#and even if the authors were intentionally going for 'she stayed with him because she was abused and undergoing societal pressure to do so'

[queen-of-the-avengers]

Not Allowed

Pairing: Cop!Bucky Barnes x Receptionist!Reader

Word Count: ~2.1k

Warnings: bad date angst, jealous bucky

Summary: You and Bucky always flirt with each other while at work but it never goes anywhere like you'd hope. You accept a date with another man, causing Bucky to be jealous. He's a cop who is jealous. Nothing will go wrong, right?

Squares Filled: kink: pet names (2021) for @buckybarnesbingo

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

x

You walk through the double doors with a smile on your face because today is another day. You’re alive and that’s the best kind of day. You work for the local police department as their receptionist. You’re the first thing people see when they come in so you have to be on your best behavior.

You set your things down on your desk and quickly get settled in. Besides the Captain, you’re the first one in the building. Every officer that comes in, you greet them with a smile as you log into your computer.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Officer Wilson says when he comes in. He always calls you that since he's often told you how he thinks of you like a little sister. “How was your weekend?”

“Too short,” you chuckle. “Did Sarah get into that college?”

“Yeah, she got the acceptance letter yesterday.”

“Oh, I’m so happy for her!” you grin.

“Yeah, I’ll tell her to give you a call.”

Sam taps your desk twice and leaves to go to his own. A few more officers come in until the one you’ve been waiting for walks in confidently. Your heart starts to race because you have a huge crush on him. He kind of knows it but doesn't outright call you out on it.

“There she is,” Bucky smiles and leans on your desk.

“Officer Barnes, it’s good to see you.”

“Doll, you know you can call me Bucky.”

He knows exactly what those pet names do to you. After a night of drinking together, you let it slip that your kink is pet names, and doll happened to be your favorite. Like him, you won’t call him out on it.

“I know. How was your weekend?”

“Better if you were there with me,” he flirts.

“Oh, Bucky,” you chuckle nervously. “You don’t mean that.”

“Yeah, I do. I was wishing, ‘Man, don’t I wish Y/N was here with me? I guess I have to drink alone’.”

“You know what alcohol does to me.”

“Yeah, I do,” he smirks. “You look cute today. That dress compliments you.”

“A compliment. I might swoon,” you joke even though your cheeks are hot.

“As long as it’s in my arms, I don’t care.”

“Don’t you have a job to get to, Officer Barnes?”

“Yeah, but I’d rather stay here and talk to you.”

“You might get fired.”

“It’s worth it,” he winks. “Here’s your coffee.”

He sets your favorite coffee order next to your keyboard and walks away. That’s the extent of your relationship with Bucky. You two flirt constantly but nothing ever comes of it. It’s comfortable. Why leave something when you’re comfortable being there? Do you wish you were something more? Of course. Do you think he’s going to man up and take it to that next level? Not unless something threatening happened like him realizing if he doesn’t do it soon, he’d lose you.

Some of what your work includes is printing off documents for the other officers, inputting things into evidence before they get shipped off there, and sorting through the files regarding the people they have locked up in the holding cells or interrogation rooms. You already have a list of things to print out and file, but you look for Bucky’s name first.

After printing off what he needs, you get up and personally hand this to him. There is a mailbox for the officers that you’re supposed to put in, but you like visiting his desk. He has a picture of you and him printed out and placed next to his computer that you look at every time you visit.

“Here are the papers you asked for,” you smile.

“Thanks, doll,” he grins and grabs them from you, intentionally brushing his fingers against yours.

You go back to your desk to finish your work, and you come across two people who need stuff put into evidence. One of them sent it over a couple of hours ago, and the other one is from Bucky. You immediately click on his name to get what he needs first before looking at the other one.

“Now that is bullshit,” you hear from behind you.

You jump and turn to see Sam standing there with a half-smile on his face.

“What are you doing? You scared me!”

“I sent you evidence hours ago and Bucky sent you it just now, and he’s the one you pick first?”

“I--”

You don’t have any words for that.

“When are you two gonna fuck?”

“Sam Wilson!” you gasp.

“What? It’s a valid question. I should ask him that.”

“Don’t you dare!”

“I’m rooting for you two no matter how painful the slow burn is,” he chuckles and walks away.

It takes half an hour to get the idea of you and Bucky fucking for you to do your job right. Once you’re in the groove of things, the door opens and an attractive man walks in.

“Can I help you?” you ask with a smile.

“Yeah, I’m here for my brother. He’s in lock up.”

“Okay, what’s his name and date of birth?”

“James Farley. 04/05/1986.”

“Your name?”

“Brandon Farley.”

“Okay, I see your brother here. It looks like--”

“I’m sorry, but I have to tell you how beautiful you are.”

“Oh, thank you,” you blush.

“Are you seeing anyone?”

“No, but--”

“Great. Can I take you out?”

“You can see how this is inappropriate, right?”

“Yeah, but you like it,” he grins. “So, can I take you out?”

There’s a certain charm about him that you find endearing maybe because he reminds you of Bucky. Being put on the spot like that is enough to make you freeze up, so you say the one thing that won’t cause conflict.

“Yes.”

“Here’s my number.”

He grabs your hand and writes his number on it so that it won’t come off with one scrub.

“I have sticky notes!”

“This is better. Now you won’t lose it.”

“Go take a seat. Someone will be with you shortly to bring you to your brother.”

“Thanks,” he winks and walks to the waiting room.

You’re about to get up and wash off the number when you notice Bucky standing in the doorway that leads into the precinct.

“Did I hear that right?”

“What?”

“You have a date?”

“Yeah, he asked me out,” you stutter. Bucky looks pissed as if you just told him you killed someone. “Why do you look angry?”

“Nothing. No reason.”

Bucky walks off angrily leaving you confused. He avoids you like the plague for the rest of the day. He isn’t at his desk when you drop off paperwork, and he’s not there to walk you to your car when you get off. He’s supposed to get off an hour before you do, but he stays after not on the clock to make sure you get to your car safely.

This time, he didn’t.

The next day, Bucky is already at work when you arrive. There is no coffee on your desk, either, and you’re feeling guilty for accepting a date with someone else. Is that why he’s acting this way? Sam walks in drinking an energy drink when you stop him.

“Hey, what’s going on with Bucky?”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“No, what did I do?”

“You accepted a date from someone else.”

You knew it. Why is he bigging out?

“So?”

“Have you not been here for the past two years? You two flirt like crazy.”

“No, he’s just being friendly.”

“You won’t get it until you do,” Sam shakes his head and walks off.

The date with Brandon comes sooner than you hoped. He picks you up in a fancy car and takes you to a fancy restaurant that you could never afford. He smooth-talks the hostess to get him a table by the window so he can have a view while he eats. The waitress brings by a drinks menu but he already orders what you two are going to drink.

“Trust me, you’re going to love this,” he winks at you.

“Okay,” you say and fiddle with your fingers underneath the table. “You know what I do for work. What do you do for work?”

You shouldn’t have asked him that.

“I work in the telecommunications sector. You know that big building in the city? That’s mine. It’s funny. I got all my parents’ money when they died and instead of using that money for myself, I decided to invest in a small company that turned out to give me millions.” You open your mouth to speak but he continues talking. “Can you imagine that? This small company that wasn’t going to go anywhere if it weren't for me. I’m like their hero. They eventually sold their part to me, and I’ve been thriving ever since.”

Once he got to talking about his job, he hasn’t shut up about it since. He’s very arrogant and rude but that doesn’t seem to stop him. As soon as the drinks come, you greedily take yours and down it without caring what it is.

“Whoa, doll, calm down. I don’t need to haul you to the car at the end of the night. You should pace yourself.”

No one can call me that but Bucky. Oh, Bucky. You shouldn’t have said yes to this man. He only asked you out to hear himself talk. You want this date to end so you pretend to be interested in what he has to say. Even when the date is over and he’s driving you home, he won’t shut up. His voice mixed with alcohol is starting to make your head throb.

About halfway to your house, you see red and blue lights behind you.

This better not be him, you think to yourself. Brandon pulls the car over obediently and waits for the officer to approach him. You look through the mirror to see the outline of the officer and recognize it immediately. He better not. I swear to God… Instead of walking to the driver’s side door, Bucky walks over to your door and leans down so only you can see him.

“Step out of the vehicle, please.”

“No.”

Bucky takes a deep breath to calm himself down. He leans in so close that you can smell his delicious cologne. That makes your head spin.

“I’ll repeat myself. Step out of the car.”

“Or what? You’re gonna drag me out?”

“Don’t tempt me, doll,” he says so only you can hear it.

“Is there a problem, Officer?” Brandon asks.

“Yes. You have a busted taillight.”

“Fuck! You’ve got to be joking, sir.”

“No, sir, I’m not.”

“Shit. Officer, I can promise you I keep this car in the utmost pristine condition.”

“Not today, buddy. That’s a ticket.”

Bucky takes out his pad and writes Brandon a hefty ticket for a broken taillight you’re not sure is even broken.

“Fuck!” Brandon turns to you without guilt on his face. “Look, do you mind if I drop you off right here? Your house is only down the road. You can get there from here, right?”

Your mouth drops open in shock.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take her home,” Bucky offers.

“Thank you. I’ll call you.”

You don’t say anything as you get out of the car. Bucky walks you to the passenger side of his cruiser. You look at the taillights of Brandon’s car and notice they’re both working properly.

“What the fuck, Bucky?” you yell when he gets in the driver’s seat. “His taillights are broken! You can’t just do that. That’s illegal!”

“He’ll fight against it, and I’ll drop the charges,” he shrugs.

“You’re un-fucking-believable. We were actually having a good time,” you lie.

“No, you weren't,” he laughs.

“How do you know that?”

“It’s written all over your face. Your eyes don’t have the usual light.” Bucky pulls onto the road and heads in the direction of your house. “I don’t know why you would accept the date in the first place.”

“Because at least he had the fucking balls to ask me.”

That puts the entire car ride into a tense silence. He doesn’t say anything for the rest of the ride home. He pulls up to your place but instead of letting you get out first, he gets out and walks over to your side of the car. He opens the door but doesn't let you leave the car. He leans into the car, grabs your chin, and kisses you. You’re shocked but you won’t pull away from him. Both your lips move in harmony against one another, and he slides his tongue into your mouth to show you he means business.

“You’re not allowed to see other men.”

“Why not?” you ask, breathlessly.

“Because you’re mine now and I’m not gonna let you go.” This brings a smile to your face. He lets you get out, and when you pass by him, he taps your ass lightly. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Doll.”

Yes, you will.

x

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[daycourtofficial]

One single thread of gold tied me to you

Pairing: Eris x Rhysand's sister!reader | WC: 6.2k | Warnings: smut, unprotected sex, piv, foodplay (chocolate), oral (f and m receiving)

Summary: After a century of waiting, Eris and his mate finally have a few days to themselves to accept the mating bond.

Author's note: this is technically part of my gingerfucker series but it can be read as a standalone. Big thanks to @basketoffish for help with plotting the idea for it and for helping me edit ❤️ The people have been frothing and yearning for this and who am I deny such want any longer?

Eris never had good timing. Born too soon, bearing the brunt of his father’s cruelties. Born into a war he was too young to fight in, but too old to stay at home. 

All of his poor timing was worth it for this perfect opportunity. Beron would be away for three days and three nights to improve relations with Tarquin, the newest High Lord of the Summer Court. Beron went alone - he perceived it as much more intimidating to go alone (perhaps inspired by Tamlin’s appearance in the High Lord’s meeting a few years ago, winnowing in completely unaccompanied). Beron failed to recognize Tamlin’s appearance was much bolder - he knew he would face scrutiny, but still made an appearance without anyone at his side. Beron merely did it because he wanted to look more intimidating.

Nonetheless, Eris was able to send word to you with enough time for you to rearrange your royal appearances to carve out this time with him - an entire three day span, just the two of you. Three days felt like a lifetime when the two of you were only able to schedule hour-long secret meetings.

Once, in a desperate bid just to have your scent on him, you two had met for a total of twenty minutes.

Your rendezvous were often short, full of imminent risk and danger of being caught. Today felt like a blessing from the Mother, as if she were granting her star crossed lovers a vacation, a peek into what life could be like - what life will be like one day.

You two just had to be patient.

Even an entire court away, Beron would know someone from the Night Court was on his land. Perhaps not immediately, but he would know before your three days were over. So the two of you met in the Winter Court, in a cabin you were gifted a long, long time ago. A cabin you’ve gone to on occasion over the years, whenever you needed to get away and be alone. You had set the trap perfectly for your family - you were getting into petty squabbles the entire week, picking fights with Cassian and Mor left and right that left the two of them reeling with annoyance.

Your brother tired of it quite quickly, clocking it for what he thought it was. 

“Perhaps you should spend a weekend away, star.”

His tone was full of concern, for this was how you always were before retreating to your hidden cabin. Irritable, crabby, unable to have decent conversation with anyone without leading them into a spiral of anger.

“I’m fine,” you reply, intentionally clipping the words to make yourself seem in a much worse state than you were. “Besides, I have some scheduled meetings this weekend.”

Rhys nods, “Feyre has agreed to take over any duties you have that can’t be rescheduled.”

You perked up at that, feeling a little bad at the generosity of his mate. You hadn’t felt easy about this plan - preying upon your family to get what you wanted wasn’t a regular occurrence for you. 

But you refused to let any negative feelings about what you were doing get in the way of seeing your mate.

“Are you sure, Rhys?”

He waves a hand, “Go, please only return once you feel rested and headache-free. Cassian is quite adept at giving migraines.”

You smile, “so no one will bother me?”

He sighs at your continued questioning, “no, star. I think we’d be too afraid to bother you, except for Amren. And she’s in Summer for who knows how long.”

He stands up, crossing the room to you, his long legs practically gliding across the floor. He wraps you in his arms, squeezing you tightly before kissing you on the top of your head. He gently sways the two of you as you wrap your arms around him.

“Thanks, Rhys.”

He lays his head on top of your own, “just send word if you’ll be gone longer than a week. I just want to know you’re alive out there.”

This cabin was a frequent rendezvous point for the two of you, much cozier than the large clearings and forests you two otherwise frequent. The cabin was more ideal, however Eris couldn’t deny how incredible it felt to be inside of you as he leaned you up against various trees in the forest, the leaves crunching beneath his boots as he thrusted over and over into you.

His cock twitched at the thought as he walked towards the front door of the cabin. The door groaned slightly as he entered, marking his entrance. He felt the slight magical barrier ripple as he passed the threshold. He shut the door behind him, taking in the small, two bedroom cabin before him. 

The place was quaint and cozy, an insult he would use to describe Rhysand’s absurdly large and ornate homes, but for you it was a testament to how infectious the comfort you radiated was.

It permeated every surface - the walls, covered in various portraits and landscape paintings, along with shelves of books and trinkets.

His scent was stale from the last time he was here, but yours was fresh, as was the smell of some delicious meats and fresh breads. He closed his eyes and leaned his back against the door, catching a glimpse of you as you pittered about the kitchen. He crossed his arms over his chest, allowing himself a moment to think of what his life could be like if the two of you were ordinary fae. 

He would come home from whatever job he had, perhaps a scholar of some kind, leaving at the same time every day to come home to his mate. 

You two would clean your house together, bickering over your inability in any universe to put dirty socks in the hamper, and how in every universe feet would continue to make Eris shudder in disgust. In any other life, he would be thrilled to experience monotony with you.

But he’s not in another life, one of openness and free-flowing adoration, one free of constant plotting and scheming, earning favors wherever he can. He’s in this one - the reality where no one knows about the two of you, because once they do it will become an inter-court political nightmare. It is a life of stolen glances, hidden messages, and secret meetings under the moonlight, but it is a life that belongs to him, when for so long his life was not his own.

Eris would love you in all lives, your soul reaching to him in every iteration and reincarnation of the two of you. If the two of you were nothing but bacteria living on the same organism’s skin, he would find you. He would know it was you, no matter what shade of organism you wore.

The bond hums in your chest, tugging you to look towards the door where you know Eris is standing and watching. You continue the task at hand, not wanting anything to miss your notice. The bond deep inside of you grows more and more insistent, screaming at you to smell him, taste him, feel him, here, here, here. He’s here, in your house, and you need to look, look, look. 

You let Eris come to you, just as you always had, just as you always will. You’re slicing bread, placing the pieces in the bottom of the bowls when the smell of petrichor and caramel hits your nose, a warm presence at your back. 

“Good evening, my fox.” 

His face burrows into your neck at the nickname, melting into everything that was you. His arms wrapped around you, hands meeting yours. His fingers pull the knife from your grip, gently placing it down on the cutting board.

“What are you doing, my evening star?” His voice is purposefully low in your ear, causing goosebumps to trail down your neck, his hands warming your fingers. 

“I’ll give you three guesses.”

His soft chuckle warms your chest, the bond constricting around your heart at his amusement.

“Are you cooking?”

“Yes, Er.”

“I’m surprised your wraiths didn’t prepare anything for you.”

“They did,” you hum, turning in his arms, his amber eyes meeting yours, not quite certain of what they’re seeing.

His hands meet your hips, his touch warm on your skin, and you circle your arms around his neck, fingers raking through his hair at the root.

He hums at your touch, his face swooping down to kiss your forehead. 

You look up at him under your eyelashes, his nose and cheeks littered with freckles, mapping out where home was. You point your head in the direction of two large picnic baskets, one of which was opened for Eris to see various jars of jams and breads.

“Why would you-” his words fall short, his thoughts racing through his mind. They stream by in words and bits of phrases, but no completed thoughts make their way through the whirl and swirl of mate, food, and bond.

He short circuits, not quite grasping what you’re getting at.

“I have never gotten to cook for you,” you shrug nonchalantly.

His eye twitches, still not understanding.

“You’re cooking… for me?” His words come out slow and uncertain, as if the mere concept of someone choosing to do something like this was absolutely foreign to him. You nod slowly, not used to seeing Eris so incapable of understanding. 

“But if you-“

“Yes.”

“Then we’ll-“ 

“Yes.”

“Are you-“

“Yes.”

He stills, his thumb lightly brushing against your hip. Your eyes are open and bright, wanting to convey to him the certainty you felt. You lightly tug on the bond connecting the two of you and he rubs his chest at the feeling.

It’s quiet as the snow falls outside, unaware of the monumental decision you had decided on once Eris’s letter had arrived earlier in the week. You had spent the past few months researching traditional autumn foods, preparing for this day. You had known for quite a while you were going to accept the bond, you just didn’t know when the two of you would have the chance to spend more than a few fleeting hours together. You had sent a silent prayer of thanks to the Mother when you received Eris’s letter, soft prayers echoing through your mind each night ensuring this would all work. 

“Is everything ready?”

His eyes peer into yours, a vulnerability he rarely lets anyone see, even you. His words come out soft and slightly timid, as if he’s worried he’ll scare you off.

“Yes, we just have to bring the food to the table.”

“May I help?” He doesn’t move towards the food, but one of his hands twitches, moving imperceptibly closer to you.

“I would appreciate that.”

It’s quiet as you two move to the food, grabbing platters and bowls to bring to the table. Once the table is full, a three course meal laid out in front of the two of you, the reality set in a bit. It wasn’t that you didn’t love Eris, but you were slightly concerned you were forcing his hand with this. 

This was always ‘someday’, but now it was here and you didn’t know how he truly felt about it. That was until he grabbed your plate, placing the still warm pita in front of you. You placed a piece of pita on his own plate, and he looked at the baba ganoush before him, its texture so unlike anything he had seen in Autumn. “What do I do?”

You ripped a piece of your pita off, dipping it into the bowl, grabbing some of the baba ganoush on it before offering it to him. He inspects the piece, before doing the same with his own piece of pita, bringing the piece to your mouth. 

“Eat. This might be the last time we’re rational enough for food.”

The two of you bite down on the pita, the warmth of the bread with the chill of the baba ganoush, the smoky, rich flavor exploding in your mouths. The room immediately shifted with the scent of your mixed arousals, but the two of you ignored it. His fingers lingered on your mouth, swiping at your lips before ripping off another piece of pita.

Heat was coursing through your veins, Eris’s emotions thrumming through you at a higher intensity. He felt electric in your veins.

You continue feeding each other until the pita’s gone and your attention shifts to the bouillabaisse. In similar fashion, the two of you poured the soup into the bowls with the bread before setting them down. You were thrumming, every part of you screamed to be closer to him, your thoughts having a background loop of mate, mate, mate.

“How did you know about bouillabaisse?”

Eris’s words send heat through you - his voice, soft and low, the actual words not registering with your insatiable need for him.

“Beg your pardon?”

His smirk is feline as he knows exactly why you didn’t hear him, but he repeats his question with no teasing.

“I um, found it a few months ago - I was in Dawn and a little restaurant served it.”

You could feel the sweat on your brow as you watched Eris’s fingers bring another spoonful to his mouth. You thought about all the things he could do with those fingers, that mouth, that tongue-

“Nobody in Dawn serves this. It is a regional dish, more specifically it is only found on the seaside of Autumn.”

Busted. 

You take another bite of the soup, the flavors so different from Night Court cuisine, but you weren’t complaining. Several of the fish in the soup were only found along the coast of Autumn and Winter, some making it as far north as Dawn.

“I may have perused some Autumn Court restaurants when I was visiting once.”

Eris stretches out the fingers of his hand, moving his long fingers in torturous preparation before placing his hand on your thigh. His touch was so warm, you began pulling at the collar of your dress to let the heat escape, biting your lip to keep the moan from escaping.

“When were you allowed in Autumn?”

“Fine,” your voice came out sharp, the room much too hot for an interrogation, “I snuck into Autumn a few months ago trying to find something to make you for this. I tried a bouillabaisse at this incredible little restaurant and I paid them an exorbitant amount of gold to teach me how to make it and to not tell anyone I was there. I slipped back in yesterday to pick up the fish in this soup.”

His fingers dance about on your thigh, and you take a quick glance down at his pants, your body growing warmer at his cock pressing across his pants, desperate to be released. You can’t move your eyes away from it - knowing how it looked, how it felt in your mouth, how it tasted - you were about to start drooling before Eris’s hand came up and closed your jaw.

“Strip.”

Eris’s words were a demand, full of power and need.

“But we still have dess-“

Your words died on your tongue as Eris began unbuttoning his shirt, your eyes caught on his lean chest, littered with freckles. You were in need, too, practically salivating at your mate’s display of his body, and you can’t quite remember why you wanted him to finish the whole meal.

He huffs over to you, his hands grabbing the fabric of your dress, ripping it in half down the middle. You gasp as the cold air meets your skin, somehow making your nipples even harder.

You stare at him wide eyed, even more aroused than before. At this point, you knew your panties were doing very little to keep your arousal from coating your thighs.

“You took too long,” he snarls, undoing the ties of his pants.

You had begun pulling the remnants of your dress off your shoulder, but stopped to watch your mate hook his thumbs into his trousers and pull them down, letting his cock free. 

You move forward, ready to jump on Eris, but his hand on your chest stops you, eliciting a whine from you. His other hand grabs the molten chocolate cake you had made, slowly lifting it out of the ramekin. He holds it delicately in his hand, the other hand on your chest moving up to your hair, tugging gently on the strands to pull you towards him.

Your chests were touching, the warmth of his body seeping into yours. He blazed with heat, his cock hard with need pressed into your stomach. His cheeks are dusted with pink and his blood was boiling inside of him, but he moved ever so slowly, his fingers meeting your chin. He looked into your eyes, the two of you the only beings in the world right now.

“My mate.”

Anything could be happening outside of the walls of this cabin. The snow could have all melted, a heat wave sending the Winter Court into chaos, and you wouldn’t know. All you would know was Eris’s gaze on you, mapping out every inch of your body so he can remember every detail correctly when he thinks about this once you two are apart. His thumb applied pressure on your chin, opening your mouth. He placed the cake in your mouth, whispering, “don’t bite, not yet.”

You moved your hands to his hips, holding onto him. One of his hands moves to help hold the cake up, his other holding onto your neck. He puts the other end of the small cake into his mouth and lightly tugs on the bond. You both bite into it, the liquid chocolate center immediately cascading down and coating both of your chests. You both make quick work of finishing the remainder of the cake, tearing and gnawing at the soft dessert until you finish it off. He catches your lips in a kiss, the taste of the chocolate a luxury on his tongue.

You jump, feet slipping slightly on the bits of chocolate that made it to the floor. Eris’s arms catch underneath your thighs, wrapping your legs around his hips. He lays you down on the table, moving his lips from your mouth, down the column of your throat, down your chest. You’re pulsing with need, desperate to feel any friction from him. You thrust your hips up, desperate to meet any feeling of him against you. His arm moves across your hips, pushing you down against the table. He shakes his head as he keeps kissing down your stomach, lifting his arm for a ring of fire to take its place around your waist.

He skips over where you want him, instead moving his head down to your thigh, licking up towards your hips. His tongue was hot as it slid up your inner thigh, lapping up the chocolate that had dripped down it. Your breathing was ragged as you felt his hot tongue growing closer and closer to you, and it felt like it was getting warmer the further it moved up your thigh. 

You looked down at him, his amber eyes that were full of heat all you can see of his face as his tongue finally slips between your folds. You moan at the contact, throwing your head back and hitting it harshly against the table. The pain didn’t register, not as Eris - your mate - was moving his tongue as if he knew every part of you, as if he knew exactly how you felt as he would warm and cool his tongue at his leisure. He lifted his mouth just an inch, his words slightly muffled by your body.

“You taste of desperation. It’s delicious.”

You moan at his words, and he flicks your clit with his tongue. His hands warm on your thighs, pressing them further apart. He slips his tongue back through your folds, your hands gripping onto his hair to keep his mouth on you. He grabs your legs, hoisting them over his shoulders before one of his hands disappears. You are writhing on the table, his grip on you lighting your skin on fire. The room grows heavier with the scent of his arousal, and you twitch your ears at the new sound in the room.

He was moaning into your pussy, the vibrations coursing through your body as you realized the hand that left you was wrapped around his cock, pumping furiously. The thought of him being so aroused at eating you out that he has to touch himself sends you over the edge, your thighs clenching over his ears as you finish on his tongue. Your breathing was heavy, and Eris’s tongue did not let up, lapping like a starved male. You pulled him up by his hair, bringing your face to his. Your tongue swipes into his mouth, tasting a combination of yourself and chocolate on his mouth. You grab his shoulders, deepening the kiss as you flip him onto his back, pressing him onto the table. His hands grip onto your hips, trying to push you onto him, desperate for any touch from you. He whimpers as you tug his hair, pulling him into you.

You place teasing bites as you move down his torso, leaving mark after mark in a line towards his happy trail. You purposefully rub your breasts against his cock, smiling up at him as he groans, your breath hot on his crotch.

