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#there's still emotional shit there but it's filtered through the physical pain and the 'drugs'

mymostimaginaryfriend · 3 years

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one inch from the edge of this bed

♛ 5x01: James dreams about Teresa. (1.6k words; rating Mature: language, violence, sexual situations) tags: james can have some magical realism as a treat, morphine is a helluva drug

➢ read on ao3 or below the cut:

(note: I originally wrote this as part of a longer story about James’ journey to reunite with Teresa, so for the purpose of this drabble, morphine is making him forget he’s already seen her...cool? cool. thanks for reading!)

♛

James rarely sleeps deeply enough to dream. What starts as a coping mechanism in his childhood only gets cemented further by the military. Now no matter how tired he becomes, he can never quite turn off that last light in the back of his head. It’s for the best, probably. The things he’s seen—the shit he’s done. Who knows what nightmare would crawl out of the well of his subconscious if given half the chance.

The rare times he does dream, he’s usually able to wake himself up within a matter of seconds. It’s automatic now, like he’s rewired a shortcut in his brain. By the time he opens his eyes the dream is nothing more than a faint memory skipping across the surface of his mind without ever dropping an anchor.

The big, bad assassin and his built-in night light. He’d laugh if he didn’t count it as yet another valuable weapon in his arsenal. It’s not like he doesn’t know this concession by his personal demons is only a layaway plan. Whatever he doesn’t pay for now will come due at least ten times over later.

Still, when he opens his eyes to see morning light filtered through breeze-stirred curtains, he doesn’t catch on right away. It’s not the sunshine that tips him off or the softness of the bed. It’s not the light breeze wafting through the open window, or even the dip of the mattress behind him.

It’s a sense of peace he hasn’t known in nearly a year. It’s the sound of her hushed voice, whispering his name.

“Don’t hide from me,” she says. “I know you’re awake.”

His heart leaps then plummets at the smile he hears in her words, sweet joy chased by sick panic. It’s not just the nightmares he’s been avoiding in his sleep.

Dreaming of Teresa is an indulgence he can no longer afford.

When he left with Devon, he knew he’d need more than just physical distance between her and his new life, from what he’d have to do there and who he might have to become to do it. He couldn’t risk it warping his feelings for her. He couldn’t let it twist his memories or cloud his purpose.

So in the last moments of his freedom, as Devon drove him away into the night, he allowed himself to hold close all that she meant to him: her innate goodness, her fierce bravery, how her eyes warmed whenever she smiled.

And then he built a room around those memories—built the wall brick by brick in his mind until they were shut away. He didn’t need a key. He didn’t even build a door. It was the only way of protecting both those memories and himself.

Leaving her meant leaving her behind.

One look at her now will undo all of his careful compartmentalization. One look at her, no matter if she’s real or imagined, will destroy those walls to dust. He can’t get off mission, he has to stay on task, he has to—he can’t remember what exactly. But it feels important, deathly so.

He closes his eyes and waits for the awareness of the dream to catapult him to consciousness but something is wrong. His mind refuses to obey the command.

Error: shortcut not found.

And with every passing second it’s harder to remember why it’s so important for him to resist, his urgency to awaken quickly replaced by an urgency of a different kind. He can’t stop the hum in the back of his throat at the touch of her fingers brushing across his abdomen or how his body automatically angles itself toward the warmth of hers, inexorable like the tide.

She laughs and the sound of her joy hooks beneath his ribcage, turning him toward her. They never had enough time. Little things like lying in bed together, easing into the day with lazy touches and hushed sighs turned into something valuable, something to hold on to, something that’s supposed to be in a lockbox behind a fucking brick wall.

“Hmm, it’s like that is it?” she asks, voice like warm honey sending an anticipatory flare of heat up his spine. “Let’s see if I can’t wake you up.”

The drag of her hair across his chest is all the warning he needs before her lips find his and what’s left of his resistance falls away like tumblers in a lock. There are no more walls left between them now. No air. Just heat, hands and skin so soft he can barely manage not to bruise it in his desperate need to get her even closer.

An alarm bell rings in some distant corner of his mind, but one hand has already buried itself in her hair, angling her head for better access to her mouth. The other has slipped beneath her sleep worn shirt, fingers brushing up her ribs to the soft, warm weight of her breast.

This isn’t real.

He doesn’t fucking care.

The past year has been a brutally cold one, filled with blood-soaked ops and people he couldn’t trust. He’s spent the last twelve months always on guard, either enacting violence, experiencing it or expecting it. To have Teresa here, tangibly safe in his arms, and so, so warm is almost more than he can take, let alone resist.

Her breath stutters against his lips and it feels like a hit of pure oxygen, like she’s reviving him from the dead.

He opens his eyes, pushing her hair back up and out of her face to take her in. She always smiled more freely in their quiet moments together, something that made him feel more powerful than any firearm ever had. Her lips curve now, soft and sweet, her eyes half lidded by pleasure and the knife that’s lodged in his heart tears a downward path, spilling all of his carefully contained emotions from the wound. His grip on her waist tightens too much to go unnoticed.

“What’s wrong?” Her eyes flicker quickly over his face, the ever present worry never too far from the surface of their lives.

He wants to reassure her, to hold onto the playfulness between them, but the ache of it makes him honest. “I miss you.”

“I’m right here,” she replies, voice barely a whisper, perhaps sensing the deadly seriousness of his words. He’s never missed anything half as much as her. It used to scare him to think of what he’d be willing to do to have this once again. What lines he’d cross to get back to her, to this.

He no longer wonders anymore. He knows. The knowledge that he’d do it all over again if it kept her safe didn’t absolve his crimes. It sure as hell didn’t silence the echo of screams in his head.

“Are you?” His voice is rough but he gentles his hand, smoothing it down her hip to lightly grip her thigh, relishing the strength he can feel beneath his fingertips. He forces a smirk, an attempt to salvage the lightheartedness, and though the slight narrowing of her eyes suggests she sees right through his façade, she concedes to his wishes with a soft smile, tossing her hair over one shoulder to lean down and nip his jawline.

“What do you miss?” she teases, biting gently at the tendon of his neck, sucking lightly at first then sharper. “This?”

His breath catches in his throat and she hums her approval into his skin. “Or maybe this?” she murmurs, shifting to run a flat palm down his belly, lower and lower until she’s cupping him through his boxer briefs.

He groans as she strokes him, and she smiles in delight as his hips reflexively rock up into her hand. Her eyes lock onto his, like she knows exactly what power she has over him, like she wants to see the exact moment he surrenders. It won’t take long. It feels so fucking good that it’s only his pride that keeps him from panting.

Her eyes dance wickedly. “Or maybe this?”

As quick as lightning, she releases him to grab at his waist, tickling in just the right spot to make him nearly levitate off the bed.

“Fuck,” he laughs, grabbing for her wrists to roll her underneath him, pinning her arms above her head. She’s breathless and beaming and so goddamned pleased with herself that he can’t take his eyes off of her. She’s beautiful.

“This,” he murmurs, slotting himself between her legs, rolling his hips hard and slow, repeating the movement when her face goes slack with pleasure.

“This,” he breathes, as her heels dig into the back of his thighs, pressing him closer as he leans down to catch her moan with his mouth.

This, he thinks, losing himself in the hazy heat of her. This, this, this.

He senses it a split-second before it happens, like a sudden change in air pressure. The distant urgency of his mission slamming into focus with the echo of a high powered rifle shot and the shattering glass of the window.

