#Due Diligence at Exit

[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.

[nyx-umbrakinesis]

Late

Vox x FReader

CW: Smut, P in V sex, fingering, edging, overstimulation, erotic electrostimulation, semi public, fairly vanilla after hours office smut, lots of praise and various (excessive) endearments used... praise kink go brrr.

fic below the cut.

I hope you all enjoy your hot TV dinner.

Vox sat in his office working late one evening, focused on the screens before him, observing the general objects of his interest outside of the tower, he is consciously aware of the time due to the noises or rather lack of, in the areas outside his main (socially friendly) office. 

Rubbing a clawed hand wearily over his screen he sighs; he resigns himself to the fact there’s probably no more he can do so late in the day, and it be conducive to his productivity. 

So, he stands on heavy feet and exits his office, blinking a few times when he spots a certain little sinner diligently working away at their desk. This one seems to work as hard as he does these days, he wonders why for a moment, after all everyone else can’t seem to get away from work fast enough... Yet you... You linger. 

You look up and blink in surprise, having not noticed him leaving his office at first, and this is actually pretty early for him to make an appearance, usually he’s engrossed in his work until a much later hour. 

You shiver slightly at his intimidating posture, Vox is just standing and staring at you, seemingly lost in his own thoughts. You restrain yourself from reacting. It wouldn’t do well to give away how his mere presence affects you, especially not knowing how he... Or specifically his other male counterpart, might react if he found out exactly why it is you linger so late in the office night after night. 

Your thighs tense slightly under the desk, the safest move possible and it does help alleviate some of the ache within. 

“Can I help you sir?” You manage to pipe up as formally as possible, slightly unnerved and hyper aware of the isolation surrounding you both as has been a frequent occurrence lately. 

“Mhm.” Vox nods, his eyes scanning over you, you think perhaps hungrily, or rather you half hope, as he seems to maintain his composure with what appears to be effortless ease. 

 He takes a step closer, his voice low and husky, his glowing eyes trained upon you as he speaks. You try to manage your breathing to stay level as his scent hits your nose; slightly metallic, maybe a hint of something more but very subtle, his cologne overpowered by the heady smell of fuel or perhaps oil, your mouth waters slightly, it's an addicting smell either way, subtle but almost hypnotic... Just as he can be. 

“You know, I’ve been thinking about you a lot lately, Doll. Your work ethic is truly... inspiring.” His words are dripping with innuendo, your heart races, and eyes dilate, and, in your head, you panic, thinking over and over again ‘It’s happening’. There’s also an underlying sincerity that betrays his true feelings, one you don't seem to notice, but is a little too exposing for his comfort. 

He leans in slightly, his breath hot against your ear as he continues. “And those... ‘assets’ of yours. Absolutely fascinating. I can’t help but wonder how, you came up with such... efficient productivity plans.” His voice is barely above a whisper now, filled with desire and obsession, he idly thinks to himself how he would love to feel your ‘assets’ pressed against him. 

You shiver slightly at his proximity, his breath ghosting the nape of your neck and goosebumps erupting all over your skin, your heart pounding at his suggestive tone, you must restrain yourself from moaning out loud and embarrassing yourself. 

Vox straightens up, his grin turning wicked as he meets your gaze, knowingly guessing correctly his effect on you, after all there’s a reason you’ve also been working late, and it definitely isn’t due to your work ethics.  

Vox ploughs on... “You see, my dear, I can’t get you out of my head lately. I’ve been wondering if perhaps you also have been having the same... challenges I have seemingly been ‘blessed’ with upon our frequent encounters... And I’ve decided I’m done waiting and second guessing... I want you Doll, I’m not going to waste time beating around the bush, I’ll do whatever it takes to make you mine, name it and it’s yours.” 

You blush, as your boss leans closer, his heat making your heart race, his smirk widening as he sees the evidence of his effect on you, your blush, your tense body, the small bumps forming along your skin, the slight shiver and submissive tilt of your head, he feels his cock hardening, already desperate to find out just how good you feel wrapped around it, not a new feeling, but one he feels much closer to achieving, now more than ever. 

Vox steps even closer, looming over you now, his chest almost touching yours as he bends and speaks in a low, husky voice. “Do you have any idea how beautiful you look when you blush, Doll? Do you have any idea what that does to me... What you do to me? It’s like you’re inviting me to take you, to taste you.” 

You’re utterly mesmerised, speech unable to form as you bathe in his ever-present glow, his large frame dwarfing you, making you feel delicate and ready to melt just for him, the moisture between your legs already way ahead of you. 

Vox’s sharp, cyan-tipped fingers reach out, a moment of unnoticed hesitation on his end before gently brushing against your cheek and tracing down your neck, your breath hitches, your heart pounding so hard your vision blurs and ears feel muffled.  

“And your pulse... it’s racing. Are you afraid of me, my dear?” Vox teases, his fingers lingering right where your heart betrays you, he knows that the exact opposite is true, if his scent receptors were more sensitive, he would no doubt be able to smell the arousal currently pooling in your underwear, filling the office with such a fragrance you’d be utterly humiliated to be found as the source. You try desperately to control your reactions, trying so hard not to embarrass yourself. 

Vox smiles devilishly, leaning in even closer, his lips mere centimetres from yours, breath tickling your lips, his own heady scent wafting up your nostrils, making your eyes want to roll back and for you to present yourself like a bitch in heat, as he whispers, tantalisingly. 

“Or are you excited by just the mere thought of being mine?” His glowing blue tongue darts out provocatively, your eyes greedily following the suggestive action, a slight whimper escapes, making you blush even harder, hoping he hadn’t noticed, but the look on his face says everything. 

Vox’s screen flickers suddenly displaying various images of the two of you together in intimate scenarios, revealing his deepest fantasies and desires in just a fraction of a second, but enough for you to see, your whole body goes hot at his intentional display. 

You stammer over your words, attempting to communicate, utterly enthralled and speechless... You whimper slightly as his body heat radiates even closer to you, the main source... His screen... You lean forward unconsciously seeking the warmth... And him. 

Vox smirks, noticing your reaction to his advances. He takes advantage of your momentary vulnerability, closing the gap between your faces until his lips are almost touching yours. “You want me, don’t you, Doll?” He whispers, his hot breath mingling with yours. 

You visibly shiver, his grin widens impossibly further as you gaze up at him, your brain short circuiting. 

Emboldened by your reactions thus far, Vox’s fingers continue their exploration, taking a huge gamble but he doubts he’s read you wrong, moving down to gently cup your breast through your clothing. 

He feels you arch into his touch slightly in response, and it only makes him more determined to claim you, your whimper assures him his advances are not unwelcome. He marvels at the soft pliant feel of you in his hands, all just for him... Just the way he likes it. 

Vox is certainly glad you seem to take the time to work as late as he does, (whether his guess as to your motives is correct or not) as it’s left the office deserted for the two of you, fortuitous circumstances indeed. 

His thumb rubs over your nipple, he watches your reactions closely, savouring the sight of your arousal, the slight stutter of your chest on an inhale, the trembling of your upper body, the goosebumps rising incessantly on your flesh. 

“You see, my dear, I can give you everything you desire... All you have to do is submit to me.” Vox coos, trying to entice you further, wanting there to be no doubts in your mind, wanting your full submission. He wants you to want him, needs this more than he ever realised, before, maybe its infatuation, but he’s never felt so hard for another in his entire existence... Well except... But that’s never going to happen. 

Vox’s screen this time involuntarily displays an image of the two of you, entwined in a passionate embrace. It’s clear to you that he’s envisioning a future where you belong to him completely, it’s actually a rather wholesome scene of the pair of you entwined, his fingers stroking down you back as you read to him, his eyes trained on your face with a look in his eyes you’ve never seen before. 

You bite your lip, stifling a moan as your senses are jarred back to him and his touch as Vox kneads your breasts, feeling a fresh warm rush of desire and arousal flood between your legs, further ruining your underwear, if there is such a possibility at this point. 

You whimper softly as he teases your nipple with the tip of his claw, edging you and waiting for an answer before taking anything further, the raised eyebrow makes you realise all of this. 

“Yes please... Sir.” You manage to breathe out, finally finding and forcing your voice to do its damn job, feeling a little faint from the effort of not just letting him do all the work. 

Finally! Vox chuckles menacingly, his eyes flashing with satisfaction as they darken with desire as he hears your plea, still using his office honorific, he finds he rather likes that particular word coming from your enticing lips, as breathy whines escape you, encouraging him further with every reaction he drags from you. 

Unable to hold back, you feel as though you could combust right now with the overwhelming racing thoughts and sensations, your fear of getting caught in the act, your despair of the possibility of this being a use and dump situation, his utterly enthralling pleasurable ministrations, his scent... Just him in general, you whine even louder as he floods your senses to know nothing but him in this moment. 

You wonder why you’re holding back from something you’ve wanted and fantasised about for so long now. Perhaps it is because you’re both still in the office, your whirling fears a cacophony in your head, trying to warn you. 

Despite being the only souls who should be anywhere near at this late hour, there are the cleaning crew to still worry about, you have a thrill of fear, at this though, the thought of being heard or worse yet, being seen impaled on your boss's cock as he rails you seven ways to Sunday. 

Vox is completely unconcerned which such things, it seems, his touch swiftly becomes bolder, squeezing your breasts more firmly now he’s had audible consent, he leans in eagerly to capture your lips in a bruising electrifying kiss, and all thoughts about being caught fizzle from your mind as you moan into his mouth, finally getting a taste of the fuzzy static you had pondered would be present. 

He can practically taste your desperation, his tongue delving and exploring with impatience, now he’s got you he wants everything all at once, he needs every experience he’s rubbed his cock to, fantasising for months about you now as he’s observed your beautiful curves and sway of your hips as he’s let you out late each evening from work to lock up behind you.  

Using the VoxTec drone Vox had subtly followed you home as he’d rushed to the nearby janitorial closet, your walking rear displayed on his screen, he gasps and moans, his hand wrapping around the blue throbbing need and stroking himself with abandon and desperation, until he erupts into a nearby cloth, the frequency of these acts leaving him raw and yet unable to stop, even after he was caught by a cleaning staff member, promptly silenced. 

You sigh, bringing his thoughts back into the moment, he finally has you, why is he wasting time reminiscing when the glory is all right here, right now? Practically begging for him to enjoy, and enjoy he shall, he smiles, his screen heating to an unsafe temperature for a moment as the fans kick in. 

You moan, to his utter delight, he’s delicious, and it only fuels his own desire. His tongue explores your mouth fervently, he presses himself even closer dominating the space and pressing against you as he deepens the kiss even more, your mouth giving way to his. It's odd because his kisses leave such tingles on your lips, but it’s not a flat screen you’re meeting, its rather firm, but they’re definitely a pair of lips you feel, electrified, tingly lips, but they feel amazing. 

Vox breaks the kiss briefly, allowing you both some air, his voice husky, full of lust and confidence as he speaks, almost repeating himself word for word once more. 

“You’re going to be mine, My Doll. And I promise you, I will give you everything you’ve ever dreamed of.” 

He captures your lips again, his fingers still teasing your nipples as he claims you in a display of dominance and power, bearing down on you. His other hand moves lower, pressing against the fabric covering your wetness, making sure you know exactly what he intends, as if there was doubt at this point. 

You whimper, your hips bucking as he brushes your swollen aching clit through the fabric, and he smirks against your lips, the zing of his static causes your hairs to stand on end, his own cock jumps inside his trousers at the feel of your sopping cunt, not a dry patch to be found on your panties, and even your skirt and office chair had suffered the same fate. His arrogant grin widens at the thought of him being the cause off this, and the willingness emanating from your squirming whining form.

“Good Baby Doll.” Vox purrs, pleased with your response. He moves in, pressing his lips against yours in a bruising kiss, his tongue demanding entrance into your mouth. 

“Mmm.”  

Vox moans as he tastes you, his hands still fondling your breasts possessively, your back arching as you whimper and moan deliciously for him, after a few seconds, he pulls away, his electric blue eyes darkened with desire as he drinks you in. 

“You’re mine now, Doll. And I intend to use you well.” He promises, smirking sinfully as your body burns with desire, his tone dripping with arrogance, supported by the sight of your dishevelled needy state. 

He grabs your wrist, pulling you up into his strong arms as you gasp at his hardness pressing insistently into your abdomen briefly, before he tugs on you, leading you to the ‘waiting’ couch nearby, pushing you onto it before slotting his warm hard body against yours, fitting together so perfectly. Vox can feel you dampening his trousers, his hands already reaching for the hem of your shirt impatiently as your hands remember they exist and you run them up the smooth fabric covering the hard planes of his toned chest, you don’t bother to stifle the moan that escapes you this time, so far gone in the moment. 

“Say my name Doll.” Vox insists. 

“S-Sir?” You manage to choke out as he flings your top away indelicately and tuts amused at your unfocused gaze. 

“No, not ‘Sir’, Say my name, my little Bombshell.” Vox chides, light-heartedly. Teasing your nipples through the lace of your bra, using the slight pain from his claw tips to keep you further enticed... Not that you need any coaxing, as you moan so prettily for him yet again, he notices your cheeks darken again to his immense pride, “Fuck, Doll you’ve got such glorious tits. Now be a good little Sex Kitten and do as you are told.” 

“Vox!” You gasp loudly at his pinch on your sensitive bud. 

“Again.” He demands fiercely, not letting go, screen glitching slightly. 

“Vox,” comes out whined more breathily this time, “oh, mmmmmpppfff” You moan softly, leaning your head back as he fondles you more thoroughly and gently in reward, your body meeting his hands to press your chest further into his touch, begging silently for more. 

Feeling Vox’s finger trail down to your wet panties, you spread your legs wider, desperate and aching, hyperaware of the large hard presence of his cock throbbing against you insistently even as he focuses entirely on your body, a trail of sparks follows his touch stimulating you, the slight burn making you tingle and jolt, he keeps you in his dazzling gaze. 

Vox smirks as he observes your leg's part wider, giving him better access to your drench's wetness. “Look at you, desperate for more, for me, I can see it in your eyes Baby Doll.” He chuckles, his voice dripping with arrogance, his eyes unblinking as he takes everything in, trying to embed it all in his memory banks, unwilling to miss a single frame. 

