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lilianne-tarot · 4 months ago

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⋆.˚PICK A CARD: "What Are They Really Feeling About You" ⋆.˚

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I. II. III.

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Hey there, loves! Welcome to another PAC reading on my blog page. I hope you all enjoy it! Comment down what you felt about the reading and if it resonated with you and please show some love, Your support means everything to me! <3

P.S: I tried to write this reading as a message from your desired person, but it ended up becoming a message from your partner (if you are in a relationship) or a situationship if you are in one.

How to Pick Your Pile: Take a deep breath, clear your mind, and look at the images below. Which one pulls you in the most? Trust your gut! Once you choose the image, The number below your chosen image is your pile. If more than one catches your eye, that just means there’s extra tea for you, go ahead and read both!

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⋆✮ Pile I

Cards Pulled: 3 of pentacles, the hermit, knight off swords, 4 of cups, page of pentacles, Uranus, and oracle cards

This reading is soo adorable sjsdhhobxckvc😭😍

Bestie... this person is down bad for you. And the more calm and collected you are, The more it drives them wild (and confused 😭).They just want to figure you out. To meet you where you are. And maybe, just maybe... be enough for you.

Okay SO... you have probably met them during a major shift in your life like something big had just changed, could also be unexpected change, or you were stepping outside of your comfort zone. It could be things related to career stuff, work placements, school, college, internships, basically somewhere tied to your goals or a professional life where you were pushing yourself.

They see you as “THAT” person!!!!. Like seriously, they think you’re the epitome of structure, elegance, and unshakable composure, to them, you are the standard. I’ seeing that most of yall are introverts. About them, I’m also seeing that they’re obsessed with how serious you look when you're concentrating LOLL.

This person, Oh honey, they are also soooo ambitious and determined in general, but when it comes to YOU, They’re reckless in the best way possible. Like “I don’t care if I make a-fool of myself, I just want to be yours” reckless (SOMEONE GIVE ME TISSUEEE). They view you as this beam of perfection, someone who always strives for the best and thrives in systems and routines, prolly a virgo. Meanwhile, they’re probably a little chaotic inside like, “How does this angel even function so perfectly all the time?”😭😭

But in reality, behind that facade of perfection, you stress yourself too much, right? cuz they notice it too. They notice that when things don’t go your way, you might panic a lot. And they’re like, “Wow... even their breakdowns are elegant.” LMAO I’m not even kidding.

On the bright side, they see you as someone above them in experience or confidence or maturity. There’s a real student/mentor, or junior/senior vibe here, not literally. They lowkey look up to you. Maybe they’re younger in age, or maybe they just feel way more inexperienced compared to your level. Also, this feels very much like a professional connection. There’s a respect, a formality, kind of dynamic. So again, work or college, or while you were doing your thing.

Emotionally though, OH BABY. They are in their feelings. Deeply. Like they feel this soulmate-level connection with you. They feel this spiritual bond with you, like you complete them. BUT They also think you’re super introverted (even if you’re not!), and it throws them off. They're over here trying to pour their whole heart out, like "take it, it's yours!" Meanwhile you’re just sitting there like 🧍 “hmm okay but what does this mean?” “Why won’t they just say they love me the way I want to hear it?” vs “Why are they saying so much at once I need to process???”

You might not realize it, but they feel like you're not as expressive or emotionally certain as they are. They want to you to express yourself to them, whatever you feel, but they feel like you're still calculating the water temperature

Despite all this They hold you in very high regard. They don’t even think they’re worthy of your love tbh. They’re like “I could never meet those standards ” and that’s where the self-doubt kicks in. But, they’re still ready to risk it all for you. Like, consequences be damned! This person is on a mission to build a bond with you, even if the odds feel stacked against them.

They’re rushing. Reckless. Emotional. And terrified. They want you RIGHT NOW. And the idea that you might not love them back the same way is Devastating ot them. And because of that, they try to match your vibe, mature, calm, composed, but inside they're EXPLODING. They think you’re so perfect, so ideal, that they’re trying everything to charm you. Like everything. Subtle flirting, random compliments, charming little jokes, they’re throwing it all at the wall to see what sticks.

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˙⋆✮ Pile II

Cards Pulled: 5 of pentacles, the hermit, 8 of pentacles, 9 of pentacles, Gemini and oracle cards

I can already feel the heaviness of this connection.😭

Your person are not as emotionally invested anymore or at least, not in the same way. NOW don’t get me wrong here, cuz this DOESN’T mean they are loosing feelings. They are just in a phase where they are thinking “I need to move on for my own growth”. They’re kinda checked out emotionally, sure. And if they’re still in this relationship, they’re questioning whether it’s truly right for them, atleast at the moment.

What I’m getting is that they feel like this thing might not be working, like it’s just not aligning anymore. They’re looking at it like: “This isn’t helping me grow. This might even be holding me back.” And so... they’re walking away. Not out of hatred. Not even out of anger. But out of emotional self-preservation. For their own sake. And the worst part is, you can’t even blame them for this.