Fiery pain rips through his abdomen, but it's the soft cry beneath him that has him in agony.

He remembers now what was so important. He remembers now what he was supposed to do.

“Teresa,” he chokes, slumping to the side to get himself fully between her and the window. He's losing strength fast, barely able to prop himself up enough to assess the damage. At first he thinks the blood covering her chest is his own, but then he sees it: the entry wound where the bullet passed through him into her.

Her eyes stare up at him in disbelief, words gurgling around the blood pooling in her throat. “James?”

He has to —

“James,” she repeats, blood trickling out the corner of her mouth, her voice growing faint.

He has to —

“Save me.”

♛

ao3

#queen of the south #qots #qots fic #jeresa #*ficbyme #i figured everyone else put james Through It this week why not me too lol #i've always wanted an el santo james hallucination but a morphine dream will work #thanks for reading!!!

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silkylious · 4 years

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Funny Way of Saying I Love You (Dabi x Reader)

Pairing: Dabi x Reader Warnings: angst(i have an addiction i swear), fluff Prompts: #9 “That’s a funny way of saying ‘I love you’” and #16 “When have I ever let you down, babe? Okay, don’t answer that”

A/N: Thank you for the request! im taking my time writing these since im physically incapable of writing drabbles. I hope you like this!!

Shutting the door behind you, a soothing dusk breeze fluttered your hair as you moved farther away from your daily hell. Your boss had made it a point to be a pain in the ass today, well, more so than usual. Working overtime on a Friday evening wasn’t what you’d hoped to be doing but you couldn’t exactly complain, it wasn’t like you had anything planned and the promise of an extra paycheck didn’t sound displeasing. Rubbing your temples to ease the headache (courtesy of your boss’s incessant bitching), you walked on autopilot to your apartment, you couldn’t wait to treat yourself to a bubble bath and maybe even some wine. Little did you know that your plans would be thoroughly ruined by a certain scarred villain.

You made the decision to pass by a nearby convenient store that wasn’t too far from your residence to cop some snacks. Filtering through the brands of alcohol, you grimaced at the overpriced tags of the various red wine brands, you settled for some cheap liquor with a sigh. It ain’t much but it should do the trick. After paying for what little stuff you’d fetched, you continued on your trek to your humble flat. The sun had completely vanished from the sky, a lingering crimson bleeding into a rich indigo. Your thoughts were so spellbound by the beautiful sight, that you just barely heard a strained grunt from your left. Blinking back into reality, you halted in your steps right next to a comically shady alleyway. Just like in those horror movies. You snorted at the thought, briefly comparing yourself to that one character who always dies first in movies. Though your internal jesting was cut short when the same sound propagated through the alleyway again, this time much more haggard, closely followed by violent coughing. Against your better judgment, you treaded forward cautiously. Why were you doing this? You weren’t sure. Maybe it was the unfulfilled dream loitering in the back of your mind resurfacing after many years of suppression, but you couldn’t not help someone out in a time of need.

The deeper you ventured into the alleyway, the louder your rationality shouted, begging you to turn around and book it to your apartment complex. You were stopped in your steps when an aggressive cough broke the quiet, the sound now impossibly closer and blood splattered all over the ground before your feet. Your eyes followed the vermilion trail, skinny legs covered in bloodied up, skin-tight jeans came into view, you were met with familiar scarred features. His eyes were struggling to stay open, though at the sight of you he forced his lids apart, flashing you a bloody, half-pained smirk, red liquid running down his scarred tissue.

You blinked. Dabi blinked. You blinked again and then-

“What the shit, Dabi! Are you okay?!”

You dropped to your knees next to his limp body propped up against the shaggy wall. He gave a humorless chuckle, more blood oozing out of the corners of his lips. Dabi hummed when your hands touched his fucked up face, your quirk already pacifying most of his pain. It wasn’t a healing quirk, you were simply able to transfer emotions, feelings and sensations (to and fro) with skin on skin contact. You didn’t want him knocking the fuck out from sheer pain (heaven knows there is no way you were going to lug this human heater home), so you had to ease him a little before tending to his injuries. Your body twitched as the hurt from Dabi’s body merged into your own.

“I’ve seen better days, sweetheart,”

“You don’t say.” The words came out harsh, reprimanding. Dabi winced, from the pain or from your tone, he wasn’t sure.

The plastic bag that had been temporarily abandoned came in handy, you sorrowfully used the liquor to clean the large gashes on his abdomen (not wanting to risk an infection on the way to your complex), wrapping them up securely with scraps of his shirt. So much for a relaxing bath and liquor. You heaved him up on semi-steady knees and took a different, more desolate route back home. The last thing you’d want right now is for authorities to see you walking an injured Dabi, one of the most wanted villains in the current climate, home. He leaned most of his weight on your shoulder, his shit-eating grin told you he was doing it on purpose. You couldn’t find it in you to retaliate as you usually would, too worried to come up with any snarky comments.

This had become way too much of a ritual for your comfort. You’d find him bleeding by your doorstep at ungodly hours, silently asking for shelter. Each and every time, you’d patch him up, provide him with food and your company. You’d grown attached to the scar faced male, and even if you disdained his line of work, you’d respected his life and independence (as independent as someone who crashes on your couch near daily can be). For the past couple months, his tasks had been getting progressively more and more dangerous. Your heart couldn’t help but clench each time you saw him beaten and bruised. You knew it was risky letting these feelings develop, Dabi had made it quite clear that your relationship was nothing beyond physical, with a level of mutual respect and trust.

But this was the worst condition you’d ever seen him in after one of his missions. Not too dissimilar to the first time you met; bloody, bruised and half-conscious, truly a sight to pity. You’d noiselessly knelt down, pressed your hand onto his cheek, he hadn’t even been able to flinch at your touch, too disoriented to react properly. Though in mere moments, he began feeling the pain ebb away; the injuries were still there, he just couldn’t feel them, he equated the numbing sensation to painkillers and drugs. His eyelids parted, revealing gorgeous teal irises. Full of ethereal beauty, despite being unfocused. You had to actively shun your quirk from relaying your attraction to him as you soothed his pain, his staples and marred skin a stark contrast to your soft fingers. That night you gave him a place to stay while he was on the run, you didn’t know why, but you did. Just this one time you’d said. One time became two times. Two times became countless and the rest is history.

The apartment door was slammed open, you were beyond irate. The more you thought about him, his situation, your situation, the more you felt the urge to knock shit over and scream bloody murder. Turquoise hues followed you with contempt – and mild amusement – but mostly contempt. Dabi took his usual spot on your worn-out couch, while you stomped your way into the bathroom to get a first aid kit. With your absence, Dabi was left to his own thoughts running amuck. Dabi wasn’t oblivious. He knew what your silence meant, knew what the look of unbridled worry in your eyes implied. Yet he didn’t want to address the less than subtle growing feelings you have for him. Attachment in his line of work was a surefire way to get hurt, he figured that if he kept whatever relationship you guys had physical, he wouldn’t have any issues to fuss over. But he couldn’t lie to himself, Dabi was conscious of the budding adoration in his heart from the moment you helped him out that first time, in that filthy alley. God, he needed a cigarette.

