#like i said pls don’t assassinate me for this take

[jamieswoodenspoon]

pls don’t jump me but i felt like the lucie/cordelia parabatai thing was very forced and very performative and i don’t really mean cc’s writing (except for the end where they really do become parabatai) i more mean them as characters in lore

i think one of my chot predictions was just that lucie and cordelia didn’t go through with the parabatai thing and it would be a moment of maturity or something after a childhood of proclaiming to everyone that they’d be parabatai one day and being really idek james i think at some point explained it better than i did but it felt very unserious/immature

i appreciate that what actually ended up happening is a cute little ‘friends can make up’ ditty but i think it would have also been nice to see them accept that they’ve grown apart or can still be good friends without necessarily having to be parabatai I DON’T KNOW

[anzulvr]

Thank you for follow back! >.> meant a lot to me. Is it okay if I request a Karma x reader where the reader is very sweet & affectionate towards Karma & it makes him shy. No pressure. Just wanted to say hi & thank you! ^_^

♡ ୨୧ Karma with affectionate Reader ୨୧ ♡

ʚɞ fluff; no warnings || Karma Akabane ♥︎ note : HIII HII SORRY THIS IS LIKE CENTURIES LATE SHEA… guys pls tell me if you see typos I checked but I get sick of reading my own things again and again… 😭|| ʚɞ

— Karma is inexperienced when it comes to relationships therefore when you’re affectionate and sweet to him he doesn’t know how to act!!

His face canonically gets super red when he’s embarrassed though it’s not an often thing because he can usually shake things off with a joke! When it does happen it’s finally your chance to get back at him for all the times he’s purposely taken weird photos of you.

He’d be shy with PDA (when he’s not trying to embarrass you, since he’s also the type to mortify you by calling you the stupidest pet names in front of your friends and family.)

If you react strongly it's worse because he loves getting you mad and rilled up it's like his love language. Some people like giving gifts or giving words of affirmation to their s/o while he likes pissing you off.

If you randomly hold his hand or rest your hand on his shoulder he won’t know what to do. He plays with your hand instead of staying still as a way to distract himself from how giddy he’s feeling.

Half the time “playing with your hand” means him trying to jokingly get you to slap your own face with your hand, the other half of the time when he feels like being nice and cute he’s just lightly squeezing it.

Very “opposites attract” troupe.

Even when you were just friends you were very attentive which isn’t something he’s familiar with. For the first time ever there’s someone taking care of him? Asking about his day and doing anything to make him feel better when it’s a bad one? He’d find it hard to believe you’re doing so much for him without wanting anything in return.

When he starts getting more comfortable in the relationship he inches towards being sweeter and more open with you.

E-class finds it hard to believe when they first see it, cause it’s Karma out of all people?? Karma being affectionate??

Don’t get me started on Asano’s reaction to this, he from the bottom of his heart, thinks you’re being held hostage.

Most of Karmas “affection” is just making fun of people so when they see him being weirdly nice to you it’s creepy to them. Constant compliments and praise coming out of his mouth is something they didn’t think they’d live to see.

He can’t be serious for long periods of time and always finds a way to “ruin the moment”. For example you’ll hug him and Karma will hug back… for three seconds before he lifts you off the ground and spins you till too dizzy to walk. (He finds it funny to see you struggling.)

Ms.Vitch is tired of you both because you refuse to work with anyone else she sets you up with (since her class centers around assassination with seduction). Sure, the phrases she makes you all say are awkward no matter who you’re saying it to but you can’t bring yourself to work with your other classmates for that class! If you do work with someone else he’s so shady about it afterwards.

“Karma do you mind getting my bag for me?"

“Maybe ask Maehara since he’s so strong.”

“You know I only said that for the class!!"

Karasuma is also sick of you two getting side tracked, instead of sparring you two sword fight, instead of running a mile you somehow convince Karma to carry you on his back while he does all the running?! (he’s a show off.) Instead of doing pushups you sit on Karmas back as he does them. It gets to the point he makes you work on opposite sides of the field but you somehow end up getting together anyway within minutes. He’s starting to give up.

On the brighter side you’re together in all of Korosensei’s classes because he can’t bring himself to separate you two! He did once and you were so miserable he gave in. Even if Karma does give you the answers in exchange for a kiss (it’s really that easy.) Korosensei thought you might’ve died from heartbreak if he kept you apart longer.

It’s pretty hard to make him shy since he’s constantly being praised to the point his ego is up there. It happens in more quiet, private moments. Like if you’re at his house watching a movie and you’re moving closer together all of a sudden he’s looking at the roof and not the screen. He can’t let you see his face is beet red.

Another example is him seeing you in a pretty outfit and not being able to act right cause he’s flustered.

“Do I have something on my face?”

“No, you’re just, you’re- you you’re I like.”

“Come again?”

[whyse7vn]

CARDBOARD BOX -

[ ot7 x reader ]

BTW ☠️😂

8 participants - 8 online

———————————

hobi: thinking about when we all lived together and jimin would make jungkook tap dance for food

jk: good times :D

namjoon: but jungkook cant tap dance?

jimin: exactly

namjoon: so you starved jungkook?

jk: no i tapped??

jin: horribly

jk: :(

tae: i liked it

jk: honestly 🥺?

tae: honestly

jk: :D

hobi: why is joon acting like he wasn’t there to witness it???

namjoon: sorry

i just tend to block out the traumatic memories i have with you guys

which is most of them

jin: jungkook was the one dancing for food not you

namjoon: being a witness to that was traumatic

yoongi: it was funny

jk: thank u

yoongi: no

namjoon: moving on

y/n: remember when jungkook would like disappear for 4 hours everyday and come back to the dorms at like 5 am

hobi: OMG YES

jimin: the era where he hated us 😪

yoongi: bring it back

jk: i didn’t hate you guys ☹️

tae: he was just getting his dick wet don’t worry about it

namjoon: he was barley 16?

tae: pussy slayer since 05 😝

namjoon: 05??

yoongi: he was 7 in 05

jin: victim since 05

jimin: jin was like 27 in 05

jin: ??unprovoked

and not fucking true

jimin: as long as you’re alive i’m provoked

y/n: 27 in 05 is crazy

jimin: i’m saying like 😭

hurry up and die maybe?

hobi: bros 31 ☠️

namjoon: ok stop guys

jin: fucking hate all of you

jk: omg it’s raining outside i’m so sad :((

tae: my fault stepped outside and mother nature just couldn’t contain herself

she freaky like that

hobi: paying for ur assassination

jk: what does that even mean

tae: the sky squirting for me bro

jk: oh

that’s nice didn’t know that was possible !!

can you make her stop tho

tae: tell namjoon to step outside and she’ll stop

namjoon: ???

tae: it will be hot and dry as shit if joon steps out ong

jk: namjoon pls step outside

namjoon: kook you need to stop taking tae’s word for things

jk: what

i take no words

i have my own

namjoon: nvm

y/n: life would be so much fun if one of you was a crack addict

jin: ????

yoongi: freak

hobi: real

jimin: namjoon is right here like….

namjoon: leave me ALONE

jk: i’ll be a crack addict for you

tae: i’ll be a better addict

jk: NO YOU WONT

tae: YES I WILL

y/n: shut up

jk: sorry ☺️💕💖

tae: i could so break jungkook’s legs

jk: ☹️

how will i tap?

hobi: you don’t need to tap anymore kook

ur free from that life

y/n: tap by taeyong

jimin: he may be free from tapping in this life but is the tapping life free from him?

yoongi: what

jimin: mentally jungkook is still my little tapping slut

jk: aw man ://

namjoon: did you need to call him a slut??

can we just be nice

jimin: yes i needed to call him a slut

he’s a slut

tae: he was sixteen tapping for you

ur calling a sixteen year old a slut

guys i think jimin is really weird for that actually

jk: me 2

jimin: so?????

you literally said he was fucking at 16 you indirectly called him a slut too

jk: right !!!!

tae: UMM NO???

i called him a pussy slayer actually

and that could mean anything

jk: like what?

tae: shut up jungkook

jk: ok

i’m sorry

it’s still raining

i’m upset

jin: anyways i think yoongi could be nicer

yoongi: ?????

y/n: yoongi’s great

jin: TO YOU

yoongi is actually really really mean and we need to talk about it

jk: i also think yoongi’s great !!

when i was sad about getting old and sick he told me i probably won’t get cancer and most likely die from getting stabbed at 30 on the 12th of december 3pm

namjoon: oh

y/n: yoongi….

yoongi: no cancer !!

jk: NO CANCER ^0^ !!!!!!

tae: yoongi being cold and mysterious will only get you so far in life

jk: yoongi don’t be cold

🔥🔥🔥

here

y/n: jungkook ur so silly

where are you

i want to bite you

jk: 😳

OMW HOME I PROMISE

WON’T BE LONG I SWEAR

jimin: take me back to the days where you had to buy bitches 46 plots of land and a horse to get pussy

i can’t do this being dumb ass hell shit

hobi: maybe ur just ugly idk??

jimin: ????

yo wtf

hobi????????????

hobi: who said that not me whatttt?

jin: that’s why taemin has jimin blocked

jimin: HE DOES NOT HAVE ME BLOCKED

yoongi: woah ok?

jimin: just saying

anyways

jin: ur ugly 😂

jk: beauty is subjective

yoongi: do you even know what that means?

jk: yes ofc ??

maybe…

no 😔

tae: subjective sex

namjoon: stop

tae: SUBJECT SEX

i class i would love to participate in

y/n: is this you telling us you don’t know how to have sex???

tae: NO

this is me telling you i love sex and partake in it often

hobi: stds

jk: i’m confused

why do you want to take a class on it then ???

y/n: right

you wanting to take a sex class implies you know little on the subject of sex actually

tae: SHUT THE HELL UP

jimin: nothing about my beauty is subjective btw

it’s fact

jin: that ur ugly

yoongi: lol

jimin: namjoon tell them i’m not ugly

namjoon: guys he’s not ugly

jin: he’s really ugly

y/n: namjoon tell tae to stop shouting

namjoon: taehyung stop shouting

tae: NO

NAMJOON TELL KOOK AND Y/N I KNOW HOW TO FUCK

namjoon: kook y/n taehyung knows how to fuck

hobi: namjoon i wont lie to you but u lowkey a bitch

jin: right

namjoon: thank you for that hobi and jin i also love you very much

jk: ohmygod joon loosing his mind again

that is NOT what they said

joon come back to us

fight this namjoon fight it

hobi: fighting by bss

yoongi: who fighting?

jimin: joon and his crippling coke addiction

coke winning

namjoon: can we not

tae: i’ll laugh when you overdose

y/n: exo core

namjoon: i just helped you what is ur issue??

jin: do you notice how yoongi appeared again when the word fighting was said????

we NEED to have this man locked up i’m telling you

yoongi: i’ll have you sectioned

jin: WHAT THE FUCK?????

NAMJOON TELL HIM TO TAKE THAT BACK

namjoon: yoongi take that back

please

yoongi: i take it back

jin: good

yoongi: not

jk: yikes jin he got you

yoongi ur really cool

yoongi: shut up

jk: sorry 😆

y/n: stop being mean

yoongi: cant help it :3

tae: who wants to see me split a watermelon with one hand

jk: ME ME

OHMYGOD ME I DO I DO

I WANT TO SEE

PLEASE SHOW ME PLEASE BEOFRE I PASSED OUT PLEASE

PICK ME TAE I WANT TO SEE ME MEMEMEMEMEMEMMEMEME

hobi: tae how is ur financial situation these days

tae: kill yourself

hobi: ok wtf???

i was just asking

tae: jungkook im sorry but no broken watermelon today blame hoseok

jk: hobi what the hell man i was really looking forward to the broken watermelon

y/n: i heard tae filed for bankruptcy

tae: NOT TRUE

jimin: i heard he lives in a cardboard box

tae: SHUT UP I DONT

jk: tae omg……… 😧

is this true

tae: NO OBVIOUSLY NOT

YOU WERE AT MY HOUSE YESTERDAY

AND I ORDERED US FOOD

jk: pls dont shout at me

i’m trying to remember if your house was a cardboard box or not

jimin: (it was)

tae: NAMJOON

namjoon: guys

jimin: ur no fun

y/n: sorry 😔

tae: yeah

you guys better be sorry

stupid idiots

jimin: shut up broke boy

namjoon: jimin please

jimin: whatEVER

tae: namjoon i don’t say this a lot because normally it wouldn’t be true but man i love you

guys i think me and namjoon were married in our past lives

cuz like were so in tune with each other

like he just gets me

i get him

i believe in every life we find each other

like we get married in every single life except this one

namjoon: no offence but in every life i would find you and divorce you if that were true

tae: oh

y/n: LMAOOOOOOOOOOOOO

yoongi: lol

jimin: no i see it the crack addict and the broke bitch love story

tae: at least someone gets it

nvm

should of read the whole message first

u guys are just closed minded

im telling you me an namjoon are like super alike someone thought i was him yesterday and he was so real and right for that

jk: i thought you said that guy that called you rm in the park yesterday was a racist not real or right

tae: jungkook

jk: yeah ^0^

tae: stop talking rn

jk: okay😵

hobi: cocaine is like really expensive how would tae and joon work out

tae wont be able to help feed into joons addiction

y/n: why do you know that cocaine is expensive

hobi: i know a lot of things that just happenes to be one of them

jimin: if you think about it when have you ever seen a crackhead be like nah im not gonna have crack today

they make that shit happen no matter what

and i think thats what attracts tae and joon together

like joon will do anything and everything to get his fix and tae would do anything and everything to have a place to sleep so their hardworking nature is what leads them to love

yeah

jin: ok !!!!!!

jimin i think you need a hobby or something

that was…. a lot

yoongi: shut up

jin: WHAT DID I DO???? AM I WRONG OR DID YOU ACTUALLY ENJOY JIMINS MINI FANFIC LIKE?????????

yoongi: i’ll punch you

jin: and i believe that!

shutting up #now

hobi: i wish i was mark lee rn

he probably doing something really canadian as we speak

jk: like what?

hobi: idk being nice

jimin: you called me ugly five minutes ago

you could never be mark lee

hobi: that literally wasn’t me i have no idea what ur talking about sorry i’m actually mark lee rn so i fr don’t know what ur talking about dude sorry dude i have to go on stage and dance with nct 127 now and then i have vocal practice with nct dream right after so i’m sorry dude i like have zero idea what ur talking about like actually like a sticker 2 baddies beatbox

me as mark lee and scene

jk: 10/10 really believable idk mark lee but i really though you were him for a second

y/n: great performance thought mark was here fr almost kissed you passionately on the mouth

yoongi: what

hobi: thank u thank u

you can still kiss me tho haha lol as mark or not idm

y/n: ok omg come here!!!

hobi: FR?????

y/n: no !!!!!!

but i did imagine us kissing like last week for like five seconds

hobi: yesssss 🙌 😝

a win is a win

yoongi: its not a win

she threw up at the thought

y/n: no i didn’t

yoongi: yes you did

you told me

y/n: i DID’NT

stop trying to gaslight me

it wont work

tae: have you imagined me naked

jimin: liked it better when you weren’t talking

tae: i liked it when YOU weren’t talking

jimin: shut the fuck up

jin: how about you both shut the fuck up

jimin: now why are YOU talking again

yoongi beat the shit out of him

yoongi: nah dont want to

the thought of his face isn’t pissing me off anymore

jin: thank you <3

yoongi: i could punch hoseok tho

hobi: no thank you ???

y/n: yoongi has a framed picture of all of us on his bedside table that he hides whenever you all come over in case you find it

he also has each one of our debut photocards in a small little binder in his studio in a little safe

yoongi: not true bye

yoongi left “BTW☠️😂”

y/n added yoongi to “BTW☠️😂”

y/n: very true very real seen them with my very two eyes

yoongi: you wear glasses

that you don’t actually wear

so who knows what u be seeing

that is NOT true

y/n: i wear glasses to READ and you know that

so shut up

guys yoongi would punch none of you because he loves you very much ok? 😍💖💯

tae: yoongi do you kiss our picture goodnight be honest

yoongi: fuck off actually

namjoon: thats very sweet yoongi

we love you too

jin: i DON’T

i fear my life when i’m around yoongi picture by his bed or not

i’m shaking in my boots i’m scared

yoongi: pussy

jin: i’m telling you ever since he broke that poor woozi guys nose i have not looked at him the same

y/n: ok but that was a mistake right yoongi

yoongi: ?

y/n: it was

and besides has yoongi broken your nose?

