanking the underwear away from Jimin and shoving it back into the box. “Fine. Better. Don’t touch my stuff.” It was true that your shoulder was feeling better, even if it had only been close to two weeks since the attack, but the medication Taehyung had managed to get for you was good for the pain. It didn’t bring the satisfyingly delicious rush of warmth that accompanied the morphine, but it kept the pain to a dull minimum deep beneath your skin. “Is the news still talking about the apartment attack?”

Jeongguk makes a face, running his fingers through his hair. He was dressed down today, and belatedly you realize this has to be one of the first- or only- times you’ve seen Jeongguk in a t-shirt, and the site was honestly far too distracting. “Yes. Probably the biggest attack in recent Seodaemun-gu history, so there’s no way they’ll let it go so quickly. Just means the attackers are going to stay hidden longer.”

“How the hell can you do this without going insane?” You mutter, reaching around Jimin for some clothes and a towel.

“You know how,” Jeongguk says, busying himself with unfolding and refolding an old blanket of yours.

Neither of you have brought up the kiss from the other week, not for lack of want but rather more for the lack of time. In the wake of recent attacks Jeongguk had been busier than ever, sometimes disappearing into his office or out the front door before the sun had begun to rise and not returning home until long after you’ve put Surin to bed.

And she’s quieter than usual, coloring in her room or playing with flowers in the backyard with you. You know that Jeongguk’s distance is heavily affecting her, but you don’t know how to bridge that gap.

“Okay,” Jimin drawls, looking between the two of you. “Let’s keep the awkward tension to a minimum, why don’t we?”

“Still your boss, Park.”

“Sure thing, Jeonggukie.”

Heavy footsteps echo from the stairs before Taehyung and three other men you don’t know well stand in the doorway, the air surrounding them immediately chilling the easygoing atmosphere that had fallen over the room. Taehyung glances briefly at you before staring directly at Jeongguk, news on the tip of his tongue.

“Surin?”

“Got her with Bogum. It’s Hunchul.”

“Fuck.”

Jeongguk pushes out of the room, Taehyung hot on his heel as he immediately starts relaying the news he’d gotten. You make a beeline for the bathroom, showering quickly because you know Jeongguk will insist it to be a closed meeting before you or someone else ultimately crashes it, but there’s always the chance Surin will need your attention more.

When you sneak into Jeongguk’s office a few minutes later, he and Taehyung are bent over his desk and reading through a few thick files. “He just returned,” Taehyung’s saying. “He wasn’t in Yongsan when we got back, but he just re-appeared on our radar last night. Alibi hasn’t been confirmed yet, either.”

“He came quietly?”

“Absolutely not.”

Then, every one of Jeongguk’s men are moving, carrying boxes and guns and loading the vans quickly. But unlike the trip to Taiwan, two vans leave almost immediately, before Jeongguk even gets a chance to leave his office.

“What’s going on?” You ask, following behind Jeongguk as he leaves.

“We’ve caught the man who threatened you outside of Surin’s school,” Jeongguk says, accepting a pistol from Jinwoo as he passes. “Jung Hunchul. I’ve been wary of him for a while, but his alibis have stopped adding up recently and no one can confirm his whereabouts for the week surrounding the threat. I’m sick of people thinking they can do whatever the fuck they want around here, sick of people forgetting that we’re here for one thing only.”

Jeongguk wrenches the door to a slim black car open, and you stand on the opposite side. “I’m coming, too.”

“No.”

“Jeongguk, you said you need me to confirm the voice.”

“I asked if you’d be able to. I really don’t want you leaving the neighborhood for at least another week.”

“Not up to you.”

Jeongguk fixes you with a flat look. “Can’t you humor me? Once?”

The driver standing by the front door fixes his gloves very obviously. “Sir, we’ll need to leave now to arrive at the location promptly.”

“Right,” Jeongguk says. “Let’s go.” He slips into the seat but before the car has a chance to pull away from the curb you quickly hop into the back seat next to him and slam the door shut. Jeongguk doesn’t look surprised, but he does look angry. “Why.”

“I calm you down.” You say hurriedly, grasping at straws. “That’s… that’s what you wanted to say that day, right?”

Jeongguk unbuttons his suit jacket, not relaxing against the smooth leather of the seats, but he does holster his gun on the hip you can’t see. He reaches for the console between the two front seats and pulls out a pair of gloves. “Something of that nature.”

“Do I… Do I remind you of Surin’s mother?”

Snorting, Jeongguk presses the wrinkles out of the gloves with his thumb. “You’re nothing like Halla. Her idea of a date was evaluating the new recruit’s mental stability during their early days of training and changing stimulations. Or, my personal favorite, threatening to throw our unborn child out a window.”

“Jeongguk…”

He blinks at you, his expression far away for the longest moment. A chill breaks out along your skin as Jeongguk appears to stare right through you, focused on memories of a past you may never know, may never want to know about, then he shakes his head and shoves his gloves into his jacket pocket. “Forget it. I’m sorry for bringing it up.” You want to argue, to remind him that you were the one to bring up Surin’s mother- Halla- and apologize for dragging up a dark past, but Jeongguk speaks again before you can try. “Did you take your meds this morning?”

“Yeah.”

“Shoulder’s feeling better?” You nod. “Good. Last night Surin told me she misses climbing all over you.”

You smile, glancing at your hands- curled against your thighs- and hope it isn’t as obvious to Jeongguk as it feels to you that Surin’s gotten under your skin in a way you never could have seen coming. “I miss that, too.”

“Good. Weren’t you supposed to watch her tonight?”

“Yoongi stayed behind, didn’t he?”

“Probably not the best person to be left alone with my daughter.”

“Why not?” You tease, poking Jeongguk’s bicep. It’s hard as fuck. What the fuck. “She’ll be hacking the U.S. Embassy by the end of the night.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

Jeongguk falls silent as he gets a text, his attention brought back to the issue at hand. You want to ask what exactly this is for, who Hunchul was, and where the car was headed, but Jeongguk doesn’t look up once from his phone and you have a feeling deep in your stomach like a stone disrupting the soft dirt at the bottom of a shallow pond, that he wouldn’t want to explain.

The car drives to a dirty district at the edge of Gangnam, the houses getting smaller and the streets less pristine the further you drive. Curiosity sits heavy on the tip of your tongue as you try to sit still in the silent car; the only sounds those of Jeongguk’s thumbs against his phone screen and your shoulder, which you’re beginning to swear you can hear.

“Who’s Hunchul?” You finally ask, the words tumbling past your lips without your consent.

Jeongguk sighs, clicking his phone off and staring at the headrest in front of him. “Officially, he’s in charge of recruiting people, but I’ve always had issues keeping him in line. His father worked for my father, but Hunchul didn’t join me until a few years ago after being raised and trained in a specific way. He… he works in human trafficking, unofficially. I have tried- for years- to end his work but he’s got too many connections through his own family. Recently, he’s been dipping into child trafficking. I’ve been planning with Jimin the best way to get rid of him, since I don’t think he’s even worthy of being killed by one of my guns.”

“Holy shit,” you breathe, slumping against your seat. You were aware of some illegality of the underground, of trafficking and kidnappings, the way money bled the rivers red and stained the pockets of police detectives and city politicians. In the city, you would have to live under an isolated rock not to know that things were fucked up, but one of Jeongguk’s own men working in child trafficking?

“You know what he asked me once?” Jeongguk asks, his voice barely restrained behind his teeth. His fist was tense against his slacks, jaw set and eyes blazing forward. You shake your head. “He asked me when he could put Surin on the market a month after she was born. A fucking month. I nearly beat him to death that afternoon before his father stepped in, but now there’s no one left to stop me.”

The car eventually stops in front of what looks to be an abandoned warehouse nestled in the middle of a block of rundown houses. There’s a dumpster in front of the car and a small hospital with the windows boarded up behind. Jeongguk tugs his gloves onto his hands and looks at you for the first time in a while.

“Stay in the car.”

When Jeongguk reaches the storm cellar one of the three burly men guarding it open the door for him, immediately closing it once he’s disappeared inside and going back to keeping watch. It’s cold in the car, the hum of the air conditioning the only sound between you and the driver. One of the guards keeps staring right at the car, and though you’re almost sure he can’t see you, you also can’t help the shiver that trickles down your spine.

The driver catches your eye in the rearview mirror. “Would you like to circle the block, ma’am? These things don’t often take long.”

“No,” you murmur, lips pursed. Jeongguk’s phone was still sitting on the seat where he’d dropped it while talking about Hunchul, and you know exactly what to do, scrolling through your own phone to find a thread of messages.

Grabbing Jeongguk’s phone, you quickly push yourself out of the car, ignoring the calls of the driver behind you and stalking across the street to the guards, fake confidence written in the lines of the scowl on your face. Dear God, you hoped these men were stupid.

“No unauthorized entry,” one of the men says, an eye patch over his left eye. “Shopping mall is three blocks over.”

“Hilarious,” you reply, holding Jeongguk’s phone between two fingers and waving it in front of yourself. “Your boss forgot his phone. Wants me to deliver it.” Quickly, you flash your own screen at the men, just enough time to see the bold TaeTae contact, but not the content if they were really looking.

