#Eclipse Advises

[asktsamseclipse]

what would you do if you want to fix a problem but everyone says that the problem is you…? I know I didn’t start everything but still… why do people have to be so awful? Even to family or people they used to love?

The teen angst be hitting hard

I'm... not always the best with this stuff but you need it so I'm pushing it up and giving you what advice I can.

Fixing... yourself is an all-the-time thing, even if you don't know you need it. Are you the problem? Maybe. But for all we know, they could be the problem and just doesn't know that they need to fix themselves.

Ask questions. Listen. Tell them how you're... 'feeling' (ugh) and then remember that you're ALLOWED to make mistakes so don't be so hard on yourself. I don't get family much, god knows I don't have a good example of one, but... I know what I want and, from what Earth has told me, it was the bare minimum.

Be kinder to yourself, idiot.

Note from the Editor: N-Not how I'd put it but good advice, I think? I'm sorry you're feeling this way and like you're a problem; I don't think you are and I think you're an incredibly kind individual. I know answering this was late but I still hope you're feeling better than you were on that day.

[letsbangts]

paint me, play me: moonlight || jjk

⤷ summary: you are the day; he is the night. you are the sun; he is the moon. not meant to collide—one must set for the other to rise. but what happens during that rare moment when an eclipse occurs? can you both coexist peacefully together?

⟶ pairing: jungkook x reader

⟶ word count: 46k+

18+ // mdni

⟶ genre: e2l, college au, fluff, angst

⟶ content: grumpy!jk (+ rocker!jk, fuckboy!jk) x sunshine!reader (+ cheerleader!reader, artisit!reader, bimbo!reader), rockband!bangtan

⟶ warnings: explicit language, mean comments, jk being a jerk, jess is a b*tch, bullying?, insults, bickering, insecurities, self-doubt, past trauma, ptsd?, mentions of death, mentions of car accident, mentions of verbal abuse, mentions of smoking, mentions of alcohol, flirting, teasing, (idt there's anything else, but if there is pls lmk!!)

⟶ part: 1/4

↬ a/n: this took forever but I hope the wc justifies why lol but I’m so excited to finally have pt. 1 of pmpm out. the response I got from my initial post about this series was way more than I expected so I hope you all enjoy. and to my little freaks there’s no smut in this chapter but just you wait my loveys ;) happy reading! angel xoxo

↬ a/n2: AND LET IT BE KNOWN I KNOW NOTHING ABOUT UNIVERSITY, ROCK, ART, OR CHEERLEADING. I have no knowledge about anything I’m writing about sooo readers discretion is advised. *also this is edited to the best of my ability but she is a beast so feel free to let me know of any mistakes*

˖⁺. ༶ NOW PLAYING ༶ .⁺˖ moonlight ariana grande 01:43 ─✮───── 03:07 ⇆ ⊲ II ⊳ ↺ ᴠᴏʟᴜᴍᴇ : ▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮

series masterlist ˚.⋆˚.⋆˚.⋆ main masterlist ˚.⋆˚.⋆˚.⋆ join my taglist

i never knew, i never knew you could hold moonlight in your hands 'til the night i held you you are my moonlight, moonlight

New beginnings and change are hard for people, but you have grown accustomed to them. You have come to embrace them. There aren’t many things that could bring you down, and a new town and school aren’t among them. This move might be good for you; a shift in your surroundings may be what you need.

At first, you felt a bit nervous when your mom accepted a new job out here, but once you saw the new house, it sold you on the move. Then, when you looked up the university located here and discovered it is known for its Visual Arts major, all your worries faded. So, when you applied for a transfer from your previous university to Borahae and not only got accepted but also received a scholarship for all your achievements, you felt as if everything was falling into place. You felt as if it was all destined to be.

You walked around to familiarize yourself with the area; it was a pleasant town. It has a small-town vibe but is still a bustling city, and the people are very nice. When the adorable elderly lady who works at the convenience store you stopped by heard you were new to the town, she gave you your lollipop for free. You would never pass up free sweets, even though you were ready to pay.

With a skip in your step and a treat in your mouth that tastes even sweeter because free food is always more delicious, you head home with a newfound high – not from the sugar, but from the feeling that things are looking up.

You practically bounce up the stairs and through the front door, where you find your mom doing some of the last bits of the unpacking. It was overwhelming when the two of you first moved in, but you expected to be stressed out when relocating your entire life from one place to another. But as always, you both had each other to lean on.

You could not ask for a better mom, even without a biased opinion, because she is the woman who gave you life; she is the strongest and kindest woman you know. She has always been in your corner, cheering you on, and had your back when things got shaky. As you have gotten older, she has also started to come to you for support, and you have always been there to give it to her. The past year and a half have been tough on both of you after your dad’s passing, but you noticed she seemed to carry the weight of everything much heavier on her shoulders.

You have seen how this move has brought back that spark in her. Everything about your old home was like a constant reminder of his absence, making it difficult to move on from grieving. Although you both will never forget him or all the memories shared with him, a new space for building a new chapter in both of your lives has boosted her drive for life.

Your mom looks up from the box she was unpacking when she hears you come through the door, and a smile forms on her face as you walk into the living room.

“Oh, sweetie, you’re back already! How was everything?”

“It was nice! Everything is so pretty and old-timey, and the shop lady gave me a free lolly!” You wave the dwindling candy in the air to show her.

She laughs lightly and continues unpacking, placing books on the half-full bookshelf.

“Well, that was nice of her. I will have to stop by myself and greet her. The town seems full of kind people; you just missed one of our neighbours. This sweet young man helped me bring in this box,” she gestures to the heavy box of books. “He mentioned how he and a few other boys live together next door. They’re actually around your age and even attend Borahae as well.”

“Oh, what a coinkydink!” you giggle.

“I know, right? And get this: he said they all play in a rock band! Talk about coincidence! They rehearse in their garage, so he wanted to be sure the noise wouldn’t bother us, but I told him not to worry.”

You nod with wide eyes and your mouth in the shape of an ‘O’.

“I wish I was here to say hi to him.”

Your mom waves her hand, “Oh, it’s okay, sweetie. You’ll meet him soon. I mentioned that I have a daughter his age and that you will be attending the same university as him. I’m sure you’ll meet all of them eventually.”

You nod again, with your lollipop perched between your pursed lips.

“Well, I guess I’ll finish the last few boxes in my room.”

You walk over and kiss your mom on the cheek.

She smiles and continues with her box. As you walk up the steps, she calls out,

“Keep an eye out for him; he was a nice boy. His name is Namjoon!”

☾☀︎

You walk down the sidewalk as fast as possible in your wedge heels. Being late on your first day isn’t ideal, but you had to be sure you looked cute. As you hurry towards the enormous building, your pink mini-dress flows in the light breeze. As you step onto the school grounds, you hear the roar of an engine. When you turn your head towards the sound, you see a motorcycle zoom past you at top speed.

“Ooh, shiny,” you gasp, coming to a halt as you stare at it, mesmerized until it banks the corner and disappears. You shake your head, pulling yourself from your trance and refocus, resuming the trek to the main entrance.

The large building makes you nervous; butterflies form in your stomach as you get closer. You see two guys at the bottom of the stairs leading to the main doors. The guy standing with the broadest shoulders is talking to the other guy sitting on the large stone bannister. The shoulder guy is laughing at something he said, but the other guy sits there with a neutral look as he takes a drag from his cigarette.

You approach them with a big smile, their conversation pausing as they both turn to you. The shoulder guy raises his eyebrows in question while the other looks you up and down before turning back and continuing to smoke.

“Hi! Do you know where the office is?”

The shoulder guy smiles and nods his head.

“Uh, yeah. When you enter the building, turn right, and you’ll see a big ass wooden door, that’s it.” He says, gesturing up the stairs to the building as he talks.

“Big ass wooden door,” you mumble to yourself, nodding. “Got it, thanks, Shoulders!”

You turn and walk away, following his directions before he can reply, causing you to miss his reaction to your name for him and the grin that spreads across the other guy’s face as he chuckles.

“Did she—Did she just call me Shoulders?”

“Well, that is like 75% of you.”

You also miss the guy holding a motorcycle helmet who walks up and joins the other two.

☾☀︎

In the office, you are filling out some forms, making sure all your ‘i’s are dotted with a heart, when you see a middle-aged woman walk out of the back office with a red-haired girl, immediately catching your attention.

She looks the complete opposite of you in her black denim dress, black fishnet tights, thick-winged black eyeliner, and a hoop nose ring.

The secretary assisting you interrupts the two’s conversation, notifying her of your arrival.

“Mrs Baek, this is Y/N L/N.”

Once the woman sees you, she grins and extends her hand for you to shake.

“Ah, Y/N! It is lovely to meet you. I’m Mrs Baek, the dean here. We are so honoured to have someone of your merit attend Borahae. I was very impressed by your work. You are such a gifted artist with a great eye for fine detail. I am sure you will make our school proud.”

You don’t notice how the red-haired girl’s eyes light up.

“Thank you, Mrs Baek! I am so excited to be here!” you bounce in place while giving her hand a little squeeze.

Mrs Baek chuckles, giving your hand in hers a pat with her free hand.

“If you have any questions, my door is always open, dear.”

You nod eagerly, and with that, she turns to leave. She gives the red-haired girl a tiny nod, which she returns with a smile.

You and the girl are now left standing at the counter alone. She steps closer to you, her hand gliding across the wooden surface.

“So you’re new here, huh?”

“Yup! My mom and I just moved here—not to the school, to the town; we don’t live here.”

“I hope not; we’re here enough as it is,” she laughs, and you join in.

“Y/N, right? I’m Chaerin.”

“Nice to meet you! I love your hair, it’s so pretty, it reminds me of a–”

“A cherry?”

“Yes!” you gasp.

“My nickname is Cherry; all my friends call me that. You can, too.”

“Oh, yay! Are we friends?”

Cherry nods with a smile.

“Wow, I haven’t even gone to a class yet, and I’ve already made a friend. This place is great!”

“I heard Mrs Baek say you’re an artist. I’m guessing you’re an art major?”

“Yeah, Visual Arts. Are you studying art, too?”

“Oh no,” Cherry shakes her head fervently, “I can’t even draw stick figures properly. I’m a music major, Music Technology.”

Your mouth hangs agape because your new friend keeps getting cooler and cooler.

“What kind of art do you do?” Cherry asks.

“The one with pictures...” you furrow your brows.

“No, no,” she laughs at your confusion, finding it adorable, “Like, what do you specialize in? Drawing, painting, sculpting?”

“Oh! I’m good at everything, but painting is my favourite!” you beam.

“So you draw too?”

“Mhm,” you nod.

“Oh my gosh, this is perfect,” Cherry mutters, thinking aloud.

Before you can ask what she means, she grabs both of your hands, bringing them up to her chin with pleading eyes. You look at her in surprise.

“I know we just met, and I’m not usually this forward... that’s a lie, I am, but I don’t want to seem rude. But what are the chances that I would run into the new artist getting the dean’s praise? It’s like fate crossed our paths,” she rushes out her words in one breath, “So as your new friend, I need a favour from you. You see, my boyfriend is in this rock band with his friends, and they have been looking for someone to design a logo for them.”

“A rock band?” your look of surprise only grows.

First, you move in next door to a rock band, and now your new friend is dating someone in a rock band. What crazy odds.

“Yeah, Army of Bombs is what they go by. I help them with their songs sometimes. I know I’m a little biased, but they are amazing!”

“And you want me to design a logo for them?” you say slowly, taking her request in.

She nods desperately, squeezing your hands tighter. “Please, pretty please, with a cherry on top. No pun intended.”

You giggle at her remark and even more at her puppy dog eyes and pout.

“I would love to help you, but—”

Cherry, thinking you’re about to say no, interrupts.

“Look, I know rock music is probably not your thing,” she gestures up and down at you, “But I mean, you don’t have to like it,” she says, trying to reason.

You chuckle at the irony.

“No, that’s not it. I just—I don’t know the band well enough to design a logo for them,” you shrug with a small smile, not wanting to disappoint her.

“You can come and sit in on their rehearsals! You can get a feel of the band’s vibe. The guys won’t mind. They’re cool; you’ll like them.”

She stares at you nervously as you tilt your head in thought, considering her offer.

“Hmm, okay! I’ll do it!” you exclaim.

“Oh my gosh, seriously! Thank you, thank you, thank you!” She pulls you into a tight hug, swaying side to side. “You’re the best, Y/N! If you ever need anything, say the word, I’m your girl.”

You hug her back just as tightly.

“I can’t help this week though. I have a lot going on since it’s my first week here,” you tell her as you pull apart.

“That’s cool, I get it. Whenever you’re free, let me know. You can text me. I’m usually always at the rehearsals anyway. They rehearse at their house. Oh yeah, here, let’s exchange numbers.”

She pulls out her phone, encased in a piano phone case and hands it to you to put in your number. You pull out your pink rhinestone-covered phone and give it to her to do the same.

She enters her number and flips your phone in her hand. She looks at the sparkly case before glancing at you and chuckling as she hands the device back.

You look at her with wide, curious eyes.

“You really are like a little Barbie, huh?”

You light up at her comment, “Thanks!”

“They will be so pumped; I can’t wait to tell the guys about this! My boyfriend is waiting for me outside. He’s probably wondering what’s taking me so long.”

“I’m excited to meet everyone,” you smile.

“Barbs, I believe this is the start of a beautiful friendship,” she smiles back.

You think the same thing.

☾☀︎

You are nearing the end of your first week; it has been great so far. You like all your classes, and your professors have been very welcoming; they have all heard of you and your scholarship. You’ve made connections with a few classmates and gained more friends, but Cherry still sits at the top of the list.

You and she have been texting all week, and it’s not just about the band logo; she has been making sure you are doing okay with adjusting to everything. However, she did mention that she told her friends that you agreed to design their band’s logo and that they were excited.

Speaking of bands, you have yet to meet any of your neighbours that your mom told you about. You would think no one even lives there if it weren’t for the music you hear coming from the garage almost every night. That Namjoon guy must be nice if he warned your mom about the noise because it is loud. But they are talented; you’ve caught yourself bobbing your head to the music numerous times. You’ll tell them you’re a fan when you finally meet them.

You are headed to the gym to try out for the cheerleading team. Art is a relatively sedentary and solitary activity, so you enjoy cheerleading because it gets you moving and allows you to socialize with others. Also, the uniform is super cute, and you love cheering people on.

You push open the gym door and walk over to the girls gathered on the bench, waiting for the tryouts to begin. You sit down next to a strawberry-blonde girl who is texting away on her phone. You notice a pink gummy bear charm dangling from her cell.

“I like your charm; it’s so adorable!”

She looks up upon hearing your compliment, and her eyes dart from you to her phone and back to you before she smiles.

“Thanks, I like your set,” she gestures to your hot pink sports bra and matching pants, “I see we both have great taste in colours.”

“I love pink and candy, so this is like they had a baby,” you say, taking the charm between your fingers and examining it more closely.

“You’re funny. I’m Rina, by the way,” she lifts her hand in a small wave as she introduces herself.

“I’m Y/N,” you wave back gleefully.

The doors open before you two can talk anymore, and the room fills with the echo of laughter. Three girls walk in, wearing purple and white cheerleading uniforms, and stand in front of the waiting students. The tallest girl among the three stands between the others and plasters a wide, fake smile on her face before she speaks.

“Hello, everyone. Welcome to the cheer tryouts for the Borahae Belles. I’m Jess, the cheer captain. And this is Mei,” she points to the girl on her right, “And this is Kat,” she points to the girl on her left.

“This is our second year cheering for the school; we had a stellar year last year, winning nationals,” Jess flips her ponytail over her shoulder, placing a hand over her chest, “And like I did last year, I plan on leading us to victory this year, so I hope you brought your ‘A’ game.”

Everyone’s faces fill with fear, but you aren’t worried. You are excited to be cheering again; you missed it.

“We would usually have tryouts out on the field, but the football team has practice today, so we had to settle for in here. As you can see, we only have a few roll-out mats, so try not to get injured because we really can’t deal with that right now,” Jess rolls her eyes, and the other two girls snicker.

“Okay, enough talk. Let’s get started!” Jess claps twice, and Mei hands her a clipboard with the signup sheet.

One by one, people start going to the centre of the room and performing their routines. The three cheerleaders give little to no response, simply calling out the next name after each performance.

“I’m so nervous, are you?” Rina whispers to you.

“No, not at all,” you shake your head.

“You must be confident.”

You are. You were cheer captain throughout high school and even at your old university. You don’t have a big head, but you know you’re good, so you’re confident you’ll make the team.

“I am; you should be, too. I bet you’ll do great,” you say, squeezing Rina’s shoulder in encouragement.

Just then, Rina’s name gets called out. She gives you a weak smile, gets up and makes her way to the mat. She performs her routine flawlessly, finishing with a back handspring, jumping into a herkie, and landing in a torch position.

“Yay, Rina,” you applaud enthusiastically for her, thinking she had no reason to be nervous.

You don’t see the dirty look Jess gives you.

Rina mouths a silent “thank you” and “good luck” and gives you a thumbs-up before she leaves the gym.

Four more people’s names get called out before you finally hear yours; you spring up and skip over to the mat.

“Hi, I’m Y/N L/N! I’m very excited to cheer for you.”

“Yeah, we know your name’s on the signup sheet,” Kat says as she and Mei snicker.

Jess tilts her head, eyes scanning you, “Why don’t you start your routine?” she smirks.

While you perform your routine, Jess sits up straighter than she has since tryouts began. Both Mei and Kat’s eyes are wide in shock. You’re good–excellent. You’re better than they thought you’d be, better than the others who have tried out. The two girls don’t say anything for fear of upsetting the captain, but you’re even better than Jess.

Mei and Kat glance warily at Jess, her eyes are narrow, and her lips are pursed from her sucking her teeth.

You finish with a toe touch and land in a liberty pose. Once you face the three girls with an anticipatory expression, Jess immediately breaks into a smile, which you return, unaware of her disapproving look throughout your routine you were too absorbed into to notice.

“You’re good. Y/N, was it?” Jess asks, raising an eyebrow.

You nod, clasping your hands behind your back.

She hums, glancing down briefly before continuing, “I shouldn’t say anything before the official list goes up, but I think you can consider yourself a Borahae Belle.”

You hop up and down in place, hands balled up, nearly bursting with joy.

You’re clueless about how the other two cheerleaders whip their heads towards the captain in surprise, taken aback by her complimentary words and acceptance of you.

You thank the three girls before practically bouncing out of the room.

As soon as you’re out of sight, Jess’s smile disappears.

☾☀︎

Cherry is sitting on the sofa in the guys’ garage as they get ready to rehearse, tune their instruments, and set up the equipment. Seokjin, who is rolling out the amplifier and plugging it in, calls her name.

“Hey Cher, when are we going to get to meet this art girl? I’m dying to discuss logo ideas with her.”

Hoseok, who was tuning his guitar, chimes in at the mention, “Yeah, it’s about time we finally got one. Every iconic band has a logo; branding Army of Bombs if we want to make our mark is a must.”

“She’s super busy this week; I told you she just moved here. Once she settles in, she will start working on the design. She’s going to sit in on rehearsals to help her get ideas,” Cherry replies.

“If she is as good of an artist as you said, shouldn’t she be able to draw something up at the snap of her fingers?” Jimin comments.

“The logo has to fit the band, and she knows nothing about you guys or your music. Also, rock and roll music doesn’t seem like her style, so she has to get familiar with it.”

“Did you get to see any of her work? You know, to see how good she is?” Namjoon asks.

“No, I never got a chance to,” Cherry shrugs.

The band exchanges pessimistic looks with one another.

“So let me get this straight, you asked a girl who doesn’t like rock and who might be a shit artist to design our logo? Well, that sounds promising.” Taehyung smirks, his tone laced with sarcasm.

“She is talented; I heard the dean praise her myself.”

“The dean would kiss anyone’s ass. You know how much people pay to go there,” Taehyung rebuts.

“She said she was honoured to have her attend the school. I don’t remember ever hearing that she complimented any of you.”

“She once told me I was, and I quote, “unbelievable” actually,” Jimin says.

“She wasn’t saying that as a compliment, you idiot. She said it in disdain,” Seokjin clarifies.

“Semantics,” Jimin waves off. “The point is that Cherry has probably roped us in with some new girl and opened our rehearsals to her without checking her credibility.”

“What are you blaming my girlfriend for?” Yoongi inquires as he walks in with Jungkook a few steps behind him. He sits on the sofa beside Cherry and wraps an arm around her shoulder, pulling her into his side.

“We just found out that she doesn’t know if the girl she got to do the logo has any real talent,” Hoseok updates while pointing at Cherry.

Yoongi turns his head to look at her, his brows furrowed, “I thought you said she was good?”

“She is!” Cherry exclaims, throwing her hands in the air. All the guys jump in shock at her outburst.

“I can’t believe you guys are giving me such a hard time. You were eager to find someone, and now that I have found someone willing to do it, you are complaining.”

“We aren’t complaining, Cher; we are sceptical. She might be willing, but that doesn’t mean her work will meet our standards,” Taehyung states.

“Didn’t you see any of her drawings or something?” Jungkook asks while grabbing his guitar and putting the strap over his head. When he looks up, he sees the rest of the band staring at Cherry, whose eyes are rolling in exasperation.

Jungkook smirks and snickers, “You didn’t. Way to put in the work, Cherry.”

“Okay now, step off. We gotta give this girl a chance at least; I’m sure Cher is vouching for her for a reason.” Yoongi comes to his girlfriend’s defence, calming everyone down. He kisses her on the temple before making his way to his keyboard.

“Yeah, who knows? She might be like a little Picasso,” Namjoon says, intervening to lighten the mood. He pats Cherry’s shoulder as he walks by her and sits behind the drum set.

The guys take their positions, and Cherry leans back onto the sofa with a huff.

“I’m telling you, she’s good and doing us a big favour by agreeing to help us. Once you guys meet her, you’ll be eating your words.”

Namjoon does the count-off, his drumsticks hitting together with each number, “One, two, three, four.”

☾☀︎

Rehearsal ended a little while ago, and the band was scattered around different spots in the garage resting.

“Kook, what happened to that chick you were seeing? I haven’t seen you with her since Junho’s party,” Hoseok asks from his seat in the beanbag chair in the corner.

Jungkook, sitting on top of an amp, looks up from his phone, tilting his head in thought.

“Which girl?” Jungkook questions in return.

“Wow, seriously, man? You’re an animal,” Jimin laughs, shaking his head.

“The one who always showed up at the venue an hour before our shows and sat on stage the entire rehearsal,” Hoseok describes the girl.

“Oh her, I got rid of her a while ago.”

“Why? What was wrong with that one now?” Seokjin asks from the sofa, accustomed to the youngest one’s pattern.

“I just ended it,” Jungkook shrugs.

The older guys shake their heads, some chuckling at Jungkook’s nonchalance.

“Ugh, you are such a stereotypical rocker,” Cherry scoffs.

“Don’t hate the player, babe, hate the game,” Jungkook smirks, sending her a wink.

“Getting with girls shouldn’t be a game, Kook.”

“Hey, it’s all good fun, and we’re all consenting adults. It’s not like I hunt for these girls; they come to me.”

“More like they cum for you,” Taehyung jokes and daps Jungkook.

“Disgusting,” Cherry turns to Yoongi sitting beside her, “I sometimes question your choice of friends.”

“How come in moments like this, they’re not your friends, too?” Yoongi laughs.

“Speaking of girls, Joon, didn’t you say the lady who moved in next door has a daughter our age?” Jimin diverts, sitting on the armrest of the recliner Namjoon is sitting on.

Namjoon nods, “Yeah, she said she goes to Borahae too, but I haven’t run into her yet.”

“She must be one of those students who live their lives studying–home to school to the library and back,” Jimin says, waving his hand, tilting his beer bottle back and forth.

“Wait a minute, did you say a girl our age? Why am I only hearing about this now? I would have gone over to introduce myself, like a good neighbour should,” Taehyung perks up on the stool he’s perched on.

“That is what we don’t want,” Seokjin points to the three youngest, “You three are prohibited from going next door.”

“Hold up! Why are we being singled out?” Jimin exclaims.

“Because you guys wreak havoc wherever you go, and her mom is nice and was cool about us rehearsing out here. We don’t need you ruining that by messing around with her daughter,” Seokjin explains.

“Excuse me, I am a perfect gentleman. These two are the ones you need to worry about,” Jimin says, pointing two fingers at Taehyung and Jungkook.

“Well, you don’t have to worry about me; I don’t shit where I eat,” Jungkook raises both hands in surrender.

“And I resent being classed the same as Kook; I am nowhere near as big of a hoe as he is,” Taehyung defends himself.

“We’re not taking chances; don’t go anywhere near the kid, all three of you,” Yoongi declares.

“Yeah, the poor girl just moved here. Don’t corrupt her with your sleaziness; give her a break,” Cherry smirks.

“I can keep my hands to myself, but if she approaches me and she’s cute, I make no promises where my hands will be on campus,” Taehyung shrugs before sipping his beer.

The conversation shifts after that, and various topics are discussed, from upcoming shows to party invites they have received. The current topic is their female escapades despite prior denials.

Seokjin is in the middle of a story when he gets interrupted by a low whistle from Taehyung.

“Hottie headed this way,” he announces, his eyes focused on the street where a girl is walking down the sidewalk.

All heads, excluding Yoongi’s and Cherry’s, turn to follow his line of sight.

“Those are our school colours,” Namjoon notes.

“Damn, since when did cheerleaders roam this street,” Hoseok says.

That causes Cherry to glance in reluctance briefly before doing a double take. She suddenly stands up from Yoongi’s side, “Y/N?”

The guys all redirect their eyes to her in question.

“Y/N? Didn’t you say the art girl was named Y/N?” Yoongi asks.

She stands up, walks out of the garage, and yells, “Hey, Y/N!”

☾☀︎

As you expected, you made the cheerleading team, but you were still excited when you saw your name on the list of those who made it onto the team. Rina also made the team, so you were extra happy.

You changed into your new uniform right after you picked it up and made your routine stop by the convenience store on your way home. You told Mrs Lee, the adorable elderly lady who works there, that you made the team and twirled around to show off your new outfit. She was just as excited as you were and told you how pretty you looked. When you went to pay for your lollipop, she refused to let you pay, saying it was a reward for the special occasion.

So now you are walking home in your cute uniform and with a celebratory lollipop in your favourite flavour: bubble gum.

You think you’ve reached peak happiness at this moment. You can’t wait to get home to tell your mom the news and have her happiness added to it all. You turn the corner to your street and walk down the sidewalk to your house. As you get closer, you notice your neighbour’s garage open, this being your first time seeing any sign of life from the residence.

You pick up your pace, wondering if this is when you’ll finally meet the elusive rock band from next door that you’ve been hearing through the walls all week.

As soon as the garage comes into full view, you hear your name called.

“Hey, Y/N!”

You look up your neighbour’s driveway to see Cherry waving at you. With a big smile, you run up to her and hug her, making sure not to get the sticky candy caught in her hair. The thought of finally meeting the rocker’s neighbours gets instantly forgotten.

“Cherry!”

“What are you doing here?” she laughs as you pull away from the hug.

“I’m on my way home,” you point towards the direction of your house.

“You live close by?”

“Yup!” you giggle.

“And what’s this,” Cherry gestures to your uniform, “You didn’t tell me you were trying out for the cheer team.”

“I guess I forgot to mention it,” you knit your brows and pout briefly before lighting back up, “But isn’t it great! Don’t I look so cute?” You give her a twirl with your arms stretched out at your sides.

The guys watch in amusement while Jungkook slides off the amp, rolling his eyes as he heads over to the mini fridge in the back.

“You look cuter than anything my eyes have ever seen,” Taehyung interjects from his seat.

You glance over Cherry’s shoulder and smile at the boy. She lets out a huff and grabs your hand.

“I guess this is a time as good as any to introduce you to the band,” she tugs you into the garage with her.

“How do you know them?” you ask as you walk behind her.

Cherry turns and looks at you with a confused yet amused expression, letting go of your hand, “Huh? What do you mean? Remember when I asked you for help? I said my boyfriend was in a band with some friends.”

You nod slowly, still not caught up.

She smiles at you and flails her hand at the guys dispersed around the garage, “This is the band. Y/N, meet Army of Bombs.”

Your mouth hangs agape at the news. Your rocker neighbours are the same band Cherry asked you to design for. Wow, another coinkydink!

She pulls Yoongi from the sofa by his arm, “This is my boyfriend, Yoongi. He is the keyboardist of the band.”

He gives you a nod in greeting before a look of realization crosses his face.

“Wait, haven’t we seen you before?” he asks, pointing to you but turning to Seokjin.

You follow his gaze and gasp, “Shoulders!”

“I usually go by Seokjin, but I’ll take the nickname as a compliment,” Seokjin says with a laugh as he gets up to shake your hand.

You laugh as you shake hands while Cherry’s eyes dart between the three of you, puzzled.

“You met her already?” she asks the boys.

“She asked us, well, me, Yoongi — as usual, gave no help, for directions to the office,” Seokjin tells her.

“That was the day I met you,” you add, lifting your lollipop back to your mouth.

“Wow, that’s so crazy. Fate seriously crossed our paths!” Cherry exclaims.

“Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you formally, Y/N. I’m the band’s manager,” Seokjin explains.

“Or, as we like to call him, our roadie,” a voice adds, stepping forward to join the introductions.

“I’m Taehyung, the visual relief of the band, but my official role is bassist,” the boy says, bared with a suave smile. He takes your hand and is about to bring it to his lips when Cherry rips his hold of you and pushes past him.

“He is also the official buffoon; ignore him,” Cherry glances back, glaring at Taehyung, who sticks his tongue out playfully at her before smirking.

“This is Hoseok. He’s the rhythm guitarist. Jimin, he’s the lead singer.” The boys give you a friendly wave and a smile, greeting you.

“Namjoon’s the drummer,” the boy flashes you a dimpled smile.

The name catches your attention, and your perplexed expression has Namjoon and Cherry looking at you bewildered.

“What’s wrong?” Cherry asks.

“Namjoon,” you mutter, tapping your lollipop against your lips in thought.

Namjoon sends Cherry a worried look, and she shrugs.

“Ah!” you exclaim, and they both raise their brows at your sudden outburst.

“You’re the sweet young man,” you smile and point your candy at him.

He gives you an amused chuckle, tilting his head slightly, “Am I?”

You nod, “Yeah, my mom said you were a nice boy.”

“Okay, Joon, going after MILFs now,” Jimin hollers but receives a quick nudge in the ribs from Yoongi and a dirty look from Namjoon.

“Your mom met Namjoon? Where?” Cherry questions.

“Outside,” you point out of the garage, answering Cherry.

The boys let out a small chuckle; Cherry ignores them and gives you a stare, urging you to explain further.

“He helped my mom bring in a heavy box.”

When everyone comes to the same realization, their faces turn to shock. You glance around and giggle at their expressions.

Cherry grabs you by your shoulders and turns you to face her body.

“Y/N, you moved in next door? Like into the house beside this one?” Cherry simplifies, trying to get a clear answer.

“Mhm,” you nod up at her, sucking on your lollipop.

“So you’re the daughter she mentioned,” Namjoon sends you a gentle smile.

“Well, now we know she for sure isn’t one of those students who live their life studying,” Jimin whispers to Hoseok, causing both of them to stifle a laugh.

A clink is heard from the back of the garage, catching your attention. You gaze in that direction, catching a glimpse of a broad back closing the mini-fridge door. As the person turns around, you encounter the most beautiful human you have ever seen.

His dark hair is black like the night sky, his skin is golden like a radiant star, and his eyes are big and intense like a black hole. He is like a galaxy walking on two legs, his gravitational pull too strong to escape; you feel the need to move towards it.

“Oh, right. Y/N, this is Jungkook; he’s the lead guitarist,” Cherry says, though her voice is almost like white noise to you, yet you still hear her.

“Jungkook,” you repeat.

For a brief moment, Jungkook, wearing a blank expression, his eyes unreadable, holds your gaze before breaking it, opening his beer, and walking over to sit on the stool in the corner. But you can’t ignore how your heartbeat quickens, the tingling sensation, how you somehow feel warmer.

“We never got to thank you for agreeing to design our logo,” Namjoon says, pulling you out of your trance and resting a hand on your shoulder.

