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brave-and-gentle · 9 months ago

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Angel vs. Devil: Reader x Jean Fluff Part 2

I got more ideas after I wrote the Ice Sculpture Fluff, so now this is a mini series - surprise! If you haven't read that yet, please read it here.

If you like this, be sure to check out my original character x Jean fic on Ao3 here

Pairings: femme reader x Jean

Summary: Weeks after your first kiss with Jean, you're wondering why nothing else has sparked. He's evasive about a night out with friends that he's not going to – and you decide to find out why.

Warnings: none, this all v cute fluff, a self-indulgence

Word count: ~4K

It's been weeks since your first kiss with Jean after seeing the ice sculptures together. Weeks – and nothing. You thought things might progress, but bar trivia nights were too big and crowded for much to happen, though you were still thoroughly enjoying them. You and Jean had kept up your schedule of meeting at the coffee shop twice a week for you to write and for him to draw, but it was all very platonic. At least, you thought. A couple times you swear you caught him staring at you, but as soon as you looked up he was buried in his sketchbook again.

On Wednesday nights, the coffee shop switched to wine after 5 pm, while you met on Saturday mornings and enjoyed your favorite coffee orders. Sometimes you chatted nearly the entire time. You learned a few more things about Jean – he switched back and forth between straight black coffee or sugary lattes – no in between. He almost quit the soccer team his first year of college because of the emotional stress, but Marco talked him into staying. He had a habit of squeezing his hands into fists when he was frustrated or anxious.

He learned a few things about you too – that you twirled your hair when you were stuck in writer's block, that you chose to Trost for college because you knew nobody from your high school would be there, and that you were a sucker for the baked goods at the cafe and wouldn't share with him.

Sasha is just waking up when you yell that you're heading out to the coffee shop with Jean.

“Have fuuuuun,” she teases. Though she's buried in blankets, you know she's winking. You told Sasha everything, and she's just as baffled as you – why hadn't Jean made another move? “Don't come back unless you've got some good Jean tea!”

“I'll do my best,” you roll your eyes and head out the door.

You smack Jean's hand out of the way as he tries to take a piece of your chocolate chip muffin.

“Funny that you and Sasha ended up as roommates, you're just as stingy as with food as she is,” he accuses in a playful tone. The Saturday morning sun streams in through the windows and over Jean, giving his hazel eyes even more warmth. He runs his fingers through his hair to push it out of his eyes and dives back into his sketch. Fuck, why is he so cute? Though you do notice dark purple circles under his eyes and wonder what's been keeping him up at night.

“You can buy your own,” you retort and tap your pen on his elbow. You take another bite of your muffin, still warm. The chocolate chips melt in your mouth. You put it back down on the plate to get back to your character development worksheet, but Jean interrupts you.

“Oh, you uh. . .” he trails off and you glance up to see him pointing to the corner of his mouth.

“Hmm? Oh.” You realize you must have chocolate from the muffin on your face. You lick around your lips and look down, refusing to make eye contact. “All good?”

“Ah, not quite, here.” Jean's long arm reaches over to you. You freeze and hold your breath. His thumb rubs the corner of your mouth with a gentle but strong touch. He lingers for a second and brushes your bottom lip and – someone at the front of the coffee shop yells your name.

“And Jean, you're here too!” Jean jerks his hand away from your face and turns around to see none other than Connie bounding over to your two-person table. He grabs another chair from a table and plops down.

“Why are you awake before 11 am?” Jean glares at his friend.

“Because it's the big day! Don't tell me you forgot!” Connie throws his hands up in excitement for what, exactly you're not sure. You and Jean exchange a blank look. “Not you too?? C'mon guys, the basketball game is tonight!” Shit. You did in fact completely forget this one. Normally you are so honored to be invited something that you remember every detail, but watching sports has never been your thing. The Trost Titans are hosting their rival, the Marley Warriors, which apparently is a big deal. Connie “knows a guy” and scored everyone tickets. “I need everyone there in Titans gear for good luck, or Reiner, Bert and Annie will never let me hear the end of it.” You remember that those three are from Marley.

“Ah, I'm not sure Connie, basketball's not really my thing. . .” you trail off and worry that you'll seem ungrateful since he already got everyone tickets. You might be up for it if it were a sporting event outside – that's the big reason you and Historia played intramural sand volleyball in college, but trying to pretend to care about basketball inside in arena surrounded by die-hard fans doesn't sound appealing in the slightest.

“It's no sweat,” Connie says your name, “think about it, or at least meet up at our place after.” You nod and consider that meeting up after could actually be fun. Connie, Eren and Armin all live together and you haven't been to their place yet – ironic considering Connie practically lives on the couch in your apartment with Sasha. “What about you Jean?”

“I already told you, I can't.” Jean doesn't look up from his sketch.

“What do you mean you can't??” Connie throws his arms up again.

“I mean, I can't. I have a thing.” His voice grows with irritation. You have to admit that meeting up after the game without Jean there sounds a little less fun, although maybe it'd be a good distraction from pining after him.

“What thing? Got a hot date tonight?” Connie presses. You notice Jean's tell tale sign of his free hand closing up in a fist.

“No, a work thing.”

“Whaaaat? Why you working on a Saturday?? Come out and play with us!”

“Because I have a work thing, Connie, now get off my back!” Jean tears his eyes away from his sketchpad to narrow his eyes at Connie.

“Geez,” Connie leans away from him. “Whatever got up your ass this morning must be sideways. Anyways, that's my coffee order.” He points to the barista at the counter “Hope to see you tonight.” Connie waves at you before he grabs two coffees, presumably the other for Sasha, and dashes out the door. You turn back to Jean, who's sending invisible laser beams at his sketch. You had never asked Jean what he was working on and vise-versa. It's like an unspoken agreement.

“So uh, what is your work thing tonight? If you don't mind sharing,” you ask with caution. He finally brings his head up but avoids eye contact.

“Ah, it's an open house fundraiser for the kids. We show their art like a gallery and there's a suggested entry fee. It's mostly their family and friends.” He shrugs. You perk up at this endearing side of Jean you haven't seen since the ice sculpture night.

“Oh, that's actually really cool. Will you or any of the other teachers have pieces on display?”

“Not sure yet. I'm going to head there early and see if I can finish something up.” He continues looking away from you and places his hand on his neck. “Anyways, you'll have fun at the basketball game?” He gives you a questioning glance.

“Mmm, like I said, not sure basketball is my thing.”

“Yeah, I hear that,” Jean says as he packs his sketchbook away. “It is a fun time though – you'll get to see Connie get completely sloshed and try to pick a fight with someone. And believe it or not, Annie gets pretty amped for the game.”

“That's almost intriguing enough,” you laugh. You had never seen Annie anything other than stoic. She and Armin are truly like the moon and the sun. “Would it be weird if I came to your fundraiser?” You blurt out the words before you realize the gravity of what you asked. Why does your brain keep short circuiting around this man? Jean pauses and grimaces.

“It'd probably be pretty boring for you, it's just a bunch of paintings made by melodramatic 13-year olds. You'll have more fun at the game. Anyways,” he tosses his backpack over his shoulder, “I'll see you at the after party.”

“See you,” you say with a monotone voice. It's like a punch to the gut.

With your phone in hand, you pace back and forth in your living room. Sasha and Connie had already left to pre-game. As soon as you get home, you call your best friend to see what she made of the situation.

“But why was he being so weird about it? It didn't even sound like he was going to have any of his art there,” you muse.

“I don't know,” Historia says your name, “maybe he was telling the truth, maybe it is really just boring.”

“But still. Wouldn't he want a friend to show up to support what he does? Am I overthinking this?” You flop down on the couch, which is covered in crumbs from Sasha and Connie's late night munchies. Historia would've cleaned it up already, but you don't mind the mess. It's a sign of life, of fun.

“Maybe. . . “ she trails off.

“What if I just went?” you propose. Apparently, your brain was still short circuiting.

“Why do you even want to go?”

“I'm not sure,” you confess. “Something just feels off with how evasive he was.” You hear a muffled yet abrasive voice in the background. “Is that Ymir?”

“Um, yeah, I hope it's okay – she heard everything.” At this point, you assume Ymir knows anything and everything you told Historia.

“HEY,” Ymir shouts your name. “I think you should do it! Go to the art thing. Fuck around and find out!”

“But he seemed like he didn't want anyone there,” Historia counters in her gentle way.

“Exactly,” Ymir retorts, “You gotta find out why.”

It was like talking with an angel and devil on your shoulder. And today, you choose the devil.

This was quite possibly one of the stupidest things you've ever done. You linger outside of the nonprofit art studio that Jean works at and shove your hands deep in your parka to protect against the cruel wind. Although really, zero degrees was quite balmy in comparison to the -20 degrees you and Jean braved for the ice sculptures. The slightly dimmed, warm lights beckon you inside as you wonder what in the actual hell you're doing here.

A gaggle of giggling girls interrupt your thoughts. They head for the front doors of the studio, give you a pointed look, and then collapse into giggles once again as they enter the building. Despite the nearly subzero temperatures, heat rushes to your face. Somehow, it's worse getting bullied post-school.

Another sharp wind cuts right through your parka and you can't take it anymore. You rush into the building and involuntarily hum with relief. You barely hear what the kid at the table propped up in front of the doors says to you. Without thinking, you shove a $10 bill at them and walk further into the studio. As expected for an arts nonprofit, it's small – not really a studio as much as a couple connecting classrooms someone tried to dress up as a studio. You dart behind the coat rack and scan the room for Jean, but he's no where to be seen. Parents mill about with their middle school kids.

You keep your parka on, in case you need a quick escape. Plus, it's fucking cold. You begin wandering through the sea of student paintings. A sign at the start explains that the theme is peace. Some paintings are right on the nose – a dove flying with an olive branch or a collage of psychedelic-looking peace signs. Others are a little more nuanced. You chuckle at the painting of a cat stretched out on a floor in a sun spot. You too would like to be sunning yourself and lazing about. Another is a woman, you assume the student's family member, baking bread. You cycle through the student showcase faster, eager to see if Jean has anything on display. Finally, you reach the back corner of the studio. Your eyes flit to the tags below the instructor's paintings. True to what Jean told you earlier, you don't see Floch's name. At the very last tag, you find “Saturday Coffee – Jean Kirstein.”

You look up and find yourself face to face with -

Yourself.

You are on display for everyone to see. Exposed. Your eyes widen and your lips part in shock. Jean has captured you perfectly – from the exact shade of your hair and eyes, to the way you hold your pen, even the slight scars on your skin from a severe case of acne in high school. In the painting, you're at the coffee shop writing. One hand holds your pen, the other your cup of coffee.. There's even a half-eaten muffin to the side.

I'm going to kill him.

A torrent of emotions flood you – violation, honor, embarrassment, humility. Footsteps approach behind you.

“It's beautiful, isn't it? That's my Jean boy's painting.”

You turn to find none other than Jean's mother. Even if she hadn't said anything, her eyes were a dead give away. Nobody else could have his exact shade of earth-like hazel eyes.

“Yeah, um – it's – it's” you stutter.

“Oh,” her eyes light up. “It looks just like you! Are you his muse?” Her laughter is like deep music, but she's interrupted by an aggravated voice.

“Mom, what are you doing here? I asked you not to come.”

Jean. Shit.

Heat flushes your face as you make eye contact with him. And goddamn, he looks good. He's wearing Vans, black loose fitting jeans, and an olive green sweater. Based on his facial expression, you're not sure which of you is more mortified at this situation.

“Oh – “ he says your name and softens, “you're here too.”

Horror and humiliation take over your body.

“So this is why you didn't want to come.” You jab your finger at your mirror image. Jean shrinks into his sweater.

“Look, I can explain - “

“Explain what? That you drew me without telling me?” You try to ignore his mother's worried eyes darting back and forth between you two. Your throat chokes up and you whip around and head back toward the front door. Jean follows you and says your name.

“Wait!”

“No!” You turn back around to face him, tears threatening. “Shit Jean, you at least could've fucking asked me first.”

Hurt flashes across his eyes, but you don't care.

“Ooooo!” The middle school students are entertained by the show you don't realize you're putting on. All too aware of every eye on you, you dash out the door. The now subzero temperatures suck the air out of your lungs. The door behind you doesn't slam shut as expected.

“Please, give me a chance to explain,” Jean pleads with you. You turn around and soften at the sight of him running after you with no coat on, his ears instantly red.

“That was humiliating,” you voice cracks.

“I know, I know.” Jean tips back and forth on his toes and shoves his hands deep in his pockets. Fuck men for getting pockets. “Look, I gotta stay here for a little bit longer, but can you give me a chance to explain? I'll take the painting down immediately.” You raise an eyebrow. Though you do want to know why, the devil in you wants run home and leave him hanging. It's what he deserves. “Meet me at the brewery around the corner? Beers on me? Please?”

This time, you choose the angel.

~ ~ ~

By the time Jean gets to the brewery, you've already guzzled nearly all of you raspberry sour. You take the last sip and eye him as he walks in, flushed from the sudden heat.

You knew exactly what brewery he had referenced as it was the same one that you, Historia and Ymir frequented after intramural volleyball games. After one game, you three sat in the back corner and Ymir scratched “Historia + Ymir + their pet” into the brick wall. You're still not sure how she managed to scratch all that and not get caught.

One year later, you sit in the same spot – but alone. Until Jean comes running up to you. He tears his knit cap and winter coat off, leaving his lengthening hair sticking up in all different directions.

“You started without me?” He points at your now empty glass.

“Mmmhmm.” You nod and cross your arms.

“Can I get you a refill?”

“Yep. Raspberry sour.” You push your glass toward him. A few moments later, he returns with your drink and an IPA for himself.

“Explain yourself,” you demand as soon as he sits down.

“Right,” he agrees and sighs, running his fingers through his hair before resting his stubbled chin on his hand. His face is still flushed, but probably not from the heat inside anymore. “I panicked, honestly. I'd been trying sketches all the time we'd been at the coffee shop, but I was getting no where with the peace theme. I already didn't show anything at the last showcase, which isn't a huge deal, it's mostly for the kids, but I figured it would be a good way to get back into it. Then one morning, it hit me that what I needed was right in front of me.” He gestures his hands to you. “It was you. You were writing in your notebook and drinking coffee, nothing special, just our usual Saturday morning, but you looked so at peace. It's different from how I normally see you.”

“What do you mean?” You furrow your eyebrows. “Different how?”

“Oh, um,” he scratches his stubbled jaw. Fuck. You are not immune to the effects of a well defined jaw. “I guess when we're all in a big group, I've noticed that you're a little tense, like you have your guard up – which makes sense in a big group of people you don't know very well. So it's been nice to see you relaxed and in your element.” He shrugs, seemingly embarrassed of all he just divulged, of just how much he pays attention to you.

“Hmm.” You keep your arms crossed and nod, unwilling to think too deeply about Jean's accurate observations. “And you didn't bother to ask my permission because . . . ?”

Jean takes a deep breath. “Because I was staying up past midnight painting and I was terrified you'd think it's weird. I didn't want to risk not showing anything tonight, so instead I just hoped nobody would show up. And that's not an excuse, I know. It was a stupid decision. I should've given you the chance to say no. I've taken it down and I promise I won't show it to anyone without your permission.” He slumps down in his chair and looks to you for a response.

You clear your throat. “Thank you.” Jean's face loosens a little.

“Actually, you can have it, if you want. You have more of a right to it than I do.”

“No,” you shake your head and take a sip of your drink. “That feels weird. I can tell you put a lot of time into it, if nothing else.” He nods, but remains silent, unwilling to accept the compliment – probably out of shame. You're not sure if you're quite ready to forgive Jean, but you also don't want to talk about it anymore. “So what was the deal with your mom?”

Jean's head jerks up. “Ah, I owe her an apology too. She's come to every single one of my shows, but I was nervous that she'd get the wrong idea. The curse of living in the same city as your mom means she'll find out anyway,” he smirks.

“And what would be the wrong idea?” Your heart skips a beat as you wait for Jean to answer.

“That we're . . . together,” he purses his lips together. “We're friends, right?”

“Right,” is your knee jerk reaction. Disappointment and glee fill your body at the same time. Glee because you do in fact want to be friends with Jean. Disappointment because this clearly meant the kiss meant nothing to him. You remind yourself that you barely know Jean, yet the attraction is undeniable, especially as a broad grin stretches across his face, which sends you melting.

“Good. Thought I'd lost you there for a minute.”

You return his smile and give his long leg a gentle kick under the table. It's all too easy with how far they stick out. “Just don't do anything like that again,” you warn, half kidding, half serious.

“On my honor,” he says, placing his right hand on his heart in a mock salute. “But seriously, I feel like I owe you a lot more than a beer on me. Can I take you out around Trost sometime?”

Those are date words, but a small voice in the back of your head reminds you that this is an apology – and you don't want a pity hang out.

“You don't have to do that – hang out with me because you feel obligated to.”

His eyebrows shoot up. “That's not what I meant! I mean, I do actually want to hang out with you. It'd be fun to see you outside the coffee shop and trivia. Really, you'd be doing me a favor. Marco's been so busy with his nursing shifts and there's only so much of Sasha and Connie I can handle.” His words spew out almost faster than you can comprehend.

You know what he means, but you tease him. “So you want to hang out with me because your other options are out?”

“Ah shit, I'm really digging myself in a hole here.” He looks down and rubs his fingers through his godamn sexy hair again. He says your name, “I want to hang out with you because I like spending time with you. Better?”

You laugh. “Alright, you've got me. What do you want to do?”

“It'll be a surprise,” he gives you a wry smile and takes a sip of his beer.

“Hmm, mysterious.” Your phone buzzes – someone's calling you. Nobody ever calls you except Historia. You take your phone out and it reads “Connie Springer.”

“Connie?” You answer.

“HEYYYY,” he slurs your name. Jean busts out laughing. Connie's voice is plenty loud enough without speaker phone on. “We WON! Titans win! Get your ass down to our place NOW! And make sure to bring that horse face with you.” He hangs up before you can respond.

“Horse face?” You ask Jean, who crosses his arms and rolls his eyes.

“Eren's insult turned nickname, I guess.” Something tells you that it's endearing from Connie and infuriating from Eren. “Do you want to go after we finish these?” He points to your still mostly full drinks.

“Sure, though I'm not really sure what to expect. Never really been into super competitive sports.”

“It's a lot of fun, even if you're not into it. Mikasa and Armin are pretty 'meh' about it, and they still manage to have fun. Expect Connie to be belligerently drunk and insufferable. Sasha will be off the wall. Reiner might be in tears.”

“Tears?? For a basketball game?” It's hard to imagine the beefy guy in tears.

“He's a big dude with a lot of feelings,” Jean chuckles. “Shall we find out?”

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tookyourdadsarrow · 1 month ago

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Intro Post ~

[Looks cautiously to and fro]

Don't tell Kyra, but I miiiiiight have taken her "secret" phone when she wasn't looking...

Not for anything bad of course! Just wanted a means to properly introduce myself ;)

🔥 Alex, Daughter of Hestia; Unclaimed...

Name: Alexandra Calida Alavez Age: 12 Pronouns: She/Her Godly Parent: Hestia; At the moment, I'm unclaimed Mortal Family: Sol Alavez (Dad) Camp Half-Blood Cabin: #21, once the truth has been revealed; for now, I tend to chill in Cabin #11 (Hermes)

Fun Facts About Yours' Truly -

🕯Favorite Color: Various shades of red and orange, though yellow is also starting to really grow on me... 🕯Birthday: November 24th (smack in the middle of Autumn; every four years, my birthday also falls on the day of family feasts)

🕯Hobbies: - Sparring with my Spear - Cooking and Baking - Writing and Telling Stories - Just... being there for others I suppose

🕯Favorite Snack: Bread, both savory & sweet

🕯Demigod Powers: - Pyrokinesis (i can control fire?!) - Food Enhancement (purify food/sense if it is tampered) - Limited Healing (through the food I cook) - Warmth & Serenity Inducement (make you feel warm & at peace ~)

🕯Best Camp Half-Blood Skills: - Cooking (some say the food I touch feels blessed ~) - Spearmanship - Lighting a Flame - Generally the Camp's Peacekeeper (do you all have any idea how many fights I had to break up and negotiate through)

🕯Dream Job (if I weren’t a demigod): I tend to be very... low-key. If I had to choose, maybe a quiet desk job. However, I also find I have a passion in helping others, so with that in mind I wouldn't say no to being a therapist or counselor of some sort!

🕯Background: I'm an only child. My dad never really felt the need to go out and settle down with someone else, so for the longest time it was just the two of us. Unfortunately, after I went through an unnatural accident two years ago my dad decided to start dating a nasty woman, Kathleen, and let's just say we haven't had the best relationship...

But now, after my dad has disappeared and I've been brought to camp Half-Blood, I have to deal with the challenges of being a demigod while also being unclaimed! Thank goodness for Kyra, otherwise I don't think I would have managed so well (she's fantastic)!

🕯Personality: Optimistic, passionate, though relatively introverted and a bit too altruistic for her own good, it's not too far off to say Alex is the kind of person who puts her loved ones before herself. She is always willing to lend an ear and be a pillar of support to those who need it, especially if they are near and dear to her heart. Though she is a pacifist at heart, preferring to use her words in resolving conflict, Alex will use her actions to send a message if she must!

Though she has been left unclaimed, for the time being, she does not let this deter her away from the others at camp. While still a bit of an outcast, Alex has learned to hone her abnormalities and embrace her half-divine blood (even if she has found herself growing... resentful... of her godly mother); but above all else, she is determined to find out what happened to her father!

🕯Favorite Camp Memories: - Cooking a meal for her fellow demigods for the first time - Telling a beautiful story over the campfire, one with a happy ending - Meeting Kyra for the first time (girl quite literally was a beacon of light in all the chaos)

🕯Little Extra Detail: I can't help but imagine and create little stories about the things I see, no matter how small the subject is about: - Those campers walking off to train in the woods, who knows the trial they are preparing for? - That fox carrying a stick in his mouth, or an adventurous spirit set out to complete his own little journey? - Two fireflies, illuminating the other even when they have the means to glow so beautifully on their own...

Where will their story go from here?

#pjo fandom #pjo oc #oc #oc blog #intro post #hestia #child of hestia

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ptn-imagines · 10 months ago

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Hello!! I hope you're doing well :3

Firstly, I'd like to say your blog has a chokehold on me, and your writing is just *chef's kisses* I be devouring the food you cook, please keep up the good work :]

If you don't mind could I request SFW/NSFW headcanons or whichever your comfortable with about Enfer × F!Chief?

Well, I had so many ideas for this ask, it actually overpowered my chronic fatigue, if that says anything! I'm glad you're enjoying my writing, also; here's some more food!

