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sayafics · 11 months ago

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Dragon of Dorne - Chapter IV

This is quite a long chapter (which hopefully makes up for the long wait <3) with lots of fluff and some inappropriate thoughts - I promise so much more Daemon&Alaynha moments in Chapter V, I just wanted to give them something to build a relationship from.

A small change in this is that Viserys doesn't die - at least not yet. Another change is that Rhaenyra also doesn't have a miscarriage yet.

I still plan to stick to the plot-line, but just add in a few extra weeks for some Daemon-Alaynha moments <3 (which I feel so guilty saying but like oops).

Previous Chapter

Masterlist

Daemon had bargained plenty that night - the children did not have to stay. Rhaenyra did not have to stay.

But he would.

For Viserys. For his brother.

Of course, such a tale was not far from the truth. His brother was frail - dying, even. The quicker the hours pass, the closer the Reaper drew upon Viserys, awaiting for him to take his last breath.

Daemon had spent years at Rhaenyra's side, he had neglected his duties as a brother and cast Viserys aside. So his words were not all lies and some truth remained.

He would stay in King's Landing until Viserys had recovered or passed. The children could stay at Dragonstone and continue with their lives, and Rhaenyra with them to rear their youngest.

Of course, Rhaenyra was never one to listen and promised to join him after spending a fortnight at Dragonstone and remain by his side until the birth of their child, during which if all went well, their blended family would return to the Keep and claim it as their home once more.

Daemon gritted him teeth at that, frustration swelling within him at the possibility of navigating his countless schemes whilst being interceded by wailing babes and an angered wife.

There was a quiet ache of guilt present, too - knowing how long Rhaenyra had been pining for him because of his deviances as a terrible and power-hungry man all those years ago. For her to finally have all of which she desires, simply for it to be threatened by a kin she did not want - Daemon could sympathise.

But this was not affection he felt, nor lust. Surely it was much simpler. Much easier.

Daemon was curious.

Daemon is a shrewd man - calculating and manipulative, violent and mean. A rogue prince through and through, where all could see his qualities and hold it to the light with assuredness.

But this girl- this princess. So bright and kind and loving. A mask so thick and well-crafted even Daemon had struggled to see the beast that lurked beneath.

It was the darkness that welled up in those pretty eyes of hers, the spark that ached to turn into a raging fire.

It was curiosity, nothing more.

***

When Rhaenyra and the children had left the following morning, he urged them to return to Dragonstone by sea - it was safer with him absent. A worthy excuse for more time.

Rhaenyra had accepted with a quaint smile, a pretentious act at playing a blushing bride - to which he merely mustered a peck upon the cheek in return.

He could see the confusion in her eyes, could see her wonder why her Daemon was changing so quick.

But the truth was his previous marriages had broken him - kept him confined and chained. He allowed himself to become a tamed dragon, and freely handed his reigns over to Rhaenyra for her to wave proudly in show.

He loved her. Of course he did. He loved the girl who rode upon dragon-back to claim a stolen dragon egg, threats of fire and violence spewing from her lips - but even that girl he did not marry.

And yet, before him stood a swollen bride that was a mere echo of the girl he knew all those years ago. A realisation that had haunted him for far too long.

He thought the children would help - hoped they would ignite the dragon fire within him, would give him purpose and life.

Or perhaps they would ignite the fire that had become smothered within Rhaenyra and an ounce of the girl he knew then would return, and he would settle. He would revere and concede and accept.

Daemon felt weightless. Purposeless. Useless.

Pathetic.

***

Daemon suppressed the smirk itching at his lips as he sauntered his way back to his chambers.

His chambers.

The very ones he'd lounged in so many years ago with his wine and his whores, and not the one he had been made to sleep in the last few days.

The Keep was buzzing with life - Lords and Ladies of the Court watched him with sharp gazes, maids and guards were either hesitant to meet his gaze or watched over him with rousing suspicion.

Daemon could barely suppress his grin as he met their stares head-on with raised brows and dark eyes.

There was one thing he had to remember during his stay at the Keep - with Viserys bound to his bed and milk of the poppy poured down his throat in rivulets, he was without any allies in the Keep.

After Strong had burnt to ashes, Daemon was unsure of who led his Gold Cloaks now and was curious as to whether their loyalties had shifted alongside their leadership.

His mongrels were perhaps wastrels instead, eyes begging and hands postulated for any alms in the shape of golden coins.

Although there should be a few loyalists scattered around the Keep - he may not have been well liked, but he was brash and powerful, something that drew people in.

When Daemon returned to his chambers, he searched through his old belongings with renewed vigour. His muscles almost trembled as he pulled out clothing he hadn't seen in so long - too long has he spent in ornate robes and simple tunics. Too long has he gone without the needed release he found in the wiles of a well-earned fight.

Too long.

He stripped with ease, a sense of relief washing over him as the waning material of the tunics Rhaenyra loved so much fell from his scarred skin and he slipped on his leather armour with ease.

With his sword attached at his side, Daemon left his room feeling more like the depraved and nefarious prince he had been all those years ago.

This time he could not help his grin - big and broad and terrifying to all who glanced his way.

This was the rogue prince - no longer was he an ornament for the Heir to parade, no longer was he a dysfunctional and futile man.

No. He was a dragon.

And it was time he returned to the sky and wreaked havoc upon all those who would dare look down on him.

***

Daemon stood under an archway, arms folded across his chest as he watched the scene unfold with amusement.

Upon the training grounds, engaged in a vicious bout of training, was none other than his harrowing nephew and sultry niece.

Aegon watched his brother and sister in amusement, an array of cakes and fruits and wines laid upon a table near him as though he had beckoned them solely for the purpose of watching his siblings fight as a form of entertainment. He seated himself at the edge of the training grounds, unable to control his laughter or his brutal glee.

He would jeer when Aemond aimed too close to Alaynha's delicate face, cackle with glee when she would trip the boy and throw food at the pair when they would become so distracted in passing taunts they forgot to exchange blows instead.

Daemon was impressed by the skill of the girl - out-manouvering her brother with ease. She met blow for blow, with just as much force behind her own hits as him. She doged every cut and met every slash with a brutal one of her own.

Not once did an ounce of blood drip to the ground in failure - she was skilled.

But he could not ignore the possibility Aemond had taken it easy upon her - with the weight of his glares from the previous night, the chances of Aemond willingly hurting his younger sister was close to naught.

Still, Daemon could not help but draw comparisons.

His first wife had been handy with a sword, but he had only ever heard rumours. And those rumours did nothing to gain her his favour, as although she was a fine swordswoman, she was dragonless and, therefore, useless in all the ways a Targaryen would require.

His second wife and third were fierce dragon-riders. Unafraid of the fire of a dragon and the heights they could scale.

But even they could not tell apart the hilt of a sword from the scales of a beast.

But here, before him, stood a challenge and a promise. A swordswoman and a dragon-rider.

Daemon could feel himself stiffen within his breeches at the sight of her panting form, the sweat upon her brow as she dodged every deathly blow and sweeped her brother's feet from beneath him.

As Aemond fell to the ground, she kicked his arm with vicious glee and the sword he held flew from his grasp. She aimed her sword at his throat, her own rising and falling with hurried pants as a gasping laugh escaped her in glee.

Aegon leapt up from his chair, loud claps and a boisterous laugh at his brother's fall.

Daemon had expected Aemond to grow angered at the humiliation - to spit insulting words and perhaps even show her just how placative he had been.

Instead, he smiled - and for once he looked like a young boy again, a shadow of the child who had half his sight stolen from him.

Aemond stood up with a proud smirk when she had relinquished her sword, a conceding nod as he praised her, "a fine swordswoman indeed. I see Cole has taught you well, jorrāelagon mandia (dear sister)."

"Criston has taught me very well indeed, lēkia (brother). I believe if I continue under his wing, kepa will have no choice but to let me join the Gold Cloaks."

Daemon straightened at the mention of the army he had trained as his own, and his body flushed with a pleasant warmth at the idea of Alaynha - so mischievous and small - killing and maiming vile men under the uniform he designed.

It was almost a sign of ownership.

As though she was his - his violent, little dragon.

Almost.

He entertained the prospect of taking over his Gold Cloaks once more - Viserys would accept in a heartbeat.

And if he did, Daemon would pick Alaynha as his protégée in an instant - perhaps he would give her private lessons on the art of mastering the sword, teach her to command the army in High Valyrian simply because such a sight would flood his body in arousal and have her torture men in his name so he could watch her covered in blood, gazing at him with those pleading eyes, begging for his approval.

Fuck.

But he held himself back from his spiralling thoughts - curiosity. This was simply curiosity, he admonished his traiterous thoughts.

He stood straighter, hand reaching down to adjust his hardened cock.

He cleared his throat before stepping away from his hiding space - although it was quite out in the open, he almost grinned when he saw his nephews stiffen at the sight of his approach.

"Kepus," her voice was light and airy, just as surprised as her brothers to see the man still in the Keep when his wife and children had already sailed away.

"You're still here."

"Ah, I am. Although, dare I say Zaldrītsos (little dragon), you almost seem disappointed."

Alaynha rolled her eyes, a faint smile tugging at her lips, "of course not. I simply thought you would have sailed to Dragonstone with your wife and children."

"They must miss you dearly," Aemond drew closer as he spoke, "perhaps it is not too late to join them. I am sure your dragon will carry you fast and far."

"Ah, but why would I leave such great company for that of whom I've endured for years already." Daemon raised his brow in challenge, daring Aemond to suggest he leave his homeland once more.

He watched as Alaynha gazed between the two of them, her eyes then turning towards Aegon as she sighed in exasperation.

"Come, sister." Aegon consoled from his place, lounging upon a chair with a cup of wine filled to the brim, "let us flee before they bore us with their barbs and insults instead."

Alaynha snorted quietly, an amused grin upon her face as she rolled her eyes at her brother's antics - "might I suggest a better alternative?"

The brothers and Daemon stared at her in curiosity, "well, it seems our dear uncle is prepared for a fight. What better way to bond with the kin he refused to acknowledge than by sparring with them? Do you not agree, kepus?"

Daemon recalled the girl's words from yesterday, the spite that tainted her words as she rightly accused him of despising her family for their Hightower blood.

They were half-blooded Targaryens, barely dragons in his eyes.

But such things could not be true if he saw such a raging beast exist within her, as she was just as half-blooded as the rest of them.

Just as half-blooded as Rhaenyra's children.

But her birth, alongside that of her brothers and sister, had not been tainted by lies and an unsanctimonious vow.

"Mayhaps you are too scared, nuncle," it was Aegon who spoke with a broad grin, "my brother was trained by Ser Cole himself. You must remember the man - he told us the tale of how he knocked you off your horse. And your feet."

"Aegon," Alaynha lightly scolded the boy but could not hold back her own amused smile at his words - even Aemond had cracked a smirk.

Alaynha's eyes widened at the sound of a deep and rich laugh. She feared they had angered their uncle with their taunts and tales, but it only took a glance into the violent hues of Daemon Targaryen to see them swallowed whole by challenge and delight.

So long it had been since he had experienced such provocation, such defiance. A call of like to like as his blood sang with the call of a dragon.

Perhaps there was a kinship here, long denied by tainted blood and half-whispered promises.

"If my nephew is up for the challenge, I will not be the one to shy away."

Daemon tilted his head towards Aemond in recognition, hand placed upon the hilt of his sword as he awaited his answer.

Aemond, never one to turn down a challenge, agreed swiftly by turning his back to his uncle and making his way to the centre of the training grounds once more.

Daemon smirked at the show of confidence that rolled off the boy in tumultuous waves, but even he could not help the ounce of admiration echoing in his mind - had this been Jace or even Luke, they would have quaked and trembled at his presence.

And yet, here was his brother's child - a second born son, a turbulent fire. Seething and wrathful.

The irony of such a thing did not beget him.

Daemon made his way towards Aemond, but a hand upon his wrist stopped him in his place. He glanced down to the delicate hand anchoring him, eyes travelling up the soft skin glowing with a sheen of sweat from a harrowing sword fight, to meet the gentle eyes of a girl much too complex and secretive for him to decipher her with ease.

"Do take it easy upon him."

Her words were spoken pleadingly, as though this was not her idea. It seemed she could hear the words ringing in his head, and she sighed quietly as she continued, "although he may not admit it, he admires you. Truly so. You told me you wanted to know me. Well, know I love my brothers, and I cannot see them hurt - even in jest."

Now, here was a thing Daemon could empathise with. Here was a thing Daemon saw in himself.

He loved his brother, wholly and true. He would conquer worlds in his brother's name, and cut himself upon his own sword if Viserys had asked.

He knew the love one had for their brother, and he could see it shining in her eyes.

Still, Daemon was never one to let an opportunity to tease and test pass without falter - "and what will you give me in return for such a favour?"

She raised her brow in surprise, as though she couldn't believe he was asking such a thing in exchange for a measly request. Still she rolled her eyes and conceeded, "anything."

And such words were the truth.

"Do not spill a drop of blood, and you shall have anything you ask of me, Daemon."

Daemon.

Fuck, she had called him Daemon.

A descending warmth filled Daemon's body at the sound of his name rolling off of her tongue - so familiar, so tempting, so erotic.

Call me Daemon. Say it again.

He was tempted to speak aloud and beg for it.

But he could see Aemond's impatient form and Aegon's restless agitation - "anything, you say? It seems we have ourselves a bargain, zaldrītsos."

***

If this was what he believed was taking it easy, Daemon would be sorely disappointed when it came to asking for Alaynha's favour.

Although, she did have to say - her brother held his own quite well against the battle-worn soldier they knew Daemon to be. She swore upon the Seven she even heard the boy allow a careless laugh to escape his lips as he lost himself in the flurry of lunges and blows they exchanged.

Alaynha couldn't help the soft smile that stretched upon her lips as she watched the pair. Still, she was on edge - whether it was from distrust, enjoyment, or fervent kinship, their fight grew more brutal.

Less and less were there moments of deflecting and blocking and feinting. Every stab and every slash was made to leave a mark.

And still, in place of tension and worry upon the training grounds, there was a growing fever of gratification bubbling in the air - as though this was the challenge they had been waiting for all this time, pushing themselves to the brink of exhaustion to relieve themselves of anger and worry and misery.

This is what they had been missing.

And the realisation only made them fight harder.

"Do try and beat him, little brother," called out Aegon from the sidelines. He stood now, leaning against the back of the chair as he spoke out words of encouragement disguised as mocking jeers.

Alaynha sat upon the chair, reaching back to slap Aegon lightly upon the shoulder. He only huffed in her ear instead, "what? I am being encouraging."

"You are being a nuisance."

"Ah," he grinned blearily, "when am I ever not."

She snorted, "when you a too drunk to raise your head and bat your eyes rōva lēkia (big brother)."

"Oh, but a day in the shoes of a forgotten Prince would have you do the same byka rūklon (little flower)."

She smiled sadly, leaning back so her head rested against his arms - "at least you have your wine," she jested.

"And my whores."

His voice lowered an octave, whispering so dramatically in her ears that she couldn't help the laughter that escaped her in a bubbling concession.

Her laugh was bright and loud and echoed across the grounds. So captivating Daemon felt his heart almost stutter to a pause as he raised his sword, ready to meet a vicious blow from his newphew.

His head turned, as though his body had a mind of its own and his mind clouded with thoughts. Thoughts and ideas and wishes and curiosity.

Just a glimpse.

Just a second.

Instead, he felt his face burn as his sword missed Aemond's by inches, and his hardened slash met Daemon's cheek with vigour.

Daemon hissed, head twisting to the side as blood dribbled from the wound and pooled at the corner of his mouth as a surprised laugh escaped him.

"Aemond!" Alaynha spoke out in admonishment, even Aegon had held his breath for a second.

Daemon tutted, "my mistake, I believe. One should never let their gaze stray from their opponent."

Aemond stared at the man with a gaze so similar to the young boy who had his sight taken from him, almost hesitant to breathe in his presence now.

"Do not tell me you give up now?" Daemon grinned at the boy, eyes simmering with the fire of a dragon, heart beating as adrenaline pumped through him and excitement singed his veins, "come on, nephew. I thought you were better than this."

His words caused a spark to glimmer in Aemond's eyes before a roaring fire was set alight, he raised his sword for another hit, which Daemon met with a fierce one of his own.

Where Aemond parried Daemon's every strike with rigid eloquence, Daemon would meet his with vicious victory - steel clashing against each other as neither was willing to submit.

Alaynha sat straight upon her chair, spine stiffened as her fingers twisted in the material of her own leathers. Aegon's hand came to rest at her shoulder, squeezing in comfort as they watched the two battle out years of anguish and anger upon one another.

Daemon continued thrusting his sword forward, Aemond dancing around him and evading every lunge and throwing back fierce blows as his own sword sliced through the air.

It only took a single second- a breath.

Their swords clashed against one another, and all kindness and civility washed away in face of pure rage and animosity.

Daemon was still Rhaenyra's husband. He still hated the Hightowers. He would rather see Otto and Alicent dead than near the King.

Aemond was a Hightower bastard. A second son only by Otto's manipulations and ploys. He would rather see Rhaenyra dead and sit upon the throne himself.

Teeth gritted and growls escaped their lips as they waited for the other to yield - but neither dared.

A glint of light caught Daemon's attention, and he watched over Aemond's shoulder as Alaynha drew closer in distress.

It seemed Aemond could also hear her approaching footsteps, and the sound caused his eyes to flash and simmer with recognition before the anger, which rolled off of him in flames, settled to a kindling fire as he nodded in ascent.

Almost a show of acknowledgement, a performance of respect.

Daemon smirked, his own head nodding as he reluctantly relieved his sword of the force placed upon it.

They each stood back, shoulders rolling and necks twisting as they came to a stalemate.

Aemond had gotten a blow, had hurt Daemon, and made him bleed. But Daemon had promised to take it easy upon the boy, so truly by what means did the boy succeed.

"You idiots. The lot of you," Alaynha scolded as she reached their side, "what if you had hurt each other? More than you already have."

She glanced between them worried, her eyes falling upon the gash across Daemon's cheek that had crusted and dried but still twinged with pain when his lips stretched into a placating grin - "last I recall, this had been your suggestion."

"Mm, he is right, sister. You cannot fault us for adhering to your orders."

Alaynha's lips parted in disbelief at Aemond's words as she turned to his in faux betrayal, "are you taking his side over mine?"

Aemond smirked at the pout upon her lips, "try as I might, I fear no one holds my loyalties more than you, jorrāelagon mandia."

She hummed, eyeing him in exaggerated suspicion before a grin broke out on her face, "good."

Aegon drew closer upon Aemond's seeing side, clapping his brother on the shoulder and shaking him for good measure, "I believe the Hightowers have won this battle. Do not fret, nuncle. I am sure you will win something, some day."

"Aegon!" She could drag her hands down in exasperation, wondering why her brothers were so desperate to test and mock their uncle until he had enough and unleashed his wrath.

Before she could correct Aegon any further, Daemon drew closer and it did not go unnoticed by anyone how Aegon seemed to shrink behind Aemond, as the younger brother inched in front of the older.

Despite being the younger, one thing was certain - Aemond did not see an heir in Rhaenyra but in his brother and in himself. He may never get the crown, but Aegon could - and Aemond would do all he could to protect the Heir. To protect his brother.

Daemon simply tutted at the action, reaching over Aemond's shoulder to ruffle the shorter boy's hair as he squawked with indignation.

"Do not fault the boy, Zaldrītsos. He only defends his brother's honour - it is what Viserys would have done for me."

Aegon's face heated up at the words, flushing warm as he almost preened under his nuncle's praise, like a child. Perhaps he had already drank too much wine - yes, that must be why.

He escaped his nuncle's petting at the sound of Alaynha's quiet laugh and Aemond's shaking shoulders. He blew a huff of breath so the strands of hair that fell over his face would leave his vision free.

"I am not. I'm just mocking you."

"Ah, of course." Daemon consoled with a teasing grin, words much too enunciated to be well and true, "do forgive me, my Prince."

Aegon rolled his eyes, easily catching on to Daemon's own mocking tone and mumbled under his breath as he stepped away.

Aemond stepped back to follow him, "come sister, we promised mother we would dine with her for supper."

Alaynha hesitated for a moment, a soft frown upon her lips as she gazed at her uncle with gentle eyes. She bit her lip in contemplation, and Daemon found he could not tear his gaze away.

"I shall see you there, I fear Daemon's wound may need some tending."

There it was again, his name - so tantalising, the sound, as it dripped from her tongue.

"Then let the maester deal with him," Aemond spoke in annoyance.

"The maester has much more urgent dealings. It is a simple wound, I shall treat him and join you."

Aemond opened his mouth, ready to protest that if it truly was such a simple wound, Daemon should be able to treat it well himself. But his sister looked at him pleadingly, and he simply pursed his lips and nodded in ascent.

As he turned away, Alaynha hesitated for a second longer before stepping forward and calling out to him - "please let muña know Daemon will be joining us."

She watched Aemond's shoulders stiffen at the order, but knew her brother would never argue with her over such a small and measly thing. He once again nodded his head, waiting for Aegon to swipe his jug of wine before they made their way to their mother's chambers.

Alaynha turned in the opposite direction, only passing a glance over her shoulder to meet Daemon's intense gaze - "come."

***

Daemon sat upon the Princess' bed, his body rigid and tense as he watched her move and gather items scattered across the room.

Whilst Daemon remained in his leathers, she had changed into something much more akin to that of a princess.

Daemon had almost prayed to the Seven to stop his aching thoughts and traiterous body, the temptation to walk behind the dressing screen and see her bare body tremble beneath his gaze.

He had held off long enough, growing hard and stiff beneath his breeches as the dressing screen was almost transparent and gave way to the very shape of the girl hidden behind mounds of fabric.

The gown she wore now was simple, but the material itself was still expensive - a soft satin, perhaps even silk.

As she drew towards him, Daemon couldn't help but part his legs open, ready for her to slot herself between them. She cleared her throat quietly as she stepped in the gap he had made, placing her gathered items next to him upon the bed.

He looked up at her, unable to stop himself from admiring the soft planes of her face, her sharp jaw, her full cheeks, the blush that stained her lips, the eyes that almost gleamed in the light of a setting sun.

When Alaynha peered down to meet his gaze, a damp cloth held in her hand, her breath caught in her throat at the intensity of it, eyes welling with infatuation.

Curiosity, he corrected.

She blinked vigorously, eyelashes fluttering furiously as her hand almost trembled when she took a hold of his face. Her skin felt soft against his flesh, dragging from his hollowed cheeks to rest upon his angled jaw and tilt his fierce gaze away from her own that was growing timid and shy.

The one holding the damp cloth dipped the fabric in a small bowl of warm water, reaching up to brush softly against his gash. Daemon held back a wince, but she could feel the way his jaw flexed in her grasp as he clenched his teeth in pain.

"Sorry," she whispered into the quiet between them.

"You should be." Daemon had meant to mumble the words quietly, but she had heard them all the same.

She frowned at the silent accusation, "excuse me? I do not need to help you. I could always call the maester if you prefer."

Daemon sighed, eyes closing as he realised he had spoken his words much too loud, "I only meant, I would not have gotten this injury was it not for you."

Her head twisted in confusion, stopping her ministrations of cleaning Daemon's gash so she could tap him lightly upon the cheek to gain his attention.

His eyes opened immediately, meeting her questioning gaze as he let out a breath in a huff of amusement, "if it wasn't for that pretty laugh of yours, perhaps I wouldn't have gotten distracted enough to allow my tempered nephew to land a blow."

Her face flushed deeply at his words, eyes rolling as a scoff spilt past her lips, "all I hear are some silly excuses, kepus."

"If it were up to me, I would lock you in my chambers and leave you there, needy and willing, so you never laugh alongside another man again."

He couldn't help the jealousy that tainted his words, couldn't help but tease and test her boundaries once more.

Her hands trembled in truth now as she picked up a small bowl of ointment, dotting it over the gash with a soft touch.

"You speak out of turn, uncle," but her voice still shook under his burning gaze.

"And you do not speak enough. Perhaps you worry of all the others who have been in my chambers, locked away just as I wish you were."

"Perhaps you grow too confident in your own charms and wiles," she sniped as she rubbed the ointment in with care.

"Perhaps."

There was a beat of silence, but his eyes never left hers. Even as she collected her balms and ointments, holding them close to her chest, he watched her.

And when she was ready to step away, he held her waist and pulled her close. Her breath caught in her throat and he simply waited.

Alaynha knew what he waited for, knew what he sought.

She also knew she could not give him such a thing, not when he was wed to her sister - not when he already had a child on the way.

"I am not one of your whores."

"I would never wish you to be."

His voice was earnest, stubborn.

Curiosity, he justified.

She sighed, her hand resting upon his injured cheek and gently rubbing circles upon his skin as his eyes closed as the sensation, her voice was almost a whisper, "my mother must be waiting for us."

And with that she stepped away, and Daemon's hands fell into his lap.

In that moment, Daemon truly did send a prayer to the Seven and begged them to bless him with morals and strength for even he knew his curiosity was giving way to darker desires he would soon be unable to ignore.

An infatuation grew within him. A simmering and burning and aching infatuation- obsession.

If you guys made it to the end, I hope you enjoyed the long read! Thank you to everyone who has engaged with this story by liking, reblogging, and commenting!! I promise to try and update this series more regularly <3

Taglist: @kelssssxd @esquivelbianca @chynagirl13 @luanasrta @kemillyfreitas @americanprometheuss @clarap23 @pet1t3 @your-favorite-god @hypocritic-trash-baby @esquivelbianca @serving-targaryen-realness @toji-girl @queenmendes @the-lil-spud @hotvillainapologist

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nekropsii · 6 months ago

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Atomic Ask Bomb... 2!!

Hello, all! We are back in the mines immediately, because you all love me and my inbox so much. I still have 200+ more asks to sort through after this and that is not hyperbole!! Oops!!

Content Warning: Long, and Cronus is There.

You can be both. I am both. I think Terezi's easily in the Top 3 of Best Written Homestuck Characters, no competition. AND she compels me.

Mituna Fans and Terezi Fans flocking together like how Gays and Lesbians are supposed to.

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He doesn't have a Recuperacoon. He doesn't NEED a Recuperacoon. Who needs a Recuperacoon when you have a bathtub? You pile a bunch of slime in there, and then you can pop the drain open in the morning and take a shower right there where you just got up. It's convenient. And not at all sad. It's not sad guys.

Let's pretend for a moment that either Vantas would have regular bathing habits for the sake of this joke.

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Even if that's the case, it really doesn't change anything. Insecurity doesn't justify literal actual sexual harassment and sexual assault. What?

People will do anything to excuse random shitty men for being shitty. Sympathy is the favorite weapon in Fandom Misogyny's arsenal. So often will fans pull some random bullshit out of their ass just to say that it's fine that a male character is abusive, especially if it's to women, because "He's Sad", so he should never face criticism or punishment for his actions.

We should all start putting people in blenders. We've let these arguments go on long enough. People are far too bold in their abuse apologia. We need to kill them.

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Yeah. Like, he interests me a lot, he's one of the characters I take the most interest in out of all of the Alpha Trolls. I literally write sov!Cronus. I hate his guts, though. It really is just that easy to be a fan of a character and also fucking hate them. Not once have I ever made an excuse for him. The goal Hussie set out for when writing him was making him inexcusable and irredeemable, down to Cronus literally knowing what he's doing is bad and hurts people, and simply just not caring.

Cronus is genuinely fucking evil. That's the whole point. If you make him misunderstood, if you make him mean well, if you make him lack self awareness, if you make him sympathetic, if you give him any redeeming qualities at all... You are missing the point completely. If you want a sympathetic asshole character, you want Vriska. The point of Cronus is that he's The Worst Character In Homestuck, and that he has zero redeeming qualities and trying to fix him or redeem him is a Hopeless venture. He is beyond saving. Don't you dare even think about trying - to try to make him palatable is to erase Violent Bigotry, Incest, and Child Sexual Abuse. Just don't. Enjoy him as he is, do NOT defang him.

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He truly is the worst! I think we should explode all depictions of fanon!Cronus. Forever.

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Yeah, there's a huge reason why I do not say I'm a fan of Cronus or call him a favorite character of mine or anything. It projects a certain... Image. The wrong one. There's just such a strong precedent for anyone saying they're a Cronus Fan or calling him their Favorite Character being a person who just completely fucking ignores everything about him, or even pardons it, saying it's fine, actually, because He's Sad, or that it's Not That Bad, actually. I can't stand it.

I'm aware there are Cronus Fans who are totally normal, but I cannot help but immediately be wary of them, or flinch for a moment even when they offer the reassurance that they know better. It's a natural response, having been here for around a decade and having been a Mituna Fan the whole time.

Liking characters who are terrible people is fine. Based, even, in some cases. But... It's truly difficult with Cronus, because so much of that fanbase relies on excusing/minimizing/condoning abuse and bigotry. I don't have any qualms with people liking characters that suck, but when a fanbase for a character is so heavily focused on pretending that character isn't a horrible, terrible, awful person who abuses people - even children, even people they're related to, even children that they're related to - for nothing but their own sexual gain... I start having issues. That sets a pretty dangerous precedent, to me.

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It's crazy to me how so much of the apologism is because he's hot. Because he literally isn't. You all have terrible taste.

Let's all appreciate for a moment just how fucking ugly he is. The fan art is lying so bad. He needs a haircut. His shirt doesn't fit him, and honestly looks like women's clothes - you know those women's shirts that have the sleeves that stop halfway down the damn shoulder? He looks like a 16 year old. He's so skinny, and his shoulders are so... rounded and small - which are fine traits to have, but literally every piece of fanart portrays him as broad-shouldered and ripped when the literal opposite is true. You just know he has too much product in his hair. His actual sprite is even worse.

The way his fly doesn't even go all the way up. The way his hair clips into his face. The way he's slightly yellow for literally no reason. The shitty belt. This fucking sucks. He's so ugly. He isn't even hot.

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Mituna having Memory Loss as a result of his TBI is literally a myth invented by Cronus to emotionally manipulate Mituna and perpetuated by Cronus Fans. I think if they were friends in the past, Cronus's actions would be worse, actually.

Could you imagine getting sad that your friend doesn't remember you because of a Traumatic Brain Injury, and your response to this sadness is to abuse and sexually assault them on the regular? What, is that Just Bro Things now? Cronus literally says he targets Mituna because he thinks he can get away with it due to his struggles with communication. The thing about them being buddies in the past was one of his trademark Lies. Because he is known to do that, specifically to manipulate people. Because he is known to manipulate people. Emotionally. Because he is abusive. And terrible. And not redeemable. This isn't rocket science! It isn't rocket science to say that pushing the fault of Mituna's abuse onto Mituna is Victim-Blaming!

------

Positively fucking ridiculous that so many people did not recognize their romance within the comic. If they were boys, there'd be no god damn question about it. It'd be up there in everyone's OTP list alongside DaveKat.

I think they're adorable. They're one of my favorite pairings.

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It's great in the source comic, especially during earlier phases of its existence, but the quality deprecates drastically the further you get from that point. I hate it in Fanon and in Dub/Post-Canon.

It's a great off-screen pairing for a lot of lore reasons - namely it being great to let Dave slowly allow himself to love and be loved in private, with no fear of eyes on him. He's never really been able to have privacy before, with all the cameras and eyes on him all the time, and he's never been able to really let his guard down and be vulnerable. He's never been able to love and be loved, safely. I ultimately think they should've kept their relationship mostly private, even after Dave's recovered quite a bit, because sometimes having something just for yourself without that need to perform it is healing in itself. Mental health maintenance.

In Fanon, it seems like pretty standard yaoi, though. Boring. Tired. Literally everywhere. Voyeuristic as always.