Right now, they’re turning to themselves. Focusing on themselves. Working on themself. They're in full-on Hermit mode. They’re putting effort into rebuilding their life, mostly about their career or goals in life. BUT what I'm seeing about you all is that y'all are feeling hella suspicious right now. Like, “Are they cheating on me? Is there something I don’t know? Why do I feel like something’s off?” And tbh... I don’t blame y'all for thinking that.

Because i can hear spirits telling me, "be cautious my dear, because not everything is what it seems". Gemini also popped up, It’s a sign that gets associated with duality, sometimes masking intentions, and yes, even lying at times. So it’s no surprise that you are overthinking mind is going crazy. You feel like something sneaky is going on behind the scenes. And the fact that this person is emotionally withdrawing only amplifies those fears.

BUT here's the thing...From what I’m picking up, I don’t think it’s about cheating. I think it’s about distance. Like... your person still likes you (well only for some of you tho). Maybe even still LOVES you.So they can’t just cut that cord so easily. They’re still longing to look into your eyes, for hours. They’re obsessed in a very soft way. But they also feel like time is slipping through their fingers. They’re standing at a crossroads like: “Do I follow this pull toward my future and personal success? Or do I stay in this connection that means so much to me emotionally but feels like it's hampering my success?” They’re not trying to hurt anyone, they’re just trying to figure out why their heart is being so dramatic. BUT your person is also strong-willed AF. When they want something, they go for it. They’re determined and fearless to get it. But now they’re in uncharted territory, because they’ve never felt this deeply before. Like... ever.

They see you as the GOAT. The greatest person they’ve ever known. 💖 They know this kind of connection doesn’t come around twice. But the problem is, they also know that if they stay too long without healing or clarity, it might sabotage their own future. Their dreams. Their growth. Their purpose. So they’re stuck in this mental tug-of-war: “I love them. I don’t want to lose them.” vs. “But what about my goals, my future, my expansion?” I’m also seeing, changes, disruption, and soul-searching across distance, beliefs, or even higher learning paths. This person is questioning everything. And they might even be considering leaving physically, traveling, moving, or shifting away to find clarity.

They don’t hate you, my dear. They’re not trying to break your heart. That would be the last thing they would imagine. The fact is, actually, They’re just... overwhelmed. They’re scared they’ll get so attached that they’ll lose themselves. So instead of staying and drowning, they’re pulling back to breathe and figure out who they are again.

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˙⋆✮ Pile III

Cards Pulled: wheel of fortune, 9 of cups, The devil, death, the star, pieces, venus, and oracle cards

SO MANY MAJOR ARCANA CARDS IN ONE?!?!?!? That too, such big ones💀💀💀and the only minor arcana is also soo powerful and one of my favs. The order in which the cards were laid out is so dramatic and exciting!!!(*rubs hands aggressively*)

This pile is literally every synonym of love😭🥹 ( uhm...maybe obsession and some drama too) Before anything else i'll put it here, if you're unsure or wondering if this person likes you? THEY DO. THEY DO. THEY FCKN DO.

Words can’t even begin to express how intensely this person is feeling on the inside. Like... their emotions they are feeling because of you Are on another level. They feel this incredibly fated connection with you, one that’s deeply transformative, nurturing, and honestly, It feels like their biggest wish has come true. You’re that person for them. To the point where they literally can’t control themselves. There’s this obsessive, magnetic undercurrent to it all, and yes, sexual tension is very much in the room with us right now 🫠. They’re like, “Why do I feel this way? Why can’t I stop thinking about them??” But they can’t even find the words. The connection is hitting so hard, it’s beyond logic. It’s just feeling.

This is giving BIG Venus-in-Water-signs energy. Cancer, Scorpio, Pisces vibes all over. Either you or them (or both) probably have strong water energy in your chart, or you just feel like a water sign, super deep, intuitive, romantic, and soft but intense at the same time. They feel like you’re the one nurturing them. And this connection is unlike anything they’ve ever experienced before. It’s the kind of emotional attraction that feels so healing, but also terrifying. Like... “this is so good it has to be bad, right??” (but they want it anyway). They literally can’t stop thinking about you. And being in this connection, being with you, is everything. Like, EVERYTHING. Their entire existence is starting to revolve around it.

The intensity of love, emotions and obsession they feel for you Unmatched. It’s honestly overwhelming for them. They feel out of control, and yet... they want to pour every ounce of their soul into this. Because this is something they manifested. Something they dreamed of. You are the person they feel they could never let go of.

Now, real talk, there’s a strong obsessive vibe here too. Some of y’all might not vibe with that energy, and that’s valid!! But this isn’t just a toxic obsession; this is that deep Pluto kind that leads to massive emotional transformation. But don’t be fooled, this person isn’t always this intense. They’re actually very, very sweet. Almost like honey. And funny enough, that’s exactly how they see you.T o them, you’re like a piece of art they’re lucky to even look at. They admire you. Worship you.. And they just want to hold you forever, like literally never let go. They want to surrender to this connection fully. And they have already surrendered themselves to you already.

