#it's stupidly self-indulgent how much i like to talk about this shit

[sunsetofdoom]

I was talking to my friends about this but like. I really appreciate how Mastermind is a great parallel to The Circus in some ways.

Like: before re-meeting Blitz as an adult, what is like... the most stupidly, ridiculously self-indulgent fantasy Stolas could come up with? Maybe his only childhood friend, the only person he's ever felt real connection with, showing back up at his house and wanting to reach out to him? And then being 'overwhelmed by desire' and ravishing him in a scene straight out of his romance novels?

We know this isn't exactly true, and that events seem very different from Blitz's POV, but still. Stolas must have felt like he was having a fever dream, or possibly doing crack. We can critique his actions in season 1 (and we will! he's intolerable!) but he truly must have felt like his most ridiculous fantasy just fell into his lap.

Now. Blitz post-Apology Tour, who thinks he has lost his bird forever, who thinks that Stolas is impossibly, totally out of his league- and that even if he'd managed to say all the right things when presented with the Asmodean crystal, there was so much shit standing in the way of that relationship that it would have crumbled instantly. What's the most stupidly, ridiculously self-indulgent fantasy he could possibly have?

Is it maybe the idea of his bird getting totally de-powered and de-moneyed, that ugly fucking top hat tossed into a deep dark hole and stomped on, so that only the things that Blitz fell in love with- Stolas' affection, his whimsy, his sincerity, his gentleness- are left?

They're gonna have a major-league energy mismatch when they wake up in the morning, is all I'm saying. Suddenly, Blitz is gonna be the one whistling love songs while making coffee, and Stolas the one humiliated and trying to climb out the window. Except he literally doesn't have anywhere else to go.

[eurydices-carnation774]

INFODUMP TIME!!!

So a few weeks or so ago me and my friend @likesaly were discussing Hadestown and we accidentally created a modern/influencer AU and it’s been rotating in my head ever since

Ignore if some things are a little out of character. I do not care because this is me being self indulgently cringey

Minor spoilers and a few (vague) NSFW references under the cut

-Eurydice

Eurydice is a tumblr girlie, and we all know it I fear. She posts a lot of outfit stuff that accidentally gets reposted to Pinterest. She also, often shit talks Hades on tumblr and screenshots his twitter posts and reuploads them onto here and just calls him a bitch. These ALSO get reposted onto Pinterest.

I don’t think she particularly falls under any specific alt genre, but falls into TikTok’s “Dommy mommy” cliche because of the black dress and combat boots.

She frequently posts about stupid shit Orpheus is doing and then later updates on how he somehow made the entire house smell like mangos (he made ramen with monster instead of water)

Definitely semi popular blog on tumblr

-Orpheus

He posts about playing guitar on TikTok! However, this has accidentally caused the issue of his TikTok comments being filled with:

“Weird way to propose”

“Omg his hands”

And on and on. You know the comments

Anyways, he later posted a video with Eurydice and mentioned that they were dating in the caption and instead got the:

“I hate couples being happy”

“I hope y’all find out you’re cousins”

Comments. Orpheus cannot win

He makes random food combos on occasion, Eurydice hates him for this one. She will always willingly try it but also hates that he keeps making the house smell like disgustingly sweet fruit or just burnt.

-Hades

Posts about his shit politics takes (likely higher up in politics standpoints. Idk I don’t pay attention) and his wife, that’s it

Him and Eurydice are always in a weird cross platform fight between twitter and tumblr

Eurydice posted a photo of Orpheus once and he screenshotted it and reposted it with the caption

“Why is your boyfriend a wet rag of a man”

-Persephone

Runs an Instagram page about plants, except when you check her story it’s always about something that happened while she was drunk

Calls hades out on why he needs to stop the capitalism twitter page

He won’t listen

Her and Eurydice post photos together sometimes!

Hermes:

That one guy who goes stupidly popular once every 3 months for posting a stupidly funny video

Doesn’t spend much time on social media, but when he does he’s viral for 3 weeks

[fluxweeed]

10 first lines

share the first lines of ten of your most recent fanfics / wips

hi @teeteringpileofunusednotebooks and @nv-md! tysm for the tag + i’m sorry i’m so late!! mari – i’m ridic excited for your stupid number of WIPs – also i feel like you’ve started writing at least? two more? since you posted your version? i’m laughing, but with love. ali – your lines are all so perfect and make me miss ur writing so much! nv-md binge incoming!!! 

the last time i did this was exactly 10 published fics ago, so this is actually perfect timing! last time i also completely ignored the rules and talked in-depth about each line, and u kno what? tumblr is about the only place i feel comfortable being stupidly self-indulgent, so here we are again lmao 🙈

in reverse chronological order:

1. For Lack of Wanting (8.4k, E, unrequited drarry)

I was obsessed with him, you know.

(this line and also the entire first section is so tell-y but tbh i purposefully didn’t care. i just wanted to write some fucked-up unrequited roleplay sex, you know? sometimes you have to forget about writing good and just treat urself)

2. Still the pine-woods scent the moon (15.5k, E, remus/harry)

It seems like a reasonable idea, at first.

(so this fic actually started off as a sirius/harry after i went on a huge @lqtraintracks bender one weekend [and if u haven’t already, stop what ur doing and go inhale all 19 lqt sirius/harry fics immediately]. then i realised there was nothing i could really add to a sirius/harry fic that hadn’t been done already - but i came across this art and it lodged itself into my brain forever. it’s just the vibes, u know?? how soft remus looks but also the way he’s looking right at the camera?? that man is in CONTROL. so anyway then obv i needed to find a way to get him into grimmauld place so he could walk in on draco fucking harry in the arse. thus: first line.)

3. Ferrety Little Mouths and How to Snog with Them (5k, T/M, soft drarry kissing)

“And she lost her shit, can you believe it?”

(can’t rly take credit for this one; this whole section with draco talking about his ex is almost word-for-word a convo i had with a friend about their ex and their friend who was weird about it. not quite sure the phrase “she lost her shit” was used, but that was def the vibe.)

4. Two to Lie and One to Listen (85k, E, drarry fake relationship [sort of])

She’d got another letter from the Ministry that morning. It was from the Muggle Liaison Office this time. 

(god, this fic. in the very first draft, hermione was the legit villain: the sort of friend who is well-meaning and loudly supportive, but is lowkey bigoted and doesn’t think that queer relationships are as meaningful as straight ones. then before the first big rewrite i started thinking more about her motivations and had the idea of making her trans – both to give her a non-bigot reason for agreeing to help draco hide his sexuality and not tell harry about it [it’s all about the trauma, folks!!], but also as a nice little fuck-you to jkr. so then she needed more of her own storyline, bc it felt like a bit of a cop-out to be like “hey this character is trans i swear! anyway let’s mostly ignore her and have her get in the way of the main pairing” [which, honestly, is still sort of the vibe of the fic], so she got her big Let’s Change The World Campaign.

the first version of this prologue was from draco POV; the second version was hermione POV but she was sooo mean and angry; this one is the third attempt. i wanted to show her desperate attempts at making any kind of change, anywhere at all, so it’s a bit more plausible that when she runs into draco malfoy, she’s like “ok yeah sure let’s pretend to be boyfriendgirlfriend!” lol. also does it bother anyone else that there are three different tenses in this one line? everything about this fic makes me sick lmfao)

5. Per my last letter (I hope you choke on it) (10k, T, epistolary author!harry/publishing-grunt!draco)

CURRICULUM VITAE: Draco L. Malfoy

(can’t remember whose idea it was to start with a cv? it seems like the sort of lazy backstory shortcut i would do, lmao, unless it was actually @lastontheboat​’s idea, in which case it was a genius move to introduce draco’s work struggle and set the tone for his journey thru the rest of the fic)

6. An Auror Error (1k, T, stupid drarry auror fic written in tongue-twisters)

Harry shivered under Malfoy’s stern glare.

(1. wanted it to be left a bit ambiguous what harry’s actually feeling here [reality: he’s shivering bc he thinks draco is sexy when he glares, but also he could be scared bc he’s being interrogated?] 2. playing around a little bit with the s/sh sounds. easing into the nonsense to come.)

7. Eight o’clock, tomorrow evening (11.5k, E, drarry legilimency sex)

It was seven fifty-five, and Draco’s stomach churned.

(listen, i thought i was doing something with the title being a line from the end of The Four Doors, which this fic is a lil sequel to. this first line was (a) tying that together even more and also (b) establishing the POV switch from harry POV in 4D)

8. The Taste of Țuică (15k, E, ron/harry/draco)

Mum always says my problem is that I care too much. I think that’s nonsense, honestly—one of those meaningless things mums say to make you feel better about overreacting to stupid shit. But I can’t deny that I care about my friends. I mean, really care about them. You know?

(i’m including the whole first line here instead of just the sentence bc i was trying to do sooo much here, lmao. first, i wanted to really ground this fic in ron POV, and the weasleys are so very Family [u know??], so i wanted to get that in asap. i also wanted to get in ron’s maybe-demisexuality in there – i love love LOVE getting characters to explicitly state something about themselves while also simultaneously not realising it at all [seriously i do this all the time, promptly forget about this if ever u plan to read one of my fics bc it will be all u can see now haha] and this absolutely an example of that. poor old ron is going “hey i love my friends soooo much, i love hermione, and also i love harry, i just love them both SO MUCH. wait why tf did i kiss harry that one time???” what a chump.)

9. Belatedly Consummated (4k, E, drarry post-arranged marriage fuck)

The problem is: Harry can’t stop touching Draco.

(idk man i just really liked the thought of these two idiots having to cohabit and try to remain platonic while they get a magical boner every time they touch each other ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ this one also gave me a chance to do another thing i rly like to do, which is take the first line and make it the last line, except the last line is somehow Resolved. last lines are fuckin HARD, i use this trick all the time, pls also forget this one before reading any of my fics, ty)

10. Show them the night that they dreamed about before (6.5k, E, percy/harry/draco)

Draco’s first thought is, Huh, Potter’s here again.

His second thought is, What is he doing, bent over the desk like that?

His third thought is, Oh. Weasley is fucking him.

(i think this was the first thing i wrote for this fic and i lowkey still love it. i think it’s maybe a bit confusing? clunky? i feel like one of my beta’s didn’t like it? but it makes me laugh and also i enjoy the mental image of percy going to town on harry and draco standing there experiencing a whole-ass face journey while otherwise completely motionless, so.)

BONUS WIPS:

1. 10k/15kish written, E, silly drarry vagina fic

As soon as Harry wakes up, he knows that Something is Not Right.

(i feel like this might stay the same in the final version? this wip is about 5 years old lmao but i’ve been playing with this beginning section a bit recently. have made it 100% sillier and imo it’s improved it so much. still not sure i’ll ever finish it.)

2. 27k/50kish written, M, drarry polyjuice clubfic

In general, Harry is grateful for Hermione’s efforts to keep him alive.

(i strongly suspect i’m going to rewrite this entire first scene once i actually finish the fic and realise there are secret themes that currently elude me. atm it works as a way of getting them to where they need to be [on a brisk morning walk!] and also as a joke later on in the fic, but there’s nothing else really going on with it.)

-

god i’m so sorry for hijacking a simple tag game to talk about myself at such obnoxious length ;_; hope it encourages more writers to talk about their processes tho, i need more fic writing meta content now galla’s bonus podfic episodes are offline. tag me if u do this / come across this pls!!! love u ❤️

[micahweissberg]

he'd fully expected for rory to gloss over the question, if not to spare him from the embarrassment that he'd stupidly asked, then to avoid bringing up the trauma of a sore subject to a stranger altogether. instead, he indulges micah—doesn't pour everything out, but gives just enough to paint the morbid picture of his grief, as if micah needs any more help when he could hear it in rory's voice alone, in the melancholia that colors his weathered features, the insurmountable pain of losing the mother of his child to somebody else's poor decisions.

