#so while there's still a few things off and while the reasoning (going from patterns in the writing anyway lol) is... ass

[butwhatifidothis]

Do you feel that Claude stays true to his Three Houses character in the Azure Gleam route?

Far more so, yes.

Not to say there isn't still hiccups: despite seeing for himself that foreign diplomacy is happening within Faerghus despite Rhea and the Central Church's presence, and despite seeing for himself Crestless individuals rise in the ranks of the Kingdom army despite Rhea and the Central Church being right there, Claude is still clearly under the belief that the Church and Rhea have to go (or more, that's the so-implied-it-might-as-well-have-been-explicitly-said implication he's given in AG). If he were completely in-line with how he was in 3H, he would have changed his opinion once he saw how evidently he was incorrect.

Hell, literally all he needed was Cyril's word in 3H for him to warm up to the idea of him and Rhea not needing to be enemies, so everything he'd see in AG once he sides with Dimitri and Rhea should've damn near made him a believer in comparison lmaooo. Him not having his curiosity - which is what this ultimately stems from - is a problem throughout all of Hopes, not just GW and SB, and its absence is pretty noticeable.

(or more, its deliberate removal is noticeable - it’d be one thing if there was genuinely nothing to stimulate the curiosity, but that’s not what happens here lol)

But other than that, yes, he's far more true to his character. He doesn't side with the one initiating violence, he doesn't sacrifice his allies (however much one sees Randolph as an "ally" outside of semantics - I don't, but clearly the game wanted me to think of him as one), there's no needless """""""sacrifices""""""" of completely innocent lives, he's willing to set aside his suspicions towards Rhea seeing how it's not her, but Edelgard who is causing the most harm to Fodlan and its people and its future currently, he doesn't do stupid shit that only helps Edelgard nor does he regurgitate her rhetoric (outside of minor Church Bad), he's not blindly believing a liar's words with no proof.

As you might've noticed, it's mostly him not doing a lot of things that makes him far more in character more than it is him actually doing things. GW and SB add in so much shit into Hopes!Claude's character that directly goes against 3H!Claude's character, so taking them out of the equation reveals just how, like, easy it would've been to make an acceptable version of Claude for Hopes. AG!Claude is by far and away the most tolerable version of Hopes!Claude, just because for the most part he... doesn't act like Hopes!Claude.

And also, now, mind, I don't think it's really an accomplishment on AG's part - cynical as I've become of Hopes' writing of Claude, the only likely reason he's so drastically different between AG and the rest of the game is because this is where he never has Edelgard as an actual enemy. He thinks she is, but narratively speaking Edelgard is not the one Claude or Dimitri are fighting for the second half of AG - it's Thales, who's made Edelgard little more than a megaphone to shout orders through. By the time Claude enters AG Edelgard is lobotomized, unlike in the other two routes where he's directly opposed to her and ever so coincidentally ends up basically becoming Edel-lite.

There's no need to make Edelgard look better since she's already been properly set up as a Poor Uwu Victim, so all the shit added to Hopes!Claude is no longer needed and are thus erased entirely. You'll notice how Claude is fuckin' no where near as violent and callous and manipulative on AG as he is on the other two routes, and how in fact he's one of the nicest dudes on fuckin' Earth as he

freely gives his best generals (two of which are Roundtable heirs) as well as multiple generic soldiers

freely gives supplies to the Kingdom

risks his own life with not just no prompting from someone else (unlike with Edelgard) but with his active insistence that he do so, during AG's Aillell

all without ever backstabbing Dimitri/Rhea (unlike Edelgard, in SB) or even asking for anything in return

Since there's no propping up Edelgard required for AG, Claude just goes back to being the "pure good guy" he was in 3H (and was described to be in 3H by his OG creator). Like, when I say that it's obvious obvious that Claude was written in Hopes primarily to service Edelgard, I mean it's, like, omega obvious obvious. He's not a piece of shit made to make Edelgard look better in comparison, he's just... Claude lmao

[blkkizzat]

🗂️—𝙲𝙰𝚂𝙴 𝟶𝟶𝟷........... THE STRONGEST ......filed under the that's not my jjk man series

visitor log: its midday and your clingy-ass boyfriend—gojo satoru—should be hard at work right getting rid of these doppels not knocking at your door—gotta be a fake... right?! classifications: bimbo!reader (canonverse of otaku!gojo's bunny!reader), yandere-esque Gojo, nipple play, recorded sex, lots of sex toys, dirty talk, panty theft, extreme overstim + slight omorashi. incidents: 4.4k .......shout outs to @yung-notorious for beta-ing some of this!

*knock-knock-knock-knock-knock*

Rapid, insistent knocks interrupt your laughter as you chat with friends, carefully brushing a fresh coat of polish onto your toes. You weren’t expecting anyone, but the familiar, overly enthusiastic rhythm—knocking out the tune of Rick Astley’s "Never Gonna Give You Up"—leaves no doubt who it is.

Satoru.

You sigh.

Although you haven’t seen Gojo much lately and are usually happy to see him, his timing this time irritates you for a couple reasons—first, of course he’d interrupt right in the middle of your much-needed girl time! You were desperate to hang with your friends again, especially after being stuck in lockdown for the last 2 weeks.

There was some juicy tea getting spilled on the call too! 

More importantly, you weren't in a hurry to get up from the sofa—especially with your freshly painted white toes you’d propped up on the coffee table to dry. The last thing you wanted was to ruin them by getting dust on them while answering the door when Gojo wasn’t even supposed to be here right now.

“BBL, y’all.”

Reluctantly ending the call, you switched over to your Ring camera app. 

Sure enough, the security feed loads to reveal Gojo, grinning up at the camera with his glasses perched on the brim of his nose and a large pink shopping bag in hand.

Huh? There’s no way he’s off-work already! 

Taking note of the time it reads 1:30 p.m. confirming that Jujutsu society’s strongest sorcerer is skipping out on work, again—pshh typical. 

“C’mon babe, let me in!”

Urgh, what was he even doing here?! 

Shouldn’t he be the one leading the charge to kill all the doppelgängers? The faster he exorcized them, the sooner you’d finally be able to go outside again.

This doppelgänger outbreak felt like covid quarantine all over and it sucked! 

Satoru needed to get his ass back to work so you wouldn’t waste the best years of your life cooped up inside!

“Go away, doppelgänger!”

You use the intercom feature to speak to Gojo, still not budging from the sofa.

Gojo pouts.

“But it's me, baby! Open the door Bunny bae, please I missed you princess—it’s been too long!”

Satoru’s annoyingly pretty baby blues look even bigger as he pleads into the camera, his lip quivering, making you roll your eyes.

It’s barely been 48 hrs since you’ve last seen him and he still blows up your texts all day! 

But the world’s strongest sorcerer was also the world’s clingiest—so you suppose his doppelgänger would be too. Although, you were pretty sure this was the real deal, that still didn’t mean you wouldn’t give him shit for skipping out on work.

“Huh, that’s funny because there's no way you could be my boyfriend, Gojo Satoru, the strongest—and the one who is supposed to be making sure I’m not stuck in the house for another 2 years. It’s been freaking 2 weeks already Toru, I’m going batshit in here!”

Pushing his glasses back in place Gojo hides his scoff, standing up straight. 

Shit.

He hopes you aren’t onto him. 

Sure, he could have contained this whole thing in a few days tops.

Despite the doppelgänger ability to mimic appearances and cursed energy patterns, Gojo’s Six Eyes could see right through it easily. His power allowed him to perceive the core of a soul with perfect clarity, instantly distinguishing the souls of a human and a curse.

But instead of resolving the problem quickly, Gojo made up all kinds of excuses to you (and especially to the higher-ups) about why it was taking longer than expected. 

The truth was, simple though—for once, just this once, he decided he had earned the right to be selfish.

Not having met you until after the covid quarantine, Gojo had never experienced that kind of isolation with you—and was immensely jealous that your last boyfriend had. Now that he had a taste of it, there was nothing he wanted more than to keep his lil bun-bun safely caged up, waiting for his return everyday (and he did try to make it back everyday).

Okay, so he is in fact being really selfish.

Luckily for everyone else though, most of these doppelgänger  curses are relatively harmless other than causing absolute chaos with their mere existence alone—unfortunately they could also be seen by people even lacking cursed energy.

Gojo took care of the stronger ones, the ones with more nefarious intentions, while letting the little ones continue to run loose—all so he could have you to himself. 

Unbeknownst to you, Gojo is intentionally sentencing you to what seems like a never ending cycle of boredom so that when he finally gets home you cling to him like a grain of sweet sticky rice. So eager for any external stimuli or interaction you’d be up for all manner of his perversions you’d normally shoot him down for.

That didn’t mean you weren’t still a brat though, making him work for it—something that Gojo also noted was his fault though for spoiling you rotten, not being able to deny you anything. So you pretend to be annoyed when he showed up, but Gojo knew the truth—those thick thighs of yours would soon have your slick running down. Your cute, slutty lil pussy dripping would start dripping the moment you’d hear his voice.

Yeah, yeah, he’d get rid of those things eventually—but Gojo was going to enjoy this quarantine with you for a bit longer. 

“Even the strongest need a break baby! I need my sweet lil’ energizer Bunny to recharge my batteries, eh?”

You crinkle up your nose seeing him wiggle his eyebrows on camera. 

He's such a dorky cornball.

“And this break…it’s approved by Yaga, hm?” Gojo whines at your questioning, not wanting you to deny him any longer nor throw technicalities in his face he didn’t wanna have to answer.

“Come on, Bunny! I even brought you real nice gifts to show you how much I missed you!”

The hot pink shopping bag sways in front of the camera, Gojo dangling it as if it were supposed to be a tempting treat. 

But he’d have to do better than some generic pink shopping bag to impress you!

You’ve gone back to your toenails, starting to apply the top coat while you let him squirm out there for a while longer. You knew he could break the barrier in the blink of an eye but you also knew that he was a big enough baby to want you to let him in on your own. 

Well tough luck brah.

“That sure doesn’t look like a Chanel shopping bag, Toru!”

“Um, that’s cause it’s not—Bunny you told me you don’t even like me picking you out clothes anymore!”

You clicked your tongue and rolled your eyes—of course you said that as whenever Gojo picked something out for you, it ended up being the most scandalous or over-the-top piece in the store. How he would even managed that at a classy brand like Chanel, you had no idea. (Though, little do you know, in reality, he always acted they were ready-to-wear while they were custom-made—just for you.)

“I got us some toys, baby bun! Don’t you wanna play with me?”

You don’t need to ask him ‘what kind of toys’ from the goofy ass expression that is on his face. 

“That’s not making me want to let you in at all, Doru!”  

“Hah? Wha—Doru!?”

“Yeah, short for Dopple-Toru.”

You try to keep a straight face but can’t help giggling as you sneak a peek at your phone, still putting on as if you're completely ignoring him. His expression on the camera is priceless though and you wish you could snap a screenshot of his mouth wide open, glasses nearly sliding off, looking utterly incredulous.

“Hey! Come on, Bunny bae, that's not funny! I know you know it’s me—and I also know your pretty pussy misses me!” 

Oh knew, it was your perv ass boyfriend and yeah you did miss him—but you missed your freedom more! And for that reason you are gonna make him think twice before trying to skip out on work again. Not to mention, for having the nerve to show up once you finally found something interesting to stave away your boredom other than him!

“Hmm, I don’t know—prove it then, Doru…”

While Gojo loves goading you into playing games and usually lets you win them too, after nearly 48 ‘grueling hours’ away from you, all he wants now is to simply relax in your company. Ya know, nothing too crazy, just the typical cuddles with him calmly resting his face on your titties while his cock nestles deep up against your cervix—just something casual.

Gojo calling your bluff, ups the ante.

“Heh, kay…”

You’re actually not paying attention this time, admiring your work on your toes and contemplating on the color you should paint your fingernails as Gojo goes silent for a moment. 

Yet once you hear a loud zip, the rustling of fabric, and a belt clank to the ground your eyes practically bulge out of your head as you grab your phone, bringing it comically close to your face while blinking multiple times just to be sure. 

Satoru quite literally has dick and balls out, dangling in the breeze, in front of the entire goddamn neighborhood!

And despite your initial horror and best efforts to remain upset, you pause, your inner slut causing a slight brain malfunction—as even from the small ring camera you can see his deliciously thick cock bobbing fully erect while his mushroomy tip shamelessly drips viscous globs of pre onto your welcome mat.

Thankfully your short-circuiting of common sense only lasts a few seconds before it starts functioning again.

“TORU HAVE YOU LOST YOUR FUCKING SUGAR-FUELED MIND!? YOU KNOW THE HOA IS ONE MORE INCIDENT AWAY FROM KICKING ME OUT, RIGHT!?”

Sighing, you groan in dismay as you’ve been on thin ice with your HOA for a while now because of Gojo. 

Not only have you received the most noise complaints in the neighborhood by far, but he also made ‘alterations’ to your home by installing unsanctioned rows of cypress trees. Claiming it was a safety precaution to block the view inside your home from your ‘sketchy neighbors.’ He also ever so obnoxiously takes up 2 parking spots on the street so no one could even “park too close to scratch his Benz” and even sometimes double parked in front of your neighbors house when all the street parking was taken.

You would most definitely be kicked out if anyone in the neighborhood saw all of Gojo’s fairly large bits and pieces freely on display.

And yeah, Gojo did know that. 

He also knew if you got kicked out and had to move you’d have no excuse then not to move-in with him.

Where else would you be able to stay on such short notice? He soon turn that temporary situation into a more permanent one too.

Finally leaping to your feet, you practically trip over yourself—all thoughts of preserving your polish forgotten—as you sprint to the front door.

You can’t get there fast enough, yet as soon as you do, you don't hesitate to lower the barrier and fling the door open.

“Hey sweetn—”

Cutting him off, you grab Gojo by his collar and yank him inside before slamming the door shut behind you.

But you don’t get a chance to scold him. The moment you turn to face him, your lips suddenly meet his, and his large frame envelops yours into a warm embrace.

Your first instinct is to push him away, but even when meeting your furious eyes he just grins knowingly—twirling his pointer finger in the air above him. You frown, confused, until it hits you—Gojo has set up another barrier over your own.

No one could have seen him, but he’d let you believe that so you’d let him in faster.

Urgh, Toru is far too crafty for his own damned good.

It's your turn to pout now, having clearly lost this round badly. 

But Gojo doesn’t let the expression linger—his mouth is hot and hungry on yours again in an instant. Your soft lips are easily parted by his thumb as he slows to tease his way past your lips to glide his silken tongue into your mouth causing him to sigh—you taste sweeter than any candy to him.

The kiss soon turns more passionate as the strokes of his tongue flick longingly over yours, devouring you as he skillfully melts away your anger—in addition to all the bones in your legs. Reduced to a puddle of goo you completely forget you were just about to cuss him out as your legs now press together from the throbbing between your thighs. Your need becoming more agonizing as you grow dizzy from the lack of air.

When Gojo finally lets you breathe again, he chuckles at your dazed expression. Your lids are lowered and you press your body deeper into his own, clutching onto his collar as you nestle your face into his neck, savoring his scent washing over you. 

“So despite all that sass, I take it you actually missed me then?”

You nod eagerly against his skin, in spite of yourself. Even though he isn’t supposed to be here right now, you can’t hold back any longer how happy you are to see him.

“And my pretty Bunny girl is going to let me play with her now?—All of her?”

You gasp as Gojo does not wait for an answer before slipping a hand into your shorts. Hissing at your heat, Gojo swipes his thumb over the outer folds of your cunt and his fingers quickly are becoming soaked before they even got the chance to get up inside you.

Placing a chaste kiss on your temple Gojo's agile fingers had merely confirmed what he already knew: You’re utterly drenched—his needy, cute lil’ pussy was quite literally begging for him and who was he to deny her?

ᡣ𐭩ᡣ𐭩ᡣ𐭩

“F—Fuck! P-pussy too good. Keep the phone up though, nice and straight Bunny! T-That’s it, you’re the best! SHIIIIT— n’you got the cutest sluttiest lil cunny! C-Can you get a close up of how well my cock is digging out your pretty lil’ bunny hole?”

“Mmmgh!”

Gojo’s filthy words and his even filthier fat cock are bringing you closer to your ecstasy filled ruin as they push you past your limits, engorged veins scraping your walls with every thrust. You're covered in sweat and your entire body buzzes—quite literally as there are vibrating clamps suctioned onto each of your nipples. 

Mmmm, it all was driving you wild!

Not imagining yourself in this position when you woke up this morning at all.

Especially as initially, when Gojo said he bought toys, you thought he had meant fuzzy handcuffs, silken ropes or maybe even some more of that warm edible candle wax that tastes like strawberries—but all this!? 

You could barely see out of your bleary, tear-filled eyes completely caking your cheeks in streaks of your mascara that while supposedly waterproof, definitely is not Gojo Satoru proof. 

In addition to the mind-numbing bliss radiating off your swollen perky buds, your body was covered in some sort of edible oily slick. The warmth was initially similar to that of candle wax—yet morphed into anything but. This time the heat was coming from the flames your own body generated as the effects of the candied warming oil made every part of you saturated in the fluid buzz with need. 

Of course, after soaking your body with it down the tips of your toes and paying extra attention to your nipples, Gojo had been thoughtful enough to pour the most of the remaining bottle over your throbbing lil’ clit. 

Except now there isn’t just a shallow throb between your legs as the fiery sensation of every individual nerve in your cunt was cries out for him to ruin you harder. 

Your legs are wrapped around him impossibly tight as your heels dig into the small of his back and yet somehow, he still manages to snake a hand between your slippery bodies to pet his favorite girly spot on you—your clit. Toying with the swollen nub in a painfully slow manner compared to the intensified thrashing of his hips against your own. 

The motions only serve to push the heart-shaped platinum and pink sapphire adorned butt plug deeper into your ass with every loud vulgar smack of your wet bodies joining—the strange feeling of it jostling against the very walls his cock was drilling has you drooling as Gojo further tests the limits of passion he can push over.   

“C’mon Bunny, you're going to miss the best part, ya better capture it really well how much squirt I can pump out of this cute cunny—or we’ll simply just have to do another take. Not that I’d mind spending all day in your pussy…”

You're not in your right mind to scold him for trying to skip out on more work and you certainly don't have the full capacities to hold his phone up any better—what with your hands were tied together over your head to the bed. Gojo utilizing the fuzzy cuffs afterall.

You can’t even really see if you are getting the right angle as you desperately hold onto the device, keeping it straight and upright lest it slip and drop right on your head. 

“Always such a good girl for me huh, princess?”

Tuh—like he was giving you a choice!

You're unable to clap back though as your tongue, so lax from all the pleasure, sinks back to the roof of your mouth. The slobber gathered pools past your lips, over your chin, down your neck to your tits and Gojo is eager to slurp the train up your body and back to your lips, kissing you. 

It goes without saying, but Gojo in ‘director’ mode is absolutely diabolical. 

The reason being needs the perfect footage of him playing in your guts to make sure he had good enough material to fap to if you wanted him to spend more time away from you while he hunted down the doppel-curses.

“Be good for me a bit longer, ‘kay baby?”

Yet his gentle coos don’t match his demeanor. 

Glasses long discarded, Gojo’s own blue eyes looked crazed. He’s unconcerned with the sweat matting his hair to the sides of his face or the wave of slick your pussy splashes onto his taut abs. Abs are shuddering from just how tight of a hold your pussy has on him—working him overtime as his heavy pants soon twist into deranged lil whines.

“M-Me and my lil’ buddy missed our two girls so, so, s-sooo much—AH-HAH-F-FAHHHCK! G-Gotta show ya just how much!” 

Shamelessly, Gojo had dubbed his cock—his little buddy—the joke that would have emasculated some men but Gojo made it intentionally with the irony that he was anything but little.

“T-They were made for each other baby—lil’ buddy and the wet pretty girl between these thighs, yeah?”

The ham that he is, Gojo always sounds extra insane whenever a camera is recording, howling with amusement when he watches the playbacks. Yet in this very moment, he was as serious as a heart attack—and you definitely weren't laughing as your weeping pussy gets pounded into deeper into ecstasy filled oblivion. 

“Shhh—Stawwp, S’toruuuuu!”

Tsk, you still could form a coherent thought?  

That simply wouldn’t do for Gojo who is working so hard and bought all these new toys to see you come completely undone—and he needed you too soon as he wouldn’t last much longer in your squishy gooey core himself—not how your cunt was holding him in the wettest sluttiest lil hug. 

There's still one item left that he hadn't used yet though, that in trying to keep up his sleeve he'd nearly forgotten about entirely—his own brain quickly leaving itself on simmer by your greedy lil’ pussy sucking him in so sloppy.

Slightly changing your position for more leverage, he throws one of your legs on his shoulder slotting himself between your cushy thighs while he straddles the other leg. Fucking you sideways with increasing intensity from the bruising grip on your hips pulling your pelvis towards on him as he meets your thrusts smacking directly into your cervix.

“Heh, I know what will finish you off! Ya ready to cum baby? Squirt all on this dick you love so much, eh Bunny?—Yeah ya fuckin' will.”

When you don’t answer right away Gojo delivers a harsh slap directly on your clit, the moisture causing the increased sting to intensify sending your senses into a state of floating. Yet, bringing you back to reality, another harsh smack lands on your cunt and you jerk against your restraints, nearly dropping the phone on your face for real this time.

You don’t understand what he's saying to you but you not regardless, eyes rolling back into your head—every single pore on your skin submerged in pleasure. Completely unaware, you don’t hear the additional buzz of the final toy until you feel its silicone lips latching onto your clit while the rigid faux tongue juts back and forth across your bud.

Eyes practically leaving your skull for the second time today, everything flashes white, blinding you even with your eyes wide open. A scream so guttural it comes out silent, the ball of tension in you finally bursting as releases flushes through your entire body.

Cumming harder than you ever had before, you just let go completely, gushing around Gojo’s thick cock still pistoning in your now drenched pussy. The splash zone from your cunt is quite a bit more than usual as a giant warm wet spot begins to soil and expand underneath you both.

Ears ringing, Gojo sounds a million miles away as you hear him chattering on about something—the phone?

You wiggle your fingers, realizing you must have dropped it, but you’re still clueless about what has him so excited—until Gojo’s voice finally slices through your haze, yelling out in absolute wonderment—

“HOLY SHIT BABY, DID YOU JUST PISS ON ME??? MMM FUCK ME FOR REAL!?—SHIT! YOU WETTER THAN A WATER PARK BUNNY—SO FUCKIN NASTY! PLEASEEEEEE PLEASEEEE TELL ME YOU GOT THAT ON CAMERA!”

Suddenly, it dawned on you that when you had let go, you had quite literally let it all go. 

You could die—and if you could muster the strength to move you surely would have raced out to the backyard to quickly dig yourself a whole to do just that in. Yet that clearly would not an acceptable conclusion for your degenerate perv of a boyfriend who is acting like a sinner saved—praising pussy like a newly reborn evangelist baptized in the essence of your erotic filth. 

His elation is simple as he figures how much you really had to trust him to be able to let go and lose yourself to him to that extent—now he wants to lose himself to you as well.

Easily drowning all inside your sloshing pussy like he never swam—Gojo doesn't stop, your pissing only encourages him to fuck himself further into a pussy drunk state to rival your own cock-induced stupor.

Yet, somehow he still maintains enough control to effectively lavish praises for how naughty and shameless your lil pussy is. 

The frenzy drives him directly to his nut, eyes dilate further and slobber frothes past his lips while spearing his cock into you with renewed vigor. Whimpering and stuttering his words and hips alike.  Gojo presses your leg draped across him back against you to be sandwiched between the two of you as leans forward to further ravage your swollen kiss bitten lips again. 

Twisting you up like a pretzel and near the point of passing out from overstimulation you his insane joyous laughter sounds miles away as he topples over his peak pumping ropes of his vicious cum—that he’d been saving up for all you over the last two days—into your battered creamy core. 

Gojo’s thrusts begin to slow but he’s in your guts just as far pushing cockhead right against your cervix stealing your lips into another fiery kiss.

Once Gojo finally lets you breathe air again, you’re completely out of it, the dopey blushing smile on your face. The embarrassment from pissing all over him is completely forgotten as hearts all for him linger in your eyes.

Sex with Toru was never dull to say the very least.

“There you go, there’s my good girl, huh Bunny? Not bored anymore baby?”

Gojo smirks down at you knowingly while peppering your face with sweet loving kisses as you’re steadily drifting off, allowing every exhausted nerve to claim you.

It's still a good minute before Gojo slides out of you, seeinghis discarded phone next to you—it's still recording. A mischevous smile plays on his lips.

Wanting to capture the aftermath of his handiwork, Gojo sweeps the phone across your body, thumbing off moisture from your dewy soft skin soiled with warming oil and sweat. Making sure to linger longer on your lightly heaving chest and the sporadic quiver of your thighs.

Zooming in even closer, Gojo’s two long fingers to part your swollen lips open, admiring more of his work—his masterpiece that was the copious amounts of cum and piss dribbling out of your abused lil’ hole down to the crack of your ass. 

Now Gojo really has a dilemma—he wants to keep filming you as his cum, ever so slowly, trickles out of you. He thinks this scene would make the perfect time-lapse of the creamy sap seeping from your cunt like sugar maple. But he’s also fighting the urge to also suck all the creaminess out of you himself—the cum rimming around your puckered lower hole tempting him to Gojo start there and slurp and suck his way up your clit. 

Truly, he never gets enough of how his taste mingles with yours—and he’s quite curious to know how the additional waterworks will add to your delectable flavor. 

You were so fucking filthy and so willing to try new things all thanks to this doppel quarantine causing you to make this big a mess in the first place.

God he needed this.

More. 

He had to have more from you. 

Gojo couldn’t possibly bring this all to an end anytime soon.  Cooing against your inner thigh Gojo makes a promise to your cunt.

“Heh, don't worry pretty girl, I'ma give you six more months of quarantine at least! Can't wait to—” 

“—TORU, ARE YOU FUCKING SHITTING ME RIGHT NOW!?!?”

Whoops.

Yeah he definitely thought you were already fast asleep—teehee.

......RESULT: PASSED 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚌𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚕𝚢 𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚏𝚒𝚎𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚏𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚖𝚎𝚕𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚜𝚕𝚞𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚊 𝚋𝚘𝚢𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍—𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚚𝚞𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚊𝚒𝚗’𝚝 𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝚜𝚘𝚘𝚗 𝚋𝚊𝚋𝚎.

that's not my jjk man series (visit series page for full animation)

comment and reblog! next up toji, already finished posting—10/20

©blkkizzat 2024. do not steal works or gfx, do not translate.

[heart-of-the-morningstar]

✨Dress Up, Part 1: The Proposal✨

IT IS DONE HOLY SHIT! Yeah, I had to change this fic 3 different times, I'm really sorry this one took so long. Hopefully you all like this one and thank you for your patience <3

Consider this a reward for kicking Vox's ass in this poll and declaring our short king the ACTUAL hottest character in Hazbin Hotel lmao

Edit: This is now going to be a multi-chapter story! Look forward to more! Thank you all for the support 💖

Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

Lucifer x f!sinner reader

Summary: Lucifer takes you dress shopping for a special night out, but for some reason he's been acting a little strange lately...

Warnings: 18+, smut, public teasing, oral (f receiving), fingering, p in v

Lucifer excitedly told you that he wanted to take you dress shopping today. It wasn't out of the norm for you two to go out on the town and indulge on some sort of spending spree together. Plus Lucifer absolutely loved buying things for you; whether it be precious jewelry, beautiful flowers, or brand-new clothes. But you had to admit it's been a while since you've gone out, what with Lucifer spending a majority of time at the hotel assisting his daughter Charlie. You were so happy that they were able to rekindle their bond after so many years of being apart. You were more than happy to help with the hotel as well! You found ways to help Charlie with whatever she needed, which somehow ended up being more than you initially thought. It was exhausting to say the least, but you enjoyed it nonetheless! You were very much looking forward to going out today with your beloved king. And of course he was taking you to one of the most esteemed shops in all of Hell, Vivacious by Velvette. He truly spared no expense when it came to you.

But for some reason, you couldn't shake the feeling that something was…off about Lucifer today.

He didn't seem upset or angry or anything of the sort. More like, he was scared? Or perhaps nervous about something? You couldn't think of anything that could be making him feel this way. The hotel was doing great, Charlie and Lucifer’s relationship was better than it’s ever been, and you and Lucifer have been nothing but enamored with each other. You were just clothes shopping after all. You two had been dating for some time now; you remembered how Lucifer used to be all kinds of flustered during your first few outings. You thought it was adorable the way he stumbled over his words when he brought up the newest duck he had added to his collection or when he complimented every single outfit you’ve ever worn. He still did those things, of course, but he slowly became more and more comfortable and confident around you. But today was something you’ve never seen before. The wary smiles he’s been giving throughout day, the jitteriness of his movements anytime you approached him, his rapid speech patterns…was he hiding something from you? You intended to get to the bottom of it.

You walked down the streets of Hell with Lucifer by your side, his arm linked with yours. You stepped into the lavish shop, dresses of all kids hung from the racks: ball gowns, sun dresses, cocktail dresses; anything you could think of was there! Lucifer told you to take your time and to pick out as many as you wanted to try on while he waited for you by the dressing room. Despite the plethora of options at your fingertips, you only found yourself intrigued by a handful of dresses. Some with more material than others but you'd thought you'd give them a try regardless; you weren't shy when it came to your body.

You grabbed the three dresses that appealed to you the most and made your way towards the changing rooms. Just as he promised, you saw Lucifer standing at the end of the hall waiting for you. But he didn't seem to notice you at first, his attention was elsewhere. Next to the changing rooms was the most impressive collection of wedding dresses you'd ever seen in Hell and even on Earth, each more breathtaking than the last. You noticed Lucifer staring at the wall of dresses with an almost wishful expression, reaching out to touch one of the dresses' lacy sleeve, gently massaging it between his fingers. You smiled and quietly walked over to join him.

"They're really beautiful, aren't they?," you said, snapping him out of his trance and making him jump a bit. He smiled at you, his hand still holding onto the sleeve.

"Absolutely stunning," he beamed. Although, with the way he was looking at you, it didn't seem like he was referring to the dresses. You felt a small blush creep across your cheeks.

One of the employees walked up to you and directed you to an empty changing room. Lucifer waited outside patiently, smiling at you as you closed the sort behind you. The first dress you wanted to try on was a simple black sheath dress. Once you slipped it on, you reached behind of and attempted to grab the zipper. You can only manage to pull it up so far before it wouldn’t budge anymore, causing you to huff in frustration. Slowly, you opened the door to see Lucifer’s eager face staring back at you.

“I need your help, hon,” you admitted. “I can’t reach the zipper.”

Quickly, Lucifer stood up and followed you into the changing room. You turned your back to him and lifted your hair up and out of the way so the zipper couldn’t catch it. Lucifer placed one hand on your hip and the other on the back of your dress. You heard the zipper moving, but it only took you a second to realize it was moving in the wrong direction. Cheeky bastard, you thought to yourself.

“Up, Lucifer,” you said with a smirk, glancing at him over your shoulder. You heard a light chuckle escape him.

“Sorry, darling,” he apologized almost insincerely, peppering kisses down your neck, “can’t help myself when it comes to you.” Lethargically, he pulled the zipper up to the top, finally letting your hair fall back down. If he wanted to play games, you were more than happy to participate. Because you knew how to win. And just maybe, you could get him to admit to whatever he was keeping from you.

“I wouldn’t start something that you’re not ready to finish, sweet pea,” you threatened with a smug grin.

Before Lucifer could get a word out, you spun around and pushed him gently against the wall, eliciting a small yelp from him. You placed both of your arms on either side of his head, effectively trapping him. His eyes widened, sucking in a breath as he realized how vulnerable he was in this new position he had found himself in. His head and hands became flat against the wall as he looked into your now ravenous eyes.

“My love, p-please,” he began to stammer, “I-I didn’t want to-HNG,” you effectively cut off his meek pleas as your one hand traveled down below his belt. You maneuvered your hand up and down at an agonizingly slow pace. Nonetheless, you felt him start to harden underneath his pants almost instantly. You flashed a devious smile, but he didn’t see it, as he had screwed his eyes shut. Baring his clenched teeth, he tried desperately to hold his breath as to not make any lewd noises. You took that as a challenge, of course.

“So it’s only alright if you get to tease me, is that it, Luci?,” you questioned, leaning your head forward with your lips now pressed against his ear. “Now that doesn’t seem fair at all, does it?”

Lucifer gulped as you continued your teasing ministrations. “I’m s-sorry, sweetheart,” he looked at you doe-eyed. “P-Please don’t-mmph…don’t do this, not here. I won’t be able to hold back, not today…”

“Oh, I’m counting on that,” you retorted. “You know you’ve been acting out of sorts all day, don’t think I haven’t noticed. Maybe if you tell me what’s wrong, I’ll show you some mercy.”

Lucifer audibly gulped at your words. "It's…it's nothing, angel, I promise, I just-fuck," you pressed your hand in harder against the growing tent in his pants, silencing his response.

"You hesitated just now," you told him. "If that's how you want it to be, so be it. You don't have to tell me. But you're not off the hook, not by a longshot." You pulled away from him, giving him a chance to breathe normally once again. You gave a quick glance to the mirror to finally get a look at the dress you had adorned. It looked nice! But it came off as something you would wear in an office setting; not really your style. You looked back at Lucifer who was instantly frozen in place from your gaze.