NSFW below the cut.

SFW+NSFW headcanons with Enfer and f!Chief

Enfer can be difficult for others to understand. Even the other artistically-minded Sinners, Lisa and McQueen, have trouble with it sometimes.

Chief doesn't have that problem. After the Witching Hour, and what took place in Enfer's studio, she's got a very good grasp on just who Enfer is – and Enfer adores her for it, for that sweet understanding she can't get from anyone else.

Accepting love is still a very new thing for Enfer, but you wouldn't think so from how passionately she expresses herself. While she isn't overbearing or particularly clingy, her expressions of love are nonetheless active and vibrant, like an explosion of fireworks in the night sky. Chief sometimes finds it hard to keep up, but would never dream of asking Enfer to tone it down – this, too, is something she adores about the artist.

Though Enfer is absolutely capable of poetic, flowery words of love and, indeed, often uses these on the Chief, her preferred form of affection is actually through physical touch. Enfer hasn’t really gotten so much as a hug since her mother died, so yeah… She’s really touch-starved. Thankfully, Chief provides the perfect solution!

Enfer’s hands tend to linger on Chief longer than most. Not necessarily in a sexual way, but simply to enjoy the sensation; fingers that are rougher than you might expect from so many years of painting and sculpting like to drag along Chief’s skin, simply appreciating her existence. It’s the way her hands linger on Chief’s cheeks after a kiss – long, sensual and intimate or fiery, passionate and open-mouthed, never in between – and it’s the way her hands can’t help but trace down her lover’s sides and spines, eliciting shivers from the Chief.

As a result, Enfer really enjoys having sex – not for the sexual pleasure of it, but for the sheer intimacy. She’ll place kisses and love bites all over Chief’s trembling body, licking and suckling with little to no restraint as she presses their hot, flushed bodies closely together. She’s insatiable.

Her favorite spots of attack are the Chief’s breasts and neck. The morning after sex, you can always expect the two locations to have been turned into canvasses of blue, purple and black bruises. It always embarrasses Chief, but she would never dream of stopping Enfer – particularly since the artist is so kind as to personally help her apply concealer to marks that would otherwise be too visible for professional decency.

When it comes to the main event (if you can call it that; with Enfer, every moment of sex is a show), Enfer prefers to eat Chief out. She’s very thorough with this, and her tongue moves in ways you wouldn’t expect from someone who was a virgin not so long ago, caressing the deepest parts of Chief she can reach. Chief always comes multiple times, her hands twisted in Enfer’s hair as she howls with overstimulation, tears welling in her eyes. Enfer never stops until Chief is begging for it.

(She actually learned these things from erotic fiction, but she won’t admit to that unless the Chief thinks to ask.)

Enfer’s also not a stranger to a bit of bondage. She’s willing to try out pretty much any kink the Chief has at least once, but she herself isn’t as kinky as you might expect. Her go-to bondage is to bind Chief’s wrists behind her back, or spread-eagle to the bed with ropes, along with a blindfold to heighten Chief’s pleasure. She’s a very big advocate for that, naturally~

She isn’t much of a fan of gags, though. She’ll oblige if her adorable Chief wants it so badly, but… She loves to hear the sounds Chief makes during sex, and she hates how gags take that away.

Still, her two favorite acts of intimacy aren’t even sexual in nature – or at the very least, they don’t have to be. Unfortunately, they’re both quite time-consuming, so with Chief’s busy schedule, Enfer doesn’t get the chance to engage in them as often as she’d like. That just means she appreciates the time she does have.

First of all, Enfer became a shibari master in shockingly (or perhaps not so shocking) little time after their relationship began. Although she’s willing to incorporate these ties into sex if the Chief asks, she engages in this practice for the artistry of the knots and harnesses more than anything else. She can spend hours alone tying Chief to her satisfaction, and then another few appreciating the transient form of artwork. With her hands and mouth as well as her eyes.

Chief is absolutely her favorite canvas in more “traditional” senses of the word too. While you can’t sculpt flesh – well, not unless you’re mad in a way that even Enfer is not (and she does not want to think about) – you can absolutely paint upon it. When Enfer is finished, she can transform the Chief into practically anything imaginable – a starry night sky for example, or a graceful and serene snow leopard.

…Of course, there’s always a few mishaps here and there, as a side-effect of painting on a living canvas. The brush hairs can tickle and the slightest movement of a giggle, sneeze or twitch can mess up a brush stroke. Enfer doesn’t mind, though – these little errors are all easily rectified and she simply considers it part of the process of painting on a living canvas. Sometimes she even chooses to keep these errors in the final work, finding a form of beauty in them.

Aside from these two things, Enfer and Chief like to spend their free time going on dates. Art museums may be a predictable location for these, but there’s no denying they go to them a lot, and Chief loves the way Enfer’s eyes light up when she looks at the art on display.

Still, Enfer tries to make these dates interesting even for someone not as educated in art as the Chief – so instead of talking about the techniques and such involved in a piece, she instead focuses on what might be more apparent to a layman, such as the colors and symbolism or the history of a particularly storied piece.

They also tend to watch horror movies, albeit at home – Chief usually ends up clinging to Enfer during these, surprisingly easily afraid despite everything she’s seen. Enfer thinks it’s adorable.

Still, Enfer’s tastes are very discerning, and she doesn’t care for cheap, trashy thrillers, so they don’t do this particular form of date often. Usually, recommendations come from Deren, though the particular kind of horror movie Enfer enjoys are few and far between compared to gruesome, bloody, shock-value stuff.

Finally, Enfer also enjoys small, out-of-the-way cafes with artistic vibes. It’s probably the most “normal” thing about their whole relationship, really, and Chief loves the way Enfer’s eyes sparkle when she takes a spoonful of a rich cheesecake or some other dessert. They often share a milkshake or such and end up feeding each other pieces of their dessert.

Finally, it’s incredibly common for Enfer to present Chief with gifts – homemade trinkets or pieces she found in antique or thrift stores. Never things bought expensively firsthand, though – to Enfer, these flashy things are hollow and devoid of meaning. Perhaps in a few decades, they’ll be actually worth their price tags, but for now, Enfer avoids them like the plague.

#ptn #path to nowhere #ptn enfer #path to nowhere enfer #enfer #ptn headcanons #path to nowhere headcanons #headcanons

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rcsentful · 2 years ago

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Sense and other specific headcanons!

What does your muse smell like ? Well... Not good, that's for sure. I wouldn't say he smells terrible most of the time, he rinses off when he can, but it's still not... good. The smell of cigarette smoke often clings to his clothes, sometimes blood and alcohol too depending on what he's been up to. A little bit of sweat, too. He doesn't really have any proper shampoo/soap/etc so smelling like nothing is about as good as it gets in that regard.

What do your muse’s hands feel like ? Calloused, shaky, scuffed up and scarred. They're strong but unstable, and you can tell by touch alone how much these hands have been through. By far the most damaged part of his body.

What does your muse usually eat in a day ? Not much, usually. He skips breakfast, usually tries to scrounge up some change for gas station food for lunch (if he can't get the money, it's time to dine-and-dash or nab someone else's lunch or wallet), and dinner is usually the same... Though if he's lucky, sometimes he'll get dinner from Kurogiri or some snacks from other League members.

Does your muse have a good singing voice ? I don't think even Izuku himself knows. He's too self-conscious to ever try to sing in earnest, even if he's sure he's alone... He might sing along if the music is loud enough and he can't really be heard, but that's about it. His voice would come out too shaky and unsure if he tried to sing for someone else, I think.

Does your muse have any bad habits or nervous ticks ? Oh, he's got plenty of those. He's got a seemingly endless supply of nervous ticks, but I'd say his most common ones are fidgeting with his hands, biting his nails, tapping his fingers, biting the inside of his cheek... He has a hard time sitting still when he's nervous, that's for sure. In terms of bad habits, he's picked up quite a few during his time with the League. He smokes on occasion to calm his nerves (though he ends up doing this more and more frequently with time), and he's developed something of a compulsion to steal small things, even if he doesn't need them. On a more emotional level, he has a bad habit of trying to shoulder everything himself- he hates to ask others for help, and he has a tendency to blame himself for things out of his control, too. But if I got into everything we'd be here all day, so I'll leave it at that for now LOL

What does your muse usually look like/wear ? Worn down clothes, usually with some attempt to conceal his identity without seeming suspicious. I'd say his most common outfit is a dark hoodie, maybe a hat of some kind or he has the hood pulled up, old jeans that don't quite fit him right, and a mask covering his mouth and nose. His hair is a bit longer now, and it's cut in a much choppier fashion, since he does it himself, always with some longer pieces in the back that he missed.

Is your muse affectionate ? How so ? Hard to say, since he doesn't really trust anyone enough to be affectionate with them for the most part. When he does show affection, though, it tends to be through acts of service for the other person. Sometimes it'll be verbal, in that he might start gushing about how cool someone is and whatnot... But that's somewhat less likely. It really depends on the person.

What position does your muse sleep in ? Curled up, always with his back to the wall. He's too anxious to fall asleep if his back isn't against something. He doesn't have a whole lot of space to spread out, anyways.

Could you hear your muse in the hallway from another room ? Sometimes... But he tends to stay pretty quiet for the most part. Maybe if he gets caught up muttering to himself without realizing it.

Tagged by: @zcitgcistcr thank u!! Tagging: anyone who wants to do it!

#|| about.#|| dash games.#this was fun!!

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heyitsjooooanne · 2 months ago

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My Thoughts On Certain Types of Intimacy

Everyday I become more and more glad that I am somewhere on the asexual scale.

And I’m slightly sex averse, at least with a certain type of sexual act.

I've never been intimate with anyone ever, but I strongly relate to this user's germaphobic outlook and most of the OP’s as well.

OS is absolutely disgusting and creepy to me.

It is the one sexual act that no one will ever convince me to do.

I would rather have my naked body touched and massaged by the hands of an attractive guy that I trust than have my genitalia and gross inner body fluids licked by him and vice versa. (Note: I've never tasted myself either. I've never wanted to do that.)

"It's not disgusting! It's nat–"

You know, I can't stand it when people tell others that they're not allowed to find body parts, fluids, or other natural things disgusting or just plain unappealing.

Why am I not allowed to think that?

Why is it weird for me to think that licking someone's genitals or their anus where poop comes out (even if it's been cleaned beforehand) is gross and creepy? And for me, I think it’s also the fact that the lower region is where gas and poop comes out, which also adds to my disgust. This is also why I’ve never found butts attractive. I just see them as plump poop dispensers.

You can love someone and still be disgusted by certain aspects of them. You don’t eat their poop or vomit and say “mmm” do you? I know those are extreme cases, but I was trying to make a point that not everything about your (assumed) sexual partner has to appeal to you.

I don't think I'll tongue kiss anyone either for that reason as well. A small peck on the lips I could probably handle, but not a complete spit swap.

I can't even eat food if someone else has eaten half of it already. Just the thought of someone's mouth previously being anywhere on the food grosses me out.

If someone didn't finish their plate, oh well, it's going in the compost not in my mouth.

And I feel meh about female and male genitalia in general.

Neither is attractive to me, they're just sort of...there. I don't find naked bodies "beautiful," I'm more neutral toward them.

Honestly, I'm much more attracted to faces. I think I lean toward heteroromantic with a slight curiosity in (non oral) sex but only if I trust the guy and there's absolutely no chance of me getting pregnant ever.

But I'm not aching for PIV sex. My sex drive is super low and I'm very lucky that it worked out that way because it wouldn't be very responsible of me to get pregnant constantly without stopping to think about it.

(Obviously, people with high sex drives can be responsible, it's just nice that I can forgo sexual activity for long periods of time with no affect on me whatsoever.)

Kids deserve parents who actually look forward to the pregnancy, birth, and raising of that child.

Zero of those three things appeal to me.

These are some replies on Reddit I've seen toward people who have no desire to go down there:

"You're not a real man if you won't do it."

“Say goodbye to your dating life.”

"May I ask why you won't? I've done it before and– [story to convince them to change their mind insteading of respecting their right to think it's gross]."

"How old are you?"

"Grow up!"

Of course, the first thing most people do when presented with an unpopular sexual boundary is shame the person into complying by insinuating that they're not a "real" adult if they don't do it despite the fact that their reactions are immature, not the other way around.

Good job.

It just really annoys me that people try to gatekeep others' feelings about sexual activity.

It's like no one is allowed to say anything bad about sex, ever. Everyone must be interested in it and never grossed out by any of it.

But guess what?

You can acknowledge that something is normal (like discharge coming out during oral foreplay), but still be grossed out by it and its associated activities. It's fine.

No one bats an eye at someone being disgusted by poop left in the toilet but being grossed out by certain sexual acts? That's not allowed, apparently.

It would be better if an aversion to OS (or any sexual activity) was treated like someone not wanting to try a new food, which bothers me as someone who loves actual food and thinks bodily fluids are disgusting and unappetizing, but in this case, it works.

I would love to live in a world where people spoke about OS the way people talk about food preferences, or in this case, assumed preferences.

"That food looks kinda gross. I think I'll pass."

"I've had it before. I personally love it.”

“It’s almost noon. We should hurry if we don’t wanna miss the show.”

Example of this applying to people who've never tried OS and don't plan on doing so.

"OS seems kinda gross. I've never done it and I don't plan to."

"That's understandable. I found it enjoyable though.”

“Hey, does this time look right? I think my watch is broken.”

No manipulating, and no calling the other person "immature" for not wanting to try a popular sexual act. Just the thoughts of both parties.

Now, I love touching the people I'm close to (while clothed, of course). Hugs, shoulder touches, knee touches, that sort of thing. I have no problem touching someone if I trust them.

But getting up close and personal down there is an intimacy that I am just not comfortable with.

And of course, I don't know if I'll ever trust a guy enough to say yes to PIV sex, especially with my fear of pregnancy, giving birth, the responsibility of raising a child, and the hot climate that continues to get worse. But if I had to choose between OS and PIV sex, I’d choose PIV sex, even with the fear of pregnancy and all the stuff that comes with it. Because at least with the simple act of PIV, nothing's going in anyone’s mouth, especially mine, which, by the way, is very tiny and prone to a quick gag reflex. The dentist is a struggle for me, unfortunately.

Now I'm not exactly looking for a romantic (and possibly sexual) relationship for the reasons stated above, but I would love to have some guy friends.

Sadly, I think I might have some minor PTSD with all men. Between my sperm donor being an awful person and boys in school treating me like trash because I didn't look pretty, it's very difficult for me to get close to men. I've always kept them at arm's length.

Like one time in college, a male classmate tried to speak to me after class, and I think I just nodded silently. Once he realized he wasn't gonna get much out of me, he walked away.

There was also another time when a different male classmate in another class tried to speak to me and I responded in pretty much the same way.

My mind just freezes around men in real life when they try to get to know me.

Although, this was over ten years ago, and I had no issue telling a random guy how to get somewhere in Boston earlier in the year, so maybe I've changed.

But then again…I was just giving directions.

That's different from letting a guy get close to me.

And I'm not sure why any guy would want to get to know me better to be honest.

I mean, I'm not pretty.

On top of that, I have asexual tendencies, am adamantly childfree, struggling in my “career,” a clueless adult, and living with relatives.

I can't offer beauty, sex, money, or connections.

The only thing I have to offer men is me and my personality.

And maybe some nice hugs if I'm comfortable, but that's it.

-_-

My ideal romantic relationship would consist of me being cuddled by a guy that I like while we both have clothes on.

But that might be asking for a miracle.

#my daily rambles

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worriedvision · 2 years ago

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His first love - Tighnari

Fluff to angst, an argument happens. Gender neutral reader. Landed up being mostly angst sorry lol

You had always found Tighnari to be attractive in your eyes. Not only because of his ears, but he had such a kind heart. He never mentioned having a lover, so you decide to ask him out. The worst thing he could say would be no, and Tighnari wouldn't be rude with such a response.

"Im quite flattered." Tighnari responds. "This is the first time someone has approached me for a date."

No way, you think to yourself. Tighnari's definitely boyfriend material, and anyone would be lucky to have him. You see this as the chance to win his heart, finding out what he does and doesn't like to do. You already knew loud areas weren't ideal for dates, so it was a matter of finding out how else to treat him.

You do picnic dates a lot, as Tighnari doesn't have much time for dates. You didn't mind, though, as it also meant you got to work more closely with him. He cooks up mushrooms he picked himself, and you didn't know it was possible to love him more. You find out once that he cannot handle spicy food, and you both laugh about the way he just blanked out, trying to get the spicy taste out of his mouth by eating more of the food. In hind sight, he should have remembered the food itself was the cause of the spice.

You were getting on so well with each other, and you were celebrating your first month of dating. Instead of going outside, however, you both opt to stay inside - well, Tighnari insisted on it.

You should have realised that it would have been a serious conversation he wanted when he requested it, but you can't change the past.

"Why are you dating me?" He asks, looking at you. You furrow your brows, not understanding the meaning of this. "What do you get out of it? Is it a matter of being able to be the person I'm romantic with, or is it maybe the idea of getting to touch my ears and tail without asking first?"

"I don't know what you mean by that." You respond, beginning to reassure him you loved him. "I love you, honey."

Tighnari shakes his head, growing agitated by the response. He was wanting to find out your motive for dating him.

"My name is not 'Honey'. Are you doing this so you don't have to call me Master?" He starts again, going to cross his arms. "Because if you weren't comfortable with calling me master for all the time you've been a forest ranger, you could have told me without dating me." He huffs out, squinting his eyes at you.

"I know you aren't called honey, it's a term of endearment." You correct him. "Are you uncomfortable with me calling you that?"

Tighnari nods, and you tell him you have no problem with going back to his name.

"It's Master Tighnari to you." Tighnari raises his voice. You didn't know why he was getting so upset at you calling him Tighnari. "I know you're doing this for your own benefit, and I'm fed up with you treating me like you have feelings for me. It's cruel, and I thought better of you." He roars, you standing up to yell back at him. He gets up, daring you to say something snarky back at him to prove him right.

"I love you because you're kind hearted and anyone would be lucky to have you!" You yell back, Tighnari not expecting you to still go on with this façade you were interested in him.

"And what makes you think you're lucky enough to have me then?" Tighnari growls out, catching you off guard. Tighnari didnt even register what he said until you respond by asking him if he meant it.

"...Are you breaking up with me?" You hush out, tearing up. On your first month of dating to the day, Tighnari breaks it off? You don't throw in the month fact, however, knowing it wouldn't have been a factor. It was merely a coincidence that it was today of all days he did this.

Tighnari looks at you, and he seems uncertain.

"Get out of my room." He turns his back on you. You reach out to touch his shoulder, and his head darts back quickly, scaring you more. "I said get out! I've had enough of you, don't you get it?"

You're speechless, that look of disgust in his eyes haunts you as you leave. The forest rangers that heard all of the shouting spot you running out crying, but they know better than to check on you right now. You had just been broken up with for a misunderstanding that Tighnari refused to communicate with you about, and everyone knew both of you needed space.

#gender neutral reader #genshin impact imagines #angst #tighnari x gender neutral reader #tighnari x reader #tighnari

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imaginingmanyfandoms · 4 years ago

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Paul's Lullaby | part one

| next>

"Sam?" Paul was, he was in pain. He respect Sam and Emily's privacy, but he needed to talk to Sam now.

Paul wasn't angry, he was in pain. He felt like the world had opened up and swallowed him whole. He ruined his own life, and he didn't know where else to turn.

"Paul?" Sam asked, opening the door. Emily was behind him, face covered in concern.

"I imprinted tonight," Paul said, "but she hates me. She really, really hates me."

"I'm sure it's nothing you can't fix," Sam said, ushering Emily to come closer.

"Sam, I'm not exaggerating, she told me that she hates me. In fact, she should hate me." Paul looked at his feet, but only to try and hide the distress on his face. "If anyone treated her that way I used to, I'd rip them apart."

"Paul," Emily said, reaching out. Paul flinched back.

"I don't deserve your sympathy. I just, I don't know what to do."

"Be patient. Maybe you just have to prove you're a different man now," Emily offered a sad smile, but it was the exact thing Paul didn't want. He shouldn't pitied, he didn't deserve it. He could feel his heart bruise and falter. He broke his own heart and has no clue on how to fix it.

Emily had to go back to sleep, but Sam sat up with Paul for a while longer.

When Paul finally left, it was almost two in the morning. He took off running through the woods, shifting when he knew he was hidden by the tree line. He tried to outrun the heartbreak, but obviously it didn't work.

You were sitting at your desk, staring at your computer. You wanted to work on your writing, but you were so angry at the audacity that Paul had.

You had done everything you could to avoid him the last couple years - and you managed to make it to the first day of summer after graduation. You'd run into him on the beach.

He was just such a jerk, acting like his words had no effect on anyone. Like he could just laugh behind your back and it wouldn't hurt.

But he used to tell people nasty rumours about you. Until nobody really wanted you around them. And then he had to take it that much farther, when you were both fifteen, he took you on a date, acted like he'd changed and grown. And right before he kissed you he said, "I know you fall for it."

That date alone triggered years of trust issues. You'd felt alone ever since.

Back to the beach, he was blocking the trail you needed to head down to get to work on time. You'd hoped that putting your head down and just trying to slide passed would work, but he recognized you. He tried talking to you, but you ignored him.

After taking a couple steps down the path he said, "don't be like that."

This made you look up, astounded that he would even say something like that. Until you finally looked into his eyes, and you recognized how beautiful he was. He also looked stunned, like he'd run into a glass door. He reached out to you, but recoiled, dodging his touch like he was on fire. Somehow, you'd felt even lonelier than ever.

One look at his face and you felt like you were missing something. You tried to keep your cool but you just couldn't. Tears brimmed at your eyes, and his friend Jared Cameron coughed, before walking to the water just to give you two some space.

"Y/N," he said, his voice low and hesitant. Making you panic, thinking he was toying with you again.

"Stay away from me," you warned, taking a defensive step back.

That hit Paul harder in the heart than you would ever know. His soulmate, his imprint, recoiling away from him defensively. He found the person he was supposed to protect, to be needed by, and you couldn't stand the sight of him.

"Just wait a second," he begged, not moving towards you again. He didn't want to scare you.

"I hate you," you whispered, and then louder said it again. And louder again. Until you had screamed it, and the tears had taken over your cheeks. Every time you said it was an arrow to Paul's heart. He nodded, and let you turn around to run off without another word.

You didn't notice him run into the woods, followed by his friend.

You called work saying you had a personal emergency, and then went back home for the night.

