#i have not yet read any of the fics but i will simply assume they are also great

[bobbinalong]

Pre-Orders for "Relay Race: A Flash Zine" open in a few days, so you should go follow @flashfamevents to not miss out on that. Here's a little sneak peak at one of the two pieces I did for the zine.

[eroscomet]

Cellmate Prisoner 516

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Pairing: Vi x Prisoner!Reader

Warnings: Mentions wounds and violence (I think that's all.)

Word count: 2.1k+

A/N: Hey, lovelies! So, recently I finished Arcane and I immediately got to writing after finishing it. I'm thinking of releasing a Cait fic as well but i'll see how this Vi fic does first. I hope you guys like this, and i'm not sure if anyone else has done this idea yet. Let me know if you guys would want me to continue releasing chapters for this fic! If this is your first time reading my work and enjoy it, there's more on my page! I'm sorry in advance for any probable mistakes.

Proof read.

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Days in Stillwater seemed to blend for the inmates, especially those who knew they’d never return to normal civilization. The inmates had created a community there in the prison. It was rare to see inmates fight, most who did were newer inmates who didn’t understand that everyone in there had long accepted their fates. They weren’t willing to fight after they’d come to terms with the fact that they were to be bound by the walls of the prison for life along with the others. Why hold a grudge, right?

However, the lack of fights didn’t mean total peace for the inmates at Stillwater. Enforcers were often the ones who'd steal that peace that inmates tried to keep. If anyone were mouthy for even a second, it’s a beating with the enforcers that they’d face for it. Most were driven to stray away from having fights with the enforcers. There's a saying that goes around, you become the uniform you wear, whether it’s a prisoner uniform or an enforcer uniform. 

That always stood, inmates knew their place and enforcers forced theirs. All but one inmate applied to this saying, inmate 516. The livewire, the undoing of the enforcers, the one with all the audacity. If not called inmate 516 by enforcers, most around the prison knew her as ‘Pink’, a name that she gained from the color of her hair. She had resilience, fight, a fire in her that never ceased. No matter how many times enforcers would beat her for her mouthy talk, it never stopped her.

She’d once roamed the prison on the higher levels where land and nature were still visible. Where the air she’d inhale was the same air as everyone else’s. The more she causes a commotion, however, the lower the level she’d be taken. She never stopped her ‘fuss’, so eventually she made it to the lower levels with the inmates who would never see the light of day or breathe fresh air from the outside. 

Constantly being placed in new areas of the prison, different levels, different blocks, different cellmates. Anything to piss enforcers off, she’d always thought ‘If they’re getting a kick out of my misery, I can at least get one as well’. She lived by that in prison. Her previous cellmate had complained so much about having her as a cellmate that enforcers had finally had enough and moved her to another cell.

This happened to be your cell. Tidy, an organized mess, if you will. You didn’t talk much to the other inmates, only when you’d require trading for different materials. You had a knack for the creation of all kinds, sketching, building, and mapping. Pink, however, had a knack for destroying of all kinds, kicking, punching, training for whatever it was that she’d often mutter angrily about.

“Great, now I'm paired with Mute here.” She groaned as enforcers pushed her into the cell before shutting it. People in the prison had created a nickname for you since you’d never bother to tell them, Mute, they called you for your lack of speech. Which was a choice for you, after realizing that if you’d stopped speaking, people would simply assume that you were mute and wouldn’t have to bother with other inmates.

When she was pushed into the cell, you had momentarily looked away from the sketch on the cell desk. Your eyes met hers, anger was all that you could see in the glint of her eyes. She had a lot of rage, for a reason that you did not know.

“Don’t stare at me like that.” She nearly spat as she looked at you. Your expression hadn’t faltered as well as your gaze on the pink-haired girl. 

“Whatever, at least this time I didn’t get paired with someone who can’t shut up.” She threw her pillow onto the empty cell bed before sitting on the edge of it. Your silence with the inmates at times caused a bit of a ruckus, not all were happy with the fact that you wouldn’t respond to their conversations or threats. Sometimes they resulted in a one-sided fight.

You never fought back, you felt no point in doing so as the inmates loved to bring along a friend or two to accompany them to their ‘fights’. They’d say they were teaching you a lesson by beating you up, a lesson you obviously never understood considering the fact that this often reoccurs with other inmates. You could feel her eyes examining your black eye as you returned your gaze to your sketch.

“Why do you let them do that to you?” Her voice seemed a bit softer and inquisitive as she spoke. You had paused for a moment before deciding to shrug and continue to sketch.

“Tch, why did I even bother asking?” Her words seemed more like a statement to herself than a question as she responded to your silent statement of shrugging, “That is exactly why, because you don’t speak. I can see how that makes people get all worked up.”

Her eyes averted from your black eye to the desk, watching your pencil move swiftly, “What’s this?” She asked curiously as she neared your desk, grabbing a gadget, you quickly swiped it out of her hands. She put her hands up in surrender as she saw you defensively hold the gadget to your chest.

“Hey, hey. I meant no harm, I was just asking.” She said with her hands still up. For a moment, you looked down at the gadget against your chest. You extended your hand and allowed Pink to examine the item. She recognized it as the headpiece of her little sister, Powder,’s grenades, the signature colorful drawings on the headpiece.

“Where did you get this?!” She asked, now with a bit of hostility. Your lack of response angered her as you extended your hand as if asking for the item back, and she quickly slapped it angrily. Your eyebrows shot up in surprise, you'd expect it from the other inmates, but Pink? With the way that she is with enforcers, it shouldn’t be surprising but it was. You held your hand with the other as you brought it to your chest, still feeling the stinging sensation.

“What do you know about this?!” She asked, her voice momentarily faltered, barely caught by even your own ears. The way that you seemed clueless to what she was saying, gave her the answer she needed. She scoffed as she tossed the headpiece of a flame chomper to you. You quickly caught it in your hands, safely putting it under your pillow away from Pink. 

“I’d get more out of talking to a wall.” She said with a scoff as she got into bed, shifting onto her side to face the wall.

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About two weeks passed since Pink had become your new cellmate. At first, she had been holding a grudge with you, giving you the silent treatment in return which you didn’t at all mind. You had always preferred silence. Eventually, she broke and began speaking to you, despite not hearing a word in return.

“I want to apologize for what happened a couple of weeks back..” She said as she continued punching the wall as she so often does, you’d taken note that this was a habit of hers to do every day. You’d gotten used to it quickly, assuming it was another ‘training’ thing of hers. 

“It’s just that I recognized that piece—the drawings. My little sister used to make gadgets and draw on them. Bombs, particularly.” She said as she paused her punching, staring at the wall as she spoke. This made you pause as well, the headpiece of the fire chomper in your hand. Your finger had been lightly caressing the cool metal, looking over your shoulder for a moment as Pink explained further.

“I guess it triggered something in me. I'm not a bad person, " she said as she caught your gaze.

You stood up, padding over to her and gently grabbing her hand. You opened her hand and placed the headpiece on her palm before moving her fingers to close around it. After the action, you sent her a small smile, to which she responded with a surprised look.

“You really don’t have to-” She began to speak before you had moved her hand to her chest. You gave her a nod, to which she finally understood. She nodded in return, understanding that you were giving her the item.

“Thank you..” She said quietly and hesitantly. You nodded once more as you returned to your desk. The two of you were silent for a moment before she put the item into her pocket and began punching the wall again. 

“Her name was Powder.” She said, speaking up after having punched the wall a few times. 

“I don’t know if she’s alive or not but what I do know is that when I get my first shot out of here, I'm going to find her. Or at least the man who took her from me.” Her voice was determined like she had thought about this many times.

“That man..took everything from me. He. Will. Pay.” She said a bit more aggressively now as she landed a harder punch on the wall. You winced at the sound, knowing that if it were you punching the wall like that, it would’ve hurt but Pink seemed to handle it like it was nothing.

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Time with Pink in your shared cell felt a little less tense than your first meeting with her. She had gotten a bit more comfortable and you knew that from the way that she’d open up a little every once in a while with stories of her past. She talked of her father, whom she seemed very fond of from the way she spoke of him, she talked of her sister Powder a lot, small stories of memories when the two were younger that warmed your heart.

You’d see that she was a lot more cooled down, with fewer fights with the guards as well as reduced ‘training’, she now seems to only punch the wall a couple of days a week. Everything seemed fine until a new inmate arrived, a man who was bald with many tattoos that seemed to run through his entire body. You’d heard the news that Pink had beaten him up with a tray during dinner, breaking his jaw. When returning to your cell, she was smug but also seemed bothered by the situation.

She muttered to herself as she sat on the edge of her cell’s bed, “A week without leaving the cell, that’s what they gave me.” She said as she looked at you, her gaze was hardened. Your jaw is slightly clenched with a bit of worry for the girl.

“No meals, nothing. That prick deserved what was coming to him. He knew it from the look in his eye when he saw me.” She muttered with a scoff.

One of the perks about trading often with the cook at Stillwater meant special treatment. Often the cook gave you a bit of a better meal or something for dessert. For the next three days, you had snuck food back into your cell for Pink to eat.

“How’d you get this brownie anyway?” She asked with her mouth stuffed, you shrugged it off to no surprise.

“Any news on bald guy?” You shook your head in reply to her question. “Good, I hope to hear not a peep out of him after that.”

There it was again, the rage in her eye you had seen when she first came into your cell. She was angry again, more now that this man was in Stillwater. But you couldn’t figure out why.

“He’s a part of Silco’s henchmen. Dirty rat finally got caught.” She said with a scoff as she continued to eat. You hesitantly placed your hand on her shoulder, she looked up at you with surprise. She sighed as she paused, once again allowing her shoulders to no longer be tensed.

“Yeah, I know. He just..ticks me off.” You simply nodded to her words in understanding before gently patting her shoulder. 

“Thanks anyway, for the food or whatever..” She mumbled as she continued to eat, you smiled softly before heading to your desk as you usually do. A bit of silence came over the two of you before she spoke.

“Do you like that they call you Mute here?”

You paused for a moment as you shook your head.

“Then why do you..not talk?”

You seemed to be in thought as you shrugged again.

“I'm not trying to be mean but maybe people would get off your case if you spoke. Can you even speak at all?” To which you nodded to her words, she only took a moment to examine your face which had healed from the black eye she first saw you with.

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A/N: Guys, let me know what you guys think. If you guys want me to make this a series or not, if it is, it might be a little bit of a slow burn, I will include the other characters later on as well. Thank you so much for reading, new readers can check out my works on my page. Everyone is welcome to request stuff as well!

[jazzyoranges]

Can you write a friends with benefits situation Wednesday or Tara has with gp reader? Wednesday or Tara enforces a no strings attach policy but of course reader has to catch feelings and admits their feelings. It freaks Tara/wednesday and causes her to push them away and ghost them effectively hurting the reader who after a while tries to rebound with another girl causing major jealousy from Tara/Wednesday. You can choose the ending I just wanna see some jealous smut and angst mix in there 😩

She’s my Collar

Wednesday Addams x fem!werewolf!reader

Words: 4.6k (whoopsies)

Warnings: gp!reader, definitely ooc Wednesday, heat cycles, unprotected sex, knotting, explicit smut, everyone is 18+, Wednesday calls you a mutt and a puppy, breeding kink, is it really pet play if you’re actually a pet?, italian/spanish pet names and phrases, possessive Wednesday, fluff, angst i think

A/n: so sorry it took so long for me to write this anon who requested 😓 could be read as a prequel to this fic, but not specifically written as one. also i kinda strayed away from the original request, sorry about that too 😭🫶

MINORS DNI!

Wednesday didn’t want to admit it, but she was feeling a certain emotion that was completely undesirable. You’ve been out sick for an entire week. Wednesday hadn’t seen you in the last 8 days, 17 hours, and 42 minutes. But who was counting? Definitely not the Addams girl

Others would say Wednesday looked the same as any other week, but Enid’s roommate senses were tingling. Constantly fiddling with her rings, the very prominent scowl on her face that was meaner than usual, and the common frustrated grunts when Wednesday would make a mistake with her writing. Something was up, and not even god herself couldn’t stop Enid from figuring it out

While Wednesday was smart in every aspect except social, Enid’s people smarts came in useful every now and again. It really didn’t take long for her to piece two and two together. Angry roommate while someone she frequently hung out with was out sick? It was child’s play, really. All she needed to do was have Wednesday come to the same conclusion as her

Easier said that done, really. Wednesday was a knucklehead not so smart when it came to emotions. Any emotion other than creating despair, Wednesday struggled with. Luckily Enid was dedicated and also a knucklehead

Currently Wednesday was seated at her desk, simply staring at a blank piece of paper without moving. On any normal day her fingers would be speeding across the typewriter with ideas constantly coming to her. Now she was met with absolute digital silence from her mind, which proved to be discouraging and inconvenient to say the least

“Alright, Wednesday. What’s going on?”

“I have not a clue what you’re talking about.”

“You’ve been different this entire week. Spill the beans”

“As I’ve just said, I don’t have the information you want.”

“It’s because you haven’t seen her all week, right? You miss her, don’t you?”

“Why would I miss that mutt of a werewolf? I do not miss Y/n.”

“I never said her name, yet you know exactly who I’m talking about. Funny how that works, Wednesday” Enid teases. Her roomie has been caught red handed

“If you want your tongue, I’d recommend you stop talking.”

“Cmon, Wednesday, I’m being serious. It’s not weird to miss a friend. How about you check up on her?”

“First, I do not miss her. Second, she is definitely fine. I do not need to check up on her.”

“She’s been out sick for an entire week. She texted me just today the sickness isn’t showing any signs of stopping”

“Why has she not called the nurse, then?”

“She told me they ran out of the medicine she needs. The sickness is werewolf specific. I’ve gotten it before and it hurt like a bitch without medicine”

“What kind of school clinic runs out of medicine?” Wednesday says under her breath while getting up. Presumably to check on you, Enid assumes

“It’s really high in demand right now. It only infects werewolves, so you won’t catch it”

“I suppose I’ll ask Y/n on the specifics of her current condition. Perhaps it could be a part in my writings.”

“I’m sure it will be, Wednesday. Tell me how it goes!” Enid waves goodbye to Wednesday as she exits, and the Addams misses her roommates wolfish grin

Luckily your dorm isn’t too far away from Ophelia hall but it’s still a considerable walk to and from. The walk there gives Wednesday enough time to really question why she was doing this. She did not care for you, that was most definitely certain. At least that’s what Wednesday kept telling herself when she neared your room

The Addams girl hesitated before she knocked on your door. She could hear you whimpering and whining in pain, your tail quickly thumping against your bed. The shorter girl bit the bullet and held her fist against the door, quickly knocking on it

“Open up, Y/n or I’ll be forced to axe down your door.”

“Go away, Wednesday” Your voice was muffled

“Either I pick your lock or you open this door. Make your decision.”

Wednesday hears your feel shuffle to the door, and you open it just enough for your eye to peek out. Wednesday immediately notices your flushed skin and dark eye bags. You’re only wearing a tank top and boxers, trying to hide your lower body behind the door

“What do you want?” You spit out a bit more aggressively than you mean to

“I’ve come to check up on your illness”

“I’m uh- I’m okay. You can go now, Wednesday”

“You obviously aren’t, you haven’t gone to your classes all week.”

“Listen, I’m not actually sick. If I tell you what’s actually happening, promise you won’t freak out?”

“I promise.”

You suck in a breath to calm your nerves. “I’m in heat. The school clinic ran out of suppressants, so I haven’t been able to come to classes”

Wednesday looked you up and down, and in a split second she felt something she hadn’t before. Something about how your wolfish features came out. Ears were pressed against your head, tail hung low and swaying softly, and Wednesday noticed your fangs poke out when you spoke

“Let me help you.”

“W-What?” You momentarily stoped holding the door, and Wednesday let herself inside. Wednesday was immediately hit with a musk that was so… you. Werewolves weren’t her major, but she could tell you’ve marked your entire room with your own scent. Something about it made Wednesday’s mind think of all the unspeakable things she wanted to do to you

“Uh, sorry for the mess. And sorry for the smell, I know it’s bad…” You shift on your feet, and it’s only then Wednesday notices the tent in your boxers. Quickly mumbling out apology after apology, you move your tail so it covers your growing erection

“Stop apologizing, it’s getting quite annoying. I said I’d help you, did I not?”

“Help me like..?”

“Yes. Help you as in having sexual intercourse”

Your cheeks flush red and you have to actively stop your tail from wagging in excitement. Wednesday takes a step closer, but you take a step back

“A-Are you sure? You’re human, and I’m a werewolf. Your body isn’t designed to handle our heats”

Wednesday takes another step closer to you, grabbing your neck to make you look straight in her eyes. You can’t stop the whimper that escapes your throat

“I decide what I can handle.” The shorter girl firmly gropes at your clothed erection, and you moan at the contact

“Wednesday, I-”

“A dumb puppy is what you are. Why didn’t you tell me you were in heat?”

“I didn’t- I didn’t think you’d care” When Wednesday starts to massage your clothed cock more roughly, she earns another moan out of your throat

“Please, please make it better, Wednesday. It hurts so fucking much” You whimper, and Wednesday wonders if you’d look good in a collar with her name on it. She’d have to save that idea for a different day.

“Puppy.”

“Wednesday?”

“Take everything off. I want to see all of you.”

Wordlessly, you start to strip, which doesn’t take long since you’re barely wearing any clothes. Your mindless obedience made Wednesday happy. You start with your tank top and the Addams chooses to observe every part of you. Wednesday notices you’re considerably more furry than usual, your happy trail showing just above your boxer briefs

“Are you sure?” You ask nervously when you reach your boxers, and Wednesday is getting considerably more impatient

“Do I have to do everything for you?” Wednesday mutters while she takes off your boxers instead. The shorter girl sucks in a breath when your hardened cock slaps against your stomach

Wednesday didn’t expect you to be so… lewdly big. Looking at the size of your erection only reminded her your body was meant to breed. You were designed to reproduce, and the thought turned Wednesday on more than she liked

The shorter girl pushes you onto your bed, and she takes a second to look at the state you’re in

“Please, Wednesday…” You whine

“Be patient, Y/n. You’ll get there eventually”

“It hurts so much, please I can’t wait” Begging harder, Wednesday doesn’t likehow her first instinct is to give you what you want

“You’re lucky I tolerate you. If you were any other person, I’d think this was dehumanizing.” She pushes you further back, licking a stripe up your tip and across a vein. You have to stop yourself from cumming embarrassingly quick

Wednesday keeps giving your shaft long kitten-licks and you’re in heaven when she finally decides to suck your tip with a new type of hunger.

And due to previous attempts at suppressing your heat by yourself, your cock was absolutely raw at how much you masturbated. It only made Wednesday’s tongue feel even better

She hollows out her cheeks, making your tip hit the back of her throat. This earns a groan from the back of your throat. You didn’t know if touching was allowed due to her track record of broken arms and hands, so you decide to play it safe by just holding onto your bedsheets for dear life

“F-Fuck, I’m about to-“ Before you can finish your sentence, Wednesday pulls away from your cock. The look on your face is something Wednesday would like to cherish. Your penis was twitching like crazy. It was drooling with pre-cum and the shorter girls saliva. She couldn’t help but admire how you shook under her

“Why’d you stop?” Whining seemed to be a strong suit of yours

“In me.” Wednesday wipes a bit of her saliva off her chin, and you swear it’s the most attractive thing ever “Now.”

“Huh?”

“You know what I mean. Really, do I always have to spell it out for you?”

“You have to cut me some slack here, Wens…”

“I suppose I could provide an understanding for your view. You’re nothing but a dumb pup, are you not? Your kind is known to follow orders.”

“I think you’re confusing me with a domesticated dog, Wednesday”

“If I were to demand you pluck stars from the night, you would, would you not?”

“I mean I would, but for different reasons…”

“My point still stands.” Wednesday mumbles, sinking down on your erection. You don’t remember when she got naked, but you’re also not exactly complaining

The Addams holds onto your shoulders for support, and you hesitate before putting your hands on her hips. Luckily you made the right choice, your warm hands directly polar to Wednesday’s.

