#like this is the first time i hear about you since like 2021

[dteamhugs]

all these ccs coming out of the woodworks like "THIS is my experience with Dream. one time in 2021 i messaged him "hiiiiiiiii Dream this is me ToeSniffer97 :) i noticed u weren't responding to my previous 63 messages haha Please dream i'll do anything. i can be your footrest if you so desire. jhaha" to which he responded "who is this" As a 22 year old minor and a victim of stubbing my toe, i find this incredibly rude and ableist. DREAM you are financially responsible for my costly therapy bill and 12 sedatives i had to take. Disgusting & Hope you and your dorky friends die in a fire." I DON'T CAREEEE I DON'T GAFFFFFF he could've spat in your face, kicked your baby, fucked your mom IDGAF!!!!!! what are WE supposed to do? throw bricks at his windows? key his car? steal patches? Me personally i will go Likely story. Proably true. then go back to liking post comparing him to pictures of baby deer

[kjupchurch-xx]

🩷 Conflicting Feelings 🩷 Part 3

Hugh and I ended up getting take-out for lunch. We spent the last 24 hours together. Things were nice. Things were right. The last 24 hours had been spent working out kinks of what was to come next. It was spent with hours of being in each other's arms and many passionate kisses. He'd been my person for years. These things had only ever taken place in my dreams, I never imagined them becoming a reality.  I'd always wondered what his kisses were like. The thoughts made me smile as a red blush appeared on my cheeks. 

He came up behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist and looking at me through the full length mirror while resting his head on my shoulder. "What's got you turning red?" He asked, smirking at me through the mirror. 

Our height difference was pretty silly considering I'm 5'0 and he towers me at 6'2, so imagine him bending down to actually rest his chin on my shoulder. I tilted my head looking at him through the mirror, "Nothing." I said pursing my lips together. 

He chuckled, "Are you sure, love?" He asked sweetly. 

I quickly nodded, "I'm sure." before turning to look at him, staring for a moment, "What?" He asked laughing. I shook my head, "Nothing. I just can't believe this is even happening right now." I said honestly. 

He smiled, "Well it is. And if you'll have me, I'm all yours." His gaze went down to my lips for a moment before meeting my eyes once again. 

Flashback to September 5th, 2021: 

I was back home in South Carolina visiting family. I'd just finished playing an extra in a movie when my phone started ringing. It was Hugh, who was in England filming for his new movie The Son. Figuring he was just calling to ask about my filming experience, I answered. 

I could hear sniffling, "Hey, how was filming?" I asked, trying to hide the concern in my voice. 

He sighed, sniffling a bit more as he belted out, "My father died." the tremble in his voice killed me. 

I sighed, "Oh shit. I'm so sorry, babe. Is Deb on her way?" I asked, hoping she'd canceled whatever she had going on since he was in England alone. 

That simple question broke him, "I fucking rang her and she just said 'I'm so sorry babe, I'll see you when you get home. I can't leave the dogs.' Who the fuck says that?!" His voice dripping with hurt as he continued breaking. 

I closed my eyes, feeling my teeth start to grit, "Are you serious?" 

He sniffled, choking on his tears, "I just lost my fucking father. I'm in another country filming a movie I can't even focus on at this moment and that's all I get from her." 

I quickly put the phone and speaker and sent Deb a text. 

Me: Hey, I saw the news. If you guys need someone to keep the pups while you go to Australia, I don't mind keeping them. I miss Dali and Allegra!

She text me back almost immediately after I hit send.

Debbora-Lee: Thank you, honey. I appreciate it but I'm not going to be able to go. Ava has school stuff we can't miss unfortunately. 

I sighed, "I'm so sorry, babe. You're in England, right?" I asked knowingly as I began searching for flights on my phone. Someone has to be there and I guess if she refuses to be there, I'll have to go to make sure he can make it through his film and to make sure he's okay. 

He coughed again, "Yes, I'm in fucking London." 

I bit my bottom lip as I booked the first flight I saw, "Meet me at the airport at 11 pm your time." 

He sniffled, surprised, "Where are you? What do you mean?" He asked, confused. 

I sighed, "I'll be landing in London at 11." I said while grabbing my things, throwing them in my bag to haul ass to the airport. 

"No love, you don't have to do that. Don't mess up your time with your family." He said softly. 

"It's already paid for. Just pick me up at 11." I said as I ended the call. 

I'm pissed. I'm pissed she can't get off her ass to fly to be with her husband who just lost his father. I'm pissed my time with my family got ruined because of this fucked up situation, but he's my best friend and he obviously needs someone on his side. He called Deb, then called me. I'm pissed that I can't show this man what he means to me because of a marriage he's in with such a selfish person. But I'll go be the hero and save his ass because she refuses to. Time to put my platonic face on. 

11 PM, London, England: 

After a 10 hour flight, a comfortable bed is all I'm after. I booked a room at the same hotel Hugh was staying to be close by. I hadn't seen him in months. I was excited, despite the circumstance of why I came in the first place. I stepped off the escalator, the airport was practically dead at this time. Maybe 20 other people and I'm sure they all just got off the flight I was on. I quickly found the baggage claim, grabbing my things and checking my phone. 

"You really didn't have to do this." I heard a familiar voice, my favorite Australian say as he approached me, pulling me into a quick hug. 

He looked awful. His eyes were swollen from crying, his hair was a mess. He was almost unrecognizable.  

I shrugged, "You didn't have anybody else. That's what I'm here for." I smiled. "Take me to the hotel. I'm tired and ready to be away from airports and planes." I said, walking towards the doors. 

He gave me a sad smile, "Isn't this your first time out of the country?" He asked, looking at me, walking with me towards his car. 

I nodded, "It is. Finally putting the passport I've had for a year now to good use." I laughed. 

As we approached his car, he opened the door for me and grabbed my bags, placing them in the back, then coming to get in the driver's seat. "I'm so thankful to have someone like you in my life. Thank you. You have no idea how much this means to me." He said, his voice slightly shaking. 

I took a deep breath, trying to contain my own emotions, "Don't mention it. That's what friends are for, babe." I said with a small smile. 

He took me to a fast food place to grab a bite to take to the hotel with me. As we reached the hotel and got up to the room, he stopped holding his composure and broke. I couldn't help but pull him into my arms and stroke his back as he wept. I'd never seen Hugh actually cry and the sight was heartbreaking. Nonetheless, I'm glad I'm here so he isn't alone. We spent hours with him crying, telling me stories about his father and the kind of man he was, we rehearsed his lines for The Son until the sun came sweeping into the hotel room. 

Present Day:

"What's on your mind?" He asked, giving me a serious look. 

I looked at him, "Nothing, I was just thinking about the night I flew to London to see you." 

He chuckled, "Ah, the night that started it all."

I playfully rolled my eyes, "I don't remember anything being started on my part. I remember trying to call your wife and let her have it... but you wouldn't let me." I laughed at the last part. 

He laughed, "No, I wouldn't. I told you that you were better than that and I didn't want her to ban me from seeing you." He said with a smirk. 

"Honestly though, that was the night that really did something for me. I had nothing but platonic feelings for you until you did that for me. After that weekend with you, just being there, being yourself and being there for me, helping me keep my head in the game with my film, it was hard to separate myself from developing feelings for you." He said quietly, slightly shaking his head almost as if he were in disbelief.

I kissed his cheek, "I'll bet you had no idea that I was absolutely smitten with you long before that. Which is why I flew to England. Do you think I fly across the world at the drop of a hat for anyone else?" I giggled. 

He looked at me, eyes widening a little, "What? You were not. You never showed it at all." 

I rolled my eyes again, "Um sir, you were married and I did not want to fight someone over their husband. I enjoyed our friendship and respected your marriage too much to do something stupid." 

He smirked, "No, but we did have a cuddle in London." 

I gasped, laughing, "No shit, you were an emotional mess. I wasn't going to just say 'Hey, I'm heading to the other room. See ya tomorrow, big guy.' What was I supposed to do?" I said crossing my arms. 

 He laughed, pecking my lips, wrapping his arms back around me, "Okay, point well made." 

It was starting to get late, now getting closer to 10 pm. I yawned, looking at him, "I'm sorry, but I refuse to sleep on the couch again tonight. I'm going to sleep in my bed tonight. You're welcome to join me unless you want a hard sofa." 

He smiled, "I'll be there in a second, love."

I smiled sleepily, yawning again before walking towards the bedroom, "Okay." 

As I got to the bedroom, I put on a tank top and matching pajama shorts before climbing into the big king sized bed. It wasn't as comfortable as my bed at home, but it would do. About 10 minutes later, Hugh walked in interrupting the annoyingly funny reality show I was watching. 

"Miss me?" He asked cockily while taking off his jeans and t-shirt, moving the blankets to lay beside me. 

I chuckled, "No, I had Mama June and Honey Boo Boo keeping me entertained."

He rolled his eyes, "I can't believe you actually watch that." He laid his arm over my shoulder, pulling me closer to him. 

I played as if I were offended, "Don't hate. They're hilarious." 

He looked at the tv, "I'm sorry it took me awhile to come in here. I was on the phone with Oscar." His voice sounded sad.

I chewed at my lip, nervous for what was to come next, as I rested my hand on his bare chest, softly caressing it. "It's okay. Is he okay?" I asked. 

He sighed, "He's fine. He's disappointed that his mum and I couldn't fix things, but he's old enough to understand that people have to do what makes them happy."  

I looked up at him, "Well, at least he understands. Does he know where you're at?..." I asked lowly. 

Hugh sat in silence. 

"Hugh... You didn't tell him you're with me, did you?..." I asked, growing worried, lifting up to look at him. 

He shook his head, "Well not at first, no. He asked where I was. I simply said LA. He asked who I was with. I didn't say. He said 'You're with her, aren't you, dad?' and you know I'm a terrible liar." 

I exhaled the breath I'd been holding in hopes he did not tell his child I was with him. Oscar and Ava adored me, but I did not need the world thinking I ripped this man out of his marriage and away from his family. 

He rubbed my cheek, "He knows you didn't do anything wrong. He's old enough to understand the issues Deb and I have. He knew his mum and I had been practically separated for years but didn't want to actually separate for their sake." 

I shook my head, "I hope you're right. I also hope he doesn't call her and tell her." I said without thinking. 

He shook his head, "He won't. He doesn't know what we're doing or what we've talked about. He knows you're always there. He probably thinks you're making sure I don't do something stupid and just being a good friend." 

I nodded, "Okay... If you say so." 

Hugh's phone lit up, a notification from Ryan Reynolds. It was a text. Opening it, it was a screen shot of his soon-to-be ex-wife, posted up with another man. I looked at Hugh, chewing my bottom lip, anxiously awaiting his response. 

He looked at me, "Good for her. She deserves happiness." He said bluntly. 

I pursed my lips, "You took that better than I imagined." I chuckled. 

He smiled, holding his phone up to take a picture with me. "What are you doing?..." I asked, not ready for his response. I knew exactly what he was doing. He was going to post his own selfie to get back at her. 

He smirked, "I'm just taking a selfie with my best friend that will be going on Instagram with the caption 'That's what friends are for'." He exclaimed proud of himself as he forced me to smile for the camera by tickling my side. 

"I can't believe how toxic you are." I said with a chuckle watching him post the picture to his Instagram. You could clearly see he was shirtless, I'm in a tank top and we're close to one another. This was going to go over great on the internet. 

He chuckled, "I can be toxic, but in a sexy way." He reminded me. 

Author's Note:  I'm actually having a lot of fun writing this. Let me guess... You guys want a part four? 

[why-animals-do-the-thing]

Over the last few years, I’ve begun to heavily encourage people to think of a zoo or aquarium or sanctuary being accredited as conveying important information about their ethos / operations / politics - but not as an inherent indicator of quality. Why? Because accrediting groups can be and are fallible. There are issues with all of the accrediting groups and programs, to varying degrees, and so they’re just a piece of information for a discerning zoo-goer to incorporate into their overall opinion. I just saw a news article go by with some data that proves my point.

First off, good for Houston, no commentary that follows is directed that them.

This isn’t the first time I’ve seen a headline like this - there was one a couple years ago, about Cheyenne Mountain Zoo in Colorado also getting a perfect inspection. But here’s what bugs me about it.

If you see/hear the phrase “Facility X has been accredited by Y organization, which holds the highest standards in the world for this type of facility”, it kind of implies that facility X meets all of those standards, doesn’t it? Not most of them, not the majority. When you hear that a zoological facility has gone through a rigorous process to earn an accreditation branded (by the accrediting org) as “the gold standard” in the industry… the general public is going to interpret that as saying these facilities are in compliance with every single rule or standard. And what these headlines tell us, alongside the commentary from AZA in the articles, is that it’s not only not true - it never has been true. Most AZA accredited facilities apparently don’t meet all the AZA standards when they’re inspected, and that’s both okay with them and normal enough to talk about without worrying about the optics.

Let’s start with the basic information in the Houston Chronicle article, which will have been provided to them by the zoo and the AZA.

“Since it's inception in 1974, the AZA has conducted more than 2,700 inspections and awarded only eight perfect evaluations throughout the process's 50-year history. Houston Zoo's final report is 26 pages long — and filled with A's and A-pluses."