Back in the present, you were tearing up at the memory of it. You were sick, you think. Addicted to red flag behaviour because there was no way you were thinking of Paul's hurt face, and feeling bad for causing it. He should feel bad for all the pain he caused.

You looked at the clock, it was almost three in the morning, but you were too caught up in all your feelings to send yourself to bed. You walked to the window, and noticed some kind of animal by the tree line. You lived in the middle of the woods, in an old cabin your grandma used to live in. You moved in when she got sick but never moved out. You liked it. It was cozy. It was private.

Finally relenting, you crawl into bed and did your best to sleep.

The next day, you were walking along the same path on the beach. You offered to cover the shift of the girl who had covered yours at such last minute.

Paul was in the same spot, but alone this time. You tried to walk passed him without acknowledging him, but something stopped you. You didn't want to see him sad again, it hurt you. And it made no sense why, you'd spent two years hating him.

You were only a few steps passed him, so you turned around, gripping the end of your sweater sleeves in each hand.

Paul had his head down, but looked up when he heard you sigh. You were standing in front of him, looking so terrified to speak to him. Paul could've started crying.

"I'm sorry about yelling at you like that yesterday," you said. "I should've just walked away so... sorry."

"Don't be sorry," he said, a flash of excitement crossed his eyes, and you mistook it for something sinister. You tried to remain calm, but you were feeling lightheaded. You just couldn't trust his motives. "I deserved it."

Now that, threw you for a bit of a loop.

Fool me once, you thought.

"I still think we should just keep our distance," you said. "You kind of broke my heart."

"I'm really sorry about that, I was trying to impress the seniors. I was a tool. An idiot."

"Finally we agree on something," you said. He looked at you, and you both let out a small smile. He pushed some sand with his foot. His bashfulness made you want to believe him. "I work just up the hill. You can walk me if you want."

"Can I walk you home when you're done?" he asked, quickly falling in perfect tandem with you.

"No," you said. "But you can walk with me right now."

"I'll take it," he said.

"Why do you want to talk to me anyway? I thought you hated me," you said.

"I could never hate you," he said. "I do hate how I treated you though. Not my finest hour."

"I think your finest hour remains to be seen."

Paul stayed quiet after that. And you were oddly comfortable in the silence. You're not even sure why you invited him to come along, but some sick part of you wanted him to. You wanted to reach out and touch him. His arms just looked so welcoming, and the way he stretched his hand open and shut made you think he wanted the same thing. But you couldn't let him in, not after one day.

"Have a good shift," he said, putting his hands in his pocket.

You smiled at him ,and thanked him for walking you. When you smiled, he smiled. And you caught onto that.

Paul had been standing in the same spot every day to walk you to work. Out of curiosity, on one of your days off, you snuck close to the spot to see if he was there. And he was, leaning against the same railing, in the same spot that he waited for you everyday.

You got comfortable in a cozy little spot in the trees. You wanted to see how long he waited for you. You dozed off before you could get your question answered.

You woke up hours later, when the sun was already setting. You hated walking through the trees in the dark. You started walking on your own, but you had a bad feeling in the pit of your stomach. So you swallowed your pride and called someone you knew would answer.

Paul was sitting at Sam and Emily's table, enjoying the dinner she made while waiting for his turn to go on patrol. It was Jared and Quil out there now. Paul could hear Seth snoring on the couch, making him laugh. Things that used to annoy him, didn't really seem to annoy him anymore. Not since you started letting him walk you to work. He even got Sam to let him change his patrol times to make sure he could be there every day.

His phone rang, and with a mouthful of food checked the number. He almost chocked on his food when he saw your number. He answered, hitting his chest to dislodge the food.

"Y/N, hi," he said, big grin on his face as he stood up and walked outside. Behind his back, Emily and Sam shared a knowing look, and he leaned in to kiss his wife.

Paul noticed Jared sitting nearby with Kim, and didn't think too much of it with you on the line.

"This may sound stupid," you said, "but can you walk me home? I don't like to go in the dark."

"You never let me walk you home," he said.

"If this is a bad time, it's okay," you said, disappointment clear in your voice.

"No, no... where are you? I'll be right there." He stepped back inside the house to grab his shoes, but the sound of you gasping stalled his movements.

"I'm by our meeting spot," you said. His grin returned when you called it that. "It's so dumb, I wanted to see if you went there when I didn't work and fell asleep."

"You were spying on me?" he asked. You were silent on the other end and he laughed. "I'll be right there."

"Who are you?" you asked.

"Huh?"

He heard you scream, as did Sam and Emily who's cheeky glances turned to concern quickly. "Y/N?" he asked, panicked. He was already running outside, Sam on his heals.

"Jared!" Sam shouted, "Why aren't you on patrol?"

"Seth said he'd do it!" Jared yelled back. Paul dropped his phone, and shifted, running top speeds to where you said you were.

Never in his whole life had he been this scared. He could hear Jared apologizing for the mixup in his thoughts, but Paul didn't really care what he had to say. If you were hurt, Paul would die. Paul would simply die.

He needed you to be there safe.

I knew something was wrong, Embry thought. Paul didn't even see him show up. Sorry I didn't act on it.

Shut the shit up and run, dammit!

When he got to the meeting point, you were gone, but your bag was abandoned nearby. Paul sniffed it, getting your current scent memorized. He took off when he found the trail. He also smelled a retched, filthy bloodsucker. It wasn't one of the Cullens. No, this was different. And it started at the water, that's how it got passed their lines. Not that they had enough people around.

Paul howled, the pain in it was evident for anyone around. It was him saying get here, or suffer the consequences.

I don't smell their blood, Jared thought.

You don't get to talk about them. This anger didn't derive from a bad temper, it was fear. It was just fear talking.

Paul kept running, catching a fork in the scent trails. One way was Quil, Leah and the bloodsucker. And the other was you, all alone. Alone but alive. If he couldn't hear Leah or Quil think, that was a good sign. Meant that they'd changed back, and Leah would never do that unless she killed them.

Go to her, we'll find Leah. Sam nodded at Paul.

You were crying as you ran, clumsy feet stumbling over tree roots and your own blurred vision totally betrayed you. Someone had come out of the water, eyes red like rubies. And they were so pretty that you just had to look at her. Until the showed her teeth, forcing you to flee in fear. She was faster than you, but you think she was playing with you.

And then if that wasn't scary enough, when she was jumping down from a tree to kill you, a wolf jumped from the shadows and grabbed the woman. And it was her turn to flee. Another wolf jumped out, and you were sure you were a goner.

But it just chased after the other two. Leaving you alone and confused.

You stumbled back to your feet, running as fast as you could towards your cabin. You would be safe in there. Maybe. It was the best you could do right now.

You cried harder when you thought you heard more rustling in the trees. You were at your door, struggling to get your keys out and unlock the door. When you did, you slammed it shut and locked it behind you. You dove over the sofa and kept your eyes on the door, as if that's all it took to keep you safe.

Your phone was lost somewhere in the woods, but you could still hear them. Out there. Maybe it wasn't real.

There was a feverish knocking on your door, and you couldn't peel yourself away from the couch.

"Y/N! Are you in there," Paul shouted. Oh my God, thank everything, it's Paul.

"Paul, I'm coming," you struggled, fighting through your tears to answer. It killed him, but he was so happy you were okay.

You opened the door, and cried even harder when you saw his face. You couldn't hate him now, now when he came running for you. He ignored his usual boundaries and pulled you in for a hug. He was so warm wrapped around you. Your arms were still tucked into your chest. And his totally encompassed you.

"Just breath, honey," he said, rubbing his hand up and down your back. You tried to take his advice, but you couldn't focus.

"You came for me."

"I always will, you can always call me. I will always come running," he said. And you believed him.

"Will you stay with me tonight?" you asked, pushing yourself away from him enough to look up at his face. His features were uncharacteristically soft as they looked down at you.

"Of course," he said. He kissed your forehead, and you felt the instinct of pushing him away - but you ignored it this time.

"On the couch," you said.

"Sure, honey." He brushed his hands up and down your biceps, helping you take a few deep breaths. "I'm not going anywhere, don't worry."

"I don't understand what happened," you said, pushing yourself away from him. "She came out of the water, and then she..."

"It's okay," he cooed, "you don't have to say anything."

"And this doesn't change anything," you said. "I trust you with some things but not other things."

"Some things?" he asked, more amused than anything.

"I trust you with my life, not my heart."

"We'll work on it," he said, pulling you in close for another hug.

"Yeah," you agreed. "We'll work on it."

[requested] [part 2?]

I kind of love this?

#imagine #imagines #paul lahote #paul lahote imagine #paul lahote imagines #twilight #twilight imagine #twilight imagines #part 2

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bitsandbobsofwriting · 2 years ago

Note

oh my gosh, those mergwen headcanons are so freaking adorable!!!! i need, like, a hundred more, oh my gosh. fantastic!!! this pairing deserves so much love, it's so cute TT

(Referencing These Headcanons)

More you say?

Hmm

I can manage a few more😁

First off, go HERE, to find a headcanon for how they act when Gwen goes into labour with their first kiddy. I fully intend to write this scenario into a full, fluffy fic one day. But yeah. They’re super excitable and everyone is super in awe of how chilled out they are considering Gwen is on her merry way to push a whole mini person out of her coochie (Gwaine was subsequently set on fire for wording it like that). They’re going to be SUCH good parents and everyone knows it.

Both of them, though Gwen starts first, when she’s pregnant, find themselves using their parent voice on their friends, but the thing is, it genuinely tends to work more often than not. The others find this very horrifying and also rather annoying (and hilarious when it’s someone else). When kiddy is older, and speaking and learning, Merlin, exhausted and in an odd headspace, has (on several occasions) said things like “Say hello to the duck, Elyan” (on a patrol) and “No touching, Leon, only looking” (when they went exploring the market together) and “Inside voices, Gwaine” (when he was laughing at a joke in a tavern). He will also, when he’s REALLY exhausted, try to get Arthur into bed at like... the medieval equivalent of 6pm. Because The King is a child, who can’t be up past his bedtime. He also took to cutting Arthur’s food up really small before he served it for a while, until Arthur pointed it out. It was genuinely just muscle memory, and Merlin was pretty embarrassed lol.

Elyan, obviously, gets used to the parent voice the quickest. Leon however... he never stops struggling. He blue-screens for a solid ten seconds every time it happens.

Jumping back again, once they get together, every gift they get someone else is exactly what the receiver needs in the moment, even if they hadn't previously realised it. No one will say it out loud it fear of hurting someone else's feelings, but everyone looks forward to whatever Mergwen gets them for Yule/Birthdays the most.

If they don't want to be found?? They won't be found. Of everyone in the castle, they're the ones that know the most about the secret tunnels and hidden rooms and gaps between walls. They can get anywhere unseen, and it also means they can just hangout uninterrupted any time they want.

They have pets after they move in together. Probably just half feral/outside cats at first, because they both work, but they get big ol' doggos later down the line.

On one memorable occasion, Gwen fully slaps Arthur in the face for making a slightly off colour joke about Merlin. Merlin was already tired and annoyed, so Gwen could see he was slightly more upset about it than normal, and Gwen was also tired and tetchy, due to having been up all night waiting for Merlin to come home from fighting the week's villain. She's utterly mortified after she finishes shouting at him for underappreciating Merlin, and just being plain cruel to him sometimes, but everyone else thinks it’s hilarious, and Arthur gives Merlin the meekest, but most sincere apology that has ever exited his mouth, before scurrying off, embarrassed.

On a similar line, Merlin has intimidated his fair share of arseholes in taverns and bars who wouldn't leave Gwen alone.

Gwen painstakingly and patiently teaches Merlin how to braid hair, and he becomes a master at it. They braid flowers into each others hair, and Merlin grows his out a little longer because of this.

On a slightly darker note, Merlin teaches Gwen how to properly clean and sew wounds, how to deal with blood loss, with concussion, with loss of consciousness. Once he becomes more comfortable with the idea of going to Gwen’s house, instead of Gaius (as a matter of practicality, OR avoiding a lecture), she utilises these skills regularly and impressively.

The Druids all call her My Lady and bow to her and give her flower crowns and cloaks and stuff upon first meeting her. She is baffled, and embarrassed, and hates it, but Merlin refuses to ask them to stop because she is a queen in his eyes. Merlin is, oddly enough, happy to take his place as King/Lord of the Druids, if it means Gwen also gets treated like royalty by the people he adores so much.

They don’t really do pet-names, probably just a casual “love” from Merlin, and “Merls” from Gwen. Maybe the odd “sweetheart” is thrown in the mix here and there.

so SOMFT

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jjkpls · 4 years ago

Text

the wishlist (m) - 6 (final)

“Was it worth it?”

> genre : smut, angst, fluff

> pairing : jeon jungkook x reader (f)

> words : 15k (ugh sorry)

> content/warnings : back at it again w/ the bff2l; one sided love, LOTS of pining; sextoys talk and use; explicit language; explicit description of sex; phonesex; masturbation (f); dirtytalk; alcohol drinking; dubcon exhibitionism; ambiguous infidelity

previous - masterlist

There's a lot of forgetting to get done. It wasn't the plan to get drunk. Maybe you should have known better than to confide the slightest about your heart and its aching to your two girlfriends. Because they don't have much of a solution to present you with. You meant to ask of them to divert your mind, make you laugh, feed you so much you'd fall into a food coma and wouldn't be able to think about anything else but sleep. Eventually, share their own dramas of the moment (they always have some) to get you so invested in their shits you wouldn't be thinking about your own.

You made the mistake of sharing, with probably too much preponderance in your tone, that Jungkook was back with his girlfriend.

Without any context clues -they didn't even know that he was single for approximately four days-, they knew. You're not that complicated to read when it comes to him. Only he seems to not get it.

You still remember the first time they found you out. They had a sense that something was up with this kid, that there couldn't just be a platonic, decade-old friendship based on nothing spicier than the tteokbokki you'd cook for him every now and then.

They only started believing, with utter incredulity, that it was true when they saw you, and him, and his girlfriend. All at the same time, sitting around the same table, there was no doubt left. No reason to believe that there's something unsaid existing. They saw your eyes though. The shine they gain whenever you'd be looking at him, laughing hard with all his teeth out, and the glassy look they took on whenever they'd catch a gesture, a touch that was meant only for Jiyeun.

You've never really gone into details. You've never ranted over the feelings, over him, everything that made him the one person for you. They saw you cry over him though, one drunken night, and it was enough to make them understand how deep you were in.

And perhaps it's your fault, that you wouldn't sort of train them to be the better friends they wish to be to you. They don't know what to say, what to do to console you. You don't even know what you need. Really, all you know, it's that you didn't feel able enough to take care of your tormented heart and mind alone tonight.

You are to blame if they dragged you to this bar, with the music too loud and the people too numerous, bumping their hips to yours attempting to coarse you into dancing. You hate every second of it. Every element that was supposed to distract you, help you forget, feel better, served as annoying distractions. You could picture yourself, dipped in a scorching hot bath, with a bowl of ice cream, weeping your eyes out like in the most cliche, most dramatic breaking down of your life. And it felt right, in your mind anyway, a thousand times better than this.

"Here!" Like the good girl that you are, you accept the shots. Min sets one in each of your hand and stares over the rim of her own glass, expecting. You roll your eyes. Swallow them down in one go and she yells, arms in the air, jumping like the night has just been made.

At least, she's entertained. Dancing her life away, kind of wilding out with too much energy, having to apologize every few seconds for knocking someone with an elbow or slapping another with her ponytail.

"Look, who's here!"

Your heart skips a beat then. Until you follow Mary's finger who's pointing rudely at Park Jimin. Park Jimin as in Jeon Jungkook's Park Jimin, one of his closest friends. He's dressed in all black, tight leather pants clawing to his legs, silk shirt half unbuttoned, perched on heeled Chelsea boots, dark black hair gelled back.

For a second, you worry, stupidly, if your friend is not going to appear, emerging from the thick crowd, carrying a drink, catching your eyes in the room. That's another thing you wouldn't need right now: seeing him. When you're in this weird state of sadness, guiltiness, of hopelessness and confusion. You'd probably be a mean bitch again. He doesn't deserve that.

For some time, you're just watching Jimin, being Jimin, dancing languorously, flashing smiles and winks so naturally; making everyone uncomfortable just because he's so attractive and so talented at catching people's attention and making them want him. It's just Jimin, hoeing out, as always. No Jungkook ever appears next to him. And while you sort of spy on him, there are the two dumb bitches next to you, drooling over him. Commenting about his ass, the way he moves his hips and how tight he seems to be in his pants.

"You should have fallen for him, dude!" It's the pinch to your arm that drags you back to the conversation, lets you know that you're the one Min is addressing. "What?" Your brain is already a bit slow. You haven't eaten much before leaving, drunk not much but too fast and forming intelligible sentences, translating your thoughts in their entirety is not a task easily doable at the moment. You meant to say something about how ridiculous they sound. About how it doesn't make any sense. About Jungkook and the things you feel for him, and the way you fell and how even when you suffer, like in this instance, you wouldn't change your heart because it's him, and only him, has been and might as well always be.

Why would you fall for Park Jimin?

"Jimin, you'd just ask him to fuck you and he'll do it."

"You can see he's a very generous slut."

It makes you wince. They're being fucking weird. Obnoxious, in their way of ogling him and quite disgusting talking about him. There's a smirk on the corner of Jimin's mouth and you wonder if maybe he's noticed them and is enjoying it. They don't mean to be offensive, you suppose, but they're still rude as hell.

"Useless Jungkook could never!"

Either you knock your friend out with your newly filled up glass or you drink it and attempt to swallow along your rage and that strange feeling that the open shirt Jimin is wearing has raised in you.

"Don't you wanna try him?" The question is absurd. You don't try people in general. But you'd never, ever, even think about trying someone as close as he is to Jungkook.

What the actual fuck?

"Fine! Don't give me those eyes!" Your brain and face connection is not that great at the moment that you'd know precisely what Mary is referring to. Soon after frowning and pouting through a sip of her drink, she's leaving, straight for the less crowded part of the bar, where people are dancing, where Jimin is showing off.

She needs less than thirty seconds to have him wrapped around her. Min is howling at your side like it's such an exploit. You don't want to bad mouth on your friend but it is, indeed, Jimin. Manwhore Jimin. And just like that, just because she walked in his vicinity, whispered something quickly to him, maybe just a simple greeting and a reminder of who she is, your friend, in case he couldn't make her out, and he's holding her tight, dancing, more like grinding against her, to her greatest pleasure, face buried in her hair, he seems to be uttering things directly in her ear. You catch her fingers reaching for the wide opening of his shirt, brushing against that tattoo you know to be there under his breast but have never gotten to really decipher, and he's leaving kisses on her shoulders. The next thing you see is his wide, wolf-like grin, now aiming straight at you.

You startle, almost let your glass shatter to the ground from the surprise. That seems to make him laugh. He waves a hand quickly your way and for some reasons, it sends a sudden flaming flush to your cheeks. That guy is such a cunt-tease, he's awful. No wonder people talk so crudely about him.

"I need to get plastered." You mumble, probably not loud enough for Min, whose arm you're dragging along on your way to the bar, to hear.

You may have thought, for a split second, of a fantasy. You may have reshaped the scene taking place in front of you to make it more suitable to you, to make it as self-indulgent as you could. With you replacing Mary, with Jungkook replacing Jimin. She made it seem so easy and for the briefest of moments, it felt like it was realisable. As if the only step missing, the only thing making it not real yet, is the first step, the one Mary took by just walking up to him and asking him to dance, maybe for you to be his for a while.

Then Jimin looked over, with his dark eyes and pretty luscious lips, his very sexy aura and everything that makes him him, and it all felt down to the ground. That's ridiculous.

That would never work.

Maybe hot men with the most endearing hearts that you really desire are not to be seduced by you. It just wouldn't happen. Jungkook would never, as she said. What a shame.

You should have fallen for someone easier like Jimin. He's not one person's man, that's for sure, but at least, he would have been great at pretending to be yours for a moment.

Now you really need to get drunk.

There's pure guilt boiling in the pit of your stomach. Because you've never denied your feelings for Jungkook. He deserves them. He deserves to be loved by everyone. Deeply and passionately. And no matter how true, how pure, how intense those feelings are, he never owes to reciprocate, does he? And here you are, greedy stupid little you, sad and angry because of course, he couldn't love you back like that. Not when there's fucking Jiyeun in the way. Jiyeun or any fucking one else, right?

He's not making it easy for you. Everything he does is making your life harder. As if it wasn't enough on its own already.

Everything he does.

Like buying you these fucking toys you need a science degree to operate.

Sort of.

Maybe you don't need a science degree. Maybe a sober head would be enough to make a toy you've never used before function.

You don't have that at the moment. You're in your favourite pyjamas - an extra-large, greyed by time tee-shirt you stole from Jungkook back in high school - and panties - because it sounded like way too much effort to find shorts or joggings and slip them on. You've managed, somehow, you don't even remember doing it, to make your bed all cosy and welcoming, a perfect backrest made of your fluffiest pillows.

The little toy, this orange thing, sort of shaped like a fat bunny, a big, rounded body with two straight little ears, pointed upwards. It's supposed to be fully charged. It's been disinfected. It's just waiting for you to use.

Except it's the last one Jungkook had bought for you, you didn't get to use it yet, to even turn it on once, nor read its instructions. And here you are, past two am, trying, with your sloppy brain, your blurry eyes, and your impatient cunt, to understand how it works. There's an app linked to it. This much you got from the big, unmissable QR code occupying the first page of the three-page long manual that your eyes won't read.

You picked up your phone, went through the violent burning of your eyes when the screen lit up too close to your face, scanned the code, installed the app and here you are, stuck.

The app won't let you turn the fucking toy on. There's a message that keeps coming up every time you try to link the app to the toy. But the message is written in grey, on white, and you can't see shit and you don't have the patience to decrypt it. Maybe if you close it, and try running it again, and try scanning the code again, and just click on the button that appears under the message, whatever it says, maybe it'll work.

Except it doesn't. After a certain number of times (keeping up with the counting is another thing you can't do well right now) the app keeps on being a bitch. Keeps being difficult and reluctant, and unwilling to let you fucking get off and go to sleep.

You're on the verge of tears.

Why would it be so fucking difficult to make a fucking sex toy work?

Why?

You're so annoyed and impatient and angry now and it's all Jungkook's fault anyway.

You can't try to go to sleep, no matter how tipsy you are, because your brain is filled up with this asshole and won't let you alone. You can't fuck yourself to sleep because the toy you've picked - and for totally irrational reasons you feel like you can not switch to another one - won't let you and it's his. His fucking present. Fucking poisoned gift.