It takes a little effort for Wednesday to completely take in your cock, but the stretch is worth it when she sees your labored breathing like she’s the best pussy you’ve ever had. Which, Wednesday wouldn’t admit she was proud of. She could feel every vein on your cock and every twitch made her spiral into thoughts of you

The sight is funny, you think. The Wednesday Addams is impaled on your cock. The Wednesday Addams that saved Nevermore. The Wednesday Addams that was notorious for being gorgeously scary. That Wednesday Addams was riding your dick like her life depended on it.

Skin slapping together was music to your ears, and the feeling in your lower stomach you recognized well was rapidly building up. Wednesday came with a hitch in her breath, and you reluctantly pulled out before releasing your own cum with a groan. Both of you are left breathing hard.

“There will be a silver bullet in your skull if you so much as think about telling anyone about this.” Wednesday mutters in between breaths.

“Duly noted.”

—

You’ve been in this arrangement with Wednesday for about 4 months, now

The first month consisted of a casual fuck here and there. After a particularly hard week, teachers being annoying, or a hard test. It wasn’t difficult to keep your situation away from your friends. For all they knew, you two were still the platonic match-made-in-hell duo that were strictly friends

The second month was a little harder to keep your situation away from your friends. Wednesday would randomly pull you into any empty closet or classroom she could for a quick orgasm to get her through the day

The third month was rough. You two went on dates as you liked to call it, but Wednesday would call them study sessions or hangouts. Trips to Jericho on the weekend, Wednesday helping you with botany, it was practically impossible to separate both of you. Unfortunately your friends became suspicious

So during the fourth month, a new vampire transferred to Nevermore. You were assigned to give her a tour of the school and her classes. When Wednesday saw you two hang out when you’d usually see the Addams, she suspected the tour went better than anticipated. What Wednesday expected to be a minor inconvenience for one day, caused her many unwanted thoughts. It made a vein pop out of her neck. (not literally, but that’s what it felt like)

Wednesday noticed how you two started spending more time together after and during school. Of course there was definitely a reasonable explanation, you were her only friend. Unfortunately a very minuscule part of her brain is telling her you like the new vampire more than the Addams. The thought didn’t sit right with her

You were supposed to be Wednesday’s. You were supposed to only have eyes for the Addams and not some vampire that doesn’t even make you half as happy as her. You would always be Wednesday’s. When you finally realized the vampire wasn’t enough to satiate your needs, Wednesday would be there. She would be there to catch your fall, and the thought made her uncomfortable.

Wednesday Addams, a feared individual that wore her heart tucked under enough layers of blunt sarcasm and a deathly scary look, yet once glance from you sent her spiraling into something between fear and love. She hated it. She hated you. Wednesday hated you for bringing this side out of her she swore to be kept away from the surface of her character.

The Addams couldn’t afford this. You were her weakness. You definitely knew this as well. Unwanted doubt flooded her mind. Thoughts that ended up with you exploiting her only weakness made her heart ache, and not in a way she enjoyed.

You would end up breaking off your relationship with the Addams, leaving her to be made a fool as you were the only one that could do it. The worst part is Wednesday couldn’t even be angry with you. She knew you deserved someone of your own kind. Another werewolf that would understand and satiate your needs. Wednesday would end the arrangement the next time she saw you.

—

“(L/n).”

“Wednesday?” You open up your door with a smile on your face. A sight for sore eyes is what you were.

“We cannot continue our arrangement.”

“What? What do you mean?” Your eyebrows furrow in confusion. Wednesday wished she could take back her words, but she was doing this to keep herself safe. To make you happy.

“Our late night meetings can no longer continue. I’ve grown uncomfortable with your presence.”

“Wednesday, I-“

“A nuisance is what you are. You’re needy, and you can’t do anything by yourself. You really are just a dumb mutt. You are incapable of doing anything except cling to me like a lost child.” Wednesday spits out, and something akin to regret dawns on her face

Stray tears leave your eyes and you wipe them up as quickly as they fall, but Wednesday notices. She can tell you’re trying to be strong, your quivering lip giving you away

“I’m- I’m sorry you feel that way, Addams.” You say before turning your back on Wednesday, closing the door. Broken sobs escape your throat, and Wednesday brings her hand up to your doorknob. She thinks a little longer before a single tear falls from her eye. She turns to leave instead.

—

Three weeks, nearing four since you’ve last talked to Wednesday. You’ve been out for a week and a half and Wednesday knows exactly why. Since the Addams has been helping with your heats for the past few months, you haven’t needed to request for more suppressants. Neither you nor Wednesday knew why your heats were commonly hell-ish and lasted for weeks without the suppressants you desperately needed

Really, she could picture you right now. You would’ve found the boxers that created the least amount of friction, and you’d be whimpering and whining while your tail rapidly thumped against the bed mattress. Finding the nearest thing to bite, which usually happened to be your bed frame, you’d sink your teeth into the cold wood and find a splinter on your tongue the next time you brushed your teeth. Rinse and repeat until you eventually fell asleep or Wednesday saved you from your own body

It was pathetic how much you constantly needed Wednesday…and consequently, how much Wednesday needed you.

Disgusting is the only word Wednesday can choose when thinking of how much space in her mind you took up. She was seated in the Quad while eating an apple and contemplating her life. Which, was not in an ideal situation.

“I know you want to talk to her, Wednesday” Enid takes a seat near the shorter girl

“I do not.”

“I know for a fact you didn’t mean what you said. Unfortunately, you’re too stubborn to realize it”

“She has that new girl, does she not?”

“For the last time, Wednesday, they aren’t dating”

“They may as well be. The two are practically attached at the hip”

“So were you two, but then you decided to fuck it all up and haven’t talked to her since” Enid groans. This is was going to be harder than she thought

“Wednesday, you know how much I love you, right?”

“Annoyingly so.”

“Not-so-respectfully, you fucked up really bad. I know you didn’t mean it, but would you rather see her kiss another girl, or would you rather be the girl she kisses?”

The question makes Wednesday hesitate, and relief washes over Enid. Did she want to be with you? She mentally scoffs at the thought. The Wednesday Addams uncharacteristically soft for a girl. Outrageous. Disgusting. Absolutely unheard-

“Well, it seems you have your answer. Talk to her right now, ‘kay?” Enid knew her roomie would do the right thing even if it was gut wrenchingly difficult

The shorter girl only responds with a grumble, but it’s enough of an answer for Enid to skip away and continue being the social butterfly she was. Wednesday was going to… apologize to you. Just thinking of the word made her recoil, but it was you she was going to. As much as Wednesday didn’t like apologizing, she didn’t want to admit the thought of being away from you any longer was the worse option

She was almost in the same exact situation almost five months ago. Only this time you were sad, and it was Wednesday’s job to make you feel better (in more ways than one)

It didn’t take long getting to your dorm. She knew all of the correct routes and shortcuts to take. Wednesday was met with a tightly locked door and a knob that had collected dust after the past week and a half. She brought a hand to the door, knocking loudly

The Addams was only met with silence. That is, silence, with the exception of stray whines and whimpers

“It’s Wednesday.” Silence again.

“I know you’re in there. Ignore me and I’ll find other means to see you.” More silence

“You’ve made your decision.” The shorter girl sighs, taking a lock pick from her uniform pocket. Why she had a lock pick? For important situations like these, of course

When Wednesday finally managed to unlock your door, she noticed how you looked considerably worse than the first time the Addams decided to help you with your heat

What Wednesday didn’t expect was you fully naked sprawled on your bed. Bite marks littered your bed frame and a chew toy Wednesday bought to mock you, but it ended up being somewhat helpful. A low quality fan spun, only making your scent waft around the room even more. An air freshener was mentally added to her list of things to buy

“Go away, Wednesday.” You growled. You never growled. “If you’re here to mock me and call me a nuisance, I’d recommend you leave”

“I came to help.”

“You’ve full of bullshit, aren’t you?”

“I’m not lying, Y/n.”

“Go away, Wednesday, I’m not going to say it again.” The Addams only took this as an invitation to step closer to your bed where you were laying face down and a light blanket to cover your ass

When you only heard footsteps near, something inside you snapped. You were a werewolf. Not a puppy that said please with a tail between your legs. No, you would make Wednesday leave. Also you were sexually frustrated while in heat, so that was definitely fuel to your sour mood

Before she could register what had happened, you pinned the smaller girl to the floor. Your pupils contracted into small circles while there was a permanent snarl on your face

“I said, go away.” Your erection accidentally brushes against Wednesday’s thigh, and she was suddenly aware of how much self control you had for not already relentlessly stuffing the shorter girl full of your cum

“Knot me, cucciola.”

When the words leave Wednesday’s mouth, something in you changes. You’re overcome with sinful thoughts, and your cock starts to drool with precum at the image of Wednesday being full of you. It’s sinful, truly

“Is that why you came here? Just to be bred?”

“No, but it seems my words are working. You’re incredibly hard.” The shorter girl grabs your erection, jerking you off roughly

“Puppy.”

“Don’t… don’t call me that.” You say in between moans. Wednesday starts to sit up, and your back meets the side of your bed frame

“Cucciola wants to breed?”

“F-Fuck you.”

“We’re getting there, mi sol” The pet name accidentally slips, but you’re far too blissed out to notice

“She can’t make you feel as good as me, can she?”

“W-What? Who are you talking about?”

“You know who. The vampire that can’t get her hands off you.”

“Wednesday, we’re no-“ The shorter girl only started to stroke you faster. Her hand barely fit around your cock, but it still felt like heaven

“I don’t- I don’t like her that way” You say in between moans. Your orgasm was nearing and Wednesday knew this. She slowed down her pace, and you whined at the sudden loss of stimulation

“Knot me.”

“Huh?”

“Show me you don’t like her the way you like me.” You only notice your proximity after she speaks. Your noses are only inches apart. Wednesday’s eyes flick down to your lips, and you quickly close the distance

Wednesday was an addiction. Nicotine, acid, weed, none of it compared to how you felt while kissing Wednesday. You’d get drunk off her taste and crave it until she was in your arms once again. It was hell without her

When the shorter girl accidentally grinds on you, a surge of lust runs through your body. You quickly pick her up with your lips still attached to hers and take off her skirt. You couldn’t go another second without being in Wednesday

Sinking her onto your hardened erection, you let out a gasp of pleasure when her velvety walls stretch at your intrusion. You’re holding up her body by her thighs, and Wednesday just wishes you’d go faster.

“Cucciolo, ti amo.” The Addams moans when she looks down to see she’s only taken half of your length in her pussy. The sight is rather lewd, Wednesday thinks. Your cock is absolutely dripping with pre-cum when you push yourself further in her

“Mierda. Más, cachorro. Tan bueno para mi.” Wednesday slips into her native tongue. You haven’t seen her like this any other time she’s… helped you out

Bringing your lips to hers again, you decide to be in control when you push your tongue into her mouth. Eyes half lidded, bangs sticking to her forehead, and hair a bit disheveled, you think she’s never been prettier.

You let Wednesday rest a bit before sinking your cock deeper into her cunt, and the Addams ends up scratching you hard enough small amounts blood start to drip down your back. The sensation takes you by surprise. Accidentally bucking your hips up further into Wednesday, the girl lets out a groan as she fully takes your length in her pussy.

Placing her on the bed, you notice a tiny bulge in her stomach. You decide to be bold. Pressing your thumb against the intrusion, you hear a sound you’ve never heard before

Wednesday whimpers at your touch.

You do it again.

Her cunt squeezes around your cock, making it harder for you to keep thrusting. But you’re a wolf in heat and Wednesday is incredibly horny, so you continue your movements.

“Sh-She’ll never- she’ll never be as good as you, Wens…” An unexpected growl comes from deep within your throat

“No one can take my cock as good as you…” You’re thrusting considerably faster when Wednesday looks back down at where you two meet. The scenario folding out is a sight for sore eyes, the Addams thinks. You, feeding into your primal urges like it’s an unstoppable beast; and Wednesday willingly taking it in however she can.

“Cara mia.”

“Mine… mine all mine. No one else but mine…” You whimper a little pathetically, but the girl below you is only focused on your thrusts. Her cold hands find their way to your back again, leaving a trail of blood behind

“Yours, puppy. All yours.” Wednesday feeds into your possessive behavior. She knows she shouldn’t, but with you thoughts of reason leave her head and are replaced with thoughts of you

“Were you serious about the knotting, Wens?”

“Deathly.”

“Are you- mph~ sure? It’s kinda big…” The girl under you looks down again, and your ever growing knot seems to just be getting bigger and bigger. Even horny out of your mind, you still wanted to make sure your mate was alright.

…you decide to ignore that thought.

Your eyes were trained on how your erection stretched out Wednesday. Her pussy would be yours, and yours alone. Nobody would make her feel as good as you did. You’d make sure she wouldn’t need anyone else’s cock but yours.

A breathy moan erupts from your throat when you start to actively try to push your knot into Wednesday

“Relax for me Wens, it’ll never go in unless you want it too” You feel her tensed under your touch, but your words are enough for her to relax

Every thrust you get closer, until you eventually start to reach your peak. You can tell Wednesday is too. Her hair is messy and both of your bodies are littered with marks of possession.

“I-I’m so close Wens…” Are the last words you say before succeeding in pushing your knot into the Addams girl. You cum inside of Wednesday’s pussy, and the swell of your knot inside her is enough for Wednesday to cum impaled on your cock. The feeling of being full is an experience Wednesday wished she did with you far sooner.

You wiggle your hips to seemingly get more comfortable inside of Wednesday, but the movement only makes her moan. She was sensitive as hell.

“…was that enough proof I like you more than I like her?”

“More than enough, (Y/n).”

[jmstoesblog]

Unexpected

Pairing: Yandere! Boss!Jungkook x fem!reader

released: 12.03.24

Summary: in the span of a few minutes, your life took a big turn. An ugly turn.

Warnings: kissing, heavy makeout, mention of the word rape, mention of killing somebody, mention of torturing someone.

Wc: 1,3k+

Note: this is my first time writing a fic so if it’s not good or up to your expectations, I’m sorry. Also English is not my first language so if there are grammatical mistakes please let me know! And I’ve never written smut so I probably won’t write any YET, maybe in the future. Not proofread!!

——————————————————————————

This isn’t right.

The way you feel every time he’s around you or touching you. This simply isn’t right.

He’s your boss after all.

You shouldn’t feel such an attraction towards him. But you can’t be blamed. The flirtatious winks and smiles he sends you when nobody’s watching. The way he grabs your waist to position you to the side when he wants to pass. The way he gazes at you, licking his lips while looking at yours.

Plus he smoking hot. Not to forget his godly sculptured face, his thin, pouty plump lips which adorn two piercings, his unique beautiful nose and lastly his doe eyes.

Oh, how could you forget his tattoos which add more hotness. And his veiny arms and hands adorned with tattoos and rings which he could wrap around your thro—

Shaking your head at your sinful thoughts, you focus on the presentation being held by a employee in Mr. Jeon’s aka your oh so handsome boss.

You’re supposed to write everything down because he can’t join this meeting due to his full planned schedule.

Why can’t his PA write everything down?

Oh, right! He fired him because he accidentally spilled coffee on Mr. Jeon.

So know you’ve been informed to note everything important down and deliver it after the meeting to Mr. Jeon, personally.

You feel your phone vibrate in your pocket.

Come in exactly 30 minutes into my office to provide me with the information.

The text read. When he says in thirty minutes he means exactly thirty minutes. Not a minute late. Not a minute after.

What does make you confused is the fact that he has your number. He doesn’t have the number of the other employees, only yours. Why? Well you did als him and he just shrugged it off.

“Thank you.” Mr. Han bows down to everyone, meaning the meeting is over, his presentation is over. And you’re in trouble. You haven’t been really listening, you were too lost in your thoughts about your boss and how he could—

You look around in sheer panic, “did you happen to note down a few of the things he said?” You ask politely. You only noted down a few things he said, not everything.

“No, I’m sorry.”

She wasn’t sorry. She never liked you. Why? You don’t know. You just assume it’s jealousy.

“Shit,” you mumble to yourself and stride down to your office. You still have 25 minutes.

“I mean I did note down many things? That should be enough, right?” You talk to yourself.

After calming yourself down and replaying the scene of Mr. Han presenting over and over in your head. It’s already time.

You have exactly a minute. Grabbing the file, you make your way to his office.

You gently knock, “come in,” his deep voice is audible.

You sigh and open the door and close it behind you and start walking in front of his table.

Jungkook can clearly see fear behind you eyes.

If he was ready to fire someone who accidentally spilled coffee in him then he was probably ready to fire you for not properly listening, right?

You need this job. It’s important to you.

Jungkook has his hand behind his head and his feet on the clean table. With a cocky smirk evident on his face. Seeing you so scared of him satisfies him.

You bow down and he raises his pierced eyebrow, “so , the information?” You hand it to him and bow ready to leave.

But he has the door locked. How did he lock it from there? Does he have some button under table or what?

You hear him tsk.

You gulp and turn around, “that’s it?” He questions you with a raised brow.

“Y-yes I did what you asked me to do, I noted everything that I found important down. Could you please open the door now, I have other work to do.”

He tsks again and motions you with his fingers to come closer. Without a second thought you start moving closer, until you’re standing in front of him, the desk between you two.

You have to do everything he asks you to do, you need this job.

He stands up, bringing his built closer to you, only a few inches left between you two. You can smell his cologne. It smells so… manly.

He tilts his face to the side and angles your face until you’re looking directly into his eyes.

“You deserve a punishment, don’t you?”

You freeze.

“Do you know how important that was? Everything you’ve written down doesn’t help me at all.” He pokes his inner cheek with his tongue.

“I thought you’re smarter than that? What was going on in that pretty head of yours? Huh? What were you thinking about?” His tone is full of mockery and a cocky smirk evident on his face.

Before you can say anything he brings your face even closer to his by grabbing your head with his big hands.

And in the next moment his lips are on yours.

His hand is quick to press your face even harder against his as he grips your nape while his other hand wraps itself around your waist.

After recovering from the shock, you start kissing him back. Your hands make their way around his neck and start pulling at his hair. He seems to like it as he groans into the kiss.

His lips mold perfectly into yours. His hand on your waist squeezes your ass cheek and smacks it right after that. You moan in the kiss and try pulling away but he won’t let you.

You tap his shoulder letting him know you need air.

After a few more seconds he pulls away. Your lipstick is all over his lips and his lips are puffy.

He looks so good with my lipstick on him.

You internally giggle at your thoughts.

“Fuck, come here.” He demands with his raspy, deep voice.

You make you way over him and he immediately pulls you closer by your waist and kisses you again causing you to gasp.

You moan into the kiss making him even harder than he already is. He pulls away and licks his lips. Forehead on forehead, “you don’t know how long I’ve been waiting for this.”

“For what?” You ask breathlessly .

He pulls his head away.

He chuckles, “to make you mine.”

“I will have you in any way I please and you will not have a say because,” he draws his face closer, “you’re mine. From the moment I’ve laid my eyes on you, I knew you were the one.”

Suddenly it clicks in your head.

He’s the one that’s been stalking you, giving you anonymously gifts and flowers. No wonder he has your number. You never gave it to him or anybody at work.

His dark chuckle brings you out of your thoughts, “don’t worry y/n, I also killed that bastard that was about to rape you.” He growls at the thought.

After a night out with your friends on the way to your car a guy tried hitting you. You rejected him and told him to leave you alone. But he wouldn’t take a no so he pinned you against the nearest wall and was about to rip of your dress but was shot twice in the leg.

“I tortured him until he begged for his death. Only for you, y/n.”

At your silence he furrows his brows, “Baby?”

“Why won’t you say anything, baby? I did this for you— us. Now nobody can do us apart. We will be together forever.”

“You and I, baby.”

That’s when everything turned upside down in the span of 20 minutes.

You didn’t know you were dealing with an enraged psychopath who’s obsessed with you and has been stalking you.

You’re trapped.

You cannot escape.

Ever.