"I'm not feeling this one," you remarked, "help me with the zipper?" You turned your back to him once more, feeling his hand tentatively grab the zipper. "You can only touch the dress, understand? I'm off limits."

"M-mhmm," Lucifer agreed. He behaved and only tugged the zipper down halfway until you could reach it yourself.

"Good boy."

You discarded the dress quickly, leaving you in only your lacy black bra and matching black panties. Lucifer forced himself to look away from you, trying to reach for the door handle.

"And where do you think you're going?," you asked coyly, stopping him in his tracks entirely.

“I umm, just uhh…giving you privacy?” He tentatively went for the handle again, but your arm shot out, keeping the door in its locked state.

“Oh, we’re way past decency here, Lucifer.” You maneuvered him away from the door and sat him down on the large white bench that was affixed to the wall. You leveraged your foot against the area just below his hip and rested one hand on the top of your thigh, the other on your hip. “Besides, you’re not really in any condition to be in the public view” leaning forward and shooting a quick glance down at his crotch, “now are you?”

Lucifer could only shake his head.

"Glad you agree," you smiled and pecked his lips, a pathetic little whine leaving Lucifer's throat. "I have a few more dresses to try on. You can look, but you cannot touch unless I say, alright?"

"Yes, love," he murmured obediently. You smiled and turned around to pick up the black dress you had let fall to the floor. You bent over slowly to pick it up, giving Lucifer a lovely view of your barely covered ass. You heard a deep inhale behind you followed by a shaky exhale.

You hung up the black dress and moved onto the next dress; a beautiful lavender colored Bardot dress with sleeves that hung off your shoulders. Luckily this one didn't have a zipper, you only needed to step in and shimmy it up your body. You adjusted your bra straps and hid them under the sleeves for the time being. You liked this one more than the last, you did as few twirls in front of the mirror checking every single angle.

"What do you think of this one, hon?," you asked, looking at his reflection in the mirror. It seemed as though he was gripping that bench with just a little too much force.

"Ravishing," Lucifer breathed. You had given him permission to look, and he was taking fully advantage of your generosity. He was chopping at the bit, fighting every urge to pounce right then and there. Lucifer's eyes were hungry, his lips curled into a smile to try and hide how badly he needed you at this moment. You admired his will power…but how strong was it truly? You made your way back towards him, chuckling playfully. Without warning, your knees found their way onto the bench, now fully straddling the mess of a man beneath you.

"W-what are you-mmph!" Lucifer tried to ask you but was cut short by your lips suddenly on his. You wrapped your arms around his neck and placed a small peck to his forehead.

"You always say just the right things, Luci," you cooed as you began to shift your hips against him. Hearing the mangled moans coming from Lucifer was nothing short of euphoric. You noticed he had released his grasp on the bench and began to move towards your hips. You gripped the back of his head, his hair firmly between your fingers, and tilted his head back gently. Lucifer grunted softly as you brought your lips to his neck. "Ah, ah, ah, what did I say, love? No touching," you scolded, now sucking and nibbling at his tender skin, desperately needing to mark him.

Lucifer whimpered and reluctantly brought his hands back to their original position on the frigid bench that paled in comparison to the feeling of your warm body that was pressed against him. "I-I can't do this f-for much longer, darling," he whimpered, "I can only h-handle- hnng, so much, I…ssshhhhhhiiittt-" Lucifer's hot breath became increasingly labored as you continued to rock your hips against his painfully growing bulge.

Just then, you heard the sound of a door closing. Someone had just entered the room next to you. With the threat of being heard now looming, you lifted yourself from his neck to see that Lucifer's eyes had turned an ominous red. It felt as if his slit black irises were staring straight into your soul, attempting to burn you from within. He was losing control fast. But you weren't done with him just yet. With a smirk, you placed a finger over his soft lips. "Shh," you whispered almost inaudibly, "you may want to keep your voice down from now on."

A low guttural growl erupted from Lucifer, not of anger, but of pure lust. His obedience hanging by the thinnest of threads as you removed yourself from his lap and stripped yourself of the purple dress. At this point, you couldn’t really care less about the dresses. This was much more entertaining.

The last dress you had grabbed was a form fitting strapless dress decorated entirely in ruby colored sequence with a long slit up the side. You held it against your body in the mirror, but something didn't look quiet right. But then in donned on you, and a devious thought had crossed your mind. You made your way over to Lucifer once more, noticing his claws were now digging into his thighs.

"Can you hold this for just a moment, dear?," you asked innocently. He looked up at you with his still crimson eyes, outstretching his hand silently. Once he was holding the garment, you reached around the back of your bra and unclasped it, letting it hit the floor with a soft thud. Lucifer's eyes became saucers, bunching up the dress in his hand with a clenched fist. Your soft and tender breasts were mere inches from his touch and yet he found he could only sit there motionless, writhing under each new temptation you threw at him.

"You…you are…" Lucifer began, finding it agonizingly difficult to steady his breathing.

You smiled and tugged the dress back from Lucifer's powerful grip. "The dress wouldn't look right with the bra on, silly! I should have brought one of my strapless ones, but oh well, live and learn!" You giggled to yourself and turned away from the fallen angel who's resolve was deteriorating with each passing moment. And with that final move, you had definitely won the game.

Or did you?

While you were mentally congratulating yourself on your perceived victory, you hadn't noticed that Lucifer had moved from his seated position, picking up every article of your clothing that you used to torment him. All you felt next was something wrap around your waist tightly. Was that…his tail?

"What the-AHH!," you tried to question, only to be pulled backwards through a portal that had been summoned, dropping the red dress in the process. The pale white dressing room vanished from sight and you were left standing in the middle of your bedroom. “Lucifer, why did you-" but you couldn’t finish your question. When you turned around, your lover was on his knees behind you, his demonic horns now on full display. He lifted his head, his eyes brimming with tears that threatened to fall at any moment. "Oh, Luci…"

"Please forgive me, I-I'm so sorry, my angel," he cried, "I know I've been acting strange all day and I know that you know I've been keeping something from you. I swear on my immortal life that I will tell you, but I'm begging you…" you kneeled down with him, cupping his face with your hand, "no more teasing. P-please…I-I need you…"

You gave him a loving smile and brought your lips to his. He melted from your touch, grabbing at your hand that held his cheek. "You know I love you, Lucifer," you breathed as you pulled away, "I'm sorry if I took things too far back there, I never want to upset you. You don't have to tell me anything if you're not ready to do so. I can wait. But first…" You stood from your kneeling position and offered him a hand up. The way his demonic form had taken over from just your teasing had you desperate for him beyond belief. Not that your previous bouts of teasing him hadn't worked you up already. You needed him too. Now.

You laid flat on you back against the soft sheets, beckoning him closer with a curl of your finger. Lucifer finally flashed you a toothy grin and in an instant, snapped his fingers, completely removing all of his clothing. Normally he liked to make a show of his undress, but you were both too far gone to care at this point. His tail swished behind him as he excitedly climbed up to join you in bed. He stared down at your crotch, licking his forked tongue across his lips. Without hesitation, he removed your panties and spread your legs apart, taking in the sight of your completely drenched pussy. He leaned down quickly and began to leave sloppy kisses and nips along your inner thighs before stopping right at your entrance.

You chuckled lightly at his eagerness to please you. "Luci, you know you don't have to do this. Especially not after what I put you through today."

Lucifer, in response, let two of his fingers slide against your folds, earning a hardy moan from you. "Trust me when I say this, darling," his voice was low, dripping with lust, "I will never deny either of us this pleasure." You felt his steamy breath against your womanhood as he looked up at you with half-lidded eyes, sending a shiver down your spine. "You may want to hold on, sweetheart."

Without another word, Lucifer ran his snake-like tongue against your cunt like a starved man. You arched your back in pure ecstasy, unable to focus on anything other than the way he was making you feel. He hooked his arms underneath your legs and brought you as close to his face as physically possible, digging his claws into your soft thighs and wrapping his tail around your calf. You realized what he had meant with his last statement and reached out to grip his devilish horns. Your grasp forced a moan out of him as he worked his tongue on your sensitive nub, circling it relentlessly. You knew how skilled he was with his mouth, but it never failed to awe you every time he used it. It wasn't long before you felt a different sensation, that of two clawed finger thrusting into you at a rapid pace.

"Lu-Lucifer, fuck, f-feels so good," you whimpered in between your heavy breaths, "right-SHIT… right there, d-don't stop, please don't stop!" Your pleas only fueled Lucifer’s hunger for you and his desire to make you come undone around him. His tongue and fingers worked in tandem, bringing you closer and closer to your release. Your knuckles were turning white with the amount of force you were using to hold onto his horns. You let one hand drop to tug at Lucifer's hair, another broken moan escaping him as you did. His fingers curled up into you, hitting your g spot repeatedly as his lips sucked on your clit with reckless abandon. That coil in your stomach was on the verge of snapping. "S-so close…gonna c-cum, fuckfuckFUCK LUCIFER!," was the last thing you could utter before your walls clenched around his fingers, feeling yourself pulsate with waves of pleasure. Lucifer helped you ride out your orgasm while lapping up every drop that escaped your body as if it was the nectar of the gods. Once your body finally relaxed, Lucifer removed himself from your thighs, your mess glistening off his chin. He flashed you a wicked grin before using his tongue to clean up the remains of your essence from his face.

The King of Hell crawled up the length of your body until he was hovered directly above you. "I can truly never have enough of you, my queen," he praised. Through your lustful haze, your barely rational mind latched onto what he'd just said. Queen?, you thought, he's never called me that before. Not that you minded in the slightest, you loved it, in fact. Regardless, you clearly weren't in any condition to question his choice of words. Not when you were desperate for his cock to be buried inside you already.

Lucifer caught your lips, his tongue begging for entrance, to which you happily obliged. You could still taste a faint amount of yourself on his lips as your tongues met in a fiery display of passion, twisting and fighting against each other as if trying to establish dominance of the other. You pulled his head closer as he devoured you, saliva dripping down the side of your mouth as his tongue explored every inch of your mouth. His tail refused to recoil as it kept its grip on your lower leg. His hard on pressed against your thigh and you were becoming increasingly impatient. You whimpering against him and bucked your hips up, essentially begging for him to take you completely.

“Please…” was the only word you could force out once you pulled away from his lips. Lucifer smiled, pressing his lips against your ear just as you had done to him earlier.

“Your heart’s desire is my command,” he cooed as you finally felt that familiar pressure between your thighs that you so desperately craved. You felt the head of his cock finally press into your sopping wet cunt, slowing inching himself into you he bottomed out inside of you. You moaned together, now feeling completely whole. Together as one again. Out of nowhere, Lucifer’s wings sprang out behind him once he was fully sheathed inside of you, adding a bright angelic glow to his otherwise hellish appearance.

He was beautiful.

He laughed awkwardly, a hard blush spreading across his face. You reached up and captured his lips once more. He hummed into you, folding his wings around you, completely blocking the outside world. In that perfect moment, the only thing that existed was you and him. After what felt like an eternity, Lucifer finally began to shift his hips, pulling himself out only to thrust right back into you. Slowly at first, relishing every single mewl and whimper you let escape your throat as he rutted into you. But it wasn’t long until his pace quickened, the sound of your slapping skin driving him to the brink. He rested his forehead against yours, refusing to look away from your loving gaze. You felt that coil in your stomach begin to clench once more, making it near impossible to form any coherent sentence, the pleasure his cock was providing was overwhelming you in the best way possible. He noticed this and brough his hand between you two and started circling your already overstimulated clit. You were not going to last much longer. And you could tell his composure was falling apart at the seams as well.

"Hng…fuck…me," Lucifer stammered, his breath hitching on every word "close…I'm close, g-gonna…c-ffffuuucckkk!" He resorted to latching his sharp teeth onto your shoulder, causing small patches of blood to flow out as he came, his hot seed painting your walls white. His wings twitched and spasmed when he finished inside you. His orgasm coupled with his hard thrusts and torturing of your sensitive nub pushed you over the edge for a second time, screaming his name as you clenched around his thick cock. Lucifer lapped up the blood he had drawn from you before he collapsed on top of you, his demonic form finally subsiding, as you both tried your best to catch your breath. You both laid there for a minute or two before even thinking about moving again. Besides, you loved the feeling of his full weight on top of you, it was comforting.

"Remind me to tease you more often," you joked, running your fingers through Lucifer's soft blond hair. He shot his head up and glared at you with a clear 'don't even think about it' look. "I'm kidding! Mostly…" Lucifer rolled his eyes playfully and planted a small peck to your lips. He finally found the strength to pull out of you and roll over onto his side, exhaling heavily.

"That…didn't really go as planned," Lucifer chuckled nervously. Up until now, you had completely forgotten what had even led up to this moment! You guessed you weren't getting a new dress after all, not that you minded, you had more than enough in your closet as it was. "What SHOULD have happened was you were going to pick out a new dress, I was going to take you out on a beautiful romantic candlelit dinner, and then I...I was…" he paused and gulped. "Oh, to hell with it!" He quickly sat up straight and turned to you, using both of his hand to grab onto yours. You sat up as well, your stomach filled with butterflies for a reason you weren't really sure of. "You were right, you know. I was keeping something from you. I am a very bad liar and I'm even worse at keeping secrets. Especially from you. You told me that I didn't have to tell you right now. But that was the problem! I was fighting with every fiber of my being to not tell you immediately! Because I love you with all of my heart and soul and I want to spend the rest of eternity with you by my side and...and..." he exhaled harshly. With a wave of his hand, a small black velvet box appeared. "My love," he opened the box to reveal a ring, "will you do me the incredible honor of becoming my bride?"

You looked down at the precious jewelry before you. A golden snake for the band, with its body wrapped around a beautiful ruby gem in the shape of an apple. Your eyes swelled with tears, you couldn't stop them from flowing down your face. Lucifer panicked and started to wipe them away.

"I-I'm sorry! Please...please don't cry! I didn't mean to-HMPH!" His apologies were cut short when your lips found his. After you pulled away, you laughed, tears refusing to stop. Lucifer's mouth was agape.

"Yes, Lucifer," you bawled, "yes yes yes, a million times yes! Of course I'll marry you, I've never wanted anything more!"

Lucifer sat there in disbelief. But only for a moment before joining you in your crying, wrapping his arms tightly around you, both of your sobs echoing throughout the room.

"You've made me the happiest person in all of Hell, my dear," he cried as he peppered kisses all over your face, clearing away more of your tears. "I love you, from now until the end of time. I promise to be the best husband I can possibly be."

"You're already the best person for me, my King," you smiled. "You don't have to change a thing. I love you, Lucifer Morningstar."

