#i'm incensed so i just want this out here NOW

[appocalipse]

heyy if ur taking requests could u maybe do like bestfriends steve + reader where steve, eddie, nancy and robin have to pick up reader from a party and she’s like REAL drunk and just idk super clingy w steve and doesn’t wanna not be touching him. maybe eddie, nancy and robin all make fun of him for it but they acc find it rly cute.

thank you for your request! ♥♥♥ | 2.2k words

"Stevie!"

You collide into him suddenly, nearly knocking him back a step or two with the force of your momentum; there's a smile on Steve's face when you look up at him through eyes that are more than a little hazy with inebriation. You're drunk. Probably way past drunk, if the way the world won't seem to hold still is anything to go by, but you don't care. There are other things vying for your attention—like how warm he feels against you, how safe he makes you feel, how pretty he looks from up close...

"Whoa," Steve says as you lean even further into him and loop your arms around his waist in a tight hug. "How much did you have to drink, exactly?"

He doesn't mean it in a mean way, which is why you grin up at him from where you've got your cheek pressed firmly to his chest. You can feel his heart beating under the palm of your hand now, a steady and calming rhythm that soothes something inside of you.

"Dunno," you reply, grinning stupidly when you catch sight of maybe three copies of Eddie Munson standing off to Steve's left; all of them have identical amused looks on their faces. "Might've had, like, a couple..."

Steve sighs deeply, though there's no exasperation or disappointment to be found in his expression when he tilts your face upwards to look you over properly. You just beam dopily at him, because he's so pretty right now you don't know what else to do.

"Dude," Eddie speaks up, drawing Steve's gaze away from you while your own attention goes back to pressing yourself even more snugly into him, "she is totally sloshed."

You frown, shaking your head in fervent disagreement.

"Am not!"

"Sure you aren't, sweetheart," Eddie agrees placidly, but you get the impression he doesn't really mean it.

Before you can point this out, however, the blurry shape of Robin Buckley steps forward. The room is dark with flashing strobe lights and smoky with incense and cigarette smoke, but you'd recognize her voice anywhere.

"Who let you drink this much?" Robin asks as she lifts a hand up to brush some hair back from your forehead.

It's oddly soothing and so you lean into the contact with a happy hum. Robin and the others laugh — but then again, it sounds kinder than mean, the kind of laugh that bubbles up when you find something unexpectedly endearing, and so you don't mind as much as you maybe should.

"Nobody," you mumble as you press your face into the side of Steve's neck and take a deep breath in; his scent is the same as always, earthy and warm with an underlying hint of that stupid spray he likes to use sometimes. "I'm here alone. 'Cause Steve here blew me off for you guys, but that's okay," you say, even though, to be fair, it sort of isn't true — he didn't blow you off.

"Hey," Steve starts, sounding half-indignant and half-apologetic all at once. He's got an arm around your shoulder now, supporting you and keeping you upright, which makes you want to tangle yourself up in him completely. "You didn't tell me you wanted me to come hang out with you tonight!"

You sigh mournfully against his skin, feeling wistful all of a sudden. It's true. You hadn't told him. That was partially due to the fact that you had been trying to prove to yourself that you weren't so desperately and helplessly infatuated with him that you needed his presence constantly, but that plan had obviously backfired on you spectacularly.

"No," you mutter unhappily as Steve moves the two of you towards a nearby couch. "But I missed you. Don't wanna miss you."

Nancy, Robin, and Eddie, who are watching the two of you with expressions of varying degrees of amusement, exchange looks. Steve pretends not to notice, probably because he knows he won't like what they have to say if he hears it, and instead guides you down onto the cushions next to him. "You're drunk."

"You're pretty," you reply without hesitation, even though you're very clearly changing the subject. "It's unfair, y'know?"

You hear Robin snort, followed by a quiet thud like someone's just been slapped on the arm, and you know it's her who laughed, and that it must have been Nancy who'd shut her up. You don't know where Eddie is; you're not even sure when he wandered off, to be honest. You're too focused on Steve and the way his face looks under the colorful flashing lights.

"Oh yeah?" he asks, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling too widely at your comment. His eyes are bright with laughter when you meet his gaze and nod confidently. "How do I get 'unfair', exactly?"

"'S all in the face," you say matter-of-factly, your own fingers trailing down his cheek in an almost absentminded gesture. "Kinda makes it hard to think about anything else sometimes, if I'm being real here. Like, it's not really fair, 'cause then what are we supposed to talk about? Oh, oh—and then there's your hair!"

"My hair?"

Robin wheezes somewhere behind you, which would have made you giggle if you were still paying attention to the people in the room besides Steve, but you're not.

"Mmhmm," you hum, your eyes running over the soft brown locks on top of his head. "Love it. Wanna touch it all the time. Y'see, Steve? You see? This is why it's not fair at all. And, and—" you trail off here for dramatic effect, squinting at him theatrically before leaning closer with your hand cupped to the side of your mouth, as if you're about to share something private. "—the way you make my insides feel? So, so unfair. Totally your fault, buddy."

"Wha-" Steve croaks out, looking alarmed and caught off guard by your drunken confession. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Oh," you regain your serious tone, frowning at him in a somewhat bemused manner when he continues to gape at you. "Not 'sposed to tell you. S'not the rules."

Eddie barks out a laugh somewhere off to your left, but Steve ignores him. "Rules?"

"Yeah, 's against the rules, dummy," you say, like he should've already known that. "Gotta follow the rules! Duh. Steve."

"Yeah, Steve, duh," Robin pipes up, earning herself a glare from Steve as well as a smirk from Eddie. "Oops, sorry. Please, continue."

"Can I touch your hair? Like, please, 'cause I might die if I don't, 'kay? If that's okay. Gotta test the theory. Just a little bit, though." You can tell by his expression that he wants to laugh, and that he's also mildly worried that you've lost your mind. "Please?"

Robin, Eddie and Nancy have their hands clapped over their mouths to contain their laughter. You're too drunk to notice, but Steve narrows his eyes at them in warning. "Yes," he says. "Just—yeah, go ahead."

With a little noise of excitement, you reach out to card your fingers through his hair. He smells really good — like clean laundry and fresh pine trees — and the feel of his hair in your palm is exactly what you had imagined, though you're loathe to pull your hand away now that you've felt it.

Steve goes unnaturally still as you press your face into the juncture between his neck and shoulder, a move he should have expected but didn't, and you sigh happily when the scent of his cologne hits you full force. He's like a living, breathing, cuddly teddy bear, you think, a combination of warmth, softness, and comfort all rolled up in one gorgeous, handsome, unobtainable package.

"You're warm," you mumble, feeling like you could fall asleep right now. "So, so warm. 'S like you've got a space heater in your chest, 'n that's like, so awesome."

He blinks a few times, momentarily speechless as he tries to come to terms with the fact that you are, in fact, drunk enough to be saying whatever the hell comes to your mind. "Uh, thanks?"

"Smell nice too," you murmur, hugging him tighter to you. "Like, wow. Love your hair, like, love love."

His cheeks are burning hot now, his heart beating erratically in his chest when he notices Eddie staring at the two of you with a knowing gleam in his eye. "That's—thank you, but, hey, come on now," Steve says, his voice faltering a little. "Let's get you home, okay?"

"I don't wanna."

"Don't you wanna sleep in your bed?"

You pause, considering his words, and eventually concede that, yes, your bed does sound lovely right about now, so you give him a brief nod in response. "I guess, but can you come too?"

He chokes on air, but manages to play it off by clearing his throat. "What—to your bed? No!"

"Why not?"

Steve shifts a little under your intense, alcohol-addled scrutiny; he feels strangely guilty, as though he's letting you down by saying no. "Because you're drunk?" he says, feeling flustered and unreasonably nervous all of a sudden.

You scrunch up your face in a pout. "Oh, that's a dumb reason."

Steve chuckles and you sigh happily again, because you love his laugh and everything else about him, and he seems to realize this, given the way his expression softens. "Come on, you drunkard. Let's go home," he says gently, tugging on your arm in an attempt to get you to stand.

You resist at first, shaking your head stubbornly as you hold onto him. "Can't. My legs don't work anymore. They're all wobbly."

Steve closes his eyes for a moment, huffs out a soft laugh, and you can't help but grin up at him. He's so pretty that, like, how is that even allowed? How can you be around him and not spontaneously combust or something?

"Well, what if I carried you?"

"Like a princess?"

Steve looks at you with an expression you can't decipher — it's halfway between incredulous and endeared, and it makes your heart feel too big for your rib cage.

"How romantic," Nancy observes.

"So long as she doesn't throw up on him," Eddie adds, nodding sagely in agreement.

"Oh, I hope she does," Robin says, with a devious smile, "he'd deserve it for being such a coward."

"I'm...right here, guys, and I can still hear you." Steve finally says, throwing them a scathing look that only makes them laugh. "If you're not going to be helpful, you can wait in the car."

"As if," Eddie counters.

Steve opens his mouth to tell him where exactly he can stick his opinions, when you grab the front of his shirt and drag him closer.

"Steve," you say, the smile falling from your face as a sudden thought occurs to you. "Are you mad at me? Because I can go home by myself. That's okay."

"Hey, no," he replies softly, "I'm not mad at you, sweetheart. Not ever."

"'Sweetheart'? Really?" Eddie mutters to Nancy, who elbows him in the ribs when he doesn't lower his voice in time. "Ow, okay, okay—just saying. Don't want them to keep dancing around each other forever, is all."

"I'm not dancing," you tell him, completely unaware of Eddie's snickering, "I don't have any shoes on, Eddie. Wouldn't be able to dance without shoes on. Silly."

"My bad," Eddie says, his lips twitching with badly concealed laughter, "forgive me."

Steve scowls at him before turning his attention back to you, his face so close to yours that you can momentarily feel the tickle of his breath against your skin. "Okay, come on," he says, "up we go."

And then, in one swift movement, he slides his arm under your knees and scoops you up into his arms. You let out a squeak of surprise and automatically wrap your arms around his neck to steady yourself.

"Oh, oh, oh," you say excitedly, "you really are gonna carry me."

"Told you so." Steve adjusts his grip on you and makes his way towards the exit. "Are you good? Am I hurting you?"

You shake your head slowly, grinning as you stare at him from a whole new angle. "No," you tell him, feeling much more awake than you were moments before. "This is...this is like, actually kinda cool."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," you repeat, smiling shyly back at him. "Feel like a real life Cinderella now. Whoa, you're, like, super strong."

"Yeah, Stevie, you're 'super strong.'" Eddie teases, waggling his eyebrows when Steve sends him a quick glare. "Aw, don't look at me like that. It's cute. The two of you."

Nancy doesn't tease like Robin and Eddie do. She walks behind Steve, making sure to stay a couple steps behind to give the two of you some privacy. Even so, when you look over your shoulder to make sure nobody's listening, she gives you a wink and a small thumbs-up that makes you smile.

The parking lot is filled with teenagers all wandering aimlessly in groups, so it takes Steve a while to navigate his way through the crowd. By the time he finds the spot where he parked his BMW, you've grown drowsy enough to rest your head on his shoulder.

Eddie immediately pops open the door to the backseat, slapping it a few times as he looks over at Steve and grins. "Hurry it up, lover boy," he drawls out, "she looks half-asleep already."

"She's fine," Steve shoots back, frowning in annoyance when Eddie and Robin both pretend to yawn exaggeratedly, "shut up. I hate you guys."

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve x you #steve x reader #stranger things fanfic #stranger things imagine #steve harrington scenario #steve harrington oneshot #steve harrington one-shot #steve harrington one shot #steve harrington headcanon #steve harrington headcanons #steve harrington hcs #steve harrington hc #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fic #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington drabble #steve harrington dialogue #steve harrington fluff

[shiplessoceans]

Good Omens S2 Episode 6 confession scene speculation:

Aziraphale didn't respond to the love confession from Crowley because he didn't realise it was one until Crowley mentioned the Nightingale and kissed him.

Allow me to explain.

---

Aziraphale interrupted Crowley to give him the news from Metatron, so when Crowley starts his spiel:

"We've been together a long time, I could always rely on you...we're a group....we've spent our existence pretending we aren't...if Gabriel and Beelzebub can go off together then we can...we don't need heaven/hell they're toxic...you and me whatya say?"

Aziraphale interprets everything Crowley is saying as his rebuttal to the 'good news', not a separate declaration of his feelings.

What Aziraphale just told him shaped Crowley's confession, instead of finally telling Aziraphale how he feels about him, he's now backed into a corner and trying to change Aziraphales mind. Offering to run off with him as the alternative to the Metatron's offer.

The repetition of the phrase: "go off together" from the bandstand fight in season one feels very intentional here. It would be easy for Aziraphale to think 'this is just Crowley's response when the divine plan interferes, he always wants to run away'.

Aziraphale believes that he just needs to make Crowley understand the situation and opportunity that this is and everything will be alright:

"Come with me! To heaven, I can run it, you can be my second in command. We can make a difference!"

Crowley is looking defeated already, in his mind he's bared his soul and Aziraphale is a brick wall. So if he can't tempt the angel into staying with the love he has for him (which Crowley thinks he's declared but he really hasn't), he'll get him to change his mind by evoking something else he loves:

"You can't leave this bookshop."

Aziraphale scoffs fondly. 'Silly demon, you were just suggesting we run off together and abandon it only a moment ago!' He thinks Crowley is trying to 'work' him here and the old serpent might even be selflessly trying to spare the angel the loss of his beloved bookshop in order to restore Crowley and help the world, which would be just like him to be so covertly protective. So Aziraphale reassures him, a bookshop doesn't matter to him as much as Crowley and the world. It's just a collection of objects really. Humanity is more important. Crowley is far more important.

"Oh Crowley, nothing lasts forever."

Crowley is crushed. Nothing lasts forever. Not even the two of them. So he covers his sadness with his glasses, walls back up, and he tries to leave.

Aziraphale is baffled. He just reassured Crowley that he was alright with change if it means things could be better. Why is Crowley leaving? Is he worried that they won't spend time together anymore? That he won't have time for his friend as a supreme archangel?

"Crowley come back!....we can be together, angels!...I need you!"

Crowley can't even look at him in that moment. Why would Aziraphale say that? The two of them together only if he accepts heaven again? Conditional love? That's not fair. It hurts.

Aziraphale meanwhile is hurt by Crowley's turning away, his silence and a bit incensed at what he perceives as ingratitude. Aziraphale didn't really want to go back to heaven, but he'd do it if it meant Crowley could be happy and safe and Crowley doesn't seem to appreciate that:

"I don't think you understand what I'm offering you."

Crowley went through the fall. He asked the questions. Did his best to protect humanity and it has brought him nothing but suffering. He's well aware what's on offer. He's seen heavens cruelty and capriciousness firsthand and been burned by it repeatedly. How can Aziraphale choose them over him and still think everything will work out?

"I understand. I think I understand a whole lot better than you do."

Crowley loves Aziraphale's big foolish optimism and kind heart and he thinks it's the very thing taking the angel away from him. This isn't how it was supposed to go. It's all slipping away from him.

"Listen. You hear that?"

Aziraphale can't even keep up at this point.

This is what comes of thousands of years of 'not talking about it' and living under threat of holy retribution if they are discovered. They're talking past each other, having two different conversations. Obfuscation and code has become their communication medium by necessity and it's failing them.

It's frustrating Aziraphale that he can't get a grip on this conversation:

"I don't hear anything!"

And Crowley drops the bomb.

"That's the point. No Nightingale's."

Oh. Suddenly we're on the same page. You can see from Aziraphale's face that he understands to what Crowley's referring. The Nightingale in Berkely square. Angels dining at the Ritz...

"You idiot! We could have been... us."

Crowley's talking about the big unspoken thing between them. Their relationship, thousands of years of dancing around each other like binary stars gravitationally and inexorably drawn together over and over. The thing Aziraphale was beginning to be bold about, (dancing notwithstanding) before Metatron came along and distracted him.

And it seems to Aziraphale that gut-wrenchingly, Crowley is finally acknowledging their mutual love only to point out that it's gone. Lost. They could have finally been together, an us, but Aziraphale ruined it because he's an 'idiot'.

After being quietly in love with Crowley for years, for Aziraphale to have his offer to return to heaven together and his unspoken love rejected in one fell swoop is devastating.

Overcome, he begins to cry and turns away, not wanting Crowley to see how hurt he is.

Crowley for his part is desperate. He has to do something. Maybe Aziraphale doesn't understand what Crowley is offering him! One fabulous kiss and va-voom right?

In a final desperate act, he kisses Aziraphale. Tries for passionate. Tries to show him that he loves him and show him what they could be because his words clearly aren't working.

Aziraphale is shocked and angry. He wants to kiss Crowley of course. But not like this. Not as a taunt. Crowley just told him their chance is over so what else could this be but a final insult. A kiss to punish the angel. It's a cruelty he didn't believe Crowley capable of.

And despite how mean it is. It's also what Aziraphale has wanted for so long he can't help but melt into it for a brief moment. Allow himself to feel what it would have been like to be that close before losing it forever.

Then Crowley lets go and Aziraphale breaks away on a sob, feeling wounded. Hurt beyond words that Crowley would use his feelings against him like this, gutted to be losing the man he loves and not understanding why.

The worst part is that Aziraphale doesn't have it in him to hate Crowley, even if he thinks the kiss was a cruel gesture. He still loves him. So he gathers himself and does what Aziraphale does when someone hurts him.

He forgives.

"I forgive you."

I forgive you for rejecting my attempt to restore you and make you happy, I forgive you for rejecting God and heaven yet again, I forgive you for acknowledging our love and then rejecting it. I forgive you for kissing me, giving me a fleeting glimpse of what we could have been to each other. I love you and I forgive you all that.

Crowley is done. Breath knocked out of him on a last sigh. He tried. And the Angel forgave him yet again for something he never asked or wanted forgiveness for. He doesn't want to be penitent for loving Aziraphale. Shouldn't have to apologise or regret wanting them to be together.

"Don't bother."

Aziraphale looks surprised Crowley is leaving because he genuinely is. He can't understand how it's all gone so horribly wrong. He gasps, shocked and can't even call out to him to stop, come back.

He cries, touches his lips where Crowley had kissed him. Tries to gather himself and barely has 10 seconds before Metatron is back.

At the end of that scene:

Crowley thinks he confessed his love and Aziraphale chose heaven over him because he didn't want to stop being a demon.

Aziraphale thinks Crowley rejected heaven, then rejected Aziraphale and threw their love back in his face as a final unkindness.

Aziraphale leaves and goes to heaven anyway because in his mind he's already lost Crowley and there is nothing left to stay for. If he doesn't have Crowley he needs a new purpose and it's going to be saving the world. He'll convince himself of it. And he'll push that broken heart down and the pain will fade if he just smiles through it. It will be enough, to make heaven better. It has to be. Maybe if he proves that he can make a difference Crowley might see the error of his ways and speak to him again? Surely. Hopefully.

---

Both of them are hurt and confused and lost and oh dear hell I really feel for them.

#good omens meta #good omens 2 meta #good omens s2e6 #gos2 spoilers #good omens 2 #good omens 2 analysis #gos2 meta #ineffable #ineffable husbands #aziraphale #crowley #good omens spoilers #gos2

[hannieehaee]

them accidentally ditching you on your bday pt. 2- pu

content: angsty, gender neutral, established relationship, jun's has one brief suggestive mention, fluffy ending, etc.

part 1

wc: 3232

a/n: tysm to everyone who read and enjoyed the whole series <33 it was rlly fun to write angst with a fluffy ending hehe

masterlist

jun -

against his better judgment, jun sat in silence for a while as he contemplated what to do. you were likely not only mad, but also disappointed at him ditching you like that. except he hadnt meant to! he truly had no idea he would sleep through the entirety of the morning. he had been so excited to spend his favorite day with his favorite person, but now he was left as a complete asshole while you believed him to have carelessly put you aside with no warning

after a few more minutes of self-pitying, he decided to get up. it was better to try and make amends and explain himself than to let even more time pass. he knew you'd be out by the time he arrived to your place, but at least that way he could fix something up for your arrival. he decided against calling you. it didnt feel personal enough, plus, the least he could do was surprise you.

without further thought, jun headed straight to your place, but not before inquiring his mom about a few recipes he knew you liked. his current plan was to make you a romantic dinner upon your return. in order to allow you to enjoy your day in whichever way you wished to, he continued to not contact you with his new plan. he knew it might've been dumb to not even answer the multiple messages you'd left him while he slept, but he wanted to apologize face to face with a romantic gesture.

preparing the meal had been easy enough. he followed it by creating a nice ambience with the lights and a few candles, along with some mellow music and incense. the next step in his plan was to offer you a massage and his wholehearted company for the rest of the night to do whatever you so wished.

luckily for him, your outing did not extend into the night, meaning his meal would become either a brunch or an early dinner. but that didn't matter to him the moment you stepped in and spotted him in suit and tie waiting for you in your apartment, eyes wide as saucers at the unexpected intrusion.

"jun?"

"wait! dont say anything. i rehearsed this, okay? let me say my thing first."

you were already used to his shenanigans, so you gestured at him to continue before voicing any questions.

"i'm so sorry. i know i promised to be here. and i was planning to be here on time! but i, uh, i fell asleep. i know how stupid that sounds, trust me! i didn't plan on this. i was so exhausted and i didnt realize that id sleep through all my alarms and your messages. my phone died last night too, so i didnt even realize you had called me. i'm just ... im sorry. i know im an idiot. please forgive me? i made you a romantic dinner to make up for it! i hope you like it, they're my mom's recipes," he paused for a second before continuing, "i love you! i wanted to spend the whole day with you, i swear. i know it didnt go as planned, but id you let me, id love to spend what remains of it doing whatever you want. im sorry i left you alone. i never meant to."

"junnie ..."

jun immediately noticed your lip begin to stick out in a pout, with watery eyes to match.

"oh, fuck. baby, i'm so sorry," he rushed you into his embrace, "i didnt mean to make you cry! i- how can i make it up to you? i'll do anything, just say the word."

you halted him before he could continue, remaining in his hold but disconnecting yourself enough to look into his eyes.

"no, junnie. it's just ... fuck, im sorry if my texts were harsh. i thought you had just ditched me for no reason. you must've been so exhausted, baby, im sorry. i understand why you weren't here, and ... god, thank you for the dinner. you're so sweet, junnie, im so so-"

"no! dont apologize. you're not allowed to apologize on your birthday. in a perfect world i wouldve made it home and fallen asleep in your arms instead. will you have dinner with me? then i can take you to bed," he interrupted himself upon realizing what he said, "oh, wait! not like that! but well, if you want too ... it's your day, anything you say goes. happy birthday, by the way," he pressed his nose to yours, "i love you."

you couldn't help but giggle at his panicked state, appreciating the sweet words nonetheless.