——————————————————————————

Do NOT copy or translate

Thank you for reading 💕

[dixons-sunshine]

hi!! i absolutely adore your writing, could i request daryl and gn!reader celebrating the reader’s birthday (fluff please)? it’s my birthday and i’m a very guilty lover of self-indulgent fics 💗

Happy Birthday, Bug | Daryl Dixon x Reader

A/N: Happy birthday, my love! I’m sorry this is so rushed and not my best work, and probably not what you had in mind, but I hope you like this! (Also, I feel like Daryl is a bit ooc in this, but I’m rolling with it lol.)

“Daryl, where are you taking me? We’ve been walking forever,” Your voice rung out through the air. To say you were confused about the archer’s behaviour would be an understatement. Having been together since the fall of the farm, you had slowly but surely started chipping away at his walls, worming your way into his heart and soul. Due to that, you could read the huntsman quite well.

However, at that particular moment, as you followed Daryl deeper into a part of the prison that you had yet to explore since it had been cleared out, you realized that there were still moments where you just couldn’t decipher what was going on in his complex mind.

“Jus’ follow me, Bug,” Daryl chuckled, his crossbow lifted in front of him in case the two of you encountered any threats that could potentially be lurking in the shadows. “Promise we’re almost there.”

“Yeah, that’s what you said ten minutes ago,” you mumbled, grimacing at the pain that shot through your elbow when you accidentally hit it against the side of the wall when you and Daryl took yet another turn.

Daryl heard the slight hiss that left your mouth, and he shot you a concerned look over your shoulder. “Y’alright?”

“I’m fine,” you reassured him with a small nod. “I’d feel even better if I knew where we were going and why I was dragged out of our cell at...” You checked your watch, one of the few items that somehow still worked after all that time. “Eight in the morning, when I was asleep after getting back from my watch shift.”

Daryl simply turned his head, not trusting his face to remain neutral, and he was correct in his mistrust; a small smile spread across his face. You didn’t even realize what made this particular day so special. That just added to the element of surprise. “S’a surprise,” he mused, taking another turn down a corridor. The surprise was set up quite a bit away from the main part of the prison, due to the fact that Daryl didn’t want anyone, especially not the newest additions to the group—the Woodbury residents—interrupting what he hoped would be a good moment.

“Wha—” Your response to his words were cut off when the archer came to an abrupt stop. You collided against his back, nearly falling flat on your behind. You would have, had it not been for the fact that Daryl turned around caught you just in time. You sent him a grateful smile, although a tinge of playfulness was laced in it. “Is my surprise being in the arms of the man I love? Because if it is, I can tell you that you didn’t have to go through all of this. I gladly would’ve let you hold me if you just asked.”

Daryl rolled his eyes affectionately and stepped away, before walking to stand behind your back. “Nah, s’not yer surprise.” He covered your eyes with his hands, ignoring your sounds of protests as he slowly and carefully led you a few steps further, guiding you down a final turn, right to your surprise. “This is.”

His hands fell away from your eyes, and you gasped at the sight in front of you; rose petals littered the ground, leading up to a table that held two bowls of what you assumed to be some sort of stew, a bottle of whiskey resting in the middle, and the scene was illuminated by a few candles surrounding the table.

“Happy Birthday, Bug,” Daryl whispered in your ear from behind, his hands rubbing up and down your arms in a soothing manner.

A surprised laugh escaped your chest, and you shook your head at yourself for forgetting what day it was. However, in your defense, with everything going on, it was a bit hard to keep track of the days, so you were pleasantly surprised to know that Daryl had done so. You turned to him in surprise. “How’d you know it was my birthday?” you questioned, still amazed by the effort your partner had put into his surprise for you, one you greatly appreciated.

Daryl shrugged nonchalantly. “Beth’s been keepin’ track’a the days in that diary of hers. Asked her to tell me when yer birthday was comin’ up, so that I could do somethin’ special for you.” Unbidden, a look of insecurity flashed through his eyes. Did you hate the surprise? “M’sorry this ain’t exactly like those movies. I asked Carol to help me set this up, and we did the best we could with the things we could find. I wanted this to be at night, like the movies, but I have to keep watch tonight, so I figured—”

You cut Daryl’s rambling off by pressing a soft, tender kiss on his lips. When you pulled back, you gave him a big smile. “It’s perfect,” you reassured him softly, your hands gently cupping his cheeks. “It’s absolutely perfect. Thank you.”

Daryl smiled bashfully. “Ain’t nothin’.” Suddenly remembering something, he reached into his pocket and pulled something out, and you gasped at the object in his hands—it was a bracelet with little bees and fireflies as the charms, and the sentiment, the callback to the nickname he so affectionately called you, made you tear up. “I, uh... I got this for ya.”

You pulled Daryl in for a hug, one that took the archer off guard, but he reciprocated nonetheless. “Thank you,” you whispered, nuzzling your face into his chest.

Daryl rested his chin on top of your head, his heart swelling with love for you. “‘Course,” he mumbled, placing a kiss on top of your head. “I love ya, Bug.”

“And I love you, Daryl. I love you so much.”

[100vern]

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. <3

[sonicssweetheart]

do u do x reader fics / reqs ?

if so,,,, can u do prime characters x reader headcanons (none in specific js curious on your ideas!!)

sonic prime characters x gn!reader || platonic / romantic headcanons

ᝰ.ᐟ disclaimer: i’m simply sticking to the new yoke city + green hill universes since that would take a lot of time to write!

⊱ ─── [ 💌 ] ─── ⊰

— sonic ;

there’s no doubt that sonic needs you around at all times throughout the plot. any universe he goes, he wants you to go with, no excuses. however, this backfires because he never stops to think how something may be affecting you negatively and only thinks the opposite.

“i..i assumed you would want this too after seeing things the way i do.” (ref to THAT scene…)

that being said, sonic can be selfish at times, but of course he always has the best interest at heart. he simply needs to learn how to think before he acts.

he’s very playful and finds it hard to be serious when you need him to be so the most, all because he’s afraid of confrontation and constructive criticism. he can be a little stubborn when it comes to you trying to ease him out of denial, but when he finally lets go, you can tell how anxious he is.

is always reminding you how much you mean to him at random moments. it could be completely out of the blue, when you’re reading a book or doing laundry, he doesn’t see a restriction to remind you of your worth. you will never have to worry about not being enough for him.

— shadow ;

it takes ALOT for shadow to be direct about how he feels about you; it’s all about subtle things for him.

he will show up to your door with a gift and brush it off like it’s a daily thing and has no impact on your relationship, or completes a task for you that he deems as “not worthy enough for you to stress about.”

his compliments come off more as rude rather than genuine and polite. again, he can’t be too direct out of fear of embarrassment — so sugarcoating it with annoyance works for him.

“don’t wear that, what are you, ancient? that piece doesn’t give you any credit.”

“you’re undeniably fatuous. however, you’re not dull, i guess i’ll give you that.

secretly protective as well. he will sneakily follow you around or just keep an eye on you by a nearby tree whenever he has an instinct that something may go wrong. he unquestionably abuses the chaos emerald to get to wherever you are as fast as possible. if he were ever caught, a scoff and a “i’m ensuring you will not cause havoc by acting foolish.” is the most of an explanation you will get.

if you’re travelling the shatterverse, he is very precise in the rules you follow so you don’t get hurt or lost. he would blame it all on himself if that were the case.

— amy ;

in the green hill universe, she adores you like a bee loves a flower. she takes pride in being close with you, and i like to think she always her arm linked with yours. she’s comfortable enough to talk to animals around you, as it comforts her immensely. she loves when you do little things for her like tending to gardens around the terrain, making her little crafts and standing up for her over little disputes between her and whoever.

“you do so much for me, y/n, you are so… ugh, i don’t know! thank you, for everything.”

in the new yolk universe, rusty rose is indifferent about you depending on how you treat her. if you act as if you’re sorry for her and see her mechanical front as a disability, she will refrain from speaking to you. your best bet is to treat her as you would anyone else but still admire the small things about her that makes her her. she doesn’t want anything huge, like big favours or even small things that don’t matter to her, however she LOVES flowers, just like canon verse amy. when you finally confess how you feel about her and offer a rose, the poor girl is so confused, yet secretly beaming inside.

“…i do not comprehend what you are telling me. you… really? i do not believe i was programmed to reciprocate, but… i feel warmth. is that good?”

— rouge ;

in the green hill universe, she is infatuated by you, however she still makes you work for her friendship/love. she likes the reassurance that someone will fight for her, as for i believe she was wronged in her past. help her fight in battle, participate in her favourite activities, compliment her style; you will gain her trust and devotion quickly. rouge likes to tease, knowing that you feel something for her, whether it be just wanting her friendship or more.

“dear, you know if you want something, you can come get it, right? it’s upsetting seeing you so defeated. oh, what’s wrong? did i touch a nerve?~”

in the new yoke universe, she rests similar, however she is very devoted to the friends and acquaintances she already has. she isn’t looking to complicate her life anymore, and would rather look ahead then stay in place and relish in the moment. but, you can twist that fact by helping her out without getting in her way. she will begin to see your respect and appreciation, and might even reward it with a token of gratitude.

“i saw what you did back there. i gotta say, you’re.. something else. don’t, uh, be a stranger.”

— knuckles ; (new yoke —> no place. dread knuckles>>)

in the green hill universe, he’s pretty stern towards you at first, but grows protective fast. as much as he wouldn’t admit it, he shows off in front of you in hopes that you’re impressed by his manly attitude and confident demeanour, and holds pride for weeks on end when you acknowledge it. he’s the type to challenge you to different activities that test strength and skill, and whether you’re successful or not, all he admires is your willingness to try. he loves those who don’t care if they’re good or bad at something and does it anyway because they want to, not because they have to, which sort of makes him think of his younger self and soothes his self destructive behaviour over it.

“not bad, little one. best of five next time? …you’re tired? oh, don’t be indolent. we’re almost done.” (he wants to see you thrive sooo bad)

in the no place universe, he is very upfront. if he wants to hang around you, take you on a date, have a deep talk, or anything along those lines — he’ll let you know. this man knows he’s everyone’s dream to befriend and follow like a God, and he takes pride in that. he’s also very persuasive by convincing you to do things you would never do, whether it be something as simple as trying a new food or swan diving off of mount everest. you give him that rush he craves in life, especially since life can be plain out on the water, but you give him that spark whenever you comply to his challenges. sometimes late at night while you’re both coaxed in the mood on the dock, he’s sloshing whiskey in his tainted cup and muttering to himself you.

“err… without you, this ship’d be soulless for sure. ya’ bring a fire, a flame to this old lassie, and i’d be sure not even hell could melt the ice frozen upon its ol’ heart.

— tails ; [FAMILIAL/PLATONIC ONLY]

in the green hill universe, tails admires you. he looks up to you as his mentor similar to sonic and is always happy to help when you’re in need. since tails didn’t grow up with a parental figure, sometimes he catches himself imagining such with you, and he feels embarrassed. he isn’t used to relying on someone else to fix his problems, and usually he just plain doesn’t like it. but with you — you follow his boundaries perfectly which makes him feel immensely appreciated and seen, something he looks for in a friend. he’ll let you know once in awhile how he appreciates your kindness, but his insecurities slip through every time.

“you know you don’t have to do this, right? i know im a kid, but you don’t have to take care of me… you want to?” (he looks down at whatever he’s doing, where you can see the small smile creep on the corner of his mouth)

in the new yoke universe, he is very apathetic towards you at first. he sees you just as another sonic, trying to change him to be his opposite reality self, but when he’s met with acceptance and loyalty — he begins to change his mind. he would never say it out loud, but he has a small spark of hope that you could be a forever companion he wouldn’t have to worry about betraying it. his ways of showing how he cares differs from letting you watch/help him work, crafting you things you mentioned you needed, letting you ask questions about his past (which takes some time). however, the smallest inconvenience relating to your friendship towards him can trigger him such as mentioning going somewhere without him, wanting to hang out with someone else, or just seeming off throughout the day.

“did you just lie the whole time? is that was this is? a game? original, y/n. i can’t even look at you right now.”

but, of course, when the reassurance and gentle conversation follows quickly afterwards, he reverts to an embarrassed but now angry at himself front.

“… okay. just… you would tell me if you were a traitor, right? sometimes i’m stupid and can’t tell. sorry.”

[blkkizzat]

tw: discourse, plagiarism, drama, etc. im a bit snarky here but i reserve that right. the truth could never be a diss.

I hate that it had to come to this as I have had this blog since Aug 2023 without ever having to do something like this. But being gaslit and when people start blatantly playing in my face like I’m stupid is where I draw the line. I will not tolerate any kind of plagiarism with fics I work hard to create for free while working full-time and going to grad school.

Tumblr user @/rissouu has plagiarized my work. Specifically part 3 of Plug!Choso fic (with minor things from the end of part 2) with their brat taming/plug!choso smut drabble. I posted p3 of my fic on 7/3/24 they posted their drabble on 1/1/25 [screenshots below].

Note: This is not a direct word for word copy, but heavy detailed inspiration including dialogue, actions, reactions, sexual situations, etc. It’s been said to me by many other people I have consulted to get their opinions, that it reads like a watered down, condensed, version of my smut scene —and I would have to wholeheartedly agree.

(more details below)

Now to be clear: I do NOT own any concept. I hope I can effectively convey in this post I am NOT doing all this because someone wrote plug!choso or brat taming!choso and combined them. There has been plenty of both, even combined, well before I even wrote my fic and has been in the months after, none of them have been anything like my fic. Also these have BEEN my sentiments as I expressed this months ago when I kept getting TNMN concept asks/dms after my fics:

Not to mention I give tutorials and share methods of how to do my graphics, formatting fics, writing tips, etc as I believe in knowledge and information sharing. I haven’t ever played gatekeeper on a single thing. 

Sidenote: 98% of the people who have ever tagged me as inspo credit per my statement above didn't even need to do so. But I appreciate they did. It shows their character and integrity that they would even consider doing so when its not 100% needed nor expected, so thank you!

the drabble @/rissouu posted is on the far left column and specific excerpts from my plug!choso fic are in boxes in the middle and to the right. Each box on the drabble is color-coded and connected to corresponding boxes with my excerpts. Every single paragraph connects to my fic: 

Now, the crazy thing here is @/rissouu even tags this drabble #plug!choso as the first tag. Yet there is not one mention of drugs or plugs or even a damn ibuprofen anywhere lmfao. When confronted on this they said—

"it's strictly to give that kind of aggressive/dominant or stoner man vibes, so i don't care as much to input it into the writing itself. me tagging it as 'plug choso' [...] is simply to reach out to my audiences who like the concept of plug!choso. i do this mostly for my girlies of color who i try to reach out to more because it's what they request and like." [full convo screens at the very bottom]

Now, I'm ignoring the problematic implications that only poc girls would like or write plugs, so I'm gonna table that and y'all can make what you want of it. What I want to focus on is this weakass excuse. It's the fact that writing a plug/drug dealer fics does not make that character automatically aggressive or outwardly stoner. There's infinite ways to write a single concept [and as someone who has actually done alot of party drugs and had many dealers living in nyc before, the best dealers are the ones who don't look or act like ones!]. So it's mind boggling a writer would explicitly tag a concept because they were too lazy to actually write it in the fic. Then assumes everyone will interpret it the exact same way and get their meaning from the tag of a generic concept and not their actual story lol 😭. Insanity.

100% transparency, I thought the fic was rip way before I even got to the bottom to see the plug!choso tag. The tag just confirmed it more for me.

Now even with ALL this, I still likely wouldn’t have brought it to the TL. Even though I think it’s clear she took inspo from me and is straight lying through her teeth, I could have let it go. However the next thing @/rissouu did was so insane and shameless, I can't let it go. Like personal creativity and imagination in the trenches but plenty of audacity to spare. This is just a slap in the face.

So the timeline (pst) goes like this:

@6:20pm @/rissouu replies a few times, she explicitly says she will read my chapter to see if there are any similarities. [full convo screens at the bottom]

@7:06pm I posted rm!choso and babydaddy!toji who reader has a baby girl with but they broke up.

@8:59pm @/rissouu posts babydaddy!Choso who reader has a baby girl by but they broke up and takes ANOTHER part of dialogue/reaction from p3 of plug!choso.

Is this real life?

I know if someone accused me of plagiarizing them and I told them I would read their work to check… I wouldn’t in less than 3 hours later post a drabble with one of the same concepts from a fic they just posted 2 hrs ago, and then turn around use the more dialogue/reactions from the other fic they just accused me of stealing from, that I just told them I was going to read!! And I for damn sure wouldn’t have claimed to have just “pulled this outta my ass” !?!? Like @/rissouu really said, fuck all of what kali saying and her artistic integrity with this post loud and clear lmfaooo.

Sorry but *in remy ma voice* b*tch is you DUMB!? Like I know I'm cracking jokes right now, but this situation is so ridiculous it’s gotta be a joke, so I’m treating it like one. They clownin’ with the whole damn circus cause wtf is this 😭😭?? 

You know what else is circus behavior? This disclaimer: 

Lol… so consequences for everyone else but you girl? Okay lmfao. Like such aggressive disclaimers for someone doing exactly that.

Ironic though that all 3 times I have had to confront someone about plagiarism/inspo (in dms) in the past couple months I have been gaslit in the exact same ways.

Their first defense is always “this is a common concept” —Sure, but it shouldn’t be executed in the exact same way, so closely to my fic that's why I'm speaking up.

Their second defense is always, “oh I have written this [topic, headcanon, dialogue] before.” Great. I’m not speaking of those prior times, I’m ONLY concerned that 100% of their current drabble mirrors my fic. They could have written 50 drabbles on this topic/concept, there's no reason any of them should so closely mirror mine.

Finally, the third thing is (after proof is given): “well you don’t own the use of these details or these words. so I didn't copy!” No, I don’t own the individual words or phrases or actions. What I DO own is how those individual words, phrases or actions come together in the fic I wrote. The fic that @/rissouu mirrored and diluted. 

One more thing before screenshots of the full convo. You can see on the very first one below that I had been following @/rissouu for 11 months lol, so since 1 month after they created their account. Granted, I don’t think we’ve interacted much at all as I do follow lots of people but I try to spend most of my free time writing or interacting with commenters, anons, closer moots or those who reach out to me. But I know for a fact i've seen them in my notifications before liking things, even in the last week and I honestly thought they followed me at one point lol. That's one of the reasons I was shocked to discover this. So the fact they would try to say they never heard of me or my story or seen my fics ever is looney tunes fr. Not to mention plug!choso is probably the fic people have recco'd the most from me. None of that is important to me though, so I don’t really care about anything but the facts that she took heavy inspo from me and is refusing to even acknowledge that it's pretty weird/odd/uncommon considering how similar they are. (sorry i would have taken screenshots of notifications but i barely got the chat before it disappears after two ppl block each other)

screenshots of our convo here:

As you can see, they apparently think i'm casper. they refuse to acknowledge they know me, or take it down, or give me credit and has me blocked now, so here we are.

Lastly... no one under any circumstances should be harassing or sending anyone hate! If you don’t like what they did, unfollow/block. If you don’t like what I am doing now or don’t agree, unfollow/block. I won't be offended if you do, if you don't like me , you don't like me. Please curate your own experiences.

Also, may choose to answer clarifying questions about this in public asks or comments but I reserve the right not to (even if you are in support of me). Honestly this is all so mentally draining and taking away from the things I actually want to do with my blog and I always feel really bad when I miss responding to comments people leave on my stories/works. So I will likely mute notifications on this. Like I could have been actually writing the many fics in my backlog last night or answering the very sweet or slutty asks in my inbox instead of writing this. I've always tried to keep my blog a pretty positive, goofy, unserious, slutty and drama-free place and I won't let this change that.

Additionally, no overly hateful/bashing comments towards me or @/rissouu will be answered/tolerated. If tumblr had an option to turn off comments on individual posts, I would for this one. I'm not going to waste time justifying something that is clear as day to me and many others. If anyone wants to play Stevie Wonder too, go for it! Nor do I want to waste energy bashing someone and beating a dead horse. I know what they did, they know what they did. @/rissouu wants to steal, lie and play games? Let them do it on their own, I guess. Clout is a helluva drug and I suppose my Plug!Choso was the best dealer for that but call me Desiree Perez cause imma snitch!

I'd prefer anyone really wanting to talk with me about this further and has something to say —good or bad, DM me.