He makes everything worse. Everything difficult. And the more your eyes fill up with frustration tears, the more you're reminded that he's also the answer. He's the worst and the best part of your existence.

Of course, you'd call him.

"I could be sleeping." His voice is light and clear. He wasn't any close to be asleep. He's probably gaming or something. You're so thankful for his voice, the lovely thing, the comforting thing, that you don't even get mad at his aforehand teasing.

"Jungkook-" It's not a call of his name. It's a whine, almost a lament at this point. Tiny high tone, overly dragged vowels. Something like Juunggooo, and he must recognize the tone straight away because he starts laughing in your ear. You bite on your bottom lip hard, almost draw blood, squeeze your fist over your heart, as if it could help it handle it better.

You love him, you love him, you love him.

"Went out with the girls?" You hum as an answer. "Had a little too much fun, sweatheart?"

"No fun at all."

He's laughing again. His sly, mocking chuckle. He's too himself for you to get mad at him. He's too cute when he sounds boyish and happy like that.

"No fun?" He's having fun, it's hearable. It might be because you sound like a dumb, whiny kid. "Why is that?"

"Just cause." He hums like he understands. You hear mockery in it. He sounds a bit distant. As if he's not totally paying attention, as if you're really a four-year-old kid rambling some non-sense after school and their parent just barely pretends to be interested. "Junggooo, I'm trying to have my fun now but your thing is being mean to me."

"What thing?" He's definitely doing something else. He speaks a bit slow, you can picture his gaze far from you. And of course, it'd be, he couldn't even see you even if he tried. It's still vexing. He really doesn't want you to have him all for yourself. Why not fucking Jimin?

"The orange bunny you got me." You explain patiently, pouting a bit. You try your best not to have your vexation be too loud but it's hard. "I tried the app but it won't let me."

"The orange-" You hear it when the gears click. He even gasps a bit. You kind of brought it up out of nowhere when you accommodated him with your constant complains and fights pretty much each time he wanted to talk about this subject. And here you are, opening up a conversation on one of them. You kind of get where the shock is coming from. "Oh, the Gala thing." He even knows its name. "What- How isn't it working?"

"The app says I'm too drunk to use it." You quetch, glaring at the toy laying flat on its back next to you. The asshole.

"The app says what?"

"Jeon Jungkook! Are you even listening to me?" Hysteria was to be expected. Because here you are sad and drunk and horny and highly frustrated and it seems he keeps making you repeat everything. And of course, he would because he can't give you his undivided attention now, can he? Because he's not a generous slut like Park Jimin, he's a useless prick. And if he keeps being one, and he keeps upsetting you, you promise to yourself, as an act of self-love and self-respect, you'll tell him he should be better, he should be more like Park Jimin.

"I am, baby, but I'm confused."

Except he doesn't need any bettering, does he?

It's like he's heard your thoughts. Like somehow, even with the distance separating your two apartments, he's been able to read them directly on the lines of your heart. He knows what you need, the soft and gentle and tender Jungkook who takes care of you, the one that doesn't show often, especially now that you don't really go out and get pissed off drunk together, now that you don't expose the sad episodes you might have to him in fear of being precisely confronted to this perfect torture. Maybe he heard your mind calling Park Jimin's name too many times and he tries to ensure his position. You almost tell him not to bother. That it was just a taunt, it's always him, just him, will ever be.

"What does the message say?"

"That I'm too drunk and stupid to use it."

"I don't think that's what's written, baby."

"But-" You're seriously going to cry in a second. You don't even know from what. The app really succeeded in hurting your feelings by not working for you and he keeps calling you baby, it makes your whole inside boil and scorch like a puddle of lava. "It's invisible letters, how am I supposed to read exactly?"

"If you can't read maybe you should just go to bed for now, hm? Figure it out tomorrow."

"No, now." Full brat mode is on. You know if only he was sitting next to you, you would have raised a hand to pinch him right on the back of his upper arm -where it really stings. It works usually. You don't hurt him, the guy is basically made of muscles, he's the kind of work out junkie that's enjoying the pain. He wouldn't fucking mind your tiny attempt of an attack, no matter the amount of anger and frustration powering it.

By telephone though, it's even harder to make him do something. Possibly undoable. The only weapon that you have is your annoying screeching voice. "You fix it! You bought this shitty thing so you fix it."

"I forgot how rude you get when you're drunk." He's still making fun of you. Not taking you that seriously.

"Jungkook, I'm seriously going to cry." The worst part is that you mean it. If regular menaces won't do, surely affection blackmailing should be more effective.

"Don't cry, it's fine. I'll check. Don't hang up."

As if. You did not plan on hanging up. Ever. You've decided.

It's too nice, cuddled up in your bed, with his voice, smooth and soft, saying words that you really like, like baby, in your ear. You've decided this moment won't ever stop.

"Junggoo-"

"One second, baby." You don't have one fucking second. You don't have any fucking second to spare him. When he's made you horny and lonely and longing for so fucking long. Why would you spare him any more? He takes too long. The time he takes, you prophet, will precisely be the time your vagina will need to dry out entirely.

Even his soft voice calling you baby won't serve to make you wet again.

That's a lie.

It makes you groan. Asshole, asshole, asshole.

"Oh." Your ears perk up. He's back with you, his voice closer than before, it seems, when he starts explaining, a hint of guilt shadowing his tone. "Sorry, it's my fault."

"Of course, it is." You mumble, face deep in your pillows. "Jungkook! Everything's your fault, always." You're probably being unfair. Or maybe not. Is he responsible for making you fall for him or are you to blame for doing so? Turns out, it doesn't really matter, because he doesn't even pay attention to the blatant, telling, honest truth you've just spurred.

"When I received the package I tried it once."

"Tried?" Did he really? The cute little bunny-shaped thing you'd dismissed earlier, cursed at and threw daggers at suddenly looks different to you. You want to pick it up and maybe place a kiss on the top.

"Wait- Not like that! I didn't actually try it! I don't have a fucking clit, what-"

"You just said that!"

"I meant, I tried turning it on and linking it with the app, just to see how it worked. Like the options on the app."

"Oh." Makes more sense.

"Anyway, it's not working for you because I used my email with it and you can only have one." So many words. God. "I have to invite you. Or delete my account and then you make one with your QR code."

You turn into the whiniest, most irritating little thing then. Just a jumble of dramatic cries, something almost sorrowful because your issue appears impossible to deal with. It's not that complicated. He explained it. Too many words, too much thinking, too much paying attention, too much to do and too much delay. How does he expect you to do it when you can't even read the invisible font of the app?

"Fucking invite me then."

"Watch your mouth." It makes you roll your eyes. It's not the first time he says that. He says with this menacing growl at the end. Like he means it. Like he's really threatening you. But no matter how far you go, no matter how many times you curse at him, he never acts on it. You want to tell him, you almost do, to stop promising you things he won't ever give you. There's a ping coming from your phone. With a bit of a struggle, you manage to put the speakers on, so that he doesn't leave too far whilst you take a look at the message. A link to click on. Not that hard, it's bright blue, unmissable. It leads you back to the bitchy app.

Now it's all nice to you. It lets you enter, presents even a picture of your own toy, congratulates you for being linked to it and to Jungkook's account. Of course, it would. Now that it knows you're friends, now that he's in the thing, this bitch of an app is being nice.

There are a lot of symbols, every-fucking-where. Some wavier than others. One is shaped like a music note. Some are just little constellations of dots. You click somewhere, just to try and see if anything happens and it does.

Suddenly, the bunny is brought to life and starts purring furiously on the bed. It startles you, looks a bit intimidating. It sounds angry and complicated with all of these fucking options. At least the other toys he's gotten for you had at most two buttons, one to turn it on and off, and the other one to regulate the three levels of intensity.

You might actually need a science degree to use that. Simply to adjust it so it's not attacking you when you turn it on.

You press another button. The setting changes instantly. It starts vibrating in a jerkier way instead of one straight line of frequency.

Tentatively, you grab it, sort of unimpressed and dubious as to the way this would feel good on you. You've already grown grudges against it. It needs to impress you, prove to you that it's worthy of the effort and of you even bringing it to your precious temple.

It sucks at convincing you. You've brought it to your panties and tee covered crotch, pressed it there, waiting, and it doesn't do much. It vibrates. Weirdly. It stops and goes again, in a pattern you don't understand and it doesn't do much for you. Doesn't turn you on, doesn't make you wet. Doesn't stimulate in any positive way.

You reach for your phone with one hand, trying to keep the other one holding it against you, and it's here that the whole thing fucks up for the last time you can tolerate.

How are you supposed to fucking do that?

Don't they understand that? The people that make those fucking things? That they're going to be used mostly by single people, with a single pair of hands? How are you supposed to manage holding it up where you need it, whilst simultaneously, hold your phone up (everyone fucking knows holding a phone up with one hand, and tap on the fucking screen, especially laid in bed, is impossible and the worst fucking idea one could have - except if getting a black eye is the project) and control the intricate dashboard.

"For fuck's sake!"

"What is it?" Jungkook is sighing heavily in your room. And for a second, you're startled almost off of your own bed. You managed to forget he was even still here, on the other line, apparently waiting patiently for- for what exactly? Maybe for you to wish him goodnight and hang up. You literally forgot he was here. You were about to get yourself off -if only this shitty thing wasn't so shitty- whilst he was still here on the phone.

Why doesn't it mortify you?

"How am I supposed to use my phone and the thing at the same time? Why- How? Jungkook!"

"Stop saying my name like that!" You don't ask because you know exactly how you're saying it. There's no proper balance in your tone tonight. Either you're whining his name like a desperate brat, either you're pestering it like a disappointed, aggravated mom.

"I'm going to cry." You say again, lying this time. You've already started. It's not a lot yet. Just a puddle of tears, in each of your eyes that are just about to spill, and the prickling sensation at the tip of your nose, the latter has already starting sniffling uncontrollably.

"Why?" He sighs again. This time, it's gentler. He might have just found the key to the secret safe holding the very last drops of indulgence he hides deep inside his kind heart. "Baby, the app is really for couples."

"But I'm not a couple, I just wanna cum."

"Y/N-" He chokes on your name. "There are buttons on the toy for you to use. You don't have to use your phone, okay?"

"You're lying."

"Why would I be lying? Look! There are fucking buttons."

There are, indeed. But they suck, you think. You do try them. Pressing on them while you stretch your arms out to keep the bunny's ears close to your covered clit. It's so much work. You don't get it. The buttons are hard to press on, when you manage to activate the little monster, it just jabs against your centre, falls over from your hand. You hate the jerking motion, try to change it because clearly, it won't do. It doesn't work. The buttons suck, the toy sucks and Jungkook is cursing at you instead of helping.

"What do you want me to do? Baby, I'm- Just go to bed."

You hate that he's telling you to go to bed, again. He's probably right. You're being a pain, an embarrassing one at that. You can't just go yet, though. First of all, the very reason you called in the first place, for him to make it so you can fuck yourself to sleep, has not been effectively resolved. And on top of that, the very resolution you took earlier, the one of never hanging up, of never drawing a period to this moment, won't let you.

"This one sucks ass."

"It doesn't." He sounds calm, a bit quiet, tone low and collected. You wonder if he'd dropped whatever he was doing, whatever distraction and laid in bed like you, to listen and talk to you only. That would be nice. You're annoying as hell, poor him, he deserves better, but you're thankful for him.

"It's stabbing, how can it be nice?"

"You just- I don't even know why I'm arguing with you. You're drunk."

"Am not, you are."

He scoffs, doesn't bother insisting. He exhales deeply. You sigh as deep. Your lids are heavy. Your brain is fuming too. Your head feels fuzzy. You could sleep right now. You might make a terrible night. You might have nightmares. You might wake up in a few hours, hot and very bothered, frustrated and on edge. There's a little ping messing with an edge of your eyebrow. You know it'll grow into a headache soon.

"Junggoo..." You whimper as if he could help you. As if he's the key to this headache, to lock it away, along with the rest of your tormented feelings.

"You're tired, baby." He comments. You would bite if you were in front of him. He really wants to send you to bed. "Just go to sleep."

You should. Given that you need a good five minutes to find the energy to open your mouth and mumble, "Don't wanna."

"Then what is it that you want?"

"Told you."

"Hm?" You're not saying it again. You could fall asleep right now. With his slow breathing in your ear. It sounds so lovely. Feels like you've never been this nicely enveloped. It's like those ASMR or lo-fi music compilation videos on YouTube. The ones with the short scene, often animated, playing on the screen. It's instant peace, instant chill, purely quiet, greatly pleasant. You love these sceneries. You even have a few printed on your wall. They are great to look at and try to project in, because it seems you could never create this feeling, this atmosphere in real life.

But you've reached it. Now. The perfect peaceful land. With the perfect soundtrack coming through your phone. You're comfy and warm, it's almost as if he was actually there with you, wrapped behind you, stroking your hair. God, you wish he was there stroking your hair and kissing the top of your head. But he's not here. And why? He should be here. If he can be on the phone with you, when he used to come over to make sure the blanket is nicely tucked under your chin, why can't he be here? Life's so unfair.

"What was that?" He's probably referring to the big loud thump, throwing his toy to the ground made. It's not its fault. Even if it hurt your feelings, it's not responsible for him not being yours. Or maybe it is. He wouldn't give you toys if he were yours. He wouldn't need them. That's probably why Jiyeun doesn't like them. Because she wants him to be all that's pleasuring her. The lucky lucky bitch.

"Your stupid toy."

"Don't- do you know how much it cost?"

"Never told you to buy it."

"Sure, but don't break it! I promise it's good. You can't-"

"It stabbed me!" You accuse, petty.

"You- are insufferable." He sounds about done. Except he's not because he seems to want to prove you wrong, still. The toy on the ground starts shaking back to life. Curiously, you roll on your belly, throw a glance to the ground. It's stirring, moving around slowly, getting closer to you as if it's trying to hop back up on the bed. "Pick it up."

You do as you're told. It's vrooming lightly, quieter than you expected. You can hardly feel it in your palm. The movement more noticeable from the timid sound than by the intensity.

"Oh. It's nice now." Maybe it does have a conscience. It's being all sweet and mellow because the remote is in Jeon Jungkook, international heartthrob's hands.

"See?"

It's really gentle. It turns cute. With its bright orangy-red shade, its two cute ears and its belly, a bit domed to allow a better grip.

Your hand has a mind of its own. If he were to ask about it, to demand an explanation, even when you'll come later, and wonder mad and revolted and half dying of embarrassment, what the fuck came over you, you'd blame it all on your hand. The appendix and its own personal free will are bringing the thing back to your crotch. "You can switch the intensity, it was just at the highest before." You're hardly aware of Jungkook still talking in your ear. The phone on speaker is still laying on the pillow next to you and he's selling it to you, while demonstrating, as if he's signed a sponsorship with the brand. It could be funny but you don't really care, more curious about The Gala and finally getting to know it.

Soon enough you realize that two layers of clothing, no matter how thin, are too much. You lift the hem of his tee, exposing your panties and the lines of your mound, showing through the tissue. It makes sense then, the shape of the thing. It has those two straight ears, or poles, with enough space in between, to tuck your clit comfortably. If you'd like. And you're not sure it won the privilege just yet.

For now, it'll have it but still over your panties. They're so flimsy that really the fitting isn't too far from its initial conceptualized use. "And the modes- see," It's jerky again. It goes for a couple of beats very quick short pulses and then there's a long, monotone one until the pulses come back again. You don't like that one. It's gentler than the one from earlier, that tried to attack your clit with an angry strong beating though. "You can just switch. If you don't like the fast pulses, you don't have to use it. You just try it out." You guess he's right. You just have to try it, tame it. Learn its functions and let it learn you. Probably. Sounds like a lot of work though. The other ones were really straight forward. Good, excellent for some - special shout out to the clit hoover, which is not actually vacuuming but blowing air, which made you cum so fast and so hard in the very first two minutes of trying it. You'd turn it on and it'd do the job. Next to your ear, rambling like a radio you'd forget to turn off in another room, Jungkook is explaining how there are dozens of preset patterns and an infinite amount of slots for personal creations.

It's okay. Sounds like it would do the job. You can already tell how you'll use it if you ever decide to give it a second chance after tonight. Pressed tight against your button, turned a bit higher, in a very basic, very classic constant monotone vibration.

He's switched it to another stabbing like pulsing, very fast and aggressive, you can tell they meant to imitate the pattern of a good pounding but it does little to nothing to your excitation. Really all it does is make your eyebrows frown and your premise of a headache is back. "Hate that one."

"Change it." Kindly, he complies. Another one. You can't really identify it. Maybe a slower thrusting. It's better than the last one simply because it doesn't nearly hurt. Doesn't do much good either. But maybe it's not doing much over your panties though therefore curiously, with eyebrows furrowed now in concentration, you lift the waistband up with a finger and slip the bunny under it. Tentatively, you try to set it nicely where it should be resting, your clit out in the open, hugged tightly by the two ears replacing your lips. It's kinda nice. Barely though.

"So is-"

"Wait, turn it up a bit. I can't even tell what that's doing." You mumble maybe a tiny bit petty, a bit bad faith remaining from the bad impression the toy gave you. It's not that you want to hate because you've decided you would. It's more intricate than that. You're too tipsy to even try and explain that though.

"That one is-" After a while, doesn't do much. The higher setting, you suspect he hasn't gotten up a lot, hardly helps. It does vibrate but it doesn't seem to reach enough, your clit hardly feels anything. Your electrical toothbrush from your horny teenage years used to do a better job at being a vibrator -and this even over your jeans.

You're this close to throwing it to the ground again and give up on it, once and for all. Jungkook would need to understand. It's not because he spent a lot on it, it's not because that strange lady he keeps mentioning insisted on its good, that you are forced to appreciate it. You don't see the fucking point of this one. It does look cute and expensive but is pretty much useless. No one needs a pretty, expensive but awful friend.

"It sucks."

For a few seconds, he doesn't say anything. You consider that he might have even hung up. But then, in the quiet, his voice too serious for him not to have taken what you said personally breaks out. "You're mean."

"I think- I think it's a good opportunity to decide- uh..." The toy is still active in your panties, under your palm. The realization slowed your process of thought for a second but the bigger conclusion that it brings is that really, it sucks. So bad you even forgot it was still on -and it's not you being too drunk to have a fully, 360 awareness of your body, honestly. "To decide collectively that you need, you have to stop buying me those."

"They're not all bad! You loved the other ones!" He accuses, apparently not up for the collective decision. You are probably made of confusion at this point. How many more does he feel the need to get you? Is it that great, that gigantic, that tragic of a frustration that he developed by his girlfriend not liking these that he feels the need to bury you alive with thousands of those? The secretive shelf at the bottom of your dresser already holds little to no place left for another pretty box. And as to the satin bag you use to store the toys themselves, in your bedside table's drawer, you can't even close it anymore.

"When have I ever said that? We talked about one, I said it's fine."

"That's not what you said." Honestly, right now, you have no idea what you said. You know that you didn't find great easiness in talking about them. You've never mentioned any and he never did either, apart from the very first one. You did say something positive about it, you think you can recall. "I don't listen to you anyway because I know how bad of a liar you are."

"Well great. Blatantly admitting you don't care about my feelings-"

He bursts out in laughter. You might be a little bit of a drama queen right now. The hand that is not holding the bunny against your mound -for reasons you don't care to address to yourself, probably for you being so lazy that it feels more like an effort to change your hand's doing, take out and put away the toy, rather than just leave it there quiet and not really bothering- did reach for your chest, in a very theatrical embodiment of an offence.

"That's not what I said, you brat."

"That's what I heard though."

"I said I don't trust your mouth when the rest of you is saying something else entirely." You roll your eyes. Hopefully loud enough for him to hear it on his side of the call. "It's my new passion." He starts, giggling like an idiot. "I won't stop for as long as orgasms will look this good on you."

Oh. My God.

Is he allowed to say that? Is he allowed to say shit like that with the most calm you've ever heard anyone speak with? Like it's normal. Like it's a simple fact. Like the word orgasm in itself isn't so foreign in his mouth. Somehow he makes it sound incredible, so delicious you feel the first proper impulse to your pussy.

"You've never seen it." You counter, uneasy, feeling somehow unbalanced and unprepared against what is probably a simple conversation to him but a real personal attack with too great of weapons to you.

"I've seen the aftermath. I told you already." You wish he'd be more explicit. His words are confusing. They're not telling enough. They can be so much, they might not mean anything. He speaks softly, tranquilly, almost whispers in your ear. It's simply late. It's more appropriate, it feels, to speak quietly like that. It's one of those midnight talks.

He wouldn't know whenever he is seducing you. He's doing it constantly without meaning to. It's just him being himself and you being too weak for him. How could you make out his intentions now?

"You really-" The toy twitches in your hand. He clicked on the switch button of his app again. You're not sure why. From the way he speaks, he might not even have realised. He might be playing with the thing, mindlessly, the way he does when he picks at the skin of his fingers when he talks. He must be because he's still in his own head, talking while the thing, the barely interesting thing, turns into something else. Entirely. It's a wave-like pattern. Growing from pure stillness to a slow, growing vibration that ends in an intense climax. You gasp. He doesn't seem to hear. "You really don't want me to get you any more?"

The second wave hits. "Oh- God."

"I mean- I thought, we were- that it was okay." The sensation is incredible. For some reasons, a technology you don't fucking understand, you wouldn't fucking understand now, every single build hits insanely hard. Each time as intense if not better. You're so close to moaning. If you haven't really taken a second to realize what you were doing, actually using the toy with him on the phone, without him even knowing, somehow you know you need to remain quiet. You can't moan out loud. You sigh loud though. You have to. "I swear with you it's so hard to tell-" It's so hard to keep quiet and the realization brings a grin to your face. You're not that vocal usually. Sometimes you are, with some of the surprisingly good sessions Jungkook's presents have been offering you. But it was conscious. It was you enjoying, wanting to build a bigger pleasure, make it more sensational, it turned you on a bit, you had to admit, to hear yourself. The pleasure the toy is bringing you right now is indescribable. The more you leave it pressed to your clit, the more you feel the heat grow. You know it's already too much. You hiss and sigh, and have to bite back moans each time the high top of the wave comes. It's too much and feels like not enough.

The greedy you would want the final hit of the wave to last longer than those very few seconds. Long enough to bring you there, make you fall over the top of the hill. But it's a teasing setting. Probably programmed specifically for overstimulation. You squirm and bite back whines each time it comes, flinch and have to fight to not tear the ears away because you know the sensation is a lot to handle, too much stimulation, yet you're already addicted, unable to act on the very fair, logical, and sensible decision you should make. You shouldn't even be pleasuring yourself with him on the fucking phone.

"Are you okay?"