"And I you, Mrs. Morningstar."

~~~~

Congrats on becoming the new Queen(s) of Hell babes 😘

Taglist: @alastor-deer-demon @kermitdafroggy @thonethatflies620 @luc1fersducky @a-okay-rj @bat-boness @myhornybrainonlyknowsthis @misfitgirlwrites @animationmovieshipps @orbitinglumps @ramenkitten @blaackbiird @bigfatbimbo @lucisaspen @bvnnyangel @seulace9 (I'm sorry if I missed anyone!)

[tadpolesonalgae]

Resting Time

Eris x reader

For Day 1 of @acotar-omegaverse-week — Nesting: Surely there’s a perfectly normal, completely unsuspicious reason they’re feeling an irresistible urge to arrange and rearrange the blankets and pillows…. right?

word count: 1,233

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“Are you done?” Eris asks, shoulder pressing to one of the four thick, dark-wooden posts that make up your grand-sized bed. 

You take a few steps back, looking over the covers: the sheets are a dark red; the duvet and pillowcases are in a lighter shade, edged with maroon coloured inch-thick hems; the thin blanket that goes atop the duvet has a floral pattern on its underside, with burnished gold stitching embroidering vines onto its topside; the five pillows are stacked symmetrically, two on each side with one in the middle. The pillows at the bottom of the pile are square, each case matching the colour of the duvet, while the two atop the square ones are rectangular and have the matching floral pattern of the blanket, and the smallest pillow propped atop the other four is a flattened cylinder, with golden tassels hanging off its circumferences. 

Teeth chew your lower lip. You shake your head, starting forward. “No, the rectangular cushions should be below the square ones, so they’re propped up at a diagonal.” 

“Honey, we’re going to take them off anyway to sleep.” 

“You most certainly will not—wait!”

A pair of broad palms have slid around your waist, turning you half a circle before lifting you effortlessly to the air and tossing you into the plush centre of the bed, your body sinking into the plush duvet and mattress. “Eris, you’ve ruined it,” you whine, looking at the wrinkles that are now pressed into the freshly ironed sheets. But your mate follows, hovering over you, his two powerful arms settling either side of your head, muscles shifting beneath the crisp, pale linen of his shirt as he dips down, nosing at your throat. 

Heat warms your cheeks, lips curving at the ticklish lick of breath fanning across your neck, his tongue tentatively licking once, twice, over your skin. His hair falls forward from his shoulders, brushing your collarbones, bringing a wave of his scent to your attention. He smells good. Fresh, and crisp, and clean. Like an autumn day but perhaps without the dampness of morning dew. Just that fresh, hazelnut scent. Golden sugar dusted over fire-roasted chestnuts. Pecans and marzipan. Warm spices and woodsmoke. 

“You smell good,” you mumble, arms lethargically pulling themselves up over his back, wanting to bring him down to your level to better feel him. 

“Fawn,” Eris begins, pulling up from your body, making you whine. “Are you nesting?” 

Your brows furrow. “I can be particular about how things should be displayed without it meaning I’m nesting, Eris. Don’t you want things to look nice?” 

“You spent ten minutes rearranging your breakfast this morning…” 

“I just wanted it to look appetising. And I wasn’t that hungry then.” 

“And changing all the covers on the cushions in our living chambers? And the parlour?” 

“They hadn’t been changed in months. Don’t you think they look good?” 

“They look lovely. But what about the painting yesterday? And now the bedsheets?”

You glance sideways at the bedsheets, worrying your lower lip. “I thought so too. I should have chosen the maroon ones instead… Wait, we have pale duvet covers don’t we? The ones with the black and rouge trimmings? Those would look much better.” You make to scramble out from beneath him, but he lays one palm firmly over your hip, keeping you still. “Honey…” 

“I’m not nesting.” You grumble, glaring at him playfully. Eris’ expression is a portrait of skeptical doubt. Your brows furrow. “I’m not.” 

“Mhmm.” 

Your tongue clicks, half rolling your eyes. “I think I would know, Eris,” you remind, folding your arms across your chest. “But if it’s bothering you…” 

“It’s not bothering me. What’s bothering me is that it’s half eleven at night and you’re wanting to change the covers again. They look perfect.” He adds on swiftly when you make to glance at the sheets again. “You’ve done a lovely job. Now let’s go to sleep.” 

Lips pressing together, you avert your gaze. “You really think they’re perfect?” 

“Yes. They look wonderful—so good I want nothing more than to sleep in them.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“Believe me, I’m sure.” He presses a kiss to your forehead. “They’re perfect. Now please can we sleep?” 

Reluctantly you give a nod of your head. “Alright…sorry for keeping you awake so long…” Eris’ lips curve faintly, a soft twinkle in his eyes. “I’m sure I’ve kept you up for much longer in the past, for different reasons.” Heat flutters in your lower tummy, eyes flicking down to the collar of his shirt, the pale skin it’s showing off with the slight V-neck. Your eyes do feel pretty heavy…

Eris chuckles. “See? You’re tired too. You need to rest.” 

“Okay…” 

You clamp down on a complaint when he pulls the duvet back, disrupting the smoothness you’d so carefully aimed for. “Come over here,” Eris instructs, a note of affection in his fatigued voice. You grumble, but roll to your allocated side of the bed, allowing him to tuck you in properly before he slides in beside you. 

Without a second’s delay you’ve squashed yourself up to his front, pressing your face into his chest, dragging his scent down in lungfuls. He really smells good.

Eris pauses, before he’s shifting his arms to be around you, a palm pulling hair out from under you. “Sweet little omega.” You hear him murmur to the crown of your head, stroking your skin soothingly. You eagerly squeeze closer, so you’re pressed together from your feet to your head, your legs having twined with his. Fingers curl in the fabric of his shirt, pulling it to your nose to take a full inhale. 

“I’m wearing this tomorrow,” you mumble, crawling a few inches further up his body so you can take his scent from his skin, wanting to lick up his flavour; wrap yourself in him. His reply is muffled. “It’ll be going in the wash tomorrow. This is the third night I’ve worn it.”

“I’ll take it out before it can be washed.” 

“I’m telling you,” he sighs, exasperation underlying his voice, “you’re—”

“I’m not,” you huff, lips curved in a smile. “I would know. Besides, it shouldn’t be happening for another month.” 

“Maybe it’s coming early.” 

“It’s not,” you mumble, mouth slurring your words together. “You’re just seeing what your alpha mind wants you to.” 

“Mhmm. Because it’s happening right before my keen alpha eyes.” 

You shoot him a withering glare, able to hear his deadpan drawl. He offers a sleepy smirk, and your temper is mellowed almost instantly, clutching tighter to him. “I’m just saying I know my omega well. The Mother knows I’d have no quarrel with you starting to nest earlier than we expected.” 

“That’s lovely, but I assure you I’m not.” 

“We’ll see,” he laughs softly, tucking the crown of your head beneath his chin, large palm stroking across your back. 

A beat of silence passes, and you’re on the verge of falling asleep when he speaks again. “I’d be happy to give you my shirt tomorrow if you were nesting, though.” 

“You won’t be leaving the bed if I am,” you mumble back. “I’ll be burying us together beneath all your clothes.” 

Eris groans, but beneath your palm you can feel as his pulse quickens, his heart betraying his true emotion. 

Maybe you are starting earlier than you thought…

——————————————————————————————————————————————

general taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @slut4acotar @sfhsgrad-blog @needylilgal022 @hannzoaks @hnyclover @skyesayshi @nyotamalfoy @decomposing-writer @soph1644 @lilah-asteria @nighttimemoonlover @mrsjna

[themultifanshipper]

a rare fluffy thought from me but i feel like oscar is initially really closed off and even a little standoffish but once you break past the shell of "scary cool collected guy" he's just a total cuddle bug and needs physical contact 24/7. like the mclaren mechanics have walked in to his drivers room multiple times in the hours leading up to a race or drivers parade and he's just cuddling you on the couch (most of the time you're laying on his chest bc hehe boobie pillows) and it's one of the few things that can help him really get calmed down and in to the race headspace.

am i totally off with this one or did i hit the nail on the head bc i feel like there's no in between for this one

Absolutely he's a cuddler

Warnings: ultra fluffy with a little bit (okay more than a little bit) of suggestive stuff at the end bc I can't help myself hehe

He needs physical contact at all times when he's out of the car. If you're lying down somewhere he'll find you and just shove his face in your boobs for comfort. He'll shove his hands between your thighs to keep them warm because they are alway fucking freezing for some reason.

Even in the shower he can't bear leaving you alone and he'll wrap his arms around you and just stand there with you under the water until it runs cold, kissing the top of your head every now and then because he loves you so so much.

Sometimes the day after a bad race he gets so down he physically can't get out of bed and he clings to you, forcing you to stay in bed all day with him as he runs his hands and mouth all over you, just for comfort. And it eventually lulls you back to sleep but he just keeps going, wrapped around you like a koala, stroking your hair, digging his face into your neck, chest, thighs, stomach... any expanse of flesh he can find, really.

On very good days, like after winning a race, he'll make you sit on his lap and wrap your legs and arms around him, wrapping his own arms around you. He'll kiss up and down your neck and chest whispering “I love you... I love you... I love you...” over and over because he's so lost in the pleasure of feeling your body pressed against his and the beating of your heart under his touch.

He'll get so lost in the closeness that he doesn't even realise when he starts grinding into you, still whispering “I love you, I love you, I love you”, still kissing all over your heated skin, clinging on for dear life to feel as close to you as he possibly can. Every time he ends up finishing in his pants like a teenager just because he can't get enough of the feeling of your heated body writhing in his lap.

He'll just keep grinding mindlessly like a puppy, continuing his endless stream of “I love you, I love you, I love you” and eventually the delicious friction inevitably makes you fall over the edge as well.

Truth be told, he's a bit unhinged about you. He'd dig a hole in your chest and live inside it if he could.

The closest thing he can get is when he slides into you and just stays there, breathing you in, mapping out your skin with his fingers, tracing patterns (usually his name and/or race number) into your flesh for hours until you swear you can feel it branded into your skin.

You two often fall asleep like that, wrapped in each other’s arms, hand roaming, lips exploring, all the while whispering “I love you, I love you, I love you..."

I honestly haven't counted how many times the word "wrap" has appeared in this but I swear I deleted a load of them lmao

[celianity]

Movie Night

Jordan Li x Reader

Prompt: having your nemesis attend your roommates' movie night takes a turn when some unresolved desires flare back up

Warnings: cursing, mentions of smut

Word count: 1.246

Author's note: would anyone be up for a continuation? _________________________________________

“You seriously bought sour cream and onion?” Emma eyes the bag of chips in Marie’s hand like it is a nuclear bomb.

“Oh, I’m sorry, are you the snack police?”

“It’s just a movie night, guys. No need to get at each other’s throats.” You try to be the voice of reason, but you are one pointless argument away from combusting into flames.

The drinks are wrong. The snacks are wrong. The placement of seating (for which you bared responsibility) is wrong. Well, there are only so many options to arrange the furniture in a dorm room.

“Shut up,” your roommates respond in unison.

“Nice to see that you can agree on something.” Emma is glaring daggers at you.

On some level, you understand their motives for organizing this night to hang out like normal teenagers for a change.

Things at the school have been slowly going downhill while you and your friends are still in the dark about most of the details. Too many questions, too little answers.

You can’t shake the feeling that that’s the motto for tonight too, but you wouldn’t dare to say that out loud. Marie would probably strangle you with her blood powers.

So, you have no choice but to suppress your annoyance, pull up an action movie on the flat screen TV by the door and fluff the pillows on Emma’s bed one last time.

Marie hands you a bowl of chips while announcing that Andre and Cate will not be the only ones attending tonight’s comfortable activities. Her lopsided smile does not soften the blow in the slightest like intended.

“Are you kidding me?” you groan out in frustration. “You can’t just invite my nemesis into my fucking bedroom.”

Marie shrugs her shoulders. “Technically, it’s our bedroom, so I’m allowed to invite whoever I please.”

Emma rushes to Marie’s defense, “Maybe that’s a good thing. Keep your friends close, but your enemies even closer. Understanding them better might help you finally break into the Top Five.”

You intend to outrank Jordan Li with talent and power.

Not by studying their profile in the flickering light of a movie.

Not by watching their fingers grasp for the last crumbs of chips in the bowl.

And certainly not by wondering what they might be wearing to such a casual event. A tiny voice in the back of your head suggests a pair of grey sweatpants and you suddenly feel the urge to punch yourself in the face.

Instead, you hurry to build up that protective wall in your mind to hold back the quickly resurfacing memory fragments.

Hot breath on your swollen lips. Curious fingers, tracing patterns on a toned stomach, muscles tensing under your touch, wandering southwards. Feeling their need on your fingertips. Feeling your own, searing in the pit of your stomach. Hitching, matching breaths.

Oh, for fucks sake, Marie, what have you done?

---

You loathe feeling weak but that was exactly what pushed you into Jordan’s arms one lonely night a few days ago.

After failing yet again to access the full potential of your powers and expressing your frustration about the matter cursing like a sailor, you were looking for a distraction to blow off some steam.

And there they were, hastily typing away on their phone in the locker room of the training facility.

“Sounds like you have a shitty night too,” they observe, back turned to you, pulling their hair together into a ponytail.

When your eyes finally meet in the dimly lit room, you both know this is inevitable.

---

The movie’s quite entertaining, but you have to resist the urge to continuously let your eyes wander to Emma’s bed where Jordan occupies the spot at the edge, farthest away from you.

Emma and Marie block your view a bit with their legs upright.

From your own spot in the desk chair next to the bed, you restrain from craning your neck.

Andre and Cate are on the floor in front of you, totally engrossed by the plot of the film.

Of course, Jordan’s wearing those damn sweatpants, leaving little to the imagination. They waltzed in here, all tall and lean frame, running a hand through their short dark hair, flexing their bicep in the process.

You received a barely noticeable smirk in exchange for a pointed look.

---

Your staring’s getting obvious.

Your phone screen lights up in the dark, earning an annoyed sigh from Marie. At first, you don’t recognize the unknown number, but it doesn’t take you long to connect the dots.

Stealing phone numbers now? That’s really depressing.

You dim the brightness of your display and roll your chair back as quietly as possible to further shield if from prying eyes.

Must be able to contact you in the event of an emergency.

You frown, catching a glimpse of Jordan’s fingers typing again. Their irritatingly pretty face illuminated by soft blue light.

You’ve been avoiding me.

You’re not sure where this conversation is going, so you try to put an end to it as fast as possible.

I’m a busy person.

And I’m fucking sick of it.

Your fingers freeze over the keyboard, afraid to make a wrong move that would burst this bubble of sudden tension.

That sounds like a you problem.

You take the safe route, hoping for the best and expecting the worst.

Maybe you’ve trouble remembering, but you came on to me. Practically ambushing me in the dead of night.

Oh, fuck you.

Yeah, I’d hope that’s what you plan on doing tonight.

You ignore the heat rising in your cheeks and begin typing again. Two can play this game.

If you ask nicely. I recall you’re good at begging.

Jordan’s laughter merges into an awkward coughing fit and you have to bite your tongue when Emma offers them a glass of water.

Getting a reaction fuels your… ambition. You’re getting bolder, tired of tiptoeing around the topic.

You know what else I recall? A fucking sleepless night after getting interrupted by that janitor. The imprints of your fingers all over my skin, between my legs, deep inside. Wishing every curve and hard edge of you up against me again in the dark. And no goddamn release.

The images come crashing down like a wave and you shift your weight, parting your thighs slightly, needing to get out of your own skin.

Jordan is catching onto your drift.

The image of you kneeling in front of me seared itself onto my brain. Those soft lips parted, ready to take every goddamn inch. I still feel your hair strands around my fingers.

Out of the corner of your eye, in the flickering light of the TV, Jordan suddenly switches to their female form.

“That’s it, I’ve had enough,” Emma declares, startling everyone in their seats.

Andre pauses the movie, him and Cate turning to see what she is on about.

You hide your knowing grin behind a yawn. It is a small victory, but at what cost? You’re itching to tear your clothes along with your skin from your burning body.

“I don’t know what the hell is going on, but I wish to be excluded from this narrative until you two have sorted it out. Emotionally, physically, or whatever.”

The silence is deafening. Almost guiltily, Jordan puts their phone aside, you follow suit.

“It’s like watching a movie in the middle of a fucking porn shoot. Now, if everyone agrees to behave themselves, can we continue, please?”

[dystopyx-blog]

Oops! Another yandere floyd post 🤷‍♀️

Everyone knows about Floyd’s infamous mood swings. He's in the mood or he isn't. If he's in the mood to do something, he will, if he isn't, he won't. There’s no real rhyme or reason to em, and they can be extremely inconvenient.

But it’s not until Azul’s complaining about it to you that you realize… you don’t really experience any issues with it. He still has em, of course, but with you it’s different. Out of every time the two of you have hung out, not a single time has he left you out of sudden boredom. It’s not that he’s just so interested in every single activity you two do together, or that he didn’t experience any mood swings during them, because he has absolutely had instances of them while doing something with you. But even when he becomes didinterested in whatever you’re doing, he could never be disinterested in you. So whatever you wanna do, he’s happy to tag along. And no matter how bored he gets with the activity, he remains a good sport for you throughout the whole thing.

With some exceptions.

Y’see, Floyd doesn’t really like sharing his Shrimpy Time (trademark pending) with others. Not even his brother.

You ask Floyd if he wants to join you on a hike and he’s like ‘??? Why???’ He gets Jade’s thing with hiking: it’s an experience they can’t get back home, like basketball and other leg-related activities. But you??? Are from land??? Why would you care about hiking?????? But Floyd isn’t really in the mood to interrogate you, so he’s like, “uh, nah, not really.”

Then Jade shows his smarmy face.

“So just us, then?”

Uh, nuh uh. Ain’t NO WAY he’s gonna let you wander off to the middle of nowhere alone with Jade. And like that, he’s up, and he’s joining. Even if you hadn’t invited him, as soon as he realized you were going out with Jade he would have insisted on tagging along. And since he’s Floyd, you wouldn’t have been able to refuse him, cuz he’d just follow you anyway.

So that’s how you ended up on a hike with Jade and Floyd.

Floyd is boredly trailing behind you and Jade, who has all sorts of interesting facts for you. Floyd couldn’t give less of a fuck. But he’s a good sport, for the most part. Or, at least a decent sport.

The three of you stop at an old tree with mushrooms growing from it so Jade can tell you all about them.

During the actual walking part of the hike, even if Floyd wasn’t interested in whatever Jade had to say, he at least got some satisfaction watching you walk ahead of him. It was obvious that even when Jade purposely lessened his pace, you struggled to keep up with him. And that, at least, offered something. But now you’re just standing there, watching Jade drone on and on about who fucking cares and he swears he’s never been so bored in his life. His mind wanders, his gaze drifts, until he sees some pine cones and decides he wants to try juggling. You can’t really do that in the coral sea, gravity is funky underwater.

He calls your name excitedly, and you turn to see him holding a bunch of pine cones in his arms. Then he just kinda—throws them all into the air. Floyd looks at the pine ones, disappointed. “Juggling’s harder than I thought.” He says. You laugh and join him where he stands, now surrounded by pine cones.

From then on, Floyd is able to keep your attention on him instead of his brother. And to his surprise, he finds himself having fun! He even offers to join the two of you again—though Jade turns that idea down real quick by saying that to go anymore hikes, you have to join the Mountain Lovers Club.

And this is the pattern for basically any activity you try. You tried out Gargoyles Study Club, wanting to support your friend Hornton. But Floyd tagged along. Just like on the hike, he mostly just trailed along in the back. You’d tried to get him involved in conversation a few times, but he’d loudly announce his disinterest in gargoyles, so you stopped. When the three of you stopped in front of an actual gargoyles, you expected Floyd to, y’know, just stick to the back. You were certainly not expecting him to start climbing it. You managed to get him down before he nearly broke the structure’s horns off. You swear to god Malleus was about to strike him down with lightning.

The only times Floyd would be a good sport is if he happened to be in the mood, or if it was just the two of you. At the end of it all, Floyd asks you what club you’re interested in. You tell him you don’t know. “Aw, that’s okay.” He says with a big grin. “You don’t need a club, anyway. You got me!”

[remlionheart]

Anonymous asked:

PLZZZZ i beg you smoking sesh w megumi

♡‧₊˚ ask and you shall receive ✩࿐࿔ it's been a while since i've done a meg drabble and out of all of the different drugs we've explored on this page, this just made me realize that i've never written about weed lol so thank u for the suggestion this was really fun to write <333 home from college au. heavy we-shouldn't-be-doing-this trope. aged up characters. fem!reader x ((the peoples’ husband)), *⟡toxic!megumi*⟡ 3.2k words. porn with a plot. angst. degradation and praise. stoned sex. lemme know whatcha think, luv u ‎‎♡‧₊˚

❀ MDNI ❀

keep me h i g h ₊⊹

now playing: wet dreams ☾₊˚

⊹₊ ⋆✿

It'd been four months since the last time you'd seen Megumi.

Between college and the city lines that separated you, the two of you had cut almost every tie that once kept you connected. It was strange to think about sometimes - how quickly you'd gone from being the person he spent almost every weekend with to being nothing more than a fly on the wall of his social media, occasionally liking his posts but never getting anything back in return.

You tried to remind yourself that it shouldn't have been a surprise. Your relationship with him had never been easy. All throughout high-school you'd fallen into the same pattern of push and pull with him, his feelings everchanging and impossible to keep up with.

He'd kiss you in private and ignore you in public. Tell you that you were just friends and sneak through your window on the nights he didn't want to be alone. Run his hand along your back until you had fallen asleep and leave without so much as a "goodbye".

As painful as it was, a part of you had almost been relieved when things finally ended. No more pushing, no more pulling - just you and the new town you'd moved to. You and the new friends you'd made. You and your new fresh start. You still wanted the best for him despite everything, but you also wanted the best for yourself too. And deep down, you knew that didn't involve drunken hook-ups and empty words.

You hummed as you stepped out of the shower, the smell of coconut shampoo and lavender body wash dancing around you. It was unexpectedly comforting to be back home, even if it was only for a few days. Your roommates had tried to talk you out of coming back to Tokyo for fall break, but you knew you couldn't do that to your parents. You were certain there would be another time for going out and Halloween house parties.

Your room was still exactly the same as you'd left it - a mess of purple blankets on your bed and off white string-lights decorating the walls. Clothes that you'd left behind still hanging in your closet along with a stack of old journals. Tarot cards and candles and framed pictures of you and your friends sitting atop your dresser. It was nice to know that it still felt like your safe haven despite months of not seeing it.

You continued humming the same song that you'd started in the shower as you slipped on a baby-blue tank top, pairing it with your favorite silk pajama shorts. You lit a couple of candles and cracked the window open, letting crisp October air swirl through your room before turning off the overhead light and crawling into bed.

A cozy sense of nostalgia crept over you as you nestled into your bed and pulled out your phone.

Just like when you lived here, you were the only one still up after a movie had put both of your parents to sleep. You were mid-scroll, debating on what Youtube rabbit hole you wanted to go down for the night when a text popped up that immediately put you in an upright position again.

⋆｡˚ ☁️˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆

⋆｡˚ ☁️ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆

You called him as soon as his last text came through, but he sent you straight to voicemail. "fushiguro," you texted frantically, "seriously", "you can't do this".

You were out of bed and on your feet before you even knew what you were doing, rushing to lock your door as you quickly realized that there was no such thing as reasoning with him.

Your life had changed in an assortment of ways since you'd left and judging by the way he texted you, he had to know that too. The last picture you posted before coming back was of you and a boy that you'd been seeing for the last month. It was mostly casual, neither one of you quite ready to put a label on what you were doing, but it still made your stomach flutter thinking about seeing Megumi when you were actively sleeping with someone else.

You dialed his number again, only to immediately hang up. Your heart suddenly lodged in your throat when you noticed that you could hear the call ringing from both inside and outside of your room.

You watched his slender fingers loop under the base of your already cracked window, stealthily pushing it up like he'd done so many times before. A sea of memories flooded over you as he pulled himself up, swiftly swooping both of his legs into your room before projecting the rest of his body forward and landing perfectly in place, hardly make a sound.

The low glow of your string-lights grazed his face, the prettiest shade of blue meeting your stare while the two of you took a moment to study the person in front of you.

"Your parents really need to invest in a better security system."

You hated the laugh that escaped you. The slight smirk that pulled at the corner of his mouth. The way your blood still danced in your veins at just the sight of him.

So much had changed in the last four months and yet, here you both were.

"Surely you didn't come all the way over here just to critique our home safety." You whispered.

"Seems like someone should." He countered, following behind you as you took a seat on the side of the bed.

He fished a joint and a lighter out of the front pocket of his jacket before tossing it onto the floor, leaving him in a black v-neck that accentuated his arms. He'd always been toned, but it was obvious that he'd been training a lot harder since you left - his shoulders and chest noticeably more defined than the last time you'd seen him. You'd never say it aloud given their relationship, but the older he got the more and more he seemed to resemble his dad.

"Bring your fan over here." He said, breaking your train of thought.

You nodded, staying light on your feet as you brought it over and aimed it at the window before reaching into the back of your dresser to grab an ashtray that you'd had stashed away since sophomore year. It was like no time had passed at all as you took a seat next to him again, setting the ashtray on your nightstand while he twirled the joint between his fingers.

You weren't sure why, but there was something about the way he brought it to his lips and flicked his lighter that created a dull ache at your center. Everything about him was so pretty and so nonchalant, effortlessly detached and infuriatingly nice to look at.

"Does your new boyfriend smoke?"

Your eyes instantly snapped to his, watching a plume of smoke trail felicitously from his mouth as he looked back at you. "Doesn't really look like the type who would." He added with a slight raise of his brow.

You didn't like anything about the question - from that fact that he had the audacity to ask it to his lethargic tone to the emphasis on the word "new", as if he was trying to imply that you'd been dating someone before you left.

You clicked your tongue to your cheek, letting out a huff as you snatched the joint from his lips. "You're insufferable." You repeated, drawing in a deep inhale.

The truth was, the boy you'd been seeing didn't smoke pot and you hadn't either since you'd started college, but there was no way you were admitting that to him. You took another hit, keeping your attention fixated on the window as your fan circulated the smoke out and pushed it into the night sky.

"I'll take that as a no." He whispered, his leg lightly nudging yours as he leaned over and plucked the joint from your fingers this time.

"Why are you here?" You finally asked, a sharp edge growing in your voice. "You were the one that quit talking to me, you know that right? You didn't even bother saying goodbye and then you just show up unannounced like nothing happened and ask me about my life and who I'm seeing and..." The weed was starting to hit you, your body suddenly heavy and your mind dizzy with a confusing mix of intoxication and irritation. "I just... Why? I mean, what's the point of any of this?"

A rare somber expression took over, softening his usual concrete features as he ran a hand over the back of his neck.

“Honestly, I don't know..." His gaze was glossy, his mind equally as hazy as yours. "I didn't know what to say when you left so I didn't say anything. It seemed easier that way, for both of us."

"But it wasn't –"

"I know." His demeanor was unexpectedly gentle despite how firm his tone was. "I'm sorry."

The room felt like it was spinning, his apology making something inside you ache. It was the first time in the three years you'd known him that he'd ever said it. That he'd ever actually admitted or acknowledged to hurting your feelings and even if the bar was in literal hell, it still felt good to hear those words finally leave his mouth.

"What else?" You pressed.

He took a moment to look you over, his eyes tentatively roaming along your face. “I missed you." He said honestly.

You'd never met anyone besides him who was capable of sounding so sincere and so indifferent at the same time.

"Missed your stupid laugh. Missed the way you'd always call me when you were drunk." He leaned in closer, his hand carefully taking the joint from yours as he set it on the ashtray and rested his palm on the back of your neck.

"Missed being in your room like this..." His voice dropped down to a low whisper, fanning lecherously across your skin. “Missed the feeling of you wrapped around me…”

“Megumi… we can’t…”

But you still let him close the already small gap between you anyway, his lips ghosting yours as you breathed him in. The familiar scent of false promises and expensive cologne flooding your senses.

"I know you.” He said, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “You wouldn’t have texted me back if you didn’t want to.”

"I –" His words were going straight to your center, the dull ache from earlier blossoming into an unignorable throb as his hand gradually trailed up your thigh. "I didn't –"

"Wouldn’t have posted that you were back in town if you didn’t want me to know…" His fingers were toying with the fabric of your shorts, methodically pushing them to the side. "Wouldn’t have left your window open if you wanted to be alone…”

Your ability to hold yourself together was threatening to buckle at any moment between the feeling of his grip tangling into your hair and his lips continuing to tortuously graze yours.

“And you definitely wouldn’t be this fucking wet if you really didn’t want me here…”

Your heart was slamming into your chest so hard you were almost afraid he'd hear it.

He kept his eyes locked with yours, watching the last bit of composure you had vanish entirely as he slipped past the thin barrier of your underwear and gained access to your weakest point.

Your movements betrayed your sentiment, a helpless whimper escaping you while your hips gravitated up towards his hand, practically begging for more.

"Look at you," he breathed, his middle finger drawing soft, heavenly circles between your thighs. "All that time without seeing each other and you still fall apart for me so easily. Why is that?"

Another heady little noise entered into the small space between you as you fought to keep your moans from getting any louder. You hadn't been this high in months. Your insides felt like they were on fire as he dipped down, just barely prodding at your entrance. But the more you tried to get from him, the more he pulled away. Unwilling to comply with your body's demands until you answered his question.

"Tell me." It was venom mixed with honey. Torment mixed with pleasure. He had you right where he wanted you - desperate and pining. Forced to give him what he wanted in exchange for what you needed. "Let me hear you fucking say it."

You grabbed onto the collar of his shirt, doing everything you could not to whine when the tip of his finger gently slid into you and then stopped without warning - gracing you with just enough to finally bring you to your breaking point.

"I wanted to see you." you said breathlessly, your pupils widening as you felt him push slightly deeper.

"What else?" He taunted, using your words against you.

"I wanted you – here." You yelped, your voice splitting as he sank in further.

You were delirious, ready to actually plead if that's what it took to get him to cave. "I want – fuck, Megumi, please just –"

He was half-way in, teetering on the verge of letting you have it as long as you could get the next sentence out.

"Say it."

"I want you inside me." It poured out so fast, it was barely even coherent. "I want you inside of m...e – so fu–cking bad, please."

Your chest pressed against his in an urgent daze, pulling him closer while his lips met yours - neither one of you able to withstand the tension for a second longer. His movements matched your fervency as he added another finger, finally letting your walls swallow him.

He deepened the kiss, trying his best to keep you quiet while your hips rocked rhythmically against him.

"So pretty and pitiful" he whispered, lightly nipping at your collarbone. "You're already almost there. You sure you can handle me being inside you?"

You nodded hopelessly back at him.

"I can... take – it." You struggled, feeling him smirk into your neck as his thumb brushed against your clit, drawing out even poutier noises from you. "Promise."

"Prove it."

His tongue swirled lavishly into the softness of your clavicle, leaving little bruises in the shape of his mouth while his fingers continued to plunge innnn and out of you at the same heavenly pace.

"There you go." He breathed, promptly returning his lips back to yours as he felt your thighs begin to shake. "Just like that, don't fucking stop."

You hated how well he knew you. Hated how easily he was able make you clench and spasm around him. You were soaking his hand, burying your face into his shoulder to stop yourself from waking up the entire house.

"Oh, my fucking... god, Megumi –" Your nails dug into his back, your body nearly vibrating with pleasure as you grinded against him.

“It's okay, I've got you." He whispered, letting you cling onto him as you rode out the waves of your orgasm. You'd always been submissive, but he wasn't sure that he'd ever seen you quite this needy before.

He slowly pulled out of you, guiding you down to the bed before standing up to grab the joint out of the ashtray, lighting it one last time.

He leaned down, locking eyes with you while gently cupping your face. His lips just barely touching yours so that you were forced to share the same breath, allowing you to inhale the smoke he exhaled as he helped you out of your shorts.

"Such a good girl."

Your back arched, immediately wanting him back where he was as he got to his feet and set the spliff on your nightstand. You watched him intently, your core throbbing while he began to unbutton his pants. You were blissfully high, your mind swirling with sleepy infatuation and pent-up lust.

He almost seeming amused, noticing how entranced you were as his stripped out of his boxers. Tauntingly stroking himself while he used his free hand to push your both of your thighs onto the mattress so that you were on your back facing him with your legs folded to the side. You couldn’t help but smile as he rubbed his tip between your folds, letting out a low groan as he wetted himself with your slick.

“Fuck, I forgot how good you feel.”

Your hand tangled into the sheets, your body reeling from the way his tip was already stretching you.

"You gotta stay quiet for me." He reminded you, trying to heed his own advice as he slid in slightly further. “Pretty sure your dad will actually kill me if he catches me here again."

"So you want me to scream?" You smirked, but your sarcasm was quickly stolen from you.

He cocked an eyebrow at you before leaning back down, his voice becoming salacious static against your ear. "Don't make threats you can't keep."

Your breath hitched in your throat, your cunt pulsating as he put a hand over your mouth and thrusted into you.

He returned your smirk. Watching your pupils double in size as he nipped at your neck, muffling your moans with his palm.

"It's not easy for me either." He whispered - one hand still on your mouth, the other reaching for your center. "Being this deep in you and not being able to hear you say my name."

Your knuckles were almost white from how hard you were gripping the bed, your mind and body both completely overwhelmed by fucked-out euphoria.

"To have you wrapped this nice and tight around my cock without getting to hear all the cute little noises you make for me." He slammed into you, his rhythm blissfully unforgiving.

"You think that's what I want?"

You shook your head, his hand catching more carnal whimpers that were trying so hard to spill out of you as your hips bucked up against his.

The feeling of him playing with your clit while having you folded like this was almost too much to handle. You were lost - floating somewhere above cloud 9 with his thrusts only ascending you higher.

"What do you think I want to hear, baby? Hm?" His tone was condescendingly sweet. Mocking in a way that made your heart stutter and your walls contract. "Tell me."

He loosened his grasp on you, nearly bottoming out as his name echoed uncontrollably across the room. "Megumi ~” You whined again, completely forgetting your surroundings. "Megumi, fuck, you're gonna make me –"

Your climax laced through his fingers as his hand swiftly flew back over your mouth. His arms keeping you locked in place while your body writhed beneath his.

“There it is”, He praised, his tip kissing your cervix at just the right angle. “There’s my fucking – girl.” His head lolled back, his release following right behind yours.

He buried his head into your shoulder this time, letting out the most gorgeous, guttural sounds you'd ever heard as he filled you - not stopping until he could see his cum dripping out of you.

He pulled out carefully, taking a moment to admire his work while a mixture of fluids leaked onto your comforter.

“Hey," he said, running a hand through his hair before looking back at you. "Do me a favor when you get back."

You were still catching your breath, dizzy from overstimulation as you met his gaze. "What do you need?” You panted.

"Tell your new boyfriend I said 'thanks'."

You narrowed your eyes at him, watching a stupid smirk cut across his face while he slid his pants back on. “If he would've known how to fuck you right, I might not have gotten the chance to see you."

"You're insufferable."

"So I’ve been told."

⋆｡˚ ☁️ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆

[m3vl0vesu]

╰☆☆ 𝐈 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 ☆☆╮

A/N: I don't really have any tw but it's probably gonba be sad, so be warned. I'm writing this with no hours of sleep and the worst mood in a while :). Also a oneshot, I was asked to write something gut-wrenching but I don't know if it is. Batsis!reader is 15-17 Your thoughts

@moraxussy I don't think it's as gut-wrenching as you hoped, sorry!! I hope you like it though :)

One of a bats closest relative is a puma, ironically they have nothing in common. Bats come in big groups, there always surrounded by at least one other bat. Pumas are solitary animals, they don't share their territory. They're recluse, and more viscous than bats.

You were more vicious. You didn't control your anger and grief, it controlled you, but you had to find a way mange it. Tomorrow was a special occasion after all, well that's what everyone was saying but...it didn't feel like it. Tomorrow, Bruce was bringing Selina Kyle over. The famous kleptomaniac aristocrat, also known as Catwoman. The thief turned...bat? You weren't exactly sure but it'd be nice for her and Bruce to finally clear up what they were. It must've been serious if she was going to have dinner with the family. Then again, you never really saw your dad be in a committed relationship. ... 'Dad'...nope still didn't sound right. Even after all the years living together he didn't deserve that title, at least not from you. The daughter of Bruce Wayne? it sounded so foreign to you, people saying that-it sounded wrong. No, you were your mothers daughter. It didn't matter if you couldn't picture her face anymore...yeah.