Vox slides his finger under the fabric of your panties, teasing your entrance before plunging it inside without warning, you gasp and squeak in shock and pleasure, moaning as he slides in with such ease, your body moving to meet his movements obediently. 

“Fuck, you’re so wet.” Vox groans, his own self-control flickering, feeling your walls clench around his finger as he starts gently thrusting in and out, mindful to use his finger pad not the claw to press against the spongy spot of ecstasy for you, your tight heat gripping tightly on just his finger, his cock throbs eager to know just how much squeezing and teasing he’ll have to do to fit inside. 

His other hand continues to tease your nipples, pinching and rolling them between his fingers as he ravishes you. 

“You like that, don’t you?” Vox’s voice low and seductive, not expecting an answer as you moan again as a second finger joins the first, your whole body shaking from the tingles he’s causing within you, your body tightening and loosening with every tiny zap and rub, igniting much more than ever before, your body almost convulsing from the overwhelming stimulation. 

His tongue snakes out to lick his lips, biting down on it in concentration, his cerulean eyes, liquid, and locked onto yours as he watches your every reaction to his ministrations. 

“I could fuck you right here, right now. And anyone outside would be able to hear your desperate little moans.” Vox teases. 

You suddenly realise you’ve been making quite a ruckus, however when you try to shut your mouth and put a once again forgotten hand over it, Vox tuts. 

“Don’t you dare deprive me of this Doll.” Vox moves your hand away from your mouth gently, and places it right on his straining bulge, his hand cupping and encasing yours, firmly his hand holds over the top of yours as he moans, bucking his hips into your hand as you feel his own burning need for you, rutting desperately hard and frighteningly large, pressing your hand against him so you rub him, his other hand not forgetting it’s task for an instant, but you own eyes meet his again so aroused and intimidated, all it does is endear you further to him. 

“Look at what you do to me Doll, can you feel how hard my fucking cock is for you right now.” Vox growls and you shiver and moan again, as a third finger pulls you away from eye contact, the burn of the stretch as he attempts to prepare you for what’s to come, he’s not sure how much patience he has left at this point as it still won’t be enough. 

Vox smirks, his fingers sliding out as he gives into his desires, tracing back up through your wetness, making sure to tease you just enough to leave you wanting more as you whine needily, on the verge of an orgasm as he torments you with glee. His other hand moves upwards, gently gripping your chin and forcing you to meet his gaze yet again as you had been staring at his fingers longingly, not allowing you an inch of reprieve. 

“Look at me, Doll.” He commands, his voice firm and dominant as he holds your gaze. He can see the desire in your eyes, and it only fuels his own. He starts to tug at your bra, pulling it impatiently one handed, before growling and giving up, using a sharp claw to slice it off your body, upwards to reveal your bare breasts. His eyes widen at the sight, and he lets out a low whistle. 

“You’re even more beautiful than I imagined.” He murmurs, his fingers trailing lightly over your nipples before pinching them gently between his thumbs and forefingers again, zapping you gently to give you more burning tingle and your nipples go all puffy in their already pebbled state, as you can’t hold back a very loud moan, to his utter smug delight. 

Making sure you’re watching him, Vox slowly brings his glistening fingers back up to his screen, and you whine as you watch his long tongue wrap around the first digit wickedly, shaking and needy you watch as he hums and greedily devours your essence from his skilled fingers, slightly pricking his tongue in his eagerness, a drop of red escaping his mouth, your eyes following its path down his chin, but oddly doesn’t escape past his screen. 

“Delicious.” He leans in, capturing your lips in another heated kiss as his free hand begins to undo his pants, swiftly releasing his impressive throbbing length. He grins against your lips as he pulls back slightly, his eyes locked onto yours as you whimper scared and aroused at the sight of the veiny, blue member, it's so thick and long you doubt your ability to house such a monster, as you begin to protest. 

Vox silences you with another kiss, this time slow and reassuring, when he allows you mild freedom again, you bite your lip, looking back into his eyes as he stares down at you, you feel warmth suffuse your tingly body, reassured you nod. 

At his encouraging glance, you reach out, tentatively wrapping your hand around his shaft, giving it a gentle squeeze, and smiling shyly as he groans, his eyes half closing. You can feel the heat radiating off him increase, you bite your lip to hold in another moan as Vox’s cock throbs in your hand, twitching eagerly at your attention, you’re so tempted to taste, but shy from the idea at the last moment. 

Vox moans as your hands feel so very soft on his raging erection as he finally feels one of the things he’s been dreaming of for months... Any part of you touching his bare cock willingly, hell if you back down now, he’d have wanking material for the next several decades, after all he had less to go on before with... And that never stopped him. 

He shakes his head slightly to ground himself, refusing to let the past taint what is finally in his grasp, a chance at true pleasure, perhaps even happiness, if he can make the right impression. 

Vox’s eyes flutter closed momentarily as you wrap your other hand around his cock, a low growl rumbling in his throat. He can feel the anticipation building within him, his desire for you reaching new heights. 

“That’s it, Doll.” Vox murmurs, his voice husky and filled with need. “Touch me... Feel how hard I am for you... It’s just us right now, this is all for you, you do this to me every time I see you, I’ve wanted this for so long.” He bites his tongue for giving far too much away too soon luckily not hard enough to hurt. 

He opens his eyes in his panic, meeting your gaze once more as he starts to thrust his hips forward, hoping to distract you enough to not think on his words, grinding his cock against your soft palm. Each movement sends waves of pleasure coursing through him, his cock twitching eagerly in your grasp. 

“Fuck, you’re driving me wild Doll.” Vox groans, his other hand reaching out to caress your leg, inching closer and closer to your dripping cunt once more, wanting just to flip you over and drive into you again and again until neither of you can stand for several days. In his ecstasy he had almost forgotten your pleasure. His trusty thumb brushes against your aching pulsing clit, circling it gently as he continues to grind against your hand, both of you let out a long low moan simultaneously. 

You jolt as a bolt of burning pleasurable electricity zings through your clit, stronger than the ones before as he loses control slightly, with a glitch as evidence, you whine loudly your hips bucking and tears pricking your eyes as you’re basking in the blue glow of his attention, like the sun, but better. The zap had caused you to gush so much the sofa would definitely need replacing as your legs twitch and tremble. 

“You’re so fucking ready for me, aren’t you? Fuck you feel so good.” Growling as he recovers just enough. 

“I can’t wait any longer, Doll.” He whispers, his voice filled with raw desire. “I need to be inside you... Now.” 

You nod rapidly, gasping and complying as he touches you, guiding you, your legs spreading wider without conscious thought, offering yourself to him as he pulls your hips adjusting you almost frantic now. 

“Please!” You beg, desperate for release, the heat between your thighs becoming unbearable, droplets of your juices glistening on your thighs. 

He greedily drinks in the sight of you, his screen fritzing slightly again making you blush at the scrutiny. 

“You sure Doll?” He double checks, sweetly and you melt, nodding, unable to form words. 

His fingers which had been working away at you once more pick up and your head flings back, hurting slightly on the cushioned impact of the sofa arm, as your pussy throbs and contracts as he brings you to the edge, your juices slicking his fingers, proof of your need for him. 

You bite your lip, staring up at him, pleading silently for him to take you, to give you what you need as Vox watches you hungrily pumping his hot hard weeping cock. 

When he finally positions himself at your entrance, you spread your legs wider, straining them with seer need, eager for him not even thinking twice about denying him now, not when you’re so close, he savours the sight for just a moment, his cock poised and ready to enter you. 

As he sinks in slowly, you cry out, arching your back as he loads himself inside you, fighting and teasing the soft clenching cushioned sopping hole every step of the way as it clings to him like his own personalised cocksleeve, only better, filling you completely, stretching you deliciously as you almost cum right then and there. 

You wrap your arms around him, pulling him down to meet your lips in a brutal kiss, needing more, your legs wrapping around the backs of his thighs, pulling him deeper, making you cry out as he impacts your cervix half painfully half pleasurably, the heat from his screen making you crave him more. 

Gripping his shoulders tightly as he begins to move inside you, you could cry in thankfulness as he finally gives you both everything you need, dragging and splashing, moaning and groaning, his thrusts becoming harder and faster with each passing second, lips joined together in a dizzying kiss, you’ve never felt more wanted... More possessed... More pleasured. 

He breaks the kiss panting, his screen fritzing again and buries his face in your neck, angling his and your head just so, to give him access, clearly well practiced by now, just so he can hear your unimpeded sinful gasping moaning and sounds of ecstasy for HIS cock. His teeth scraping against your skin, leaving a trail of fire in their wake as he claims you in every way possible. 

The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, along with your loud moans and cries of pleasure, mixing together in a symphony of pure ecstasy. Vox’s hands roam your body, squeezing your breasts again just enough to have your moans change pitch, pinching your nipples between his fingers as he continues to ravish you. 

You finally remember your own hands again and cling to his flexing forearms which only serves to bring you both more pleasure with another shared moan in confirmation, your legs not allowing him to drag out for too long, like he would be tempted to tease now he's finally in your heavenly depths. 

Vox groans as he continues to thrust into you, his body coming alive with each movement. He can’t believe he finally has you beneath him, your bodies joined in the most intimate way possible. His hands continue to explore your body, revelling in the softness of your skin, the curves of your body. He can’t get enough of you. 

“Fucking divinity, right here you pretty perfect Little Petal.” Vox moans in your ear. 

He pulls back slightly, his eyes locking onto yours as he begins to thrust harder and faster, the pleasure becoming almost unbearable, building heat in you both as your walls tighten around him, and he begins to throb, fire in your lower abdomens. 

Vox can see the pleasure in your eyes, and it only fuels his own determination. He starts to thrust even harder, each movement sending waves of pleasure coursing through your bodies as he pounds you into oblivion. 

His hands move lower, gripping your hips as he ruts into you, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room. His cock pulsing incessantly inside you, driving you closer and closer to the edge. 

Vox leans in, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers hotly. “You’re mine, Baby Doll.” 

His hands continue to explore your body, revelling in the softness of your skin, the curves of your body. He can’t get enough of you, every dip, curve, hard line, and every glistening bead of sweat utterly entrancing. 

He moans, his hips thrusting forward as he pounds into you relentlessly, his cock throbbing inside you, his need for you growing stronger with each thrust. 

He trails his lips down your neck, nipping and sucking at your skin, leaving love bites in his wake, you enjoying every overwhelming sensation as your nails dig into him and you cling for dear life, unable to match his pace and just letting him take control sliding your whole body up and down on his cock at one point. 

“You’re mine, my dear. Mine to fuck, mine to ravish, mine to possess.” Vox growls possessively as proof, his fingers digging into your hips as he continues to pound into you. 

He can’t get enough of you, he needs more, he needs to claim every inch of you, your tight soft cunt feels so perfect wrapped around his cock, just like he knew it would, and Vox is never letting go now he’s had a taste. 

“You’re so fucking tight, I can barely fucking think!” Vox grunts, his thrusts becoming more erratic as he nears his climax, you moan in agreement at how perfect he feels burrowing a Vox shaped imprint deep in your pliant cunt. 

His tongue snakes out, tracing patterns on your skin, leaving a burning electric feeling behind with every lap against you, you moan as you hear it crackle so close to your ear. 

Vox’s breath suddenly hot against your ear as he whispers sweet nothings to you, sending waves of pleasure coursing through you. 

“You’re so fucking perfect, so fucking delicious, such a delicate Little Flower aren’t you Pet, you were born to be as beautiful as all the Flora, an entire meadow of Roses could only hope to compare.” 

“Please.... Don’t... Stop... Oh fuck.” You whine, your body convulsing again, feeling his cock spreading you open forcefully with each thrust, it’s maddening, delightful, sinful, heavenly, you can’t think up enough adjectives as your mind also shorts out. Vox watches as your body bounces with the force of his thrusts, your tits mesmerising him. 

He can’t believe he finally has you beneath him, you wet right cunt trying to drag him in deeper as he has to fight each thrust, just to drag his warm member rubbing every inch of it through your hot wet cunt, just to do it all over again, never wanting this to end, yet desperate for it to end all at the same time. 

His eyes flicker down to your breasts, watching as they bounce freely with each thrust. He reaches out, his hand wrapping around one of them, squeezing it gently as he continues to pound into you, feeling as it tries to resist staying in just one place, to pillowy mound making him throb again and you moan feeling everything. 

His other hand moves lower, teasing your clit with his fingertips, rubbing it in slow circles as he continues to thrust into you, your moaning and thrashing increasing to new heights. 

He leans in, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers hotly.  

“You like that, don’t you, Doll?” He growls possessively, his fingers pinching your nipple gently. “You love the feeling of my cock stretching you out, filling you up, don’t you? Your cunt is like a little Lotus, so soft and delicate and beautiful like an Azalea... Or perhaps you’re more like Nightshade, as I feel like you could be the death of me” His voice is husky, full of desire and need as he continues to own you. 

His sweet words a massive contrast to how he’s treating your helpless body, not that you’d complain as his cock throbs making your cunt clench again reflexively with another loud moan. 

All you CAN do is moan helplessly your nails finding purchase on his back this time, digging in through his suit jacket, he hadn’t had the patience to discard it in his eagerness to claim you. 

Vox glitches again at your reactions to his rough treatment, enjoying every moment of it, his fans working overtime as he tries to stay in the moment, not wanting to miss even a second. 

“You like that, don’t you, Doll?” He purrs, the glitching making him repeat himself. 

His hands move back up to grab your breasts, obviously an obsession for him at this point his enthrallment with them hard to miss, squeezing them firmly again as he continues to thrust into you relentlessly using them to steady himself. 

“You’re so fucking sexy; I could fuck you for hours and never get tired of this.” His lips crash down onto yours in a hungry kiss, his tongue demanding entrance into your mouth as he ravages you. 

“F-f-fuck... ‘Ellmmmm... ‘Ellllp...” You manage to stammer out as you’re so overcome, he’s so very entertained by your plea for mercy, his hips snap forward, driving his cock as deep into you as he can, hitting that spot that makes you scream in pleasure in response. 

