#did you like Fallen London literally at all?

[echodoctor]

What I've Been Reading Lately: Pale Lights

It is a truth universally acknowledged that H.P. Lovecraft was a little bitch.

Unlike Rhode Island's least beloved and most thalassophobic son, Pale Lights tells the story of a world where humanity exhibits the only natural response to eldritch horror: continuing to be a bunch of squabbling, scheming motherfuckers who honestly might collectively be more of a problem than the ancient gods of primordial darkness sharing this underground cavern/post-apocalyptic civilization with them.

It is the Fantasy Mediterranean and there are not two square goddamn feet in this giant cave world without something ancient and hungry lurking in it. Fortunately, we have the Watch, professional monster-hunters and tireless guardians of humanity!

Unfortunately, humanity is a perpetual motion machine of bad decision making, and there's always some asshole trying to start a cult to something that eats you.

There are boats! There are ancient magical technologies! There are elephants with a profoundly upsetting amount of heads!

This fascinating and intricate world is shown from two very different perspectives, as the book is split between our pair of protagonists: Angharad Tredegar, an honorable sword lesbian tragically forced into a very non-swords-and-women-related situation, and Tristan Abrascal, who would like you to understand that he's really just a little guy and to please ignore that completely unrelated trail of dead bodies.

Both of them are about to join the Watch or die trying.

The Watch will not be getting a choice in the matter.

The author does a fantastic job at balancing drama and humor, the mysteries and lingering questions are intriguing, and while the story can sometimes go dark places it never feels bleak or pointless.

Characters will try very hard to reach out into the dark and save people. Sometimes they succeed.

And even when they don't, it still matters that they tried.

Book one is fully complete, book two is updating every Friday, and both of them are available for free right here:

Contents include but are not limited to:

-Our Lady of the Sunk Cost Fallacy

-a man so handsome it almost makes up for his personality

-the early adoption of grenade-related technology

-Lucifer's abandoned hermit crabs

-an increasing amount of problems both caused by and solved with poison

-the Fantasy Communist Manifesto

-three to seven rats sharing the trench coat that is divinity

-and grandma

[thegreatyin]

How did you manage to handle not one, but FOUR separate accounts in fl? I recently made the account for my HD little guy but having to do the tutorial again just seems miserable

there's... weirdly several answers to that question, actually??

a HUGE part of it is due to the way FL is structured. the 10-minute action timer is a core part of the game on a fundamental level, and the fact that i can very easily run out of stuff to do on one character and thus have an excuse to quickly and easily swap to another is just... convenient? satisfying? i'm not entirely sure how to explain it. the fact that i can make progress even while i am fundamentally simultaneously Not Making Progress is like pure dopamine for my freak insane awful little brain. there's just something really pleasing about spending all of my actions pursuing The Goal Of The Day™ on one account before casually swapping to another and doing the same without feeling like i'm wasting time or acting to the first account's explicit detriment. the downtime helps! the recharge time helps! the structure really really works!!

i'm technically only actively playing three, maybe two accounts minimum. the only reason the fourth (the one that'll be my future BaL playthrough) currently exists at all is so i can get his earlygame completely out of the way now and not have to waste time running through it all later, when what i actually want to do is play the ambition i've made myself wait a full year to play. and also getting free goodies as seasonal stuff happens,, something something surprise tools to help us later. the only two accounts i'd say i'm really "actively playing" at the moment are caeru and lark- and of the two, lark takes the most priority, since his ambition is the one i'm currently pursuing in earnest. for a couple months now- despite being My Main FL Character- the scoundrel has actually been pretty inactive on a gameplay front outside of the occasional progression in TLC and discordance content. purely by virtue of having Very little left to do outside of Very long-term grinds and vanities. they're in their "now what?" "now you can start playing the game" era. they've graduated to previous protagonist background cameo in a sequel anime series. they're like the yin FLPC equivalent of red at the top of mount silver. they're Literally just vibing rn. i only keep posting about them regardless because i'm insane and i will never ever ever ever ever let that bat go. but yeah, big TLDR, outside of doing the bare minimum to keep making waves/notability up every week, i'm not actually spending that much time on accounts i'm not currently actively interested in playing. and that accounts for way more gaming spoons than you might think.

i have a virtually lifelong history of playing MMOs, especially and specifically world of warcraft. i was born in the endless grind for useless video game pixel vanities and/or bragging rights. molded by it. you all have merely adapted to doing the same piece of content a pointlessly excessive amount of times for literally no reason besides whimsy and folly. me? i've done my time. i've served my sentence. i've spent weeks doing the original burning crusade netherwing dailies. i've devoted days to running praetorium over and over and over again, back-to-back, nonstop, long before square enix cut it in half and made it NOT take at minimum an hour and a half per run. i've perfected my silverwastes + auric basin goldfarming strategies. i've (almost) crafted dragonwrath tarecgosa's rest. i've killed the sha of anger so many times its dying scream of agony is embedded into the very fabric of my being. ""only"" doing making your name content four times over? that is nothing to me. it means nothing to me. it is so infinitesimal i can do the persuasive seduction quests in my sleep. it's not a matter of handling misery, or having the capacity, or even sighing as i remember the brass embassy raid segment of the watchful questline seriously i don't know why i keep forgetting that exists or what even is my problem with it i just am so consistently mildly inconvenienced by it and its highly specific resource requirements and it is the worst thing ever. maybe i'm just so used to the scoundrel's near-infinite money and troves of disposable items that i've completely forgotten what being poor is like. despite having done that step 3 fucking times now. ahem. anyway. i have transcended the feeble mortal bindings of my resistant-to-grinding flesh and ascended to a higher plane of enlightenment, they may call me insane but they will be the ones left laughing when they see what that "insanity" has wrought, i've usurped them, i've usurped them all-

hacks and coughs and awkwardly clears my throat. i mean. uh. um. Ahem.

the empress' court artistry + tales of the university nerfs helped too.

[heirofnight]

so long

pairing: azriel x reader

word count: 1.8k (of heart-crushing angst)

based on this request: could you do something for azriel based off ‘so long, london’ by taylor swift! thank you in advance 🩵

a/n: this is literally just soul-crushing angst. that's it. pls give feedback, and lmk what you think <3

i saw in my mind ferry lights through the mist i kept calm and carried the weight of the rift pulled him in tighter each time he was drifting away

you stood with your back to the rest of the room, peering out at the velvety night sky that was blanketing velaris.

your arms were wrapped around yourself, and you'd opted to put all of your focus towards counting each bright, twinkling star in the onyx sky - anything to avoid turning around, which would result in meeting the eyes of the male sitting on the bed behind you.

you'd heard the sheets rustle as azriel shifted his weight against the mattress. he huffed out a dejected sigh, his wings rustling in anticipation of the conversation that was inevitably going to take place.

you'd shook your head then, squeezing your left shoulder in an attempt to ground yourself, silence your swirling thoughts.

my spine split from carrying us up the hill wet through my clothes, weary bones caught the chill i stopped trying to make him laugh, stopped trying to drill the safe

"i can't keep doing this, azriel," you whispered hoarsely, sniffling once.

although you couldn't see him, you felt the tension that stiffened his slouched frame after you uttered those words.

"i've felt this way for awhile, but i kept telling myself to ignore it - i've ignored you shutting down, shutting me out for days. i've ignored the way you've so-," you paused, trying to reign in your quickly escalating emotions before continuing, "so obviously have been going out of your way to avoid me, and i've even ignored you leaving my bed in the middle of the night to return to your own rooms - to sleep alone," you breathed out a quiet laugh devoid of any humor.

when he offered you no response, you kept going, "i'm exhausted, azriel. i am tired. i cannot keep forcing this relationship along, and i refuse to allow myself to continue to be involved with you when it is so clearly one-sided," you finished, voice shaky yet firm.

i stopped CPR, after all it’s no use the spirit was gone, we would never come to and i’m pissed off you let me give you all that youth for free

you finally turned around, daring to meet the hazel eyes of the male that, a year ago, handed his heart over to you in the palms of his beautifully scarred hands. you were both so happy in the beginning. he'd given you everything, he'd shared everything with you - his past, the horrible, vicious past that he'd endured. every thought, every feeling that made itself known at any given moment. he had slowly but surely opened himself up to you. no crevice was left undiscovered - and you had granted him the same.

but, for what? so much wasted time, wasted energy.

over the last few months, azriel had begun to revert back to his old ways - to the point where, you'd sometimes had to ask yourself if it was all a dream in the first place. this abrupt, glaring switch had been flipped, and it almost felt like you'd never known him at all.

even now, it was like looking into the eyes of a stranger. his shadows were twined tightly around himself - a safe cocoon that rendered him wholly hidden from you. his expression was cold, unreadable. before you was the shadowsinger, but you'd fallen in love with your az.

and if this heartbreaking shift in his demeanor wasn't awful enough to endure, he was also refusing to even speak to you about it. you'd receive grunts and hums in lieu of actual verbal responses. did you not even deserve an explanation?

"so, i'm done. i'm done trying to make this work, i'm done bending over backwards. i've only broken myself in half in the process. i am not going to be the only one fighting to keep this, this - whatever this is, alive. thank you for all of the times we've had, but i'm done," you sneered, cringing at how professional your last statement felt, sounded.

so far from where you'd both begun.

and you say i abandoned the ship, but i was going down with it my white knuckle dying grip, holding tight to your quiet resentment

his eyes were cold and full of disdain, all of that anger and negativity being directed towards you - boring through you so intensely, you'd sworn for a moment that his gaze would leave gaping holes on every part of your body it touched.

he cleared his throat, his voice sounding like pure gravel, "so that's it, then? you're just - giving up?," he spat, his shadows swirling around him angrily - the sight reminding you of furious storm clouds preparing to decimate the land beneath them.

you must have been hallucinating.

giving up? you narrowed your eyes, taking a moment to process his words before you spoke.

"giving up?," you repeated out loud, voice hard and disbelieving.

"azriel, have you not been listening to me? have you not been bearing witness to how hard i have tried, and tried, and tried over the last 5 months?," you stepped towards him, face twisted in anger.

"how dare you?," you spat, hands slapping against your thighs as you gestured in utter shock. "i would have died for you, azriel. and several times over these last few months, it felt like i was heading in that direction," your voice lowered, growing dark.

he winced at your words, head dropping to stare at his hands that sat folded in his lap.

so how much sad did you think i had, did you think i had in me? how much tragedy? just how low did you think i'd go ‘fore i’d self implode? 'fore i’d have to go be free?

"i'm sorry," his voice hoarse and full of gravel - remorseful.

you paused, dropping your own head toward the floor.

"it's a little too late for that, az," you softened at his nickname escaping your lips, your heart aching at the familiarity of it. proof that you'd both been more than just strangers to each other at some point, even if that was the heart-wrenching truth now.

he shook his head to himself, running a frustrated hand through his jet-black waves.

curls that you'd play with so frequently when he'd begun to shut down right in front of your eyes. the action always seemed to bring him temporary piece, settling the raging storm that was beginning to brew within his molten-honey eyes.

your hand twitched at the memory, urging you to do the same thing for him again - now. but it was over, past the point of no return.

you swore that you loved me, but where were the clues? i died on the altar waiting for the proof

you bristled, straightening your posture after a pregnant pause of silence - you'd realized that he had nothing else to offer. no more words, no more explanations, no energy to fix whatever had irreparably split you both in two.

there was a point - about three months into the relationship - where things were so good, so heart-achingly perfect, that you were absolutely positive that he must be your mate. that was the only explanation for how well you both intertwined with each other. surely, there could be no other male walking this planet more made for you than azriel.

now, that thought almost made you laugh, the irony of it all almost paralyzing.

and so, with azriel offering you nothing further, you began to stride towards his bedroom door. this was it. he had no reassurance to give, no proclamation of love, no argument against the truth.

it was over, and that was that.

and I’m just getting colour back into my face

three months had passed since you had ended your relationship with azriel on a devastating note.

you'd avoided the entire inner circle for that entire timeframe. you'd stopped visiting the town house, the house of wind. you'd stopped visiting rita's, and the bakery that you knew feyre loved to frequent. you'd opted to ultimately avoid the rainbow entirely. you couldn't bare it, couldn't bare the thought of running into any of them.

the thought of their pitying eyes assessing you after everything that had happened - it was suffocating, it would leave wounds almost as deep and bloody as the breakup itself.

but, as time progressed, you'd begun to heal. you'd met new friends at a cooking class held across the river. and as time went on, you were even able to stomach the food you'd spent so much time learning to create.

and then - it happened.

you'd decided on a whim to accompany your new friends to a café alongside the sidra after a cooking class one evening. it was a beautiful night, the clearest sky you'd seen in what felt like months. you weren't sure if this had anything to do with the newfound clarity you'd received since ending things with azriel, but regardless, it was welcomed.

you were sat around a small, round table right next to the peaceful river, the stars reflecting off its surface in a way that threatened to steal your breath each time you glanced over.

you felt true peace, surrounded by company - friends, friends that were yours, and not yours and azriel's.

a laugh trickled out of you as you listened intently to a story being shared around your table of wine and appetizers. you glanced to your left, squeezing the arm of the new male beside you - leaning against his frame as you both giggled. you'd met him at these aforementioned cooking classes, and you'd be lying if you said he wasn't a large reason behind your continued attendance.

your eyes met his, and you shared a warm smile, and that's when something behind his head - in the distance - caught your focus.

the apex of large, membranous wings. you felt your face blanche at the realization, and you leaned back in your chair hesitantly, heart stuttering against your ribcage.

and sure enough, there stood azriel. he'd already found you, and his narrowed gaze pinned you in place. he was with his brothers, and they seemed completely unaware of your presence at all.

but azriel was always aware, of everything, all the time. and he was painfully aware of you, sitting next to a male that was not him. hooked around his frame as if you were sewn together.

his shadows twirled and looped around him ominously, and you knew him well enough to know that although his expression was blank and unfeeling, his shadows always gave his emotions away.

he was pissed.

but you offered him a tense, pained smile. you felt dizzy, but you nodded once in his direction anyway.

as if to say, i see you, and i'm here, and so are you, and that's okay

it was over, and you'd met someone new, and you had come to terms with that - with all of it.

and you'd wanted him to do the same.

so long, london stitches undone two graves, one gun you’ll find someone

a/n: this shit HURT. angst with no happy ending makes me want to claw my eyes out. but i hope you enjoyed this request!

a/n x2: i am just getting home from a morning shift, so if any of this was written poorly or not .... great, it's because i've been awake since 4AM. so sorry!!!

[taexual]

sleepwalking ● 25 | jjk

pairing: jungkook x fem!reader

summary: due to unfortunate circumstances, you ended up managing your ex-boyfriend’s band. you thought you’ve both made peace with it, but suddenly he’s very eager to prove to you that first love never dies.

genre: rockstar!jungkook / exes to lovers

warnings: explicit language, suggestive themes, depictions of smoking and excessive drinking, fluff, a whole lot of flirting, some angst. it’s the final chapter, friends!!!! and that’s a warning in itself lol

words: 23.7k

read from the beginning ○ masterlist

chapter 25 ► can’t promise that things won’t be broken, but i swear that i will never leave, please stay forever with me

The flight to Paris the next morning began quietly, but as was often the case with Rated Riot, it quickly descended into chaos.

Despite Yoongi’s adamant claims that he was “perfectly fine,” he was too hungover to keep his eyes open for more than two seconds at a time. Hoseok, equally plagued by his own hangover, took it upon himself to guide his friend down the airplane aisle. The two of them moved slowly, holding onto seats and, occasionally, the backs of other passengers’ heads. They were, almost literally, the blind leading the blind.

When you stood up to ask where they were going five minutes after the seatbelt sign was turned off, Jungkook gently pulled you back to your seat.

“Leave them,” he said, adjusting his earbud that had almost fallen out when you stood up, pulling on the wire. “They’ll figure it out.”

A soft gasp was heard a few rows ahead when Hoseok accidentally grabbed a woman’s ponytail. Confused and disoriented, he turned to apologise to someone on the other side of the plane.

“I’m not sure they will,” you replied to Jungkook. “They’ll find the emergency exit and try to pry it open.”

“And don’t underestimate them,” he said. “They will succeed at that.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.” You stood up again. “Give me one second.”

Jungkook grinned but did not try to stop you again.

Yoongi sighed in visible relief when you touched his shoulder. He quickly tried to explain the situation to you, making it sound like Hoseok had led him into a dark, haunted cave, instead of merely managing to guide him—in large, distracting circles—away from the bathrooms by mistake.

Back in his seat, Jungkook wondered about the rest of his friends on the plane. He didn’t know what the other members of his band had been up to after he’d returned to the hotel with you, but he could tell, just by watching Yoongi and Hoseok struggle, that everyone was fighting the after-effects of last night.

Minjun was asleep behind Jungkook, looking rather faded. Jude, meanwhile, had remained in London, where he was waiting for his flight home as he had originally planned.

Jungkook then looked over at Taehyung and Luna, who were seated just behind Minjun. They were pretending very diligently to be engrossed in the film playing on their screens—Jungkook had heard Taehyung cursing earlier as he tried to sync the film for them both—but they were dozing off, too.

Even though not everyone was aware of Sid’s arrest yesterday, it was evident that they all had still unknowingly celebrated the occasion.

“Alright,” you whispered as you returned to your seat after depositing Yoongi and Hoseok in the care of the flight attendants. “If you hear any screams, let me know so I can go back and check if they’re still alive.”

Jungkook gave you an amused look. “You think they’d be screaming if they were dead?”

“You never know with them.”

He chuckled and settled back into his seat now that you were next to him. He picked up a dangling earbud—you had developed a new fondness for wired ones after losing too many AirPods across Europe—and handed it to you, making sure that the one in his left ear was still in place.

You put the earbud back in and leaned back, allowing him to rest his head on your shoulder and resume the Sleep Token song you had been listening to.

“I’m really glad we’re finally on this plane,” he whispered. You turned your head just slightly to hear him better, your chin brushing over his hair, and he was tempted to start speaking in tongues just to feel you even closer in your confusion.

“I know,” you replied. “There were moments when I thought we’d never leave London.”

You felt his head move against your shoulder in agreement.

“Great venue,” he remarked. “But fuck if I didn’t want to get out of there and head straight to Paris.”

You snickered. “You think we’re romanticising Paris just because we won’t have to deal with Sid there anymore?”

“Absolutely,” he replied. He felt uneasy, all of a sudden, as he ran his hand over his thigh, trying not to focus on the unpleasant feeling that Sid's name alone evoked. “I-I’m glad it’s Paris, though. I was ready to pack up to go to the Arctic to get away from him.”

“Oh, penguins,” you said, a playful smile on your lips. “Sounds nice.”

A flight attendant rushed past you in the aisle, on her way to attend to some urgent matter, and even Jungkook raised his head when you began to look around to check if the band members were all in their seats. Yoongi and Hoseok had just returned, bumping into each other and the surrounding seats as they walked back.

“Yeah,” Jungkook said, drawing your attention back to him, as he looked out the window, counting, as it seemed, the patches of clouds. “But I didn’t pack a lot of appropriate clothing.”

“Hmm,” you mused, “and I reckon you’d get bored pretty quickly in the Arctic.”

He shifted his gaze from the endless expanse of clouds to give you a very serious look. “You think so?”

“Yeah,” you replied, grinning at the genuine concern in his eyes. “Penguins probably don’t appreciate alternative music as much as you do.”

He observed you for a moment, his own lips stretching into a smile as his eyes briefly flickered to your mouth. The song in your earbuds switched to Friday Pilots Club’s newest single.

“Well,” Jungkook said, just a tad hypnotised by your tongue running over your lower lip, “I’m sure I could change their minds.”

“Oh, most definitely,” you said, having no doubts at all that if Jungkook set his mind to it—if he viewed it as a challenge—he could convince penguins to fly, too.

He appeared very pleased with himself for a moment, and his satisfaction only increased when he returned his head to your shoulder, and you leaned your head against his.

“You’d have to come with me,” he said.

You raised an eyebrow but did not pull back. “To the—to the Arctic?”

“Mhmm,” he affirmed. “It’d be just us two and a bunch of penguins. Fucking rocks, come to think of it. Maybe we should go there straight after Paris.”

You tried to stifle your laughter to avoid disturbing the drowsy plane.

“Or how about we go somewhere warmer?” you suggested. “We’re finished with Sid anyway. Let’s leave the penguins alone.”

Jungkook felt his muscles tense once again. He still felt the weight of Sid’s name on his chest every time it came up, despite having “finished” with him.

To be fair, he didn’t expect this heaviness to disappear soon, but he figured he could learn to live with it. Carrying this weight felt like a reminder of everything he’d survived—of the chains he’d broken, if he wanted to be dramatic about it.

“That’s cool, too,” he said. “I like those cuddly ones—what are they called?—those little ones, with sand-coloured fur, love the sun. Sort of a tiny, pointy face—”

“Meerkats?” you offered.

“Yes!” He snapped his fingers, enthusiastic. “Let’s go where they are. They were cool when we saw them at that new zoo near my house, remember?”

You remembered, of course, even though that had been four or five years ago. You couldn’t recall the dates very well, but you always remembered the moments.

“Oh,” you said, “when a lemur followed you around the room the whole time we were there?”

Jungkook pursed his lips. He remembered the lemur, too; he’d felt a little unsettled around it. Not scared, though. He was never scared of living creatures.

“Hmm,” he nodded, grumbling the next word, “right.”

“You can’t go anywhere without an animal falling in love with you,” you teased. “It’s a bit annoying, actually.”

You placed your hand on his and Jungkook turned his palm over, lacing his fingers with yours.

“Why?” he asked smugly. “Do you feel threatened?”

“Should I?”

“No. What I had with that lemur wasn’t serious. It—”

He had to pause because you laughed, and the pride that suddenly swelled in his chest distracted him from his next words. He rarely made jokes these days unless you were in the room to hear them.

“It had crazy eyes,” he continued after a moment, “kind of like Sid does when he’s been sober for a few days in a row. Freaked me out.”

“Ah,” you said, nodding in amusement. “That explains why it followed you. Could be Sid’s distant relative.”

He snorted. “We’ve gone from rodents to lemurs. I don’t know if that’s an improve—”

“No,” you cut him off, no longer joking. Jungkook raised his head to look at you, surprised by the sudden change in your tone. “Sid’s a rat. He wishes he was something more.”

He lowered his gaze, his own expression growing serious for a moment.

“Yeah,” he said. “Actually, maybe we should have called animal control on him instead of the police.”

The idea brought a wry smile to your face. “He did seem feral the last time we saw him.”

“Hmm. I’m sad that I missed it all.”

“You—no,” you countered again. “You haven’t missed anything. It’s a good thing you weren’t there. Sid didn’t deserve to see you one last time.”

Jungkook knew that. But he still wished he could have seen the look on Sid’s face when he was dragged—kicking and screaming, according to what you’ve told him—into the back of the police car.

“Well, if your plan works as expected,” he said, “I’ll never see him again.”

You noted the hopeful tone in his voice and remembered, suddenly, your conversation in Stockholm, when you had advised Jungkook to find better friends, and he had seemed very remorseful in turn. Back then, he had clung to his friendship with Sid almost desperately, even though the two of them only had their shared history and nothing else in common.

Jungkook had buried it all now—he buried it the moment he realised that there had always been one name standing between him and you, and that name did not belong to either of you—and it still felt strange, but it also felt promising.

“I fucking hope not,” you said. “I hope he gets a fun cellmate and rots in a prison far, far away.”

His smile finally returned. He had been thinking a lot about what Sid would go through once he was arrested.

“I bet he’ll be paired up with someone fantastic,” he said. “When Minjun and I were arrested, we were put in separate cells, and I ended up with this guy—do you remember? He called me ‘sweetheart’, which was very nice. Until I mentioned that we weren’t allowed to smoke here, and he tried to gouge my eyes out. So, the honeymoon phase didn’t last.”

It was remarkable how quickly you laughed. There was a time, not that long ago, when you couldn’t find anything amusing about Jungkook’s arrest at all. You’d been convinced of his guilt and closed your eyes to everything that could have shown even a glimpse of his innocence.

You realised now that you might have just been waiting for Jungkook to do something—a final something—so you could give in to the fear that had been whispering in your ear about the impermanence of relationships since your first date.

I knew it, you had thought to yourself as you headed to that police station. Of course, this would happen. Of course, we’d break up eventually.

Nothing was meant to last forever, that much was true. But now you had come to believe that some people spent their whole lives building their relationship—brick by brick—never growing weary of this never-ending project. You were looking forward to becoming one of those people.

“I remember,” you said, your voice softened by the shift in your memories. “He told me to watch my back when I picked you up. I still don’t know what that was supposed to mean.”

“Maybe he thought I was a proper criminal,” Jungkook suggested.

You scoffed, earning his disapproving glare.

Despite his menacing frame, tattoos, piercings and deliberately provocative clothes, there was nothing truly threatening about Jungkook. He could hold his own in a fight—he was very proud of that—but he had the personality of a gently melted marshmallow. Someone would call his name and his whole face would light up. Someone would make a joke, and he would clap his hands and lean forward as he laughed, even toppling over sometimes—and then he’d do a somersault before landing on his feet.

He was only dangerous if you loved him as much as you did—to the point where it hurt sometimes, but never enough to truly leave.

“You got arrested because Sid set you up,” you said, responding to the scowl on his face with a warm smile. “Not quite as impressive as whatever your cellmate was in there for, I’m assuming.”

Jungkook shrugged, not arguing. “Yeah, it was his fourth time in that cell, he said.”

“Oh, that’s—”

“That week.”

“—fun.” You cleared your throat. “Four times in one week? Why did they keep releasing him?”

“It’s usually small misdemeanours,” he explained. “Urinating on some embassy building, drinking in a public park. That sort of stuff.”

“And,” you said, “he told you about all that while trying to poke your eyes out?”

“Yeah,” he said, chuckling. "It was very Joker.”

You snorted. “Well, this guy sounds like someone Sid would get on well with.”

“Mhmm,” Jungkook agreed. “I think so, too.”

You turned your gaze to the window on his side. There was something very exciting about the possibility of Sid finally experiencing the kind of harassment he had dished out to others. Revenge wasn’t always the answer, but here it fit.

Just like yours, Jungkook’s desire for vengeance burned fiercely beneath the surface, too. It was too strong, however—and too unrealistic, he knew—to fully quench. He knew Sid might not get the justice he deserved in the end, and he couldn’t help but feel a little dispirited.

“It just sucks,” he said, after fighting himself on it for a minute, “that Sid might find a way to make this situation more comfortable for himself.”

You thought about it, but refused to find anything negative in Sid’s current predicament.

