#it was a very desperate decision honestly!

[foldingfittedsheets]

A basic human skill that people usually lock down around the age of three or four is impulse control. To conceptualize an action and it’s consequences before taking it. Maybe considering how that action affects other people. We then refine it through most of our childhood.

When I was a teenager my hold on this ability became… tenuous. I became a volatile and dangerous creature.

It’s probably not unique to me, but I had a perfect storm in terms of mental upsets. I had just mastered enough basic social skills, so I finally had a strong group of friends when my dad suddenly needed to move for work. Ripped away from my support network, blooming with hormones, I was dragged to Arizona. I was always a child of forests and mist and suddenly everything was hot, dry, and extremely pointy and aggressive.

Additionally to being abruptly transplanted I found myself an object of affection in a way I’d never been before. Lonely and desperate to make friends the only people who wanted to spend time with me had romantic designs. I just wanted to figure out my shit but I had a baby lesbian flirting with increasing aggression in art, a soft boy making heart eyes at me in biology, a senior nerd asking if I wanted to play Halo at his house and could he hold my hand?

Reader, I snapped. I didn’t want this romantic attention but I also didn’t want to be alone. My brain coped the only way it knew how, by simply cutting out decision making. Any action was the right action to take.

It started with the boy in biology. I’d stolen his pencil out of mischief and to my overwhelming fury instead of trying to steal it back he just softened his eyes and chucked me gently under my chin, a gesture so overtly sweet and romantic that I saw red.

I stabbed him with his own pencil.

I honestly and truly have no memory of it. It happened as fast as a snake striking and I was instantly filled with terrified remorse. Unfortunately that manifested as psychotic giggling.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t- I don’t know why- I’m so sorry!” I said, while hysterically laughing. I ended up having lodged some graphite in his palm and had to tweeze it out with my nails while apologizing furiously. (It’s very important to note here that he forgave me and we’re still friends)

That was weird, I thought. Why didn’t I think before I stabbed someone?

The next event was equally catastrophic, and I had even less reason to do it. In gym with two girls I was tentatively befriending, we were warming up running laps. I started racing one of them. At breakneck speed we were sprinting around the gym.

This time, there was a blip of thought before I fucked up. I should get the other girl! I have no idea why or what the plan was but I turned on a swivel and body checked the other girl. We both fell down in immense pain. I think that’s the moment I broke my tailbone. Her knees were horribly bruised and she looked at me in bewildered pain. “Why did you do that?!”

I had no idea. I apologized and helped her up, both of us hobbling like newborn horses, bruised and hurting.

By this time there’d been enough social upheavals that I was reduced to spending time with some girls I had nothing in common with and low key disliked. Sat at a table listening to this girl talk about how she wanted to be a stripper when she grew up I thought, You’d better put the cap on before you throw it.

I then chucked my empty water bottle directly at her face. It bounced off her forehead with a bop! that would have made a sound mixer weep at its perfection.

All eyes turned to me is startlement. I stared back at her, stunned by my own action, just as confused as everyone else at the table as to why I’d done that. One of the girls to my right said, “Were you trying to hit that fly?”

“Yes!” I lied, “I’m sorry, I thought I could hit the fly!”

Everyone laughed at my antics and I joined in rather than admit I had just chucked something at her for no reason.

Things did start to improve after that. I solidified a friendship with the girl I’d raced (who I developed a massive crush on and ten years later would go on to date). My outbursts turned more whimsical rather than aggressive. Like accosting a girl leaving the cafeteria to look deeply into her eyes and say with great compassion, “It’s going to be alright.”

My new friend and I snuck into the van that delivered our cafeterias baked goods and lay giggling in the back. When I’d impulsively hopped in she’d joined me and made it a game.

After a year in Arizona I broke down crying to my mother, an act of great desperation, and we ended up moving back home. My impulse control returned to normal teenage levels and life resumed in a happier state of mind.

[fusionsprunt]

So wait. Gideon k.o himself to be Hunter? Or his organic body still intact? He's pulling a Springtrap??

.

[arsenicflame]

since we all appear to be talking about izzy 'calling the police' on stede id like to offer my silly little two cents:

its not like the navy wasn't actively looking for him anyway??????

at most, izzys actions sped up badminton catching up with stede, but its made very clear that badminton wanted Stede dead well before this, and was willing to use whatever he could to find him- whos to say jackie wouldnt have cut a deal on her own? that any other pirate thats seen them being unsubtle in a port wouldn't take the opportunity to make a quick buck over a guy who is Nobody and holds no influence that could lead to any consequences for them?

in reality izzy is probably the only person who would receive negative repercussions to selling out stede, given his personal connection with ed- any other pirate would probably have gotten away unscathed, anonymous. they likely wouldnt have even been present like izzy was. izzy had personal stakes, anyone else would have taken the money and ran

the way i see it, with or without izzy the events of episode 10 probably would have happened in some degree, izzy just expedited the timeline

[puhpandas]

I keep thinking about how on earth they would canonize ggy bc like. at this point if they have to sacrifice Gregory screentime of just him to make something we already know actually canon, I would rather just take the screentime, but on the other hand they have to canonize it if they want to do anything at all with that plotline, and that makes me wonder if theyll stick with it as canon in the games at all or just leave it as background knowledge if u read the book 😭

[exopelagic]

i said i wouldn’t do it this time but it’s 3am and mods asleep. boy

[jacksintention]

.

[zivazivc]

Hiii!! Ufff I don't know how to tell you that I love your take on Floyd. like some bad bad life decisions were taken (THAT SO!!! INTERESTING FOR HIM). Do you think he ever feels ashamed of himself when he looks at Branch's eyes, like "shit, this guy really believes in me" or "he doesn't even know everything I have done"? Like he has some really BIG "Love me Less by Max" vibes

They all really believe in his goodness which is worse

And OH he definitely feels so much shame and regret. I think a big part of why he fell as hard as he did was because he finally didn't have to be his brothers' mediator, and I guess at one point he forgot that he still needed to be the voice of reason for himself. His new band mates encouraging his reckless behavior didn't help. Honestly I personally think young Floyd was a very naive kid and very dependent on his older brothers but his strong empathy gave them all the impression that he was much more mature and independent than he really was...

So yeah... you can imagine that constantly partying, doing drugs and sleeping around wears someone down after a few years. I think Floyd also went gray like Branch (not for as long tho) and he broke up with the band wanting to go home badly, but he was also ashamed of showing his face after a number of years as a gray drug addict, so he kind of just ended up alone...

If we're sharing songs, I have to show you this one by Linkin Park because I think Floyd wrote it for Branch (and the rest of his family (and some parts also addressing himself)) while he was at that desperate and lonely period because I am also extremely emo

[littlexdeaths]

scotty doesn’t know - e.m. iii.

eddie munson x fem reader

18+ ONLY MDNI

warnings: cheating, lil sprinkle of angst, shitty (ex) boyfriend behavior, some major fucking CHEESE (sorry if ur lactose intolerant), reader is the ultimate tease, dom!eddie, light bondage, degradation kink, oral (m receiving), ass/pussy spanking, multiple orgasms, unprotected piv sex, cream pie

series masterlist

based on scotty doesn’t know by lustra

a/n: honestly about to dedicate my entire life and blog to @strangerstilinski because i couldn’t have gotten this one done without her help. also thank you everyone who has been so incredibly patient with me, i hope you enjoy xx.

word count: 8.2k

The weekend had come and gone way too fast.

And now Monday was staring you right in the face, and with it— a very important decision.

You spent the rest of your weekend with Eddie, cuddling, talking and just enjoying each other's company. For those two days you were in your own little world together and you honestly never wanted it to end. But realistically you knew you had to go home and return back to your reality.

A reality where you belonged to someone else.

Your parents were absolutely livid by the time you returned home late Sunday evening, getting the biggest lecture of your life after Eddie had dropped you off. To add fuel to the fire, Scott had been calling your house nonstop since Saturday morning, much to your parents' annoyance. But that was a conversation you weren’t ready to have just yet.

Especially not over the phone.

You tossed and turned all night, desperately trying to figure out what you were going to say to him.

Monday was going to be rough, you knew that. But the thought of being able to finally show everyone who your heart really belonged to made things a little easier. You hadn’t exactly let Eddie know of your plans to dump your boyfriend the following day but he could tell something was up.

From the way you kissed him goodbye in his van, right out in the open for anyone to see, including your parents. And the look you gave him as you glanced over your shoulder before continuing up your driveway. It gave him a spark of hope that maybe this wasn’t just a silly fling to you either.

You got ready that morning with shaky hands, tucking one of Eddie’s band tees into your Levi’s. The male had let you wear it home the previous day, mostly because he enjoyed the sight of you in his clothes a little too much. You fiddle with the belt loop of your jeans as you stare at your reflection.

A mixture of nerves and excitement swirled in your belly as you took in your appearance, smoothing your sweaty palms over your thighs.

You can do this.

You take one final look before grabbing your backpack and bound down the stairs with a newfound pep in your step. You can’t help the goofy smile from spreading across your face as you think of seeing Eddie, and it makes all this seem a little easier. You all but ignore the curious looks from your parents as you bolt out the front door.

They hadn’t seen you this happy in months.

But as you drive to school, those pesky nerves begin to creep back in as you pass Scott’s jeep. You will your heart rate to slow as you search for a parking spot. A sense of relief fills your chest when you notice one just a few spots down from a very particular van. Your hands shake as you pull the key from the ignition, taking a moment to collect yourself before you head inside.

You try to ignore the curious eyes of your peers as you enter the school, knowing the events of the previous Friday were still fresh in their minds. And you reach your locker without incident, quickly yanking it open to put away your textbooks. You keep your head down as you walk to your first class, part of you was just waiting for Scott to sneak up on you.

Oddly enough you hadn’t seen him or Eddie all morning, which was extremely unusual. By now Scott would've walked you to first class and you’d be spending your second period study hall with Eddie. So seeing neither of them had your mind racing, and your anxiety spiking.

Had Scott figured it out? Did he confront Eddie?

A pit begins to form in your stomach at the thought, and you don’t think you could ever forgive yourself if Eddie was hurt because of you. You’re so wrapped up in your own head that you don’t notice someone beginning to approach you. A look of determination on their face.

“I need to talk to you.”

The voice startles you, panic rises in your throat as your eyes lift. You are expecting to meet Scott’s icy glare, or the warmth of Eddie’s gaze. But instead, you are met with the soft but stern cerulean of Dustin Henderson.

“Me?” you ask softly, glancing around you before back at the younger male.

“Yes you,” he huffs in annoyance.

“What could you possibly need to talk to me about?” you keep your tone hushed as he takes the empty chair across from you.

“I know you think you’re fooling everyone, but you aren’t fooling me.”

You’re stunned into silence for a moment, fingers gripping the arm of the chair as he raises a brow at you.

“I really don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t bullshit me, I know you’re sneaking around with Eddie,” he snaps.

Your heart leaps into your throat, mouth drying as Dustin continues to glower at you. A sting of betrayal suddenly fills your chest, and you feel foolish for even thinking Eddie would actually keep this secret between you.

But maybe he was just like Scott, who loved to brag about his sexual conquests to all his friends.

“He wasn’t supposed to tell—”

“He didn’t.” Dustin cuts you off, taking off his hat to run a frustrated hand through his hair. “I’m just not blind.”

You both sit in silence for a moment then, feeling even more confused than you were when he initially sat down.

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”

Dustin sighs, folding his hands together before he meets your gaze again.

“Eddie doesn’t know I'm here right now and honestly, he��d probably kill me if he did know.” The male winces slightly, before he continues. “But I am through with sitting around and watching one of my best friend’s hearts get stomped on.”

“Dustin, that’s not—”

He holds up his hand to cut you off, shaking his head.

“Just let me finish.”

So you hold your tongue, despite wanting to tell this kid that he has it all wrong.

“Eddie’s a good guy, one of the best I've ever known. And over the past couple of months we’ve all seen a change in him, he’s happier.”

That thought warmed your heart.

“But I can also see how all this is weighing on him. You may not notice it, but it’s definitely there.”

A lump has formed in your throat, watching in silence as the younger boy stands and slings his backpack over his shoulder. He glances at you once more, that look of disdain still written across his features.

“Now I know I can’t tell you what to do, but Eddie doesn’t deserve to be someone’s secret.”

And without a glance back in your direction, you’re alone again.

Fourth period.

The moment you’ve been waiting for and simultaneously dreading since Sunday evening. It was the only class you shared with Scott, and while you’d been able to avoid him most of the day— it was time to face the music.

When you step into the classroom, he is already seated in his usual spot in the back corner of the room. The empty desk beside him is practically calling your name.

But your whole body freezes when his eyes meet yours expectantly. And as he begins to wave you over, you make a beeline to the opposite side of the classroom. You keep your eyes low as you find an empty seat, chewing nervously on your lower lip.

When you flip open your notebook, you hear the familiar squeak of sneakers in front of you. Your eyes slowly lift to reveal the hardened features of your boyfriend. His jaw is set in a grimace, and he rests his knuckles harshly on the front of your desk.

“Babe, we need to talk.”

But before you have the chance to reply, Mrs. Jones enters the classroom in a flurry. The bell rings immediately after, signaling the start of class. And it’s hard to tell whether the abrupt noise or his harsh glare causes you to flinch in your seat. She claps her hands to attention then, but Scott still doesn’t move.

“Mr. McGuire, take your seat now.”

He merely scoffs before he stalks away, returning to his own seat. Feeling defeated, you slump down in your chair. Any confidence you’d had this morning seemed to dissolve under his angry gaze. The rest of the class period goes by in a daze, as you can’t seem to focus on anything besides the daggers that Scott has been throwing your way the entire hour.

Once the final bell rings, you shoot up from your seat so fast you nearly take a couple other students in your rush. You practically sprint to your locker, hoping to make it to the lunchroom before Scott can corner you.

But you underestimated his speed, especially when he was sober.

His hand suddenly slams your locker door shut, and he backs you into the cool metal. He leans his palm against the line of lockers, closing you in completely. There was no way you could escape him now.

“What is going on with you? Why are you being such a frigid bitch?” he seethes.

You can’t help but wince at the insult, shrinking under his increasingly angry gaze. People were beginning to stare, causing more nerves to twist in your gut. This was a much more interesting sight than anything the cafeteria had to offer. And while you hated the attention, you knew you had to do this.

Just like ripping off a bandaid.

“I want to break up.”

He clearly wasn’t expecting that, confusion quickly replacing the anger on his features. You let out the sigh you didn’t realize you were holding, relief filling your chest as you finally spoke the words aloud.

Scott runs a hand through his dark locks, pulling away from you ever so slightly.

“You want to break up?” his voice raises, “Why? Is this about that stupid fucking party?”

You knew it wouldn’t be that easy, he wouldn’t just agree and walk away. While you had tried to prepare yourself for what you wanted to say all night, your brain was struggling to string any words together.

You rub your temples, trying to prolong the inevitable but the male could only take your silence for so long.

“Well?!” he shouts.

You take a shaky breath as you square your shoulders, attempting to feign some kind of confidence. Dustin’s words from earlier echoing in your ears. He doesn’t deserve to be someone’s secret. The sea of students had only begun to grow in the past few minutes but you don’t notice that Eddie was amongst them.

“I don’t love you, and quite frankly I don’t think I ever did.”

You could hear a pin drop.

“You're an arrogant, selfish prick. And honestly, I just can’t keep doing this anymore…” you pause, now meeting his stormy eyes.

“Especially when my heart belongs to someone else.”

If you thought Scott was angry before, you hadn’t seen anything yet.

His hand suddenly slams into the locker next to your head, causing you to shrink instantly. While he’s never been violent towards you before, you aren’t entirely surprised by it. It was just in his nature.

“So you cheated on me? Is that what you’re saying?”

Before you can get another word in, you hear the familiar clearing of a throat. And a ringed hand reaches out to harshly tug the male away from you.

“You just don’t learn do you, Scotty?”

Eddie is beyond fuming as he shoves Scott back into the lockers before the male can properly react. And while Scott wasn’t the smartest guy, he quickly seemed to put two and two together.

He looked between you and Eddie before he started laughing.

“Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me. Munson? You’re fucking the freak?”

You instantly turn on defense mode, entirely fed up with his treatment of him. Before you can stop yourself, you copy Eddie’s actions and shove Scott back into the lockers. Surprise crosses both of the males' features at your actions, knowing you were never a violent or angry person.

But everyone has their limits and you’ve just hit yours.

“Yeah, and he fucks me so well too. Eddie here actually knows how to make a girl come— but I can’t say the same for you, McGuire.”

An astounding ‘oooh’ resonates through the crowd at your words.

Scott’s cheeks are flushed from a mixture of embarrassment and anger. No one has ever stood up to him like this before and he’s suddenly at a loss for words. Eddie is grinning like a mad man, clapping excitedly before he wraps his arms around your waist. You welcome his embrace, leaning back further against his chest.

Scott just stares at the two of you, gritting his teeth as you smile sweetly.

“Now, I think we’re done here. Let’s go, Eddie.”

The metalhead willingly lets you drag him away, only your destination wasn’t the cafeteria anymore.

You pull him into the nearest empty hallway, shoving him up against the wall and locking your lips together. Eddie eagerly accepts your advances, fingers lacing through the loop of your jeans to keep you pressed against him.

Adrenaline is pumping through your veins, making every touch of his skin feel like a live wire.

“Munson!”

You curse softly as you realize you’ve been caught, and quickly glance over your shoulder.

Mr. Mundy looks between the two of you with a deep sigh, “Now come on, you know the rules. Break it up or you’re both getting detention.”

You unwillingly pull yourself away from him and lean against the brick wall beside him. A glance out of the corner of your eye shows how the male is biting back a grin.

“Try not to infect your girlfriend with your delinquency, alright?” Mr. Mundy gives you both a disgruntled look before heading back into his classroom.

Once the door shuts behind him, Eddie lets out a soft chuckle and coaxes you back into his arms.

“Y’hear that? Girlfriend,” he teases, wiggling his brows but the title makes your stomach flutter nonetheless. “Didn’t even ask me out on a proper date though, sweetheart. I’m offended.”

He laughs as you playfully pinch his side, shaking your head fondly. You lean your forehead against his chest, letting yourself indulge in the scent of his cologne.

“Did you really mean what you said back there?” he says after a while.

The sudden change of tone has you lifting your head, gazing up at him curiously. Eddie pulls you in even closer, letting his hands rest on the curve of your waist.

“That your heart belongs to me?” he prods.

You look down at your feet shyly, not realizing that he had heard that part of the conversation. Eddie doesn’t let your gaze wander for long though, as he gently tips your head back up to meet his.

“Yes, I meant it,” your voice shakes, your nerves getting the best of you.

But the look that flits over his features has your heart skipping a beat and butterflies erupting in your belly.

“All mine?” he questions, nervously licking his lips as he awaits your answer.

“All yours, Eddie.”

Being Eddie Munson’s official girlfriend is more than anything you could’ve dreamt about.

While sneaking around with him was fun in the moment, the amount he wanted to show you off made your heart sing. You had never felt so wanted or taken care of in your entire life.

But it wasn’t always easy, as graduation continued to grow closer the two of you barely had any alone time together. Between Hellfire, band practice and constant cramming for finals— time was not on your side.

But busy schedules be damned, you both manage to carve out enough time for a date at Benny’s.

“The usual, kids?”

Benny calls from the kitchen with a grin as you both take a seat in your normal booth. The diner had quickly become your favorite place for date nights, in your opinion they had the best food in town. Despite Eddie’s futile attempts to take you to Enzo’s, you prefer the easy going atmosphere of the small diner much more.

“Nah, just two chocolate milkshakes and an order of fries. We only got a few minutes before this one abandons me for prom shit with Wheeler,” Eddie teases.

You can’t help but pout, nudging his foot under the table.

“Says the one who abandoned me for movie night with Henderson yesterday.”

What you aren’t aware of though is how Dustin was actually helping Eddie pick out a tux and tie for prom. Laughing hysterically as the older boy panicked over what color tie would match perfectly with your dress.

Benny watches you both playfully bicker back and forth, shaking his head fondly. He brings out your order a few minutes later and unable to contain your excitement any further, you grab a fry and dip it directly into your milkshake.

Eddie’s lips freeze around the straw, gazing at you in absolute bewilderment when he pretends to gag.

“Sweetheart, that’s disgusting.”

You roll your eyes at his theatrics, taking a bite out of the fry before dipping it back in.

“You really shouldn’t knock it till you try it, Ed,” you say in a sing-song tone as your boyfriend urgently pulls the basket of fries away from you.

“Yeah— no way. I’m not doing that, you’re pretty sick in the head, baby,” he muses between bites of a plain fry. “Shit… and people call me a freak?”

You stifle a giggle as you lean forward, stealing the half eaten fry from between his fingers. You dunk it back into your milkshake and pop it in your mouth with a soft but exaggerated moan.

Eddie shifts slightly in his seat, his cheeks flushing a light shade of pink. It was almost too easy to get him so worked up. You ignore the warning look he shoots your way as you reach for another fry.

“Come on, just try it.”

You scoop as much of the shake onto the fry as possible, holding it towards him. The male just shakes his head, leaning back against the cracked leather of the booth.

“You know, I don’t know if this is gonna work out between us, doll face,” he chuckles, watching as the chocolate cream begins to drip down your fingers.

His petulance continues but you’re still trying to goad him into taking a bite, dangling it in front of his scrunched nose, inching closer and closer. All in an effort to tempt him. You watch patiently, waiting for the perfect opportunity to slip it between his pouty lips.

“This level of blasphemy might be crossing a line, even for me—”

Before he can finish his thought, there’s lukewarm milkshake and salt smeared across his cheek and the corner of his mouth.

Eddie sits in shock for a moment before you burst into a fit of giggles at his expression.

“Oh, you are asking for it now, baby,” he taunts.

You are unprepared as he dips two of his fingers into his own glass, reaching forward to smear the sticky chocolate across your cheek. You gasp when the male leans forward, mischief sparkling in his eyes. His tongue darts out, causing a loud squeal to escape you as he licks the milkshake from your cheek.

“Eddie, that’s gross,” you whine as you reach out to steady the glass before he dumps milkshake everywhere.

“Hm, you didn’t seem to find it that gross when it was buried inside your—”

You toss a fry at him before he can finish that sentence, hitting him square in the forehead. He looks shocked, ringed fingers dramatically grasping at his chest when he slumps in his seat.

“You wound me, sweet thing.”

It’s then that you take the time to really look at him, and a surge of utter fondness fills your chest. While he goes on a dramatic rant about how french fries could be considered a deadly weapon, you’re only half listening.

Instead admiring the way his dimple indents his cheek when he grins sheepishly at you, and his hands flail about when he speaks. And it really hits you just how lucky you are to have him, that he was all yours.

So when you lean forward to capture his lips and ultimately silence him— he’s a little surprised. But he cups your face between his palms and kisses you back with just as much fervor.

“What was that for?” he asks a little breathlessly when you pull away, and you just smile.

“Just… cause I can.”

His eyes soften and he reaches out to thread your fingers together. Eddie knows the significance of what that means, so he can’t help but lean in to press your lips together again.

“Fuck yeah, you can.”

You really wonder if the universe was playing one big joke on you.

After your mini date at the diner a few days prior, you’d barely seen Eddie the rest of the week. The guys had a big gig at the Hideout the following evening and have been using any spare moment they had to practice. While you understood the reasoning for it, the other part of you was becoming increasingly frustrated.

Eddie could definitely tell something was up, but he didn’t exactly have the time to ask you in the five minute intervals you had together between classes.

So in an effort to make up for his absence, Eddie asked you to tag along to practice that night. But you might have had some ulterior motives for agreeing. Since it had been well over a week since you had any proper alone time together, you were past the point of needy.

Despite still seeing each other, the rushed kisses and subtle touches weren’t enough for either of you.

This was the longest either of you had gone without sex, so you can only imagine he was feeling the same way. But if his longing glances told you anything, it was that he needed you just as much— if not more. So that’s why you showed up to practice in your shortest skirt you owned.

What the metalhead doesn’t know is that you aren’t wearing any panties under said skirt.

However, he’s going to find out soon enough.

You’d given him a quick peck on the cheek when you got there, nothing too much though. You really did want his friends to like you, and they seemed to hate the constant displays of affection you both exhibited on the daily. So you kept it subtle, mostly for that reason.

But a small part of you did it just to rile him more.

In the short time you’d been officially dating, it became quite apparent how much Eddie craved your touch, whether it was sexual or not. He’d subtly tap his fingers on your knee during group hang outs, or press his lips to your temple when he walked you to class. You found it utterly endearing, but you also knew you could use it to your advantage.

So you could immediately tell from the slight pout that your boyfriend wanted more than just a peck on the cheek.

Hook, line and sinker.

As practice continued on, you found yourself sitting on an unused amp, with no other chairs in sight. The group wasn’t exactly used to visitors during practice, so you had to make due. You didn’t mind it though, as it put you in Eddie’s direct line of sight.

About half an hour in they decided to take a small break, the other three males were chatting excitedly about their upcoming dnd campaign. Eddie was more focused on tuning his guitar, but his eyes continued to wander back over to you.

This was the perfect opportunity to let him in on your little secret, while the other members were too preoccupied to be paying attention to you.

You sigh heavily and lean your arms back, uncrossing your legs and letting them fall open. Giving him the perfect view of what you were hiding… or rather not hiding, underneath your skirt.

His eyes flick up to your face before they begin to travel lower, and it takes him a full minute before he notices. But once that recognition flashes across his features, his mouth hangs open in shock.

A playful smirk plays on your lips and you quickly cross your legs again, acting as though nothing had happened. Eddie’s jaw is clenched when he returns to tuning his guitar, feigning as though it had no effect on him. But you could tell from the growing bulge in his jeans, that it definitely did.

He was grateful he had the ability to hide his boner for the rest of practice, not wanting to explain himself to his bandmates. But you knew by his stiff posture, you were so in for it when this was over.

The thought had you squirming with excitement, and you tried your best not to make a mess all over your makeshift seat. Now that would be something you could never live down.

Thankfully Eddie decided to end practice earlier than normal, claiming they could all use a break after their busy week.