jin: no but it’s coming

i know it

yoongi: true

jk: i feel safe around yoongi

yoongi: you shouldn’t

jk: because he hasn’t broken my nose

but jimin did punch me once

jimin: dont bring up my past

hobi: if we think about it jimin should be locked up

jungkook you can press charges you know?

jimin: CAN WE NOT TALK ABOUT ME AND WHAT I’VE DONE

like we were talking about how yoongi actually love us

lets get back to that

yoongi: jimin should be put behind bars

jimin: yoongi loves us

yoongi: jimin is a bully

jimin: YOONGI LOVES US

tae: i love you back yoongi

yoongi: kill yourself

jimin is a literal bully like actually

jimin: and ur a fake one cuz u love us

jk: jimin you are bully

yoongi: ur right jungkook

you are so right

jimin: jungkook yoongi loves you

that’s why he’s agreeing with you

jk: i love you too yoongi ^0^

yoongi: jungkook jimin is bullying you

has been since you were 16

jk: ohmygod……..

jimin: jungkook yoongi has a photocard of you that he’s probably decorated and everything just cuz he cares so deeply about you

jk: he does????????

namjoon: ok both of you stop

jimin you ARE a bully

and yoongi its ok that you actually like us you should stop pretending you don’t

jimin: I AM NO BULLY

yoongi: i like not one of u 😒

namjoon: yeah ok

jk: GUYS OHMUGOD

tae DOES LIVE IN A CARDBOARD BOX I REMEMBER NOW 🤯🤯😨

tae left “BTW☠️😂”

—

think of this as a flash back/ forward idk of the good happy times ok? ok thank u >_<

sorry for the shit ending i just really like the first part and wanted to post

tags: @piw6n @92jinnies @birdie-vhs @kooksmilitarywife @hob3loveofmylife @jujubiism @bloopkook @ratchetpizza1 @myntalks @arloo00 @watamotee33 @y2kcy3brz @taiwan0618 @freyadanvers @gguksbeloved @raetf @bbsantc @winuvs @medicinemybish @bxnnyhime @leleluvsbts @baetukki @zyaaaszn @thelilbutifulthings @jazminethecreator @k4ngelz @jmnscutie @threeopossumsinacoat @cynicalyoongs @lightningpussy54 @eunthv @gigiiiiislife @lowkeykin @elissasimp @socksfirstalways @knjlvr06 @lailaisarmy @thvkives @xstfudaisyx @xxxanimangxxx @solstice34 @ml8dy @hoeforseoks

[ugh-yoongi]

the very last thing i decide | pjm

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then there’s you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This is it, he thinks.

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

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

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

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

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

But you do.

And, inexplicably, Yoongi listens.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m no one’s dog.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s just how it goes.

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

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

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

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

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

Someone else’s, of course.

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

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

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

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

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

But, god, he needs to know.

Needs answers.

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

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

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

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

Can’t you feel that?

He needs to know.

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

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

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

“What you said to Taehyung,” he answers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And there’s nothing gentle about the first time.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Taunting him.

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

Until now.

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

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

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

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

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

Jimin is blond when Namjoon sends you to South America.

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

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

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

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

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

“Done. Anything else?”

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

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

“Tell him he’s a bitch, then.”

“He’ll kill me if I say that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It comes out more like a plea.

—

You’re good at your job.

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

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

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

Until now.

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

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

Would Namjoon let you go if you asked?

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

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

Doesn’t matter.

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

No one spares you a second glance.

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

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

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

It’s empty.

Of course it is.

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

You know who it is, you fucking dickhead.

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

Sorry.

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

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

What kind of life is this?

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

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

It’s time for Namjoon to let you go.

—

Something is wrong.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s not.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The second time is nothing like the first.

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

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

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

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

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

Jimin mouths at you until you forget.

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

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

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

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

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

Jimin’s hair is pink when—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re being followed.”

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

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

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

“Where’s Jimin?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You know it’s a liability.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

You are wholly unprepared for the sight that greets you.

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

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

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

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

Eyes that now contain nothing.

“Jimin, what the fuck happened?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Namjoon should’ve let you go.

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

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

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

“Destruction.”

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

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

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

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

You watch him go.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’ve gotten sloppy.”

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

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

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

“Who?” Jimin manages to choke out.

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

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

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

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

No one talks to Namjoon that way except you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Or what, Kim Taehyung?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This is a waste of your fucking time.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m—that’s not—knock it off.”

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

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

Jimin’s hair isn’t dyed at all.

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

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

[danikamariewrites]

Can you pls do a part 4 clingy reader Rhysand and Azriel rhysriel poly ddlg relationship

where they do cute things for reader and take her out on cute little dates to the bookstore, pincnics,movies and coffee bc reader is shy and has social anxiety so they do cute little things where there isn’t much people buy on the rare occasion they go to loud places so they can help reader with her social anxiety/anxiety

Acts of Service hc

Rhysriel x reader

A/n: hey guys! Sorry again for being inactive lol. I’ve been so tired when I get home from work I have like 0 energy for anything. But I’m finding the motivation to keep writing so thank you for being patient with me

Warnings: none

These two will do everything for you

You never have to worry about a chore or want with Azriel and Rhysand bc they make sure all your needs are met

Even if it’s just the little things during the day. For example Rhys always gives you his arm when walking down the stairs or around the house

Azriel always reaches things high up on shelves for you

And they both keep you close out in public, parties, and meetings if you attend

There are specific things that they do for you everyday

Rhys lays out your outfits so you’re always matching

He’s a lil fashionista of course he’s going to be in charge of curating the best wardrobe for you

How could Rhys let his High Lady look anything but her best

Rhys loves playing with your hair too. He brushes it before bed as a way for the both of you to relax and he often braids it

When you have to go to the court of Nightmares he dresses you like his lil assassin to get a point across

Azriel made sure you are very skilled with daggers

The fact that you can hold your own and could kill a man with a slice is a huge turn on for them

Azriel escorts you everywhere

He loves holding your hand when on walks, shopping, eating, and even cuddling

You and Rhys are the only ones that

Rhys and Azriel always make sure they have a gift for you when one of the, comes home from being away

Usually Azriel is the one who’s away so he and Rhys work together to make sure there’s a store Az can get something for you and Rhys pays for said item

He always carries you when the three of you fly somewhere since Rhys gets you most of the time Azriel likes to keep you as close as possible while he’s home

Dates are always special for you 3

It doesn’t matter if it’s an at home romantic dinner or they take you somewhere fancy, it’s always special

Your favorite dates are the ones away from prying eyes of the citizens of Velaris

You love your people and the city but get anxious when they just stare and ogle at Rhys and Az openly especially when you’re right next to them

Picnics by the lake and weekends away at the cabin are the best

You just cling to them and they make sure you’re fed and warm and give you lots of love

There are times when you like going to the city for dates even if you get anxious

Rhys and Az know your favorite treat is the bookstore and coffee and that’s a once a week thing

Except if you’re bored or sad then they take you again on another day

When your anxiety acts up they are really good at noticing it especially Azriel and his shadows

His shadows adore you and protect you all the time

If Az isn’t there then one of his shadows is always with you wrapped around your arm like a bracelet

They have a cool soothing touch but nothing beats physical reassurance from your boys

When you get really anxious you immediately find on of their hands to hold them or cling to their arm, pressing your forehead into their bicep

They’ll start rubbing the back of your neck and pressing kiss on your head

“It’s ok darling, I’ve got you.” Rhys likes to say

They lead you to a quiet place to help you calm down until you’re ready to go or want to keep spending time out with them

Rhys and Azriel don’t care either way they just want you to feel safe

And if you being safe means winnowing you home immediately and hiding under blankets on the couch then they’ll do it

[bunthebreadboy]

i saw a fanart on pinterest when i decided to change my entire phone theme and i can’t get it out of my head.

the art was just after the zuko and ozai agni kai. zuko was knocked out, iroh was getting ready to take him and leave, and azula just came in and said “i took care of it”. if anyone knows what i’m talking about and has it saved or knows the og artist pls lmk!!

anyways. it got me thinking about an expansion of this au (that i will never write because i have neither the patience nor the time to do that) that (unsurprisingly) results in disasterlesbian!azula

so hear me out on this one. there would need to be an entire plot. like. what’s aang going to do??

azula killed ozai by electrocuting him. it’s the first time she discovers her lightning bending. it looks like he had a heart attack in his sleep. (don’t get too wrapped up in the details. azula’s a prodigy she can be overpowered for a bit)

why did she kill her dad? she’ll swear up and down that it was because “he really should have picked on someone with a better fighting ability than zuzu. honestly, it’s stupid he didn’t lose his honor after frying my pathetic firebender of a brother to a crisp.” it’s actually because she kind of sort of loves zuko. she will NEVER admit that.

iroh becomes fire lord, albeit a bit reluctantly. he spends the next three years attempting to end the war, stop the spread of propaganda in the fire nation, and deal with his niece and nephew bickering all the time.

so aang comes out of the iceberg. meets katara and sokka. katara convinces him to take her to the north pole because he’s the avatar, he still should probably master all four elements war or not. all of the traveling is the same (except zuko chasing them) until they get to omashu and king bumi is like “what’s up my dude, welcome back. we’re recovering from a war, so you should probably learn politics and how to not offend anyone while you master the elements!!”

(“there was a WAR?!?!!!” -aang, probably)

so now aang does a deep dive into all of the nation’s politics while also training. katara doesn’t really attend his meetings, but sokka’s a total nerd and is sat for every single one. first is waterbending at the north pole. insert canon things but add in a meeting with arnook.

this is where we introduce the REAL enemy, because the enemy can’t be the gaang attempting to learn international law at 12, 14, and 15 years old. during the full moon someone assassinates the moon spirit! (sorry yue, i love you but you still die in this au…)

so after mastering waterbending the gaang heads to the earth kingdom. they meet toph and she joins. they head to ba sing se, which, after trying to talk politics with the king, they realize is still completely unaware of the war. while in the earth kingdom, we get a name for the big bad. the dai li. after realizing that ba sing se is basically a military dictatorship, the gaang escapes and head to the fire nation.

that’s where zuko, azula, and iroh get reintroduced. aang and sokka consistently come back from meetings with the royals complaining about “oh my god, the princess is such a bitch. seriously, how is she allowed to help run this country??”

katara eventually goes with the boys to a meeting to get them to shut up. toph makes fun of her for being a people pleaser, but katara will do literally anything to get her brother and best friend to stop yapping about the same topic at her every. single. day.

azula (disaster lesbian) doesn’t say a single word throughout the entire meeting. sokka and aang walk out feeling like they were in the twilight zone. katara shows up to more and more meetings. why? definitely not cause the princess is sort of kind of somewhat cute intriguing.

insert azula’s gay awakening crisis here. she eventually starts talking at the meetings, but she’s only ever nice to katara lmao. katara does realize that azula’s an actual genius, though. she decides that the two of them could probably like, take over the entirety of ba sing se in a day if they tried hard enough. but of course that is purely hypothetical.

so one day a meeting gets interrupted by a literal dai li assassin trying to kill aang. he barely escapes the resulting fight.

so the dai li send more assassins. and even more assassins. until finally zuko gets fed up and is just like “alright i’m tired of dealing with these guys. can we please go kick their leader’s ass??”

that is how azula and zuko end up joining the gaang. and how azula can eventually lay siege over ba sing se (even if she reluctantly gives it back when katara tells her to).

—

other misc key points:

- azula and katara get together right before they fight with long feng. it happens cause katara notices that azula is nervous (nobody else would be able to tell) and so she’s like “zula. you’ve got this. we’ve got this” and kisses her lmao

- toph and azula are best friends, to katara’s obvious dismay

- the second azula calls zuko “zuzu” in front of sokka he immediately starts rolling on the floor and laughing. katara has to make sure his lungs are okay afterwards

- zuko: “im literally not gay??” sokka: “yeah, and toph can see”

- toph regularly comes back to wherever the gaang is staying with bags of money. she knows how to find every single illegal fighting ring in the world.

- this is a loooooong term plot. since there’s no reason to worry about the comet it can take place over many years. which also means that katara and azula literally pine for each other until they’re like 20 and everyone around them, especially (and surprisingly) aang, is like “oh my god make it stop”

[papil0nglegs]

One small step at a time! 🛸

Tf2 x Juno!reader

A/n: This one’s for all my overwatch babes <33 ik this idea is rlly niche but this was so fun to write I’m so proud of this. Most of these can be interpreted as platonic but read however you’d like, enjoy ✨

Warnings: Scottish people, Drinking, Passing out drunk

Vocab: (p/f) - Parental Figure

Engineer

He has such a father daughter relationship with you

When you first landed on earth he was extremely fascinated by the technology your (p/f) discovered to get to mars, especially your anti-gravity boots

“So these things are just makin’ you float around?”

“Yeah! I’m not really used to earths gravity so my (p/f) sent me off with overboots!.. how do you guys get anything done while stuck on the ground?”

“We just make do with what we can, sugar”

His fav activity with you? Lounging. Doesn’t look like much but his rancho relaxer + you using your jetpack to ‘sit’? Soo cute

You guys would just be chilling in his workshop after doing whatever task it was you were doing <3

“You want a beer, Buttercup?”

“No thank you! I’m not really fond of drinks with alcohol since all we could drink at mars was juice and water”

“shoot, glad I’m not you”

He’s definitely one of the mercs who warmed up to you the fastest, he’s just chill like that.

Medic

Pls don’t tell him your from mars, weird shit is gonna happen

He’s going to treat you like one of his test subjects, at first it starts tame with general check ups but it escalated pretty fast.

When doing his uber surgery on you he decided to explore more things

“..how long was I out, Dr. Ludwig?”

“Oh not long!! Just two.. days”

“What? You said it would only take about 20 minutes!!”

“Vell yes I did say that my Martian friend, however I must say curiosity got the best of me! I simply had to know more about your anatomy”

“Uhm,, ok”

Yeah you’re so scared of him now lol

But of course you two do need to work together to try healing your teammates

He loves it when you heal him, it’s always a pleasant surprise since he never expects to get healed, like ever

“Here! I can help you!!”

“Oo, so vats how it feels..”

Spy

Yeah he doesn’t think your good for the team

Sure it was interesting to meet someone who was born and raised in a completely different planet, however your inexperience with earth was enough for him to neglect you

Once you visited his smoke room to find abundance of books, you being new to earth were excited to see all the knowledge they carried

“Wow! Can I borrow this one? I’d like to learn more about earth and its continents!!”

“Go ahead, I never made use of that thing anyways”

It always catches him off guard how little knowledge you have about earth, especially since your were chosen to go on the mission to earth

Once you randomly found a globe somewhere in the break room and got so fascinated by it

“Earths colors are beautiful, I’d really like to go the that purple one!”

“Y/n, Russia is not purple. And you don’t want to visit there, it is full of trash people.”

“Oh..I see”

He doesn’t guide you to earth like the rest of the mercs, he wants to really straighten your back and push you to your limit

“Would a croissant go well with your meal good sir?”

“Excuse me?”

“You seem like you are from the Western Europeans my (p/f) brought back to mars!! Au revoir madam, please enjoy your tea”

Tbh that moment made his heart melt by just a little bit. Hey, he’s not a monster he can have heartfelt moments.. sometimes

Sniper

You are so fascinated by him, literally just him

For the most part it’s because of his job title ‘assassin’, you’ve never heard of such a job back home.

“Is it true you earn currency to kill specific people?”

“Why of course Sheila, who else would do it?”

“Well, on mars we kinda just let them live even if we don’t like them.. that’s a thing here right??”

You love going on roadtrips with him so he can show you around, just to see get a feel of that New Mexican dirt

You two have a relation where he misses his parents despite always arguing with them, and you miss your (p/f) because you two now live on completely different planets.

On those trips you tend to enjoy chilling in the back of his trailer. You can’t stand spending another second on an uncomfortable leather seat!! So you roam around a lot in what he basically considered his home.

“How was it back there? ‘eard sum ruckus out in the front.”

“Oh right! I am trying to get use to earths gravity so I tried cleaning up here a bit, I hope you don’t mind!!”

He almost cried, you reminded him of his ‘mum’

Whenever you’re curious about any animal you always go to him, we all know Australia a place with weird animals so

“Mr. Mundee, is this spider deadly?”

“I’m not sure, you should probably check in with doc tho. Your face lookin pretty swelled there mate..”

“Oh thank the stars! I was sure this was a lion..”

You passed out from the poison.