And here’s the best part is, even they can’t believe what they’re doing or feeling. They're like, "Who even am I right now??" They’re in awe of your grace, your magnetism, your aura. You feel so “lethal” to them, but in the most beautiful way. Everything about this connection feels brand new to them. The emotions. The pull. The obsession. The beauty. It’s like tasting a flavor they didn’t know existed. It’s nurturing, healing, and intoxicating all at once. Sometimes, they genuinely feel like they're doing something wrong, like they shouldn’t be this into someone. And they try to pull away. But the feeling? That nurturing warmth you radiate? They can’t leave. They won’t let go. They feel like you are their karma, like everything they’ve done in life led them to you. They know this deep within that “What I seeded is what I now receive.” They truly believe you are the fruit of that karma. The divine reward for all their past efforts. You’re their gift from the universe. And losing you is not an option for them. Not even a thought. There’s this fierce need to protect you. Yes, there’s physical desire and all the fiery sexual tension, but underneath it all There’s this soft, delicate devotion. Like “wrap you in a blanket and make you soup forever” kind of love.

They see you as their emotional support. The missing piece in their soul. There’s a part of them that’s always felt incomplete, a heart half-full kind of ache. And you? You’re filling that cup. You’re not just healing them, you’re healing wounds they didn’t even know they had (and you never even caused them in the first place).

They describe you in their mind as honey. The sweetness. The softness. The warmth. The comfort. And they want to protect that at all costs. They don’t see themselves letting you go. They already see a future with you. And honestly? They might already be planning it. (Don’t be surprised if they’ve imagined you two picking out curtains together).

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Thank you so much for reading all the way through! I hope my reading resonated with you and that you had a lovely time going through it. If you enjoyed it, please like and reblog ,it really means a lot! Let me know which pile you chose; I absolutely love hearing your thoughts and feedback on my readings! ♡

Note: tarot cards provide guidance and possible insights into what could happen based on current energies, thoughts, and actions. the cards can highlight potential paths or outcomes, but they do not predict the future in a fixed way. this is a general reading so take what resonates!

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jungkoode · 3 months ago

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𝐅𝐔𝐂𝐊 𝐌𝐄 𝐔𝐏 | 18

˗ˏˋ on your kneesˎˊ˗

"He didn't picture himself ever begging for pussy... but alas, here he is."

next | index

⋆｡°✩ chapter details ✩°｡⋆

word count: 8,7k

content: wet sloppy kissing, jungkook being too horny for his own good, vibrator usage, masturbation (f), jerking off while eating kitty (idk what possessed me but i had to), vanilla kink (are we surprised), begging, slight praise kink, comfort, endearing moments, these two being stupid as always, post-orgasm sharing bed (yeah sleeping together), thinking about maybes.

✧ author's note ✧

LISTEN. You’re so lucky I have multiple FMU chapters backlogged right now, because if I didn’t? I would have thrown an actual tantrum, declared a two-week hermit arc, and told you all to fuck off while I moved to the mountains. BUT. Thankfully, I’ve written up to around Chapter 23-ish and just need to edit, so you can all calm the hell down.

First of all, no—I still haven’t updated the update post, because I’ve been too busy prepping this chapter for release. I’ve had zero time to sit and ponder. That said, the only valid suggestion I’ve gotten so far is to keep the Tumblr note goal but ALSO require the Wattpad goal to be hit—so that’s what we’re trying this time around.

Also—BIG ANNOUNCEMENT—we now have an official Kiki Nation Community on Tumblr (yay!). That’s where you little gremlins can finally scream together in one place, throw theories at each other, and insult Jungkook and Nix in a safe, protected space. (Mainly Jungkook. Because he’s a man. And this is a matriarchy. HUSH.)

So please check it out! Join, comment under the official Chapter 18 discussion post, and if you feel inspired to make a meme or TikTok or post your spiral—DO IT. If it makes me laugh, I will absolutely reblog it.

NOW. About this chapter.

BAHAHA. Okay. First of all—I am so proud of the kiss. I wanted it to be sloppy and wet and messy and borderline excessive, and I think I delivered. It’s so long. I really put my whole kikussy into it.

And of course… it was time. The vibrator had to make its appearance. It’s literally law. I don’t make the rules (but I do).

Also: Rogue begging. crawling. STILETTOS. Why did I like this chapter so much. It was delicious. I love sexually down bad men. Wait until he’s romantically down bad. It’s going to be so satisfying. Trust me.

And the ending?? Made me soft. Actual progress?? Kind of??? They’re still filthy, but they’re also edging toward something stupidly endearing and I hate how much I love that. The way this story is progressing is so slow-burn it makes my bones hurt, but I’m obsessed with it. We are maybe… possibly… inching toward friendship territory. MAYBE.

I’m really looking forward to the next chapters—soon, we’ll meet a new LI on Jungkook’s side (YES!). Things are gonna get messy (eventually). Reminder: they have zero romantic feelings right now. ZERO. What you’re seeing is just… subconscious tension, subtle shifts. We’re nowhere near falling.

So please. I beg you. If I start getting asks about them being in love, I will throw my laptop out the window and revoke my dictatorship. Don’t test me.

Enjoy the chaos. Let me know how hard you spiraled. Love you forever.

OH. I said it before but I will say it again. This chapter is entirely based on the song "get on your knees" by Ariana Grande and Nicki Minaj so. Do with that what you will. Listen to it. Enjoy.

⋆｡°✩ read on✩°｡⋆

ao3

wattpad

His kiss tastes like four days of wanting.