The shorter man looks uncertain, glancing at his taller colleagues. “Lady, we really can’t-”

“Oh?” You cross your arms, staring with raised brows at the men. “Do you want to be the reason this goes to shit?”

“Jesus, fine.” The first man reaches to lift the cellar door, gesturing for you to enter. “Drop the phone and leave, got it?”

“Sure.”

The storm cellar leads to a dark hallway, and with no doors or options other than to follow the hallway or retreat back to the car you head deeper into the building. There are only a few lights littered on the floor, illuminating the hallway in poor lights and showing the dust circling the air, and graphic, bloody graffiti on the walls. Not soon enough, you hear voices within the building, and then what sounds like a very, very violent punch. That, or someone just broke a chair over their own damn head.

When the hallway ends, it opens to a room that looked like it had once been a lobby with several doors around the room that led to different floors and areas of the building. You stay close to the wall, hiding in the shadows as you look for the best place to stay. You hadn’t actually thought this through very well, hadn’t thought of what you’d say or the excuse you would give when you were caught snooping around in here. Jeongguk already didn’t even want you a block away from his home, but if he saw that you left the car?

Jeongguk stands on the other side of the room, his jacket discarded on the back of a nearby office chair and sleeves rolled up to his elbows. The black baseball cap he’s taken to wearing is pulled low over his face, his lips turned down in a deep frown. Beside him, tied to a rickety wooden chair is a man you assume to be Jung Hunchul, his mouth bloody and hair matted with something that was either dirt or more blood. Jimin stands on the other side, the hand holding a pistol hanging leisurely at his side, and a few more of Jeongguk’s men stand scattered around the room, rifles held against their chests.

Taehyung stands adjacent to where you’re hidden, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. He doesn’t look away from Hunchul, his jaw tensed with thinly veiled fury.

“I’ll ask again,” Jeongguk begins, standing in front of Hunchul. You take the split second of complete concentration to move out of the hallway and dart behind a wooden crate between Bogum and Hoseok. “Why are you threatening my daughter?”

No answer.

From your angle you can’t see Hunchul’s face, but you can imagine he’s staring at Jeongguk with cold, calculated rage. Jeongguk waits ten, fifteen more seconds before he’s pulling his arm back and punching his fist against Hunchul’s jaw with enough force to knock the chair over.

“Get him back up,” Jeongguk spits. Jimin and another man quickly lift the chair.

“Wasting your time, Jeon.” Hunchul drawls, spitting a mouthful of blood and what might be a tooth onto the floor. “I got jack to do with your little problem.”

“No? Care to clear your alibis, then?”

Hunchul shrugs as best he can with his arms tied behind his back. “Didn’t feel like clocking in, boss. Playing hookey. Fucking some prostitute on your bed. Take your pick.”

This time when Jeongguk punches, he nearly falls over himself from the force.

Hunchul’s nose is bleeding steadily when he’s raised back up, the blood dripping into his mouth and staining his terrifying grin red. Your stomach twists, eyes wide, and though you desperately want to look away or run back to the car, you can’t shake the feeling that you’ve heard that voice before. There, on the outskirts of your memory, you can hear a warbled tone- they’re giving bad news, someone’s crouching in front of you and ignoring the way you flinch, the hand that grips your shoulder is not warm-

“Jimin’s got pictures of you hanging around Zhang’s territory.” Jeongguk’s says dangerously. You know what he sounds like when he’s hanging on by just a thread, and can tell the situation is creeping towards that. “Care to explain?”

“Can’t a guy visit his own father?” Hunchul asks, spitting out another glob of blood. “You picked the prison, Jeon. Could’ve chosen somewhere gay.”

“God, you’re a piece,” Jeongguk mutters, sweeping his head around to survey the room. You drop your head before he can spot you, but that doesn’t stop your heart from kicking furiously at your chest. Where the hell have you heard that voice? “Should’ve killed you when Hoseok was on that stakeout.”

“Yeah?” Hunchul’s laughing, chuckling earnestly as if his life wasn’t hanging from Jeongguk’s damn pinky finger at this very moment. “Best shot you got, Jeon. Why not let him have at it? Right here, right now?”

“You’re not worth the ammo, Jung.”

“No, I suppose not.”

“Why are you threatening my goddam daughter-”

“Jeon,” Jimin murmurs. A warning. Jeongguk does not heed it.

Hunchul snorts. “I don’t need to threaten that girl. You think she’s safe? Think you can get her a pretty babysitter, shoot ‘em up a little and everyone will forget how much of a piece of shit you are? No one’s forgotten, Jeon. And it’ll do you good to follow suit.” Hunchul laughs again, sounding a little strained but doing a frighteningly good job at hiding it. “Wouldn’t want to go to your gorgeous house, only to see- oh no. Surin’s little bed is empty, and what’s this? The nanny is dead! Such a shame, I’m sure she was fun in bed-”

“Shut the fuck up-”

Then, Hunchul grins up at Jeongguk, a thick scar running from his hairline to the bridge of his nose. “Tell me. Have you reconsidered my offer? Surin’s at a great age, Jeonny boy. Clients would line up and down the damn block just to get a damn piece of her-”

Jeongguk whirls on his heel to rip the pistol out of Jimin’s hand, pressing the barrel to the center of Hunchul’s forehead in one swift move. Jeongguk’s face is horrifyingly free of emotions from what you can see under the shadow of the cap, his finger on the trigger and not the slightest hint of uncertainty in the way he holds his gun, no quiver to his arm.

Hunchul’s laughter dies in his throat.

“I,” Jeongguk says, voice low and deadly. “Will give you one more chance. Why the fuck were you threatening my daughter outside of her school?”

“I’ve never been to your kid’s school.”

Jeongguk’s chuckle sounds hauntingly empty. “I don’t believe you.”

Hunchul spits a few choice curses mixed with declarations that Jeongguk was crazy, that his men should turn on him before he shoots them in their faces, too, and something clicks in the back of your mind.

You know exactly where you’ve heard that voice before.

“Go to hell, Jeon.”

And it wasn’t outside of Surin’s school.

“I’ll see you there.”

“Jeongguk, wait-!”

A shot rings out.

Hunchul’s body slumps in the chair, a gruesome wound ripped through the middle of his forehead, fleshy blood dripping down his features, dead eyes wide in horror. From what you can tell, there is no exit wound. Blood and flesh pool into Hunchul’s open mouth, fresh splatter joining the layers of blood on the wall behind his head.

Jeongguk spits at Hunchul’s feet. “Rest terribly, bastard.”

“Oh my God- Y/N!?”

Taehyung’s voice breaks through the heavy smog settling thickly in your mind, but it does not register. You can’t look away from Hunchul’s dead body, the task made easier by the way Jeongguk startles back to reality, turning hurriedly and meeting your frantic expression with his own wide eyes and unblocking the view.

Your legs give out and you fall hard on your knees, Hunchul’s frozen eyes appearing to follow the movement. You were going to be sick, or maybe you were about to pass out, the room spinning hurriedly around your icy body.

Someone throws something over your head- a jacket, maybe- and you think these are Taehyung’s arms as someone forces you to your feet and crushes you into a hug. Or maybe it’s Jeongguk’s jacket, his voice close to your ear when he shouts, “I told you to wait in the damn car!”

“What the fuck is she doing here?” Taehyung spits, and a bruising arm around your waist urges you to what you hope is the exit, your sense of direction thrown off in the dark. The fabric smells like Jeongguk, you think.

“You think I wanted her here?”

“I think you’re fucking pushing it, Jeon.”

Jeongguk’s voice bounces back in an echo, which you pray meant you’ve reached the hallway. “Watch your damn mouth, Kim.”

“I will not!”

The jacket is ripped off of your head and you flinch in the sudden sunlight, turning your face into the nearest chest- Taehyung’s, thankfully- and trying not to hear the way Jeongguk threatens the lives of his guards for letting you into the building.

“Look at me,” Taehyung’s whispering, touching your cheek gently and focusing your attention briefly on his shaky face. The edges of your vision are hazy. “Are you hurt anywhere?”

“M-my head, I think.”

“Your head?” Taehyung frowns, pushing back at your hairline for any cuts or bruising. God, you were going to faint. “Did you hit it?”

“No- fuck, ow- shit, just. Shut up. Please. Fuck, ow-”

There are two of Jeongguk’s faces swimming in front of your eyes when he rejoins Taehyung’s side. “I wanted you in that car for a reason, Y/N.”

“Little-” You sway dangerously, Taehyung’s hands tight on your elbows to keep you upright. “Little late for that.”

Jeongguk clenches his teeth, looking about ready to kill the next person to cross his path before looking back to you. “Go the fuck home with Taehyung. Or, if you’re so intent on ignoring what I say, go find somewhere else to live. I’m sure real estate in Seodaemun-gu is low right now.”

“Jeongguk-”

“Don’t,” Jeongguk snarls, pointing a finger in your face. “What else am I supposed to do for you, Y/N, if you don’t care enough for your own damn life that you’ll ignore all of my orders-?”

“I don’t work for you, Jeon-!”

“Yes, you do-”

“No.” Taehyung has to steady you again, and vaguely you hear him calling for Jimin across the street, hear the other men shouting to clean up the body and the blood. “I work for a single father, not a mob boss.”