"that's horrible." his voice is quiet, sullen, tone plunging half an octave the way they were taught in his drama elective, just in case they forget how to act like real human beings in such situations. "how long ago?" fucking idiot. and once again, "i'm... so sorry. it's just..." he glances over at rory's daughter, thinks about how she's probably had to get used to not having her mother by her side, wonders if that's something she'll ever get used to at all. micah's father might've been too self-absorbed to get to know him growing up and his mother too plagued with her own neuroticisms to recognize the same maladies killing him, but at least they're alive, which is an entirely different kind of consolation that puts things into perspective, but there you go. "she's so little. must've been really hard to explain that kinda loss to someone so young." sympathy, as he offers a sad smile at rory, is wedged between each word. raised by a single mother, his father's exes, and the city of new york, he can't imagine bringing a child up all by yourself. by the looks of things, he fears rory's had to do just that— in a foreign land, no less.

micah sighs, something like a chuckle weaved through the frequency of his breath, when rory mentions his aspirations to become a lawyer. "i dunno... want is a strong word, i think." he laughs again, slightly embarrassed. "okay... let's put it this way: i tell jokes in front of college students and chronically online keyboard liberals for a living. then i spend my hard-earned clown money to attend law school for kicks. does that make more sense?" he fully leans against the wall now, pushing his shoulders blades back so he can slide himself slightly lower, heels firmly planted on the wooden floor. "no shit, a landscaper from scotland." he nods at his teacup, an ounce of oversaturated tea left inside that he decides to leave it alone to save his tongue from the bitter aftertaste. "bet you never ran out of work." he's only been to that part of europe briefly during his one-year backpacking stint right before what would've been his last few semesters of law school and has seen, first hand, the abundance of green that covers the square footage of the whole country. "that's so funny, though, i would've guessed you worked with your hands. i just sense this vibe about you," and he makes a gesture over rory, sort of a wiping motion, "it's not a bad thing at all. it's just, you seem like someone who'd be good with his hands, you know? which is a lot more useful than standing on a stage and trying to measure funny by the dollar. kudos to you." he doesn't know why he's talking so much. had thalia put something in the tea? or was it the biscuits? or maybe it's how effortlessly the dinosaur accommodates the rat chef in a room full of costumed strangers.

Rory’s barely had a chance to react to Micah’s question before he’s already apologizing profusely, clearly embarrassed by the fact he’d asked it at all. Sure, it’s not exactly one he’s used to hearing people ask him after sharing Eliza’s passing, but it’s also not the first time he’s heard it. Mostly it’s asked by people who are less sorry about it, though. It’s not like Rory can blame him — curiosity’s a powerful thing. Tends to render even a human filter useless, on a good day. He can’t help the twitch of his lips upward as he continues to apologize, trying to bypass the incident altogether by changing the subject to the Midwest. Rory wonders if he should pretend the question hadn’t been asked, but, well — it had, and it’s not the worst part of Eliza’s death. Everything that came after it was. Her death was just that — her death. “It’s alright,” he assures Micah, shaking his head in what he hopes is a reassuring manner. “She was, ah — struck,” he shrugs one shoulder in an attempt to keep both of them from stiffening at the memory. “By a drunk driver. Head-on collision.” The drunk fuck hadn’t had a scratch on him, and still tried to claim mental health issues in court. Rory hopes he never sees the light of day again. “It was sudden,” he adds, supposing that’s the more pressing question Micah had. “For both of us.”

He welcomes the change in subject, then, nodding at the background Micah shares with him. He’s about to ask a follow-up question to the New York part when Micah’s suddenly being forced closer by one of the kids who’d come eagerly up to the table, surely in hopes to procure some more biscuits. To be a child with no taste buds, Rory thinks morosely. He manages to hold his hand out to help Micah out of the situation, grasping gently at his forearm. Maybe he doesn’t need the help with balance, as he ends up easily back against the wall, but it’s an instinctual act. Comes with years of having to take on the soccer-mom act by himself, he thinks. Micah ends up closer to him in this new position, and as Rory takes back his hand, he realizes there’s some blue in the other’s eyes he hadn’t noticed before. Clearing his throat, he smiles, trying to find his way back to the topic at hand.

“New York,” he says, as if he’s only just remembering the city itself. “Sounds exciting. Never been.” Too big a city for him, he thinks. “You want to be a lawyer, then?” he asks politely. He hasn’t met many solicitors in his day. The one that helped put Eliza’s killer away, sure. He was a good lad. The one that tried to threaten Rory before actually serving him on behalf of Eliza’s parents. Less of a good lad, that one. At his question, Rory smiles. “I’m a carpenter,” he says. “Commissions, mostly. I used to be a landscaper back home,” he explains. “Contractor, before that. Still am those things, I suppose. But here—” he shrugs. “Dunno. Thought I’d get back to the basics of it.”

[swaps55]

5 Questions for Writers

Tagged by @foofyschmoofer! Perfect timing, as I am chewing on how to re-frame a new scene and haven’t gotten anywhere with it, ha. 

Tagging @citadelsushi, @pigeontheoneandonly, @nightingaleseeking, @joufancyhuh and seriously anyone else!!!!! No obligations. 

1. Do you have a favorite character to write? Who and why?

Right now? Joker. He comes so easily, and makes every scene he’s in a delight. There’s a lot of him in Sonata, my current WIP. 

2. Do you have a favorite trope to write? Or one you want to write?

...I feel like if I say anything other than fake relationship I’d look like a complete liar. But also just epic, endless pining and hurt/comfort. The classics. 

3. Share your favorite description you’ve written?

Would it be really selfish and terrible if I gave you two? 

...Imma give you two. 

I hopelessly love everything I wrote about the Battle of the Citadel from Joker’s perspective, from here. 

The Normandy shot through the relay under Joker’s steady hands, a swath of hot dust and radioactive particles smothering the shutters with blue-lit gas.

Joker wasn’t looking at the shutters. All he’d find was a cocoon of stillness and silence. But the ship’s sensors were alive with heat – a chaotic hail of ordinance and high velocity projectiles tearing across the vacuum, with no gravity or air resistance to stop or even slow them down.

Just a target. Whether they reached their intended target was irrelevant. Every quantum torpedo loosed in the melee would eventually find something to hit.

Newton’s first law was a bitch.

Ladar identified dozens of enemy vessels, from bombers and frigates that darted swiftly in and out of attack lanes to the slower, sluggish cruisers and dreadnoughts anchored all around the tightly sealed cylinder of the Citadel.

Alliance transponders winked into existence around the relay like tiny stars, the overwhelming task of dispatching so many ships at once creating staggering amounts of drift. The smaller, more maneuverable vessels immediately dispatched to cover the flank of the Everest, the kilometer long dreadnought Hackett presided over with a proportionate main gun that made the Hiroshima bomb seem like a tea party, complete with princess hats.

Against the geth, it might not be enough.

Fighters launched in droves, streaking towards the geth onslaught as the bow guns of cruisers sounded off in rhythmic patterns. Light on light, heat spike upon heat spike, a carefully but brutally coordinated clash of ordinance playing out in energy pings and return signals.

The second one is this, from Celestial Navigation. I am so fucking proud of it.  Mildly NSFW: 

Shepard’s armor is as much a part of him as the person underneath it, and he’s not just talking about the hardsuit. There’s the military fatigues. The leather jacket and jeans that make it really fucking hard to pay attention. He’s got shield emitters on all of them, and they’re no less protective for being figurative.  

But skin tells a different story. It doesn’t hide the scars. The wear. The truth. Shepard’s all lean muscle over hard edges – biotic metabolism, just like his – not an ounce of him wasted or spared. His skin is a star chart of things he’s put his body through, and Kaidan’s navigating it as best he can. It hurts to think how much of that history Cerberus erased when they brought him back from the grave. The things Kaidan can’t see. Things he’ll never know.

So he focuses on the things he does know. Shepard’s body is familiar, but only as it functions in a hardsuit. Where it’s weak. Where it’s strong. How long before his amp overheats, how much punishment his barrier can take before he’s spent and vulnerable. He knows Shepard’s weak left hip – still weak, even after he’s been rebuilt from the ground up, because the man doesn’t know how to roll to the right every now and then – and how to protect him from it.

Now instead of gauntleted hands searching ablative for a breach to seal, Kaidan’s fingers skate over bare skin, find where it’s whole and where it’s broken. Instead of checking his biofeed and reading Shepard’s pulse he feels it under his palm, flesh and blood instead of numbers in his HUD.  

This is better. This is much better.

It’s better when Shepard’s hand glides across the inside of his thigh and wraps Kaidan’s leg around him. It’s better when their limbs tangle in the sheets, and Kaidan nearly knocks him off the bed trying to get free from the loop snaring his foot. It’s better when the muscles of Shepard’s belly jump as Kaidan ghosts them with his fingers.

Shepard threatens him with bodily harm if he ever lets it slip that the Savior of the Citadel is ticklish.

They’re messy but eager, feeling their way through one touch at a time. The angles that fit. The ones that don’t. They’re both seasoned soldiers with joints that pop and bones that ache, nursed along each day with a little dose of aspirin and a lot of grin and bear it. Some they already know, others they discover with winces and grunts when a hand strikes the wrong spot or a something torques left when it needs to torque right.

4. Share your favorite dialogue you’ve written?

I always default to dialogue from an unfinished story that I still think is the pinnacle I will never top, but so I don’t post it again I’m going with something different here. This is from Plans, and I absolutely love this little interaction. 

He was still staring out the window when a familiar presence settled in beside him. Arms draped over the railing, familiar bow in his shoulders, weight on his right foot. Before Cerberus, Shepard had always rested his left foot because of that bad hip. Kaidan wondered if that was still true or now just a force of habit. Had Cerberus rebuilt that hip the way they'd upgraded his amp, or had their “bring him back the same as before” mantra extended to nagging injuries? There was so much about Shepard he needed to relearn. And yet so much he didn't.

“Remember when I said you should annoy the shit out of Udina?” Shepard asked.

“Yeah,” Kaidan said, flushing a little.

“That wasn't exactly what I had in mind.”

Kaidan jabbed his toe at the railing. "First day jitters, I guess.”

Shepard smiled a little, but it faded quickly. “You did the right thing. For whatever that’s worth coming from the guy Udina would have loved to see you put a bullet in.”

“He wouldn’t have enjoyed it, Shepard. The real Udina, at least. Not whatever indoctrinated puppet he was at the end.”

Shepard raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

Kaidan shook his head. “You two may not have seen eye to eye on anything, but he respected you. Most of the time. You wanted the same things. Just…had different ways of achieving them.”

Shepard huffed in distaste. “I didn’t hand Cerberus the keys to the Citadel.”

“But you did accept their help when it was convenient,” Kaidan pointed out, unable to keep some of the bitterness from slipping through. “Use them to accomplish your goals. The difference is that you won and he lost.”

Shepard was silent for several painful seconds. Still. When he finally spoke his voice almost sounded small. “Yeah. I guess I deserve that.”

Kaidan sighed. “You didn’t deserve it. I just.”

“You’re you,” Shepard replied, not unkindly.

5. Scene you haven’t written, but want to?

My other WIP is a trilogy-spanning slow burn mShenko romance, which I am basically writing for one line that I will use when they finally hook up in ME3. 

I am very much looking forward to that moment. 

[heffrondriving]

i can’t believe it’s been a full-ass year since my villain origin story-

[jjkpls]

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​

[blitzbuckz]

【𐂃】 this taller dickwad's pretty good, he had to admit his tactics were kinda schmick. Convinced he had finished him off with that last stunt. No matter. Things were heating up && there's been blood spilled on both ends now. They were in this deep. Leveling the plain field. Bathing in the sensation of ripping each other apart. Like demonic animals displaying unmeasured profusion of bloodlust, neither of them turned tail. Dead set at winning this battle of self-worth. Because if his opponent thought he could walk away unscathed after talking down about his species. He had another thing coming!

❝ Bold fuckin' pitch, considering you're not looking so hot right now. ❞ although he was one to talk, considering how scratched up the flamed arrows left him. ❝ Try me. You might of succeeded landing the first mark- ( a couple actually ) but, in the end, I'm going to come out on top. I'm going to mangle you so hard. There's not going to be an inch on your body I would leave untouched. ❞

Indulged, not desiring to pussy out, he stood his ground. Fixating on the charging brunette as his tail flickered side to side. Lowering his left arm he hovered his right hand, with the knife, over the crystal yet again. Waiting, timing it just right. Or that's what he wanted him to believe.