You’re panting, moaning loudly, every muscle in your body quivering, he slows slightly as he sees you trying to speak meaningfully. 

“I’m close... Please... Make me cum...” You gasp, begging him to let you release. 

“Not yet...” He growls, pulling almost all the way out of you before slamming back in, the sudden change in pace making you scream in agonised pleasure, so overstimulated, tears pricking your eyes at his denial, but he doesn’t want this to end, not yet, not now, not ever. 

He does it again, and again, pulling almost fully out before slamming back in with a wet slap, driving you higher and higher until you’re sobbing from pleasure. 

“You’re going to cum for me, right though Baby Doll... All over my cock... Just like that... Soon I promise,” His voice thick with passion. 

He keeps driving you towards the edge, again and again, never letting you fall over, keeping you on the razor’s edge until he’s ready for you to explode. 

You’re a pleading, soaking, begging mess when finally... 

“Cum for me, Doll... Cum for me now!” He demands, his voice a low snarl, his eyes burning with desire, his thumb merciless against your throbbing needy clit, his cock filling every part of you, your walls fighting him every step of the way as you clamp down so tightly. 

As you reach your peak, the sensation washes over you like a tidal wave, suddenly pulling you under. Your whole-body tenses and spasms, your legs kicking and writhing as he continues to thrust into you as you cum hard, and he moans as your walls ripple and clench around him trying to milk him for everything he has desperately. 

A flood of liquid squirts from your pussy, spraying his belly in powerful bursts, trickling down his cock and onto his balls, pooling in his lap and running down your thighs, making a huge mess as his thrusting causes the sweet-smelling droplets to splash on anything in the near vicinity. 

The sound that escapes him is inhuman, his screen going completely blue momentarily. 

Vox gasps, his eyes flickering back in and widening in shock at the sheer amount of fluid that still gushes from you, he knew you were wet, but nothing could have prepared him for this, his eyes glued to the sight of your pleasure, entranced, his hips faltering ever so slightly, before picking up again, determined to wring as much from your bucking body as possible. 

Vox definitely found a new obsession as the floral scent hits him, strong enough for him to actually smell as it fills the entire office, he’s never needed anything more, and it was something he had no idea he’d ever wanted, moaning at the sheer warmth and feel of your squirting cunt, it was utterly divine, heaven could suck it, because he just found his. 

He keeps trying to control the fritzing of his screen, it would be a crime to miss a moment of this utter glorious display. 

He groans as he continues to thrust into you, maintaining his pace, his fingers rubbing more gently on your overly sensitive clit, prolonging your orgasm as he chases his own release within your spasming cunt. 

Vox’s eyes roll back in pleasure as he finally allows himself to let go and cum, pumping his load deep inside you, his hot seed mingling with your wetness, filling you up completely, even spilling out the sides of his embedded cock and flowing out of you in thick spurts as he finishes. 

You moan as you feel the burning sensation of his cum spilling inside you triggering a small involuntary convulsion within you as you scream helplessly as his cum makes you milk him for every last drop, the static electricity seeming to force your body to take every ounce... If only you could breed, the swift thought crosses Vox’s mind momentarily. 

Vox collapses onto you, his chest heaving as he pants heavily, cock still buried deep inside you, arms wrapping around you as he kisses you deeply, tongue exploring your mouth lazily, as he thrusts his hips lazily, making sure to fuck every bit of his cum inside you even deeper. 

You’re panting, moaning weakly, completely spent, your body still tingling from the force of your orgasm, trying desperately to recover enough to at least think straight. 

Vox’s still moving inside you, you vaguely register, driving his cock deeper with each tiny thrust, the pleasure is too much for the both of you, but in the best way possible. 

“So good... So, fucking good...” Vox murmurs against your lips, his breath hot against you, far hotter than you'd ever felt before, you could almost burn yourself on him but miraculously he doesn’t seem to be causing any harm. 

He keeps thrusting seemingly reluctant to stop despite the little jolts of his whole body indicating his own overstimulation, your own lax body matching his jolting with its own. 

He breaks the kiss to press his flat smouldering forehead against yours, his eyes locked with your well fucked gaze, the intensity in his ocean deep eyes taking your breath away. 

But his screen dims enough so he doesn’t hurt your vision, and it helps him begin the cooling down process much faster. 

“You’re mine now, Doll...” Vox whispers possessively, his voice husky with desire and satisfaction. “I’m not letting go of you without a fight, you better believe, the Sins themselves couldn’t pry you from me now.” 

He eventually pulls out slowly, mindfully of your likely sore body, his cock sliding out of you with a heavy thudding wet sound as it hits his thigh, dripping your combined fluids onto the floor as he stands. 

“Y-yes sir.” You manage to shakily pant, your legs trembling and dripping. At his warning look you correct immediately, “V-Vox.” 

“Much better Little Petal.” His suave confidence returning now with ease, he’s the big boss man himself again. 

Vox chuckles as he sees you watching the swaying of his limp cock as he moves, not a clue what you’re thinking, but he likes the look in your eyes, so he starts taking off his clothes properly. 

This time he’s determined to take his time with you and show you what more you could expect from him, his half hard cock standing proudly trying to regain its attentive state already. A much faster refectory time than he’s even used to, he’s definitely not done with you yet... 

Vox smirks, seeing the look of surprise and apprehension on your face, he decided he loved surprising you... Especially with his cock, it’s his new favourite thing. His grin dangerous, promising to devour you.

“What? Did you seriously think I was done with you already Doll? No... Not now I finally have you. It’s late, and you’re Mine.” 

[romirola]

Headcanons for the Shaw Pack’s Travelling Styles at the Airport 

David: David likes to be prepared, which leads him to overpack, just in case. Half the time, it pays off, though all the time it means his bags are way heavier than he wants them to be, not that he’d ever admit it. Although David considers himself a pretty patient guy, he dreads the idea of waiting in line for security, to board, to purchase a coffee/snack, to exit the plane… He has no direct airline experience, but honestly, he’s pretty sure he could streamline the whole process. 

Angel: They are an expert packer and they know it. Not only do they manage to arrange everything they need into the most condensed way possible, but they also know how to pack light. Angel is always one to be ready with their boarding pass, ticket, and anything else they’d need, though what they most look forward to is exploring their destination (whether it be for leisure or business) and getting a firsthand feel of the entire experience. They often indulge in arriving at the airport with plenty of time so they can people-watch with a latte.  

Asher: As a child, Asher often flew with his family to visit his grandparents, with one set in Belfast and the other in Galway. Because of that experience, he associates travel with adventure and fun, even if it’s due to work. Asher can make himself extremely comfortable in any airport, somehow intuiting the best place to find a seat, charge a phone, or search through a carryon for missing headphones. Asher can even nap in the most bustling of airports, but amazingly, he wakes up on time and never misses a flight. 

Babe: Babe is a nervous flier (check out this oneshot if you want to see that in action), but they are an absolute master at logistical planning. Booking deals, loyalty accounts, membership discounts… You name it, Babe has it and knows how to use it. Once, they even managed to get paid by the airline to fly to their cousin’s wedding. Babe also likes to select their seats ahead of time to maximize comfort and space.

Milo: Milo is probably one of the luckiest travelers ever to set foot in an airport. Although he never asks for any sort of special treatment, he never fails to get it. Every staff member feels compelled to give Milo all the bonus miles, first-class upgrades, or expedited services they could possibly give him. The restricted lounges welcome Milo even though he's not a member. During the flight, the flight attendants give him extra snacks, blankets, and anything he could ever want. No one, not even Milo, can explain the phenomenon. He loves every minute of it.

Sweetheart: Sweetheart’s poor sense of direction means that they require lots of extra time when it comes to travelling. They need to factor in inevitably getting lost to any movement they might make. That could include getting to the airport, finding their gate, or refilling their water bottle at the fountain a few steps away. They can and will manage to get lost, no matter how diligently they study the airport maps before they go. Despite their inability to orient themselves, Sweetheart will insist that the best way to spend any length of time at the airport is to keep active, since they will have to sit on the plane, so they will most likely be found walking laps, back and forth, across a space where they can always have their gate in sight. 

Darling: Darling honestly prefers to drive or, if possible, to take the train. Not because they are afraid of flying. Certainly they will fly if needed. But for Darling, there’s something inextricably exciting about watching the world go by like that. Darling also has quite an affinity for the cafe car, or, whenever they take a lengthier trip, the dining car. They can’t exactly say why, but it’s such a treat to partake, almost like a step back in time, and yet, a surreally modern amenity.  

Sam: Sam has always seen the airport as one big scam where every decision is meant to squeeze out more money from travelers. Pay to check a bag, pay to buy food, pay for leg room, pay to breathe air, basically. It’s a total racket, and he loathes every iota of the whole experience. If only vampires could learn how to rift like d(a)emons… He does, however, find himself more willing to shell out some money for a few gaudy-but-fun magnet souvenirs lately. After all, Sam’s never had a pack (and yes, Vincent and Lovely are included) for whom to purchase travel gifts. He still thinks everything is overpriced, but he looks forward to giving out the gifts upon his return. 

[lilhealthybean]

teacher's pet

"If I'm so special, why am I secret?"

tags: jjk and suguru geto

note: au, teacher!geto . want to clarify, you are at college, 21 years old, and he is 26. also this seems more like a hatefic towards him, so sorry, i really love geto.

Bell rang, everyone sighed as they dropped their pens on the table. Suguru stood up from his chair to gaze at all the students, pausing longer on you than on others.

"Class dismissed, please leave now, and I will collect your essays," Suguru said nonchalantly.

Everyone obeyed and exited the classroom.

"Don't leave, y/n, I need to have a little chat with you," he said as you walked past him.

You froze in place, staring at the floor. When you were alone, he approached you, and you could barely move.

“You didn’t answer my call last night,” Suguru said calmly as he gathered all the papers.

You began to assist him.

“I was studying for your exam,” you replied. He chuckled.

The truth was that you were tired of him and the relationship you both had. This affair between you began almost six months ago, when he became your literature teacher for the remainder of the course.

Initially, you were unaware of him, but unfortunately, he was not unaware of you. The moment he walked in and saw you, he knew you would be his, and his alone.

Before you knew it, he orchestrated situations to spend more time alone with you. Just weeks later, he had you under his control.

How could you resist? He was charming, always treating you well. Unlike others your age, he knew how to keep you happy with his words and actions. Showering you with gifts, weekend road trips, afternoon promenades… Was he even real?

From that point on, you became the teacher’s favorite. Always eager to answer his questions, volunteering for anything he requested, and studying diligently. You craved his approval, no, you depended on it. You were a submissive, manipulated student, and he was well aware of it.

“Darling, you know I couldn't give you the exam; that would be cheating,” he said, lifting your chin to meet his gaze.

You despised how, at first, you mistook his actions for romantic gestures. It dawned on you that they were manifestations of your submission to him and his thirst for power. Avoiding his gaze, you sighed. When did this relationship devolve into a manipulative game devoid of genuine emotion? You cursed your naivety, realizing too late that Geto's feelings for you were shallow, driven solely by a desire for control.

Escape eluded you not due to threats, but because of his cunning ways—his knack for twisting situations, gaslighting you, and ensnaring you in his deceptions. Despite recognizing the toxicity, you felt lost without his guidance. Not only lost but you felt alone, since you believed his lies about your college companions inadequacy and your need for his supposed superiority in age, intellect, and greatness.

"Why are you acting like that?" he teased.

"I'm not sure," you replied, distancing yourself.

"I think I know why you resent me," he murmured, grasping your hand. "Is it because of the tutoring session with someone else? You're not like them; you're special."

"If I'm so special, why am I a secret?" you blurted out, instantly regretting it.

Despite his transgressions, you remained attached to him, berating yourself for your foolishness.

"Are you upset because I kept you hidden?" he inquired, taken aback.

You nodded, consumed by humiliation.

"Darling, you're a secret because you're too good to be true," he murmured, planting a gentle kiss on your forehead. "If the authorities found out about us, it would spell trouble. It's not just me who'd suffer; you'd risk expulsion. Is that what you want?"

You shook your head, avoiding his gaze.

"Expulsion would tarnish all your parents' hard work," Suguru continued, his tone persuasive. "Let's face it, you enjoy this arrangement the most, right? Dating someone of your league, not like those monkeys you have as classmates, reaping good grades. It's your call, my dear. Shall we go public and sacrifice all that you and your family have built, jeopardizing your future? Or shall we keep it between us, ensuring your academic success and our continued lovely relationship?"

You swallowed hard, meeting his intense gaze. His captivating appearance clashed with his manipulative ways, momentarily leaving you speechless.

"Perhaps you would consider ending things with me, but then you'd lose the privileges I've granted you in my class. Do you truly believe your grades solely reflect your hard work?" Geto's condescending tone pierced through.

Trapped without an exit, you harbored resentment.

"Let's keep it a secret," you conceded, defeated.

How much longer would you endure this? Until his interest waned?

"You show such maturity for your age; that's why you're my favorite student," Geto remarked. "Now, be a good teacher's pet and leave five minutes after me. Tomorrow, I'll pick your for dinner so dress up decently, alright?"

[moodymisty]

First time writing for w40k, please enjoy 🙏

---

Horus is in his office when the news is delivered of your labors. He hears a knock on the door and a voice calls out, "Lady Aurelian's labors are starting."

All thoughts of work immediately flee his mind. This is much more important.

The Space Marine who had delivered the news struggles to keep up with Horus as he strides through the doors and towards the medical ward.

Horus ignores everyone he passes in his haste to arrive at the medical ward, to arrive to you. His hearts are pounding in his chest, and blood rushes on his ears, drowning out the sound of everything else.

Another Space Marine stands outside the door of the medical ward, and the Marine opens the door for Horus as he approaches. Horus steps inside, and his eyes immediately lock onto an Apothecary.

After you had come to be in his care, Horus had ordered his Luna Wolves Apothecaries to research and learn all they could about pregnancy and childbirth. The child you carry is the child of a Primarch, and the baseline human serfs would not be fully prepared to deal with such an important task alone. The medicae serfs would be assisted by the Apothecaries.