“O-oh,” you blink, collecting yourself, “It’s no biggie!” you smile brightly.

“You’re doing us a solid; we’ve been searching for someone for months to do it,” Hoseok says.

“I’m so excited to do it and to sit in on your rehearsals. I’ve wanted to meet my neighbours. I can hear when you guys play through the walls, and I’m already a fan. You guys are super duper,” you say, giving them a thumbs-up.

Jungkook scoffs to himself quietly while the rest of the band smiles at you in gratitude.

“We’re excited to see what you come up with. Do you have any drawings so we can see your style?” Jimin asks.

“I don’t have my sketchbook with me; it’s at home,” you shake your head.

The boys give Cherry a doubtful look, which she ignores.

“Oh yeah! I have to go; I told my mom I would be back in time for dinner,” you say.

“Of course. We’ll see your stuff when you come to rehearsal. You’re still coming tomorrow, right?” Cherry asks as she walks you out.

You nod eagerly, “Yup, I’ll be here!”

She smiles, and you hug each other goodbye.

Before you take the few steps to your house, you turn and wave to the band.

“Bye-bye, see you tomorrow! It was nice seeing you again, Shoulders and Shoulders’ friend! And it was nice meeting the rest of you,” you call out, saying the last part while looking at the beautiful boy on the stool.

He doesn’t even acknowledge your words, occupied with his phone. The band bids you farewell, and you head to your house.

As you walk up the steps to your home, you smile with a blush, “Jungkook,” you muse, “What a pretty, pretty boy.”

☾☀︎

After your departure, Cherry turns to the boys with a raised brow.

“She’s nice,” Seokjin nods in approval with a smile.

“I can’t believe the person who asked for directions, the one Cher got to help us, and our new neighbour are all the same girl. What are the chances of all that?” Yoongi raises a finger with each point.

“I can’t believe you failed to mention how hot she was,” Taehyung says in disbelief to Cherry.

“Maybe because that has no relevance to anything,” Cherry deadpans.

“To you, but a hot cheerleader who is a talented artist and lives next door is like the female trifecta,” Jimin says.

“Oh, so now that you guys see she’s cute, you’re suddenly backtracking and agreeing with me that she’s got talent,” Cherry notes.

“I’m more hopeful about it,” Taehyung shamelessly declares with a nod, receiving an unimpressed look from Cherry in return.

“You guys can’t be serious,” Jungkook pipes up.

“What?” Cherry asks.

“You couldn’t find someone whose head isn’t in the fucking clouds.”

“Come on, don’t be so judgemental, Jungkook,” Cherry scolds.

“I have to admit, Cher, I’m still wary that she’s got any real art skills; she does seem a bit... ditzy,” Hoseok says gently, trying not to offend.

“She’s an airhead. I’d be surprised if she can even spell art,” Jungkook comments, his tone harsh.

“All of you should be the last to judge someone so quickly. Do you think when people hear you say you’re in a rock band, they don’t immediately assume you’re a bunch of wannabe rockstar losers before hearing how talented you are?” Cherry rebukes.

“You’re talking as if you’ve seen how “talented” she is,” Jungkook counters, his fingers making air quotes around the word.

“You know just as much about her supposed talent as we do. You’re just being defensive because she’s your new little friend,” Jungkook continues.

“And you’re being rude because she isn’t all doom and gloom like you,” Cherry argues.

“More like I’m calling it as I see it; she’s living in a world of her own,” he ripostes.

“And what does that have to do with her capabilities?”

Namjoon steps in to de-escalate the conversation: “She has a point: We can’t evaluate her abilities based on her personality. I say we wait to see what she shows us before jumping to conclusions,” he says, throwing Jungkook a look of reassurance; he adds, “We may be pleasantly surprised.”

“Whatever,” Jungkook mumbles, backing off. But he remains very doubtful that you can bring anything of substance, not believing that there is anything under your surface of lip gloss, bows, and lollipops that will surprise him.

☾☀︎

The next day couldn’t come fast enough for you; it was a bit after lunchtime when Cherry texted you that she had arrived at the garage and that the band was setting up for rehearsal.

As you skip next door with your sketchbook held to your chest, it feels like you are floating on a cloud. You thought about the pretty boy with the pretty big eyes all night, and you couldn’t wait to lay your eyes on him once again.

The garage door is wide open. You turn to enter and nearly bump into the very man you’ve been eager to see. You look him up and down shamelessly; he is wearing baggy jeans, black chunky combat boots and a white shirt with a black bomber jacket. With a chance to look closer at him, you notice his plump pink lips adorned with two piercings, his right eyebrow pierced, his ears decorated with several earrings, and a small scar on his left cheek.

“Oh, um, hi!” you smile at Jungkook with a tiny wave.

Jungkook gives you a once-over, his face emotionless, and walks away without a greeting.

You pout slightly, glancing down at your pink frilly crop top and white jean skirt, but don’t stay hung up on it for too long as Cherry notices your arrival.

“Barbs, you’re here. Come in,” Cherry waves you over.

She gives you a quick hug, and the rest of the band greets you warmly with head nods and waves.

“Hey, Shortstack,” Taehyung says with a gentle pat on your head.

You giggle at the nickname the tall boy has given you. Cherry sees the book cradled in your arms and smiles at you, excited for the guys to finally see how talented you are and, quite frankly, to see herself.

“Is that your sketchbook? Can we take a look?” she asks.

“Mhm,” you nod and hand her the baby pink sketchbook, a picture of two swans with their beaks touching on the cover.

The guys abandon their instruments as they overhear and huddle around the red-haired girl. You sit on the worn-out black leather sofa, glancing around the grungy place decorated with posters of different rock bands and filled with musical equipment. Your eyes land on Jungkook tuning his guitar in the back, not concerned with seeing your sketches like the rest of the band.

You watch as Cherry opens the sketchbook, and her eyes light up. Her mouth drops open as she flips through the pages, and her eyes widen with the guys’.

“Y-You drew these?” Hoseok asks dumbfounded, pointing at the book.

You nod brightly.

“Holy shit, Y/N! These are amazing!” Jimin exclaims.

“I knew you were talented, Y/N, but I didn’t think you were this good,” Cherry chuckles at the pages, shaking her head.

“They’re okay; I’m better at painting,” you blush at the compliments.

“No need to be humble, kid. These are way better than okay,” Yoongi says.

At Yoongi’s comment, you watch Jungkook walk over to the group, look over their shoulders at your drawings, glance at you, and then walk back over to continue tuning his guitar, all while his face remains impassive.

“Huh, you are like a little Picasso,” Namjoon says with a kind smile.

“Thank you,” you mutter shyly.

“I get why the dean was kissing your feet,” Hoseok says in awe, nodding.

“She didn’t kiss my feet,” you correct, shaking your head with knitted brows.

“He means why she praised your work,” Cherry explains.

“Oh... yeah. Mrs Baek is very nice,” you nod.

The guys all snicker, “Nice? Now that’s the first time I’ve heard that said about her,” Jimin tilts his head to the side with a slight shake.

“Well, the scholarship was nice of her,” you shrug.

They all look at you with faces of astonishment, and you give them the same look in return.

“What?” you ask, eyes wide.

“You got the dean’s scholarship?” Cherry asks, amazed.

“Yeah… is that bad?” you ask, worried at everyone’s shocked expressions.

“Man, we hit the jackpot!” Seokjin laughs with a clap of his hands.

“Getting a scholarship at Borahae, especially in Visual Arts, is very impressive, Barbs,” Cherry says as she comes and sits beside you, handing you back your sketchbook.

“You are very talented, Shortstack. Army of Bombs is honoured to have you design our logo; I’m sure you’ll make us proud,” Taehyung winks.

“I’ll do my bestest!” you declare with a determined nod but then pause before continuing, “On one condition, though,” you say, holding up your index finger.

Their eyes fill with apprehension, “What is it?” Yoongi asks.

“Remember to thank Y/N with $1 million when you become rich and famous,” you smile brightly.

They all chuckle at your cuteness when an irritated voice interrupts.

“Are we rehearsing today or not; because I have other places I could be,” Jungkook says in exasperation.

The boys roll their eyes and then move to take their positions. Seokjin sits beside you and nudges your shoulder with his; you turn to look at him.

“Thank you for helping us; we seriously appreciate it,” he says, shifting his eyes to the band. You follow his gaze to Jungkook. “All of us,” he finishes.

You look back at Seokjin, “I’m happy to do it,” you reply with a soft smile.

Cherry puts an arm around you, pulls you into her side, and gives you a little squeeze. You rest your head on her shoulder as the band begins to play. The loud music you previously had only heard through the walls shakes the room. Your body vibrates, and your ears ring as a sentimental smile forms on your lips at the nostalgia.

☾☀︎

It has been two weeks since you started attending the band’s rehearsals, and Jungkook still has not said a single word to you. He barely even looks at you, but when he does, it is brief, as if he is looking right through you.

The rest of the band seems to have accepted you into their circle quite warmly, even Yoongi, who isn’t very expressive; however, Jungkook remains cold and distant. You refuse to believe someone so beautiful could be so closed off. You have never been a girl who gives up quickly, so you have become determined to get the boy to embrace you just as the rest have — maybe even more. You can’t ignore the attraction you feel for him, not just physically, but it seems something deeper is compelling you to him.

Sitting in your newly designated spot on the sofa, Jungkook approaches you, and you perk up at the hope that this is the breakthrough you have been waiting for. But to your disappointment, as usual, your presence is dismissed as though you don’t exist; he reaches to the side table next to the sofa and picks up a water bottle. You stare at him as he chugs the liquid, watching his Adam’s apple bob and the sweat trickle down his neck.

He is captivating and handsome no matter what he does, even with the moody, intimidating aura around him.

Your eyes flicker down his body, and his arm catches your eye. As this is the first time you have seen him without a jacket on, you have never gotten to admire how his right arm, from his fingers going all the way up, is fully decorated with intricate ink designs.

This time, your gawking must be too much for Jungkook because only a second later, he sets his gaze on you.

“What?” he snaps.

You lift your eyes to his own, “What?” you blink.

The roll of his eyes is something you’re familiar with now, so you don’t take it to heart.

He sighs, closes his eyes, and exhales slowly through his nose as if calming himself, “You’re staring.”

You nod, “I am. I always do. You’re so pretty,” you say as if it’s obvious, gazing into his eyes.

You smile when his eyes meet yours. He turns his head to the side, looking away from you and clears his throat.

“You’re staring more than usual,” he states.

You seize the opportunity and jump off the sofa to his side; he flinches slightly at your suddenness.

“I was looking at your tattoos; I never noticed them. I like them! They are almost as pretty as you,” you take hold of his arm to examine the designs.

Jungkook rips his arm out of your grasp like your touch burns his skin. You don’t let his movement stop you, carrying on.

“They must have been painful. You are so brave to have done that,” you point at Jungkook’s arm, smiling in awe.

“They’re tattoos, not battle scars,” he grumbles, his tone grim.

“You’re so funny, Jungkookie,” you giggle.

His head whips, his jaw clenched, and he steps forward, towering over you.

“Don’t call me that,” his teeth gritted, his voice low, almost a growl.

Jungkook’s eyes flash dangerously, throwing a look meant to be a warning, but it completely unfazed you.

“Why don’t you like it? I think it fits you perfectly; your eyes are like big chocolate chips,” you tiptoe to peer into his eyes, not paying attention to how close your faces are to each other.

Jungkook stares back silently, then he leans back, looks to the side, blinks, clears his throat again, and pushes you back by your shoulders.

You turn your head to his big hand on your shoulder and blush; his touch is warm and not too forceful, just enough to create a suitable distance between you.

Then he tilts his head, “Are you always so annoying?” he sighs.

“I don’t think I’m annoying,” you say nonchalantly with a shrug yet pouting.

Jungkook only shakes his head, blinking once again before he walks away with a quiet curse escaping his lips.

☾☀︎

You waltz into the garage, no longer hesitant; it has become a place of comfort for you.

“Hi!” you announce your arrival and are greeted with hellos from those present. Your eyes shift, and you notice that a few members are missing, most notably the man of your dreams.

“Where’s Jungkookie?” you ask, not bothering to name the others absent.

Namjoon picks up on this but doesn’t mention it. He chuckles as he replies, “JK, Tae, and Jimin are on their way; they should be here soon.”

You nod, relaxing slightly; your eyebrows unfurrow, and your shoulders ease.

You settle beside Cherry on the sofa in your spot, pull out your sketchbook from your tote bag and open it to see the rough drawings you have made for the Army of Bombs logo. The book now has several pages of draft illustrations that you hope will lead you to the final design. You also pull out a new lollipop, unwrap it, and pop it into your mouth, humming in satisfaction.

“What flavour is it today?” she grins and nods towards your candy.

You pull out the red sweet and point it towards her with a wink, “Cherry,” you giggle.

“Ah! The superior flavour, as expected, great taste, Barbs,” she says, shooting a finger gun at you.

“Bubble gum is the greatest flavour, actually, but cherry is a very close second,” you correct jokingly.

You hear gravel crunching, and then Jungkook and the other boys enter the garage. His figure almost glowing as you watch him walk in.

“Sup,” Jungkook says, greeting the guys and doing that dap-hug guys do.

“Hi, Jungkookie!” you wave enthusiastically.

You don’t see how Cherry raises a brow at him, knowing his habit of ignoring you. He sighs and turns to you reluctantly.

“Hi,” his voice curt. The second the word is out of his mouth, he turns away, but you beam at the attention.

“Hey, Shortstack.”

Taehyung walks over and hugs you, patting your head.

“Hi, Taetae, where were you guys?”

“We were at the venue for our upcoming gig, just checking some last-minute stuff. Why did you miss us?” Taehyung pinches your cheek.

You nod, although you missed one of them more than the rest. Taehyung chortles, patting your head again with fond eyes.

“Sorry, Shorty. We had to take care of business,” Jimin taps your chin.

“Bold of you to call her Shorty,” Cherry quips, eyes darting up and down Jimin’s body.

“Haha. Funny,” Jimin laughs mockingly, “Why don’t you tell that joke to your boyfriend?”

“Touche, Park,” Cherry narrows her eyes at the mention of her equally short boyfriend.

Although, the whole band still towers over you.

“Why am I getting caught in the crossfire? I’ve been silent,” Yoongi comments.

Cherry waves him off, “Barbs, you should come to the show,” she taps your knee lightly.

Jungkook, whose back is facing you, winces at the invitation. The idea of you coming to their show already agitating him.

“Yeah, Y/N! You have to see us at our full effect!” Hoseok agrees.

“Really? That would be so cool!” you smile, bouncing in your seat.

“She has already been sitting in on all our rehearsals; is it necessary for her to come to our gigs?” Jungkook counters.

“Rehearsals and live shows are completely different,” Namjoon replies, “You have to come and see us to get the total Army of Bombs experience,” he adds, speaking to you.

“It’s not real rock and roll if you don’t have a crowd cheering you on, it’d be great to have you there,” Taehyung says.

“And it’d be great to have someone else to keep me company; Seokjin doesn’t cut it,” Cherry pouts to you.

“Now I’m catching strays,” Seokjin whispers to Yoongi.

“So you’ll come?” Cherry’s eyes are hopeful.

“I’ll come!”

And Jungkook grits his teeth at your answer.

☾☀︎

You’re in your bedroom with Cherry, and the both of you are getting ready to go to the guys’ show. They are playing at a bar known for having live performances—The Golden Bottle. It usually attracts a large crowd, but an even larger turnout tonight is expected since Army of Bombs is well-known in town.

Cherry had picked out your outfit: a hot pink latex strapless mini-dress paired with silver chunky platform heels. It’s still you—as Cherry had put it— “with just a little edge”. Since she picked your outfit, you’re doing her makeup in trade.

“When you told your parents you’re going to see a rock show, did they freak out?” Cherry asks as you apply her eyeshadow.

“No, my mom thought it sounded like fun! Plus, she knows you’re my friend, so she trusts me to go with you,” you tell her.

”What about your dad? You seem like you’d be a daddy’s girl?”

Your hand freezes as you move to pick up the blush brush, but you gather yourself quickly, hoping Cherry doesn’t see your falter.

“Um, my dad isn’t around,” you say, phrasing your words carefully.

“Hey, I understand. My parents are divorced too,” Cherry waves her hand at you, “My dad lives in a different city; I barely talk to him, let alone see him.”

“Oh, no, that’s not... I-I mean, that’s sad too... but,” you stammer over your words, “My dad, he, um, he passed away,” you finally get out.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Y/N—” she begins, her eyes widening with a face of guilt.

“You don’t have to apologize; you didn’t know,” you cut her off, offering her a reassuring smile.

“How long ago? W-wait, oh god, I’m being insensitive, aren’t I? That’s insensitive. I didn’t mean to—” she starts nervously babbling.

“You’re not, Cher,” you let out an airy laugh, “It’s been a little over a year and a half. It was a car accident,” you tell her, knowing she probably wanted to ask but was already feeling remorseful.

”So it’s just me and my mom now,” you say, dabbing the blush brush into the powder.    

Cherry’s sad eyes look down as she fiddles with her fingers in her lap, not knowing what to say. You begin applying the peach powder on the apples of her cheeks.

“But you were right,” you break the silence. “I am a daddy’s girl, but he also would have thought it was super cool that I was going to a rock show.” You smile fondly at the thought.

Cherry smiles, and her body is no longer tense. She gets a view of her reflection in your vanity mirror and gasps.

“Oh my gosh, look at me! If they made a punk rock Barbie, it’d look like me,” Cherry laughs.

”Hey, no fair. You weren’t supposed to see yet,” you fake pout, “I still have to do my finishing touches.”

You twist open a tube of lip gloss and apply it to Cherry’s lips. Your tongue sticks out slightly as you focus, and Cherry pokes at it with her finger, causing you both to giggle.

“Okay! All done,” you back up, admiring your work, “I have finished my new masterpiece. You were pretty before, but now you’re pretty with sparkly eyelids,” you smile proudly.

Cherry gets up and hooks your arms together, dragging you to the full-length mirror to check out your final looks. She is wearing a black leather mini-dress that fits her like a second skin; she looks phenomenal.

“Damn, we look hot!” she exclaims, “Wait till the crowd gets a look at us. I bet the whole audience won’t even be watching the band play; they’ll be too focused on us,” she jokes.

“I hope Jungkookie thinks I look good,” you giggle as you fix some strands of your hair.

“Barbs,” Cherry’s voice now a bit cautious, “You don’t like Jungkook for real, right? Like, have feelings for him?”

“I do,” you nod, your eyes brightening, “Why is something wrong? Does he have a girlfriend already?” you question, worried.

“No, he doesn’t,” she shakes her head.

Your shoulders relax at her answer.

“But,” she continues, “I don’t think Jungkook is the best fit for you,” she rushes to explain when she sees you frown.

“He’s my friend, don’t get me wrong. I get it if you have a crush on him; he’s a good-looking guy. I just don’t think,” she pauses to think over her words, “You’re such a sweet girl, but Jungkook isn’t the type of guy to commit. And when it comes to girls, he isn’t the nicest, and I don’t want you to take him not liking you back personally.”

“He doesn’t have to like me back; me liking him is enough for me,” you shrug and give her a grin. “I think he’s the most handsome guy ever, and I want to get close to him.”

“He doesn’t open up that easily, so don’t take him not being the most caring to heart. He doesn’t consider others where feelings are concerned. You’re my friend, too, and I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

You pull Cherry into a hug, and she rubs your back. When you pull away, you smile.

“Don’t worry about me, Cherry. I like being around him; there’s no harm in that. I won’t get hurt.”

She nods, “Okay, but still, just be careful, alright?”

You nod, and she sighs, “Then, with that, let’s get going, Barbs. Yoongi will have my head if we’re late.”

☾☀︎

You and Cherry enter the bar arm-in-arm, and the smell of sweat, alcohol, and smoke hits you. The aged dark wood reveals how old this dingy bar is. It maintains its historical familiarity, but a few newer elements show the renovations made to keep the place relevant for younger patrons.

The venue is full of people, bustling with life when you arrive. The two of you push through the packed crowd to the front of the stage, with Cherry leading. You navigate through the crowd with relative ease, thanks to her aggressive elbowing, while your eyes wander all over, scanning the mass of people, all about to see Army of Bombs perform.

“There are so many people, it’s like they’re celebrities,” you lean over, speaking directly into Cherry’s ear due to the noise of the patrons, the soft clinking of glasses, loud drunken chatter, others laughing boisterously in their groups.

“In this town, they are. Almost everyone knows of them or at least has seen them play before,” Cherry tells you, leaning in as well.

The lights overhead dim, and then the crowd erupts out into cheers. You can feel the energy pulsing through the air. You and Cherry stand pressed close together, shoulders touching as she keeps a secure arm around you to keep together amongst the upcoming chaos. You can see the silhouettes of the band as they take their positions. You find Jungkook’s figure right away. The stage lights turn on as Jimin takes the mic, and the feedback rings through the speakers.

“What’s up, everyone? We are Army of Bombs! Hope you’re ready to rock out!” he yells before turning and nodding to Namjoon.

Namjoon does the count-off, and the set begins with the last hit of his sticks. Jungkook plays the opening note to the first song, followed by Jimin’s voice as the rest of the band joins in.

The bar’s atmosphere becomes electric with the music, the audience’s screams, the many devil’s horns raised in the air, and the headbanging. The guys are performing their all, but your eyes remain on Jungkook: how fast his fingers move on his guitar strings during his solos, how his melodic voice resounds as he sings backup, and how his body glides around on stage in tune with the melody so effortlessly. The lights shine down, glistening as sweat accumulates on him, and you’ve never seen someone look so angelic and sinful all at once.

You and Cherry get lost in the music, jumping up and down while you sing along to songs that you have now memorized. All too soon, the last notes of the final song of the set fade, and the crowd roars, chanting the band’s name.

The guys all come to the edge of the stage out of breath, bowing and sending out waves and winks to the audience, basking in the glory. Jungkook pushes back his sweat-dampened hair, chest heaving as his eyes sweep the crowd; they find you.

His gaze lingers on you longer than usual, and you swear everything else fades; you two are the only people in the room as your eyes lock. The world moves in slow motion. You get tunnel vision; he is all you can see, and all the screams become white noise. You can hear your heartbeat in your ears and feel your blood rushing through your veins. But then the spell breaks, and he’s walking off the stage with the rest of the band.

You feel a tap on your shoulder and spin around, spotting Seokjin standing behind you and Cherry.

“Hey, Shoulders,” you wave.

“Hey, I had to make sure the VIPs of our fan club attended the after-party. I’m heading backstage to meet the guys; I gotta talk to the bar manager, but we’ll be at the lounge afterwards, so meet us there,” Seokjin points his thumb over his shoulder behind him.

“Okay, see you guys there,” Cherry nods.

Seokjin walks through the mass of people and disappears, heading backstage. Once he’s gone, Cherry grabs your hand and leans in to speak to you.

“Let’s go touch up our makeup first,” she says, and you nod. You let her lead the way to the restrooms, holding your hand.

☾☀︎

With the time it takes the two of you to wait in line for the restroom, freshen up your makeup, and elbow your way to the lounge, the guys are already there.

When you approach the entrance to the lounge, a security guard is blocking it. Cherry yells over his shoulder to get Yoongi’s attention. When he sees you two, he walks over and pats the security on the back, telling him to let you two in.

Cherry wraps her arms around Yoongi’s neck, kissing him on the lips and complimenting him on how much of a good show it was, and you think you see a blush form on his cheeks. You smile at their interaction and decide to give them a moment alone.

You look around, hoping to spot Jungkook, but there are too many people in the lounge to get a view of everybody. You spot Namjoon standing in a corner talking to some people, so you go to him.

He shifts his head while in conversation, and once he notices you approaching, he smiles and hugs you.

“Great show, Joonbug!” you speak loudly over the music playing.

“Thanks, I’m glad you made it. I told you it was way different than rehearsals, didn’t I,” Namjoon nudges your elbow with his.

”It was insane; it was like you guys were different people. I felt like I didn’t know you at all,” you laugh, and he does as well.

“Well, I’m glad you enjoyed yourself. Invitation is always open to our shows; you’re more than welcome to them.”

“I will! I got told I am a VIP of your fan club, so I can’t disappoint,” you wink, “By the way, where’s everyone else? I want to congratulate them on the show,” you swivel your head around; finally asking the question that you have been itching to ask.

You follow the direction he points to with the neck of his beer bottle and see the rest of the band sitting on the couches surrounded by people, primarily women. You try to mask the frown that threatens to take over your face when you notice Jungkook sitting between two girls, his arm resting on the back of the couch as the girl on his right leans into his side.

Ignoring the twist of your stomach, you saunter over to the couches with your head held high. When you are close enough, Jungkook’s eyes flicker in your direction absentmindedly, and just as he glances away, he does a subtle double take once he registers it’s you approaching. He gives you a discreet up and down as you walk closer.  

Hoseok notices you, already seeming to be a bit tipsy; his arms shoot up like he just shot a goal.

“You made it!” he smiles, his voice booming.

You wave nervously as everyone’s attention lands on you, but your face flushes from having Jungkook in front of you. Jimin and Taehyung give you a much more blatant scan of your body up and down with approving smirks on their face.

Taehyung rests his drink on the glass table in front of the couch and gets up to give you a tight hug. When he lets go, his hands run down your arm, squeezing your hand as he steps back to glance over your outfit again.

“My, my. Shortstack, don’t you look extra lovely tonight,” he says.

“Lovely? She looks fucking hot!” Cherry appears beside you, wrapping an arm around you in a side hug, causing Taehyung’s hand to let go.

“I was going to be gentlemanly with my words, but yeah, you look fucking incredible, Shorty,” Jimin shoots you a wink, raising his bottle.  

“Thank you,” you smile bashfully.

“Speaking of incredible, the performance was fantastic! You all looked so so so cool, you sounded so so so good, and—and everything was just amazing!” you beam, bouncing in place.

“You know how to boost a man’s ego, Y/N,” Hoseok chuckles.

You continue brightly, speaking to Jungkook, “Your guitar playing was really, really awesome, Jungkookie!”

Jungkook raises his brows and stretches his mouth in a tight line, his dimples emerging even though he does not smile.

“Wow, Y/N, I’m sad. You’re just going to ignore your cheer captain without even saying hi?” a voice makes you turn your head.

You failed to catch that the girl sitting to the right of Jungkook was none other than Jess, and with a quick scan, you soon see Mei sitting on his left and Kat sitting next to Jimin. A frown threatens to break out on your face for the second time when you see Jungkook’s arm resting on the backrest behind her. Somehow, it bugs you more now that you know the girl.

You compose yourself, keeping your voice bright, “Oh, Jess, I’m sorry I didn’t know it was you. Hi!”

“I didn’t think I would run into you here. I didn’t know this was your kind of scene,” Jess says, eyes raking over you in a judgemental manner you don’t pick up on.

But Cherry instantly does, and alarm bells go off as she carefully observes Jess’s behaviour. Jungkook sits silently and watches your interaction.

“They invited me to the show; they’re my friends,” you smile as you gesture to the guys.

“Friends, huh?” Jess turns to Jungkook, tilting her head with a fake pout and laying a hand on his chest, “Where was my invite? I thought we were friends?”

Jungkook shrugs in response, taking a sip of his drink. Your breath hitches at their contact, but you keep calm.

Cherry pulls you to sit down with her, and you find yourself sitting directly in front of Jungkook.

“Y/N is designing our band logo for us since she is an art genius,” Jimin says to Jess and motions to you.

“Ah! So you’re working for them,” Jess nods to herself as if she finally understands the situation.

Cherry narrows her eyes but grins as she speaks, “More like she’s a friend helping out; she’s doing the band a huge favour.”

“Well, AoB is the hottest band in town,” Jess rubs a hand along Jungkook’s thigh with her eyes fixed on him.

Your heart clenches. For one, because Jungkook accepts Jess’s touch and welcomes it—something he doesn’t do with you. Also, because she’s pretty, and a pretty boy like Jungkook belongs with a pretty girl like her.

She continues looking at you with a smile.“So I hope you’re able to design something worthy.”

“I hope so too!” you answer warm and cheerfully, oblivious.

“She will,” Cherry says curtly to Jess before switching her attention to Seokjin, “So what did you talk to the manager about?”

“Oh, right!” he claps, remembering his previous conversation. “He was so impressed with the response we received from the crowd that he offered us a full weekend gig! Friday to Sunday, baby!” he hollers.

The band also celebrates, with high fives going all around. You even catch a hint of a smile on Jungkook’s face.

“Fuck yeah!” Jimin fist pumps.

“What are we celebrating?” Namjoon asks as he and Yoongi join the group. He sits beside you, and Yoongi sits beside Cherry.

“We got offered a full weekend gig here,” Hoseok informs them.

“Man, that’s great! Y/N must have brought us good luck,” Namjoon punches your knee lightly.

“Or the manager must have finally caught up with the rest of town and realized how talented you guys are,” Mei says, fluttering her eyelashes.

Seokjin bypasses her comment, “It’s not for another month, and I’m not trying to rush anyone,” he glances at you, “But it would be a perfect time for us to unveil our logo.”

“That would be sick! Do you think you could finish it by then, Shortstack?”

Feeling put on the spot with everyone’s hopeful eyes on you, you stutter, “U-um, I—”

“Don’t pressure her, you nimrod. Art takes time; she’s not a machine,” Cherry chides him.

“It was just a question,” Taehyung defends with his hands raised.

“A stupid question,” Cherry disputes.

Namjoon leans over to you as they bicker, “There’s no pressure, seriously,” his voice soft. He nudges your knee gently with his.

You look at him and nod with a grateful smile.

“Have you designed a logo before, Y/N?” Jess asks.

“No, this is my first one. I’m so excited to do it.”

“Are you sure you can do it? I’m sure you’re good, but a rock band logo isn’t the same style as painting flowers and trees, right?”

This time, her words sting. It’s a common occurrence—people doubting your art. You don’t let it get to you; you know what you’ve done and what you can do. You don’t have to prove your talents to anyone; your work speaks for itself.

“It is, but I am good. I can do it,” you shrug with an assured tone.

“Enough about the logo. You guys are playing a full weekend; I’ve never heard of a band booking three nights in a row here,” Cherry enthusiastically changes topics.

“I know. The manager said he couldn’t remember the last time he booked the same act for an entire weekend, but the crowd’s reaction blew him away,” Seokjin matches Cherry’s enthusiasm.

“We should write a new song and debut it on our first night, create some extra buzz. What do you say, JK? Up to working on one?” Yoongi says, asking the member who has been silent so far.

Jungkook nods, “I have a few different scores I’ve been working on; I recorded some of them already. I’ll send them to you.”  

Yoongi nods in reply. You’re awestruck by this revelation; it shows on your face and tone of voice.

“You can write scores?”

His eyes shift to you, and he nods as his hands fiddle with the rings on his fingers. Your eyes stay locked on each other until Jess’s voice cuts in.

“He’s a musician; obviously, he can write,” she sneers, with Mei and Kat snickering.

Cherry, fed up, is about to clap back, and her mouth opens, but you speak before she can.

“A lot of musicians don’t know how to write or read music,” You lift your fingers and count, “Jimi Hendrix, Slash, Eddie Van Halen, all of The Beatles, some of the greatest guitarists in rock and none of them could write or read scores. So it’s impressive that he can do both.”

Cherry looks at you with proud eyes, and the guys look at you taken aback. Even Jungkook looks at you with raised brows and wide eyes, although his face is still emotionless.

You fail to see how Jungkook hides his smirk when he raises his beer to take a sip and how his arm no longer rests behind Jess.

You bat your eyelashes, chuckle, and add, “But what am I saying? I’m sure you already know playing an instrument isn’t the same as writing scores, right? Since this is more your scene than mine.”

“Exactly, I meant he’s a trained musician, so of course he knows how to do both,” Jess tries to save face, her eyes shifting in embarrassment, “No need to get all defensive, Y/N.”

“Y-Yeah, Jess knows all about rock,” Kat says. Mei nods in agreement.

Cherry scoffs audibly and grabs your wrist, “Let’s go get drinks before I say something I won’t regret and hurt some feelings,” she glares at the three cheerleaders.

She gets up and pulls you with her. When you both reach the bar, she huffs, rolling her eyes, “Can you believe them? What bitches! The nerve! I’m usually a girl’s girl, but—ugh! I hate girls like them, acting all high and mighty when all they are are a bunch of desperate groupies. I was so fucking close to giving her a piece of my mind.”