"thank you, junnie. i love you."

soonyoung -

soonyoung wasn't too sure where he was going.

it's not like be was blackout drunk, he was just drunk. period. he still had some sense of reason. he was almost 85% sure he was in minghao's car. but there was no way to be completely sure from the angle in which he was laying down. that's when his friend decided to inquire his name to check on him, thus confirming soonyoung's current whereabouts. that was also when soonyoung fell right back asleep.

next time he gained consciousness he was being dragged out of the car and being directed to follow minghao. he could recognize his new location anywhere. he was standing right outside your apartment. when you opened the door, he couldnt help but instantly let himself fall atop you, attacking you with a hug as you were forced a few steps back due to his body weight being dropped on you. you held him back, patting his back as you spoke to minghao about something. he wasn't too sure. the familiar scent at the crook of your neck had him too distracted to care.

finally minghao left, allowing you two some alone time. you left him on the couch and got him water, telling him he needed to sober up before you could talk, because apparently you had something to say to him. it was odd. you weren't cooing at him as you usually did. you also weren't stuck to his side, giving him his daily dose of physical affection like he'd always demand. he decided to shrug it off, allowing himself to fall into deep slumber on the uncomfortable space of your couch. he'd figure it out tomorrow.

when tomorrow came, soonyoung was hit with two things. one came after the other.

the first was his headache, which almost went away on its own at the mere aight of the aspirin you had left on the coffee table in front of him. he made a mental note to give you a thank you kiss the moment he saw you.

the next thing he was hit with was realization of how uneven this relationship seemingly was.

as he got up to seek you out, he stopped just before entering your bedroom, realizing you were on a phone call. he didn't mean to eavesdrop, but he was also really nosy by nature, so the math did itself.

"yeah. im sorry for cancelling on you yesterday ... no, i know ... it's not like that .... he just forgot .... yeah ..... he came home drunk .... i dont know. i think i'll just let him figure it out on his own .... i am hurt. we made plans and he just blew me off to drink with his friends, of course im hurt .... i'll just see you tomorrow, i gotta go take care of him .... yeah, i know im an idiot, but i love him .... okay, bye. love you too."

soonyoung could only hear your side of the conversation, but that had been enough for him to clue the pieces together. your birthday was yesterday. which was something he knew, but had completely left his mind at the mention of free drinks with the guys.

after that realization came many others.

you had shown him no type of anger upon his arrival, even making sure take care of him in his drunken state. you had changed him into his pjs as he slept, tucked him into your couch, given him medicine. even after he blew you off. on your birthday. fuck.

he gave himself no time to think before he barged into the room, immediately kneeling in front of you as he grabbed onto your hands. he paid no mind to your shocked state as he started babbling apologies to you.

"im so sorry, i- i dont know how i forgot. baby ... im so fucking sorry. i cant believe you took care of me even after i forgot. you shouldve punished me. you should punish me. i dont deserve you. im so so so sorry. i love you so much, i swear i never meant go forget. im just an idiot. that's not an excuse! you're just too good for me. I'll make it up to you! how can i? anything! please, i love you."

his rambling could only be blamed on his still buzzed state, as that had only been half of his apology. he kept going for ten minutes, allowing you no room to respond. he was surprised when by the end of it you'd instructed him to get up, almost tackling him in a hug as you wrapped your arms around his neck. he might've been an idiot, but he'd accept any affection from you he could get. always.

"soonie ..." you pulled away to look into his eyes, a sweet softness behind them. them you decided to slap his chest, making him wince at the unexpectedness of it, "you fucking idiot! i waited for you all day, and you ditch me for alcohol?"

"baby, i-"

"no! i cant sit through another ten minutes of apologies. im pretty sure you're a little drunk still. i forgive you. but you have a lot of making up to do, understand?"

he felt like a scolded puppy, but agreed regardless, telling you that he would swear off alcohol if that's what it took. he enjoyed your giggle as he suggested ridiculous ways to make it up to you, knowing he'd genuinely do anything to make up for ever making you upset.

minghao -

if he hadn't felt immediate regret the moment the words came out of his mouth, he sure felt it now, hearing you cry through the door to your shared bedroom.

he had no idea what had gotten into him. never had he ever even entertained the idea of disrespecting you like that, much less ever making you cry. he could take his job too seriously sometimes, making him a bit too irritable when his work ethic was questioned in any way. although this was true, he knew it was still just a cheap excuse for his behavior. no matter what had been going through his mind, he knew he had no right to speak to you in the way that he did, dismissing you so coldly on a day that was meant to celebrate you.

he was unsure what to do. he wanted to comfort you so badly, but he knew that he had been the sole cause for your pain. he felt himself get emotional at the mere thought, with your sobs making him weak at the knees in regret. he sat himself down on the other side of the door, knowing from the proximity of your cries that you must've been on the opposite side as well. he kept quiet, simply torturing himself as he heard the love of his life cry because of him. there was only so much he could take, however, before finally interrupting.

"my love ..?"

your cries seized a bit at his interruption, but your sniffles and heavy breath could still be heard, breaking his heart bit by bit.

"angel ... im so sorry ... i- i don't know what came over me. you're right. i should've called you. there is no world in which i wouldnt want to be with you to celebrate the birth of the love of my life. you're my everything. i want to shout it from the rooftops. i want everyone to know who my entire world is; who makes my heart beat," he took a pause to breathe, allowing himself to think of how to properly apologize to you, "i should never speak to you the way i just did, i ... im disgusted with myself. you're the most important thing in my life. being the source of your sadness makes me lose my mind. my one purpose in this life is to love you with all i have. im so sorry ... my love, please dont cry over me. no one deserves your tears."

by the end of his speech you had begun to cry harder, making his heart crumble even more.

"angel ... let me see you, please. i need to hold you, need to- need you in my arms. cant stand not taking away your pain, please, i-"

his words were interrupted by a sudden opening of the door. by the time he'd gotten up, you had already walked further into your room, sitting on the edge of the bed as you made yourself as small as possible, looking down while he approached. he knelt in front of you, grabbing your hands as he held them against his own, kissing at the back of your palms as he professed his love for you once more. he then got up and made it so you'd stand up with him, allowing him to cradle you in his arms.

"please forgive me ... i adore you more than anything."

you finally looked up at him, bloodshot eyes as he looked down at you with both worry and adoration.

"did you mean it? do you really not care to ditch me for your career? did you-"

"no! never. you're everything to me. there's nothing i hold more dear to my heart than your own. i'll never make you cry again. i'll grow old with you and give you nothing but happiness. please, please forgive me."

he knew his words could only get him so far, being fully aware that he had purposely hurt your feelings in the heat of the moment. he simply hoped that this would not cause a strain in your relationship; that you would somehow look past it and give him the forgiveness that he didn't deserve.

his thoughts were fortunately interrupted by a soft meeting of your lips, allowing him to melt into you before you pulled away.

"hao ... i forgive you. i- i never thought you'd just disregard me like that," he physically winced at the thought, "but you've shown me nothing but love and respect otherwise. i understand you were stressed, and i love you, so i forgive you."

"thank you, angel. i'll take tomorrow off, okay? let me keep you all to myself so i can show you how sorry i am; how badly i love you."

he then spent the rest of the night attached to you, waxing poetic at you as he told you of all the plans he had for the two of you tomorrow, even eventually progressing into talking about his night at the fashion show. your enthusiasm at his rambles made him realize how fortunate he was to have you all over again. he made a promise to himself and to you that he'd never lose his temper around you ever again.

chan -

"wait, what? ah! don't hit me!"

"you idiot! you're dating a literal angel and you forget their birthday?! what is wrong with you?"

"it's not today! it's, uh, wait. fuck. today?!"

checking his phone really quickly he realized that today's date was in fact your birthday. he hadn't bothered to write down a reminder for your birthday anywhere, knowing there was absolutely more way he could forget. except that the days had begun to blend together at some point, rendering him into a machine as he just went to his schedules without much thought. what he hadn't accounted for, however, was for your birthday to get lost in the mess also.

chan hadn't planned for his day to go like this. he 100% was not expecting to be berated by seungkwan the moment he stepped foot into the practice room, being scolded over being a careless boyfriend. even as annoyed as he was at his friend, he knew he was right. he hadn't meant to, but ultimately he had forgotten about you. it sucked to think about how he had bid you goodbye just this morning with not a single care in the world, now realizing that you were probably alone and feeling disregarded by him. i mean, for fuck's sakes, he had told you to take the day off a few weeks back. promising a fun afternoon together after he got off work. and now he had completely forgotten about it.

he needed to fix this, and quick.

like any lovesick guy (such as chan, who was immensely down bad for you), he ran to leave practice. he knew soonyoung would have his ass on a silver platter the moment he arrived and noticed chan's absence, but after weighing his options (hurting your feelings vs. being berated by yet another one of his older brothers), he decided you were the clear priority.

ran might've been an overstatement, but he did rush as much as he could. he wanted to account for the extra time he'd need to spend to stop by a flower shop on the way in order to beg for forgiveness in a more heartfelt way.

after picking a bouquet of your favorites, he instructed the driver to take him to your address, which led him to his current predicament as he stood outside your apartment door, breathless due to having ran up the stairs in very dramatic fashion. what could he say? he was just a boy in love.

the moment you opened the door to his knocks, he rushed in, rambling endless apologies to you as he handed you the flowers, professing his love to you while also whining (mostly at himself) that seungkwan of all people had been the one to remind him of the love of his life's special day. it was funny, really, how he didn't seem to run out of words when expressing his regret at his mistake.

you interrupted him halfway through his fourth apology, giggling at his widened eyes. okay, this was not exactly the reaction he was expecting.

"chan! jesus, breathe," you interrupted, "i'm not mad. i mean, i was. but you literally only left an hour ago, i cant believe you're back already."

"i headed back the moment kwan told me. baby. i'm sorry. i had planned to take the day off and surprise you, it just slipped my mind, i swe-"

"chan! it's fine! i'm not- i'm not mad, i promise. the fact that you came back running is so ... it's funny," you giggled again, "but its also very sweet. you have nothing to apologize for, okay? i'm just happy you're here."

he hugged you after that, disregarding the flowers in your hands as he nuzzled his nose into your hair.

"remind me to thank kwannie for reminding my bad, forgetful boyfriend about my birthday."

"yah! you're not allowed to hang out with him anymore, okay? he's a bad influence," he complained against you, enjoying the vibration of your laugh in return.

a/n: sorry some are way angstier than others ;-; i wanted to vary them a little. anyways tysm if u read the entirety of this mini series <3

#seventeen fanfic #seventeen x reader #svt fanfic #svt x reader #seventeen imagine #seventeen oneshot #svt scenarios #svt reactions #seventeen scenarios #seventeen reactions #jun imagines #jun x reader #jun fanfic #minghao fanfic #minghao x reader #minghao imagines #the8 x reader #the8 fanfic #hoshi imagines #hoshi fanfic #hoshi x reader #soonyoung x reader #soonyoung imagines #soonyoung fanfic #lee chan x reader #chan fanfic #seventeen angst #seventeen fluff #svt angst #svt fluff

[ugh-yoongi]

the very last thing i decide | pjm

(or, the one in which a love exists that's easy and instinctual as much as it is painful and self-destructive.)

✘ PAIRING jimin x f. reader ✘ SUMMARY you learn what it means to love with blood on your hands. ✘ GENRE hitman/assassin au; angst, smut ✘ RATING explicit. minors dni. ✘ WARNINGS they are both hitmen (hitpeople?) so there's all the content that goes along with that: violence, death, mentions of blood (a lot) and weapons, murder, but no explicit gore. everyone is morally grey at best and downright psychotic at worst (especially yoongi). reader gets stabbed. no one knows how to be a functional human being. swearing, smoking, light smut (penetrative & oral sex), miscommunication and unrequited love but not really, i drop a classic tumblr meme in a line of dialogue. ambiguous/hopeful ending!! some of the themes here are kinda heavy and i am not entirely sure how to tag them so if you have any questions pls don’t hesitate to ask! ✘ WORDCOUNT 12k ✘ LISTEN TO manchester orchestra - telepath ✘ THANK YOU i cannot remember everyone i’ve showed this to over the years. @the-boy-meets-evil for looking this over and brainstorming with me today. @hot-soop for always being a help. @effortandmore because you told me an embarrassingly long time ago this was worth finishing. and i’m pretty sure i also sent this to @jihopesjoint at some point too. i did a quick edit of this on my own, but after nearly three years i just wanted it posted and out of my wips so i'm sure i missed things. pls ignore them. ✘ AUTHOR'S NOTE fic drops two days in a row?? who am i?? i started this in may 2021 and it was supposed to be a simple pegging fic. i abandoned it bc i was convinced no one would want to read it. between today and yesterday i have written thousands of words and made it across the finish line. i hope you like it. the violence is a metaphor for love or whatever.

[37.5665° N, 126.9780° E | Seoul, SOUTH KOREA]

Jimin’s hair had been red the first time he met you.

How fitting, he thinks, considering he’s currently bleeding out on a table.

Well, there’s still a bit of fight left in him. He hasn’t lost consciousness yet, which he assumes is a good sign; he can still hear Hoseok barking out orders quite clearly. The edges of his vision are fuzzy and the pain in his abdomen is sharp and unrelenting, but he still has enough brain power left to wish he’d died instead.

Because you’d saved his life. And now he’s further indebted to you.

(Jimin never leaves a debt unpaid, but he’s not sure how to make even on something like this.)

Jungkook and Taehyung are fetching supplies faster than Hoseok can ask for them. Two pairs of frazzled, spaced-out eyes. Four sets of trembling limbs. Namjoon’s wearing burn marks into the floor, his cuticles bloody and nearly worried to the bone since he can’t keep them out of his mouth.

And then there’s you.

Sitting cross-legged in a chair as you scroll through your phone. Jimin’s blood is still drying on your hands, leaving smears as you drag your thumb back and forth across the screen, and this doesn’t seem to faze you one bit.

Behind you, Yoongi takes a seat at the piano and starts playing Toccata and Fugue in D minor, and Jimin simply cannot die like this. He can’t die on a wooden table in a room with a piano on which Min Yoongi is playing Baroque organ pieces.

“What is this, a fucking funeral?” Hoseok snaps, though there’s a desperation creeping into his tone that Jimin does not like, does not want to hear. “Cut it out, Yoongi.”

Said man staunchly ignores the doctor, transitioning flawlessly into the fugue. Jimin barely hears the tinkle of your laughter but he hears it all the same, and he wants to pretend it doesn’t calm him, bring him back down to earth when he starts drifting too far away. But you do, and it does, and all he can think about is: will you miss him if he dies? Will it take you long to wash his blood from your hands?

Hoseok’s absolutely incensed, pushed to the limits of his stress at the thought of not being able to save Jimin’s life, and Jimin appreciates this, really, but not when Hoseok pushes two gloved fingers deep into the wound in his stomach so hard all he can do is cry. “Yoongi—”

You snort. You don’t even look up from your phone.

Namjoon, for all his leadership and stoicism and poise under pressure, is just as frantic and panicked as the rest. It’s not everyday one of his people is inches from death ten feet away from him. Most people usually die in the shadows. Kim Namjoon has faced down death more times than most, yet watching the life slowly fade from Jimin’s eyes is too much even for him. “Yoongi, please—”

But the fugue keeps going, tempo change after tempo change, the two pillars of this organization spiraling completely by the time the coda starts, unfocused and sweating and praying. To gods they don’t believe in, to hope, to chance—whatever and whoever might be listening. Jimin usually loves hearing Yoongi play. It’s the only thing that humanizes him, and Jimin had spent so many restless nights shoulder to shoulder with him on that exact bench in the blue hours of the early morning, hypnotized by the way the older man’s knobby fingers moved across the keys.

This is it, he thinks.

Jimin’s going to die with Toccata and Fugue in D minor playing in the background.

He’s imagined his death so many times. Stupid not to in this line of work. Violent, quick and painless, in his sleep, drawn out and gory, a message. And in all of those scenarios, it’s either jarringly silent or there’s someone screaming. Usually him, sounding much like he is now, two fingers stuck in his gut. In all of those scenarios, Min Yoongi is never playing Bach as everything fades to black.

You sigh. “Shut the fuck up, Yoongi,” you say, your tone as blasé and inconvenienced as ever.

Shocked at your audacity, one of Yoongi’s fingers slips and hits the wrong key, something dissonant and metallic as it rings out. But the music stops all the same, the silence nearly giving Jimin whiplash. Now he can hear the clinkof Hoseok’s tools, the squelching of his wound, Jungkook’s desperate pleading for him to just be alright, please God, just hang on. He wants the music back. He doesn’t want Jungkook’s crying to be the last thing he hears. Doesn’t want the sound of his own organs imprinted into his memory.

“What’d you say?” Yoongi asks, because no one talks to him that way. They wouldn’t dare. Most people try not to talk to him at all.

But you do.

And, inexplicably, Yoongi listens.

You roll your eyes. “You go deaf in your old age? I said shut the fuck up. Hoseok’s two knuckles deep in Jimin’s fucking stomach and you’re over there having your little Amadeus moment.”

He bristles. “Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to?” Yoongi repeats, and Jimin can’t see him, but he knows his eyes are narrowed, lips pulled back in a snarl, fists clenched at his side.

“Oh, princess,” you coo, and Yoongi’s fury is palpable, permeates every inch of this place, overrides all the fear and anguish. “I’m talking to you, baby. I know Jiminie’s busy trying not to die and that’s stressful for all of us, but please do try to keep up.”

Jimin hears the flick of Yoongi’s switchblade. Then he hears him say, “Please let me fucking kill her,” in that lazy Daegu drawl of his, like forming full words are beneath him. Not worth the effort when they’re directed at you.

Still seated, you uncross your legs and, through blurred vision, Jimin watches you grab Yoongi by his belt loops to tug him closer, grab the wrist that holds his knife and press it to your own throat. “Don’t threaten me with a good time, Yoongi. Be a good boy and make it hurt.”

Jungkook’s near hysterics at Jimin’s side. “What the fuck is wrong with you two? He’s dying!”

Jimin tries to say I’m not, Kookie, I’m okay but the pressure on his abdomen is too intense. He can barely breathe, and Hoseok’s still digging around, still looking for that stupid fucking bullet, had to do something and do it quick so there’d been very little anesthetic and finesse, and he’s silently screaming for someone to just comfort Jungkook, tell him everything’s going to be okay, but instead—

“Serves him right for being a fucking idiot,” you say, words muffled by the knife still pressed to your throat. “What a painful, permanentlesson in not forgetting your fucking vest.”

“Stop it!” Jungkook sobs, fingers ghosting along Jimin’s matted fringe.

Yoongi’s still scowling. “Just say the word, Joon-ah. I’ll make it quick.”

You actually laugh at that. The kind of full-belly laugh Jimin would kill to be able to produce. “You wanna fuck me so bad it makes you look stupid.”

Someone snarls. Probably Yoongi. “You’d look so good gutted on the floor like a fish,” he replies, and if Jimin knows him at all, he knows he’s got that dreamy, faraway look in his eyes. The one he always gets when he’s about to kill—the one that makes him so unhinged and dangerous. “Left there to bleed out and die all alone like the trash you are.”

No one’s survived that look before, but you just grin, as if being on the receiving end of it is nothing more than another simple inconvenience. “Do it, then,” you prompt. “You’re so big and bad, yet here you are, waiting for Namjoon’s permission like some kind of pathetic fucking dog.”

“I’m no one’s dog.”

Your eyes slowly flick over to Namjoon. “No?” you ask, smile widening as Jimin watches you drag your heeled foot up the inside of Yoongi’s calf, his thigh, stiletto coming to rest in the center of his sternum. “That’s a shame, princess. That pretty neck of yours was just made for a collar.”

There’s no doubt in Jimin’s mind now that he actually died back in that penthouse and is now residing in whatever level of hell is watching you give his associate a semi despite him being a millisecond away from murdering you.

Yoongi would do it, too. No hesitation. You’ve been on his shit list for as long as Jimin can remember, and you’ve been daring him to put his money where his mouth is and just kill you already for just as long.

Taehyung groans. “Can you two just fuck already so the rest of us can be spared of this?”

You click your tongue, tone melting like butter. You’re fond of Taehyung, soft on him. “No can do, angel. Yoongi here knows I only have eyes for our Jiminie, and god does that hurt his little feelings.”

Your wicked smile gives away nothing—whether you’re telling a bold truth or just unnecessarily needling Yoongi further—but Jimin’s caught off guard and chokes on your words nonetheless.

Hoseok’s forceps still digging around in his stomach, there’s a quiet hurrah of triumph as he finally locates the bullet. Jimin feels nothing as he retrieves it and plucks it out, a reverberated clank! as he drops it into a kidney dish, your words the anesthetic he’s needed as they play on a loop in his head.

When he finally blacks out, either from the pain or the adrenaline or both, it’s your face that greets him. He never gets the chance to tell you why he forgot his vest.

[64.1466° N, 21.9426° W | Reykjavík, ICELAND]

Jimin’s hair is blue when it happens the first time.

It’s November. Namjoon has sent the two of you to Reykjavik and it’s dark all the time, the midnight hue of his hair blending into the impenetrable nighttime that surrounds you. Jimin works best like this—out of sight, part of the shadows. He’s light on his feet, lithe in ways no one else is, not even you, and he’s impossible to anticipate under the cover of darkness.

That’s why Jimin always takes care of the appetizers.

It’s your job to clean up the main course.

The two of you are two halves of the same lethal coin, working together flawlessly after years of carefully honed practice. Jimin slams an unsuspecting man’s head into a wall and you’re right behind him to put a bullet in it.

It’s just how it goes.

And he trusts you. He has to, otherwise he would’ve gotten taken out years ago. You’re not always in his line of sight, but he always feels you, senses your movements before you’re even on your feet. The times it’s gone wrong—and it’s gone wrong so many fucking times, despite how cautious and skilled the two of you are—you’re always right there to catch him before he even hits the ground. Just like a ghost, as if your only purpose in life is keeping Jimin safe and alive.

(It isn’t, but it sure feels that way.)

Tonight it’s another hit carried out in an overpriced penthouse overlooking the northern shore. You’re in and out, don’t waste a second more than you need to. Jimin doesn’t spare a glance at the carnage left behind. Nothing he hasn’t seen a hundred times before. All blood bleeds the same, but he still wonders, foolishly, if his looks different to you. If it feels wrong when it stains your hands and seeps into your clothes.

Jimin has never been covered in your blood before, but he likes to think it would.

The two of you don’t speak until you’re in the quiet safety of yet another hotel room, chain lock thrown across the door, deadbolt secured. A small arsenal of weapons is retrieved from ankles and waistbands and cleaned and packed away meticulously. Jimin’s the one who makes the call to Namjoon, tells him in code that the job’s done. You’ve barely broken a sweat, but under the fluorescent light of the bathroom, Jimin can see a small smattering of blood just along your temple when he closes the distance between you.

Someone else’s, of course.

Anyone who made you bleed your own blood wouldn’t be a quick, clean kill. Jimin would make sure of that.