"Report." Horus commands the Apothecary.

The Apothecary straightens. "Yes, Lord Horus. Roughly an hour ago, Lady Aurelian reported pain in her abdomen. On the way to the medical ward, her water broke, and she was rushed here. After confirming the child was coming, and getting Lady Aurelian settled, a Marine was dispatched to retrieve you."

Horus nods. "Excellent."

He moves to enter the room the Apothecary was guarding, but is stopped by the Apothecary. "Um, Lord Horus, it's thought to be best if you remain outside the room. Your presence could distract some of the medicae serfs."

Horus grits his teeth. He wants to be there with you. He wants to hold your hand to comfort you, he wants to nod along when you curse at him his brother for doing this to you, he wants to see the life you've been carrying so diligently for so long finally enter the world, he wants to hear the child's first cry together with you.

But this isn't about what he wants, it's about what you need. And you need the medicae serfs to be fully focused on bringing your child safely into the world. So Horus nods, and settles in to wait.

He'll make sure the medicae are used to his presence in the future so that next time, he can be in the room with you.

---

The birth takes hours. Horus waits anxiously in the waiting room the whole time. At first, Horus tries to be productive while waiting. He orders a Marine to bring him some of his work from his office so he can work while he waits. However, his head is empty of any thoughts that aren't you, you, you. After spending half an hour attempting to read a single paragraph, he gives up on working and begins to pace.

Occasionally, the door to your room opens as a medicae or Apothecary enters or exits. Horus smells blood and hears your screams when they do, and his hearts pound faster as he imagines what you must be going through, especially without him by your side.

Eventually, things seem to calm down, as Apothecaries and medicae stop traversing through your door quite as often. Soon, an Apothecary approaches Horus, who stops his pacing immediately.

"How is she?" Horus asks without waiting for the Apothecary to speak.

"Lady Aurelian delivered a baby girl. The child is currently being given an extensive medical checkup to observe and document any differences between her and baseline human babies, due to her status as half-Primarch. Lady Aurelian lost a lot of blood, but she is expected to live. She will continue to recieve the best healthcare possible to guarantee so. The medicae are currently cleaning her up and getting her treatment for recovery ready. Once they finish doing so, then you can see her, Lord Horus."

Horus' hearts clench at the news that you've lost a lot of blood, but he can't stop the giddiness that wells within him at the news of the birth.

A baby girl.

Without even meeting her, Horus already loves her so much. He hopes she takes after you, grows to be as beautiful as her mother. He'll have to beat off suitors with Worldbreaker, once she reaches that age.

Horus waits as patiently as he can to be allowed into your room. When a medicae sticks her head out the door of the room and nods at him, Horus has to hold himself back from bursting through the door and to your side. Instead, he confidently walks into your medical room.

The lights are dimmed. The smell of blood and chemicals linger in the air. Medicae quietly maneuver through the room, consulting charts and whispering to each other. Horus registers none of this, as his eyes are only for you.

Your hair is stuck to your forehead with sweat. There are dark circles under your eyes, and tear tracks on your cheeks. You rest on a large bed surrounded by pillows and beeping machines.

Despite all this, or perhaps because of it, you're the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

His breath catches as he looks at you, and sees the proof of how hard you worked to bring life into this universe. For a moment, he understands Lorgar's religious devotion to you. He would worship you as a goddess as well if he could.

He approaches your bedside as gently as possible, and you stir when he kneels next to you. He smiles as your eyes blearily look at him.

"Lorgar...?"

His smile dims a bit at you calling for his brother.

"No, it's only me, Horus, here."

"Oh..." You blink slowly. "The baby...?"

"A baby girl. She's getting a checkup by the medicae. Perhaps afterwards, we can name her?"

"Lorgar wanted to name a girl Medea. So I'll go with that."

"A beautiful name," he praises, though in his mind he can think of thousands of better names for the darling girl you had brought into the world. He smoothes your hair back and gently grasps your hands.

You yawn. "I'm tired," you mumble, watching him through half-liddled eyes.

"Then sleep," he says, bringing your hands to his mouth and kissing them. "I'll be right here with you the whole time."

Bro I am salivating, I am yearning, I am uncontrollable.

Him being like ‘I need to prepare the medicae for the next time she gives birth’, to him not wanting to name the girl what Lorgar wanted but not wanting to upset you more, I am crying.

Thank you for making this ima go read it a few more times before going to sleep brb

[fafnir19]

Flying like a bird – isn't that ecological?

I looked out the window, the engine's hum vibrating through my chest. The swelling excitement of my upcoming voluntary ecological year in Brazil was tinged with a hint of guilt. Guilt for the environmental impact my flight was causing, despite the carbon offsets I had diligently purchased. As a gay man committed to supporting minorities and environmental conservation, the contradiction weighed heavily on my mind. Suddenly, the airplane lurched, and a wave of red wine splattered me, the liquid soaking through my clothes. "Oh no! I'm so sorry!" Karen, the stewardess, exclaimed, her voice laced with panic. "It's okay," I reassured her, trying to suppress a chuckle at the absurdity of the situation. As I stood up, the wet fabric clinging uncomfortably to my skin, Karen offered a solution. "I can get you a new seat in first class, and also, here's a co-pilot's uniform to change into. It's the best I can do to make up for this mess." Grateful for the offer, I changed into the oversized uniform and made my way to the first-class cabin.

The extra legroom and plush seat were a welcome relief. As I settled in, the engine's roar filled the cabin, accompanied by the rustling of flight attendants bustling around. "Due to your new seat by the emergency exit, we'll need you to watch a special safety video," Karen informed me with a warm smile. I nodded, paying close attention to the lengthy safety demonstration that followed. My brow furrowed as I noticed the dated gender roles portrayed in the video, and the co-pilot's demeaning attitude toward the stewardesses. After the video finally concluded, I made a mental note to write a complaint to the airline. Karen approached me once more, offering a sweet welcome drink. The sugary liquid offered a momentary distraction from the unsettling video. As I sipped the drink, a sudden wave of exhaustion washed over me, and before long, I drifted into a deep slumber. In my dream, I found myself face to face with the obnoxious co-pilot from the safety video, and a surge of frustration bubbled within me. "Hey, you!" I yelled, my voice echoing through the dream landscape. "How dare you treat women like that! You're insufferable! You can't treat women like that!" The co-pilot smirked. "Why not? They love it. Just look at them." Even in my own dream, I was plagued by his presence. My dream began to warp and twist, and I suddenly saw myself in the co-pilot's uniform, strutting through the cabin with an air of entitlement.

I awoke to the gentle touch of Karen, who smiled warmly at me. "You look great in that uniform, ready for your shift as a co-pilot?" she asked. I was astonished to find that the co-pilot's uniform now fit me perfectly, accentuating my athletic build.

I followed Karen to the cockpit, feeling elated at the unexpected turn of events. Taking my place in the cockpit, I began assisting the pilot as we navigated through the skies.

"Where's the usual co-pilot?" John asked, glancing at me with a curious expression. "I thought we could use a change," Karen replied cryptically, her eyes twinkling mischievously. I was eager to prove my capabilities in this unexpected role. The responsibility felt exhilarating, and I relished every moment of it. This was a dream come true - a chance to live out my lifelong ambition of being a pilot.

Suddenly, John excused himself to use the restroom, leaving me alone in the cockpit.

"So, Karen, what's the story behind all this?" John inquired. Karen's laughter filled the space, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Oh, there is a special safety video and a welcome drink that alters the minds and bodies of our ordinary passengers as we have a lack of co-pilots" Karen explained, a smirk playing on her lips. "It's a compromise between the union and the marketing department," Karen explained. "They want the co-pilots to be the epitome of masculinity and to appeal to a wealthy clientele. But it's all about appearances." John's eyebrows furrowed. "What do you mean?" "The union wants heterosexual men who can charm women in every location they land," Karen elaborated. "While the marketing department wants them to be attractive to gay passengers. They've settled on a strange blend of both." "In any case, he is a particularly sweet co-pilot," John remarked, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

Suddenly, an idea sparked within me, fueled by the of the safety video. I turned to John, my expression determined. "I need a break. There's someone in row 10 I want to upgrade." "Upgrade?" John raised an eyebrow, his expression mirroring a mix of surprise and amusement. "To the Mile High Club," I declared boldly, the words escaping my lips before I could fully process the audacity of my request. John's laughter echoed through the cockpit, the sound mingling with the steady hum of the engines. "Well, well, looks like our sweet co-pilot is ready to make his mark."

As I sauntered down the aisle, I couldn't contain my laughter at the thought of what was to come. Reaching row 10, I leaned in close to the passenger, my smooth voice sending shivers down her spine as I effortlessly charmed her. "Excuse me," I began, suppressing the upheaval of conflicting emotions. "I have a special upgrade for you." The woman's eyes widened in surprise, her gaze flitting between me and the open door to the lavatory. "An upgrade?" "To the Mile High Club," I clarified, my voice tinged with certainty. The young woman's laughter mixed with mine as she eagerly accepted my invitation, a mischievous glint in her eye. We disappeared into the lavatory, our hushed giggles mingling with the steady rhythm of the airplane as we indulged in our risqué endeavor. Moments later, I re-emerged, the satisfied grin on my face indicating the successful initiation of the newest member into the Mile High Club. Returning to the cockpit, I took my place with a buoyant energy, the satisfaction of a successful mission evident in my demeanor.

Karen and John exchanged knowing smiles, understanding the mischievous spark in my eyes. "Done with your break already? You work fast," Karen teased, unable to contain her amusement. "I had to make sure our newest member received a warm welcome," I replied with a playful wink.

The plane landed smoothly in Rio de Janeiro and I couldn't shake the surreal feeling of my dream. After I got out, Karen handed me a business card with a mischievous smile. “If you are interested, the airline is happy to offer you pilot training,” she said. With shaking hands and full of excitement, I accepted the card. I ended my voluntary ecological year before it even started and began my pilot training.

[clangenrising]

Month 12 - Leafbare

Sagetooth’s ear twitched irritably as she listened to Smokyrose’s proposal. “This is nonsense!” she huffed. “You want to try and make peace with these rogues?! You’d sooner teach a fox to fly!” Smokyrose tried to hide her scowl, focusing her attention back on Goldenstar. 

“I think we have to try,” she said. “And we ought to try as soon as possible. If we can put an end to the fighting before anyone else gets hurt, we should do that, right?” 

“I see what you’re saying,” Goldenstar said and Sagetooth waited eagerly for the ‘but’, “but these city cats don’t seem interested in any outcome besides getting what they want. I’m not sure there is a peaceful solution.” 

Smokyrose frowned and said, “We should do our due diligence. If we don’t, the ‘what ifs’ will weigh on our minds for the rest of our lives.” 

“Maybe for you,” Sagetooth growled, lashing her tail. “I will sleep soundly knowing we refused to negotiate with these barbarians.” 

“That kind of talk isn’t helpful,” Smokyrose pouted. “We need to empathize with our enemy, not demonize them.” Some things never changed. Smokyrose was still as self righteous as ever and accustomed to using her pretty face to win arguments. It made Sagetooth simmer with rage.

“I beg to differ,” she retorted. “There’s a reason the Code expects us to refrain from making friendships within other Clans. Too much empathy loses battles.” 

Goldenstar chirped to get the two older cats’ attention then sighed. “Look. I would love to be able to agree with you Smokyrose but I’m worried about your safety. Maybe we can find a compromise, yes?” 

“I’m listening,” Smokyrose smiled and Sagetooth rolled her eyes.

“It’s been a while since we actually ran into any rogues,” Goldenstar said. “Next time we do, we’ll ask them for a meeting and then we’ll arrange a time and location that I can feel confident you’ll be safe in. How does that sound?” 

“I guess…” said Smokyrose. Sagetooth huffed.

Goldenstar looked at her and asked, “Sagetooth, do you have any objections?” 

“No, I suppose not,” said the old healer. Aside from the fact that this clearly won’t work. She was just going to have to let Goldenstar learn the hard way. 

“Good,” Goldenstar sighed tiredly. “I’m glad we could come to an agreement.” Sagetooth and Smokyrose both frowned and shifted their weight but they didn’t protest. 

Neither of us are happy, Sagetooth thought sarcastically, the sign of a perfect compromise. 

“Thank you for hearing me out,” Smokyrose nodded, standing. 

“Always,” said Goldenstar, smiling despite her weariness. Sagetooth frowned deeper. The war seemed to be taking a heavy toll on the young cat and she didn’t like it. 

“Did you want me to bring you those sleeping herbs like we discussed?” she asked, knowing Goldenstar had been against them from the start. 

“I guess…” Goldenstar shrugged. “I… trust your judgment.” 

“Good,” Sagetooth said, standing as well. “Trust me, a night of deep sleep will do you some good.” She headed for the exit to the leader’s den but nearly collided with Smokyrose in the tunnel. She bristled, baring her teeth, and Smokyrose pulled back to let her go first. With a satisfied ‘humph’, she hobbled out of the den and back into her own. By the time she got there, a rant was starting to spill from her lips. 

“She’s got no sense,” she grumbled, “She wants to talk with them? Hah! That will go well. I’m sure everyone will toss a moss ball around and share tongues too!” 

Movement drew her attention and she snapped her gaze up to glare at the perpetrator. Sitting side by side, Aldertail and Oddstripe were refreshing the sick beds. Aldertail had fallen over, tail tucked and ears pressed back, as if instinctively apologizing for being in her way. Oddstripe winced sympathetically and smiled at Sagetooth.

“Evening, Sagetooth,” he said. “Everything alright?” 

“It’s Smokyrose,” she grouched, disregarding them as she stomped back to the herb stores. “She’s insisting we try to ‘make peace’ with the rogues. Ridiculous! She seems to think every problem can be solved if you talk about your feelings enough.” 

“Well, that is her job, isn’t it?” Oddstripe offered with a bashful laugh. “You know, as a mediator.” 