Your back hits the wall as his mouth crashes into yours—not gentle, not careful, just hungry. Like he's been starving for the taste of you since Tuesday.

His tongue traces the seam of your lips, a question that isn't really a question at all, because you both know how this ends. You part your lips anyway, granting him access because denying him feels like denying yourself.

His hand comes to rest on your neck, thumb pressing lightly against your pulse point. It's a strange, suspended gesture—like he can't decide whether to pull you closer or hold you exactly where you are. The indecision is so unlike him that it makes your stomach flip.

Then his tongue flattens against yours, and any thoughts of indecision evaporate. He's not kissing you so much as he's tasting you, licking your flavor directly from the source. The sensation is filthy and intimate as his other hand comes to your cheek, fingers splaying across your skin, holding you in place for his exploration.

"Fuck," he breathes against your mouth, the word more vibration than sound. "Missed this."

Not you. This.

The distinction matters, even as his tongue circles yours in a slow, deliberate drag that makes your knees weak. He's coating himself with your saliva, savoring you like you're some expensive whiskey he's been saving for a special occasion.

You should probably be grossed out by how wet this kiss is, by how thoroughly he's claiming your mouth.

Instead, you find yourself pressing closer, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt.

Because this is what you've been missing too—not him, not really, but this. The way he makes your body respond without even trying. The way he kisses like he's trying to memorize the taste of you.

And then his lips close over yours—soft but firm—like finishing the kiss just to start it all over again. Chained kisses. One bleeding into the next, seamless and endless.

You follow him because how could you not? The way he kisses—it’s not just skill; it’s instinct. Like he knows exactly what to do to keep you hooked, alternating between tongue and lips so perfectly that you never get tired of either.

Not that you could ever tire of him.

You’re pretty sure you could never erase the way he kisses—or fucks—from your mind even if you wanted to.

Maybe it’s him knowing what he’s doing. Or maybe it’s just the two of you—two mismatched pieces of completely different puzzles that somehow fit together anyway.

Just like your mouths do now.

Just like when your tongue darts out to lick at his lower lip in a kitten lick that has him hitching against you, a small, desperate sound escaping his throat. His hips stutter against yours like his body is telling you to stop messing around and get your tongue back inside his mouth where it belongs.

So you do.

You push forward, tongue meeting his again in a slick slide that has him groaning into your mouth. Then you close your lips to transition into another kiss and he follows, tongues forgotten for three, four open-mouthed kisses before he’s lost patience.

He moves his tongue against yours, seeking more, always more. Because when it comes to you, Jungkook is just this eager.

But this time you catch it. Suck it into your mouth in a soft suction that makes him freeze for half a second before his hand tightens on your neck.

And the sound he makes?

Undiluted filth.

It spurs you on.

You suck harder, dragging your lips down his tongue before releasing him with a soft pop that leaves both of you panting against each other’s mouths. He doesn’t let the pause last long—doesn’t let you last long—and dives back in with a hunger that feels less like kissing and more like consuming.

Tongues forgotten for other five or six kisses as his lips move against yours with bruising intensity—open-mouthed and messy—but he easily grows impatient and his tongue is soon back, sliding against yours like he wants it there.

You catch it once more—suck it again—and the way his hips jerk against yours tells you everything you need to know about how much he likes it.

Filthy sounds fill the space between you: wet kisses, soft moans, the occasional hitch in his breath when you do something particularly good with your tongue.

And when his teeth graze your lower lip before pulling back just enough to look at you?

You realize there’s no winning here—not for either of you—because this isn’t about who takes control or who gives in first.

It’s about this. About mouths fitting together perfectly even though nothing else about this situation should make sense. About tongues sliding together and lips bruising from too much pressure but neither of you caring because fuck—it feels good.

It feels better than good.

It feels addictive.

Your back hits the table near the entryway, and honestly? You never thought a piece of furniture could be an accomplice in your bad decisions, but here you are. Pressed against the entryway table. The one that holds your keys, Yoongi's forgotten mail, and now, apparently, your dignity.

Jungkook hasn't stopped kissing you—not for air, not for sanity, not for anything resembling common sense. It's like he's on a mission to consume you entirely, starting with your mouth and working his way through the rest of you.

These are not the kisses you exchange with people you tolerate. These are not even the kisses you exchange with people you like. These are the kisses of people who might actually hate each other but have found a much more interesting way to express it.

Your lower back presses against the edge. Hard wood digs into soft flesh, and you're about to complain when—

Fuck.

He lifts you. One hand. One fucking hand curves under your ass and hoists you onto the table like you weigh nothing, while his other plants itself firmly on the wood beside your hip. The display of casual strength makes something molten pool in your stomach.

Unfair. Completely unfair how stupidly hot he makes stupid things look. Lifting you shouldn't be attractive. It's basic physics, not foreplay. But your brain has apparently liquefied, pouring out your ears while he steals the oxygen straight from your lungs.

"Fuck, Nix," he mutters against your mouth, the words more vibration than sound. "Been thinking about this for days."

His mouth is relentless—wet, demanding, precise in a way that makes your toes curl in your shoes. He sucks your lower lip between his teeth and—god—applies just enough pressure to sting, like he's trying to extract something essential from you. Like he needs to squeeze you dry, drain you of whatever it is that keeps him coming back.