There’s less to be done about the half-inch scar in the hollow of your throat—a pearlescent reminder of the twin scar he has just below his navel; a callback to the day your devilish mouth said the words Jimin can’t stop thinking about.

“No can do, angel. Yoongi here knows I only have eyes for our Jiminie.”

Maybe it’s stupidity. Maybe it’s the feral, years-long build up that’s been simmering between the two of you—low enough to keep warm, contained enough to never evolve into a rapid boil. Maybe Jimin’s just finally desperate enough to go seeking out answers to questions he’s far too scared to put a voice to.

(Really, Jimin knows it’s adrenaline. Nothing more than chemicals. The two of you high on it, heads floating above the clouds. Powerless; or, at the very least, indifferent to stop the very clear path that’s unfolding on the ground below.)

But, god, he needs to know.

Needs answers.

Needs to know if there’s even a chance you feel it, too: the magnetic ebb and flow the two of you have been dancing around for years. If you see how fondly he looks at you. If you have any idea how easy it is for him to get lost in you. If you know he’d let someone put a bullet between his eyes before he placed his life in the hands of anyone else.

Jimin knows he loves you. He’s known it for a long time, just like he knows all those other things that are second nature to him. Loving you is easy and instinctual as much as it is painful and self-destructive.

At least that’s what he’d thought. Until your devilish mouth said those devilish words and sent him into a tailspin he’s yet to recover from.

You have to feel it. God, can’t you? The way the air crackles between you. The way his skin ignites with a simple look from you. The trembling of his fingers at his sides, desperate to just reach out and touch you—fingers that have been bathed in blood, that have taken life. Fingers that now just want to graze softly across your cheekbones, catch on your bottom lip. Fingers that want to hand you the world on a silver platter. Jimin would do anything for you, give you whatever you wanted. You wouldn’t even have to ask.

Can’t you feel that?

He needs to know.

Jimin is composed, elegant. He kills with grace and still maintains as much of his softness as he can. Isn’t ruled by emotion the way Yoongi and Jungkook are. But now, as he teeters on the edge of the unknown, all he wants to do is jump. Wants to buck all his training, all his resolve and forethought, and jump.

“Did you mean it?” he asks, voice thick. Fingers curl into the expensive silk of his shirt just so they have something to do—something to keep them from reaching out and touching you. “Back in Seoul.”

You’re the smartest person Jimin knows. When you ask, “Did I mean what, Chim?” he knows you’re fucking with him. Dragging this out. You know exactly what he’s asking and he knows you’ll never give anything away so easily.

“What you said to Taehyung,” he answers.

You tsk, eyebrows raising in intrigue. As much as Jimin trusts you, as well as you know him, know all those dirty, dirty secrets he’d never tell anyone else, he’s never been so bold with you. “That those long fingers of his would look good wrapped around my throat? Yeah, I meant that.”

Jimin’s jaw clenches at your taunt. “Don’t play games with me.”

A smirk graces your lips. “Trust me, sweetheart,” you say, voice sickly-sweet as the affection starts popping at the last seams holding him together, “if I wanted to play with you, there’s nothing you could do to stop it.”

With Jimin pressed into the wall behind you, you turn to meet his eye in the mirror. Another smile, teeth bared as you run your tongue across your lips, and this one is his undoing. Makes his cock twitch in his dress pants. Makes him bold. “Do you want to, then?” He takes a step forward—close enough to smell the gunpowder stuck to your clothes, your hair. Close enough for the sulfur and metal to sting his nostrils each time he breathes you in. “Do you want to play with me?”

You love Jimin. Maybe it’s a trauma bond or the implicit, unwavering trust the two of you have in one another, but you know you love him limitlessly. But you also know you can’t love him the way he loves you, the way he deserves to be loved by someone, which is why your mask slips as you say, “I can’t give you what you want, Jimin.”

You try to make him understand that. Really, you do—because Jimin is the smartest person you know, and you know he’s thought about every possible consequence down to the most minute detail and has decided this is worth it anyway. You want to believe in something the way Jimin believes in you, even though he’s wrong. You want something worth throwing all of this away for.

Maybe it’s Jimin, maybe it’s not. Maybe it’s just been so fucking long since someone has looked at you with any gentleness in their eyes at all that when Jimin meets your gaze and says, “I don’t want anything more than you’re willing to give,” you take his hand and jump, too.

And there’s nothing gentle about the first time.

It’s all raw, urgent need, Jimin trying desperately to convince himself it’s more than it is while you convince yourself it’s less.

It’s the two of you finally giving up and giving in, letting yourselves be pulled taut by that invisible string tying you together.

It’s Jimin’s sharp intake of breath when you fully step out of your clothes, the sight rendering him immobile. Whatever plans he’d had before seeing the curves of your body, all the scars from years of working by his side, the mottled yellow-greens and purples from the bruises lining your skin—he has no plans now. Can barely think. Wouldn’t be able to tear his eyes away from you with a gun to his head.

It’s the final bricks of the wall he’d built around himself—around his heart, around all those words and feelings he’d never put a voice to—crumbling into ash at his feet. Now he knows he can’t go back. Can’t return to a reality where this isn’t his truth. Where there’s no you and him, him and you. Where it’s just a physical exchange, a give-and-take, tit for tat.

And god, he knows he shouldn’t think like this; knows he’s keeping the truth buried somewhere deep behind lock and key.

…But now that he knows how it feels to move inside you, what else is he supposed to do?

You’re everywhere. Clenched around him. Your taste on his tongue. The feel of you on the pads of his fingers. The smell of you making a mockery of all logical thought. No—no, he can’t do a goddamn thing to stop the avalanche now it’s started.

“Fuck,” he whines, fingers digging into your hips. The soft skin he finds purchase in such a contrast from your hardened exterior, but Jimin knows. He knows you, knows the person behind the mask, sees straight through you each time it slips.

What stared back at him had always been just out of reach.

Taunting him.

Screaming come and get me, come make me yours, come and fucking take what you want.

Until now.

Now it’s tangible. Now it’s breathy, fractured moans that echo off tile walls. Now it’s the sound of his name thatleaves your lips like a prayer. Now it’s the sheen of sweat that covers both of you. Now it’s nails scraping down his back, tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck.

(And Jimin won’t tell you this, but those red welts are proof that this is real, this happened, and later on when he’s alone, when his mind is working overtime, he’ll look at them and he’ll smile. Because they’re real. Because this happened.)

Now, it’s the way blue becomes his favorite color. Because he can see his reflection in the mirror as he unravels and comes to his own demise as he spills inside of you; can see the fluorescent lights reflecting off the hue of his hair.

Jimin’s hair is blue when he realizes he’s in love with you.

[34.6037° S, 58.3816° W | Buenos Aires, ARGENTINA]

Jimin is blond when Namjoon sends you to South America.

The details had been scarce: a diplomatic advisor with a rap sheet of human rights violations that have been continuously swept under the rug and his equally-corrupt lawyer. A candid photograph paperclipped to another manila folder, Namjoon a fan of all those old cliches. Likes being a little cheeky that way when he can get away with it, because god knows he can’t get away with much, doesn’t have much of a sense of humor.

It’s a simple job. You and Jimin will have it dealt with in a matter of hours. Less if you’re lucky and the universe is agreeable. But the humidity sticks to your skin, has sweat seeping into your clothes and rolling down your temples, and if there’s one thing you can’t stand it’s the heat. Makes it hard to think. And Namjoon—Namjoon, who makes sure all of his agents want for nothing—is a cheap bastard. Rarely approves nice lodging, says it’s too risky despite your arguments to the contrary, that people don’t care what you do when you have money, so you’re stuck in some shithole motel room with an aircon unit that keeps blowing out stale, warm air.

And maybe you shouldn’t, maybe you should be more cognizant of Jimin and all his feelings, but it’s fucking hot, so you peel your shirt over your head and undo the button of your pants. Sit on the edge of the bed and try to think about anything other than the temperature, how it’s starting to prick uncomfortably at your skin.

Jimin clears his throat, keeps his eyes glued to the disgusting carpet. “Got a text from Seokjin-ssi,” he says, words strained. “Looks like they’ll be solo jobs.”

You groan. Leave it to Seokjin to change the plan at the last minute. “Tell Kim Seokjin he’s a useless piece of shit.”

“Done. Anything else?”

“Tell Kim Namjoon if he ever sends us to South America in the summer again I’ll kill him myself.”

Jimin has a laugh like an anodyne. A laugh that takes all those broken, bleeding parts of you and soothes over them like a balm. “Seokjin-ssi says he’s not passing along that particular message.”

“Tell him he’s a bitch, then.”

“He’ll kill me if I say that.”

“He hasn’t done field work in years and he’s probably too vitamin D deficient to leave the basement. He couldn’t even kill a fucking rat.”

There’s another laugh. More forced, less tinkling. You recognize it right away, the sound of anxiety. Solo jobs aren’t common for the two of you. For Yoongi and Taehyung, sure, but not you and Jimin. You’re a team for a reason, and though you’re more than capable of getting this done and out of the way, it doesn’t feel right. Settles in your gut like something rotten, knowing you’ll be without Jimin.

And you know he’s thinking it, too. How he turns the burner over and over in his hands, as if there’s some combination of words he can send back to Seoul to get Seokjin and Namjoon to reconsider. Plans don’t change often; not like this, anyway. These have been declared solos for a reason, and that’s a thought you can’t linger on too long.

“Are they leaving it up to us?” Jimin nods, still not meeting your eye. “Do you have a preference?”

He shrugs, tossing the phone on the small table in the corner. Nothing else to be done. “Not really. What do you think?”

“Nah, don’t care, either. Just toss me one.”

Santiago Aguirre… 47 years old… Resides in a high-rise luxury apartment in Retiro…

Your eyes skim the file, study the black and white photograph of the lawyer. Read over the list of all his high-profile, degenerate clients and all their high-profile crimes. You read about the previous attempts on his life, the seemingly never-ending list of people who want him dead. Your eyes go back to his photograph, frowning at the smug look on his face. What stares back at you is a man who thinks he’s invincible, who thinks a penthouse apartment on the top floor and a security team in the lobby means he’s impervious to harm. A man who has made money off people just like him: dirty, corrupt, hands stained red.

“Okay?” Jimin asks, looking up from his own file.

He’s so striking. So safe. And you know what he’s done, giving you the hit he thinks is easier, willing to risk himself on a solo mission to ensure you make it out. There’s no guarantees in this line of work, in life in general, but Jimin’s brand of selfless love is certainly one.

So you just nod, knowing someone slimy like this can quickly go sideways, and decide you can do the same.

“I’m gonna get ready,” you say. “The plan is the same as all the other solo jobs. Get in, get it done, get out as quickly as possible. Lay low. Don’t come straight back here.”

Jimin rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “Anything else?”

You exhale. Try to quiet the nerves roiling in your stomach. Barely resist the urge to press a lingering kiss to Jimin’s forehead before you swallow hard and say, “Yeah. Stay alive.”

It comes out more like a plea.

—

You’re good at your job.

Rarely feel much guilt over it, either, which—well, you’re not sure what that means. That something is permanently broken in your psyche, probably. Being able to take life so easily and without remorse. It’s not natural.

Kim Namjoon is a man who plays God, is the one who decides who gets to live and who has to die. His word is the only law you adhere to. And that’s… that’s something. Makes it less burdensome, takes some weight off, because Kim Namjoon wouldn’t accept a morally-ambiguous job. He wouldn’t ask you to put your life on the line for some petty bullshit.

This is how you’ve lived for the last four years. Four years of blindly following Namjoon’s word, of being a good little soldier and doing whatever is asked of you. Four years of being responsible for not only your own life, but Jimin’s as well, just as he is for yours. Four years that have served you well, all things considered.

Until now.

Something about this job hits you hard. Doesn’t settle quite as quickly as the ones that have come before. For the first time, you’d looked down at the lifeless body at your feet and couldn’t stop the trembling, could barely quell the nausea. Thought what the fuck am I doing, what kind of life is this for the first time. Thought back to that day four years ago when Kim Namjoon saved your life and offered you a job and wondered, for the first time, what would’ve happened if you’d said no.

Now, as you suck on a cigarette, legs dangling off the roof of a building looking not far from collapse, a new thought:

Would Namjoon let you go if you asked?

He’s taken care of you. For four years you’ve wanted for nothing. Have socked away more money than you’ll ever be able to spend, even if you live to a thousand. You could go anywhere, become anyone, and no one would suspect a thing. There’d just be you and a million lifetimes’ worth of transgressions, alone under the weight of all that burden; alone, except for all the ghosts that come to greet you every time you close your eyes.

Doesn’t matter. Namjoon might be willing to let you go, give you the chance to salvage something from this life in the name of normalcy, but Yoongi would gladly put a bullet in your head before he let you disappear with all his secrets.

Doesn’t matter.

You stub out the cigarette and put the butt in your pocket. Make your way down to the street. Stay under the shadows—just visible enough to redirect any suspicion shot your way. You pretend to take a call, flawless Argentinian Spanish falling from your lips as you tell the imaginary person on the other end all about your fucked up day at work. How your manager never gets off your ass, doesn’t trust you, thinks you’re too fucking stupid to run a simple executable.

No one spares you a second glance.

Not here, on this nondescript street in a nondescript Argentinian neighborhood, and not when you stumble into the tiny lobby of your shithole motel. The poor kid behind the desk doesn’t even glance up, just mutters a good evening, miss under his breath that you return in a voice far too high-pitched to be your own.

Better to be seen and be unremarkable than draw attention to yourself trying to stay invisible, you figure.

The cameras in the stairwell are broken so you take the steps two at a time. Pull the room key from its place inside your boot, happy to no longer have it digging into your skin. Pause just long enough to make sure you don’t hear anything on the other side of the door before you’re unlocking it with your free hand wrapped around the trigger of your gun.

It’s empty.

Of course it is.

Jimin stashed the burner in a place no one but you would think to look. You text one simple word to Seokjin—Hey!—and you get two in return: Who’s this?

You know who it is, you fucking dickhead.

It takes a few seconds, but the reply is a simple—

Sorry.

Then you toss aside the phone and float in the darkness of the room. There’s nothing to do but wait, because you don’t dare to do anything alone. There’s sweat and blood and fuck knows what else stuck to your skin, your hair, but you can’t risk taking a shower. Can’t risk the water dampening your senses. Can’t risk being cornered in a moldy bathroom, only one way out. Can’t risk doing anything alone. Can’t take a fucking shower.

It’s this thought, more than anything else, that has your body flushing with rage.

What kind of life is this?

Namjoon had never mentioned repaying your debt. He’d never insinuated you owed him anything at all for saving your life, but you know something like that never comes for free. Namjoon doesn’t do anything just because. Has no goodness in his heart to do anything in the name of it. Watching Jimin nearly die in front of him had been the exception to his usual nature; a rare slip-up by an otherwise detached, uncaring man.

Still, whatever you owe him has surely been repaid by now. Tenfold, if the bloodstains along your collar are anything to go by.

It’s time for Namjoon to let you go.

—

Something is wrong.

Two hours have ticked by and there’s no word from Jimin. No word from Namjoon or Seokjin, either, which is the only reason you’re still in this nauseating motel room and not out on the streets searching for him. Solo jobs don’t go like this. The two of you are always in and out, tragically efficient. Back to where you started and then back on a plane, nothing left behind except a singular bullet hole and another fragmented piece of your conscience.

You’ve had a lot of jobs go wrong, but never two hours.

You’re about three minutes from coming out of your skin. Sick to your stomach with worry, anxiety weighing you down like an anchor. You wouldn’t be able to go out searching for Jimin like this even if you could, and there’s no point in dwelling on that, examining it further. All you can do is wait.

It’s another hour before you hear the click of the lock. You’re nearly on your knees in relief, but you stay rooted to the flimsy mattress. Try not to think about how you’ll have to sleep on it, even though you’ll be up half the night with residual worry. All those lingering ghosts.

Jimin doesn’t say anything, so neither do you.

[55.6761° N, 12.5683° E | Copenhagen, DENMARK]

Jimin’s hair is orange when you go to Copenhagen.

Not for a job, just to breathe. You wanted to see the city at Christmastime; Jimin’s never been.

You crack a joke. Point out buildings of similar color, have him stand in front of one as you take a picture. Everyone smiles when they pass the two of you on the street, Jimin’s eyes fond even though he rolls them as you pose him how you want. Still stands against an apricot-colored wall and flashes a smile and a peace sign, cheeks pink from the cold. Does a good job of pretending the two of you aren’t here just for fun, that this is something more.

It’s not.

The two of you fucked in a hotel room in Reykjavik and haven’t spoken a word of it since.

You nearly lost your mind over him in Buenos Aires and haven’t spoken a word of that, either.

Instead, his hand finds yours as the two of you walk around Tivoli Gardens. You marvel at the lights and Jimin marvels at you. You share mulled wine and spiced doughnuts. Jimin tries to drag you on the swings but you plant your feet and refuse, laughing through your refusals. As dangerous as your lives are, motion sickness might be the most. He gets his revenge and poses you in front of a giant nutcracker, then again in front of one of the endless Christmas trees.

Jimin pays for the two of you to decorate honey cakes. You’re surrounded by families with shrieking children and palpable adoration, and it’s all you can do not to wonder if anyone you’ve taken out had ever had something like this. Something that makes your soul warm; something that still lingers in your bones years later.

The two of you take a selfie when it starts to snow. It stings when you have no one to send it to, so it just lives in your phone. Maybe it’s enough.

On another day, Jimin holds your hand through Torvehallerne. This time you marvel at him while he marvels at all the food, eyes wide each time he turns to ask if he should buy something. You always say yes and he always shares, and it’s all you can do not to think about why you don’t have to budget yourselves. Why you’re able to walk through the market and buy whatever you want; how you could buy every item for sale and it wouldn’t make a dent.

(You pick up small trinkets for Taehyung and Jungkook. Not because you want to, but because it feels nicer than remembering that you have no one to buy gifts for. Not really. Not anymore.)

Jimin wants to ice skate, so you do. He holds your hand then, too. More out of necessity than anything else, and he has none of his usual grace. Someone hands you a free cup of hot chocolate, just because. Jimin pouts and then it’s his hot chocolate. It’s all you can do not to kiss away the whipped cream on the corner of his mouth.

Back in your lavish hotel, after countless days have blurred together and Jimin’s fresh from a shower, skin flushed, you finally ask yourself if it’s worth putting up such a fight. If it’s really all that bad to care for Jimin and be cared for in return. If it’s all that bad to be someone else, just for a little while: someone with a normal life who makes a normal living and has a normal capability to love. Someone who isn’t damaged beyond repair.

That will never be you. Not fully, and certainly not in this lifetime, but maybe it could be, a little.

“Jimin,” you say, because you need to try. Jimin loves you in ways you’ll never understand, and you want to be better for him. “We should talk.”

Your voice is small and hesitant, and Jimin hates it. Sees trouble where there’s only vulnerability, so he misreads. Shakes his head. Takes a risk and stands between your legs at the edge of the bed—yours, because there’s two—as he tilts your head back, thumbs pressing into the contours of your cheeks. The scar still sits in the hollow of your throat, and that version of you feels so far away. That life feels so far away.

There’s no violence here. There’s no blood, no fugues. There’s just you and Jimin, whose voice is small like yours when he shakes his head and says, “You should kiss me instead.”

The second time is nothing like the first.

Jimin moves delicately. Feels like silk lace, tastes like spun sugar. Moves both his mouth and his body fluidly, no hesitation, yet he still takes his time. Still pauses to look at you with endless devotion; with awed reverence. Makes a map of your body and marks all his favorite places with his lips.

“Tell me what you want,” he says. Speaks the words against the skin just beneath your ear. “Anything. I’ll give you whatever you want, just have to ask.”

What you want isn’t tangible, isn’t possible, so you stay quiet. Thread your fingers through Jimin’s hair, gasp when he mouths along the column of your throat. Jimin reserves all his softness for you. Bathes you in it. Would kill anyone to keep it that way.

So you say, “Want your mouth,” and let slip a quiet moan when he gives you what you’ve asked for. When he situates himself between your thighs and sucks and licks until you’re writhing, making a mess, grasping fruitlessly at the sheets, his hair, his shoulders, only calming when his hands find yours and your fingers interlock.

Jimin mouths at you until you’re trembling. Until you’re needy and desperate, hips moving on their own, fucking yourself against his face. Until nothing exists except the heat in your belly, the stars behind your eyelids, the heady, fucked-out sound of Jimin’s voice as he talks you through it, murmurs praise against your cunt.

Jimin mouths at you until you forget.

This isn’t your life. This is not something you can have.

But, in the grand scheme of things, what does it matter? You’ve made peace with death, and there’s only one of two ways it’s going to come for you in the end: by Namjoon’s hand or someone else’s. So what does it matter?

This time, Jimin fucks you slow. Kisses you with your taste still in his mouth. Thumbs over a hardened nipple just to see what earns him a reaction, and what you truly want is more time—something else that’s impossible.

Jimin’s hair is orange when you think you might be in love with him.

[ 48.8566° N, 2.3522° E | Paris, FRANCE ]

Jimin’s hair is pink when—

“Sit,” he says, gesturing to the toilet.

Soaks a washcloth in warm water. Wrings it out. Stands in front of you, and there’s water dripping onto the floor and Jimin doesn’t care, doesn’t seem to see anything in this moment except for you, your hands covered in someone else’s blood, and he reaches out, gently grabs your wrist. Palm up. Someone else’s blood. Everything smells like copper and iron. Looks too surreal beneath the fluorescent lights of this hotel bathroom for your mind to make sense of it.

There is care in the way Jimin cleans your hands. There is tenderness in the way he both refuses to see what you really are and the way he’s the only one to ever see you so entirely, when you look down at the blood he’s washing away and all you can see is stigmata. When all you see is sin.

“I know you don’t love me,” he says, and there is a conviction in his words that stuns you into silence. “Not the way I love you, anyway.”

That tenderness is still there as he says this. As he presses the wet fabric into the meat of your palm, wipes the stains away, and the warmth is as calming as it is undeserved. It feels like something forbidden. It feels like salvation and condemnation all at once, like whatever sick depravity permeates you is contagious, will take over Jimin, too, just from touching you.

Jimin is close enough to reach out and touch. Close enough to see the violence that he exists in alongside you: the rips in his clothes, the scars that decorate his skin. Close enough to know he smells sickly-sweet, just like death. Your hand shakes as it reaches for him and never follows through. Doesn’t want to contaminate him.

“I do,” you finally say. Whatever is in your voice is not conviction. “I can’t.” You suck in a breath, try to steady your breathing. This is where it all comes crashing down, you think, because in all the years you’ve done Namjoon’s bidding, you’ve never cried. You can take life so freely and without thought, but you cannot love Jimin. “Someone like me isn’t capable of it.”

Jimin pauses, the washcloth stuck in the space between your ring and middle fingers. “And who is someone like you?”