------

Thank you! My Inbox generally really isn't that bad at all, honestly! Most people are pretty cordial! Anon Hate for me is pretty rare. Thankfully, the Delete Ask button exists, so I don't have to worry about those Anons for very long, lol.

------

I hate to say this, but back in my day, plenty of people actually did do that. In fact, people only knowing Homestuck through fan material and then still calling themselves a fan is a big reason why old Homestuck fanon was so bad and so far off the mark!

I have a name for those kinds of fans, because it was such a frequent occurrence it begged for a title. I call them Secondaries. Like "Secondary Source"!

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World's most based triad, I think. Should be real. It's real to me.

7H15 15 MY 91RLFR13NF, L47UL4. 4DN 7H51 15 7UL45 9R1LFR13ND, P0RR1M.

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I think everyone should start watching actual horror movies. I think these people should watch Re-Animator and Bride of Re-Animator. I think this would fix the fandom, because a lot of people are just posting about horror movies without realizing they're posting about horror movies. Go watch a horror movie. They even have more and, frankly, more interesting gay representation than... Whatever Dirk and Jake have going on. Sorry.

If you're a gay man, get some hair on your chest and watch a bunch of horror movies. There's more in this life than anime twinks and skinny white pixel men. There's BlackRom Old Man Pet Play (The Lighthouse, 2019), there's Tormented Huge Dirty Bear (The Texas Chainsaw Massacre: The Beginning, 2006), there's The Bisexual Psychological Torture + Betrayal Chamber (Saw, 2004), there's Dysfunctional Gay Marriage Disputes (Re-Animator, 1985, Bride of Re-Animator, 1990). And way more other ones than I can really list. Expand your horizons.

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Not much. It's a bit mysterious. Here's what Aranea had to say about Mituna in general, which gives us most of the crumbs we have:

The Heir of Doom was once a powerful psionic. He had much to say when it came to warning us a8out the path of doom and destruction we were all headed for, 8ut no one took him very seriously. 8ut one day he lost all those abilities when he 8adly overexerted himself. It's hard to get any specifics from him, 8ut indications are that he applied every last 8it of energy he had toward some great act of heroism, saving us all from some looming threat. Not only did his exertion permanently 8urn out his psychic a8ilities, 8ut it left him somewhat... er. Incoherent. The entire incident is shrouded in mystery. From his limited and scattered accounts of what happened, it seems very likely that Kurloz was with him at the time, as the only eye witness. And of course it's impossi8le to get any relia8le information out of him. I guess we may never know, sadly.

This does say quite a lot, but not really anything specific. We've got some stuff about how he's the session's Cassandra, the fact that the GAoH was NOT an accident (this is the misconception that pisses me off the most, I think - I hate when people call it an accident), the fact that he was protecting everyone from something... The fact that he DOES remember it, the fact that Kurloz was there, as the only eye witness, and refuses to talk about it.

It leaves plenty of room for speculation. A little too much room for me, honestly, but that's fine, I'm not really pressed about it.

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agentreeb · 4 years ago

Text

Jemma’s power stance™️

That’s it, that’s the post.

#agents of shield #aos spoilers #aos #jemma simmons #aos 7x01 #badass jemma is back and I’m all here for it #also excuse the terrible quality oops

41 notes · View notes

watercolourdreamer · 3 years ago

Text

Indelible Lines (NSFW)

Viktor x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: To your ire, you’ve developed a terrible infatuation with Viktor and (un)fortunately he’s noticed. Set pre-Act I, when Viktor was a wee student.

AO3 Link

Alternative Synopsis: Oops, my hand slipped after @arcanescribbles posted this artwork. I couldn’t stop thinking about Viktor’s hands gripping the sheets and how damn hot that is. So here we are. Enjoy!

Tags/Warnings: Hand fetish, mentions of masturbation, marking kink, fingering, face-sitting, blowjob, praise kink, brief aftercare, reader is very horny, lots of swearing (because why not? 🤷🏾‍♀️).

Word Count: 4.5K

There were many things you were sure of in life: that the world revolved around the sun, that the sun rose from the east and set in the west, and that you were infatuated with Viktor — and it infuriated you.

You prided yourself on being an attentive, diligent student. You consistently aced the biochemistry and physiology classes, were the treasure of theoretical physics, and impressed your cohort at The Academy with your prowess as an artist.

You didn’t have time for infatuations. Ambition and progress always came first.

Then Viktor sauntered into your life. Humble, driven, reckless and self-reliant Viktor.

The golden-eyed Golden Boy that Heimerdinger had dragged from the depths of the undercity. The underdog that had charmed the council and admissions board with his sheer intellect, ambition and self-determination, whilst on trial for trespassing academy grounds. And yes, you could admit there was something to admire in these qualities, but his ‘attractive’ qualities diminished them in magnitudes.

The slight bump at the end of his nose, most prominent when profiled by the setting sun during a physics practicum. The beauty marks that adorned his face and skin; marks that often distracted you when he was too close beside you when you were completing back titrations in chemistry. Beauty marks that left you wondering how many more mapped his skin and how long it would take to kiss each one.

The way he twirled his hair was particularly irksome – chestnut curls twisting and untwisting around slender fingers as he pondered over calculus equations during tutorials and lectures. Such beautiful, clean hands with neatly trimmed nails and elegant knuckles.

For all of your annoyance with Viktor, you rarely interacted beyond your academics. Nothing beyond a blushed and polite ‘hello’ in the hallway or student dormitories, or a softly spoken ‘excuse me’ when he shuffled past you in the library or in lectures, finding a seat beside or near you.

So when Professor Sinclair had paired you with Viktor to complete a group assignment to invent a prototype mechanism together, from proposal to product; to say you were brimming with nervous excitement was an understatement.

Maybe this was providence finally intervening, gifting you the time to get to know the unsavoury aspects of this tall and slender man, and rid yourself of this silly infatuation. Gods knew the occasional, non-committal fucks with your peers weren’t helping.

Providence proved to be a cruel mistress instead.

Much to your ire, Viktor was just as disarmingly charming to study with and get to know. Behind those considered words and soft cadence was a sparkling wit and playfulness that left your sides aching from laughter. He was surprisingly empathetic, expressing concern for classmates who struggled, despite being his bullies during various points during his studies.

Viktor was also filled with a limitless desire to not be forgotten, which you observed underpinned his almost self-destructive work ethic. During your study sessions, you were often coaxing water or food into him with a grumble about “nourished bodies and minds produce results”.

Viktor’s dishevelled bed hair during weekend research sessions also left you breathless each time he arrived at the library, coffee mug in hand. Every time you fought the urge to hand-comb it and feel it’s apparent softness beneath your fingertips.

When he wore slightly unbuttoned shirts to quell the impending summer heat, your mind pondered on whether the rest of him was as pale and sparsely haired.

Your undoing was his smile though — mischievous and carefree in its joy. It was contagious like his playful attempts at “winging it” (Viktor’s words, not yours) with all of your prototype tests. Four months later, everything about Viktor was enrapturing to you and you knew you were truly fucked.

“Am I interrupting something?”

Viktor’s dulcet voice drew you back to reality, away from your thoughts. As you looked up from your notes, you found the young man staring curiously at you, a slight smile betraying his amusement.

You felt heat rush to your cheeks. Yes, actually. He was interrupting, groused your thoughts. You’d been daydreaming about Viktor again. Perhaps fantasising was a more apt word — daydreaming about his mouth on your throat as his fingers slowly fucked your cunt, whispering how you were a ‘good girl’ for him.

“Huh. Um,” you looked back at the mess of letters on your page again. What were you working on again? Ah. Right. Law of Conservation.

“No. No. You’re not interrupting anything,” you assured him as you shook your head. “I just.” You chewed the tip of your pencil absently, noting the hands on the library clock: it was ten to midnight. “It’s getting late. Let’s call it a night.”

“Are you sure?” pressed Viktor, a slight frown on his lips. He raised his pencil to his face and tapped it to his bottom lip absently. A vivid desire to be that pencil flashed through your mind, adding to the heat between your thighs.

Fucking hell.

“You’re doing that thing again — where you chew your pencil in thought,” continued Viktor, calmly, thoughtfully; tapping the pencil to his lips again as if to stress his words. “I thought at first that you had finished your calculations but a glance at your notes suggested you were distracted instead. So, y/n, what is so riveting about your thoughts?”

Everything. Climbing onto your lap and fucking you senseless until your every thought is about me and how fucking good my pussy is for you, answered your mind. But you couldn’t say that.

You couldn’t admit that it wasn’t just a once-off fantasy either. No, you’d slid your lacquered dildo into your aching, wet core for months now imagining it was Viktor’s cock instead. You’d cum to constructed scenarios of him begging for you to let him cum, to let him touch you as your imaginary-self traced the veins of his dick with your tongue.

No, that wouldn’t be an appropriate answer. At all.

Viktor’s shoe tapped the side of your shin, interrupting you from your reverie again. You felt the blush deepen on your cheeks, spreading to your neck as a sheepish apology passed your lips.

“Perhaps it’s best if we call it a night,” chuckled Viktor as he began bookmarking and closing the books he’d been reading for research.

“Agreed,” you said, placing your stationery into your painted pencil tin. “Did you need help with the books?”

Viktor shook his head as he deposited the thick tomes into his satchel bag, alongside his notebooks. Carefully, he stood and reached for his cane, which rested against the table.

“I would prefer to walk you back to your rooms though. Daydreamers have a habit of walking into things, if they’re not careful.”

⁂

The walk back to your dormitory room was pleasant. Viktor rambled about possible solutions for your failed prototype testing this past week, theorising reasons for your failures and how to integrate these observations into your production and design folio.

Once you arrived at your door, Viktor paused as you fished for your keys in your satchel. It was as you slid your key into the lock that Viktor spoke.

“You were thinking about me in the library, yes?”

Viktor’s words knocked the air out from your lungs and your hand stilled, mid-motion. How? How did he know? He wasn’t a mage nor was he a mind reader. So, how the fuck did he know?

“Hmm,” hummed Viktor. “I thought so. I’ve been researching this for months now. If you, eh, feel mutually about me as I do for you. Your breathing quickens in my presence. You blush when we touch. And the times I wore clothing with slightly more skin exposed, you were visibly flustered and couldn’t make consistent eye contact.”

Of course. Your infatuation was obvious and Viktor, being ever the scientist, had analysed the evidence before him. But your thoughts were locked more importantly on his words: “If you, eh, feel mutually about me as I do for you.”

“My conclusions are correct, no?” asked Viktor when you didn’t respond.

Gods, he wanted you too.

“If it is and this is something you don’t want, I won’t speak of it again and we’ll remain friends,” continued Viktor. “Your friendship is more valuable to me.”

He wanted you. Gods. He wanted. You.

Heimerdinger’s fucking Golden Child wanted you.

Your blood pulsed loudly in your ears as you considered your response.

On one hand you could reject his advances based on the principle of your infatuation with him ruining your life, and be done with it. On the other hand, you could fuck out these distracting hormones and truly find out if he was a sex god, as the rumours of the past two years had spread throughout The Academy.

You sighed over your internal dilemma and turned the key in the lock. The mechanism clicked open and you purposefully slipped your key back into the back of your satchel pocket.

You turned to Viktor, grasping the smooth surface of the brass door handle to steady yourself.

His long frame stood tall, brown satchel slung across his lithe body as his gaze held yours: fierce, resolute and proud. A brilliant vermillion had bloomed across the sharp planes of his cheeks, and his bottom lip was pulled slightly beneath his teeth in worry. It was the slight tremble of his hand on the curve of his cane handle that betrayed his nervousness the most – his knuckles stretched white as the cane shook imperceptibly in the soft hallway light.

Viktor was a composed, wretched mess. Just like you.

Carefully you pulled your spine up, curved your neck upwards to look him dead in the eye.

“Viktor, I’m going to open this door and you have to make a decision. Either you a) say goodnight and we remain friends and finish this assignment like this never happened; or b) you step into my bedroom and we fuck until the only thought in that splendid brain of yours is me, and only me.

“So what’ll it be?”

⁂

Viktor’s mind was in a panic.

Had he heard you correctly? Were you propositioning him?

Surely not.

Yet here you stood, eyes beholden with unadulterated lust. Chin held aloft as you challenged him to act on his desires; a jawline that he had wanted to litter with kisses, and use to follow the lines of your neck to the juncture of your shoulder. Press his lips, his teeth into your skin until his name was a litany gasped from your throat.

By Janna, his hand – no, other people’s consenting bodies hadn’t been enough to satiate his desire for you these past seven months. Viktor had wanted you, only you, and that desire had become all-consuming these past four months working together.

He had been starting to regret his request to Professor Sinclair to pair you together for the year. Scared that even though his observations of your lust were correct, you were resolute in your decision for this to remain a fantasy, an unactioned desire.

Yet, all he had to do was cross that indelible line, voice his desire and you were his.

“So what’ll it be?”

That was an easy answer, thought Viktor as he stepped over the threshold, into your room.

⁂

You watched nervously as Viktor’s satchel fell next to yours with a soft thump on your bedroom floor.

You hadn’t expected him to accept your, for lack of a better word, proposition. In all honesty, part of you had wanted Viktor to bid you goodnight and leave, his cane hitting the tile floor a toll that this infatuation was over. That you could move on, both of you certain in your mutual decision to ignore and compartmentalise your carnal desires.

“So, how did you want to do this?”

Viktor’s eyebrows curved upwards, a mischievous smile exposing the middle gap of his incisors as he shifted his weight onto his left leg.

“I imagined we would undress, descend onto your bed,” he gestured vaguely in the direction of your king-size single bed in the corner of the room, “and – as you said – fuck until the only thought in that splendid brain of mine is you, and only you,” teased Viktor, his voice husky and low.

You let out a snort of amusement.

“Hmm,” you stepped towards him, until your hands were on his chest. Then your fingers slowly began unfastening the gun-metal clasps of his academy vest. “It’s hardly fair to use my words against me.”

“Eh, you made your expectations clear and I’m simply acknowledging them,” murmured Viktor absently with a cheeky shrug. His elegant hands touched your chest, teasing the buttons on your burgundy shirt; lightly caressing the cotton fabric. “May I?”

You nodded and let out a hum of approval.

It wasn’t long before your upper garments were gone, the fabric shirked to the floor with a satisfying rustle. The planes of his torso were exposed to you: pale skin spotted with freckles and beauty marks, a thin line of dark hair descending from his navel to the waistband of his blue-grey pants.

Viktor was utterly beautiful. More so than you imagined. Absolutely and utterly divine.

And when your eyes met his, you saw your adoration mirrored in gold; and Viktor swore, soft and low.

He pulled you towards him, his forearm hot against your lower back. Shamelessly, Viktor pressed his mouth against the shape of your jaw, then the nexus of your neck and jawline, suckling down the line of your throat, all the while drawing soft whimpers from deep within your chest.

Surely Viktor could taste the blood in your pulse-point as you keened under his touch. Surely he could hear how it rushed through your arteries, your capillaries, heating your skin with an unbearable fire. Gods, you needed him. You fucking wanted him pressed against every inch of your bare skin, your hips rutting up to meet his own.

“Are you okay moving this to the bed?” you asked breathlessly. Viktor’s teeth dragged across the skin of your collarbone before pressing a soft kiss to the column of your neck. Molten gold eyes gazed at you in the lamplight, and you felt yourself melt under them, into them.

Gods, he wasn’t allowed to be this attractive, you thought. It should be illegal for someone to look at you with such wanton desire.

“Of course. Truthfully, even if you fucked me right here, right now, on this floor, I would still be satiated,” admitted Viktor, thumb caressing the curve of your waist. His words broke something in you and you hastily unbuttoned his pants, pushed him onto the edge of your bed and kissed the bare skin of his muscular thighs.

“You don’t have to,” started Viktor softly.

“Actually, I do,” you interjected, trailing your fingers up and down the inside of his thighs. Viktor trembled beneath your touch; a low, loud moan erupting out of him when you marked his pale flesh with your teeth. You watched his skin bloom red, satisfied. “I’ve been wanting to suck your cock for months.”

“Fuck,” groaned Viktor, eyes wide, pupils dilated and rimmed with gold. “Did you, eh, pleasure yourself to that fantasy?”

“Hmm. Many times,” you hummed, your hand reaching up to fist his hardening cock. You stroked him a few times, feeling the veins that curved around the shaft of his dick. “Did you?”

“I did. However – ah – my imagination did no justice to how divine you would actually feel.”

Viktor carded his hands through your loose hair and you leaned into his touch, closing your eyes contently as his nails scraped along your scalp. You allowed yourself the moment, letting Viktor calm his laboured breathing. With a deliberate slow sultriness, you opened your eyes and peered up at Viktor from beneath your lashes.

He bit back a moan, teeth pulling his bottom lip inwards.

“Viktor, I’m going to fuck you now, with my pretty mouth, and I want to hear you,” you gave his arousal a hard squeeze and Viktor rewarded you with a whimper. The salty, musky scent of leaking precum sent your mind reeling, and you thumbed it around his sensitive tip, watching Viktor’s face the entire time.

He wasn’t looking at you. His attention was rapt upon your hand, as you stroked him, and your tongue, as you ran it along the thick underside of him and around him. A teasing of what was to come.

You were going to unravel him and enjoy every single moment of it.

Purposefully, you licked your lips and smiled back up at Viktor. His throat bobbed visibly as he gulped.

“I want to hear every sigh. Every moan. I want to hear every praise that falls from your lips, that crosses your mind until you’re cumming in my mouth,” you continued huskily. “Do you think you can do that for me?”

“Yes.” Viktor nodded earnestly. “Yes, I can.”

“Good.”

Then your lips were around his cock, diligently taking him in as his groans echoed against your bedroom walls – loud and delicious to your ears. You started slow, before setting a steady pace, hand fisted around the base of his cock; hot and heavy in your hands. And when Viktor’s hand gripped your hair in his long fingers, applauding you for being a “good girl”, his words shot straight to your core.

“Fuck. Yes. Keep doing that. You feel so fucking good,” praised Viktor, his voice wanton and soaked with carnal pleasure. Gazing up at him, you watched the normally composed man unravel before you.

His neck was stretched taunt, chestnut hair damp against his forehead. His eyes were closed and his slender hand fisted the bedsheets as hips rocked with great restraint against your face.

You were doing that. You were responsible for the pinch of pleasure in his brow, and the way your name fell from his mouth like accolades. You were causing him to lose all self-control as his hands clutched your navy duvet like a lifebuoy in an ocean; his chest heaving shallow breaths as he approached his peak.

“I’m close. Fuck. I’m,” choked out Viktor, panting with exertion. “I’m going to–”

You enthusiastically hummed around him, then pushed his thighs further out and sunk your mouth down until the tip of his cock touched the back of your mouth. It was this – this is what pushed him over the precipice.

His orgasm was furious in your mouth. The salty strings of his orgasm hit the back of your tongue with a fierce ferocity and you swallowed each one thirstily, like a parched traveller in the Shumiran desert. Viktor’s back bowed above you, your name a choked groan on his lips.

You milked every, last drop of his cum out of his pulsating cock into you; until Viktor pulled you off him, face flushed and mesmerised by you. With a messy, ardent passion, he pressed his flushed lips against your own.

⁂

Viktor could taste himself on your mouth: a salty tanginess that left him dizzy with desire.

It had been so long since someone had fucked him like that. Fucked him until stars glistened in his vision and rendered him speechless. Left him consumed with only the thought and the pleasure of them between his legs and how fucking exquisite they felt. You had done that.

All of his limbs still tingled with the aftershocks of his orgasm. His legs trembled as he resolutely pulled you into his lap, until your bare chest was pressed against his own.

If your lips had felt celestial around his cock then your mouth was cosmic ecstasy against his own. Soft and supple whilst hard and rough simultaneously – a paradox of electric desire that felt divine.

Viktor’s tongue gently brushed your bottom lip, seeking permission, and you willingly gave it to him; tongue slipping in to taste the shape of your mouth, to trace the edges of your teeth.

It drew a moan from deep within you, as your hands pleasantly pulled his hair. When his teeth grazed and suckled the softness of your neck, you moaned loudly and rocked your hips against his roughly. Viktor hissed from the overstimulation, still in his refractory period.

But instead of pushing you away, he slipped a hand between you, fingers spreading the wetness of you around your swollen folds before sinking a digit into your warm, tight cunt. The groan it elicited out of you was positively criminal.

“By Janna, you’re sopping,” groaned Viktor, and added another finger to your heat. You clenched around him. And as he started pumping his fingers in-and-out of you, you whimpered with delight, your wanton moans pulling your head back in pleasure, long locks cascading down your back.

You were absolutely sopping and Viktor decided he wanted that against his mouth. Now.

⁂

"Sit on me."

His words had been spoken softly, but they were sonorous, vibrating through your entire body. Heck, immolating every cell of you in a greedy, lust-filled fire. Viktor languidly sucked the sheen of your juices off his fingers, his hooded eyes watching your every expression and tick. Satisfied, he released his slender fingers with a gratuitous pop!, a smug smirk curling his lips upwards.

"You taste delicious," said Viktor, tone laden with desire. He lowered himself onto your bed, his dishevelled curls splayed out in a patina around his head on your blue duvet. "Come hither and let me feast on you."

Fucking hell. Golden Child Viktor was going to be your undoing.

But it still thrilled you as you moved up his frame and your parted legs hovered over his blatantly eager face. Viktor's hands firmly dug into the supple flesh of your thighs, and he pulled you closer, until his lips and teeth nipped at the sensitive underside of your thighs with a pleased moan. It sent tremors through you, straight to your aching, soaked core.

You felt the curve of Viktor's self-satisfied smile against your skin, as he moved closer to where you wanted him to be. He blew warm air across your swollen lips, which drew a deep moan of desperation out of you before he pulled away.

"You bastard,” you cursed.

Viktor hummed nonchalantly. Then he had the audacity to chuckle at you. You. The very person he was meant to be pleasuring. Just as you were about to curse him into the flaming ball of plasma in the sky, he slipped a finger into you, drawing a loud, low gasp from within your very being.

"I’ve found that the best meals are, ah, savoured slowly," teased the scientist as he swirled his finger experimentally in your cunt. Oh fuck. That was more delightful than you anticipated. “But I have a habit of being, eh, impatient.”

Then he abruptly brought you down, onto his face, his tongue running a hot, resolute path along your core that left you aching for more.

To say you had been prepared for this would’ve been a lie. Your imagined scenarios were a paltry tribute to the actual pleasure of Viktor’s mouth, Viktor’s tongue between your thighs. He licked and sucked as if your pussy was a holy grail and your cunt a fine wine. Sporadically he would enthusiastically groan into you, as if praising you for the way you tugged his hair and rolled your hips over him.

Viktor’s pace was agonising – drawing your arousal to a precipice, but never over the edge. And each time you tried to pull him closer or speed up his ministrations, Viktor would duck away momentarily with a snort or breathy laugh of bemusement before strategically slowing down again.

His teeth pulled lightly at your lips, sparking an electric jolt of pleasure through your spine; and when his tongue slid into the entrance of your cunt, your back bowed with an all-encompassing pleasure.

“Fucking hell, Viktor,” you panted above him, your knuckles now tightly wrapped and white around the wrought iron of your bedframe. You were a wreck, body begging for release, your hips hopelessly jerking towards him and his fucking talented mouth.

“Please,” you begged. “Please. Just let me cum.”

Viktor hummed into you, the sound vibrating achingly into your core.

Then you made the mistake of looking down at him: his usually golden eyes were now mostly onyx with desire as he enthusiastically lapped at your cunt, his eyes catching yours with hungry, carnal desire every moment or so. Every now and then Viktor would close his eyes in seemingly absolute pleasure, as if to savour the meal of tasting, eating you.

Watching him was your undoing and you came suddenly, starburst erupting behind your eyes as you cried into the night. Viktor held you firmly against him, his lips tight around your clit as your thighs trembled with pleasure. And as your body slumped with a post-orgasmic glow, Viktor licked the remnants of your cum with a moan of satisfaction.

Gingerly you lifted yourself off him and plopped unceremoniously onto your bed beside him. Your chest heaved, still searching for the air your orgasm had squeezed from your lungs.

You felt, rather than saw, Viktor shift and leave the bed; his gait shuffling softly around the room until you heard a cupboard opening and closing, followed by the shriek of your basin taps running in the annexed washroom.

“Sorry,” said Viktor ruefully.

“It’s okay. The plumbing is abysmal in this dormitory wing anyway,” you reassured him.

You could picture the exact grimace on his face as he apologised though. It was an expression reserved for when you asked if "the prototype is dangerous", and he shrugged noncommittedly before flicking on the mechanism. Sometimes the prototype exploded, other times it combusted, but it was always the same grimace reserved for Viktor's risky ventures.

When Viktor returned to bed, you watched drowsily as he tenderly wiped between, and around, your thighs with a damp cloth. Discarding the cloth onto your bedside table, he then perched himself onto his side, elbow supporting his head as amber eyes gazed reverently down at you.

There was a gentleness to his countenance that you rarely saw – usually caught when he was absently staring into space during your study sessions. Maybe Viktor had also been thinking about you these past four months?

“Thank you,” said Viktor softly as his thumb caressed your cheek. “That was better than I ever imagined.”

“Same.”

You smiled sleepily up at him and pulled him down into a languid kiss before you coaxed him under the bedsheets. Gently, you ensconced yourself in each other’s warmth: your leg between Viktor’s and his arm wrapped around your waist as you pressed your face into the warmth of his chest.

“We should probably call it a night, though,” you continued, now warm and content. “We have an early morning class tomorrow.”

“Yes, I suppose nourished minds and bodies produce results. Goodnight y/n,” murmured Viktor before he pressed his lips to the crown of your head. Whatever Viktor said after that was lost, as you fell asleep almost immediately, exhausted from the day's events.

But it didn’t matter, because when you woke in the morning, Viktor was still there, beside you; and that's what mattered.

⁂

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jungkxook · 4 years ago

Text

—stay. (m)

⟶ pairing: jungkook x reader

⟶ genre: popstar!jungkook x groupie!reader + smut / sprinkle of angst and fluff

⟶ words: 8,083

⟶ rating: 18+

⟶ summary: jungkook wasn’t always so madly in love with you but the fact that you’re sleeping with two of his band mates too makes things a tad bit complicated.

⟶ warnings: multiple smut scenes, slight dom themes, oral sex, finger sucking oops, boob fondling, hair pulling ft. jungkook’s undercut, doggy style, missionary, thigh riding, spitting, jealous kook!!, unprotected sex, kind of slight possessive themes? but also just general sweetness tbh

⟶ disclaimer: my time jungkook still has me in my feels! also, this is a repost of an old fic on an old blog.

“Stay with me?”

Jungkook asks this hopefully, of course, but he already knows the answer. It’s just that, lying there with you on the hotel room bed, there’s no other place he’d rather be ━ and there’s no one else he’d rather experience the moment with than you. Legs tangled together on top of the duvet with your fingers tracing circles onto his bare chest, Jungkook swears he’s in love with you ━ only, you’re not his to have.

“I have to go,” You pout, though your fingers continue drawing constellations on his skin, treading down his arm and over the tattoos that adorn him. You’re focusing now on the lily on his forearm, around and around, sending his head spiralling. “Promised my friends we could hang out today. Besides, don’t you have Mina or Nina━” You wave your hand in the air to dismiss the thought━ “coming over soon?”

“Who?” It takes him a moment to even remember who you’re talking about. Truthfully, he hasn’t seen that girl in well over six months but he’d never tell you that. In fact, he hasn’t been seeing anyone else other than you but he would definitely never tell you that. “Oh, yeah. Well, I think she’s coming over later tonight.”

“Well━” You trail off, and Jungkook knows it’s because you’re stalling. You want to stay, and he knows it well enough, but every question you ask him is just meant to further reassure you that it’s okay if you stay. That he wants you to. “Aren’t you busy with work today before the second show?”

Jungkook shrugs. “We still have lots of time before the day starts.”

You shake your head at him but he knows he ultimately wins out when you start to smile to yourself. You prop yourself up beside him and he has to admire momentarily how you’ve never been timid in front of him when you’re naked. His hand reaches out to brush his fingers against your cheek and you smile down at him. But then something seems to dawn on him that he can’t believe he foolishly hadn’t thought of first.

“Unless… Unless you need to see one of them soon.”

“Who?”

“Taehyung or Namjoon.” It takes all he can muster to say their names without a trace of bitterness. He lifts himself up on his elbow. “Are you still seeing them?”

You shrug innocently. Sitting up a little straighter, you brush his hand away and fidget with your hair. “Would it matter if I was?”

Yes, he wants to scream but he refrains. “No. I just━” he stops. “Just curious. Is that what you meant by work then? You have to go see Tae or something right after me? ”

“No, you prick.” He’s relieved you giggle at him, fingers poking at his chest despite the fact that he was mentally cursing himself for being a dick the minute the words left his mouth. “Believe it or not, I do have a life outside of sex. Friends, too.”

“I know, I know,” he says sheepishly. “Sorry, I━ I know. You said you wanted to go shopping downtown before the show tonight, right? One of your friends ━ Dahyun ━ goes to school in the next city over and she’s taking the day off to see you. I do listen when you talk, y’know?”

He doesn’t miss the warm smile that spreads across your face. You finally return to him, kissing him slow and steadily. In the meantime, he flips you over onto your back and then parts from you much to your dismay. He’s nestled himself between your legs in an instant, kissing up your thigh and sending shivers down your spin. Your hand flies down to twine your fingers in his hair, now much longer than usual.

“I guess I could stay a little longer, if you’d want me to,” You say.

“I do.”

He wastes no time in swiping his tongue at your folds, his mouth wrapping perfectly around you. You’re already mewling with delight. That’s all it ever is with the two of you. Sex and more sex. And while Jungkook isn’t complaining, he sure does wish he could just have more of you. Jungkook burrows a little deeper, his nose rubbing against your clit as he eats you out.

“Morning sex does sound nice,” You manage to say, breath shaking.

“Yeah,” he rasps against you. “It does, doesn’t it?”

Your thighs are already threatening to squeeze shut around his head, fingers tightening in their hold. His own hands find purchase on your waist, stretching outward to hold on to you, and nothing can break you both apart. Not even the muffled sound of rapid knocking on the front door of the too grand hotel room. At least, not the first two times. On the third time when it’s followed by the sound of Jungkook’s manager irritably calling out through the flimsy wood panel, does Jungkook groan into your cunt and poke his head upward, craning his neck to look over his shoulder as his manager’s voice carries infuriatingly loudly to you both once again.

“Get up already, will you? We’ve got several business meetings to conduct today and we haven’t got time for you to sleep off a hangover or whatever it is you’re doing━”

“Gimme ‘til noon!” Jungkook asserts gruffly. He settles himself back between your thighs, and you surely don’t miss the devious way he smirks just before burrowing his head into your heat. There’s an inaudible sound that he makes, that you and certainly his manager can distinguish as being, “I’m too busy right now.”

Busy is an understatement, pointedly made clear when his tongue delves into you, lapping at your leaking wetness as if he were terribly quenched and only you could save him. You don’t think Jungkook taking his morning to eat you out is a good enough excuse that will run over well with his manager later in the day, but it drives him away for now with only a grumbled chorus of words left in his wake. But the silence only lasts for so long. Just as Jungkook is getting comfortable once more, you speak up.

“I don’t think tardiness is a very good quality to have as a celebrity,” You ponder aloud through a heavily pleased sigh.

“Ah, or it’s exactly the thing I need,” he counters with a shit-eating grin. “Being late is a very celebrity thing, isn’t it?”

“When the fame gets to their head,” You snort. Your voice splinters off into a whimper as he tilts his chin up a little higher, lapping deeper into you.