“Pah!” Sagetooth lashed her tail to toss the remark away. “Mediators! We went plenty of generations without them just fine!” She scowled in focus. She had to portion out the herbs without making a mess and her temper was not making it any easier for her achy paws to manage.

“Oh, really?” Oddstripe asked. “I just assumed mediators had been around as long as every other position.”

“Nope,” Sagetooth said. “Time was, we knew how to settle our disputes like warriors. These days all anyone wants to do is talk.” Finally, she managed to fold Goldenstar’s herbs into a little leaf for easy carrying.

“Isn’t that better?” he ventured carefully. “I mean- don’t less cats get hurt?” 

Sagetooth scoffed and turned around, the bundle of herbs in her teeth. “Youngins!” she hissed. “Too afraid of pain.” Her eyes briefly landed on Aldertail and the warrior impulsively went to lick at her paws. Sagetooth’s tail lashed again. 

“Stop that!” she ordered. 

“Sorry!” Aldertail squeaked, slamming her paw back down. 

“Stars, girl!” Sagetooth groaned, “I ought to put garlic on your legs!” 

“I-it’s alright,” Oddstripe tried, laying his tail around Aldertail’s shoulders. “She just wants you to be kind to yourself.” Sagetooth’s fur prickled. 

“Don’t put words in my mouth,” she spat. “We’re not doing her any service by coddling her. She’s a full grown cat, she should be able to take control of herself and stop tearing up her own skin any time someone looks at her sideways!” 

“I’m sorry,” Aldertail said again. “I’ll stop, I promise!” 

“You’d better,” Sagetooth growled. 

Oddstripe’s big ears turned backwards. “Sagetooth! She can’t help it!” 

“Excuses, excuses,” scoffed Sagetooth. 

Deep down, she knew she was being harsh. As much as she disliked it, Aldertail’s condition wasn’t something she had too much control over, but Sagetooth was angry and her hips hurt and it seemed like everyone had forgotten what it really meant to be a warrior and she wasn’t in the mood to keep her thoughts to herself! She also wasn’t in the mood to put up with Oddstripe’s bleeding heart at the moment and she stalked out of the den, tail arched at the base as it lashed side to side. 

“It’s okay, Oddstripe, really,” she heard Aldertail say as she left. “I know I should be better about it.” 

“Oh, you’re fine,” Oddstripe said firmly. “Why don’t you finish these nests? I’m going to have a word with Sagetooth real quick.” 

Sagetooth growled, low and long, as the sound of pawsteps quickly caught up to her. The sun was starting to set, casting the camp in a soft purple. On any other day it would have been beautiful but, today, for some reason, it was very annoying.

“Sagetooth!” Oddstripe hissed, easily keeping stride with her. “That was entirely inappropriate! I- I know you have your own way of doing things, but I-” 

“You what?” Sagetooth stopped to glare at him and his stupid, giant bat ears. 

“I-” Oddstripe recoiled under her gaze. She huffed in satisfaction which only made him more upset. “I won’t let you talk to her like that.” 

“Oh, really?” she growled, setting down the herbs. “What will you do to stop me?” 

Oddstripe squirmed but kept that annoyingly determined look on his face. “I- I don’t-” 

“Sagetooth!” a voice called out from the eastern hill. Sighing, she turned to face the patrol returning to camp with a grimace. 

“What now?” she said before she saw them and all thoughts seemed to fly from her head. 

Pantherhaze was in the lead, with Yarrowshade, Barleypaw, and Stormwhisper in tow. Each of them carried a kit about four weeks old in their jaws. Sagetooth’s eyes snapped onto Stormwhisper and he immediately wilted under her gaze. 

“There you are!” she shouted. “Where in the Dark Forest have you been?!” She stormed towards them, the herbs and her argument with Oddstripe completely forgotten. Cats started emerging from their dens to see what was going on.

Stormwhisper set the kitten down between his paws and said, “StarClan led me out past the territories where I found a pregnant queen. I helped her deliver the kits and she asked me to take them back to be raised in EarthClan so I did. I’m still not sure why StarClan set me on this path, but I assume the kits must be important somehow.” Sagetooth narrowed her eyes. His response seemed rehearsed to her and far too vague for her liking.

As he spoke, the others set the kits they were carrying next to the first and one of them, a little white and ginger tom, started to squeal hungrily. The others joined in, becoming a pitiful, sickly sounding chorus. 

“Oh, the poor things!” Oddstripe said, moving over to inspect the kittens. “They’re half starved!” 

“I’ve been trying to feed them,” Stormwhisper said, “but it’s been hard since they’re still getting the hang of food.” 

Sagetooth was still glaring. “They’re not even weaned yet and their mother sent them away with you?” 

Stormwhisper frowned and shifted his weight uneasily. “Yeah. I tried to convince her to come with me but she wanted nothing to do with them. B-besides, I figured I’d been gone long enough already-”

“You sure have!” Sagetooth hissed, tail bristling. “Oddstripe and I have been covering for your absence! There’s a war on! And you just went off for three moons, completely neglecting your duties and oaths?!” 

“A war?!” Stormwhisper reeled. “Between whom?” 

“Everyone and a bunch of bloodthirsty rogues,” Sagetooth snapped. “You’d know that if you’d stuck around.”

“Easy, Sagetooth,” Yarrowshade said, stepping forward a little. 

“He said StarClan was guiding him,” Pantherhaze added, eyes wide. “Maybe these kits are going to save the Clans some day!” 

Oddstripe whispered, “Barleypaw, would you grab me some drinking water and a bird of some kind?” Barleypaw nodded and bounded off towards the nearest stream.

“I’ll go grab the ones we cached earlier,” Yarrowshade offered.

“Thank you,” Oddstripe purred. “Stormwhisper, why don’t you help me get them to the healers’ den?” Sagetooth’s jaw hurt from the ferocity with which she was clenching it. It seemed no one there cared at all about Stormwhisper’s transgressions. She wished that she could set him on fire with her glare alone. She couldn’t, of course, and he eventually broke her gaze to smile at Oddstripe.

“Of course,” he said. Stooping down, he started nosing the kits towards the healers’ den and said, “Come on, little ones. Food is this way.” Sagetooth watched the fondness on his face, the way he gently picked up the smallest one and helped him along, and her expression darkened. The kits were skinny and weak, that much was clear, but if their mother had abandoned them at birth they would have died within the week. The situation wasn’t adding up right and it didn’t sit well with her.

That night, she watched from the back of the den as Oddstripe and Stormwhisper fawned over the kittens and tried to help them eat. They laughed together. Oddstripe shared stories about their own litter. Stormwhisper shared his names for the litter. 

They were all toms. The biggest and strongest of them, the ginger and white one, he named Bluffkit. The blue tabby he named Finchkit. The little grey-brown one with the white tail he named Erminekit. The white and grey speckled one he called Rainkit.

“You know,” he admitted to Oddstripe after he’d said it, “I always wanted a kit named Rainkit.” Sagetooth’s eyes narrowed. 

“Really?” Oddstripe purred. 

“Yeah,” said Stormwhisper. “You know, Stormwhisper. Rainkit. I thought it was cute.” 

“Oh, it is!” Oddstripe said, waving a paw around for the kittens to bat at. “I’m glad you were able to use the name, even if the kits aren’t yours.” 

“Yeah,” Stormwhisper said, falling quiet, a strange smile on his face. 

That was enough for Sagetooth. She didn’t know why or how but she was certain these kits were Stormwhisper’s. It made her sick. Still, it wasn’t a surprise. Stormwhisper had never been very committed to his duties as a healer, especially not the spiritual ones. As she saw it, a part of him had remained stuck in his time as a warrior and no amount of lectures ever seemed to get him to behave. And now he had used StarClan as an excuse to cover for his blasphemous actions. What a disgrace. What a betrayal.

“StarClan are the ones who betrayed us, Sagetooth. Wake up already.” Redleaf’s words reared their ugly heads, as they often did at the most inopportune times. Sagetooth shook her head. At least she had managed to keep Stormwhisper away from-

Her eyes widened in shock and her entire pelt bristled with unease. 

No… Surely not.

She studied the kits as they settled down against Stormwhisper’s belly to sleep. A ginger kitten was a guarantee that their mother was a tortoiseshell. The more she looked, the more she saw her old apprentice in their features, in the shapes of their faces or the pattern of their stripes.

She shook her head again, shutting her eyes. She was imagining things. There was no way to find such a strong resemblance, not when they were this young, not when they were all toms. Still, the fear lingered with her. She wondered what had become of Redleaf. What reason would she have had to stay so close to the Clan? How would Stormwhisper have even known?

Sighing, she settled herself down for sleep. She had more important things to worry about. That didn’t stop her from worrying about this for at least another hour before she fell into a fitful sleep.

UPDATES: - Stormwhisper returns from his mysterious absence with four kits, Bluffkit, Finchkit, Erminekit, and Rainkit. They stay the night in RisingClan before returning to EarthClan.

[tanadrin]

Regarding supposed election interference conspiracy theories: I highly recommend checking out this thread over on threads. https://www.threads. .net/@billt801/post/DCIIRcrRhmD?xmt=AQGzlJnE3HBQjvsKoquyz4nfjpFtc0aTm2Ph5PwnIRCznQ

Sorry, same anon, but this spoutible post by the same guy. https://spoutible(dot) com/thread/37937176 from today is analyzing discrepancies between the exit polls and the final results. and the disproportionately large number of trump voters who voted nothing down ballot. And these counties were ones that had bomb threats called in on election day. No, it's probably not going to make a difference. But it's worth doing due diligence by investigating and doing hand counts, right?

"Low information voters vote for president and leave other ballot lines blank" is not a new phenomenon! Look, a lot of election security advocates say the gold standard is paper ballots and hand counting, and I'm not gonna dispute that necessarily as a general policy prescription, but this is still plainly cope. Referencing 2004 conspiracy theories about Ohio (which were based on inaccurate exit polls that dropped right after the election) convinces me this guy is an idiot.

And, once again, why would they hack the race for president and not give themselves more wiggle room in House races? "People did not vote the way I expected them to" is not good evidence of a conspiracy. Especially since voting behavior was largely in line with polls. What, were they rigging every poll in the country besides Anne Selzer for the last twelve months, too?

[tqmies]

First of all congratulations on your 1k 💕 Can I request for your event . Haechan + Enemies to lovers or fake dating ( up to you ) + prompt 2

Bet | Lee Haechan

Part of Tqmies 1K Event!

Enemies to lovers & fake dating au, 2. “Why are you mad?” “I’m not mad, I just think you can choose better people to kiss.” wc: 1.1k Note: i love haechan, i love that my followers love haechan too, now come here so i can give you a big smooch. & thank you <3

"No way." Haechan says, standing firm. "I won't do it."

"I'll pay you a hundred bucks."

"When do I start?"

"Wait, wait!" You interrupt, putting your hands between the two boys. One being Haechan, and the other being your best friend Mark. "I haven't even said anything yet."

"You don't need to baby." Haechan smirks, before swooning dramtically. "I know you're dying for a chance at me."

"I actually hate you." You deadpan but are ignored.

"Hate and love," Haechan sighs. "Such a thin line of difference, both feelings are so intense that you must get them confused."

"Get a load of Shakespeare over here." Jeno remarks, and you laugh.

"Quiet," Haechan bites back.

Mark looks over at you. "So what'll it be? Will you help me?"

Every bone in your body wants to refuse. But Mark's your best friend, and you sigh, knowing he would do it for you if you ever asked.

It just happened to be your luck that Haechan and you were the only free ones in your group. And single, meaning you'd have to pair up with Haechan. Well, Jeno was too but he was tied up for the night due to some baseball practice.

That left you and Haechan as the only ones able to attend this double blind date with Mark as support. And in all honesty, you thought his worry was stupid.

"Why do you need us to go again?" You ask, pinching the bridge of your nose.

"It'd help me feel less nervous! And you guys are the only one's not busy tonight so-"

You sigh, "Whatever Mark, I'll do it."

"Oh thank goodness," Mark deflates. "I was so worried."

"Not doing this for you, I'm doing this for the check!" You elaborate, though Mark knows you're lying, curse your weakness for your best friend.

..

"Remember, you met in high school, Haechan confessed senior year and you’ve been together ever since.” Mark repeats, as you all sit in his car. He’s ran through the scenario like a teacher in front of pre-school children.

But you nod. "Got it."

"Yeah I got it after the first twelve times." Haechan crosses his arms as he wave's Mark off. "We'll be fine, you worry about your date, and let me worry about this freak over here."

"Oh shut up!" You retort. "You're lucky to even pretend you're on a date with someone like me."

Haechan scoffs, "Okay, if that makes you feel better."

As you open your mouth to speak, Mark stops you both, warning. "Guys, you two aren't acting like you're dating right now.."

"Haechan just can't admit that I'd be an amazing date."

"Sure, I bet being with me will be the best date you've been on."

"Bet?" You raise a brow. "You're on."

"Oh no, please no." Mark mutters to himself as you and Haechan exit the car. He might've bit off more than he could chew, you guys making bets was never good, ever the competitive ones.

Yet, he can say as the night progresses, that he's pleasantly surprised with you two's behavior. Of course, he's paying most attention to his date, but if he didn't notice then she definitely didn't.

You two are the most convincing fake couple ever, minus you two actually hating each others guts. Mark assumes its all fueled by competition, trying to butter the other up to get them to admit they'd be a good date. From the way Haechan pulled out your chair, to the way you diligently complimented his food choices, inflating his already huge ego.

And as weird as it feels, Mark has to admit he likes to see his two closest friends even getting along, but he really can’t complain.

“You two are adorable.” His date points out, and it’s the first time you’ve really looked at her tonight. Her eyes meet yours and something in her lights up. “Wait, I know you!”

You agree, though you can’t remember from where.

Unfortunately, she fills in the blanks for you. “You kissed Lee Jeno at that party a few weeks ago!“

Silence looms over the table as you can only hear the chattering of patrons around you.

You remember now, she must’ve been one the party goers at the recent frat party Jeno dragged you to. No one else wanted to go with him so he grabbed you off your couch on a Saturday and made you party with him.

It had ended in the two of you drunkenly making out on the frats couch, to which you had promised to never say a word about again.