Water is still dripping to the floor. Serosanguineous: blood tainting something untouched. Not something one thing or another but both, watery-pink. Looks like Jimin’s hair. “I’ve killed a lot of people,” you answer. “More than I can count. More than I can name. More than the ones that come to haunt me at night.” Your free hand moves to your chest, covers your heart. “There’s nothing here, Jimin. I’m not sure there ever was.”

The washcloth drops to the floor, and all that blood belonging to a man whose name you never bothered to learn before you put a bullet between his eyes finds a new place to rest. “I think,” he begins, clasping your unclean hand in his own, voice dropping to a whisper, “you forget, sometimes.” You gasp as he places your palm to his cheek, drags it across his face, smears a stranger’s blood across his skin. “That we’re the same.”

Jimin is always overwhelming, but the love he has for you is even more so. It consumes you entirely, embeds itself beneath your skin, makes a home, would tear you apart, body and soul, to return to him.

[ 47.4979° N, 19.0402° E | Budapest, HUNGARY ]

Jimin’s hair is lavender when it all goes to shit.

“You’re being followed.”

Seokjin’s voice is garbled through the earpiece, tinny and metallic, and you roll your eyes. Some things don’t need to be said, because you’ve known someone was following you for the last three blocks. Average height, black peacoat, close-cropped haircut. Not the kind of person that’d stand out here, and that’s exactly why you’d sent Jimin in the other direction.

“No shit,” you respond in Hungarian, because you already know the man following you doesn’t speak or understand it. “Give me somewhere to go.”

It takes Seokjin a few moments to run the translation. “There’s a side street up on your right,” he answers. “It’s tight, but there’s an alleyway at the end. You can buy some time if you’re quick.”

“Where’s Jimin?”

You pass a vendor selling lángos and duck into the street behind the stall. Just as Seokjin had said, there’s a small alleyway up on the left, and your footfall is near-silent as you break into a sprint to reach it. “Safe,” is all Seokjin says.

You take a second to steady your breathing, knowing you’re good on time—the man following you was close enough to know where you’d turned, but, if you’re lucky, not much after that. That plays on a loop: if you’re lucky, if you’re lucky, if you’re lucky. What is luck, what does it look like, in a life left entirely to chance? In a life with no guarantees?

You tuck yourself away, focus on Seokjin’s metallic breaths. Think about his basement in Seoul, why he’s in it. Ask, “What happened in Addis Ababa?” because it feels important to know.

There’s not much you know about Seokjin’s life. Whatever happened in Ethiopia had been before your time, reduced to hushed whispers and gossip fodder after your arrival. No one spoke of it, Seokjin especially, but every now and then something would slip in the same way weeds grow in sidewalk cracks.

A job gone wrong. A bombing at the consulate with Seokjin inside.

His reply is simple, words spoken carefully: “I loved someone once, too.”

He can’t see it, but you nod nonetheless; an answer that doesn’t require a response, because you know. It’s enough to fill in the rest. What Seokjin’s trauma looks like. Why he doesn’t do field work anymore. Why he prefers the solitude of the basement, rarely a sound beyond the electric thrum of the server racks.

Who had gone in to retrieve him, and why Yoongi has the scar over his eye.

“You loved someone,” you conclude, “and he would’ve been willing to die for you.”

“Yes,” Seokjin says, and it’s like the word’s been punched out of him. Sounds like something repressed, something left to rot in the darkest corner of the world.

Love, to Seokjin, looks and sounds the same as death.

“I think most people spend their entire lives searching for a love like that,” he continues, and if you could see him you think he might look dazed, off-kilter. You think he might be an avatar. Seokjin is prying his ribcage apart, unwrapping the barbed wire from his heart, saying I once was in love and this is all I know of it. “But, to me, in this life, it’s a prison. Once someone is willing to die for you, how do you keep them alive? How do you—I kissed that skin. I worshiped it. I pressed my lips to it with whatever softness was left in me. How do you look at that same skin and know you’re the reason it’s mangled?” He exhales, all tremor. “You can’t. You can’t.”

You know this all too well. You know what it feels like to look at Jimin and know, intrinsically and subconsciously, that you wouldn’t even hesitate. You’d take and give life to keep him alive and safe. You know that when you exit this world at someone else’s hand his face is the last thing you want to see.

You know it’s a liability.

You know it’s a target painted on your back. Between your eyes.

You know there’s nothing left to say, that this particular conversation has run its course. The two of you sit in an amicable silence, and you hope Seokjin can hear the life that surrounds you, however mundane. Hope he can hear the lángos vendor trying to hawk his goods; hope he can hear a city 8,000 kilometers away; hope he can hear these regular, everyday people going about their lives and remember there’s hope beyond his four walls.

I think you’d like it here, you think, but you don’t dare to say it aloud.

Time passes in a meaningless blur. Could be minutes, could be hours. No one’s come to kill you, so you reckon you’ve long since been in the clear. And maybe it speaks to Seokjin’s idea that love is a prison, because you know something’s happened to Jimin long before Seokjin speaks it into existence.

You’re up and out of the alleyway before you’re told to move. Have no idea where you’re going, but you’re racing through the streets of Budapest with a panic you haven’t ever felt in your life. Feels like quicksand; feels like molasses; feels like you have to wade through all the blood you’ve spilled, now congealed, to get to him.

“Where am I going?” you demand. Your lungs are on fire. In the split-second of silence it becomes a desperate scream. “Seokjin, tell me where the fuck I’m going!”

“The—fuck, the wa-warehouse up on your right.” You can’t think about why he’s crying. “I don’t—I don’t know wha-what’s there, you need to be careful. Please, you have to—”

Twenty seconds and you’ll be there, you’ll be with Jimin, you just need to keep running. You need to keep your head on straight. Remember your training. Remember you’ve built a life in a viper pit.

A man in a uniform is unloading a shipment around the back of the building. Faces away from you, bent at the waist. Takes very little effort to smash his head into the stone exterior and knock him unconscious, pocket his badge. You can’t get stupid now. Tell Seokjin to make sure all the cameras are cut, ask what floor when you shut yourself inside the freight elevator, unwilling to take the stairs and run into anyone who might be waiting. All the way to the top, he says, so all the way to the top you go.

—

Over the course of your life, you’ve made peace with death. Have stared it in the eye more times than you can count. Have dealt it out, evaded it, shook its hand.

You are wholly unprepared for the sight that greets you.

Red. Everything is red—the walls, the floor, what used to be a beautiful parquet pattern in the wood. In the center of the room: two bodies, maybe three. Not much that’d be able to identify them beyond a pile of teeth, no saying whose is whose. Slaughterhouse scraps.

And this is not—Jimin doesn’t work this way. Isn’t his MO. Jimin’s kills are elegant and neat, topped with a bow. What you see before you is ultraviolence. It is unhinged, it is fury, it is a complete loss of control. It’s what love looks like to Jimin, because he sits at the very edge of a rotted chair, legs crossed. Face streaked with blood, clothes covered in it.

“Jimin,” you say, because what else is there?

He tilts his head to the side, smirks a little, looks at you beneath his lashes. Eyes that used to find you across a room and calm you. Eyes that have locked onto you in the throes of pleasure. Eyes you’ve seen yourself reflected in, bathed in love and adoration.

Eyes that now contain nothing.

“Jimin, what the fuck happened?”

He removes his gloves with his teeth and doesn’t flinch away from the taste of iron. “They said they hurt you,” he states simply, “so I did what needed to be done.”

“What—” Nausea claws at your throat; for the first time, it’s all too much. This isn’t Jimin. This isn’t your Jimin, who smiled as you posed him against apricot walls in Copenhagen, who took a bullet to the stomach to protect you and never, ever told you. This is not the Jimin who wasted the last of his goodwill on loving you. “What did you do?” you whisper.

He rises to full height and it makes you flinch. You are scared of Jimin for the first time in your life: scared of who he is in this moment, what he’s capable of. And he sees it, lets that brand of anguish overtake him. Reaches for you before he decides against it and lets his hand drop to his side. Says, “I would never hurt you,” as if the words could brand themselves into your skin so you’d never forget.

“No, you’d just—” You squeeze your eyes shut. Don’t think about how one of the men nearly embedded into the floor was the one trailing you earlier.

Instead, you think about Seokjin: Once someone is willing to die for you, how do you keep them alive? You think about: How do you look at that same skin and know you’re the reason it’s mangled? You think about: In this life, it’s a prison.

You drop to your knees. Let the blood seep through your clothes and into your skin, undeserving of shying away from it.

Namjoon should’ve let you go.

You think about the men in front of you. Who they were, who they loved. The grief all of this is going to leave behind, and it becomes impossible to breathe. You grasp at your throat, think about all the times you’ve been strangled and who’d been there to cut the rope. There is no limit to Jimin’s devotion, and you understand now, how it drove Yoongi to madness. How he loved someone so much he would’ve retrieved their corpse from a building and how that same person can no longer bear to look at the damage they’d caused.

“This isn’t love, Jimin,” you choke out.

He stands in front of you. Stigmata. You’re worshiping at the altar of some kind of devil. At least his hands are clean when he places his fingers beneath your chin, forces you to look up at him. “What is it, then?”

“Destruction.”

A quiet huff of cruel laughter. “See, this is the difference between me and you, darling.” He takes back his hand, runs it through his blood-streaked hair, and your chin sags to your chest without his support. “Because I already knew that. Because I have destroyed myself every single day loving you.” He squats down, eye-level, and he says, “I need you to listen to me when I say this, sweetheart: you do not love me the way I love you, because I would do worse. When it comes to you, there is nothing on this earth I would not destroy to keep you safe.”

He clears his throat. Collects whatever’s in his mouth and spits onto one of the bodies. “If this is enough to have you tucking your fucking tail between your legs, then go, because this doesn’t even scratch the fucking surface.”

You can’t bring yourself to say anything, and sometimes that says it all.

Jimin presses a kiss to the top of your head. Makes a call. Cleaners will be here soon, he says, better get going.

You watch him go.

[ 37.5665° N, 126.9780° E | Seoul, SOUTH KOREA ]

Jimin’s hair is black when Namjoon calls the meeting.

He takes the seat across from Namjoon’s desk because they don’t meet like this often. Assignments are usually manila folders slipped under doors, hushed whispers in hallways confirmed with a nod or a text on a burner phone. Assignments are not last-minute assemblies in conference rooms and offices.

But the way Namjoon is looking at him, with his clenched jaw and a gaze that’s meant to look barbed to anyone who doesn’t actually know him—Jimin doesn’t need to ask what this is about.

Had he bothered to look, he would’ve known by the way you stood in the far corner of the room, face obscured by the mid-afternoon shadows. Yoongi’s close to you, for some reason: dressed head to toe in black, perched on a lateral file cabinet, using a metal corner to sharpen his switchblade. Just like a harbinger of death. Some sort of fucked up omen, a warning that’s come too late.

Didn’t I tell you this would end badly, he hears Yoongi taunt in his head. This is what happens when you lay with trash.

Easy for Yoongi to say when he doesn’t know what it means to be cared for by you. Doesn’t know how it feels to give in to the freefall and plummet at your feet, stripped back and laid bare. Doesn’t know how it feels to kiss secrets into your skin like constellations, to map his tongue along every unspoken confession.

Easy for Yoongi to say, because he doesn’t have to survive the aftermath. Doesn’t have to feel the heartbreak, the agony of having you and watching as you slip through his fingers. Yoongi doesn’t have to struggle just to breathe, doesn’t have to endure the nights staring at the ceiling, watching as the daylight creeps into the corners of his vision. Doesn’t have to watch you looking so unaffected.

“Jimin.” Namjoon’s tone is flat, needlelike.

Behind him, Yoongi chuckles lowly. “What?” Jimin asks, his gaze trained on the painting behind Namjoon’s head. Looks like one he’d seen in Berlin, the time the two of you had gone just because and spent an afternoon ducking in and out of museums to escape the rain.

When he closes his eyes, he still sees the raindrops stuck to your eyelashes. The beads of water rolling off the sleeves of your leather jacket. How blinding your smile had been. The laughter in your voice as you ordered beer after beer after beer for the two of you in flawless Berlinisch. A brief, fleeting glimpse at normalcy. At the kind of life the two of you could have if you were just… different. Lived different lives. Were different people.

“You’ve gotten sloppy.”

Namjoon’s words are a cold bucket of water. Snap him back to reality, yank him back to the present where he’s forced to leave those river-lined streets behind. You’re silent and Yoongi’s still snorting laughter. “Okay,” is all Jimin can bring himself to say.

Jin had gotten sloppy once, too, and Namjoon stuck him down in the basement to work logistics. Might not be so bad, Jimin reckons. He’d be away from you, spared of this fucking misery. “So you know that’s unacceptable.”

Jimin just shrugs, resigned to his fate, whatever it may be. “I’m reassigning the both of you,” Namjoon continues. “You’ll both have new partners for your next assignments, since you clearly can no longer be trusted together.”

“Who?” Jimin manages to choke out.

Namjoon raises an eyebrow, clearly having expected an argument. “You’re being sent to Shanghai with Jungkook. You,” he says, turning his attention to you, “are going to Moscow with Taehyung.”

She’s fond of Taehyung, Jimin wants to say. But you’d been fond of him too, once upon a time, and that’d only ended in heartbreak, so who fucking cares.

They’re cruel, the tricks Jimin’s mind plays on him. How he convinces himself you look pained. How his fingers wring together at the thought of entrusting his life in the hands of someone else, someone new. At your life being just as at stake; at Taehyung being tasked with keeping you alive. Would you die for him, too, the way you’d always told Jimin you would for him? Would Taehyung take a bullet to the stomach to keep you safe the way Jimin had?

Even more cruel is the way you scoff, pushing yourself off of the wall as you fold your arms across your chest and say, “That’s bullshit, Kim Namjoon.”

No one talks to Namjoon that way except you.

Yoongi’s knife stops twirling. Just like a bird sensing a storm, senses on high-alert as he flicks his gaze over to you. “I’m sorry?” Namjoon says. “What part of Jimin losing his mind and nearly outing all of us seems like bullshit to you?”

“Hm, let me think,” you retort, a manicured finger tapping against the hollow of your cheek. “The part where you’re reassigning me for someone else’s mistake?”

Which part was the mistake? Jimin wants to ask. Needs to know how much you regret. Was sleeping with you the mistake? Falling in love with you? Getting too caught up in all these daydreams and letting reality get away from him?

“This organization is more important than Park Jimin getting his goddamn dick wet,” Namjoon snaps. “Keeping all of you safe—keeping you alive—is more—”

You scoff. Take an entire container of gasoline and pour it right on top of Namjoon’s flammable ire. “Then perhaps you’d be so kind as to explain to me why Min fucking Yoongi can fuck damn near everyone in this establishment, yet I have to sit here and listen to your goddamn mouth—”

Jimin doesn’t think Yoongi even knows his arm is moving.

There’d just been the trading of barbed words. His own name being spoken into the ether. Yoongi’s arm moving away from his body, switchblade clasped tightly between his fingers as he plunges it into your flesh.

Jimin watches it puncture your arm in slow motion. Feels the bile in his throat, the heat in his belly. Looks first at Namjoon whose jaw has gone slack, skin pale, as he stammers over words that won’t come. Then he looks at Yoongi—expects to find shock or guilt but finds only a muted disinterest and flared nostrils.

Finally, he looks at you. Watches the white cotton sleeve of your shirt slowly turn red and sticky-wet. Watches as your lips move around syllables and vowels and consonants Jimin can’t decipher.

“—fucking piece of shit, this is my favorite shirt! I’ll never get all this goddamn blood out of it—”

Jimin thinks he hears Yoongi say you deserve it. But Jimin isn’t really thinking much as he clambers out of his chair and moves in Yoongi’s direction. Doesn’t think at all as he lets instinct take over, lets adrenaline steer him headfirst into yet another bad idea.

He’s always known there’d come a day he’d be face-to-face with the sight of your blood. Had always known it’d come from someone else’s hand. Had always promised himself that hurting you would be the last thing anyone ever did.

Jimin has his fingers wrapped around Yoongi’s throat and he finally understands it—the joy Yoongi finds in taking life.

“What’s the matter, Jimin-ah?” Yoongi taunts. Jimin tightens his grip. Suddenly hates that fucking scar across Yoongi’s eye. “You’re never on clean-up duty. Always make your girlfriend do the dirty work. Finally grew some fucking balls, huh?”

“Fuck you,” Jimin says stupidly. Can’t think of anything more to say. Not that he needs to. Wrapping your hands around someone’s throat sends enough of a message, he thinks.

Namjoon’s still tongue-tied as you yank Yoongi’s blade from your arm, immediately pressing your other hand over the wound to stem the bleeding. The sight of your blood is making Jimin dizzy; the smell of the iron hanging in the air. All he wants to do is choke the life out of the man in front of him, but more than that, he just wants to hold your hand. Wants to comfort you, even though he knows you don’t need it. Not from him, not from anyone, but he still wants to. Wants to press his lips to the sweat at your brow.

And Yoongi can see it, too, because he starts laughing. It’s an odd, fractured noise. Jimin isn’t sure if he’s ever heard him laugh before, decides he also hates the way it sounds. Feels all wrong watching it leave his crooked smirk. Makes Jimin’s stomach plummet to the ground.

“Oh, you’re fucked, aren’t you?” Yoongi teases around Jimin’s slackened grip. “You weren’t just fucking her, you’re in love with her.”

Weird how Jimin is the one with his hands around someone’s neck and feels like he’s the one suffocating.

[ 31.2304° N, 121.4737° E | Shanghai, CHINA ]

Jimin watches the life drain from an innocent woman’s face and feels nothing.

Jimin watches Jungkook cut a man down and feels even less.

When it’s over, he cleans up wordlessly and doesn’t eat for three days.

[ 37.5665° N, 126.9780° E | Seoul, SOUTH KOREA ]

Jimin’s hair has faded to brown by the time he returns from Shanghai.

The more complicated job had gone to you and Taehyung. Jimin had tried not to take it personally. The Russian hits are always unnecessarily violent and Jungkook still isn’t fully trained. There’s still a phantom pain in Jimin’s stomach that warns him of the consequences of taking on more than he can chew. So, sure, Shanghai had gone fine, but his mind had been nearly 7,000 kilometers away the entire time.

Good thing he’d returned to Seoul unscathed, too, because he’s sure Namjoon would’ve eliminated him without a moment’s hesitation if he’d fucked up again.

But Shanghai had only served to prove the leader right. Jimin can’t work with you anymore. Can’t focus, can’t stomach the violence, can’t keep his goddamn head on straight.

He sighs as he glances at Jungkook to his right. Jimin had watched him murder two men in cold blood not even thirty-six hours ago and now he’s doe-eyed and sucking down his third banana milk of the morning. It really makes his head spin, being paired with this grown-up infant of a man now instead of you, but for all of Jungkook’s apparent shortcomings, he’d kept Jimin alive. He isn’t dead.

And then you walk in with Taehyung and he wishes he was.

Because you’re laughing and Taehyung’s got his arm slung around your shoulder and you look happy. It’s the kind of happiness that should be contagious, bloom warmth in his chest, but it doesn’t. It just takes the last frayed strand of hope he has and sets flame to it.

You don’t look like you miss Jimin at all. Don’t look like you’ve lost sleep or skipped meals.

“Didn’t take you long, did it?” Jimin says, because he’s wounded and lashing out. Not because he means it.

You must know he doesn’t, too, because you don’t react. “Watch your mouth, Park Jimin,” Taehyung warns, because he doesn’t know, and this only sets Jimin off more. You don’t need defending. Or had you, and Jimin had simply thought it wasn’t his place to provide it? That you wouldn’t want it?

“Or what, Kim Taehyung?”

Taehyung is cherubic. It’s part of his charm, one of many reasons why he’s so effective. If you’re looking to die, you look for the guy who looks like Yoongi, not the one who smiles wide and warm like Taehyung. So when he sets his jaw and pokes his tongue into his cheek and says, “Or I’ll cut your fucking head off, you stupid fuck,” your attention is finally piqued.

“I’m so sick of this,” Jungkook wails, banana milk tossed carelessly in the trash. “All of you need to get your fucking shit together!”

Taehyung rolls his eyes at the same time you pretend to inspect your nails. “Is that why you’re so temperamental, Chim?” Taehyung prods, looking every bit the pretentious, murderous angel he is. “Because you got sent to China on a babysitting mission while the grownups did real work?”

“Fuck you,” Jungkook snaps, rising to full height. “I’m not a fucking child.”

“Oh? Could’ve fooled me.” Taehyung’s words are razor-sharp and smell like kerosene. “Tell me, then: were you on babysitting duty? Had to look after our precious little Jiminie while he nursed his broken heart?”

You sigh, full of faux-exasperation, and place a gentle hand on Taehyung’s forearm. Dig your nails in just enough to be a warning, and if Jimin hadn’t been looking he’d miss it: the way Taehyung deflates instantly, anger dissipating like smoke, back in control. Just because you’d touched him. Just because you were there. Jimin knows that touch, how it feels to be under your control, and it makes his chest ache. Makes everything feel like it’s sitting wrong in his stomach, and he’s either going to be sick all over Namjoon’s overpriced fucking rug or wrap his hands around Taehyung’s throat the way he’d done to Yoongi.

He’s out of his goddamned mind; he feels untethered. Helpless. Like it was always going to end like this, and maybe Jimin knew that and had just ignored it. Maybe now he’s paying the price—maybe he’s finally found something he can’t afford.

Jungkook’s still going off, nasty gaze set on Taehyung because he’s the only one playing along. They’re exchanging words Jimin can’t make heads nor tails of. Words he doesn’t care about. Words that ring empty and hollow because they sound nothing like the way you say his name. Shapeless, unlike the way your lips move around those syllables.

“Jimin,” you say, the sound finally registering and bringing him back down to earth. All he can do is stare. “Can we talk?” Taehyung and Jungkook are still trading barbs.

Wonders how he got here. Looks around the room and wonders if each and every one of them is destined for this same fate, this madness. Wants to tell you why he forgot his vest, why he was three hours late in Argentina. Wants to grovel and beg and leave this place and never look back.

More than anything, he wants to know what it feels like to actually be human.

So he shakes his head. Tries not to be haunted by the way your face falls at the rejection.

There is a scar on his abdomen and a scar on your arm that both tell the same story. There is a man in the basement who is in love with a man above ground and is too weighed down by guilt to do anything about it. There is a man here who plays god, has soldiers to do his bidding, and there is very little here that Jimin has only for himself.

The two of you will have that conversation, but he needs to be human, first.

[ 34.6901° N, 135.1956° E | Kobe, JAPAN ]

This is a waste of your fucking time.

Whatever Namjoon had thought would be here doesn’t seem to exist. Yoongi can barely tolerate you on a good day, threatens to stick a dagger in your neck at least twice an hour, but the more time the two of you waste chasing ghosts, the closer he comes to unraveling entirely.