You lick from underneath his shaft, your tongue slowly moving from the base to the tip before putting his cock completely in your mouth. He tasted like cinnamon with a little salt, the chocolate flavor on your tongue making him taste incredible. His hands move, gripping onto your hair as he chants your name - a prayer, a plea, you weren’t sure. Your hands wrapped around the base of his cock and his hips thrusted trying to push himself deeper into your mouth. 

You wanted to tease him about needing to touch himself while his mouth was on you, but you felt the same compulsions as you bobbed your head up and down on his cock. You resist the urge to move your fingers to yourself by digging your nails into Eris’s thighs, leaving half moon indents. His grip grew tighter on your hair, pushing your head down harder as he got closer to finishing, his moans filling the cabin as he finished, the hot taste of cinnamon filling your mouth and coating your throat as you swallow it. You pull your mouth off of him, his cock twitching again at the look you give him as you lick your lips.

He growled and you swiped your tongue up his still hard cock. He lunged for you, jumping off the table before his teeth sink onto your nipple, pulling the skin with his teeth. You gasp, pinching his nipple back in response. 

“Do you think there’s something there about eating to accept the bond and what we just did?”

You waggle your brows at him, but his eyes are a bottomless pit of black. Gone are the amber hues of fallen leaves, replaced by an endless void of hunger. You lean up to kiss him, the taste of both of you swirling between your tongues. You start walking backward, knocking into one of the chairs. He catches you, one arm hooking around your waist. 

His pointer finger moves up from your belly button to your neck, swiping up the chocolate left behind. He puts his finger in your mouth, having you suck the chocolate off. 

“Maybe we should get cleaned up.”

You smiled around his finger, swirling your tongue around it as you looked up at him from under your lashes. You nodded, taking his whole finger into your mouth. He breathes in deeply through his nose, his eyes swirling with desire before you. His other arm loops around your waist, carrying you through the cabin. Your giggles echoed down the hallway as Eris moved the two of you into the bathroom. He doesn’t set you down, shifting instead to hold you up against the wall with one arm while he turns the shower on. 

The water started cascading down the both of you, sweeping the remnants of the chocolate down the drain. Your feet hit the floor as Eris pushes the two of you forward, your back hitting the wall. The water fell over your face, making it hard to see him, but you could feel everything about him. You felt his skin on yours, your chests pushed together. You felt his emotions thrumming inside of you, bouncing everywhere, filling every available space. You had heard of the bond being accepted as an all-consuming thing, but you found any previous descriptions to be wholly inadequate. Every inch of you burned for him, thrumming with need to be near, to have him with you, to have him inside of you. 

He grabs the bar of soap from the shower, lathering it onto a wet washcloth before rubbing it against your body, rubbing the chocolate from both yours and his skin. 

“I never thought accepting the bond would be so messy.”

Eris’s hand guided the wash cloth across your shoulders, your sternum, before taking his time as he rubbed it against your breasts. His thigh slid between your legs, separating them. Lean muscle pressed against your cunt as you sank onto his thigh. His lips were on your mouth as you ground onto his thigh. He tossed aside the washcloth, his hands gripped your hips, harshly moving you against his thigh. 

“My beautiful, beautiful mate.” 

His voice was husky, echoing through the shower, further cementing that feeling he was everywhere.

“Gonna fall apart on my thigh?”

His lips move down your neck, teeth sinking into skin.

“We have all weekend for me to put every part of me to good use.”

You threw your head back, hitting the wall softly. One of Eris’s hands moves behind your head, cushioning the blow. His grip is unforgiving as he continues moving you, his thigh rubbing your clit so perfectly. Eris looked so beautiful before you, his pale skin a soft shade of pink from the heat radiating off of him. 

His irises have shrunk enough for you to see a slither of the amber you love so much. You could feel him thrumming in your chest and you swore if you looked down, the room would be alight with the gold tie between you two. You gripped his shoulders as he pressed his thigh into harder, sending you over the edge. 

You’re reeling from the orgasm, but Eris’s grip doesn’t let up. He uses his other leg to spread your legs again, and his hands move down to your ass, picking you up before sliding his cock into you. It feels right when he’s inside of you, the pounding in your head subsiding, the heat dissipating for just a moment before it was replaced with the need for more, more, more.

Your head moves across the tiled wall as Eris thrusts into you. You grip his hair, pulling his face to you again before kissing his mouth, needing to feel him everywhere. You’re all teeth as you nip and bite across his neck, up his jaw, on his earlobes. The shower does little to hide the whimper he lets out. 

His fingers grab your face, pulling you from his ear to his mouth. He kisses you hard and passionately before pulling out of you and turning you around. Your hands press into the wall as his hands roam down the sides of your body, sending chills throughout you.

One of his hands ran through your hair, wrapping it around his hand, the other wrapping around your waist, holding your back to his chest. The water streamed down the two of you, but you hardly noticed as he kissed your neck, pushing you against the wall.

You moan, pushing your ass against his cock. He growls as one of his hands traces from your hip down to your upper inner thigh, gripping tightly.

He bit your shoulder blade, pushing deeper inside of you. The pressure inside of you kept building, the water streaming across your skin growing hotter. Your blood was boiling, you weren’t sure where you stopped and Eris began. His thrusts became harder and more erratic, his fingers gripping so tightly you were sure they’d bruise. 

Eirs held you in an iron grip as he came inside of you, his release causing you to finish again. Arms braced against the wall as you panted heavily, Eris softly pulled himself out of you. His hands rubbed down your arms, and you stood up straighter, albeit on shaky legs. His eyes were roaming your body, looking over all the marks leftover from your tryst. The two of you were no strangers to rougher sex - most of the time you two were only able to satiate each other against a tree for mother’s sake. The tiles were no concern to you, but you knew Eris felt something deeper within him, guilt perhaps at how little control he had and the marks a reminder of that. Having a bond was new, but accepting the bond was utter chaos. A thousand emotions rattled through you, unsure of who they truly belonged to the most dominant ones were to protect and to fuck.

Eris slipped his arm out of the shower, his head going with it. You took the moment to gaze down at his ass, the little freckles scattered across it gave you the urge to bite the plump flesh. He came back in fully with a washcloth, and your gaze softened. You reach out, grabbing his wrist to stop him.

“Er, I don’t care, we’ll probably be going at it again in twenty minutes.”

Despite your protests, he broke free of the loose grip you had on him. He brought the cloth up under the water, letting it get properly drenched. 

“I know.” 

He moved the washcloth down between your legs, his touch impossibly gentle compared with the male who was gripping your hips hard enough to bruise moments ago.

“We’ve just never gotten to have this part before.”

You think back to all the times you two have met - in the woods, in secure cabins, in closets to find that he was right. Every moment alone the two of you had counted, and neither of you were ever able to linger for long after sex. 

Another thing the secrecy cost the both of you.

He looked to you, asking silent permission, and you nod. He moved the washcloth, cleaning the remnants of himself off of you. He rinsed the washcloth again before moving it across your skin - your stomach, your shoulders, your arms. He lingered, taking the time to clean every inch of you. He laughed, pointing out you still had some chocolate behind your ear. Once he finished, he reached to turn off the shower, but your hand stopped his. 

His eyes are assessing as you slowly grab the washcloth from him, your own eyes reflecting his previous question. He nods, and you start your own work of cleaning him. Your eyes trail his body, taking in how vulnerable he is in this moment. You hummed softly, the tune of some song you can’t recall the name of. The sound makes some of the emotions inside of you die down a bit, replaced by a calmer feeling. Eris tips his head down as you wipe at his back, the scars there almost mirrors of your own.

The cloth moves down him, but you stop to kiss a few of the scars on his upper back. Once you’re done, you drop the washcloth on the floor, wrapping your arms around his torso. Eris’s hand reaches out, shutting off the shower, but not making any indication he wants to move. 

Eris’s love sitting inside of you felt different to the love you felt for him - synonyms, perhaps. But not quite the same.

After several minutes, you grabbed some towels from the cabinets, offering one to Eris. He slings it around his hips lazily, lifting you into his arms. You had barely wrapped yourself in the towel before he scooped you up.

The two of you land on the bed, decadent in shades of blue across the massive sea of blankets and pillows. The only reminder that neither of you were in your home courts. Eris taps your chest, the reminder you felt about having to leave him leaking over to his side of the bond.

You two settle on the pillows, discarding your towels to lay beneath the large duvet. You climbed on top of him, settling on his chest. His cock grew hard again, and you moved so you could settle with him inside of you. 

You traced your fingers over his freckles, connecting them with your finger. “I can make constellations out of them,” you tell him. 

The roar has subsided enough for you to feel like a person again rather than a beast. You know it’ll come back, in minutes or seconds you weren’t sure, but you wanted to spend whatever time with him like this that you could.

Eris thrusts softly inside of you, watching your eyes look for patterns in the freckles across his cheeks.

“Perhaps you can make me a constellation that will always lead me to you.”

You chuckle, leaning forward to kiss him softly. Your mate. You feel the pit inside of you start to roar, but you swallow it down, opting instead to search inside of yourself, finding that golden thread tethering you to him, and pulling.

“It appears I already have.”

He flips the two of you, laying you on your back as he slowly puts himself inside of you again. He fills you up completely, reaching the base of his cock before stopping and just staying there. 

“Mm, Eris.”

He smiles, his arms landing on each side of your face, caging you in. He moves a few strands of hair out of your face, his thumb stroking your cheek.

He smiles down at you, his freckles dancing across his face, the sunlight illuminating his hair to look as if it were made of flame.

His fingers tangle in your hair, lightly holding on. 

“You are everything to me.” 

His voice comes out soft and slightly shaky, as if the admission were almost painful. He began thrusting slowly, but this felt different. Anyone who had ever thought Eris Vanserra incapable of being soft should see him now.

“I will do everything in my power to keep you safe.”

His thrusts became faster with each word, but not harsher. 

“I will always take care of you.”

Your fingers grip his shoulders, your thumb softly rubbing the skin.

“And I you.”

You were reaching that peak again, but this time it felt different. It wasn’t feral, the need to satiate the physicality of the bond, but rather to remind yourself that you two were bound together, forever.

“I love you, mate.”

His words have you seeing stars, and you practically feel yourself leave your body, but you hear yourself say, “and I love you,” as Eris finishes inside of you.

He collapses on you, his cock still inside of you. You both are breathing heavily, unable to get enough air into your lungs. He collapses on top of you, his arms digging beneath you to wrap you in an embrace. 

No touch was enough, even as you wrapped your own arms around him, peppering kisses into the side of his head. The two of you lay there, eventually Eris peaks his head out from your neck to watch the snow fall outside the window. You think about the many lives you could lead with Eris Vanserra - how much simpler your lives could be if you were born of different circumstances. 

But those Erises wouldn’t be the one laying on top of you now. They wouldn’t have as sharp of a tongue as he does, or perhaps their noses wouldn’t slant the same way his does. You could lead a thousand lifetimes with a thousand Erises, each one different from the next. Your thumb grazes his cheek, deciding that easy was never meant for you. It was never meant for Eris, either.

In those thousand lifetimes, the only edge they have on this one is the ability for you two to be more free about your love. 

You wouldn’t have to return to your respective homes, glamouring the scent of your mating bond from those around you in a bid to mitigate the unwanted comments from those around either of you. Beron would be excited, an intercourt mating would come with tremendous benefits for him. Rhysand would be pissed, your entire family shocked at the secret, unable to bite their tongues from disrespecting your mate with the twisted truths.

Secrets can only last for so long. They all get spoken at some point, and one day everyone will know how you have been carrying Eris’s love for years, how it has carried you for much longer than you thought, and how it will still carry you wherever you need to go.

Even when it’s in the opposite direction of him.

Permanent taglist: @vanilla-seabass @cyrygher @lees-chaotic-brain @topaz125 @chessebookgirl @fides25 @lady-of-tearshed @ashbatz @fxckmiup @lilah-asteria @justvibbinghere @daughterofthemoons-stuff @mybestfriendmademe @heartless-tate @tsunami-of-tears @idrkwhatthisisimsorry @olive-main @azrielsmate3 @pit-and-the-pen @durgenyx

Eris taglist: @secret-third-thing

Thanks for reading 💕

[taexual]

sleepwalking ● 23 | 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, mentions of drugs (nothing graphic), descriptive SMUT (pet names and a sprinkle of worship included, beware), fluff and too much flirting to be allowed, some angst, SLOW BURN

words: 19.8k

read from the beginning ○ masterlist

chapter 23 ► in this open warfare, i won't fight fair, and in your waking moments, i will be there

The next morning, you and Jungkook took Minjun, Luna, and Maggie to a small restaurant—unreasonably far from your hotel in London—to have a late breakfast and to plot. The five of you were a lot more concerned with the latter, and the bacon and egg sandwiches on your plates were relegated to mere decoration.

You had already discussed your plan with Luna and Maggie over the phone last night, but you wanted to meet everyone in person to ensure you were all on the same page, and to inform Jungkook of his role (which was intentionally non-existent).

You believed that the fewer members of Rated Riot got tangled up in Sid’s slimy web, the lower the risk of collateral damage. Ideally, you would have left Jungkook out entirely. But his friendship with Sid made him a linchpin in the machinations of your scheme—he would be the most affected if something went awry.

“This plan relies heavily on the circumstances, I admit,” you said, while your friends feigned interest in their food to avoid the disapproving glances of the restaurant staff. “But maybe that will work to our advantage because we will hardly have to do anything. We will draw the authorities’ attention to Sid, and that’s it. He’ll do the rest himself.”

“Yeah,” Minjun added as your primary accomplice in this scheme. He was busy trying to stop his napkins from blowing away in the fierce wind on the restaurant’s terrace. “And that’s why we need Jude to let us into their hotel room—”

“Wait,” had become Jungkook’s new favourite word. He used it now, too. “And are we sure that Jude won’t change his mind?”

Maggie and Luna turned to you, mirroring Jungkook’s skepticism.

“We’re not,” you admitted. You were aware of the risk, but time has never been more of the essence, and Jude was your best option. “We’re not telling him too much and hoping for the best.”

“And to be honest,” Minjun added, “the fact that she gave him that laundry list of shit to do—”

“Wait,” Jungkook said again. “What list?”

You waved off his question, but Minjun answered on your behalf, clinging to this as if it was the only convincing evidence the five of you had against Jude changing his mind.

“Like, vitamins and stuff,” he explained. “To ease his withdrawals. I don’t know if he followed her instructions, but anyone could see how much it meant to him, just the fact that she cared enough. Maybe that’ll be what keeps him on our side, even though he’s back with Sid right now.”

Maggie wrinkled her nose in clear disapproval, although you knew she would have reacted the same way if she’d seen Jude—her heart was bigger than her head, bless her.

“He’s done nothing to deserve this from you,” she pointed out.

“Yeah, he—yeah,” Jungkook agreed, the confidence in his voice wavering as he alternated between gratitude for your concern about Jude, and guilt for putting you in this position. “You didn’t have to help him.”

“He’s really not doing well,” you said. “And don’t think I’m so kind, I acted largely out of my own self-interest. We need him for our plan.”

Jungkook recalled Jude’s sneezing, his shivers in forty-degree heat, and his nausea. All of his symptoms always came and went without warning, but the memory of someone going out of their way for him was likely to stay.

“Okay,” Jungkook acquiesced. “That’s—let’s keep going.”

“We won’t need to involve Jude every step of the way, though, right?” Luna clarified. “I mean, I assumed we’d mainly need him to get rid of whatever Sid has in his phone gallery.”

“Yeah, but not just—we’re not just deleting the videos with Jungkook,” you said, glancing at Minjun, who had supported you wholeheartedly when you mentioned this part of the plan to him. He nodded now, too, encouraging you to explain. “We’ll delete everything he has in his Cloud storage and factory reset his phone. I doubt Sid had enough sense to back up his files to an external drive, so this will clear every copy of everything he has on there.”

Maggie’s eyes finally lit up with lively excitement, Luna nodded in agreement, and you felt a smile forming on your own lips, too.

Jungkook, on the other hand, appeared almost disappointed.

“W-we don’t have to go through all of this just to delete those videos,” he said, fixing his gaze on his untouched cup of matcha latte; the artwork on the surface had begun to blur. “Those things happened. I did all of that shit, and Sid recorded it. That’s who I was back then, and maybe I shouldn’t try to—”

You interrupted his words—the ones you’d already heard before—with a gentle touch of your hand over his restless fingers, and Jungkook stilled, turning to you.

“No, those videos are not who you are. You are the one who decides who you are,” you reiterated once more and the table fell silent around you as if everyone had witnessed something they were not supposed to. “And if you want to leave those things in the past, you should be able to. Sid has no right to bring it up now.”

“But if we lock Sid up,” he persisted, “then maybe those videos won’t matter anyway.”

“He could publish them,” Minjun countered. “He sent them directly to you now, but he could post them publicly later. I’m sure he’d find a way to do that even behind bars.”

Jungkook felt a rush of dizziness and he was very grateful that you’d pressed your hand on his. Minjun was right. Sid had done something like this before when he’d posted your picture; he clearly wasn’t above making private matters public.

“We would leave the videos be, let Sid have them, whatever,” you continued, reading the colour on his face, “but he wants to use them against you. He’s cutting them up to paint you as an irresponsible asshole. And you’re not an asshole, Jungkook.”

“Yeah,” Minjun agreed. “And I talked to Jude about an hour ago. He sounded sober, which is shocking to me, but, anyway—Sid has plans to go out tonight, so Jude should be able to do this tomorrow morning while Sid’s still passed out.”

The whole terrace of the restaurant seemed to hold its breath in anticipation as soon as he said that, the clink of cutlery and the muffled chatter around you growing tense.

Jungkook, even dizzier now, turned back to you once more. You gave him a small nod.

He took a breath and nodded back. “Okay. Alright. Fine. Let’s do it.”

“Good!” Maggie cheered from across the table. She turned to Jungkook, and you watched as her reassuring tone chased the last doubts from his eyes. “Even without those videos, we need to do this to get back at Sid. And I know this will do just that. I’d be tearing my hair out if someone cleansed my Cloud.”

You noticed that Maggie was much more vigilant with her phone today, hardly letting it out of her sight. She’d improved her security measures and had to enter her passcode every time she wanted to reply to a text today, because the facial recognition struggled to recognise the wind in her hair. This was the reason she hadn’t bothered with it before, but Sid had taught her a valuable lesson.

You gave your friend an agreeing nod and settled against the back of your chair.

Luna sat on your other side, leaning her elbows on the table, and she quickly noted the way Jungkook’s eyes widened when you pulled back, as if you had torn off a piece of his skin. She glanced at Maggie, who noticed nothing and kept checking the time on her phone as if she was late for another meeting to plan someone’s arrest.

Somewhat disappointed, Luna turned back to you, her grin doubling in size to compensate for her lack of company in teasing you.

“One big problem,” you said, focused on the intricacies of your plan and, therefore, unaware of your surroundings, “lies in our next steps. If we manage to get Sid arrested, he will likely weaponise his friendship with Jungkook. He’ll try to make it seem like they’re as close as brothers, and if he’s going to jail for meth possession, then Jungkook is probably doing drugs, too.”

You pulled your phone out from your bag and allowed for the weight of your words to settle on the table like a heavy grey tablecloth while you opened your gallery.

“So, this morning,” you continued, “Maggie and I put something together. This is a list of people who are banned from Rated Riot’s shows.”

You passed your phone to Luna first. She looked at the screen, nodded, and handed the phone to Maggie, who smiled to herself right away—she had designed the layout of the list and was very pleased with it.

By the time your phone reached Jungkook, he was already squirming in his chair. As he examined the list of names, displayed in bold white letters on a black background with a crumpled paper texture that Maggie had crafted and digitalised herself, he realised that the only name he recognised was Sid’s.

He looked up. “But if you post that—that’s—isn’t it supposed to be confidential?”

“I won’t post it,” you said. “We’ll leak it.”

“Oh.” A gleam of affection suddenly sparkled in his eyes. He felt a little like he’d just met you for the first time, all over again. “Can we do that?

Maggie reached across the table, snatching your phone from Jungkook’s hand to see the picture of the list again. She scrutinised the names for a minute as if trying to uncover the social security numbers of the people listed.

“No,” you replied. “But Sid never played fair, so we’re simply levelling the playing field. The other names on the list are made up anyway. They’re generic enough to match someone on Facebook, but no one will know which person is on this list.”

“But they’ll recognise Sid,” Maggie pointed out, squinting at your phone. “Even though he’s listed as Isidore here. Right?”

“That’s him, yeah,” you confirmed. “And you’re right. Everyone will recognise Sid. We’ll leak this before he gets arrested, and anything he says after that will just be taken as blatant slander.”

Jungkook took another deep breath and glanced at your phone, which Maggie slid towards you across the table. It bumped against the corner of your empty water glass.

“Won’t there be consequences if something else leaks?” he asked, his teeth grazing his bottom lip.

“Yeah, I was thinking that, too,” you admitted. “But then, Luna texted me a brilliant idea last night.”

You gestured towards your friend, and she continued.

“It’ll be accidental,” she explained. “Maggie usually posts backstage pictures on her Instagram. She has almost as many followers as the main account of your band at this point. So, later today, she will post a new set of pictures, and this list of names will just happen to be visible in some shots. Just a coincidence, really. And then we hope that one of your fans will notice it, zoom in, catch Sid’s name, and share it.”

Jungkook looked down, nodding to himself. He realised that Sid stood little chance against the collective resolve of everyone at this table.

“They will notice it,” he said. “I don’t doubt it.”

“We’ll have to rely on them to spread this,” you added. “Even though this list isn’t really something we need to hide. It’s just, you know, sort of customary in the industry to keep your dirty laundry to yourself.”

“Alright,” Jungkook said, sensing the weight of everyone’s gaze on him. He had the feeling that everyone was waiting for his final approval to move forward with this plan. “So, uh, Maggie won’t get into trouble for posting it?”

“Hmm?” Maggie looked up from her phone at the sound of her name. “Oh. No. I’m the photographer. As long as I get good shots, I never get in trouble. And this wouldn’t be the first time I’ve taken a picture that reveals more than I intended.”

She gave you a sheepish look, and you shook your head, sensing where the guilt in her eyes stemmed from. Maggie knew that Sid was behind the chaos caused by the bathtub picture, but she still felt a gnawing sense of responsibility because she was the one who had taken the picture.

“Alright. You, uh—you guys really put a lot of thought into this,” Jungkook remarked, looking at you first, then at your friends, and finally at Minjun on his other side. “I’m, uh—I-I’m actually a little afraid of you.”

Luna and Minjun snickered—Maggie was back on her phone, but she was smiling, too—and their excitement made you feel much more optimistic.

“Good,” you said, reaching out to touch Jungkook’s hand again. He immediately turned his hand round and firmly clasped yours—to ensure you wouldn’t pull away this time. “Sid should be, too.”

A tense silence settled over the table, punctuated by the subdued conversations on the terrace.

For the first time since you arrived at the restaurant, Jungkook finally took a sip of his coffee. It tasted bitter and lukewarm. You refrained from touching yours, but accepted a bite of Luna’s tiramisu. Everyone else at the table seemed to remember simultaneously that they had ordered food when they got here.

“Uh,” Maggie spoke up after a second, still chewing on the brown crust of her bacon and egg tart. “Is this a safe space for us to voice our, uh, concerns?”

You straightened in your seat, bracing yourself before she’s even said anything. Jungkook sensed your growing anxiety and squeezed your hand.

“Of course,” you replied, keeping your voice steady.

“Okay.” Maggie swallowed and set down her fork after taking exactly one and a half bites. “Well, I’m worried that Sid will say something provocative and one of us will end up getting arrested for assault.”

There was something absurdly comical in her question—or the potential outcome it suggested—and you could see Minjun quickly lower his head to conceal his broad smile.

Jungkook, meanwhile, was extremely pleased that no one turned to look at him, the person who had, more or less, already assaulted Sid before. It comforted him to know that everyone here would have loved to smack Sid upright in the head, too.

“That’s a great point,” you said, clearing your throat. “If he provokes you—well, then you might have a legitimate reason to, uh, land a good punch. You probably wouldn’t be held in custody too long for that. There’s no premeditation, you acted on impulse because of something he said.”

Minjun raised an eyebrow at you from across the table.

“I thought our focus was drug laws,” he said. “Did you research assault, too?”

“I researched assault laws the day I met Sid,” you deadpanned.

He snorted. “Yeah, fair enough.”

“Not to mention, we can always argue it’s self-defence,” Luna added, prodding her sandwich with a toothpick as if it were a not-quite-dead bug. “Sid is very—let’s say, aggressive.”

“That’s true,” Minjun agreed. “Especially when he’s irritated.”

The energy around the table had increased considerably; everyone seemed to have something to say about possible reasons to hit Sid. Maggie was already listing five ways to throw a punch that would knock out your opponent—she had a WikiHow article open and was illustrating it with enthusiastic demonstrations on Minjun.

You realised, quite suddenly, how happy you were to sit here with your friends. They were smart and cunning enough to rob a bank, escape a prison, and start a money laundering scheme all in a week, but they chose to be sweet and loving and a little vengeful instead. You felt almost giddy.

“He wouldn’t throw the first punch, though,” Jungkook interjected with a hint of frustrated sorrow. Maggie halted her research, retracting her fist from Minjun’s cheek. “He’ll just keep running his mouth until you strike him. And he’ll make sure the provocation is very minimal.”

“Well, sure, but who at this table will attest to any of that?” Luna questioned, undeterred. “Everyone who witnessed Sid throwing the first punch, raise your hands.”

All of you raised your hands in perfect synchronisation, and Jungkook felt himself smile again.

He had never doubted the success of your plan, even if he doubted the details. But sitting here now, while all of you held your hands up, he was fully convinced that this meeting marked the beginning of the end for Sid.

“Right. Okay,” he said. “I like how this is looking.”

“Me too,” Maggie said, locking her phone and slouching in her chair. “I feel better now. Didn’t want to spend the night at the police station.”

“You wouldn’t,” Luna assured her. “We’d bail you out.”

She snickered. “That’s good to—”

Jungkook suddenly jumped up in his chair, interrupting her.

“What about Sid’s bail?” he asked urgently. “Can he—could he pay for his release?”

Everyone at the table turned to you once more. When you and Minjun did your research yesterday, your focus had quickly turned from penalties to potential loopholes that Sid might use with his money, so you understood their sudden concern.

“No,” you said. “Apparently, it doesn’t work like that here. They would give him bail automatically; he wouldn’t have to pay. But they need to charge him with a specific offence first, and they won’t know the exact charges until they know what, uh, substances he was carrying on him and keeping in his hotel room—oh, and how much. Not to mention, bail may be denied if there is a risk that he’ll commit further crimes. And we know Sid is violent. He will not sit idly in his little cell.”

“Yeah,” Minjun agreed. “We’re 95% sure he won’t be given bail.”

You nodded, grateful for his confidence.

