#And is rather confused when his curse is broken

[heich0e]

The troops file into the capital city in a slow, splintered march.

What's left of them, anyway.

It's a stark, bitter difference to the way they'd filed out a fortnight prior, dressed in full regalia and their heads held high as they set off to serve their people under the eye—in the name—of their king. The same king who watched on placidly from the palace's main gate as their procession filed past, a sight that only made the soldiers' valour swell as they marched away into battle.

Compared to that departure, with its fanfare and optimism, this seems almost a different group of men entirely.

And their beloved king is nowhere to be seen.

You're the only member of the royal family, or even the higher court, who witnesses the return of the troops at dusk. Pressed against a pillar near the gate, bathed in shadow, you watch the men trudge past the palace towards the military armoury on the other side of the city with your breath caught in your throat.

It's quiet as they pass, just the sound of boots shuffling lethargically over cobblestones, and the occasional warble of pain from one of the sick or injured. The city hasn't come to welcome them home. You wonder if these broken men are grateful for it.

Towards the end of the short procession, a sudden incident causes the group to slow. A soldier has collapsed to the ground, the few behind him stumbling over his pitiful figure, cursing at him as they go. You watch a few men kick the already suffering man, whether by accident or maliciously you can't be sure. The small, wounded man rolls onto his side, and you catch a glimpse of his face in the waning light.

You gasp.

"Stop. STOP!"

You throw open the gate before you, rushing out into the street.

There's confusion for a moment in the wake of your exclamation, but as the group of soldiers realize just who is racing towards them—the hood of your cloak falling back in your haste—they freeze in shock. The men drop (at least as much as they're able) to their knees when you reach them.

You crouch over the supine body in the street, your heart in your throat.

There's blood on his lips and up close you can see it's staining his shirt at the base of his throat, an unsightly rust brown streaked with fresh crimson. Old blood dried and wetted again with new. He's either ill, or gravely wounded—possibly both—but you can tell he's been coughing up blood for days.

You try your best to ease his head into your lap without harming him, bringing him to rest upon the pillow of your skirts rather than the filthy stone of the street.

"Your majesty..." you look up at see a higher ranking officer dismounting his horse hastily, his face stricken with fear. He dips in a stiff bow. You can't help but notice how unharmed he appears. "Whatever brings you—"

"This soldier—" your voice breaks, and you pause to suck in a breath. You run a hand across the face in your lap, wiping some blood from his lips with the edge of your sleeve, and take a moment to collect yourself. You look up at the officer again, meeting his gaze resolutely. "He's just a boy."

The officer looks shocked; less remorseful than he does guilty.

"He's a foot soldier, your majesty... there are many young men his age who serve the—"

"He is not a young man. He's but a boy. A child."

It's true, the figure you cradle in your arms is a boy no more than twelve, his body slight in every way but for the baby fat still clinging to his bruised cheeks. The child groans, still clinging to consciousness by its final fraying threads, and more blood trickles from the side of his split lips.

You hold him closer, patting his cheeks again, unsure of how else you can possibly soothe him.

"What's wrong with him?" You ask the increasingly nervous officer above you as whispers begin to circulate amongst the surrounding troops.

"H-he's... the battle was... our enemies outnumbered us."

"Is he injured?" You press, unsatisfied with his reply. "Or has he taken ill?"

"I-" The officer stutters. Looking around for support from any fellow soldiers, though none come to his aid. "He's—"

"His name, then?" You ask again, your fury growing. If this commanding officer cannot relay the details of this soldier's health, the least he can tell you is this.

The officer struggles to meet your gaze.

"Your highness—"

A familiar voice sets your teeth on edge, bile creeping up your throat.

You turn your face towards the side gate of the palace where you'd previously been hiding, and see a crowd of household staff watching you with their hands over their mouths in dismay at the impropriety. Before them stands Geto, with that same infuriatingly even expression on his face he always seems to wear. A smile with no warmth behind it.

"—whatever are you doing out at this time of night?"

You say nothing, your teeth locked together under the vice of your jaw.

You cradle the boy in your arms closer to you.

"The king will grow worried if you do not soon return to your quarters," Geto goes on to say, stepping slowly towards you.

The king.

The man Geto Suguru and every one of these brutalized men serve.

Satoru.

"Take this boy to see the court physician," you tell Geto.

"The military doctors are highly skilled, your highness," the advisor standing over you replies, still smiling blithely. "All of our soldiers are in their expert care."

"I want him to see Shoko," you repeat yourself, your voice trembling not with fear but with indignation.

"Shoko is unable to see to this soldier," Geto replies easily, brushing off your request again. "She's traveling north at present, and will not return for at least three nights."

"I want him to see our doctors," you hiss through your teeth. "He needs to be seen."

"Your highness," Geto crouches down to your eye level. Your hands shake as you hold the boy in your lap. "There is no help that our doctors can offer this young man any longer."

You look down, and feel a rush of nausea.

The boy in your arms has gone utterly, terribly still.

It's all a blur after that.

Other soldiers gather around, prying the boy from your unwilling grip. You're helped up off the street, wracked with tremors that threaten to ground you again, and a touch—heavy and unpleasant—supports you at your side.

There's blood drying to your hands. To your sleeves. To the rustling fabric of your skirt.

Inside the palace, the staff who had watched the ordeal unfold all quickly scatter, scandalized whispers spreading in their wake. There's not a corner of the palace that will not know what's just transpired by the time the sky goes fully dark.

Geto stays by your side as he escorts you back to your quarters, his hand still at your waist, treading slowly down the sumptuous halls of the palace. Bathed in the flickering glow of candlelight, you can feel the cold, crystalline eyes of the royal portraits which line the walls watching.

"Unhand me."

Your voice is flat when you find it again, but it still rings clear without waver.

Geto obeys your command, his touch slipping from your waist as he takes half a step back from your side.

"Your maids are preparing a bath for you, your highness," Geto's tone is far too conversational for the circumstances. Too silky for the tackiness of blood between your fingers. Too gently for how rubbed raw you feel. "A doctor will be by shortly after to offer you a sleeping remedy."

"I do not need a doctor," you reply, a lump forming in the back of your throat and bitterness coating your tongue. "That boy is the one who needed aid, and was denied it."

When Geto says nothing, you stop walking and turn to face him.

"Take me to see the king."

Just for a moment, the man before you's expression slips. His smile falters.

"The king is—"

"Suguru," you cut him off before he has the chance to make an excuse. Before he has the opportunity to deny you something you did not ask. "Take me to see my husband, now."

[awritersbro]

If I had a nickel for every time I had a wolfboy OC named Peter Andy Wolf I'd have two nickels. Which isn't a lot, and it's a pity that I've only been able to use that name twice.

[solxamber]

Trash Novel Chronicles: I'd Rather Date the Male Lead's Dad - Lilia Vanrouge x reader

When you end up in your best friend's favourite but absurd novel about breaking a fae prince's curse, you didn't expect to get attached to his little family too. Even more unexpected? You fell for the male lead's dad, but hey it looks like he likes you too.

Series Masterlist

You love your best friend. You really, really do. But sometimes—sometimes—the things they drag you into make you question your life choices. This time? It’s a novel. A bad one.

The plot is borderline unreadable, but somehow, it’s now your problem. Because of course it is.

“So, listen,” your friend had said, waving the book around like it was some kind of literary masterpiece. “Malleus Draconia, the fae prince, is cursed—chained up in this forest. The curse can only be broken by someone who isn’t attracted to him. But here’s the kicker: he’s so hot that no one can break the curse. For ten years.”

“Uh-huh.” You’d nodded along, already feeling your brain cells start to wave white flags of surrender. But your friend continued.

“The main character stumbles upon him after years of drama and frees him because they’re the only one not drooling over him. Then they fall in love, blah, blah, blah.”

At this point, you were barely listening. But then they dropped the bomb. Your eyes were shutting and you felt the sweet embrace of sleep call to you.

“Also, there’s this subplot where a magical plague of squirrels overruns the kingdom, the Saint betrays everyone by secretly being a double agent for some shadowy organization, and—get this—there’s a surprise paternity reveal where the devil is the father of the Saint who turns out to be the evil villain controlling everything.”

Your face had hit the pillow as your soul left your body.

And somehow, the next thing you remember is waking up dead. Or, more specifically, reincarnated. In the body of the heroine. In that story.

You can't believe the story was so terrible that it killed you.

The first thing you notice when you wake up is that the room is way too fancy for your tastes. The bed is massive, the sheets feel like they cost more than your entire existence, and the walls are adorned with tacky portraits of people who are probably supposed to be important.

“Oh, no,” you groan, rubbing your eyes. “This can’t be happening.”

But it is. You’re in the novel. The very one your friend had been yammering about. And not only are you in it, but you’ve woken up a full year before the plot is supposed to kick off. A year of waiting for terrible drama, an ex-fiancé who can’t take a hint, and a poor fae prince you’re supposed to rescue.

But you? Yeah, you’re not that patient.

“No way am I waiting a whole year for some garbage plot to unfold,” you mutter, throwing the covers off. “I’m just going to free Malleus now, take my reward, and live a quiet, drama-free life by the beach.”

With that plan firmly in mind, you march out the door.

It takes a bit of wandering through some overly cursed forest, but you eventually find Malleus’s “prison.” And honestly? It’s not nearly as dramatic as you expected.

There he is, sitting in the middle of a clearing, chained up in some kind of spooky-but-also-weirdly-ornate setup. He looks just as the novel described: tall, dark-haired, horns giving him an air of mystery and power. But what you weren’t prepared for? The way his eyes widen slightly in surprise when he sees you.

“I wasn’t expecting… company,” Malleus says, his voice soft, almost tentative.

You pause for a second. He looks intimidating, sure, but there’s something oddly… sweet about him. Like a guy who’d get excited over a party invite and then be too shy to actually show up.

“Yeah, I’m just here to get this whole ‘curse-breaking’ thing out of the way,” you say casually, walking up to the chains. “I’ve got stuff to do.”

Malleus blinks, looking a bit confused. “You… are not attracted to me?”

You snort. “Nah, not really. You’re nice to look at, don’t get me wrong, but I’ve got my own problems. Let’s just get you free so I can collect my reward and move on.”

He still looks mildly surprised but nods. “Very well.”

With a shrug, you reach out and touch the chains. There’s a brief flicker of light, and they dissolve. Just like that.

Malleus looks down at his freed wrists, clearly shocked. “It… it worked.”

“Yeah, wild, right?” you say, brushing off your hands. “So, about that reward…”

Before you can finish, Malleus stands and, in a tone so polite it makes you feel guilty, says, “You have freed me. Please, allow me to invite you to stay at my castle. As a guest.”

You blink at him. “Uh, no thanks. I’m good.”

Malleus’s expression falters for a moment, and you swear he looks a little sad. “But… I would like to repay you for your kindness.”

He’s giving you this look, all wide-eyed and hopeful, and you realize—he just wants to hang out.

Oh no.

“Ugh, fine,” you groan. “I’ll stick around for a bit.”

The way his face lights up is honestly too pure for someone who was supposed to be all intimidating and all-powerful.

When you arrive at Malleus’s castle, things get interesting real fast. You’re greeted by his entourage—Sebek, who looks like he’s one insult away from going Super Saiyan; Silver, who’s napping on his feet; and Lilia, who seems like the embodiment of chaos.

Sebek is the first to speak, scowling at you with righteous fury. “How DARE you approach Lord Malleus with such insolence!”

You roll your eyes. “I just freed him. You’re welcome.”

Sebek looks like he’s about to explode, but Lilia steps forward, his sharp grin making you instantly suspicious. “Oh? You broke the curse? Without being… swayed by our dear Malleus’s charms?”

“Yup,” you say, popping the ‘p.’ “Didn’t even break a sweat.”

Lilia’s eyes gleam with amusement. “Fascinating. You must have quite the willpower. Or perhaps…” He looks you up and down, clearly intrigued. “You simply have different tastes?”

You blink. Then, without thinking, you point at him. “Actually, yeah. You’re hot.”

There’s a beat of stunned silence, during which Sebek looks like he’s been hit with a brick, and Lilia lets out a delighted laugh.

“Oh, you are a delight,” Lilia says, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Perhaps you should stay longer.”

“You think I’m joking, but I’m not,” you deadpan, earning a grin from Lilia.

Silver, meanwhile, is still half-asleep and completely unfazed by your chaos. “Good job on freeing Malleus,” he mutters, yawning.

Malleus, who has been silent this whole time, finally speaks up. “You… do not find me attractive?”

You turn to him and sigh. “Look, it’s not that you’re not attractive. You’re, like… objectively pretty. But I don’t really go for the whole cursed prince thing.”

Malleus seems to process this slowly, his brows furrowing slightly. “I see…”

“But don’t worry,” you add quickly, feeling a bit bad for the guy. “You’re sweet. It’s a compliment, really.”

Malleus looks a little less confused and a bit more happy. “Sweet? No one has ever called me that before.”

You snort. “Well, I’m calling it now. And hey, you’ve got your freedom, right? Now you can get invited to all those parties you wanted.”

At this, Malleus’s eyes widen slightly, and you realize—oh no, he’s the type who really just wants to be invited to stuff.

“Oh,” you mutter under your breath, “you’re like a giant puppy, aren’t you?”

Malleus tilts his head, clearly confused, but before he can ask, Lilia leans in with a knowing grin. “I think you’ll fit in just fine around here.”

You sigh, rubbing your temples. “This is gonna be a long stay, isn’t it?”

Lilia’s smile widens. “Oh, most definitely.”

Later, you’re sitting around the dining hall with the group when Lilia casually brings up the dreaded plot points.

“So, when do you think the magical plague of squirrels will hit?” he asks, almost too casually.

You nearly choke on your drink. “The what now?”

“Oh, didn’t you know?” Lilia smirks. “There’s a prophecy. The squirrels will overrun the kingdom unless someone stops them.”

You blink. “This is real? I thought that part was a fever dream.”

Malleus nods seriously. “The squirrels are quite the threat.”

You slam your head on the table. “I’m trapped in a nightmare.”

Silver, half-asleep as always, just yawns. “I’ll take care of them. Probably.”

And that’s when you realize: maybe you should have let the curse be.

You didn’t mean for it to happen, but you and Malleus… well, you’ve become friends. It started small, mostly casual conversations where he’d hover around, awkward but eager, just happy to be included. There was this one time you invited him to tea, and the poor guy looked like he was about to cry from happiness. Now? You’re taking your frienship to the next level.

“Hey,” you say, strolling into the throne room where Malleus is doing the farthest thing from brooding. He’s just kind of standing there, staring out the window like he’s daydreaming about a really nice picnic. “Want to go to the market with me?”

The look on his face is priceless. His eyes widen like you’ve just handed him a golden ticket to the best party of the year. “You… want me to accompany you?”

“Yeah,” you shrug, as if this isn’t the biggest deal of his life. “I need to pick up some stuff, and I figured it’d be more fun with a friend. Plus, y’know, maybe someone will actually give me a discount if you’re there.”

Malleus looks like you just offered him the world “I would be honored.”

And that’s how you, Malleus, and the rest of his chaotic entourage—because of course they followed—ended up at the bustling market.

Sebek? Less than thrilled. In fact, you think he might actually be foaming at the mouth. “I cannot believe you are fraternizing with Lord Malleus so casually! Do you not understand the honor you’ve been given?!”

“Sebek,” you sigh, waving a hand dismissively, “we’ve been over this. I’m his friend. Friends do normal stuff together. You know, like going to the market.”

Sebek glares at you like you’ve just insulted his entire bloodline. “Lord Malleus does not engage in such trivialities!”

“Uh,” you glance over at Malleus, who is currently inspecting a row of intricately carved fruit. “He’s literally doing it right now, Sebek.”

Malleus turns to you, holding up a fruit shaped like a tiny dragon. “Would you like to try one? It is said to bring good fortune.”

You grin at him. “If you’re offering, I’m down.”

Sebek looks like he’s about to explode from sheer indignation.

“You dare—!”

“Sebek,” Malleus cuts in, his voice as gentle as ever. “I am quite enjoying myself. There’s no need to worry.”

You grin at the sight. “You’re really into this, huh?”

Malleus glances at you, a little bashful but still smiling. “I have never been invited to something like this before. It is… a new experience.”

Oh god, he’s so sweet. You feel like you’re corrupting a baby deer by dragging him into the real world, but it’s so worth it.

Lilia, however, is having the time of his life. He leans over, grinning like the mischievous little gremlin he is, and whispers in your ear, “I must say, you’ve got quite the charm. Lord Malleus rarely accepts invitations. You might be more important to him than you think.”

You snort. “Yeah, well, maybe he just really likes fruit.”

Lilia laughs, a sound that’s equal parts endearing and dangerous. “Or maybe he enjoys your company, hm?”

“Careful,” you say, flashing a grin. “Keep sweet-talking me like that, and I might start flirting back.”

Lilia’s eyes gleam with amusement. “Oh? I think I’d enjoy that.”

Oh god, he’s not backing down. Now you’re in the deep end. “Listen, if you keep going, I’m gonna have to ask if you’ve got plans for dinner.”

“I’m free this evening,” Lilia replies smoothly. “Shall I prepare a feast? Or perhaps we could have something more… intimate?”

You blink at him, unable to tell if he’s messing with you or if this is just how he operates. Either way, you’re so down to find out.

Before you can respond, Sebek cuts in, voice raised to what can only be described as ‘angry airhorn.’ “You will not speak so casually to Master Lilia!”

“Oh, Sebek, relax,” you say, patting him on the shoulder, which is a mistake because it feels like patting a brick wall. “He likes it.”

Lilia winks at you, thoroughly enjoying the chaos. “Indeed, I do.”

You smirk, shooting Lilia a playful look. “See? The man’s practically begging for attention.”

Malleus, meanwhile, has been watching this entire exchange with mild confusion. “Is this what humans call… flirting?”

You give him an exaggerated nod. “Yup. It’s a sacred tradition. Very serious stuff.”

“I see,” Malleus muses, looking between you and Lilia. “Perhaps I should try it as well?”

“Oh, please don’t,” Sebek groans, looking absolutely horrified at the idea of Malleus flirting. “Lord Malleus, you are above such trivial pursuits!”

Lilia is practically cackling at this point. “Now, now, Sebek. It wouldn’t hurt to let Malleus explore new experiences.”

You grin and elbow Malleus lightly. “Don’t listen to Sebek. You can totally flirt if you want.”

Malleus, sweet as he is, looks completely serious when he asks, “What would I say? I do not wish to offend.”

You pause, trying very hard not to laugh. “Okay, how about this? Try complimenting someone. Like…” You glance around and point at a vendor selling flowers. “Tell them they have lovely flowers.”

Malleus nods, taking this very seriously, and walks over to the vendor. You, Lilia, Sebek, and Silver (who’s been napping the whole time) watch as Malleus, ever the gentleman, says to the vendor, “Your flowers… are as radiant as the moonlight.”

The vendor looks flustered, blushing furiously. “Oh! Thank you, My Lord!”

You can’t help but laugh. “See? You’re a natural.”

Malleus returns to your side, looking pleased with himself. “I believe that went well.”

“Yeah, now you just have to work on *accepting* compliments,” you say with a wink, and Malleus tilts his head slightly in confusion.

“Accepting?”

“Yeah,” you grin, “like, if I were to tell you you’re the sweetest giant fae-dragon puppy I’ve ever met, you’d say…?”

Malleus looks genuinely flustered, his cheeks tinting the faintest shade of pink. “I… would say… thank you?”

“Good enough,” you laugh, nudging him playfully. “We’ll work on it.”

Sebek is muttering to himself about ‘disrespect’ and ‘sacrilege,’ but Malleus looks… happy. Like, really happy. He’s still a little awkward, sure, but you can tell he’s having a good time. Probably more fun than he’s had in years.

Lilia, meanwhile, is back at your side, leaning in close with that smirk of his. “You’re quite the influence, you know.”

“Yeah, well,” you grin, “someone’s gotta drag him into the real world.”

“Perhaps you’ll drag me into something as well?” Lilia purrs, his voice low and teasing.

You blink at him. “Keep talking, and I might actually propose to you.”

“Oh, I’m counting on it,” Lilia says, eyes glinting with mischief. “Perhaps later tonight?”

“Is that an invitation?” you quip, raising an eyebrow.

Sebek practically has steam coming out of his ears. “Master Lilia!”

But Lilia just laughs, utterly unfazed. “Oh, Sebek. You really must learn to loosen up.”

Silver yawns loudly, cutting through Sebek’s rant like a chainsaw through butter. “Can we get food now?”

You snort. “That’s the best idea I’ve heard all day.”

Malleus, ever the polite host, nods eagerly. “Yes, let us dine together. A family outing is not complete without a meal.”

You pause, blinking. Family? Did he just call this a family outing?

Lilia catches your expression and chuckles. “Oh dear, it seems Malleus has grown quite fond of you.”

You shoot him a playful glare. “You make it sound like a bad thing.”

“Not at all,” Lilia says, smiling knowingly. “In fact, I believe it’s quite the opposite.”

Before you can respond, Malleus steps up, still radiating pure joy. “Would you do me the honor of joining me for dinner tonight? I would very much enjoy your company.”

Sebek looks like he’s about to self-destruct from sheer disbelief, but you? You can’t help but grin. “Sure, why not? But if I catch you stealing my dessert, it’s game over.”

Malleus chuckles, his awkwardness fading just a bit. “I shall do my best to restrain myself.”

Lilia leans over, voice low and teasing again. “Perhaps you’ll save dessert for me, hm?”

You snort. “Don’t push your luck, old man.”

“Ah, but I’m a fae. Luck is my specialty.”

You shake your head, grinning as you walk alongside Malleus, who’s positively glowing with happiness. Yeah, this is one weird, dysfunctional family, but maybe you like it that way.

It’s quiet tonight, the kind of quiet that settles deep in your bones, making you feel both peaceful and unbearably restless. You find yourself standing on a balcony, overlooking the courtyard bathed in moonlight. The cool breeze whispers through the trees, the scent of night-blooming flowers drifting lazily through the air.

Lilia stands beside you, leaning against the stone railing, his usual playful demeanor absent. In its place is a rare solemnity, something you’ve only seen glimpses of before. You glance at him, noting the way the moonlight catches in his hair, casting soft shadows across his face. It feels... strange, seeing him like this. So serious, so quiet.

After a long silence, he speaks, his voice soft but weighted with emotion. “I was terrified, you know. Of losing him.”

You don’t need to ask who he’s talking about. Malleus. The curse that had wrapped around him for so long, a dark cloud that threatened to take him away. You had been the unexpected catalyst for breaking it, and while you hadn’t fully understood the gravity of it at the time, you’re beginning to now.

Lilia continues, his gaze fixed on the stars above. “I’ve lived a long time. I’ve seen many things, lost many people... but the thought of losing him...” He trails off, his voice catching in a way that makes your heart ache. “It would have broken me.”

You swallow, unsure of what to say. What can you say to something like that? You’re just... you. You never asked to be involved in any of this, never imagined that you’d become such an important part of these people’s lives. But here you are.

“I didn’t do anything special,” you finally manage, your voice barely more than a whisper. “I was just... there.”

Lilia turns to look at you, and there’s something deep in his eyes—something raw and real that takes your breath away. “Sometimes just being there is enough,” he says quietly. “You saved him. And in doing so, you saved me too.”

You shift uncomfortably, not because of his words, but because of the way they tug at something deep inside of you. A part of you that you’ve been trying to keep buried for as long as you’ve been in this strange, unfamiliar world.

You’re silent for a long time, your gaze fixed on the moonlit sky. The memories of your old life swirl in your mind—your family, your best friend, all the people you’ve left behind. You haven’t spoken about it to anyone here, not in detail. It feels too dangerous, too vulnerable. But standing here, under the moonlight with Lilia, you feel like maybe... just maybe... you can share a piece of it.

“I miss them,” you admit softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “My family. My best friend. I miss... home.”

Lilia doesn’t say anything, but you can feel his presence beside you, warm and steady. He doesn’t press for details, doesn’t ask questions you’re not ready to answer. He just listens, and somehow, that’s enough.

You take a deep breath, the cool night air filling your lungs. “It’s hard,” you continue, your voice shaking slightly. “Being here. Being away from them. Sometimes it feels like... like I’m losing pieces of myself. Like I’m forgetting what it felt like to be... whole.”

Lilia’s hand gently rests on your shoulder, a comforting weight that grounds you. “You haven’t lost yourself,” he says quietly. “Not even a little.”

You close your eyes, letting his words wash over you. You don’t know if he’s right, but in this moment, you want to believe him. You want to believe that despite everything, despite the distance and the pain and the uncertainty, you’re still... you.

For a long time, the two of you stand in silence, the only sounds the soft rustling of the trees and the distant chirping of crickets. The moon hangs heavy in the sky, casting everything in a silvery glow. There’s a quiet understanding between you and Lilia, a shared pain that neither of you needs to fully explain.

Eventually, Lilia speaks again, his voice so soft it almost blends with the wind. “The world can be a cruel place,” he murmurs. “But it can also be kind. And in moments like this... it feels just a little more bearable, doesn’t it?”

You nod, your throat tight with unshed tears. “Yeah,” you whisper. “It does.”

The night stretches on, and though neither of you say anything more, there’s a comfort in the silence. A bond formed in the quiet acknowledgment of each other’s pain. And for the first time in a long while, you feel like you’re not quite so alone.

Maybe, just maybe, you’ll be okay.

You’re not entirely sure how you ended up here, but somehow, you’re on a date with Lilia. Yes, that Lilia—lord of chaos, culinary adventurer, and general source of havoc.

The setting is picturesque enough: a meadow at sunset, complete with wildflowers and a gentle breeze. At least, it would be picturesque if not for the feast Lilia has prepared, which has a worrying amount of color, movement, and mystery.

“Surprise is the key to a romantic evening,” Lilia declares as he gestures proudly over the assortment of dishes.

You take a moment to assess the display. There’s a vibrantly colored stew that seems to be emitting steam with a life of its own. A platter of vegetables is twitching as if they’re reconsidering their life choices. And there’s a pie—definitely a pie—with something that looks suspiciously like an eyeball poking out from under the crust.

Lilia smiles at you, eyes glinting. “Would you like to try the stew first, my dear? It’s my own special concoction.”

You stare at it, then at him. “How many people have survived eating this?”

Lilia leans in, eyes full of mischief. “Define survived.”

You grin. “Only one way to find out, right?” Before he can respond, you reach for the bowl and take a large spoonful of the stew. Lilia’s eyebrows rise, clearly impressed by your boldness.

It tastes... unusual. Like someone mixed spicy peppers, sweet berries, and some kind of very sharp herb. You take another bite, considering.

Lilia watches you, waiting for a reaction. “Well?” he asks, a hopeful glint in his eye.

You swallow, then nod thoughtfully. “It’s... actually good. Really good, in fact.”

Lilia blinks, his expression shifting from mischief to genuine surprise. “Really?”

You nod again, going in for a third bite, savoring the strange combination of flavors. “Yeah! I mean, it’s different, but in a good way. The spice, the sweetness... it kind of works.”

Lilia’s face lights up, his delight palpable. “You truly mean it? My culinary prowess is usually met with... trepidation.”

“Trepidation might be an understatement,” you say with a laugh. “But honestly? I think people don’t give you enough credit.”

From somewhere nearby, a strangled gasp echoes across the meadow.

“Master Lilia!” Sebek’s voice rings out, sounding more horrified than ever. You glance in the direction of the bushes where, sure enough, they’re rustling. Apparently, Sebek has taken it upon himself to supervise this date from afar.

Lilia chuckles, clearly enjoying Sebek's reaction as much as yours. “Oh, my dear Sebek. One day, you shall learn that adventure begins in the kitchen.”

You take a sip of the iridescent liquid before you—a drink that looks more like a potion than anything else. It’s sparkling, and it has the distinct taste of... glittery fruit juice? You’re not sure, but it’s oddly refreshing.

Lilia eyes you, his smile turning softer, more genuine. “I must say, you are full of surprises. Most would have fainted by now.”

“Hey, I can handle a little excitement,” you say, reaching for one of the twitching vegetables.

Lilia watches in awe as you pop it into your mouth and chew. “And?” he asks, almost breathless.

You blink. “Crunchy. Kind of earthy. I like it.”

Lilia’s smile widens, his eyes twinkling with delight. “Oh, how wonderful! My dear, you truly are one of a kind.”

Sebek’s dismayed groan echoes once again, and you laugh, glancing toward the bushes. “I think we’re breaking poor Sebek.”

“Well, that’s part of the fun, isn’t it?” Lilia replies, leaning closer to you. “And speaking of fun, I have something special for you.” He produces a bright blue flower, presenting it to you with a flourish.

You take it, giving it a cautious sniff. It smells like fresh-baked cookies, and you look at Lilia, raising an eyebrow. “A flower that smells like dessert? Now you’re really spoiling me.”

Lilia’s eyes soften, his voice lowering. “Only the best for someone who appreciates my unique touch.”

Before you can reply, there’s another voice—this one distinctly sleepy. “Father, what... what’s going on here?” Silver approaches, looking like he just woke up from a nap. He takes one look at the scene—the half-eaten dishes, the flower in your hand, and Lilia’s delighted expression—and sighs. “Are you actually eating this... willingly?”

You nod, grinning. “Turns out Lilia’s cooking isn’t so bad. It’s actually kind of great.”

Silver looks at you, then at Lilia, then back at you. He blinks, his brain clearly trying to process this information. “Father, are you using magic to manipulate their taste buds?”

Lilia puts a hand over his heart, looking offended. “Silver, how could you suggest such a thing? I assure you, our dear friend here is enjoying my cooking purely of their own volition.”

Silver sighs again, rubbing his temples. “I think I need another nap.”

Lilia laughs, turning his attention back to you, his eyes filled with affection. “You truly are something special, my dear. Few have ever dared, let alone enjoyed, my creations.”

You smile, giving his hand a squeeze. “Well, I guess I’m just full of surprises.”

Lilia leans in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Would it be too much to say I find you... irresistible?”

You chuckle, narrowing your eyes playfully. “Don’t push your luck, old man.”

Lilia smirks, his gaze full of warmth. “Ah, but pushing my luck is what I do best. Perhaps next time, I’ll cook an even more adventurous meal for us.”

You pretend to consider it, tapping your chin. “Define adventurous.”

Lilia’s eyes glint mischievously. “How about roasted phoenix feathers?”

“Phoenix feathers?” you echo, shaking your head with a laugh. “You know what? I think I like you just the way you are—absurd cooking experiments and all.”

Lilia’s expression softens, his smile turning tender. “I’m glad to hear it.”

With that, the two of you rise, arm in arm, leaving behind the bizarre remains of the meal. Somewhere in the bushes, Sebek is probably fuming, and Silver has most likely already fallen asleep again.

But as you glance at Lilia, whose eyes are still filled with excitement and warmth, you think that maybe absurd is just what you need.

You love this little family, but you had to gain equal footing with Sebek before you got attached any further. So you did what you thought would work the best— Challenge him in something he enjoys.

You and Sebek had been circling the field for a while now, your horses galloping side by side as you both tried to outpace each other. The competitive tension was thick in the air, though not hostile—it was more of an unspoken game to see who would crack first.

“So, you’re telling me you’ve been riding horses for *years*?” Sebek shouts over the wind, his eyes sharp with determination.

“Yup,” you reply, grinning as your horse picks up speed. “Equestrian club, since I was a kid. Surprised?”

Sebek huffs, his posture straight and rigid as always, but you can tell he’s impressed. “It’s… commendable. For a human, you’ve got some skill.”

“Some skill?” you tease, glancing over at him with a mischievous smile. “Is that all I get? Come on, Sebek, I thought you were competitive.”

He narrows his eyes at you, spurring his horse faster to pull ahead. “I am competitive! You’ll find I do not lose so easily.”

You laugh, nudging your horse to keep up. There’s a thrill in it—pushing each other, but not in a mean way. Sebek’s passion for horse riding matches your own, and it’s fun to finally find common ground with him. Plus, you’re enjoying the challenge.

The field blurs by as you both race toward the far fence, neither of you backing down. As you approach the finish line (or rather, the arbitrary spot you both decided was the end), you both cross it at nearly the same time, pulling your horses to a halt, panting slightly.

Sebek is the first to speak, wiping a bead of sweat from his brow. “Hmph. You’re not bad.”

“Not bad? I’d say I’m pretty good,” you shoot back, grinning ear to ear.

Sebek scoffs, but there’s a lightness in his tone that wasn’t there before. “You’re still a human, but… I’ll admit, you ride with some honor.”

“Wow, high praise,” you tease, but you soften your smile. “Thanks, Sebek. You’re not half-bad yourself.”

For a split second, you think you catch the ghost of a smile on his face, but it quickly disappears as he straightens in his saddle. “Of course. Riding is in my blood.”

You roll your eyes playfully. “Oh, obviously. I bet you were born in the saddle.”

“Perhaps I was,” Sebek says, completely serious. You stifle a laugh, realizing he probably believes that.

But before you can retort, Lilia rides up, his usual mischievous grin firmly in place. “Ah, what’s this? A friendly competition between two of my favorite people?”

“Master Lilia,” Sebek says, immediately shifting into soldier mode. “We were just—”

“Competing, yes, I can see that.” Lilia’s grin widens as he glances between the two of you. “I must say, the sight of you both racing like that was… quite exhilarating.”

You smirk, not missing a beat. “What, did we impress you?”

Lilia leans closer, voice dropping into a playful tone. “Oh, darling, I’ve been impressed by you for quite some time now.”

Sebek looks like he’s about to faint from sheer mortification. “MASTER LILIA! HUMAN!”

You laugh, waving Lilia off. “Careful, Sebek, you’re gonna scare your horse.”

But surprisingly, Sebek doesn’t snap back. Instead, he looks at you, something softer in his expression. “I admit… you’ve shown me something today. Perhaps you’re not just a reckless human after all.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Wow, Sebek. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you’re starting to like me.”

Sebek grumbles, looking away. “Do not mistake my words. I merely acknowledge your competence. Nothing more.”

“Sure, sure,” you reply, still grinning. “But hey, anytime you wanna ride again, I’m game.”

Sebek glances back at you, his usual harshness softened just a bit. “Perhaps… I will take you up on that.”

Lilia chuckles, clearly pleased with the budding camaraderie. “Ah, it warms my heart to see you two bonding. Who knows? Maybe you’ll become the best of friends.”

You wink at Lilia. “Well, if Sebek keeps up, maybe I’ll make him my official riding partner.”

Sebek, for once, doesn’t argue. Instead, he gives a small, determined nod. “We shall see, human. We shall see.”

As you ride back toward the stables, you can’t help but smile. You’ve earned a bit of respect from Sebek, and who knows? Maybe you’ll turn this into a full-fledged rivalry—one with a bit more fun and a lot less shouting.

Lilia, of course, flirts all the way back, making sure to keep the mood light and teasing, much to Sebek’s increasing exasperation. But even he can't deny that today was fun

The day should've been as normal as you could have these days—your stomach had other plans. There’s this nagging craving in the back of your mind for ramen, but of course, you’re stuck in a medieval isekai world where even the concept of instant noodles would make heads explode.

You groan, pacing back and forth in your room. "Ramen, ramen, ramen..." You’re practically chanting it like a spell. Finally, you snap your fingers. "Alright! Let’s get some ramen going!"

With all the determination of a contestant in a cooking show, you head to the market, a list of makeshift ingredients mentally prepared. You have no clue how you’re going to explain seaweed or soy sauce to the vendors, but hey, you’ve gotten this far in life on sheer audacity.

Except, ten minutes later, you find yourself hopelessly lost. You had been walking with confidence, chest out, head high, until you somehow managed to wander into a part of town that definitely wasn’t on your mental map. Instead of bustling vendors and cheerful shoppers, you’re now looking at a spooky, abandoned-looking area, complete with dense fog and suspiciously creaky trees.

“This... This isn’t the market,” you mutter, pausing in front of a seriously ominous cottage. If there were ever a sign that said "DO NOT ENTER" in flashing neon, this would be it. And yet, for reasons unknown even to yourself, you approach.

Before you can bolt in the opposite direction, the door swings open with the most dramatic creak you’ve ever heard. A woman, dressed in black robes, stands in the doorway with a gaze that could curdle milk. Her aura practically screams witch, and not the cool kind either—the villainous, melodramatic kind.

“Well, well, well,” she sneers, stepping out with all the grace of a Broadway villain, “look who wandered into my lair.”

“Uh, yeah...” You trail off, scratching the back of your head. “So… this isn’t the market?”

The witch gives you a look so condescending it could melt iron. “No,” she hisses, “it most certainly is not. You’ve trespassed on my domain, little fool!”

“Right, so sorry about that,” you say, trying to backpedal. “I’m just trying to make some ramen, and I—wait, hold on, who are you exactly?”

Her eyes flash with annoyance. “You don’t know who I am?”

You blink at her. “Is this the part where you tell me, like in those cartoons? ‘Cause I’m getting major ‘I’m about to monologue’ vibes right now.”

The witch’s face twitches, clearly not used to people interrupting her villain speech. “I,” she says, pausing for dramatic effect, “am the witch who cursed Malleus Draconia!”

Oh, that witch. You’ve heard some stories about her, mostly from half-paying attention when your friend geeked out over the original plot. But now that you’re face-to-face with her... this is not how you pictured it. You tilt your head.

“So, wait,” you begin, trying to suppress a snicker, “you’re the one who came up with that whole 15-year curse plan? And your big finale was… what? Swooping in at the last second to save him and then expecting him to marry you?”

Her eyes narrow. “That was the plan.”

You stare at her for a moment, the absurdity sinking in. “...That’s ridiculous.”

“How dare you mock me?!” she shrieks, her voice reaching a pitch that probably scared some birds out of nearby trees. She raises her hand, dark magic swirling between her fingers, and you swear you can hear thunder crack in the distance.

“Okay, hang on,” you say, taking a cautious step back. “Let’s not get all zappy here. I’m just saying that’s a lot of effort for a plan that has, like, a one percent success rate.”

“Silence!” She’s fuming now, throwing her hand forward to launch the magic at you—and you brace yourself for the worst. You’ve seen this in movies before. This is the part where you get turned into a frog or something equally terrible.

Except… nothing happens.

The magic fizzles out midair like a dud firecracker, leaving a puff of smoke and an awkward silence in its wake. You blink. She blinks. You both stare at the spot where the magic should have been.

“Uh…” you begin, rubbing the back of your neck. “Was that supposed to do something?”

The witch looks at her hand, then at you, then back at her hand again like she’s having a serious identity crisis. “What...?”

“I mean, points for the drama, but I’m still standing here,” you say, waving your hand in front of your face as if checking for damage. “And I don’t think I’m a toad.”

She tries again, gathering more magic in her hands and launching it at you with renewed fury. But once again, nothing. The magic stops short, fizzling out like it’s hitting an invisible barrier around you. Now she’s just staring at you, dumbfounded.

You, on the other hand, are absolutely flabbergasted. “Okay, this is getting weird.”

That’s when Lilia appears—literally, out of nowhere. He casually steps out from behind a tree like this is all a normal Monday for him. “Ah, I thought I sensed some familiar mischief afoot,” he says, his voice cheerful, though his eyes glint with something far more dangerous as they lock onto the witch.

The witch recoils, visibly shaken. “Lilia Vanrouge,” she hisses, sounding more like a disgruntled cat than a fearsome sorceress.

“In the flesh,” he says with a light bow, his grin all sharp teeth and mischief. “What brings you out of your little hidey-hole?”

She glares at him but doesn’t say anything. She’s outmatched, and she knows it. With one last seething look at you, she vanishes into thin air with a dramatic whoosh of smoke, leaving you and Lilia alone in the now eerily quiet forest.

You turn to him, utterly confused. “What the heck was that about? Why didn’t her magic work on me?”

Lilia’s grin softens, his gaze turning fond. “Ah, I see I’ve forgotten to tell you. I placed a fae’s blessing on you some time ago.”

“Wait, what?” You gape at him. “When did you do that?!”

He chuckles, as if you asking when he bestowed a magical shield on you is the most amusing thing he’s heard all week. “You tend to attract trouble, my dear. I thought it best to give you a little extra protection.”

You blink at him, still processing. “So… you’ve been secretly protecting me this whole time?”

His gaze turns a bit more serious, the usual playful air dropping away. “I don’t want to see anything happen to you,” he says softly, the words carrying a weight you hadn’t expected.

For a moment, you’re left speechless, flustered even. The teasing and jokes you’re so used to from Lilia are gone, replaced by something… deeper. It throws you off your game.

“Well, uh…” You clear your throat, desperately trying to recover. “I appreciate not getting turned into a frog or whatever she was planning.”

His grin returns, and the moment passes. “You’re welcome. Now, shall we head back to the market? I believe you were on a quest for... ramen, was it?”

You let out a laugh, shaking your head as the absurdity of it all catches up with you. “Yeah, let’s do that. And maybe next time I’ll avoid wandering into spooky villain lairs.”

“An excellent plan,” he says, offering you his arm. “Shall we?”

And just like that, you’re back on track—albeit a bit more shaken than before, but at least you’ve got a magical blessing you didn’t know about and one very charming fae escorting you through the mess.