.

.

. For this special occasion you needed something special to where! You chose a vest suit, an off-white shirt underneath the brown, tattersall patterned vest. Paired with some old, black palazzo pants. It was a similar outfit your other had worn a while back, you saw it an old magazine rotting in the corner of your room. It felt nice to be dressed up for once, it'd gave you a reason to finally take a shower. With everyone making a big deal out of this you had a little hope that they would acknowledge you today. Maybe Selina could change things around here.

But as people ran chaotically in the hallway and different aromas travelled into your room, you realised something. Jason wasn't here. What. No, no...you couldn't survive these without him. Your leg shook as you waited for the phone to pick up. He was the only one that properly acknowledged your existence without being cruel. He was your favourite brother, favourite sibling. I mean the bar was low but, favourite nonetheless!

"What's up Star?" His voice sounded hoars, had he just woken up? Your irritancy only growing when he used that nickname. It was usually nice when he called you it, but right now it was the last thing you needed. "Don't call me that Jay. Where are you?" ...

The silence was deafening, he cleared his throat and it made you want to cry. "I'm sorry...I'm not coming kid." No. That wasn't fair. "Tch-Then can you...pick me up?" Your voice desperate as you hated all of it. A room full of people that don't even know you, and a stranger. It was personal hell. "Look, Star, I really think you'd benefit from thi-" You ended the call, scoffing, you pushed yourself off your bed.

.

.

.

She's so pretty She sat on the right side of Bruce. Who was, per usual, at the head of the table. Soon the peaceful moment turned loud. The sounds of knives scraping against plates, Steph's nails tapping the table, Tim an Damian bickering back to hell. Huh, the chicken was just out of your reach, usually Alfred would put it closest to your seat. After a few embarrassing minutes of reaching for it, and no one helping you, your just grabbed whatever was closest. At one point you swore you locked eyes with Tim while you were still reaching for the chicken and he just flat out ignored you. Maybe it was time to speak "uhm...can you pass...can you" why was this always so hard? "Can I...Can you pass the chicken please?" Now you were sure people heard you. You watched as Grayson picked up the plate and gave it to...Selina. Of-fucking-course.

"What am I, chopped liver?"

Shit. Your shoulders tensed up and your hands balled into fists on your lap. You were in so much- "Ha." Huh? Did she...laugh? Whatever. "Sorry...can you pass the chicken please?" She nodded, was it getting hot in here? Or was it just everyone looking at you?

"You never told me she had a sense of humour." She said, her soft smile shining as she turned to Bruce, the her eyes squinted. "I don't think you told me much about her at all actually." That sounds about right. He probably doesn't even know much about you. Her elbow leaned on the table and her chin rested on her fist. "Your Mother...she was a model right?" With those words she instantly got your attention, with your eyes shining you nodded. "Yeah! She was"

With the nod of her head she leaned back in her chair. "That outfit...she wore something similar to it." Oh you definitely like her.

Before you could respond, someone had to open their mouth. "She wasn't a very famous one." Damian said, his annoying voice once again ruining your mood. "Damian." Bruce muttered. You scoffed, usually these comments would be ignored. "privileged asshole." You poked at your plate, not really hungry anymore. In fact it felt like you might throw up, or break something. "What did you call me?" He said sitting up in his chair. "I called you a privileged asshole." You banged your fork onto the table, no everyone's attention was on you. From the corner of your eye you could see Tim's scowl, it was surprising him and Bruce weren't related. You couldn't take it when he slandered your mother, but for some reason you were the villian. "Star. Don't be like that." Dick nudged you, only making you recoil with disgust. "Who said you could call me Star? Don't call me that, dick." You heard your name being called, Alfred standing to the side. He was warning you. "Sorry-" "No need to be a bitch about it." Of course Steph had to join in, you felt your mouth open, ready to spew an infinite amounts of insults when you heard your name being called a second time. Pushing the chair and table hardly you walked behind him, being led to the kitchen. "I apologise for her behaviour." Bruce's voice rung in your ears. Fuck this. .

.

.

You stood, arms crossed out tapping your foot. "You need to have some decorum-" "Decorum? Me? What about Damian?" You hated arguing with the old man, you hated when he was upset at you. The tears were already pouring, could they here this? The door was slightly ajar after all. "Master Damian has been through a lot-" "Okay?" Your voice shook, it was so wrong. But it felt right, right screaming like this. "Yes. Yes he has, and? So have I."

Alfred, mouth was agape for a second, he hadn't seen her this upset before. "Now Miss...you can't compare-" Great now you lost first name privileges. "Right. Everyone's been through tough shit, guess what? So have I!" Your voice getting louder, the anger pulsing through your veins. "I've been hurt and I'd never treat them like how I've been treated!'' Your arm extended out to the door, your other hand slapping your chest. Where your heart would be.

"WHY!...Why is their pain different from my pain?"

The question hung in the air, you held back sobs. Alfred looked tired now, almost guilty. His composure wilting slightly. "It...that's not what I mean-" Now that you had started you couldn't stop. "Do I not deserve the same amount of recognition, the same amount of love?" You felt yourself taking a step back, your whole body shaking. It's like it had a mind of it's own. "You do deserve it, please calm down..." Calm down?. Calm down? She wanted to shout at him, this wasn't fair. "You know what Alfred?" The breaths getting shorter. "What Miss.." "I wish I had stayed inside that day, I wish I burned with my mother." He looked visibly shaken for a moment, his voice gave it away. "You don't mean that." "I mean it. That way I would've died with her, knowing she loved me." Your voice got quiet at the end, barely above a whisper. Why was it always this way? What did you ever do to them. You hated this, you weren't their family. With every similarity there was difference, not a Wayne and not a Bat. But even so why couldn't they accept that and accept you.

.

.

.

The butler placed whatever he was holding down, you didn't know what it was and didn't care. The sobs were too hard to control, it made your body ache. He stepped closer, arms wide as you fell into them. Clinging on like you were going to fall apart.

A/N: Why does this suck lol

[mrshowlettsgarden]

hiiii can i please request prompt 11? thank u!!

─➭ i got two requests for this prompt! ugh, I wish somebody would hold my hand the way logan would. hope you guys love this one! - kaya <3 (prompt list)

Hold My Hand, Please - Logan Howlett: the one where you get anxious, and he notices

─➭ pairing: Logan Howlett x professor!fem!reader

─➭ content warning: prompt #11, very mild anxiety, comfort, soft!logan

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Logan noticed right away when he first met you that you play with your fingers when you're nervous. But after the last few months he’s spent his time with you since he came to the mansion, you do it when you’re stressed too. Whether you're caught in an uncomfortable situation, you’re thinking, or simply when he’s around you.

But for the last reason he hasn't come to that conclusion yet and he does not need to know that he makes you nervous in a good way. 

Sometimes you tap each finger on the opposite hand with your thumb once or even twice per finger. Other times if you’re wearing a ring or rings you continuously turn the ring over and over again, along with turning it the opposite direction. Another time he’s seen you pick at the skin of your fingers but that one is a rarity. You’ll even tap your nails on each other to a beat.

It seems that you play with your hands and fingers to distract you from whatever it is that’s pushing your buttons, but he can sense that sometimes it does little to nothing to help.

During his time at the mansion, he's made it a routine to check on you when you're hiding in the greenhouse at night. It puts himself at ease even though he knows you’re safe in your element. And he enjoys the quiet walk towards the greenhouse away from the chaos going on back inside the house.

Today he noticed that you’ve been in the greenhouse all day. You haven’t come inside the house at all so he went to check on you.

As he walks towards the door, he senses something is off right away. Especially with the way the branches nearly threw the door open in his presence. He scrunches his eyebrows as he picks up his pace to find you. 

“Y/n?” he called out as he walked further through with caution.

“Over here, Logan,” he hears your soft voice come from his far right.

He comes out from one of the flower covered archways to find you standing in front of the chalkboard that’s filled with a bunch of letters and numbers that he can’t find the will to decipher. When he walks closer to you, he sees that you're rolling a piece of chalk between the pads of your fingers as you stare holes into the board. 

“Hey, you alright?” he asks as he stands next to you mimicking your stance in front of the board.

“What makes you think that I’m not?” a gentle smile graces your lips as you continue to roll the chalk all over your fingers. 

You haven't looked over at him yet. Too afraid to lose the pattern that you’ve been studying about a plant Charles had given you this morning. You’ve never met a more stubborn plant before, and it's been hard to communicate with it because well… you almost want to say it too shy to speak.

It has an unnatural growth pattern and possesses something in the stem of it that has paralyzed those who’ve touched it with bare hands. So far, the ones who have touched the plant haven’t recovered yet. They're still paralyzed from the neck down and one is under a coma.

It’s a powerful and dangerous plant. And you just can’t figure out what the fuck it is… 

“Well, for one thing you almost tore the door off while I was walking up here,” he smirks as he gazes through your neat writing. But the jumbled up words and numbers is hurting his eyes."Jeez, are ya' tryna' create a new math equation in here?" he jokes.

A small, quiet laugh was heard from you and when he looks over in your direction he can see the distress in your bunched up eyebrows. Upon seeing the look on your face, he moves his gaze to your hands. The grip you have on the small piece seems to have gotten stronger that it’s close to breaking with bits of it falling off.

“Hey, hey,” he says worriedly as he takes a hold of your hand, and you finally look at him. You have an upset look on your face and he’s ready to punch a hole into whoever and whatever it is that’s causing this. He removed the chalk from your hand and weaved his fingers between yours in comfort. “Talk to me… What’s buggin’ ya’?” 

You're almost in tears as the weight of your stress starts to release, feeling the warmth of his hand engulf yours. You look up at him and you begin to feel at peace seeing his hazel eyes matching your gaze. You sigh before explaining to him that Charles has tasked you to figure out what, when, and how this plant came to be. And despite literally having the power to help you figure out what the problem is, it’s not helping whatsoever. 

“I don’t know what to do, Logan,” you say in an uneasy tone as you look down at your shoes in defeat.

The hand holding yours tightened as he took a step closer to you. You feel Logan’s free hand lift your chin to get your eyes to look back at him and when you do, your eyes widen a little to see the most tender look on his handsome face. You don't think you've ever seen a look on him like that before.

“What do you need, darlin’” he says just above a whisper. 

You didn't have to think about what you needed because he was already doing it.

“Just keep…holding my hand, please,” you whisper.

Logan gives you a simple nod of understanding. 

“And I won’t let go till you tell me too.”

Even when you do, he doesn’t think he’ll be able to.

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[norrizzandpia]

Used (LN4)

Summary: A bet can do more harm than good.

Warnings: i dont think ive ever wrote something this angsty, its very sad so be warned, lando is a back stabbing bitch but hes stupidly in love, literally stupidly, insecurities, loss of virginity, major betrayal, sad ending but there will be a part 2 bc as we all know i cant do sad endings

Note: im very sorry for this one

Word count: somewhere in the 4k’s

When Oscar got into F1, Y/n promised herself she wouldn’t follow her brother around the paddock like a lost puppy. With cameras all around and prying eyes, she wanted to come across as independent and strong rather than pathetic and small. For a while, that translated, but it got lonely after a few months. Missing her brother as he was busy doing interviews or creating connections, and losing her parents in the mass of people, she always found herself alone. That was until Lando fully came into the picture. He hadn’t wanted to overstep boundaries with his teammate by befriending his sister, but the boy couldn’t resist when he continued to catch glimpses of her struggle to fit in. She was too young to hang out with any of the racers’ girlfriends, yet too old to hang out with the children of powerful people. She was only 19, still figuring out what life was, why she was here, and what she was meant to do. So, overcoming his own anxieties, Lando approached the girl on a rainy Sunday when the race had been postponed because of the wet weather.

“Can I sit here?” He had said, smiling lightly at her as her head slowly moved up to make eye contact with the popular driver.

She had moved over on the bench, nodding quickly as if she was afraid any time in which he had to wait would set him off.

At first, things were awkward with Lando not knowing anything about her and Y/n being too shy to form any words in front of the boy she thought was cute. Nonetheless, after 20 minutes, words were spoken, and conversing became second nature.

Gradually, Lando felt Y/n warm up to him as she realized the driver was someone she found solace in.

Her first friend in Formula One.

Everyone in the paddock began to take note of the budding friendship quickly evolving between the sister and the driver. While people were happy to see a new connection growing, Oscar was weary. It was no secret Lando had a track record of sleeping around, pretending to be close to women for only one night in order to get what he wanted. The women in question always understood the pattern and never found offense or distaste with it, but Y/n wasn’t that mature, Oscar knew. His sister was still naive and her lack of attention toward media outlets played into her lack of luck as she didn’t realize Lando could be around for all the wrong reasons. Oscar did, though, and he made it incredibly clear to the British boy that any impure advances on his sister were not, and never would be, welcomed.

“You pull any weird shit and I’ll have your head.” He said sternly to Lando in a tone that no one had ever heard come out of the Australian before.

“I’m not going to, Oscar. I’m sorry if this makes you uncomfortable, but we’ve realized we just have so much in common. There’s nothing else behind it, I promise. I just like your sister’s company. That’s it.” He reassured.

And, for a while, that was true. Lando saw nothing else behind their friendship, however, that soon began to change. He noted the way he became so comfortable being touchy with her or giving her impromptu compliments about how pretty she looked that day. Being experienced in that realm of life, Lando also noted the way her cheeks blushed ever so slightly under his eye, and he couldn’t ignore the way his insides twisted at her subtle happiness over him.

They danced around each other and their feelings for some time until a drunken night changed everything. Lando had invited his friends from DJing over, one of those people being Martin Garrix. The men had laid themselves out on Lando’s luxurious couch with beers in hand, chugging away as they gossiped like 13-year-old girls.

The conversation came easily with these people as Martin interrupted and changed the topic to something a bit more interesting, “Lando, I gotta ask. What’s going on with you and Oscar’s sister?”

At this point in their relationship, Lando was still in the stage of denying any deeper feelings for her, “Nothing? What do you mean?”

Martin shook his head as the boys around him knowingly eyed each other, “Come on, you two are definitely sleeping together.”

“No, we aren’t.” He said immediately, not understanding why he had become so invested in protecting Y/n’s image.

Martin’s eyebrows furrowed, “So, you two aren’t sneaking around behind the brother’s back?”

“No,” Lando said firmly, but his defiance on the subject proved to worsen his situation as Martin set his beer down and looked at him with a mischievous look.

“Then, I have a proposition for you.” His arms rested on his knees as he leaned forward.

“What?” Lando mirrored his stance.

“Obviously, you know I have that really big gig next year at The Cabin in New York.” Lando nodded, “Well, if you can get Y/n to fall in love with you, maybe even sleep with her, I don’t know, then you can play it. Play the set at The Cabin.” Martin’s idea made Lando’s eyes bulge out of his head and his body leap from the couch.

The alcohol in his system proved to do its job by impairing his judgment as he didn’t ask questions or try to understand why Martin would get off on playing with someone in that way. All the boy did was scream his agreeance and then excitement for playing at The Cabin in New York.

“YOU ASKED MY SISTER OUT!?” Oscar had screamed in fury at Lando 2 days later.

Putting his hands up, Lando tried to talk down an aggravated teammate, “Listen, Oscar. Listen,” He pleaded, “I didn’t see it coming, really. But, I…” The words felt sour in his mouth as the guilt for what he was about to embark on set in, “I didn’t expect to fall for her, okay? I just did and I hope you’ll trust me enough that I’m not going to play her like I do the others. I wouldn’t hurt you like that and I especially wouldn’t hurt her like that.”

His words seemed to calm the blonde boy as he looked Lando in the eye, trying to decipher if he was being truthful. And, even though he wasn’t, Oscar found Lando’s spewed sentences to be genuine.

“Fine, but, I’m serious, Lando,” Oscar shoved a finger into Lando’s chest, “if you pull anything, I won’t hesitate to find crazy dirt on you and blackmail McLaren into firing you. Trust me, I’m smart enough to ruin your whole career.”

His threats went in Lando’s right ear and out the other because he found his British accent flooding the room they stood in as he said, “I promise, nothing will happen.”

—

“Is there any specific you want for tonight, my love?” Lando whispered against her skin as they lay in his bed, tangled together after a busy morning of meetings and conversations discussing their announcement of their relationship to the public with McLaren’s PR teams.

She breathed against the crook of his neck as she toyed with his shirt, “No, just excited to go out with you.”

He chuckled as he breathed the scent of her shampoo in, “Me too, baby.”

After nearly 3 months, the couple had fallen easily into the norms of a romantic relationship. Having not yet slept together or fully opened up and shown the other dark parts of themselves, they had a long way to go, but, at that moment, the two were content.

Content with having casual dates, hidden under baseball caps and sunglasses to keep from someone seeing them and outing their newfound connection. Content with the star gazing they had scheduled a few weeks back for that night, fulfilling something Y/n had mentioned she wanted to try.

They found themselves lost in the sky, weeds surrounding them as they lay side by side on a thin blanket to separate them from the rough grass beneath. In a quiet moment with Y/n’s fingers pointing out constellations to him, Lando sunk into himself.

His past few months with her had proven to be a lot more interesting than he had expected. Pretending to be in love with her started to feel less like a forced feeling and more like something he had been destined to feel for her and her only his whole life. The guilt ate away at him, but the love that was slowly consuming him for her trumped it every time.

“Lan? You still here?” Her sweet voice cut through his thoughts, making his head turn to meet her eyes.

He smiled at her, “Yeah, sorry, just lost track of my thoughts, I think.”

Her hand trailed up and down his stomach, “You okay?”

“Mhm, just don’t want to leave.” He nodded, looking at her so she could understand that he didn’t just want to leave this moment, he didn’t want to leave her.

She cracked a small smile, “Oh, me neither.”

A beat of silence went by before she sat up and turned to look down at him, “When did you realize you wanted more than just a friendship between us?”

This question was something he was anticipating and absolutely dreaded because, if he were to tell the truth, he would have to tell her she was a bet with his friends and that was the only reason he had been pushed to confront his underlying feelings for her. Although, wanting his gig, Lando tried to tell a white lie.

“I don’t really know when it happened. I just know that one day I really liked talking with you and the next I just liked you.” Simple and sweet, he thought. That was the trick to getting away with this.

Her blush complicated things and the butterflies in his stomach over her smile laid out the strong counterargument to his mind.

“Hm.” She said as she lowered herself back to the ground.

Lando’s curiosity took over as he asked what she meant by the ominous sound.

“Just that, I didn’t expect you to like me. I mean, you’re past is a lot of picture-perfect models and well-rounded, intellectual, impressive women. Not a 19-year-old kid whose major is undecided as she enters into her second year of college.” Her words struck a deep cord within his chest that he couldn’t not play.

“Is that all you think you are?” He was complicating the situation further, he understood that, but to think Y/n didn’t understand how amazing she was was something he couldn’t ignore.

She shrugged her shoulders, “Well, Lan, what else would I be?”

He was internally shocked at her obliviousness to her own perfection, “‘What else would I be?’ Y/n, what? You’re not just some lost college kid. You’re Oscar’s best friend and the person I would call first no matter what the situation. You’re so much to everyone around you. How can you not see that?”

Her voice came out trembly as she stared at the stars, “It’s hard when your brother’s constantly outshined you your whole life. My parents never realized they had another kid when I was growing up. It was all about Oscar and his races, his success. I never lived up to anything to actually make them notice me.”

His heart broke for the hurt little girl she was clearly entrusting him with, “Y/n, look at me.” His hands wrapped around her jaw to turn her head to the side, their eyes meeting in an intense stare, “Oscar could never outshine you and the fact that you’ve gone your whole life thinking anyone, let alone your brother, has the ability to take other’s attention from you is preposterous. You are the first thing that catches people’s eye when they walk into a room. You’re intoxicating with the way you carry yourself. You’re not just a confused child, you’re you. You are your best friend’s safe space, Oscar’s go-to person to brag about, you’re my favorite person, and, even though you might not think so, your parent’s pride and joy. You’re so many things, darling. Just because you aren’t an F1 driver doesn’t mean you don’t mean something. If it means anything, to me, you mean everything.”

His forehead rested against hers as he whispered the words to her, her eyes closed against his skin as she took in what she had longed to hear since she was 7. Lando’s thumbs rested against her cheeks, collecting the soft tears as they fell from her eyes.

“Sorry,” She whispered as she tried to back away from his hold, apologizing for the wetness that was pooling around his fingers.

However, Lando was quick to pull her back in, “No, don’t apologize. Letting me in isn’t something I’m afraid of, Y/n. It’s something I’m grateful to experience.”

She nodded, at a loss for words as she reveled in his gentleness. His hold on her tightened as he pushed her against his chest, whispering words into her ear.

Words that spoke truths he believed deep within himself and words that complexified the bet he had made.

—

“So, tell us what’s going on with you and the hotshot driver!” Y/n’s best friend, Paige, exclaimed at breakfast weeks after Lando and she had gone public.

Y/n rolled her eyes playfully, “Nothing! We’re just together. It’s not that serious.”

Paige reeled back in her seat, sending her a questionable look, “Really? ‘Not that serious’? Are you kidding me? He took your virginity!”

“Shh!!! Shh!!” Y/n jabbed a finger in her friend's face in response to the loud volume accompanied by the exposition of her situation.

“Sorry!” Paige squeaked, looking around to make sure no one had heard her, thankfully no one had. She continued, “Does he know?”

“That it was my first time? Yeah.” Y/n informed as Paige smiled triumphantly at the girl across from her.

“So, was he sweet? Did you like it?” Paige fired off the questions.

Y/n blushed, being taken back to the night before where Lando had assured her he would be gentle.

He had.

“Yes, he was very sweet. We got back from the date and decided to watch a movie. During it, we started kissing and then, you know, one thing led to another, and…”

“You told him.” Paige finished her sentence.

Y/n waved her head slowly to the left and right, “Well, it started getting intense, so I just let him know. I tried to be pretty nonchalant about it, come off like it wasn’t that big of a deal, but the moment he heard it, he was telling me how much he cared about it.”

Paige’s eyebrows furrowed, “What do you mean?”

“He just wanted to talk about it, wanted to make sure I wasn’t rushing into anything and that I actually wanted to do this with him. He told me how he didn’t want to screw anything up and how he really wanted it to go well for me, so if I needed him to change anything, I could just let him know. He was really big on communication through the whole thing and, honestly, it made things so much easier. And, then, after we were done, I got up to leave, but he acted like I had just said he wouldn’t ever win a world championship, and then insisted on me staying. Paige, he was so perfect.”

The two girls giggled together as they dug into their food, “So, you’ve let him in completely then?”

Y/n giggled, not having a clue of what was to come, “After he saw me completely naked and I told him about my deepest insecurities? Yeah, I have. I just hope this doesn’t backfire in my face.”

—

Lando was Y/n’s first love. There was no doubt about that. So, surprising him at the Silverstone Grand Prix sounded like a good idea. However, as she and Oscar stood outside his Driver’s Room door, accidentally eavesdropping on his conversation with Martin, the world proved to her that being there entirely was a horrible idea.

“Mate, I think it's gone too far. I want to back out of the bet.” Lando’s muffled voice sounded through the wall as Oscar and Y/n glanced at each other, matching confusion on their faces.

“No way, Lando. We made a deal. I don’t want to do this gig, I’ve done it so many times before it’s boring now, but for someone like you who has never done it, it’ll be fun.” Martin pleaded.

Y/n could practically hear Lando shake his head, “No, Martin. We should’ve never made it in the first place. I don’t want to play at The Cabin. Dating her for a bet is so cruel. I should’ve stopped it so long ago. I should’ve told you ‘no’ immediately.”

She didn’t even really comprehend what his words meant for a few minutes. She just stood there, eyes fixed on the door, trying desperately to figure out a way to explain away what he had just revealed.

Oscar’s hand gripped her arm as he watched her realize Lando’s true intent. His lip trembled, trying to keep the tears at bay, as his little sister broke in front of him. Her mouth opened and closed before her eyes watered and her gaze was shooting around the hallway in an attempt to find her brother. The fact that he was right in front of her didn’t translate in her brain, which had been in immediate turmoil once it dawned on her.

“Y/n, I’m right here.” He repeated to her as he slowly coaxed her into his embrace. Blind rage threatened to fill Oscar’s body, wanting nothing more than to storm into Lando’s room and rip him to shreds, but, as his sister quietly sobbed in his arms, he knew she needed him more than his fist needed to collide with Lando’s face.

Fortunately, his room wasn’t too far, so they weren’t seen by anyone as they made their way. The tears never ceased, only intensifying once they found themselves tucked away in the privateness of his own four walls.

“I was a bet?” Her choked sobs fought to silence her, but she continued to repeat the words as if it could cause her confusion to be fixed.

She clutched onto her older brother as she willed herself to go back in time and never step foot in an F1 paddock. Her mind raced as it tried to erase their time together and the love she had for him, the love she still had for him.

—

Hours after crying so much the tears dried up, Y/n found herself numb as she poured steeped the tea bag into the steaming hot water. No longer caring if she ran into him, she stood in the middle of McLaren’s hospitality, still trying to understand when she went wrong.

When she started loving him in the way that she did now. Even after finding out it was fake, his love for her was fake, she can’t stop the way her heart still beats for him.

The way, even after he had hurt her as badly as he did, she still searched for him in the crowd.

Oscar was off doing an interview, something he begrudgingly went off as he wanted to sit with his sister longer, as she made her walk back to his resting room.

Her attention was on the warm temperature that surrounded her face when she sipped her drink, she didn’t see the man of the hour turn the corner nor did she see the way his gaze landed on her or the way he began running toward her, confused as to why she was here.

“Y/n? Love, what are you doing here? I thought you had a test you couldn’t skip?” His voice forced feelings into her body whether she liked it or not. However, this time instead of feeling suffocating sadness, she felt pure, bewildered rage.

Turning around, she met his eyes, “What set do you think you’ll play at The Cabin?”

Lando’s eyebrows furrowed together at her question as well as the look on her face he wasn’t accustomed to.

“What?” He asked simply, not believing she could know.

She took a step closer to him, letting the betrayal take control, “When you play in New York at The Cabin, Lan,” Her smile was sickly and incredibly fake, “What are you going to play? I was thinking that one remix you have that you said makes the crowd go wild. I mean, it has to be big seeing as you went through so much trouble to get the spot. Ya know, dating me for a bet and all.” She took his silence and blank stare as an invitation to keep going, “Inspiring, really, Lando. The amount of dedication you must have when it comes to being a DJ that you would exploit someone else’s vulnerability, allow them to tell you all the internalized bullshit they’ve struggled with their whole lives, and, then!” She exclaimed, her voice translating ferocity rather than joy, “And then!” She dryly laughed, “Take their virginity just to spice things up! Wow, Lando, you have a certain level of determinedness I think society doesn’t address enough.”

His hand reached out for hers, but she quickly pulled her own back to her chest, looking at him in disgust, “Y/n, let me explain.”

Not wanting to look at his face any longer, she turned around, hightailing it to Oscar’s as she heard Lando follow her.

“Y/n, I’m serious. Please, there’s an explanation. Listen to me, baby. Please, I’m begging you.” He pleaded with her as he continued to reach for her, but he was always just a little too late.

“Y/n, I never meant for it to go this far. I though-” He tried, but Y/n was whirling around and jabbing a finger into his chest as she interrupted him with a fiery gaze.

“You never meant for it to go this far? Really? That’s the best you can give me!? I was lonely and you took advantage of that! You didn’t mean for it to go this far? Are you kidding me? You should’ve never even looked in my direction. You’re sick in the head for knowingly taking my virginity! For taking what was supposed to be something special and eventful, something meaningful, and twisting it into some stepping stone all a part of your grand plan to gain a bigger audience for your hobby! That was mine. That moment, when I allowed a guy I trusted and loved to take something so sacred, was supposed to be something I looked fondly back on. That part of my life, my girlhood, you exploited for your own personal gain. Where the hell do you get off? I trusted you. I told you things about my life, about myself, I’ve never told anyone before, and, what? The whole time it was a bet to you? A task you had to complete in order to turn some tables at a club in a dirty city?”

He stared at her, trying to peer into her soul and tell her all the things he didn’t know how to say, but, with all the hurt he had presented her with, she didn’t see him. She didn’t see the anguish he was going through over his actions catching up with him and abusing someone who was completely innocent. She didn’t see how hard he was trying to tell her he loved her and he always had.

“Y/n, it was never that to me. Please, you have to understand. You’ve always been so much more to me. Y/n, I love you-” Once again, she was shutting him up.

“That’s not love, Lando, and it’s pathetic you think it is.”

With that, she stepped into her brother’s room, closed the door, and locked it. Effectively, shutting Lando out.

For good or for the time being, he didn’t know.

[taexual]

sleepwalking ● 24 | 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: mentions of drugs (not graphic), depictions of smoking, explicit language, SUGGESTIVE THEMES (jungkook is a teasing little shit, there's also a Shower Scene at the end), angst, fluff, SLOW BURN

words: 23k

read from the beginning ○ masterlist

chapter 24 ► soon, you'll be nothing but a memory and i won't keep you company when everything falls apart for you

When you woke up next to Jungkook on your final morning in London, the sun was already high, casting patterns shaped dangerously like his sleeping features on the walls of his hotel room.

You thought you had just closed your eyes two minutes ago, but you felt very well-rested, albeit not fully convinced that you were conscious yet. Jungkook was asleep next to you, your hands still locked together and your bodies so intertwined that it would take at least a few minutes for you to disengage from each other.

Naturally, you thought this was another one of those powerful dreams that would stay with you for the next few days after you woke up because of how much you wished it was real. But then you checked your phone, noticing several missed calls, and your mind finally sobered.

Jungkook stirred when he felt you reach for your phone, and he realised right away that your morning together had ended before it even began.

“I was hoping we’d sleep in,” he mumbled, startling you as you tried to quietly climb out of bed.

Your determination to start working melted at the sound of his groggy, somewhat uncertain voice, and you turned back. His eyes flickered open and met yours briefly before succumbing to heaviness again.

“It seems like we have, actually,” you said, lingering on the edge of the bed, and forgetting, almost, that the vibrating sound in the background of your focus came from your phone.

“It doesn’t count if we wake up and get out of bed right aw—” He paused to yawn, then rolled onto his back, looking at you through half-closed lids. “Sleeping in means we stay in bed, and—well, there are things we could do.”

He struggled to keep his eyes open—clearly, the only thing you’d do if you stayed in the room was actually sleep—but you couldn’t help but smile at his effort.

Just as you were about to respond, Jungkook pushed back the covers and your eyes drifted down to the angry red nail marks on his chest. He met your gaze and followed it downwards, raising his eyebrows before breaking into a grin.

“Hmm,” he mused. You already knew what his next words would be but couldn’t stop him in time. “These are exactly the things I was talking ab—”

“I know,” you finally cut in. “I figured.”

He returned his gaze to yours, cocking a tired eyebrow. “Yet you’re rushing out of bed?”

You lifted your phone and the display lit up with multiple notifications. He noticed, with his breath hitching enthusiastically in his throat, that your eyes were filled with regret. You didn’t want to go.

“Duty calls,” you said.

He looked away and muttered disdainfully, “I’m your duty.”

“Exactly,” you replied, smiling at the childish entitlement in his voice. “Your band is the reason I’m getting out of bed.”

You took your foot off the mattress and stood up properly, pausing as Jungkook groaned—deliberately, of course, to make you think he would say something else and have you stay in the room longer while you waited for him to speak.

To be perfectly honest, though, you didn’t linger in the room because you thought he still had something to say. You lingered because you wanted to stay here until you absolutely couldn’t anymore.

“Okay,” he finally said, looking up at you again. “I promise that our relationship won’t interfere with your career. But I really do wish you’d stayed with me for the rest of the morning.”

It took you considerable effort—and you would attribute this to professionalism when you inevitably started doubting yourself later—to resist the temptation to climb back into bed.

“I wish I could stay, too,” you said—firmly, so he wouldn’t try to persuade you, because you knew that he’d eventually succeed. “But I’ll see you after the show.”

“Before that,” he said.

You nodded. “If we have time.”

“No,” he disagreed immediately. “We’ll make time.”

Your smile grew with affection and warmth.

“Alright,” you said. “I’ll see you a little later then, yeah? Will you be alright for a few hours?”

He exhaled very theatrically. “I suppose I’ll live.”

“Good,” you leaned over the bed to press a soft kiss to his cheek, “I love you.”

He reached out to interlace your hands for just a second before you pulled away again, bringing your knuckles to his lips. “I love you.”

Reluctantly parting from his warmth, you finally left the room, and Jungkook whined quietly to himself before starting his day as well. He knew his uncontrollable yearning would drive him to the brink of insanity even before the band’s rehearsal later today, so he was desperate for company until then.

He took a quick shower, then crossed the corridor to Minjun’s room where Minjun was binge-watching Evangelion, and dragged him outside for a coffee and a cigarette.

It was a beautiful morning: a little cold, but unusually sunny after yesterday’s storm. The rain had quickly become his favourite scent, and Jungkook took a deep breath as it lingered in the air. It was laced with faint traces of wet grass, and there was something else, too. Something woody, yet light, with heavy undertones of you.

He and Minjun settled in the shade outside of the hotel. Jungkook lit his cigarette, then passed his lighter to his friend and looked around.

The garden behind him was impressive. He hadn’t noticed the peonies before, but as soon as he did, he remembered bringing bright pink and gently lilac bouquets for you before your dates. You didn’t have a favourite flower, but he’d discovered that peonies lasted the longest in your dorm room, so he continued to get them for you.

He realised with a sigh that having Minjun here wasn’t much of a distraction, not even when he brought up Sid. Everywhere he looked this morning, he still thought of you.

“Oh, shit!” Jungkook cried suddenly, pushing his cigarette to the corner of his mouth as he spoke. His exclaim distracted the two of them from an anxious discussion about all that had to happen today. “Look.”

Minjun looked at him first, then followed his gaze to the street, where a Volkswagen Beetle was driving by at an extraordinarily slow pace. He wasn’t sure if Jungkook was amused by the car model or its speed.

“Hmm?” he asked. “At the car?”

“Yeah,” Jungkook said, bouncing on the balls of his feet in excitement. “It’s the exact colour of her eyes.”

“Her eye—Jesus Christ,” Minjun groaned, nearly choking on the smoke of his cigarette. “Do you see what I’m doing right now?”

Jungkook did not tear his eyes away from the car as it inched closer to the intersection at the end of the street. “No offence, man, but I really couldn’t care le—”

“I am cringing,” Minjun informed him anyway. “You made me cringe.”

Jungkook continued to watch the Beetle with an alien fascination that Minjun could not understand. He thought that Jungkook looked as if he was reliving some sort of a dream, with this wistful, melancholy smile on his face—or he was stuck in an unfathomable, endless déjà vu.

“I’m serious, though,” Jungkook said after a moment, a deep exhilaration in his voice. “The exact colour.”

Minjun shook his head, half disbelieving, half resigned. He was not a doctor, and he would never claim to have any medical knowledge, but even his amateur eye could recognise lovesickness when he saw it.

“You are so fu—” he started to say, but did not get to the end of this diagnosis that, in his humble opinion, would have perfectly described the state that his friend was in right now.

Jungkook blew out the smoke with a heavy—and violent, too—groan, and it cut Minjun off. “I love her so much.”

“We know!” Minjun said, exasperated. His teeth dug into the filter of his cigarette. “We can tell. All of us. Now if you try to tell me that that cloud over there, above the hotel, kind of looks like her, I swear to God.”

“Please.” Jungkook scoffed but still glanced at the sky. “Clouds don’t look like—oh, you know what, maybe that one over there kind of does. When she wears her hair up, and—”

“I am going to slap you,” Minjun interjected, “if you don’t get yourself together right this second.”

The Beetle had finally turned on the left turn signal as it reached the end of the road next to the two of them. Jungkook lowered his eyes and smiled at the vehicle again.

“I’ve never felt more together,” he said, smoke passing through his lips.

“And I’ve never felt more like a third wheel,” Minjun retorted. “And it’s only you and me here.”

Jungkook grinned dreamily, following the car with his gaze.