Jungkook asks, after having stopped talking altogether for a minute too long but it's not like you were really in any state of mind to acknowledge it.

You don't think he's noticed yet. From the noise, hopefully little, that you were making, at most, he should be able to hear some sort of short breathing, for all you know, he might think nausea is visiting from all the alcohol you've consumed and you're heaving, on the verge of throwing up.

"You're not feeling well, Y/N?" It's his concerned tone. The serious one. The one he uses whenever there's no skip button to the conversation. Usually, it leads to him coming over to take care of you like he's your mother. Which sounds great in theory but doesn't always apply wonderfully in practice.

Sometimes you don't want him to see you looking green and gross from fever sweat; sometimes you just want to be alone and recover on your own without having him watching so dramatically concerned over your shoulder. And now, you wouldn't want him to burst in with your hand still in your panties, a sweaty, bothered, horny mess for him to be left shocked and possibly disgusted by. Maybe disgusted is a big word. Or maybe it's not. How inappropriate is it to masturbate with an unknowing friend on the other end of your phone? Is it even legal?

"I'm fi-fine, Jungkook." You lie through gritted teeth. You can't possibly be fine. You've put yourself in the worst situation and you still don't do shit to get out of it. Something is very much wrong with you.

The logical thing to do, the sensible one, would be to either end the conversation, hang up and then eventually finish yourself; or else, take the thing out of your panties, possibly throw it the further away from you and keep the conversation on if that's what you wish to do.

It would certainly not be to ask for him to turn up the setting because you now really much want to come.

"You don't sound fine."

"But I am."

"How much did you drink?"

"Not that much, Guk." He makes you frown, almost rips a curse out of you. Because all this serious talk is diverting you from your pleasure. It's not like you're going to have fucking alcohol poisoning. You didn't drink that much, honestly. The drinks were not even that heavy, except for the two disgusting shots your friend forced in your hands. "Seriously, I'm good." The building up pleasure has brought a new awareness to your brain, and honestly, you feel way more alert than before. You're far from drunk, no matter how much your behaviour seems to contradict that. You're good. You'd be perfect if he'd shut up or if he'd start half seducing you as he does. Maybe he could talk about your nipples again and what you should do with them.

He did say that. Now that you come to think of it. On top of buying you those toys, he did guide you as to what to do with some of them, how you could use them. They were not his direct advice, they were the lady's but still, he felt the importance to share them with you.

"If you are then just answer the question, how much?"

"Okay in a sec but can you turn up the toy's intensity, please?"

"Turn what?" You almost bark then. The whistling f of a very practical, very useful word you shouldn't yell at him rings to your own ear but you're strong enough to hold back. "Ah the thing, yeah, sure." What a sweetheart. A bit slow, but lovely. Your whole body contracts violently when the newly powered wave hits, the beginning of a moan escaping because it's so good, it's almost painful. "I had like two shots of-" Ah. "Something. I don't know what it was, just-" Fuck. "Gross as- uh." Holy shit, that's good.

You can't believe you've judged this intricate, revolutionary technology so bad before. "And then, like, a martini or two, barely and- and-" You're so fucking close. Each time feels like the final ascension except you get back to square one whenever the vibration drops back to stillness too quick to your liking. It's pure torture. And having to make a fucking list of your consumption that's so far back in your brain right now, especially when you know that it's pointless, is not helping.

"Wait-"

"Jungkook-" You don't know if you're begging him to stop thinking now, not get to the conclusion his logical train of thoughts is trying to lead him to, or if you're begging him to help you cum, maybe be nice to the bunny which only seems to be kind to him and make him make you cum.

"Why did you ask me to turn the thing up?" He already knows the answer. You can hear in his tone that he already knows. And frankly, he's a dumb ass for not realizing sooner. "No, you're joking. You wouldn't- not when I'm talking to you."

"When if not then?" Maybe frustration has brought you some bravery, or maybe pleasure has burned the very last remaining functioning cells of your brain.

"Uh?"

It's probably gone too far now. It still feels like he owns the key to the phenomenal orgasm you can smell coming. If you were to hang up now, you wouldn't even know how to make this shitty thing work. And it's not enough. Still.

Shit.

You're definitely wailing in a second now. The next sound you mean to conceal is a sob. Why can't you reach it? And how can you be so hyper-focused on it, it doesn't seem to matter what's going on with Jungkook.

You've gone crazy. Or perhaps you're drunker than you thought yourself to be. The last wave hits differently. It's straight-up overstimulation when you haven't even come once yet. Doesn't feel very nice but at least, it's the push you need to finally lift it up a bit, make a pause and eventually show some consideration to Jungkook.

"So you've been arguing with me, saying it sucks when really you were-"

"It did suck before you changed the setting." You assert again. Because nagging is the thing you're most talented at doing, apparently.

Silence ensues. In the defeating quiet you realize even the discreet humming of the toy has stopped. He's turned it off.

Something akin to shame is finally showing the tip of its nose. It's been fucking late to the party, you note with a growing, you know to become, devastating mortification. Exhaustion and tipsiness are keeping your conscience quite numb but you don't give a chance to sober-you who'll wake up tomorrow with this awful incident engraved in her memory.

Why can't he say something? Essentially, it's his fault. It's always his fault. He makes you feel things you shouldn't and make you do things you wouldn't. You can't think properly. You're being fucking chaotic and he's responsible for that. Even you know it's reaching. You're not that petty and mean.

In a whisper, dipped in sincerity and shame, you apologize. "Sorry, Jungkook."

"For what?" Because he can't let you off the hook that easily, can he?

"Are you seriously going to make me say it? You know why!" Here comes angry-you again. Getting mad and rude for no rational reasons, and here, awfully unfairly. He really deserves better.

"No, I-" You may have broken him. Jungkook has never been the most eloquent person. Between lisping and stuttering and stopping mid-sentence to let you complete for him his missing words, he's never been the best at talking. But even for him, even knowing his history, you find him pretty affected. Possibly all messed up. There's not even the hint of sensible thought. A void filled with "uh" and "tsk" and lips smacking and hums, it's like he's ceased to function. Maybe if you just hang up and from then on, just pretend it's never happened, both of you can get away with the situation. It's an option.

"Jungkook, seriously, I'm sorry. Let's say it was a fucking, uh, drunk lapse of judgment on my part and- yeah, never mention it again."

"Yeah, okay." He whispers after a while. He sounds really shaken up. "But it's fine, I'm not mad, I'm just-"

"Bamboozled?" You suggest, heart constricted, not ready to joke yet but so desperate to obtain at least a smile from him to prove yourself that it's okay and you didn't fuck it up too bad.

"Bamboozled, indeed." He chuckles, a bit breathless on the phone. You can't help the big sigh that escapes you when relief rushes through you. He doesn't sound too upset with you. "I'm really not mad, I just wouldn't have- I wouldn't have expected this, from you."

Of course not. It makes you cringe. You bury your face in your pillow and release the most intense quiet cry you could manage.

"Sorry." You say again, quiet. Your eyes are prickly. This night is such a mess. You can't make out how you're feeling. It's like your reactions and your reflections all come to their own rhythm, inappropriately, unmatching each other's and certainly unmatching the current situation.

"Stop. And don't-" If you're decomposing yourself progressively, at least, he seems to be getting back to his senses. Voice clearer and more present. "You sound so upset now. Are you embarrassed?" It's a smile you hear in his words. You don't have the right to be mad at him but honestly, you would have hit him in the ribs if he were in front of you.

"Is it even necessary to ask?" You grumble face half suffocating still in the pillow. Oh, here's another solution. Suffocating yourself to death.

"I think so. I mean I bought them and I turned it on for you, I should have- I couldn't have known but I should have. It's fine honestly."

"It's not."

Stop pretending, you fucking liar. Even if he acts quite calm, nonchalant, you can hear a very slight difference to his usual tone. He's not sincerely, honestly, a hundred per cent okay and chill with the situation. He's faking casualness but he's not entirely it.

"It is."

"It's not. I'm just gonna die, Jeon." That makes him laugh even though you're only half-joking. You don't know if it's possible to die from embarrassment. One thing is for sure, if it's possible, you won't survive the night.

"No, you're not, baby. It's fine." Jeon Jungkook is the sweetest, needless to say. You should hang up. Apologize again, hang up and pray for him to forgive you and eventually forget all about it. But you remain on the phone because you're so desperate for his approbation and his love and any sign of reassurance from him. And he's giving it to you. When he could probably have a little rest of his own. If it's awkward for you, you can't even imagine for him. But he accepts to stay and reassures you. What a cutie. "Did you cum?"

You choke on your own saliva. More than taken aback, actually shocked. How dares he?

Or can you say that? Can you act offended when you've just done what you did? In any case, how are you even supposed to answer that question?

"You- It's just that I turned it off and we- I was just wondering if you did..." That sounds about right. That sounds like Jungkook being curious and wording this curiosity without necessarily anticipating how you'd take it. It must be part of his plan, his 'let's be the closest, let's share everything' plan he mentioned a few months back. You're not ready, won't ever be if that's what it'll look like.

You are the problem. Apparently, you can get yourself off when the poor boy is on the phone with you unbeknownst, but you still have a hard time talking about sex with him. "...because it sounds awful if you did not."

And it is. It is horrible. You'd imagine that after getting caught, feeling so embarrassed and guilty, your cunt wouldn't still be quivering and begging for you to pay attention to it again. But you've taken it so far. Made it discover new incredible sensations of course it'd still be obsessed with it and with the climax the toy teased it with.

You groan in your pillow again. Not sure how he'll interpret it. Not sure how you want him to interpret it. Should you just talk to him? He could hang up too. If really he didn't want to partake in this mess he could hang up, he could talk about anything else.

"Listen, you don't ever have to be embarrassed with me, you know that." That's reaching. You want to tell him that he can't ever say that to someone, he can't ever become anyone's mat to wipe their dirty shoes on. He should be the one feeling awkward, being mad at you, except he reassures you again. "And when you just proceed on getting yourself off while I was talking- worrying about your fucking health..." He snorts before he can finish. "How dare you act coy with me!" He's just laughing too hard now, contributing wholeheartedly to the burning flush on your cheeks. Well, you deserved it.

"Is that it? You're going to bring this up each time you'd want something from me?" You sound so upset, even to your own ears. It results in his laughter dying down pretty quickly.

"I think so, yeah." You don't add anything. You don't want to be rude. Still hope for any kind of magic word you don't even know that he could mutter to you and that'll help cure your heart and soul. Therefore you can't tell him goodbye and hang up. You wait for him to do it. Except he doesn't. It's late as fuck too. He might be working later today. Why isn't he hanging up? "If I'm talking about it, you should know that it's fine. I don't mind." An asshole and a cutie. "You okay, babe?"

The simple hum you tried to aim for turns into half of a whimper half of a moan. You're not okay. Any part of your being won't let you lie and pretend.

"Do you want me to turn it on?" For fuck's sake. "I'll hang up and leave it on so you just- it'll turn itself off when there's no battery left anyway."

"Jungkook." Your stern voice is a threat. It doesn't have to be further explained, he gets it.

"What?" He sounds aggravated. You can imagine him raising his hands to the skies, upset and losing patience as he's only trying to make it better for you and oh women are so complicated. Something like that. "Oh my God. Just get yourself off and feel better after."

"You don't tell me what to do." Childish but there's not much left of your brain. "Well, you don't even fucking know what to do with yourself right now. Am I right or am I right?" He whisper-yells back at you. Very mean.

"Asshole." It's a tiny whisper under your breath but you're certain he hears it even if he completely ignores it.

"Listen, since you can't even- how old are you, seriously?"

"Fuck you." Barely louder. You definitely know he's heard this time, but still, he decides to dismiss it. He's always been more productive than you.

"I'll turn it on and hang up. You take care of yourself like a big girl, alright?" He probably believes that you can't get yourself to ask for what you want aka a wild night with the fucking toy you can't get to work yourself. But it's not actually the case. Honestly. Now all you can think about -besides the whole very humiliating moment when he caught you in the act- is the way it kept torturing you, bringing you very high but never enough. It started to hurt at the end, brought impatient frustrated tears to your eyes. You don't even think you could finish with it.

Maybe it's inappropriate to seriously consider it. Maybe you won't ever learn your lesson.

Before you even get to word your refusal, the thing is on. It's on the same devilish setting as earlier. The merciless wave. Fuck.

"Don't! It's not- it won't even make me cum, stop it!"

"What? Why not?"

"I don't know the setting is weird." You start explaining through the thicker pout to have ever existed. You're really considering having him solve your climax. You've gone crazy.

"What's wrong with it? Tell me, I'll put on one you like."

Fuck.

You are doomed.

What are you supposed to do with a guy like this?

"I don't think there is." You can hear the frustration from his end before he even says a word. It's written in the stars that in a second he's going to bring it all up, the part when you got off and pester that you can't still be complaining about the fucking toy. "No, I mean it's- the one I liked, the last one you clicked on, it's like-" Fuck, you're really doing this. "A wave. You know? It grows crescendo but it always stops right before- right when it's really good. And I just couldn't- because the good part doesn't last long enough and, yeah."

"Wait, let me look." He sounds a bit further away from you then. He's logged back into the app, you can tell. And with his tiny "hm" and his "so...", he sounds the way he does when your computer is being difficult and he's trying to fix it because you won't pay a professional to do it when you have this nerd populating your entourage. "Ah. You want the high moment to last longer?" "Yes." You can picture him nod to himself, frowning his eyebrows and sucking his lips in the way he does when he's super focused.

"Like that?" You wouldn't know because the toy is lost somewhere, you can hear it but not see it. You ask him to wait for a second and it stops altogether. Doesn't make it easier to find it but it wasn't lost that far. Once you have it in your hand, you gulp, ashamed, not sure if you could ever play with this thing again. But the other guy on the phone doesn't seem to have his motivation falters. You're not the one telling him to try again, on his own, he executes.

It's hard to tell in your hand, the vibrating ears hugged tightly in your palm, if it's going to be satisfactory enough. If it's precisely the thing that was missing from earlier. It follows the pattern you asked him though. Still to a growing intense high that lasts for approximately a good ten seconds rather than the lame 2 seconds from earlier.

"I think so..."

"Okay then. You... mute yourself and then- Uh, no. I should mute myself so- or we both mute ourselves?" He's not really with you anymore. Lost in his own head amongst those seemingly very difficult questions. You don't even get where he's trying to get at. Wasn't he supposed to hang up?

"Why would you stay?"

"It's just- it's me doing it. There's no setting for what you want, it's me doing it. I have to draw the frequency on my phone."

"There's an option for that?"

"Yes. There's even one to have it follow audio!" He points out with way too much enthusiasm. He might have really found a new passion.

"Sounds like high tech."

"Yep."

"Sounds expensive as hell."

He laughs in the mic, snorts even before he brushes it off. Quite frankly, no matter what you'd have to say to him, he'd always do as he wishes. If spending ridiculous amounts of money on ridiculous things for ridiculous you is what he wants to do, he won't let anyone, not even you, tell him not to.

You don't know what to say, he's not saying anything either. He suggested something quite insane: he'd stay. While his finger would be drawing shapes on his screen to actively give you your pleasure, he'd stay on the phone with you. Maybe it's a bit hypocritical or ironical, how it sounds crazy to you now while ten minutes ago, you had no problem doing it without him knowing. That's probably the main issue here, him knowing. That changes everything.

"But if you stay-"

"We can't both mute ourselves because I won't hear if you ask me to change something or- so you, you just stay like that and I'll mute myself."

"Jungkook, you muting yourself won't change my awareness of you being here."

"But maybe you'll forget about it?"

"Jungkook."

"What?" He sounds contrite then. Like an upset child who's being argued with. He's trying so hard but you make it so difficult, it seems.

There's just one thing holding you back. Until now you couldn't quite pinpoint it. And it's hard to resolve an issue you can't name.

But it just hit you. His way of insisting while making it seem like he does it for you only, to help you out and doesn't necessarily find his part in the cake.

"Do you want to?"

"Uh?"

"You sound like- I don't know what you sound like. You're confusing. If you're just trying to give me a hand and solely that then hang up and I'll just- whatever."

"Oh."

"Of course, it makes no sense for you to do this for me and stay if you don't want to, I mean." He takes forever to answer. For a second, you even peek at your screen wondering if he didn't simply quit the conversation.

It's really all you need to know. If somehow, to some extent, he wants you or at least, wants to partake in this genuinely. You don't want it if it's just a bro hand. You can hardly live with what you've done if he's utterly uninterested. But if he does want it, even a little bit, you might be wrong but you feel like everything would turn out to be fine.

"It's not that hard of a question." You try again because it almost feels like he's forgotten you from how long he's remained silent. He had put you on the spot, in this very conversation too, so many times, you have the right to do the same to him, at least once. "Do you want to stay?"

He cracks up. It's the very hard kind of laughter. With the boyish chuckles, mixed with the squeaky intakes of air. The one that always brings a smile to your face and usually drags you along the fit.

You have no idea what it means right now. It's probably the least appropriate time for it to show up. Therefore instead of making you smile it only reinforces the headache slowly growing at your temple.

"Aah." He starts by exhaling longly. You can hear the grin fixed on his face. "Yes." Your heart trips in your rib cage. You should have guessed it but you couldn't have imagined this answer. And him laughing to tears like a fucking deranged infant doesn't help. "Shit, sorry." He apologized when the remnant of what sounds definitely like a giggle resonates in through the phone.

"What's so funny, Guk?" Your words don't match your tone. You're high under pressure, unsure of what's actually going on. Jungkook is not cruel, you've known him long enough to know that he wouldn't deliberately hurt you, wouldn't mess with you so bad, for so long, even for a great laugh. Still, you can't be convinced that he's sincere. Seriously, how could you? The dude won't stop fucking laughing.

"Nothing, I'm just- I didn't realize until you asked me the question that I wanted to." Oh. "I'm an idiot."

"Welp." Could have told you sooner but I thought you knew.

"Mean. And, uh," It sounds like he's tossing and turning in bed again. You bet he's just gotten the exact same position as before. He's like those cats that turn around in circles again and again until they settle for the initial spot. When he starts talking again, his voice is hardly a whisper, you assume he's holding the mic very close to his mouth. "I should ask you too. Do you want to?"

"I wouldn't ask if I didn't want it, moron." Patience has run thin. Now that you're reassured you don't have to be ashamed and embarrassed anymore, you can simply be annoyed as you get with him.

Honestly, you're still feeling abashed but he doesn't need to know that.

"Quit being mean. It's not my fault I'm slow." He says, faking deep pity and it does make you snort. "Okay, well..."

"Well, indeed."

"You're making this awkward!" You roll your eyes. Feels like you can sort this out. If you do take out the very blatant, scorching awkwardness, it's a very regular interaction between you. Sounds like any other day except in a second he's going to press a finger to his phone in hopes to make you cum.

"Your whole existence is awkward."

"Shut up. Let's just fucking start." He groans as if you're the one belating the initial step –you are but so is he.

"I don't have the fucking remote." He tells you to shut up again, and this time, when you hear him hum to himself when he's opening the app, there's a recognizable brushing noise falling directly in your ear.

"You put your earbuds on."

He doesn't answer but you're sure he's registered the question.

Fine.

If he doesn't want to give you an answer you'll just make up your own. Don't you put earbuds on to hear better? Just saying.

"Put the thing on."

"Oh my God, Jungkook-" You take back your own admission. He's the one, solely, all alone, making it painfully awkward. Sounding like a newly pubescent teen trying to initiate sex. "Could you be any smoother?"

"But-" He sighs. "Do you want me to?" How do you ask your best friend you've may have been in love with for officially a couple of months to please act like an ideal lover even if it's just very short-termed? He sounds willing. But asking is the most difficult part. "I can be- or do whatever you want, I just don't know-"

"I like it when you call me baby." Your whole face is scrunched up in a perfect picture of your intense embarrassment. Formalities need to get fucking out of the way and it's precisely what you've just tried to do. But holy shit, it's painfully embarrassing.

"Oh. Do you now?"

Here comes the smirk. Can't see it. Can hear it clearly. It's pretty much louder than his words even.

You want to tell him to forget it all. That it's not going to work if each fucking second he makes you feel like he's going to be using whatever you say or whatever you do against you later on. You decide to demonstrate exemplary patience, reminding yourself that he's not cruel. Admittedly.

Perhaps you're the idiot and it's all your fault. Because you've just admitted (without him even asking) that you like (and into these circumstances, that it turns you on) to have him call you baby. Thing that he does already every time he starts coddling you.

"Okay then." He startles you, clearing his throat. You wonder if he's as anxious as you are, or at least, a tiny bit nervous. For the most part, he doesn't seem like it. Then again, he's quite good at pretending.

It shows soon after when he starts again, this time with the gentle, soft voice he hardly ever uses with you. There's a tiny newcomer, a certain edge that gives it some firmness and that enchants you. That's exactly what you wanted him to be. "Put it on, babe."

You nod wordlessly, omitting that he can't see you and do as told. Slipping the toy under the waistband of your panties, guiding the ears aside your clit. There's a very faint buzzing coming from them. You barely feel it and you suppose it's just there to have you accommodate better.

"Are you still dressed?"

"It's just my panties and a big shirt." Your shirt you'd add if you had a bit more courage. You hope he's going to let you keep it.

"Take your panties off." The part of you who's his best friend wants to nag, tell him that maybe he should have asked that before demanding you place the toy on your cunt but you feel generous and merciful, and also desperate and tired of your orgasm being stalled for so long. "Are they soaked from earlier?" Okay, this shit's going to be hard. There's no coming back. Strangely, it's just now that it's really hitting you. Even if it's going well, there is no way, you'll ever forget his velvety smooth whisper saying those words. There's no way you're helpless cunt ever forgets.

They are, by the way. You don't even get how you've been able to keep them on and ignore the uncomfortable stickiness for this long. Just sliding them along your thighs feels disagreeable.

"Y/N." Sounds like you're getting scolded. And even if you particularly like the way he just said your name, with that same peculiar edge from earlier, a little sharper then, how are you supposed to answer that? "What did you say earlier? That it can't only be for you, is that right?"

"Yes." You admit sheepishly because now you're definitely getting scolded. It brings flush on your only newly temperate cheeks and you don't even hate it.

"Then I'll give you everything, I told you I would but I'll need you to give me some back. Can you do that?" He sounds so strict, how can you like it so much? You can literally feel the electricity along your spine, sliding down to go faint in the hot mess between your thighs and that's ridiculous. You hate being talked to that way, usually, probably because it's never him doing it. Jeon Jungkook might be your ultimate kink. And somehow, he figured it all out. That whatever he'd do would fit you perfectly well. Also, he might be turning like that because undeniably, you're a brat. "Can you?" He insists again because whilst you've been busy trying not to hyperventilate, he's been waiting for one answer.