Didn't even know your bottom lip was an erogenous zone until Jungkook decided it was.

It's too much. The heat, the closeness, the way he seems to have forgotten where you are, who you are.

You push against his chest—not hard, just enough to create a sliver of space between your bodies.

"Jesus Christ," you gasp, chest heaving. "Let me breathe, you animal."

He grins at that—a scorching, self-satisfied smile that makes you want to either slap him or pull him back in.

Maybe both.

He bites his lower lip, swollen from your kisses, and immediately leans back in like your need for oxygen is a minor inconvenience to his plans.

Your palm against his chest stops him, firm this time.

"Wait," you say, voice rough.

Not because you want to stop—god no—but because your brain is finally catching up to your body. And there's something you want. Something specific.

His eyes find yours, dark and questioning. Patient, despite the hunger radiating off him in waves. He's holding himself back, you realize. Letting you dictate what happens next.

Your eyes drop, hair falling across your face as you gather your thoughts, your courage. When you look back up at him through your lashes, his breath catches audibly.

"Bring me the vibrator you chose for me."

His reaction? Pretty funny. Like watching a computer crash and reboot. His entire body goes still—processing, processing—then his eyes widen a fraction. He blinks once, twice, tension visible in the way his jaw ticks.

"What?" he asks, voice cracking slightly.

Something about his reaction makes hot satisfaction curl through you. You like throwing him off balance. Like matching his chaos with your own.

"The vibrator," you repeat, slower this time, savoring each syllable. "The one you picked out. Go get it."

His eyes dart toward your bedroom door, then back to your face. For a moment, you think he might refuse. Might challenge you. But then:

"Yeah," he nods jerkily, already stepping back. "Yeah, I will."

"Will you?" you press, because you can't help it. Because you like the way his pupils dilate when you push.

"Fuck yeah," he breathes, already moving toward your bedroom with a kind of urgent, stumbling grace that would be comical if it weren't so hot.

You watch him go, breathing still uneven, lips still tingling.

And you think—not for the first time—that there's something dangerously addictive about the way Jungkook responds to you. The way he matches your energy, then amplifies it, reflecting it back at you until you're both caught in some kind of feedback loop of bad ideas and worse self-control.

Roommates with benefits, you remind yourself. That's all this is.

But as you hear him rummaging through your things, drawers opening and closing with increasing urgency, you can't help but wonder if "benefits" is too mild a word for whatever the fuck is happening between you two.

He sprints.

Jungkook doesn't walk to your room—he fucking jogs, like the vibrator might disappear if he doesn't get there fast enough.

Like this moment has an expiration date he can't afford to miss.

No shame. Not a single ounce of it as he bursts through your door, scanning the bedroom impatiently. The same room he's been in a couple of times, but never with this specific mission, never with this frantic energy coursing through his veins.

Where the fuck would a girl keep her vibrator?

No. Not a girl. You. Where would you hide it?

Under the pillow?

He lifts the edge of your pillowcase, peeks beneath it. Nothing. Definitely not there—you like sleeping too much, and having a hard plastic toy jabbing into your cheek all night would be uncomfortable as hell. You're smarter than that.

The wardrobe?

He eyes the wooden doors across the room, considering.

No way. Too far from the bed. You're too practical for that kind of inconvenience. If you wanted to get off, you wouldn't want to climb out of bed and trek across the room.

His eyes land on the nightstand. Bingo.

The drawer slides open with a soft sound. First thing he sees: a messy stack of panties, some lacy, some cotton, all of them instantly triggering mental images he doesn't have time for right now.

He fights—really fights—against the urge to pick one up. To feel the fabric between his fingers, to imagine it hugging the curves he's already memorized with his hands, his mouth. Maybe even bring one to his nose...

Focus, dickhead.

Pushing the underwear aside (what? sue him for wanting to fuel his imagination), his fingers brush against something solid. Hard plastic. Smooth curves.

There it is.

He pulls it out, a triumphant grin spreading across his face as he examines his find. It's exactly as he remembers from the store—sleek, purple, designed for both internal and external stimulation.

Still in its original packaging, which means you haven't used it yet.

Something jittery and hot coils in his stomach at the thought of being the first to see you use it.

He grips it tighter, already imagining what it'll look like pressed against you, already wondering if you'll let him control it or if you'll insist on doing it yourself.

Either way, he's about to witness something fucking spectacular, and his body knows it. His cock strains painfully against his jeans as he heads back to you.

He takes a deep breath before rounding the corner from the hallway.

Tries to center himself, to cool down just a little.

To not look as desperate as he feels.

But then—

Fuck.

The vibrator nearly slips from his suddenly sweaty palm.

You're naked on the table. Completely, gloriously naked except for those high heels that make your legs look like they go on for fucking miles. The dress is gone—discarded somewhere on the floor—and your panties dangle precariously from one ankle like an afterthought.

One leg bent at the knee, heel resting lazily on the wooden surface. The other straight up, creating a perfect right angle that showcases everything he's been craving since the moment he walked through the front door.

And your hand—Christ—your hand is between your thighs, fingers drawing lazy circles over your clit.