“Then I guess I’m bad.” His voice murmurs against you, rattling you to the bone.

“You’re definitely far from bad. Everyone thinks you’re an angel.”

“Wonder if they’d think the same thing if they saw me now━” He pinches lightly at the inside of your thigh, “head between your legs, and you coming on my tongue.”

You roll your eyes, but your wittiness falls short when he tugs with his teeth at your folds. Your back arches off the bed at once, hips pressing harder against his face.

“Namjoon called last night,” You say. No, you don’t say it. You moan it and even though Jungkook knows it’s because of him and how he’s making you feel in that moment, he still hates hearing someone else’s name roll off the tip of your tongue that isn’t his. “If you must know. Said he wanted to see me in the morning━”

Jungkook grimaces. He grunts shortly, “Guess you’re gonna have to let him down.”

“I’m sure Joon will love that━”

“Don’t,” he hisses. He bites down a little harshly on the inside of your thigh but you don’t mind. When he glances up to look at you, his stare is dark and hooded. “Don’t say their names. Not now. Please.”

You almost miss the desperation in his voice, the way he almost whines his words. You don’t ask, even though you’re curious. You don’t ask, even when he eats you out that morning until he’s made sure you’re crying his name and nothing else. You don’t ask, even when fucks you slow and deep and measured and almost, dare you say, loving like he never has before, clinging onto you as if he can’t live without you. You don’t ask, even when he may get a little rough (just how you like it), as if he’s afraid you’ll leave him right then and there. You don’t even ask when he sucks not one but two hickeys on your neck, large enough for anyone to see. For Taehyung and Namjoon to see.

You never really do ask, even though you notice things have become different.

It’s not as if you haven’t always been close to one another. There are more times than not in which you both physically can’t keep your hands off of one another in public, though in the safest and simplest ways possible. It’s there, in the way you sit next to him with your legs crossed regally on the couch in the green room backstage before a set, playing with the rings on his fingers on the hand resting on your shoulder; there, in the way you sit draped across his lap, leaning into his chest, in the studio as they blur through recordings. When you give advice on composing or lyric writing, Jungkook listens. When you giggle into his ear and whisper lewd things when you probably shouldn’t in the middle of a party with important business men and other celebrities, Jungkook is captivated.

It wasn’t always supposed to be like this. Jungkook wasn’t always so madly in love with you, but he always knew there was something about you he just could not get enough of. You had chosen him first, approaching him late one night at a bar, and he was instantly head-over-heels. Even if it was mutually agreed upon ━ and oftentimes never really outwardly mentioned ━ that you could sleep around with him, Namjoon, and Taehyung, then Jungkook would have to deal with it. He would do anything, if it meant getting to see you more. At first he didn’t even mind. What was one more groupie to the ever growing list he had already accumulated? He’s never gotten feelings for any of them, so surely he thought he would be okay with you; that maybe whatever he was feeling for you would go away.

He couldn’t have been more wrong.

After he asks you the question the first time, he finds himself stuck in a greedy months-long habit of asking you wistfully every time he finds you in his bed. He asks it a thousand and one times, but only ever gets one response from you. You’ll say no, that you have to leave, and sometimes you will. But sometimes ━ sometimes when he knows he wins out because he knows you let your guard down long enough to become besotted by him, a tangible mess with his every touch ━ you’ll linger just a little longer and the notion alone is enough to instill a sense of hope in Jungkook even if he knows it’s wrong.

And maybe you shouldn’t play along. Then again, he takes all your time and you devote what little you have left afterward to him anyway, pretending that you’re still seeing Taehyung and Namjoon when you’re certainly not.

Sometimes Jungkook catches you when he doesn’t mean to, or isn’t expecting to, and it’s all different moments that physically pain him. Sometimes those moments come from paying one of the guys a visit and stumbling upon you there, too.

After having not seen you for the whole day, and just before the concert begins, Jungkook is called over to Namjoon’s room within the hotel to discuss some last minute changes to the show (which Jungkook’s positive he would have heard about if he hadn’t ignored his manager early in the morning). Only Namjoon doesn’t answer the door when Jungkook arrives. There’s a crescendo of giggling on the other side of the threshold and then it’s you, and you’re standing there wearing nothing but a baggy shirt of Namjoon’s that barely covers your bum (and shorts too, he thinks, but Jungkook’s much too focused now on you in Namjoon’s shirt). Namjoon’s standing a bit further back, leaning against the wall of the hallway without a shirt on and he’s grinning at something that’s just happened.

“Took you long enough,” Namjoon calls out. “Come in, we’ll get started. I’ll just be right back━ Just hopped out of the shower━” And then he disappears into another room, most likely to find another shirt that isn’t taken by you.

“Jungkook!” You greet him so cheerfully, as if the sight of you half naked in another man’s home isn’t eating away at Jungkook. You pull him into a hug that’s so tight he can smell your familiar perfume and probably Namjoon’s lingering scent if he focuses hard enough. “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” Jungkook says. He doesn’t mean for his voice to sound so standoffish. He hopes you don’t notice. “You’re back early.”

“Yeah. The girls had to leave but that’s okay.” You’re smiling so bright and wide that it almost hurts. “Namjoon━”

“Wanted to see you?” Jungkook finishes for you, remembering your words earlier in the day.

“Yeah━” You’re rambling on now but Jungkook isn’t listening. The pain is still lingering and it leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. He knows it isn’t right but he can’t be bothered to care. In that moment, he realizes he’d rather be anywhere but there and he’s never felt that way before.

“Uh━ You know what?” He cringes slightly when he interrupts you. “Forgot I had to do something actually. Mina called earlier ━ said she wanted to talk or whatever.”

Your face immediately drops at the mention of the other girl and it pains him even more to know that you don’t see through his blatant lie. What’s worse is that Mina had called him the night before, but he had turned her down promptly before she could even say what she wanted.

You glance over your shoulder fleetingly as if to look for Namjoon, teeth sinking into the soft flesh of your lower lip. “But I thought you needed to talk with Joon about the show?”

“Can’t, sorry. Tell Namjoon he can do whatever he wants. I don’t care. Seems like he’s got his hands full with you here anyway.”

He hates himself for it ━ he hates how petty he can be, how rude he can sound without truly meaning it ━ but before he can explain himself or apologize in a way that would probably make him look even more like an idiot, he turns his back to you. It’s the first time he’s really ever done something like that. Usually, he puts up with it ━ with you draped over Namjoon’s lap or Taehyung’s hand on your waist because usually he hadn’t always had feelings for you.

Truth be told, Jungkook doesn’t know how Namjoon or Taehyung feel about “sharing” you. He doesn’t even know how you feel about it or if you’ve noticed Jungkook’s short temper lately. He tries to contain it but he can’t and he hates how he’s become when he’s not alone with you. Lately, he’s started to think that maybe this isn’t right anymore. Maybe he shouldn’t keep meeting up with you if he’s going to feel this way all the time, and it wasn’t fair to you for him to be sulking so much. He’s not supposed to be in love. He’s supposed to be having fun.

After all, that’s what it was to you, wasn’t it?

But that night something happens.

Jungkook only notices you half an hour into the show later that night even despite the fact that you’re in the same place that you always are, standing on the side in the part of the pit closest to the stage where only family and close friends are allowed to stay. Of course you’re dancing along, just like you always do, and of course you’re watching him and the rest of the boys with starry eyes, just how he loves. You smiled wide at some point when his gaze locked with yours ━ him, drenched in sweat and nearing exhaustion, and you, face-flushed and looking as if you’re having the time of your life.

But that’s the thing about you ━ you’re not like the others. Sure, your eyes tend to drift to him more often than not and linger on him longer than necessary but you don’t just come for him. You live for the music, admire the rest of the boys that have treated him so dearly and make the group what it is.

And the way he performs ━ you wonder if he purposely exerts himself more because he wants you to only focus on him. Every rough thrust of his hips, every time he grabs at his crotch, dark and hooded eyes meets yours and you know he’s trying to tease you. Trying to make you suffer.

Later, when the concert is finished and you’re at a private room in a club with the boys to celebrate the evening and Jungkook has had one too many shots, he finds you at the bar. He sidles up from behind you, one palm sliding onto the small of your back. You know it’s him even before you look, judging by the familiar stature of his chest pressing against your body, and his usual scent. His lips press to the crook of your neck and your lips unfurl into a smile. You reach up blindly to grab at the nape of his neck as he starts to sway against you to the beat of the music, hips digging into your ass.

“I’ve been dying to be next to you all night.” He whispers this into the shell of your ear and you wonder vaguely how you’ve maintained enough self-control to not drop to your knees and suck him off then and there. Even worse is the fact that he’s still adorned in the makeup from the concert. Your fingers scratch at one of the newly shaved sides of his head, the rest of his long locks only maintain some of its original style pushed back and off his forehead, though now messily mused as it splays out on either side of his head and threatens to hide the undercut once more.

“You’re drunk,” You point out. He doesn’t seem to register the fact that you only point it out because otherwise, if he wasn’t so smashed, you aren’t quite sure he’d even be touching you the way he is now after the way he’s been acting lately.

“So are you,” Jungkook hums. “Let’s get out of here?”

And you can’t possibly say no.

He thinks it’s a shame, really, because you had looked quite pretty that night wearing a velvet red dress. Because after somehow calling a taxi and stumbling back to his dorm, he gets lost in you for a while and completely ravishes you, impatiently ripping your dress off you and pressing you against the wall, hips eagerly digging into yours until you hook your legs around his hips and he carries you off to bed to finish.

When you’re spent from your first high, Jungkook moves from your sprawled out positions on the bed and gets up, pulling on a pair of discarded sweatpants from the floor. You watch him as he combs his hair back that’s fallen into his face again, muscles in his biceps rippling as he does so. He reaches for an acoustic guitar in one corner, then sinks onto the edge of the bed. He’s not usually this quiet after a night spent together, though you don’t quite seem to notice, thinking nothing of it as he starts plucking away at the guitar with a melody in mind if only because when he’s frustrated and stuck on a lyric, he usually goes to you in seek of help in terms of finding relief. You get to your knees, crawling over to him so that you can drape your arms around his shoulders from the back.

“That’s pretty,” You sigh dreamily, nodding to the guitar and the lazy strumming he had been doing. In the distance, you realize there’s been music playing faintly the whole time from the dock where his phone is plugged in. You recognize one of the boys’ songs playing, then realize it’s Jungkook’s solo, his own voice singing beautifully back to you. Above all else, you realize all at once that he isn’t really playing anything at all, or brainstorming a new song, but plucking along absentmindedly to the melody of his own song.

He’s distracted but he tenses at your touch, then relaxes at once, melting instantly against you. “Just messing around,” he sighs.

“Nonsense,” You giggle. He glances over at you just in time to see you reach for his hand, and he watches as you play with the rings on his fingers. “There’s magic in these hands. In more ways than one.”

You press a chilling kiss against his palm, and then the tip of each of his fingers. Time seems to slow, and all he can suddenly focus on is you.

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” His voice has a dull, stubborn whine to it that he can’t shake. “Have I ever told you that?”

“Once or twice,” You smirk. You busy yourself by focusing on lining the bottom of your palm with his, measuring your hand in his. He’s much bigger than you, his fingers nearly towering over yours and they’re always so snug and warm.

“Well, it’s true,” he says. “You’re the kinda girl songs are written about.”

“Unless I’m mistaken,” You say in a matter-of-fact tone, “you have written songs about me.”

He feigns a look of doubt, though a smile threatens to tug at his mouth, especially when you delicately lace your fingers with his one-by-one. “Ah, is that what you think, baby girl? Don’t let the fame get to your head.”

You laugh, dropping your head and leaning your temple against his knuckles in an attempt to hide your sheepish face. With his free hand, he sets his guitar back onto the floor and then unravels his other hand from yours. His palm is calloused and hot as it slides onto your cheek, and you nuzzle into it even despite him guiding your face back up to look at him. He can’t help himself; he leans in to kiss you, biting at your lower lip and earning a delicious moan. As his hands come to grip at your sides just over your ribs and the underside of your breasts do you crawl into his lap to straddle him. For a while, he lets himself get carried away, feeling your hands roam his chest, but then with such vivid intensity, he can only imagine Namjoon and Taehyung in the same position as him and it almost makes him want to vomit. Either that, or it’s the alcohol. Gathering his wits, he shakes his head, pulling apart from you.

“I think I should write━” He fumbles uselessly with his words. “Namjoon’s gonna kill me if I don’t finish these songs━”

You arch your chest against his, warm and soft and palpable, and your hips dig into his a little more roughly, rubbing against his straining erection. You can be heard whining sluggishly as you kiss the underside of his jaw, “But I want you inside me, Kook.”

His breath hitches in his throat, but he can’t think straight anymore. Is the scent he smelling even you anymore, or just a mix of Namjoon and Taehyung? And when you tell him he’s the only one who can ever make you feel the way he does, do you tell that to them too?

His silence is answer enough, and is what ultimately forces you to look up at him. You’re met with an empty expression, then your own countenance is contorting. You sit back on his lap.

“I don’t understand you anymore, Jungkook,” You say. There it is, he laments to himself. The familiar pang to his chest, the dreaded realization that maybe he’s fucked this whole thing up forever. “It’s like sometimes you can’t get enough of me, touching me here and there and just before shows when you’re supposed to be on in ten minutes, telling me that no one will care if you’re late. Then sometimes it’s like you won’t even look at me. Like you can’t get me off of you fast enough; like you can’t even touch me anymore.”

Jungkook avoids your stare, which he knows is exactly the sort of thing he shouldn’t do. But you already have your answer. You clamber off of his lap at once to slide back onto the bed and he wants nothing more than to pull you back but he knows he shouldn’t. Now, you seem flustered, or maybe just disheartened. Your arms come to cross over your bare chest, as if to hide yourself.

“You don’t want to touch me anymore,” You say dryly.

It’s not a question so much as it is a statement. Either way, he shakes his head. Rubbing a tired hand over his face, he mumbles, “Maybe you should go.”

You clamp your mouth shut. “You’re not serious, Jungkook.”

He still doesn’t dare to meet your gaze, his jaw set hard in place.

“You’re kicking me out? Now? Now?”

“I’m not. I’m just━ Not in the mood tonight.”

“What a liar,” You gasp. “I had your stupid boner poking my ass the entire time we were at the club, and you sure as hell spent the better part of the night fucking me.”

He can’t quite tell if you’re mad. Your tone dances a fine line between incredulousness and amusement, though he assumes it all boils down to disappointment in the end anyway. You refuse to move, though, pushing yourself onto your knees beside him.

“Tell me the truth, Jungkook,” You plead carefully. “Something’s wrong. Has been for a while, and I want to know what it is.”

He takes a deep breath and finally meets your stare and, god, you look irresistible. Your lips are bruised red from him biting and sucking at them, and your exposed chest is too tempting, beckoning him to touch you. His mind is a whirlwind of emotions ━ plus, he’s just a little bit tipsy, and so he blames it on that for caving into you so easily.

He grimaces. “I’m jealous, all right?”

You don’t respond at first, and he decides he wants to curl up into a hole and die. Then, you snort, which isn’t exactly the sort of reaction he was expecting to hear from you, and suddenly you don’t seem so angry at him anymore. “I knew that. Was wondering when you’d tell me, though.”

“You what?”

“Well, it’s not that hard to see. You’re always giving Namjoon and Taehyung death glares when I’m around.”

“I didn’t think I was that obvious.” He says this sheepishly, and at least you giggle at him. “I just━ I’m selfish. I want you to myself.”

“I’m not a thing to have,” You retort.

“I know,” he says, and then groans the words again. “Fuck, I know. I’m sorry. I know you’re not a thing to have, and you’re not mine to have but, god, I hate it that they know everything about what it feels like to be with you.”

Gently, he grabs at your waist, tugging you onto his lap, rough hands spreading your thighs to sit perfectly on him once more. Then, with his hands planted on your hips, does he guide you back and forth on him slowly. He reaches out to brush his fingers along your bare arms, then across your collarbones, and down to your breasts. He leans down as if to kiss the valley between them, but his mouth never really does meet your skin; instead, his lips graze faintly against you.

“That they know your body.” He brushes his nose against your chest as he lifts his head. His mouth ghosts across your breasts, almost catching your nipples in his mouth, his breath warm and tingly against the sensitive flesh, just to tease you. His hand follows his lips, grasping firmly at the underside of your breast, his thumb flicking over the perked bud. “Have touched it where I’ve touched it.”

Your own hands flail out to grasp at his shoulders, your breath hitching in your throat. “Why? Why do you hate it so much? That’s all I want to know.”

“Because they don’t even know how lucky they are,” he mutters. “Because you probably do all sorts of things for them and they just think you’re another groupie. Because they aren’t in love with you.”

“You’re in love with me?” Your face is hot now, your body trembling. His hands are still on your chest when he starts kissing your throat.

“Yeah. I am.”

“What if I told you I’m in love with you too?”

“Well, you are fucking my band mates. I think that makes things a tad bit complicated.”

“You’re such an idiot.” You’re certain if he wasn’t making you feel like heaven in that moment, you would have snapped the words. Instead, you’re already shamelessly grinding your hips against his even without his guidance. “I called it off with them a while ago, actually. They were okay with it, too. Said they felt something was different. You’re the only one in my life, Jungkook.”

Jungkook stops suddenly. He pulls his head back to gawk at you and is greeted to your hooded eyes watching him. “You━ What? What about this morning when you said Namjoon wanted to see you?”

“I lied,” You admit timidly.

“And when you were in his room━”

“We never did anything,” You promise. “I just wanted to see a reaction from you. Honestly, so did Taehyung and Namjoon. I mean, Namjoon purposely told me to come to his room to see if you’d be jealous. And I think I went along with it because I really just want to know that when you ask me to stay with you, in your bed, do you really mean it? I just…” You trail off, biting at your lower lip, asking him apprehensively, “What about you and that Mina girl?”

“I haven’t seen her or talked to her in months,” he says earnestly.

“Of course not.” You say this in a breathless laughing manner, as if it’s just now dawning on you. Then, you reach up to cradle his head in your hands, grasping at either side of his face. When you speak next, your voice is an ardent whisper. “I want to be with you, Kook. Like really, really be with you. I didn’t know how to tell you because we were so used to just having sex and nothing more and I figured if that’s all I could get with you, then I’d learn to live with it even if it’d kill me to hear you hooking up with other girls.”

Jungkook blinks. He takes a moment to comprehend what’s happening, but then he’s feeling that tension in his chest loosen and he’s just so relieved.

“There’s only you,” he says. “Has been for a while.”

You smile, so big and soft and pretty, and he kisses you just to bask in the moment. Suddenly, he’s just overwhelmed with love for you and almost doesn’t know what to do with himself.

“Maybe I should get you jealous more often,” You muse pensively. “It’s kinda hot.”

“It’s mean,” he pouts. Then, his demeanour changes and he’s smirking wolfishly. “Besides, they can’t fuck you like I can, can they?”

“N-No,” You croak feebly. “It’s always been you, Jungkook. Even with them. I’d never tell them but… you’re all I could think about even when I was with them. Imagining you touching me instead of them. Imagining it was you when they laid with me.”

This seems to grab his attention, having him groaning into your neck. “What’d I say? Gonna be the death of me.”

You shiver at the sound of his hoarse voice. You whisper aloud, “The feeling is mutual.”

“I’m sorry I’ve been so stupid lately,” he says. “Let me make it up to you. Do you want that, baby girl? But first you gotta show me you mean it. That you’re mine.”

As he tongues a pattern against your throat, you muster a nod. You wonder if it’s obvious how badly you want him in that moment, with the way your hips continue to grind against his.

“I want you to fuck yourself on my thigh,” he murmurs against you. “Can you do that for me?”

The thought entices you and has you scrambling to nod your head again. His large hands come to grab at your ass, shifting you until you’re seated on one of his legs. Your eyes never stray from his as you start to grind against his thigh, the rough material of his sweatpants rubbing at your core. Slow and steady, he guides you back and forth, watching as your pretty mouth pops open into a silent gasp.

“That’s it, baby girl,” he coos. “God, you look so pretty. And you’re all mine. Touch yourself for me.”

“Where?” You ask breathlessly.

“All over. Anywhere you want me.”

You whimper at the thought, imagining the feeling of his rough hands on your body. You start at your chest, grasping at your own breasts, squeezing at your perked nipples. You pinch them until they’re hard under your fingertips, kneading the soft flesh of your breasts with your palm as you try to picture Jungkook doing the same. Then, you slide one hand down the front of your stomach, past your navel. He watches as you dip lower and lower before finally reaching between your legs, fingers rubbing small circles against your clit. The mingling feelings of you rutting your hips against his thigh and the way you touch yourself under his burning stare has you writhing on his lap within seconds.

“Oh, Jungkook━” Your eyes clamp shut, brows knitting in concentration. “Wanna feel you so bad━”

“Uh uh,” he tuts at once. Grabbing at your chin, he yanks your head back up in his direction and taps his thumb against your jaw. “Keep your eyes on me. I want to see how I make you feel.”

“But it feels so good,” You whine. Still, you listen, prying your eyes open just slightly enough to meet his stare again. Now, you’ve started to grind a little harder on him, rubbing at your heat a little faster. “Please, Jungkook━”

“Cum for me first,” he coos, his tone gentle despite his obvious demands. “Then I’ll do whatever you want. You can do that for me, right?”

You muster a nod, eyes threatening to flutter shut again but you refrain. He moves one of his arms to wrap around your waist, his large hard encompassing almost all of your back as he pushes you closer to him and the action alone is enough to make you hum with delight.

“Tell me what you want me to do to you,” he says. “The things they could never do for you.”

He doesn’t say Taehyung’s or Namjoon’s names for you to understand and, truthfully, you’re glad he doesn’t. Your mind is much too focused on Jungkook to care about anyone else.

“I want you━” You cry out suddenly, biting at your lip. “I want you to touch me, anywhere. I want you to use me, and make me yours. I want you in me. I just need your dick, Jungkook, please. You always make me feel so good. Please, please touch me━”

His jaw sets hard in place as he continues to watch you, fingers itching to please you however which way you want, but he waits. He knows you’re close to your high when you start whimpering and moaning his name, your hand falling from your chest as your other hand rubs harder at your clit the faster you ride his thigh. He flexes his muscle beneath your core, and the simple action is enough to have your head spinning. As you reach your high, his hand that is still wrapped around your chin slides upward and his two forefingers poke into your mouth. Instantly, you’re sucking against them, tongue laving at his digits desperately as you imagine his cock in your mouth, in your cunt, stretching you wide.

“God, you’re such a good girl,” he grunts. “Keep your eyes on me.”

As you unravel in his arms, body twitching into his chest, his arm tightens its hold around your back and envelopes you in his warmth so much to the point where it feels as if you begin to melt against him. You grab at his wrist, pushing his fingers deeper into your mouth until you almost gag, muffled moans meeting his ear as you climax. When you’re spent, your pace on his thigh slows to a steady occasional gyrating of your hips as you suck and lav at his fingertips.

“That’s it, baby girl,” Jungkook hums, his free hand stroking your back as you calm your nerves. When you’ve regained most of your wit, you pop Jungkook’s fingers from your mouth and he takes the liberty of guiding his palm down your chin to your throat to your breasts. “You’re doing so well for me. Bet you never listened as well to them as you do with me. Will you get on your hands and knees for me?”

You scramble to obey, crawling off his lap and onto all fours on the bed. You crane your neck to watch as he gets to his knees behind you, shoving the material of his sweatpants down to his knees in haste. He’s already impossibly hard, grasped in his knuckles, precum leaking from the head of his dick. He wastes no time in pushing himself into you, and though he’s stretched you wide hours ago, the same feeling of him slipping in snug to your heat does wonders on your body still.

“Mm, Jungkook!” You cry out as he buries himself balls deep into you, coaxed so easily by your slick arousal. He sputters at the sensation, palms pawing at your navel as he yanks you further down his cock. “F-Fuck━ You feel so good━”

“Show me,” he gasps, pulling his hips out once and rutting into you so vigorously you feel it shudder throughout your whole body. Then, he’s thrusting into you at a rhythmic fast pace that has you clenching so tight around him, his head spins some more. “Let me hear you. I wanna see how I make you feel. Let me see how you belong to me.”

He tugs at your elbows, yanking you up off the bed, and you clumsily follow suit, pressing your back flushed against his chest.

“I’m all yours, Jungkook,” You whine. “I want you to wreck me so bad. Only you know how to wreck me so bad.”

“Yeah?” he taunts. “Only me? Gonna prove it?”

“Please, Jungkook━ Harder, please━ I’ll do anything you want!”

He quickens his pace and slams his hips up into yours harshly. It has you moaning with delight, nearly slipping from his grasp, but he holds you tighter in place. He reaches round to grab at your chin again, twisting your head in a careful yet prompt manner so that you’re looking over your shoulder at him with your flustered gawking expression.

“Open up.” He taps at your mouth and you do as you’re told. Almost instantly, he pulls your chin closer until your mouth is hovering over his, and spits. It’s a wordless command and gesture, as if to further prompt you to prove your point. You welcome it entirely, swallowing his own saliva completely. What doesn’t make it into your mouth, dribbles down your chin and onto your throat. Then you’re chasing his mouth, hearing him hum approvingly, “That’s it, baby.”

You almost miss his lips the first time from the way he’s being so feral now as his hips continue to slam against yours. You’re fortunate when he guides your chin, still pinched between his fingers, in a much too tender manner for the crude moment that has your heart swooning despite all the hysteria. A hot open-mouthed kiss which is still entirely sloppy as your tongues ravish mid-air, and his teeth nip and suck on your lower lip any chance he can get.

“Gonna tell them how well I fuck you?” he asks breathlessly. You bite at his lip this time, tugging at it hard. “Let them know you’re all mine? Fuck━”

“Mhm!” You rasp. “Oh, Jungkook━”

By now, his pace is relentless. You threaten to ricochet from his grip with each rut of his hips, knees wobbling beneath you. He hand falls from your chin finally to grab at your breasts, replacing your earlier efforts, pinching at your nipples, squeeze at your soft flesh. He lavs wet kisses along your jawline, your neck, and shoulder. Your own head leans back onto his shoulder, a hand reaching out to grasp at his hair. Your fingers first scratch at the shaved sides, then thread through his hair, yanking at it tightly enough to have him grunting in delight.

“Jungkook, I’m gonna━” You whimper. “I’m gonna━”

But you don’t finish your thought. It doesn’t matter anyway. Jungkook already knows you’re close to your high with the way you start to clench around him. You pull even tighter at his hair, a pleasant burn evoking a hiss from his throat. His hips move even faster than before, desperate to try and carry you to your high. So riddled from your first orgasm not long ago and the one before that, you’re quick to crumble beneath him once more. Twisting and turning, you cry out his name in a repeated mantra, like music to his ears. When the scorching heat between your thighs and blinding your eyes subsides enough for you to be somewhat coherent again, you meekly find your voice.

“Tell me I’m yours,” You beg despairingly, voice barely a ragged panting whisper. The aftershock of your orgasm still shakes through your body that the way you’re clutching at his hair now is only so that you can still have some sort of hold on reality still. “Please, please. Tell me. I wanna be yours so bad. You already have me, just wanna hear it from you. Tell me you want me as much as I want you. Please, Jungkook━”

A nerve flutters in Jungkook’s heart. And his dick. He marvels momentarily at the idea of how he wants to continue to wreck you and simultaneously love you all over and grows impatient. Without warning, and with much difficulty, he pulls out of you. Before you can register what’s happening or miss the warmth of his cock in your heat, he pushes you onto the bed and flips you around so that you’re on your back. Then, hovering over you close enough so that he can hook one of your legs over his shoulder, he pushes himself back into you.

“You’re all I want,” he says, smoothing his mouth over yours once more. He moans against your lips, then rests his forehead against yours as he squeezes his eyes shut. “God, I’m so fucking in love with you. You make it so hard to think sometimes. Everything about you drives me wild.”

His pace isn’t as harsh as before, though he’s careless as he abandons all form in an attempt to ride out your high and reach his own. Each thrust he makes jolts you back and forth on the bed, the sensitivity between your thighs a mild burn that starts to crescendo as you gasp each time his cock slides back into you. You reach out tiredly to grab at his face with soft motions despite not bothering to move him from where he still rests with his forehead. One large palm of his comes to grasp at your side, pushing you further into the mattress as he hammers into you.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum━” He moans. “Gonna let me fill you up, baby? Gonna let me make your cunt mine?”

“Yes, please,” You rasp. “Wanna feel it so bad.”

It’s different this time despite knowing the sensation well enough from all those times before. Every event since then has been a build up to this, and when he finally releases into you, it’s unlike anything you’ve ever experienced. The last few sluggish ruts of his hips make the both of you whimper and whine, mewling with delight the longer he cums in your heat.

Then, he slumps against your chest and the room falls silent once more safe for the sound of your mingled panting. He burrows his face into the crook of your neck and your fingers rake through his sweaty hair in a soothing manner until that too ceases after a few silent moments.

“Not falling asleep on me now, are you?” he asks after the thrill of both your highs have subsided. He lifts his head to look at you and finds that you are, in fact, beginning to doze off.

“No,” You lie. You pry one eye open to look at him as you bite back a sheepish snicker. He pulls out of you at long last, and the lack of warmth has you immediately protesting. You reach out blindly for him before he can move too far. “Come back here. I want to cuddle you.” Then, letting your surroundings register once more, you realize suddenly that music has still been playing all this time. Most specifically, Jungkook’s solo which has been left on a loop. You meet his curious gaze in the dark and deadpan, “Did you seriously just fuck me to your song?”

“It’s not fucking when we were making love,” he wriggles his brows suggestively. You wonder how he’s always so quick to go from one extreme to the other. Whereas five minutes ago, you wanted nothing more than to have him demolish you with his dick, now he’s just his usual lovable idiotic self that you want to kiss all over. He’s not wrong though, you discern. The song isn’t a bad one either, and the thought of him having sex with you to his own music is undescriably hot anyway.

“You can’t say you were making love to me when you just took me raw.” Amongst other things, you think to yourself, but you’re certain he’s well aware of that. His snickers warm your heart to no end and you can’t help yourself when you lean forward to kiss him.

“I can and I will because I love you,” he says proudly. Then, as if tasting the words on his tongue and favouring the sound of it, hums more pensively again, “I love you.”

“I love you too, Jungkook.”

And this time he knows you mean it because, in the morning, when you both wake up feeling sore and marked all over by one another (so that Namjoon and Taehyung can know), you’re still curled up into Jungkook’s chest. You’re half asleep, your nose nuzzling against the crook of his neck and making him smile. You’re only roused awake by the feather-light strokes his fingers make as they rub small circles into your back.

“Stay with me?” Jungkook asks this hopefully, of course, but he already knows the answer. This time, he even knows it’ll be different.

He sees your sleepy smile widen when he kisses your temple sweetly, and decides quickly that he likes this, right there and now, as it is, and especially when he hears you whisper finally, “There’s no place I’d rather be.”

⟶ Feedback is always appreciated!

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wannajointhecrabcult · 5 years ago

Text

Masks and Music

(Part 1)

Part 2

I didn't think that my last post would've gotten ANY notes at all, so imagine my surprise when I find out that people actually liked it. After that suprise I thought why not and make another one so here we go! This is a Miraculous/Batfam crossover.

Imagine that Damian gets sent to Paris because the fam doesn't want him to become an emotionally constipated sad boi like Bruce and think that a change in scenery would help.

They don't know about the whole Hawkmoth situation because SOMEONE from the justice league decided that the while thing was a prank DESPITE that it was an ENTIRE CITY calling instead of a single person.