"Oh yeah?" Haechan speaks up, shooting you a glare as he grits his teeth. "That's funny considering I mentioned we've been together for years."

Mark wants to die.

You laugh nervously, as the girl beside you two widens her eyes. "It was during our um.. break!"

Nice save, Mark thinks but then Haechan speaks up. "I don't remember us having a break."

The smile falls off of your face. "We broke up for during that one weekend, remember?"

"Oh my gosh, I must have the wrong girl. It probably wasn't you, no worries." Mark's date speaks as she tries to ease the tension.

"No need to lie." Haechan replies, raising his brows. Then he just shrugs, going back to his food. "I did a lot of things while we were on break too."

Mark wants to die, again.

Also, when the hell had you kissed Jeno? Like for real, that had actually happened?

You just quietly go back to your food, noting how the other couple's face's are hot red, Mark likely too scared to say anything. At least Haechan didn't rat you two out, though you're sure Mark's date knows now.

The rest of the date goes on pretty silently, save for small chatter from around you and the occasional comment from Mark.

You and Haechan exit the restaurant first, hoping Mark would gain the courage to ask his date on a second one, seeing as it seemed they got along pretty well despite the incident.

As soon as you're out of ear-shot, Haechan turns to you while crossing his arms. "You're the worst fake partner ever!"

"Me?" You ask, pointing into his chest. "I had the situation handled, and here you come with the 'we weren't on break!' Like would it have killed you to just agree?!"

"Whatever, I don't care." He responds, turning away from you.

Though you notice he seems bothered. "Jeno and I were drunk, if you're upset at him not telling you. it's not a big deal, I barely even remember."

"Why would I be upset?" He mocks.

"I don't know? You seem bothered!"

"Maybe I am."

You throw your hands up. "Well, why are you mad?"

He smirks at seeing you riled up. “I’m not mad, I just think you can choose better people to kiss.”

"Really, yeah?" You ridicule. "Like who? You?"

"Yeah." He says, nonchalantly. "Bet I'm a better kisser than him anyways."

"You bet?" You smirk.

"I bet, now wanna find out?"

[ralfmaximus]

Remember that 737 MAX whose door plug blew out in flight?

A boeing whistleblower created a burner account and reported the following (reproduced here in its entirety in case the original gets deleted):

Current Boeing employee here – I will save you waiting two years for the NTSB report to come out and give it to you for free: the reason the door blew off is stated in black and white in Boeings own records. It is also very, very stupid and speaks volumes about the quality culture at certain portions of the business.

A couple of things to cover before we begin:

Q1) Why should we believe you? A) You shouldn’t, I’m some random throwaway account, do your own due diligence. Others who work at Boeing can verify what I say is true, but all I ask is you consider the following based on its own merits.

Q2) Why are you doing this? A) Because there are many cultures at Boeing, and while the executive culture may be throughly compromised since we were bought by McD, there are many other people who still push for a quality product with cutting edge design. My hope is that this is the wake up call that finally forces the Board to take decisive action, and remove the executives that are resisting the necessary cultural changes to return to a company that values safety and quality above schedule.

With that out of the way… why did the left hand (LH) mid-exit door plug blow off of the 737-9 registered as N704AL? Simple- as has been covered in a number of articles and videos across aviation channels, there are 4 bolts that prevent the mid-exit door plug from sliding up off of the door stop fittings that take the actual pressurization loads in flight, and these 4 bolts were not installed when Boeing delivered the airplane, our own records reflect this.

The mid-exit doors on a 737-9 of both the regular and plug variety come from Spirit already installed in what is supposed to be the final configuration and in the Renton factory, there is a job for the doors team to verify this “final” install and rigging meets drawing requirements. In a healthy production system, this would be a “belt and suspenders” sort of check, but the 737 production system is quite far from healthy, its a rambling, shambling, disaster waiting to happen. As a result, this check job that should find minimal defects has in the past 365 calendar days recorded 392 nonconforming findings on 737 mid fuselage door installations (so both actual doors for the high density configs, and plugs like the one that blew out). That is a hideously high and very alarming number, and if our quality system on 737 was healthy, it would have stopped the line and driven the issue back to supplier after the first few instances. Obviously, this did not happen. Now, on the incident aircraft this check job was completed on 31 August 2023, and did turn up discrepancies, but on the RH side door, not the LH that actually failed. I could blame the team for missing certain details, but given the enormous volume of defects they were already finding and fixing, it was inevitable something would slip through- and on the incident aircraft something did. I know what you are thinking at this point, but grab some popcorn because there is a plot twist coming up.

The next day on 1 September 2023 a different team (remember 737s flow through the factory quite quickly, 24 hours completely changes who is working on the plane) wrote up a finding for damaged and improperly installed rivets on the LH mid-exit door of the incident aircraft.

A brief aside to explain two of the record systems Boeing uses in production. The first is a program called CMES which stands for something boring and unimportant but what is important is that CMES is the sole authoritative repository for airplane build records (except on 787 which uses a different program). If a build record in CMES says something was built, inspected, and stamped in accordance with the drawing, then the airplane damn well better be per drawing. The second is a program called SAT, which also stands for something boring and unimportant but what is important is that SAT is *not* an authoritative records system, its a bullentin board where various things affecting the airplane build get posted about and updated with resolutions. You can think of it sort of like a idiots version of Slack or something. Wise readers will already be shuddering and wondering how many consultants were involved, because, yes SAT is a *management visibilty tool*. Like any good management visibilty tool, SAT can generate metrics, lots of metrics, and oh God do Boeing managers love their metrics. As a result, SAT postings are the primary topic of discussion at most daily status meetings, and the whole system is perceived as being extremely important despite, I reiterate, it holding no actual authority at all.

We now return to our incident aircraft, which was written up for having defective rivets on the LH mid-exit door. Now as is standard practice kn Renton (but not to my knowledge in Everett on wide bodies) this write-up happened in two forms, one in CMES, which is the correct venue, and once in SAT to “coordinate the response” but really as a behind-covering measure so the manager of the team that wrote it can show his boss he’s shoved the problem onto someone else. Because there are so many problems with the Spirit build in the 737, Spirit has teams on site in Renton performing warranty work for all of their shoddy quality, and this SAT promptly gets shunted into their queue as a warranty item. Lots of bickering ensues in the SAT messages, and it takes a bit for Spirit to get to the work package. Once they have finished, they send it back to a Boeing QA for final acceptance, but then Malicious Stupid Happens! The Boeing QA writes another record in CMES (again, the correct venue) stating (with pictures) that Spirit has not actually reworked the discrepant rivets, they *just painted over the defects*. In Boeing production speak, this is a “process failure”. For an A&P mechanic at an airline, this would be called “federal crime”.

Presented with evidence of their malfeasance, Spirit reopens the package and admits that not only did they not rework the rivets properly, there is a damaged pressure seal they need to replace (who damaged it, and when it was damaged is not clear to me). The big deal with this seal, at least according to frantic SAT postings, is the part is not on hand, and will need to be ordered, which is going to impact schedule, and (reading between the lines here) Management is Not Happy. 1/2

2/2

However, more critical for purposes of the accident investigation, the pressure seal is unsurprisingly sandwiched between the plug and the fuselage, and you cannot replace it without opening the door plug to gain access. All of this conversation is documented in increasingly aggressive posts in the SAT, but finally we get to the damning entry which reads something along the lines of “coordinating with the doors team to determine if the door will have to be removed entirely, or just opened. If it is removed then a Removal will have to be written.” Note: a Removal is a type of record in CMES that requires formal sign off from QA that the airplane been restored to drawing requirements.

If you have been paying attention to this situation closely, you may be able to spot the critical error: regardless of whether the door is simply opened or removed entirely, the 4 retaining bolts that keep it from sliding off of the door stops have to be pulled out. A removal should be written in either case for QA to verify install, but as it turns out, someone (exactly who will be a fun question for investigators) decides that the door only needs to be opened, and no formal Removal is generated in CMES (the reason for which is unclear, and a major process failure). Therefore, in the official build records of the airplane, a pressure seal that cannot be accessed without opening the door (and thereby removing retaining bolts) is documented as being replaced, but the door is never officially opened and thus no QA inspection is required. This entire sequence is documented in the SAT, and the nonconformance records in CMES address the damaged rivets and pressure seal, but at no point is the verification job reopened, or is any record of removed retention bolts created, despite it this being a physical impossibility. Finally with Spirit completing their work to Boeing QAs satisfaction, the two rivet-related records in CMES are stamped complete, and the SAT closed on 19 September 2023. No record or comment regarding the retention bolts is made.

I told you it was stupid.

So, where are the bolts? Probably sitting forgotten and unlabeled (because there is no formal record number to label them with) on a work-in-progress bench, unless someone already tossed them in the scrap bin to tidy up.

There’s lots more to be said about the culture that enabled this to happened, but thats the basic details of what happened, the NTSB report will say it in more elegant terms in a few years.

[soularsss]

MAV!! He has finally exited my brain and entered the physical being stage of oc

Getting the lineup out there for Artfight has really pushed me to finish designing my ocs lol, I haven’t touched on his outfit much because I still have a couple base references to make BUT i figured i should post some actual star wars content here

As you probably noticed, he has a form of vitiligo that stems from his home planets radiation levels, due to his species resistance to the radiation he suffers no illness but he was born with the skin pigment disorder.

Mav is a member of the jedi council in my au, and he is the ceo of rbf. Chagrians are known to be a very diligent species, excelling in roles with lord of rules and regulations (military commanders/diplomats). So i thought he would make an excellent council member and inevitably a military advisor during the clone war. He is skilled with a lightsaber but has long since participated in any duels, he prefers to resolve conflicts before they get to those stages.

Anyways i have to go back to cooking up these characters so i leave you all with my blue man 🙏 have a wonderful day <3

[thebisexualdogdad]

Could you do a black cat x male reader? Like black cat sees someone flirting with him and gets jealous but they aren’t together yet so she brushes it off

Combining with the request: Felicia Hardy x gn! Reader? Where we catch her stealing a jewel or something

Danielle Rose Russell used as a fancast

Felicia Hardy x GN!Reader (masc leaning but no pronouns used)

Felicia Hardy always got what she wanted and what she wanted from you was your family's priceless jewels.

She knew this was going to be a long con, spending the better part of a year playing dress up pretending to be one of Manhattan's most coveted socialites while slowly getting closer and closer to her prize.

She clawed her way into your inner circle, joining you at exclusive wine tastings and days out on your yacht.

Everything was going to plan although somewhere along the way she ended up falling for you.

You weren't like the pretentious pricks she was used to, when you spoke to her you genuinely listened to what she had to say and you never once made any attempts at unwanted advances onto her.

Was she starting to regret her scheme?

She showed up to a party at your mansion in an extravagant black dress that had everyone's eyes on her, including yours.

"Felicia, so happy you made it," you smile, handing her a glass of wine, "and might I add you look absolutely beautiful."

Why did that give her butterflies in the pit of her stomach?

"Thank you Y/N, you look quite handsome tonight as well in that suit you're sporting," she replies quickly downing the glass of wine to calm her nerves.

"Bad day?" You chuckle.

"Something like that, how are you?" She says looking around for any server supplying alcohol.

"It's never a bad day when I'm with you," you state.

She was definitely going to need more wine.

The night goes on and while you would much rather be spending it with Felicia you do your due diligence talking with as many of your guests as you could.

Felicia is completely zoned out of her conversation with some creep stock broker terribly hitting on her with her attention solely on you… and the girl you're laughing with.

She thinks her name is Vanessa, she's seen her at some parties before, never spoken to her before she's noticed the way she looks at you.

This is a new feeling for her, is this what it feels like to be jealous?

Felicia huffs when you lean in close to whisper something in Vanessa's ear, the heist was now back on and in full swing.

She doesn't even bother exiting the conversation with the stock broker with some polite goodbye; she just walks away leaving him confused and his equally douchey friends laughing at him.

You see Felicia heading towards the set of stairs the guests are roped off from that lead up to the bedrooms and you excuse yourself from Vanessa to follow her.

Upstairs Felicia easily finds the safe behind a painting in your private study containing your family's jewels which she canvassed out multiple times on her previous visits to your residency.

She cracks the safe but is shocked to find nothing inside.

"Looking for something?"

Felicia turns around to see you standing in the doorway with a grin.

"Y/N I-" she starts.

"Am a world class thief? Yes I know," you say approaching her.

"How long have you known?" She asks.

"A while, I don't just let anyone into my inner circle, I do my research so I know exactly how all these rich assholes want to use me to make themselves richer," you explain.

"If you knew I wanted to steal from you, why did you let me in?"

"Because you're not like them Felicia, you're actually interesting and way smarter than any of those so called intellects down there. I put the jewels in a secure safety deposit box months ago, I've been waiting for the day I'd find you up here," you tell her.

"So you were playing the long con too I see," she says.

"And it was well worth the wait," you tease, getting closer to her, "did you finally snap because of Vanessa?"

Felicia gulps, your faces only inches from each other.

"She's just a family friend, we've known each other since we were three but I do enjoy knowing she made you jealous," you tease.

"This isn't how this was supposed to happen," Felicia mutters.

"Which part? The part where you steal my jewels or the part where I finally kiss you," you ask confidently which turns her on even more.

"Both."

You laugh and pin her to your desk, roughly kissing her.

She hops up onto your desk, wrapping her legs around your waist and pushing your suit jacket off of your shoulders.

You may have been busy exploring each other's bodies but Felicia was already thinking of a plan to find this safety deposit box you mentioned and you were already thinking of where to hide the jewels next.

This was a con the two of you were definitely in for the long run.

[rxqueenotd]

The Verdict- Chapter Nine

Pairing: Vincent Renzi x OFC

Warnings: familial trauma, abortion, medical procedures, medical terminology, discussions of birth control, protesting.

A/N: this chapter is extremely dark and heavy. if you have any trauma regarding abortion or subjects tied to it, please message me and i will give you a TLDR. i swore i would never, ever write anything like this but you guys asked for drama, and now you’re getting it. Also huge shoutout to @melancholicmelanin for being my beta. My elite employee.