“That’s fine, though,” you said. “It’s really bad for him this time. No amount of luxury he can attain in this position will be enough. His reputation means nothing here, but he fucked it up anyway.”

“So, he’ll be even angrier,” Jungkook observed, still not satisfied.

You shrugged. “Good.”

“And he’ll do everything to retaliate.”

“Well,” you remained unperturbed, “we already know that, right?”

“He—”

“Actually,” Minjun popped his head into the gap between your seats, startling you both. Your heavy gasps forced him to pull back a little. “Sorry. I was—I overheard your conversation. I spoke to my dad this morning; he heard that Sid had been arrested. It’s bad. For Sid’s family, I mean. My dad’s taken a day off today, but Sid’s mother is calling an emergency meeting with their shareholders because, obviously, their image has been tarnished. Everyone’s talking. They’re not pleased.”

Jungkook glanced at you. Your raised eyebrows seemed to reflect the excitement he felt rising within him.

“Oh,” Jungkook said slowly, not wanting to get ahead of himself. Sid had a knack—in the form of several black cards—for wriggling out of the deepest holes he’d dug himself into. “That sounds promising.”

“Yeah,” Minjun said. “My dad thinks that Sid’s mum will have to make a choice. It’s very dramatic, but so fucking funny. You know how Sid’s family is very—well, traditional, right? Sid’s mother is the only daughter, she has four older brothers. Her father doesn’t care much about her. Or about her kid.”

Both you and Jungkook remembered Sid’s grandfather. Although you never met him, you heard stories from when Jungkook and Sid worked on restoring cars from his Chevrolet collection. He was a lenient man, accepting of most things, as long as Sid did not step out of line.

“So, if Sid’s mum doesn’t get Sid out of this situation herself,” Minjun continued, “then no one else will. And if she can’t handle it discreetly—and it doesn’t look like she can, it’s already too late—then her father will likely advise her to distance herself from Sid in order to protect the company’s reputation. So, she’ll have to choose between her son, whom she loves so dearly, and the company that she’s worked so hard to build. Kind of poetic, I think.”

You didn’t realise how wide you were grinning until you tried to speak and felt just how far your cheeks had stretched.

“I appreciate what that implies for Sid in both scenarios,” you said, coughing a few times into your fist to compose yourself.

Minjun was less constrained in his glee. “Right? We’re done here. Sid has much bigger things to worry about than plotting revenge.”

Jungkook kissed his index finger and pointed it to the sky, gazing up. “Merry fucking Christmas to us.”

You laughed as the two boys high-fived over your head. Minjun pulled back then, sliding his headphones back on, and Jungkook turned to you again. He was finally able to inhale something that felt like real oxygen instead of the stale air he’d been breathing before.

“So,” he said, pressing his shoulder against yours as your arms rested on the armrest between you. “Meerkats, then?”

You nodded, an eager smile on your lips. “And penguins later.”

He raised an eyebrow, leaning back to get a better look at you. “You changed your mind?”

You shrugged. The two of you hadn’t paid any attention to the past three songs playing on the pair of earphones you were sharing.

“I’ll go anywhere you go,” you said—with an ease that made Minjun groan behind you with such a deep dedication to his displeasure that you felt your chair vibrate from the sound.

Jungkook was positively beaming, his eyes shining with all the colours that existed in the world, some of which were yet to be discovered.

“Well,” you said, your expression almost turning bashful, and Jungkook’s whole face seemed to start sparkling, “I think I just made Minjun’s soul leave his body for a second.”

“I know,” Jungkook said. “I don’t think I’ve ever loved you more than I do right now.”

“Oh—” your words dissolved into laughter. “I mean, I knew you were into praise, but not to such an extent.”

“Oh, to such an extent,” he boasted. “Tell me how good I am, and how you’ll never leave me, and you’ll really never get rid of me.”

The affection in your eyes turned a mischievous shade. “I already can’t get rid of you.”

His proud expression did not falter one bit. “It’s because I can sense how much you need me.”

“Ah,” you snickered again, “is that so?”

“Yes.” He reached for your hand again, intertwining your fingers. “Really, I’m being very charitable here.”

Your eyes were locked on the smirk on his lips. “Public service, now, is it?”

“Mhmm,” he said. “Paying off my sins by doing a good deed.”

“I see,” you played along. “Trying to get into heaven after you die?”

He placed your hands on his lap, his thumb caressing yours. “Actually, I’m already there.”

Minjun smacked the back of Jungkook’s seat with enough force to dislodge your earbud from your ear.

“Please go back to talking about meerkats,” he asked from behind you, his tone pleading.

Jungkook laughed, and his unapologetic expression made you smile, too. You finally broke and leaned in to press your lips to his cheek, melting, very successfully, all that was still left of his heart.

“I love you,” you whispered with a look in your eyes that he would have gone to war for.

He squeezed your hand and leaned into you, his cheek grazing yours before he connected your lips, whispering into the kiss, “I love you.”

Your hotel in Paris was an intriguing combination of marble floors with opulent chandeliers in the lobby, and peeling wallpaper with questionable stains marking the walls in the corridors outside of your rooms.

The lift was not working—you’ve already grown used to this in London—so you had to haul your luggage up the creaking stairs. Somewhere around the second floor, Jungkook decided to take a break. He sat down on his dark grey, metallic suitcase, and accidentally rolled down at least five steps before grabbing the railing to stop himself from returning to the lobby on his ass.

The commotion caught the attention of a few porters—who seemed in no hurry to assist you with your luggage—and they informed you, very ominously, that several rock bands before yours had been kicked out of the hotel for “disorderly behaviour.”

Everyone in Rated Riot understood the warning, but you were concerned about the expressions on the members’ faces. There was a certain allure to these threats. Jungkook, in particular, seemed thrilled to see how much he could get away with without getting kicked out.

Fortunately, your first night at the hotel was as quiet as it could be, considering that silence was a relative concept for Rated Riot. Taehyung and Luna had accidentally torn the curtains in their room while “getting ready to sleep,” and Hoseok managed to lose a shoe outside his window, but the hotel staff remained blissfully oblivious about it all. You decided not to ask questions, either.

However, when you woke up the following morning, you almost regretted not giving the members an educational speech about good behaviour in any case, because Jungkook wasn’t in the room with you.

He had never woken up before you in all the years you’ve known him—regardless of how late your last night had been—so you were understandably alarmed. Surely, you thought, he was up to something with the rest of the band.

But then, as you pushed the covers off, the door of your room suddenly opened, and Jungkook walked in, alive and seemingly unharmed. He was surprised to find you staring at him, but his face lit up with a grin as soon as the early morning sunlight from the window behind you caught his silver necklace, momentarily blinding you.

“Hi,” he said. “You’re finally awake.”

You were at an unfortunate loss for words for at least half a minute. It was eight in the morning, and Jungkook had never used the words ‘finally’ and ‘awake’ in the same sentence unless he was referring to himself.

“I finally am,” you replied, your voice hoarse. His smile grew wider as he made his way back to the bed. “Sorry I’ve kept you waiting.”

“Oh, it’s alright,” he replied easily, plopping down beside you. “Should we grab breakfast before your meeting? Or would you prefer after?”

This relaxed demeanour was a characteristic trademark for Jungkook—although it usually concealed much deeper anxiety—but it felt surreal to encounter it so early in the day.

“Where—why are you up?” you finally asked, rubbing your eyes in a futile attempt to force them to stay open.

He shrugged. “Just excited for the day, I guess.”

You noticed a flicker in his gaze as if your question had intimidated him, and you could tell there was something else going on. But he looked genuinely ready for the day, and you didn’t want to risk stirring any tension that you’d been expecting to find this morning but hadn’t.

“Alright,” you said. “Maybe let’s eat after. Do you want to just stay here for a minute?”

Jungkook wanted to stay here for much longer than a minute, and he scooted back to his spot on the right side of the bed. You leaned back into the pillows, closer to him, and he pulled you into his chest, pressing his cheek against yours before turning his head to place a quick kiss on your lips.

It was a grounding kiss—to make sure you were really in this bed with him—but you still felt your anxious thoughts stop, place their hands in their laps obediently, and settle down in his presence—powerless, it seemed, when Jungkook was in the room with you.

It hadn’t really occurred to you how worried you were about your upcoming meeting—the empty room had worked as a sufficient distraction—until Jungkook’s quiet breaths, muffled by your lips pressed to his, took your mind off everything.

Your phone buzzed on the nightstand, startling you into pulling away. Jungkook sighed, having expected the interruption. He was already getting used to never having you all to himself for too long.

You gave him an apologetic smile and leaned over the bed to check your phone—on the screen was a preview of an email you had been waiting for all week.

“What is it?” he asked, noticing your expression.

“I’ll tell the whole band later,” you said—and elaborated before he could insist on being told first, “but I’ve found a new band to open for you guys for the rest of the tour. They just confirmed they’re available and interested. I don’t know if this is the last thing I’m doing as your manager, but if it is, then I’m quite happy with that. I obviously haven’t signed them yet—they’ve only agreed to discuss the details. But I watched all their performance videos tonight; they’re great.”

Jungkook looked—and very much felt—deflated all of a sudden. “Don’t say that.”

You gave him a puzzled look. “No, really, Maggie said she listens to them, and she—”

“Not that,” he cut in. “The other thing.”

He meant you leaving Rated Riot, of course. But after tossing and turning half the night, you had mostly come to terms with what your life would look like if the label decided to revoke your promotion and terminate your position as Rated Riot’s manager once they learned about your relationship with Jungkook. That would make your meeting twice as unpleasant, of course, but you’d figure it out.

You’d fight to stay, but you’d leave if you had no other choice. You’d find something else to do. And if nothing else worked, Nick’s offer with Reconnaissance was still open—you planned to call him today either way.

“It’s okay,” you said. “We’ll see what happens today.”

Jungkook mumbled something unintelligible under his breath.

“Also,” he said then, louder, “what do you mean you watched their performances tonight? Where was I?”

“Asleep.”

He frowned, his expression nearing offence. “And you weren’t? And you didn’t wake me?”

He quickly deduced that you hadn’t slept because you were too nervous. He should have known you would be, and he mentally scolded himself for not realising that sooner. He supposed he missed falling asleep next to you too much to worry about anything else.

“You can hardly say anything when you haven’t told me where you were just now,” you pointed out.

He changed his mind about complaining that you hadn’t woken him.

“I—wait, w-who is this band, then?” he asked instead.

You glanced at your phone after it lit up with another notification—this one from your calendar, reminding you, pointlessly, that you had a meeting in an hour.

“Nyx and the Insomniacs,” you replied, swiping the notification away. “You heard of them?”

Jungkook needed a moment to place the name.

“Yeah,” he said uncertainly, recalling the band but not why they sounded familiar. “I-I think Yoongi knows someone there?”

It wasn’t surprising, considering Yoongi seemed to know someone in every band.

Before you could respond, however, Jungkook added a very determined, “and it’s not going to be the last thing you do as our manager.”

“I hope not,” you said. Not wanting to linger on the topic and lose the few moments you had together before your meeting, you lied back down on the bed and turned to your side to face him. “Now tell me why you were awake so early. I mean, really.”

He sighed—sadly, somehow—at your question. He’d promised the rest of the band he wouldn’t tell you anything just yet. You’d find out where he was soon enough anyway.

“No good reason,” he said, carefully tiptoeing around the truth to avoid a deeper conversation about this. “Nervous, I guess. You and I slept in shifts, apparently.”

“Apparently.”

“Why do you keep asking?” he asked, leaning in closer to nestle his face into the crook of your neck. “Did you want to wake up with me that much?”

“Hmm, I’m conflicted about that,” you said, feeling a rapid wave of shivers run down your spine when his lips touched your neck in a tender, almost imaginary kiss. “Y-you suffocate me in your sleep, so it was nice to breathe for an hour or two.”

His laughter was muffled as he kissed your neck again, moving down to your collarbones and holding you tighter when he felt you squirm in his arms at the feeling.

“Breathing is overrated anyway,” he said.

“Yeah, so I’ve heard.”

You turned your head, and he looked up, smirking first—always—and leaning in to kiss you second. He held your lower lip locked between his, believing—very firmly—that if your head wasn’t spinning after he pulled away, he hadn’t truly kissed you. But as he ran his tongue over your parted lips, his stomach clenching in anticipation of your familiar taste, he heard your phone vibrate once again.

Groaning gibberish curses, he rolled away so you could pick up the device, your expression a mix of amusement and guilt.

“It’s the last time something interrupts us, I promise,” you assured, swiping away another notification as soon as you looked at it. You had decided to only respond to urgent emails this morning to avoid overheating your brain and to prevent Jungkook from scolding you about working too much again. “But I have to—I need to start getting ready.”

He suppressed all further complaints he had prepared to delay you from leaving the bed and forced himself to nod.

“I understand,” he said. “Send me the link to your playlist.”

You had already shifted to the edge of the bed and had to turn back to look at him over your shoulder. “Hmm?”

“I’ll listen to it while I wait for your meeting to finish.”

You turned away again, mumbling an exasperated, “God.”

“Come on,” he urged, crossing his ankles as he watched you from his side of the bed. “I’m awake and bored. Who knows what sort of tomfoolery I might get up to if you leave me unattended.”

“I knew I should have enrolled you in kindergarten.”

He snickered, sitting up suddenly. The more you resisted showing him the playlist, the more he wanted to hear it, and he could not stay still.

Thumping his palms on the mattress with every word, he chanted: “Give—me—the—link—to—”

“Fine, fine,” you relented—he made sure to leave you no other option as his volume grew—and stood up from the bed to unlock your phone. “But don’t open it until I’m out of the room.”

“I won’t,” he said, bouncing on his knees. He looked about ready to roll over and play dead, too, as long as you showed him the playlist.

You glanced at him, avoiding eye contact with the green Spotify circle.

“Promise me,” you said—more to delay what had become inevitable than for any other reason.

He tilted his head, his intrigued smile now bordering on absurd. “Is it that bad?”

“We will never speak of it once you listen.”

“Alright, shit.” He sat down, crossing his legs under himself even though he knew he wouldn’t stay in this position very long. He felt like a Christmas ornament—outrageously jittery and tingly. “I promise. Send it to me.”

“Alright.” You scrolled through your library, digging your teeth into your lip. You felt like you were eighteen again, starting this playlist after Jungkook had taken up residence in your mind without having said one word to you. You had never thought you’d show all these songs to him one day. “Let me find it first. Imagine if it’s gone.”

He sneered. “Imagine if I wouldn’t believe you.”

You glared at him over the top of your phone. He maintained his grin with slightly pursed lips, clearly enjoying your flustered state.

“It’s here,” you said, clicking on the playlist, but deliberately not looking down at the songs.

“Is the title just a row of pink hearts?” he asked and received another glare in response.

He chuckled. He could tell that you were on the verge of bolting for the door in hopes that he wouldn’t chase after you. He absolutely would.

“No,” you said. “It’s actually ‘why?’ in all caps.”

He cleared his throat, looking away. “I don’t get it.”

You finally grinned.

Jungkook already had another question at the tip of his tongue—one that would undoubtedly result in you tackling him—but his phone buzzed with a text notification from you. Glancing down, he grinned. He’d named your contact “LOML <3” a few days ago to annoy Minjun, and now he smiled every time he saw it.

“Got it,” he said, noting the Spotify link in the preview of the message. “Can I open it now, just to check if you sent me the right—?”

“Absolutely not,” you retorted. “I know I sent you the right link. Don’t click on it until I’m out of here.”

Biting back his amusement, he locked his phone and demonstratively pushed it away from himself on the bed.

“Okay, here,” he said, extending his hands to demonstrate the distance between himself and the device. “I’ll entertain myself by watching you put on make-up, then. That works, too.”

You didn’t object—in fact, he saw a smile flash briefly on your features—and he climbed off the bed, following you to the small bathroom.

It was not a pleasant room: two out of three lightbulbs in the fixture on the ceiling weren’t working, so the perpetually foggy mirror on the wall was useless. Most of the wall tiles were cracked, and the bathtub was an odd shade of yellow. But Jungkook wrapped his arms around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder as he watched you rummage through your cosmetics bag for your toothbrush, and you did not notice any of the flies or the cobwebs by the bathroom window. You did not notice how long you had to wait for the water to turn warm.

At one point, he sniffed your eyeshadow palette—for no reason whatsoever—and began to sneeze so violently and uncontrollably that you had to sit down on the edge of the tub to control your laughter, forgetting all about the awful bathroom and the daunting meeting with the Jett Records’ legal team.

However disruptive he was, Jungkook distracted you from everything that might have brought you down, and you were very grateful to have him here with you.

Sadly, your carefree morning didn’t last long.

Now that Jungkook was no longer with you, you paced outside the conference room on the ground floor of the hotel, obsessively checking your phone. Despite only getting a few hours of sleep tonight, you felt perfectly alert—the stress was great at keeping you sharp—and you noticed the Jett Records representatives as soon as they climbed down from their rooms.

An executive producer, Salma, whom the band had worked with before, showed up in place of CJ’s assistant. She’d left a good impression on you when you first met her, but now she was accompanied by two intimidating lawyers.

The one who introduced himself first—making a joke out of his lengthy full name and asking you to simply call him Reggie—had kinder eyes than the one who talked to you next. He was Duke, and he looked like he ate bricks for breakfast and knit spider webs as a hobby.

Fortunately, Reggie was the one who took the lead in the conversation, promising a quick—“five minutes tops, really”—introduction to the changes in your new contract.

Unfortunately, he ended up keeping everyone in the conference room for over half an hour. The lack of air conditioning in the old hotel, combined with the four of you in the confined space, made the room stifling. You felt yourself beginning to sweat.

“Do you have anything you’d like to ask, or can we move on to some routine questions before we sign the contract?” Reggie asked, pulling out a white handkerchief to wipe his forehead.

“No questions right now,” you replied, restlessly tapping your knee with your left hand under the table.

“Perfect,” Reggie said. “Could we open the window maybe? Would you mind?”

“Oh, actually, I’d prefer it,” you said, and the lawyer let out a sigh of relief. He glanced at Salma, who was sitting closest to the window, and she got up to open it.

It took the producer a minute to figure out the wooden window frame, but once she managed to pull the latch, a gust of eager wind finally blew into the room. The rustling leaves outside and the distant hum of Parisian traffic provided a melodious backdrop, but not even that could ease the knot of tension in your stomach. You felt like you were in the waiting room of a dentist’s office.

“Alright,” Reggie said, setting the papers he had been reading aside and grabbing another stack from the table.

You felt a new wave of heat wash over you, dreading another half hour of monotonous reading, but Reggie blissfully turned to the last few pages.

“We know about your previous job experience,” he said. “But do you have any other sources of income that we should know about?”

“No,” you replied, keeping your responses concise as you flipped through your own copy of the contract to find the page Reggie was on.

He scribbled something down with his engraved Montblanc pen. Duke looked bored next to him as he lazily chewed something—dead bugs, you assumed. Salma, in the meantime, was completely absorbed in her phone.

“Possible conflicts of interest?” Reggie asked, pulling your attention away from the other people in the room.

You took a deep breath. “Yes.”

Reggie turned his pen and asked, without looking up from his papers, “go on.”

“I am in a relationship with the lead vocalist of Rated Riot.”

Gripping the arms of your chair, you held your breath, anticipating raised eyebrows, disapproving glances, and, eventually, a termination of your employment.

But neither Salma nor Duke turned to look at you. Reggie was silent for a moment as he scanned the documents in front of him. You imagined he was searching for a clause outlining the consequences of this particular offence. Your nerves prevented you from checking your own copy.

“That’s already here,” Reggie finally said.

“It’s—hmm?” You straightened in your seat. “Sorry?”

“It already says so here,” Reggie repeated, pointing to a section on his paper and sliding it towards you. “Anything else that we should add?”

You looked down at the text he had indicated. It read, “Private interest of Employee: undisclosed consensual personal relationship without a direct hierarchical link.”

You did not understand what that meant. Skimming the whole paragraph, you caught sight of Jungkook’s name—but Yoongi, Hoseok, and Taehyung were mentioned, too, just a few lines below.

“I-I’m sorry,” you stammered, your hands trembling as you held Reggie’s paper to prevent it from blowing away in the gentle breeze. “The label—it says here that I am in a relationship?”

You felt incredibly foolish to ask for a translation of the words that were written in a language you, technically, spoke, but you couldn’t not ask, either.

“Well, yes,” Reggie confirmed, looking a bit perplexed by your reaction.

“A-and they—how did they—”

Duke was the one who responded to your stuttering.

“HR conducts a background search before they hire someone,” he said as if this was the part you struggled to understand. “This information was included in your contract when you started to work with Jett Records. Didn’t CJ go through this with you?”

He sounded absurdly pleased with himself when he spoke, not even realising how little sense he made. When you joined Jett Records, Rated Riot weren’t signed yet; the band had barely been formed. Your relationship held no relevance to the label. And your position certainly wasn’t important enough to warrant a thorough consultation with the CEO.

“No, he didn’t,” you said, reflexively matching your voice to his condescending tone. “Are you sure this was included in my initial contract? Because Rated Riot weren’t even signed with us when I came to Jett Records.”

Finally, Duke removed his elbows from the table, looking slightly uncomfortable. He seemed to have realised that he had misspoken, and now he’d have to tell you something he wasn’t supposed to.

“It’s, uh—” Duke started to say, then glanced over at Reggie. Reggie glared at him, not willing to help, so Duke tried again. “It—what HR does is more exhaustive than just double-checking everything on your application. They can—if they come across certain information at any point of your employment, and they think it could be, uh, relevant, they inform CJ about it. It appears that he—they probably updated your employee file before you began to work with Rated Riot, that’s why it’s on the contract.”

You kept tucking the strands of your hair behind your ears—a nervous habit that you were too overwhelmed to control.

CJ knew, then. He had an “employee file” about you, and he knew you’d dated Jungkook before he hired you for Rated Riot. You could not understand if he simply didn’t care about your relationship or if said relationship was exactly the reason why he hired you.

“And,” you said, “is there anything else that HR has included in my file?”

This made Duke pull even further back from the table. Reggie sighed. It appeared that they both knew that this—your lack of awareness about how much HR pried into your personal life without your knowledge—could pose a serious problem for the label.

“Well,” Reggie said, skimming over the pages in front of him again, “there’s nothing that could be considered a real conflict of interest.”

“So, we don’t have any problems, then?” you asked, your tone sharper than you’d intended. “Legally?”

The two men across the table from you exchanged a glance.

“Not about the, uh, relationship,” Reggie said, speaking slowly to avoid any further confusion. “Our contracts only prohibit employer-employee relationships. And your direct employer is Christian Jett, not Rated Riot. So, no, in your case, there are no legal issues. And, if anything, from a strictly business perspective, employee relationships, especially those within the band, could be—well, almost profitable, really.”

You continued to watch him, your gaze fading out of focus, and Reggie looked back down at the papers in front of him, very uneasy again. He’d thought he was easing your worries about your relationship being public knowledge, he didn’t expect to make this even worse for you.

Profitable, then. From a strictly business perspective, CJ could have found your relationship profitable, so he hired you for Rated Riot.

You came into this meeting thinking Jungkook was your biggest risk. Instead, your relationship with him was profitable.

You felt too dazed to move.

Duke, meanwhile, observed you with a newfound fascination and a slightly raised brow.

“You, uh,” he cleared his throat, “you weren’t aware of this, then? That your relationship with anyone in the band wouldn’t be a—”

“No,” you replied. “I thought I’d need to formally declare it. I didn’t know it was already in my file.”

You didn’t know there was a file at all, actually—because employees weren’t supposed to know.

And now you wondered what else HR has deemed relevant for everyone at the company to know about you. Nick’s call to you about a job opening with Reconnaissance must have made it to the file, too.

“Hmm.” Duke nodded to himself, then turned to his colleague. “Well that finally explains the email, doesn’t it, Reg?”

Reggie clenched his jaw but did not look up from his papers and did not respond. He did not think this was an appropriate discussion to have right now.

“W-what email?” you asked, almost apprehensive.

Duke turned back to you, studying your expression for a moment. He was trying to determine if your confusion was genuine. To his surprise, it appeared to be. And here he assumed you were the one who had orchestrated this.

“This morning, Min Yoongi sent an email to Jett Records on behalf of the band,” Duke said. “It’s quite late over there, but CJ’s assistant saw it and forwarded it to us.”

Duke went on to explain that it was a scanned copy of a formal letter. The members of Rated Riot stated that they understood the consequences of terminating their contract early, but they would leave the label regardless, unless you continued to work as their manager. All four of them had signed it.

You felt, suddenly, like you had just been catapulted to the seventieth floor—sixty floors above the hotel’s tallest floor—and reached the top in about two seconds. There seemed to be cotton in your ears that made the rest of the room sound foggy somehow.

You realised where Jungkook had been this morning before he returned to your hotel room.

“I see,” you said, and then tried, very poorly, to articulate your thoughts, “I was—I wasn’t—I see.”

You remembered Namjoon telling you once that he and the band would not sit idly if they found out that the label made you resign. You supposed that a part of you had thought it was simply a nice thing to say, and nothing more. You hadn’t expected him to really mean it.

Reggie finally looked up, glancing from Duke’s scowl to your uncomfortable expression.

“Okay,” Reggie said, finally returning to the page in your contract where he had paused earlier. “So, are there any conflicts of interest that we should know about?”

You swallowed, your stomach still clenched as you attempted to process everything, not feeling any relief just yet.

“No,” you said. “There aren’t any.”

“Okay,” Reggie said again. “Shall we proceed then?”

“Yes. Let’s proceed.”

“Perfect. We—”

“Actually,” Salma interjected, putting her phone down. “There’s another matter that CJ wanted me to bring up. If you don’t mind, Reg?”

Reggie pulled back from the papers on the table, a little annoyed, but he motioned for Salma to take over anyway. Duke gazed out the window, completely unfazed by Salma’s disregard for him.

“Alright,” the producer said, turning to you. “The leaked album cover, then.”

You blinked, not having expected to discuss the bathtub picture today. You wondered if that would be a conflict of interest, but decided not to ask. It might turn out to be profitable, too.

“I’ve, uh, explained to CJ that it won’t happen again,” you said.

“We know,” Salma replied. “But CJ is thinking if we should sue. Or, at the very least, threaten legal action? If someone’s spying on your servers—”

“Someone—uh, no,” you scratched the back of your neck, “to be honest, we’ve already taken steps to prevent any future breaches. Anything more than that would be a, uh... waste of resources, really.”

You weren’t lying; you had really contained Sid. And there was no need to divulge more information about that, you thought bitterly. Or they might include that in your file, too.

You still half-expected someone in the room to directly mention Sid anyway, even despite not knowing about his connection to the album cover. He got arrested during the band’s show in London, after all. But no one said anything about him, and you didn’t either.