Like, aren't you guys supposed to be the world's greatest heros or something?

Who hired you?

Damian being the grumpy lil kid that he is holds a grudge and decides to not accept any calls or video chats from his family or tell them about Hawkmoth because that's what you get when you send someone across the world against their will.

(and because of plot convenience shhh)

Anyways, Damian goes to school as instantly adds Lila onto his mental list of people he needs to get rid of.

I mean, seriously, he's only been is the room for what, 15 seconds and he's already getting a migraine?

Great. Juusssttt great.

He sits in the back of the class with what seems to be the only person with brain cells in this room.

The dark haired girl just looks over and sees the disgust at Lila written all over his face and gives him a silent empathetic nod.

'This is unfortunately normal here.' she tries to convey through the small action.

He just nods back to show his understanding before turning around to observe the others.

In a few minutes Ms. Bustier walks in the room and asks him to introduce himself to the class.

It looks like the teacher never told the class that they were getting a new student because they all have to do double takes when they realize that there's a new face in the room.

He gives them the bare basics, telling them that his name is Damian Grayson, he's from America, and that he doesn't want any of them to talk to him before sitting down.

Clearly the teacher wanted him to say more or scold him for being so rude but a glare shut her up.

Later during a break period Lila tries to flirt with him and brags all about how she's met so many different celebrities and her achievements.

He tells her off and tries to move away but her nails are digging into his arms as she tries to convince him that he should stay away from Marinette.

Before he can maim her, the dark haired girl comes out from behind him and starts spraying Lila down like an unruly cat with some sort of strong smelling liquid from a spray bottle.

Lila screeches and stomps away.

When he turns to his hero the girl explains.

"It's a mixture of shredded lemon, expired maple syrup, vinegar, and pomegranate juice. I call it People Repellant but Thot Begone works too. Oh, and I'm Marinette by the way."

He eyes her hand before shaking it.

"Damian, though I assume you already know that. Can I get some of that by the way? I know a couple insufferable annoyances that would benefit from a spray down.

Marinette just blinks for a second before she bursts out laughing and that was the start of a great friendship.

Together they:

Make fun of Lila in the back of class.

Help eachother with homework (they only cheat off eachother when they REALLY need help)

Prank Lila in odd ways (Hey, just because she found hundreds of furbies hidden around her house that turn on one by one in the middle of the night effectively scaring the crap out of her when she's trying to sleep doesn't mean that it's their fault. She had it coming.)

Break a couple laws (shhhhhhh. Those toy stores don't need those furbies anyways).

Dare eachother over stupid things (they still insist that the cereal incident was caused by the other).

And overall become closer as friends.

They bring out the overdramatic chaotic gremlin child in eachother.

One time when Damian goes over to Marinette's place to work on a project he finds her singing a Disney song to herself on her balcony.

This isn't the first time they've caught eachother singing.

One time Marinette caught Damian in the art room at school humming one of the many annoyingly cheesy and catchy songs that Dick likes to listen to.

Despite him explaining the embarrassing situation to her she still teased him for weeks after.

He'll never get to live it down.

Damian shakes his head to get rid of the flashback when a devious smirk spreads across his face as a revenge plan comes to mind.

After carefully placing his stuff on the floor he sneakily makes his way across the space until he's right behind her.

That's when he joins in.

Screaming at the top of his lungs at first, effectively giving her a mini heart attack before eventually quieting down to a normal singing volume.

She glares at him, annoyed by his loud and obnoxious entrance before she starts singing again.

They eventually end up full Disney movie dramatically performing around her balcony with dance moves and over dramatic acting.

Is it bad that actual birds and other animals are appearing and joining in?

Damian totally kept one of the pigeons.

He named it Dolores.

(He later trained Dolores to attack Rossi on sight.)

When they're finished they end up on the floor out of breath.

They stay like that for a few minutes before Damian sits up.

"That. That was fun. I don't think I've actually ever sang before."

Marinette jolts up in suprise and turns to face him.

"Really? I never would've guessed. You have a really nice singing voice."

He would deny till his dying breath that he blushed when she said that but he covers it up with a smirk.

"Well I guess that's just because yours is so terrible in comparison."

He squawks when she jabs a finger in his side.

"Pshh. As if. Besides, my singing skills can't be worse then your gaming skills." She challenges with a cheeky smile.

"ExCuSe mE?!"

And that's how they spend the rest of the day playing video games, leaving the unfinished project to be completed on a later day.

Good thing it isn't due until 2 weeks time.

After a couple of hours playing video games, creating many possible Lila murder plans, eating pastries, and joking around, it's time for him to leave.

As Damian left for his place he got a feeling that something big was gonna happen.

Marinette also got the feeling but they both ignored it.

Little did they know, someone just happened to walk by and starstruck by the amazing singing they recorded the performance before posting it on the internet.

Imagine the duo's suprise when they wake up the next day to find themselves trending on the internet.

Luckily the video quality was pretty trash so their faces weren't identifiable but the audio was loud and clear.

The world was talking about the cute couple singing to their hearts desire on a balcony. If that's not cliche and adorable then the world doesn't know what is.

The assumption about their relationship status left them looking like tomatos but that didn't stop them from wonder why they didn't notice a creep recording them.

Damn Disney songs and their unnatural ability to distract people.

Of course Lila took advantage of the rising popularity of the video and talked about how she taught the two people in the video how to sing and gave them tips.

The two just walked past the idiot squad and sat down in their seats, making a mental note to come up with a prank later, when the akuma alarms came on.

They fall into their normal routine of Marinette running out to find a place to transform as Damian covers for her.

Oops did I forget to mention that Damian found out her identity because she crashed through his window in the middle of the night still transformed and asked him what's the answer to question 24 in their science homework because she just defeated an akuma by herself and was running on 20 minutes of sleep?

My bad.

Anyways it turns out today was the day Marinette had officially had enough of Chat's bullcrap.

It was gonna be a normal akuma situation.

Ladybug trying to fight the poor butterfly victim while chat noir either doesn't show up, tries to do everything on his own to impress her and ruins the whole plan, or just watches and complains about how she needs to get over her denial and date him BUT

This time he decided to actively try to push her in the akuma's way therefore putting her in SO MUCH MORE DANGER than she was already in.

Now she had to dodge out of the akuma's way AND CHAT'S!

WhAt ThE fUdGe?!?!

You think possibly killing Ladybug and trying to force her to beg for you to save her is gonna make her like you?!?

Just how hard did you hit your head when Gabriel dropped you on the floor when you were 2?

After the akuma was eventually defeated Ladybug told Chat to meet her on an abandoned rooftop that night because they needed to talk.

Chat being the oblivious person that he is (I swear I don't actually hate chat noir, this is for the plot I'm sorry) thought that it was for a love confession and became overly smug before leaving.

Making sure that he isn't following her, Marinette meets up with Damian at his place (school's over because of the attack) and asks him to help.

Later that day when the two miraculous holders meet up Ladybug distracts the Catboy by flirting with him while Damian uses his ninja skills for something other than sneaking up on her and giving Marinette mini heart attacks.

From behind he quickly hits a pressure point causing the other boy to fall unconscious.

Using her ALMIGHTY GUARDIAN OF THE MIRACULOUS powers, Ladybug takes Adrien's ring away and places a spell on him that makes it so he will never be able to use another miraculous ever again.

After they take Adrien home Marinette gives Damian the ring and Night Prowler is born.

He promises to do everything in his power to make sure that Selina and his family doesn't find out for the sake of his pride.

We'll see how that goes.

Night Prowler first officially appeared during an akuma named 'Break Dancer'.

Ironically, she was a ballerina that had to drop out of the finals in a competition because she broke her right leg the day before the show.

She could turn civilians into back up dancers and forced them to perform against their will.

They also worked as minions who would attack the duo for her while she stayed a safe distance away.

It was pretty obvious that the akumatized item was the music box held inside the bag that Break Dancer had slung around her shoulders but the real question was how could they get to it without becoming attacked by the backup dancer or becoming one of them.

Luckily (eheheh), a car with an open window playing music just happened to pass by before driving off.

Before it drove off, the music coming from the car was loud enough to play over the music box which caused some of the minions to become free again and run off.

Ladybug called her lucky charm and a Bobby pin landed in her hand.

As she looked around she noticed a store a couple blocks away that had a couple radios.

Unfortunately, the store was locked and closed.

Fortunately, she knew how to pick locks and a Bobby pin did come from her lucky charm soooo......

Who is she to deny literal gods.

They break into the store and grab a radio, and a speaker and rush over to where the akuma was causing chaos.

They turn on the radio, connect the speaker and turn the volume on as loud as it can go before flipping through the stations for a good song.

If they're gonna fight with music in the background they're gonna be picky about it and wont settle for anything other than epic.

While fighting they eventually get swept up in the music and end up singing along.

It's nothing less than full on majestic.

When the fight is over and the akuma is purified they find out that someone recorded it and posted it on the internet as well.

Now everyone knows that the beloved hero of Paris and her new partner were the two people singing on that balcony.

Ummmmm.....

Good thing that the video quality was trash right?

If it weren't for that their identities would've been busted the moment they started singing in hero form.

Luckily there aren't many people other than Damian that know what Marinette's singing voice sounds like so they're okay.

Well.... They WERE okay,

Until a certain rockstar and his agent came across the two videos and put two and two together.

So now King Sting (bee!jagged) and Peridot (turtle!penny) have joined the team.

Poor Penny, now she has to deal with two gremlin children and a some sort of bizarre man-child.

The next akuma confused the group quite a bit.

He didn't really do anything but sit on a rooftop waiting for the miracle team to show up.

They were all suspicious of him at first but when they did reveal themselves to him he explained his situation.

He was akumatized because his favorite rock band broke up but he didn't really want to take their miraculouses away.

He just asked if they could perform another song for him and he would give his akumatized item to them.

They all sorta looked at eachother and collectively went 'screw it why not' and sang another song.

If they were great before, they are absolutely AMAZING now.

Well that's what happens when you add a famous rockstar to a team of singing superheros I guess.

The akuma was blown away and true to his word handed over the rolled up picture in his pocket and was purified despite of Hawkmoth's nagging.

Haha screw you Hawky.

This time the ordeal was recorded by a news station and the 'hand over the akuma in exchange for a song' thing became a trend.

There were still normal akuma's that didn't follow follow it but those were far flung between.

It seems like Hawkmoth was getting annoyed by this so there started being less akuma attacks over the months.

Because of this some people were actively trying to get upset to attract one of the purple butterflies.

They traded one good thing for another I guess.

To stop that from happening the group started performing in public as superheros during concerts and festivals.

Because of this they became quite well known outside of Paris as well.

Is it ironic that more people know them as a band rather than a superhero team now?

When Marinette learned that they could change what their superhero costumes looked like if they put enough will into it she squealed.

Marinette designs superhero performance costumes for them whenever they have a festival to play at.

Whenever asked about their outfits they always reply with MDC.

Marinette's business gets really popular after that.

And since no one knows who MDC really is, she doesn't have to worry about the whole "Oh no me and my family are gonna be in danger!" thing

It's a win win!

Overtime they basically become a second (or third for some people) family to eachother.

Damian becomes more 'kid like' and open to others,

Marinette becomes more confident and overall happier,

Jagged gets to hang out with his awesome niece and her 'maybe more than just a friend',

And Penny gets a new outlet for stress and has so many more crazy stories to tell people.

One day while she's in the living room on the sofa watching 'The AristoCats' Damian just barges into the room and dramatically flops over onto of her.

He just lays there with his head in her lap and the rest of his body sprawled on the couch.

After everything that has happened this is normal for them now.

Without asking any questions or talking at all they just watch the movie together with the occasional remark or quip between them.

Around half way through the movie Jagged kicks down the door, effectively scaring the crap out of the two teens, while Penny follows behind him with an apologetic look on her face.

At first Jagged was yelling about something having to do with'Fang' and 'Dragon' and 'Miraculous' but after taking in the domestic atmosphere of the room he just sits down on the floor and joins in on watching the movie.

Penny, shaking her head in both amusement and exasperation, sits down on another chair and does the same.

While combing through Damian's hair with her fingers Marinette looks around the room.

'My life can't get any more complicated, can it?'

Oh boy, she just jinxed it.

This is just an idea I've had bouncing around in my head for awhile and I couldn't resist the urge to write it out. I AM planning on making a part 2 so if you like this keep an eye out for that. I'm by no means a fast writer though so it will take a while. But then again not many people will probably read this soo.... Yeah.

#maribat #maridami #miraculous x dc #daminette #Miraculous crossover #damian x marinette #i still cant believe that people actually liked my last post omg #people are so supportive in this fandom #masks and music

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why-this-kolaveri-machi · 3 years ago

Text

it wasn’t power i coveted; it was acceptance.

Titans 3.06

y’know, i was just thinking the other day that 1.06/1.07 and 2.06/2.07 were the best episodes of their respective seasons, so i have great hopes going in to this one. fingers crossed!

as always, typing this up as i see the episode.

SPOILERS AHEAD

1. oh! um... that was a Cold Open, all right. *nudges* get it? cold? because it’s snowing? and two people got murdered in cold blood? eh?

... oh, i’ve just started.

1.5. i wonder if “i want to be sipping pina coladas on a beach with you” is the new “i’m just one day away from retiring.” i was so on edge after that--i kept expecting that car to explode. even so, the way they died wasn’t an anticlimax: brutal, and quick.

1.75. so i’m assuming that’s the titular lady vic! this show better bring up why this doll was important or why these two cops needed to be killed, and not leave it to the ether like jericho’s little mindscape jaunt in 2.08 (i’m still dying to know what that was about???)

i love how deliberately unappealing wayne manor is.

(sorry for the pic quality. i don’t have hbo max! ssshhh.)

2.3. i love the many references to “home” and “our house” when they’ve been here for less than a week and saw one of their friends get blown into pieces. i mean, i unironically love it: home is where family is, after all!

2.5. i’d like to say that kom is playing some sort of long game here, especially given the build-up we had last season and some of the more niggling details this season: why did kom choose now to use her bond to lure kory when she’s been on earth for months? why did justin call kory now, just around the time that she started getting kom’s visions? and what about kom’s ability to exactly imitate other people? hmmm.

2.75. the reason i wrote i’d like to say is that i’ve made the mistake of assuming plot complexity where there is none; i was so invested in the jason todd orchestrated his own death theory for instance, when it turns out that oops! ra’s al ghul just happened to leave a little lazarus puddle in gotham, and oh yeah! scarecrow just happens to have a network of henchmen working for him on the outside and a fully functional laboratory and a weapons cache fit for a new supervillain in the basement of the high security psychiatric unit/prison that he’s in!

(no i’m not bitter, why do you ask)

2.8. iiiii don’t know what to say about the implications of sex slavery being a thing on tamaran, so i’m not going to say anything at all. for now.

3. gotham, six years ago... wasn’t it five years before s2 that jericho died and the titans disbanded? and when was the flashback from 1.06 where dick let zucco die? i think it was after the events of 2.08: jericho? i can’t seem to find any transcripts or reliable information online, so i’m going to have to rewatch 1.06 at some point.

(i love the old-fashioned batman music in this heist scene)

3.5. “security is a joke... it’s my way of keeping my dad on his toes”. what you’re an ethical thief now, like an ethical hacker? i don’t think that excuse is going to sell, barbara, on the day you do encounter a decent security system and your father is forced to arrest you.

(then again, gotham’s security is piss-poor. did you know that you could just walk into arkham asylum without any official clearance, ply one of its most dangerous inhabitants with contraband, and said inmate could get away with having an entire laboratory and weapons cache--NO I’M NOT GOING TO LET THIS GO)

3.8 so that flashback between dick and barbara was really cute! and also illuminating:

a) dick sounds so light, so... um. look. i have some apologies to tender to mr thwaites, because while i’ve always thought he does a fine job as dick grayson, i’ve never been terribly fond of his cadence as he delivers dialogue. it’s often monotonous, i thought, but then again, he’s usually delivering exposition or dealing with one soul-crushing crisis or the other. so i was pleasantly surprised to hear dick sound so carefree and alive in his conversation with barbara, laughing frequently, his emotions so bare and bubbling to the surface. it’s really a fantastic contrast to the traumatised and world-weary dick grayson that we see now, even more so than the costume department just bunging a backwards-baseball cap on mr thwaites’ head and hoping that will convince us of his relative youth.

b) and god, when he wakes up from that memory, all alone in his bed, bleeding from bullet holes in his shoulder (bullet holes that are--in a somewhat convoluted way--barbara’s fault)? yikes. it’s great. you have my apologies, mr thwaites!

c) can you imagine dick just... crawling back to wayne manor, trying not to be seen by anybody, shedding his suit and just... collapsing onto his bed without even tending to his wound? the sheer emotional and physical exhaustion of it?

d) it’s so interesting to see how barbara and dick approach the idea of legacy--a big theme on the show!--in this flashback. barbara is the one bucking the idea that she should follow in her father’s footsteps, while dick seems pretty content with the batman-and-robin setup, and even tries to get barbara to join their team (robin-girl. pfffft). obviously after this several traumatic things happen wherein dick ends up questioning and then resenting his role as robin, his relationship with batman or even returning as a vigilante at all. and barbara... ends up replacing her father as commissioner. it’s tragic, really.

e) the dynamic between dick and barbara in the flashback reminds me of how it was between dick and donna in 1.08 and even between kory and dick in early s1. it’s like having an older, strong-willed woman by his side means he gives over the steering wheel for a while and lets himself... unspool, a little bit. it’s kinda endearing.

also:

*pinches his cheeks*

3. you know, we talk about dick and Eldest Daughter Syndrome, and that’s definitely valid, but here gar seems to me the embodiment of it, with all the emotional gardening and firefighting that he’s expected to do. he’s kind of the guy expected to keep his shit together and take care of everyone else while they are falling completely to pieces, unable to carve out time to process his own trauma. he’s also picked up dick’s and kory’s tendencies to bottle up their struggles and shun appearing vulnerable, and he’s struggling in the shadow of both dick and kory undergoing acute crises, his best friend (and frequent confidante) on the other side of the world, and seeing hank die, utterly helpless to stop it.

i’m glad that he got a chance to tell dick even a smidgeon of what he really feels, and i hope this is at least a semblance of a wake up call for dick to actually sit down and work with the people he repeatedly calls family.

3.5. it’s heartening to see that dick immediately makes it his priority to go talk to gar. but don’t blow off kory in the process, man!

4. i’m really loving this dynamic between kom and conner--i get the idea that both of them consider each other as Unknowns, alien two times over. but conner’s only ever known the titans, who embrace being different, and kom’s only ever known... well.

anyway, kory is Really Stressed, and honestly? #relatable.

when you’re forced to bring an estranged family member to hang out with your friends...

4.5. i love that the titans are spending so much time in the kitchen. a real family!

5. jonathan crane is a creep and i absolutely cannot stand him.

5.25. how did he get a whole lab setup (in the basement of a hospital...?) with a bunch of whitecoats to work for him? how did he just waltz into the viewing room of an operation theatre when he’s one of the most wanted men in gotham right now? why is jason wandering around maskless when--presumably--as the adopted son of the most famous person in gotham he’d be a tad more recognisable than your average joe?

why do i expect this show to answer anything anymore?

5.5. that’s not necessarily a criticism, mind; i’ve said since season 1 that titans is very comics-like in this aspect, all about the Aesthetic and the splash-page splendour rather than the niggling unimportant details of how or when the characters got to said location. like. the camera gliding over the operation being set-up, lady vic bursting in and doing her murder dance (imagine the luck of the poor intern who chose this day and this surgery to assist) and jason, shocked and slack-jawed, framed by blood.

5.75. it’s a sobering reminder for jason that, though he chose this path in order to gain control over a world that seemed like it was rapidly spinning out of his grip, he’s only succeeded in handing over even more control to a man with an agenda that is very clearly not aligned with his own. he’s in too far to stop now, though.

5.9. i have a lot more thoughts about jason! saving it up for the end of this recap, though.

6. more kitchen time! i better see dick do some cooking soon...

(”our kitchen”! it still delights me! kitchens are So Important)

6.25. so much of dick’s issues have revolved around his relationship with bruce, so it’s completely understandable that in the wake of a huge crisis where bruce literally asks dick to replace him and be a “better” him, dick would default to all the worst things he learned from the man. and i’m glad kory’s having none of it, but come on, guys. the woman’s literally fetched her fratricidal sister out of a hole in the ground with no idea what said sister is going to do next and experiencing a burgeoning sense of guilt far, far beyond her history with the titans, and dick’s too far into his autocolonoscopy that he can’t see that she needs help.

6.5. “he services your urges”--well, as far as we know, kory is the last person he had sex with...

7. “i hope [gar] isn’t angry with me...” SIR! i thought you’d already spoken to him! smh, as the kids say. kory wouldn’t be needing to reassure you if you just took the effort to build two way emotional relationships with the rest of the team. @superohclair was taking about dick’s relatively low emotional intelligence? i agree.

7.5. “i got my own problems [...] you and barbara? fix it.” YOU TELL HIM, KORY

8. man i really like this weird, sad tension between dick and barbara--this sense that both of them are approaching the other based on how they remember them and are ultimately disappointed by the truth. barbara thought she could trust dick to... well, be a better batman, but dick has not only failed at that in her eyes, but repeatedly undermined her while exploiting the authority that she gave him. in dick’s eyes, this is nothing like the barbara that he knew, rebellious and ready to do whatever it takes to find something.

like. this show sometimes really hits me in the chest about the ways it shows kids grow into adults and into caretakers, and the way it’s stop-start, the ways nothing can happen at all for a long time and then it’s Crisis Central all at once and there’s no space to breathe. the weird sort of sadness that comes with nostalgia.

8.5. oracle name drop! i agree with barbara, any system that can just randomly tap into gotham phonelines is a monster.

8.7. (i don’t know if it’s my imagination, but is dick holding himself... differently in this episode? like that wound is definitely bothering him, and he’s running on fumes)

9. man, that was a really sweet scene between kom and conner. “feeling alien in your own world”... “not quite here nor there”

honestly this team runs on conner and gar’s faith in their value as a family, and it’s a sign of conner’s generous heart that he extends that opportunity to blackfire. this arc of maturation for him, where he’s now able to consciously choose which parts of himself he can use to do the thing he wants to so--save people--has been so fulfilling to recognise. this baby’s grown with the titans! and what he’s learnt is that people can get fucked up, but the titans is a place where they can be fucked up, and grow.

MY MAN CONNER

10. oh man i’m drinking in the gar-dick interaction in this episode like i’m three days into the desert and it’s the only source of water for miles around!

a) gar is absolutely not dealing with dick’s bullshit this episode and I LOVE IT. it’s such a far cry from the man who was idolising dick/robin back in s1 and expecting him to solve all their problems. dick is fallible, dick is fucked up, but he Tries His Best and that’s ok.

b) dick, huffing and puffing through that vent, unable to put any pressure on his left shoulder, trying to have a heart to heart with gar... fuck i love this asshole.

c) bruce took in a kid who was suffering... “and made him into a weapon”. well. i absolutely agree with dick that it was bruce who put these kids into these horrible situations with him and they came away with a bucketload of trauma to add to the one that they already had. but we know that bruce was really trying with jason, and at the end of s2, dick was coming to acknowledge that bruce had offered him something that wasn’t just darkness. jason’s death and bruce’s reaction to that shattered that fragile progress.

d) “gotham got to me too.” i feel more sympathetic towards dick running off on his own than most, and it’s not just because i’m an unapologetic stan. we’ve seen before that dick... devolves when overwhelmed, and he lashes out and makes ill thought out decisions and just Does Not Deal. it happened after hearing the news that deathstroke had returned in s2, and it didn’t help that everyone around him was reeling at the news, either. this time, however, he has his salvation in his family, and despite some stupid decisions like running off and kidnapping supervillains without telling his team, he’s been really on the ball this season. thinking clearly and logically, holding it together and working on a plan, thinking two steps ahead of the villains... yes.

e) gar needing to believe that jason isn’t beyond redemption... there’s a lot of blood on his hands, too, from when he was manipulated by cadmus last season. it makes sense why he’d relate to jason’s predicament, and i hope dick picked up on that.

f) my head just added a plaintive ow after dick jumped feet first into the storage room

i need, crave gifs of this scene!

11. *sits on hands* i’m going to talk more about red hood, i promise!

12. more gar and dick! is it my birthday??!!

(actually, according to the tamil calendar, it is my birthday! my “star” birthday)

12.5. excellent. dick using some implausible training that bruce taught him to solve a mystery? passing some of that knowledge onto gar? that proud smile when he sees gar perfectly execute moves that he taught him? MY HEART IS EXPLODING

13. aw, i love flashback!dick and barbara, they’re so cute <3

13.25. why does it not surprise me that the way he proposes a relationship to barbara is by saying “we make sense”? this guy can deduce exactly who was present where and what weapon they were holding from a garbled audio recording but other times he’s utterly clueless, and that’s a consistent character beat right from s1

13.5. so.... that’s why lady vic has it out for... barbara....? i don’t get it. it’s flimsy. but hey! the fun thing about titans is that i don’t have to get it. the payoff has nothing to do with the plot.

14. i can’t believe that barbara fell for that, but at least that wheelchair fight looked awesome, so.

15. oh yeah, i forgot that red hood bullied the mob into helping him and scarecrow... at least that explains the whitecoats and the elaborate set-up.

15.5. honestly i love how this dynamic between kory and kom is developing, though i wish more of the team would pay attention to it. time to call justin, i think!

16. i wonder what happened after that second flashback where barbara got hurt during that heist. did she give up on doing any more (maybe jim caught her)? was it because dick was called away by bruce and then the titans and got caught up in his own issues? maybe barbara froze him out because she wasn’t looking for the relationship that he was looking for? maybe the idea of doing that with someone turning into batman-lite was just... unappealing? scary?

whatever it is, it doesn’t look like dick ever processed the end of that relationship. it’s very intriguing to see where their dynamic goes next.

17. so.... what, did vic deliver some fear toxin to barbara? i... what?

17.5. and i TOLD YOU that they would never explain that doll or why vic attacked those two cops at the beginning! oh, titans. never change.

18. did jason just randomly have tim’s restaurant burgled? god, i’m feeling a bit nauseous... are they going to kill tim’s father?

18.25. i feel like the rest of the season is going to wrestle with jason’s culpability in the horrible stuff he’s doing and i’m already seeing that prospect divide fans. on one hand, his story is taking a lot of oxygen away from other equally interesting story arcs, and he’s done some truly awful things, like indiscriminate murder, threatening to kill children, blowing up hank, and potentially killing tim’s parents.

there’s something to be said for the kind of hold that crane has over him, and the so-called ‘anti-fear’ drug that he keeps plying jason with--he’s alone, drugged almost constantly (to the level of dependence), fresh from the trauma of being bludgeoned to death. he hasn’t conquered fear; he’s ruled by it. on the other hand, given that he’s the one character on the show given an obvious and identifiable ‘mental illness’ arc (maaaaybe dick too), one can argue that it’s irresponsible to show this progress into such violence: jason was vulnerable because he was struggling, and that left him vulnerable, but it took only a push before he became a fucking serial killer.

but that could mean we underestimate the degree of that vulnerability, and the mechanics of this universe where he fell into the clutches of the one supervillain perfectly designed to exploit that vulnerability. that helpless spiral into further and further self-destruction is all too real. it’s valuable to know that someone who has sunk that low can still seek help--actual help--and get it.

18.5. i don’t know. it’s not a question i’m going to resolve at the end of an overlong recap at 1 in the morning. i don’t believe it’s even a question that titans can resolve. but i am interested in where they’re going next with jason.

19. this episode was genuinely great! i’m pumped for the rest of the season!

#titans #titans spoilers #meta #dick grayson #koriand'r #barbara gordon #garfield logan #conner kent #komand'r #jason todd #jonathan crane #a byronic cupcake #badass strawberry truffle #manic pixie pop tart #a tragic jalebi #this is a 3k+ MONSTER yikes

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silverlightqueen · 4 years ago

Text

21 Things To Do This Summer PJM

y/n has a week left to live and 21 things she wanted to do this summer. Jimin vows to help her do them all before she dies and give her the summer of a lifetime.

jimin x reader - angst, fluff, comedy, non-idol!au

Part of BangtanHQ’s ‘Bangtan Boardwalk’ at the ‘Summertime Sadness’ booth!

Rating: Mature (heavy themes and strong language - read with caution)

Word Count: 16.9k+ (she’s a monster omg)

Warnings: death and illness, discussion of death and illness, jokes about death and illness, brain tumour, discussion of eating disorders, brief mention of murder and crime (y/n jokes that Jimin could be a murderer or a thief), explicit language throughout, I think that’s it but please let me know if you noticed that I missed anything

a/n: here’s the first part guys! if you enjoy it, make sure to check out the other fics in the Summertime Sadness booth, and the other booths on the Bangtan Boardwalk! a huge thank you to @silverlightprincess for proofreading this massive fic, I love you so damn much x

silverlightqueen masterlist

y/n’s Summer Bucket List

21 Things to Do This Summer

1) Make a new friend

2) Dye my hair

3) Go on a road trip

4) Do pavement chalk

5) Get everybody I talk to to sign a shirt

6) Have s’mores at a bonfire

7) Get drunk and skinny dip at the beach

8) Make a wish balloon

9) Go to a fairground

10) Have a picnic

11) Get a tattoo

12) Sleep under the stars

13) Cloud watch

14) Try camping for the first time

15) Have a water fight

16) Make homemade ice cream

17) Have a pyjama day

18) Send a message in a bottle

19) Watch fireworks

20) Go to a drive-in movie

21) Make a photo album of it all

‘Hey! Hey, excuse me! Hey, wait, you dropped something!’ I can hear someone shouting and, despite the tears running down my face, I roll my eyes, wondering why the idiot who dropped something doesn’t stop to get it. ‘Excuse me! Hey, wait!’ I hear, the voice getting closer, before I feel a tap on my shoulder, and I realise; I’m the idiot.

I turn around to see a boy. The first thing I notice is the piece of paper in his hand. The second thing I notice is that I already know him. ‘You dropped thi- oh, y/n! Hey! Long time, no see. Wait, whoa, are you crying?’ he asks, and I roll my eyes again as I frustratedly wipe away my tears. ‘No, Jimin, why? Does it look like I am?’ I spit out sarcastically. ‘Okay, I’m going to ignore how rude that was because you’re clearly upset about something, and I’m going to be a good person and return this to you,’ he says, holding out the piece of paper. When I realise what it is, I snatch it from him, tucking it safely into my bag and mentally chiding myself for nearly losing it.

‘Thank you. Sorry for being rude,’ I say before I turn away, continuing to head home. It’s only after a few seconds I realise he’s walking beside me, and I speed up, trying to get away from him. He speeds up too. I slow down. So does he. I stop in my tracks, turning to shoot him an annoyed look, and he merely grins back at me, blinding me with his annoyingly handsome smile.

‘What do you want, Jimin?’ I ask tiredly, deciding not to be rude after he returned my list to me. ‘Well, it’s been a long time since we’ve seen each other, so I thought it’d be nice to catch up. And I also know you, and you’re clearly upset about something, and I’m not going to abandon somebody who I have history with if they’re crying. And, as well as being a very caring and empathetic person, I’m very curious, and so I have to find out why you’re upset,’ he says, and I frown, continuing to walk, even more annoyed when he continues to walk alongside me.

‘It’s none of your business, Jimin,’ I say sharply, hoping he’ll leave me alone. ‘Well, obviously. It’s your business. But the nature of being curious is wanting to know other people’s business,’ he says as though he’s speaking to a little child, and I shoot him another look. ‘You’re practically a stranger.’ ‘I am not! We had classes together through the whole of high school!’ ‘I’m not going to tell you my business,’ I say with a note of finality, hoping he’ll leave the subject. And leave me, for that matter.