Okay, so… doing that math, less than one percent of AZA accreditation inspections don’t meet all the standards at the time of inspection. But, wait, that’s not just what that says. That bit of information isn’t talk about AZA accredited facilities vs the ones that got denied accreditation: this is telling us that of facilities that earned AZA accreditation, basically none of them meet all the standards at the time. This isn’t talking about tabled accreditations or provisional ones where they come back and check that something improved. Given that math from earlier, this information means that most - if not all - AZA accredited facilities have repeatedly failed to meet all of the standards at one point in time … and have still been accredited anyway.

That tracks with what was said about Cheyenne Mountain Zoo, back in 2021 when they got their perfect accreditation.

“Cheyenne Mountain Zoo has earned an incredibly rare clean report of inspection and its seventh consecutive five-year accreditation from the Association of Zoos and Aquariums (AZA). In nearly 50 years of accreditations, CMZoo is only the fourth organization to earn a ‘clean’ report, which means there wasn’t a single major or minor concern reported”

Seven consecutive accreditation processes - and only one of them where they actually met all the standard at the time.

Here’s what the AZA CEO had to say about Houston’s accreditation achievement in that article, which reinforces my conclusion here:

"AZA president and CEO Dan Ashe says the multi-day inspection process, which occurs every five years, has been described as "comprehensive, exhausting and intimidating."

"We send a team of experts in who spend several days talking to employees, guests and the governing board. They look at animal care and husbandry. They look at the governance structure and finances. They look comprehensively at the organization," Ashe explains. "For a facility like Houston Zoo to have a completely clean accreditation and inspection is extremely rare. These inspectors are experts, it's hard to get to the point where they can't find something.""

Now, here’s the rub. We, as members of the public, will never have any idea which standards it is deemed okay for a given AZA facility to not meet. All of the zoological accrediting groups consider accreditation information proprietary - the only way we find out information about how a facility does during accreditation is if they choose to share it themselves.

On top of that, it’s complicated by the fact that last time I read them AZA had over 212 pages of accreditation standards and related guidance that facilities had to comply with. Now, AZA doesn’t accredit facilities if there are major deviations from their standards, or if there’s an issue on something important or highly contentious. So - based on my completely outsider but heavily researched perspective - this probably means that most zoos are in non-compliance with a couple of standards, but not more than a handful.

To make trying to figure this out even more fun, it is also important to know that AZA’s standards are performance standards: whether or not they’re “met” is based on a subjective assessment performed by the accreditation inspectors and the accreditation committee. This means that what qualifies as fulfilling the standards can and does vary between facilities, depending on who inspected them and the composition of the committee at the time.

So why do I care so much? Because when it comes to public trust, branding matters. AZA has gained a reputation as the most stringent accrediting group in the country - to the point that it can lobby legislators to write exceptions into state and federal laws just for its members - based on how they message about their accreditation program. How intensive it is, how much oversight it provides, what a high level of rigor the facilities are held to. That… doesn’t track with “well, actually, the vast majority of the zoos meet most of the standards most of the time.” People who support AZA - people who visit AZA accredited zoos specifically because of what it means about the quality of the facility - believe that accreditation means all the standards are being met!

To be clear: most AZA zoos do meet some pretty high standards. It’s likely that what are being let slide are pretty minor things. I expect it’s on stuff the facility can improve without too much hassle, and it might be that doing so is probably part of what’s required. There’s not enough information available to people outside the fold. But I will say, I don’t think any zoo is getting accredited despite AZA having knowledge of a serious problem.

Where I take issue with this whole situations is the ethics of the marketing and branding. AZA frames themselves as being the best-of-the-best, the gold standard, when it turns out that most of their accredited zoos aren’t totally in compliance, and they know and it’s fine. They seem to be approaching accreditation like a grade, where anything over a certain amount of compliance is acceptable. The public, though, is being fed a narrative that implies it’s a 99/100 pass/fail type of situation. That’s not super honest, imho, which shows up in how there’s zero transparency with the public about it - it goes unspoken and unacknowledged, except when it’s used for promotional gain.

And then, like, on top of the honesty in marketing part, it’s just… something that gets joked about, which really rubs me the wrong way. Like this statement from the media releases for the Cheyenne Mountain accreditation:

“Another of our ‘We Believe’ statements is, ‘We value laughter as good medicine,’” said Chastain. “To put this clean accreditation into perspective, when I asked Dan Ashe, AZA president and CEO, for his comments about how rare this is, he joked, ‘A completely clean inspection report is so unusual, and so unlikely, it brings one word to mind — bribery!’“

So, TL;DR, even AZA accreditation is designed so that their accredited zoos don’t have to - and mostly don’t - actually fully meet all the standards. I’d love to know more about what types of standards AZA is willing to let slide when they accredit a facility, but given the proprietary nature of that information, it’s pretty unlikely there will ever be more information available. AZA accreditation tells you what standards a zoo aspires to meet, what their approximate ethics are, and what political pool they play in. When it comes to the quality of a facility and their animal care, though, sporting an accreditation acronym is just a piece of the larger puzzle.

[elizadraws]

Bulgarian Music in Studio Ghibli films

”Myth has it that Orpheus was born in what is now Bulgaria. It seemed to be fact, not myth, that his daughters are still singing there”

These words were written by the New York Times in the remote 1963 — the year in which the largest Bulgarian folk ensemble crossed the Iron Curtain to conquer an entire continent with its cosmic art.

The 1975 release of Le Mystère des Voix Bulgares, a compilation album of modern arrangements of Bulgarian folk songs, further popularized Bulgarian music, and in 1977, a vinyl record featuring the folk song “Izlel ye Delyo Haydutin” (Eng: Come out rebel Delyo) began its journey aboard the Voyager 1 and Voyager 2 spacecrafts.

From this point on popularity from the West spread to the East, and Bulgarian folk music made it to the entertainment industry, including legendary Japanese anime films, like the cult cyberpunk “Ghost in the Shell” or the heartwarming Studio Ghibli features.

In this short article I write about two occasions of Bulgarian music playing in Studio Ghibli’s films.

The record that inspired the creation of “Only Yesterday”

“Only Yesterday” is a 1991 Japanese animated drama film written and directed by Isao Takahata, based on the 1982 manga of the same title by Hotaru Okamoto and Yuko Tone. Set in rural Japan, the film draws parallels with the peasant lifestyle present in Eastern Europe.

The original work is a compilation of short stories about 11-year-old Taeko’s daily life in 1966. Director Takahata had a hard time making it into a movie since the manga, told in the form of a memoir, has no plot to hold a feature. Together with producer Toshio Suzuki, they came up with the solution of bringing the narrator of the story, adult Taeko, into the movie. But there is a curious anecdote about how this idea came to mind.

Taeko picks safflower as the Bulgarian song “Malka moma dvori mete” plays in the background. © Studio Ghibli

In a 2021 interview with students from Sofia University St. Kliment Ohridski, producer Suzuki recounts how a record of Bulgarian songs performed by the children choir “Bodra Smyana”, introduced to him by director Takahata, inspired the creation of the movie. Moved by the cosmic voices of the children, they decided to make “Only Yesterday” a musical. He also recalls what a tiring process it was to acquire the rights to the music, but if you’ve seen the movie, I am sure you will agree that it was worth it; the haunting, beautiful songs with the pastoral images of farmers picking flowers contribute to one of the greatest scenes created in cinema.

Producer Suzuki showing the record that inspired the creation of ”Only Yesterday”. Source: Studio Ghibli’s Twitter

In “Only Yesterday”, we can hear two songs from the album Bulgarian Polyphony I by Philip Koutev Ensemble. The upbeat “Dilmano Dilbero” [Eng. beautiful Dilmana] sets a happy mood as the protagonist gets changed and ready to go on the field. As the scene shifts and Taeko starts narrating a sad story about the girls in the past picking safflower with their bare hands, the song and mood shift as well.

While the first song has a fast rhythm, with lyrics about pepper planting that can also be interpreted figuratively, the second one, “Malka Moma Dvori Mete” [Eng., a little girl sweeps the yard], is a ballad about a young girl who is forced into marriage but has never known true love.

Both compositions sing about life-cycle events like marriage and the regular coming of the harvests, with lyrics perfectly fitting the setting and plot of the movie, which makes me wonder if the filmmakers chose them by chance or if they had someone translate the words.

Bulgarian Cosmic Voices Enchanting Howl

“Howl’s Moving Castle” is a 2004 Japanese animated fantasy film written and directed by Hayao Miyazaki, loosely based on the 1986 novel of the same name by British author Diana Wynne Jones. Set in a fictional kingdom the movie draws inspiration from various places in Europe. One of them being Bulgaria.

The story focuses on a young girl, named Sophie, magically transformed into an old woman, and a self-confident but emotionally unstable young wizard, Howl, living in a magical moving castle.

A sketch of a Star Child. Source: The Art of Howl’s Moving Castle

If you’ve seen the movie, you surely remember the scene when Madame Suliman ambushes Howl and tries to strip him of his magic powers. Star Children encircle him and his companions; their shadows grow big, dark and intimidating. They start dancing and chanting unintelligible magic words and are almost successful in their devilish act.

This scene, together with the music played in the background, have been a favourite of many fans of the film. Some even recount it giving them nightmares when they were children.

Star Children encircle Howl in an attempt to strip him of his magic powers. © Studio Ghibli

It turns out, however, that these aren’t any incantations, but the lyrics of a folk song. In Bulgarian. And a love song! Contrary to popular belief, the lyrics have nothing to do with magic and are actually about a boy taking his sweetheart, Dona, to the market to buy her new clothes. The excerpt used in the movie is very short and a bit altered from the original, but the words used go like this: Trendafilcheto, kalafercheto, Done mamino, translated as “the rose, the costmary, my darling Dona”.

I am planing a follow up article where I will post the translated lyrics together with a brief explanation on how they are related to the movies.

If you want to comment on or add something, I would love to hear!

Source

[ms-demeanor]

IDK that I've ever put it in one post before, but here's the transplant speedrun.

1 - Valentines day 2021, he's admitted to the hospital. We take a pre-hospital selfie then I shave his head and he shaves his beard because he doesn't want to deal with hair at the hospital. Me and his mom drop him off; at that point you can only visit someone as they are actually dying and we're told that he's going to stay in the hospital until he gets a transplant or he dies, and if he's rejected as a transplant recipient he'll receive palliative care in this hospital.

2 - First week of March, they allow patients to have one screened visitor; this is our first visit - I take photos in the hospital to show his mom because at this point he has a pump in his shoulder and it is difficult for him to move his arms to use his phone. He has also been confined to a bed since the week he arrived because he's on the ECMO machine, so he can't walk or move around, though they stand him up every once in a while. At one point one of the ecmo tubes pulls out of his femoral artery, which is Not! Great! He also needed a blood transfusion about every two days at that point, which worried the doctors because it increased his likelihood of rejecting. But he had been approved for transplant at that point!

The first thing he said to me on this visit was "look, I have abs" and then he showed me his abs because it turns out when you're really really dying of heart failure your body begins to eat itself.

3 - Now That's What I Call Jaundice (cardiac cirrhosis is liver failure as a result of heart failure and it's pretty much the big giant neon flashing sign of heart failure that says "hey you're fucking dying" so if you've got heart failure and your bilirubin number is off or the whites of your eyes are yellow please kick up a gigantic stink until they check your liver; large bastard's GP, who is my doctor, who I hate, saw his bloodwork with a very high bilirubin number a month before he was diagnosed with cardiac cirrhosis and wrote it off as a testing fluke fuck that guy)

4 - Don't let the sad face fool you, he's acting pathetic so that his mom will stop yelling about the fact that I'm bringing him cookies. He's allowed to have cookies. At that point he weighed 98kg and was outsourcing his heartbeat, he was allowed to eat whatever he wanted. (have i mentioned that I was moving us from Vegas to LA at this time? I was bringing him cookies because I'd baked hundreds of peanut butter cookies and other cookies to use up the flour, sugar, and peanut butter in the vegas house)

5 - Mid-march, he's got a match! He called me when I was in Vegas filling up the truck with another load and I drove right back and to the hospital. Once he went in for surgery I drove to his mom's house and crashed, then woke up and drove to our storage unit and unpacked the truck while I waited to hear from the doctors. I was unloading a bookcase when I got the call. (There wasn't any point in waiting alone in the hospital for sixteen hours; either he was going to make it or he wasn't and someone was going to have to unload the truck at some point. People have been weird about this, like I should have been sitting at his side all the time, but there was a two-hour daily limit for most visits and look i have sat in a waiting room while this dude had a thirteen hour surgery i do not need a repeat of that experience without the soothing balm of nicotine getting me through it; so unloading a truck it was)

6 - Two days after surgery and kind of mad about it. His chest hurt a lot (obviously) but, like, a lot a lot because they'd had to open him up for the bypass just two years earlier.

7 - First walk outside of his room after transplant in early April; he needed a LOT of PT because of how much muscle he'd lost. He lost sixty pounds in the hospital before the surgery, and only gained back about twenty while he was in there.