But only the two of you knew the real reason.

Eddie all but drags you out to his van once his gear is packed up, gently shoving you against the back door. He opens the other side to put his guitar back into the vehicle, and quickly slams it shut. You bite back a grin when he cages you in against the cool metal.

His jaw is still tense, eyes darkening when his hand begins to caress your bare thigh.

“That was quite the peep show, sweetness.”

You try to keep your breathing even, but his roaming hands are making that very difficult.

“I don’t know what you mean, baby,” you feign innocence, knowing it’ll only rile him up more.

While he loves when you’re his good girl, he also loves any excuse to treat you like his little slut. The brunette chuckles humorously, grabbing your chin in his free hand to keep your eyes aligned with his.

“Come on now, don’t play dumb with me,” he tuts.

You just continue to gaze up at him all doe-eyed, hands resting on his chest. You don’t answer him, which only makes him more frustrated than he was to begin with.

“I see how it’s gonna be... You wanna be a brat? I’ll treat you like one,” he hisses. “Now, get in the van.”

He pulls away, and you feel a sudden chill from the loss of his body heat. When you don’t move an inch his brow raises, cocking his head at you.

“Don’t make me repeat myself, sweetheart.”

As much as you would love to continue to push his buttons, you know you’re in enough trouble as it is. So you squeak out a quiet ‘yes, sir’ and round the side of the van to hop in the passenger seat.

Eddie is silent for most of the ride, but the tension in the air is palpable. While he says nothing, the glances he keeps tossing your way have you squirming in your seat. In an effort to stop your distracting movements he reaches a hand out, ringed fingers digging into the meat of your thigh.

And in your desperate state you can’t resist pushing him just a little more. So you rest your smaller hand atop his and guide his fingers in between your legs. Eddie suddenly slams on the brakes and your body flies forward when he pulls off on the side of the road.

He puts the van in park before turning to face you.

“In the back, on your knees. Now.”

You grin excitedly at his demanding tone, already anticipating what was to come. So you quickly unbuckle your seatbelt and scurry into the back of the van without another word. Eddie takes his sweet ole time before joining you, as part of your punishment. He knew your patience would only last so long.

He flicks through his cassette tapes and fiddles with the radio volume… anything to keep you waiting.

So when he does finally join you in the back, you’re practically trembling with need. His hands cradle the back of your neck, titling it to bare your throat to him. He presses harsh kisses along your skin, nipping every so often. You can’t help but whimper from the contact, your hands reaching out to grip the fabric of his shirt.

But he stops you, immediately pushing your hands aside.

“Only good girls get to touch me,” he grunts.

Your eyes widen when he pulls the skull bandana out of his back pocket, maneuvering himself around you. He pulls your hands behind your back and binds them together with the soft fabric. Once he was happy with the secureness of the knot, he’s back in front of you.

This was something new.

His fingers gently grip your chin, but he forces you to meet his gaze.

“What’s your color, baby?”

As your sexual relationship began to delve deeper, the more safe words and communication became his highest priority.

“Green… neon fucking green,” you hum.

The smirk quickly returns to his features, and his lips go back to sucking on your neck.

“Watch that pretty mouth of yours, doll or I’ll put it to use.”

You can feel the wetness starting to drip down your thighs, having absolutely no barrier due to your lack of undergarments. His hands have found their way to your breasts, kneading them in his large palms before he continues lower. Once he reaches the apex of your thighs he nearly growls, feeling your arousal coating your supple skin.

“Fuck— I need you, Eds.” you whine, already forgetting what he had just told you only moments prior.

Eddie promptly removes his hands from you, the sound of his belt clinking open has you shivering in anticipation.

“You really want to test my patience tonight, don’t you?”

You now realize your mistake.

But you can’t find it in yourself to regret it when he finally releases his cock from the confines of his jeans. You glance up at him expectantly, licking your lips at the sight of his pre-cum coating the tip. His fingers guide your mouth open and can feel your body practically buzzing with excitement.

“Since you can’t seem to listen, I’m going to use your mouth however I want. If it’s too much I need you to snap your fingers twice. Okay?”

You give him verbal confirmation and snap twice to demonstrate that you are still able to do so even with your hands bound. Satisfied with your response he grins and opens your mouth wider.

“Lemme see that tongue, baby,” he instructs.

You obey immediately and he rewards you by slapping the head of his cock against it. Once… twice… a third time… before he slips it past your lips with a groan.

Eddie’s hand fists your hair, pulling your mouth even further onto his cock. You take every inch willingly, eagerly swirling your tongue around the base of his shaft. His eyes squeeze shut, mouth slightly agape as you take him even deeper.

But you already miss his piercing gaze, now desperate for him to look at you. So you pull back until his cock slips past your lips.

His eyes shoot open and he raises a brow at you, “Did I say you could stop?”

The utter dominance in his tone and stature makes you even wetter, your thighs pressing together as he continues to stare you down with those dark eyes.

“Want you to look at me,” you plead, batting your lashes at him.

He just chuckles, keeping his gaze locked on yours when you eagerly take him back into your mouth. His fist tightens in your hair, another groan escapes him when he hits the back of your throat. A wicked grin tugs at his lips when he feels you gag around him.

“That’s right, gag on it,” he coos.

Your eyes remain locked with his as he continues to use your throat, mascara tears running freely down your cheeks with each thrust. His groans fill your ears, each one sending heat straight to your core. His lips pull up into that signature smirk as he admires the absolute mess he’s made of you.

But before he reaches that peak, he slips himself out of your mouth. It’s too soon for your liking, despite the throbbing ache between your legs. He notices the pout on your lips, now eyeing the string of saliva that keeps you connected.

“As much as I’d love to come in that bratty mouth of yours…” he pauses, wiping up some of the drool from your lips with his thumb. “I’d much rather see it dripping out of that pretty pussy instead.”

You can’t help but whimper in response, letting Eddie bend you over the center console of the vehicle. He flips your skirt up, landing a harsh smack to your ass as he nudges your legs apart with his own. You’re suddenly grateful for the console beneath you, knowing you wouldn’t have the strength to hold yourself up with your hands still bound.

Eddie grabs your bound wrists with one hand, the other slipping between your thighs.His calloused fingers run through your slick folds, and he moans at the wetness he finds there.

“God… always so wet. You’re such a little slut for me, huh? You like when I use you like this, baby?”

You merely nod, your thoughts far too jumbled from his touch that words are escaping you. But Eddie isn’t having any of it, and really you should know better.

Another harsh slap lands on your pussy this time, a shaky gasp leaving your lips.

“Come on sweetheart, tell me…”

Eddie slips two fingers into your entrance with no resistance, curling them up to hit that sweet spot inside of you. But his actions stop just as quickly as they start due to your continued silence. And when he begins to slip his fingers out, your walls contract around them in an effort to keep them nestled inside you.

“Cat got your tongue, baby?” he taunts.

You want to cry from frustration when he fully removes the digits, guiding your hips back towards him. Eddie just chuckles, before you hear him noisily suck your arousal from his fingers.

“Y-Yes, Eddie. Just please, fuck me,” you cry.

While you can’t see him, you know he’s grinning like a madman. Any further plans of begging disappear when you feel the tip of his cock rubbing through your folds. As much as he’d love to continue teasing you, his own impatience takes over and he slides into you with one hard thrust.

It doesn’t matter how many times he’s fucked you, you still feel so full. Stretched out beyond belief— it nearly takes your breath away.

Eddie doesn’t give you much warning before he’s snapping his hips back into yours. The sudden motion causes your head to lull forward and rest against the console. Your walls practically suck him in deeper, and he enjoys the pathetic little noises that leave you as he continues to slam into you.

“Fuck— you feel so good, sweetheart.”

Eddie uses your bound wrists to pound into you harder, hitting that spot inside you that makes your eyes roll into the back of your head. You can already feel your orgasm bubbling up inside you, that band getting tighter as he continues his ruthless pace.

“You gonna cum already? Such a little slut…” he nearly growls, “Go on, do it. Let’s see how many times you can make a mess on my cock.”

Between his words and the constant pounding into your g-spot is what tips you over the edge, feeling your knees wobble from the force of your orgasm. Eddie begins to slow his pace, letting you ride the waves a little before he slips one of his hands between you to gently rub at your clit.

Your soft whimpers only seem to spur him on further, keeping a steady pace. But he rams into you so deeply, you swear you can feel him in your throat. Despite how slightly overstimulating the feeling is… it’s too good to stop. And you’d do anything to show Eddie how good you can actually be.

“That’s it… feels good, baby?”

You let out a small but breathy ‘uh huh’, that being the only response you can muster at this point. One orgasm has turned your brain to mush, and all you can think or feel is Eddie Eddie Eddie.

Your response has him chuckling, as the male continues to rock his hips into yours. He loves getting you to this point, so drunk on his cock that you can’t form a coherent sentence. His fingers start to pick up their pace against your bundle of nerves, feeling how your walls clench even tighter around him.

While he wants to fill you up so badly, he also wants to see how far he could push you. It was only fair.

“Wanna show me you can listen, sweetheart? Give me another one. You can do it.”

You nearly sob as your second orgasm suddenly crashes over you. While not as forceful as the first, it’s powerful enough to make your legs give out beneath you. Letting all your weight rest against the center console. Eddie is quick to help guide your hips back up, and stops the movement of his own.

You can feel the tears slipping down your cheeks when he frees your wrists, finally slipping out of you. You whimper at the loss of contact, but it’s not gone for long. As Eddie helps guide you into a sitting position, before carefully laying you back onto a pile of blankets.

He brushes the tears away from your cheeks, and presses a gentle kiss to your lips.

“Can you give me one more? Doin’ so good for me, sweet thing.”

You practically preen at his praise, eagerly nodding when he situates himself between your legs again. He carefully lifts your trembling thighs, his touch much more gentle now. He caresses your supple skin before he slips back inside you with a deep seated groan.

You can feel how your hands begin to twitch at your sides, desperate to reach up and tangle your fingers in his curls. But his previous warning rings in your ears, only good girls can touch me. Eddie catches the subtle movement and reaches down to guide your hands up towards his head. And a loud grunt leaves him when he reaches your deepest point.

“You can touch me baby, you’ve earned it.”

He barely finishes his sentence before you’re threading your fingers through his wild curls and tugging him closer. Until your clothed chests are pressed together and you can feel the weight of his ribs against yours. Your mouths meet with a soft urgency and his tongue glides over your lower lip before slipping past them.

His pace has slowed tremendously, all in an effort to cherish the feeling of being inside you. Despite how rough can be at times, this was his favorite way to be with you. With your bodies entangled in every possible way.

While Eddie may put on a tough exterior, he’s a big softie underneath it all. And you’ve come to adore both sides of him.

He pulls away from your lips with a small gasp, greedily inhaling your mingling breath as his chestnut hues meet yours. Eddie looks beautiful like this, hovering above you all sweaty and flushed. It's truly a sight you wouldn’t grow tired of seeing. He doesn’t let lips stray too far though, leaning down to press hot kisses along your jaw towards your neck.

The brunette eagerly sucks onto the skin of your throat, tongue darting out to soothe the ache he leaves behind. One of your hands untangles itself from his tousled curls, slipping between your bodies to rub at your overly sensitive clit. Judging by how sloppy his thrusts were becoming, you knew he wasn’t going to last much longer.

Eddie buries his face into the crook of your neck, whining when you clench harder around him. The feeling of his cock twitching inside you has your head reeling, already so close to finishing for a third time that night.

“Fuck— I love you,” he pants, each slam of his hips becomes more frantic with his admission. “I love you, sweetheart.”

His confession is all it takes to push you both over the edge. Eddie’s hips stutter as he fills you, and your body arches further into his embrace with a cry of his name. It’s so intense that you can feel how his body trembles above you, and the stars begin to dance behind your lids. The weight of his words finally starts to sink in when he collapses on top of you, blinking away the tears that fill your lash line.

The mixture of your heavy breathing fills the silence and you gently stroke his curls while you both come down from your highs. Eddie must have felt your tears dripping down onto his cheek and his head lifts to regard you with concern.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong? Did I hurt you?” he asks.

You just shake your head, pressing another kiss to his awaiting mouth. But when you pull away a little too soon for his liking, he practically pouts. You just smile fondly, nervous fluttering in your belly at what you were about to confess. Despite hearing him utter those same three words only moments prior.

“I just… I really love you too, Eddie.”

The grin that stretches across his face has your heart thumping faster, your giggles soon fill the silence in the van as he presses tender kisses everywhere he can reach.

“Love you so much, sweetheart.”

The Hideout was packed, which seemed to be an unusual occurrence for a Saturday night in small town Hawkins. But the promise of multiple live bands quickly filled the seats that usually remained empty during the week.

Ever since you became official, you easily fit in amongst his large group of friends. Even Dustin, who was weary of you in the beginning, had quickly begun to warm up to you. But you had clicked with Robin the fastest and the two of you became very close in such a short amount of time.

Most of them had come out to support the band, besides the group of freshmen. As Eddie all but forbade from stepping foot in this establishment. His overprotective nature towards them was something you found to be incredibly endearing.

You were standing at the front of the crowd, snugly in between Robin and Steve. Mostly due to Eddie’s strict instructions to keep an eye on you. He could already anticipate just how rowdy this crowd might be from the moment you entered the dingy bar.

You anxiously shift in place, taking another swig from the flask that Robin had snuck in. You hadn’t seen Eddie for more than a few minutes since he dropped you off at home earlier that morning. And you were beyond impatient for the show to get started.

It was a little annoying how much you missed him when he wasn’t around, how uneasy it made you.

But the vodka was definitely starting to help soothe your nerves.

You continued to shift from foot to foot, partially from your growing impatience and partly due to the soreness between your thighs. The round in the van had only continued once you got back to Eddie’s trailer. He buried his tongue inside you while he showed you how much he loved you from between your thighs.

It’s as though the universe could tell you were getting antsy, as the lights on the small stage finally dim. You cheer loudly and the rest of your friends join in when the four males walk out onto the stage. They all take their respective positions, and Eddie slings his guitar strap over his shoulder and adjusts the mic stand.

“Good evening Hawkins, we’re Corroded Coffin. Thanks for coming out!”

A round of boos suddenly erupt from amongst the cheers, and your head instantly whips around to find the source. You see Jason and Scott’s whole crew leaning up against the back wall of the bar, a prominent smirk on your ex’s face. Your hands balled into fists and you quickly flip them all the bird before turning your focus back towards the stage.

Scott’s incessant torment had cooled off for a bit, but that entire week it was seeming to ramp right back up. While you knew your boyfriend could take care of himself, it still didn’t stop the fury from bubbling up inside you over it. Especially knowing it had only gotten worse because of you.

You find Eddie’s gaze again and he shoots a wink your way, not even fazed by their presence. They started off their set with a cover of Bang Your Head by Quiet Riot, already getting the crowd ramped up. Eddie was totally in his element, carefree as his fingers danced along the neck of his guitar. While they played mostly covers, they were able to sneak in a few original songs.

The crowd was overly enthusiastic, which was a nice change of pace from the five sullen drunks they usually had in attendance at their normal Tuesday time slot. While Eddie was riding that high, his eyes always seemed to find their way back to you.

“Thank you guys for being such an awesome crowd, this is our last song.”

In the time that you’ve been together, you’ve come to recognize almost all of their songs. Eddie was always bouncing lyric ideas off of you, or playing them for you any chance that he could. But hearing the first few chords ring out into the bar, you knew this one was clearly new.

And if shit eating grin he was sporting was any indication, he’d been preparing for this moment. Eddie’s eyes drift from yours to the back of the dimly lit bar as he begins singing. The opening lyrics make your eyes widen in shock.

“Scotty doesn’t know that Fiona and me do it in my van every Sunday. She tells him she’s in church, but she doesn’t go. Still she’s on her knees and Scotty doesn’t know.”

Your heart begins to race and that cocky grin never leaves his face. Your eyes follow his line of sight and you turn around, watching in amusement when you notice how Scott’s fists are clenched at his sides. This is by far the angriest you’ve ever seen him, and you can almost see the metaphorical steam coming out of his ears.

“Fiona says she’s out shopping, but she’s under me and I’m not stopping…”

A smug look graces your features when Scott meets your gaze, giving him a little wave before turning back to focus on your boyfriend. Eddie’s husky voice is full of confidence as he continues onto the next verse. That sound alone could bring you to your knees.

“I can't believe he's so trusting, while I'm right behind you thrusting. Fiona's got him on the phone, and she's trying not to moan. It's a three-way call and he knows nothing, nothing…”

Your mind instantly drifts back to that fateful phone call, that night being a major turning point in your feelings towards the metalhead. Your whole body flushes at the vulgarity of the lyrics, but in an odd way you find it kind of sweet.

Once he has your attention again, Eddie blows you a subtle kiss.

“The parkin' lot, why not? It's so cool when you're on top. His front lawn in the snow, life is so hard 'cause Scotty doesn't know! Scotty doesn't know!”

You watch in fascination as his fingers work diligently over the guitar strings, banging his head along with Jeff. The song aside, you really were enjoying yourself. Eddie lets his guitar fall to his hip, gripping the mic with both hands.

“I did her on his birthday…”

Your curiosity has gotten the better of you again, and you glance back to where Scott had previously been standing. The spot was now empty, much to your surprise. Scott was never one to back down without getting the last word. So you let your eyes wander around the bar, but Scott and his posse were nowhere in sight.

When the song starts to come to a close, Eddie and the rest of the guys have gathered at the front of the stage. Huddled together as they chanted a chorus of, ‘Scotty doesn’t know’, the crowd joining in unison. When you glance over at Robin, her grin practically matches that of your boyfriend’s.

While you had never explicitly told anyone (besides Robin) the details of how everything played out between you two, your ex definitely had his suspicions.

But now, one thing was for sure…

Scotty definitely knew.

sdk taglist: @xxbimbobunnyxx @munsonhoneybaby @mugloversonly @lemme-slytherin-that-dick @transparentenemypenguin @calumfmu @vamp-bunny @eddiesxangel @nailbatanddungeon @deathst9r @comeonatmebruh @mrsjellymunson @eddiesghxst @eddiesguitarskills @callsignraver @eldermayfield @potatobeans99 @loserboysandlithium @em0220

[heizlut]

Hello! Can I plz request where Aether, Venti, Gorou, Kazuha, Itto, and Diluc find out that their s/o is a submissive in bed?

ooo i like this!!! thanks for sending this in!

tags: gn sub!reader, dom!characters, rut (itto), worship kink (venti), no use of y/n

cw: semi-public in diluc and venti’s sections

nsfw under the cut

Aether~

Aether was so happy to have an s/o who could keep up with him as he travelled across Teyvat. It seemed he never had to worry about you no matter what dangers you faced together. You were headstrong, always taking the initiative when it came to accepting commissions and speaking up for the both of you when someone’s request was particularly unreasonable. You certainly were not afraid to express your distaste when a request was quite..stupid for lack of better words. Aether didn't mind letting you take the lead when it came to those decisions, secretly cheering you on when you spoke your unfiltered thoughts and feelings.

After a tiring day of getting absolutely no where in finding his sister, Aether was particularly pent up with frustration. He tugs you close to his body as he begins pressing feverish kisses to your neck, "Need you now.." You moan softly, tilting your head to give him better access, "Want me to make you feel better?" He pulls away slightly, looking into your eyes with a smirk, "Oh yeah? How about you get on your knees for then?" Aether challenged you, only half-joking, not thinking you would actually do as he said. His eyes widen slightly as he watches you obediently sink to your knees in front of him, looking up at him with such a submissive look in your eyes as you wait for his next instruction. He can't help the way his cock throbs in his pants seeing his headstrong s/o being so submissive for him. Growing slightly impatient with him, you open your mouth sticking your tongue out showing that you were absolutely serious about this. He tugs his pants down just enough to let his aching cock out, all leaky and throbbing. Aether guides his dick to your mouth, tapping it on your tongue as if to test how patient and obedient you would truly be. When you don't move on your own, he smirks and pushes his length into your mouth as he begins to fuck your throat, letting his frustrations melt away, "So good for me... fuck."

Venti~

Your relationship with Venti had the very obvious dynamic of golden retriever and black cat, with him being the golden retriever and you being the black cat. The people of Mondstadt are often baffled at the sight of you two together, wondering how such a cheerful bard could be with someone so... intimidating. Venti often joked that he had scary dog privileges with you by his side. Despite your outward demeanor, you were honestly quite silly and happily went along with his shenanigans. On this particular evening, you had found yourselves making out behind the Church of Favionious. Your lips press against his feverishly. You pull away slightly, looking at him with absolute adoration as you softly say, "Let me worship you properly" Venti lets out his signature laugh, his eyes hold a mischievous glint, "Oho! You wish to worship your archon~? Let's start with you worshipping Lord Barbatos on your knees then~"

Gorou~

Gorou was so proud to have such a strong warrior for an s/o. You fought by his side formidably, even helping him strategize against the Shogunates. You also weren't afraid to put any disrespectful soldiers in their place. He had to admit that your strong-willed and fierce attitude turned him on, but he secretly wanted to test if he could turn the tables. Gorou had no idea that watching him command other soldiers and lead the frontlines during battle had you wanting him desperately to show that side of him to you in the bedroom.

That night you approach his tent with a rather shy look on your face which instantly catches Gorou's attention. He rushes over to you checking you over for anything that might be causing you to behave this way when suddenly you gently cup his face in your hands, "Gorou.. I want to try something new.." You trail off, a blush falls over your cheeks as Gorou looks at you a little confused, "Something new? You mean you have a new battle strategy?" You shake your head, forcing yourself to look up at him, "I.. want you to command me like how you command the other soldiers.. I want you to... Take control of me.." Gorou's face heats up at your words, his cock begins to harden as he processes your words. His face quickly morphs into a sly smile as he pulls you close to him, his hand holding your chin with slight pressure as he tilts your face up to his, "You want me to be in charge?" He breathes out a small laugh, "Well, that can certainly be arranged. Now be good for me and get on the bed. Now."

Kazuha~

Kazuha enjoyed watching you help Beidou dish out orders to the other crew members. You looked like such a sweetheart, but you had quite the sharp tongue, never failing to catch unsuspecting people off guard. They never thought the s/o of gentle wanderer Kazuha to be so sharp with their words when the situation called for it. When you and Kazuha finally have your first intimate moment with each other, the poet of many beautiful words is suddenly...at a loss for words when you tell him that you prefer to be the submissive one. Kazuha takes your hand in his, pressing a kiss on top of it, "And here I thought you would be the one to want to take the lead... Not that I mind this development at all. In fact, I'm rather pleased." He leans forward pressing a kiss to your cheek and lowers his voice for only you to hear, "Although, I hope you realize what you've just signed yourself up for, darling."

Itto~

Itto loved being with you so much. You weren't afraid to get into a bit of trouble with him and the rest of the Arataki gang. Often times people would mistake you or Kuki as the actual leader of the gang with the way they would watch you both take charge of them in your own ways, with you leading the mischief and Kuki chastising you all when you get yourselves in trouble with the Shogunates.

It was nearing spring time which meant Itto would have to hide himself away from you, not wanting to overwhelm you with the rut he would have to endure as an oni, especially when you two haven't gone further than making out and feeling each other's bodies. You were concerned when Itto didn't show up today for the onikabuto battle he promised you, so you make your way towards his home completely oblivious to his rut. You barge right in as you usually would only to be quickly tackled to the ground by a large body, "Gah! Itto! You nearly gave me a heart attack!" You look up at your oni boyfriend only to notice his eyes are darkened with lust, "Sorry... Couldn't help myself. I.. need you" He ruts against your core causing you to let out a pathetic sounding whimper as he whispers apologies over and over, "It's my rut. Spring makes us oni a little..." You place your finger over his lips, "You don't have to explain. Use me however you please." Itto's movements halt momentarily, "Y'really mean that? Don't go saying stuff like that right now..." You roll your hips upwards to meet his, "Please..." A low growl rips from his throat as he tears your clothes off with his sharp nails. You definitely weren’t going anywhere anytime soon.

Diluc~

Having you as his s/o is like a sigh of relief. So many of his burdens with the winery and Angel's Share seem to lift from his shoulders when you take the initiative in organizing client orders and business deals so that he can have some reprieve. His heart swells with pride when you have no qualms in kicking out particularly rowdy guests from the tavern or even straight up denying Kaeya and Venti of more alcohol when they've clearly had more than enough of their fair share (and when Venti's tab has clearly met its limit).

After the tavern closes for the night, Diluc watches as you bend forward over a table while wiping it down and feels his cock stir to life. He approaches you hesitantly as he wants your first time with him to be meaningful. You straighten up only to feel him and his hardening cock pressed against your back. You bite your lip as you turn around to face him, looking up at your lover as he stares down at you with desire burning in his eyes. He gently caresses your cheek and softly asks, "May I kiss you?" You smile at his gentle approach to intimacy and you nod. He leans forward, softly pressing his lips to yours and then pulls away, "Was that okay?" You let out a soft laugh and place your hand on his chest, "Diluc... You don't have to be so gentle with me you know. I would do anything you want, no questions asked. I just want to make you happy and make you feel good." Your words make him pause, "Anything...I want?" You laugh softly again and repeat your words as you look up at him with love in your eyes, "Anything you want. No questions asked." He doesn't spare another minute in hoisting you up onto the table, immersing you both in hungry kisses and rough but sensual touches. You really have no idea what you've just sparked to life inside of him. Diluc can only hope you truly meant what you said because he wasn't going to hold back now.

a/n: pretty sure i blacked out while writing diluc and aether’s sections🥴 i tried to keep them as in character as i possibly could and i think i succeeded? i hope you liked this, anon!

[munsonsmixtapes]

Paint Me

Benedict Bridgerton x inexperienced!american!fem!reader

summary: After a brutal critique of a newly displayed art piece in a museum, newly debuted reader finds herself apologizing to the artist who heard her. After multiple meetings, the time they spend together becomes precious to her. One slip up causes Benedict Bridgerton, a know “Rake” amongst the ton, to be left with the decision to marry the young woman or a duel.

part two part three part four part five part six part seven

cw: suggestive language

word count: 4k

January 28th, 1817

Your parents sat across from you in the carriage, both sets of eyes on you as you watched all of the scenery pass by in the window. You didn’t want to leave your old life behind, but you felt like you had no choice since you just wanted to please your parents. That was your biggest problem; wanting to please everyone around you so badly that you’d sacrifice your own happiness.