Much to his pleasure, you came back before his mind could implode in on itself. You sat beside him on the couch, leaving more space between you than usual. Without saying a word, your hands undid his makeshift bandages, slowly but surely patching him up an inch at a time. It honestly felt like a routine at this point. That prompted a sour taste in your mouth, you couldn’t stand how careless he’d been recently, and it was eating you up inside. But you didn’t dare voice your concerns, not wanting another aimless argument with him. If silence would save you another headache inducing fight, then silence it was–

“So, you gonna tell me what crawled up your ass?”

Or not.

“Shut. Up.” You weren’t in the mood for his quips today. Fatigue from work, babysitting a villain and dealing with unrequited feelings severely fouling your otherwise warm attitude. You were just on the brink of throwing caution to the wind and letting loose all the muffled feelings you have for him. One more comment and your composure would shatter. Conveniently – or not so conveniently, he seemed to be in a talkative mood tonight.

“Seriously, what’s up with you?” The question was redundant, he knew exactly what was up with you, but he couldn’t think of anything else. Your quietness was killing him. He had to say something. He should have chosen his words a little more wisely though.

“What’s up with me?! Are you being fucking serious right now?! I come home and almost every day find you bleeding on my doorstep. Almost every day I give your reckless ass a place to stay, only for you to go and get yourself hurt again!” Pent up rage exploded from within you, an amalgamation of emotions gushing out of your pores. His eyes blew wide, not only because he had never seen you this angry, but because of the surge of emotions flooding him. In your fury filled stupor, you’d let go of the tight rein you had on your quirk. With a hand still touching his bruised forearm, you began unintentionally bleeding your feelings into him. Rage, sorrow and worry were just a few of the many emotions that rocked his being. But one stood out among the rest, outshining the others with blinding ferocity. And it honestly scared him, how powerful it was, zapping through his body. He figured you had feelings for him, that much was obvious, but he didn’t think they were that strong. Your breathtaking emotions awakened something in him too, pulling it out of the depths of where he tried to hide it, push it down in hopes of abolishing it.

It was too much to handle this, he kept coming back for help when he could easily seek any of his colleagues out, the implication that you meant something to him was so elating yet so damaging. It kept you stuck in place, barred from shutting him out or walking away. You couldn’t keep hanging onto the hope that he might reciprocate your love. It was harming you, no matter how sensuous he was in bed, no matter how gently he held onto you afterwards, he would never call you his lover. He made that crystal fucking clear. You had to put a stop to this. You leveled your shaky voice as much as your vocal cords would allow, barely whispering.

“Get the hell out, Dabi. I don’t wanna see you here again.”

The emotions sifting through him mellowed out, no longer was rage at the forefront. Pain, hurt and heartbreak ravaged him. But that one emotion was still there, despite him being a gaping asshole, it was still present. He smirked.

“That’s a funny way of saying ‘I love you,’ doll.”

“Wha–“ Before you could question his response, he swiftly captured your lips in his own to shut you up. It was a quick, firm peck, but its aftermath amused him greatly. The look of bewilderment on your face was damn priceless. You were, again, transferring your feelings to him. Adoration, confusion, the overwhelming urge to pimp smack him; it was all too entertaining for him. His vibrant teals settled upon your hand still gripping his arm. No fabric to separate them. Your own eyes followed suit. Oh. You immediately stopped your quirk, redacting your palm in the process for good measure. Dabi delighted in the bashful look that overtook your face, his own growing soft. He had trouble accepting his own feelings, but after experiencing yours, he would, at the very least, try for you. Awkward silence ensued. You both knew it was his turn to talk, to finally let out the unsaid words you’d been longing for.

“(name), I… I wanna do this right, take you out on dates and shit,” He cleared his throat. “If you’d let me.”

Your answer came in the form of a crushing hug. Your love was pouring into him again, this time of your own accord. You held onto each other, his hands biting into your skin, your own carding through his dark locks. You didn’t need words. Figuratively and literally. He felt everything in bright, flashing colors, he never wanted this moment to end. But it did. His phone rang.

Clear annoyance shined in both of your eyes. With a heavy sigh, he left your embrace, getting up to answer the call.

Another mission.

With the very recent revelations both of you had come to, the idea of him going on missions carried a lot more weight than it used to. Now in front of your apartment door, he put on his shoes, ready to head out to the League’s hideout. Dabi turned around, breath hitching when he saw you standing there frowning, eyes tearful. For some reason, you had a gut feeling this mission wouldn’t be so easy. You didn’t want him to go. And it was showing.

“C’mon, baby doll. Don’t give me that look. I’ll be back, I promise,” When you didn’t even crack a smile at the nickname he sighed. “When have I ever let you down, babe?” He quickly backtracked. “Okay, don’t answer that,”

You managed a small giggle, shaking your head. You approached him slowly, silently wrapping your arms around him. You relished in his quickening heartbeat. Pulling back, you placed your hands on his clothed shoulders. You edged forward, puckering your lips against his own, the point of contact allowing you to relay your inner turmoil to him. Your hands itched towards his face, fiddling gingerly with the multiple staples aligning his cheeks. “Come back, okay? I love you.”

Breath caught in his throat, Dabi tried to push the words setting him aflame through his lips, but he couldn’t. This was happening too fast; it was giving him whiplash. He didn’t know how to say those words yet, so he opted for calling out to you.

“(name)…”

Without even using your power, the conflict in his eyes told you everything you needed to know. you pushed your forehead to rest against his. His love burned through you, so intense, so like him. With a tiny tug at your lips, you lulled the raging storm in his mind. “Shh, Dabi. I know.”

With a parting peck, he was out the door. He didn’t know what was to come out of this mission, but he did know that he now had one more reason to come out alive.

#dabi x reader #dabi x y/n #dabi x you #dabi boku no hero academia #dabi my hero academia #bnha dabi #mha dabi #todoroki touya x reader #touya x reader #todoroki toya x reader #dabi fanfic #dabi imagine #someone help why cant i write drabbles ffs #100 followers event

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theholistichedonist · 3 years

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Soul Fragmentation and Inner Child Work

“we are the most important project we will ever work on”

(affirmations at end)

a question that i continuously ask myself recently, always,

Who am I?

constant conformity has me begging for the unusual, unique, and unregulated views i possess.

too much of one thing is never a good thing

where am i?

how can i find myself?

questions i have and answers i had found myself looking for externally

through peers, parents, and past

i wasn’t finding the answers, it ultimately lead myself into hermit mode, recluse status

i found myself in bed most of the day, not patient enough to close my eyes and actually dig for my answers yet, but a knowing of something

spinning my wheels with all the projects i was fucking forcing to the bitter end, i burnt out

this Gemini was hiding in a basement with the blinds closed binging on Gaia and praying for a miracle.

All these fucking emotions,

what the fuck, i’m feeling!

the great purge had begun

it felt so weird to turn my brain off ‘go mode’ and feel into my body

the repressed emotions, horrible parenting (w/ no fault to my parents), and what are coping skills?

i started RE-PARENTING myself

the little baby HH that was crying and scared in the corner from neglect, lack and abuse.

i would visit her and hold her. i would care for her and kiss her wounds. it was the most powerful thing i had ever experienced before.

i had shut my past out and tried to lie and hide my past for years. i had blocked my little girl me completely out of my life and it was me who ultimately needed me

i cried for a week straight like a little baby, couldn't leave the house because i was either anxious AF or in fear I’d be at the cashier and she would trigger me in some way and i’d start crying lol

i looked at myself and was like wtf who is this?