It’s good tho, sniper carried you to Medics room like the big brother he is 🧡

Demo-man

YOURE SO SCARED OF HIM

MORE THAN MEDIC

Not only is he obsessed with the drink that you’ve literally never heard of until you arrived in earth, but the way he acts makes it seem like crack

You have so many questions, they almost never get answered because he’s either too drunk or he’ll pass out with medic dragging him out the room

“Is it true that your stomach now declines any normal drinks?”

“Ayouhhh it’s just beerdelicois burp”

“..is he going to be alright?”

“Oh no worries my Martian friend, this happens all the time.. although I can never tell if he’ll live or not”

When on the battlefield he’s always screaming and creaming, sometimes it scares you so much to the point where you ask your fellow teammates to help you

“MR. CONAGHER, I THINK DEMO IS TRYING TO ATTACK ME!!”

“Darlin’, I thinks he’s just tryna get some healing..”

“But why is it yelling.. ☹️”

Now you’re scared of Scottish people, and convinced they probably eat their youth

Soldier

He def plays a father role like engineer, but way less charm and warmth to him

He’s like a dad at a soccer game, he’ll cheer you on but aggressively, to the point where it seems like he’s booing you

In the lobby he’d always do his soldier talk, and it never fails to make you do you best

“NOW, WILL YOU HAND THAT TEAMS ASS AND FEED IT TO HIM, OR AM I GOING TO HAVE TO DRAG YOURS BACK TO MARS TO YOUR MOMMA?”

“No sir!! I’ll feed it to them!”

“THATS RIGHT MAGGOT”

Soldier is always hard on you, sometimes he calls you a ‘space commie’ just for jokes, although his tone definitely sets you off

When you unleashed your orbital ray he started screaming about ‘the commies getting to us’, you had to reassure him several times that it was something you had full control of

Scout

This guy was ecstatic when he found out his new teammate was going to be from space, scout is really into comics (even tho he can’t read) so his imagination went wild when Ms Pauling announced that he’d be fighting alongside what he considered an alien

Once you arrived he was in awe, he thinks you’re the coolest person on the team solely because you’re from another planet.

But he did quickly recognize that you weren’t use to like, anything on earth.

He handed you a cold can of Bonk just for you to look at him confused

“What do I do with this?”

“You drink it?”

“..um I don’t think you’re supposed to drink ‘atomic punch’, that sounds like it hurts 0-0”

He had to teach you how to drink stuff that wasn’t in an aluminum bag, you didn’t take a liking to it but you got used to it

Scout offered you to sleep on the top bunk because he wanted to be nice and all, huge mistake.

The next morning you completely forgot you were on a different planet, so you rolled and fell 9 feet from the bed to the floor.

“Jesus y/n!! what the hell happened?”

“I think I.. fell? Falling feels weird..”

Gets so hype when you two are on the same team, he’s so ready to clock the enemy team with orbital ray

“Scout! My orbital ray is ready!! ^^”

“Whooo! Let’s go then E.T what are we waitin’ for??”

For the most part he’s the one who shows you everything you need to know about earth, baseball is his favorite thing to teach cuz obviously

When you joined him to watch a baseball match you were so excited yet so lost

“What happens if they win? Is this a war?”

“No? Toots it’s just a game”

“Hm, intresting.. then I must try this ‘game’ too!”

[tachiharastanacc]

Heyyyy love your posts

I thought about this after I read someone else’s post ( I think they called him tragic little f@ck? Not sure)

Imagine after hd reveal, port mafia starts to think back of all tachi’s behavior and words, then it hits them holy fuck this kid has some issues.

Like, there was a time when he tried to ignore his bleeding leg because ‘we got a mission and that is much more important nee-san!’ Or he was very scared of medica examination and when it ended, he asked so baffled ‘..that’s it?’ And I’m fairly sure he at least once said ‘orders make me who I am’ in front of others-probably gin of hirotsu-and they were just like oh, he’s very loyal. But now that they know how young he was when he joined the hunting dogs, they can’t help but feel bitter about that sentence. I think the reason tachi is desperate to follow orders are not only because government shaped him into perfect soldier, but he was desperate for love, affection and approval. Like, his parents told him they wished him dead instead of his brother! That is something sure will leave a scar on a CHILD.

I rlly want tachihara to learn how to be human again with the port mafia. Black lizards and chuuya probably will be the biggest help because, tachi is closest to black lizards-I think hirotsu will be able to be a father tachi never had-and chuuya has been through this. He knows how he’s feeling. Black lizards will be his family, his emotional support. And chuuya will be there, guiding him through the little things-that is normal as breathing to others but so, so foreign for him(them)-and tachihara feel so understood.

(Whoops rambled..if this does not make sense, pls don’t be mad!)

I’m furious actually /j

No, I just completely forgot I had an inbox lol. But yes!! I agree!!

I think the idea of them questioning everything they knew about him also is super interesting. Because they all saw him one way (reckless, brave, a lil dense sometimes), and everything is different when he comes back.

There’s a level of ‘was this all an act’ that takes a bit to get over. But at the end of the day, it’s still their Tachi, just a different side of him. Personally, Hirotsu specifically wouldn’t mind the quiet if he wasn’t worried out of his gosh darn mind.

Also, he 100% picks up on just how much telling Tachihara he’s proud of him affects him when Tachi isn’t trying really hard to act unbothered and cool.

Chuuya just assigning him self reluctant older brother even tho it was fully his idea. Verlaine’s kinda there too, but he doesn’t really know how to approach him in a way that won’t scar him for life (again) so he kinda just follows him around occasionally like some kind of depressed French cryptid.

This is 100% more terrifying than if he just approached him bc Tachihara fully is aware that he’s been stalking him and is convinced he plans on assassinating him.

Please always ramble to me abt Tachi and his families please lol

[deviousindianbeauty]

Ghost x Reader:

note: pls be kind. I might write a part 2 where there is smut but ima be honest, I’ve never written smut before. I’m willing to try because idk ghost is so sexy and hot and I love him so much LOL.

#imagine Being out with task force 141 as a way to celebrate your last day of deployment before you have a couple months off. All of you decided to go to the bar as a way to cool off and let off some steam. You were dressed in casual attire compared to what other girls were wearing. You didn’t realize how fancy the bar you guys had chosen was going to be. As you stand at the bar, waiting for the drinks your team ordered. A guy came up to you and bumped his elbow into you. You smiled politely, taking a step to the left so you wouldn’t bump into him again. He slyly took a step closer, winking at you as he invaded your space. You turned your head, avoiding eye contact and drumming your fingers against the counter top.

“Hey” you heard in your ear. A shiver ran down your spine and you turned your head slightly to turn back to the man next to you. You nodded your head in a greeting and turned your head away, hoping this man will take the hint. Your body swayed slightly, the shots you had taken earlier finally catching up to you.

“You alone?” He continued. You gritted your teeth in annoyance, and shook your head, deciding to put your attention on the menu on the overhead of the bar. You wanted to enjoy your little moment of bliss, not wanting it to be ruined by some jerk who wanted to get into your pants.

He turned his body to directly face you and you dropped your head and sighed under your breath, knowing where this conversation was going. You lifted your head and looked at him expectantly.

“Cmon, don’t be like that princess. I’m just hitting on a pretty girl at a bar” he explained, looking at you up and down. You tried to remain confident but the vibes this man was letting off was making you uncomfortable. You began looking around for an outing and you decided to swivel your head back toward the table where your teammates were at and did a double take when you saw ghost staring intently at you. You widened your eyes at him and looked back at the stranger in front of you .

“Look, I am not interested so please leave me alone” you said, taking a step back. You saw the man’s hand twitch as if he wanted to physically stop you from moving away from him.

“Cmon, I just wanna have some fun” he pouted and this time you physically cringed. You shook your head and put your hands up to balance yourself and to put more distance between the two of you. The stranger took this as a sign to grab your wrists and pull you into him. You grunted when you hit his chest and he took the opportunity to wrap his arm around your waist. The first thing you noticed was his stench. He smelled of sweat,cigarettes, and alcohol and it made you want to physically gag. You began to panic and squirmed around trying to get out of his grip. Although you were basically a trained assassin, the situation escalating so quickly threw you off and not to mention, you were buzzed from pregaming with Soap beforehand.

“Fucking let go of me” you groaned again, when his smell began to abuse your nostrils.

You suddenly felt cold. The man’s body laid sprawled out in front of you and you gaped at him. Your eyes widened, the entire situation to much to process at once. Soap grabbed your shoulders, putting you behind him while Ghost shook his hand, his knuckles bloodied. Ghost turned to look at you as if he were asking you if you were okay. You nodded timidly, grabbing onto Soap’s shoulder, squeezing lightly to indicate that you wanted to leave. As Soap was going to escort you out, Ghost grabbed your wrist and proceeded to pull you towards the exit. You turned your head back towards the table full of your teammates and Price was smirking while Gaz stared wide-eyed at Ghost and you. Ghost pushed open the back door and dragged you towards his all black BMW. He opened the door, making sure you got into the passenger seat before he walked around and got into the car. He huffed as he started the car, immediately pressing the gas, taking off and leaving behind a cloud of smoke.

“Thank you” you said after a minute of silence.

“What the hell was that sergeant?” Ghost said, his voice calm and stoic. He completely ignored your gratitude and gripped the steering wheel tight.

“I-um” you began.

“You were just gonna let another man touch you like that?” You stared at his knuckles from the corner of your eye, staring as they were turning white while being red from punching the man who almost assaulted you.

Suddenly Ghost came to a halt, you realized he stopped in the middle of nowhere and you looked at him confused. He turned the car off and got out slamming his door shut in the process. You followed suit, confused as to why he was so angry and especially why he stopped in the middle of nowhere, where it was pitch black and nothing could be seen for miles.

“Ghost, I’m sorry but it wasn’t my fault. He began harassing me and-“ you began but again you were interrrupted.

“HAVE I NOT TRAINED YOU WELL ENOUGH TO DEFEND YOURSELF SERGEANT?” Ghost yelled, his eyes glaring at you. You nodded your head, walking around the hood of the car towards him. You didn’t know why but you wanted to prove your point to Ghost. You wanted him to understand the situation.

“Ghost-“ you pleaded.

“It’s lieutenant, sarge” Ghost interrupted again. You huffed at his interruption and narrowed your eyes. Now you were getting annoyed.

“Okay, Lieutenant. I wasn’t asking for him to harass me. He began talking to me at the bar and I acted uninterested and then he wouldn’t stop throwing himself at me. I was getting annoyed and I was trying to-“ Ghost scoffed, and you looked up into his eyes. You never realized how much taller he was than you.

“What is your problem?” You raised your voice a little. Seriously, he was acting like you were asking for that to happen.

“Obviously my problem is the fact that man put hands on you” he said, his jaw clenching underneath the balaclava. “Why was he touching you at all?” He expressed, gritting his teeth. He looked at you, his eyes holding so much fury, you were almost scared. Almost. He took a step closer to you, your chests inches away from touching yours. You felt your breath stutter as your face was inches away from his. His scent invaded your nose, and he smelled like cologne, wood, and sex. His eyes fluttered down towards your lips for such a quick second that if you weren’t paying attention, you would have missed it.

“Y/n, I don’t like when anyone touches you. It bothers me” he admitted, looking into your eyes, almost as if he was trying to look into your soul. You were taken aback by his confession. For Ghost, that was admitting a lot for a man with little words. Ghost admitting he cared for you had your heart pounding insanely hard inside your rib cage. You were sure if Ghost got any closer, he would be able to hear it.

“Lieutenant” you whispered breathlessly.

You had to admit, since you joined task force 141, you always had a thing for him. He was such a well statured man, always carrying his team and himself so confidently. Seeing him barking orders, working out, or anything he does makes you wet between your legs. Right now was not any different. You felt a tingle in between your legs and you can feel your pussy clench around nothing. As if Ghost could smell your arousal, his eyes flickered down to your lips and this time he made sure you saw that he was staring at them. His hand reached out to grab your waist and pushed you gently against driver’s side door. You felt yourself pinned against the hard space, looking at Ghost. Waiting for him to do something, anything.

His hand reached for his balaclava, raising it so it stopped right beneath his nose and you were entranced by seeing his lips. You’ve seen them many times before but seeing them so close was doing something to you. All your wild thoughts coming forward. How would his lips feel on yours? How would they feel on your neck, right on your sweet spot? How would they feel kissing your inner thighs? You couldn’t take it anymore. You grabbed him by the collar of his uniform and pulled him into you crashing your lips on him. His hands immediately grabbed your waist, gesturing you to jump up, and you obeyed. He easily lifted you up and you instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist, hooking at the ankles. He pushed his hips into yours, pinning you to the car again, this time his clothed bulge rubbing against your clit. Your mouth opening to let out a breathy moan and he took it as a chance to shove his tongue inside. Your tongues swirled around each other and you could really taste him. You could taste the whiskey he was drinking earlier and you usually hated the taste of whiskey but right now you couldn’t get enough of it. As you sucked on his tongue, he grinded harder into your cunt and you moaned quietly into his mouth and he pulled away to look at your face.

“Fuck, I think that’s my new favorite sound love” he said, breathlessly. You felt his bulge grow larger as he continued rubbing himself against you and you swore you were gonna cum just from dry humping each other. You moaned again when his lips started peppering kisses up and down your neck. You grabbed the back of his head, tilting your head back to give him better access. You felt his lips smirk against your skin and then he began sucking. You moaned loudly, and you felt your face get hot from how much you sounded like a pornstar. You were glad you were in the middle of nowhere because if you were around someone and they had heard you, you would have died of embarrassment. He pulled away again, looking at your neck proudly.

“There, love. Now no one will touch what’s mine” his voice deep with lust.

“Should we finish this in the car love?” He asked, his eyes searching yours for an answer. You nodded ferociously and he bellowed out a laugh. He let you go and your feet planted themselves on the ground. He reached for the door handle and shoved you inside and went in right after you.

[at-wicks-end]

burnout ; jw

john wick / reader 672 words ; angst other tags: mutual pining, right person wrong time, john and reader are in their 30s <3 pls do not repost!!

It shouldn’t be like this, John thinks to himself, feeling sick to the stomach. Still, he keeps his expression pleasant. He is your friend. He should be happy. He should be supportive. You look radiant.

“He proposed last Friday,” you grin, holding your hand out to show him the ring. It’s not ugly, but John would’ve chosen something different. It just doesn’t capture your personality, but he keeps his thoughts to himself. “I wanted to tell you sooner, but I didn’t want to do it over the phone since it’s pretty big news.”

You stare at the ring with a small smile in your face, but John can tell that you’re lost in thought. The unreadable look in your eyes is the only thing that pushes him to ask. “Are you happy?” He says carefully. You blink in surprise, the strange look in your eyes giving way to confusion. 

“Are you happy?” John repeats, and the smile in your face falters.

“What do you mean?” You laugh lightly, but he doesn’t buy it. “I’ve just gotten engaged, John. Of course I am.”

The noise from the rest of the coffee shop seems to disappear as he looks into your eyes, searching. You look put-together, like you always are, but there is a weariness in your posture. You alternate between fidgeting with your mug and your ring, and your smile doesn’t reach your eyes. Suddenly, that look in your eyes isn’t as unreadable as he thought.

“You look unsure,” he says softly. 

“I look tired,” you correct. “I couldn’t sleep last night. I was working through some stuff.”

Another lie. John decides to let it slide this once. “So when’s the wedding?” He changes the topic, and your posture relaxes marginally. 

“Matt wants it to be a summer wedding, somewhere with a beach, maybe?” You say brightly, and John already knows you’re overcompensating. “I wanted it to be in either spring or—”

“Fall,” John finishes, taking a sip of his coffee. “I thought you hated the idea of a summer wedding, much less one at a beach. What changed?”

“Well, Matt really likes the idea, so I guess it’s not that bad?” You shrug, and John can feel his free hand clench underneath the table. 

“You don’t seem that excited,” he points out, and you grimace. It tells him what he needs to know.

He wants to grab your shoulders and shake you so you can come to your senses. He wants to tell you that it should be him instead. He wants. 

Instead, John reminds himself of his reality: he is an assassin and you are a civilian. Being with him is a death sentence, and this is the best possible situation he could ask for. You are safe and away from him, with someone to care for you. John can keep tabs on you from afar, and everyone is happy.

That is the lie John must tell himself.

“For what it’s worth, congratulations,” he says sincerely. “I wish you two the best.”

For a moment, nothing is said. The two of you lock eyes, and his heart lurches at the way his own yearning is mirrored in your eyes. He toys with the idea of being the one to marry you instead—to be standing by the altar with you by his side, to exchange rings and vows with you, to spend the rest of his life with you. He considers confessing now, considers telling you how much he loves you so he can whisk you away from that idiot who can’t be bothered to learn what you like. 