8 - A visit from the tiny doggo

9 - I come to visit and I've got a new phone with a portrait mode so he steals it and takes stupid pictures for a few minutes. Dude is bored and restless; this is in late april and he's feeling well enough to be moody. ETA: There is a jar of pickles in front of him because he'd been fluid limited for a long time and his salt levels were off and when he got to the hospital they were like "you need electrolytes and a lot of salt" and he was like "sweetheart can you please please please bring me delicious salty things" so I was bringing him jars of pickled mushrooms and garlic stuffed olives and just a huge number of pickles that he kept trying to share with the nurses. "Alli brought the mushrooms again; would you like a pickled mushroom? I have fancy toothpicks to share them with!"

10 - He comes home for the first time in early May; he ends up getting readmitted two more times because of complications before finally being released in early July. ETA: The second time he got readmitted it was for something that he wasn't at all worried about but that they needed to monitor for a couple weeks so he was *SO BORED* and actually feeling pretty okay; so at one point when I was leaving the parking garage at 8pm my car wouldn't start, I did some troubleshooting with the manual and the internet and didn't figure it out, so I called him and he tried to troubleshoot over the phone and got frustrated and was begging his nurses to let him come out to the parking structure to work on my car (they refused) - I ended up getting a tow and fixing it when I replaced the battery terminals.

Photos are all posted with his permission.

Also I dyed my hair purple between photos one and two because it's his favorite color. I also bought a blue dress, red tights, and yellow shoes to wear to visit him because he always teases me for wearing so much black.

I just love him a lot. It was a hard couple years there, but things are getting better.

[disneyprincemuke]

"wanna hang out?" * ls2

it's never fun feeling like an outsider, so you'd sworn that nobody would ever feel the way you did all those years ago

pairings: logan sargeant x platonic fem!driver

notes: also nothing to do with vr, but ON GOD I'VE GOT SOMETHING PLANNED WITH THEM I- i am also making this a mini series, because i cant physically sit down and write anything too long because this ask was very long and i simply can't not break it down into parts im sorry anon i love you

| "wanna hang out?" | driver's parade | american burgers | american football | the thanksgiving incident | another williams adoptee | beating the heat | you’re embarrassing me | santa baby | the favourite driver | the situationship | it's nice to have a friend |

"mate, just go up and him and say 'hi'. it's not that hard."

"i know, but i'm scared."

"scared? he's a 22-year-old. he won't bite you."

"you don't know that!"

"he's a really nice kid. just go up to him and ask him if he wants to hang out."

"okay, but only if you come with me?"

"you're a fully grown adult! you don't need me with you to play matchmaker to get a new friend."

"please, george? i'm asking you this one favour."

"no can do. look! there he is! go!"

that's the last thing you hear before you are rudely shoved out of alex's driver's room. you press your lips together into a thin line, fists balled by your side as you hear george close the door behind you. you knew hanging out with george in alex's room without alex is stupid.

you had simply noticed the american rookie quietly following the thai driver around, not making many conversations with other drivers during the pre-season test a couple of weeks ago. while you're very well equipped with making friends and incorporating yourself with the rest of your colleagues, logan seemed to be one of the people you found quite difficult to approach.

not because he's unapproachable. simply because he is also very quiet and reserved on his own. once upon a time, when you first joined formula 1 as the only woman on the grid, you were good friends with charles. that was before you had drifted apart amidst all the outright comparisons everyone would make, and eventually, you had fallen into his shadow while he achieved greater things in the sport.

you had learned to find solace in your own company for about a year or so, only speaking to whoever spoke to you. it wasn't until things started falling into place when toto wolff had picked you to race with mercedes, following lewis hamilton's retirement in 2021 after failing to secure himself a championship.

logan, who has just finished his climb up the stairs, flashes you a friendly smile as he fiddles with his keys. "hey," he greets you, before abruptly turning to unlock the door to his driver's room.

"hi," you smile, awkwardly wiping your palms against the material of your shorts. "i haven't had the chance to properly introduce myself to you. i'm (y/n)."

he pushes his door open, craning his neck to acknowledge you. "i know. i've been a big fan since you joined the sport," he glances elsewhere before meeting your eyes again, "i'm logan?"

"right, we already know that," you sigh, shaking your head. you take a step forward, maintaining your distance from the entrance of his driver's room. you don't want to wind up overstepping your welcome. "um, well, welcome to formula 1."

he smiles at you, slightly more genuine this time. you watch as he puts his bag down by the door. "thank you."

"no problem." you bite on the inside of your cheek, turning around to open the door to alex's driver's room. you hear the door creaking behind you, and you vaguely remember that all this awkward conversation wasn't initiated for nothing.

you turn back around and try to hold the door open. your palm meets the door, logan flinching back in surprise as you tilt your head to peek up at him. "have you had your lunch yet?"

he shakes his head. "why?"

"george and i are waiting for alex to finish his meeting with james before we go and grab lunch somewhere in the paddocks," you smile. "wanna hang out?"

[bellawoso]

Head Over Heels

Jana Fernandez x fem!reader

Jana Fernandez my love, you have my heart.

You and Jana had been keeping your relationship under wraps for a while, from the team and from the public, with the only people aware being your two’s family- which was still fairly new.

Your relationship stemmed soon after you signed for Barcelona, with you moving from England and struggled with the spanish language, Lucy and Keira quickly took you under their wing.

At first you struggled to make new friendships with your teammates, being constantly wary of the fact they are the top players in the world, however this feeling wasn’t new to you.

Both Keira and Lucy knew that you struggled with imposter syndrome after you signed for England and had constant nervous episodes before a match after you were told you were to be in the starting 11.

However, each time your anxiety spiked, either one of them would always be there to comfort you, which was why you were having such a hard time not telling anyone about yours and Jana’s relationship.

In a way, you felt as if you had to be more open with Keira and Lucy due to everything they had done for you, being honest with them was the least you could do.

———————————————————————

Honestly to begin with, you had a bad first impression of Jana, with you previously playing for Arsenal, the only interaction you have had with Jana were the 2021 games against Barcelona, which left you having to listen to Beth’s rants about how the young defender was shoving her all throughout the game.

It was your fault you weren’t friends with Jana really, despite you attempting to make an effort to speak to some of the Barça girls who spoke English, you had completely avoided the brunette who constantly haunted your thoughts.

Everyone on the team knew that Jana and Bruna were their own duo, they tended to pair up all of the time in drills, sit together on the bus and at lunch, they had been best friends since their youth.

You were used to seeing Jana and Bruna constantly looking at you, giggling, and rapidly whispering in Spanish, which didn’t help to ease your worries of not fitting in.

Until one training session where Bruna was ill left Jana without a partner for a drill. You usually partnered with Keira, but after some encouragement from the English girl that she would be fine and partner with Aitana, you walked over to the brunette defender and asked if she wanted to partner with you, to which she happily accepted to your surprise.

The brunette seemed eager to get to know you during the drill, and after training she offered to take you home instead of Lucy and Keira as your car was currently being fixed.

It turned out that you two didn’t live far away from each other, so you both car-shared after that training session, until one day you were confident enough to invite the brunette in after she dropped you off.

You both laughed over coffee, which led to you admitting how you thought she hated you at first, as you always saw her laughing at you with Bruna.

Jana simply looked at you in shock, and was quick to reassure you that she never hated you, but she was just very nervous around you.

At hearing this you offered her a soft smile, encouraging her to continue, when you noticed her hesitance to continue.

Jana was then quick to confess her newfound non-platonic feelings for you, until you cut off her rambling with a chaste kiss to her lips, effectively silencing her.

“I like you too Jana”

After a few more dates, Jana asked you to be her girlfriend which you happily accepted, you had been dating for 4 months now, with nobody suspecting anything of you two.

———————————————————————

Barcelona vs Real Madrid

A highly anticipated match, that always left people on the edge of their seats at Camp Nou.

Sadly, both you and your girlfriend weren’t playing, with you two both sporting matching muscle injuries, however you were both just as happy to watch.

You and Jana both loved physical affection, so it was a shame your relationship wasn’t public to anyone yet. You had both decided to wear many layers of clothing in attempt to prevent anyone from recognising you, so that Jana could at least have a hand on your thigh without a fan snapping a picture of it.

You had both decided that you would look more weird in your disguises in the friends and family stands than the public stands, which left you two in a random part of the stadium, surrounded by fellow culers.

Both you and Jana were clad in big puffer coats, beanies, face masks all in attempt to not be caught by fans.

Honestly, you did start sat down in your chair, however as the match progressed, you began to miss Jana’s lap, so you were quick to climb onto her, as she welcomed you in an embrace.

The Barcelona weather was honestly quite hot that day, so you were fast to discard your extra layers.

Everyone was focused on the match, so who would actually notice you?

With Jana’s extra layers, they made it impossible for you to nuzzle your face into the crook of Jana’s neck, so you made the rash decision to pull off Jana’s disguise, insisting it was too uncomfortable, to which Jana happily let you, the girl being as head-over-heels for you as you were for her.

You were right, no fans noticed either of you, Jana’s hand resting dangerously low on your back the entirety of the game, and she placed regular kisses on your forehead every time you tiredly mumbled “te amo” repeatedly.

With you too tired to look up, and Jana too enamoured with you, both of you failed to notice the camera which projected both of you clearly onto the big screen.

———————————————————————

As soon as the match ended, both you and Jana were quick to part ways, keeping up the facade of you two not being close.

Jana immediately went to her friends, and you went up to Esmee, who to Jana’s annoyance, you had grown quite close to over the past month. This was something you constantly teased your girlfriend for, and even though Jana knew you were loyal, she couldn’t help the sudden rush of jealousy she felt whenever she saw Esmee hugging you.

However, today Bruna noticed Jana’s glare at Esmee who had lifted you to a piggyback, as she interacted with the fans. The forward chose to not pick at Jana’s sudden dislike for Esmee, but it stayed at the back of her mind even when they were on the bus.

Your teammates noticed your fatigue, and chose to leave you alone when on the bus, as they knew both you and Esmee were such good friends due to your shared trait of always being tired. Both you and Esmee were currently sharing AirPods and appreciating the unusually calm conversations going on around you.

Until it was broken by a shriek from Claudia which immediately had you jolting awake, only to turn back to see what the problem was, to be met with a sympathetic smile from Jana, which had you subtly smiling back at her and then relaxing back into your seat instantly.

The back seats that day consisted of their usual group: Alexia, Jana, Bruna, Lucy, Mapi, Claudia and Patri, usually the loudest and most energetic of the team on the way back after a match.

After choosing to settle back into your seat, and once again blocking out the conversations around you, you were made completely oblivious to the incident arising at the back of the bus.

After Claudia’s sudden outburst caused everyone’s conversations to stop, she was immediately met with Alexia asking her what was wrong. Claudia however was still in so much shock, that when she attempted to tell Alexia and the others what was wrong, she could only stutter, until she was cut off with a scolding from Alexia for being so childish, who mistook the shriek of surprise for one of mischief.

When Alexia’s lecture had ended, Claudia managed to muster up a few words which immediately made Jana freeze:

“Twitter, Jana, Y/N”

Claudia quickly shoved her phone in the awaiting hands of her captain, who’s only reaction was a sharp intake of breath and a soft “ay dios mio” which the group knew was not a good sign.

The phone was then passed around the rest of the group, only landing in the hands of Jana last.

As the brunette studied the picture, she couldn’t help but smile at the candid photo of you two on the big screen, you on her lap with your head resting on her shoulder, however the photo also had captured Jana’s blush and the hand that rested way too low on you for any couple in public.

Out of the corner of her eye, Jana could see you jolting awake, after being shaken awake by Mapi, who she had not realised had got up to confront you.

Jana immediately went to stand up, her protective nature shining through, only to be pulled back down by Alexia.

“She will come over here, maybe she can sit on a normal seat, instead of your lap this time?” The captain teased.

This was only met with a scowl from Jana, the only available seat was next to Mapi, and Jana was not planning on leaving you anywhere near the Zaragozan, as she knew that the blonde would only tease you more.

As you neared them, Jana could see Mapi tugging on your wrist harshly in excitement, not noticing the wince on your face, the brunette reached over to smack Mapi’s hand, to let her know to get off you. Hesitance was evident all over your face on where to sit, so Jana hastily tugged you by your waist onto her lap.

This confirmation that you were in fact together sent Claudia into a rambling state mainly consisting of how she couldn’t believe it, and that she didn’t even know you and Jana were friends.

This combined with Patri, Mapi and Lucy’s teasing only irritated Jana more, and Alexia studying the picture of you two on the big screen did not ease your worries.

Jana noticed this, and tapped your thigh as a signal for you to stand, as she led you to the front of the bus for the last ten minutes of the journey. As soon as you arrived back, Jana pulled you to her car where you went to her house as you had been spending most of your time there recently.

After a long conversation with Jana, you had decided that although you two had already been hard launched by some random cameraman, you two could still go through the process of making your relationship ship official online.

———————————————————————

yourinstagram

Head-over-heels inlove with you from day one my love ❤️

Liked by alexiaputellas, janafernandez3 and 57,675 others.

Comments disabled.

janafernandez3

Mi amor in her natural habitat: on my lap ❤️ (no where else I would rather have you)

Liked by yourinstagram, lucybronze and 49,873 others.

Comments disabled.

———————————————————————

A/N: i <3 jana fernandez

[sabertoothwalrus]

hi !! just curious because i was looking at your adventure time episode guide and i love hearing other peoples adventure time takes !! how come you don't like finn's characterisation in together again?

I've talked about it before here and here!