You were set to be debuted the night you had arrived and were a nervous wreck. You had no interest in being married off to a perfect stranger, but you felt like you didn’t have any other choice. Maybe if you played your cards right, though, you’d be Queen’s Charlotte’s diamond of the season.

But that wasn’t what you wanted. You didn’t want everyone’s eyes on you and honestly couldn’t bear to be the talk of the town or worse, a victim of Lady Whistledown’s latest gossip. You wanted absolutely no part in that.

“There’s no need to be nervous,” your mother told you, almost in a mocking tone. She never cared for how reserved you were and was always trying her best to push you into friendships with people you wouldn’t have touched with a ten foot pole.

“Oh, leave her alone, Vivian,” your father nudged her. “She’s allowed to be nervous, this is her debut.”

“Well, I’m not nervous,” your sister, Lilith piped up. Of course she wasn’t. Because Lilith was perfect. The perfect eldest child that your parents seemed to favor over you no matter how close you were to your father.

You didn’t like the feeling, but you envied your sister. She was very outgoing and not to mention beautiful, two things you didn’t think you were even close to being. At least, the outgoing part. You were more reserved and had been laughed at for it your whole life.

I’m sorry, could you speak up? No one can hear you.

You’re not very talkative, are you?

Why don’t you say something?

Those words always lived in your head, and no matter how hard you tried, you always found yourself either speaking too loudly about things you were passionate about or not speaking loud enough. That would have meant that you had to take authority and you knew absolutely nothing about that.

The carriage rolled to a stop and you turned away from the window, rubbing your hands together to remove the sweat from them. You then reached up and subconsciously fiddled with the diamond necklace that your father gave you before you left America. You always wore it and it was something you messed with when you were particular nervous or needed something to stimulate your mind.

The carriage door opened and you were the first to step out, your eyes widening as they took in your new home. It was far bigger than the one you lived in back home and you wondered why that much space was needed for your family of four. The place could have easily fit many families of your size and still have room for more.

You headed inside and briefly took in the main level before making a beeline for the upstairs, desperate to see your new room since that was definitely going to be where you spent most of your time. You had a lot of new books to read and were just looking forward to it having to share with Lilith anymore.

You claimed the first room you walked into which had to be about three times the size of your old one. It was already set up with your new furniture that looked much better than your old stuff. Maybe living there wouldn’t have been so bad.

You collapsed onto your bed and felt your eyes get heavy from the very long journey you had just taken, finding yourself quickly falling asleep right there and not even fighting it. It was what you had deserved for sitting through all of your mother and sister’s comments without a single complaint.

A knock on your door woke you from your nap and you opened your eyes to see your mother standing in the doorway. She had a stern look on her face and you wondered what you had done to upset her now. It seemed like you were always doing that despite your need to please her. She never agreed with the way you spoke or the words you liked to use. She just didn’t like that you were smarter than her.

“Y/n, what are you doing in bed, you’re supposed to be getting ready.” Her voice was more angry than it should have been and you resisted the urge to roll your eyes at her dramatics. You had plenty of time to get ready since the ball didn’t start for a few hours.

Just then your apparently new lady’s maid hurried into the room with your dress for the evening which you hadn’t even seen yet since your mother had picked it out, but you knew that you were going to hate it since you never saw eye to eye on anything, especially clothing. Your mother stepped into the room and closed to door with every intention of making sure that you actually wore the dress since you always seemed to want to change last minute.

The dress was a shade of green that wasn’t flattering on you in the slightest. Your mother fluffed up the sleeves as she looked at you in the mirror. If you were honest, you hadn’t even wanted to go to the ball, but you felt like you had to. You just wanted to make her happy even if you had to sacrifice your own happiness to do it. She had been so excited for you, but you knew that was just because she was interested in finally getting rid of you for good.

“Well, don’t you look absolutely beautiful,” your father complimented as you descended the stairs. He looked at your mother and gave her a slight glare when she hadn’t said anything to you. Your mother honestly didn’t like the way you looked at all and didn’t feel like she should have lied to you, so she just directed her attention to Lilith like always.

“Y/n, doesn’t your sister look beautiful?” You felt your heart break at hearing those words. How could she say that? Your sister did look beautiful but didn’t you as well? Why were you always second to her? Why did it always feel like it wouldn’t have mattered if you were there or not? Sure, your father cared for you like a parent should have, but it almost felt like he was only behaving that way because he felt bad for you. At least, that was what you were telling yourself.

“You do look beautiful, Lilith,” you practically whispered, staring down at the floor. You found it hard to maintain eye contact so you always settled for something else, whether it was the floor or the wall. Just as long as it wasn’t other people’s eyes, it was safe.

“Thank you, y/n,” she nodded. “I suppose you look beautiful too.” Her tone sounded annoyed, almost as if she was forcing herself to say the words. You almost wished she had said nothing, but Lilith always found an excuse to speak, no matter what came out of her mouth. You were convinced that she just loved hearing her own voice.

You said nothing and turned on your heel, keeping your eyes on your feet at you did so. You wiped a tear that had fallen down your cheek and headed towards the carriage that had been waiting for you and your family. You got inside and moved closer to the window, covering your face with your hand so no one could see you crying. Your mother and Lilith would have just told you that you were being dramatic and your father would baby you and you weren’t in the mood for either of those things. You just wanted to get the night over with so you could go to your room and paint. That was the only way you were able to deal with your feelings. You surely couldn’t take them out on your family, so you had to deal with them in healthy way and painting was the only thing that seemed to relax you.

The carriage door opened once again and your father slipped inside, taking the seat next to you. He silently wrapped his arm around you and you rested your head on his shoulder, suddenly having a flashback to crying into that very spot when your mother had said something you hadn’t particularly liked. He was always there when you needed him, the only person in that damn family that even bothered to understand you. He rubbed up and down your arm and you sniffled, holding back the tears that were threatening to spill.

“I’m sorry,” was all he said. That was all he always said when the cycle would repeat itself and even though it was nice that he was making an effort to make you feel better, you didn’t appreciate that he never stood up to your mother or your sister even. He didn’t defend them, but he definitely didn’t put a stop to their behavior either. Because to his core, your father was nothing but a coward. He’d rather just comfort you in secret instead of actually doing something useful. His words were becoming pointless and you were beginning to not believe them anymore. After all, they were only said to stop your tears, not because they had any actual meaning.

“It’s okay,” you nodded, leaning up to look up at him. The look on his face seemed apologetic at first glance, but you knew it was nothing but fake. Just a way to stop the waterworks so you could all be a “happy” family again.

Your mother and Lilith sat on the other side of the carriage and it rolled onto the path to take you all to the ball. The silence between the four of you was deafening and despite you looking out the window, you could feel your mother’s eyes on you. You could tell she was glaring at you, but you honestly couldn’t have cared less. She could be mad at you all she wanted, it was always going to be because you were just being yourself and not an exact replica of her like your sister was. You had tried so hard to be like her, but eventually you got tired of it and your mother couldn’t stand having a daughter that liked things that she didn’t. God forbid you had your own interests.

You swore that she was going to make a snide comment, but she kept quiet. You kind of preferred her speaking over the quiet, because at least then, you’d have something to focus on so all of your thoughts in your brain would mute a little bit. Anytime there was any silence or when you were alone, all of your anxieties would amplify to the point where you could barely think. You always needed some sort of distraction to keep you sane.

The four of you planted your fakest smiles onto your faces and entered the ball that Lady Bridgerton happened to be hosting, trying your best to look like you hadn’t just had the most tense carriage ride in history. That was all going to be left behind and you all had to act like you actually loved each other. Easier said than done.

You slowly distanced yourself from your family before placing yourself by the nearest wall. You definitely weren’t going to speak to any suitors and most definitely weren’t going to dance with any of them either. That was all Lilith. You were sure she was going to end up engaged by the end of the night and you’d be alone just like always, but that was how you liked it.

“That is a lovely dress.” You turned to your left to see the most beautiful woman you had ever laid your eyes on. She had lovely brown skin and her pink dress complimented it beautifully. Her hair was put up in an elegant updo and you hoped that someday, you’d look half as pretty as she did. You looked around to see who she was speaking to and realized that you were the only one around.

“My apologies,” she smiled. “Viscountess Bridgerton, but you can call me Kate. And who might you be?” Bridgerton? So that must have been Anthony’s wife that Francesca had told you about in her letters when the two had tied the knot a few years ago. She was even more beautiful than she was described. You turned back to the woman in front of you and remembered that she had asked you a question. What was it? Oh right, your name. What was that again?

“I’m y/n,” you told her as your eyes moved to decorations that were on the wall a few feet behind her. Kate nodded, a smile on her face, thinking that you were nothing but adorable and found that you reminded her of her little sister, Edwina. And because of that, she felt the need to help you out. To protect you. She didn’t know you, but she wanted to help you find the perfect match.

“It’s lovely to meet you, Miss y/n,” she smiled wide and for whatever reason, it made you feel better. For once, talking to someone didn’t feel like a chore and it seemed like Kate was genuinely interested in having a conversation with you and not doing it just because she had to. She could see the anxiety and nervousness in your eyes and just wanted to help you out, to let you know that you had a friend. Someone who would make you feel less alone.

“You too,” you nodded and she gestured to the refreshment table with her hand.

“Would you like to get a drink?” All you could do was nod and she led you in that direction, greeting people on her way as she did so. Kate carried herself with such confidence that you were mesmerized by. You had confidence, but not in that way. You could have never just walked up to a stranger like she did and introduced yourself. That was a terrifying thought to you and the way she did it without a second thought was fascinating.

Kate grabbed a cup filled with lemonade and handed it to you before taking one for herself. You took a sip then looked around the room, your eyes catching on a familiar face. The gentleman made his way over to you, a wide smile on his face as he engulfed you in a hug.

“I see you’ve met the troublemaker,” Anthony winked at you and you felt yourself blush. It was a nickname the boys had created for you since you had been anything but a troublemaker. They just always liked to tease you as if they were your own brothers.

“Oh, have I?” Kate let out a laugh as Anthony draped an arm over her shoulder. They seemed to be just as in love as Francesca had said.

“It’s what we used to call her when she was little because she’s the exact opposite of trouble.” He was laughing a little too hard and your cheeks were flushing in embarrassment. Kate nudged Anthony once she caught sight of the embarrassed look in your face.

Looking at Anthony, all of the memories you had of him came flooding back. He was always there for you when you got hurt, acting as an honorary big brother when something went wrong. You honestly missed him and hated that you had been from him and his family for so long.

Benedict stood by the entrance of the building with his mother, Violet. He honestly had no interest in being there, but he couldn’t say no to his mother. Other than Gregory, he was the only Bridgerton son who hadn’t been married and even though he had expressed no interest in it, he still wanted to keep his mother happy by attending the balls.

If he had it his way, he’d be at the studio with one of the women he had been sleeping with or working on his piece for the gallery that was supposed to happen in a few weeks. He had barely even started it and probably would have been at least halfway through it if he hadn’t agreed to come to the ball that night That was his priority at the moment, not finding a wife like his mother had so desperately wanted him to do.

He locked eyes on you talking with Kate and Anthony and figured that you must have been one of the new debutants since he hadn’t seen you before. At least, he didn’t think he had. He would have remembered a beautiful woman like you. His brother seemed to be talking you like you were old friends so he wondered just who you were.

“Why don’t you ask her to dance?” Violet leaned over to him as she noticed Benedict watching you. Had he been staring? He swore he had only just glanced.

“Mother-“ He agreed to showing up, but he never said anything about dancing. He just liked to observe. And he wanted to observe you.

“Benedict.” Her voice was filled with warning and even at his age, he was still kind of afraid to disappoint her, even though he had done that enough already. He couldn’t do it again.

“Alright,” he sighed. “I’ll dance with her.” He turned to his smiling mother then made his way towards you, putting on his signature smile that always made women fall to his feet. He absolutely loved seeing the way they would do whatever he asked as soon as he gave them a flash of his teeth. He wondered if you would do the same.

The conversation halted as Benedict stood behind you. You turned around and your eyes widened as you caught sight of the man. He looked familiar, but you couldn’t put your finger on it. You wondered what he wanted from you and began to fiddle with your necklace again, assuming that he was possibly going to ask you to dance. You were going to say no, of course. You couldn’t dance with anyone. You would just look weird and awkward and be too aware of your movements. You honestly weren’t even sure if you knew the correct steps.

“Benedict,” Anthony greeted his brother. That was Benedict? You supposed it made sense since you hadn’t seen him in eight years. He had gotten so much taller than you now, the top of your head coming to his chin. And he was attractive. Much more so than you remembered.

“Anthony, Kate,” he nodded in their direction then averted his gaze to you, a smirk kicking up at the corner of his lips. Anthony knew exactly what his brother was doing. He could see the flirty look in his eyes and was going to shut whatever was going on down as soon as possible.

He had seen to many women hurt by Benedict and he wasn’t going to let you be one of them. Anthony didn’t know you, but what he did know was that you were definitely out of his league. You were sweet and kind and Benedict was nothing but a jackass. Anthony wasn’t going to let your heart get broken by his stupid brother who never seemed to be able to keep his dick in his pants.

“And you are?” He didn’t remember you? You supposed that eight years was enough time to forget about someone, but you honestly thought he would have remembered you just like Anthony had. And you had spent much more time with Benedict when you were children so you didn’t know why the memories of your weren’t clicking in his brain.

“Benedict, this is y/n,” Anthony reminded him as if it was something that Benedict should have known, but that name was not ringing any bells whatsoever.

“It’s nice to meet you, Miss y/n,” he greeted, his tone more professional but still a little flirty. “Would you like to dance?” He held his hand out to you and you stared at it, knowing that if you didn’t, your mother would find out and give you a lecture, but if you did, all of three steps would mix together in your head and you’d fall flat on the floor and everyone would laugh at you.

You nodded and hesitantly put your hand in his, letting him lead you out onto the floor, looking back to Kate and Anthony, hoping that they would save you, but they just gave you warm smiles as you got further and further away from him.

Benedict stopped to the far left of the floor and rested a hand on your shoulder blade while the other took your hand. You turned your head to the side, looking around the room and he looked down at you, realizing that you had no idea what you were doing and decided that he was going to have to teach you how to do the dance.

He took your other hand and placed it on his shoulder, giving you a reassuring smile even though you weren’t paying attention. You were still looking around the room, nervousness obvious in your eyes. Weren’t you just a shy, little thing. He could have taught you so many things, but tonight, he’d stick with the waltz.

He leaned down so his lips were right by your ear and your breath hitched at his closeness. His hot breath on your skin as he whispered to you. No man had ever been that close to you and it was making you nervous.

“Just follow my lead, I’ve got you.” He leaned back up and watched you turn your face back to him, giving him a small nod. He smiled down at you as the dance began. You moved around the floor, Benedict taking the lead, looking down at you to make sure that you were okay as he did so. All he was focused on was you. It was as if nothing else in the room mattered and he had no idea why he was so captivated by you.

He didn’t know why you were so nervous. You were a natural when it came to the waltz. And he liked watching you move along with him, seeing your dress move back and forth, wanting to run his hands up your thighs as he spread them apart, watching you come undone as he buried his head between them, licking and sucking as you grabbed onto his hair. And he’d make sure he could see your head being thrown back, hearing the delicious moans fall from your lips.

He wanted so badly to remove your dress so slowly, hearing you beg for him because he wasn’t moving fast enough. Whining his name as he took off your under garments as slowly as possible, kissing every single inch of your body as he bent you over the nearest surface he could find, pounding into you as he told you what a good little slut you were.

You both continued to move around the room gracefully and you were avoiding his eye contact still, his hazel ones boring into you, a smirk kicking up at the corner of his lips as he watched you. Benedict knew he’d have to dance with you more than once to hopefully bring you out of his shell. You’d definitely be a different person by the time he was done with you.

The dance finished and Benedict brought you back over to Anthony and Kate, not wanting your time together to end, but knowing that he had to dance with the other debutants to please Violet. He bowed before you and you gave him a curtesy as he bid you a goodbye.

“It was a pleasure, Miss l/n,” he said once he stood back up.

“The pleasure is all mine, Mr, Bridgerton,” you smiled shyly and the man swore he was going to melt. Benedict knew that you had meant the words in the most innocent sense, but his cock, definitely didn’t. There was no hint of flirting in your tone, but he was going to pretend that there was. That the attraction wasn’t one sided.

And you had to be attracted to him, right? He knew when a woman had fancied him, but for some reason, he couldn’t get a read on you. You were going to be a tough one to crack. He’d have to spend more time with you to figure you out.

Even after he had moved on to other debutants, his mind wouldn’t leave you. He wanted to do the most filthiest things to you and knowing that you were most likely a virgin made it even more exciting. Knowing that he could have been your first sent a rush up his spine.

But he couldn’t do that to you. He just couldn’t. Considering how protective Anthony had been of you, Benedict wasn’t looking to get killed, especially not over a woman. So, after he finished the dance, he left the ball, on the hunt for someone to hook up with since anything with you was definitely off the table.

You spent practically the entire night with Anthony and Kate and for the first time, you felt like you had real friends. They both seemed interested in what you had to say and didn’t treat you like a child just because you were young. And they were respectful of your soft spoken voice, neither of them asking you to speak up or telling you that they couldn’t hear you.

You entered your bedroom with a smile on your face and got ready for bed, thinking about the new friends you had made and that you actually had a good time at the ball despite not thinking that you would. You laid down thinking that maybe, just maybe you’d actually like it there.

[coff33andb00ks]

Luxury - LN

Part 2 of Hopeless Lando Norris x fem!reader (mentions of reader x Charles Leclerc) Summary: and if they call me a slut, you know it might be worth it for once Themes: none just sex Song: slut! by taylor swift word count: 3949 Warnings: smut, minors dni!, cheating, lando's a bad friend, charles is a bad boyfriend even tho he's not there, reader is a bad girlfriend, honestly the only decent person in this mini series is Oscar, unprotected sex, heaps of praise, and proofreading? we don't know her Notes: again I'm not condoning cheating (unless it's Lando) thanks to those that encouraged me to write this from reader's pov, although I got carried away with the smut. Soooo there's going to be two more parts to this to finish their story <3

You love Lando.

Because he's… Well, Lando. He's become your very best friend. You can talk to him about anything, whether it's work or the shoes you're thinking of getting or the book you just finished, he's always willing to listen. He commiserates over bitchy coworkers, encourages you to just get the fucking shoes, and questions the decisions of the characters you're in love with. He's always up for a game, even if it's three in the morning and he's flying out at nine. He doesn't complain when you show up and bake enough pastries and cupcakes to fill a supermarket, warning you not to tell his trainer when he sneaks a few.

And he makes you laugh. Only he can bring out the ugly snorting laugh that you hate, but you kind of love it because it makes him giggle hysterically.

It's Lando. You don't know how you survived as long as you did before he came, screaming with laughter, into your life.

So, when you began having doubts about Charles, there was only one place to go. You've lived in Monaco with your boyfriend for six months and still haven't made a local friend. Lando's there, and he takes one look at you and lets you in.

And here you are, hugging him after pouring out your worries over Charles' behavior. Because he made you laugh, like he always does.

"If he is cheating, he's a fucking moron. You're not even my girl and I can't find anyone that compares."

Lando's words give you pause and you stare at him. You're used to him cracking jokes. Even if you're having a bad day he never fails to make you cackle until you're crying and snorting – like he just did. This time, though, he's not joking. His eyes aren't dancing with humor, he doesn't have that stupid grin that's not a grin like he does when he's trying to make you laugh.

Your eyes dip to his mouth.

Suddenly, you want to feel his lips. You've felt them on your cheek. Lando is a clingy friend, so it's not new to be this close to him. He's always hugging you, kissing your cheeks, resting his head in your lap, leaning against you when he's drunk. But you want his lips on yours. You're not perfect, you've wondered more than a few times what it would be like to kiss him. Lifting your gaze to his eyes again, you breathe in.

"Lando," you whisper. You can hear the longing in your voice and see it mirrored in his eyes.

You both lean in, meeting halfway, and—

Fireworks.

His breath stutters against your lips, his forehead resting against yours briefly. "Y/n," he gasps. The fingers on your cheek slide into your hair and his lips are on yours again, fully this time.

It's gentle but wild, both desperate and calm. It soothes you and sparks a fire at the same time. Your hands cup his neck, hear his moan echoing yours as your tongues meet. The dance that's as old as time that has you craving more, your secret fantasies rising up while you picture his lips and tongue on your skin.

Lando's arm wraps around your waist and you willingly move closer, craving the tenderness and the heat. His mouth is still on yours and you settle in his lap, pressing as close to him as possible. He's the first breath of oxygen after being underwater. The first raindrops after a dry spell.

You never want this kiss to end.

You feel alive, and right now you can't think about what that means, you can only think of how invigorating this is. Pressing tighter against him you whine, feeling him growing hard in his sweats.

He tears his lips from yours with a gasp, eyes glazed with desire, his pulse racing beneath your fingertips. Digging his fingers into your waist, he presses his face against your neck, nuzzling and kissing. Breathing deeply, like you're his source of air.

"God, Lando," you whisper, wrapping your arms around him and letting your head fall back.

"Please," he moans, both arms around you now, and you can hear the faint whine in his voice. "Please, y/n…"

You nod, tugging on his hair and catching him in another kiss.

"Y/n," he whispers at the corner of your lips, and you can feel that he's holding himself back.

"Yes."

It's barely left your mouth when he's standing, holding you to him. You make a mental note to ask him when he learned to be graceful, because he always trips over stuff or walks into doorways. With your legs around him and your lips on his, though, he isn't, and you don't realize he's gotten to his bedroom until he's lowering you on his bed.

You drag him down with you, half fearful that if you break contact you'll think of a reason to stop. Or he will. And you can finally admit to yourself that you've wanted this for so long, now it's here you don't want it to end.

He moves up the bed, dragging you with him, kiss interrupted by his little chuckle. Pulling back a little, he cups your cheek and breathes your name. He stares at you, reverence bordering on worship, as though he can't believe you're there. "Y/n…" It's a whisper and a prayer and a plea and your racing heart twists and tumbles in your chest.

You say his name the same way, breath catching at the way he melts over you. The gentle wildness, calm desperation, is back, growing frantic while he seems determined to kiss you until you forget everything for him. His kiss grows feverish, breathless gasps whispering over your lips. His hands are everywhere, pushing and pulling at your clothes and you unknowingly mirror his touch, whining when he sits back and rips his shirt over his head.

His eyes are feral, branding each spot of your body he glances at. He squeezes your hips, dragging your shirt up with his blazing palms, his teeth catching his bottom lip as you arch towards him. Your shirt and bra slip away and he presses his face between your breasts, his breath pure fire. Holding you up, his lips whisper over your skin, hand clutching the back of your neck when his mouth closes over your nipple.

Crying out his name, you clutch at his shoulders, squeezing your legs around his waist. He licks and sucks, slow but needy, tightening his hold each time you tremble. Each tiny motion sends narrow flames of desire coursing through your veins, gathering in the pit of your abdomen, twisting and curling like his tongue, until you feel the ache of need. "Lando… Please, Lando…"

You're grinding against him, able to feel how wet he's making you, and you know he can feel it too when he moans harshly and releases your nipple. He shifts, groaning low in his chest as his cock presses against you. "Shit, baby…"

He guides you back down, lips crashing into yours, and his hands tremble as he briefly fumbles with the button of your shorts. His breath fans over your cheek and he deepens the kiss, both of you whining when he pulls back again. Dragging your shorts down your legs, he stares into your eyes, balling them up in his fist and flinging them over his shoulder.

"You're so beautiful," he says softly, staring at you in awe.

The way he said it, coupled with the look in his eyes, made you feel like the most beautiful woman on earth. There was something so heartfelt about the compliment that you felt the unexpected sting of tears.

Lando's fingertips trail over your skin, lips moving silently as he traces the dips and curves of your hips and thighs. An ode to you that was unheard but understood. He swallows hard, closing his eyes briefly before raising his eyes to yours again. Leaning down, he gives you a tender kiss. You cup his face then drag your hands down, memorizing his chiseled form, and when your fingertips reach the waistband of his sweats he hums, gently catching your wrists and guiding your hands above your head.

You gasp for a breath as he rains kisses down the side of your neck, scattering them over your chest, his destination clear when he moves lower, nipping gently at your skin. You lift your head slightly and find him staring up at you, eyes greener than usual. He's so beautiful it takes your breath away.

He hooks his thumbs in your panties and drags them down, scattering worshipful kisses down to your ankles. His lips slide into a playful smile and he lightly tickles behind your knee, grinning when you squeal. The brief lightheartedness eases the tension and you're able to breathe, but the foggy haze of passion doesn't fade one bit. It only increases as he gently spreads your legs, his eyes still on yours.

He's still staring up at you when his tongue drags up your slit, and maybe he kept staring at you but you couldn't be aware, your head falling back with a lustful moan at the sensation. You hear him swallow, his appreciative moan vibrating against your core. He does it again, delving deeper, a soft hum pulsing against your clit.

"Fuck," you gasp, feeling his grip on your thighs tighten when you tried to squirm.

"Lemme take care of you baby," he murmurs. Swirling his tongue over your clit, he teases over and over before giving it a noisy kiss. "You're so wet for me, y/n…"

You force your head up, breath catching because he's still staring up at you. Eyes locked, you can't look away, hands gripping at the sheets while his lips sweep along your slit. The ache inside you only grows, almost painful now as he lifts his head, lips glistening. He licks them slowly and you're in awe at the look of bliss on his face.

"Fuckin' knew you'd taste good," he murmurs before settling more firmly between your legs. He's gentle, hands making their way to your hips while he nuzzles and kisses your clit.

"Please," you whine.

He hums, somehow managing to look innocent, and you watch his eyes darken. Kissing your clit again, he pulls it between his lips, his hand sliding from your hip. Your back arches, his name a ragged moan as his finger teases your entrance and his tongue settles on your clit.