OH RIGHT it’s me lol

begging for attention, my baby inside was like feed me!! She hid in the corner, cowering away from me because i had neglected her for so long, ignoring her pleas and emotions

so i gave myself my full, undivided attention

i would feel these emotions, sitting with them and healing the parts of me that had been closed off and fragmented from my human self for protection of being lost forever

all these visions and pictures of how horrible i had grown up (truly because I felt misunderstood and had my own path to forge), bullying, rejection of myself and from others, constant people pleasing with a resentment behind it, all the anger i had pent up inside of me so much fucking rage just ready to explode, i would see how lonely i was and how horrible i had truly felt all my life up to this point just flash before my eyes

i lacked love, from and for myself

i forgot to consider my own needs

i neglected the emotions that pair with experiences to give us the answers we crave

in hindsight, with no fault of my own - to blame will not help us heal

we all choose our ‘Sacred Contracts’ before birth in the 3D

how would i ever get to know myself with so much judgement and resentment behind my motives?

simple,

Open you heart space to the highest frequency of All That Is

removing the filter of the EGO and relishing in the presence of your soul

where this is no judgement, no pain or suffering

it just is, all that is, Love, Compassion, Understanding, Gratitude

i had came to realizations that helped me dig, search and heal my fragmented pieces of my soul and welcoming them back with love and ACCEPTANCE

and ultimately opening myself up to the Divine Abundance and Greatness that this Universe naturally exudes and amplifies with the help of us

that’s why we’re here y’know, to help and heal, to give and receive, w/ no one more worthy or deserving than the other. Equal, but with different paths!

remember this: I am worthy of all my desires just because I am alive

Abundance is our birth right,

it is the programming that has been layered on top of our soul and mind that blocks that abundance from coming to us

whether it be a belief of unworthiness, hidden anger towards a situation or person, having to suffer to receive was a big one for me, that life was meant to be hard and difficult

all these beliefs are fucking lies that we tell ourselves or have been told, and these are just some of the beliefs some of us carry with us

not to scare you or overwhelm you this is more to help you open your mind and see where your programming effects you - we have 1000′s of faulty beliefs and 95% of them didn’t come from us they we’re imprinted from other people, situations or institutions

and they can be released without having to search endlessly for them

and that’s where Theta Healing came into my life,

i realize i haven’t explained to those who may not know what Theta Healing is and i will do just that:

Theta Healing is meditating in your Theta brain wave state that through healing will bring you closer to your Higher Self/Soul/Creator with physical, psychological and spiritual healing of programs and beliefs that are holding us hostage in our subconscious mind.

we become our true selves.

it’s the purge or societal views, back home to your soul and higher self

here i thought everyone else was the problem, and now i’m like ooooohhhh right it’shmeeee

to make a short story long:

I have been working with R for 4 months now and my life has made a complete 180 and lead my to find my purpose with helping heal the collective and grow into a higher and expanded consciousness of awareness.

from drug abuse, alcoholism, self loathing, pushing forcing and swimming upstream for most of my life, lost ad confused, looking for a cliff, and this aching need to figure shit out

to now where i am still resting, breathing, smiling, feeling, and releasing

in complete serenity and tranquility, most days lol

but the point being is that now i know how to process these emotions, and i’m learning about WHO I AM, dissolving the EGO and seeing the full picture, myself

why am i feeling this way?

is this good or bad, and is this a belief that is worthy of releasing (if bad always yes lol) release that shit, you’re too good to be carrying a backpack of crap lol put the damn shit down

and here I am, still not sure who the fuck i am but i have a way better idea of it today than i did a few years ago and i really do thank Theta Healing for my growth, it’s been life changing and I’m so excited and blessed to be here sharing this with you, definitely something that used to be miles away from my comfort zone

releasing the belief that it is unfair, unsafe and ung-dly to be seen and to put myself out there.

replacing with:

i give myself permission to share love, wisdom and confidence with those who need it because i am worthy and deserving of being seen and receiving recognition for my efforts

legit if you want to know more about Theta hit me up lol it’s fucking mind blowing

some affirmations for you beautiful souls:

I am open to the abundance and greatness the Universe offers

I am divine

I see and feel the support I have from Source

I am a divine goddess worthy of all that I desire

I am worthy of love and appreciation - because i have found that love of yourself is what brings in abundance on all levels (including money)

My voice matters

My feelings matter

My opinions are important

I let go of my past insecurities and focus completely on feeling confident, secure and independent

Love, Peace, and Joy are what I know

i choose to live through the open space in my heart . I look for love and find it everywhere

My mind is cleansed and free. I leave the past and move into the new. All is well.

There is a joyous release of the past. Life is sweet and so am I

All Healing and health is flowing to me now

I am always safe and protected

I am confident in my full recovery

I am learning what my body needs to be in a perfect state of health

It’s my time to heal

I deserve great health, wealth and abundance

I trust myself

I have the courage and strength to enjoy my life, no matter what comes

I let go of perfectionism and thoroughly enjoy myself here and now

I free myself from the past and take actions that reflect my life purpose

I am supported by life

I awaken the self healing power within me

I show my strength through releasing all beliefs that no longer serve me.

thank you thank you thank you

and so it is

love you,

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dannyd0levito · 4 years

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September 26, 2020

I’m not sure why, but I find myself not being able to look directly outside through the window. It’s blue and grey, and quite gorgeous as the world wakes up. I’ve been awake since 5:12 a.m. myself. I’m reading a book I don’t remember the name of, but it inspires me to type out my feelings as I find my eyes blurring and my chest get tight. My throat has been dry and caught the entire time I read it.

It’s a story of a 17-year-old girl who has had a bad run in with someone named Fucking Frank, coping with the loss of her friend, Ellis, who attempted suicide and didn’t die, but lost enough oxygen to her brain to essentially be a vegetable. She was homeless, her father and dog dead at some point and her mother physically abusive, and she was raped. She tries to escape everything by cutting so deeply with broken mason jar glass in an attempt to end the buzzing and pain but ends up in a hospital and is later transferred to an all-girl nut house. Now, she’s staying at a friend’s studio home, which is really a done-up garage, and struggles to find a sense of normal.

I found myself relating to it a little too much all at once. It reminds me of my time at Heritage Oaks off Auburn Boulevard in Citrus Heights. I don’t remember exactly how old I was, but I think I was living in Orangevale in Sarah’s studio-home at the time. I think Charlie and I weren’t technically together at the time because I remember a guy in the loony bin taking an interest in me, which now that I think of it, might have been the first and only time in my life a person took interest in me first. I often forget about it, though, because everyone was crazy in that place. He gave me his number before I was discharged at the end of my two weeks and told me the day he was going to be released. I waited in the parking lot for him that day, but never saw him walk out. I haven’t heard from or seen him again.

A couple months later, the crazy festered more and I tried to find him since he wasn’t answering calls or texts, no acknowledgment of the voicemail I had left. I found his name on the Internet associated with a pizza place in Chico. I remember calling them, the woman who answered sounding very skeptical and confused, but promising to pass on the message that Dani was calling for him. I don’t even remember his name. It’s stalkerish and creepy to do that, now that I look back on it. But I didn’t know this at the time and had no ill-intent. I just wanted to connect to someone who seemed to like me and see me, even when I was at my lowest point. I figured if someone could like me in there, then they could like me for who I really was.

But I was wrong once again.