His eyes stutter back to one thing though.

The heels.

What is it about the fucking heels?

He's never particularly cared about shoes before, but something about the way they elongate your legs, the way they make your calves flex, the dangerous point of those stilettos against the wooden table-it's doing something to him. Something unexpected and intense.

He nearly stumbles. Actually has to catch himself on the wall because his knees go weak at the sight of you touching yourself, waiting for him, spread open on the goddamn entryway table like the world's most perfect welcome home gift.

His grip on the vibrator tightens until his knuckles go white. He forces his face into something resembling control—a smirk, he hopes, though it feels more like a grimace of restraint.

"Needed it that badly?" he manages, trying to sound casual and cool, though he guesses he fails spectacularly at that.

Your eyes meet his, challenging. "Didn't you?"

The question catches him off guard, but he doesn't falter. Not much, anyway. Just a slight hitch in his breathing that he hopes you didn't notice.

"Yeah," he admits, the word barely audible. Then, louder: "Yeah, I did."

He starts walking toward you, vibrator clutched in his hand, but you stop him with a single raised palm. The universal sign for wait.

"Crawl to me."

His feet halt. He opens his mouth. Closes it.

What?

"What?" he asks, not sure he heard correctly.

"You heard me." Your fingers never stop their gentle circles. "Crawl."

He doesn't know why he does it. Doesn't pause to analyze why the command sends a jolt of electricity straight to his cock.

He just... does it.

Drops to his knees, then to all fours, the vibrator still clutched in one hand.

Maybe it's the novelty—you taking control like this when usually he's the one calling the shots.

Maybe it's the way your eyes darken as you watch him approach, like seeing him on his knees for you is doing something for you too.

Or maybe—most likely—it's just the promise of getting his head between those fucking glorious thighs again.

Whatever the reason, he crawls to you across the hardwood floor, too turned on to care about how it looks, too desperate to worry about his dignity. All he can think about is how wet you'll be, how good you'll taste, how he wants to make you come on his tongue before introducing the vibrator.

He's almost there—close enough to smell you, close enough that if he stretched forward just a bit, he could press his mouth to your inner thigh—when the sharp heel of your stiletto plants firmly against his forehead.

The pressure isn't hard enough to hurt, just enough to stop his forward momentum. To keep him back.

He looks up at you, disbelief warring with arousal.

Surely you're joking?

There's no way you're genuinely stopping him when he's this close, when you're this wet, when everything about this moment has been building toward his mouth on you.

Right?

"The vibrator," you say, extending your hand, heel still pressed lightly to his skin. "Give it to me."

His throat works as he swallows, suddenly parched. "Don't you want me to—"

"The vibrator, Ro."

The nickname, combined with the firm tone, makes his cock make a mating dance against the zipper of his jeans. He places the toy in your outstretched hand, watches as you examine it with curious eyes.

You turn it over in your palm, studying it like it's a puzzle to solve. Your brow furrows slightly as you locate the power button, press it experimentally, and soon enough its low hum fills the space as the toy comes to life, vibrating gently in your hand.

"I've never used one before," you admit, and he already knew.

You told him that much before buying it.

Nonetheless, the idea that he gets to witness this first for you—it does something to him.

Makes him feel special in a way he has no right to feel.

"Let me help," he offers, voice strained. "I can show you how—"

"I think I can figure it out," you interrupt, but there's uncertainty in your eyes as you look at the different buttons, the various settings.

Fuck, you're adorable. Even spread-eagle on a table with a vibrator in your hand, there's something so endearing about your determination to figure this out on your own.

He watches, mesmerized, as you press another button. The vibration intensifies, making you jump slightly at the change. Your finger slips, pressing yet another button, and suddenly the toy is pulsing in a rhythm that has him imagining it pressed against you, imagining your reaction to that particular pattern.

He can't take it.

"Here," he says, reaching up, a bit desperate, a tad impatient. "May I?"

After a moment's hesitation, you nod, removing your heel from his forehead and allowing him to rise up on his knees. He takes the vibrator from you, quickly familiarizing himself with the controls.

"This button cycles through the patterns," he explains, demonstrating as the toy shifts from steady vibration to pulsing to waves. "And this one controls the intensity."

He presses it, the vibration becoming stronger under his thumb.

"Start low and work your way up."

He hands it back to you, then you glare at him and okay, he immediately settles back on his heels, waiting. Watching. Fucking aching to see what you do next.

You take the toy, reset it to the lowest steady vibration, and then—God help him—you bring it to your breast first. Circle your nipple with it, eyes fluttering closed at the sensation.

"Fuck," he breathes, the word barely audible over the hum of the vibrator.

He shifts on his knees, trying to adjust himself without being too obvious about it. His jeans have become a torture device, constricting him painfully as he watches you explore.

The vibrator trails down your stomach, leaving goosebumps in its wake. He can see them form on your skin, can see the way your muscles tense in anticipation as the toy moves lower, lower—

And then it's there, pressed against your clit, and the sound you make—a soft, surprised gasp followed by a deeper moan—nearly ends him.

"Good?" he asks, voice wrecked.

You nod, eyes still closed, hips already starting to move against the vibration. "Good. Really good."