A mere decoy- he wasn't intending to use the portal again. Not when his enemy's proximity is right where he wanted him. Promptly, his left hand retrieved his demonic firearm from underneath his black coat.

❝ Eat this, cunt. ❞ Pulling the trigger he discharged a pair of bullets towards their torso. Stupidly standing by his pride, he watched as his shots skimmed past the water attack. Eyes rendering shut as the imp didn't bother to attempt dodging his adversary's last blow. With how close they were, at tail's length, there wasn't room to act.

The emersed sounds of the ground graveling beneath his heels from the incoming slash indicating how badly this shit's going to hurt. He couldn't do much but hold his arms out in a 'X' form, shielding his face as he braced himself for the impact.

Diving into the clearing cloud head first, Childe had thought he'd had the imp cornered. There were only so many hiding places the little fool could use to escape with now that the smokescreen was dissipating, so jumping into dust the with his water swords poised in front of him should have put the Harbinger at an advantage.

But he'd never expected the creature to be able to teleport itself though!

Blitz was at Childe's back before he could even whirl around! Even a swift sidestep on his heels didn't seem to be enough to clear the ginger of the plunging knife coming straight for his face. He could only stop, swing his left arm out, and duck. With any luck, Childe's evasive maneuver would hopefully clear him of a fatal stab to his neck at least!

And thankfully, it worked!

Childe felt the sharp edge of Blitz's weapon dig itself into his shoulder instead; its razor sharp blade ripping a slice across the Harbinger's shirt before Childe had managed to stumble away. He couldn't tell how deep the wound was yet - but the hot, uncomfortable, sticky sensation of blood was quick to well up against his shoulder blade not long after. It wasn't a feeling Childe was unaccustomed to though and his chuckle where most people would've screamed seemed to speak for itself.

" Heh, seems like you do have some skill after all! Hitting your opponent in the back like that's a coward's tactic, but I'll let it slide this time. Especially since you were the one to draw blood first- "

" Then that just means I can go all out now! " And by 'all out', Childe meant not even giving himself a second to glance over his wounds before he'd block out the pain to charge at Blitz again. This time, with swords aimed at the imp's middle instead of arrows.

[mrskurono]

title: Fat Girl a/n: I really appreciate when writers write chubby!readers but honestly I need more than thicc thighs and a cute tummy. This is self indulgent as shit bc I have an “apple” body type and chubby!reader doesn’t fit my body type per say + might turn this into a series idk + I’m a fat chick so don’t get your panties in a bundle  word count: 1k tags: the usage of the word “fat” often, smut, vaginal penetration, soft but horny Suna, breeding kink ish, creampie, dirty talk, established relationship, chubby chaser Suna character(s): Rintaro Suna (hq)

Rintaro was a glutton. Head to toe. He was just that. A glutton.

Calloused and strong middle blocker hands made to stop volleyballs looked the best when they were grabbing fistfuls of your love handles. This he would tell you until the day he died. His body was for you first. Volleyball second.

Those same giant hands were holding onto your handles like his life depended on it. Long fingers pressed into the soft fat of your sides and sweat dripping down his nose as he stared down at you. Stalling his hips just for his sake and nothing more. If he moved anymore he was certain he’d loose himself. And he didn’t want it to end just yet.

“Shit-” His chest heaved with a shaky breath. Rintaro’s love drunk gaze turned down to you and only you under him, “Look at you-” 

Handsy as ever. Rintaro couldn’t figure out where to look or what to grab first. Every stretch mark over your stomach and chest was a map to another wonderful area of your body he craved. He could mold his hands into your supple stomach. Squish your breasts together and lick along the stretch marks. Or he could slip his cock out of you and slide his length along your fat cunt lips. He wanted to do it all. Plain and simple. Rintaro was a glutton for you.

“Shut up.” You roll your head back with a groan leaving your slightly parted lips. Hips bucking up to meet his with some kind of friction after he stopped, “...You’re just saying that.”

Rintaro shook his head. Leaning himself down to catch your lips on his. Not about to resume a quick pace like he had been. Instead the middle blockers hips flexed with short snaps of his cock into you. Burying himself down to the hilt each time. Leaving you to do nothing short of moan on his lips and grip his forearms when he hovered above you.

Another thing he savored. All that extra warm skin and you could enveloped his long cock. Rintao never felt like this about someone before. He was stupidly drunk on the idea of loving you more and more each day. 

“You’re so fucking hot-” He moaned against your lips, biting needy at your bottom one when your breath hitches and breaks the kiss, “Everything. I want it.”

Before you could wrap your arms around his shoulders. Rintaro leaned back up. Hooking his hands in your hips and smiling as all your extra tummy covered his hands when he yanked you down fully on his cock. Nestled so perfectly inside you. He swore you were made for him in more ways than one. Only thinking in fleeting thoughts about how good you could look with more than just his cock inside you.

Thoughts aside, the man swallowed the lump in his throat watching your stomach jiggle with his little forceful thrust. He wanted to put his mouth on it. Suck, bite, worship. Every single inch. To do so he’d have to pull out and he wasn’t willing to do that yet.

“Rin,” his name leaving your lips like a plea, he knows what it does to you when he fixates down on you like this. Sending shivers through your entire body as he gorges on the sight of you naked under him, “Fuck me already. God please-”

No need for an invitation to a feast of such caliber. Rintaro bottomed out in your fat cunt in one snap of his hips. The squelch of your juices around his cock and the way your supple walls milked him. Desperate not to cum he didn’t want anything for himself until he got the pleasure of seeing you writhe in pleasure on his cock.

Quickly his fingers went to your folds to find your clit. In desperation for himself as much as it was for you. Long, strong fingers working over your sensitive bud when he found the sweet spot that made you tighten around him and moan like a whore for him. With laser focus Rintaro wouldn’t move his fingers from the quick little circles paired with his cock fucking your deepest parts. He watched entranced by the way your body reacted.

Folds, creases and stretch marks all over your soft stomach. Leaving Rintaro wishing he had more hands to grab and grope at your fat. He wanted to. No, needed to.

“S-Shit- Rin!” Your cry broke him from his trance. Followed suit by the real way you tightened around him.

Rintaro grunted, eyes set on you like a predator. He wanted your orgasm and he wanted it now. With an extra flick of his finger over your clit and the way his stomach flexed when he thrusted into you harder than before. Was simply the undoing you needed to cum on your boyfriend. 

And you came hard, Rintaro wasn’t ready to let you just ride out an orgasm. He pulled you down on him when you squirmed and shuddered. Keeping you on his entire length with the violent shaking of your hips. His name leaving your lips like a curse and a blessing wrapped into one. It was too much.

“I can’t-” His eyes shut with one last stroke. Forcing his cock inside until he bottomed out in you. All of it too much. Your plush walls twitching around him and your fat cunt lips against the base of his cock that left him soaked in your juices. Rintaro didn’t hide it. Grip on your love handles to pull you closer to him as he came hard. Each gush of cum leaving him moaning incoherently and drooling outside your cunt.

Recovered from your orgasm sooner than his. Rintaro gave up as he laid on top of you with deep breathes trying to regain his composure or fall asleep. He wasn’t sure which one was going to come first. Your arms coming around and holding him close to you as he relaxed on top of you. Fingers combing through his hair that earned a sweet hum from him. 

Realizing his hands were free. Rintaro snaked his hands to your sides. Now that he could, he grabbed you tight. Feeling the squish of your plush body in his hands. 

It was clear to you that he wanted to squeeze your fat from the moment you two started making out earlier, “You’re so weird.” 

He buried his face in your neck. Squishing you like that was enough of an answer. But then he took a moment and kissed your neck softly without lifting his head, “My hands are better for grabbing you than playing volleyball. So that’s what I’m gonna do.”

Rintaro was a shameless glutton for a fat girl. 

[euphoricfilter]

ah got a thought after i sent the ask. phone call/audio message could also be realistic for tae/yoongi and their pets. for yoongi's, maybe mc is a fan of bts and yoongi is her bias but tae is her biaswrecker so yeah. am i being too self-indulgent with these asks?? lol. the cause could be accidental or on purpose. maybe they force/ask mc to call or send audio messages for when they're apart. (im thinking smut, masturbation. esp with a remote toy maybe. ah i like that thought so much omg) and they send audio messages back. and then the other overhears or something. their voices are so nice and i imagine their dirty talk would be so good omg. yoongi's gravelly voice and chuckle omg. i'd be willing to have just that if they can't be in the same room lol. ty for answering all of these lol

-🖤

babes i’m so self indulgent in writing all these don’t even worry 😭 i’d also argue this is healthy kink exploration

oh this is a very good idea my horny brain went brrrrr

maybe tae coerces the m/c into like phone sex and he records it, or he asks for a video of her making herself cum to one of his videos or something like his voice and yoongi overhears and then they’re both goners assuming that they don’t personally know the m/c

M/C BEINF A FAN OF BTS maybe she doesn’t even know it’s yoongi idk how it would work out, maybe through like an app. oh you know what, it could be like those apps where you speak to someone in another language and have like conversations with them and maybe she’s a big fan of bts and she likes this faceless stranger because he sounds exactly like yoongi and maybe she admits that she may have a voice kink and yoongi walks her through touching herself and maybe he even asks her to end a video of her using a vibrator and she just crumbles

maybe yoongi accidentally leaves the video on his phone and when he opens it up with tae right beside him it automatically plays and it’s just a video of the m/c bouncing on a dildo, maybe even accidentally letting yoongi’s name slip even if she didn’t know it was really him

DIRTY TALK WOUKD BE SO DELICIOUS

yoongi is 1000000% the type to chuckle down the phone as he makes the m/c cum, i don’t think he’d tease as much as taehyung would, that mf would edge the m/c for hours and she’s too stupidly submissive to go against what he says and just follows his ever order.

definitely a lot of praise

definitely a lot of degrading

assuming they know each other (yoongi and m/c or tae and m/c) or are in like some sort of relationship idk if either would really care for phone sex. i think they’d be more likely to record them having sex with their m/c for when they go away, and if it really comes to it then maybe WAIT I HAD A THOUGHT

THEYRE BOTH DEFINITELY THE TYPE TO JACK OFF TO THE VOICE OF THE M/C OVER THE PHONE doesn’t matter if they’re in public, doesn’t matter what time nor place they’d waltz into the bathroom and get off to the sound of the m/c’s voice even if she’s just telling them about her day or some mundane shit, they’d eat it up and then cum all over their hands

i love answering these it’s so fun, and i just have an excuse to feed into my fantasies 😋

[thunderheadfred]

🤚The Second Worst (Pt. 1/?)🤚

Part 2 of my Shigaraki Thesis Headcanons. HC's // The Second Worst: 1 - 2

The half-mad ghost of Shimura Tenko is in love with you, and your life is about to become a tragic wreck. -- AKA here's when I gave up on bullet points and went off the fuckin rails

I'm self-conscious about writing so much, so uhhhh, please be kind, hahaaa. This is rather long and involved. Are these still even HCs or just a self-indulgent AU outline? There are some mysteries we may never solve.

This is on AO3 now, if you prefer reading there. Anyway. Minors do not interact.

- - - - -

You met Tenko before the League existed.

Believe it or not, there are a million ways it might have happened, but in the end: you were both bargain-binning in Akihabara.

You reached for a copy of a collectible bullet-hell cute-'em-up (near-mint! CIB!!!) and accidentally bonked hands with a complete stranger. He flinched about five million feet away from you. Ouch. You're just a nobody, quirkless and average, but you didn't think you were THAT repulsive.

(You're not. Hell, even if you were, this guy couldn't care less. He barely registers that you have a face.)