But also I'm gonna say more and share some art I did in 2021 for a rewrite comic that I never got around to doing

So again to reiterate: Adventure Time is usually VERY good at making it feel like time passes, even when you're not watching. It's something about what they don't show that tells you everything you need to know.

Together Again did not do this.

It really really felt like they were avoiding showing Finn as an adult, as if they wanted to leave his post-show life ambiguous. Which, now that Fionna and Cake has shown us literally that, it makes Together Again feel even more wrong?? Like. imagine you have to pick a moment from your life that represents You™ the most. Together Again said that Finn, after living his whole life and dying as an old man, feels most represented by how he was at 17. I do not buy this. I am 25, and I cannot fathom identifying by my 17 year old self. I was a completely different person then, I was still cooking. I can imagine most people feel the same. And ok, so maybe Finn DOES for some reason feel stuck at 17? Explain to me why!! What needed to happen to him that made him feel that way?

And before you just say "it's because Jake died," there's still too much that was left out. How old was Finn when Jake died? What was Finn like, at that point? What else had they accomplished? What was he doing at the time that was on the forefront of his mind? Where/with who did they spend most of their time? Where were they living after the treehouse got destroyed?

It was like,,, it was like the story Together Again actually wanted to tell was about Finn's grief, and how poorly he copes, and how too much of his identity is tied to Having Jake, and how he struggles to move on. But that's not the story we got. I honestly think-- as interesting as it was-- everything with New Death and Tiffany and Lich just did a disservice to the focus, which was Finn trying to get over Jake.

I think Together Again should have gone like this:

Finn and Jake had always planned that whoever died first would wait in the dead world for the other to die so the two of them could reincarnate. Jake dies first. Jake would be able to "watch over" Finn as he lives the rest of his life, so Jake wouldn't miss Finn as much as vice versa, since he'd feel like he's still there with him. Eventually, Finn dies.

Finn's appearance would change with his emotional state. I thought it'd be interesting to show different phases of his life through the stages of grief.

There'd be a room where they could watch Finn's memories. Finn would walk Jake through the events of his life. We SEE exactly how Finn dealt with grief, with heartbreak, with love, with friends, with community. All the good and all the bad.

By the end of it, Finn is quiet. "Jake... when we reincarnate, will we.. lose all of this?" "Well, do you remember anything from any of your other past lives?" "No.. But that's the point. I don't want to forget you." Finn, despite their promise, despite Jake waiting for him all this time, declines reincarnating. He doesn't want to move on, because that would mean forgetting everything. He wants to say with Jake!! He JUST got Jake back!!

“What if— in the future— what if they forget about us? What if they don’t know about all the stuff we did?” We see Ooo in its current state. It’s changed, but it’s clearly been affected by the two of them. Every person they’ve saved, every civilization they helped build, every hero they’ve inspired. They’ve left their touch everywhere. “They’ll know,” Jake says with certainty. “We’ll know.” We see the future, with Shermy and Beth. We see the Finn Sword, and BMO with all their old belongings. Everything stays, but it still changes. Will happen, happening, happened. These have always been the themes of the show. They reincarnate, together.

[queen-of-deans-booty]

I'll Always Choose You

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.8k

Warnings: car accident, injured!reader, bitchy girlfriend, angst, fluff at the end

Request by @jessicalynnann: I���m requesting another one lol. Can I get a request where the reader and Jensen are best friends and Jensen is falling in love with her but his gf is really rude to her and makes him choose. Well the reader hears and distances herself… well Jensen realizes it is too late and the best friend is the one that makes him happy but the reader gets into an bad accident. You decided the ending. Thanks.!!! 

Summary: Jensen is back in town with his new girlfriend and is hosting a barbecue to get together with everyone and catch up. This is the first time you're meeting her, and she doesn't take you to as kindly as she leads everyone to believe she is.

Square Filled: in vino veritas (2021) for @spndeanbingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

x

Jensen hasn’t even been back for more than a week and he’s already having a barbecue at his cabin in the mountains. He rents the place out every summer and invites everyone he knows to stay with him for the weekend. The place is big enough to house two dozen people and Jensen knows a lot of people. It’s been a few months since Jensen has been home since he’s traveling with his new girlfriend. You haven’t met her yet but you have talked to Jensen about her. He seems to be crazy about her so you’re not going to ruin what they have.

Yes, you have a crush on him. Yes, you love him. Yes, you’d do anything to make him happy. Yes, he is your best friend. No, you won’t do anything about it because he seems to be happy. What kind of friend would you be if you took that away from him?

Once you finish getting ready into a summer flowy dress, you grab the food you cooked and pile into your car. The cabin is located in the mountains up north so it takes you an hour to get there. There are already a bunch of people there but you don’t mind being later than everyone else. You pull into the driveway and see Jared’s car indicating that him and his wife are already here.

You let yourself into the house and enter the kitchen to place your food there when you see a young and beautiful woman. She must be Denise, Jensen’s girlfriend. You recognize her from the photos he’s sent you.

“Oh, hi. Denise?”

She looks you up and down as if she’s judging you.

“Yeah. You must be Y/N.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” you smile.

“You have such a cute dress on. Don’t let the drinks ruin it.”

It’s the way she says this that makes ou suspicious. She seems a bit passive-aggressive like she doesn't like you. Instead of giving you a chance, she’s already decided that she doesn’t like you. You’re not going to let her ruin your night because you came here for one thing and one thing only.

“I can handle myself. Where is Jensen?”

Speaking of, your best friend walks inside the kitchen using the back door with containers of food in his hands. He looks at you and a big smile breaks out on his face.

“Y/N! You came!” He sets down the food and scoops you into his arms. You don’t miss the way Denise is glaring at you two. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you, too.”

“Baby, you promised you’d show me around,” Denise says and pulls her boyfriend away from you. “Remember? You said you’d do it when you got done outside.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” He turns to you. “I’ll be right back. Jared and Gen are outside.”

“Okay,” you nod.

Denise practically drags him away, leaving you all alone. You shake off this bad feeling you’re getting and join the others outside. Jared is talking to some guys off to the side while Gen is heping prep the table for the food. Joshua, Jensen’s brother, is using the grill to make his famous chicken on the other side of the backyard.

“Y/N!” Jared says a bit too loudly.

“Whoa, are you okay?” you chuckle and hug him.

“Yeah, I’m great.”

Jared has always been a light weight despite how tall he is. He definitely has the weight to keep the effects of alcohol away but he acts like he’s a hundred pounds when he drinks. It only takes a few drinks to really get him going.

“What number of drink is that?”

“Three?”

“You drink any more, you’ll bring out Doug. Do you really want to do that?”

“Probably not,” he chuckles.

You have fond memories of Jared’s alter ego coming out after he’s had too many to drink. The night usually ends in the cops being called but it’s memories you love to think about.

“So, I met Denise.”

Jared starts laughing at the tone of your voice.

“Yeah, everyone has that same reaction when they first meet her.”

“What is her problem?”

“I don’t know. She’s not the best person to be around but no one says anything because it seems like Jensen is happy. They’ve only been dating for a few months but they seem happy together.”

Jensen and Denise come back from the self-tour and you watch as she clings to his side even though he wants to go over to his friends and converse. He has a smile on his face that doesn’t quite reach his ears. He might be happy but it’s not true happiness.

“You don’t know him like I do.”

You leave Jared’s side to join Jensen’s. He has yet to tell you about his trip and now’s the perfect time to do that. It’s been so long since you’ve seen him, you just want to be around him. However, Denise sees you walking over to them and she tugs on Jensen’s arm to grab his attention. She leans in and whispers something in his ear that causes him to chuckle.

“Sure,” he nods.

They both walk off before you can get to them, and Denise looks back at you to gauge your reaction. You pretend like you weren't walking to them and veer to the right where Gen is. She says something to you but you’re not paying attention. You stare at the couple until they disappear around the corner of the house. Jensen didn’t even see you coming toward him.

You push down your feelings and enjoy the company of everyone else until dinner is served. Jensen took the seat next to you before Denise could pull him away so she is forced to take the other side of him. Everyone digs into the delicious food immediately and the conversation somehow gets on the topic of how stupid Jensen has been in his past.

“Once Jared told me I couldn't do it, I had to prove him wrong. I climbed up to the roof  and got ready to jump into the pool.”

“I told him not to do it but he wouldn’t listen,” you chuckle.

“Yeah, so I got a running head start and jumped off into the pool. I made it in but it was shallower than I thought, and I broke my arm on the side of the pool.”

“You were a big cry baby,” you laugh and lean on his arm in laughter. “I held your hand the entire way to the hospital.”

“That you did,” he smiles down at you.

Denise’s jaw ticks in annoyance and jealously. She grabs her alcoholic drink and walks past you as if she is going to get a refil. However, she “trips” and she spills her entire drink all over your new dress. You gasp from how cold it is and stand up in shock.

“Oh, I am so sorry!” Denise apologizes.

“Shit, that’s cold!”

You look down at your dress to see the alcohol already staining your dress. You look at Denise and see the malicious intent in her eyes. She might be faking an apology but you know she couldn’t care less about this. She did this on purpose.

“Here, come with me. Let me clean this up before the stain sets.”

“Do you need me to come with you?” Jensen asks.

“No, I got this,” Denise chuckles.

She takes you into the cabin before you have  achance to say anything. As soon as the door is closed, she becomes a whole other person. She drops the nice girl act and shows her true colors.

“I don’t know what your problem is, but stay away from my boyfriend.”

“My problem? What are you talking about?”

You grab some napkins to dab your dress without her help.

“You can play games all you want but he’s mine, and I’ll make your life miserable if you keep doing what you’re doing.”

“I don’t want him,” you lie.

“Please,” she scoffs and rolls her eyes, “I saw the way you were looking at him the entire night. Stay away from him or I’ll do more than pour alcohol down your dress.” She walks back to the door but pauses because she’s not done talking. “I am better than you in every way. You might be the best friend but I’m his girlfriend, and I always get what I want.” She gives you a sweet smile as if she didn’t just threaten you. “It’s nice to meet you though. Sorry about the dress.”

As soon as she leaves the kitchen, tears roll down your cheeks. You can’t go back out there looking like a mess so you dry your cheeks and your dress as much as possible before going back outside. Everyone is mostly done with dinner so they’re standing around instead of sitting. Jensen immediately walks over to you with a look of concern on his face.

“Hey, are you okay? I can pay for the dry cleaning.”

You look at Denise who is watching you with careful eyes. Jensen might genuinely be happy with her so you can’t take that away from him and tell him how rotten his girlfriend is. Plus, would he even believe you? Yes, you’re his best friend but would he believe you over his girlfriend?

“No, it’s okay. It was a misunderstanding,” you sigh.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.”

You excuse yourself and walk over to Jared who has been watching you three the entire night. He had two glasses of water at dinner so he’s sobered up some more. He sees the look of defeat on your face and nudges you arm.

“They won’t last.”

“What?”

“I don’t see them lasting another month.”

“Why would I care?”

“Come on,” Jared chuckles. “We all know you’re in love with him.”

“Shut your mouth, Jared,” you snap.

“What, am I wrong?”

You look at Jensen and Denise who are all over each other. She has her arms wrapped around his neck and his hands are low on her hips. You have to hold back your tears.

“It doesn’t matter how I feel. She clearly doesn’t want me around.”

“Give it time.”

Jensen and Denise walk into the cabin to do God only knows what, and you decide it’s best if you leave now. You don’t want to spend the night and have to hear them through the walls.

“As much fun as this whole thing has been, I should go now.”

You give Jared a side hug so you don’t get the alcohol on him.

“Good luck.”

You can’t leave this party without saying goodbye to Jensen. You’ll steal a couple of minutes and leave and that will be that. You don’t even have to give him a hug goodbye . You walk inside the house in search of your best friend. You walk past the kitchen into the living room where you overhear Denise and Jensen talking.

“What’s wrong? You were fine when we showed up.”

“I don’t like that you spend so much time with her. I’m your girlfriend who loves you.”

“She’s my best friend.” Great, they’re talking about you. How can you go in there now? It’ll only be awkward and you’ll give away that you’ve been listening. “We grew up together.”

“You’re with me now. Y/N needs to find someone she loves and leave us alone. I don’t want to be rude but it’s obvious she wants you.”

You can’t see Jensen’s face from where you’re at but you can only imagine what it looks like.

“You’re overreacting.”

“Do you have feelings for her? Is that why you’re being this way?”

You hold your breath and wait for his answer.

“Be this way? What are you talking about?”

“It’s me or her. Pick one. You can’t have both.”

You can’t bear the thought of hearing his answer because there is a chance that he might choose her. You quickly leave the room without hearing his answer and escape to your car. You shouldn’t have come. He has been with Denise for months across the world. He probably has a lot more fun with her than he does with you. He’s found someone to replace you with. You can’t fault him for choosing her. She can give him everything you can’t.

You peel out of the driveway and start the journey back home. Tears are flowing down your cheeks making it harder to see the road in front of you. It’s a particularly windy day so your car is slightly shaking; nothing you can’t control. It doesn’t help you’re driving in the mountains with no light except for that of your headlights. Through your tears, you don’t see the car on the other side of the roading coming straight at you.

You hit him going seventy miles an hour head on, and you’re thrown from the windshield and onto the groound. You left in such a hurry that you forgot to put your seatbelt on. The car you hit is a much bigger car than yours so it doesn’t have nearly as much damage as yours. The car slams on its break before slowly driving off, leaving you on the ground outside.