Grumbling quietly in the back of the Uber, Leah, with all the politeness she could muster, requested the driver to keep driving. She recognized the neighborhood's landmarks, recalling specific apartments and details from her recent walks with Vincent to and from her current destination. The driver, growing increasingly impatient with Leah's distracted directions, muttered frustrations in French, navigating the streets aimlessly as Leah anxiously scanned her surroundings, hoping for a familiar sight.

"Stop!" Leah's sudden command made the driver slam on the brakes.

Quickly exiting the vehicle, Leah made sure to proceed towards her due diligence of tipping the poor man. Tapping away at her phone in a hurry, she overpaid the driver before giving a forced smile through gritted teeth.

"Thank you," she called out while crossing the street, "Uh, merci!"

Spotting a familiar figure smoking on the terrace above, beckoning her like an old friend, Leah hastened towards the door. Joan, draped in a silk robe, welcomed her inside with an understanding gaze.

"I had nowhere else to go," Leah confessed.

"Come inside," Joan ushered Leah through the foyer and into a cozy sitting room that Leah hadn't noticed during the party.

"What happened?" Joan asked, her concern evident. "Is Vincent okay? Are you okay?"

She sat down, gesturing for Leah to take a seat.

"Yeah," Leah shook her head, "No, I don't know?"

She sighed, "I, uh, left the restaurant in a rush after I saw, uh, well, Vincent and Sandra clearly having a moment. I left my bag with all its contents, and I didn't have anywhere else to go," she explained. "I'm sorry for ambushing you."

“A moment?,” Joan questioned, “What do you mean?”

Leah sighed heavily again. “He was holding her and caressing her,” Leah, visibly upset, said while wringing her hands, “And she touched his face, caressing his cheeks, and they just stared at one another.”

Leah’s voice cracked as she continued, “And I know that type of look,” Leah stopped long enough to wipe her tear stained cheeks, “I’ve been on the receiving end of that look.”

"I feared this would happen," Joan paused to grab a cigarette from the case on the coffee table and lit it. "History repeating itself."

Leah shrugged and sank back into the couch. "What the hell am I supposed to do?"

Joan nonchalantly flicked her ashes into a chic ashtray on the side table. "Do you want some tea?"

Confused by the sudden change of topic, Leah nodded.

"How do you take it?" Joan inquired.

Leah chuckled wryly. "I never drank tea until I came here, so however Vincent makes it is how I've been taking it."

“Black tea with honey and milk, I think?” Leah suggested, “That’s how he taught me.”

_______________________________________

An hour passed as Leah and Joan delved into discussions about what Leah should have done, could have done, and would do.

"You kept Vincent from his father, and yet, you're telling me that I should be honest with Vincent, disregarding everything I saw back at the restaurant," Leah sighed, closing her eyes. "Are you telling me to be honest with him because you have an emotional stake in this or because you think it's the right thing to do?"

"Vincent's father was a pickpocket by trade and a drunk by hobby," Joan explained. "I was twenty when I had Vincent, and I went back to Ireland to tell him about Vincent a year or so later, only to find out he'd knocked up the bartender at the local bar." Joan continued, "For months, we robbed, partied, and lived off Guinness until we were finally caught. I was arrested, deported, and found to be pregnant at the very last minute."

Joan lit a cigarette and pointed a finger at Leah. "So don't draw comparisons from me."

"But it's hard not to when you're telling me all these things," Leah said. "The only difference is I'm thirty-two, Vincent is forty-two, and I live on an entirely different continent," Leah stated, continuing, "We're old enough and established enough to have a child, but that doesn't necessarily mean we should."

"It's your right to choose," Joan said, “Even Vincent will tell you that.”

Joan lit another cigarette and pointed at Leah. "It's not my place to tell him about the child, nor is it my burden to bear," she continued. "But keep in mind that he is not some fly-by-night, piece of shit who's going to move on and pick up the pieces when you fly out of here." She ashed the cigarette, and Leah made a mental note that this is where Vincent must have inherited his chain-smoking gene. "He is going to be right where you left him, loving you all the same."

"See, the thing is," Joan inhaled sharply. "Sandra never loved Vincent back," she explained. "Maybe platonically, sure, but he fell hard, and I think he is now seeing what he lost but also what he has gained. You love him back. That’s the difference."

Leah shook her head, wiping a stray tear from her cheek. "But is that enough?"

Joan smiled sadly at her. "Is anything ever enough, lovely Leah?"

_________________________________________

For an hour, Vincent walked around Paris with an overpriced Prada bag in his grip. Leah had felt guilty the day she bought it, telling him about the people starving and the wars being fought around them. She expressed how selfish and materialistic she felt, but she didn't plan on being the richest person in the cemetery when she died. She intended to spend what she could while she still had a pulse. Vincent liked the way she rationalized the purchase and stood happily behind her with his hands clasped behind his back as the attendant took her on a guided trip through the store.

On this particular night, Vincent longed for the simplicity of those first few weeks they'd spent together. As he searched the streets of Paris as if she might jump out and surprise him around any corner, like the entire thing was one big joke, he wished he had never met her. Quickly banishing that thought from his mind, he realized it was a blatant lie. Convinced she had moved on in New York City, perhaps with the old flame she had mentioned weeks ago in a wine-fueled confession during one of their many midnight chats, he wondered why he continued to want her the way he did.

Then, as his phone vibrated and he squinted to read the brightened screen, a text from his mother read, "She's with me. Go home."

“Why is she there?” He texted back, walking aimlessly in the direction he had been going.

His phone vibrated again and he quickly opened the chat, “Don’t ask questions you already know the answer to.”

Vincent scoffed, forever humbled by his mother, and headed in the direction of her apartment.

_________________________________________

"Vincent, don't come in here to start an argument," his mother warned as she opened the door and gestured for him to enter. "And wipe that smirk off your face."

He complied silently, knowing well that his mother was not one to be swayed in an argument.

She closed the door behind him, tightening her robe around her before pointing a finger at his chest. "Do not wake her up."

He took a step back, raising his eyebrows. "She's at my mother's house."

Joan nodded firmly. "My house, my rules." With that, she turned and walked away, throwing a final warning over her shoulder. "You better not wake me or Tim."

He chuckled to himself, shaking his head in disbelief as his mother disappeared from view.

Taking a deep breath, he navigated through the dimly lit apartment, finally reaching the sitting room where Leah lay curled up on the couch. He let her bag slip out of his grip, the sound of it hitting the floor breaking the silence. Leah jolted awake, gasping, her eyes darting around the room in a panic as she struggled to orient herself.

"I thought I was supposed to be the one mad here," she remarked, sitting up and pulling a throw blanket around her shoulders.

"You chose to come here?" He inquired, a mix of confusion and frustration in his voice. "Why?"

Leah shrugged, a hint of defiance in her demeanor as she shook her head. "Where else was I supposed to go?" she retorted, her tone sharp.

"Leah, you should have gone home," He ran a flustered hand through his hair, turning to face her. "You shouldn't have run away from me," he chastised.

"Home is over three thousand miles away, Vincent," she retorted sharply. "What did you expect me to do?" Her voice cracked with emotion. "Stay and watch that? Put yourself in my shoes for once."

He shook his head, starting to pace. "What you witnessed was two people closing a chapter and moving on."

She scoffed, her tone laced with sarcasm. "Sure, call it that," she said, rolling her eyes as she locked eyes with him. "Maybe next week I'll walk into your apartment and find you fucking her, and we can label it as 'grief therapy.'"

He let out a heavy sigh, his gaze shifting to the ceiling. "What happened to you in New York?" He inquired once more.

She abruptly rose from the couch, pulling the throw tighter around her shoulders.

"I finally came to my senses," she declared, her eyes fixed on the Parisian street beyond the sliding glass door.

"Do you mind sharing, because I can't read your mind?" he asked, moving to stand beside her, both looking out onto the same street.

Leah met his gaze, tears welling up in her eyes. "That you're in love with her," she confessed, her voice trembling. "And I'm in love with you." Wiping away the tears hastily, she continued, "I came here to explore international law, to step out of my comfort zone, but I can't even tell you a single thing about French law because all I've been is a puppet on a string. I've played second fiddle to the ice queen of the Alps because you're so deeply in love with her, Vincent." A sob escaped her, and she quickly muffled it, torn between shame and fear of waking Vincent's mother.

"I don't even know you," she shook her head, a sense of resignation washing over her. "This should never have gone this far," she admitted, closing her eyes. "And I don't share. I refuse to play second fiddle to anyone," she declared.

Vincent chuckled incredulously. "There it is, that American brashness, always rearing its head when things don't go your way."

She let out a sarcastic laugh. "It seems to be a recurring theme, doesn't it? You never miss a chance to remind me of my Americanness." She tilted her head and met his gaze. "You'll eventually scold me for not learning French, one of us will jump out of a window, and history will repeat itself."

"What are you even talking about?" Vincent's face registered bewilderment as he spoke softly, mindful not to disturb his sleeping mother. "Have you thought this through? What's gotten into you?" he inquired.

"It's hard not to dwell on it after what I heard during the case," she sniffled, her voice tinged with distress. "That USB file is haunting me in the most unsettling ways."

"I may be many things," he reached out to touch Leah's shoulder, gently turning her to face him, "But I am not Samuel, and you are not Sandra," he reassured her. "You could speak an alien language, and I would still be in love with you just the same."

She nodded, resting her heavy head in the space between Vincent's shoulder and neck, surrendering, if only for one night.

_________________________________________

Leah had made up her mind before she had actually made up her mind. It was a familiar pattern, reminiscent of her second year of law school when she found herself with two different guys, rotating between them over a span of six months. She walked quietly into the Joan Malin Health Center, the same place that had been the center of protests the week before, causing chaos in the already bustling streets of Brooklyn. With Kate beside her, she completed the necessary paperwork, underwent an exam and ultrasound that they both averted their gazes from, and with a swift IV placement, she drifted off into unconsciousness. Sometime later, she awoke in a sterile, brightly lit room with Kate faithfully by her side. On the way home, Kate grabbed some pizza for both of them, a decision they both wholeheartedly agreed was the best choice, including the one Leah had made earlier in the day. Maybe it had been more emotionally charged that day, Leah couldn’t recall in the moment. Had it been that easy? Had she not felt anything?

It had been about eight years since that day, Leah estimated, as the Uber dropped her off in the sixth arrondissement, her former residence before moving in with Vincent. She pondered whether she would have even made the trip to Paris if she had become a mother back then. Would she have pursued a career in law? Pushing aside these thoughts, she relied on Google Maps to navigate the streets, drawing closer to the address provided by an associate of Le Planning Familial. The associate had promptly responded to her email late at night, providing her with a list of names and locations, allowing her the autonomy to choose where she wished to seek treatment.

Upon her arrival, she took a deep breath before entering the multilevel practice. After riding the elevator to the correct floor, she promptly checked in, grateful that the receptionist spoke English. She didn't want any additional challenges that morning, so she chose a seat far away from the other women waiting to be seen.

It seemed like hours had passed before her name was called, and she was ushered into what appeared to be a doctor's office. They meticulously reviewed her medical history, discussed the procedure, and outlined the pre- and post-procedure protocols. He recommended contraceptive devices to her, to which Leah declined for obvious reasons, not thinking of any sort of future outside of this building, this room. Adoption, she explained, wasn’t even an option to put on the table. Dr. Shah, as he introduced himself, noticed Leah's nervousness as he sighed and leaned on both elbows, studying her.

"It's not too late to change your mind," he offered sympathetically.

"It's not that," Leah shook her head. "I'm just trying not to vomit all over your desk." She placed her shaking hands under her thighs.

“Here,” he stood up and guided Leah out into the hallway, leading her to an exam room down the hall. Opening the door and flicking on the lights, Leah blinked a few times at their harshness.

“Get on the table and make yourself comfortable,” he requested.

Feeling cautious, Leah followed his instructions and settled onto the table, accepting the blanket he offered her.

As he exited the room, Leah took a moment to observe her surroundings. She glanced out the window, taking in the view of the city, and noticed the various pieces of art adorning the walls. Among them, she spotted delicate peonies painted to blend in with the earth-toned decor. If they were placed there for relaxation purposes, they most definitely were not working in Leah’s favor.

Leah picked up her phone and quickly FaceTimed Kate, whose blurred face came into focus after a few rings.

"Was I normal the day I had my abortion?" Leah asked without preamble.

"Leah," Kate began, looking around, "No warning at all?"

Looking past Leah, she asked, "Where are you?"

Leah sighed, "I'm at a clinic in France."

Leah watched as she walked into her office, sighing heavily as Kate sat at her desk, her numerous accolades and photos scattered on the shelves behind her. "What the fuck? I told you to come home, and we would take care of it."

"Was I normal that day?" Leah asked again.

"No," Kate shook her head. "You were shaking like a leaf the entire time, throwing up multiple times, and could barely sit still in that dirty waiting room."

"And those protesters," Kate rolled her eyes, "Their pamphlets were everywhere in the lobby."

Leah let out a shaky breath. "Why don't I remember any of that?"

"Because memory is tricky," Kate offered. "Come home, sissy cat, and we will take care of this."

A nurse knocked on the door and entered the room, carrying materials and a tablet. Leah motioned for Kate to wait, placing the phone beside her. The nurse offered Leah a kind smile, urging her to sit up as she tied a tourniquet around her arm. Nervously, Leah pulled back. "I'm not ready for the procedure, and I don't want general anesthesia. I have no one that can be here with me to take me home.”

"Not yet," the nurse comforted her. "I'm just going to start an IV filled with saline, give you some nausea medication, and medication for anxiety."

"I'll take it all," Leah relaxed and allowed the nurse to do her job. Within minutes, she felt calmer, a little lighter than she had in weeks. Following the nurse's instructions to undress from the waist down, a challenging task that Leah managed one-handed due to the IV placement.

"Are you okay?" Kate questioned as Leah picked up the phone again.

Leah shook her head. "Yes, no, maybe?" She closed her eyes. "I messed up big time, Kate."

"I gotta go, I can hear them discussing my case outside the door," Leah rushed out.