“You’re not even listening to me, are you?” Minjun asked.

“Not really.”

He sighed and turned away. “Hmm. Of course not.”

The Beetle finally disappeared down the street and out of their sight. And now, with no new reminders of you in his immediate vicinity, Jungkook realised that he missed you too much to merely stand here, and that the company he had did not matter as long as it wasn’t you. He finished his cigarette in two quick drags and pulled out his phone.

Minjun knew exactly who he was texting without having to ask. And he certainly did not have to ask who had texted him back when his phone lit up not even ten seconds later.

You and Jungkook were both terrible—almost unbearable at this point, really—and Minjun was very glad that you had found your way back to each other. He didn’t think the world could have handled more of the two of you alone.

When you arrived at the venue a few hours later to see Jimin before the band’s soundcheck, you ran into the members of the band outside. They’d gone out after their rehearsal and ended up right in the middle of a commotion outside the building.

The sight surprised you: crowds of people had gathered around the venue, chatting, waving and jumping as soon as they spotted the band. Although this was Rated Riot’s second show in London, it seemed as though twice as many people were queuing outside today.

You kept your distance but stayed to watch the beaming members stop occasionally for an autograph, a selfie, or a quick conversation as they made their way past their fans. You remained vigilant in case anyone in the crowd decided to cause trouble, although it didn’t seem likely. Everyone was just excited.

Just then, right before you got lost in the thrilled faces around you, you heard Jungkook gasp somewhere in the crowd.

Alarmed, you turned around to find him and caught Hoseok’s shocked expression over the back of Jungkook’s head. Someone had unexpectedly wrapped their arms around the vocalist in a very intense hug, taking him off guard. But Jungkook’s surprise quickly turned into appreciative laughter as he patted the person on the back and stepped away, nodding at something they were saying.

Their interaction seemed harmless, but a crowd began to gather around Jungkook and Hoseok, and you were worried about the people pushing each other. You reached for your phone in your jacket to call Mick and alert the security just to be safe, but paused when you overheard the conversation the boys were having with their fans.

“And good riddance!” someone was saying. “We saw that you guys banned Sid from your shows. We’re so glad you’re finally free.”

Excited shrieks of agreement rippled through the crowd. Jungkook turned his head to look at you, leaving Hoseok to handle the fans’ praise on his own while Yoongi and Taehyung signed autographs nearby. When you met Jungkook’s eye, the surprise on his face mirrored yours.

Maggie’s post had made the precise impact you’d hoped for; everyone had seen the blacklist.

We’re so glad you’re finally free.

It occurred to you that neither you, nor Jungkook, nor any of your friends had ever been truly alone with your hatred for Sid, because Sid hadn’t just messed with your lives. He’d messed with absolutely everyone around you. You assumed as much—he was insufferable—but hearing others reaffirm just how much they despised Sid still felt comforting. It felt energising, too.

You’d be finished with him today, finally.

Feeling reinvigorated, you informed Mick to keep an eye on the crowds and headed inside. Jimin had needed your help, but by the time you arrived, he’d already resolved the problem himself. He shuffled you out of the door instead, to fetch him some coffee for “being late to rescue me from the agony of toggling the amps on and off.”

Laughing, you walked back out, making a note to grab a few chocolate-chip cupcakes, too—for Seokjin, because he had looked dangerously pale and wide-eyed when you ran into him at the door as Jimin yelled out his coffee order at you.

You didn’t expect to see Jungkook until the end of his show later that night, and you felt another wondrous thrill in your stomach at the thought: this would all be over by then. You could finally stop dreading what awaited you next. Really, even your upcoming meeting with the lawyers from the label seemed like a walk in the park on a late spring afternoon compared to Sid. You almost couldn’t wait for it.

But then as soon as the band finished their soundcheck, Jungkook surprised you by sneaking into the dressing room where you were working on emails, your forgotten coffee already cold. He stood there, in the very middle of the room, grinning at you until you finally raised your head.

“Oh—shit,” you removed your earpods, “w-why are you here?”

He shrugged his shoulders. A few strands of his hair were stuck to his forehead; he looked as though he’d already performed the first half of the show instead of merely preparing for it.

“Wanted to check in,” he said. “You ready?”

He was asking about Sid, and you placed your laptop on the side table by the couch, making room for him next to you.

“Yeah,” you said. “Still got a few hours to go. Jude hasn’t called us yet, but we’re—we’ll be fine.”

Jungkook sat down next to you. He couldn’t remember the details well, but he assumed that Minjun and Jude had already left for their part of the plan. Now he was nervous to hear that their plan hadn’t even begun yet; what if Jude had a change of heart?

“Yeah?” he asked, despising how many tinges of uncertainty he heard in his own voice. “You sure?”

“Of course,” you said, glancing at the door before turning back to him. “Uh, listen, are you sure you can be here? You have an interview in ten minutes.”

He reclined on the couch and shrugged again.

“Well, I still have ten minutes,” he said. “The guys are busy with their instruments, but I’m good.”

You nodded, and the conversation came to an awkward halt. You wanted to steer the discussion away from Sid, but he was the elephant in the room and he had grown large enough to smother you.

“I’m, uh—I’m thinking,” Jungkook said after a minute, “what if the plan doesn’t work? I know we said we’d do something else, but—I mean, what if the police don’t arrive in time, and Sid senses the trap?”

You hoped it wouldn’t come to that, because there was nothing else you could do to get rid of Sid in the immediate future. If he realised that something was wrong tonight, he’d never lower his guard like this again.

“I—well, I have a Plan B,” you said.

Jungkook was surprised. “Yeah? What’s that?”

You turned away. Really, you did not have any backup plans. You just wanted to stop Jungkook from biting into his lip ring before he ripped it off.

“Remember how we talked about you visiting me in jail?” you said, keeping a straight face. “I’ll just—”

He groaned. “You’re not going to kill Sid.”

“Why not?” you moaned and your exaggerated tone finally elicited a chuckle from him.

“Because I need you with me,” he said.

“Maybe we can make it seem like someone else did it,” you continued, encouraged by the amusement in his eyes. “Is there anyone else you hate as much as him?”

He shook his head. “No one comes even close.”

“Hmm.” You nodded thoughtfully. “Maybe if I just beat him up really bad, but don’t actually kill him, they won’t lock me up for long?”

He was grinning. “You’re not beating him up.”

“I’d be willing to do it for the band, you know.”

“Oh, for the band,” he echoed, draping an arm over the cushion behind you. “Romantic. Makes me feel real special.”

He seemed much more relaxed now than when he first came here, and your heart remembered how to beat again at the sight of his smile.

“Look,” you said, raising your hands, “I even wore extra rings today, for a more long-lasting effect.”

He snorted as you showed him the jewellery on your fingers, and placed his hand on yours, bringing it down to your knee.

“You’re not beating him up,” he reiterated.

“Come on,” you pressed on as he locked his fingers with yours. “You knocked out his tooth, so I have to do something similar. Otherwise, it’s just embarrassing. The girls will never let me live this down if I don’t land one good punch.”

Jungkook started to chuckle—the image of your sharp skull-shaped ring leaving a mark on Sid’s cheek was very satisfying—but then your words sunk in, and his expression soured.

“Wait,” he said, leaning forward and furrowing his brows, “the girls are in on this?”

You frowned in response to his frown.

“Of course, they are,” you replied. “Why are you surprised?”

“I mean,” he looked away, assessing your friends in his mind, “I’m not surprised about Maggie. But isn’t Luna usually more practical in these situations?”

“She’s practical until she’s had enough,” you said. “And she’s had enough.”

“Ah,” he said, leaning back and looking down at your intertwined hands.

He appeared to be considering something as his thumb gently traced the side of your index finger, and you got a frightening thought that you could take down a lot more assholes than just Sid—you could even tie them up and keep them in some mouldy basement—if it meant that Jungkook could sit next to you, humming peacefully under his breath as he held your hand in his.

It dawned on you just then that he wasn’t just your weakness, he was your everything. And you loved him so much that it was dangerous.

“Well,” he finally said, “if I have Taehyung and Rue with me, it might be more fun to visit the three of you in prison. We could make a little road trip out of it.”

You laughed, leaning into him as you did, and he realised that he really only had very few worries left—and none of them were about Sid.

“That’s the spirit!” you said. “I’ll see you in the courtroom.”

He released your hand, so he could wrap an arm around your shoulders and pull you into his chest.

“No, you won’t,” he said, planting a kiss on your temple. His heart stuttered through a few clumsy beats when you leaned into him again, resting your hand on his chest. “I love you.”

You raised your head to meet his gaze, and he realised he was wrong before. The Beetle outside the hotel wasn’t the exact colour of your eyes, not really. But his heart was; it soaked up the shades of your touch and painted itself after you.

“I love you,” you said. “But you have to go back to your band.”

He ignored that and leaned in to touch your lips with his. The quick kiss unexpectedly turned deeper—really, he had no say in that, his impulse control lived a life of its own lately—when he moved his head and tasted the caramel from your coffee on your tongue.

You knew you were on a tight schedule, but you found yourself giving in to him for just a moment. You brought one of your hands to the side of his face, and you felt, right away, what your touch did to him. Jungkook shifted on the couch to reach you better, his kisses growing more urgent, more eager, more impossible and even impractical—and that wasn’t fair, because, with his mouth against yours, there was nothing more meaningful than this in the world.

You pulled back, breathless, but with a smile that imprinted itself right in his mind, and Jungkook nodded, understanding the look in your eyes.

“Right,” he murmured, standing up before he lost his resolve. “I have places to be. Things to do. Would help a lot if I knew what places and what things those were, but, uh—I’ll figure it out.”

Your laughter was light and absolutely captivating. “Maybe your band can help with that?”

“Right,” he said. “My band.”

He lingered, scanning the walls and appearing lost in thought, and your chest was so full from simply being in the same room with him that you couldn’t tell him to go again. Slowly, you stood from the couch and your movement snapped him back to reality. He turned to face you and swallowed before speaking.

“Come find me as soon as the police leave with Sid’s ass,” he said.

“If our plan works, you’ll be in the middle of the encore,” you reminded him.

“You don’t have to jump on the stage,” he said. “Just give me a signal or something.”

“What kind of a signal?”

Your question wasn’t entirely serious, but Jungkook took it very seriously.

“A massive banner,” he decided, “saying ‘we’re free.’”

The image of the fans outside the venue crossed your mind again, and you felt yourself smile. You were certain they would have appreciated the banner as well.

“Hmm. Not very classy, though,” you said.

“When was I ever classy?” he countered. He looked about ready to demonstrate his lack of refinement, and you cut in before he could give any examples to support his claim.

“Alright,” you said. “I’ll just come to the side of the stage and give you a nod, yeah? Then you’ll know we did it.”

You placed a hand on his shoulder as you spoke, and, naturally, he agreed with everything you said.

“Okay,” he replied. “That’s good enough.”

“Yeah?”

“Mmhm. Just be careful,” he added, and you noted with disappointment that his casual demeanour had returned to a more serious tone. “Don’t let him get under your skin.”

You already missed the ease in his voice, and it made you regret that the two of you were in a situation where you could only speak lightly at short intervals before inevitably returning to what awaited you. You could not wait to never bring up Sid again.

“I won’t,” you said. “That spot’s reserved for you.”

His face immediately brightened, and you found yourself mirroring his expression. He stepped closer to you, the shimmering in his eyes fervent enough to send sparks to your chest.

“Hmm.” He reached out to run his fingers over the edge of your jaw. “What other spot is reserved for me?”

You scowled but did not pull away from his touch. “I’ll consider answering that when you sound less like a frat boy.”

He grinned, not the least bit discouraged. “Keeping me on my toes. I like that.”

“You have to go,” you replied, suppressing your smile so as not to encourage him. “The rest of the band is about to start their interview. Yoongi will have your head.”

“Kiss me and I’ll go,” he replied, his voice softer now that his face was so close to yours.

“Oh,” you snickered despite yourself, “we’re not doing that again.”

“We won’t have to if you kiss me.”

You shook your head and gave him a warning look—but then you closed the distance between you anyway. You’ve learnt your lesson from the last time at the park, and there was no point in arguing anyway; it was just you and him here, and you were rapidly running out of time.

Your lips were overwhelmingly soft and he relaxed into your touch in a way that he only could if you were as close to him as you were now. But you pulled back all too soon.

“Go now,” you whispered—not meaning it at all. You tried again, but your words had even less conviction this time, “go.”

He heard you but refused to pull away, his lips finding yours for just one more kiss.

“I’m going,” he murmured, turning every syllable into a slow, gentle caress. “Good luck.”

“You, too,” you replied, slowly pulling back and stopping his heart for a split-second when you reached over to move a strand of his hair from his face. “We’ll be okay.”

Jungkook nodded and stepped back reluctantly. As he made his way towards the door, some unseen force suddenly tugged at his arm, and he stopped. Pivoting on his heel, he returned to you to press another quick kiss to your amused lips—the last last one—before finally tearing himself away from you.

Closing the door of the dressing room behind himself, he abruptly remembered an ancient legend that his grandmother had told him—about Orpheus and Eurydice. And he knew, without any doubt whatsoever, that if he had to walk away from you without looking back so that the two of you could live, you would both perish.

He would always turn back to look at you one last time.

Rated Riot proceeded with their scheduled interviews in the waiting area backstage, leaving you to find another quiet corner, away from the intriguing “most likely to…” discussion that the boys were having right now (just as you walked past them, Taehyung and Jungkook broke into a sudden arm-wrestling competition for reasons that eluded you and the journalist, both).

With about an hour remaining until the doors opened, you managed to email back about half of the people in your inbox. That was how Minjun found you: rocking gently back and forth on the couch at the end of the dimly lit corridor, your laptop balanced on your knees.

“Jude’s here,” he announced, and you felt a dizzying sense of déjà vu before you looked up.

He’s said these exact words to you before. But he seemed far more composed this time, and it soothed your anxiety as you closed your laptop and set it aside.

“Yeah?” you asked, not quite ready to get up just yet.

“Mhmm,” Minjun confirmed. “He said that Sid’s passed out right now, he was out the whole night. Jude’s done everything we asked, and he brought Sid’s phone here with him for us to double-check. I’ve already looked through it, everything’s gone. He, um—he still wants to see you, though.”

“Oh.” You did not like that Sid’s phone was here, and your discomfort finally pushed you to stand up. “That was—that’s good. But what if Sid wakes up while Jude’s here?”

“I know,” Minjun agreed, glancing at his phone to check the time as if he had a timer set for how long Sid would stay asleep. “We have to be quick.”

With a silent nod, you followed Minjun as he led you to an empty dressing room, much larger than the broom closet where he had put Jude last time.

Jude greeted you with an awkward “hi” as soon as he saw you. His voice sounded even smaller in the big room. He looked small, too, but brighter now, more vibrant.

It was his eyes, you realised. He seemed excited.

“Hey,” you replied and noticed quickly that your voice was small, too. “H-how are you feeling?”

Jude’s expression suddenly shifted to one of deep thought. You took note of his trembling hands when he lifted Sid’s phone.

“Nervous,” he admitted. “I brought this for you to see for yourself.”

He extended the phone towards you. You trusted Minjun when he said he’d checked it, but Jude seemed to be seeking your approval as well. You took the device from him, and he informed you that the passcode was “six sixes,” which you found very fitting for the devil incarnate.

You unlocked it, then tapped on the gallery and scrolled through the standard, abstract art images pre-installed on every phone. The generic bright colours were all you found here.

Feeling your heart rate increase already, you opened his Cloud storage. It greeted you with a message that, at this point, could have easily become the title of Rated Riot’s next album: “iCloud Drive is Empty.”

“Okay, that—uh, w-we’re nervous, too, by the way,” you said, your thoughts jumbled as you handed the phone back to Jude. Minjun’s smile widened when your eyes flickered to his; your plan was going smoothly so far. “This is—you did a great job, Jude.”

Jude’s face nearly began to glow. You shrank back, finding his beaming expression discomfiting. It did not look unnatural per se; it just looked misplaced—like someone else’s smile got lost and took temporary shelter on his face.

“I, uh,” he fumbled in the pocket of his jacket, “I also grabbed this.”

He pulled out a set of keys, and you only needed half of a glance to know that they belonged to Jungkook’s Katana. You turned to Minjun again, but he shook his head. Jude hadn’t told him about this.

“Sid had them in his jacket,” Jude explained. “Could you give them to Jungkook?”

You hesitated for another minute before you took the keys from him. And you remembered, suddenly, the first time you’d seen Jungkook with his bike: you were already working together at that point, and he’d arrived on it for a meeting at the company.

He had treated the bike with such care as he showed it to you and the band at the end of the day, almost as if it were a part of him, and Yoongi had pointed out how typical this was. How men—not Yoongi, though, he insisted—constantly grew too attached to their bikes, how they cherished them more than significant others. So, you had jokingly asked Jungkook if the Katana was the love of his life, too. And he’d responded, without missing a single beat, that it wasn’t. That you were.

He’d said it with a smug grin, so, of course, you assumed he was just teasing—because, in your defence, he often was—and you rolled your eyes and didn’t think much of it. But now, holding the keys to his bike that he’d given up, you accepted, finally, that he’d meant it, even back then.

“You did—you didn’t have to get them,” you told Jude, surprised to find yourself breathless.

“I wanted to,” he said. “We’re getting back at Sid.”

You exchanged another glance with Minjun. The two of you had worried that Jude would change his mind once he saw Sid again, but you’d clearly underestimated his desire to finally break free.

“That’s right,” Minjun said. “We are. You’ll, uh—you’ll have to go back to the hotel. Take his phone back to him.”

“I know,” Jude replied, slipping back into his role of a follower. “And then?”

Minjun looked at you, indicating for you to continue. You bit your lip, searching for the right tone to say this. You knew you were putting Jude in a direct line of fire, and you felt a little guilty because you weren’t sure if he even realised it.

“Wait until I call Sid,” you said. You put the keys in your pocket and crossed your arms. “And, I guess, after Sid leaves, let Minjun into his suite. I assume you have the key?” Jude nodded; Sid was passed out, he had no problem grabbing his room key along with his phone. “Minjun will do the rest, but you can—you could help him. We’d appreciate that.”

Jude appeared delighted. He craved appreciation, and you could tell that he received it very rarely.

“I’ll help,” he decided.

For a minute, it seemed like your conversation had ended. But Jude swayed lightly on his feet and played with his fingers, evidently gathering strength for something more.

“By the way,” he finally said, “um, there are cameras in the hotel.”

A quick new surge of anxiety washed over you, and you turned to Minjun, who looked about as stunned as you felt.

“I thought—I thought it was an old hotel,” you said, not quite accusingly but not very gently, either. Your shock prevented you from softening your voice. “Like ours. Ours doesn’t—it doesn’t even have elevators. It barely has bathrooms.”

Minjun felt guilty. He was the one who had assured you not to worry about the cameras. He knew that Sid preferred his accommodation to lack modern inventions—it helped him evade security when he brought questionable companions and dangerous refreshments to his hotel room every other night.

“I thought that’s the sort of place Sid would choose,” Minjun explained apologetically. “He doesn’t like cameras, for understandable reasons.”

“Well, th-they have cameras in the lobby,” Jude said. “And in the corridors. I noticed them when I was coming over here. I don—I don’t know what you wanted to do in Sid’s room, but it—there are cameras at all entrances. Sorry.”

The cameras were obviously not his fault, but you could see how flustered he became to have delivered the news that brought the dark clouds to this room.

“It’s—fuck, it’s not good,” you said, grateful that Jude had gained an impressive awareness of his surroundings seemingly overnight, but still anxious, nonetheless.

Your initial idea was to get Sid arrested and hope that the police would get to his hotel suite eventually. But then Minjun convinced you that he needed to check Sid’s room in advance, and it turned into an important part of your plan.

He insisted that Sid might have hidden the drugs, and he wanted to make them more noticeable for the police to find—in case Sid would bribe the officers, and they didn’t feel like searching through the whole room. Minjun figured that if the police saw questionable white powder as soon as they opened the door, easily visible to any curious onlooker, they couldn’t easily clear Sid of this.

You weren’t sure if Minjun’s idea would be considered tampering with evidence, because the evidence was, technically, already there, but you were uncomfortable with it regardless. Minjun didn’t want to ask Jude to do this, because you didn’t yet know if you could fully trust him. But you didn’t want Minjun to do this, either, so naturally, the two of you had argued about this vehemently.

You felt like having another argument with him right this second.

“Minjun, uh,” you said, “could I speak to you outside for a moment? Jude, would you excuse us?”

“Oh, yeah, of course,” Jude replied easily. You did not want to leave him here instead of sending him back to Sid to return his phone, but you had no other choice—Minjun was already looking for a way around the hotel cameras.

He followed you out of the room, a little puzzled. You stopped at the very end of the corridor, in front of a dusty floor-to-ceiling window, and looked around to make sure you were here alone. People were talking inside nearby rooms, so you leaned closer and lowered your voice when you spoke.

“Alright,” you said, nibbling on your bottom lip, “I don’t think you should go to Sid’s hotel. I think we should let Jude handle it.”

“What?” Minjun replied, clearly frazzled. “I thought we were involving him as little as possible.”

“We were,” you said. “But if we don’t involve him right now, then we have to involve you, and—”

“But I said I’ll do it,” he retorted, his whispers wild. “I said I’ll go to his room and check. That was the pl—”

“Right,” you cut him off. “But we didn’t know there’d be cameras. It’s a small hotel. Even if no one notices you there, they might notice you in the footage.”

Minjun’s solution to this was so quick that it made you wonder if he had thought of this several days in advance.

“Sid’s room is on the third floor,” he said. “I reckon I could climb up there from the second-floor balcony.”

“And how would you reach the second-floor balcony?” you shot back equally as quickly. “You’d have to cross the lobby to enter the hotel either way.”

He thought about it for a second longer and came up with what he personally thought was another great idea. “Maybe there are rain pipes?”

You gave him a long look.

“Minjun,” you said. “You’re not Spiderman.”

He groaned and stepped back to lean against the wall. “Fuck, I’m just—”

“Come on, Minjun,” you urged, growing desperate. “It’s not worth the risk. We have to ask Jude to do this for us. He’s staying at the same hotel anyway. It makes sense for him to be there.”

He turned to look out the window. He didn’t like this. He wanted to be sure. He wanted Sid to get burnt, not merely grazed. And, he supposed, he wanted to be the one who set him on fire.

But, logically, Minjun knew that the only reason he would have to go to that hotel, would be if you still couldn’t trust Jude.

Jude had just brought you Sid’s phone to show you that he’d done all that you’d asked. He brought Jungkook’s keys, too. He told you about the cameras. He was on your side.

Minjun exhaled. It didn’t make sense for him to go there.

“Fine,” he said. “Alright. Fine. Let’s—tell Jude to spread Sid’s shit around after Sid leaves to see you.”

Your heart rate picked up, but you tried to subdue your relief. You still had a long day ahead of you.

“Yes,” you said, turning around. “Okay. Let’s—let’s go back.”

The two of you returned to the dressing room where Jude was still waiting in the same exact spot where you’d left him. He had seemingly occupied himself with watching the walls while you were gone, but the creaking of the door returned his attention to you.

“Everything okay?” he asked.

“Yes, uh—just a quick change of plans,” you said, while despondent Minjun closed the door behind you. “We’re, um... going to ask you to do something else for us.”

Jude straightened and nodded. He looked this close, you thought, to giving you a military salute.

“Anything,” he said.

You glanced at Minjun before continuing. You knew he wasn’t pleased with this change of plans, so you appreciated the reassurance in his eyes even more. He may have been unhappy, but he was on your side.

“After I call Sid, and he leaves,” you said, turning back to Jude, “do you think it’d be possible for you to enter Sid’s room without being noticed by the cameras?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Our suites are at the end of the corridor, bit of a blind spot. The camera faces the staircase.”

“Okay,” you said, taking a deep breath. “Then go to his room as soon as he leaves, and make sure that—”

“The rest of his chalk?” Jude cut in. “I should bring it out of his suitcases, right?”

Minjun turned to you, his eyebrows raised. Jude had never been quick, for as long as Minjun had known him, but his dedication to getting rid of Sid was remarkable. He seemed to have figured out the details of your plan on his own.

Minjun gestured for you to proceed. You’ve decided to trust Jude and there was no way back now.

“Yes,” you said. “It—that’s exactly what you should do. Make sure it’s in plain sight. Not necessarily all of it, just a bag or two—or whatever he keeps it in—so the officers would see it right away. We’re sure Sid will use any means necessary to make the police think we’re framing him, so they might be neglectful. You would help ensure that they do a thorough search of his suite. You’d show them that he’s guilty.”

Jude’s eyes glittered. Minjun was very impressed by your ability to choose the precise words that Jude wanted to hear.

“But don’t touch the bags directly,” he added, and Jude redirected his attention to his friend. “Wear gloves or use a plastic bag to pick them up and throw them around the room.”

You nodded, agreeing, and Jude reflexively nodded, too.

“Okay,” he said, ever as obedient. “I’ll do that.”

“And are we sure that Sid will bring some of his stuff with him here?” you asked, glancing at them both. It would be disastrous if the one time Sid decided to leave his drugs at home would be today.

Minjun was the one to answer you.

“Yeah, he carries his shit with him everywhere,” he said. “If not in his jacket, then in his jeans. He’ll have it.”

Jude raised his eyebrows with the same enthusiasm as before.

“I can check that, too,” he offered. “If he—if it’s in his jacket. If it’s easy to find.”

Minjun turned to you again. Right away, he recognised the distress on your face—not only were you relying on Jude for half of your plan, but you were also putting him at risk. You felt awful. Minjun did, too. But he hated Sid with enough passion to ignore his discomfort.

“Okay,” Minjun took over. “That sounds good. Check his jacket, too, if you get a chance.”

You turned your uneasy gaze back to Jude. You almost expected him to demand something in exchange for helping you, but he kept nodding his head, not saying anything.

He would do this for you because you asked him to. That was how Sid kept him around for so long: by giving orders that Jude felt compelled to follow.

“I’m—thank you, Jude,” you said. “You’re doing a great job. And we don’t want you to go through anything that Sid will have to go through, okay? So, be careful.”

Jude swallowed and nodded once more.

“Yeah,” he said. “I’ll take his phone to him and wait for your call. After he leaves, I will check his hiding spots and bring his stash out. I’ll be careful.”

You shivered at the decisiveness of his tone. You knew that you weren’t playing a prank on Sid, you were actively conspiring against him—but hearing Jude repeat the details of your plan back to you made this feel much more significant. Much more real.

“Yes,” you said. “And leave immediately after, okay? Check out of the hotel.”

“I’ll come meet you a few blocks away,” Minjun inserted. “You can stay in my room at our hotel.”

Jude gave another nod of agreement. The anxiety rising in your stomach was starting to make it difficult for you to breathe.

“Jude,” you said, “you’re doing—you’re a great help to us. I know we’re all a team now, but still. We really appreciate it.”

Jude smiled, and this time, his smile did not look misplaced. It matched the light in his eyes, even if it wasn’t quite sure what it was doing on his face.

“Thanks,” he said. “We’re a team. I—I’m going to go now.”

“Good luck,” you said. “We’ll see you later.”

The moment the door closed and Jude’s quiet footsteps faded down the corridor, you crossed your arms and met Minjun’s exhausted sigh with a similar one of your own.

“Well,” Minjun began, “it looks like we’ll have to rely on Jude a lot more than we originally thought.”

You sighed again. “Yeah. I mean, he seems alright.”

He did seem alright. But Minjun felt an itch under his skin, and he couldn’t make it go away no matter how much he scratched and stretched.

“I still want to go in there,” he said, “and make sure we’re really good to go.”

This alarmed you; you thought you’d already decided to let Jude handle Sid’s suite.

“But—”

“No, listen,” he cut in, “Jude said Sid’s room is in a blind spot. So, how would anyone know which room I entered, even if they did see me in the lobby? Maybe I’m visiting someone else.”

“But why draw attention to yourself?” you argued. “Why make yourself look suspicious?”

Minjun felt ants crawling all over himself; he did not like your questions.

“I just want to be sure we’re good to go,” he repeated, turning away from you.

“We are good to go, Minjun,” you pleaded softly. “Let Jude do it.”

“And what if Sid hid it all,” he still insisted, “and Jude can’t find it?”

“Then you might not find it, either,” you replied. He clicked his tongue, discontented. “I just don’t want you to risk getting caught on the CCTVs there. Jude is staying in that hotel. It’d be easier for him to get to Sid’s room, it’s far less risky. It makes more sense. Let him do it.”

Minjun kept his gaze on the floor, his jaw clenched.

You knew that he wanted to finally stand up to Sid, and it wasn’t your place to intervene. But you were the one who suggested getting Sid arrested, and now you wanted to ensure everyone’s safety and limit their reckless decisions in this plan to as few as possible. Minjun walking past the cameras in the hotel and breaking into Sid’s room seemed reckless. It seemed reckless for Jude to do it, too, but on a lesser scale—this was a risk you hoped you could afford.

“Jude might touch the drugs, too,” Minjun mumbled after a minute. “I don’t know if he’ll realise not to, even if we told him to be careful.”

“Then we can call him and warn him again,” you said. “But I’m sure he’ll be fine. He—he only looks a little dumb, but he’s ready. He wants nothing else to do with Sid.”

Minjun stayed quiet, and you did not say anything, either, allowing him some time with his thoughts. He already knew how risky it would be for him to go to that hotel. He just needed a minute to push his own ego aside and focus on getting Sid arrested, even if that meant he had to stay back and just watch it happen.

“Alright,” he said after a minute. “Yeah, fine. I’ll stay here.”

A deep, resigned sigh followed his words, and you allowed yourself to close your eyes and lean against the door of the room for just a minute.

“Okay, good,” you said. “We—we should be alright.”

You sounded as confident as you could under the circumstances, but Minjun sensed every nervous undertone in your voice.

“Yeah,” he said, twisting the silver band on his index finger. “We should be. You—the more you praised and thanked him, the more willing Jude became to do anything for us. Sid had never given him positive feedback in his life, and you’re giving it all to him in one day. So, I-I think you’re right. He’s on our side. He wants to do this, too. We will be fine.”

You nodded slowly. You hoped you were right because the rest of your plan relied on this.

You were right.

Later that same day, you would learn that Jude had done a spectacular job at improvising. You’d never considered him to be particularly bright until today—actually, that was putting it nicely—but he was Sid’s friend, so he had destructive behavioural patterns ingrained deeply in his brain. That worked in your favour.

Apparently, Jude got worried that Sid would sleep through Rated Riot’s set, and that would derail your plan. So, he made sure that Sid wouldn’t wake up if touched, and strategically dangled Sid’s hand over the edge of the bed. Then, planning his exit, he opened the window to create a draft with the door. Finally, he forcefully dropped Sid’s phone from across the room, and ran out before Sid registered the noise.

The screen of the phone cracked, startling Sid awake. Right away, he noticed his outstretched hand and his broken phone on the floor, and his thought process was very simple: he dropped his phone in his sleep and woke himself up. The window was open, so the wind must have rattled the door of his room at the same time, adding to the noise. That’s all there was to it—never mind that the damage to the phone was far too bad, given the distance from his hand to the floor, and there was no wind outside the window.

Jude’s improvisation proved excellent in another way, too: Sid thought the cracked screen was the reason his phone wouldn’t turn back on, and why it appeared empty once he plugged it in to charge. He thought he had broken it, and he was very unhappy about that.

Jude, meanwhile, was overjoyed. He sent you a text with an innocuous smiley face, and started to pack his belongings.

You received his text and proceeded with your part of the plan.

First, you had to borrow an old flip phone from one of the middle-aged roadies on tour because it was the only device that could fit your prepaid SIM card.

And then, as soon as Ivy started her opening set and Rated Riot gathered in their dressing room for final preparations ahead of their performance, you called Sid.

He answered on the first ring with a word that you did not understand. He didn’t sound sober.

“Sid?” you asked.

“Yeah?” he responded, the sound slightly distorted on the old phone. “Who is this?”

“It’s me,” you said, intentionally avoiding names. You hoped he’d recognise you because you doubted many women voluntarily called him. “Can you talk?”

It took Sid a minute to place your voice, and the line stayed quiet while you waited.

“What—what number are you calling me from?” he asked. That was good. His first reaction was not, ‘why are you calling me?’

“It’s my number,” you said. “Just—I made it private, so—I don’t want anyone to know I’m talking to you.”

The number obviously wasn’t yours, although Sid wouldn’t be able to tell. The prepaid SIM card was meant to ensure your anonymity in case the authorities checked his call history and traced the number back.

“Why?” Sid asked. He didn’t sound accusing or annoyed, merely confused.

“I have something I want to discuss with you,” you said before adding a deliberately half-panicked, half-angry whisper, “but listen, no one can know.”

Sid was obviously befuddled. A long “ahhh” preceded his response before he found actual words.

“What are—what do you want?” he asked, and then, to your horror, he softened his voice. “I mean, to discuss with me.”

You took a deep breath. You were grateful that he hadn’t hung up and instead continued to speak to you in this unbecoming, warm tone, but you still felt nauseous and had to clutch the flip phone to your ear to stay in the moment.

“I—I’ve been thinking a lot,” you began, following the script you had written on a piece of paper that you couldn’t wait to burn later. “Jungkook and I—it—it’s not good. I don’t know what I was thinking. I’m—listen, I don’t want to talk to you about this over the phone. Jungkook can—well, you know, it’s a phone. I don’t know, maybe he tapped it or something.”

There was a minute of silence. You wondered if you’d overdone it, if your hesitation had not sounded natural.

“Jungkook tapped your phone?” Sid asked, sounding incredulous.

“He might have, I—he’s acting very irrationally, and I’m—honestly, I’m realising that I was wrong about you,” you said. You had to pause to close your eyes and calm your stomach. Sid took the silence to mean that you were gathering your strength, and you really were, just not in the way he thought. “Jungkook is—he’s acting crazy. Ever since you posted that picture on Instagram, he’s been controlling everything I do. I can’t—I can’t do this. So, I’m—look, I need your help. I think you’re the only one who can help me get out of here. Can you meet me?”

You held your breath, expecting to wait while Sid considered your request—but he did no such thing.

His response was immediate. “Where?”

The second you heard the question, you knew that Minjun had been right. Sid would come here to see you—but not because you’d asked. He was going to come here purely out of spite for Jungkook.

“Are you in London?” you asked, your voice shaking.

“Yeah,” he replied.

“I’m at The Academy,” you said. “Can you come?”

“I’m not allowed,” he reminded you—exactly like you expected him to. “Jungkook blacklisted me.”

“I’ll talk to security,” you said. “They’ll let you through.”

He fell silent again, and you knew he had a lot to wrap his head around, yet you still worried that you might have been too forceful. But you shouldn’t have doubted this. You’d mentioned Jungkook, and Sid was deaf to everything else.

“Wh—can you just—why do you need me to come there?” he asked, sounding curious, even lazy, but not suspicious.

You supposed the text messages you’d sent him in advance had also helped, like you hoped they would. Now, your desperation to see him seemed more believable.

“I need your help, and I can’t leave the venue,” you explained. “I’m the—you know my job is to stay here. People will notice if I leave. They’ll know something is up. I need—I need you here.” You paused when you heard Sid’s garbled inhale on the other end. Loathing every moment of this, you swallowed, and continued, “Rated Riot are about to start their setlist, so no one will even know you’re here. Please? I—I really need you.”

He did not seem to notice the way you choked on the last words, but he was silent for a very long time, and you began to second-guess yourself again. You couldn’t help it—this was so unrealistic.

You’d hated Sid for as long as you’ve known him. Surely, even if he believed you needed his help, and even if Jungkook was involved, he would laugh in your face and tell you to fucking deal with it on your own.

“Alright,” he said instead and you felt shivers run down your spine. Jungkook was that much of a sore spot for him. “Fine. Yeah. You’ll speak to security?”

“I—yeah, I promise,” you assured him—and you didn’t lie, technically. You had already talked to Mick. “Come straight to the dressing rooms, I’ll be waiting for you there.”

“Alri—” Sid started to say, then stopped abruptly. “What do you want to talk to me about?”

“I can’t tell you over the phone,” you repeated. “I don’t want—no one can know, okay? It has to stay between you and me.”

“Alright. Shit,” he said, encouraged, as it seemed, by this ominous you-and-me. “I’m coming. Wait for me.”

“Okay,” you replied, trying to unclench your teeth. “I’ll be waiting.”

Ending the call, you exhaled and shook your hands vigorously as if that could help you recover from the conversation and stop shuddering.

You felt even more nervous now—if you struggled so much to talk to him over the phone, how would you handle him face-to-face?—but you couldn’t afford to lose your courage.

So many things had to fall into place for you to succeed—Jude needed to run into you in that club in London and Sid needed to leave him alone when he nearly overdosed—and it all felt frustratingly circumstantial. But all that was left now was up to you, and you’ve spent days planning this. You knew what you were doing.

You waited for Sid and paced in the room. Then, remembering suddenly, you pulled out Jungkook’s lighter from your jacket pocket—jangling the keys of his Katana as you did—and burnt the piece of paper with all that you’d written down before your call. The flames were delicate and shy. They disappeared into the air as soon as they finished the job, and not even the sprinklers on the ceiling picked them up.