You gasp in pain and stare at the starry sky above you. Blood runs down your body and pools on the ground. You never took time to admire how pretty the night sky is. Your entire body is in pain but there is a certain peace that comes with being on the brink of death. You close your eyes to get some sleep when you hear someone calling your name off in the distance.

How much time has passed? It seems like minutes but could have been for much longer.

“Y/N!” Jensen gasps and slides on the ground when he gets to you. You open your eyes and see red and blue lights flashing off his face. “I’m right here. You’re going to be okay. Just hang on for me, okay? Please be okay.”

“Sir, you need to move.”

Jensen is pulled back so the paramedics can come in and do their job. You close your eyes because you’re so fucking tired. You feel yourself being lifted off the ground and onto something softer than the ground. You’re wheeled on a gurney into the ambulance with Jensen following closely behind.

“Sir, only family are allowed inside.”

“I’m her husband,” Jensen shouts and pushes past the paramedics.

They allow him to sit inside and be with you until they get to the hospital. Jensen grabs your bloody hand just as you roll your head to the side. You barely squeeze his hand to let him knwo you’re with him and not going toward the light no matter how tempting it might be.

“I’m right here, sweetheart. I’m holding your hand.”

The next time you open your eyes, you’re confronted with blinding white lights. Is this what Heaven is like? Did you die? You blink a few times to correct your vision and see you’re not in Heaven but a hospital room. You groan softly and look to your right where Jensen is. He is holding your hand with his head lowered like he’s praying. When he hears your painful groan, his head snaps up.

“Sweetheart. Hey, I’m right here.”

“Jensen?” you croak.

“Do you need some water?” You nod and he grabs a small cup of water. He helps you drink before setting the cup down. “How are you feeling?”

“What happened?”

“You collided with another car. The bastard left instead of staying but cops found him near where the cabin is. There’s only one road going in and out of town so it wasn’t hard to spot the truck with bumper damage. Your car is totaled though.”

Oh, yeah. The reason why you didn't see the other car is because you had tears flowing out of your eyes the entire time. Why were you crying? Right. Jensen was going to choose Denise over you. You take your hand away from his when you remember this and shift further from him.

“Where is Denise?”

“Gone.” Your eyes snap to his. “I broke up with her.”

“What? Why?”

“She made me choose. Anyone who makes me choose isn’t good enough to be with me.”

“What did she make you choose?” you ask even though you know the answer.

“It was either you or her, and you should know by now I will always choose you.”

“You shouldn’t have had to do that.”

“I’m glad she did.” He grabs your good hand and kisses the back of it. “I was blind to who was by my side my entire life.”

You smile and run your thumb on the back of his hand.

“What does this mean?”

“First, you get better. Then, I’m going to show you just how much I love you.”

“Deal,” you smile shyly.

x

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary​​​​​​​​​​​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

[xoxo-sarah]

Foolish One

Read Part 1 to better understand.

↝a/n: got the idea from @thefanfictionkingdom 🩷 hope you enjoy. I'm not good at titles, so I just used the song that you said part one reminded you of. Hope that's okay.

↝pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!reader

↝warning: angst, talk of previous breakup, heartbreak, not my best writing, not proofread, Steve regretting letting you go

|| Disclaimer: I do not own Steve Harrington or any character from Stranger Things. I only own y/n and any characters I create with my own brain. ||

↝⎙ 7.20.24

A year has passed since Steve had last talked to you. A year since you had to put yourself, your emotional state, first. He didn't blame you, he couldn't. But he would be lying if he said he didn't miss you.

The times you spent laughing, goofing off, and even just sitting in silence, he missed it all. He didn't realize how much those moments meant to him.

It wasn't until after Nancy had broken up with him, that he wasn't blinded by love for Nance. He saw that he hurt you.

He couldn't just show up at your house and tell you how sorry he was. Mostly because you weren't at your house. You had moved away for college right after senior year. Spending that summer with friends you had met when visiting the college campus.

You had moved on.

Steve thought he had.

If so, why did he think about you so often? Driving on the familiar road that he took when going to your house, his mind always came back to you, the sad look in your eye the last time he saw you. The spot of his couch that you always cuddled. His bed, that once smelt like you, until it didn't, and then smelt like Nancy. He missed when it smelt like you.

You were always on his mind. The determination as you stomped away from him at the last party you had attended was always on his mind.

You didn't find time to go to silly little highschool parties, mostly in fear of seeing Steve and Nancy being all lovey-dovey–your heart couldn't take it. Becoming more of a homebody was the best decision you could make, given your situation.

Walking down the next aisle of the grocery store, Steve's feet glued themselves to the floor.

His eyes raked over your figure. You were turned away from him, but he couldn't deny it was you. His fingers twitched against the shopping basket, the memory of him running his fingers through the strands flashing in his brain. The sway of your hips when you walked further down, bending over slightly to look at the different boxes of cereal.

You had to be back home to visit family for Summer.

Mouth agape, he took you in. How you hadn't changed much, but he could tell you were happy. Happier than you were with him.

Steve couldn't deny that he had changed as well. He had grown and matured. Enough to see what he had lost when he let you go. He treated you wrong and he saw that now.

Maybe that's why his feet moved before his brain could register it. Walking closer, Steve held his breath, going over what exactly he was going to say to you, how was going to apologize.

He didn't register someone walking down the aisle, right toward you. He did however register it when a hand secured itself on your hip, and a beaming smile lit up your face.

Stopping in his tracks, Steve could only watch as you looked up to the guy, leaning into him.

You used to do that with Steve.

You used to cling to him, wanting him around you in every way. Cuddling up to him, kissing at the spot right under his ear, holding his hand.

The thought of you doing that with the guy that stood beside you made him sick.

Gawking at the look in your eye, the same one you once had for him, Steve felt himself stepping back, glancing at the stuff on the other side on the aisle to look busy.

Hearing your laugh, Steve felt a pang in his heart. Why did it hurt so much to simply hear you finally getting what you deserve? It wasn't fair, Steve knew it. You deserved to be happy. Even if it wasn't with him.

•2021-2024 by xoxo-sarah on Tumblr•

•My work is not to be translated, copied, modified, and/or reposted on any other site without my permission. [I don't give permission!]

[totalswag]

Hi you! I was thinking about actress!y/n is in a ceremony and Drew is filming of obx s4, they're both so busy in their film industry, that they miss each other terribly that they kept contacting in messages and calls,

(especially him, who is very proud of her, who would like to be by her side even if she tells him to keep working on the set of obx, that she wouldn't want to disturb him. Like they both put up with each other so much they love each other)

that they haven't had time to talk to each other much, they want to meet up face to face again for once, so she decides to visit him as a little surprise to see him again in Charleston

surprise visit on set — DREW STARKEY

authors note thank for the request lovie! i have a few requests that i will work on or currently working on. all the love you guys have been showing me lately is absolutely amazing, i couldn't thank you lovies anymore. halfway to 1k too!!!

summary surprising drew on set after months of not seeing each other.

warnings cuteness thats all

masterlist

Being in a relationship where you both act and are continuously busy filming is difficult, but there is always time and space to see one other when you take a break from filming.

Drew and you began dating in 2021, after he completed season two of his show, Outer Banks. You met through mutual friends at a gathering and hit it off right away.

Outer Banks season four is presently in production, which means Drew is in Charleston filming. It's been about two months since you last saw each other, and you miss each other a lot.

You were on the red carpet on the premiere of your new movie. As you went through the crowd, cameras flashed and captured every moment. In the back of your head, you couldn't stop thinking about Drew and how much you miss him.

A young woman called your name where interviews stood infront of cameras waiting for you and your cast mates to interact. You smile with a kind wave, walking over.

“Miss, Y/N, "I must say you look absolutely stunning tonight in this dress you're wearing," she says, praising you from top to bottom.

"Thank you so much; it means a lot to me, and I'm glad I chose to wear this dress tonight," you giggle, smoothing your hands over your sides.

The interviewer asks you a few questions on both the film and your character. You were grateful to be asked these questions because you had worked so hard on set.

"Before we part ways, noticed your boyfriend, Drew Starkey, is filming season four for Outer Banks. How is that going, do you know?" She asks politely.

"We haven't seen each other in a while, but we text every day," you place the front strands behind your ear, "he said everything is going well on set and he can't wait for fans to see," you explain, smiling before saying goodbye.

You just hopped on a plane to Charleston to surprise Drew. You secretly organized this trip because you miss Drew and want to spend time with him. You can't wait to be in his arms again.

With all of your free time, you decided to pay Drew a visit and meet the rest of the cast, whom you consider friends as well.

When the plane landed, you walked down the stairs to find Maddie, Madison, and Carlacia waiting for you beside the car, holding two posters designed specifically for you. You took out your phone and started recording them as you came closer.

"Finally back with my hot bitches," you exclaim, extending your arms for a group hug.

"How long has it been since we saw you last?" Madison asks, "I don't know, but it's been too long," and then grabs your suitcase and places it in the trunk with your other belongings.

Everyone knows about you coming except for Drew. The look on his face will be priceless and unforgettable. Knowing you, you might cry.

A few hours go by, you left early with the girls to set since they are filming their scenes first. You were able to hid in Drew's trailer on the couch in the corner where he won't see you when he enters.

Drew's reaction was clearly visible on your phone. Hearing his voice get closer filled your tummy with butterflies. Taking a deep breath as you heard the doorknob turn.

"What time do you want me to get back on set again?" You hear him say this while the door is still open and you have no view of him.

"Okay, that sounds good; I'm going to take a quick nap," he says before entering his trailer.

His figure enters the trailer and turns right, with his back to you. When he turns around, all he sees is the love of his life in the corner, wearing the most beautiful smile that makes him fall harder each time. He can't believe you're standing in front of him now.

"Please tell me I'm dreaming right now and you're a vision," Drew blurts out, placing both hands over his head to digest what's going on in his mind.

"Don't think I'm a vision baby," you giggle, getting off the couch, "so are you gonna give me a kiss or stand there handsome?" You make amusing gestures. 

"Oh I'ma kiss you alright," he quickly responds, taking you in his arms, lifting you up with his arms; you wrap your legs around his waist.

You two remain like this for a full minute, taking up the sensation of being together. You place kisses all over Drew's face, making him giggle.

"I've missed you so much; seeing you now and seeing your beautiful face in person makes me so happy. Drew expresses himself meaningfully: "I fucking love you so much baby."

The tears come down your face, Drew's quickly to wipe them.

"I can't explain the emotions I'm feeling right now, but to sum it up, being in your arms again, hearing your voice, touching you, makes me want to not leave you."

Drew helped you get to your feet and led you to the couch. You inform him you have a surprise trip planned; he assumed you wouldn't see each other until next month. Drew gave you an update on how filming has gone, etc.

The past four days has been wonderful. You went onto set, met up with the crew and cast, beach, shopping, drinking, went out to dinner, etc.

Talked about the movie premiere and how your movie turned out after you watched it.

It's a lovely night in Charleston. The sun had just set, which was breathtaking from the view at dinner. Drew and you were strolling out of a restaurant holding hands, laughing at each other's jokes.

"Oh my gosh is that Y/N and Drew?" A faint voice from across the street causes you both to turn your heads at the same time, filled with curiosity.

"I suppose I am dreaming right now. I love you two so much and you've helped me so much, I can't thank you enough," the young girl confesses, struggling to fight back tears, "my name is Skylar."

Your heart warmed at Skylar's sweet comments. You and Drew instantly drew her into a group hug. Skylar wept with happiness. 

"Thank you for your love and support. We're both glad we could support you through your difficult periods in life, and we hope you'll keep fighting. Would you want a picture? Drew speaks with genuine sincerity, holding her hand and maintaining her composure.

After talking for a time, you took a few photos with Skyalr before going your separate ways. More fans have approached you two since your arrival. It's always good to meet supporters.

"How about we grab ourselves snacks from the gas station for a movie night and cuddle all night then possibly have a little fun" Drew implies with a hint a flirtatious about the having fun part.

You let a yelp when he squeezed your sides, leaning back against his body.

"Doesn't sound like a bad idea to me" you shrug, smiling.

Drew sighs and wraps his arms around your neck, "I'm glad you took the time to come here. I missed you so much and am finally able to be with you. I'm extremely proud of all of your hard work and your new movie. "I love you, baby."

"I love you more my sweet boy, best thing that's ever happen to me."

my taglist!

✰ if you would like to be added to my taglist and be notified whenever i post please let me know in the comments or in my ask box. if there's a line across your name that means i couldn't find your account.

@winterrrnight @chenslucy @rosezza @solanathascientst @diqldrunks @runningfrom2am

[whatdoeseverybodywant]

You're the Only Girl for Me - Chapter 26

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site, even if you give me credit. DO NOT REPOST MY FICS

Reblogs, comments, likes, and feedback ALWAYS appreciated ❤ 

All OC Characters belong to me

Series Masterlist

Thanks to my good sis @paigereeder for helping me! Without her there would be no chapter 26! She is the best and if you haven't, check out her story Beautiful Scars ( it's soo damn good!)

AirielleJones

liked by trinity_fatu, romanreigns and 200,000 others

AirielleJones: 🧸☀️

view all comments

trinity_fatu: i love you!!