She glances at you and smirks, “But I didn’t have to, huh? I didn’t know you had it in you. You sure are full of surprises, Barbs. Where did all of that come from?”

“Me? What did I do?”

“Oh, don’t give me that! I know you were giving her a taste of her own medicine. You kept your innocent demeanour but were quick with your comeback about guitarists. How do you even know all that anyway?”

“It’s just something I know,” you say casually with a shrug, hoping to bypass the topic.

Luckily, the bartender comes over before Cherry can say anything else. She tells him her drink order and looks over at you, to which you shake your head, not wanting to drink tonight. When the bartender walks away to make her mojito, she leans in to speak to you.

“I have to pee,” Cherry says as she looks towards the restrooms. “Can you grab my drink and wait for me here?”

You nod and give her a thumbs up, not bothering to give a vocal response over the music. She returns the gesture and manoeuvres through the sea of people.

You puff out your cheeks as you wait, tapping your fingers on the glass bar while staring at the shelves of alcohol bottles on the wall behind the counter illuminated by red and blue lights.

When you feel a hand on your lower back, you turn with a small smile, stunned at how quickly Cherry peed, but instead of your vibrant-haired friend, you face a sweaty, tipsy, dishevelled man.

The man is drenched in sweat but not in a soft glow from dancing. His face is dripping, several beads streaming down. The dark stains on his shirt sticking to his skin are apparent even in the low lighting.

His presence instantly fills you with worry. You step away, sure not to be within arm’s reach of him. He stands in front of you with a greasy smirk; although he is standing in place, his body sways due to intoxication.  

“Hey,” he says over the music, voice a bit louder than necessary.

“Hi,” you reply, leaning over the counter to get a glimpse of the bartender.

The tipsy stranger ducks his head into your view, blocking your line of sight of the bartender. You try to suppress a cringe when the stench of perspiration and booze hits you, burying your nostrils.

“What’s a pretty girl like you doing at a place like this? Get lost on your way to an Ariana Grande concert,” he laughs at his lame joke.

“I’m here with friends,” you say, hoping he will leave you alone if you mention you are with people.

It does nothing of the sort, and his smirk widens, “Hmm, with friends, so not with a boyfriend?” he asks, his speech slurred.

“Um—”

He interrupts, stepping towards you, invading your space again, “If I were your boyfriend, I would never let you out of my sight. A sexy woman like you should never be left alone.”

His bloodshot, predatory eyes and creepy attempt at flirting were making you extra uncomfortable; drunk guys and rejection often led to anger, and you did not want this guy to become aggressive with you.

“I-I’m not alone; my friend will be back soon,” you glance over your shoulder, pointing to the restrooms. “Uh, so—”

“I’ll keep you company then. It’s not safe for a gorgeous girl like you here,” he licks his lips and coats them sloppily with his saliva, taking a step closer to you. He leans in, his wet lips disgustingly brushing the shell of your ear, “There are plenty of bad men just waiting to get their hands on a sweet thing like you.”

With the crowd surrounding you, you cannot back away from him. As a sense of panic begins to form in the pit of your stomach, you internally scold yourself for not walking away from this guy the second he approached you.

You try to muster your refusal, but the lump in your throat makes it hard to speak, “I don’t—No, I don’t want—”

You feel physically ill. Your breathing starts to pick up, and your palms turn clammy as they raise to push at the creep’s chest to create even the smallest distance between you two.

Suddenly, the drunk creep is yanked back by the back of his shirt, sending him stumbling back into the people behind him. He barely manages to catch himself with a hand on the bar.

A gasp leaves you, but despite the slight chaos, so does your panic. The man’s red, glassy eyes widen and match yours in shock. Your body stiffens. Slowly, you both turn your heads towards the source, your heartbeat pounding. Your eyes remain the same while his eyes narrow into slits filled with irritation as your sights land on your saviour. And as much as it adds to your shock, instant relief takes over your body, and you visibly relax as you release a breath.

“Everything okay here?”

Jungkook stands beside you, his stance intimidating. Towering with his hands in his front pockets, he shows no sign of agitation, but his stern calmness and his strong physique show he is not to be messed with.

“Are you out of your fucking mind? What’s your problem?” the drunkard spits out, too intoxicated to recognize this is one of the guys he just watched perform.

“You good?” he asks, focused on you, completely ignoring the man.

“We were just having some friendly conversation, right, doll?” the persistent creep slurs his interjections, sending you a wink.

“I didn’t ask you,” Jungkook retorts sharply.

“We were just talking, bro. Ease up,” the man tries to defuse the tense encounter he has got himself in.

“Were you guys talking?” Jungkook looks down at you, waiting for your answer.

You look at him with big, uneasy eyes and shake your head.

Jungkook steps in front of you, blocking your view of your harasser. His firm body acts as a shield. You feel so small standing behind him but have never felt more protected, more safe.

Jungkook narrows his eyes in a glare with his chest puffed out, “Looks like now you’re done talking; conversation over. Bro.”

With way too much pride and ignorance, in an attempt to get in Jungkook’s face, the drunk takes a step forward, but instead of standing nose to nose, the men stand nose to chin.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” the creep sneers.

But Jungkook doesn’t move. He doesn’t budge.

Jungkook tilts his head, the corner of his mouth twitching into a smirk. He almost looks amused, but there is nothing funny about the way he lets out a snicker through his nose and bends slightly, burning gaze staring the man dead in the eye to say,

“The guy telling you to fuck off.”

There are about three seconds of them having a stare-down. Jungkook is unrelenting, his confident yet harsh stance unmoving.

The drunkard cracks under the unnerving pressure, and his alcohol-induced cockiness falters. Accepting the evident disparity between the two and becoming reconciled to the physical disadvantage he is at, the drunk finally gives up. With a parting huff, he mutters one last expletive and stumbles away.

You are still left with some remaining shock, partly from that whole interaction and also partly from Jungkook coming to your rescue. Relief could barely settle in your chest before it’s ripped away.

“Thank you, Jungk—”

Jungkook turns around, runs his tatted fingers through his hair, and his eyes settle on you, annoyed.

Your breath hitches, your entire body frozen in place. Jungkook had just jumped in and rescued you from a drunken creep. Yet, there isn’t a single ounce of sympathy in his expression—only irritation. It feels as though you have caused him an inconvenience. Gone is the protective man who was an impenetrable defender. Now stands an uncaring, vexed man.

He clicks his tongue.

“If you can’t hold your own, you shouldn’t come to places like this,” he gestures around vaguely, unimpressed.

“I-I’m sorry, I—”

“Everything’s not all sunshine and rainbows all the time. There isn’t always gonna be someone around to babysit you and come to your defence.”

You are stunned in silence, not expecting to be reprimanded for being cornered by some intoxicated jerk and saddened that this is the most Jungkook has ever spoken to you.

“What? You’re constantly running your mouth and suddenly have nothing to say. Where did all that insufferable boldness go?” he scoffs, continuing, “I mean, you’re a chick at a bar; you didn’t expect some tipsy guy to make a pass at you? You seriously can’t be that naive, Y/N.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, forcing yourself not to cry. Not here. Not in front of Jungkook.

For the first time since meeting him, Jungkook’s gaze is unwanted. You wish his attention were on someone else as you hang your head in shame and embarrassment.

It stings that this is the most you’ve ever heard him speak and the most emotion you’ve ever seen him express, but it’s nothing like what you’ve dreamt of; it’s all negative. It’s hurtful.

That familiar feeling surges back within you: being berated, talked down to, made to feel small.

Overwhelmed by everything that has happened—Jess, the drunk creep, and now Jungkook—all these confrontations are beginning to take a toll on you. You feel your throat tighten, and your breathing picks up once again.

“I d-didn’t—”

“I’m back! Sorry, that line was killer. I swear I was about to piss myself,” Cherry returns. Surprise on her face at seeing Jungkook with you, she quickly looks between you two, sensing the tension and scanning your face; she gently touches your upper arm, “Hey, you okay?”

Still avoiding looking at Jungkook, you sheepishly give Cherry a nod and a tight smile. Jungkook’s gaze drags a quick once-over, a slow run of his tongue over his lip rings, and a sniff before he lets out a frustrated sigh.

“If you insist on bringing her here, watch after your friend.”

Jungkook walks away, and from your peripheral vision, you see the same broad back that was protecting you minutes ago disappear into the crowd.

“What the hell is his problem?” Cherry says as she watches him walk away. “Did something happen? Was he mean to you? I’ll kick his ass if he was an ass to you.”

With a hand still on your upper arm, she uses her other to point in the direction Jungkook walked off to and is already taking a step forward to go after him.

You frantically shake your head, pulling her back by her wrist.

“No, no, he helped me. There, um, there was this creepy guy who was drunk and was bothering me. Jungkookie made him leave me alone.”

Cherry doesn’t hide the astonishment on her face; her eyebrows shoot up so high that if they go any higher, they will touch her hairline.

“Jungkook? He helped you?” she asks in disbelief.

You find her reaction interesting; Jungkook is standoffish, but was it so shocking that he would help someone in need? Even someone as aloof as him would swoop in when they see a damsel in distress and save them, so it shouldn’t be such a shock to his good friend. Right?

Or was this really out of the norm for Jungkook? And if so, why did he save you?

You nod.

“Oh…” Cherry glances in the direction Jungkook went, and after coming out of whatever thoughts were running through her mind, she turns back to you in worry, “Well, what about you? Are you sure you’re alright? He didn’t do anything to you, did he?”

“No, I’m okay. The guy got a bit too close, but Jungkookie showed up before he could do anything,” you reassure her, putting on the best smile you can muster right now.

Her eyes flicker over your face, assessing your expression to be sure you’re telling the truth, and she takes your word with a worried nod. She pulls you into a hug as she sighs in relief.

“Okay, good. I’m glad someone was here to help you. I would have hated myself if my bladder had created the opening for some drunk creep to get to you,” Cherry shudders at the thought, “That fucker, though! What’s with tonight? I’m so sorry, Barbs. I did not want your first AoB show to turn out like this.”

“Don’t feel bad about it, Cher. I’m honestly okay,” you squeeze her hand and gesture around at the bar, “And no offence, but I didn’t expect this place to be crawling with prince charmings,” you giggle, attempting to lighten the mood regarding how the night went.

Cherry also glances around and giggles, “Fair, and hey, I mean, I did say we look hot. I should have been on high alert for creeps. Hotties like us always have to be on the radar for hopeless losers,” she rolls her eyes, smirking.

“I think Yoongs was keeping the losers at bay for you, you know, with his… face,” you wave a hand over your face and laugh.

“Yeah, gotta love my Yoongi the Grouch,” Cherry smiles fondly, her eyes twinkling at the topic of her boyfriend, “He’s like my own personal creep deflector. We should get back to him before we start attracting them,” Cherry grabs her mojito, the glass now covered in condensation.

“Do you mind if I go home? There has been a lot of excitement for me for one night. I’m still getting used to this rock and roll lifestyle.”

“Sure, let me finish this drink and tell Yoongi; then we can head out.”

“You don’t have to leave because of me. I can go on my own; I don’t want to ruin your night,” your words trail off as Cherry sends you a look.

“Barbs, I invited you. We came together, and we’re leaving together. I have been to enough shows; I know I’m not missing anything. Plus, I would never let you go alone at this time. Are you crazy? What kind of friend would I be?”

You smile, this one reaching your eyes. You have to blink back tears. Cherry’s friendship is unwavering; she is one of a kind.

With that, Cherry lifts her drink to her lips and chugs it down like it’s water, and you two are off to tell Yoongi that you’re heading out.

When you return to the lounge, subconsciously, your eyes find Jungkook. He’s back to sitting on the couch with Jess tucked into his side as if he never left that spot. You catch his eyes flicker over to you so briefly that you almost doubt it even happened.

Yoongi notices Cherry return without a drink and gives her a questioning look. She leans down slightly to speak to him.

“We’re going to go home now; tonight’s been a lot for Y/N,” Cherry tells him. Without Cherry even asking, Yoongi nods, downs the rest of his beer, and gets up to leave with the two of you.

“No way! You guys are going? You can’t leave yet!” Hoseok calls out.

Namjoon smirks at you, “Party too hard, Little Picasso?”

“I was right; this isn’t your scene after all, huh?” Jess remarks with that antagonizing smile you are becoming familiar with. Mei and Kat snickered at her remark.

“No, some drunk bastard was harassing her,” Cherry speaks for you.

That shuts Jess up quickly and catches the band’s attention. Jungkook sits up straighter as his body tenses. The rest of the guys focus on you, their faces now serious.

Jimin and Taehyung stand up, “Are you okay, Shortstack? Did he touch you?”

“I’m okay,” you smile, shaking your head lightly.

“Who was the son of a bitch? We’ll find him and take care of him,” Jimin says.

You wave your hands to stop them.

“It’s fine now. You guys don’t have to. It—He’s been taken care of,” you tell the guys to calm them down, your eyes going to Jungkook for a fraction of a second.

Jungkook, who is still avoiding looking your way, is biting on his lip rings—but otherwise seemingly totally removed from the conversation.

“I don’t want to cause trouble,” your voice is smaller than usual, but your eyes are as big as a scared puppy, and you can feel your face heat up again from all the unwanted attention you’re causing.

“We can’t let him get off scot-free, especially doing something like that on our night here and to one of our crew,” Namjoon remarks.

Being called part of their crew doesn’t go unnoticed by you, but you are too worried about them causing a ruckus because of you, especially after the whole Jungkook thing, his words still lingering in your head.

“There isn’t always gonna be someone around to babysit you and come to your defence.”

“She’s right; he’s been dealt with already,” Cherry says, her eyes locking on Jungkook, who meets her gaze, holding it for a moment, then continues, “I don’t think he’ll be a problem again. Y/N wants to get out of here, and I can’t blame her. I would want to call it a night, too.”

Reluctantly, the guys settle down, and Taehyung pulls you into a hug and cranes his neck to look at your face, “This didn’t scare you off from coming to our shows, right?”

“Y/N? Are you kidding? Nah, she just joined the fan club; I even made her a VIP. Of course not,” Seokjin says, winking and playfully ruffling your hair.

The drastic change of now being flooded with words and touches of comfort warms you and melts away the anxiousness.

“Yeah, I can’t give up my spot that quickly,” you laugh.

“Well, just to be sure, I’m promoting you to fan club president, so it’s mandatory to attend live shows,” Taehyung narrows his eyes and points at you.

“Yes, sir!” you bring your hand to your brow in a salute.

“Get some rest, Prez. We’ll see you at rehearsal,” Jimin bids you farewell, hugging you tight and kissing the top of your head.

Hoseok and Namjoon also hug you goodbye. While hugging Namjoon perched on your tiptoes, you glance at Jungkook over Namjoon’s shoulder.

Jungkook, with his typical impassive expression, has his arm back to resting on the backrest behind Jess. He faces her as she leans into him, whispering in his ear, her nails running up and down his thigh, her hand getting close to his crotch; you’re sure her fingers have grazed over it.

You tear your eyes away once you feel a hand pat your back, “Let’s get you home, kid,” Yoongi says gently.

You give him a soft nod and smile, turning to leave. With your back turned, you’re unaware of how Jungkook’s eyes trail after you. Jess, however, is very aware; she follows his gaze when she sees how uninterested he is in her flirty words and wandering hands.

You hear a voice call out.

“I’ll see you at practice Monday morning, Y/N,” Jess says with her phoney smile, her hand still inappropriately gripping Jungkook’s thigh.

You plaster on a smile that matches hers and seal it with a friendly wave.

“See you bright and early Monday, Captain!” you hesitate but decide to continue, “Bye, Jungkookie.”

Jungkook appears surprised by how his eyes widen slightly, his brows twitching, but you get no other kind of acknowledgement of your goodbye. Not a word, a wave, not even a nod.

You and Cherry tell the guys one last goodbye, and Yoongi gives them a nod before you three make your way to the exit and bring an end to this eventful night.

“I should’ve asked her what the guy looked like. I could’ve told the manager to keep an eye out for him,” Seokjin mentions after your departure.

“The girls made it sound like he won’t show his face around here anymore, but we can tell them to let us know if he does,” Namjoon says.

What you don’t know, what the guys don’t know, is that Jungkook did talk to the manager. He had him check the cameras and pointed out the guy. The drunkard is banned from the bar now.

☾☀︎

You are at cheerleading practice, doing some warmup stretches with Rina by your side. Today, the team is supposed to be running through a routine for an upcoming game; this will be your first performance since joining the team, and you are so excited to experience that rush again.  

You are helping Rina stretch, holding her leg down, when you see Jess and her minions walking across the field towards the team.

Jess jumps into business without greeting the team; she claps her hands twice and yells, “Okay, into your starting positions! You should all have this down by now; if not, don’t bother. I expect perfection.”

Practice ensues, and it’s not the smoothest. Some people make minor mistakes: a little stumble, timing a bit off, pose slightly mispositioned. But Jess watches them like a hawk, scrutinizing everyone’s performance or sending Mei or Kat to chastise them immediately if she doesn’t do it herself.

As the end of practice nears, the field erupts into mild chaos as the football team arrives, gathering for their practice. Their booming voices and boyish roughhousing practically take over the area. The quarterback, Mingyu, walks away from his team; the players are huddled at the side of the field by the bleachers while waiting their turn.

He approaches Jess, Mei, and Kat. He is still far from them when he calls, “Hey, Jess. Are you guys coming to the party tonight?”

You are performing the routine flawlessly, as you always do when Jess stops when she reaches you as she makes her rounds around the team.

There hasn’t been any mention of seeing each other that night at AoB’s show, so you thought Jess had moved past it. The little back and forth you two had was probably so minuscule in her whirlwind of a life that she must have forgotten about it already.

“Hey, Gyu, hmm, I don’t know. Jungkook and I were supposed to hang out tonight. Unless he’s going, too,” Jess turns to you, “Y/N, you’re friends with Jungkook and his band, right? Do you know if they’re going to the party?”

“I don’t know, they haven’t mentioned anything,” you shrug, “But if you already have plans with him, why would he go to a party? ” you ask, slightly out of breath.

Rina’s eyes widen beside you, and Mingyu laughs lightly with his head down. You are unaware and lost in your genuine curiosity when Mei interjects.

“Well, obviously, if he didn’t mention it, then he’s not going because he has plans with Jess,” she narrows her eyes at you.

“You can hang out at the party; it’s gonna be wild! You know how we Borahae Bears get down! You should still pull up. All of you,” Mingyu says loud enough for everyone to hear, motioning to the cheer team.

Mingyu speaks directly to you when he adds, “Tell Jungkook and the guys to come, you as well,” he smiles.

“Thanks! I’m going to their rehearsal later, so I’ll let them know,” you smile back at him.

“And if I talk to him first, I’ll tell him,” Jess adds.

“R-Right,” Mingyu nods stiffly, his eyes shifting between you and Jess.

“Well, I should go start getting ready for practice,” Mingyu points a thumb over his shoulder, “But I’ll hopefully see you all tonight,” he flashes a wink before turning around and jogging back to his team.

“A party sounds like a lot of fun!” you say to Rina with a big grin, softly clapping your hands.

With you not facing her, Jess narrows her eyes at you while clenching her hands into fists, yelling, “Practice is over!”

You flinch at the sound and see her spinning around and storming off the field with Mei and Kat running after her.

☾☀︎

Since the night at the bar, things haven’t changed regarding your interactions with Jungkook—or lack of interaction, you should say. You’ve been attending the band’s rehearsals as usual, and just as he was before, Jungkook ignores your entire existence. But of course, just as you were before, you don’t let that stop you.

Despite his harsh words, you can’t forget how he was like your knight in shining armour that night. After spending a month in his presence, he may not treat you like a friend or be as cordial as you would like, but he was there for you when you needed help. He stepped up without being asked and protected you. To you, that means something, so even if he continues to ignore you, you won’t ignore him.

Jungkook can keep up his cold, grumpy attitude, but you know, within him, there is a kind man. What he said to you may have been hurtful at the moment, but when you reflected on it in bed that night, his words sounded more like a lecture for your safety than an insult. And although he may disregard you, he has never really been rude to you despite your persistent efforts to get close to him.

So tonight, like every other time you’ve entered the garage, you say hello to all the guys present—including Jungkook.

“I’m here!” you sing, dragging out the words as you skip in, still in your cheer uniform and, of course, with a lollipop in your mouth. It’s watermelon flavour today. And once again, Mrs Lee didn’t let you pay; something about that being the last one of that flavour, so there was no point in charging you for it.

“Hey, Prez,” Jimin smiles as he looks you over, “Had practice today?”

“Mhm,” you nod, “Hey, Jungkookie!”

Jungkook keeps tuning his guitar without raising his head to spare you a glance. Taehyung, standing beside him, gives him a serious look, “Dude.”

Jungkook raises his head, “Hi,” lowers it and resumes tuning his guitar.

Taehyung rolls his eyes, swinging his bass around to hang behind him, “Hey, Shortstack, how was practice? Were you getting thrown around in the air today?”

“No, not today, Taetae,” you giggle, “But I did tumble a lot today; look how red my hands are!”

You pop your lollipop into your mouth and hold your palms up in his face, “I’m going to end up with ugly, rough hands like you guys,” your words mumble due to the candy as you pout with a slight grimace.

Taehyung grabs your wrists with a fond smile, then furrows his brows as he pretends to examine your hands, “Well, aren’t you one tough cookie.”

You smile—wait, cookie, cookie. Hmm, why does that remind you of something? Cookie? Cook? Jungkoo—Jungkookie! Right!

You gasp, startling the members; even Jungkook’s head shoots up. He watches you sceptically as you approach him.

“I almost forgot! Jungkookie, I’m supposed to tell you about the party.”

“What party?” Cherry jumps in, asking as she and the rest of the members walk through the door, entering the garage from inside.

She walks over and throws an arm around your shoulder as you answer, “The football leader told me to tell Jungkookie and the guys to come to his party. What did he say… teddy bear party?” You tap your chin, thinking.

“Football leader? Do you mean the captain, Mingyu? The Bears are having a party?” Namjoon asks with an amused grin.

“Mingyu! That’s his name!”

“Sometimes I forget you hang around those frat douches,” Cherry says.

“You know, I think I remember Jaehyun telling me about the Bears having a party at the frat house,” Jimin comments.

“Why would Mingyu tell you to tell JK about the party?” Hoseok asks.

“During practice, Jess asked me if you all were going, even though she has plans with Jungkookie tonight,” you point to Jungkook with your candy. He looks confused by what you’re saying, but you continue, “But I told her I didn’t know, so Mingyu said you all should go. He invited the cheer team, too!”

“You have plans with that bitch?” Cherry asks Jungkook.

“No,” Jungkook shakes his head, then juts it to you, “I don’t know what she’s going on about.”

“Jess said you’re hanging out with her tonight. You’re not?” you ask Jungkook, looking up with big, hopeful eyes.

He looks down at you, surprisingly meeting your gaze, “No, I’m not,” he sighs.

You release a breath and can’t hold back the smile on your face, “Oh... okay,” you break eye contact, looking down at your feet as you blush. His stare and words take over you; you honestly didn’t expect a direct response from him.

Cherry squeezes your shoulder, “You seriously wanna go to this party?”

“Yeah, I have to! My friend on the team is going, and I told her I would go,” you see the look of reluctance on Cherry’s face.

“Pretty, pretty please! The muscle bear said it would be fun,” you add, attempting to convince her.

“Wait, did I hear you say the cheer team is going? Like the whole team? As in multiple cheerleaders at one party?” Jimin asks you.

You nod.

And Jimin turns to the band with a firm nod and says,

“We are going to this party.“

☾☀︎

The frat house comes into view, music already pumping through the walls. You can hear the music as you walk up the porch steps, the bass thumping through the floorboards under your feet. People pack the house from the inside to the backyard; even the front lawn has a few partygoers scattered. You’re arm in arm with Cherry as you step into the house, with Yoongi and Namjoon behind you, having chosen to come here with you two instead of leaving with the others. A decision they later regretted if their groans about how long you two took to get ready are any indication.

“Okay, first objective: find the alcohol. If I’m going to be mingling among jocks, I need to be intoxicated,” Cherry announces.

The three of you chuckle at her, but the guys lead the way to the kitchen anyway. You glance around, bodies swaying to the beat on the makeshift dancefloor in the living room, pairs locking lips against the walls, a rowdy game of beer pong in the corner. Your eyes fail to find any familiar faces; although you don’t catch sight of a certain doe-eyed boy, you are scanning the place in search of Rina.

You refocus when a red solo cup gets shoved into your hands. You sniff it, scrunching your nose at the strong smell; nevertheless, you cheers with Cherry and down the drink—tequila, oh God, it’s tequila— in one go. Once the shot burns its way down your throat, you ask Namjoon to mix you a drink, asking for something much sweeter this time.

With your drink in hand, you pull Cherry in, “I have to try and find Rina.”

She nods and turns to say something in Yoongi’s ear; he nods at her in reply, and then you are off to search for your teammate. Luckily, you don’t have to search for too long; you’re passing the beer pong table when you notice a head of strawberry blonde hair sitting on the sofa nearby. You grab a hold of Cherry’s wrist as you guide her over with you.

“Rina!” you call out.

Only when you get closer do you see that she is sitting with none other than the guy who invited the team himself: Mingyu. Rina pauses midcoversation, turning away from him.

“Y/N!” she jumps up and smiles as she swoops you into a hug. You chuckle at your seemingly already intoxicated friend.

“This is Rina, my closest friend on the cheer team,” you say to Cherry, then switch to Rina, “And this is my bestie for the resties, Cherry.”

The girls give their greetings after your little introduction, and just as you expected, the three of you get along seamlessly. After a few minutes, Rina seems to remember the football player she was conversing with earlier; she sits back down beside him, bringing him into the conversation, “I was just telling Gyu, I can’t recall the last time I’ve seen so many people enjoying themselves like this. It’s nice.”

The nickname doesn’t go unnoticed by you, nor does the way Mingyu flushes it; you make a note to tease Rina about it another time.

“It is! Thanks again for the invite,” you say to Mingyu.

“Don’t mention it,” he flicks his hand, “The football and cheer team have always had a good bond. Oh, and thanks for extending my invite.”

Mingyu tilts his head to the side, and you turn to see Jimin and Taehyung playing against Hoseok and Seokjin in a game of beer pong. Your eyes wander behind Jimin, landing on Jungkook braced against the wall, drink in hand.

When you set your sights on him, your knees almost give out. He looks hot—somehow hotter than usual. He is wearing his signature baggy jeans and black chunky combat boots; his black leather jacket, unzipped to display how his fitted white shirt hugs his firm body that sets you off, and his fingers, clad with several silver rings, send you right over the edge.

Beside him stands Jess, who is without her two sidekicks for the first time. She is leaning into him, whispering in his ear, and you get a sense of Deja Vu; images of them from that night at the bar flash through your mind, but you shake them out.

Jungkook said he didn’t have plans with her. She’s here because Mingyu invited her to the party. Jungkook wouldn’t lie to you—or at least he has no reason to. If they had plans to hang out together, he would have just said so.

Last time, your disappointment held you back from interfering, but this time, you have the warmth and courage of alcohol coursing through your veins. So, with a confident stride, you head in their direction.

“Prez!” a very tipsy Jimin stops you, tackling you into an embrace.

“Hey, Chimchim,” you pat his back.

He pulls back, but his hands remain on your shoulders, clutching them, “Thank you for reminding me about this party, Prez. This is amazing! You are the best! Forget president! You are officially the queen of the fan club,” he slurs.

“Man, how are you already this far gone?” Cherry walks over.

“Cher!”

He tackles her next, swaying their bodies back and forth. Now free from the shackles that are Jimin, you spin around and find your target with his eyes already on you. You don’t let it sway you.

You exhale sharply, then force yourself to meet his gaze. And then, with zero hesitation,

“Hi, Jess,” you give her the briefest of glances, then settle on Jungkook, “Hi, Jungkookie, you look handsome!” you run your hand down one side of his jacket along the zipper.

His eyes widen in shock, and his lips part, but no words come out due to Jess’s interruption.

“Y/N, I see you made it. Jungkook and I were talking about you and your little mix-up earlier. We cleared it up, though; no need to worry.”

She takes a small, almost inconspicuous step forward, her body between you and Jungkook’s. She squeezes your elbow in faux cordiality, and you’re left puzzled.

“Mix-up? What do you mean?”

“At practice today, you misunderstood when I said I wanted to message Jungkook about hanging out at AoB’s next show, for me saying he and I had plans for tonight.”

Now, as much as you may be a bit forgetful, there is no way you mistook how she went on about having plans with Jungkook tonight. She made it clear right when Mingyu mentioned the party.

“No, I didn’t, you said—”

“It’s okay; I understand how you could get confused.”

Jungkook is still looking at you from behind Jess with an expression you can’t determine. Being blamed for something untrue this blatantly with your crush watching would typically embarrass you, but being portrayed as a liar bothers you.

“That’s not what happened, you said—”

“Little Picasso, it looks like you need a refill. Let’s get you one, come on,” Namjoon suddenly comes behind you.

He takes you by the shoulders and guides you to the kitchen; you don’t have time to grasp what’s happening.

Once at the array of bottles, Namjoon begins mixing you a drink. While pouring the liquid into a new red plastic cup, he speaks.

“You shouldn’t let her get to you.”

“Hmm?” you watch him.

“Jess. She’s trying to get a rise out of you, don’t let her.”

“But what she said wasn’t true. I heard her. I would never lie to Jungkookie,” you fret.

There’s a pause as he finishes mixing your drink and hands it to you. He sighs, “People like you are better off staying clear of people like Jess, who provoke others to make themselves feel superior. She’s the kind who will always take the opportunity to walk all over you if you let her.”

“We’re on the same team; I can’t avoid being around her. And she’s the cheer captain, so I can’t be rude to her.”

“I can respect that,” he nods with a sympathetic smile, “But that doesn’t mean you should let yourself get belittled.”

You lower your head, swishing around the drink in your cup.

“She’s patronizing because she feels threatened by you.”

“I never did anything to her,” you pout.

“No, I’m sure you didn’t,” he mulls his words, “Evny comes out without you having to incite it. From what I heard from Cherry, you are an equally talented cheerleader as she is, dare I say more. Among your other great qualities, you also seem to be gaining attention in other areas where she seems to fall short,” he smirks after his statement.

Namjoon looks over at Jungkook and Jess, the latter failing to capture the interest of the man beside her despite her forceful attempts. With your cup covering your view from taking a sip of your drink, Namjoon averts his eyes before you notice.

“Huh?” you wonder what other areas you’re exceeding Jess in.

He shakes his head, bypassing you, and continues.

“There aren’t many people like you, Y/N. You’re a very positive person, and the world needs that. Plenty of things and people will try to test how brightly your light shines but never dim it.”

His words wrap around you like a hug, a much-needed hug. A comfort you didn’t realize you needed till now.

“Thanks, Joonbug,” you smile, but a frown soon takes place, “I don’t like this, though. I don’t care if she doesn’t like me, but I don’t want her to make Jungkookie not like me too.”

“If it makes you feel any better, Jungkook isn’t someone easily deceived; I wouldn’t worry about that,” Namjoon pats your shoulder reassuringly.

☾☀︎

After your talk with Namjoon, Cherry came looking for you with Yoongi in tow, and Cherry, ever the encourager, kept the drinks flowing. One shot became two, and two became seven. You stopped counting drinks during several rounds of beer pong against Hoseok and Taehyung.

How Jimin got cut off by Seokjin but not you two is beyond you.

Now you and she have some concoction of a cocktail in hand as you dance—or try to dance in your heels to the EDM music blasting through the speakers.

After the current song ends, you and Cherry crash down onto the sofa, out of breath and plastered. The party is still in full swing around you. You two chat and giggle about insignificant topics for a while; your sense of time has long gone. There’s a peaceful lull in between when you are both sitting there with your head resting on her shoulder, no talking, just being. Your lingering thoughts break through the pause.

“Cher, do you think I’m naive?”

“Hmm? Where did that come from?”

“Just—” you shrug, “Do you?”

“Yeah, I do.”

The words pierce through the noise of the party; you wince, deflating emotionally and physically. You slouch deeper into the sofa. Cherry doesn’t seem to catch on to the effect of her words, yet she doesn’t stop there.