It took Sid about fifteen more minutes to arrive, and he rounded the corner towards the waiting area while breathing heavily as though he’d run all the way here.

You pressed your palms into each other behind your back to keep your composure. He was wearing a thick North Face jacket, far too warm for this weather, and you wondered if Jude had managed to double-check what was inside.

“That was shit to get through,” Sid remarked once he saw you in the doorway of one of the empty dressing rooms. “Fucking Mick hates my guts.”

You’d warned Mick to be as rude as he possibly could when Sid got here, but you still didn’t like that Sid used his first name. Mick was the guardian angel of this tour; he was the quiet backbone of every concert. You wanted to punch Sid a little just for mentioning him so offhandedly.

“Yeah, he—he takes his job very seriously,” you said. “Thank you for coming here.”

Sid followed you into the dressing room and looked around. He hadn’t seen anyone other than Mick backstage—you made sure he wouldn’t—but he still seemed on edge.

“Are we cool to talk here?” he asked. “You’re not worried about Jungkook overhearing us?”

“No,” you said. “They’re about to go on stage. We’re good.”

It was easy to talk to him when you didn’t have to lie. And it was even easier when Sid asked all the wrong questions. If he had decided to point out that you hated him and asked why you’d changed your mind, you were sure you’d start stuttering again.

“Okay.” He stuffed his hands in his jean pockets while you stood across the room, your arms folded tightly over your chest. “Well, wha—why did you ask me to come?”

“I want to talk to you,” you replied. He could not discern the expression on your face or the tone of your voice.

“About what?” he asked.

“About us,” you said.

His eyebrows shot up and his mouth stretched downwards in an expression of comical surprise. “Us?”

“Yeah.”

His gaze flickered for a minute, drifting away, then returning to you again. He looked unsure of himself, and witnessing him in a similar state of disorientation as Jude had been when he was first here, was extremely entertaining. You almost wished you had a camera somewhere in the room.

“Okay,” Sid finally said, waiting for you to lead the conversation.

“What are you thinking right now?” you asked.

The question deepened his confusion. “Huh?”

“What did you think about just now,” you clarified, “when I said ‘us’?”

Sid frowned and did not reply. You could tell that he was very confused about your different mood, but he was already here, so you did not owe him any more false pleasantries. You just needed to keep him here a little longer: to get a proper reaction out of him in front of your scheduled witnesses, and to give Jude enough time to finish his part of the plan in Sid’s room and check out of the hotel.

“That’s fair,” you said in response to his silence. “You don’t have to answer.”

“I’m—why did you ask me to come?” he asked, glancing behind himself.

The room was hidden from the rest of the waiting area by an awkward corner wall, providing you with enough privacy to leave the door ajar, so it would make sense for Mick and Luna to find you here later, but it also wouldn’t make Sid uncomfortable. He seemed fairly content to leave the door open as he talked to you.

He was perplexed, however. You watched his beady, cockroach-like eyes dart between the window and the couch behind you. He wasn’t sure if he was being paranoid. He didn’t like that you did not look nearly as panicked and vulnerable as you’d sounded on the phone.

“You don’t have to look around,” you told him. “It’s just us here.”

He scoffed, not convinced. “I know it’s not.”

You felt a bubble of worry in the pit of your stomach, but you swallowed it and maintained eye contact. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“You have security everywhere,” he replied.

“I told you I talked to them.”

You saw some of his armour loosen. He was still puzzled by your rigid posture, but now he seemed less inclined to flee.

“Right,” he said reluctantly. “You said you needed my help.”

“I did,” you confirmed. “Can you answer one question?”

He furrowed his brows again.

“Sure,” he said, but his response sounded like a question. He couldn’t guess what would happen next, and he was beside himself. You’ve never seen him fidget like this.

“Why did you come here?” you asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I’ve been texting you the whole day yesterday,” you said. “You didn’t reply to me. Then, suddenly, you did. And now you’re here.”

You already knew why he texted you back when he did; Jungkook had provoked him. But you wanted to hear Sid’s logic. This had been bothering you ever since Jungkook told you about the videos Sid had sent him—the simple why.

Sid wanted to establish his superiority, you understood that much—but why was it so important to him? After all, Jungkook had never posed any serious threat to him until now.

This was not part of the plan, but you figured that since you had to keep Sid here for a while longer, you might as well make the most of the situation.

“Oh, yeah, no, my phone—it broke, the glass cracked, all my shit is deleted,” he said. “I’m trying to figure out how to access my Cloud. I forgot my password.”

“Oh,” you said. “So that’s why you didn’t reply?”

Sid shrugged. “Yeah.”

You narrowed your eyes before quickly adjusting your expression. You may have dropped certain parts of your act, but you were still the worried, confused, and very innocent damsel in evident distress. You weren’t interrogating him.

Sid seemed to read the expression on your face as precisely that.

“Don’t worry, I’m—I would have replied to you if my phone was okay,” he said and you had already predicted that he would say this very thing. It was a standard response for guys like him: I would have replied, but. I would have called, but. I really would have, but.

You cleared your throat and hoped very much that your face would appear relieved to hear this. “Really?”

“Of course,” Sid assured. He was soothed, seemingly, by the hopeful glint he thought he saw in your eyes.

“I just—I have another question,” you said. “Are you here to get back at Jungkook?”

You could have been more subtle, but you did not want to be. Sid wasn’t expecting the question anyway, and his confusion clouded his judgment.

“I’m—why do you think that?” he asked.

“You two hate each other,” you explained. “I thought that was why you came here. Just to get back at him.”

Despite your calm demeanour, you sounded unsure when you spoke, and that helped Sid feel more at ease. He believed you were insecure about his motives. He thought you wanted to hear that he’d come here for you, only you. Not Jungkook.

“Well, sure,” he said. “But—you’re—you know.”

“No,” you said. “Explain it to me. I don’t know.”

“Well, it’s, like—I mean—you said you needed my help,” he replied very concisely.

You sensed what he was trying to convey, and you enjoyed his struggle to find the words for it. It was pathetic, though. You could tell just by looking at him that the emotions he wanted to talk to you about weren’t genuine, yet he still couldn’t put them into words.

He wanted you to think he had feelings for you, so you’d drop your guard. So you’d stop asking questions and come to him, and Jungkook would lose you. But if there was anyone in this building that Sid genuinely had feelings for, it was himself.

“Well, yeah, but you—you posted that picture,” you said, feigning hurt. He’d wounded you and now you doubted his intentions—this way, he couldn’t doubt yours. “And you sent those videos, and—I thought you hated me, too. I didn’t think you’d agree to help me.”

“I don’t hate you,” he said. “This isn’t about you.”

Your overstimulated mind perked up. It finally started to feel like you were getting somewhere.

“It’s not?” you asked.

“Well, it’s a little about you,” he admitted. He chuckled here, too, and you felt a foreboding churning in your stomach even before he said anything else. “I mean, I liked you f-for a short while. Nothing serious. I think I even told you about it.”

“You did not tell me.”

As his awkward chuckling ceased, you caught your mask slipping and blinked a few times, trying to appear less threatening.

“Well, it didn’t last long, so it doesn’t even matter,” he added, glancing around the room.

“Mhmm.” You contemplated various ways to phrase yourself next, hoping that any way would work as long as your voice was quiet and unsure, maybe with an insecure chuckle at the end. “But why did you send those videos? What are you—what’s the reason?”

He closed his eyes and groaned. “How can you ask me that? After thinking that Jungkook tapped your phone? I thought you realised what he’s really like.”

You looked down, needing a moment to recall all that you’ve told him so you could continue to play along.

“Oh, no, I mean—no, I know,” you said. “I see what he’s like, I’m just—I want to know what you were trying to do, and, uh, maybe we can help each other.”

Sid appeared pleasantly surprised to hear this, but his expression quickly morphed into one of his sly grins—the sort that was toxic if you were exposed to it for too long. “Oh, yeah?”

You swallowed; you thought you could already taste the poison on your tongue.

“Yeah,” you replied.

He exhaled and took a few steps deeper into the room, right past your side. You forced yourself to stand still as he approached the window, glanced outside, and then turned back to you.

“It’s my revenge,” he said.

“Revenge,” you repeated, internally cringing at his choice of words. “For what?”

“For you.”

You raised your eyebrows and clutched your arms around yourself tighter. This was what you were waiting to hear, but, at the same time, it wasn’t.

“For me?” you asked.

“And for his band,” Sid added.

You did not reply, too worried about the turmoil you felt inside. The stirring in your stomach had suddenly intensified—as if the outer lining of your organs had begun to peel off like old paint does when it comes in contact with something acidic. You were starting to discover that Sid was toxic to be around in more ways than one.

“He’s got—he thinks he’s the shit now that he’s famous,” he continued. “Now that he’s back with you. He needs to be taken down a notch. That’s all.”

“That’s all?” you asked skeptically.

“Yeah,” he said with a nonchalant shrug. Taking someone “down a notch” seemed to be a regular activity for him.

“And you don’t think that’s a waste of time?” you asked. “I mean, I think we should just leave him be and… you know, move on with our lives.”

“No, that’s not how it works,” he declared. There was a newfound intensity in his eyes, an angry flame of sorts, and it made you realise just how lifeless his gaze had been otherwise. This was truly his purpose, you realised. If he wasn’t making others miserable, he wasn’t really living. “Somebody steps out of line, you need to put them back in their place. Or they won’t learn their lesson.”

You lowered your gaze before you could start shaking your head at his self-assured tone.

“But why does it matter if he learns his lesson or not?” you pushed. “If—if we’re leaving and won’t have to deal with him anymore?”

His lips spread in a dangerous, serpentine grin.

“We’re leaving?” he asked. He sounded thrilled and you wanted to knock his teeth in.

“Well, I would hope so,” you said. You also hoped that the twitching you felt in the corners of your eyes was phantom, and he could not see how much your body detested his presence.

Sid considered this for a second. You could see some sinister plan brewing in his mind.

“Alright. Yeah,” he finally said. “I like the idea of us going away. But it’s still unfair to leave debts unpaid, you know? This shit goes back years. He’s always tried to upstage me. Picture this: on my birthdays, I usually borrowed my dad’s yacht and got all my friends. And for the last few years, Jungkook was spending the whole night at the helm, handing everyone drinks like some Great fucking Gatsby in that book, fucking singing, and just trying to be the centre of attention. It’s my fucking birthday, and he’s acting like the star of the show.”

You had to pause to allow for several bits of new information to sink in. You were surprised, first of all, that Sid knew what a book was. You also learnt that he was so far up his own ass that he could not be accurate if he was gifted objectivity for Christmas.

You had heard a different version of this story from Jungkook. When he told you about these yacht parties, he had emphasised how new these experiences were for him, and how Sid was the one who’d made them possible. He’d used one of these parties as an example of the good moments in their friendship. You could sense awe and subtle gratitude in Jungkook’s words. No malice, no jealousy.

But Sid had evidently felt threatened. Yachts weren’t a luxury to him, they were a regular occurrence. And he felt intimidated by Jungkook’s unbridled joy because he cherished these experiences in a way that Sid never could.

“Oh,” you said after a moment. “I’ve never—I didn’t know about that.”

“Yeah,” Sid said with a childish sneer. “And don’t fucking get me started on what he was like when he was still with you. Never fucking shut up about having to see you. He thought he was some king of the fucking world, thought he was better than us. He tried to make us feel like losers because you chose him. And I knew things were shit for you two because he never told us about anything that you did together. But still, he fucking—his fucking head was the size of the moon. He really thought he was the shit. And then—get this. I said I wanted to be in a band. So, guess what he did?”

You were impressed by how offended Sid sounded as he complained about Jungkook not sharing the details of his relationship with his friends. And you were just as impressed by his perverse interpretations of how Jungkook’s relationship made him feel—he felt left out. He felt jealous and angry. He always had to have more than his friends and now, for the first time in his life, he didn’t.

And you remembered this dream about their own band, too – the conversation Jungkook said he’d had with Sid, Jude, and Minjun on the beach. How Sid wanted to be a bassist, how he owned all of Sex Pistols’ records. You’d thought they were joking until Jungkook brought this up again just the other night. And now you could tell how serious they were just by looking at the scowl on Sid’s face.

“Not to mention,” Sid continued, providing you with all the answers you sought, and looking very pleased as he did. To him, this must have felt like you were already agreeing with him. “Jungkook is the only one of my friends that my mum likes. I don’t know what it is about him. She fucking adores him. Like some stray fucking cat, I swear to fuck. And, of course, every time he’s at my house, he goes out of his way to kiss her ass, and she falls for it every single time. He should have been grateful I even invited him to see me, he should have been fucking kissing my ass, but instead, he was trying to appear like a little angel to her.”

This wasn’t something that Jungkook had mentioned to you before, and you were surprised. You only knew about Sid’s stone-cold mother from what Minjun had told you.

“What do you mean?” you asked. “What was he doing?”

However reluctant Sid might have seemed before, now he looked elated about the opportunity to elaborate.

“He brought her favourite chocolates whenever he came over, he polished her car when we were working on my granddad’s collection—and nobody even asked him to touch her car. He fucking sent her cards on her birthday,” he listed off, scoffing to himself. “And then I got shit for not congratulating her right away, even though I had something planned. For later. He was—he was setting some fucking standard that I had to live up to. And why the fuck should I? I’m her only son. Who the fuck is Jungkook to her? Fucking nobody. He’s a fucking wannabe, that’s what he is. He fucking acts like he fits in with us, but you can take one look at him to know that he never will. He’s nothing.”

You glanced at the window on your side. Sid got something exactly right; Jungkook really wanted to fit in.

He wanted Sid’s mother to approve of him like he wanted everyone to approve of him. He hoped that gaining her acceptance would make him feel more included in their inner circle. He would become Sid’s friend, not just someone Sid hung out with occasionally. They’d be as equal as they could be, given their vastly different backgrounds.

But Sid saw it all as a threat. And he was envious, too. He thought he had to compete with Jungkook for everything, even his mother’s affection. And he was understandably upset because he had the entitlement, the legacy, the money. He had a whole dynasty behind him. Jungkook had nothing.

For a very long time, Jungkook had been trying to come as close to Sid as he could, even though he knew he could never have what Sid had. And now, all of a sudden, Jungkook had so much more: he had the band, a promising career, a devoted fanbase, real friends. He had the girl, too.

And you realised that Sid didn’t want to merely demonstrate that he was better than Jungkook; that wasn’t it. He was obsessed with Jungkook—because he wanted to be Jungkook.

“So you thought those videos would put him in his place?” you asked. “You thought they’d teach him a lesson?”

“That was just for starters,” Sid said, grinning again. “I was going to make sure he lost you first, then the band. And I also have his bike. He would lose everything else on his own. Not that there’s much else to lose.”

You ran your fingers over your chin. You hadn’t had a chance to give Jungkook the keys to his Katana yet, and the weight of them in your pocket was quite pleasant.

“I see,” you said.

“So, what—will we do it?” Sid asked, blowing into his fist and rubbing his palms together. “I mean, he’s already lost you.”

You realised, quite unexpectedly, that you didn’t really want to punch him anymore. He was so deeply miserable already, purely of his own accord, that there was nothing you could do to make him feel worse about himself. You just wanted to get him out of here—preferably in the back of a police vehicle.

“How would—how do you think he’d lose the band?” you asked.

“I’ll post those videos I sent him,” he said easily. “Well, after my phone gets its shit together. His band will fear for their reputation, and they’ll get rid of him. Simple. And then every time he’ll try to sing, I’ll pull up something I have in my gallery. He’ll have to live the rest of his life quietly, without bothering anybody.”

You nodded along as you listened. You and your friends had suspected Sid would do this very thing. And now the thought of him trying very hard to get back at Jungkook after tonight, but failing every time, was very inspiring.

“What are you thinking?” he asked after you didn’t reply.

You looked up at him. “I, um—do you know what time it is?”

He glanced at the obnoxiously large, diamond-encrusted watch on his wrist. You doubted he could tell time that well, and Sid confirmed it when it took him a good fifteen seconds to calculate what each number on the mechanical watch stood for.

“Nine twenty-four,” he said. “Why?”

“No reason,” you replied. You’ve kept him here for almost half an hour at this point. That was as much time as you agreed on with Jude and Minjun; Jude had to have finished by now, ideally with some time to spare. “You came here from your hotel?”

“Yeah,” Sid said. “You want to go there?”

Finally, you allowed yourself a small smile. “I don’t think either of us will be going there.”

His eyebrows gathered into an uncertain frown. “Hmm?”

“I invited you here,” you said, “because I wanted to see you one last time.”

The previous confusion you’d seen in Sid’s eyes doubled. He did not make a move, but you saw him stiffen.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, and you were close enough to see his pupils shrinking.

You were the one to shrug casually this time. “I figured it’d be quite boring without you here.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he replied slowly, his gaze fixed on your face.

Your smile lacked any real sympathy, despite the pitiful click of your lips. “I’m afraid you’ll have no choice.”

“What?” he asked again. You watched him slide one of his hands into his jacket pocket. It must have been reflexive, he couldn’t have known that you knew what he carried there. But you were still glad. You were going to tell the police later that he kept reaching into his pocket anyway. At least now you wouldn’t have to lie.

“I’m just thinking, what else did you bring with you to London?” you asked. Jungkook told you not to beat Sid up, but he didn’t say anything about taunting him. “Something that you wouldn’t mind sharing with the police, maybe? We could have a little Show and Tell.”

You noticed his arm tighten inside his jacket sleeve; he must have clenched his fist in his pocket. “What—what the fuck are you saying?”

He had reverted to his usual manner of speaking, and you felt far more comfortable when he was foaming at the mouth instead of half-whispering just to maintain a seductive tone with you. His real face was slowly coming out. You could already see the fangs.

“Why do you look so alarmed?” you asked. “Did you bring something that you shouldn’t have brought with you, but figured, what’s the worst that can happen?”

His jaw was tight. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yeah, you do.”

He glared at you in a poor attempt at intimidation, and you heard the faint sound of footsteps in the corridor. You knew that Luna and Mick were right there, behind him. He was trapped.

“Is this why you called me here?” he questioned. You doubted he’d sensed the others, because he still looked fairly composed. “You’re trying to—trying to trick me into—into what? Admitting that I do drugs?”

“I’m not trying to trick you,” you countered. “I’m just having a conversation with you.”

He squinted at you. “You don’t need my help, do you?”

You almost laughed at the absurdity of the question; you knew he was slow, but this still surprised you.

“I did, actually,” you said. “And you’ve already helped me loads. Thanks.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” he snapped, finally displaying some of the aggression you’d been anticipating. His hand flew out of his pocket but remained relatively close to the rest of his body. “Y-you—you think you’re going to bust me for drugs? You think this is my first time in a foreign country?”

Your smile was patient.

“You think this is my first time talking to you?” you returned. “You think I spent all these years dealing with your shit and learnt nothing?”

For a very heartwarming moment, Sid’s eyes looked ready to pop out of his forehead.

“The cops wouldn’t find anything,” he snarled, taking a step closer to you.

You shrugged and did not move. “Alright.”

“You’d be the one they question for wasting their time,” he continued, taking another step until he was a mere foot away from you.

“Fair.”

He leaned in closer, each of his words so self-assured that it was a wonder he hadn’t done a backflip yet to prove how absolutely incredible, how untouchable, how totally one-of-a-kind he was.

“You still think you have something on me?” he snarled.

You leaned back slightly to be able to meet his gaze without your vision blurring from the proximity and his awful smell. His cologne was not rich enough to hide the powerful stench of all that he’d consumed before he came here.

“Is this a threat?” you asked. Your tone was calm and you saw the way it made the veins in his neck bulge.

He scoffed. “How is that a threat?”

“I am feeling very threatened.”

“I’m not even touching you,” he retorted. He was a little nervous, you could tell. He thought he could pay his way out of any trouble, but he would still be inconvenienced if you called the police.

“Who’s going to believe you?” you countered. “You reek of liquor and weed.”

“Oh, so you’re going to frame me, is that it?” he asked, raising the pitch of his voice to mock you.

You figured he would think he was invincible until the very end, and you appreciated that his unwavering arrogance would become precisely what brought on his downfall.

“Framing implies I falsify charges,” you said.

He ran his tongue over his upper teeth. “Well, I never threatened you.”

“And I never lied to the police.”

Sid continued to stare at you without blinking. He hadn’t expected to find himself in this situation with you. He hadn’t expected you not to blink, either.

And it occurred to you, with him so close, that despite the act he put on, despite his perpetual sneer, he was truly incredibly insecure. This—standing right in your face—was the most he could do.

“Hmm. I see,” he said. You heard his jacket scrunch as he moved, but you did not look away from the slits in his pupils. “You have to understand, though, if I wanted to threaten you, I w—”

You noticed the movement of his arm out of the corner of your eye and slapped his hand away with the edge of your palm just as he reached to touch your cheek. Sid yelped and recoiled in surprise.

You had underestimated your strength when you were on so much adrenaline, and the dull slap echoed in the empty room. It took him a moment to understand what had happened.

“Fuck—y-you’re the one who just pushed me,” he said, looking at his hand as if you’d drawn blood. “And you’re the one who called me in here in the first pl—”

“Mick!” you called out, cutting him off.

Mick was standing right by the door and Sid did not get another chance to interject before the security guard popped his head inside. He looked at you, then at the increasing distance between you and Sid as Sid crossed the room away from you.

“Yeah?” the guard asked, stepping inside.

“Call 999 for me, would you, please?” you asked, keeping your eyes on Sid as he smirked to himself. “We have a trespasser here.”

“You fucking invited me,” Sid shot back, rolling his eyes. “You told them to let me in.”

“I did no such thing,” you said.

“Y—you fucking called me!” he continued, momentarily thrown off balance. “And you kept fucking texting me, and told me to—”

“I would never call you.”

The unshakeable tranquillity in your eyes as you lied right to his face made him livid. You hoped it would.

“You fucking bitch,” he spat. “I have it on my phone. The messages might be gone, but you called me—”

“Sid,” you said in a voice so indifferent that he stopped speaking and just glowered at you. “You are behaving very irrationally and posing a threat to me and your surroundings. Mick is legally allowed to restrain you until the police get here.”

Mick put his phone away and took a step closer to Sid. Sid took an instinctive step back, closer to you. He appeared so confused, so cornered, that not even his persistent scoffing—a coping mechanism, you started to realise—could help him retain his nonchalance.

“I’m behaving irrationally?” he questioned. “How the fuck am I—”

“Hey,” Luna called from the door. Your heart lifted at the sound of her voice, but faltered when you saw Minjun next to her. He wasn’t supposed to be here. “I heard yelling. Is everything alright?”

“I-I found a trespasser,” you explained. “I feel very threatened.”

“I understand,” she replied, her voice mechanical. Sid looked like he wanted to throw things, then break them when he noticed Minjun. “He is yelling at you and flailing his arms. I also feel threatened.”

Sid’s sardonic laughter gained more volume.

“You’re fucking ridiculous,” he growled. “Did you all plot this together? Do you know who I am? This will never fly.”

“The police are on their way,” Mick told him. “You’re coming with me.”

You allowed him to take charge and moved towards Minjun and Luna; she immediately wrapped a protective arm around your shoulders. The three of you watched Mick grab both of Sid’s hands and dodge a clumsy slap as Sid made feeble attempts to resist.

“You have no fucking idea what I’m going to do to you, Minjun!” Sid cried. “Your family is fucked. They’re so fucking fucked!”

You reached out to touch Minjun’s arm when you saw him swallow back his anger. He glanced at you, then at Luna, and nodded before turning back to Sid.

“I’m sure it won’t be that bad for us, compared to where you’re going,” he replied calmly, forcing Sid to break into another fit of incomprehensible screeching.

Mick guided Sid towards the door, using his full weight to restrain him as Sid writhed in his grip. As soon as they crossed the threshold of the dressing room—where Sid fought violently to break out and cursed Minjun to hell and back several times—Mick pulled him into himself and half-carried him to the security room.

Sid yelled all the way down the corridor, ensuring that there were plenty of other witnesses to his outburst. The venue staff and your tour staff all heard his threats, they all saw him resist Mick’s hold. You couldn’t have planned it like this if you’d tried—and it was mostly due to Minjun showing up. Seeing someone that he considered a mere plaything stand up to him had clearly snapped something in Sid’s brain.

It took the police twenty minutes to arrive, and Sid had not closed his mouth once. You found that you quite enjoyed it; every scream from behind the door of the security room about how he was going to “fuck this place up” and “find every single one of you” and “kill you, you insufferable fucking bitch” sounded very melodious. Even Minjun loosened eventually, enjoying the moment he’d waited so long for.

Despite your efforts to keep the rest of your friends away from this scene, Maggie found her way to you just when the officers entered the venue. She was concerned about the screams she’d heard from across the building, but she was relieved to see you, Luna and Minjun chuckling outside the security room.

“Get it together,” she warned you with a grin. “The police are here. We want them to take us seriously.”

“Can we watch?” Minjun asked, nodding at the security room. One of the two officers had left the door open.

You moved closer instead of replying, and all four of you peered inside.

The space was cramped, but the scene inside the room was beautiful: Sid was on his knees, pressed against the wall, and he looked feral. His hair fell in aimless, overly gelled strands around his face, he snarled and barked at anyone who addressed him, and the younger officer appeared genuinely afraid to touch him for fear of getting his hand bitten off.

The other officer turned around in the meantime, noticing you. He approached, but Sid was yelling so much that the officer could not even ask you for a quick recap of what had happened before they got here. You understood what he wanted anyway, and leaned in to shout your explanation in his ear.

“He kept reaching into his pocket while talking to me,” you said, according to your plan. “I’m afraid he might be armed. We didn’t mention this on the phone so he wouldn’t hear us a-and decide to use it.”

There were no weapons, you were sure. You just needed the officers to check Sid’s pockets with intention, not merely graze over them.

The policeman gave you a nod and turned back to face Sid. The younger officer stepped back, seemingly relieved that he wouldn’t have to touch him.

“Stand up,” the senior officer ordered.

Mick let him go, and Sid jumped to his feet with such angry vigour that he collided with the metal table in the middle of the room. He cursed again and attempted to punch the table in irrational fury, hissing in pain the second that his knuckles connected with the surface.

“I am so happy,” Minjun whispered next to you when Sid leapt in the air in pain. “This is literally the highlight of my life.”

“Mine, too, I think,” Maggie agreed, snickering. “Wish I’d brought my camera.”

Biting back your own laughter, you shushed them so the policemen wouldn’t hear.

“Stop, stop,” the older officer was telling Sid. His voice sounded a little alarmed as Sid clutched his hand and spun around. “You’ll hurt yourself. Stand by that wall.”

Sid continued to mumble profanities under his breath, but he complied. The officer approached, gently kicked Sid’s shin to get him to spread his legs, and began to search through his thick jacket.

He meticulously patted down Sid’s shoulders, then his chest, until he pressed on something—the very something you and Minjun had hoped he would press on—and pulled back with a frown. A light bag, securely wrapped in cling film, tumbled out past the various zippers on Sid’s jacket and landed on the floor.

Across the room, Maggie gasped. Both officers jumped back as if a ticking bomb had fallen out of his pocket.

You noticed that Sid looked surprised, too. You glanced up at Minjun, and he gave you a solemn nod. He already knew that Jude had to rip Sid’s usual inner pocket to make sure the bag would fall out when poked with enough force.

The older officer was the first to react as he yelled at his younger colleague who quickly sprung into action and pressed Sid roughly into the wall, effectively restraining him again. The other officer then pulled out his receiver and spoke into it with such urgency that you almost began to feel uneasy, too.

“That—that’s not mine!” Sid protested despite struggling to speak with his face pressed against the wall. “I don’t know how that—it’s not mine, it—”

The young officer pushed him into the wall harder and said something to him, more assertive now that Sid’s rage was replaced with fear. You couldn’t hear what he said from where you were standing, but you could tell from the way Sid swallowed and quieted down that it was not a phrase of gentle encouragement.

“It’s not yours,” the older officer repeated as he pushed his receiver back into the case, “but it fell out of your jacket?”

“It’s—”

It took Sid two seconds to realise that he was in deep trouble—and another two seconds to make this much worse for himself.

“I was just taking it to a friend,” he said.

You could no longer suppress your smile.

The senior officer raised an eyebrow, then quickly lowered it. He refrained from asking further questions—although he certainly looked like he wanted to—knowing that it would only incriminate Sid more.

“You can tell us at the station,” the officer said, pulling out gloves and tweezers to pick up the small bag from the floor, careful, so the white powder inside wouldn’t spill out, “about whoever you were taking it to.”

Sid noticed the way the officer’s voice changed as soon as he mentioned this friend, and he realised what this must have sounded like.

“I—no. No,” he decided, his panic deepening. He knew that supplying was a much more serious offence than possession. “I wasn’t taking it to anyone. No one paid me. I’m not selling. I was just—”

“You’re going to the station,” the officer repeated. “You can tell us about your friend there.”

“I’m saying I—I lied!” Sid shouted. He sounded frantic, desperate, scared. It was perfectly musical. “It’s not—I wasn’t taking it to a friend. It’s for me! It’s mine.”

“Oh, this much?” Maggie called out.

You were startled by the abrupt sound of her voice. Sid was too, as he whipped his head around, forcing the officer cuffing his wrists to stagger on his feet and push Sid’s head back into the wall.

“Shut the fuck up,” Sid yelled, promptly interrupting the officer as he began to recite his rights to him. “I will fucking—I will kill you—I will fucking kill all of you, I swear—”

“Son,” the older officer interjected sternly, grabbing Sid’s arm from his younger colleague and dragging him towards the door of the room. Maggie pulled you and Luna aside to make room for them to walk past. Minjun stepped back, too. “I’d like to remind you that you are under arrest.”

“Fuck you,” Sid snarled, staring at Minjun.

He glared at him all the way down the corridor of the venue, straining his neck as the officers pushed him forwards, and you followed them outside. Just past the back exit, you and your friends stopped to watch—with immense pleasure—as they took Sid to their car.

“Jungkook will go down with me, you know!” Sid yelled, resisting their attempts to protect his head as they pushed him onto the backseat. “I’m his friend. He invited me!”

You saw his flaring nostrils from afar and you could tell how much he wished that Jungkook stood next to Minjun right now. How much he wanted to get one last reaction out of him, to threaten him with payback like he’d done to Minjun. And you were glad Jungkook wasn’t here to give Sid the satisfaction of being his punching bag one last time.

“Jungkook was the one who banned you from Rated Riot’s shows,” you reminded Sid as he kicked the seat in front of him. “That was why we had to call the police.”

“Your obsession with Jungkook is really unhealthy, by the way,” Minjun added. “Maybe you should work on that before someone realises how jealous you are. That’d be awkward.”

The older officer glared at Minjun, but there was a softness in his eyes that indicated he only meant to softly chastise him for this unnecessary addition.

“You fucking cu—” was going to be Sid’s last choral arrangement, but it was drowned out when the younger officer slammed the door shut.

The officer then walked around the car and got into the driver’s seat, while his older colleague stayed back to talk to you. He told you that he would have taken you to the station as witnesses as well, but he understood how busy you were. When he bashfully admitted that his daughter was actually in the audience of Rated Riot’s show right now, you felt so high that you could have easily floated away.

He pulled out his notebook and returned the subject to Sid, asking you to be quick and concise. He said that things did not look good for Sid either way, but the procedure required him to get your statements.

Your account was very straightforward: Sid had forced his way into the venue, yelling and cursing, and demanded to see you and Jungkook (Luna’s statement confirmed this: “It was frightening,” she’d said, “I thought he was going to hurt someone.”). Then, you called security. Sid looked irrational, almost crazy, and he resisted all of your efforts to restrain him. He threatened everyone, it was so very awful—and not entirely false.

Then, Minjun recounted how he’d heard Sid’s shouts from the smoking area outside, and Maggie told him about hearing the same shouts from the bathroom across the venue.

In the meantime, you shifted your gaze to the police car. The officer inside was stuck listening to a lengthy barrage of Sid’s curses—“fucking pigs, all of you”—and introductions—“do you know who I fucking am?”—but he did not turn his head to acknowledge Sid’s hysteria. You wondered if they had any spare muzzles lying around in the trunk.

The officer emphasised to you that, after the scene Sid had caused, there was little he could do to escape punishment. And you knew that the discovery of illegal substances on his person provided strong grounds for obtaining a search warrant for his residence—where you knew he kept the rest of his supply that Jude had made sure to spread around the room.

And now even if Sid evaded possession-with-intent-to-supply charges, even if he hired expensive legal counsel, even if he tried to bribe the officers and their dogs, too – this was done.

Sid thought he was invincible, he had escaped consequences his whole life. But Jungkook was his biggest weakness, and he was the one who brought the consequences to Sid.

You were dizzy with delight.

Jungkook was so worried about your plan that it lingered in the back of his mind all through the band’s performance. But then he spotted you sometime at the end of the show, smiling at him with the stage lights reflected in your eyes, and he completely forgot what you’d just done. He was just happy you were here.

It was Maggie’s side-hug as she walked past you and seemingly stopped to ask if you were okay that reminded him. And when you looked up at him again, meeting his gaze and nodding, he knew.

Sid was gone. And you were here.

Jungkook came very close to jumping off the stage and kissing you. He would have done it, really, everything else be damned, but the song change kept him in place. Rated Riot did not have many ballads—only two, maybe two and a half if you included the first half of “Haunting”—but the few that they had, came at this point in the show.

He stayed on stage, but he was still too excited to give the songs a proper mournful mood as he kept jumping and smiling into the microphone at all the wrong moments. Nevertheless, the audience greeted his energy with unwavering enthusiasm, and Jungkook thought that this night would become another memory—one of many, lately—that he’d want to stay forever etched into his mind.

By the end of the show, he felt like parts of his skin had caught fire. He was filled with so much energy that he could have walked to Paris right now and performed a show there immediately. He even frightened a few fans with his incessant jumping as the band stayed back for their traditional informal Meet & Greet after the show.

As soon as it finished, Jungkook made his way to you backstage—still breathless, shirtless, sweaty, and ecstatic—and hugged you as soon as he found you, despite your half-hearted protests. He was damp and sticky, and purposefully holding onto you tighter when he heard you complain about it.

Noticing the sight, the rest of the band members piled into the room, hollering war cries and jumping on the two of you in a chaotic group hug. With all five of you giggling and suffocating under each other’s weight, you didn’t notice Minjun and Jude lingering in the doorway.

You were greedy for a minute—maybe two minutes—as you soaked up the band’s bliss and enjoyed the moment before breathlessly telling the boys to go and have fun. They thought you were just saying that so they’d let you breathe, so naturally, they stayed huddled together longer, purposefully torturing you. They tousled your hair when they pulled away, and ran off, seemingly bouncing off the walls of the room as they went.

Jungkook wiped his face with a towel that he’d kept over his shoulder, his smile never ceasing. When you managed to tear your gaze away from his lips, you finally noticed that Minjun was grinning at you from across the room, with an uncertain Jude next to him. Minjun had picked him up immediately after the police left with Sid.

You took a step towards them, but Taehyung accidentally hit a few chords on his bass as he was putting it back into the case across the room—the melody held an uncanny resemblance to Queen’s “Another One Bites The Dust”—and all four members of Rated Riot, in various out-of-tune voices, immediately belted out the chorus, blocking your path with their haphazard gyrations.

There was cause for celebration—like there was every night, but tonight, especially—and you allowed them to pull you into their dance.

Jungkook was still humming under his breath when he led you to the side of the room a few minutes later, eager to learn more about Sid. You motioned for Minjun and Jude to join you, too, and then stretched up on your toes to find Luna and Maggie in the crowding room. They spotted you first and approached, bouncing with excitement.

Jungkook was patting Jude on the back, but the girls pulled all of you into another group hug that sent all of you into a new fit of laughter.

“The show was that good, huh?” Jimin commented, amused by your affection, as he finished setting up the drinks on the table next to you.

You extended your hand to make room, and he snuck into the very middle of your group hug, holding onto Luna and Minjun.

“It was!” you agreed. “We’re celebrating.”

“When are we not?” Jimin replied, readily accepting the glass that Maggie handed him once she broke the hug.