You’re sitting under a large tree in the courtyard, soaking up the rare bit of peace and quiet that’s fallen over your life. It’s a nice day, the kind that makes you feel all warm and content, the sun shining gently through the leaves. Beside you, Silver is leaning against the trunk, dozing off as usual. You’ve become used to his tendency to fall asleep mid-conversation, and honestly, it’s kind of adorable.

He stirs a little, blinking his sleepy eyes open and looking at you with a soft smile. “It’s nice to have moments like this,” he says, voice a bit groggy. “Especially after everything.”

“Yeah,” you reply, leaning back on your hands. “It’s been... a lot.”

Silver glances at you, his gaze thoughtful. “You really helped us. My family,” he says, his tone a bit more serious than usual. “Freeing Lord Malleus from that curse... it was no small feat.”

Your stomach twists a little at the mention of Malleus. It still feels surreal that you had a hand in such a monumental event. You shrug, trying to play it cool. “Eh, you know... just another day of accidentally stumbling into chaos.”

He chuckles lightly, his smile softening even more. “I’m not sure if I’ll ever be able to thank you properly for what you’ve done. You really saved us all.”

You wave your hand dismissively. “Stop, you’re going to make me blush. I was just trying to make some money, and suddenly I’m in the middle of an epic quest. You know how it is.”

Silver hums, half-amused, and then casually drops the bomb on you like it’s the most normal thing in the world: “You’d be perfect with Father.”

Your brain short-circuits. “...Sorry, what?”

Silver, utterly oblivious to the internal crisis he’s just unleashed within you, looks at you with that serene, peaceful expression of his. “Father. You’d be perfect with him.”

The world screeches to a halt. *Perfect? With Lilia?* You stare at him, wide-eyed, your mouth hanging open in a most undignified manner. “I’m sorry, did you just—did you just suggest that I—me—should be with your father?!”

Silver nods, looking completely at peace with his assessment, like he’s just commented on the weather. “Yes. You two get along well. You make each other laugh, and he seems fond of you. And Father... well, he deserves someone who can make him smile like that.”

Your mind is racing at 100 miles per hour. “Silver. SILVER.” You clutch your head as if physically holding your brain together will stop it from spiraling into madness. “Do you have any idea what you just said?”

Silver, ever the calm and composed knight, merely tilts his head. “Was it something strange?”

“STRANGE?!” You’re flailing now, completely losing your cool. “You just casually suggested I should date your father! Who, may I remind you, is an ancient fae with enough power to casually toss me into another dimension if he wanted!”

Silver blinks, seeming to consider this for a moment. “I don’t think he’d toss you into another dimension. He’d probably just... laugh and then take you out to dinner.”

You’re having a full-blown existential crisis. Your face is bright red, your heart is doing somersaults, and you’re not sure if you want to scream, faint, or throw yourself into the nearest fountain.

Silver, meanwhile, is just sitting there, serene and utterly oblivious to the emotional chaos he’s just unleashed upon you. “Father’s a good person,” He says softly. “I think you two would be happy together.”

“I... I...” You sputter, trying to form words but utterly failing as images of Lilia’s teasing smile and playful banter run through your mind. And then you imagine the alternative: Lilia’s serious side, the one that is somehow even more terrifyingly attractive, and you feel your heart skip a beat.

“Oh no,” you whisper, clutching your chest. “Oh no, no, no... Silver, what have you done?”

Silver looks at you with concern now, finally noticing that you’re having what can only be described as a breakdown. “Are you alright?"

“NO!” you cry, standing up and pacing back and forth in front of him. “You’ve broken me! You’ve ruined me! I’m—Silver, your father is... He’s... and I... Oh, gods, this is too much. TOO MUCH!”

Silver watches you pace for a moment before quietly saying, “You’re thinking about it, though.”

You freeze mid-step. “I—NO! Maybe? Yes? I—Why would you say that, Silver?!”

He just smiles, a soft, knowing smile. “Because it’s true.”

You slump back down beside him, groaning loudly as you cover your face with your hands. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

Silver chuckles softly, resting his head back against the tree again. “I’ve heard that before.”

And as you sit there, your mind spinning with thoughts of Lilia and all the ridiculous, impossible implications Silver’s comment has brought to life, you can’t help but think that maybe—just *maybe*—he has a point.

But you’re not ready to admit that yet. Not even to yourself.

“I need a drink,” you mumble under your breath, and Silver hums in agreement.

“Father would probably help you make it,” he says, and you let out a loud groan, flopping onto the grass in dramatic defeat.

“Silver, you’re killing me.”

He just smiles that peaceful smile of his.

It’s a quiet afternoon, the sun beginning to dip below the horizon, casting a golden glow over the courtyard. You’re standing with Malleus and Sebek in one of the palace’s gardens, the tranquil hum of life around you contrasting with the more serious conversation that’s about to unfold. You can feel the weight of what Malleus is about to say, and your mind spins as you prepare yourself for another emotionally charged moment.

Malleus takes a deep breath, his gaze fixed on the distant horizon. “For the longest time,” he begins, his voice soft and filled with an unspoken vulnerability, “I thought I would be stuck. Trapped in that cursed state forever. I had resigned myself to it, believing that it was my fate to be alone.”

You shift slightly, unsure how to respond to such raw honesty. Sebek, standing next to Malleus, is silent for once, his usual loud and defensive nature tempered by the gravity of his lord’s words.

“But then you came along,” Malleus continues, turning his glowing eyes toward you. “You broke the curse, something no one had been able to do. You gave me back my freedom, something I had lost hope of ever regaining.”

Sebek clears his throat loudly, his usual dramatic flair coming to the surface despite the tenderness of the moment. “Yes, well,” he says, voice gruff but tinged with the awkwardness of someone who isn’t quite used to expressing gratitude. “I... suppose we should be... grateful. After all, if it weren’t for you, Lord Malleus would still be... cursed, and we wouldn’t be here together as we are now.”

You blink at Sebek’s begrudging admission, feeling a small smile tug at your lips. The fact that he of all people is thanking you, even in such a roundabout way, is oddly touching.

“Wow, Sebek,” you say, voice teasing but soft. “Who knew you had it in you?”

Sebek bristles at your words, his expression a mix of indignation and embarrassment. “D-Don’t misunderstand!” he exclaims, face turning a shade redder than usual. “I’m merely stating the facts! Nothing more!”

Malleus chuckles softly at Sebek’s outburst, his usual gentle smile returning to his face. “Sebek’s gratitude, no matter how begrudging, is indeed a rarity,” he teases lightly before turning his attention back to you. “But truly, I am grateful. You’ve given me back more than just my freedom. You’ve given me back... this.”

He gestures around him, indicating the garden, the palace, the sky above. “This life, this chance to be with those I care about. And for that, I owe you a debt that I may never be able to repay.”

You shift awkwardly, feeling a strange warmth bloom in your chest. “I mean, I didn’t really set out to save anyone,” you admit, your voice light but with an edge of honesty. “I just... wanted the reward. And then maybe to go home.”

Sebek’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise, and he opens his mouth to argue, but Malleus holds up a hand, stopping him before he can launch into one of his dramatic tirades

You hesitate, glancing between Malleus and Sebek. “I didn’t think I’d get attached,” you admit quietly, your voice softening. “But I have. Somehow, I’ve found myself... caring about all of you. This weird little makeshift family.”

Sebek looks as though he’s about to protest the “weird” part, but a stern glance from Malleus keeps him quiet. You can see the begrudging acknowledgment in his eyes, though—he knows it’s true, even if he doesn’t want to admit it.

Malleus hums thoughtfully, his gaze lingering on you for a moment before he speaks again. “Well,” he says casually, as if discussing something as simple as the weather, “if you’re so attached, perhaps we should make it official. Perhaps you should marry into the family."

You freeze. Did he just—?

You whip your head towards Malleus, completely flustered. “M-Marry?! What?!”

Sebek, on the other hand, looks as if someone just punched him in the face. His mouth opens and closes like a fish gasping for air, his eyes wide with outrage. “L-Lord Malleus, what are you suggesting?!” he sputters.

Malleus blinks, as calm as ever. “I’m suggesting marriage,” he repeats, as if it’s the most logical thing in the world. “If they are so attached to us, it seems a reasonable next step. Perhaps they should marry Lilia?”

Your face turns a bright shade of red as your heart pounds in your chest. “Wh-What?!” you stammer. “Lilia?!”

Sebek turns even redder, his face contorting in disbelief. “Master Lilia?!”

Malleus nods sagely, completely unfazed by both of your reactions. “Yes, Lilia. He has shown great affection for them, and they would fit well within our family. Would you not agree, Sebek?”

Sebek looks like he’s about to explode, but there’s an uncomfortable silence as he realizes… he can’t argue. He knows Malleus and Lilia both care about you. He knows that you’ve proven yourself to be a good person, despite his initial distrust. His mouth twitches, the words clearly struggling to escape his throat.

“I—well—Lord Malleus,” Sebek starts, looking every bit as if he’s been defeated by sheer logic. “I… I must admit… They are a suitable companion for Master Lilia… even if the idea of them marrying… well, it is quite… outrageous.”

You feel your soul leave your body as the conversation continues. Sebek can’t quite bring himself to fully agree, yet he doesn’t outright refuse the idea either. His loyalty to his lords binds him, and his begrudging acceptance of your presence has left him caught between duty and outrage.

“I—This—” you stammer, completely overwhelmed. “I—This is insane!”

Malleus looks at you with a calm smile. “Think it over,” he says, voice gentle. “You’ve already become part of our lives. Why not make it official?”

You open your mouth to protest, but the words die in your throat as you see the sincerity in his eyes. This isn’t just a flippant suggestion—it’s Malleus genuinely offering you a place in his family. But the idea of marrying Lilia? That’s… that’s a whole new level of madness.

“I—I think I need to lie down,” you mutter, pressing your hands to your temples. “This is too much.”

Malleus chuckles softly, and even Sebek seems to relax—if only a little. But as you glance between the two of them, you can’t help but feel a strange warmth in your chest. Even with all the absurdity, you know one thing for sure: you’ve found a place with them, whether you intended to or not.

The cat was just sitting there. Innocently perched on the branch, fluffy and regal like a tiny, judgmental king. You don’t even know what possessed you, really. Maybe it was those huge, adorable eyes or the way its tail flicked back and forth. But somehow, someway, you ended up halfway up a tree. Climbing a tree. For a cat.

“I just wanted to pet you,” you mutter, feeling slightly ridiculous as you hug the branch for dear life. “And now I’m stuck. Great.”

The cat stares at you, completely indifferent to your plight. You sigh, glancing down at the ground, which now seems alarmingly far away. Heights were never your thing, but in the moment, with that cute little furball teasing you, logic flew right out the window. Now, you’re clinging to the tree like a cowardly kitten yourself.

“Why did I think this was a good idea?” you groan. The cat blinks at you. “Don’t look at me like that. This is all your fault!”

And then, because fate has a terrible sense of humor, you hear a voice from below. A familiar, unmistakable voice—playful, with a hint of amusement laced through it.

“Well, well, what do we have here? It appears my dear little beastie has gotten themselves stuck.”

You nearly slip off the branch as you glance down to see Lilia standing at the base of the tree, arms crossed and an infuriatingly amused grin on his face. He looks every bit the mischievous fae, eyes twinkling with barely suppressed laughter.

“I—uh—this is—” You stammer, trying to come up with some kind of excuse, but nothing comes. You’re halfway up a tree. Because of a cat. No explanation is going to save your dignity now.

Lilia tilts his head, chuckling. “Were you planning on living up there from now on? Or should I assist you in returning to the ground?”

“Hey, don’t judge me!” you huff, cheeks burning. “The cat—look at the cat! It was really cute, okay?”

Lilia glances up at the feline, which is now licking its paw in complete disinterest. He raises an eyebrow. “Ah, yes, the cat. I see now. How could anyone resist such a noble creature?”

You groan, feeling your face get even hotter. “I—um—I might need help getting down.”

Lilia’s grin widens. “Of course, my dear. I was planning on catching you anyway.”

You freeze. “C-Catching me?”

“Mmhm. Just jump down, and I’ll catch you,” Lilia says, his tone so casual, as if catching people out of trees is just something he does every day. He spreads his arms out, waiting expectantly.

Your heart races as you eye the distance between the branch and the ground again. It’s not terribly high, but… still high enough to make you nervous. But Lilia’s standing there with that easy confidence, and the thought of staying stuck in this tree forever doesn’t exactly appeal to you either.

Taking a deep breath, you inch closer to the edge of the branch. “O-Okay. I’m going to jump.”

“Go ahead,” Lilia says, his voice soft. “I’ll catch you.”

With one last look at the disinterested cat, you finally push yourself off the branch. For a split second, there’s nothing but the rush of air—and then you feel yourself land securely in Lilia’s arms. You’re caught. Easily, gently. Like it was nothing at all.

He looks down at you, his face much closer than you anticipated. “See? I told you I would catch you.”

You’re breathless for a moment, your heart doing flips as you realize just how close you are to him. His arms are around you, holding you steady, and you can feel the warmth of his body through his clothes. He’s staring at you with that soft, amused smile, and you’re suddenly acutely aware of just how handsome he is.

“Oh no,” you whisper to yourself, “I’m swooning.”

Lilia raises an eyebrow. “Hmm?”

“Y-You’re really smooth,” you blurt out before you can stop yourself. “Like, catching me so easily and looking at me like that. It’s—it’s really unfair.”

He chuckles softly, clearly entertained by your flustered state. “Unfair, you say?”

“Yeah, like—like, you’re so effortlessly cool and charming, and I—” You freeze, suddenly realizing what you’re saying. You clamp your mouth shut, but it’s too late. The words are out, and your brain has completely short-circuited.

And then, before you even know what’s happening, the words just spill out of you in a panicked rush. “Okay, I like you! No, wait—I think I’m in love with you! I mean, how could I not be? You’re so amazing, and I just—Oh god, I’m confessing! I’m confessing right now, aren’t I? This is a confession. Oh no, this is terrible. I didn’t mean to—”

You feel your entire body heat up as you bury your face in your hands, completely mortified. Of all the ways you could’ve confessed your feelings to Lilia, this had to be the worst possible way. You weren’t ready! You were supposed to be calm and collected, not blurting it out after getting caught in a tree!

For a moment, there’s silence. And then, you hear the softest chuckle from Lilia. His arms tighten around you slightly, pulling you just a little closer.

“You’re adorable,” he says, his voice soft and full of warmth.

You peek through your fingers, confused. “Huh?”

“I’ve known for a while that your feelings for me were more than friendly,” Lilia continues, his smile gentle. “But hearing you confess like this… it’s endearing.”

You blink, trying to process his words. “Wait—you’ve known?”

Lilia nods. “You’re not as subtle as you think, my dear.”

You groan again, hiding your face in your hands once more. “This is so embarrassing…”

Lilia laughs softly, and before you know it, he leans in and presses a light, gentle kiss to your forehead. Your heart skips a beat, and you lower your hands, looking up at him in surprise.

“There’s no need to be embarrassed,” Lilia says, his eyes soft. “I’m honored to be the one you’ve chosen.”

Your heart flutters as his words sink in, and you realize that, despite your mortification, he’s… accepting your feelings. He’s not teasing you or brushing it off—he’s genuinely acknowledging your confession. And more than that… he’s reciprocating.

“Lilia…” you whisper, your face still burning with embarrassment, but also with a warmth that you can’t quite describe.

He leans in a little closer, his nose brushing against yours. “You don’t need to say anything more, my dear. Just know that I feel the same.”

And with that, Lilia closes the distance between you, his lips meeting yours in a soft, sweet kiss that makes your heart race even faster. All thoughts of your earlier panic melt away, replaced by the warmth of his touch and the feeling of being completely safe in his arms.

As he pulls back, you’re left staring at him, wide-eyed and breathless. Lilia smiles down at you, his eyes twinkling with amusement and affection.

“So,” he says, his voice teasing, “was that worth climbing a tree for?”

You blink, still dazed from the kiss. “I… I think so.”

Lilia laughs softly, pressing another quick kiss to your lips before setting you down on the ground. “Next time, though, perhaps we’ll find a more dignified setting for your confessions, hmm?”

You groan, covering your face again as you mutter, “Please don’t remind me…”

But despite your embarrassment, you can’t help the small, giddy smile that creeps onto your face as you realize that, somehow, things turned out perfectly anyway.

You sit with Lilia on a bench beneath the shade of a massive oak tree, the same one he caught you from, nerves simmering beneath your calm exterior. He’s as composed as ever, leaning back against the tree with a small, amused smile playing on his lips.

Across from you sit Malleus, Silver, and Sebek, all three watching you with varying degrees of curiosity—Malleus with calm interest, Silver with that sleepy, gentle acceptance, and Sebek with what you’re sure is the beginning of a tirade bubbling just beneath the surface.

“We have some news,” Lilia says, breaking the silence with his usual playful tone. His hand slips into yours, squeezing lightly. “About us.”

Malleus’s eyes light up with interest, his draconic gaze honing in on the subtle intertwining of your hands with Lilia’s. “News?” he repeats, leaning forward slightly. “What sort of news?”

You exchange a glance with Lilia, and he gives you a nod, as if to say go on, it’s safe. Taking a deep breath, you steel yourself and blurt out, “We’re together. Like, romantically.”

There’s a beat of silence.

Then Malleus’s eyes widen, his entire face brightening with delight. “Truly?” he asks, a rare, genuine smile spreading across his face. “That is wonderful news! You will be joining the family then?”

You blink, momentarily thrown off by how happy he is. “Uh, well—eventually, I guess. We haven’t exactly planned a wedding yet…”

“But when we do,” Lilia interjects smoothly, eyes glinting with amusement, “you will be the first to receive an invitation, Malleus.”

Malleus beams, the delight practically radiating off him like sunlight. “I would expect no less. To witness your union—ah, it will be a grand day.”

Meanwhile, Silver gives you both a small, approving nod. His expression is calm, though there’s a softness in his eyes that shows he’s happy for you. “I’m glad,” he says, his voice as gentle as ever. “Father deserves someone who makes him happy. And you… you seem to do that.”

Your heart warms at the approval from Silver. “Thanks, Silver,” you say, offering him a smile in return.

And then there’s Sebek.

For a moment, he just stares at you and Lilia, his mouth working as if he’s trying to form words. You brace yourself for the inevitable protest, expecting him to shout something about how inappropriate it is, or how you could never be good enough for Lilia, or—

“You…” Sebek finally speaks, though his tone is less outraged than you anticipated. He scowls, but there’s an undeniable hint of reluctant acceptance in his eyes. “You’re together, then?”

Lilia nods, his smile never wavering. “Indeed, Sebek.”

Sebek inhales deeply, closing his eyes as if preparing for some kind of inner battle. You can almost hear him wrestling with his instincts, wanting to object but also unable to deny the truth of the situation. After a long pause, he finally exhales and mutters, “Well… I suppose… if it makes Master Lilia happy, then…”

You’re about to breathe a sigh of relief when Sebek opens his eyes again, pointing an accusatory finger at you. “But that does not mean you should grow complacent! Just because Master Lilia has chosen you does not mean you are exempt from proving yourself worthy!”

Lilia laughs softly at Sebek’s stubbornness, and you can’t help but grin. “Of course, Sebek,” you say, teasing him lightly. “I’ll do my best to live up to your high standards.”

Sebek huffs, crossing his arms. “See that you do.”

Despite his bluster, you can tell he’s not truly upset. There’s a begrudging acceptance in his stance, the same way someone might finally accept that their favorite hero isn’t perfect, but still worthy of respect. Sebek might not be able to fully wrap his head around the idea of you and Lilia being together, but deep down, you can tell he doesn’t disapprove. Not really.

Malleus, meanwhile, is still beaming. “I look forward to your wedding,” he says, sounding genuinely excited. “It will be a grand celebration. And I will be the first to celebrate your union.”

You laugh, finally feeling the tension melt away. “You’ll be the first to get an invitation, don’t worry.”

Lilia squeezes your hand again, his eyes warm as he looks at you. “Indeed,” he says softly, “and I think it will be a lovely celebration.”

As you sit there, surrounded by Lilia’s peculiar little family, you can’t help but feel a swell of emotion. For all their eccentricities—Malleus’s dragon-like mannerisms, Silver’s sleepy but sincere approval, and Sebek’s stubborn loyalty—you’ve somehow found yourself among people who care. Who, in their own ways, are happy to see you and Lilia together.

And as you glance at Lilia, who’s still watching you with that fond, amused expression, you realize something important: this makeshift family of fae and knights… they’ve accepted you.

Flaws and all.

The living room felt a little too tense for your taste today. You were sprawled out on a chair, arms crossed, listening to the absurd conversation that seemed to have spiraled out of control.

Malleus, sitting at the head of the table, had the "serious prince" expression that made you roll your eyes every time you saw it. Lilia was perched on the back of his chair, his legs dangling, thoroughly amused by the current predicament. Sebek stood in his usual soldier-like stance, ready to protect everyone from... squirrels, apparently. And Silver was doing his best to stay upright while leaning on a wall. He was losing that battle.

“It’s time to discuss the prophecy” Malleus said, his voice carrying an ominous weight you found ridiculous. “The Squirrel Plague will bring misfortune. Entire kingdoms will fall to their tiny paws.”

You blinked. “We’re seriously talking about squirrels?”

Lilia nodded with an overly grave face. “Indeed, my dear. Squirrels are resourceful creatures. Vicious even, if the stories are true.”

Sebek puffed up his chest, eyes blazing with his trademark fervor. “MY LORD, IF THOSE RODENTS BELIEVE THEY CAN THREATEN YOU—"

You leaned forward, waving your hand dismissively. “Alright, alright, let's not hype up the squirrels too much, okay? This whole situation is ridiculous.”

Silver, who had just about managed to pry his eyes open, muttered, “It’s not just the squirrels. I heard some people talking about... uh, the Saint being accused of spying or something.”

The room fell into silence for a second, everyone digesting that little bombshell.

Lilia’s grin widened as if the idea of spies delighted him. “Spies, you say? This is getting quite intriguing.”

You groaned, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Yeah, no thanks. Squirrels are bad enough, but spies? I’m not dealing with this.”

Malleus turned towards you, a slight frown on his lips. “I assumed you wished to stay here. You haven’t mentioned wanting to leave before.”

You sighed, shrugging. “I mean, I don't have any attachments to this place. I stayed because you guys were here. But right now, let's bounce. Immediately. The squirrels can have this place.”

Silver, rubbing his eyes, nodded. “They're right. It’s a lot of hassle, and honestly, the squirrels are starting to weird me out. I saw one trying to chew through the wall this morning.”

Sebek turned to Silver with his mouth agape. “A SQUIRREL DARED TO ATTACK OUR DOMAIN?!”

Lilia chuckled, nodding. “They’re getting bolder, indeed. I even had one throw an acorn at me this morning. It was a declaration of war, I tell you.”

You waved your hands at them. “Guys, seriously. I don’t care if we’re at war with the squirrels. I just don’t want to be here. Briar Valley sounds much nicer, doesn’t it? No plagues, no spy accusations, no rabid rodents.”

Malleus blinked at you, then slowly smiled. “If you wish to leave, then there’s no reason for us to stay. I thought perhaps you'd not want to leave the place you grew up in, that you would be attached.”

“Attached?” You gestured dramatically at the window, where you swore you could see a squirrel watching with beady little eyes. “Nope. I’m only attached to you four, and I’m not risking my life for some acorn-flinging rodents.”

Silver yawned, already giving in. “I say we go. Less hassle, more sleep.”

Lilia gave a theatrical sigh leaning on Malleus. “Well, I suppose the adventure ends here. Back to Briar Valley it is! And I’ll be sure to bring along some acorns... perhaps we can keep the spirit of battle alive.”

Sebek, his voice still full of misplaced enthusiasm, nodded fiercely. “IF MY LORD DECIDES TO RETURN, THEN I SHALL ENSURE OUR JOURNEY IS WITHOUT PERIL! THE SQUIRRELS SHALL NOT—”

You interrupted with a grin. “Yes, yes, Sebek. You’ll protect us from the squirrels. Good job.”

Lilia hopped off Malleus’s chair, already halfway to the door. “I’ll go prepare the portal. Who knows, maybe we can get there in time for the fireflies.”

You got up too, stretching and giving one last look at the living room. “I think I’ve had enough of prophecies, plagues, and espionage.”

Lilia grins "Maybe we could have our wedding in Briar Valley". Malleus, now entirely on board, nodded with regal finality. “Then we shall return to Briar Valley. I trust the squirrels will not miss us.”

Lilia snickered, and you felt him squeeze your shoulder. “Perhaps we should bring a souvenir,” he mused. “A squirrel, perhaps, as a reminder of this peculiar little chapter of our lives.”

You shook your head, laughing. “I think I’d rather forget it altogether.”

With that, you and your four favorite Briar Valley residents left—leaving behind the squirrels, the spies, and every bit of drama that had nothing to do with you. Peace, it turned out, was just a portal away.

With that, the group made their decision—no heroic stand against the prophecy, no attempts to sort out spy dramas. Just a swift, sensible retreat to where things were far less complicated. And honestly? That suited you just fine.

Alright! I liked writing this a lot, It's not as chaotic as my other isekai ones but I like how it turned out!

Also if the formatting is off, I'm so sorry but I fell spectacularly on my ass while ice-skating and can't sit long enough to edit on my laptop.

Also quick poll for the next trash novel one, I'll definitely finish all of them, this is just for which one should I post first. They're all almost done.

Series Masterlist ; My Masterlists

[haikyu-mp4]

You're not actors

Fluffy workplace romance as a streamer with your secret husband Kenma for my workplace romance event <3

requested by @dira333. word count; 837 – f!reader

Kenma loves his wedding ring. It’s just a piece of metal, but the matching one on your finger makes him giddy whenever he sees it, even if he doesn’t usually tell you that.

Unfortunately, he has to take it off for work. Your relationship wasn’t public, so he would rather not awaken any suspicions by showing his ring on camera. He’s a private person, preferring not to have everyone asking questions about his personal life.

You have separate streaming rooms on either end of the house so no noise would overlap, and so far everything ran smoothly. Sometimes, you would have to remind him about the ring as he kisses you before heading to his streaming room, and sometimes he remembers it himself. 

And sometimes you both forget.

This time, Kenma started the stream with his ring sitting snug on his finger and as time passed, he simply couldn’t move past this one level. It frustrated him to the point of running his hands through his hair and groaning at the seemingly impossible task. As the light from the screen hit metal, it glinted in the camera.

That’s how the speculations started. Is Kodzuken married? He never answers questions about his relationship status…

You’re a streamer too, often seen doing collabs with Kenma but never in person. You worried either of you might forget to act not in love while the viewers are literally observing your every move.

This time, you streamed alone. You recently started a Stardew Valley series where the viewers got to follow the progress with your fun commentary. It was very entertaining and gained you many more followers.

And Kenma knew you were streaming, so it was difficult to hide your surprise when a shattering sound ran through the house and someone hissed “Shit!”

Pausing the stream, you ran into the living room to find your husband surrounded by broken glass and spilt soda with a sheepish look. After sweeping some of it away and making sure he was okay, you hurried back to the stream and started it again to keep playing.

You pursed your lips, trying to act as if nothing happened. Unfortunately, you’re a YouTuber, not an actor.

That’s how the speculations started. Who does she live with? Is she in a secret relationship?

Following these two unfortunate events, you had no choice but to do the collab you had planned, as skipping it would seem suspicious. So just like normal, you both opened the shooter game and acted like you usually would while playing together, as if the comments weren’t bombarding you with these different rumours and some suggested your rumours were related to each other.

While you swore like a sailor at anything disadvantageous during the game, Kenma fell into the bad habit of watching your stream instead of his game, heart eyes evident to anyone who had eyes themselves. He would eventually sober up, getting revenge on anyone who went against you and then killing you so he could win alone.

His soft voice in your headphones made a shiver run down your spine and you wished the watchers were lying when they said Kodzuken is the only one you don’t curse at.

There were several heart eyes during this stream, and it was not just in the comments.

You both stood in the kitchen a couple of days (read nights) later. Kenma had accidentally woken you up by stubbing his toe on the bed and you demanded snacks so he pulled you along to the kitchen. The two of you talked about your latest work adventures or friend gossip while tapping your feet on the cold floors, a plate of apple pie in each of your hands.

“I’ve been thinking about something,” Kenma said, holding his hand up when he knew you were about to say something like I’m happy you told me or else I’d miss it. “Maybe we should just tell everyone.”

When you looked confused, he flipped his hand around, wiggling his fingers to show off the wedding ring as emphasis. Your eyes widened. “That’s a pretty big thought, buddy, good job.”

He snorted, scooping up another piece of cake and feeding it to you. “I’m serious.”

“But I kinda like watching you try to keep it a secret,” you teased again before stepping closer and pressing light kisses along his jaw. Kenma sighed, pusring his lips and looking away with something that looked an awful lot like guilt.

“I might have just said I have a wife on livestream.”

Flashback to a couple of hours before, when some, probably thirteen-year-old, boy commented on Kenma’s apparent lack of rizz. A gen-Z concept Kenma had no interest in taking part in, but felt weirdly offended by.

“Bet you dont even pull, all the marridge rumors are so stupd.”

He would never admit out loud that it hit a nerve, but you wouldn’t need him to. It was evident. “You should see my wife, noob. She’s fucking gorgeous and plays better than whatever you pull.”

masterlist

/thank you @cottonlemonade for brainstorming with me<3

[sweet-as-an-angel]

Yandere DILF! Reaction to You Having a Boyfriend

Warnings: Yandere Behaviour, Obsessive Behaviour, Possessive Behaviour, Age Gap, Suggestive Themes, Stalking, Monitoring, Implied Yandere MILF, Implicit Threats, Implied Blackmail, No Pronouns Used For Reader Except ‘You’.

♡ There is no measure of fury capable of being held or produced by Hell and Earth that can rival that which fires through Dominic’s veins.

♡ At first, he didn’t believe it. Couldn’t believe it. That his (Y/N) would sever his heart from his chest and run it into the ground.

♡ He thinks – knows – that you’re being held against your will. That’s the only reasonable explanation for this…lapse in judgement, as he sees it.

♡ However, when he watches you from his window leaping into your male friend’s arms, being swung in a display of greatest enthusiasm, Dominic knows he’s being delusional. A rare instance of self-awareness.

♡ Initially, he considers this a curse; the fact that your heart lay in the hands of another. But, the longer he stewed over this development, considered any and every point that would grant him vantage, he began to see it as liberation. A cover beneath which he could operate until he struck from the bushes, his viperous intent strengthening.

♡ He is still amidst the throws of fury, but his wrath is not directed towards you. Rather, that juvenile sack of meat and electricity you donated your time to.

♡ Dominic knows that your ‘boyfriend’ will never love you like he does; that you won’t understand how boys are interested in one thing only. Dominic should know; he’d been a young man once. His psychology was his greatest burden and insight.

♡ He starts taking note of your new, adjusted schedule; the days you reserve for your dates – a long-dead excursion in Dominic’s eyes, not having felt any excitement on a ‘date’ aside from his chance encounters with you.

♡ He follows you, sees which restaurants, cinemas, arcades, shopping centres you enter. And, when the moment is right, when he sees the two of you at the pinnacle of happiness, he acts.

♡ In whatever way he can, he breaks up your dates, saying how it’s “Crazy that you’re here, (Y/N) – what a coincidence,”

♡ When you introduce him to your boyfriend, he flashes a smile only he can see is disingenuous. Grabbing your boyfriend’s hand and shaking it with enough force to give the impression that your boyfriend is weak – boneless – compared to Dominic, the former of the two taken off-balance.

♡ “Better watch your step there, Kid,” he says. There’s grit in the road of his voice, but you’re  piloting an aircraft. Your boyfriend is on a bicycle.

♡ “You’re no use to (Y/N) broken,” he jokes. Something flashes behind his eyes. “Or dead.”

♡ He insists that he drop the two of you home. He knows neither of you drove here.

♡ You can’t say no to your favourite neighbour, who lets you sit in the front seat while he makes your tag-along sit in the back like an animal. An outcast.

♡ Anything to make him look weak. Undesirable. The runt of the proverbial litter.

♡ Dominic drops you home. Tells you he’ll be back soon. And, without asking for directions, begins his embarkation to your boyfriend’s home.

♡ Neither say a word to each other. Seemingly aware of their position in each other’s world.

♡ Pulling up outside your third wheel’s house, Dominic leaves him with only a parting phrase.

♡ “Imagine what else I know about you. What little secrets you’ve been keeping.” He serves a frozen stare in the rearview mirror. “If you leave (Y/N) alone, you’ll never have to find out.”

♡ You never saw your boyfriend again after that. Never heard a peep from him over text, never received a call, never even saw him walk down the street.

♡ Of course, you were confused. But more so, you felt uprooted. Forcibly extracted from the life of someone you cared deeply about. Someone who, evidently, didn’t care as much about you.

♡ Eventually, after monitoring you for those first three weeks, those three, long weeks where every inch was laden with shattered glass and stretched on into infinity, Dominic came to you.

♡ Offered you comfort.

♡ He only wished he could have come sooner, but he knew you’d just react with anger. An emotion he couldn’t risk you feeling towards him, even for a second.

♡ And, just as he’d rehearsed a million times, just as he’d lay in bed, sat in his office losing himself to the phantom of your fleeting warmth he’d patchworked together into a blanket from your previous encounters, he came to your door. Knocked. Entered your home. Opened his arms to you.

♡ And the collective euphoria from his every vivid daydream couldn’t compare to the electric joy which made his heart stop. Resuscitated him.

♡ Your head was to his chest before he could encase you in his embrace. He lay his arms upon you, the snake to your Eve, and held you.

♡ “It’s okay, Darling,” he said, his voice low, as if his wife could hear from across the street. Or from the camera she’d implanted into that new vase she’d bought you last week.

♡ You twitched in his arms with every sob. Dominic could feel your tears soaking through his shirt. His now-favourite shirt. One which he’d never wash again.

♡ In his languid daydreams, he’d imagined you thanking him thoroughly for his kindness, his empathy, professing how you’d been so blind to his love before submitting to him entirely.

♡ But, for now, this victory was enough. To have you as close as you’d ever been, your body curled into his chest as he ran a hand through your hair, your warmth leaking into him.

♡ His warmth that he wanted to see leaking out of you.

♡ His lips to your hair, he resisted the tempestuous temptation to take you now. At your most vulnerable, most suggestible. Your most submissive.

♡ To show you that he can please you in ways no mere boy can.

♡ Instead, he took to trying not to inhale your scent, replace one vice with another, to not replenish his memory of you anew.

♡ “I’m here. I’m here.”

♡ His voice is soft, feather-light. It belies all he has done to get to where he is now.

♡ And all he will do to get to where he needs to be.

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist Yandere AI Masterlist Masterpost

AO3 Wattpad

[remiivu]

Ghostly Companion- Chapter 1

Link on Ao3! Currently rated Teen but may go up to Mature/Explicit

Masterlist Next Chapter -->

A Mr. Crawling x Reader fic (that may expand into a series!)

This is the first time that I've written anything like this in the past 5 years, so give me some slack if it's bad or cringey lol (also the first fic on Tumblr!)

Set in the ending (and series of events) where you take him home! I've done a few playthroughs so some parts may not be fully accurate, but I'll do my best!

No warnings-- just some minor cursing here and there. 1.8k words!

Enjoy!

 Note: Words in italics are in the ghost language. The blocks represent words reader doesn't understand.

You…

Honestly, you weren’t quite sure what happened these past 24 hours. Half of your now fully-conscious brain had settled on this being some sort of twisted hallucination you experienced after inhaling the noxious spores from some weird mushroom during your bravery challenge. But, the other, half-insane half-sane side of your mind simply cannot deny the manifestation of your nightmares sitting right across from you, a sharp smile stretching from ear to ear and a mop of strangely neat black hair swallowing its figure.

It? He? That, too, was something you didn’t know. Hell, the thing never stood up, and the noises that creaked from its throat were far from human.

But… It was nice. It helped you. It followed you, shielded you, and the pure, radiant happiness it exuded when you proposed, in broken ghostly-language, for it to join you hardly came across as malicious or non-sentient. It had feelings, and while some parts were… wrong, surely, it was owed some sort of humanity, you reasoned.

And so, it became a he, and then a Mr. Crawling-- the highlight of your creativity, truly. You doubted he understood the significance of the slightly different noises coming out of your mouth as you called to him, but still, it was the least you could do.

“... not… go?” He asked, head tilted as he sat patiently on the ground, lanky grayed limbs bent awkwardly into some mix between a w-shape and a regular sitting position. You think he said something else as well, but honestly, you were exhausted, and you hadn’t really had much time to truly learn his language.

“...” You sighed again, looking at him, then your surroundings. You had popped out right where you had started– or somewhere near it, at least, as you recognized the spooky decorations nailed and wrapped around trees. You were back in the forest you had entered before being sucked into… something. At least the light rain had stopped, leaving damp soil and the smell of petrichor to fill your senses instead of the… yeah.

Well, besides, you had nothing on you. Right– it was all in your bag that, for some reason, wasn’t brought alongside the rest of you.

“Need…” you paused, hesitating. How did you say bag? Scrounging through all the corners of your mind left you with a blank, and you searched for the next best thing.

Which would be bucket. Fuck.

Mr. Crawling tilted his head the other way, mouth flattening slightly in what you presume to be confusion. “You… ∎∎∎” he uttered something that didn’t spark a single click of recognition in your brain. “∎∎∎��� ∎∎∎. ∎∎∎∎∎∎. Help?” 

You gave one nod. “Yeah, help. Uhm… bucket… “ You made the attempt of drawing out what it looked like in the dirt while ignoring the small amount of embarrassment that rose in your chest at your horrific attempt to communicate.

You jabbed at the middle of the drawing of your rather simple bag. “Uh- blood.” You muttered, figuring it was the closest thing to whatever the actual word for red was.

Mr. Crawling frowned a bit, then chirped a “Me help you ∎∎∎ bucket! ∎∎∎ ∎∎∎∎?” With a much more pleasant smile. 

You nodded, “Yeah, thanks. Ok, so… I guess we’ll split up?”

Mr. Crawling stared blankly with that dopey smile and you sighed, standing up. You felt a little bad for making a… disabled ghost? Yeah, a disabled ghost do some of the work. Shoeless and possibly pant-less

Damn. You’ve stooped down low these past few hours.

_____________________________

Honestly, you were surprised at just how efficient a disabled ghost was when left in the dark, blind, and in an environment he’s never been in before. Just as you were about to give up and start heading back into civilization, you heard a gleeful, familiar bone-chilling giggle followed by “Me ∎∎∎ bucket blood!”

Your head shoots up, “You did?!” As you rushed off to the bushes where he had wandered off. 

You let out a sigh of relief as you spotted the familiar bag, grabbing it from Mr. Crawling’s hands. “Thank you,” you smiled, weary but grateful, as Mr. Crawling giggled once again.

“Happy! Happy!” He said, reaching out to pat your head again.

You found yourself letting out a small laugh as well at the unusually tender action, giving your bag a quick once-over to confirm everything was there. When you spotted your phone, you quickly tapped on the screen, letting out a quick breath of relief as it lights up only for it to immediately be followed by a small wince.

Over 50 missed calls and 100 messages… yikes. And with a glance at the time and date, you understood why. Turns out, your sense of time was rather accurate– it had been just over a day since your disappeared.

“Hurt? You hurt?” Mr. Crawling asked, leaning in close to do his ghost-equivalent of looking. Honestly, you can’t be bothered to question why, how, or even what he’s seeing when all you’ve noticed on his face was a deep red wound in place of his eyes. 

“No,” You shake your head. “Uhm. It’s, uhm, humans. Humans worry… no– me worry humans.” You explained the best you could, standing up again. Mr. Crawling looks up, confused. 

“You safe.” He says, crawling towards you rather slowly. “Humans ∎∎∎?” 

You shake your head. “Go together with me.” You say with a bit of force. The desire to get home and in bed overshadows much of anything else that could run through your mind.

Mr. Crawling, however, doesn’t seem to mind your curtness, breaking out into another small fit of uncanny giggles as he follows after you, letting out a small mantra of “Together together together together!”

With half fondness and half exasperation, you trudge on with a smile, feeling like this experience was more akin to a person walking their dog rather than a human leading a ghost to their home. Which… you choose to think about another day. You really, really don’t want to contemplate any more images of your death.

You were so tired.

But, after nearly half an hour of much slower-than typical walking, your patience was wearing thin.

As it turns out, disabled ghosts walk– crawl much slower on slippery, uneven terrain than their familiar concrete floors. You’ve had to slow significantly so that Mr. Crawling wouldn’t get too tangled up in roots and rocks, and a part of you worried for the safety of his bare legs, but every passing glance resulted in a tiny glimpse of smooth, unharmed skin. You assume he was taking extra care to ensure he doesn’t get hurt.

But, still, every passing hour drains your phone’s limited battery and therefore your limited ability to navigate through whatever area of the city you wind up in upon exiting the mountains. You really couldn’t afford to keep slowing down or to risk losing your understanding of where to walk by circling around roots and trees. They had passed most of the decorations by now, leaving only trees and the very faint noise of any rare passing cars.

Eventually, you kneel back down, waving at him to get his attention. “Mr. Crawling.” You hum, watching as he perked up.