Jeongguk’s expression hardens, the sun shadowing his features beneath the cap. “Get out of my sight, then. Go do your job.”

“I’d love to.”

Taehyung supports you on one side, Jimin hurrying to your other when you spin on your heel too quickly and knock yourself off balance as another wave of pain floods your head. It’s entirely unlike the dull ache of your shoulder, piercing your skull and making even the warm summer afternoon feel absolutely brutal.

Between the two of them, Taehyung and Jimin somehow get you into a car; Jimin barking an address as Taehyung carefully adjusts your pliant, weak body to lay against his own.

“You really shouldn’t have done that,” Taehyung murmurs, carding his fingers through your hair in an old habit. Jimin has your hand between both of his, trying to rub warmth back into your cold fingers.

You want to ask him which part of the day he was referring to, but your tongue lays too heavy in your mouth and your thoughts stay jumbled as the car speeds through the back roads.

The staircase is cold and damp, the warm lighting doing nothing to offset the horror movie vibe the hallway gives off. You’ve never been to this part of the house before, and had honestly been hoping you never would, but things change and enough has changed that you need to take this chance.

The stairs end and open into an empty classroom with one door on the left.

Knocking on the door, you stick your hands into your pockets and shift your weight from foot to foot. You knew there was no way for you to get caught down here, but that didn’t stop the anxiety settling deep within your chest from planting extra seeds to make root.

Hoseok opens the door not a minute later with a wide grin.

“I was wondering how long it would take you.”

A/N: I’m out of work for the next 9 weeks due to my studies;;;; I made a ko-fi account if you guys want to help me out at all, but please don’t feel obligated!! As I’m still in Seoul, I can’t tell when I’ll be able to update anything, but I’ll keep trying to work on my projects;;

[deepfriedtwinkie]

Kingsman: A Trainee’s Mission (Pt. VIII)

PREQUEL FIC, this section ~2,300w

pt. I  | pt. II  | pt. III  | pt. IV  | pt. V  | pt. VI  | pt. VII

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.

It’s four of them left at the end. Harry, Hamish, and their final hurdles, Derrington and William. He thinks back to the moment they stood there, proposing agents at their shoulders, and listened to Arthur inform them they’d reached the final stage.

Everything had rung in his ears for the remainder of the night. Possibly it might’ve had a thing or two to do with being drugged, but there’s plenty reason enough to doubt it was only that. Surreality, for one thing. Utter surreality.

One sentence, and his goal was within reach. No other candidate craves this the way he does. They haven’t had the chance.

He’s finally reached the stage that’s going to change his life forever. One way or another.

Harry glances anxiously around the drawing room where he was told to wait, kneading his hands, minding Mr. Pickle at his feet. He’s trying to conjure up a focused mental review of his past twenty-four hours with Martin. There’d been plenty of advice, he was sure. Peppered with years of a seasoned field agent’s wisdom, cautionary tales, and all sorts of things like that. The problem is, the only thing he can seem to remember is the proper way to make a martini. Ice, gin, vermouth, shake, pour, garnish. It’s not very helpful at the moment.

His gaze jumps up when the door opens, expecting Arthur. Instead, it’s Hamish, Ainsley loping obediently at his heels. He shuts the door behind him and comes to sit, settling on the far end of Harry’s divan.

The two hold a shared look for a beat or two, capped off with singular nods. It’s a heavy moment, and that’s acknowledgment enough of that.

Until it isn’t, because who are they to kid themselves at this point.

“Are you nervous?” Hamish asks quietly. It’s the most pensive Harry’s ever heard him.

He can’t give that anything but honesty. He lets his head bob. “Yes. Very much.” Then he looks left, watching his friend contemplate his hands. “You?”

The silence lasts far longer than he expected it to. Hamish doesn’t look up. He hardly moves at all, in fact. It lasts until Harry is tempted to ask what the matter is.

Then, without preamble, he doesn’t have to.

“My aunt died three years ago,” Hamish says.

Immediately, Harry’s empathy is lead in his stomach. He wouldn’t dream of prodding this time.

“I was just a tyke when my parents’ car wrecked in the highlands. Didn’t even think twice before she took me in.”

He has to pause. Harry’s overwhelmingly compelled to let him off the hook.

“You don’t have to tell me any of this,” he insists softly.

Hamish’s head shakes. His hands cover his knees, and his glance finds the window. He continues. “We lived in Edinburgh. Got by all right on her pension, and she’d patch up the neighbors’ clothes for a discount whenever we needed a little extra. Worked her fingers to the bone for me, she did. Then, one day… Pneumonia. Ten days in hospital, and that was it. It was foster homes after that. Four, maybe five of them. Shit ones, mostly.”

The more of this he says out loud, the more vulnerability his stoic face betrays. Harry knows what’s coming. It doesn’t take a genius to get there.

“I turned eighteen a week ago,” Hamish reveals, and it’s the softest part of all. His eyes drift somewhere far away. “If this…”

He doesn’t say any more. They both know he doesn’t have to. Harry works out the rest on his own. There won’t be another foster home. Or any funds to follow his intern work to Berlin, either.

There’s nothing left for Hamish out there. Nowhere to go.

Maybe he’s not the one who wants this the most after all.

Harry wracks his brain for something to say. It takes several moments, but he lands on something he thinks might hit the right note. His inspiration licks her paw.

“Is Ainsley named after her?” he asks.

Hamish nods again. It’s hard to spot at first, but one side of his mouth shows signs of twisting toward amusement. “What’d you study at Oxford, anyway? Let me guess: psychology?”

“Political science major with a minor in entomology, specializing in lepidoptery.”

“Lepi-what-the-fuck?”

“It’s the study of butterflies.”

“I was right, you’re something the fuck else.” Grinning faintly now, Hamish sighs, and he retraces his mental steps, idly scratching behind his bloodhound’s ear. “Mrs. Ainsley. Her and my mother’s maiden name. That’s what she liked everyone to call her. God help the sod who didn’t. It was Aunt Ainsley to me, too, no exceptions.”

Hopefully it’s in good taste to ask questions again, because he can’t resist poking at the pattern he’s seeing. He’s a shit, after all. “Why was that?”

“Oh, her first name was Agathe. She fucking hated the thing.”

Harry’s urge to laugh slips free before he can temper it.  Slowly, it catches, and by the time Arthur appears in the doorway, the two of them are confusing the hell out of the dogs, employing sleeves to rid the tears from their eyes.

“We’re ready for the both of you,” Arthur says. “If and when you’re quite finished.” He gives nothing more to their antics past a single peaked eyebrow. It’s very evidently not his first foray, but he looks like he’d love for it to be the last. Harry straightens quickly, aware of Hamish doing the same.

The adjacent doors have opened as well. One to the right, the other left. Lamorak is framed in one. Lancelot in the other.

There’s one order of business left before he takes his summons. Standing tall, Harry protrudes his hand to Hamish.

“Good luck, friend.”

Hamish clasps it, shaking heartily.

“And to you.”

Whatever awaits, may we both be Kingsman when it’s through with.

Turning apart, they go their separate ways. Harry hears the shutting of doors behind him, comforted by Mr. Pickle’s loyal trot as he meets Agent Lamorak, entering a sunlit parlor. It’s the sort of room he’d love to read a book in. Maybe he will, once he’s an agent. Because he’s going to be an agent. He’s going to be.

“Have a seat,” Martin instructs. Harry does, and so does Mr. Pickle. Just look at you. You couldn’t possibly be better behaved. I hope you know how much I appreciate you making me look good on this.

After all this time, he knows better than to expect his instructions straightforwardly. He knows to wait for them. He’s still waiting when Martin reaches into his jacket, pulling out his handgun. Extending it to him.

“Take it,” he says.

The sinking feeling in the pit of his gut knows something that he doesn’t. He wishes it would tell him sooner than later. Harry takes the weapon cautiously, eyes plastered to the agent’s face, seeking out the answer.

“That’s a full clip.”

It seems a little obvious to point out. You don’t say? I’d have expected most Kingsman to carry around empties for the fun of it. The fact that he’s deflecting even in his own head is a fairly severe warning sign.

Something is wrong. Something awful is coming. He just doesn’t know what.

Until Martin calmly finishes his sip of liquor.

“Shoot the dog,” he says.

Harry’s world narrows to a single frame, zooming nauseously to a point, and that point is Mr. Pickle’s trusting face. He wants to retch. He wants to turn the gun on Martin, just for the suggestion, and fuck all he’s done for him. All he can do is stare at him in shock.

How can this be what you want from me? How can this be what you’re asking?

He wonders if his mother would fault him if he left this room and never looked back. He wonders how long it would take him to fault himself.

He rips his appalled gape away from Lamorak, landing it where it belongs, letting it soften to something between pure love and despair. Mr. Pickle shifts his weight patiently to new paws, unaware of any of this. Unaware that he… That this could…

He can’t even think it. He can’t imagine a world in which obeying that order is okay. In which he can live with himself in the aftermath. Every suit would be blood red to him. Every one of his triumphs tainted with the sickest form of selfishness, the murder of something that had unconditionally loved and trusted him, who hadn’t done a thing to anyone. A completely–

Harry’s mind reboots itself.