“So, we definitely won’t be in London by the time they charge him,” Maggie concluded, frowning. She regretted not ordering whiskey instead of espresso; alcohol helped her think.

“Definitely not,” you confirmed. “Our plan concludes with Sid’s arrest, everything else is not our problem anymore. And we’re only participating in this as the staff of Rated Riot, so the only people who will have to speak to the police are those who will be present when they arrive at the venue tomorrow. So, ideally, only Luna, Mick, and me. That’s it. That’s as far as we’re getting involved.”

“Wait,” Jungkook said. He understood the need for Mick’s presence and felt comforted that you’d have someone from security with you, but now he was worried about your friend. “Why Luna?”

“We need an additional witness to observe Sid’s erratic behaviour,” Luna explained. “We thought it’d be better to have someone random, and not just your manager and head of security there.”

Jungkook kept his gaze on hers. “How do you know he’ll behave erratically?”

She gave him a look.

“Right.” He leaned back in his seat. “Good point. Okay.”

He already knew that the odds were good that Sid would try to provoke you tomorrow, but now he realised that even if Sid suddenly decided to be docile, it wouldn’t matter. The five of you were tight as a glove—Sid could sit in a corner, purring and meowing, and you would all collectively claim that he was threatening you.

Finally, Jungkook realised that he had narrowly escaped something dreadful, and he felt very grateful to find himself at this table, and not on the other side of this plan.

“I, uh—this isn’t a concern exactly,” you said after a minute. “But I have to say that a lot of this hinges on Sid trusting my word, and I’m—well, I’m not sure if he’ll care about anything I tell him.”

Minjun looked almost offended. He was the one who devised this strategy after you told him that you needed a way to quickly draw the attention of the authorities to Sid.

Why don’t you call him? Minjun had suggested. And invite him to meet you.

You had thought he’d decided to go insane right before talking to you. But you’d kept your suspicions to yourself because, ultimately, calling Sid seemed like the only option. It felt unfair, however, not to mention your doubts now.

“Actually, I agree,” Jungkook said, giving you a long look. “I’m not sure if I’m comfortable with any of that. You’ll have to be alone in a room with Sid. And we can’t be sure that he won’t—”

“Sid will care,” Minjun asserted, ignoring everything Jungkook had said. He kept his gaze on you, his certainty almost as intimidating as it was comforting. “Maybe not because he has feelings for you, but because you’re Jungkook’s girlfriend.”

Maggie looked up from her phone, surprised about the possibility of Sid having any feelings at all, and turned to Luna. The two of them finally exchanged the look that Luna had been waiting for.

“And you’re okay with doing this?” Jungkook asked you, his gaze flickering from your eyes to your lips. He was careful not to miss any hint of dishonesty.

“I’m okay if this actually works,” you said. “If Sid shows up. If we get him arrested. I’m willing to try this if you’re all sure that we’ll succeed. And I wouldn’t be all by myself anyway.”

“Yeah, don’t worry about that part,” Maggie said to Jungkook, rolling up her sleeves for emphasis. Technically, she wasn’t supposed to be at the scene tomorrow, but she felt she had a personal debt to settle with Sid, so she would find a way to interfere if she had to. “I can fight.”

Jungkook looked at her in a way that was more amused than it was skeptical—Maggie was very small in size, but very big in energy—and she tried to flex her arms to prove her point.

“I believe you,” he said, a smile breaking through his uncertainty. “I just don’t like that this will all be happening during our show. I won’t be there with you.”

“That’s just the plan,” you said. “We need to keep you away from him so that anything he says later won’t carry any weight. He’s obsessed with you and he has problems, and you’ve been distancing yourself from him for some time now. We’ll release an official statement about your, uh, separation once we’re done with him. And the leaked blacklist will back up our claims.”

A resigned acceptance clouded Jungkook’s features: he understood that this was the right decision, but he couldn’t help feeling unhappy about it. However, although he would have typically complained and whined about this—and you expected him to—now his posture was stoic.

You felt a little dispirited. You knew you wouldn’t joke around much today, but Jungkook’s unusually serious demeanour emphasised the gravity of the situation even more.

“Okay,” Minjun said. “Any other concerns?”

You shifted your gaze to him.

“Actually, I have another one,” you said. “I’m also worried about how this will affect your parents.”

The two girls beside you exchanged another glance—you hadn’t explained Minjun’s family’s dependence on Sid’s mother yet.

“If Sid’s in prison?” Minjun asked, unperturbed. “Well, their stocks will probably drop, so it will be weird to throw a party. I think we’ll celebrate quietly.”

You glanced at Jungkook, and he met your eye with an amused grin.

“You sure you’re okay with this?” he asked Minjun then.

“Are you kidding?” Minjun looked optimistic and upbeat. He seemed ready to take on the world, and locking up Sid was just the first step. “We should have done this years ago.”

Maggie suddenly slammed her palm on the table, forcing everyone’s coffee cups to rattle against the plates.

“That’s what I’m talking about!” she exclaimed, and her excitement quickly spread to the rest of the table.

“I agree,” Luna added, much quieter. “But maybe it’s time we headed out. The people at the next table are whispering and, uh, pointing at Jungkook.”

Jungkook raised his eyebrows and turned to you instead of looking around, his expression filled with a shocked wonder. He had only been recognised in public a handful of times since Rated Riot started out, and each instance had left an indelible mark on him.

You gave him a smile and a nod that spurred him out of his chair and towards the people at the neighbouring table, all of whom held their breaths when he stood up.

You glanced back at your friends—all smiling as they watched Jungkook introduce himself and singlehandedly cut off the air supply of four different people—and you thought about how wonderful it would have been if you had met Maggie and Luna earlier. If Jungkook and Minjun had stopped entertaining Sid’s whims sooner. If you and Jungkook had never broken up at all.

Perhaps, you thought, there was an alternative universe where you’d known and loved these people your whole life. You felt very close to that universe now.

Just as you finished your breakfast—where the five of you consumed one cup of coffee and half a slice of tiramisu in total—you executed the first step of your plan and sent a text message to Sid. It was innocuous, just a conversational, “are you ever going to stop doing this?” but it was meant to serve as a subtle precursor—so as not to approach him out of the blue tomorrow.

Then, as the five of you exited the restaurant, Maggie got enthralled by the most gracious little corgi sitting at a table, and dragged Luna and Minjun (who looked like he was not sure what was happening) back inside to ask for pictures. You and Jungkook opted for a scenic route back to the hotel instead.

Although the day was overcast, the sky did not look particularly ominous, offering instead an unexpected serenity that you thought you could use to clear your thoughts.

Interestingly, fresh air was not what you really needed at all. It was his hand holding yours as you strolled past extravagant hotels and expensive restaurants near Hyde Park, weaving through crowds of rushing tourists and cranky locals.

You felt significantly lighter with your hand in his, but Jungkook still appeared troubled. The shadows on his face were far more pronounced than those in the sky.

“What’s on your mind?” you asked.

He let out a weary sigh as he met your gaze. He seemed overwhelmed—as though his head was trying very hard to grow twice as large to contain all his thoughts, while the rest of his body fought desperately to resist the growth.

“I—well, I didn’t want to say this in front of everyone,” he started slowly, “but I’m worried about you.”

“Me?” You frowned. “Wh—because of Sid?”

“Because you’re doing all of this on top of your other responsibilities,” he said. “I don’t want you to burn out.”

Your expression visibly softened, but dark edges of guilt still coated the appreciation in your eyes. You felt disappointed in yourself—for letting it get so far that, over a week later, Jungkook still sometimes looked at you as though you might faint any second.

“That won’t happen,” you replied, your tone gentle, but determined. “I promise. And I’m not alone. I have so much help. And this won’t—it’s just a few days. We deal with it tomorrow, and it’s over.”

“Okay. But what if it’s not?” he questioned then. “We’re heading to Paris right after we, potentially, deal with Sid. And what if it doesn’t work, and we’re not here to fix it?”

You had to admit, this same possibility had been weighing on your mind ever since Jude first mentioned the bags of drugs in Sid’s hotel room. However, as soon as you saw Jungkook’s solemn features, you found yourself resisting all these worries. You would figure it out, no matter what happened, just so he wouldn’t have to worry about it anymore.

You shrugged nonchalantly. “Then it won’t work.”

“He’ll be furious,” Jungkook said. “Even more vindictive than before.”

“I know,” you replied. “But no matter what he decides to do, we won’t back down, either.”

Jungkook frowned so deeply that several new wrinkles declared permanent residence between his brows. He dreaded the idea of spending a lifetime seeking revenge.

You sensed the reason for his apprehension—you wanted this over quickly, too—and instinctively squeezed his hand.

“I’m with you,” you said, reaching for your phone to check if Sid had reacted to your text. “And I told you, I’m not entirely convinced that this will work, either. I mean, here, look. Sid hasn’t replied. But if this plan falls through, we’ll come up with something else. Maybe something—well, less grand.”

He glanced at your phone, toying with his lip ring between his teeth. The prospect of failure felt more daunting with each second that Sid remained free to do whatever he pleased.

Jungkook didn’t want to do something else. He wanted this to work.

“Maybe he hasn’t replied because Jude deleted everything,” he suggested, searching for a plausible explanation that aligned with your plan. “Including the texts.”

“No, that’s tomorrow,” you reminded him. He groaned. “We need—Sid needs to notice my texts first. Then we delete them. I’ll use a disposable SIM card tomorrow, so there’s no trace that I ever contacted him.”

Jungkook felt like his head had already grown far too large for his body. He was a bit unsteady on his feet and clutched your hand tighter.

“Right,” he said. “Okay. That—yeah, no.” He lifted your intertwined hands to scratch something at his forehead. “My head is spinning. I can’t remember that much.”

You gave him a sympathetic nod. “That’s fine.”

“I’m not saying that I’d be too dumb to follow a plan like this,” he felt the need to insist.

“I didn’t think that.”

“I’m just saying,” he continued. “There’s a lot.”

You nodded in exaggerated agreement again. “Mhmm.”

His eagerness to prove his intelligence to you was very endearing. But it was a little funny, too, and Jungkook stopped walking to study your expression more closely. After a moment, he came to an appalling conclusion.

“You think I’m dumb,” he said.

A wide smile finally broke out on your face. “I think you’re very pretty.”

“Very pr—okay.” His expression shifted as you laughed, pulling on his hand to continue walking after an elderly couple gave you a rather well-deserved disapproving look for blocking their path. “Pretty and dumb. Is that your type?”

“It is,” you said, grinning. “That’s why you’re the only boyfriend I’ve had.”

He raised his eyebrows and scoffed. “Oh—wow. Wow. I am both very flattered and very offended.”

You chuckled, gently pushing his shoulder with yours. Jungkook shook his head and finally smiled, too. But right as he prepared to say something else, he ended up having to quickly yank your hand, pulling you into him and out of the way of an oncoming bicycle.

“Shit,” you were breathless against his chest as the bike drove past, your hair whipping forcefully in the wind, “thank you.”

“Pretty and dumb,” he said, allowing you to take a step away from him now that the danger has passed, “but with great reflexes, huh?”

You laughed again, leaning into him when you did and successfully dissolving everything sharp and uncomfortable in his chest.

“I know you’re not dumb,” you said. “And let’s be realistic: Minjun and I had been simmering in the details of this plan for days. You just barely learned about it a few hours ago. We’ve got this. I wanted you to know what we’ll do, but I don’t want you to be involved at all.”

“Yeah. I—no, I just…” he faltered, weighing his next words. The thought of everything that would happen tomorrow made his stomach feel very heavy. “I feel like you’re trying to protect me from Sid by keeping me out of this, and I’m—I don’t know how that makes me feel.”

“We’re not just keeping you out, we’re keeping the whole band out,” you said. “I want to protect all four of you. And if anything, you’re the only member who isn’t entirely excluded. Does that… make it any better?”

Jungkook considered this for a moment.

“Not sure,” he said. “Because I’m still not participating.”

Exhaling softly, you looked around, searching for a quiet spot on the pavement where the two of you could step away from the crowd. Nearby, there were two traditional phone booths that tourists were gathered around, obstructing your view. Once you passed them, you noticed a parking meter right by the park gate that everyone seemed to avoid. You decided to pause there.

Jungkook glanced around before stopping in front of you, slightly unsettled by the large, dark green hedge covering the park fence, and all the bugs that emerged from it—bees, mostly. They all seemed very curious about him.

“Okay, look at it this way,” you began. “Sid has known you and Minjun since you were kids. He knows all your weak points. He can predict exactly how you and Minjun will react in any situation. Sure, you took him off guard when you gave up your Katana, but he can still read you very well. He doesn’t have that luxury with me, Luna, or Maggie. He’s less certain about our reactions. Who else could do this if not us?”

“Right,” Jungkook murmured. “But you’re still going out of your way for me, and I feel—”

“And why wouldn’t I?” you interrupted. “I love you.”

He thought he died for just a second and it felt surprisingly nice: he could feel something soft and warm against his skin—the phantom shivers of every time you’ve touched him before—and he could taste a sweet, lingering flavour on his tongue—from every time he felt your mouth against his own.

He would never tire of hearing you say you loved him. The only downside was that his chest usually attempted to collapse in on itself right after that, leaving him speechless for anywhere from a minute to several days.

“Not to mention,” you continued while Jungkook fought against the haze in his mind and the bumblebees around his neck. “Sid has long stopped at just you. With the videos and pictures he’s sending you, he’s threatening everyone on this tour. Anything that affects your reputation, affects the band and the staff, too. So, when you look at it like that, we’re really doing this for everyone.”

Finally, Jungkook managed to stop his thoughts from pulling him in every direction and anchored himself to this pavement right here—with you, and the persistent bugs, and the chattering of people as they walked past you.

He squeezed your hand that he had not let go—not now, and probably not ever, really—and exhaled.

“Yeah, I get that,” he said. “But I was the one who brought him here, and that’s—I guess that’s what’s bothering me right now.”

“You did bring him here,” you agreed.

“I—oh.” He looked up, his eyebrows knitting together. He had expected something else. An ‘I told you that was a shit decision’ or a sarcastic ‘yeah, and thanks for that’—but your kind expression did not change. “Y-yeah. I did.”

“But we’ll get him out,” you said.

Jungkook held your hand and observed you, trying to process this while simultaneously trying to figure out what was it about him that attracted these British bees to him so much. It couldn’t be his cologne, because you loved him far more than he’d allowed himself to believe. It couldn’t be his clothes, either, because you were looking at him like you believed anything was possible in this world, and he thought it really was.

He realised that to you, he must have appeared as if he were struggling to interpret prehistoric cave wall paintings, and this process was causing him immense pain. He cleared his throat.

“You don’t blame me?” he asked.

“For making a stupid decision?” you replied, and shrugged your shoulders after he nodded. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

He pressed his lips together, his expression a mixture of incredulity and pure delight.

“Okay,” he said. “Sure.”

You were smiling again, and he was a little too proud to admit how much your loving eyes and your great mood soothed his anxiety.

“And what would I gain from punishing you?” you added. “You’ve already seen through Sid. You’ve had enough. You learned your lesson. You’re good.”

Jungkook felt his chest swell as though he’d swallowed the swarms of bees around him, and now they’ve built a cosy little home right on the hills of his heart.

“You think so?” he asked, his eyes glistening.

“Why do you look so excited?” you countered. “Do you have more dickhead friends I haven’t met yet?”

He chuckled, waving his hand around his face. “Can I answer that inside the park? I’m afraid these bees are in love with me.”

You had already noticed his struggle with the bees—it was hard not to, one was perched right on his shoulder—and you found your own apparent immunity to this new bee predicament especially entertaining.

“Want me to fight them for you?” you suggested.

“Oh, in a battle of who loves me more?” he quipped, swatting vigorously at three stubborn bees that were particularly intrigued in his eyes.

“Yeah,” you said. “We’ll all sting you at the same time, and whoever dies first, wins.”

He snorted. “These are bumblebees. They don’t die after they sting.”

“Oh, so maybe we should just stay here,” you teased. “You all seem to know quite a bit about each other already.”

He squinted at you, a smirk playing on his lips. “Are you jealous I’ve grown so close to these bees?”

“Of course. They’re all over you.”

“I’d rather have you all over—”

“Public park!” you interjected hastily, cutting him off.

His laughter in response was unapologetic and infectious—you found yourself shaking your head to suppress a treacherous smile.

“Did you also research public indecency laws?” he asked, turning past the menacing, bee-infested hedge.

You followed him through the gates into the park, your fingers intertwined with his. The clouds above had thickened, and the wind had picked up, but there was nothing about this afternoon that Jungkook did not enjoy.

“Actually, I did,” you replied. “Because of that stunt you pulled in New York last year.”

Recognition flashed in his eyes for just a fleeting moment before he pursed his lips, distancing himself from the memory. A gentle breeze swept through the park, rustling leaves and carrying the scent of damp earth; it would rain soon.

“I don’t remember,” he declared.

“Really?” you responded wryly. You both knew very well that he remembered. “Nothing familiar to you about the busking that turned into half-naked dancing in the middle of the street?”

“Nope,” he said. “Doesn’t ring a bell.”

“There was a lot more grinding than actual dancing, now that I think about it,” you pressed on. You noticed, through your peripherals, the way he scrunched his nose and furrowed his brows, evidently despising the memory he claimed he did not have. “Someone had drawn a crown of thorns on your forehead. You had a—sort of a cloth wrapped around your waist, and nothing else. Almost everyone on the face of the earth accused you of being in a sex cult after those pictures came out.”

“I don’t know anything about that,” he insisted. “They must have confused me with someone else.”

“Sure. They must have,” you relented, pouting your lips in mock-sympathy. “There are plenty of people in sex cults out there.”

“Exactly,” he replied, finally meeting your eyes.

Something about you bringing up this incident—“incidents” were a prominent category of his actions in his mind—reminded him of the videos Sid had sent him. However, with you, the feelings in his chest were vastly different.

You were playful. Lighthearted. Your love language was teasing the hell out of him.

Sid was venomous. Arrogant. Vile. His intentions were humiliation and destruction.

You were joking about a matter for which Jungkook undoubtedly owed you another apology. He could tell that you knew he would apologise eventually, but you were hoping—with every jest, every tender smile, every affectionate bite you sent his way—that he would not plunge himself into self-loathing again.

He wouldn’t. He had matured significantly since the day under discussion. He knew he had, even if it was easy to forget.

“I’m surprised how well you remember all that, actually,” he commented. “Are you secretly into sexual rituals?”

Your scoff returned his smile to his face.

“Oh, absolutely,” you said. “I keep a picture of you from that day on my desk at home. I look at it every night before I fall asleep.”

Jungkook kicked a few dry, scattered leaves on the pavement. When he glanced back at you, his grin bordered on ridiculous.

“I am aware that you���re trying to mock me right now,” he said, “but I feel obligated to inform you that I’m taking absolutely everything you say as a compliment.”

You nodded sagely. “I would expect nothing less from you.”

“Good,” he replied. “Please tell me more about how you look at pictures of me before you fall asleep every night.”

You tsked reproachfully at his grin.

“I take back what I said about you being smart,” you said. “You are the biggest idiot I’ve met.”

“Oh,” his face was jubilant, “but that just means you love me that much more, right?”

You let out a deep sigh. “I’m afraid so.”

He felt the swarms of bees in his chest, and they were buzzing incessantly—eager, restless, and yearning. They took every emotion he felt and spread them across his skin.

“I knew it,” he said, delighted by the look on your face. You were so captivating when you were trying to resist smiling; it was why he never stopped teasing you. “This must be awful for you.”

“Mmhm. It is,” you said. “You’re like a disease.”

He nodded, attempting a formal tone. “How bad is it?”

“Chronic and untreatable, I’m afraid.”

“Oh, I am so sorry to hear that.”

“Yeah, thank you.”

A deep, vibrant laughter finally erupted from his chest, and he stopped walking. Tugging on your linked hands, he drew you closer and wrapped his arms around your waist before you could say another word.

“I love you so much, you know that?” he whispered, his voice low against your neck. “It’s not even funny how much.”

He rocked gently on his feet with you in his arms, and you could not tell if the vibrations you felt came from his chest or yours.

“More than the bees love you?” you asked, your hands sliding over his shoulders.

“Much more than the bees love me.”

“Oh, must be quite a lot, then.”

“It is,” he said, chuckling hopelessly. “It really fucking is.”

He tightened his already firm grip until he felt your deep exhale against the side of his neck. He held you and his heartbeat chased after yours while the bustling crowds, the rustling leaves, and the solemn park benches whispered incomprehensibly around you, their frustration about your public affection lost on you.

When he pulled away a minute—or ten—later, he realised that his cologne had brushed off on you. There was something wildly intoxicating about you smelling exactly like him, and he needed a minute to make the park stop spinning.

“I, um—” he started to say, but his voice broke. He cleared his throat, took your hand in his to continue down the park, and tried again. “Jokes aside, I feel—I really appreciate what you do for me. What you’re doing to fix my shit right now, and what you—what you’ve always done to fix my shit. I don’t say that enough. Thank you. For taking care of Sid, too.”

You shook your head. You knew you couldn’t tackle Sid alone—probably no one could.

“This is a team effort,” you replied. “If this works, you can bake us all a cake later.”

Jungkook no longer had even half of a doubt that this would work, one way or the other. And if he’d stayed with you longer, he would have easily started to believe that Rated Riot would be elected presidents, too—one after the other.

“I’m not much of a baker,” he said.

“I’ll help,” you offered.

“Your help,” he responded, his smile turning mischievous, “usually consists of walking around, eating chocolate sprinkles, and distracting me.”

It was your turn to look offended.

“I’m the only one who remembers how many eggs the recipe needs,” you retorted, dignified. “How do I distract you?”

“How can I remember the eggs when you’re dancing and singing around me?” he countered.

He noticed the way your chin quivered as you fought to maintain a serious expression.

“Well, that’s on you,” you said. “Any skilled chef knows to keep their staff busy so they wouldn’t have time to sing and dance. Also, don’t play good songs when we’re in the kitchen.”

“Alright, we’ll bake in silence,” he decided. “And you’ll do everything while I sit and order you around.”

The corners of your lips finally curled into a smirk.

“That’s interesting,” you said, your thumb lightly brushing over his as he swayed your hands. “Switching up the dynamics.”

He glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, very intrigued by the insinuation in your words. “You want me to order you around?”

“I mean…” You shrugged. “I’d like to see you try.”

He stopped walking suddenly, right in the midst of a group of senior ladies, forcing a few of them to gasp and walk around him with very exaggerated expressions of disbelief as though they’d never felt more wronged (there were a few obligatory comments about “kids these days,” too, of course).

Jungkook, undeterred, took a step to the right until he was standing in front of you.

“Kiss me,” he said.

The demand in his tone caught you off guard, but you tried to blink away your surprise. “I didn’t mean right now—”

“Kiss me,” he repeated more assertively.

You felt your stomach lighten and go for a little float inside you, like a loose helium-filled balloon.

“We are in the middle of a busy park,” you said, looking around. “We’re blocking—”

“Kiss me,” he interrupted again, his voice firm but lively, “or I won’t move.”

You poked the inside of your cheek with your tongue, torn between amusement and apprehension as you battled his self-assured grin, while passersby shot disapproving glances at the two of you.

“See, there’s ordering people around,” you said, “and there’s acting like a three-year-old.”

He simply shrugged, relentless. “I see no difference.”

“Do I sound like a toddler when I tell you to do things?”

“Sometimes.”

His satisfied grin only gained prominence when you scoffed and looked away, rolling your eyes.

You questioned, sometimes, how you managed to put up with him for so long. But then you also questioned, much more often, how you’d survived without him at all.

“If I were a teacher,” you said, “you’d be in detention for disrupting everyone’s day.”

“Oh! And what would I have to do?” he teased, mischief gleaming proudly in his eyes. “Write an essay on the importance of respecting authority?”

“That might do you good, actually,” you retorted. “Maybe you should consider writing it anyway.”

He shrugged his shoulders and cocked his head to the side. “Kiss me and I’ll do it.”

He looked so utterly unfazed that you did feel very compelled to lay your hands on him and do something.

He might have been one of the most exasperating people you’ve met in your life, always ready to say something cheeky no matter what you told him, always causing trouble wherever he went, never letting you breathe in peace for just one second.

You were outrageously grateful to have found him.

“People are staring at us,” you said, but there was no conviction in your voice. “We look like idiots.”

Jungkook admired your cautiousness, but he wanted you to let go of it. People would always stare; he just wanted you to kiss him.

“They’re staring because you’re defying authority,” he countered easily.

“Jungkook, just—”

“Oh, see?” he cut in, his tone triumphant. “Maybe you should be the one to write that essay.”

You groaned very demonstratively, but he saw the corners of your lips lift. Finally, you took a small step towards him and pressed your lips to his in a quick peck. He pulled you into him just as you attempted to pull away, and kissed you properly.

At last, the crowds disappeared, allowing you to dissolve in the warmth of his lips and come back to life with all the shivers that ran down your spine when he touched the back of your neck. You felt his smile and felt your own, too, when he brought his tongue over yours, deepening the kiss.

“You are insufferable,” you managed to mumble between kisses, and the affection in your voice was impossible to mistake for something else.

“I love you,” he whispered in response, each word sweet and sugary against your lips.

You kissed him once more—to soothe your racing heart—and then once more again—to soothe his—before you pulled away, whispering back, “I love you.”

Jungkook only managed half of a pleased “I—” before he felt a few soft, cold droplets land on his forehead and both of his cheeks. He raised his head.

“Is it me, or is it—”

“Yeah,” you confirmed, looking up at the angry clouds. “It’s raining.”

“Do you—should we go inside?” he asked, looking around.

There was no specific “inside” anywhere close to the two of you, but you looked at him again and spotted something at the very edge of the park behind him, right across a busy bike lane.

“There’s a little gazebo over there,” you suggested, pointing.

Jungkook turned around and seemed to have an epiphany when he noticed the crooked structure.

“In the—in the park,” he mumbled to himself, feeling a little weak in the knees. He took your hand in his again. “Let’s go.”

He led you straight into the bicycle traffic as he crossed the road, causing a commotion and undoubtedly endangering everyone’s lives—and not even realising it in his eagerness to get to the gazebo. You attempted to raise your hand in apology to the cyclists, but quickly realised that the smile on your face likely made the gesture seem mocking.

It occurred to you that you and Jungkook were being very disruptive today, very annoying, very much in everyone’s faces about your relationship. And you realised, as he pulled you past the groups of people running from the rain, that you did not actually mind this all that much. Or at all.

There was a certain beauty in the unapologetic way that people in love behaved in public—grinning at their phones, kissing at bus stops, holding hands on narrow streets barely wide enough for one person. Running across the park in the rain and stumbling into every puddle possible.