(Shigaraki is accustomed to getting in and out of this shop in seconds. He always comes in before anyone else and goes straight home. -- Is that really home? Is 'home' a real place? -- ANYWAY he's already pirated this shit, god, why does he even care? He doesn't need to be here. Father doesn't like it. Is that why he's here? Just to do something Father doesn't like? That's pathetic.)

He's had at least ten complete internal arguments with himself before he so much as looks at you.

You know in the tenth of a second he actually meets your eyes... this fucker is going to fight you to the death over this game.

- - - The death match ends in a draw. He was not expecting you to know the first fucking thing about this game. Nobody knows about it, even in Japan. Who the fuck do you even think you are? Oh, no, he's still taking it. But... maybe he can show you how to play it it. He'll give you a little taste, just to make you jealous. He's got his hoodie pulled down like he's going to commit an act of terrorism. What little you can see of his face looks twitchy and messed up. If you have any survival instincts at all, they're kicking in right about now. But... why not. You're not going anywhere with this dude unsupervised, so you suggest a crowded web cafe down the street. The cafe has the necessary console... but the retro gaming booth is laughably small. The TV is about four inches across and you end up having to practically sit in his lap. You were sure this guy was a nasty fucking creep, but he's................ only mostly terrible. Way too angry, for sure. Has no idea how to have a normal, friendly conversation. Inadvertently insults you every other sentence and seems to have a deep-seated persecution complex.

You'd prefer to be mad about the awful company, but... he's obviously deprived of human contact. When it's established that you two share a lot of media fixations, he calms down and starts treating you a little more like a human being. Or at least like a fellow elite.

Wherever he came from, he doesn't seem to want to go back. He keeps pushing you to play one more level, pretending he wants to beat your score. You feel kinda bad for him. You get the distinct feeling that his life is a disaster. He looks like he's never had a full night of sleep in his life. He trips your trigger hairs in that 'is he gonna follow me home?' kind of way, but... up close, he's a lot more depressing than scary. At the very least, you want to buy him a stupidly cute dessert. Just... as thanks. For letting you try out the game and stuff. It's not a big deal, so just pick a flavor, okay? The world isn't actually that awful, y'know.

It's not even that impressive... Definitely not a great cafe. But he takes practically a full hour to eat a single slice of strawberry cake.

When the hoodie comes down. He's all shriveled and dried out, like someone left him him in the desert to die. He chews on his peeling bottom lip and nervously scratches his neck. He doesn't thank you for the cake. Which is fine. It's not a big deal. Actually, you wish he would eat faster; you feel weirdly responsible for him now.

Under all that mess he's... gorgeous? His hair is stunning: a bright, gleaming silver that catches the light. His bone structure is flawless. If it weren't for all the scars and the misanthropic slouch, he'd look like a fairy fucking prince.

You were not prepared for that. In another life he could have been a model, the type of guy who would never even look at you. But something bad happened to him. Something... very bad. Do you even want to know? You have no idea how to ask. Has anyone ever been nice to him? It doesn't seem like it. Should YOU be nice to him? You sort of want to try. - - - This becomes a regular thing. This weird little secret. You should probably tell someone when you see him, just in case you don't come back one day, but you say nothing; how the hell would you explain why you want to see him so bad? You don't know his full name. Maybe he's on a watch list. When he gives you a long string of random numbers so you can schedule meet-ups (is THAT his e-mail, really?) he tells you to just... call him Tenko. Or whatever. It doesn't matter. (He sneaks out when Father is deep in his plots. As long as he comes home on time, it doesn't really matter where he goes, right?) He brings a different game every time. He has an insane collection. Where does he get the money for all this? You know he doesn't work. God, is it drugs? It's probably drugs. Wherever these hidden gems came from, he proudly shows them off to you, like he's never had an audience before. It's sort of cringe-inducing, the way he one-ups and rubs every little victory in your face, desperate for attention.

But at the same time, you are becoming too... something...to mind. Do you... like him? He's not funny, but he thinks you are. His mouth is huge when he laughs. He seems to hate everyone but you, and you've had to earn the distinction of being merely tolerable. Still, he gets really excited about random shit like the garage kit black market and haunted dolls and the price of weed on the dark web.

And... strawberry cake. The realization hits you both at the same time when the waitress brings one piece with two forks. God, what the fuck, are you... are you dating? Quick, think. You look forward to seeing him, and don't even mind sitting close to him anymore. Sometimes you push your leg up against him just to see if he'll still flinch away... and he doesn't.

You jealously notice the way he touches everything but you: with delicate precision, one finger at a time. His large, elegant hands always have a pinky up like he's aspiring for a fiefdom, and you wonder what his skin feels like. You go home and dwell on the way he plucks flowering weeds out of the pavement in front of the cafe. The way he stands rooted to the spot as you leave, just... looking at nothing, unsmiling.

You watch his lips too much, and not just because you want to buy him chapstick. You catch him gaping at you all the time. You thought he was just creepy like that, but maybe... Yeah. I guess you are dating him. Shit. - - - Okay, so, yeah. Bringing him back to your place was definitely a bad idea. You know you shouldn't trust him, even if he is... apparently... your boyfriend? Sort of? You still don't have his phone number. So. Um. What now? You order overpriced pizza and queue up a campy horror movie. What the fuck are you even doing. You don't really think he's going to murder you anymore, but... still. Is the suburban massacre scene gonna give him ideas? Turns out, no. He doesn't like gore, even when the blood is neon pink. He gets upset. Like, really upset. Shaky and green, like he might puke on you. He can't stop scratching that scaly spot on his neck.

Tenko, are you crying? Fucking hell, did you just trigger him? Of course he has a traumatic past, it's carved all over his face. You're so fucking stupid. You don't know how to make it right. You want to hug him, kiss him... anything. But he's never really touched you, and you're too afraid to push now. It ruins the whole night. He leaves without explaining anything. Doesn't even say goodbye. He just. Leaves. Maybe you'll never see him again. Maybe that's for the best. Your chest hurts. - - - He shows up at your door a few weeks later. You haven't heard from him since that disastrous movie night. You had pretty much accepted that you'd broken up with a boyfriend you never actually had. But no. Apparently not.

This time, he’s brought his own entertainment. He's holding a boxed set of some show you're not familiar with. You're distracted by these weird little half-gloves he's wearing, like a cyberpunk hacker. That's a new look, and even if it's a bit edgelord adjacent, he makes it look cool. You tell him as much. It's the first time you've let on how attractive you find him. He's wearing a tight black shirt with a deep, deep V-neck. That's distracting too.

He clears his slender throat and doesn't look at you.

You try to apologize for before, but he's acting like it never happened. What are you even talking about? Have you seen this OVA or not? Get out of the way and let him in already. You've watched three episodes now, but you still have no idea what this stupid anime is about. You can't pay attention to a single frame. All you can think about is how his arm has crept up behind your shoulders. A few inches more and he'll be holding you. Does he... want to hold you? You lean toward him so slowly your spine creaks. One molecule at a time. After a thousand years, your head slides nervously under his chin. His arm comes down, locking you in, fingers clutching your sleeve in a death grip. Even that snobby little pinky. His head tucks down into you hair. A sharp collarbone bites into your cheek. His heartbeat is hard, fast, and irregular. There's not a scrap of fat on him, and as you wrap your arm around his stomach, you think you see a twitch in his pants. Is that just you being desperate? Or... hopeful? This is really happening. --- Soon, you learn that Tenko is a clumsy kisser. It doesn't matter; the fact that he's kissing you at all is good enough for now. His lips are dry, but not half as dry as you expected. There's a slick of menthol helping things along; he's been using something medicated on his lips. Plus, his mouth tastes like he drank a gallon of mouthwash.

All this thrills you more than a little, because it means he came here wanting to impress you. Wanting you. Full stop. Underneath that minty sting is a strange, worrisome aftertaste, like something rotten. Your brain fires off an alarm. Stop kissing him. Right now. This thing will make you sick. But his hands nervously slide over your body... and you decide not to worry about it. Instead, you kiss him deeper. He makes a sweet, startled little noise. Your brain is a fucking liar. It occurs to you he's probably never done this before.

When you lace your fingers in his and try to pull one of his gloves off, he rips his hand away.

Don't. That’s the only explanation he gives.

No need to ask if it's a quirk thing or a trauma thing. Judging by how jittery he gets, it's probably both. You remember the way his hands almost float over objects without ever holding them. Maybe his touch is dangerous. Maybe that's why his face looks like that.

Maybe you should learn more about him before things go way too far...

No. It can't be that bad. Now that he's in your arms, everything frightening about him evaporates. He's vulnerable. He's alone. He's shaking a little. Has anyone else ever seen this side of him? You want to keep him all to yourself, just like this.

So what if he has to touch you with gloves on? You've heard of worse quirk-related inconveniences.

It's okay, Tenko. Do you want to keep going?

You put his hands back on you and wait for him to kiss you again. It doesn't take long.

---

You open his pants. He's long and thin, calloused even here. Every part of him feels untouched, unloved. You hold him tight and squeeze.

It doesn't seem to occur to him to please you in return. He looks afraid. Confused. You're sure you scared him earlier with the glove thing. Is this too much? No. He gasps and leans into you. The tiniest, broken please.

He cums in your hand right away, face buried in your shoulder, his eyes wet and hidden.

I have to go, he says. Over and over and over.

It's okay, Tenko.

You know he doesn't want to.

- - - - - (oops I wrote more)

[thedistantdusk]

Arcadia, Chapter 4

Well! What could happen next to our star-crossed investigative pair? Yeah idk, man... somehow, this fic got a lot darker than I intended. Anyway! Thanks again to the same folks, without whom this story wouldn’t be possible. None of this story is safe for work, and this chapter is no exception ;) 

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3

D A Y + F O U R

She’s not sure when she wakes up. Her eyes blink open in the bleary morning… that foggy gap between night and day. Blue-green light streams through the windows, coloring the bedroom like it’s underwater.

He’s the first thing she notices, all warm and curled beside her. Harry… her Harry. A sad smile graces her lips as it all comes flooding back. Mike. The tulpa. The shower. Harry…

But together, all of those things are uncomfortable. Bits of it were nice, but the whole thing makes her stomach churn. It’s much easier to—

She presses her bum against him, hoping that wakes him up. Hoping he takes the hint. Harry heaves a deep breath, but doesn’t acknowledge her. Ginny bites her lip and wiggles back. Again.

Finally, he responds. But not how she’d hoped.

“Let’s… not jump to starting that up again,” Harry murmurs into her ear, his voice graveled with sleep. “Ok?”

She whips around, brow furrowed. “So you’ve suddenly become unattracted to—?”

He barks out a humorless laugh and reaches for his glasses. “We both know that’ll never happen.” He takes her in, reclining on the tufted headboard; she can’t help but feel flattered by the red patches that bloom on his cheeks. “Erm…” He clears his throat. “Could you get a dressing gown, actually? I really want to have a serious conversation and…”

He’s never been able to concentrate while she’s naked, has he?

“Sure.” For some reason, her skin prickles as she rises to her feet to pad across the carpet. Exposed. She feels exposed, even though Harry’s probably seen her naked more times than she has. Because this time, it’s not so much that he’s seeing her body naked— it’s that he’s about to discuss things she’s tried very, very hard to deny.

Ginny emerges from the closet in a white dressing gown and gives Harry a little twirl. “Happy?”

His lips curl in a tired smile. “Not… exactly. But I’m hoping to change that.”

“Oh?” Ginny settles in the desk chair. She’s not keen on this conversation, but some part of her recognizes it’s long overdue.

Harry begins by clearing his throat again. “So. Erm.” He places his fingers in a steeple and studies them. “As I… admitted last night, I’ve never stopped loving you. It’s been an awful, awful five years, but frankly it would’ve been worse if we’d stayed together, under those circumstances.”

She opens her mouth to object, but he raises a hand to forestall an interruption.

“Let… let me finish. Because after Percy died...” He shoots her a significant look. “You changed. Ok?”

“That’s not exactly fair,” she snaps, peering at her painted toenails. “Of fucking course I changed. If I didn’t change, I’d be a bloody sociopath. Is that who you wanted to shag?”