"Yes. Yes, I can. Sorry."

"Don't apologize, it's fine." You should want to bite him. Why insist so much if it's to end up leaving you off the hook so easily? You know though, for a fact, awfully bothersome to your ego, that if he were in front of you presently, you'd give him puppy eyes and batting lashes, sad pouty lips and probably tend your neck to invite him to gently pat your hair. "Tell me, are your panties soaked?" "I think I ruined them..."

"You did, didn't you?" He's laughing a bit, kind of full of himself for some reasons. Maybe he knows that it's mainly his fault they ended up this way. Maybe he knows they are not the only pair fallen victim to simply the thought of him. "Was it worth it?"

"You're taking care of me so I'd say yes." A chortle. A purr that you interpret into something you like a lot. It sounds like he's taken your response for exactly what you wished him to. A tease. He makes your belly churns and twists, turns your nerves from your heart to your noggins haywire. The least he can allow you to do, the least you'd like to do, is for him to be affected by you.

It starts with a gentle buzzing. It's nothing much. Nothing at all, you'd say if you'd let your greediness and impatience talk. There's something else doing it for you, for now. Jungkook's breath, sort of heavy, slow, rocking you with warmth. Knowing he's here and here to please you; you're laid in bed, naked from the waist down, wet and about to make it all better thanks to him; the picture itself makes it all for you.

"How is it?" Jungkook asks after some time. It's been silent. You haven't said much, in fact, you haven't said anything yet. Not that ready to demand more, and not feeling enough for moans or whimpers or whatever to be stolen from you.

"Boring." You admit. "S'not what you were supposed to give me." Through a thick pout, you deplore.

It doesn't work. He doesn't care. He doesn't fucking care when he's playing exactly the role you've implicitly asked him to play. "Have you said please, even once?" You hate that he's virtually pinning you down with exactly what turns you on.

"I- Probably." You haven't said much. You haven't been so explicit, so telling simply because you couldn't, but surely, you said please. Didn't you?

"Not probably. You did not. And on top of that, you're complaining." He's figured out exactly what you wanted, what you needed. Therefore, as naturally as it came for him, you fit it your own role easily.

"I'm not complaining. I was just- pointing it out. Sorry."

"You can apologize a lot but you can't even say please. Not once." Well, fuck. You never thought that he could be mean. Awfully mean. You wished, when you let your mind wander there one too many time, a bit too deep, that he'd be like that. Sweet and soft and tender the way he is, always, but also, bad, kind of harsh. "Ask kindly, once."

"Jungkook-"

"I'll give you everything you want. Just once."

"Please, Jungkook." You know he's satisfied with what you offer him because you don't have to wait another second for him to give you precisely what you were waiting for. It's timid, follows the crescendo built you were looking for except it's not intense. It's the first step however it's incredibly effective. It feels as good as the first time. "Plea-please." Manifestly, it is the secret word, the passcode to your pleasure because the intensity you're craving for finally reaches you. It does in an electrifying peak, that lasts long, just like you asked, it's so good, the feeling so perfectly indulgent to your needs, maybe even too much, you squirm, part the little ears from your clit, hissing. "Shit, Jungkook!"

"Too much, baby?" The hypocrite, with his concerned tone, doesn't even take a break from activating the vibration, from keeping on building the intensiveness. You can tell it's he too, him really doing it live, as in it's not absolutely regular, the built sometimes takes longer, sometimes the volume stronger, other times weaker. It's undeniable, every minute of it feels different from the next, you can't even omit for a second that it's him doing it. And he's doing it so well.

"Per- fect, just- sensitive." You moan out. Back arching, right leg twitching. The next brush is particularly nice, goes so far you believe you might come on the spot. Now you definitely can't hold back even if you wanted to. The sounds that come out of your mouth, foreign to your own ears, are not even yours. They come straight from your body, straight from an excess of pleasure you try to deal with, to handle, when you clearly can't. You're alone, and it's you ultimately controlling the power on your own body, you can pull out, even slightly, every time it comes hard and strong and you ought to twitch uncomfortably. You wonder how it'd be if he were here with you. If he forgot just for a while that you were his best friend, the girl who used to be older and taller and has turned, with the years, into this tiny little thing because he just kept on growing and growing, sprouting like a fucking redwood, and now feels like he needs to protect and care for you. If he were there, and he could forget that, you bet, his present voice, heated, scorching, is telling you this, that probably, he'd hold you down, crush your body with his, hand pressing your thighs down and apart, and force you to take the pleasure in its entirety. You imagine him merciless, slipping sweet words in your ear, while he'd have you literally scream from overstimulation.

And then his voice, the perfectly alluring thing, concludes to let you know it won't happen like that. His voice will make you come.

"You sound so good." Especially, if he keeps saying shit like that, with this tone, soft yet strong and highly, terribly affected. He's breathing hot and heavy in your ears. Is he touching himself?

"Please, Jungkook." You implore, vainly, hips slowly grinding against the toy, pressed by your palm on your sensitive centre.

"Especially begging, 'sound so, so good." He's not touching himself. He sounds bothered, but not enough, he doesn't stutter like you do, his voice doesn't jump and dip, stops momentarily like yours does. Shit, you wished he would play with his cock. Fuck, you want to play with his cock. So fucking bad.

"Y-you like it?" You ask, not because you're curious to know, he's said it already, but because you won't ever get tired of hearing him say it, in all those different ways.

"I do, baby. I love hearing you." You can't help the curse that leaves your lips a bit harsh. You're so close. So so close. Eyes filled up to the brim, tip of your nose wet. How many times have you thought, already, that you were seriously going to fall over? "You gonna cum?"

"I can't-" You sob, whine. There's a tear spilling from your right eye. "It's too much." So attentive to your every word, the intensity drops drastically. It still buzzes, discreet, way more tolerable. Ironically, if you can now bear it, you know it's not enough to lead you to your climax either. "Help me, make me cum, Guk."

"Use your fingers." He's been nice, essentially, you can only be good to him. Without even having to think about it, you dip your fingers in the mess that is your cunt. Two fingers slip in between your lips too easily, you could add a third if only there wasn't the bunny taking a bit too much room, and your fingers were longer, and your hips not so twitchy. If Jungkook was here, if only he was here, he'd fit his two fingers and it'd be enough. You bet it'd be enough. You bet his pretty, long, tattooed fingers would stretch you so well and make you come in a heartbeat. "Fuck yourself with them."

It's so gratifying. Having him humming in your ear encouragements and compliments. He's sweet, sweet, sweet. Excellent with his voice. Fuck, he must be unreal with his fingers, with his mouth, with his fat cock.

Diligently, you drag your fingers in and out, it's only mildly agreeable when you're sopping wet, almost gaping. Until he draws on his phone the same magnificent pattern from before.

You wish it'd last longer. It's precisely what you needed, the ideal combination. Along with his words.

You know if you come he'd have to stop. He'll stop calling you baby, stop saying how sexy you are, use all those nasty words he never does and talking like that, with this voice, with this heat in his tone. It's a bothering thought at the back of your mind you have to actively push away.

There's nothing you can do when harshly, yet with a please, he demands you to cum.

You can feel your cunt, wide open from both your spread legs and the excitation, getting wet, growing soaked. You can actually feel it as it happens before you explode. Clenching violently around your fingers, spilling all over them, you might squeak and scream and moan his name continuously, you barely hear yourself through your ringing ears.

"Fuck, Jungkook..." You sigh. Laying there, boneless, hand dripping up to your wrist. He's chuckling. "Fuck."

"Feeling better?" You hmm in response. Words sound like too much effort right now. Your brain is working slow. Extremely slowly. There's a multitude of thoughts forming though, germinating from a strange ground.

One, in particular, does, enlarging ridiculously much next to the others. You could enjoy this luck. You could just bathe in the lovely, perfect haze. Accept that the sky is perfectly blue without a cloud, with even a rainbow somewhere. Maybe a double rainbow even.

There's a very, very dark, very, very large cloud invading your perfect sky though. And because tears, of another kind, have already located your eyes, the new ones fit in, mixing up with them and taking over them with utter ease. What the fuck have you done?

"Jungkook, I'm so sorry-" You start with a tremble in the voice. There's a fat lump in your throat.

"Why? What's going on, baby?" He's sweet as honey, back to his usual self, worried, and you're horrible.

"Your- I didn't even think about her and-" There's a sob bubbling out of your mouth. "It's not me. I didn't mean to-"

"What are you talking about?"

"Jiyeun." The taste in your mouth when you say her name, is unbearable. You know full fucking well you shouldn't say her name. You shouldn't be allowed to. How dare you. Spoil it when you spent way too long virtually getting in this guy's, who's someone else's boyfriend, pants.

"Dumbass." It makes you choke on your own sobs. "It's over. With her, I mean. We broke up." Ah. You want to ask a billion questions. Starting with "again?". Soon followed up by a "why didn't you say anything, dickhead?". You spent the whole fucking night, getting shit faced and spiritually crying in the club over a couple that does not even exist anymore. Then you'd ask for how long they are planning to be over. "For good, this time." You're barely drying up your fat crocodile tears when he calls you an idiot again, says something about how he's not that kind of guy and you should know it.

Feels better. The thunderstorm is gone.

Alcohol and horniness and hardcore loving are such a terrible combo you need to avoid.

"Cuddles." Tiredly, half-dead, but still alive enough to be greedy, to feel sensible, skinned and want him to give you more. "Come cuddle." He's late to answer, delays it as if you don't desperately need his response.

It's terribly quiet and still. The dark of the night seems even more sombre. He can fix everything if only he'd give you the answer you desire.

"You sure?"

"Always." You say, maybe too honest. He doesn't seem to mind, agrees with a snort.

"Alright."

He appears in front of you in the blink of an eye. Literally. That blink does last longer than usual. The orgasm may have crushed you. You close your eyes and when you open them back up, he's here. Standing in the doorframe of your bedroom, dressed in all black and oversized, as usual. You look up, eyes squinted, bothered by the light coming from the hallway. He's staring. Gaze brushing, from your head to your toes, seemingly slowing down when they reach your naked thighs.

"What?" You mumble, embarrassed, one hand sliding down just to make sure the hem of the shirt is covering your crotch. You didn't even put your panties back on. You may or may not have wiped yourself clean enough with the wet wipes wisely sitting on your bedside table -you thought about it really hard but you can’t remember if you actually did it.

"You never mentioned it was my t-shirt you were wearing." You shrug. You'd have a better come back if you weren't so tired and if it wasn't simply true. "Would have been nice to know." He says, kneeling down next to your bed. The latter is low, mattress barely raised from the ground and even when he's crouching down, he's hovering above you, looking down on you. "Easier to picture." He adds quieter the closest he comes to you. It's enough words to know who he is at the moment. In what form, what version of your Jeon Jungkook, has come to visit. It's the gentle one. The one whose voice doesn't raise, doesn't feel as animated as his usual one when he spends his time being a clown to make everyone laughs. The one that made you fall, the first time. Not exactly the one you had on the phone with you earlier and even if you like him, if you adore him in fact, you feel sort of uneasy, worried. He might be gone forever, this one.

Unless it is him. His hands reach forward, large and warm, they lie on your thighs. The fingers brush up a bit, to the hem of his shirt, and they stop there. He looks up from them, straight in your eyes, smiles, digs the tips in the meat of your thighs before he lifts you up, aiming for the border of your bed.

God. You hope it'll happen again. But differently. More in-depth. He'd be less dressed, he would manhandle you, before he'd do some unnamable things to you. But another day. One when you're not almost dead. When you feel hornier and less soft and desperate for direct comfort to your swollen heart. It could be tomorrow when you wake up. If he's up for it. Please God, make it so he's up for it.

Jungkook hops on the bed behind you, huffs comfortably, holding your cover by a corner to bring it up and over the two of you. He fits behind you too naturally for it to be the first time. He doesn't seem to mind that you're so underdressed, compared to the other times, that you still have some remnant of your orgasm on you, that it's different. His arm sliding around you, holding a bit too tight, pressing you a tiny bit too hard, you're still hot from earlier. It's perfect though. You don't want him to move an inch and you hope, the hand that's wrapped on his forearm, makes him understand.

"M'not too clingy?" His own cheek pressed hard to your own, he asks, which is weird. How could he still wonder? He's never ever been too clingy. Even when you were kids and he followed you around before even asking if he could, he wasn't too clingy. The closest, the better. You deny with a uh-uh. He calls out for your name when you're fighting to keep your eyelids open. It's the most comfortable, the warmest you've ever felt. Like a cocoon of pure love and adoration. On top of it, there's his hard arms around you, his hard thigh pushing against yours, his crotch -with the feel of his member, slightly stiff- glued to your butt, and his chest, as hard as the rest, holding your back up like a strong wall. "I promise I didn't plan the whole toys thingy for that."

"For what?" Sleepily, you wonder, actually confused from exhaustion. To cuddle with you? Like you haven't in so, so long. Why would he try to apologize for it? "To use them with you."

"What a shame." You don't think he can understand. Diction is not something you care for at the moment. The hard laugh bubbling in his chest, rumbling, shaking your whole, lets you know he did, in fact, get it.

"You're so-" He starts but the thought dies way too soon for you to even try and complete it yourself. "I'll have a billion questions for you tomorrow."

"No." You whine. Because he's fucking up everything. If he believes you'll say it all to him, there's no way you can. There's no way you will. He chuckles.

Doesn't seem to be taking you seriously.

"Yes. And you'll answer every single one of them." He gives a sweet but pressing kiss to your neck.

"No."

"I adore you." Fucking hell. "I broke up with Jiyeun because I adore you too much. I realized I want to spend all my time and energy on my best friend." You don't even know what he means. You can't even hold your eyelids open now, you can't even keep your hand on his arm, it being too heavy and sleep having taken over most of your body.

You bet he's saying that just because he's guessed it. He's figured you all out and the asshole doesn't mind playing with your soft heart. He knows he'll get anything from you if he's this good. Hopefully, tomorrow, he'll have forgotten about his little interrogation because you're not sure you'll be able to lie. For now, he's holding you way too close for you to care. Whatever. May it last forever, this feeling.

A/N: DON’T HATE ME OKAY?! i know i have an issue with angst and endings, for some reasons, i don’t want to hurt my characters but i can’t get myself to write an actual fully happy, non-ambiguous conclusion, and i’m really sorry for it lmao.

i sincerely hope you enjoyed the last part of The Wishlist! Thank you immensely for anyone who’s followed along, please let me know your thoughts, i really really want to know :)

for now, i’m sending you lots of love and kisses, take good care of yourself and others, see ya very very soon :]

tag list: @safi4x @kai-kai-bookshelf @somewhereinthestarss @hsinmyheart @moonchild1 @monvieesdaebak @pasteljoonie @fangirls94 @jinsalpaca @ggukkieland

#btswriterscollective #ksmutclub #networkbangtan #ggukienet #bts fanfic #bts smut #bts angst #bts fluff #jungkook fanfic #jungkook smut #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #my writing

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smoochkooks · 4 years ago

Text

—christmas cream(pie) ; (m.)

⟶ pairing: jeon jungkook/reader

⟶ genre: established relationship, smut, fluff

⟶ word count: 3.6k

⟶ summary: a day before christmas dinner with your boyfriend's parents, you discover another alternative way to use the chocolate cream you’re making. jungkook is more than willing to indulge in your little fantasy.

⟶ warnings: explicit sexual content, food play, finger-sucking, spit kink, dirty talk, oral (f) receiving, slight choking but nothing too extreme, unprotected sex, creampie, jungkook being the sweetest boyfriend on the earth and your emotional support, tooth-rooting domestic fluff:(

a/n: hi!! this is my little christmas present for you. hope you enjoy what my brain came up with yesterday<3 ps. i also dont know what kind of fic title this is.

Christmas secure a top spot on your own self-made list of holidays. You enjoy practically every aspect of it. The food, decorating your house, songs, movies, the whole magical aura of warmth and love – you name it.

But this year though, you're fiddled with anxiety because it's the first time you're going to celebrate with your boyfriend Jungkook and his parents.

You've been dating for two lovely years, living in a shared apartment for almost six months but somehow you've never spent any major holiday together. Until now, it actually felt like a step bigger than moving in. Choosing to be with your families and celebrate separately was never an issue for both of you.

And foolishly, you thought this year would be no like the other, that you'll kiss your sweet boyfriend goodbye before Christmas Eve and reunite after the whole shenanigans would end. But to your surprise, Jungkook had different plans for you.

“Y-your parents did what?”

“They invited us for a Christmas dinner.” he repeated calmy, completely unfazed by the pure shock marring your features.

He was sprawled on the couch, hair messy and falling onto his forehead because he had been avoiding barbershops lately (it wasn’t like you minded it–if anything, it made him look even sexier). He was wearing your favorite pair of sweats that had a soy sauce stain on the left knee and a simple black t-shirt, yet for you he looked like an angel sent from the above and devil reincarnated at the same time. So deliciously domestic and soft it almost made you wanna jump him right here and there, if it wasn't for the more nagging matters that you had yet to discuss with him.

“But,” you stuttered, brain too consumed by nerves to help you formulate coherent sentences. “I was visiting your parents in Busan over summer.”

“Yeah, but it's been a while and they really want to see you again,” he said, raising from his spot. He came up to you, his tall, lean body towering over your form. The moment you saw his sparkly doe eyes boring holes into yours, you knew you were approximately twenty seconds from giving in. “Pretty please.” he tried again, palms cupping your flushed cheeks until you had no choice but to agree.

“Okay.”

Jungkook grinned in response and leaned to press a chaste kiss onto your lips. “Love you, baby.” He tasted like spicy noodles and soda but you ignored it, mustering a small smile.

“Love you too.” you said, always meaning those three little words because truly, you could never resist Jeon Jungkook and his charms. He had you wrapped around his finger more than you'd ever admit and you'd simply do anything to make him happy, even if that meant stressing over a Christmas dinner with his parents.

“They really like you, ___. You have nothing to worry about.” Jungkook murmured upon kissing your nose, and then forehead. “My mom is already so excited to see you. She said she would make an apple pie because you once mentioned you liked it.”

You leaned into his touch, slightly less angry you had been surprised with a revelation like that but at the same time still apprehensive and filled with nerves. “You aren't making this easier, you know?” you asked.

Jungkook sent you an apologetic smile. “You're amazing, baby. You don't need to convince my parents again that you're the right person for me,” he said, hands finding purchase on your waist and pulling you closer to him. “All you have to do is smile and compliment my mom's cooking skills. And maybe ask dad about fishing. You know he's been crazy about it lately.”

Easier said than done, you thought to yourself. Jungkook was a natural when it came to bewitching people. Your parents adored him because he knew all the right words to make them fall for his charms. He didn’t have to try hard or pretend to be someone else in order to be accepted as their daughter’s partner.

You, on the other hand, were on a different side of the spectrum. No matter how many times Jungkook reassured you of your worth, you still had a lot of insecurities to deal with. That was just who you were as a person. Maybe it was why you clicked so well together. You needed someone to be your second Sun.

“You got his.” With a final kiss onto the crown of your head, Jungkook left you standing in the middle of the living room, and all you could think about was a fricking apple pie and finding new ways to impress your boyfriend's parents.

Hence way you're currently in the kitchen, blender in your right hand as you mix the ingredients for the most extra chocolate cake you've ever made, determination written all over your features like you’re competing in the final Bake Off episode.

And why is that? Because your brain couldn't let you sleep peacefully at night if you didn't decide to bake your own cake for Jungkook's mother. It started innocently, slowly getting information out of your boyfriend about his parents' favorite food. Of course, you had to be clever about it, so he wouldn't suspect anything too early into the game. That's why after asking a round of rather specific questions you lured him into a blowjob because you know he usually loses his goddman mind after a good dick sucking.

Content with your plan, you're now a day before the Christmas dinner, Jungkook's mother's beloved cake almost ready to be put into the oven.

“Babe, I'm home!” you hear Jungkook calling from the corridor. You sent him to do some (un)necessary grocery shopping so you could have a time for yourself to prepare the cake without him looking over your shoulder and analyzing your every move. You really hate when people do that because you’re more likely to screw something when you’re being watched.

“Let me taste it then,” he says, grabby hands reaching for the bowl but you quickly swat them away.

“I'm here!” you shout back, unplugging the blender once you're satisfied with your chocolate cream.

“What is the smell?” Jungkook asks, entering the kitchen. “Oh,” he quips, placing grocery bags on the floor. “You made this?”

“Mhmm,” you hum, dipping a finger into the bowl and then putting it into your mouth. It tastes good, not too sweet but at the same time it still has a strong chocolate flavor. Perfect.

“Wash your hands first.”

“Wait,” You can almost hear the gears shifting in his brain. His grip on your waist tightens as you desperately try to stifle the laugh babbling in your throat. “This is my mom's favorite cake.”

Jungkook dramatically salutes you, even though you see him smirking under his breath. Once his hands are all clean and dry, you feel his arms encircling your body from the back. “Is this for me?” he murmurs, obviously referring to the cake.

“Nope. It's for tomorrow's Christmas dinner.”

That’s why you break into a smile, pulling him for a quick peck. “You can taste my cream now.” you say.

“Great observation.”

“And you said you were making it for the Christmas dinner,” Jungkook continues, “Which means you did this purposely.” he finishes, twirling your body so you're now facing him.

“You said she would make me an apple pie so I thought I could reciprocate the kindness and do the same,” An innocent smile tugs at your lips. “Besides, the more food the better.”

Jungkook snorts. “So here's why you were asking me all those weird questions lately.”

Your eyes widen. “You paid attention to that?”

“Babe, I might be a simple man who enjoys seeing his girlfriend sucking his dick but it doesn't mean I don't listen to you,” he says, sounding slightly offended but you know that deep down he's amused by the whole situation. “You didn't have to do that, you know?”

You let out a long sigh. “I know but... I just felt so weird. Your parents are so happy to see us, they are doing all those preparations and I couldn't stop thinking about doing something to impress them in return,” you murmur. “So they wouldn't think it preparing a whole celebratory dinner for their son and his girlfriend was actually pointless.” you add in a smaller voice, dropping your head down. 

“Baby,” Jungkook coos, fingers grasping your chin so you could look him in the eye again. “You're an amazing person. My parents know that too. You don't have to prove them your worth. Ever.”

His words make you relax visibly. You don’t know what you would do if you didn’t have Jungkook by your side. He’s just being himself, showing you his extremely caring side as he usually does when you feel down but somehow you’re more thankful for this now.