When you and Jungkook finally reached the gazebo, you were both drenched and breathless. And you realised, belatedly, that it was not a suitable shelter at all: there were no railings or benches, the roof was not only crooked, but obviously decaying, and the rain splattered you if you got too close to the edge.

But you’d been here before: caught in the rain on your way to the restaurant for your first date seven years ago, seeking refuge under a much sturdier roof of a similar gazebo in an empty park, while the vividly green trees—almost a rarity so late in September—whispered wearily from the heavy rain on their leaves.

You’d been here before, and you did not want to go anywhere else.

“I’m starting to think,” you began, “that there’s something about us that attracts rain.”

Jungkook was thinking this very thought and laughed so heartily that the rain stopped for just a second, shamed into silence by a sound far more charming than the eager pitter-patter against the roof.

“You think we could make some money out of it?” he joked, his eyes energetic. “Maybe add a little performance to it? Rain dance?”

“We might have accidentally performed one already,” you said, stepping closer to the edge of the gazebo to watch the raindrops splash against the damp ground.

“You’re right,” he agreed, taking your hand in his and guiding you to face him. “Let me see.”

He brought your hand to his chest and you watched, puzzled, as he closed his eyes and pretended to concentrate very hard on the sounds around him. People across the street screeched as they ran from the rain. A stubborn gull was screeching in the exact same way somewhere overhead.

Jungkook clutched your hand tighter and hummed. He was joking, clearly putting up a show, but you heard the faint sound of distant thunder, and the joy on his face turned luminous.

“I knew it!” he exclaimed as you laughed, and the rain, encouraged by your approval, began to pour even harder.

You watched him revel in this delightful coincidence—or an elusive sign—and allowed his radiant smile to bring back the memories that you had locked away in a box you didn’t dare touch unless you were half-asleep.

It had been raining on your first date seven years ago, but it had also been raining when he suggested that date. You’d felt invincible then, the only one staying dry in the whole world, as you nearly sprinted home from the party where he’d asked you out. You stumbled over the threshold of your dorm room, your shoes wet and slippery, and landed on your knees, shouting the news to your roommate, who was startled out of bed by your loud entrance.

This was the beginning of the happiness you’d felt almost every day since then. But this happiness came with a price: you would come to class and you could not rest, could not find it in yourself to calm down, until Jungkook arrived and took his usual seat behind you. You wouldn’t even have to look, you’d always know he had come because you’d feel a sudden sense of peace—and then you’d lock eyes with him across the room.

For years after this, even today, when you tried to find a period of your life where you’d felt the happiest, these were the moments that your mind returned to.

“What are you thinking?” Jungkook asked, brushing a damp strand of hair from your cheek and bringing your focus back to the rainy moment with his touch.

“It—it’s been seven years and now we’re back in the rain,” you replied, distracted by the lingering echo of the years that have passed outside this gazebo. “Nothing’s changed.”

A faint smile danced on his lips.

“Yeah. Nothing important has,” he agreed. “I still love you.”

You met his gaze, a little thrown off. “W-what do you mean, still? That was our first date seven years ago.”

“Yeah,” he said, raising his eyebrows at the confusion on your face. “Oh, did you think I asked you out right after I saw you? No, no. I spent a whole year absolutely fucking pining after you before I finally mustered the courage to ask you out.”

You assumed he might have liked you a little, based on the way he’d introduced himself to you. But you obviously didn’t know about his alleged year-long pining that preceded your first date. And you weren’t sure if you wanted to believe him, given your own year-long pining. It made little sense for the two of you to like each other for so long and not do anything about it.

On the other hand, considering the past few years, perhaps it made perfect sense.

Your heartbeat had sped up, so you argued childishly, “no, you didn’t.”

“I did. Ask anyone,” he said, grinning. He wasn’t as embarrassed about this as he used to be—and your surprise made it easier for him to admit everything. “I never knew how to love you quietly. But it still took me ages to talk to you even with everyone’s encouragement. And that, uh—our first conversation didn’t go very well.”

“Wait—what do you mean? It went very well,” you disagreed. “I remember everything you said word for word. ‘We have Sociology together, I saw you sleeping in class, very cute by the way, the professor does not know how to shut up, have you seen that new Studio Ghibli film, I recently watched their classic with some friends, My Neighbour Jungkook, I’m Totoro by the way, I thought maybe—wait—no—’”

He interrupted you once your smile had grown dangerously wide. “Don’t you dare make fun of me.”

“I would never!” you said through laughter. “I think I knew I was in it for life the moment you said all that.”

He had to look down because the bees inside him had multiplied, spreading rapidly to his head and his lungs and his stomach, and he was a little concerned that he’d start buzzing, too.

“Not one period, nothing,” you continued, a melancholic haze in your eyes. “Just commas and an endless stream of thought. You could have asked me to bury a body, I would have said yes.”

He smiled, but everything inside of him was turning upside down, returning to normal, then turning downside up.

Every time he remembered how he approached you seven years ago, he either felt a little uncomfortable or completely mortified. He’d never thought you’d remember that day so well and with such fondness.

“By the way,” you added when he did not speak, “you did look a little like you were about to confess to accidentally murdering my roommate when you started to speak.”

This finally made him chuckle, and he felt his skin thaw from the frozen state of amazement. He remembered hoping that you’d forget all about what he’d said that day. Now he realised he had never felt more thrilled that you remembered.

“I know,” he said. “I was shaking.”

“Yeah. I, um—” you trailed off, needing another minute. “I had a crush on you, too, actually. For a long while.”

His smile faded, replaced by a look of criminal disbelief. “You did not.”

You recognised your own suspicion in his words and smiled. However, unlike Jungkook, who owned up to his stressful pining and memorable first impression, you did not feel ready to confess to your silent sulking quite as easily.

“I did,” you said. “But you turned away every time I looked at you on campus, so I thought, oh, okay. That guy hates me for some reason. Nevermind.”

“I didn—I never—”

“I actually made a playlist before we met,” you added quickly before you could change your mind. “And I, uh, kept updating it throughout our relationship.”

You did not look at him when you said this, so you missed the befuddled look on his face.

“A pl—you made a playlist?” he repeated, his thoughts momentarily derailed. He couldn’t even hear the rain anymore. “And you never told me?”

“And I will continue to act like you don’t know about it,” you said.

He was too ecstatic to care. He hadn’t dared to imagine that he would have such a strong presence in your thoughts that you would create a playlist about him—for him? (he thought he might faint)—before you even met.

“No, b-but I’m supposed to be the one making grand gestures in our relationship, and you have a playlist about me? Ab-about us?” he questioned, almost frantic. “Is it—well, what songs are in it? About our relationship?”

You tried to put your words together, your slow, calculated breaths a stark contrast against his passionate energy. Another clap of thunder, unusually intense, rumbled in the sky.

“Sort of,” you finally answered. You thought that a playlist did not come anywhere close to everything he’d done and attempted to do for you, but you still struggled to articulate yourself. “Or songs that we both liked. Songs that we listened to together. Songs that we discovered on roadtrips—just, uh, stuff like that.”

He shook his head, every part of his skin itching with an unfathomable urge to hear these songs.

“You have to let me listen to it,” he stated.

“No,” you said, giving a determined shake of your head. “It’s enough that you know it exists.”

“I will absolutely never shut up about this,” he retorted, gesturing with his hands to emphasise his commitment to being annoying, “and I might end up telling more people.”

“I will kill you if I have to,” you warned.

“So I will haunt you, then,” he returned. “Is it on Spotify?”

You narrowed your eyes. “It’s private.”

“I am not above pulling a Sid and stealing your phone,” he said, resolute.

You snorted despite yourself.

“Okay. Fine,” you said. “Maybe I’ll give you the link after.”

Jungkook waited for further clarification, but you decided you’d said enough.

He was confused. He no longer had any clear delineations of time in his life—ever since he found you again, his whole life had shifted to “after.”

“After—after Sid?” he asked.

“After everything,” you replied, unintentionally ominous as your gaze wandered to the fragmented reflections of the clouds on the rain-soaked pavement. “After we leave London. After we deal with the label. After it stops fucking raining every time we go out together.”

Jungkook thought he could already see these things: the Parisian streets after you’ve left Sid in London, the peace after you’ve told the label about your relationship, the sun in the sky after the rain lost its courage to threaten you again.

“Okay,” he relented, his features softening. “I’ll hold you to it.”

Your lips curved into a gentle smile. “I know you will.”

He hummed, stepping on a loose floorboard with the edge of his boot.

“Now, then,” he said, “tell me about this crush you supposedly had on me.”

“It was a crush,” you insisted, your voice growing more fervent right away.

Jungkook smiled but tried to remain collected. He had decided it was better for his sanity not to believe you.

“I liked you ever since I saw you at that first freshman party,” you continued and he realised that he was absolutely, without a doubt not collected at all. “I spent that entire night scrolling through the list of people invited to this event on Facebook until I found your profile. But I didn’t dare to send you a friend request, because—well, you know. We hadn’t talked or anything. I thought maybe you’re not interested.”

He thought his heart might stop because this freshman event was where he first saw you—and for every waking and sleeping moment since then, he had been interested.

“I noticed you around campus after that,” you continued. “And I would have talked to you first, I think. If you hadn’t looked like you dreamed of my violent death every time you met my eye.”

He groaned, rubbing his eyes with the pillows of his palms.

“Well, obviously, I liked you too much to look at you and not glare,” he said, even though none of that was obvious. “I actually thought I developed some sort of an allergy right when I first saw you.”

You raised your eyebrows. “An allergy?”

“Yeah. Shortness of breath, just feeling hot all over, sweating profusely,” he elaborated, moving his hands away from his face to reveal his faint, nostalgic smile. “That had never happened to me before. It was either the dust in the room or you. And there wasn’t a lot of dust.”

You pursed your lips before your cheeks could stretch any further.

“I don’t know,” you teased, “they don’t clean the building that well.”

“It was you,” he stated firmly. “Got my breath catching in my throat. Gave me butterflies, made my heart race—made me feel all the things that people write embarrassing bubblegum pop songs about.”

You looked down to collect yourself before all the signals that your heart was sending to your brain could reflect on your face.

“Catchy songs, though,” you murmured.

“Catchy, sure,” he agreed, his tone wistful. “Until all those things they sing about happen to you, and you feel like you’re drowning.”

You felt a little like you might drown just now as your heart pounded in your chest, angry at you for another wasted year.

“I’m really happy we finally ended up together,” he said. “Seven years ago, and today.”

You finally looked up at him and remembered all the times when you used to worry that you had already lived through your happiest moments, and any little joy you’d come across later would pale in comparison. You knew better now.

Jungkook was your happiest moment, and he was right here. He’d always been right here.

“I love you,” you said, a little suffocated by the overwhelming warmth in your chest. “I’ve loved you every day for all these years.”

He was smiling so widely that his lip ring dug into his stretched lips. He reached out to caress your cheek, resting his palm on the side of your face for a moment, his eyes bright and glittering.

He kissed you slowly, his bottom lip lingering between your lips while the rain washed the noise of the city away. He tasted love and longing on your tongue, and he had never in his life wished for the sunshine to stay away longer.

The rain listened. It had become a fundamental part of your present and a prophet of your future: the two of you were going to spend the rest of your lives listening to the rain and falling in love.

Since Rated Riot had a day off and the other members let you know where they were by bickering continuously in the groupchat, you and Jungkook locked yourselves in his hotel room when you returned.

You changed into dry clothes first, and then noticed that Sid still hadn’t replied to your text. In case he really hadn’t received it, you sent another one—with just question marks—hoping that he’d interpret your repeated messages as a sign of your desperation to talk to him.

You put your phone away and climbed back into bed. The sun had already set outside the window, casting faint, elongated shadows around you in the room. You and Jungkook listened to the music playing on his phone and returned to the snacks he had bought for your film night a few days earlier.

As the song switched to the latest Bad Omens collaboration, you closed your eyes to nod along, and he reached over to snatch a chocolate-covered cherry bonbon from you, causing a spark of static electricity to pass between you.

“Sorry,” he said, chuckling after he heard you gasp. “It’s from the bees, I think. They must have somehow electrified me.”

“Yeah, that’s definitely something that bees can do,” you played along, sitting up on the bed and unwrapping another candy for him. “Maybe you should take an ice bath to avoid these after-effects.”

He accepted the candy with a grin. “No. I like shocking you when I touch you.”

To be fair, he didn’t need bees or electricity for that—but you decided not to point that out.

You realised how much peace you felt here: listening to music and eating sweets with him across the bed from you. You didn’t think there was anything you still needed in life. Watching him close his eyes as the chocolate melted on his tongue, and hearing him hum with childlike delight as he swallowed, filled an emptiness inside of you that nothing—no trips abroad, no late-night drinks, no shopping sessions—could have filled.

This random moment in his hotel room was nothing at all, yet it was everything.

Suddenly, your phone buzzed, startling you both.

“Sid?” Jungkook asked eagerly, letting the remaining chocolate melt slowly on his fingers while you reached for your phone.

“No,” you replied, checking the screen. “It’s Maggie. She just posted the backstage pictures with our list.”

His expression tightened. “Oh.”

“There’s nothing from Sid,” you added.

Jungkook finally popped the rest of the candy into his mouth. He decided—quite abruptly—that he’s had enough discussions about Sid and everything you’ve been through because of him.

“You know what we should do?” he asked, licking the remnants of the chocolate off his fingers. “We should go to the sea after the tour ends.”

“Oh—we—yeah?” you asked, stumbling over your words. You thought it was very unfair of him to ask you this while running his tongue over his fingers all in the same breath. “We—but we don’t know when that’ll be.”

“Whenever,” he said with a shrug. “Let’s go.”

It took you half of a second to say “okay,” and he didn’t think he’d ever learn how to stop his heart from soaring every time your agreement came so quickly, so easily.

To be honest, you didn’t know why he even asked. It was fairly clear that there weren’t many instances where you would have refused him.

However, your response still painted his features with every warm hue in existence, and he settled back on the bed, resting his head on the pillows and closing his eyes. As you watched him, you were forced to acknowledge one more time that witnessing him like this should have required an admission ticket—and a sign reading, “do not touch the exhibit.”

“I feel like I have everything,” he said, unknowingly echoing every sentiment you felt. “I don’t even care if Sid replies to you and if our plan works.”

You leaned against the pillows on the other side of the bed and turned to your side to face him. “Yeah?”

“Mmhmm,” he replied, a melodious hum in his tone. He opened his eyes to meet yours and placed his hand on the pillow beneath his head. “We’re—you’re here with me. The tour is going well, it’s—that’s it. That’s my whole dream.”

He looked beautiful in an almost devastating way. He looked like every extravagant adjective that sounded made-up when you encountered it in writing for the first time: transfixing. Beguiling. Effulgent. Pulchritudinous.

You really wanted to touch the exhibit.

“Do you know how we formed Rated Riot?” he asked suddenly, distracting you.

You raised your eyebrows, then turned your gaze away. Jungkook realised you probably didn’t understand where his question had come from, but you didn’t ask him anything, so he did not explain.

Truthfully, you did not know the complete story behind how Rated Riot got together. You only knew what each of the boys was doing when they first met.

“I don’t know much,” you admitted. “I know that Hoseok kicked things off.”

“Yeah.” Jungkook nodded, then stopped. “Or maybe Namjoon, actually? Because Namjoon saw Hoseok at some gig that he went to. When he asked about his band, Hoseok gave him, like, fifteen business cards. But even though he filled in for all these bands, it was still only maybe one gig per week. That’s nothing. So, Namjoon told him he’s too talented for that shit. He said he needed his own band.”

You recalled Yoongi mentioning that Namjoon was the first producer that Rated Riot have worked with, but you hadn’t realised this was before the band was even formed.

Suddenly, the broken air conditioner in the room whirred back to life, interrupting your thoughts.

“S-so, they started talking,” Jungkook said, momentarily distracted by the loud noise. “Hoseok wanted to be independent, and Namjoon didn’t push him to sign with Jett Records back then. He helped him. Unofficially, I guess. They found Taehyung very randomly at this one after-party for somebody at our label—well, our future label. Namjoon took Hoseok there to network, and Taehyung just happened to be there. No one knows why, but you know Taehyung. He’s always going to be right where he needs to be.”

“Yeah,” you said, nodding knowingly. Taehyung always seemed to find his way to the people and places meant for him.

“Yeah, so he was at that party,” Jungkook continued, “and he overheard Namjoon and Hoseok discussing the plan for Hoseok’s band. They were saying that they needed a bassist first. And Taehyung just chimed in like, “I play bass.” Just out of the blue. Namjoon asked him who he was, and he introduced himself. Namjoon then asked what he was doing here, and Taehyung said, “I’ll tell you if you let me join the band”—which he never did, by the way. We still don’t know what he was doing at that party.”

You chuckled softly. Knowing Taehyung, nothing in this story surprised you, but you were still impressed by how quickly his energy captivated Hoseok and Namjoon.

“So, they let him join?” you asked.

“Namjoon claims he auditioned for them first,” Jungkook said, clicking his lips questioningly. “But one time when Hoseok was very drunk, he admitted that he’d felt desperate. Namjoon was busy and couldn’t help him much, so Hoseok had to figure things out on his own. He said he called and invited Taehyung to join right away. He thought they could find a proper bassist later, and Taehyung could fill the spot for the time being. Funny.”

“Oh,” you said. “Because he hadn’t heard him play yet?”

“Yeah,” he confirmed. “He hadn’t seen Taehyung even holding a bass before. So, he had doubts. I guess I get that. Anyway. He invited Namjoon to their first rehearsal and Taehyung blew Namjoon the fuck away. That’s it. Hoseok said that after that, he was worried Namjoon would sign Taehyung and leave him behind. Not that Namjoon would do that, but uh—yeah. Taehyung was that good.”

“They’re both that good,” you said. “Hoseok never acknowledges his own talent.”

“Right?” he nodded eagerly, turning to his side to look at you. There was a warm smile on your lips that Jungkook really enjoyed. “They’re both amazing.”

“So, how do you come into the picture?” you asked.

He took a breath before answering.

“I saw Hoseok and Taehyung playing at this dive bar that Sid dragged me to,” he said.

Your eyebrows arched in surprise. “No shit?”

“Yeah,” he said, running his tongue over his lips. “He said I was annoying and mopey, so he kept taking me to a new place every night. There were hardly any people at this bar that night. Taehyung was singing, but he sang, like, one verse, and then they launched into the longest instrumental break I’ve ever fucking heard. And it was incredible. Shit, I—I’m more into vocal music. But seeing Hoseok and Taehyung play together—there was another guitarist with them, actually, I don’t even know who it was—anyway. It made me realise how powerful instrumental music can be on its own.”

A dreamy fog had descended upon his face, and only now did you realise that the air conditioner had stopped working again, seemingly calling it a day. You appreciated the silence and the way Jungkook looked when he played back the memories in his head, his eyes shimmering with the bright lights and the sounds of the bar that night.

“I didn’t know that Sid met the other members before you joined the band,” you said.

“Oh, yeah,” he replied. “He also said he could be a better bassist than ‘that guy.’”

“He—of course,” you groaned. “Wait until Luna hears this. She’ll take care of Sid for us on Taehyung’s behalf, I think.”

He nodded, snickering. “I bet. But Sid actually left the bar before they finished their set. I stayed back. After they wrapped up, I went up to Hoseok at the bar and told him how much I enjoyed their performance. Told him I was thinking of picking up drums—”

He paused abruptly, noticing your surprise before you remembered him mentioning this to you.

“Oh, was this when you and Sid were planning to start your own band?” you asked. You had assumed they were joking.

“Yeah,” he replied, snickering. He had been joking, but he still found drummers to be effortlessly cool. “So, Hoseok delivered the longest fucking speech about what his job was like. Don’t ask him about it, by the way, or you’ll have to sit through three hours of him making drum sounds. But anyway, I was pretty drunk by then, and I don’t know, I guess I hummed along to some song that was playing or something.”

You nodded. Jungkook was almost always humming something.

“Then Hoseok said they needed a vocalist for their band,” he continued, “because Taehyung didn’t want to do it. And he noticed me humming, so he jokingly asked if I happened to sing. I said sometimes, nothing serious. Everybody sings sometimes. He told me to sing something for him. I told him to get fucked, we’re in a bar.” Jungkook had to pause here to let you finish laughing. “And Hoseok just shrugged, like, “no one’s at the mic, why not?””

“That did it for you?” you asked.

He nodded. “That fucking did it for me.”

You laughed again, knowing that he would never shy away from anything that resembled a challenge.

“What did you sing?” you asked.

Jungkook gave you a look. There was only one song that always lingered at the back of his mind. You could have guessed it, really, but you were a little frightened about its significance in this context.

“You—you sang Biffy Clyro?” Your throat was dry all of a sudden and useless questions continued to pour out of your dumbfounded chest. “At that bar? In front of Hoseok? “M-Many of Horror?””

“Of course,” Jungkook said, as if there had never been any other song he could have chosen to perform that night, besides the one that followed you and him throughout your relationship. “It—it really fucked with me, though. We had just broken up maybe a month ago, so it was still fresh, you know? And this was my first time singing “Many of Horror” in public, on top of that. And I was—I didn’t do well. I think I missed half the lyrics in the last chorus because it was too much.”

He snickered lightly, trying to lessen the impact of his words. You felt frozen.

“I-I was standing there,” he continued, and you could almost see it, “hiccuping to the I still believe, it’s you and me ‘til the end of time, while Hoseok just watched me, expressionless. And then I drank half the bar right after I got off stage.”

He sang the two lines of the song as he shared the story, his voice quiet and tender, and you thought you must have resembled Hoseok right now—so lost in all the emotions brewing inside you that you did not immediately realise he had stopped speaking, and it might have been appropriate for you to reply.

“Y-you still sounded great, though,” you managed. “Obviously.”

“Yeah, maybe four people clapped. Out of the ten or so at the bar,” he said, chuckling. “Hoseok told me he had to make a call, told me to stay right where I was, and then he disappeared. He returned twenty minutes later with some dishevelled guy in a turtleneck with a little hole in the collar.”

You recognised the description. “Namjoon?”

“Namjoon,” Jungkook confirmed, the smile on his face matching the one hesitantly spreading on yours. “I was fucking wasted. They were saying I had to meet with them for rehearsals, they wanted to see how I’d sound with them. And I’m—I couldn’t fucking think straight. They were telling me they wanted me to join the band, and all I could think about was that you weren’t here.”

The excitement in your eyes quickly turned into pain as a sharp twinge of longing pierced through your chest. It cut into every open crevice of your heart, reminding you of the way it had bled in those first few months after you broke up—even on this particular day, while Jungkook was struggling to get himself together in the face of his future, and you were likely at home, tossing and turning in your bed because you did not know what to do with yourself.

“I wanted to tell you so badly,” Jungkook admitted, his eyes fixed on the bedsheets, his voice filled with incorrigible regret. “But we weren’t talking anymore. I thought—there was this one moment where I thought, well, what’s the point? What’s the use of joining this band if I can’t even tell you about it? A-and they weren’t even a full group when I met them anyway. It took about two more weeks for Yoongi to join.”

You made a conscious effort to swallow the lump in your throat, and shifted your focus to Yoongi to allow for the sudden ache in your chest to subside.

“Yeah, uh—Yoongi mentioned that he was the last to join,” you commented, hoping to steer the conversation back to a less emotionally charged topic. “He used to play for a different band before, right?”

“Yeah. Somnia,” Jungkook said. The name did not sound familiar to you. “They weren’t—um, going anywhere. That’s a very blunt way to put it, but they were just stuck. And Yoongi and Namjoon go way back. So, Namjoon called him one day and lied that he was producing for this new, promising band in need of a permanent guitarist. Said they had a solid rhythm section, but their artistic direction needed some refinement.”

“And, uh,” your voice was a little lighter, “I assume they had a great vocalist, too?”

Jungkook smiled. “They did, yeah. I was trying to be modest, but you brought it up.”

You snickered, offering a nonchalant shrug. “Just trying to help you out.”

“Thanks,” he replied. “Yeah. So, Yoongi was the last one to join. He’d—he has a lot more creative freedom with us than he had with Somnia, which still isn’t a lot. But it’s something. And I think that was the main reason why he left them.”

“And they were okay with him leaving?” you asked.

Jungkook turned on his back and sighed.

“I assume they weren’t,” he said, briefly glancing at the ceiling before turning to look at you. “That’s why he doesn’t talk much about it.”

“Ah.” You nodded. “Makes sense.”

“Yeah, but anyway, Yoongi joined and we were complete,” Jungkook continued. “We released this one song, “Keep Quiet” as our first single, and I think it had maybe ten streams in total on Spotify, two from each of us and Namjoon. It wasn’t great, but it’s our first song together, so it’s—you know.”

Your smile was soft, patient. You knew that the members of the band did not have many fond memories of their first single. Taehyung had once admitted to you that if they hadn’t felt so pressured to release something, they would have waited.

“It’s one of your mostly instrumental songs,” you said. “It sounds great as the introductory track at your gigs.”

“Yeah, but it—it’s not really the song that introduces us as a band,” Jungkook replied. ““Haunting” is. We released it independently, too, a few months after that first song. That—okay, that was in June. Some time after that, this radio DJ that Yoongi knew played “Haunting” on his radio show as a birthday gift to Yoongi. Namjoon and Christian Jett—”

“CJ, apparently,” you cut in.

“Right. CJ,” he repeated. “They heard the song at some event. Apparently, CJ loved it, so Namjoon told him about us. When CJ found out we weren’t signed to a label, he reached out to us. It took Taehyung and me three days to convince Yoongi and Hoseok to go to that meeting. They both had some shitty experiences with record labels in the past. But we persuaded them to at least show up. CJ had us perform “Haunting” and “Cursed” for him, and he signed us on the spot. Well, after Yoongi finished negotiating with him about our contracts.”

Your heart started to race as if you had just realised how much the universe had to align, how many intricate coincidences had to happen to lead Jungkook to his band, and to bring the two of you to this moment in his hotel room.

“We started working on our album,” he went on, “and about four months later—in July, right?—the record started to finally come together. That’s when CJ started to look for a manager for us.”

You took a breath and finished for him, “and reached out to me.”

“Yeah,” he said. “All CJ told us was that he found someone. He mentioned that this person was already working under the label and that the band they managed had recently broken up.”

You did not interrupt the silence that followed, because you thought that Jungkook had paused for a few seconds. But he stopped speaking altogether, waiting for you to share your perspective.

“I-I was, uh, Nick’s assistant at the time,” you said, realising what the silence was for. “We were working with The Jungle Will Get You.” You turned to Jungkook and he shook his head. “Yeah, they were—they weren’t popular. And the members weren’t really motivated, especially towards the end. They split up, eventually. Nick moved on to manage Reconnaissance, and I took on administrative tasks for various bands under the label. It was only for a few months, but I thought I’d end up buried in endless piles of papers. So, when HR called me in to tell me about Rated Riot, I pretended to know exactly who you were to get that job.”