I’m tearing up as I write this, but it’s not sadness. I don’t know what it is exactly. Something deeper, more like grief and depression and hopelessness. A loss of some kind. Innocence, maybe?

Everything hurts in me right now and feels dark. The void is opening back up for some reason. I was getting so good at bottling my emotions – I envision a mason jar – and sucking it back into some hidden away part of me, but that fucking book opened it all back up.

I’m relating to that 17-year-old girl somehow, but she was worse off than me. Sure, I attempted suicide that landed me in the nuthouse years ago. I don’t remember how old I was at the time. I think old enough to drink, maybe. Maybe it was 2015.

I would’ve been 21 at the time, turning 22 July of that year, but I had been drinking and doing drugs long before then.

I started smoking pot heavily after I started working at KFC when I was 16. I was vehemently against alcohol until I met Charlie. I was against it because of my mom.

I don’t know why I clung to that relationship like I did. I don’t even remember who he was anymore. But that happens with all of my exes. At some point, I think I’m so enshrouded in a cloud of dissociation, I never really see them for who they are. They become an extension of myself that I project onto. And I don’t really know who’s fault that is. I’ve been told I’ve gaslit others and had it done to me in return by soon-to-be ex-husband. But I don’t really know if I believe the latter.

I think I paint myself in a better light so someone will pity me at the very least. Making myself the victim and manipulating others to feel bad can be easy. But I really try not to. I’ve just heard that I do that. I don’t consciously do it, I just talk about how I’ve felt and what has happened to me in the past, and I talk about it casually because I know that despite how fucked up it sounds, I brought it all onto myself. Therefore: do not feel bad for me. Shit sucks wall-to-wall, but I know it was of my own curation and I’m at fault.

I think about how alone my dad is. He has his friends and has always been very charismatic, but he has also been very manipulative emotionally. I never could get a full read on him. Sometimes, he seems quite jovial and polite and nice, like he’s really turning a corner and opening up. Then the more time I spent with him, the real him came out incrementally. If it happened all at once, he’d scare people away. But to normalize it slowly over time traps a person and they don’t realize it until years later what has been done. I think that’s why Marie left him without any warning and won’t go back.

I’m like him in my own eyes. I don’t have an identity; if someone were to ask me who I am, I wouldn’t know how to answer. I’m a person, but I struggle with assigning even a gender to myself. I’m a biological woman, but I don’t feel like one. It’s not gender dysphoria because I don’t feel like a man, either. But something a little further down the road. I don’t feel like a woman because I don’t feel like a person at all. At best, I can describe my experience up to this point as watching the world through a lens, like a movie that I’m witnessing.

I dissociate so often that I can’t remember most of my past and don’t even know when it’s happening. Others around me can’t pin-point when it occurs either. I’m really good at switching on auto-pilot. I’m existing at this point, not thriving or living. I’m usually okay with this.

Occasionally, the cracks deepen and the emotions seep out a little. Like this morning. I think it’s been about a decade since I’ve written my emotions down like this. As a kid, I had tons of journals and treated them as the friend I never had: something to keep all my secrets.

I still don’t have friends. The closest I have to this is Jerry. Everyone else is an acquaintance. But I don’t even view Jerry as a friend, or really a person. But I don’t say this out of spite or hatred, or anything malevolent. I think it’s just due to my morphing him as part of my weird way of viewing life through a gaussian blur filter. I know he’s a living, breathing individual and yet somehow, I see him as just another extension of myself. I’m still not sure how to explain it, but he’s not real to me anymore.

Once upon a time, he was. Something happened to me between now and then, though. I fought hard for him from mid-2018 through about September of 2019. He really drew me to him, someone who could understand how bleak life really is for some of us and all the depth of pain a person can experience without being able to fully comprehend. Broken to broken, blind leading the blind.

It was a mistake I now see. But not a regretful mistake. Just a natural one, like with everyone else in my past. Tom was a mistake. Charlie was a mistake. And every other man and boy before him depending on what age I was.

It’s been a really long time since I’ve come apart like I am this morning. I guess I needed to at some point or I’d lash out again. It was cyclical for a couple years, my emotions. Despite how fucking terrible I felt every waking moment and wanted to end the pain, I could count on it. But I’ve been empty since maybe February of this year. Jerry screamed at me and something inside me snapped. It’s not his fault, I incite anger in others and goad them. But something in breaking him broke me, I think. I’ve been an empty vessel ever since. It’s pleasant not feeling most of the time, but when I do, it’s like I’m crying over the deceased and I don’t know why.

I’ve been hurting a lot lately. I’m upset I can’t remember the good times from exes. Not for any reason in particular other than taking personal inventory of how my brain works. I remember some times from Tom, like us going to the San Francisco zoo for his birthday in 2016 so he could see the bears since they’re his favorite. I remember having a good day and I even have photos saved from that day, but I don’t remember emotionally. It doesn’t feel like that day even existed. I often daydream about being saved by someone and that memory holds the same sensation.

Now he’s divorcing me. I don’t exactly remember where things went wrong, but I know it’s because of me. It was before 2018 when I started to get frustrated with us. He was calm and very nice, but also very cold. I know I got to see a part of him he didn’t allow anyone else to see, something reserved for significant others, and yet we couldn’t speak each other’s love language. His was touch, mine was thinking. He picked the wrong damaged person. My ability to love through touch has been skewed through rape, molestation, and sexual assault before him. Then, the same things happened while I was with him. Once from a man posing as a Lyft driver in 2018 when we had a fight at Pre-Flite on Kati’s birthday. Once in early 2019 when a “friend” from Bakersfield came all the way up to see me under the guise of missing me from high school and as an opportunity to catch up; he instead sodomized me in his hotel then left right after, but not before I offered to buy him dinner. He was antsy the whole time and during dinner, he took a pretend call saying his girls got hurt and he had to drive all the way back home. I tried to make it work logically in my mind, saying that this happens, it’s okay, he didn’t do what I think he just did. But I never heard from him again. Then Tom did it. I don’t think he meant to do it, but I can’t answer that honestly anymore. He had pent up sexual frustration and unfortunately, my experience with the men in my life included that in the form of rape. I know not all men are bad, and I know it’s my fault for picking people like this. But it still hurts. Right after I moved out, summer of 2019 when we separated, we got drunk at Burning Barrell. I was too much to drive, so he took me back to his place where I promptly blacked out. A few hours later I woke up undressed but not remembering how that happened. I was disoriented because I didn’t remember the drive home and it terrified me for a moment as I didn’t recognize his room already, though it was maybe only a month after I moved out. I panicked and put two-and-two together, feeling violated by my own husband and his sad confusion as he apologized. I know he didn’t mean it. I think. But I wailed and sobbed and felt robbed all the same.

I’m the most stable I’ve ever been as of this year. I lost almost 50 pounds, cleared my skin, and stopped drinking and doing drugs, which were primarily weed and cocaine. And yet, I feel the emptiest I’ve ever felt. I think I’m technically in a relationship with Jerry and I say so because I think he believes that, but we’re not in my mind. I don’t know who he is and I’ve closed away most of who I am because he would scream at it. I hide behind dark humor and anger towards outside sources that don’t matter, like the anti-maskers and the Black Lives Matter protesters, and I live in a world where I’m white but I’m also not entirely, but I’m afraid to feel the way I do because to not support something that I can’t make the emotional space for makes me the evil one.