—🎀 Kali

[simp-ly-writes]

Pinning Me Down

─────── · · A TDOTJ FanFic

Pairing: The Jackal x F!Reader

─ · · SUMMARY: You were a private investigator known as "Operator Grey" for working both sides of the table, police and the underground equally. You pull the strings to narratives to maintain work yet not everyone appears happy with your puppeteering work as an "admirer" of sorts has you watching your back while not knowing they already have it in sights.

─ · · TAGS: second person perspective used, female-pronouns used, enemies/rivals to lovers, fluff and angst, scenes of stalking, blood, violence, injury, guns, and obsessive behaviours, hurt/comfort, arguments, lying, HIGHLY SUGGESTIVE THEMES, kissing, the Jackal being a ultra charismatic mf, not beta read or edited.

─ · · MASTERLIST | TAGLIST REQUEST | WORDCOUNT: 2,668

─ · · A/N: thank you for all the Jackal asks! I know its been a little while, still hope you guys want to read a Jackal fic!

─────── · ·

─ · · As a personal investigator and private operator for high profile clients your job was simple on the surface level; gather information with no questions asks and leave undetected with the evidence or blackmail your client requested and stare at the generous pay check afterwards before putting it to use.

─ · · People paid for how 'simple,' swift, and effective your operations appeared- always providing the results the client wanted (sometimes even needed) and you did not shy away from going above and beyond, disguising yourself while providing encrypted information, hacking into government servers, following your targets across boarders and seas without a sweat, and occasionally offering your friday night for a round of drinks with your favourite clientele (though before anyone got too touchy you would politely excuse yourself).

─ · · But that was just what your job appeared on the surface; a simple woman with a love for luxury that gained her wealth by blending into crowds and documenting evidence for deep pockets... the thing is... you didn't care for any 'side.'

─ · · Light or dark, the legal or illegal, you operated in the grey space as the "Grey Operator," or simple "Grey." Infiltrating and networking on the surface and all throughout the underground networks on a global scale.

─ · · Anytime anyone would come close to putting you behind bars, all spy agencies and police around the world knew you, knew that you helped them as much as the people they were chasing like a puppeteer pulling all the strings and slipping just enough information for the endless cycle of cat and mouse between criminals and cops.

─ · · Yet it appeared not everyone was too pleased with being "bossed" around as it appeared recently that all the targets you got requested to look over were 'sadly' deceased upon your arrival, a simple rose planted in each of their mouths, a letter in their hands always addressed to you- "Miss. Grey." Tearing open the paper, a dozen rose petals fall from the paper and one to two lines appear underneath. Some have a snarky remark or simple observation about your habits, others a clue for where they buried the information you needed in order to finish your mission.

─ · · Your chuckle at how they remove the 'operator title' from your ails and the way in which they boldly assume you're not married; it charms you as it equally infuriates you that someone is watching you in the same way you do for everyone else, simply pulling you along their intended trail with every new contract you receive and every corpse you discover.

─ · · But your humour did not last for long as your reputation was starting to take a hit. It was all fun and games to start as you observed the stack of letters by your bedside and the singular withered rose you had in a vase within your kitchen... but you did not want to be pulled along any longer.

─ · · So you took a new job, the last one your 'admirer' you tagged them to be had requested you take in order to continue to follow their trail. The catch though? You held no plans on carrying through with this mission, instead you went to a lab, tracing back the rose to its origins alongside the ink, paper, and writing-style used, anxiously waiting back for the results for a potential slip up.

─ · · You tapped your foot anxiously against the tile, eyes flickering between your watch and the clock on the wall, debating which one was running faster (both were timed the same) but it did well to somewhat calm your nerves.

─ · · Feeling increasingly restless, you unpinned your hair, sighing and ringing your fingers across your sore roots while circling the room. You picked up various test tubes and dada sheets left by the last worker within the space, nodding your head along before a 'ding!' had you dashing back across the room and eyeing the screen.

... INK: BRITIAN

PAPER: SPAIN

FLOWER: PORTUGAL

PRINTING: NOT IN DATABASE, ENTER RESULT? ...

─ · · Your brows furrow as you press your face closer to the screen in hopes of discovering a newfound answer within the code only to come back empty handed. The person who had been sending you these... 'gifts' had to be rich in order to buy the various materials and travel to plant them and by the meticulous craft of every shot between the eyes, you had already narrowed them down to being a sniper-of-sorts but they still leaved hundreds of possible candidates if not thousands...

"I'll be honest, I was disappointed you didn't even try and go see my newest gift," a man voice sounds from behind you making you still, gripping the edge of the table. You begin to tilt your head over your shoulder yet their stern tone stops any further movement, "Stay where you are, Miss. Grey and tell me the little image you have imagined me to be before seeing the real thing."

You let out a quick breath through your nose and roll your eyes at the ego of the man behind you. Standing up straight and smoothing out your shirt, you try and squint at the computer screen to catch their reflection. "I won't strain your eyes, love, only your mind, now tell me."

You humourlessly chuckle, "You won't 'strain my eyes-hm?' So a man of murder, ego, and vanity, quite the impressive and if I may say horrifically 'attractive' man I'm building an image of," you strike while rolling your shoulder back.

You listen as the man shuffles footsteps that clack against the tiles, dress shoes, once distant now appear closer, a chair scrapes against the floor before they've taken a seat behind you, "I will only admit to one of those sins. I'm afraid the other are abhorrently wrong, Miss. Grey. Do try again but this time, use more of your brain."

Slamming your fist against the table you are vibrating with anger as the comment slips in through your ears and to the front of your mind, clouding any rationally you were holding onto after being quite literally stalked for the past few months and watching as all your long-standing clients ran from you without another word, all because of this man, you think to yourself, scrunching up your nose before taking a deep breath- squeezing your eyes shut.

"Middle-aged male, European- most likely British descent from the accent yet sounds too forced to Birmingham slang making me think you're actually from London," you tease hearing man grunt but before he can send his come-back you are already speaking, "you had military experience, a marksman or sniper... leaning towards the latter by how well you disguise yourself. I would know you if you worked over the table so you're an underground operative and to know my connections you must be working for someone well-established... and with deep pockets," you conclude, "cleared to turn?"

"You are cleared," they reply, tone appearing to disregard how impressed the man was by how well you could read into him by what little evidence he gave.

Turning around you see a middle-aged man, head tilted up to observe you in a similar way you do him, from the shoes up until your eyes meet and you squint, "contacts and your nose is peeling," you whisper, biting your lip and taking another step forwards, one hand trailing behind yourself with nonchalance while in reality you were feeling for the cold metal of your weapon.

Seeing your little slide of hand you watch as the man raises an eyebrow, "no need to get violent, Miss. Grey. You wouldn't want to be hurting a grade school teacher now would you?" Your eyes narrow at the fake badge that dangles from his chest pocket, a cheery-fake smile with animals stickers cluttered around it. "Well, 'Mr. Richards', I highly doubt that you even have a formal education let alone are teaching a group of forty children when you spend your Friday afternoons in a lab with random women."

"You think yourself to be random?"

"No. But I will be in a moment."

"Is that so? Then why do I have you pinned to a room so easily?"

"You? Pinning me?" you giggle, taking a few steps back and starting to back up your gear, throwing the rose by his feet, observing how it crumbles across the white tiles, little red petals all splattered about like blood. "I would like to see you try," you tease before sharply darting out of the room hearing as the dash after you yet you know these halls like the back of your hand, dashing around a corner and bursting through a window you know to be able to fall through at a safe height into a pile of trash.

Standing up with a hull, rolling your ankle while looking up, you cast 'Mr. Richards,' a wink before walking off with the rush-hour crowd of those getting of work and sink into the subway system without a trace.

─────── · ·

─ · · You would like to say that was your last time running into said man yet he always found another way to you no matter where you seemed to turn or who you worked with... it was as if they were tracking your every move as you made it, that would be impossible though.. I've swapped phones at every stop and gotten all new passports.

─ · · The man, you know know to be as "The Jackal" in one of his recent entries to you still helped you with your work (as in doing it for you and offering you the entire pay check with his added 'gifts' again). You didn't know weather of not to feel disturbed anymore or intrigued to learn more as the notes became longer, the killing of your clients less frequent as he apologized for taking away your work while explaining he had his own jobs to fulfill in the past, and you with every city to ventured to, you thought to see his features pop up in the most crowded of places that made your heart race.

─ · · The Jackal would occasionally greet you in-person (of course when you least expected it). Take the club for instance when he ordered you a drink at the bar before spinning you for a dance and leaving at the sound of the next song like a mere figment of your imagination. How about that one time he waved you goodbye at the airport before boarding a separate flight or that time he acted as waitstaff to an event you were infiltrating.

You remember that night vividly, feeing as his longer slender fingers grabbed the coat from off your shoulders, draping it across his forearm before quickly leading you inside and into a discrete corner to offer some... advice? Before commenting on how beautiful the shade of blue made your complexion look and leaving before you could process his words and went back to hyper-focussing on your mission.

─ · · You hate to admit to yourself now how smoothy that mission ended up going with his feedback and escape plans and how well you both seemingly worked together like a seamless... effortless transition every time your paths would cross again. Just like to puzzle pieces falling together.

─ · · That once irritation now infatuation by how quickly he could rile you up with just a few words and how equally quickly he could calm you and crazily enough, you found yourself relaxing to his presence. Even looking forwards to it and waiting, hoping for the random face in a crowd to be his... you felt pathetic by how fast your heart was running before your brain. Any initial concern going out the window when the moment he complimented your work so earnestly, eyes so wide and welling with truth that you couldn't hold yourself from falling and forgetting parts of yourself in the process as you spiralled and fell into his arms, felt his kiss to your forehead, heard his voice calling your name in the private of one of your homes or felt how his hand gripped your thigh as he drove you both across seaside roads to soak of the sun.

─────── · ·

─ · · You shake the feeling of an over looming stare you never seem to find off of you before turning into your motel room. You had found yet another successful job and were ready to reap the rewards with a five-star vacation away from all the stress you had been experiencing.

─ · · Knocking off your boots and flinging off your itchy wig you sigh, feeling overwhelmed by all the layers of clothes you wear before stepping into the bathroom but the door appears to be... locked?

You jiggle the handle, "just a minute, Miss. Grey," a voice sounds from the behind the wood that has your hand stilling on the metal handle before being flung forwards and into a warm chest as the door is ripped open sending you with it, "good to see you again too," the Jackal teases, lazily casting an arm around your waist as you huff and pull away, feeling his lingering touch against your skin haunting your bones as you walk backwards and sit upon the bed.

The Jackal smirks, crossing his arms and leaning against the hallway arch, staring at you, "It has been some time since we've last seen each other, I thought you'd be all over me by now" he teases, eyes crinkling at the way you scrunch your nose up just like the first day he met you- watching as you foot taps against the floor as you think of a retort.

"Me? All over you? I think you have these roles revered, Mr. Jackal-sir," you smile, hands drifting back on the covers as you lean backwards, drinking in his relaxed appearance.

The Jackal slowly stalks forwards, standing before you before crawling over top of you as you fall back against the mattress, smiling up brightly as he traces your jaw, "and to think," he leans in slowly, breath hot and heavy against your ear as you squirm beneath him, "you'd say I'd never pin you down." He bites your earlobe before leaving a trail of kisses down your neck, across your collarbone and back up to your lips where he settles with a groan as you wrap your legs around his waist, locking your ankles around his lower back and smiling into the feeling of his lips on yours.

You both pull away breathless as you reach up, fixing a few golden curls that bounce across his forehead- pulling them back and leaning forwards for another kiss, "Don't make me eat my words now or you'll be left with your hand for the night," you warn, starting to pull away.

The Jackal simply places more of his body weight on you, casting you a glare, "like you'd be able to form words if I had my way with you."

"Wanna bet?" you trail one finger from his lip, down his jaw and neck before feeling his chest and the rapid beat of his heart- watching as his eyes darken to your words, "what does the winner receive?"

"Well why don't we ask them at the end? I'm sure she'll come up with a fair answer," you giggle, starting to pull at the neck of his shirt in a silent ask for him to remove it.

The Jackal does not budge, simply staring deeply into your eyes before briefly flickering down to your parted lips, "She-hm? Well I don't think he has ever lost a bet."

"It would be a pleasure to be the first one to hold one over you then."

"We'll see about that."

─────── · ·

─ · · A/N: I would lose- wait who said that?? lol

─ · · JACKAL TAGLIST: @swiftietevitdrewjew @groovyponypatrollamp @alelo23 @apaperflowerreader @itz-stuts @moonlightmvrvel @nadixq

[oweninadaydream]

𝐬𝐚𝐲 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐠𝐨 𝐩𝐭 𝟐 || 𝐅.𝐎𝐝𝐚𝐢𝐫

𝓼𝓾𝓶𝓶𝓪𝓻𝔂 : Say Don't Go (Taylor's version) (From The Vault) or 4 times you say 'I love you' and Finnick says nothing back.

𝓹𝓪𝓲𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓰 : Finnick Odair x reader

𝔀𝓸𝓻𝓭 𝓬𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓽 : 2k

𝓬𝓸𝓷𝓽𝓪𝓲𝓷𝓼 : angst/fluffy ending i promise, TW: mentions of torture ,anxiety and kidnapping (first story).

𝓪/𝓷 : As promised, here's part 2 of say don't go pt 1 !!! I hope you enjoy the fic!!!

3. 𝓰𝓱𝓸𝓼𝓽 𝓸𝓯 𝔂𝓸𝓾

You woke up in your bed, yet you could not recall how you got there. Your body felt sore and stiff but nothing could top the way your head was pounding. You were seated against the headboard and you noticed that something wasn’t right ; you couldn’t pinpoint what it was, but you knew deep inside that something was different. To help calm your distress, you tried to remember anything about the day before . You realized right and then that your memory was completely blank, leaving you even more worried than you were prior to that failed attempt. 

You had assumed you were all alone, but then you saw Finnick pass through your bedroom door. “Thank God he’s here” you thought, convincing yourself that everything would be alright now that he was there with you (even if you ignored the motivation behind his unexpected visit). He slowly made his way inside and stood in the middle of the room, keeping himself at arm’s length, something extremely unusual that confirmed your gut feeling. Once he had entered your bedroom, you couldn’t help but analyze him and his strange attitude.  His movements were robotic as if someone had a remote control that forced him to act like that. His eyes had never been a mystery to you , you could always tell what was going on inside him with a single stare . But this time it was different; he was staring at you with an impassive look that you couldn't quite read, making your whole body tremble in fear and distrust.

You felt intimidated and tried to figure out what was wrong with him “Finn dear, what’s going on?" you asked with a quivering smile. You tried to lift your hand to reach his but ,for some reason, you couldn't. It felt like you were strapped to the mattress and you started panicking, as you couldn't figure out what was happening. Seeking comfort, you pleaded with him in between sobs "I'm very scared Finnick please tell me something, anything. Or just hold me because this is very confusing. I- I feel like- I can't move out of bed, I- I need you" 

He simply continued to play his stoic role ; he didn't move one inch before your panic attack or your efforts to set free from the invisible restraints holding you down. "Help me" you whispered with an expression of pure pain on your damped face. Your foggy brain couldn't process the scene before your eyes ; the person who represented love, hope and comfort in your miserable life was being a passive witness to your spectacle of fear and it didn’t seem like he was going to jump into action anytime soon. 

You noticed a rapid change in his factions. His eyes burst into flames of hatred and his clenched jaw only accentuated the shift from indifference to hostility. Instead of hurrying to console and aid you like the Finnick you knew would, this empty shell of a man that resembled him broke the distance between you and wrapped his hands around your throat, beginning to strangle you purposefully. 

You had been living in survival mode ever since you were chosen as a tribute for District 4 all those years ago, you were no stranger to fighting or death, but never in a million years would you have imagined that the man who swore to shield you from any danger would be the one stealing your breath with his bare hands in an extremely violent manner . You were desperately gasping for air and coughing while he continued to focus on his mission. 

For a moment, he seemed to let his hold loose a bit and you took the chance to try and talk him into letting go "Finn, it's me. Why are you doing this?Is anyone making you do this? We take care of each other, remember? I love you more than anything." you told him with a soft but raspy voice as a consequence of his assault. You were tired and wanted to give up, but you continued to fight for him, for your Finn to come back. Apparently, hearing your desperate confession only aggravated the situation, because you felt the strength returning to his hands. 

Suddenly, in between your cries and the lack of air , you felt yourself fading away. But before that happened , you heard a very loud scream. In the blink of an eye, you were no longer in your house and Finnick was nowhere to be seen. A white sterile room welcomed you to reality as some doctors accompanied by two peacekeepers entered the room. 

Oh, you remember now. You were kidnapped by the Capitol, who had been subjecting you to all kinds of  twisted experiments and never-ending abuse for who knows how long. The loud cries and several swear words that made you snap out of that nightmare were Johanna's, whose room was at your right. Peeta was your other neighbor, allowing you to hear them both being tortured at any given time. You looked at your arms and legs and saw the ropes tying you down , justifying the oppressing feeling you had while hallucinating. 

The main theme of your punishments for not snitching was him, Finnick Odair. Snow was more than aware of the deep devotion you held for him and how dear you were to him so he figured the perfect torture would be messing with your memories and use several techniques to impose fear and pain in your heart whenever you thought  of him or saw his face. That way, you would finally be all alone in this world ,  scared of the only thing you've ever loved so greatly and he would have to witness you shy away from him in pure terror. To meet his goal, they would drug you and play videos and recordings of him saying the meanest and cruelest words that you knew he would never be able to pronounce, but as the days passed , the truth and the imposed thoughts started to blur in one big and confusing mass. 

You were resisting quite well to President Snow's diabolic plan, but you could only hold onto your actual memories for so long. One of the last things you remembered thinking about  before you let yourself fall into madness were his eyes, and how much you loved them.

If your suffering assured his survival, you'd tell the Capitol to put you through it a thousand more times , and you would gladly do it again. If only you could have held your sweet Finnick for one more minute before letting him go forever…

4. 𝓪𝓷 𝓸𝓭𝓮 𝓽𝓸 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓸𝓷𝓮 𝓘 𝓵𝓸𝓿𝓮

The setting sun turned the white-sanded coast of District 4 a soft but enchanting shade of orange. The waves crashing against the rocks accompanied perfectly the idyllic landscape and brought a sense of calmness to the people assembled there. The summer solstice is a day where usually people celebrate the arrival of a new season, but that was not the case this time.

The beach looked magnificent, Effie had been the chief in charge of making everything (and everyone) look ideal for the occasion that brought them all together on that day. The first rows of white chairs were occupied by Haymitch, Effie, Katniss, Peeta, Johanna, Annie and right next to her, there was Mags, the woman who had taken care of you both for so many years and had seen how you two where meant to be from the first time you and your fiancé (soon to be husband) exchanged looks.

Neither you nor Finnick had ever thought about marrying anyone ; under Snow's regime, you were mere pieces of a game with no actual power of decision. But that didn't matter anymore. You were walking towards Finnick, who was nervously fidgeting with the sleeve of his suit , waiting for you at the end of the isle. When you finally arrived at your destination, you couldn't help but to turn around and go back to hug Mags, who received you with open arms and a couple of shed tears over her face. After this emotional moment, you went back to Finnick's side "Hi" you whispered so that the conversation could remain secret from all the guests "You come here often?" he teased with a beaming smile on his face. You let out a breathy laugh to relieve some tension and then you both turned so that the ceremony could start.

"I want to keep this vows short because I would need another lifetime just to expose the million reasons why this is the best day of my life. We're free, my love. It's truly over. This is our reward after a whole life of suffering and holding back. I am so in love with you, it's hard to put it into words. You know? Mags once told me that the thing I needed the most had always been right in front of me and I didn't get what she meant by that in that moment. She just laughed at me and told me that I would understand, one of these days" Mags in the front row was a tearful mess "and now I do. I really do" he stated confidently while holding your hands on his.