The moment passes.

“Thank you, John.” Your voice is warm but resolute. He knows—you know—that this is the end. 

It should have been me, John thinks to himself. It could have been me.

The sunlight catches on your ring, and John rips out the seedling of hope you had planted in his heart. When the two of you part ways, he leaves his dreams of a quiet life with you.

hello!!! first jw fic here hehe hope you guys enjoy!! this is actually the alternate ending of a much larger fic i'm currently writing, so if you liked this, maybe keep an eye out for that one <3 i'll be crossposting this on ao3 as well.

[prfctparis]

I’d Give You My Lungs So You Could Breathe (I’ve Got You, Brother) [CH3]

AO3 Link / One / Prev / Next / Masterlist

summary:

Danny Fenton was adopted at age ten, with little to no memories about his former family. At age fourteen, he died yet lived and those memories began to return. He didn’t do anything about those memories – didn’t plan to, at least not yet – but then he got captured by the GIW, saved by his friends and someone who might be his sister who he only somewhat remembered, and taken to Gotham to, apparently, his biological father for safety until further notice.

Team Phantom was there, too, and they did not sign up for this family drama.

a/n:

“ch3 will be up in a few days,” i said, like a lying liar who lies. i meant to!!! but then i sort of forgot and then got distracted by another fic i’m in the middle of writing mlmao oops. so i won’t promise or say when ch4 will be up, bc this was the last of my already written chapters from ao3 & my update schedule is of the 'when i can and want to' variety. hope u guys on tumblr enjoy this chapter!! :)

warnings for the entire fic:

canon-typical violence of the DC variety; angst; memory loss/repressed memories; do i need to say major character death(s) or is that just a given for this fandom; questionable parenting tho every parent is trying to do good & care for the kids; implied/referenced past child abuse bc of the child assassin backgrounds; pls tell me if i missed something

CHAPTER SPECIFIC WARNINGS: blood; stressed teenagers; athanasia has a borderline panic attack; vivisection is mentioned again but only once if i remember right; implied animal death but in the past & it’s like 1 paragraph

CHAPTER THREE —

The secret, new headquarters of the Ghost Investigation Ward was in upstate New York. The Wayne Manor was in Gotham City, New Jersey. The travel from Point A to Point B was about three hours and forty minutes long – a much longer drive than any of them wanted. But with Manson’s magic, the van stayed invisible to the human eye and Wesley was able to speed down the roads without cops chasing after them, cutting down the travel time immensely.

Still, it was a risk.

But stopping some place before they got to Gotham was also a risk. One Athanasia refused to take.

Maybe if Ra’s al Ghul hadn’t been there, would she allow them to stop at a roadside motel or something. But he was there. He had been in the room where they were operating on Danny. Mother had one of her servants save Danny from death eight years ago to get him out of the League, allowing Grandfather to believe he was dead, but now he knew.

And Athanasia wasn’t going to let that man get anywhere near close to her twin brother again. So, they weren’t going to stop until they made it to Wayne Manor.

The others weren’t happy about it. She didn’t care.

Of course, that didn’t mean she was happy about it, either.

Believe her, she wanted to stop sooner. She wanted to get to a place where they could properly take care of Danny’s injuries, and give him what he needed to heal, and take those damn power repressing cuffs off. All they could do was make sure the bandages on his chest stayed put and kept too much blood from bleeding out, and made sure that he didn’t die on the way to the manor, which was more difficult than Athanasia would like, seeing as though, as Phantom, he didn’t have a heartbeat.

Eventually, they got the cuffs off. It took a while, and it was mostly done by Foley and Gray, because Athanasia was busy bandaging her own wounds with the limited supplies in the van, and Manson was focused on keeping the van invisible while Wesley drove. They succeeded, though. Once both cuffs were off, a ring of light appeared around him and with a flash he had black hair again, and green blood turned red.

His healing factor didn’t kick in.

“What do you mean he isn’t healing?” Wesley asked, worried, when Foley informed them. “He should be.”

“I don’t know,” Foley said, tone unsure and worried.

“But he has a heartbeat now, right?” asked Athanasia. She kept her eyes on her thigh as she bandaged a wound on there. It wasn’t the best, and she didn’t have anything to clean the wound with, but it would have to do for now.

Gray replied, “Yeah. He’s got one.”

“Okay. Good.” It was the only thing she could get herself to say. The possibility of still being too late to save him, even with him now away from the GIW and LoA, put a restrictive weight on her chest. It lessened with Gray’s affirmation, but not much.

They made it to Gotham in just under two hours and fifteen minutes.

Athanasia only got a split second glimpse of the city’s poorly lit up welcome sign with how fast Wesley continued to drive. Truly a speed demon; he didn’t even slow down when they got into the city’s limits.

As they crossed one intersection, a car with goons hanging out of the windows holding guns sped through it behind them, with what looked to be Red Robin and Spoiler on motorcycles on their tail. Three cops sped through right after. Gun shots rang out as they disappeared behind a building.

“Watch out for vigilantes,” she said. “It’s around the time most start coming out.”

Wesley shook his head. “I can’t imagine having more than one vigilante.”

Gray pointedly cleared her throat.

“I can’t imagine having more than two vigilantes.”

She hummed. “Forget about me again and see what happens.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Athanasia laughed quietly to herself. It wasn’t quiet enough, because he still heard and gave her the stink eye. It was hardly intimidating

Foley hissing made her look into the back seats. He was shaking his left hand, expression a grimace of pain, as he hurriedly passed the vial of liquid Athanasia had taken from the IV to Gray. Gray took it just as fast, twisting the lid back on.

“Shit.”

“What’s wrong?” Athanasia asked.

“They were putting that in his system?” The grimace turned into panic when she nodded. “Oh, that’s not good. That is so not good. That has blood blossoms in it.”

“What?!” Gray exclaimed. “That can kill him!”

Athanasia shifted so she sat sideways in the front seat. “What are blood blossoms?” Her eyes flicked to Danny – his chest slowly rose up and down – and then back to Foley.

“They can kill ghosts,” Wesley said gravely.

Foley explained, “They’re a blood red flower, have purple stems – humans can eat them. But for ghosts, they cause extreme pain and make them go powerless. Exposed to enough of it, they die. To people like me and Sam, who aren’t ghosts but have been exposed to ectoplasm for years, it just burns us. Like we touched a hot stove, or something.” He motioned to the vial. “That just felt like bee sting for me, but to Danny? It probably feels like he’s being slowly burned from the inside out.”

“It sounds like they made an oil from blood blossoms and diluted it until it wasn’t so strong,” Gray said.

“Strong enough to render him powerless, but weak enough to not kill him after long exposure,” Athanasia said, and the two of them nodded.

“Sounds like it.”

“That may be why he isn’t healing fast like he should,” Wesley suggested.

Foley cursed again. “This is so not good. We need to get it out of his system, like, yesterday.”

“How do we do that?”

Silence stretched between them.

Athanasia’s brows furrowed, incredulous and frustrated. And scared. “You don’t know?” she demanded.

“It– It’s never been in his bloodstream before!” Foley defended. “He’s only been near the flowers, so we just…moved him away from them. Or them from him. This is… We’ve never dealt with this before!”

“But you should have at least had a contingency plan for this,” she bit back. “Oils from flowers and plants are common!”

“We never thought the GIW would be smart enough for that!”

“Well, you should have!”

“Hey!” Gray shouted over them, “Enough! This isn’t helping Danny. Let’s just get to your dad’s place, yeah?”

Athanasia turned back around without another word. The movement pulled at her injuries, maybe even reopened the wound on her side, but she ignored them as she got out her communicator.

No one spoke for a few seconds.

“The device you are using to block the signals…” she started.

“I already said no,” Foley muttered, tone clipped. “It’s blocking his ecto-signature, too. I’m not risking unblocking it just so you can make a call.”

“You didn’t risk stopping, Ana,” Wesley said before she could respond. “Let us not risk this.”

There was a tightness in her throat that had been building up for the last ten minutes. It kept her from speaking; if she wanted to or even had a response, she couldn’t say it. She worked her jaw, ignoring the stinging in her eyes.

One brother was behind her near death, with a large incision that needed to be stitched. Her other brother was out in the city fighting crime, who knows in what type of danger in the crime capital of America.

She just wanted to know that at least one of them was okay.

It was as they went through another intersection, barely making it through a green light, when she noticed an unmistakable large, black shadow swing from one side of the road to the next.

“Stop the van,” she choked out.

“But–”

“Stop the van!”

Wesley slammed on the breaks. The ones in the back went tumbling, and she heard Manson let out a curse, concentration on the van’s invisibility broken after over two hours.

Athanasia got out of the van as fast as possible. She raced to the other side of the road and climbed skillfully up the fire escape on the side of a building. As she got to the roof, she spotted the figure speaking to another – red and black – in the shadows.

“Batman!”

Both figures turned. She dimly registered that the person Batman had been speaking to was Red Hood.

“Yes? What is it?” Batman questioned as he stepped forward.

Red Hood followed. The way his helmet tilted a little told her he recognized her. “Hey, what are you doing here?”

Athanasia made it halfway across the roof before she faltered. Her father was…an imposing man. If she hadn’t grown up in the place she did, she would probably be fearful of him because of it. Instead it just caught her off guard. Seeing him in person, up close, was…

Well. Unexpected.

She blinked and forced herself to stay on track. To not get distracted. She stopped a few or so feet away, wary to get too close. “We need your help,” she started off with. “My…acquaintances and I – we have someone who needs medical attention that only the Batcave will be able to provide for, and I need you to take us there.”

“The Batcave,” he repeated.

“Yes. A regular hospital is out of the question.” Her eyes flickered around the roof. Something wasn’t right. “I would take him there myself but I do not know where it is.”

What wasn’t right?

“I have no idea who you are. You aren’t authorized to go to the Batcave.”

“You would make an exception for us.”

“You sound sure.”

“Because I am. Just help us help him!”

“Who is ‘him’?”

“B, I don’t think it’s time for an interrogation right now,” Red Hood said.

“My…” Athanasia stilled. She knew what wasn’t right. Her entire body tensed. “Where’s Robin?”

Her father’s posture changed. Right; Batman was protective of Robin.

But as his older sister, so was she.

“Out,” he said. “Listen, you’re injured, and I understand you need help but–”

“What do you mean ‘out’? As in patrolling? Out of town? Country? Earth itself?”

Red Hood took a step towards her. “Whoa, kid, relax. It’s okay–”

“Where Robin is isn’t your business–”

Red Hood muttered a curse.

“Not my business?” she seethed. “Knowing where he is, is most definitely my business. I am not asking for dental records – it’s a simple answer to a simple question.”

“I–”

“My twin brother is dying in the backseat of a van, and my little brother is not by our father’s side like I thought he would be, so please just tell me where he is so I know at least one of them will be okay! I–”

“Hey! Hey,” Red Hood interrupted. “Robin is okay! He’s okay, alright? I promise. He twisted his ankle pretty badly the other night and the old man benched him until it’s healed. That’s all. You can breathe, kid.”

“I am.” Barely. It felt like she had been running for hours. She was out of breath; her intake of air had increased in the past few minutes. Her throat was back to being tight, but so was her chest, this time.

“Yes, you are, but your breathing is too fast,” Red Hood said. “You need to slow down–”

“There is no time to slow down!” she shouted. Her feet moved backwards when Red Hood tried to come closer to her. “I had the GPS taking us to the manor, but it’s worse off than we thought, and I would take him to the Batcave if I knew where it was–”

“How many of you are there?”

Athanasia blinked rapidly. Out of surprise, not because she was about to cry. She snapped her eyes back up to her father. “What?”

“You said you had acquaintances with you. How many?” He was doing something on his gauntlet, a hologram-like screen faintly glowing above it. She tried to make out the words backwards but gave up pretty quickly.

“Six in total,” she said. “Myself included. They do not know your identity.”

He hummed. “Are all of you injured?”

“Except for one, my– our getaway driver. Danny is the worst off.”

“Hard to believe, you’re pretty banged up yourself, kid,” Red Hood muttered, with a small motion to her entire body.

“They vivisected him.” The words hadn’t meant to come out, but they did.

Batman and Red Hood stilled.

The latter sucked in a breath of air. “Jesus.”

“The Batmobile is on its way,” her father tensely informed her. He stalked forward, and she was expecting him to walk passed her so she was thoroughly surprised when he stopped in front of her. He raised a hand and her body tensed for another time that night. She didn’t know what she was else expecting, but it wasn’t a comforting hold on her shoulder; it wasn’t a comforting tone and assurance. “Your brother is okay. Your twin is going to be okay.”

Athanasia stared at the hand on her shoulder. It took a second or two to finally tear her gaze from it, and look at her father’s cowl covered face instead.

“I promise.”

+++

The sound of footsteps gradually becoming louder alerted him that someone was about to disrupt his peace.

“Hey, I’m going to bed.”

Peace officially disrupted.

Damian looked up from his sketchbook long enough to spot Duke Thomas poking his head into the living room, before focusing back on the drawing he was working on. “Okay.”

“And Bruce wanted me to remind you to finish your homework if you haven’t already.”

He sighed. “I have.”

“And Alf says no sweets if you have any snacks.”

“Okay,” he said, annoyance seeping through.

“And they both say not to stay up too late or walk too much on your ankle–”

“Leave me be and rest your empty skull on the warm side of your pillow before I stab this pencil through your jugular.”

Thomas snickered. It occurred to him, then, that the older teen had continued on to annoy him on purpose. It worked. That annoyed Damian even more.

“Alright, alright. I’m leaving,” Thomas said through another chuckle. “Goodnight, Damian!” he called as he walked off.

He huffed. “Goodnight.”

Duke Thomas was Father’s newest addition to his ever growing brood. The older boy wasn’t adopted (at least, not yet), only fostered. His parents were still alive – just victims of Joker Venom. They found a cure, although it wasn’t instantaneous, so Elaine and Doug Thomas were slowly healing and recovering with the help of professionals while their son stayed here.

Damian was sort of surprised he was still here. He had an uncle he could go to, and who he did visit often, but he had chose to stay. Not that Damian wanted him to go – he actually didn’t mind Thomas that much anymore. He liked to think they got along well, even if sometimes the atmosphere was awkward, or when they deliberately annoyed one another.

Recently when the two either merely existed in the same room doing nothing, or ventured into the city out of boredom, Drake tagged along. Or was the one to drive them around. It had been tense at first. It was less so, now. Damian truly didn’t know how to feel about it.

He stopped drawing and stared at the page. He erased a few lines that didn’t look right and grabbed his phone, unlocking it to study the reference picture he was using. Just as he was about to put it down, his phone vibrated with a text.

It was from Drake – in the groupchat he made that included himself, Damian, and Duke. Damian tried to leave it multiple times only for Drake to add him back every single time.

drake

hey

evrrhthing ok at the manor??

thomas

yeah

i’m about to go to bed, damian is sketching in the living room & alfred is in the basement

why

is something wrong?

drake

idk but b is heading back

w jason

neither have have said a word they wont answer

thomas

that’s sus

you guys have only been gone for what?? 45 min at least

drake

yea

barbara cant even get ahold of them

hey little d

bat brat

u sure ur ok

Damian rolled his eyes. Drake was almost as bad as Father and Richard when it came to hovering if he got hurt, the buffoon simply showed it differently. He only twisted his ankle; nothing major.

And if his back had been hurting him the past week, nobody had to know.

…Except for Pennyworth and Richard. They knew of the metal in his spine and the damaged nerves, and so he told them when the sharp aches and pains kept coming back.

Alfred insisted it was just a few nerves growing back.

Damian focused back to the groupchat. Drake had resorted to spamming it because he took too long to respond. Obnoxious plebeian.

He took a picture of his legs covered by the blanket he was using. One knee was propped up to angle his sketch book right, while the other was stretched out as his injured ankle rested on a small pillow. Alfred the cat was fast asleep, curled into a circle, on the arm of the couch, while Titus made himself small enough to lay on the couch beside his outstretched leg. He sent the picture with nothing else. Drake stopped his spamming and liked it while Thomas sent another text asking what Damian was drawing.

With that, he put his phone down – only for it to start vibrating repeatedly. A phone call.

He somewhat expected it to be Drake, but still wasn’t that surprised to see it was Father, instead.

“Father?” Damian answered the call. “Drake said you were heading back. With Todd.”