You felt glad that, aside from publicising the bathtub picture, Sid now held as much significance to your life as the random hotel guest singing loudly outside the conference room window: vaguely bothersome, but largely irrelevant.

“Oh, well, I’m happy to hear that,” Salma said, glancing at Reggie across the table—he was reading something on his phone and didn’t notice her gaze. “I talked to Namjoon for a minute after we arrived last night, but he didn’t mention anything. Has the band decided on a release date for the first single?”

This whole meeting turned out to be something you hadn’t prepared for, and your anxiety didn’t quite know how to handle it.

“Uh, soon,” you replied. “They’re still working on it.”

Salma smiled. Sensing your unease, she reached over to give your shoulder a friendly squeeze.

“Namjoon said exciting things are coming,” she said. You appreciated her light tone. “I can’t wait.”

“Yeah. They definitely are.”

“Alright, well,” Reggie cut in as he put his phone down. His voice sounded a little impatient, but he remained more composed than Duke, who yawned, bored again, and spun in his office chair. “Let’s finish this up, yeah? Still got three more pages to go.”

The three pages ended up taking another half an hour to get through as Reggie went out of his way to explain everything, checking and double-checking every questionable clause, and asking you about all the things that he had initially planned not to ask about. He was still worried about the company’s laid-back attitude towards employee privacy, you could tell. But you were so tired of this that you were almost ready to sign anything just to finally leave this room.

Once the meeting finally concluded—and you did, in fact, have to sign at least ten dotted lines—you found out that Reggie and Duke had decided to stay in Paris to see Rated Riot’s show. Salma promised them it would be great and took them to lunch at a café a few blocks away, giving you a wink as she left. She saved you from more small talk, and you made a mental note to buy her a drink sometime later.

There was another important conversation you needed to have today, and dialling Nick’s number after everything you’ve already endured turned out to be very easy.

You hoped to explain everything to him quickly, maintaining a good relationship with him in case of potential collaborations between the bands you managed. But you ended up being a little too diplomatic: you had to repeat your refusal to join his team three times before Nick understood what you were saying.

He was not surprised. He said that he’d been hearing a lot about Rated Riot every time he went out with someone from his staff, so he understood your decision to stay with them. And then, most unexpectedly, he asked if you could arrange for him and a few Reconnaissance members to attend one of Rated Riot’s final European shows in Italy.

This time, it was Nick who had to repeat himself three times for you to comprehend the request.

You were well aware of the admiration and reverence that Rated Riot had for Reconnaissance; the number of times that the boys had attended their concerts was too inappropriate to mention out loud.

Now, the members of Reconnaissance were interested in attending Rated Riot’s show. And despite your skin tingling with excitement, you were almost afraid to share this news with the band, fearing they might break something—namely, their necks—once they heard about it.

As promised, Jungkook waited until you left for your meeting before he ensconced himself in your empty hotel room, anticipation pulsating a lively rhythm in his chest.

When your playlist loaded on his screen—actually titled, ‘why?’ in all capital letters as you’d said—he checked the duration and briefly considered finding heart drops before he began to listen.

Scrolling through the tracks, he noticed the dates when you added them to the playlist, offering him a clear roadmap of your emotions over the years. He wasn’t sure what to do with himself as he reclined on the bed and tried to relax.

The first song was added about two weeks after the Freshman event where you claimed to have noticed him for the first time. It was a song by Dashboard Confessional—“My heart is yours to fill or burst, to break or bury, or wear as jewelry, whichever you prefer”—and Jungkook accepted that not even heart drops could help him get through this playlist.

When, three songs later, he reached Bring Me The Horizon—“Your voice makes my heart skip beats, so keep quiet before it flatlines”—and realised that he still hadn’t talked to you at this point in the playlist, he felt his hands begin to shake.

It was true, then. You had really seen him for the first time at the same moment he had seen you, and you’ve had a crush on him since then, too.

The lyrics of the next song by Black Veil Brides—“One look and I am sold, you got me on my knees”—were a prophecy, because this was where it all began. You’ve added it just one day after your first conversation outside of class, and it marked the point where Jungkook recognised every word of every upcoming song because he’d experienced them all with you.

Bad Omens’ “Crawl” brought back your first date in the park under the pouring rain, where the two of you had revealed everything that weighed on you, despite only knowing each other for a little over a week. Jungkook recalled a sense of disbelief at how easily the two of you had connected. Logically, there should have been barriers between you, things that you kept to yourselves for fear of scaring each other away. But sharing everything from that very first moment had felt right—it was later that honesty became scary.

Between the city's gates and nowhere is where I'll be, my dear. Ghost of soldiers will greet you and point the way to me, my dear.

Sleep Token’s “Fields of Elation” reminded him of your second date at the carnival, where he had stumbled over his thoughts, attempting to ask you to be his girlfriend. You’d said yes, despite not understanding his jumbled question. He remembered the anticipation he’d felt back then, too: he wanted to kiss you so much that he was nearly vibrating, nearly spinning on an invisible propeller attached to his chest. And when he finally pressed his lips to yours, he thought he’d never pull away again.

Your name is a sin I breathe like oxygen, caught in the careless arms of lust again.

Biffy Clyro’s “Many of Horror” was a song that echoed through every significant moment in your relationship. Jungkook noted that you’d added it a few days after the first time he’d stayed over at your dorm room. It had actually been an accident: you brought him back after a campus party to help him sober up a little, and he ended up falling asleep on your bed. He woke up sometime at three in the morning, and the two of you stayed up talking and listening to music for the rest of the night.

If Jungkook closed his eyes right now, he could still see you watching him as he sang along to the song for the very first time, your hands intertwined on the pillows on your bed. You had always looked at him with something magical in your gaze, and he remembered how long it took for him to get used to maintaining eye contact with you without feeling dizzy.

I still believe, it’s you and me ‘til the end of time.

He reached Paramore’s “The Only Exception” shortly after that, and had to play it twice because the first listen had emptied his thoughts. You’ve added the song—with a line that he could not get through without his breath hitching: “That was the day that I promised I’d never sing of love if it does not exist, but darling, you are the only exception”—at least a month before he first told you he loved you under a canopy of blooming cherry blossoms.

There was also an Architects song on your playlist right after that—“I used to think that I knew better than those around me, but something changed along the way, and you’re the reason I’m wanting to stay”—and he remembered, right away, all the fears the two of you used to have, and all the fears you were still fighting to this day. You had never been sure if you believed in love, and he struggled to accept that he didn’t need to work in order to deserve love. But all of that had seemed trivial back then, almost irrelevant when you were staying up until the sunrise in your dorm room, your eyes bright, your hearts awake. Jungkook could tell, as he listened to your playlist, that you were already in love.

Your communication used to be so effortless back then. It only became harder to keep talking to each other when your relationship grew into the most meaningful aspect of your lives. The fear of damaging it made you both retreat into silence.

Now, you had both grown enough to understand that it wasn’t silence that saved a relationship; it was the willingness to talk about it.

There were a few Reconnaissance songs in your playlist, too, and Jungkook smiled again, knowing he was the reason you’d added them. He remembered the excitement of attending the band’s show for the first time. You’d been there with him, even though you hadn’t heard their music before, and he’d felt elated when you admitted how much you enjoyed it.

It would be beautiful, Jungkook thought in a sudden moment of solemn reflection, if you went on to manage Reconnaissance now. But it’d be equally as beautiful if you stayed with him, allowing Rated Riot to surpass the one band that he had admired for most of his life.

Checking the time on the corner of his screen, Jungkook concluded that your meeting must have already started. Taking a deep breath, he skipped the next few Reconnaissance songs.

Def Leppard’s “When Love And Hate Collide” played next, and Jungkook chuckled at the memory of your first Valentine’s Day together. You had gone to a restaurant for dinner, and you’d both had a little too much wine. This song had started to play and despite hearing it for the first time, he tried very hard to serenade you from across the table: “one night alone is like a year without you, baby.” His tongue kept getting caught on his teeth as he tried to guess the next lyrics, but you were making half-hearted attempts to shush him as you laughed, and he silently vowed to spend every Valentine’s Day with you for the rest of his life.

He doubted he grasped how serious he was about this promise back then. There were only two Valentine’s Days that he had to survive without you—and he drank them both away, understandably—but since you re-entered his life, he had kept his word.

He was drunk when he sent you flowers for Valentine’s Day that first February after you started to work with Rated Riot. He was rarely sober at the time, so this wasn’t unusual, but he had enough brain to leave an anonymous note with the flowers. He knew you might quit on the spot if you learned that the bouquet of roses was from him.

Honestly, he couldn’t explain why he felt compelled to send you the flowers at all. You were broken up for two years at that point, and he prided himself on having moved on. But then he sent you another bouquet the next Valentine’s Day, just a few months before the start of this tour. He didn’t know why he did it that time, either.

He told himself that it was tradition, ignoring the blatant truth that he was still excessively in love with you. Claiming that this was just a habit was simply a good way to justify his actions to himself.

You never mentioned anything, so he assumed you never suspected him to be behind the flowers—and he was relieved. He knew he would have had to downplay it if you confronted him about it, and he didn’t want to. He wasn’t joking. He’d meant every stem, every sharp thorn, and every scarlet petal.

An overwhelming number of Arctic Monkeys songs in your playlist followed your first spring together: double-dates with Kihyun and Chloé, meeting each other’s families, attending campus parties together, and spending nights in your dorm room where you’d study and he’d do everything to distract you.

The lyrics of “R U Mine?”—“Unfair we’re not somewhere misbehaving for days”—reminded him of one night when the two of you were smoking outside of a party, on the corner of the library building. You had used his lighter to burn the first letters of your names on the wall, with a heart in between. You were drunk, of course, but this was the first time he’d seen you break the campus rules by defacing a public building.

A few months later, when you were walking around campus with Kihyun and Chloé, Kihyun had spotted the two initials on the wall of the library, and paused.

“Wait,” he’d said, eyeing the burn marks, “this kind of looks like—”

“Yeah, I did that,” you’d cut him off, and walked away without looking back.

Surprised, Kihyun turned to him, and Jungkook grinned proudly, running to catch up with you. He knew, at that moment, that he would be truly, wholeheartedly yours forever.

Your summer roadtrip songs came next in your playlist, and Jungkook could no longer sit idly as he listened to Papa Roach’s, “you know I love it when you’re down on your knees, and I’m a junkie for the way that you please.” He remembered you singing along and stealing kisses as he drove the two of you down coastal roads in a rental car. He remembered chasing you down the beach, stumbling over abandoned sandcastles, and washing the sand off your skin every night. He remembered every moment vividly and he was very close to tearing the mattress with his nostalgic bouncing.

Bring Me The Horizon’s “Follow You” marked your first anniversary, and it was easily one of the most played songs during your relationship. Jungkook remembered having a dream, months before your anniversary, about renting a convertible and taking you to a restaurant that he definitely couldn’t afford. And he made it happen—even despite some unexpected challenges along the way, like your battle with bugs and the wind in the car. Still, you managed to arrive at the restaurant two minutes before your reservation was cancelled. And all that this experience taught him was that he was perfect with anything, no matter how messy and downright chaotic, as long as you were with him.

So you can drag me through hell, if it meant I could hold your hand.

The Ramones’ “Do You Wanna Dance?” took him back to the days in your dorm room when you were practically living together: you’d come back after class and spend the afternoon eating snacks, watching films, sometimes going out to get groceries and drinks. And you’d dance a lot—although, at first, you merely nodded your head or tapped your feet while he got entangled in the curtains with his ridiculous, extravagant moves. He always pulled you in to join him, sooner or later. And despite your accidental kicks to his shins, you soon found yourself at complete ease. You had never thought you’d dance without getting drunk first, and Jungkook took pride in pushing you out of your comfort zone. He hadn’t yet realised—not fully—that he was your comfort zone.

Do you wanna dance and hold my hand? Tell me, baby, I’m your lover man.

You added Fall Out Boy’s “Homesick At Space Camp” to your playlist during your hospital stay six years ago, and Jungkook had to remind his heart to keep beating as he listened to the song. You had argued so much back then—you were mad that he’d wasted his time by calling an ambulance for you, and he was mad that he had no other choice. You were mad that he’d failed his exam, and he was mad that he couldn’t tell you the real reason he’d failed. But the underlying truth behind all those arguments was that you both cared about each other too much.

The song also reminded him of you fainting on this tour. You protested and complained that time, too. But you’d stayed in bed. You’d listened. And you’d finally accepted, he could tell, how much your well-being mattered to him, and how deeply he regretted taking you for granted.

My smile’s an open wound without you.

Hearing Backstreet Boys in your playlist next made him shake his head to himself. He couldn’t escape the nightmares from the birthday party when he’d performed “As Long As You Love Me”, but he supposed he didn’t really want to escape that much anyway. This night had brought you so much joy. Really, that was the only reason he sang that song for you—he saw the way your eyes glittered, the way you clapped your hands and laughed as he set up the chair for his performance. He would have done far stupider things to see you laugh like that again.

Several more Architects songs, vastly different from the ones he heard before, marked your second Valentine’s Day. That was the year he gave himself a concussion and earned a month-long suspension for “stealing” the laboratory projector. You’d spent that month together in your dorm, and even despite his many blunders, Jungkook could sense from the songs in your playlist that your relationship was still going well.

He scrolled past several uplifting dance hits and slower love ballads, listening to a few seconds of each—just so he could taste the memories of those days on his tongue. Just so he could remember humming these songs in your ear before you fell asleep on his bed, your feet cold against his ankles. And he felt his chest expand at the thought that you were listening to these same songs without him, too. It thrilled him to imagine that you thought of him before falling asleep as often as he’d thought of you.

He found many songs that his grandmother had recommended in your playlist, and his heart warmed as he played Black Sabbath’s “Symptom of the Universe”, Mötley Crüe’s “Helter Skelter”, Corrosion of Conformity’s “Albatross” and several others that the two of you had come to love. He recalled how touched his grandmother had been—almost as much as he was—when she saw your eyes light up at her music collection. You had earned her endless affection when you complimented her taste in music and wrote down the song titles to look them up later.

Jungkook lingered on the first of the several Type O Negative tracks in your playlist, reminiscing about the countless moments when he felt your weight behind him on one of the motorcycles he’d borrowed from Sid to take you on a ride. Although you never played music on his bike, certain songs still revoked memories of your hands tightening around his waist as he accelerated, the city lights blending into a blur around you, the wind catching your hair when he helped you remove your helmet.

Now close those eyes and let me love you to death.

Sleeping with Sirens’ “All My Heart” brought back the summer when he had dyed his hair pink. That summer, the two of you travelled across the country to see Reconnaissance live for the third time. That same summer, you bought him the “JK” keychain (he’d already reattached it to the keys to his Katana). He played basketball with your little brother that summer, too, always letting him win. Actually, he would never admit this out loud, but he’d stopped holding back eventually, because your brother proved to be exceptionally—unfairly, even—skilled. Jungkook had joked and laughed, and hoped you would think he was missing his shots on purpose.

Those late summers we may stay up talking all night. I ask, “you think we’ll ever make it?”, you say, “I’m sure, if it’s right.”

Next came I See Stars’ cover of “Latch”, and Jungkook felt his smile grow wider. You fell in love with the song on your second anniversary when both of you had the flu and spent that entire week in bed in your dorm room. Technically, Jungkook had gotten sick first—but you refused to leave his side, and the two of you ended up celebrating the occasion with cough drops and swollen lymph nodes. You weren’t awake enough to watch any films that week, but you were just lucid enough to listen to music and cough rhythmically.

Now I’ve got you in my space, I won’t let go of you. Got you shackled in my embrace, I’m latching onto you.

He closed his eyes as he listened to the songs that followed, feeling himself return to the days you’d spent baking in the cramped kitchen of his dormitory, the long roads home you’d taken after class just to spend more time together, the many instruments you’d tried to learn and failed miserably.

These were the days you’d wait for him before classes with two paper cups of coffee. The days you’d send him silly selfies and threaten murder if he kept them (he kept them). The days you’d throw notes at him in the middle of your shared lectures, intentionally aiming for his head: you’d draw a heart in the middle of the paper, and nothing else. These were the days that he dreamed about, years later, when he was missing you too much to breathe.

But then, looking down as though caught in some crime, Jungkook realised that there was something else in between these memories. There were nights he’d spend drinking and drag-racing with Sid and the others. There were arguments with you and childish silent treatments. He remembered how much time he’d spent trying to find a way to make it up to you, but never actually did.

Nothing But Thieves began to play “Afterlife” on your playlist, and it reminded Jungkook of the day you went with him to get his first tattoo. He’d gone out with Sid the night before—he usually did back then—and the two of you had argued about it again. But despite the tension, you’d grabbed your bag and left for the tattoo parlour with him.

Looking back now, he realised—with a violent stab in his heart—that this might have been the last good moment in your relationship before it all fell apart around you. You had laughed and teased him that whole day, but he couldn’t forget the look on your face after he’d walked you home later. He couldn’t even touch you then because he was carrying his gym bag in his left hand, and his right one was bandaged to protect the fresh ink.

“You’ll take care of it, right?” you’d asked him outside of your dorm. “Don’t get an infection.”

“I’m not sure I’ll manage,” he’d teased. “You might have to keep an eye on me.”

And you’d smiled, but it hadn’t quite reached your eyes. You’d promised to come over and look at the tattoo for him—and you had, every day—but your voice sounded weary. He’d kissed you before leaving, and you’d kissed him back, but your lips quivered when you pulled away.

He’d seen all the signs, but he had not known what to do.

It was only ever you, it was only ever you, my baby. It feels like a lifetime, oh God, I don’t think I could do two.

Your third-anniversary song was Asking Alexandria’s “I Won’t Give In.” It was significantly less happy compared to some of the previous songs, but your third anniversary was significantly less happy, too. Jungkook had wanted to make it special for you—to make up for all the days that weren’t—so he bought tickets to a special screening of Howl’s Moving Castle at the small cinema outside of campus. He persuaded the lady at the ticket office not to sell any other tickets with a heart-wrenching story about how he was trying to save his relationship—in retrospect, he didn’t think he was lying—so it’d just be the two of you in the theatre.

He had brought you wildflowers that he’d picked himself because he only remembered the flowers halfway to your house. But he had a bruise running alongside his forearm from where he had driven the car that Sid had gifted him into the metal fence of an abandoned factory, and you understood right away what he’d been doing that whole week. You saw his bruises, saw the incessant messages lighting up his phone, and sighed, telling him that you were too tired to go out tonight.

“Maybe another time,” you’d said.

“But,” he’d tried to argue, his voice a whisper, “it’s our anniversary.”

“I know,” you’d replied, and he saw the regret in your eyes when you stopped avoiding his gaze for a second. “Maybe we could stay here instead, and—”

His phone had started to vibrate, cutting you off. He’d glanced at Sid’s name on his screen, then put his phone away.

“Sorry,” he’d said, ignoring the call. “We made plans to meet up later, but Sid can’t tell the time.”

He hadn’t even realised what he’d said—not even when you swallowed and clenched your jaw.

“You’re meeting later?” you’d asked.

“Yeah, but just for a few hour—”

“It’s okay,” you’d said. “You can go ahead and meet up now. I don’t feel like doing much today anyway.”

He had started to protest, of course. He had enough sense to understand that it wasn’t right, he couldn’t just go out with Sid on your anniversary without celebrating it with you first. But you’d closed the door in his face—gently, but the sound of the lock clicking still echoed in his head years later.

When this night returned to haunt his dreams, Jungkook always knocked on your door again. He begged and demanded you let him back inside. He stayed outside your door the whole night, waiting for you to come out.

He’d done none of that back then. He’d turned around and answered Sid’s call.

I gave you everything, I never thought we would end up like this. I gave you everything, if I can’t let you go, save me, please.

Jungkook could see now that he had reached the point in the playlist where every track worked like kerosene on his burning skin. He listened to several Bullet For My Valentine and Invent Animate songs, skipping them after the first verse, not even making it to the chorus, because he knew what the lyrics reminded him of, and he did not want to remember.

However, a Biffy Clyro song that you’d added to your playlist a few days after your break-up made him turn on his back on the bed, every muscle in his body tensed. He would listen to this one because he had to—even though he knew the lyrics by heart.

You can’t understand that I won’t leave ‘til we’re finished here, and then you’ll find out where it all went wrong.

It really did take him years to understand. You’d stayed with him through entire weeks of silence, through numerous break-up songs, and he had been too blind, too paralysed—too fucking distracted—to do anything. He’d convinced himself that if he didn’t acknowledge your troubles, the two of you would be okay. He hadn’t even bothered to think about how bad these troubles were.

You were hoping you’d be okay, too. And you stayed until it was clear that you wouldn’t be.

Your playlist changed after the two of you broke up. And, as he scrolled down a bit, Jungkook noticed a pattern. He doubted you were aware of it, but the songs seemed to progress, like a true textbook case, right through the stages of grief. And his heart sank when he realised that the first stage—Denial—had started while you were still together.

Asking Alexandria’s “Killing You” was the start of the Anger stage, and Jungkook forced himself to listen to at least half of each song, his jaw tightening with every lyric that ripped another splinter from his heart.

Three years of torment and torturous love, stained with tears and mistrust, enough is enough.

As your playlist reached the Bargaining stage, Jungkook felt the room closing in on him. Bad Omens began to sing “The Letdown” and he forced himself to sit up again. This was the song that he’d spent many sleepless nights praying to.

He listened to it now and realised that he’d never gone through Denial or Anger. You’d left him and he moved right into Bargaining, and he’d stayed there for the entirety of those four years that he wasn’t with you.

If I could make it simpler, if I could get back to the start, I would keep you even closer so that I could hear your heart.

He tried to tally up the amount of alcohol he’d consumed through those years without you, and the amount he’d consumed after you started to work with Rated Riot.

And he realised now that a subconscious part of him might have been conditioned into believing that if he drank too much—if he drank just enough for it to be too much—then Sid would call you to pick him up, and you’d come.

So he drank a lot.

There was one night in particular when his drinking nearly killed him: he’d assumed you were out on a date with someone else and he abruptly lost all purpose. Sid had called you that night—of course—and you came to pick him up—of course. Jungkook slurred through a “where were you?” that he knew he had no right to ask you, and you’d said, “I had dinner with the executives. We were discussing your band.” He couldn’t remember what happened next; he must have blacked out. He was hungover for three days straight after that—and you yelled at him every day for the next two weeks—but he felt ridiculously relieved.

Your playlist transitioned into Depression and the air around him thickened. Jungkook listened to Nothing But Thieves again, and he thought he could feel the cold, tiled floors of his bathroom under his feet—the bathroom where he’d woken up on so many afternoons, his head resting against the porcelain of the toilet, the room spinning out of control around him. It used to take him about three seconds to recognise his surroundings and remember the state that his life was in, and he would start seeking a remedy for his throbbing sobriety again.

And now it hurts what we’ve become ‘cause you taught me how to love. It’s me who taught you how to stop.

Your playlist continued and Jungkook recognised fragments of his life—both, after your break-up, and after you’ve started to work together—in every song that played next, starting from blink-182—“I feel like the moon is spinning off into outer space without you, the universe an empty place without you”—moving into Slipknot—“I still press your letters to my lips and cherish them in parts of me that savour every kiss. I couldn’t face a life without your light, but all of that was ripped apart when you refused to fight”—and finishing with Bon Jovi—“It’s been raining since you left me, now I’m drowning in the flood, you see, I’ve always been a fighter, but without you, I give up.”

These were the songs that you used to listen to together, some of them not memorable enough to leave a lasting impression, others not reflecting your feelings at the time. You didn’t add them to your playlist until after you broke up, and the lyrics started to resonate. Jungkook had listened to the same songs when he couldn’t sleep—not to cure his insomnia, but to drown out his thoughts. To have someone else narrate his memories so he wouldn’t have to listen to himself.

It dawned on him just then that you’d come full circle: from waiting a year to talk about your crushes on each other, to waiting several years to talk about all the years that you’d spent not talking to each other.

Swallowing hard, Jungkook continued. He listened to Sleep Token’s “Blood Sport”—“Even if the sky cracks in mourning and the heavens just won’t open up for me, would you invite me in again?”—and hesitated here, afraid of the next song. Here, you were still hopeful. Still bargaining. He didn’t think he was ready to find Acceptance in your playlist.

But “Patience” by Guns N’ Roses followed up next—“If I can’t have you right now, I’ll wait, dear”—and Jungkook started to fidget. He only listened to a few seconds of the song, just long enough to brace himself, and then scrolled down to the very end of your playlist.

He paused it immediately.

The final song on your playlist was “Hollow Crown” by Architects. You’ve added it eleven days before he saw you in the meeting room at Jett Records, with CJ’s arm around your shoulders as he introduced you to Jungkook as Rated Riot’s new manager.

These wounds have bled and pages fly by, the lyrics of the song went. I need to feel you right by my side.

It was truly incredible how quickly the song healed his heart, how quickly it dispelled the thick tar of dread in his stomach—because it wasn’t Acceptance that finished your playlist. It was the same otherworldly sentiment—the one you had refused to name or even acknowledge for years—that started the playlist, too.

You didn’t add any more songs after you started to work together, but you didn’t have to. Jungkook knew what happened next. And now he knew that you’d been waiting for him for as long as he’d been waiting for you.

His phone suddenly vibrated in his hand, and he jumped up, exiting the Spotify app in surprise. It was a text from you, and he stood up immediately.

You were saying you’d meet him in the lobby in half an hour, but he couldn’t sit still for that long.

He went down to wait for you.

Jungkook wasn’t in the lobby when you arrived. You saw him in the courtyard through the window, carefully balancing on the edge of the decorative circle in the stone tiles.

When he caught sight of you in his peripheral vision, he stopped and you paused in the doorway of the hotel, too. The sunbeams danced in his eyes when he turned to you, the silver piercing glinting against his lip as his smile stretched.

You were so in love with him that it shouldn’t have been possible.

He waited for approximately a quarter of a second once he saw you take a step towards him—a reaction speed that could have made Formula One drivers envious—before breaking into a sprint towards you. He met you halfway and wrapped his arms around your waist in a tight embrace that nearly knocked you both to the floor.

He held you without saying one word for an obscene amount of time. He had always struggled to describe what he was feeling, but he usually tried to find something to say anyway. Now he wasn’t trying anymore—and all of his feelings had never been louder.

“You listened to my playlist, I take it,” you said, one hand tracing the contours of his back, the other tangled in the edges of his hair.

Jungkook nodded, attempting to respond, but the wind and the roughness of your jacket against his cheek swallowed his words. So, he held onto you tighter, thinking, all the while, that the only true peace he was able to find in his life was with you. And he’d been scared for so long—terrified right out of his mind—that he would never feel this peace again. That he would never feel you again.