"My soul craves intertwining itself with yours until there's no way to separate them. So, with this ring" he then proceeded to grab your left hand so cautiously as if you would break at the minimum touch, and slip the golden ring in your finger "I, Finnick Odair, swear to protect, satisfy and devote myself to you ; my friend, my savior and now my spouse. I can't wait to spend the rest of my days with my forever love, which happens to be you" He had always hated to see you cry, even if they were happy tears, so he had to insert a little joke to see you chuckle and be able to hear the most beautiful sound on Earth ; your laugh.

You could sense that your voice would betray you at the minimum attempt to speak, so you needed to rush through your vows before you would explode into tears "God Finnick, you always know how to leave me speechless." the guests all laughed, moved by the evident complicity between the two of you.

"I always knew you were my soulmate, the person I was meant to find. The love I carry for you in my heart used to feel too heavy, but now that I get to set it free, it's more like energy rushing though my whole body, healing all the broken parts. I have the privilege to experience how it feels being loved by you and I want to try and describe it for all our friends who are here today" you breathed in and out and kept talking "Being loved by you feels like being rocked by the sea, like waking up to the smell of freshly baked goods or like being tucked into a warm bed in wintertime. It's exiting, comforting, amusing and an insane amount of other things that I could say right now" you recited while staring at his piercing green eyes that were completely red and filled with tears . You caressed his cheek and tried to wipe them away. "I will always follow you wherever you go, until the end of time. That's what I've always wanted to do and I couldn't be more exited about spending the rest of my life with such a handsome and amazing man. I love you."

Before you could do or say anything else, Finnick held your face between his hand and kissed you like he had been wanting to do since the ceremony started. You said 'I love you' and he said nothing back, but it wasn't so bad this time.

TAGLIST : @bambikitten , @thefourrealms , @shooting-a-star-at-the-moon , @justtrying2getby .

[whatsk-poppinhomies]

Pairing : Idol!Song Mingi x F!Reader TW : reader is an internatiol ATINY ; nationality unspecified ; pure angst ; long distance relationship ; arguing ; disastrous break up ; heartbreak ; it's just sad ; he's a little bit, slightly yandere ; Word Count : 8.0k A/N : Mingi angst!! Yay! Haven't written for ATEEZ in a good bit! This one is fun! I have full control and I love it! Time for some heartbreak!! This turned a little yandere... But I hope you still like it! Also, I'm sorry I haven't posted in a while. I'm trying to write as much as I can! Request : Anonny : hi! I was wondering if you could do a mingi angst! I've been reading your angst fics and well just your gifs for like the past year and never had the courage to ask until now! I don't really have specifics and you could just do whatever you want with plot wise or something! I haven't thought about plot and stuff yet, just mingi angst 😭

The last fancall, it was kind of sad, but in a way, also relieving. They got to just relax after this call, they didn’t have to try to understand what an international fan was saying, not that it was a problem, but it was hard, although they’d never expect anyone to learn Korean just for them. They all loved talking to ATINY though, even if it were just a few, they got to personally get to know them for a minute or two, they got to joke with them, laugh with them, even playfully flirt with them. It was just nice to have some kind of interaction with the fans that brought them to where they were today. 

It was your first fancall, you weren’t even sure how you had gotten so lucky to be chosen, but you had been, and when you got the email you screamed so loud that your neighbor started banging on the walls. Something as small as a video call, but it was huge to you, it felt like a dream. Surely, anyone who wasn’t a fan of k-pop wouldn’t understand, they’d probably think you were crazy for getting so excited over something like this… But this just might be the closest you’d ever get to any of them, and it would most definitely be the only time you ever got to talk to them. 

You had done your hair and your makeup and you had changed your outfit about six times before settling on something more casual. It’s not like any of them would remember you anyway, and you weren’t even upset about that, you were just glad to be able to have this opportunity… an opportunity that had you so insanely flustered that you could barely even speak when Hongjoong showed up on your screen. 

How embarrassing it was to sit in front of your favorite idols, not all of them at once, but one by one, they all got to look at you and see you looking so absolutely enamored that they were in fact actual people. The most you could get out was a ‘hello’, and even that was kind of squeaky and they would laugh, which in turn would make you more shy. They were all so nice though, asking you what your favorite song was and who your bias is, even though you couldn’t seem to find your voice. You wondered if things like this happened often. 

Then you got to Mingi, who was last second to last in the lineup. He wasn’t exactly your bias, you didn’t really have one, they were all amazing and attractive in their own personal ways. But damn did he look good. If you were awestruck before, you were completely starstruck now, your eyes widening as you took in his perfect features and just… everything about him. 

“Oh my god…” You said, under your breath you had assumed, but he had to have heard you considering he turned around and looked behind him before looking back at the camera to smile and wave at you. “Hi…” His turn was slightly different, it made you feel different. The other guys had simply looked at you, but it felt like Mingi was really looking at you. What did he see? Did you have something in your teeth? Was your hair messed up? You felt shy, like you were standing right in front of your crush. It was crazy. 

“You ever been to Korea?” He asked, and it was so blunt, but he had this cheeky smile on his face that both eased your nerves and somehow had them going haywire at the same time. You giggled nervously and shook your head no. “You should come, it’s nice here. A lot of pretty girls, you’ll fit right in.” He… He just called you pretty? Was this fan service? It had to be! He was just really really good at it. “Do you have a boyfriend?” None of the other guys had asked you these types of questions, why were things getting so personal? Why didn’t you seem to mind it when it was coming from him? You shook your head no once again. “Good. I’m your boyfriend now. Okay?” 

It probably wasn’t a good time to take a sip of water, not that you had expected him to say something like that, but you spit it out all over your desk, completely in shock at the words that you had just heard him say. There was no way he was being serious right now. His fan service was immaculate. “Oh…Okay!” You stammered out, and you wondered how long this would go on. He had surely passed up the timer. 

“My turn now!!” You heard Wooyoung shout from beside him, and Mingi groaned loudly as his bottom lip jutted out. “I’m gonna steal your girlfriend, deal with it.” He teased, and you let out a small sigh. It was just fan service. You felt kind of foolish for momentarily getting worked up over something that he probably said to 20 other people today. 

“I’ll see you again, yeah?” He asked, his words coming out rushed, and what the hell were you supposed to do? Say no?! You obviously wanted to see him again, that would be awesome, but the chances of you winning a fan call raffle twice were so low, you would be crazy to think that you’d ever have a moment like this again. 

“Yeah… Yeah, you will.” You said, because even though you knew he was just very skilled in acting, you might as well play along with it. For a few short seconds, you had been Song Mingis girlfriend… And now that you had moved to a call with Wooyoung… All you could think about Mingi and his words and the way he looked at you. It drove you crazy… He drove you crazy. He had just become your ultimate bias though!

///

“I’m not gonna be able to go to the Ateez concert.” Your friend mumbled, and part of you, the more selfish part of you, was partially glad that she wasn’t able to go. She had flaunted the fact that she got front row tickets and you hadn’t been able to get even a back seat, they were sold out before payday. “Stupid fucking job, not giving me a day off. I requested it too!” 

“That’s bullshit.” You shook your head, trying your best to sympathize with her, but all you could selfishly think was that if you weren’t lucky enough to go, she shouldn’t be lucky enough to go either. “Are you going to sell the ticket? You could get some good profit considering it’s a front row seat.” You quizzed, but the way she was looking at you made you quite uneasy. It looked like she was planning something… or at least thinking of something, and you didn’t know if it was malicious or something else completely. She was hard to read. 

Long, manicured nails tapped against the table top, the sound putting you even more on edge, and then she sighed. “I know that your birthday is coming up, and… well I’m poor because I bought this damn ticket so…” Her shoulders shrugged, but there was a slight, tight lipped smile spreading across her face. “I’m just gonna give it to you. Happy early birthday! Yay! Tell Yuno I love him so much.” 

Your jaw might as well have been on the floor. Was fate really giving you a good hand this year? Was this all that good karma you had earned from being a wonderful citizen in society? “Holy shit… No way! Are you being serious right now?” You just had to be sure. There was no way someone would just give up a front row ticket, especially not for free, even if it were your best friend. There had to be some kind of clause. 

“Yes, I’m serious. Now, accept it before I change my mind and just skip work that day. I would have done that anyway if I didn’t have to pay rent.” She rolled her eyes and sunk down in her seat. “Take as many pictures and videos as you can… for me. Please! That’s all I’m asking for.” You nodded your head firmly, shit, that was the easiest thing you’d have to do. “He’ll probably look so good… Maybe…” 

“No take backs!” You blurted out, your finger waving back and forth as you stared at her, and you hoped that she thought you were just goofing around and that your expression didn’t let on just how panicked you felt just by her words. “I will facetime you just so you feel like you’re actually there… Okay?” She was sulking, as anyone would be, you knew damn well that you would be if you were in the same position as her. 

“Just have fun… And make a big sign, you have to get at least one of them to notice you, especially since you’re front row. Take advantage of those seats, bitch.” She teased, reaching her hands across the table to grab yours as she let out a little squeal, kicking her feet and acting as if she were still the one going. Maybe she was just trying to hype you up. “I gave you the best birthday gift, nobody can top me, they shouldn’t even try.” 

“They should definitely still try though… I mean… I like getting things.” She snorted loudly, and you couldn’t help but laugh along with her. She was absolutely crazy and you absolutely adored her. A world without her as your best friend would be dull and boring and you didn’t even want to think about how sad it would be. You would have the best time of your life at that concert, and you’d do it for her. 

///

Picking out an outfit for something like a concert was much harder than picking out an outfit for a video call. This was important, especially since you were going to be in the front row. One of them - hopefully Mingi - would look directly at you at some point. You couldn’t just be casual about it, you had to draw attention to yourself, you had to make sure that you were noticed. This decision felt more crucial than anything else in your life, and that seems quite absurd, but these guys had been the subjects of all your dreams and daydreams, you at least wanted to look good in front of them. 

You had only been to one other concert in your entire life, and it was back during middle school for an indie group when you were going through your “emo” phase. This was bigger than that, you could already tell as you pulled up to the arena and saw the people pouring into the entrance. Your heart was hammering in your chest, it was crazy, you had even gotten there 2 hours early to try to make things easier on yourself but the crowd was already massive. 

The lightstick in your hand was already shaking, but only because of your nerves, but you knew that you couldn’t just sit in the back of the Uber forever, so you climbed out, taking a deep breath before heading into the building. It was somehow more packed inside than it was even outside and it was so insanely congested that it felt more like a train station than an arena for a concert. Did all concert venues look like this or was it just because ATEEZ was performing? 

Since you were front row, you got to go in and watch them warm up… funnily enough, you felt you might miss it considering you didn’t have a single idea where the hell you were going. You were trying your best to navigate through this cluster of people that were just as excited as you were, and you wished that you had someone to help walk you through this whole thing. It was so loud and you were being bumped into, and while they apologized for it, it didn’t make you any less anxious. 

By the time you finally made it in the arena, you were just exhausted. The big sign that you had made and brought along with you had miraculously made it through all of it unscathed, but you were drained. You dropped down into your seat, hoping that your hair and your outfit had survived as well as the sign, but there was no mirror and you didn’t want to risk getting lost on your way to or from the bathroom, so you just had to rely on that hope that you still looked as good as you did when you left the house. 

It felt like you hadn’t even had enough time to really catch your breath or cool off before the guys were walking out on stage. Everyone around you was screaming, but you were so enamored by the sight of them, literally right in front of you, that your mouth was hanging open but no sound was coming out. You had really thought that the video call was the most amazing thing, but now, you were sure that you were wrong. They were legitimately real, they were right in front of you. “Holy shit…” You mumbled to yourself, and for some reason, even though there were still a pretty good amount of people around you, you were self conscious, you were shy, you were nervous. 

They came to the edge of the stage, one by one, and they all walked by and finished hand hearts that other people were making and stayed still long enough to be in selfies with certain people, none of them really stopped for longer than a minute tops… No one, other than Mingi. 

Oh, Mingi… Who had managed to make your heart flutter through a simple video call, he made you feel like you were going crazy… Surely he wouldn’t remember you though. But why… Why did he full stop on your side of the stage? Why did he kneel down in front of you, his eyes locking with yours as his head tilted to the side? Gosh, he was adorable. There was no way that he would notice you after the couple months that had passed. The video call hadn’t lasted long enough for your face to be saved in his memory. Had it? 

The chants of the people beside you seemed to pull him out of whatever trance he was in, and he quickly stood up and scurried along the stage, but it didn’t go unnoticed that he continued to look back at you, his eyes narrowing as if in deep thought. Did he remember you? 

Soon enough they were off the stage and the rest of the stadium began to fill. The noise was much worse inside the arena, the sound just echoing off the walls and filling your ears, and you wondered how people could handle it constantly. You were sure that you’d have a major headache once you got out of there. The sudden influx of people and the growing excitement of the show that was about to begin had taken your mind off of the slightly strange interaction from before. You shouldn’t think so hard about those things, it was foolish and you didn’t want to be delusional. 

As the show started, the screams that you had originally thought to be loud seemed to multiply tenfold and your ears were already ringing. Of course, you had a seat right next to the speaker. Would your eardrums even make it through the night? Were there enough ibuprofen in the world to soothe the awful ache in your head once you got back home? 

It didn’t matter now, you just wanted to enjoy the show. You were here to enjoy the concert, to live the experience… But also, not forget to get enough video footage of Yunho to thank your friend for the ticket. This was something that you wouldn’t be able to do again, at least for a long time. Screw the headache, you should enjoy it while it lasts, and that’s exactly what you were going to do. 

///

“I swear, I think that’s her in the front row.” Mingi said backstage after the warmups. The guys all stared at him like he was crazy, but he knew that he wasn’t. He knew your face, he knew your eyes, they had filled his dreams every night… They thought he was crazy for that too. “I’m so serious right now. I wouldn’t say it’s her if it wasn’t.” 

Wooyoung snorted, but patted Mingi on the back as he walked by. “Maybe you’re the delusional one. Spotting your dream girl out in the crowd. That’s crazy. Come on, we have to get ready. Get your head out of your ass.” Mingi pouted as he walked over to the stylist and dropped down into his seat beside Hongjoong. 

“I’m being so serious right now. You believe me, right? I mean… You saw her in the call. You know what she looks like. That was her out in the crowd… Right?” Mingi asked, trying to keep his voice down so that Wooyoung wouldn’t come over and completely crush his dreams and rain on his parade. Hongjoong chewed on his bottom lip, looking at Mingi through the mirrors that were in front of them. “You… You believe me… Don’t you?” 

Hongjoong sighed, turning to Mingi with a slight pout. “I didn’t… But if you really believe you saw her, I’m happy for you. I’m not going to tell you that you’re crazy.” He pushed himself up off of his chair and stretched, preparing himself for the show that he was about to put on for all the fans. “It’s almost time to go out there…” 

“Yeah! Maybe you’ll see your girlfriend!” Wooyoung chimed in, seemingly coming from out of nowhere. “It’s okay to be delusional, bud. I’m not judging you for it.” Although it seemed like he was judging him a lot for it, Mingi tried to avoid the teasing and focus more on the fact that he was about to head out on stage in less than five minutes. 

He was so nervous though, not for the reasons that most would think though. Being up on stage in front of thousands of people wasn’t the issue, it was being up on stage in front of you. What were the chances of you winning a fancall and being at a show too? It’s like the universe was trying to bring the both of you together. He truly believed that. He couldn’t think of any other reason for those two things to happen. Especially with you being right in front… Front row seats, like he was meant to see you. It wasn’t a coincidence, it couldn’t be, and he knew that it was you. Your face was unforgettable to him. He daydreamt about it every day, he would have dreams of you every night. He couldn’t get you out of his head. 

///

The speakers in front of you send vibrations through the air around you, you could feel it in your muscles, in your bones. The entire arena went dark for a moment, and then you heard the crowd roar as they walked out. You had already seen them once during their warm up, but it was like the first time again, your breath held in your lungs as they walked out, the music crescendoing the closer they got to the edge of the stage. 

It felt like when you ride a rollercoaster, the slow climb to the top of the hill, and you knew that the edge was coming soon, that feeling of falling, excitement and fear all in one… But this time there was no fear, it was just the strange tingly feeling in your stomach, that last breath of air before you’d let it all out in one loud scream. 

Building and building, their bodies like shadows in the darkness, and then with one click the spotlights turned on and they were illuminated, the bright lights shining on each and every one of them, but you were only looking specifically at one. An audible gasp left your lips as you seemed to once again lock eyes with Mingi.

Your hands shook as you held up the sign that you had made, feeling quite foolish now as it was hoisted above your head. “Call Me Mingi”, with your phone number written neatly at the bottom. It was a joke, one that your friend had laughed about right alongside you as she added the glitter to the glue hearts that had been neatly placed along the board. 

It was crazy, you and your friend both agreed to that, but it was probably a good switch up from the typical signs that asked the idols to marry them. What was even crazier though was when Mingi pulled out his phone, aiming it in your direction and snapped a quick photo. You couldn’t be delusional, being delusional wasn’t good for your heart or your mind, but you also couldn’t help but think that maybe he took the photo so that he could check back on the sign… So that he could call you… 

The rest of the concert felt more like a blur, stuck in your own mind thinking about what Mingi could have wanted that picture for. You didn’t see any of the other guys taking pictures of the crowd… Or maybe you were so lost in your thoughts that you didn’t even notice if they did. You couldn’t stop thinking about it though, and before you knew it, the concert was over and you couldn’t even remember the setlist or the last song they played before the main lights in the arena turned back on and everyone began filing out. 

Your friend was going to kill you, you hadn’t gotten a single video of Yunho for her. You honestly were quite pissed at yourself as well. This is why delusions aren’t good at all. You missed the whole concert, one that you most likely were never going to be able to experience ever again, because you were too busy thinking about whether Song Mingi, a literal idol, would make the time to call someone like you. 

///

“You didn’t get a single video of Yunho!? Oh my god!” Your friend whined as you laid in bed, your phone next to your head, not even on speaker, but her voice was loud enough that it didn’t need to be. “Maybe it’s a good thing I didn’t go to the concert. I can’t afford to be a delulu as your ass.” 

“I’m sorry!” You mumbled, throwing your hands over your face and letting out a loud groan. “I just… I’m not even thinking about him calling my number at this point. I just don’t want him to post a picture of it online and have a bunch of people trying to call me or text me, you know?” You explained, finally getting over your delusions and moving onto a safer, yet still highly panic inducing train of thought. 

“Oh! Your phone is going to be blowing up! You’ll finally be super popular!” Your friend teased, snorting loudly as she said it, but you could only muster a slightly annoyed shut up in response before your phone started vibrating. “It begins! Maybe he did post it!” 

“Oh hell no! I’ll call you back!” You said quickly, ending the call with your friend to quickly answer the incoming call. “Look. I don’t know where you got my number, but if it’s from where I think it is, I will not tolerate unsolicited calls. This is harassment.” 

“Oh…” The voice on the other end was quite timid, but you could tell it was a guy. He sounded kind of nervous, and although all of you wanted to believe who you thought it was, you didn’t want to go down that road again, at least not tonight. “But your number was on the sign… I thought you wanted the phone call.” 

“The sign was a joke!” You explained exasperatedly, kicking your legs like a toddler in the store who was throwing a temper tantrum. You surely didn’t want to deal with this right now. “Unless you are Song Mingi, I’d advise you to hang up the phone and find someone else to bother this late at night.” 

There was a chuckle, although the sound was slightly muffled, but it was extremely agitating that someone found this funny. As if harassment was something comical nowadays. “So I shouldn’t hang up the phone then… Right?” You scoffed loudly, finally getting up from your bed and pacing around your room, something that you often did when you were just too annoyed to sit still. 

“Look, this isn’t funny. If you’re doing this to mess with me, I’m sure you’ve already had your fun. I’m trying to get some sleep, I’m exhausted. It would be really cool of you to not fuck with people like this.” The words came out in huffed breaths, you were beyond pissed, not just at whoever this person was, but at yourself for being stupid enough to put your number out so publicly just on the small chance that someone like Song Mingi would actually dial your number. 

A soft hum, and then your phone started vibrating again, this time an invite to a video call that you surely weren’t up to accepting. You let it continue ringing until it ended, and you thought that it would be a one and done type of thing, but then it started vibrating again. “Just for a second, you don’t even have to be on the camera, I just want to show you something.” 