He was smiling next to you on the bed, lost in the memories that did not hurt anymore now that he shared them with you.

“I doubt even HR knew who we were,” he said, gazing up at the ceiling and clasping his hands on his stomach. “I’m just—I’m constantly—I don’t know. I can’t wrap my head around the fact that it was you that they chose for us. I mean, you’re amazing, you could have worked with any band out there. But they picked you for us.”

You grappled with the same impossible coincidence.

“I’m thinking about that, too,” you said. “You had so much potential and CJ... I wasn’t sure if he even saw it when he reached out to me. Not to mention, you and I were—we were broken up for two years at that point?”

“A year and seven months,” Jungkook replied.

“Right,” you said, slightly out of breath from the precision of his answer.

He turned to face you. “Did you ever consider turning down that offer to work with us after you found out I’m in the band?”

You exhaled what little oxygen you had left in your lungs. You’d considered many things when you saw him again that day, and you realised now that you still hadn’t fully grasped all the thoughts that had passed through your mind at the time.

“For maybe half a second,” you said. “I was very confident that we could move on from our relationship.”

He grinned. “Look how well that worked out for us.”

“Mhmm, right?” you agreed, meeting his gaze. “So professional.”

He chuckled, intoxicated by your proximity and the peace he found in the knowledge that the universe had put in a good effort to lead you two here.

“I know that—well, it seems like everything just fell into place to get all of you together for Rated Riot,” you said. “But it wasn’t that easy for you guys, was it?”

“Yeah, no, it definitely wasn’t,” he agreed. “After Yoongi joined, we struggled to write one fucking original song for months. We thought the band was going nowhere.”

You could see the sadness in his eyes. “It was that bad?”

“Yeah. Everything we tried to work on was shit,” he said. “We were getting drunk every night, trying to find something that could work as our proper first song, something that could really show what sort of a band we were. And nothing worked.”

“So, what happened?” you asked.

“You,” he answered simply.

Your brows creased. “How—what do you mean?”

“Namjoon pushed us to release something authentic for our next single,” he began. “Something that would be more Rated Riot, and less of what Rated-Riot-wanted-to-be, which was what we did for “Keep Quiet.” This next song had to be different. Better. And so, the other guys decided to kick my ass and force me to work. They knew I was writing something, but it—it wasn’t anything serious. Not like what they write. You know I can’t just create shit on the spot. My lyrics have to be about something that I’ve been through. And you’re—you are every single meaningful experience that I have had in my life. The guys—they wanted to use that. So, you’re sort of the main reason why Rated Riot are where they are”

You exhaled slowly, your mind filled with thoughts just like it had been the first time you walked into Rated Riot’s meeting room and saw Jungkook there—looking only slightly different from the music video Luna had shown you before, and remarkably different from your memories.

“And that—this is why I brought this up now,” he said. “It’s all because of you. We broke up, and Sid dragged me to that bar to help me get over you. I sang our song to Hoseok, and he brought Namjoon to convince me to join the band. I wrote “Haunting” about you, and CJ heard it and decided to sign us. We put out several albums, filled with songs I’ve ever written for you, and now we’re on this tour. If it weren’t for you, I just—w-we wouldn’t be here.”

You felt your skin prickle, the sensation quickly turning to a painful sting, and you looked away. Frankly, you did not believe that your influence was this significant—not even after Jungkook had told you that it was. These events seemed like an unbelievable sequence of coincidences that he decided to treat as signs, and you found that you couldn’t breathe if you looked at them as signs, too.

You felt his eyes on you and only meant to glance at him very briefly, but he held your gaze for a few moments longer, watching as a shuddering breath passed your lips. Then he propped himself up on his elbows.

“I’m going to kiss you now,” he declared, the look in his eyes so final, so determined that you were almost afraid to move when you met his gaze. “And then I’m not letting you go. I don’t care if Sid texts.”

Your voice was very small. “I don’t care, either.”

“Fuck,” was more of an echo than a real whisper as his lips finally collided with yours. The kiss was deep and vehement and full of everything that had built up inside you over this day alone.

But then his tongue met yours and you realised that this day wasn’t all that special. You could have kissed him at any point of any day, and you would have still felt overwhelmed and aching, and you would have needed him right at the tips of your fingers as much as ever.

He tasted like the chocolate-covered cherry bonbons that he’d bought you because they reminded him of the summer nights you’d spent together. He tasted like the sticky homemade candy that the two of you baked when there were no other sweets in your dorm room and you craved something, but refused to leave, refused to pull away. Like the moments on the balcony of his house after you snuck away from his cousins. Like the rainy walks to class when your hair would be sticking to your face, but you couldn’t stop smiling, couldn’t stop looking at each other.

All the thoughts that had been screaming at you for the past fifteen minutes suddenly quieted down as he leaned closer until he was hovering over you, one of his hands on the side of your face.

He felt shivers on the back of his neck when your tentative fingers found their way to his hair. He exhaled softly against your mouth and stilled momentarily when he heard your quiet whimper in response to his kiss, to his breathing, to him.

The room suddenly spun completely out of control around him.

He needed you so much and for such a long time that every time you were with him, every time you kissed him, he worried that he was dreaming again. So he kissed you harder, held onto you tighter—not wanting to find out if he was asleep, not wanting to wake up.

He unbuttoned your denim jacket without pulling away and slid it off your arms, holding the side of your neck with one of his hands. His kiss was so deep, so riveting that you felt your lungs give up, felt them pack up and leave, forcing you to breathe him instead.

His hands caressed your shoulders, finding the straps of your shirt and sliding them down your arms—and then stopping abruptly when he realised that you weren’t wearing anything underneath.

Exhaling shakily, he pulled back—lightheaded and winded and completely obsessed with you—just to look at you for a minute. There was a playful grin on his lips when he kissed you again.

You pulled away enough to ask, “what?”

“Nothing,” he murmured in-between kisses, “you’re fucking perfect. But I want this off.”

He pulled you closer and you instinctively bucked your hips off the bed, causing a momentary hitch in his breath. He lifted the hem of your shirt, pulling the material up and tracing the invisible symbols on your skin along your ribs, your chest, and your arms. Tossing your shirt aside without looking, he leaned back in, yearning for the feel of your lips on his again and accepting that he could not last one minute without you. Perhaps not even one second.

He felt your hand on his chest, trailing down to the edge of his black t-shirt and distracting him from the kiss with the softness of your touch. You lifted his shirt up to his chest—as far as it would go without breaking the kiss—and felt him hiss at the cold sensation of your bare fingertips on his stomach.

“I’m sorr—” you began, but the second you pulled away to apologise, he leaned in to capture your lips in another kiss.

“No.” His whispers were frenzied against your lips. You could have electrocuted him with your touch, sliced him into pieces with your fingers, and he would have thanked you for it. “No. You—d-don’t apologise. You’re perfect.”

He heard the way you cursed under your breath—under his breath, too—and he found it hard to inhale against the pressure in his stomach, against the tightness in his jeans. He was humming with near desperation when you pulled him closer, running your hands over his arms, your touch gentle enough to truly kill him.

He was frantic, eager to touch you, to feel your arms, your thighs, your chest, your neck—all of you—before someone interrupted you. Before his time with you ended. He knew he had the rest of his life to spend with you, but now he worried it still wouldn’t be enough.

His tongue moved over yours, his kiss deep, rushing, dizzying. He did not need to look to find the button on your pants, unclasp it, and slide the rough material down your thighs, swallowing a moan when he felt you shivering under his touch.

He quickly pulled his own shirt over his head and tossed it aside before kissing you again, high on the sound of your lips smacking against each other. He shuddered when your hands unexpectedly met his on the belt of his jeans.

“Let me do it,” you asked in a whisper—but he was wholeheartedly yours at that moment, and you didn’t even have to ask.

“Okay,” he complied, allowing you to gently push him back onto the bed.

Closing his eyes, he savoured the newfound sweetness from your kiss on his tongue. He felt you shuffle closer to him on the bed and had to take a sharp breath when one of your hands slid down his abdomen to his jeans.

You leaned over to kiss him again, and he broke—only capable of lying idly for so long—reaching for you and caressing your shoulders and your arms. He made it almost impossible for you to keep doing what you were doing; unruly wildfires blazed everywhere he touched you.

Jungkook was determined not to break the kiss even as you undid his belt and unzipped his jeans. He thought he did well. But then he lifted his hips off the bed to help you pull his jeans off and you brushed your fingers over the bulge in his boxers—your touch featherlight against the material—and he was very nearly finished.

He whimpered lightly into the kiss, his breaths growing heavier, his hands growing greedier. You made sure to hold one of his hands in yours to prevent him from flipping you over on the bed, and he responded to that by cheating: he held onto you tighter and attempted to pull you closer every time he gently bit your bottom lip and you got distracted by the pleasant sting.

Finally, you managed to slide his boxers down his thighs, catching each of his heavy breaths on your tongue. You pulled back, and he was about to protest until he saw you throw one of your legs over his, straddling his hips.

He watched you slide your panties down your legs while hovering over his thighs and he wasn’t sure how long ago he’d stopped blinking. Mesmerised by the sight, he didn’t immediately rush to assist you in maintaining your balance as you lifted one knee off the bed.

Once he recovered enough to remember to inhale, he sat up and pulled you flush to his chest. You gasped in surprise when he hooked his fingers behind the waistband of your panties and slid them down your legs faster.

“I said let me do it,” you reminded him with a pout, and he kissed you instead of replying, too impatient to wait.

Your hands slipped down his chest and your hips bucked into his just barely, but he exhaled deeply, breaking the kiss. You used the moment while he was dazed to push him back into the pillows.

He fell back on the bed, knowing very well that he’d been in this position before—with you on top of him, your fingers tracing over his length before finally wrapping around the base—but he still shivered, throwing his head back into the pillows. He still kept his eyes fixed on your face when you started to move your hand in gentle strokes, killing him a little more with each movement of your wrist.

“Fuck,” he sighed. “At least let—l-let me touch you.”

He phrased it like a request, but he did not mean it like one. You didn’t resist when he reached for you, his hands travelling over your thighs, lingering on your lower back, squeezing your ass, and pulling your hips into his.

One of your hands had come to rest on his chest for support while you continued to stroke his length in deliberately slow, languid motions. You could feel him getting harder under your touch, and you closed your eyes, your teeth sinking into your lip.

He could not look away from you. He wanted to be the one to bite your lips, but he couldn’t move close enough to you with your hands on him. He settled for exploring the skin on your hips, sliding his hands up and down your thighs. Soon, you felt the tips of his fingers brush lightly over your stomach and then descend lower to slip between your folds.

He exhaled deeply through his mouth when he felt how wet you were, and that was enough for him—he would have found a way to hold you tightly against his chest even if you were across the world from him.

In a flash, he was sitting up, connecting your lips again and bringing his tongue over yours while he gathered the wetness between your folds with his thumb. Your grip on his length tightened instinctively, and Jungkook groaned, automatically applying more pressure to the sensitive bundle of nerves on your clit—just enough to have you arch your back into him.

He felt you move faster, squeezing the base and speeding up until your fingers brushed over his tip. Trying to fight back a moan, he reflexively bucked his hips into your hand while two of his fingers teased your entrance, sliding over your wet folds in a teasing, tickling motion. You broke the kiss, sighing and dropping your head on his shoulder.

He didn’t give you much time to catch your breath—you didn’t give him any of that, so he thought this was only fair—as he kissed along your jaw, gently sucking on a spot on the nape of your neck. His fingers continued stimulating your clit with a combination of light, fast circles and harder, slower strokes that he knew would make you break for him.

“F-fuck, wait,” you exhaled, grabbing his wrist to stop his movements. “I w-want you.”

“You have me, my love,” he whispered back, running his tongue over the faint mark he’d left on the sensitive skin of your neck and humming, his tone gravelly and rasp, when you hissed at the feeling. “All of me.”

You gripped his wrist tighter. “Lie back.”

He didn’t immediately obey, opting to use his only free hand—the one you couldn’t hold, because you needed both hands to stop his determined fingers from drawing you any closer to the edge—to squeeze your ass and pull your hips over his length instead.

“Lie back,” you ordered again, your words firm, but breathless. It started a raging flame in his lower stomach, but he still resisted a little more—kissing you again, sucking on your tongue, sliding his hands over your thighs, and nearly making you lose it before he finally leaned back against the pile of pillows.

Jungkook still thought he was doing fairly well, considering the burning on his skin and inside him, but watching you unwrap a condom package and slide the latex down his length—torturously slowly, it seemed to him, to really test his limits—he thought he might lose it, after all.

You felt him jerk slightly in your hand, sensitive as you rolled the condom down his length, and your deep exhale blended with his sharp inhale. He locked the sound of your breathing somewhere deep in his mind, too focused on your touch to revel in it right now, but far too inspired by the response your body had to his to forget it altogether.

He bit his lip, his eyes locked on yours as you positioned yourself over his length. He was convinced that you were teasing him on purpose when you brought his tip closer to your entrance and then paused. He could already feel the wetness of your folds on him, and the second he lifted his hands to touch you, he was forced to let them drop in utter defeat when you finally slid his tip in.

“Fuck,” he whispered, his eyes rolling back at the feeling of your tight, warm walls as you struggled to take all of him in at once, and stopped, most cruelly, halfway in.

You looked breathtaking on top of him and there wasn’t a single coherent thought in his mind, so he couldn’t offer to help you anymore, couldn’t even guide you down on his length. He could barely stay still, biting his lip and clutching the sheets so he wouldn’t ram his hips into yours.

“You’ll kill me,” he whispered in a strained voice when you lifted your hips again, sliding his length over your folds, but not slipping it back inside.

Finally, you lowered yourself on him again, taking all of him in, inch by inch, and a soft sigh escaped your lips before you could stop yourself. “O-oh.”

You had to suppress another whimper when your hips met his, the stretch of his length stinging pleasantly. He hissed at the feeling, his hands flying to your hips to keep you in place.

His touch reminded you of Amsterdam suddenly: of the way he had held you, the way he had felt after all these years.

You wanted him so much that it no longer felt like a simple wish. He felt like a necessity and you could not understand how you’d ever managed to go on with your day when he wasn’t in the room with you.

You needed a moment to adjust to him and Jungkook watched you all through it. Even though he was barely able to keep his eyes open, he took in all of your reactions as the initial sting subsided and your hips twitched against his.

“Fuck,” he whispered. “Move for me, love. Please?”

You sighed as his endearing words—and the loving lilt in his voice—lit up your stomach and made you involuntarily clench around him. He groaned, digging his fingers into your hips. You had told him to lie back, but he wasn’t sure how much longer he could obey.

Finally, you began to move and he threw his head back, swallowing hard at the feeling. You rotated your hips in slow circles, allowing his entire length to delicately rub the walls inside you, and he could not remember when he’d last felt you like this. He could not remember anything outside this room, and when you rested both of your hands on his chest for balance, he seemed to forget his own name, too.

“Fuck,” was a soft, jagged breath that got caught in his throat as he watched you in the dimly lit room. His eyes had adjusted to the darkness enough to make out your silhouette, and he squeezed your ass tighter so he wouldn’t immediately lose it at the sight.

You drew back all of a sudden, placing one hand on his chest and resting the other against the mattress, right by his arm. You pulled your bottom lip in with your teeth as you lifted your hips, then slowly lowered yourself on him again. It took you a moment to find your rhythm, and Jungkook parted his lips, inhaling sharply through clenched teeth every time your thighs met his.

You shifted your weight to your knees to increase the pace and he nearly choked on his breath when you placed your hands on his shoulders and bounced your hips against his, his length gliding against your velvety walls.

“Y-you—oh, fuck. You look s-so beautiful,” he stammered, his hands travelling from your hips to your waist, then back down again.

Love and lust burned in his darkened eyes when he looked up at you, his hair falling in messy curls around his face. His chest rose and fell underneath you, the muscles on his abdomen tightening each time you sank down on him again.

You watched him like this and you changed your mind about describing him; an adjective that would fit him had not been invented yet.

You tried to respond to his words, but he suddenly lifted his hips off the bed to meet you halfway and knocked all breath out of your lungs, forcing a soft whine to pass your lips instead as you leaned into him, losing your balance.

It was starting to get too much—how deeply he reached inside of you, how tightly he held onto you—and Jungkook noticed it right away. Squeezing your hips, he adjusted his position by bending his knees for a better angle and bouncing you on his lap very slowly once, then twice, before pulling you into his chest and thrusting into you faster.

Curses and almost desperate whines fell from your lips, matching the rhythm of his skin slapping against yours. He knew he had hit your sweet spot when he felt your nails digging into his chest, when you tightened around him, when your strained breaths got louder, when your teeth grazed his collarbone—and he growled, gripping your hips tighter and trapping you against his chest with his other arm.

“Jungkook—” you panted, barely able to speak, and the sound of his name on your lips ignited the room around him.

He grunted softly and flipped you both to your sides, pulling your back into his chest by wrapping his arms around your waist and chest, his grip firm, deliberately inescapable, but his fingers gentle as he teased your nipples. His thrusts were slower at this new angle, but now they were deep and hard. It was your increased breathing and louder, uncontrollable chants of his name that encouraged him to speed up.

“Fuck,” he exhaled. And again, louder when you clenched around him, “f-fuck.”

This position allowed him to reach even deeper inside you and the way your walls sucked him in was as blissful as it was worrisome—he wanted this to last, and he didn’t think it would. Not when he had you so close to him, inhaling the scent of your apple shampoo, peppering breathy kisses on the side of your neck, feeling the goosebumps that he brought to your skin when he caressed your nipples, and thinking he might actually explode every time your body jolted against his with each one of his thrusts.

He slid one of his hands down your navel and kept his palm right above your entrance for a distracted minute, feeling himself move in and out of you, and groaning into your shoulder before lowering his hand to your clit. You writhed against him as he rubbed on a soft, gummy spot there, bringing you dangerously close to your high.

“Fuck, Jungkook,” you whimpered, almost helplessly clutching his arm that was wrapped around your chest. “I’m—s-so close.”

“I’m here, my love,” he whispered. “Come for me.”

Anything you were going to say died on your tongue when you felt his lips on your neck again. His fingers continued to massage the soft spot between your folds and your walls clenched and pulsated around him with each thrust of his hips. White clouds gathered on the edges of your vision and a low moan passed your lips as the knot in your stomach tightened.

Jungkook felt you tremble in his arms and pulled you into his chest harder. Keeping quiet had stopped being an option for you when he pressed on your clit with the pillows of his fingers, his hips continuously drilling into you—he remembered the spot you liked, and he made sure to hit it every time. He felt you tighten again, so close to your peak, and he relished in your loud whimpers.

Pulling his lip ring in with his teeth, he held you tightly against him to maintain a steady pace, his strokes assured and calculated, to push you completely over the edge. He fell impossibly more in love with you when his name got caught in your throat with your breath.

“Fuck, you’re so pretty,” he cooed as you writhed in his arms, coming down from your high. “S-so pretty—oh, fuck, my love—when you come for me.”

The anticipation of his own climax soon caused his hips to start moving with a certain frenzy, and he pulled all the way out before plunging himself into you again and fully bottoming out.

“Oh, fuck, fuck,” he grunted breathlessly, twitching inside of you.

His hips stilled completely and he cursed again, spilling himself into the condom. Groaning deeply, he drove his hips into yours instinctively, this way prolonging his pleasure and the time he spent watching you bite your lip in an attempt to stay quiet. He thought he heard you whisper a breathless I love you and he was convinced he came again just at the sound of it.

He buried his face into the crook of your neck and his voice cracked in the middle of his breathless chants, “fuck, I love you so much—I-I love you so fucking much—”

He still didn’t release his grip on you, lifting his head to kiss your neck again, while the two of you tried to recover and accepted, eventually, that you probably never truly would.

“Fuck,” he exhaled. Then, again, from the back of his throat, “fuck.”

You turned around as much as you could with his arms around you, and met his lips with your own, humming into the kiss and causing him to lose his sanity again—although, to be perfectly honest, he wasn’t sure if he’d even regained it yet.

Your bodies remained locked in an almost desperate embrace for another minute, your lips moving leisurely against each other as your breaths mingled and the room—but not your hearts—quieted down.

Unfortunately, you had to strain your neck to kiss him from this position, and Jungkook ended up having to let go of you. He pulled out carefully—the gentle contact still making you hiss from sensitivity—and helped you roll to your other side to face him.

After pressing another kiss to your lips, he grabbed a stray pillow and placed it next to your head. He touched your chin gently, prompting you to lift your head so he could slide the pillow underneath.

You smiled at the unnecessary, but very appreciated gesture. “I love you.”

His chest contemplated bursting.

“I love you,” he replied. “So much that I am not—I don’t want you to leave this room. Or my bed, actually. I want to stay with you every second of every day, and I’m okay if every court would qualify me as insane for that.”

You snickered into the pillow, your expression radiant. “I don’t think you’re insane.”

He grinned and got up to discard the condom before climbing back into bed.

“And I want to stay, too,” you added, closing your eyes.

He pressed a kiss to your cheek as he got comfortable on the bed. “Not just tonight, but always?”

“Of course,” you whispered, your voice turning lighter, “but I do have my own room.”

He settled in his spot next to you and draped an arm over your waist with a soft grunt. “Fuck if I knew why.”

He pulled back slightly to see your laughter. You didn’t seem like you were going to object or tell him that you should leave, but he still caressed your cheek, bringing his fingers over the smile lines by your lips that he had caused. His heart fought fiercely against his mind at the sight of them. He was almost ready to call Rated Riot’s next song “Smile Lines” and just sigh dreamily into the microphone for five minutes while Yoongi played gentle piano chords in the background.

“I think you should stay with me everywhere we go,” he said, leaning in to connect your lips in a deep, lingering kiss. His voice was a whisper against your mouth, “so we could do this again. And again. And again.”

You broke the kiss—and he would have been very upset about that, but you did that to laugh again, and he understandably forgot everything he was thinking of doing.

“You have a show tomorrow,” you reminded him gently, your eyes warm.

He shrugged. “So we’ll have to take a break for a few hours.”

You pressed your lips together, trying to contain your smile to an appropriate level. “Hmm.”

He rested his forehead against yours. “Sounds good?”

“You are messing with my head,” you whispered.

He grinned, pressing his lips to yours again. “I love you.”

You kissed him back but made sure to click your lips in feigned disapproval as you pulled away. “What did I just say?”

“You messed with mine first,” he countered, his quiet laughter blending with the warmth of your kiss.

He had already stolen all air from your lungs, robbed your mind of every thought you possessed before him, and kept your heart hostage—and now he was beaming like he knew very well he’d done all that. Like he wasn’t one bit sorry about ingraining himself in your life so much that it felt like you shared one soul, and it had stayed with him after you broke up: forcing him to suffer from the weight of it, while you searched for something missing inside you.

“I love you,” you said again. Your words were a whisper and they got lost on his tongue but found their way to his heart anyway.

Planting a few quick, butterfly kisses to your lips, he leaned back against the pillows, keeping his palm on the side of your face so he could rub gentle circles over your cheek with his thumb.

He loved you, and sometimes this love was all that he could think about.

Other times, however, the shadows in the room grew just a little darker.

“Sid hasn’t replied, huh?” he asked quietly, reluctantly.

You sighed, shaking your head. Your phone had been silent all night, and the more you tried to ignore the silence, the more noticeable it became.

“Should I text him?” he suggested. “To poke the bear a little.”

You frowned and felt your stomach sink—a feeling that Jungkook made even worse by pulling away from you and allowing for the brutal, cold air of the room to fill the space where his hand had been.

“What do you mean?” you asked, sitting up.

He rolled over to grab his phone from the nightstand.

You moved closer to be able to see the screen over his shoulder. You frowned the whole time, but it really did not take Jungkook more than a minute to compose a message that almost sparked an argument between the two of you.

After some relatively mild back and forth—consisting of your annoyed, “I told you I want to keep you out of this” that was followed immediately by his melodramatic, “I’m doing this because I love you”—the two of you reached a compromise.

Look, his text to Sid read. I know you’ve been texting my girlfriend. Stop. Let’s keep this shit between us.

This wasn’t the full truth. After sending you a few mocking texts after he posted that picture to his Instagram, Sid hadn’t texted you anything else. You weren’t sure if this would even provoke a response, but Jungkook was convinced. He sent the text and pulled you back onto the pillows despite your protests.

“I’m sure it’ll only be a few minutes,” he said. “Until he texts you.”

Sure enough, he did.

Just as you lied down next to Jungkook, just as he intertwined your hands, his fingers toying with yours, just as you were about to forget your phone altogether—just then, the text finally came.

Your eyes widened, but Jungkook had the decency not to gloat. Instead, he wrapped his arms around you until the beating of your heart returned to a reasonable pace. Then he let you sit up again and reach for your phone.

Sid’s message read, “eager to talk to me now?:)” and you breathed out a sigh of relief as soon as you showed the text to Jungkook.

“Alright,” you said, content. You didn’t even need to respond to him anymore, he’d already started the next step of your plan. “Now we’re good to go.”

Jungkook, smiled, nodding and extending his hand to pat the bed. You lied back down and he wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you closer to feel your skin against his again. His breathing was soft on your neck and you smiled back, finally losing yourself in the calming darkness of his room and the warmth of his touch.

For one blissful minute, you focused on his breathing and traced the edges of his tattoos, and felt as though nothing bad, nothing hurtful or upsetting had ever happened to either of you.

“Will we be okay, do you think?” you asked wearily. “Tomorrow.”

He was taken aback by the question, you could tell from the way his breathing increased, but his response was quick and certain.

“We’re already okay,” he said. “Today and tomorrow, and the day after tomorrow, and the day—”

“I love you,” you interjected softly, successfully stopping him.

“Thank you,” he said. “I would have kept going.”

You grinned. “I know you would have.”

He snickered, pulling you closer until you nestled your face into his neck and rested your hands on his chest, tapping, every now and then, to the beat of his heart.

“Sleep,” he whispered. “For a few hours, at least.”

You leaned your head back enough to press a gentle kiss on the corner of his lips instead of replying.

Jungkook hummed and melted into you, easing his grip to give you some space to breathe, but still remaining attached to you like he was a part of you and you were a part of him.

He could have stayed with you like this, he thought, for the rest of his life. And for at least a hundred more lives after that.

chapter title credits: sleep token, “give”

prev ○ nextf

[matchavellichor]

Omg ok I have an omi request again ❤ I haven't seen anyone write a scenario like this yet, and it's very appealing to me for some reason.

Ominis becomes a school prefect intentionally. He's naturally a night owl and an insomniac anyway, so it gives him a productive excuse to stay up late, but also he wants access to the relaxing prefect bathroom he always heard about.