“Why didn’t you show it to me before?” he asked, his hesitant voice reaching you in the form of shivers on your spine.

You gave a careful shrug.

“It’s embarrassing,” you said—but your arms remained around him in the middle of the courtyard, in plain view for everyone inside the hotel to see, and it was a little hard to believe that there was anything you wouldn’t have done with him or for him, embarrassed or not.

He lifted his head to meet your gaze, a quizzical eyebrow arched on his otherwise warm features. “Loving me is embarrassing?”

You smiled, lowering your hands from his hair to the back of the silver chain around his neck.

“No,” you said. “Pining over you is.”

He observed you for a moment, trying to read your expression to gauge how your meeting went without having to ask. You weren’t saying anything, and he immediately assumed the worst.

Taking a deep breath, he stepped back, but kept his hand on your elbow to keep touching you, however faintly.

“So, how was it?” he asked. “When are you leaving?”

He had only given you one option, but he appeared to dread the thought of you confirming his fears.

“Never,” you said, a little amused by his extreme pessimism. “Can you wait that long?”

The sudden fire in his eyes suited him better than any piece of clothing or expensive jewellery ever could.

“Yeah?” he asked, returning to his spot right in front of you, his chest brushing against yours.

“Yeah,” you confirmed with a smile that he’d been looking forward to for days. “I’ve signed the new contract. The lawyers are staying here to attend your show. It looks like we’re taking over the world. Life is good.”

“Fuck yeah, life is good!” he shouted, the happiness in his voice reverberating off the buildings around you.

His relief was immense and almost impossible to contain within. You’d already promised him that you’d stay together no matter what happened today, but he wanted you here. And you were here. And now he could finally start righting his wrongs and creating new playlists with you—ones that wouldn’t hurt to listen to years later.

Before you could say anything, Jungkook sneaked his arms around your waist again and lifted you slightly off the ground—just enough to spin you around in a dizzying, ecstatic circle.

“Wait, wait, wait—” you pleaded, but your surprised laughter sent his heart straight past heaven, and he could not wait. “Th-the email. Why didn’t you tell me anything?”

He put you down but kept his hands on your waist to steady you.

“What emai—oh.” His gaze drifted past you, then dropped to the ground. “They got it, then?”

You nodded. “They got it.”

“I assume it made no difference.”

“It made a difference,” you said because that email was the only thing from that meeting that you wanted to remember. Jungkook glanced at you, but the gratitude in your eyes was so intense that he looked away again. “It could have been a huge risk. Why did you do that?”

He shrugged. It was an easy decision. No one in the band had objected when Yoongi suggested it before the last show in London. They hoped that the threat of leaving would be enough, but if it came to it, they were prepared to actually leave the label with you.

“I go where you go,” he said with a soft smile, repeating the words you’d said to him on the plane to Paris. “And my band and I are a package deal.”

You grinned, and even though the sky above you was now the colour of muddy, melted ice—a clear reminder that summer was over—you felt like you had just emerged from a dreadfully long and stressful hibernation. Your skin tingled with an almost insatiable urge to experience it all: the rain, the sunshine, and all that came in between.

“Thank you,” you said. “I want to stay with all of you.”

“Yeah?” He was close enough to touch your forehead with his, his lips curling into a smirk. “But with me the most, right?”

You took advantage of the moment when he glanced down to your lips and leaned in to kiss him—for just a second, before you pulled back to see the surprised wonder in his eyes.

“Of course,” you said. “You’ve always been my favourite.”

In an instant, Jungkook found himself back there again—somewhere in the days between Bad Omens and Biffy Clyro—dancing on the creaking floors of your dorm room, sneaking away to a random balcony during campus parties to steal a moment alone with you, and making up scenarios of what your future together would look like.

He realised that the two of you had never truly left those days; you’ve merely paused them. But the music—your music, together—continued to play.

In a split second, he pulled you as close to himself as he could, and pressed his lips to yours in a proper kiss. Your hands came to rest on his chest as you kissed him back, your taste so captivating, so completely tempting, that he lost several heartbeats on your tongue. He knew that your kiss would kill him one of these days, and he pitied everyone who would keep living.

“Oh!” you gasped suddenly, breaking the kiss and nearly causing him to flinch. He loosened his hold, alarmed. “The label—they thought we were together this whole time, by the way.”

Jungkook blinked, then frowned, then blinked a few more times—frozen for one, two, three seconds before taking a cautious step away from you.

He regarded you with scepticism for a long minute. Then his left eye twitched.

“What?” he asked.

You bit your lip, nodding at the absurdity. “I know.”

Jungkook continued to look like he had just witnessed the second coming of Christ, and it wasn’t quite what he expected.

“So, what was all of this for—”

“I don’t know,” you replied, the clutches of anxiety in your stomach finally easing. “A good song came out of it all, though.”

“A good so—yeah, and a heightened risk of a heart attack at twenty-six,” he snapped, furrowing his eyebrows again. “How do—what do you mean they thought we were—how? The whole time?”

“Yeah.”

He began to pace around you in the courtyard, his hands rising higher and higher with each attempt at a sentence. He seemed to be talking to spirits that only he could see.

“And they—and you didn’t—so we could have just—”

You nodded empathetically. “Mhmm. Seems so.”

He finally stopped and turned to you. “Am I asleep right now? Is this a joke?”

“No, they knew about it all along,” you said. “Actually, it gets worse. It seems that CJ might have hired me for Rated Riot precisely because we had dated.”

Jungkook widened his eyes for only a moment, still appearing a little perplexed, but no longer outraged. He turned away, lost in thought all of a sudden, and poked a loose tile with the edge of his boot.

“What’s—what are you thinking?” you asked, a little concerned about his abrupt silence.

“I—nothing. I’m just—that reminded me of something,” he replied, sliding his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. “After we signed with Jett Records, there was this, I don’t know, weird moment. We came in for our first formal meeting with CJ, and he kept staring at me. The band had jokingly told him that I was the lead songwriter—which I’m definitely not—so I assumed that was the reason. And then, as we were leaving the room, he shook my hand for a whole minute and said, “I have incredible things planned for you. Let’s make that “Haunting” Part Two happen, yeah?” I didn’t think much of it at the time, but it—I don’t know.”

You didn’t like how quickly Jungkook offered a story that supported everything that Reggie and Duke had told you earlier today, and you frowned, struggling to grasp the multitude of thoughts and questions in your mind.

“That was—“Haunting” was the first Rated Riot song that CJ heard,” Jungkook added.

Although he’d written this song to be as inconspicuous as possible, he never tried to hide that it was about you—if people asked. And CJ had asked.

Jungkook had been vague that time, claiming it was about “someone important” to him, but perhaps CJ got more curious about the meaning of the song than he’d initially let on. Perhaps he’d done additional research.

“It’s the song that made him want to meet the band,” Jungkook continued. “H-he could have—if he knew about us, and he knew that I wrote “Haunting” about you, then he might have hired you for me to—so that you and I—”

“He hired me to give you a jolt,” you finished, “hoping it would inspire you to write songs that would bring the label as much money as he thought “Haunting” would have brought.”

Jungkook let out a breath. “Yeah. That—that’s kind of fucked up.”

You nodded. That was the regular way to describe this situation – “fucked up.” But you’ve learnt today that, in business, they called it “profitable.”

Although a lot of your previous anxiety was now replaced with irritation, your relief still lingered. CJ’s plotting had caught you off guard, but ultimately, you were right where you wanted to be, and nothing could change that.

“I had some questions about why they contacted me four—five?—months before you even released your debut album,” you said, “but I—well, you know. I was just happy to stop fillng spreadsheets and do some actual work. Even if it meant driving you to the studio every morning, and back home every night. Did you—did you even add any new songs or make any changes to the album after I started to work with you? You said you had most of it done by that point anyway.”

Jungkook swallowed and did not respond.

You were right, the album was mostly finished when CJ offered you to work with Rated Riot that July, but Jungkook wrote eight new songs in the first week of working with you. Three of them made it to the final cut of the album.

“Shit,” you said, his silence a good enough answer. Half-joking to counter your discomfort, you added, “so, it wasn’t destiny, then. It was CJ.”

Jungkook snorted humourlessly. “Yeah. What a waste of fucking time, though. All the fucking—all this time we worried. And we could have just—wow. We could have just fucking been together.”

That was true, you would have saved a lot of energy if you didn’t have to worry about telling the label about your relationship. But you weren’t sure that it would have helped you stop ignoring each other and yourselves.

If you hadn’t received the trial by fire on this tour, if all your fears and insecurities hadn’t been exposed, you and Jungkook likely wouldn’t have ended up here.

“Yeah, this is…” you faltered, searching for the right word. “This is some heavy shit to process right now, but—I mean, we’re fine. We’re okay. You know? We made it this fucking far.”

The courtyard was empty except for a few pigeons pecking at the dark rocks of a flower garden nearby. Jungkook counted the pavement tiles beneath your sneakers before looking up.

“I’m still having a crisis,” he decided.

You laughed—in a way that he didn’t think he’d ever hear you laugh again, and it sounded like a promise to him. A reassurance that things wouldn’t have to go back to the way they once were, because they were better now. In spite of everything, you were better now.

You took his hand and stepped around him towards the street. “Come on. We’ll be fine. Let’s get something to eat.”

“No, but—we wasted so much time!” he protested, but followed you down the courtyard anyway. It was a reflex more than a conscious effort: you went, and he followed. He was far from being embarrassed about others knowing how completely in love with you—whipped, they would have said—he was.

“We didn’t,” you said. “We still have plenty of time.”

“Not unless I drop dead right now,” he mumbled, stubborn.

“I’d prefer it if you didn’t,” you returned. “I quite enjoy having you alive.”

You felt a tug on your hand when Jungkook suddenly stopped walking. Despite your raised eyebrows, he held your hand and simply watched you for a minute, not explaining his thoughts.

“Do you remember,” he said then, “when we were in Amsterdam, and I asked if you thought we’d ever be here?”

You nodded, not yet following his train of thought.

“What about this?” he asked.

“Paris?”

“No.” He shook his head. “Us. Did you ever imagine we’d still be together, seven years after we met? Did you imagine that some old guy would start an entertainment company, and seek us both out, one after the other, so we could work together and make him money?”

You smiled wryly at the quick—and very accurate—summary. But there wasn’t much to think about here, not really. There was a reason you held onto this relationship for so long that first time, even after it became clear that it was coming to an end.

“I didn’t expect the old guy,” you said. “But I did imagine us together.”

“Despite everything that happened,” he continued, “and every wrong decision that we made over those years?”

You swallowed, finding everything that he’d heard in your playlist reflected in his question. You understood why he needed to ask, but you had no doubts about your answer.

There were times, years before you met him, when you’d feel an abrupt longing—so intense that it would lock you in bed, squirming desperately as you tried to shake yourself out of it. There was no apparent reason for it, no action on your part that could have explained the oppressive heartache that felt a lot like forceful separation from something crucial for your survival. Your heart screamed for it back.

You thought you were in love with him before you even met him.

“Everything that happened still led us here,” you said slowly—unaware that Jungkook was holding his breath as he waited for your answer. “Every time we messed up, every time something went wrong, we were on the way here. And—I mean, I don’t know. I think we would have ended up here one way or another. Actually, it might have taken us longer to get here if everything that backfired on us hadn’t backfired. You know what I mean? We’re a mess.”

His grip on your hand tightened as he watched the smile on your face. He remembered this—you telling him what a mess the two of you were when he kissed you outside of the hotel on your first night in London, right after you’d decided to be friends.

“Do you really think that,” he asked, “or are you just saying it so I don’t have a heart attack?”

You squeezed his hand back.

“I do really think that,” you said. “But also, please don’t have a heart attack.”

Finally allowing himself to breathe, he took a step closer to you. He lifted his hand—the one holding yours—to his chest, and leaned in to kiss you. You could feel his heartbeat under your fingertips when your lips touched, the warmth of his hands melding into yours.

“I love you,” he said, slowly pulling back.

“I love you,” you replied and leaned in to touch his lips with yours again.

Hearing these words over and over again—and feeling you draw him closer to prolong the kiss over and over again, too—seemed like a prospect so delightful that he feared it was a little manic. He was convinced there were fairy lights beneath his skin and fireworks in his chest.

He kissed you fervently, but quickly. A moment later, he was already pulling away and leading you towards the pedestrian crossing.

“Let’s get coffee,” he said in response to the disappointment in your eyes.

“Wait,” you resisted his pull, attempting to slow down his brisk pace, “what’s the rush now?”

“The label thought we were together for two years,” he explained, his grip firm as he paused at the busy street, waited for the light to change, then guided you across it. “We have so much to do to make up for lost time.”

You stepped over the curb but still struggled to catch up as he careened down the street. “And you plan to do all that in one day? Starting from this?”

“This is not even the beginning of what I plan to do,” he replied, winking at you over his shoulder. “If you know what I—”

“If you finish that sentence,” you warned, “we’re going to have our first fight as a couple.”

“Oh, so many new firsts to experience.” He sighed wistfully. Your eyebrows remained comfortably raised as you listened to the reminiscent tone in his voice. “Do you remember our actual first fight as a couple?”

“No,” you replied. “We had so many.”

“Right, but the very first one?” he prodded, finally slowing down so you could match his pace. “I broke your window. You threw a potted plant at me.”

You gasped in protest. You remembered the broken window: it was the result of a three-night drinking binge that he went on without you, only to make a dramatic return through your fire escape, smashing the glass of your window with his elbow. It was an accident, he’d meant to open it the regular way, but he figured this would work, too.

“I did no such thing,” you said.

“You did!” he argued, amused by your selective memory. He was drunk that night, but he remembered the flying pot—and what remained of it after it hit the wall behind him. “It was an Aloe, I think.”

“I’d never throw a plant at you,” you insisted. “I love my plants.”

He looked at you, offended. “Okay. Hello? I’m your boyfriend.”

“I know,” you said, your lips curving into a smile. “Somehow, you require a lot more maintenance than plants.”

“Ah, now I see your point,” he said, turning back to face the street ahead, “we really are about to have our first fight as a couple.”

You chuckled and tugged on his hand to indicate the signboard of a café in the building on your right. “Coffee first?”

“Oh, yeah.” He took a step back to return to your side and kissed your cheek. “Definitely.”

You managed to organise a quick meeting before the show that night to officially announce your promotion and all that it meant for the band. You didn’t get to mention the new opening act, however, because the members erupted into deafening cheers.

Their follow-up reactions—after you brought up the email they had sent to the label—seemed almost comical. All four of them stopped shouting as if on cue and glanced around the room, avoiding your eye and desperately feigning nonchalance.

“We—we’re family,” Yoongi finally said. He struggled to mask his discomfort at your gratitude the most, because you looked at him the most—he was the one who had suggested the email. “One for all, and all for one. Or whatever.”

You nodded with a grin. “Or whatever.”

Hoseok was the first to extend his hand, and the rest of the band followed, stacking their hands on top of each other. You placed yours on Jungkook’s, and with a loud battle cry—an anthem for the band, at this point—all five of you broke apart. The boys hurried out of the room to escape any more sentimental conversations and to get ready for the show.

The first concert in Paris was a dizzying spectacle of flashing lights and intoxicating sounds. You were a little astounded at how Rated Riot still managed to captivate you as if every night was your first time watching them live.

However, for the first time since the start of this tour—it was a miracle this hadn’t happened before, actually—two people in the audience fainted.

You had to run backstage to speak with the venue staff and demand air conditioning, then climb up to the side of the stage to warn the band to control the pit. It was the rhythm section intermission—where Taehyung and Hoseok engaged the audience with sounds that were nearly hallucinogenic—and the barricade was shaking.

You attempted to get Yoongi’s attention because he was the closest to you. But it was Jungkook who noticed you first, climbing off Hoseok’s podium and jogging over to you. You gave him a quick update on the situation and asked him to keep an eye on the crowds. This wasn’t the first time the show got a little too hot, and there were enough paramedics available for first aid, but you still wanted to prevent future accidents.

Jungkook nodded, then turned back to the stage—but stopped, suddenly, as though realising something. You barely managed to part your lips in confusion when he walked back to you in three determined strides, gently lifted your chin and pulled you in for a quick kiss. Then, just as swiftly, he returned to the front of the stage to thundering screams from the audience.

Stunned, you watched Jungkook fall to his knees in dramatic support of the band’s instrumental break. He raised his head to look at you, very proud to be able to do something that caused the dazed look in your eyes, and it took you another minute to force yourself to turn around and return backstage.

Fortunately, by the time the show ended, everyone was alive and well.

You were late to the gathering backstage because you had stayed behind to listen to Seokjin yell—he claimed it was a “peaceful lecture”—at the venue staff about cutting off the air conditioning in the middle of the show. You had to gently coax him to let it go when the local stagehands began to respond to him in aggressive French.

Upon returning to the waiting area, you both noticed that Rated Riot’s dressing room was eerily quiet. Naturally, you started to worry that someone in the band had killed each other. But once you two peered through the gap in the door, you discovered something worse: Hoseok was standing on the table, tapping his lighter against the rim of his glass to get everyone’s attention. He was about to make a toast.

“For those of you who don’t know,” he began as you entered the room, “our manager just got promoted. She’s still our manager, but she’s cooler now. She’s Head Manager.”

Your hopes of finding a drink before you started to feel embarrassed were dashed as the room broke into applause, Namjoon and Jimin leading the way with unnecessary whistling. Cringing into yourself, you nodded in uncomfortable gratitude and made your way to the bottles of beer on the windowsill across the room.

“Our team is expanding,” Yoongi took over then, but he did not join Hoseok on the table, “which naturally, means we’re growing, too. That’s nice and all, but I really hope we can keep fucking drinking like this after every show, even after we sell out Wembley.”

“Wembley next year!” Hoseok cheered, and the rest of the room joined in, raising their glasses. “Here’s to getting drunk every night no matter where the fuck we are!”

It was a loud affair once the band set their contagious excitement loose, but you enjoyed watching their never-ending energy spread to the rest of the room.

“Congratulations,” someone suddenly said from behind you.

It took you a moment to realise that someone had spoken over the noise in the room, and the person touched your shoulder just as you were turning around.

Despite your discomfort with the unexpected attention, you were very happy to see Namjoon. He was beaming proudly as if he was the one who had been promoted tonight, and you extended your hands for a quick hug.

He laughed, patting your back and whispering a soft, “you deserved this.”

“Thank you,” you said, pulling back. “The meeting didn’t go the way I expected, but, uh, all’s well that ends well.”

He nodded, a little dejected. You’d texted him a quick summary of your meeting right after it ended. This time, even Namjoon was surprised about CJ’s ulterior motives.

And he worried, just a little bit, how you would react. He remembered how disappointed you were when you assumed that the offer from Reconnaissance was what prompted CJ to promote you. It had taken you a while to accept that it was your efforts, and not Nick’s call, that had brought you here.

Namjoon knew that there was not much that he could say to convince you of your worth if you focused too much on CJ’s primary reasons for hiring you for the band. It very simply had nothing to do with your skills—but you’ve turned it all around, and every ball that CJ thought he’d hoarded was now in your court.

“Yeah, I’m very excited that you’re staying here,” he said, “but I, um—I’ll admit I don’t know how I feel about CJ exploiting your relationship like that.”

You pursed your lips. You haven’t decided how you felt about that, either. But likely for the first time in your life, you felt too excited for all that was coming to dwell on all that had already happened.

“It was a far stretch, though, wasn’t it?” you said, surprising him with your light tone. “I wonder what he would have done if Jungkook and I had killed each other. Or if every song he wrote was about Sid instead, for example.”

Namjoon smiled, but shook his head. He didn’t think it was a far stretch. He’d encouraged Jungkook to write about real experiences, too, and he was the silent partner on “Haunting.” He’d always known what the song was about.

“It worked out, though,” he said, because you were joking, but he could see the look in your eyes. Being used like this did not feel good. “I mean, for you. Probably not so much for CJ, since you bullied him into giving the band 50% of their last album sales revenue. And then you proved so indispensable that he had to promote you, to stop you from leaving to work with a bigger band.”

You turned away. “I didn’t bully him.”

He grinned, remembering the chaos at the executive meeting after CJ announced the changes in Rated Riot’s royalties. The CEO was on the verge of suggesting that you had a gun pointed to his head to explain why the band’s percentage had doubled.

“I recall there being threats,” Namjoon said.

“Well,” you tsked, “he deserved those. If he only hired me to provoke Jungkook, then he doesn’t deserve the full profit of anything Jungkook creates.”

Namjoon appeared even prouder now, his dimples prominent on his cheeks.

“I agree,” he said. “And you made sure that the label can’t afford to lose you. That sounds like a pretty cool payback for CJ’s questionable decisions.”

You glanced at him, then at the carpeted floors underneath your shoes.

Regardless of how you joined Rated Riot, you and the band have come so far. You’ve endured all that the industry had thrown at you. It shouldn’t have been surprising that the members loved you as much as you loved them, but their support today still felt breathtaking.

It was them, more than anyone, who had made sure that the label couldn’t afford to lose you.

“Did you hear about the email the band sent today?” you asked Namjoon.

“I did,” he confirmed, his grin growing wider still. “They picked up that tactic from you, I think.”

You shook your head, but a small smile had made it to your lips. “No. I think I’m the one who’s learning from them. And from you.”

“Either way,” he said, ignoring the appreciation in your voice and placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “You’re all doing great.”

You finally met his warm gaze and nodded. You weren’t going to fight him on this anymore; you knew that Rated Riot had worked hard to get to this point, and you had, too.

Namjoon was thrilled to see this determination in your eyes. You and Rated Riot together were a force to be reckoned with, and he was happy you’ve finally allowed yourself to accept that.

“Thank you,” you said. “Wembley next year, and the rest of the world the year after that, right?”

“Oh.” He laughed and gestured somewhere in the direction of the window, where the collection of alcohol was. “I’ll drink to that.”

A few minutes later, after the Jameson bottles—a kind gift from the promoters—had been emptied, the room seemed to ignite. The people around you began to move much more easily while the music that Seokjin had chosen played in the background, an interesting mix ranging from Kid Cudi’s classics to Coldplay’s latest album.

You and the Rated Riot members found yourselves in a haphazard circle in the centre of the room, each with a new bottle in hand.

“Nick mentioned that some Reconnaissance members are interested in seeing you play,” you told the band. “So now I’m trying to get them in, even though all your upcoming gigs are not just sold out, but already over capacity. That’s a problem I didn’t think we’d have so soo—”

“Hold on, hold on,” Yoongi interjected, holding up his hands and the already-empty bottle of beer. “Reconnaissance want to see us?”

“Yeah,” you confirmed, watching the members exchange glances, their eyes gleaming all of a sudden—another source of light in the room. “I called Nick to decline his offer and update him on everything, and he said—”

“Wait, wait, wait, wait,” Yoongi interrupted again, placing a confused palm over your hand, “so not only did Reconnaissance miss out on the best manager in the industry, but now they want to see us play?”

You caught a glimpse of Jungkook’s grin out of the corner of your eye. He took a quick swig of his Heineken to hide it.

“Well,” you said, still not drunk enough to accept praise without overwhelming discomfort, “if-if that’s how you want to—but yeah. They are coming to see you.”

Yoongi looked simply dumbfounded: his mouth was open, the corners of his lips upturned, his eyes squinting. It was a beautiful sight. You met Luna’s gaze behind Taehyung, and she, too, was beaming as she joined your circle.

For a long time, the members of Rated Riot had measured their success against Reconnaissance at their age, and they had always felt behind. And despite the extended tour, despite moving onto bigger venues, now was the first time when they felt like they were catching up.

“I can’t believe this,” Hoseok said, the exhilaration in his voice prompting the other boys to start high-fiving and exclaiming passionate ‘hell yeah’s.

“Well, so, what—uh, what’s the consensus?” Yoongi asked, snapping out of his daze. “Do we fucking rock or what?”

“Well, I don’t know!” Hoseok played along, the pitch of his passionate voice rising. “Let me check the latest data,” he paused dramatically for two seconds, “alright, the numbers are in. We fucking rock!”

Loud cries followed as the band broke into excited laps around the room. Seokjin, Namjoon, and Jimin—clearly entertained by whatever ritual they’d assumed the band had just held—joined in by attaching themselves to various members: Seokjin picked Jungkook, nearly choking him with an iron grip around his shoulders, while Namjoon and Jimin flocked to Hoseok. Yoongi was already huddled between Taehyung and Luna, repeatedly high-fiving them both.

You were right to feel anxious about telling them about Reconnaissance because the sudden burst of their already intense energy was a little dangerous. Even Yoongi—who was usually as lively as a well-trained turtle—was spinning in the middle of the room. He smacked into you as he whirled, already dizzy, and you grabbed his arm to help him regain his balance.

“I can tell,” you said, chuckling as Yoongi ran a hand through his hair and returned, swaying his drunken hips, to his spot next to Taehyung, “that the rest of this tour is going to be even more exciting.”

“I’m actually not sure if that’s even possible anymore,” Taehyung said, grinning as Yoongi leaned into his side to catch his breath. “After everything that’s already happened.”

He was alluding to more than just the positive excitement of the night—and Jungkook tensed as he made his way to your side—but you pointed your beer bottle at him, disagreeing.

“To be honest, we’re not doing too bad this time around,” you said, moving closer to Jungkook to make room for Maggie and Minjun in your circle. “Last time you guys were on tour, Jungkook got a concussion and dislocated his shoulder.”

Jungkook raised his eyebrows, caught off guard by the sudden attack.

“There was also,” Yoongi said, still breathing heavily, “the dancing incident in New York.”

The rest of the band chuckled—still holding their laughter back—while Jungkook groaned loudly enough for the people outside the room to hear.

“And Taehyung left the tour for a short while,” Hoseok added. “It was a new mess every day.”

You noticed Taehyung’s gaze drop. Luna had mentioned their brief breakup to you before, so you knew why Taehyung had suddenly left that time.

“Jimin got airsick one time, remember?” you offered your own addition to divert the topic. “So, you guys performed without functioning in-ears. Was that in Boston? You—”

“Oh my God, yes,” Maggie joined in, gripping your forearm in her excitement at the memory. “All the photos I took at that show were worthless. They were all staring at the ground the whole time as if that would help them hear better.”

Laughter filled the room as Jimin grumbled about leaving the band instructions for their in-ear monitors—which they cheerily failed to follow without Jimin guiding them every step of the way.

“Oh, and we lost Namjoon once, too!” Hoseok said, laughing even before he finished the sentence.

All eyes turned to the producer, but before Namjoon could offer an explanation, Seokjin scoffed indignantly.