You and Jungkook distributed the rest of the glasses to your little group, and Minjun poured the tequila. Absolutely exhilarated, all of you clicked your glasses together, laughing and splattering your drinks everywhere. You were a little worried about Jude, but Minjun kept his arm on Jude’s shoulder, giving you a nod when you met his eye. He’d watch over him.

You downed your shots and realised belatedly that you didn’t have any chasers. Understandably, the only solution was to wash off the bitter taste with another shot of tequila, leading to a very entertaining rest of the night.

Just a few shots later, Jimin excused himself to find Seokjin. There was another bet backstage about whether you would finally drink after the final show in London—you hadn’t last time—and Seokjin owed him money.

Now, with only those of you who had plotted against Sid left in this corner of the room, the atmosphere darkened just a little. Your adrenaline had begun to wear off.

“Okay, I know we’ve talked about getting him arrested and whatever happens next happens, but I am curious,” Luna said, breaking the weighty silence. “How would it go in court? Hypothetically? Could he still avoid a prison sentence?”

You sighed. “He’s a first-time offender, so probably.”

“But wh—I mean, I actually doubt that,” Minjun interjected. “Considering the amount he has in his hotel room.”

You finished your shot before replying.

“There could be something else that makes the court lean towards a more lenient sentence, though,” you said. “He could—”

Minjun shook his head and cut your pessimistic approach off.

“Mitigating factors are good character, remorse, and proven steps to overcome drug use,” he cited. “Does any of that sound like Sid?”

You nodded, conceding. You’ve read about this together when you first began to plan Sid’s arrest, and Minjun had asked you the same question back then. Only a few extenuating circumstances could have applied to Sid, and even those were a stretch.

“Mental health could be a mitigating factor, too,” Jungkook added. “Sid is, I’m almost certain, insane.”

You raised your head to smile at him. At this point, everyone here knew that Sid was undoubtedly crazy or somewhere thereabout.

“That’s true,” Minjun agreed, smiling, too. “But they won’t release him back onto the streets, then. He’ll be institutionalised.”

“That’s good,” Maggie said, exhaling in evident relief. You hadn’t realised how concerned this change in conversation had made her feel. “I don’t want his ass coming anywhere near us.”

“He won’t be,” you assured. You may have been doubtful about Sid’s future behind bars, but you did not doubt that you’d never see him again. “If this won’t work, we’re all getting restraining orders.”

“Oh, nice,” Luna said, grinning. “We’ll save the officers some time if we all get one together.”

You snickered. “Exactly.”

Luna chuckled and stopped patting Maggie’s back to pour herself another drink. You and Jungkook both extended your empty glasses, too, and Luna playfully rolled her eyes before filling them.

“Honestly, I don’t even care what sentence Sid gets,” Jude said, and he began to stutter as soon as your little group turned to look at him. “I-I just want him to s-suffer a little.”

Maggie, ever as vindictive, raised her eyebrows at him. “A little?”

“For starters,” he clarified.

She nodded, much more pleased with this response, and broke into a lively tale about the positive feedback she received from Rated Riot’s fans after posting the blacklist—as though she was the one who had singlehandedly banned Sid—and the clouds of eerie disquiet above you quickly cleared.

Shortly after that, Taehyung grew bored and came to find Luna—with Jimin lingering by his side and playfully pulling Luna away from him. After Taehyung managed to run off with his girlfriend, Jimin changed his targets and continued his drunken twirling around a flustered Minjun, who kept insisting that he did not dance. Maggie had to pull Jimin away with an energetic pirouette, leaving the rest of you to yourselves.

Just then, Yoongi and Hoseok convinced Seokjin, Jimin, and Maggie to head back to the hotel, which was just a twenty-minute walk from the venue. They were all drunk enough to think they’d have a blast walking there and you had to dispatch Namjoon to accompany them. He was quite tipsy, too, but at least his limb coordination was not worse than it usually was. He’d drag them with him if one of them grew too tired of walking—you knew that one of them would and you gave Yoongi a knowing look before he left.

Minjun, Jude, Jungkook and you were the last people who remained in the dressing room to finish the drinks. You took this time to encourage Jude to tell you about what he did, and he shared the story about breaking Sid’s phone.

Happy and light from the alcohol, Jungkook wrapped an arm around your waist, allowing you to lean into his side as you listened. It was extremely relieving to laugh about everything that you’ve been through today.

“So, we’re done?” Jungkook asked after Jude finished. “This is it?”

You glanced at Minjun just as he turned to look at you; the two of you had developed a special bond over the past few days. Then you turned to Jude, too. Both of them nodded.

“We’re done,” you confirmed. “They arrested him.”

Jungkook’s arm around your waist tightened as he drew you closer.

“And the hotel room?” he asked then.

“It’s all there,” Jude replied. “I took care of it, but I-I barely had to do anything. Sid kept everything literally lying around.”

You nodded, relieved. “Good.”

“Really, Sid was the one who did everything,” Minjun added. “We just… made it more obvious. That still took a hell of an effort, but it’s all over now. Great job, guys.”

He leaned in to pat Jude on the back, and you reached out to give a supportive squeeze on Jude’s arm, too.

“We wouldn’t be here without you,” you told him, happy to notice that tequila had helped Jude’s tanned skin regain some of its glow. “The hard part’s finally over.”

“Fuck yes,” Jungkook exclaimed, perking up. “It’s fucking over.”

He reached out to high-five Minjun, then Jude, and you did the same, smiling all the while. You turned to Jungkook then, but instead of connecting your palms, he wrapped both arms around you and exhaled deeply against your neck. He settled in your embrace, showing no signs of moving anytime soon, and Minjun had to clear his throat, dramatically turning his head away.

Grinning, Jungkook released you but kept one of his hands on your back.

“Let’s head back to the hotel, yeah?” you suggested, and all of them nodded. “We all need to get some sleep. And I still need to take twenty showers in a row to get rid of Sid’s stench.”

Jungkook remained oblivious to his surroundings as he rested his chin on your shoulder. “Mind if I join?”

“Ugh.” Minjun grimaced. “Get used to this, Jude, these two are fucking intolerable.”

Jude snickered at this, and you laughed, too, taking Jungkook’s hand in yours.

“Thank you for everything you did today,” you said, your gaze stopping on all three of them.

Minjun’s expression softened. “Oh. It’s all for a good cause.”

“Yeah,” Jude said. He appeared more certain now, his voice was louder. He lost Sid but found his friends. He’d be alright. “W-we did this together.”

You smiled and turned back to Jungkook. He gave you a quick nod, and you understood. Patting Jude and Minjun on their shoulders as you walked past, you excused yourself to give the three of them a moment alone.

“Seriously, guys,” Jungkook said after you left. Minjun was a little uncomfortable with the intense gratitude in his friend’s eyes, but Jude was extremely touched. “Thank you for this. You’re a fucking rockstar, Jude, shit. And Minjun, thank you for being one of the masterminds behind this. How are you so fucking smart, but friends with us?”

They all laughed at this, but Minjun shook his head while he did, lowering his gaze.

“It was mostly your girlfriend’s plan,” he said. “She, uh—she made sure my ass doesn’t get busted along with Sid, actually.”

Jungkook was beaming. He would never tire of hearing you referred to as his girlfriend. Actually, he would never tire of hearing people talk about you and him in the same sentence, but this was even nicer.

“Oh, don’t worry,” he said. “She’d have also found a way to break you out of prison.”

Jude nodded, agreeing very strongly. “I bet she would have.”

Jungkook chuckled. He never thought he’d see the day when you would become friends with his friends, and he felt a little unsteady on his feet.

This moment here, tonight, felt very different from what he was used to, but it felt right. He hadn’t even realised how heavy the rock with Sid’s name on it had been on his chest, and how light he felt now that it was pushed off. How light he felt now that he was here with his friends. How happy.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he told them.

“We’re glad to be here,” Minjun replied.

Jude cleared his throat and raised his glass. “Fuck Sid.”

It had become their mantra, and Jungkook raised his fist in the air.

“Fuck Sid,” he echoed, grinning.

He wanted to find some additional encouraging words, but he was starting to grow restless, shuffling his feet and scratching his palms. Minjun was quick to conclude that he was looking forward to finishing the conversation and leaving the room.

“Go,” Minjun told him. “Jude and I are going to go out for a smoke. We’ll see you later.”

Jungkook looked very grateful. He would not even pretend to protest.

“Alright,” he said, already walking away. “Save me one, and thanks again! You’re two of the coolest people I know. But she is the first one.”

Snickering, Minjun called after him, “rock on. And stay safe!”

Minjun and Jude could still hear his laughter, even though Jungkook had already left the room in a hurry to find you.

He spotted you by the exit, and as soon as you extended your hand for him to take, he ran the remaining few steps to get to you faster. He gave you a quick peck on the lips, and was about to open the door when you stopped him by pulling on his hand.

“Hold on,” you said. “I have something for you.”

Jungkook was a little puzzled—and very intrigued—as he watched you search the pockets of your jacket. Never, not even when he was dreaming and couldn’t control the signals that his subconsciousness was sending him, did he imagine you pulling out the keys to his Katana.

“Here,” you said. “Jude got them from Sid.”

He heard his friend’s name, and he saw the keys out of the corner of his eye, but his gaze remained locked on yours, as though fearful that this wasn’t actually happening, that perhaps his mind was playing tricks on him.

It wasn’t the keys that he had trouble processing. It was you, giving them back to him.

“I’m…” he faltered, the rest of his sentence never making it past his lips. He tried a different one instead. “Thank you.”

You shook your head. “I’m just the messenger.”

“Well, you could have told Jude to take them back to Sid,” he pointed out, his throat dry. “I think that’s, um—that’s what I would have done.”

Observing his flustered state, you raised an eyebrow.

“Why?” you asked. “Did you change your mind about the bike? Is the paint peeling off, so you don’t want it anymore?”

Finally, his expression lightened, and a tentative smile returned to his lips.

“No,” he said. “And it would still be beautiful even without any paint. It’s what’s on the inside that matters.”

You grinned. “Very gallant.”

He remained hesitant, however, and you raised your palm again to give him the keys. You knew how much effort he’d put into the motorcycle, even though there were moments, when you first came to manage Rated Riot, where Jungkook’s obsession with his bike seemed unhealthy.

Yoongi—the self-proclaimed expert—had said that he’d seen this behaviour in almost all his friends. He was convinced that Jungkook was trying to compensate for something. Trying to fill some void in his life.

You remembered hating these assumptions. They had felt about as dangerous as Jungkook’s casual declaration about the love of his life.

“It’s your bike,” you said to Jungkook now, the keys cold in your palm. “I know how much it means to you.”

He took a sharp breath and shook his head. He did love the bike very much—as much as one could love an inanimate object, and maybe a little more—but he’s come to learn that he would give it up in a heartbeat for the things that truly mattered to him.

“It—it doesn’t mean to me nearly as much as you do,” he said. “I gave it up to keep Sid away.”

You swallowed the bitter taste in your mouth.

“You couldn’t keep Sid away even if you gave up Rated Riot,” you said. “He claims that’s what’s bothering him, but it isn’t. Not really. He just can’t stand the thought that you are bigger than he will ever be.”

“Hmm.”

Slowly, Jungkook took the keys from you, the tips of his uncertain fingers grazing over your palm. He examined the keys for a minute.

“I can put the keychain back on now,” he said. “It looks wrong without it.”

This surprised you.

“What—the “JK” one?” you asked.

“Yeah,” he said. “I had to change keys after I moved to a different apartment, and I put the pendant on these for the time being. It felt right, so I kept it there.”

He lifted the keys as he spoke and you frowned. You remembered the lurid—atrocious, really—pendant that you’d found at a fair and insisted on buying for him because it spelt out “JK” in large, jewelled letters. You were just drunk enough to find the flashy jewels enticing and very amusing.

You’d assumed Jungkook had put it on his keys as a challenge of sorts. It was very ugly and very far out of his usual taste in accessories, but you bought it, and he would rather cut off an arm than turn down a dare. You thought he’d taken it off after you broke up.

“You still have it?” you asked. “It was supposed to be a joke, I think.”

“Of course, I still have it,” he replied, almost offended. When he gave the keys to Sid, he kept the keychain. It was one of his most prized possessions. “It’s cute.”

“It’s huge,” you countered. “It ripped every pocket of every pair of jeans you owned.”

“That’s because they were shit jeans,” he said. “You leave my keychain alone.”

You snickered with a noncommittal shake of your head.

“Fine,” you said. “I’m glad you’ve grown so fond of it.”

“You gave it to me,” he said. “Of course, I’m fond of it.”

He slipped the keys into his pocket and gave you a wink as he did—to let you know that he didn’t mind ripping this pair of jeans, too, once he reattached the keychain. Then he finally opened the door of the venue and took your hand into his, leading you outside.

The hotel was quiet when you returned, but you didn’t have time to wonder where the rest of the Rated Riot members were—you’d have definitely heard them if they were here—because Jungkook pulled you into his room as soon as you climbed the stairs to your floor.

His bathroom quickly turned messy, with your clothes scattered on the cold tiles. Jungkook had the rare talent of figuring out the shower mechanism within a second, and the warm water washed over you as soon as you stepped into the cabin after him. The glass panels on either side began to fog when you slid the door closed.

You knew Jungkook preferred his showers ice cold, but the water right now was scalding hot. He didn’t even ask you about it, didn’t try to negotiate. He simply made this comfortable for you and wrapped his arms around you, his grip unreasonably tight.

Hotel bathrooms, you realised, had become a significant part of your relationship.

“You still have to show me your playlist, by the way,” he murmured, following the path of the water droplets down your spine.

You sighed, feeling his chest move against yours as he chuckled. “What do I have to do to get out of it?”

“Show it to me,” he replied. “And I’ll shut up.”

“You never shut up.”

He laughed again, pulling back slightly to look at you. His hair fell in clumsy ringlets around his face—not wet enough to fully straighten yet—and you needed to remind yourself to keep breathing in, then out. He leaned in, wearing a teasing smile on his face, as if he knew that you’d stop breathing again as soon as he did this, and pressed his lips to yours.

You could taste the liquor that you’d shared backstage on his tongue and felt his warm breath as he exhaled against your mouth. Your touch on his neck was so delicate that he wasn’t fully convinced it was you, and not the stream of water that touched him. He wanted to hold you tighter to really feel you here, and he lowered his hands to the small of your back, gently drawing you closer.

Steam rose from the shower floor, and the glass turned grey from the fog. Jungkook would have been suffering in this heat if he had felt any of it. All he could focus on right now was you, and how you still tasted like a distant dream, no matter how many times he’d kissed you.

The shampoo remained untouched as your fingers explored each other’s skin, jealous of the courageous water drops—they dared to touch everything that your hands longed to reach.

Eventually, he blindly found the bar of soap on the metal shelf behind him, and broke away from the kiss.

Before you could say anything, he instructed quietly, “turn around.”

It took a moment for you to comply—not because of some defiance, but because the tattoos on his arm, when they were peppered with glistening droplets of water, were captivating in a way that they’ve never been before.

He rubbed the soap between his palms and massaged your arms and back, lathering the foam on your skin. His touch was slow and careful, although not particularly calculated as his hands kept wandering to every soft part of you. Every single one of his caresses seemed to cleanse something from your skin that mere water could never wash away.

A soft sigh passed your lips as his fingers followed the traces of bubbles on your navel, and you forgot everything that you were still supposed to do today. By the time he leaned in closer, his chest pressed against your back as he ran his hands over your collarbones, your chest, and your stomach, you forgot everything you’d done before today, too.

You realised, as you felt his breath against your neck, how calm you felt. How absolutely at peace—and how much you’ve waited for this. How much you wanted these moments to stay frozen in time, just yours and no one else’s, surreal and dreamlike even as you lived through them.

Jungkook noticed your closed eyes, and whispered softly, “are you okay?”

You hummed. “I love you.”

He felt your heartbeat under his fingertips. He felt the way your words echoed in his chest. And he realised that he was stupid to think he’d already experienced every human emotion in his life, because these sensations in his stomach were new. They felt like scattered branches of fir trees. Like the sharp edges of young pinecones. They stirred within him like a forest of evergreen trees: vibrant, timeless, and beautiful.

You’ve opened something inside him that he didn’t realise had been closed. And you’ve closed everything he regretted opening. You were every breath he took, every scent he smelled, and every flavour he tasted. You were every beat of his heart.

He did not think he could ever adequately express the depth of everything you made him feel.

“Thank you,” he said, because he couldn’t not say anything, “for everything.”

You turned in his arms, a little confused about his abrupt gratitude. Jungkook swallowed hard, his gaze locked on yours.

“I can’t—I don’t know how to say what I feel,” he admitted. “You change my life every day. Maybe that’s all there is to it.”

The look in his eyes as he said this reached something very deep inside you—something that had been waiting for him every day for the past seven years, and all the years before that.

You wrapped your arms around his neck and rested your head on his shoulder.

“I love you,” you said again.

“I love you,” he replied, pressing his forehead to yours.

You felt his chest move as he breathed, and you closed your eyes again. You knew now that this was your safe space.

Contrary to Jungkook, who needed company to drown out the noises in his head, you were very fond of your solitude. Being alone with your thoughts provided you with a sense of security that you could never find with other people—because, as much as you loved them, they were still other people.

Jungkook did not feel like other people. He felt like you, as much as you felt like you. And right now, with the water running from his skin to yours, you felt calm. Easy. Solid, but serene.

He was your safe space.

“I have a meeting with the executives when we get to Paris,” you whispered, your words barely audible over the running water. “And—also the law team.”

He stilled in your arms for just a moment, then his fingers went back to their race against the water on your lower back.

“They set a date?” he asked.

“Yeah,” you said. “The day after tomorrow, before your first show in Paris. Nine in the morning.”

“Oh.”

Taking a deep breath, you said, “I’m going to tell them we’re together.”

He pulled back a little and waited until you lifted your head so he could look at you.

“Okay,” he said. “Are you sure?”

The question was painful. You made a mental note to show more confidence when you gave him the answers that he wanted—because these were the answers that you wanted, too.

“I’m sure,” you affirmed.

He nodded, running the tips of his fingers over the ends of your hair. “Should we—um, do you want to—”

“Let’s meet after,” you said, answering his half-question.

“Yeah? Coffee?” he asked.

You nodded. “Definitely.”

He leaned into you again, inhaling the smell of the lilac-scented soap on your neck as his arms found their way back around your waist, and he hummed against your shoulder.

“You know…” he murmured. “If I had your playlist, it’d be easier for me to wait until your meeting was over.”

Your cheeks stretched before you could stop your smile. “What playlist?”

The circles he was tracing on your back turned teasing, chaotic. He felt you squirm at the tickling sensation.

“Don’t play dumb with me now,” he whispered. “Give me the link.”

You pulled back and squeezed his forearms to get him to stop moving his hands over your sides.

“Say please?” you said.

The request took him a little off guard, but his surprise quickly shifted into an impressed grin.

“Hmm,” he said. “Is that how you want me? On my knees and begging?”

You shrugged, trying to fight against the fog from the shower as it began to gather in your head. “I do sort of like the image of that.”

“Please?” he said—right away.

You watched him for a second, your chest alight with flames, and you decided that with the subtle curve of his lips and the sparkle in his eyes, right now was the most beautiful he’d ever looked. It wouldn’t last, though. You were sure he’d take your breath away again tomorrow.

“Mm, I’m not convinced,” you said. “Say it with your chest.”

He poked his cheek with his tongue, giving his head a slight shake. “You’re lucky I love you.”

“I know.”

He shook his head again, then took a deep breath and pouted his lips.

“Please let me listen to the playlist you made about me,” he said, making sure to keep his voice devastated. “Please, please, plea—”

“Alright,” you said.

He was already about to start arguing, but he closed his mouth and grinned instead.

“Oh,” he said. “That was easy.”

You gasped, but the offence that barely appeared on your laid-back features made him chuckle. Stepping back, you gave him a look that was only stern in theory—there was no serious substance in the soft shade of your eyes.

“Don’t make me change my mind,” you warned.

“You can’t,” he replied, pulling you back into him. He seemed to know no other way: you were very close, and his hands were free. Naturally, he was going to reach for you. “You made a promise.”

You frowned. “When?”

“When you got into this shower with me.”

Your brows furrowed further. “I didn’t promise you anything.”

“You did,” he insisted. He was grinning mischievously and his eyes were narrowed—you could guess what he would say next.

You still bit, “alright, what did I promise?”

He looked triumphant.

“To be with me for the rest of my life,” he said.

You clicked your tongue, but your expression was luminous despite your attempts to hide it.

“That has nothing to do with my playlist,” you said, deliberately looking away. “And I don’t remember promising that.”

“Hold on,” he said, turning his head to meet your gaze, and gently lifting your chin to get you to look at him again. “You have objections?”

You had absolutely no objections and he could tell as much from the sparkling in your eyes. But you weren’t going to make this easy for him, and he expected as much.

“I mean, what if you have a change of heart?” you said. “And then having me around for the rest of your life starts to feel more like a curse? Although that’d be fun for me, I imagine. I’d love to mess with you. But it wouldn’t really be fair to you.”

He found the suggestion ridiculous. His heart had your name engraved on it in golden letters. There was no situation, as long as you were with him, that he’d find unfair.

“Unless hell freezes over tomorrow,” he said, “I’d say your odds are good.”

The corners of your lips twitched. “Yeah?”

He nodded. “Having you with me will always be a blessing.”

The clumsy cartwheels of your erratic heart forced you to look away again, and you tsked, making his smile widen with each disapproving shake of your head.

“You know, you say things sometimes,” you said, “and I know you know exactly what you’re doing.”

“Really?” His voice was exuberant. “Are you swooning for me, then?”

You grimaced. “I wouldn’t call it swoo—”

“Getting weak in the knees?”

“I don’t get weak in the knees.”

“No?” he teased. “But I’m literally holding you up right now.”

You glanced down, as if to check, and took a moment before raising your head again.

“That’s—for different reasons,” you said, and remained, very comfortably, right in his arms.

“Different reasons,” he repeated thoughtfully. “Such as?”

You did not spare him a glance. “Maybe I just enjoy having you so close.”

His grin was so proud, so radiant that you could see it without looking at him. It was loud, too; it drowned out the sounds of the shower and all sensations of the hot water on your skin.

“Oh,” he said, drawing you closer to his chest in one remarkably swift motion. “Now you’ve done it.”

You craned your neck to meet his gaze. “Done what?”

“Now I’m never letting you go,” he said, hiding his face in the crook of your neck. “Literally.”

You chuckled softly and allowed him to drown you in his touch. It didn’t matter anyway—you couldn’t breathe very well unless you felt him next to you.

“That’s hardly possible,” you teased. “We’re very busy people.”

“I’ll make it possible,” he said. You remembered having a similar conversation with him before, but he had significantly more confidence in his voice now. “We got Sid fucking arrested. Everything else is easy. I can figure out how to keep you right next to me for every second of every day for as long as we both live.”

You were a little concerned that so many years had passed since you met, and the butterflies in your stomach only seemed to grow larger, bolder, and much more restless with every passing day.

“I still don’t think that’s possible,” you replied quietly, “but I don’t mind seeing you try.”

“Good,” he said, lifting his head to look at you. “You know I’ve never lost a single challenge I’ve accepted.”

You lifted one eyebrow, amused by his claim.

“Technically,” you said, “you lost the bet to Sid.”

“Oh—” the syllable got caught somewhere in his throat. “Fuck.”

He looked almost appalled, and he suddenly felt a little nauseous, too.

“Too soon?” you asked. Your lips twitched as you fought back against your laughter.

He dug his teeth into his lower lip and wrinkled his nose. “Yeah, maybe a bit.”

“Oh, no,” you whined. “Should we avoid talking about it? Is this a taboo topic?”

He watched your theatrics and realised that anything that didn’t kill you really did make the two of you stronger, because he had convinced himself that he’d never survive the aftermath of the bet—and now you were teasing him about it.

“No,” he said. “No, you’re right. In the grand scheme of things, I’ve done far stupider shit to have you with me again, so we should be able to joke about this.”

“Exactly,” you agreed, grinning. “At least you didn’t get a concussion this time.”

Jungkook didn’t think that not having a concussion was what made this better. Although, to be fair, he hardly remembered anything after the forgotten kettle fell on his head while he was trying to plan a date night for you—but really, you were more hurt by his pain when he told you about it years later than he was in the moment it happened.

“I hurt you, though,” he said slowly. “That’s worse.”

You gave a firm shake of your head.

“It wasn’t the bet that hurt me,” you said. “But you fixed every problem that did. We actually put one of them in the back of a police car tonight. And you and I learnt how to talk to each other in the process. Look at us now.”

He felt his heart pick up speed, but he was still hesitant to agree. He didn’t think he’d ever have the right to make the first joke about the bet, however harmless it could seem years from now.

He nodded slowly. “Hmm.”

“Next step is learning how to shut up,” you added.

Looking up from the tiles of the shower floor, he took a moment to register the playful glint in your eyes.

“Is—is that supposed to be directed at me?” he asked, squinting.

“No, I meant that in general,” you replied. “But if the shoe fits…”

He scoffed, sliding one of his hands down your arm to intertwine your fingers.

“Oh, if the shoe fits,” he repeated. “Alright. Did you go to Jin’s school of comebacks?”

“I did,” you played along. “And graduated with honours.”

He nodded. “I can see that. Teacher’s pet much?”

“Very much.”

His grin was criminal, and you wanted nothing more than to feel it pressed against your lips.

“Well,” he said, bringing your hands to his shoulders and pulling you closer, “I do enjoy it when you listen to me. And when you do what I tell you.”

“Hmm.” You ran your tongue over your lips, and he was thoroughly infatuated with the look in your eyes at the moment. “That implies you’re the teacher in our relationship.”

“Am I not?”

“You haven’t taught me anything.”

He snorted, dignified. “I’ve taught you plenty.”

“Name one thing you taught me,” you challenged, but you were smiling at him, and he struggled to keep his train of thought when he looked at you.

“I—well, I taught you to play guitar, didn’t I?” he said.

You frowned, baffled by his interpretation of the word “teach.” You remembered the nights when Jungkook tried to learn guitar, and you were forced to listen to him whine about how there had to be something wrong with him—because, of course, if he couldn’t immediately excel at something, that had to mean that he was the problem.

“Is that what you think you were doing when you were learning it yourself?” you asked. “Because not only did you break all six strings, but the neighbours started banging on the radiators, and we—”

“Okay, okay,” he interrupted. The night you were talking about wasn’t his best, but he’d improved considerably since then. “I also taught you how to fight.”

“And then forbade me from punching Sid,” you countered. “Doesn’t count if I can’t use it.”

He rolled his eyes. You waited for another example, even though he was notoriously terrible at teaching others—to be fair, he rarely ever had to learn things himself; usually, they really did come naturally to him—but Jungkook stayed quiet for a few minutes.

“Well,” he finally said, “I taught you how to stop running from your feelings.”

“You—” you stopped your instinctive rebuttal and took a moment to look down and calm your heart instead. “Okay. Yeah. I suppose you did teach me that.”

“That’s right,” he said, happy to finally gloat. “Be a good student for me, and kiss me now.”

You looked up, distracted but amused. “Oh. Is this assignment going to affect my final grade?”

“Mhmm. It’s worth 75%.”

“Hmm. So, I have to put in some effort, I guess.”

He nodded while his hands roamed on your skin absentmindedly. “Might take you all night to finish it.”

“I don’t know...” you said. “I was never very good at pulling all-nighters.”

“Maybe that can be something else I teach you,” he murmured, close enough to touch your lips with his own as he spoke.

You whispered back, “maybe,” and he chose to reply by finally pressing his lips to yours.

He kissed you like he would countless times in the future, and the teasing promises of forever seemed to solidify inside you, like invisible tattoos that ran across your souls. And you remembered, because how could you not, about the first kiss that led you to this moment.

It was seven years ago, at the end of your second date, after you got back from the carnival where he claimed to have asked you to be his girlfriend. He had whined about not being able to walk you to your door after your first date—you were both wet from the rain, and he wasn’t allowed into your dormitory—so you snuck him in this time.

But he got too nervous in the end – he walked you to your door, hiding his trembling hands in his front pockets, and said goodbye to you, all while nearly suffocating from his anxiety. He’d already started to walk away, but then stopped abruptly and turned back. You were still standing there, watching him, your hands not reaching for the door handle. You looked like you knew he was going to turn around.

He reached you in two quick strides and connected your lips with so much force that your back hit the wall. He cupped your cheek with one hand and placed the other one on the wall behind you—and your breath never made it out, losing its way somewhere in his mouth. You’d kissed him back, your body trapped between the wall and his chest, and you thought you’d never feel quite as dizzy as this again.

Years later, in the shower of his hotel room in London, Jungkook kissed you again and again and again, and his lips still made your breath hitch, still made the room spin out of control.

He kissed you and every single time, the feeling of his lips on yours made your head feel light. He kept one of his hands on your cheek, the other one on the wall behind you—like that very first time—and you remembered wishing, seven years ago, that the night wouldn’t end. That he would stay, with his lips locked on yours, his touch warm and silky.

You remembered counting, too, how much time was left until you inevitably had to say goodbye. It had all felt so dramatic back then, so temporary. There was so little time, and so much you still had to do, so much you still wanted.

Tonight, the edges of the sky outside the small, shaded bathroom window were turning red; the sun was rising.

You counted again – there were five minutes left in this night, and you already had everything you wanted.

chapter title credits: bad omens, “feral”

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[houseofripley]

Save A Horse Ride A Cowgirl

Rhea Ripley x Fem!Reader

WARNINGS: SMUT 18+, Cunnilingus, Strap-On, Riding, Orgasm Denial, Fingering (for like 2 seconds. don’t blink), Light Degradation, Spanking, Backshots, Lil bit of a mommy kink.

WORD COUNT: 2,736

A/N: -panting and out of breath- honey! it took me 800 hours but your oneshot is finished!

seriously tho sorry for the mid! writers block was beating my ass during this for no reason

Survivor Series, the day the wrestling community waited months for. You were sat at the edge of the bed in your hotel room, staring into the loud TV, waiting for your girlfriend to make her appearance for her match against Zoey Stark. 

You were supposed to be there but of course Rhea’s magment had fucked up their dates, leaving you without a pass to the event.

It killed both of you knowing you wouldn’t be backstage to cheer on Rhea. 

Anytime a pay-per-view even came around you’d clear your entire schedule just to support and help Rhea prepare. She took such good care of you it was the least you could do. Although you couldn’t physically be at the arena you still flew out to Chicago to at least be able to spend a little bit of time with Rhea.

You were pulled away from your train of thought as Rhea’s music soon started blaring through the stadium, “And her opponent, representing The Judgment Day, she is the women's world champion, Rhea Ripley!” The announcer yelled out as Rhea made her entrance, wearing what was possibly the sexiest gear she has ever worn.

“Holy shit-” You mumbled to yourself, leaning forward trying to get a closer look. Rhea looked insane. Her hair was in a faux mohawk, stripes of eyeliner ran over her eyes in a lighting strike pattern, black lipstick was smudged onto her right cheek. 

Rhea’s eyes never broke contact with the camera lens as she made her way down the ramp, she knew you'd be right on the receiving end of her gaze.

Once Rhea made her way into the ring you were able to catch a good glimpse at her gear. She sported a black vest over a black and white plunge top that was split down the middle, her shorts following the same theme while her boots displayed a cow print. But the bread and butter of this outfit was the black assless chaps. 

This outfit had to have been the reason Rhea was so protective over her suitcase these past few days. 

You sat eagerly watching the match, which was short yet action packed. Rhea had thrown Zoey around like she was nothing the entire match, your mind couldn't help but wonder what it’d look like if Rhea had manhandled you in the same way.

Rhea had retained her title with ease, barely breaking a sweat during the length of her match. You were quick to pick up your phone and congratulate her,

Y: YOU DID IT LOVEEEE!!!! and you looked good as hell while doing it….

Rhea replied about ten minutes later with a full body mirror selfie to show off her look, this time with an addition of a black cowboy hat and her hair out of the faux mohawk.

R: thank you baby, my hair wouldn’t fit in my hat so we had to ditch that plan :/ 

Y:  god damn! ditch wrestling and become a cowboy! 

Y: it’s so unfair i don’t get to see you like that rn urghhh

R: i know baby, i promise i’ll make it up to you tonight. look, i gotta go do a few things, i’ll see you in an hour or two okay?

Y: you better…now shoo and don’t keep me waiting for you all night

You huffed as you dropped your phone down onto your lap. The wait for Rhea had officially begun. 

There was one match left before the main war games match. Knowing Rhea would make an appearance in that last match you decided to rile her up a bit beforehand. 

You made your way to your suitcase and began searching for the new lingerie set you had bought just days ago while Rhea was training. You pulled out a bra made of intricate lacing along with the matching crotchless panties and garter belt. 

Once you had slipped into the lace you stationed yourself in front of the mirror. You used your free hand to grope your breast as you snapped a photo and sent it to Rhea.

Y: excited to see mami on my screen.

R: naughty girl…

R: are you really trying to get yourself into trouble right now?

Y: well i just figured since mami sent me such a sexy pic earlier i’d return the favor. i can send another one if you'd like…

You didn’t give Rhea the opportunity to reply before you snapped another picture, this time slightly rotating to your side to catch the curvature of your ass.

Seen at 9:36 pm.

You stared at your phone waiting for her reply but attention was pulled away as you heard The Judgment Day being announced, Rhea was nowhere to be seen as they made their entrance. You pouted as you laid down in the bed, your knees slightly spread as you watched in anticipation for Rhea’s appearance.

After a long match, intense and still no reply Rhea finally arrived at the end of the match, she came barreling down the ramp, this time wearing her cowboy hat with Priest’s MITB briefcase clenched in her hands.

You quickly took the opportunity to send Rhea a picture of your hand resting in between your thighs as she paraded on the screen in front of you. 

Y: just remembered a quote, something about save a horse, ride a cowgirl…

Another waiting game began. As much as you loved seeing Rhea clearly flustered on the screen you couldn’t wait for her to get to the locker room and see the message you left for her.

After a failed cash-in and two surprise returns from Randy Orton and CM Punk the main event finally came to a close, meaning Rhea was finally able to return to her phone. You picked up your phone to view your previous message exchanges with Rhea.

A text bubble appeared, indicating Rhea was on the other side drafting up her response. You chewed down on your cheek eagerly watching your phone. 

The text bubble disappeared.

Seen at 10:24pm.

You whined to yourself, a wetness growing between your legs. You attempted to make multiple calls to Rhea, only for each and every one of them to be ignored. You slumped into the bed, giving up on making contact with the woman.

Just moments later a banner popped up at the top of your phone,

R: face down ass up. you have two minutes.

Rhea had finally given you the attention you were craving. You needed her touch badly, so you gladly obeyed her demands getting into position in the center of the bed. Your face sunk into your pillow while your bare cunt peeked through the gap of your crotchless panties as you took in the sensation of the crisp hotel air that kissed your wetness.

You soon heard the quiet unlatching of the door followed by shuffling fabric. You peeked over to see Rhea, in that damn cowboy hat, discarding her streetwear to reveal the gear you’d been fawning over all night.

Rhea’s gaze was fixed on your arching back as she crept her way towards you. 

“Such a little slut for me,” Rhea husked, her weight sinking onto the bed as you waved your ass in the air. She took a moment to admire the sight of your wet cunt glistening in the dimmed light. 

“Just the thought of Mami has you all worked up.” Rhea relished, her hands skimming over the delicate skin of your ass before dropping a slap down onto you, causing a muffled yelp to leave your mouth.

Rhea moved her pointer finger to your heat and began to trace the skin around your wetness. Her finger took its time inching towards your hole before being pushed into you at a painfully slow pace, making you whine out into your pillow“Mami, please.” 

“What a needy girl.” Rhea taunted, watching you squirm against her finger, “Such a wreck already...” She hummed in response to your whining when she pulled her finger out of you. 

Both Rhea’s hands took ahold of your ass cheeks giving them a squeeze before she brought her face just centimeters from your aching heat. Shivers snuck up your spine as her heavy breaths brushed against your wetness. Her lips wrapped around you, her tongue beginning to draw circles perimitering your clit.

Rhea then pulled back and spat onto your cunt causing a high pitched ‘fuck’ to leave your mouth. She hummed to herself in satisfaction while she took you back into her mouth. Her hands still clenched to your ass as she began devouring you, acting as if she was having her final meal. 

All you could do was cling to the bedsheets and cry out into your pillow as Rhea took as much of you as she could in her mouth, her tongue piercing reaching brand new places. Due to your current position the tip of Rhea’s nose was repeatedly brushing against your entrance, adding fuel to the fire that was burning inside you.

“Gonna cum, Mami!” You pulled your head up from your pillow and moaned out. 

You could feel Rhea scoff against you before prying herself off your cunt, “No you’re not,” She groused, withdrawing all touch from you. “Such a spoiled girl, thinking you get to cum after teasing me when I’m working.”

“Please Mami! I’ll do anything- Just touch me, let me cum.” You pleaded, turning your head to look back at her with scrunched brows.