“∎∎∎!” He chirped, getting to your position in a few seconds.

“Me…” You hesitate. “... Me you… up.” You said, staring at him to see whether or not he understood. You were sure that, without… a lot of things necessary for life, he would be light enough for you to carry. Sure, you weren’t the fittest of the bunch, but you were healthy and exercised. In fact, you’re sure that your physical health was the only reason you lasted that long in that death trap.

His head tilted, then he grinned. “... Me you ∎∎∎?”

You sighed, contemplating. That was a vaguely familiar word, and you could almost hear something else in your memories having said it.

But before you could actually responded, Mr. Crawling lunged up at you, bringing you down to the ground in one swift motion. You let out a scream, your throat raw and strained by now, but settled in once you realized where you were.

“Mr. Crawling, what are you–?” You let out a half-scream of shock as he began to scoot across the floor with his legs, holding you firmly in his lap, cold yet sturdy arms caging you in.

He giggled, “Me ∎∎∎! Me ∎∎∎ you!”

Your jaw dropped, and then the word clicks– carry! Well, carry or lift or hold– something along those lines. You remembered that decapitated head speaking it. The head that you had left behind in the hands of that… goat thing.

“Me carry you!” Mr. Crawling giggled, and honestly, if it weren’t for the fact that this was twice as slow as their previous pace (an actual snail’s pace) you might’ve just stayed here and squeezed a nap in.

“Wait, no– no!” You wiggled, trying to loosen his arms. You couldn’t– not through sheer force, as his arms felt like stone bricks, but he loosened his hold on his own, leaning in far too close and spewing out a cycle of: “Hurt? Hurt? Damaged? You sad?” 

You sighed, shaking your head. Well, at least now you know the word. “No, me carry you. Me carry you.” You said, trying to convey through hand motions that it would be faster.

Then… Mr. Crawling giggled. Laughed. Directly at your face. “You carry me? Me ∎∎∎, you ∎∎∎!” 

In your heart, you knew you were being laughed at, and you felt heat rushing to your ears as you sputtered in indignation. “What– listen, I can carry you! You’re not even alive, so you probably don’t have water or blood or any other thing in you that makes you as heavy as–”

“Cute!” Mr. Crawling cooed with another giggle, playing with your ears, his fingers gentle despite how coarse they felt. The coolness of them actually felt… nice against your burning ears.

You balked, “You–!”

Your breath was interrupted as cement arms wrapped around you again and his butt-scooting continued. 

“Hey, I– !”

“You ∎∎∎ rest!” He said happily, strong legs picking up the pace and pushing small mounds of dirt across the forest floor.

Well… that was actually amendable. Maybe you’d get to the city before sunrise at this pace.

“Rest rest!” He said, one arm reaching up to pat your head. “You ∎∎∎! You rest! You safe.”

You let out another sigh, though you hardly put any heart into it, leaning against him more as you felt the rhythmic stop and push of him quite literally dragging the both of us to safety.

A disabled ghost… helping a fully-capable human move.

You snort, letting your eyes fall shut.

What has your life become?

And that's all! Thank you so much for stopping by! If you're interested, I just wanted to add some notes for anybody paying a bit more attention to minor details in this fic.

Yes, the reader is exhausted and far too tired to ask why a ghost who "can't use his legs" is currently using them as a motor to propel them across the forest floor. Give them some slack! They nearly died about 3 times lmao. (And I have mentally planned out a timeframe where they realize this exact piece of info)

I am aiming for the reader to be completely G/N (for our rare male players) but I may slip up and call them she/her or accidentally follow the canon a bit too closely.

Honestly, while it is based in Japan, most of my understanding outside of some rare visits comes from anime. So, in my head, the local high school was hosting a bravery challenge up in the forest on the mountains and the reader was dragged along with their friends (reader is a working young adult, ~25 years old). In my world, the city they live in is maybe 40 minutes away from that specific area in the mountains. I'm contemplating making the reader American-Japanese (who resides in the US and visited Japan for a vacation to meet up with old friends, or something like that).

Yes, I know that "bucket" in the ghost language isn't correct (the correct word is "container" or something more vague like that) but I can't recall if the reader gets to go to the SOS room on this route where Mr. Crawler refers to the pencil case/make-up bag with that same word, so their only experience would be learning the word through buckets with Mr. Hood.

I may accidentally call Mr. Crawling "Mr. Crawler." I'm pretty sure I haven't done that in this fic, but this is simply a warning for the future lmao.

That's all! Thanks again!^^

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[emasstars]

broken glass

simon riley doubts his worthiness of having you | hurt/comfort(?)

sorry i was gone for so long. i haven’t felt motivated in a while. this is just an attempt to get back into writing. i’ve been working on various projects, abandoning them halfway through. was relatively proud of this, so i’ve decided to post it.

mentions of abuse. insecurities. i don’t know, tell me if i missed any.

He was born into a home of broken glass, every argument a shard, every silence a fracture.

Simon Riley had been born into chaos. His earliest memories were of screams that echoed through the halls of a crumbling home, the heavy thuds of fists against thin walls, the sound of a door slamming as his mother stumbled from the house, her face bruised and hollow. His father, always drunk, was a constant presence—a shadow, a monster—who only softened when his fists fell silent, usually in a moment of fleeting remorse, or more likely, when his anger was spent.

He was a man who was shattered like thin glass, a splinter that made you bleed and quickly pull your hand away like there was fire. He drew blood, his hands rough and calloused, a man too harsh to be loved. War was all he had, and all he’d known, even if he wanted to know better. He had so many questions, and yet he choked on the words as he tried to ask, instead opting to drown deeply in the cacophony of screams. He searched for peace, a man who’d never experienced such, echoes of gunshots ringing in his ears and never offering any silence. He was engineered by a system to survive, to endure, but never to heal.

Simon didn’t sleep anymore, or, if he did, it was never rest.

His whole life had been dedicated to violence, actively seeking it as much as he avoided it. He felt stained with the blood he drew, scars along his back only indicating the pain he endured rather than that which he caused. Simon was a man who was supposed to be dead, and yet, the cruel God which seemed to have cursed him refused to let such a thing occur. His soul cracked in ways he couldn't articulate, his body a crumpled map of all he'd been through. He’d gone through existence without ever living.

He sought for warmth and comfort, even though he knew he could never be worthy of such a thing. He was a man who stained the snow-lands a deep scarlet. He was a wreck of a man who broke everything with his touch, strangling flowers in his grasp.

Perhaps that was why he fell so hard for you. You were like a beacon of light, granting him some solace. Giving him sympathies which he didn’t deserve, yet he yearned for. His head rested on your chest as he listened to your heart beat, assuring him that you were real and you were here. Whispered confessions of love still left doubt in his twisted mind, convinced you’d find someone better than him. He was convinced you might leave, holding on tightly to you and treating you as best as a man like him knew how to.

He’d never had a proper role model for love, most of the things he knew having been learned from books he’d stumbled upon or movies he’d watched. He was a man with a wicked father, and no matter the care of his mother, that evilness he believed was deep inside him could never be cancelled out. Love was a foreign language to him.

After all, there was no escaping the ghosts that haunted him, for he was one himself.

And yet you made him believe it might be possible.

His harsh voice would whisper your name like a secret prayer, his hand with its scarred knuckles gripping your gentle hand tightly. Perhaps he was finally starting to believe you might not go anywhere.

One night, in the capture of the moonlight which snuck through the cracks of the pulled curtains, Simon asked, slightly more loudly than he intended to, “why do you love me?”

Fingers that were previously toying with his slowed to a stop, and you adjusted yourself to stare at him. “What do you mean?” you replied. Your brows were furrowed, confusion evident on your face, and yet Simon could swear you looked like a deity. A blessing, was what you were to him. Someone who managed to let him know that maybe he wasn’t as ill as he’d convinced himself he was, a carefully-crafted facade having broken down more as the months turned into years.

He sat up, not sure how to word it. He was a man of few of those, after all. He plainly answered, “exactly what I asked,” slightly shrugging.

You bit your lip, seemingly thinking for a moment. It felt like a stupid question. Why did anyone love anyone, after all? Why did he love you, you could even ask. You swallowed, deciding to softly say, “because you’re worth loving.”

And perhaps he might one day start to believe he is, especially of the love of yours. The moments of bared insecurity were rare, occurring in only the latest times of night, the moon the only other witness of the confessions. They were caused by exhaustion, barely recalled when the sun rose. Yet, each night it happened, as he let himself sometimes cry in your arms after a nightmare, or letting drops of pain drip out of his soul, he was slowly starting to believe your honesty when you said you would not leave.

When you said that you love him.

He was a man with a shattered ego which he’d tried to tape back together flimsily, yet you made new parts of him which were whole. Certain parts could never be filled, but as long as you were in his arms, the pains of his soul may slowly fade away into nothing but background noise, lullabies of your words drowning them out as delicate fingers ran themselves over his scarred and tortured body.

A hand rough from holding knives and guns could tend for flowers as well, he was slowly starting to learn.

[letoasai]

dp x dc 2 Mother Gotham

 I had... zero intention of continuing this.... and i still.. have zero intention of continuing... lol i don’t know how this part 2 happened XD Please enjoy or feel free to take it   ~

Part 1      Master List  Constantine stared. 

He’d had very, very little time to learn everything he thought he needed to know about the Ghost King through his contacts and as an adult, he didn’t like what he’d heard so far. He might not be the most responsible bloke but damn it, he wasn’t okay with a fourteen year old taking on so much pressure after what was likely a traumatic death. 

He learned very little other than how young he was, how well liked he was, and how he’d not only earned the respect of many ancients, but befriended them. A good section of his contacts refused to answer any questions about him at all, stating at they didn’t want to cause trouble for the king. 

It was commendable but fucking frustrating. He had to find his boy and his sister and take them to both Lady Gotham and Batman. He’d had a headache all night. 

Constantine wasn’t a stranger to the occult, not by a long shot. He was rather the Justice League’s resident expert, but his lack of knowledge surrounding Amity Park was inexcusable. He had no idea how an entire town went unnoticed but he was going to find out. 

The amount of liminals in one place was ridiculous but he’d have to actually go there to gather more information on these teenagers. As things were, he was waiting at the Gotham welcome Center at the appointed time and was always startled by the amount of activity there. People coming and going. Gothamites were unfazed by the gloom of the city and newcomers were often transfixed by their first taste of a city that harbored so many curses. 

Few were able to understand that it was Lady Gotham stretching her non-corporeal limbs. 

He’d only been there an hour, and he had no description of these teenagers. He should have just asked Bruce. The man had probably somehow already tracked down everything on these kid right down to their favorite colors, but he hadn’t honestly thought he’d need anything like that. Turns out... he was right.

Constantine had just lit another cigarette when the room got cold. He glanced around the room, eyes zeroing in on a hooded figure, a NASA logo printed across the front. He slid up to a vending machine, pushing a dollar in and punching in the numbers for whatever snack he wanted. 

The kid was so unassuming. He could have been any random teenager. The strangest thing about him was that he had a thermos dangling off his belt and stars had been drawn on his shoes in what looked like marker. 

He bent to pick up his snack, but when he turned, he was already pinning Constantine with a stare. 

He wasn’t used to a kid being the one to pick him out in a crowd, but this one…well… Constantine wasn’t about to question his qualifications as royalty. When Constantine did nothing, the teens head cocked to the side in confusion. It was a far too long moment where they did nothing but stare at one another from across the room. 

The staring contest was broken when a red headed young woman exited the nearby bathroom and slid up behind her brother, a hand on his shoulder and a question on her lips. She was definitely liminal, and not as human as they both likely had been once. Not that that mattered to him. It was just one more piece of information to file away for later. The Ghost King silently nodded in his direction, and now there were two piercing gazes in his direction.

 There was something about the sister he couldn’t put his finger on but it would be a bloody cold day in hell before he purposely pissed her off. She was definitely the type to be her brothers keeper, and someone with that kind of sway over the Ghost King was no one to fuck around with. 

He inhaled once more, enjoying the smoke filling his lungs before he hauled himself off the bench he’d been occupying to head towards them. 

“Welcome to Gotham. I’m your one man welcoming committee.” He greeted.

 “Who sent you?” The redhead asked. 

“Got a name?” The Ghost King asked right after. 

They were paranoid, but he didn’t blame them for that. Whatever had them running likely wasn’t friendly. The boy's eyes were rimmed with dark circles and there were bruises along his jaw and neck. His sister wasn’t injury free either. She was holding one of her arms to her chest. Possibly a dislocated shoulder or elbow. “John Constantine. Member of the Justice League Dark.” 

He never would have introduced himself like that normally but he was dealing with a King and well... spooked kids. 

“Dark?” The brother and sister exchanged a look. 

Constantine grunted. “We deal with the magical nasties and what not. I was summoned to Gotham to greet you, Majesty.” 

The Ghost King didn’t wince, but there was a tick to his jaw.  “Danny.” He corrected. “This is my sister, Jazz.” 

“Who was it who summoned you?” Jazz asked, her good arm wrapped around one of her brother’s. 

Constantine nodded to Danny. “His mother. Dunno your full story, but i was led to believe this was your actual mother.” 

Danny’s lips pinched. “That is what Clockwork said…” He muttered to his sister who nodded, though she didn’t look overly trusting. 

“And you have no connection to the GIW?” She bulldozed right through. 

Constantine’s eyes narrowed. “Bloody fuck is that?” 

They exchanged another look. “The Ghost Investigation Ward.” 

“The fuck?” He inhaled again, pulling the cigarette away from his mouth. “What’s their problem?” 

Danny’s brows lowered, a soft, quiet, and mostly certainly deadly sort of anger in that look. “Hunting and experimenting on my people for sport.” 

Constantine tsked, but it did nothing to truly betray how pissed off that made him. “Sounds like a couple of pretenders messing around in my neck of the woods. Thanks for the tip. I’ll be looking into that.” He paused to pull out his cell phone and make a note of them. “No, I’m a right bastard for sure but meddling with the Infinite Realm is a major no-no.”

The Ghost King’s ire lessened somewhat, but the faint glow to Jazz’s eyes hadn’t yet waned. “Why were you picked to escort us?” 

“Probably because i’m one of few around that could hear the call. Your mother has been making arrangements for the both of you. I’ll take you to her first and then to where you’ll be living.” They weren’t a very trusting pair, but he had to assume they had every reason to be cautious. 

Danny finally heaved a sigh and took his sister’s hand. “Fine. It’s a leap but only a lunatic would claim to be in the Justice League when they weren’t.”

 Constantine didn’t react to that, he didn’t want to worry the kid about how many lunatics there actually were. The laugh he’d have over this kid looking like Wayne adoption bait would have to wait. 

“Besides, one wail will take out a good chunk of Gotham, so i’m sure you won’t do anything stupid.” Danny continued. 

“Noted…” Constantine said dryly. He was getting shitfaced tonight. 

~

 Danny rather liked Gotham. Sure he’d barely seen any of it but the ambient ectoplasm was more than enough to sustain him. There weren’t many people who could say that kind of thing energized them but Danny sure could. Jazz could to a lesser extent. It was almost like home, except hopefully less volatile. 

Constantine showed them to his car that smelled like alcohol, cigarettes and magic and took off with them. He didn’t even seem to mind Danny opening and eating his bag of chips. He knew Jazz wasn’t in a trusting mood. He wasn’t either but Clockwork had told him bits about his mother. Had told him to follow his core and he’d find his mother. So far… he was satisfied with the direction they were headed. 

He stifled a yawn but tired tears sprung to his eyes anyway. He had no idea what time it was anymore. Gotham was so dark but there were people out on the street. It could have been noon or midnight and he was too lazy to even pull out his phone and check. It didn’t matter when his master plan was to get himself and Jazz somewhere safe and then sleep for hours. 

When Constantine finally pulled his car to a stop and got out, it had started to drizzle just a little. It wasn’t enough rain to even really get them wet, it was just vaguely annoying. The streets were startlingly vacant compared to the ones they’ve driven passed before and this was obviously an older section of the city. 

Having just arrived, Danny and Jazz didn’t know all the districts in Gotham yet but it didn’t take a genius to figure out that this wasn’t main street. Constantine headed towards an old bridge, pieces of it having crumbled away from age but the architecture had obviously once been top tier. 

“Where are we?” Jazz asked, keeping close to Danny, her voice only just above a whisper but Constantine heard her. 

“The meeting point.” 

Danny frowned, but he held out an arm to keep his sister behind him. His core fluttered in his chest, and he recognized that something was coming. He tried to pinpoint exactly what it was but the feeling was something altogether new though it reminded him of Clockwork or Pandora. 

With a gentle wave of power, she appeared. A woman, cloaked with gargoyle like features. She could have been made of stone but she approached them cautiously. “Daneil.” She whispered, and he felt her voice wash over him with emotion. Pride. Pride. Pride. Regret. Pain. Joy. 

Confused. Relaxed. “Was that my name?” he asked. He’d been so terribly small when the Fenton’s had caught him but he could see how his name could have gotten twisted around at some point. “Are you…?” 

Welcome. Welcome. Welcome. 

“This is Lady Gotham.” Constantine said, probably for Jazz and Danny’s benefit. 

She moved, fazing in and out of existence and stopping just out of reach. “Son…” she whispered, the emotion nearly dropping him to his knees. All of her attention was on him. When was the last time he’d had that from a parental figure? 

Danny stared back at her, her green eyes so familiar. He reached up to touch his cheek under his own blue eyes. It was a wonder she could even recognize him. Sure he felt the same but he was half human. Half alive. That didn’t matter to her? 

Doesn’t matter. Doesn’t matter. Doesn’t matter. Doesn’t matter. 

Danny exhaled shakily, falling into his shift. The rings of light circled around his middle before spreading out and revealing his ghost half. White hair topped with a black crown and green eyes matching the spirits. 

Constantine cursed softly under his breath, taking several steps away. 

“Oh, don’t be a wuss.” Jazz chuckled. “He’s not after you.” 

“Not taking any chances with all that,” he said. 

Danny couldn’t help his faint smile at that. “Daneil.” Lady Gotham reached out slowly, cupping his face. She didn’t feel like stone for all she looked like it. She was cool to the touch and he wondered what her core was. She felt familiar. Like he’d met her before. That made sense if she were his mother but after all this time, there was this connection that clicked into place.

 I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Lost you. Lost you. 

Here now. Here now. “It’s okay.” Danny muttered, barely even registering that the bruises on his face were disappearing. “It’s not your fault.” He dared to move, stepping into her space to hug her. She trilled in affection, holding him tightly while Danny chirped his automatic response. When was the last time Maddie had hugged him? 

Jazz could make him purr or chirp in affection but had his parents ever? He’d known Lady Gotham for all of a handful of minutes and already he felt safe in her haunt. It was far safer than his in Amity. 

Welcome. Welcome. Missed you. Missed you. “Daneil.” She said his name like a prayer. Voice quiet but filled with affection. 

“Guess i’m staying here for a while.” He muttered, his core humming. He pulled away from the hug, silently wondering if he’d ever grow horns or something like Lady Gotham when he glanced back over at his sister. She was waiting patiently, still cradling her arm. He’d managed to pop it back into it’s socket but it was terribly tender. “What do you think?” 

“I’m staying if you’re staying.” Jazz said simply. 

“Good child.” Lady Gotham whispered. She vanished from in front of Danny and reappeared next to Jazz. Thank you, Thank you. Thank you. 

Jazz couldn’t always make out the words in emotions but she felt them all the same. Her smile was warm. “He’s my little brother. I love him. I had to come along.” 

She hadn’t. She could have lived a normal life. She could have left him behind. She didn’t have to act as his shield when their parents found out about him. She didn’t have to but she did. She’d never abandoned him. 

Welcome. 

“We’ll figure it out, Jazz. Promise.” 

Lady Gotham reached slowly, taking Jazz’s hands. Thank you. Her immense power shifted again and Jazz gasped in surprise. Danny raised a brow but grinned at the drop of Gotham’s power that flowed into his sister. It sped her healing up, taking away the ache in her arm. He guessed Jazz would become a stronger liminal than she already was. 

Constantine cursed again. “This just doesn’t happen…” he muttered. 

Danny could tell though, his mother was amused. 

“Jasna.” Lady Gotham spoke clearly, pleased with herself. 

“Wait… what?” Jazz looked confused, trying to read the emotions that were being sent to her. It was a mouthful, and amounted to… The sister of my son is also mine. 

“Renamed by an ancient…” Constantine was shaking his head, pulling out a flask from his jacket pocket. Names were powerful… you couldn’t just hand them out… But he was not about to argue with Lady Gotham. 

Danny snickered. “You can still keep your nickname, Jazz.” He felt… calm. He was happy to be here. He liked Gotham because it was safe and his mother was here and everything suddenly felt like it would be okay after all. He and Jazz could start over. 

“Jasna…” Jazz repeated, testing it out. “Thank you.” After everything that had happened.., she could use a mother figure.

Lady Gotham seemed so satisfied. She turned back to Danny, hugging him again, even the wings on her arms fluttered with delight to have her child back. 

My son. My son. 

Danny smiled, wondering if it was like this for all ghost children when their parents were near. He’d have to call Ellie and have her swing by to see if she felt the same way he did. “We’ll figure everything out…” He paused and looked back at Constantine. “You were taking us somewhere else too?” 

“Yeah.” He was flicking his lighter on and off, likely considering another smoke. “Lady Gotham is entrusting you to someone who will also have a hand in keeping you safe. She hand picked him and everything.” 

“We just need an apartment… and…” Jazz frowned a little. They’d talked about it a little and Danny had hated the idea of his sister giving up on school for even a week. 

“Not necessary.” Constantine said dryly. “You’ll be fine.” 

“Where…are we going exactly?” Danny asked, looking at his mother again. He was so strangely pleased that they had the same eyes. 

She laughed, actually laughed. He felt her excitement in her bones. She pointed up into the air and only a few beats later, the bat signal was spread across the sky, glowing against the smog and clouds. 

“That’s…” Jazz blinked, who could have planned for this? 

“No way.” Danny stared at the glowing signal. Everyone knew what that meant. He looked to Constantine again who only nodded his confirmation. His mother was still laughing, enjoying the moment. “We’re staying with Batman!?” ~~ ~~

I really didn’t intend to continue this, i’m not sure it’ll happen again. I have no confidence in writing for the Batfam. If anyone is interested, go for it. 

Tag list. 

@meira-3919 @choppedphantomsweets @kisatamao @thewondersoflebanon @emergentpanda-blog @epilepticnerd @paroovian @blep-23 @addie-lover-of-stories @phoenixdemonqueen @bianca-hooks123 @crystallicedart @observethevoid @jaytriesstuff @skulld3mort-1fan @icedbluesoul @rosecinnamonbun @nixthenerd @oterion @lexdamo @jotaroslooseeyebrowhair @villian-lover7899 

[theeoriginals]

a Klaus fic with this gem from Ozark “look, I know I kissed you last night but I thought I was gonna fucking die”. Change to fit however you want 😘

the last thing i'd do | klaus mikaelson

author's note; whoever sent this im so sorry it's been in my inbox for seven months

warnings; hybrid!reader, mentions of violence, violence against reader, themes of death, klaus gets crazy :), then there's fluff, a bit of angst still sprinkled in, but there's a happy ending

It's a blood bath, is the thing.

She can't tell what blood is hers anymore, and the ache in her body has done nothing but grow steadily over the past ten minutes. It feels like it's been hours since it all started.

She doesn't remember who threw the first punch, just knows that someone had come at her and she had no choice but to fight back, fight for her life.

There's blood under her nails, and she thinks maybe some in her eyes because they're burning, but it might be the tears shining in them.

It wasn't supposed to be like this. Klaus had, for once, been hoping for peace. He was always braced for a fight, but he'd truly been hoping for a painless, quick negotiation.

Of course, it's turned into the worst fight they've had in a while.

She's always been on Klaus's side of things; fights, family, life. She's always had her place here, carved out by none other than the Original Hybrid himself. She's never understood just what he saw in her that earned her this place, but she wouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth.

Some– most– call her loyalty a form of naivety. Perhaps the sire bond still lingering, despite the fact that she'd broken it years ago. His siblings call it blindness, or ignorance, in their harsher moments. Her friends, the few that happen to be immortal, too, think she's reckless and just asking for him to kill her. Klaus Mikaelson turns on everybody, eventually, they say. The paranoid, hybrid king trusts nothing and no one. He killed his parents, multiple times, and he's kept his siblings in and out of coffins for most of their immortal lives. Why would he ever enjoy the company of one of his sires?

She's never thought he was perfect. That's something people always get wrong. They think she sees no flaws in him, when really she sees them all for what they are, she sees him for who he really is. She still loves him.

Some days she thinks he knows how she feels for him. Sometimes she can't keep it out of her eyes, and he'll catch her looking at him and his eyes will narrow slightly, like he's warning her to contain it.

Other days, she thinks there's no way he knows, because if he knew the capacity of her adoration, he'd surely have to say something. Tell her to move on. Compel the feelings away, possibly. If he were that cruel to her.

She doesn't think he would be. Since that first day he found her in the woods with what was left of her pack, they'd all watched him in fear. Some confused. Angry. But she was mystified. Enraptured by him and the power that radiated off of him.

She spent a long time feeling weak when she was younger. Even after she triggered the curse. But when Klaus told her she could become immortal, be strong, be at his side, she was the first to accept. The only one in her pack to ask him to turn her.

He'd set his eyes on her, something unidentifiably dark gleaming in his blue eyes, and when she latched onto his wrist to drink his blood, he hadn't looked away from her.

When he cupped her cheeks, he'd brushed his thumbs along the curve of her cheekbones and told her he'd make it quick and painless for her, and when she opened her eyes, he'd be there.

He'd kept his word, then. And he'd kept it ever since.

This, though. He'd given her his word, knowing her hesitance to fight, knowing that unless it was life or death, she'd rather avoid conflict. He promised her there would be no bloodshed here today.

It's not his fault, this time. She needs to tell him that. She needs to be at his side to make sure they're still fighting together, like they have for so long, yet so little time.

She throws a vampire off of her, with nothing but his heart in her palm and she quickly drops it to the ground at her feet. Turning, she pushes through the chaos, trying to cross the room to where she last saw him.

"Klaus!"

Her voice echoes over the mess and she sees him turn in the direction of it, and the fire in his blue eyes has her stopping.

He has blood smeared around his mouth and chin and she knows he's torn out more throats than he can count. The numbers are dwindling on both sides, barely anyone left standing, and she goes to close the space between them when a blinding pain stops her in her tracks.

Her choked off grunt is nearly silent amidst the yelling, but to Klaus it's like a gunshot.

He watches the point of the stake stab through her chest and feels his breath stall in his chest, fingers going numb all the way to the tips.

Her hand comes up, trembling as she skims her fingers over the blood blooming on her shirt around the stake. When she looks back up at Klaus, she tries to say his name but it's suffocated by the blood bubbling up in her throat.

Her knees give out from under her and she hears his hoarse voice yell her name as she goes down.

She can't see it, but she feels the pain that refreshes when he rips the stake from her back and throws it into the heart of the vampire that had attacked her.

She can't see it through the blur of her tears, but the sounds of retreat echo in her ears around the waves crashing.

When Klaus speaks again, his voice is closer and she blinks blearily, finding him hovering above her with wide eyes, looking uncharacteristically scared.

Her brows furrow when she sees the look on his face and when his fingers brush hers, she's quick to intertwine them with hers.

He whispers her name, the sound broken with emotion, and she squeezes his hand unconsciously.

"You're alright," He tries, valiantly ignoring the graying color of her skin despite the fact that he got the stake out of her. "You're alright, love. The pain will go away in a minute,"

She frowns, shaking her head against where he has it cupped with the hand that she's not holding. "Doesn't hurt," She whispers, swallowing roughly around the copper in her mouth.

"What?"

She repeats herself. "Doesn't hurt. Can't feel anything,"

Klaus makes a noise that she thinks might be grief. "No, no, it's alright. Here," He rips his hand from hers and his fangs tear into his skin, and he shoves his wrist against her mouth, letting as much blood drip into her mouth as he can before he heals.

She swallows it dutifully, but that numbness doesn't quite go away, and she wonders why he's so worried about it.

"Sit up," He commands her, though his voice is nowhere near as firm as it can get. "Sit up, and I'll help you the rest of the way. We'll go home, and you can rest."

"Klaus," She says his name, smiling around the syllables. "Come here."

He leans down at her request, eyes fluttering shut on a shaky breath when she lifts a blood-smeared hand up to his cheek. He whispers her name and her smile gives way to bloody teeth.

She uses what strength she can to lean up and kiss him, the pads of her fingers pressing into his pale cheek when he inhales sharply but presses back instantly, deepening the kiss.

She lingers as long as she can until she has to pull away, gasping for a full breath that she can't quite reach.

Still, a smile sits on her lips and when she meets Klaus's worried gaze, she doesn't falter. "Thank you,"

Confusion flutters on his face for a moment, but he jostles her when she starts to go limp in his arms, hand falling from his face. "No," He pulls her weight up, lifting her against his chest as her eyes flutter shut. "No. Wake up. Wake up!"

Silence follows his demands, his pleas, and through the blood on her cheek, a single tear falls from his eye, cleaning as it slides down her skin and falls into nothing.

Despite the silence surrounding him, he feels deafened.

────── 

When she opens her eyes again, she can feel her body again in a way she couldn't before. Luckily, she can't feel any pain.

Her eyes go down to her chest where she knows a gaping wound had been, but there's nothing left, not even a scar its wake and she takes a deep breath, relieved that it's not followed by a throttle of blood coming up her throat.

"You're awake,"

The voice startles her, but she isn't scared when she turns her head against the pillow to look at Klaus. A frown sprouts on her face when she sees him sitting in a chair at her side, looking like he hasn't slept in days. It's not always necessary, but they have to take breaks sometimes, and she hasn't seen Klaus look this tired in a long time.

"I am," She says, swallowing a mouthful of spit in an attempt to wet her throat. "I don't think I should be, though."

"I owe many people a great deal of things, so you'd better stay that way."

His voice is dark and she can hear the anger in it, but she's not used to it being focused on her. "You didn't–"

"Do not," He cuts her off, his words nearly a growl that has her eyes widening. "Do not tell me that I shouldn't have saved you."

He leans forward, grabbing her hand in his, and she shrinks with embarrassment when she remembers how she'd touched his cheek and kissed him.

"Klaus," She squeezes her eyes shut, huffing her humiliation out. "I am– so sorry that I–"

"Don't," He cuts her off again, hand pressing pointedly against hers. "Don't apologize if you don't mean it."

She falls silent for a moment, lost as she looks at him. "I just... I thought I was going to die. And I just– I had to have it at least once."

He visibly swallows and she watches that pretty shine light up his eyes again. "You thought you were dying, and the last thing you wanted to do was kiss me?"

She nods despite the toe-curling embarrassment coursing through her.

He cuts a sharp breath out of his nose, shaking his head.

Before she realizes it, he's hovering above her, cupping her cheeks gently. "Silly little thing," He quietly scolds her, not giving her time to argue before he kisses her, ever so softly, softer than she ever thought he could be. Like she'll break beneath his touch if he doesn't treat her like glass.

When he pulls away and she forces her eyes open, she finds herself fighting off a tingling sensation from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. "What'd you do that for?"

He smiles, small and fond. "The next time you kiss me, you don't have to be dying to do it."

"Oh,"

"Don't ever do that to me again," His voice has a warning in it, but she's already smiling too hard to pay attention to it. "You know how I feel about people disobeying my orders."

Her grin is audible when she responds. "Yeah, I do."

[drewstarkeyluvbot]

Haunt me

Rafe Cameron x ex-best friend pogue! reader

Summary : After your encounter with Rafe , you wished never to face him again. Nevertheless, fate fathoms different plans and in a time where old wounds have been ripped open and blood is rapidly spilling out , four hands are going to get messy.

warnings: angst, cursing , jealousy

word count: 3.2k

part one , part three

~

There is no deeper pain than the one stemming from an old love that transformed into a bitter stranger.

Because you know it. You know it now, you knew it then - god - you've known it since you were a toddler. You know you were in love with Rafe Cameron.

Perhaps that's why the pain caused by his absence was so deep, so profound that it reached into the crevices of your very soul and settled there . It was always there , you were aware of it, but you constructed defence mechanisms and put up walls in order to shield it from the outside world,in order to forget it and keep it buried deep within your soul.

Your efforts were destroyed in a matter of seconds , a few words falling from his lips were stupidly enough . It was awoken, dragged back to the surface no matter how hard you tried to conceal it. He made you vulnerable - again - and you despise him even more for it.

Because he doesn't care.

But you do , you care. You always did, even during the days that Rafe wasn't quite Rafe. He has always been short tempered,always had aggressive tendencies. The man that was supposed to distance him from such behaviour ; who should have been the light guiding him through the dark , was the very cause of his peculiar behaviour.

You never quite liked Ward Cameron. Even before Rafe opened his heart to you,you noticed small -yet malicious- traits in his behaviour. You noticed the way he talked to - the way he scolded - Rafe, you noticed the way rafe's back would straighten the moment his father entered a room. It was almost as if a switch had been turned on , and he would attempt to take up the role of the perfect son. You noticed the way his father treated his sister, the way his eyes lit up every time he saw her. Sarah Cameron was his little princess, and Rafe Cameron was the neglected son that yearned for a validation he would never receive.

You were fourteen when you truly realized what a horrible person Ward Cameron was ; It was the first time Rafe cried in your arms . You were so confused - so young - yet embraced him with so much love and warmth that his father's insults and cruel words about pretend masculinity were nothing but a vacant thought. At least until it happened again. But then, you'd do it again,and again, and again.

You were his medicine,in a way. Patching up his wounds and healing his broken soul with your mere presence. You were so full of love,and you gave it all to him. You'd wipe his tears and caress his face until your eyes would sting and your fucking fingers would feel numb, because who cares about momentary torture if it meant seeing him smile again?

But that's all in the past now.

Leave the past in the past, y/n.

Leave the past in the past,y/n.

Leave the past in the past,y/n.

That's exactly what you're weakly attempting to achieve at this moment, before you've realized you got lost in your irrational thoughts once again,the ones that you've tried to desperately avoid. Your head is feeling slightly dizzy,and you can practically feel the blood pumping inside your veins as you grip the glass of the unknown drink you're holding. You're at a random house party, one that the pogues had unwillingly dragged you to, claiming you've been out of it the whole week. Of course you hadn't told them about your recent encounter, you don't need to have more people reminding you of how much fucking power he still has over you, your own repetitive words are enough.

Your eyes shift towards your group of friends, bodies splayed out on the rather uncomfortable couch as giggles and contented sounds fall from their lips. You smile, eyes falling on the drink in your hand and studying the nasty liquid. You weren't really the drinker ; well, at least not to the point of throwing up in another person's toilet and confessing your undying love to said person. But everyone is different, right?

You picked up the habit of staying mostly sober when Rafe first discovered alcohol , and you weirdly felt that taking care of him was your own liability. It kind of stuck on you since then , both the staying sober and taking care of others. He somewhat ruined you, didn't he? How silly.

He's here ;  you noticed him the moment you stepped inside the ridiculously posh house. He's resting against the wall lazily, drink in his hand as his group of friends surrounds him. The same group of friends he discarded you for. He fits into the crowd seamlessly, he blends in. You suppose he never did that with you.

They're not good people, you know that, Rafe knows that. But, perhaps your definitions of good don't quite line up anymore. How silly.

You feel a fluffy mess falling against your exposed thighs, and you move your drink that's hiding the view. You slightly scrunch your nose, narrowing your eyes as your mouth quirks up at the sight of your drunk friend.

JJ Maybank is sunshine presented in human form.

"Why are you so quiet, sunshine?" He slurs in a funny tone, making your soft smile widen into a bright grin. You shake your head, lightly ruffling his blond locks. "Just tired, Jayj."

He groans quietly at your response, scrunching his face like a petulant little toddler. "S' a party! You should be partying and drinking and dancing and singing!"

A loud laugh immediately falls from your lips as you stare down at him fondly, "you're quite literally seconds away from falling asleep on my lap. "  You reply teasingly.

JJ grumbles at your response, reaching up in a weak attempt to flick your forehead but ending up flicking your eyebrow instead. "That's because I've already partied , little brat! S' the aftermath!"

You smile softly at his reply, shaking your head in pure amusement as you let him rest his head on your lap. You lay back on the couch, lifting your gaze and letting your eyes wander about. You know that they're not just wandering about.

Your eyes fall to his lips first, instictevely. You notice the way they're stretched into an obnoxiously cocky simper. You notice his arms after,the way the bicep bulges and contracts as it's tightly secured around her waist. You notice his chest, the way her hand presses against the firm muscle as she smiles up at him with a look that can only mean so much. You notice the way their bodies are plastered together, almost forming into one as he leans down to whisper into her ear.

You notice icy blue eyes shifting to yours from across the room before his hand wraps around her wrist, dragging her away to a place where bodies meet and words don't matter.

~

It's a bit blurry after that, you make up a stupid excuse about having a rapid headache that your friends certainly do not buy, but cannot interfere. You can't even pinpoint how you ended up sprawled on your cushioned bed , images of your car speeding away like a bat out of hell. You're calmer now, tranquility and peace settling inside your apprehensive mind.

Why did you feel that way?.  Why did you feel that peculiar tightening sensation in your chest the moment he dragged her upstairs? Why did he meet your eyes? Why - for god's sake - do you care so damn much?

You need to stop being desperate for an alternative ending to a story that had a miserable one.

Excruciatingly slow hours have passed before you actually manage to drift off to sleep, your face squished against your soft pillow. When you drift awake,you expecte the warm, orange rays of the sun to be peaking through your blinds and cascading over your face. instead , you're met with the soft glow of the moon and a weird groaning sound stemming from the outside.

When you process the noise, you so desperately want to excuse it for being a wild animal,and fall back into the slumber you were in. You can't, not when the groaning ensues, not when it's certainly the sound of a person.

You tentatively lift the warm covers from your body, your feet meeting the wooden floor. You're currently the only person present in your house,the probability of meeting some ill-intentioned person behind the door quite high. Nonetheless,your instincts take over and your hand gently grips the door handle.

The sound of the door creaking tunes out  the rapid acceleration of your heartbeat,the feeling traveling to your ears ; ringing , and ringing and ringing.

It has been two years since the last time Rafe Cameron found himself drunkenly sprawled on your front porch. Today, that changes.

Your heart feels like it's desperately trying to claw out of your fucking throat as you stare at his worn-out form, face first into your wooden , antiquated floor. Soft groans are still falling from his lips , body still and frozen. Just like yours.

"Rafe," it's spoken in a gentle whisper that most definitely does not reach his ears. "Rafe." You repeat a tad louder, still not enough to drown out his throaty groans. Your teeth dig into your bottom lip as you slowly crouch down.

A hand carefully places itself on his back, feeling it slightly move under the touch. The groaning stops. "Rafe." , your voice is loud and clear now ,anxiety bubbling in your chest as you desperately anticipate some form of a reaction.

His head slightly shifts to the side, curtain bangs messy and sweaty as they cling to his forehead , but not enough to shield his pained and glassy eyes. He's quiet for a moment, seemingly filtering my presence. "You're here." The side of his mouth ever so slightly quirks up.

A soft sigh falls from your lips, hand still pressed into his back as you gaze into his eyes.  "How did you get here, Rafe?" You whisper, quietly and hesitantly. Rafe flashes you a toothy smile, gaze lost and hazy. "You're here." He slurs again .

You stare at him, filtering the state he's in. You're slowly dragged back into your past, to those nights you would take care of him. To the night you took care of him and he confessed his feelings.

Rationally, you should go back inside. It is certainly not your fault that Rafe Cameron got piss drunk once again and somehow found his way to your house, as if being lead by the force of habit. You should leave him out here, in the darkness of the night , and let fate deal with his poor misery. You should , but you won't.

"Come on." You whisper softly , grabbing his arm gently and attempting to lift him off the ground. Your strength is evidently not adequate, and Rafe groans deeply as he complies in an trial to assist you in helping him up. He grits his teeth together, legs wobbly as he wraps an arm around your shoulders tightly. You grip his waist tightly and push the door open with your free hand , leading his large frame towards your living room couch.

You carefully place him on it, cradling his head to ensure he doesn't plop it carelessly and sliding a cushion behind it. You can hear him letting out a soft hum as you help him settle in. His eyes burn into you. You do not look into them.

"I'll go grab you a wet cloth and some water,hm?" You don't genuinely expect an answer, simply angling your body around before a strong hand wraps around your bicep. Strong hand, but a gentle grip.  "Don't leave."

Your heart plummets in your stomach at his broken tone, your teeth digging into your lip anxiously. You don't turn to look at him,not wanting the pain in your chest to intensify. "I'll be back,I promise." Your whisper is soft as your hand gradually slips away from his hold, your body moving towards the kitchen before he can mutter another unexpected response.

Your eyes train on the way the freezing tap water drowns the cloth you picked up,in an attempt to prevent yourself from drowning in your own fucking thoughts. You hastily fill up a glass, your hands slightly shaky. You walk back to the living room,back to him.

He's staring up at the ceiling, seemingly out of it and possibly seconds away from falling asleep. Maybe you should have let him, maybe you should stop caring as much as you do. You place the glass on the small table before hesitantly sitting on the edge of the sofa , looking down at him.