‘Would you tell me if you knew me better?’ he asks thoughtfully, and I roll my eyes. ‘Probably, yes.’ ‘Okay. I’m a Libra, I hate spinach and 13 is my lucky number. Oh, and I dance,’ he says, and I literally want to bash my head against a wall. ‘That does not mean I know you better. It just means you overshare.’ ‘Well, you can’t say I’m practically a stranger. Maybe only half a stranger,’ he says, and I let out a humourless laugh at how persistent he is, and he grins, mistaking it for a real laugh.

‘God, what is it with you? What do I have to say to you to get you to leave me alone?’ I ask, stopping in the street and putting my hand on my hip. ‘If you tell me why you’re crying. Or, should I say, were? Because, if you haven’t already noticed, you’re no longer crying. Thanks to me,’ he grins, and I actually didn’t notice that I’m not crying anymore.

‘Well, your stupid ass has distracted me,’ I admit, and he laughs, the sound quite… endearing. ‘So? Tell me then. I think I deserve to know. Considering I cheered you up,’ he says, and I roll my eyes yet again. ‘I said that you distracted me. That is not the same as cheering me up. Listen, Jimin, I’d appreciate it if you left me alone. It’s nice to see you again, and I hope everything’s going well in your life, but it is not a good time for me right now. My patience is seriously wearing thin,’ I say, continuing to walk, but he still walks beside me, making me want to throttle him.

‘I think your patience was already thin. And I’m a good citizen, so I would never just let a pretty girl crying pass me by without asking what’s wrong. Especially if I already know her,’ he says lightly, and I roll my eyes. Is he seriously trying to flirt with me? ‘Jimin. Leave me alone,’ I say seriously, putting emphasis on every word as the anger begins to bubble up in my stomach. ‘Not until you tell me what’s wro-’ ‘I have a week left to live!’ I shout, losing my temper, and his face instantly transforms from teasing and light, to shocked and guilty as tears fill my eyes. That’ll teach him not to pry into other people’s business.

‘Oh. Oh, gosh. I’m sorry, y/n. I wouldn’t have asked if that’s what it was. I thought you were gonna say you’d broken up with your boyfriend or something. I’m so sorry,’ he says, sounding sincere, but I merely roll my eyes, turning and walking away, and hoping he’ll leave me alone now. ‘How’d you know?’ I hear him say from beside me, and I sigh aloud, having to physically restrain myself from hitting this boy with my bag.

‘What?’ ‘How’d you know you’ve only got a week left to live?’ ‘I went to the doctor a couple days ago, for chronic headaches. They did some scans, and then I got a call this morning to go to the hospital. They told me I have a brain tumour. Terminal. They said I’m lucky if I have another ten days,’ I say tiredly, a couple tears falling down my face which I wipe away hastily, and he takes a deep breath. ‘Wow. I’m really sorry. That’s… terrible. Is there no treatment?’ he asks, and I sigh again. ‘Yes, but they said it’s unlikely to cure it, it’ll only delay my inevitable death, and it’s… painful. I’d rather die sooner than later if later’s gonna hurt. Or it could get rid of the tumour, but it could ruin my future quality of life; I might not be able to speak the same, walk the same, even think the same. So I’ve refused treatment,’ I explain, not sure why I’m opening up to him, and he nods. ‘Reasonable. I’d do the same.’

We walk in silence for a few moments before Jimin starts speaking again. ‘So. Where are you going now?’ he asks, and I side-eye him. ‘Home.’ ‘To your boyfriend?’ ‘Don’t have one.’ ‘Girlfriend?’ ‘Don’t have one of those either.’ ‘Spouse?’ ‘I’m single.’ ‘Parents?’ ‘Don’t live with them.’ ‘Siblings?’ ‘Only child.’ ‘Friends.’ ‘Don’t have any.’ ‘What about all your friends from school?’ ‘I matured; they didn’t.’ ‘Oop. Roommates?’ ‘Nope.’

‘You live alone?’ he asks, and I laugh. ‘I have a dog. If that counts,’ I say, and he grins. ‘Of course it counts. What breed?’ ‘A miniature husky. His name’s Coco, and he’s literally tiny,’ I say, a small smile coming onto my face at the thought of my baby, and he holds a hand to his heart. ‘That’s a cute name. My friend, Taehyung – you remember him, right? – he has a Pomeranian who’s tiny, called Yeontan. Tannie for short. Tan for even shorter,’ he says, and I smile despite myself.

‘That’s so adorable. Maybe Taehyung can have Coco. He’ll need a new owner,’ I say jokingly, and Jimin winces. ‘Don’t you feel like it’s too early to make jokes?’ he asks, and I laugh. ‘It’s never too early. By the time it’s okay, I’ll be dead,’ I say bluntly, and he lets out a strangled laugh, as though he wants to hold it back but can’t.

I still feel a little shocked, but mainly numb. I went through the stages of dealing with bad news whilst I was still at the hospital. I started by denying it, and telling the doctor that something in the scan must be wrong. And then I got super angry that it hadn’t already been identified and screamed a little at her (it was my own fault, though – I’m the one that didn’t go to the doctor until it’d been months of me having headaches). Then I tried to bargain with the doctor, and ask if there were any treatments that don’t hurt or wouldn’t cause me irreversible damage, or if there was any chance I would survive any longer. And then I cried. A lot. And by a lot, I mean a lot. I got through a box and a half of tissues. I was at the hospital for three and a half hours, and spent two hours of that crying. And I was still crying when I left.

I guess I’m now in the acceptance stage. I didn’t know it was possible to move through the stages that quickly.

‘What was that paper you dropped? Your diagnosis?’ he asks, and I shake my head. ‘All my paperwork was in a folder, loads of it. I threw it in the recycling at the hospital.’ ‘Glad to see you’re looking after the planet for those of us that’ll still be here when you’re gone,’ Jimin says, almost tentatively, and I burst out laughing, covering my mouth. ‘That was funny,’ I admit, and he grins, relaxing. ‘I do try.’ ‘Yes, you’re very trying.’

‘Anyway. What was that paper then?’ he asks, and I sigh. ‘Do you, like, make it your life’s mission to pry?’ ‘No, it comes naturally. A lot of girls receive it well, actually. They like it when someone good-looking seems interested in their life,’ he smirks, and I shoot him a disgusted look. ‘Big-headed much?’ ‘Just truthful.’ ‘Well, I’m not receiving it well. Clearly.’ ‘I guess you’re not like other girls then,’ he muses, and I shoot him another look. ‘Please don’t tell me you think that’s a compliment, because it isn’t,’ I say, and he laughs. ‘I didn’t mean it like that. Let me rephrase it. You’re not like the girls that I’m used to being around.’ ‘You’re probably used to being around girls just as pretty as you.’ ‘You think I’m pretty?’ ‘Shut up.’ ‘Well, you’re right. But it’s okay, because you’re not just as pretty as me. You’re prettier.

But anyway. Are you gonna tell me what that paper is?’ he asks again, skimming over the fact he’s now called me pretty for the second time, and I sigh, giving up. ‘It’s a summer bucket list. I saw this girl reading a book with the same name in the waiting room at the doctor’s surgery the other day, and it inspired me to write one,’ I admit, and he grins. ‘That’s cute,’ he says, and I roll my eyes, looking away from him. ‘Well, I’m gonna die before I get to do any of them anyway,’ I say, and he sighs. ‘Oh. Yeah. Forgot about that,’ he says, voice small, and I nod.

We continue walking, his shoulder a few inches from mine, and I distract myself from the slightly awkward silence by looking at our surroundings instead. It’s a lovely summer’s day today; warm and sunny with the most beautiful breeze. Families are out in force despite it being a weekday, little boys running around shirtless and barefoot, and little girls in cute summer outfits. Chill ‘vibey’ music floats through open car windows, couples share ice cream at the café we walk past, birds chirp in the trees that line the road. It’s such a beautiful day. I even shaved my legs and put on a cute floral playsuit. So much for sunbathing in the garden.

‘Hang on,’ Jimin says suddenly, stopping in his tracks. ‘What?’ ‘Who says you can’t tick off your bucket list?’ he asks, and I raise an eyebrow. ‘I’m going to die, Jimin,’ I say slowly, and he lets out a frustrated noise. ‘You have a week. That’s more than enough time for us to do it all,’ he says, and my eyes widen. ‘Us? Who said anything about us?’ ‘I’ve taken it upon myself to help you tick off this bucket list.’ ‘And I’m taking it upon myself to refuse your help.’

‘Um, rude. Why?’ he asks with an amused glint in his eye, and my eyes widen even more. ‘Are you kidding? We barely know each other. The closest we ever were was when Nayeon and Jungkook dated and we all planned at their joint birthday party, and when we got paired together for that History project. That was years ago; I have no idea what kind of person you are now. You could be a murderer,’ I say, and he raises an eyebrow. ‘You’re going to die anyway,’ he says, and I stifle a laugh. ‘Okay, I’m allowed to joke about it; you are not. You could be a thief.’ ‘Again: you’re going to die anyway. But, I’m not a thief, so don’t worry. You’ll still have all of your belongings to put in your will.’ ‘Excuse me. Stop joking about my imminent death.’

‘Listen, I want to help you. Let me help you tick off your bucket list,’ he pleads, and I’m surprised at myself for actually considering it. I’m going to die anyway – I might as well spend my last few days having fun. Even if it is with an unbearably curious person from my past. ‘Please let me help you. I’ll consider my life a waste if you don’t,’ he says dramatically, dropping to the floor, making enough of a scene for people to look over at us. ‘Jimin, get up,’ I hiss, and he scrabbles at my shoes. ‘I’ll die if you don’t let me. Please, y/n, please let me,’ he wails, and I look around embarrassedly, feeling lots of stares on us.

‘If I say yes, will you stop making such an embarrassment of yourself?’ I hiss, and he looks up at me with wide eyes and a grin, nodding. ‘Then, yes. I’ll let you help me,’ I sigh, and he jumps up from the floor, a wide smile spreading across his lips. ‘Okay, let’s see what I’m working with,’ he says, and I look at him blankly. ‘Let me see the list,’ he prompts, and I pull the list out of my bag, handing it to him tiredly.

‘Okay, let’s see. ‘y/n’s Summer Bucket List’. Cute. ‘21 Things to Do This Summer’. Only 21 things? This’ll be easier than I thought,’ he says, before his eyes scan down the rest of the list. As he reads it, I look him up and down, inspecting him. He’s changed since school. A lot. He’s now around 5’8’’, with clear golden skin, chocolate brown eyes, plump pink lips and ink black hair swept back from his forehead (must be dyed because I remember his hair being a lot lighter than this). He’s dressed in a pair of grey shorts and a plain white t-shirt, a loose grey jacket over the top of it with pair of sunglasses at the back of his head. ‘Okay, well, you’ve already achieved number one. Making a new friend,’ he says, pointing at himself with a grin, and I roll my eyes exasperatedly. ‘I don’t know you well enough to call you a friend,’ I say, and he sighs.

‘That’s the best bit. You barely know me, and I barely know you. We can be whoever we want to be. All I know about you is the vague stuff from school, and I know that you had high hopes for this summer, but you’ve been diagnosed with a terminal illness. And you’ve only got a week left. And that you’re grumpy and get annoyed easily and are not receptive to strangers. And you’ve got a dog called Coco. All you know about me is the vague stuff from school, and that I’m a Libra, I hate spinach, my lucky number is 13, and that I dance.’ ‘And that you’re annoyingly curious and persistent and stubborn and think a lot of yourself.’ ‘Exactly! That’s literally nothing in the grand scheme of things.’

‘So you think we should lie to each other about what and who we are?’ ‘No, no, you’re misunderstanding. Haven’t you ever wanted to be like someone, but you’re too scared to, or you’re too stuck in your ways?’ he asks, voice soft, and I nod. ‘This is your chance. We barely know each other, and we have no more than a week together. You get to be whatever you want to be, y/n, and we’ll tick off everything on your list. We can be like those reckless teenagers from all those stupid films. What have you got to lose?’ he says gently, his eyes big and his words convincing.

‘We can’t do all this in a week,’ I say, and he sighs. ‘Can’t is not in my vocabulary. And neither are cannot, unable to, won’t, shouldn’t, wouldn’t, mustn’t-’ ‘Who in this century says mustn’t?’ ‘We can easily do all this in a week. Even less than a week,’ he says, and I raise a sceptical eyebrow. ‘Ambitious, but I don’t think so.’ ‘And that’s not in my vocabulary either. But… give me four days,’ he says, and my eyes widen. ‘Four days?’ ‘Easy. I could probably do it in three, but I’ll say an extra day just to be sure,’ he says confidently, and I roll my eyes.

‘Haven’t you, like… got a job? Or, like, studying? You can’t just devote four days – or more – to helping me tick off my bucket list,’ I say, and he rolls his eyes. ‘Why are you so sensible? Trust me, there’s nothing I have to do,’ he says, and I raise an eyebrow, not believing him for a second. ‘Fine,’ he sighs, ‘I work with my friend – Hoseok, remember him? – at his dance studio, but he’ll let me have some time off,’ he says, and I’m still slightly sceptical, but decide to give him the benefit of the doubt.

‘Why do you want to help me? Haven’t you got better things to do with your life?’ I ask him, voice small, and he smiles, seemingly endeared. ‘There’s something tragic about you, y/n. You went to the hospital alone to be told that you’re going to die. And you don’t live with anybody. And you have a list of things you wanted to do this summer, but won’t be able to do them without help. My help. Of all the places you dropped that paper, you dropped it in front of me. And of all the people that could’ve picked it up, it was me. We haven’t seen each other since we left school, and even though the odds of us seeing each other again were slim, look where we are. Fate works in mysterious ways, y/n. Let me help you. For old time’s sake,’ he says softly, and I feel that little voice in my head whisper, ‘why not?’

‘You know what? Let’s do it,’ I say, throwing caution to the wind, and feeling a little bit of excitement bloom in my chest. ‘Wait, really?’ he asks, surprise on his face but also… hope in his eyes. ‘Yeah. Let’s do it,’ I say with a small smile, the excitement in my chest flooding out into my veins. He jumps up and pumps the air, whooping and shouting in celebration, and I don’t even feel embarrassed of him, finding it quite endearing.

‘Okay, let’s get started. It’s 12.32, so we have until 12.32 on Sunday to tick the whole list off. Let me look at the list again. Um… well, number one’s done. And the last one, the photo album, we can buy a photo album now and take pictures as we go along to put in it,’ he says, thinking aloud, before he turns abruptly. I look around in alarm before rushing after him. ‘Where are we going?’ ‘There’s a supermarket just down the road that we can get a photo album from. Oh, and we can buy an instant camera too! Cuter pictures,’ he says, and I roll my eyes with a small smile on my face.

‘We should just scrap that one. It’s not like I’ll be able to look back at it, so what’s the point?’ I say, and he frowns at me. ‘Well, we could say that about all of this, but it’s about making your last few days exciting and fun and an experience of a lifetime. So don’t say ‘what’s the point’, because there is a point,’ he says firmly, and I keep my mouth shut, unable to stop a small smile from appearing on my face.

We enter the supermarket, the change in temperature making me shiver in my skimpy outfit, and Jimin looks over at me. ‘Oh, my God, my mum would kill me if she knew how ungentlemanly I was being right now,’ he says, taking his jacket off. ‘No, Jimin, it’s fine,’ I try to stop him, but he’s already handing it to me and taking my little backpack from my hand. ‘Let me. Have you ever been treated like a princess?’ he asks, and I shake my head shyly. ‘Then take the jacket and let me hold your bag. It’s the least you deserve,’ he says, and I smile to myself as I shrug on the jacket without further complaint, watching amusedly when he puts on the backpack.

He leads us towards the electronics, the back corner of the store, and makes a beeline for the camera section. ‘What’s your favourite colour?’ he asks, and I hesitate. ‘It’s hard to choose a favourite,’ I say quietly, and he rolls his eyes, an amused smile playing at his lips. ‘Okay. What’s your favourite colour out of these?’ he says, motioning to the instant cameras, and I think before answering, ‘that one. The pastel blue.’ ‘Ah, nice choice,’ he says, picking one of the boxes up and heading over towards where the photo albums are, and I follow after him. ‘This one’s perfect!’ he says, pointing at one the same colour as the camera, and I nod, Jimin picking it up with a grin.

‘Right, let’s just double-check this list and see if there’s anything else we need,’ he says, getting the list out of his pocket again. ‘Hmm, we could buy some chalk to do number 4. And we can buy a shirt and markers to do number 5,’ he says, thinking aloud again, walking ridiculously quickly to where the art and school supplies section where the chalk and markers will be, before rushing off towards the clothes section, having me running around behind him.

Once we’ve picked out a plain white button-up dress shirt, we head over to the counter, Jimin chatting amicably with the cashier as I hang behind, surprised and slightly envious of his ability to speak to strangers like they’re close friends. ‘Would you mind doing us a favour?’ Jimin asks, and the cashier nods instantly, scanning through the shirt. ‘Can you sign this shirt? Just, like, with your name and your… job, I guess. We, um, we’re doing a project,’ Jimin says with a grin at me, and the cashier nods again, looking a little confused as Jimin hands her a marker from the pack. She writes ‘Soojung –supermarket cashier’, before handing Jimin the marker back with a grin.

‘Have you got film for this camera?’ Soojung asks as she scans it through, and Jimin looks to me, both of us exchanging an embarrassed glance. ‘No, but it’d probably help,’ I say frankly, and Jimin nods with a laugh. ‘I’ll go and grab them for you,’ the cashier says, getting up and running off. ‘We could’ve gone and gotten it, she didn’t have to,’ I say, and Jimin grins. ‘Perks of being a nice person – people do things for you that they don’t have to,’ he says pointedly, and I scowl at him. ‘Was that a dig?’ I demand, and he grins even wider. ‘Not at all, my dear, y/n,’ he says, throwing an arm around my shoulders, and I roll my eyes in response, the cashier reappearing with a couple boxes of film.

‘Do you want just the one or…?’ ‘We’ll take both,’ Jimin replies, the cashier nodding, scanning them through. ‘Gonna make some summer memories?’ the cashier asks, and we exchange another glance, a small smile playing at Jimin’s lips when he replies, ‘something like that, yeah.’

‘Okay, let’s have another look at this list,’ Jimin says once we’re seated in the back corner of his favourite coffee shop, pulling the list out of his pocket and reading it through. ‘So you’ve already made a new friend. Me. We’ve got the chalk for number four, and a shirt and markers for number 5. I should sign the shirt, right?’ he says, and I nod, thinking this’ll be easier if I let him do what he wants, and he grins, writing ‘Park Jimin - y/n’s fabulously beautiful assistant and school friend’. I raise an eyebrow, and he raises one back, challenging me to say something, but I just shake my head with a small smile.

‘Let’s look at the rest of them. Number 2, dyeing your hair… I have a trillion boxes of dye at home, that’s easy. Number 3, go on a road trip… we can do that, and tick off the others as we do it. Number 4, pavement chalk, we can do with Taehyung on his and Namjoon’s driveway because Tae’s good at art and their driveway is huge. Number 5, get everyone to sign a shirt, won’t be difficult, we just have to remember. Number 6, have s’mores at a bonfire… let me think about that one. Number 7,’ he begins, before looking up at me with a smirk, and I roll my eyes, a little embarrassed.

‘Don’t laugh. It’s something that so many people have done, and I never have,’ I say defensively, his mouth falling open. ‘You’ve never gotten drunk?’ he asks jokingly, and I laugh despite myself. ‘No, idiot, I’ve never skinny-dipped, but I’m pretty sure I’ll only have the courage to do it if I’m drunk,’ I say, and he nods, looking at me thoughtfully. ‘You can leave me with that one too, I’ll think about it.

Number 8, make a wish balloon, that’s easy. Number 9, go to a fairground… that may be a bit more difficult, but I’ll get it done. Number 10, have a picnic, easy. Number 11, get a tattoo, ooh, that’s fun. I know the perfect place. Number 12, go to a drive-in movie… difficult, but I’ll find a way. Number 13, cloud watch, super easy. Number 14, try camping for the first time, that’s easy too. Number 15, water fight… that’s easy as well. Number 16, homemade ice cream, easy. Number 17, pyjama day, even easier. Number 18, send a message in a bottle… should be easy. Number 19, run through sprinklers… shouldn’t be too hard. I hope. Number 20, stargaze and fall asleep under the stars, should be easy enough. And Number 21 is well under way already,’ he says with a grin.

The photo album already has two pictures in it; one of Jimin and I smiling and squinting in the sunlight, and one of us with the cashier, who looks a little awkward, but it’s fine. Nothing will be more awkward than telling her we’re trying to tick off a summer bucket list within a few days because I’m going to die soon. I was right – Jimin has a serious habit of oversharing.

‘Hi, welcome to the Sweetbrew. I’m Yoongi, I’ll be your server. What can I get you?’ a barista says, sounding like he wants to die, his entire face hidden behind a menu. ‘Yoongi,’ Jimin says, snatching the menu to reveal a boy with porcelain skin, mint green hair and brown eyes. I recognise him as one of Jimin’s best friends from school – Min Yoongi.

He was always one of the quieter members of their friendship group. Not shy, but more calm and laidback – it was easy to seem like that when surrounded by his friends, every single one of them having been big and loud characters. But he was just like the rest of them in that he was definitely popular, and desirable too. Everyone saw him as this sensitive and kind boy, his passion for music reinforcing that even more, and there was always somebody that was crushing on him, his look unique and intriguing. And he’s only gotten better looking since school, more mature and manly, yet still with the soft and delicate features that he had back then.

‘Oh, Jimin. Hey,’ he says, sounding a little more lively, before he turns to look at me. ‘Ah, y/n, right? From school?’ he asks, and I’m surprised at how quick he recognises me. ‘I told the group chat about you. Sorry,’ Jimin says, and my eyes widen, Yoongi sitting in the spare seat at our table. ‘What? When?’ I ask, and he grins. ‘While you got distracted playing with that puppy outside the supermarket,’ he says, and I frown.

‘Did you tell them everything?’ ‘No. Well, nearly everything. I told them what we’re doing, but I didn’t say why. Obviously,’ he says, and I fix him with a glare. ‘Oh, it’s okay to tell a random shop worker, but not your best friends?’ I ask, Yoongi shooting him a look too. ‘Not cool, Park,’ Yoongi says, and Jimin scowls. ‘I already apologised for that. I have a serious problem with oversharing,’ he says, Yoongi and I exchanging a glance as we chorus, ‘we know.’

‘Why are you doing this? If you don’t mind me asking,’ Yoongi asks, curiosity in his eyes, and I sigh. ‘I’ve got a brain tumour, so I’ve got, like, a week left to live,’ I say bluntly, Yoongi’s mouth falling open. ‘Oh. Oh, God, I’m so sorry, y/n, that’s awful,’ he says, sounding a little awkward, but I wave him off. ‘It’s fine. I’ve already gone through the five stages, and am now sufficiently distracted from my impending demise by your stupid friend,’ I say, Jimin scowling.

‘Well, at least he can make up for being stupid by helping you tick off your list. Anyway, you guys want drinks or you just chilling?’ Yoongi asks, and Jimin looks to me to answer. ‘I could do with a drink.’ ‘What would you like, y/n?’ Yoongi asks, and I hesitate, not quite sure. ‘Um… I don’t know. Jimin, what do you have?’ I ask, but Jimin already looks like he’s cooking up a scheme. ‘What fruits do you like, y/n?’ he asks me, and I think for a moment before answering, ‘berries, pineapple, mango, kiwi, peach. I like everything.’

Yoongi and Jimin exchange a glance, talking without words, and Yoongi nods before disappearing into the back. ‘Anyway. We need to get Yoongi to sign your shirt before we leave, remember. And then… we can go to Tae and Joon’s to do pavement chalk. And we should be able to make the ice cream at Tae and Joon’s too. Then we can go and pick up stuff from our houses before we go on the road trip,’ he says, and I hold up a hand.

‘We’re gonna have to go to mine before we go to Taehyung and Namjoon’s, because I’ve left Coco with the neighbour. I told her I’d only be a couple hours and it’s already been… nearly four,’ I say, Jimin nodding, and I can practically see his mind working. ‘We can get Coco and take her to theirs, and she can play with Tan while we get on with ticking things off. And then we can take her on the road trip with us the next day,’ he says, and I nod, getting more and more excited with his ideas.

‘Are you gonna drop me home tonight and then pick me up in the morning?’ I ask, and he thinks. ‘How about… we sleep over at Tae and Joon’s? You can get all your stuff when we go now, and then we’ll be able to leave first thing in the morning,’ he suggests, but I’m sceptical. ‘Won’t they mind?’ I ask, and he shakes his head instantly. ‘They’re so chill about this kinda stuff. They really won’t mind. We all sleep over at their house all the time because it’s the biggest. There’s more than enough space,’ he says, obviously trying hard to convince me, and I nod. There’s no point worrying about intruding at their house when their best friend seems to be the most intruding person in history.

Jimin looks back down at the list, thinking hard, and I smile to myself. It’s sweet that he’s putting so much effort in to try and tick off this list, even though we barely know each other. The most we ever said to each other at school would’ve been ‘d’you have a spare pen?’ or ‘can you pass me the bottle opener?’

Yoongi reappears after a couple minutes with two plastic cups in his hands, the drinks within them vibrant pink and orange. ‘I call this one… ‘y/n’s summer bucket list’. I put in the syrups for all the fruits you named and a lot of sugar and ice,’ he says, putting them down with a flourish, my heart warming as I smile at him. ‘Thank you. It looks amazing,’ I say, taking a sip, my eyes widening as the flavours explode in my mouth. ‘And it tastes amazing too,’ Jimin says, having already taken a (large) gulp.

‘I’m not the best barista here for nothing. But, y/n, you gotta take the credit. It is named after you,’ Yoongi says, and I roll my eyes with a smile. ‘Get out of here. But, for real, it tastes great, Yoongi,’ I say, the boy giving me the cutest gummy smile, and then I notice Jimin fiddling around with the camera. ‘What are you trying to do?’ I ask, stifling a laugh, and he sighs defeatedly. ‘Take a picture of us with your drink,’ he says, and I hold back a smile, ‘get someone else to take it.’

He ropes in an innocent woman sat beside us with her friend, and she takes a while to focus the camera on us and get the three of us in frame, but when the photo develops, it’s pretty good. ‘Perfect. Right, let’s head back and get Coco,’ Jimin says, and I hold out a hand. ‘Wait. Yoongi, will you sign this shirt?’ I ask, and he looks a little confused. Nevertheless, he signs it as ‘Min Yoongi – creator of the iconic ‘y/n’s summer bucket list’ drink and y/n’s school friend’.

Jimin looks thoughtful as we rise from our seats, and I side-eye him. I’ve noticed that a little bit of panic appears in my chest when I see that look on his face. ‘Yoongi, you busy tonight?’ Jimin asks, and Yoongi shakes his head. ‘I’m never busy,’ he says, and I stifle a laugh. ‘When d’you get off work?’ ‘4.’ ‘Come ‘round to Tae and Joon’s. I got an idea,’ Jimin says cryptically, wiggling his eyebrows at me, and I give him a look.

‘Okay. See you guys later then,’ Yoongi says before turning to head into the back. ‘Wait. Don’t we need to pay?’ I ask, and Yoongi smiles at me, a little sadness behind the expression. ‘It’s on the house. I might even speak to the manager about getting this drink put on the menu,’ he says, and I smile at him, trying to ignore the tears in my eyes. ‘Good idea. Thanks, Yoongi. See you later,’ I say, Jimin bidding him goodbye as he disappears into the back. ‘Okay,’ Jimin turns to look at me with a grin, ‘let’s go get Coco.’

‘Oh, y/n. Oh, my angel, I’m so sorry,’ Mrs Choi says for the eleventh time, dabbing at her eyes with her handkerchief, and I smile sadly. ‘It’s okay, Mrs Choi,’ I say, not sure what else to say, when Jimin appears at my elbow. ‘Everything’s in the car now, so whenever you’re ready,’ he says with a grin as he hands me the house keys, Mrs Choi looking him up and down. ‘Oh, Mrs Choi, this is Jimin… an old school friend. Jimin, this is Mrs Choi, my lovely neighbour who my dog likes more than me,’ I say, Mrs Choi laughing as Jimin shakes her hand, bowing his head politely.

‘Oh, don’t be silly, y/n, Coco adores you. He cries whenever you leave him with me,’ she says, and I raise an eyebrow. ‘And then cries when I come to pick him up,’ I point out, and she waves a hand dismissively. ‘It’s because I feed him so much,’ Mrs Choi says, and I laugh, Coco appearing in the doorway behind her. He comes bounding up to me, my heart filling as he rests his front paws on my leg, and I bend down to pick him up. ‘Hi, baby. You okay?’ I say, showering him in kisses, and ducking away when he tries to lick my face. I hate when he licks my makeup off.

‘That is the cutest dog ever,’ Jimin says, and I hold Coco out to him. He instantly takes him into his arms, and giggles when he licks the tip of his nose. Coco leaps out of his arms, and he panics, trying to catch him, but he does it all the time, bounding around the front garden. ‘Here,’ Mrs Choi says, handing Jimin the little tennis ball she keeps beside the door for when she plays with Coco. He instantly throws it and Coco bounds after it, running straight back to him with it in his mouth.

‘He’s handsome,’ Mrs Choi observes quietly so Jimin can’t hear, and I roll my eyes. ‘And doesn’t he know it?’ ‘Are you… and him…?’ ‘Oh, God, no. I… there’s a list of things I wanted to do this summer, and he’s helping me get through it all before I...’ I trail off, and she nods, blinking furiously, obviously trying not to cry. ‘That’s lovely of him. Make sure you take lots of pictures to show me,’ she says, and I grin. ‘We’ve already started a photo album. Actually. Hold on,’ I say, getting the camera out of my bag as Jimin bends down to pet Coco who jumps on him, the unexpectedness making him fall onto his back. I get a really cute picture of him lying down, laughing, with Coco on his chest, trying to lick his face.

‘Lovely. Well, I’ll let you get to it. But make sure you come to see me again before… well, when you get back from ticking off your list,’ she says, pulling me into a hug, and I screw my eyes shut, trying my hardest not to cry in front of her. She’s been like a mother figure to me since I moved out of my parents’ house, always coming over to check if I’m okay, bringing me food and inviting me around at least once a week, looking after Coco whenever I need her to. I’m heartbroken that I’m going to be leaving a hole in her life when I go.

‘I will. See you later, Mrs Choi,’ I say, pulling away from her, and we exchange a sad smile. ‘See you, y/n. Be careful, dear, and have fun,’ she says sadly, pressing a kiss to my cheek, giving me one last long look before she disappears into her house. I don’t blame her; I’d be struggling to deal if I were in her position.

‘Okay. Let’s go,’ I call to Jimin who’s sat cross legged on the floor, Coco running towards him with the ball and dropping it beside him. Jimin’s standing when I reach them and he hands me the ball, Coco’s eyes never leaving it. ‘Do you want Coco to sit on my lap or do you mind him sitting in the back?’ I ask, as we walk towards his car, and he shrugs. ‘He can sit in the back, I don’t mind,’ he says, and I pull open the back door, putting the ball in there, and Coco leaps in without hesitation. I shut the door behind him before climbing into the passenger seat, Jimin already sat in the driver’s seat.

‘You ready?’ he says excitedly as he starts the engine, putting on the radio which is currently playing Justin Bieber. ‘Yep. Let’s do this,’ I say, sneaking one last look at Mrs Choi’s house. And then it hits me. This might be the last time I look at her house. I might die before I get to see her again.