Harry heaves a deep sigh. “No. And I’m not going to let you get away with twisting things… again. Ok? Please, just let me finish.”

She presses her tongue to the roof of her mouth. For fuck’s sake, why does she already want to cry?

“You changed,” Harry continues, “and I really don’t blame you for it, but you refused to talk about Percy, or that night, or- or honestly, even anything remotely sad! Ever!” He pauses to collect his thoughts; guilt stabs at Ginny’s stomach. She wasn’t aware this frustrated him quite so much…

“You threw yourself into schoolwork,” he adds, blinking at the far wall. “You lost interest in things you loved. We still had sex, but it was…” He winces. “Unattached. It was… it was like it didn’t even need to be me there, in particular.” His eyes flit back to hers. “I tried to talk to you about it loads of times, but then when you joined the Unspeakables, you just used that as an excuse.”

Traitorous tears drip down her cheeks. She brushes them away to defend herself. “I was already interested in joining up before that,” Ginny insists, her voice warbling. “You weren’t there that year, Harry. You didn’t see what it was like at Hogwarts. The Unspeakables were putting out all this… this rubbish misinformation about you and about muggleborns, and—”

“—All of that is well and good,” Harry interrupts, “but the fact is that you became a different person after Percy died, and after nearly a year of living with that, I’d had enough.” He shrugs. “And even five years later, you’ve never sought help, as far as I know. Professional help, from someone who knows what they’re talking about. Not the type of help you find at the bottom of a pint.”

He’s right, of course. It’s like a stinging slap in the face, but he’s bloody right.

“So!” Harry clears his throat again. “As much as I… enjoyed last night, that can’t happen again if we don’t fix what split us up before. You’re still convinced you killed Percy. Until you’re not? This”— he gestures between them— “can’t work. Full stop.”

Ginny swallows and stares into her lap. “I’m not responsible for my brother’s death,” she whispers, emotionless. It’s a mantra, an oath, one she’s so accustomed to repeating that it’s turned foreign and unfamiliar on her tongue.

“Oh, I’m aware,” Harry says, spreading his palms. “The whole bloody world is aware, Jenny.” He sucks his teeth. “But you aren’t.”

There’s a pause. Ginny bites her lip, tempted to launch the spring-loaded denial she’s learned through years of counseling. But this time, it doesn’t come.

Because Harry knows better.

Shit.

That fact settles in the pit of her stomach; what are the chances, really, that she found herself trapped and playing house with the only person on earth who knows better.

“I was the last to see him,” she mutters, eyes downcast. “I told him he’d never replace Fred. I was drunk. Stupid. Stupidly drunk.” She grips her head in her hands, but the words don’t stop. They’re shooting from her, spurred by years of grief and regret and bursting forth like a steam engine.

“My stupid fucking temper,” she continues, every syllable dripping with self-loathing. “Ruining everything. And then he goes and—” She makes a flailing gesture. “Offs himself. Right on my mother’s fucking birthday! The day before your parents—”

“I know,” Harry whispers, his voice pleading. “Ginny, I know. But please, love, it’s not your fault. It’s never been your fault.”

She can’t breathe. She can’t breathe. It’s too much to say it aloud, to admit it, to let the waves of regret wash over her. There’s a scuttling of movement as she blinks ahead, gaping like a fish out of water. She’s not even surprised to feel Harry wrapping his arms around her and bringing her back to the bed. To feel his lips pressing to her temple as her body wracks with sobs. And she can’t do anything but lean into him. She can’t do anything but surrender, completely. To indulge in feeling raw and vulnerable and alive.

She doesn’t know how long it takes to come to. It’s not until she’s clinging to his chest that she draws a deep breath.

“You never told me any of this,” Harry says softly, mournfully, his hand playing with her hair. He loves her hair. He’s always loved her hair. With a final sob, she admits— if only to herself— that she misses letting him love it. She misses how he’d bury his face in the crook of her neck. How he’d inhale deeply, right at the crown of her head, and blink down at her with a dreamy smile.

She misses him.

Fuck. She misses him. And not just shagging him… but the whole bit. The late-night snacks and discussions on quidditch plays and heated debates about the best brand of toilet roll.

“What… what if I agree to work on it?” she finally whispers, eyelashes thick with half-dried tears.

Harry sighs; his hands still haven’t left her hair. “If we both agree to work on it… because trust me, I’m not doing fantastic either.” He lets out a chuckle. “Do you know how weird that was, being the stable one for once? Anyway.” He waves this off and continues. “If we both work on it, with proper mind-healers…” He swallows. “I don’t see why we couldn't be physical. Eventually.”

She pulls back to give him a watery grin. “I love you,” she murmurs. For the first time in years, her chest feels full. Her heart warm. Like there’s a chance at something in the future that doesn’t involve work and sadness and takeaways.

But speaking of work.

“I’d erm. Like to keep things with us private,” she says, playing with a piece of lint on the duvet. “Especially from work. And my family. Because…”

The thought of Attica’s face, pinched in disappointment, is nearly enough to replace the progress they’ve made over the past day.

“No,” Harry agrees quickly. “That’s. Yeah. Especially from Ron.” He shudders. “Can you imagine how well that would go over?”

“Huh! That’s ridiculous, Harry.” She bats her eyes at him, her expression the picture of innocence. “You mean you don’t want my brother to know that you went down on me and promptly spunked your—”

He cuts her off with a laugh, tossing a pillow on her face. She pulls it off with a giggle before settling beside him.

“Didn’t think you noticed that,” he admits, trailing a finger down the side of her face. “I really hoped you were asleep.”

She stifles a yawn. “Mmm. Don’t have to be Hermione to put that one together. Clue one: you were down there, which you’ve always… enjoyed.” She sleepily raises her eyebrows. “Clue two, I’ve seen you do that before — more than once— and you always have this weird… sort of duck-walk to take your trousers off.”

Harry groans, his entire face the color of her hair. “Please, please, don’t stop on account of me.” He somehow manages a sarcastic drawl as he removes his glasses and places them on the bedside table. “Let’s continue to detail all the times I’ve finished too quickly.”

“Not just too quickly,” she corrects, kissing him on the nose. “I’m only talking about coming in your trousers, which you’ve also managed to do several ti—”

Harry snorts. “And how many times have you done it, then?” His green eyes dance with mischief. “Also more than once. As memory serves, our time at Hogwarts got a lot more interesting once you discovered the combination of my thigh and snogging. You just don’t have the equipment to make things particularly messy when—”

“Clue three!” she loudly calls over him. He has the grace to laugh as she turns so they're spooning, her bum pressed against his crotch.

“I… said I loved you,” she finishes, interlacing their fingers. “And that’s always… you know.”

Harry shudders; there’s a sudden rise of fabric against her bum. “Ok, speaking of embarrassing,” he admits, adjusting himself. “You’re actually going to have to erm. Stop saying that? For now? Because…”

“Trust me, Auror Potter,” she murmurs, dropping her voice to her best impression of Kingsley. “I haven’t forgotten.”

“Unfair,” he complains, toying with a piece of her hair. “As you can see, I’m a bit of a mess. It still turns me on when you say you love me.”

“Yeah, well, it still turns me on when you breathe,” she mutters, her eyes growing heavy. “Reckon we can just be messes together.”

Harry chuckles before burying his face into her hair. “I’ll always be your mess. Jenny.”

[bokuroo-squeals]

"We shouldn't be here"+ "Destiny wants us together"+ "Take my hand" enemies to lovers with Kuroo

200 followers event prompts. Event masterlist.

This is definitely not how you wanted to spend the night…

A cold breeze caressed your skin, wind whistling softly to fill the silent you were enveloped in. School was stupidly scary when the sun set down.

You walked out of your clubroom, passing through the dark corridors with a certain feeling of worry. It’s dumb, you admit, to feel afraid of the dark, more when you’re used to the bulding since you spend every day here. Maybe it's just all the horror movies and the fixation they have with schools, but you can’t shake off the uneasiness that creeps your stomach, making it do flips and turns inside you. At least you’re not that much of a scardy cat, have it been like that, you’d probably stay frozen in your spot until the next day. You mentally scold yourself for falling asleep during your club activities.

Just when you least expected-well, not that you would have ever expected it at all- a boisterous sound comes from the classroom in front of you, the clank of the chairs echoing through the whole floor. The logical side of you tries to tell you that it is just your head playing tricks, but those thoughts are thrown away when a masculine voice follows the noise.

“Oh, shit! That hurt” you know the owner of the voice

With that, the door slams open, revealing a boy with golden eyes and disheveled hair. Kuroo Tetsuro with a notebook on his hand. He takes a while before noting your presence, and when he does, his eyes go from surprise to indifference quickly. “Ah, is just you”

A scowl forms in your face at his rude comment, offended by his reaction. You couldn’t expect any less from him, you guess, always an arrogant prick towards you.

If you were to be completely honest, you're not exactly sure when yours and Kuroo's disdain for each other began. Before you knew it, you too were self proclaimed enemies, and it's not like the people around you were blind, as they could also see how difficult It was for the two of you to get along.

From the start, you knew that getting along with him was a hard task, although for a completely different reason. Kuroo was big and intimidating in an unconventional way; too smart, too secure of himself, too likable. Those were things that made you scared of approaching him, and you simply never went out of your way to speak to him. Is not like you actually avoided him, you just made sure to keep your distance from him.

Then, it was the way you too were always above the other in one subject or another. Kuroo was smart without much effort, that combined with his sense of responsibility were enough for him to ace all of the subjects, while you were either brilliant on the subjects you liked the most, and average or almost failing the ones you disliked, so a part of you envied how skilled he was. And of course, being the boy with strong ideas he was, he didn't mind telling you when he thought you should have worked jared. And of course, every single time you told him to mind his own business.

There wasn't a breaking point to your disdain, it was just how your relationship began to work like. His way of thinking didn't always fit with yours, and neither of you were fond of losing, stubborn idiots who couldn't admit being in the wrong. Talking to him, discussing with Kuroo felt as if you were screaming to an empty forest, no one to listen and no one to care about your words, and you were sure you weren't better either.

You knew that confrontation wasn't the best of ideas, you are easy to fire up, and often frustrated by them with a sour taste after a fight, so your solution: avoid Kuroo.

You walked past him, ready to ignore him and continue in your way to home, leaving him standing there. Honestly, you just wanted to change your clothes and relax for a bit, even when you just woke up from a pretty long nap. Silently, you feel him walk behind you, his pace a bit slower so he wouldn't catch up to you, ignoring you the same way you did to him.

Maybe you don’t like him, but you can’t handle the tension and the silece during your way to the entrance, and you talk to break it “What were you doing so late?”

He snickers for a bit, without actually seeing him ,you can still picture his sly smirk, the one he always carries.

“Stayed at practise until late, and I remembered I didn’t take my notebook with me earlier”he answers with no particular intention to be hostile, nor to be super friendly.”You?” Just when you’re about to answer, you both see the flash of light that comes from the end of the hall.

Of course it had to be the janitor, and of course both of you knew that if you got caught at this hour, you’d be in big trouble.

Before you get to do something, the boy is pulling you towards the closest room next to you. The force is enough for you to stumble. Kuroo closes the door.

“Ah, this is the teachers room.” you say upon scanning the room “We shouldn’t be here”

“Well, if you'd rather go outside and get caught, be my guest". He's aware of how aggressive that sounded, and it's quick to regret it, especially since you're looking at him with your brows slightly frowned and pout in your mouth. "Sorry. Let's just wait here till he's gone". You both sit on the floor, back against the door, and wait

Then, silence once more, neither or you speak. Awkwardness too much, suffocating the air of the place, your eyes begin to wander, from the teacher's desk to the person next to you.

Kuroo is handsome, you'll give him that, and pretty smart too. A cute nose, nice cheekbones, but his eyes were the cherry on the top. Perhaps, hadn't he been such a jerk to you at the beginning of the year, you would have fallen in love with him.

"This whole deal is funny" this time, he talks first.

You're confused over what about this is funny, and he knows it. "You and me, trapped together by a coincidence. Next to each other. It's like destiny wants us together."