“Yes.” Father’s voice was rough, but in a distinct way that Damian knew it wasn’t his Batman voice. In the background he heard the rumble of the Batmobile. “We are. And we have some company with us.”

His brows lowered. “Is everything okay?”

Silence.

Damian sat up and tucked his foot under his other leg’s thigh. Titus shifted, getting off of the couch to lay on the floor instead. “Father?” Carefully, he closed his sketchbook and set it on the coffee table.

Thomas decided to walk back in, at that moment. “Hey, I…” He trailed off when he saw that Damian was on the phone. “Is that Bruce?”

“Father, is–”

“Do you have an older sister?”

Damian froze. He even stopped breathing for a second. Did he know? If he did, how? Was it Mother, was she in Gotham? Did she tell Father? Athanasia told him not to tell him or anyone else, and he hadn’t. Why was he asking this? Were they okay?

“Yes,” he said slowly. “Cassandra–”

“I’m not talking about by adoption, son,” Father interrupted. “Biologically, do you have a sister? Or even a brother?”

He involuntarily sucked in sharply. If Father heard it, he didn’t make any indication that he did.

“She would be around Tim’s age, seventeen or eighteen. Five foot eight, ten at most. She mentioned a twin brother.”

Damian kept his eyes on Titus. He ignored Thomas stepping further into the living room to stand near the couch. “I’m not supposed to tell you,” he said. “She said not to.”

“Who? Talia?”

“No.”

“Your sister.” Damian stayed quiet. “Why?”

“I don’t– do not…” How was he supposed to answer that? He had no idea why Athanasia told him not to tell Father, but Damian refused to break the promise he made her. Yes, he wanted to tell Father – all the time, so badly – but it was the last thing Athanasia asked of him. Even the idea of breaking that promise felt wrong. Even now, even though he somehow knew. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly, and hated how childlike he sounded.

“…It’s not your fault, chum. We will be at the Cave soon. If– when,” he corrected, “you come down, put on a mask. They have acquaintances who don’t know our secret identities.”

“Yes, sir. Are they okay?”

Father didn’t immediately respond. It sent warning bells through his mind. “We’re about to be at the cave.”

“Wait, Father–”

The call ended.

Damian let out a huff of frustration. He went to call him back, but stopped.

Athanasia was in Gotham. She went to Father for help. Did that mean she called him on the League communicator and he missed it? Did he? It sounded like she needed help, they both did, and he…

Damian vaulted off of the couch. Thomas shouted after him, but he ignored him and the pain in his ankle as ran through the halls and up the stairs to his room. He took the communicator out from its hiding spot under his mattress.

Nothing. No calls or messages. Not a single thing.

Why did she go to Father and not him?

Damian sent a message. It didn’t go through, just like the past hundreds of times. He tried a call, it did the same thing.

“Damian! Don’t run away like that, man, you’re gonna hurt your ankle more,” Thomas reprimanded as he finally caught up. “I’m sorta responsible for you right now, and I don’t feel like getting Alfred’s disappointed look because you’re running around.”

The words went through one ear and out the other.

He cursed in Arabic and tossed the device onto his bed. He snatched an emergency mask from a drawer of his bedside table, and left the room.

“Damian,” shouted Thomas. “Seriously, dude!”

“If you follow me to the Batcave, put on a mask,” Damian said. “We have guests.”

Whatever his foster brother’s response was, Damian didn’t hear it. He rushed down the stairs, simultaneously putting on his mask, and then ran to the study where the clock was. Standing on his toes, he moved the clock’s hands to the correct time and squeezed through before the secret door opened all the way.

As he got to the bottom of the stairs, he slowed. A cacophony of noise grew as he got further into the cave. He stopped on the last step and just stared.

Whatever he had been expecting, it was not a group of injured teenagers talking over each other to his father and the family’s grandfather of a butler. Todd stood a few feet away from the group, back to Damian. He seemed to be merely watching the scene unfold.

“We’ve taken care of him before, we know how to do stitches!” a girl with short black hair shouted. “This isn’t new to–”

“He’s not– you need to let us help,” a black kid argued. “We know what to do for him–”

“I have already seen it!” And there’s Athanasia. “It is not a pretty sight, I know, but I can help–”

“None of you are in shape to help Penny-One,” Batman tried to speak over them.

“I am!” Another girl. She held a red and black helmet in her arms that matched a vigilante-like suit she wore. “Please, just let us–”

“We’re his friends! Please–”

“We– Well, I don’t but they do – they know what to do,” a red headed boy said. “He’s different, you’ll need their–”

A sharp whistle cut through the air, so sudden even Damian flinched. As did Thomas, who appeared at his side the instant it happened.

Everyone quieted immediately, eyes falling to Jason Todd. The helmet was off, but a red domino still covered his eyes.

“Everyone shut up or else it will be too late for anyone to help anybody,” the young man snapped, “Let Penny-One do what he does on a regular basis. I promise, he knows what he is doing, and has seen his fair share of bad injuries between the eerily large brood he cares for. Even if he did need help, it would not be from any of you. Like Batman said, none of you are the right shape to help – either from exhaustion or injuries or both, each one of you looks like shit. So sit your asses down, let the professional do his job, and take a breather.”

No one said a word. No one moved.

“Thank you, Red Hood,” Pennyworth said. “Now, if you will excuse me, I have a patient to care for.” He ducked behind a curtain he and Father were guarding. Damian wasn’t able to get a glimpse of the person behind it.

In the back of his mind, he knew who it was. It didn’t dissuade his worry.

Father stared down the teenagers.

The girl with short black hair and gothic clothes glared harshly back at him. Angry, she spun around with a scoff and stomped over to a chair, a palm on her forehead the entire way.

“Sam,” the black boy called after her and followed. They quietly began talking to each other.

The girl in the red and black suit and the redhead boy glanced at each other. The former shrugged helplessly, and the latter frowned in response, looking away.

Damian finally looked – truly looked – at Athanasia. Todd was right: she looked like shit; they all did. But his big sister had the most blood on her, and a green substance on her hands and right side that had a too close resemblance to Lazarus Pit water. She had numerous injuries that were bandaged hastily, but not enough for all of the blood to be hers. It looked as if she tried to scratch some of it off on the few areas of exposed skin, only for it to not work. Her black hair was in a ponytail that had once been neat; now, curly strands were loose and framing her face, and the ponytail itself was unkempt.

The others didn’t look that much better. Except for the redhead. He just looked stressed and exhausted and worried.

Damian shifted a foot forward, then back to its original spot.

He didn’t know what to do. Say her name? Simply walk up? Run back upstairs? He didn’t want to make a scene, but he also wanted to go up to his sister.

He spotted Ace laying down near the bat-computer. Silently, decision abruptly made, he moved in that direction.

Thomas cleared his throat. “Um… B?”

Damian stopped, freezing behind Todd. He looked over to Thomas and glared. The older teen didn’t acknowledge him other than a split second glance.

“D– Signal? What are you doing down here?”

Todd shifted. Damian moved with him. He turned his head slowly and sent Damian a suspicious side eye.

“Oh, uh… Red Robin contacted us – said you were coming back here. I just want to make sure you don’t need any help,” said Thomas.

Todd reached behind him with the hand that wasn’t holding his helmet, and aimed for Damian. He pinched Todd’s wrist when it got close enough, making him hiss in pain.

“We might– Hood?”

Todd shook his hand. “Sorry. Bug bit me.”

Father continued speaking with Thomas, who walked further into the Cave.

“Brat,” Todd hissed under his breath.

Damian didn’t deign him a response. Once it was clear everyone else was distracted, he continued his way to the bat-computer in the shadows. When he got there, he crawled underneath the desk. Ace moved to lay his head in Damian’s lap.

His hiding spot didn’t stay hidden for long, though.

Someone silently walked over. Then, they crouched down and slotted their body next to his under the desk.

“Did Todd tell you where I am?” he asked. It came out more petulant than he intended.

“No. I saw you when you first came down.”

“Tt.” Damian muttered, “…You smell vile.”

Athanasia hummed. “And you are still short.”

There was a shakiness to her voice he didn’t like. It kept him from automatically responding with another insult.

He turned his head to look at her again.

Her eyes were staring at nothing in particular. Her breathing was a bit too fast for comfort, sort of choppy too. Tension lined her entire body.

“Stretch out your legs,” he said quietly.

She eyed him in question. He motioned for her to hurry up. Hesitant, she eventually did it. Then, he wasted no time in ordering Ace to lay on her legs.

Athanasia sucked in sharply. Her hands lifted to her chest. “Dames–”

“You won’t hurt him,” he interrupted. “He won’t hurt you.”

He was aware of why she was so hesitant – almost afraid, even. She tried to hide it from him, but League trainers had forced her to slaughter animals. Those same trainers did that to him a couple times, too, after she left. Apparently it was to make them stronger and better assassins. Less prone to weaknesses.

He wondered if Dányál had to go through that. If Mother knew.

Damian didn’t think she did, but…

Athanasia kept her hands to her chest.

“So, you found him?” Damian asked. He kept his voice low, and scooted closer to her.

She nodded. “Yes. He is… He will be okay,” she said, keeping her voice low like he did. “I apologize for taking so long.”

Damian didn’t know how to respond to that. It made a flicker of anger from in his chest. She was sorry for being gone for so long, but not for leaving?

“…He isn’t a clone?” was his next question.

“No.” Her arm lifted, and for once he let her pull him into her side in a hug. He wasn’t big on touch, and Athanasia wasn’t either, but she was definitely more tactile than he was in some ways. From what he remembered, she and Dányál had hugged a lot.

“Are you positive?” His mind flashed to Heretic. He held back a wince, twisting until his back was into her side and her arm wrapped around his chest. He had to bend his knees so he could fit all the way under the desk.

“Yes.”

“You made sure of it?”

Athanasia stayed quiet for a moment. He felt her eyes on the top of his head. “I did,” she said. “Penny-One is aiding our brother. Not a clone, or a shapeshifter, or anyone else. Dányál.” She paused. “I intended on going to the manor instead. Then, I saw our father, and demanded he take us here.”

“Why the manor?”

“I did not know where the cave was.”

Damian stared at his knees.

There was no way.

Did he hear that right? It was jarring. He grew up thinking his big sister knew everything.

How did she not know this?

“Athanasia,” he whispered.

“What?”

“The Batcave is below the manor,” he told her in Arabic.

For seven seconds (yes, he counted) Athanasia didn’t say anything. Then, “It is what?!” she hissed in a harsh whisper.

Damian felt a laugh coming up, and did his best to keep it quiet. His shoulders still shook. “You didn’t know?”

“No,” she muttered. “Thank you making me feel stupid.”

“My pleasure. I will be sure to do it again.”

She huffed a small, wet laugh. “Brat.” Her arm wrapped around the front of his chest more, and her hand gripped his shoulder. A second later, he felt her place a kiss on the crown of his head.

Damian couldn’t help but grip her arm back. One hand on her forearm, the other on her bicep. He pressed his knees closer to his body.

“I missed you,” he whispered through the lump in his throat.

She sniffled, and whispered back into his hair, “I missed you, too.”

A blanket of silence fell over them. Damian heard Father speaking to the others, his voice overlapping with Thomas’ and one of Athanasia’s acquaintances. Footsteps softly echoed as they all moved about near the medbay. They should probably go over there soon.

Damian didn’t want to. For the first time in four years it was just him and his big sister, hiding under a desk that was reminiscent of them hiding in an alcove back in the League just to spend time together. It hardly felt real. He didn’t want to admit it, but he was scared this was just some sort of dream.

“Can we stay here for a little bit longer?”

Her arm tightened around him again. “Absolutely.”

+++

It took a good while for someone to come look for them, which surprised Damian, but he was relieved and thankful no one came sooner. He wasn’t about to complain about the silent one-on-one time squished underneath the desk, uncomfortable as it was.

It also gave them time to stop any tears they let loose.

He eventually moved out from under her arm, and sat beside her. It took a bit of time. Damian wanted to say it was because he was done with the physical touch, that he let go. The truth of the matter was that he had to force himself to, to mentally talk himself into doing it. It was irrational, but he was scared that the moment he let go she would leave him again.

That didn’t happen. She didn’t get up and leave, or disappear, or anything of the sort. She stayed right beside him.

As he scratched Ace behind the ears, Athanasia merely watched. She kept her hands away from the dog. When he moved to lay down across both of their laps, she stiffened until he stilled, arms crossed over her stomach.

That was how they were found.

The large boots and bottom of a black cape were unmistakable.

Father crouched down, the half of his face that wasn’t covered by the cowl betraying nothing. It made Damian want to squirm. Was he mad? That he kept Athanasia and Dányál a secret?

“You two weren’t easy to find,” he said. He sounded more like Bruce Wayne than Batman. It was comforting, in a way. “Your friends got worried when they didn’t see you around.”

“Acquaintances,” she corrected. “And I am fine, I have no idea why they would worry.”

Damian gave her an incredulous look. “You’re covered in blood.”

“A lot of it does not belong to me.”

“Mostly yours or not, your injuries still need to be taken care of,” Father said. “The Wes kid said you weren’t able to clean them properly.”

Athanasia’s face did something quick and complicated that Damian couldn’t decipher. Her mouth settled into an annoyed frown before he could really question it. “Of course he did,” she muttered.

“And you, chum, need to get off the ground and prop your ankle up,” Father said. The man, with gentle hands, inspected the aforementioned ankle. “With ice. The swelling is worse again. Did you run on it?”

He didn’t want to lie. He didn’t want to admit he ran, either.

“…Maybe.”

“Hn.” Father stood. The joints of his knees popping and a quiet groan didn’t go unnoticed. “Come on out. Let’s get you both some medical attention. Ace, get up, boy. Up.”

The German Shepherd did as told.

“I didn’t do anything to it,” Damian grumbled as he scooted out and pulled himself to his feet with the help of Father’s hand. Putting weight on his ankle definitely hurt worse than it had before, though…

“It won’t hurt to check.”

Athanasia came out from under the desk next. As she stood, also with the help of Father, he noticed she seemed to be in more pain than when he first entered the cave. That made sense; the adrenaline had to have worn off by now, allowing the pain finally register.

Once she was steady on her feet, she stepped a little away from Father. “Thank you,” she said. “For bringing us here.”

“Of course,” Father said. “If you need to stay here, you can. I will even open up the manor to you and your fr– acquaintances. Whatever aids you the best and keeps you safe from whatever you’re running from.”

She nodded once. Her eyes, glassy with tears, blinked rapidly, and she turned to head to the empty medical cots.

Damian watched her, exhausted and hurting, then looked to the curtain hiding away Pennyworth and Dányál.

He tore his eyes away and hurried to follow.