“You can beg all you want…but we both know that you won't cum until I say so.” Rhea’s tone was smug as she stood up from the bed. “Now…stay there and don’t even think about moving.” She growled on, making her way into the bathroom before closing the door behind her. 

You humphed to yourself, letting your head fall down to your pillow. It took everything in you to restrain your hands from touching yourself, but you knew if Rhea ever caught you pleasuring yourself she would push you to your breaking point. 

Several minutes had passed, your orgasm that was once near had seemingly wandered off. Your eyes were focused on the bathroom door as the knob rotated and Rhea emerged. Her shorts had disappeared and been replaced with a black strap-on…yet her chaps were still on. The sight alone had you arching your back as she lurched towards you.

“Look at you…all ready for Mami’s cock.” She murmured, crawling up behind you. She spat onto the silicon and slowly began jerking herself off, spreading her saliva over the toy before prodding at your slick coated entrance.

“Mami-” You purred out as the tip of Rhea’s toy pressed into your needy hole. Your walls were soon engulfing the entirety of her length. 

You had little to no time to adjust to her girth before she started ripping into you, leaving you at a loss for words. One of her hands was clamped to your hip while the other delivered a sharp slap to your ass before grabbing a fistful of your hair. “This is what you wanted isn’t it-” She groaned out while your cunt pulsed around her toy. “Sending me pictures of you whoring around the room, you were just begging to be ruined.”

The only sounds leaving your mouth were jumbled vowels mixed in with moans, she had you completely unable to form a sentence. You were powerless as Rhea pulled you up by your arms, bringing your back to press against her chest. 

You threw your head back against her shoulder as her hand trailed down to your clit, massaging quick circles against your swollen bud while continuing her merciless strokes.

“Don’t even think about it.” She whispered as you squirmed against her, letting out constant whines. Her free hand reached to wrap around your throat as you began rolling your hips back against Rhea. “Already fucking yourself against Mami’s cock?” She harshly questioned, her fingers adding more pressure against your clit, forcing a scream to come from your mouth.

“Such a slut.” Rhea lowly stated, letting go of the hold she had on you before pushing you back down to the bed. Her thrusts came to a halt as you rocked yourself on her cock. Her hand dropped a bitter spank on your skin, signaling for you to quicken your pace.

Rhea allowed you to fuck yourself on her strap while she caught her breath and admired the view she had of you. But your motions were abruptly cut off by Rhea’s hands firmly gripping your hips. You whimpered as she pulled herself out of you, leaving you empty.

Rhea flipped you onto your back before pulling you to sit upright. “You wanna ride Mami’s cock don’t you,” Her hoarse voice spoke, her hand moving to place her hat onto your head. You nodded, looking up to her with needy eyes while shifting to sit on your knees. “Use your words, princess.” She warned as her fingers gripped your jaw, taking control over you.

“Please, I've been waiting all night, Mami.” You swallowed, your breath shaking in anticipation as your hips wiggled with excitement.

“That’s it, good girl.” She hummed in approval, dropping the grip she had on your jaw. She brought herself to the head of the bed, resting her back on the headboard. You crawled up to her lap and situated your entrance to hover over Rhea’s tip. 

Your hands clutched Rhea’s shoulders as you began sinking yourself onto her length while moaning her name. As your hips started gradually bouncing, Rhea’s hands found themselves resting against your waist.

Meanwhile the pairs of your lips collided into a sloppy kiss. You whined into Rhea’s mouth, the piercing on her tongue brushing against your lip as her hands trailed to cup your breasts. Your eyes were glued shut as swayed yourself up and down Rhea’s length.

The overwhelming sense of pleasure was already washing over you. The combination of Rhea’s lips wandering to your neck, her digits toying with your nipples, and her cock being swallowed by your insides had your stomach contracting. 

Your pace picked up in speed as you tightened yourself around Rhea’s girth. As you focused on the movements in your hips Rhea’s attention was centered around your neck and collarbones, working on scattering reddish-purple marks against your skin. 

“Please-Can’t hold on any longer.” You pleaded with the woman through whimpers, your nails beginning to sink deeper into her shoulders. 

Rhea pulled herself from your neck, her hands moved to force your hips all the way to the base of her length. “Just one more minute, can you do that for me?” She questioned, her hands guiding you to rock back and forth.

“Y-Yes Mami,” You whimpered out at the sensation of your clit rocking against the leather band at the base of Rhea’s strap.

As the end of the excruciating sixty seconds neared your motions got sloppier with each motion. Rhea was sure guests in the other rooms  could hear your moans but you didn’t care, your mind was only focusing on not cumming at the exact moment.

“Open your eyes, pretty girl.” Rhea’s accent was thick as she spoke. “I want you to look at me while you cum all over my cock.” She added on while her fingers softly danced around your jawline.

Your eyes darted open once you heard Rhea finally give you permission to release yourself. Your vision was blurred by tears as you stared into Rhea’s oceanic blues. “Fuck-Oh! Mami!” You had barely managed to choke out, just seconds away from your climax. 

“C’mon,” Was the last thing you hear Rhea egg on before your orgasm flooded over you, leaving you crying out moans. Rhea’s hands moved to stabilize your twitching and shaking lower half. Quiet praises left your girlfriend's mouth as she helped you come down from your high. Your swollen lips placed a gentle peck against Rhea’s cheek as insignificant tears fell from your eyes.

“You okay, Princess? I didn’t hurt you did I?” Rhea’s gaze softened while her hands hurried to cup your face. 

You shook your head, giving her a weak smile, “Mm-mm, just felt really good…” You quietly replied as your arms wrapped behind Rhea’s neck. You gave Rhea a gentle smooch as she carefully pulled you off her length, the once black strap was now covered with scattered strings of whiteness.

“Alright, let’s get you cleaned up, pretty girl.”

[cherrikii]

౨ৎ ───── nightmares . .

( ✧ ) 𝒢．comfort / fluff .. drabble / hc　 𝒫．nonidol!bf!riki x gn!reader 　 𝒞．skinship, petnames, kisses, reader is upset and bothered by the nightmare obvi, not proofread (lmk if i missed anything ♡︎) — 𝒸lick !

𝓈𝓎𝓃. you wake up in the middle of the night from a nightmare, and riki’s there to soothe you — 𝒷ookshelf !

one thing riki likes to do is watch you sleep. he’ll always stay up later than you just to watch over your quiet figure. and on the off chance that he falls asleep before you, he’d always wake up before you to watch you. he likes to hum you to sleep while he fiddles with strands of your hair, sometimes very delicately and gently tugging a few strands to send tingles down your spine. he likes to rest his free hand inside of your shirt on your bare back to bask in your warmth as well.

one of the reasons he watches you before he goes to sleep is because he likes to make sure you’re sleeping soundly and that nothing’s bothering you. whether it be a stuffy nose where you can’t breathe, pain anywhere in your body, or maybe just paranoia; he wants to ensure you’ll get a good night’s sleep before he does. — more under cut!!

you were scrolling on instagram reels, waiting for your cheeky boyfriend to get out of the shower since you were basically falling asleep while watching a movie with him in the living room earlier. “riki?” you call out.

“hmmm? everything okay?” he replied, his voice a little muffled considering the shower door was only cracked open and the water was still running.

you sigh and look at the time.

… 11:10 pm

“yeah, just hurry up will you?” you ask, scrolling past a few reels.

you hear him chuckle and turn the water off, signaling he’s just about done with his nightly routine.

as you put your phone away, you feel a sink in the mattress and a pair of arms wrap around your waist.

“mmph..” he groans, placing a kiss on your shoulder.

“hi kiki,” you say as you turn around, now facing your boyfriend.

he plants a kiss on your cheek before gently shifting himself up, positioning your head on his chest. “hi angel,” he says.

you hum in response, making yourself comfortable in the crook of his neck with an arm draped over his stomach. riki smiles softly watching you find comfort in his touch, his eyes studying each of your swift movements.

he watches as you slowly drift to sleep while he tells a story, kissing your temple and smiling to himself. you’re so cute when you sleep.

“sleep well baby,” he whispers.

𖦹𖦹𖦹

you jolt up, screaming and crying. it’s dark, you can’t see. your chest is heaving and you feel lightheaded. you hold your fist to your chest as your eyes scan the room.

“yn? yn!” riki cups your face, and makes you look at him.

you flinch and yell, pushing him away not realizing who he is.

“yn it’s me, shhh,” he holds you tightly, running his fingers through your hair. “you’re okay yn.”

still trembling, your body recognizes the pattern of his heartbeat and you begin to calm down. your breathing slows and after a few minutes you stop crying.

riki turns around to turn on the lamp on his bedside table, still holding onto you. “bad dream angel?” he looks at you, worry filling his eyes.

you nod and hang your head low. he brings your head to his chest once more. all you can think of is the most gruesome part of your nightmare replaying over and over in your head. you squint as hard as you possibly can to try and rid the image from your mind.

this doesn’t go unnoticed by riki though. he looks down at you and sees the uneasy look on your face.

“do you wanna talk about it?” he asks. it hurts him to see you so uncomfortable, all he wants is for you to get a good night sleep every night, and well, here we are.

you shake your head no at his question. all you want to do is forget about what the hell you just dreamed of.

“okay baby,” he complies and runs his fingers though your hair, “just relax then. i’m here.”

he shifts his body to turn off the bedside lamp and grab his phone to play music. he plays slow japanese jazz, your favorite, in hopes that it’d clear your mind and you’d fall asleep faster.

“goodnight sweetheart.”

( 𝒶.𝓃. ) hai everyone! like i said before, thank you all so much for 100 followers! i’m so grateful to everyone and overjoyed that you all like my work! i hope you all enjoy this one too >< likes and reblogs are much appreciated!!

[mischievousmoony]

𝚜𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚝𝚞𝚊𝚛𝚢 𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚘𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚜' ⟡ 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝟸

⟢ james potter x black!reader (fem)

⟢ summary: after your parents cross the line, you and your older brother sirius find sanctuary at the potters'. however, things don’t go so smoothly at first . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ 3.6k

⟢ warnings/tags: abusive parents, james’ clothes are described as baggy on the reader, siblings fighting, fluff then angst

⟢ part 1 ⟡ part 2 ⟡ part 3 ⟡ masterlist

note: my writing's so rustyyyy the dialogue is so off but im so done editing. and this is gonna need a few more parts, i keep getting carried away.

The Potters' house was very different from yours. It was the first thing you noticed when you woke up. Back home, it felt like Grimmauld Place existed under a perpetual storm cloud. Here, sunshine cannot be escaped. The curtains were drawn closed, but light still filtered in from both sides, almost pleading for them to be opened so that it might do its duty of brightening the house.

Another thing you noticed were birds, who sang pretty songs from right outside your window. You can't remember ever hearing any birds outside your home, and there were plenty of trees for them to nest in. In fact, you started to believe that the aura of your house scared all living things away. Realistically, it was probably all of the yelling and screaming.

As you lie in an unfamiliar room and think of all the reasons why you preferred it over your own, three gentle knocks beat on your door. They sounded different than James' quick staccato, and nerves bubbled in your stomach because you couldn't guess who was on the other side.

You took a deep breath, told yourself that you didn’t have to be so on edge here, and called for the person to come in as you sat up. The knock pattern automatically filed itself away in your brain as belonging to Mrs. Potter. She walked in, carrying a silver tea tray.

"Good morning, dear. Sleep well?" She greeted you as she made her way to your bedside.

"Yes, Ma'am." You said politely.

"Oh, please call me Effie," she insisted as she placed the tray on the bedside table and moved to draw open your curtains. You imagined the sunshine saying thank you for finally letting it in.

“I’ve brought up some tea for you. I wasn't sure how you liked it, alas..." Effie waved her hand over the tray.

The tray had the basics: a teapot, sugar, and a small milk pitcher. However, Effie had also laid out various tea bags for you to choose from, along with some warm biscuits.

“Thank you,” you said in awe as you stared at the display. It was a simple tea setting, really, but the thoughtfulness still had you feeling choked up.

"I spoke with James this morning. May I?" Effie gestured to the edge of your bed, and you welcomed her to sit. "He woke Monty and me up at the crack of dawn, insisting that we let you and your brother stay permanently. Even had tears in his eyes. I tell you, that boy has his father’s big heart."

"Anywho, I nearly tossed a pillow at him for waking me up so early, as if I’d even consider an alternative! But I got to thinking, if James felt like we needed convincing, then we better make sure you and Sirius don’t feel any unease either.”

Effie reached for your hands that lay folded in your lap. “So,” she paused a moment to allow you the chance to shoo her off before placing her hand over yours. “I felt it was important to tell you personally that you are welcomed in this home and this family, assuming you’ll have us, for as long as you need us. That sounds like a good deal to you?”

You bit back tears, “Yea- yes. I think that sounds lovely.”

Effie smiled and squeezed your hands, “Can I give you a hug, dear?”

“Yes, please.” you croaked.

Effie wrapped her arms around you, and you let a few tears loose while she couldn’t see you, wiping them away with your thumb as soon as they appeared. The hug felt warm and unfamiliar, and you wondered if there was a time that your parents ever hugged you like this. If they did, you didn’t remember it.

From behind Effie’s back, you watched James waltz over through your blurry vision. He became distracted by the surprise that the bedroom door was already opened, eyeing it before anything else in the room as he leaned against the doorframe.

“Good morning, sunsh- Mum! You’re in here!”

Effie pulled back from you and craned her neck to look over her shoulder at her son, who was standing up as straight as a board in the doorway. She raised an eyebrow at him, sensing his sudden weirdness.

“I was just welcoming Y/N to our home, like we discussed. Are you alright, dear?” Effie tilted her head.

“‘m splendid, Mum.” James said it with a goofy smile, rocking back and forth on his heels.

She drew her eyebrows together and said, "Lovely, James. What can we do for you?"

"Me? Do for me?" James' eyes widened.

Effie shook her head, perplexed by her son’s reaction.

"I'm wondering what brings you here, James?"

"Ah. I was just in the area," James said, doing a poor job at acting casual. "Y'know, the upstairs... area. Uh, so I thought I'd say good morning... Good morning!"

You thought that this must be the kind of thing people face palm over.

“Hm,” Effie squinted at her son, studying him for a moment before deciding to worry about whatever that was later. She turned back towards you, “Anywho, this is your room now, so I hope it's to your liking. We can see about changing these sheets and painting the walls however you’d like-”

“It’s perfect!” You interrupted, looking bashful for doing so, but Effie didn't seem to mind.

“Well, feel free to customize it any other way. Any posters?” Effie offered.

"I didn't have time to grab that sort of thing,” you admitted, and immediately felt stupid for doing so. Effie clearly just wanted you to feel at home, and you felt like you were being a downer.

But if it phased Effie, she didn’t show it.

"Well then, that means we get to go buy some new ones, yeah?"

She gave your hands a final squeeze before standing up, saying, “I better let you wake up and enjoy the tea,” and walking towards the hall.

Effie affectionately patted James on the cheek as she passed him.

“Have you had breakfast, dear?”

“Mum!” James shrank away from her, his face growing hot. “I will in a minute!”

She tsked at him, gave his cheek one last pinch, and made her way out of the room. James hung from the doorframe into the hall to watch her go. When she was out of sight, he dipped into your room and shut the door silently behind him.

James' back pressed against the closed door as he shot you a toothy grin.

"Good morning, sunshine," he repeated.

You can't help but giggle at him while saying, "Good morning, Jamie."

As he walked over you, his smile slightly faded as a hint of sadness crept onto his face when he noticed your teary eyes.

One thing you loved about James was that he never resorted to any of those hollow phrases like "don't cry" or "stay strong" when he tried to make you feel better. Instead, he always concocted the perfect cure for the situation. Today, it was goofiness and a lot of kisses.

James made a big show of acting innocent as he approached. He whistled some tune and looked anywhere but you before he suddenly dived at you, embracing your waist with a gentle yet decisive sweep of his arms. He flung his body into the mattress, dragging you down with him. You yelped and chided him through laughter.

When you landed, you were tangled awkwardly—your body twisted so that your torso was on top of his, but his legs were draped over yours. James' arms were still wrapped tightly around your waist, keeping you trapped as he peppered kisses on your face. He kissed your cheeks and the corner of your eyes, then your eyelids, effectively kissing away any stray tears.

You were a fit of giggles by the time his lips reached the tip of your nose. Next up, he dipped his head to kiss each side of your mouth before finally capturing your lips with his. You giggled through the feathery kisses he pressed on your lips, and he couldn't help but follow in your footsteps as he smiled against you.

Soon, laughter overtook you both. Yet you remained close, with your noses brushing against each other and your foreheads pressed together, as your happy laughter filled the room.

Eventually, James' laughter began to die down. He removed one of his hands from your waist to help brush your hair back into place, it having gotten disheveled from his attack.

You settled down as well, letting the touch of his fingertips in your hair calm you. He took notice and continued running his fingers through your hair, even after it was all brushed out of your face.

For a peaceful moment, you gazed into his eyes, which were filled with admiration and mirrored your own. James watched as a glint of mischief suddenly sparkled in your eyes.

"So," you voiced.

"Mhm," he hummed.

"You've clearly never tried to hide something from your mum before."

"Why would I 'ave had to hide something from my mum before?" James pouted, briefly bringing your giggles back. "Only reason I haven't gushed to her about my beautiful girlfriend," James gave your waist a squeeze, "is 'coz she would have qualms with me lying to a friend."

"Oh, so I guess we better go tell Sirius then, yeah? I wouldn't want to make you lie to your dear mum, I like her." You teased, amused by James' eyes widening nervously.

You've talked about telling your brothers before, but it's something neither of you were quite ready for—you were too fond of the blissfulness you found in the privacy of your relationship.

"Er, I don't particularly feel like getting socked in the face today." James said.

"Oh, come on. You think he'd react that badly?" You carried on.

"I think Sirius punching me would be a mild reaction for him." James grimaced, "He'll probably hex me into the next century. And I get chills thinking about what would happen if Regulus were to find out. Oh, I'd be a dead man. Or he'd put an irreversible curse on my bloodline. It's a tossup, really."

Your smile faltered at the mention of your twin brother, suddenly remembering your situation. You let yourself get distracted by the warm welcome from Effie and James' affection. How could you lay here happily while Regulus is still stuck at that house?

Your expression suddenly grew very solemn as you began squirming out of James' grip. "Where's Sirius?" you asked.

James seemed to choke on his own spit. "Uh, pardon? You're not really planning on telling him today?” Despite his protest, James loosened his grip, not wanting to keep you somewhere you didn’t want to be. “At least let me put my Quidditch gear on, I might need the protective padding."

You had tunnel vision the moment Regulus’ name was mentioned, but you realized what James was saying by the time he mentioned protective padding.

“Not that, James. I need to find out about Reg.”

His mouth formed an O shape as you stood at the foot of the bed with your hands on your hips.

“So do you know where he is?”

“Uh, eating breakfast probably,” James guessed, “in the dining room.”

You stared at him expectantly and after a while of him not moving, you huffed, “I don’t know where that is, James!”

“Right!” James scrambled up from the bed so he could lead you through the house. You could’ve found it if you wandered long enough, but the Potters’ house was fairly large, and you wanted to talk to Sirius as soon as possible.

By the time James had led you to the kitchen, you could see Sirius in the next room over through the open archway. You pushed past James at once.

Sirius was alone at the head of the table, various platters of breakfast food surrounding him. The kitchen was hot when you passed through it, so one of James’ parents must have just been cooking, but they were nowhere to be seen now. Sirius was shoveling some sausage onto his plate when he saw you.

“Sirius,” you said sternly as your hands returned to your hips.

“Look who’s finally up!” Your brother cheered, “Just in time to eat.” He gestured at the seat next to him.

James appeared at your side, and said, “Breakfast is the most important meal of the day. Maybe you should have some before you-”

“Where is Regulus?” You interrupted, ignoring James altogether.

James’ utterance of “Yeah, didn’t think so” was lost on your ears.

With a scowl on his face, Sirius turned his attention away from his meal. His eyes scanned over you, and his scowl twisted into an amused expression. “Nice outfit!” he snorted.

You looked down briefly to see yourself drowning in James’ clothes. Being much taller than you, James' sweats pooled at your ankles. You rolled your eyes.

“Stop it, Sirius. Where is our brother?”

Sirius squinted at you. You thought he was finally going to give you answers when he decisively opened his mouth, but instead, “You should sit and eat. James is right, breakfast is the most-”

“Sirius!” You raised your voice, your hands molding into fists as your arms dropped to your sides.

Sirius threw his fork down with a clatter, “What do you want me to say?”

“I want you to tell me why he’s not here with us.” Your pleading voice cracked as you begged your brother for answers, stepping closer to him.

Sirius had a stormy, faraway look in his eyes, as if recalling something poignant. “The only one who can answer that question is him, so you’re out of luck,” he said bitterly.

The simmering anger in your chest started to bubble, rising up to your throat until you were spitting words that you would later regret. “You left him there!” you accused.

“Excuse me?” Sirius sent a deadly stare your way as he slowly pushed his chair back and stood up.

“Woah,” James tried to interrupt, moving to stand between you two, “Maybe we wanna take a moment and-”

You stepped around James, and his remaining words were drowned out by your raised voice: “I said you left him there. He’s not here because of you.”

“You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about!” Sirius bellowed, growing more irritated with you.

“Then why not enlighten me, Sirius!?”

“He chose to stay!" he disclosed. "Alright? I know you think so highly of your favorite brother, but he chose that place!”

“That’s ridiculous,” you scoffed, crossing your arms and looking away.

You ignored Sirius' choice words of "favorite brother." You weren't going to let yourself get distracted by that conversation, which you've had a countless number of times already. Sirius was sensitive to the fact that Regulus was your twin brother, and Sirius would always just be your brother, no matter how many times you told him that you loved them the same.

“I told him to pack, just like you, and he said no. I told him he had to and he refused," Sirius said vindictively.

“Then you should’ve tried harder!" You snapped, spewing words you didn't mean, "Now he’s there alone. He would’ve come if you would've just tried harder, I know it. This is all your fault!”

Sirius reeled back as if you had punched him in the gut. For a moment, he looked hurt, but then anger overwhelmed him. “How could you say that? You weren’t even there!”

“Because you never let me be! I stayed in my room, like you said to, and was out of my mind with worry. Next thing I know, we’re leaving and Regulus isn’t, and that feeling hasn’t gone away because I have no idea how he is. You should’ve grabbed him and dragged him along! You should’ve-“

“Why is everything my fault!? Why is it what I should’ve done!? You don’t even know what he did!” Sirius' nostrils flared with rage.

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about how your dear Reggie isn’t as good as you think he is," he sneered. "If you only saw him…”

“I don’t care what he did, he’s our brother!" You shouted, "He should be here. It doesn’t matter!”

Sirius slammed his hand on the table, “IT DOESN’T MATTER!?” he screamed, causing you to jump back. Tears immediately began welling in your eyes. No matter what you did, when you were being yelled at, you started crying. You weren't like your brothers, who could hold stone-cold, emotionless expressions despite whatever was swirling within. It was one of the reasons your brothers did what they could to keep your parents away from you—to Walburga and Orion, emotion was weakness.

Your tears didn't phase Sirius like they normally would have. He was too furious. “You want to know what he did?" he asked harshly. "He watched. He watched our parents torture me, and then he just walked away!"

“What did you want him to do?” you cried, “He- he was probably scared,” you hiccuped, “you- you should’ve-“

“I shouldn’t have done anything, goddammit! She crucio’d me! THAT’S what he watched our mother do. THAT’S what he let me deal with alone. I was on the ground unable to get up for damn near thirty minutes, and he knew it!"

Sirius nearly doubled over, grabbing the table in front of him for balance so hard that his knuckles blanched. All of the yelling gave him a head rush, but he wouldn't relent, "So don’t you tell me that I should’ve tried harder. That I should’ve grabbed him. He doesn’t care about me, so why should I care about him?”

Your hand clasped over your mouth as you sobbed. Your parents were cruel, but the Cruciatus Curse? You couldn’t fathom it. Your mouth suddenly felt dry, and bile bubbled up in your throat as you recalled Sirius’ scream from the night before.

Neither of you seemed to have anything else to say. You both just stood before each other in your most vulnerable states. It was a miserable sight—you crying your eyes out and Sirius looking sick as a dog.

Neither of you had noticed James leave until he returned. His parents followed closely behind.

"Snitch," Sirius choked out, glaring at his best friend as a fit of coughs hit him, his throat strained from the yelling. He ducked his head down and screwed his eyes shut suddenly, like the light in the room was starting to bother his head.

James didn't seem to care what Sirius thought of him. He was too busy being concerned for you both. Besides, James didn't really snitch. You two were being so loud that his parents were already on their way. He happened to run into them in their pursuit.

"What's going on?" Effie's gentle voice rang through the room, "We could hear yelling from the other side of the house."

Even though James' mum was being stern, she didn't sound angry or upset. Her voice only carried notes of concern and motherly authority.

Neither you nor Sirius answered her, too busy crying and coughing. Both of you would've probably been too sheepish to answer, anyway.

James' parents shared a look with each other, deciding what to do about the situation through eye contact alone.

Fleamont spoke with a firm voice, "Alright, son, we ought to get you up to your room. I think it'd be best for you to lie down." Fleamont clasped a hand on Sirius' shoulder. Your brother let Fleamont assist him in the walk to his room.

Euphemia moved to comfort you, but James stopped her. "Wait, let me."

She raised her eyebrows at her son, skeptical of the idea that her young son was equipped to handle this situation. But James had already started reaching for you, and like a moth to a flame, you melted into his arms the moment you felt his fingertips graze your skin.

Effie's eyes darted between you and her son, settling on him when her features melded into a look of understanding. A million questions raced through her mind. How long had this been going on? Why didn't James tell her? Did James tell Sirius? But the one thing she knew for sure was that you found comfort in James, and comfort was the one thing you needed right now.

She took a deep breath and decided to trust her son. "We'll talk about this later. I'm going to check on Sirius."

"Thanks, Mum." James let out a relieved breath.

"Just... behave."

"Mum!" James blushed, his hands swiftly traveling up to cover your ears with his palms.

"Oh, I didn't mean it like that!" Effie waved a hand in the air as she followed in the direction of Fleamont and Sirius.

James noticed your shoulders had started shaking intensely.

“Lovey,” he cooed. He moved his hands to cup your face, tilting it up to look at him. He was surprised to find that the reason for your shuddering shoulders was not because you had started crying harder. You were still crying, but it was mixed with a bit of laughter.

"I guess neither of us are very good at hiding things,” you said, thinking of how you jumped into his arms right in front of his mother.

James shook his head, a single chuckle escaping from his lips.

“Guess not.”

Your moment of humor quickly passed, your eyes turning sad again as more tears spilled out.

James sighed, brushing away your tears with his thumb before pulling you close to his chest. He rubbed soothing circles on your back, pressed kisses to the top of your head, and whispered professions of love and sweet words in your ear while he let you cry. Sometimes, he knew you just needed to let it all out.

Eventually, you let James’ touch and loving words relax you. When your crying was reduced to a sniffle, James veered back so that you could see his face.

“Let’s go on a walk.”

[cinnamonest]

how about delinquent childe x student reader…

BULLY AJAX BULLY AJAX

Literally the textbook example of “he's mean to you because he likes you and doesn't know how to express it!” thing.

From your perspective as another student in your small little town, you know he's a bad kid because of his notoriety with the school's parents. Each tells their kids to stay away from that boy, that no good will come from associating with him. You hear your parents mumble about how much they either pity his parents, how hard it must be having such a problem child, or chastising them, playing armchair psychologist as they theorize how a kid can turn out like that and wagering that it must be the parents’ fault somehow.

He ticks all the boxes that sets stricter parents into a frenzy — a history of arrests, smoking and drinking and skipping classes and failing grades. They all say they've seen that boy going double the speed limit on the rural roads, stealing alcohol from local stores, and how he put so-and-so who lives down the road's boy in the hospital, and gave so-and-so from church's boy a black eye and a broken leg, and how that teacher he attacked in eighth grade got a concussion so bad he's never been quite the same since.

But you know how awful he is firsthand, anyway. For whatever reason, unfortunately, you're picked to be his favorite victim. With other kids, it's all casual and opportunistic, getting into fights and finding amusement in tormenting others when he's bored and an opportunity comes, but for you, he goes out of his way to make your school life suck, from the time you're kids.

It's not until someone says it — maybe he just likes you, you know? — that you consider it… but even so, it reaches a point where you find it difficult to believe, and regardless, you don't care, you've come to hate him regardless of motive.

It's not like he's someone you'd date anyway, seeing as he's… well, not a good person. You like to think you have some strict standards of caliber of personal character.

The only thing that gives credibility to the theory that he's being affectionate is just how constant it is. Normally, bullying is largely opportunistic — they take opportunities when they arise, but it's not as common for bullies to go out of their way to find their victims, or if they do, not often.

Ajax, on the other hand, is a perpetual menace — to you, at least, even if his behavior towards other people mimics the pattern of normal bullying. But with you, it feels like every waking second of your life, he's dedicated to coming to find you and torture you.

Then there's the nature of the bullying — when you were little, it was tugging on your hair, tearing apart erasers and throwing the little bits at you from across a room.

The older you get, the more sensual it gets — groping you when he passes you in the halls, grabbing your tits and ass and then running off before you can do anything, snickering all the while. Crude gestures directed at you just to see you squirm. A few terrible drawings and scribbles depicting you naked and lewd passed over to you disguised as a note signed by a friend, to which you open with multiple people looking over your shoulder… only to crumple the thing and throw it away, trying not to give him the reaction he wants, but he's always smiling in amusement anyway.

The teachers are aware and have acted accordingly — they ensure you're never close to him in seating arrangements, never assign you two together for projects. But all their efforts mean little when he's still seeking you out. He finds you at lunch, in study hall, after school, on any sort of special field day, at sports games, just to torment you with teasing and taunting and touchiness, stealing your things, embarrassing you in front of others.

But at the same time, well, you can't help but notice that part of the reason is because he's friendless, his nature has made everyone dislike him, even the other bully kids. He doesn't hang out with the other “bad kids,” because the “bad kids” have a sense of respect for each other, bully only outsiders, whereas he can't help but be a menace to everyone, so any social group he attempts to enter loses cohesion when he messes with everyone. He's long since been driven away from any social circle, even other problem kids and bullies. You're his victim, but you're also the only person he really talks to.

You suppose you feel a little bad for him, but it doesn't come close to justifying making you miserable. Nor can you forgive him for ruining your clothes — you've long since noticed, to your dismay, that he's around you so much that the cigarette and alcohol smells that permeate off of him, have transferred to your own clothes, if not outright have smoke blown on them... not to mention little burn marks on your skirts where he puts them out on the fabric when you're not looking. As if some sort of cruel punishment, that you have to be constantly reminded of him even at home.

Bully Ajax who gets pushed over the edge when some new kid arrives at school and starts talking to his…

…Well, his something. Maybe not a girlfriend — you have to have slept together to truly be that, right? — but still his, some way, somehow. Everyone knows that. That's why everyone else leaves you alone.

It catches him totally off-guard — he goes to the classroom where you normally eat lunch (you've migrated there over time since everyone avoids you because of him anyway, and even if you sit alone in the cafeteria, he'll find a way to publicly embarrass you, so enduring secluded torment is easier), and lo and behold, he stops in his tracks, nearly tripping over his own feet at the sudden pure bewilderment of seeing you with someone else.

He's frozen stiff, mind blank and halted in thought like a computer error screen, trying to process, eye twitching as he watches from a distance.

Some boy that just strutted right into this school and thinks he has the right to go talking to you, sitting with you? Some guy he doesn't know?

Why are you smiling like that? Why are you laughing at whatever he just said? What did he say to you?

It's immediate, all-consuming, blind rage. A cold, bitter feeling that spreads from his throat to his chest all throughout his body, that makes him clench his jaw and kick at the ground all the way home. No point in staying the rest of the day, not when he has walls to punch and pillows to tear apart and plenty of seething to do.

And you, you're so enamored and happy with this new guy that you barely notice the absence of your biggest menace over the next few days. You're in too much bliss to notice him sitting in the back of your classes, bitterly glaring at you, hands curled into fists. Too focused on your new boyfriend (who does ask you out as such, and everyone — everyone — quickly learns about the status between the two of you) to notice you're both being followed wherever you go.

He knows where you live. Small town and all. He knows when your parents are gone. He knows when you're home alone.

Ajax is not the brightest bulb in the box. Not one to think of complex solutions. He tends to just do things very straightforward, to simply act in the most direct way possible. Combined with his total lack of impulse control, this makes for a ticking time bomb on a very short fuse, an explosion waiting to happen.

He can settle the matter with the only thing he's really good at — violence.

He's not sneaky about it either, actually quite upfront. You don't even notice the car pull into the driveway, just jolt at the sudden banging on your front door, and go still in bewilderment when you swing it open to find him of all people standing there. He doesn't give you an opportunity to say much of anything before grabbing you by the throat and shoving his way inside, dragging you through your own house as you gag and choke and flail, throwing you down on your own bed, holding you down with brutal force.

He's always been the sort of bully to find amusement in your torture — always smiling and laughing. You've never seen him genuinely angry like this. You whimper and try to push him back, but it only makes his fingers curl against your chest even harder.

He's already got the aftermath images of your boyfriend to show you. Unconscious and beaten to a bloody pulp, so swollen and disfigured he's nearly unrecognizable, red and purple all over his face, laying in a ditch somewhere.

Why are you crying? You haven't known that guy for very long at all. Not as long as you've known him. You've known him longer, he was there first, you should care more about him, you should know better than to talk to someone other than him — he treats it as a transgression, that you've betrayed him, done him some great wrong.

Which, you have, to him. Here he's invested so much time into you, and you stab him in the back like this? All that time, effort, and affection he's put into you, it's socially understood to be proclaiming you're his. Everyone else clearly understood that. You've violated a social contract of sorts, one that clearly says that he had laid claim to you, that you're his.

And you probably slept with that guy too, didn't you? Why aren't you answering? Did you? Did you? No, it's not “none of his business,” as you spit back at him, it is his business, it's you, and you're his and so anything you do is his right to know. If you don't answer, he'll choke you out until you do. But he knows you did, so even if you say you didn't, he'll just do the same until you confirm the answer he knows is true.

So you did. Let someone else get to you before him. Slept with someone that isn't him when you knew full well he wanted to.

You're lucky I don't fucking kill you.

That's what he says into your ear, when he's ramming into you so hard your headboard keeps slamming into the wall, fingernails digging into your flesh. That he was there first. That he loved you first. That you had no right. That you're a whore and a little bitch and you knew exactly what you were doing — yes you did, you fucking knew, don't lie to me — by cheating on him with some loser, and that if he didn't love you so much, if he wasn't so merciful, he would kill you for this.

You probably did it on purpose. You wanted to get back at him for that really bad thing he did to you a while back, maybe, or maybe that other really bad thing he did another time. You wanted to make him mad.

Maybe you wanted this, even. Wanted him to do this to you. Yeah, that's the theory that makes the most sense to him.

Right. You wanted to be “official” or whatever it's called when people are publicly together, which of course means they've slept together. Everyone already knew you were his, but you wanted to take things further. You just have such an indirect way of doing things. You know, you could have just invited him to come sleep with you. But you have to do everything in such convoluted, needlessly indirect ways. Girls are so frustrating sometimes.

Regardless, this is what it takes to get you to acknowledge what you both know to be true — that he's always owned you, really, you know that, everyone knows. Once you wake up, he'll have to go over rules with you from now on about not talking to other guys. Of course, now that you're all passed out, he'll wait in bed for you to wake up, because he's a good boyfriend. He'll just smoke to pass the time... you won't mind a some ashes in your bedsheets. Probably.

Now he'll just have to stay by your side even more, ensure you don't get the chance to act on your urges ever again, since you seem to have trouble with impulse control. He’ll be sure to preemptively beat any new male students half to death as soon as they set foot on campus and tell them to stay away from you. You know, precautionary measures.