A laugh scapes you, as discreet as it could get, finding his words funny, rather than the situation. It's pretty, the way you smile without malice, the way you smile because of him.

"You watch too many dramas, Kuroo". Standing up, you brush your tights of any dust, then offer your hand towards him. "Come on, take my hand and let's go. He must be gone by now. " He accepts it.

That night Kuroo goes home with a mission: Tomorrow, he'll confess the feelings he's been bottling up since the first time you spoke. He'll confess that messing with you was his way of getting a reaction from you, a way in which he could indulge in your various expressions. He'll confess expecting a rejection, but knowing that it'd be a fresh start in your relationship, so next time he confesses, you'd say yes without a doubt.

[generallybrontidefeelings]

News for you

A/N: OKAY, gave myself a break to write this lil thing because I needed some fluff from the angst pit I dug myself into. Written for @221bshrlocked #maggies17 writing challenge! Thank you for the prompt, madam, I had fun with this :) also any mistakes belong to me!

Pairing: Javier Peña x reader, Javier Peña x you

Summery: Javi and Steve recruit you, a humble photographer, for a hop, skip, and a jump of a mission. It goes sideways. 

Prompt: 66 “I’ve decided to write a how-to manual and you’re going to be the ‘what not to do’ example.”

Warnings: unbeta’d. T rating, a swear word? Tension, adrenaline! fluff, hiding in the trunk of a car? Protective DEA agents. A smooch! A very self-indulgent comfort fic

Words: ~3K ish

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Javier-ommph.” His shoulders bonked your nose as he turned himself over and around in the trunk of the bronco, further squishing you between himself and Steve. “It’s been three hours. If no one shows up, I’m going to kill you!”

“Okay, honey, later,” he mumbled, looking past you out the rearview window. Low yellow light from the Bogotà street lamps hit his eyes and left the rest of his face in the shadows. His chest rose and fell as he scanned outside, past your head. Behind you, you hear Steve fiddling with his sidearm, clicking the cylinder into place. It’s the lowness, the calming choice of words that make the situation really click for you. 

You had stayed as still as you could on your side, sandwiched between the DEA agents’ shoulders. Imagining yourself cartoonishly small helped the awkwardness of having to choose between your ass bumping Steve’s hip, and your thigh lying against Javi’s. The three of you lie very still, listening. 

This wasn’t your job. Your job was to sit in the CIA designated office, walk files back and forth between offices, and develop crime scene photos. That was it. It was not as Javi had phrased it ‘doing us a huge favor’ by playing ‘date’ for the evening so he and Murphy could discreetly plant a camera in a hotel room across the way from some sicario’s hideaway. Without thinking too much about it, you tucked your nose against Javi’s shoulder and worked on compartmentalizing what was happening around you. He smelled like faded vetiver, the orange he’d eaten while waiting for Steve to install the tiny camera, and sweat drawn on by the humidity. He met your eyes, glowing sharp and dark under the lamplight, and you saw his apology in them. 

The back of the bronco opened you inhaled sharply and squeezed your eyes shut, yelping as Javi’s whole body lands on you, and preparing for noise.

“It’s clear, agents, you can come out.”

The image Carillo found when he opened the trunk would have been comical. The gringos bodies squished impossibly in the trunk of the Bronco; Murphy and his dumbass long legs curled upward like a dried-out harvestman blinking in the flashlight glare, and behind him, Peña practically lying on top of a you - a woman he vaguely recognized from the embassy if he squinted. And it didn’t look like the way Peña normally lied over women. Your face heated up under the warm flashlights and your own welling relief. 

When the car door started rattling, Javier had tried to crawl over you and push you behind him, or under him, somewhere not as vulnerable. But in the cramped quarters, he’d only gotten as far as moving his back completely on top of you so you were the big spoon - a big spoon who was near suffocating and panicking. His ass fell heavily into your hip bone, sending a shooting pain down your leg. All you could see was Javi’s shoulder, and the blinding flashlights of the Search Bloc men. 

“Did you get the camera installed?” Carillo asks, as you try to stay still under Javi’s deadweight.

“Yeah, it’s in.” His voice reverberates through you, and you want to smack him for dragging you into this situation. 

“You better get up, Peña, or you’ll suffocate that poor woman.” Your eyes popped open, and you gave in, smacking Javi on the shoulder until he moved. You hissed when you tried to sit up, your hip burning and calve cramping at the same time. The flashlights died, and you were back to sitting in the orange hued shadows inside the Bronco trunk. 

“All right, lady?” Steve asked, hanging his legs off the trunk of the car. Men with rifles stalk around the vehicle, one reporting to Carillo, another two keeping sharp eyes out. It’s quiet for the amount of bodies milling around.  

“Yeah-ow. I’ll be okay.” Javi was moving quietly, looking apologetic, glancing between your sore hip and your face. 

“You’re heavy, Peña,” you say, more to let him know you’re all right, all right enough to give him shit. His lips quirked up a little, and he let his body stretch out, leaning on the trunk ledge. You gently massaged the area that hurt while Javi and Carillo talked together, only catching a few words here and there. It feels like forever later, you sandwiched again sitting on the edge of the trunk between Steve and Javi, swinging your sneakers in little arcs, trying to control your facial expressions. You see Carillo jerk his chin at you, and Javi looks you over before answering. In an unexpected display, Carillo smacks Javi on the shoulder as well, saying what you guess is an expletive before turning and gathering his men. 

“Okay, here’s where we are.” Javi leans on the trunk bed again and bumps your shoulder with his. “The camera is on and transmitting, which is good. Bad news is the sicarios are on alert. Search Bloc wants to escort us home while they keep up the hunt.” 

“Do you own a gun?” Murphy’s question breaks your staring. 

“No, not yet. I meant to…” you trail off as he shakes his head. You know it’s stupid of you not to have any protection. This is Colombia, and you’re a single woman on American government paycheck. You finish lamely, holding your elbows: “I meant to get one.” 

“If they saw her they might be looking for her. Have her stay with you for the night.” 

Javi’s eyebrows raise imperceptibly. You want to say ‘no thank you’ and ‘let’s do it’ all at once. He got you into this mess anyway. 

“Sure, that’s fine.” You let out the breath you’re holding, actually relieved. You didn’t want to go home to your lonely, dark apartment after this. Not for a little while. 

Search Bloc escorts the three of you back to the apartment complex, and you’re ushered inside the building one group at a time. 

“Play nice,” Steve mumbles as he steps out of the bronco for his turn into the building. You watch him saunter in under the harsh lamplight. 

The driver calls back some directions, then takes off driving. You turn to Javi in the backseat, distress written across your face. 

“He says we’re going around the block a couple times then they’ll take us in. Relax,” he suggests, and without preamble, slips his hand around your folded ones in your lap. 

It’s a tense ride. Every corner you close your eyes and take a slow controlled breath. And every time Javi’s hand squeezes yours, the other wrapped around the grip of his sidearm. When the Search Bloc boys bring you back to the complex your sneakers scrape against the pavement up the stairs, then against the hardwood until Javi’s door clicks shut behind you. Then, only then, do you give in to your body's demand to breathe deeply. 

You gather your surroundings - it’s a cushy place, raised kitchen leading back to a bedroom and recessed living area. It would be homey if not for the messes on every surface; mostly cigarette packages, cassette tapes, half-empty glasses. The domesticity distracts you from the reality outside, of tire treads rushing through water run-off along the road. Headlights sweep across the edges of the ceiling to illuminate and fracture the room. It’s exactly what you expect for Javier Peña.

“Is your hip all right?” Javi is lighting a cigarette, but watching you intently. You lift your left leg a bit and shake it. Only a lingering ache remains. 

“It’s fine. A bath will help it,” you say. He nods and puffs out the smoke. You don’t know what to do, so you reach behind you and hook your fingers into the waistline of your skirt and look anywhere but him. The swish follows you down to the couch where you sit, and absently fiddle with the fabric. 

“I know that was more than I asked of you, and I appreciate it.” He pushes his stacks of magazines back into tissues and a crystal ashtray so he can sit on the coffee table. “You did well under pressure.” 

“I belong in a lab, Peña,” you say, leaning your chin on your knuckles. “I’m glad I could help, but don’t ask me to do that again. Ever.” 

“Cross my heart.” 

You smile at him. He’s stupidly handsome; he’d caught your eye the day you’d begun working in the embassy halls in the CIA rooms. You did your part, telling him ‘no’, and pulling confidential files out of his hands, and exchanging barbs daily. But that didn’t stop the tender flame of attraction that grew; you knew it wasn’t your place to harbour it, especially when the rumors of how he behaved with informants reached your ears. It didn’t matter, you decided. It didn’t dissuade you, so you let that little flame smolder freely, content to do your work and content to treat him as Agent Peña. Now in his living room, in the fluorescent kitchen lamplight, you wish all that would go away so you could sleep on his couch in peace. 

He didn’t help, calling you ‘honey’ and leaning on your desk to sweetly ask for specific rolls to be developed before others. He didn’t help at all, jamming his foot in the dark room door before you locked it, asking in his softest voice if he could get a look at them before anyone else did. And he helped the least when in his enthusiasm at whatever break he found in the photos, he’d draw you in by your shirt sleeve and press a grateful kiss to your temple before scribbling down whatever connection he had made. You were always grateful for the red lights hiding the heat that rose under your skin. 

“Do you have any spare blankets?” 

He looks around, like it’s the first time anyone’s asked him. “No, I don’t.” 

“Not even a throw?” Exhaustion leaks into your tone. It’s nearly midnight, and you just want to sleep. Javi stands and shrugs his jacket off. He extends his hand and you take it, letting him lead you down the hall to his bedroom. It’s neat, smells faintly of his cologne and smoke and soap. Before you knew it, he was pushing a big t-shirt into your hands and sitting himself on the bed’s edge to undress. You took the opposite edge, gingerly taking your sneakers off and groaning at the relief of being able to wiggle your toes. 

You decide modesty is for people who don’t identify drug cartel hired guns for a grocery money, and slide into Javi’s bedsheets in your underwear and his borrowed t-shirt. The light in the room clicks off, and you listen to Javi rustle around getting comfortable with your eyes closed. His hand lands on your thigh over the blankets. 

“You’re okay,” he says low, and you respond by resting your hand on top of his wrist as you drift into sleep.  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

How you got here

“It would just be for a couple hours,” Javi had said, standing over your desk with Steve and your supervisor. Murphy did his part playing skeptic, arms crossed, and his striped tie on too tight. Your supervisor mirrored him, glaring at Peña for asking for such a favor. A big favor. Dark room specialists don’t grow on trees, and you had rolls of film to get processing today. 

“Why can’t one of your informants do this?” your supervisor asks. You raise your eyebrows at Javi. 

“Well, an informant you have to pay.” Murphy tilts his head to the side. Uncle Sam’s purse strings had been a little tight this quarter. “And she’s already on payroll.” 

“It’s up to you,” your super says, leaving you under the hopeful stares of Javi and Steve.

“Look,” Javi leans on your desk, getting low enough to make the conversation private, “you don’t have to do anything dangerous. All we need is to use the hotel room to set up a camera looking into an apartment across the street. You would give us a plausible reason to be entering the hotel, and could help us identify the guy if he shows up. So we’re shooting in the right direction.” 

You squint at Javi. He’s playing the biggest puppy-dog eyes you’ve ever seen. Crossing your arms on your desk, you lean forward so you’re even closer to his face, close enough to smell the last cigarette he had was at least an hour ago. “Do you need help setting up the equipment?” 

The twitch in his cheek tells you everything, just as Murphy answers “yes.” 

“Okay, I’ll bite, fellas.” 

“It will be in and out, honey. Shouldn’t be more than two hours.” His eyes are reassuring as you grab your handbag. 

The hotel clerk speaks with Javi as Murphy stands at your side with a hand lying stiffly on your waist, an appropriate distance from anything intimate, and just firm enough to give the impression of a pleasant couple. 

He gets a key, and the three of you reach the room without a hitch. You help Murphy get the little camera up and transmitting. Javi keeps an eye by the window, looking out the translucent curtains. 