I can’t help it. I don’t care about police brutality. I don’t care about the conservative agenda and how Trump is admitting to dictatorship if he loses the election. I don’t even care about myself, so how can one expect me to support things outside of what affects me directly?

I have to go back to feeling nothing shortly. Today is Steph’s birthday. I have to collect my innards and mush them back into place and paint my face into something acceptable because to be anything else but cheerful would be selfish. This is not a day for me; that day comes once a year and passes as quickly as it arrives because I don’t emotionally celebrate it. Sometimes, people around me do, but I surely don’t. Every year I get closer to 30, I feel more and more disillusioned and like a failure.

I told myself if I were alive by 30, I’m ending it. I think I still hold that promise to myself. Except I’ve attempted suicide several times now and it hasn’t worked out yet. I’m not afraid of eternal death and don’t believe in any sort of afterlife, but I’m afraid of the pain, then fucking it up, then ending up worse off than I was before – paralyzed, a brainless zombie with no consciousness like those who experience hypoxia, and being unable to finish the job.

#depression grief emptiness cananyonehearme mentalillness rape sexualassault molestation abuse dissociation mentalhealth rage

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nyckiodell · 3 years

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I lost everything. My kids, ex- my husband (not due to drugs, he cheated), my home, my life, everything was taken out of my home when I messed up, including my belongings. My grandpa had people come in and take all of my belongings because I didn't have anywhere to put them. Thousands of dollars in belongings gone. What belongings I had made arrangements for to get back my ex husband took and promised he'd return, well he's now not in any shape to even be talked to. So those are gone now too.

Almost 3 years later, I've built ALMOST all that back up. I have struggled every single day, I have hated myself into being physically sick. I have felt so much emotional pain I can't move. If it hadn't been for Brandi Hazelwood Danielle Dixon and Adam Harry Allison Odell Phillip O'dell and Courtney. This girl would be dead. I've done all the drugs in the world, meth, benzo's, opiates, bullshit... None of them are as dangerous as I am to myself. Some people need to be on their own. Some people do not. So this has been on my mind so much lately.

To the ones who abandoned me, showed me your true colors, you did do me a favor. Because I whole Heartdly believe you helped to keep me sick, never wanted better for me, never cared, and want to see me fail. I Truly believe that.

I have turned my life completely around and all I've ever wanted was approval that I'm not garbage (bpd is s killer.) I needed to be reassured I can be forgiven for all my faults and accepted. There was so many times I held a knife to my wrist because even though I knew I was doing good, I had ppl making sure they let me know it wasn't good enough. It wasn't fast enough. It wasn't the way they wanted me to do it. That kept me sick because I felt I was failing and I'd give up.

Well now that Adam and I are together. We have our problems. But this man has taught me the most valuable lessons and has loved me in the way I needed. Yes we have problems. But if you have a partner that tries to teach you boundaries bc they see you don't deserve what you've you're given. You're loved and lucky.

Sometimes you get beat down so far that you stay there, and you no longer feel you deserve better or can do better. Hell, when instead of anyone trying to get you help or compassion. And they write you off and treat you however it feels to serve them best...Yeah, a person can give up and start believing it. I was unable to know my own worth to see they were wrong.. I'm glad I got this back.

Now fast forward to being the best me.. still not good enough for some people, clean from drugs still isn't good enough, and apparently I can never be forgiven for my past mistakes or get an apology for the things I need. I NO LONGER need it. This is a pivotal journey in my life rn and I will succeed. The only validation I need is my own. You know you've left people behind and outgrown them when you no longer care what they think. Cause to some you'll never be enough.

My best is good enough, I am enough, my past does not define me, and a big fuck you to those offended by this post, cuz yeah it's prolly about you.

Allison, you are the most important person in this journey. You've seen mom win, you've seen mom fail and you still love me. I try my hardest to prove my love and to make up for what I've put you through and you're still here. You're so brave for sticking this journey out with me bc you didn't have to. You were old enough to choose to put me out of your life and treat me bad. You didn't. Your love and compassion for my disease and mental illness helps keep me going. If this post proves nothing to you Allison Odell , let it prove that other people's actions and what they do to you doesn't define you. It's on them. I hope you always have the right mind to know this. I love you.

And Brandi, omg, you are everything to me. You've put up with so much shit, expended so much energy, thank you. You're love and you're confidence in me kept me going when I didn't have any. You refusing to see the bad in me helped.. you telling me I'm better than this. That helped. You never abandoned me. I love you and our bond is that of the stars. I promise no one else will ever love you the way I do and you do me. ❤️ Thank you homie.. we've both come so far in life with different journeys but we've always done it together!

There's so much more I'd like to write.. I don't usually get personal but this was therapeutic and I needed it. Maybe next session. I'm no longer filtering what I post for anyone. Because it for me. 😍

#self love #recovery #addiction #recovering addict

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kimvtae · 7 years

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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;;

#jeongguk scenarios #jungkook scenariors #bangtan scenarios #bts scenarios #jeon jungkook #my writing #i apologize in advance for the brief flash of hope before i stole it away again

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lookatthisdork · 6 years

Text

Meditations of Jason Todd (Draft)

In the spirit of NaNoWriMo, I’ve made several attempts at drafting different fic ideas, which inevitably meant blocks of Batfam fanfic drabbles that don’t have any coherent plot, flow or continuity. They’re all basically unfit for internet consumption right now, except for this first attempt at writing in Jason’s voice.

(Um, I’m still reading Pre-Crisis and 90s comics in my free-time, so the only canon Red Hood I have is his single animated movie. Since this is set significantly after that in his character arc, I’m not super confident when writing him. I have a problem writing characters I haven’t read the canon for, honestly.)

The problem with trading and selling drugs in a city like Gotham is that no matter how careful you were with recruitment, no matter how high your people’s morale and loyalty, you inevitably have to get your hands dirty to keep the money flowing. There are always incentives for both defectors and saboteurs to take pot shots at your stake. Offing a boss could mean a bigger piece of the pie for yourself, better job security (in the short-term, if your employment was tenuous), averting your boss throwing you under the bus for a job gone wrong. If the guy up top doesn’t maintain an aura of invulnerability, a willingness to crush any dissent under his boot, he quickly finds himself faced with with mutiny.

Dealing in drugs always ends in blood, one way or another. Jason was well aware of this. He was also aware of the fact that if you wanted to finance something really expensive quietly and quickly, drug money was the most sure-fire way of getting what you wanted.

(Actually, well-done white-collar fraud was the most sure-fire way, but if there was one thing he’d absorbed from watching Oracle, it was that fraud was never as secure as people made it out to be. It only took one individual with a computer and more skill than you to blow your operation to bits. Maybe it was old-fashioned, but at least drug-money was a physical object that couldn’t be “lost” with a few keystrokes.)

(Also, fraud was boring as a sole source of income. Too much time behind a screen, not enough explosions and punching people in the face.)

The Red Hood had been a damn-good drug lord, Jason liked to think. He’d run a tight ship, and the “severed heads in the duffel bag” shtick had quickly established just how out-of-their-league everyone else in the game was. Sure, he hadn’t stayed in business all that long for several good reasons (only one of which was Bruce), but extorting organized crime bosses was like riding a bicycle – really hard to forget. There was no practical reason for why he shouldn’t just recycle his old plan in a new city for some fast cash. Wasn’t like the shit-hole he was stuck in had anyone equipped to take him down.