“You have this… innocence about you. A pureness as if you have been untainted by the world. It makes me want to shield you from it.”

“You don’t think I’m… useless?”

Cherry cranes her neck to look down at you so fast you’re surprised she doesn’t get whiplash. Her eyes widen.

“No! Why would you ask that? Did someone call you useless?” she sits up straight.

You pull her back to sit comfortably and place your head back on her shoulder.

“No. Not recently, anyway; I have been called that before. I was just curious what you think.”

Cherry rests her head against yours.

“Do you think you’re useless?” she asks gently.

You shake your head, “There was a time I did; someone I thought loved me made me doubt myself. I know other people’s opinions don’t matter. But I still care about how the people that matter to me think of me, and you matter to me.”

“I think you are naive, but not in the typical sense. You are one of the wisest people I’ve ever met. And that’s saying something when you know someone like Namjoon,” you both chuckle at that.

Cherry reaches for your hand and holds it.

“It takes a certain kind of person to walk through life so optimistic and unaffected by—well, by life.”

You inflate; your self-esteem is experiencing a huge boost tonight.

“You matter to me too,” she squeezes your hand, “I have always been a protective person, but the guys have always been around to look out for me. Since I’m an only child, I’ve always considered them family, so it’s nice that I have a sister to look out for now.”

The sentimental bubble bursts when Yoongi emerges, smirking down at your bodies on the couch as if dumped there.

“There’s my little boozer,” Yoongi pinches Cherry’s cheek with a grin on his face like a Cheshire cat.

She swats away his hand, and he laughs.

“You ready to head out? I should get you home before your mom sends the cops after me,” he tilts his head towards the front door.

Cherry groans, tossing her head back against the couch.

“Going home means moving. I don’t know if I can manage that,” her eyes are shut while she speaks.

“Again, with the dramatics,” Yoongi grabs her hands and pulls her up with a soft grunt.

“You too, kid. Let’s go,” he reaches out and pulls you up.

The three of you walk to the door, you and Cherry stumbling, Yoongi trying to make sure neither of you falls on your face. When you see Yoongi’s shielding hand on Cherry’s lower back, you remember Jungkook. You were having so much fun in your tipsy state you didn’t realize you hadn’t seen him since you tried talking to him earlier when Jess tried embarrassing you.

The cool night air washes over you; the contrast to the inside instant. The crisp breeze kisses your hot skin, and a shiver runs down your spine as you step onto the porch. The muffled music and laughter echoed from inside; you shut your eyes and inhale deeply to try and sober up with fresh air, but instead, breathe in the scent of cigarette smoke.

You have no time to relax when Yoongi’s low voice cuts through the quiet night air.

“Oh, sick, you’re here. I need to take Cher home, so make sure Y/N gets home,” Yoongi tells someone.

“Why me? Get one of the guys to take her.”

You open your eyes, and there on the porch is Jungkook, smoking a cigarette. The smoke curls up into the air as he holds it near his face, halting his movements at Yoongi’s order.

“Jimin and Tae are even more wasted than these two, believe it or not,” he refers to his girlfriend and you, “So Seokjin has his hands full with them. And I have no idea where Hoseok and Namjoon are.”

“Throw up,” you mumble.

Jungkook and Yoongi both quickly look at you with startled expressions.

“Hobi went to throw up. Joonbug is with him,” you drawl, clarifying.

“There you go, that’s why you,” Yoongi claps Jungkook on the shoulder.

“If anything happens to her, I’ll rip one of those piercings out of your face, Jeon,” Cherry rounds Yoongi and stands chest to chest with Jungkook poking at his chest threateningly.

Cherry hugs you goodbye, and the couple are off before Jungkook can make any more protests.

Just like that, you are left alone with the guy you have been enthralled with since you met him. The thumping bass and the joyful murmurs are the only sounds between you and Jungkook as you both stand there in painful silence.

You keep your gaze locked on the street, trying to focus on anything but the suffocating presence beside you.

Jungkook leans against the railing like he has nothing better to do, smoking the remainder of his cigarette, his gaze fixed in the distance on the night sky. You sigh, side-eyeing him as you shift, restless with your arms crossed. You try to remain calm, but inside, you are as excited as ever, pondering how to use this chance to your advantage.

He doesn’t attempt small talk or any other interaction, so you leave him immersed in his thoughts.

What makes this situation a little more nerve-wracking is that you know you are not really in his good books. Yet, you can’t miss out on this moment with him because being alone like this won’t happen again so smoothly. He dismisses you whenever he gets the chance or keeps his engagement short and curt when he does pay you attention.

A beat of silence later, you ask cautiously, “Did you have fun?”

“I did,” for the first time in minutes, he looks at you. “Until I got stuck chaperoning,” he snarks.

“There isn’t always gonna be someone around to babysit you and come to your defence.”

His sharp response had felt like a slap. Your drunken pride steps in, “You don’t have to. I can take care of myself,” you meekly contest.

Jungkook doesn’t answer this time.

Instead, he merely shifts his gaze from you to the empty, streetlight-lit road ahead before he begins to move. He drops the butt of his cigarette, putting it out with the toe of his boot, then stomps down the steps as he takes out his phone from his back pocket.

You follow immediately, walking by his side until he says, “I’m ordering an Uber.”

Your chest tightens, and you squeeze your eyes shut.

It all flashes before you in a millisecond.

Tires screeching. Glass shattering. Metal crunching. Blood. Pain. Fear.

“No!” you react instinctively and grab his arm, stopping him.

When you meet his eyes, Jungkook eyebrows furrow. Surprised and annoyed, he sends you an intense, fiery glare.

“I can’t take an Uber,” you shake your head frantically.

“Do you expect me to fly us there?” he huffs, pulling his arm out of your hold.

Your mouth opens and closes, but your throat seals shut. What possible defence could you offer?

Your nails carved crescents into your palms as you clenched your fists, your eyes tightly shut, “I-I just can’t ride in an Uber,” you force out quietly, ashamed; your voice is barely audible. A single tear slips down your cheek before you hurriedly wipe it away

Jungkook hears your voice crack and your sniffle. His scowl falters for a split second as he takes in your appearance—your teary eyes, chest rising and falling far too quickly, hands trembling at your sides. You are practically hyperventilating.

“Jesus…” he wavers, staring at your face, scratching the back of his neck, his eyes flicking around awkwardly, “You don’t have to cry about it.”

He shifts uncomfortably; abruptly, he walks away, his back now to you. You are left standing there like an abandoned kitten. He calls over his shoulder without even looking at you,

“You gonna stand there and sulk all night? Are you coming or not?”

His voice is cold and detached—as if he’s doing this out of obligation rather than concern.

Your eyes narrow, and your lips press into a thin line.

“Not,” you frown.

Jungkook freezes, leans his head back, looks up at the stars and groans, dragging his hands down his face in frustration. He lets out a slow breath before turning to you to speak again,

“What?”

You shake your head, cross your arms in protest, and pout, “I don’t want to go with you if you’re going to be a grumpy pants.”

He looks genuinely perplexed. As if you have just spoken in tongues.

“Grumpy pan—Are you a child?“

You remain silent, fixed in your spot. Feet planted on the sidewalk, arms crossed, as you and Jungkook engage in a staring contest.

Jungkook rolls his tongue along the inside of his cheek, cocks his pierced eyebrow. He squints his eyes at you, slipping his hands into his front pockets, “And how exactly do you plan on getting home then?“

“By myself,“ your chin lifts defiantly.

“By walking there. The same route I have to walk. Because we’re neighbours,” he deadpans.

Oh. Right. Damn, you didn’t think that through. You try to conjure up your next comeback to counter.

“Do you always have to be this difficult?” he exasperates.

“Hmph!” you stomp your foot, turning away from him to face the road.

Jungkook, for a brief moment, can’t tell if he wants to laugh or cry.

“For fuck’s sake,” Jungkook mutters his curse to himself between gritted teeth, exhaling a long aggravated breath before returning to your side.

“Alright.”

You ignore him.

Jungkook places a hand on your upper arm, using it to have you face him. The warmth of his touch vanishes just as quickly as it came.

“Look, let’s just walk home. I won’t say anything,” Jungkook holds his hands up in surrender.

You peek at him through your lashes, “You won’t be a meany? You’ll be nice?”

“I won’t be mean,” Jungkook replies, disregarding the second part of what you said.

“And…” You bite your lip, trying not to smile. Your eyes are innocent, but your tone is playful when you tiptoe, lean in a little, hesitantly, and say, “We can stop to buy a lollipop on the way?”

Jungkook, holding onto his last bit of strength, doesn’t say anything. He breathes through his nose, pressing his lips together and responding with a stiff nod.  

Like a flip of a switch, your mood brightens so fast that Jungkook flinches slightly.

“Yay! Okay, let’s go,” you cheer and brush past him.

Jungkook is stunned as he watches you head off, swaying your hips.

“Come on, Jungkookie!” you yell back to him.

Jungkook rolls his eyes.

That damn name.

Jungkook walks after you, wanting to hurry and get you home as fast as possible so he can get away from you just as fast.

He is left thinking about how he has a feeling that wasn’t his last hurdle of the night.

☾☀︎

Jungkook, true to his word, is on his best behaviour. But that is because he doesn’t utter a word on the walk to the convenience store. Even when your heel snags on the sidewalk and you lose footing, he catches you by the elbow with a displeased grunt and proceeds on.

“Are you seriously going to stay silent the whole way?” you wonder.

Silence.

Your shoulders brush his as you walk, your steps in sync with his, although yours are more clumsy.

“I know you said you won’t say anything, but it feels like I’m walking with a ghost,” you mope.

Silence.

You gasp, covering your mouth with both hands, “Maybe you are a ghost,” you raise a hand to poke at his bicep.

Is he made out of stone or something? His arm is rock solid, like a statue. Having the perfect view of Jungkook’s profile, he does look like an ancient Greek sculpture, with chiselled features and sharp, distinct edges that Adonis would envy. With the moonlight breaking through his hair, you marvel at his beauty.

Jungkook tuts and throws you a disapproving glare.

“Didn’t you want me not to be mean?“ he gruffs.

You gasp again dramatically, “Oh my gosh! I can’t believe it, he speaks,” you joke.

The thought flashes through Jungkook’s mind. With your wide, happy smile, your hands cupping your cheeks. How you look up at him with big eyes, sparkling under the glow of the night—it’s almost… cute.

He shakes his head, this time not at you but to force the thought out of his mind before it accidentally spirals into something worse.

“We agreed on just walking home—”

“And to stop and get a lolly,” you add, correcting him.

“Yeah. Whatever. My point is I didn’t agree on any conversation.”

“But it’s boring walking in silence. Plus, you said you’d be nice,” you whine.

“I said I wouldn’t be mean.”

“Well, isn’t ignoring me pretty mean?”

But he won’t answer. He only makes a disapproving sound.

“I’m so nice to you. I don’t know why you ignore me all the time. I wish you liked me as much as I like you. Jess also doesn’t like me, so you aren’t the only one. What she said wasn’t true, by the way,” you turn to face him while walking, “I know what I heard. I would never lie to you, Jungkookie. Joonbug said you wouldn’t believe her, but I still wanted to tell you myself,” you ramble on, filling the silence.

“Jeez. How drunk are you?”

“Only a little,” you singsong, pinching your index finger and thumb together, leaving a tiny gap in between.

“But I got you to talk to me,” you smile, bumping your shoulder into his arm.

He stares at you and tilts his head slightly, studying you. Then, he lets out this half-laugh, half-disbelieving breath.

You don’t look away. Jungkook’s warm stare seeps into your skin, grounding you in a way that feels too easy.

The pure gaze you give him throws Jungkook off guard for a moment — it’s somewhat endearing.

Jungkook’s stomach lurches. He snaps his head forward and coughs awkwardly into his fist.

Woah. Stop. What is with him tonight? How drunk is he?

You give in to Jungkook’s silence this time, sighing and letting him sink into his thoughts.

The convenience store’s sign comes into view, flashing in the short distance.

“Jess’s words hold no merit to me. Whether what she says is true or not doesn’t matter. I don’t care. Because I don’t care about her,” Jungkook’s tone is flat, emotionless, as if he’s simply stating a fact.

The convenience store’s sign comes into view, glowing in the near distance.

“The same goes for you,” Jungkook says casually before turning to enter the shop, his response so abrupt that it catches you off guard.

↬ THE CHAPTER ISN'T OVER YET!! PLS READ boo 1k block limit!! you can read the second half of the chapter in this reblog!! it continues where this leaves off and begins with a new scene <3

[risuola]

He's a threat. Danger that should be avoided at all cost. He's death in a flesh, a man that you should run away from. But you didn't. It's a story about her — just a simple human, and him — a mafia mob along with the twisted series of events that led to something that shouldn't have taken place.

contents: mafia!au, mentions of death, weapons and abuse, sexual themes, hurt/comfort, heartbreak — please read warnings to each piece, reader discretion is advised

STATUS: COMPLETED a/n: thank you, each and every one of you, for reading and liking this story as much as you did. I will forever be grateful for the support I received on this one. 🖤

I — NOT YET // 2,7k

II — JUST HUSH // 4,3k

III — GAMBARE, GAMBARE // 3,2k

IV — EPIPHANY // 2,6k

V — SILENT PROMISE // 1,5k

VI — GUILTY AS CHARGED // 2,3k

VII, FINALE — IT WILL ALWAYS BE YOU // 2,8k

picture: the mob boss, sfw

picture: first meeting, nsfw

taglist: @yihona-san06 @tiredscavengerskeleton @son4aras @vixorell @cecesharktales @isleqt @thickmacandcheese @captainchrisstan @sad-darksoul @shartnart1 @kiki17483 @grimreaqueer @phoenix-eclipses @fan-of-encouragement @valleydoll @aleeeeeeees-stuff @marifujioka @going-to-californiaxx @just-pure-trash @edenofeve @impulsivethoughtsat2am @thigh-o-saur @heyohalie @matchat3a @littlemisspropaganda @aconstructofamind @lawislife18 @rzcnlb @sunukissed @b3llair3 @sanzusforeverwife @annshz @kaminari-no-ritsusha @gojos-princesa @burpzz @sterzin @acidrefiux @starteez @tremendousbouquetflower @anan-baban @thejujvtsupost @iivellich @fresa-luna @iheartlinds @he4rts444mi @when-worlds-end @the-reas0n-is-y0u @hangezoes-wife @noosayog @gothiccwhore666 @tojislittleprincesss @venusspenis @absynthi @tojicvmslut @akirawhore @prettylvne @mobibaby @animewolfette

[sabrondabrainrot]

🫂💮🥀Farewell Puppet🥀💮🫂

(I hope the quality of the image isn't totally killed)

I just want to share some thoughts on Puppet! I really like Puppet, she grew a lot on me over the short time I've been binge watching all the shows. Puppet started off as this silly guy that loves anime and is Monty's dubious friend. She just grew from there. She met Foxy and Monty, and tried helping Sun and Moon. She revealed her own secret identity of being a woman and accepted that and lived as herself more and more. She made up with Golden and rekindled a relationship with her son, Freddy.

She found a life partner in Foxy and took on the role of being Foxy's own adoptive son's Mother. She helped save Earth when New Moon/Nexus first chose to go down his path and attacked his family. She helped advise Monty to make better decisions in their own life. She tried being more involved in the bigger universe because she was tired of being on the side and watching from the background. Unable to interfere.

She was never a perfect being, she made mistakes and had just as many flaws as the rest of the cast. Her dimension died because of her choices and she did leave Freddy when he was born. She's made mistakes even with decisions to use her own powers and when and when not to interfere and help.

I just like how she's changed so much. How she showed the rest of the cast of characters they can be more. They are not just animatronics.

Her death was sad, no kindness was spared to her. She had no kind words. Eclipse saw her off but even now he's still learning and not able to express to his friend the things he probably wanted to. Puppet didn't get to say goodbye to all her friends and family. To me that's sad. There's still beauty in her death. She laid her life down to save a child. She was given no real options but chose to let her last moments and last decisions still mean something.

She's just neat and I don't know how much Matt contribute to the writing of her character but I think she's neat and while her ending is sad I'm still excited for Matt. I heard he's moving to do greater things with his career and that's awesome for him. (he's also coming back to do occasional cameos so it's not a total goodbye!)

I used flower language for this farewell image by the way! White chrysanthemums, white lilies, pink and purple orchids, and purple carnations are used in farewells and funerals. I also did stained glass cause idk it's pretty. (useless info, but the glass is also transparent)

Goodbye Puppet and Goodbye Matt!!!

[bad-omens-blog]

The Assistant - CHAPTER 2

Warnings: Noah is a dom, unknowingly to Aurora. A shorter than want I wanted but here it is!

Caden stood on the edge of the crowded venue, captivated as Noah's voice soared, delivering the lively upbeat notes of "IDWT$." The lead singer, a whirlwind of energy, was drenched in sweat, each glistening droplet enhancing the intricate tapestry of tattoos sprawled across his muscular arms and chest. To most, Noah was nothing short of a god among men, an idol in the crowd's adoration. Aurora, Caden's girlfriend, was undeniably entranced, her wide eyes sparkling with admiration, reveling in the presence of the rockstar. She sang along as she swayed to the beat.

Yet, beneath the surface of the pulsating music and electrifying atmosphere, Caden felt a surge of annoyance. He couldn't shake the feeling that Noah’s gaze, warm and inviting like the richest chocolate, lingered a moment too long on Aurora as she turned to walk away. It was as if she were a forbidden fruit that ignited an unmistakable hunger in Noah's eyes—a craving that sent a pang of unease deep within Caden's chest.

He recognized that Aurora was an indispensable asset to Bad Omens, seamlessly attending to their every need and desire. Whether it was ensuring that Jolly’s shirt was perfectly pressed and ready for the next performance or soothing Ruffilo’s sore throat after he’d bravely lent his voice in a chorus of backup roars for Noah, Aurora was always there, expertly managing the various quirks and demands of their chaotic lives.

Caden couldn't shake the pang of jealousy that gnawed at him as he watched her invest every ounce of her focus into Bad Omens. It was as if the world around her faded away, leaving only the pulsating rhythm of the band's music and the allure of their fame. He grudgingly acknowledged the reality: they compensated her handsomely, and he felt a bitter sting each time he remembered that fleeting moment when he had extended an opportunity for her to join him instead. The thought lingered, a haunting reminder of how effortlessly she flourished in a world that had long since eclipsed his own.

“Ugh, Noah looks like he’s about to collapse in this sweltering heat.” He observed with a touch of concern as his girl dashed toward the cooler, her movements quick and purposeful, to fetch ice-cold water and a soft towel for the other man. 

“You know he can get that himself, right?” Caden asked, raising an eyebrow in playful disbelief. 

Aurora smiled, a glint of understanding in her eyes. “True, but he doesn’t have the time. Between songs, there’s only a moment to catch his breath and prepare for the next song. It’s just easier for me to dash over, grab it, and hand it all to him. It keeps the rhythm flowing and lets him focus on the performance.”

Caden's eyes widened in surprise as Noah sprinted over, his excitement evident as he eagerly gulped down the cool water. The sunlight glinted off his tousled hair, and she swiftly used a towel to dry him off, paying extra attention to the damp strands and the nape of his neck. 

With a playful glint in her eyes, she lifted each of his arms, spraying a generous burst of deodorant into the air between them. 

“Are you implying that I smell?” Noah chuckled, amusement dancing in his voice. 

“You will if you keep this up,” she replied with a knowing nod, a teasing smile breaking across her face. “Here, have another drink.”

A surge of rage welled up in Caden’s chest as he watched Noah grip the back of Aurora’s ponytail, halting her escape with a gentle, yet firm tug. She turned to face him, her eyes wide with surprise but quickly shifting back to indifference. “You need to drink some water too, princess,” Noah insisted, his tone casual, as if he were simply advising her during a sunny picnic rather than holding her captive in that moment. 

Aurora shrugged nonchalantly, her face betraying no sign of distress as she calmly informed him that she had already polished off three bottles of water. A satisfied smile crept onto Noah’s lips, a glimmer of mischief dancing in his eyes. “Good,” he replied with a playful lilt. “Keep it up, and I’ll even buy you dessert.” The promise hung in the air, light and teasing, while tension still crackled around them.

“Lava cake?” she inquired, her tone playful and naive, glancing up at him with wide, curious eyes reminiscent of a child begging her parents for a new toy. 

“Whatever you want,” Noah replied, flicking his wrist nonchalantly to cast aside the damp towel as he strode back onto the stage. His demeanor was unruffled, as if the moment had been just another fleeting distraction.

“What the hell was that?” Caden snapped, his voice sharp and incredulous, causing Aurora to turn towards him with a mixture of confusion and surprise etched across her features. “Don’t pull that crap with me. He just grabbed you like that!”

Aurora’s expression shifted, a hint of uncertainty creeping in. “Oh, right. It’s just... it’s hard to hear him call my name, so he started doing that instead. It doesn’t hurt,” she reassured, attempting to dismiss the tension in his voice.

“He shouldn’t be putting his hands on you at all. He’s your boss,” Caden insisted, his voice firm with concern.

Aurora paused, glancing up at him with a mix of defiance and vulnerability. “He’s also my friend—my best friend, if I had one,” she replied, her fingers deftly sorting through Noah and Foilo’s belongings, arranging them neatly in their vibrant backpacks. The lively notes of “Dethrowned” began to fill the air, a signal that the night was drawing to a close with its final song. 

Caden’s brow furrowed slightly as he stepped closer, a hint of hurt in his eyes. “I thought I was your best friend,” he said, his voice dropping.

Aurora sighed. “You’re my boyfriend, that’s different. Look, the guys invited you to dinner with us. Will you please come along?”

“Why? So I can watch Noah eye-fuck you all night?”

“Whoa! What’s going on here?” Matt exclaimed, emerging from behind a cluster of speakers that hummed with the remnants of music. His curious gaze darted between Aurora and Caden, noting the tension that crackled in the air like static. "Something's happening, right, Rory?”

Aurora shot a glance at Caden, her eyes narrowing. “Will you please tell him that Noah yanking me by the hair doesn’t mean anything?”

Matt’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, then a mischievous grin spread across his face. “It’s all good, man. Nick pulls her by the back of her shirt, and I just toss paper balls at her from across the room. She gets lost in her thoughts and barely registers any of it.” Matt slapped Caden on the back, “Chill out, man. She’s our baby around here. Nothing bad is happening to her.”

********

Noah let out a deep groan as he peeled off his damp, clammy clothes, the fabric clinging uncomfortably to his skin. The humid air was thick around him, and he welcomed the coolness of the wet washcloth as he wiped down his face and neck. Matt, on the other hand, was animatedly gesturing beside him, his words rushing out in a torrent. “Dude, you really need to chill with Aurora.”

Confusion furrowed Noah’s brow as he replied, “What are you talking about?” He swiped the cloth across his forehead, trying to focus on his friend’s frantic energy.

“Caden is freaking out about the hair thing,” Matt exclaimed, his eyes wide with urgency. “I totally lied through my teeth, claiming we all do some weird stuff to her.”

Noah let out a derisive laugh, shaking his head. “He’s not going to last long enough for that kind of panic,” he said, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

Matt ran a hand through his hair, frustration etched on his face. “Are you really going to push him away like that? Don’t you realize how much it’s going to damage Rory?” he replied, his voice filled with concern.

"And I'll be there to pick up the pieces when it all falls apart. The guy’s a complete tool, Matt. He might have that charming smile and all that superficial charm, but he’s far from what she truly needs. Do you have any idea how many times I've heard her playing with herself—"

“NO! Just shut up!” Matt snapped, his voice a harsh, jagged edge cutting through the air. “Look, none of us like him, but Aurora does. So either face your feelings and be honest about them or just leave it alone!”

Noah rolled his eyes dramatically, a hint of mischief in his voice. “I’ll be an angel tonight, okay? You can count on it.”

Matt let out a weary sigh, running a hand through his messy hair. “Thank God for small favors,” he replied, relief evident in his tone.

Noah leaned against the wall, arms crossed, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. “He doesn’t like me either, you know. Our interests are like oil and water—totally incompatible.”

Matt shook his head, exasperated. “Just shut up already. You’re making it worse.”

“You know she does it too, right?” Noah asked, his voice shifting to a more serious note. His warm brown eyes momentarily darkened, revealing a depth of understanding. “She doesn’t mean to, but a part of her thrives on it when I engage in those behaviors. A submissive always recognizes a dominant.” He relished the moments when she sought him out during her anxious spells, their breathing exercises transforming into a shared ritual that brought them closer. She always made it a point to reach out, letting him know her whereabouts. Or when her head got too chaotic to speak correctly, he pieced the words together for her.

Matt knocked his fist against his head. "We all do, but not tonight."

*****

Noah nestled in the back of the van, his gaze flickering between Aurora and Caden's vibrant chatter as they animatedly discussed their plans for the following day. Caden, his fingers deftly navigating his phone, leaned closer to Aurora, excitement sparkling in his eyes as he declared, “We’ll go to the car show, then grab lunch at that amazing sushi place.”

From the row in front, Nick turned around, a hint of concern etched on his face. “Aurora, didn’t you stop eating seafood?” he asked, his voice carrying a note of urgency. “It makes you feel weird, right? Like that prickly sensation? Remember when we had that shrimp fried rice?”

Aurora glanced down, momentarily distracted, before lifting her gaze with a reassuring smile. “I can always opt for the chicken fried rice instead.”

Noah interjected, slight annoyance creeping into his tone as he shook his head slightly. “But they don’t clean the grills between each order,” he reminded her earnestly. “You could still end up having a reaction.”

“If she starts feeling worse, I can take her to an urgent care,” Caden said in a hushed tone, his eyes darting with concern. He leaned in closer, lowering his voice even further, “Why didn’t you tell me you had a reaction?”

“It wasn’t anything serious, just some strange sensations,” came the reply, downplaying the discomfort. “Anyway, what kind of cars will be at the show?”

“Maybe an aquarium would be a better idea,” Noah found himself blurting out, the thought slipping from his lips before he could catch it. As soon as he said it, Matt sharply pinched Noah's arm, a reprimand, yet he chose to ignore the sting.

“Who would want to sit around watching fish swim?” Caden retorted, skepticism lacing his words.

Your girlfriend, a lively enthusiast of the animal kingdom, never misses an opportunity to share fascinating animal facts, often springing them on you at the most unexpected moments. Her childhood dream of becoming a game warden shaped her vibrant passion for wildlife and conservation. As she animatedly shares her latest nugget of information, you can see the spark in her eyes, reflecting her deep-seated love for nature. Who also didn't like the heat and was prone to fainting. . .

Noah's jaw tightened, a silent struggle visible on his face as he fought to keep his emotions in check. He was caught between admiration for her fervor and the weight of his own unspoken feelings.

“Zoo’s open too,” Jolly remarked casually, glancing down at his phone, a hint of excitement in his voice. “What’s your favorite animal again?”

“A zebra,” Caden replied, his voice steady,

With a bright spark in her eyes, Aurora leaned forward, her excitement bubbling over, “Otters!” she exclaimed, the joy in her voice as playful as the creatures she adored. 

Noah, sitting back with a carefully composed expression, bit his tongue, fighting the urge to reveal the secret that everyone in the band seemed to know—Aurora’s fondness for the charming aquatic mammals. He couldn’t help but wonder, Does this guy really know anything about her? 

Caden furrowed his brow, a perplexed expression crossing his face. “When did you stop liking zebras?” he asked, his voice tinged with confusion.

“She never did,” Noah replied calmly, his eyes locking with Caden’s in an attempt to hold his gaze. The tension in the air was palpable as Caden shot a heated glare back at him. “She likes birds too,” Noah added, a hint of amusement dancing in his tone, as if trying to diffuse the situation with a gentle reminder of her affection for all things lively and colorful.

"I'm going to tape your mouth shut." Matt hissed.

"Not my fault he's a fucking idiot," Noah muttered.

@ami--gami @flowery-mess @kenjipepsi1 @renegadebirch @thenmaybehellaintsobadafterall @rumoured-whispers

@looney-goose @pipidol @hedonist-k1l

[seafoamreadings]

full moon lunar eclipse at 24 virgo

eclipses are inherently volatile and with mercury stationing retrograde right around the same time this is not meant to be a comfortable period, so hang in there. care for your body and feelings above all else. others around you less well-advised and prepared will not be doing so, so try to be patient with them as we all navigate this highly unstable time. while you hopefully have *people* around you you can trust, do not be overly trusting of incoming facts/data/information. do not try to be perfect, about anything. some of it may be true and some of it may turn out perfect! but you won't know until the dust settles, so don't count on it yet.

[werywrenniethoughts]

Help Wanted 2: Lets Talk About Sun (Spoilers for Help Wanted 2!)

Okay,

I've had some time to digest Help Wanted 2. What a freaking roller coaster. I'm assuming you all have played/watched/seen Help Wanted 2, so be advised if you haven't seen everything we have access to so far, I'll be bringing it up.

One thing I'll say upfront is its nice to know Sun and Moon ARE older like I theorized. They're tied to the Fall Festival which took place in 1970 per one of the prize collector posters and the fact they deal with the carousel. I think Steel Wool also tried to point out and confirm Moon is patient zero for....I guess I should say Vanny's influence in the PizzaPlex. He's definitely the favorite to be pitted against us. I'm STILL losing my mind over the Princess Quest Ending.

So, the DCA fandom has been all across the board, ranging from "I love sassy Sun" to "Sun is SO mean. This ruins my headcannon." I don't think it really does. At least, it doesn't have to.

Our first encounter with Sun in front of us is Arts and Crafts. This minigame is located in the world we eventually learn is AR. We also are clearly a new FazBear hire. Sun is definitely sassy, and let's face it, VERY critical of what he defines as a mistake. BUT the flip side of that coin is he is still nice when you do the art correctly. He calls you friend, he wants to help you. If the player eats the crafts, he loses his mind. It's because he's worrying for the player due to the effects eating the crafts will have on them, ie: "That is how you get ulcers!". (By far, MY FAVORITE line of Sun's btw. Kellen stated that line and the indigestion line were both improved btw- genius.) He still doesn't want Moon to get you, he doesn't want to get in trouble. The one threat is after you've been hitting him several times and you've outright pissed him off. (I personally, think the "I should turn off the lights myself" was a drama king being a drama king.) Then we take the mask off. We see everything destroyed and Sun acts like the Sun we've always known. "I'm perfectly fine where I am. It's better this way. It's safer this way." "Keep the generator on. Without it I won't be able to help you." He's the same as he's always been. We've just seen a new layer.

What we ultimately have to come to terms with, is that Sun is a control freak and a perfectionist. He thinks he "has" to be. He doesn't want you to move from your craft table so he can watch you like a hawk. Do the job you are assigned. Get in, get out. Do the art HIS way, and follow HIS rules. If you don't, bad things can happen. Bad things HAVE happened. Another explanation could also be that maybe he isn't as free of the glitch trap virus as we thought? He can be sassy, he can be brutally honest, he can be concerned for us, for children, and his own darkness can rear its head, all at the same time.

Steel Wool could also be trying to slam into our faces that Sun is incomplete. He is one-half of a whole. He has good intentions, he means well at his core, but he cannot stop, regroup, and act rather than react. He gets stressed, and can't cope and adjust. Instead, he demands control back when he feels like he's about to lose it. Moon is calm, calculating, and logical. It's why they need to be whole and why Sun is so grateful to Cassie when she fixes them to become Eclipse. As Eclipse, they both find the parts of themselves they've so desperately needed.

[wing-ed-thing]

… And the Beast (Yonji Vinsmoke x Reader) Chapter VI

Synopsis: You thought your little crush on Prince Yonji was a well-kept secret. Yonji is mean enough to exploit your eagerness to please in the face of his unrelenting cruelty; the thought of actually developing a soft spot for you never even crossed his mind.

Word Count: 7.4k

Tags/Warnings: Dark themes ahead, including graphic violence, gore, and Dark!Yonji. Please consult AO3 for more specific tags. Chapter ends with extreme fluff for balance.

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI Part VII Part VIII Part IX

Notes: Those with a sensitivity to war, POW situations, and gun violence are advised to proceed with caution. The gore tag applies to unnamed characters. MC is not harmed by Yonji.

If you would like to skip the graphic violence, please skip to the first ***. I will provide a summary of the section in the bottom notes.