You want to know how he got so fucking good. How he knows what you like when you've never discussed sex with him before. And you think he may be a mind reader because he seems to know just what you want. He keeps his tongue on your clit, licking gently but rapidly, two long fingers inside you, curling and stroking slowly. You're gasping, trembling, hips jerking, heart hammering, still unable to look away from his eyes. The moans of his name turn into whines then whimpers and you feel your body tighten, pussy clenching around his fingers, your breathing stuttering and stopping completely when he curls them deeper, steadily rubbing your spot, and—

"Lando!"

You're cumming, harder than you thought you would. It takes your breath away and you're consumed by exhilaration, your vision going black then exploding with a galaxy's worth of stars. It's too much but you never want it to end, your voice breaking as you cry out to him.

You blink and try to catch your breath, weak but still wound tight. And he's there, softly licking you clean, murmuring sweetly while he crawls up, hands gentle on your trembling body. Shaking hands grab at his biceps and you feel tears on your cheeks when his fingers brush them away.

"It's alright, love," he whispers, lips brushing yours twice before he kisses you tenderly. He curls over you, almost protectively, his voice gently praising you. "Breathe, darling, it's alright…"

"Jesus," you hiss when you can finally speak, blinking rapidly to get your bearings.

"You're so gorgeous when you cum," he murmurs, tracing your cheek with his thumb. His eyes are so soft, practically glowing with admiration. Staring at you as though you're the source of everything good in his world. "You're always beautiful… Like, bathed in sunlight beautiful, you know?" He closes his eyes briefly, breathing slow as his lips return to yours in a kiss that leaves you weak. "But right now, right here…" He sighs. "You're breathtaking."

And you feel breathtaking. Stunning, gorgeous, beautiful, adored, worshipped, all the adjectives you'd use to describe the leading women in the romances you read. You never want to not feel this way again. "Lando?"

"Hm?" He's still staring at you like you hung the stars.

"I need you." Your arms still feel weak but you run your hands over his shoulders, leaning in for a slow kiss while your fingers trace down his sides. Long, languid moments pass while you kiss, so caught up in the feeling of being cherished you're distracted, enjoying the soft suppleness of his lips on yours. His palm cups your neck and there's a subtle change, your breath quickening as his mouth slants over yours. Nudging the waistband of his sweats down, you hear his soft hum, miss the touch of his hands when he reaches down to push them off, his hands bumping into yours when you both reach to ease down his boxer briefs.

He breaks the kiss with a little laugh but it dies as your hand cups around his cock. And the sound he makes is the sexiest sound you've ever heard. It's a gasping, whiny moan, and suddenly you need to know the sounds he'll make when he's inside you. Stroking him, you stare into his eyes and see the question burning. You nod, reluctantly letting go, anticipation stealing your breath as he nudges your thighs further apart. He sits back, lightly clapping and squeezing your thighs.

"God, you're hot," you say without thinking.

Lando smirks, squeezing your thighs again. "You think so?"

You roll your eyes. "Fuck's sake, look at you," you tell him, sweeping your hands through the air to indicate… him. Tousled curls, lean muscle, golden tan. You blink, focusing on the necklace he's wearing, lips parting in surprise.

It's the one you gave him for his birthday last year. You don't know why it makes you feel all soft and mushy inside to see him wearing it now. He's worn it plenty of times, but seeing it on him now, on a day you know he didn't plan to see you… It means something to you.

"You can take a photo if you like," he says.

Giggling, you're half-tempted to take him up on the offer, but he shifts, and his cock glides along your slit and your need is back in full force. "Later," you whisper, hips rolling upwards.

"Yeah?" He smirks again, eyes flicking from your face to between your thighs. His hands slide up, thumb whispering over your clit as he leans over you, his other hand gripping the pillow by your head.

Threading your fingers through his hair, you spread your legs wider, meeting his eyes as his cock slowly pushes into you. The stretch pulls a whine from your chest and you hear his gasping moan. He bites his lip but it doesn't muffle the whimper as he sinks into you and you arch, the sound almost sending you over the edge.

"Shit – fuck," he gasps, clutching tightly at your thigh.

"I know baby," you whine, digging your fingers into his scalp.

"Knew you'd feel good," he whispers between noisy kisses, holding your thigh against his hip as he presses as deep as possible.

"You feel better," you pant. It's like he was built to fill you, and when he's over you like this you can feel his heartbeat against your chest, thrilled that it's racing as fast as yours. It's almost perfect, the way he feels in and over you, but you need more. Your body craves all of him and you whisper a plea, feeling a shiver ripple through him.

He begins to move. Slow and tender, holding your thigh and cupping your neck. Breathless, almost sloppy kisses between echoing gasps and whines and moans. Your nails drag over his skin and you revel in the way he practically whimpers your name. His room is soon overheated, sweat beading on your skin and he inhales sharply, dipping his head to lick it from your throat then leans back, fingers dragging down your front.

You arch into his touch and it leaves goosebumps in its wake. So good. The words echo over and over in your mind, falling from your mouth like a fervent mantra.

"Look at you," he moans, resting his hand on your lower abdomen. "You're being so good, taking all of me."

"Fuck," you whisper, shocked that the phrase has you clenching and dripping around him. If he keeps that up you know you'll cum again—

"C'mon." It's a low, breathy groan. "Work for it, baby."

You grab at the sheets then at him, needing to feel his skin as you begin to roll your hips. He matches your pace, his hands keeping you steady when your back arches and you cry out his name.

"Yes, just like that," he whispers.

"Lando—"

"I know, I know…" He leans down, nipping at your bottom lip then kisses you, and you can feel his neediness. "You feel so good, y/n—"

"Gonna cum," you whimper, clutching at his sides then his back, your hips jerking now. Your head falls back, the heat in and around you almost overwhelming and in the split second before you break you hear him whimper.

He wraps his arms around you as you arch off the bed, holding you to him, his hips moving steadily, his voice coaxing you – let it out, baby, let me hear you. You shudder and scream, panting when he drags you upright with him, lips crashing against yours while he holds you. "Don't stop," he begs, an edge to his voice, and his hands slip on your skin, grasping tight enough to leave bruises. "Give it to me again, love."

"C-can't," you whine, wrapping your arms around his neck. And even though you say it you move, trembling and panting, stars blinding you.

Or maybe it's just the pure desperation in his eyes.

"Yes you can," he murmurs. One hand slips between you and there's giddiness in his smile when his fingers strum your clit and you let out a shout.

"It's—" You curl your fingers in his hair, feel the sweat, hear his heavenly moan. And words you never thought you'd say tumble from your mouth. "It's never been this good – I love it."

His arm tightens around you and you feel his cock twitch inside you. "Me too," he whispers, other hand dancing up your spine and cupping the back of your head, his fingers still steady on your clit. "Love it, y/n."

"Don't stop," you beg, rocking harder in his lap.

Lando whines softly, tongue darting over your lips. "You're gonna make me cum."

You slow, enjoying his little growl. Invigorated by his eagerness, you have a split second of panic because he's not wearing a condom but it's immediately forgotten, your toes curling as his fingers rub harder. And for a nanosecond you imagine being pregnant with his child. "Lan…"

"Need it. This. You." It's nonsense but not really, mumbled against your lips, his eyes drifting closed. "Love it. This…"

"You," you breathe.

His eyes snap open and he gasps, panic flashing then disappearing when you nod. "Not supposed to."

"Can't help it," you moan.

He hisses, squeezing his eyes shut. "D'you want to not?"

"No," you cry.

He kisses you, guiding you back down, and it's bliss, it's heaven, it's pure ecstasy, it's everything it's supposed to be. Euphoria wrapped in blazing heat and vivid light. He's whimpering and moaning against your lips, hips flush with yours and straining, and another orgasm crashes through you at the feel of him cumming, his body your new temple, his name your new prayer.

When you can breathe again you wait for the awkwardness. The weirdness. But it doesn't come. He's still tender and sweet, murmuring even more praise. His hands are gentle where they'd been rough, his lips soft on your cheeks. When he pulls away there's a mutual hiss, and you see the smirk of pride when he looks down to see his cum trickling out of you.

"You can take a photo if you like," you joke, watching his cheeks darken as he grins at you.

"Don't tempt me." He leans to give you another kiss. "Be right back."

You nod, humming as he drags the covers over you before he leaves. He goes into the bathroom and you lie there, surrounded by his scent, feeling his sweat dry on your skin, body still tingling from the best sex you've ever had. You sigh, wondering when the guilt will creep in.

It doesn't yet but you know it will eventually.

Lando returns, washcloths in hand, and you're both silent while he clears the drying sweat from your body, eyes locking when he gently cleans your slit. He flings the cloths towards the bathroom and sits on the edge of the bed, fixing the duvet over you.

"Y/n?"

You sit up, recognizing the vulnerability. It's rare that Lando's like this. He confesses to weaknesses but rarely ever bares them, and it almost breaks your heart, hearing the worry in his voice. Waiting for him to speak, you watch his fingers pleat and twist then smooth the fabric of the duvet.

"What happens now?" he whispers, slowly lifting his head at the same time as you.

"I don't know," you admit.

He nods, swallowing, and looks away.

"I'll go," you say. Because you can't do this. You can't be awkward with him. Better to just pull away even though it's too late for that. Ripping the bandage off will leave a scar but it's for the best. You'll only hurt him more if you stick around.

You're nearly off the bed when he finally speaks again.

"Stay." It's barely a whisper. The sound of him stretching across the bed is louder, and his fingers grasping at yours are loudest of all.

You know what will happen if you do. You can't even let yourself think of what's already happened, how you're no better than the boyfriend you allegedly love, or how everything has changed.

"I meant it," he says, his voice stronger now.

You look from his hand to his face.

"I wanted this. But… I need you." His voice shakes a little but he says the words and you know how much it means that he's doing this.

Lando doesn't discuss his feelings. Ever. You asked him once and he shrugged, eyes shuttering as he'd explained he'd been hurt too much before. Turning your hand, you let your fingers twine with his.

"I wanted this." He draws in a shaky breath. "I know I wasn't supposed to, but I…"

You wait, knowing he has to work through it. He hates for anyone to put words in his mouth. So you give him the time, unconsciously pulling your legs back onto the bed.

"I like this." He gestures to the twisted sheets. "More than I dreamed I would. But… I love us, y/n."

"I love us too," you whisper.

His sigh trembles the air around you. Looking at your joined hands, he rubs his thumb over your knuckles. "Stay."

[osarina]

ᡣ𐭩 KNOW IT'S FOR THE BETTER (ALL I WANTED WAS YOU)

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: he can't stop himself from calling; you can't stop yourself from answering. he never speaks, but he doesn't have to—just knowing he's there is enough to lure you in. that's how it remains for weeks. that is until you mention that you're going on a risky mission and dazai has to to make an equally risky decision to keep you safe.

(wordcount: 3.1k; fem!reader, pm!reader, post-defection, angsty but not awfully so (again, sorry, i swear there's happier ones coming), implied alcoholism, dazai gets a bit jealous, ango cameo)

AUTHOR'S NOTES: OKAYYYYYY this was actually my first pm!reader and pmzai fic, believe it or not, it's been in my notes app for ages. i tried to fix most of the inconsistencies. as always, can be read as a standalone butttt for the people following the pm!reader universe, this comes directly after death by a thousand cuts! i hope you guys enjoy!! im actually rlly excited to finally get this fic out here!

He calls you sometimes.

Well, you don’t know for sure it’s him—he never speaks, if you’re lucky sometimes you can hear soft puffs of air from the other line, and the number is always unknown, but you know in your heart that it’s him. 

The first call came three days after you found him drunk in an alley—seven months after his defection. 

The unknown caller ID popped up on your phone while you were drinking with Chuuya in his apartment, trying to forget all about Dazai Osamu and all of the pain he’s brought you. You answered it irritably and when you got no response from the caller, you promptly told them to fuck off and die if they’re going to waste your time with prank calls. You expected them to hang up right away but they didn’t—in fact, they only hung up when they heard Chuuya shouting for you to get off the phone so he can open another bottle of wine, as if he wasn’t going to anyway. 

The next call came another three days after that. 

You were in a meeting with Mori when the unknown caller popped back up on your phone screen. You excused yourself to answer the phone only because you were desperate for a reason to get out of the meeting—you think that he might’ve somehow sniffed out that you ran into Dazai and if he outright asked you, you didn’t know if you’d be able to lie without him catching you in it. 

Regardless of the reasoning, you were even more pissed off than you were the first time when you heard the silence on the other end, accusing them of fucking with you and demanding to know how they got your number—again, the person didn’t say anything, and you hung up even more irate than you were the first time. 

It takes three more calls for you to put the pieces together—it’s a bit embarrassing how long it took you, but in your defense, you were trying to put Dazai Osamu as far from your mind as possible. Honestly, you weren’t even sure of it when you first guessed his name. It’s a shot in the dark when you answer the unknown caller for the fifth time and whisper, “Dazai?” so very hesitantly. Your confirmation comes in the form of a sharp inhale on the other line before it instantly goes dead. 

He doesn’t call again for two weeks, and when he finally does, it’s in the middle of the night. The buzzing of the phone woke you up, your alarm clock glowing a bright 3:15 am. You don’t even look at the caller—you figure it’s Chuuya, who has yet to return from his mission in Sendai—as you answer with a groggy “what?” 

You get no response besides the sound of a shaky breath on the other end and suddenly you’re wide awake as you realize who exactly called. He doesn’t speak, even as you make yourself sick with anger—he’s conscious and coherent this time, unlike the time you ran into him in the alley, so you take the opportunity to unleash all of the pent up rage and hurt that you’d withheld that night. You cry for the first time since he defected and he stays on the line the whole time, until you eventually exhaust yourself and fall asleep. When you wake up in the morning, he’s hung up, but the call time reads four and a half hours. 

It becomes a weekly occurrence—occasionally biweekly. 

Sometimes, you tell him about your day, rambling on about how you were irritated because Mori made you deal with Ace or complaining about recent territory issues that the Port Mafia has been facing—something that you probably shouldn’t be sharing on an unsecure line with someone who defected from the mafia, but you can never bring yourself to fully care because it’s Dazai. 

Other times, you just lay in bed quietly, exhausted after a full day of work, the phone resting next to your ear as doze off to the comforting sound of his steady breathing. 

You don’t tell anyone. 

If anyone knew you’re keeping in contact with a traitor, you’d be executed. You think that Chuuya might know—the two of you now share the penthouse of the westernmost skyscraper of the five buildings of the Port Mafia’s base and you know he’s smart enough to have put together who you’re talking to late at night. But if he does, he doesn’t say anything, because he too knows what the consequences of your actions would be if it were true.

You let out a soft puff of air as your phone begins buzzing—it’s well past midnight and you’re half asleep, but you roll over and pick up the phone with heavy eyes.

“Hey,” you whisper.

Dazai doesn’t respond, he never does, but you can hear him breathing on the other line, closer to the speaker than he usually is. You can’t help but notice that his breath is heavier than usual too, a bit shakier. 

He’s been drinking, you realize. You figured that he usually drinks on the nights that he calls you, but he never lets himself close enough to the speaker for you to figure out if it’s true. You just hope it’s not as bad as….

“I won’t be able to answer for a while after this,” you say quietly after a few moments, rolling over in bed to shift your face closer to the phone. “Mori assigned me another mission. An infiltration one—first one since you’ve been gone.”

Dazai would know the implications of that, and from the way he inhales sharply at your words, you know he does instantly, even in his drunken state. 

Whenever you were sent on infiltration missions, Dazai was always the one in your ear, making sure that you got in and out safely. You refused to take infiltration missions unless Dazai and his freakish prophetic ability was the one on comms for you because you knew he’d be able to figure out if you’ve been compromised before the enemy have even figured it out for themselves. 

But you had known it was only a matter of time before Mori put you back on them. You’re the best suited in the Port Mafia for them and the recent issues with that gang that’s been moving into the northern wards from Asakusa all but demands interference from the inside lest you guys will be dealing with another major gang war and the city can’t handle that. 

“I’m nervous,” you admit for the first time, voice little over a whisper. “I don’t trust anyone but you to be my eyes and ears. Plus this mafia is... They're very violent. Kawabata leads it. I faced off against him in Osaka before he moved into Tokyo, back when I was still in Kyoto. It's... risky. It's been years but I'm worried he'll recognize me. I don't know why Mori is insisting on me being the one to go in.”

You swear you hear Dazai take in another breath, as if he was about to say something this time, but he doesn’t. Your throat feels swollen and your eyes feel misty, jaw tight. Not for the first time, you miss Dazai. You miss him so desperately that you swear your chest caves in at the thought of him. 

You want to hate him but you know you can’t. You've come to accept that already. But you think you still might like to pretend you can.

You told yourself after you ran into him that night that you’d push him from mind, you’d forget about him. You knew that one day you’d meet him again—you and Dazai Osamu have been entwined since the day you met, fate has a lot left in store for the two of you for things to just so abruptly end—but until that day, you have to focus on what matters. And what matters is the Port Mafia.

But how are you supposed to forget him when he can’t even bring himself to fully leave you behind? You think it’s cruel of him, and you think that you should ignore his calls until he finally gives up, but you can’t bring yourself to because no matter how much you preach about forgetting him, if the choice of keeping contact with him arises, you’ll always choose it.

“I miss you,” you breathe out, voice cracking over your words. “I miss you so much that it hurts, Dazai. i-“

The line goes dead. 

The words on your lips die as soon as you realize he hung up, heart sinking. You sigh as you stare up at the ceiling before curling over onto your side, hoping to at least get a little sleep before your early wake up call for mission prep. 

But it’s a naive hope—you know that you’ll never sleep tonight, not with thoughts of Dazai Osamu racing through your mind. 

Dazai shouldn’t be doing this. 

His knuckles are white as he sits at a row of monitors in a locked down ex-government facility. On each of the screens are different vantage points of the main base of the Scarlet Gang, the mafia that had been run out of the Asakusa ward of Tokyo by the Sun and Steel and is now challenging the Port Mafia. 

Ango is pacing somewhere behind him, expression tight and arms crossed against his chest. Dazai knows that he’s livid over this, but Dazai also does not care because he doesn’t think that Ango has a right to be livid about anything that Dazai does anymore. 

He’s been here for three days already. His knees are tucked to his chest as he sits on the spinning chair, bags heavy beneath his eyes and hair matted and oily after days of sitting in front of the screen without budging an inch. He doesn’t dare take his eyes off the screen—not when your life is on the line, and especially not when he’s not even on a direct comms line with you. All he has is a burner cell and hope that you at least take a look at your phone if he has to send a text.

If this mission is like every other infiltration mission you’ve been sent on, it’ll be another two days before your planned extraction—and if you have the same luck you always do, the mission will go smoothly. But Dazai has a dark feeling in his gut, and he isn’t quite sure if it’s because he has no control over the mission or if something bad really is going to happen, there have already been some suspicious signs and he doesn't trust Mori. Your whole comment about his insistence on you going keeps scratching the back of his head like he's missing something, because there's no way Mori would ever risk losing your ability, especially to Kawabata. The man is always scheming, and Dazai is certain there's one simmering below the facade of this mission but he just can't figure out what. Either way, he knows he can't risk stepping away for even a moment. 

“I thought you were done with this, Dazai.” Ango finally has the nerve to voice what dazai knows he’s been itching to say for three days. “I thought-“

“Maybe you should stop thinking,” Dazai says dryly, his head hurts and sweat is beading beneath his arms. Three days without drinking is affecting him way more than he thought it would, but he can’t afford to be inebriated for this.

“Dazai-“ Ango begins.

“I’m not doing this for the Port Mafia,” Dazai cuts him off, dark eyes dragging across the screen to where he sees you laughing with one of the members of the Scarlet Gang, leaning in close with a teasing smile. 

You’re beautiful. Stunning. He can’t blame the way the man you’re talking to seems to gravitate closer to you, enamored by the sound of your voice and the way your eyes glitter beneath the room’s chandelier, but he still wishes he could put a bullet through his head. 

He hasn’t seen you since the day before he left—well, he doesn’t remember seeing you since then, at least. He has some suspicions regarding the part of his ear that mysteriously went missing the night he woke up in one of your shared safehouses, but this is his first time really seeing you and it makes his chest feel sick and heavy to know you’re so out of reach and by his own doing, nonetheless.

His eyes narrow as he watches the man reach out to brush his fingers against your arm. His lips twist down even more when his gaze tracks down to your lips—this is always his least favorite part of being on comms for your infiltration missions. 

“You won’t be able to oversee all of her infiltration missions anymore, Dazai,” Ango says, voice a bit more gentle and Dazai has a distinct urge to rip out the man’s vocal cords. “Once I get your records clear and you’ve joined up with the Agency, you’re going to have to leave this all behind for good. All of it.”

Dazai doesn’t respond. His lips press together tight as Ango’s words register. He knows that he’s right, that if he wants to honor Odasaku’s final wishes, then he has to leave everything behind—even you—but he can hardly even bear the thought of it. Never seeing you again, never hearing your voice again, he thinks that a life without you is not a life worth living. 

He thought that he’d be able to do it, that he’d be able to cut you off just like everyone else, but it only took one drunken night at a bar when he stared at old pictures of you for a bit too long for him to give in to the aching feeling in his chest, the desperate need to at least hear your voice one last time. 

Except one last time turned into another and another; as much as Dazai Osamu likes to pretend to be strong, he’s always been weak at heart for you. From he moment he met you three years earlier during the Dragon’s Head Conflict—sent with Chuuya by Mori to retrieve you after finding out the squad sent to escort you back had been decimated by an ability user—he’s known that he was out of his depth when it comes to you. 

He was already curious to begin with, Mori doesn’t speak highly of anyone but he did speak highly of you, and at first Dazai assumed it was just because you were a girl, and a young one at that. Everyone knows Mori’s gross fascination with them. But when they found you mid-conflict with an ability user, trying to hold your own with only a gun and some rubble as shields to defend yourself from sweltering flames, he realized that maybe there was more that meets the eye to you. 

You’re beautiful—god, he can never stress it enough, words don’t do you justice. Wicked smart. Can talk your way into and out of any situation. Have a bounty on your head high enough to rival his own. From the day he met you, Dazai knew you were everything he’s ever wanted. And yeah, maybe it took him too long to come to terms with that, but it doesn’t make the feelings any less powerful.

Sometimes, when he drinks just a bit too much and he finds himself staring at old pictures of the two of you that he’d taken, he wonders if you would have come with him if he told you what he was doing. He wonders if maybe he hadn’t been a coward, you would be with him right now instead of risking your life on an infiltration mission with some incompetent moron on comms instead of him. He wonders if maybe he would have kissed you on that same bridge he tried to kill himself during that first week he spent drunk and alone. 

He doubts it. In his heart, he’s pretty sure you’d always choose the Mafia over him, but it’s nice to pretend sometimes.

“I don’t care” Dazai finally says, his voice rougher than he intended as he gives Ango a cold look from the corner of his eye. “I won’t let her die on a bullshit mission because some clown is on comms for her.” 

Ango doesn’t get a chance to respond again because Dazai’s eyes are drawn back to the monitors, where a conversation is taking place on the far side of the room. A conversation that has them looking in your direction a bit too often for his liking.

Dazai inhales, rising to his feet, shoulders and arms tensing as his eyes trace the screen, trying to figure out if he should send you a warning. If he’s wrong, it’ll have completely blown your mission and it would put you at risk if Mori or any of the other executives start questioning you as to why you abandoned the mission for no reason.

But if he’s right… 

Dazai is good at many things, and he’s always been quick to be the one on comms with you because he, better than anyone else in the mafia, is good at reading and predicting enemy moves. He always knows in his gut what’s about to happen, you would sometimes joke that it was his real ability, some form of foresight and you would be less joking when you nudge his shoulder and tell him that you’re glad you have his ‘freaky prophetic ability’ otherwise you’d have been dead a long time ago.

Dazai grits his teeth. He feels Ango approaching him from behind but ignores him, mind racing as he tries to calculate the best course of action.

Finally, he takes the burner phone and shoots you a short message: compromised. 

And then he waits. 

The longest and most tense minute of his life passes as he watches you on the screen, waiting to see if you’ll even bother to check your phone. He doesn’t think that he’ll be able to stay in the room if it turns out you are compromised and stuck in enemy territory—he’d feel helpless, unable to do anything but watch and pray to a god he barely believes in that you get out okay. 

Come on, he thinks to himself as one of the men begins making his way in your direction, nails digging into his palms so deeply that blood began to flow from the crescents. Come on, check your phone. 

And then you do. 

He lets out a shaky breath of relief when he sees you pull out your phone, eyes tracing the message on your screen rapidly. A flurry of emotions rocket across your face, and for a moment, Dazai thinks that you’re about to cry.

But then you smile again, leaning in and clasping the man’s hand and leaning in to brush your lips against his cheek before making your way out of the room. He doesn’t dare look away until you’ve slipped out of sight from the cameras littered throughout the building and out of danger. 

Without another word, Dazai turns to leave the old facility.

“Dazai,” Ango calls after him.

Dazai ignores him, snapping the burner phone. You’re safe—that’s all that matters. Now he can go back to drinking himself away and dreaming of what could’ve been. 

Two days later, Mori sends you away on a mission abroad that lasts the next three years. That night was the last time he had any sort of contact with you until you’re finally brought back.

[natsarrownecklacx]

Just One Chance

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Word Count- 2,191

Summary- You desperately want Natasha to sit on your face, she’s definitely not apposed to the idea, but she does have her concerns.

Warnings- Smut, 18+ only Minors this is not a fic for you. Chubby, subby Nat (she’s so adorable pls I love her) face sitting, slight degradation kink, slight mommy kink, teasing, hand riding (?) talks on weight insecurities (Nat)

Based on this

ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ

“Baby, please.” You plead with your girlfriend, not for the first time, for her to give into your desperation. “You won’t hurt me, I promise.”

Natsaha looks at you with eyes full of guilt and uncertainty. She knows you want her to do this, knows how desperately you crave her this way and honestly if you were asking for anything else she would have given it to you within a moment's notice, but this, she just can't.