Of course, striking fear into the hearts of criminals by decapitating their peers wasn’t the best strategy to use when your little brothers had front row seats to the carnage via helmet-cam.

He could just disable the cam for that part, of course. But the brats would definitely put two-and-two together and hatch some plot in response. An unnecessary headache when there was no Dick to foist them off on.

And...Jason wasn’t the best role-model in the world. He could admit to that. He used the phrase “little brothers” to refer to Tim and Damian very, very lightly in deference to the uncomfortable number of murder attempts among the three of them. Nowadays, he did regret all the stabbing and shooting and general dickery. Even though Damian was genetically engineered to be the most aggravating child on the planet and Tim kept stealing Jason’s alter-egos out from under him (unrepentantly now, the little shit). They were still better than uninterested-and-unhelpful-unless-I’m-sending-you-to-Arkham Dick and fucking Bruce. They didn’t deserve half the shit they were dealing with.

But his regret didn’t magically fix everything. There were 100-to-1 odds that neither kid saw Jason as anything more than “that one fuck-up that we don’t discuss in polite company.” Fair enough. Still, didn’t mean that the Red Hood had to live down to their expectations. He could do better – be the responsible adult, make sure they were fed and watered regularly, maybe (maybe) address their allotted emotional-expression-of-the-week.

Jason blamed his previously non-existent brotherly streak on Cassandra. She’d not only spoiled him by re-familiarizing him with friendly human contact, but she also subtly planted in his mind the idea that hey, you know who else would appreciate Jason’s company when Cassandra was busy? Tim and Damian. And you know who would benefit most from Jason’s unique perspective on life? Who needed a reprieve from Bruce and Dick and all of their frankly impossible expectations? Who could always use another person watching their backs, making sure they end up in an early grave?

(Honestly, Dick should watch Cass in Big Sister Mode and take notes.)

A soft huff of static came through the comm in his ear without warning, followed by the ridiculously-identifiable Damian’s click of the tongue. (Bruce was trying to train him out of doing it in costume so people wouldn’t catch on - with no success, of course.) “Todd, have your remaining neurons finally ceased to function? You’ve been standing outside the warehouse for five minutes. Are you ready or not?”

“Yeah, yeah, hold your horses,” he said as he checked the indicators for the explosives one last time. (Still all green, ready and able to wreck a certain someone’s next fiscal quarter.) “I was just reminiscing about the good old days, back when we all hated each other’s guts and I still blew up drug dens with the dealers inside instead of out. Ever miss those times?” he asked, heavy on the sarcasm.

Tim’s voice was dry as a desert, even with the slightly-tinny reception. “I miss them as much as I miss the knife that was embedded in my spleen.”

“Well, you have to admit, a knife in your spleen was probably the most exciting thing that happened to you that week, even if it was bad for your health long-term.”

“Clearly Todd’s mental dysfunction is worsening,” Damian said. As usual, his tone gave no indication if that was meant to be a joke or an insult.

Probably both, actually. Kid got a kick out of riling people who weren’t Dick up.

At least it was a joke clearly aimed to get a chuckle out of Tim instead of a joke at his expense. If there was one thing this months-long jaunt into the multiverse was doing, it was driving the boys together through their shared survival instinct and the fact that Jason deprived them of all baked goods whenever he had to break up their fights.

(Bribing his brothers with freshly-made cakes and brownies in exchange for good behavior was really the only reason they were three months into this shit-show with no major casualties.)

“Ain’t that a shame,” Jason replied. “It’ll just be you and Tim, stuck all alone in Not-Gotham. What a perfect opportunity for you two to bond.”

No,” both boys said at the same time.

Then the sound of Damian trying to land a hit on Tim (and failing judging from the lack of a pained grunt) filtered through Jason’s headpiece. Because Damian couldn’t stand to agree with Tim on anything for more than 10 seconds without ruining the moment.

Well, whatever. The brotherly-bond was a work in progress. “Stop fist-fighting so we can finish this,” he said. “I’ve got Falcone’s heroin wired up to an irresponsible amount of explosives, and I’d like to get our racket money before dawn.”

What I just wrote makes no sense out of context, but since this is the only thing I have written for this AU, I’ll just explain here:

This is from the “Jason-Tim-Damian get stuck in Flashpoint” AU I mentioned at some point, a few months into their impromptu stranding. How they got there isn’t super important, and I’m handwaving intervention from standard Earth not being able to get them back home in a timely manner. (Note: Bruce, Dick, Cass and everyone else aren’t trying really hard to get them back; it’s just not working for Reasons.)

After thinking about these three in a strange Not-Gotham for a while, I came to the conclusion that they’d lay low and avoid drawing attention to themselves instead of trying to approach Thomas-Batman or Alt-Cyborg or someone else. Things might be different if Dick or Cass were the oldest sibling on the ground, but Jason’s much slower to trust, as are Tim and Damian. A virtual stranger that also happens to be Batman would be the last person Jason would trust with his and his brothers’ safety.

Naturally, that means the guys need to find a source of income and a place to hole up. The former, Jason gets by extorting the local organized crime - charging money to sabotage competitors and charging money to not sabotage his employers. Lighter on the murder than his first return to Gotham, but Tim and Damian noticeably don’t bring that subject up anyway. I imagine they picked a spot that was an auxiliary batcave on their Earth and fix it up as a temporary base where Tim is trying to engineer something to send them back to their Earth (funded by Jason’s extortion racket). Damian is stuck as the odd-jobs kid, which he handles with as much patience as he can. (Hint: he’s not a very patient person.)

It would be a waste of the setting not to get the three of them involved with Thomas-Batman and possibly even the main plot of Flashpoint, so this scene would be a sort of in-between-scene prologue before the status-quo changes. I’m leaning towards either Red Hood crashing one of the Cyborg-Batman scenes because he needs tech only Cyborg has or one of the guys interrupting Martha-Joker’s last crime.

Of course, this premise requires a long-form fic, which I’ve never written before. This is all wild speculation, really. I’ll probably never write all of this out. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

BUT IF I DO, you can count on Jason finding out that in a world with no Bruce and no Robin, he STILL ended up dead and resurrected. The multiverse just has it out for him, clearly.

#batman au #au #fanfic #mine #jason todd #tim drake #damian wayne #flashpoint au

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thewhimsicalfairy · 5 years

Text

DAY 1 of NO CONTACT

Woke up crying today...i basically cried myself awake...

it first came as a few tears rolled off my face and then a consistent torrent like rain showers... the finality of it all...how i know that i was instrumental in this decision...still hurt like crazy (crying like crazy again, totally not gonna be looking my best at the wedding later...) the fact that i will no longer hear from you again...even if a text meant that it was just a bone for me to pick to ruminate...but no more...

cried in the shower last night...the silent kind cos i can't risk my mom knowing... everything in this was my choice my decision and i just have to bear with it...for now for however long it takes... but it just hurts so much now for some really odd reason...i really do have it bad for you...and now i single handedly denied my own personal drug and i'll just have to live without it and figure out how to move on... i know it will get better someday somehow but i just had to put this out here... consider this a physical documentation of this non-relationship...

x x x

i asked you out for dinner...wanting to put an end to this torment that you were putting me through...technically through no fault of yours but still...