After a while though, the power goes to his head a bit. He starts flexing his authority over people he doesn't like. (Duncan hobhouse) Lol. He often catches Sebastian, or mc, or both sneaking about, too. After a lecture or two, he of course, let's them get away with it. Eventually omi gets fed up with mc sneaking out and talks mc into paying him back for often turning a blind eye (pun intended) in the form of a blowy and/or other such activities in the prefect bathroom. 😏

-S

A.N: I LOVE PREFECT OMINIS ugh it works so well w him. ty for the request!! enjoy some gratuitous dominis smut bc i just can't resist

Ominis Gaunt x f!MC - NSFW - 2.4k words - ao3

Tags: Prefect Ominis, Dominis, Praise Kink, Oral m!Receiving, Dub Con If You Squint

Summary: Ominis expects compensation after bailing you out of trouble yet again. Such compensation involving some very indecent behavior on your knees on the floor of the prefect's bathroom.

“You’re letting this prefect thing get to your head, mate.”

Ominis rolled his eyes, setting down the shiny, silver prefect’s badge he was polishing for the tenth time that day. He pinned the badge proudly to the front of his robes, shooting Sebastian an innocent shrug. “I have no idea what you mean.”

“You’re barely even sleeping! You spend all your time patrolling the halls at night like a madman.” 

Ominis scoffed. “With great power comes great responsibility, Sebastian. I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

“See what I mean?” Sebastian waved a hand at the blonde and looked to his other friend for help. “He thinks he’s bloody Caesar. Just last week I saw him deducting ten points from Ravenclaw because Hobhouse was breathing too loud.”

Ominis rolled his eyes. “He was disturbing the peace.”

“Whose peace? He was alone!”

“Mine. I was passing by and my peace was disturbed.” 

“Lay off him, Sebastian,” she chided, deeply amused. “Frankly, I think it’s good for him. If he weren’t spending his time controlling others, he’d be spending his time controlling us. Plus, are you going to pretend you don’t take advantage of his good will? No midnight soirées in the prefect’s bathroom?” 

“What midnight soirées in the prefect’s bathroom?” Ominis turned to Sebastian with an inquisitive eyebrow raised. “I certainly wasn’t aware of this.”

Sebastian chuckled sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Have I ever told you how dear of a friend you are to me, Ominis?”

//

“It appears Sebastian isn’t the only one taking advantage of my good will, hm?” 

She startles, looking up to find a stern looking Ominis standing over the tub, arms crossed over his chest, foot tapping impatiently.

“Shit, Christ, Ominis — I’m naked, do you mind?” 

Ominis rolls his eyes, his patience at a breaking point. “Oh, how dare I, next time I’ll close my eyes.” 

He summons a towel and holds it out for her as she steps out of the water. She takes it, murmuring a sheepish thanks, dripping droplets onto the slate gray of his slacks as she tries to dry herself off amidst the impending scolding.

He huffs with impatience, casting a drying charm over her and summoning her discarded clothes to shove into her hands. His hands brush briefly over the exposed section of her midriff and she has to suppress a squeak. She quickly pulls her blouse over her head to spare herself from any further mortification. 

His jaw works as he waits for her to finish dressing, dragonhide oxfords tapping against the marble tiles. “I had to confundo not one, but two prefects who were on their way over here to investigate ‘strange noises’, are you aware of that? Do you realize how much trouble you could’ve gotten in? This is getting ridiculous, I can’t keep—”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I know, okay! I’ll make it up to you, I promise!” She interrupts his angry spiel, hands raised defensively. 

“Will you? It’s funny, that’s the same thing you said the last twenty times I’ve bailed you out.” 

“I mean it, anything you want, Ominis,” she pleads, already trying to plan an escape route from the bathroom. “I owe you big time.” 

She tries to step around him but he blocks her before she can get away, eyes narrowing. “Yes. You do.”  

She sighs, shoulders sinking in reluctant acceptance. “Fine. Name your price.”

He scoffs. “I don’t need your money.” 

“Then what do you want?” 

His hands find purchase on the granite countertop on either side of her, effectively caging her in. “Anything?”

She nods fervently. “Anything.”

“Alright then,” an amused smile pulls at his lips, almost predatory in nature. 

She has an inkling of a feeling that maybe she’s made a grave mistake. Knowing Ominis, he’ll make her write a hundred lines, or read Hogwarts: A History for the thousandth time. What comes out of his mouth however, is probably the last thing she’d ever expect. 

“Get on your knees.”

She sputters. “Get on my…I’m sorry— what?”

“What was unclear?” 

She gapes at him. “You’re…serious?”

He leans in to her, her body still boxed in between his arms. She instinctively leans back, but her back only presses further into the cold granite. His breath smells like spearmint. “You said anything, didn’t you?”

Several emotions cycle through her — utter shock, mild offense, and then deep fascination. She isn’t necessarily opposed to the idea, but she’s certainly taken by surprise that someone as proper and austere as Ominis would be asking for such debauchery —and in the prefect’s bathroom, no less. 

Just a few weeks ago Sebastian was trying to convince her Ominis didn’t even wank.

The deep intrigue she feels, coupled with the heat that courses through her from the commanding, aristocratic lilt of his voice, fixes this urgent, persistent tug just behind her navel that has her wanting to obey his every word.

She can’t deny she also feels an urgent, persistent desire to leave him in shambles.

Giving into both urges, she huffs her acceptance. “Fine.” 

She wastes no time in sinking to her knees, her hands immediately going to the waistband of his trousers, tugging at the buckle of his belt. Before she can even get the leather through the first loop however, he lays his hands over hers and stops her.

She looks up at him confused, and her cheeks burn red as she prepares herself for humiliation. Maybe she misinterpreted what he wanted, maybe he was simply joking. Instead, he guides her hand to palm at where she can feel him already achingly hard through his trousers. She gasps. 

“Slow,” he murmurs, as if he wants to savor it, drag it out as long as possible. “There’s no rush, angel.”

She hesitates for a moment before she obliges, rubbing slowly up and down his length through the linen. He lets out a contented sigh. “Just like that, that’s it. Nice and gentle, baby.”

She feels herself getting worked up herself as she looks up at him through her lashes, studying him intently. The terms of endearments rolling off his tongue, the way his brows knit together, the soft part of his lips as his breathing grows heavy. It’s enough to make a wetness begin to pool in her knickers.

She squeezes her thighs together where her knees are pressed to the cool tile of the bathroom floor and grows even more determined to ruin him.

“Can I touch you?” she just about begs. “Please?” 

Ominis stifles a groan at her pleading, his own composure faltering. He brushes a thumb over her bottom lip, probing at the wet, spit-sticky seam, reveling in the softness.

She parts her lips to let him inside and this time he can’t suppress the moan that slips from the back of his throat. She feels so deliciously warm and wet, her plush lips wrapped around his thumb, so eager to please. 

“Is this where you want me, baby?”

She nods, little pink tongue swirling around the pad of his finger, and he feels himself throb in his pants.

He pulls his thumb out of her mouth, wiping it messily on her cheek as he grabs her chin to tilt her face up for him. He can’t help himself when he leans down to press a chaste kiss to her lips, just enough to satisfy his aching desire to taste her. 

He rights himself and begins to pull his trousers down his thighs, unable to contain himself any longer. She watches, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip in anticipation, as he unsheathes himself. He’s so much bigger than she would’ve imagined.

He brings a hand to pet soothingly at her hair, tucking stray strands behind her ear as he waits for her to touch him, sensing her hesitations. She looks up at him and can’t help but find it a bit endearing the way he looks so terribly fond. 

“Kiss it, angel,” he murmurs encouragingly. “Go on.” 

She obeys, leaning in to press a soft kiss to the sensitive spot just under the tip. He hums in approval.

“There you go,” he coos, fingers carding gently through her hair to collect the silky strands in his hands. “You’re doing so well.” 

She dips her tongue out to lick tentatively, lapping soft kitten strokes around where she knows he’ll be receptive to. She revels in the way his lips part in a gasp, where he caresses her almost as if in adoration.

“Gorgeous,” he sighs, breathy. “You’re so perfect.”

She preens under the praise, licking a long stripe down his shaft, eliciting a hiss from him from the sensation. She does it again, determined to pull more noises from his throat.

“Fuck,” he grunts, his self-restraint crumbling. He hooks a thumb in her mouth, pulling her jaw open. “Open your mouth.”

She doesn’t have much choice, his fingers in her mouth ensuring that. “Stick your tongue out for me, princess,” he hums his approval when she obeys. “Just like that, such a good girl.”

Drool dribbles down her chin where he keeps her mouth pried open, though she doesn’t mind. He places the head of his cock on her tongue, barely inside the warm confines of her mouth. He curses under his breath when he finally pushes more of himself inside, achingly slow, just enough to the point where it’s still comfortable for her to take. 

He takes his fingers out of her mouth and brushes a wet thumb over the ridge of her cheekbone, doting and gentle. “Suck, baby.” 

She doesn’t need to be told twice. 

She hollows her cheeks around him, his fingers tightening where they’re still tangled in her hair. She instinctively sinks down on more of him, choking when he reaches the back of her throat.

“Fuck, angel, slow,” he hisses, tugging her head back with his hand fisted in her hair so she can breathe. “I won’t last long like this.”

She smiles to herself, satisfied by the flushed appearance of his cheeks, the faint swashes of pink creeping up from under the collar of his oxford when she looks up at him. He looks so disheveled, such a stark contrast to his normal prim and proper exterior, and she’s deeply pleased with her ability to turn him into such a mess.

She pushes herself down on him again, despite the pinprick of tears at the corners of her eyes, despite the dull sting of where his hand is still fisted in her hair. She presses further until her nose is buried in the coarse, blonde hairs dotting his pelvis and he’s grunting an array of expletives under his breath.

He doesn’t pull her off him this time, instead holding her pressed down to his base until her nails are scratching red marks down the pale porcelain skin on his thighs. He hushes her whines. “Breathe through your nose, baby, you can take it — that’s it.”

He eases his hips back slowly, before pushing back in just as patiently— sharp, shallow thrusts at first, conscious enough to let her adjust to the intrusion. She whimpers around his length, the noise tearing a groan from him. 

She wills herself to relax her throat, to breathe through her nose just as he asked, and only then does he pick up his pace, fucking her mouth in earnest with her hair wrapped around his fist.

“Wanted to fuck your pretty little mouth for so long,” he grunts, voice hoarse, his breath coming out in hot, heavy pants everytime he hits the back of her throat. “Gods, you have no idea. You’re so fucking perfect, baby.”

She moans from the praise, the vibrations making his jaw fall slack, pushing him right up to that edge of bliss. 

“Fuck, I’m so close. Can I come in your mouth, angel? Please?” 

She nods as best as she can with his cock still thrusting into her mouth, hums her approval, until she feels his hips begin to stutter, his fingers tightening around her hair. She can feel the way his entire body tenses, so close to release she can taste it on her tongue.

She ignores the sting of tears as they carve a path down her cheeks, pushing herself down on his length until he’s spilling down her throat with a strangled groan, her name falling over and over again from his lips like a prayer.

“Swallow it, baby— fuck, yes, all of it,” he pants as if she has a choice, as if he isn’t pumping himself straight down her throat. 

He pulls out of her with a shudder, his chest heaving, his cheeks a bright hue of red from overexertion. He sinks to his knees before either of them can even begin to regain some semblance of composure, crashing his lips to hers and stealing the little oxygen she managed to get into her lungs. He moans when he tastes himself on her tongue.

“You’re a dream,” he murmurs, thumb swiping at the wetness on her cheeks, pressing kisses to her temple. “You know that, don’t you?” 

She smiles from the praise, and he smiles back, huffing a soft, incredulous laugh against her lips as he collects her in his arms. She wraps her arms around his neck as he kisses her, slow and gentle, mindful of the dull ache in her jaw, the swollen tenderness on her lips.

He lifts her up and sets her on the bathroom countertop, the cold granite making her gasp as soon it comes in contact with her thighs. He hitches up her skirt to her waist, trailing kisses down her neck, lower and lower, until he’s hovering over the bare skin of her navel where her blouse has been rucked up as well by his impatient hands.

He plants wet, open-mouthed kisses to the sensitive flesh there, moving down and nosing at her hipbone as if he can’t get enough of the feel of her skin.

She tries to close her legs, but he’s already positioned between them before she can try to stop him. “What are you doing?”

His breath is warm against the inside of her thighs. “Returning the favor.” 

“But the whole point of me having done…that was to return you a favor,” she protests, fingers curling into his robes to try to tug him up. 

“Oh well,” he sighs, the slightest, amused curl of his lips as his mouth hovers over her clothed core. He hooks a finger into her knickers and tugs it aside, making her squirm. “I guess we’ll just have to do this again until the debt is settled, hm?”

[baby-tini]

hi! it's me again 🤣 i just reread M4S and realized that reader manipulated them by stealing drugs to have them capture her

how do you think bonten!mikey will react to finding out that his darling is manipulative?

like she feel inlove with him when she first saw him so she purposely went to same clubs as him and made scenarios to make him interested in her 😜 like accidentally toppling over him acting as if she's drunk etc. mikey kidnaps her bc he feel for her and then finds out she did those intentionally

im so sorry if this is so specific 😭 english isn't my first language so i wasn't sure if i relayed my thoughts properly

thank you so much for writing! I LOVE LOVE LOVE EVERYTHING 💖💖💖

The first time that he saw you in one of the clubs that he owns, he thought you were the prettiest little thing he's ever laid eyes on, so, he had one of his executives bring you over to him, and there, you proceeded too stay sat with him on a luxurious couch for hours Sipping on the most expensive alcohol you've ever had the fortune of tasting as he talked business with his executives. He had kept one of his hands on your thighs he talked to the other man, his hand was cold but it was still pleasant too have on your skin. His hand was soft as he dragged it up and down your thigh, glancing at you so often. He had taken you back to an expensive hotel that night and fucked you, you're more then willing too say that it was the best sex of your life and you wouldn't even be lying. From then on though, you were obsessed with him, maybe it was the sex or just that raw authority that surrounded him but you were hooked, dangerously hooked and you needed him, he was like a drug and you were hooked- so far gone that you paid no mind too anything else that wasn't him.

The second time you saw him was far from coincidental as you continued too frequent that club that you met him in, even getting a job as a waitress at said club so that you'd have access to the VIP room and you were so excited when his eyes met your but he turned away as he continues too conversate with another man and you knew from there on what you had too do. Because.. if you made it look like fate and you were everywhere he was... would he always look at you then? You had too give it a try as you bribed one of his security guards for his schedule for the next month as you proceeded too show up everywhere he was, even going as far too frequent the pastry shop that he always got the dorayaki from, learning how too make it and even trying it yourself so that you had something in common.. even if it was a little too sweet for your tastebuds. He seemed too like the color red so that's what you were constantly seen in when you would go to that club, of course you wanted too get closer but you knew that'd be impossible with constant security and his second in command.. his loyal mad dog; Sanzu Haruchiyo. You really didn't like Sanzu, he'd always watch you, like he knew what you were upto, he was smart, you'd give him that. You ignored him nonetheless, you wanted too be with Manjiro Sano and you would, so you'd dance in the club, you knew he saw you, because your eyes would meet dark obsidian as you danced away in the loud club.

Making sure too sway with the music as you pretended not too notice how invasive the eyes of the most dangerous man in all of Japan could be. He'd approach you more often ever since you started your little plan, and it would always unfortunately end the same way; with sex. While you're not complaining about it, you wanted too be closer, too have him closer. So that's exactly what you put your mind too, more then focused on getting into Bonten, so you started getting involved with shady people that owed Bonten something, money, drugs.. their life, you didn't care, you just wanted in. So when you had successfully been kidnapped by default of being surrounded by people that Bonen wanted dead, you knew you were in. Especially when the man himself, Manjiro Sano, pulled the blindfold down and your eyes fluttered open too meet onyx ones, the empty look in his eyes had filled with recognition before he told his lackeys too untie you.

He had taken you in his office and you had cried to Mikeys, the tears were fake, but.. he didn't need too know that as you explained to him that you were in danger because people were after, your father drowning in debt and your only option was too surround yourself with people that could protect you and that's what you did. You saw his usually empty eyes soften as you spewed lie after lie to him, even going as far as too get on your knees and blabber out meaningless apologies, stating that if you knew just who those people, you would've never hung out with them. He had listened to you, watching as you put on a show, over-dramatizing and lying straight to his face. You hoped your performance was good enough and you knew it was when he nodded and made a phone call, it was too quiet for you too hear anything but you just continued your false sobbing, feeling his eyes burning into you as you just continued your show. You knew you had won though, when he put the phone down and had you come sit down at his desk and asked you too explain just what exactly happened and who your father was in debt with, deciding too give him the name of a gang that Bonten hated and you watched his eyes narrow in distaste as he promised you protection just until that gang was eradicated, you knew Mikey was only doing this out of spite of the other gang but you didn't care, you were confident that you could have him wrapped around your finger before that even came too fruition.

[callie-the-creator]

bertholdt dating a deaf reader would include...

sfw. warnings: mentions of bullying.

author’s note: this was posted on my wattpad, so there is no need to worry if you see it there. other than that, there is nothing else to add!

• in all honesty, how it was revealed that you were deaf was a little embarrassing. it happened during the first day of the cadet corps when everyone was being debriefed and publicly humiliated in front of each other because commander shadis wanted to ensure every abled person was morphed into a model soldier. it didn't take long for it to be your turn.

— "sorry, sir! i can't hear you!" shadis, at first, thought you were being a smartass and before he could yell at you some more, you added, "i'm deaf!"

— "then why the hell are you here?!"

• from there, you explained that you wanted to not so much fight for humanity by physically driving the titans back but stay back and help formulate strategies and plans.

• fortunately, shadis was merciful enough to let you stay, though it took some convincing. that and once his superiors heard about your case, they were torn but eventually you were allowed to train with the others. 

• alas, you were completely oblivious to some of the bullying happening behind your back...

• you struggle with communication and social skills, such as simply not understanding a joke that everyone else is laughing at. when that is happening, you usually write down on a piece of paper to ask just what is so funny, but they usually brush you off by either ignoring you, saying "oh, it's nothing", or something of that nature.

• the first few months were hell on earth for you. if anything, you preferred the physical training over anything because that meant you wouldn't have to worry about trying to communicate with any of the other cadets since the same can't be said about sparring or the wasteland excursion training (an exercise where the cadets are split into two groups and make a round trip through the wasteland. they leave the training base at the same time on separate routes, retrieve an object at the checkpoint, and return to base. they exercise aims to test their vigilance in tedious, low-risk situations).

• in terms of bullying, you experienced quite a variety of things. being ostracized, taken advantage of when it came to sparring or other team activities since everyone knew you were at a disadvantage, or people trying to talk to you but you didn't know what they were talking about.

— "can she seriously not hear a thing?"

— "what a weirdo."

— "hey, y/n, can you even speak?"

• bertholdt didn't like how differently everyone was treating you just because you have a disability, it reminded him all too much of his father and the prejudice eldians face from marleyans. so, when he's finally had enough, he steps forward and tells everyone to cut it out. from there, he becomes friends with you and follows you everywhere to help you in any way he can.

— of course, this didn't blow well over with annie or reiner because bertholdt is sympathetic toward the enemy but it's not like they could stop him.

• it's from there where bertholdt did things like open the door for you, carry your things, intentionally pick you to be his partner in sparring so no one else would be rude toward you, try his best to translate things if someone was trying to talk to you (by writing down on a piece of paper).

• obviously, it didn't take long for you to develop feelings for him and the same can be said for bertholdt! ☺️

— he thought you were so sweet and precious...you needed to be protected and although he wasn't the best option for this, he still wanted to do his best to make you feel safe.

• so...within a few weeks, you two started going out! bertholdt couldn't care less about the stares he got— he was used to them— but if you ever pointed it out, he would make up excuses to make it seem like the judgmental glares were aimed toward him and not you. it wasn't like he wasn't used to it already and the last thing he wanted was to see you unhappy.

• a few years went by and close to graduation, shadis gathered everyone to tell them that the government had been working on a way to communicate with the hearing-impaired. sign language. shadis said it would be easier to talk to you that way. many people were against learning it because they thought of it as a waste of their time, saying that they had enough issues learning the specifics of titan killing.

— all in all, the only people that were willing to learn— aside from you— were christa, mikasa, bertholdt, armin, and connie & sasha (even though they can be a bunch of numbskulls at times).

• bertholdt spent many nights trying to perfect his sign language. it sort of pissed off some of the other guys in the cabin because of just how late he would stay up! he can't remember how many times he's accidentally pulled an all-nighter and only knew when he heard the bell for muster.

• when he signed to you the first time during supper, he was so nervous, afraid that he might offend you if he messed up any of the signs but was relieved and proud of himself when you understood him and offered to teach him some more which he gleefully agreed to.

• bertholdt likes that you two have this language that not everyone in the cadet corps can understand, that way he can be cute with you without the other boys knowing and making fun of him for it

[angorwhosebabyisthis]

i am equally if not moreso bothered by the way the narrative not only treats pittacus' unambiguously awful behavior toward celwe as heroic, but tries to downplay her abuse by setrákus of all people, by which i mean i'm fucking incensed by it lmao. it is a different Kind of Fuck meta-wise than what's going on with the ambiguity between pittacus and setrákus, but i still have a rant or two in me about it make no mistake

having thoughts about like. how the flashbacks we see of setrákus, pittacus, and celwe are ambiguous enough--the tiny slices we get of their dynamic, and all of the missing context in between--that pittacus' nastiness toward setrákus might be in response to setrákus being abusive toward him while they were growing up. and setrákus' nastiness toward him might be in response to pittacus being abusive toward him while they were growing up. or maybe they were just shitty to each other and in general, with celwe and Everyone Else getting caught in the crossfire.

the authors probably intended for it to be the first option, to the extent they were thinking about it in those terms at all: pittacus grew up with a friend who's been shitty to downright abusive toward him, and by their big confrontation he's had enough time away from him to unpack how fucked up his behavior was, and understand his tactics in order to call them out. you could interpret it that way, and were probably meant to, and it would make sense.

but... that assumption is kind of the problem, to me. because the other very much valid way to interpret what we see is a certain kind of abuse that's bad enough by itself, but is primarily aimed at neurodivergent and otherwise marginalized people in particular. (and setrákus is autistic as fuck.) and it's abuse that widely goes unseen and ignored, and is most often perpetuated by people who know they can afford to do it, or think they can.

might have to come back to it in more detail in a reblog, honestly, because it's a lot to talk about; but essentially it comes down to silencing someone by either openly dismissing what they say as nonsense that no one can understand but them, and isn't important enough to try, or disguising it behind a bad faith ''attempt'' to understand so they can say they tried and there's no point. it's a lifelong trauma which has shaped enormous parts of my personality and how i communicate, i can spot it a mile away, and i see all the hallmarks of it in their relationship and how setrákus is affected by it.

and that bothers me. it bothers me a lot that we're supposed to see one and not the other. it bothers me that it's not even 'pittacus' behavior is genuinely shit, but it's somewhat more understandable in the version of events where the context is that he was abused'; he's framed as the hero of the situation either way, who's acting out of pure kindness and reason and good intent. it bothers me that the person who is easy to interpret as having been abused this way would, even then, still be depicted as the Abusive Hate Sink Incarnation of Evil. (because he is abusive, and he is very much an evil son of a bitch. regardless of who was worse in his relationship with pittacus, that's true.) and it bothers me that that framing makes it harder to explore how the cycle of abuse manifests in this scenario, because it absolutely is a thing that happens and is worth telling stories about.

just, i don't know. thoughts. hm.

[wpdarlingpan]

His To Protect-

Ken x F!Reader

Authors Note: this is part of a request from my Wattpad and the person has requested to stay anonymous but their idea was super good.

Warnings: Abusive Relationship and Throwing up

⚠️⚠️⚠️

Ken was walking through the real world, gazing at every situation in which a man was the lead, which was pretty much anywhere he turned.

He had just finished ‘checking’ out books from the library when he pushed open the door quite hardly since his hands were full, only to be stopped as it hit into something…. Or someone.

Y/N laid on the ground gasping in pain before her body reluctantly let her roll into her side to throw up. The pain was absolutely overwhelming, even her stomach acid couldn’t work through it.

Ken immediate felt bad, of course he’s never intentionally hurt someone in his life! Especially a female! That was a big no no.

When she threw up he couldn’t help but stare. Barbies and Kens didn’t throw up. But as he looked closer he saw purple spots, some yellower and others blacker adoring her stomach as her shirt road up slightly unbeknownst to her.

He may not have never seen bruises before in real life but he knew about them. He knew they were cause by injuries and boy did Y/N have a lot.

After Ken snapped back into his helpful senses, he knelt on the ground, disregarding his books, and rubbed a hand gently on her back before offering Y/N help up at her own pace.

But when he touched her and when he held a hand out towards her, he noticed a slight flinch causing her face to screw up in a wince.

His plastic heart hurt. He stared into her innocent ey a and saw the pain. Y/N owned a Ken doll a long time ago. She was probably one of the only people to give him the same or even more attention then barbie.

She had grown up in a single mother household so she used the Ken doll to grow stories of love and romance. What she wished her parents had. But Y/N grew up and realized it was unrealistic. Love can never be forced and nor is there a set path. It can be full of so many twists and turns but in the end all that matters is your happiness. Her parents were happier apart. Even in death as her mother passed.

Ken saw everything, how she treated ‘him’, how her parents affected her, and the worst part, her boyfriend.

He never felt anger like he was at the moment. He saw each hit, each kick, and each shove. He almost winced as if he felt the pain herself, but he might as well been. The second Ken realized who Y/N was to him, he had instantly grown protective and seeing all the bruises solidified it. Y/N was his human. If the patriarchy books taught him anything it was that he has to protect her. Not because he was a man but because it was right… and he cared about her already.

Y/N and Him were sitting on a bench at the beach. Ken was lightly rubbing the back of her hand with his thumb. As if the soothing feeling could take away her pain. They had left the library after slight hesitation on Y/N’s part but she didn’t know how life could get worse and she saw how Ken treated her… it was nice.

He had been attempting to explain the whole concept of Barbieland and his desperate urge to bring her there and keep her boyfriend, or we’ll ex now as Ken decided, away.

She was skeptical of course. First that her childhood Ken was real, that Barbieland was real, and that she could even possibly leave behind the pain.

Ken continued to convince her, even going as far to steal her some roller skates so they can get back.

Y/N has to agree; after all it has gotten late and she didn’t want to return back to her shared apartment where her ex was probably waiting to hear her key jingle in the door handle.

Ken was so happy he could dance. He hadn’t thought of stereotypical Barbie in a girlfriend way ever since he met Y/N. He could only imagine a future with her now.

They went through the big yet short process of going to Barbieland. Y/N was in awe the entire way there. Each new area made her eyes widen and her mouth slightly gape in amazement.