My body goes cold all over, tears prickling in my eyes as my throat constricts painfully. It just repeats in my head again and again; ‘I’m going to die. I’m going to die. I’m going to die. I’m going to die.’

Coco realises I’m upset before Jimin does, and he begins to whine from the backseat. ‘Is Coco okay?’ I hear Jimin’s voice distantly, and when I don’t reply, I hear him coo, ‘Coco? What’s the matter, boy?’ And then he looks over at me.

‘Oh,’ he breathes out, instantly pulling over. ‘y/n,’ he says gently, reaching out to take one of my hands, and the second his skin touches mine, I burst into tears. He shuffles as close as he can, the gearstick separating us, and he leans across the gap, pulling me into his arms. I sob into his shoulder, letting him hold me as the tears come in an endless flood, whispering the words ‘I’m going to die’ every few seconds.

Once I’ve calmed down (and feel ridiculously uncomfortable in the position we’re in), I gently push away from him, and he releases me, still holding one of my hands in his. ‘Sorry,’ I whisper, and he frowns. ‘Don’t apologise. You’re allowed to be upset. Like, you’re going to die, for God’s sake; you can cry about that. Cry as much as you want, you’re entitled to do so. Just… tell me when you’re upset so I don’t say something stupid,’ he says ruefully, a small laugh falling from my lips, and he grins.

‘It’s just… it’s not fair. There’s still so much I wanted to do with my life. I’ll never work in my dream job. There are so many beautiful places I’ll never get to see. Tokyo, Mexico, Portugal, Bali, Dubai, India, Australia, Brazil, Hawaii, The Caribbean, The Maldives, Greece, Morocco. So many things that everyone does that I’ll never get a chance to do. Fall in love, get married, have a family. I’ve never even been in a relationship,’ I say with a harsh laugh, and Jimin sighs.

‘You’re right, y/n. It’s not fair, it’s not fair at all. You deserve so much more, so much better. You’ve been robbed of the rest of your life. You’re allowed to be angry. I’m angry,’ he says so simply, and it feels as though his words just… make it all okay. It’s hard to explain, but they feel like a consolation. They make me feel like the way I’m feeling isn’t me just being irrational, or a spoiled brat, because I know that it could be worse. They make me feel like I’m justified in my thoughts and feelings. And that’s what I need right now.

‘Thank you,’ I say, sniffling a little, and he smiles at me. ‘You’re most welcome, y/n. Now. Are you ready to go to Tae and Joon’s or would you like to cry for a little longer?’ he says teasingly, and I laugh, shoving him gently. ‘Drive, you moron,’ I say, and he gasps as he starts up the car, a small grin playing at his lips as he says, ‘Moron? I’m about to give you the summer of a lifetime in four days. Do you think a moron could do that? No, of course they couldn’t.’

‘y/n! Oh, my God, girl, it’s so good to see you!’ Taehyung exclaims the second I open the car door, running over from the front door and throwing his arms around me. I was always a little closer to Taehyung than I was to Jimin, because we had quite a few classes together. I hug him back, my face practically smushed against his chest as he holds me in a bone-crushingly tight embrace.

‘Hey, Taehyung. How have you been?’ I ask as he releases me, his hands still on my shoulders. He holds me at arm’s length, looking me up and down, before an appreciative grin spreads across his face. I hold back from pointing out that he still has the same adorable boxy smile from high school. And then I register his bright blue hair, stifling a laugh at how eccentric he still is. ‘I’m good. You got hot, y/n!’ he exclaims, and I feel blood rushing to my face from embarrassment.

‘Thank you. But look at you! You’re so handsome, Tae,’ I grin, and he grins back with a little wink. Everything about him is just as appealing as back then. Tae was definitely a ladies’ man… and a men’s man too. He was loud and bubbly, his personality easily grabbing the attention of everyone in any room, and his laugh was crazy infectious. He was the perfect mix of cute and hot, and he’s only gotten hotter, with his manly features and strong build.

‘Thank you, babe. Come in, come in. Jimin, do you need a hand with the bags? No? Good,’ he says, not even waiting for an answer from Jimin before he drags me up towards the house, the other boy muttering behind us as I hear him pop the boot open.

The second I step over the threshold, a ball of fluff appears and begins yapping at me from behind Tae, and he bends down to pick it up. ‘y/n, this is my beloved son, Kim Yeontan, or Tannie for short,’ Taehyung says, introducing me to his little Pomeranian, who has now quietened down and is staring at me with a curious look in his eyes. ‘Hi, Tannie,’ I coo at the dog, reaching a hand out to stroke his head, and he lets me with a contented little growl low in his throat.

‘Ah, he likes you! He rarely likes strangers. Little coward,’ Taehyung says affectionately as I slip off my shoes, Jimin appearing in the doorway with my bag (a suitcase, actually – yes, I might be dying soon, but I wanna make sure I look good when I do, so I had to bring plenty of clothes) in one hand, and Coco in the other. And then the barking match starts.

Coco and Yeontan incessantly yowl and woof at each other, both of them scrabbling to get out of Jimin and Tae’s arms. And then Taehyung puts Tan down, and Tan instantly shuts up, hiding behind his dad’s legs. Jimin does the same, putting Coco down, and he tries to get Jimin to pick him up again. ‘They’re both cowards,’ I mutter with a smile as Taehyung leads us down the front hallway, Yeontan trotting along beside him as I follow behind, Coco hanging back with Jimin as he takes his shoes off and shuts the front door.

We enter the kitchen, and if it wasn’t clear from the outside of the house, it’s made clear now; this house is beautiful, and expensive. It’s roomy and spacious, modern and clean, with classy and tasteful furnishings. ‘I love your house, Tae. It’s so nice, and I love the way you’ve decorated,’ I say, and he beams at me, eyes nearly disappearing behind their lids. ‘Thank you, y/n. It was all me – Joon has no sense of decoration,’ he says, sounding genuinely touched, and Jimin raises an eyebrow at me as he walks in. ‘Look at you sucking up,’ he mutters with a grin, and Tae and I both shoot him dirty looks.

‘You want something to drink, y/n? Before we get started on the chalk?’ he asks, and I shake my head. ‘I’m okay, thank you,’ I reply, but he’s already distracted with the list that Jimin’s put in front of him on the marble island counter. ‘Ooh, so this is the list? Let’s have a look,’ he says before reading it intently. Once he’s done, his eyes flit up to me, before flitting back down to the page.

‘Don’t take offence to this, okay?’ he says, and I already brace myself for a mocking remark. ‘Some of this stuff is, like, basic teenager stuff. How have you not done all of this already?’ he asks softly, and I feel a little embarrassed. ‘I don’t know, I just… after high school, I drifted from the girls – I still talk to them every now and then, but it isn’t the same – and I didn’t really… make any new friends to do these kind of things with. I have my work friends, but the most I’ve ever done with them is a night out. And in high school, I guess I was… too cautious and too scared to join in on these kind of things. We went on a group trip to the beach – I was the only one that didn’t skinny dip. The end of school prank was dyeing our hair in the school toilets – I was the one of the only ones that didn’t dye mine. Everyone planned a camping trip together – I didn’t go. I was, and still am, a little… uptight, I guess? I wanted to change that this summer, but…’ I trail off, and Tae surprises me by nodding sadly.

‘Jimin told me on the phone while you were talking to your neighbour,’ he says, and I shoot Jimin a look. ‘I thought it’d be better if you didn’t have to keep telling people!’ he exclaims defensively, and I nod with a roll of my eyes, thinking his reasoning is fair enough. ‘I’m really sorry, y/n. There’s not much someone can say in these kind of situations, but I just want you to know that I’m so sorry, and that it’s so unfair,’ he says gently, and I smile sadly. ‘Thank you. I appreciate that.’

‘Now, anyway. Shall we get on with this list? I know Jimin said that we can start with chalk and ice cream, but…’ Tae says, voice a lot more cheerful as he sidles over to me, twisting a lock of my hair around his finger, ‘I think we should dye your hair first.’ ‘Dye it?’ I say, lifting a hand to pat my hair protectively, having not yet worked up the courage. ‘Yep. I have trillions of box dyes upstairs – you can choose any colour you like,’ he says, and I look over at Jimin who grins, nodding encouragingly.

A few minutes later, I’m sat on a stool in Tae’s lavish bathroom, a towel resting over my shoulders as I inspect the boxes laid out on the counter in front of me, Taehyung and Jimin stood behind me as Coco and Tan play in Tae’s bedroom (they seem to be the best of friends now). ‘I’m thinking I shouldn’t go too wild considering it’ll be my funeral in a little while and my parents will probably want an open casket,’ I say musingly, Taehyung choking on air as Jimin holds back a smile.

‘Good idea. Maybe… highlights or ombre rather than the whole head?’ Jimin suggests, and I nod, feeling a little more at ease at not having to take the full plunge. ‘Okay… what colour then?’ Taehyung asks, and I look at all the colours. ‘Um… I don’t know. It’s really difficult,’ I say a little timidly, both boys nodding reassuringly, trying to give me a little more confident. ‘You’re right, it is difficult. How about… two platinum blonde streaks at the front of your hair?’ Taehyung asks, and I nearly choke.

‘Blonde streaks… like an e-girl?’ I ask, and Tae laughs, nodding. ‘It’s on trend, and I think you’ll be able to pull it off really well,’ Tae says thoughtfully, and whilst I’m still not convinced, Jimin nods excitedly. ‘Yes, that’d look amazing! Go on, y/n, you should!’ Jimin urges, eyes locked with mine in the mirror, and I sigh before nodding with a small smile. ‘Why not? Go for it,’ I say, the two of them exchanging a grin.

Before I know it, the front sections of my hair have been bleached and foiled, and a timer has been set for 20 minutes. And Jimin is contemplating dyeing his own hair. ‘I mean, I’ve had black for so long, and I need a change, right? I’ve been wanting to go bright for a while. But do I go a natural bright, or a colourful bright?’ he muses, Tae fake yawning at him in the mirror, coaxing a giggle from me, but Jimin doesn’t notice, too busy inspecting the dye boxes.

‘If it helps, I liked it when you went blond at school. You look nice blond,’ I say, and he looks at me in the mirror with a thoughtful look in his eyes. ‘Bright blond, or platinum blond, or dirty blond?’ he asks, and I think for a moment before answering, ‘bright blond.’ ‘Okay, let’s go bright blond then,’ he says instantly, disappearing off to get a towel from Tae’s airing cupboard.

‘That was… interesting,’ Tae says with a smirk at me in the mirror, and I look back at him confusedly. ‘How so?’ ‘He never takes anyone’s advice when it comes to his hair dye. And he never decides that quick,’ he says, his smirk even wider, but Jimin reappears before I can reply. I try to shake off Tae’s words as Jimin looks for the right box dye.

‘Maybe I should dye my hair too,’ Tae says, looking at his blue locks in the mirror. ‘I like you with brown hair, Tae. I’d like it if you had brown hair at my funeral,’ I say, and his eyes widen slightly at the mention of it again. ‘Yeah, I think that’s a good idea. We should all have natural colours for the funeral, out of respect,’ Jimin says, and I frown. ‘No, I don’t mind if you guys had the craziest colours ever. I just think you look so… classically handsome with brown hair, Tae,’ I say, and he looks smug at my compliment. ‘Okay,’ he grins, reaching for a box dye, Jimin and I exchanging a look in the mirror as he says, ‘guess I’m going brown then.’

‘When did you go brown, Tae? And you blond, Jimin?’ a voice suddenly says, making all three of us jump. There’s a man stood on Taehyung’s front garden, and I remember him as Jung Hoseok from school. He was cute back then, but he’s handsome now with his golden skin and his silky brown hair. ‘About… 90 minutes ago,’ Taehyung says, currently drawing what looks like a heart but could also be an alien, and Hoseok nods as though it’s perfectly normal.

‘Hey, y/n. Your hair looks nice,’ Hoseok says, shooting a heart-shaped smile at me, and I smile back. I’m still not used to my hair being blonde when it falls into my face, but it does look nice – Tae and Jimin did a good job. ‘Hey, Hoseok. Thank you. Tae and Jimin did it.’ ‘Please, call me Hobi. Anyway, how are you?’ he says before wincing, obviously already aware of my situation. Jimin really can’t keep his mouth shut. ‘I’m okay. How are you?’ I ask, and he nods, replying, ‘I’m good. Excited to work on this list.’ ‘Well, get some chalk and get your ass down here to help us,’ Jimin says from where he’s sprawled out on the gravel, drawing a dog (or attempting to, anyway).

We’ve been working on the chalk for just over an hour, listening to music from Taehyung’s speaker that’s sat in the doorway (Coco and Tan have already knocked it over several times whilst they’ve been playing). Bright chalk covers nearly all of Taehyung and Namjoon’s driveway – except for where Tae and Jimin’s cars are – rainbows, flowers, hearts, clouds surrounding us (as well as a bunny, a pineapple, a unicorn, a slice of watermelon and Jimin’s dog).

‘It looks like you’re nearly done,’ Hoseok observes, and I nod, wiping my forehead clean of sweat. ‘Yeah, we are. This isn’t as fun as I thought it was going to be,’ I say frankly, the others all laughing. ‘The fun comes from taking pictures with the chalk,’ Taehyung says, and I get up instantly. ‘Okay, let’s just take pictures and then carry on with the list,’ I say, the three of them laughing again as Jimin and Taehyung get up from the floor.

Taehyung instantly goes into director mode, making me lie down in a gap in the chalk. Jimin stands over me, one foot on either side of my waist, taking pictures on both the camera and his phone whilst Taehyung directs him on how to take them and me on how to pose, Hobi using his phone torch to give us better lighting (it doesn’t make much of a difference, but he’s trying).

I start to feel a little embarrassed, wondering what we must look like to Tae’s neighbours, before I remember that life is short – mine especially – so I should make the most of it without worrying what people think of me. After a few minutes (and a few dozen pictures), I get into it a little more, and the boys all begin hyping me up, Jimin making a few flirty comments here and there.

And then Jimin joins me, Taehyung taking the camera and Hobi directing us (he’s even more… bossy than Taehyung, instructing us down to the simplest things – the positions of our fingers, the direction we look in, the angle of our heads. Everything.)

‘You guys are gonna make her regret asking for help,’ a voice comes from the driveway, all of us looking over to see Namjoon and Jungkook from school stood there, leaning against the Jimin’s car. ‘Watch the car!’ Jimin exclaims, both of them heading over. ‘Just for the record, I didn’t ask for help. Jimin forc- I mean, Jimin volunteered his help,’ I say, correcting myself when he shoots me a dirty look, the others laughing.

‘It’s good to see you guys again. Did you walk here?’ I ask, and Namjoon nods. ‘It’s good to see you too. Jungkook picked me up from work, and then we dropped his car off and walked here. We all live really close to each other. Jimin, Jungkook and Hobi live on the road up there, and Jin and Yoongi live on the road down that way,’ Namjoon points, and I nod, thinking how sweet it is that they all live so close together.

‘JK, the blue’s gonna have to go,’ Tae says to the baby of their group. He’s changed more than all of them; he still has his big eyes and his cute bunny teeth, but that’s where the similarities end. He’s so handsome, and his body is lean and tall. Not as tall as Namjoon, though; he always was tall, but he’s grown even more now, and he’s gorgeous, with his dimples and blond hair. It’s like only beautiful people are allowed in their friendship group.

‘What?’ Jungkook asks, confused, his eyes wide. ‘You need to dye your hair brown again,’ Tae says, Jungkook frowning. ‘Why? I’ve only been blue for a couple days. Don’t you like it?’ ‘It looks great, but we’re all going natural out of respect, for y/n’s funeral,’ Jimin says casually, Jungkook choking and Namjoon slapping his back with wide eyes. ‘Jimin. You can’t just drop it in like that,’ Hobi reprimands, but I wave it off. ‘It’s fine, I’d prefer if we just spoke about it normally. Anyway, you don’t have to go brown, Jungkook, it’s okay,’ I say, Jungkook nodding, still looking a little shell-shocked.

‘Can we get up now?’ I say to Hobi from where I’m lying on the floor, shoulder-to-shoulder with Jimin, and he shakes his head. ‘If you want to make a scrapbook, you can’t just have pictures of you and Jimin in it. You need to get pictures with all of us,’ he says simply, and I bite my tongue, knowing I’ll just have to suck it up. Twenty minutes later, I’ve taken several pictures with all of the boys, and it was a little fun, I guess. We’ll have run out of film by the end of the day at this rate.

But my head’s starting to hurt a little, and I know I can’t take anymore. ‘Can we stop now? I’ve got a bit of a headache,’ I say, sitting up, and they all look a little worried. ‘Is it from being under the sun for so long?’ Hobi asks, nervously, but Tae speaks before I can reply; ‘no, it’s probably the hair dye.’ Jimin looks at them both incredulously. ‘I think it’s the tumour in her brain,’ he says slowly, and I can’t help but share his exasperation at their stupid suggestions, the boys all falling into a shocked silence as Jimin looks to me with thinly-veiled amusement.

‘Yeah, I think you’re right, Jimin, it probably is,’ I say, holding back a laugh. ‘Do you want some painkillers?’ Tae asks weakly, and I smile, shaking my head. ‘I’m okay, thanks. I might just have a little lie-down, if that’s okay?’ I ask, Tae nodding straight away. ‘I’ll show you to one of the guest rooms and you can have a shower, or a nap, if you want?’ Tae suggests as Hobi and Jimin help me up, my head dizzy and light, and I nod. ‘That sounds perfect.’

I blink in the slices of soft sunlight that fall between the blinds onto the bed, sitting up carefully. My head feels a lot better after that nap, which was the best nap of my life, by the way. Tae and Joon must be seriously rich, because this bed is the most comfortable bed I’ve ever slept in. And the room is super lavish, monochrome and clean, with a deep carpet and expensive looking furnishings. The bathroom was nice too, and I dragged out my shower a lot longer than usual, my skin smelling fresh with Tae and Namjoon’s expensive passionfruit body wash.

I slowly climb out of the bed, looking at myself in the floor to ceiling mirror on the wall opposite me. I still can’t get used to the hair, but it does look good. Tae has good taste, and he and Jimin put the dye in really well – the front sections of my hair are the perfect vibrant blonde. Tae put all these different haircare products in it after he washed out the dye, and it feels healthier than ever before. It’s obvious he’s dyed his hair plenty, because he’s clearly an expert. He could be a hairdresser if he wanted to.

I open my suitcase and get out a bralet to put on (my pyjamas are satin, and I’d rather not have my nipples visible through them in a room full of childhood friends I haven’t seen for years) and put it on beneath my black button-up pyjama shirt. I quickly splash some water over my face to wake myself up a little before I head downstairs, following the loud voices that lead me into the kitchen. Namjoon’s stood at the counter, making coffee, Jungkook, Jimin, Tae and Hobi sat around the breakfast bar with two new arrivals; Yoongi, and Seokjin. Seokjin literally hasn’t aged a day, and he’s somehow even more handsome than he was back then, with his plump lips and swept back dark hair.

‘Sleeping beauty awakes!’ Jimin exclaims when he sees me walk in, and I smile softly, still a little sleepy. His blond hair really does look good, the perfect summer colour, and Tae’s looks really good too – the dark brown locks make him look like a model. ‘y/n! They were right, you really are gorgeous!’ Jin exclaims, jumping up and pulling me into a hug, and I try to supress the embarrassment I’m feeling at them talking about me, and telling Jin I’m gorgeous. One thing I remember about Jin was that he never used to feel embarrassed, at anything. Sometimes he’d get a little shy, and his ears would go red, but he’d never hesitate to do something, even if it was embarrassing, if it would help to ease any awkwardness and make people feel comfortable.

His hugging me, despite us barely speaking when we went to school together and not having seen each other for years, is just what I need, and a perfect example of how kind Jin is.

‘Thanks, Jin, but look at you! You’re really handsome,’ I say honestly, feeling at ease after his hug, and he grins at me. ‘You didn’t call me handsome, y/n, but you called Tae and Jin handsome,’ Jimin pouts, and I roll my eyes at him. ‘She knows Tae and I are the best-looking, that’s why,’ Jin says, and Jimin scowls at him before looking back at me, still waiting for an answer. ‘Just because I didn’t say it out loud, doesn’t mean I didn’t think it,’ I say matter-of-factly, and he grins proudly. ‘What about the rest of us?’ Hobi asks, all of them flashing smiles at me, and I blink a few times. ‘You’re all handsome. Now stop smiling at me before I faint,’ I say, all of them laughing.

‘Coffee, y/n?’ Namjoon asks, but I shake my head. ‘I’m trying to cut down on my caffeine intake. Thanks, though,’ I say, and Jimin frowns. ‘y/n, it’s not like it matters,’ Jimin says, everyone wincing, and I laugh, nodding in agreement. ‘You’re right. I will have some, please, Namjoon,’ I say, everyone laughing again as Namjoon nods with a smile, getting another mug out for me. ‘Sit down, y/n,’ Tae says, patting the empty seat between him and Jungkook, and I sit in it, feeling a little self-conscious. I’m in my pyjamas, with no makeup and slight bedhead, and they’re all just… so handsome.

‘What do you guys do? For you all to be at home at… 5.38 on a Wednesday?’ I say, reading the time on the clock. I have all of the boys on social media, so I vaguely know some of what goes on in their lives, but not much. It’s hard to keep track of everyone from school. ‘Um, I own my own photography business. We do photography for weddings, parties, photo shoots, etc. and we’ve had some pretty high-profile clients, so we’re quite successful. And I do some art on the side, and some of my paintings have sold well, hence the fancy house. I get to work from home most of the time, because I mainly do editing – I’ve hired photographers, but I do a couple weddings here and there,’ Tae says, and I’m impressed, though not surprised. Tae always did have a talent for art, and he was the photographer for the school newspaper, so this career is perfect for him.

‘I own my own dance studio, and we only open on Monday and Tuesday 6-9, Thursday 3-6, and then Saturdays and Sundays,’ Hoseok says and, again, I’m not surprised; Hoseok always loved his dancing and he put more effort into dance than into his school work, but I guess it paid off.

‘I work for Hobi and Tae. I teach classes every day that it’s open, and then I do some photography work every couple weeks. And I do some shifts here and there at a tattoo shop,’ Jungkook says, and I think it’s really cute that he works for his friends, though I wonder if it sparks any arguments between them. I look at Jimin when Jungkook mentions the tattoo shop, and Jimin grins with a little nod, my stomach turning. Obviously, he was referring to where Jungkook works when he said he knew the perfect place for me to get a tattoo.

‘I do all the finances and admin and paperwork for Tae and Hobi, and I work for a small record label, producing and rapping,’ Namjoon says as he puts my coffee down in front of me, and I thank him with a smile, quite surprised to hear Namjoon’s career choice. To be fair, Namjoon excelled in all of his subjects, so he’d be good at whatever he chose to do.

‘I’m a part-time chef at this restaurant in the city, and I’m also studying to become an actor,’ Jin says, and I’m impressed. I didn’t know Jin was interested in cooking or in acting, but now that I look at him, he really does look like an actor, and I could imagine him as a chef too, with one of those big white hats.

‘I’m a barista, as you know, I teach a couple piano lessons a week, and I do some rapping and producing at the same company as Namjoon,’ Yoongi explains, and I remember how good he was at piano. He was chosen to play at one of these awards’ evenings we had at school, and we were all so impressed at how good he was. Rapping, though? I never knew he could rap.

Everyone looks at Jimin to answer, but he looks back blankly before saying, ‘I already told her my job.’ They all nod before looking back at me. ‘What do you do, y/n?’ Jin asks, and I roll my eyes. ‘I work part-time as an assistant at a law firm, and I’m studying to become a lawyer. Or I was anyway,’ I trail off, a little sad that I’ll never be able to do my dream job, and the boys all give me pitying looks. Except for Jimin, who says, ‘damn, y/n, you’re clever. Law student, huh?’ I nod with a smile, and he grins. ‘You could’ve got in on the family businesses, and done all the boring legal shit for us,’ Jimin says, and I grimace, internally endeared at him calling them the family businesses. ‘I’d have passed. Sorry,’ I say, the boys all laughing.

‘Okay, enough chit chat. Let’s carry on with your list,’ Jin says, picking it up from where it sits in the middle of the island, and I take a sip of my coffee. ‘Should I wash the chalk from your driveway?’ I ask Tae and Joon, and they both shake their heads. ‘I was about to, but Jin stopped me. He wants some pictures with you and the chalk,’ Tae says, and I let out a sigh, all them laughing. ‘We’ve literally spent all of our time on the chalk so far. Your four days are gonna fly by,’ I say to Jimin, who waves it off with an easy grin.

‘Stop trying to worry me. Four days is plenty. You go take some pictures with Jin, and Yoongi, while I set up the next thing for us to tick off,’ Jimin says, getting up and pulling me off my seat, pushing me towards the door. ‘Make sure you get plenty of good pictures,’ Jimin says to Tae with a mischievous glance at me, who nods, and I roll my eyes. ‘We’re gonna run out of film,’ I say, but Jimin shakes his head with a grin. ‘I went out whilst you were asleep and got some more supplies, including a few more boxes of film,’ he grins, and I let out a deep sigh as Tae and Jin drag me outside, Yoongi trailing behind, and Jimin waving at us from the doorway.

‘Done with your photoshoot?’ Jimin asks as we walk into the living room. ‘Yes, thank God,’ I say, throwing myself down onto the sofa. ‘Jin, you’re way too demanding. We were out there for forty-five minutes,’ Yoongi says, flopping down next to me, and Jin scowls at us from the doorway. ‘Tae wasn’t getting my angles!’ he exclaims, and Tae’s eyes widen. ‘You’re not blaming this on me. I own a photography business, so don’t accuse me of being a bad photographer,’ Tae says, Jin opening his mouth to speak, but Jimin interrupts; ‘don’t argue. y/n’s dying.’

They go silent, and I burst out laughing as Jimin grins at me. ‘You can’t drop that into every conversation, Jimin,’ I laugh, the others relaxing a little, and Jimin shrugs. ‘I can. Just watch. Anyway, before you get comfy, we need to go into the dining room,’ he says vaguely with a knowing grin, and I narrow my eyes at him. ‘I don’t want to, because of that look on your face,’ I say suspiciously, and he laughs. ‘Come on, y/n, we gotta tick the next thing off your list,’ Jimin says amusedly, holding a hand out to me, and I take it after a moment of hesitation, letting him pull me up. He doesn’t let go of my hand, dragging me behind him into the dining room, and it takes a little while for me to register what’s going on.

The table is set up with these different machines, and Jungkook sits at the table with an empty seat beside him, a lamp set up to cast a bright light onto the empty chair. And then I spot the little book on the table, sat beside a bunch of needles lined up on a small white sheet.

Jungkook’s about to give me a tattoo.

‘Oh, hell no,’ I say, turning around, but Jimin grabs me around the waist before I can walk away, picking me up and carrying me over to the door as I struggle around in his arms, the other boys watching amusedly. But Jimin’s freakishly strong, and my struggling doesn’t work. He puts me down in the empty chair, and I pout at him before looking around at the others. Tae, Jin and Yoongi are stood in one doorway, blocking it, and Namjoon and Hobi stand in the other, blocking that too. I literally cannot leave, and when I look down at the needles, my stomach turns.

‘Do you want to look through the book?’ Jungkook asks gently, and I sigh. ‘Not really,’ I say, all of them laughing as he hands me the book, and I flip through it. ‘Can you all stop looking at me? Or at least put on some music so I don’t feel so tense,’ I say, more laughter rippling around the room as Taehyung gets his phone out of his pocket and taps the screen a couple times, gentle RnB music floating out into the room from the ceiling. They must have a built-in sound system – their house really is boujee.

I scan the book and some of the designs are cute, but none of them really stand out to me. ‘Struggling to choose one?’ Jungkook asks quietly, the others having conversations between themselves, and I nod. He rolls up his sleeve, and shows me the various tattoos that cover his arm and hand. He has a flower, a skeleton hand, the word ‘Truth’, the woozy emoji, a purple heart, a little crown and some black stripes with various numbers and letters on his hand. ‘They all stand for different things. Like, for example, this is the tiger flower, which is my birth flower, and the letters all stand for the guys. So you could get some that are meaningful to you, or you could just get something that you think looks pretty. It’s up to you,’ he says, and I nod, thinking.

I decide on getting my birth flower, a little bolt of lightning and my parents’ initials. ‘Why don’t you get something summer related?’ Jimin suggests softly, and I think before nodding. ‘Like… the sun, or something?’ I ask, and he shrugs. ‘Whatever you want. You could get a picture or a quote, anything you want. It’s up to you, y/n. It’s your body,’ he says, and I nod, thinking about the first idea I had for a tattoo when I wrote that list. ‘How about ‘we’ll always have summer’… or is that silly?’ I ask, and Jungkook shakes his head straight away.

‘Of course it isn’t silly,’ he says, but Jimin looks at me thoughtfully. ‘Who’s we?’ he asks, and I sigh. ‘I don’t know. A general ‘we’, I guess? Like… as bleak as life gets, as boring, as sad, as hard as life is, there’s always the hope, the promise, the excitement of summer. So no matter what happens, we’ll always have summer,’ I explain, Jungkook’s eyes widening, and Jimin nodding at me with a small smile. ‘Wow, that’s so deep, y/n. You’re so clever,’ Jungkook says, and I laugh, waving it off.

‘Have you decided yet?’ Hobi asks, and I nod, feeling a little nervous. ‘I’m getting my birth flower, a bolt of lightning, my parents’ initials, and ‘we’ll always have summer’. What do you think?’ I ask, and Hobi smiles, looking impressed. ‘You’re getting four?’ he asks, and I laugh. ‘Might as well.’ ‘Where do you want them?’ Jungkook asks, and I hesitate. ‘Where does it hurt least?’ ‘Your ass,’ Jimin says with a grin, and I swat at him whilst the others all laugh. ‘The least painful is usually your back, the outside of your arms, the inside of your forearm and the outsides of your thighs. Hands aren’t too bad, and nor are shoulders,’ Jungkook explains.

After a lot of deliberation, we make the decision as a group of where I should have them; birth flower on my inner forearm, my parents’ initials on my right ring finger, the lightning bolt on the side of my ribcage/side-boob, and the quote on the back of my left shoulder. ‘How long will it take, Jungkook?’ I ask as Jungkook sets up all his equipment, the others arguing about what we should have for dinner. ‘Please, call me JK, or Kook, or whatever. And, it shouldn’t take longer than a few hours, because they’re all quite small. The quote will take the longest, and I can usually do quotes in an hour and a half, so I’d say… three hours, maybe three and a half?’ he says, and I feel dread at the thought of being in pain for that long. But it’s fine. I’ll be fine.

‘Are you still not done?’ Taehyung demands as he enters the room, Jungkook’s eyes still fixed on my finger as he sighs. ‘Relax, I’m doing the last one now. I’ll be done in a few minutes,’ he says, and Tae huffs. ‘You’re taking ages. We want to do the next thing on her list.’ ‘Don’t rush me, Tae. Tattooing is an art,’ Jungkook says calmly, Tae rolling his eyes from behind Jungkook’s back, and I hold back a laugh.

It actually wasn’t that painful, surprisingly. The worst thing was having to stay still for so long. He started with my birth flower, and it was fascinating to watch the ink appear on my skin, at first. The fascination soon wore off, and I was itching to move, but I knew I’d just ruin it if I did.

Then he moved onto the quote. I had to tie my hair up into a bun and sit backwards on a chair whilst he did it, and Jimin fed me some of the Chinese food they’d ordered, keeping me entertained with his stupid antics. Jin tried to feed Jungkook, but when he choked Jungkook with a chopstick, Jungkook decided he’d just eat afterwards.