↪AirielleJones: @ trinity_fatu , i love you more!

user: 😩 she's so fine. is she still with jey??

↪ THEUSOSSOURCE: @ user , no she's not sadly 😞.

sashabankswwe: girl!! 🔥🔥🔥

_c.smith : 🥵 u being 8 hrs away aint good for my spirit (❤️ by author)

↪@ uceyjucey :fuk this suppose to mean?

August 27th 2021 - North Little Rock, Arkansas

Yasmine glared at her cousin who was sitting across from her. This was the first time Yasmine had seen her cousin since she and Trin busted into her apartment and to find out that Airielle and Josh were not together but that she had gone out on a date with another guy pissed her off. 

“Stop looking at me like that.” Airielle muttered as she pushed her salmon and shrimp alfredo  around on her plate. Yasmine sucked her teeth. 

“I love you Airielle. With all my damn heart. But you need to relax. You hoping from nigga to nigga without giving yourself time to heal. So this Clifford dude, what’s gonna happen when five months from now, he asks you to move in with him. You gon’ run away from him too?”  Yasmine questioned, staring Airielle down. 

“Yas-” 

“No.” Yasmine cut her off. “You need to hear this Rih. I stayed out of it but goddamn it! You are letting the best man ever get away because you’re scared and I understand why you are scared but you need to talk to Josh about that. You need to let all the hurt go.”  

“What hurt Yasmine?”  Yasmine wanted to reach over and smack her cousin, but she decided against it since she didn’t want to be in a jail in Arkansas while she was 7 months pregnant.

“You lost your child Airielle. You had a miscarriage because your fiance was an abusive piece of shit. You have not gotten over that. You haven’t asked me once how my pregnancy is going,and I’m not mad about that - I promise you I'm not mad. But you can’t carry this around for the rest of your life. You’re scared because Josh has said multiple times that he loves you and wants to be with you forever. You dipped once he brought up moving in together because you know what comes next, starting a family.” 

Airielle scoffed and folded her arms over her chest. “That's not the only reason Yasmine. You know I was going over there to talk to him. You and Trin literally forced me out of my apartment.”  

“And you seen Christopher and chickened out right?”  

“No!” Airielle snapped,  “He had another woman at his place Yasmine. When he answered the door, he wouldn’t even let me in, I had to talk to him in the hallway. He kept trying to get me to come back later or for him to come over to my place later and I was so fucking confused cause like, just let me talk to you.” Airielle took a deep breath trying to calm herself down. “Then, she opened the fucking door, stading there in nothing but his shirt, nipples on display for the whole world to see, talking bout some ‘is everything okay Josh.” Airielle said, mocking Yara’s voice. “That shit hurt Yas, he did that shit to get back at me because he seen me and Raymond together the night before.” 

Yasmine was floored. She had talked to Josh a couple of times, asking what was up with him and Airielle and he ain’t mentioned none of that. “Wait, he had some other bitch at his place?”  When Airielle nodded, Yas continued. “Do you know her? Y’all work together?” 

“Bitch she’s my damn understudy.” Airielle huffed, showing Yas the text message she just received from Road Dogg stating that starting Friday, Yara would be shadowing Airielle.  Yas gasped and covered her mouth in shock. 

“You fucking lying. I know you lying to me right now!” A couple of people in the restaurant looked their way but Airielle and Yasmine paid them no mind. 

“Then he gon have the nerve, the audacity to tell me it was a mistake, like nigga are you dumb? You don’t invite some bitch over to your place and fuck them by mistake.” Yasmine was speechless, literally. She sat there, mouth agape, staring at Airielle. 

“Man, fuck him. I can’t believe he did that to you.” Airielle just sighed and handed the waiter her debit card when he came over with the check. “So what happened in Turks. Trin told me y’all spent half the day fucking.” 

“We did.” Airielle nodded her head with another shrug as Yasmine rolled her eyes. “But just because we had sex in Turks didn’t mean we were supposed to get back together.” 

"Having sex in Turks doesn't exactly scream 'let's just be friends,' Airielle."

“I know that Yas.” Airielle replied, smiling at the waiter as he brought over her card and receipt. Airielle stood from her chair and went over to help Yasmine up. “I have to get back to the hotel. It’s almost time for me to be at the arena.” 

“Okay. Joe’s waiting outside.”  Airelle and Yasmine were silent as they made their way outside to Joe’s rental. Airielle was silent because Yasmin's words of her not being over her miscarriage were playing over and over in her mind. She hadn’t even noticed that she pushed Yasmine away after finding out she was pregnant. While she was grateful she had no ties to Christopher, she couldn’t help but think about how her child would have been and what they would have looked like. 

Now Yasmines, she was simmering. She had told Josh back at Airielle’s surprise birthday party to not hurt her. She had told him that he had to be patient with her and to learn that Josh had sex with another women set Yasmine off. She was protective over Airielle and trust, Josh would be hearing her mouth today. 

“Hey Rih. You coming with us?” Joe asked as he got out of the SUV and opened the passenger door for Yasmine. Airielle shook her head and pointed over to her own rental. 

“Nope. I was Just walking her over here. I see y’all later okay?” Airielle pulled Yasmine into a tigh hug and whispered “i’m sorry” into her ear, to which Yas responded back by rubbing her back. 

“Oh, I forgot to bring this in.” Yasmine said, before releasing Airielle and reaching into the car and pulling out a white box that had a pink bow wrapped around it and handed it to Airielle. “Open it.” She said when Airielle arched her eyebrow at her. 

Airielle opened the box and let the top fall to the ground as she let out a choked sob, covering her mouth with one of her hands. “Are you sure?” Airielle asked, failing to stop the tears from falling down her face. 

“Duh. Who else would I ask? I love you and I know you're gonna love your niece slash goddaughter.” 

“Thank you.” Airielle whispered before pulling her cousin into another hug. 

To say she was shocked was an understatement. Airielle had come back to her hotel to one of the concierge telling her she had a package. Airielle’s eyes widened as the concierge pulled out nor one but FOUR bouquets of flowers. The concierge, who Airielle had learned her name was Amanda, looked at Airielle in amusement. “Do you need help carrying them to your room?”  Airielle scoffed out a laugh and nodded her head. As she and Amanda walked towards the elevator. Airielle had spotted a card in one of the bouquets but decided to wait until she was alone to read it. 

Anything to put a smile on that pretty face  p.s ; you got me watching wrestling for the first time since I was in highschool.

Airielle smiled and took a picture of the flowers and sent them to Clifford to thank him and let him know that she received them. She then took another picture and posted it on her instagram story. She let out a laugh when she seen that Yara had already viewed it in the 12 seconds that it had been posted. “Weirdo must have my notifications on.” Airielle muttered as she walked into the bathroom so she could shower and then head to the arena. 

AirielleJones posted to their story!

uceyjucey replied to your story: the fuk is this suppose to mean?

Simmons Bank Arena 

Yasmine marched through the halls of the Simmons Bank Arena with a purpose. Joe was trailing behind her with a lazy smile on his face, he loved watching his girlfriend in ‘mama bear mode’ as he liked to call it when it came to her being protective over Airielle. 

“Baby you gotta calm down. You being this mad aint good for the baby.” Yasmine huffed and flagged him off before pulling open The Bloodline’s locker room door and storming inside. 

“Aye!” Jon called out, covering himself up as Yasmine stormed in. She ignored him though, her glare set on Josh who looked confused. 

“Me and you.” She said pointing at Josh. “We got problems. Outside” When he didn’t move she looked over at Joe who chuckled and pulled Josh off of the couch and pushed him towards the door. 

“Aye man, what the fuck.” Josh yelled, pushing Joe back, then yelped when Yasmine came and grabbed him by his ear, dragging him out of the locker room and towards the docks.  “Listen Yas, I love you like a sister, but don’t do that shit ever again.” He muttered, rubbing the spot on his ear where she was pulling. 

“You had sex with another woman!? And thought that Airi was just gonna forgive you?!” Josh huffed and let his head fall back so he was looking up at the sky. 

“Imma tell you the same thing I told her, it was a mistake that I wish I could take back.” He said as he lowered his head to look Yasmine in her eyes. 

“That was some rehearsed bullshit and you know it! You sleeping with that girl was no mistake Joshua. You wanted to hurt Airielle and you succeeded.” 

“I never wanted to hurt her Yas!” He spat back. “She hurt me and I just wanted to - “ 

“You wanted to get back at her!” Yasmine cut him off. “I talked to Trin, and she said that this Yara girl has been around ever since then. You’re rubbing it in Airielle’s face and it’s corny.” Josh opened his mouth but Yasmine cut him off again. “You had that girl in the apartment that you wanted Airielle to move into. The same apartment that Airielle damn near decorated.  Had that girl lying in the bed that you and Airielle were supposed to share and all you have to say is that it was a mistake?” 

“Fuck..” Josh trailed off rubbing his hand over his face and sucking in a deep breath. “C’mon Yas, it wasn’t like that. I just..” Josh trailed off again. 

“Just admit it.” Yasmine huffed out. “You might not have known that Airielle was going over to your place but the girl works with y’all. Did you think she was gonna keep her mouth shut?” 

“Fuck..” Josh trailed off rubbing his hand over his face and sucking in a deep breath. “C’mon Yas, it wasn’t like that. I just..” Josh trailed off again. 

“Just admit it, you wanted to hurt her..” Yasmine huffed out. “You might not have known that Airielle was going over to your place but the girl works with y’all. Did you think she was gonna keep her mouth shut?” 

“I didn’t want to hurt her. I never wanted to hurt Airielle but what the fuck man, she hurt me so I just said fuck it. She was kissing up on him and holding his hand and shit but telling me she didn’t want to me with me. I was fucking hurt Yasmine.” 

Yasmine sighed and nodded her head. “Okay, I understand that she’s not completely innocent in this either. But saying it’s a mistake isn’t the way to go. You want her back?” Josh nodded his head immediately at her question. 

“It doesn't matter though. She already moved on to some dude named Clifford or something.” Yasmine rolled her eyes. 

“He don’t matter, I promise you he don’t. What are you going to do? You have to prove to her that you want her and not this Yeasty or whatever her name is.” Yasmine said. 

“Who this fuck is Yeasty?” Yasmine rolled her eyes and walked away from Josh back towards the locker room. “No forreal,” He called out. “Who the fuck is that?!” 

Airielle had just finished her segment with Paul Heyman, the second Jon and Josh stepped out of the room, Airielle had booked it. She had to stay close by because she had another segment to film but she didn’t want to see Josh or for Josh to see her. 

She did have to admit though, from the little glimpse that she did get of him, he looked good. He had cut his hair a little bit and - nope. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath trying to rid him from her mind. 

“Be right back.” Yara said in a sickly sweet voice and threw a fake smile towards Airielle and then marched her way towards Josh who had just finished his segment. Airielle watched as Yara shoved her phone in Josh’s face, laughing as he glared at her, his jaw ticking as he looked at Yara’s phone. 

Airielle rolled her eyes and looked back down at her phone. Smiling at the message Clifford had sent her, telling her how beautiful she looked on t.v. She was in the middle of texting him back when another phone was placed on top of hers. 

“What the fuck Rih?” Airielle looked up, meeting Josh's intense gaze. His face was contorted with anger and his fists were clenched tightly at his sides.

“What exactly are you mad about Joshua? You told me you were done with me. Was I just supposed to wait around for you?” 

“It’s been one fucking week Airielle! He snarled, his chest heaving and his fists clenched tightly. "One week," he repeated, his voice filled with a mixture of frustration and hurt.

“And you fucked her the day after I had my date with Raymond. So what’s the real problem here?” 

“Why you keep bringing her up? This is between me and you, nobody else. Not even that car guy you tryna replace me with.” 

Airielle scoffed, “Replace you? What exactly do you want? You’re over here bothering me for what?” 

“Because I love you and I want to be with you. I don’t want nobody else but you!” Airielle’s eyes flickered over to Yara who looked dejected and had tears welling up in her eyes. Yara snatched her phone from off of the equipment box where Josh had put it and walked away, not in the mood to be embarrassed anymore.   “You love me right?” Josh asked, bringing Airielle’s attention back to him. “Right?” she nodded. “And I love you, nothing or nobody matters. Nobody but us.” He cupped her jaw and leaned down so his forehead was resting against hers. 

“Nobody but us?” She repeated and he nodded. “So if I were to forgive you, would you be able to forgive me?”  Josh felt his heart rate start to pick up. But before he could ask her what she was talking about she blurted out, 

“I slept with Cliff.” She lied, looking into his eyes to gauge his reaction. He released ber jaw and moved his forehead off of hers. 

“You fucking with me right?” When she shook her head, he continued, “It’s been one week Airielle!” 

She scoffed. “So you can’t forgive me? You expected me to forgive you, but you can’t do the same? You’re a hypocrite.” She rolled her eyes at him before walking away, flinching when she heard the sound of him throwing something against the wall. 

So... Airielle lied just to see how just would react and chile... He big mad lol

How did y'all like this chapter?