He leans forward instinctively, mouth watering at the sight of you pleasuring yourself. He wants to taste you, wants to feel the vibrations against his tongue as he licks around the toy.

Wants to be part of this moment in a way that's more than just watching.

But as he moves closer, your eyes snap open, fixing him with a look that stops him cold.

You extend your leg, the one that was dangling off the table, pressing the point of your stiletto against his chest this time.

"Just watch," you command, voice breathy but firm.

He blinks, sure he's misheard. "What?"

"I said watch." You adjust the vibrator slightly, finding a better angle that makes your breath hitch, toe of your shoe pressing more firmly against his sternum. "Don't touch. Just... watch me."

Is he dreaming? Having some kind of bizarre hallucination? There's no way you're asking him to just sit here while you get yourself off right in front of him.

No fucking way.

"You're joking," he says, but the steady look in your eyes tells him you're not. "Nix, come on. You can't expect me to—"

"I can," you interrupt, increasing the vibration intensity with a press of your thumb. The change makes you gasp, hips lifting slightly off the table. "And I do."

He blinks, eyebrows tugging upwards in a cross motion. "Do you want me to bust untouched? Is that it? Because that's cruel, even for you."

A smile curves your lips, mischievous and knowing. "Maybe I just want to see if you can behave for once."

"I behave," he protests, even as his eyes remain fixed on the vibrator, on the way it glides through your wetness, on how your thighs have started to tremble already.

On those fucking shoes that, for some inexplicable reason, are making this whole situation at least ten times hotter.

"Prove it," you challenge, and fuck—he's never been able to resist a challenge from you.

Never really been able to back down when you push him like this.

So he stays where he is, on his knees, hands fisted at his sides, watching as you explore the toy, as you find what feels good, as you experiment with different patterns and pressures. Your foot still rests against his chest, not pushing him away now, just... there.

A point of contact that feels both like ambrosia and agony.

It's torture. Beautiful, exquisite torture to be this close and not touch you. To smell your arousal and not taste it. To hear your moans growing louder and know he's not the direct cause.

But it's also—strangely, unexpectedly—one of the hottest things he's ever witnessed.

Because you're not performing for him. You're genuinely discovering what you like, what makes you feel good. And there's something incredibly intimate about being allowed to witness that, about being trusted enough to see you this vulnerable, this real.

"That's it," he encourages as your movements become more focused, as you settle into a rhythm with the vibrator that has your breathing turning shallow. "Just like that. You look so fucking good, Nix."

Your eyes meet his, heavy-lidded but alert, and for a moment, he can’t help but stare back.

Then you close your eyes again, lost in the sensation as the vibrator buzzes steadily against your clit. Your free hand comes up to your breast, pinching your nipple in time with the pulsations of the toy, and he groans at the sight.

Your foot presses harder against his chest, whether intentionally or as an unconscious reaction to your growing pleasure, he doesn't know.

Doesn't care.

"Cruel," he mutters, because he needs to at least let you know. “You're fucking cruel, you know that?"

His eyes are fixed on your pussy like it's the only thing in the universe worth looking at. Maybe it is. The way you're working that vibrator against yourself, the little circular motions, the way your hips lift occasionally when you hit just the right spot—it's driving him fucking insane.

His dick is so hard it hurts at this point, and he thinks it's going to start a mutiny. He shifts his weight, trying to get some relief, but it only makes things worse. His forehead thumps against the corner of the table in frustrated surrender.

"God fucking hell," he groans, the wood cool against his skin. "Nix, I need to lick you. Please. Just—let me taste you."

You look down at him, eyes heavy-lidded but gleaming with amusement. Your stiletto traces a path down his chest, and when it reaches his stomach, you press slightly, the point digging into the muscle there.

A warning.

A tease.

He's not sure which, but it makes his cock throb painfully either way.

"What was that?" you ask, lifting the vibrator just enough that he can see how wet you are, how your pussy glistens in the low light. "I didn't quite hear you."

Fucking tease. Fucking gorgeous, evil tease.

"I said I need to lick you," he repeats, louder this time, pride completely abandoned. "Let me put my mouth on you. Let me make you feel good."

You pretend to consider it, tilting your head like you're weighing your options. Meanwhile, he's about to combust from the inside out.

"I don't know," you muse, trailing the vibrator up to circle around your clit, making yourself gasp. "I'm doing pretty well on my own, don't you think?"

Your stiletto moves again, tracing along the inside of his thigh. He tenses, breath catching as it moves higher, closer to the straining bulge in his jeans.

“Phee,” he bites back a groan. "You're doing amazing. Fucking incredible. But I can make it better. You know I can."

"Hmm." You press the vibrator directly against your clit again, eyes fluttering closed for a moment before fixing back on him. "Maybe if you ask nicely."

Is this really happening? Are you really making him beg? His cock twitches at the thought, answering that question with an emphatic yes.

He swallows, throat dry.

"Please," he says, voice rough. "Please let me help."

The word lies suspended between you.

Please. Such a simple word, but one he doesn't use often—not like this, not with this much raw need behind it.

Your eyes widen slightly, like you weren't expecting him to actually do it. To actually beg. But then a slow smile spreads across your face, and you nod.