She has a deep seeded fear that the chub around her thighs, tummy and waist will hurt you the second she puts her weight down on you.

She’s always declined your offer, your need, to pleasure her that way, despite your assurances that she wouldn’t hurt you, that you’d only ever feel blessed to be between her legs.

She’d be lying if she said she’d never thought about it. That she’d never cum with her fingers buried deep inside her with the thought of you underneath her, mouth on her cunt bringing her to the very edge of bliss before pulling her over and helping her fall.

“Nat.” You say seriously. “If you are genuinely uncomfortable with this I will drop it, but if the only thing holding you back is your fear of hurting me then I need you to hear me when I say you won’t, love. I’ll even have a safeword and action for if I need a break.”

You see it the moment Natasha’s shoulders slump, her body relaxing at the idea of you having a safe word, a way for her to ensure your comfort and safety.

You take the opportunity to close the distance between you, the slight chill in your shared bedroom dissipating the second her body is against yours, even with the both of you fully clothed.

You take her in your arms, pulling her toward you to place a kiss on her cheek. “Besides.” You add, teasingly, a smirk on your lips. “I’m not sure if I've ever mentioned this but my preferred way to go out is between your thighs, love.”

Natasha laughs, lightly swatting your shoulder, a teasing tone to her own voice as she answers. “You might’ve mentioned it once or twice.”

In your defense, it would be your preferred way to go, if it came down to it, you’d want to leave this life with her. Where else would you get a view like that?

Natasha takes a second to think it over, a steady heat pooling between her legs at the thought, ultimately leading her to the decision not to deprive either of you of this any longer.

“Okay.” Natasha says, so quietly you think you might have imagined it.

“Okay?” You ask, your voice filled with poorly covered hope.

“Yes.” Natasha says more confidently this time. “I’ll sit on your face.” She blushes as she says it, the crude words feeling heavy on her tongue.

You don’t even try to hide your excitement as you smile at her, sliding your hands down her body, stopping at her thighs to pick her up and throw her onto the bed.

“Strip, love.”

Your eyes darken as you stand at the foot of the bed, watching her remove her clothes one by one until she’s left in only her panties in front of you. “Leave those on.”

Natasha groans, knowing she’s about to be teased. “But-” She tries to protest, only for you to cut her off by crawling on top of her, caging her against the bed with your body. “But nothing, love. What I say goes and you know that. Don’t you?”

“Yes, ma’am.” She replies, letting her eyes drift to where your pointer finger is tracing over the skin of her stomach.

You draw a path over the skin of her abdomen, up through the valley of her breasts, across her collarbones and over her throat and jawline. You take her jaw in your grasp, making her move her gaze back to your face. Her pupils are dilated, submission and lust clear in her gaze.

You lean down to cover her lips with your own, simultaneously moving your finger back down between her breasts, down over her stomach and over her thighs.

You roughly palm the inside her thighs, causing a gasp to leave her lips and allowing you to slip your tongue into her mouth. The noise she releases is heavenly, somewhere between a needy whine and a moan and you have to keep your hips from bucking against her.

You bring your hand down to grope at her thighs, feeling the desperation roll off of her in waves, her hips rising off the bed in search of more.

Natasha pulls away, her head falling against the pillow below her with a dull thud. “Please.” She says, breathlessly.

“Please what?” You ask, feigning confusion.

Natasha only huffs at your act, her hips raising again trying to catch your attention. “Please, touch me.” She says, this time making sure to look you in the eye, knowing your weakness for her dark green orbs.

“I am touching you, love.” You tease further, groping the flesh of her inner thigh to prove your point.

“No.” She says confidently, making you raise a brow as takes your wrist in her hold, guiding your hand from her thigh to her heat. “I need you here. Please, y/n.”

Without saying anything, you press against the wet spot on her panties, delighting in the noise it draws from her. Her hips lift on instinct, pushing herself against your hand, head falling back at the pressure she’s rewarded with.

“Oh g-god.” She stutters out, rutting her hips against the flat of your hand, held firmly against her with her hand wrapped around your wrist.

You smirk down at her, a borderline predatory look in your eyes. “You gettin close, love?” You ask, feeling her pick up the pace of her hips, cute little moans falling from her lips as she nods.

“Yeah?” You tease, only to receive another nod in response. You bring your free hand up to wrap around her throat, applying just enough pressure to make her head swim. “How about now?” You taunt, receiving only a whine and a breathy “f-fuck” in answer.

“Gonna come.” She says in warning and you can’t help but smile as you watch her tilt her head back, her back arching off the bed as she moans and a gush of arousal soaks her panties.

“Aww, honey.” You coo, fighting against a smirk when you see a bright red blush cover her cheeks, her head turning to the side, avoiding you’re gaze.

Keeping your hand on your throat loosely you lean in to whisper against her ear. “You came so hard your shaking and I didn’t even properly touch you.”

Natasha whines, moving forward to tuck her head into your neck. “None of that, sweetheart.” You say, moving away from her to capture her lips with yours.

She closes her eyes, enjoying the feel of you against her. You pull away and she tries to follow your lips, a chuckle leaving yours as you lean back, giving her some room to breathe.

It takes Natasha a minute to gather herself, her eyes drifting to your smile as soon as she’s calmed enough to meet your dark gaze.

You shift off of her, lying on the bed beside her and tapping her thigh.

“Come on, honey.” You say, moving your eyes slowly up her body until you meet her blown out pupils. “Sit your pretty self on my face and I’ll make you cum again.”

Natasha whimpers and clenches her thighs shut, the action drawing your attention, a smirk falling onto your face.

She moves to straddle your stomach, her hands flat against your chest as she stares down at you. The sight of you beneath her, eager to please her reminds her of her often thought of fantasies. Her hips grind down on you unintentionally, drawing a quiet moan from her.

You laugh quietly and take her jaw into your hand, forcing her too look you in the eye. “That’s right honey, I want you to make yourself feel good just like that. I just need to taste you while you do it.”

Natasha nods dumbly, moving off of you to remove her panties. She then moves herself to straddle over your face, her eyes full of hesitation as she lowers herself down, refusing to put any weight on you.

You allow her this moment of hesitation, looking to her for permission as you wrap your arms around her thighs, lifting your head between her legs.

You wait for her nod of approval, a timid smile on her lips as she does so, before you let your tongue come in contact with her cunt. You lick a strip up her and watch in fascination as her mouth drops open at the pleasure it causes her.

You move your tongue to her clit, circling the bundle of nerves and Natasha’s hands fly to the headboard to hold herself up as her thighs begin to tremble.

“Oh god.” She moans, fighting against herself to keep from grinding on your tongue. “Y/n.” She moans.

Natasha’s head tips back, whines and moans spilling from her lips. You look up at her, noticing the muscles in her arms tense, her thighs shaking on either side of your head and you know she’s holding back.

You use your hold on her to pull her down onto you fully. She looks down at you, alarm on her face for all of five seconds before you flatten your tongue under her clit and pull her forward on your tongue.

She moans loudly, hints of desperation laced in the pretty sound. Her hands to rest just above your head, her hips grinding against you with fever, drawing every ounce of pleasure she can from you.

You let her use your mouth to get herself off, her desperate movements, moans and cries of your name turn you on more than you can bear. Your thighs squeeze together, trying to release the building pressure.

“Oh god.” She cries out, her head falling forward. “Feels so good.” She moans, her hips stuttering against her tongue. The sound and the taste of her make you moan into her, causing her to cry out again.

You move your tongue away from her clit, her whine of protest bringing a smirk to your lips.

Natasha sits up, her back straight, her hands wresting on her thighs. She stares down at you through hooded eyes, her pupils blown out and a pout on her face. “Y/n.” She mumbles, as if she simply doesn’t have the energy to do any more.

“Yes baby.” You answer, giving short, gentle licks against her opening. “Nughhh. Oh god, y/n please.” She begs, trying to grind down onto your tongue.

You look up at her with mischievous eyes, her eyes widening as she sees them. “What are you- fuck!” She cries out, feeling your tongue slide inside of her.

You thrust your tongue in and out of her, using your grip on her thigh to pull her more onto your mouth.

Her walls flutter around you as she weaves her fingers into your hair, tugging lightly on the strands.

You brush your nose against her clit as you thrust inside her, causing her head to fly back and a loud cry of “mommy” to fall from her lips. Her thighs shake and threaten to close as she comes apart on your face, the orgasm hitting her harder than ever before.

You continue to thrust into her, drawing out her pleasure as she rides out her high on your tongue.

You only pull away from her when she whines from overstimulation, her hand pushing you away from her as her whole body slumps forward.

She takes all of five seconds to catch her breath before she registers her position, the amount of her weight she let you bare.

In a state of panic she lifts herself from your mouth. A panicked jumble of apologies and words of concern leave her lips so fast you can barely understand what she’s saying.

You simply lift your hand to cover her mouth, her eyes immediately snapping to yours, the panic all but evaporating from them when she sees the adoration and bliss in yours.

She gasps when she meets your eyes, the sight of you covered in her so contently causing the heat in her stomach to reignite

You kiss the inside of each of her thighs, relishing in the shaky breath she releases as you do so, a mumbled “you're so beautiful” falling from your lips and you watch as a blush covers her cheeks and she looks away shyly.

“So.” You tease, causing Natasha to look back at you. “Mommy, huh?”

Natasha’s eyes widen again, suddenly remembering what she’d said in her state of pure arousal.

You feel it against her hand when she goes to apologize, but you keep her mouth firmly shut, pushing your hand against her.

“Shh, baby. Just let mommy taste you again.”

ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ

A/n - I’m not entirely happy with this one but the wip list is so long I just wanted it done and honestly if I don’t post it rn there’s a 50/50 on it never being posted. Hope ye like it anyways

[nicromancytarot]

WHO IS COMING INTO YOUR LIFE ROMANTICALLY?

This is a general reading based on a collective of people. Take what resonates and leave what doesn’t. If you don’t feel the pile resonates with you, don’t be scared to try another, if it still doesn’t feel right, that’s ok! Maybe our energies aren’t as connected and my readings are not for you.

I do these strictly for fun and educational purposes. I don’t change for these readings and I do not fake readings. I would tell you the cards I got but I pull like 20-30 cards each reading and that just slightly a strenuous task to write them all down lmao.

PICK A CARD READING

I asked my spirit guides what you need to know about the next person who is coming into your life romantically, pick a pile and find out what they had to say!

Pile 1 ———> Pile 2 ———> Pile 3

PILE 1

This person is embodying the energy of the king of cups, they are giving off much more masculine energy, this doesn’t mean that they are a guy, however this person is more in tune with their masculine, leadership side. When you meet this person, they will be going with the flow, allowing life to take them wherever, and coincidentally they will find you.

I am getting the feeling that this person is new to most, if not all of you. So I’m not seeing any exes or reconciliations in this pile.

This person seems to have been going through something which led them astray or possibly ended in them getting hurt, for some this may have been a breakup.

Around the time that the two of you meet, they’re going to act like a taster for you, they’ll give you these little moments with them, which leave you waiting for more, yearning for them to allow you in some more, but you only receive a drip, a dribble of what they could actually give you.

They’ll keep this going on for a while, keeping you interested and guessing, during this time they may have you lined up as an accomplishment or trophy, they may still have feelings for an ex, and have you as a second option.

It will take a while to get out of the situationship and bring yourselves to something more committed and long term, honestly I’m seeing around 6-8 months of no label.

All while it can absolutely end well, it can give you what you desperately want in a relationship, the agony and anticipation may turn to be too much for you.

For those of you who choose to walk away from this without letting it grow or become anything more, you are making a good decision, you’re embodying the queen of wands energy, you don’t need anyone to define you or make you any more worthy than you already are.

For those of who choose to stay, be careful of your heart, make sure to protect your dignity and don’t let this person get you down, you can build something beautiful with a lot of patience and determination, however you are always ok to walk away.

PILE 2

A lot of you are getting over something at the moment, I’m unfortunately getting an ex, someone from your past who I’m not too sure that you received closure from when you last saw or spoke to them.

I do see this ex coming back into your life, if they come back during mercury retrograde, dawg bin them, we are in no need of negativity during this time! However, for those who do not come back during this current moment, either you will contact them, or they will contact you. I do see that a lot of you have some stuff to talk out with this past person.

The closure conversation won’t exactly go to plan, you may be sucked in by their drama, trauma dumping or a poor attempt to get you back. I do feel as though you will entertain this situation for a little, perhaps not too long, but long enough for some emotions and feelings to arise again.

However on the other side of things, you have someone completely new, someone who is willing to give you things that this past person wasn’t able to supply for you. This person is coming in hot and heavy, they will be very direct about what they want with you.

I feel like you’ve always been the one to make the first move, or admit your feelings, this person will turn your life on it’s head, they will be honest, direct, real and just very straightforward about what they desire.

They may say something along the lines of not wanting to be with you until you’re over your ex, this could be a drunken confession where you try to tell them that you are, and they tell you you’re not. It will either end up with you crying into their hands as they cradle your head, or some hot and heavy make out session lmao.

This person is willing to wait for you, they will be on the sidelines for as long as you need them to be. It doesn’t seem like they will be letting go easily.

The ex person is giving me twin flame vibes, meanwhile the new person is a soulmate.

So it’s either out with the old and in with the new, or out with the new and back to the old.

The choice is yours.

PILE 3

You guys seem to have gone through some type of break up as well lmao, something which forced you to let go of someone that you cared a lot about. If it’s not a relationship, then it’s a situation that had you up at night upset and stressing.

During this time there was this one person that you would confide in, this person was there to rub your back while you cried, and tell you that everything was ok.

They watched you through your healing journey, helping you become one with yourself and your expression once again, help you build yourself up until you felt comfortable in your own skin. This person is a people watcher, especially when it comes to you, they’re observing to the point of writing down every little thing about you, you could ask this person the colour of your eyes, or how many freckles are on your face and they would be able to answer without a second glance. They know you like they know themself.

This person may call you their flower or petal, you may have a flower relating name, something to do with how delicately they view you, you’re like a piece of china to them, one wrong touch and you’d break. They don’t want to break you.

They metaphorically stand by your bedside as you sleep, protecting you from every scary dream, or any unwanted negativity that could come your way, they want nothing more than to protect you and keep your safe, it’s their purpose.

You are Barbie, and they are just Ken. (No gender affirmed)

This person will wait for the right time before making their move, and when they do, they will resume leadership and continue to look after you for as long as you allow them to.

This person will love you like you have never been loved before, they will caress every inch of your skin as though you were sculpted by the Gods, they want nothing more than for you to be theirs, and them to resume being yours.

Because they will always be yours.

[taexual]

sleepwalking ● 22 | jjk

pairing: jungkook x fem!reader

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

genre: rockstar!jungkook / exes to lovers

warnings: explicit language, suggestive themes, FLUFF, some angst, mentions of drugs (including descriptions of harmful use), very plot-heavy chapter, SLOW BURN

words: 18k

read from the beginning ○ masterlist

chapter 22 ► if you want an enemy, i’ll be the last one that you ever meet

Jungkook marvelled at how quickly he got used to the peace he felt with you in his hotel room. It was strong, too, this peace. Stable. It seemed to him, as you slept on the bed right by his side, that nothing could disturb the walls of his room.

Sid’s Instagram post had been nothing but a picture. Neither of you interacted with it, nor did you respond to him—although, like a true pest, he continued to message you both throughout the night.

The picture remained as it was: largely anonymous, because Sid, in his petulant haste to post it, had not tagged you. And, from the looks of it, he had not realised he hadn’t tagged you.

The people in the comments—Jungkook checked, after making sure you’d fallen asleep—tried to guess what was happening. Most of the comments, with usernames that made Jungkook chuckle, seemed to recognise him (well, a few people did, and others jumped on this bandwagon with a heedless excitement that brought another smile to his face—they were thrilled to find him in this seemingly random picture, and he was thrilled by their thrill), but no one could understand the context.

So happy for you, Sid’s caption read. But happy for what? Happy for whom?

You’ve both decided to raise this issue with the band before the concert tomorrow. There was very little you could have done this late at night anyway. All the staff had a day off, and you did not want to disturb them over a personal problem that had escalated into something bigger than you.

Jungkook was delighted by your choice to stay in his room. He interpreted your decision to wait until morning as a confirmation of your deeper desire to prolong your time together. He preferred to believe that this was the reason, rather than the circumstances, that allowed you to stay.

And since you were sleeping next to him right now, your chest rising and falling gently under the covers, it was all too easy to give in to this belief.

When Jungkook woke up a few hours later, the room was bathed in a golden glow. The sunlight filtered through a gap in the curtains that he must have overlooked last night.

You weren’t next to him.

Panic seized him almost instantly, and he realised that the peace he had felt last night with you beside him was not quite as stable as he had believed. Now you were awake, and you were not here.

He flipped on his back and pushed himself into a sitting position. He even searched under the bed in irrational desperation—as if you had decided to play hide-and-seek and give him a heart attack for breakfast. And then, as soon as he threw back the covers and scanned the room, he heard your voice—a lifeline, really, amid his suffocating thoughts.

You were still here, in the bathroom, either talking on the phone or to yourself. Honestly, that part did not really matter to him, as long as he knew you were here.

Outrageously relieved, he collapsed back onto the pillows and buried his face in his hands, a ridiculous smile spreading beneath his fingers as his heart continued to race in his chest.

He realised that he was a little out of his mind.

You were on the phone, as Jungkook would later learn, with the founder and CEO of Jett Records, Christian Jett—or simply CJ, as he insisted you call him, even though you’d only spoken to him once in your entire time at the company: right now. You figured one of the reasons he insisted on the abbreviation was that his full name could have worked incredibly well as a Christian rock band name.

If Jungkook had known who you were talking to, his panic might have resurged. Your hands were shaking, too, as you clutched your phone to your ear and took in CJ’s rapid news.

In just one breath, CJ shared his thoughts on Rated Riot’s reception in Europe and outlined his vision for the coming months. He also surprised you with some good news, and you tapped your fingers on the hotel sink, eager to tell the band.

Then, CJ, your new best friend by the sound of it, turned the subject over to you.

“Here’s what’s going to happen in the next few weeks,” he said, speaking so quickly that you barely had time to react. By the time your stomach clenched in anticipation, he had already informed you of his plans. “I’ve personally put together a team, just a couple of execs and someone from HR, to recruit support staff for you. We’re thinking two people should suffice for now.”

Your pause seemed incredibly long compared to his—which was virtually non-existent, and CJ opened his mouth to keep speaking.

“I was also thinking that—”

“I—sorry, uh,” you interjected, finally finding your words, “w-what support staff are you referring to, sir?”

“Assistant managers,” CJ replied with a chuckle. “I should’ve started with that, you’re right. You’ll have a team. Naturally, you’ll be promoted to Head of Management.”

You needed some time to process that. It was the “naturally” in particular that confused you because none of this seemed very natural.

When you woke up and saw ‘Christian Jett’ on your phone (the device even vibrated differently, almost nervously), you immediately assumed the worst: Sid had done irreparable damage to the band’s reputation by hard-launching a relationship that no one at the label knew about, and now you were going to be fired because you had not contained it.

That was the only thought you had when you took the call. But you were actually being promoted. Naturally.

Did he even know about Sid?

“That—that’s great,” you managed. You sensed CJ’s anticipation for a more effusive response and he grumbled in mild disapproval when you did not offer one. “I am very happy to hear that.”

“Yeah?” He chuckled again. He sounded like a train veering off its tracks when he laughed, which was very odd, yet somehow felt comforting. “You don’t sound much like it.”

“Oh—m-my apologies, I’m just surprised.”

“Yeah, well, you shouldn’t be,” he said. “Others are trying to scout you for their own bands—fucking Reconnaissance, of all people—so, of course, we have to promote you.”

Your fingers stilled on the cool porcelain of the sink.

He said they had to promote you: as if it was a decision forced upon them by some foreign threat, rather than your efforts and the unprecedented growth of the band.

It would have made sense to expand your team eventually—when the tour ended, for example, and everyone could see how far Rated Riot has come. But now, apparently, your career would abruptly progress just because you received an offer from another band.

“Respectfully, sir,” you said, avoiding his nickname, “may I ask how you came by that information? I was under the impression that the offer from Reconnaissance wasn’t official.”

“It’s a small industry,” CJ replied. “We consider any offer aimed at our talents official.”

He gave no further explanations. You had questions, of course, but did not know how to say What the fuck is that supposed to mean? in Corporate.

Instead, you said, “I see.”

“I’ll send one of my assistants and a couple of people from our legal team to go over the new contract with you in the next few days,” he informed you.

You wondered what time it was for him, wherever he was, because here in London, it was far too early to talk about legal teams. The magnitude of the situation made your empty stomach churn.

“Your new contract won’t be much different,” CJ continued. He sensed that the mention of lawyers had unsettled you, and his tone softened. “Bigger pay, a few extra tasks, a more defined division of labour. Your assistants will handle the routine chores, allowing you to concentrate on promoting and advancing Rated Riot. That’s the direction we’re moving in right now, and that’ll be your main priority.”

“I understand, sir,” you said, although you understood fragments.

They could have hired a marketing specialist instead of two assistants for you if they wanted to focus on the advancement of the band. Rated Riot did not even have their own publicist right now. There was one at the company, but she juggled several bands and rarely ventured beyond arranging an occasional interview for Rated Riot if someone contacted the company, and not you.

Evidently, they chose to promote you to Head Manager and Publicist instead of hiring a different person for that job.

“You’ll stay with the band and work on location,” CJ said. “That arrangement seems to bring the best results, especially regarding the band’s schedule. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Yes, sir,” you replied, recognising that CJ probably had the authority to teleport you out of London immediately should you disagree with anything he said.

“Excellent,” he said. “I’d like to move forward with this while the band is still on tour, so you could train your assistants as soon as you are back. From then on, you’ll focus on effective representation and the strengthening of their brand, marketing strategies, bigger shows, more advertising—well, you know the drill.”

“Right,” you said. “Of course.”

You chose not to point out how far these new duties deviated from your original job description. You were already doing all that anyway, even if you weren’t, technically, required to. And they clearly seemed to think that your extra work came without saying—of course, you’d do everything. When have you not?

“And mostly everything else on the contract will remain as it is,” CJ finished. “The legal team will go over the rest with you. It’s the same things: compensation, conflicts of interest, obligations, bonuses, the whole bunch. You know. You’ve done it before.”

You haven’t done it before, actually. When Rated Riot hired you, the company emailed you the contract, you skimmed it, understood about half, and e-signed it without any meetings with HR, let alone the legal team.

Nevertheless, you responded obediently, “I understand. When can I expect to meet with them?”

“Let me check your schedule,” he said. You heard the faint clicking of a laptop mouse and assumed he had Rated Riot’s schedule at the ready. “Alright, you’re in London for the next few days, then almost a week in Paris. How about one of the days there? My assistant will email you later with a more specific time and date.”

“Okay, that sounds perfect,” you replied. “Thank you for taking the time to personally inform me about this, CJ. I—I’m very excited to start this new chapter with the band.”

“I’m excited as well,” CJ said, glad to finally hear your use of his name, even if you wavered while saying it. “Let’s keep this discreet, though, yeah? For now. I’ll mention the changes in management and the band’s upcoming promotions at the executive team meeting next week. Namjoon will update you on how that goes. Until then, let’s keep this within our circle.”

“I—of course, sir,” you replied. CJ allowed you a moment of thought and did not interrupt your silence this time.

You worried that his strong emphasis on discretion indicated his knowledge about something else. And even if it didn’t, you thought it would reflect badly on you later if you did not mention Sid right now, when you had the perfect opportunity for it.

“I’m—I would also like to address the recent speculation online regarding the, uh—bathtub picture,” you said, trying to choose your words without sounding like a three-year-old imitating a businessman. “I want to assure you that—”

“Oh, yeah, no—Namjoon called me earlier. He filled me in,” CJ said. “I hadn’t even seen the picture before he mentioned it. That Sid’s a weird character.”

Your heart jumped over a beat, chilling the blood in your anxious veins.

“Uh—yes,” you played along, wondering all the while where Namjoon was, and what he had done on your behalf. “He is.”

“I trust you’ll ensure no one else leaks the band’s album covers in the future, though,” CJ said. His words sounded like a demand—half a step away from a threat—but you could not recognise your reflection in the mirror all of a sudden and could not reply. “Maybe reset your systems or something.”

Namjoon had called CJ. He had deflected from your relationship with Jungkook and shielded you from what could have happened if someone discovered who the people in the picture were.

Sid leaked the album cover.

You took a fractured breath and leaned against the counter, closing your eyes for a moment.

“Yes—yes, of course,” you finally managed. “We’ll take every precaution to make sure these incidents are avoided in the future. Th-thank you, CJ.”

You could no longer tell if you were still coherent or just trying to be. CJ’s unusual pause seemed to indicate that he sensed your unease, but he chose not to comment on it. He thought you just felt uncomfortable that the album cover had leaked.

“Alright, happy to hear that,” he said. “Talk to you soon. Keep up the good work.”

He ended the call before you could voice any more platitudes about looking forward to hearing from him again. You weren’t. You were looking forward to finding Namjoon and possibly offering your soul to him to repay the debt.

Namjoon had resolved the issue that Sid had caused—the issue you considered personal, because you were keenly aware of the causal relationship between Sid’s post and your relationship with Jungkook: if you hadn’t spent so much time with him on this tour, if you’d kept your professional distance, if you’d closed the damn door in that hotel bathroom, there wouldn’t have been any picture at all.

However, there was more for you to fix. Namjoon had helped you now, but Sid was still at large, wild and unpredictable.

And as you glanced at your phone, you also remembered something else that CJ had said about your contract: conflicts of interest.

In your initial contract, you had declared none, despite already knowing that Jungkook was in the band. You hoped you could carry on quietly enough—as though you had never met him, really—and no one would mind. That more or less worked out, up until this point.

Now you wondered if you could still claim no conflicts of interest without any consequences. Was that what your relationship with Jungkook was, in the eyes of the company?

You took a deep breath and decided to ponder this elsewhere because the bathroom was getting stuffy and the clothes you’d worn for a comfortable film night suddenly felt suffocating against your skin.