His glassy eyes meet yours, and you let out a heavy sigh. "Oh, Rafe" , you speak in a muted tone as you grab the soaked cloth and place it on his forehead. You dap at the sweat that has accumulated there, while simultaneously offering him a sense of refreshment and alleviating the rapid throbbing inside of it.

His enchantingly blue eyes bore into yours as you take care of him, lips slightly parted. "You dating that pogue,hm?" He finally speaks again, voice scratchy and croaky. Your eyebrows immediately furrow, trying to filter his words. That pogue?

You remember the blond mess of unruly hair on your lap, and you let out a small sigh as you keep running the cloth over his face. "JJ?" you speak ,he does not answer. You sigh again. "No, I'm not dating him, Rafe."

He looks at you,not replying before he shifts his eyes. He nuzzles into your hand that's dapping his face,and you're so thankful you didn't drink much alcohol because you're certain you would have emptied your stomach right there.

You pull the cloth away after a while, grabbing the glass of water that was resting on the table. "Sit up." You tell him, receiving a whine in response. You let out a soft sigh, before cradling the back of his neck gently . "Come on, you need to stay hydrated."

Your soft touch turned on a switch, because he slowly moves his body right up. You hand him the glass, your fingers lightly grazing against the other. You pull away first. You discreetly watch his Adam's apple bopping as he downs the glass, silence prevailing.

You grab the glass when he's finished, placing it on the table. "Do you want more?" , you whisper softly. He merely stares at you, and you so desperately want to reach into the depths of his soul and untangle the mess he has become.

"You care." He whispers, "You still care."

It's as if he's repeating the words that have been circulating your mind for the last week repeatedly, like a vinyl on an old record player. You still care. You hope he doesn't ask for a reasoning, because you can not supply him with one.

"Lay back down." You instruct softly, lightly pushing at his chest as you grab the mostly wet cloth . He obeys wordlessly , and you begin dapping his face again. Why does this feel so intimate?

"I don't know why I came here." He whispers again after moments of empty silence. You momentarily halt your movements, before ensuing . "It's okay, Rafe." You can't help but reassure him, why?

He lets out a soft sound, "Y/n" , the sound of tour name delicately falling from his lips makes your heart stop. "Y/n , you're so lovely." He slurs on a pained whisper.  "Why are you so lovely? This would have been so - so much easier if you - you -" He hiccups before he can finish his sentence.

You genuinely cannot deal with this right now, your fingers tightening around the stupid cloth. It's just the alcohol, he's done this before, do not react, do not give in.

Do not believe his words.

"Why did you drink so much, Rafe?" You ask instead, your tone gentle and quiet. You listen to his breathing pattern for a moment, before lifting your gaze to meet his eyes. He smiles weakly, eyes narrowed and hazy. "So you'd take care of me."

He doesn't know what he's saying.

Leave the past in the past, y/n.

You shake your head at his words, not replying. You finally pull the cloth away , before slowly getting up. A hand instantly circles your wrist, meeting painfully pleading eyes.

"I'll be back." You whisper gently, pulling your hand away as you scurry towards your bedroom. Your head is nothing but a fucking tangled mess, his words making your ears hurt and your heart bleed even more than it previously was. You grab a fluffy pillow and a small blanket before heading back towards the living room.

He's staring at the ceiling again ,and you hover above him. You slowly kneel down, softly cradling the back of his neck and lifting his head, replacing the rather confining cushion with your comfortable one. You get up, before covering his large frame with your warm blanket.

He hums contently, and you've reached the point of utter bewilderment and hopelessness. You don't know what to do , where to go. You need to stay away from him, lock yourself in your name and scream into your pillow until your fucking ears ring and the sounds of roosters prevails over your own broken voice.

A hand slowly reaches up to wrap around your wrist again, your breath hitches at the touch. "Hair." He mumbles incoherently, your eyebrows scrunching up in question.  A soft groan leaves his lips as he stares up at you in anticipation, "Play with my hair."

His reply sinks in, and you instantly shake your head , "Go to sleep, Rafe." You whisper rather coldly, watching as his Adam's apple bops on a gulp.  You hate the way your chest tightens.

"You always did that." He adds quietly, his expression pained. "Do you remember?"

You wish you could forget. Frankly enough,you wish that the fateful night of the thunderstorm , the rain would have started pouring a little harder , or the thunder would have sounded a little louder, or the lightening would have shone a little brighter ; if so , you would have stopped a little fucking earlier and would knock on the door of a random, obnoxious kook that would have cursed you out but you would have pridefully accepted it because at least they wouldn't know how you sounded when you screamed and begged for someone to love you.

You wish you were someone else, someone that doesn't know who Rafe Cameron used to be. Someone that isn't still fucking haunted by the Idea of him.

At your lack of response , Rafe decided to speak up again. "I wish I could go back to the start." he whispers weakly, voice slightly breaking out. "Before I messed it all up."

His eyes shimmer in the darkness of the room,and you wish you would die.

You begin feeling your eyes stinging, but you don't find the power within yourself to control yourself. Your hearts are bleeding, and you're both drowning in your own blood.

"That's the beauty of mistakes, isn't it?"  you whisper, "they're irreversible."

You walk away again.

~

[sarawritestories]

Unwavering Presence Chapter 7

Cassian X Archeron Sister (Reader)

Summary: Rhys and Reader get into an argument that leads to a moment Under the mountain that Y/N would rather forget. And when things don't go as planned at the prison, Y/N must confront her sister after learning just how much Feyre was suffering.

Content Warnings: our FMC being put on a leash (Literally), mentions of abuse potential abuse to children (there is none! just the idea is brought up) , mentions of suicidal ideation, Nightmares, angst

Word Count: 6.5K

Masterlist Chapter 6

Unwavering Masterlist

After finishing the awkward dinner, I made my way to my room and changed out of my dress and put on my silk pajamas sighing at the comfort. Cassian had walked me to my room in silence though his pinky was still entwined in mine and when he dropped me off, he murmured a good night and kissed my hand before heading to bed. His lips against my skin, caused heat to rise in my cheeks and I found myself quickly hiding in my room trying to settle the butterflies in my stomach.

I walked over to my desk and grabbed my journal from my cloak pocket, ever since Cassian bought it, it has been on my person I never leave it. I took a seat and was about ready to write when there was a knock on my door, “Come in.” Rhys walked in.

He leaned against the door, crossing his arms and his ankles leaning against the dark ornate wood. “Did you have to be so hard on her?”

I closed my notebook and let my fingers graze the leather the indents of the ivy engraved in the leather, and finally meeting is eyes, “She’s acting like a child.” She crossed her arms, “She was also extremely rude, and you and your family didn’t deserve that.”

Rhys smirked, and tilted his head, “You know we have been around a long time we can handle ourselves.”

I shrugged and crossed my legs on the bench. “Just because you can doesn’t mean that a friend can’t come to your defense.” I bit my lip, “Even when she feels guilty of her previous behavior to you and is super apologetic.”

Rhys crinkled his nose and made his face so youthful, something I noticed I didn’t see much under the mountain, and I giggled, and confusion fell over the high lord’s features, “What?”

My giggles softened and I gave him a smile, “I enjoy seeing you outside Amarantha.” I could see him physically restrain himself from wincing at her name, but I continued as I stood and made my way to him, “You look so free. Youthful even.”

Rhys smiled, “Well aren’t you sweet,” He opened his arm and I slid into his side as he wrapped his arm around my shoulders pulling me close. “Feyre and I are heading to the prison tomorrow.” I must have had a confused look on my face because he continued, “The prison is where we keep some of the most ancient and vile fae and magical beings. Under a mountain at the edge of Night Court border.”

I meet his violet eyes, “Rhysand, you’re taking her under another mountain.” His lips were a tight line. “What is in there that is so important?”

Rhys remained silent for a moment, “I wouldn’t ask her if I didn’t think the answer, we could find there were important.” Rhys eyes hardened, “The information wouldn’t tip the scales in our favor for the impending war.”

I scooted out of his grasp and his gaze softened. “Why Feyre?”

“The inmate we would be seeing won’t talk to me, but will talk to Feyre Cursebreaker, that I have no doubt about.”

I Internally cringed at the title, tampering that unprecedented jealousy, the title proved she was important in Prythian’s history. Further proved that I was not. Clearing my throat I asked, “She’s okay with it?”

He nodded, “You are an important part of our history too you know?”

I stood up and turned my back to him checking and grumbled, “Get out of my head, High Lord.”

“Your shields are solid, Angel, you wear your heart on your sleeve.” I turned and scowled at him which only caused him to chuckle, putting his hands up in mock surrender. “Feyre may have broken the curse, but no one in that ballroom will easily forget about the human girl who stood in front of those two Fae children and took their punishment for them.”

My heart stopped as the sound of fabric ripping echoed the cavern hall. Amarantha with lethal calm turned to see two small fae girls frozen in place with fear. Their hands clasped together. Terror exploded on their features. Amarantha’s smile was sinister, as she steps down from the dais, “What did you two do?” My gaze drifts to my sister who is on Rhysand’s lap head laying on his shoulder. His arms wrapped around her shoulders as her eyes drift close, probably the effects of the fae wine taking hold of her as Rhysand sipped from his own cup. He had since given up forcing me to drink it after I spit it out on his shoes. Though Feyre doesn’t remember  

Turning back to the young girls as Amarantha was waiting for them to answer the two simply trembled in response a puddle was forming under one of them and my heart broke. The longer the two girls remained silent the irater Amarantha became “You two ingrates ruined my dress! You should haven’t been that close to royalty. Clearly your useless parents didn’t teach you respect. So, allow me.”

Her hand raised up and my feet moved before I could think about what I was doing and suddenly I pulled the girls behind me before Amarantha’s hand collided with my cheek. The girls screamed but I turned to them, “It’s okay. Go find your mother. Wipe your tears and hold your head high.” The girls both did and lifted their chin as they briskly walked to their mother, and I turned to the seething fae female before me.

“You had no right-“

I interrupted her my chin high, “They are children. What they did was an accident. If a punishment must be implemented, I will take it in their place.”

Amarantha eyes flared her stare made me shift the sheer red fabric that shifts to orange at the bottom covering very little of my body moved with my fidgeting. Her eyes then moved to find those two girls, she found them cowering in the arms of their mother, “The cauldron has blessed you both. You should be grateful.” She takes a step forward and her finger touches one end of my collar bone and slides to the other side smearing the paint Rhys’ wraiths painted on me. “Y/N Archeron, twin sister of Feyre.” She circles me like predator waiting for the kill. She stands behind me, her nail grazing the fabric on my shoulder, I fought off a shutter as she faced me again, “You’re a pretty little thing, for human filth. Bold too. Interrupting me not only during my punishment but as I was speaking too.” She tsks as the hand that provided false gentleness collided with my cheek once more her nails scraping skin. She gripped my chin and forced me to look at her, “A foolish human girl, who risked her life for two fae children. What a silly thing to do.”

“Children human or otherwise-“

Faster than a blink a piece of Amarantha’s dress was torn from the dress and shoved into my mouth she worked on getting another stripped around my wrist. “I grow tired of you speaking, girl.” She cinches the fabric against my wrist tightly causing me to shriek in pain. She turned me to face her again and she smiled, “Much better. "Now the question is, what to do for your punishment?”

I tested my binds, and she pressed me to your back. “Hmm I think your punishment will be someone else’s reward.” She looked out into the crowd and I allowed myself to look at Rhysand and my sister. The High Lord’s face revealed nothing but there was a prickle in my mind and his voice filtered in my head,

Breathe. I’m sorry Y/N, I cannot help you.

In the hopes he could hear me, those girls didn’t deserve to see the cruelties of this world just yet. Try to keep their innocence.

To my surprised he gave a curt nod before he drank the rest of his wine and Amarantha’s voice bellowed through the hall, “Eris Vanserra, please step forward.”

I looked out for Lucien and saw his face frown as his eldest brother stepped forward. The male was handsome his tan skin and gold eyes were warm but hardened. Amarantha pushed me forward and I whimpered muffled through the gag as she forced me to my knees, and she gripped the back of my head pressing down until my forehead hit the floor. “Stay there, Pet. Until he tells you otherwise, “her slim hands left my body as she spoke to the eldest brother, “You have done exceptional work, and it has not gone unnoticed. There was a long pause, “As a treat, one of the Archeron twins to use however, you please. You can deposit her in her cell in the morning.”

“Thank you, My Queen. Your gift is beyond gracious. I am truly humbled.” My heartrate spiked, and I tried to shift pain racking in my knees.

Breathe. Through your nose.  Rhys’ voice instructed and I followed his instruction.

A calloused hand hoisted me up to my feet and I looked up to find Eris smirking at me. “I don’t think the gag is necessary don’t you.” I nodded, “Open, Love.” I opened my mouth, and he removed the fabric from my mouth.  I coughed, and he tipped my chin up to face him, and he gave me a cold smile as his toned arm wrapped around my waist, undoing the binds, “I don’t think you need this either. and pulled me close, his breath warm on my ear. The smell of an autumn day filled my nostrils. He whispered low enough that no one could hear, "Y/N Archeron, let’s give them a good performance. Keep your face neutral and do everything I say."

He gripped me tightly, and a gasp escaped my lips as my chest was flushed to his, his lips kissed my ear, “We must make it believable, Love. Say ‘Yes Master’ if you understand.”

“Yes Master.”

He growled in my ear his hand gripped my skin tightly, “Good Girl,” He slapped the bare area of my ass causing me to yelp. He waves his hand and flames circled around my neck, the end of the flame in Eris hands. “Let us do a lap, pet and then we go to bed.” He yanked my leash pulling me closer to him, “Let’s start with thanking the High Lord of the Night Court for dressing you in Autumn Colors.” He looked at me expectantly.

I take in a deep breath, “Yes Master.”

He tucked a strand of my hair behind my ear, “Good Girl.”

Rhysand snapped his finger in my face. Worry written on his features stars were banked out. “What did he do to you, Angel?”

I feign ignorance, “Who?”

Rhys gave me a knowing look, “You know who. Don’t play dumb.”

I rolled my eyes, “Nothing happened worth talking about.”

Rhys growled anger morphing into his face, “I saw his intentions, If he touch-“

I rubbed my temples and groaned, “Fuck No.” I looked at him anger boiling, “I don’t talk about it because he asked me not to.”

Rhys blinked taken aback, “Why protect him?” he crossed his arms.

I gritted my teeth, “Stop pushing.” I walked over to my door and opened it, “Take care of my sister tomorrow. Good night.”

Rhys sighs as he stood and walked over to me. He placed a gentle kiss on my forehead, “I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m just saying you were just as brave and just as much a victim there as Feyre. Talking about it could be helpful.”

I gave him a hard stare, “I know, Rhys. I appreciate you keeping that door open. I do. You don’t know what happened that night. But trust me when I say that nothing happened that night that I mean it.”

Rhys clenched his fist, “Eris is a monster.”

I bite my lip, “Well, people could and have said the same about you. Yet I trusted you. Good night, Rhysand.” I slammed the door before he could get another word in and locked the door.

I couldn’t sleep that night; I kept tossing and turning. Flashes of Under the Mountain and Amarantha, The wyrm, and those girls, forcing their way into my dreams that I began to sweat. I pulled off my covers and wandered to the family library.

 I rubbed my eyes as I walked in and found Cassian sitting in the chair, a glass in his hand staring at the fire. He was wearing black silk lounge pants and a lounge shirt that hugged his taught muscles his wings relaxed but sprawled slightly, his ebony locks up in a bun. I tried to back away before he could catch me, “Couldn’t sleep either, huh?”  I sighed as his warm eyes met mine, he patted the chair next to him, “Come on, Princess, talk to me.”

I dragged my feet over there and plopped on a chair, “Rhys and I got into an argument.”

Cassian nodded and handed me a glass. I took it and tried to ignore the feeling in my chest when our fingers touched. “Want to talk about it?”

I took a sip letting the burn of alcohol ease down my throat and looked at the fire. “Something that happened when we were Under the Mountain. I don’t want to go into details. He just assumes one thing happened and when it didn’t.”

His hummed, “Would it be about what happened when you saved those girls?”

I turned my head to him, “You know about that?”

Cassian gave me a warm smile, “Sweetheart, a human girl put her life on the line to save to fae children from getting harmed. Rhys may have told me when he got home, because he had never met anyone, a human no less, defend a child while being under there. But when the curse was lifted, everyone brought up about your bravery.”

I bit my lip, “It was an accident they didn’t deserve whatever cruel punishment Amarantha was going to endure. Anyone would have done that.”

Calloused fingers moved my face to meet his eyes slight ire there, “No, Princess, they wouldn’t. They should but they wouldn’t. Especially if that meant you were Eris’ pet for the evening.”

I groaned pulling away from his touch and taking my drink, slamming the rest of the contents in my mouth. “Not you too.”

“He’s dangerous from what Rhys said he had you in a collar on a leash.”

I gritted my teeth, “Drop it, Cassian.”

He sighed, “It wouldn’t be the first time he did something heinous, have you talked to Mor about this?”

“No and I wasn’t planning on it.”

“You should than you would understand Rhys’ concern-“

I stood up, slamming the glass on the table, “He took me to his room, gave me his jacket to wear, and let me sleep on his bed while he slept in the chair. Is that what you want to hear? Because that’s what fucking happened, Cassian. He didn’t hurt me; he didn’t touch me past having a hand on my back. He let me have a good night’s rest. That’s. it.”

Cassian blinked, “The collar. The leash made of fire; Rhys said you had burns.”

“Amarantha had expectations, we met them.” I crossed my arms. “I’m not saying he’s perfect or not a piece of shit. I’m saying that on that evening specifically, he didn’t do a damn thing to me.”

Cassian’s brow furrowed and his lips formed a tight line, contemplating. “Fine, so he didn’t hurt you or force you to do anything why not tell Rhys that?”

“Because Eris asked me not to tell anyone what happened that night and I wanted to honor that not because I wanted to protect him but because I owed him. And given the look you’re giving me. I don’t think he would believe me either.” I bowed my head, “Goodnight, General.”

 I turned only for a hand to circle my wrist, “I believe you, Princess.” I faced him, he rose from is seat and his face held no trace of humor, his form towering over me. “I believe you, and he would to, but I know there is more you’re not telling me.”

“I am.” I didn’t bother hiding it. “But anything past what I already told you is not my story to tell. I hope you can respect that I won’t share it.”

Cassian nodded, “I understand.”

I took my free hand into his, “Why are you awake?”

Cassian sat back down and smirked, “What keeps anyone from sleeping, Princess?”

I blinked surprised by the question I asked when we first met, “Nightmares...”

I released his hand and noticed he flexed his fingers like he yearned for my touch as I sat on the chair across from him. “Yeah, I don’t get them often, but when I do, they’re…realistic enough to keep me awake.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” I asked, his face looked haunted.

“No.” He gave me a small smile, “But thank you for the offer, you should try to go to sleep.”

“You should as well.”

“I’m going to have a hard time falling asleep.” He retorted.

“Me too.”

He chuckled and I stood and held out my hand. “Come on, General.”

Cassian placed his hand in mine and tugged indicating I wanted him up, he stood, his wings rustling. I led him over to the couch and sat patting my lap. “Sweetheart, I would squish you if I sat on your lap.”

“Is it a requirement that to be in this court you have to be a smart ass? I want you to lay your head on my lap, Darling.” His stunned look told me no one has ever given him a pet name before, but he slowly sits and adjusts his wings in a position that is comfortable but won’t hurt me and finally he lays his head down on my lap. His eyes look up to mine and I smile as I pull the tie that is keeping his hair bound.

“What are you doing?”

I smiled, as thoughts from the week before coming to my mind, “I know when I’m not going to win a battle, General.” I wink at him, “I’m compromising.” His eyes twinkle in recognition of my words. He turns his head as I begin running my fingers through his hair he sighs in contentment. “Close your eyes, Cassian.” I watched his lids flutter shut and his breathing deepening as I kept weaving my fingers through his hair and I started to hum a lullaby and in seconds the General was asleep on my lap, and I leaned my head back as the smell of him calmed me and my eyes grew heavy and with my hand through his hair. I drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

Cassian’s POV

I woke up to the sun illuminating behind my eye lids. Though I realized I’m not in my room but the library. The memory of the night before came back to me. I shifted to find Y/N sleeping, her head leaning against the bookshelf. I gently sat up careful not to disturb her, but she stirred as I moved into a seated position. Her eyes lit up by the morning sky coming in from the window. Even as she woke, she was radiant like a gift from the mother herself. “Good morning, did you sleep well?” She mumbled as she tried to blink away the sleepiness from her eyes.

I smiled, “Yeah, Princess, did you? I’m sorry you fell asleep sitting up.”

She waved me off as she took the hair bind, I used to tie my hair and placed her hair in a bun few strands framing her face. Beautiful. “I have had to sleep in worse conditions than this. I just wanted to make sure you got sleep.” Another yawn from her. I stood up and stretched my sore wings.

I grinned at her, and she gave me a lazy smile back, “Thank you, Princess,” I held out my hand to her, “Let’s get you some breakfast,” she slipped her hand in mine, and it was dwarfed in mine and had tiny callouses from hunting, fighting, and training. I help her up and I go to release her hand, but she keeps a hold of mine as we exit the library and head toward the dining room. “Sweetheart, don’t you want to get dressed?”

“No, I want to eat.” She paused and looked at our hands and let go missing her warmth in my palm in an instant, “I’m sorry if you want to-“

I held my hand up, “Not at all, lead the way, Archeron.”

There was a glint in her eyes and her smile was mischievous, “Last one to the dining room has to do 50 pushups at training today.” Before I can respond to her challenge she bolts. I chuckled and waited about a minute before I chased after her. It only took me a couple of strides to catch up with her and past her, “No!” She huffed as I reached the double doors, opening for me and skidded to a halt barely winded as Y/N got there and placed her hands on her knees trying to catch her breath. “Stupid fae speed.”

I laughed and ruffled her hair, and she swatted at me, “Maybe next time I will let you win. However, you owe me 50 pushups.” She groaned, and I placed a hand on her back and led her to the chair where food appeared on her chair. Only then acknowledging the short black haired fae who quirked her brow. “Morning, Tiny one.” Amren glared at me, and I grinned, “She challenged me to a race and lost.” I explained.

Amren snorted sipping her goblet, “Girl, if you are going to survive here, you have to pick and choose your battles properly.”

Y/N stabbed my eggs, “I thought I had a chance.”

Before I could counter Rhys and Feyre winnowed in, Feyre stormed out of the dining room ignoring everyone including her sister. I could see the pain in Y/N’s face as she looked over to my brother. “We need to talk, Y/N.” His face was stony, and I could see the light dim in Y/N’s eyes as she shrunk in her seat.

Rhysand walked over to her and held out his arm. Y/N pushed the plate away, not being able to get a bite and making a note to make sure she ate before we trained. She stood and walked past him ignoring his arm and heading out into the hall.

Rhysand.

My brother paused as I sent my thoughts to his mind. What?

Apologize to her, she told me what happened with Eris. He let her sleep and get a good’s night sleep. That’s it.

You believe her?

I growled at him, Yes. As should you. She has never given you a reason not to believe her.

Rhys gave a nod still not facing me as he walked from the room. Before leaving completely he whispered in my mind She might need you in a few minutes.

I looked to Amren to find her looking at me with her scrutinizing gaze. “What?”

“What’s gotten into you?” she asked her as she took another sip of her goblet.

“Nothing.”

“Liar.” She looked at the door that Rhys and Y/N walked through, “She’s a force even for a mere human. Willing to stand up to her own blood for Fae she doesn’t know well.”

I smiled, “She’s got a warrior’s heart. Someone just needs to remind her that she doesn’t need to take care of everyone else, that she should take care of herself.”

“Hmm someone like the General of the Night Court’s armies?” Amren questioned her red lips quirked up a bit.

I took a bite of my food, ignoring her inquiry, “Mind your business.”

Reader POV

Rhys walked out of the dining room after having a conversation with Cassian and Amren. My mood had quickly shifted with Feyre looking upset and the hard look Rhys gave me after our argument last night. “Follow me.” He led us up to his study, I shut the door behind me and leaned against the door as he sat in the chair behind his desk.

The room had various paintings of maps of not only Prythian but constellations of the night sky, and on a desk flushed against the wall was a model with all the planets. “Please make yourself comfortable.” His voice was formal not teasing like he was the day before. I didn’t move, He looked up and my feelings of his behavior changed must have been apparent on my face as Rhys sighed and rubbed his face with his hand. “I owe you an apology.” I bit my lip and looked at my feet. “I should have dropped the Eris subject last night when you asked.”

I looked at him a steeliness in my tone, “Yes you should have.” He flinched, I walked toward him and sat across from him holding out my hand. “Let me show you.”

Rhys shook his head, “Y/N you don-“

“Rhys just shut up and do it.” He nodded and took my hand and I let him into my mind and showed him Eris giving me his tunic, him tucking me into bed, and him sitting on the chair, eyes watching me as I fell asleep. I broke off the connection. “I wouldn’t lie, Rhys.”

Rhys nodded, “I know, which is why I want to apologize.” He walked around the desk and knelt in front of me. “I’m sorry for pushing. I’m sorry for not believing you. I will spend so many days being sorry so long as you stop looking at me like I am stranger and just your High Lord and not your friend.”

I gave him a smile and I wrapped my arms around him, “All is forgiven, unless you did something to make Feyre so upset. Then I’m kicking your ass.”

He laughed, but his face grew solemn, “Y/N, she needs you.” My forehead creased, “She never went into the prison today she got scared, that wasn’t her fault, but Y/N, I need you to understand just how not well she’s doing.”

I meet his violet eyes his stars gone, “Show me.”

Rhys gripped the back of my neck and pressed his forehead to mind as I let him in and flashes of her throwing up the night before from the nightmares Her screams echoing the halls, Rhys comforting her. He flashes me to the week I hid myself after she accused me of abandoning her and she tells Rhys how nice it would feel to die, and I felt my chest tighten. Rhysand immediately talking her out of that headspace. Her gaunt haunted face through Rhysand’s eyes.

His claws released my mind, but Rhys held me close as tears and panic rose through me. “Y/N, it’s not your fault.”

“She wants to die. How did I not feel that? How did I miss it? I’m a terrible sister.” My voice barely above a whisper as the images whirl around my brain a never ending loop of Feyre’s pain.

Rhys grips my neck tightly, “Stop it.” I met his gaze as he pulls his face away from mine, “Stop beating yourself up. You didn’t know.”

“BUT I SHOULD HAVE!” I erupted causing Rhys to jump back, “I was so mad! I couldn’t even look at her only to find out she has been hating herself.” I stood and began to pace, “I promised my mom that I would take care of her. But I let her go out into the forest only going out with her scarcely, I let Tamlin sink his teeth into her with his sweet words, and soft touches. I let her think I abandoned her.”

“Y/N, sweetheart, please calm down.” Rhys tried to grab my shoulder and I shook him off.

My breathing became short and erratic, “What if she would have taken her life when Tamlin kicked me out of his court. What if she did it and I never apologized.” I rubbed my hand on my chest, “It would have been my fault. Oh gods.” Breathing became difficult and my hearing muffled I didn’t even notice the door open. Strong arms wrapped around me and flushed up against a strong toned chest the smell of leather and sandalwood surrounded me. I leaned my head back as tears flowed freely.

“Come on, Sweetheart,” Cassian whispered in my ear, he pressed his lips to the top of my ear. He led me to the couch to sit and he lightly bended my head in between my knees. “Inhale,” he commanded his voice not that of a general, but I couldn’t place the gentle yet firm tone in it, and I take a breath, “hold it,” I did for a moment, “Exhale slowly,” He exhaled with me his hand rubbing circles around my back. “That’s my girl, again,” He guided me through some deep breaths, and I began to calm down.  I slowly sat up and I met his Hazel eyes his hand continued to rub my back, “Hi.”

“Hi.” I whispered.

“You okay?” I nodded and gripped my chin, “I need you to say it, baby.”

“I’m okay.” I murmured, I leaned my head on his shoulder, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Y/N. We’re not training today.” I tried to protest but before I could open my mouth he said, “Don’t fight with me. You need to take it easy, and by the sounds of it you need to have a talk with your sister.”

I lifted my head, “Okay.” I looked at Rhys, “I’m sor-“

Rhys growled, “Do not apologize for letting your feelings out.” He kissed the top of my head, “You’re scared for your sister and want to take her pain away. I understand. I had a feeling this might happen due to how much you love her. But don’t apologize for feeling these feelings, okay?”

I sniffled, Cassian’s hand grounding me, “Even if I was a contributing factor to her pain.”

“She doesn’t see it that way. When we were outside the prison, she wished you were there. That doesn’t sound like someone who is contributing to her pain.” Rhys said. “Stay here for as long as you need.” Rhys walked away and shut the door the soft clicking felt loud against my ears.

“You don’t need to stay here, Cass,” I said as I straightened my back.

He laughed, “I’m not going anywhere, unless you ask me to. Would you like me to leave?” I bit my lip debating being honest and eventually I just shook my head. “Then I stay.” And we sat like that for a few hours with him rubbing soothingly on my back as my forehead leaned against his shoulder.

When I was finally calm, I parted ways with Cassian, kissing him on the cheek in thanks for once again taking care of me. I could have sworn I saw him blush as he turned and left for his room, but he was gone before I could assess further.

***

Then I changed and found myself outside Feyre’s door, my hand hovering over the wooden panel to knock. Before I could I just hear her go, “Come in, Y/N,”

I opened her door to find scribbling on parchment. I walked in closer and noticed she wasn’t scribbling, she was drawing. Which means she was itching to paint again. She smiled, “I could hear your heartbeat skyrocket in front of my door.

I swallowed the lump down my throat as she put her sketch to the side and faced me.

“I’m sorry.” We both said at the same time we both blinked at each other before we began to laugh.

She got up and pulled me in a bone crushing hug that I returned. “I shouldn’t have blamed you for leaving. I know you wouldn’t have gone willingly. I was just so relieved, hurt and scared that when I saw you I just.”

“Let your inner Nesta out and said things you knew would hurt.” She nodded as she sat back on the bed dragging me with her. “I get it Fey, and I need to apologize to you for my outburst yesterday. I may have been out of line.”

Feyre shook her head, “You weren’t. I was being unfair to them. I meant what I said though.” I frowned, “You seem happier here. Less on edge.”

I nodded my head in agreement, “I am happy.” I smiled and squeezed her hand, “You could be happy here too. They are good Fae either way they are kind, and generous and I think we could fit right in. If you’re open.”

She gave me a small tentative smile, “I can see myself getting to place here. Rhys is not what I expected. He is kind, patient, and sweet.”

I smirked and looked at my nail, “Handsome, charming, alluring,” Feyre shoved me playfully, as I felt what must have been the equivalent to laughter down our bond.

“I mean he is all those things too, but I should have listened to you when you told me to give him a chance.”

“Yeah, probably, but we can’t change the past. We can only move forward, and maybe that starts with us being able to talk again.” I extended the olive branch.

“I would love nothing more, Y/N. I know I have pushed you away, but I have been feeling so lonely and isolated. I want you around.” She looked down at her hands, “I need you around.”

I grabbed her hands and gave them a squeeze, “I’m here, I’m not going anywhere. Until my heart stops beating. You’re my sister. I will always be there for you.”

Tears welled up in her eyes and she gripped me in a hug as she sobbed in my shoulder, “I wanted to die.”

I didn’t realize my own tears were falling as I gripped her tightly back, “I know.”

 “I don’t how to heal from this.” She whispered.

“We’ll figure it out, together.” I retorted.

“You swear?”

“I swear.” We both hissed as light flashed between us and designs of swirls and two hearts intertwining revealed itself on Feyre’s collarbone, her eyes widened when I moved my tunic shirt to see the same design. “Well, I guess you and I have a bargain, Fey.”

I pulled her back into me for another hug, and we stayed like that for a while, nothing but the crackling of the fire. Staring at the fire my brain led me to that night with Eris.

Eris paraded me around the ballroom keeping me on a short leash as his hand sprawled on my back. He reached the Dais where Amarantha and Tamlin stood, his eyes flicked to me and I could have sworn there was a flicker of a smirk was on his face but it was gone as quickly as it was there. “My queen, I would like to retire with my pet at your approval of course.”

Amarantha should me a glare and I just bow my head avoiding her gaze, “Yes get her out of my sight. Enjoy your reward.”

With a tug of the leash, he walked me out and I had chance to glance at Rhysand who was holding on to a dancing drunken Feyre. When we walked down the hall past the sentries Eris removes the leash and collar of flame and holds out his hand. I hesitated to take it and Eris clicked his tongue, “You attempt to flee, my little ember, and I will make sure you are bound to the point of uselessness.”

My hand finds his and finds they are surprisingly warm. He leads me to his chamber and finds that despite it being in the mountain it looks like it could be a room in a castle. Eris walks in and begins to unbutton his jacket and I tense, fear of what he has planned, He looked at me clearly sensing my fear. Not easing my fears, Eris shook off the jacket and walked over holding it out expecting me to put my arms through. Confusion fell upon me as I slowly moved and slid my arms in the jacket. He pulled me close causing me to gasped and he chuckled in response as he buttoned up the jacket, “There better?”

I nodded, the Autumn Court Prince gripped my arms and led me to the large bed on the side of the room near the fireplace, “Sleep.” He ordered and I crossed my arms. He looked at me expectantly and rolled his eyes and with a wave of his hand my dress was gone and so was the paint. My body was cleaned, the only thing keeping me covered was his jacket.

I bit my lip and I sighed, “That’s all you want me to do sleep?” I regretted asking the question.

His eyes flashed with rage, “What? Expect me to want to ravish you. To hear you cry and beg me to stop when I force myself upon you?” I flinched and looked at the ground. “I like my women consenting and moaning in pleasure not whimpering in fear. Only low bottom feeders get off on such a cruel act. My father being one of them.” He stilled and my head shot up at the admission he gave.

“Does he do that with your mother?” I asked clearly not worried about my well being.

“I would NEVER let him do something so heinous to her.” He snarled and I held my hands up in surrender.

“I meant no ill will toward the question.” He relaxed his shoulders, “You don’t like your father?”

He smiled and the expression was cold and cruel, “Do you like yours Y/N Archeron?”

I crossed my arms and looked away from his eyes. “No, I don’t” I answered.

If Eris was shocked by my honesty he didn’t let on. “Then it looks like you and I have something in common,” He had gotten close to me enough his body was radiating heat and gripped my chin, “Now go to sleep, My Little Ember.”

“What’s in it for you? For holding me here as your pet for the night?” I asked.

He sighed and looked up at the ceiling, “You’re a mortal. I should hate you. But I’m vowing you to secrecy, you will not tell a soul, do you understand?”

I nodded my head, “Yes.” He quirked a brow waiting, and I rolled my eyes, “Yes, Master.”

He smiled and kissed my head and I grumbled at the gesture. “Good,” he said, and he leaned in and whispered in my ear and my eyes went wide. He pulled away and patted my cheek, “Now go to sleep pet,” He sat at the chair and opened a book.

I moved to the bed and found sleep the moment my head hit the pillow. It was reckless to sleep with someone as dangerous as Eris near me, but I couldn’t fight the comfort of the bed, the warmth of the fire and exhaustion in my bones. My thoughts swirling of Eris’s plan to become High Lord of Autumn Court.

Chapter 8

Story Tags: @hellodarling1357 @hnyclover @waytoomanyteenagefeels @amara-moonlight @impossibelle @esposadomd @sleepylunarwolf @stressed-reader @kylaisra @marvelouslovely-barnes @magicstrengthandcourage @spideytingley @awkardnerd @donttellthecats @tastydewdrops @vermillionwinter @asweetblueberry2 @bunnyredgirl @homeslices @azriels-mate2 @oksloan3 @wallacewillow0773638 @fandom-crashlanding @writingstreetspirit @hannzoaks @minnieloo @tuggboatfishin @judig92 @atrxidxs @dustyinkpages @secretlyhers @mxblobby @blogforficslol @historygeekqueen @turtleshavesoulmates @scooobies @anuttellaa @earth-to-lottie @slytherintaco @fxckmiup @tinystarfishgalaxy @cheesebookgirl @oucereeng @st0rmyt @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @misslunatic1655

[taexual]

sleepwalking ● 25 | jjk

pairing: jungkook x fem!reader

summary: due to unfortunate circumstances, you ended up managing your ex-boyfriend’s band. you thought you’ve both made peace with it, but suddenly he’s very eager to prove to you that first love never dies.

genre: rockstar!jungkook / exes to lovers

warnings: explicit language, suggestive themes, depictions of smoking and excessive drinking, fluff, a whole lot of flirting, some angst. it’s the final chapter, friends!!!! and that’s a warning in itself lol

words: 23.7k

read from the beginning ○ masterlist

chapter 25 ► can’t promise that things won’t be broken, but i swear that i will never leave, please stay forever with me

The flight to Paris the next morning began quietly, but as was often the case with Rated Riot, it quickly descended into chaos.

Despite Yoongi’s adamant claims that he was “perfectly fine,” he was too hungover to keep his eyes open for more than two seconds at a time. Hoseok, equally plagued by his own hangover, took it upon himself to guide his friend down the airplane aisle. The two of them moved slowly, holding onto seats and, occasionally, the backs of other passengers’ heads. They were, almost literally, the blind leading the blind.

When you stood up to ask where they were going five minutes after the seatbelt sign was turned off, Jungkook gently pulled you back to your seat.

“Leave them,” he said, adjusting his earbud that had almost fallen out when you stood up, pulling on the wire. “They’ll figure it out.”

A soft gasp was heard a few rows ahead when Hoseok accidentally grabbed a woman’s ponytail. Confused and disoriented, he turned to apologise to someone on the other side of the plane.

“I’m not sure they will,” you replied to Jungkook. “They’ll find the emergency exit and try to pry it open.”

“And don’t underestimate them,” he said. “They will succeed at that.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.” You stood up again. “Give me one second.”

Jungkook grinned but did not try to stop you again.

Yoongi sighed in visible relief when you touched his shoulder. He quickly tried to explain the situation to you, making it sound like Hoseok had led him into a dark, haunted cave, instead of merely managing to guide him—in large, distracting circles—away from the bathrooms by mistake.

Back in his seat, Jungkook wondered about the rest of his friends on the plane. He didn’t know what the other members of his band had been up to after he’d returned to the hotel with you, but he could tell, just by watching Yoongi and Hoseok struggle, that everyone was fighting the after-effects of last night.

Minjun was asleep behind Jungkook, looking rather faded. Jude, meanwhile, had remained in London, where he was waiting for his flight home as he had originally planned.

Jungkook then looked over at Taehyung and Luna, who were seated just behind Minjun. They were pretending very diligently to be engrossed in the film playing on their screens—Jungkook had heard Taehyung cursing earlier as he tried to sync the film for them both—but they were dozing off, too.

Even though not everyone was aware of Sid’s arrest yesterday, it was evident that they all had still unknowingly celebrated the occasion.

“Alright,” you whispered as you returned to your seat after depositing Yoongi and Hoseok in the care of the flight attendants. “If you hear any screams, let me know so I can go back and check if they’re still alive.”

Jungkook gave you an amused look. “You think they’d be screaming if they were dead?”

“You never know with them.”

He chuckled and settled back into his seat now that you were next to him. He picked up a dangling earbud—you had developed a new fondness for wired ones after losing too many AirPods across Europe—and handed it to you, making sure that the one in his left ear was still in place.

You put the earbud back in and leaned back, allowing him to rest his head on your shoulder and resume the Sleep Token song you had been listening to.

“I’m really glad we’re finally on this plane,” he whispered. You turned your head just slightly to hear him better, your chin brushing over his hair, and he was tempted to start speaking in tongues just to feel you even closer in your confusion.

“I know,” you replied. “There were moments when I thought we’d never leave London.”

You felt his head move against your shoulder in agreement.

“Great venue,” he remarked. “But fuck if I didn’t want to get out of there and head straight to Paris.”

You snickered. “You think we’re romanticising Paris just because we won’t have to deal with Sid there anymore?”

“Absolutely,” he replied. He felt uneasy, all of a sudden, as he ran his hand over his thigh, trying not to focus on the unpleasant feeling that Sid's name alone evoked. “I-I’m glad it’s Paris, though. I was ready to pack up to go to the Arctic to get away from him.”

“Oh, penguins,” you said, a playful smile on your lips. “Sounds nice.”

A flight attendant rushed past you in the aisle, on her way to attend to some urgent matter, and even Jungkook raised his head when you began to look around to check if the band members were all in their seats. Yoongi and Hoseok had just returned, bumping into each other and the surrounding seats as they walked back.

“Yeah,” Jungkook said, drawing your attention back to him, as he looked out the window, counting, as it seemed, the patches of clouds. “But I didn’t pack a lot of appropriate clothing.”

“Hmm,” you mused, “and I reckon you’d get bored pretty quickly in the Arctic.”

He shifted his gaze from the endless expanse of clouds to give you a very serious look. “You think so?”

“Yeah,” you replied, grinning at the genuine concern in his eyes. “Penguins probably don’t appreciate alternative music as much as you do.”

He observed you for a moment, his own lips stretching into a smile as his eyes briefly flickered to your mouth. The song in your earbuds switched to Friday Pilots Club’s newest single.