The crying seemed as never-ending as the blackness, and every so often, you could hear pained moans and scuttling off in the distance. There was only the cold, wet concrete flooring below and the breathing of phantom bodies somewhere in the abyss. 

You weren’t sure how long you had been there. You hardly knew who surrounded you. Even when the lights came, with how delirious and exhausted, you weren’t even sure if the people crammed into your cell were the same people who had always been there. 

The golden light from the torches would pass through the dungeon, illuminating your surroundings. 

You had known the girl across the aisle when you were first taken. You had gone to school together. You thought she was from the class below you. She was even still wearing her uniform. You could see sharp cheekbones on her malnourished face. Too many of the girls you saw in the dungeon were wearing their school uniforms, and too many of them disappeared not soon after. 

A man beaten so severely that he couldn’t close his mouth took her place, and by the next time the lights passed, he too disappeared. And as time passed, it almost didn’t seem to matter who he was replaced by. It was always another frail, malnourished body with beaten flesh and barely any air in the lungs. 

Whenever you closed your eyes, you could see the mangled faces of the rebel forces that had been gunned down right in front of you and how they fell in the same spot they stood to defend their homes. And when you opened them again, there was nothing but darkness.

Small batches of prisoners were pulled out of the cells every few days. Or perhaps it was a few times a day. You couldn’t say for sure. The most visibly vulnerable were taken first: the youngest, the oldest, the visibly injured, and the ones the occupiers had stripped of their mobility aids. The ones making too much noise often went with them, along with those who tried to escape. 

And if the unfortunate few selected weren’t immediately beaten in the broad aisle between cells, they were taken upstairs. Their agonized cries could be heard through the ceiling, and they were never returned to the cells. 

It was a cruelty you never understood, even as the brutal swing of the baton struck your side. Boots crushed your fingers and frail flesh, making pain ring out across your body. It was a loud, dull ache that wormed under your skin, popping and cracking like a ringing alarm. 

You curled the best you could in the face of the barrage of hits. You could feel their impact in your bones. The sting and force of them were nowhere near as gut-wrenching as the sheer velocity of the strikes as solid met soft.

Real adrenaline had long stopped coursing through you. You remained still and weak, hardly able to properly defend yourself as you lay on the floor. A range of sensations melded together simultaneously, disrupting your thoughts and scrambling your head. 

It all just hurt. The pain of the blows eclipsed the sensation of the hits that came before, creating a dull numbness.

It hurt, and you wanted it to stop.

You didn’t want to get even. You didn’t want to fight. You just wanted the pain to stop. And yet, a tight, fearful pit welled in your chest, leaving little room for flaming anger. You were too tired for anything more than a wish. Too tired, too weak. Even at full health, you weren’t sure you had it in you to take revenge even if you wanted to. 

The thought of it flashed across your mind, abstractly and incoherently. It simply occurred to you between kicks like a creeping fog over your head. 

Fight… back…?

Fight back…?

Fight back? 

Fight back?

You almost frowned to yourself in the midst of it all. No, doing such a thing wasn’t quite in your nature. It wasn’t quite in your nature to harm others, even if you were the one hurt first. You weren’t even sure what it would look like.

Your muscles were too frail to grab the baton and wrestle it away. Your knees shook too nervously, even on a good day, to pick yourself up and stand your ground, and your voice was far too quiet to shout. And even if you found it in yourself to do any of those things, then what?

Your limbs were intact, and so were your dirty clothes. That’s what mattered. 

And just as you began to resign yourself, the dungeon flooded with light. The ground below you shook, jerking your body with terrifyingly powerful, godly force. White light flooded the room, and at that moment, you thought you died. 

The light came with a bang, followed by several other explosions and crashing sounds all around you. Each one shook the ground. You could feel debris falling all around you, yet the gust of open-air made you want to sit up and open your eyes. 

You cracked them open, but the brightness of the light made you scrunch them closed, no matter how hard you fought. You cast your closed gaze down, crawling to your knees and huddling your face in the crook of your elbow.  

The sunlight was intense, and the chaotic movement around you kept you crouched close to the ground. Cries and frantic screams filled the air as a gust of air passed. You opened your eyes under the protection of your arm, blinking a few times as your lids squeezed shut before you batted your lashes again. You didn’t know when the last time you saw sunlight was.

You raised your head, the details of your surroundings coming into focus. Your foot moved forward so that you were crouched on one knee, ready to stand. You caught a glimpse of black and green before bowing your head again as the wind swirled around you. It whistled, blowing past your hair and blinding your ears. 

Someone ran past you, tripping as their knee met your shoulder. You were forced back, falling to the ground as you tried to catch yourself. 

Your eyes shot open by instinct, only to find the dungeon completely leveled. The walls had collapsed, leaving little more than empty holding cells and chunks of concrete and metal. The tops of them appeared to have been almost cut, leaving them uniform in shape. 

You spotted to top of the facility in the distance. It was larger than you ever could have imagined. 

You stood, clutching your worst injury as prisoners who could run ran. You trudged forward in direct opposition to the current, bumping into countless people as you went. 

Limbs stuck out from under the fallen debris. Blood seeped into the uneven concrete that had cracked during what you had assumed was an explosion. The noise around you sounded deafening, yet you couldn’t hear a thing. Something dragged you forward, and when you least expected it, the crowd completely vanished.

You broke through, stumbling into an open space. A bloodied baton sat at your feet. A stream of crimson-red spatter stained the ground. You could barely focus on the vibrant color of it as you followed it with your eyes to the sound of cracking upon wet impact. 

It was a person. Two people technically, you supposed. Neither of them looked much like people. 

It was a boy, you quickly gathered. He looked like something out of the future, like a character out of one of the comics you used to read. Perhaps he was a revolutionary. A dark cape cloaked his shoulders. His hair was a color you had never seen before: a vibrant lime green. You could hardly remember what he looked like that day, but you could probably remember every inch of his gloves. 

His knuckles were stained all shades of dark red and whaled into the man under him. It took you a moment to realize it was a man. You could tell only by the hand that rattled near the caped boy’s knee with every floor-shaking strike of his fist and the guard uniform you had been so accustomed to seeing.

His punches made a terrible sound as if he were punching into a pie filled with walnut shells. The guard’s face had wholly caved in. The entire front of his face was wet, red, and spilling out over his ears. It was an unbelievable gore. The man was already dead, and yet the figure on top of him kept on punching.

Wham! Crunch. Splat.

Wham! Squish.

Blood flew everywhere. The cracking of bones rang in your ears. It was an unbelievable gore, and yet, you couldn’t look away. The bodies of the other soldiers littered what used to be the isle between the cells. Crushed teeth. Sunken chests. Blunt force damage you didn’t even think a bear could replicate. 

“What are you lookin’ at?”

You had zoned out, and the caped boy in front of you had risen to stand. He had one booted foot on the torso of the faceless corpse. Tiny spatters of blood marred his pale face. They littered his entire body, the tails of the spatter marks pointing outward. He was tall, hulking, and massive for his young features. He wiped his hand across his cheek, leaving a thick, scarlet stain in his wake. His eyes were still wide, and his grin stretched across his lips from the good work he had just done.

He couldn’t have been much older than you.

And just behind him, one of the guards picked his head off the ground. You thought you recognized him as the soldier from earlier who carried the baton. His arm moved forward, dragging his body slowly across the broken concrete below. You didn’t even have time to be fearful of the beast in front of you, too distracted by the movement in your haze state as the guard’s hand slowly reached forward to the rifle that sat on the ground. 

Your lips parted, but no words came out. They stalled in your throat as you held out a palm, your body moving faster than your voice. Your eyes met the caped boy’s gaze. 

You tried to warn him without reason. You wanted to tell him against your better judgment, in the face of his blood-stained gloves as he stood on the body of the man he had just brutalized with nothing but his fists. 

And yet…

The rifle went off with a bang. 

It nearly sent you tumbling back toward the ground.

BANG!

You let out a loud gasp of surprise, the ugly-sounding wind squeaking in your throat as you flinched back. The adrenaline was still pumping through your veins as you heard a panging sound. The explosion of gore you thought would fly toward you never came.

BANG!... Pang…

You had brought one arm to shield your head, and as you slowly emerged, your opposite hand was still pointing toward the soldier on the ground. Your single, extended index finger tremored violently even as you began to look up. 

The caped boy stood tall exactly where he had been before, seeming to be completely intact despite the deep scowl that contorted his face. He turned on his heel. The soldier on the ground’s eyes went wide as he approached. The soldier cocked the gun up, moving to take another shot before the rifle was wrenched out of his hand. 

The caped boy threw it to the ground behind him. The metal had a distinct impression where his fingers were, warping the metal and making the weapon unusable. He cocked back his fist. The soldier’s squirming and pleads did little to prevent the powerful punch that sank into his head at a velocity unseen. 

The rest of the body flew up at the impact. The limbs slammed back down against the ground. A terrible crunching sound reverberated through the air. And just like before, the caped figure began whaling on the corpse below, a broad grin on his lips. 

You watched as the punches flew, continuing to produce terrible noises as you clutched your own injuries. Your thoughts came to your foggy mind like an abstract cloud. The stinging of the large gash on your lip throbbed, a subtle reminder of what had happened before this green beast came. You could feel the breeze against your back where your shirt had been torn. You didn’t even know how long it had been like that. The breeze and the sharp pain in your gut reminded you of what could have happened.

It had to have been the revolutionary army. No one else could have this much strength, let alone use it to save your poor country.

You watched as he continued to brutalize the men who used to be your captors. You kept your eyes on him like watching someone else devour a delicious meal.

With every punch, your much smaller arms tensed. 

Brutality might not have been in your nature, but it was in his. 

After a short time, he seemed to grow bored. When he stood, he incidentally met your eye. He had a narrow gaze and expressive eyes that could widen and narrow with feral expression. His nose crinkled right above sneering lips, and his curled eyebrows scrunched his forehead. 

He was self-satisfied and covered in blood that wasn’t his own. The body of the man he just murdered lay popped open on the ground.

You were pretty sure you fell in love right there.

He hardly regarded you much more as he began to trudge in the other direction. You ran after him.

“Wait!” you yelled as loudly as your weak lungs could. You stumbled on the broken terrain. 

The boy continued a few steps longer before he finally turned. He looked upon you with disgust and acute confusion. You ran up to him, heaving at the first laborious exercise you had done in what felt like forever. 

“How do I join?” you cried. 

He looked you up and down and let out a tremendous laugh. 

“HAHAHAHA! Yeah, right!” His boots ignited with a blue flame, and just like that, he was gone.

*** Graphic content is finished, gun violence continues in scene II

An unfamiliar ship was at the dock, so you ran for the coast. It had to be the ship he came from. You could see the dark spiral towers in the distance, and it seemed like they never got closer, no matter how fast you ran. Still, you continued, pumping your legs as fast as they would go with your eyes only in one direction. 

The country had been plunged into utter anarchy. White-clad soldiers combed through the countryside with high-tech rifles, gunning down your navy-blue uniformed oppressors on sight. You gasped, managing to slide behind a piece of broken wall. A bullet ricocheted off the brick before the next one struck a soldier behind you.

Your passage was suspiciously easy, despite the bullets flying across the terrain. You continued to run, and the white-uniformed soldiers allowed you to pass through the war zone. They ignored you almost outright, focusing only on the opposing forces. You moved from solid fixture to solid fixture, only running larger distances when you gained cover from the foreign soldiers through happenstance. 

Things became less chaotic as you made your way into the trees. The firefight seemed to be behind you. Explosions sounded somewhere in the distance, always accompanied by the sound of gunfire. Pop, pop, pop. Pop, pop, pop. 

A few patrols draped over bushes and branches and slumped at the bases of trees, but the white-uniformed forces appeared to have driven the occupying troops back. Not a single soul stood out among the stretch of woods. The cone-shaped turrets only grew more prominent as you ran.

You emerged from the tree line, exploding from it with an unstopped velocity. You bounded through the trees, trying to skid to a stop before tumbling over. A line of white-uniformed soldiers drew their weapons, standing militantly and ready to attack at a moment’s notice. 

  A tall man was on the dock with two far smaller figures in tow. They turned at the noise, each staring as you picked your upper body off the ground. The soldiers surrounded you swiftly, ordering you not to move farther.

“A civilian?” the boy near the tall man remarked plainly. He was clad in red from head to foot. Like the green, caped figure before, he didn’t seem much older or younger than you.

“I want to join!” you cried. The girl, who also stood near the tall man, quirked a slender brow. “The revolutionary army’s always looking for new recruits, aren’t you? I want to join! Please put me to work or something, anything! Just take me with you!”

No one said a word for a moment. The sea breeze was a foreign sensation to your skin, and the mild heat from the full sun above felt blazing, almost as fiery as the three sets of eyes trained on you.

The tall man’s mouth opened to speak.

***

“Hey, hey.” 

It was blurry when you opened your eyes, and nearly jumped when you saw Yonji standing over you. You shot up, your spine cracking from the stiffness of the awkward position in which you had somehow dozed asleep. He took a step back, hands on his hips and lips tugged downward in acute annoyance. 

You swung your legs over the edge of your chair. The chandelier in the center of the ceiling lighted the library. You hadn’t even noticed Yonji flicking it on when he entered the room. You must’ve been fast asleep and out long enough for the sky outside to turn pitch black. You supposed it was cloudy; not a single star shone in the distance. 

You immediately stood and bowed, your mind a bit fuzzy from sleep. 

“I apologize for my negligence, Prince Yonji. How may I serve you?” You looked at him, trying to hide how you blinked in fatigue. But Yonji’s eyes acutely narrowed, and you knew nothing was getting past him. 

“How long have you been passed out?”

“I’m sorry; I’m not sure,” you admitted, glancing off. “I definitely started organizing the stock back onto the shelves—” 

Yonji let out a loud laugh.

“You took a fat catnap, huh? I should punish you for that one. Make you walk a plank or some shit,” he barked.

Yonji turned and glanced at the table, where the books you had bought earlier were arranged neatly based on some system he didn’t care to learn. The compilation appeared smaller since he’d last seen it by a negligible margin, but seeing one of the spines on the shelf behind the table deepened his frown. You followed his gaze as it made a quick sweep across the area around you.

“I’m gone for the rest of the afternoon and evening, and you haven’t even read any of them?” Yonji scoffed. His thick arms coiled across his chest. It took you a moment to piece together what he was talking about.

“I wanted to organize the new resources onto the shelves,” you tried to explain. “To keep things organized. If the way they’ve been shelved displeases you, I can go back and—”

Yonji’s head snapped toward you, his weight shifting as he leaned slightly forward.

“I dropped a fuck ton of cash for you to read ‘em, and you’ve been down here all day passed out on the job,” he huffed with a roll of his eyes. And when they finally settled on yours, you couldn’t help but notice the second his eyes widened. It was a millisecond, and the distance his brows retreated his eyelids must’ve been the most subtle of distances before he tore his gaze away in favor of some other part of the library. His lips pursed in a straight line. 

Yonji turned around, his shoulders inflating as he breathed in. 

“You slept through the entire evening, huh?” he mused with a sigh. “What happened to the food you brought back with you?” 

Yonji had ordered so many dishes at brunch that there was too much for you to eat in one sitting. There was more than you could probably eat in several sittings, but you brought it back as leftovers when you came back to the ship.

“It’s in the fridge,” you said in a quiet voice.

“Downstairs?”

“Yes, Prince Yonji.”

He turned, making an exaggerated wave as he gestured you toward the door. 

“C’mon, what are you waiting for?” Yonji grumbled, already growing impatient as you skidded forward to obey his unspoken order. You bounced out into the hallway as Yonji assumed the lead.

“If I knew you’d want the leftovers as a late-night snack, I would have given them to you, Prince Yonji,” you affirmed, not before walking directly into Yonji’s back. He had stopped in the middle of the hall, pivoting with narrowed eyes and a scrunched-up nose. He scrutinized you for a second.

“Aren’t you supposed to be smart?” he sneered, sliding his arm around your shoulders to push you forward by the palm splayed out between your shoulder blades. 

He ushered you out of the southern tower, and the double doors shut behind you. 

***

The entrance below deck was in an unfortunate part of the snail and consisted of a single set of cellar doors leading down a short stairwell. There was an entrance through the shell from where the snail was captained, but most domestic staff came for meals and to their quarters from the heavy cellar doors. 

Yonji looked out of place sitting at the kitchen island. A harsh, rectangular light hung down to illuminate the counter space making you feel like you were in an odd dream. The light cast down on him, saturating Yonji in comparison to the darkness of the rest of the floor. 

You heated some of the leftover food, arranging it neatly on the plate. You weren’t much of a cook; you definitely couldn’t plate food as nicely as Cosette, but you did what you deemed acceptable before placing the plate across the counter in front of Yonji. You reached into the top drawer at the corner of the kitchen space to pluck out a few utensils before delicately placing them in front of him.

Yonji, for his status, never seemed like the type to ever want to step foot in any servant corridor. And yet, he not only sought you out in the central kitchen, but now he sat below deck in the archival snail. You just assumed that Yonji’s appetite far surpassed pickiness when it came to kitchens. 

He moved the plate to the side before he stood, reaching across the counter to the drawer of utensils. Yonji was just barely able to pinch the knob between his fingers to flick it back open. He reached farther, now partially on the counter in front of him as he plucked out a fork and slapped it on the space in front of you before retreating to his stool. 

You looked at it as it sat, placed haphazardly in front of you, and then to Yonji. He sat with his cheek in his palm, studying the other fixtures around the open floor. The plate had been pushed toward you.

“Don’t you gotta test it for poison or something?” he grumbled. You let out a light laugh.

“Considering that this was lunch from earlier, I think you’re safe from poisons, Prince Yonji,” you hummed, leaning against the side of the counter. Just the corner separated you. 

“Yonji,” he spoke. His voice grew just a touch softer despite his almost annoyed and resigned tone. He dug his fork into the food on the plate. “Call me Yonji when we’re alone.”

Your eyes flickered around you. The kitchen and the darkness around you were as still as when you retreated down the stairs. The domestic crew had gone to bed long ago, and those piloting the ship and on watch were far away in their respective stations. 

“I thought you said I was only allowed to call you that outside Germa.”

“I’m telling you now,” he spoke with his mouth full, but his words remained soft. He swallowed, but it wasn’t the gulp that made you feel like he seemed hesitant. “That you can call me Yonji when it’s just us.” His eyes met yours, and for once, his face was devoid of scrutiny. 

The skin around his forehead and nose, which was typically scrunched up in annoyance, was relaxed and smooth. His eyes were naturally wide, round, and a brown so dark that they were almost black. His lips sat in a neutral line. A genuine-looking expression looked out of place on him, just like he appeared out of place in the servant’s kitchen.

You held his gaze, nodding slowly as you spoke,

“When it’s just us,” you said, “You want me to call you Yonji.”

You had to pause before you spoke his name. You had called him by his name before, and truly there was nothing different about addressing him when his name happened to have the word “Prince” in front of it. And yet, the word came out like a foreign object, one that you had to contort your lips and tongue for like blowing the word into a bubble. 

“Yeah, and don’t—”

“Don’t tell anyone, or you’ll gut me,” you said, and the words took up more space in the air than either of you had anticipated. They expanded softly, fluttering out into the darkness with a mutually unspoken sense of what resembled reluctance.

“Yeah,” he said singularly. Yonji’s shoulders seemed to deflate as he gingerly held your gaze, and the kitchen was quiet. 

Yonji tore his stare away first, pushing the plate toward you again. He took another piece with his fork and swiftly plopped a bite into his mouth.

“Weren’t you in the middle of checking this for poison or something?”

You let out a light laugh, leaning on the side of the counter as you dug your fork into your first bite. You stood like that in relative silence, eating from the same plate. Your body almost seemed to shake, tingling with something akin to anxiety as you avoided Yonji’s eye. 

Moments of silence weren’t foreign to you, and you could recall several times you sat with Yonji in them relatively comfortably, but something about this one was different. You had been serving him for quite some time. You were sure that all royalty let up with the formalities with their lead attendants. But as your gaze glazed as you stared at your fork, a new, mixed feeling began to bubble up in your chest. 

“It’s a shame… ya’ know?” Yonji’s voice snapped you away from a potential rabbit hole of thoughts. When you looked at his face, Yonji was also fixated on the plate, his mind somewhere else as he spoke. You supposed that the both of you were a bit lost. “I, uh… I tried looking for your book. Like at the port… and, uh… I didn’t see it.”

The prongs of his fork scratched against the near-empty plate, toying with a bit of food residue. You set yours down neatly. There was one bite left.

“What book?”

“The one my brother had you toss. I know you like to read it after dinner,” Yonji said. He also set his fork down, crossing his ankles under the stool before coiling his arms across his chest. He leaned against the counter, gaze cast downward. “I thought I would be able to find it.”

Yonji looked out of place once again. His hulking form was hunched over, and his forehead was knitted in acute ponderance. You let a small smile grace your lips as your eyes averted to somewhere in the darkness. The actual weight of his words didn’t hit you. 

“That’s okay, Pr—Yonji.”

“You might think it’s fine, but I’m pissed about it.” Yonji’s shoulders straightened out suddenly as he sat up and slammed his hand down on the counter. The noise shook the surface with a singular bang, rattling the plate and utensils. Your eyes immediately darted around the blackness, wondering if any of the domestic crew was roused. “Leave it to Ichiji to be all business.”

“Prince, uh, I mean, Yonji,” you hummed nervously, drawing little circles on the countertop with your nail. He regarded you with a raised brow. “About the book, I, uh, Master Ichiji only said that it didn’t belong in the library, so I, um, put it not in the library.” 

You met his dark irises guiltily, contrary to the widened expression of pride plastered over Yonji’s face. He shifted his weight to lean forward, head in his palm as a wide grin contorted his lips.

“You little sneak—”

“I apologize for my indiscretion.”

— “You’re brilliant! HA! You really are my aid after all!” Yonji shot back, slamming his hand on the counter again before he stood. “C’mon, I wanna know where you stashed it—”

— “It’s in my quarters.”—

“Well, that shouldn’t be too much of a problem. We’re already below deck, aren’t we?” Yonji was already tugging you in a random direction, despite now knowing his way around. You absentmindedly placed your hand over his, stopping short as he turned to question you. 

“About that…” You glanced toward the stairs. “My quarters are actually upstairs.” 

Yonji’s face scrunched with visible confusion. 

“Upstairs?” he questioned rudely. “There’s nothing up there but books, isn’t there?”

His hand was still wrapped around your wrist, but he allowed you to slip your hand from his grasp to grab his fingers. You ushered him to the stairs leading above deck. 

“I’ll show you.”

***

While most of the domestic staff had their designated areas below deck, you had made your space in the tallest room of the southern library. Out of the cellar doors, through the main doors to the library, past the main chamber, and all the way up a winding flight of stairs, the ship rocked below you. You held onto a banister as you climbed. 

The staircase wound up several flights, growing warmer as you ascended. 

“Oh shit!” The snail hit a large wave, causing the whole ship to rumble and shake. You slipped on the stair you were on, crashing back-first into Yonji’s chest. One arm instinctively wrapped around you, holding you firmly as his other hand clutched the banister. Yonji’s shoulder smushed against the wall as the ship creaked. 

Every part of him was sturdy, from the arm that crossed completely from your shoulder to the other to the mass of muscle that was his chest that you could feel on your back. The motion was instinctual but one that had taken you aback as you dared consider the movement professional. 

Although, perhaps you shouldn’t have been surprised. Considering Yonji’s line of work, you were sure that keeping you from falling down some stairs was the least exciting save he’d ever performed. It made you wonder how many people Yonji had served as a bodyguard for. He had undoubtedly used you for target practice a fair number of times, but you had never truly seen Yonji in action.

Only when the ship began to settle did he slowly release you, positioning himself behind you to ensure you wouldn’t tumble off. 

“You really do this every night?” he grumbled. 

“You get used to it!” you laughed, quickly bounding up the stairs ahead with your hand on the railing. 

The top of the turret was exceptionally tiny, consisting of one circular room partially split into seven sections by shelving. The shelves jutted out from the walls, each just a wingspan in width, separating the limited space into little nooks. Old files sat amongst them, each set wired or corded in place so as to not be disturbed by the shifting waves. 

You took off your shoes, placing them to the side, and to your surprise, Yonji did the same.

Two shelves extended out of the wall directly ahead at a diagonal angle. One of the diagonal shelves and a straight one that branched out horizontally from the left-hand wall created a corner nook at the far end of the room. You quickly disappeared into it. 

Yonji followed. The movement of the waves was more intense upstairs, and yet the solid foundation of the turret mitigated a significant portion of the violent bobbing. As Yonji walked across the short room, he couldn’t help but note in acute astonishment how calm it was. A cool breeze blew from the section you disappeared into. 

You nearly bumped into Yonji as you emerged with the book, but the missing library book of fairy tales was far from Yonji’s focus. He stood with his hands on the two adjacent bookshelves staring into the corner at the little space you had made for yourself. A tiny mat sat on the ground with neat sheets and a pillow. It took up a majority of the space. From what Yonji could see, you hardly had any personal effects. A few items sat tucked amongst the corded-up files. An open window sat to the left on the wall. It was a good-sized window, letting in the cool evening breeze. 

“Here’s the book you wanted,” you said, growing wary when Yonji didn’t respond. He didn’t look at you, keeping his eyes only on the space behind you. You awkwardly shifted, a subtle heat rising to your skin as you sheepishly spoke, “Master Ichiji told me that it didn’t belong in the library, but he didn’t say anything about the annex.” You laughed lightly. 

“This is where you live?” Yonji just about gasped breathlessly. His voice was laced with complete and utter disbelief as he pushed forward, knocking you back as he stepped into what amounted to your room. It barely had room for the both of you to stand, something that Yonji must’ve picked up on quickly as he unceremoniously plopped himself down on your bed. He hit the mat with a thump.

“Ow,” he grumbled. The force at which he dropped wasn’t kind to him in the face of your mat, which had very little cushion to it. “No wonder you can knock out on that chair downstairs. This thing is like a rock.”

“I would’ve thought you’ve experienced worse on the field.”

“Well, yeah, but I can still enjoy a comfy bed, you know?” he snorted, shifting his weight to get situated as he sat. He placed your pillow behind his back as he leaned against the stone wall, a visible scowl on his face. 

The ship hit a large wave head-on, and you were thrown forward before you could catch yourself. For a second time that night, Yonji caught you, but not before letting your nose smack into his solid chest first. You were sure you broke it. 

“Whoa there! How the hell do you live up here?” Yonji laughed as you clutched your nose. It felt intact, and no blood was running from it from what you could feel. “I think sleeping below deck might be less of a hassle. Keep you in one piece, you know? I can’t have my only aid tripping down some stairs and dyin’ on me.”

You sat on the cot on your knees between Yonji’s thighs, your heels propping you up as his touch slowly retracted from you. The book was still clutched close to your chest. Yonji sat up a bit to take it from your grasp. Even despite his height, Yonji could barely see over the windowsill. 

“I made my home up here before things were as established as they are downstairs. I like it up here anyway.” 

Yonji regarded the book in his hands, thumbing through the pages in quiet thought.

“Before things were established downstairs?” he repeated with a scrunch of his lip. “When did you come here again?”

“Probably not important.”

“Probably.” 

Yonji let the mass of pages run over his thumb, and when he reached the end, he combed through the book another time. Your bookmark was missing from the compilation. 

You sat before him, watching as he buried himself further in thought. Moonlight passed through the window above, casting your little nook in blue light. You reached toward one of the lower shelves to flicker on an electric lamp. It was a tiny bulb that gave off a warm glow, contrasting the cool pigments of the night with an inviting orange color. 

Your eyes met Yonji’s in the lantern light. 

His eyes were round, just like they were in the kitchen. And a beat passed where the bobbing of the ship seemed to still, and the silence around you became deafening. Yonji lowered the book to his lap, the pages flipped to a familiar one. His finger held the spot as if he were afraid to lose it. 

Your eyes flickered to the open page and then to his stark gaze. 

“Yonji?” you called softly, the word falling from your lips smoother than it ever had before. Yonji appeared equally taken aback, a glint of something sparking in his dark irises.

“Yeah?” he whispered. 

You didn’t know what to say next. 

There hadn’t been anything you wanted to say. 

You had just wanted to say his name.

“How did you know I read this after dinner?” You glanced away from him to the open pages. Their familiarity once again struck you. The pages were arranged almost exactly where you left them. And when you looked back to Yonji, you could catch the tail end of him following your gaze. 

He moved to close the book, and in a moment without thought, you moved forward to place your hand between the pages. You kelt on all fours, one hand splayed across the open book in his lap while your opposite grasp planted in the sheets at Yonji’s side. 

“Wait.” The word slipped from your mouth. 

And he did. Yonji said nothing as he stared forward in acute shock. His lips parted to speak, but for once, Yonji closed them.

You tugged at the book, only feeling a second of opposition before Yonji quietly relinquished it to you. 

You read the page number and heading and skimmed a few paragraphs. It was exactly what you thought. 

“Do you want to tell me about it?”

Your gaze wavered, unsure of whether you should look at Yonji directly. He sat stiffly in your periphery. You could see the tension in his shoulders. The way his arms crossed over his chest spoke enough to you as he seemed to morph into the wall.

“Just read.” 

His voice was as gruff as usual, but his words came out quietly, almost like a plead. 

There was a moment of shifting as Yonji moved to the side. You scooted in next to him, pressing the back of your shoulder to the cold stone wall. You curled, one knee over the other, as you brought the book into your lap. Yonji also turned his shoulder a bit to the side, pivoting his body to face toward yours. 

And you did are you were told; you read. You read from where you had left off with the cook’s children— you hadn’t read to them for quite some time now— until the end of the story. They were relatively short, and when you reached the end, you looked to Yonji for approval. 

He stared off somewhere amongst the files, and with little indication of his thoughts, you started on the next story. 

You read deep into the night, occasionally shifting on your mat that wasn’t good for lounging. And at some point, you found Yonji’s head resting in your lap while you splayed your book out over the left side of his chest. You leaned a bit to the side, distributing the weight of him over your side-saddled thighs as your forearm splayed diagonally over his torso. 

You could feel as he breathed, steadily in and out, and every intake of breath that you took at the start of a new sentence inflated your side against his. 

You read until your voice was hoarse. But even as you began to fizzle out, Yonji remained silent. His eyes had closed a bit ago. You weren’t even sure he was awake. His head was heavy, but you didn’t mind.

You closed the book, placing it to the side. The little reading light was too far to reach with your legs pinned down. Your back pressed against the pillow Yonji had relinquished, reinforcing the little nest of blankets you amassed. You curled, slumping back and letting your head rest. 

You didn’t know how much time passed before you began to drift to sleep…

“Our mom used to read those to us.” 

Yonji’s voice cut through the silence, waking your tired mind. Maybe you had been sleeping for longer than you thought. Your reading light had timed out, leaving the nook in relative darkness, only interrupted by the bluish glow of the night that cast through the window. 

You stirred with a hum, only partially processing your surroundings. 

“Well, not really us, I guess. I had this older brother, like, years ago… He and Reiju would visit Mom when we were all really little, and she’d read these stories,” Yonji said. You hummed, just barely processing what he was saying. “I think we, uh—like me, Ichiji, and Niji— decided we were too cool for it, but, uh… we’d always sit in the hall outside to listen. We never said a word about it…”

The ship continued to rock on the waves. The evening conditions were calm, creating a lull perfect for sleeping. You could feel the sea waver in your bones, and Yonji’s words filled your ears.

“Do you miss her?” you asked. Your mouth felt stale from stillness, like wrenching open a door after it had been shut for a long time. 

“I don’t think so,” Yonji admitted, letting his words fizzle out in the stillness of the atmosphere. “I don’t remember her too much. Mom was kinda someone who was just there.” You felt his shoulders shift to accent his words. 

“I’m sorry.”

You didn’t know what else to say.

”Nothin’ to be sorry about.”

***

It was warm. The air around you was acutely humid, and the sun beams had reached near burning. They woke you up unceremoniously and ungracefully as you peeled your eyes awake. Your muscles were heavy, pressure laced through your limbs from sleeping awkwardly on them for the entire night. But the unease in your body was sidelined by the tight tension wrapped around your throat. 