Once they finally made it into Barbieland, he didn’t allow Y/N a second to talk to anyone or stare at anything for longer than a second as he ‘drove’ them straight to a dream house. This one in particular used to belong to a Barbie before they were discontinued so there wouldn’t be questions or interruptions, oddly enough ken never cared about those before.

When Ken led her over to the couch, he saw her wince as her sat down, her arms going to hold her ribs.

“Take off your clothes.” Ken said gently but the sentence was a lot less gentle. Y/N stared at him in shock. Ken slightly stuttered out a sorry before clarifying that he wanted to use a first aid kit on her Injuries.

“It wont help… I’ve tried.” But Ken wasn’t giving up. She reluctantly got undressed down to her underwear but the way Ken was looking at her didn’t make her feel unsafe like her ex. More so sad and empathetic.

Ken used the first aid kit and since it was mostly operated by imagination of a items purpose and quickness of working, Y/Ns pain dulled into a small ache that was barely noticeable.

It didn’t help make her ribs become less noticeable from under her skin but it made them not hurt. The rest would come in time.

Y/N profusely thanked Ken, praising him for his help which made him feel appreciated. He decided he didn’t want to do anything with the patriarchy. He just wanted Y/N.

And horses but more so Y/N.

Ken didn’t rush anything. He let Y/N heal mentally and physically and the day she said she was ready, he took her on a date.

One turned into two

And two to three

And finally, Ken and Y/N we’re boyfriend girlfriend.

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

To Hell...: Part Two

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~1.9k

Summary: A man intentionally admits to murdering ten people he didn’t kill all because his sister is missing. The facts take you to a pig farm where a world of horror is waiting for you.

Warnings: canon violence, canon language, canon talk of death, methods of kill

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Criminal Minds. All credit goes to their respective owners. If there are any warnings that exceed the normal death/kills from the show, I will list them. If you’ve seen the show, then it’s the same level of angst unless otherwise stated

x

Everyone heads back to the conference room to talk about the new evidence while Will stays in the interrogation room. You play the voicemail for everyone to hear.

"William, are you there? Something bad is happening. It's dark. I don't know where he's taking me--"

"After that, the signal cuts out."

"Is this the same night she left her mom's house?" Spencer asks.

"Yeah. Will called in an army favor. They triangulated the call to a cell tower in Canada just over the border in Port Huron. It explains why he crossed into your jurisdiction."

"It's also a surefire way to get the FBI involved. He knew we'd investigate an American citizen being held on multiple murder charges."

"You believe him?" Jeff asks you.

"I do." Penelope calls and you place her on speakerphone. "Go ahead, Penelope."

"I have good news and bad news. The good news is that I've got IDs on multiple border crosses for the dates in question. The trouble is, I've got hundreds, and as far as I can tell if your license doesn't ping for any prior felonies, you're pretty much gonna pass go and collect two hundred Canadian dollars."

"She's right. That's the busiest cross in North America. There's a lot of commercial traffic, trucks mostly. Stop and searches would cause too many delays."

"He's got a virtually free pass, and once he crosses, there's nothing but woods to hide whatever he's doing."

Rossi and Hotch managed to get Jeff to release William so that he's under the FBI's jurisdiction. Hotch wants him patrolling the streets like he's been doing. He has a rapport with those people, so he's the best bet in noticing if someone is missing. If something comes up, then there is a lot more manpower to deal with it than what Will's been given.

You and Spencer walk into the conference room where JJ is on the phone.

"Yes, ma'am, right now we just consider them missing. The second I get more information, I'll be in contact with you."

"How's it going?"

"The majority of the people on the street aren't even from Detroit. We don't have last names or hometowns on most of them. Unless there's a missing persons report on file somewhere, it's almost impossible."

"Most of these people's families probably gave up on seeing them long ago," Spencer sighs.

"A mother would never give up." You have to agree with JJ here. If your child went missing, you'd do anything to find them. "Can you hand me William's arrest report?"

Spencer does, and she leaves the room just in time for Penelope to call.

"Yeah, Garcia?"

"Sherlock, it's Watson. I think I've got something."

"What do you have?"

Rossi enters the room to hear what Penelope has to say.

"I checked Detroit crime reports over the last month because Derek and Emily astutely thought there might be some sort of assaults or disturbances having to do with our unsub. Well, it's tres weird but on five of the abduction nights, Detroit PD reports a break-in or a robbery at some type of medical facility."

"What type of medical facility?"

"We got a hospital, blood bank, medical supply company, and the Red Cross. He's not even stealing narcotics. The stuff he took is anesthesia, sterilizing equipment, and syringes."

"Where were these places located?"

"Putnam Street, St. Antoine, East Hancock, and Martin Luther King Boulevard."

"Those are all in the Cass Corridor."

That's where everyone seems to be disappearing from.

"Do you have a list of what else he stole?" you ask and grab a pen and paper.

"IV tubes, an infusion pump, units of O-negative blood, chest tubes, O-silk sutures, and Elastoplast."

"Thanks, Pen." Spencer hangs up. "You don't just randomly know how to hook a line up to an infusion pump, or that O-neg is the only safe blood type for any victim."

"I'll tell Hotch we think we know what he's doing with them," Spencer says.

Rossi and Jeff gather the men and women of the police force so that you can deliver the profile. Something about this doesn't make sense to you, but with all the evidence in front of you, you have no choice but to go with what everyone else is saying.

"We believe the man we're looking for is a sexual sadist. What this means is that for him, torture becomes a substitute for the sex act. The fact that he's stealing medical equipment like sterilizing agents and anesthesia tells us he may be performing experiments or surgeries on his victims," Rossi begins.

"We believe this unsub gets gratification from his ability to keep his victims alive in order to endure more torture. The choice of items stolen is extremely specific, which makes us believe he's got a medical background, so check disciplinary files at hospitals, med schools, and community health organizations. People would have noticed his behavior."

"This is someone who would volunteer to perform painful procedures," you state. "He would spend extra time probing a broken hand or a distended abdomen, and after a long day when everyone else is emotionally drained from multiple traumas and mangled bodies, he'd be the one pushing his coworkers to go out for a drink and talk about their day."

"Now, we know what you're thinking--a profile is fine, but our best shot at stopping this guy is still to catch him in the act. This unsub is extremely smart and obviously organized. He's managed to abduct very different victims with very different abilities, all with no witnesses. That's why we're coordinating with the police and our agents on the ground in Detroit."

"We've also asked Sergeant Hightower to act as a guide on the streets in Detroit while he's in our custody," Rossi says.

Everyone looks at Will who is silent at the table.

"That's it. If you have any questions, you find me or one of the agents," Jeff says to his people.

William is about to get up when he sees someone enter the station with JJ. He goes rigid like he's not expecting someone he knows to show up here.

"What's she doing here?" he asks angrily.

"We've notified all the family members we can locate."

"You have no right."

"It's her daughter," Rossi says. "She has a right to know."

William looks at the picture of his sister on the board and lets a tear roll down his cheek. If he's getting this emotional, then that can only mean the woman with JJ is his mother.

"It's one thing to believe Lee is lost on the streets, but I don't want her to know that there's a killer out there. We know how this is gonna end."

"No, we don't."

"Look, everything I have done is to find the truth so I can spare her. I don't want her living off hope."

"There are worse things," Jeff says.

"You're wrong. Bad news stops us for a while, but then you move on. Hope is paralyzing."

"He has a point," you say. "Hope in situations like this drains you of the person you are. I'd rather the bad news."

His mother stands at the doorway so that when he looks behind him, he sees the look on her face. He gets up to greet her even though he can't seem to say anything. She doesn't say anything but opens her arms for him, to which he hugs her back.

"Oh, my God," she whispers and pulls away from Will to approach the board with all the victims on it. "Are all these people missing?"

"We believe so."

"Do you have any suspects?"

"No, but we have a strategy to try to catch him. William is helping."

"My daughter... Is there any chance she could still be alive?"

"It's possible."

"Do you know what he's doing to them?"

"It's difficult to say."

JJ escorts Will's mother out of the room to sit somewhere else to answer a few questions. You, Hotch, and Will are going to join Derek and Emily down at the station in Detroit while the rest stay in Canada. You reach over to grab Spencer's hand but he quickly moves it away from you.

"Please don't touch me."

"Oh, okay."

"I mean, not my hands," he stutters.

"You don't have to explain yourself. It's okay. I'll call you if we find something."

You leave Spencer with that and head to Detroit with Will and Hotch. Spencer is still probably freaked out about what happened with the whole Anthrax situation, so you'll give him as much space and time as he needs to heal. In the meantime, you have a case to worry about. Emily and Derek meet you at the station when you arrive in Detroit.

"Thanks for believing me," Will says to you and Hotch.

"You don't have to thank us," you say.

"William, I want you to understand that even if we catch him, you're probably gonna end up doing some time in Canada."

"I can live with that."

You three get out and walk over to Derek and Emily who is with a woman.

"Detective Tay Benning, this is SSA Aaron Hotchner and SSA Y/N."

"Hi, this is William Hightower. He's gonna help us on the ground. Will, these are agents Prentiss and Morgan. We should split up and cover male and female potential victims."

We'll take the men," Derek says.

"I'll make introductions for you," Will offers.

"Stay close to your phones. If anyone's out of place, Detective Benning can get a name and a description of our patrol cars as quickly as possible."

You, Emily, and Hotch go off to talk to the women while Will, Detective Benning, and Derek talk to the men. This unsub is going to strike again with someone in this area soon whether that be tonight or tomorrow. He's stuck to a tight schedule in the past and you don't think he's going to deviate from that. Yes, it'd be much easier to approach a prostitute rather than a homeless man, so how is he doing it? The question is, why does he alternate victims in clusters of men and women? Why take the men at all if this has a sexual component to it?

The unsub sees these people as disposable, it doesn't matter if they're male or female. For a sexual sadist, male or female isn't important because the torture itself is the sex.

Unless sex has nothing to do with this.

With the photos that Will provided you with, you're able to go around and check off who is working on the street. There are only three people who have not been accounted for, and you go to Hotch once he's done with his section. Will had come back to Hotch after he made an introduction to Derek, so he is in the car with Hotch.

"We have three unaccounted for."

Hotch and Will get out of the car and approach some girls on the street with you and Emily by their sides.

"Excuse me, ladies, did you see any of these girls leave with customers?"

You show them the photos of the three girls.

"I saw Monica and Sasha leave with two men, but I don't know about Kelly."

"Do you know where they would go?"

"There's a parking lot down at Cass Park. The girls have their Johns park there."

Hotch walks away and dials Detective Benning to confirm this.

"What about Kelly? Is there a reason why you wouldn't have seen her leave?" you ask.

"I don't know. I could have been distracted."

"So, she was here before? Was there any reason she would sneak off?" Will asks.

"I don't know what she does. She's fresh meat out here."

"Okay," Hotch returns, "Detroit PD confirmed two prostitutes with Johns in the parking lot at Cass Park."

"We're short one girl."

"Did you know his sister, Lee Hightower?" you ask.

"Yeah, I knew her."

"Is there any place where she would have taken clients? Maybe somewhere the other girls wouldn't go?"

"She didn't do it normally. She'd try to get a real job but then she'd slip. Then about a month and a half ago, she said she was leaving."

"That's when I took her to my mom's," Will says.

"I haven't seen her since."

x

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

[all-pacas]

this might just be me, but chameron were at their most interesting in season 3. I mean they were fucking all over the hospital but never actually had a conversation?? Teasing each other when performing procedures??? Chase deciding that she's the one for him?? There's a gold moine of material there but for some reason fic authors rarely write about this period. If you have any fics/wips/headcannons, they'd be much appreciated!

HONESTLY i've been meaning to yell at length about the woman cameron is because it's so insane. like i don't understand why anyone believes anything she says. she trots up to chase like "i will never ever fall in love with you, let's have sex," and by the next episode they're coming into work together after showering together after spending the night together. this whole "there are BOUNDARIES and RULES" things disintigrates immediately.

cameron keeps calling it a relationship and chase keeps correcting her. he's the one to suggest she wants to make house jealous, the episode before there's a subplot about cameron doing just that. they're fucking all over the hospital. when chase wants to stop doing that, cameron invites him on a lunch date. she keeps initiating sex, we never see chase suggest it once. and then when he takes all this to mean huh, i guess we're in a relationship she goes HOW DARE YOU??? like holy shit cameron mixed messages i love you. and she — as chase points out — starts acting like he dumped her, like he hurt her.

and we're supposed to believe her when she's like "i have no feelings for this man?" "i will never have feelings for this man?" GIRL. i mean at the LEAST she is sending the most mixed messages ever. they have spent, apparently, every single day of this period fucking and going on lunch dates and staying at one another's places. this was the worst friends with benefits situation of all time. they were absolutely dating. and yes chase is the one who got feelings first, as soon as 'half wit' he was clearly -- there's a little surprised look he gets when foreman suggests cameron make out with house, like, oh no -- and cameron is opaque. and i don't know that she was in love with chase or anything, just that she was absolutely treating this like a Relationship and it's insane she gets mad at chase for thinking it was. i adore her. chase was 500% correct when he said she had feelings for him because she has feelings for everyone. i even think you can make a case that she picked him intentionally, because she liked him, but had to couch it in disclaimers and "it means nothing" because she can't stand to cede control or be vulnerable like that: she actually says exactly that in "lockdown," and frankly? it makes sense. like yes it's kiiiinda a retcon but it checks out for her. i do think she was totally sincere about not wanting a relationship and not wanting to date chase. i absolutely think she fucked this up completely and totally from moment one. she did nothing wrong and i love her

[voraciousvore]

Boarding School for Giants (1/25)

Author's Note: I decided to share one of my stories on here. Admittedly, it's not my best work, and I've improved a lot since I wrote it, but it remains one of my most popular (and is a shorter and tamer story). Hope you guys enjoy! :)

------Chapter 1------

I was angry at the world. And I had good reason to be. My dad had left a long time ago, when I was a small child—just walked out one day for cigarettes and never came back. He left behind a gaping hole in my soul that would never be filled. My mother, too, suffered from that same void: She filled it with alcohol, or at least tried to, as much as a bottomless pit can be filled. Occasionally she could pull herself together enough, for my sake, to get a low-paying job to support us and keep us fed. Inevitably, though, she would slip back into old habits, and be consumed by the bottle again. 

I was the poster child for teenage angst. I wore black nail polish and black lipstick and heavy eyeshadow with mascara. I dyed my dark hair with streaks of color and cut it in crazy, edgy styles. I had ear piercings and a nose piercing and even a badass tattoo of the grim reaper with a skull on my upper thigh that I got with a fake ID (don’t tell my mom). As for my clothing, I usually went for a goth or punk aesthetic: lacy black corsets with short skirts and tights, ripped-up skinny jeans, big black boots, messy crop tops with spaghetti straps. Anything black with buckles or spikes was my jam. I liked black because my heart was black. 

My behavior mirrored my outer appearance. I played the role of the bad kid pretty well. I always talked back to my teachers and acted up in class. I smoked weed in the girl’s bathroom during lunch and cigarettes behind the school. My grades weren’t terrible, because I wasn’t a complete moron, but I certainly didn’t try very hard. I snuck out of the house on weekends late at night to attend wild parties, although I refused to drink alcohol because I didn’t want to be like my mother. I made out with bad boys, whom I knew all too well would use me and break my heart and leave me just like my daddy did. 

The relationship I had with my mom, admittedly, wasn’t the best. She worked odd hours, so she wasn’t around much anyways. Sometimes she would bring home men that might stay for a little while, but none of them could replace my dad. She couldn’t handle my unruliness and didn’t know how to discipline me or give me boundaries. We would get into shouting matches with each other a lot, where we yelled past each other more than listening to each other. I knew all her weaknesses, and would intentionally say hurtful things to make her cry. I told her she was a terrible mother and she was the reason Dad left and nobody would ever love her again. I would regret my words later, but the rage and sadness I felt inside me was hard to control. 

Today was the day where the tension finally snapped, and everything came crashing down. I had been having an unusually crummy day, and I was in a bad mood. I flunked my chemistry test—not that I really cared, but it still made me feel stupid. The other girls in my class were teasing me and telling me I was an idiot, and I didn’t like that. I was walking through the hallway to my next class when Billy the Bully, as I called him, spotted me and zeroed in on his prey like a bloodhound. I had spurned his advances once, finding him to be a contemptible wretch, and ever since he had made it his mission to belittle and humiliate me as much as possible. Since I had rejected him, he insisted I was an ugly lesbian. I was not in the mood for his bullshit today. He pushed me hard into a locker, laughed, and strolled off. 

The coals burning inside me ignited. Billy the Bully was going down. I chased after him and punched him hard in the back of the head, knocking him to the ground, and kicked him in the ribs a couple of times for good measure. That’d teach him to mess with me. Unfortunately for me, I hadn’t noticed the principal walking down the hall, who was now gaping at me, appalled. It didn’t matter that Billy always harassed me, and that he had initiated the confrontation. The principal had only seen my violence. Despite fights breaking out all the time in the schoolyard, our school had a “zero tolerance” policy on the books for violent actions. Not to mention, I was sure they were more than happy to find an excuse to get rid of a troublesome rebel like me. I was swiftly expelled. 

Needless to say, when my mom came home from work and learned what happened from the school, she blew up at me. As usual, we yelled past each other until we were both out of breath and red in the face. I stormed out of the house and took a walk to cool down, smoking a cigarette as I went. To be honest, even though I felt justified in what I had done, I regretted putting my mom through more stress.  She was always failing me, but I figured she still loved me and cared about me. I was disappointing her with my bad behavior. I felt like such a failure. 

Reflecting on my actions didn’t change the consequences, however. I had been kicked out of school, and now we would need to transfer me to a new school. I wasn’t sure how to feel, whether I should be nervous or optimistic. Maybe I needed a fresh start. My old school sucked anyways, and was lousy with bullies and haters. I hated school. Why did I have to go in the first place? I couldn’t think of any other high schools that were close by in our area. 

When I returned home, my mom was making phone calls, trying to place me in a new school. Her eyes were red and puffy as she massaged her temple with her fingers. I tiptoed past her, slunk over to my room, and threw myself on my bed. I slapped on a pair of old headphones and blasted some death metal into my ears to drown out my thoughts. Somehow, the sound of wild demonic screaming and electric guitars always helped to calm down the boiling hatred inside me. I started to drift off to sleep. 

“EREN!” my mom screamed my name, startling me awake over the sound of my music. I took off my headphones, irritated. 

“WHAT?!” I shouted back with a disgruntled scowl. 

“Pack your things,” my mother demanded. “None of the schools nearby are willing to take you in, and I can’t deal with you anymore. You’re going to boarding school to learn some discipline.” 

“Boarding school? Are you freaking kidding me right now?” I balked. I was incredulous. Mom was trying to get rid of me. I flipped the script on her and acidly retorted, “Well, fine then! I didn’t want to be around you anymore either!” I rolled over in my bed and refused to look at her, facing the wall instead in defiance. She paused for a moment, as if wanting to say something, then sighed and exited the room, closing the door gently behind her.  

I huffed and sulked for a while. Boarding school. Unbelievable. Scoffing to myself, I began to gather up my things, tossing clothes, school supplies, and some other miscellaneous articles carelessly into my backpack and a duffel bag. I didn’t have a whole lot to bring. We were poor, so it’s not like I had a ton of luxury items in my possession to pack. I prepared for bed and flopped down on my mattress, deep in thought. I wondered what boarding school was like. Maybe it would be better to get away from it all, to be far away from everything that was tormenting me. My mom wouldn’t be around to hassle me at least. How bad could it be? 

The next morning, I dragged myself out of bed and threw on some clean clothes. I hadn’t slept well, since I had been haunted by my nagging thoughts most of the night. I ate a bowl of cereal and drank some orange juice for breakfast, then decided I ought to at least make myself look nice if it was going to be my first day at a new school. I hauled myself to the bathroom and washed, did my make-up, brushed my teeth, and styled my hair with some hair gel. Much better. 

I grabbed my bags and placed them in the trunk of our beater of a car. Rather than sit in the front seat alongside my mother, I opted to sit in the back instead, sprawling my legs out along the back seat. My mom pursed her lips in disapproval but didn’t say anything. She hopped into the front seat, and after a couple of tries the starter kicked in and the old car coughed to life. The car crawled out of the driveway and stumbled off, leaving a nasty brown puff of smog in its wake. 

We drove for a while in silence. I played on my phone and occasionally looked out the window at the bland scenery passing by. We lived in a rural area, surrounded by farmland, so there wasn’t much to see other than fields of corn and wheat, grain silos and barns, and fenced-off land for cows or horses. It was a serene and pastoral paradise, but I had lived with these things my whole life so I wasn’t very impressed. The density of the buildings gradually increased as we entered more populated areas. 

After a couple of hours, I started to get restless. “Where are we going? How far away is this place?” I questioned, finally breaking the silence. 

“About that...” my mother said. She trailed off and failed to finish her sentence, as if she were afraid to tell me. 

“Well?” I asked, a note of irritation in my voice. 

She sighed. “I guess it’s better if I tell you now, so you don’t freak out when we get there. We’re almost at the drop-off point anyways.” 

“Freak out?” I was becoming increasingly baffled. “Why would I freak out? What’s going on here?” I raised my voice as I spoke. 

“This isn’t an ordinary boarding school.” She paused dramatically, letting the words sink in. “I needed to find a place we could afford, and a place that could handle your misbehaving and keep you in check. This school is planning to become an integration school, and they’re looking for students like you to join, so they offered me a substantial subsidy to sign you up.” 

“Students... like me?” I was lost. “Why would they want a troublemaker like me? What do you mean by an ‘integration school?’ What is that?” 

Before she could answer, our car was engulfed in shadow. I peered out the window and my jaw dropped to the floor. We were driving toward a massive wall, constructed of great stone bricks of an impossible size. The wall must have been hundreds of feet tall, and blocked out the sun as we approached. The surrounding buildings and trees looked like little models and toys by comparison. We pulled up to the wall and parked in a vacant lot. My mom, rather than explaining what was going on, got out of the car and removed my bags from the trunk. I stayed in my seat, refusing to budge. I was very confused, and even a little intimidated. 

My mother opened the passenger door and looked at me expectantly. “Come on. Get out.” I just stared back at her. Nothing had been explained. I didn’t want to go. I was getting an uneasy, sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. 

She crossed her arms and tapped her foot impatiently. Realizing I wasn’t going to win this fight, I begrudgingly got out of the car and followed her to a normal-sized door that was embedded in the enormous wall. She opened the door and we walked into a short, gloomy passageway that tunneled through the thick wall to the other side. As we walked through the darkness, I cleared my throat and tried one last time to finesse some information out of her. 

“Mom... please. Tell me what this is,” I pleaded. I couldn’t stop my voice from cracking slightly. Genuine fear was starting to trickle into my chest. The whole situation was very strange and surreal. 

We reached the door at the end of the tunnel. Sunlight bled through the cracks around the door, framing it with bright light in the musty darkness. My mom placed her hand on the door handle and exhaled slowly. She gazed over at me sadly. Her face was pinched up, as if she were trying to hold back strong emotions. 

“On the other side of this huge wall... is the giant side of town. You’re going to a boarding school for giants.” 

2nd Chapter: https://www.tumblr.com/voraciousvore/731600807530823680/boarding-school-for-giants-225?source=share

Table of Contents:

Ch. 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25

Writing Masterpost

[episodicnostalgia]

Star Trek, 001 (0ct. 4, 1988) - "The Cage"

The Breakdown

In this original initially-unaired Pilot (filmed in 1964 but not released in it’s entirety until 1988), we are introduced to the crew of the Enterprise which canonically precedes Kirk’s legendary five year mission.  It’s just another day for the crew when they receive a distress signal to a planet (Talos IV) where some scientists apparently got stranded and lost decades ago.  Upon beaming down to check on everyone Captain Pike meets a cute blonde lady named Vina who lures him into a trap, or cage, if you will.

It turns out all the old scientists were just an illusion projected by some big headed aliens (aka the Talosians) with some fairly powerful telepathic abilities. They explain that they want Pike to mate with Vina (who turns out to be real) in order to supply them with a whole zoo of human slave babies. Pike is made to understand that his refusal will result in excruciating mental torture; although in fairness they explain that Pike’s stay could be tantamount to paradise if he cooperates.  Pike resists by overwhelming the Talosians with intentionally rageful thoughts (which, conveniently, is their weakness), until he can convince his captors that trapping people against their will is… wait for it… bad.  The Talosians, for their part, seem genuinely shocked at this revelation, and so they agree to let Pike go.

Oh, and it turns out Vina was severely damaged from the accident that stranded her on Talos, so she can’t come with Pike because the illusion that grants her beauty would cease if she left the planet.  Since ugly women aren’t allowed to be love interests in Starfleet, the Talosians agree to take care of her, and even provide her with a nice sexy illusion of the Captain himself, presumably so she can have a live action Pike-sex-toy to keep her company.  So I guess it’s bittersweet ending?

The Verdict

‘The Cage’ is an interesting look at what might have been. Overall I think Kirk’s Enterprise and it’s crew are more entertaining, but I wonder if I might have come to prefer the more-serious Pike over kirk’s swagger. For starters I think Jeffery Hunter is probably a better actor than Shatner at this stage in both of their careers (put the pitchforks down, you’re welcome to disagree), and I also find Pike is written a lot less sexually predatory. Don’t worry though, Pike is still plenty sexist here; apparently having women on the bridge doesn’t sit well with him, which makes me wonder if ‘Strange New Worlds’ will ever give us a flashback episode to explain this change in his attitude (since this episode is still officially canon).

2.5 stars (out of 5)

Additional Observations

Pike’s doctor prescribes drinking as a form of therapy. Don Draper would approve.

I do wish Majel Roddenberry’s ‘Number one’ could have been included amongst Kirk’s crew. I always thought having Spock as both Chief Science Officer and First Officer was odd. But apparently the 60’s weren’t ready for a woman with authority.

I love the pulpy set designs. As cheap as it looks now, it has such a classic aesthetic. I dig it.

I just realized that this episode was filmed roughly as far in time from TNG’s premiere, as Enterprise’s premiere is from us now. I’m going to need a minute to let that sink in.

[scuffle-with-spirals]

Introducing: Chi *vine boom*

Hihihi fellas hows it hanging!!

Okay so, as some people may know (if you’re in the vocal synth server I’m in... Heehoo...Howdy) I’ve suddenly revitalized a brainrot on one of my only successful UTAUs. While she was made a couple years ago, I’ve found myself always interested in her solely for the fact, well. Um. She’s the closest thing I have to done, lmfao

So!! I’m going to brainrot on her now if that’s cool haha hoohoo

Disclaimer: Chi’s backstory involves, albeit intentionally over-the-top and Spirit Halloween level blood and viscera. I’m talking like, blood spurting all over the walls just out of nowhere level silly. Nobody gets hurt; but due to the excess of it I thought I’d disclaim anyway. Please stay safe!!