You didn’t exactly mean to laugh as loudly as you did, but you had heard that line one too many times in your lifetime to trust it. “Look bud, I don’t want to see a live action shot of your dick and balls. I wasn’t born yesterday.” You snarkily shot back, and the audible gasp that came through your speaker had it crackling slightly. 

“Who did that to you? That’s disgusting… Hold up. We don’t have to call. I’ll just… Send you a selfie real quick. Not of my dick and balls.” Were you so annoyed that you were laughing, or did you actually find him funny? You weren’t sure, but regardless of what it was, you laughed at his little quip, your hand moving over your mouth so that the guy didn’t think he was actually getting anywhere right now. 

Your phone buzzed in your hand once again, and luckily it was only once, but when you went to your texts, you were met with a selfie of the guy that was on the other end of the line… The guy that the sign had been made for. “I call bullshit!” You blurted out, because there was no way in hell your little glitter bomb sign would have worked. You just couldn’t fathom it.

“Reverse image search it then. It doesn’t exist anywhere else than in your messages.” He said rather bluntly, quite cockily too. Now that you were really listening to his voice though, you couldn’t deny that it sounded all too familiar to the voice you heard at the concert, and not just that, but the voice you had heard in your phone before when you had won the fancall. You were stunned into silence, you didn’t know what to say or what to do next, and he could tell. “You believe me now?” 

“Mmhm…” Was all you could mutter, because what else were you supposed to say? How were you supposed to think of anything coherent when you were currently in a very real, very one on one call with Song Mingi… Or was it one on one? Did his managers know about this call? Were they just standing around him listening to every word you and him say? Did they freak out when he sent the selfie to you? 

“So… I’m going to be here… Close to you… For another two days…” What was he hinting at? Ain’t no way he was hinting at what you thought he was… right? “If you want to meet up for lunch or dinner… or something…” Holy shit he was. “I know that this is crazy, I just needed to be sure…” 

“Sure of what?” You asked, and your heart felt like a freight train, speeding straight to your ribcage and you were sure it was going to shoot out in a matter of seconds. 

“I… I need to be sure that I do actually like you…” 

///

Two days wasn’t enough, but in a sense, it was for him. It felt like a dream when he finally met up with you, even though he had to practically disguise himself from the public, it felt nice to just be able to sit across from you for lunch and talk to you. It didn’t take long for him to be 100… No… 500% sure that you were the woman that he wanted to be with. Love worked in crazy ways, but he trusted it, because the odds of everything lining up so perfectly to get to this moment… It was fate, it had to be. 

The way your body froze for a second before melting against his when he so suddenly pressed his lips to yours. It was a spur of the moment thing, but it felt right, and he needed to kiss you now because he knew that the moment wouldn’t come again for a long time. It wasn’t supposed to lead to anything more, it wasn’t what he had planned, but before either of you could really think twice, you were falling back onto the hotel mattress and he was falling on top of you. 

In that moment, it was like his heart grew ten times bigger, and laying beside you, your hair carelessly clinging to your sweat covered forehead as you dozed peacefully beside him… Love wasn’t hard to find, the world was just waiting to bring the one you were supposed to love to you. That’s how he felt, and he believed it wholeheartedly. How could he not when he felt like he was falling deeper and deeper in love with you with every soft breath that escaped your lips. 

To live in that moment forever, both bodies hidden underneath wrinkled sheets, his feet hanging out from the end of the blanket, your arm draped lazily over his bare chest. Could you feel his heart beating beneath his skin? It seemed like now it was only beating for you. He saw his future flash before his eyes, mornings like this, every morning like this, just waking up beside you, being able to see your beautiful face as soon as he opened his eyes. What a wonderful future it would be to spend it with you. 

Falling in love was easy when it was with you, but it was hard… It was hard because he knew he couldn’t stay with you, at least not in person. He had to go back to Korea, he had to finish the rest of the tour. His heart felt like it was connected to yours entirely, and having to leave you behind was going to be painful… But it would work. He’d make it work, solely because he couldn’t imagine his life without you in it. 

“I wish I could take you with me…” He whispered, and while he knew that that wish couldn’t be granted, not yet at least, he had been able to swindle security to pick you up just so that he could ride with you to the airport, so that he’d be able to see you one last time before he had to go. “I’ll message you… I’ll call you every day.” 

“What if you get bored?” You practically whimpered, and his heart cracked at the question. How could he ever get bored of you? He had spent months before the concert just thinking about you before he even knew where you lived or what you were truly like. He had been loyal to the singular thought of you. There was no way that he’d give up so easily when he finally had you and was able to call you his. 

“I’d never get bored, baby. I’ll wait, always… Until we can be together.” He reassured you, his hands cupping your cheeks gently as he wiped away the stray tears that fell from your eyes. “Don’t cry, please don’t cry. I’ll start crying and then I won’t be able to get out of the car because I won’t want to leave you…” He kissed your forehead, and then the tip of your nose before leaning back and giving you a smile that had his eyes disappearing momentarily. It was your favorite smile, you had told him multiple times, and it always seemed to cheer you up. 

“I’m sorry…” You sniffled, leaning forward and resting your head against his chest. Could you hear his heart now, could you hear how fast it was beating for you? “You should go now… I don’t want you to miss your flight.” The words sounded choked out, and he would have said more, but he knew that his words would come out the same way. 

For some people, two days wasn’t even enough to be acquaintances, but for him, two days was enough for him to feel like his heart belonged to you completely. You were his soulmate, his everything, without a doubt… He wouldn’t even look at another woman, he wouldn’t be able to look at anything without somehow finding a way to see you in whatever it was. He loved you with every ounce, every fiber of his being. 

“I’ll… I’ll try to make a stop here after the tour… I’ll visit you again… Before I go back to Korea… Okay?” He held out his pinky to lock with yours, twisting his hand and pressing his and your thumbs together. “Wait for me… Always wait for me, okay?” You nodded your head quickly, your nose scrunched up in the most adorable way as the tears continued to fall down your cheeks. With one last kiss, he was moving away, closer to the door. He hated goodbyes. “Get her home safe, okay… Please.” He told the driver who simply nodded, and then he was gone. 

The windows were tinted, and although he knew that you could see him constantly looking back at you through the windows, he couldn’t see you at all. The last image of you that he held in his mind was your tear stained cheeks and the expression of sadness as he let go of your finger and your hand dropped back down to your lap. He wished he could take you with him, but life just wouldn’t allow that… Not right now at least. 

///

For a good amount of time, you both kept in touch with each other frequently. Hell, you even had your first argument as soon as he got back to Korea because he pinky promised that he’d come visit you before he left, but he didn’t. It was quickly solved though, because one of the main things the two of you had going for the relationship was communication. He promised that when he had free time he would come visit you for a week, and you held onto that promise just as you had held onto the one from before. 

You would talk about how your day was, all the little things that happened, regardless of time difference or schedules, you both always found a way to keep in contact. For months your nights would end with video calls from him, and his nights would end with video calls from you. Everything was perfect, he truly felt that way. 

But soon the messages came in less often, it seemed like you were always busy doing something when he wanted to talk. He’d call you at night and you wouldn’t answer, always miraculously not having your phone with you or on when the call would come in. He didn’t understand it, and when he went to one of the other members to talk, he didn’t want to hear what they had to say either. 

There was no way that you were getting tired of him. You couldn’t be getting bored… Because he promised you that he wouldn’t get bored. It would be hypocritical for you to ask him if he’d get bored of you and then… then get bored of him. 

The thought stuck with him though, and while that would usually make most people give up, it just made him try harder. He messaged you as much as he could, he sent you constant pictures, he tried to call you whenever he knew you’d be on a lunch break or when you’d usually get off work. Your responses were always so dry though. Were you trying to get rid of him? Had he done something wrong? He was doing his best, it’s not like he enjoyed being so far away from you. It had only been 3 months… He was willing to wait forever to be with you… Why couldn't you do the same for him? 

“Hey baby, how did you sleep?” Nowadays he felt nervous when he texted you. He didn’t know whether he’d get a one word reply or no reply at all. It felt pathetic that the days he’d get the one word replies were his favorite, but you had been leaving him on read so often now that even the smallest response felt like a win to him. 

“I think we should talk…” A five word reply, and while the words didn’t sit right with him and they made his stomach do flips, it was nice. It was nice to think that you wanted to talk to him, regardless of what it was about. 

“Yeah sure! I’m down to talk, do you want to call? I haven’t seen you in a while. I miss you!” 

“No calling… It’ll just make this harder.” Make what harder? What were you going to say that could possibly be so hard? You weren’t… leaving him… were you? You couldn’t be… He hadn’t done anything wrong. He was devoted to you, he was loyal to you in every way. You weren’t just going to give up on him that easily… Were you? 

“Well, whatever it is that you have to say, I want you to know that I love you. I can’t wait to see you again!” Maybe that text would make you rethink whatever it was that you were about to send. If you knew that he loved you, although he did tell you every single day, maybe you’d realize that whatever you were planning on doing wasn’t the right thing to do. 

“Mingi… I can’t keep this up. I… found someone else…” 

“No you didn’t… No you didn’t!” He was already crying even though he wanted his mind to just forget that he had even read that text. “You love me! Don’t you love me?!” You had to love him… Why else would you have been so sad in the car when he went to the airport? “Is this because I couldn’t visit you after the tour was over? I’m sorry! I’ll come visit you! I’ll buy a plane ticket right now!” 

“It’s not that… I need someone that’s here with me. I don’t just want to keep repeating the same conversations every single day. The schedule differences and… Everything is stacked up against us… We weren’t going to work.” 

How could you say something like that? He was doing everything he possibly could to make it work. He was the one putting in all the effort. He was the one staying up later than he should just to be able to call you and message you when you were free. “No… You just didn’t want it to work… I still do!” His fingers moved like lightning across his screen, his eyes blurred with the tears that he was trying so hard to hold back. “You can’t decide something like that.. If you would have talked to me… We could have made it work.” 

Did you know that you were killing him, that you were breaking his heart? Would you take the words back if he told you? “I don’t want to argue with you… I just wanted you to know…” Were you as nonchalant as your texts made it seem you were? You really didn’t care… But maybe… Maybe if he gave you some time… A bit of time you’d come to realize that you did love him. He won’t message you… He’ll let it simmer… Maybe you’ll end up missing him and messaging him first. 

So he waited, and days turned into weeks, and he thought he’d be able to wait a month, but then you started posting on Instagram. You looked so happy in your pictures, you looked absolutely gorgeous, and the smile that you were wearing was the same one you had given him during those two days he got to be with you. He swiped through, and he was fine… Maybe not as fine as he wanted to be, but he was fine with seeing the pictures of just you. It brought back happier memories of when he was able to actually be with you. Then he got to the last picture, the guy that you were currently with, he assumed, his arms around you and his lips planted to your cheek. 

As if your words hadn’t been enough to have his heart breaking in two, the pictures felt like you were purposely throwing it in his face that he couldn’t be with you, that he couldn’t make you happy. He couldn’t stand seeing it, he was pissed, he was devastated, he wanted to lash out and he wanted to cry. Why were you doing this to him? What had he done? 

There wasn’t a single thought in his mind as he closed the instagram app and went to kakao, not even bothering to text you before his thumb slammed down on the call button. He didn’t care if you answered the first time, he’d just keep calling until you did, and that’s exactly what he had to do. It took 6 times for your exasperated breath to come through the speaker when you finally answered, but he wasn’t going to give you any time to complain. 

“Did you post it to piss me off or upset me? Because you did both! I guess you’re really winning now, aren’t you? You got to break up with a k-pop idol and break his heart! Good for you!” Right off the bat he was ranting, and maybe he sounded a little bit psychotic, maybe he sounded just slightly obsessed, but when you’re in love with someone, isn’t that how it should be? 

The sound of a man talking in the background had Mingis ears perking up. Were you with the guy still? Oh, how he wished the guy would get on the phone, he’d love to have a word with him. “You’re being ridiculous. I had a clear, logical reason to break up with you. I didn’t do it to hurt you or piss you off. I just wanted to be happy.” How could you sound so sad when you were the one that left him. He didn’t do this! You did! 

“What about my happiness?!” He screeched, running his hand through his hair. He had become aware of the rest of the guys all coming into the room to check on him, but he didn’t care enough to stop. You were going to listen to what he had to say, and those that decided to stick around would have to listen to it too. “You gave up on everything… You’re so selfish! And you weren’t even going to tell me!” 

“I was going to tell you!” You shouted back, and for some reason, it made him kind of excited to hear you fighting back. Something about hearing you get emotional over his words… It had butterflies swarming his stomach. “I didn’t even have time to fully think about how I was going to tell you, but you kept fucking messaging me and-” 

“Of course I kept messaging you! You were my girlfriend and I hadn’t heard from you! Don’t try to act like I’m the bad guy when you’re the one who was practically cheating on me!” While he was angry, he was also struggling to keep from laughing. It would probably sound a bit maniacal to start laughing right now though, and that’s the last thing he wanted. He just found it so cute, the way you were swearing and breathing so heavily, he could almost perfectly envision your face right now. 

You huffed loudly, and the sound was so beautiful to him. Maybe it was just the fact that you hadn’t hung up yet… You were still making time out of your day that you were spending with your boyfriend to focus on him. “I don’t know why you’re being such an asshole right now… I didn’t do anything to you. I never cheated on you… We… What we had… It couldn’t even be considered dating… We were only together for two days…” 

Now he was laughing though, his head falling back as the sound built in his chest. “Yeah okay! Let’s just hope that your boyfriend doesn’t have to go out of town or leave the country for more than a week. You might replace him too!” He shot back and he could almost hear the eye roll from your end. “Maybe you’re not actually meant for relationships, you just want someone to physically dote upon you daily. Sorry I couldn’t fit your selfish needs into my already busy schedule.” 

A small sniffle and the shuffling of fabric, maybe you were wiping your tears or maybe your wonderful boyfriend had come over to wipe them for you. “You’re being unnecessarily mean to me right now…” You whispered, sniffling again before swallowing thickly. “I’m sorry that you’re hung up… And I’m sorry that my happiness is upsetting you. I’m not asking you to stick around though… I’m not forcing you to. You don’t have to stalk my life… You can unfollow me.” 

Of course he wasn’t going to do that. He couldn’t imagine not seeing you on his feed when he opened Instagram, or not having your messages to look back on when he missed you too much. “You’re happiness won’t last long… You’re too selfish to be truly happy with anyone. The first time you can’t get exactly what you want, you give up. Have fun with that.” 

“I-” He quickly hung up, and it was only then that it sank in what he had done… And a wide smile spread across his face. He’d be kicking his feet if they weren’t touching the floor over the edge of the bed. The call only lasted 20 minutes tops, but hearing your voice that long… It was amazing, it made his heart beat a mile a minute and that familiar warm and fuzzy feeling washed over him. 

“Dude… What the fuck?” Wooyoung finally spoke up, concern masking the man's features as he stared at Mingi on the bed. No one had ever heard him talk like that before, and truthfully, he looked and was acting like a complete psychopath right now. “Who was that? What’s going on right now?” 

“I found a way to talk to her…” Mingi said, his chest rising and falling heavily as he let himself drop back onto the bed. He was happy, the happiest he’s been in weeks. “She’ll keep talking if we argue… I just have to keep arguing with her… Then she’ll come back to me. She’ll realize how much she misses me… This’ll work. I know it will.”

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[cilil]

Hi, do you have any advices for budding writers on AO3 or here?

Hey! :)

I've given this some thought and compiled what I hope might be some helpful pointers, but if there's anything else or anything specific you want to hear more about, feel free to ask again. Also I'm assuming this is about the amazing craft of fanfic and not, uh, building a platform or whatever (I wouldn't be very helpful with that, I'm a nobody x)).

Share what you feel comfortable sharing.

So since you're asking about budding writers on AO3 and Tumblr, I take it you're at a point where you feel comfortable sharing your writing online, which is amazing. Nevertheless, I feel the need to once again mention (just for anyone who may be in the same or a similar situation) that it's completely alright not to be comfortable with it (yet) or not to share everything you write. I share almost everything simply because I'm annoying and it makes me feel accomplished and since I've grown pretty comfortable with it, I might as well; but not everyone feels that way and feelings also change. It's completely alright to write just for yourself or a small circle of friends.

Don't worry too much about "being good".

I will be the first to admit that I deeply relate to struggling with perfectionism when it comes to writing (and other creative pursuits). However, as someone who's been reading fic for many years, tends to be into quite niche and obscure things sometimes and is rarely spoiled by big fandoms' abundance of food, I want all writers, especially new ones, to know that you don't have to write the most amazing, perfect, publishing-ready pieces. What matters is your passion and creativity, which will show in your writing regardless of skill level. Not to mention that fic is free and in fact a tool for many to experiment.

That's not to say you can't strive to improve or be good - by all means, I find it admirable if you want to hone your craft and make progress as you continue to write. Just don't let perfectionism ruin your fun and stifle your creativity.

How to get better without trying overly hard.

Aside from just writing, writing and writing (that is the most important part though), how do you improve without making it a point to do so? Well, if it works for you to read/watch guides or you enjoy specific writing exercises, that's great, but one thing that I find gets overlooked a lot in writing spaces is simply: Reading. Just reading for fun.

I find that I often discover little things in other people's writing that I really like and then I think to myself "wow, that's really neat how they did that, maybe I could take a page out of their book" (pun intended) and make it a point to pay attention to these things when I write. Essentially, it's like creating a nice patchwork blanket which is your style, made up of your own voice and preferences as a writer and cool stuff you picked up on the road.

Let me just name some examples, which, yes, are also an excuse to shamelessly blow some writer friends of mine a well-deserved kiss of appreciation. @sauron-kraut writes incredibly polished short stories with beautiful wording and atmosphere that have a lot of little hidden things to discover and dissect, and I want to steal her ability to set the stage and hide those easter eggs. @a-world-of-whimsy-5 is an absolute legend when it comes to writing medieval and medieval-adjacent stuff, and I learned so much from her fics. @i-did-not-mean-to has a way of writing with such esprit and wit that I always end up in a good mood after, a style of narrative voice I've adored for over a decade, and I've greatly improved my humorous writing in particular thanks to her. @crackinthecup has the marvelous ability to craft extremely emotionally evocative scenes, which have encouraged me to be more courageous and experimental in my sentence melody and structure. @tragedybunny has a way of writing that reminds me of coming home to a warm and comfy place, and I will find out how she did it and how I can do it as well.

So as you can see, it can be super helpful to compare notes with your fellow writers. Never be discouraged by someone else's ability; instead learn and expand your own.

Feedback, criticism and community.

Let me just get one thing out of the way: You don't have to take criticism from everyone. Or at all. As far as I understand, the fanfic community has come to to agree that we're doing this for fun and don't give criticism unprompted/when we aren't sure it's wanted or welcome. As a general rule: Take criticism from those you would also seek advice from. Ask for feedback if you feel comfortable, and if not, that's a valid boundary to have and I will gently smack anyone who presumes to pick apart writing that was made for fun and generously shared with the community for free.

The community aspect, however, should be taken into account on other fronts. While I won't tell anyone they have to interact and believe that, in an ideal world, everyone's writing would just speak for itself, it is helpful to engage with the community. Things you can do (both on Tumblr and AO3 if also applicable/possible) include: Respond to people interacting with your works, interacting with other people's works (for example while you're doing your reading sessions and looking at other writers' styles) and just overall being present, being talkative, going with the flow.

Again, this is not a must. But I will say that pretty much all of us want positive responses and interactions on their work and that just won't work if you expect everyone to show up for you all the time and never show up for anyone else. Engagement, passion and community are our "currency" in the absence of money and reciprocity is an important element of that. A lot of friction and complaints in the fanfic community regarding lack of interaction or entitlement are rooted in misunderstandings of this fundamental principle.

But don't take this in a cynical manner. Seek out what you enjoy, share the joy and passion and you'll make friends just accidentally - which is the part that I find makes fandom on AO3 and Tumblr so much fun! (I don't even want to be a "traditional" author anymore, I want this instead😁)

Find your groove and groove along.