🏷️: @christinabae @southerngirl41 @reci1996 @jeyusos-girl @empressdede

@harmshake @paigereeder @li-da-savage @nbanenefrmdao @alyyaanna

@theninthwonder @raya-hunter01 @abadbitchblogs @qveenmikaelson @black-yn

@mzv11 @shantinextdoor @sheydnni @zillasvilla @thatone-girly

@xmonetsworld @bebesobrielo @kill-the-artiste @wrestlingprincess80 @yana3sworld

@bookuce @that-one-anxious-mango @mersers-moonypadfoot-prongs @sageispunk @amandairene88

@rianasixx @vebner37 @mindairy @trashbin-nie @saintaquarius

@adoreesun @shayaaaaaaa @sayyestoheav3nn @xbriexx @edtomh

[junosmindpalace]

GEMINI BIRTHDAY BASH!

🎧 it's so sweet, knowing that you love me.

synopsis: celebrating their birthday...w/ the hq gemini men!

pairing(s): timeskip/present!hajime iwaizumi, koshi sugawara, shoyo hinata

content: references to 2024 dates but doesn't need to be strictly speaking (iwa's is more 2021), food (in suga's and hinata's), very short and brief angst(?), otherwise all fluff and fun!

total wc: 3.6k

a/n: it was my birthday a few days ago (june 17th) and i thought i would celebrate by writing for some gemini characters! i know shoyo is a cusp but i wanted to write him too </3 also this was my first time creating a graphic please be nice i am aware its a little plain </33

HAJIME IWAIZUMI: JUNE 10TH

The clock in your living room reads 11:55 in the evening; Hajime’s birthday is five minutes away. 

You both have work in the morning, so you should be in bed sound asleep. Everything has been done as normal; the whole nighttime routine of eating dinner (that you insisted on making) together, showering, brushing your teeth. Except instead of completing the routine by cozying up in bed, you’re cozying up on your living room couch, the light in the kitchen on, and the blue light from the TV keeping your tired eyes in a trance. 

Hajime’s arm is lazily outstretched over your shoulders, your fingers intertwined with the hand that dangles beside your head. His other arm is bent sideways on the couch pillow, head against his fist as he watches through bleary eyes the movie in front of him. Though your eyes are trained on the action on the TV, your ears don’t process the mumbling that pairs with it, too engrossed in your low conversation about each others’ day. 

“—and Hinata wanted something more to do for himself, so I’ll be reviewing his progress and seeing what I can do. Seriously, the guy is a monster at times. Sometimes it’s hard to believe I’m really looking at him, with how far he’s come since his high school days.”

“They all seem to be of another caliber now,” you replied somewhat drowsily, yet no less engaged.

“They’re intense, that’s for sure,” he sighs, bringing his head to rest behind the cushion and leaning closer toward your own. “But they’ve always been like that.” 

He’s completely unaware of the time and date approaching as he drones quietly about the day he’s had. He notices, on occasion, your glances up at the wall where your clock was located, and thought you were anxious to get to sleep.

“Hey,” he nudges your knee with his own. “you wanna head to bed?”

“Hm? No, no, not yet. Keep talking, I wanna hear.” 

Upon your insistence, he obliged reluctantly, resuming his chatter for a little while longer as you hum and nod. 

He feels comfortable like this, with your head against his chest, body snuggled close to his side, the low hum of the TV, the dim light. He, for a moment, finds his eyes gently closing unconsciously. You wait for him to continue his explanation at a pause, but are only met with the quietness of the TV. A slight stir prompts Hajime’s eyes to open immediately, and he shifts a little as he takes in your face, peering up at him through small eyes.

“Haji.”

“Mm?”

“You sleeping?”

“M’not.”

You placed a hand on his chest as you turned your body to look at the clock. It now reads 12:04 in the morning. You rub your eyes and reach for the phone on the coffee table in front of you, and when it blinks to life, it blinds you with the time and the new date.

June 10. 

“Ugh, put that away,” Hajime groaned as he turned away from the straining light on your phone, lolling his head to the other side against the couch cushion. You quickly slid it back onto the table, and then collapsed again against your boyfriend’s chest, hugging his middle tightly and digging your chin into his chest as you looked up at him with a wide smile.

“Happy birthday, Haji.” 

His eyes reopen slightly, and he angles his head toward the clock to view the time for himself: 12:05. 

He tucks his chin in so he meets your gaze and the sweet, tired smile on your face, and finds one of his own, tired yet tender, slowly propping up the apples of his cheeks. So that’s why you had been eyeing the clock, all for him and his silly birthday. Of course it would be you who remembers his birthday before he even does. You were sweet and thoughtful in that way.

“So that’s why you wanted to stay up a little longer, huh?” His tone is a faux annoyance for only a moment before his arm around your shoulders curls a little tighter in endearment, and he knocks his forehead against yours, gently and playfully, as you let out a short giggle at the gesture. “Thank you, baby.”

“What do you wish for?”

“To get some rest,” he yawned as he pulled away, going to sit up from the couch. 

“Why would you say that? Now it won’t come true!”

Your weight on his lap and arms now thrown around his neck anchored him to the couch. He gives you a deadpan look as a hand finds its way rubbing gently up and down your lower back, while the other slowly snakes itself under your legs.

“Oh, I’ll make it come true.” 

You squeal when he sits up and scoops you up in one swift motion, and you throw your head back in quiet laughter as he walks the two of you to your bedroom. 

“Haji, you know, it's your birthday. I should be the one carrying you.”

He snorts, and shakes his head. “ It’s my birthday, right? I get to do what I want.” 

KOSHI SUGAWARA: JUNE 14TH

Sugawara was dejected when he realized he had to work on his birthday.

As if the universe was taunting him, this year it fell right on a Friday, just one day off from the weekend. 

If he were honest, however, it wasn’t too much of a bother. He mentally groaned about it the evening before and morning of, but all in all, his birthday was a fleeting thought in his mind. Work and everyday busyness replaced the thought with lesson plans and mental preparedness to handle a classroom of young children after an exhausting week. 

He hoped, at the very least, however, that you would recognize the oddness of the day, do a little something to acknowledge it. Maybe a small cake or a nice breakfast. Maybe a little present. Hell, just a small, intimate murmur of a happy birthday accompanied with a sweet kiss would elevate his heart. Yet every time he looked on at you, you were preoccupied with preparing yourself for work, just as Suga was. No fancy breakfast was prepared, no gift sat on the table by the door, and the only kiss he was able to snag was a hurried one on the cheek as you wished him a good day, and headed out the door and into your car. 

So Suga’s birthday was not off to a great start. 

But again, it’s only a birthday. He almost feels a little dumb, getting all worked up over it, especially as an adult. So he makes the most out of the day as he always does with his kids and their lively attitudes, plus the wind down time and lack of work reserved for Friday’s brightens his special day from the dejected morning he experienced earlier.

Little did your boyfriend know of the plans you had in store for him.

As humble as Sugawara attempted to be about his birthday, you knew that he liked having it acknowledged. He was appreciative of any and all kind birthday gestures, from simple greetings to thoughtful presents. And you wanted your present for him to be thoughtful. Memorable. Surprising, exciting, and able to convey the sheer amount of affection you hold for him, though you doubted that any gesture could entirely convey such a thing. But your mission this year was to sure try.

You had taken the day off to get everything under way. Pick up a nice cake you ordered a few days before, with Suga’s favorite flavor of icing and batter, along with a neat and heartfelt Happy Birthday written on top in cursive. 

Once the cake was tucked away in your fridge, your next stop was a party store. Perhaps you may have overdone it with the decorations, you had thought to yourself when you examined your two (full) shopping bags as you walked back to your car, but there was just so much to choose from, and you were sure Suga would like it all! Banners, balloons of impressive and wacky sizes and shapes, streamers, confetti, party poppers; you couldn’t pass up a single thing, not when you imagined his enthusiasm over each one. 

Your final stop was for restocking on foods and drinks. Besides the cake, you bought a couple of bottles of fancy alcohol (the one’s he’ll often eye and make fun of how posh they sound), a couple of his favorite snacks and beverages, and the like. 

By the time Suga arrived home from work, he’s exhausted, yet somehow invigorated by the idea of seeing you. He lets himself into the house with his key, letting out a tired I’m home, heart picking up when he spots your shoes neatly organized in the genkan, and joins his own beside them as he pads further into your home toward an alluring smell. 

The light is low in your living room. It’s enveloped in a yellow glow compared to the blinding bright white that startles him awake and strains his tired eyes in the morning. The first thing that comes into his line of sight, besides you, already in comfortable clothing with your back turned and managing something on the table in front of you, is a neat and beautiful cake on the coffee table in front of your couch. 

Your living room is full of more animated color than usual; batches of balloons occupy the corners and a few are scattered, some hovering aimlessly, on your floor. A Happy Birthday banner hangs from above the threshold into the room. Suga, once the initial shock and surprise wore off and was able to fully comprehend that it was all for him, felt that he may burst into tears. 

You hurriedly turned around upon sensing a new presence in the living room, and gasped when it was none other than your boyfriend, briefcase in hand, and staring dumbfounded at you and the sight of your decorated living room.

“Ko! I didn’t expect you to be home this soon!”

“Traffic was sparse.” He managed to get out past the lump in throat, but once he realized how stupid he appeared, he shook his head in an attempt to feign nonchalance. “So! What is, uh…what’s all this?” 

Your brows shot up, and you gave him an exasperated smile before walking over to him. “It was supposed to be a surprise,” you said slyly, wrapping your arms around his neck, with Suga immediately reciprocating with a hand to your back. “I was still setting up some stuff because I was under the impression that I still had some time before you came home.”

“Oh, so you wanted me to get stuck in traffic, is that it?” He teases in a faux annoyed tone, but it’s quickly betrayed by the smile that immediately stretches back over his face. 

“In this instance, yes!” You laughed, grinning yourself when he began to pepper kisses all over your neck and face, curling his arm around your waist to keep you secure against him. You laughed breathlessly through the assault, attempting to push away the ticklish sensation. But Suga’s energy had just been replenished fully, and his heart elevated the highest it ever could. 

“It’s perfect, all of it. Thank you.” he halts his assault to mutter against your skin through his lovesick smile, and it brings a grin to your own lips as you bring him in for one final kiss on his lips, one he immediately attempts to deepen. 

“Okay, okay,” you laugh as you pull away when he whines and chases after your lips. “Now that you’re here, let’s sing!”

He laughs too, letting you drag him further into your living room, abandoning his briefcase by the wall as he sat himself down on your couch, and you came over with the lighter you were previously fiddling with to light the candles on the small cake. 

All he could think about as you sang to him enthusiastically was how giddy he felt, and how lucky he was that he was spending his birthday in such a manner with you. And when he blew out his candles, the wish at the forefront of his mind was to spend many more birthdays with you in this manner

(and maybe a new car). 

Even as you shooed him into the bathroom to change into more comfortable clothes as you cut yourselves slices to enjoy by the TV, and afterward retreated to bed, he muttered, “I’m still mad that you tricked me, by the way.” as the two of you closed your eyes.

Which earned him a swat to the chest. 

SHOYO HINATA: JUNE 21ST

Shoyo absolutely cannot deny the fact that he’s had a great birthday since the moment the sun rose in the sky.

His special day began with an influx of texts and calls from family and friends to wish him a happy birthday, and use the opportunity to catch up with him. Nearly every moment of his morning was taken up by a different phone call that he took as he prepared himself for the training he had that day. When he arrived at the training center, his team immediately pounced on him, greeting him with enthusiastic cheers and a round of singing. 

And while he can almost say his birthday was perfect, with all the texts and calls he received and the thoughtful birthday treatment, his one and only regret was the fact that you weren’t there to celebrate with him.

His birthday this year happened to coincide with travel for upcoming tournaments, which unfortunately meant that you wouldn’t be celebrating alongside him in person. But just because you weren’t there in the flesh to hug him tight and sing loudly in his ear, it didn’t prevent you in the slightest from doing whatever you could virtually to make him feel good on his special day. 

At least, he had hoped it wouldn’t.

He had picked up your call eagerly on the day of his birthday, and grinned from ear to ear as you sang to him loudly and exaggeratedly. When you finished your song and exchanged all your morning pleasantries, to his absolute dejectment, you had informed Shoyo with a guilty tone that you would be unable to call or text for the majority of the day. 

“I’m sorry, Sho, something suddenly came up for work, and I’m going to be swamped. I’ll call you tonight, I promise!”

The disappointment he felt was tremendous, yet he easily covered it up with an understanding nod and reassuring words that he’d stay up to catch your call. It wasn’t like he was really expecting your schedule to be free the entire day so he can call and text whenever. Besides, he was miles away from you; it would be selfish for him to expect that your schedule would be all free for him when his wasn’t. 

So Shoyo made the most out of his birthday without you, and there wasn’t a moment where he wasn’t grinning. Enjoying delicious meals, being on the receiving end of all sorts of enthusiasm,  excitement and birthday traditions from friends, family, colleagues and fans alike; each kind birthday gesture lifted his heart to Cloud 9. 

The day concluded, after practice in the training facility when the sun began to die out in the sky, with Shoyo’s team insisting that they treat him to a celebratory dinner at some nice restaurant with some excellent international cuisine, allowing him to get a small taste of home. And Shoyo’s stomach was starting to churn, and it wasn’t like he was about to pass up a free meal…

The company took cramped spots in a booth inside the restaurant, bringing a few spare chairs to form a full circle around the large, polished wooden table jutting out from the wall. The setting sun meant that there was still some time before the restaurant could anticipate a more busy dining area.