Yonji lay behind you, sound asleep with his elbow wrapped around your throat, functionally trapping you in a headlock. He buried his face in the top of your hair, his large form almost enveloping you as he curled around you. 

A deep sense of dread struck the center of your chest and reverberated throughout your entire body. You struggled to release yourself from his grasp but to no avail. If anything, the more you struggled, the tighter his arm seemed to coil around your neck. You tapped his forearm, grasping his wrist as you tried to shake him.

“Prince Yonji! Prince Yonji!” 

He hardly stirred, groaning something under his breath as he buried himself deeper in your hair.

“Prince Yonji, you’re late for breakfast!”

Breakfast. That was the word that caused Yonji to immediately shoot up, only to be met with a face full of sunbeams. He flinched at the sudden light, shielding his eyes. The sun was far higher in the sky than it had ever been when you woke him up to shoo him off to breakfast. 

“Ah, shit!”

Yonji scrambled up, and it was only then that you noticed that Yonji had lost his shirt somewhere over the course of the night. You rifled through the messy sheets before finding it kicked to the bottom of the bed. You hardly said anything to each other while you unceremoniously threw it to him as he headed out of your nook. Yonji caught it without having to look, throwing it over his shoulders before bolting down the stairs. 

Thank you to all who liked, reblogged, followed, and supported. Your support means so much and is greatly appreciated.

Summary of scene I: MC is a prisoner taken during the country's revolution where they are held in captivity for torture/beatings at the hands of a cruel, unnamed occupier. Yonji is the one to destroy the facility and takes great pleasure in brutally mutilating the occupiers who beat MC. MC has always had a softer nature, and felt a strong sense of gratitude to Yonji, who was able to fight cruelly when MC never perceived being able to do such a thing on their own.

Summary of scene 1 & 2: (cont.) MC runs through a war torn battlefield to a Germa ship at the port. Thinking they're the revolutionary army, they beg Judge to let them join. Young Ichiji and Reiju witness this. The answer given is not shown before MC wakes up from their flashback.

Author's notes: It's the "roll credits" chapter! Not in the sense that it's the last chapter, but that I have finally dropped the title in the story hahahaha. For once, I don't have the next chapter queued up, but I still appreciate any support. I will try to have things ready for our usual 100 combined likes and reblogs, but give me a little wiggle room!

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI Part VII Part VIII Part IX

[edenspoem]

𝐯𝐞𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬.

summary: swept under your fossil gray wool blanket, a body deprived of slumber and living the effects of back-bending chores all around the farmhouse has you fatigued and yearning to supply the last ounce of energy with a bit of literature. eventually, ellie will set that book on rain check, and your fatigue, ..and her boredom. honestly, she'll definitely be the one to steal your energy instead of the book.  reader discretion advised: nsfw, mdni, usual playful bickering, one second of cuddiling, poetic ahh writing, very mild foreplay, hella dirty talk, lotsa swearing, oral (receiving) spitting, clit stim (receiving), petnames (babe, baby, good girl) footnotes: word count (2k), masterlist, palestine masterpost, read this, written circa 2023. (hence the writing style change)

radiance incarnate is what lies behind the glass pane just ahead of your bed-post. lunar light outstanding the dark night, never lacking a few stars that flecked the sky above the nocturnal forest, at least what you could perceive through a regular sized window. fusing with the comfortability of your mattress and cloaked in a warm wool blanket makes for a nice end-of-the-day reward while you immerse yourself in the realm of 'the odyssey'. ellie's not in bed. not in the room. she's presumably downstairs finishing up something, so not a clue of her coming is on your mind.

you wriggle around the soft bed altering your position to have one leg bent and the other draped over, the book upheld by the bulk of your thigh making it easier to flip through. page by page, word by word, space and time diminishes around you and is replaced by this entrancing world of mycenaean greece portraying the aegean sea. the room was dimly lit and still, minus the muted sounds of an owl and crickets chirping beyond the wooden walls. serenity lasts for a good half hour before an upsurge of hard rubber footsteps wake the floor by the bedroom door to the right of you.

"hey babe- ooh, what'cha reading?" ellie's voice grapples your focus to her profile, attired in her white shirt, grubby denim and converse that look like they've been dragged to hell.

"the odyssey." you respond as she begins to lurk closer, arms crossed.

she swipes her tongue across her lips, saying, "y'know.. savage starlight might be more.. fun to read?" in an obviously sarcastic note, creasing her brows together accompanying a brass smirk.

"to you, maybe. I actually enjoy this a lot." you cave the book over your chest, sitting like a roof, "you just don't have a mature taste."

"whadda'ya mean? comics are for everyone, and actually easy to understand." she clambers atop of your hips, descending her face upon you, "unlike the odyssey."

"pshh, the odyssey is a classic." you highlight.

"you're just mad that im right." 

you pucker a pout, slowly lifting the book between your noses till ellie knocks it down plumb on your collarbone.

"ah-uh," she intently strikes spires into your eyes with her persuasive peer, narrowing those lids in an undeniably tantalizing way, "can't ignore this now."

"you're right." you spat out and divided the space with your book again.

"c'mon.." she prys the book from your limp grasp, leaving it astray to the bed adjacent to you, "I'm here now, aren't I?" a humbly intimate whisper croaks from her toothy grin.

you banish your sight to the headboard above, pondering the words that would wisp from your lips, "I have a few pages left, babe, then we'll do whatever.."

"mmk, 'gonna lay on you though." she giggles and shuffles along the length of you, interlacing your limbs together and smushing her cheek on your stomach. her arms swathe your hips and tuck underneath your butt.

the book diverged from your fingertips finds its way back, cuddled between your thumbs and eclipses ellie's head from your vision. your pupils root back to the muster of sentences lining the page, with a certain breath gusting onto your mildly exposed midriff.

a scant minute survives before a husk is heard, "mmph- so warm.." the tip of her nose drags on your skin as she faces downward, marking an indulgent smooch to your abdomen. 

that brought a melliferous smile to draw out, instilled with admiration from her speckled kisses. it anchors your attention unwillingly when these kisses continue but you'd rather void it and tread on with reading as ellie treads on with a rampancy of taunting kisses. normally, this'd be blasé, but tonight, it's turning your tides.

ellie muffles, "wann' kiss every inch.." her nibbles subside in target of your navel, nuzzling on the pouch of your belly and biting your shorts' band, "fuck.."

"els."

"mhm?"

"what're up to?" the book slants down.

"you."

"elsies.." 

"just showin' my love.." her tone airs up and turns raspy. 

"I think it's more than that." you dig at her transparent peak in sensuality and prod her foot with yours.

ellie can't necessarily disprove this, she was blatantly horny but wanted to keep that 'under the covers' till you shared the feeling outwardly. a shameless smirk paints her mouth regardless, "y'know what I really wanna do?"

"what?"

a gnaw at her lower lip fracts the answer briefly, uttering, "I wanna eat your fucking pussy." and blunt she was, verdant eyes fastened to yours. she's so eager for you, clawing at your loins.

a shudder bolts the extent of your nerves and you clench around nothing but a throb at the contents of her question, visibly ruffled up by it, "babe.." 

"can I?"

nary a gloom of doubt inhabits your mind, the way she's laying on your body, patient to taste you revs you up like a torrent of arousal. oh my fucking goddess. it's making you go wild.

"yes.." 

"shit- m'kay, lemme just.." ellie wrinkles up the sheet in her fist, tossing it overhead till her head was obscured by it. the amber hue of her hair is subtle under the thin pearly sheet as she slithers down between the interstice of your thighs.

maybe the now carnal environment made it inconvenient to carry on with the perusal of your book, but you're elevating it back up from your sternum regardless. the vivid thought of her eating you out while you read is a bit elating, is it not?

ellie's cunning lips park at the epitome of your core, locking her biceps under your slack legs and dangling her still shoe-clad feet off the beds' brink.

"can't wait to see that beautiful fucking pussy.." her veiled voice has strings of raw ardor plucking in her throttle rippling onto your clothed entrance with a muggy pant on every word.

an unheard gulp passes through to the trench of your chest, sending out a reflex of sweet sensations to your pelvis, whimpering, "mhh- ellie.."

"shhhshhh.. i got'chu.." 

she begins to pleat your panties over themselves and slip them off your legs, whizzing them away to some lifeless nook of the tucked-in sheets.

"fuck.. shit-" ellie heaves in awe, even day after day of seeing you bare, it's so titillating to her, drool is abandoning her lips.

the paragraphs living on the pages merge into an unintelligible blob as your vision drowses and the only sensation you can detect is her breath lathering your exposed slit. an open 'ptui' is heard prior to a wet glob landing on your clit and evoking a jolt from your body.

"so sensitive.." she pokes fun at your reaction, slapping her digits down on your sappy pussy and rubbing the spit through your folds, which to much avail, juts your body again.

"fck!" you hack out a swear at each writhe and prod.

"yeah, like that?" 

the grip on your book tightens, causing it to tremor in your shaky hold.

"gonna taste so fuckin' good, mmh.." she murmurs to herself but you catch the gist since immediately after her lips envelop your clit and enlist deft torpedo laps to it.

a heap of pleasurous pricks throb in your cunt and garner a gentle mewl from your chords, whining, "gh- mhhhn.." tenderly in growing bliss.

ellie laps your clit in brisk flicks while sucking it up with noises similar to kissing resounding through the sheer fabric cascading over her head.

you observe the cover moving with every mild thrust of her head, creasing and shuffling with the halo of her hair. a hand prowls from the sheets' hem and searches for anywhere to rest, to which you beckon it to your breast.

she realizes this and gives it duo squeezes for good measure and her unemployed fingers knead the squishy flesh of your ass, all while smirking.

"mmhh~ I wanna see you.." you mumble into the whafted-shut book, knocking off the already sliding sheet with your knee to reveal a flushed ellie with her nose buried in your crotch, her pretty face poised between your thighs, stuffed in your cunt.

her irises hark this newfound horizon before her and diffuse an intense glare that shudders your soul, sinking her lips deeper into those parted folds and drinking up your sticky deluge.

her mouth disconnects with threads of saliva and slick following, "this pussy tastes s'fucking divine, you know that right?"

"y-yeah.."

"could go down n'you for breakfast, lunch n' dinner.. fuck- baby.." 

ellie retreats her keen tongue, dipping into your entrance and soaking up the lewd coating of your walls. oral sounds of her mouth practically having a make-out sesh with your puffy lips overflow the room and bounce like an echo betwixt your ears.

"ohh my godd.." your moans enhance and amplify in the sea of ebbing relief and flowing pleasure.

her pecan speckled skin tinted with rose is glazed with a sinful slick from how far she pushed her face in, a terribly arousing sight to behold when she withdraws to praise her own work.

"how's m'pretty girl doing?"

"s-so.. closee.."

"want' you to moan my name when you do, yeah?"

"o-okay.."

"I wanna know how fuckin' good I make you feel." her sharp curses stay unyielding in her expression.

"mh-mhghmm.." your throat clogs up in anticipation.

ellie pours over your bare stature one last time before gripping the back of your knees and pushing them up till your feet meet the sky.

"that's better."

her lips smash into your cunt once again and prove to be frothing with a craving for you, clenched brows and grunting into your groin intently. she explores every attainable inch like she knows it, licking up your pre-cum like it's the last fucking meal on earth.

"oh- fuck!" you wail out, webbing your fingers in her frizzed up locks by habit.

her inhuman speeds catch you out of the blue, binding her tastebuds with your natural taste and delighted in every millisecond of it. she hoists onto her knees and hovers over your bottom half, wriggling her tongue over your entire opening and sending that abused clit into overdrive.

"el-ell.. ellie! i can't fucki- ah!" a high squeak blazes from your gullet.

she blurts out, "cum on m'fuckin' face." submerged in your folds.

"els.. mh!"

it's the end for you when she starts purposefully moaning on your bud, finally ushering your climax to dull your senses and numbfuck your consciousness. your reality is painted with a globe of starlight just by the heavenly feeling of it.

"good girl..-fck, there there..." ellies gingerly tone conflicts with her devilish play, drinking up the breach of cum gushing from your orgasm.

"oof.. jeez.." you recline your legs once her hands flee, huffing your way down from the celestial heavens.

ellie clambers up and collapses next to you, a smug and prideful visage staring back at your profile. 

"did ya finish those pages?"

"erm, no." 

she butts off a laugh, "eh, well.." her palm advances your bangs, hooking them behind the conch of your ear, "ended up having more fun, yeah?'

"i- yeah.. I guess.."

"you guess?"

"coulda been a lot better."

"whaaaat?" she mimicked an offended countenance.

"like it's nothing to write home about-"

"u're just trynna rile me up!"

"what if I am?" you boldy tease, tutting your skull side-to-side.

and that's ellie's one weakness, teasing. her brows hike, hollering "ohhh- I see how it is!" and rolls on top of you and thrusts her pelvis down with clear intention, "c'mere-"

"fhmm--" her willowy finger seals your lips, heeding the provocation you've cast into her mind.

"you're on."

[rad0nwrites]

All I See (Ghost x Soap)

CW: Canon Character Death, angst, swearing, Alternate Universe, military inaccuracies, processing grief, canon violence, probably OOC Simon? implied long term relationship, happy ending, Simon being a little emotionally stunted but goddamnit he’s trying

Word Count: 8.2k

First post here…. Kinda nervous… Hear me out, though: What if Soap hadn’t been killed instantly, and he got to say his last words? [Additionally, Simon goes through his own grieving process. Men need comfort too, goddamnit.]

This song gives me such Ghoap vibes, and I ran with it. Enjoy :)

Song: All I See by Nathan Jacques

Makarov was long gone.

The pistol shot still reverberated through his ears like a dented gong, his heart beat contributed percussion as the world stopped in its tracks to pause for a dying man. Heat expanded from his chest, and logically, Johnny knew that he was in trouble. He was in trouble, and he should really look and assess his wound. But yet, he couldn’t move. The sheer shock of what had occurred in mere seconds, calcifying him to the ground he lay on.

“Johnny!”

Half alive and dreaming to death on a mountain side

The body’s a funny thing when it reacts to trauma. One could ruminate over every single theoretical physical reaction to a situation, an injury, a conversation. And yet, fate pulls a string that couldn’t be accounted for. Fate pulls a result out of you that best suits the moment, dignified or not.

Johnny thought that fate would be a cruel mistress, pulling the string violently and without abandon. But as he lay on the ground, staring up at the stone ceilings of the train system, fate felt peaceful. Fate was a woman warm with invitation and a longing to come home. She was tugging on the string with a gentleness he wasn’t privy to know.

Not until Simon.

The Russian had aimed for his head. Aiming to snuff out the light that kept him alive. With quick thinking from both him and Price, Vladimir Makarov missed, and the bullet landed in his chest. Some bulletproof tac vest that was. He should have pulled the trigger in the helicopter when he had the chance. Protocol be damned.

“Ah fuck…” He wheezed out. The peace was replaced with what felt like fire under his skin, trying to work its way out through his tac vest. Shakily, Johnny shifted his head over to see Gaz and Price frantic, barking orders back and forth to finish diffusing the bombs that he had started. They were good men, Price and Gaz. Men willing to get their hands dirty and experience the dark so the world can stay in the light. The men that he’d consider family right next to his blood kin.

“Sergeant!” Ghost had eclipsed over Johnny, darkening him in shade from the fluorescent tunnel lights. Every move he made reignited fire in his chest, but to see his burly wraith above him made it worth the discomfort.

“Glad y’c-could join th’party, LT.” Soap chuckled weakly, each breath drawn in and out became heavy like a chore. Ghost was doing his best to assess the full extent of Johnny’s wound, stopping to glare at him through the mask before returning to the crimson-coated wound.

“Fuckin’ hell, Johnny.” Simon’s eyes were barely holding their neutrality as he racked his mind for some way to patch the wound, to stop the bleeding, to do something. Anything to keep his sergeant tethered to the concrete floor beneath him.

“Bravo 0-7 to Watcher. We need a Med Evac now!” Simon barked into his comm device, his eyes not leaving Johnny’s. The stupid git had the nerve to smile so brightly at him, despite his dimming eyes.

Oh, how beautiful the light after a thousand nights

And all I see is you in my wavering eyes

“Copy, 0-7. I’m sending someone out now. Be advised, Med Evac’s having a hard time getting through the injured civilians. I can’t give an accurate ETA. Who’s been injured?”

“It’s Soap. Shot point blank in the chest by Makarov through the tac vest. ‘M tryin’ to stabilize but I can’t remove the vest to assess the damage.” Johnny was in no state to move.

“Can you move him?”

“Negative. Not without knowin’ the full damage.”

“Copy. Do you have Makarov?”

Simon wanted to scream himself hoarse. The only thing, the only person he’s ever shown his soft underbelly for is dying before his very eyes, and they’re asking him about the mission.

It’s always the mission. Always the goal.

Cannon fodder for the greater good.

This is what he signed up for.

“Negative.” Price picked up where Simon left off, allowing the Lieutenant the space to focus. “Makarov is to the wind. But Soap’s down and we’re running out of options.” The image of Ghost kneeling over Soap as he sharply pulled emergency med kit supplies from his tac vest made John’s heart ache.

Just by the look of the Scot, it wouldn't be enough. But he knew his lieutenant. His lieutenant wouldn’t take no for an answer. His loyalty to his comrades, to the people he cares about, and dare he say loves, extended out like a fault line.

Despite his rough exterior, Simon Riley cared so deeply that it threatened to swallow him whole.

“Bleedin’ Jesus, I forgot tha’ I don’ like gettin’ shot at.” Johnny attempted a half joke through his teeth, sucking in air at every shift of his vest.

“The hazard pay’s gonna be worth it from tha’ hospital bed.” Simon’s dry response made Johnny smile, and Simon wished that he could close his eyes to continuing trying to dress the wound. His smiles were meant for successful missions and trips home. Sunday mornings and arguing over whose football team they’d be watching. Glances from across briefing tables and shitty jokes over comms. Not pallid complexions and dark train tunnels and superiors wanting results.

“I dinnae think ‘m gonna be gettin’ outta this one, LT—“ Simon shot him a harsh look as he pressed more gauze to the wound, but it was seeping out faster than he could keep up with.

“—Don’t say that.”

Johnny looked at Ghost as he replaced red gauze with more white gauze. The other SAS teams started offering him pieces of their own med kits. He looked at him with an intensity that made Simon’s skin crawl.

“We’re gonna get you out of here, Johnny. Med Evac’s on their way, and they’ll patch y’right up better than I can.” Simon couldn’t place if he was comforting Soap, or himself. “Never did well durin’ First Aid.” Johnny’s laugh came out in a wheeze.

“Ghost,” His hands never stopped. If they stopped, he loses. He loses Johnny, he loses himself, he’ll lose his whole purpose of being here. “Ghost, look a’ me.” He’s going to lose if he stops. He’ll lose, he’ll lose, he’ll lose, he’ll lose—

“Simon.” A calloused hand reached up and wrapped itself around the black and blood-stained glove, and Simon froze. “Simon, please look a’ me.”

Kyle cast a glance at the other SAS teams nearby. None of them seemed to know what to do with themselves. But it was obvious that they wanted to give the two men the space. His eyes then turned to Price, who looked like he, too, was going to teeter over the edge of guilt.

“You alright, sir?” Kyle spoke plainly, but at a volume that John could hear.

“I should ‘ave told ‘im to pull the trigger.” Price’s eyes never left the two men paused in an embrace that only a Renaissance painter could imagine. Kyle’s eyes followed, and he could only nod.

“Oi! You!” Kyle got the attention of the other SAS teams. “Find the Med Evac! They’re going to need guidance gettin’ down ‘ere!” He was met with scattered ‘Rog’’s and ‘Roger that’’s, more than likely thankful to be given something to do rather than watch a man die. The four of them were left alone in the tunnel, reaping what Vladimir Makarov had sown.

“Thank you.” If he hadn’t been paying attention, Kyle wouldn’t have heard the captain’s gratuity.

I wandered through the dark

Fierce and bright

If Simon didn’t move, he wouldn’t have to look Johnny in the eyes. The truth wouldn’t congeal, and he could stay firm in his delusion that both would make it out of the tunnel.

Soap’s grip tightened on his wrist. “Mo ghraidh, lemme ge’ a good look at ye.” Against his will, Simon’s head turned toward Johnny, and he could feel his heart seize.

Johnny didn’t look good at all. Pallid complexion and heavy breathing. He was sweating as he took in the man above him like he was an angel. Not a fallen one, but a true, tall-standing archangel. Tears were pooling in Johnny’s eyes as he smiled again.

“You have to get ‘im for me, Si.” Johnny’s breathing heaved in and out, in and out, in and out. “I dinnae ask for much in this world, but if I’m askin’ for somethin’, you and Gaz and Price? Find Makarov and you put him in th’ground.” Simon felt an uncomfortable burning in his eyes as his vision blurred.

He was crying.

When was the last time he cried? Probably when he was a young boy, begging for his father’s non-existent love.

“Fuckin’ hell, Johnny. Stop speakin’ like that.” His voice came out more gravely than he intended. “We’ll get ‘im. Together. You, me, all four of us. Hell, I’m sure Price would let y’take the first shot since he stopped the last one.”

This time, the laugh was shared between the same air. “Y’not leavin’ me, Sergeant.” The bricks were crumbling off the foundation of the stone tower. “Y’can’t leave yet.” The gauze was completely soaked through. He was running out. The tears absorbed themselves into the balaclava’s fabric. It’s not fair. It’s not fair. It’s not fair—

“Hey, hey,” Johnny’s hand moved from his wrist to his masked face. “Never in a million years would I see the Lieutenant Riley weep tears o’er little ol’ me.” Tears similarly fell from Johnny’s face, streaming down past his temples. “You’re gonna be fine, LT.”

“No, I won’t.” Simon’s mouth led faster than his brain. Simon’s anger, mixed with his despondency, made him sick. “Just once, I want something that’s mine. You’re supposed to stay and ’m supposed to be here with you.” Simon couldn’t believe what was coming out of his mouth. A younger, more volatile Simon would have thrown up at this display.

But he’s not a child anymore. He’s not stuck in the dark when he’s seen the sun in all its glory through the sergeant beneath him. Simon craves to be selfish for a quiet life, and it’s always been just out of reach.

It’s not fair! It’s not fair! It’s not fair!

“‘M so s-sorry, LT.” Soap failed to hide the hiccup in his voice. A part of him, very deep down, ached to see Simon so vulnerable. So open. So willing to show his soft, scarred underbelly.

"None of that, Johnny. We're gonna get you out of 'ere. Y'just need to stay awake-"

“-I was thinkin’ we’d retire after findin’ Makarov.”

Simon let out a shaky breath at the confession, compressing down the urge to scream and sob. Not here. Not now. “We’ve done enough fightin’. Enough t’fill th’both of us up until we’re sick with it.” Johnny’s thumb caressed the hard plastic of the skull. “We’d go t’Scotland. Find a home in the Highlands, ‘n fix it up ourselves.” Simon nodded as if they were going to go househunting tomorrow.

“Yeah? You think a Manc like me would fit in?” His voice betrayed him in the warble of his words. “Some fuckin’ sheep farmer? Sweater an’ all?” Johnny’s bright smile returned, and another brick crumbled.

“You’d fit in anywhere, LT. Reckon ye’d look like an image in a sweater.” Leave it to Johnny to flirt at the absolute worst moment there was.

“You’ll get t’see it. Because we’re goin’ to get you out of ‘ere.” Simon leaned over to his comm device. “Bravo 0-7 to Watcher. Laswell, where the fuck is the Med Evac?!” They were running out of time. Johnny’s hand slipped back onto the concrete floor as his breathing grew shallow. Johnny’s head lolled, forcing himself to stay awake. “Johnny, stay awake!”

“Watcher to 0-7, Med Evac’s trying to get to you as fast as they can. They’re swamped with injured. ETA is fifteen minutes.”

They don’t have fifteen minutes.

“Fuck’s sake! Is there anyone else they can send? Someone closer?” Price practically glowered as he argued for Simon. His man was dying, and they couldn’t do anything to stop it. Nothing that they already weren’t doing, anyway.

“John, you’re in the underground tunnels of the London Train System. It’s not an easy access. I’m working as fast as I can. Keep him stable.” Laswell’s voice cut out, and John sighed.

No matter how hard he thrashed in his head, he couldn’t move. He was scared that if he moved, he’d be the one to kill Soap by sheer proximity. After all, Soap was the one who came to his captain’s aid.

Even loyal dogs get put down.

“Oi! Johnny!” Simon slapped the side of Johnny’s face as his head bobbed to one side, his eyes threatening to close. “None o’ tha’ shit, Sargent. You keep your eyes open.” Soap’s eyes fluttered open, looking back at the grease-painted eyes through the skull mask.

“I dinnae have fifteen minutes, do I, LT?” He sounded so resigned in his question. Like he knew what the answer was, but he wasn’t going to speak it into existence.

“Y’do, Johnny. Y’do. You just need to hold on a bit longer.” Simon looked up at John, and there was no begging. There was no verbal plea.

John could see clearly as day, the stone tower named Simon Riley threatened to collapse. John couldn't bring himself to speak. Ghost looked at Kyle in similar desperation, and Kyle said nothing. He knew what Ghost refused to see. Kyle shifted to his tac vest and opened up his med kit, fishing out gauze and sterile pads, and looked over at the captain.

“Sir,” he held out his hand. “We have to try.” Robotically, John fished out the supplies and handed them to Kyle. The younger man took the items and carried them to Simon and Johnny. They had arrived too late, so he wanted to at least try to make up for it.

He’d be making up for it for the rest of his life, it seemed.

“Lieutenant,” Simon’s head snapped back up as Kyle approached. “Lieutenant, the gauze needs t’be changed.” Simon’s hands didn’t move from the dark gauze. It stopped being effective a while ago. “Lieutenant, please.”

“Simon, let go.” Johnny’s voice was a whisper. “It’s okay, mo chridhe.” Soap’s eyes flickered; the candlewick was close to burning out.

“I don’t want to let go!” His despair burned with the acrid flavor of rage. He didn’t know who he was talking to. Kyle’s hands hovered on top of Simon’s, ready to catch whatever came next.

“I know, mate.” Gaz nodded. Now wasn’t the time for his own despair to sink its teeth in. He’d address that later when they returned.

“Gaz—“

“Simon.”

That got his attention.

“Simon, move your hands so we can change the gauze. The Sergeant ordering his Lieutenant was a sight to behold. In any other situation, Simon would have ripped Kyle a new one. But now? He was just grateful for a friend.

Slowly, his hands moved with the soaked-through gauze, and Kyle came in and pressed with the fresh white cloth. “We’re gonna get you outta here, Soap.” He looked down at his comrade fighting to stay awake and not be swept under the current.

“Yer a good bloke, Gaz.” Johnny’s voice came out in a slur, and it made Kyle ache. “You tell Cap it wasn’t his fault.”

This is what they signed up for, but it didn’t hurt any less.

“I’m fuckin’ tired.” Johnny’s breaths elongated between each rise and fall. Time was running out. Kyle pressed harder, trying to buy Simon more time with his lover.

“Johnny, no. Stay awake, Sergeant.” Simon’s voice teetered on desperation. He could barely hear what was around him, only just registering Price saying something through the comms. Johnny’s hand moved, too weak to pull it up to touch Simon. His blood-soaked hand picked it up for him and squeezed tightly.

“You keep goin’ for me, Si. I need ye t’promise me tha’. Tha’ no matter wha’ happens, ye keep goin’ and you stay alive. Finish it. Finish Makarov and then fuckin' rest.”

Simon never believed he deserved to rest. He was crafted from crooked beams and wires built to withstand the weight of the world. He didn’t deserve rest.

How could he rest when his home’s been taken from him?

Though they got me in the end

You never left my sight

“Sure, Johnny,” Simon whispered. “I’ll need to find us a house in the Highlands. The sheep’ll be our neighbors.” Johnny’s laugh was weaker this time. But his smile, god, his smile was so bright.

“I love you, Simon Riley. I hope ye know tha’.” Of course, Simon knew. Simon consumed Johnny’s love like a hungry dog at his feet.

It’s not fair! It’s not fair! It's not fair!

“I know. I know y’do.” I’d bathe in it if I could. Tears streamed in rivulets down Soap’s face, feeling like a weight lifted from his chest. The candle was going out now. The wax was gone and couldn’t sustain the wick.

In a slow wave, Johnny’s whole body went lax. First his breathing, then his hands, and then his eyes, when the tears stopped streaming, staring at the stone ceiling above.

And I'd let them rip my heart out again

If I could see you smile

Kyle moved first, letting up on the pressure of the gauze. He backed away slowly, giving his friend the distance he needed. Where was that damn Evac? Simon, however, remained still. He couldn’t bring himself to move.

Maybe if he stayed, Johnny would wake up. He’d wake up, and he’d be put on the Med Evac home. He’d be in a hospital where he’d be safe.

But Johnny wouldn’t wake up.

He wouldn’t wake up in bed. He’s coming home in a box.

Of all my demons, you were the best one

You stole my heart as if my mind weren't enough

Simon’s lungs started to rev and heave, trying to take more air. His body tried to make space for the hole that was ripped out of him and exposed to the open sun. His soft underbelly scored open like an autopsy.

He unclipped his helmet and let it drop to the floor with a clunk without thought. Next came the balaclava and skull mask, revealing the sandy blonde hair and greased over eyes, red with despair, with love and loss and grief. It’s not fair.

He dragged one hand over Johnny’s eyes, closing them to the harsh world above. Simon leaned forward, resting his forehead against Johnny’s tac vest, burying himself into the one piece of him that felt good. That felt worthy.

And he wept.

It was silent. Tears were streaming down in angry streaks. You’d have to be focusing on him to see the shakes of his shoulders every time his body forced out another cry.

The body’s a funny thing when it reacts to trauma.

You and I, crazy on quiet nights

Damn near run out of town

We were a love so loud

Gaz ushered in the medics when he screeched to a halt, seeing Ghost kneeling over Johnny. He noted the cast-off helmet and mask, turning around to the teams behind him.

“Everyone out.”

“Sergeant? We need to–” Gaz could have leveled the medic with his stare.

“No, you don’t. Not right now. We just lost a man. If anyone ‘ere is wounded, you tend to ‘em now over there.” He pointed down the tunnel on the other side of the platform. “We’ll get you when we have a moment. Now, out.” Gaz was not a large man by any Ghost standards, but he tried his damndest to block any lines of sight towards Simon.

He didn’t move until all of the teams were out of sight before he turned back to his team. Price had moved to Simon, kneeling on Johnny’s other side.

“Simon,” He spoke low, almost as if he was speaking to an angry dog. Or a child. “Simon, we have to get movin’.” Gloved hands gripped tighter around Johnny’s body with minuscule intakes of air. That meant that Simon would have to return home. Return to a flat that would be emptier than before.

A room full of things he’d have to sort through at some point. There would be no more soft early mornings, no more coffee brewing, and tea kettles boiling. Just an empty, quiet space. Simon felt so sick to his stomach, he didn’t know what to do with himself.

Price reached his hand out slowly, placing it on the lieutenant’s shoulder. Simon made no move to shake it off as he kept his face buried in Johnny’s body.

The three men stood there in solidarity for a while before anyone spoke. The truth congealed into reality, and they were too tired to handle any of it.

“He said it wasn’t your fault.” Simon was the first to break the silence. His voice was hoarse with the strain of holding back his despairing anger. He straightened up back onto his knees with an empty stare. Hollow. “He wanted you t’know.”

It’s not fair! It’s not fair! It’s not fair!

Simon sniffed and wiped his face with the back of his gloved hand. Looking at his captain, he was met with a man equally drowned in his guilt. Guilt and duty all under wraps in a boonie hat.

Price couldn’t say anything that wouldn’t have him fall apart at the seams. It was his fault. He was the one under Vladimir’s gun. Had he been fast enough, Soap wouldn’t have had to step in, and they’d all be walking out of here for a pint after debrief.

“They aren’t goin’ to provide a burial for ‘im, are they?” Ghost’s voice pulled John out of his head, and he sighed. He wished he could lie. He wished that he could say that they’d give him a state-sponsored funeral for the countless sacrifices he made for his country. But by the sound of it, Ghost already knew his answer.

“I wish I could tell you yes.” Was John’s only reply. Simon only nodded and reached for the mask. He slipped the balaclava over his head and adjusted it to fit over his face. Everything felt hollow. Robotic and stiff. Like a ghost.