“Well,” Jungkook said, just a tad hypnotised by your tongue running over your lower lip, “I’m sure I could change their minds.”

“Oh, most definitely,” you said, having no doubts at all that if Jungkook set his mind to it—if he viewed it as a challenge—he could convince penguins to fly, too.

He appeared very pleased with himself for a moment, and his satisfaction only increased when he returned his head to your shoulder, and you leaned your head against his.

“You’d have to come with me,” he said.

You raised an eyebrow but did not pull back. “To the—to the Arctic?”

“Mhmm,” he affirmed. “It’d be just us two and a bunch of penguins. Fucking rocks, come to think of it. Maybe we should go there straight after Paris.”

You tried to stifle your laughter to avoid disturbing the drowsy plane.

“Or how about we go somewhere warmer?” you suggested. “We’re finished with Sid anyway. Let’s leave the penguins alone.”

Jungkook felt his muscles tense once again. He still felt the weight of Sid’s name on his chest every time it came up, despite having “finished” with him.

To be fair, he didn’t expect this heaviness to disappear soon, but he figured he could learn to live with it. Carrying this weight felt like a reminder of everything he’d survived—of the chains he’d broken, if he wanted to be dramatic about it.

“That’s cool, too,” he said. “I like those cuddly ones—what are they called?—those little ones, with sand-coloured fur, love the sun. Sort of a tiny, pointy face—”

“Meerkats?” you offered.

“Yes!” He snapped his fingers, enthusiastic. “Let’s go where they are. They were cool when we saw them at that new zoo near my house, remember?”

You remembered, of course, even though that had been four or five years ago. You couldn’t recall the dates very well, but you always remembered the moments.

“Oh,” you said, “when a lemur followed you around the room the whole time we were there?”

Jungkook pursed his lips. He remembered the lemur, too; he’d felt a little unsettled around it. Not scared, though. He was never scared of living creatures.

“Hmm,” he nodded, grumbling the next word, “right.”

“You can’t go anywhere without an animal falling in love with you,” you teased. “It’s a bit annoying, actually.”

You placed your hand on his and Jungkook turned his palm over, lacing his fingers with yours.

“Why?” he asked smugly. “Do you feel threatened?”

“Should I?”

“No. What I had with that lemur wasn’t serious. It—”

He had to pause because you laughed, and the pride that suddenly swelled in his chest distracted him from his next words. He rarely made jokes these days unless you were in the room to hear them.

“It had crazy eyes,” he continued after a moment, “kind of like Sid does when he’s been sober for a few days in a row. Freaked me out.”

“Ah,” you said, nodding in amusement. “That explains why it followed you. Could be Sid’s distant relative.”

He snorted. “We’ve gone from rodents to lemurs. I don’t know if that’s an improve—”

“No,” you cut him off, no longer joking. Jungkook raised his head to look at you, surprised by the sudden change in your tone. “Sid’s a rat. He wishes he was something more.”

He lowered his gaze, his own expression growing serious for a moment.

“Yeah,” he said. “Actually, maybe we should have called animal control on him instead of the police.”

The idea brought a wry smile to your face. “He did seem feral the last time we saw him.”

“Hmm. I’m sad that I missed it all.”

“You—no,” you countered again. “You haven’t missed anything. It’s a good thing you weren’t there. Sid didn’t deserve to see you one last time.”

Jungkook knew that. But he still wished he could have seen the look on Sid’s face when he was dragged—kicking and screaming, according to what you’ve told him—into the back of the police car.

“Well, if your plan works as expected,” he said, “I’ll never see him again.”

You noted the hopeful tone in his voice and remembered, suddenly, your conversation in Stockholm, when you had advised Jungkook to find better friends, and he had seemed very remorseful in turn. Back then, he had clung to his friendship with Sid almost desperately, even though the two of them only had their shared history and nothing else in common.

Jungkook had buried it all now—he buried it the moment he realised that there had always been one name standing between him and you, and that name did not belong to either of you—and it still felt strange, but it also felt promising.

“I fucking hope not,” you said. “I hope he gets a fun cellmate and rots in a prison far, far away.”

His smile finally returned. He had been thinking a lot about what Sid would go through once he was arrested.

“I bet he’ll be paired up with someone fantastic,” he said. “When Minjun and I were arrested, we were put in separate cells, and I ended up with this guy—do you remember? He called me ‘sweetheart’, which was very nice. Until I mentioned that we weren’t allowed to smoke here, and he tried to gouge my eyes out. So, the honeymoon phase didn’t last.”

It was remarkable how quickly you laughed. There was a time, not that long ago, when you couldn’t find anything amusing about Jungkook’s arrest at all. You’d been convinced of his guilt and closed your eyes to everything that could have shown even a glimpse of his innocence.

You realised now that you might have just been waiting for Jungkook to do something—a final something—so you could give in to the fear that had been whispering in your ear about the impermanence of relationships since your first date.

I knew it, you had thought to yourself as you headed to that police station. Of course, this would happen. Of course, we’d break up eventually.

Nothing was meant to last forever, that much was true. But now you had come to believe that some people spent their whole lives building their relationship—brick by brick—never growing weary of this never-ending project. You were looking forward to becoming one of those people.

“I remember,” you said, your voice softened by the shift in your memories. “He told me to watch my back when I picked you up. I still don’t know what that was supposed to mean.”

“Maybe he thought I was a proper criminal,” Jungkook suggested.

You scoffed, earning his disapproving glare.

Despite his menacing frame, tattoos, piercings and deliberately provocative clothes, there was nothing truly threatening about Jungkook. He could hold his own in a fight—he was very proud of that—but he had the personality of a gently melted marshmallow. Someone would call his name and his whole face would light up. Someone would make a joke, and he would clap his hands and lean forward as he laughed, even toppling over sometimes—and then he’d do a somersault before landing on his feet.

He was only dangerous if you loved him as much as you did—to the point where it hurt sometimes, but never enough to truly leave.

“You got arrested because Sid set you up,” you said, responding to the scowl on his face with a warm smile. “Not quite as impressive as whatever your cellmate was in there for, I’m assuming.”

Jungkook shrugged, not arguing. “Yeah, it was his fourth time in that cell, he said.”

“Oh, that’s—”

“That week.”

“—fun.” You cleared your throat. “Four times in one week? Why did they keep releasing him?”

“It’s usually small misdemeanours,” he explained. “Urinating on some embassy building, drinking in a public park. That sort of stuff.”

“And,” you said, “he told you about all that while trying to poke your eyes out?”

“Yeah,” he said, chuckling. "It was very Joker.”

You snorted. “Well, this guy sounds like someone Sid would get on well with.”

“Mhmm,” Jungkook agreed. “I think so, too.”

You turned your gaze to the window on his side. There was something very exciting about the possibility of Sid finally experiencing the kind of harassment he had dished out to others. Revenge wasn’t always the answer, but here it fit.

Just like yours, Jungkook’s desire for vengeance burned fiercely beneath the surface, too. It was too strong, however—and too unrealistic, he knew—to fully quench. He knew Sid might not get the justice he deserved in the end, and he couldn’t help but feel a little dispirited.

“It just sucks,” he said, after fighting himself on it for a minute, “that Sid might find a way to make this situation more comfortable for himself.”

You thought about it, but refused to find anything negative in Sid’s current predicament.

“That’s fine, though,” you said. “It’s really bad for him this time. No amount of luxury he can attain in this position will be enough. His reputation means nothing here, but he fucked it up anyway.”

“So, he’ll be even angrier,” Jungkook observed, still not satisfied.

You shrugged. “Good.”

“And he’ll do everything to retaliate.”

“Well,” you remained unperturbed, “we already know that, right?”

“He—”

“Actually,” Minjun popped his head into the gap between your seats, startling you both. Your heavy gasps forced him to pull back a little. “Sorry. I was—I overheard your conversation. I spoke to my dad this morning; he heard that Sid had been arrested. It’s bad. For Sid’s family, I mean. My dad’s taken a day off today, but Sid’s mother is calling an emergency meeting with their shareholders because, obviously, their image has been tarnished. Everyone’s talking. They’re not pleased.”

Jungkook glanced at you. Your raised eyebrows seemed to reflect the excitement he felt rising within him.

“Oh,” Jungkook said slowly, not wanting to get ahead of himself. Sid had a knack—in the form of several black cards—for wriggling out of the deepest holes he’d dug himself into. “That sounds promising.”

“Yeah,” Minjun said. “My dad thinks that Sid’s mum will have to make a choice. It’s very dramatic, but so fucking funny. You know how Sid’s family is very—well, traditional, right? Sid’s mother is the only daughter, she has four older brothers. Her father doesn’t care much about her. Or about her kid.”

Both you and Jungkook remembered Sid’s grandfather. Although you never met him, you heard stories from when Jungkook and Sid worked on restoring cars from his Chevrolet collection. He was a lenient man, accepting of most things, as long as Sid did not step out of line.

“So, if Sid’s mum doesn’t get Sid out of this situation herself,” Minjun continued, “then no one else will. And if she can’t handle it discreetly—and it doesn’t look like she can, it’s already too late—then her father will likely advise her to distance herself from Sid in order to protect the company’s reputation. So, she’ll have to choose between her son, whom she loves so dearly, and the company that she’s worked so hard to build. Kind of poetic, I think.”

You didn’t realise how wide you were grinning until you tried to speak and felt just how far your cheeks had stretched.

“I appreciate what that implies for Sid in both scenarios,” you said, coughing a few times into your fist to compose yourself.

Minjun was less constrained in his glee. “Right? We’re done here. Sid has much bigger things to worry about than plotting revenge.”

Jungkook kissed his index finger and pointed it to the sky, gazing up. “Merry fucking Christmas to us.”

You laughed as the two boys high-fived over your head. Minjun pulled back then, sliding his headphones back on, and Jungkook turned to you again. He was finally able to inhale something that felt like real oxygen instead of the stale air he’d been breathing before.

“So,” he said, pressing his shoulder against yours as your arms rested on the armrest between you. “Meerkats, then?”

You nodded, an eager smile on your lips. “And penguins later.”

He raised an eyebrow, leaning back to get a better look at you. “You changed your mind?”

You shrugged. The two of you hadn’t paid any attention to the past three songs playing on the pair of earphones you were sharing.

“I’ll go anywhere you go,” you said—with an ease that made Minjun groan behind you with such a deep dedication to his displeasure that you felt your chair vibrate from the sound.

Jungkook was positively beaming, his eyes shining with all the colours that existed in the world, some of which were yet to be discovered.

“Well,” you said, your expression almost turning bashful, and Jungkook’s whole face seemed to start sparkling, “I think I just made Minjun’s soul leave his body for a second.”

“I know,” Jungkook said. “I don’t think I’ve ever loved you more than I do right now.”

“Oh—” your words dissolved into laughter. “I mean, I knew you were into praise, but not to such an extent.”

“Oh, to such an extent,” he boasted. “Tell me how good I am, and how you’ll never leave me, and you’ll really never get rid of me.”

The affection in your eyes turned a mischievous shade. “I already can’t get rid of you.”

His proud expression did not falter one bit. “It’s because I can sense how much you need me.”

“Ah,” you snickered again, “is that so?”

“Yes.” He reached for your hand again, intertwining your fingers. “Really, I’m being very charitable here.”

Your eyes were locked on the smirk on his lips. “Public service, now, is it?”

“Mhmm,” he said. “Paying off my sins by doing a good deed.”

“I see,” you played along. “Trying to get into heaven after you die?”

He placed your hands on his lap, his thumb caressing yours. “Actually, I’m already there.”

Minjun smacked the back of Jungkook’s seat with enough force to dislodge your earbud from your ear.

“Please go back to talking about meerkats,” he asked from behind you, his tone pleading.

Jungkook laughed, and his unapologetic expression made you smile, too. You finally broke and leaned in to press your lips to his cheek, melting, very successfully, all that was still left of his heart.

“I love you,” you whispered with a look in your eyes that he would have gone to war for.

He squeezed your hand and leaned into you, his cheek grazing yours before he connected your lips, whispering into the kiss, “I love you.”

Your hotel in Paris was an intriguing combination of marble floors with opulent chandeliers in the lobby, and peeling wallpaper with questionable stains marking the walls in the corridors outside of your rooms.

The lift was not working—you’ve already grown used to this in London—so you had to haul your luggage up the creaking stairs. Somewhere around the second floor, Jungkook decided to take a break. He sat down on his dark grey, metallic suitcase, and accidentally rolled down at least five steps before grabbing the railing to stop himself from returning to the lobby on his ass.

The commotion caught the attention of a few porters—who seemed in no hurry to assist you with your luggage—and they informed you, very ominously, that several rock bands before yours had been kicked out of the hotel for “disorderly behaviour.”

Everyone in Rated Riot understood the warning, but you were concerned about the expressions on the members’ faces. There was a certain allure to these threats. Jungkook, in particular, seemed thrilled to see how much he could get away with without getting kicked out.

Fortunately, your first night at the hotel was as quiet as it could be, considering that silence was a relative concept for Rated Riot. Taehyung and Luna had accidentally torn the curtains in their room while “getting ready to sleep,” and Hoseok managed to lose a shoe outside his window, but the hotel staff remained blissfully oblivious about it all. You decided not to ask questions, either.

However, when you woke up the following morning, you almost regretted not giving the members an educational speech about good behaviour in any case, because Jungkook wasn’t in the room with you.

He had never woken up before you in all the years you’ve known him—regardless of how late your last night had been—so you were understandably alarmed. Surely, you thought, he was up to something with the rest of the band.

But then, as you pushed the covers off, the door of your room suddenly opened, and Jungkook walked in, alive and seemingly unharmed. He was surprised to find you staring at him, but his face lit up with a grin as soon as the early morning sunlight from the window behind you caught his silver necklace, momentarily blinding you.

“Hi,” he said. “You’re finally awake.”

You were at an unfortunate loss for words for at least half a minute. It was eight in the morning, and Jungkook had never used the words ‘finally’ and ‘awake’ in the same sentence unless he was referring to himself.

“I finally am,” you replied, your voice hoarse. His smile grew wider as he made his way back to the bed. “Sorry I’ve kept you waiting.”

“Oh, it’s alright,” he replied easily, plopping down beside you. “Should we grab breakfast before your meeting? Or would you prefer after?”

This relaxed demeanour was a characteristic trademark for Jungkook—although it usually concealed much deeper anxiety—but it felt surreal to encounter it so early in the day.

“Where—why are you up?” you finally asked, rubbing your eyes in a futile attempt to force them to stay open.

He shrugged. “Just excited for the day, I guess.”

You noticed a flicker in his gaze as if your question had intimidated him, and you could tell there was something else going on. But he looked genuinely ready for the day, and you didn’t want to risk stirring any tension that you’d been expecting to find this morning but hadn’t.

“Alright,” you said. “Maybe let’s eat after. Do you want to just stay here for a minute?”

Jungkook wanted to stay here for much longer than a minute, and he scooted back to his spot on the right side of the bed. You leaned back into the pillows, closer to him, and he pulled you into his chest, pressing his cheek against yours before turning his head to place a quick kiss on your lips.

It was a grounding kiss—to make sure you were really in this bed with him—but you still felt your anxious thoughts stop, place their hands in their laps obediently, and settle down in his presence—powerless, it seemed, when Jungkook was in the room with you.

It hadn’t really occurred to you how worried you were about your upcoming meeting—the empty room had worked as a sufficient distraction—until Jungkook’s quiet breaths, muffled by your lips pressed to his, took your mind off everything.

Your phone buzzed on the nightstand, startling you into pulling away. Jungkook sighed, having expected the interruption. He was already getting used to never having you all to himself for too long.

You gave him an apologetic smile and leaned over the bed to check your phone—on the screen was a preview of an email you had been waiting for all week.

“What is it?” he asked, noticing your expression.

“I’ll tell the whole band later,” you said—and elaborated before he could insist on being told first, “but I’ve found a new band to open for you guys for the rest of the tour. They just confirmed they’re available and interested. I don’t know if this is the last thing I’m doing as your manager, but if it is, then I’m quite happy with that. I obviously haven’t signed them yet—they’ve only agreed to discuss the details. But I watched all their performance videos tonight; they’re great.”

Jungkook looked—and very much felt—deflated all of a sudden. “Don’t say that.”

You gave him a puzzled look. “No, really, Maggie said she listens to them, and she—”

“Not that,” he cut in. “The other thing.”

He meant you leaving Rated Riot, of course. But after tossing and turning half the night, you had mostly come to terms with what your life would look like if the label decided to revoke your promotion and terminate your position as Rated Riot’s manager once they learned about your relationship with Jungkook. That would make your meeting twice as unpleasant, of course, but you’d figure it out.

You’d fight to stay, but you’d leave if you had no other choice. You’d find something else to do. And if nothing else worked, Nick’s offer with Reconnaissance was still open—you planned to call him today either way.

“It’s okay,” you said. “We’ll see what happens today.”

Jungkook mumbled something unintelligible under his breath.

“Also,” he said then, louder, “what do you mean you watched their performances tonight? Where was I?”

“Asleep.”

He frowned, his expression nearing offence. “And you weren’t? And you didn’t wake me?”

He quickly deduced that you hadn’t slept because you were too nervous. He should have known you would be, and he mentally scolded himself for not realising that sooner. He supposed he missed falling asleep next to you too much to worry about anything else.

“You can hardly say anything when you haven’t told me where you were just now,” you pointed out.

He changed his mind about complaining that you hadn’t woken him.

“I—wait, w-who is this band, then?” he asked instead.

You glanced at your phone after it lit up with another notification—this one from your calendar, reminding you, pointlessly, that you had a meeting in an hour.

“Nyx and the Insomniacs,” you replied, swiping the notification away. “You heard of them?”

Jungkook needed a moment to place the name.

“Yeah,” he said uncertainly, recalling the band but not why they sounded familiar. “I-I think Yoongi knows someone there?”

It wasn’t surprising, considering Yoongi seemed to know someone in every band.

Before you could respond, however, Jungkook added a very determined, “and it’s not going to be the last thing you do as our manager.”

“I hope not,” you said. Not wanting to linger on the topic and lose the few moments you had together before your meeting, you lied back down on the bed and turned to your side to face him. “Now tell me why you were awake so early. I mean, really.”

He sighed—sadly, somehow—at your question. He’d promised the rest of the band he wouldn’t tell you anything just yet. You’d find out where he was soon enough anyway.

“No good reason,” he said, carefully tiptoeing around the truth to avoid a deeper conversation about this. “Nervous, I guess. You and I slept in shifts, apparently.”

“Apparently.”

“Why do you keep asking?” he asked, leaning in closer to nestle his face into the crook of your neck. “Did you want to wake up with me that much?”

“Hmm, I’m conflicted about that,” you said, feeling a rapid wave of shivers run down your spine when his lips touched your neck in a tender, almost imaginary kiss. “Y-you suffocate me in your sleep, so it was nice to breathe for an hour or two.”

His laughter was muffled as he kissed your neck again, moving down to your collarbones and holding you tighter when he felt you squirm in his arms at the feeling.

“Breathing is overrated anyway,” he said.

“Yeah, so I’ve heard.”

You turned your head, and he looked up, smirking first—always—and leaning in to kiss you second. He held your lower lip locked between his, believing—very firmly—that if your head wasn’t spinning after he pulled away, he hadn’t truly kissed you. But as he ran his tongue over your parted lips, his stomach clenching in anticipation of your familiar taste, he heard your phone vibrate once again.

Groaning gibberish curses, he rolled away so you could pick up the device, your expression a mix of amusement and guilt.

“It’s the last time something interrupts us, I promise,” you assured, swiping away another notification as soon as you looked at it. You had decided to only respond to urgent emails this morning to avoid overheating your brain and to prevent Jungkook from scolding you about working too much again. “But I have to—I need to start getting ready.”

He suppressed all further complaints he had prepared to delay you from leaving the bed and forced himself to nod.

“I understand,” he said. “Send me the link to your playlist.”

You had already shifted to the edge of the bed and had to turn back to look at him over your shoulder. “Hmm?”

“I’ll listen to it while I wait for your meeting to finish.”

You turned away again, mumbling an exasperated, “God.”

“Come on,” he urged, crossing his ankles as he watched you from his side of the bed. “I’m awake and bored. Who knows what sort of tomfoolery I might get up to if you leave me unattended.”

“I knew I should have enrolled you in kindergarten.”

He snickered, sitting up suddenly. The more you resisted showing him the playlist, the more he wanted to hear it, and he could not stay still.

Thumping his palms on the mattress with every word, he chanted: “Give—me—the—link—to—”

“Fine, fine,” you relented—he made sure to leave you no other option as his volume grew—and stood up from the bed to unlock your phone. “But don’t open it until I’m out of the room.”

“I won’t,” he said, bouncing on his knees. He looked about ready to roll over and play dead, too, as long as you showed him the playlist.

You glanced at him, avoiding eye contact with the green Spotify circle.

“Promise me,” you said—more to delay what had become inevitable than for any other reason.

He tilted his head, his intrigued smile now bordering on absurd. “Is it that bad?”

“We will never speak of it once you listen.”

“Alright, shit.” He sat down, crossing his legs under himself even though he knew he wouldn’t stay in this position very long. He felt like a Christmas ornament—outrageously jittery and tingly. “I promise. Send it to me.”

“Alright.” You scrolled through your library, digging your teeth into your lip. You felt like you were eighteen again, starting this playlist after Jungkook had taken up residence in your mind without having said one word to you. You had never thought you’d show all these songs to him one day. “Let me find it first. Imagine if it’s gone.”

He sneered. “Imagine if I wouldn’t believe you.”

You glared at him over the top of your phone. He maintained his grin with slightly pursed lips, clearly enjoying your flustered state.

“It’s here,” you said, clicking on the playlist, but deliberately not looking down at the songs.

“Is the title just a row of pink hearts?” he asked and received another glare in response.

He chuckled. He could tell that you were on the verge of bolting for the door in hopes that he wouldn’t chase after you. He absolutely would.

“No,” you said. “It’s actually ‘why?’ in all caps.”

He cleared his throat, looking away. “I don’t get it.”

You finally grinned.

Jungkook already had another question at the tip of his tongue—one that would undoubtedly result in you tackling him—but his phone buzzed with a text notification from you. Glancing down, he grinned. He’d named your contact “LOML <3” a few days ago to annoy Minjun, and now he smiled every time he saw it.

“Got it,” he said, noting the Spotify link in the preview of the message. “Can I open it now, just to check if you sent me the right—?”

“Absolutely not,” you retorted. “I know I sent you the right link. Don’t click on it until I’m out of here.”

Biting back his amusement, he locked his phone and demonstratively pushed it away from himself on the bed.

“Okay, here,” he said, extending his hands to demonstrate the distance between himself and the device. “I’ll entertain myself by watching you put on make-up, then. That works, too.”

You didn’t object—in fact, he saw a smile flash briefly on your features—and he climbed off the bed, following you to the small bathroom.

It was not a pleasant room: two out of three lightbulbs in the fixture on the ceiling weren’t working, so the perpetually foggy mirror on the wall was useless. Most of the wall tiles were cracked, and the bathtub was an odd shade of yellow. But Jungkook wrapped his arms around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder as he watched you rummage through your cosmetics bag for your toothbrush, and you did not notice any of the flies or the cobwebs by the bathroom window. You did not notice how long you had to wait for the water to turn warm.

At one point, he sniffed your eyeshadow palette—for no reason whatsoever—and began to sneeze so violently and uncontrollably that you had to sit down on the edge of the tub to control your laughter, forgetting all about the awful bathroom and the daunting meeting with the Jett Records’ legal team.

However disruptive he was, Jungkook distracted you from everything that might have brought you down, and you were very grateful to have him here with you.

Sadly, your carefree morning didn’t last long.

Now that Jungkook was no longer with you, you paced outside the conference room on the ground floor of the hotel, obsessively checking your phone. Despite only getting a few hours of sleep tonight, you felt perfectly alert—the stress was great at keeping you sharp—and you noticed the Jett Records representatives as soon as they climbed down from their rooms.

An executive producer, Salma, whom the band had worked with before, showed up in place of CJ’s assistant. She’d left a good impression on you when you first met her, but now she was accompanied by two intimidating lawyers.

The one who introduced himself first—making a joke out of his lengthy full name and asking you to simply call him Reggie—had kinder eyes than the one who talked to you next. He was Duke, and he looked like he ate bricks for breakfast and knit spider webs as a hobby.

Fortunately, Reggie was the one who took the lead in the conversation, promising a quick—“five minutes tops, really”—introduction to the changes in your new contract.

Unfortunately, he ended up keeping everyone in the conference room for over half an hour. The lack of air conditioning in the old hotel, combined with the four of you in the confined space, made the room stifling. You felt yourself beginning to sweat.

“Do you have anything you’d like to ask, or can we move on to some routine questions before we sign the contract?” Reggie asked, pulling out a white handkerchief to wipe his forehead.

“No questions right now,” you replied, restlessly tapping your knee with your left hand under the table.

“Perfect,” Reggie said. “Could we open the window maybe? Would you mind?”

“Oh, actually, I’d prefer it,” you said, and the lawyer let out a sigh of relief. He glanced at Salma, who was sitting closest to the window, and she got up to open it.

It took the producer a minute to figure out the wooden window frame, but once she managed to pull the latch, a gust of eager wind finally blew into the room. The rustling leaves outside and the distant hum of Parisian traffic provided a melodious backdrop, but not even that could ease the knot of tension in your stomach. You felt like you were in the waiting room of a dentist’s office.

“Alright,” Reggie said, setting the papers he had been reading aside and grabbing another stack from the table.

You felt a new wave of heat wash over you, dreading another half hour of monotonous reading, but Reggie blissfully turned to the last few pages.

“We know about your previous job experience,” he said. “But do you have any other sources of income that we should know about?”

“No,” you replied, keeping your responses concise as you flipped through your own copy of the contract to find the page Reggie was on.

He scribbled something down with his engraved Montblanc pen. Duke looked bored next to him as he lazily chewed something—dead bugs, you assumed. Salma, in the meantime, was completely absorbed in her phone.

“Possible conflicts of interest?” Reggie asked, pulling your attention away from the other people in the room.

You took a deep breath. “Yes.”

Reggie turned his pen and asked, without looking up from his papers, “go on.”

“I am in a relationship with the lead vocalist of Rated Riot.”

Gripping the arms of your chair, you held your breath, anticipating raised eyebrows, disapproving glances, and, eventually, a termination of your employment.

But neither Salma nor Duke turned to look at you. Reggie was silent for a moment as he scanned the documents in front of him. You imagined he was searching for a clause outlining the consequences of this particular offence. Your nerves prevented you from checking your own copy.

“That’s already here,” Reggie finally said.

“It’s—hmm?” You straightened in your seat. “Sorry?”

“It already says so here,” Reggie repeated, pointing to a section on his paper and sliding it towards you. “Anything else that we should add?”

You looked down at the text he had indicated. It read, “Private interest of Employee: undisclosed consensual personal relationship without a direct hierarchical link.”

You did not understand what that meant. Skimming the whole paragraph, you caught sight of Jungkook’s name—but Yoongi, Hoseok, and Taehyung were mentioned, too, just a few lines below.

“I-I’m sorry,” you stammered, your hands trembling as you held Reggie’s paper to prevent it from blowing away in the gentle breeze. “The label—it says here that I am in a relationship?”

You felt incredibly foolish to ask for a translation of the words that were written in a language you, technically, spoke, but you couldn’t not ask, either.

“Well, yes,” Reggie confirmed, looking a bit perplexed by your reaction.

“A-and they—how did they—”

Duke was the one who responded to your stuttering.

“HR conducts a background search before they hire someone,” he said as if this was the part you struggled to understand. “This information was included in your contract when you started to work with Jett Records. Didn’t CJ go through this with you?”

He sounded absurdly pleased with himself when he spoke, not even realising how little sense he made. When you joined Jett Records, Rated Riot weren’t signed yet; the band had barely been formed. Your relationship held no relevance to the label. And your position certainly wasn’t important enough to warrant a thorough consultation with the CEO.

“No, he didn’t,” you said, reflexively matching your voice to his condescending tone. “Are you sure this was included in my initial contract? Because Rated Riot weren’t even signed with us when I came to Jett Records.”

Finally, Duke removed his elbows from the table, looking slightly uncomfortable. He seemed to have realised that he had misspoken, and now he’d have to tell you something he wasn’t supposed to.

“It’s, uh—” Duke started to say, then glanced over at Reggie. Reggie glared at him, not willing to help, so Duke tried again. “It—what HR does is more exhaustive than just double-checking everything on your application. They can—if they come across certain information at any point of your employment, and they think it could be, uh, relevant, they inform CJ about it. It appears that he—they probably updated your employee file before you began to work with Rated Riot, that’s why it’s on the contract.”

You kept tucking the strands of your hair behind your ears—a nervous habit that you were too overwhelmed to control.

CJ knew, then. He had an “employee file” about you, and he knew you’d dated Jungkook before he hired you for Rated Riot. You could not understand if he simply didn’t care about your relationship or if said relationship was exactly the reason why he hired you.

“And,” you said, “is there anything else that HR has included in my file?”

This made Duke pull even further back from the table. Reggie sighed. It appeared that they both knew that this—your lack of awareness about how much HR pried into your personal life without your knowledge—could pose a serious problem for the label.

“Well,” Reggie said, skimming over the pages in front of him again, “there’s nothing that could be considered a real conflict of interest.”

“So, we don’t have any problems, then?” you asked, your tone sharper than you’d intended. “Legally?”

The two men across the table from you exchanged a glance.

“Not about the, uh, relationship,” Reggie said, speaking slowly to avoid any further confusion. “Our contracts only prohibit employer-employee relationships. And your direct employer is Christian Jett, not Rated Riot. So, no, in your case, there are no legal issues. And, if anything, from a strictly business perspective, employee relationships, especially those within the band, could be—well, almost profitable, really.”

You continued to watch him, your gaze fading out of focus, and Reggie looked back down at the papers in front of him, very uneasy again. He’d thought he was easing your worries about your relationship being public knowledge, he didn’t expect to make this even worse for you.

Profitable, then. From a strictly business perspective, CJ could have found your relationship profitable, so he hired you for Rated Riot.

You came into this meeting thinking Jungkook was your biggest risk. Instead, your relationship with him was profitable.

You felt too dazed to move.

Duke, meanwhile, observed you with a newfound fascination and a slightly raised brow.

“You, uh,” he cleared his throat, “you weren’t aware of this, then? That your relationship with anyone in the band wouldn’t be a—”

“No,” you replied. “I thought I’d need to formally declare it. I didn’t know it was already in my file.”

You didn’t know there was a file at all, actually—because employees weren’t supposed to know.

And now you wondered what else HR has deemed relevant for everyone at the company to know about you. Nick’s call to you about a job opening with Reconnaissance must have made it to the file, too.

“Hmm.” Duke nodded to himself, then turned to his colleague. “Well that finally explains the email, doesn’t it, Reg?”

Reggie clenched his jaw but did not look up from his papers and did not respond. He did not think this was an appropriate discussion to have right now.

“W-what email?” you asked, almost apprehensive.

Duke turned back to you, studying your expression for a moment. He was trying to determine if your confusion was genuine. To his surprise, it appeared to be. And here he assumed you were the one who had orchestrated this.

“This morning, Min Yoongi sent an email to Jett Records on behalf of the band,” Duke said. “It’s quite late over there, but CJ’s assistant saw it and forwarded it to us.”

Duke went on to explain that it was a scanned copy of a formal letter. The members of Rated Riot stated that they understood the consequences of terminating their contract early, but they would leave the label regardless, unless you continued to work as their manager. All four of them had signed it.

You felt, suddenly, like you had just been catapulted to the seventieth floor—sixty floors above the hotel’s tallest floor—and reached the top in about two seconds. There seemed to be cotton in your ears that made the rest of the room sound foggy somehow.

You realised where Jungkook had been this morning before he returned to your hotel room.

“I see,” you said, and then tried, very poorly, to articulate your thoughts, “I was—I wasn’t—I see.”

You remembered Namjoon telling you once that he and the band would not sit idly if they found out that the label made you resign. You supposed that a part of you had thought it was simply a nice thing to say, and nothing more. You hadn’t expected him to really mean it.

Reggie finally looked up, glancing from Duke’s scowl to your uncomfortable expression.

“Okay,” Reggie said, finally returning to the page in your contract where he had paused earlier. “So, are there any conflicts of interest that we should know about?”

You swallowed, your stomach still clenched as you attempted to process everything, not feeling any relief just yet.

“No,” you said. “There aren’t any.”

“Okay,” Reggie said again. “Shall we proceed then?”

“Yes. Let’s proceed.”

“Perfect. We—”

“Actually,” Salma interjected, putting her phone down. “There’s another matter that CJ wanted me to bring up. If you don’t mind, Reg?”

Reggie pulled back from the papers on the table, a little annoyed, but he motioned for Salma to take over anyway. Duke gazed out the window, completely unfazed by Salma’s disregard for him.

“Alright,” the producer said, turning to you. “The leaked album cover, then.”

You blinked, not having expected to discuss the bathtub picture today. You wondered if that would be a conflict of interest, but decided not to ask. It might turn out to be profitable, too.

“I’ve, uh, explained to CJ that it won’t happen again,” you said.

“We know,” Salma replied. “But CJ is thinking if we should sue. Or, at the very least, threaten legal action? If someone’s spying on your servers—”

“Someone—uh, no,” you scratched the back of your neck, “to be honest, we’ve already taken steps to prevent any future breaches. Anything more than that would be a, uh... waste of resources, really.”

You weren’t lying; you had really contained Sid. And there was no need to divulge more information about that, you thought bitterly. Or they might include that in your file, too.

You still half-expected someone in the room to directly mention Sid anyway, even despite not knowing about his connection to the album cover. He got arrested during the band’s show in London, after all. But no one said anything about him, and you didn’t either.

You felt glad that, aside from publicising the bathtub picture, Sid now held as much significance to your life as the random hotel guest singing loudly outside the conference room window: vaguely bothersome, but largely irrelevant.

“Oh, well, I’m happy to hear that,” Salma said, glancing at Reggie across the table—he was reading something on his phone and didn’t notice her gaze. “I talked to Namjoon for a minute after we arrived last night, but he didn’t mention anything. Has the band decided on a release date for the first single?”

This whole meeting turned out to be something you hadn’t prepared for, and your anxiety didn’t quite know how to handle it.

“Uh, soon,” you replied. “They’re still working on it.”

Salma smiled. Sensing your unease, she reached over to give your shoulder a friendly squeeze.

“Namjoon said exciting things are coming,” she said. You appreciated her light tone. “I can’t wait.”

“Yeah. They definitely are.”

“Alright, well,” Reggie cut in as he put his phone down. His voice sounded a little impatient, but he remained more composed than Duke, who yawned, bored again, and spun in his office chair. “Let’s finish this up, yeah? Still got three more pages to go.”

The three pages ended up taking another half an hour to get through as Reggie went out of his way to explain everything, checking and double-checking every questionable clause, and asking you about all the things that he had initially planned not to ask about. He was still worried about the company’s laid-back attitude towards employee privacy, you could tell. But you were so tired of this that you were almost ready to sign anything just to finally leave this room.

Once the meeting finally concluded—and you did, in fact, have to sign at least ten dotted lines—you found out that Reggie and Duke had decided to stay in Paris to see Rated Riot’s show. Salma promised them it would be great and took them to lunch at a café a few blocks away, giving you a wink as she left. She saved you from more small talk, and you made a mental note to buy her a drink sometime later.

There was another important conversation you needed to have today, and dialling Nick’s number after everything you’ve already endured turned out to be very easy.

You hoped to explain everything to him quickly, maintaining a good relationship with him in case of potential collaborations between the bands you managed. But you ended up being a little too diplomatic: you had to repeat your refusal to join his team three times before Nick understood what you were saying.

He was not surprised. He said that he’d been hearing a lot about Rated Riot every time he went out with someone from his staff, so he understood your decision to stay with them. And then, most unexpectedly, he asked if you could arrange for him and a few Reconnaissance members to attend one of Rated Riot’s final European shows in Italy.

This time, it was Nick who had to repeat himself three times for you to comprehend the request.

You were well aware of the admiration and reverence that Rated Riot had for Reconnaissance; the number of times that the boys had attended their concerts was too inappropriate to mention out loud.

Now, the members of Reconnaissance were interested in attending Rated Riot’s show. And despite your skin tingling with excitement, you were almost afraid to share this news with the band, fearing they might break something—namely, their necks—once they heard about it.

As promised, Jungkook waited until you left for your meeting before he ensconced himself in your empty hotel room, anticipation pulsating a lively rhythm in his chest.

When your playlist loaded on his screen—actually titled, ‘why?’ in all capital letters as you’d said—he checked the duration and briefly considered finding heart drops before he began to listen.

Scrolling through the tracks, he noticed the dates when you added them to the playlist, offering him a clear roadmap of your emotions over the years. He wasn’t sure what to do with himself as he reclined on the bed and tried to relax.

The first song was added about two weeks after the Freshman event where you claimed to have noticed him for the first time. It was a song by Dashboard Confessional—“My heart is yours to fill or burst, to break or bury, or wear as jewelry, whichever you prefer”—and Jungkook accepted that not even heart drops could help him get through this playlist.

When, three songs later, he reached Bring Me The Horizon—“Your voice makes my heart skip beats, so keep quiet before it flatlines”—and realised that he still hadn’t talked to you at this point in the playlist, he felt his hands begin to shake.

It was true, then. You had really seen him for the first time at the same moment he had seen you, and you’ve had a crush on him since then, too.

The lyrics of the next song by Black Veil Brides—“One look and I am sold, you got me on my knees”—were a prophecy, because this was where it all began. You’ve added it just one day after your first conversation outside of class, and it marked the point where Jungkook recognised every word of every upcoming song because he’d experienced them all with you.

Bad Omens’ “Crawl” brought back your first date in the park under the pouring rain, where the two of you had revealed everything that weighed on you, despite only knowing each other for a little over a week. Jungkook recalled a sense of disbelief at how easily the two of you had connected. Logically, there should have been barriers between you, things that you kept to yourselves for fear of scaring each other away. But sharing everything from that very first moment had felt right—it was later that honesty became scary.

Between the city's gates and nowhere is where I'll be, my dear. Ghost of soldiers will greet you and point the way to me, my dear.

Sleep Token’s “Fields of Elation” reminded him of your second date at the carnival, where he had stumbled over his thoughts, attempting to ask you to be his girlfriend. You’d said yes, despite not understanding his jumbled question. He remembered the anticipation he’d felt back then, too: he wanted to kiss you so much that he was nearly vibrating, nearly spinning on an invisible propeller attached to his chest. And when he finally pressed his lips to yours, he thought he’d never pull away again.

Your name is a sin I breathe like oxygen, caught in the careless arms of lust again.

Biffy Clyro’s “Many of Horror” was a song that echoed through every significant moment in your relationship. Jungkook noted that you’d added it a few days after the first time he’d stayed over at your dorm room. It had actually been an accident: you brought him back after a campus party to help him sober up a little, and he ended up falling asleep on your bed. He woke up sometime at three in the morning, and the two of you stayed up talking and listening to music for the rest of the night.

If Jungkook closed his eyes right now, he could still see you watching him as he sang along to the song for the very first time, your hands intertwined on the pillows on your bed. You had always looked at him with something magical in your gaze, and he remembered how long it took for him to get used to maintaining eye contact with you without feeling dizzy.

I still believe, it’s you and me ‘til the end of time.

He reached Paramore’s “The Only Exception” shortly after that, and had to play it twice because the first listen had emptied his thoughts. You’ve added the song—with a line that he could not get through without his breath hitching: “That was the day that I promised I’d never sing of love if it does not exist, but darling, you are the only exception”—at least a month before he first told you he loved you under a canopy of blooming cherry blossoms.

There was also an Architects song on your playlist right after that—“I used to think that I knew better than those around me, but something changed along the way, and you’re the reason I’m wanting to stay”—and he remembered, right away, all the fears the two of you used to have, and all the fears you were still fighting to this day. You had never been sure if you believed in love, and he struggled to accept that he didn’t need to work in order to deserve love. But all of that had seemed trivial back then, almost irrelevant when you were staying up until the sunrise in your dorm room, your eyes bright, your hearts awake. Jungkook could tell, as he listened to your playlist, that you were already in love.

Your communication used to be so effortless back then. It only became harder to keep talking to each other when your relationship grew into the most meaningful aspect of your lives. The fear of damaging it made you both retreat into silence.

Now, you had both grown enough to understand that it wasn’t silence that saved a relationship; it was the willingness to talk about it.

There were a few Reconnaissance songs in your playlist, too, and Jungkook smiled again, knowing he was the reason you’d added them. He remembered the excitement of attending the band’s show for the first time. You’d been there with him, even though you hadn’t heard their music before, and he’d felt elated when you admitted how much you enjoyed it.

It would be beautiful, Jungkook thought in a sudden moment of solemn reflection, if you went on to manage Reconnaissance now. But it’d be equally as beautiful if you stayed with him, allowing Rated Riot to surpass the one band that he had admired for most of his life.

Checking the time on the corner of his screen, Jungkook concluded that your meeting must have already started. Taking a deep breath, he skipped the next few Reconnaissance songs.