“He was the one who lost us,” he declared. He had been responsible for looking after a drunk Namjoon that night in San Francisco, and he would never admit how poorly he handled that very simple task. “I looked away for one second, and he was gone.”

“He’s like a little kid when he’s really drunk,” Yoongi reminded him. “You should have known that.”

Seokjin rolled his eyes.

“You found him passed out,” you said, remembering the frantic phone call you’d received at three in the morning, “on top of the slide at some nearby playground, didn’t you?”

“Yeah,” Seokjin said, sending the band into a screeching fit of laughter. “I called his name, he opened one eye, and his body just slid down the slide. Fucking comical, and he’s not even trying to be funny.”

You snickered when Hoseok smacked Namjoon on the chest, holding onto his shoulders for support as his knees wobbled from laughter.

“Alright, then, how about the time we thought Yoongi’s guitar was malfunctioning during one of the shows,” Namjoon said, eager to deflect before the tips of his ears turned any redder, “but it turned out that he actually forgot to plug it in? No one even noticed it until the third song on the setlist.”

Maggie had already begun to wheeze when Luna interjected, “wait—wasn’t the third song, technically, Hobi’s drum solo?”

Hoseok looked very impressed that she remembered, and she gave him a smile and a nod. His drum solo used to be one of her favourite parts of the early Rated Riot shows.

“Yeah,” Yoongi said, snorting. He was no longer bothered by the incident. “I strummed a few chords backstage, and it made no fucking sound.” He suddenly glared at Seokjin. “You convinced Jimin to put me in time-out for not plugging it in.”

“You know very well you deserved that,” Seokjin returned, finishing his drink.

You joined in the laughter. Seokjin and Jimin had relaxed some of their strict policies this time around, because they discovered that the tour couldn’t function if three-quarters of the band were standing in different corners of the venue, waiting to be taken out of time-out before they were supposed to go on stage.

“What about Hoseok personally buying everyone drinks after each show?” Jungkook suggested. “He practically spent half our earnings in random bars.”

Agreeing nods and murmurs followed, and Hoseok merely shrugged, not denying the accusation.

“And what about you finishing most of the drinks that Hoseok bought?” Minjun bit, grinning at Jungkook.

Minjun, unlike Sid and Jude, had actually been invited to join the band for drinks sometimes—although, by the end of the night, he was usually forced to babysit Jungkook.

“What about it?” Jungkook shot back. “I can hold my liquor.”

Jimin blew the air out through his mouth, almost spitting as he half-wheezed, half-scoffed.

“You literally cannot,” he said. “Remember that time in Chicago when you, me, and Seokjin spent hours searching for a public bathroom after you finished five bottles of—”

“I told you I could have used the one that was closed!” Jungkook interrupted before Jimin could finish.

“It wasn’t closed. It was chained,” Jimin retorted. “Did you want to get arrested for trespassing and public urination?”

Jungkook rolled his eyes. “Who says I would have gotten arrested?”

“Are you kidding?” Seokjin chimed in. “You were shouting the lyrics to Billy Idol’s “Rebel Yell” as you rattled the chains.”

“That doesn’t—”

“In the midnight hour,” Seokjin demonstrated, shouting over the noise in the room and vigorously shaking his hands, “she cried more, more, more.”

Everyone was laughing so passionately at this point that it was impossible to hear the music in the room.

“Fine, fine,” Jungkook muttered, shuffling on his feet and moving partially behind you—his refuge from the teasing. “I get it.”

You didn’t know about this particular incident, but you remembered feeling relieved whenever Jungkook would leave the venue with the band members or someone from the staff, rather than his friends.

Sid had been omnipresent during the band’s first tour; he’d stayed even when Minjun and Jude had to return home. And during the only week that Sid wasn’t here, you’d had one of the most meaningful conversations with Jungkook—and certainly the longest—since your breakup.

It had been in Los Angeles, were Rated Riot were set to perform three shows that week. One night, you had found him alone, seated on one of the road cases outside the concert hall, a bottle of beer in his hand. You’d called his name, and he looked up at you with a gaze so familiar that you seemed to forget about all the months you had spent avoiding direct conversation with each other.

You’d been looking for him that night because you suspected that something was wrong—you didn’t know about his grandmother yet, but it was her condition that bothered him the most in those days.

“I’m fine,” he’d said after you asked him what was going on. “Just tired.”

So, you sat beside him on the road case, grabbed his bottle, and took a long swig. And he had watched you, completely mesmerised, just as he was watching you now.

That night, as you handed the bottle back to him, you’d asked him about his goals and what he wanted to achieve with the band.

“The whole world,” he had replied. And you’d smiled, making him smile, too. Your reaction convinced him that reaching the whole world was a completely feasible goal.

He hadn’t dared to ask why you’d agreed to work with Rated Riot, although you’d expected him to. Instead, he asked about your family, evading questions about his own. He asked how you’d met Luna, where you’d gotten the scar on your knee. He tried—you could see it now—to fill in the gaps of all the years you’d been out of touch.

And you remembered struggling to fall asleep that night in Los Angeles after you and Jungkook returned to the tour bus—because you’d finished that bottle of beer together. Because he’d given you his jacket as you walked back to the bus, even though it wasn’t very cold and the bus wasn’t parked very far. Because your hands had brushed as you walked side-by-side. Because he’d offered you a cigarette and you had declined, and your heart had started to hurt for seemingly no reason.

A year later, you raised your head, bringing your thoughts back to the present moment in the dark red dressing room of Cabaret Sauvage in Paris, where your family was laughing around you and your heart was beating next to you.

You turned to look at Jungkook and met his smiling gaze. He still stood behind you and, quietly, while everyone else continued their conversation, he lifted your linked hands to his lips and pressed a soft kiss on your knuckles.

“I remember when Taehyung had the flu, too,” Hoseok said, returning your attention to the group as they burst into shouts of agreement again. Jungkook wrapped an arm around your waist, bringing your back to his chest, and took another sip from his bottle.

“When he started to walk in his sleep?” Luna asked—she’d taken the brunt of that time her boyfriend was sick and refused to stay in bed. Everyone else was very grateful they didn’t have to handle his fevered tantrums.

“Yeah—he scared the shit out of me,” Yoongi recalled, shaking his head. “It was like four in the morning, I looked up from my bunk, and he was just standing there, staring right at me. I went, ‘what the fuck?’ and he just said, ‘the pipes broke’, then turned around and walked away.”

Amidst the laughter of the group, Jimin wheezed, “what pipes?”

Taehyung clicked his tongue and shook his head.

“I had a fever,” he said. “And it was nowhere near as bad or annoying as Jin actually stealing all of our socks from the bus back in Atlanta.”

Seokjin was opening his next beer bottle and did not feel fazed by the attention at all.

“You stole their socks?” Maggie voiced the question of the group.

“Now, listen,” Seokjin said, his tone relaxed, if only a little annoyed to be bothered about this. “We had a deal. I told the guys to stop after one encore, but they went on to play three. I need to sleep, you know. Can’t stay up dismantling the stage until six in the morning every night.”

You closed your eyes and leaned back into Jungkook’s embrace, calm and unreasonably content as he gently rocked side-to-side, both of his arms around you.

“Okay, I guess that makes sense,” Maggie replied. “But why socks?”

“I thought it’d be the biggest nuisance,” Seokjin explained simply. You smiled. The band members had come to you back then, complaining about someone messing with their belongings, and you had to buy socks in bulk until Seokjin returned them. “I was going to go for underwear, but I know that some of you don’t mind not wearing any, so socks seemed like a safer option.”

You opened your eyes to catch Seokjin giving Jungkook a meaningful glance over your head.

“I—” Jungkook began, but did not get much further than that.

“What?” Namjoon asked with a groan. You turned to see his nose wrinkled in blatant disgust. “Please tell me you’re all wearing underwear under your stage outfits right now.”

Yoongi, Taehyung, and Hoseok all shrugged and gave nods with varying degrees of conviction. Jungkook, meanwhile, snorted indignantly.

“No,” he said. “I prefer to wear mine over my stage outfit.”

Namjoon rolled his eyes at the unnecessary wit, but Seokjin was quick to down his beer and begin sparring.

“Is that your new costume?” he taunted. “Would fit well with the pirate eye patch.”

Jungkook inhaled sharply. “We do not speak of the eye patch.”

“Aye, sir,” Seokjin replied, grinning as he exaggerated his Rs. “We wor-rrr-ship the eye patch.”

Jimin’s laughter erupted in hiccupping waves that sounded oddly like a screeching cat in heat, and it was unnaturally infectious. He turned away to catch his breath, but you and Maggie had already succumbed to fits of giggles.

Jungkook, irked that this amused you so much, tightened his grip on your waist. You craned your neck to look at him upside down, traces of laughter still evident in your expression, and he placed a quick kiss on your forehead before turning back to his friends. You lowered your head, flustered by his abrupt affection—and Jungkook felt very happy again.

“No, no,” Namjoon was saying in between waves of laughter, “what we really worship is the mythical ramen Taehyung had promised to make us for dinner every night, but I’ve only tried it once so far. What’s that about? Did you think we would forget?”

Taehyung straightened and looked at Luna for help. She only smiled and shrugged, knowing better than to interfere with the band and their food.

“I never said I’d make it every night,” he replied, although somewhere at the back of his mind he vaguely recalled promising this very thing.

“You lost the bet,” Seokjin reminded him, “so you have no choice. You owe us five pots at this point, probably.”

You raised your eyebrows, but Luna beat you to the question. “There was a bet?”

“Of course,” Seokjin said, pausing to take another swig from his bottle. “There usually is.”

“What did you bet on?” she asked.

“This was in Oslo. All three of you,” he gestured towards you, Maggie, and Luna, “had gone out. We bet that Taehyung couldn’t go one hour without texting his girlfriend.”

You grinned while Yoongi gave Taehyung a comforting pat on the back. Jimin finally turned back around to face the group, and even Minjun had to bite back his laughter at the sight of Jimin’s wet eyes, tears of laughter still visible on his cheeks.

“I lasted ten and a half minutes,” Taehyung gloated—as though this was the best he could do, and this record was already so incredibly impressive that he wouldn’t even attempt beating it. Luna kissed his cheek, further encouraging his smugness.

“Ten and twenty-five,” Jimin, who had kept the time, corrected him, rubbing his fingers over his eyelids. “You were terrible. Complained the whole time.”

Taehyung grimaced but resisted the urge to stick out his tongue. “I’m nowhere near as bad as Jungkook, though.”

Jungkook blinked, caught by surprise again.

“What?” he asked, growing defensive once he understood the accusation. “I would have easily lasted an hour without texting my girlfriend.”

Just as you lowered your gaze to control your expression—you’d known Jungkook for seven years; surely, you would stop shivering at the sound of your relationship status some time soon—Hoseok reached over to press a hand on Jungkook’s shoulder.

“My friend,” he said, bowing his head, “you wouldn’t have lasted two minutes.”

The group launched into a series of examples to support Hoseok’s claim—with Minjun taking the lead, of course—and Jungkook couldn’t keep up with the barrage of playful accusations. They were correct, each and every one of them, but he still felt the need to explain himself.

“Alright, come on, leave him be,” you ended up interjecting, your tone light. You reached up, blindly finding Jungkook’s face behind you and gently patting his cheek. “We’re all very dependent on each other here anyway.”

Jungkook closed his eyes to focus on your touch. He felt pride first and foremost, but he also felt stunned that you’d defend him so openly: you were surrounded by your closest friends here, that was true, but they were also your co-workers. Yet you stood up for him and leaned into his embrace as the cheerful conversation continued around you.

He thought he’d finally done it. He reached the goal he’d once told you about – he had the whole world right here.

“You know, speaking of you two,” Seokjin said, swivelling to face you. “I know you drank my champagne in Amsterdam.”

Surprised, you pulled back from Jungkook and instinctively glanced at Hoseok—who had dragged Minjun away to help him bring the group more drinks.

“That was Hobi’s,” you said, remembering Hoseok’s party and the puddle of champagne on the bathroom floor—immortalised in Rated Riot’s upcoming single—after you and Jungkook discovered the hidden bottles and decided to have some.

“Please.” Seokjin scoffed. “You think he would hoard champagne? It was mine. And you two—”

“We only drank one bottle,” Jungkook interrupted, preemptively stopping you from denying the whole incident.

“Only on—you drank at least two,” Seokjin said, his unsteady legs wobbling slightly. You wondered how many bottles of beer he’d finished tonight—the extraordinary focus he was paying to enunciate every word indicated double digits. “That was my special champagne.”

He seemed to believe he was merely tipsy as he continued to watch the two of you with a look that he must have assumed was stern. Really, it was cloudy and obviously out of focus.

“What makes it special?” Jungkook asked.

“It was mine,” Seokjin replied, banging his palm against his chest a few times. You waited for him to elaborate on what he would have done with six bottles of champagne all by himself, but he decided he’d said enough.

“We’ll pay off the debt,” you offered. “Two bottles?”

“Two,” he confirmed, then cleared his throat. “But since I’ve had to wait so long for you to admit your wrongdoings, I’ve suffered emotional damage, too.”

“Ah, emotional damage, of course,” you repeated, exchanging a smile with Jungkook. Even drunk, Seokjin was an expert negotiator. “Two and a half, then?”

He pretended to consider it. Everyone else in the room had started a conversation about Yoongi’s sleeping habits—particularly how he stayed awake for three days straight and then slept for a whole week—and it distracted him for a second.

“Three,” Seokjin finally decided, “and we’ll call it even.”

“Alright, three bottles,” you agreed, turning to Jungkook again. He gave you a nod and unfastened himself from you, taking your hand instead.

“We’ll go out to get them right now,” Jungkook said, leading you to the door of the dressing room.

Seokjin seemed surprised when you gave him a quick wave.

“No, you—” he began, then hiccupped and shook his head at the interruption, “—you don’t have to go now.”

“But we must,” you said, pouting your lips very empathetically. “Can’t let you suffer because of what we’d done any longer.”

Seokjin looked as if he wanted to respond, but his intoxicated mind was too sluggish. Still, you saw the hint of a grin tugging at his lips as the door of the room closed behind you; Seokjin knew exactly why you were so eager to leave. It was how you’d found his champagne back in Amsterdam: the two of you would take any and every opportunity to be alone together.

And so, you and Jungkook found yourselves alone on the dark streets of Paris, walking around the park that surrounded the venue, supposedly on a mission to find three bottles of champagne.

It became apparent rather quickly that you’d have to walk quite a distance from the venue to find a shop that was still open. You did not mind that.

Jungkook glanced up as he walked, and you followed his gaze to the sky. In the quiet corners of the cobblestone alleys, right between the streetlights, you could see the stars.

You’d seen these stars before, almost a month ago, when you went to Kihyun and Chloé’s wedding. You’d taken a detour because Jungkook wanted to show you the Champs-Élysées, and you remembered that night in explicit detail: the way the curls in his hair had looked, damp from the rain. The way his eyes had sparkled with an innate, undying excitement, playfully reflecting every street light around you. You remembered the feel of his hands when he instinctively touched you to guide you across the street. You remembered the scent of his cologne as he gestured wildly, recounting the stories about Paris that his grandmother had read to him when he was younger. His voice had sounded wistful, yearning.

The stars had looked beautiful back then—they had to. Really, you didn’t have many chances to look up at them. Jungkook had been right beside you, smiling, with gentle creases of delight by his eyes, and you didn’t even consider looking away.

The sky glittered with the same lights now, a never changing, constant presence over you. And again, you lowered your eyes to watch the reflection of the stars in his eyes instead. The night sky was no longer your favourite thing in the world.

“I think,” Jungkook said, “this is what my grandma meant when she said that she’s always wanted to visit Paris.”

You looked at the street ahead of you. It was hidden from the main paths of the park by dark, menacing buildings, and it looked like just about any other street in the world.

“What do you mean?” you asked.

“She wanted this,” he explained, raising your intertwined hands. “What we have right now. Strolling through these back alleys, forcing every streetlight to flicker and every gust of wind to change direction.”

You felt everything he’d mentioned in your chest—the silence of the alleys, the flickers of the lights, the gusts of the shifting wind—and you held his hand tighter.

“What does Paris have to do with this?” you asked.

“Nothing,” he said. “It doesn’t have to do anything, it’s just there for us to walk through it. But this isn’t really about Paris. It never is.”

You looked down at the pavement in a poor attempt to hide your smile. He could still see it. If you were smiling, he’d always make sure to see it.

“That would sound far more romantic,” you said, “if I hadn’t just seen a dead rat across the street.”

Jungkook threw his head back in sudden laughter. He’d seen the rat, too, but he didn’t want to say anything. You had just looked up at the stars in the sky; he thought it’d spoil the moment.

“I know,” he said. “This is why I said that Paris is overrated. I’m just trying to make it sound better.”

“It’s still beautiful despite these things, though,” you said as the two of you took a turn past the canal that ran across the park. The dark water reflected the dim lights of the streets and the persistent stars, too. “Despite the dead rats and unbelievable amounts of garbage everywhere.”

“Yeah?” Jungkook could not control the size of his smile or the sounds in his chest. “You think so?”

“Mhmm,” you said. “These things happen sometimes, I guess. You care about something so much that not even dead rats can ruin it.”

You’d clearly stopped talking about Paris, and he had to turn away from the look in your eyes before he accidentally led you right into the canal. The two of you turned a corner instead, leaving the reflections in the water behind you as you entered another sleeping street, the cobblestones stirring awake under your feet.

Squeezing your hand as he walked, Jungkook looked up at the numerous wrought-iron balconies on the building to your right and felt, for just a moment, as though the faint lights in the windows were watching the two of you. He hoped they were. He loved you so much that he wanted everyone to see.

“I think it’s a metaphor,” he said.

You turned to him. “What is?”

“The dead rat.”

That wouldn’t have been your choice of words to describe the rat, and you continued to watch him, bemused. “It’s a metaphor?”

“Yeah,” he said. “For a new beginning.”

You looked down to avoid twisting your ankles on the uneven street stones.

“I assume the dead rat represents Sid’s demise, then,” you said.

“Precisely,” Jungkook replied, and you turned another corner in the labyrinth of Parisian streets.

“I’ll take it,” you said. Then, nearly laughing, you nodded your head at the shadows ahead of you. “I think I see another one.”

He turned his head and squinted.

“Shit,” he murmured, spotting a pair of panicked, beady eyes. “That one looks alive. Maybe we should cross the—”

“Oh,” you pulled his hand to gesture at the rodent ahead, “you don’t want to say hi to Sid’s uncle?”

“That’s his cousin, I think.”

Laughing—nearly hysterically—the two of you crossed to the other side of the street. Another turn led you back to the canal, right on the edge of a bridge stairway. The massive abutment on this side of the canal and the wall of a parking lot next to it were decorated with years and years of graffiti history, and the two of you stopped momentarily to catch your breath and to analyse the art.

Most of the tags here had something unique about them—lizard tongues spewing out of the Os, crazy-eyed devils holding the letters. You noticed a few love declarations, too, when you leaned in closer. And you wondered, as you smiled at the hearts drawn around unfamiliar names on the grey bricks, if the initials you’d burnt into the library wall on your campus were still there.

“Smells like shit here, too, actually,” Jungkook remarked, breaking the spell.

You laughed again, pulling back from the wall.

“That’s good,” you said, returning to him so that you could continue down the road, curving slightly under the bridge. “Means it’s seen things.”

“It’s seen shit.”

You glanced at him, grinning. “So have we.”

“That’s true,” he said. Then, as soon as you emerged from under the bridge, he stopped and looked at you, his eyes slightly widened. “Hey, maybe all of this means that we were really meant to be here. You and me.”

The sudden epiphany he seemed to have had confused you. You looked around at the buildings towering on each side of the canal and the loose bags of trash flowing in the wind, scattering empty soda cans across the pavement.

This night did not seem special in any way, but Jungkook was looking at you like it was, and it took one glance at the hopeful smile on his lips for you to believe in the magic, too.

“Yeah,” you said softly. “Maybe we were.”

He was smiling at you—for you, really—and you knew that you would forget everything about your trip to Paris again: all the sights, the people, the concerts, and the drinks. Instead, you’d remember the way he was looking at you right now—and that was all that you really wanted to remember anyway.

During this tour, there were many moments where you felt like you were dreaming. You convinced yourself that what happened couldn’t have been real because it simply shouldn’t have been.

You and Jungkook had taken so many left turns where the only way was right. You’d caused childish problems and faced unnecessary challenges. It was practically impossible for you to still find each other at the end of the day.

But you were awake. And however impossible or unlikely it was, you’ve found each other.

It had been raining the last time you were in Paris, but the sky was clear tonight, and now you and Jungkook could walk down these streets, laughing and swaying your hands, and no longer lying to yourselves.

The truth was, your souls, like your hands, had always been intertwined—even when you tried to pretend they weren’t.

FIN.

chapter title credits: sleeping with sirens, “if i’m james dean, you’re audrey hepburn”

we're done, friends! 🥹 if you have read so far, i truly love you more than words can describe 🤍

if i had to explain what my life was like while i was writing this fic, it would turn into an ao3 author's note that's like "hey guys, sorry i didn't update, i was in prison" so i'm very grateful to have received your feedback and support over the past few months 🤍🤍

hopefully there will be more things i can share with you in the future, but for now, thank you and good night 🤍

prev ○ END.

[apocalypse-shuffle]

DIANA PRINCE | WONDER WOMAN (the flashpoint paradox)

—

“The Messenger Bird Sings” (Diana Prince x Fem!Reader)

| Infiltrating Themyscira to save a resistance member is a disaster. But it leads to unexpected consequences when the Queen captures you.

| SFW, open ending, infatuated!reader, (TW: captured!reader, spoils of war, unfettered murder), -dark!wonder woman

| pics via: Justice League: The Flashpoint Paradox animated movie

| Here’s a link to the scene this is based on. The words/dialogue that are mine are mine and the words that are from the movie are not mine.

| 2k+ words

Sneaking around New Themyscira is a feat you didn’t think you’d ever experience but, lo and behold, here you were.

The island was beautiful in a way that reminded you of what used to be. It’s battle torn, but the skies are still bright blue and the air’s still unnaturally fresh and fizzling with magic.

Even if it’s not the same as you're sure it’d be on the original “Paradise Island”, the residual effect of the Amazon’s whimsy sticks to the place like it was fated to be. Like their magic lays as much claim over this part of what used to be Europe as they do.

It’s a drastic contrast to the wreckage all around you all.

“Alright crew, we meet back at the ship by dusk. This is an evidence gathering retreat and extraction mission so stay out of sight and do not engage.” Steve’s command stays quiet through coms even as he shifts to giving out individual instructions next. His voice a steady balm that you lock onto to distract you enough you don’t have to keep biting back your grin.

─────

It’s hours before anything worthwhile than ducking and hiding takes place.

Initially Steve’s group was primarily tasked with direct extraction of Lois Lane from behind enemy lines but you had run into her, and a small number of other survivors hiding in the nature reclaimed remains of what used to be London, first.

Your branch-off specifically is just meant to be gathering enough tangible evidence that the Amazon’s are taking human hostages to finally push the last remaining world leader to actually let Steve’s task force move in to save them.

Years ago you’d thought politics was hard to navigate. Now it was a literal minefield, one wrong move and someone would take off your head.

You’re hoping at the very least your wrong move doesn’t happen here.

The Amazons were brutal. What little clear footage that still remained showed their killing prowess off well. They didn’t level cities the way the Atlanteans did, but at the beginning of all this they’d conquered their way across the Mediterranean in less than a week and no one had even noticed.

The Atlanteans were too loud, even put up against the Amazons brutality and true disdain for humanity. Especially men. Atlantis had taken over the European Coast with brute force and luck that their extremely obvious assault couldn’t be stopped by any human forces.

If the human world had been anywhere near as technologically advanced and superhuman you’re sure that Atlantis would’ve fallen that day. King Arthur had put all of his forces, after the Amazon’s had near silently ran them off, into conquering Europe’s waters but he’d made a gamble in doing so.

The Amazon’s didn’t gamble.

Call it years of godly military practice coming into play or whatever but the Amazon’s were a strategic power house. They blew through everything they wanted to as if it was parchment paper in a way that the Atlanteans and their ‘throw everything at it until it sticks’ strategy could never.

The Queen didn’t take whatever she wanted, the rumored start of the war in the first place, because she was careless.

“Pilgrim to Mayflower, we’ve been caught in an ambush—”

Your radio crackles to life on your hip. You turn to your team leader but she only shakes her head. She gestures for you all to get closer together. She’s following protocol, if you have to leave team ‘Pilgrim’ behind you have to wait in silence five minutes before doing so, but if you get a response in that period you have to call in for backup.

Beside you Lois’s quiet as she stares at the radio in Boston’s hand, lip between her teeth.

The following crackle three and a half minutes in makes you all jump.

“—it’s The Queen. The Queen’s with them!”

This time it’s not Steve’s voice but a woman from his group. The air rushes from your lungs.

Queen Diana of Themyscira wasn’t careless.

Something presses down on the receiver and the sounds of screaming and gunfire reach your ears. Right behind it cheers of triumph follow.

All distinctly feminine sounding.

The Queen took what she wanted without hesitation because she was self assured in her prowess.

“Dammit to hell,” Boston curses.

Your heart feels tight all of a sudden.

The Queen.

The same one who started a whole world war because she didn’t bow down to such pitiful quirks as apologizing. The Queen who allegedly wore the crown of the woman she killed as a trophy.

When that exact crown, Atlantean in nature, crests over a row of rubble from toppled buildings towards you the sight of that golden headrest becomes an omen.

The Amazon’s are ruthless when they reach you. There’s barely a triumphant yell afterwards the fight was so close to already won once it started. In fact it’d probably be an insult to the Goddess Artemis herself to call it a fight at all.

A mild squabble maybe.

Like a kitten might give a gangly boy throwing her into a box to slowly meet its death. Or the inevitable but hopeless life of a fly when around a flytrap.

The Amazon’s had gained on you too fast for women who were supposed to be on the other side of the island right now.

As you’re thrown into the middle of a circle of stern-faced Amazon’s with your team, knocking right into Steve and his remaining crew, you start to feel a lot like a fly trapped because of its need to further inspect a predator so unequivocally greater than itself.

Your eyes prickle and your breath squeezes past your throat, but as you watch the towering few women around you your heart thuds not with fear but revelation.

In person the Amazon’s were every bit as terrifying as the stories and mission reports made them out to be, then some. Their armor was chinked and dusted with the brutal effects of war and yet they still seemed to glow brighter than the overcast sun as they set their ire upon you.

It was a lesson in skill to be present for the way they fought up close. Every strike and simple step was so clearly packed full with power and yet they moved as one graceful unit, where one woman leaned right two more would work to balance back out the open circle till closed again like feathers in the wind.