“Bad news. Fuck,” Javi murmurs, and it makes your blood go cold. Murphy stops packing up the bag your equipment had come in and kicks it under the room bed. “We gotta get to the car.” Murphy reaches for the phone, dialing. 

“What’s wrong?” you ask anyone. It’s too vague, you can’t tell what the private language of partners is communicating to one another. 

Javi left the window, signaling to Steve to hurry up with his phone call. “Someone ratted on us, we need to get moving.”  

“I thought you said this wouldn’t be dangerous,” you hiss at him. You see him huff in frustration, and immediately feel bad. “Javi…”

He smooths his hand under your elbow. “Honey, I’m sorry.” 

The three of you make a graceless exit out the back service stairs into the Bogotà twilight, street lamps already on painting things in hazy greens to the humming of cicadas. Your sneakers whisper on the pavement, one hand gripping the back of Javi’s jacket; you feel silly doing it, but you don’t want to lose him, even if he’s inches in front of you. Steps away from the car, your heart is beating loud enough you barely heard the agents agree on where to lay low.  

“Trunk?” Murphy whispered. He had one hand hovering on the center of your back, the other on his revolver. 

Javi flicked his head to his partner, nodding. “Trunk.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Where you ended up

You woke up because something radiating heat was just downright uncomfortable in the already unbearable Colombian humidity. You wiggled into cooler sheets, only it followed you. 

You realized it was because it was an arm, thrown over your middle. As carefully as you could, you looked over your shoulder to the owner of the arm. 

Light trailed in through the gauzy blue curtains, backlighting Javi’s features and bare chest, laying shadows across his slack face. Uninterrupted by his chatting and clothing, you let yourself take him in; a soft chest inflating rhythmically, and a broad shoulder that collapsed on itself, either from weight, or it’s reach for your own body. You turned back over and nuzzled into the pillow, happy you’d led him lead you to his bed to sleep next to him. You couldn’t imagine being able to sleep soundly without someone there after hiding for your life for hours. A shudder runs through you at the thought, triggering Javi’s breathing to hitch and he draws you closer. 

“Javi,” you murmur in warning. He’s really too warm. He groans back at you, palming your hip but not removing his arm, and you push a little into his hand. “Is there a manual for making quick exits?”

“You gonna run away, baby?” You preen a little under the name, and compensate by pressing your heating cheek into the pillow. 

“No,” you say, letting your eyes fall closed and just enjoying the feel of his thumb brushing over the back of your hip bone through his old shirt. “But I’ve decided to write a how-to manual and you’re going to be the ‘what not to do’ example.”

He shuffles closer to you so you’re leg to leg. “Yeah? For what?” 

You send your top leg out so he can rest his bare thigh between yours. You start in a sing-song voice: “‘What not to do for an effective escape: don’t bring an extra person with you when your means of escape is a car trunk that only fits two bodies, not three.”

“You fit just fine,” he says, and you shiver at his nose bumping your clothed shoulder. 

“I was squished.” 

He snorts. “I got news for you: you lived. Even if you got squished. That’s what I call effective.” You hum when you feel him lift over you and press a kiss to your temple, then your cheek. Turning your head you graze his lips with yours while finding his eyes. They’re still sleepy, not quite open all the way. You don’t even have to lift your head to press your mouth to his warm pliant one, and he returns it gently; it’s different from the excited affectionate ones he plants on your head in the darkroom. You just want to let him know you are alive, and grateful. It’s fleeting, and you know in a week or so it will crack your heart a little more.He breaks it first, pressing a second, then a third into your lips, telling you he understands. 

He lies back behind you, pulling your frame against him, into his warm chest. “Go back to sleep, honey.” 

You pull the sheet around your chin and enjoy the sensation of being held by Javi, if only for a couple more hours. 

Tomorrow you’ll be back at the embassy, explaining your role in a DEA operation turned Colombian military operation to your superior, and you’ll be thinking about how Agent Peña is a much better big spoon than you are. 

[kiss4kazu]

Hi! could I request some headcanons for what kissing Ashe and Dimitri (Felix too if thats not too much if not its fine) would be like for the first time?

☆ first time kisses with ashe, dimitri, felix 

↳ ashe babie boy 

although ashe is really innocent and pure i think he’s easily one of the most romantic in blue lions and would really go above and beyond always for the person he loves. 

i know a lot of people probably see ashe as someone being too reluctant and nervous to actually ever make a move first but i think if he really liked someone, he’d be extremely obvious about it, blushing like crazy, a stuttering mess, etc and after enough pep talks from sylvain he’d finally make a move to ask u out on a date and it would be an absolute wreck.

would literally put together something so fckin cheesy n corny but in the most adorably ashe way that it makes you want to punch him from being so precious

like a cute picnic or something by a lake and he’d make cute little cakes with some help from annette and it would just be so pure. 

he’d rehearse how he’s going to confess in his head like a million times but when the moment actually comes it ends up just being a jumbled up mess filled with “ums” and he’d try to stick to the script him and sylvain came up with and get out a “y-you’re r-really… u-uh… p-pretty..” but then he’d fuck it all up by saying something weird n dorky like “a-and you s-smell really nice… w-wait that’s weird i’m sorry-” and you’d just hold back ur laughter, ur heart swelling with so so much affection for him. 

ofc he’d ask for permission to kiss you, cheeks crimson and his eyes looking up at yours like tht one starry eyed emoji. you’d give him a vocal response, since he rly needs that reassurance. no stutters just “of course ashe” and he’d smile so so big and then just swoop down totally uncoordinated. 

would probs miss your lips and have to readjust. 

kissing ashe for the first time would be … messy. he’s not experienced at all, and doesn’t know what to do with his hands and he’d honestly be a dead fish for a good few moments. but as you ease him more into the kiss, he’d loosen up a bit, tilt his head and just stop overthinking. his lips would be really warm and would taste so sweet from the cake and he’d smile so hard into the kiss that your teeth end up bumping into each other and you’d pull away laughing

ashe kisses are the best honestly the butterflies fireworks the whole shebang yknow. 

as he gets more confident he’d probably try out a few things he’s seen in books like slipping his tongue in and would be completely taken aback by just how nice it feels. would probably whine into the kiss, cradle your face in his hands, and once you guys pull apart for some air he’d just breathe heavily against your lips with the dopiest smile on his face :( <3 

he’d be rly slap happy after kissing you for the first time and would probably tackle u onto the picnic blanket laughing from happiness kissing your face everywhere and showering you in compliments, shoving his face into ur neck and just breathing in ur scent. 

he’s very clingy ok. 

↳ dimi !!

whew. ok so we’re gonna do academy phase dimi since feral dimi is uh… probs not sfw & violent skjdfjslkjfd  

academy phase dimi knows NOTHING about kissing n he has 0 experience so it takes him forever n a day to finally get the balls to kiss u and when he does … whew. 

i can imagine kissing dimi to be during like , a deep convo or something late at night, when he’s having trouble sleeping or something and ur just running ur fingers through his hair, listening to him as he vents and admiring the sound of his voice bc he’s always more talkative at the dead of night when he’s sleep deprived. 

he’d just look at u so so lovingly and it would be suffocating and ur just staring at his lips but u know ur probs way in over ur head bc uh he’s the future king of faerghus 

but then he’d ask for permission too like ashe tbh bc he’s just polite like tht and has too good mannerisms 

plus he cares a lot about your comfort and would never want to make u feel unsafe or uncomfy especially by his doing

and you would nod with quickness n he’d waste not a second to connect ur lips 

kissing dimi is like a trance tbh, type of kiss that feels like something in u is short-circuiting 

literally the type of kiss that makes ur knees buckle u know the ones. 

he’s a rly rly good kisser n it makes no sense bc he’s literally never kissed anyone before in his life n it kind of makes u mad bc why is he perfect 

a rly rly passionate kisser and he can be kind of rougher than he intends to bc he’s not good with fragile things 

clearly v dominant in the kiss, one hand with an iron grip on ur hip the other tangled up behind ur neck, gripping ur hair. after a while gets reluctant and starts to overthink things and pulls away apologizing for being too rough

you’d probs have to reassure him a million times tht its okay dimi ur not hurting me!! 

he’s rly touch starved tbh so he always tends to take pecks into full-blown makeout sessions or when he intends to just kiss ur forehead he ends up kissing ur cheeks too, ur jaw, down ur neck just riling himself up tbh and then he finally  looks up at u with his eyes all dark n ur just like … here we go

did i mention he groans a lot during kisses bc he does 

dimi’s other sides shining through when his emotions overwhelm him is just .. dimitri 101. 

he’s rough, seemingly an expert at this shit, his tongue shoving past your lips and completely taking u off guard. he’d literally kiss you so hard your head would spin and he’d do it all with a blush on his face bc he’s still a shy babie.  as soon as the moment is over he’s back to stuttering n being all awkward boyish prince. 

he’s also the type to shower u in compliments between kisses.

kisses lips “you’re so gorgeous” smooches neck “so amazing” kisses jaw “goddess i love you” 

im scream crying

↳ felix too bc WHY NOT ! i love him 

listen. 

this little fucker kisses the life out of people u heard it here first folks. 

he’s 100% a heat of the moment type of kisser. it could go two ways tbh. like if you got hurt or something on his behalf he’d scream at you with glossy eyes for a good 5 minutes and then just stare at you all >:( and then he’d just grab you and  kiss the fuck out of you.

probably the most passionate kisser out of the three, he kisses to the point where u can’t feel ur toes and stuff he’d just completely indulge without any fucks given bc he almost lost you and he’s not good with explaining his emotions so hopefully this helps you understand. 

the other way i can see a first kiss going down with felix is more.. vulnerable, despite his hard exterior. he is rough and mean but it’s not bc he’s genuinely a bad person he just has walls built up so high tht its impossible for anyone to rly climb over 

to get a kiss from lix, u definitely have to have climbed over tht wall of his, or just fly a wrecking ball through it n send it crumbling to the ground

you’re literally the only exception, the only person who can rly get through to him 

he’d probably turn to you for comfort a lot, when dimitri agitates him with memories of glenn or his dad says something that ticks him off and he wants to punch something he’d just go to you instead, knock on ur door and just waltz in like he owns the place, sitting down on ur bed and u would know he wants cuddles bc this is how felix communicates 

if he had to actually say “i want cuddles” out loud he’d probably shoot himself in the foot with an arrow so he’s glad u understand, u always understand him just by looking at him n it’s reassuring bc he’s never been good with words.

its kind of cringe to him that he likes being held but shocker he likes being held 

he also rly rly likes it when u play with his hair he’s like a cat he will literally start nuzzling into you, so warm and pliant to your touch

ok im getting distracted back to the kissing shit

felix would probably just be rly overwhelmed with emotions n he doesn’t rly know how to tell u “i like u” so he just says “im going to kiss you.” like a literal statement n then he does it n ur just like o-o bc wtf. 

if ur not responsive at first he’d just pull away after a while and wouldn’t meet eyes with u and be all blushy. 

would let out a tch like the little shit that he is, and u have to turn his face so he’s properly looking at u again and meeting eyes with u 

he looks so vulnerable and stupidly gorgeous so u kiss him this time so he knows the feeling is mutual and it’d take him a min to really gather whats happening but once he does he’d literally. suck. the. life. out. of. your. face. period. 

felix kisses r rough n messy n just completely self-indulgent and he groans shamelessly when u pull his hair tie out from his bun and tug at his hair yes i have a thing for felix’s hair leave me alone.

gives 0 fucks would literally shove his tongue down your throat pull you flush against him and he always calls sylvain insatiable but rly its this fucker who’s insatiable he is literally eating your face. 

you’d have to pull him away from you and he’d just pant so hard against your lips and look at you like he wants to devour you and its kind of overwhelming bc he’s fucking hot !!!!! 

would shove his face into ur neck and mumble out an “i like you”  and u would tease him n be like “what did you say i cant hear u?” and he’d elbow u in the ribs  and groan into ur neck and u would laugh n kiss his head, telling him u like him too

at tht he’d lift his head up, his hair falling over his amber eyes and u would just push the strands away from his face and kiss him softly one last time before going back 2 ur conversation about punching sylvain’s face or sumn

anyway i love felix thanks 4 coming to my ted talk. 

requests are open! <3

- vivi ★

[kjack89]

Christmas Wish

Modern AU, E/R, established relationship, misunderstandings with a happy ending. Because sometimes you have to make your own entirely self-indulgent Christmas present :)

“A young boy has just come running out of the park...Let me see if I can get a comment...Did you see anything?”