Lastly, make sure your writing is fun for you or else it'll become a chore and eventually get ruined for you as a hobby. This is unfortunately a continuous task as your needs and interests shift - for example you might be in the mood to do an entire drabble challenge one month and during another month you feel so drained that you couldn't do another one. Or you might want to write something different for a change. Or whatever it may be.

Either way, one recent lesson I've learned is that I got too tied up in obligations and it left no space for spontaneous inspiration, so I never got to write what I wanted to write in the moment and it pushed me quite close to burnout. Do yourself a favor and always hold that space for yourself. In practice, this could for example mean that you do one event and on the side write this cool new idea you had, instead of doing three events - which is fun and games until it starts getting too much and you don't have time for your passion projects.

Finding your groove also includes the whole technical aspect, such as which writing programs you use, which device (or none at all), where you write, how to make yourself comfortable, how to get in the right headspace for things. I would also like to encourage all of you to be a bit crazy and whimsical about this: For example I've gone to the perfume store, picked out a scent for a specific character in a specific scene and sniffed it while writing the description several times now. Do what it takes. And say goodbye to your squeaky clean search history - you will research some weird stuff just to get that one line right.

So yeah, these are just my random thoughts on fic writing and what has been helpful in order for me to have lots of fun with this hobby. Happy writing!

[girlfailureboylosercom]

Ex-literature Student Hyperfixates on Haikyuu Characters and launches off their rocker

the title says everything.

i got too silly trying to plan a hrhs yuri au fic and ended up deciding to do an analysis on the Kamomedai team (its mostly hrhs. my bad guys)

I'll be analysing volumes 38-41 in this post!! If I miss out on certain panels or misinterpret moments, that's my bad. Most of the panels I'll be putting here are taken irl, so they might not be that easy to read 😞🙇

This is also an opportunity for me to dissect my brain and figure out why I took a liking to these characters. I LOVE ANALYSIS and genuinely wish there was more over Haikyuu, especially on themes and characters and their philosophies!

so, what will I be focusing on in this analysis?

Kamomedai's philosophy, importance + message

Hirugami Sāchiro and

Hoshiumi Kōrai's significance in the story of Haikyuu

Coach Murphy's connection to HRHS' philosophies

If there are any topics I've failed to list here but have explored in this analysis, please understand that I was simply too excited to write and may have forgotten to list them here!

Word Count (excluding titles): 4838

Hirugami Sachiro

His Backstory

of course, whenever Sachiro is brought up, his backstory is the first thing that automatically pops into mind. It's tragic but even worse, it's realistic. It stuck with me the first time I read the entire manga, but I couldn't figure out why. I knew it resonated with me, reminding me of the several burnouts I witnessed in multiple kids around me at school, but that reasoning wasn't enough. So I supposed that pushed me to write this analysis haha!

From these panels, it's safe to say that Sachiro did have love and passion for the sport. He practically grew up with it- his parents and siblings played it, and they eventually went down the path of going pro. It would be no surprise that he was bound to follow in their footsteps. It was natural. There's no confirmation and this is more like a theory/headcanon, yet I believe that his family did have these expectations for him or placed pressure on Sachiro to play volleyball, whether or not they intentionally meant to. When you grow up with a family of star athletes who all did the same sport, why would you do something different? In the manga, Hirugami states that if he just 'straight up quit' volleyball there and then, there would be a whole set of problems. We could assume that maybe their coach would be upset, but this could be another hint that his family would not take the news that well. Perhaps his parents would be the more judging ones. Since he has all of these expectations and the pressure to improve and earn respect and acknowledgement from his family, it wasn't a surprise that this mindset would eventually turn sour and cause Sachiro to crash. We even have some supporting evidence for this, and it (strangely) comes from Atsumu.

Atsumu states that he knew Hirugami was always this good, but the way he played was 'like a man possessed', and watching him gave Atsumu the impression that he was on edge at all times. In the panel that displays Atsumu's recollection of his original impression of (middle school) Hirugami, we can see that the Miya Twins are completely fine compared to Hirugami who is panting like a dog, tired out and not looking in top shape. I don't think it's a far-fetched assumption to say that Hirugami was just forcing himself to play the sport, to keep on going and giving his all despite his body protesting, trying to tell him that he's reached his limit. But the mind can be stubborn and Hirugami's mind was also dead set on goalless/vague improvement; He wants to build more muscle, not let anyone outdo him, and not get left behind- all these goals don't have a proper end and that's harmful. Of course he's going to force himself to continue whether or not his body gets the rest it deserves. To him, there's no such thing as a rest day. Hirugami doesn't believe he gets to rest until he finally achieves or stops chasing the improvement he desires. But there's no end to the goals he wants to achieve. If Hoshiumi didn't stop him, how long would've Hirugami been aimlessly chasing his own demise?

Hoshiumi & Hirugami's Middle School Relationship (sub-category of Hirugami's backstory)

I think that Hoshiumi and Hirugami have quite similar philosophies! Both are centered around hard work and the need to improve, to become better. However, here's the difference: Hoshiumi's more accepting, acknowledging the harsh reality that he's weak. There are stronger people out there, which is why he NEEDS to be competitive and strive for improvement in order to avoid lagging behind his competition. If Hoshiumi makes any mistakes, he most likely would take it as a learning opportunity and eventually shrug it off. He already knows he gives everything his all, so any mistakes he encounters are not an outcome of laziness or lack of effort. On the other hand, Hirugami's is more degrading. It's harsher, taking any mistake he makes and echoing it back at him in a harmful manner, telling him that he could've- should've done better, that there were ways Hirugami could've gotten that last point, that the smallest mistake he made would affect the way he and his team played. There's no room for error because if there is, then there's something wrong with him. And because of their difference in philosophies, I believe that led them to interact when Sachiro finally crumbles and hurts himself.

While re-reading Sachiro's backstory, I got the impression that he and Hoshiumi barely interacted during their middle school days, so I asked myself: why would Sachiro tell Hoshiumi, an all-time bench warmer, that he doesn't like volleyball? The few times we've seen middle school Hoshiumi and Hirugami interact besides the self-harm scene were they only getting brief glimpses of one another. The panel above shows Hirugami briefly noticing Hoshiumi, acknowledging that he's still practising this late at night, then shrugging it off and walking back to the canteen. Well, Hoshiumi just helped him out of a daze during a difficult moment. Hirugami's head is now above the deep, dark water called his thoughts, so he's most likely disorientated. He's shaken up by the pain in his knuckles that are finally alerting his senses and at the same time, he's settled on a simple conclusion: He doesn't like volleyball anymore. And in that moment of silent anguish, who else could he let out this confession to? Any walls Hirugami has put up during this time are now knocked down by raw vulnerability. He needs to speak and ground himself, to let his mind finally acknowledge that he doesn't want to continue playing volleyball like this. And it just so happens that Hoshiumi is also there to hear this statement. There is no hesitation in Hoshiumi, not when he offers a tissue for Sachiro to clean up his bloodied hands, not when he listens to Hirugami's sudden, sensitive confession and simply asks, "Okay. Why don't you quit?", a question that Hirugami didn't consider nor thought possible before. He doesn't coddle but offers Sachiro advice that he could take or leave behind. Korai doesn't forcefully press the tissue packet into Sachiro's hands, nor continues to show his discomfort at the sight of the other boy's wounds despite the response being natural. His steadiness and composure are reassuring, allowing Hirugami to take his time to calm down and process his thoughts and the advice that Hoshiumi has given him. Also, Hoshiumi's advice is structured more like a conversation, if that makes sense. Hoshiumi is straightforward and honest and his words hold no flattery when he points out Hirugami's strengths, something that he can't achieve as easily as the other could. He's not making a big deal out of the situation and is staying calm yet helpful, which is essential. Because of his approach and advice, Hoshiumi unknowingly helps to give Hirugami an entirely new perspective, when he probably intended to only stop him from harming himself even further. (I also believe that Hirugami revealed this thought to Hoshiumi because sometimes, people find it easier to talk to strangers than the family or friends that they are close to.)

Little note: I love how supportive HiruHoshi are of one another!! Throughout the manga, we can see how close they are; Hoshiumi has always been there for Hirugami, ever since they first properly interacted in middle school until the end of their high school days. And of course, during adulthood. Hirugami visibly reciprocates this by taking the time to understand Hoshiumi, learning his story and other things like his thought process and quirks in volleyball.

Sachiro's View on Volleyball

One of the special arts that included Hirugami called him 'dispassionate' and I found that very interesting. It highlights his whole stance on volleyball; He likes it, but after all that he's been through, Hirugami would rather leave it behind and watch from the sidelines. He likes it, but he's not going to get overwhelmed by it again, unlike the other Kamomedai members or characters in Haikyuu. This time, Hirugami has set the goal of playing volleyball only until the end of high school. Knowing that he will get to quit after all these years, that these long periods of burnout will finally come to an end, its a relief to him. Hirugami still has a love for volleyball, but he understands that his relationship with the sport will not go back to the original, passionate state that it was before. And he's accepted that. He wants to play the sport without getting drowned in those overwhelming thoughts, he wants to have fun and not let volleyball take over his life. It doesn't matter if his talent in volleyball gets wasted. So what if it does? Hirugami knows what he wants in life now and wants to pursue it.

Dispassion can come off as someone having no passion, but that's not true; it's simply another meaning for being calm and not letting emotion take over logic.

Parallels with Asahi

Also noted that he and Asahi have some parallels! Not as much or obvious as Hinata and Hoshiumi, but it's there! Even the summary for Volume 40 acknowledges this!

Both characters have had a past with or are currently experiencing overthinking, along with how it affects their attitude and behaviour during games and or in general. Their arcs are connected to their mental health/well-being and how volleyball, the sport they play, are closely intertwined. However, Asahi's character does seem to be more centred around anxiety and how it can affect his gameplay and social life. Meanwhile, Sachiro's character has a more intense focus on the depression that can come from burnout and the effects it can develop. Yet both of these characters share the pressure of needing to be better, the need to live up to certain expectations that have been placed on them consciously or not. For Asahi, it's being the ace. And for Sachiro, it used to be, well, being good at volleyball.

Throughout the entire story of Haikyuu, we can note that Asahi is still trying to get over the overthinking that his anxiety has given him- he's struggling with the thoughts, which have been shown to affect his plays and his relationships. Asahi is learning to have more faith in his abilities, to go easier on himself and stop wallowing in his negativity. Meanwhile, Sachiro is shown to have already gotten past that. Has he made a full recovery? I don't think so. But he's shown to have not been affected by expectations anymore; He's over that burden and he knows that even if things get tough, volleyball is just a game. If he makes a mistake, Sachiro knows he won't die. It's a sport he enjoys, but there are simply other things in life that he has more passion for. He's just currently focusing on having fun with volleyball and trying his best.

Hoshiumi Kōrai

The Little Giant Legacy

If you care about either Hinata or Hoshiumi, you would know that the cause of their rivalry is the pursuit of the 'Little Giant' title. It makes sense after all! Both players are considered astoundingly short for their sport, have great jumping lengths and are considered amazing players by their team, just like the original Little Giant, Udai (who changed his mind on the pursuit of volleyball and went on to do manga instead). Personally, I believe that the moment their rivalry was officially solidified was actually at the end of Chapter 361 and the beginning of Chapter 362!

This panel was when Hoshiumi started to develop some respect for Hinata, recognising him as a potential rival he wanted to go against. But before it, when Hinata jumps and manages to spike the ball against Kamomedai's defence, Hoshiumi recalls a statement he made earlier, one he gave to the interviewer: "Yes, being short is a disadvantage...but it isn't a sign of incompetence."

And this panel establishes just how similar they are. They haven't heard one another's philosophies, yet they share it already. Gao acknowledges it with an expression of unease, and even Sachiro thinks, "He's just like Korai-kun." For this part, I will focus on these four people due to their connection with one another: Hinata, Hoshiumi, Udai and Coach Washijo. These four characters have experienced how height can be an extreme hurdle to overcome in sports.

According to Udai, the original 'Little Giant', he talks about how he knew he was the ace back in the day and how he deserved to feel confident over it. However, as Udai grew up, it is implied that the pressuring competition experienced at nationals most likely got to him. Udai assumed that if he trained himself even more, and focused on improving his skills and technique, it would be enough to keep up. But there was one thing he forgot to factor in: mentality. In fact, I think Udai does acknowledge this as well! It's why he politely shoots down Akiteru's comparison compliment of his and Hoshiumi's playstyle. Udai points out during the match that if he was in one of the situations that Hoshiumi was in, he would've failed at scoring as he would've spiked the ball down instead of back, a sign that the block intimidated him and made him retreat. "Hoshiumi has far better skill and decision-making than I ever did." Referring to Volume 41, Udai gives this mental narration while watching Hoshiumi set the ball to Hirugami: 'Know your weaknesses. Accept them. Forget the weapons you can't wield. Find all the ones you can...and carefully, persistently hone them all to a wicked point. That is what it means...to be a Little Giant.' Between these two pages, we can note that Udai is also eagerly watching Hoshiumi's play, with a determination that we can conclude from that if Udai had to pass down the title personally to anyone, he would most definitely choose Hoshiumi. If Hinata has Coach Washijo rooting for him, then Udai is the one who is silently applauding for Hoshiumi from the sidelines. (Fun fact! In Volume 45, in a small panel that features Udai, we can see him drawing his second manga series and the main character looks reallyyyy similar to Hoshiumi,,,)

All four characters know that they are weak when it comes to volleyball. However, Udai and Washijo are the ones to have been shown to crumble under that knowledge, accompanied by other factors that have made them resign from the court and pursue another path. Yet, that other path is still connected to volleyball. For Udai, it was making a manga based on it; For Coach Washijo, it was becoming a coach and only cultivating those with strong potential.

Coach Washijo has been burdened by the knowledge that his height restricted his ability to play so severely that it's firmly become a staple of his philosophy, that he'll only take in the strongest and biggest, keeping that mindset for 40 years. He only starts to change his mind when Hinata enters the scene; Not when Udai started playing and became Karasuno's ace years ago. Yet, Coach Washijo remains resistant to the idea that a player like Hinata or Hoshiumi can make it. (We don't see what he thinks about Hoshiumi, but I think his view would be similar to how he views Hinata, but not as personal 🤷) Over the time of Haikyuu- and by the time we reach the Kamomedai vs Karasuno match, Washijo's mindset has already begun shifting into a more positive view. He's started becoming more open and eager to the idea of a 'Little Giant', finally accepting that the harsh reality he faced back then is now possible to overcome. I believe that the match and the development of the fun rivalry between Hoshiumi and Hinata contribute to it, even if it isn't hinted at that often.

Turning back the focus onto Hoshiumi and Hinata, their rivalry is simply a beautiful thing to witness, especially considering the legacy both these players are chasing and discovering the respect they have for one another despite being one another's biggest competition. (also something something about the monster generation players on the Adlers team being the people who are the top three rivals Hinata has experienced in the entirety of the story,,,,yeah)

Referring to a panel from Volume 41 (again), Hoshiumi confesses to Hirugami that compared to other competitor teams, where he states that he simply wants to go through them no matter how good they were, Karasuno is one that he truly wants to beat. This intimidating statement sends a shiver up Hirugami's spine, which is something considering the handful of panels we get of him making a sadistic expression throughout this match. From this interaction between the two, we can interpret that up until this point, Hoshiumi did give his all to help his team win against several other teams to get to Nationals, but most likely didn't experience much competitive thrill during those matches and had to hype himself up by beating opponents who would underestimate him due to his smaller stature. Yet now, he finally gets the competition he desires. In Nationals, every team has been proven to be good. No one's planning to overestimate or underestimate anyone, there's simply no time for that. The time on the court is precious, meant to be used to win against whichever team is on the other side of the net. And like a cherry on top, there is someone like him. Someone gunning for the same thing he desired- Hoshiumi and Hinata's relationship can be classified under 'mirror characters'. Or in a more literary viewpoint, parallels. Typically, this trope is used to give the protagonist a rival, which is one of the reasons why Hoshiumi was created. Hoshiumi's role in the story is necessary as considering the other two main 'rivals' Hinata faces in the story (Ushijima as the Privileged Rival and Kageyama as the Main Rival, referring to TV Tropes), both of them seem to have more of the upper hand due to their height and long experience with getting the chance to play on the court consistently. With the presence of Hoshiumi, his character further drives the message that whether or not you have been given blessings from the start or have access to certain opportunities, working hard & smart along with having passion are also essential elements that you require in order to achieve the success you want.

"They come to us with solid, undeniable strength, and make us choose them."

The Need For Competition

Disclaimer: I do NOT have any siblings. So if I do accidentally miss-analyse anything in this section, I sincerely apologize 🙇 But yeah. Akitomo. Although we BARELY see him for the rest of the manga, he still has an essential role- if not, why do we need him in the first place? Furudante gives every character a purpose, whether or not they're major or minor. From Kōrai's backstory, we can see that he and his brother have your usual competitive sibling rivalry and whatnot. Akitomo bullies him and Kōrai retorts. But I think that this manga panel solidified Kōrai's need to be competitive and the desire to drive himself to improve in every area of volleyball possible (besides his mother's helpful advice that also plays a huge role in his philosophy).

This was the utter devastating realisation that he was so much weaker than Akitomo, despite Akitomo not knowing how the fuck to play volleyball. Kōrai learned that sport, dedicated and invested himself into it, yet here comes his brother, easily taking away the spotlight and spiking the ball without breaking a sweat. Just a jump and a hit, and boom. He could be replaced like that. Akitomo has always teased Kōrai over his height, yet this moment was most likely one of several that Hoshiumi experienced and solidified his understanding of how weak he was, and there were some things that he simply couldn't change from just effort and hard work alone. But with Asa's advice, Kōrai also understood that just because some doors were shut to him didn't mean the rest were. Some doors required a bit of prying to open, while some were already waiting to be discovered, and all Kōrai needed was to find and sharpen the required tools. Throughout the manga, there is a theme of competitiveness and how it affects the lives of the high school players on the court. We see how it affects them for the better and also the worse. We see how regardless of its positive or negative effects, these teenagers strive for improvement, to learn how to work with others as a team, and the list goes on. Hoshiumi is an example of a character who has a good balance of competitiveness and passion, which keeps him going in his pursuit of being good at volleyball. But in a moment of vulnerability (not defeat), he suddenly turns to Gao during the match and admits that there were times when he'd given up a little, starting to feel there were limits to the height he could reach. I believe that this statement was essential for Hoshiumi to admit out loud, as it further shows us that even a character as confident and competitive as him can eventually start to feel the pressure of keeping up and even almost let it get to him. But it seems that by the end of the manga, all the effort Hoshiumi has put into his own improvement in both body and mind, along with letting his competitiveness drive his passion instead of control him, he manages to achieve not only a spot on one of the best V1 League teams in Japan but also becomes a player on the Japan National Team for the Olympics. The seeds he's sown have finally grown and now Hoshiumi can reap his rewards as he rightfully deserves.

Someone once told me that competition was simply part of human nature. It can come in forms we never thought possible, but it's still there. Sports, academics, collections, status, and so on. It doesn't matter what form this competitiveness comes in, but it does matter how we use it in our lives. Do we let it control us and our desires in turn? Or do we use it as fuel to strive for improvement, to make a positive change in our lives and for others as well?

Kamomedai's Message

The Importance Of A Coach

Aaron Murphy is the coach for Kamomedai and according to the manga, his background and qualifications make him stand out amongst the range of other coaches we've seen in the story. He's a coach for one of Italy's Pro Series A leagues for years, took a Japan V2 League team and made them V1, and many kids on the volleyball team purely attended Kamomedai High just to play for him. He's a pro through and through- you'd expect him to be harsh, to have multiple well-detailed training schedules for his team, to push the limits of his players- similar to Coach Washijo, who's also a coach for a powerhouse school that is amazing at volleyball and set up to be one of the biggest antagonists Karasuno will ever face. But he's not! He seems to be a far cry from that. According to an onlooker (and referencing the manga again), people view him as a coach who doesn't seem to stand out too much, despite knowing he has an incredible record of being one. Meanwhile, Coach Washijo only looks for players with raw strength and power, the ability to intimidate and rule the court with their impressive height and skill and he will cut them off from their position if they refuse to listen to him. He's painfully harsh and it's evident in the way we've seen how his players react when he merely calls their names. Coach Washjio is intimidating and fierce, something you'd expect from a coach who has cultivated a team that's produced some of the most impressive players in the history of Haikyuu. Yet this treatment stems from his background, where Washijo was not allowed to play volleyball because of his height. We don't know a lick of Coach Murphy's backstory, but that's okay! It's unrequired to dissect his importance and why someone like him fits perfectly with Kamomedai's message and significance in the story, along with implied effects on Hirugami and Hoshiumi's philosophies.