Def Leppard’s “When Love And Hate Collide” played next, and Jungkook chuckled at the memory of your first Valentine’s Day together. You had gone to a restaurant for dinner, and you’d both had a little too much wine. This song had started to play and despite hearing it for the first time, he tried very hard to serenade you from across the table: “one night alone is like a year without you, baby.” His tongue kept getting caught on his teeth as he tried to guess the next lyrics, but you were making half-hearted attempts to shush him as you laughed, and he silently vowed to spend every Valentine’s Day with you for the rest of his life.

He doubted he grasped how serious he was about this promise back then. There were only two Valentine’s Days that he had to survive without you—and he drank them both away, understandably—but since you re-entered his life, he had kept his word.

He was drunk when he sent you flowers for Valentine’s Day that first February after you started to work with Rated Riot. He was rarely sober at the time, so this wasn’t unusual, but he had enough brain to leave an anonymous note with the flowers. He knew you might quit on the spot if you learned that the bouquet of roses was from him.

Honestly, he couldn’t explain why he felt compelled to send you the flowers at all. You were broken up for two years at that point, and he prided himself on having moved on. But then he sent you another bouquet the next Valentine’s Day, just a few months before the start of this tour. He didn’t know why he did it that time, either.

He told himself that it was tradition, ignoring the blatant truth that he was still excessively in love with you. Claiming that this was just a habit was simply a good way to justify his actions to himself.

You never mentioned anything, so he assumed you never suspected him to be behind the flowers—and he was relieved. He knew he would have had to downplay it if you confronted him about it, and he didn’t want to. He wasn’t joking. He’d meant every stem, every sharp thorn, and every scarlet petal.

An overwhelming number of Arctic Monkeys songs in your playlist followed your first spring together: double-dates with Kihyun and Chloé, meeting each other’s families, attending campus parties together, and spending nights in your dorm room where you’d study and he’d do everything to distract you.

The lyrics of “R U Mine?”—“Unfair we’re not somewhere misbehaving for days”—reminded him of one night when the two of you were smoking outside of a party, on the corner of the library building. You had used his lighter to burn the first letters of your names on the wall, with a heart in between. You were drunk, of course, but this was the first time he’d seen you break the campus rules by defacing a public building.

A few months later, when you were walking around campus with Kihyun and Chloé, Kihyun had spotted the two initials on the wall of the library, and paused.

“Wait,” he’d said, eyeing the burn marks, “this kind of looks like—”

“Yeah, I did that,” you’d cut him off, and walked away without looking back.

Surprised, Kihyun turned to him, and Jungkook grinned proudly, running to catch up with you. He knew, at that moment, that he would be truly, wholeheartedly yours forever.

Your summer roadtrip songs came next in your playlist, and Jungkook could no longer sit idly as he listened to Papa Roach’s, “you know I love it when you’re down on your knees, and I’m a junkie for the way that you please.” He remembered you singing along and stealing kisses as he drove the two of you down coastal roads in a rental car. He remembered chasing you down the beach, stumbling over abandoned sandcastles, and washing the sand off your skin every night. He remembered every moment vividly and he was very close to tearing the mattress with his nostalgic bouncing.

Bring Me The Horizon’s “Follow You” marked your first anniversary, and it was easily one of the most played songs during your relationship. Jungkook remembered having a dream, months before your anniversary, about renting a convertible and taking you to a restaurant that he definitely couldn’t afford. And he made it happen—even despite some unexpected challenges along the way, like your battle with bugs and the wind in the car. Still, you managed to arrive at the restaurant two minutes before your reservation was cancelled. And all that this experience taught him was that he was perfect with anything, no matter how messy and downright chaotic, as long as you were with him.

So you can drag me through hell, if it meant I could hold your hand.

The Ramones’ “Do You Wanna Dance?” took him back to the days in your dorm room when you were practically living together: you’d come back after class and spend the afternoon eating snacks, watching films, sometimes going out to get groceries and drinks. And you’d dance a lot—although, at first, you merely nodded your head or tapped your feet while he got entangled in the curtains with his ridiculous, extravagant moves. He always pulled you in to join him, sooner or later. And despite your accidental kicks to his shins, you soon found yourself at complete ease. You had never thought you’d dance without getting drunk first, and Jungkook took pride in pushing you out of your comfort zone. He hadn’t yet realised—not fully—that he was your comfort zone.

Do you wanna dance and hold my hand? Tell me, baby, I’m your lover man.

You added Fall Out Boy’s “Homesick At Space Camp” to your playlist during your hospital stay six years ago, and Jungkook had to remind his heart to keep beating as he listened to the song. You had argued so much back then—you were mad that he’d wasted his time by calling an ambulance for you, and he was mad that he had no other choice. You were mad that he’d failed his exam, and he was mad that he couldn’t tell you the real reason he’d failed. But the underlying truth behind all those arguments was that you both cared about each other too much.

The song also reminded him of you fainting on this tour. You protested and complained that time, too. But you’d stayed in bed. You’d listened. And you’d finally accepted, he could tell, how much your well-being mattered to him, and how deeply he regretted taking you for granted.

My smile’s an open wound without you.

Hearing Backstreet Boys in your playlist next made him shake his head to himself. He couldn’t escape the nightmares from the birthday party when he’d performed “As Long As You Love Me”, but he supposed he didn’t really want to escape that much anyway. This night had brought you so much joy. Really, that was the only reason he sang that song for you—he saw the way your eyes glittered, the way you clapped your hands and laughed as he set up the chair for his performance. He would have done far stupider things to see you laugh like that again.

Several more Architects songs, vastly different from the ones he heard before, marked your second Valentine’s Day. That was the year he gave himself a concussion and earned a month-long suspension for “stealing” the laboratory projector. You’d spent that month together in your dorm, and even despite his many blunders, Jungkook could sense from the songs in your playlist that your relationship was still going well.

He scrolled past several uplifting dance hits and slower love ballads, listening to a few seconds of each—just so he could taste the memories of those days on his tongue. Just so he could remember humming these songs in your ear before you fell asleep on his bed, your feet cold against his ankles. And he felt his chest expand at the thought that you were listening to these same songs without him, too. It thrilled him to imagine that you thought of him before falling asleep as often as he’d thought of you.

He found many songs that his grandmother had recommended in your playlist, and his heart warmed as he played Black Sabbath’s “Symptom of the Universe”, Mötley Crüe’s “Helter Skelter”, Corrosion of Conformity’s “Albatross” and several others that the two of you had come to love. He recalled how touched his grandmother had been—almost as much as he was—when she saw your eyes light up at her music collection. You had earned her endless affection when you complimented her taste in music and wrote down the song titles to look them up later.

Jungkook lingered on the first of the several Type O Negative tracks in your playlist, reminiscing about the countless moments when he felt your weight behind him on one of the motorcycles he’d borrowed from Sid to take you on a ride. Although you never played music on his bike, certain songs still revoked memories of your hands tightening around his waist as he accelerated, the city lights blending into a blur around you, the wind catching your hair when he helped you remove your helmet.

Now close those eyes and let me love you to death.

Sleeping with Sirens’ “All My Heart” brought back the summer when he had dyed his hair pink. That summer, the two of you travelled across the country to see Reconnaissance live for the third time. That same summer, you bought him the “JK” keychain (he’d already reattached it to the keys to his Katana). He played basketball with your little brother that summer, too, always letting him win. Actually, he would never admit this out loud, but he’d stopped holding back eventually, because your brother proved to be exceptionally—unfairly, even—skilled. Jungkook had joked and laughed, and hoped you would think he was missing his shots on purpose.

Those late summers we may stay up talking all night. I ask, “you think we’ll ever make it?”, you say, “I’m sure, if it’s right.”

Next came I See Stars’ cover of “Latch”, and Jungkook felt his smile grow wider. You fell in love with the song on your second anniversary when both of you had the flu and spent that entire week in bed in your dorm room. Technically, Jungkook had gotten sick first—but you refused to leave his side, and the two of you ended up celebrating the occasion with cough drops and swollen lymph nodes. You weren’t awake enough to watch any films that week, but you were just lucid enough to listen to music and cough rhythmically.

Now I’ve got you in my space, I won’t let go of you. Got you shackled in my embrace, I’m latching onto you.

He closed his eyes as he listened to the songs that followed, feeling himself return to the days you’d spent baking in the cramped kitchen of his dormitory, the long roads home you’d taken after class just to spend more time together, the many instruments you’d tried to learn and failed miserably.

These were the days you’d wait for him before classes with two paper cups of coffee. The days you’d send him silly selfies and threaten murder if he kept them (he kept them). The days you’d throw notes at him in the middle of your shared lectures, intentionally aiming for his head: you’d draw a heart in the middle of the paper, and nothing else. These were the days that he dreamed about, years later, when he was missing you too much to breathe.

But then, looking down as though caught in some crime, Jungkook realised that there was something else in between these memories. There were nights he’d spend drinking and drag-racing with Sid and the others. There were arguments with you and childish silent treatments. He remembered how much time he’d spent trying to find a way to make it up to you, but never actually did.

Nothing But Thieves began to play “Afterlife” on your playlist, and it reminded Jungkook of the day you went with him to get his first tattoo. He’d gone out with Sid the night before—he usually did back then—and the two of you had argued about it again. But despite the tension, you’d grabbed your bag and left for the tattoo parlour with him.

Looking back now, he realised—with a violent stab in his heart—that this might have been the last good moment in your relationship before it all fell apart around you. You had laughed and teased him that whole day, but he couldn’t forget the look on your face after he’d walked you home later. He couldn’t even touch you then because he was carrying his gym bag in his left hand, and his right one was bandaged to protect the fresh ink.

“You’ll take care of it, right?” you’d asked him outside of your dorm. “Don’t get an infection.”

“I’m not sure I’ll manage,” he’d teased. “You might have to keep an eye on me.”

And you’d smiled, but it hadn’t quite reached your eyes. You’d promised to come over and look at the tattoo for him—and you had, every day—but your voice sounded weary. He’d kissed you before leaving, and you’d kissed him back, but your lips quivered when you pulled away.

He’d seen all the signs, but he had not known what to do.

It was only ever you, it was only ever you, my baby. It feels like a lifetime, oh God, I don’t think I could do two.

Your third-anniversary song was Asking Alexandria’s “I Won’t Give In.” It was significantly less happy compared to some of the previous songs, but your third anniversary was significantly less happy, too. Jungkook had wanted to make it special for you—to make up for all the days that weren’t—so he bought tickets to a special screening of Howl’s Moving Castle at the small cinema outside of campus. He persuaded the lady at the ticket office not to sell any other tickets with a heart-wrenching story about how he was trying to save his relationship—in retrospect, he didn’t think he was lying—so it’d just be the two of you in the theatre.

He had brought you wildflowers that he’d picked himself because he only remembered the flowers halfway to your house. But he had a bruise running alongside his forearm from where he had driven the car that Sid had gifted him into the metal fence of an abandoned factory, and you understood right away what he’d been doing that whole week. You saw his bruises, saw the incessant messages lighting up his phone, and sighed, telling him that you were too tired to go out tonight.

“Maybe another time,” you’d said.

“But,” he’d tried to argue, his voice a whisper, “it’s our anniversary.”

“I know,” you’d replied, and he saw the regret in your eyes when you stopped avoiding his gaze for a second. “Maybe we could stay here instead, and—”

His phone had started to vibrate, cutting you off. He’d glanced at Sid’s name on his screen, then put his phone away.

“Sorry,” he’d said, ignoring the call. “We made plans to meet up later, but Sid can’t tell the time.”

He hadn’t even realised what he’d said—not even when you swallowed and clenched your jaw.

“You’re meeting later?” you’d asked.

“Yeah, but just for a few hour—”

“It’s okay,” you’d said. “You can go ahead and meet up now. I don’t feel like doing much today anyway.”

He had started to protest, of course. He had enough sense to understand that it wasn’t right, he couldn’t just go out with Sid on your anniversary without celebrating it with you first. But you’d closed the door in his face—gently, but the sound of the lock clicking still echoed in his head years later.

When this night returned to haunt his dreams, Jungkook always knocked on your door again. He begged and demanded you let him back inside. He stayed outside your door the whole night, waiting for you to come out.

He’d done none of that back then. He’d turned around and answered Sid’s call.

I gave you everything, I never thought we would end up like this. I gave you everything, if I can’t let you go, save me, please.

Jungkook could see now that he had reached the point in the playlist where every track worked like kerosene on his burning skin. He listened to several Bullet For My Valentine and Invent Animate songs, skipping them after the first verse, not even making it to the chorus, because he knew what the lyrics reminded him of, and he did not want to remember.

However, a Biffy Clyro song that you’d added to your playlist a few days after your break-up made him turn on his back on the bed, every muscle in his body tensed. He would listen to this one because he had to—even though he knew the lyrics by heart.

You can’t understand that I won’t leave ‘til we’re finished here, and then you’ll find out where it all went wrong.

It really did take him years to understand. You’d stayed with him through entire weeks of silence, through numerous break-up songs, and he had been too blind, too paralysed—too fucking distracted—to do anything. He’d convinced himself that if he didn’t acknowledge your troubles, the two of you would be okay. He hadn’t even bothered to think about how bad these troubles were.

You were hoping you’d be okay, too. And you stayed until it was clear that you wouldn’t be.

Your playlist changed after the two of you broke up. And, as he scrolled down a bit, Jungkook noticed a pattern. He doubted you were aware of it, but the songs seemed to progress, like a true textbook case, right through the stages of grief. And his heart sank when he realised that the first stage—Denial—had started while you were still together.

Asking Alexandria’s “Killing You” was the start of the Anger stage, and Jungkook forced himself to listen to at least half of each song, his jaw tightening with every lyric that ripped another splinter from his heart.

Three years of torment and torturous love, stained with tears and mistrust, enough is enough.

As your playlist reached the Bargaining stage, Jungkook felt the room closing in on him. Bad Omens began to sing “The Letdown” and he forced himself to sit up again. This was the song that he’d spent many sleepless nights praying to.

He listened to it now and realised that he’d never gone through Denial or Anger. You’d left him and he moved right into Bargaining, and he’d stayed there for the entirety of those four years that he wasn’t with you.

If I could make it simpler, if I could get back to the start, I would keep you even closer so that I could hear your heart.

He tried to tally up the amount of alcohol he’d consumed through those years without you, and the amount he’d consumed after you started to work with Rated Riot.

And he realised now that a subconscious part of him might have been conditioned into believing that if he drank too much—if he drank just enough for it to be too much—then Sid would call you to pick him up, and you’d come.

So he drank a lot.

There was one night in particular when his drinking nearly killed him: he’d assumed you were out on a date with someone else and he abruptly lost all purpose. Sid had called you that night—of course—and you came to pick him up—of course. Jungkook slurred through a “where were you?” that he knew he had no right to ask you, and you’d said, “I had dinner with the executives. We were discussing your band.” He couldn’t remember what happened next; he must have blacked out. He was hungover for three days straight after that—and you yelled at him every day for the next two weeks—but he felt ridiculously relieved.

Your playlist transitioned into Depression and the air around him thickened. Jungkook listened to Nothing But Thieves again, and he thought he could feel the cold, tiled floors of his bathroom under his feet—the bathroom where he’d woken up on so many afternoons, his head resting against the porcelain of the toilet, the room spinning out of control around him. It used to take him about three seconds to recognise his surroundings and remember the state that his life was in, and he would start seeking a remedy for his throbbing sobriety again.

And now it hurts what we’ve become ‘cause you taught me how to love. It’s me who taught you how to stop.

Your playlist continued and Jungkook recognised fragments of his life—both, after your break-up, and after you’ve started to work together—in every song that played next, starting from blink-182—“I feel like the moon is spinning off into outer space without you, the universe an empty place without you”—moving into Slipknot—“I still press your letters to my lips and cherish them in parts of me that savour every kiss. I couldn’t face a life without your light, but all of that was ripped apart when you refused to fight”—and finishing with Bon Jovi—“It’s been raining since you left me, now I’m drowning in the flood, you see, I’ve always been a fighter, but without you, I give up.”

These were the songs that you used to listen to together, some of them not memorable enough to leave a lasting impression, others not reflecting your feelings at the time. You didn’t add them to your playlist until after you broke up, and the lyrics started to resonate. Jungkook had listened to the same songs when he couldn’t sleep—not to cure his insomnia, but to drown out his thoughts. To have someone else narrate his memories so he wouldn’t have to listen to himself.

It dawned on him just then that you’d come full circle: from waiting a year to talk about your crushes on each other, to waiting several years to talk about all the years that you’d spent not talking to each other.

Swallowing hard, Jungkook continued. He listened to Sleep Token’s “Blood Sport”—“Even if the sky cracks in mourning and the heavens just won’t open up for me, would you invite me in again?”—and hesitated here, afraid of the next song. Here, you were still hopeful. Still bargaining. He didn’t think he was ready to find Acceptance in your playlist.

But “Patience” by Guns N’ Roses followed up next—“If I can’t have you right now, I’ll wait, dear”—and Jungkook started to fidget. He only listened to a few seconds of the song, just long enough to brace himself, and then scrolled down to the very end of your playlist.

He paused it immediately.

The final song on your playlist was “Hollow Crown” by Architects. You’ve added it eleven days before he saw you in the meeting room at Jett Records, with CJ’s arm around your shoulders as he introduced you to Jungkook as Rated Riot’s new manager.

These wounds have bled and pages fly by, the lyrics of the song went. I need to feel you right by my side.

It was truly incredible how quickly the song healed his heart, how quickly it dispelled the thick tar of dread in his stomach—because it wasn’t Acceptance that finished your playlist. It was the same otherworldly sentiment—the one you had refused to name or even acknowledge for years—that started the playlist, too.

You didn’t add any more songs after you started to work together, but you didn’t have to. Jungkook knew what happened next. And now he knew that you’d been waiting for him for as long as he’d been waiting for you.

His phone suddenly vibrated in his hand, and he jumped up, exiting the Spotify app in surprise. It was a text from you, and he stood up immediately.

You were saying you’d meet him in the lobby in half an hour, but he couldn’t sit still for that long.

He went down to wait for you.

Jungkook wasn’t in the lobby when you arrived. You saw him in the courtyard through the window, carefully balancing on the edge of the decorative circle in the stone tiles.

When he caught sight of you in his peripheral vision, he stopped and you paused in the doorway of the hotel, too. The sunbeams danced in his eyes when he turned to you, the silver piercing glinting against his lip as his smile stretched.

You were so in love with him that it shouldn’t have been possible.

He waited for approximately a quarter of a second once he saw you take a step towards him—a reaction speed that could have made Formula One drivers envious—before breaking into a sprint towards you. He met you halfway and wrapped his arms around your waist in a tight embrace that nearly knocked you both to the floor.

He held you without saying one word for an obscene amount of time. He had always struggled to describe what he was feeling, but he usually tried to find something to say anyway. Now he wasn’t trying anymore—and all of his feelings had never been louder.

“You listened to my playlist, I take it,” you said, one hand tracing the contours of his back, the other tangled in the edges of his hair.

Jungkook nodded, attempting to respond, but the wind and the roughness of your jacket against his cheek swallowed his words. So, he held onto you tighter, thinking, all the while, that the only true peace he was able to find in his life was with you. And he’d been scared for so long—terrified right out of his mind—that he would never feel this peace again. That he would never feel you again.

“Why didn’t you show it to me before?” he asked, his hesitant voice reaching you in the form of shivers on your spine.

You gave a careful shrug.

“It’s embarrassing,” you said—but your arms remained around him in the middle of the courtyard, in plain view for everyone inside the hotel to see, and it was a little hard to believe that there was anything you wouldn’t have done with him or for him, embarrassed or not.

He lifted his head to meet your gaze, a quizzical eyebrow arched on his otherwise warm features. “Loving me is embarrassing?”

You smiled, lowering your hands from his hair to the back of the silver chain around his neck.

“No,” you said. “Pining over you is.”

He observed you for a moment, trying to read your expression to gauge how your meeting went without having to ask. You weren’t saying anything, and he immediately assumed the worst.

Taking a deep breath, he stepped back, but kept his hand on your elbow to keep touching you, however faintly.

“So, how was it?” he asked. “When are you leaving?”

He had only given you one option, but he appeared to dread the thought of you confirming his fears.

“Never,” you said, a little amused by his extreme pessimism. “Can you wait that long?”

The sudden fire in his eyes suited him better than any piece of clothing or expensive jewellery ever could.

“Yeah?” he asked, returning to his spot right in front of you, his chest brushing against yours.

“Yeah,” you confirmed with a smile that he’d been looking forward to for days. “I’ve signed the new contract. The lawyers are staying here to attend your show. It looks like we’re taking over the world. Life is good.”

“Fuck yeah, life is good!” he shouted, the happiness in his voice reverberating off the buildings around you.

His relief was immense and almost impossible to contain within. You’d already promised him that you’d stay together no matter what happened today, but he wanted you here. And you were here. And now he could finally start righting his wrongs and creating new playlists with you—ones that wouldn’t hurt to listen to years later.

Before you could say anything, Jungkook sneaked his arms around your waist again and lifted you slightly off the ground—just enough to spin you around in a dizzying, ecstatic circle.

“Wait, wait, wait—” you pleaded, but your surprised laughter sent his heart straight past heaven, and he could not wait. “Th-the email. Why didn’t you tell me anything?”

He put you down but kept his hands on your waist to steady you.

“What emai—oh.” His gaze drifted past you, then dropped to the ground. “They got it, then?”

You nodded. “They got it.”

“I assume it made no difference.”

“It made a difference,” you said because that email was the only thing from that meeting that you wanted to remember. Jungkook glanced at you, but the gratitude in your eyes was so intense that he looked away again. “It could have been a huge risk. Why did you do that?”

He shrugged. It was an easy decision. No one in the band had objected when Yoongi suggested it before the last show in London. They hoped that the threat of leaving would be enough, but if it came to it, they were prepared to actually leave the label with you.

“I go where you go,” he said with a soft smile, repeating the words you’d said to him on the plane to Paris. “And my band and I are a package deal.”

You grinned, and even though the sky above you was now the colour of muddy, melted ice—a clear reminder that summer was over—you felt like you had just emerged from a dreadfully long and stressful hibernation. Your skin tingled with an almost insatiable urge to experience it all: the rain, the sunshine, and all that came in between.

“Thank you,” you said. “I want to stay with all of you.”

“Yeah?” He was close enough to touch your forehead with his, his lips curling into a smirk. “But with me the most, right?”

You took advantage of the moment when he glanced down to your lips and leaned in to kiss him—for just a second, before you pulled back to see the surprised wonder in his eyes.

“Of course,” you said. “You’ve always been my favourite.”

In an instant, Jungkook found himself back there again—somewhere in the days between Bad Omens and Biffy Clyro—dancing on the creaking floors of your dorm room, sneaking away to a random balcony during campus parties to steal a moment alone with you, and making up scenarios of what your future together would look like.

He realised that the two of you had never truly left those days; you’ve merely paused them. But the music—your music, together—continued to play.

In a split second, he pulled you as close to himself as he could, and pressed his lips to yours in a proper kiss. Your hands came to rest on his chest as you kissed him back, your taste so captivating, so completely tempting, that he lost several heartbeats on your tongue. He knew that your kiss would kill him one of these days, and he pitied everyone who would keep living.

“Oh!” you gasped suddenly, breaking the kiss and nearly causing him to flinch. He loosened his hold, alarmed. “The label—they thought we were together this whole time, by the way.”

Jungkook blinked, then frowned, then blinked a few more times—frozen for one, two, three seconds before taking a cautious step away from you.

He regarded you with scepticism for a long minute. Then his left eye twitched.

“What?” he asked.

You bit your lip, nodding at the absurdity. “I know.”

Jungkook continued to look like he had just witnessed the second coming of Christ, and it wasn’t quite what he expected.

“So, what was all of this for—”

“I don’t know,” you replied, the clutches of anxiety in your stomach finally easing. “A good song came out of it all, though.”

“A good so—yeah, and a heightened risk of a heart attack at twenty-six,” he snapped, furrowing his eyebrows again. “How do—what do you mean they thought we were—how? The whole time?”

“Yeah.”

He began to pace around you in the courtyard, his hands rising higher and higher with each attempt at a sentence. He seemed to be talking to spirits that only he could see.

“And they—and you didn’t—so we could have just—”

You nodded empathetically. “Mhmm. Seems so.”

He finally stopped and turned to you. “Am I asleep right now? Is this a joke?”

“No, they knew about it all along,” you said. “Actually, it gets worse. It seems that CJ might have hired me for Rated Riot precisely because we had dated.”

Jungkook widened his eyes for only a moment, still appearing a little perplexed, but no longer outraged. He turned away, lost in thought all of a sudden, and poked a loose tile with the edge of his boot.

“What’s—what are you thinking?” you asked, a little concerned about his abrupt silence.

“I—nothing. I’m just—that reminded me of something,” he replied, sliding his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. “After we signed with Jett Records, there was this, I don’t know, weird moment. We came in for our first formal meeting with CJ, and he kept staring at me. The band had jokingly told him that I was the lead songwriter—which I’m definitely not—so I assumed that was the reason. And then, as we were leaving the room, he shook my hand for a whole minute and said, “I have incredible things planned for you. Let’s make that “Haunting” Part Two happen, yeah?” I didn’t think much of it at the time, but it—I don’t know.”

You didn’t like how quickly Jungkook offered a story that supported everything that Reggie and Duke had told you earlier today, and you frowned, struggling to grasp the multitude of thoughts and questions in your mind.

“That was—“Haunting” was the first Rated Riot song that CJ heard,” Jungkook added.

Although he’d written this song to be as inconspicuous as possible, he never tried to hide that it was about you—if people asked. And CJ had asked.

Jungkook had been vague that time, claiming it was about “someone important” to him, but perhaps CJ got more curious about the meaning of the song than he’d initially let on. Perhaps he’d done additional research.

“It’s the song that made him want to meet the band,” Jungkook continued. “H-he could have—if he knew about us, and he knew that I wrote “Haunting” about you, then he might have hired you for me to—so that you and I—”

“He hired me to give you a jolt,” you finished, “hoping it would inspire you to write songs that would bring the label as much money as he thought “Haunting” would have brought.”

Jungkook let out a breath. “Yeah. That—that’s kind of fucked up.”

You nodded. That was the regular way to describe this situation – “fucked up.” But you’ve learnt today that, in business, they called it “profitable.”

Although a lot of your previous anxiety was now replaced with irritation, your relief still lingered. CJ’s plotting had caught you off guard, but ultimately, you were right where you wanted to be, and nothing could change that.

“I had some questions about why they contacted me four—five?—months before you even released your debut album,” you said, “but I—well, you know. I was just happy to stop fillng spreadsheets and do some actual work. Even if it meant driving you to the studio every morning, and back home every night. Did you—did you even add any new songs or make any changes to the album after I started to work with you? You said you had most of it done by that point anyway.”

Jungkook swallowed and did not respond.

You were right, the album was mostly finished when CJ offered you to work with Rated Riot that July, but Jungkook wrote eight new songs in the first week of working with you. Three of them made it to the final cut of the album.

“Shit,” you said, his silence a good enough answer. Half-joking to counter your discomfort, you added, “so, it wasn’t destiny, then. It was CJ.”

Jungkook snorted humourlessly. “Yeah. What a waste of fucking time, though. All the fucking—all this time we worried. And we could have just—wow. We could have just fucking been together.”

That was true, you would have saved a lot of energy if you didn’t have to worry about telling the label about your relationship. But you weren’t sure that it would have helped you stop ignoring each other and yourselves.

If you hadn’t received the trial by fire on this tour, if all your fears and insecurities hadn’t been exposed, you and Jungkook likely wouldn’t have ended up here.

“Yeah, this is…” you faltered, searching for the right word. “This is some heavy shit to process right now, but—I mean, we’re fine. We’re okay. You know? We made it this fucking far.”

The courtyard was empty except for a few pigeons pecking at the dark rocks of a flower garden nearby. Jungkook counted the pavement tiles beneath your sneakers before looking up.

“I’m still having a crisis,” he decided.

You laughed—in a way that he didn’t think he’d ever hear you laugh again, and it sounded like a promise to him. A reassurance that things wouldn’t have to go back to the way they once were, because they were better now. In spite of everything, you were better now.

You took his hand and stepped around him towards the street. “Come on. We’ll be fine. Let’s get something to eat.”

“No, but—we wasted so much time!” he protested, but followed you down the courtyard anyway. It was a reflex more than a conscious effort: you went, and he followed. He was far from being embarrassed about others knowing how completely in love with you—whipped, they would have said—he was.

“We didn’t,” you said. “We still have plenty of time.”

“Not unless I drop dead right now,” he mumbled, stubborn.

“I’d prefer it if you didn’t,” you returned. “I quite enjoy having you alive.”

You felt a tug on your hand when Jungkook suddenly stopped walking. Despite your raised eyebrows, he held your hand and simply watched you for a minute, not explaining his thoughts.

“Do you remember,” he said then, “when we were in Amsterdam, and I asked if you thought we’d ever be here?”

You nodded, not yet following his train of thought.

“What about this?” he asked.

“Paris?”

“No.” He shook his head. “Us. Did you ever imagine we’d still be together, seven years after we met? Did you imagine that some old guy would start an entertainment company, and seek us both out, one after the other, so we could work together and make him money?”

You smiled wryly at the quick—and very accurate—summary. But there wasn’t much to think about here, not really. There was a reason you held onto this relationship for so long that first time, even after it became clear that it was coming to an end.

“I didn’t expect the old guy,” you said. “But I did imagine us together.”

“Despite everything that happened,” he continued, “and every wrong decision that we made over those years?”

You swallowed, finding everything that he’d heard in your playlist reflected in his question. You understood why he needed to ask, but you had no doubts about your answer.

There were times, years before you met him, when you’d feel an abrupt longing—so intense that it would lock you in bed, squirming desperately as you tried to shake yourself out of it. There was no apparent reason for it, no action on your part that could have explained the oppressive heartache that felt a lot like forceful separation from something crucial for your survival. Your heart screamed for it back.

You thought you were in love with him before you even met him.

“Everything that happened still led us here,” you said slowly—unaware that Jungkook was holding his breath as he waited for your answer. “Every time we messed up, every time something went wrong, we were on the way here. And—I mean, I don’t know. I think we would have ended up here one way or another. Actually, it might have taken us longer to get here if everything that backfired on us hadn’t backfired. You know what I mean? We’re a mess.”

His grip on your hand tightened as he watched the smile on your face. He remembered this—you telling him what a mess the two of you were when he kissed you outside of the hotel on your first night in London, right after you’d decided to be friends.

“Do you really think that,” he asked, “or are you just saying it so I don’t have a heart attack?”

You squeezed his hand back.

“I do really think that,” you said. “But also, please don’t have a heart attack.”

Finally allowing himself to breathe, he took a step closer to you. He lifted his hand—the one holding yours—to his chest, and leaned in to kiss you. You could feel his heartbeat under your fingertips when your lips touched, the warmth of his hands melding into yours.

“I love you,” he said, slowly pulling back.

“I love you,” you replied and leaned in to touch his lips with yours again.

Hearing these words over and over again—and feeling you draw him closer to prolong the kiss over and over again, too—seemed like a prospect so delightful that he feared it was a little manic. He was convinced there were fairy lights beneath his skin and fireworks in his chest.

He kissed you fervently, but quickly. A moment later, he was already pulling away and leading you towards the pedestrian crossing.

“Let’s get coffee,” he said in response to the disappointment in your eyes.

“Wait,” you resisted his pull, attempting to slow down his brisk pace, “what’s the rush now?”

“The label thought we were together for two years,” he explained, his grip firm as he paused at the busy street, waited for the light to change, then guided you across it. “We have so much to do to make up for lost time.”

You stepped over the curb but still struggled to catch up as he careened down the street. “And you plan to do all that in one day? Starting from this?”

“This is not even the beginning of what I plan to do,” he replied, winking at you over his shoulder. “If you know what I—”

“If you finish that sentence,” you warned, “we’re going to have our first fight as a couple.”

“Oh, so many new firsts to experience.” He sighed wistfully. Your eyebrows remained comfortably raised as you listened to the reminiscent tone in his voice. “Do you remember our actual first fight as a couple?”

“No,” you replied. “We had so many.”

“Right, but the very first one?” he prodded, finally slowing down so you could match his pace. “I broke your window. You threw a potted plant at me.”

You gasped in protest. You remembered the broken window: it was the result of a three-night drinking binge that he went on without you, only to make a dramatic return through your fire escape, smashing the glass of your window with his elbow. It was an accident, he’d meant to open it the regular way, but he figured this would work, too.

“I did no such thing,” you said.

“You did!” he argued, amused by your selective memory. He was drunk that night, but he remembered the flying pot—and what remained of it after it hit the wall behind him. “It was an Aloe, I think.”

“I’d never throw a plant at you,” you insisted. “I love my plants.”

He looked at you, offended. “Okay. Hello? I’m your boyfriend.”

“I know,” you said, your lips curving into a smile. “Somehow, you require a lot more maintenance than plants.”

“Ah, now I see your point,” he said, turning back to face the street ahead, “we really are about to have our first fight as a couple.”

You chuckled and tugged on his hand to indicate the signboard of a café in the building on your right. “Coffee first?”

“Oh, yeah.” He took a step back to return to your side and kissed your cheek. “Definitely.”

You managed to organise a quick meeting before the show that night to officially announce your promotion and all that it meant for the band. You didn’t get to mention the new opening act, however, because the members erupted into deafening cheers.

Their follow-up reactions—after you brought up the email they had sent to the label—seemed almost comical. All four of them stopped shouting as if on cue and glanced around the room, avoiding your eye and desperately feigning nonchalance.

“We—we’re family,” Yoongi finally said. He struggled to mask his discomfort at your gratitude the most, because you looked at him the most—he was the one who had suggested the email. “One for all, and all for one. Or whatever.”

You nodded with a grin. “Or whatever.”

Hoseok was the first to extend his hand, and the rest of the band followed, stacking their hands on top of each other. You placed yours on Jungkook’s, and with a loud battle cry—an anthem for the band, at this point—all five of you broke apart. The boys hurried out of the room to escape any more sentimental conversations and to get ready for the show.

The first concert in Paris was a dizzying spectacle of flashing lights and intoxicating sounds. You were a little astounded at how Rated Riot still managed to captivate you as if every night was your first time watching them live.

However, for the first time since the start of this tour—it was a miracle this hadn’t happened before, actually—two people in the audience fainted.

You had to run backstage to speak with the venue staff and demand air conditioning, then climb up to the side of the stage to warn the band to control the pit. It was the rhythm section intermission—where Taehyung and Hoseok engaged the audience with sounds that were nearly hallucinogenic—and the barricade was shaking.

You attempted to get Yoongi’s attention because he was the closest to you. But it was Jungkook who noticed you first, climbing off Hoseok’s podium and jogging over to you. You gave him a quick update on the situation and asked him to keep an eye on the crowds. This wasn’t the first time the show got a little too hot, and there were enough paramedics available for first aid, but you still wanted to prevent future accidents.

Jungkook nodded, then turned back to the stage—but stopped, suddenly, as though realising something. You barely managed to part your lips in confusion when he walked back to you in three determined strides, gently lifted your chin and pulled you in for a quick kiss. Then, just as swiftly, he returned to the front of the stage to thundering screams from the audience.

Stunned, you watched Jungkook fall to his knees in dramatic support of the band’s instrumental break. He raised his head to look at you, very proud to be able to do something that caused the dazed look in your eyes, and it took you another minute to force yourself to turn around and return backstage.

Fortunately, by the time the show ended, everyone was alive and well.

You were late to the gathering backstage because you had stayed behind to listen to Seokjin yell—he claimed it was a “peaceful lecture”—at the venue staff about cutting off the air conditioning in the middle of the show. You had to gently coax him to let it go when the local stagehands began to respond to him in aggressive French.

Upon returning to the waiting area, you both noticed that Rated Riot’s dressing room was eerily quiet. Naturally, you started to worry that someone in the band had killed each other. But once you two peered through the gap in the door, you discovered something worse: Hoseok was standing on the table, tapping his lighter against the rim of his glass to get everyone’s attention. He was about to make a toast.

“For those of you who don’t know,” he began as you entered the room, “our manager just got promoted. She’s still our manager, but she’s cooler now. She’s Head Manager.”

Your hopes of finding a drink before you started to feel embarrassed were dashed as the room broke into applause, Namjoon and Jimin leading the way with unnecessary whistling. Cringing into yourself, you nodded in uncomfortable gratitude and made your way to the bottles of beer on the windowsill across the room.

“Our team is expanding,” Yoongi took over then, but he did not join Hoseok on the table, “which naturally, means we’re growing, too. That’s nice and all, but I really hope we can keep fucking drinking like this after every show, even after we sell out Wembley.”

“Wembley next year!” Hoseok cheered, and the rest of the room joined in, raising their glasses. “Here’s to getting drunk every night no matter where the fuck we are!”

It was a loud affair once the band set their contagious excitement loose, but you enjoyed watching their never-ending energy spread to the rest of the room.

“Congratulations,” someone suddenly said from behind you.

It took you a moment to realise that someone had spoken over the noise in the room, and the person touched your shoulder just as you were turning around.

Despite your discomfort with the unexpected attention, you were very happy to see Namjoon. He was beaming proudly as if he was the one who had been promoted tonight, and you extended your hands for a quick hug.

He laughed, patting your back and whispering a soft, “you deserved this.”

“Thank you,” you said, pulling back. “The meeting didn’t go the way I expected, but, uh, all’s well that ends well.”

He nodded, a little dejected. You’d texted him a quick summary of your meeting right after it ended. This time, even Namjoon was surprised about CJ’s ulterior motives.

And he worried, just a little bit, how you would react. He remembered how disappointed you were when you assumed that the offer from Reconnaissance was what prompted CJ to promote you. It had taken you a while to accept that it was your efforts, and not Nick’s call, that had brought you here.

Namjoon knew that there was not much that he could say to convince you of your worth if you focused too much on CJ’s primary reasons for hiring you for the band. It very simply had nothing to do with your skills—but you’ve turned it all around, and every ball that CJ thought he’d hoarded was now in your court.

“Yeah, I’m very excited that you’re staying here,” he said, “but I, um—I’ll admit I don’t know how I feel about CJ exploiting your relationship like that.”

You pursed your lips. You haven’t decided how you felt about that, either. But likely for the first time in your life, you felt too excited for all that was coming to dwell on all that had already happened.

“It was a far stretch, though, wasn’t it?” you said, surprising him with your light tone. “I wonder what he would have done if Jungkook and I had killed each other. Or if every song he wrote was about Sid instead, for example.”

Namjoon smiled, but shook his head. He didn’t think it was a far stretch. He’d encouraged Jungkook to write about real experiences, too, and he was the silent partner on “Haunting.” He’d always known what the song was about.

“It worked out, though,” he said, because you were joking, but he could see the look in your eyes. Being used like this did not feel good. “I mean, for you. Probably not so much for CJ, since you bullied him into giving the band 50% of their last album sales revenue. And then you proved so indispensable that he had to promote you, to stop you from leaving to work with a bigger band.”

You turned away. “I didn’t bully him.”

He grinned, remembering the chaos at the executive meeting after CJ announced the changes in Rated Riot’s royalties. The CEO was on the verge of suggesting that you had a gun pointed to his head to explain why the band’s percentage had doubled.

“I recall there being threats,” Namjoon said.

“Well,” you tsked, “he deserved those. If he only hired me to provoke Jungkook, then he doesn’t deserve the full profit of anything Jungkook creates.”

Namjoon appeared even prouder now, his dimples prominent on his cheeks.

“I agree,” he said. “And you made sure that the label can’t afford to lose you. That sounds like a pretty cool payback for CJ’s questionable decisions.”

You glanced at him, then at the carpeted floors underneath your shoes.

Regardless of how you joined Rated Riot, you and the band have come so far. You’ve endured all that the industry had thrown at you. It shouldn’t have been surprising that the members loved you as much as you loved them, but their support today still felt breathtaking.

It was them, more than anyone, who had made sure that the label couldn’t afford to lose you.

“Did you hear about the email the band sent today?” you asked Namjoon.

“I did,” he confirmed, his grin growing wider still. “They picked up that tactic from you, I think.”

You shook your head, but a small smile had made it to your lips. “No. I think I’m the one who’s learning from them. And from you.”

“Either way,” he said, ignoring the appreciation in your voice and placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “You’re all doing great.”

You finally met his warm gaze and nodded. You weren’t going to fight him on this anymore; you knew that Rated Riot had worked hard to get to this point, and you had, too.

Namjoon was thrilled to see this determination in your eyes. You and Rated Riot together were a force to be reckoned with, and he was happy you’ve finally allowed yourself to accept that.

“Thank you,” you said. “Wembley next year, and the rest of the world the year after that, right?”

“Oh.” He laughed and gestured somewhere in the direction of the window, where the collection of alcohol was. “I’ll drink to that.”

A few minutes later, after the Jameson bottles—a kind gift from the promoters—had been emptied, the room seemed to ignite. The people around you began to move much more easily while the music that Seokjin had chosen played in the background, an interesting mix ranging from Kid Cudi’s classics to Coldplay’s latest album.