[russiantapo4ek]

“I like how you draw Rusame, but as a US citizen I will never accept it, bcuz Russia is a terrorist who unleashed a war with Ukraine, it offends me. Russian is wild (???? what 😂) ofc I prefer Usuk more, u now?“ - wrote to me a dude who retweets patriotic American quotes about “freedom“ and mute evidence that Trump is an agent of Putin. Dude, first of all, for what purpose did you write to me about this, given that I deeply don't care about your opinion with preferences, while you so directly assure how terrible Russia is spreading propaganda (let me remind you that there is propaganda in US too, it has always been, especially nothing it does not differ from the Russian one, do not try to deny it, I know what I'm talking about, I once visited my aunt and listened to American political programs for the sake of interest, should I say how much outright nonsense I listened to, my ears almost withered ...) a retweet was made on your page about Trump as about a Russian agent, and do you willingly believe that? Dude, you're 27 years old, you're two years older than me, and you have the mindset of a 14-year old teenager who believes in all sorts of conspiracy theories and other nonsense from the Internet without any logical evidence. Is Trump an agent of Russia? Really?! Where do such conclusions come from? Election 2016? Does anyone else remember them? Why not Obama then? Not John Kennedy? Btw, he was suspected of fictitious collusion with the Communists only bcuz he wanted to improve relations with the USSR, he was not killed bcuz of suspicion, but your state sources will never reveal the truth about the true motives for the assassination of the president. Why only Trump? Does the American community still believe in this? Well, then I have no more questions for you 😂 is it more like paranoia to see the participation of Russians in everything (as some of you still like to call us “commi“, which we have not been for a long time) in the elections bcuz Russia wants to destroy America? Omg…Dude, I don't support the war, don’t support Putin, but that doesn't mean that I think that the US government is a bulwark of justice, it's far from it, I won't list what terrible things the White house did with other countries, including Yugoslavia/Iraq/Syria/Vietnam, and I don't want to talk about how hypocritical the US treats Russia and after that you claim that there is no propaganda in your country, but only the truth is being told? You know, in Soviet Union, they also believed everything that was said on TV, but the country was isolated, people believed everything that Stalin, Brejnev, Gorbachev said, we did not broadcast anything Western (Russians usually learned about Disney, Tom and Jerry, Looney Tunes and others foreign cartoons after the collapse of the USSR, American delegation often visited Russia, importing a lot of her production, spreading high crime in the country, instead taking away our scientists, Soviet equipment, including the resources of a weakened country). Why ,of all the things that America has done to my country , do I not consider all of America terrible , unlike you ? (Damn it, in the 90’s Russia was literally dying dude, my country could have died if not for humanitarian support, and even after all the hell Russia went through, still wanted to get closer to the US, but the US, oddly enough, was in no hurry to reach out in response…) Were Americans isolated from the world like Soviet Russia ? No. So where does such a superficial judgment about Russia come from? Dude, pls don't provoke me into a polemic with you, you've got the wrong address, I have no desire to continue this meaningless chatter with you, you still won't understand a damn thing from what I've written, bcuz your horizons are limited only by what you are told through liberal channels. They will tell you that every Russian comes home riding bears and that it snows all day in the country, you will believe it without any doubt. Bcuz based on what you wrote to me under the post with art, you think with the logic of the TV 😂

my conclusion: ❌🧠❌->🤡

(guys, I banned this clown, unfortunately, I don't want to show what he wrote, bcuz I deleted all this shit from the comments under my art, you can read my entire answer above, I think adequate people who don't think like him will support me)

Honestly, I still can't understand what he attributed the irl policy with Hetalia to?😂

[jenn0wow]

Dorian x Inquisitor Trevelyan Fan Fic excerpt

Chapter 5: Dorian Hates Ferelden Chapter

Josef is an ex-assassin with a secret past who begrudgingly accepts his fate as Herald after the Conclave explodes. Having a personal grudge against Templars, Josef chooses to align himself with the mages. Once Dorian Pavus joins the inquisition, Josef finds the man frustrating but a talented mage with an affinity for death. Josef develops feelings he knows he shouldn’t be having while he attempted to save the world. Dorian also starts having these same complicated feelings.

In Dorian Hates Ferelden chapter, Dorian has been with the team (Josef, Bull, and Varrick) for several weeks now. His relationship with Josef is strained because Dorian likes to talk and Josef really doesn’t.

This is one chapter in a 100 pg fanfic I started back 2015 😀👍 Although at least 50 pages of it was written this past month lol. If you notice any more that is inaccurate pls don’t tell me or I’ll cry

———————————————————————

Another day, another “adventure.” Dorian enjoyed being a part of Josef’s most trusted team, but he was quickly becoming homesick—something he didn’t think he was capable of being. It’s not that he really missed home, it’s that he hated Fereldan. Most of it was covered in trees, mountains, rocks, mud. And now he had the misfortune of being acquainted with it all up close and personal with these little trips across the country land to save a farmer from demon wolves or some other back country nonsense.

Haven was lackluster too, no indoor water unless you counted the dingy bath hall. It was also cold. Damp. Inside and outside. Even when it was warm, he felt harassed by a wetness in the air. It made it difficult to ever keep his hair in place. If he said that out loud he was sure someone like Iron Bull would shame him for his vanity. Perhaps keeping himself preened and well kept made him feel more normal and not on a death journey against powerful demons and the occasional darkspawn.

Dorian couldn’t keep his head on straight with where they traveled. Trees all looked the same to him. All forests were just the same forest to him. This trek was no different, just point to where he should use his magic and onto the next moist, disgusting parcel of land.

“Reports say there’s a rift near some ruins past the river. I figure if it takes longer than expected, we can stop by a nearby town for supplies and make contact with some of our scouts and make camp.” Josef said, when they left the original encampment they started from.

Dorian didn’t mind the camping thing at the beginning as it felt novel and exciting. He also didn’t want to complain too early on since he knew he should be grateful for being a part of all of this, but now he couldn’t bear laying on another cot or worse the ground. He keeps waking up to bugs crawling on him, and when the missions take too long, he wouldn’t have the opportunity to shower for days. A quick rinse in a river is good for some of these men, but for Dorian, he likes to actually use soap with his water. Maybe a nice clean towel. Like a civilized person.

Dorian watched Josef as he studied the surroundings. Josef didn’t even like his job and yet he took it very seriously—barely a whine or complaint out of him unless it’s the wee hours of the morning and he’s acting funny about being the herald. It seemed so easy for him to just do it. Not that he has much of a choice. His glowing hand has him chained to this journey. Dorian didn’t have any true responsibility to be a part of this, but he’d seen too much to back out now.

Dorian had become so lost in thought and walked right in a cluster of gnats. They buzzed in his ear, went up his nose. Absolutely revolting. “This is my last fucking straw.” Dorian swatted at them and started rubbing his face on all the bug gunk.

Josef looked back. “Is everything okay?” He said, raising an inquisitive eyebrow that felt a bit demeaning if Dorian was going to be honest. “It’s only half a mile until we get to town. Can you handle that?”

Dorian scrunched his nose as he heard a snicker from the Qunari. Dorian shot him a look and then painted a smile on his face for Josef. “Everything’s super dandy.” He replied, only with a little sarcasm. He then muttered, “Like you could call anything we’re going to civilization. It’s just three log cabins and a horse farm.”

Josef stopped in his tracks. “Is this too much for you? I can leave you back at Haven…unless it’s too primitive for you.” Josef seared a glare into Dorian that the mage couldn’t figure if it scared him or turned him on more.

Dorian nervously chuckled. “And waste all my good looks and talents by sitting around and doing nothing? No thank you. I’d rather suffer here than there. Much better view here.” He said with a cheeky smile, “I'm just not very accustomed to Fereldan life and roughing it, I suppose.”

“Okay, princess,” Iron Bull chortled.

“Sparkle’s pretty valid for being uncomfortable. This kind of lifestyle isn’t for everyone.” Varrick commented. “It was a rude awakening for myself as well. But, I enjoyed my own freedom too much to complain.”

“Well, I’m not NOT going to get used to it. I’m here to stay.” Dorian tried to posture himself a bit, trying not to feel too pathetic. “I actually used to do a lot of traveling around places like these before joining the inquisition…although I made sure to charm myself a roof over my head and a warm meal most nights…Anyways son't worry about me.”

“Well, if you’re going to be here…at least stop complaining about it.” Josef’s words were cutting.

Dorian bowed. “As you wish.”

The herald sped up his walk to keep a healthy distance between him and the team. He needed to refocus.

“Actually, why did you even join us?” Varrick asked. “Not to be disrespectful, but aren’t you a little..ya know…”

“—Prissy, stuck up, spoiled.” Iron Bull interjected.

Dorian shot him yet another look and his hand went up in flames.

“I was going to say something like sophisticated or civilized. Adventuring and camping and all this doesn’t really seem like your style. Or at least from what I gathered.” Varrick shrugged. “Just curious as to why you accepted the offer. You’re still useful at Haven.”

Dorian let his flame simmer and sighed. “I don’t know. Perhaps it’s my ego wanting me to be on the front lines and a star player in all this mess, but there’s something also that tells me I should follow that man,” his gaze was tight on Josef, “even if it meant walking through demon infested pits. He saved my life, you know.”

“Okay, you’re not that special. He has sort of saved all our lives, but I get it. Josef may not want this job, but he certainly has owned it. No matter his past, you just want to follow and see what he’ll do next.” Dorian nodded in agreement with Varrick’s statement.

“And the glowy thing on his hand is so fucking cool.” Iron Bull interjected again. “Seeing him close rifts was the only reason I needed to follow him. Plus he’s good in a fight. I wouldn’t follow someone who couldn’t hold their own like that.”

Dorian watched Josef again, who clenched his sharp jaw as he concentrated on his walk. He could tell Josef didn’t see himself as the others do, as Dorian did. He was just a man, but he was becoming more than that without Josef even realizing. It must be a lot to carry.

Josef tried to drown out the rest of the party’s conversation. He didn’t care for the flattery. It wasn’t something he wanted to cling to. They were paper thin to him. However, he knew that he could not avoid the charming praises forever as his responsibility grew with the position he was forced into. He was trying to be on his best behavior. Trying to do what felt right. It’s what he’s been trying to do his whole life, but to what success…that wasn’t for him to decide. All he knew was he didn’t want to be the face of a movement, a crusade…

He swallowed those feelings down and tried to focus. Trees. Flowers. Grass. Birds. Mud.

“Maker—UGH!”

Josef looks over his shoulder to see a frustrated Dorian fallen butt first into the mud. Dorian groaned in annoyance as he slowly picked himself up. Varrick and Bull were of course uncontrollably laughing. Dorian then looked up from his now soiled pants and saw Josef looking down at him.

“I’m not complaining. I…quite like the mud….” He said, wincing a bit.

Josef scoffed and kept walking. He wasn’t going to make a fuss about it. That would just further bruise the mage’s ego.

It reminded him of when he first left home. It was a harsh transition and it was only until he was taken in by the assassin’s guild that he was able to get comfortable with being uncomfortable. They trained him hard. It was necessary and in these times he’s glad he had it.

He heard the sounds of people, civilians luckily. Not that he wasn’t prepared to take out any rogue venatori assassins or robbers, but he wasn’t focused enough for it to be a swift fight. None of them were focused enough.

As they got into town, it was exactly how Dorian described it bar a few extra log cabins. They walked through town in search of their supplies. One of the farmers allowed Dorian to use his water pump to clean off his pants.

“Great, first muddy pants and now I’ll have soaked ones that uncomfortably clinging to my body.” Dorian tried not to pout. “Everyone here is lucky I have the perfect ass or else this would be way more depressing.”

They collected their supplies and as the four men left, a smell caught their noses as they passed the local tavern.

“Mm, smells like a hot meal.” Varrick said.

“Dang, that smells good.” Bull said, “Made me remember I was hungry.”

“Aren’t you always hungry, you big cow?” Dorian spatted at him in jest. “But, I agree it does smell quite delicious.”

Josef pressed his lips together and thought for a moment. It wouldn’t hurt to get a heartier meal. Jerky, fish, and bread at camp could be a bit monotonous. For some, it wasn’t very fulfilling and for others it must not be up to their palette standards. As an assassin, he couldn’t afford to lose his cover while traveling so making any appearance in such public spaces was dangerous. As herald, it didn’t really matter as much. Actually, according to Josephine, it helped with his public image. Which was a thing he had now apparently.

Josef looked over at the lively tavern and then back at his crew. “Let’s stop to eat.” He said.

“Uh, really?” Varrick looked at Josef. “Actually, I’m not questioning and I’m gonna let this happen. Thanks, Herald!”

A big grin spread on Iron Bull’s face. “Let's clear this place out!”

The two excitedly walked to the tavern. Josef sauntered behind, with Dorian mimicking his step.

“So why are you suddenly so nice?” Dorian asked, “Not saying you’re never not nice, but from past behavior, you haven’t spontaneously decided on a leisure activity.”

“Do you have a problem with it?” Josef raised an eyebrow.

“Quite the opposite. While I’m not a superfan of Fereldan cuisine, I like it much more than the scraps we scrounge up at camp.” Dorian said, “I’m only asking because I want to better understand you. Like what goes on inside your beautiful brain and what not.”

Josef opened his mouth, words caught. “I’m…really not that complicated.” Josef quickened his stride and walked inside the tavern. He’d like to think he was keeping a simple kind of composure and impenetrable cover--but everyday it's more difficult with the responsibilities he now holds. The people of the inquisition were much more eager to question him than his old guild mates. Josef could have said he escaped the circus after selling his soul to a demon nug and they wouldn’t have questioned it. In the inquisition though, he could breathe wrong and they have at least five questions about it and sent four spies to find out more. Or they’d just sic Dorian on him and have him go insane.

Dorian huffed and smirked. “I beg to differ.”

The four men sat at a table with four large bowls of stew in front of them. Bull also ordered a handle of ale, which turned to him ordering everyone a cup as he felt it was a moment of celebration.

“And what are we celebrating?” Varrick asked.

“Dinner!” Bull let out a large billowing laughter.

It was in these moments that Josef felt a bit lucky. Anything could have happened after the chantry incident, and somehow he was lucky enough to be experiencing this--with…what he’d like to consider friends. It’s what made the title and responsibilities and world ending more manageable.

He took a sip of the ale. Much stronger than it thought it would be. He winced and coughed as it went down.

“Can’t handle liquor, Stitches?” Varrick teased.

“I haven’t drank liquor in many years.” Josef confessed. “I wasn’t allowed to in the guild.”

“That’s awful,” Bull said, “The Ben-Hassrath could be like that as well, but I do what I want now. Pleasure doesn't have to be a distraction if it’s also the goal…” he sipped on his ale. “Wait, you were allowed to have sex? You could have sex, right?” He had a worried look on his face that Josef knew was genuine worry.

Josef laughed and hid his face in his mug, letting his walls fall for a moment to try to match their energy. “Yes, we were allowed to have sex.” He sipped on his ale, a bit nervously. “Well, with most of those men, it’s not like you could stop them anyways.”

Dorian laughed. “Were you one of those men?” Dorian cocked an eyebrow. “If I may ask…”

Josef felt his face become warm either from the alcohol or the question. “Ah…” he nervously chuckled. “When I was younger…I suppose…”

He then felt himself get cold, a pulling feeling in his chest. Was that what Ervin was becoming to him? A sexual exploit of his youth? Is that what he felt comfortable telling everyone? What he felt comfortable telling himself?

Dorian watched as the herald’s face dimmed. Maybe he shouldn’t have asked the question. Usually he reveled in making others uncomfortable, but usually he instilled embarrassment in people, not a deep sadness.

Josef’s chest tightened, and he didn’t know what to do with the feeling. He took a big swig of the ale, and got up from his seat. “Excuse me,” he made his way to the door.

“Ah, there I go making things worse.” Dorian huffed as he watched him leave. “Why is it always me making him all weird and emotional?”

“Because you’re weird and emotional. It’s contagious, Pavus,” Bull laughed, “except it’s only catching to mushy humans. We feel none of that.” He clinked cups with Varrick.

Dorian crossed his arms and leaned in his seat.

“And you’re always poking and prodding around so obviously,” Varrick noted. “Maybe, and it’s just a suggestion, stop doing that.”

“I’m just curious.” Dorian said, “And don’t you want to know more about him?”

“Of course,” Varrick said.

“No,” Bull said.

“I know a lot about these hero types, and Josef is the stoic, sullen type. Poking around and being too obvious about it will usually get you on their bad side. I’m not trying to get on Josef’s bad side. And usually the stories unravel by themselves. You just gotta be patient.” Varrick shrugged and picked up his spoon to eat more of his stew.

Dorian clicked his tongue and crossed his arms in a huffy manner. There was a moment of silence at the table as Dorian pondered and the two slurped down their soups.

“I should go apologize,” Dorian said, getting up from his seat.

“Maker’s breathe…,” Varrick muttered.

Dorian opened the door to see Josef leaning against the tavern’s exterior, brooding. His arms were crossed tight around his chest, and his gaze was far off. The way the sky was colored shined nicely on his skin, which was just an observable fact that Dorian felt the need to make note of in his brain. Josef was handsome, check.

“It was not my intention to upset you with my question.” Dorian said, “I was relying too much on the ale to make you more….open.”

“You’re fine. I’m just…thinking…” Josef looked up towards the mountains.

“Don’t make me curious,” Dorian said, standing next to him. He leaned on his shoulder for a second then slid two steps away after he was reminded himself to give him space. “Don’t worry, I won’t ask what you’re thinking about even though I’m itching to know.”

There was a small silence.

“And why do you care?”

Josef turned his gaze towards him. Dorian felt a weird sense of fear as if he was digging himself into a hole perhaps. Josef looked at him like he was under a microscope, like he was studying things about Dorian that Dorian didn’t know about. It was terrifying in an exhilarating way, or at least that’s what Dorian was telling himself. A gaze like that made him ask himself why did he care so much?

“Because I like knowing who's leading me to possible death and definite danger. And as I said before, I’m always itching with curiosity,” Dorian quickly formulated.

“You can afford to be open about you and your emotions. I cannot. I cannot allow myself such vulnerability and I never have.” Josef looked away from him, and Dorian felt a weight lift off of him with the herald’s gaze elsewhere. “I can’t help but be envious.”

Dorian could see the flush of alcohol on his cheeks. Perhaps the liquor did loosen him just a smidge.