“We should bring ‘im to the Highlands,” Simon spoke plainly. No inflection of emotions could be heard. Even in a state of numbness, Simon was still looking out for Johnny in his own way. The captain nodded.

“I can arrange that.”

“Lieutenant,” Kyle stated, standing at his post and watching for wandering medics. Ghost looked up at Kyle, and the respect for the younger soldier snaked itself into Simon’s bones. He’d be in that exact position if either of them were in his shoes.

“You want me to call the medics over?” ‘Your call.’ He spoke without words. Simon nodded, grabbing his helmet before standing.

“Watcher to Bravo, sitrep. Did the Med Evac reach Soap?” The question alone was such a mockery to him, it made Simon nauseous.

“Negative.” Price rose from the ground as he spoke to his comm device. “Several wounded,” He glanced down at Johnny’s sleeping frame. “One KIA”

A long pause was felt before Kate simply responded, “Copy.”

“Simon, let go.”

Simon Riley was not a good man. He was a selfish man who lived a life where everything was taken from him. This wasn’t fair. None of this was fair.

“It’s okay, mo chridhe.”

In a whirlwind of memory, I'm with you now

The minutes, days, and weeks after the London Train Tunnels were a haze. Debriefs were had, but Simon couldn’t remember what was said. Quiet arrangements for leave were made and pushed through by Kate herself.

The next day, the three men traveled to the Scottish Highlands. They found a cliff overlooking the sea, the sun overhead, and the crashing sea adding a symphony for Task Force 141. Johnny’s three-gun salute was performed by the seas of his home.

All of them spoke their short words. None of them were privy to long speeches or flowery language. They were men built from bullet casings and dog-like loyalty.

As Gaz poured the urn into the open air, the passing breeze took over for him, carrying Johnny away as if to say to the three of them,

“I can take him from here.” One less responsibility for the three of them to worry about.

“Who dares wins.”

Johnny went home, but not the home that Simon wanted.

So I lie fading under brilliant sky

Wake up, stare at the ceiling, wish the bed swallowed him whole. Day after day, week after week, month after month, Simon survived on the same routine. It’s why he thrived in the military. Stare at the ceiling until his vision swam, get up and perform basic hygiene so he wouldn’t reek, leave for PT.

Day in and day out, he burrowed himself into the walls of the base to avoid going to his flat off base. No matter how hard he tried, he just couldn’t face going home. He hadn’t cried since the train tunnels either. The despair crystallized into sharp and volatile anger.

The linoleum base floors could have been made from of eggshells with how gingerly everyone was walking. New recruits, seasoned soldiers, office administrators, and even visiting teams from other militaries gave Simon Riley a wide berth when he stalked the halls.

Well, nearly everyone.

Following Johnny’s death, Simon became… difficult to work with. He became harsher towards anyone who looked at him. He ran recruits harder, and he observed with more scrutiny. Office admin resorted to frantic games of Rock-Paper-Scissors if, god forbid, they had to approach him about his reports.

He became a downright asshole. He avoided the therapist he was supposed to see, dodging calls to schedule appointments by throwing himself into work. He threw himself into work, indulged in the pubs more often than he should, landing himself with misery in the mornings after.

He volunteered for missions whenever he possibly could. The swelling ocean couldn’t consume him if he threw himself into a different hurricane.

And though the pain rages like fire

I'm dancing inside

“Seven months, Simon.” John was practically at his wits' end, tossing yet another stack of reports onto his desk. The captain had half a mind to drag the large man through the base by his ear, but thought better of it. Instead, he resorted to interrupting the sparring session Simon was overseeing.

“Seven months of complaints! I can’t go more than twenty-four hours without hearin’ from someone ‘bout you rippin’ the head of some admin worker! Or a recruit! Or you critiquin’ someone’s shootin’ form when they weren’t even askin’!” That was just the tip of the iceberg of timid reports that trickled in through his office. John was exhausted in the same way a father would be exhausted by his shithead teenage son. Simon stood awkwardly in the middle of his captain’s office, still and silent. He felt as if he moved, John would strike out like a cobra.

This is the one time Simon’s silence made John want to rip his hair out. He inhaled and exhaled through his teeth, taking a long drag of his cigar so he wouldn’t completely blow. “I know you’ve been dealin’ with Johnny’s death hard—“

“—I’m fine.” Simon’s words cut through the cigar-smoked air.

“Bollocks.” He drew out the word like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You talk with that therapist yet?” Cigar smoke flared through his nostrils like an angry bull.

“I don’t need a therapist,” Simon’s jaw cinched into a tight knot. The last thing he needed was some stranger telling him to explain his feelings when he doesn’t even know what he’s feeling. It felt like a family reunion he wanted no part of. “I need another assignment.” John chuckled sardonically as he stamped the cigar in the ashtray.

“Jus’ so you can throw yourself into another gunfight and hope you get cut down?” You could hear a pin drop in the office. Even the fluorescent light bulbs stopped flickering, holding their breath for the exchange beneath them.

“Captain—“ Simon didn’t like how the words tasted. He didn’t like hearing what they sounded like in the open and not in his head.

“I’m not stupid, Simon.” John sighed, leaning up against the outdated desk. “Ever since we got back from London, I've seen it. The anger at anythin’ breathin’, fillin’ y’thoughts and mind with anything except the horrors y’face,” Simon needed to leave. John needed to stop talking.

“The hangovers, the risky behavior on assignments. I’ve been watchin’ it all. Frankly, I’m disappointed you’d think I’d be oblivious to any of you.” Price looked at him and made a motion with his head. “Mask off. We do this right or we don’t do it at all.”

His body acted before his brain could filter out the command, pulling the mask off in the tiny office. Simon looked tired. Tired in a way that couldn’t be explained by bad barracks beds or odd waking hours. He was tired down to the very marrow of his bones.

He missed Johnny. He missed his home. He was so angry and tired, and the only thing he knew was how to rip and shred.

“You’re not the only one who lost someone that day.” John continued, “Kyle lost someone that day. Kate lost a good man that day. We all did! Every night, I can’t stop thinking of all the ways I could have done better. Been better, so Johnny hadn’t had to step in.” The gunshot still reverberated in his ears. “It haunts me.” John looked up at Simon, not as a captain, but as a man who was as downtrodden as he was.

Simon’s mouth moved faster than his brain. “I’m—“ God, he was uncomfortable. He was uncomfortable from the strenuous workout, he was uncomfortable from the hole in his chest where Johnny once resided. He was more than uncomfortable as he looked so small in front of the man he admired and respected the most out of anyone in his entire life.

He tried to find some angry, bitter remark he could unhinge at the jaw but nothing came out. Nothing came out that wouldn’t make him completely shut down. The captain held his hand out as a sign to stop..

“I need you alive, Simon.” The five words played on a loop, spinning around in his ears, in his head like a whirlpool. The Lieutenant braced for the impact of duty. The implication that he was needed for his service. Dead men can’t hold a gun like you can.

“I know y’miss him. I know y’cared for him, and I know y’loved him.” The harshness of John Price’s eyes smoothed into something softer, more sad. “But you’re here too, mate. You’re here with people who want you alive.” He stressed with a sharp intake of breath. John paused, pursing his lips into a tight line. Simon blinked, the realization doused him with ice water.

His captain was trying not to cry.

“I can’t fill out another death certificate.” His voice betrayed him in coming out small. John’s eyes and throat burned, straying away from Simon and looking elsewhere. “I can’t even describe to you how his mum wailed.” Price let out a shaky breath. “His dad tryin’ pick her up off the floor, and his sisters starin’ in confusion til’ they saw me.” He sniffed, clearing his throat and focusing back on Simon. “I need you alive because I can’t stand the thought of losing another good man.”

Good man. Good man. Good man.

Simon Riley was not a good man. He wrought horrors upon lands like a vengeful god, fueled by duty and obligation. But that didn’t stop him from choosing to be a decent man where it mattered. Simon Riley was a good man in a way that was weathered and ancient.

“At least you won’t have to break the news to any family o’ mine.” Smooth. Simon’s attempt at a half-assed joke made the John groan. At least Simon was still somewhere inside of the shell his man was turning into.

“I’m going to strangle you with the strings of my hat, you fuckin’ muppet.” John chuckled. There was an edge of frustration hidden underneath his voice. He sniffed, wiping his face. “I don’t want to be breakin’ any news to anyone. The only papers I’ll be signin’ are your retirement papers.” The tension eased in the room. The fluorescent lights started to flicker again.

“Right,” The captain grunted as he stood straight, moving around his desk. “I do hate to be the bearer of bad news,” he moved the chair out and sat down, looking up at his Lieutenant. “The other reason I brought you in ‘ere is that you’re bein’ benched.”

The record scratch was palpable.

“What?”

“You’re bein’ benched.” John stated so matter-of-factly, Simon waited for the punchline. “Simon, I can’t ignore all of these.” He gestured to the pile of papers beside him. “Paired alongside your behavior on assignments, y’need to get your head on straight.” Simon couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“Are you fucking with me? This’s some sort of suicide watch, innit?” Simon’s voice rose, “Ghost can’t be left alone and now ‘e’s gotta be watched to make sure he won’t—“ John’s took a sharp left into his command tone.

“Why would I be fucking with you, Lieutenant? It was either this or discharge.” That shut Simon up. Discharge meant being alone with his thoughts. Discharge meant he’d be forced to see Johnny everywhere. In the smell of shitty pub beer, in the way artists would sit in a park for hours in their sketch books, in the roar of the ocean. He was everywhere, and Simon would be forced to look.

“Six months, Simon. That’s all I’m askin’.”

“Six months–” The lieutenant huffed like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“Maybe even shorter if the therapist thinks you’re ready. Long if you fuckin’ push it. Six months, y’meet with the therapist, you'll still stay on base trainin’ recruits, you’ll assist where needed. But, you’re not goin’ anywhere right now.”

“A bloody desk job. When Makarov is still–”

“And he’ll continue to be on the run if you’re dead too.”

Simon’s teeth gritted as he weighed his options. Expose himself to a light he doesn’t want to be seen in, or risk falling into the ocean and getting swallowed.

“Fine.” He spoke through clenched teeth. “Six months.”

A good man. A good man. A good man.

Simon Riley was not a good man. But if he tried, he could be a decent one.

Cause baby I turned on the light

Yeah I turned on the light

Simon hired and fired a few therapists in the first month before one finally stuck. Most of the time, they shied away from his harsh tone and puffed chest. They didn’t want to get close enough to see that underneath was a man who was hurting, scared, and angry. A man who wanted help but couldn’t ask for it.

A good man. A good man. A good man.

The one that stuck, he took to pretty quickly. She was a veteran herself, and didn’t take any bullshit from him. It was a breath of fresh air compared to the stifling ordeal of being walked around on a floor of eggshells.

He was making good progress. He was still Ghost on the base. He kept up the skills that made him the wraith he was. The lieutenant who took no shit during trainings, and held recruits to high standards. But the standards changed. The standards were no longer Johnny’s, but inspired by Johnny’s. Recruits could approach him, administrators didn’t have to recite final rites before going to him, and slowly but surely, complaints started to dwindle from Captain Price’s desk.

Behind the closed doors of his therapist’s office, Simon began to make peace with Johnny being everywhere he went. He embraced the warmth of the cafe interior. He stopped to watch the park painter apply their brush to the canvas. The smell of Johnny’s mother’s pies made a home in his bones when he visited the MacTavish family for holidays.

The MacTavish family, who had welcomed him in as one of their own, even if his better half wasn’t with him in person anymore. He was there in spirit and that’s what mattered.

Gaz would never let him live it down if he saw the moments he shared with the nieces and nephews. Uncle Ghost just didn’t have a ring to it like Uncle Simon did.

Simon Riley was on his way to being a decent man. He wouldn’t allow himself to be a good man until Vladimir Makarov was buried ten feet underground.

Of all my demons you were the best one

You stole my heart as if my mind weren't enough

Five months. It took five months before Simon’s therapist gave the green light for him to get back into the field. He still had a ways to go, but he wasn’t about to bite the hand that feeds if it meant he could take down Makarov. He could stomach nightmares and a cold bed for the sake of a larger goal.

“It’s good to have you back, mate!” Gaz shouted over the whirring of Nik’s helicopter. Not long after Simon had been cleared, Kate received intel regarding Makarov that finally could put him in the ground once and for all. All three men were wheels up before Kate could even end the call.

Ever so diligent to his brand, Simon gave Gaz a nod. But words didn’t need to be spoken to know his appreciation. He shifted in his gear, rolling out one shoulder and the other. He couldn’t get rid of a vibration deep inside the marrow of his bones. Something about it told him that the buzzing would go away when Vladimir Makarov no longer drew the same air as him. Johnny could rest once it was done. He could rest once it was done.

“Makarov is mine.” His voice crackled through the comms. The captain gave him a hearty slap on the shoulder, his eyes warm despite the frigid knowledge of where they were headed. John couldn’t help but be so proud of Simon.

“‘Course.” He replied. “Y’better let me at least get a potshot in.” Gaz’s chuckle picked up over the comms. Despite one missing, the pieces of Task Force 141 had fallen back into place, and things felt right.

“We’re approaching the drop point!” Nikolai shouted to the three of them. “I’ll be close by for air support!” The pilot turned over his shoulder and looked at all of them, specifically, Simon. “You finish this, and you finish this right.” Simon gave one single nod, adjusting the hold on his rifle.

“Roger that.”

Say you'll haunt my dreams, and I'll get sleeping

There was an unspoken beauty to warfare. You have to be born into it to understand its depths truly. Bullets whizzed by Task Force 141 as they pushed deeper into Makarov’s base, and there was not a single moment when Ghost stopped moving.

He switched from rifle to pistol to knife and back to rifle again with a fluidity that only dancers could mirror. The men worked in tandem with one another to achieve their final milestone. The finish line of this gruesome race.

“You have Execute Authority.”

Konni Group soldiers dropped like flies as Nikolai came in for air support, orchestrating maneuvers and giving the men the best shots possible.

Finish this right.

Deeper they pushed into the base, bullets provided a raucous chorus as they ricocheted off of concrete walls and metal railings. One by one, more soldiers dropped as Ghost, Captain Price, and Gaz marched forwards towards the upper control rooms.

They could see flames shoot up from behind the dirty windows as Makarov destroyed the evidence of his treachary. Price nodded at Gaz to the command center door.

“This man doesn’t leave this building alive, y’hear me?” Gaz only nodded before looking at Ghost, who strode past the both of them towards the metal door and kicked it open with one heavy boot on the door knob. Gaz couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped his lips. “After you, mate. Got your six.” Gaz followed next behind the Lieutenant, followed by the captain bringing up the rear. Smoke was starting to fill the room as boxes of documents and gasoline doused computers burned away. The melting plastic smell alone could make a grown man’s eyes water.

‘I was thinkin’ we’d retire after findin’ Makarov.’

Simon’s rifle was tucked tight in his shoulder. He wasn’t leaving this place until bullets were spent. He wasn’t leaving until he saw the dead proof of his promise fulfilled.

‘We’ve done enough fightin’.’

“It’s over, Vladimir!” Price shouted over the roar of flames and alarm bells. More Konni would be coming soon, and none of them had respirators with them. “You know how this ends.” John nodded to the two men to take one hall way and he motioned that he’d take the other. If they boxed him in, Ghost could get in the final shot.

‘Enough t’fill th’both of us up until we’re sick with it.’

“This isn’t the end, Captain Price.” Makarov’s smug tone echoed down the hallway when Gaz and Ghost stood, rifles drawn. He walked casually, as if he had all the time in the world as he bathed in plastic fumes and gasoline. “This is just the beginning.”

‘We’d go t’Scotland. Find a home in the Highlands, ‘n fix it up ourselves.’

One could ruminate over every single theoretical physical reaction to a situation, an injury, a conversation. And yet, fate pulls a string that couldn’t be seen. Fate pulls a result out of you that best suits the moment, dignified or not.

Makarov’s slimy focus turned to Ghost with a coy smirk. “Sorry about MacTavish. He–” The whiplash of his neck snapping back cut him off from finishing his monologue, body crumpling to the floor like a lax crash test dummy. Ghost kept his rifle drawn to his eye, aiming the sight to where the Russian’s heart was, and shot again. Ghost was tired. Simon was tired, and he wanted this to end.

The hallway of Vladimir Makarov’s base was quiet, saving for the distant noise of human beings and alarm bells. The air smelled more and more like burnt plastic.

Vladimir Makarov was dead. Truly and wholeheartedly dead.

Simon Riley could rest.

You were my light in a nightmare

My dreamèd love

The days following the successful mission blurred one right after the other. The Task Force received some very well earned leave. Albeit not long enough before the next risk to the world would rear its ugly hydra head.

The night before they would all part ways to head home, Simon sat outside on the base, looking up at the sky. The ink black space proved to be a beautiful canvas for the smattering pattern of stars. The balaclava was pulled just high enough over his nose to let a cigarette sit on his lips.

“Got a light?” A familiar sergeant’s voice came up from behind him. He lazily glanced over his shoulder to see Kyle dressed in his civvies sitting down next to him

“Smokin’s bad for you, Garrick. Didn’t they teach y’that in basic?” Simon pulled out his lighter and handed it to the man. Kyle let out a laugh before lighting his own cigarette.

“Think y’missed the same class I did, sir.” Their shared laugh ruminated in the warm open air. The silence grew comfortable as they both stared up at the night sky above them.

Time could have passed like pulled taffy or the snap of a rubber band, but it didn’t need to be rushed. They had a moment to simply exist. Two friends being reminded that they were human.

“I just wanted to say–”

“Thank you for–”

The two spoke over each at the same time, breaking the silence with another laugh and drag from their cigarettes. Simon gestured for Kyle to speak first.

“I just wanted to say,” Kyle breathed in the smoke in a steady stream. “I’m really proud of you, Simon.” Ash flittered from the end of the cigarette. “The work you were doin’ while bein’ benched? It didn’t go unnoticed.” Simon side-eyed Kyle mid-drag.

“You’ve been ‘round the Captain too much. Did y’come out ‘ere to get all sentimental on me?” Despite its coarseness, Simon’s tone was teasing.

“Mm,” Simon switched the cigarette from one hand to the other. “Thank you for…” God, he was bad at giving out compliments. “Thank you for what you did. In the train tunnels.” His head turned to Gaz fully. “It meant a lot.”

Simon didn’t know it, but this small interaction already meant the world to the sergeant. His care for his teammates ran steadfast. Where Simon’s loyalty extended like a fault line, Kyle’s took root and curled around like tree roots.

“Of course, mate.” Gaz’s brown eyes softened, meeting Simon’s eyes. “You’d do the same if we were in that position.” I’d do it in a heart beat. “We’re a team,” he shrugged, taking another drag off the near stub. “It’s what we do.”

Of all my demons, you were the best one

You stole my heart as if my mind weren't enough

A warm night breeze dipped and swerved through the base, brushing past Kyle and Simon as the stars continued to move overhead. Kyle cleared his throat and stamped out the butt of his cigarette on the ground.

“Y’ever think about ‘im?” He asked, quieter than he meant to.

“All the time.” Simon responded without a single hesitation.

“I’m not a religious man,” Kyle’s eyes traced a star pattern, connecting its dots in his own constellation. “But I like t’think he’s watchin’ over us.” Another warm breeze swept over the base, and Simon smiled gently.

“He is.”

Say you'll haunt my dreams, and I'll get sleeping

Time stops for no man. Leaves fall, winter comes, spring renews, year after year after year. The earth does not wait for Simon Riley to get younger.

Fate pulled her string and forced Simon into the retirement he tried to avoid. One timed-right shot to his knee damn near took him out during an assignment. After a year of physical therapy, all he had to deal with were the aches that came with the change of the weather, and a flareup or two. His cane stood nearby when the pain became a little unbearable.

The symphonic sea waves crashing against the cliff face filled the Lieutenant’s ears as he traversed down the path back to his small home, bundled in a thick canvas coat to block out the chilly air. It was a small cottage in the Highlands, overlooking the ocean. Quaint and quiet, and in desperate need of a makeover. But to Simon, it was perfect.

He waved off the stray sheep in the wildflower bed in his front yard, unlocking his door to a warm home. He stood there for a moment and couldn’t help but smile.

“We’ll find ourselves a cottage. Havin’ the sheep as neighbors.” Simon said out loud, to no one in particular. Johnny may not be here with him, but Johnny was around everywhere he went. The door shut with a click and Simon shucked off his coat, revealing a black sweater that clung to his large frame.

‘Reckon ye’d look like an image in a sweater’

The metal clink of four dog tags rattled on the chain as he moved, grabbing his cane. Simon leaned against it as he walked to the window that overlooked the sea.

“Guess you were right, MacTavish.” I miss you. “We did get the house in the Highlands.” I love you. “Don’t know if sweaters’re workin’ f’me though.” I think of you in everything around me.

You were my light in a nightmare.

The saying goes, 'Home is where the heart is.' But to Simon, that phrase was bullshit.

The heart is where the home is.

And the home resides in the dog tags on his chest. Two of which were not his own.

My dreaméd love

Translations:

Mo chridhe: My heart

Mo ghraidh: My love

Hope you enjoyed! :) Stream Nathan Jacques! He's incredible and underrated. (Photos are from Pinterest and the divider is made by yours truly)

[hollowskullhead]

A slightly more... Fluffy one, if you will. :]

🌄

“Ruin.” A voice spoke.

Ruin sighed, turning around. He figured it was Eclipse, or maybe Monty; But no. To his surprise, it was Flare.

… As if there wasn't enough issues with him right now.

At least it wasn't Eclipse, he supposed.

“Yes, Flare?” Ruin exhaled, fingers tapping at the desk by his side.

“Did you yell at Charlie?” Flare questioned, head tilting.

“...” Ruin cleared his throat. “I didn't mean to. I lost my temper, and I understand that.”

Solar Flare blinked, then leaned forward halfway, studying Ruin's face.

“What?” Ruin questioned.

“You upset Charlie.”

“.. Flare. I am well aware I yelled at her. I'll apologize later.. But I've to finish -”

“No.”

“?” Ruin narrowed his eyes slightly, squinting at Flare. “What do you mean; ‘no’?”

“Charlie was crying. Sunshine told me this,” Flare explained to Ruin, shifting back again.

Despite wanting to go back to working on a cure; Ruin felt his metal heart drop. He figured she might've been a bit hurt, but didn't think she'd cry. Oh, who's he kidding? He wasn't thinking clearly at all! Yelling at her, like she was an enemy..

“I believe you owe her an apology,” Flare spoke into Ruin's silence.

“.. I didn't mean-”

“I understand you did not mean to. Your stress levels are high, as is everyone else's. It was, as one would say to this; ‘In the heat of the moment ‘.” Flare blinked, taking a step back again. “However, she is a child, and is sensitive. She does not want to kill anybody, even of that is what Eclipse may advise for the current situation.”

Ruin slowly nodded. Flare had a point.. She was a child. One that not only looked up to him, but one who wanted to help. And yet he shut her down, swearing and insulting her.

“May I take you to her now, to apologize?”

“... Alright..” Ruin looked down, following Flare's footsteps to the door, and out of Parts and Service.

…

“--.. And it.. hurt.” Charlie's voice spoke quietly, trembling. “I just want to help..”

“Oh, Charlie…” Ballora said softly, bringing a hand to her hair, moving a few strands out her face gently. “He didn't mean it, dear.. I know you wanted to help..”

Flare stepped forward, into the room. “Ballora. Monty, Roxanne. Sun and Moon.. I have brought Ruin with me.”

The attention turned to Flare and Ruin, unsure of what to say now.

Charlie, upon seeing Ruin, subconsciously shuffled herself against the corner more, until moving was what she could no longer do. She looked down, tongue bitten tightly.

“Hey, RuRu..” Ballora hummed, standing up from her kneeling position.

Ruin hesitated, but nodded. “Hello Ballora…” He mumbled awkwardly.

“So, what is he-?”

“He is here to talk to Charlie,” Flare clarified. “And for that I believe it is best they talk alone.”

“But-”

“Charlie isn't in a -”

“Ruin wishes to speak with her. We should trust him,” Flare commented. “He acknowledges he has done something wrong.”

“... Charlie, are you okay with this?” Moonlight asked, turning to the curled up, saddened girl.

“...” Charlie nodded once. It was a hesitated nod, but one nonetheless.

“Come on,all of you,” Flare nudged. “Out of the room.”

There were few words said, as the group left, following Flare's steps.

“...” Ruin hesitated, his own tongue bitten. He stood still for a few minutes, before stepping some steps forward. He stopped seven feet away from Charlie, hand lifted up slightly, as if to reach something. He forced his hand back down, eyes focused on Charlie. “May I come closer, sweetheart?” He asked softly.

“... Mhm..” Charlie nodded, shuffling her position again.

Ruin stepped up to her side, hesitantly bringing himself down to her level, kneeling beside Charlie. He let out an audible sigh,hand brushing against his own rays. He shifted his position, legs crossed as he'd sit beside the distressed little girl. “... Charlie..”

…

Not a word. Okay.. that's fair..

“I'm sorry, sweetheart. You wanted to help. I shouldn't have yelled at you,” Ruin apologized.

… Nothing yet..

“...” Ruin folded his arms looking away with guilt buried in his eyes. “... You're a good child. You wanted to help me. You.. wish to help us all. You were trying to help, and I snapped at you. It was wrong of me to do so.”

Charlie quietly looked up, eyes watering a hint, but words not said.

“... You're a child. A kind, loving one. I'm.. I still am under stress, but that does not excuse my actions. You did not deserve to be cursed at, nor yelled at. You are not stupid. You are a very, very bubbly and bright kid. I had no right to snap at you,” Ruin quietly spoke, finally looking at Charlie once more, as he finished his words. “I’m sorry, sweetie.”

“...” Charlie glanced away for a second. “.. I forgive you.. You were angry.”

“That doesn't excuse what I said..”

Charlie turned towards him again, looking into his hurt, tired eyes. “That's okay. I still forgive you, RuRu…” She attempted a smile, which curved wobbly.

“...” Ruin brought a hand to her hair, stroking it softly. She's just a kid. She didn't deserve to be yelled at. God. She didn't deserve to deal with any of this..

Charlie leaned against Ruin's shoulder, feeling his arm wrap around her, attempting to sooth her. Ruin remained quiet as he heard her begin to cry, trembling ever so.

“...” Charlie had begun to cry, unable to keep it in again.

Ruin allowed her to cling on to him, hearing her sobs as she could no longer fight them back. Ruin hugged her; fulfilled, hearted apologies spoken softly to her.

“I'm sorry Eclipse…” Charlie cried out, leaning closer again.

Ruin said nothing, eyes closing as he hugged her tightly.

… Charlie didn't deserve this.

Not me kicking my feet and absorbing angst and fluff at the same time.

[immortaledd]

⚠️ Tobacco TW!!

Heh…guess what I found out how to do…MAKE TEXT SMALLER! oh..and..new brush styles I guess LMAO

Mr. Puzzles Art AND Analysis!

The reactions to Mr. Puzzles I see over different pieces of media genuinely make me so upset.

People either glaze him, simp for him, or hate him. It breaks my heart SO much.

He has so much content potential, and the fact the community here is so small despite the views being so large makes my last star shatter in my chest.

The hate that Mr. Puzzles gets from SOME fans reminds me of 2022 TSAMS Eclipse hate. People argue over how he’s obsessive, a murderer, insane, etc. They treat him like people are glorifying a non-fiction character and it makes me pull strands of hair out…

For those of you unfamiliar with “2022 TSAMS Eclipse hate”, imagine a fictional villain incapable of feeling real emotion being stabbed a bajillion times in his lore, becoming evil, and then getting HATE for RIGHTFULLY CRASHING OUT!!! [It’s not as black and white as that but it’s the main premise.]

ANALYSIS

TW: Topics such as fictional (child) ab*se, fictional death, fictional t*rture, mental illness, body gore descriptions (dec*apit*tipn) and other adjacent issues.

SPOILERS FOR ALL PUZZLEVISION RELATED EPISODES! I advise WATCHING IT ALL FIRST!!!

THIS RANT IS NOT AT ALL DIRECTED AT THE WRITERS OF SMG4, THIS IS A RANT AS IF WE ARE INSIDE IN THE SHOW.

SMG4, LOVE YOUR WORK!!

[ SHOW ANALYSIS ]

We all have to agree Mr. Puzzles had a long history of child abuse. He flinches at any given moment, has issues expressing emotions properly, and has terrible lash outs which he probably learned and inherited from his father. Even if it wasn’t PHYSICAL, we have CLEAR evidence there was emotional abuse. His father kicks down his dreams, neglected him…and clearly didn’t care when he decapitated himself.

Not to mention his coping mechanism is TELEVISION. Excuse me breaking the fourth wall, but if you’re into this show, chances are you have had a lot of childhood issues and have turned to media as an outlet. I know I did! Let that alone speak for his character.

Only having television in place for social learning, mental development, physical development, and other things you canNOT be using television as a substitute for is going to lead to a LOT of problems. Like…enslaving the entire world for entertainment. I mean just LOOK AT HIS BODY!!! Although what his body is made out of is up for debate, I believe his torso at LEAST is still human. THAT MAN IS LANKY AND MALNOURISHED, GOOD GOD!!

None of his dreams were even INHERENTLY bad. Even his behaviors after lashing out are childish and full of tears. He shuts down easily, clearly doesn’t know how to balance emotions, and doesn’t know how to carry out plans in a healthy manner. Especially after SMG4 whooped his behind and suddenly his mindset hard-switched to “get revenge at all costs”. Just like the movies!! Whoo hoo!!!

In Mr. Puzzles’ mind, his senses of protagonist and antagonist are warped. He may subconsciously know he’s an antagonist (at least during the first arc) and is slowly accepting it as Arcs go on (last WOTFI and the WOTFI to come..), but consciously he believes the SMG4 crew is the antagonist, he is just “making them pay”. Which YEAH I KINDA DO TO?? I DON’T KNOW ABOUT YOU GUYS, BUT I’D CRASH OUT TOO.

There were SEVERAL times SMG4 could’ve turned around and said “nono it’s okay we’ll be awesome together!!” But for SOME reason they only do that ONCE (which, if you’re a redeemed villain enjoyer..you and I know you have to try WAY MORE THAN ONCE!?!) while he’s MID CRASH OUT!! YOU CAN’T END A STORY ON A CLIMAX!! UGH!!!!!

He is so full of resentment and anger that there are barely any more openings to fix what could’ve been fixed so long ago. I low-key blame Meggy so hard…LIKE HOW DO YOU SEE A ~10 YEAR OLD SHARING HIS HOPES AND DREAMS AND SAY “SHUT UP, CRIMINAL!!” ?!???? 😭😭 [Not that black and white but I’m being blunt. <3]

[ FANDOM ANALYSIS ]

FOR THOSE OF YOU SAYING MR. PUZZLES IS OBSESSIVE…OHHHHHH DON’T GET ME STARTED. It’s attachment issues. When you haven’t had piece of food in a week, the meal you receive from someone on the street, no matter how small, the quality, or stale, you’re going to eat it and you’re going to thank GOD. The same thing happens with social needs. Living without friends is unnatural for humans. Of course he got “obsessive” when someone actually cared about him and supported him. Seeing Leggy get taken away over and over again and then being TRAPPED inside this woman who HATES YOU is like watching your mom take away your childhood toy-friend as the age of 7 and putting them in the wash. To him, Leggy is being held HOSTAGE by a HORRIBLE WOMAN!!!!!!!

“He’s a murderer!!” “I don’t want to excuse his actions…” “He’s a terrible person!!” OKAY?? WHAT DO YOU WANT ME TO DO ABOUT A FICTIONAL CHARACTER???? LOCK HIM AWAY?? Yeah let me call 911 gangsters, brb. You don’t have to treat FICTIONAL killer villains like real life serial killers. You’re allowed to enjoy a character. Especially one as well built as this one. This can vary for specific fictional characters…[valentino from hazbin hotel…you’re on the dni list.] but Mr. Puzzles is NOT one of them. You’re not going to get cancelled for kinning / liking a character you can relate to enduring child abuse and constant defeat.