And then he did my lightning bolt. I had to take off my top and unclasp my bra, holding it in place with my arm out of the way so Jungkook could get to my side-boob easily, and I told the boys that none of them could come in whilst he was doing that one, because the bra kept slipping. Jungkook was very professional though, and I can’t even imagine how many boobs he’s seen over his time working as a tattoo artist.

And now he’s doing my fingers. I’m used to the stinging pain now, and I’m very proud of myself for not crying. Tae shows me some funny videos on his phone whilst Jungkook carries on with the tattoo. ‘And… done!’ he exclaims, sitting back in his chair with a sigh. I look at my hand, pleased with how the tattoo looks. ‘Thank you, JK, it’s great.’ ‘No problem. Right… let me give you the aftercare speech,’ he says as he begins to put the weird jelly stuff and a bandage onto my finger. It’s weird how professional he is – I saw him passed out drunk at house parties more times than I can remember, and now he’s giving me tattoos and telling me how to look after them properly.

‘Don’t remove these bandages for 24 hours, and when you do, wash the tattoos, gently, with an unscented soap and water, and pat it dry afterwards. Put on some of this ointment twice a day, if you can, but you don’t need to put on another bandage. Wash them a few times a day, gently, with unscented soap and water, and always pat them dry, and then put on an unscented sensitive skin moisturiser. Obviously, you’re going to tick those things off your bucket list, and I’m sure a couple involve being in the water and sun. We usually advise against being in the water and sun, but obviously, you’re not going to do that, so just don’t be in the sun for too long, and put plasters over them when you go in the water, to try and stop them being infected. It’s not really that big of a deal if they do get infected because…’ ‘I’m dying anyway.’ ‘Yeah, that. So don’t worry about it too much, but just try your best to be careful with them. Oh, and don’t go into hot water, if you can help it. Have cool showers, and not for too long, either. I think that’s it, but if you have any questions, just get my number from Jimin and text or call me. Do you have any questions now?’

‘Only one; would you rather I transferred you the money, or do you want cash?’ ‘y/n, don’t be ridiculous. I’m not charging you,’ he says as though it’s obvious, and I frown. ‘Jungkook.’ ‘No, y/n, I’m not taking money from you.’ ‘Why not? I haven’t got anything else to spend it on, remember? And it’s taken you ages!’ ‘It doesn’t matter. I’m not accepting any money from you, and that’s it. I do free tattoos for the boys all the time – Jimin’s got several from me. Just see it as a gift from an old friend,’ he says simply, with a grin, and I can’t help the small smile on my face. ‘Thank you, JK,’ I say, and he grins even wider, his cute little bunny teeth on display. ‘No problem, y/n.’

‘Are you done now? Can we move on to the next thing?’ Tae says excitedly, Jungkook nodding with a laugh at his eagerness. ‘Come on, then,’ Tae says, grabbing my hand and pulling me up, dragging me out of the dining room. He leads me towards the back door, pushing it open and moving aside to let me out first, and I gasp when I see the garden. ‘I know it’s not that big but it’s the best I could do,’ Jimin says as I slip on the sliders that he puts down on the floor in front of me, stepping out onto the light wood decking.

Tae and Namjoon’s garden is beautiful – it’s obvious at least one of the two loves gardening. The decking has steps down onto the grass which is healthy and neat, a dark, rich green, and there are trees and flowers of all different colours lining the light wood fence that runs around the garden. Fairy lights are strung up around the fence, casting a warm yellow glow across the space and there’s a fire pit in the middle of the garden, a small fire inside it with a garden furniture set placed around it, four armchairs and two two-seaters.

‘Oh, my God, this is great! Did you already have a fire pit?’ I ask Tae who shakes his head. ‘Jimin went out to buy one earlier,’ he says, and I look to Jimin with a frown. ‘You shouldn’t have. Let me give you the money for it,’ I say, and he shakes his head before I even finish speaking. ‘I don’t think so. Come on,’ he says, holding out an arm to me, and I take it with a begrudging smile. He leads me down the decking steps, across the grass to the bonfire and he sits down in an armchair as I sit in the two-seater beside it, Tae and JK following behind, the leftovers of the Chinese food in Jungkook’s hands.

‘Where are the others?’ I ask, and Jimin looks a little sheepish. ‘I, um, went to get supplies when you were sleeping, right? Well, I bought the fire pit, but I forgot all the other stuff,’ he explains, rubbing the back of his neck embarrassedly, and I hold back a laugh. ‘What other stuff?’ I ask, just as Jin and Hobi appear through the back door. ‘The biscuits, the chocolate, the marshmallows, the roasting sticks. Everything else,’ Jin says exasperatedly, the two of them coming to join us.

‘Where are the other two?’ Tae asks as they take their seats, Jin taking a prawn cracker from Jungkook’s lap, the boy shooting him a dirty look. ‘Putting the stuff onto plates for us, because a couple of us are too messy and, apparently, we’ll drop melted marshmallows and chocolate onto the grass and ruin it,’ Hobi says with a roll of his eyes, and I have a feeling he’s quoting Namjoon. ‘Am I wrong, though? There’s still the patch of grass that’s discoloured after Jimin spilled beer on it!’ Namjoon exclaims, holding blankets in his arms, Yoongi following behind with a tray in his hands, paper plates atop the tray. ‘How many times do I have to apologise for ruining your grass before you forget?’ Jimin asks tiredly as Namjoon and Yoongi take their seats, and Namjoon gives him a hard look. ‘As many times as it takes for the grass to return to its proper colour,’ Namjoon says, and I can feel an argument brewing so I quickly change the subject.

‘Shall we get a picture?’ I ask, not realising that another argument is about to start, over who’s going to take the picture. ‘Oh, my God, we’ve been arguing for five minutes! Just let me take the picture!’ Yoongi exclaims (after five minutes of arguing), his annoyance only half-hearted, and I pout. ‘No, Yoongi, I want you in the picture. I want us all in the picture,’ I say, Jin sighing and grabbing his temples before sending Namjoon to ask their nice neighbour, Mr Lee. I feel bad for disturbing him at 9.09pm on a Wednesday, but they insist. It’s more than a little awkward when he starts asking questions and Jimin says with a grin, ‘we’re ticking off y/n’s summer bucket list because she’s got a brain tumour and she’s going to die in a week.’ It’s like he can’t take the pictures quick enough after that, practically sprinting out of the garden once he’s done.

Yoongi gives us all our plates, Jungkook balancing his on one knee whilst he eats his Chinese food, and I feel pretty stupid when all of them instantly know how to put their s’mores together. ‘Have you never had s’mores before?’ Jimin asks, and I shake my head sheepishly. ‘Here, let me show you. You gotta just put a marshmallow on a stick,’ he says, and I copy the way he spears it on the stick. ‘Then you hold it over the fire for a little while, until it goes a bit brown, and then turn it over the other way,’ he says, holding his stick over the fire, and I do the same, turning it the other way once it’s browned a little. ‘And then you get a piece of chocolate and put it on top of a biscuit. And then you put the marshmallow on top of that. And then you put a piece of chocolate on top of the marshmallow, and another biscuit on top of the chocolate. Then you take it off the stick and… you got your s’more!’ he says, holding his s’more up with a flourish. It looks a lot neater than mine, but I’m still proud of myself for managing to not set fire to anything. ‘Just wait a little for it to cool down. Kook learned that the hard way,’ Jimin says pointedly, the other boy pursing his lips embarrassedly as we all laugh.

The sky is still high and light with clouds, though the sun has disappeared over the horizon, the moon a pale white circle against the soft blue. The air is still warm, but not with the humidity of earlier today, a cool tinge to the breeze that glides across my skin. It’s the perfect summer evening, made even better by the light conversations we have and the alcohol that Taehyung brings out for us – Jimin, Yoongi and Jin drink their soju like it’s going out of fashion, Jungkook, Namjoon and Hobi nursing beers instead whilst Tae and I sip on our Malibu and coke (very little Malibu actually in it). The s’mores are amazing, the warm gooey marshmallow, rich melty chocolate and crunchy sweet biscuits a perfect combination – whoever came up with s’mores is an actual genius.

‘Do you want some more s’mores, y/n?’ Hobi asks once my plate is empty, and I groan, the boys all laughing. ‘I think I’ll explode if I have another. I’ve eaten more today than I have in the last week,’ I say, clutching my stomach. ‘I’ll have one, Hobi,’ Jungkook says with a cheeky grin, and Hobi shoots him a glare, no real venom in it. ‘Get yourself one.’ ‘You offered to y/n!’ ‘You’re not dying in a week,’ Hobi says, eyes instantly flitting to me to see if I mind, but I’m already bursting into laughter, my head falling onto Jin’s shoulder which is shaking from his laughter too.

‘Are we terrible for joking about death?’ Jungkook says once we’ve all calmed down, and I sigh. A cold breeze rushes past us, biting at my skin, and I shiver, pulling my blanket closer around me and shuffling forward in my seat so I sit closer to the bonfire. It’s gotten so much cooler so quickly, all of us wrapped up in blankets. ‘What can we do but joke about it? I think I’d cry if we didn’t,’ I say into the silence, the boys all just listening as I stare into the flickering flames, deeply inhaling the smoky scent in the air.

‘It still doesn’t feel real. How do you prepare yourself for death?’ I ask, voice a little shaky, and Jin puts a hand on my shoulder gently. ‘I wish we could tell you, y/n, and make it easier for you, but it will never be easy to see someone of your age die. Old people, who have lived their lives, they can prepare for death. I don’t think you can. And I’m sorry for that, I really am. We all are,’ he says softly, his kind words bringing a sad smile to my face. ‘Thank you. Thank you all, for doing all this today, and Namjoon and Taehyung, for opening your home to me,’ I say, all of them reflecting my sad smile back at me.

‘We’d have done it even if you weren’t dying, y/n. Please, don’t think we’re only doing this because you’re dying. We’ve all known each other since we were kids. And look at all you did for us. We’d have done all of this for you regardless of your health if you asked us to,’ Namjoon says, and I look at him in confusion, wondering what he means. ‘What did I do for all of you?’ ‘We were talking about this whilst you were asleep. Remember when I was riding my bike past your house, and I fell off it?’ Namjoon asks, the others laughing at the mention, and all of a sudden, a memory I didn’t even know I had appears in my mind.

We must’ve been around 7; I don’t remember what I was doing, but I saw Namjoon on the floor outside of my house through the window, clutching onto his knee with his bike beside him. I ran and got the plasters from where they were in one of the kitchen cupboards, and practically sprinted outside. I sat down on the floor beside Namjoon, and there were tears in his eyes, and his knee was bloody. Not knowing that you’re supposed to clean a cut and disinfect it, I’d just put a plaster on for him, and then my parents saw what was going on, and took Namjoon inside to properly clean the cut, me following them in with his bike in my arms, and then they phoned his mum to let her know what had happened. Our school was a tight knit community and all the parents were friends with each other – they all had each other’s phone numbers.

‘How do you remember that?’ I ask, smiling at the memory, and he grins. ‘It’s the first act of kindness I remember experiencing. And it might have been simple, but it taught me to be kind, and do things for people when I didn’t have to, because that’s what you did for me,’ he says, and then all of the boys share the stories of things I did for them over the years we went to school together.

For Jin, I’d lost one of his crayons and then I’d brought in a whole new pack for him. When his mum mentioned it to my parents and thanked them for buying Jin a new pack, they’d had been confused; they hadn’t bought a new set of crayons. I’d taken in one of my own sets for him without telling them. Jin brought it into school every day and shared it with me and only me, and wrote both of our names on the packaging so that everyone would know that they belonged to the both of us.

For Yoongi, I’d recorded his piano performance at the awards’ evening because I’d overheard his mum saying she’d forgotten her video camera at home and didn’t have a smart phone to record it on. I’d sent it to him that night, letting him know why I’d recorded it, and he’d thanked me before showing his mum. I never knew this at the time, but apparently she was so happy that she cried, and made Yoongi give me a present to thank me. I didn’t know that Yoongi was the one who put the thank you card in my locker with a necklace in it a couple weeks later – he’d been too shy to give it to me face to face (I’d been so confused, wondering who was thanking me and for what). I still wear the necklace sometimes – it’s a silver chain with a little butterfly pendant that rests between my collarbones.

For Hobi, I’d spotted a random bag in the school car park, and checked the belongings to see that it was Hobi’s – his wallet had been in there, along with a load of money and some dance clothes. I’d brought it in the next day and gave it to him, and he’d thanked me profusely. What I didn’t know at the time was that his mum had worked multiple jobs in order to fund his dancing, including buying him all that dance gear, and that he’d thought that someone would’ve stolen it all because they were worth a lot, as well as stealing his wallet. But instead, it’d been returned back to him, with everything still in there.

For Taehyung, I’d been the only one to say I liked his drawing, back when we were little kids. It was of a little alien cartoon character, with a heart shaped head (the same thing he’d been drawing in chalk on the driveway earlier), and everyone else laughed at him and called it silly and said it looked nothing like the real cartoon. But when I told him it was nice and that I thought it was really good, it made him want to draw it more, before he started drawing other things too, and his passion for art had been sparked, all because of a little compliment from me when we could barely write our names.

For Jungkook, I’d been helping clean Dahyun’s house after her house party, and I found him passed out in the upstairs bathroom. I got Dahyun to help me get him into my car, drove him home (I knew his address from a party he’d had once), used his house keys to get him in his house, helped him lie down on the sofa, forced him to drink some water and then left a note beside a full bottle of water to letting him know who’d dropped him off at home. And then I’d locked up after myself and posted the keys through the letterbox. His mum had phoned my parents the next day to thank me profusely, and brought over some cupcakes – they were amazing, by the way.

And for Jimin, maybe the most important of them all – I’d done my end-of-year presentation on eating disorders. We had to do the presentations for our language grade, to show that we could speak with fluency and precision and accuracy, and we were told to do it on an interesting topic so that we would be motivated to write an engaging presentation. Almost everyone else did theirs on superficial things, like their hobby or their favourite celebrity. Mine was one of the only serious ones. Everyone had praised mine – I always was good at language – and I got one of the highest two grades (Namjoon and I competed for the top of the class in every lesson we had together). But what I didn’t know was that, thanks to my presentation, Jimin realised he had an eating disorder. He was virtually starving himself, not eating for days at a time, whilst over exercising, because he hated the way his body looked. And because of the helplines and websites I put at the end of the presentation, he sought help, and spoke to his parents about it. He went to the doctor with his mother, and they put him on a diet plan to get him back to being healthy. I helped him to be healthy again.

My eyes are teary when Jimin finishes speaking. I’m so touched that he remembers, that they all remember the acts of kindness I did for them. And whilst Jimin’s was unintentional, it was still so important, and I’m proud of young me for deciding to do her presentation on a serious topic. I’m proud of her for being such a kind person all the time. This truly is karma – I did these nice things for them back then and they’re repaying that kindness back to me when I need it most. And then I realise why Jimin was so desperate to help me – he just wants to help me like I helped him.

‘So, really, y/n, don’t thank us. We owe you,’ Namjoon says, all of them nodding in agreement, and I beam at them, tears beginning to spill down my face. ‘Don’t cry, because you’ll make me cry!’ Jungkook shrieks, all of us laughing as Jin hands me a tissue, and I dab the tears away. ‘God, what’s wrong with me? I never cry this much usually,’ I say embarrassedly, and Jimin grins. ‘Don’t be embarrassed about crying. I think I’d have cried out all of the water in my body if I were you,’ Jimin says, coaxing a laugh from me. ‘Me, too,’ Jungkook says, sniffling a little, and we all burst into laughter when we see that his eyes are full of tears. ‘My God,’ Jin says, his lip curled up in mock disgust, ‘you really are a cry baby.’ ‘Can you blame me?’ Jungkook asks defensively, wiping his eyes, and Jin’s eyes widen. ‘Yes! You’re not the one dying!’ he exclaims, setting the rest of us off again, our laughter carrying in the cool summer air.

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silver-wield · 5 years ago

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Okay, as requested a few days ago, a Cloud and Aerith analysis. I feel like I've spent a lot of time in chapter 8/9 today lol

Ok, spoiler warning for ppl who haven’t played – do I still need to do this? Eh ok, (I tag FF7R spoilers as final fantasy 7 remake spoilers) and it’s gonna be reasonably long.

Also, this is one person’s interpretation of the scene, so if you disagree that’s cool and we’ll agree to disagree.

You’re also gonna have to excuse the janky quality on some of the screens, I’m grabbing them from Youtube and it’s frustrating af trying to get the exact moment I want.

Other analyses if anyone’s interested.

Shinra HQ vision scene (Cloti/plot analysis)

Chapter 3 (Cloti reblog)

Tifa character analysis

Aerith Resolution (plot analysis/theory – I should probably update this since I’ve had other ideas since then)

Train graveyard (not really an analysis, but I got some sweet screenshots of Cloti)

Clotiscrew tunnel analysis

Cloti reunion analysis

The Promise Analysis

Andrea’s approval (Cloti ask response)

Leslie analysis (not mine, but a good read)

Cloti action touching

Aerti friendship analysis

Cloti body language chapter 3

Cloti healthy disagreement

Cloti post heliboss battle (chapter 15)

Clerith playground scene

Cloti body language plate fall

Cloud and Barret friendship

Resolution scene analysis (A)

Barret character analysis (chapter 13)

Cloud character analysis (Honey Bee Inn)

Cloud character analysis (Barret's death)

Now, strap in and enjoy the ride.

Recap time!

Okay, our delightful heroine (I will rein in the sarcasm, but Aerith aggs me when Cloud says no and she ignores him. No means no.) and our moody af hero have finally got done with the flowery side quests, kiddos, Rude and the giant hands of crash crash boom oops there's an invisible wall there minigame trip through sector 6 to reach sector 7.

Aerith says “let's take a break.”

Cloud says, “No.”

They take a break anyway.

(I've already done the slide analysis, link above)

Back down from the slide and it's time to go. Aerith opens up the underground link into sector 7 and we're venturing into awkward goodbyes.

So, we're starting with Aerith being chipper and cute with the quips. Standard stuff. It's possible she's feeling regretful they're parting, but I've said plenty of times that of everyone in this, Aerith has the best poker face. There's very few times she lets that mask slip and lets us see what she's really feeling and it's usually in times of intense stress. This isn't stressful, although she was feeling down a few moments ago while talking about Zack, so maybe that'll make her a little easier to read. For now, though, she's fronting like a boss.

Hmm interesting. He's definitely thoughtful here. So, I'm gonna have to put together some possibilities.

He's clearly mellowed his attitude towards her – he was proper stroppy at her house the day before, shouting and so on – so this isn't negative. We could say he started feeling more positive towards her through their interactions over the day or maybe when he saw the whole Rude bit and realised she's not quite what he first thought. Or it might have been when he saw her looking downcast about not high fiving or it could've been their chat on the slide that finally thawed him out towards her.

And Aerith's the same. Her smile falters just a bit and she can't meet his eye. Maybe she knows they have no reason to meet again or that her mother told him not to see her. We don't know for sure, but it's possible, otherwise why is she disappointed? She could expect to see him again. They could make plans. It could be meta!Aerith knowing that Cloud is probably better off not getting to know her.

Eugh dammit. Does anyone know how hard it is to analyse people's motives when you can't see their faces clearly? I bet this was on purpose, thanks Square.

I mean, having to go by the above data I've mentioned, they could both be feeling the same lingering regret intuitively. You know like how you just get the sense how someone's feeling? That.

Their poses are identical, and coupled with the slightly awkward intonation on “so” I'd look at this and say this comes across like a couple of teenagers who kinda like each other and don't know how to take the next step. You know, that kind of immature I have no idea what I'm doing with my life kinda deal. That's not to say it's romantic, especially not from Cloud. He's an awkward introvert. Aerith has no social skills. They're not friends and up until five minutes ago Cloud was annoyed af at her. That'd make for an awkward goodbye.

Aerith laughs, Cloud doesn't, and she moves aside so he can leave. Looks like the moment’s over.

Before going, Cloud turns back to ask if Aerith can get home ok. This looks like polite concern, which I'd expect considering they just came through an area full of monsters, mech and bandits. If Cloud wasn't concerned, I'd call him a douchebag. His eyes widen a little as he speaks, but it's not that same kind of expression he pulls whenever we're suspecting a visit from real!Cloud. This is SOLDIER!Cloud asking.

(I've said that typically Cloud's eyes go very wide as a hint that his real self is reacting to things, but widening eyes on their own do not indicate real!Cloud. It's something about the way he does it that shows it's not quite right for the SOLDIER persona we usually see. I can't explain it properly, but it's likely something the devs have done to his microexpressions on purpose to differentiate between the two and without knowing exactly what I can't put a pin in it. All I can say is when it looks like real!Cloud is expressing himself and when it isn't because there’s a difference that I’ve picked up on.)

This is flirting. Plain and simple. Head tilted, little smile, crinkling eyes. She's amused and teasing him in a flirtatious manner and her dialogue backs that up, although at the same time the tone she puts it in also sounds quite matter of fact, like she's genuinely asking what if she wasn't ok? That likely does appeal to the protective SOLDIER side of Cloud. He wants to be known as the hero. Still not romantic.

That's what I like to call a shit-fuck-bollocks moment. The realisation he should take her back home and make sure she's safe, but then he's also got to get back to sector 7, and this is all SOLDIER!Cloud's debate. There's no sign of real!Cloud and there's a quick decisive result that he should do the right thing, which is why he says he’ll take her home.

This is nothing like in the honey bee inn later when you see the clear back and forth of his eyes darting around as he argues with real!Cloud about dancing to get Andrea's approval.

And Aerith laughs again because I think she's aware how ridiculous it is that he'll walk her back when he needs to get home. She was teasing the entire time, but it looks like it went over Cloud's head – colour me unsurprised.

I mean, there's no romantic undertone to her expression here. It's genuine amusement and I'd definitely say friendship towards Cloud.

Ah the image that certain people hang their hat on. Let's get this one done.

Aerith says she has a backup route for emergencies that's safer than the one they used. You can hear Cloud start to speak—- ask a question because the sound is a “W” -- then cuts himself off and smiles. That smile is a mix of bemused and amused.

For anyone who doesn't have a stupidly large vocabulary and thinks those two are the same thing:

Bemused

adjective: puzzled, confused, or bewildered.

Amused

adjective: finding something funny or entertaining.

Cloud's bemused because back at the start of the collapsed expressway he literally asked if there was a better way and she avoided answering. So, he's caught her in a lie and what can he do about it? Nothing. That's why he's all "of course there's a safer route".

And then we're back in control and moving onto the next part of the game.

Conclusion:

Well, they're awkward. Both of them. Cloud is an introvert with mental issues and Aerith has no social skills and a terrible personality flaw in which she bosses everyone around and doesn't listen.

I wouldn't say they're friends, more like comrades. Cloud's still very resistant to her company even after she helps him save Tifa.

#final fantasy 7 remake spoilers #final fantasy 7 remake analysis #Cloud Strife #Aerith Gainsborough #Character analysis

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englass · 5 years ago

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Threadbare

Pairing(s): John Seed x F! Reader/Deputy

Warning(s): A little bit of Possessive Behaviour near the end (when isn’t there in my fics haha)

Word Count: 9,101

A/N: Gonna use this opportunity to apologise to @starsandskies @softseeds and @seedlingsinner for not getting back to you on your ‘Last Line Meme’ tags, I’ve been working on this and didn’t want to risk spoiling anymore of it than I have 😅 Apologies again, lovelies! ❤️ Now, I hope you all enjoy this inconsistent mess; I’m just glad that it’s finally over!

Also, side note: this is the final/original version of ‘A Moment In Time’ that I never thought that I’d finish, so... yeah, I actually finished it; oops? 😅

- - -

The room is quiet, save for the gentle rustle of fabric and your calm breathing, only ever holding when your concentration tightens or a loud sound catches your ear. It’s a risky move you’re making, being here of all places. All it would take is one slip up and any patrolling Peggies would come running. In your current position, rifle resting just out of comfortable reach against a nearby night stand and hand gun securely holstered to your thigh, the potential outcome could be precarious.

Still, such thoughts are far out of mind. If anything, for once, your mind is not plagued by the worries, fears and demands of the people. It is quiet, tranquil, filled with an occupied motion that lulls and eases. It is the most peace you have had since this whole debacle began; and secretly, unknowingly even to yourself, you take your sweet time and milk it for all it’s worth. An unconscious action deeply needed.

Every so often you take stock, pausing to look, only to end up staring at nothing in particular, around the room you hold court in. It’s a surprisingly large room and it is as gorgeous and telling as the man it belongs to: all high-class with expensive taste, yet subtly simple – modest in design and openly exquisite in every minute detail. Almost everything, save for the immaculate wooden furniture and feather-soft carpet, falls within the spectrum of blue. It creates an oceanic space filled with a deep and enriching sense of stillness and liberation, emulating the ebb and rise of a tempered wave.

It’s an absent wonder why sloth is visualised as the coercing colour.

You shift slightly, readjusting your position as you turn back to the article of clothing in your lap, eyes layered with an embedded fatigue not aimed at anything in particular. The glaze is misleading, your movements speaking not of a tired body. Instead, they are easily measured with a humble confidence, working at a steady pace with a precise and focused concentration, all benign.

There is an edge of paranoia, sharp and teetering like the point of a knife. It fuels the anvil-heavy weight on your shoulders, makes it hard to breathe even the shallowest of breaths. Worry gnaws at your edges alongside its cutting twin. ‘What ifs’ are a dangerous line of thought, yet even with an empty mind it turns in the background, twisting and coiling like a viper as worry and paranoia feed and pamper it.

The stress of the situation – the position you’ve been made to hold, a final bastion in a red-dyed field – has left a very real and scarring impression upon you. A bitter taste you can’t wash out.

It’s why you draw out your time with a self-imposed task that could be over within a matter of seconds. You drown yourself in an old action and memory, away from the war you have been made charge of.

It actually makes for quite an interesting scene.

Away from the tragedy of a civil war and the reluctant role you play in it, in the confines of a grand modern home, one would see the image of domesticity. A young woman sat on a satin quilted bed, expression relaxed and eyes tinged with oblivion as they lose themselves in a rhythmic motion, effortlessly mending a piece of male attire with a needle and thread in hand. A simple kit that the young lady wields with a conviction that rivals that of a knight and his sword.

Yes, quite a scene it makes.

Admittedly breaking into the infamous Seed Ranch wasn’t the best place to host such an image, despite how well you fit into the frame (obscenely so), but it wasn’t your idea to come here in the first place. No, the Resistance has a way of... puppeteering you. Not that you would ever openly admit to such a thing.

Thankfully you have it on good authority – ‘it better be on good authority’, you had snarled, before stalking out of the door of the outpost you had been visiting – that the youngest Seed would be away for the day. Overseeing another load of confessions and such, you had no doubt. It would be the perfect opportunity to take the ranch for the Resistance; loot the cave while the dragon is away, so to speak. Perhaps that’s why, along with the decrease in guard numbers, you had somewhat made yourself at home, taking your time to slowly wander the grand ranch and really take it all in; all in its full and undisturbed splendour.

Arguably you could do so once it was under the Resistance’s control, it would be a lot easier and less stressful to do so then, but you are not naive enough to believe that they won’t change anything once it’s theirs. No, it’s better to see it as it’s intended to be, before that travesty occurs.

Yet, despite your initial wanderings into the many, many rooms around the ranch, it was John Seed’s bedroom – of all places – that had caught your eye. It is why you are currently perched contently on the man’s king sized bed as you tend absently to one of his shirts.

It’s truly silly when you think about it, it’s just a shirt after all, but it turns out that sewing your younger sibling’s toys and clothing growing up has ultimately left a very lasting impression upon you. You had found solace in the action growing up and you still felt it now, more so than ever with the violent turn your life has taken, and you wanted nothing more than a brief moment to try and capture that same tranquility once again.

Although, in all honesty, even you know that you’re not potentially endangering yourself like this for a reason so small and seemingly petty.

With your modest sewing kit on the night-table next to you, and the faintest whisper of the birds songs outside, you pause to look over your work. It’s not turned out too bad, it won’t be the worst you’ve ever done, but not the best either. Not that you believe for a second that John would actually appreciate the gesture, no matter how perfect it turned out.

John Seed, though mainly known for his slippery lawyer ways and role within the infamous Eden’s Gate, was a very rich man. His life before Eden’s Gate, before being reunited with his lost siblings, had him as a rather successful property attorney from what you’ve heard, and it’s from that life and accumulated wealth that’s allowed the project to get as large and domineering as it has done.

It’s also allowed him to lavish himself in some of the most luxurious, and most audaciously expensive, brands that you’ve never heard off. Not only was he good looking, tall and slim with a lean frame painted with tattoos and gifted with a pretty face home to a devilish smile, but he dressed impeccably well.

It was near impossible to not initially swoon at such a charming character, but sadly he was a bit of an open book. The exterior may be exquisite, utterly unique and persuasive in how it draws you in, but it’s too easy to read and you find it’s pages to be littered with an underlying venom and rage; a bitterness that may be understandable, but hardly justifiable.

It was actually quite sad when you chose to sit down and actually think about the man and his siblings, to sit down and try to read them as best as you could. Each of them were broken in their own ways, left in disrepair, from the lives they had lived. You had even gone so far as to read Joseph’s physical book, the bible by which Eden’s Gate knelt before, to see if it could tell you more. The question of how they became – how you know them to be – a guiding hand as you flicked through the yellowing pages and over painful words.

Theirs was truly a sad story.

Still, you know it is no excuse for what they have done, or what they continue to do; and yet there is a part of you that, secretly, knows that you do this simple gesture for more of a reason than out of habit or past influence. It’s a simple but nice gesture and, although you don’t feel like it’ll be appreciated, you’re sure it’s something that they – John in-particular and especially so – have never been given before. At least not willingly.

If anything, with how rich John is, you wouldn’t be surprised if he just brought a new shirt from an equally fancy, if not tear-inducingly expensive, brand without even batting an eye. That’s if he didn’t get it custom made. You’re pretty sure your average store doesn’t sell plane printed jackets and Eden’s Gate belt buckles after all.

Even so there’s no need to waste money, even if he can burn it and still be well off, when you can just as easily fix it. Besides, it’s actually a really nice shirt. Even with its predictable colouring.

Despite all the terrible things the man has done, and will no doubt continue to do, you can’t help the small smile that blooms across your lips. The knowledge that the Baptist, the dreaded Reaper, of Eden’s Gate has a favourite colour and is so shameless in embracing it is strangely humanising to you; and also surprisingly sobering.

At a leisurely pace, mind now hollow with an echoing sorrow, you pierce the fabric and loop the needle through the gap between the strand of thread and pull, creating a knot. You do this a second time, creating another knot to make sure it stays, before you reach for the small scissors in the kit beside you, cutting the remaining thread loose.

With a soft touch you run your finger over the fabric, silently marvelling at its heavenly texture as you thoughtfully look over your finished work. The thread you’ve used isn’t as high quality as the shirt itself is made out of, a fact that actually irritates you, but it’s the best that you own and you find yourself sighing in resignation; leaving it be.

Yes, it’ll have to do.

With a lingering gaze you start to slowly turn the shirt back to being inside-in, taking your time to enjoy the quiet that’s fallen over you. It’s only as you go to straighten the shirt, holding it out in front of you and giving it a final, critical look-over, that the silence breaks and you’re startled out of your revere.

Looking toward the bedroom’s door with wide doe-eyes you are shocked to see none other than the Baptist, John Seed, himself standing at the threshold. Eyes equally as wide, but much more bemused than your own, staring at you as you internally curse your luck with a tensing jaw.