They were seamless even as they taunted Steve, held in The Queen’s lasso as he was. The center of everyone’s attention.

Something shamefully akin to envy prods at you incessantly. You do your best to ignore it.

Your fists clench and unclench at your side as you watch the warriors playing with their food. Lois looks like she can’t decide whether to throw up or throw something. For the sake of all your lives you pray she only vomits.

“You’re all Americans,” Queen Diana points out before tightening her hold on the lasso. Steve is forced to rise up on his knees at the movement, hands going to his throat in a fruitless effort to pry off the rope choking him. “But you’re going to tell me a little more about yourself. Who are you and what is your group’s goal?”

For a few seconds you all watch as Steve just…doesn’t answer. Your eyes narrow. Maybe the rumors about The Queen’s lasso were actually just rumors this time around, you’re pretty sure a gift from the gods isn’t supposed to have user defects.

The other Amazon’s seem to think the same thing as five of them huddle closer to their leader and soft murmurs travel around you from the ones that remain vigil.

“He’s resisting the lasso of truth! How is that possible Queen Diana?”

The Queen looks offended, jaw tightening.

“It’s not,” she says before wrapping more of the lasso around her hand and pulling Steve up so they’re face to face, his toes dragging in the dirt. “Who are you and what are you and your people doing in New Themyscira?”

You all gasp. Off to the side Boston starts to struggle, cursing up a storm as Steve truly goes red in the face. You can’t not watch her a bit impassioned, you know what’ll happen next. One Amazon, red haired and incredibly angry looking, kicks her in the face so hard that by the time her body falls to the dirt you can all tell she’s dead. Face crunched to all hell as her lifeless body faces you.

You shiver and look away.

“This is an outrage,” Lois murmurs.

You don’t argue in any direction with her, just turn back to The Queen.

“Thank you for shutting her up, Artemis. Now back to you, I believe I asked you a question.”

Steve can barely put up a token protest, still actively choking, before he starts to spill everything.

“My name is Colonel Steve Trevor of the United States Special Forces. Me and my team, the second of which was headed by the woman you just killed, Colonel Boston Knight, were tasked with gathering information about your base and with the retrieval of Lois Lane.”

The Queen’s brows furrow, “Who is this Lois Lane?”

You close your eyes. You can feel the very woman stiffen where she’s crouched next to you. Your next breath in feels too much like a hiccup.

“Lois Lane is a Politzer prize winning journalist who has been embedded in New Themyscira to gather intel on your Amazons for Cyborg. She’s…she’s also one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever met.”

Steve struggles, doing his best to clamp down on his jaw before some invisible force pries it back open and one of his trembling hands flick out to point. “And she’s over there.”

All eyes seem to shift to the woman no less than a foot away from you.

The Queen looks over at her with a haughty air as she takes in the new information.

“‘Most beautiful’ until me, that is,” she states while lowering him.

You're mesmerized as the glow of the lasso fades while she dismisses you all once again. The Queen’s attention quickly shifts to a blonde Amazon who nods and begins speaking immediately.

“Our information was correct, then, My Queen. Cyborg is amassing the outside world’s superhumans in an attempt to interfere in our war.”

“And he will fail,” her voice echoes across their foggy battlefield with surety. Wonder Woman scowls. “Now seize the Lane woman and take her back to our sanctum.”

“Yes, My Queen,” the blonde speaks up again as all the others quickly nod their assent.

Lois puts up a huge struggle, kicking out at a woman and briefly causing her to stumble before three more are on her. It takes a couple seconds before she stops, limbs twisted every which way as she’s held before the Queen’s unforgiving gaze.

She looks distinctly unimpressed as she and Lois stare down one another. The reporter definitely lived up to her reputation at least. Unfortunately so did Queen Diana.

“Go. I will deal with her later.”

They take Lois away and all you can do is watch.

The Queen glances over all of you again as the blonde waves the women off and then turns to Queen Diana with a wave in Steve’s direction.

“May I deal with this prisoner for you?”

She takes barely a second to decide.

“No, Persephone. The Queen of the Amazons is a servant to her people,” she rises then, taking Steve up with her and letting him dangle from the ropes. His gagging makes you curl in on yourself, “nothing is beneath her,” Queen Diana finishes as Steve takes his final struggling breaths.

The blood vessels on his face pop at the relentless pressure put on them as The Queen stares on impassively. The remaining Amazons cheer and the woman seems to bask in their praise.

“You must remember that this is a win for all of us!” Her exclamation is met with more cheers as she dangles Steve’s lifeless body through the air like a marionette.

“May the gods continue to look down favorably upon the daughters of Themyscira!” That cheer, from a dark skinned Amazon with snowy white hair, gets even Queen Diana calling out in excitement.

Their voices thunder around you all and in all your years both as black and as a woman you have never been made to feel so small as you do till now.

Like this, however, that feeling of absolute insignificance was damningly heady.

In the very next moment The Queen’s sharp gaze seems to snap to you and the skant air you’ve managed to gain seems to flee from your lungs in terror.

“Exactly sisters! And for that the fates of the spoils of our hunt today shall be decided by you!” She bows in mid air. “A gift from your ever faithful Queen.”

Seems the celebration won’t be stopping anytime soon then. You glance around at your teammates and see matching fear welling in their eyes.

Some of the people the Amazons choose are killed instantly and with gusto, others tossed between two of them like nothing as they’re tortured, some are even dragged away for who knows what, but you?

You’re left untouched.

Shaking you watch as everyone is picked off one by one around you and how in the rush The Queen's gaze still manages to stay locked on your form.

You’re watching her back with wide, nearly star struck eyes when she finally starts towards you. Your blood goes cold as she descends, carelessly dropping Steve in the process, before that damned lasso gets thrown around your body.

“Now you see that is a face of admiration!” She hoists you up into the air and your stomach drops. “Now tell me your truth, little human.”

“You’re…ethereal,” comes tumbling past your lips before you can hope to stop it.

The woman looks back at you in mild surprise before her laughter fills your ears.

“Of course I am.” She shifts you in her grip while motioning for the Amazons to move, hovering with you above them as they march back to their sanctuary.

You wonder if its location was one of the things Lois was going to share with you.

You were willing to bet it was too late to find out now.

─────

When you get back to the Queen’s new castle you feel like where they were hiding when they weren’t fighting should’ve been pretty obvious.

It was literally the former royal palace.

You walk in and can tell instantly that while some form of a fight must have occurred within the walls, the palace itself looked in otherwise perfect shape.

While most of the other Amazons that came with you disperse, some stay to debrief the Queen as she takes you along to the throne room.

At the entrance you’re met with a set of Amazons. Swiftly, they bow to their leader before opening the doors for her.

As you get a look inside your brows raise.

The throne that sits at the end of the velvet walkway is singular, first of all, and a lot bigger and more ornate than anything the British could’ve ever scrounged up. It makes even you impressed.

Queen Diana sits in it with all the air of a woman who knows without a moment of uncertainty that little can harm her.

In the following seconds she moves you to join her too, and you flush hard enough for a slight red hue to tint the deep brown of your cheeks.

The binding along your arms and midsection is so strong that you don’t even bother attempting to wiggle loose as you’re made to sit on the Amazon’s lap.

She’s completely self assured as she discusses her next steps with her council, and it makes you feel hopeless the way they blow off the US’s push back efforts as nothing. Easily solvable.

And all while you’re sitting on her lap like a trophy.

Eventually she dismisses everyone but the guards at the door and you're as alone as you’ll get.

You swallow thickly, glancing up at her through your lashes.

It’s a last ditch attempt but you try it anyway.

“If you kill me it’ll be all the US needs to join the war and deploy their forces.”

She looks down at you with a subtle raise of a brow.

“It’s adorable that you think you can scare me,” The Queen says. “Your government is so pathetic they jump at their own shadow. What threat could they ever possibly be to me when they can barely handle the problems within their own borders?”

She laughs, a boisterous sound that you feel just as much as you hear, and you’re unintentionally shaken in her hold. You knew it was a long shot but damn. She didn’t just shoot your idea down, she busted a fucking gut at it. You pout.

Yeah, you were screwed.

The Queen looked fucking unreal when she laughed though; you were a little winded.

NOTES: Hope you enjoyed!!! I love dark!WW, and she was too good looking in the Flash Point animation style; fourteen year old me literally couldn’t handle it.

Also— boy, has this one been in the works for a hot ass minute, but at least now it’s finally out.

In general, though, I’m trying to get out fics with more of The Trinity as a focus that aren’t just Batman fics. So yeah.

btw: if you’d like to leave a comment I’d very much appreciate it!

[bfiaflbox]

Tonight I wish I was your girl

Pairing: Matty x Reader Warnings: smut (praise kink, choking, unprotected sex) Disclaimer: Ok, so I literally had a dream about this and then decided to write it down and make it a fic. I swear, I'm not weird, I just tried to put the pictures from my dream into words. Also, in my dream Matty was sitting in the pub with Pete Doherty (who had "Fuck" tattooed on his forehead (??) and Zane Lowe but there was no scenario on earth that I could come up with that made that believable in any way so I took that out. (Fun fact: in my dream I did something my anxious ass would never do and just went up to Zane Lowe, ignoring everyone, and just asked "are you interviewing them or just having a conversation? I'm just asking because I love The Libertines (a lie) and the... the... The Matty Band" and he was just like "who are you I'm not interviewing anyone, this is rude"). Also my dream ended when they arrived at the house so the rest is made up.

2.6k words and I didn't proofread any of them.

It was probably a pathetic Idea but your intuition told you to get on a train and head to Wilmslow on Christmas Eve.

Your plans of spending Christmas had fallen flat because large parts of your family had contracted Covid and wanted to stay by themselves to not spread the disease. In a desperate attempt to not feel lonely, you looked up train connections to any of your friends houses that might take you in for Christmas, but there really was only one person you really wanted to see.

Two hours and seventeen minutes and you'd be in Wilmslow via Stockport. You booked the connection without thinking twice. It was only when you were actually sitting in the Avanti West Coast Train to Manchester Piccadilly at Euston station that you thought about how crazy your actions were. They were the actions of a desperate idiot in love. There was no denying you were in love with Matty but there was a great chance that to him you were probably just a friend. Just as you decided that this was a bad idea and you should go home now, the train started to move.

After a short panic attack and contemplating whether or not using the emergency break was warranted in this situation you decided to just text Matty.

You: Hey, are you having a nice time in Wilmslow?

Matty: Yeah. Well, it's family, love them but it can be a lot at once. Might head to the pub tonight to catch up with some old friends. What are you up to?

You: Nothing really. Since Christmas is cancelled this year, I'll just... improvise. Your plan sounds nice, though.

Matty: Yeah, something's missing though, to be honest. Or someone.

You just assumed he was talking about his grandma or a different family member and didn’t give it a second thought.

Me: Hope you have a great time nonetheless :)

///

You arrived in Wilmslow in the afternoon. On the train you had decided that once you arrived you'd walk around town a bit and then to get the next train home again because surprising your crush on Christmas Eve in his hometown is not the thing a normal person would do and you were definitely a very normal person and not at all a stalker.

You got out of wilmslow station and started to just walk straight ahead and see where the road would take you. You walked past parks and restaurants and shops that looked lovely but were mostly closed. Eventually the area became more residential and you couldn't help but notice that you tried to look into the windows of the houses in search of Matty. Right, that's it. It's getting dark and this is ridiculous you scolded yourself as you turned around to head back to the station.

As you walked by The Brewhouse and Kitchen you decided to get something to eat before heading back to London. The pub was crowded as you walked in. No wonder, it was one of the very few pubs that was open.

You looked around for a table to sit at when you spot Matty. You stare at him in shock. He's actually here. He sat in a corner booth with two other guys and had yet to notice you. Just as you were thinking about how you could make your way out of this scenario, Matty turned his head and looked right at you. You were fucked. There was no denying you were here now. His eyes grew wide and he stared at you with raised eyebrows. Right, this was definitely a mistake you thought but Matty waved you over to them excitedly.

When you didn't move because you were too embarrassed to do anything, Matty got up and made his way over to you. "Hii, darling, what are you doing here?" he asks excitedly. You couldn't answer. How do you tell someone that your family cancelled christmas, you were lonely and decided to go to the other person's hometown without telling them a word about it? Instead you just went up to him and hugged him. His arms enveloped you in one of his strong and warm hugs and it felt so incredibly good to be near him. "Surprise" you mumble into his chest. "Surprise indeed" he laughed. "It's so nice to see you. Come, sit with us." He lead you back to the table he shared with his mates.

After introducing you as his good friend and ordering your drink, Matty couldn't sit still. He was fumbling with either his glass, the table decorations or his fingernails until you decided to just take one of his hands in yours. An intimate gesture, you were aware of that, but it felt right and trusting your intuition was what helped you get here in the first place. Matty just looked at you with pure adoration and love as you felt him physically relax a bit.

After two more rounds of drinks, everybody decided to call it a night. You paid and made your way out of the pub where you said goodbye to Matty's mates. When they were gone, there was a brief silence between you until Matty spoke with the usual unserious tone: "You're so weird for coming to Wilmslow. How did you know where to find me?" "I didn't. I just walked around and... dunno" "I love that you're here. Come home with me?" "What and crash your familiy's Christmas, definitely not!" "Please? I can't let you take the train at this hour, it's dangerous!" we both know that's a lie "Also, what's waiting for you back in London? Please stay, my family won't mind, we're a pile of patchwork anyways" You looked at him and saw that he was actually excited about the idea. You just kept looking, noticing the light stubble on his face, the grey strands of hair at his temples, the eyebrows raised in anticipation and his lips. These fucking lips. You took your hand and raked your fingers through his hair. His eyes fluttered shut in enjoyment, a dopey smile forming on his lips. You decided then and there that you couldn't take it anymore. You could not go another second without knowing how his lips felt on yours, so you went up on your tiptoes, your hand anchored at the back of his head and crushed your lips to his. His hands came up to cup your face and you felt him reciprocating and deepening the kiss.

Your ears were ringing and your body felt like it was on fire. There's nothing else that mattered in that moment other than his lips on yours. After a few seconds you break the kiss and just smile. He's the first one to speak: "So it's settled then?"

You don't know if he meant the months of pining after each other or the question whether you'd stay or not but to both you just grinned and nodded.

He takes your hand and starts walking. It wasn't awkward, it was exciting. There was a lot of giggling and stopping randomly to snog on the way home but eventually Matty pointed to a house and said "that's us" as if you had always been a part of this and there had never not been an us.

Before putting his keys into the door he stops for a second and goes "Oh fuck, I'm sharing a room with my brother". You looked at him questioningly but he just continued "We have to be quiet, everybody's asleep". He opened the door and once you were inside he was on you, kissing your mouth, your jaw, a line down your throat to your collar bone. You couldn't help but let out an obscene moan and suddenly Matty stopped. He was looking at you with big eyes, raised eyebrows and a finger over his mouth that was curled into a smile, signaling to be quiet. "Sorry, sorry, fuck" you whispered with a giggle.

"Let's take the couch and figure something out in the morning" he suggested. "I can just take the couch and you sleep in your normal bed" "Baby, do you seriously think I will let you sleep alone tonight? Let alone on the couch in a house where nobody knows you are even there? If you'll have me, of course" "I really don't want to be alone, thank you" He smiled at that and kissed your lips again. So soft and so gentle.

Matty lead you into the living room and closed the door after you. The couch looked comfy, a suspicion that was confirmed when you plopped down on it. Matty laid down on his side behind you, opening his arms signaling you to lie down too. When you relaxed into his embrace as the little spoon, you felt all the anxiety and doubt and all the bad feelings leaving you. Feeling Matty's embrace made you feel invincible.

The position also let you feel something else which was the bulge in his pants that was growing and pulsing against your ass. You felt proud that you had this effect on him and so you took his hand that was resting on your hand in front of you and placed it on your lower belly, pushing it further down, all while moving your hips back into his growing hard-on. Matty let out a small groan "baby, we can't, they could hear us" "Please, Matty! I need you" you whispered, sounding incredibly needy. His hands slid under the elastic of your leggings and your underwear. "You need to be really really quiet" he warned and you believed him. His hand in your underwear spread your folds and slid through them, gathering some of the slick that had accumulated there. "Fuuuck, baby, you're so wet. Look at that, so so needy for me" he whispered, at which you just nodded. You needed him, you wanted him. You were so horny and needed some of that feeling to be released. He slipped two fingers inside and immediately started to fuck you with them. The room stayed silent except for the squelching sound of his fingers in your wetness and some heavy breathing. His movements were unrelenting. In a normal situation you would've screamed by now but you were biting your knuckles in hopes of staying silent while your orgasm was fast approaching. "Will you come for me baby, hm? Come on my fingers like the needy little thing you are?" at which you just managed to nod. Your orgasm hit you and you almost choked on the moan that was threatening to escape your throat as your walls clenched around Matty's fingers.

"That's it, baby. You did so well, staying silent." he whispered, kissing your shoulder between each sentence and you knew then and there that you couldn't go to sleep now. You kept grinding your ass against his boner and soon enough he knew what you wanted. "Fuck, baby, I can't fuck you, I won't be able to keep quiet" he whispers in your ear. "That's not fair, I need you to fill me. I feel so empty" you pouted while sliding your underwear and leggings off your legs. You kept grinding your naked ass into his boner until he was out of patience. Annoyed he kicked off his trousers and boxer shorts, flipped you on your belly and and angrily whispered in your ear "I swear to god if you make one sound this will have been the first and last time" before he lined up his cock with your entrance and started pushing inside.

The intrusion of his cock in your pussy felt divine. He was bigger than you were used to, plus you were lying on your belly which emphasised the sensation. "Oh baby, do I need to rearrange your insides to make some room for myself?" he cooed while relentlessly pushing inside you. "you're so tight, fucking hell". He stopped for a second as he buttomed out. "You alright?" "Yes, yes" you nodded.

"Fuck, you're so beautiful" he said as he pulled out until only his tip was still buried in your pussy and then slammed inside again. The slap of his pelvis against my ass rang out through the otherwise silent room. You weren't sure if you could take a pounding like that without anything to muffle your sounds so you grabbed a pillow off the couch and bit down into it but Matty wouldn't have it. He grabbed the pillow and threw it away. "You wanted this, remember? You're gonna take it and you're gonna be nice and quiet" and with that he started to fuck you in an unforgiving pace. When you were close again, you couldn't help but let out the tiniest whimper. In response Matty's hand came up to your throat and squeezed. That's what did it for you and you came on his cock, any cries that could have existed got muffled by the chokehold on your neck. "Baby, it feels so good when you come on my cock. Like you were made for taking it deep in your pussy." Your head was dizzy from the orgasm, the restricted blood flow and the praise. How did he know about your praise kink? "Can you come a third time tonight, hm?" he whispered at which you just nodded. "Oh baby, I'm gonna have to hear words, how else can I be sure?" "Please, yes" is all you managed to choke out, not able to form coherent sentences. It's all that Matty needed to hear. "On all fours, come on" he directed you to your knees and then started pounding you again. In this position he was able to fuck you incredibly deeper. His cock hit your cervix and the jolt of light pain that this stimulation triggered was making you lightheaded again. You felt so full, so incredibly, wonderfully full. When Matty's hand came round to your clit to help that promised third orgasm along you knew he had to be be close himself. "Come on, baby, come for me. Come on my cock" he was drawing quick circles with his fingers on your clit. Suddenly you could feel him spilling his cum inside you and it all became too much. You let out an overstimulated cry as you came a third time.

Matty stilled, cock still inside you and you didn't dare to make a movement or a sound. Fuck, did anybody hear you? You stayed like this for a few moments and when neither of you could hear anything in the house, Matty pulled out of you. You let out a shaky breath at the feeling of the unwelcome emptiness. You stood up, bit shaky on your legs and faced Matty with an absolutely blissful smile on your lips. "Thank you", you whispered and kissed him at which Matty just chuckled "I don't think anybody ever thanked me after fucking them" "Well that's just rude, isn't it?" you laughed and kissed him again. When you were able to feel his cum running down your legs, you asked for the toilet. You cleaned yourself up, thanked your past self for getting that IUD and went back to the living room. Matty was lying on the couch again, waiting for you to slot into position as his little spoon. You happily obliged and made yourself comfortable in his arms. "What will you tell your family tomorrow?" "That my new girlfriend surprised me in town, came home with me and saw a ghost, obviously" "Obviously" You had to laugh at that.

"I'm glad you're here. I was missing you like crazy" he confessed and kissed your neck. "I'm glad, too" you whisper. Once you were able to hear a light snore behind you, you added "I love you".

[theregencywriter]

Lost in Silence 1 - Theo Sharpe x Reader

A/n - Okay so I'm obviously rewatching Bridgerton (are we surprised???) and I realised there's really no fics of Theo???? I mean of course there are but not many and I feel like he's underrated so I needed to put this out there! Still not completely sure which direction to take this in so pls message or comment if you have literally any ideas but uh, yeah! Hope you enjoy <3

The air was thick with tension. Y/n’s mother paced back and forth whilst her daughter Y/n, only ten, sat watching. The cobbled streets of London were cold and unforgiving but with no more room available in the room they were forced to wait outside. Hours passed before the doctor came out, his already stained robes marred with a fresh tint of crimson blood. He romoved a glove and placed his hand onto her Mothers arm as he spoke. “The bleeding was too much. There was nothing we could do and yet we still exhausted all options. I’m sorry.”

And then began a shriek from her mouth that young Y/n could swear rattled the nearby windows, as she shrank to the floor. It was odd, Y/n would recall years later, she never believed her mother to be truly extraordinary, and yet seeing her reduced to a blubbering mess on the floor was an unbearable sight. Y/n took off, her feet taking her as if by their own volition, running down twisted streets until she was pounding on a door.

“Y/n?” Theo asked, puzzled and tired as he opened his front door. He looked at his friend, and before she replied he was holding her in a deep embrace. Though he was only two years older than her he was naturally protective of her like no one ever had been. “He’s, he’s, oh my god!” It was as if by saying out loud for the first time it would become real, concrete and solid. “He’s what? Who’s what? Y/n please” Theo begged, his already panicked face deepening with worry. “Father!Oh Father, he was stabbed by a highwayman on his way back from the countryside! He’s gone!” Theo pulled her in closer. He had known that Y/n’s father, a coworker of his own at the butchers, was going out of London to look for work elsewhere. He also knew how worried Y/n was, and heard from his father that she was seen pleading with her own for him not to go, out of fear of a robbery.

Theo held her for a while until her mother came looking, and when he looked at her though mere hours had passed the once vibrant face of Y/n’s mother was sunken and worn. Before Y/n left with her, Theo gave her a vibrant blue notebook. “For company, when I myself am not there.” He smiled, only faintly as she left.

—

Y/n fidgeted with her bow. “Is it not too garish? I thought so all night” She asked. “Nonsense Miss Y/n, it is beautiful” Her maid replied as she helped fix it into her updo. In the years that passed since her fathers death her mother had remarried to a Lord Reginald Harrington, his wealth only matched by his cruelty. They had one child together other than Y/n, an Arrabella Harrington, now nearing twelve. Her birth was scandalously close to their wedding, yet she seemed to finally snap her mother out of the haze she had been in. To say having Arrabella had saved her would be a stretch, Y/n often lay awake at night worrying what could’ve happened had her mother not fallen pregnant and found a new purpose in life.

It was no surprise to anyone then that Y/n would be treated lesser than her sister by both parents. Y/n’s mother, now Lady Isadora Harrington, saw Arrabella as a second chance, whilst Lord Harrington naturally leaned towards the child that was his through blood. Despite this, Y/n was still sent through the marriage mart each season, attending balls and accepting callers. It wasn’t that she tired of it, per se, as she did find comfort standing on the sidelines with her two friends. It was moreso the matter of feeling like an imposter, knowing if it werent for a terrible accident that she wouldnt be here. That was something Penelope and Eloise simply couldnt grasp seeing as they were born into the lavish life they lead.

Whilst Y/n wasn’t closed off to the idea of marriage and preparing for life as a dutiful spinster, any man who attempted to court her never made it past the first two weeks. There were too many differences, she supposed, in their upbringing. After the first five men came calling it was clear they wanted a wife, not a companion. Seeing how regular people saw love most definitely shaped how Y/n saw the marriage mart. In the lower classes marrying for love was more common, as there were no titles to be exchanged. The marriage mart seemed to be just that in comparison- a business exchange. 

It was after one of these balls where Y/n found herself, being undressed by her lady’s maid. It was a remarkably unremarkable one, where she was once again stood by the edge like a wallflower. “I just don’t understand miss,” Her maid, Rosalind spoke. “Is it not a great honour to attend?” “I suppose,” Y/n replied as wrangled out of the embellished dress “Yet at the same time it feels so futile. There is no use in pretending, it is simple. I am an imposter.” Rosalind looked up, puzzled as Y/n continued. “I do not feel love, or anything. It feels like business there. No emotions to be had.”

Rosalind stopped pulling down Y/n’s stockings and paused. “Miss, I have been attending to you almost since you first day at this house. You have always been so closed off to everyone, were you like that before the?” She quit her sentence but they both knew she meant the accident. “No, not really” Y/n confessed. “I used to be open and vibrant before it all. It wasn’t even the accident in truth it was the whole combined affair. Not only losing my father but just mere weeks after losing all of the people I had ever known by moving to Mayfair. Even now I feel as though I am playing a role, that one day I might return back to the old house.” Y/n was smiling as she reminisced, unaware Rosalind was done.

“Miss, excuse me for speaking out of term if I do, but you cannot return. You have no reason to. Goodnight” Rosalind shut the door behind her as she left. Y/n sat on the edge of her bed and looked up at the vast array of books on the wall to her right. Tucked away, hidden in the very top corner, was a notebook. A vibrant blue with gold embossing on the spine it seemed to shine in the candlelight. Rolling her bookshelf ladder across to retrieve it she ran her fingers across it, taking in the delicate imprints where the gold pigment lay. After Theo had given her the book, she had never written in it. She had never even seen him after he had given it, seeing as they took no callers for their mourning period and soon moved to Mayfair to be with her new Stepfather. Y/n clinched the book in her hand and contemplated.