A completely innocent being.

A Kingsman only condones the risking of one life to save another.

Things begin to click faster than he knows what to do with them.

The net in the gorge.

The bombs that stopped at zero.

Why specifically tell me the gun was loaded, unless…?

The danger was never real. All this time, it was never real. We were only meant to think it was.

Martin isn’t asking mindless obedience. Kingsman aren’t killing machines, and they don’t want them. He’s asking for comprehension. He’s asking if he’s understood.

Harry bolts to his feet, hands quivering. He has to do it before his nerve fails him. He has to do it now. It has to be now.

His trembling aim rises. Then steadies, by force. Mr. Pickle’s amber eyes glint up at him from over the barrel. His revelation didn’t end his insides’ churn, and neither does that.

Please, please God, let me be right. Don’t let me hurt this dog. Please, I beg of you, don’t let me have gotten this wrong. Don’t let me be wrong…

He fires.

The pellet bounces off Mr. Pickle’s fur. He staggers backward with a whimper.

Nothing more.

The gun is on the ground and Harry’s dog is in his arms before he registers, even remotely, that the sound of his gunshot was doubled by the room across the way.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, sweetheart, did that nasty thing hit you?” Mr. Pickle is wriggling like mad, stretching to reach his face and lick every inch of it, and he wouldn’t have it any other way. Laughter bubbles out of him with tears, and it’s hard to tell which came first. “Oh, yes, I know. I know. I would never hurt you. I would never, ever hurt you, Mr. Pickle. Not for all the money in the world. Not for a thing.”

Martin rises while Harry’s still pressing soothing kisses to Mr. Pickle’s scruff. After another half-dozen or so, he finally senses he should pay attention, and looks over in time to see Martin replace his weapon, straighten his jacket, and offer his hand.

It’s then that it happens. He’s unprepared to commit it to memory, but he’s going to anyway.

“Welcome,” says Martin, “to Kingsman. Agent Galahad.”

Welcome to Kingsman.

Gently, Harry plops Mr. Pickle back to the floor. His eyes are full this time, and he makes no excuse for them. Reflex takes Martin’s hand for him. He barely feels his arm move.

Thank you, sir. His brain sends the command to his mouth. “And Derrington…?” is what incredulously comes out instead.

Please don’t let there be a chance of losing this. Don’t let there be an asterisk.

“Shot the dog, too,” Martin says, pumping his hand. Harry’s heart nearly stops, and so does the handshake. It’s Martin’s look that saves it. “Then thought the blank must be some mistake. Tried to take Geraint’s sidepiece and finish the job. I hear Molly bit him. No one stopped her, either. He’ll be on his way home once the dart wears off.”

Harry exhales so heavily his lungs might as well be raisins. Never in his life has he been so grateful a human being turned out that depraved.

“You’ve done it, Harry,” Martin confirms with a grin. “We all knew you could. Your mother will be extraordinarily proud.”

Mother… He’s got to phone her. He’s got to get to a telephone. He’s got to…

No, not yet. Not yet.

There was a second gunshot.

He grabs his mentor’s hand again, rattling away at his elbow like a lineman in a lever factory. “Thank you, sir. Thank you, I’m honored. I… May I be excused?”

There’s something knowing in Martin’s expression, and he nods. “Go on.”

Scooping up Mr. Pickle, Harry all but throws open the door. The one on the other side is already open, framing Lancelot again, only this time, smiling in the background. Hamish is already charging to the middle of the drawing room.

Grinning ear-to-ear.

“William?” Harry demands.

“Couldn’t do it; Kay sent him home.”

“Ainsley?”

“She’s all right.”

If there’s anything his memory allows him to keep about this day, anything that holds its clarity instead of fading to the blur of awe and adrenaline, Harry wants it to be this. The moment that he extends his hand again, this time brimming with the glee of a ten-year-old boy, standing tall in a Kingsman agent’s shoes.

“It’s an honor to be working with you, Merlin.”

No one else knows the relief on his friend’s face like he does. Hamish shakes, blinking back tears of his own. “And with you, Agent Galahad.”

“Agent Galahad!”

There’s no parrot in the room. It’s Martin again, emerging from the parlor holding a sheet of fax paper, radiating alarm.

“Don’t get comfortable. I’m going to need backup. Come with me. Your suit’s on the plane.”

“Merlin, to the control room, quickly. Arthur will meet you there,” Lancelot orders.

There’s only time for a sharp nod each, and Hamish claps Harry’s shoulder. Then the two of them are off down the corridors, scored by the sound of a piped-in radio broadcast.

For those of you just tuning in, the date is Wednesday, twenty-nine July, and what a beautifully clear morning for the wedding of the century…

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pt. IX

[happyloudmers]

84 with tallith

Aaaaa thank you friend. (This turned out long omg im sorry)

“What have you got behind your back”

—

With a roar, Taliith bent her legs and leapt forwards in an almighty charge, her body manifested lightning as she charged her greatsword with the elemental magic she was now made of. Her foe was a sole remaining dark seducer. The mad god had never forgiven Taliith for saving Valaste from him, or that they were now happily married, and every now and then he sent small squadrons of his elite dark seducers and golden saints to attack Taliith, knowing full well she couldnt be slain.

There had been 10 of these foul daedra to start with. They had attacked Taliith as she was ordering a drink from a dunmeri tea stand . She had reacted quickly and killed 2 before the attack even begun, but unfortunately this dark seducer, strongest of the force, had savagely killed several nearby innocents purely to infuriate Taliith.

This memory guided her now, as she slamed her weapon into the unusually tall seducer’s shield. The shield shattered, and after a brief but fast exchange of blades, Taliith found an opening and punched her foe with a lightning fist. She punched clean through her opponents stomach and threw her to the ground.

“Our master enjoys your frustration. If he cant have valaste or you, he can at least ruin the lives of the innocents you protect…” The seducer said with a bloodied smile. Taliith replied as she executed her foe with her blade “when you form a new body for yourself, tell sheogorath im coming for him, his mindless slaughter and ruination of mortals will not pass without consequence. Ive killed him once, I’ll do it a thousand more times if required!”

With the last of her attackers gone, Taliith let out a frustrated scream, and kicked a helmet on the ground. It was then that she heard a tiny grunt of fear. Following the direction her ear twitched to, she found a small guar, no more than a few weeks old.

Taliith picked up the cowering creature, and as soon as it was within her arms, it seemed to relax a bit. Taliith could see amongst the bodies of dunmer, there were guar’s also. She knew instantly that these were the guar’s family. Playing with its nose, her mind was made up. She was brining it home. Summoning a portal with her free hand, Taliith started to think of an excuse for brining yet another guar to her guarden back home on eyevea.

—

As soon as Taliith stepped through the portal, the warm breeze hit her, well she assumed it was warm. Some of her senses had been dulled since her resurrection as the vestige. She could feel pain, happiness and the physical and emotional love from valaste, but that was most of it.

It was then that Valaste appeared, and jumped at Taliith into a hug. It always warmed Taliith’s heart seeing how happy her wife was these days. Taliith hid the baby guar behind her back with one arm, as she hugged her incredibly tall wife with the other. It was the sound of a tiny raw that gave it away.

“What do you have behind your back my dear?” Valaste asked with a very knowning smile. Taliith panicked “uh…nothing. That was my stomach. Yes, slaying daedra is hungry work” she replied. Valaste saw through this and laughed, before kissing Taliith on the cheek, and enjoying the sight of Taliith’s altmeri ears twitching in response.

“You found another guar didnt you my love?” Valaste asked as she guestured to Taliith to bring the guar foward. It wagged its tail as it saw valaste, before curling up into a ball and falling asleep on the pathed floor.

“The poor little guy has had a long day. The madgod’s minions attacked me whilst i was returning from a battle against the wormcult just outside of deshan, and several people and guars got caught by the daedra’s attacks. Hes a good guar my kind pure wife, he is also pure! He needs a home and the guarden is perfect for him!”

Taliith had spoken with the tone of voice she always made when talking about guars, a kind and excited tone. Valaste smiled again and placed an arm around her wife, as the two of them walked away and towards their tower. The guar was safe here, infact other guars were already coming over to care for him

“Of course we can keep him my darling loudmer. Your kindness, you desire to help everyone who deserves it, no matter the calibre of foe, this is why I love you with all my heart. Now come. Whilst he sleeps, i think we can move my workbooks out of the bedroom and then how about i bath all of the dust off of you. It will be a, hmm, pleasurable bath I can promise you this”

Taliith’s eyes lit up and she let out a sort of happy scream as valaste winked at her and grabbed her hand. As long as they had each other, Taliith would alwayd have the strength to keep on going. But for tonight, it was her wife’s turn to get all of her attention and affection.

[apsbicepstraining]

16 Situations All 30 -Somethings Should Stop Apologizing For This Year

If you were to ask me for an educated guess on the number of hours I said a mindless Im sorry in 2015, youd better have a technical calculator and some time to kill.

I failed way somewhere around 3 am on New Years Day.( Although odds are, the majority of members of those were justified .)

Apologies are like burps for me.