“Stop fucking staring at me,” he snaps, blowing the smoke of his cigarette right in your face.

You tut. “But you’re so beautiful, Yoongi, I just can’t help it.”

He digs his switchblade from his boot. Makes a show of flipping it open. “I can cut your fuckin’ eyes out of your skull,” he intones. “Maybe that’ll help.”

In your ear, Jimin’s laughter rings like crystal.

Ricochets off of all the corners of Seokjin’s basement, makes the echo sound warped through the earpiece. “Please tell Yoongi-ssi to keep an eye on the man with the shaved head. In front of him, roughly sixty degrees to his right.”

You relay the message. Watch as Yoongi transforms—sharpened gaze, rigid posture, disappears into the shadows. More apex predator than man. “And me?” you ask.

“Backup,” comes Seokjin’s voice. “We haven’t found your mark yet.”

You hum. Pick up the cigarette Yoongi left behind and stick it between your lips. Smoke it nearly to the filter. “You got it, boss,” you tease, just because it flusters him.

“I’m—that’s not—knock it off.”

Exhale. Stub out the cigarette. Butt in your pocket. “Anything else?”

“Yeah,” Jimin says, and his voice is soft, sounds like spun sugar. “Stay alive, all right?”

Jimin’s hair isn’t dyed at all.

if you've read this far: thank you so, so much! i am more appreciative than i can put into words. this is very different from what i typically write, but i hope you enjoyed it nonetheless.

i would love to hear your thoughts if you have any. &lt;3

#jimin x reader #jimin smut #bts x reader #bts smut #jimin imagine #jimin scenarios #jimin fanfic #jimin x you #jimin x y/n #bts imagines #bts scenarios #bts fanfic #bts x you #bts x y/n

[bedoballoons]

Hello!

I really love your writing! This is my first time making a request :^)

Can I request kaveh, tighnari and whoever else you want to include reacting to the reader (preferably m or gn) showing them a guestroom in their house/teapot that they decorated just for them? I'm imagining alot of blushing pre-relationship vibes but established relationship would also be very sweet so it's up to you ^^

No worries if u dont like the prompt and would rather not do it. I'm excited to read more of your work regardless!

AHHHH THIS IDEA IS JUST CHEFS KISS!! This is your first request and it's literally incredible!! Thank you thank you! It's a honour to write your first one so I hope you enjoy it!!

─⊰⁠⊹ฺ❄️𝔾𝕖𝕟𝕤𝕙𝕚𝕟 ℍ𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕔𝕒𝕟𝕠𝕟𝕤⊰⁠⊹ฺ❄️

{༻~A safe place~༺}

CW: Fluffy! GN! Reader! Pre-relationship blushing and cuteness!!

(Includes: Tighnari, Kaveh, and Kazuha!)

𑁍༄Tighnari:

"Alright, now!" You stepped aside as Tighnari moved his tail, uncovering his eyes so he could finally see the surprise you had waiting for him...you'd been decorating and placing everything for days now, even making some of the furniture by hand just for him to have a perfect room in your teapot. Now you'd know if he liked it or not...and your heart was racing with anticipation!

"You did all of this...for me? I don't even...I don't even have a sarcastic remark to make. This is perfect.." He walked inside the room, examining everything even closer, you'd managed to find books on herbology he didn't even know existed and there was a incense burning on his new desk that smelled calmly of flowers...even a small picture of him with you and Collei. No one had ever put so much effort into a place for him or thought of everything like you had.

His cheeks suddenly blushed at the realisation of how much he'd be here now, never wanting to leave a place so perfect for him...a place with you, "I don't know how I could ever thank you enough."

You felt your heart skip a beat, "Just stay around for awhile...?"

"I absolutely will."

𑁍༄Kaveh:

"You really didn't have to make me anything. I was just kidding about the whole giving me a gift makes me sleep better thing, I promise. It's something Alhaitham said and I...well it doesn't really matter but-"

"Kaveh, this has nothing to do with that. This is a gift that I wanted to give you because I like you alot and I think this will make you really happy...or at least I hope it will." You opened the door for him before he could answer you, hoping to distract him from your almost confession about liking him alot...you still didn't know if he liked you back, though maybe this gift would make it clear?

It took him a second to adjust to the new sight, to realise just how big of a gift this truly was.."I- did you decorate this room...just for me?" His mouth hung open in shock as his eyes scanned the beautiful place you'd made for him. Every inch of it decorated to his like, no even better then his liking and he didn't think that was possible. He could cry in happiness, "I am in such awe right now, I don't even have words"

"I definitely understand that feeling, especially when I'm with you." You looked away, your cheeks on fire...you'd never been so bold about your feelings before and this could be coming on stronger then needed, but you couldn't back out now.

"How so?"

"I-...Kaveh..."

"Yes?"

"I like you.."

𑁍༄Kazuha:

"And we are here!" You removed the blindfold from his eyes, ready to show him his new room, the place you'd made just for him whenever he needed it...which you silently hoped was alot. It had everything he could need, sword racks and empty books for his poems, a cozy fireplace for when he returned from a cold rainy adventure and a vase of flowers that made the whole place have a soft floral scent.

His cheeks were dusted with a light blush and he almost appeared to be in a trance...maybe he didn't like it? "Kazu? If you don't like it I could always change it-"

"It's been a long time since I had a place I could truly call home, yes many of my adventures have lead to places with the feeling of home...but to truly have a place I can return to any time I'd like... I'd forgotten how it felt. Please know I love it all, you've done a wonderful job and I thank you for this...for giving me a home." He turned to you, his eyes almost dazed and his smile sweet and sincere...you could have kissed him right then..

Your cheeks went bright red, that thought aching to become a reality, "No need to thank me, having you here is enough thanks in itself. I hope you will use this room often, I would...love to spend more time together."

"As would I with you."

ଘ(੭*ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ♡‧₊˚~Have a nice day~*⁠.⁠✧

#genshin impact #genshin headcanons #genshin #genshin fanfic #genshin x reader #genshin x you #tighnari x you #tighnari x reader #tighnari fluff #tighnari headcanons #kaveh fluff #kaveh x you #kaveh x reader #kaveh headcanons #kazuha x reader #kazuha headcanons #kazuha fluff #kazuha x you

[thelov3lybookworm]

Can I request some/any type of angst with rhys x yn. 🥲

Remember me?

Summary: Under the Mountain, Y/n met the High Lord of the Night Court, Rhysand. She was scared of him, but soon she found out that he wasn't who he pretended to be. Despite her efforts at not falling in love with him, she fails. It's not that bad as he loves her back.

But now he's gone, and she's left alone with nothing.

Except for a very adorable reminder of him.

•○●⛦●○•

Tw: secret pregnancy, none more that I can think of, so let me know if I need to add anything.

A/n: okay, so I know anon asked for angst, but I don't think there's much angst in this, but I'm planning on writing part two, and I'll try to make it more angsty, so bear with me please.

Edit: this series has turned into an Eris x reader fic, so know what you're going to be reading if you decide to continue on reading. If Eris is not someone you like, please dont read this fic

•○🌑○•

She ran, glancing behind her to see if the creepy male was still following her. He was, even though he was far behind.

This wasn't working. She had to find another way to get rid of him.

She had been sitting in a corner of the throne room, trying to not catch anyone attention when the male had shown up. He had started up a conversation, his hands slowly inching towards her rear. Even though she had told him she was uncomfortable and made it clear she did not want anything to do with him. He had gotten angry, as all makes did when denied something, especially something they felt entitled to. He'd tried to force her to a dark alcove nearby, but she had fled.

Now here she was.

She turned around the corner, glancing behind her again. And smacked straight into something hard.

As she reared back to look at what–who– it was, all the blood drained from her face.

The Queen's Whore.

Night Court's High Lord works too, she thought to herself.

He smirked at her, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

"Going somewhere? Maybe I could accompany you?" Y/n shook her head, petrified. She had seen what he could do, and she had no intention to get his attention on her. "What a shame, I would have loved to spend some time with such a beauty."

Despite being scared out of her wits, she blushed. But then she remembered why she was running in the first place. But it was too late now.

A hand clamped down on her wrist, so tight her hand started to go numb. She turned to the male, trying to tug her hand out of his hold to no avail. She stared at his hand helplessly, knowing nothing could save her now. Screaming would only incense him further, and the High Lord at her back was more likely to laugh at her than help her out.

"Do you know him darling?"

Her head whipped around to the High Lord, but before she could answer, the male still holding her hand wrapped an arm around her and stepped back. "We've been talking all night, my Lord. We know each other."

The High Lord raised a brow. "Did I ask you?" Then, turning to her, he asked. "Is he telling the truth?"

Y/n wanted to deny it, but he was speaking the truth. And she had seen the High Lord kill people for the smallest lies. Not wanting to offend him by lying, she nodded, her eyes pleading.

And she didn't know if he saw the pleading in her eyes, or he was just curious, but he asked, "Do you want to go with him?" She shook her head frantically, hope flaring in her chest.

But then the High Lord shrugged and turned away. She was so shocked that she didn't pay attention to the male who was still holding her as he started struggling against invisible forces, only looking at him when crumpled to the ground.

Stunned, she turned back towards the High Lord, who smirked at her.

"I don't think I caught your name. What was it again?"

"Y/n..."

"Y/n." He muttered, as if testing out the syllables of her name. He hummed. "I like it." He leaned against the nearest wall, as if getting comfortable. "So, miss Y/n, what do you do when you are not being chased around by males?"

"Nothing... my job is to sit and look pretty so my father can marry me off to the highest bidder when he deems fit." She slapped a hand over her mouth as soon as the words were out. She hadn't meant to say that. The High Lord wasn't to be trusted, especially because he could just run back to his mistress and blabber all about what he'd seen today.

A slow smile spread on his as he studied her. "I like you."

A few months later, he would be whispering I love you in her ear.

But that isn't the point here.

The point is that he would forget those words and the female he had said them to when a mortal would free them from their prison.

The point is that he would leave the female he had loved so fiercely.

The point is that he would leave her to fend for herself in a dangerous world.

The darn point here is that he would leave her with a life growing in her.

And he wouldn't know about it until it was too late.

•○🌑○•

She was dreaming. Again. Of him.

It wasn't a nightmare, but that would have been preferable to the happy dream that she was having, where he hadn't left her to her father's mercy. Where he was present in their life. Her and her son's. Their son's. But when she had dreams as these, she was filled with a sense of longing and sadness, hatred and fury.

But thank the cauldron, she was woken up. By a little body jumping around on the bed. She smiled sleepily, eyes still closed. She grasped around blindly in search of the little devil, who shrieked and evaded her. She pulled back her hands, lying still as her son came to plop down on her chest. She knew he was going to do that, but still she grunted when his weight settled over her.

"Mama! Wake up." He whined. Y/n opened her eyes to look into the beautiful violet orbs of Finnian. He grinned at her, sitting up. "Mama, you said we'll go to a drawing class."

"That I did, my little joy. But before that, would you help Mama with breakfast?"

He nodded enthusiastically, already jumping off the bed and running out the doors. Y/n yelled after him to be careful, getting up before stretching and making her way downstairs.

As she set about making some pancakes for the two of them, Fin blabbered about anything he could think of. As he started eating, Y/n's mind wandered to a few days ago, when she had arrived in this city. The City of Starlight, they called it. And she could see why.

She was originally from Dawn Court, but after they had been freed from Amarantha's reign, she had fled from her father's home, making a life for herself in Day Court. A few weeks ago, she had seen her father waking in one of the markets that she visited frequently, and she had never been more scared. For her life, sure, but more so for her sons life. If her father realised of Fin's existence, he wouldn't stop until he got rid of the little boy.

So Y/n had sought out a man who promised her that he could smuggle the two of them to a place that not many knew about. Frantic in her instincts to save her child, she didn't ask where this secret place was.

She didn't regret her decision, but now she was always on alert, always looking over her shoulder to see if her former lover was somehow following her. And then again, what were the odds of her crossing paths with him in such a big city?

Extremely high. A voice inside her screamed, but she ignored it.

After the breakfast, Fin again started talking about the painting classes that he was going to today. A neighbor had told Y/n about these classes and that her kids loved to go and that she should let Fin attend them too.

And since Fin had learned of it, that's all he had been talking about.

•○🌑○•

Fin ran through the large doors with Sam, his new friend who was the son of their neighbour, leaving Y/n yelling at them to slow down. Despite that, the two boys didn't listen and then Fin ran into a male who was standing inside the room where the classes were going to take place.

"Oh mother, are you okay?" Y/n rushed to help Fin stand back up, crouching in front of him and checking him for any injuries.

"I'm okay mama."

Y/n nodded, standing and turning to the male to apologise. As her eyes met ones identical to her son's, she froze. Those eyes she had loved, ones she adored always, were wide with shock and staring straight at her.

Neither of them said anything. It seemed like they didn't breathe as well.

The male she had spent years searching, the male she had waited everyday for, the male she had grown to resent day by day when he didn't show up, the one she had been trying her best to hide away from, was now standing in front of her, his lips parted and an anguished look in his eyes.

She was numb, her mind not working, but atleast she had the sense to push Fin behind her.

Which wasn't the best move, considering the High Lord's eyes went straight to the little boy peeking from behind Y/n's skirts.

A broken breath escaped him, his eyes starting to water as he looked back at Y/n.

She took a step back, turning away. Her eyes fell on another familiar face, whose eyes constantly jumped from Y/n to him.

Feyre.

Sam tugged on Feyre's hand, pulling her to stand right next to the High Lord. As she did, her scent reached Y/n. And it was mixed with his. And her heart broke once more.

The high lord had left her for Feyre?

"Auntie Y/n, this is our teacher."

The females offered each other tentative smiles. "I didn't realise our cursebreaker would be teaching kids to paint."

"But here we are." Feyre said, confusion still lacing her features. But then her eyes fell on the boy behind Y/n, her brows furrowing. Her features smoothed out with understanding as her eyes met Y/n's again. "I believe he is here to join us?"

"Yes. A neighbor told us about this. He's been impatient to finally to make friends. Isn't that right baby?"

"Yes mama!"

She smiled, despite her heart and mind screaming at her to take Fin away in case his father tried to take him away from her.

She told herself she wouldnt stop him from being here though, especially as she knew how excited her son had been for this. And she won't keep him away from making friends, as she had been when she was his age.

She would maybe start looking for somewhere else to settle. But for today, she would let him enjoy.

She crouched to his height, kissing his chubby cheeks and forehead, to which he giggled. "You remember what mama has told you about talking with strangers?"

"Yes. Okay bye mama. I wanna go with Sam."

"Bye darling." She whispered, knowing he couldn't have possibly heard it as he sprinted away. She stared after him for a moment, he motherly instincts telling her to go get her child. She stood, prepared to leave, but then turned to the High Lord who still stared at her helplessly.

"Stay away from him." A pause. "My lord."

"Y/n..." His voice broke. "Please."

"Please what?"

"Don't kick me out of his life. He deserves to have a father. He deserves to know–"

"He doesn't need a father. He's been well and happy without one. And even if he does need one, I'll get him one. But not one that would probably run away at the first chance."

Then she turned and left, hoping Rhysand wouldn't try to do something to her child.

•○🌑○•

Taglist: @bubybubsters @eos-princess

Part 2

#rhysand x y/n #rhysand x you #a court of thorns and roses #acotar fandom #acotar fanfic #acotar fluff #acotar series #acotar writing #rhysand #Rhysand fanfic #feyre #feyre archeron #acomaf #a court of mist and fury #acowar #rhysand x reader #rhysand x feyre #rhysand x oc #cassian #nessian #cassian acotar #acosf #a court of silver flames #acotar #azriel acotar #azriel shadowsinger #rhys acotar

[flametrashiraarchive]

I'm impatient...

Here is the prologue of In Another Life. I may just wait to post the other chapters once the whole story is done.

Muzan x Reader- prologue revolves around sick human Muzan.

F!reader, some swearing, SFW (for now)

CW for reader's death (off page).

Prologue- 

Heian Era- a thousand years ago. 

One of the servants was sobbing in the kitchen again. You didn't need to ask why. Lately it had become a daily occurrence.

Your husband's doctor had been experimenting with new treatments, and each one only seemed to excel in providing a little more hope to be shattered. 

Making your way through your house, your senses became cloyed with the overpowering perfume of incense. It promised healing and protection from evil, but in a more practical way, it covered the scent of sickness. 

"Get out!" Muzan snarled from his futon as you stepped into his room. His long black hair was spilling down his back and shoulders like streaks of ink, his face pallid and covered in a sheen of sweat. "I don't want pity."

"Well, good, because I'm not here to give it to you," you said, stepping between the shattered pieces of a priceless vase littered across the floor. You'd loved that vase. It was a wedding gift. 

"Then why are you here?"

"Do I need an excuse to see my husband?"

He said nothing, but averted his eyes as you crouched at the end of his futon.

Your brow knitted when you saw the blood on the sheets. "Your hands…" 

Curling his fingers to try to cover the bleeding wounds, he made a disdainful "tch" sound and shook his head. "It's nothing."

You got up and went to fetch his wash basin and two rolls of bandages. "Well, that 'nothing' is staining the sheets–"

"To hell with the sheets." He glared at you as if daring you to challenge him. "Curse these fucking sheets. Curse this bed. Curse those good for nothing servants who tiptoe around me like their steps will shatter my body. Curse the fucking doctor and curse you too." 

It took him a moment to catch his breath; a moment where you simply looked back at him and let him get his anger out. In his position you would be angry too. Hell, you were angry. 

Finally, Muzan took a deeper breath and held out his bleeding hands, permitting you to tend to them.

Thankfully the wounds were not too severe. In fact, as you cleaned them it seemed absurd that such shallow cuts could bleed as much as they had.

Your eyes met his briefly as you bandaged his palms. "What did the vase do to anger you this time?" 

His frown lessened. "I'm just… tired of this."

"I know."

There was nothing more you could say that Muzan hadn't heard a thousand times throughout his life. Everyone was sorry. Everyone said they would pray for him. Everyone knew someone who had been cured of similar illnesses by putting a little extra ginger in their tea, or meditating daily, or taking walks, or sleeping with an onion beside their bed, or a thousand other absurd and pointless "cures."

He had never admitted it, and likely never would, but you suspected that the only reason Muzan tolerated your company was because you spoke to him like a person, instead of some delicate and unpredictable thing. 

Muzan looked down at his hands as you tied off the bandage. "Alright, your wifely fussing is done for the day. Leave me in peace."

"Absolutely not. You haven't performed a single husbandly duty in return." Brushing your thumbs across the backs of his wrists, you bowed your head and gently kissed the peaks of his knuckles.

A quiet chuckle finally emerged from him as he caresses the curvature of your cheek with his fingertips. "You only married me because you want my money."

"No, I was forced to marry you because my parents want your money."

His lips tilted into a faint smirk. "Is that so? Well, they probably won't have to wait long."

A sudden ache rose in your chest. Though the day you would have to be without him loomed ever closer, it wasn't something you were ready to confront yet. "Don't say that."

"Why not? It's the truth. Nothing that fraudulent doctor tries is working. I'm getting worse." He lowered his gaze to the sheets, and when he spoke again his voice was quiet. "Send the servants in to change these."

"The servants are cowering in the kitchen," you said, pulling the sheets from his futon and bundling them in your arms. "I'll go and wash them–"

"No." His hand on your arm halted you, his grip weak and unsteady. "Don't go. Don't… just stay a moment." 

There was a side to Muzan that he only permitted you to see. Behind the snarls and the bad temper there was a frustrated and frightened man, desperate for an end to his pain.

Before your marriage, your parents had prepared you, telling you that Muzan had no redeeming qualities besides wealth. He was rude, cruel, humorless, and he was sick. The doctors did not expect he would make it past twenty, and then you would be a wealthy young widow with enough riches to give her parents a comfortable life. You were assured you wouldn't care about his passing; Muzan was a monster and the world was better off without him.

But as you lay on the futon beside him, wrapping your arms around his fragile frame, there was only one thing you would change about your husband.

"I wish I could take this pain from you," you whispered, stroking his hair back from his brow. "I wish I could endure it for you."

He closed his eyes and relaxed into your caress. "I wouldn't want that."

While his eyes were closed, you leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss on the crease between his eyebrows, and then another on the bridge of his nose. There was nothing monstrous about him. 

"Do you want to try to sit in the garden with me tomorrow? The flowers are all in bloom and the sunlight might do you some good– at least for your soul."

"I want to. I don't know if I'll have the strength–" 

"Then I'll carry you on my back," you smiled as the corner of his lip curled ever so slightly. 

"You would, wouldn't you? You damned stubborn headed woman." He chuckled softly, raising his hand to rest his fingers on your cheek. "When I finally face the gods and demand to know what the fuck they were thinking when they cursed me with this life, you will be their rebuttal. They'll say ah, yes Muzan, we gave you a weak body and a shit heart, but we also gave you that insane woman who refused to leave you and loved you more than you deserve to be loved."

You laughed and Muzan smiled fully for the first time that day. Lying there on the futon, surrounded by shattered porcelain, you held each other; your adoration like an island of calm amid a sea of pain.

The love between you was patient, quiet, and always whispered like a secret. Your husband's delicate fingers wrapped around yours, bringing your hand to his lips.

His breaths were gentle and warm against your skin as he kissed your fingertips. "I'm sorry I can't love you the way you deserve to be–"

"Don't. You love me in your way and I love you in mine. One day we'll be reborn and find each other again, and we'll do all the things we can't do in this life."

He hummed softly. "I doubt I'll be reborn. I'm probably going to hell."

"Then I'll go to hell with you and we'll perform unspeakable acts of passion in the flames."

He opened his eyes just enough for you to see the look of mock disdain in them. "Such a vulgar wife."

"Oh please, the filth that drips from your vicious tongue."

A smirk titled his lips. "You once said my tongue was my only redeeming feature."

"Hah, I did?"

"You did." He closed his eyes and let his lips linger on the pulse point of your wrist. "The next good day I have, I'll remind you of just how redeeming my tongue can be. You can be the one lying here helpless while your husband devours you."

This man. This terrible, wonderful man. You could love him for eons if the world would only let you. 

▪︎○▪︎○▪︎○▪︎○▪︎

The cicadas fell suddenly silent, snapping you from your sleep. It took you a moment to remember where you were, that you had fallen asleep in Muzan's arms on his futon. He had been nestled against your breast, your fingers gliding through the dark waves of his hair.

But now night pressed against the windows. You had slept through the entire evening and Muzan was no longer beside you. 

The hairs on the back of your neck prickled, the fear that something was watching you from the bottom of the bed.

And then you saw him.

Muzan stood tall, straight-backed and firm, as if illness had never curved his posture. His smile was a sickle, his once deep, dark eyes now crimson. As crimson as the blood staining his nightshirt. 

"Muzan?" 