He isn’t supposed to be here...

“You know, I must admit, Deputy,” he drawls with an intriguing lilt, ocean eyes dragging over you as he leans his lithe form against the door frame with crossed arms, completely at ease despite the situation, “I never pegged you for a housewife. It makes for quite an... interesting image. Did you also happen to cook me a meal and do the laundry by chance, darling?”

His smile is mocking, sharp and cruelly delighted, and it has you flushing in a mixture of shame and restrained anger. The fact that you’ve been caught in such a position puts a nasty dent in your pride. You know how this looks: the fearsome Deputy, poster child and head of the rising Resistance, sewing; and not just sewing, but sewing the damned enemy’s – a man on your given blacklist – shirt of all things.

It’s a colossal embarrassment.

You’re also aware of what this could do to your reputation if this got out and you don’t need John Seed, the smuggest bastard around, to gloat over that. Nor do you want him making smart quips that you know he’s more than likely going to constantly torment you with now over the radio for everyone else to hear.

Life’s a living hell at the moment as it, and you don’t need something like that being added to the proverbial pile. The humiliation would kill you quicker than a piece of shrapnel from a plane crash.

“Oh shut up,” you snip, “like I’d do you the honour; and if anyone makes for an interesting image around here it’s you, unexpected as you are,” you sass lowly. “Honestly, when are you going to do us all a favour and just fuck off. Maybe you should go and play with that little toy collection of yours like a good little brother instead of harassing all of us, now that would be an interesting image.”

It’s hardly even a half-baked comeback you give him, your bite a mere brush of teeth, yet it’s still enough for his expression to turn into something testing. A tick in his jaw as his icy eyes pierce you like a needle, pinching and uncomfortable; attention grabbing in the worst way possible.

The look is near enough water off a duck’s back. If you’ve come to learn anything from your few, but nonetheless taxing interactions with the man, it's that he won’t take the risk of action unless he’s a hundred percent certain that he has you right where he wants you; where you can’t or won’t fight back.

He wants things, people and confessions alike, handed to him on a gem encrusted platter. Given to him so he can play his twisted little games and break all his new and precious little toys. Always pushing past limits and breaking you down until you can do anything else, but give him exactly what he wants. Spoiled brat.

Perhaps John isn’t as absolved of his sin, carved into his chest like a fatal warning, as he thinks he is.

Closing his eyes John kisses his teeth with a restrained annoyance that is difficult to miss. For all his talk of wrath, and how well you embody it, he puts you to shame in how well it suits him, wearing it like a second skin and parading it like a model wrapped in Prada.

“As much as I’d love to spend my free time doing things that don’t concern you or your petty Resistance, it’s a bit too late for that now, isn’t it dearest,” he hits back with a chilled, but airy quality. “After all, you’ve made yourself quite a fixture in my life as it is, and I don’t believe for a second that you’d actually want out of that.” There’s a hint of something knowing in his words that doesn’t sit right with you. “And in case you haven’t noticed, but this is my home that you’re trespassing in. I’m pretty sure you’re breaking the law actually; you hardly have a warrant after all, Deputy,” he bites, cruel and vile and so self-satisfied.

For a brief moment the twins of worry and paranoia raise their heads with salivating jaws, itching like an infection to tear into you as you suddenly start to fret over John’s motives for this back and forth; along with the simmering anger that lurks beneath the water.

The anticipation of what his next rage fuelled actions could be is rattling. You can’t tell if he’s going to laugh this all off like some sort of bad joke or straight up lunge at you with the likes of a wild animal by the end of this. He can be rather unpredictable, and it’s that unpredictability that makes him so feared throughout the Valley. It’s what makes him so dangerous.

Yet it seems you can do nothing but poke the bear lately, your own frustrations and stresses giving you a false and reckless bravado. Albeit with a soft and unthreatening tone.

“And do I look like I care? We’re at war John, I’m pretty sure anything goes; your methods have already proven that. Now, are there any other normal past-times that you want to mock me for while I’m here, or am I free to go?”

Internally you wince. That came out a lot more defeated than you intended it to be. Still, you hope he at least concedes on this petty back and forth of yours and actually lets you leave–

“I’d hardly call your level of wanton wrath ‘normal’, Deputy. Tell me, what is your total body count at the moment? How many innocent lives have you gorged yourself on in order to fuel that gluttonous soul of yours, until it’s satisfied with the carnage you leave in your wake? Don’t worry though, you’re in safe hands. I’ll be sure to give your soul a good scrubbing once I get you in my chair. Starve it out of you until you bleed across my floor...”

You don’t say anything, merely roll your eyes and gently shake your head at the flip in attitude, continuing to look and touch up the shirt in your tender hold. He’s likely lost in his own warped thoughts if the way he stares through you for moment is any consolation. However, even lost in thought, you’ve found that John is not one to keep quiet for long, and he quickly proves that notion right.

“You know,” he says suddenly, conversationally; tip of his tongue wetting his lips as he looks for all the world like he just discovered the weight of gold, “if you wanted to confess to me you could of just called. Really, you needn’t go through all this trouble just to make my life easier, darling. I could have set up a welcome party and everything for you. Pulled out the red carpet, set it all up and made it all nice and perfect, for you... just for you, Deputy.”

It doesn’t make sense to you how he can warp what strangely sounds like the most sweetest and innocent of words into something so filthy, sinful and ultimately twisted; as if whispered around a forked tongue made of false promises and sugared venom. He’s an expert at his craft, you’d give him that. Sadly though you can’t help but skim over your absent companions playful jabs and blasé observations with a newfound air of caution.

The beast of worry looks at you with a telling, razored grin.

“... Flattered,” you drawl warily.

For such a simple and plain response you don’t feel that his boyish grin – filled with an emotion that is so foreign on the sadistic and calculating man that you feel the lazy shift of fear beside the intent prickle of paranoia and worry; something self satisfying and grateful and speckled with awe – is justified.

Like the flippancy of the wind John’s expression shifts, fluidly, into an emotion akin to a played up indignation. He sharply huffs through his nose.

“You should be. I make so many exceptions for you my dear and you do nothing but repay my kindness with more bloodshed. It’s rather rude of you in fact.”

“To be fair,” you cut in with a tired glower, careful with were you step in this game of twister, “your kindness leaves much to be desired. It’s not like anything I’ve ever seen, so forgive me for misconstruing your intentions.” It’s said with the most blatant sarcasm, dripping thickly like molten tar, and yet John lights up like a town on the eve of Christmas. The remains of his coiled agitation shifting into an unwarranted giddiness.

Good Lord, you’ve not even spent five minutes with this man and already you’ve got a killer headache.

“Oh? Should I learn by your example then, my dear Deputy? From this... quaint little gesture of yours, hmm?” He’s eyes hungrily roam over your lap, no doubt acutely aware of the way your thumb has comfortingly been brushing over the silken fabric of his shirt. “Not to say I don’t appreciate it mind you.”

You can’t stop the roll of your eyes nor the huff that accompanies it. “Trust me, John, there’s no gesture here.”

He makes a sound in his throat, chimed with a badly contained mirth. Slightly, barely visible from your perch on his bed, he leans forward with something almost predatory in those sea-deep eyes of his. “Then what’s that in your lap?”

You turn to hold his gaze, icy and sharp with a smugness that screams of a known victory. He’s got you there. Your teeth grind into each other as you will for a retort to come to mind, but nothing does. With a heavy exhale through your nose you turn to the ceiling and pray for the strength to survive this ordeal.

Not that you’re completely confident that you will. With a swift flare of frustration one of your hands shoots up, palm facing skyward, in a half-arsed admission. “I don’t know. I don’t know, okay, I was just trying to be nice I guess.”

“Nice? You?” John barks mockingly, “Oh don’t make me laugh, Deputy. You’re a killer; there’s not an ounce of mercy in that tainted soul of yours. After all,” There’s a humourless chuckle, a glint of something vicious in his sea-deep eyes, “what ever happened to serve and protect?”

The look you throw him is completely disbelieving, practically aghast from insult, but there’s also a familiar rage resting within the glaring pools of your eyes that John knows rather well. Truthfully, it’s not something he’s ever seen in you before, more a muted irritation than straight up fury, and it thrills him something fierce to see it threatening to come into full bloom.

Conflict has never been in your veins. You came from a quiet and career driven family, to the point where your parents were hardly ever around. Arguments were rare, and if they did happen they never lasted long. You didn’t have the courage, nor stomach, for such things; and despite how much this County has twisted your placid instincts into something sharper, more aggressive and impatient, some things will just never change.

Lips in a tight line, brow furrowed and eyes ablaze in a dirty glare, you look away from him; down to your lap then across to your resting rifle. He’s not wrong, and ultimately that hurts worse than anything physical that he could very well do to you. The battle of your morals – your conscious – against your duty, against the pedestal that everyone has hoisted you up onto like some sort of savour – another Joseph almost – , is a constant one.

“Then what does that make you?” You ask quietly, something cruel lurking beneath the surface of your own waters. “What makes what you do so good, so much better and different than everyone else? Because you believe your brother, because he believes he talks to God?” There’s a huff of a laugh, a mocking condescension hissing with fangs bared, “don’t make me laugh, Inquisitor.”

John’s away from the door frame before you can even blink, a warning shift that tells you that this is no longer a strained, but casual banter between enemies. There’s a familiar glare in his eyes, dark and treacherous like the deepest waters and daring you to get a little closer, to swim a little deeper; to say another word against his brother.

Despite your writhing worry at the sudden tension in the air, twisting and flailing and coiling, you take a deep breath, let it suffocate you a moment too long, and then let it go. Tracing the lines and scratches on your rifle as your shaking anger lessens into a quiet ache. You’ve never been able to maintain it for long; you’re just glad that it no longer makes you break down crying anymore.

John on the other hand...

“Joseph,” he starts, voice so tight that it trembles, “wants to save people.”

“And you don’t?”

There’s a pause; a subtle shift.

You watch as John’s jaw gets tight, his head tilting the slightest amount to look down his nose at you; arms crossing over his chest in a defensive gesture as he leans back against the door frame again; a faux display of casualness.

It’s all the answer you need.

Slowly you nod your head, an acknowledgment even though you needn’t give one. A murmured ‘right’ scoffed under your breath. In all honesty you didn’t expect him to be so (indirectly) honest with you. In a way you can very much respect that, appreciate it even, but in another it only has the beast of worry grinning hauntingly at you; a new dread crawling up from the deep. It’s twin sewn from paranoia slinking up beside it with an equally telling flash of teeth.

Surely he can’t be doing this just for Joseph, just for the Project; there has to be something more that he’s gaining out of this. There has to be.

“Atonement,” the word is drawn out, a slow and delicate dissection, “is the absolution of sin… without it we are left to fester in the disease of our past transgressions. If we are not absolved of sin then we can never even begin to hope to be allowed entrance into Eden. However,” the baptist gives you a pointed look, head ducked and eyes alight but shaded, a stray strand of hair falling loose, “that decision must be genuine. They must want to atone, otherwise what would be the point?”

There’s a bitten laugh that scraps between his teeth; bared in a feral frustration that speaks of long talks and discussions that lead to nowhere but dead-ended roads. A hand claws through his hair, putting that stray strand back in place as he looks to bite at the inside of his mouth; eyes briefly cast to the side.

The afternoon sun, gradually turning richer as time goes on, catches against the satin blue of his vest, making it shimmer like the clearest of Caribbean seas. With his gaze turned away from you for the moment you can see the way the light glazes them, can see the hellfire for all it’s worth beneath those choppy waters; the rage given a flare of new life with the setting sun as the shadows stretch and consume, turning the once clear and shallow waters of his eyes deep and foreboding.

You think you may actually be starting to see some of the truths that lie within the Book of Joseph.

There’s a hesitant inhale; a steadying breath.

“But, it is the will of The Father to save everyone, regardless of if they are worthy of it or not.”

Looking away from the shirt still in your lap you turn to John, many questions on the brain, but only one that gets voiced.

“So you don’t think I’m worthy?”

John blinks. A moment of consideration before he meets your curious gaze; stars glinting against a multitude of emotions, all buried and unspoken, but telling all the same.

“I don’t think you believe yourself to be worthy.”

The bluntness of his response catches you off guard, eyebrows jumping high in surprise. It’s straight to the point in a way that you never imagined him to be, and you can’t help the interested ‘oh’ that melts on your tongue in response, lilts in newfound curiosity as your head tips to the side ever so slightly. “What makes you say that?”

You half expect a smile and some sort of jab, another dig to attempt to provoke you and prove a point that only he is fighting to prove. Yet, he does nothing of the sort. He’s quiet, simply watching you, and it’s with a strange type of realisation that you realise that, not only is he back to looking relaxed and at ease, but so are you; the tension lost and in its place lies a peculiar air, a feeling of contented melancholy almost; an accepting moment of reprieve within the wheel of fate.

“You’re still here,” he answers simply, an airy awe cushioning his tone, “if you didn’t want to be convinced then you would have left a while ago. You wouldn’t be asking me in the first place.”

There’s a tightening anxiety in your chest, a truth struck too close. Are you really that easy to read? Is your dissatisfaction and growing suspicion of the Resistance – coupled with your thirst to learn more about the local cult and its founders – really that obvious? You should hope not, such things will get you into trouble if you’re not careful. Satisfaction over discovering such things would certainly not bring you back if that were the case.

“Tell me, Deputy,” there’s a new glint in John’s eye, a new interest piqued, “what is it that you’re looking for exactly? Because whatever it is apparently can’t be found within your little Resistance, otherwise you wouldn’t be entertaining me like you are, nor would you be concerning yourself over such a touching gesture.” Surprisingly there’s a lack of sarcasm to his tone this time around as he loosely gestures toward your lap, where his shirt still lies under your gentle touch.

You suck on your tooth for second, petulantly glancing away with a quick, but weak rebuttal of, “It’s not a gesture.”

A familiar, if not slightly fonder and more teasing, lopsided smile lights up across John’s face. This strange companionship of yours back on steady waters. “If you say so, my dear.”

The warmth of the gradually setting sun is a welcome blanket at your back, the stillness between you both comfortable despite the different lines you draw and stand on in this war. Faintly you can hear the chatter and motions of the guards outside, the rumble of distant engines, but they quickly fade into the background as you genuinely consider John’s words.

Just what are you looking for?

You’re not too sure, and you don’t suppose John would appreciate such a response no matter how honest it may be. Really, if you were to be insanely honest with yourself, you would guess you are looking for a reason to stop; a reason to turn your back on those you are fighting for and not those who you are fighting against.

No matter how many times you humanise the Seeds, excuse their actions on past situations, you can’t justify what they’ve done. You may one day forgive them, when all is said and done and this whole sorry war is nothing more than a story for the grandchildren; but you could never forget the horrors they have put people through, the uncountable and unimaginable things they have done to get to where they are now; to both you and the residents of the County.

Yet, does that justify what the residents of the County have done? Does that excuse the crimes and damages conceived by the Resistance? No, no if things were even a sliver close to normal, if you were actually a proper deputy and not so damn green, then maybe everyone would of been locked behind bars by now; and you would be no exception, right beside them with blood covered hands.

The world has never looked so grey to you as it does now; and that honestly scares you worse than any cult.

“But please,” John continues after a beat, breaking the silence, “indulge me; what is it you’re after, my dear? What is it that you are really searching for?”

Absently your thumb brushes over the fabric in your lap, a heavy hesitancy causing you to take your lip between your teeth, biting at the skin there until the taste of copper hits your tongue. Eyes downcast as you debate with yourself over how honest you can be with John, how raw you’re willing to let yourself became in front of someone like him; as an enemy, as an ex-lawyer and – maybe, just maybe – as a friend.

You look up at him, see the interest and something else that you can’t quite name dancing like fireflies over a lake’s still surface. Watch as he patiently waits for you, for what you think and have to say… It’s a nice change, if not a little strange.

Without a thought you smile at him, a beam too tight that it doesn’t quite reach your eyes, a huffed laugh under your breath. “Nothing much,” you squeak, “although a decent meal would be a start.” The laugh lingers on your breath, eyebrow cocked and lips tilting into lopsided smile; an intended joke.

John looks wholly unimpressed at your bid at humour, his own eyebrow raising casually in a silent question. Surprisingly though he doesn’t say anything in response, doesn’t call you out or outright accuse you of lying, even though you both know that you just did.

Ultimately, it leaves you with a new type of uncertainty, anxiety rising once again as the smile slowly falls from your face. Still, you push past it as best you can, clearing your throat awkwardly as you decide to stand from your seat on the bed, looking and then making your way toward the set of draws on the left where you had found his discarded shirt.

You feel, but still try to ignore John’s eyes on you as you place the shirt back in (what you hope is) its original resting place, neatly folding and fitting it between others not unlike itself. Briefly you brush your fingers over the collar, savouring the uniquely expensive feel of the shirt before closing the open draw. No doubt you’ll never get an opportunity like this again. It’s a little sad in a way.

With a quiet hum you turn – back facing John – toward the bed, and with a casualness as if you own the place you start brushing down and straightening where you’d been perched on the edge of the bed, smoothing out the creases.

Admittedly, with the sudden lack of conversation, John’s silence is really starting to get to you, a familiar edge of paranoia creeping into the forefront of your mind like scavenging rodents. You listen with a keen interest as you finish your work, the rustling of fabric and your own soft breaths the only sounds that really catch your ear.

With your back facing the infamous Baptist you would have thought this would be a great opportunity for him, your more laidback and docile nature on full display for him to take advantage of if he so wished to. It really would be a perfect opportunity.

Yet, as you turn around, once more with a hum at your work, you find that John hasn’t moved from his spot in the doorway. If anything he still looks very much at ease there, completely comfortable and unconcerned as he rests his lean frame against the door, arms and legs casually crossed as he simply watches you with soft eyes; reflective pools that refuse to hide even the tiniest of emotions. Yet, strangely enough, you suddenly feel as if time is impervious to the both of you. As if there is no one else in the world, but you and John.

The sparkling sapphire of his eyes, deep and as unfathomable as the ocean, whisper in dulcet tones the promise of a loving caress within the safe haven of his gaze. An unexpected gentleness in the sorrow of a buried plea, a want for something never owned, but always craved. Such a display of tenderness, from a man that you know to be cruel and volatile at times, is so far removed from the usual turbulent seas in his eyes that it makes you feel breathless.

His face – strong defined jaw, coupled with an immaculately trimmed beard, and skin a naturally tanned hue that looks as smooth as the silk of his shirts – is not masked by barely contained snarls of rage like it often can be, nor the sharp displays of malicious mockery and petulant pleasantries that hiss between his fangs when bared. Instead he bears a freedom and fondness that has your heart racing, a strange vulnerability on his suddenly boyish features; an unfamiliar, yet not unpleasant, warmth stroking over something deep within your chest that you had feared you were starting to lose.

A thought skims across your mind, and is banished just as swiftly as it had appeared; but even so it leaves an impression that you can’t help but entertain. No matter how futile and unachievable it may be; a hopeless romantic forever at heart.

Lost in fanciful scenarios that will never come to be you don’t notice the way that John also takes you in, cataloguing every minuscule detail and committing it to memory with a keenness that rivals the amount of silver on his tongue.

With where you stand, still and serene in the heart of enemy territory, the large window of his bedroom holds proudly behind you. The fading afternoon sun casting a light pastel orange across the earth and room, beaming through the glass and haloing you in a warm and intimate glow, your form mesmerising and ethereal with how at peace you look when held within such a divinely born light.

Your eyes, typically brimming with a wrathful defiance and a gluttonous need for misguided justice, are a demure beacon that glitters like the limitless galaxies within the cosmos. A flare of hope and unconditional love, soft and reassuring, for all of those that catch a glimpse of your guiding starlight. And although he feels unworthy, tainted and irrefutably damaged as he is, John also feels unbelievably blessed to bare witness to such an otherworldly sight; to be gifted with the absolute vision that is you.

And, for a moment that never quite ends, John can’t help but question how you could be hell-incarnate when heaven touches you oh so sweetly.

There are many words John Seed would have used to describe you, none of them necessarily complimentary or flattering, yet in this shared time between the two of you – just the two of you – only one word comes to mind as he unknowingly, longingly gazes at you.

Angelic. Yes, angelic you truly are. Stunningly and perfectly angelic.

John can’t remember the last time he felt this way about anyone, if he has ever felt like this at all even, but suddenly he finds that nothing else matters to him. Not the Project, not his brothers, and not even the work that he should be doing but that he had slipped away early from, because – frankly put – he was tired. He was as fed-up with this war and the responsibilities placed upon him as he suspected his dear Deputy to be. Both falling foul to your shared sin of sloth in regards to the duties you uphold.

Yet, John at least holds direction and dedication to the work divinely placed upon him. Knows what the end game is and strives to achieve it to its fullest potential, but you? You’re wavering; you’re doubting. Straying away from the path you are on, looking into the distance for something else, all the while refusing to even acknowledge the right one. The one alongside him.

You may not say it, nor ever even admit it, but John knows exactly what it is you are looking for. Knows the evidence that you’re desperately trying to compile in order to build a strong case in favour of yourself and the choices that you’ve been making, wanting to justify yourself and the many actions that you’ve made until this point between you both in the name of your feeble Resistance. And John also knows that he and his siblings are partially to blame for that.

If it wasn’t for them, you wouldn’t have to try and stand alone for yourself in your own self made courtroom. Wouldn’t have to stand before your self-conscious as you pleaded your guiltlessness before your own guilt. But, really, that’s why you needed a lawyer; that’s why you needed him. John could help you with that, could show you a better path where you could be free of such shackles. He would stand and defend you where no one else would; he would protect you when no else could.

He just wished that you’d let him. Wished that you would just sign the contract laid out before you so he could aid you, so he could fight for you. Yet, you still refuse to bless him with the payment of his favoured word. You still refuse to acknowledge just how in debt this battle will leave you without his help. It’s a small ask, a tiny payment, for a lifetime of rightful assurance.

Yet, John wonders if maybe it’s not just the courtroom that he wants to defend you in.

In his previous life, before the Project and his reunion with Joseph, John likely wouldn’t have even paid you a second glance. You’re a bit of a Plain Jane, have a very girl-next-door sort of look about you. Yet, in the wake of this interaction, bathed in the golden hue of the setting sun, John can’t think of anyone more beautiful. So human and down to earth; lost and conflicted, yet certain and firm. You really are an oddity, and one that John finds himself genuinely wanting to learn more about.

True, he had always had an interest in you, especially when this war between you first began, but it had always been a professional interest (despite what many thought or claimed). You needed to join the Project, Joseph decreed it so, and although his interest had risen to a slightly more personal level it was still business; without you he wouldn’t be able to reach Eden. His fate was in your hands.

Yet, fate seems to want to play you both into each other’s arms, for if it didn’t then surely this sacred moment between you both wouldn’t be happening. Surely, if this wasn’t meant to happen, John wouldn’t be longing for the love that Joseph promised him – the love that only you could give him – like he suddenly and hopelessly is.

John knows where he stands in this war, it’s a fixed point that he can’t move away from even if he eventually decided that he wanted to, but really his dear Deputy is still undecided. You still have a choice to make in this divine plan; you still have time to choose. And, funnily enough, it looks as if you’ve already started to make that choice. That curiosity of yours, you being in his home – on his bed – looking so domestic, like a wife waiting for her husband… to John this is a sign, a hint, a mere taste of the future that he’s always secretly hoped and longed for. A prophecy in its own right.

Yet, as much as he wants to fight for you, to defend and cherish you, he regrettably knows that the time for such things isn’t quite here yet. It’s close, certainly within his reach, but you need to meet him the rest of the way. You need those final damning pieces of evidence before you’ll come to him. You’ll want every piece of evidence available before you’ll walk your chosen path; and although he shouldn’t interfere, John could very easily acquire such evidence for you. He could very easily make such evidence for you. A little more time, a few strings pulled and a couple of sins stripped, and he could give you everything you need and so, so much more.

The temptations of the promised future are a fruit too sweet not to savour.

Eden’s Baptist watches with a fresh interest as you sigh heavily, chest rising and falling with the action, as you start to walk towards him. John’s chest tightens, flutters under the way your sparkling eyes meet and hold his own, only a hint of uncertainty, a fleeting touch of something questioning – do you feel it too? Do you feel this like he does? – on your face before you look away, glance down like a bashful bride, and come to stand next to him.

He doesn’t move from where he’s been leaning against the door, doesn’t even dare to breathe in case this moment is blown away like ash on the wind. Yet, when nothing happens and all he can focus on is his and your own gentle breathing, he takes a gamble and swallows thickly, slowly turning his head so he can look down at you next to him, naturally pretty despite the odd scratch and speck of dried blood on your well worn clothes.

The tension is palpable between you both, not so tight that’s it choking you, but tight enough that you can certainly feel it; hear it moan like a bow dragging steadily over a cello’s strings. Although, not as ominous as one would first suspect, but more melancholy; a rich sadness. As though despite how much you might want and wish for something, it will never come to pass; a sad inevitability that you can do nothing but walk past, never to stop and consider. Or at least you shouldn’t, for only heartbreak lies down those withered and desolate roads.

Which is why you shouldn’t stop, why you shouldn’t be wanting to reach out with a tender touch, a reassurance to this greedy want of yours for something more out of this moment, for more out of this strange connection and unlikely companionship you have discovered between the two of you. You shouldn’t feel this safe when standing next to the man that wants to starve this Valley into submission. You shouldn’t feel so at ease around a man that derives a sick thrill out of torture and the power it gives him. You shouldn’t feel like you’ve finally found a home when you’re sitting on his bed with his shirt in your arms.

You can’t deny that you’re attracted to him, that there clearly is some sort of unexplainable connection between the both of you, but whatever this connection may be… it can never be explored. It can never happen. You will never side with Eden’s Gate, and even if you decide that you can no longer be with the Resistance, it’ll be for the same reason why you can’t join Joseph’s cult. Ultimately, your decision, whatever it may be, will change nothing. Just like nothing will change John’s decision.

Ruled by the cry of your heart and the attachments it’s quick to make you hesitantly lay your greedy hand upon him, turning slightly as your right hand crosses you in order to gently grip his toned arm; the familiar feel of uniquely expensive silk sliding pleasantly

against your skin.

You feel him tense under your hand, arms tightening from where they are still crossed across his chest, but you don’t blame him. Really you’re not even too sure what it is you’re doing, this will only hurt you more when you walk away from whatever this could’ve been if things were different, but you always have had a bit of a penchant for torturing yourself with things like this.

So no matter how much the ‘what if’s’ will wound you in the future you still immerse yourself in the feel of him, of the way he relaxes as your thumb brushes back and forth in a comforting gesture against his arm, the smell of his cologne naturally intermingling with his natural scent… it’s a bitter torture that already has the tears coming to your eyes, but still you stay a little longer; heart hopefully romantic even though you know better.

This – the two of you – could never work.

“Deputy…”

“You know,” you cut him off, the slightest fracture in your softened tone, “I didn’t mean what I said earlier, about your planes. They’re not toys; they’re really cool actually,” there’s a buried laugh under your breath, a small smile that speaks of a brief reminiscion, “the way you have them all set up, cataloged with their little name plates… it’s really cute. It would be super cool if you had them hanging down from the ceiling though; like, having them act out dog fights and things almost. Can you imagine it?”

You giggle there, head ducking as you get lost in thoughts and bitter imagines – helping to set them up, walking in and seeing them like that, being lifted and twirled under them like stars in the sky – that will never be.

This war has taken everything from you, has made you doubt and lose sight of who you were before. Even your dreams for the future, regardless of who they may be with, have been tarnished by the stains on your hands and the things you have been pushed into doing. How could you ever have a normal life after this? Who would want a life with you after all of this? It all seems so impossible and far too far out of reach for you now.

Although it may be cruel, your wandering thoughts and the reminder they bring is a good grounder, and in turn your smile sours; even as one blooms sweetly across John’s face, a light dusting of pink across his cheeks.

For the better, you don’t see it.

“Anyway, I better go; got a County to save and all that after all. I’ll see you around though, John,” you pause, hesitate, desperately cling to this fleeting moment that’s finally reached its end, “take care of yourself now, sweetheart. Lord knows we need to...”

With nothing else to say, that quiet piece of compassion laid out before him like a final offering, you leave; letting go of his arm with a parting squeeze and a faint caress as you pull away, walk past him and out the door until you’re eventually lost to him yet again. A weary ghost bound to forever wander the lonely battlefield.

John doesn’t follow you, doesn’t even reach out to stop you like a part of him begs him to do, and instead merely turns to watch you leave. Head down and arms wrapped comfortingly around your waist. He really should stop you, force this moment to last for as long as he can get it to, but he doesn’t; and that surprisingly hurts him, letting you go. Yet, the pain it brings only hardens him, makes his thoughts straighten and become resolute in the face of the same realisation that had dawned on him only moments before hand.

And as the sun sets over the horizon, the sky streaked in sunburnt northern lights, colours shifting like water with the flowing of time, John finally moves to sit in the same place you had been on his bed; alone and lost in thought. Reaching out to pick something up off his nightstand as he draws his elbows to rest on his spread knees. His hands cupped against his mouth and securely around your forgotten sewing kit, as he stares blankly at your abandoned rifle.

Another sign in and of itself.

Although you hadn’t been looking at him when you had left John had certainly been watching you. He had seen the way that your eyes had glistened like unsteady waters as the courtroom erupted into a debate that you felt that you couldn’t win; the choice taken from you as your morals and exploited loyalty raged and dictated the sentence you should face.

He knows you felt it, knows that there is something special between the two of you, and that it’s taken this moment between you – this one act of rebellion stemmed from your curiosity – for him to see it; for him to finally grasp the meaning behind his brother’s plea.

You were right when you had questioned him on his lack of care regarding the Atonement; how he doesn’t care to save those that don’t believe, how he doesn’t want to put in the effort for those that will only put it to waste. If their motives are not genuine then the process is entirely pointless. Although, John won’t deny that there is a certain gratification in having such control over someone. Forcing them to say yes, purely for their own survival, is not the intention, but it certainly works all the same. After all, Joseph hasn’t exactly scolded him for his methods; especially if he gets a little therapy and self management out of it.

But what of you? What do you have as an outlet, as a way to cope and make the prize all the more sweeter? Better yet, what is the prize that you’re working towards, because John certainly has his in mind, and it won’t just be the end of a cruel and uncaring society.

You’re a puppet, both in terms of your occupation and the leading role you’re now being made to fill, dancing on fraying strings. Strings that John could fully free you from, help to cut you loose, if only you would just say ‘yes’. He’d be able to properly protect and defend you then, reassure you in your choices and how the things you’ve done were never truly your own; your caring nature merely exploited by those that you were forced to associate with while under the influence of shock. The trauma brought on by that helicopter crash disorientating you and leaving you vulnerable toward their manipulative and pressurising ways.

At least if you were to say ‘yes’, John would be able to safely guard you and your surprisingly tentative character. He would be able to love and cherish you, hold you close like no other, and make it so that you would want for nothing while in his arms. He could actually keep you in his bed, smother you in the pleasure that he would gladly give you as his beloved; chain you there as he ravished you and the softness that you would offer him, that you allowed him a tantalising glimpse of.

If you said ‘yes’, then John would finally be able to secure you and your loose strings, worn and threadbare under the continued pressure of your wailing guilt, to his own tangled ones; knotting them together until they have been sewn into something new, becoming one and the same. And when that finally happens, you will be entwined around a silk too rich and blissful to be so easily frayed.

#thank god it’s over #i’m done!#I’m not sure how I feel about this still #but then again i never think highly of my work so...#john seed x reader #john seed x female deputy #john seed x deputy #john seed #fanfic #fanfiction #my writing #fc5 #far cry 5 #far cry

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