Stepping out of the bathroom on the tips of your toes so as not to wake Jungkook, you turned the corner and locked eyes with him right away.

“Hi,” he murmured, the edges of his morning voice hoarse and groggy as he watched you from the mess of sheets on the bed.

Despite hoping to find him still asleep so you could slip back into bed and have the morning together that had been stolen from you, you didn’t feel disappointed that he was awake. He had a lazy smile on his lips. His hair was dishevelled and he kept bringing his hand through it.

There was a glow over your face as you approached the bed. “Hi.”

“I thought you’d left,” he said, his eyes following your every movement as you settled back next to him.

“Do you want me to?” you asked, tilting your head to the side, closer to him. He wasn’t sure if you were even aware you did that, it seemed subconscious, but it prompted his hands to reach for you.

He touched your cheek, running his fingers over your jaw before leaning in to press his lips to yours—quickly, just to remind himself that he could. And to steal just one breath from you.

“No,” he said then. “Never.”

He saw your eyes soften and your smile grow. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He traced his thumb over your lower lip before pulling away to sit up on the bed. “Who, um—who was that on the phone?”

The question was expected, but you didn’t have an answer for him personally—you’d planned to explain everything to all of Rated Riot later today.

“Uh,” you leaned against the headboard of the bed, “the label.”

“Yeah?” he encouraged.

“The CEO, actually,” you added briefly. “But I should probably discuss this with the whole band.”

Startled, Jungkook gripped the sheets in his hand. He was worried—rather obviously—that this was about Sid or still about Reconnaissance, and he couldn’t decide which he dreaded more. He was absurdly quick to convince himself that the CEO had told you something so serious that you didn’t even see the point of talking to him about it.

“Did something happen?” he asked, feeling the tips of his fingers grow numb.

You recognised the concern on his face with half of a glance. “Yeah, but it’s something good.”

Relief, excitement, and curiosity replaced the previous anxiety in his eyes at an impressive speed.

He shifted on the bed with a newfound energy, crossing and uncrossing his legs. “Well, tell me!”

“We’ll have a meeting—”

“That’s fair,” he said, moving closer. “But tell me now.”

You were too excited to dwell on the fact that this was the precise conflict of interest that had unsettled your mind earlier—this perception of favouritism, this special treatment that others might assume Jungkook received because he was in a relationship with his manager.

“You’re doing festivals next summer,” you said, pausing for emphasis, “and they’re extending your tour. We’ll be going back to at least five countries in Europe for encore shows.”

You still had to confirm the dates with the venues and perform several additional bureaucratic tasks so your team could stay in Europe longer, but all of that seemed irrelevant in light of this news.

“Ah,” Jungkook replied—happy, but not nearly as exuberant as you’d hoped. “That’s cool.”

You realised quickly that he must have misunderstood.

“No, Jungkook,” you said. “In arenas this time—with a capacity at least three times larger than we have right now.”

Instantly, his eyes ignited with the flames you’d looked forward to before.

“Oh,” he said and now the tingle of adventure was finally there, glistening fervently in his burning eyes.

But he looked at you again, and he thought there was something you hadn’t told him yet. It was the way your lips curled—smiling, but not quite.

“But you look—was there something else you talked about?” he asked.

You were surprised. You had hoped—naively, you now realised—that you could continue to talk about the promising parts of all that CJ had told you, leaving the more questionable parts to wait until the rest of your thoughts had cleared.

“They’re, uh, holding interviews for assistant managers and promoting me to Head Manager,” you said. Jungkook raised his eyebrows, but you continued before he could interject, “they’ll send people to Paris for me to sign the new contract.”

“To—oh, shit. Fuck.” His shock turned to laughter. Just moments ago, he was worried you’d have to leave the band. Now you were signing a new contract to stay. “Oh, but does that—does that mean we will see less of you? Is that why you—why you don’t seem very happy about that?”

“No, it’s—I am happy,” you said. “I’ll stay on-site with you guys. But the focus is—they’re saying we’re focusing more on promoting you and ‘strengthening your brand.’ That was cool, by the way. Your brand. I liked that part. But, uh—that will be my main priority, apparently. I guess I’m not really sure how that’s going to go.”

That wasn’t the only reason for your apprehension, but you did not want to mention Reconnaissance and the unexpected impact that Nick’s offer had on your sudden promotion. You preferred to see Jungkook smiling at you from across the bed—even more so when he was smiling right next to you.

“Well, what will you have to do?” he asked. “I mean, exactly?”

“I guess I will be making phone calls the whole day,” you replied, hoping secretly that this would not turn out to be all you’d have to do. “It also means that none of us will be going home longer than it takes for you to record a new album.”

“Oh.” Jungkook attempted to control his facial expression. For him, this arrangement—album, tour, album, tour—sounded almost ideal. “Well, that’s honestly fine by me.”

You knew he would not mind. But you minded. You had not said anything about your own workload to CJ, but you were prepared to use any threats necessary to ensure that Rated Riot had enough time to breathe.

“You say that now,” you pointed out, “but it will eventually get tough, being away from home for so long.”

“I have you,” Jungkook said. “I am home.”

He said that like it was the most obvious statement in the world—the grass is green, the sky is blue—but subtle magic was laced in every letter of every word. When he closed his eyes, when he couldn’t see the unfamiliar surroundings of the hotel room, his senses recognised the warmth of your presence as home.

Unfortunately, the darkness in his thoughts was unforgiving, and he had to ask you something else—but then he lost his resolve momentarily when he met your soft gaze and realised that you’d placed your hand on his.

“I, uh—” he tried, but several more moments had to pass before he sobered, “he—did he say anything about Sid?”

You exhaled. “Yeah.”

Jungkook nodded contemplatively and took a breath, bracing himself. Although it was difficult to imagine what the label could have said about Sid, considering the abundance of good news, he knew better than to expect something positive.

Another book his grandmother had read with him when he was young suddenly returned to his mind, the dark cover with thick red lettering vivid in his memory: Something wicked this way comes.

The book had been sinister, completely unfitting for a child of his age at the time. Just like Sid.

“What was it?” Jungkook asked.

“That picture he posted,” you said, “is apparently the cover of your upcoming album.”

“It—oh.” He looked away, puzzled, suddenly, by the shade of the wallpaper behind the bedframe and the questionable events that had led the label to that conclusion. He tried to say more and managed a very successful, “ah.”

You lowered your head, tugging on the edge of the duvet. “Namjoon, uh—he took care of it before I got the call from CJ, so I don’t know much about what he said to him.”

Jungkook was not sure if he should have been relieved that Sid’s damage had been neutralised seemingly so effortlessly. He could never know with Sid; his refusal to give up rivalled only Voldemort’s immortality. Only Sid’s horcruxes were, apparently, pictures and videos he used to manipulate others.

“It’s a good photo for an album cover,” Jungkook finally said.

“It—it is,” you agreed. “And it’s also—well, you know. A good explanation.”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll inform the label about us before I sign the new contract, though,” you decided. “I’ll talk to them. I thought maybe this could wait, but they’re sending over lawyers, so it’s—”

Jungkook’s breath got lodged in his throat and he had to cough several times to clear his airways, interrupting you.

“H-hold on,” he said. “You need lawyers present when you tell them we’re together?”

“They’re coming for the contract,” you explained. “And I’ll have to talk to them before I sign it because I figure you might be my conflict of interest.”

A sudden surge of very different emotions made Jungkook purse his lips. He found himself wondering if there was any term starting with “my” you could have used to describe him that he wouldn’t have liked. My boyfriend. My source of headaches. My biggest nuisance. Ultimately, all of that still meant that he was yours.

Reasonably, however, he did not like the sound of this.

“Huh,” he mused. “Doesn’t work as a pet name. Call me something else.”

“Yeah.” You chuckled. “I don’t like that one, either.”

You did not look particularly troubled. Everything was going to be fine, you were sure of it. You just weren’t sure how soon, and what this “fine” would look like.

“Come here,” Jungkook said before you could begin thinking about the possibilities and the risks.

You moved closer, happy to relish in the warmth of the room for a few more minutes as he wrapped his arms around you.

This was the morning you were looking forward to. Everything else could wait.

The second you stepped out of Jungkook’s hotel room and headed towards yours to pack for the day, Maggie startled you by calling out your name in the otherwise empty, echoing corridor. She appeared a little worried when you turned around, and that was so unbecoming on her normally laid-back face that you took an instinctive step back.

“Is—are you okay?” you asked.

She seemed surprised to see your surprise.

“I slept the whole day,” she explained. She was carrying something in her hands, but she kept it behind her back. “Feels like I was out for a week, actually.”

You smiled. That was hardly anything new.

You remembered the fright of your life that Maggie had given you the first time the two of you went out together. She had an alcohol tolerance that should have been outlawed, so she always drank more than Jungkook could ever handle (though he would argue otherwise, of course). By the time you got her back to your apartment that night, she was already barely conscious.

She had collapsed on your bed and when you brought her a glass of water about three minutes later, she was already snoring. And she’d slept—you counted—for twenty-two hours and thirty-three minutes. You had spent the last eight hours keeping watch over her, periodically checking if she was breathing, with your finger hovering over the emergency number on your phone.

To your amazement, she woke up the next morning without so much as a hint of a headache, perplexed by the concerned look on your face. She looked a bit like that now.

“Yeah,” you replied, a little jealous of her dangerous, but seemingly foolproof ability to avoid hangovers. “Maybe we should have stopped before the tequila shots.”

“Hmm.” She scratched her forehead. It was hard to tell what she was feeling; hesitation flickered in her eyes when she looked at you. “Was, uh—was Jungkook in my room yesterday?”

“He—oh, yeah,” you recalled. “I asked him to check on you.”

“Oh.” Relief washed over her face, adding some vibrancy to her cloudy features. “Okay. So I didn’t hallucinate that.”

You smiled again. “No.”

“I took your jacket,” she said, revealing the item she’d been clutching in her hands. “I don’t remember doing that.”

She seemed to remember even less from last night than you did, which was not uncommon for Maggie. She had a terrible memory in general—she took notes and then forgot she took notes—but this time, you could not help her remember, either.

“Thanks,” you said, taking your jacket from her. It still smelled faintly of your perfume and too much liquor. “Jungkook told me you had it. I still have one of your shoes.”

“Yeah, I—I have yours somewhere, too,” she said. “I assume you have my phone, too, then?”

You looked up. “Why would I have your phone?”

“Hm?” she asked as her heart began to pump blood a tad more effectively than necessary; you hadn’t even properly answered her yet. “But—you—didn’t you put it in your bag last night?”

You stilled and the surprise inside your stomach grew large, floating inside you as if it were a heavy, helium and anxiety-filled balloon.

“I… I had my bag with me?” you asked very slowly, but Maggie still did not understand the essence of your question. She looked around as though she’d just realised she was accidentally having this conversation in a language she did not speak, and she needed someone to translate it for her.

You were baffled. You knew you’d left your phone in your room before you went out with the girls, it was entangled in the sheets when you woke up the next morning. But you couldn’t remember whatever happened with your handbag; you had assumed it remained in your room as well.

“I’m pretty sure you had it with you,” Maggie said. Your heartbeat sped up, matching the frantic rhythm in your friend’s chest. “You took our orders on my phone because you didn’t have yours. And I assumed you put it in your bag after that.”

You turned around, frightened goosebumps rising on the back of your spine as your trembling fingers fumbled with the lock on your door.

“Jungkook said I didn’t have my bag with me when I got back,” you said as you entered the room, your gaze sweeping the space with an ever-mounting sense of panic. “I assumed—I thought I just didn’t take it with me. Nothing was missing. I had my keys in my jacket—I took them out at some point, before the jacket ended up with you—a-and my phone was here.”

You attacked the room, lifting suitcases and inspecting empty closets. Since you hadn’t fully unpacked, there were not a lot of places where your handbag could have been. Maggie tried to help you by holding up furniture for you to check underneath—just in case, she’d said—but it became increasingly clear, with every nook and cranny you searched, that the bag was simply not here.

“Okay, shit,” Maggie finally concluded as the two of you knelt side by side on the floor, the room in disarray around you.

Among the useless clutter, you found a lot of dust, someone’s phone charger, and a forgotten USB flash drive under your nightstand.

“Wait, so—wait, wait.” You stood up, stumbling slightly as your knees cracked. “So, you don’t have your phone?”

The question was redundant, but Maggie didn’t mind repeating herself. She was just as confused as you were. And the handbag was the least of your problems: you did not carry a lot of cash with you when you travelled, so if you didn’t find the bag, all that you’d lose would be a travel-sized container of hand sanitiser, an old tube of lipgloss, and a package of tissues. It was Maggie’s phone that you were worried about—you couldn’t even remember putting it in your bag.

“No,” she said, shaking her head. Her eyes seemed even wider than they had in the corridor. Her hair fell in chaotic curls over her face. “I couldn’t find it anywhere. I tried Find My iPhone today, but it didn’t show anything. Maybe the phone’s dead? I don’t know. I didn’t check right after we returned to the hotel, because I was sleeping. And then, this morning, I thought, well, of course the app won’t tell me where my phone is. Because you have it, and you’re right next door.”

You clenched your jaw. “Okay. Okay, I-I must have left my bag at the club. Or someone took it. We have to call them.”

“Call them?” Maggie repeated, standing up, too. She glanced around your room once more to make sure your bag had not decided to grow feet and return on its own. “What will we say?”

You did not mind the pointlessness of her question, either. Evidently, now was the precise time for stupid questions.

“That I lost it. I don’t know,” you said. “Let’s just see. Maybe I left it there.” But you hesitated as soon as you pulled your phone out. “Shit. Do you remember what the place was called?”

“Oh, yeah, I have the directions open on my pho—” She stopped tapping the pockets of her jeans, realising. “Oh, shit.”

“Fuck.”

It took you less than a second to find the solution to your new problem.

Luna and Taehyung’s room was just down the corridor, and Luna opened the door as soon as you knocked, almost as if she had been waiting for you to require her immediate assistance in this crisis.  

She could not remember many details of how the three of you got home, but she readily supplied the name of the club. Then she joined you and Maggie in your room, where your friends tried to reconstruct the events of the previous night and you dialled the number of the club, your shaky hands and frazzled mind leading you to hit all the wrong keys on your phone.

Finally, the call connected, and a cheerful, young voice introduced himself as, simply, Tom, barkeeper—although your frantic mind interpreted that as Tom Barkeeper initially, which, honestly, seemed like a fitting government name for someone tending the bar.

“Hi!” you said, your nervous voice nearing a screech. Luna and Maggie stopped talking and turned to you. “My friends and I were at your club on Wednesday night, and I seem to have misplaced my handbag. Is there any chance I left it there?”

“Let me check, miss,” Tom Barkeeper replied. You heard the faint sound of his footsteps in the background. “Could you describe it for me?”

“It—well, it was black,” you said, your palm pressed against your forehead. “With a large grey metal zipper, and sort of a—a little chain on the—”

“Er, actually, no, we’ve got no handbags at the Lost and Found,” he interrupted. “Got five watches, though.”

He chuckled lightly, and you looked up at your friends. There was a frown on your face that they immediately took to mean danger, and moved closer, settling on either side of you to listen.

“Uh, right,” you said distractedly, putting the call on speaker. “Are there any phones, by chance? There was a phone in my bag.”

“We had a couple of phones left here, but both have been picked up by their owners,” Tom B. replied. “Sorry.”

You turned to your friends, silently asking them what to do next.

“Perhaps you left your bag somewhere else?” the barkeeper suggested over the phone. “A taxi?”

Maggie, who remembered glimpses of your taxi ride, shook her head.

“Hmm. Or it was stolen,” you speculated.

Tom Barkeeper seemed surprised by this and he stuttered for a second—he had a thick accent, and even his, “well, er—I’d—uhm—” sounded really quite elegant—until he finally composed himself.

“Well, it—it does get rather busy here,” he admitted, and his voice sounded even younger all of a sudden. “I—er, was it very valuable? You could try filing a report, then we’d get our security here and rewind the CCTV footage.”

You glanced at Maggie. She shook her head again. She doubted they could find her phone in time if it really was stolen; you’d be leaving for Paris soon. She was embarrassed, too. There was nothing she could tell the police if you filed a report.

When have you last seen your phone, miss?

I have no idea, officer. I was shitfaced the whole night.

“I think we—no, that, um—we’ll try to see if there are any other places where it could be first,” you told Tom, trying to come up with a logical plan on the spot. “And then I’ll—”

“Yeah,” the barkeeper cut in, sounding relieved. “You check and call us back if you haven’t found it.”

“Yes. Thank you. Sorry to bother you.”

“That’s alright, miss,” he said. “Hope you find it.”

You ended the call with a disheartened sigh and turned to your friends.

“Well, they don’t have it,” you declared, as if they hadn’t heard everything.

“That’s great,” Luna observed. She glanced around the chaos inside your room. “And it’s definitely not here?”

“You can go ahead and look,” you said, stepping back to gesture at the piles of clothes. “I don’t know where else it could be.”

“Okay, well, Maggie and I both remember you having it with you on our way to the club,” she said. She tapped her chin and, because she had her glasses on and wore a sweater with a long white dress shirt underneath, she looked a bit like a heroine from an old Agatha Christie novel. “I remember the pins on my dress getting caught on the chain on your bag in the taxi.”

“That’s right,” you said, pointing at her, although you weren’t sure if you remembered the moment under discussion, or just the way the three of you had laughed about it later that night.

“So maybe you left it there before we even got to the club?” Luna suggested.

“No, but she still had it with her in the club!” Maggie interjected, frustrated. Her hair kept growing wilder the longer she stayed here, tousling it nervously every few seconds. “When she took our drink orders! My phone and her bag were both there.”

You and Luna both groaned, realising Maggie had already mentioned this. You were aware that the three of you had turned into a mess after just one night of drinking. Perhaps the next time you went out, you should consider bringing a chaperone, because this right now felt a lot like the blind leading the blind.

“Right,” Luna mumbled. “Sorry.”

“It’s starting to seem,” you said, “that either I left it in the taxi at the end of the night, or someone grabbed it at the club.”

Maggie nodded, agreeing with these options, even if she did not know what to do with them. You didn’t, either. Was there a Lost and Found for items accidentally abandoned in taxis? Should you have filed a report with the police, after all? Surely, they dealt with drunk people losing their belongings all the time. And maybe they could search for the phone even if you were across the strait.

Then you noticed that Luna was biting her lip, seemingly lost in a recurring thought.

“What are you thinking?” you prodded. She did not react. “Luna?”

She looked up from the floor, surprised to be addressed.

“Nothing,” she said, hesitating. “It’s sort of a conspiracy theory more than it is based on actual facts. But, um, you did mention seeing Sid and Jude at the club.”

You watched Maggie pull on her hair so hard that a few strands stayed in her grasp when she let go. Neither of you liked how plausible Luna’s not-fact-based theory was.

“You think they took my bag,” you surmised. “But why?”

“I don’t know,” Luna replied. “Why does Sid do anything?”

Your frown deepened. She had a disturbingly solid point. Sid was diabolical.

“That’s…” you faltered, thinking. “Well, he could have—although I didn’t even have anything in my bag except for Maggie’s—oh. Shit.”

Your sudden realisation—and the subsequent horror flashing across your face—surprised both girls. Maggie stepped closer to you.

“What is it?” she asked.

You pulled out your phone and opened Instagram.

“Sid posted a—he posted the picture,” you explained, scrolling down your feed, then abandoning this decision and going directly to Sid’s profile. “The one Maggie showed us at the club.”

You found the post and turned your phone towards the girls. The expressions on their faces made it very clear that Luna’s hypothesis was not far-fetched at all. Maggie looked delightfully murderous.

“Jungkook thinks Sid got it from his phone,” you said, “but what if—wh-what—”

“My phone was in your bag. He could have downloaded it from my gallery,” Maggie concluded, staring at the screen.

She wasn’t just angry about her stolen phone or the filter Sid had put over a perfectly good picture. She was also angry about him using a photograph that she was proud of to stir up trouble.

“That fucking loser,” she said. “That massive fucking piece of shit. Fucking good-for-nothing rat. Motherf—”

“Yeah, Mags,” you interjected, knowing she might not stop for a while. Last week, she had kept mumbling curses under her breath for forty minutes straight after Jimin ate the last pack of tomato ketchup crisps that she’d brought with her on tour. “We agree with you.”

Luna continued to bite her lip until it took upon an angry shade of red. She did not want to be responsible if she’d just led you in the wrong direction. Maggie already seemed prepared to crush your phone in her hand as she stared at Sid’s post.

Luna tried to reason, “we don’t know if that’s really what happened, though.”

“No, but it makes sense. You have to be right,” you insisted, glancing at the clock above the door. “Fuck. I—I have to—I have to get the band together before their soundcheck, but after that, I’m—I’ll talk to Minjun.” You brought your hand through your hair, angrier at yourself than you were at Sid right now. “We should have left the club right after I talked to Jude. It was a shitty call to stay there. But we’ll find your phone, Mags. And if Sid was really the one who took it, he’s—well, he’s not going to be taking shit from anyone anymore.”

Some of the tension in Maggie’s posture eased at your words.

“Well, we couldn’t have known they’d do something like that when we decided to stay,” Luna said, her voice comforting. “If they indeed—”

“Alright,” Maggie interrupted, taking a deep breath and returning your phone to you. “Let’s kill him.”

The room fell silent. You did not know if Maggie was aware of the undeniable resolve in her voice. She’d said that like she would have said, “let’s get lunch,” while already holding boxes of take-out in her hands.

“Or, you know,” she added in response to your and Luna’s expressions, “let’s beat him up. That’ll work, too.”

You glanced at Luna and the smile spreading on her face made you lose your calm, too.

“We’ll do that,” you promised Maggie, grinning as you wrapped an arm around her shoulders and leaned your head against hers. “If we can’t come up with anything better.”

“Hell yeah,” Luna agreed, joining you on Maggie’s other side. “He’s got a few teeth left, right? We can start counting who knocks out more. Jungkook is in the lead right now, but I don’t like losing, so—”

You and Maggie burst into laughter so loud and sudden that Luna flinched in surprise. Maggie even had to clutch your arm for support as she bent over, struggling to breathe in between wheezes. Her laughter was so infectious that Luna couldn’t keep a straight face much longer, either.

You were convinced that you would fix everything.

You’d find Minjun and ask if he had talked to Sid or Jude since Wednesday. If not, you’d get to the two of them yourself. Maggie would take care of them if they had your bag. And if, by some lucky chance, they would turn out to be innocent, you’d go to the police to find the real culprit.

You gathered the band—and Namjoon, of course—in the changing room of the venue before the soundcheck. Mindful of your limited time, you started by sharing the updates from CJ – the festivals next summer, the arena tour, and finally, the strategic shift that Jett Records was planning for Rated Riot, including your promotion and the expansion of the management team.

Once the cheers and the high-fives died down, you asked the boys to settle down for one last thing.

“The opening act,” you said, scrolling to the very bottom of the meeting agenda you’d prepared on your Notes. “Ren is still recovering from his broken foot, so we—”

“Because Ren is a whiny baby,” Jungkook chimed in helpfully. He was leaning against the wall instead of sitting around the table like the rest of his bandmates.

You gave him a look that was not particularly grateful but lacked any real threat. He grinned.

“So, Poison Tongue might be out for the rest of the tour,” you went on. “We’re talking to several other bands that might join you instead. Ivy will continue to support you on the upcoming shows in London and Paris.”

The band members nodded. They’d grown accustomed to Ivy’s presence—she used to be a tattoo artist and brought her equipment with her when she travelled, which everyone on tour appreciated. You and your girls personally found it wonderful to have another girl around.

“Alright. That was the last thing on my list, but it—there’s something else we have to discuss,” you paused, glancing around the room to keep your voice steady. Jungkook gave you a firm nod of support from the back of the room, no longer fooling around. “Uh, there was a picture posted last night. I’m sure you’ve all seen it. Namjoon took care of it; he informed the label that it’s the leaked cover of your upcoming album. But I want to emphasise that it doesn’t have to be the cover of anything. We can say it was one of the options, but we settled on something—”

“I like it,” Taehyung interjected. “The picture, I mean. I think we could use it as the cover for our next single, at least. It fits, right?”

“It does,” Yoongi agreed. You felt a tingle of unease creeping down your spine. “The lyrics match the picture very well.”

That was understandable, given the subject matter of the lyrics, but you were grateful that Yoongi did not elaborate further. You felt Jungkook watching you from across the room and your skin was burning.

“And it fits in with the rest of our album covers, too,” Hoseok joined, solidifying the consensus.

The decision had already been made, so Jungkook only shrugged when your eyes slid over to him.

“I say we use it,” he said. “It’s a great shot.”

For the first time since you joined Rated Riot, you genuinely worried that you might not keep your composure.

Every person in this room—and many people in the corridors, working on Rated Riot’s show—knew that you and Jungkook were the people in the photograph, and they all agreed to help you hide your relationship in plain sight. Aching discomfort and heartfelt gratitude fought a fierce battle inside your chest.

“Well, then, alright,” you said, your voice quivering slightly on the last syllable. You fixed your gaze on the white table. “That’s, uh, settled, then. Thank you, Namjoon, by the way. That was great quick thinking on your part.”

“No problem,” Namjoon replied. Hoseok leaned back in his chair to pat him on the shoulder and Namjoon gave him a smile before explaining, “I didn’t mean to jump the gun, but—”

“No, no,” you cut him off. “You did great. It’s—well, it’s good PR, claiming he just leaked the cover art. Thank you.”

He shrugged. “Maggie’s the one who took a great picture.”

Hums of agreement filled the room, and you nodded, too. Maggie had always been a field photographer. She felt claustrophobic in a closed photo studio, she needed the space, the action, the emotion. And she knew how to capture it all. It was a great picture. It was a shame what Sid was trying to do with it.

“She did, yeah,” you said before noticing the time on your phone. “But, uh, anyway, that—that was all. Any quick questions?”

No one spoke, and the momentary silence in the room felt a little disconcerting. These were the loudest people you’ve ever met, so you did not enjoy feeling like a teacher, asking for volunteers to solve an excruciating equation. Actually, you did not enjoy standing here at all right now; pins and needles chased each other all across your body.