You dip your index finger into the cream. Then, making sure his eyes are trained on your face, you bring your finger up and envelop with your lips, purposely sucking on it obscenely. “Mmm,” you nothing but moan. “It’s really good.”

“That sounded awfully sexual.”

“No, it did not! You're just perverted.”

“But you love me anyway, don't you?”

You snort at his stupid remark. Suddenly, a not-so-innocent idea pops in your mind and you wonder who’s actually the one with more inappropriate thoughts running through their head. Jungkook might enjoy teasing you on daily basis, but a girl can have her fun too, right?

Jungkook's eyes darken seeing your little stunt you’ve decided to pull today. He bites the inside of his cheek, before saying,”’I know what game you’re playing.”

“I’m not doing anything.” you respond, feigning innocence. Before you can dive for more cream, Jungkook grabs your wrist and stops you.

Bingo.

When he takes his two fingers and plunges them into the cream, you know exactly what’s coming next, the adrenaline and excitement pumping through your veins. He brings his fingers up towards your face and you have to fight an urge to stay still, waiting for his instructions like the good girl you obviously are. “Open up, baby.”

You oblige immediately, mouth falling open and tongue out. He pushes his fingers inside, sweet, chocolate cream filling your taste buds. “Suck.” he says simply, eyes fixated on your lips. You do it without a second thought, swirling your tongue around his digits and making sure to lick every last drop of the substance.

When he decides he can't take it anymore, he pulls his fingers out of your mouth and before you can even blink, he crashes his lips onto yours; fast, messy and unforgiving, thrusting his tongue inside to play with yours. His motives are clear: you aren’t leaving the kitchen without getting properly fucked.

“So sweet,” he murmurs against your lips, the hand around your waist pulling you flush against him. “My cute girlfriend thought she could tease me and get away with it.”

He bites onto your lower lip as to prove his point and you whimper. “It’s not like that,” you manage to say, grinding yourself against the evident bulge in his pants. “I didn’t expect to get away with it.”

Jungkook's hands travel to the backs of your thighs and he lifts you up effortlessly, placing you on the counter. You’re sure there are traces of flour still on it but you couldn’t care less right now, not when a pair of hands roughly nudges your legs apart so he could stand in between them.

“So you did it purposely,” Jungkook leaves your mouth in favor of tracing kisses down your neck. Careful not to marry your skin with hickeys because you would beat the shit out of him if he did bruise your neck a day before the dinner with his parents. “Naughty girl.” He punctuates his statement with a bite to your earlobe, his next words being whispered directly into your ear. “What should I do with you, then?”

You whimper, your thighs pressing together just hearing the tone of his voice. You lace your fingers through the locks at the back of his hair and place a kiss against his lips. “Fuck me?” you ask in a saccharine-sweet tone.

He chuckles in response, fingers grasping your t-shirt and pulling it off you, revealing your bare chest to his hungry eyes. He wastes no time and latches his mouth onto a nipple but as soon as his tongue meets your hardened bud, he retreats. Confused, you watch as he reaches for the bowl once again and dips his fingers into the cream. He then smears it all over your nipples, a proud smirk caught on his lips when he leans back to admire his art work.

“Kook,” you mewl, too pathetically for your liking and you know how much it’ll stroke his ego. “Please, touch me.” you plea, one of your hands reaching to pull him closer to you.

“Yeah?” His chuckle is almost sinister. “Look at you, all dirty and begging me so nicely. Not that smart with your mouth now, are you?”

All you manage is a nod and meek “Please,” that quickly morphs into a drawn out moan when he finally dips his head to suck your nipple into his hot mouth. You never could have guessed that the idea of food play would be so arousing to you but here you are, pussy clenching around nothing when your sweet boyfriend licks chocolate cream off your boobs.

When he’s done and satisfied with the result, he grabs your sweatpants and pulls them down along with your underwear in one go, your bare ass meeting with the cold marble of your kitchen counter. Jungkook wastes no time and spreads your legs apart, not giving you a second to shy away from his burning gaze before he dives in to lick a stripe up your slit.

You cry out in pleasure when his tongue finds your clit and gives it a sharp suck, his hands grabbing your ankles and bending your knees so he could have a full access to your glistening core. You’re absolutely drenched, dripping down your thighs and making a mess on Jungkook's face but he doesn’t mind it a bit, eating you out like a champ you know he is.

“So wet,” he rasps against your cunt. “Messy girl.”

To make matters worse (or better) he takes his sweet time and lets a glob of his spit mix with your arousal because Jungkook, much like you, enjoys giving a head more than anything in the world and makes it his priority to see you lose it on his tongue. You’re positive you will come like this if he keeps continuing abusing your clit just right. He knows your pussy like the back of his hand. Knows what makes you keen, how to make you eyes roll to the back of your head. It fuels his ego to see you like this; helpless and utterly devoted to the pleasure and you don’t even mind when he brags about it later. How could you if you benefit so much from it?

Suddenly, he grunts into your cunt and your brows furrow because it’s not the sound you’re used to hearing during sex. You look down to check what’s wrong but he’s already up and in level with your eyes, a sheepish smile adoring his features.

“Neck cramp,” he explains, his palm massaging the back of his neck. “Eating pussy is easier on the bed.” You can’t help but giggle, replacing his hand with yours and providing him a temporary relief. “I’m sorry. Were you close?” he asks.

There he is. Your sweet, caring boyfriend who never forgets to ask for consent before railing you into the mattress and always putting your pleasure before his own.

“Mhmm,” you hum, grasping his t-shirt and lifting it off his body. It should be considered a sin to look like this, you think to yourself. “But I want to come on your cock instead.”

Jungkook grins, quickly pulling down his pants and underwear. His cock slaps against his stomach, pride swelling in your chest because you know you can make him this hard without your touch. “How do you want it?” he asks, guaranteeing himself a moment of relief when he gives his cock a few pumps, spreading precum all over his length.

“Like that,” you answer, gesturing at your current position on the counter. “Wanna see you.”

“Anything for my pretty girl.”

If you weren't already red, you would have blushed at his cute words. The sentiment doesn’t last long though, your face twisting in ecstasy when he lines himself up with your entrance and starts pushing inside, the stretch deliciously burning. “Oh my god, Kook,” you whimper, hand clutching onto his biceps for support. “So big. You feel so good.” He groans, slithering himself deeper. His forehead rests onto yours, few ragged breaths before you murmur, “You can move.”

He sets a punishing pace from the beginning, fucking you hard and fast; wet, slapping noises filling the kitchen. You’re a blubbering mess, moaning incoherently as he splits your pussy open, thrust after thrust. “Yeah, fucking take it,” Jungkook rasps, grabbing your hips even harder, no doubt leaving there marks. “Cream my cock like a good girl.”

You mewl in response, your eyes focusing on his parted lips. “J-jungkook,” you stutter, head completely deprived of rational thoughts. “Spit in my mouth.” It’s almost a breathless plea on your tongue.

He curses, his right hand squeezing your cheeks. “Open.” You do it right away, nearly moaning when he purses his lips and spits, eyes almost bulging out of his head when he sees you swallow it greedily. “Dirty fucking girl.” he growls.

“B-but you love it, right?” you whimper, eyes glossy because he's hitting that spot inside your pussy that makes your toes curl. “L-love when I’m like this just for you.”

“Fuck, yeah I do,” Jungkook says, placing his hand around your throat. He doesn’t apply pressure and simply rests it there, urging you to look directly at him. “I love when my pretty baby becomes a dirty slut for me.” He punctuates his words with a harsh buck of his hips that makes you cry out.

You can't take it anymore. “K-kook,” you whine, grabbing his wrist and urging him to squeeze your throat. “I love you.”

Despite his hand around your neck and cock abusing your cunt, he breaks into a smile. He leans down to kiss you on your putty lips. You try to keep up with him but there’s no use for that, so you just open your mouth and let him slither his tongue inside. When he pulls away, your lips are wet with saliva. Messy, but you wouldn’t exchange it for anything less. “Love you too, baby.” he groans in a strained voice, dragging his cock fast through your walls.

As if reading your mind, his thumb reaches to rub fast circles on your clit. “’m so close,” you mumble, thighs shaking.

“C'mon, pretty. Wanna see you come around me.” Jungkook murmurs, gone is his dominant aura, it’s now only his gentle voice coaxing you into an earth-shattering orgasm.

When you come down from your high, you’re swatting his fingers away from your core. Normally you would probably indulge into it more, but oversensitivity seems to be too much to handle for you today. Jungkook thrusts his hips a few more times and follows right after you, groaning your name and spilling himself inside.

“That was nice.” he comments breathlessly and you can’t help but chuckle, widing your arms around his neck and pulling him for a well-deserved kiss.

“I’m too tired to move my legs and somebody needs to finish the cake,” you pout, not an ounce of exaggeration in your statement because that’s utterly true–you’re always too spent after a round of fucking with Jungkook to even go to the bathroom on your own. He gladly carries you there in his arms bridal-style every, single time.

“It's okay, sweetheart. I’ll do it.” he says, making you giggle under your breath triumphantly.

You might be willing to do everything for you boyfriend but if anything, you’re equal in that department.

“I’m also pretty sure there’s flour on my ass.”

Jungkook raises his brow at you. “That I’m not going to clean.”

“Fine. But next time I'm putting whipped cream on your dick.” you decide.

When he pulls out of you, his cum spills out of your hole but he's quick to catch the droplets and push them back inside you with his fingers. “You’re a little minx, you know that, right?” he says and then licks his digits clean.

“You love me anyway.” He grins, leaning to kiss you but he stops mid-way. “What is it?” you ask, raising your brows.

“Since I came inside you, we can call it a creampie, right?”

Still slightly dazed after sex, you’re not quick enough to realise what he implies before it’s too late. “I mean yes but–oh my god. No, no, no! Stop!”

“Cream-pie!”

“I hate you!”

“And I love you too.”

After all, you were worrying about the dinner too much, as always.

Everybody complimented your cake. Jungkook's mother was delighted. His father talked about fishing for almost an hour.

But your sweet boyfriend's smirking face as he ate the cake was telling you were in for a long night of sinning in your bed as soon as you went back home.

And he obviously didn’t disappoint.

#jungkook smut #btswritingcafe #btswriterscollective #btsbookclub #ksmutclub #bangtanarmynet #smutcentralnet #bangtanhq

1K notes · View notes

hhjs · 4 years ago

Text

love or lack thereof.

pairing — felix x reader

genre / trope — angst, fluff / exes with benefits.

word count — 7.7k

warnings — suggestive, heavy implications, swearing, some making out but no actual r rated stuff but i will say this is suitable for 18 and up audiences.

note — this is unedited, subject to change. spare me lol

There are two sides to every person. The side that you want people to see and the side that you keep to yourself.

You think you've come to discover all those aspects of Lee Felix. Given that he's sweet, unassuming and inexplicably kind to the naked eye but you know, the rising anger in you knows he's only ever been cruel to you.

"Move," you seethe, he moves to let you in but you unintentionally knock your shoulder against his. There's people on the subway, and you hate the way Felix's innocent gaze finds yours for a second and it makes you look like the bad guy.

You feel the disapproving glare of a grandma who has a crumpled catalogue about seasonal pie recipes on her lap, as if she can't believe how much of a cunt you were being to an absolute stranger.

A roll of eyes follows, fishing for your ear phones, if only they knew.

Seeing your ex boyfriend outside of your casual deal hits you with the force of a punch to the gut. But you hid it exceptionally well. Arrogantly jutting your chin upwards. Whilst he cowers beside you, having supposedly caught your sour mood.

To think you had spent an hour with him in a bedroom just formerly...is rather strange. You've been sleeping with him for the past few months now and where it had begun is slightly mysterious to you — was it Chan's birthday party or a clubbing gone wrong one night stand just after Felix had come back to town....? You aren't entirely sure.

Albeit the arrangement is ingrained in your head — what you have with him is a secret strictly kept from your friends who otherwise if even caught air of a mere conversation between you two would invite an influx of queries. This is simple, physical, you don't have time for a relationship, let alone one with him and to mend how utterly lonely you are with someone who hasn't already seen you naked, someone who you couldn't blindly trust, is too much work.

Even though Felix is indubitably affected by your unwavering indifference, something he wasn't used to when you were together because of how giving you were to sate his utterly needy tendencies. Now he feels himself clawing at your hardened exterior in search of just those affections to no actual avail —hurt crossing his eyes when you sneak out of bed without saying goodbye, when days pass and you don't call or text and most importantly, when you're in public and you can't be bothered to spare him as much as a glance. To you, it's nothing more and nothing less. You make it a necessity to keep reminding him.

See you liked to pretend you're a resilient person. That in your heart you really do forgive people and move on.

But he is an exception.

"Did you eat?" He perks up, his voice is small. Careful.

You keep your stoic expression, looking ahead. "No."

Then he blinks, like he usually does when he doesn't understand why you act the way you do. Impolite, communicating only in monosyllables.

Do you really hate him that much?

There's a hoodie pulled over his black hair, longer along the neck,headphones dangling from his neck and his backpack in his hand, he hopes when he holds onto the same railing as you are, that your fingers should brush just a little.

Despite the way you adamantly ignore him, Felix opens his mouth to utter a passing inquiry. Your jaw clenches. And you desperately begin to scan the city map plastered inside to navigate passengers to their destinations.

"Can we...do you want to get something to eat..." He swallows, "together?"

As if he's crazy for even making such a proposition, you look at him once but from the corner of your eye and he thinks that's a lot considering how often you look past him, through him, never at him. You shake your head, giving him a warning stare.

Across from you, his reflection is frowning at your negative response. Still staring at you with a marveling gleam in his eyes, how much you've changed over the past two years just as he has....still takes him by surprise. Suddenly and unexpectedly, his eyes flicker to yours and he finds you staring at his image against the glassed doors. And like a deer caught in headlights, your heart drops to the depths of your stomach.

The announcement above falls deaf to your ears as you exit in a blind rush of sheer panic. Ignoring the biting cold and unfamiliar station. Your stop is still quite far. Maybe you'd have to take the taxi... or walk.

But in the face of all those hassles you sense yourself feeling incredibly relieved...because frankly, you think, you could go to hell and back if gets you away from him.

—

"So you came to tell me you're just gonna give up? Is that it?"

Felix carefully glances at you through his lashes, silently pursing his lips as to convey the answer.

You stare at the speckles of light kissing up his freckled cheeks, his big beaming eyes, a slightly low bridge but rounded tip of his nose paired with a small upturned mouth.

You can't believe you won't see him again.

Whenever he'd catch a break, he'd take the 2 hour bus to town and come see you, meet you and those once in six months meetings alone, to you, compensated for his lengthy absence.

So it couldn't be the distance, you thought, if that were the case he'd have dumped you when he moved to the capital for university.

Felix just doesn't want to be with you anymore.

"You don't get it...." He closes his eyes, as if he doesn't want to see himself saying what he is about to say, you almost don't get the resistance in his tone. The subtle drop of his Adam's apple. "I don't want to hurt you." He starts, "Just think about this rationally... we're so young, what if I find someone else there?"

Someone...else?

Is it that easy to dispose of you? Aren't you enough?

How foolish of you to only ever think of him.

It felt like Felix was kicking you where knew would hurt the most.

Your sardonic laugh is cracked, garbled and it's so fucking embarrassing that you're crying in the middle of a fast food joint, your fries have gone cold. Had you known seeing him this time would be vastly different from usual, you wouldn't have ordered at all. Why didn't he tell you before? Why had he insisted on catching you unawares?

But then again...this isn't about you at all. This is about Lee Felix. This is about him reducing your worth to make room for himself.

Ultimately, you understand, what is worse than not being loved back is being loved by someone who doesn't love you as much as you do them.

"Well I won't stand in your way then,"

You clear your throat,

"Fuck..." you rub your temple, the sadist in you coughing up hysterical laughs. The ache inside your heart at this point has turned into physical pain, cracks fissuring out against its surface and gnawing at the flesh like its being torn apart at the seams.

You should've seen this coming.

Everyone told you and told you you could only drag on an opposites attract sort of relationship for so long before you start to realise how incompatible you are.

Felix has the audacity to reach over and place his fingertips on your knuckles,his eyes are sad, overflowing with pity. It makes you feel small, the way he looks at you, small, sad and abandoned.

What tips you over the edge, however, is how calm he seems, as if he had been precisely planning to dump you for days and months and years while you continue to make a fool out of yourself never have forseen his decision.

There are tears running down your cheeks, abusing your vision with a vicious sting. You bring your sleeve to collect the needless moisture in a sudden rise of temper that is oh so typical of you.

You snatch your hand away from his touch.

"Don't touch me." You say, the simple comment transfers pain to Felix's eyes, mouth parting in silent words. You want to scream at him, you want to shake him by the collar and tell say something, just say anything at all and I will forgive you. Goddamnit.

In a perfect world, you think, a world where things happened exactly the way they should, you wouldn't have said, instead,

"And don't you fucking dare come back here...ever again."

And...in that very perfect world, he would've listened.

—

Felix thinks he could, dare he say, love everything about you. Even though you most certainly deserve someone who hasn't hurt you the way he has.

Now it's funny actually, how the tables have turned...back then, he wasn't sure about you and now you aren't about him.

Felix doesn't really blame you though...because he knows he asked for it.

Your presence in his life has somehow become an absolute necessity to say the least. And ironically enough, while he had so confidently pushed you to let go of him, he realises he had been holding onto you all along.

Now what was he saying...again?

Right. Felix loves everything about you.

But what he loves most...is the way your hand instinctively finds his heart when you're kissing. It's just a simple movement of your fingers splaying against his chest, the warmth of them seeping through the fabric of his shirt. He doesn't even know why it means so much to him.

His hand drops from your ass to the back of your thighs to situate you closer to his chest. He moans into the kiss when your teeth comes to scrape against his bottom lip, your ministrations are typically rough and speedy but he is seemingly far too absorbed by the exhilarating feeling coursing throughout his entire form — it's not just blatant lust, he knows, but a much deeper understanding that he is inexplicably gladdened by the fact that he's touching you and you're touching him.

A shaky breath leaves Felix's parted lips as he cranes his neck to allow your lingering kisses to shift along his angular jaw.

Then without quite meaning to, his vision focuses on the table clock that reads it's well past midnight...you had run late tonight for reasons you neglected to disclose. Now that he really focuses, a strong musky fragrance akin to unfamiliar men's cologne wafts up his nostrils.

It couldn't be....

As Felix's suspicions run deeper, he restlessly begins to search up every aspect of his surroundings as best as he can in the limited provision of light. There is a large coat discarded on his bed, one he hasn't seen you wear before...then again it might not be yours at all...

You notice how he's stopped responding to you, so you pause, leaning back, still on his lap. "Is something the matter?"

Felix swallows, blinking up innocently at you. This deal is simple, isn't it? He knew what he was getting into the first time you got together and the second and the third and so on, so why had the possibility of you getting involved with someone else even bother him then?

Both of you knew why.

And what's worse is that Felix is sensitive by nature, never truly succeeding to hide his emotions, especially intense ones when faced with them. So he is hyper aware of the fact that what he is feeling in the moment is not jealousy, it's neither anger nor resentment but a deep seated insecurity that he will lose you.

Again.

"Were you...with someone?"

As expected, your hands resign from cupping his face, you avoid looking at him.

"What?"

Felix clears his throat, his accent thicker, voice heavy from disuse. He thinks about something being with you in the same way only he has...and it causes a dull ache inside his chest.

He rests his head back against the sofa and shrugs lazily. As if to prove a point, as if to say did he touch you here? his fingers ride up your t shirt, gently cupping your ribs, he tries not to look too satisfied when you quiver under the touch.

Still you lift yourself up and the sudden lack of contact almost makes him whine.

You stand before him. A hand at your hip.

"Why are you acting like this?" You say and he notes you sound more... curious than annoyed. Though what frustrates him is that you hadn't answered his question. "I thought I made myself clear...there are rules we agreed upon."

Oh he knows — no staying over, no personal questions, no jealousy.

Felix purses his lips. The downside of your forwardness, the same utterly admirable trait he finds really fucking hot, the one that conditions you to tell Minho off when he hogs all of Felix's brownies though the latter himself is too much of a pushover to say anything, the same one which had in times of recurring doubtfulness assured him of your strong feelings towards him, is that you say whatever comes to mind without sparing anyone's feelings.

"I'm just asking, [........]," he lies, trying to control the pain from projecting itself onto his voice. It hurts to see the way you jump to defend yourself around him, as though you're scared he'll hurt you again. The lack of faith you have him, after all this time, causes him hurt. "Why are you getting so upset...."

Felix is gentle. Communicating his feelings through his actions rather than words, cooly, slowly. And you are the exact opposite — there is an immediacy in your conveyance, a roughness. You mean what you say and you say what you mean so you think everyone does too. Which is why, he concludes, his present actions are insufficient to remove the seeds of resentment he'd left in the wake of his bitter utterances when you broke up.

But Felix was only 18 then, a kid completely unaware of his overwhelming need to have you in his life....what matters is, he's trying...he really is, to recover from his mistakes......shouldn't that least matter?

Thinking the slight inhibition in his tone is just a figment of your imagination and that he is simply and indifferently inquiring you, you feel a wave of embarrassment wash over you. Then you drop down on the bed, feeling for his remote.

You sniff through your nose and against your better judgement say, "I went out with an acquaintance,"

On weekends Chan usually wasn't home, you could come over. This is the routine, it has been for some time now...so, you've come to know Felix's room more intimately than your own, the walls are a deep blue, like the kind of blue out of a Holly Warburton painting. There's an old Coldplay poster on the back of his door and X-Men action figures from eons ago lined on the edges of his bookshelf.

You know where everything goes when though it's dark. But that doesn't mean anything.

It shouldn't.

"A acquaintance who gave you their coat midwinter...you must be close,"

You ignore his pointed comment, he ignores the way your eyes light up when you talk about this acquaintance.

"He's nice." You say, "He walked me to the station and everything."

A happy hum comes in response.

Because when was the last time you talked to him as freely as you are?

Felix plops down on his stomach beside you, elevating his form on his elbows. His fingers come to brush loose strands out of your eyes. Your gaze meets his for the second time that week. Slower. As if you hadn't minded looking him this time. He feels his heart being tugged at all possible angles.

Then, because he can't stop himself — he leans down and kisses you, tentative and indolent, like he has all the time in the world, like all he wants to do is kiss. Don't get him wrong...you've done downright unspeakable things with him, to him...but nothing mediates his adoration for you without the employment of speech like these little chaste...purposeless movements. His fingers coming to splay against your neck, thumbing along your throat when you gulp, the tip of your nose brushing against his cheekbone, eyes fluttering shut. They're...they're intimate. Utterly special. He knows you feel it too, from the way you look slightly surprised, searching his face, eyes skimming up any fragment of emotion conveyed in his features. But you don't encourage it, slowly shifting to turn your back as you lay quietly against his chest.