—

As she snuck out of her family home’s side door and caressed the dim streets of London it dawned on her the severity of what she was doing. She was unsure what would be worse, to encounter a madman alone of fall victim to the quill of Whistledown writing about an unchaperoned outing. She found her way towards Bloomsbury after several wrong turns, and while some landmarks were vaugley familiar, the majority were not. As she entered the only place on a street that had its lights on, a pub, she asked one of the patrons where to find Corral Street. The patron in return said a couple of slurred words, before turning to the stage and cheering some half hearted gibberish as a woman took to the stage. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, If I may steal you from your drinks for just a moment, I find myself compelled to speak on a matter of great importance - the rights of women.” Y/n drew closer, as if entranced, and sat on the second row of benches. “In this new age of enlightenment, where minds are expanding and horizons are broadening, it is imperative that we do not neglect the rights and freedoms of one half of humanity simply based on their gender. For too long, women have been relegated to the sidelines, their voices silenced, their aspirations thwarted by societal norms and expectations. Let us not forget the brave women who have come before us, who fought tirelessly for the rights that we now take for granted. Let us honour their legacy by continuing their struggle, by raising our voices in solidarity until every woman, regardless of class or station, is granted the respect and dignity that is her due!”

The place erupted into cheers, and Y/n joined them, though restrained due to her latter years of education. As she rose up and looked around, confused on where to or how to find directions, her eyes fixed onto a man. Though taller and more rugged than the sensitive boy she once knew, it was undeniable. 

It was Theo.

[ialwaysknewyouwerepunk]

queer signalling: louis and harry living their beautiful queer lives, collected by me

since we must take note of our fellow queers when they signal that they are very much one of us, despite being closeted. since i've had a very very queer few years thanks to them, thanks to their signalling, thanks to them being brave.

(!! this list isn't exhaustive, and if i've forgotten your favorite, by all means let me know. there's always room for another edition. it's been a while since i made a compilation and felt there was a need of a new one on my blog. this one goes a few years back, since my last one dates from 2021 :'o. so yeah. here we go.)

harry in my policeman, playing a closeted queer man, based on the book that's long been one of his favorites. lauded by the director and co-stars for how well he portrayed this character, how well he understood.

harry wearing a green flower on his chest for the mp premiere, placing himself (once again) in the same line of history as oscar wilde.

louis's green flowers on his initial 28clothing jersey at the first afhf, which includes bonus roses and 28s all around

the entire late night talking mv bc!!!!!

louis's rainbow stage lights during sibwawc. he really did that. every single night.

the entire dazed magazine happening. “I’ve always tried to compartmentalise my personal life and my working life,” he explains. / “I have unlocked an ability to be myself completely, unapologetically,” he says with conviction." / “I think through my own sense of self and personal journey, I am realising that happiness isn’t this kind of end state.”

louis's gay exit songs: most notably 'ever fallen in love (with someone you shouldn't've)'

harry flirting with stanley tucci

louis and his gay ass tank tops !!! we must point it out !!!!!!

all along

harry kissing a pride flag during harry's house ono in nyc

rainbow flare during the btm mv

harry being gifted a mask of his own face at munich n2, which prompted him to say that he feels like he's wearing a mask sometimes

28 in a triangle for 28clothing!!!!!!!!

kit connor soft launching 28 clothing. a young actor starring in a queer coming-of-age series, who was forced to come out after being accused of queerbaiting. he was the first one, besides louis, to wear 28clothing

harry's grammy's speech "people like me" (which ppl sadly misunderstood), echoing what he's been saying on tour for years. this doesn't happen to people like him. if they only knew, right?

harry's freddie-inspired outfit for the grammy carpet (which also brought back his theme for clown/jester fits, like harryween 2021 n2. wonder why)

louis's merch graphic where a boy is trying to smash a glass ceiling

harry posing for david hockney, actual living legend, gay artist of the ages. "Styles seems to know how lucky he is, adding, with a tinge of disbelief: “I’m in awe of the man with enough one-liners for a lifetime.” As to what those one-liners might be? Styles and Hockney’s mutual silence on that question suggests that what happens in the studio, stays in the studio."

louis having suspicious visuals during back to you, the only visuals of that type on tour

harry's 2022 harryween outfit: dressed as danny (literally. he did that. he went grease on us.) but wearing sandy's jacket

louis at barricade aka held safely in the arms of strong security personnel

harry singing man, i feel like a woman and still the one with shania twain. while wearing a rainbow discoball jumpsuit (parallel with kacey musgraves wearing a rainbow dress to sing it with him years ago.)

louis's gay ass merch for the away from home festival

harry dressed in nina ricci by harris reed, an explicitly gender-fluid line. "At 18 I found myself living in london creating ruffle blouses, corsets, fabric flowers and flares from my kitchen floor (...). My creations at the time were met with nothing but criticism for being “too feminine” or “costume”, teachers said I should focus on “menswear” or “womenswear”. l remember it really wasn’t until I started dressing for myself and who I was that it all clicked. @harrystyles was my first ever client who embraced the fun, fluid and expressive clothing I was creating."

continuous bluegreening. to name a few: harry's werchter fit, all this time lights, satellite caps in two colors only, louis's smiley flickering bluegreen on tour in 2022, the james cordon shit, louis in uncasville. enjoy this post here

harry's snl shoot unseens: him as ariel

louis out in amsterdam at a gay bar

harry going to the women's only swimming pond (on a day it was open for men, but this is important to me okay)

harry's use of orchids in his visuals during 'she' during love on tour '23

the 'hairy mermaid' tour visuals

harry as a mermaid during the mfasr mv. as a supreme physical manifestation of harry as the mermaid he truly is inside. but in his true form he gets chopped up and consumed. literally

as it was mv and its parallels with the matrix, hints to harry as the woman with the red dress.

louis jumping up on barricade against the one spot where a pride flag was draped over it

oh yeah that exact same thing happened in 2022 too

harry forming a skirt with a pride flag in brasil after his pants ripped

that gay ass denim getup with the fur collar?? while wearing the fucking peace ring????

harry and phoebe breaking gender norms in the tpwk mv dance. no i'm not over it yet shut up

louis wearing a basquiat t-shirt, another famously queer artist joining the ranks

harry bought an actual genuine basquiat. flex

harry dressed in skirts for gucci

"happy pride! happy pride! 'tis the season! can you tell i'm relaxed?"

"isn't all of this sparkly bi music?"

satellite mv rainbow planet tshirt

louis's bigger than me promo where he's literally george michael like??? IM SORRY???????

harry kissing lewis capaldi at the brits

harry kissing nick kroll at the dwd premiere. lol

and... harry as friend of D O R O T H Y. sang over the rainbow. we all cried. especially me at this clip of harry glancing in relief at his band after over the rainbow.

[emkayewrites]

A chapter from my Lukola fanfiction - Luke is madly in love with Nicola but problem: it's May 2023, Bridgerton S3 has wrapped but the promo tour is still months away; he's in a Nicola drought. Cue the angst, cue the drama.

(Excerpt taken from my fanfiction 'Curtain Fall')

Chapter 31: 9th May 2023– London (UK)

Luke stood somewhat anxiously before a tall building with distressed brickwork and took a deep breath as he thought about what had led him to that moment.

It had started with a text from Nicola.

No – in actuality, it had been several texts.

Granted, they had come through in a stilted way, often with a gap of several days between them but nonetheless, he received them with gratefulness.  His gratitude to those messages had come easily; they were the only things keeping him grounded during a time when his life felt adrift.  The last couple of months had been tough on him.  He had finished his Bridgerton reshoots and then spent several weeks auditioning tirelessly for West End productions without any success.  Eventually he had to admit that it made little financial sense to live in an exorbitantly priced London flat when he quite literally had no business being there anymore.   

He had wanted to be the type of man who didn’t complain about his circumstances.  He had wanted to be grateful for the fact that he had excellent parents who had welcomed him back home with open arms.  They refused to accept any rent, they helped him continue to rehearse for potential roles and at times, they even drove him back up to the city for the occasional audition. 

It would take a special kind of bastard to be angry at this situation, he had thought to himself.

Regardless, it was not easy returning to a small seaside town known more for fish and chips and retirement homes than its opportunities for the young.  It was even harder when the distractions London had offered him, such as drinking sessions with Rory, had become unavailable.  At the same time, he and Nicola had continued to struggle to make time to speak to each other, let alone see one another.  A part of him had started to feel like he had messed something up, that a moment had escaped him that he could never get back with her.  It was a feeling that had been torturing him.   In the solitude of his childhood bedroom, he had not been able ignore his own self-pity and heartbreak. 

Ultimately, all this angst had embarrassed him because he didn’t feel like he had a right to it.  He had chosen to end his relationship with Jade because he had fallen out of love with her.  He had chosen not to be honest with Nicola about his feelings for her because the timing was not right.  He had decided to move back home.  These were choices dealt by his own hand. 

You did this to yourself, he had thought.

Eventually, his thoughts evolved from melancholy, to angry, to determined.  He decided that he needed to something.  To do anything.  Anything that would allow him to get some control of his life back again. To remind himself he was not a hopeless passenger of fate.  It had started with a gym routine that was an intense as it was obsessive.  It gave him some sense of confidence to see how his body changed; the muscles he had developed and defined for the last season of Bridgerton grew bigger and harder and he felt stronger.  He tried to ignore the fact that the weights he lifted became heavier and his runs became longer on the days he really missed her and particularly when she was hard to reach.  He wanted to deny that correlation for as long as possible.  He could not control how much contact they had, and he had a sense, neither could she.  He tried hard to not follow the publicity surrounding her, realizing it did not feel the gap between them but rather widened it, but it was impossible – she was seemingly everywhere.

That was when one of the texts from her had arrived, following a two-week drought:

Nicola Coughlan: I know you’re not in the ole smoke anymore but if you wanted an excuse to be… Big Mood wrap party on 09/05!  We’ve got a whole bowling alley with a DJ to ourselves. 

Luke Newton: Wahey!  Well done!  I’ll bring my shoes!

Nicola Coughlan: Luke Newton, you do not OWN a pair of bowling shoes. Tell me that’s a lie.

Luke Newton: Customised with my initials on the soles and everything.

Nicola Coughlan: Stop it.

Luke Newton: Matching jacket too.

Luke Newton: It’s velour.

Nicola Coughlan: If you show up in anything BUT, I’m gonna be disappointed.

Nicola Coughlan: Expectations have been raised.

Luke Newton: Deal.

Nicola Coughlan: Here’s the invite!

Luke Newton: Consider me RSVP’ed!

Initially, he had not wanted to recognise how absurdly happy the exchange had made him.  A man in control of himself and his fate did not react with delirious excitement to an invite.  He had told himself that he cared for her, but he was not dependent on her.   Yet, his happiness had been evident to all, even his parents: he had skipped the gym three days in a row and consumed ice cream for the first time in weeks.  Happy Luke liked to eat. 

The pendulum swung just as quickly in the other direction with the arrival of her next batch of text messages.

Nicola Coughlan: I’m a shit.

Nicola Coughlan: I’m a complete shit.

Luke Newton: Is this a declaration that needs my input?

Nicola Coughlan: I’m so sorry, Luke.

Nicola Coughlan: I completely ballsed up.

Luke Newton: Damn!  Who did you kill?

Nicola Coughlan:  The wrap party is crew and cast only. Don’t know if you googled the venue but it’s tiny. Cam was happy to make an exception for you, but I feel like a right arse having a plus one when no one else does.

Nicola Coughlan: Got a bit too used to those epic Netflix parties, forgot we’re on a pittance of a budget here.

Nicola Coughlan: Again, I’m a complete shit.

Luke Newton: Don’t be silly!

Luke Newton: Makes complete sense, pal.

Luke Newton: No tickets were booked yet, don’t worry.

Nicola Coughlan: If it means anything, I wanted you to be my plus-one.

Luke Newton: It means a lot.

Luke Newton: I bet Grainne was mad.

Nicola Coughlan: Fuming.

Nicola Coughlan: Face the reddest it’s ever been.

Luke Newton: I’m gonna need an exact shade for visual reference.

Nicola Coughlan: Whatever’s after tomato.

Luke Newton: Wow, now I do feel flattered.

Nicola Coughlan: lol

Nicola Coughlan: I really feel like a shit

Luke Newton: Don’t

Nicola Coughlan: I miss you a lot.  I really want to speak to you. Like really speak to you with your face in front of me in person.

Luke Newton: I’ve been having that feeling too.

Nicola Coughlan: Will message you my availability.

Luke Newton: -thumbs up emoji-

Luke Newton: I’m proud of you. Have a great wrap.

He had absorbed the exchange with a flurry of emotions: frustration, sadness, amusement and hope. 

She had wanted him to attend the wrap party and no one else.  That meant something.

She wanted to see him in person, just like he was dying to see her in person.  That had to mean something.

She must be feeling it too.

It had been months since they had seen each other, and she was still thinking of him and wanting him.  His newfound desire to be a master of his own fate kicked in as a plan formed in his mind.  A plan that led him to where he was stood at that very moment.  The building before him was Strike Wandsworth, a retro bowling alley.  Tonight, bright strobe lights were visible through the large Victorian windows and the throbbing sounds of music and dancing could be heard from inside. 

He was dressed in a sharp dark blazer with a white shirt on underneath, and dark trousers.  In his hands, he held a large bouquet of red roses, and a rectangular-shaped gift box.  It was nearly eleven o’clock at night.  He could see his own breath in the cold night’s air.

He felt less sure of himself now that he was here, face-to-face with the reality of what he was planning to do.

He had pictured it in his mind for several weeks leading up to the day.  He had tingled all over with excitement at the thought of arriving at this moment.  Now, he felt marginally sick.

He had decided he would not attend the wrap party itself; he would respect the professional boundaries she wanted in place for that night.  Instead, he decided he would meet her at the end of the party as a surprise, he would give her her wrap gifts in person and invite her on a moonlit walk to another surprise.  He would take them back to his hotel and the surprise would harken back to one of their favourite pass-times during filming: a midnight picnic and Netflix.  He had already spent the early evening checking into the room, paying extra for it to be upgraded to something with more ambience, then going out to buy a picnic basket, a picnic blanket and all their favourite snack foods.  There, in comfort and with privacy, he would tell her everything. 

He hoped the moment would feel thoughtful and romantic and not pushy or creepy.  He had experienced more than a few nightmares where her face contorted into a horrified expression, and she ran away from him like he was Frankenstein’s monster.  Yet, the overpowering sense that there was something there between them never left him.  He pictured the alternative, more positive scenario.  The two of them curled up together on the deep and plush carpet of his suite, taking bites of cheesecake and giggling, and then the moment becoming solemn and tense as he confessed everything, a look of surprise on her face that then gives way to pure joy as she grabs him by the collar and pushes her lips to his in response.

He had to admit that was why he had worn the collared shirt.

Just then, a text message notification flashed on his screen.  It was from Lydia.  His secret accomplice. He had confided his plan to her, and she had been fully supportive, and agreed to notify him when Nicola was leaving the building.

Lydia West: The Eagle is on the move.

Luke Newton: We don’t need to speak in code.

Lydia West: Don’t ruin my fun.

Luke Newton: Thanks, Lyd.

Lydia West: Have a good night, lover boy ;)

With those words of encouragement, he took a deep sigh and headed into the semi-lit entrance.  He heard the clacking of heels and his heart raced. 

Fortune favours the brave.  He told himself.

He tried to picture the happy yet potentially delusional images of how well his attempt at a grand romantic gesture would play out.

What he saw next stopped him in his tracks.

[sleepiexx]

Boom

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick x fem!Reader

Note: bro literally why is Gaz so underrated I’m sick of it. Call me the messiah of the lost or some shit bc I will be writing for every character I feel has been fucked out of their fame.

Summary: Kyle finds his long time girlfriend strapped to a bomb in a terrorist attack.

Warnings: reader’s been beat tf up, there’s a bomb, Kyle lowkey tried to kill himself but not necessarily in like a suicidal way, more like a “if you die, I die” kinda way

Word count: 1073

As he found her there, beat to shit in some skyscraper in London, the life they’d lived together up until this very moment flashed before his eyes.

He remembered meeting her some time after basic training, they were both Rookies assigned together on a mission, she’d saved his ass. He was right next to a grenade and he didn’t even realize until he heard shouting. He was too slow, but she wasn’t. She tackled him to the ground and covered his body with her own, taking the brunt of the blast.

It was as she recovered from the injuries that incident left her with that they’d fallen in love with one another. From then on they’d been inseparable. They became official after a year. After 2, they moved in together, and now, after 5 years, Gaz had been shopping around for rings, trying to psych himself up to ask the question.

The IED strapped to her ticked away, the sound of her impending doom ripping Gaz out of his stupor. He rushed straight to her side.

He shook her motionless frame, pleading she was still alive. She turned her head up weakly and looked at him, blood streaming across her bruised face.

“Mm-mm,” she whined, face twisted in pain, “no.. Kyle you can’t be here.”

Gaz shook his head, disregarding what she was saying as nonsense from her delirious state. “Shh, shh, shh, I’m here sweetheart. I'm gonna get you out of this.”

“No!” She sobbed, “You gotta get away, Kyle. Bomb! There’s a bomb!”

He refused to listen, hands already moving to try and figure out the workings of the IED. He had a minute and a half on his side.

He worked frantically, but as the clock counted down, Gaz’s frustration grew. He couldn’t let her die, he wouldn’t, not on his watch.

“Fuck,” he muttered, trying hard for (Y/N)’s sake not to let his panic show. “(Y/N), love, do you know anything about this bomb?”

She shook with terror, face soaked in blood and tears, voice wavering, “No, please, Kyle, you have to go. There’s no time!”

Price finally caught up to Gaz, catching sight of the couple from across the room. “Gaz!” He yelled at the sight of the IED, stepping towards the two.

Gaz’s anxiety spiked. Normally, the sight of the old man placated Gaz. He trusted the captain to guide him through almost every situation possible, but not this one. Memories of Price tossing a man off of a balcony on a previous mission involving a bomb vest flashed through his brain. That would not be (Y/N), not his girl.

“Stay away from us!” Gaz spat, venom seeping through his tone.

Price stopped in his tracks, raising his hands up. Gaz had his teeth barred like a cornered animal. Price broke eye contact, nodding his head towards the IED.

“Look at the wires, are there any red ones?” He asked.

Gaz dropped his guard dog act, turning back towards his lover, or rather, the bomb strapped to her. His hands began to shake, tears fell from his eyes.

“They’re all black.”

The words rang out like a death sentence, yet Price remained the voice of reason.

“Alright, grab your knife, Sergeant. Don’t focus on the wires attached to the timer. Cut any attached to the explosives. Do you understand?”

“Yes sir.” Gaz’s hands steadied as he gripped his knife, following Price’s orders.

He glanced at the clock as he worked, ten seconds left. His pace quickened, cutting through every wire attached to an explosive, yet the timer kept ticking.

”No! No! No!” He cried.

5

“It didn’t work! Captain, why didn’t it work?!”

4

“Did you get every explosive?”

3

(Y/N) frantically shook her head as Gaz scrambled, scanning the vest desperately to see what he could have missed.

“Just fucking run, Kyle!” She screamed.

2

His mind raced as he found the final explosive, roughly slashing through the wire. The milliseconds on the timer ticked on, so Gaz resigned himself to his fate, wrapping his arms around (Y/N)’s sobbing form and burying his head into her shoulder.

1

Price flinched away, not wanting to witness the Sergeants’ brutal end, but to his relief, nothing happened.

Gaz slowly lifted his head, confusion evident on his face. (Y/N) met his eyes with the same confusion.

Whatever miracle had saved them, Price didn’t know, but he didn’t waste a second in running to get the bomb squad on site.

To their dismay, Gaz didn’t move from (Y/N)’s side once as the bomb squad pried the IED from her body. He sat still, holding her hand and keeping her attention on him.

The moment she was free from the explosives, she collapsed into Gaz’s arms, crying into the crook of his neck.

“God, you fucking idiot.” Her voice broke, as did any resolve she had left in preserving what little composure remained, “Why would you do that?”

He kissed the top of her head, rocking her back and forth. “Couldn’t let you die. At least not alone.”

Her voice was small, hesitant, “You’re really that willing to die for me?”

“Is that even a question?” He muttered.

They parted momentarily, only so that they could position themselves into a kiss. Lips chasing one another, desperate, hungry, pressed so hard they felt they might become one.

“Marry me.” Gaz whispered onto her lips. He’d meant to ask in a romantic way. Take her out to dinner, then to a private location where he’d get down on one knee and ask, yet with their sheer mortality becoming increasingly apparent, he knew it couldn’t wait.

She gripped onto him hard as she nodded, “Of course.” More tears streamed down her face, “Of course I’ll marry you Kyle.”

His lips curled up into a grin, “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He threaded his fingers through her hair, pulling her in for multiple kisses that she could feel his smile through. She began to smile too, bloodstained teeth on display.

To the side, someone cleared their throat. They snapped their heads to the noise, seeing the captain staring them down with his arms crossed.

They sat like a deer in headlights for a second but quickly broke out into a fit of giggles, Price himself unable to contain his little chuckle.

“I’m just messing with you, kids. I’m proud of you, Kyle. Even if you’re a fucking idiot.”

[redheadspark]

hawuuu don't mind my last one cause someone else did the same prompt with the same character so just change it to 11. "i wasn't blushing! it was hot out." "it is literally snowing outside as we speak are you joking." With Druig still

Thank u and happy new year

A/N - HAWUU! I love this request for him since he would be in denial and all ;)! Thanks for requesting this, dear friend!

Give It

Summary - Druig was afraid to give his heart away for the longest time. Maybe it was time for a change

Warnings - Mostly fluff

“Wow,”

“Never seen snow before, Druig?”

Druig glared at Kingo as he chuckled.  The fresh fallen snow over the small London park was enough to make Druig look around in wide-eyed wonder.  It was vastly different from the Amazon, the hot sticky humidity against his skin and the blazing sun on the back of his neck.  He was used to the tall trees, the plenty of wildlife around him that would screech day and night, and even the rolling mountains and again river outside his little shack.  Those 500 years away from the rest of the world were a protective bubble for him.

But London?  That was wide-eyed for the Mind Controller.

The small park they were at was right outside of Kingo’s London flat, a lavish penthouse he just bought months before to stay in while he would shoot a movie.  After it was decided to go out to find other Eternals in other parts of the universe, the group wanted to make a pit stop in London to say goodbye to Sprite and Kingo, and for Thena, Makkari, and Druig to see London and all its glory.  It seemed tempting, though Druig was a creature of comfort.  He would rather stay on The Domo, but knowing the rest of the group, a small stop in London was not a bad idea.

In fact, it was your idea.  

Knowing that it was going to be snowing, you wanted to see the city covered in snow before you would be stuck on a ship with the other three.  You loved the snow yourself, having the ability to control and manipulate water and ice with the tips of your fingers.  It was no wonder when the group separated 500 years ago, you went off traveling to the North and explored some of the color elements of Earth.  You landed in rural Russia, having your own cabin out in the middle of the woods.  The group found you cutting down your own wood, thinking of you more like a lumberjack and in your natural element of the dead winter with freezing winds and almost below temps.  But to you, it was home.

Sersi and Sprite had an apartment not too far away, the rest of the family went over to visit and see before they found themselves at a local park.  Thena was perched on a park bench, enjoying the small peace not too far away and admiring the fallen snowflakes that were dancing in her golden hair.  Druig was watching from the side, still in his black leather jacket and boots that were winking slightly in the snow and a small shiver was licking up his spine.  He couldn’t help but shiver, not used to the cold himself, and was never a true fan of it.  Inwardly, he was mentally glad they would be on the Domo with controlled temperatures soon.

Laughter was heard over to the left, Druig looking to see a snowball fight broke out with some of the group.  Makkari, Sprite and you threw snowballs at each other, almost seeming like childcare yourself. Sprite was literally the only child, laughing her head off as she threw a massive snowball at you, but you dodged it with ease before launching back at her.  Druig couldn’t help but watch, and if he was honest, he had his eye on you for some time.

But of course, being away for 500 years he thought those feelings were buried and no longer irrelevant.  He had a small crush, that was for certain, and it lasted for quite some time back in the earlier days on Earth. Druig admired how raw you were, the stubbornness you had in the way you fought and the way you defended yourself.  Your spitfire soul and the natural beauty you had in your cheeks and curves made him entranced.  

Makkari called him a “Lovesick Puppy” a few times, but he would only shove her and let it roll off his shoulders.  He ignored the side comments from the others, thought he would stay up at night, and wondered what it would be like to be with you.  Would you even think of him the way way?  Doubtful, though you were cordial with him all the time and always confided with him with your own insecurities. Not to mention you would stand up to him when the others, mostly Ikaris, would put him down and make him feel less than he was.  You saw goodness in him, and Druig never knew that you cried when he walked away all those years ago.  He never knew you had feelings for him and found him not only handsome, but kind and filled with a powerful urge to serve and help.  

Neither of you admitted to the other.

Now, after saving the world and bringing peace to the very species that they protected for centuries, the feelings were coming back with both yourself and with Druig.  

“You can’t use your speed, Makkari!” Druig heard Sprite chastise Makkari, whom was throwing out three snowballs back to back to back.  You laughed as you grabbed some fresh snow next to your foot, making snowballs as fast as you could before Makkari slammed one into your forehead.  Sprite roared in laughter as Druig smiled, seeing your face etched in snow and a wide grin on your face.  He didn’t notice Sersi walking over to stand next to him, her kind smile as she watched Druig look on.

“You should tell her,” Sersi said to Druig, who looked over at her within a second with an asked brow.

“Tell her what?” He asked, Sersi only giving him a knowing look that an older sister would give.  Your giggle rang in the air, both Druig and Sersi looking as you tackled Sprite to the ground and tried to get some snow down her backside.  Kingo was taking pictures on his phone, though his face was then hit with a snowball thanks to Makkari and he ran off after her to retaliate.  Druig’s eyes were on you the whole time, both you and Sprite sitting on the snow ground and laughing so hard tears were seen in your eyes.  

He was a coward for so long in not saying how he felt, how he imagined what it would be like to have you in his life.  He dreamt of it at times and daydreamed during most of Ajak’s meetings or on his patrols late in the night. Druig faced Deviants before, and facing the celestial Tiamut himself was intimidating.  But he knew deep down that the scariest thing that he would ever do in his Immortal life, was telling you he liked you.

More than liked, he loved you.

“ ‘ Nobody has ever measured, even poets, how much a heart can hold’.” Sersi quoted to Druig with a gentle nudge of her shoulder against Druig’. Druig snorted as he looked at her.

“Who said that?” He asked in sarcasm, Sersi rolled her eyes.

“Mark Twain.  That’s not the point!” She said as she pointed her finger at him, “You should say something before you regret it.  And it’s quite obvious in how you’re looking at her!  You were blushing a few minutes ago when she asked you a question!”

“I wasn’t blushing!  It was hot out!” He tried to argue.

“Back in my flat it was, It is literally snowing outside as we speak, are you joking?” She asked him, seeing him about to roll his eyes as she laced their arms together, “Druig, for as long as I have known you since we’re been on his planet, I know deep down you have a massive and empathetic heart.  We all see it and love it, especially her.  You shouldn’t waste it, you should give it.  Give it to her, Druig.” 