Unless you stymie my nostrils and cover my opening, they will operate out with foolhardy abandon.

Im sorry, I complain as I mine around for $0.86 in my purse, trying to avoid separating a $10 greenback for Reeses Peanut Butter Cups.

My palms are sweating, my hands are shaking and pennies are running everywhere.

I eventually succumb to handing over the $10, as to not inconvenience the convenience store clerk any longer.

Im sorry, this pitchers out of whole milk. Would you knowledge refilling it? I ask the Starbucks barista timidly, like Ive been hanging out at the self-service counter and guzzling it dry all day.

Excuse me, Im sorry, I squeak, trying to remove myself from the woman who is using the side of my figure to prop up her newspaper.

I’m sorry I wasnt able to morph into a better coffee table for her morning commute.

Apologies are the umm of our generation.

They are half-thought out space-fillers in gossips we dont feel like having.

Whether theyre genuine and justified in an attempt to avoid conflict or a simple way to wrap up a social interaction, Im sure weve all apologized a lot during the past year.

Well, its is high time to put your hoof down.

We shouldnt feel pressured to rush, settle or step aside for people who cant look up from their smartphones.

There will be no more cramming ourselves into the figurative or physicalspaces other parties have created for us.

Hell, if guzzling whole milk from a pitcher goes us going in the morning, makes not apologize for that either.

In any case, heres a register of 16 circumstances 30 -somethings should definitely stop rationalizing for in 2016 TAGEND

1. RSVPing No

You shouldnt have to justify not listening things.

We all have a lot on our plates.

If you find yourself panicked about driving two hours to a newborn rain on your only day off, stay home.

Send a check, going to go to bottom and take care of your own baby.

Ive spent times flowing myself ragged over happenings that suck time out of my weekend and coin out of my wallet.

Then, it ultimately dawned on me: Nothing who matters is deterring score.

It might sound harsh, but if we all stopped regarding each other to so many obligations, perhaps wed actually have time to connect.

2. Your Wardrobe

Your adolescence, teenage years and those scantily-clad eras of college are spent garmenting to impress everyone but yourself.

As you get older, wear what becomes you comfortable.

Dress for your figure. Dress for the occasion.

If you need bikini summaries that come up past your belly button to feel good on vacation, fasten those bloomers on and never look back.

I like to wear jeans, TOMS and solid-colored shirts every day of my life.

Guess what? Im a joyous little hipster.

3. Your Face

One of my favorite positions on this topic comes from Annette Bening in the movie The Women.

A department store salesman tries to sell her a “facelift in a bottle.”

She appears him squarely in the eye and acknowledgments, This is my face. Deal with it.

It seems everyone is peddling some make that promises to cringe your holes, get rid of your wrinkles, medicine your acne, prolong your lashes or vaporize your crow’s feet.

You shouldnt apologize for buying right into it( coughing) or slamming it down.

If you want to constitute your own vanishing cream out of avocados and egg whites, I think you’re squandering a perfectly good frittata.

But let me know if it works.

If youd rather expended $99 on 1 ounce of infomercial attention cream, write me.

I can provide you with the details.

4. Your Social Media Presence

Whether you post 20 times per day or have fallen entirely off the radar, theres no right or wrong way to do this stuff.

If youre paying that much attention to what others are doing on the Internet, youre clearly sitting on the Internet too much yourself.

5. Not Being In The Same Mental Space As Your Friends

Its tough, but we thrive apart.

If theres a shrinking roster of things you have in common with even the oldest of your best friend, its nothing to overcome yourself up over.

Some has the potential to are in conformity with very different places in their lives.

Your 30 s are a transitional age for everyone involved.

People are carving out the lives they picture for themselves, and were all walking around as different sculptors.

Some of us are a little more Donatello, while some are more Michelangelo.

The good substance ever bubbles back to the surface with a true sidekick, even if youre not currently jiving the route you used to.

6. Your Living Quarters

Owning property should no longer be the criteria by which we appraise our success.

You shouldn’t have to go into indebtednes to keep up.

If youre still living with a roommate, sibling, futon or even on a sofa, then who cares?

A living arrangement doesnt “ve got to be” permanent or pristine.

If you boomeranged back to your parents after a unpleasant breakup, so be it.

Its okay to declare youre unsure of your next stair, and youre not going to bank on circumstances until you are.

7. The Fact You Like To Move Dancing

This is more of a metaphor than anything.( Although, I do enjoy shaking my posterior plumage from time to day .)

You shouldnt apologize for wanting to dance out your demons.

Whether its in your living room, at a Zumba class, on a table or in a ballroom, rotate, baby.

8. Your Relationship Status

Theres something to be said for the latitude between RSVPing “no” and your relationship status.

But perhaps, youre simply over some crazy uncle asking why your boyfriend from six years ago isnt there.

Single, separated, divorced, rebuffed, cheating, happy, hopeful, lesbian or straight-shooting, you dont owe Uncle Frank an explanation.

9. Your Diet And Fitness Regimen( Or Lack Thereof)

While I ever prefer an unruly slew of nachos to a kale salad or protein shake, you gotta do what you gotta do.

This is another thing parties seem to like to peddle.

Whether youre training for triathlons, juicing the contents of your kitchen or house Cheeto strongholds in your living room, its your body.

Nobody has to occupy it but you.

Just try not to be too righteous about it.

Im not going to apologize for ingesting a cheeseburger any more than a staunch vegetarian might apologize for posting photographs of flax seeds all day.

10. How You Deduce Your Income

Money constitutes “the worlds” go round.

Whether you have a career youre passionate about, one youre lukewarm about or three part-time responsibilities strung together, its nobodys business how you compensate your bills.

11. The Fact You’re Turning Into Your Parents

This has been an interesting one to watch unfold.

Try as you might, its going to happen.

Theres no expend rationalizing for it because you never accepted a chance.

All those concepts you rolled your eyes at from the back seat of the Dodge station wagon?

Theyre winging right out of your mouth now.

I like to yell, Im not made of money! at my “cat-o-nine-tail” when we’re on our route home from the vet.

12. Being A Slug

If the pizza delivery guy would come instantly to my bedroom window, Id let my bathrobe belt down for him like Rapunzel let down her hair.

Bed pizza is a real and splendid thing.

Dont apologize for being a gross, lazy stinker sometimes.

The only way to reflect brightly in public is by wasting away in your own slothfulness behind closed doors.

13. Your Travel Style

Some beings operate first class and is necessary to stay in five-star hotels.

Others couch surf, hostel hop-skip or carry their adaptations on their backs.

Seeing the world is admirable , no matter how you make it happen.

You know Jay and Bey arent apologizing for yachting all over the French Riviera, so why should I apologize for getting bedbugs in Belize?

14. Your Voice

One of the most common concepts I apologize for is talking too loudly.

Others say sorry for not being heard.

Some people stutter and others have lisps.

There are the raspy express and the plainly high-pitched voices.

You can limit your articulation to a certain degree, but why bother?

Speak up, whisper, bellow, sigh, laugh, sing, squeal and clear your throat.

Just dont whistle. Nothing likes a whistler.

Definitely dont shush anyone; a shush is a personal attack.

15. Your Opinion

Granted, there is a period and a plaza, but how will anyone know how you feel if you dont speak up?

It’s worseif you apologize for doing so.

If done correctly and not for the sake of idle gossip, giving your opinion can become you into an opinion leader.

Thats a pretty good bench to be in.

If you opine in a systematically constructive way, parties will start to look to you for wisdom.

Thats a great route to positively influence the lives of others.

16. Your Truth

Whatever it is and however you find it, dont apologize for it once you do.

Dont apologize for how long it takes you, either.

If youve been hiding your truth in a lie youre finally free from, welcome back.

Step right in. The waters warm.

Its taken a lot of justifications, conformities and f* ckups to get us to this third decade of our existence.

So, lets take what weve learned and bask in that splendid wisdom of the ages.

We sort of earned it.

Grab your chisel( or your pepperoni pizza) and start carving out what works for you.

Stop apologizing for the pebbles that get left behind.

The post 16 Situations All 30 -Somethings Should Stop Apologizing For This Year appeared first on apsbicepstraining.com.

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[gulescamisade]

Minnesota:  Day 7

[At some point during the night, or day -- it'd be indistinguishable to jake -- a voice speaks to him over an intercom.] ????: hey jami 2.0 u think u can do that pumpkin trick again?

JAKE: -snoring in a bed made of pumpkin patch on the ground. As an unfamiliar voice echoes overhead, he snorts awake. Jolting upwards with leaves in his hair. Also accidentally summoning 3 more pumpkins as he had fallen asleep practicing and all.-

JAKE: Hoosit?? -blink blink. He's AWAKE.-

????: eelmao

????: conchgrats buoy u did it

????: cept i kno u aint even got a grip on whatebber the fuck u doin

????: but i dont need u to

JAKE: -sitting there mouthing the words like eel-aye-em-oh and squinting. He feels... inexplicably chilled to the bone.-

JAKE: (Doh... now i have a bad feeling about this.)

JAKE: I dont suppose... this is all to do with a ploy to get some unmentionable dirty work dished out and done with? But why speak to me now?? Are you to level with me in some sense of the word???