you were WFH as you were still nursing that nasty throat (which developed into a scratchy cough no thanks to the haze - you are quite delicate eh?) so i trained down to your area to meet you you gave me pretty specific instructions on how to navigate the train station and picked me up at the bus stop. we had some convo of sorts while figuring out where to dine...pointing out to me your condo block etc...first choice Chinese place at Greenwich V was dead so we settled on Punggol White beehoon place...the only beehoon you eat (also a fairly pick eater) looking over the menu i vetoed most of the choices in view of easier options for your throat...cold drinks anything wasn't gonna do your throat any favours but you wanted barley cold...anyhow more convo over dinner...we touched on your side project and how i'm really am not the target audience (i am cheap like that...) i paid for this meal...consider this our last meal together... the drive back my home we discussed music...about Jay Chou's new track and me saying i dun get the hype and his previous track was better... played that track on your phone as it wouldn't connect to the car's audio system...(tried not to look cos i know i'd spy her name but i saw it anyway) played Maroon 5's new track, that 1 i really loved...and then it was back to radio and how the DJ was some love guru and how he basically only has one listener who calls in every night to dedicate songs that night was TLC's Waterfalls...and pagers and completely random stuff really...but i always enjoyed our convos cos they always took no particular shape and form but flowed naturally...

then A Great Big World's 'Say Something' came on...this track struck a chord in me...no less cos i have been listening to the Spotify 'Heartbreak' playlist on and off the past couple of weeks...

//Say something, I'm giving up on you I'll be the one, if you want me to Anywhere, I would've followed you Say something, I'm giving up on you

And I am feeling so small It was over my head I know nothing at all And I will stumble and fall I'm still learning to love Just starting to crawl

Say something, I'm giving up on you I'm sorry that I couldn't get to you Anywhere, I would've followed you Say something, I'm giving up on you

And I will swallow my pride You're the one that I love And I'm saying goodbye Say something, I'm giving up on you And I'm sorry that I couldn't get to you And anywhere, I would have followed you Oh, oh, oh, oh say something, I'm giving up on you Say something, I'm giving up on you Say something//

it is very apparent why it resonated with me now no...

after getting off the wrong exit cos you chose not to GPS it...we made it back at my place anyhow... and we began our usual heart to heart convos in the car...this time for the last time...

you kinda expected a convo was coming (it has come to this hasn't it...everytime we want/need facetime/ask each other out for a meal, it's because we need to talk...) i struggled a bit at the beginning as always and then you said maybe you should go first but i said i will do it...then sharing that i did consider just going mia and maybe saying everything via a letter but that felt too dramatic and it'd be terribly long (like how this blog post will be) you suggested email (well i could've looked your email up which is true) but anyhow here goes...

what are we now really..? i am really nothing more than a texting buddy and it is clear that you can't give me what i want... and it has come to a point where every text you send feels like a bone to a dog and i am said dog who will ruminate over the bone till the next one gets thrown my way and i don't like the version of myself i've become... i was on this roller coaster of emotions (maybe a kiddy size one compared to the huge one that you are riding but still a roller coaster nonetheless) for the first 2 weeks but after last Thursday's lunch convo i saw it with so much clarity... that you are not helping yourself to move on from the pain and i can't keep riding this dark wave you are on pulling us both down... and as much as you have not admitted it i firmly believed that i was just a rebound... i want my happiness back and so i need to remove myself from this pain...and i'm gonna do it cold turkey even it means yanking out a piece of myself forcefully and even if it hurts...(and boy does it hurt man)

you kinda already saw my response/decision coming cos yeah it's gotten pretty obvious my responses have been lacklustre of late (i was trying to hold back something, or my walls were coming up again) but honestly what i've been reduced to is a texting buddy and that i don't want to put myself through the mental torture of wondering when this stream of bones was gonna dry up, when will the next text be and all...

you shared how your emotions worked after a sesh with your sister (sisters are truly the best really)...how growing up you never learnt about emotions from your parents (typical Asian parents) that there was no touch or hugs as a form of communication in your family (again typical Asian household as well but i had my sister who was there for me for that) and how you only learnt what you know of emotions through relationships the first one being at 15 and how you basically invested your entire emotional wealth on this one person who has now basically left this huge void in your life and heart and you'd need time to refill this emotional mana (haha gaming speak) (but yes i get it which is why i said i was the rebound) you clarified that liking someone wasn't based on how tall they were whether they smoked or drink...those were just filters...cos liking someone is just that right you can't quite define it it just happens (this i wholly agree thanks and no thanks to you) and you confirmed that we had some good times even if they were short (thank you for acknowledging that cos i have been going crazy around my head wondering if it was all bullshit and a fantasy but it just might mean nothing to you on retrospect #becosrebound) (i mean in the grand scheme of things i'm probably just an asteroid vs a meteor shower and i can't beat that and i'm also not faulting you for it...) and you've had friends tell you the same thing (clearly whatever i said about removing the source of pain wasn't just a solo voice) 19 Sept was the hearing and you've already gotten the lawyer's letter that the Interim Divorce has been filed...so between now till 20 Dec if nothing changes the divorce will be final and somehow i felt that you wavered then...that if you were given the chance or indication to undo all this you will...but you've also went to see 3 condo units last week (to buy now not to rent) and with the Interim Divorce you can actually move forward with putting up a request with HDB to put your house up for sale... i've seen the space (random googling brought me there) and it's gorgeous (and i kinda can understand why you wouldn't want to give that up) but do what you need to do...

whatever been's said and done you obviously need way more time (i’m thinking closer to a year) to get over this phase and you also acknowledged that i was the kind of girl that needs a commitment not the grey zone shit that we’ve playing at and you are in no state to give me that...and as much as i said before that i was willing to wait and be there for you and all...i realise i can't...not after knowing that you've done nothing to help yourself...and as much as i want you, i want what we shared (before everything went to shits), you probably will not want me the same way when you are whole again #becosrebound so i had to do this the hard way which is to walk away...from this heartache from you...

towards the end, we talked about my take on this whole experience (basically a post campaign report if you will) i shared that i'm glad for the experience never mind how it transpired...this great white blank piece of paper finally has some graffiti (my choice of words) / colour (yours) and i also came to understand what i want better and that was someone who will place me as priority and always choose me no matter what and making everything so easy that i never ever had to doubt his intention or meaning... and when i meet that someone i will know (hopefully haha)

and then i just said 'well have a good life', popped out of the car, collected my things at the rear seat and left with a 'bye'. 头也不回的走了...i'm glad that i ended this on my own terms and not be a wastrel and dodged the subject and have it drag on to infinity because i know i deserve better and i needed to tell it to you ftf and that you will want to hear it from me... i never gave you the option of remaining friends or anything...my time my terms...

right now i need to pick up the pieces even if it was just a short 2 month span cos just passing by IP will be like 'oh he works here', walking past Oasia Hotel will be like 'oh we first met here' and all the little things that go off like alarms... but i'll get there...where all these will eventually be like 过眼云烟...

x x x

the tears come and go in bouts...in waves...i've never cried so much over a person before, not even when my dad walked out on us... i guess it really is true that you don't really forget your first love... maybe the frequency will let up in time...hopefully...

somehow the airport has kinda became our place in my head...cos of all the flying we’ve done in between this short 2 months... guess no one’s gonna be sending me to the wedding later today... or sending me to the airport tomorrow...or picking me up from the airport when i return...just no more... right now i can't wait to spend time with friends in Sydney, somewhere which i've never gone before (((: change of environment to create new experiences and memories...

#all this shall come to pass #first love #첫사랑

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