Shoyo was spoiled with trays of meat, bowls of rice, and all sorts of other cuisine that he sampled from the plates of his colleagues. By the time the sun had nearly fully disappeared beneath the horizon, each one of their appetites was satiated, full and content with their meals.

As if Shoyo’s birthday couldn’t get any better so late into the day, it was about to become complete in the most unexpected and perfect way imaginable. Though the team was full, they could spare the appetite for a dessert, the most fitting conclusion for a birthday: because what’s a birthday without a cake? 

Shoyo’s team accompanied him home with eager conversation, yet strange occasional whispers among themselves. Perhaps all the celebration was all a little too much? 

When they arrived in a large group by his front door, Shoyo took notice of poorly hidden sly smiles and eager eyes from the teammates across from him, exchanging them among themselves as he fiddled with his keys. 

He’s the first to step inside the dark room, calling out to nobody in particular an I’m home!, as was routine for him to do. His heart suddenly stops, however, when he hears a voice answer. 

“Welcome back!”

His teammates burst out into chuckles and giggles. “Ah, it looks like our dessert is here!” One of them nodded his head toward the living room. 

When Shoyo makes his way reluctantly further into his apartment, initially confused, his furrowed brows immediately relax when he turns on the overhead light, and he feels as though the breath had been stolen from his lungs and hitched in his throat. 

At first, he thinks that perhaps he’s gotten a little homesick being without you, his special person, on his special day. He’d been thinking of you in intervals at every peak of his day. Surely now his exhaustion is crashing down on him, making him see things?

But your eager grin and short laughter as you took in his shocked expression tells him otherwise. You were here, in the flesh, standing right before him--

He all too suddenly finds himself squeezing you tight in his arms, and you immediately reciprocate with one hand coming around his neck, collective aww’s and teasing ew’s going round at the affectionate sight.

“Hold on there, Shoyo, the cake!” 

He quickly steps away when he suddenly feels an object collide gently with his side, and he only partially lets you go as he steps back to look at a box you were holding in your other hand. You grinned at him. 

“Surprise!”

He doesn’t dare let go of your hand even when you set the cake down and urge him to take a seat on his couch, taking an electronic candle you had bought on your way to his apartment and placing it at the very center. His entire team begins to sing to him once more as they crowd around him on the couch and around the table, this time with you joining in standing beside him, and his smile feels almost painful with the way it doesn’t falter for a second. 

When the song ends, a round of cheers go around the table, and you remove the candle to place it in a napkin. You turn toward each other, and you place a hand on his shoulder as you lean down to give him a kiss on his temple and mumble a more quiet, personal happy birthday. 

And just as he was about to lean over to capture your lips in an enthusiastic kiss, let thank you after thank you fall from his lips for such a grand surprise, all for him, you grabbed hold of his head, turned it back toward the cake, and shoved his face right into the center of it. 

Gasps and cheers alike went around the table, and the rest of his team laughed at the bold and sudden gesture. He could hear your own soft laughter as his face gradually emerged from the cake, and the shrills and hollers from his teammates grew louder as they took in the sight of the icing and chunks of cake sticking to various sides. They continued to bark out laughter as he wiped the chunks away from his eyes, staring at them on his fingertips before turning toward you, hiding a smile behind your hand as you mouthed over it an I'm sorry.

Shoyo rose silently halfway from his seat, leaned over toward you, and before anyone could properly call on what he was about to do, smeared the cake on his hands onto your own face, and a new wave of audible surprise and amusement went around the table.

“Oh, so that’s how it’s gonna be, huh?”

“I hear you, Shoyo,” one of his teammates hovered over his seat as he took a large chunk of the cake with his bare hands, and immediately smeared it onto his colleague beside him. “You look better like this, anyway.”

The table erupted into chaos, with the remainder of the unassualted teammates running away from the assault. 

“Quick, scatter, before they get us too!” 

“Oh, you aren’t escaping that easily!” 

Running, breathless laughter, and shrills of alarm rang out in a chaotic symphony throughout the apartment, but amidst the chaos, only you and Shoyo remained by the couch side by side, hunched over laughing at each other’s ruined faces. Despite the ruined cake, the madness in his home, and the icing running down your faces, Shoyo’s heart thrums with love and happiness, and he steps forward to cup your cool cheeks and halt your giggles by capturing your lips in a deep and (literally) sweet kiss. 

Now, perhaps, Shoyo could say his birthday was perfect.

return to masterlist.

[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

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

Your Casanova

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~800

Warnings: fluff

Summary: You're the team's jet pilot who always looks forward to spending time with Spencer Reid. His love for you is unconditional.

Square Filled: jet pilot (2021) for @cmbingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

x

You’re in the middle of doing your checklist when Spencer walks onto the jet. He looks to the cockpit and sees you there doing your thing. A bright smile etches on his face, and he steps aside to let his coworkers past him so he can talk to you.

“Hey, Y/N.”

“Spencer!” you grin and look at him. “I’m glad you’re here. How has your week been?”

“I finished ten more books. I would have finished more, but I was a bit busy playing chess at the park with the other kids. I also went to the local library and participated in the local science fair. The kids had good ideas but I helped them hone their craft.”

“Sounds like you had it good.”

“It would have been better with you by my side.”

That makes your cheeks heat to which your copilot smirks. You nudge her leg to get her to shut up. She knows of the little crush you have on Spencer ever since meeting him a few years ago. Hearing about his week makes your day tenfold. You’re the main pilot for the BAU for both A and B Teams. A Team is by far your favorite team because it’s the team Spencer’s on.

While you have to focus on flying, there are times when you can take a small break and let your copilot take the reigns. You and Spencer always have something to talk about no matter the subject because as much as it makes your day to hear about his, it makes his day to hear about yours.

However, it’s not always sunshine and rainbows as Penelope likes to put it. Spencer will be one way when you pick him up at the airport but be another way when you get to take him home. The stress of the case will weigh heavily on his shoulders, so you like to do the little things to help him feel better even if you don’t think they’ll help.

Spencer walks onto the plane after the grueling case you took him to, and you notice how his shoulders sag a bit.

“You got this, right?”

“Yeah, I’ll finish the checklist.”

You leave the cockpit and join Spencer’s side in the small kitchen where he’s making himself some coffee.

“Hey, sunshine,” you say to him.

“Hey,” he says and gives you a half-smile.

“I’m not gonna pretend to know what you’re going through, but I think under the circumstances, you’re doing a good job. You’re the strongest person I know.”

Derek smirks when he hears you subtly flirt with him, which Spencer doesn’t pick up on.

“Thanks,” Spencer smiles.

You get back to the cockpit to get ready for take-off. This flight isn’t as long as some of the others so sPencer decides to spend it taking a nap. When the plane lands, you allow the agents to get off first before you and your copilot do. Spencer and Derek are quietly arguing about something as you pass by them, and then you feel someone crash into your back.

“I am so sorry,” Spencer chuckles nervously.

“That’s okay. Did you need something?”

Spencer looks back at Derek who gives him an encouraging nod.

“Would you like to go out with me on Friday? I know a great Indian place.”

“I love Indian food,” you grin.

“So, is that a yes?”

“Yes.”

“Great. Um, here is my number.”

He fumbles with his FBI card that has his personal number on there.

“Great. I’ll call you,” you grin and walk off.

As they say, the rest is history. You and Spencer have been in a loving and stable relationship for a year now, and you fall in love with him every single day. You’re piloting for B Team this week, so Spencer planned something special for you when you return. You told him the date and time at which you would be touching down, and he told you he’d been waiting for you at the pickup area.

When you land, you rush to get your things so you can see Spencer sooner. You step into the pickup area and frown when you don’t see your tall boyfriend. Maybe he’s stuck in traffic or trying to find parking. You wait five minutes and grow concerned. He’s never late.

The irrational part of your brain thinks he’s cheating or that he doesn’t love you anymore even though you absolutely know he’d never hurt you like that. You look at the time when you hear two security guards laughing to your right. They’re looking at someone lying on the bench next to them, and when you walk closer, you see it’s Spencer. He’s so tired that he fell asleep waiting for you on the bench with flowers in his hands.

“Man, I bet he’s whipped,” one of them chuckles as they walk past him.

You walk over to him with a smile on your face and put a hand on his cheek gently.

“Spencer, baby?”

He jumps awake at your touch and looks up at you apologetically.

“Sorry, I fell asleep.”

He hands you the flowers that are slightly squished from his body.

“They’re beautiful,” you chuckle and lean down to kiss him. “Come on, Casanova. Let’s go home and fall asleep to Disney movies.”

“Sounds like a plan,” he grins.

x

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary​​​​​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

[iheartduckie]

being best friends with oikawa and iwaizumi

reader x oikawa tōru | reader x iwaizumi hajime (PLATONIC)

900+ words | gender neutral

a/n - i just wanna sing barbie things by nikki minaj with oikawa in the car while iwaizumi drives like the smexy person is

warnings: unedited AND from 2021… how could it get any worse

—————————————

- you three (3) have been friends since childhood, often hanging out at oikawa’s

- the days you were together, you spent either playing around the neighborhood, watching the boys play volleyball, catching bugs, watching volleyball games on the tv, playing fun games, etc.

- oikawa’s older sister absolutely adorned adored you, and always joked about trading tōru for you and iwa

- for all of grade school, you, iwa and oikawa were practically attached at the hip

- you often supported them at their games, and with their passion for volleyball. understandably, you and iwaizumi had a secret agreement to watch over oikawa and make sure he wasn’t overworking himself

- when you heard about the incident with kageyama, you made sure that oikawa apologized and scolded him for giving the poor boy a hard time

- you also tried to make it up to kageyama by giving him a little gift basket and greeting him nicely in the halls of kitagawa first

- by the time you all enrolled in aoba johsai, your bond was unbreakable

- despite oikawa’s pleads, you didn’t sign up to be the manager for the volleyball club.. although this didn’t stop you from visiting them during practice, usually with snacks and the occasional gossip

- by your third year, the team and new members were familiar with you and recognized you as the team’s good luck charm

- of course, you couldn’t help but beam whenever you see oikawa perfectly set a ball for iwaizumi to spike

- when attending their games that are hosted at aoba joshai’s gym, they were both sure to designate a spot JUST FOR YOU

- both iwaizumi and oikawa are VERY protective of you, and would literally intimidate any potential suitors who try to approach you

- either oikawa or iwaizumi would leave you with one of their jackets, mainly so that people don’t mess with you

- the 3 of you would often have sleepovers too!! godzilla movies are probably watched (request of iwa), with relaxing face masks and baked goodies to indulge in.. the night often controls what you guys go

one sleepover, when oikawa got dumped earlier that day because of volleyball, you decided to have a self care night while watching the movie titanic.. trying not to laugh at the pictures iwa took of oikawa, you would help them apply face masks to the boys’ skin. oikawa looked silly with the hair clip you gave him to hold his bangs back, and as heartbroken as he was, oikawa was still down to sing “my heart will go on” with you. iwa would occasionally sing some parts with you both, but the fact that you all butchered that beautiful song- it just left you all laughing by the end of it. a video of you and oikawa was recorded by iwa, so it is used as friendly blackmail :D

- whenever you three (3) had outings, iwa always drived NO MATTER WHAT- AND HE LOOKED HOT while oikawa had the passenger seat and aux. you always sat in the back, either sleeping or singing along with whatever nicki minaj bop he chose (FAVORITE GO-TO SONG: BARBIE TINGZ)

- with oikawa’s fan girls, some of them hate you while some of them love you. oikawa constantly voices how they all want them to respect you, and they all understand that.

- if you were to ever go on a small date with some suitor, then i can GUARANTEE that they would follow you with terrible disguises (and positive intentions ofc) all while you try not to laugh at them

- if you were to ever hear about any of their crushes, you’d put in a good word for them.. and depending on how long the relationship lasts, you’d also befriend their s/o

- the gc you have is UTTER CHAOS thanks to whatever memes or funny insults oikawa sends

- facetimes are also a thing, as well as taking really funny and ugly photos of each other

tw: sad things (when they lost)

- whenever they lost the qualifiers against karasuno, you were there to comfort oikawa and iwa, plus assure the team that they were all good players regardless

- you were also the one who paid for the ramen after (make them pockets hurt ig)

- and you sat while they practiced one (1) last time as a team after the ramen, meaning that you were ALSO THERE WHEN OIKAWA THANKED THEM FOR THE LAST THREE YEARS AND UGLY CRIED WITH THEM TOO-

- moving on, graduation was one of the best days of your life. it was bittersweet, of course, but to be spending time with them both was all you wanted.. and even when you were all in different time zones, you all put the effort in staying in touch

- you all supported each other, and often sent them care packages from home while they sent you goods from california and argentina

- when iwaizumi came back to japan, the two of you met up more often, probably calling oikawa and just doing best friend things woo

- during the olympics, you were given special seats to watch the event takes place

- not to be sappy or anything ‼️, but with seeing how far your boys have gotten, YOU WERE ABSOLUTELY BEAMING WITH PRIDE WHEN YOU WATCHED THEM AT THE OLYMPICS

- overall, your friendship with oikawa and iwaizumi allows a very fun and carefree bond shared between the three of you

——————————————

iwaizumi hajime route | oikawa tooru route

reposts/feedback are appreciated!

masterlist