The air pulsed with danger. Every muscle and sinew in your body tensed as your nerves fired off warnings. This was not your husband. This was something else, neither human nor beast, wearing the visage of the man you loved.

"What are you?"

Those were the last words you ever spoke.

#muzan x y/n #muzan x you #muzan x reader #lord muzan #kny muzan #muzan kibutsuji #kimetsu no yaiba muzan #kibutsuji muzan #demon slayer muzan

[cosmal]

hey! i saw you have your requests open so i wanted to req a james or remus x reader where she goes off on a tangent about something she loves and then cuts herself off because she doesn’t think he’ll want to hear about it, and he is just very kind and explains that he likes to hear her talk and doesn’t find her annoying? i’m talking to a guy rn and he’s so nice but recently he dismissed a topic i’m really interested in (inadvertently i think) and i felt so silly for even bringing it up :’) ik james or remus would be so comforting!!!

it’s okay if not though! i hope you’re having a beautiful day 💞

ramble

summary james lets you ramble about your favourite tv show

content james potter x fem!reader

note men just dont get the point, do they!!!! fuck him. thanks for the req though lovely <3

You've managed to steal James away. A moment where you've worked the courage to talk to only him, not talk to him through other points his friends have made. It's just you and him and he's asked you about your favourite TV show.

"So, they're about to release a new season," you say. Your hands are talking more than your mouth is. Pointing and waving around to get your point across. "And," you think you should pause to take a breath but you don't, "and she's back."

"Who?" James asks you. He sets his drink down to fold his arms across his chest and leans in.

"Veronica!" you say excitedly, eyes creasing with pleasure. You're radiating excitement. "She's not dead. She was just missing, trapped somewhere. I’m not sure yet, the trailer doesn’t show much. How cool?"

James nods and hums and then his name is called out from across the lawn. You think it's Sirius. James doesn't pay him any mind.

"And then there's Alexander," you're talking quietly now, still just as excited, "her lover. God, he's been looking for her for centuries. Romance isn't dead."

You pause to take a breath but mainly because Sirius is still trying to gain James's attention. Standing by the fire bucket with a bunch of sticks in his hand.

"Sorry, one moment," James says, soft smile and apologetic eyes, and turns to face his friend. He's got his hand on your knee. "What?"

"Do you wanna roast marshmallows?" Sirius asks and can tell James is incensed. He has it in him to look sheepish.

"What? No, I don't, Sirius." You've never heard James get angry at Sirius. You think you might laugh but feel worse because it's because of you. "Can't you see I'm talking?"

"Whatever," Sirius grumbles.

James turns back and looks like he's about to apologise again. You beat him to it. "Sorry, James." You turn your head and feel yourself heating up. "Shit, sorry. I've started rambling again. You can go see your friends."

"What?" James' face softens and it hits you right in the chest. He's still got his hand at your knee. He squeezes it when your face ducks down. "No, ignore Sirius. He's being his usual annoying self."

You bite your lip and still feel bad. You've sat here and rambled about a TV show he's unfortunately had the displeasure of asking you about. "He's your friend."

"He's a dickhead," he grumbles but has it in him to smile. You know he doesn't mean it. They're basically like brothers; you've only known James for a few months.

"You can go roast marshmallows if you want." You feel stupid when you say it. There's the tiniest bit in you that hopes he doesn't want to. By the off chance he doesn't, you promise to shut up.

"I don't want to roast marshmallows. I couldn't think of anything worse." James laughs and grabs his empty cup. Your breathing jumps. "Hey, let's got grab another drink and you can tell me more about this show, yeah?"

You blink at him. "Really?"

James stands and holds his hands out. You stare at his arms, where his biceps strain underneath his white button-down. He's gotta be cold. "Yeah, what were you saying about Alexander? Centuries? That is romantic."

You think you beam. You know you look like an idiot. Smiling up at him until your cheeks apple. You try to tamp down the way he's making you feel but fail immensely. He looks at you with all the patience in the world until you snap out of it.

You take his hands and think being here is warmer than the space around the bonfire. "Totally romantic," you swoon. A little too dramatic. You feel worse when James guides you through the swarm of people in Emmeline's backyard. He wraps his hand around your elbow. "I envy their relationship. I mean, who can say the love of their life searched for them across time and space for hundreds of years?"

James starts to pour your drink before his. You'd told him once, an offhanded comment weeks ago, your drink of choice. He apparently remembered. "Looks like I have a bit of competition.''

"Yeah?"

James nods and hands you your drink. Stronger than usual. You don't mind, you might need it. "I've gotta lift my romance game," he says. "Gotta impress you somehow. I don't know how to time travel but I'm a good hand holder."

You giggle and let him take your hand. "I don't think you'll need time travel, James."

He doesn't. He lets you ramble all night.

#james potter #james potter fluff #james potter x shy!reader #james potter imagine #james potter x y/n #james potter x reader #james potter x reader fluff #james potter x fem!reader #james potter x you #james potter fic #james potter blurb #james potter blurbs #james potter drabble

[chvoswxtch]

Girl I have been silently reading and praising your stuff from my sisters account. Like liking all you stuff for safekeeping. The whole thing crashed and now I am trying to do the whole interacting thing. I am so embarrassed and scared that my idea is shit so this I am anonymous. But listen - I check your blog every day for updates. I luv u.

Okay my request is a bit messy. But like an angsty/fluf fic with Frank and a woman who is like small but indestructible - you know like a super power or x-gene thing. You cant see any wounds on her body they´ll just heal or something. And all she wants to do is protect Frank and he is just not having it.

If this is shit and not duable I get it! And if I missed somebody writing something simular please share the link - I would love it! Rant over...sorry...and thank you <34567

hi nonnie!

firstly, welcome. there's no need to hide in the shadows, or to apologize or feel embarrassed or any of that. i'm happy you're here and felt comfortable sharing your idea with me! I actually got a somewhat similar request, so I ended up combining the two to get the best of both worlds :)

also if you're into frank x powered reader, I highly recommend @grippingbeskar! she has an entire completed series called salt, ice, and fire that is phenomenal that I can't gush about enough

I hope you enjoy!

warning: swearing, mentions of guns & blood word count: 1.4k

bulletproof.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“What the fuck are you doin’?”

Frank’s thick brows were angrily bunched up in the middle of his forehead, a trail of crimson slowly leaking from the cut that covered the bridge of his freshly broken nose. His jaw was harshly set and he scowled deeply at you while switching out the cartridge on his rifle by muscle memory, not even having to look down.

“I told you-“

“No, I told you to take the goddamn stairs to the roof while I took out-

“I had it under control, Frank!”

Frank scoffed and let out an exasperated puff of air through his lips while shaking his head and gesturing towards you loosely with his free hand.

“Under control my ass, look at you. If you had fuckin’ listened to me, you wouldn’t be bleedin’ right now.”

Frank’s voice had risen in volume, and the timbre of it carried through the empty space between the two of you with a subtle growl. He might have been pissed at you, but you were fucking furious with him. You’d lost count of how many times the two of you fought about the exact same fucking thing over and over, and you weren’t arguing about it with him anymore. 

The heavy sound of approaching footsteps and yells caught Frank’s attention, but as he began to march towards the open loading dock of the abandoned warehouse with purpose and a raging vendetta burning in his eyes, the metal shutter door suddenly came barreling down with a wave of your hand. It collided with the concrete floor, a loud thud echoing around the space, not only preventing Frank from getting out, but anyone else from getting in.

Frank instantly paused, snapping his head to look over his shoulder at you with an expression of pure annoyance covering his sharp features. Your eye color had shifted to an incandescent shade, glimmering like two deep red rubies caught in the sunlight. There was still a flickering scarlet glow around your right hand as you kept the door shut, and Frank could tell by the look on your face that you were incensed by his behavior, but he refused to back down anymore than you did.

Grabbing the hem of your top with your left hand, you hastily lifted it upwards just as one of the bullet holes above your right hip began to close up and heal. Frank’s narrowed gaze dropped downwards to watch, and his features softened just a sliver, only to harden once again when he looked back into your illuminated eyes. 

“I can heal, Frank. You can’t. So when I tell you I have something under control, that doesn’t mean you fucking jump in front of me guns blazing. That bulletproof vest can’t protect you from everything, and I swear to whatever God you believe in, if you pull that shit again and get yourself killed, I will find a way to raise you from the dead just to kill you myself.”

Frank didn’t visibly react to your words, even as your voice rose in a hysterical volume and filled the empty space surrounding you both. Any other person might have been fucking terrified to be alone with a woman that had glowing red eyes and could trap them somewhere with her mind. Then again, anyone else probably also would’ve been scared shitless to be alone in a room with the Punisher himself. 

But Frank wasn’t afraid of you, just like you weren’t afraid of him. You both knew what the other was, and you loved each other anyway.

That was the root cause of your recurring argument. Frank wanted to protect you, and you wanted to protect him. Despite him knowing about your abilities, he still felt responsible for you. He didn’t like seeing you get hurt, even if it did heal. He didn’t want anything to happen to you if he could prevent it.

Letting his rifle drop by his side, Frank let out a deep exhale through his broken nose, his eyes wandering over your figure slowly before meeting your gaze.

“You know how much I hate seein’ you get hurt, baby. You know what it does to me.”

The sudden change in his voice to a softer and more sincere tone had your eyes shifting back to their natural color, and your previous anger began to instantly cool. You did know. If someone so much as bumped into you on accident, Frank was ready to tear them to shreds. He had always been extremely overprotective of you, and knowing his traumatic past, you couldn’t blame him, or stay upset with him for very long.

Letting out a soft sigh of your own, you ran one of your hands through your hair before taking a few steps towards him, your heeled boots echoing along the cement floors. Despite the three inches of height they gave you, Frank still towered over you completely. The size difference between the two of you was nearly comical, especially considering he was the “big and scary” one.

But you were the little witch that had a nasty temper.

“You think I enjoy seeing you get hurt? I’m the one who has to fix you up, remember?”

Neither one of you paid any mind to the incessant banging on the shutter door, or the sound of ricocheting bullets and yelling coming from the other side. When you brought your hands up to gently grab Frank’s face, he leaned down to nuzzle into your palms and instantly melted into your touch, his attention solely focused on you.

“I know.”

Brushing your thumb lightly along the violet bruise that began to bloom on his right cheekbone, you took in the cut along the bridge of his nose and frowned softly with a sigh.

“Your nose is broken again.”

“Ain’t the first, won’t be the last.”

“Can I try something?”

Frank arched one of his thick brows in question, glancing over his shoulder momentarily at the shutter door before looking at you again.

“Right now?”

“You have somewhere to be?”

Rolling his eyes, Frank let out a soft chuckle and gave a slight nod of his head.

“Alright. S’pose they ain’t gettin’ in no time soon.”

A proud smirk was all you offered in return to his comment. Taking a deep breath, you removed your right hand from his face and let your index finger hover over his wounded nose. Focusing intently, your hand was once again glowing, and you traced a crimson line in the air from the top to the bottom of his nose. All of a sudden, the cut on the bridge of his nose sealed up, and the indigo patches that had blossomed around it vanished.

Frank blinked a few times in dumbfoundment, wiggling his large nose and glancing down at it in a mixture of confusion and awe. Your own eyes widened in surprise, and your mouth hung open in shock before your lips parted into a wide grin. Frank looked at you, his features twisted up in wonder and puzzlement.

“Holy shit. How the hell did you do that?”

“I…I don’t know. I just…wanted to see if I could, and…focused really hard. I can’t believe it actually worked!”

Frank stared down at you incredulously when you said that.

“The hell you mean you can’t believe it actually worked? You didn’t know it would? What if you had given me a tail or somethin’? Or put my ass where my nose was?”

“Oh, well then I could never kiss you again.”

Frank actually looked offended by that, and you couldn’t help but laugh at his expression while you gently patted his shoulder and stepped around him to face the shutter door, brushing your hair off your shoulders.

“Alright big guy, let’s wrap this up. I’m starving, and there’s a Gilmore Girls marathon waiting with our name on it.”

Frank’s plush lips pursed in an adorable pout as he cocked his rifle and aimed towards the shutter door, keeping his narrowed gaze locked on you.

“You and I are gonna have a serious talk ‘bout this magic shit when we get home.”

tags: @day-dreaming-goddess @kdogreads @heimtathurs @mars-rants-a-lot @casa-boiardi @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @hazallem @avencol @neverlandcity @charmedkim @queenofthenoobs @stilldreaming666 @mattymurdock1021 @bubuslutty @ninejlovebot @purrrfect @pennylovey @firesunflamed @oscarisaacsleftknee @ameliaswife @vane28282 @kmc1989 @messymissy @dark-academia-slut @strawberry1042 @utterlynuts

#frank castle #frank castle x you #frank castle x reader #frank castle request #frank castle fic #the punisher #the punisher request #the punisher fic

[nerdycanible1]

Heyo! Anyone want some Lin Fanart? :D

Here you go!

I'd like to think this is right after Suyin hurt her and Lin may or may be blinded 👀💧

I'm not exactly good with expressions but I wanted to show Lin in both pain but also the anger and hate in her eyes.

All art belongs to me. If reposted plz credit!

Accidentally written a little one shot that's horrible. I meant to take a nap but just sat in my living room typing this and munching on food!

Enjoy- tho I doubt it'll be good 💀

Suyin would undoubtedly be upset she hurt her sister, but wouldn't be prepared to see this expression. An expression she's never seen on Lin before and is possibly ingrained in her mind forever.

Suyin would go to help Lin but Lin would refuse to let Suyin any closer and literally build a wall preventing Suyin from getting close.

Toph shows up and asking what happened, comforts Suyin upon feeling the little ones erratic heart beating all before Suyin tells her mother she's sorry and that Lin's hurt.

Toph goes to see what happens and all she hears is Lin barking at the healer to just do what they can and a slam of a door closing. Toph could sense something is wrong with Lin and can tell she'd faint at any moment if she don't step in only for Lin to hold her hand up at her mother and tells her, "Not now."

Before Toph could say anything Lin tosses her metal coils down on the ground and telling Toph that they'd need to be upgraded and that it's best for everyone in the facility to get them reworked.

Lin's face begins to swell up, the blood is trickling onto the ground and the healer helplessly following Lin around as she's barking orders but is starting to sway and almost faint.

Toph ends up freezing Lin in her place with her metal armor just to help the poor healer out and demands Lin to tell her what happened.

Lin straining too much and only just begins to fall to her knees as she can't fight against her mother in the state she's in, her heart aches, her face feels in agony and she feels ready to fall asleep.

The next thing she knows, she wakes up in a dimly lit room. She could smell the incense and the sandal wood and the light smell of spring in the air. She could hear yelling down the hallway between her aunt and mother, Suyin screaming that it was Lin's fault and of course the numbing pain on Lin's face.

She knew what happened and knew how bad the wound was. She didn't need a healer to tell her how bad the wound was because she felt it, could already sense her other senses strengthening.

With a sigh the metalbender slowly turned her head which made the blood in her head pump and practically caused her brain to ache as she tried to look out the window.

It took too long for Lin to focus and could see the sun had set a bit ago. She'd sit up and leave if she could but just the thought of it hurt Lin's head and she didn't want to go through that pain.

"We don't arrest family!!"

"And look what happened! Agni Toph, Lin got hurt and Suyin's in shambles! I'm not asking you to arrest Suyin I'm just asking you to help her. Ground her! She needs a mother Toph, not an absent one!"

"If I need any advice from you I'd ask! It's just a scratch, Beifong's don't get hurt!-"

"Mom?-"

"-And what do you know about raising kids Sugar Queen? Your two oldest couldn't wait to leave you and where are they now?!"

"-Aunt Katara?-"

"-That's not fair and you know it! They're grown up! Let them do as they and ex- you know what? Forget it! Since you're blind to see what's in front of you I'll tell you! Lin hates you and you don't know why! You're so concerned about your job, about your name, about your position, about metalbending that you forgot what's important!"

"And what's so important huh?!"

"That Lin is important too!"

The silence is what stung Lin the most. Maybe it was the hesitance or maybe the fact that her mother took a whole 10 seconds to finally respond. It was enough for Lin to realize her mother never saw Lin on any level of importance in a very long time.

"So what. She's a big girl, she doesn't need me. She didn't need me when she started tying her shoes, she don't need me now."

Lin sighed felt tears prickle in her eye before quietly crawling out of bed and out the window. She made her way down to the beach and sat down mauling over her aunt and mother's words.

Maybe her mother was right. Maybe Lin was the first to start pushing everyone away. Maybe she forgot what family was. It would make sense why her mother and younger sister were close and how she wasn't. Maybe Lin stopped being apart of the family once she realized she was nowhere near the same as them. When she was the one ruining their fun and becoming a "party pooper."

And even if that was true, even if it were very much apparent, it didn't hurt any less. People used to tell her how much her mother and her were alike. Nicknaming her Little Toph or Tiny Beifong. That she was going to be just like her mother and become a great metalbender.

She thought that since she looked like her mother, became an officer like her mother, bent the same stones as her mother, that she and her would share a bond. A bond that no one would understand but them.

It hurt her once Suyin was born, it was like Toph and her clicked right away and suddenly Lin wasn't Little Toph anymore. She became Miss cranky pants or miss you're-not-Suyin's-mom. She was no longer little Chief but an annoyance to her and her mother. A nag that ruined the fun.

The more people saw Suyin and Toph together the more they said Suyin was exactly like her. Rough, abrasive, strong, stubborn and a powerful metalbender.

A metalbender. Lin just realized why her mother favored Suyin over her. It was because Suyin was a great metalbender. Maybe that's why she loved Suyin more than her.

Lin ran her fingers through the coarse sand and stared up at the moon. Was she always this different? Was she ever in the spotlight to begin with? Lin didn't know but she knew she'd have to accept that she'll never be good enough. Even as she thought these things, Toph was probably taking care of Suyin because she was upset.

Maybe one day Lin would be a true Beifong and everything will be fixed. One day where she was just liked her mother and sister and they could be happy. One day where she didn't become a buzz kill.

Maybe one day she'll be a great metalbender that was worth her mother's time. She just hoped it was soon rather than later. She didn't want to be the only one left behind.

#nerds #art #lin beifong #queer artist #lok #chief beifong #fanart #nerdycanible #lok fanart #suyin beifong #toph beifong #family angst #lin beifong tlok #lin beifong the legend of korra #suyin beifong tlok #suyin beifong the legend of korra #toph beifong tlok #toph beifong the legend of korra #lins scars #lin gets her scars #kind of a fic #maybe a one shot? #idk #lin beifong angst #lin beifong one shot #pain

[bronx-bomber87]

Hello my wonderful fandom family :) We're finally back to new eps. I wasn't ready for this episode in the least. Idk I was ever gonna be ready tbh. If this isn’t the most apt ep name ever following the last ep. Bare with me as I once again sort through my thoughts and such. I'm really struggling with the 'mini' portion of these reviews the last few eps.

Ain't nothing mini about my emotions haha But I am sure come summer they'll be more refined for sure. Also thank you to anyone who reads these thoughts and enjoys them. It's still a trip to me people appreciate my thoughts. I just want to be a ray of sunshine and positivity with these.

A source of comfort while we all go through this together. Cause that's the beauty of fandom. Going through it together. Once again wanna preface there will be ZERO tolerance for bashing of any kind. They are both going through it right now. We all love these characters so much its why we're on here. I love conversation and comments but not spreading hate. With that in mind let's start eh?

6x07 Crushed

Tamara moving out still..... Ugh. I’m so sad about this. Truly the end of an era right here everyone. Also Lucy not wearing her necklace gut punch already to my feels...Poor Lucy wants her to stay but would never ask Tamara to do that. I wanna cry already for Lucy....I hate her necklace being missing and it's very obvious it's missing. *sad sigh*

I do love Lucy taking Tamara out to fancy dinner least. Channeling her emotions into something positive. Wanting to love on her before she goes. Tamara mentioning Tim getting kicked out of Metro…She isn’t wrong it is down hill after the pinnacle of Lucy indeed. Trying to give her a compliment but Lucy isn't taking it that way. I wanna cry for a second time. She looks so distressed. *sigh* Two massive pillars in her life are now gone and it's felt in this brief moment.

Tim in his old Metro office disassembling it. My heart. You all know how much I loved him In Metro. Killing me. Also just shows how much of a nose dive he took after this Ray debacle. Grey seeing this and sighing before going in after him. Tim seems like he’s in robot mode when Wade enters. Saying all the things he thinks Grey wants to hear since he’s back. No real emotion behind it. Just the grunt mentality he thinks he should have.

Gonna be more than just his trust you’re gonna need to earn back my love….Love Wade having him to ride along with Dr. London. Anyone needs it our boy does right now. Of course Tim bites back on this idea why wouldn’t he? Wouldn’t be Tim if he didn’t. Tim saying breaking up with Lucy has nothing to do with the Ray situation. Uh... it has everything to do with that my love EVERYTHING.

Grey standing his ground saying if he wants to regain his trust this is where it starts. I love him saying breaking up with Lucy and being bounced back to patrol due to being reckless makes him question his judgement. As it should…You forget Timothy this man watched you grow with Lucy for years. Saw how much she made you grew and joy she brought out in you. Of course he is questioning your actions. He just watched you throw away the best thing ever that's ever happened to you. Your judgement is being judged severely....

I adore Wade Grey. He's not only putting Tim in his place and saying he could mandate therapy (which he would be justified in doing...) Or take the ride along. Then saying he’s taking Lucy out too. Just so he knows he is looking out for them both in this moment. The man knows what he is doing.

I can’t believe Smitty doing breakup odds. I’m incensed by this tbh. Also I want punch the dude who said Tim would’ve cheated. He would NEVER. How very dare you. I hate that list. It makes me wanna rage out so hard. If any of them knew them at all they’d know it would never be something like that. Also her and Aaron? Ewww no no no.... Lucy had every right to ream Smitty out more than she did. So inappropriate it's insane. For shame sir truly.

I'm glad she shut it down. Last thing they need is the station gossiping about them like this. They're going to anyways but Ugh I hate this whole thing. I feel sick. Of course she runs into Tim right after.... Worst timing ever. Breaks my heart because he still is excited to see her but she isn't ready for him. How could she be? He looks so sad. But Tim what are you expecting my love? No way she is ready to be near you let alone talk. This hurts to watch…Lucy trying so hard just not to have a meltdown right there in the station.

I was very excited for him to have this ride along I will say and this opening scene is why. Dr London on his ass already. I love it. As she should be. Saying he’s bringing Aaron as a buffer. Which he is… Classic avoidance attachment style. That’s our boy. She’s not wrong he prefers surface level relationships (other than Lucy...) to a deep intimacy. His default state with anyone who isn't his girl.

She has him dead to rights already. Saying it’s a defense mechanism when someone is raised by an overly strict or domineering parent. A father. She’s not wrong. We all know his history. Tim of course isn’t about this whatsoever only making her assessment about him even more valid. Their scenes starting off real strong.