You and the Rated Riot members found yourselves in a haphazard circle in the centre of the room, each with a new bottle in hand.

“Nick mentioned that some Reconnaissance members are interested in seeing you play,” you told the band. “So now I’m trying to get them in, even though all your upcoming gigs are not just sold out, but already over capacity. That’s a problem I didn’t think we’d have so soo—”

“Hold on, hold on,” Yoongi interjected, holding up his hands and the already-empty bottle of beer. “Reconnaissance want to see us?”

“Yeah,” you confirmed, watching the members exchange glances, their eyes gleaming all of a sudden—another source of light in the room. “I called Nick to decline his offer and update him on everything, and he said—”

“Wait, wait, wait, wait,” Yoongi interrupted again, placing a confused palm over your hand, “so not only did Reconnaissance miss out on the best manager in the industry, but now they want to see us play?”

You caught a glimpse of Jungkook’s grin out of the corner of your eye. He took a quick swig of his Heineken to hide it.

“Well,” you said, still not drunk enough to accept praise without overwhelming discomfort, “if-if that’s how you want to—but yeah. They are coming to see you.”

Yoongi looked simply dumbfounded: his mouth was open, the corners of his lips upturned, his eyes squinting. It was a beautiful sight. You met Luna’s gaze behind Taehyung, and she, too, was beaming as she joined your circle.

For a long time, the members of Rated Riot had measured their success against Reconnaissance at their age, and they had always felt behind. And despite the extended tour, despite moving onto bigger venues, now was the first time when they felt like they were catching up.

“I can’t believe this,” Hoseok said, the exhilaration in his voice prompting the other boys to start high-fiving and exclaiming passionate ‘hell yeah’s.

“Well, so, what—uh, what’s the consensus?” Yoongi asked, snapping out of his daze. “Do we fucking rock or what?”

“Well, I don’t know!” Hoseok played along, the pitch of his passionate voice rising. “Let me check the latest data,” he paused dramatically for two seconds, “alright, the numbers are in. We fucking rock!”

Loud cries followed as the band broke into excited laps around the room. Seokjin, Namjoon, and Jimin—clearly entertained by whatever ritual they’d assumed the band had just held—joined in by attaching themselves to various members: Seokjin picked Jungkook, nearly choking him with an iron grip around his shoulders, while Namjoon and Jimin flocked to Hoseok. Yoongi was already huddled between Taehyung and Luna, repeatedly high-fiving them both.

You were right to feel anxious about telling them about Reconnaissance because the sudden burst of their already intense energy was a little dangerous. Even Yoongi—who was usually as lively as a well-trained turtle—was spinning in the middle of the room. He smacked into you as he whirled, already dizzy, and you grabbed his arm to help him regain his balance.

“I can tell,” you said, chuckling as Yoongi ran a hand through his hair and returned, swaying his drunken hips, to his spot next to Taehyung, “that the rest of this tour is going to be even more exciting.”

“I’m actually not sure if that’s even possible anymore,” Taehyung said, grinning as Yoongi leaned into his side to catch his breath. “After everything that’s already happened.”

He was alluding to more than just the positive excitement of the night—and Jungkook tensed as he made his way to your side—but you pointed your beer bottle at him, disagreeing.

“To be honest, we’re not doing too bad this time around,” you said, moving closer to Jungkook to make room for Maggie and Minjun in your circle. “Last time you guys were on tour, Jungkook got a concussion and dislocated his shoulder.”

Jungkook raised his eyebrows, caught off guard by the sudden attack.

“There was also,” Yoongi said, still breathing heavily, “the dancing incident in New York.”

The rest of the band chuckled—still holding their laughter back—while Jungkook groaned loudly enough for the people outside the room to hear.

“And Taehyung left the tour for a short while,” Hoseok added. “It was a new mess every day.”

You noticed Taehyung’s gaze drop. Luna had mentioned their brief breakup to you before, so you knew why Taehyung had suddenly left that time.

“Jimin got airsick one time, remember?” you offered your own addition to divert the topic. “So, you guys performed without functioning in-ears. Was that in Boston? You—”

“Oh my God, yes,” Maggie joined in, gripping your forearm in her excitement at the memory. “All the photos I took at that show were worthless. They were all staring at the ground the whole time as if that would help them hear better.”

Laughter filled the room as Jimin grumbled about leaving the band instructions for their in-ear monitors—which they cheerily failed to follow without Jimin guiding them every step of the way.

“Oh, and we lost Namjoon once, too!” Hoseok said, laughing even before he finished the sentence.

All eyes turned to the producer, but before Namjoon could offer an explanation, Seokjin scoffed indignantly.

“He was the one who lost us,” he declared. He had been responsible for looking after a drunk Namjoon that night in San Francisco, and he would never admit how poorly he handled that very simple task. “I looked away for one second, and he was gone.”

“He’s like a little kid when he’s really drunk,” Yoongi reminded him. “You should have known that.”

Seokjin rolled his eyes.

“You found him passed out,” you said, remembering the frantic phone call you’d received at three in the morning, “on top of the slide at some nearby playground, didn’t you?”

“Yeah,” Seokjin said, sending the band into a screeching fit of laughter. “I called his name, he opened one eye, and his body just slid down the slide. Fucking comical, and he’s not even trying to be funny.”

You snickered when Hoseok smacked Namjoon on the chest, holding onto his shoulders for support as his knees wobbled from laughter.

“Alright, then, how about the time we thought Yoongi’s guitar was malfunctioning during one of the shows,” Namjoon said, eager to deflect before the tips of his ears turned any redder, “but it turned out that he actually forgot to plug it in? No one even noticed it until the third song on the setlist.”

Maggie had already begun to wheeze when Luna interjected, “wait—wasn’t the third song, technically, Hobi’s drum solo?”

Hoseok looked very impressed that she remembered, and she gave him a smile and a nod. His drum solo used to be one of her favourite parts of the early Rated Riot shows.

“Yeah,” Yoongi said, snorting. He was no longer bothered by the incident. “I strummed a few chords backstage, and it made no fucking sound.” He suddenly glared at Seokjin. “You convinced Jimin to put me in time-out for not plugging it in.”

“You know very well you deserved that,” Seokjin returned, finishing his drink.

You joined in the laughter. Seokjin and Jimin had relaxed some of their strict policies this time around, because they discovered that the tour couldn’t function if three-quarters of the band were standing in different corners of the venue, waiting to be taken out of time-out before they were supposed to go on stage.

“What about Hoseok personally buying everyone drinks after each show?” Jungkook suggested. “He practically spent half our earnings in random bars.”

Agreeing nods and murmurs followed, and Hoseok merely shrugged, not denying the accusation.

“And what about you finishing most of the drinks that Hoseok bought?” Minjun bit, grinning at Jungkook.

Minjun, unlike Sid and Jude, had actually been invited to join the band for drinks sometimes—although, by the end of the night, he was usually forced to babysit Jungkook.

“What about it?” Jungkook shot back. “I can hold my liquor.”

Jimin blew the air out through his mouth, almost spitting as he half-wheezed, half-scoffed.

“You literally cannot,” he said. “Remember that time in Chicago when you, me, and Seokjin spent hours searching for a public bathroom after you finished five bottles of—”

“I told you I could have used the one that was closed!” Jungkook interrupted before Jimin could finish.

“It wasn’t closed. It was chained,” Jimin retorted. “Did you want to get arrested for trespassing and public urination?”

Jungkook rolled his eyes. “Who says I would have gotten arrested?”

“Are you kidding?” Seokjin chimed in. “You were shouting the lyrics to Billy Idol’s “Rebel Yell” as you rattled the chains.”

“That doesn’t—”

“In the midnight hour,” Seokjin demonstrated, shouting over the noise in the room and vigorously shaking his hands, “she cried more, more, more.”

Everyone was laughing so passionately at this point that it was impossible to hear the music in the room.

“Fine, fine,” Jungkook muttered, shuffling on his feet and moving partially behind you—his refuge from the teasing. “I get it.”

You didn’t know about this particular incident, but you remembered feeling relieved whenever Jungkook would leave the venue with the band members or someone from the staff, rather than his friends.

Sid had been omnipresent during the band’s first tour; he’d stayed even when Minjun and Jude had to return home. And during the only week that Sid wasn’t here, you’d had one of the most meaningful conversations with Jungkook—and certainly the longest—since your breakup.

It had been in Los Angeles, were Rated Riot were set to perform three shows that week. One night, you had found him alone, seated on one of the road cases outside the concert hall, a bottle of beer in his hand. You’d called his name, and he looked up at you with a gaze so familiar that you seemed to forget about all the months you had spent avoiding direct conversation with each other.

You’d been looking for him that night because you suspected that something was wrong—you didn’t know about his grandmother yet, but it was her condition that bothered him the most in those days.

“I’m fine,” he’d said after you asked him what was going on. “Just tired.”

So, you sat beside him on the road case, grabbed his bottle, and took a long swig. And he had watched you, completely mesmerised, just as he was watching you now.

That night, as you handed the bottle back to him, you’d asked him about his goals and what he wanted to achieve with the band.

“The whole world,” he had replied. And you’d smiled, making him smile, too. Your reaction convinced him that reaching the whole world was a completely feasible goal.

He hadn’t dared to ask why you’d agreed to work with Rated Riot, although you’d expected him to. Instead, he asked about your family, evading questions about his own. He asked how you’d met Luna, where you’d gotten the scar on your knee. He tried—you could see it now—to fill in the gaps of all the years you’d been out of touch.

And you remembered struggling to fall asleep that night in Los Angeles after you and Jungkook returned to the tour bus—because you’d finished that bottle of beer together. Because he’d given you his jacket as you walked back to the bus, even though it wasn’t very cold and the bus wasn’t parked very far. Because your hands had brushed as you walked side-by-side. Because he’d offered you a cigarette and you had declined, and your heart had started to hurt for seemingly no reason.

A year later, you raised your head, bringing your thoughts back to the present moment in the dark red dressing room of Cabaret Sauvage in Paris, where your family was laughing around you and your heart was beating next to you.

You turned to look at Jungkook and met his smiling gaze. He still stood behind you and, quietly, while everyone else continued their conversation, he lifted your linked hands to his lips and pressed a soft kiss on your knuckles.

“I remember when Taehyung had the flu, too,” Hoseok said, returning your attention to the group as they burst into shouts of agreement again. Jungkook wrapped an arm around your waist, bringing your back to his chest, and took another sip from his bottle.

“When he started to walk in his sleep?” Luna asked—she’d taken the brunt of that time her boyfriend was sick and refused to stay in bed. Everyone else was very grateful they didn’t have to handle his fevered tantrums.

“Yeah—he scared the shit out of me,” Yoongi recalled, shaking his head. “It was like four in the morning, I looked up from my bunk, and he was just standing there, staring right at me. I went, ‘what the fuck?’ and he just said, ‘the pipes broke’, then turned around and walked away.”

Amidst the laughter of the group, Jimin wheezed, “what pipes?”

Taehyung clicked his tongue and shook his head.

“I had a fever,” he said. “And it was nowhere near as bad or annoying as Jin actually stealing all of our socks from the bus back in Atlanta.”

Seokjin was opening his next beer bottle and did not feel fazed by the attention at all.

“You stole their socks?” Maggie voiced the question of the group.

“Now, listen,” Seokjin said, his tone relaxed, if only a little annoyed to be bothered about this. “We had a deal. I told the guys to stop after one encore, but they went on to play three. I need to sleep, you know. Can’t stay up dismantling the stage until six in the morning every night.”

You closed your eyes and leaned back into Jungkook’s embrace, calm and unreasonably content as he gently rocked side-to-side, both of his arms around you.

“Okay, I guess that makes sense,” Maggie replied. “But why socks?”

“I thought it’d be the biggest nuisance,” Seokjin explained simply. You smiled. The band members had come to you back then, complaining about someone messing with their belongings, and you had to buy socks in bulk until Seokjin returned them. “I was going to go for underwear, but I know that some of you don’t mind not wearing any, so socks seemed like a safer option.”

You opened your eyes to catch Seokjin giving Jungkook a meaningful glance over your head.

“I—” Jungkook began, but did not get much further than that.

“What?” Namjoon asked with a groan. You turned to see his nose wrinkled in blatant disgust. “Please tell me you’re all wearing underwear under your stage outfits right now.”

Yoongi, Taehyung, and Hoseok all shrugged and gave nods with varying degrees of conviction. Jungkook, meanwhile, snorted indignantly.

“No,” he said. “I prefer to wear mine over my stage outfit.”

Namjoon rolled his eyes at the unnecessary wit, but Seokjin was quick to down his beer and begin sparring.

“Is that your new costume?” he taunted. “Would fit well with the pirate eye patch.”

Jungkook inhaled sharply. “We do not speak of the eye patch.”

“Aye, sir,” Seokjin replied, grinning as he exaggerated his Rs. “We wor-rrr-ship the eye patch.”

Jimin’s laughter erupted in hiccupping waves that sounded oddly like a screeching cat in heat, and it was unnaturally infectious. He turned away to catch his breath, but you and Maggie had already succumbed to fits of giggles.

Jungkook, irked that this amused you so much, tightened his grip on your waist. You craned your neck to look at him upside down, traces of laughter still evident in your expression, and he placed a quick kiss on your forehead before turning back to his friends. You lowered your head, flustered by his abrupt affection—and Jungkook felt very happy again.

“No, no,” Namjoon was saying in between waves of laughter, “what we really worship is the mythical ramen Taehyung had promised to make us for dinner every night, but I’ve only tried it once so far. What’s that about? Did you think we would forget?”

Taehyung straightened and looked at Luna for help. She only smiled and shrugged, knowing better than to interfere with the band and their food.

“I never said I’d make it every night,” he replied, although somewhere at the back of his mind he vaguely recalled promising this very thing.

“You lost the bet,” Seokjin reminded him, “so you have no choice. You owe us five pots at this point, probably.”

You raised your eyebrows, but Luna beat you to the question. “There was a bet?”

“Of course,” Seokjin said, pausing to take another swig from his bottle. “There usually is.”

“What did you bet on?” she asked.

“This was in Oslo. All three of you,” he gestured towards you, Maggie, and Luna, “had gone out. We bet that Taehyung couldn’t go one hour without texting his girlfriend.”

You grinned while Yoongi gave Taehyung a comforting pat on the back. Jimin finally turned back around to face the group, and even Minjun had to bite back his laughter at the sight of Jimin’s wet eyes, tears of laughter still visible on his cheeks.

“I lasted ten and a half minutes,” Taehyung gloated—as though this was the best he could do, and this record was already so incredibly impressive that he wouldn’t even attempt beating it. Luna kissed his cheek, further encouraging his smugness.

“Ten and twenty-five,” Jimin, who had kept the time, corrected him, rubbing his fingers over his eyelids. “You were terrible. Complained the whole time.”

Taehyung grimaced but resisted the urge to stick out his tongue. “I’m nowhere near as bad as Jungkook, though.”

Jungkook blinked, caught by surprise again.

“What?” he asked, growing defensive once he understood the accusation. “I would have easily lasted an hour without texting my girlfriend.”

Just as you lowered your gaze to control your expression—you’d known Jungkook for seven years; surely, you would stop shivering at the sound of your relationship status some time soon—Hoseok reached over to press a hand on Jungkook’s shoulder.

“My friend,” he said, bowing his head, “you wouldn’t have lasted two minutes.”

The group launched into a series of examples to support Hoseok’s claim—with Minjun taking the lead, of course—and Jungkook couldn’t keep up with the barrage of playful accusations. They were correct, each and every one of them, but he still felt the need to explain himself.

“Alright, come on, leave him be,” you ended up interjecting, your tone light. You reached up, blindly finding Jungkook’s face behind you and gently patting his cheek. “We’re all very dependent on each other here anyway.”

Jungkook closed his eyes to focus on your touch. He felt pride first and foremost, but he also felt stunned that you’d defend him so openly: you were surrounded by your closest friends here, that was true, but they were also your co-workers. Yet you stood up for him and leaned into his embrace as the cheerful conversation continued around you.

He thought he’d finally done it. He reached the goal he’d once told you about – he had the whole world right here.

“You know, speaking of you two,” Seokjin said, swivelling to face you. “I know you drank my champagne in Amsterdam.”

Surprised, you pulled back from Jungkook and instinctively glanced at Hoseok—who had dragged Minjun away to help him bring the group more drinks.

“That was Hobi’s,” you said, remembering Hoseok’s party and the puddle of champagne on the bathroom floor—immortalised in Rated Riot’s upcoming single—after you and Jungkook discovered the hidden bottles and decided to have some.

“Please.” Seokjin scoffed. “You think he would hoard champagne? It was mine. And you two—”

“We only drank one bottle,” Jungkook interrupted, preemptively stopping you from denying the whole incident.

“Only on—you drank at least two,” Seokjin said, his unsteady legs wobbling slightly. You wondered how many bottles of beer he’d finished tonight—the extraordinary focus he was paying to enunciate every word indicated double digits. “That was my special champagne.”

He seemed to believe he was merely tipsy as he continued to watch the two of you with a look that he must have assumed was stern. Really, it was cloudy and obviously out of focus.

“What makes it special?” Jungkook asked.

“It was mine,” Seokjin replied, banging his palm against his chest a few times. You waited for him to elaborate on what he would have done with six bottles of champagne all by himself, but he decided he’d said enough.

“We’ll pay off the debt,” you offered. “Two bottles?”

“Two,” he confirmed, then cleared his throat. “But since I’ve had to wait so long for you to admit your wrongdoings, I’ve suffered emotional damage, too.”

“Ah, emotional damage, of course,” you repeated, exchanging a smile with Jungkook. Even drunk, Seokjin was an expert negotiator. “Two and a half, then?”

He pretended to consider it. Everyone else in the room had started a conversation about Yoongi’s sleeping habits—particularly how he stayed awake for three days straight and then slept for a whole week—and it distracted him for a second.

“Three,” Seokjin finally decided, “and we’ll call it even.”

“Alright, three bottles,” you agreed, turning to Jungkook again. He gave you a nod and unfastened himself from you, taking your hand instead.

“We’ll go out to get them right now,” Jungkook said, leading you to the door of the dressing room.

Seokjin seemed surprised when you gave him a quick wave.

“No, you—” he began, then hiccupped and shook his head at the interruption, “—you don’t have to go now.”

“But we must,” you said, pouting your lips very empathetically. “Can’t let you suffer because of what we’d done any longer.”

Seokjin looked as if he wanted to respond, but his intoxicated mind was too sluggish. Still, you saw the hint of a grin tugging at his lips as the door of the room closed behind you; Seokjin knew exactly why you were so eager to leave. It was how you’d found his champagne back in Amsterdam: the two of you would take any and every opportunity to be alone together.

And so, you and Jungkook found yourselves alone on the dark streets of Paris, walking around the park that surrounded the venue, supposedly on a mission to find three bottles of champagne.

It became apparent rather quickly that you’d have to walk quite a distance from the venue to find a shop that was still open. You did not mind that.

Jungkook glanced up as he walked, and you followed his gaze to the sky. In the quiet corners of the cobblestone alleys, right between the streetlights, you could see the stars.

You’d seen these stars before, almost a month ago, when you went to Kihyun and Chloé’s wedding. You’d taken a detour because Jungkook wanted to show you the Champs-Élysées, and you remembered that night in explicit detail: the way the curls in his hair had looked, damp from the rain. The way his eyes had sparkled with an innate, undying excitement, playfully reflecting every street light around you. You remembered the feel of his hands when he instinctively touched you to guide you across the street. You remembered the scent of his cologne as he gestured wildly, recounting the stories about Paris that his grandmother had read to him when he was younger. His voice had sounded wistful, yearning.

The stars had looked beautiful back then—they had to. Really, you didn’t have many chances to look up at them. Jungkook had been right beside you, smiling, with gentle creases of delight by his eyes, and you didn’t even consider looking away.

The sky glittered with the same lights now, a never changing, constant presence over you. And again, you lowered your eyes to watch the reflection of the stars in his eyes instead. The night sky was no longer your favourite thing in the world.

“I think,” Jungkook said, “this is what my grandma meant when she said that she’s always wanted to visit Paris.”

You looked at the street ahead of you. It was hidden from the main paths of the park by dark, menacing buildings, and it looked like just about any other street in the world.

“What do you mean?” you asked.

“She wanted this,” he explained, raising your intertwined hands. “What we have right now. Strolling through these back alleys, forcing every streetlight to flicker and every gust of wind to change direction.”

You felt everything he’d mentioned in your chest—the silence of the alleys, the flickers of the lights, the gusts of the shifting wind—and you held his hand tighter.

“What does Paris have to do with this?” you asked.

“Nothing,” he said. “It doesn’t have to do anything, it’s just there for us to walk through it. But this isn’t really about Paris. It never is.”

You looked down at the pavement in a poor attempt to hide your smile. He could still see it. If you were smiling, he’d always make sure to see it.

“That would sound far more romantic,” you said, “if I hadn’t just seen a dead rat across the street.”

Jungkook threw his head back in sudden laughter. He’d seen the rat, too, but he didn’t want to say anything. You had just looked up at the stars in the sky; he thought it’d spoil the moment.

“I know,” he said. “This is why I said that Paris is overrated. I’m just trying to make it sound better.”

“It’s still beautiful despite these things, though,” you said as the two of you took a turn past the canal that ran across the park. The dark water reflected the dim lights of the streets and the persistent stars, too. “Despite the dead rats and unbelievable amounts of garbage everywhere.”

“Yeah?” Jungkook could not control the size of his smile or the sounds in his chest. “You think so?”

“Mhmm,” you said. “These things happen sometimes, I guess. You care about something so much that not even dead rats can ruin it.”

You’d clearly stopped talking about Paris, and he had to turn away from the look in your eyes before he accidentally led you right into the canal. The two of you turned a corner instead, leaving the reflections in the water behind you as you entered another sleeping street, the cobblestones stirring awake under your feet.

Squeezing your hand as he walked, Jungkook looked up at the numerous wrought-iron balconies on the building to your right and felt, for just a moment, as though the faint lights in the windows were watching the two of you. He hoped they were. He loved you so much that he wanted everyone to see.

“I think it’s a metaphor,” he said.

You turned to him. “What is?”

“The dead rat.”

That wouldn’t have been your choice of words to describe the rat, and you continued to watch him, bemused. “It’s a metaphor?”

“Yeah,” he said. “For a new beginning.”

You looked down to avoid twisting your ankles on the uneven street stones.

“I assume the dead rat represents Sid’s demise, then,” you said.

“Precisely,” Jungkook replied, and you turned another corner in the labyrinth of Parisian streets.

“I’ll take it,” you said. Then, nearly laughing, you nodded your head at the shadows ahead of you. “I think I see another one.”

He turned his head and squinted.

“Shit,” he murmured, spotting a pair of panicked, beady eyes. “That one looks alive. Maybe we should cross the—”

“Oh,” you pulled his hand to gesture at the rodent ahead, “you don’t want to say hi to Sid’s uncle?”

“That’s his cousin, I think.”

Laughing—nearly hysterically—the two of you crossed to the other side of the street. Another turn led you back to the canal, right on the edge of a bridge stairway. The massive abutment on this side of the canal and the wall of a parking lot next to it were decorated with years and years of graffiti history, and the two of you stopped momentarily to catch your breath and to analyse the art.

Most of the tags here had something unique about them—lizard tongues spewing out of the Os, crazy-eyed devils holding the letters. You noticed a few love declarations, too, when you leaned in closer. And you wondered, as you smiled at the hearts drawn around unfamiliar names on the grey bricks, if the initials you’d burnt into the library wall on your campus were still there.

“Smells like shit here, too, actually,” Jungkook remarked, breaking the spell.

You laughed again, pulling back from the wall.

“That’s good,” you said, returning to him so that you could continue down the road, curving slightly under the bridge. “Means it’s seen things.”

“It’s seen shit.”

You glanced at him, grinning. “So have we.”

“That’s true,” he said. Then, as soon as you emerged from under the bridge, he stopped and looked at you, his eyes slightly widened. “Hey, maybe all of this means that we were really meant to be here. You and me.”

The sudden epiphany he seemed to have had confused you. You looked around at the buildings towering on each side of the canal and the loose bags of trash flowing in the wind, scattering empty soda cans across the pavement.

This night did not seem special in any way, but Jungkook was looking at you like it was, and it took one glance at the hopeful smile on his lips for you to believe in the magic, too.

“Yeah,” you said softly. “Maybe we were.”

He was smiling at you—for you, really—and you knew that you would forget everything about your trip to Paris again: all the sights, the people, the concerts, and the drinks. Instead, you’d remember the way he was looking at you right now—and that was all that you really wanted to remember anyway.

During this tour, there were many moments where you felt like you were dreaming. You convinced yourself that what happened couldn’t have been real because it simply shouldn’t have been.

You and Jungkook had taken so many left turns where the only way was right. You’d caused childish problems and faced unnecessary challenges. It was practically impossible for you to still find each other at the end of the day.

But you were awake. And however impossible or unlikely it was, you’ve found each other.

It had been raining the last time you were in Paris, but the sky was clear tonight, and now you and Jungkook could walk down these streets, laughing and swaying your hands, and no longer lying to yourselves.

The truth was, your souls, like your hands, had always been intertwined—even when you tried to pretend they weren’t.

FIN.

chapter title credits: sleeping with sirens, “if i’m james dean, you’re audrey hepburn”

we're done, friends! 🥹 if you have read so far, i truly love you more than words can describe 🤍

if i had to explain what my life was like while i was writing this fic, it would turn into an ao3 author's note that's like "hey guys, sorry i didn't update, i was in prison" so i'm very grateful to have received your feedback and support over the past few months 🤍🤍

hopefully there will be more things i can share with you in the future, but for now, thank you and good night 🤍

prev ○ END.

[adventuringblind]

Misheard, Misjudged

Lando Norris x Leclerc Reader

Genre: Angst with a pinch of spice

Summary: Lando overhears a conversation and thinks it’s about him

Warnings: Lando’s self-esteem plummets

Notes: I’m aware I have things to do but I’m doing a friend a favor

Masterlist

Lando and the little Leclerc are everybody’s favorite couple. He clings to her every second of every day and she gets livid when her brother call her little. Younger then Arthur by a minute and she never hears the end of it.

Their families love them, the fans love them, but most importantly is that they love each other.

They met when Arthur started racing again. She was bored without her partner in crime, so Charles took her on as is social media manager. Needles to say they banter a lot. Charles’ fashion choices are horrendous at times but she loves him nonetheless.

Charles teases them all the time about how they are practically glued together. Which is probably true, considering they are like magnets in the paddock.

So in Lando’s head, it makes no sense why she would say such things about him. In their home. With her friends.

‘Sure he’s good looking, but like - is there really anything else? He’s so childish and whines like a bitch. Also, have you seen how clingy he is?”

He couldn’t listen anymore after that. Is he really that clingy? And for all intensive purposes, isn’t she also clingy? He never thought it was that bad. Sure, people tease, but who cares what they think? Or, maybe he’s just overthinking and he should just ask about it.

Scratch that - a terrible plan. Instead he shall withdrawal himself and see if it makes her happier.

The first week she looks confused and a little hurt by his actions, but she doesn’t say anything. No more initiated physical contact. No random hugs and kisses. He doesn’t cling to her during the race weekend like normal.

See! He isn’t cling! if anything, she’s definitely the more clingy one out of the two.

Week two hurt more then the first. He catches snippets of a few phone calls between her and Charles. She’s locked in the bathroom and her voice is cracking. “I don’t understand what I did, Charlie.”

Doesn’t understand what she did? You can’t just say things about a person and expect everything to be okay after. Why doesn’t she talk to him about it? If she wanted more space he would’ve just rather have talked about it then have overheard the love of his life shattering his heart into pieces.

He turns her back to her in bed starting week three. She looks tired over the next few days. Not just yawning, but the dark circles under red eyes screams that something is wrong.

she starts leaving sticky notes on his things, on the counters, the insides of cabinets, and even plastered all over thee mirror.

He ignores them. Yet his mind starts to wonder if maybe he should just ask her why. But it’s not like she talked to him, so why she he talk to her now?

He wonders again when he catches Max glaring at him.

And again when Oscar grows concerned.

And then when George gives a PowerPoint presentation with how to communicate properly.

Yeah, ok - so this wasn’t the right way to go about this. He really wishes George and his stupid PowerPoint had come earlier.

The icing on the cake is when he comes home one day and passes Charles as he’s leaving. He doesn’t look happy at all, and honestly, Lando can’t blame him.

He goes straight to bed, face buried in the pillow. Limbs tossed dramatically like a Disney princess in despair.

“Lando?” Her small voice shreds every ounce of strength he has left. She sits on the bed beside him. He doesn’t look up and she sighs heavily. “Please talk to me.”

When he does finally look at her. Truly, for the first time in months, he sees just how broken she looks.

“What’s there to talk about?” He curses himself and his tone because she flinches away at it.

“Why are you avoiding me? I don’t understand what I did…”

He scoffs. “Don’t know what you did? Last month at your little get together? Calling me a clingy whiny bitch behind my back?” He chokes on the last part.

She looks at him, head tilted in confusion. The same look she gives when he’s trying to read directions. Confused, loving, patient. Why is she smiling?

“You didn’t hear the beginning of that did you?”

“No.” He pouts.

“Lando, love, light of my life - that was about Charles.”

His entire body freezes. It’s true that her friends like Charles and she hates when the fawn over him. Oh, he’s been an idiot. An Absolute asshole.

“I’m so sorry.” He throws himself at her and every ounce of anxiety over the past month is washed away as soon as her fingertips touch his skin.

“Charles is terribly clingy to everybody and he’s my brother. Of course he’s a whiny bitch in my eyes.” He would respond but his brain is mush at her hands in his hair.

“I just got so in my head. I’m so sorry I didn’t talk to you - George gave me the whole lecture about proper communication.”

“I Know. He said you were hopeless.”

“How encouraging of him.”

Lando pulls her on top of him. Her warmth, her skin, her full body weight is everything he ever needs to survive.

“I can’t believe you’re smiling at me.”

“I’m mad at you, but maybe we can make up.” She raises her eyes suggestively.

“I think I can make that happen.”

[stevie-petey]

episode four: the body

For the second time within a week, Steve Harrington almost kills you with his stupid BMW. Granted, the first time wasn’t necessarily his fault due to your crying, but this time just felt personal.  “Hey! Henderson!” “Jesus Christ-” You’re biking to the Wheeler’s, lost in thought as the sun begins to set, when stupid Harrington scares the shit out of you.  His unexpected shouting causes you to swerve your bike towards his car and he has to slam on his brakes to avoid hitting you.  “Do you, like, have a fantasy about me hitting you with my car?”

Summary: you basically have a "no babe don't cry over ur dead brother ur so sexy" moment with jonathan, hopper plays mr love doctor (cute date idea: coffin shopping), and somehow nancy wheeler makes you realize that you're a horrible babysitter and an even bigger idiot. meanwhile: steve harrington is frustratingly charming.

Rating: general but plenty of cursing as usual.

Warnings: cursing, fem!reader, and use of y/n.

Words: 8k

Before you swing in: hello ! happy eve of a spending time with loved ones, however ya choose to celebrate or not celebrate and all that jazz. i hope y'all are well and doing okay :) a LOT happens in this chapter, so buckle up. so many feelings and revelations my god. also this chapter is one i really loved writing purely because i got to explore more of steve and reader so ,,, ya welcome ! (hopefully i was able to clear up jonathans thoughts and how he processes, i really want it to come across as someone hurt and overwhelmed rather than just him being cranky lmao). anyways, enjoy !!

-

It’s a quiet morning.

You roll over, the sunlight streaming through your curtains, and for a moment you forget. It’s a blissful moment, sweet naivety that strokes your cheek and coaxes your eyes open. As you throw your arms over your head and stretch, last night’s events haven’t caught up to you quite yet. 

Then you feel Jonathan’s body next to yours and for a moment you’re confused. He never sleeps in your bed whenever he spends the night, being ever the gentleman. No matter how many times you offer, he always insists on respecting your mother’s wishes and sleeping on the giant beanbag chair within your room, and it always makes your heart warm. 

Your mother had specifically bought the beanbag for Jonathan when you were thirteen. He had been spending more and more nights at your home, sneaking in through your window to avoid his parents fighting. At first he would simply fall asleep on your carpet, despite your many reassurances that he could sleep in your bed, so when your mom unexpectedly barged into your room one morning and saw him lying face down on the ground, she freaked. 

Once you had explained everything to her (with Jonathan’s permission), she had shoved you guys into her car, dropped him off at his house, and then found the beanbag at a garage sale for $10. 

“This way, he’ll have a place to sleep that’s soft and cozy, away from my young daughter,” she had said during the drive home. You had covered your face in embarrassment at her implication, but you were also incredibly proud to call her your mom at that moment. She may be overbearing at times, but she was the kindest woman you’ve ever met. 

You rub your eyes and glance at the bean bag that sits between your bed and wall, its dusty blue color almost glowing in the early morning light. Then you glance at Jonathan, who has woken up before you, and notice the redness in his eyes and the dark circles now darker than ever. 

Then it all comes rushing back to you. 

Will’s body in the quarry. 

Holding your brother as he mourned his friend. 

El, so quiet and shy and sweet, running away after your cruel dismissal. 

Jonathan showing up to your window hours later, broken and devastated. 

Then, late into the night, the two of you falling asleep, side by side in your bed, both needing each other more than ever before. 

The two of you get ready without saying anything. You hand Jonathan some spare clothes of his that you keep in a drawer before giving him some space as you go and take a shower. You spend longer than usual getting ready, but you pay no attention to the clock. There’s no way you’re going to school today. You’re not leaving Jonathan alone for even a second. 

Jonathan finishes getting ready before you do and waits in your room. Neither of you have said anything yet, last night being too fresh in your memories, but words aren’t needed between the two of you. 

You take his hand and lead him into your kitchen and wordlessly hand him a banana. He stares at you, and you stare back, silently challenging him to decline the food. He needs to eat. You’ve noticed how thin he’s gotten with everything happening. 

He sighs, knowing he won’t win this fight, and takes a bite out of the banana in a mocking manner, but you’re just relieved he’s eating. 

You grab your own breakfast before writing a note for your mom, informing her that you’ll be with Jonathan today and promising to make up any missed assignments as soon as you can. Then you quietly go into Dustin’s room to check up on him, but his bed is empty. You glance at his alarm clock and note the early hour, he doesn’t normally leave for school for another thirty minutes, which makes you frown. 

Where the hell did the kid run off to?

An uneasy feeling settles over you, but you don’t have time to question anything. Knowing Dustin, he ran off to school earlier than usual to see his friends and distract himself from last night. While your mom offered you both to stay home for the rest of the week due to Will’s death, neither of you have ever been good at staying put and dealing with your emotions.

Wherever your brother is, you know he needs his space.

Once everything is settled, you join Jonathan in his car and drive to his place. While he never explicitly asked you to this morning, you know that you’re going to his house with him to help him deal with his mother and the funeral preparations. 

He doesn’t have to ask, and you don’t have to tell him that you’ll help. 

You both just know. 

About halfway to his place, Jonathan finally speaks. 

“The cops say that Will crashed his bike and fell into the quarry,”

“Jonathan, we don’t have to talk about it right now-”

“My mom doesn’t believe that he’s dead. She-she insists that he’s in the walls, that he can speak through-through… Christmas lights.”

His voice shakes as he speaks, and you can’t tell if it’s due to grief or anger. 

“Will is dead and my mom chooses to believe that there’s some monster in our walls that took him.”

“A monster?” you think about El and her powers and the fear on the boys’ faces when she pulled out the Demogorgon piece. Then you remember the other night at the Byers’ home when Joyce came running outside as the lights were flickering wildly. Her fear had been genuine. 

“A fucking monster that’s hiding in our walls. She wouldn’t… she wouldn’t listen, Y/N. I tried talking to her, to calm her down, but she just…” His words fade off, and he clenches his jaw as tightens his hands around the steering wheel. 

You’re not sure what to say. It’s a tough situation, a fucking heartbreaking one, and it’s all so unfair. Jonathan needs his mom, but his mom needs Will. 

You rest your hand behind his head and allow your fingers to rub circles against his skin. He leans into your touch, and for now this is all you can do. 

The state of the Byers’ home has only gotten worse since the last time you were there. There’s now letters painted on the wall and string lights placed all throughout the house. There’s also clothes in random corners and trash thrown around. 

Jonathan had been staying in this house alone, watching his mother spiral. Your stomach twists with guilt. 

You should’ve been there more for him, but instead you allowed your petty need to help everyone distract you from what’s important. 

Joyce is passed out on the couch with an ax clutched between her hands, which breaks your heart even more. Jonathan walks over to wake her up and you give the two of them some privacy as you head into the kitchen to make Joyce some breakfast. 

Their fridge is barren, but you aren’t surprised. You make do with the few eggs you find and get to work; it isn’t much, but it’ll have to do. As you prepare breakfast, you notice a stack of Will’s drawings on the kitchen table, which causes you to gag with remorse. 

There’s still so much of Will within these walls, his entire childhood still locked inside, untouched, and yet the house lacks his presence. 

He’s gone. 

– 

You wait with Hopper in the morgue waiting room, nervously tapping your foot and frantically trying to distract yourself with a comic. The words blur together in your head and the images float around. You can’t focus on anything. For once, Spidey’s quips and banter can’t distract you from reality. 

Not only are you incredibly worried for Joyce and Jonathan, but the thought of Will’s body being a wall away from you sends chills down your spine. You can’t imagine what’s happening behind the doors, and you’re secretly relieved that you’ll never know. 

“What’s taking so long?” Hopper’s voice breaks you from your thoughts.

You put your comic down and listen, figuring that it’s best if you’re caught up on everything so that you can store away any useful information for later. 

The front desk lady sighs. “Well, everything’s been a bit chaotic around here without Gary.”

This catches Hopper’s attention. “Without Gary?”

“I thought you knew. Those men from State, they… they sent Gary home last night.”

Now this catches your attention. Why would the State replace the town’s coroner? 

“So who did the autopsy?” 

“Someone from State.” 

Hopper looks at you, almost as if to ask if you’re also hearing this, and you give him a slight nod. It’s odd, really damn odd. 

“Why would they send someone for a little boy?” You ask Hopper, but he only shakes his head in response. 

In the back of your mind, you think about what El had warned you of. The bad men, the people she has to hide from… it didn’t make sense at the time, but now…

Your thoughts are cut off as Jonathan runs out the door, his hand over his mouth, and you immediately get up to help him outside. He throws up against the wall outside, and you wince at the smell. You’ve never been good with people getting sick, but Jonathan needs you right now, so you rub soothing circles on his back as he throws up. Once he’s done, you head back inside and wait for Joyce. 

You offer Jonathan a tissue before coaxing him to rest his head on your shoulder. Having nothing else to do, yet urgently wanting to help, you begin to read him some panels from your comic. He doesn’t say anything, so you take it as a sign to keep going. Your voice is hoarse from all your crying, but you read aloud anyways. 

Hopper watches your interaction with a small interest. You don’t notice his curious eyes and the way they seem to glint with sincerity. In his eyes, the two of you will get together soon enough. 

After a couple minutes, Hopper finally asks Jonathan how Joyce is holding up. The boy straightens up, but grabs your hand to steady himself, and responds as best as he can. He explains the lights, the letters on the wall, everything. 

“She’s had anxiety problems in the past, but this…? I don’t know.” He takes a shaky breath, and you draw reassuring patterns on the back of his hand. “I’m worried it could be… god, I don’t know.”

“She’s grieving,” you remind him, and he nods. 

“Yeah, she’s grieving, but she’ll be okay. We’ll be okay; my mom, she’s tough.”

“Like Spider-Man,” you say, though you don’t really mean to. You’re tired and the words just slip out, but Jonathan begins to laugh. 

“Yeah, like Spider-Man, you’re right. Thanks, bug.” 

“Anytime, bee.” 

Jonathan smiles at you, still softly laughing, and it’s then that you realize. He hasn’t laughed in days, he’s hardly even smiled, and yet here he is, smiling at the stupid nickname you gave him and laughing at the stupid joke you didn’t even mean to say; you realize you’d do anything to get him to laugh again, to give you that smile that he’s only ever reserved for you. He squeezes your hand and his eyes shine for a moment with a familiar warmness that has always made you weak. 

It hits you like a cold, cruel wave on a harsh winter day. 

You’re in love with Jonathan. 

Fuck.

It’s horrible timing, and you feel sick with guilt for realizing that you love your best friend merely hours after his brother has died, but now it’s all you can think about. 

You love him, you love him more than you’ve ever loved anything before, but you can’t tell him. It wouldn’t be fair, and you don’t have the time. 

You’re thankful when Hopper begins to talk again, reiterating that Joyce is tough, so that you have the time to process your newfound feelings. 

Then Joyce comes crashing through the door, screaming about how whatever is in the other room isn’t Will, ignoring everyone who tells her to calm down. Both you and Jonathan stand up to calm her down, your comic dropping to the ground in the process, but she doesn’t listen and instead runs outside. 

“Mom!” Jonathan follows after her. 

You sigh and tuck your hair behind your ears before picking up the comic. You know that Jonathan needs to be alone with Joyce right now, give them some privacy, it’s a personal matter. More personal than anything else, and yet you also selfishly don’t want to be near him for a few moments so you can collect yourself as well. 