When you like a “bad” character, it all depends on WHY you like the character. “I like valentino because of what he’s done to angel dust” is WAYYYYY different than “I like Mr. Puzzles because I relate to getting put down by others and being immaturely childish.” I needed this section written because it genuinely made me so uncomfortable to see people say “I don’t want to defend Mr. Puzzles…” and “You’re all blinded by his comedy to see he’s a horrible person!!!!” Y..yeah. That’s the point of a villain. I need to know you understand that. Villains aren’t supposed to be good people. Villains, at best, are supposed to be human.

[ SIMPABILITY (FANDOM) ANALYSIS ]

A word for the simps…I’m so sorry but I need my opinion out there.

You won’t be getting in that man’s bed. I see so many people romanticizing him and making him some big Top-Dominant-Alpha-Male…and it’s just…

“Can I play crossword puzzles on it?🥺🥺”

NO!!!!!!!!!!!

I believe he’s straight (as far as he knows…aka…bi-curious) and I do genuinely love all the oc x canon I see because there’s so much comfort that comes out of it - but the oversexualizing is too far in my view.

He would be an awkward mess, no clue what to do, and would probably get cold feet and back out. I’m so sorry. But that man doesn’t even have a BODY. HE’S PROBABLY A KEN DOLL HONESTLY!!!!!!!! LACK OF REPRODUCTION!!!!!!!!!!!!

I don’t genuinely care if you’re thirsting over this man as long as it isn’t self destructive. This is just my opinion and you have a right to your own! That includes you having a different opinion to everything else in this little rant of mine.

[twiceeshy]

Terms of Reference [3/3]

Read on ao3.

Chapter 3: In which photographs are taken. (3.3k words)

Summary: By the time they arrived at the European section of the calendar, Pecco had socialised his family into understanding that he was, indeed, in a potentially ill-advised situationship with this teammate, and he had not very much intention of leaving it.

E, marcnaia, set in 2025.

[start] [prev chapter]

--

Pecco kept his duplicitous secrets to himself during training. He raced against his friends, they worked out and showered together, and they broke bread with Vale.

The days were stained with a tint of melancholia, slow and languid even as he turned his bike into a fast corner on the track. He committed every detail to his considerable memory, aware that even if things remained good, they would invariably change. Change had come upon them before, when friends left to seek different paths. They always weathered them together, but Pecco had never been the catalyst; never been blamed, never been other.

Bez sprayed water at him in the shower, because he was a joker, and Pecco thought he would miss this simplicity most. He loved Bez, and Bez loved him, and Bez loved Vale. Bez loved faithfully, and he would surely be challenged when he found him himself confronted with a friend who had grown complicated.

But then Bez slung am arm over his shoulder, joyful with friendship, mindless to the towel falling lower on his hip or Pecco's meandering worries, and Pecco thought - hoped - that in some way or form, they would always be alright.

--

The team was to make the pilgrimage to Marc's ant monument in Aragon to take photos for the team socials before the weekend started. Only Marc was supposed to go initially, but Pecco expressed that he didn't mind joining, in the name of respect between competitors, and a quiet refusal to be eclipsed by Marc.

"Davide thinks you are an angel," Marc said, crossing over to Pecco's side of the box to speak with him before they set out. He strolled about as though he owned a place, once he was comfortable enough. "I think you are trying to be sly."

Pecco's crew chief, Christian, overheard and raised an eyebrow. "He is no angel," he said.

Marc smirked in a way that could only be interpreted as devious. "I know," he said.

Maybe he referred to the on-track actions, or maybe things that had nothing to do with the track. Or both.

"I'm learning from you," Pecco said, mustering all of his innocence to peer up at him.

"Very romantic," Marc said.

Cristian's eyes shifted slowly from Marc to Pecco and back. "I missed something," he realised. Pecco typically told him everything important.

Marc had always been happy to leave mysteries unexplained, and Pecco struggled to find words that suited their situation. It was half in secret, half in the open, and not yet defined or committed because a commitment felt a little bit like giving up, and he couldn't.

He quirked a small smile at Cristian. "It has been this way all year," he said.

--

Pecco scrolled through Marc's camera roll as they laid in bed that night. Marc was sweetly pliant, and handed over his unlocked phone without thinking twice about it. Just over a week ago, Pecco had fought against the curious urge to break into it, but it turned out that all he had to do was ask.

Their colleague had gone trigger-happy in taking the team photos earlier that day. There were rows and rows of still pictures of Marc standing next to Pecco, as they squinted into the camera in the sunny distance. The earlier ones were normal-looking, and one of those would probably end up on their team account.

The rest looked quite private. It was a little bit embarrassing to think that members of their team bore witness to them acting this way. In one, Pecco rested his hand against the small of Marc's back. He could tell from the angle of his arm when this was happening. On the camera roll, Marc was grinning so widely that he his mouth couldn't possibly stretch any further, as though life could not be better for him. Pecco should have worn sunglasses. His face read as wistful.

In another, Marc squeezed his ass, then there were several off-focus shots as they pushed each other and laughed, and Pecco patted Marc's hip to get back at him.

"Can you send me all these?" he asked Marc.

Marc hummed. "You can send them to yourself. I don't mind."

Being given the free reign to explore Marc's phone when he was too sleepy to watch seemed to be a more significant step than Marc was treating it. Although, given the fact he was still awake, maybe he was aware of the importance too. He closed his eyes, but he was alert, and his muscles were tense.

"I will only open WhatsApp to send," Pecco assured, and averted his gaze from everything else. He attached the entire string of photos as files in their original quality. Then he locked the phone and returned it to Marc.

Marc lifted his eyelids to half-mast to take his phone, and put it on his bedside table. He snuggled in closer to Pecco.

"Do you think they know anything? Our team," Pecco asked. He would have to look at the photos more closely, but it seemed so obvious. His feelings were on his face. He'd allowed himself to be compromised.

"No," Marc said.

Pecco let the answer lie in his head. He hadn't seen any obvious signs from them either. It was just that he looked so blatant to himself.

Marc nudged him and opened his eyes. "You're thinking," he stated.

"Do you want people to know?" Pecco asked. He'd been trying to imagine how he could bring up the subject to his friends, to Vale, and to everyone else who supported him in the academy, but he had been drawing a blank. He wouldn't be able to keep this a secret forever if it lasted, but what if he didn't?

What if his pride stopped being able to take the beating of having sex with the person who was casting a shadow on his career? What if he could never make peace with it? Or what if Pecco started winning again, and Marc had enough of him?

He hadn't asked Marc on a second date yet.

Marc pushed himself up on an elbow, and looked watchfully at Pecco. He was too intelligent to be fully oblivious to Pecco's turmoil.

"I would like for people to know," Marc said eventually. "Only our people, not the journalists. But I am in a very different situation from you. You are in the middle."

It was true. Pecco had been increasingly aware throughout this whole arrangement that he was becoming an accessory to making Marc's good year even better, while he stood at the precipice of potentially losing everything that mattered to him. Not sleeping with Marc wouldn't fix his place in the team, but at least he would have a clear conscience with his friends.

But he still liked Marc, which was the problem.

"I will have to tell Vale," Pecco said, who was the only person who would affect them both. He dreaded this most of all.

Marc stroked the hair on Pecco's jaw softly. He had taken to doing this. "I don't have any relationship with him anymore, he already hates me. You can decide how is best for you."

Pecco didn't say anything. He allowed Marc to touch him gently, and let his thoughts crowd and uncrowd themselves. It seemed that neither of them would be well rested ahead of the race weekend.

--

Marc won Aragon, but Marc regularly won Aragon. Pecco could only look forward. Mugello and Assen were up next in very quick succession, and he basically had to win both of his favourite races. A clean sweep of the points still wouldn't chase down the point gap completely, but would return him into contention. He needed to show that he was still capable; that there was still a winner within him.

While Marc was usually shamelessly celebratory about his victories, he showed some unexpected sensitivity in dealing with Pecco that Sunday. He let Pecco lie there and spoiled him with indulgent touches, and kissed him so sweetly when he fucked into Pecco that Pecco could have cried.

Marc kissed Pecco's skin with a worshipful mouth. Traced the lines of his veins up his arm with admiration. Smoothed the creases of Pecco's brow, and smiled at him to induce a smile in return.

They were in Pecco's bed, and it felt like home. Pecco's heart was full enough to burst. He nearly told Marc he loved him, but he wasn't sure of it yet. Though if this wasn't love, then what was?

They still didn't use condoms; still were exclusive. Pecco could have whatever he chose with Marc if he could bring himself to put a label on it. It felt that way anyway. Marc had been agreeable and waiting all along.

He liked having Marc with him. He liked having Marc near him, in him, around him. He believed that Marc had a big heart and deep feelings. He just wished that he was winning, and that everything else was simple.

--

In all honesty, Pecco had been tempted to cancel on Marc when pre-race Wednesday arrived at Mugello. He had gone through academy commitments, then team commitments, and probably a hundred photos had been taken of him since the start of the week. All of this meant that he'd been working more vigorously to commit to his lie by omission than ever before, and dishonesty didn't come naturally to him.

When he stopped to evaluate, he realised that he still felt mostly good. A healthy pressure weighed upon his shoulders to perform well as he was beloved at home, but this pressure was born of faith and expectations. Still, the pressure drained his energy, and he wasn't sure that spending time with Marc would help alleviate it.

He procrastinated. However, as it wasn't like him to renege on an agreement without warning, he went to Marc's motorhome eventually. He had been given a key to their door several weeks ago.

He was greeted by the sight of Marc and Alex sitting cross-legged on the sofa, exchanging dialogue in rapid-fire Catalan. Marc saw him first and beamed.

"Pecco! Do you want to sit with us?"

Sometimes, spending time in the Marquez motorhome really meant spending time with the Marquezes. It would mostly be Marc talking to Pecco, then talking to Alex, while Pecco and Alex attempted to show interest in each other. Putting Marc in the same room as Carola had similar results.

Pecco hesitated. He wasn't really in the mood for working through sibling standoffishness. He caught Alex's eye and wavered.

Alex gave his brother a light shove. "Go away, he's only here for you," he said.

Marc looked between them, and hugged Alex around the shoulder. "Good night," he said. He took Pecco's hand and led them to his room, shutting the door behind them.

There was a pattern to break again, because Pecco wanted to follow a whim. He pulled Marc gently by his uninjured arm and sat down against the pillows. "Can we just talk and sleep today?" he asked. He felt a soul-deep tired from conserving every bit of energy he had to push for a win.

He needed this win. Vale had sat him down earlier that day and told him that he was doing a good job when he didn't deserve it.

"Of course," Marc said. "You know we don't have to have sex every time, right?"

Pecco nodded. He didn't think that Marc would be the type to be pushy, but they had clearly defined patterns and he was pulling out of it. He now knew that Marc enjoyed his patterns with people he liked, which was probably why it had been so easy for them to fall into this. After every race, rain or shine, Marc would call his mother to tell her he loved her and let her tell him off.

He smiled at Marc, close-lipped and polite. "I'm going to win this week," he said.

"You should think that every race," Marc said.

"Sometimes I know what is likely," Pecco said. Try as he might, he didn't dare to approach Marc's favourite tracks with too much optimism. There was aiming high, and there was flying so close to the sun that he crashed to the ground. He would know - it had lost him one championship already.

He couldn't see Marc's face, but he could imagine his smile. Marc would never admit to such weakness.

Marc smoothed his hands through Pecco's slightly damp curls. His fingers hit a snag, and he pushed through the knot with care. The slight pressure tickled the base of Pecco's scalp and sent a tingle down his neck.

"I'll comb your hair," Marc said, getting up to retrieve a wide-tooth comb.

It was nice to have his hair combed by someone more caring than himself - instead of sharp tugs, there was a gentle scraping of wooden teeth against his scalp, and a light pressure against his head. Coming over was a good decision after all.

"When I win, I want to spoil you," Pecco said. Like Marc had done for him in Aragon, and like Marc was doing now.

Marc scoffed, blowing a puff of air that was warm against the back of Pecco's neck. "You haven't won yet."

"But I want to," Pecco said.

He could feel it - a similar serene confidence to perform which had carried Marc seemingly through the season. Marc might take the world by storm, but Pecco would keep his home. Then this- this wouldn't be giving in. If they were fighting as something closer to equals, Pecco could ask Marc for a second date.

Marc patted the side of his face in a way that would be patronising if Pecco hadn't been fond of him. Or, it was patronising, and Pecco was fond despite it.

"What type of spoiling?" Marc asked.

Pecco had thoughts. He had fantasies that even he was too ashamed to voice out. "You will see," he said. He looked over his shoulder, and for once it was him with what he hoped was a mysterious smile on his face, while Marc looked on with intrigue.

--

Pecco had to confess that he had never put his mouth anywhere proximate to an asshole before Marc. The idea of it used to make him squirm a bit.

But Marc kept his entire self so tidy and clean and hairless that it seemed appealing. The temptation had crept into his mind when he was opening Marc up the last time, and he slipped his fingers into his tight, pink warmth, and Marc whimpered. He couldn't seem to banish the thought. This had been his idea of "spoiling".

It was so strange to him. Pecco would have thought that this was the type of self-indulgent yearning that one would have to be done to themselves, but instead, he really wanted to taste. The thought of being eaten out himself made him feel flustered.

When he put forth the idea to Marc, Marc's eyes darkened, and his eyelids fluttered. "You would do that?" Marc asked softly.

"I want to," Pecco said, feeling terribly exposed. He knew he wasn't supposed to. There was being too soft to a rival, and there was- this. He shouldn't. He already had done for months, and found excuse after excuse for it.

He wondered what Marc thought about it. There had to be some form of conflict in his mind when it came to who Pecco was. Maybe both of them were exercising terrible judgement. Maybe both of them were exercising great judgement, despite all of the emotional hardships in their way.

Marc pulled him in to kiss deeply, for so long that they gasped for air when they pulled apart.

"Nobody has ever done this for me before," Marc said, emotion thick in his voice.

"But you've done it?"

Another unhappy, secret smile. "When you are young, you can be eager," he explained. "But rimming is not bad, it's not so weird when you're used to it."

Pecco had put himself in the mire of caring a little too much. Marc's love life sounded as though it had been unfulfilling and quite unbalanced, but he had Pecco now.

He glanced at his first-place trophy, placed conscientiously on his bedside table. Then he looked at Marc, beautiful on his bed, still in a soft T-shirt and loose shorts, and very much his to take if he wanted.

He did want.

He undid the drawstring of Marc's shorts with shaky hands and paused. This would be a terrible time to ask, but it was what his heart told him to do, and sometimes he followed. When he was younger, he'd presented his report card of As and Bs to his parents and said he wished to drop out of his studies to be a racer. They'd been concerned, but his sister had followed him, and not for one second had he felt that he made a mistake. He had decent instincts too, sometimes.

Again, the draw of sweeping emotions and a bigger future than he could imagine pulled him in. He was not a dreamer, was Pecco, but he wasn't arrogant. He knew that there were things within his reach that he had not known to consider.

Marc watched him curiously. "Everything okay?"

"Fuck...Marc, after Assen, let me take you out for dinner," Pecco said.

"A date-dinner?" Marc asked.

"Yeah," Pecco said. "Then we'll be teammates who are dating," he clarified, for all the good or bad that might bring them.

Marc was trembling, a little. "I wasn't sure if you would ask," he said evenly. Then he was smiling widely, as though - for once in his life - it was alright that he had lost a race, because there were other prizes that mattered as much.

--

4 months later.

The Ducati Corse socials posted a photo of Marc and Pecco leaning against each other, half asleep while transiting in an airport. It was last in a carousel of ten photos, and the only one where they weren't in team colours.

"Our team champions," read the caption, together with a celebratory paragraph.

Pecco showed it to Marc when they were packing up on Monday. They were back in hotel rooms, which had its perks, foremost of which was that Marc seemed to be partially allergic to clothes again.

"I wonder when we'll wrap up the riders' championship," Marc mused. "Sepang? Portimao?"

Pecco gave him a withering look. He was certainly not mathematically in the running to lock up a championship in Sepang or Portimao. "What about Valencia?"

Marc cackled brightly. "Maybe Valencia."

Pecco made Marc look at the photo again. "Do you think they know?" he asked, repeating a question from several months ago. It was even more blatant this time - a distressingly sweet symmetry in their body language, softly comforting.

"No, or they wouldn't post it," Marc said.

"Should we tell them?" Pecco asked, although it had always been his choice to make. He would muster up the will to tell Vale too, but maybe after the season, when everyone had the time to calm down and avoid Pecco for a while if they needed.

"That you are my boyfriend?" Marc asked, eyes wide and gleaming. Well, that was rather simpler than the explanation Pecco would have come up with, but he could live with it.

"Yes. We are each other's boyfriends," he corrected. He couldn't help himself sometimes. "We should put a heart rate monitor on Davide when he tell him," he added, remembering his missed opportunity for a joke.

Marc laughed beautifully, and leaned his head against Pecco's shoulder. "200 bpm," he predicted. "Let's tell them then."

[nectardaddy]

american hero . . .

" but here I blur into you " - margaret atwood

content/warnings : album fic series inspired by the songs of American Hero by Towa Bird, multi-character, timeskipped characters, all written content, a lot of angst and hurt/comfort, check each chapter for warnings, highly advise listening to the album first, inconsistent uploads, probably uploaded out of order

tag list : open , send an ASK

FML , k. sakusa

Fuck my life, 'cause I can’t live without you. I might die, 'cause I can't live without you.

Drain Me! , i. matsukawa

Got me wrapped around you, got me lying at your feet. Ain't no running from it once I've got you in my teeth.

Wild Heart , a. miya

I could smoke you out for fun in my leather vest. I love you 'til the death, you're a bullet in my chest. Oh, you, I can't believe that you could tame my wild, wild heart.

Sorry Sorry , k. sugawara

If we're starting something, it'll be the start of the end. Don't want another lover if it means losing you as a friend, I hope you understand.

B.I.L.L.S , t. hanamaki

If I had a dollar then I wouldn't have to bother 'bout the bills. I'm so tired of paying rent.

Deep Cut , k. kenma

Cut me deep, turn you into a deep cut. You're a story that I'll tell to my friends on repeat, turn me into a deep cut. 'Cause you never wanna see me.

Ew , r. suna

Love songs falling out my mouth, trust me, I know how I sound. All I think about is you, I want you in my room. You’re so cute, I’m gonna puke, like, “ew!”

Last Dance , h. iwaizumi

And now you're gone, and my heart is empty. But we got this song so you won't forget me.

Boomerang , t. kuroo

My skipping stone I'm tryna catch. I can't sleep, can't eat, can't breathe; my beating heart just can't relax. Leave me like a boomerang, I know you're coming back.

This Isn’t Me , s. hinata

We can pretend that we're gonna be best friends after tonight. I'll never see you again. Well-adjusted to excess, talking all about success, chauffeur to your next event.

May Flower , t. oikawa

Don't kiss me one more time 'cause if you do I guarantee I'm gonna miss my flight. Don't touch me, never mind. They got a bunch of flights but said there's only one of you.

A Party , k. akaashi

Your eyes glued to mine and they keep me hanging. Read between the lines of your body language. Stayed awake till five on a different planet.

gen tag list , taglist open (send an ASK)

@causenessus @softpia @renardiererin @kodzu-ken @phoenix-eclipses

[chosoblood888]

CH 1: What The Eyes Remember

[ Heart of the Phantom ]

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📄 CLASSIFIED: Internal Jujutsu Society Briefing

Unidentified Cursed Event – Tokyo Ward 7 (Shibuya Zone)

Approximately three weeks after the Shibuya Incident, a large-scale cursed phenomenon occurred during the solar eclipse. The event resulted in the untraceable erasure of approximately 10% of the remaining active curses in the district.

A previously unidentified girl was discovered at the center of the phenomenon, unconscious and emitting unstable traces of cursed energy. Subject is now in Jujutsu High custody under observation. Surveillance has been heightened ahead of the delayed Culling Game.

---------

A voice ..."If you ever feel lost in the illusion, follow the thread. I'll be at the end."

---------

Darkness. Not the peaceful kind—the kind that breathes, presses, and lingers like smoke against your skin.

The world is silent, but it hums. A deep, low resonance thrums through your bones, like something ancient murmuring just beneath the surface of your consciousness. Your fingers twitch first—numb. Then your breath stirs. Shallow. Controlled. Not yours.

Fabric rests over your eyes, soft but tight. A blindfold. Instinct tells you to panic but you hold it.

You shift, and the floor beneath you is cold and smooth. Stone, maybe. Somewhere underground, judging by the air—still, heavy with the smell of dust, incense, and something faintly metallic. Like old blood.

Footsteps. Slow. Measured. Coming closer.

"You're awake," the voice says, calm and deep—but you don't recognize it. It sends a chill up your spine. You don't know where you are, and you don't know who this man is. All you know is that his tone holds authority... and caution.

You sit up too quickly, a dizzy wave crashing through your skull. Panic rises in your throat as unfamiliar surroundings blur in your limited senses. "Where... am I?" you rasp, unsure if you're speaking to yourself or the presence nearby.

"Easy," the voice says. "You've been out for a while. I had to keep your vision covered for everyone's safety. Including yours probably."

Everyone's safety?

You reach up, brushing the cloth tied around your face. Before you can pull it off—

"If you're thinking of removing that blindfold," he warns, "I'd advise against it. Not until we know you're in full control."

Silence falls. He lets the weight of his words settle over you, then adds in a more formal tone: "I'm Masamichi Yaga. Principal of Tokyo Jujutsu High." You blink behind the blindfold. 

The words mean nothing to you, and he was clearly aware of it.

"Jujutsu High is... a school. We train sorcerers—people who can see and manipulate cursed energy. Our job is to protect civilians from curses." You hear his steady steps walking from one side of the room to the other. "I assume you know what curses are as y—"

𝙲 𝚄 𝚁 𝚂 𝙴 𝚂 .

You flinch, and Yaga takes note of it as he pauses. A flicker cuts through the dark behind the blindfold—blood, screams, twisted shapes in the shadows.

You remember.

The last thing you saw before everything went dark: your parents. Or what was left of them. Their bodies broken. Torn. Consumed.

By them.

Your breath hitches. The memory crashes down in sharp, fractured pieces. You remember the fear. The way your body responded before your mind could catch up. The way something in you snapped. The world tilted, and everything went quiet—until it wasn't.

You remember looking into their eyes. Not your parents. The monsters. The curses. As you let the endless memories try to fill the hours you've lost, your head begins to throb. Was it because you used your power? Was this aftershock? Or was it because that night was... something else entirely?

"You unleashed something," Yaga continues, watching you carefully. "There was no one around your body within a mile other than a few curses who never stopped being paralyzed.  We had sorcerers around the area who ended up forced into a state where their bodies also couldn't escape for about three hours after whatever you did when they tried to get close to your body. Paralyzed them on the outside, but clearly got them reacting to something internally. All we know is it caused majority of the curses we were tasked to eliminate to be completely gone."

You swallow hard.

"You must know something about it."

You do. Not everything. You shift slightly. The weight of silence presses against your chest. You don't trust him—not yet. Not when you've woken up blindfolded, in a place you don't know. You shift again, slower this time. Your voice is quiet—not hostile, just tired.

"I don't really know what you want me to say. This wasn't something I planned... or wanted." He doesn't interrupt. You can't tell if he's judging or listening, but either way, it doesn't matter. You sigh, long and low, like it's the only thing keeping your head from spinning. You end up sharing whatever may help to get you out of this situation. 

"When someone looks into my eyes, I can pull them in. And once they're in, I can shape what they see. What they feel." you admit softly. "It's like I guide them through something their mind already fears—or longs for." You pause. "It's not random. I can control the illusion. Shift it. Bend it. Sometimes I make them relive something painful. Other times, it's... quieter. But it always feels real to them."

"That explains a bit. At least why they were just standing still in front of you.. but other than that.." Before Yaga continues, I interject. "When it comes to curses... I'm not much use. Most of them don't even have eyes I think? And I've always—always—been too afraid to really look." You don't know much about the history or existence of curses other than what you can only assume. You've treated them the same as people stating they can see ghosts, except obviously curses can definitely hurt you, kill you.

"I don't recall much and honestly I have bad memory to begin with, but I'm aware of curses since I was 12. My mother knew as well and would protect me, she had her own abilities but we never got in touch with our techniques. She mentioned to me a while back about sorcerers but she never pushed on opening that door and exploring, especially since my father was your average person. i just remember her always wanting us, for me, to be happy and safe.."

I didn't realize I was letting out a whole story to Yaga until the pain knowing they're both gone, my chest feeling tight. 

It's been a bit more than a decade since I saw a curse for the first time, and I remember the couple times after my technique never working on them. Or maybe I've just never really tried. I wonder why it's even a cursed technique if I can't kill curses with it.

______________________

🌀 Inside the Phantom Mirage

When someone locks eyes with you, reality snaps in an instant. Their body freezes in the real world—sometimes mid-step, mid-sentence, or mid-attack—because their mind is no longer anchored to the physical plane.

Y/N creates in real-time (like a puppeteer behind the curtain), manipulating the environment, dialogue, even memories. Emerges naturally from their own subconscious—a scene, dream, or memory pulled from deep within them. Depending on your intention or emotional state, you can either curate the mirage or let them fall into themselves.

Sensory Realism: They can feel pain, warmth, fear, love. Their body reacts in the real world (sweating, trembling, crying) even though nothing physically touches them.

Time Distortion: Hours can pass within the illusion, while only seconds tick by outside. Some come out disoriented, mentally exhausted, or even temporarily broken.

Frozen Reality: Most victims are motionless unless they are extremely strong-willed or have mental resistance techniques. Even sorcerers like Nanami or Mei Mei would pause if caught off-guard.

Level 1: Memory Dive

Victim relives a real memory. You can interfere or observe.

Triggered by subtle focus; calm mental state

Level 2: Constructed

You control the illusion. Fabricate scenes, loop emotions, manipulate outcomes.

Triggered by focused state—revenge, defense, interrogation

If they're not emotionally or spiritually fortified, the Mirage can cause severe psychological damage—especially if you force them to relive a traumatic memory over and over in a time loop.. but would why you want to do that?!

______________________

The world outside this room isn't peaceful. Tokyo is still recovering from the chaos of the Shibuya Incident—an event that left much of the city in ruins, countless sorcerers lost, and the Jujutsu world shaken to its core. Trust in the system is thin. Fear lingers. And in the aftermath of Gojo's sealing and unexpected return, tension among the higher-ups is only rising. With the Exchange Event delayed, an annual tournament meant to build camaraderie between schools, there's more scrutiny than ever on new anomalies—like you.

A new voice interrupts.

"A blindfolded mystery girl, huh? Yaga, are you replacing me already? I thought I was your favorite secret weapon."

You flinch slightly at the sudden shift in energy. The presence that enters the room is casual, confident, and entirely unbothered.

"Gojo," Yaga mutters with a sigh. "Aren't you supposed to be—"

"Please, continue." You hear the scrape of a chair dragged backward, on purpose—for drama.

"So," he says, clearly smiling, "you're the girl with the eyes, huh?"

You don't answer, but he continues casually, "Satoru Gojo. Teacher. Sorcerer. Possibly fan favorite?"

"He's not here to teach," Yaga clarifies. "Only to observe. For now. The higher-ups want someone like him involved." He turns to you again. "What's your name?"

You hesitate.

"...Y/N," you say finally.

You can feel both of their eyes on you—even if yours are still covered. You bite the inside of your cheek. This world you've woken into feels more uncertain than the one you left behind.

Your fingers drift to the edge of the blindfold. "Can I... take it off?"

Yaga doesn't answer right away. But Gojo? He grins.

"Sure."

Your hand hovers for a second longer. "I'm not using it," you whisper. "I promise. My eyes... they're just eyes right now."

Gojo nods once, as though you'd be able catch his small movement at this instance. Your fingertips find the knot. You hesitate—then pull. The cloth slides away. And the moment your eyes open, the air shifts.

"Trust me," Gojo says with a half-smile. "Waking up in strange places? Blindfolded? Welcome to the club."

There isn't much light, but enough to sting your eyes. You blink a few times, focus returning slowly. The man in front of you is tall, relaxed in the chair, a blindfold of his own resting over his eyes. He radiates power—not in pressure, but in presence. To the left, Yaga stands still. Solid. Unshaken. But even he looks a little more guarded now.

Gojo sits back on his heels, giving you space.

Then he speaks again—quieter this time, like he sees more than he lets on. "They're all afraid of what they don't understand... I've always liked breaking the rules."

Yaga speaks after a beat. "Ahem.." His tone remains calm, but there's a flicker of something softer beneath it. "You don't have to tell us everything. But we need to know exactly what we're dealing with here."

A long silence.

Then, Gojo offers you a smile—lighter, but laced with curiosity.

"Welcome to Jujutsu High, Y/N."

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[seafoamreadings]

week of march 23rd, 2025

these are written predominantly for the *rising* signs but they are also intuitively "channeled" enough that they should work for any dominant energy you have! (try your sun if you don't know rising, or more advanced readers can try moon, anywhere you have a stellium, etc and see what works best for you!)

aries: venus exits your sign back into pisces yet the spotlight remains in many ways on you. that's due to a solar new moon eclipse in your sign - your already stereotypically volatile/short fuse energy is even more chaotic. keep a cool head if you can. not to mention the big one (yes bigger than an ECLIPSE!) which is neptune finally moving into your sign after many years in pisces. that's at the very end of the week, but can make the results of the eclipse seem a bit shrouded in confusion.

taurus: it's hard to think of a more emotional period than what is coming up this week. there are the watery feelings and the passionate expressions of fire plus major (MAJOR!!) sign changes and an eclipse. you're doing shadow work the entire time too, whether you do it on purpose or not. might as well direct it intentionally.

gemini: in a lot of ways, neptune in aries might feel refreshing to you. but you probably won't notice it right away due to the very intense eclipse shortly before that ingress. for now, chaos in your social networks may feel almost completely untenable. it's temporary but try to learn from any mishaps.

cancerians: even more than usual, and even more than usual *for an eclipse*, put extra extra super effort into self care practices. a bubble bath will not do; this needs to go very deep, treat yourself like a little baby if you need to. needs not met will find ways to get met even if that means dismantling your longest-held structures. and dismantling is the nice way to put it.

leo: some really deep and interesting ideas/insights/epiphanies are headed your way but don't get too attached or invested or deep into them just yet. this is a time of extreme volatility. the good ideas will stick around even as things chill out. bonus info, i don't recommend travel at this time for you, especially over long distances. actually i would strongly advise against it. if you can postpone, do, and if you cannot, be cautious, very cautious, and if you were going to plan things out early now, this is not the time.

virgo: your committed partnerships are undeniably changing, romantic or otherwise. it might feel extremely tumultuous for a while. even if the changes are quite positive, don't rush to consolidate all your resources with those of your partner. keep all the independence you can, at least for now.

libra: you are about to enter a new era of relationships. it's a long one, too. but it kicks off first of all with an eclipse in your 7th house, which might feel more like an ending than a fresh start. sometimes it's both.

scorpio: if you have not made your daily routines and structures into habits of ritual that really have meaning for you personally, if you have been devoting your life to a cause or force that isn't in alignment with you, you are about to find out. or maybe you already know and are just bracing yourself for the consequences? but if you've made your life sacred to you, even if changes occur, they are clearly just steps along your path. forks in the road where you actually know exactly where to go.

sagittarius: probably things are about to get fun in your personal life, and i don't even mean that as a euphemism. however, this week coming up may have you skeptical of that as the era takes a new form. and yes it's true, just because you're having a good time doesn't mean the world around you is necessarily flourishing.

capricorn: shakeups are coming around your family of origin, and/or your physical abode, and/or your ancestors. family skeletons may emerge from closets or you may have issues with roommates, for example. in fact if you were looking for new roommates, best to find them before the end of the week or even call it off altogether.

aquarius: any long term money issues should start to ease up but your community/neighborhood/maybe sibling relationships become cloudy and confusing, starting with a sudden explosion by the aries eclipse and then a much longer term issue with the ingress of neptune into aries at the very end of the week.

pisces: your last second house solar eclipse for a *long* time occurs this week, which is likely to be hard on your resources. shortly thereafter is the even bigger news. neptune, your own ruling planet, has been at home for so long in your sign it may have been easy to forget. this week it follows the eclipse into clouding up your 2nd house. that has its pros and cons of course, but it is certainly a completely different vibe. you haven't seen the last of neptune and yet, an era is clearly ending.

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