"I love you, sissy cat, and I'll love any little baby you have." Kate blew her a kiss and hung up the phone.

The doctor entered a few minutes later, wheeling an ultrasound cart in behind him. “Feeling better?” He asked, and Leah nodded. “As best as I can, given the situation.”

A few quiet moments passed between them as he set up the machine and had Leah lie back. The same song and dance as before: feet in the stirrups, the cold probe, warm gel, deep pressure. Leah wanted to make a joke about the French being prickly, about how kind and attentive they had been to her, but she quickly realized that was expected of people in their field.

"Once again, an IUD would be a great choice for you. I just want you to know all your options," Dr. Shah said, glancing up at Leah before turning back to the monitor.

"I know it looks like I'm a dumbass American who came to France for fun and got more than she bargained for," Leah sat up and locked eyes with the doctor, "but I took a Plan B and started birth control and still ended up in this situation."

The nurse placed a reassuring hand on Leah's shoulder. "We don't judge here."

“Mesure environ six semaines et cinq jours,” The doctor spoke to the nurse, who tapped on the tablet, nodding as he continued the exam.

And there it was: the steady beat of a drum, the galloping of horse hooves, the steady ticking of a wristwatch under a pillow. Leah thrummed her fingers along the exam table, keeping time with the rhythm, finding comfort in it as she closed her eyes, immersing herself in it.

The doctor looked up at her, his eyes on her dancing fingers, then back to her face. “Are you sure you want to proceed?”

Taglist:

@weakling-grace

@bibistatic

[razorblade180]

Gods judgment

Furina:*bites cake* Ugh, why must being an Archon be so polarizing at times!? I’m near my wits end.

Ei:While I agree to the sentiment, you’d have much less to complain about if you were diligent in your duties.

Pleasant vibes stop

Venti:Oh boy…

Nahida:What’s happening.

Venti:Shhh, pretend you’re invisible,

Furina:Baal, I am positive you of all people didn’t just talk to me about diligence regarding my responsibilities.

Zhongli:She was merely giving you advice since-

Furina:Oh are we really doing this? Do I need to remind you that if anyone has to the authority to judge the ways of other gods it is I, Focalor. *stands up*

Zhongli:Failure to take criticism will only slow progress.

Furina:Don’t misunderstand my situation. You forget yourself, Morax. Criticism indeed has value, and I’d made certain not even I can go unchecked in my own nation. The problem here is that two of you dare to speak in a tone that implies superiority when all you hold is errors so catastrophic that it’s felt in every wave.

Ei:Are you truly one to talk about errors when your problems arise from negligence?

Furina:Ha! That’s rich coming from the Archon who literally made her problem. You dare speak of negligence when you all but abandoned your people to the whims of an unfeeling stand-in? My people and I face a catastrophe forced upon us while yours endured the weight of your grief. Do not speak to me about negligence.

Ei:…..

Furina:But hey, grief is a toxic and dangerous thing that mortals and the divine understand. I do not judge you for feeling pain. It is far more reasonable flaw than that of the eldest of us. *looks at Morax* You want to discuss slow progress and criticism? It took you ages to get to a mindset Barbatos applied from the start!

Venti:Oh, wow. Zhongli she might actually have a point.

Furina:*points* Don’t get too proud of yourself, Barbatos! You’re next.

Venti:Hehe, I figured….

Zhongli:The circumstances between Liyue’s development and Mondstat’s are vastly different in what problems stood in their wake. Liyue would not have lasted to this day without a firm hand guiding the way. Much like how your nation has greatly benefited from your Chief Justice.

Furina:I do not deny my Iudex has been indispensable in Fontaine’s development. However, once again, you are mistaken about the problem. I have no issue in the role you choose for yourself to craft your land. I think it’s quite magnificent. But a show and by extension, a role is only as good as its ending. The protractor of the land chooses to exit the stage with political and civil unrest due to scheme crafted by his truly. As the God of Contracts, could you not have made one with your people stating a resignation in the coming years. In that time you would sufficiently train them to live without you instead of awakening an old adversary.

Zhongli:Preparations only go so far. A test would have to come eventually to truly put my mind at ease.

Furina:A test that shouldn’t come from your hand and not as severe. Life is the test. Make no mistake, I fully believe you would’ve handled it if your people failed, but do you truly think you would’ve saved them all unscathed. You, who knows the chaos war and battle well? I recognize my bias when I say this but it truly disgusts me to see an Archon through the night of a perilous sea at it’s people just to see if they could retire to sipping tea. To make matters worse, you’re not even consistent.

Zhongli:What are you-

Furina:Did you tell your people about Azdaha? From what I gathered, not only did you handle that actual catastrophe discretely, but in a manor where it could still happen again. You want the best for your people, yet you deny them the opportunity to prepare for the future you yourself could prevent.

Zhongli:….

Furina:Barbatos!

Venti:Ley me guess, I’m too lazy?

Furina:Your nation speaks for itself. Calm, self sufficient, and joyous for extended periods of time. I would never say any of you aren’t attentive to your people.

Ei:This sounds like nothing but praise!

Venti:Maybe I’m just a champion of work life balance?

Furina:You sleep too late.

Venti:….*rubs head* I could see why you might say that.

Furina:So could anyone who knows your nation’s history. It’s never a question of if you show up, but when. Although I love a hero arriving in the nick of time, I’m sure your people would’ve loved to see you before the slavery was institutionalized. Not only that, but it’s your failure to arrive punctually that created a harbinger in the first place.

Venti:No god can be everywhere at once or go indefinitely without rest.

Furina:Correct, but no other god here besides Buer and myself have the means to have a steady pulse the people like you do. You are The God of Anemo. There is no whisper in your land that you can not hear. Frankly I wouldn’t have a reason to judge your methods if you didn’t sleep through the tragedies. I’ll admit, I am a tad envious of your prosperity.

Venti:Hmm, I can’t lie and say I don’t see a little merit in that criticism. Although if you ask me, I don’t it would solve as many problems as you believe. Even so, I can accept that perspective for what it is.

Nahida:(He’s rather accommodating to her outburst. Perhaps he’s trying to diffuse the situation?) Hmm!?

Furina:*staring*….

Nahida:H-Hello.

Furina:You understand I’m not above judging even you, a fellow young Archon? My dear Buer, I suspect you’re aware of your faults; or does your wisdom not extend to introspection?

Nahida:No, it does. *slouches* In a lot of ways, I let my nation unravel because of my own self pity.

Furina:I guess your wisdom is boundless if you can admit to that. Feeling unwanted and trapped, you thought it best to have them walk over you for their own benefit until you finally decided a line was crossed. Your wrongful imprisonment should’ve been that line. Though the irony of your situation is how you were never truly trapped, were you? Arriving in dreams and controlling minds without their knowledge was more than enough power to start a coup. No matter how you look at it Buer, you could have fought back. Instead you acted as powerless as they called you.

Nahida:Sigh… You’re right. That sort of force of authority though really isn’t in my nature.

Furina:You remind me of Neuvillette. So soft by nature. Far too conservative about exercising what is yours by right. That being said, people like you aren’t bad. Anyone could chalk it up to inexperience or a way of belief. In fact, that could be said about all of you.

Ei:If that’s apparent to you then what was the point of this so called “judgement?”

Furina:As I said earlier, I’m not above criticism. I’m not even claiming my way is the most splendid. That being said, do not speak to me as if your methods are correct. Look down on me all you want. I refuse to let anyone judge my methods against the likes of my fellow Archons as if anyone of you or doing this job “correctly.” Especially when one of the seven thrives in dangerous tension and another has the audacity to send her people to overthrow our nations. For as long as I reign, I, Focalor, will hold one thing as an absolute truth. I am not lesser than any other ruler. I rest my case.

Nahida:I thinks you’re doing your best.

Furina:….*wipes face* Thank you.

Zhongli and Ei: (So high strung) *pats her head*

Furina:Excuse me!? I -I don’t need to be coddled!

Venti:*plays calming music*

Furina:Sigh… *accepts comfort.

[coochiequeens]

Wright told him that she didn’t care what he identified as, and that he shouldn’t be peeking under the stalls at young girls.“ -Janayh Wright is a legend

Parents in the oceanside community of Nanaimo, British Columbia are sounding the alarm about a man who claims to identify as “female” behaving in what they say is a predatory manner while using the women’s facilities at the local Aquatic Centre.

Janayh Wright, a photographer and mother of three, spoke to Reduxx about her own encounter with the man — one she says she had heard about before interacting with herself. Wright explains that she was aware of rumors that a male had been using the women’s facilities at the Nanaimo Aquatic Centre from other parents, some of whom said they had lodged complaints with both staff and local police. 

On February 3, Wright was visiting the pool with her daughter and niece. She told Reduxx that she would typically wait for her daughter outside of the changing room, but decided to accompany her that day.

While in the changing room, Wright witnessed a man wearing a wig and a face mask enter the women’s facility and proceeded to walk over to the shower area. Wright says he did not have a towel or pool bag, and gave no indication that he was getting changed or going swimming. He then returned and entered the stall next to the one Wright’s daughter was changing in.

Wright watched as the man tried to peer under the stall and into the one her daughter was using. She immediately confronted him as he exited, but the man simply responded that he identified as female and that it was his “human right to be in the women’s changing room.” 

Wright told him that she didn’t care what he identified as, and that he shouldn’t be peeking under the stalls at young girls.

She escorted the man out of the changing room and reported the incident to the Nanaimo Aquatic Centre staff, who told her that she was not allowed to kick him out. They warned her that she could be arrested and charged for her actions. Incredulous, Wright phoned the police and reported what had happened. The situation is currently under investigation. 

But Wright is not the only local parent to have run-ins with the man in the changing room of the Aquatic Centre.

Word of the intruder had first started circulating on Facebook in late January when users began publicly sharing a post that had originally been made in a private group for Nanaimo mothers.

“Yesterday at Nanaimo Aquatic Center there was a man in the female changing room watching women and children undress,” the post, made on January 26, began.

“They had a short brown wig concealing their face and neon green/black runners… They kept taking on and off their shoes and walking to and from the showers/bathrooms to make it look like they were doing something. They sat in a private changeroom, fully dressed for about 10 minutes with the door open – strategically where a little girl was changing in front of.”

According to the post, multiple people alerted the Nanaimo Aquatic Center about the man, but they refused to intervene unless he was “causing a scene or harming someone.”

Speaking to Reduxx, Wright expressed that she is not transphobic, but that she has realized, “now, any predator can appropriate a transgender identity and gain access to our children. It’s opened my eyes to the fact that we don’t have rights as women and kids don’t have rights.”

“If I hadn’t been there and used my due diligence,” she added, “who knows what could have happened?”

On the evening of the incident, Wright made a widely-shared Facebook post about the encounter and was met with overwhelming support from parents and other community members, many thanking her for her actions.

One user shared the story of her own encounter with the man, writing: “We went a few days before this and he was there. He was staring at the girls getting changed and even went and sat in a change stall with it open and stared across at the people in the stall across. He just wandered around watching everyone.”

Wright told Reduxx that while she has received some messages accusing her of transphobia, the response has been 90% positive. “People are starting to wake up to it,” she said. “I was oblivious to the fact that you could [self-identify].”

Wright was referring to Bill C-16, which amended the Canadian Human Rights Act and Criminal Code to include “gender identity” and “gender expression,” granting men access to single-sex female spaces like washrooms, changerooms, prisons, and rape shelters. Canada’s provincial human rights acts have similar language.

“There are loopholes in Bill C-16,” said Wright. “There is no safety for women and children.”

The day after the incident, Wright made another post thanking everyone for their support and inviting them to stand with her at the Nanaimo Aquatic Centre in protest. Some news outlets covered the demonstration, but labeled it “anti-trans.”

Around 100 people showed up to support Wright and to voice their concerns not only over the incident but also about children’s safety and women’s rights.

One attendee, Scott Geiler, gave an impassioned speechto those gathered around:

“Single-sex spaces matter for the safety of our kids. They matter for women’s rights and safety; they matter for homosexuals… You have to start fighting for your sex-based rights… If you don’t use sex-based language, your rights will not be protected. Don’t let them shame you. You’re discriminated against on the basis of your sex.”

Geiler told Reduxx that the demonstration had largely been well-received by the community.

“So many women came, some fathers, and children with placards. Zero trans activists and absolute silence over at Nanaimo Pride.”

Nanaimo Pride did break its silence later that day with a Facebook post condemning the “anti-trans talking points” in the public response to the predatory man.

The post continued: “We simply can’t know right now whether this alleged offender is trans in the early stages of transition, or a cisgender man looking for loopholes, or a bad actor using a common fears as a lightning rod to create an anti trans mob.”

Wright says she is ignoring the accusations and focusing on what really matters: the safety of women and children. She is in the process of starting a non-profit and using the hashtag #makemesafe to spread the word across social media platforms, including Twitter, Instagram, and Facebook.

“I just want to get the word out there that we aren’t safe as women and children,” Wright said when speaking to Reduxx. “My goal is to bring awareness and to have people stand up with me to ask the government to look at this and to create change for safety for women and children.”

Down the line, Wright hopes that the non-profit can grow into an organization that helps people who have suffered abuse and sexual trauma access counseling.

For now, her aim is to raise awareness and come up with a plan that will “create safety and equality for everyone.”

“My grandma was all about women’s rights back in the day and always advocated for it,” said Wright. “She has dementia now, but she would be standing right next to me if she was in her right mind. I’m going to do her proud. I know I can do this.”

By Eva Kurilova Eva is a guest essayist for Reduxx. A regular contributor at Gender Dissent, Eva is passionate about promoting lesbian activism and protecting women's sex-based rights. You can find her traversing the Rocky Mountains of Alberta, Canada with her partner and their husky, Freya.

“Wright told Reduxx that while she has received some messages accusing her of transphobia, the response has been 90% positive. “People are starting to wake up to it,” she said. “I was oblivious to the fact that you could [self-identify].” Is anti self id sentiments are rising it’s not the work of pearl clutching conservatives or “TERFs” it’s members of the trans community doing this and not getting reprimanded by the larger trans community.