“You’re not the only person who has had to hide parts of themselves. Perhaps my openness now is because I’m appreciating the freedom you and this opportunity has given me.” Dorian responded.

“I don’t think I granted you that. You would have found it on your own.” Josef breathed out. He then looked at the sunsetting, the golden hue of the sun reflected off his dark eyes. “I’m afraid though it’s been too easy since you joined.”

Dorian felt a bit flustered by those words. At first not knowing what Josef meant until he did.

“You think there’s danger brewing in the distance.” Dorian asked, “isn’t it always?”

“When things get too easy, it never lasts too long.” Josef’s jaw seemed to harden. “I’m not superstitious, I’m just observing. And something bad is going to happen. Any day now.”

There was a cold chill with his words. Both refreshing and bone chilling.

“Well, let’s at least enjoy the peace while it’s here.” The mage tried to lighten the conversation.

Josef cracked a small smile. “That’s the thing. It feels as if we’ve enjoyed it much longer than we should have.”

[camloveswriting]

⎯ red room

warnings: the red room, mentions of death, dreykov, killing/assassins

pairing: red room x fem!reader

desc: you’ve been training as a widow in the red room for years and now the general is finally giving you your own mission to prove yourself.

wc: 647

note: lmk if u want a pt 2! also… i used google translate for the russian so pls don’t shame me :(

“Быстрее! Быстрее! Faster! Faster!”

Faster. Faster. Faster.

She has to be better. She needs to be better. It’s the only way she would ever get out there.

‘There’ was the Red Room. It was run by a man named Dreykov. It’s a place that nobody can imagine. A place where young girls are trained to be killers, to be assassins. 8 hours of training a day, along with 2 hours of studies, then straight to bed. Being caught out of bed during odd hours was a death sentence. One than Y/N, and many of the other girls, knew fairly well.

“остановка. Stop.” said the Madame, while staring at the girls.

“это будет все на сегодня. Идите прямо в свои комнаты после того, как переоденетесь. уволен. That will be all for today. Head straight to your rooms after getting changed. Dismissed.”

The girls started scattering back to their rooms quickly, not wanting for there to be a reason to get in trouble.

“мисс Макаров. dreykov хотел бы поговорить с вами. Miss L/N, Dreykov would like to talk to you.” came the Madame’s chilling voice.

Y/N’s heart was pounding so fast she felt like she couldn’t breathe.

“зачем, мэм? What for, ma’am?” she said, her voice shaking.

“это личная информация. пойдем со мной. That is personal information. Come with me.” she beckoned.

Y/N trailed after her, trying to catch up. Her thoughts were spiraling and frankly, she was terrified. What could Dreykov want with her? She hadn’t done anything wrong recently, at least, not to her knowledge. She had been on her best behavior, trying as hard as she could to get placed on a mission. She was only 17 now, most of the girls who got to do the important things were at least 18 or older. She’d been training since she was 5, though.

As she walked behind the madame, she tried to calm her breathing down. Dreykov always knew if you were scared. You could be the best spy in the world, and he could still tell. For fucks sake, you could be Natalia Romanova and he would still know. That was one of the things he said to the girls all the time, that he trained the Natalia, so they would try to be better than her.

‘She’s an Avenger,’ he would say, ‘She trained for many years to get where she is today.’

That usually gave them the motivation to keep training, to grow better than her. They could form a new group, a better one than the Avengers.

The madame knocked on an office door, breaking Y/N out of her daydream.

“идти. Go,” she said while shoving Y/N through the door.

She stumbled slightly through the door, making her way to the front of Dreykov’s desk.

“Алина, садись. Y/N, take a seat,” he said with a sickly sweet smile that made her want to throw up.

“Вы, наверное, удивляетесь, почему я позвал вас сюда. You’re probably wondering why I called you in here,” he started. “Видишь ли, у меня есть особая миссия для тебя. You see, I have a very special mission for you.”

Her heart continued racing, but in a good way. She was finally getting her own mission! Her chance to prove herself to the Red Room.

“ч��о это влечет за собой? What does that entail?”

“вы будете пробираться в башню мстителей. вы не должны позволять никому видеть, как вы входите или выходите. вашей задачей будет убить наталью романову. ее нужно устранить, чтобы она больше не представляла угрозы для красной комнаты. You will be sneaking into the Avengers tower. You must let no one see you go in or out. Your job will be to kill Natalia Romanova. She needs to be eliminated so that she may no longer be a threat to the Red Room.” he replied, his smile growing as he explained the mission she would be going on.

[chenlesfavorite]

DANGEROUSLY YOURS, na jaemin.

— summary : you are one of the best assassins— always doing your job flawlessly, not letting anything come in the way of your line of work. but what will happen when you are tasked to kill one of the most important and powerful men in your country?

— pairing : jaemin x fem!reader

— genre : romance, angst, oneshot/imagine, right person wrong time trope ig?

— extra : profanity, death, alcohol

— author's note : this is heavily inspired by dangerously yours, hence the fic being titled that, if there's any grammar mistakes-- pls do point them out so I can fix them, as english is not my first language so there's no doubt that there might be something written weird, this is also my first imagine/oneshot so.. sorry if it's ass LMAO. idk how the government or assassins work so I apologize if it's inaccurate!!! this is also mostly just me practicing my writing cuz it feels like I've been lacking in writing lately so yeah!! plus I'm bad at writing angst so I wanna get better at writing it...

— word count : 5.3k

reminder that this is pure fiction and not an actual depiction of how they act.

WEEK 0

The air in the office feels heavy as you step in after receiving an urgent call from your boss, his words lingering in your mind: "This mission is different, and more important than anything you've dealt with before, it’s a true life or death situation.”

"Mr. Lee?" You call out as you enter, your voice breaking the quiet as you carefully shut the door behind you.

“L/N, you’ve arrived.” He says as he turns away from the window, abandoning his gaze that was set on the world outside his window and letting his eyes meet yours. “Sit down.” He adds with a subtle nod towards the tufted leather sofa.

You sit down on the sofa, crossing your legs. Mr. Lee sits across from you, his piercing eyes sending a shiver down your spine. The room's atmosphere thickens as he leans slightly forward, his voice carrying a steely edge. “You heard exactly what I said on the call, didn’t you?” It’s phrased as a question, but the certainty in his tone makes it clear that he isn’t seeking confirmation—he’s making a statement.

"Mr. Lee, I want you to know that I fully understand the importance of this mission." You assure him with confidence although despite your best efforts to appear composed, the weight of the task causes you to fidget with your fingers nervously.

He nods to your words, then leans back into the sofa. “Very well.” He says as he takes a piece of paper out of his coat, sliding it onto the table. You pick it up and on the paper is a picture of a man with chocolate-colored hair, and dark brown eyes dressed in a suit. As you analyze the photograph, your mind races, trying to piece together the significance of this person. ‘Is he a businessman?’ you wonder, your eyes tracing the contours of his face and the lines of his suit, seeking any clues that might reveal his relevance.

“Do you know who he is?” The boss asks and you glance up from the photograph, your brows furrowing in concentration— placing the photograph back onto the table. “No. I don’t recognize him.” You reply honestly.

“His name is Na Jaemin. He’s currently one of the most influential and important people who works directly for the government. He possesses liable files on us and to ensure these files are never exposed... only one course of action remains. I trust you understand what must be done.” Mr. Lee says sternly, as he lights up a cigarette. The soft hiss of the lighter is followed by a brief flare of orange as the cigarette catches fire.

“Yes, of course, Mr. Lee.” He looks at you with a dull smirk creeping up on his face and a sparkle of satisfaction in his eyes. Mr. Lee takes out a document, the cover is plain but bears the weight of its contents. The document is filled with detailed information, its pages promising to reveal everything they have gathered about Na Jaemin. He hands the document over to you.

But he doesn’t stop there, oh no. Rising from the sofa and walking over to where his desk is, he reaches into a drawer and retrieves a sleek, rare handgun. He makes a gesture with his hands; signaling you to come over to him.

You approach his desk, and as you do, he reaches out and places the gun in your palm, along with a small, sturdy box of ammunition. The weight of the gun feels powerful in your hands, and the elaborate craftsmanship speaks to its rare and exceptional nature.

“You have three weeks,” He says, his voice carrying expectation. “I’m counting on you.” The finality in his tone leaves no room for doubt about the seriousness of the mission or the trust he has placed in you.

“I will not disappoint, Mr. Lee.”

WEEK 1

“Have you arrived at the location?” Doyoung asks— one of Mr. Lee’s assistants. “Yeah, I’m here at Neo Pub. I’ll be heading in now. Talk to you later, Doyoung.” You reply as you hang up the call, putting your phone into your purse.

Stepping into the pub, the aroma of the exquisite liquors floods your nose. The interior was a classic pub, a blend of the old and the new. The bar was, of course, filled with people. The bartender mixing up drinks. And as with every pub, there’s a TV playing a football game and there’s also a dartboard hanging on the wall.

Once you take in your surroundings, examining every corner of the pub with your eyes, there’s no better option than to head straight to the bar. After all, a little drink wouldn’t hurt.

Sitting down at the bar, you take sneaky glances at the people sitting nearby you, trying to see if any of them are the target but no, they aren’t. ‘He must be somewhere else in the pub, then.’ You come to that conclusion in your mind.

“Welcome to the Neo— Y/N? Is that you?” The bartender looks at you, and once you fully take in his features, it hits you that the bartender is an old childhood friend of yours.

“Oh my gosh, Xiaojun? I didn’t know you came back to Seoul!” You say, a surprised look on your face as it’s been years since you last saw him. The last time you two saw each other was 7 years ago, when you were at the airport, hugging him tightly before he left for China.

“A surprise isn’t it?” He replies with a chuckle escaping his lips. “Mhm, it’s been about a year since I’ve returned. I was planning on catching up with you when I came back but, your phone number didn’t work and I didn’t know where you lived so...” Xiaojun trails off, sighing.

“Don’t worry, I get it. Give me your phone so you have my number again.” You say and he rummages his pocket before handing you his phone. “As you do that, what do you wanna order?”

“An old-fashioned, please. I could use it.” You respond with a smile on your face as you give him back his phone. “I’ll take the same as her.” A voice says— you turn your head to look at them and oh my.

It’s Na Jaemin.

“Two old-fashioned coming right up,” Xiaojun replies, turning around to start making the drinks. Jaemin takes a seat on the barstool next to you and you can’t help but keep your eyes set on him. Captivated by him.

He is much more handsome in real life than in a photograph, that is for sure. His looks were completely otherwordly and ethereal— he was breathtaking.

“Rough day today?” You snap out of your thoughts once he starts speaking to you; looking at you. “You could...” You pause before continuing. “...say that. I’m guessing yours didn’t go quite well either?” You reply as you calm yourself down, keeping your demeanor relaxed.

“Sure, you could say that.” Jaemin repeats your words, with a faint smirk on his face— making you chuckle in response.

“Although by the looks of it, I think what’s left of the day will be better.” He says. You look at him, your curiosity piqued. “How so?” You inquire, your voice sounding with interest.

Jaemin chuckles before responding, “A pretty girl like yourself has her attention on me.” His words make you giggle.

The way he was acting now made you more confident in your mission. If this is how he usually acted, then killing him should be no problem for you. You had to charm him, that’ll be the only way you can get him to be alone with you and unsuspecting of your true actions.

“Here are your drinks, enjoy.” Xiaojun hands you and Jaemin the cocktails. “Don’t be flirting at my bar now, get yourselves a room.” Xiaojun says, teasing the two of you before walking away to serve the others.

“I’m guessing you know the bartender, I heard you two having a friendly conversation.” Jaemin says, bringing his cup up to his lips, letting the rich aroma of the old-fashioned engulf him before taking a drink of it.

Your eyes watched his every action, from the way his hands held onto the cup, to the way a smile crept up on his lips when he smelt it and even when the liquor poured into his mouth. Every single action of his had you enchanted.

Breaking your gaze from him, you look down at your cup, tapping the glass with your fingers. “Yeah, we’re childhood friends. Or... I guess were would be the more appropriate word. He and his family had to move back to China when we were 15 and we haven’t seen each other since. This is the first time we’ve seen each other and talked to each other since that day. Since 7 years ago.”

You give him every detail you can remember as you look at your reflection of yourself in the cocktail, lightly nodding to your own words. This is yours and Jaemin’s first time meeting but yet, you already feel comfortable with him.

But that feeling of comfort must not disturb you, as you can’t be caught enjoying his presence, but then again, you would never let yourself enjoy it. Nothing will ever get in your way of work. Nothing ever has, and it will stay like that until your last mission and your last breath.

“Hm, I see.” He replies, taking another sip of the cocktail. “What about you, do you know him well?” You ask, looking up from your drink and setting your eyes on Jaemin.

He lets out a hum as he places his glass down on the bar— turning his head towards you and creating eye contact between the two of you. “I would say so, yes. Whenever I visit the pub, which is quite often, and I order, I make conversation with Xiaojun while he’s making my drink. After all, wouldn’t it be awkward if we stayed silent?”

“I guess so, yeah. What kind of job do you do if you visit this place so often? Is it that stressful?” You ask— even though you already know what he does, you even know his exact salary. That document you got from Mr. Lee really contained everything about Jaemin.

Jaemin laughs, looking away for a moment. “I work for the government. It’s definitely stressful, no question about it. Especially having such sensitive files on all sorts of individuals. So many people come to my office every day, trying to steal something but their tactics do not work.”

You nod your head to his words— you’re surprised he didn’t lie about what he does but then again, as Mr. Lee said, he’s an influential and important person... he has no reason to lie anyway. It seems like he really has those ‘liable files’ that Mr. Lee mentioned... not like you doubted your boss or anything!

“Sensitive files? Like what? Files on murderers... or something?” You indulge another question, wanting to get every piece of information you can on him. He looks you up and down once he hears you inquiring about him once more. Having a soft smile on his face once his eyes meet yours again.

“I have those too, yes. But really, those sensitive files are all sorts of things. Containing stuff from murderers to even normal day-to-day citizens.” Jaemin answers, turning his body on the barstool to face you completely.

‘So, those are the files he has... okay.’ You ponder to yourself as you take a sip of your cocktail. Letting his words linger in your mind. “You know, you’re really open to somebody you just met. I wonder why’s that?” You say, swirling your cup in your hand. Watching the colors of the old-fashioned move in a circular motion.

“Despite our meeting not too long ago, I guess you can say that I feel a...” He pauses his sentence, leaning in close to you, his lips grazing your ear. “... connection, perhaps?” Jaemin whispers, a shiver getting sent down your spine from his smooth voice.

He chuckles as he backs his head away— you look at him, your ears getting a red color and that color spreading to your cheeks. “A connection? We haven’t even exchanged our names yet...” You say, lightly twirling the end of your hair.

“The name is Na Jaemin, pretty girl.” Jaemin replies, crossing his arms as his gaze stays on you. “I’m L/N Y/N.” You respond as you extend your hand, expecting a handshake.

Jaemin catches on and takes your hand. “This is now our formal meeting, despite us already sharing stuff.” He shakes your hand, although once you’re done with the handshake, he lets his hand linger in yours a while longer.

Jaemin looks down at your hands and you do the same— he turns your hand over and opens your palm, revealing a folded piece of paper resting in your palm. He lets go, a smirk on his face. “Open it.”

You open up the paper and it’s his phone number? When did he have the time to write it down?

“I— your phone number?” You glance up at him, batting your eyelashes. “Surely you wouldn’t mind giving yours as well?” Jaemin says, and you look away for a moment before putting the piece of paper with his number on it into your purse.

He hands his phone to you, the keypad already open. You carefully take his phone, typing in your phone number. You hand his phone back— Jaemin looks at your contact before pressing to edit it. “Pretty girl Y/N” He mutters as he changes your contact name in his phone.

The blush on your face could not be denied; this guy was smooth and he made you feel nervous. ‘Get it together, Y/N.’ You say to yourself in your head, taking a quick breath. You have to focus on your mission, not on how you feel.

Jaemin stands up, sliding his phone into the pocket of his suit. He gently places his fingers under your chin, lifting your head. “I’ll make sure to contact you soon, pretty.” He says before softly letting go, a small smile on his face as he makes his way out of the pub.

“Did the Na Jaemin seriously just flirt with you?” Xiaojun suddenly speaks up, making you jump a little. “I guess he did, yeah... I mean, shit, we even exchanged numbers.” You reply, looking over at Xiaojun who looked way too invested in you and Jaemin.

“Go get him, girl!” He playfully smacks your shoulder— the two of you breaking out in laughter soon after.