"Let me stay here tonight," you say, "I'm tired."

"Okay,"

Felix thinks you've broken not one, but two rules now. He hadn't expected you to answer. He hadn't expected you to get into bed with no intention of departing either.

Though he doesn't hold it against you, this is what he wants, for you to open up to him again...after all. These changes can't be bad changes, even if they are little, it's still progress...right?

—

You wet your fingers, dipping the moistened muscle against the clay mold. All around you is not as eerily quite as it is in your apartment, footsteps thrumming against hardwood floor, kiddish humming from the kitchen, the smell of sugar in the air, you've never worked outside of your home station and well...in class. You thought of yourself as a self sufficient individualist, you liked to believe that you didn't enjoy other people's company like you did your own, with the exception of your roommate. But that's only since you aren't close enough for her to disturb you.

Yet with Soomi moved out for good, the place felt...odd to stay by yourself.

So you found yourself spending more and more time at Felix's. It's nice to have a place to crash in every now and then, the sex is great and when you get hungry after, you don't have to think twice about scouring the fridge.

You don't know why you put off spending time aside from sleeping together at all, more time spent didn't necessarily add to your deal or subtract from it....because the action itself doesn't really mean anything. Everyone gets tired of being alone at some point. That's a universal fact.

Initially, you told yourself your presence was a consequence of Chan catching you two in the shower one night...so now that the cat's out of the bag, you two figured his place could become the only premise you didn't have to play pretend in. You both knew the elder would be more than willing to keep the younger's secret even if he didn't exactly approve of it.

With the increased frequency of your visits, bits and pieces of you remain dispersed all throughout the apartment, your body wash in his bathroom, your underwear in his laundry, the smell of you in his sheets, on his clothes. You had relaxed yourself through the periphery of his life and he had small glimpses of yours, habits and flaws, unknowingly...or knowingly....whatever. — Felix could only thank God that Chan had found out, in spite of the revelation itself putting you both in a compromising position.

With time, he starts to keep a few secrets from you too, here and there, knowing that if you knew you will stop doing it altogether. He can't have that...

You throw a leg around his hip when you're fast asleep, flinging an arm not a second later to cage him in your warm embrace. Felix likes the way your chest rises and falls against his back, how your breath tickles his skin and your mouth parts against his shoulder blade. Sometimes he stays awake and waits for you to do it, then when you do, he grins so hard his face hurts a little. Felix likes being the little spoon.

"Are you listening?"

His vision narrows down to the sight of you holding out your palms in the air, there's wet clay on them, as well on your cheek and legs, between them your pottery wheel is halted to desuetude, there's old newspapers layering the floorboard to prevent staining.

"Sorry...," he smiles sheepishly, "What did you say?"

It's your turn to shift your gaze to your feet. Felix thinks it's highly uncharacteristic, the way you seem almost...shy?

"Can you..." You eye the mug mounted on his study desk, he catches onto your request easily, "I'm thirsty—"

"Yeah yeah hold on... careful," Felix chirps, carefully guiding the rim to your lips to make sure it doesn't spill. He uses the tip of his thumb to wipe the corner of your mouth, you flinch first but then whilst the mild shock subsides, simply stare up at him as the pad of his thumb brushes against your skin. "There you go..." he trails, eyes bright with care.

You feel like a child being doted on, the mere emotion plunging you back to when you were 5 and had crushes on boys who shared skittles with you.

"Thanks."

Felix's ears perk up at the courtesy, you were never one to express yourself easily and when you did, every time, he felt inexplicably delighted.

The apples of your cheeks feel hot for some reason, by putting yourselves in in these small situations, you keep confusing him, you know, because you keep confusing yourself too.

You come out again that night but this time Bang Chan is shifting around in the kitchen. He hardly sleeps, you observe, but probably refusing to come out because he wanted to avoid bumping into you.

Chan doesn't seem to like you very much. Probably. You don't blame him. Before you came along, Felix and he spent more time together, now you had become a constant in his life without will.

You have to listen twice to realise he's speaking with you. Not an invisible being behind you.

"What?"

"I said..." His tone dropped dangerously low, he looks annoyed at something. "Listen I don't care what you're doing but don't hurt him." He's wearing a black t shirt and a pair of pajama shorts with cartoon wolves littered all across the baby blue fabric. He's trying to appear intimidating. It's not really working.

You stifle a laugh.

Frankly had you not known how deeply he cared for Felix, you'd not have cared about his advice. Or warning....?

"Fine," you respond, watching as the tension visibly left his body with one bating breath. "I hope this isn't about me stealing your yoghurt though."

"It's a little about stealing my yoghurt," he jokes, you think he's one of those people who'd apologise if you punched them in the face and spat in their drink. It's interesting...

Chan laughs a little. His eyes sparking with amusement for the first time of all the times he's looked at you. Did he trust your word that much?

—

"He talks about you a lot you know,"

You nearly spit out your drink. Seungmin isn't exactly the densest guy you know. Far from it exactly and he isn't discreet either. So your first instinct is to think he knows something.

You watch Felix from a distance, a solo cup in hand, he's laughing at something Hyunjin said, there's a crinkle along the bridge of his nose and his upper lip curls upwards to reveal his teeth. In reality, in everyone's eyes, your lives are separate. They walk on eggshells around you still...you assure yourself there's no way anyone could've guessed.

So you play dumb, glugging the whiskey into your cup. It spills around the edges, landing on the semi-lit neon counter.

"Who?"

Seungmin blinks at you. An unreadable expression on his face.

"Jisung." He says, "Who else?"

You feel yourself getting less excited, the breath you were unconsciously holding passing your entire form. Jisung is the newest addition to your life, a performing arts student who offered to portrait model for a project you'd been given in class. He's cute, forward, which you like a lot. And you notice whilst using him for inspiration, that he looks at you just as attentively as you had at him.

Only for different reasons.

Jisung asks for your number. You say yes. Half-heartedly. Though at the forefront of your mind you keep comparing everyone to the guy you go home to ever so often, you pick out their flaws and their perfections and you think to yourself he isn't like this, he is like this.

"Yeah?" You pose, sipping and wincing. "What did he say?"

"Just the usual stuff...." Seungmin tilts his head, he's not drinking tonight because he has an exam tomorrow. You think it's a little funny that he's carrying around water in a solo cup. "But I can tell he has the hots for you,"

You laugh this time. That's no surprise to you. "Well he's not so bad himself."

Seungmin narrows his eyes, shooting you a suspicious look.

"Of course you'd say that...." He taunts, "Heard you guys hung out...how was that by the way?"

"It was alright. Sort of just...happened. We bumped into each other and he offered to buy me dinner."

"And you...said yes?"

You give him a blank look, sarcasm dripping from your monotonous sentences, how else would you have spent time together?

"No, I didn't, Seungmin,"

The owner of the name rolls his eyes at your satirical comment, "No need to be mean, I'm just a little surprised is all."

"Surprised?"

You raise an eyebrow, Felix is still in your line of sight, it looks like he's stalling, waiting for your conversation to end so you could leave. He glances at you a few times and you quickly text him a 5 more minutes. "Why's that?"

"Cause every time you start to have feelings for someone, you take one step forward and ten steps back," he points out, "Think about it...you haven't been in like an....actual relationship after...well, you know," he postulates.

You glare at Seungmin, your pride somewhat injured.

"Hey! I've....dated."

"No....you slept around with people, that's not the same as dating." He retorts.

You snort.

Wouldn't you know.

Minho changes an upbeat pop song to something mellow. It's in a foreign language...maybe Spanish, you understand nothing but you don't have to to know it's a sad tune, the lyrics coming together in a melancholic harmony. Your eyes drift away, you feel your attention falter.

It was not unknown for you to have absolute control over your life, be it living your days by strict routine or building such a sturdy pretentious armour around yourself so that your organic self remained unscathed underneath. You had learnt the hard way that being yourself in front of other people would only bring you hurt...but if no one really knew you, no one could hurt you.

This game of hide and seek had become such a long standing practise in your life that it disconnected who you are from who you pretended to be. And every time the extent of your actual desires, monsters much beyond your control rose to the surface, they brought you shame, disgust.

You found those pretences withering away, the shell of protection around you falling apart whenever the thought of Felix crossed your mind. — his heavy noise of content against your neck, his fingers curling into your sheets, his open mouthed kiss against the arch of your hipbone, everything and anything...you had again, despite all your abrasions, become madly consumed by him.

And you must admit to yourself that you are becoming quite ridiculous because of it.

In this strange moment, you realise you almost need Felix to harp on about you even though you specifically asked him to keep all that you have a secret. You want his friends to come scurrying to you to start telling you that he cares so much he can't keep his mouth shut, to be so enamoured with you that his innermost feelings become painfully apparent, that it's utterly stupid of you to not see how he feels about you.

That's not how it goes though. Stuff like that only happens in movies.

Felix responds, texting, "Take all the time you need." Surprised, you steal a glimpse of him, but only when Seungmin isn't looking. You didn't know what you expected, something more crude, that would give away that he was jumping on the balls of his feet to only get into your pants, that would remind you that Felix is nothing but your fuck buddy. You find that you always look for reasons to resent him....because if you did, it meant that you didn't have to acknowledge how you're still in love with him.

You knew what you were in for. And hoping, wanting something more....is no more than wishful thinking.

Felix smiles at you, a genial smile, a simple curve along the corner of his lips which conveys patience, but also something deeper, like...understanding.

Again no matter how much you pushed him away he seemed to find his way back to you in some fashion, just to convey that your union is not all as black and white as you told yourself it was.

You down the entire drink in one swig. Seungmin makes a face at you, the kind he makes when you stick your fries in ice cream for shits and giggles,

"Well....we broke up a long time ago," You hiss at the awful taste stinging your throat, sounding slightly angry. You can't believe it matters still, but when you've been clutching onto something for too long, be it a painful emotion or a memory...you start to think it's the locus of your life, an integral part of you. It terrifies you to think who you'd become without it — vulnerable, malleable, sensitive.

You can't do that again.

The last few weeks, regardless of how good they were, didn't change a thing.

It couldn't. You wouldn't let it.

Seungmin is right, you think, you are taking ten steps back. Just not in the context he thought.

"There's no reason I shouldn't start now."

—

Turns out there is a reason.

Jisung asks you out the next day. He's so friendly that you feel overwhelmed. At all times of the day, he dresses like a frat boy out on his morning jog. A nike running shirt and loose fitted trousers, a baseball cap worn the other way around...it's a little silly.

You don't mind it, having the kind of apathy you would have towards someone you don't know very well.

Everything with him feels new, awkward. But also slightly exciting. He talks too much when he's nervous and you notice that he's almost always nervous because of your personality, as though he can't really put a finger on you and doesn't know what to do about it. Besides...he’s not a horrible kisser either, you muse, he just doesn’t know what you want.

Yet whenever you heard yourself thinking those compliments, you couldn't help but feel utterly guilty, a strangely deep seated feeling that you were doing something wrong.

Why did you feel this way....

Felix isn't your boyfriend anymore. You don't owe him any form of loyalty. You knew that. You're someone who sticks to their gut feelings and your gut had decided that something about seeing Jisung didn't feel right and not just because of Felix, but because you're not interested in a relationship just yet. And you're sure he could tell you aren't, he shouldn't quite expect a call back anytime soon.

"I had a nice time," you say, because it's true. He took you out for ice cream and bought you candy floss when you stared at it for too long.

When Jisung doesn't respond for a hot minute, you follow his trail of vision, which instead of focusing on you, has shifted to the semi-lit backdrop of your apartment. He's too obvious.

"Do...you want to come in?"

He flounders a little at your suggestion, embarrassed. "Would that be alright?....if I did...."

"That depends, are you gonna kill me?"

You say with a straight face. No matter much Jisung prodded at your exterior, you wouldn't budge, like you usually hadn't. Unravelling isn't really your thing so....he can't tell if you're kidding or not.

"No...?"

You snort, "Why do you sound so unsure?"

Jisung's face has grown impossibly red, he could feel his ears burning in indescribable shame. You just have this air about you that makes you incredibly hard to read and it's really attractive.

"I....I didn't..."

You keep your voice, steady, calm, "Relax," "I'm just screwing with you," you say, stepping aside for him to enter, "Make yourself at home."

—

You suppose you were born to study the arts.

You never could consider yourself a studious being. When you were in school, you remember falling behind in classes where the arduous process of revising was required, say mathematics or the sciences even.

Though that realisation hadn't come to you naturally.

Your parents wouldn't take kindly to you not taking up a "well paying" profession and you fell victim to the constant barrage of criticisms, of mockery which ultimately conditioned you to think some part of you, a large part just wasn't good enough.

And with Felix gone....

You were at your worst.

The two years you spent without him were the hardest, a set of years that obliged you to protect yourself from all the hurt around you, inside you. And while the security that you provided yourself is undoubtedly necessary for well...anyone, the process itself had its wicked way of rendering you unspeakably lonely.

You agreed to apply as an engineering major to gain your parents' approval and then transferred to the arts department by the time you'd successfully moved out. You haven't spoken to them ever since...and it hurt you more than you would deign to admit.

When your mum drops over for a surprise visit and chances upon your ex-boyfriend loitering about in your kitchen, fixing up midnight munchies, she takes a natural guess that you've gotten back together. (Which you think is far more agreeable than the truth. Knowing your mother, a staunch supporter of your relationship with him, she wouldn't take lightly to your arrangement.) And before you know it, you're all having dinner.

Felix makes an effort to dress up well, discarding his usual hoodies and joggers for a more formal look, you suspect it has something to do with the fact that you haven't attended any casual settings with him since you broke up.

Cutlery clinks against ceramic, coming down with a semi-loud thump as you try to swallow the enormous lump in your throat. Your mum makes a passing jab at you, saying how you had settled for a much "easier" major than say architecture or philosophy, she bitterly mentioned that everything worked out in the end. After all, your choice is a "much fitting" field of study for someone of your caliber, backhandedly insinuating that you're far too stupid to pursue anything else.

What inspires hilarity is how those insults still affected you. In front of Felix, you act like these few years have brought the fighter out in you and here you are trying to blink away the onslaught of tears prickling your vision. It feels like someone stripped you off your skin, off your flesh and picked out all your shortcomings for him to see.

You expect him to stay quiet, you expect him to think of you as the utterly shameful, selfish being you tell yourself you are,

But Felix's fingers find your shaky knuckles under the table where they rest on your knee, he implants the weight of them in a reassuring squeeze. "Well I think it's great," he says instead, smiling cheerfully at your mum. To which she, for the lack of support, sheepishly beams at him, "Not many people have the drive to do what they want to do. Or know what they want to do...take it from me, Missus [.....]" He laughs nonchalantly, the hairs on the back of your neck standing to attention upon hearing the lovely sound. You always liked his laugh, the sound rippling against your naked skin, thick baritone when he'd just woken up and a kiddish falsetto when he's extremely happy.

You wonder when you started paying so much attention.

Felix glances at you, lingering for a long minute."I bet it took a lot of guts."

You feel your chest constrict with a sudden surge of emotion from the mere look, you can't remember if the Felix you knew in the past, or anyone for that matter, had ever beamed at you with such pride.

You wonder what he'd think if he knew about Jisung, why you had neglected to tell him at all....you knew, because this little moment is precious to you and you had no reason to tarnish it. Not when you had time.

You tilt your head, using your free hand to hastily find the back of his neck, drawing closer to him with little strength. The more he realised what you're doing, the more excited he got. See he found your newly introduced public display of affection immensely attractive, though obviously embarassed by the sudden motion...

You can do crazy things sometimes. Really crazy things. In public and he has never opposed to such exhilarating things, be it in restrooms or even in a similar setting when you were dating, there was a certain thrill to it which drove him to the brink of insanity. Felix would silently implode your attention when you were alone and when you were out in the open, in whichever way he was to receive it, the way which insinuated you were his was the best of them all. All that was fine though...because it was just the two of you.

But now...in this indecent time, he wishes he could hear what you're thinking.

Had... had you gone completely mad?! Your mum is looking!

Your face is stoic, Felix's mouth parts, then you reach over and kiss him shamelessly.

Over the years, all the things that have caused you pain were things you had endured on your own, in his absence. This realisation alone invites a heavy conviction inside you.

Because you know it just as well as he does, no matter how sincere he is to you — you don't need Felix. Not really.

But you want him.

—

You do a stupid thing. A stupid endearing thing and Felix's heart beats like it would jump out of his mouth if he opened it.

It was meant to be a secret, what you two have, a matter of uncomplicated lust which didn't require the attention of anyone because it initially or so you put it, wasn't important enough.

Then you charge to him, he supposes it has a little to do with the person who was blatantly flirting him in the middle of Changbin's Halloween party, he doesn't care though.

You don't like embarrassing yourself, so he doesn't actually expect you to wear a black cat hairband matching his white ears and feline tail. Felix wants to think it means something, how despite the coos and the caas, the giant wave of surprise washing over your friends, you interlace your fingers within his and kiss his cheek.

He doesn't what that makes the two of you now... but he would give you all the time in the world to figure that out if it meant you could be his again.

—

You trace your fingers against outline of his face. Splatters of moist moonlight kissing the high rise of his cheeks, dusting along the long fringe of lashes which cast shadows along his skin, his freckles are like dots of bronze dispersed on his skin. He's beautiful like this.

"You're thinking too much," he says with his eyes closed, smiling a little. "Don't think so much."

You laugh. "Or what, huh?"

Felix cracks an eye open, his grin big, kiddish. "I was hoping you'd say that," he rubs the tip of his nose against your collarbone, he snuggles closer to your chest. What you hadn't expected was how he shifted his entire weight onto you, lying entirely atop you as though he were a starfish.

You couldn't stop laughing at the motion, it's so cheesy and gross...you love it.

—

Here's something you don't know — Jisung tells his friends everything, about making out with you and taking you out...everything. News travels fast. Faster than you anticipated. Despite wanting to divulge the matter, you were too taken by the recent shifts in your feelings to confess to your little interaction. You had told yourself again and again — a little later, just a little later and I’ll tell him.

It could be too late now.

The entire campus knew of your little rendezvous, shooting you curious looks... it's not until Minho comes up to verify the floating rumours do you all but sprint to Felix's place. You think of Chan's trusting eyes, of don't hurt him, of laughing in the intimacy of your bedroom and swiping your fingers down his spine like you were trying to commit the undulating design to memory.

You're not sure where it all began.

but you don't want it to end.

Felix doesn't answer your calls or your messages. When he buzzes you up, just from his gait, just from the resigned look in his eyes, you know he knows.

You watch as he listlessly leaves you to enter, walking before you without saying as much as a word.

You grab Felix’s elbow, making him stop in his tracks. He looks at your fingers wrapping around the muscle, shrugging you off easily. It’s just a small gesture but its impact is so large...that you feel your heart break into a million pieces.

You had never seen Felix being so quiet, even when he was down, he found a manner to radiate a form of optimistic energy which baffled you. You can’t believe how much you could have possibly hurt him.

“I can explain.” you gulp, “We went out on one date. It wasn’t because I liked him, I know it’s stupid and...I should’ve told you. I’m sorry, that's not an excuse, but you have to trust me when I say it didn’t...it doesn’t mean anything to me—”

“Did you sleep with him?”

With his back turned away, he still isn’t looking at you, speaking to you with a surprisingly stable tone.

“No.”

Felix takes a shuddering breath, one which expresses the small relief of knowing that Jisung hadn’t seen, touched you, felt you in the way that he only had, but there’s still so much more he wants to know.

“Did he make you laugh?”

It’s a silly question, he realises belatedly but he can’t help it. Some part of him, a large part, thinks he’d be more hurt if you made someone happy and they made you happy than if you fucked them.

You shake your head even though he can’t see you. “He didn’t.”

Your fingers again reach for his, wrapping your index into his thumb. You slowly move your hands to his middle, clutching him close to your chest, chin hooking into his shoulder, suddenly...you feel him melt into the embrace. Felix’s voice falters for the first time, small trembles against you. You’re willing to answer all his queries if it could put his mind at ease. You put your heart on hold for too long.

"Do you hate me...?" He sniffles.

You blink....did you?

Felix had changed, like you, he had matured, the past version of him you had so stubbornly ingrained in your endless inner monologue is not the one you grew all too familiar with...

Familiarity does breed contempt, does it not? Well you think the line between love and contempt is untraceable, melded together as a mysterious whole. After all those years, you were still angry, still filled to the brim with contempt for him and more importantly, yourself because you still love him much more than you'd like to admit. After all you've been through. After all this time. The need to love him ultimately encompassed every other emotion which posed itself as a hindrance.

So the opposite of love, the absence of love, you think, isn't hate, it's indifference. An emotion you never felt towards him.

Felix has wedged himself into every aspect of your life, tainted every portion of your routine in his presence and in his absence.

You don't think you'd have it another way.

"You broke my heart," you explain, "I was angry....but I could never hate you for the sake of hating you."

"I can't..." Felix whispers, twisting his body so he could look at you now, “I can’t promise you that it won’t be hard but I'm not—I’m not going anywhere...you know that right?”

You lean your forehead against his, his eyes shifting to your mouth, hands rising to wrap around your neck. You smile.

“I know.” you say, "Me neither."

“I love you...” He says in a small voice, putting his hand against your knuckles. “Do you love me?”

Your eyes soften, cupping his face like this — carefully collecting a lone tear with your thumb before it could touch his cheek. This time there is not a shred of hesitancy, no pause, no pondering before you say,

“I never stopped.”

—

You enter in a blind rush of panic, thinking you might miss your ride, feet knocking together, elbows hitting elbows, bustling all around you and the sudden overwhelming stench of people hit you, it’s not an ideal setting, not at all actually.

But you couldn’t bother to be displeased a second you spent with him. A teenager rolls her eyes at how disgustingly in love you are, elderly couples tutting under their breath...albeit, you don’t fail to notice their subtle smiles, small shake of their heads which attested to the fact that the joy you both radiate is.. absolutely infectious. You stumble with him behind, Felix is laughing breathlessly, bumping into your chest as the train suddenly starts moving, you place a finger on his cheek and he raises his chin to look at you.

“Did you eat?” he repeats, mocking himself, a dialogue from a time which seems an element of the distant past replaced by a love which compensated for every hitch in your relationship. You still argue, still disagree and still make up the same. Felix was right, it isn’t easy.

But when two people love each other as much as you do,

it’s worth trying. With every fibre of your being.

“No.” You laugh, playing along, “But I could, with you.”

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