Grey wanting to check in on Lucy I do love it. He’s not wrong she’s been through HELL this year. The detectives exam, Jeff Budney and now losing Tim. God this hasn’t been an easy season for her. To say she's going through it is the understatement of the century. I'm hurting for her so very much. Her entire world has been rocked to it's very core in the last week alone. Not mention everything else before this.

It’s so awkward Lucy inviting everyone but Tim to Tamara’s going away dinner…. In front of Dr. London too. That shot from Tim’s body cam seems very intentional. As he looks at everyone she’s inviting but him. Way his head goes back and forth. Grey patting Tim on the arm on the way out. *phew* Rough start to the shift.

Of course their first call is disturbingly close to what she and Tim are dealing with. Not exactly what Lucy needs. Hearing this woman talking about thinking he was the one then it just ended. *heart clutch* Crushed is an apt name for how I was feeling during this episode.

Lucy has clearly kept this all inside for too long with her reaction to the situation. Wade would never set you up like that. Just shows how hyper sensitive she is atm. Why he's doing this ride along with her. He wants to keep you sane not crazy. I wanna hug her so much. 'I do watch too much reality tv. It's my bad' Lmao. Needed a little levity. This made me chuckle.

We hit the ground running about breakups with Dr. London. Honestly no need to beat around the bush for this observation of Tim. ‘Breakups are a trigger for many men. Especially since stereotypical gender roles prevent them from seeking out help. For fear of appearing weak.’ If that isn’t Tim and this entire situation right now…

Hell that's his ENTIRE life. He was shamed into never wanting help and if he did he was meant to feel weak for it. Just like she is stating above. She is very good at her job and just getting started. Tim can't hide in any of his normal brush off statements. Which I love. She has him pegged already and it shows. Quite the opening jab from her to start this off.

Lucy looks on verge of tears at all times right now and I’m dying. Especially when Grey brings up his name. Asking if they’ve talked since the breakup? Melissa straight killing me in this shop right now everyone. Those pre tears.....Saying she thought he didn’t care about her personal life. He’s not wrong if it affects her job it does matter. The point of this ride-along. To gauge where she is currently.

‘Smart to make the connection between IA and them breaking up. ‘Just a bad week.’ Oh its so much more than that…. Lucy protects him of course with the unethical portion. Bad place or not she's not going to cast any suspicion with that. But It’s so very clear she is painfully unaware why he did this to her. To them.

Only that he’s not emotionally available to her. *sigh* This is true. The man is a disaster zone atm. I mean he’s definitely occupied mentally in a way she doesn’t understand yet. Hell I don’t even think Tim understands it really. All he knows is he think's he's toxic and she’s better off without him. Which is a huge part of this episode tbh.

So she isn't wrong he is not emotionally available right now. That much is painfully true. The joke about the Diamondbacks was funny but sad at the same time. They found good way of getting little funnies in there with Grey. I do appreciate that. I'm a sports girl so I this made me smile.

Dr London really coming at Tim in this next section. She is wasting ZERO time with him. ‘Lot of romantic feelings start out as platonic love.’ Going right for it when she says he and Lucy were friends first right? His reaction…Gonna makes me bawl Eric. Hurts to watch this. Looks like he wants to cry. Ugh Tim. Killing me softly. She is getting under his skin quicker than he was expecting and you can tell. Hitting at a very raw nerve he's trying to keep hidden. He looks so distraught and emotional when he replies 'I was her T.O.'

Tim saying he’s not depressed. Oh my love….but you are. Depressed and wracked with a massive amount of guilt. ‘I broke up with her.’ So so defensive. Can’t let good doctor see this whole thing is crushing him. That would be weakness. He is fighting off a panic attack in this moment. So unsettled by this entire interaction. She is picking up on that guilt that is all but exuding out of him in this moment.

She really brings it home saying internalizing guilt and shame leads to self directed anger. Self harm and suicide. If that isn't Tim Bradford my god. The self directed anger is him in spades. His face while she tells him all this.. Oh my lord. She has him dead to rights once again. He is experiencing so much guilt about it and it’s written all over his face. Tim is barely keeping it together while she is telling him stonewalling will only get him sidelined. Honestly I’m glad she’s confronting him like this. Coming at him so hard cause Tim needs that especially right now.

He can’t have passive people in this life when it comes to this kind of stuff. The one person who could knock sense into him he’s pushed away. So Dr. London being here is much needed. Of course Tim snaps at Aaron cause he can’t handle what he’s currently going through. Lashing out because what she is saying to him is true and he isn't able to handle it. Hitting very close to home. So he's defaulting back to S1 Tim in this moment. Destroying Aaron in the process..

I love them talking about Tamara and the unconditional love Lucy has shown her. It’s so true. It’s that love that gave her courage to leave. Even though it's hard to watch happen. It shows what accepting unconditional love can do for you. Lucy bringing back to Tim because how could she not? Mentioning about letting people go even if you really care about them them. *sigh*. You can tell she is on the verge of tears once again.

That feeling where you've been keeping it inside for far too long. It comes out in anything you talk about. Like right now in this moment. Even talking about Tamara is cycling back to Tim and it shows how deeply upset she is. How could she not be? She is losing two of her people in one fail swoop. It's a miracle she hadn't lost it sooner than this moment tbh.

Lucy crushing me some more in this episode. Further proving she has zero idea why Tim did what he did. How he could let go so easily. It was a blindside for us all but none more than for her. His person. The one who never ever expected him to leave her side. Tim did leave her with a cheap cliche nonsense about deserving better. It's so much complex than that but I can see why she is so angry about that. She deserved better than that.

It’s what upset her so much in that 6x06 scene. Because it felt like a cop out to her. When it’s so much deeper than that but Lucy doesn’t know that. Thats what killing me and her. Lucy going off saying it was her decision to make what she deserves. It’s true. She is so justified in saying this. Sadly Tim made that decision despite her willingness to love him no matter what.

Took away her choice to keep him even if he felt he wasn't worthy. Wasn't just HIS choice to make. That's what pissing her off and rightfully so. He doesn’t understand the unconditional love she had to give him or how to accept it. All he could see was how much better she was without him. All she wants is a real conversation with him and she didn't get to have that. He took the choice away from her and she's left holding the emotional bag of it all and it sucks.

Punches keep rolling with Dr London. Attacking his problem at it's damaged root. As much as he is trying to bury it he cannot hide from her and her assessment of him. This is a huge turning point in the ep. Tim saying he owns his mistakes and moves on. So cut and dry and she isn’t having ANY of it. Nor should she. He hasn’t moved on in the slightest. Once again pegging him for not only not being over it but having his whole identity being wrapped up in acting honorably. If he was past that he wouldn’t have ended things with Lucy. We wouldn't be here. But he feels not worthy and not honorable enough for Lucy so he cut ties.

Her noting it’s had a devastating effect on his self esteem. Which is why he is punishing himself. i.e He let the love of his life go. He feels he doesn’t deserve such things for being so un-honorable. My broken boy. Tim isn’t sure what’s she is getting at. Asking what she's talking about? She continues to portray him accurately. That he is punishing himself by depriving himself of something he loves. Something that brings him joy. Or someone....Clearly that someone being Lucy.

The joy she brought to his life he no longer feels he deserves. Lucy was the one constant in his life that made him happy. So he’s depriving himself of it in order to punish himself. This sounds so harsh and severe but I relate to this. When I was new at my current job. I wasn’t very good at first. I was down right on the verge of being fired. I got a game plan to fix myself from my leader. BUT I was punishing myself for not being good enough in the first place. How did I do this? I took away something I loved and brought me joy. Music.

I refused to listen to music during my job because I felt I didn’t deserve it. I wouldn’t let myself enjoy it till I was better and had earned it back. I got to a place where I let myself have something I loved back and it helped so much and ultimately got me through it. So I relate to Tim doing this to himself i really do. He is denying the one person who brings him joy because of that self-punishment. He feels he has failed who he should be therefore he can't have what he wants and needs most. Lucy. You can really see it hit Tim by time Aaron rejoins them. She hit the nail on the head and Tim is feeling it.

Lucy spotting Tim and touching her tattoo SO MUCH. Ugh my heart. Her grounding method to remind herself she's a survivor. The problem with all that is him being the reason for that reminder. Which just hurts. I'm not crying you are....Tim so out of his depth all he can do is be awkward with his ‘Clocking out?’ Babe....No...(Also I feel personally attacked by this song they chose for this scene.)

Lucy calling him out for it instantly. Because well she’s his person. Bad place or not she is always gonna tell him what he needs to hear. Won't let him hide behind niceties. Confronting that things aren't ok between them and she won't let him use it to hide. Asking for a real adult conversation with him. One which he is NOT ready for. This hurt to watch not gonna lie. This whole situation hurts.

Tim deflects….with another cheap answer of saying he can’t give her what she wants. Ugh. You are everything she wants you foolish man. I don’t blame Lucy for cutting that convo off at the knees. She wanted more depth from him and got nothing in return. Telling him he has more to figure out than she realized…and feeling like she is no longer than person to help him with that.

My heart is breaking all over again… Lucy always felt she was his person to get him through anything and to hear this only hurts her further. Coming to that realization and taking off because of it. The song running through this scene is poignant and hurtful…Also the continual clutching to her tattoo as she departs from him. I'll just be weeping in the corner don't mind me....

I wasn't expecting the scene we got here in Grey's office. But was so pleasantly surprised. My hope was that Dr. London broke through to him. That his ride along with her wouldn't be a one-off. I’m so proud of Tim I can't even tell you. To not only see he has work to do but to ask if he could start seeing her as a patient. He seemed disappointed she didn't mandate sessions. Which he needed so he could advocate for himself. Blair had pegged him early on and I think this will be so so good for him.

His healing journey is starting now and I’m so excited for him. Even though my heart is outside my chest right now for our couple. This is going to be good for Tim. I know people have been weird about Dr London. I haven’t gotten a bad feeling from her. I could be wrong but haven't gotten that. I think this is the healing Eric was talking about. That journey he needs to be in order to find his way back to Lucy. Grey's line was perfect. It's SO hard to ask for help. Tim can see something is wrong and wants to fix it. This is a beautiful start to this journey for him.

This final scene with Tamara and Lucy made me cry. This whole ep has made me cry really. Their relationship has always been one of my favorites. To watch how they’ve both grown. How Tamara learned to trust again and receive that unconditional love Lucy had to give. Gah I love it so much. Took a broken untrusting girl and molded her into a confident bad ass. I've never been able to classify what they are. They're sisters, friends and family all wrapped up in one.

Hard to watch Lucy lose this piece of her life on top of everything else. Tim may have a lot of growth to do but I think Lucy too has room to grow from this all as well. She has been given quite the bad hand in this season. Maybe she can get some direction and clarity what she wants to do with career and such. I hate that she has to be the collateral damage to everything this year. It's hard to watch. But I am interested to see how she handles it all. See how she stands after all this. I think as hard as this is will end up making her more resilient.

Lucy been struggling with her own stuff this year as well. Being so good about pegging everyone around her but being blind in her own self awareness. it's going to be interesting to see how Lucy handles everything moving forward. I hope you all know how deeply my heart breaks for her. I don't like seeing her hurt anymore than I do Tim. I wanted to cry for her most of this episode. That being said I do think this growth journey will be good for her as well. Like Eric said she'll be ok they'll grow stronger from it. Can't wait to see how it plays out.

I wasn’t expecting one more scene with him reaching out like this. Telling her she was right. He’s mad himself. That stark realization that is coming over him. My god I’m so proud of him I could burst. Not only advocating for himself but telling her it was an emergency. When everything inside him is trying to do the 'honorable thing' and not call it an emergency when it is. To see he's not being a burden by reaching out like this. It’s so hard to take care of yourself when you don’t think much of yourself. It’s a foreign feeling and to act on it even more so.

Learning it’s ok to ask for help, to be imperfect, to set healthy boundaries and grow. Not an easy place to get to. This scene is HUGE for Tim. Now I mean this in the nicest way I can muster but If you can't grasp how groundbreaking this is for him you don't get him as a character at all. Nor do you understand the gravity of this SL/situation. Of what this final scene represents for him. Tim is seeing something is broken within himself and he doesn't know how to fix it. All he knows is something is wrong and he doesn't want to feel this way anymore. He wants to understand why and to get better.

I know I spent most of my 20's running away from therapy. Saying I didn't need it. That it was non sense. Pushing everything down and deflecting like Tim did. Wrapping my identity in the same things. Being SO DAMN HARD on myself. I still struggle with this but learning to give myself more grace. I can't properly explain the feeling you get when you realize you can't out run your demons anymore. What sets off something inside you that says 'I don't feel right, I don't know how to fix it but I know it's time to.' All I know is what sets it off is different for everyone.

For me it was the fact that I was set off by a kind comment. It was from a sweet lady who was a client of mine. Who commented on earrings my mother had gotten me. I hadn't thought much of it then she looked me in the eye with so much sincerity and said 'Your mother must love you very much.' That comment just hit me so hard. Triggered me. Cause some of my deepest seated trauma comes from my mom. I remember getting in my car and crying after. Texting my sister and telling her I thought it was time I got help. All I knew was something was wrong and it was clawing to the surface and I couldn't ignore it any longer.

That's Tim in this moment. Ray resurfacing was his demons coming up for air and not going away. This is his 'Come to Jesus.' moment about himself. Knowing what Dr. London was telling him today rang true. He just doesn't know to handle it and is reaching out for help to sort it out. Now He couldn’t gotten to this place without Lucy let’s not forget that. Tim wouldn't be in the place he is without her. BUT this is not Lucy's responsibility to fix. Nor should it be. As much as we love her being his person, this is Tim journey to go on.