She gestured to you, who was helping Sprite, Kingo, and Makkari make a Snowman together in the middle of the snowy meadow.  Druig couldn’t help but smile, knowing deep down that Sersi was in fact right.  He loved that about Sersi, her kindness and empathy for everyone around her was infectious and something he wished he had himself.  But he also had to wonder if she knew all this time of his feelings for you, or if the others knew.  They had to have known, and if they did they never said anything to neither you or Druig.

In the end, it was up to the pair of you to make it happen. 

“Come on, Druig!  Unless you’re scared!”  Kingo was teasing him as he was getting a few snowballs ready.  Makkari, yourself, and Sprite were behind him, already ready for a second round of a snowball fight and waiting for Druig to join.  Druig look over at you, seeing the flushness in your cheeks and how you too were filled with a sense of joy and happiness in such a simple love for snow.  Perhaps he would be brave, make the denial go away, and give his love to you. 

He carefully reach down to take some snow in his hands, the bitter cold ice against his pale fingers made him shiver as he made a ball and cocked his hand back.

He was ready.  Game on.

The End

January Prompt Session

[thegreatyin]

mr spices and mr wines. also mr candles and mr veils.

have you ever seen that one tumblr post that's like. "i don't ship these characters i just think they belong in couples therapy together". yeah. that's pretty much my stance on most spacebat ships

[mayuichi]

Hello!💫 I hope you're doing well.💖 I wanted to ask if you could do a Sherlock and William with a smart fem reader. It could be headcannons or a oneshot. Thank you✨️

Hello hello~! I'm doing perfectly fine, thanks for asking ♥ I hope you're okay as well!

Honestly, I doubt anyone can outsmart them except one another, but they'd definitely love to see you try, or easily guess things others would take a moment to understand. I don't know if I've made this properly? I kinda got carried away at some point I think ehe.. Nonetheless, enjoy!!

sidenote: i might, maybe, possibly, most certainly, do a new oneshot for William. the first i made didn't satisfied me at all, and i've been listening to a song while writing for him in this that made me want the reader to be the one to save him (at least emotionally)

Every picture used are official.

A great detective, if not the greatest of all London. But he is a simple man, most of the time. As long as you don't get on his bad sad or try to challenge him, he'll be simply teasing. You're a rather close friend of him.

Despite working at a small bar as a waitress, there's no denying even for someone like him that you have a great intellect. He loves indulging himself in long and deep conversation with you. He wants your every opinion upon the Lord of Crimes' schemes.

How someone like you, a casual working living her life peacefully, sees things? Are you scared, confused, angry or simply intrigued? If it wasn't to ensure your full safety, he'd often ask you to come along on the crime scenes.

But he can't risk losing you, one of his closest friends. Perhaps he's lying to himself. Perhaps you are more than just a friend. It would surely explain a lot of things.

Every friday, he knows you do the closing shift. He always keeps you company and helps you with some drunk men. It became a habit to try and trick each other in your casual chat. And it's rare that you even have a chance to win to begin with. But isn't it fun enough to see him act like a happy little boy when he obviously outsmart you?

In the end, even you had fallen for the detective. Sherlock is amazing to share his, sometimes useless and random, knowledge. But it's so much more complicated when he has to express how he feels.

If you want to see him struggle, oh girl you will. A faint blush, some soft stutters, his eyes glancing away from yours. On one of those fridays, he even brought you a flower bouquet with a letter within it.

But if you're nice enough to not torture him, his eyes will light up. He'll be able to bother you all day long now! Testing your intellect, asking your opinion and most importantly... Asking to have a complicated disccusion in front of John, or Miss Hudson.

Sherlock just loves to see people getting confused and lost, or even surprised someone can understand him. If you dare come to his place, be ready for literally anything to happen. He'll mostly do everything in his power to outsmart you. Yet, he finds it endearing if you manage to be better.

He thinks it's incredibly appealing when you look so intellectual. But don't think he'll get you off the hook easily though. Dare to challenge or tempt him too much and you'll be in for a long time.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚༄ؘ ۪۪۫۫｡･ﾟﾟ･ ▹✬▫✬◃･ﾟﾟ･｡ ۪۪۫۫ ༄ؘ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

To his surprise, he finds himself loving chatting with you. You could understand his logic somehow. It was so satisfying. The way you would hum in thoughts. Even when you'd argue with him, you'd be extra cautious.

At first, he even thought you were in love, but perhaps it's the other way around. Yet he can't allow himself that. He'd just keep distance with you.

The day you discovered his true identity, he knew he had underestimated you. He thought you'd be scared, but maybe you are as twisted as him for accepting him this way. You knew he is the Lord of Crimes, and here you are, sharing a cup of tea with him.

He never tells you his plans. Instead, he enjoys watching and hearing you try to guess them, or how he did them. You would never get it fully, but just getting a bit was enough of a reason for him to be entranced by you.

You looked so pure and innocent, and despite knowing better than anyone that appearances aren't always true, he could barely believe you had the mind to think of such morbid things. It made him feel a strange need to protect you from whatever might trouble you in the future.

He'd never want you to join him, but sometimes, he does ask your opinion. As a waitress at a bar, you are the only one who can confirm some possibilities in his plans.

Perhaps he had a twisted desire. Most of the time, he avoids sharing the most grotesque details... But the days where you think you might have a better way to go, he finds a satisfaction in adding those details in his words, seeing your lower lip quiver, your breath itching with fear, your eyes avoiding his.

But you both know you're in too deep to run away now. Not without William making sure you won't be a problem in his plan. But you come back everytime. No matter what horror he tells you.

And on one of your work evening, you thought he'd just have a drink with his brothers and ask you if you haven't seen any suspicious behaviors. But no, he's alone. Cane in one hand, a single rose in the other. As he calls your name, you feel your heart racing. He knows it, and so do you about his own.

Lucky for you, that night, not many people were here. So you went in a lonely corner to have a talk. He had been denying his feelings for so long, he had a hard time expressing them. Or maybe he was scared you would fear him now. Either way, his eyes glowing from the bar's lights and his tears. Usually, he knows how someone feel, or think.

But with you? He finds himself be terrified to be wrong. He'd be delighted if you reciprocate it, but does he deserve such love from someone like you? And if you reject him, how should he even act now?

If you aren't confident enough to make a move, he'll hesitantly take your hand and plant a kiss on it. His voice hoarse, he'll murmure those three little words, expecting to be rejected.

But if you have the courage to do something, or that you're just not stuck in place, his eyes will widen from your sudden embrace. But he'll definitely get the message.

In either case... He won't let you fend to yourself. You were living in a poor apartment, weren't you? Well, he doesn't let you the choice but to come with him. You will never come on his missions, but he'll still cherish your opinion and mind.

With Louis, you'll be the only one allowed in his office, just because he loves it when you mingle in his plans. You have a way to see things, to be a refreshing point of view.

It's very often that before sleeping, you two will have long conversation. And it's almost everyday he teases you if you aren't capable to answer a mathematic problem. But he'll be the most lovely man you ever met.

₊˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚✧ ﾟ.☾✧˚. ❃ ˊ- ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ✧˖*°࿐

/ᐠ - ˕ •マ Ⳋmayuichi's property. do not copy, repost or translate without permission.

[kyber-crystal]

midnight rain || benji dunn

summary: 4 times you realize you love benji dunn and 1 time you finally told him you loved him (it’s him, it’s always been him, and it always will be him)

words: ~2.4k

warnings: angst, mentions of violence, did i mention angst. but there's a happy ending i promise. also a fair amount of crying cause we love a reader who’s not afraid of being vulnerable in front of the man she cares about. feminism Yes

a/n: can you tell this is literally my favorite trope ever. also this is my first ever full length mission impossible oneshot…so if benji seems ooc then pls keep that in mind LOL. i promise i’ll get better w the more i write. i tried my best :) anyway enjoyyy

dedicated to @the-multiverse-of-fandoms who wanted basically anything benji/imf team related, i hope this did your wish justice!! & to @ilsastrenchcoat for giving me that lil push to branch out & write something new :)

i. what happens in budapest stays in budapest

“So when are you going to tell him?” Luther’s voice cuts through the buzz of static.

You flinched, with your earpiece nearly falling out at the sudden motion. “I honestly don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“She knows what I’m talking about. Right, Ilsa?”

“What? That she’s in love with Benji?” Ilsa laughed in reply. “Oh. Of course she does. I thought everyone knew.”

“Can it,” you snapped, face feeling red-hot. “Last I checked, we were trying to track down an arms dealer. This isn’t the Real Housewives of Beverly Hills.”

“London,” Luther corrected. You could practically hear him smirking. “This is burning slower than that damn White Barn candle I got on sale two years ago.”

You rolled your eyes and slid your gun back into its holster. Children. You worked with children.

But you knew they were right. They always were, but you would carry that admission with you to the grave if you had to. They knew you had fallen long before you did yourself—eight months ago when you were crammed into a tiny motel room in Budapest for a layover. The walls were so paper thin that you could hear Ethan snoring on the other side, and there was only enough room for one measly bed.

“I think the springs are broken,” Benji had pointed out.

“Very broken.”

“Did they forget to give us another pillow?”

“I think so.”

“Okay, you can take the pillow. I don’t need it anyway.”

“Benji, just take the damn pillow.”

“No, you take it. I don’t want you to complain in the morning that you don’t feel well rested.”

“…Fine.”

Just as you were about to drift off, you felt a warm hand squeeze yours and a familiar voice whisper “Sleep tight, I’ll bomb all the bed bugs and bad dreams for you.”

That ended up being the first nightmare-free, peaceful sleep you had in eleven years.

ii. home is where the heart is

Marrakesh right after sunset was unusually peaceful. The lively chatter of the bazaar below was calming down; and the weather wasn’t too hot nor too cold.

You had never seen so many stars like this in your entire life.

“You’re telling me that in all these years of living, you’ve never seen a sky full of stars?” Benji had asked you one evening during a team camping trip. “That’s not called living, it’s called dying.”

“I grew up in a big city, Dunn,” you sighed. “I would do anything for an unpolluted sky.”

“Benji’s inside, if you were wondering,” Ethan explained as he pulled out a seat next to you. “He just got back a few minutes ago.”

“Oh. Okay.”

He exhales and gives you a knowing look. “How long?”

“Ethan, you know I can’t…”

“What’s holding you back?”

“I don’t know, the weight of the world, maybe?” you guessed. “And when you’re constantly moving from place to place it’s hard to settle down and tell someone how you feel. It’s hard to find the perfect time…”

“There’s no such thing as the ‘perfect’ time, Y/N. You just need to find the right time.”

“But I don’t understand. It’s…for the first time in my life, I finally feel like I’m home…he makes me feel at home. But I can’t even say it. What if he doesn’t get it?”

“He will know. Trust me.”

“Who will know what?”

It’s impossible for Ethan to miss the way your face lights up as Benji steps out onto the balcony. He takes this as the opportunity to quietly step away, leaving you two to yourselves.

“Hi,” you say shyly, hands in your pockets.

“Hey, yourself,” he replies.

You step towards him and lean your forehead against his shoulder. He’s surprised at the sudden action but wraps his arms around you anyway, feeling grateful for your presence.

“Thank you,” you mumble against his shirt, though he’s not sure what exactly you’re thanking him for.

“Anytime.”

iii. he definitely is a fallen angel, right?

God, he had to be unreal, you thought as the Seoul skyline reflected off his face and washed him in a glowing gold. He could have just gone through hell and back and still look as if he had descended straight from the heavens.

You couldn’t look away. It was damn near impossible for you to.

You weren’t sure what you did to deserve him; he was far too precious for this cruel world. You walked through the doors of the IMF with eleven passports and a knife tucked against your thigh, not knowing what your future held. Benji, on the other hand, strolled in with the widest grin known to man on his face and eyes sparkling as if he had discovered the eighth wonder of the world. Polar opposites, and yet you’re drawn to him like a moth to a flame.

“Are you alright, Y/N?” Benji’s brows furrowed in concern. “Penny for your thoughts?”

“Just thinking…I really need a drink.”

“Nonsense, you can’t even walk straight,” he stated as he glanced down at your ankle, which had been wrapped up in bandages. “You don’t need the soju to be walking around like a madman.”

“Yes I do.”

“No you don’t.”

“I…”Letting out a shaky sigh, you bite the inside of your cheek until you could taste blood. “They almost got away. I almost jeopardized everyone’s safety and ruined the whole damn operation.”

“No, you didn’t,” he reassured you, “they didn’t get away. And besides…I think you did pretty damn great out there. Taking names, kicking ass, beating that one dude to death with the butt of your pistol…”

Your eyes shone with tears as you glanced over at him, a small smile now on your face. “You really think so?”

“Yeah,” he said softly as he brought a hand up to your cheek. You lean in to his touch and try to ignore the sparks that ignite as his skin brushes against yours. “I really think so. And you know what else?”

“What?”

“I think this calls for a celebration. How does charcoal-grilled KBBQ sound? Then we…we can go to that super cool design plaza north of the Han River and we’ll pretend we’re in another dimension. One where the IMF isn’t sending us on death-defying missions in which bad guys are out for our blood.”

The crinkles around your eyes make their first appearance in what seems like forever, and Benji’s heart warms. “You know me so well.”

“Well, of course. I’ve been trying to.”

He shrugs his jacket off and wraps it around your shoulders before pulling you close. You sink into him even deeper, and for a moment, you can pretend that everything is right with the world.

iv. as the world caves in

You don’t think you’ve ever cried in your life. Not even once.

Okay, maybe once. Twice. The first time was when you passed the field exam and you were so happy that you shed a few tears of joy.

The second time was right now: you watched as a strung-out Benji fought for his life in the hospital. You don't know how long it’s been since you got here, and all you could do now was pray to God that he would wake up.

You felt someone put a soft hand on your shoulder. “Sweetheart, you’ve been here for ages.”

Luther gave you a sad smile as he sat next to you. You swallowed the lump in your throat and closed your eyes.

“Why did it have to be him?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “but he’s going to be fine. He always is.”

“I hope…”

“Why don’t you go get some rest? I’ll let you know when he wakes up,” he offered. He could tell you desperately needed sleep. “Try to relax.”

“Okay…”

It’s a solid four hours later when Benji finally stirs awake.

He blinks and rubs his eyes. “Luther…? Hey.”

“You’re awake, that’s good,” he stated. “Your blood pressure has gone up a lot since Y/N gave you her blood. If she didn’t, we’d be shipping your ass off to the funeral home.”

“She did what now?”

“She gave you her blood. Doc asked around but none of our types matched yours, except hers.”

“Oh.”

“I told her she’d pass out if she kept crying after the blood transfusion, but she cried the whole day. She first cried when you didn’t wake up. And now she’s going to start crying because you woke up. She worries about you a lot, you know. So much so that she often neglects her own well-being.”

A strange feeling works its way through Benji’s system. You cared… “Can you tell her I want to see her now?”

“Sure.”

A few moments later, you walk through the door—obvious tear tracks on your face—and sit by his bedside. “Benjamin Dunn, what the hell were you thinking?”

“I wasn’t. Sorry…”

“You almost died.” You looked away and hastily wiped at your eyes. It didn’t help. “I watched you bleed out on the pavement and almost lose your life.”

He doesn’t know what else to say, so he simply reaches out and intertwines your fingers together, squeezing tight. More tears slip down your cheeks. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m just glad you’re not in a body bag,” you choked out. “I’m just really glad you’re not dead.”

“Me too. Now come here,” Benji says, and he moves over on his bed to make room for you. You rest your head against his chest and close your eyes, and he drapes an arm across your waist. “Thank you for waiting.”

You end up falling asleep to the sound of his steady heartbeat.

+i (v). it's always been you

It's hot as hell outside, your clothes are sticking to your skin, and you're sure that one hit would set you on fire.

“Why did we have to go into the middle of the damn Arabian desert?” Benji yells over the howling winds into his comm. He coughs as some sand gets into his mouth. “You can’t even build a sandcastle with this crap. I regret everything I said about disliking being in the van.”

“No idea!” you yell back. You wrap your protective scarves tighter around your head and mouth, and adjust your goggles. A loud bang! makes you flinch, causing you to quickly whip around and pull out your gun.

“Woah there, it's just me,” Ethan raised his hands in surrender. You slowly lowered your weapon. “Did you get the flashdrive?”

You nodded and quickly handed him the small piece of metal. He stores it away in his pocket before zipping it up. “Let's go.”

It takes another hour and a half to round up the whole team and escape safely. The sandstorm was worsening by the second and you would be incredibly lucky to escape relatively unscathed.

You’re breathing heavily as you board the helicopter and take off your equipment, leaning against the wall. You could still feel the man’s hands around your throat, trying to squeeze the life out of you.

The look of fury in Benji’s eyes as he pulled the trigger was permanently burned into the back of your mind. You’d never seen him that angry before—he was nowhere near what you’d call short-tempered. The most upset you’d ever seen him was when Ethan ate the last of his favorite potato chips a month ago. And even then, he didn’t raise his voice.

Benji crouches down in front of you and brings a cold towel to your face. It comes away stained a light crimson, and he tries not to panic. “Are…are you okay?”

“I'm okay,” you exhale. “Thanks for saving my ass out there. If you hadn't gotten there in time…"

“You're welcome,” he replies. “Why is it that we always take turns saving each other from near death experiences?”

“It's all part of the job,” you crack a grin. “Welcome to the IMF, where you go on suicide missions all the time but you're not allowed die. Pretty ironic if you ask me.”

“I know, right?” He sounds like he's going to say something else, but then pauses. Upon peering closer, he sees a series of blue and purple handprint splotches on the sides of your neck. “Y/N…”

“I'm okay, I promise,” you say quickly. “Don't worry about me.”

“I don't get how you can stay so calm in situations like this,” he says, exasperated. “You scare me sometimes.”

“It's no big deal, really.” But your voice cracks, and that's when you finally break down and burst into tears. “I’m used to danger. I just—”

“Hey hey hey, it's going to be alright,” he murmurs as he moves closer to bring you in for a hug, arms snaking around you and holding on as tight as he possibly could. Your tears slowly begin to stain his shirt with dark spots, but he couldn't care less. “You're safe and you're going to be okay. You are going to be okay because I'll be here for you. Always.”

“You promise?”

“Pinky promise.” He holds his pinky out, and you wrap your finger around his. “I swear on my life. I’m here to stay whether you like it or not.”

The words slip out before you could even realize what you were saying.

“God, I love you,” you mumbled against his shoulder, eyes squeezed shut. “More than anything. I should’ve…I really should’ve told you a long time ago. I don’t know why I waited so long to tell you. You felt like home to me and I found comfort in that and I loved you so much for it, Benji. I still do.”

The air suddenly feels heavy and that’s when the weight of what you had said finally sinks in. It feels like an eternity of awkward, strained silence all around before he opens his mouth to reply.

“I love you too,” he says, “Always have.”

And as your lips touch, all the aches and pains and barely-recovering broken bones seem to disappear. You can’t even remember why you were so upset in the first place because you’re safe here with him and he’s finally, finally kissing you, and all you really need to think about is the fact that the man you truly loved and needed more than anything had been right here all along and it was perfect.

The ride home is a long one, so you allow yourself to relax in his comforting arms and drift away to a distant dreamland. Ethan gently nudges Luther in the shoulder, motioning for him to take a glance back at the sight.

“You owe me twenty,” he reminds him with a toothy grin.

tags, including ppl who may be interested (lmk if you'd like to be added, or you can add yourself via this form!): @kenobismullet @voguesir @fl0ating @lady-elena-adeline

once again, my taglist has not been updated in a hot second, so i'm not sure which users are still active/if they've switched to another url. i apologize for any potential inconveniences !!

[possessedbyforcesunknown]

My Favourite Jooster Fics

Bertie's Blog (ongoing series)

The writing is so charming and whimsical. I've never read a Wodehouse story but I assume that if he wrote Bertie as a modern-day blogger he would write exactly like this. It gave me some Bridget Jones' Diary vibes if Bridget Jones was a gay man in his twenties with a career in blogging (influencing?). I just love picturing a cute blond Bertie and his tall, clever, solicitor boyfriend. They even have a meet-cute!

2. Refused Entry (probably abandoned)

(TW: sexual assault) Begging the author to release chapter 5 because this is just one of the best stories I have ever read. So much potential. Bertie catches the eye of a perverted male OC and Jeeves' protective side comes out. POV alternates between the OC and Bertie—their inner monologues are great. I just love reading about Jeeves from another character's perspective.

3. The Pianist (last updated Feb 2023)

Long fic about Bertie and Jeeves' paths crossing in different circumstances starting from childhood. Slow burn. Literally 'invisible string' coded.

4. My Man Wooster (ongoing series)

I can't wait to read the fourth fic!! Literally everything you want for a role swap, featuring Bertie as England's worst valet and Jeeves as the Olivia Pope of 1930s London. I need them to get together so badly!! There are also hints as to why Bertie has fallen so far from high society and my boy is going THROUGH it.

5. Something of Vengeance (15/15 chapters, Sherlock Holmes crossover)

The romance isn't very direct but it's still one of my favourite stories. Interesting plot and seeing old Johnlock react to oftentimes air-headed but always kind-hearted Bertie is so cute. I need to reread this soon!!

6. All's Well That Ends Well (4/4 chapters, Completed)

I'm a sucker for anything ABO. A classic 'Bertie gets himself into trouble and Jeeves saves the day' story. Jeeves really is a saint for having so much self-control because there are quite a few romance tropes like accidental lap-sitting. It just tickles my brain.

7. The Yaxley Affair (one-shot)

I was hesitant to read this because it's a crossover with The Man from UNCLE but I'm so glad I did. It's quite a long story at 57k words (novella-length) but very worth the read. The older, 'established relationship' version of Bertie (now Lord Yaxley) and Jeeves are perfectly-written. It's like Ilya and Napoleon are stuck in a generic spy thriller but they're constantly in disbelief at how Jooster don't follow the 'norm' and still survive. (Do you know what I mean?) The author (Mice) has also written a number of great fics in this fandom.

8. Jeeves and the Best Laid Schemes (6/6 chapters)

I haven't read a lot of stories from Jeeves' perspective. In this fic, Jeeves is trying to make Bertie take a hint about his true feelings but he keeps getting sidelined by other characters. I love it when Jeeves is the one who falls first.

9. Jeeves in the Shower (one-shot, E)

Short and sweet. I just love it when Character A finds Character B taking a shower and they proceed to have sex.

10. Jeeves and the Gadsby Filly (one-shot)

Bertie in drag meets Jeeves in a night club and are drawn together. Don't know how else to describe it but fluffy and cute.

11. Totleigh Academy (3/3 chapters)

I'm a reader of simple tastes. I will always click on a high school AU (which are hit or miss). This is a hit!! Teenage Jooster dynamic is just lovely.

Final Note: There are probably more fics out there because the writers in this fandom are so good at writing in this sort of Wodehousian style. They capture Bertie's voice so well and the dialogue in some stories is just sparkling!! I would recommend the entire catalogue of fics on AO3 tbh.

[sebsallowapologist]

Charcoal

Sebastian Sallow x F!MC

Rated: 18+

Warnings: so much fluff, suggestive language, references to a naked MC.

Sebastian reveals a secret talent to his muse.

Spring had finally sprung in Scotland, and after a long cold winter it felt like a true blessing to have a sunny day. Sebastian and I had decided to spend out Sunday by the lake, catching up on reading, looking out for the giant squid and just overall enjoying the nice weather. 

We hadn’t been the only ones of course, the great lawn what flooded with students all trying to do the same, but we had lucked out with a nice spot by the lake.

We’d laid together on the grass for a while, looking up at the soft fluffing clouds which were few and far between. We talked about what life would be like after the end of term. Where we’d move together, what jobs we were going to do, how far we’d have to drag Ominis.

The plans ranged from moving to London, to going to Paris or hell- maybe even America if we got bored over here. Sebastian’s only prerequisite when you asked his opinion was that you were there with him. And he needed a job that paid enough to get you the ring you deserved.

Eventually I’d begged Sebastian to go sit in the shade, his skin turning pink with the sun exposure, and I didn’t want him to get a burn.

We’d fallen into a silence as we picked up our books and read, just enjoying each others company. I hadn’t even noticed that he’d put his own book down until I lifted my face toward the sky, eyes closed to soak in the sun. “Look down again please.” He said and my brow furrowed as I turned to face him. 

My boyfriend was leaned over a large book of bound plain parchment, his hands covered in the dark charcoal he was drawing with. “What are you doing?” I giggle. I had no idea he drew, you think you know a man... 

“Look at you book, love.” He smiles, a playful twinkle in his eye. I make a big show of dramatically looking back down at my book, but it was impossible to read. Now that I was aware of what he was doing, I cold feel his stare on my face, the charcoal running over the paper rhythmically was soothing. 

Eventually he switches to an erasers stored in his pocket, and the sleeve of his robes were being used quite often too. I turn my head ever so slightly, desperate to get a look, but he catches me immediately. 

“No no miss, back to your book no peaking.” He teases and I roll my eyes, turning to face the same page I’d been looking at for at least ten minutes. 

The sounds of his drawing stop after a while, and he sighs. “Alright.” 

He scoots from his spot until the tree in the shade and comes up behind me. He grabs me around the waist to pull me to his front in between his legs. His sketchbook ends up in my lap, and he rests his chin on my shoulder to look with me. 

“Sebastian.” I sigh, looking over the page. This couldn’t possibility being a drawing of me, the woman on the page was far too beautiful. “This is wonderful. How long have you been drawing?”

He shrugs, like it was nothing. “Since I was young. It passes the time.” 

“I’d say more than that.” I mutter and turn to kiss his cheek. “Can I keep this?” I ask and he nods. "Of course my love.” He kisses my shoulder blade and I start thrumming through the sketchbook.

How could he be so casual about this, these drawings were absolutely wonderful. Soft edges, beautiful highlights, if i drew like this I’d wear it pinned to the front of my robes. There were scenes from around the Hogwarts grounds, Feldcroft, even one of Ominis looking absolutely annoyed. “You captured his essence beautifully.” I joke and Seb laughs, moving back under the tree to grab his book that he had put down earlier. 

While he did have some landscapes, and one or two other portraits the book was filled with... me. My profile, head on, sleeping, laughing, this book had me literally written all over it. 

Sebastian makes himself comfortable leaning against the tree with his book, content to just let me flip through the pages.

“Sebastian?” I hum after flipping to the next page in his sketch book.

“Yes my love?”

“Where are my clothes in this one?” 

He leans over to see which drawing I’m looking at, and the man has the nerve to smirk. “I took some artistic liberties with that one.”