“In that case,” you locked your phone and set it down on the table, “go out, and get ready for the night. It’s going to be a good one.”

Someone cried out, “fuck yes!”—it was hard to determine who, due to the immediate shouts of agreement that followed—and the boys tumbled out of the room, making as much noise as they could. Right away you felt a little better. Everyone had already been excited about the concert tonight, but the news about the extended tour and bigger venues only amplified their emotions.

You ended up watching each of the boys leap over the threshold of the door for no reason whatsoever, just to see who could jump the farthest—until Jungkook smacked his head right into the top of the door frame.

Pouting, he walked over to you after everyone else had finished laughing and left. You fixed his hair, trying to bite back your laughter, and he pulled you into a hug, groaning in disapproval when he felt you chuckle softly against his chest.

“Is your head okay?” you asked, the humour in your tone undeniable, despite your attempts to suppress it.

“No,” he said, tightening his grip on your waist until he heard your quiet gasp. “Oh, now it’s a little better.”

“Oh, it’s better,” you retorted, evidently taking up the challenge. “I see.”

The force of your grip was nowhere near as strong as his—although it was very impressive, he had to admit; he did lose his breath for a split second—but you felt his smile spread as he leaned his head against yours, and that was good enough.

He hummed against your neck, swaying with you in his arms, and you realised that you could not think about Sid’s picture or Maggie’s phone now that it was just the two of you in the room. That was good. You wouldn’t have wanted to speak to Jungkook about any of that right before his concert anyway.

“Now it’s okay,” he whispered. “Fifteen more minutes and I’ll be good as new. Maybe twenty.”

You smiled, but one of your hands had stopped drawing soothing patterns on his back.

“You have to go, though,” you reminded him reluctantly. “Jin will rip you a new one if you’re not on stage in two and a half minutes. He and Jimin got into an argument with one of the local sound engineers earlier today, so he wants to finish the soundcheck as quickly as possible.”

Jungkook groaned, releasing you, but keeping his gaze on yours.

“Can I just tell him I hurt my head,” he asked, “so I deserve special treatment?”

“Not sure,” you replied. “I think that only works with me.”

His laughter was loud and unapologetic. Before you could say anything else, he wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you back into his chest again, resting his forehead against yours.

“What are you doing?” you whispered, concerned about his poor time management and the relatively open space that you were in. The door was closed this time, but not locked.

“Nothing,” he replied softly. His lower lip brushed against yours as he spoke. You felt dangerously light. “If you say I’m late.”

“Well, n-not yet... You have about,” your breath hitched momentarily when he pressed a gentle kiss just under your jaw, “a minute and forty-five seconds left.”

“Well, then,” he lifted his eyes to look at you again, but only for a moment, “I have to make the most of my,” his lips touched yours slowly, but firmly, “one minute and,” his quick kiss gained more force, “thirty seconds.”

You were laughing by the time he kissed you again, and he could not stop himself from smiling, too. He knew he was running late, but he kept his lips on yours, the kiss focused, lingering, and locked your taste in a separate part of his brain—a part so full of you that it was beginning to overtake other, much less important parts.

“I love you,” he whispered, pulling away.

His lips glistened slightly from your gloss. Your heart, having already finished three laps around the venue, had now taken up parkour in the crevices of your chest.

“I love you,” you replied. You ran your fingers down his cheek, forgetting yourself, almost, when he leaned into your touch. Then you pulled back and nodded at the door. “Go now. I’ll see you after the show tonight. There’s, uh—I have a plan I want to discuss with you.”

Jungkook was about to object—you couldn’t remove your hands from his skin so abruptly, there was a certain procedure you had to follow to ensure he could still breathe when you were no longer touching him, similar to replacing nicotine patches for someone trying to quit smoking—but then he realised what you were saying.

“Oh.” He raised an eyebrow and stayed still despite your utmost attempts to push his shoulder to get him to turn around. “About Sid?”

You nodded. “Yeah. But I’ll explain later.”

You expected him to question this, to try to find out what the plan was right now, but he did no such thing. He felt happy and optimistic—kissing you might have helped with that—so he did not need to know more. You could have said that you were taking all of your staff to Argentina to escape Sid, and he would have grabbed his sunglasses.

“Okay,” he said. “I’m in, either way. Operation Cobra-Rabbit.”

“Operat—” You scoffed, suddenly remembering your conversation after the film yesterday. “We’re not calling it that. It’s not a secret operation, it doesn’t need a name. You’re going to your soundcheck now, and then we’ll—”

“How about Operation: Escape from London?” he suggested, dragging his feet as you pushed him towards the door. “Since, you know, we’re in—”

“No,” you said. “Go.”

He didn’t protest this time, because Seokjin’s angry, hurried footsteps were already reverberating down the corridor, and Jungkook did not want to piss him off more. Still, he paused again by the door, giving you one last overly dramatic nod over his shoulder as if he were in a spy film. Then he left with a triumphant fist in the air after finally earning a chuckle from you.

You shook your head as he shut the door of the room behind himself, leaving you alone—not for very long, however.

Less than a minute later, as you returned to the table that Hoseok and Yoongi had dragged to the centre of the room for your meeting, you heard the door open again. You lifted your head, ready to scold Jungkook, and saw Namjoon instead, peeking inside sheepishly.

“Hey,” he greeted, hesitating in the doorway. “Didn’t want to interrupt your meeting, so I, uh, waited until it’s over. Do you have a minute?”

A knot tightened in the pit of your stomach. There were too many things that already took you by surprise today. You were not sure how many more of them you could take.

“You wouldn’t have interrupted,” you said, mustering a smile. “You’re part of the team. Come in.”

Namjoon slipped into the room without any sound at all and took a moment to close the door, his hand lingering on the engraved knob.

“Yeah, uh—I just want to have a quick word with you,” he said, turning around. “About why I called CJ in advance.”

“Oh. You don’t have to explain that,” you said. “It—that was a good decision. Thank you for thinking of it. You might have really saved—”

Namjoon started to speak in the middle of your sentence as if he hadn’t heard you.

“I was with Yoongi in his room, working on the song, when we saw Sid’s post,” he said, clearly battling his guilt about the extra attention the picture had gained because of him. He wanted you to know that he had no bad intentions. “It was about four in the morning when we—well, actually, a fan sent it to Yoongi, and asked, “oh my god, is this the cover of your new album?” Obviously, Yoongi and I thought that was impossible; we haven’t even decided when we’re releasing this new song. We could tell that Sid was just trying to mess with Jungkook, and that it had to be you in that picture with him.”

Self-conscious when he gave you a questioning glance, you brought a hand over your neck. “It is.”

“Yeah. So, I called CJ right away,” Namjoon continued. “I don’t think I even had a clear plan of what I was going to say to him or what time it was for him. But he picked up, and I just blurted out, “our album cover leaked,” because that was what that fan had assumed. And why not, you know? If the fans think that’s what happened, why not utilise that to eradicate whatever Sid was trying to do? The picture’s really good. Might as well use it for—for a good cause, instead of whatever Sid was hoping for.”

“Right. Yeah. Exactly,” you said. The more words you used to agree with him, the clearer it became that you still wished you could have escaped this situation. “And now Sid’s caption makes it seem like he’s just—”

“Congratulating them,” Namjoon finished for you. “Happy for you, he’d said. Makes sense.”

“Yeah.”

The two of you allowed for several quiet moments to pass, lost in your own thoughts. Namjoon shifted his weight to his right leg and tucked his thumb into his belt loop.

“I, um—I’m sorry if that made you uncomfortable, though,” he said, looking up. “I knew things might get… weird if I didn’t do anything. The picture itself might not have caused any harm, but given the speculation surrounding it, and your upcoming promotion… I thought that using the picture as an album cover was just safer.”

“Yeah, it—no, I—I’m glad you did that, really,” you said, a little thrown off by the mention of your promotion. “I don’t know if I would have thought of a solution like that.”

Namjoon believed you would have come up with a similar plan quite easily. The problem was that you did not want to draw even more attention to the picture.

“Y-you said—um,” you added, “did you know that CJ was going to call me?”

His pursed lips turned into a timid smile.

“I heard some things…” he admitted.

You arched a surprised eyebrow. “And you didn’t tell me?”

“I hear a lot of things you wouldn’t want to know.”

You nodded. You were fortunate to work with many amazing people, but you had heard their stories. You knew what this industry had been like to them before they reached this point. And you felt very blessed that these same people now shielded you from the negativity that they had not been able to escape themselves.

“Alright,” you said. You were glad, all of a sudden, that CJ had not elaborated on his decision to suddenly promote you. “That’s fair enough.”

You returned to your belongings, sliding your phone into your pocket, and Namjoon observed you in silence for a second, only moving to assist you when you began to push the table back to its original place by the window.

“So,” he said, once the room was restored to its former order, “how come you look so worried? Head Manager! That’s great.”

“Oh,” you said. “It is great.”

Namjoon knew there was more. The two of you hadn’t had many chances to have private conversations during this tour, but usually, you were the person he came to talk to about the problems in his job, and he expected the same from you.

He gestured towards the couch next to the table and waited until you took a seat before sitting down next to you with an expectant look on his face.

“It—well, really, this is great,” you said, clasping your hands together as you rested your elbows on your knees. This was standard, Namjoon knew. You needed a minute to admit what was bothering you. “I’m grateful. There’s just a lot of stuff going on right now. Nothing I want to trouble you with, but, uh, this promotion feels… well, it feels like my work had very little to do with it. They found out about Reconnaissance and just decided to promote me. I’m happy, of course, but I wish they had waited until after the tour, so I could say, with confidence, that this was due to everything I’ve achieved with Rated Riot. And not just because Nick Zhou called me one time.”

Namjoon appeared to be highly interested in one specific crack in the floorboards.

“But this is because of everything you’ve achieved with Rated Riot,” he said, not looking up. You wondered if he did that on purpose, to make you feel less like you were talking to a specific person, and more like you were just talking—so you would not feel bad about sharing your troubles. “You took the abstract concept of a European tour and brought it to life. And then Rated Riot got on stage, and the whole Europe fell in love with them. But you brought them here. You looked after them. And the staff. And, actually, their personal belongings. Sorry about Tilburg.”

You smiled, recalling the Lost Laptops of Tilburg.

“It’s nothing. I was just doing my job,” you said. “And everyone on this tour looks after one another. That—well, that’s the whole point, I—”

“No,” he disagreed, finally giving you a look. “You’re never just doing your job. You’re always doing more. You earned this. Accept it.”

Namjoon had used a very similar tone to defend you from bitter, middle-aged men who had a problem with your promotion after CJ’s assistant had brought it up at the last Zoom meeting with the executives at the company. Their issue was your young age. Namjoon did not think a person needed to start balding to be awarded for their great work.

“CJ actually didn’t even give me the option to refuse,” you said, your smile turning wry. “He just told me I’m getting promoted and I felt like I had to go along with it.”

Namjoon nodded knowingly. He had several similar experiences with Christian Jett before. He had even played tennis with him once and called him Chris—not CJ—by accident. Luckily, he managed to duck before a tennis ball came hurling at his head. Namjoon knew CJ did not give suggestions; he gave orders.

“Would you have refused, if he’d asked?” he asked you.

“No, but…” You spun your ring around your index finger and settled back against the couch. “Can I be honest?”

“Of course.”

“I am—honestly, I’m also worried about my relationship with Jungkook,” you said.

Namjoon noted that this was the first time you brought this up to him without encouragement. Despite his surprise, however, he did not want to let the awkward silence take over the room, so he coughed politely into his fist and tried to reply, not particularly smoothly.

“What do you—what are you worried about?” he asked, even though that was obvious.

“I talked to Jin the other day,” you said. “He said that as long as the band makes a profit, no one’s going to care—which is true enough. But with this happening, with Rated Riot growing more and more popular, with my promotion… they will have to care. Our relationship has, obviously, never been strictly professional. And now it could hinder their plans for the band.”

Namjoon mulled over this for a minute, his gaze drifting to the expanse of the empty room. He had obviously had similar thoughts as you when he made the call to CJ, but now he realised that this was only half the picture.

“If they’re promoting you,” he began, his voice steady against the subdued air in the room, “that obviously means they want to keep you in the company. So, when they learn about your relationship, they definitely won’t immediately decide to fire you. I suppose they will ask you to end the relationship, or they won’t care about it at all. Those are the only two logical possibilities, right?”

“Right,” you agreed.

“If they tell you to end it,” Namjoon continued, “I think you’re in a position to present them with a similar ultimatum. Tell them that you will leave if they won’t accept your relationship. That is risky, I’ll admit. But they need you. And, from what I hear, they know you have other options.”

There was a quality about Namjoon that you really admired. Often, when people wanted to make someone feel better, they said things that they knew would lift their spirits—you appreciated that as well, just in a different way. Namjoon, on the other hand, managed to offer comfort tempered with rationality.

You took a deep breath and stretched your legs.

“Yeah,” you said. “Negotiate, is what you’re telling me.”

“Yes. More or less,” he confirmed. “But, of course, you have to decide what, uh—what you will do if they refuse to do it your way.”

You shook your head.

“I’ve already decided,” you said. The smile on your face was as sad as smiles could be. “If they will tell me it’s one or the other, I won’t choose to stay at the company. I’ll choose him.”

Namjoon nodded and hung his head. He hoped you would think he did that in solidarity, but, really, he was trying to hide his smile. Of course, he was a little worried about the label’s reaction. But he was also happy for you and Jungkook.

Not to mention, he had been roped into joining the bet about your relationship backstage—Seokjin was very loud, and Namjoon embarrassed very easily—and now he might have been the first to find out that he’d won.

He couldn’t resist the urge to ask, “I—are you guys, um, back together, then?”

“Honestly,” you said, snickering at the absurdity of your position, “at this point, it feels like we never even broke up.”

Namjoon’s smile was too big to hide it. “So, you are, then.”

“We are. And, it’s—you know,” you said with a shrug that was not one bit nonchalant, despite your best attempts to make it seem so, “I’d love to still be able to keep working with you guys despite that, but, uh—I’ll deal with whatever happens. If they will think this is unacceptable, I’ll leave.”

“It may not come to that,” he said, his tone reassuring, yet grounded. “There’s still a good chance that the label won’t care. I mean, Taehyung is in a relationship.”

“Yeah,” you gave him a skeptical look, “but Luna isn’t working with him.”

“True,” he acknowledged before pursuing his point further, “but that relationship only has a positive impact on the band. He’s relaxed when she’s here, her presence helps him cope with the stress of the tour… on and on this list goes.”

That was a great observation, of course. Not to mention, you enjoyed having Luna around, too. But you knew that there was more to the story.

“I had to fight for that, though,” you said. “Jett Records didn’t think we should allow any girlfriends, friends, or relatives on tour. I had a different opinion.”

Namjoon did not know this, but his surprise quickly turned to pride.

“Oh,” he said, beaming. “But you won, though. They allowed our loved ones to join. You got your way.”

“Yes, but that could be because they didn’t think the tour would be this successful,” you countered. “Sure, most of the dates sold out before we came here, but it—that’s the minimum requirement. You know that. So, alright, the label already knew that Rated Riot would gather two or three thousand people every night. But they didn’t realise there’d be another thousand waiting outside the venue in every city we visited. Their attitude might change now that they know about the level of interest in the band.”

Namjoon noticed a tentative smile tugging at your lips. Despite your concerns about the future, the fact was that this tour—with all its mishaps and accidents—had already surpassed everyone’s expectations. Rated Riot were on a clear path to success and the unexpected crowds at each venue made it impossible not to feel excited, no matter what happened next.

“That’s just the thing, though,” Namjoon said, his eyes kind. “When you came to manage Rated Riot, they were still playing in bars and restaurants. All they had was potential. But with you, they’re starting to live up to it. Not to mention... there has to be a reason why Nick wanted to scout you for Reconnaissance. The label knows they need you. Otherwise, they wouldn’t be in such a rush to promote you without even asking if you agree.”

You realised you hadn’t thought of it like that. But Namjoon was right. Everything he’d said to you was true.

You loved your job, and you were good at it. It was just this one hiccup in your otherwise excellent performance as the band’s manager that made you doubt everything you’ve done for them: you were dating the lead vocalist.

But you listened to Namjoon now, and you realised your thoughts weren’t fair. Your relationship with Jungkook did not—and never would—impact your ability to do your job, and do it well. It was not an indicator of the quality of your work. It was not proof of your lack of effort or motivation.

You were learning, through agonising trial and error almost every day, that these two roles—manager and girlfriend—could co-exist. You did not need to relinquish one to succeed at the other.

Namjoon noticed that your eyes seemed brighter, your shoulders were less hunched and you no longer averted your gaze when he looked at you. The melodic strains you heard as the band finally started their soundcheck likely helped you calm down, too.

“I realise,” you admitted, “that I am nervous about big changes. About multiple big changes, concurrently.”

Namjoon had to lean in closer to be able to hear you—Hoseok pounded his drums behind the wall as if his life depended on it.

“I think that’s normal,” he noted. “Who wouldn’t be?”

He hoped to remind you that it was very easy to get lost in your feelings and experiences, and convince yourself that you were going through them alone—but you weren’t. And you saw that very clearly today.

“And it’s okay,” he continued. “I can’t make decisions for you, but you’re—you have us. We’ll always have your back. We won’t sit idly if we find out the label made you resign.”

You took a breath and finally allowed the gratitude in your heart to really settle.

“Thank you,” you said. “For everything. I really liked your advice about standing my ground. I think I’ll try to follow it.”

Namjoon smiled at this and nudged your shoulder with his. Smiling in response, you nudged his right back.

You’ve found your family when you met Rated Riot. They made bets about your relationship, they teased each other at nearly every possible moment, they complained and argued, but they supported each other with unwavering loyalty. And you were prepared to fight, if it came to it, to stay with them.

You were convinced that CJ had put a hex on you, because you had to spend the rest of the day on your phone, arranging interviews, giving comments about the band’s plans for the future, and pacing in the corridors of the venue. You could not even return to the hotel to pick up your forgotten laptop, you had to do all the work on your phone.

You still had to figure out what happened to Maggie’s phone, but you resolved to track down Minjun and ask him about Sid and Jude later, after the incessant calls stopped. For some reason, everyone demanded to talk to you in Dutch or Swedish or something that sounded vaguely German, and all you could gather from their speech was ‘Rated Riot’ and a questioning tone at the end of the sentence.

You still hadn’t finished by the time Rated Riot began their set on stage, so you had to return to the dressing room for some silence, no matter how much you’d missed hearing the way the audience responded to the band. Thankfully, you only had two more calls to get through—both in Swedish, much to your enormous joy.

After you left the changing room to finally join Luna by the stage, you heard a peculiar sound—a soft, conspiratorial shushing from somewhere in the corridor backstage, like someone trying to beckon a cautious cat.

“Psst. Psst. Pss—hey!”

You did not immediately realise that this was aimed at you. Stopping, you looked around warily until you finally spotted Minjun’s head peeking out from behind the corridor wall. He was trying not to attract too much attention to himself, so he did not use your name.

“What’s going on?” you asked, approaching him. “Why—”

“Come with me.”

“Wh—” you began, but Minjun’s hand darted out from behind the wall, joining his head, and he seized your wrist.

He pulled you down the corridor with an urgency that made your heart drop to your knees and he refused to stop no matter how much you struggled to watch your steps.

“What’s going on?” you demanded, altering between genuine fear and irritation.

“Jude’s here,” Minjun said and tripped over something as soon as he did, forcing you to stumble, too.

“Jude—with Sid?” you asked, your insides stirring with newfound horror.

Jude never went anywhere alone, and you did not like this rush that Minjun was in to get to him. You tried once more to stop running, or slow down at the very least, but Minjun was a train, running late on schedule.

“No,” he said, his grip on your wrist firm, his eyes frantic. “Alone.”

“Why?” you pressed.

He did not reply until he brought you to a halt outside the door at the far end of the corridor, leading to what appeared to be either a utility closet or an unusually small dressing room.

“Come in,” he said then, without any explanation, and held the door open for you.

You pushed the door further.

Jude stood before you inside the room. He looked more transparent than he had at the club the other night, and you weren’t sure if this wasn’t just a hazy memory. He was holding your handbag in his hands.

You wished you were back on the phone with the impatient Swedish journalist from before.

“Hi. This is yours,” Jude said awkwardly, extending your bag towards you.

You stood in the doorway and did not move. “How did you get that?”

Minjun had to gently push your arm with his shoulder so he could enter the room. Jude appeared very small as he held out your bag and tried to find his words.

“I, um—after I talked to you at the club,” he said, “I told Sid that I saw you, and he—he made me hang around and wait until you weren’t paying attention. I told him I knew which table you and your friends were at, and he thought—h-he wanted your phone.”

He waved the handbag, his alarmingly thin arms growing tired, and you finally took it from him. Maggie’s phone was inside, snug among scattered receipts.

Luna had been right—not that you doubted her for a second. And it made sense now, why Jude had lingered that night: he was waiting for Maggie and Luna to pick a table.

“I ju—I just had to wait until you all went dancing,” Jude continued, his voice unsteady. “A-and I was supposed to grab your phone. Sid was—he was desperate.”

Your posture was rigid, your eyes locked on Jude in a way that stopped him from breaking eye contact, and even Minjun felt a little uncomfortable. He knew more of what happened, after all; Jude had to explain it all to him to persuade him to find you. Minjun did nothing to interfere now, however. Jude was the one who wanted to talk to you, so he should have been the one to convince you to listen.

“Why?” you asked finally, your voice cutting through the tense silence, and slicing into Jude’s fragile confidence.

He glanced at Minjun, who gave him a small nod. Encouraged, Jude rubbed his hands together and began to speak. He could taste bile at the back of his throat, but the bitter sensation had been there for a while.

“He was looking for something to use against you and Jungkook,” he explained. “He hoped to find an old picture or video of the two of you together. When you were—when you dated. He wanted t-to cause a little trouble. If he couldn’t find anything, then h-he would have called Jungkook from your phone to, um—to give him the wrong idea.”

You gritted your teeth, reminding yourself that Jude was the accessory and the messenger. Your desire to slam someone’s face into a wall was not aimed at him.

“This isn’t mine, though,” you said, nodding at the phone inside your bag.

“Well, wh—it doesn’t matter,” Jude dismissed it with a shrug that seemed to propel his whole body backwards. “There were a lot of pictures from backstage in the gallery. Sid thought that was good enough.”

You wished Luna or Maggie were here with you right now, maybe both. Granted, Maggie might have attacked Jude—and you weren’t sure if you would have tried to restrain her, given your own urges—but at least you wouldn’t be standing here alone, trying to make sense of what was happening. Minjun’s quiet presence in the corner of the room did not offer much comfort. He was poised to intervene as if he was waiting for you to throw a punch.

“And why are you here?” you asked Jude.

You noticed that he was leaning slightly to one side despite standing firmly on both feet, and you wondered if this was a sign of how accustomed he was to standing on Sid’s right. Or maybe he was just drunk or under the influence of something stronger.

“Because you—you don’t owe me anything,” Jude replied, and you felt even more confused. His eyes looked watery, the edges of his pupils blurred. “You hate me, actually. And you have that right, I haven’t—I haven’t been very nice to you over the years. But you—you’re the one who told me to be careful. And Sid—I was—he left me for dead when he got bored later that night.”

You frowned, meeting Minjun’s brooding eyes across the room. He knew about this, you could tell. But he wanted Jude to do the talking.

Jude continued, “it started with a nosebleed. Then, I couldn’t breathe all of a sudden. I don’t—I don’t know what happened. Sid tossed me another bag of ice as if I hadn’t already taken enough.”

You were slow to grasp that “ice” did not mean frozen water in this case, and you wondered how many different ways to describe meth Jude knew at this point.

Then you needed another second to stop your heart from overexerting itself. Your initial plan for Sid paled in comparison to the new one burgeoning in the dark depths of your mind.

“A-and then he left the hotel between my third and fourth wheeze,” Jude finished. “He said he didn’t have time for this shit.”

You allowed Minjun to give the appropriate reactions to the story—and he nodded empathetically every few seconds—while you were only half-listening.

This happened in their hotel room, then. And Jude had said, another bag.

How many bags of methamphetamine did Sid keep in his hotel room in a foreign country with possibly very strict drug regulations?

“I-I remembered you, sud—suddenly,” Jude stammered when you did not respond. You looked up, surprised by the weight of your presence in his memory. “You told me to drink water. I drank a lot that night, but it—it obviously wasn’t water. Water was—it’s not what we usually drink. I didn’t—but there was half a bottle in the room, so I finished that. I could see a little clearer after that. Or so I thought. I went to the sink, and—and drank as much tap water as I could bef—before I threw up.”

“You might have overdosed,” you observed, studying his appearance again. His bronze complexion had taken an unsettling, ashy pallor. His hands were shaking and he kept rubbing them together. He looked cold, but beads of perspiration glistened on his forehead. “Are you—”

“I don’t—it’s not my first time taking a bit too much,” he said, wiping the sweat from his brow after he sensed your scrutiny. You blinked and looked away. “I’ve never really—never thought I would die before, so that was new. B-but I don’t think that I—I didn’t overdose. I think I just lost track of time because I was—I was waiting to steal your bag. For Sid.” His right hand trembled so awfully that he had to clutch it with his left to steady himself. “I’m really sorry.”

“Jude, I’m—”

“He left me for dead,” he reiterated before you could suggest calling a doctor. “You were right. He doesn’t care. I-I could have—I was de—dehyder—”

“Dehydrated,” you supplied.

“Yeah. That,” he affirmed, pausing to give you a grateful smile, then looking at Minjun for approval. Minjun did not move. Jude lowered his gaze again. “A-and he thought I was being a nuisance. He thought another dose would help me, and he just left.”

“And are you sure you don’t need help?” you finally asked. Your tone was strict, but Jude was touched by the sentiment so much that he swayed slightly on his feet. “You look like you could use some.”

He cast a pleading look at Minjun, and you feared that he was teetering on the verge of tears.

“Shit—y-you see,” he said, though it was not clear if he was addressing you or Minjun. “That’s what I mean. I don—I am—I’m fine now. I’m—I’ll be fine. I’m going home. I won’t go back to the hotel.”