Now my family/friends got me to place where I could see I needed help. Just like Lucy has for Tim. But it was up to me to take the first step. That's what this scene represents for him. His first step on his journey to healing himself. He knows he has work to do and I know he'll do it. He and I are alike and he will put his all into this. I'm excited the writers did what they did in this ep. Shows they're going to put the proper care into this SL. I can see a pathway way to their healing now and I feel like I can breathe for the first time in three weeks. I'm excited to see where the rest of the season goes for them both I really am. As always thank you for any likes, comments or reblogs I get for these they mean the world.

~~~

Side notes-non Chenford. Mostly lol

I like the idea of Celina moving in but she’s not wrong it would be an emotional minefield… but do love the idea of her living Lucy I don’t want her to be alone. Have one little win for her.

This was the song during that finale scene. Thank you D to finding the link above. it's Chenford Personified in this ep. Once again whoever is doing this songs. You need a damn raise this hurt so good. The lyrics were so Poignant and painful. These one were my fav. 'I miss you. I miss you. I’ll always forgive you."

She will forgive Tim because that's who Lucy is. One of the many reasons Tim fell in love with her. That never ending desire to trust people and forgive them. To see the best in them. She will look at the deeper meaning of his actions and help him past them once he gets there himself. He will have to earn that forgiveness of hers and I have no doubt he will.

This will be a process of that I have no doubt. It won't be quick or easy but my god it'll be worth it. They always are. I don't expect this to be resolved by seasons end but I do expect them to be on their way there by the finale. This is a beautiful growth journey they're about to embark on and I'm ready to go on it.

#Caitlin's mini reviews #chenford #6x07 Crushed #s6 #the rookie 6x07 #tim x lucy #tim bradford #lucy chen #lucy x tim #eric winter #melissa o'neil #the rookie #otp: doing my job #otp: unless it is

[tulypes]

Pleeeeaze do a fluffy Jason Todd alphabet!

hey luv! everything very well? I don't know if I did it the way you imagined, but here it is. I had a lot of fun doing it. Good reading!

♡ AZ HEADCANONS: JASON TODD

( A ) ACTIVITES — what do they like to do with their s/o? How do they spend their free time with them?

Jason is a fan of literature, so he loves hearing you read to him. Jay loved watching you read, because you repeated some facial expressions described in the books; Sometimes he even missed some important parts because he was staring at you. It was your habit to light sandalwood incense to scent the environment while reading.

Once a week there was shared reading at an orphanage, so you always went there and read to several little children.

( B ) BEAUTY — what do they admire about their s/o? What do they think is beautiful about them?

His eyes are probably Jason Todd's favorite part. The endorphins consumed Jason when he saw you smile. Your eyes made such an adorable movement as you smiled happily. He admires you completely, but there's something about your old and 100% predictable jokes that left him mesmerized. He thought your personality was brilliant, you were so polite and empathetic.

( C ) CONFESSION OF LOVE — how would they confess to their partner?

I believe he confessed at some random time, while you weren't looking into each other's eyes, because he would have been embarrassed. But it was so beautiful that you jumped on top of him.

( D ) DREAMS — how do they imagine their future with you?

Well, I believe he is a little complicated on this topic. For Jason, the future was something uncontrollable, which could not be mastered.

Once, when you discussed the matter, he told you: — I don't have time for tomorrow, in two days it will be yesterday. I prefer to live in the now with you, which is beautiful and special. The life I lead is fickle, but as long as I'm here, you will always be by my side, as long as you want that too. (But then he sees you at the orphanage helping the children read, write their name and paint.)

( E ) ENDING — if they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?

I think that in a situation of definitive ending, where he no longer saw meaning in your relationship, he would be direct. I would be honest, I would thank you and then I would leave. I don't believe he's the type to end a relationship straight away, I think he prefers to talk about it before making any decision.

( F ) FIGHT — assuming you have a child together, how would he react in a fight situation?

I believe he would be a great father. In a part of it there will be fear, because it is a life; but he would be an extraordinary father, the kind who prefers conversations to punishments, who takes you out on the weekends, who doesn't miss a school reunion, who would even dance in front of hundreds of parents just to see the smile on his son's face . Jason would be the father he never had.

( G ) GRATITUDE — how grateful are they in general? Are they aware of what their s/o is doing for them?

Wow, Jay is VERY grateful, he always makes a point of praising you. Not everyone can deal well with the lifestyle that Jason led, most of his romantic relationships did not last because conflicts always arose over schedules or even because he appeared injured or bloody. Obviously the two of you argued sometimes because of this, Jason was very focused on what he wanted, but he always found a way to be present. In addition to your understanding and help, Jay was so grateful to have a home… He loved coming home and smelling it everywhere, he loved shopping - no matter how much he complained about his delay in the markets -, he loved making coffee in the morning. morning by your side. He loved having you and was so grateful for it.

( H ) HONESTY — do they have secrets they hide from their s/o? Or do they share everything?

I think he may not be completely honest with some details of his life as Red Hood, in a failed attempt to keep you away from some possible problems.

( I ) I LOVE YOU — how fast do they say the L-word?

Jay took a moment to speak, his head seemed to be processing the information. You said it first and you didn't regret it one bit, you believed it was better to be honest and that it was okay to show that you liked someone. A month later, Jason told you he loved you while you were watching the news.

( J ) JEALOUSY — do they get jealous easily? how do they deal with it?

I believe he is jealous, but the type that hides it. Yes, he sulks, pouts and ALWAYS grumbles that he is jealous.

( K ) KISS — are they a good kisser? what was the first kiss like?

His kiss is so sweet. There were a thousand ways for Jason Todd to show his love for you, but kissing was the best. He kissed you with so much desire and passion! One hand holds your waist and the other holds your hair, brushing his fingertips against the back of your neck. He liked to kiss the little space between your collarbone and your neck. You never understood and he never explained either, but he loved leaving long kisses there.

The first time you kissed was in the kitchen. He was leaning against the counter, holding a glass of water, and you were complaining about the neighbor never disposing of her trash in the right place. He was so focused on her mouth, the shape of it and how her lips shone slightly from the lip gloss, that he was so tempted to discover the taste.

( L ) LITTLE ONES — how are they around children?

He gets a little disconcerted, especially if there are many. But he likes to sit and play with them.

( M ) MARRIAGE — do they want to get married? what would the wedding be like?

As I said, he is a little afraid when it comes to the future, as his life is unstable. But if there's going to be a wedding, he wants something small, the two of you, Roy, the brothers, Bruce and Alfred as witnesses and the priest; probably on a beach.

( N ) NICKNAMES — what does he call you?

princess, love, darling, beautiful, my dear

( O ) ON CLOUD NINE — what are they like when they are in love? Is it obvious for others? How do they express their feelings?

Very obvious. He just hears your name and his face already shows passion, how passionate he is. He shows that he loves you with actions, he is not very good at expressing it through spoken words. It may happen that Jay writes you notes or letters always reiterating how much he loves you.

( P ) PDA — Are they upfront about their relationship? Do they brag with their s/o in front of others? Or are they rather shy to kiss etc. when others are watching?

He doesn't really like extravagant touches when you're in the presence of other people, just holding hands and kissing your cheek. He is a little withdrawn in front of people, but he never fails to show that he loves you.

( Q ) QUIRK — some random ability they have that’s beneficial in a relationship.

He's great at making food, and he loves it! So when you're not really in the mood, he happily takes over.

( R ) REMEMBER — what is their favorite moment in your relationship?

When you told him you loved him it was one of the best moments of his life. Okay, at first he was a little confused because he felt like it was impossible for anyone to feel that way about him. But when you helped him overcome these problems, everything changed.

When you met too. It was at the market, you were with your niece and she tried to climb on a pile of cans, making them all fall across the store. When she was about to fall to the ground, Jason caught her. You were so grateful to the strange boy and he thought you were so beautiful.

( S ) SUPPORT — are they helping their partners achieve their goals? Do they believe them?

Wow, yes! He supports you a lot, roots for you, encourages you to pursue your dreams, desires and ambitions. He will help you in every possible thing.

( T ) THRILL — do they need to try out new things to spice out your relationship? Or do they prefer a certain routine?

He likes routine, he really likes it…

( U ) UNDERSTANDING — how good do they know their partner? Are they empathetic?

Jay is very mature and observant, so he always notices when something is wrong. He gently asks you how your day was, trying to ask you indirectly if something had happened. He knew all your ways, he knew when you were tired, irritated, hungry, needy, happy, everything!!!

( V ) VALUE — how important is the relationship to them? What is it’s worth in comparison to other things in their life?

Your relationship comes first in Jay's life.

( W ) WILD CARD — a random Fluff Headcanon.

He loved dancing with you Bossa Nova.

You shared an apartment that had a wide view of Gotham. When the sky was colored orange and purple, Jay went to the record player you had and let a Bossa Nova play. The music echoed through the room, mixing with the aroma of incense. He walked over to you and gently pulled you by the waist, starting to guide you to the rhythm of the music.

( X ) XOXO — are they very affectionate? Do they love to kiss and cuddle?

Jay LOVES his hugs! He loves to bury his face in the crook of your neck and place kisses in the space between your collarbone and your neck.

( Y ) YEARNING — how will they cope when they’re missing their partner?

He tries to deal with it well, but he is always nervous and very anxious.

( Z ) ZEAL — are they willing to go to great lenghts for the relationship? If so, what kind of?

He would be willing to do anything! Jay would start a new life, with fake identities, new names, and new hair colors if you wanted.

#jason todd x reader #jason todd imagine #jason todd x you #jason todd headcanon #batman x reader #red hood #jason todd fluff

[charmedreincarnation]

Lucky girl syndrome: you’re the luckiest girl alive

Are you ready to unleash the power of Lucky Girl Syndrome? Lucky Girl Syndrome is a powerful mindset that can help you to manifest your dreams and live a life of abundance and joy. By embodying this state of being, you are believing in yourself, allowing positive energy to flow freely, and embracing an attitude of abundance.

To inhabit lucky girl syndrome, start by focusing on what brings you joy - spending time with friends and family, engaging in activities that make you feel alive, being creative or indulging in self-care - it's all fair game! Shift your focus away from negative self talk and doubts and instead fill your mind with positive affirmations about yourself. Believe that anything is possible for you if you work hard enough. Challenge yourself to go after everything you want, to be brave and take risks without fear of failure.

Go ahead and create beautiful rituals around feeling like the luckiest girl alive - light your favorite incense, connect to nature, practice gratitude for all the wonderful things in your life. Allow yourself moments of introspection so that you can become aware of any areas that may need improvement or growth as well as acknowledging any milestones achieved no matter how small they may seem at first.

Affirmations are a great way to cultivate confidence and stay connected to your dreams. Here are some affirmations for embracing Lucky Girl Syndrome and manifesting everything you desire:

* I am truly blessed with the gifts, talents, and opportunities that life brings me.

* I am strong and capable of creating my own luck.

* I am open to absorbing all the abundance the universe offers me.

* My inner lucky girl comes out to shine each day and I attract only positive things into my life.

* Every day I'm achieving my dreams.

* Luck is something I have by being born

* Everything I attract into my life is positive and fulfilling.

*eveything works out better than I could imagine

*I have my desires before I think about them

Embracing Lucky Girl Syndrome will give you the confidence boost needed to stay motivated while attracting positivity into your life regardless of external circumstances. Believe in yourself and always remember that there’s a lucky girl inside ready to take on the world!

So really just

-Start your day with a gratitude practice - to further cultivate an attitude of luck, give thanks each morning for all the blessings in your life.

-Create a vision board and fill it with images that make you feel inspired and lucky. As you look at it each day, visualize your ideal future, taking one step at a time towards success.

-Practice self love - treat yourself to little luxuries every now and then to remind yourself that you deserve the best. Cut out negative thoughts and make sure to recognize the incredible things within you.

-Write down affirmations about yourself as well as goals for the future - let this act as a reminder of how capable you are of living up to any challenge life throws your way!

-Mix up routines with random notes of luck - surprise yourself by leaving little notes saying “you’re lucky” or treat yourself to something special like a spa treatment or dinner out with friends.

most importantly never forget that you’re truly that bitch.

#law of assumption #manifesation #void state #reality shifting #law of attraction #self concept #shiftblr #manifesting

[ineffablesuffering]

There Must Be an Angel (Aziraphale x reader)

I'd like to thank @avocado-writing for the inspo for this fic. They recommended I add this song to my 80s playlist (because I totally forgot this song existed) and this fic was born! I think this is classed as a songfic? I'm not too sure, anyway enjoy! <3

Pairing: Aziraphale x Reader

Warnings: unorganised bookshelves

Word count: 948 (short and sweet, might write a part 2?)

Masterlist

--------------------------------------

“Aziraphale?” you called as you walked through the door of the bookshop, the familiar comforting scent of dust, tea and incense filled your nostrils.

“Ah, Y/N! I was wondering when you would get here,” he said appearing from the back room. “How are you, my dear?” he asked, embracing you.

You gladly returned his embrace “I’m good thank you, how are you?”

“Much better now that you’re here,” he smiled “Shall we get started?”

You had agreed to help Aziraphale organise his books after Jim/Gabriel (you never were sure what to call him) had attempted to sort them in his own unique way. It had been driving him up the wall as he could never find what he was looking for. You were more than happy to help out a friend in need, besides, you enjoyed his company. You nodded and let him show you where he wanted you to start.

“It’s been so frustrating trying to find anything since,” he stopped and sighed “I’m not even going to mention it because it just annoys me. If you want to start here with whatever this is, I’ll start over there,” he pointed to a bookshelf on the other side of the room.

“Sure!” you said cheerfully, “you don’t mind if I listen to some music while I work, do you? Helps me concentrate.”

“Not at all my dear,” he said with a smile, “whatever helps you.” He gave your shoulder a pat before walking off to where he would be working.

You smiled at him as he walked off, pulling your headphones out of your bag and connecting them to your phone. You selected a playlist and got started. The shelves were a disaster zone but at least they were all of the same genre otherwise it would have taken all day to fix whatever was going on. You began by gently taking off all the books from the shelves and placing them on a table nearby before deciding that it would be best to alphabetise by author. Getting stuck in, you bopped along to the music playing on your headphones, singing quietly to yourself every so often. The time passed rather quickly and soon you were on to a new section.

You decided to take the section next to the one where you had started and repeated the process. Taking books of the shelf, placing them on a table and reorganising them. You changed your playlist to an 80’s one and continued to sing along quietly. The smooth sounds of Eurythmics played through your ears. You smiled and continued to work. “I walk into an empty room, and suddenly my heart goes boom, it’s an orchestra of angels and they’re playing with my heart,” you sang.

Aziraphale stopped in the middle of putting a book back on the shelf a few aisles away. He could hear you singing softly to yourself almost as if you didn’t think anyone could hear you. You weren’t singing loudly but it was definitely loud enough for him to hear. He tilted his head slightly, not recognising the song but the fact that you were singing about angels definitely caught his attention. He peaked out from the bookshelf that he was organising and walked around to where you were working.

“I must be hallucinating watching angels celebrating,” you continued to sing.

He stopped when he reached you and stood and watched as you continued to sing softly, not noticing he was standing there. He watched with a soft smile on his lips, you seemed so content organising and singing. You continued to place book by book back on the shelf in an organised manner and he just watched. You started to sing what he assumed to be a different song.

“I hear your voice, it’s like an angel sighing, I have no choice, I hear your voice feels like flying,” you sang.

Aziraphale leans slightly against the bookshelf just watching you. His eyes danced across your figure as you worked, he felt like he could watch you all day. You turned around ready to start on a new set of shelves and jump at the sight of Aziraphale watching you.

“Jesus Christ!” you said, getting a fright “I didn’t hear you come up behind me, is everything okay?” you laughed taking off your headphones.

Aziraphale chuckled, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. I just heard you singing, you’ve got a lovely voice.”

You blushed and bashfully dropped your gaze to the ground. You hadn’t realised that you were singing loud enough for him to hear you. “Thanks,” you mumbled. Aziraphale stepped closer to you, taking your chin between his thumb and forefinger, forcing you to look at him.

“There’s no need to be shy my dear,” he smiles moving his hand from your chin to brush a finger across your cheek, almost appreciating the blush. “It was quite beautiful. Almost angelic.” You stood there, gaping at him. You didn’t know what to say or how to react. “What were you singing darling?” he asked softly, snapping you out of your trance.

“Oh! Um what song?” you asked

“The last two just there.”

“Ah, so that was There Must Be an Angel and then the second one was called Like a Prayer.”  

“Hmm, I see,” he started “fitting do you not think?” Again, you were at a loss for words. What is going on? You thought to yourself. Aziraphale smiled at you, a knowing glint in his eyes. “Tea?” he asked. You didn’t say a word as you found yourself staring at him as he walked away.

#good omens #ineffable husbands #aziraphale #michael sheen #aziraphale x reader #good omens x reader #michael sheen x reader

[narumi-gens]

Between Dreams and Reality

Gojo Satoru x gn!Reader

summary: The space between dreams and reality is a curse. Loving Gojo Satoru makes it the greatest curse of all.

warnings: minors/ageless/blank blogs dni, massive jjk manga spoilers, chapter 236 spoilers, angst with no happy ending, sad times guys, established relationship, gojo being his usual obnoxious self and making everything about him

notes: I'm just working through jjk 236 like the rest of you! also the title comes from something kenjaku says in the manga and it was used in the vol. 23 promo video and I loved it so much that I've been wanting to work into something so here we are.

words: 2.5k

“Hey, remember that fight we had?” Gojo asks from behind you in bed. The question pulls you from the edge of sleep, but just barely.

“Be more specific,” you grumble, too tired to even snort in response. All you can do is nuzzle further into your pillow. 

“It was about you getting remarried,” he says.

“That was a tantrum, not a fight,” you correct. “And I told you not to say re-married. We’re not married now.”

Even with your eyes closed and your back turned to him, you can feel how amused he is by your response. 

“I was kind of a dick about it, wasn’t I?” he reflects aloud into the darkness of your shared bedroom.

It’s such an unexpected moment of introspection from him — a man who doesn’t seem to know what introspection is — that even in your drowsy state, you let out a small laugh.

“When aren’t you?” you ask him through a yawn and he lets out an offended noise that tugs the corners of your lips into a sleepy smile. 

“Well, sorry I was such an asshole,” he sighs, a faint note of uncharacteristic sincerity coloring his words.

“Gojo Satoru apologizing? I must be dreaming…” you mumble.

“Oh, my aunt’s getting remarried,” you say as you read through the series of messages that your mother sent you. 

“Didn’t your uncle just die?” Gojo kindly asks. Thankfully, you’re more than used to his inability to display any form of tact.

“Well, it’s been a year. But everyone heals differently. I guess when the time is right, the time is right,” you muse. You glance over at him where he sits next to you on the couch and are surprised by the thoughtful look on his annoyingly handsome face.

You turn back to your phone, where your mother seems to be having a very similar reaction to Gojo based on her messages — especially the ones that say, “It’s too soon!”, of which there are many. 

You’ve never been all that close with your mother’s side of the family so your aunt’s decision to remarry isn’t something you have a strong opinion on one way or the other. If she’s found someone else, you wish her the best.

“How long would you wait to get remarried if I died?” Gojo suddenly asks and you scoff without looking up at him.

“To get remarried, I’d have to have been married previously, Mr. Marriage-Is-Just-A-Construct.” The words would probably sound harsh if they were coming from someone else. You speak them dryly and with clear disinterest.

“Fine. How long would you wait to get married to someone else if I died?” he rephrases his original question and you shrug, your attention focused on trying to calm your mother down.

“I don’t know. Two years?” 

“Two?!” he screeches so loudly that you flinch away from him on the couch and slap a hand over your ear. He sits up and turns to face you fully, even going so far as to slide his glasses down his nose so that he can focus the full weight of his Six Eyes on you. “That’s not even enough time for my body to get cold!”

“Can you calm down? It’s just a hypothetical,” you tell him with a roll of your eyes. You reach a hand out to push his glasses back up only for him to bat it away before you can even come into contact with his Infinity. 

“Two years!” he repeats in outrage. “There should be at least five- no, ten years of solid mourning. And I mean the whole thing. You better only dress in black and I expect weekly visits to my grave with flowers and incense. And make sure you put my portrait in the butsudan—”

“We don’t have a butsudan now,” you cut him off to point out, gesturing a wild hand out towards the rest of your shrine-free apartment. “I’m not gonna go out and buy one just because you were stupid enough to get yourself killed.”

“And definitely no dating!” he shouts over you before he brings a thoughtful finger to his chin. “In fact, you should just be like one of those widows who throw themselves on their husband’s funeral pyre. Yeah, that’d work.”

He nods to himself, seemingly satisfied with his proposed solution. 

“We’re not married, so I wouldn’t be a widow and you’re not getting a funeral pyre. This is the 21st century. Your body’s getting shipped off to a crematorium,” you tell him dryly. “They’ll cook you up. We’ll do a little bit of grieving and say a prayer or something. Then we’ll pick your bones, put everything in the urn, and be done in time for lunch.”

He slouches forward and props up his elbow on his knee so that he can rest his chin in his palm with a pout, doing everything that he can with his posture to convey his unhappiness.

“Who’s we? You and your new boyfriend?” he asks and you would liken him to a sulking teenager who didn’t get their way, but that would be an insult to the students at Jujutsu High. 

“No, me and my new husband,” you smirk and he gasps as he turns back towards you, horror coloring his features.

“This is my death! Take it seriously!” he cries.

“Satoru, you’re not dying anytime soon. Why does it matter?” you reply, your tone short as your irritation finally begins to start peeking through.

“It matters because I want to know that you’re not gonna be off fucking some other guy a week after I die,” he mutters, leaning back into the couch and crossing his arms over his chest. 

“I’m not gonna be fucking some other guy,” you snap and now it’s your turn to lean forward in your seat, your elbows on your knees as you tiredly rub your face with your hands. 

“You will two years after I die,” he huffs and you groan at his petty response.

“Can you shut up about ‘two years’ already? It was just a number I threw out. I didn’t put a lot of thought into it,” you explain, hoping that he’ll drop the topic despite knowing that Gojo has never been one to let anything go. 

There’s a slow creeping weariness that you can feel settling into your bones. It’s one that you usually only feel after a bad mission, not when arguing with Gojo. Feeling it in such a domestic setting is putting you on edge.

“Why not? This is my death we’re talking about!” he presses and you feel your self-control crack.

“Exactly! I don’t want to think about it!” you shout back. 

You’re not sure if it’s because of how loud your voice suddenly is or the admission altogether, but it seems to stun him into silence. You immediately find yourself regretting your words, hating how exposed they’ve left you. 

The last thing you want is to see the look on his face and so you bury your face further into your hands. You can feel his gaze on you and even if he didn’t have the Six Eyes, you think it would burn just as hot. 

“I don’t want to think about you dying,” you mumble, unable to stop yourself from continuing. “So can we please just drop it already?”

There’s a heavy silence that hangs over the two of you. Eventually, it breaks when Gojo lets out a soft sigh. You feel the couch cushions shifting as he leans forward and tosses an arm over your shoulders. He then drops his chin to rest on top of your head as he holds you close.

“Don’t worry. I’m the strongest,” he says, his tone light as he tries to reassure you. It’s only because you know him so well that you can tell how forced his nonchalance is. “No matter what, I’ll win.”

You find yourself wrapping his words around you, clutching onto them tightly like a safety blanket that refuse to let go of.

“Isn’t your aunt’s boyfriend like half her age?” he suddenly asks, switching the topic altogether and you lean further into his side in silent gratitude. 

“More than half. He’s younger than us,” you reply with a quiet snort, finally dropping your hands from your face.

“Hm, well good for her.”

He doesn’t respond to your taunt, and you think the universe is finally showing you mercy and allowing you to fall back asleep. But then he gives an exaggerated sigh, pulling your waning attention back to him without even needing to say a word — an art that he’s perfected over the years that you’ve been together.

“I guess you don’t need to spend ten years mourning me,” he says and you groan, wanting nothing more than for this conversation to be over and for him to just let you sleep like mere mortals do. “I mean, mourn me a little at least. But ten years is asking a lot, isn’t it?”

“Satoru…” you warn. It would probably sound more threatening if you hadn’t yawned halfway through saying it.

“But, just wait a while before you start dating again, alright? Even in the afterlife, I don’t know if my ego could take it if you moved onto someone new too quickly,” he jokes, but beneath the self-deprecating humor, there’s a strange vulnerability that finally has you opening your eyes.

And you immediately wish you hadn’t because doing so shatters the strange, liminal space that comes with not being fully asleep and not fully awake. Your mind is still drowsy and it takes a minute to realize that something is wrong. All that you’re aware of is that you’re now soberingly conscious. 

When reality manages to catch up with you, your world comes crashing down around you in sharp, jagged pieces. Because where only a moment ago, you could feel Gojo’s warmth behind you in bed, hear his voice in your ears, feel his presence in your life, all that’s left now is an aching void. 

You’re overcome with the urge to look over your shoulder, despite knowing that you’ll find nothing when you do so. And that’s what keeps you lying still, staring straight ahead into the dark. 

This is your own Schrödinger's cat — if you don’t turn around then you don’t know if he’s not there. Just like the cat, Gojo is still alive so long as you don’t look. 

“S-Satoru…?” you ask, unable to help yourself. Your voice is rough with sleep, and it sounds so different, so much more real, from how you just heard it when you were talking with him. Maybe that’s answer enough. 

“Satoru?” Your voice cracks when you try again, only to be met with deafening silence. 

There’s a sharp pain in your ribcage, one that you’ve become familiar with over the past few months. You instinctively bring a hand to the middle of your chest, pressing your palm down hard to alleviate the ache despite knowing that it won’t help. 

The bed has always been too large. It had to be in order to fit his lanky frame. But now it threatens to swallow you whole and you scramble to escape it, your legs getting caught in the sheets as you rush to kick them off. 

You stumble out of the bedroom and make your way to the living room, where you fling a shaking hand out to flip the light switch. The sudden brightness has you squinting and after you’ve taken a moment for your eyes to adjust, you find yourself dropping to your knees in front of the small, wooden altar that’s been set up against the wall. 

Your breath catches in your throat as you’re met with Gojo’s smiling portrait — the only way you’ll ever be face-to-face again. His sunglasses sit carefully, reverently, to one side, folded on top of his trademark blindfold. A small box of mochi from his favorite café sits on the shelf just beneath in offering. 

With slightly trembling hands, you open the butsudan’s drawer and pick up the box of incense, sighing when you open it and see that there’s only one stick left. You absently note to buy more when you go out tomorrow for your regular visit to Gojo’s grave. 

Once you’ve set the last stick in its elegant dish and lit it, you take a deep, shaking breath, and try to push down the wave of tears you feel burning behind your eyes. The fabric of your black sleep shorts is clenched tightly between your fingers where your hands sit on your thighs. 

You suddenly feel angry and you latch onto the burning emotion, desperate to feel anything other than the overwhelming grief that’s found a home deep in your soul. Its roots have grown and stretched over the months to consume every piece of you, like an invasive species that’s destroyed everything else until it’s the only thing left in your life.

“You asshole.” You meant to spit the words out, but instead, they fall flat along with your resentment. “Of course I’ll mourn you. Did you really think I wouldn’t?”

Your head drops forward and you cover your eyes with one hand, as if doing so will hide your tears from Gojo’s ever-watchful gaze. Despite your best efforts, your self-control finally slips and you softly begin to sob.

“Y-you wanted ten years?” you ask, still unable to look at him. “I’ll mourn you forever. I promise.”

If he was still alive, you would have offered to make him a binding vow. You should have offered to make him a binding vow. Instead, you can only make one with yourself. 

“Please tell me this is just my imagination,” you murmur, desperately hoping that some passing god will take pity on you and give you what you want more than anything. You don’t care what you have to give up, as long as they’ll give you Gojo back. 

With your eyes closed and your hand blocking any light, you find yourself wondering if you’ve fallen back into that liminal space once again, where everything is and isn’t at the same time. If you try hard enough, you can almost hear him tsking and asking you why you didn’t spend more on a bigger butsudan. 

But the scent of the incense and the soft sounds of your crying keep you from slipping away from the present. 

Your vision is blurry with your tears when you lift your gaze back up to look at Gojo. As his photo grins back, you sniffle and wipe your messy face with the back of your wrist before you press your palms together and bow your head.

“I pray that this all is just my imagination,” you beg him, pleading with him to perform one last miracle for you.

But when you open your eyes and find yourself still alone, the incense burning, and only your grief and his portrait for company, you know that this is reality — even as it falls out from under you.

#jjk spoilers #jjk manga spoilers #gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #jjk x reader #gojo angst #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk angst #jujutsu kaisen angst #gojo satoru angst #mel writes

[itsmebytch001]

Okay! So Imagine on Earth 42! Y/n is dead but Aaron is alive and when Y/n turns up in his living room not seeing that this isn't really HER house and Miles and Aaron walk in and he's like...

Aaron: "Miles...Miles I think i'm tripping" He backs away from her and grabs onto Miles's shoulder but Miles is just leaping to her and hugging her so tightly it's hurting her and Aaron's just FROZEN in the corner like wtf and while Miles is hugging her and crying Y/n and Aaron are just looking at each other likeeee almost crying...

Y/n: "...Papa?" And he's so scared that this is like a horrible punishing dream to hurt himself so he's like backing out the room just pissed he's having this dream again and is like breaking down in Y/n's room which Miles is NEVER allowed to eneter EVER only him and he sits and stares into the void and cleans it but always leaves everything EXCATLY how it was when she died

OOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHH I NEEEEEEEEEEED MORE ANGST GIMME

Yas I need more angst FEED MEEEEE

It takes like an hour for Aaron to accept that this isn't

A) A evil trick or

B) A bad dream / hallucination

but once he dose he fully breaks down crying and holding onto his daughter is a bear hug in a vice like grip and shes crying and E42!Miles is crying while 160!Miles is just standing in the living room like....

160!Miles: "damm what happened to ya'll?" While the family collapses in tears and 160!Miles is so taken aback by Aaron's cyring having never seen it before he's juts like...

160!Miles: "Imma just head out, be back in 20 when ya'll are done"

I think Aaron might snap a bit and not let Reader leave, like he's smart enough to make her a watch that allows her to stay, he decorates it as 'you can stay here however long you like!' but really it's more like 'you ain't leaving, not now to ever and don't try with me I will lock you in your room' and he treats her like a glass balloon not letting her do anything without him, sometimes when you stay over if he is chill (Unlikely) he just watches you from afar, if 42!Miles catches him he's like...

42!Miles: "You good Unc?"

42!Aaron: "Yeah, why?"

42!Miles: "Cuz you standing over your daughter while she sleeps like fucking Michel Myers"

...

42!Aaron: "Shut up, get back to bed"

42! Miles: "How about you bet back to bed, looking like a serial killer"

Comes visits you whenever, scares the shit out of Jeff, he also breaks down when he comes to visist, honestly he might aswell move since he's here so so so very often, back in his universe (E42!) He has a mural for you, like the one his family has for him on E160 but he dosne't visit it often as he should, E42!Miles dose like every week or so to make sure the paint dose not fade but when he dose visit he leaves incense and plays some sad music and just sits and stares into the void.

If you took him to his mural you need to keep reminding him he's dead in E160 and that he can't be drawing attention to himself so to keep a low profile, and if you have his ashes he's like...

42!Aaron: "So my whole body....is in this tiny jar?"

160!Y/n: "It's called an earn...but yes"

42!Aaron: "Don't give me lip...but are you sure? Maybe they missed a piece? How can my ENTIRE body be in this?" He waves it around.

160!Y/n: "Please...Please don't do that" You snatch it back from him and place it back on the shelf.

42!Aaron: "Right, I'm sorry it's just strange...being dead kinda"

160!Y/n: "Where's my body then? back where your from"

And suddenly it all come back and he becomes cagey and sad...poor Aaron just want's to forget but keep you forever, will come back to scare Diana as well just for laugh's ....

#platonic yandere #dad aaron davis #aaron davis #yandere miles morales #rio morales x reader #jeff morales #uncle aaron #aaron davis x reader #yandere morales family #yandere spiderverse