As you’re gathering your things, Hopper clears his throat. 

“Do you love him?”

You freeze, having not expected such a personal question. You’ve only just realized your feelings for him, how the hell has Hopper already figured it out? “What does it matter? His brother is dead and his mom is losing it.”

Hopper rubs his hand over his face, giving you a warning look. “But do you love the kid?”

It’s the way he says it, like it means life or death, that has you respond, “I do.”

“Take care of him, then.” He looks you in the eyes as he says it, urging you to understand the weight of his words, and you do. 

You’ve heard about how his daughter had died and his wife divorced him soon after. They’d only ever been rumors to you, but now you know that they’re true. He’s telling you to take care of Jonathan, that your love for him means that you have to take care of him in a way that no one else can. 

In a way, you suppose that you and Hopper aren’t so different after all, and you gain a new sense of respect for the man. 

You swallow deeply and nod at him before excusing yourself to follow after Jonathan and Joyce. 

– 

The mother and son in question are a few blocks down the street, Joyce waving her son away as he follows her with the car. 

You sigh. 

This day definitely sucks. 

Running up to them is a pain in the ass, honestly. You get that you gave them some privacy, but damn. Did Jonathan seriously have to take the car as well? 

When you finally catch up, he’s parking. “Hey, what are you-” 

He doesn’t spare you a glance as he turns the engine off and runs after his mom. 

“Seriously?” You groan, clutching at a stitch in your side from running. Usually you’re a great runner, actually choosing to go for a run whenever you’re particularly stressed out or anxious. However with the shitshow that this week has been, you haven’t gone on your morning run in a while and you’re starting to feel the effects of being out of practice. 

Joyce, being surprisingly fast, is hard to catch up with, but you do your best as Jonathan sprints ahead of you. When he finally reaches her, he grabs at her jacket with a determined look in his eyes. 

You hang back, now regretting the fact that you left the coroner’s office in the first place. 

“Mom, stop!” 

“Just go home, Jonathan.”

“No, this is not an okay time for you to shut down.”

“Shut down… what-” The confusion in Joyce’s eyes is enough to make you feel Jonathan’s frustration as well. You feel for the woman, you really do, but she has another son to worry about. Jonathan is still here, he’s lost his own baby brother, he needs his mom now more than ever.

But Joyce, too lost in her own grief and desperation, can’t see that. 

“We have to deal with this, mom. We have to deal with the funeral!” You’ve never heard Jonathan raise his voice at his mom before, but after days of begging for her attention, you’re proud of him for defending himself.

The word “funeral” seems to snap Joyce out of her daze and once again she goes on her tangent about how Will’s body isn’t really back at the morgue, that he’s still alive, and Jonathan’s anger in his voice makes you ache. 

As he and his mom continue to yell at one another, a few nosy people in the town area stand and watch. They whisper to each other, no doubt about how Will’s death has made Joyce Byers crazy, and you kick a few rocks at them. 

“Fuck off! At least pretend that you aren’t a bunch of nosy assholes like most decent people do.” A woman sneers at you, but you wave your arms above your head, “Oh! Scary! Get fucked!” 

Eventually they do as they’re told and walk away from the screaming mother and son, which pleases you. 

You really hope that random lady wasn’t a patron of Bookstrordinary though. 

“Yeah, well, while you’re talking to the lights, Y/N and I will be planning a funeral for Will!” Jonathan’s voice is laced with bitterness as he screams at his mother, breaking your heart even more. “I’m not letting him sit in that freezer another day!” 

Joyce storms off, but you notice that her shoulders shake with tears as she leaves. 

It’s such a devastating situation, and while you’re also frustrated with the way she’s been treating Jonathan, you also know that maybe her craziness isn’t exactly “crazy”. El is still out there, even if you’re not sure where, and you think about how she was able to control the comic book and the game pieces. The static electricity you felt in the air when she used her powers, the same static you felt at the Byers’ home a few nights ago when Joyce came running outside with the lights flashing and Will’s song playing on the radio.

But then you think about how El promised that Will was alive. 

He isn’t; you see his dead body every time you close your eyes. 

So really, what is there to believe?

Lost in thought, you don’t notice Jonathan walking towards you until he grasps at your arm and flings you along back to the car with him. He’s breathing heavily and you notice that he’s shaking. He’s in no condition to drive. 

As you near the car you quickly reach around and grab his keys from his pocket before running over to the driver’s side and throwing yourself into the seat. Jonathan hates when you drive the car, not because you’re a bad driver, but because some part of him truly believes it’s impolite to make a girl drive. 

As cute as you think his chivalry is, today you couldn’t give more of a damn. 

Jonathan stands outside your door. “Y/N-”

“Nope, no time to argue, Byers. Get in.” 

“But-” 

“In.”

He does as he’s told, albeit with some attitude, but eventually the two of you are off. Without having to ask, you drive to the local funeral home. While you and Jonathan are similar in many ways, the one thing that pulls you together is planning. You both cling onto the stability that planning provides, and right now Jonathan is clinging onto his responsibilities for Will’s funeral.

Like he told his mom earlier, you and him have a funeral to plan. 

The funeral home is closer to the edge of Hawkins, so the drive is a longer one. Along the way Jonathan slowly begins to calm down, untensing his shoulders and releasing his clenched jaw. You let him take all the time he needs, thankful that for now you have some time to yourself to reflect over today’s revelation.

You love Jonathan. 

Those three words are heavy within your chest, and you almost don’t want to think about them, but you know that sooner or later you’ll have to. You glance at Jonathan, the late fall sun casts a warm glow on his face that for a brief moment brings back the boy you knew only a week ago, before everything changed. Then he turns to face you and you see the red in his eyes, his cheeks sunken in, and you know that you don’t have the time to unravel whatever you feel for him. 

He needs his best friend right now.

Jonathan’s voice breaks you from your thoughts, his voice cracking a bit from disuse. “Can we talk about yesterday?” 

You cast him a quick glance. “Yesterday?”

“Our… our fight, I guess.” 

“Oh,” you shift your hands on the steering wheel, now suddenly painfully aware of the silence within the car. “We don’t have to right now, bee. We should be focusing on the funeral arrangements.” 

Your voice catches on the word “funeral”, it still hasn’t sunk in yet that Will is really gone. 

“Bug, for the past eighteen hours all I’ve been thinking about is Will,” he takes a shaky breath and you gently place a hand on his, encouraging him to keep talking, “but when I’m not thinking about him… I’m thinking about you and what-what you said yesterday.” 

“I said a lot yesterday-” 

Jonathan gives you a pleading look. “Please just let me get this out, okay?”

You purse your lips but remain silent. 

“I will never, ever deserve you. This week and my actions have proven that. This isn’t some pathetic attempt to make you pity me, I was an asshole to you and I recognize that. You love people in a way that terrifies me, Y/N. You’re my best friend and I think I would actually die if I ever lost you.”

A snort escapes your lips, “you probably would.”

“I definitely would, but this isn’t about me. I’m so, so sorry for how I’ve been treating you lately and the fact that you’re driving me to a funeral home after watching my mom have a meltdown in the town square without even batting an eye is all the more proof that you’re too good for me.” 

“I wouldn’t say too good, but yeah. Close enough.”

“It’s more than enough, bug. That’s what terrifies me: I’m afraid that I’ll never be able to repay you for all that you’ve done for me, even before Will disappeared; you’ve been taking care of me since we were twelve.”

His words hang in the air as you allow them to wash over you. There’s so much you want to disagree with, namely the fact that he doesn't deserve you, but you know that he wouldn’t want to hear your arguments. 

Again you think about how similar the two of you are, and while you both give your all to the people that you love, your love comes freely while Jonathan has grown up believing that it comes with conditions. It’s never been a problem in your relationship until now, but you guess with how much you’ve been overcompensating for everything, the need to return it all has caught up with him. 

Finally, you speak. “You feel that you can’t accept my help because I’ve already done enough for you. Is that it?”

“Yeah,” Jonathan takes a deep breath. “I know it’s stupid, especially because I’m asking for your help right now with the funeral preparations, but…”

“I understand, but we’ll get through it,” you pull into the funeral home parking lot and turn the car off. “We always do, right?” 

“Right,” Jonathan’s smile is a weak one, but you accept it nonetheless. 

“Now, you ready to go look at children’s coffins like real men and women do?” 

He laughs at your poor attempt at a joke, but even he can admit that objectively the entire situation is morbid. “Only real best friends go coffin shopping together.” 

“My thoughts exactly, good sir.” Then, before you forget, you reach over and whack Jonathan’s head with the back of your hand. 

“Ow! What was that for?”

You shrug your shoulders, “ask Nancy.”

And with that, you unbuckle your seatbelt and head into the funeral home, trusting that Jonathan will follow eventually enough. Things aren’t exactly the same between the two of you, especially with your newfound feelings for him, but it’s a start. 

“I deserved that,” you hear Jonathan grumble, which makes you smile. 

You’ll take whatever you can get.

– 

You spot Nancy before Jonathan does. 

It wasn’t intentional, really, but the funeral home director was droning on and on about the different wood selections for coffins and finishes that you can customize and it all makes you want to throw up; the coffins before you are so small, you weren't really paying attention in the first place. 

She stands in the doorway and motions for you to get Jonathan’s attention, who is deeply focused on everything the old man is saying. A part of you wants to ignore the girl, but the scared look on her face tells you that this is something serious. 

You nudge your shoulder against Jonathan’s and point at Nancy; he excuses the two of you as you walk towards her. 

Jonathan shoves his hands in his pockets, a bit guarded. “Hey,”

“Hey, your mom, um… said you’d be here.” 

“You talked to Mrs. Byers?” You ask, feeling a sudden possessiveness over the woman. Sure, you were kind of okay sharing Jonathan with Nancy so long as she was with Harrington, but Joyce? She’s like a second mother to you.

It made you uneasy that Joyce even talked to her in the first place. 

Nancy tilts her head at you. “Yeah, it was only for a brief moment though. She seemed pretty… distracted.” 

“No shit. Her son died, Nancy.” 

The girl flinches a bit at your tone, which causes Jonathan to yank at your sleeve and shove you behind him. “Ignore her, we’ve had… Well, it’s been a long day.” 

You feel your shoulders drop and unclench your fists. “Sorry, is everything okay? Is it the boys?”

“No, they’re fine, I just,” Nancy’s eyes shoot towards you, uncertain, before directing them towards Jonathan. “Can we talk for a second?”

The photos Nancy shows you makes your blood run cold. They start with Barb sitting alone by the pool, but slowly she pulls out more and more pieces of the torn picture to create a terrifying image with a shadow-like figure looming over her friend. 

Jonathan tries to sum the shadow up to lens distortion, but you know that he’s wrong. Nancy asks more questions, trying to figure out exactly what has happened to Barb, but all you can think about is El. 

You check the time on your watch and curse. It’s late afternoon now, you’ve been gone with Jonathan since early this morning. Dustin hadn’t been in his room when you left and you stupidly assumed that he’d gone off to school. Now, seeing the picture of Barb and that thing… Something is so goddamn wrong. 

“The cops think that she ran away,” Nancy says. 

“Just like they did with Will,” you’re whispering more to yourself than to them, but Jonathan hears you anyway. 

“Maybe she did run away-” 

Nancy shakes her head. “No, she wouldn’t do that. They don’t know Barb. When I went back to Steve’s… I thought I saw something.”

Your head shoots up. “Nancy, what did you see?”

“Some weird man,” the urgence in your voice confuses the girl, but you silently push her to keep talking, “or… I don’t know what it was.”

Both you and Jonathan are quiet afterwards for very different reasons. 

He’s quiet because he probably thinks Nancy is crazy, just like his mom. 

You’re quiet because you’re currently afraid you’ve accidentally left your idiotic brother and his friends and El alone with very real monsters and possible bad men. The figure Nancy saw… El being terrified of bad people finding and hurting her…

Well shit. 

“I’m sorry, I-I shouldn’t have come here today-”

You stop Nancy from leaving. “No, you should stay… I think,” you look at Jonathan, nervous for how he may react to what you’re about to say. “I think I might have an idea of what you saw last night. A lot has happened since Will disappeared, things that I’m still trying to understand, but I think I know where to start finding an explanation.” 

Jonathan turns to you. “What? Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Technically I did try telling you a few nights ago but then you yelled at me and threw a jacket at my face-” 

“You threw a jacket at Y/N?” Nancy asks, which you and Jonathan ignore. 

“But for now I can’t tell you anything else. I made a promise, and I’m not sure I’m right or even sane for considering it an explanation, but we need to leave. Now.”

“A promise? To who?” There’s an edge of hurt in Jonathan’s voice and you desperately wish you could explain more to him, but now isn’t the time. Not with Nancy sitting between you two and her own brother involved. You don’t want to cause any unnecessary worry for her; right now she needs to focus on Barb. You’ll wrangle in the boys, it’s your fault they’re even alone right now with El.

“I can’t exactly say who, but just trust me, okay? Again: I really hope I’m just insane and worried about nothing and that this will all be an embarrassing laugh for us later.”

“Y/N-”

“Jonathan, we need to go.” 

“‘We’?” Nancy now speaks up, seemingly fed up by your vague exchange with Jonathan.

You try to collect yourself and pretend like you have some amazing plan. “Yes, we. Jonathan will take you to the photo developing room at school and see if you can make the pictures clearer. On the way there, he’ll drop me off at home so I can grab my bike and head out.”

“And what will you be doing?” The boy asks.

“Tracking down my brother, unfortunately.” 

He gives you a doubtful look. “C’mon, you can’t expect me to just let you run off on your own without more of an explanation.” 

You know he’s right, but you just… you can’t tell him about El and the bad men yet. You can’t. Not until you know for sure what the hell is happening. 

“I’m sure it’s nothing… but just in case, I really need to find Dustin, okay?” 

I’m a really, really bad babysitter, you think. 

Jonathan opens his mouth again as if to argue, but you hold your hand up to silence him. You really don’t want to waste time fighting with him. He has to trust you on this, whether he likes it or not. 

He sighs with defeat, “Just be safe, please.”

You also really don’t want to put anyone else in danger. It’s bad enough that you allowed the boys to get dragged into this mess, but you refuse to drag your best friend in as well. But really, who knows? Maybe you’re just a regular idiot who believes in fairy tales and monsters, not some idiot who leaves three overly naive boys alone with a girl with superpowers. 

God you hope you’re just a regular idiot. 

However, if Joyce believes that Will is alive, even without the knowledge of El and her powers, then you’re sure that the boys also believe he’s alive and will inevitably go looking for him again. Alone. In the same woods Nancy saw that strange figure. 

You cast those thoughts out of your head and give Jonathan what you hope is a reassuring smile. “When am I not safe?”

You really, truly hope that you’re just an idiot, but if the photos that you just saw scare you. Before he can change his mind, you quickly reach over and snatch Jonathan’s keys from his jacket and give him a peck on the cheek before running out to his car.

“I call shotgun, Nancy!”

– 

Unsurprisingly, the drive with Nancy and Jonathan is an awkward one. Things are still a bit tense between you and him for reasons you’re not sure you can tell him about just yet, and now Nancy is in the backseat trying not to make any sound, so really it was a doomed car ride from the start. 

It’s not that you don’t like the girl, but there’s something about the way she acts around Jonathan that honestly makes you want to collapse. You know she’s with Harrington, but the tenderness Jonathan has shown her the few times they’ve interacted makes you uneasy. 

Yesterday you chalked the uneasiness to simply never sharing Jonathan before, but now you know the truth. 

You’re jealous because you’re in love with him. 

It’s a nauseating feeling. 

“So, how long have the two of you been friends?” Nancy’s question surprises you, mostly because she should already know the answer. You know she’s just trying to make conversation, but the question itself further reminds you of why the two of you had drifted apart in the first place. 

“I moved here when I was twelve, remember? Your family helped us move in.” 

“Oh, right. Sorry,” You see Nancy nervously playing with her fingers in the rearview mirror, which makes you feel bad. She’s trying, you know she is. 

“It’s fine,” you try to catch her eye, and when you do you give her a smile. “I know you probably don’t remember much from that day. It was the middle of the school year and our brothers immediately started being annoying together, so you had gone inside after only a couple minutes.” 

Nancy laughs, now remembering that day. “Didn’t Mike hold an initiation for Dustin that night?” 

“Yeah,” you laugh with her now. “That’s actually how Jonathan and I met. Remember, bee?” 

Jonathan’s smile is a soft one, a smile that makes you feel weak because you know you’re the reason it’s there. “Of course I do. We both showed up at the Wheeler’s house at the same time to pick up our brothers.” 

“And then-” 

“I answered the door.” Nancy finishes for you. 

“Yup. Ever since then, Jonathan hasn’t been able to get rid of me.” 

“It’s been horrible,” he says with a monotone voice, but it’s clear to everyone that he’s joking. 

You punch his shoulder. “You weren’t complaining when I saved you from those bullies later that week.” 

Jonathan gives you a pointed look and tries to subtly motion towards Nancy, clearly embarrassed that you've brought the bullies up in front of her. Like he wants her to think he’s someone cooler than he really is. 

Your smile vanishes. 

He wants to impress her. 

“Right, sorry,” you clear your throat and if Nancy notices your sudden mood change, she doesn’t say anything. You squeeze your eyes shut for a moment and remind yourself that what matters right now are the boys and El. They should be your priority, not petty boy drama. 

Luckily Jonathan pulls into your driveway not long after the abrupt conversation ending, which you’re thankful for. 

You unbuckle your seatbelt and turn to face Nancy, and it takes everything in you to force a smile on your face. “Alright, well, this is my stop! Nancy, I’m trusting you to tell me whatever you and Jonathan find. I’d ask him to keep me updated, but I know he’ll inevitably forget.”

The girl nods at you. “You can trust me.” 

Can I?

Although you’re not exactly sure what it is that you don’t think you can trust her with. Then, your eyes drift to Jonathan and the way he’s staring at her from his own mirror, and you realize that maybe she’s not the one you should be worried about. 

“Good,” you turn to Jonathan now. “I’ll call you later, okay?”

“And I’ll answer… probably.” 

“You’re so sweet to me.”

“I know, right?” 

You snort at the boy and wave goodbye to him and Nancy before getting out of the car. Your bike is in the shed, so you motion to Jonathan that he’s good to leave. When he’s sure you’re okay, he waves at you one last time and drives away. 

It feels like you’ve made a huge mistake as you watch Jonathan and Nancy leave, but you don’t have time to think about why. Dustin’s bike isn’t in the shed alongside yours, which you expected, and you have to find him. 

Your brother and his idiotic friends need you right now. 

– 

For the second time within a week, Steve Harrington almost kills you with his stupid BMW. Granted, the first time wasn’t necessarily his fault due to your crying, but this time just felt personal. 

“Henderson!”

“Jesus Christ-” You’re biking to the Wheeler’s, lost in thought as the sun begins to set, when stupid Harrington scares the shit out of you. 

His unexpected shouting from the other side of the road causes you to swerve your bike towards his car and he has to slam on his brakes to avoid hitting you. 

“Do you, like, have a fantasy about me hitting you with my car?” 

You glare at the boy. “You are a man, I am a woman. It’s getting dark outside. What exactly made you think it’s a good idea to yell out at me?”

“Well, I mean, I called after you.” He says, so matter of factly that it makes you want to strangle him. 

You hate him. You really do.

A strand of hair has fallen in your face, so you blow it away before bothering to answer. “My apologies, you called after me and almost killed me in the process.”

Steve winks at you. “Apology accepted.” 

You stare at him, unamused and still in the middle of the damn road, and after a couple beats of silence you cock your head at the boy. “Are you going to tell me what you need or…?”

“Oh,” Steve coughs, as if startled by your question. “Honestly I didn’t really have a plan when I called after you. I just kinda did, so…” 

“Right, well.” You clench your jaw in annoyance. Why are you even surprised that Harrington has wasted your time? “This was fun, let’s never do it again sometime!”

You ride off on your bike, trying to quickly get up the hill so that you can get to the Wheeler’s before it gets too dark to see. The hill is brutal and it’s almost embarrassing how long it’s taking you to get up it, and as you’re huffing and dripping in sweat, headlights come up from behind you. 

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” you groan. 

Steve’s car is now right next to you, the fucker having done a complete u-turn to follow after you. His window is still rolled down and he has one hand on the steering wheel and the other hanging out his window. 

“Hello again, Henderson.” 

“I never said hello back to you.” 

“C’mon, at least pretend to be happy to see me.”

You let out another groan as you continue to struggle up the hill. “I physically cannot do that, sorry.” 

Steve, ever the comedian, responds, “It doesn’t seem like you can physically get up this hill either.” 

You don’t give him the satisfaction of laughing, but you’re a bit annoyed that his quip was funny. What a jackass, honestly. 

“Henderson,” your silence doesn’t deter the boy, “just get in the damn car already.”

Once again you almost crash into the BMW, this time because of your complete shock at his request.

“What?”

He gives you a look as if you’re the insane one in this situation. “You’re sweatier than I am after basketball, and at the rate you’re going I’d say you’ll reach your destination in about three to five business days.”

You stare at him, speechless. 

He stares back at you with a smirk on his smug little face, knowing that he’s won the argument. “Get in the car and I’ll throw your bike in the back.” 

You do as he says, your mind completely blank and still taken aback. Sweatier than him after basketball? There’s no way that’s true, and also who says that to someone they barely even know? As if you’re really that sweaty-

You see your reflection in his car mirror and wince. 

Okay, so maybe you’re a little sweaty. 

Fuck Steve Harrington. 

The boy in question tosses your bike in the trunk as you hesitantly get in the car. He watches as you sit yourself down and laughs. “It’s a car, Henderson. It won’t bite.” 

“Yeah, but you might.” You slap a hand over your mouth, embarrassed by the implications of your words. 

Steve raises an eyebrow at you as he turns the car back on. “Careful there, last I checked you’re a taken lady.”

The embarrassment you previously felt is gone, now replaced with your usual annoyance when it comes to Steve. You think about what he did yesterday to Jonathan’s camera, the cruelty in his eyes as he watched the thing shatter onto the ground. He didn’t show any remorse, and while you understand that he had been defending his girlfriend, he had taken it too far. 

“How many times do I have to tell you that Jonathan and I are just friends?” 

“Please,” Steve huffs with amusement, “the two of you have been inseparable for years. Besides, no way a guy like Byers can just be friends with a girl like you. Not scientifically possible.” 

You wrinkle your nose. “What’s ‘a girl like you’ supposed to mean?” Then another thought occurs to you, “Also, you didn’t even know my name until this week, so don’t go acting like you know my relationship with Jonathan.”

“Relax, Henderson. It was a compliment. All I meant is that you’re decently pretty, all things considered, so I wouldn’t blame Byers if he was in love with you. It’s human nature.”

“Okay, that’s just really sexist-”

“As for knowing your name only this week, you’re wrong.”

“I’m sorry?” You ask, confused. 

Steve places a hand over his chest, almost as if he’s reaching for his heart. “Apology accepted, it means a lot to me.”

“Ugh,” you scoff at him. “That wasn’t an apology and you know it. Can you just take me to the Wheeler’s, please?”

“Woah, slow down there. First I need you to tell me why you thought I didn’t know your name, then I’ll take you to my girlfriend’s house. Free of charge.” 

If you didn’t know any better, you’d think that you see some offense in Steve’s eyes for thinking he only recently learned your name, but why would he care? Besides, you know he’s never paid any attention to you before this week.

“It was literally this week that I had to tell you my name after you almost hit me with your car, Harrington.”

“Okay, hey,” the boy holds a finger up. “Actually, you almost hit me with your bike because you were too busy hysterically sobbing.”

He’s right, but you won’t tell him that. Minor details, honestly. You’re about to tell him as much before you realize what he’s said. “Wait, you knew I had been crying?”

Steve gives you a well, duh look. “Yeah, that’s why I pretended not to know your name. Figured you wouldn’t want to talk about it and the least I could do was make you laugh. And viola, I did.” 

He had willingly tried to make you laugh?

His words make you flush, which seems to only amuse him further as he chuckles at you. You wave your hand at him, now more annoyed than ever. “Okay, fine. Whatever, so you knew my name before this week, big whoop. Can you just drive now?”

“I’ll take that as an ‘I’m sorry Steve for assuming you’re an asshole who hadn’t noticed a girl you’ve known since you were thirteen’, then.” Steve takes the car out of park and begins to drive to the Wheeler’s which you’re relieved by. 

You feel uncomfortably warm after that conversation, regardless of the fact that you’re still overheated from your biking. There’s no way that Steve has seriously known about you since you were twelve and he was thirteen. No, you decide that he must be lying, playing up his usual boyish charm. He’s been this untouchable entity ever since you moved to Hawkins, so why would he have paid any attention to you?

Then your mind floats to his compliment, calling you “decently pretty”, but then again not even five minutes earlier he stated that you sweat more than he does after basketball, so really his words should mean nothing.  

And yet, after the week you’ve had and your fight with Jonathan and Will’s death and El’s mysterious powers… 

Steve’s words make you a bit giddy, embarrassingly enough. You hate that they do, because he’s Steve Harrington and he’s with Nancy who is beautiful and kind and everything you’re not. It doesn’t matter what he thinks of you. 

You pick at your nails as he drives, the car silent, and you accidentally graze against the cut on your finger from yesterday. It’s scabbed over by now, but the pain is still fresh. 

“I know that what Jonathan did was wrong, I won’t excuse his actions. Standing up for Nancy was the right thing to do and I admire you for it, really,” Steve spares you a glance as he drives, nodding his head slightly to indicate that he’s listening. “But breaking Jonathan’s camera wasn’t.” 

He groans. “Nancy said the same thing, but what’s the big deal? The creep shouldn’t have access to a camera if he can’t use it properly.”

The slight warmth that Steve had somehow put in your chest dissipates at his words. “Jonathan isn’t a creep, but regardless of the situation, the big deal is this: not everyone can afford a fancy BMW and Raybans. Not everyone in Hawkins lives in a giant mansion with a pool. He worked so hard to afford that camera, it’s not something that he can just buy again on a whim.” 

Steve shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “Henderson, you know I didn’t mean it like that-”

“I know, but it was still a shitty thing to do.”

The silence that settles in the car is a heavy one, and you almost feel bad for Steve. You know he hadn’t thought about the repercussions of his actions, but you suppose that the fact that he hadn’t considered the price of a camera was proof enough of his naivety. 

When you get to the Wheeler’s, Steve gets out of the car to help you with your bike. He doesn’t let you do a thing, so you stand there and awkwardly watch. You can tell that he’s trying to make up for his actions from yesterday, which you appreciate. 

“Thank you,” you say once he places the bike down. 

“All in a day’s work.” Steve responds, wiping his hands off on his jeans. 

As he turns to leave, you stop him. “And thank you for earlier this week, ya know, for making me laugh after falling off my bike. I, uh, appreciate it.” 

He seems surprised by your sincerity, but he smiles. “Again: all in a day’s work. And listen, I’m sorry about Byers’ camera,” Then he quickly adds, as if afraid he won’t have the nerve to later, “I’m sorry about Will, too. I figure you were close with him and now he’s…”

His words trail off, not wanting to say the word “dead”, which you can’t blame him for. 

“For what it’s worth, I don’t think you’re a bad person.” Steve turns to face you now, your words catching his undivided attention. “You just have the worst taste in friends, but when you aren’t around them… I guess you’re alright.” 

He laughs a bit, but there’s a certain emotion in his eyes that you can’t quite name; you have to stop yourself from leaning in closer to him. Suddenly the space between you feels too close and you take a step back, but as you move you feel Steve’s hand ruffle your hair. “I guess you’re ‘alright’ too, Henderson.” 

You watch as he leaves, standing in the Wheeler’s driveway for longer than necessary. You place your hand on your head and find yourself smiling, the warmth of his touch still faintly there.

-

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[hannamoon143]

Hi I was wondering if you could do an IN x reader angst to comfort. Any plot is fine! I really need it but no pressure in writing it! <3 Thank you <3

Do you trust me?

pairings: bf jeongin x fem reader

genre: angst, hurt/comfort

warnings: anxiety, trust issues, kinda family issues, slight cursing once, crying,

a/n: @0omillo0 this is for you now <33, i just hope you are alright since you said u rlly needed this. take care of yourself luv, and feel free to talk to me.

Did you deserve this? The same question kept running in your mind over and over again.  Did you deserve these kind words? Did you deserve this grade? Did you deserve to feel what you were feeling? The answer was not sure for you. You wanted to believe yes, but deep down you felt like you didn’t. Why? That was a good question. Maybe it was from the trauma of your family. Your parents yelling at you for everything, punishing if you didn’t have perfect grades or made mistakes. Or maybe it was from your siblings who kept laughing at you, and calling you lazy. Or maybe from your friends, that changed often, because you seemed to not be able to hold friendships for long.

The truth was you didn’t know that either. You felt like you knew nothing to be honest. Years spent trying to find out who and what you wanted to be, wasted by other people saying you wouldn’t make it anyways. And where did everything get you?

You were sitting at the floor in your little apartment, pressing your palms to your eyes so you wouldn’t cry.You hated this feeling. But what you hated even more was that you thought it would work out this time.

Your best friend of now 2 years, Sarah, left you. And she didn’t let you slowly down, no she pretended like everything was perfectly fine, until one day she suddenly told people horrible things about you, making people whisper when you walked by, making them mock and laugh at you. At first you didn’t get it. You were confused when people whispered and chuckled when you walked by. That was until you saw a message in the anonym group of the town u lived in. There were most people your age in and someone had spread a horrible messagge about you. In the message was written that you were a drug dealer, and that you had something with the boyfriend of your best friend going on, and as if that wasn’t already horrible enough, there was something that hit u deeper. There was written that you sold drugs to your own siblings and that was why your parents kicked you out and that was why you were living alone now.

After that you knew who wrote that. You never told anyone randomly you lived alone. Tob e honest only two people really knew about this. Sarah and your boyfriend jeongin It wasn’t that common to entirely have broken the contact to your family in that age.

Of course all of the things written were lies. But the last thing… The reason you didn’t have any contact to your family anymore was that they were horrible. For years you excused their behaviour with things like „they also live for the first time“ and „everyone makes mistakes, i have to be strong for them.“ But one day you realized it wasn’t normal. How they’d yell at you for bad grades or make mistakes when you were just a kid. How they’d ignore you after.  And the worst was you once made the mistake to open up to them. You told them how you were feeling, and that you couldn’t keep living like that and your friends were all fake. They laughed at you. Said you were a child and had no right to say these things. Since you were met with these things so early it was always really hard to keep friendships working for you. You had bad trust issues, and you just weren’t able to believe someone really liked you, and you often cancelled meet ups, so you could rather study, or you were just too drained. So friends came and go. Over the years you just totally distanced yourself from everyone, because you didn’t want to trust anyone anymore. That was until you met two people. Your boyfriend jeongin and sarah. Actually you never understood why jeongin liked you. You were boring, were anxious and had trust issues and you were isolating yourself a lot. He liked to go on parties, you cancelled them. You loved spending cozy evenings with him. You sometimes watched movies or you were reading together, and always when one of you would like a sentence, a quote or even a whole page, then you would read it to each other. You remembered quiet nights, spent reading…

Your head was laying in his lap, a blanket wrapped around your body. You could feel his fingers gently brush through your hair, while you listened to his honey voice reading his favorite pages from the book he was reading to you.You closed your eyes, enjoying the moment. And sometimes when there would be a quote you related to, you would tell him your feelings, thoughts and story to it.

For you, things like that were enough. You loved quiet moments. Moments where nothing bad seemed to exist, where only the cozy quiet and jeongins voice reading pretty words was heard. And he said it was enough for him too, but you always were convinced that he wanted more. That he wanted to go to parties, to introduce you to his friends.

But for some reason he seemed to stay with you anyways.

And for sarah… everything seemed so perfect. Meeting with her was actually fun and also if you couldn’t quite talk about your feelings with her you still had fun. So you made the mistake and told her of your family and living situation.

So that was where it got you now. You shouldn’t have trusted someone again. You couldn’t make this mistake over and over again. Everyone was the same.

Your throat tightened and now you couldn’t hold your tears back. You sobbed, hugging your knees to your chest. Why were you always making the same mistakes over and over again. What were you supposed to do now. The whole little town thought you were a mean bitch now, but you didn’t have the money to move somewhere else. You felt like the ten year old child you once were again. Betrayed by already too many people, sitting in your small room, crying.

But after a while, you fell into a uncomfortable sleep on the cold, hard floor.

When you woke up you were sweaty. You had a nightmare and right after you heard your phone somewhere chiming. A bit confused you stood up, stomping your foot. „Ahh shit!“ you cursed, but you found your phone so you just sat down at the floor again looking at it.

12 missed calls from „Ayen💗✨“ 23 unread messages from „Ayen💗✨“

He must have seen the anonymous message now. You leaned your head against the wall, turning off your phone. Only the pale moonlight was lightning the room a bit, and you felt cold despite your sweatiness. You had a heavy headache from crying so much earlier. You tried to think of what do now. Should you just ignore jeongin? Maybe it would be the best for him. That thought was washed away when you heard a knock on your front door. No he couldn’t just come over. You just sat silently on the floor. Should you open? You sighed, standing up and slowly going to the door. You slide down to the floor, leaning to it. You realize your voice is hoarse when you say: „What are you doing here?“

„Y/n? Are you okay? Please let me in, i was so worried about you.“ He sounded relieved but desperate. You sighed, but kept quiet.

„Y/n please let’s just talk alright? I just want to know what that in the anonymous group was. I am not accusing you of anything, as i know you well enough to know you would never do any of those things. So please, let me in, i’m not here to judge, just to talk.“

You listened to his words. So he didn’t believe it. But no matter how sweet his words sounded, you just couldn’t trust anyone anymore. What if he would betray you like sarah did one day too? You didn’t see it coming, so why would you with jeongin. You finally decided to speak up. But it wasn’t what he wanted to hear.

„I think we should break up.“

„…What? Y/n what are you talking about, are you serious?“ his voice grew more and more desperate. You kept being quiet, leaning your head to the door. Thankfully he couldn’t see the way tears were streaming down your pale face again.

„Y/n god please open the door, let’s talk, we can talk this out, please i promise i won’t ever judge you but don’t do this. Don’t break up with me in the middle of the night through a closed door, just because your scared. Let me in, and we‘ll talk about it, and then you sleep a night over it and you can think about it again. And if you want to really break up with me then, then okay, but not like this y/n…“

The worst thing was he knew you too well. He knew that you were doing this because you were scared. Scared of your future, scared of your problems, scared of ever trusting somebody again. It was selfish and not fair towards him. You knew that, but just ending things seemed easier, less painful. You wiped your tears away.

You slowly stood up, unlocking the door. Jeongin seemed relieved, and his eyes softened when he saw you. You realized you probably looked horrible. You had cried yourself to sleep, and forgotten to remove your mascara, and you were still wearing clothes from yesterday, and even in the dark lightning he could see your red puffy eyes, with the fresh tear streaks.

„Y/n…“ he softly said, and stepped in wrapping his arms around you. You didn’t move but also didn’t pull away. Actually it felt good. You didn’t notice how touch starved you were until now. Your body began to tremble, and warm tears rolled down your face again. You felt stupid for crying so much

„you know you can always talk to me right?“ he asked, pulling back a bit to look into your eyes. He lifted his hand, brushing the tears away with his thumb. You looked away, humming, because that was exactly the thing that got you here. That you thought you could talk to people, and trust them.

„I don’t want to talk now okay?“ you mumbled.

„Is it because of sarah? I know she wrote it in the group chat, one of my friends ist he admin and can see these things. Look, that’s horrible, and there is no excuse that could come up for what she did, or why she said that, but it wasn’t your fault. You didn’t do anything wrong. And these people talking about you behind your back are just random people, believing everything on the internet. They don’t know you. But i do. Please don’t let this get to you“

You wanted to just do what he said. But you couldn’t. All the things on your past proved that it seemed to be your fault. Why else would things like this always happen to you?

„jeongin, it’s not that easy. I know you only wanna be nice and stuff but i don’t wanna tell you all this.“

„what? You think i’m „just being nice“? Seriously y/n? You should know i’m not just being nice. I never said it maybe but i love you. With my whole heart.“

You lift your head up. What? That was something you didn’t hear in a really long time. You weren’t even sure if someone ever said these three words to you. You didn’t remember your parents ever saying that, and your friendships were never lasting long enough for someone to actually say this.

„Do you trust me?“

What? You looked at him confused again. Why did he ask that? It was as if he saw right through you. Exactly the one thing u thought u would have to ban from your life. Trust. And your wonderful boyfriend asked for it.

„I- i don’t know i… i can’t, i want to but i-„ you stuttered,slowly, looking down. You were sure he was gonna be mad. I mean who wouldn’t trust their boyfriend right?

But he just smiled at you. A gentle, tender smile, that made you feel warm. He wasn’t gonna get mad?

„It’s alright love. You don’t have to answer right away. I know trust is something big for you to give, especially after this incident. But i’m ready to work for it. I will do everything to someday gain your trust. Just let me show you that there are trustworthy people. I will prove it to you. Let me love you and gain your trust y/n.“

What he said was beautiful. You didn’t quite know what to respond. Jeongin seemed to know what was going on in your mind, and he said the right things, in his tender, caring way. You couldn’t fully trust him immediately, but slowly, in little steps you would heal and build trust again. And you didn’t have to do it alone. But was he really willing to stay even though you would have to convince yourself that it was alright? Would he be patient for you? It was something that you couldn’t imagine in your mind. But he sounded serious about it.

Maybe you could give him and yourself one more chance. Maybe you could slowly gain confidence to trust someone fully again. Your mind was screaming against it, but your heart didn’t. Not at jeongin.

„Okay, and… i love you too“

„And even if you think it’s your last time trusting someone again y/n, it will last till forever falls apart. I won’t ever let you down“

Little did you know that time, that his words were meant entirely serious. And he kept his promise.

[aziraphales-library]

HELLO LOVELY PEOPLE!! this might be too specific of a trope so if it is i’m sorry ab that but do you know of any fics where crowley is cursed or controlled in some way to hurt aziraphale? thanks and have a slay day!!!

Hi! Here are some fics in which Crowley is forced into hurting Aziraphale. Mind the tags and warnings on ALL of these ones, folks!...

Hell's Greatest Punishment by evilwriter37 (E)

Hell possesses Crowley and makes him hurt Aziraphale as a way of punishing him.

F to pay respects (I swear this isn't a crackfic) by satiricalScythe (NR)

In which upon failing to destroy the traitors to Heaven and Hell themselves, Gabriel and Beelzebub realize what they much do - if they can't destroy Aziraphale and Crowley, they'll make them destroy each other. Idk if this really earned the graphic depictions tag, but better safe than sorry. It was originally far more bloody but I cut a lot of parts out to make it work.

The Night Of Time by NuriaSchnee (E)

Aziraphale and Crowley are about to take their relationship to the next level when Gabriel and Michael's wrath falls on them. To punish them, they implant a fake reality into Crowley's memory in which he becomes a proper demon for a while and hurts Aziraphale several times. However, they leave Azirapahale untouched and aware that none of it has been real.

The Uncanny Valley by mozbee (E)

“Oi, Crawley.” He freezes, then turns, because you should never turn your back on a Duke of Hell. He sees the woman leering at him, and kicks himself for not paying attention before, to her blank eyes, the slightly sour smell wafting off her now he’s looking for it. “Have a nice night,” she rasps, and suddenly lifts her hand and blows a palmful of black powder into his face. Crowley coughs and stumbles back, out of the elevator, dropping to the floor, eyes watering. Its gone up his nose, down his throat; he can feel it, cloying and irritating. “What the fuck—” he tries, but suddenly he’s gripped with a new, urgent thought: angel. He pauses, mind perking up at the thought. Angel. He stares up at Hastur, who’s giggling and tossing long blonde hair over his borrowed shoulder. “That’s right, demon: you smell an angel.” “I—” It’s important, this bit about the angel, but it’s harder to put his finger on why. “You smell the angel,” Hastur says, and reaches out, to grip his chin in harsh fingers. “You want to kill the angel, don’t you, Crawley? Don’t you, demon?”

Fire in the Blood by Lurlur (E)

Heaven and Hell are in disarray, Earth is feeling the consequences. Crowley is hit with a lust curse from a rogue incubus which triggers a series of events that he'll never be able to undo. This fic features explicit rape and the aftermath. It is emotionally ugly. Look after yourselves.

Branded by Bookwormgal (M)

The mark on Crowley's face was not a tattoo. When Lucifer, still furious and his pride damaged, took out his frustration out on the first thing to catch his attention after the Fall. Rage, possessiveness, and a need to prove that he was not as weak as he felt when he was cast out spurred him into action. He claimed the broken and fallen creature in every way, relishing the confusion and fear. And he left a piece of his power tangled up in the former angel's essence, the only easily visible sign being a shape manifesting on his eventual corporeal body. But rather quickly, Lucifer found other things to occupy himself and the demon was sent up to Earth to cause some trouble. Six thousand years later and newly-enraged by the betrayal and halted apocalypse, Lucifer finally decides to make use of that power that he left behind. The devil is not one to surrender something that he'd claimed so easily. And the traitor would pay. He would make Crowley suffer.

- Mod D