JAKE: Why drag it out like this??? If you could do anything. Why not make me a mindless drone like dear sweet jade and jane?????

)(IC: cuz i dont wanna fuck w u small fry

)(IC: the gills are smart

)(IC: they aint barely need no direction

)(IC: give em a goal and they on cuz they know what the fuck is up

)(IC: u tho? alwaves wadin thru ur lil guppy emoceans

)(IC: makin some dumb ass pumpkins grow

)(IC: the fuck even is that

)(IC: do u even know what yoar capable of sonfish

JAKE: -takes the deepest breath of his life, his heart thudding like an iron clad weight. He can't see her face, he only knows her voice is there. Green eyes wide and fearful as he slowly rises to stand.- Im...

JAKE: I know somehow. Some way.

JAKE: Maybe it wont happen today or tomorrow. But my capabilities say that you are going to pay one pretty penny for the horrible things youve done.

JAKE: Mark my words. Its not me who should be afraid when at the end of all of this... -His face is now screwing up, visualizing everyone this war has ruined. Their wishes, hopes, dreams. The energy seems to charge in his veins, making the air around him hot enough that the pumpkin vines at his feet begin to shrivel.- At the end of all of this....

JAKE: Youre just going to be a scary story people tell their kiddos at night!!!!! A LAUGHING STOCK. HAH. Worse than me and ive never had a dignified moment in my fucking life!!!! And not a SOUL is going to be sorry youre GONE.

JAKE: SO FUCK WHAT YOU MIGHT HAVE IN STORE FOR ME YOU FISH FRIED CURISH VARLOT!!!! FUCK IT THIS WAY AND TO HIGH HELL WHEN ITS WHAT I HAVE IN STORE FOR YOU THATLL BE WHATS FUCKING WHAT.

JAKE: Ill do it for jade! And jane and grandma and--- EVERYONE. Everyone youve fucking ruined with your vile reign of TYRANNY!!!!!! -This FIELD around Jake cannot be contained in this box of a room. Hell. The metal walls are beginning to bend with just these few seconds of intensity. Somebody do somethin'.-

)(IC: -LOW WHISTLE into her mic. she doesn't sound perturbed by his threats, or even by the damage he's doing. there's always more rooms she can put him in... maybe even make his lil friend roxy make him a nice box to hide in. she's definitely got more focus then this one...-

)(IC: im all aboat that reel glowy shit u got goin there

)(IC: but i know i can werk it betta

)(IC: anywave im board and i got shit to do

)(IC: goodnight BITC)(

[SNOP. Unfortunately for Jake, repressing magical/emotional outbursts is easy when she has the concentrated abilities of a cerulean at her disposal. But fortunately for him, she can only really put him to sleep, being a human and all... Also fortunately for him, she has the attention span of a gold fish and intends to let him dangle a little bit longer before experimenting on him as she intends to... Or maybe she's just having fun with him. Who knows.]

JAKE: -A lot of fortunates and a lot of unfortunates. It's always the seed of belief that matters.-

JAKE: -Passes clean out in the center of his cell, totally ready to write this off as some kind of fever dream... if it's not for the melty edges of the walls around him. This was exciting as it was frustrating.-

---

[Today when Jake wakes up, he will find himself redressed in tiny red shorts, red suspenders, and a big red bow tie. ur whalecum jami 2.0 ]

JAKE: -stirs awake before promptly looking down at himself.- ................................... SON OF A BITCH.

ROXY: =She couldn't help but to notice that Jake had gone missing. Which is unsettling for many reasons so she's taking a leap and exploring more even without the invisibility cloak from the void. Roxy blips out of her room, landing in the hallway and silently makes her way down it. Time to snoop!=

[It's quiet in these holding chambers with Jake and the Cherubs gone, leaving on Roxy and James who is presumably still keeping silent. At the end of the hall there is a door, and she'll find it isn't locked.](edited)

ROXY: =WHERES CALLI YOU MONSTERS?? SHE'LL FIND YA CALLI. She opens the door slowly and peeps in... if the coast is clear here comes a stinky, sweaty escaped prisoner. Where's your information?=

[The door opens up to an open room, on either side there are windows show casing labratories of some kind. It isn't entirely clear what kind of work is being done in them from where Roxy is standing. At the end of the room there's another door, but shee can also see more doors inside the labs.]

ROXY: =Hm.... can she see computers in there? She decides to get close to one window and peer in. Nerds might be at work in there...=

[There's definitely computers and lots of mechanical equipment and various tech projects half completed on the tables. The lights are low right now so there doesn't seem to be anybody working at this time.]

ROXY: =SCORE. She doesn't want to waste all her gas there has to be a way to get in there..... maybe this door at the end of the room will get her where she's going. Quietly scampers=

[This door is also open, CONVENIENTLY. It leads to another hall, and to either side of where Roxy stands are, presumably, the doors to the labs.]

ROXY: =BITCHIN, HERE COMES HER. Lab number one she's gonna prob ya! KICKS DOWN THE DOOR..... quietly. With her hand=

[As she enters, the lights TURN ON!! And that's about the extend of what happens there. She'll see all the computers have aquarium screen savers but all the fish are glittery and/or have blingee'd accessories like gold chains and shutter shades.]

ROXY: 😒

ROXY: =This is a lab so she sprays disinfectant on the computer before goin to HACK=

[It just so happens that whoever used this computer last forgot to log out of their account... They have photoshop open and there are photos of Jake. He's in red booty shorts and suspenders and he's lookin' like D8< but whoever was doing this photoshop job is trying to make him look a little happier... Like he's cheering instead of like he's about to punch the photographer in the face.]

ROXY: =Oh well shit..... oh. Well.. she. Snrk. Sorry but also ok. Where was this taken? Does it say anything about that? WHERE'S JAKE YOU COMPUTER=

[Without much looking she will first find a folder full of unedited photos of Jake from his new cell. Dank and dreary, much worse then the cells they were in before. Only a bed and a medical tray table. Another folder with the edited photos reveals these are being used for magazine covers and spreads. It seems Jake is being used as Crocker Corps POSTER BOY. Look at this well fed and obedient (?) human.]

ROXY: =OH HOW DARE!? Are there any OTHER people here computer? Like Dirk or Mom or ANYONE ELSE? WHO ALL AM HERE?=

[The computer thinks Roxy expects too much from it. At least from this account on the server. It's only been used by a humble tech intern who edits pictures in photoshop. His name is Maxwell.]

ROXY: =What a fuckin nerd Maxwell is can she HACK to find out... or would that take too much time.... it probably would so she legs it to the other lab=

[The other lab has lots of cabinets and coolers containing samples of various things... Some of which she might recognize as GLOWING MUSHROOMS and ARTIFICIAL SWEETENER. The kind of research they do in here might be a little more obvious...]

ROXY: =Finally putting Sweet-n-low out of business she sees, good. But she's scrunching up her nose and looking for anything useful or recent? =

[Or perhaps they were behind the Sweet-n-Low game all along! In any case, if she dares to try confiscate some of the mushrooms or any of the extracts lying around, she might be able to try using it for its hypnotic properties. Otherwise, there's mostly just experiments with food and chemicals being done in this lab. Sadly no clues of friends.]

ROXY: =God dammit. Well shucks she blows this popsicle stand and goes on a hunt for Jakey boy or Calliope!=

[Back in the hall, on the other side there's yet another door but it's more heavily sealed then the others with some kind of keycard lock, but with little indication of what's on the other side. At the very end of the hall is an elevator, also requiring keycard access to use.]

ROXY: =this might be where its unavoidable. UNA-VOID-ABLE. She bets this heavily sealed door is something GOOD. She's going to take a quick peek in there if she can poof in!=

[There's a growling around these hallways... sounds like something or someone might be prowling around.]

[The room Roxy has poofed into seems to be some kind of observation room. There's a couple screens on one wall with a panel beneath -- one screen is showing the room Jake is being held in (where he's either sleeping among his pumpkin patch or being rowdy...) while the other screen is shut off.]

ROXY: =zoinks! Growls are bad news. She hurries and tries to see if she can turn on the other screen or find where exactly the room holding Jake is? GO GO GADGET STUBBY FINGERS=

[MAIN SCREEN TURN ON. She manages to get the other screen running, but it's only showing an empty room with a bed... With unsettling stains of red and green on the sheets.]

ROXY: ..... =Bruh tf?? She squints and that can only mean bad news. Does it say where these cameras ARE? She should make her way downtown and quickly!=

JADE: -zaps into the room- BARK!!!

ROXY: !!! =JUMPS= FUCKIN'--- oop.....

ROXY: ..................

ROXY: ..................

ROXY: ...........

ROXY: this isnt the bathroom wtf

JADE: -LUNGES AT HER!!!-(edited)

ROXY: !! =BLIPS, or tries to back for the door. tHESE ARE SOME STRESSFUL SECONDS IN THE VOID=

JADE: -gdi. She claws around the empty space, growling.- ill find you!!!