Your surprise was quick and obvious, prompting Jude to launch into a hurried, almost fanatical explanation. He was eager to break through the formidable barriers of his usual reticence, which felt awkward and embarrassing now that Sid wasn’t here to tell him to keep quiet.

“I don’t want shit—I don’t want to deal with his shit anymore,” he said. “I’m flying home. I’m sorry. I wanted to tell you that. Y-you don’t even—you didn’t have to say anything to me, especially after all that I’ve done, but you said that, you told me to look after myself, a-and I don’t know. You might have saved my life that night. And—and you’re—y-you want to help me now. I’m—I’ll be okay. I’m just—I’m sorry.”

You winced at his exaggeration about your conversation at the club, but Minjun was the only one who’d noticed it. Jude was oblivious in his fervent need to get the words out, to explain, to apologise, to tell you how thankful he was.

You thought his gratitude was misplaced. He would have realised what to do in that situation anyway; he’d said something similar had already happened before, even if it hadn’t been as severe. He knew he had to drink if he took substances that could lead to overheating—you just happened to repeat it to him at a convenient time.

But just as you prepared to reply, the words died on your tongue.

You realised you could use his gratitude and guilt.

“Jude,” you said, breaking the rhythm of his laboured, frantic breaths. “If you really are okay, how—how would you feel about getting even with Sid for treating you like that?”

He stopped breathing for a second, confused. “W-what do you mean?”

Your gaze shifted to Minjun, whose initial surprise quickly melted into a realisation that lit up his features. He nodded enthusiastically.

“I have this idea,” you continued, returning your attention to Jude, who remained anchored against the back wall of the room, resembling a child caught drawing on the walls with a permanent marker. “But I would need you to stay in London a bit longer. Just a day or two. Could you do that?”

“That would be fair, I think,” Minjun added hastily. Jude hadn’t even processed your request yet. “It’s the least you can do after she practically saved your life—which she really didn’t have to do. I mean, you stole her bag.”

“I—but Sid asked me to do that!” Jude protested, panicked once more. He looked at you, his brows knit in an expression of profound desperation. He genuinely felt indebted to you, and he was dying to make it right. “I wouldn’t—I didn’t want to. You’ve never done anything wrong to me.”

“Well, exactly,” Minjun continued before you could respond. He could tell that Jude’s abnormally energetic apologies troubled you. “You kind of owe her, you know?”

Jude knew. You could tell he knew because he began to rub his hands together faster, his fingers restless, agitated as they ran over his calloused skin. He looked frightened. He looked like half of a person.

You felt the first threads of remorse coil around your mind for taking advantage of him in a state like this.

“Well, I—I—o-of course, I guess,” Jude acquiesced, though his compliance seemed strained—much like the rest of his actions, really. He needed to lie in bed for a week or two. “W-what would I have to do?”

You turned back to Minjun, who appeared to be waiting for you to give Jude any command whatsoever. Jude, in turn, appeared willing to comply with any command.

It occurred to you that perhaps Jude’s obedience to Sid did not stem from a specific attachment to him. Perhaps Jude had simply chosen to surrender his free will, and now he gravitated towards anyone who could make decisions on his behalf—as long as he could justify it to himself: a decades-long friendship with Sid, or a perceived debt he owed you.

Jude—as Minjun had suggested before—just didn’t know any better. And it was so easy, so very simple for him to just let someone else take the reins. To float down the stream instead of fighting it.

“Just keep spending time with Sid like you used to, okay?” you instructed. “Act as if nothing happened between you, like everything’s alright. Yeah? And we’ll be in touch with you.”

“Yeah,” Jude replied slowly. It took him a few seconds to grasp what had been said to him. You wondered if he’d always been this way, or if this was a lingering effect of all that he had to endure in the past twenty-four hours. “Yeah, I can do that.”

“That’s great,” you said. And then, because he continued to look smaller than his shadow, you added, “I, um—I understand you’re not a fan of hospitals, but how do you feel about pharmacies? They have a great selection of supplements I think you should try.”

You handed Minjun your handbag and he watched, in bewilderment, as you led Jude out of the room. You gave Jude step-by-step instructions—in excruciating detail that Minjun thought Jude did not deserve—about what to say at the pharmacy, which vitamins to seek, what nutritional products to consider, how to drink water, what fruit to buy on the way back to the hotel, and what to tell Sid if he asked questions about any of this.

Jude wrote it all down on his phone—a process that consumed an additional twenty minutes outside the venue—before he finally thanked you, apologised another dozen times, and walked away, leaning against the side of the building for support.

When you rejoined Minjun, you felt like you had just finished teaching six kindergarten classes.

“He’s gone,” you announced, sinking into the only armchair in the cramped room. Your foot came to rest on the handle of a discarded broom. You still weren’t sure what the purpose of this room was.

“Why’d you do all that for him?” Minjun asked, handing you your bag and leaning against the wall.

“Because I don’t want Rated Riot’s opening act to be Jude dropping dead,” you retorted. “He’s severely malnourished. Does he even eat when he—anyway. I don’t know what’s going on with his nervous system, he was shaking the whole time he was here. I don’t—I’m not Sid. I can’t stand to talk to someone half-dead without trying to do something.”

“Yeah,” Minjun said, still a little amazed at your lack of hesitation when you walked Jude outside. Jude had certainly never been as terrible as Sid, but he was still Sid’s closest friend. Yet, you were eager to help him feel better, when even Minjun had given up. “You’re not Sid. That’s what got us to this point. But you, um—you still didn’t have to go to such lengths for Jude. He… he’s always had withdrawal issues. He’s going to take something as soon as he goes back to the hotel, and he’ll probably be fine again.”

You exhaled. Probably was a very heavy word to carry on your shoulders everywhere you went.

“Yeah, but at least now my conscience won’t keep me up at night,” you said, stretching your arms over your head. “Besides, we’re kind of using him, so we obviously need him alive.”

“True…” Minjun faltered, his eyes shifting to the only minuscule window in the room and squinting. He could not see anything beyond the thick glass, obscured by rain residue. “It, uh—it’s great that Jude can be our man on the inside. I’m glad he realised what a fucking bag of shit Sid is. But, honestly, I’m not sure we can trust him if we send him straight back to that hotel. He might have a change of heart.”

“I know,” you admitted. Even if Jude felt indebted to you and demonstrated that by returning Maggie’s phone, his gratitude could prove temporary. Sid had an exceptional talent for coaxing good people into bad deeds. “That’s why I’m not telling Jude anything else we’re going to do.”

Minjun turned back to look at you, intrigued. “And what is it that we’re going to do?”

“I need to do some research first,” you said, your thoughts speeding a hundred miles per minute. “Did Sid reach out to you at any point over these past few days?”

“No.”

“Alright, so it’s just Jungkook, then.” You leaned forward, considering this. “I-I don’t get it, to be honest. I mean, I get that Sid is the spawn of the devil, but really, why is he—why does he care so much? Because this isn’t some prank. He’s digging up old videos, posting pictures that could have serious consequences for us, and he’s—he made Jude hang around the club to steal my fucking bag. That’s so stupid and over-the-top that I’m not even—I mean, does he really have nothing better to do?”

Minjun did not seem to share your confusion, and your shoulders slumped in disappointment. Clearly, Minjun did not think this was out of character for Sid at all.

“Well, yeah, he doesn’t have anything else going on,” Minjun said. “He doesn’t have a job. He has money and twenty-four hours in a day. Might as well torment people. Besides, he feels wronged. He won that bet he had with Jungkook, but—”

“No, I get that,” you interrupted, your gaze drifting to the same window that Minjun had attempted to look through before. “He’s always done this. But it makes no sense to me. Fucking with people just because he thinks they’re not miserable enough. That has to be some sort of a latent inferiority complex, this need he has to prove to everyone that he’s better than them. But I don’t—he’s going to have to take his insecurities elsewhere. He’ll have to fuck off. We’ll leave him no other choice.”

When you did not succeed in seeing past the thick fog over the glass, you turned back to Minjun again. He was grinning, for some reason, his bright smile standing out against the sombre atmosphere in the room.

“What?” you asked.

“Nothing.” He chuckled, excitement twirling in his eyes. “I’m glad you and Jungkook are back together.”

You looked away, pensive.

“Come on,” he said, pushing himself off the wall. “Let’s go defeat evil. I’ll help with your research.”

Minjun ended up providing fantastic assistance, and by the time the two of you had exhausted all the keywords in your Google search, you had a rough outline of what you’d do with Sid. You and Minjun both agreed that you needed Jungkook’s input, so the three of you would need to meet sometime later to finalise your strategy and set it into motion.

In the meantime, you had to find your friends, return Maggie’s phone, and update them on everything that had happened since you’d last seen them.

When you entered Rated Riot’s dressing room, the walls were pulsating with the beat of an old Arctic Monkeys song, blaring unapologetically from Yoongi’s Bluetooth speaker. You had thought you felt completely drained from this day, but the sight of everyone celebrating as they always did—as if it were the final show of the tour, the venue filled with their laughter, the floor wet from their spilt drinks—lifted your mood and your energy levels immeasurably.

Maggie was the first to catch your eye in the crowd of people. As soon as you returned her phone, a tipsy Yoongi interjected affectionately, “you find everyone’s lost eletornicks!”—which was almost an actual word, so you figured he still had room for more alcohol. He drifted away before you could say anything else, moving his shoulders to the rhythm of “Snap Out Of It” and joining Hoseok by the drinks table.

Luna noticed the slight commotion and approached you. As soon as you finished telling the girls what happened to your handbag, she broke into a surprisingly graceful, but very, very drunken performance of flailing her limbs and singing, “I knew it! I fucking knew it!” while Taehyung watched her from the doorway with unmistakable fondness. He had genuinely never looked more in love.

Then Maggie caught you off guard by wrapping her arms around you—as if you’d crossed Middle Earth and battled Smeagol for her phone—and you realised how safe, happy, and comfortable you felt here. It was such a stark contrast to the unease you had felt in Jude’s presence that you found yourself laughing, your chest feather-light.

Someone behind you suddenly cleared their throat—with such force that it sounded like they coughed up half of a lung—and Maggie pulled back, allowing you both to turn around.

Jungkook looked like he had been waiting for you to notice him for a while. Your friend snickered and hugged you once more before taking an intentionally ostentatious step back and bowing.

“She’s all yours if she wishes,” Maggie proclaimed to Jungkook, who turned to you, his eyebrows raised.

You nodded. “She wishes.”

Chuckling, he pulled you close. He was still high from the concert and just as lively and animated as everyone else in the room. The second he wrapped his arms around your waist and buried his face in your neck, he refused to let go, finding that only fair since you had ended up missing his show tonight.

You realised, while fighting for breath in his suffocating grip, that the two of you did not look strange or inappropriate to anyone who noticed you, despite standing almost in the middle of the room, wrapped around each other. You expected to feel anxious about the public display, and were surprised to feel comforted instead.

No one cared.

Unbeknownst to you, the bet backstage had ended, and now that everyone here knew that you and Jungkook were back together, they were no longer invested. They won their money—or lost, in a few cases—and moved on to make bets about whether Taehyung, who was too prideful to sing without his bass, would start singing along to Luna’s playlist on Yoongi’s phone.

No one cared.

Surrendering to Jungkook’s touch, you abandoned your other plans and relocated with him to the far corner of the room, separated from most of the dangerous festivities—Seokjin and Hoseok had bumped foreheads while dancing just as you walked past them—by a heavy rack of clothes.

Jungkook lied down on the couch with his head on your lap, recounting how he had accidentally turned off his microphone in the middle of his break during the encore and had to yell his speech at the audience because he couldn’t turn it back on.

“I’m glad your throat is alright,” you remarked. The warmth of your touch and the lightness of your tone filled him with something that tasted like honey on his tongue. “The rest of the guys also sound like they just got off the tallest ride at the amusement park.”

Jungkook’s laughter was soft, laced with a lingering echo of the concert that still reverberated in his mind amidst the lively chatter and the music in the dressing room.

“After the show,” he said with an unusual gravity in his tone, juxtaposed against the serenity in his eyes while you ran your fingers through his hair, “someone asked Yoongi and me about our new music. They asked if the picture on Sid’s account was a leaked album cover. We said yes. So, that—that’s confirmed now.”

Your hand stilled, and Jungkook lifted his head. He did not like the emotion he saw in your eyes when he looked at you and he felt melancholy, all of a sudden, for the moment you’d just shared. He wished he hadn’t said anything.

“Oh,” you replied. “That’s good.”

But it didn’t feel good. He couldn’t shake the memory of the way you’d looked after the band had unanimously decided to use the picture as the cover art for their next single. It seemed like the fact that everyone knew about your relationship was physically weighing on you.

He hadn’t said anything to you earlier, not wanting to exacerbate your anxiety, but he couldn’t keep this to himself now.

You’d promised each other communication.

“I—uh,” he sat up properly and you felt an odd ache inside when his head was no longer resting in your lap, “I know you’re not comfortable with us using the picture for that, um—for that particular purpose. And—and I get that. I just, uh—I just wanted to ask if y—if the actual problem here is that others know about us.”

The look on his face was an echo of your conversation last night. It threw you off balance, this statement, not even an actual question, and you were all the more aware of the loud beating in your chest and in your head. The music drowned out any chance of others overhearing your conversation, but it also muffled your thoughts.

You took a deep breath, so you could explain everything.

“No,” you said. Then once more, to make sure he heard you, “no. That’s not it. I don’t want—my problem is that we barely had one day together, you know? I would have liked some time alone with you before it all exploded. But Sid posted that picture, and now—now everyone in this room knows we’re definitely together. I mean, they already suspected it, since we’re not as discreet as I liked to think. But, uh, still. I am learning to be okay with others knowing, though. And I want you despite that. Despite others. Despite everything. I want to be with you. I just wanted to reveal our relationship to the public in our own time. Not Sid’s.”

Jungkook was not sure if you said anything else after I want you, because he certainly had not heard a word.

Frankly, he didn’t care about any public pictures. He wouldn’t have cared if a hurricane swept through the place, tearing down buildings and leaving debris that spelled out your names in the shape of a heart. But he knew you cared.

And yet—I want you despite everything.

He was crazy. Positively mad. A raving lunatic, really. He wondered if there was any medicine to subdue his symptoms because he did not think this was good for his health.

“Okay,” he said, looking down to get his feelings and his thoughts together. “I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re good,” you said. “It was—a lot of things happened today, and I was—I feel like I’m losing my head a little bit. But you and I are not—we’re not one of the things I’m confused about.”

He gave you a concerned look as he settled back on the couch. “What happened?”

You took a breath and recounted the story about Maggie’s missing phone, Luna’s observation—manifestation, almost—and Jude’s visit, which sparked the idea to include him in your plan to retaliate against Sid.

Jungkook spent a minute nodding, rubbing his chin, and moving his eyebrows up and down and sideways.

“Okay, that—that’s a lot of—and, uh—” He leaned forward, feeling a bit like the two of you had lived through an entire decade in one day. He could not summarise it all in one word. “What’s your plan?”

You took another breath. You and Minjun had checked and double-checked everything, so you were sure you had this part of your research right. The challenge of your plan came from the parts that couldn’t be researched in advance—the parts where you needed Jungkook.

“Did you know,” you started, “that the penalty for methamphetamine possession in the UK is up to seven years in prison? Apparently, it’s a class A drug.”

Furrowing his brows, Jungkook gave a slight nod of his head. “Uh… okay.”

“Right. Well, see,” you were sitting on the very edge of the couch, restless suddenly, “Jude mentioned tripping on ecstasy and speed that night I saw him at the club. And now, while returning Maggie’s phone, he mentioned Sid casually giving him a bag of meth. Just there, in his hotel room.”

“Mmhm, he—wait.” Jungkook straightened. “W-what are you saying?”

Someone jostled the rack of clothes next to your couch, causing a few hangers to clatter to the floor. You heard an excited shriek, followed by laughter, as two pairs of hands scrambled to pick up the clothes and hang them back in place.

You lowered your voice and moved closer to Jungkook on the couch. “You know what I’m saying.”

“I’m—”

“If a penalty exceeds twelve months,” you continued, “a person may be deported. That also sounds alright.”

Jungkook paused to listen to the sounds inside the room: the clothes rack had now been pushed back, shielding you from the rest of the room again, but limiting his view. He could hear Taehyung singing along to “Do I Wanna Know?” by the drinks table while Luna and Maggie waved the flashlights on their phones dreamily for extra ambience in the dimly lit room. He could also see, most unusually, the way Hoseok and Jimin seemed to be exchanging money right behind the two girls.

Jungkook leaned in even closer to you.

“You want to deport Sid?” he asked. You could feel his warm breath on your cheek when he spoke. “A-and lock him up?”

“Actually, I want to wring his neck and use his head to scare off pigeons,” you said. “But that would result in me getting locked up, and I really don’t have time for that right now.”

You watched the corners of Jungkook’s lips twitch as he tried to suppress a smile.

“No?” he teased, unable to resist. “I might like that. Think about all the street cred I’d get with a jailbird girlfriend.”

You snorted. “Yeah? Two one-hour visits every four weeks sound hot to you?”

“Hmm.” He pursed his lips. “No. You have a point, that won’t do it. I need you with me. Should we—should we tell Minjun about this plan, then?”

“Minjun knows. We’ll talk more about it tomorrow, okay? But I—I promise we’re going to teach Sid a fucking lesson,” you said. “And then I’m going to tell the label we’re together, and all will be right in the world for fucking once.”

Jungkook didn’t think he’d ever wanted to kiss you more than he did right then. The air around you felt static, and the bodies behind the clothes rack did not feel particularly corporeal. The side of his chest was pressed against yours and he could feel your heartbeat speed up when his gaze flickered to your lips.

“You know, you can be really evil sometimes,” he remarked, chuckling when you raised your eyebrows. “I love it. Count me in. Sid won’t know what fucking hit him, and I want to be there to see it. Not going to lie, though, it does sound like Operation: Escape from Londo—”

“No.”

You thought you could feel his laughter resonating in your chest.

“Can we do that, though?” he whispered after a moment. “Can we—you know? Deal with Sid? In-between dealing with the label?”

You nodded. You were determined to find your happy ending and, watching the faint lights reflected in Jungkook’s eyes, you thought you could already see it, waiting for you in the distance.

“If we handle Sid,” you said quietly, “we can handle anything.”

Jungkook liked the sound of that very much—almost as much as he liked the song playing in the background while he breathed in your scent, while he allowed it to engulf him, to drown his senses, to annihilate any sanity he had left.

However, he was aware that for a long time before this moment, he had been making all the wrong choices while dreaming of the right outcomes. It would take some time for him to adjust to the fact that he lived a different life now—a life where you were by his side, and his reality was suddenly significantly better than his dreams. He would need to hear you tell him that it was going to be okay just a few more times.

“And if the label says that no, we can’t, actually?” he asked, his tone hushed.

He was very close and you could no longer look at him without your vision clouding. Your head spun so much that your thoughts felt tipsy. You lowered your gaze to his chest, avoiding the sight of him biting his lip.

“I’ll just leave, then,” you replied.

Jungkook pulled back suddenly. “You—but—no.”

You were breathless and slightly disoriented when you raised your head. The room was very dark, and he was very far away.

“We—we’re staying together regardless,” you said, distracted.

He still looked wounded.

“But that’s not fair to you,” he argued.

You shook your head and sighed. The Arctic Monkeys song on the speakers faded, changing to Rated Riot’s “Cursed,” and the room erupted into cheers as if the band members themselves had stood up to perform the song. You shivered under Jungkook’s gaze.

“That—it doesn’t matter,” you said. “I already told you before. If that’s the only way we can work, I don’t mind leaving the company. I’ll miss everyone, but I’m—we’d stay in touch anyway, I’m sure.”

Jungkook was torn. He wanted to tell you not to go—cast a spell or a curse, whichever worked—but his song played in the background, and you were trying very hard to keep a straight face on the couch next to him. It felt like a spell had already been cast.

He didn’t want you to leave, and in this moment, he felt convinced that you never would. You were not meant to.

“At least fight back,” he said, “if these fucking lawyers have a problem with us being together.”

A smile finally broke through your restraints.

“I will,” you promised. “You want me to punch someone? Knock out their teeth for good measure?”

He grinned, too. His black eye had already healed, save for a few stubborn cuts around his cheekbone. The altercation he’d had with Sid seemed a lifetime away—a lifetime that he was not sure belonged to him anymore.

“Please,” he said.

“Hmm.” You leaned in closer, brushing your fingers over the side of his neck. “I’ll see what I can do without joining Sid in prison.”

He felt the way his skin came to life, the way all of his cells leapt up and screeched, as soon as you touched him. He thought that perhaps he had contracted some sort of eye disease on top of his blatant insanity, too, because the dark room had brightened all of a sudden.

He knew he had gone right out of his mind, and he’d never felt better.

“I love you,” he whispered, and his nose touched yours when he said it.

“I love you,” you whispered back, and the happy ending that you had seen in his eyes felt no more than a breath away.

It approached you in silence, dimming the lights in the room, and in the building, and on this side of the world, so it could light the ones in your eyes and your chests.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Jungkook whispered, the tips of his fingers tracing tenderly over your cheek. He felt it coming, too. “And I hope you stay.”

You closed your eyes. “I promise I’ll do everything to stay.”

Your lips finally touched his, and he discovered that you tasted exactly like the medicine he needed to halt his descent into madness, to calm the anxious beating of his heart, to clear his uncertain mind, and to dry the ink he’d used to engrave your name onto his soul.

chapter title credits: bad omens, “exit wounds”

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[moonsaver]

hi!! i just wanted to say that the way that you write yandere characters is very unique and frankly amazing. like i love the fact that you don't make them overly violent like other people have and i also like how you have written the mc.

can i make a request of nsfw headcannons with yan!aventurine with female reader? thank you so much. have a great day!!!

Hello anon! Thank you for the feedback. Sorry i delayed your request so much, haha.

– fem-bodied reader, but mainly referred to as "you", no pronouns.

Nsfw below the cut!

Honestly? Yan!Aventurine is so damn pathetic. He's so used to feeling unwanted and repulsed by, so he's constantly begging on his knees for your affection. It starts out as a facade of confidence, but when you keep denying and shifting away from him, it snaps something, and he's on his knees, needy and desperate compromises, offering to do whatever you want – you want him to dom you? Tie you down and fuck you mindless? He'll do it! You want him to sub? He'll take it! You can fuck him silly and pull his hair back as harshly as you want, just please let him touch you and be touched by you.

Practically, it's absolute desperate sex

If you're still hesitant, and keep refusing him, keep telling him you don't want to do it, he'll just take it into his own hands

You definitely aren't disgusted by him, right? Definitely not! No, no, he can't allow that. You just have a hard time choosing! It's okay, it's alright! He understands! His own needy and desperate begging soon drowns out your own pleading for him to stop, and he thinks maybe he should just fuck you and let you know just how good he can make you feel. Both of your cries turn into moaning into each other's mouths, sooner or later.

Fingering? It's almost his favourite thing to do. He goes so mercilessly fast, his fingers plunging deep into your sopping wet cunt. If it's not wet enough or he hasn't done any foreplay, it's alright! He'll spit on it, and coat his fingers with his saliva. Stop squirming! He's taking such good care of you! Makes you squirt and cum so hard, but your desperate, incoherent babbling makes him think he's not done just enough, and keeps scissoring your swollen cunt all nice and deep, rubbing your clit, his eyes obsessively scanning the weak twitching and arching of your body, an almost psychotic and delusional smile on his face as he watches your body reach it's nth climax, curling his fingers in just the right spot, your face contorting into such a pretty expression, just as he wanted it to happen. Finally, he asks you if it was enough, licking your slick off of his fingers while looking into your eyes. He can always please you more, you know?

Penetration is almost similar to fingering. Or it's the complete opposite. The junction of that decision mainly happens when his tip is inside of you, and he's asking you all sorts of things, describing the things he wants to do to you in detail, rubbing your swollen tits so nicely, until you writhe under him. Oh? Sorry, he can't let you go! You probably don't want to, you just dont know how good he can fuck you! And he does just that. 

If you're not so fucked out until you cant think, he goes fast and hard, loud slapping noises bounce off the walls, his dick hits you g-spot so hard and nice it makes you see stars. His smile is so wide and cocky when he sees your dazed expression, and he only goes faster, moaning and whining into your ear, telling you just how good you're taking him, that he'll take such good care of you, he loves you so so much and, his own whining and talking is interrupted by a loud moan, as his cum shoots into you, hot and sloshing into your cunt. He relaxes for a bit, whining more into your ear before his hasty and sloppy pace picks up, hitting you hard and fast all over again, relishing the feeling of his cum mix with your slick and drip down onto the bed.

If you're already dazed and overstimulated, he's very loving. Cooing softly at you as he fucks you all nice and slow, dragging his throbbing length against your gummy walls, telling you how lucky he is to have you, asking you desperately what you want, want him to go faster? Slower? Do you like it? Why aren't you answering? Oh well, he guesses he just has to fuck you better. Keeps going slow until your climax is absolutely on the edge of crashing down on you, and then rams himself into you, moaning like a bitch into your ear when he cums inside of you

Absolute oral fixation. If he doesn't force your first time in bed with him into fingering you, it's eating you out like he's drunk on your slick.

Desperately begs into your ear to let him taste you, asks you to suffocate him, ride him or just use him, just please let him taste your sweet cum on his tongue! He begs and begs until he just can't take it and pushes you to the nearest cushioned surface, rips off whatever clothing you have and absolutely devours you. Sucks on your clit desperately and moans when you squirm and pull on his hair to try and get him off of you. Fingers roughly and sloppily plunge into you, his tongue desperately circling your swollen bud, and once he's drawn enough slick from your pussy, replaces his fingers with his tongue and almost buries his face into it. Makes you squirt and cum so hard on his face, and likes it even more when you make a mess. Looks up at you with needy, love-struck eyes, slick dripping down his chin as he asks you if you enjoyed it. If you don't respond, or are too busy catching your breath, he just dives back in and makes you cum even more on his face.

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