Earlier, I stated that Udai gave up on volleyball because the pressure of intense competition got to him. It was good that he knew that improving his skills and technique could help him make up for his height, but Udai forgot about improving one thing that Coach Murphy had emphasised when training the Kamomedai team: Mindset. (Or more accurately, mental toughness) Through short moments in Volume 41, we can see that Coach Murphy focuses on mental training. Furudante could've shown us how intensely he trains Kamomedai, as he does mention that serving and blocking are the other two skills that he wants to train the team in (and Kamomedai is well-known for those two aspects), but we only get a brief panel showing us how sweaty and exhausted the whole team is. Yet, during that moment, the focus is on Coach Murphy talking about mindset, before directing the team to scenario practice. In the same volume, Akaashi recognizes that not one, not two, but the whole Kamomedai team is capable of doing task focus throughout the game, something that he barely managed to do in Volume 38. Akaashi is a character that is typically perceived as someone who is very calm and collected due to his analytical nature, but in Fukurodani matches we get to see that he doesn't have a good view of himself and tends to have negative thoughts that are similar to Asahi. A character like Akaashi noticing and making this connection further emphasizes how the players on Kamomedai are exceptional at their way of thinking, besides their serves and blocking.

We can see that his teachings have effects on his players and that's great! Reflecting on my earlier comparison between him and Coach Washijo, his methods are tough and intensive, but they're not excessive and seem to value both physical and mental health equally. Although Coach Murphy and Coach Washijo have years of experience training volleyball players, only one of them has experience looking over a professional team of athletes. Coach Murphy focuses on taking the players he has and helping them to hone their skills, instead of filtering through them and only picking ones who have the most potential. He looks at the cards he's dealt with and figures out how to make the best use of them. There's an air of professionalism with the way he handles and talks to his players, in my opinion- he's playful at times, but Coach Murphy's words are also grounding and firm. In a way, his method is very similar to gentle parenting (if that makes sense haha). His healthy way of teaching has affected his players, assisting them on their journey of improving their thinking in both their games and outside of the court. In Volume 41 and on the same page that the players of Kamomedai are briefly shown to be undergoing training, Coach Murphy's advice clearly addresses potential physical or mental obstacles players can face during a match- 'What happened was either a failure of your skill...or a failure of your decision-making process and mental control'. Murphy also states that they should make success a larger habit, before following up that a thought along the lines of "Oh, I'm having an off day today" isn't an excuse, unless the player themselves are sick or hurt. From this, it's implied that Coach Murphy is advising his players to pursue success but not let a negative mindset prevent them from doing so. Coach Murphy's second statement also supports the point that his training is gentle but firm by implying that he guides his players on how to properly reflect on their mistakes and spot areas of improvement before making the next step (which is solving the issue). Kamomedai's slogan is 'Habit Becomes Second Nature', which further supports the purpose and message of the team in the story of Haikyuu. Combined with Coach Murphy's teachings, it's no surprise that Kamomedai will not only grow as a team, but their players will also become people who persist despite undergoing harsh conditions. It's why they're closely linked to seagulls (and also why Hoshiumi resembles and is heavily based on one); To quote Coach Murphy, Kamome means 'seagull'. Seagulls can handle sea or sky, fair weather or foul, no matter what.

So, what is Kamomedai's purpose and message in the manga? From all the evidence I've gathered, I believe that the team exists to show the viewers and other characters in the story the importance of mindset besides skill, to carefully train yourself to persist in doing or achieving something despite obstacles in your way and that if something bad happens, it's not good to beat yourself up. Instead, careful reflection is required if you wish to improve and avoid making the same mistake again. Take care of yourself, both physically and mentally.

But then again, this analysis might be a bit biased as Kamomedai is one of my favourite teams and I've typed a crap-ton of words for this, phewwwwww. My brain is dry now. So if you have any other views on them, feel free to reply to this! I'm all up for discussion :3

[sanderssidesthehouse]

Ace's All Time Best Fic Rec List March 2025: Sanders Sides

I'm just going to borrow the format I've been using for the other fandoms I rec fics in. These are just fics I really liked and want other people to read. I didn't start taking note of them when I started reading so I might have missed some. If a fic isn't on here it doesn't mean that I don't like it, and please feel free to rec me fics!

One thing to note is that the way I tend to read fics is to pic a tag or relationship or character etc. and filter by date posted, ascending on ao3 so I start at the beginning and work my way to more recent fics and then obviously any on Tumblr I simply read if they manage to find me. Tumblr search is not fantastic. That is to say, most of the fics currently on my list are going to be older. Also if the rating is M or higher, I have that listed in my little description of it so you'll know before clicking.

Also, also! I tried to only have one or two from the same author so there are likely other works by the people who wrote these that I liked but didn't list, I just didn't want this to be three miles long, yk?

And last little blurb, I try to do these once or twice a year with different fics on each list, but I always use the aatbfrl tag so you'll be able to search my blog for them.

Without further ado: The list!

Btw, there's no specific link I'm adding to this entry other than to the blog, but if you somehow haven't seen @illogicallyinclined's hockey AU I need you to get out from under the rock you've been calling shelter, and I mean this with all of the love in my heart.

Lie With Me- Both Janus and Patton need therapy. If you want to actively be dealt psychic damage, this is a good one.

Bad Idea- Roman and Janus are fwb and aren't supposed to catch feelings. Well guess what? Rated M for iMplied sexual content.

No Need To Knock- Roman reaches out a hand and Virgil takes it. Very sweet besties moment.

Florida Man Cannot Be Contained- "Contrary to popular belief, Remus is not the menace of the friend group. It's Patton." Author is correct.

Friendly Neighborhood Criminals- Patton gets adopted into a trio of criminals who took one look at his life and said 'You live like this? Well we can't in good conscience rob you now.' and decided to make him their pet project. (WIP)

once you're in the hive, the other bees assume you're supposed to be there- "Virgil accidentally gets absorbed by his best friend's brother's polycule." That's the official tag line and what more do you need, really? (WIP)

Love is a Beach- Moceit fake dating your ex that you're still in love with bc you didn't tell your friends you broke up yet and you're all going on a trip together. This could not possibly go wrong in any way. (WIP)

Clutters of Creativity- Roman clutters (the speech disorder) and this is how I learned that I too clutter which alone makes it worth sharing, but this is also cute as hell. Remus and Logan are v supportive.

Snap- Roman angst hurt/comfort Roceit&creativitwins we don't have to talk about how much I related to this one, but if you want to have a good cry, this one's for you.

The Only One that Knows- A lot of trigger warnings, but Logan is a scientist at a shady organization that burned down and the experiment he was managing starts acting up in his home. I think about this all the time, just the way it's written it's soooo good. Rewired my brain. Rated M for Mlots of gore/blood/body horror and Mental health problems and Major character death.

i picture it, soft, and i ache- Janus falls in love with Patton and has a time about it. And then he has a different time about it. V cute with just the right amount of angst.

Silence- Selectively mute Logan and extremely anxious Virgil work through some stuff and it's cute or whatevah. And maybe I relate a little too much but it's fine, don't worry about it.

Cracks in the Ceiling- Logan helps Virgil and they're just besties and I love them.

Mission Status: Sick!- Inspired by the hockey AU, I'm just going to copy paste the tagline bc I think you'll understand. "'It's a good thing that my homosexuality is stronger than my pride', Virgil thought as he opened a capri sun and violently squeezed it onto his sheets." Analogical.

glow like a fireflower- Deceit is a dork. Roman is... also a dork. They're dramatic and silly and working through some stuff and Remus has to hear about it but he gives great advice (lie).

Noi Abbiamo Un Problema- LAMP soulmates with a side of dukeceit. Virgil is the last to join the group but they seem to be expecting a fifth... who is also Virgil. They're a little dense and Virgil is anxious and Remus and Janus are real ones. I love Virgil's mom.

like copper and gold- Rated E for explicit sex and a lot of it. I fucking bawled dude. This fic tore my heart out and then put it back in ever so gently. More of Deceit making bad decisions. roloceit.

The Gold of Your Heart- Look, I read this whole thing a while ago and I still think about it so I feel like it's worth adding to the list. Deceit's name is Tony. A bunch of OC sides and headcanons in here but they're very fun and interesting. 200k+ Roceit slow burn.

Distant Stars Clearly Shining- Prinxiety sci-fi AU featuring smut it's a 10k one shot with significant plot and world building.

Eustress and How to Manage It- Ok, so they're dorks. Prinxiety being adorable dorks. So fluffy. (There's a spicy sequel out there too.)

Help In Unlikely Ways- My boy Janus is just doing his best oml. He's bad at it.

I'm In Love With A Fairytale- Look, it's 117k. And it's fun. Well I mean it's really angsty, but that's fun for me. It takes place in the imagination. Look at it. Rated M for violence.

Hurt, And How We Grow Past It.- I remember reading this when it first came out. Just a little Janus angst as a treat.

[mamawasatesttube]

Sorry, I know you don’t really like people bringing up Jason but I’m very curious. I read Straight on Till Morning several times before really joining Tumblr and I was surprised by how much you seem to dislike him compared to how nicely he was written in said fic. Is it cuz it’s a future fic so he can be more chilled out than in current comics or something?

Feel free to ignore me if you want. Curiosity does not owe me answers.

no worries, i don't mind polite questions! :P

so there's two things. a) sotm was written when the only real comics i'd read were sb94, yj98, tt03, batgirl (2000), and nightwing '96 (iirc - i might be forgetting one or two but the point is, when i was pretty new to comics). at this point wfa had tricked me into thinking jason actually had a consistent character arc that i simply hadn't read yet, and i assumed it would be weird to write a fic where dick, tim, and cass were all around as kon's friends + damian was there being jon's friend in the background, but jason didn't get mentioned, so i worked him in bc i thought that was like. gonna be weird if i didn't, even tho i didn't know what he was doing in postcrisis yet. i mostly just wanted to write about kon and did not yet have the strong "actually i do not care for 99% of post-rebirth comics" feelings i have today. if i were to do the sotm rewrite in my mind, jason would actually still be in his villain to antivillain era because that's my actual favorite era of him. i think it's fun when he's hanging around being like... a vengeful ghost who's just determined to make his problems Everyone's Problem. i'm not really interested in soft angsty daddy's boy jtodd or whatever sdkjfh and that seems to be the most popular version of him i see. it's either soft angsty daddy's boy jason or it's power fantasy cop-adjacent jason who has never done anything wrong in his life and is completely valid in every decision he's ever made. neither of these interests me.

which brings me to b) it's not so much that i dislike jason todd as a character so much as that his fans are so fucking annoying to me. that chapter of sotm? multiple people in the comments were there ONLY to talk about jason, even though the fic is literally about kon and not about jason and he just happens to appear for PART of one scene that chapter. it made me get sick of hearing about him. like theres soooo many jason todd fics out there can you go read those. i want to talk about kon! and i've had people bring him up on my completely unrelated fics too like he doesn't even get MENTIONED like one fic is about clark kon and tim, and someone was in the comments like "omg i bet clark was thinking about jason here" and i was so ... dude. read the room. or the fic even. it is not about him.

but even more than the way a lot of jason fans have this apparently compulsive need to make him the main character of the entire universe, i really can't stand how many of them i've seen spout literal straight up copaganda and/or defense of the death penalty. like they will bend over backwards so hard to defend why he was right to put 8 heads in a duffel bag or why it's morally correct to kill rapists that they start spewing right-wing talking points. and the constant need to make him the perfect imperfect victim ("he's angry and loud unlike GOOD victims--") and all of that just... it really turns me off of 99% of fan content about him that i've seen. it makes me genuinely kind of uncomfortable. like if you think there's a category of criminal that it's okay to execute (without a trial, even) i want nothing to do with you. can you guys just say it's sexy when a man is covered in blood after murdering a room full of people without having to be like "and he was right to do it too!!" because i promise he was not. and if you SAY any of this people will come up with a whole thing about how you must hate victims and/or poor people or some shit. its... really something.

all of that being said - i think there are interesting things you COULD do with his character. i think he can be a fascinating character! with stories worth telling! the family tragedy, the horror story, the vengeful ghost! but at this point with how rancid i find his fanbase i just really only want to see jason takes from people i know will not start spewing copaganda at me + people who i know appreciate tim kicking him in the balls (bc he kicked dick in the balls and tim is a bitch).

anyways. bring back tentatodd 2k25 who's with me

[nervoushottee]

August | Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Summary: Eddie is your Augustine (August by Taylor Swift)

Warnings: unexpected kiss

Note: I honestly think this fic might be the best one I’ve written for this little series so far (despite I’ve only written one since this one) maybe it’s because August is literally my FAVORITE song I love it so much. I normally do not write for Eddie but something about him….my fingers couldn’t stop typing. This fit him so much in my opinion.

THANK YOU THANK YOU FOR 200 FOLLOWS!

Anyway, Enjoy!!

(To get into the mood of the story, it helps to listen to August by Taylor Swift while reading)

Series Masterlist

If someone told Eddie Munson that one day you and him would become friends, he would think you were smoking too much green.

You were a good friend to him but Eddie couldn't help but like you more than that. He knew about you before you were friends, see you in class or in the hallways tucked under Steve. He thought you were beautiful but he knew he didn’t stand a chance against “The Hair”. He would see you two on the weekends sometimes when he needed to get a movie. You perched up on the counter in Family Video right next to the register, stealing quick kisses from Steve while he worked. So when the two of you became good friends it was as if he won the lottery. That shocked yet happy feeling of “I can’t believe this was happening to me”.

If that alone had Eddie so happy and making sure to cherish being friends with you because he didn’t think he was worthy of your time. That this friendship was unexpected, the moment you kissed him was ten times worse.

He had heard a month or so later that you and Steve had broken up. Robin being the one who blabbed and accidentally telling him. (When that girl smokes she gets a lot more talkative then she already is). He didn’t push or pry like how your other friends did. Them demanding details or constantly asking if you were okay. Eddie felt like he didn’t need to do that. If he were in your shoes, he would want no one to ask him any questions. Because it was actually none of their business. So he did just that.

He spoke to you how he normally would, joked to you how he normally would and he could tell you were grateful. You spent a lot more time with him after that. He didn’t ask questions or constantly ask if you were okay when the two of you saw Steve pass by. He assumed you preferred the sense of normalcy you felt around him.

So when the school year ended and summer rolled around, the two of you were thick as thieves. You got a summer job at the farmers market and on your breaks you would bike over to the garage where Eddie worked. You’d bring him lunch, grocery bags filled with sweet peaches, cold cut sandwiches and a large soda to share. You would also bring Wayne a treat or two from time to time since he forbade you from bringing him lunch also. Saying that he was just grateful that Eddie was eating and that was that.

The two of you would sit in the back of his van for lunche. The door swung open, feet dangling off the edges as the two of you ate and talked. He preferred you like this, warm and sunkissed. Peach juice staining your lips, dribbling down your chin. On instinct, he wipes the sweet liquid from your chin with his thumb. You don’t think anything of it due to how close the two of you had gotten. From drooling on his shoulder in the middle of your movie nights or that one time you got sick and threw up in his van. You simply hum out a thank you and continue chewing.

But Eddie doesn’t move his thumb, he wipes there slowly still. You turn to him and ask what’s wrong but the words don’t come out as Eddie kisses you.

He kisses you quickly before moving away. He didn’t know why he did it and he honestly shouldn’t have risked it. You’re the best thing that's ever happened to him and he didn’t want to jepordize that by kissing you if you didn't reciprocate his feelings. But he just loved how you looked sitting in the back of his van, wearing one of his shirts that you tied in a way to fit you better. Despite the deep regret filling his gut, something about it just felt right.

You looked at him shocked but didn’t say anything so Eddie did the only thing he knew he was good at. Making bad jokes at the wrong time.

“Yours taste better than mine. Wanna switch?” he asks, gesturing to his peach. His heart skips a beat when you let out a small laugh and go along with it. Swapping your half bitten peach for his.

When you are done with your shifts at the market, you always peddle back to the car garage so you can put your bike in his van so Eddie can take you home. Thankfully, despite the kiss, today wasn’t any different. The two of you went back and forth singing some song on the radio with the windows down. When he pulls in your driveway and watches you unbuckle your seatbelt. He thinks this is the last time he’s going to do this, that he ruined it with the kiss.

He takes a deep breath in preparation of you saying your final goodbye to him and not wanting to be around him anymore but is shocked once again, when you lean over the console to kiss him.

You kiss him longer this time, putting more initiative into it. You taste faintly of the peach you both ate and the icecream you had finished minutes before getting in his van.

When Eddie opens his eyes, your cheeks are warm and with a hint of pink as you look at him with a smile. “See you tomorrow Munson.” you say to him before getting out of his van and walking to your front door.

He didn’t know what was to come this summer, let alone tomorrow. But he knows for sure that he’s excited to do it all with you.

— — — —

August came and went too quickly than Eddie would prefer. Summer was coming to a close.

You and Eddie were…something. You didn’t put a label on it and Eddie didn’t dare ask the “what are we?” question. He was just happy that it happened. Happy that you kissed him back that day in his van.

Summer was filled with you and warm skies. The two of you would hang out like you normally would, but this time Eddie could kiss you and hold you like he always wished. You cheeks were always pink when you were around him. You could blame it on the summer heat but Eddie secretly wished it was because of him.

He knows though that all good things will come to an end. You talk about Steve now, you didn’t when you both first became friends. And Eddie isn’t jealous or possessive, he knows his place. He isn’t stupid to think that you don’t love Steve. What the two of you had, anyone could assume that the two of you would have gotten married in the next few years or something.

So Eddie doesn’t falter or get upset when you shyly bring him up. He urges you to continue, because before all this, before the long makeouts in his bed or the quickies in his van. You were friends first.

And if he was going to lose you from being… whatever it was that you were to each other. He would want to still stay friends.

Despite that, he enjoys his days with you. He enjoys the summer.

You coming to rehearsal for Corroded Coffin. Or just hanging out with Wayne and watching a movie with him when Eddie tells you he’s working late. Joining in on Hellfire Club instead of just watching from the sidelines. (You were still very confused with the game so the kids and Eddie made you the dice holder. Giving it a kiss of good luck before handing it off to whoever needs it)

Wayne worries for Eddie. He always does, its in the description of being a parent/guardian. He asks about you and asks Eddie if you’re his girlfriend. But Eddie doesn’t answer, he doesn’t know. (He does).“We’re just having fun.” he would say. And it wasn't a lie, you were. Eddie couldn’t count on hand how much he’s laughed and smiled when you’re around and vice versa.

But he knows, this will all end soon. He can feel it. When he sees you talks to Steve briefly when he drives past Family Video. Or when you don’t come over to the trailer as much as you used to. Any day now you will go back to Steve, and Eddie’s made peace with it.

Sure it will hurt like hell when it happens, but all he wants is for you to truly be happy. And if it’s not with him then he hopes it’s with some like Steve Harrington.

So he will miss your laugh. Miss seeing you wear his shirts to sleep. You singing the songs that his band plays, being the only “groupie” at the front of the stage at The Hideout. He will miss the way his skin felt against yours, how soft your lips are against his when you whisper his name.

He will miss how cute you were in your shorts and short tanks to bask in the summer heat. He knows this won’t last, whatever this was between you too will be gone as quickly as it happened. But he will enjoy it right now, he won't think too much about it. He will be at your beck and call whenever you need. He will answer every late night phone call, will arrive at every late work shift you have, will be your shoulder to cry on until you don’t want him anymore.

Because if this is the only way he can have you, he will devour it whole, until there is nothing left.