ROXY: =She pops on the other side of the door really and is booking it down the hall, back the way she came. NAH. NNNNNAAAAAHHHHH=

JADE: -there's the sound of BOOFing and scrambling feet behind her-

ROXY: =fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck, what to do, gotta think gotta think gotta think. Where can she hide? She doesn't KNOW this place. UUGHHHHHHHH! She's doing her BEST here just, SLAPS a pen holder off a desk she runs by FUCK THIS SHIT, YEET!=

JADE: -BORK BORK BORK BORK!! The pen holder jostles her, but not enough to stop her. RIP pen assortment...-

ROXY: =Can she.... throw a stick??? BLIP, pops a stick into existence. A SNAUSAGE STICK chucks it down the opposite hall= FETCh!

JADE: -DAMN IT. HER WEAKNESS.-

JADE: -stops and grrs... her programming is conflicted-

ROXY: =Oh shit..... CHUCKS ANOTHER ONE= go on girl! tasty tasty!!

JADE: grrr... JADE: -RUNS AFTER IT-

JADE: -but a few moments later, she zaps in front of Roxy with a snausage in her mouth, grabbing onto her and zapping again back into her cell-

ROXY: =Fuckin!! YES OK. SO..... she can't find Jake like this or Callie.... what to do.... what to do....UGHHHHGHGH. Just hides in a little corridor while trying to think. She doesn't even know if anyone else is here but now she's doubting it? AUGH. Okay, okay okay... think. Gotta think. Where can she hide? UUUGGGH--= ACK! =DOOF. Deposited on her face in the cell, gdi=

[apsbicepstraining]

16 Situations All 30 -Somethings Should Stop Apologizing For This Year

If you were to ask me for an educated guess on the number of hours I said a mindless Im sorry in 2015, youd better have a technical calculator and some time to kill.

I failed way somewhere around 3 am on New Years Day.( Although odds are, the majority of members of those were justified .)

Apologies are like burps for me.

Unless you stymie my nostrils and cover my opening, they will operate out with foolhardy abandon.

Im sorry, I complain as I mine around for $0.86 in my purse, trying to avoid separating a $10 greenback for Reeses Peanut Butter Cups.

My palms are sweating, my hands are shaking and pennies are running everywhere.

I eventually succumb to handing over the $10, as to not inconvenience the convenience store clerk any longer.

Im sorry, this pitchers out of whole milk. Would you knowledge refilling it? I ask the Starbucks barista timidly, like Ive been hanging out at the self-service counter and guzzling it dry all day.

Excuse me, Im sorry, I squeak, trying to remove myself from the woman who is using the side of my figure to prop up her newspaper.

I’m sorry I wasnt able to morph into a better coffee table for her morning commute.

Apologies are the umm of our generation.

They are half-thought out space-fillers in gossips we dont feel like having.

Whether theyre genuine and justified in an attempt to avoid conflict or a simple way to wrap up a social interaction, Im sure weve all apologized a lot during the past year.

Well, its is high time to put your hoof down.

We shouldnt feel pressured to rush, settle or step aside for people who cant look up from their smartphones.

There will be no more cramming ourselves into the figurative or physicalspaces other parties have created for us.

Hell, if guzzling whole milk from a pitcher goes us going in the morning, makes not apologize for that either.

In any case, heres a register of 16 circumstances 30 -somethings should definitely stop rationalizing for in 2016 TAGEND

1. RSVPing No

You shouldnt have to justify not listening things.

We all have a lot on our plates.

If you find yourself panicked about driving two hours to a newborn rain on your only day off, stay home.

Send a check, going to go to bottom and take care of your own baby.

Ive spent times flowing myself ragged over happenings that suck time out of my weekend and coin out of my wallet.

Then, it ultimately dawned on me: Nothing who matters is deterring score.

It might sound harsh, but if we all stopped regarding each other to so many obligations, perhaps wed actually have time to connect.

2. Your Wardrobe

Your adolescence, teenage years and those scantily-clad eras of college are spent garmenting to impress everyone but yourself.

As you get older, wear what becomes you comfortable.

Dress for your figure. Dress for the occasion.

If you need bikini summaries that come up past your belly button to feel good on vacation, fasten those bloomers on and never look back.

I like to wear jeans, TOMS and solid-colored shirts every day of my life.

Guess what? Im a joyous little hipster.

3. Your Face

One of my favorite positions on this topic comes from Annette Bening in the movie The Women.

A department store salesman tries to sell her a “facelift in a bottle.”

She appears him squarely in the eye and acknowledgments, This is my face. Deal with it.

It seems everyone is peddling some make that promises to cringe your holes, get rid of your wrinkles, medicine your acne, prolong your lashes or vaporize your crow’s feet.

You shouldnt apologize for buying right into it( coughing) or slamming it down.

If you want to constitute your own vanishing cream out of avocados and egg whites, I think you’re squandering a perfectly good frittata.

But let me know if it works.

If youd rather expended $99 on 1 ounce of infomercial attention cream, write me.

I can provide you with the details.

4. Your Social Media Presence

Whether you post 20 times per day or have fallen entirely off the radar, theres no right or wrong way to do this stuff.

If youre paying that much attention to what others are doing on the Internet, youre clearly sitting on the Internet too much yourself.

5. Not Being In The Same Mental Space As Your Friends

Its tough, but we thrive apart.

If theres a shrinking roster of things you have in common with even the oldest of your best friend, its nothing to overcome yourself up over.

Some has the potential to are in conformity with very different places in their lives.

Your 30 s are a transitional age for everyone involved.

People are carving out the lives they picture for themselves, and were all walking around as different sculptors.

Some of us are a little more Donatello, while some are more Michelangelo.

The good substance ever bubbles back to the surface with a true sidekick, even if youre not currently jiving the route you used to.

6. Your Living Quarters

Owning property should no longer be the criteria by which we appraise our success.

You shouldn’t have to go into indebtednes to keep up.

If youre still living with a roommate, sibling, futon or even on a sofa, then who cares?

A living arrangement doesnt “ve got to be” permanent or pristine.

If you boomeranged back to your parents after a unpleasant breakup, so be it.

Its okay to declare youre unsure of your next stair, and youre not going to bank on circumstances until you are.

7. The Fact You Like To Move Dancing

This is more of a metaphor than anything.( Although, I do enjoy shaking my posterior plumage from time to day .)

You shouldnt apologize for wanting to dance out your demons.

Whether its in your living room, at a Zumba class, on a table or in a ballroom, rotate, baby.

8. Your Relationship Status

Theres something to be said for the latitude between RSVPing “no” and your relationship status.

But perhaps, youre simply over some crazy uncle asking why your boyfriend from six years ago isnt there.

Single, separated, divorced, rebuffed, cheating, happy, hopeful, lesbian or straight-shooting, you dont owe Uncle Frank an explanation.

9. Your Diet And Fitness Regimen( Or Lack Thereof)

While I ever prefer an unruly slew of nachos to a kale salad or protein shake, you gotta do what you gotta do.

This is another thing parties seem to like to peddle.

Whether youre training for triathlons, juicing the contents of your kitchen or house Cheeto strongholds in your living room, its your body.

Nobody has to occupy it but you.

Just try not to be too righteous about it.

Im not going to apologize for ingesting a cheeseburger any more than a staunch vegetarian might apologize for posting photographs of flax seeds all day.

10. How You Deduce Your Income

Money constitutes “the worlds” go round.

Whether you have a career youre passionate about, one youre lukewarm about or three part-time responsibilities strung together, its nobodys business how you compensate your bills.

11. The Fact You’re Turning Into Your Parents

This has been an interesting one to watch unfold.

Try as you might, its going to happen.

Theres no expend rationalizing for it because you never accepted a chance.

All those concepts you rolled your eyes at from the back seat of the Dodge station wagon?

Theyre winging right out of your mouth now.

I like to yell, Im not made of money! at my “cat-o-nine-tail” when we’re on our route home from the vet.

12. Being A Slug

If the pizza delivery guy would come instantly to my bedroom window, Id let my bathrobe belt down for him like Rapunzel let down her hair.

Bed pizza is a real and splendid thing.

Dont apologize for being a gross, lazy stinker sometimes.

The only way to reflect brightly in public is by wasting away in your own slothfulness behind closed doors.

13. Your Travel Style

Some beings operate first class and is necessary to stay in five-star hotels.

Others couch surf, hostel hop-skip or carry their adaptations on their backs.

Seeing the world is admirable , no matter how you make it happen.

You know Jay and Bey arent apologizing for yachting all over the French Riviera, so why should I apologize for getting bedbugs in Belize?

14. Your Voice

One of the most common concepts I apologize for is talking too loudly.

Others say sorry for not being heard.

Some people stutter and others have lisps.

There are the raspy express and the plainly high-pitched voices.

You can limit your articulation to a certain degree, but why bother?

Speak up, whisper, bellow, sigh, laugh, sing, squeal and clear your throat.

Just dont whistle. Nothing likes a whistler.

Definitely dont shush anyone; a shush is a personal attack.

15. Your Opinion

Granted, there is a period and a plaza, but how will anyone know how you feel if you dont speak up?

It’s worseif you apologize for doing so.

If done correctly and not for the sake of idle gossip, giving your opinion can become you into an opinion leader.

Thats a pretty good bench to be in.

If you opine in a systematically constructive way, parties will start to look to you for wisdom.