If only you could go after him but you can’t.

WEEK 1.5

10 days after your meeting, he has contacted you multiple times. Whether it be short messages or even calls. Talking to him makes you undeniably happy, he’s truly the sweetest guy you’ve ever known. Hell, you even put a heart emoji next to his contact name.

Trying to deny your emotions is only foolish, I mean, even a broken clock is right twice a day, is it not?

But you have to put those emotions aside, you don’t need them to mess up your job and ruin everything. You’re smarter than to fall for your target, at least, that’s what you thought.

Although having to act dumb in front of your boss, is not the easiest thing in the world. Even killing a celebrity is easier than this.

“What kind of information have you gotten on him that our team hasn’t been able to get?” Mr. Lee asks, sitting at his desk with his arms crossed as he’s looking up at you with a sharp gaze; that kind of gaze makes you get shivers throughout your entire body.

“Well, there’s not much, really. That file you gave me contained everything and all the stuff he’s told me so far has matched the exact information.” You reply, straightening your back as you fidget with your fingers, trying to avoid eye contact with him.

“Mm, as expected. Well, tell me something then, how do you plan to assassinate him?” Mr. Lee throws another question at you but to this question... you did not have an answer. Even your heart skipped a beat just thinking of killing Jaemin.

“Um... I’m not too sure, yet—”

“You’re not too sure, yet?” Mr. Lee cuts you off, and you freeze up. You bite the bottom of your lip as you look down at the floor, the nerves kicking a little too hard throughout your body.

“Y/N, darling, my best assassin. You do know I expect nothing but greatness from you, after all, you’ve never failed a mission, you always do them flawlessly, and I never have to worry. But assassinating somebody like Jaemin, you do realize you have to have a plan for this and that includes knowing how you’re going to kill him. If you don’t have a plan for it, then the mission will just drag on. So, get it together, Y/N. I don’t want this mission to take too long.”

Mr. Lee says, and you nod. Taking a deep breath. “Of course, Mr. Lee. I apologize. I’ll make sure to get on making a plan immediately. I truly promise that this mission won’t take long, I swear. I’ve just been getting to know him slowly so I can find out his weaknesses and—”

“I don’t need to hear your explanations, Y/N. Get to making your plan and the next time I call you so I can hear reports about your mission, you better tell me you killed the jackass, and you’ll tell me every little detail about his death; how you did it, and why you did it like that. You’re dismissed, Y/N.” Mr. Lee finishes his words.

“Yes, sir. Goodbye.” You don’t have anything else to say as you turn around, exiting his office.

WEEK 2

Jaemin suddenly asking you out on a date over text was not something you expected but alas, you accepted it.

And that’s how you’re currently standing in the middle of a park on a random Wednesday at 7 PM. Waiting for Jaemin to arrive.

These past few days, your feelings for him have grown stronger. You can’t do anything without thinking about him, even when shopping— you’ll catch a glance at something, and you’ll wonder if Jaemin will like it. You’ve only met the guy in person one time but his impact on you was just too powerful.

The messages, the calls, everything. Almost every night you’re on a call with him, the two of you sharing how your days went, what you did, what you ate, every possible detail... you two shared it with each other.

The moment he tells you something that makes your heart beat fast, you are quick to message it to Xiaojun, saying how badly you want Jaemin. How he’s the perfect guy. You’ve never felt more attracted to somebody before until you met him.

As you’re lost in your thoughts— a pair of arms wrap around your waist. Breaking out of your thoughts, you turn your head and it’s no other than Jaemin. “Sorry, if I’m a little late, pretty.” He says as he lets you go.

You turn around and face him, tucking your hair behind your ear. “Oh no, it’s fine! Don’t worry about it. I just arrived not too long ago anyway.” You smile at him, taking in how handsome he looks this evening.

“I see, that’s reassuring. Anyway, let’s go,” He extends his hand out, tilting his head to the side. “I wish to treat you well tonight.” You take his hand, letting out a slight giggle after hearing his words.

-

After walking for a while, the two of you arrive at a sky-high restaurant with a rooftop bar. Just looking at how high it was made you surprised and let’s not even get started on the exterior of the place. “We’re seriously gonna dine here?” You ask.

“Mhm, I’ve made a reservation and everything.” Jaemin replies. The two of you step inside the lobby of the building, heading over to the receptionist. “Good evening, I made a reservation over the phone.”

As Jaemin is talking with the receptionist lady, your thoughts run wild again.

How are you going to possibly kill Jaemin if he acts like this to you? Basically treating you like a princess. Hell, he would even give you the world if you asked for it, no doubt. Despite just messaging and calling each other back and forth, that stuff had an effect on the both of you and it was very visible.

“Earth to Y/N.” Jaemin waves his hand in front of your face— snapping you out of your thoughts. “Are you alright?” He asks as he holds your hand once again, the two of you walking over to the elevator.

“Yeah, I’m alright, just... just had some stuff on my mind, sorry.” You reply, going inside the elevator. Jaemin presses the button for the elevator to start going up. “If you want to talk about it, I’m here.”

A part of you wanted to talk about it but then again, you can’t. You’ll screw up the mission and God knows what Mr. Lee will do if he finds out. You’re more than sure that he sent one of his goons to watch you and Jaemin on this date, ‘cause he’s probably worried that you’ll mess something up after that last report.

“It’s fine. I don’t wanna bother you with it, it’s stupid anyway.” You reply, reassuring him that everything’s fine. Jaemin doesn’t seem too convinced by your words as you sound a bit down but he decides to not pry into your business.

Arriving on the highest floor, the two of you step out of the elevator, and wow. The sight has you awestruck. The view from up here was jaw-dropping. You could see everything, but the view of the dark sky was just something else. It was the most captivating part.

“Jaemin, this sight is absolutely gorgeous!” You exclaim— Jaemin lets out a chuckle. “I knew you’d like it.” He responds, leading you to where the two of you will be sitting. Luckily, your seat was right by the railing, so you had the best view ever.

The waiter soon comes by and you order your food. For a drink; the both of you decide to have wine.

“Here, let me pour it for you.” Jaemin says, taking your glass and carefully pouring the wine into it, the red liquid swirling gracefully into the glass. “Thank you.” You take the glass once he’s done pouring the wine for you— he takes his own glass and the two of you clink glasses, taking a sip of the red wine.

“Mm, that has a really pleasant taste.” You say, savoring the taste of the wine in your mouth. “It’s got that rich and complex flavor. That’s the work of a full-bodied wine.” Jaemin adds on to your words, approving of the wine.

“Seems like you know your wine stuff, huh?” You say with a cheeky smirk on your face. “Well, no, not really actually. I just read it off of the bottle.” Jaemin replies, the both of you breaking out in laughter.

“No need to embarrass me like that! You should’ve just played along.” You say in a joking way, crossing your arms and leaning forward. “Ah yes, let me just,” Jaemin clears his throat, pushing up invisible glasses and carefully taking the wine bottle.

“As we can see here, this wine is a full-bodied red wine, exquisite in flavor. Looks to be from the year... 1959, so it’s from 64 years ago. The taste is really just, a chef’s kiss. Preserved excellently.” Jaemin starts reviewing the entire thing, making you cover your face out of embarrassment.

-

The dinner went extremely well, but the date was not over yet.

Jaemin takes you back to the park where the two of you agreed to meet up. “And back at the park we are.” You say, turning around and facing Jaemin, a bright smile on your face as tonight has just been magical.

“Thank you for tonight, Jaemin. It’s been amazing, I’ll never forget it.” You add on. It felt like a flower bloomed inside your heart— the love you have for Jaemin, grew stronger tonight, there’s no doubt about it, and your assassination mission just grew heavier on your shoulders.

He made you feel special, as if you two were the only people in this world and everything only revolved around the two of you. Like you’re the main characters of a movie and everybody else is just a side character.

“Of course, anything for you, pretty,” Jaemin replies, carrying the same bright smile you had on his face as well. “Although, I do have one thing to ask of you.” He says, stepping closer to you.

“Yeah? What is it?” You look at him, and you see his eyes going from yours down to your lips. Jaemin places his fingers under your chin, then lets his thumb part your lips ever so slightly.

“May I kiss you?”

Just hearing that question— you didn’t even bother to answer, instead, you take the initiative and cup his cheeks, placing your lips onto his. Jaemin does not hesitate to kiss you back, moving his hands down your body and stopping at your waist, holding onto your waist and pulling you in closer to him.

Your stomach felt as if a fire was lit up inside it, the warm and fuzzy feeling overtaking you. The kiss is so, so soft and tender. As if that kiss has woven your souls together, making the two of you just one.

You didn’t care about anything else in this moment— all that you focused on was Jaemin, and his lips and the way his hands rested on your waist.

You need him more than anything.

WEEK 3

The final day of your mission is here. Today is the day you either; finish the mission and make Mr. Lee proud of you, or, screw the entire mission up for love and possibly not be an assassin anymore.

The second option was your choice, no matter what. You couldn’t physically bring yourself to kill Jaemin, no matter how much you wanted to. After that kiss a week back? Impossible.

Jaemin has once again invited you out on a date, at 7 PM, again. Why did he love the hour 7 PM? You had no idea why but this time, you’re at a beach with him... and he also ended up mentioning that he has something important to talk about with you at the date, so that sort of made you nervous.

What if he doesn’t like you anymore? But... that won’t be the case, right?

“Seriously, what’s with you and 7 PM?” You ask, as you look at the ocean, listening to its waves. The sky above was a deep blue color, blending in with some purple shades and the gentle breeze just made this even more addicting.

“I guess that time just speaks to me, I don’t know either,” Jaemin replies, turning to face you. “But, ignoring that... it’s been long enough and we need to talk about this. The reason why I even invited you out here.” He says, his expression suddenly changing to a serious one.

“I’m listening.” You respond, facing him, and the two of you lock eyes. He takes a deep breath before clearing his throat. “How long are you going to keep up your innocent act for?”

And oh... that is not what you expected to hear.

“Wha... what do you mean, Jaemin? What act?” You let out an awkward laugh— you have to play dumb. Maybe he’s just making an assumption? Or trying to scare you?

“Y/N, my pretty, I know you’re an assassin, and I know you only got close to me to kill me.” Or never mind... he indeed has figured out your true motive and actions.

“Jaemin... I...” You nervously swallow, your eyes making their way to the sand below you. Feeling your heartbeat speed up. “How did you...” Your lips quiver, and your voice breaks.

“Remember those files I was talking about? That’s how I found out.” Jaemin says, sighing. He gently grabs your chin, raising your head so you’re looking directly into his eyes. “I also saw the gun in your purse that day at the restaurant. Who carries a gun around unless if they have an ulterior motive?”

Jaemin lets go of your chin, letting his arms fall to his sides. Your breathing gets heavier the more he speaks. “But even though I know all of that, there’s something that keeps pulling me back to you, Y/N. I truly believe that deep inside, you’re a good person and, I love you. I do.”

“How do you still love me despite knowing all of that? Are... are you insane?” You reply, totally confused by his words. Who in their right mind would still be in love with somebody after finding out they kill people for a living?

You feel your eyes start tearing up, you didn’t know why your anxiety... or... whatever it was, you didn’t know why it got so bad at this moment. Was it because of your feelings for Jaemin?

Jaemin takes out the gun that Mr. Lee gave to you. “How did you- how did you get my gun?” Your eyes widen when you catch sight of it. Jaemin surprisingly hands the gun back to you.

But he doesn’t let go of your hand once he places the gun into your palm, instead, he curls your fingers around the gun, raising it and placing the end of the gun right onto his forehead. “Jaemin... what... what are you doing?”

“Y/N, I know you love me just as much as I love you, but, I know you can’t face your boss with a failed mission. Even if you didn’t end up killing me, I’m sure your boss would send one of his other people to get me.”

“Jaemin, don’t do this to me.” Your heartbeat speeds up as your hand is shaking while you’re holding the gun to his forehead. You can’t resist the tears any longer, so you let them roll down your cheeks.

“Don’t let those tears stain your pretty face, Y/N.” Jaemin wipes your tears with the thumb of his free hand, letting his hand linger on your face for just a little longer. His touch was warm and comforting, as always.

“Jaemin, please. I’m begging you, don’t do this to me. I... I...” Your words come to a halt as you can’t get them out, the anxiety is shocking your entire body and the tears you’re spilling aren’t helping either.

Jaemin has a soft smile on his face as he’s just standing still, looking at you with a loving gaze. The wind slowly gets stronger and the sound of waves floods your ears as silence grows between the two of you.

You physically can’t shoot him. You just can’t. How can you shoot him after everything he’s done for you? The way he’s so delicate with every touch, his soft lips that make you feel like you’re on cloud nine?

He guides your fingers with his to slowly make their way over to where the trigger is. “Jaemin, don’t you fucking dare!” You yell out— your rapid breath made it feel like you couldn’t breathe at all. Your vision is blurry from your tears.

“Y/N, you’re the best thing that has happened to me these past weeks. I’ll make sure to wait for you in the afterlife, no matter how long it takes for you to get there. Just know, I’ll be waiting but for now, I’ll be a star in the sky watching over you. Keeping you safe. I love you Y/N, I truly do, with all my heart.”

As his words come to a finish, he presses his thumb hard on yours that was on the trigger.

Bang!

[chloeworships]

I was cut off which is super interesting considering the prophetic was about cutting throats.

I wanted to continue to say the LORD is going to be silencing those who have been lying and slandering your name.

I wanted to also say that the home I was in felt cold and not filled with love. Is this someone’s family in the physical? If so, you may have to put up some boundaries and cut ties with them. On the outside it may seem as though these individuals are wealthy but it’s all a facade. Everyone both the “rich” and the poor (in this dream) were struggling financially and emotionally 😔

Scripture:

As I mentioned in the message that I felt some kind of way about the messages the LORD has been giving me lately and the fact the scripture says “because of these sins, the anger of God is coming” confirmed it all. We have got to do better to each other babes as the scripture says. Seriously!! 🥺 I am terrified!!! Recall Jesus said if your right hand causes you to sin, cut it off. It’s definitely time to cut off some people.

The copper is very important. I remember when I was young and copper was the biggest health trend. The late night infomercials and pharmacies had copper bracelets and kitchenware EVERYWHERE 🤣 Even as a child I noticed the heavy marketing 😂 The last child with the bulging eyes reminded me of a thyroid disease. A deficiency in copper can suppress the thyroid gland, cause depression and affect the spinal cord impacting someone’s ability to walk. This is the second time the LORD is showing us copper…

Now I’m not saying to try this supplement but look into this mineral and have yours and your children’s tested. I know more than half of us are deficient but this is one mineral you have to be careful about and it’s NOT recommended for children in supplement form. Perhaps yours or your baby’s may be too high/low depending on where you are in the world and the environmental conditions near you.

I pray this will make sense to someone especially to doctors who really care about their patients. What this has to do with children is beyond my understanding. Perhaps your child is not growing at a normal rate or is slow to speak/walk causing a disability

Please note that I was only allowed to spare the children and the mother in the dream 👀 There were no daughters here so this makes me think about boys and men their mental health and their upbringing.

I also felt like an assassin so don’t be surprised if we hear of death.

Here is an article about the importance of copper.

The original painting:

PS. Some of you in your own families were treated like a slave and lied on repeatedly. Your anger is justified but pls don’t let it lead you to violence. Trust the LORD is either removing these people in your life OR asking you to walk away. He will give you a new family who will love and respect you.

This song by LORDe comes to mind 🎶👀

The dagger 🗡️

Mine was much smaller, easy enough to conceal. This upcoming action the LORD is taking — though brutal — is justified and only he knows why. The LORD is silencing the liars no matter the age except the babies.

UPDATE:

The LORD led me to search up dagger and this is scripture I found.

For some of you you could have someone who is bigger than you attacking you as seen by that demon Beezlebub who someone sends to harass me OR perhaps someone is speaking on you because of your size but either way the LORD is about to shut them up permanently.

I feel someone who is much larger than you, did something horrible and you have asked for justice. They could have killed a person by stabbing them. This could be a family member.

The City of Palms in verse 13 reminds me of Florida and all their cities named after “palms” 😂

Some of you are going to be looking the best you ever have despite your age! Looking lean and trim and yummy 😋😂

Oops forgot to mention I saw an Egyptian man in a separate vision dropping dead 😵

In short anyone who is LYING on or about you is going to get it and this could be an entire family including your own. Shameful.

You could be a cut throat environment and looking for a way out. God will save you.

Whatever yall do going forward PLEASE do not lie nor twist the truth.