LONG POST UNDER THE CUT SORRY I JUST !!!!!!! WAOUGH!!!

Please ignore her broken wrist I was so busy making sure her kimono wrap was correct that I forgot anatomy was a thing

Chi Mori, (森血), is a young girl who was brought up entirely in the forest after being abandoned by her parents. Shortly after, a demon by the name of Inori appears before Chi, going “damn bro what I’m literally from hell and even I think that’s not cool dude what the fuck”, taking Chi under his wing from infancy as her new father. Due to not knowing her name, he elects to give her his own, with her and him becoming Chi and Inori Mori respectively.

He actually is a good father! Living deep within the forest off of fruit and (stolen) entertainment, Inori found himself treating Chi similarly to an overprotective father, especially when it came to outsiders.

As a preventative measure to protect Chi for anyone who wandered too close to their whereabouts, Inori’s version of child safety involves any stranger eventually seeing a bunch of stupid wacky jumping demon devil witch gore gore splatter party all over the place to scare them off. Because Lord help anyone who gets near his daughter while he’s nabbing her Haribo Goldbears Original Gummy Bears Bag, 14 oz—

This strategy (which Chi was entirely immune to seeing herself, by the way), was incredibly successful, at the detriment of making the forest an immediate area of fear and superstition, many formulating theories that the forest was cursed.

Many dared one another or challenged themselves to venture in as far they could, but couldn’t make it far enough in. Eventually, a journalist for a local paper by the name of Addison manages to brave his way through demon man’s freshman year horror flick, reaching Chi. Not knowing how to react, he tries to react as calmly as he could to not startle her, resulting in the conversation first starting off as Addison: “Oh! Hi! I love your outfit, wow, uh— where are your parents”

Chi:

Before he knows it, Inori’s busting in, angry and threatening to go beast mode on him, only to calm down upon Addison insisting that, if they were family, he didn’t want to ruin that, he just wanted to make sure Chi was healthy after living in the forest so long. Inori (hating this stupid man and his ugly stupid soft kissable handsome mortal face) begrudgingly agrees.

After confirming Chi was fine and listening to Inori rub it in his face for a hot minute, with their privacy exposed, Addison asks if he could help Inori raise Chi; seeing that she had an interest on things outside of the forest, and, despite the good job Inori was doing so far, thinking that it wasn’t healthy to keep her sheltered all her life.

 Inori (absolutely wanting to eviscerate this mortal by big spooning him back to the shadow realm) scoffs, seeing he has a point. So, now Chi, slowly learning English and making new friends outside the forest, lives a tranquil life with her author dumbass and demon dads, helping her follow her passions, hoping that one day, maybe, somehow, they can help her fulfill her dream of singing to an audience.

____

Chi’s personality is rather mellow. While she enjoys social interaction, she  loves hearing anything anyone has to say, often waiting several seconds after they’ve finished speaking before she responds. Many people think she’s zoning out constantly due to this, coupled along with a seemingly constant mile-yard stare that makes her look like she rarely blinks. There’s no reason behind her staring, she’s just. Absorbing.

She likes kimonos, sour foods, television, and books. She dislikes overly sweet foods, bright colors, and public schools.

____

Technical Info + Voicebank examples!!! woagh!!

Voicebanks (Most completed to. not):

Chi Mori -ACT 1-

Original CV. Recorded in 2018. Logical range is E1~C5.

Note: Chi’s original voicebank was entirely re-otoed and given a hiragana alias by the user lungkid!!!!!!!!!!!!! I’m still so so very grateful for them for doing this for me, so please check them out and support their work. ;v; I can’t Chi’s original bank being as smooth as it is without their input. :”>

-Sleepy-

A CV bank intended to be bipitch. Recorded in 2019. Logical range is A3~D5. Would’ve contained two pitches, Open (O) and Closed (C). Open would represent a more vibrant voice for Chi, sounding more awake. While Closed would be an updated version of her original tone. Only the Open pitch is finished, although some samples have still yet to be oto’ed lol.

-Oni-

Still pissed I never finished this lmfao

A power append CV. Recorded in 2020. There are 10 samples, but only 3 are oto’d, if I recall correctly. The VB actually does sound a bit decent when used right, but due to the limited samples I’ve had to really slice and dice USTs sometimes to get it to work. @_@

-Drowsy-

Combo vb of all the above lmfao. Logical range is E1~F#5.

It seems the resamplers she works best with is fresamp and the default. Moresampler is decent for her too. :0c

Voicebank Samples:

Despite having Chi for several years, I really haven’t finished many covers with here. However, here’s a WIP of Psyche Luger using her ACT 1. :”>

____

Other fun facts:

- I initially didn’t even think about Addison and Inori having romantic feelings for another because 2018 me was on some next level tomfoolery. They’re 100% dating now though, haha.

- Inori’s original name was Akumu (nightmare in Japanese), which is so on-the-nose so I changed it to have a little more irony LMAO

- Chi’s birthday is October 26th! :>

- I’ve been considering recording an updated CV voicebank of Chi when she’s older at 17! Part of the reason being, I think my voice simply can’t get to that tone as easily anymore, haha, plus to be honest I really don’t feel comfortable voicing a character canonically so young now that I’m an adult, hah? That’s just not my thing, sorry. :”>  (Not to mention I have way too many updated design ideas for her oh my god awaahaodfm

 I think a part of the reason why I still hold Chi in such fond regards is because she somewhat serves as a time capsule for my former passions, and with her background, an example of my former skill when it came to art and writing. I’ll admit, both writing and especially technical-wise, she’s nothing to ride home about, but it just is so interesting knowing that in a way, a part of me was preserved from what feels like so long ago, especially after the pandemic. @_@ The PC I recorded Chi had a. Big accident and entirely broke one day, and honestly, out of all of the stuff I already had backed up there, me having Chi’s VB on an old shitty flash drive is something I’m so glad I thought ahead about LMAO

__

SORRYYY AGAIN FOR THE SUPER LONG POST GUYS BUT!!!!! I’ve been on mega Chi brainrot lately, so!! I thought I’d share!! I hope this post was interesting you guys hamfua aough aoau ngogoasm *disintegrates*

[percontaion-points]

Jocelyn's Choice chapter 10

Click to see the rest of the snark & image descriptions

Click here for the rest of the series!

Chapter 10

I continued to stare at that little plastic stick with the two pink lines as the tears streamed down my cheeks.

Oh thank god, we’re skipping ahead to the events immediately after the prologue. 

"Good. Been a little busy today and I have a full day tomorrow, so I wanted to say hello and hear your voice." 

I closed my eyes and tried to fight back the tears that were threatening to spill. Apparently, pregnancy made you emotional; all I wanted to do was cry and scream.  

I think that wanting to cry in this situation is fairly normal. After all, she’s still a child herself; the ink on her high school diploma is barely dry. Not to mention the fact that her baby daddy is on the other side of the country. 

…and a brochure about a local adoption agency. I was sure when the nurse saw my age and my marital status, she tossed that brochure in to help me.

I’m sure that she thought that it was helpful, but it’s a little rude and presumptuous. 

Also, I love how abortion isn’t even at the table here. 

I’m going to be angry if she never once considers abortion. Especially considering that this book is called Jocelyn’s CHOICE… Not “Jocelyn Being Forced To Carry A Pregnancy to Term Because She Lives in a Red State”. 

/this book was published in 2011

Luckily, I had chosen to go to the local community college instead of one of the other three out-of-state schools that had accepted me. Max was willing to take out a loan for me to attend a university, but since I was undecided, and didn't really want to leave home, I couldn't see spending the money to go away. He said I could change my mind any time, and he would help me go. The decision to stay home may have paid off since I wouldn't be going anyway.

Did the author intentionally write it so that Jocelyn had no future hopes and dreams? I get being undecided, but even going so far as to not even apply for university?

After that, I'd have to figure out how to stay hidden in a town as small as this.

Chapter 10 summary: We mercifully skip over to the after-shock of her taking the pregnancy test. She obviously has to hide it, and then goes to take a call from Alex. She lies and says that she’s simply a little under the weather, but she should be fine. Inside, she’s fighting off tears. 

She goes to a doctor to confirm the pregnancy, and the doc tells her that she conceived in February. The thought completely blows Jocelyn’s mind, because last February, she didn’t even know Alex. 

After leaving the doctor’s office, she sits on a park bench to think about what she has to do. She obviously needs to tell Alex, but figures that this is something that requires a face-to-face conversation. She also has to tell her father, since they kind of live together. She’s only grateful that she never applied for college… And I said what I said about that. 

Evan calls, since Alex had called him about Jocelyn’s “odd behaviour”. Which is nice that he’s trying to ensure that she’s okay, but if somebody says “I’m feeling a little sick; I only need to rest!” Why wouldn’t you take them at their word?

Evan says that his mum has been asking about her, so Jocelyn agrees to go over. She thinks that this would prove to Alex that she actually is okay, and she needs to do it soon before she starts to show. 

[sowingseedsandshootinghoops]

The Evolution of a Writer: JK Rowling

Note on the text: I used The Casual Vacancy by JK Rowling as published in 2012 by Little, Brown and Company

It was really interesting, and even a little funny, to read this book in light of phenomenally successful Harry Potter franchise. It’s hard to believe that a book that is this “adult” was written by the author of the highest selling children’s fantasy series of all time. You can literally feel Rowling trying to hack away at the idea that she is only “a writer of children’s literature” on every page of this book.

While darker themes like sorrow and death do hang over the Harry Potter series like some sort of metaphysical fog, here it feels it feels like they are baked into the very concrete that makes up this world. This world is caked full of drugs, depression, murder, metal illness and even a good amount of erotica. It really is like JK Rowling was intentionally change her image as a writer of children’s books and show the world that she can write for adults too. I mean just image if Cho Chen had spoken about Harry Potter in the way that Samantha talks about  Vikram here: 

Samantha ad heard somewhere. . . that Vikram and Parminder had had an arranged marriage. She found this idea to be unspeakably erotic. Imagine being ordered to marry Vikram, having to do it; she had wrought a little fantasy in her head in which she was veiled, and shown into a room, a virgin condemned to her fate. Imagine looking up and knowing that you were getting that. Not to mention the added frisson of his job: that much responsibility would have given a much uglier man sex appeal (96).

Again is full of adult themes that were only hinted at in the Harry Potter world. The unexpected and sudden death of Barry Fairbrother at the beginning of the book is the powder keg that sets everything else in motion. Now while Harry deals with a lot of death on his journey, it all serves to make him into a hero. It’s through the suffering that he endures that Rowling is able to make him into a hero. And she does that extremely effectively. But compare that to the gut wrenching and achingly realistic scene that we get with Mary, Barry’s widow, just a two days after Barry dies: “Every hour that passed added to her grief because it bore her further away from the living man, and because it was a foretaste of the eternity which she would have to spend without him” (63). That reads like a real adult going through some real shit. Later on we meet the characters of sixteen year old Krystal, her two year old brother Robbie, and their mother Terri, and here again Rowling shows her ability to depict a type of suffering that is very real: the suffering brought on by addiction and how it affects the family as a whole. Terri is trying desperately to kick her heroine addiction and is real danger of losing her son to social services. Krystal does the best she can to keep the family together but is terrified that it won’t be enough and that social services will take away her brother. One of the central debates of the story is whether the city should shut down the methadone clinic, Bellchapel, where Terri gets the methadone she needs to stay off of heroine. Krystal is terrified because she knows that without 

methadone, they would return to that nightmare place where Terri would become feral, [where] she would again start opening her broken-toothed mouth for strangers’ dicks so that she could feed her veins. And Robbie would be taken away again and this time he might not come back. In a little plastic heart hanging from the keyring in Krystal’s pocket was a picture of Robbie, aged one. Krystal’s real heart [however had] started pounding the way it did when she rowed full stretch (109).

These scenes obviously come from the pen of an author who knows full well of what she speaks and who is not interested in being reduced down to simply being an author for children. It’s really interesting to see this book as a point of her growth as an artist. We all have to grow up sometime, but most of us are too scared to really embrace change as fully as we should and I for one found it inspiring to see Rowling really embrace this change head on. It’s an uneven book to be sure, but that makes it more courageous to me. I liked seeing the confident way in which she took her first steps into the new world even if there were some missteps along the way. I think we could all learn something from that.

[bi-bard]

Bad Omens Songs that Would Describe Relationships with the Murder Husbands - Murder Husbands Preference (Hannibal)

Title: Bad Omens Songs that Would Describe Relationships with the Murder Husbands

Characters: Will Graham, Hannibal Lecter

Word Count: 3,159 words

Warning(s): (Will's) mention of murder/Will's time in prison, (Hannibal's) abandonment, insecurity, mention of shitty parent

Author's Note: I was gonna take a break from these because I've written a lot of them...

and then "Just Pretend" popped up on my TikTok fyp (a lot) and now we're here.

**Not intentionally written in chronological order**

-------------------------

Will Graham:

Just Pretend

I can wait for you at the bottom I can stay away if you want me to I can wait for years if I gotta Heaven knows I ain't getting over you

--Third Person--

Will understood why (Y/n) was hesitant to visit him in prison.

They had almost been more protective of Abigail than he was. (Y/n) had gathered college brochures, bought books, and would sit with Abigail for hours on end in the hopes of her not getting too lonely. They adored her. Thinking that they had lost her due to Will's actions made a wall come up between them.

That wasn't counting the other murder charges that were stacked against him.

(Y/n) felt stupid. Like they had missed signs. But even now, as they looked back at their friendship and romantic relationship with Will, they couldn't see the signs of what they were claiming he was.

Will still missed them. Understanding one's actions didn't change how much he missed them. He missed being kissed so gently, being held with no hesitation, the small date nights, the time spent making dinner, running around with the dogs. He missed it all. He missed being loved with no conditions.

(Y/n) didn't visit until Alana had begged them.

She thought it would help Will make steps toward restoring his memories.

(Y/n) relented, sitting opposite Will for the first time since he had been arrested.

The pair didn't exchange any pleasantries. They sat in a tense silence. If Will was nervous about seeing (Y/n) again, it didn't show on his face. (Y/n)'s nervousness was much clearer; a shaking leg, awkward attempts to take a deep breath, and fidgeting hands.

"I had a dream about you," Will confessed after a while. (Y/n) tilted their head a bit. "I woke up at home. Our home. You were in the kitchen making breakfast, sneaking food to the dogs. I walked out and wrapped my arms around you. And you relaxed. It was all so... normal."

There was a sadness in (Y/n)'s eyes that made Will want to jump across the table and hold them. He craved nothing more than the freedom to hold and protect them. That's what he missed most while he had been locked away. Even dreams couldn't perfectly recreate the feeling of being loved by (Y/n).

"I love-"

"Please don't say that," (Y/n) begged.

It hurt too much. Those three words. Maybe it was because they were still true for both of them.

Will just nodded.

He didn't know how he was going to get out yet. For now, he could accept not having (Y/n). He could wait to kiss them and love them until they knew they could trust him again. Until he had figured out a way to take care of Hannibal.

Will could resign himself to his dreams if that was what (Y/n) truly wanted.

bad decisions

You can be all I got what's the difference? You and me and a lot of bad decisions All I know, all I know is bad, bad decisions

I leaned on the train railing, watching the scenery fly behind us.

I didn't move when I heard the door open behind me.

"It's freezing out here."

I looked over at Will. He didn't walk over to me until I did. I felt his arms find their place around my torso, leaning against my back. I touched his arm with one hand, drawing circles with my thumb.

My eyes closed for a moment as he pressed a kiss to the spot behind my ear.

"Are you okay," he asked.

I didn't respond. I just took a deep breath.

"(Y/n)."

"I... I just... I can't stop thinking about that body in that house," I mumbled.

He knew what I was talking about. The man that had been locked in Hannibal's childhood home. The one that we had hung from the ceiling. The image was burned into my eyelid.

"We didn't have a right to be that man's executioner."

"He wasn't living a life," Will replied. "He was locked in a cell. He was miserable."

I sighed, running my hand over my face.

He tightened his arms around me when I didn't respond to him.

"Sometimes I worry about what I'm willing to do for you," I admitted.

"For me?"

"I couldn't have imagined doing something like that before you," I muttered. "Or the Randall Tier situation. I confronted a cannibalistic serial killer by myself and basically told him to fuck himself. I... I can't imagine anyone I'd take those risks for other than you."

There was a pause. "Do you regret it?"

I turned in his arms, wrapping my arms around his neck. "That's the worst part. No. Not even a bit. The number of things I'd do for you... it scares me."

His jaw clenched for a moment. "Enough to leave?"

I paused. I wanted to say no. I wanted to immediately promise to never leave him. But I was nervous. What happened if he did push me too far and I couldn't pull myself back? I didn't want to hurt him. I just wanted to be self-aware.

He leaned over and pressed his lips to my neck again. I tilted my head to the side a bit, giving him more access to my skin.

"No," I mumbled to him, my hand finding its way to his hair.

He moved back, stopping directly in front of me, nose brushing my skin. He didn't close the distance between us yet.

"I'm not leaving you, Will," I promised. "Ever."

He gently kissed me after that.

"I love you."

If I'm There

Well if I'm there to catch you when you fall You'll have a friend down in hell after all And if you're there to catch me when I fall Then maybe hell ain't so bad after all

I had known Will for a while.

He was guarded, so was I. Even then, there was something so magnetic about him that I never saw in myself. Maybe it was the dry, sarcastic sense of humor. Or just how interesting every conversation with him could be.

I would never have been able to keep myself from falling for him if I wanted to.

Maybe that's why I had agreed to have a drink with him as fast as I did.

As I sat opposite him, slowly sipping at whatever I had been drinking at the time, I found my mind fading back to conversations with Alana. Concerns about what could happen if Will and I got involved with each other.

And the more I thought about it, the longer I spent sitting across from him, the less I found myself caring about those consequences.

I saw no reason for either one of us to go through our personal hells alone.

I must've been staring.

"What's on your mind," Will asked. I blinked a few times, pulling myself out of my thoughts. "You're staring. I'm trying to figure out if I should find it flattering or not."

I think he expected me to chuckle at him. But I didn't.

"We're close, right," I asked, placing my glass down. Will copied me.

He nodded.

"We tell each other almost everything. We care for each other."

"Why are you asking?"

I stood up and stepped forward, leaving myself just in front of him. He looked up at me, shifting forward in his seat slightly. I reached out, touching the side of his face gently.

"(Y/n)?"

"Can I kiss you, Will?"

The question hung in the air for a few moments.

His eyes scanned my face. Like he was looking for a sign of something. I don't know what.

"Will-"

"Please."

His voice was soft. His back straightened, getting as close to my face as he could without standing up from his seat and making me move.

I leaned down, gently pressing my lips to his.

His hand touched my sides as he kissed me back. He was more passionate than I had been originally. His hands pulled me closer, leading me to straddle him in his seat.

I pulled back for a moment, just moving back enough to chuckle a bit. I heard Will chuckle back to me before kissing me again.

I felt his hands barely graze the skin under my shirt.

I leaned back again, smiling down at him. "I love you, Will."

He smiled back to me. God, I would give anything to see him smile like that all the time. "I love you too."

Hannibal Lecter:

Miracle

So give me something beautiful So give me something else I need another miracle I really need some help, I need a miracle

I never wanted Hannibal to see me cry.

It wasn't because I thought he would mock me. No, quite the opposite. I didn't want him to pity me.

We had been good friends for a few years at that point. We had gone through so long without him having to worry about me. I was so committed to keeping things that way.

But here I was, leaning on the window ledge of the small place I was staying in and sobbing into my hand. Hannibal walked in as I was. He placed his things on the floor by my door, quickly walking over to hug me.

"What happened," he asked quietly.

I shook my head, trying to avoid the topic.

"(Y/n)," he said, moving back and cupping the sides of my face. "What happened?"

"I met my mom for lunch today," I explained. "She... She was just so mean."

A fresh wave of tears fell from my eyes.

"She just kept going on about how much better my life could be if I had listened to her. How dumb I was. How disappointed she was. How I could improve my appearance. It was all just so... much."

Hannibal didn't speak. Didn't push or ask questions or try to solve things. He was just listening.

"I don't know why I went. She already cut me off. I shouldn't have gone. It's my fault."

"No," Hannibal shook his head, thumb running along my cheek. "It's not your fault. You had hope."

"She's always been like this," I muttered. "She so desperately wanted me to grow into her dream version of me. I... I left because it got too much. I thought her methods were going to kill me."

I moved away, causing Hannibal's hands to fall from my face. I looked out at the city that I could see from my window.

"Why couldn't I have made her happy," I asked. "Why wasn't I enough?"

Hannibal stepped away, moving to his bag. I looked over when I heard him moving. He walked back over with a book in his hand. I furrowed my eyebrows, tilting my head to the side.

He opened the book, flipping to a page quickly before handing it to me. I accepted it.

"That's..."

My sentence trailed off. It was me. A drawing of me. It was only pencil, yet the detail was enough to compare to a photo.

"It... It's lovely," I complimented, my finger tracing the edge of the paper. I forced a chuckle. "You've taken a few liberties with my appearance, I see."

"No," Hannibal corrected. He stepped closer. The only thing truly separating us was the book. "It's how I see you. You may not see the same thing, but this is how I truly see you."

"But it's so... nice."

"Yes."

I looked back at him.

And for the first time, I didn't feel like anyone was judging me. I felt like I was able to just exist. And it was the most beautiful thing I had ever experienced.

Hannibal took the book from my hands, closing it again.

I barely registered anything happening before his lips found mine. I didn't know what to do. I tried to kiss him back, but my mind and my body couldn't seem to react together. My thoughts were going a thousand miles per second, but my body felt frozen.

"Have I overstepped," Hannibal asked softly, one hand resting on my cheek as he leaned back.

"No," I shook my head. "I've just never felt so much like I have nothing to worry about. No one to judge me."

"I promise," he mumbled, "I will never hold you to some standard of my own. I will never make my love for you conditional."

"'Love'," I repeated.

A grin pulled at his lips. "Yes, love."

And at that moment, I thought I could survive on such love alone.

Said & Done

Was I not good enough? Worthy of being loved? Were you ashamed or just afraid? Well when I've given up and all is said and done Will you just look the other way?

The first time I saw him, it was at work.

I couldn't say anything. He had been introduced to me as Dr. Fell. I couldn't stop and yell at him like I wanted to. I just had to go about my day like the man that had abandoned me wasn't so close to me.

It wasn't until later that night, that I managed to track him down on his own.

The door to the room closed behind me. Down the aisle of artifacts was a table. Hannibal was on the other side, looking over something that I didn't bother to actually look at.

"Hannibal."

"Hello, (Y/n)."

He didn't even look up. He merely acknowledged me with his words like that was meant to be flattering.

"'Hello,'" I asked. "You ran off for decades and all you have for me is a 'Hello'?"

He stood up straight, looking at me for a moment before quickly shifting his gaze from mine. Guilt? Was that what that look was? Hannibal had gotten so good at hiding his expressions that it was hard to tell.

"Where did you go," I stepped forward, only stopping when I got to the other side of the table. "What happened? You left me completely alone. I deserve an answer."

"Closure is often more myth than anything," Hannibal explained. "The chanced of us ever getting answers that satisfy-"

"I don't care," I snapped. "I want to know what happened. Why did I wake up one day to find you gone? What had I done so wrong to force you to leave?"

"You had nothing to do with me leaving," he replied. "You were my biggest obstacle."

I raised an eyebrow at him.

"After what happened... the murder investigation... I couldn't stay," he continued. "I thought about a hundred ways to tell you. None of them were going to have the effect I wanted."

"So you abandoned me instead?"

"I am sorry," he said, walking around the table. He stopped just in front of me. "I'm very, very sorry."

"Why come back now," I muttered. "Because I know it's not for me."

"How can you be so certain?"

"You would've found me. And you would've never bothered with the stolen identity."

He looked to the floor.

"What were you running from?"

He didn't speak. He just looked back at me.

His hand came up to cup the side of my face. I let my eyes close as I leaned into his hand. It had been so long. Too long to hold onto the same anger that I held back then.

I didn't know what to call it anymore. If it was anger or sadness or just confusion. I stopped caring a long time ago.

"Hannibal..."

He shushed me gently. "Not now. We can discuss such things later."

"When you leave again?"

"You never were an optimist."

"Can you blame me?"

"Never."

I took a deep breath just as he leaned forward and pressed his lips to mine for the first time in, what felt like, a lifetime.

If I still held anger, it started disappearing.

Because with him, I truly didn't care.

Broken Youth

I'd give anything for something To feel anything at all It just seems so goddamn meaningless It all seems so devolved

Being with Hannibal was, above all else, an escape.

An escape from whatever cruelness the world saw fit for the day.

That was often my first thought when I was lucky enough to wake up and see him lying next to me. There was simply something very comforting about waking up and seeing him there.

He was still there.

He chose to still be there.

"What are you thinking about," he asked.

We were lying on my kind of crappy mattress in my little place. The sheets were pulled over us. Hannibal's hand was cupping the side of my face, his thumb tracing my cheekbone slowly. I was fighting the urge to fall asleep again.

"You," I confessed.

"Is that so," his lips formed an amused grin.

"Yeah," I muttered. "I have yet to feel as safe with anyone as I do with you. It's like when I'm here with you, nothing else can get to us. I don't have to be worried about anything else. The world could be burning around us, and I don't know if I'd be able to care if I was with you. We can just... exist here."

His smile turned less amused and more caring.

"That sounded so dumb," I mumbled, rolling onto my back, causing his hand to fall from my cheek as I did.

Hannibal rolled over to follow me, his hand finding its way to my skin again.

He studied my face for a few moments before leaning down and pressing his lips to mine. My hands moved to touch his sides as I slowly kissed him back.

It was slow and gentle. It was verging on lazy.

I felt a fuzzy feeling tickling the back of my mind. That was what I meant when I said he was my escape. I could just forget everything and enjoy being with him. I had never felt like that with someone. I couldn't tell if he tried to make me feel like this, or if it was simply a byproduct of being with him.

I don't think I truly cared.

I had to fight the urge to whine as he leaned away.

"I don't find your thoughts dumb," he mumbled to me. His finger had moved to trace a small section of my hairline. "They never could be."

I almost scoffed at him.

"I love you," he added.

It made me freeze for a moment.

No matter how many times I had heard those words come from his lips, they still caught me off guard.

"My dear-"

"I love you too," I whispered.

I would've done anything to hold onto him. To hold onto this feeling. It was perfect to me. Calming and gentle and perfect. I could only hope that Hannibal saw us the same way that I did.

The world was cruel and awful.

Being with Hannibal simply made all of that worth it.

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Author's Note: I need you all to know that Hannibal's was half-written, deleted, and redone completely.

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