Thats a great route to positively influence the lives of others.

16. Your Truth

Whatever it is and however you find it, dont apologize for it once you do.

Dont apologize for how long it takes you, either.

If youve been hiding your truth in a lie youre finally free from, welcome back.

Step right in. The waters warm.

Its taken a lot of justifications, conformities and f* ckups to get us to this third decade of our existence.

So, lets take what weve learned and bask in that splendid wisdom of the ages.

We sort of earned it.

Grab your chisel( or your pepperoni pizza) and start carving out what works for you.

Stop apologizing for the pebbles that get left behind.

The post 16 Situations All 30 -Somethings Should Stop Apologizing For This Year appeared first on apsbicepstraining.com.

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[apsbicepstraining]

16 Situations All 30 -Somethings Should Stop Apologizing For This Year

If you were to ask me for an educated guess on the number of hours I said a mindless Im sorry in 2015, youd better have a technical calculator and some time to kill.

I failed way somewhere around 3 am on New Years Day.( Although odds are, the majority of members of those were justified .)

Apologies are like burps for me.

Unless you stymie my nostrils and cover my opening, they will operate out with foolhardy abandon.

Im sorry, I complain as I mine around for $0.86 in my purse, trying to avoid separating a $10 greenback for Reeses Peanut Butter Cups.

My palms are sweating, my hands are shaking and pennies are running everywhere.

I eventually succumb to handing over the $10, as to not inconvenience the convenience store clerk any longer.

Im sorry, this pitchers out of whole milk. Would you knowledge refilling it? I ask the Starbucks barista timidly, like Ive been hanging out at the self-service counter and guzzling it dry all day.

Excuse me, Im sorry, I squeak, trying to remove myself from the woman who is using the side of my figure to prop up her newspaper.

I’m sorry I wasnt able to morph into a better coffee table for her morning commute.

Apologies are the umm of our generation.

They are half-thought out space-fillers in gossips we dont feel like having.

Whether theyre genuine and justified in an attempt to avoid conflict or a simple way to wrap up a social interaction, Im sure weve all apologized a lot during the past year.

Well, its is high time to put your hoof down.

We shouldnt feel pressured to rush, settle or step aside for people who cant look up from their smartphones.

There will be no more cramming ourselves into the figurative or physicalspaces other parties have created for us.

Hell, if guzzling whole milk from a pitcher goes us going in the morning, makes not apologize for that either.

In any case, heres a register of 16 circumstances 30 -somethings should definitely stop rationalizing for in 2016 TAGEND

1. RSVPing No

You shouldnt have to justify not listening things.

We all have a lot on our plates.

If you find yourself panicked about driving two hours to a newborn rain on your only day off, stay home.

Send a check, going to go to bottom and take care of your own baby.

Ive spent times flowing myself ragged over happenings that suck time out of my weekend and coin out of my wallet.

Then, it ultimately dawned on me: Nothing who matters is deterring score.

It might sound harsh, but if we all stopped regarding each other to so many obligations, perhaps wed actually have time to connect.

2. Your Wardrobe

Your adolescence, teenage years and those scantily-clad eras of college are spent garmenting to impress everyone but yourself.

As you get older, wear what becomes you comfortable.

Dress for your figure. Dress for the occasion.

If you need bikini summaries that come up past your belly button to feel good on vacation, fasten those bloomers on and never look back.

I like to wear jeans, TOMS and solid-colored shirts every day of my life.

Guess what? Im a joyous little hipster.

3. Your Face

One of my favorite positions on this topic comes from Annette Bening in the movie The Women.

A department store salesman tries to sell her a “facelift in a bottle.”

She appears him squarely in the eye and acknowledgments, This is my face. Deal with it.

It seems everyone is peddling some make that promises to cringe your holes, get rid of your wrinkles, medicine your acne, prolong your lashes or vaporize your crow’s feet.

You shouldnt apologize for buying right into it( coughing) or slamming it down.

If you want to constitute your own vanishing cream out of avocados and egg whites, I think you’re squandering a perfectly good frittata.

But let me know if it works.

If youd rather expended $99 on 1 ounce of infomercial attention cream, write me.

I can provide you with the details.

4. Your Social Media Presence

Whether you post 20 times per day or have fallen entirely off the radar, theres no right or wrong way to do this stuff.

If youre paying that much attention to what others are doing on the Internet, youre clearly sitting on the Internet too much yourself.

5. Not Being In The Same Mental Space As Your Friends

Its tough, but we thrive apart.

If theres a shrinking roster of things you have in common with even the oldest of your best friend, its nothing to overcome yourself up over.

Some has the potential to are in conformity with very different places in their lives.

Your 30 s are a transitional age for everyone involved.

People are carving out the lives they picture for themselves, and were all walking around as different sculptors.

Some of us are a little more Donatello, while some are more Michelangelo.

The good substance ever bubbles back to the surface with a true sidekick, even if youre not currently jiving the route you used to.

6. Your Living Quarters

Owning property should no longer be the criteria by which we appraise our success.

You shouldn’t have to go into indebtednes to keep up.

If youre still living with a roommate, sibling, futon or even on a sofa, then who cares?

A living arrangement doesnt “ve got to be” permanent or pristine.

If you boomeranged back to your parents after a unpleasant breakup, so be it.

Its okay to declare youre unsure of your next stair, and youre not going to bank on circumstances until you are.

7. The Fact You Like To Move Dancing

This is more of a metaphor than anything.( Although, I do enjoy shaking my posterior plumage from time to day .)

You shouldnt apologize for wanting to dance out your demons.

Whether its in your living room, at a Zumba class, on a table or in a ballroom, rotate, baby.

8. Your Relationship Status

Theres something to be said for the latitude between RSVPing “no” and your relationship status.

But perhaps, youre simply over some crazy uncle asking why your boyfriend from six years ago isnt there.

Single, separated, divorced, rebuffed, cheating, happy, hopeful, lesbian or straight-shooting, you dont owe Uncle Frank an explanation.

9. Your Diet And Fitness Regimen( Or Lack Thereof)

While I ever prefer an unruly slew of nachos to a kale salad or protein shake, you gotta do what you gotta do.

This is another thing parties seem to like to peddle.

Whether youre training for triathlons, juicing the contents of your kitchen or house Cheeto strongholds in your living room, its your body.

Nobody has to occupy it but you.

Just try not to be too righteous about it.

Im not going to apologize for ingesting a cheeseburger any more than a staunch vegetarian might apologize for posting photographs of flax seeds all day.

10. How You Deduce Your Income

Money constitutes “the worlds” go round.

Whether you have a career youre passionate about, one youre lukewarm about or three part-time responsibilities strung together, its nobodys business how you compensate your bills.

11. The Fact You’re Turning Into Your Parents

This has been an interesting one to watch unfold.

Try as you might, its going to happen.

Theres no expend rationalizing for it because you never accepted a chance.

All those concepts you rolled your eyes at from the back seat of the Dodge station wagon?

Theyre winging right out of your mouth now.

I like to yell, Im not made of money! at my “cat-o-nine-tail” when we’re on our route home from the vet.

12. Being A Slug

If the pizza delivery guy would come instantly to my bedroom window, Id let my bathrobe belt down for him like Rapunzel let down her hair.

Bed pizza is a real and splendid thing.

Dont apologize for being a gross, lazy stinker sometimes.

The only way to reflect brightly in public is by wasting away in your own slothfulness behind closed doors.

13. Your Travel Style

Some beings operate first class and is necessary to stay in five-star hotels.

Others couch surf, hostel hop-skip or carry their adaptations on their backs.

Seeing the world is admirable , no matter how you make it happen.

You know Jay and Bey arent apologizing for yachting all over the French Riviera, so why should I apologize for getting bedbugs in Belize?

14. Your Voice

One of the most common concepts I apologize for is talking too loudly.

Others say sorry for not being heard.

Some people stutter and others have lisps.

There are the raspy express and the plainly high-pitched voices.

You can limit your articulation to a certain degree, but why bother?

Speak up, whisper, bellow, sigh, laugh, sing, squeal and clear your throat.

Just dont whistle. Nothing likes a whistler.

Definitely dont shush anyone; a shush is a personal attack.

15. Your Opinion

Granted, there is a period and a plaza, but how will anyone know how you feel if you dont speak up?

It’s worseif you apologize for doing so.

If done correctly and not for the sake of idle gossip, giving your opinion can become you into an opinion leader.

Thats a pretty good bench to be in.

If you opine in a systematically constructive way, parties will start to look to you for wisdom.

Thats a great route to positively influence the lives of others.

16. Your Truth

Whatever it is and however you find it, dont apologize for it once you do.

Dont apologize for how long it takes you, either.

If youve been hiding your truth in a lie youre finally free from, welcome back.

Step right in. The waters warm.

Its taken a lot of justifications, conformities and f* ckups to get us to this third decade of our existence.

So, lets take what weve learned and bask in that splendid wisdom of the ages.

We sort of earned it.

Grab your chisel( or your pepperoni pizza) and start carving out what works for you.

Stop apologizing for the pebbles that get left behind.

The post 16 Situations All 30 -Somethings Should Stop Apologizing For This Year appeared first on apsbicepstraining.com.

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