“It's the real Santa! His sleigh can't fly cause nobody believes in him!”

“Now, this is feeling more and more like some kind of elaborate Christmas hoax.”

“Typical,” Combeferre said dismissively over the sound of Elf playing from the TV in Courfeyrac’s living room as all of Les Amis lounged around, ostensibly watching the film, which was one of their holiday traditions. “The mainstream media agenda at work, propping up a capitalist system by decreasing belief in Santa Claus.”

Grantaire snorted and shifted from where he was lying on the couch, his feet propped up on Bossuet and his head resting in Enjolras’s lap. “I realize that you deny nothing, which apparently extends to Santa Claus, but I don’t think you can dismiss lack of belief in the Big Guy as a media coverup.”

“Besides, all you need is to call it the ‘lamestream’ media and you’ll sound more like a QAnon supporter than anything else,” Jehan added blithely, ignoring the wounded noise that Combeferre made at the insinuation.

“You take that back—” he started, but Courfeyrac elbowed him.

“Shh,” he scolded, “I’m trying to watch.”

Combeferre rubbed his ribs and grimaced. “Right, because we haven’t seen this movie a hundred times before,” he muttered.

Courfeyrac ignored him as the kid in the movie flipped through Santa’s book. 

“What’s your name?”

“I’m Charlotte Dennon, New York 1.”

“Lemme see...Charlotte Dennon wants a ‘Tiffany engagement ring, and for your boyfriend to stop dragging his feet and commit already’!”

Courfeyrac cackled and for some reason twisted around to smirk at Grantaire. “Looks like the film writers cribbed from Grantaire’s Christmas list for that one,” he teased.

Most of the other Amis laughed at that, though Enjolras frowned, his hand stilling from where he had been running it through Grantaire’s hair. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, and Grantaire squirmed, trying to get Enjolras to resume stroking his hair.

Courfeyrac arched an eyebrow at him. “It means that you and Grantaire have been dating for, what, five years now?” he said, as if the answer were obvious. 

“Off and on,” Enjolras said, feeling defensive even if he wasn’t entirely sure why.

“Right, so five years of dating, and you’ve been living together for two years now…” Courfeyrac trailed off and Enjolras just stared blankly at him. “Do I really need to spell it out for you?”

“Leave it alone,” Joly said, a little sharply. “Not everyone wants to be married and live in the suburbs with two point five kids, a dog, and a white picket fence.”

“Though to be fair, there is nothing wrong with wanting that,” Cosette piped up, patting Marius’s hand loyally.

Marius glanced at her. “Is the point five part of the kids negotiable at least?”

Bahorel cleared his throat. “Can we please,” he started, an unspoken threat clear in every word, “go back to watching the damn movie?”

Everyone fell silent, all remembering far too well the Sound of Music fist fight of 2016, where Bahorel took Jehan’s then-boyfriend outside to beat him up for mocking the movie. The rest of the movie passed in relative silence, and once it was over, everyone took their leave. 

“Merry Christmas Eve Eve,” Courfeyrac said as he held the door open for Enjolras and Grantaire. Combeferre cleared his throat pointedly from behind him and Courfeyrac reluctantly added, “And, uh, sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Grantaire said easily, giving Courfeyrac a one-armed hug before he and Enjolras left.

But Enjolras was not so quick to forget, and he was silent as they walked towards their place, the chilly December night lending itself better to walking than waiting for an Uber. After the silence between them had stretched for several minutes, Enjolras glanced over at Grantaire, who sighed. “Don’t,” he said warningly, and Enjolras scowled.

“Don’t what?” he asked defensively.

“Don’t even start.”

Enjolras’s scowl deepened. “I have no idea—”

Grantaire raised an eyebrow at him. “You weren’t going to bring up what Courfeyrac said?” he asked pointedly.

“No,” Enjolras said immediately, and when Grantaire just gave him a look, he sighed and amended, “Ok, yes, I was, but—”

“But Courfeyrac has a shitty sense of humor sometimes,” Grantaire interrupted with forced levity. “That doesn’t mean we need to ruin our Christmas Eve Eve by indulging his idiotic fantasies.”

Enjolras glanced at his watch. “Technically, it’s now actually Christmas Eve.”

“And that’s not the point.”

Enjolras made a face. “No, it’s not,” he agreed, hesitating before giving Grantaire a sideways glance. “And you’re not normally that rude about our friends. At least, not behind their backs. You’re plenty rude to their faces.”

Grantaire didn’t quite meet Enjolras’s eyes. “Yeah, well, our friends normally know better than to stir up things that they shouldn’t,” he muttered.

Enjolras seized the opportunity. “Since it has been stirred up—” he started, and Grantaire snorted.

“Hell of a segue.”

“—I think it’s something we should talk about,” Enjolras finished doggedly.

Grantaire groaned. “Must we?”

Enjolras gave him a look. “Is there a reason you don’t want to?”

“Answering a question with a question,” Grantaire said sourly. “That’s a neat trick.”

Enjolras nudged him. “So is deflection.”

Grantaire sighed. “Fine. The reason I don’t want to is because it’s Christmas. And we’re supposed to be, y’know, holly jolly and shit.”

“Holly jolly and shit,” Enjolras repeated, a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. “Well that certainly captures the festive mood.”

But Grantaire didn’t seem amused. “You know what I mean.”

“So why do you think talking about this will ruin the holly jolly mood you’ve clearly gone to great lengths to cultivate?” Enjolras asked mildly.

“Because I don’t think this conversation is going to have the outcome you’re hoping for.”

Grantaire delivered the words bluntly, but Enjolras didn’t flinch. “Because you want us to get married and I don’t,” he guessed, less a question than a statement.

To his surprise, Grantaire barked a laugh. “No,” he said, with actual amusement, “quite the opposite.”

Enjolras stopped in his tracks. “Wait, you don’t want to get married?” he asked, a little stupidly.

“Absolutely not.”

Enjolras hesitated. “Like, you don’t want to get married to me, or you don’t want to get married at all?”

It was Grantaire’s turn to stop in his tracks, turning to face Enjolras, something urgent in his expression. “I love you.”

Enjolras looked warily at him. “I know, and I love you, too. But why—”

Grantaire shook his head. “I just don’t want you to go into this conversation that you insist on having with any kind of doubt in your mind about that.”

Enjolras’s expression softened. “I never would doubt that,” he said, tugging Grantaire close and pressing a kiss to his temple. “So you love me, and I love you, and like Courfeyrac said, we’ve been dating for years, living together for years...isn’t marriage the next logical step?”

“For some people, sure,” Grantaire said with a shrug. “But that doesn’t mean it needs to be for us.”

“Because you don’t want to get married.”

Grantaire arched an eyebrow. “Are you telling me that you do want to get married?”

“No,” Enjolras said, a little too quickly, and he winced. “I mean, not because of you. If I were to marry anyone, it would be you. I’m just...not big on the institution of marriage, the perpetuation of the patriarchy, certain segments of the gay community acting like marriage equality was the end of the fight for equal rights…” He trailed off. “But you know all of that.”

“I sure do.”

Enjolras frowned slightly. “So is that why you don’t want to get married? Because you think I don’t want to?”

Again Grantaire laughed, and again, it took Enjolras by surprise. “Enjolras, believe me, if I wanted to be married to you, we’d be married, whether you wanted to or not.”

Enjolras stared at him. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“I mean that you’re historically terrible at denying me something that you think I really want,” Grantaire said easily. “Which is probably a consent issue that we should discuss more some time, but that’s not really the point.”

It wasn’t, so Enjolras didn’t press it. “So you really just don’t want to marry me?”

“Not so much, no,” Grantaire agreed.

“But...this is – this is a forever thing for me,” Enjolras said, before hesitating. “You know that, right?”

“Of course,” Grantaire said instantly.

“And don’t you want this forever too?”

Grantaire grinned at him. “There is absolutely nothing I want more.”

“Then why…?”

Grantaire sighed and looked away. “This is why I didn’t want to talk about this at Christmas,” he said. “Total mood killer.” Enjolras didn’t smile and Grantaire sighed again. “I don’t want to be married to you because if we were married, you would never divorce me, or walk away, no matter how much you might want to.”

“I—” Enjolras started, but he couldn’t seem to find any words to say to that.

Grantaire arched an eyebrow. “Am I wrong?”

As much as Enjolras wanted to tell him that he was, he knew better than to try. “No.”

Grantaire nodded. “Because when you make a promise, you keep it. It’s just who you are.” His tone turned fond. “Too damned stubborn to admit defeat, no matter how much you should.”

Enjolras frowned. “Ok, but again, isn’t that what you want?”

“No.”

“I don’t understand.”

Grantaire cocked his head slightly. “You think that I would want you locked into a marriage, which is an institution you don’t even believe in, just so that you could never leave me?”

“I—” Enjolras broke off, flustered. “Honestly, I’m not sure how to answer that.”

“Wise man. I don’t want you to be with me because you have to be with me. I want to know that you are with me because you want to be, not because you made some arbitrary vow.” Enjolras opened his mouth to interrupt but Grantaire didn’t let him. “I want to wake up every day in your arms and know without a question of a doubt that you could walk away any time you wanted, but that you choose to stay. That’s what I want. And I’d like to think that’s what you want, too.”

For a long moment, Enjolras was silent, staring at Grantaire as if he’d never quite seen him before. “Well,” he finally managed around the lump in his throat, “when you put it like that...”

He didn’t even bother trying to finish his sentence, just cupping Grantaire’s cheek with one mittened hand and kissing him deeply. Grantaire returned the kiss with equal enthusiasm, balling his hands in Enjolras’s red coat.

They stayed that way for a long time, long enough that when they pulled away from each other, they both immediately looked up at the sky. “Is that snow?” Enjolras asked stupidly.

But Grantaire just laughed, and Enjolras smiled at him. “What?” he asked.

“We are kissing in the snow on Christmas Eve,” Grantaire said, grinning up at the flakes swirling from the sky. “If this were a very different story, you’d get down on one knee right now and ask me to marry you, and we’d have a happily ever after for Christmas straight out of a Hallmark movie.”

“If Hallmark wasn’t a bunch of homophobic cowards, anyway,” Enjolras grumbled good naturedly.

Grantaire just laughed and shook his head. “You know what I mean.”

“I do,” Enjolras said, grinning, and without warning, he took a step back from Grantaire before kneeling down on one knee. “And you’ve just given me an idea.”

“What are you doing?” Grantaire asked, staring at him. “Did you seriously just not listen to a word I said, or…?”

“Grantaire,” Enjolras said, “I absolutely listened to everything you’ve said, because I love listening to you talk. I love everything about you. You don’t want to get married. I don’t want to get married. And I know better than to make a promise to you, even if you deserve all the promises in the world. But it is Christmas, and it’s snowing, and I love you more than anyone in the world. So Grantaire, I have to ask – will you not marry me?”

“You are such a fucking dork,” Grantaire said, exasperatedly. “Of course I will not marry you.”

“Good,” Enjolras said, satisfied, and he stood up, kissing Grantaire once more before taking his hand. :Now let’s go home. I want to make love to the love of my life.:

“Romantic,” Grantaire said with a snort, but he was grinning.

“Whom I will never marry,” Enjolras added.

“You sure know how to woo a boy,” Grantaire said wryly, still grinning, and he leaned in and kissed Enjolras’s cheek. “Merry Christmas, Enjolras.”

Enjolras wrapped his arm around Grantaire’s waist, turning to kiss Grantaire lightly on top of his head. “Merry Christmas, Grantaire,” he whispered.