"Since you asked so nicely," you say. "Go ahead."

He doesn't need to be told twice. He surges forward, hands gripping your thighs, spreading them wider as he buries his face against you.

The first swipe of his tongue makes you both moan—you from the sensation, him from finally, finally getting to taste you.

You taste amazing.

Like always.

Like something he could get addicted to if he's not careful.

"Fuck," he groans against you, the word vibrating against your sensitive flesh. "So fucking good."

He could honestly cum like this. Right now. Just from the taste of you on his tongue, from the way your thighs tense around his head, from the little gasps you make.

He knows he's got blue balls at this point. Knows his cock is probably leaking precum into his boxers, making a mess he'll have to deal with later. But he doesn't really care.

Until you kind of make him care.

"Jerk off."

He freezes, tongue mid-lick.

Did he hear that right?

Looking up at you, genuinely confused, he asks, "What?"

Your answer is a knowing smile and a slight increase in pressure as the heel traces the outline of his cock through the denim. Not enough to hurt, just enough to make him incredibly aware of how hard he is.

"I want you to get yourself off while you eat me out, Ro."

Jesus Christ.

When did you get so fucking bossy? And why is it turning him on so much?

"Yeah," he says, almost to himself, fumbling with his zipper. "Yeah, okay, absolutely I can do that."

His hands shake slightly as he undoes his jeans, shoving them and his boxers down just enough to free his cock. It springs up against his stomach, hard and flushed and so sensitive that even the brush of air against it makes him hiss.

"Shit," he warns, wrapping a hand around himself, already knowing this isn't going to last long. "Just a heads up, but this might be embarrassingly short."

You laugh, the sound turning into a gasp as he dives back in. Your leg dangles over his shoulder now, heel pressing slightly against his back.

"That's okay," you manage to say between breaths. "I'm pretty close too."

Thank fuck for that. Because the moment his hand starts moving on his cock, he knows he's on borrowed time.

The vibrator hasn't stopped. That's the thing that's driving him absolutely fucking insane. You've got it pressed right against your clit, humming on its lowest setting while he licks at your lips, tasting every inch of you except the one spot you're keeping for yourself.

It's maddening.

It's genius.

It's the hottest thing he's ever experienced.

His tongue traces your entrance, dipping just slightly inside before retreating to lick broad strokes along your folds. He's taking his time despite his own desperation, despite the way his hand is working his cock at a steady, measured pace.

Because he wants this to last, wants to savor the privilege of having his face between your thighs while you take your pleasure so confidently.

"More," you breathe above him, and he's not sure if you're talking to him or yourself.

But then your fingers move, pressing a button on the vibrator, and the hum intensifies. The sound changes pitch, grows deeper, more insistent. Your hips jerk in response, a gasp falling from your lips that sends blood rushing to his already throbbing cock.

His fist tightens instinctively, pace quickening to match the vibrator's new rhythm. It's like his body is syncing with the toy, with your pleasure, his own arousal tied directly to yours.

"Fuck, Nix," he groans against you, the words muffled but still audible. "You're so fucking wet. So fuckin’ good, I swear—I swear I could do this for hours.”

“But you won’t last hours,” you tease, rolling your hips against his face. “Will you?”

He shakes his head, not even bothering to deny it. Not when his balls are already drawing up tight, not when each stroke of his hand brings him closer to the edge.

“Nngh—no,” he admits, the word punctuated by a particularly firm stroke that has his hips bucking into his fist. “Not gonna—ah—not gonna last long at all.”

Because the truth is, he’s dizzy with it—your taste, your scent, the sounds you're making above him. It's overwhelming in the best possible way, a sensory overload that makes his cock pulse in his grip, precome slicking the way as his fist moves faster, more urgently.

You shift the vibrator slightly, angling it for better contact, and your free hand finds his hair. Fingers tangle in the strands, not quite pulling but definitely directing, holding him exactly where you want him.

"Inside," you command, voice breathless but clear. "I want your tongue inside me."

He doesn't hesitate. Doesn't even think. Just obeys, tongue pushing past your entrance, delving into the wet heat of you while the vibrator continues its relentless assault on your clit.

The angle is awkward, his neck craned to accommodate both the toy and his mouth, but he doesn't care.

Can't care about anything beyond the way you clench around his tongue, the way your thighs tremble against his cheeks, the way your grip tightens in his hair.

His cock throbs in his hand, so sensitive now that each stroke sends sparks shooting up his spine, and fuck he's close—so fucking close—but he's determined to make you come first. Wants to feel you pulsing around his tongue, wants to experience every tremor of your orgasm firsthand.

Above him, your breathing has grown ragged; little gasps and moans that tell him you're getting close too.

"Don't stop," you gasp, basically riding his face at this point. "God, don't stop."

As if he would.

As if he could tear himself away from this even if the building were on fire.

Your thighs start to shake in earnest now, little tremors that grow stronger by the second. The hand in his hair clenches, your stiletto digs into his back, the pressure increasing as your body tenses, and now he just knows; knows how close you are to the edge.

It makes his strokes faster, more desperate.

“Shit,” he gasps, pulling back for air. “Fuck, I’m gonna—”

“Don’t stop,” you command, lost in a whine. “Don’t you dare stop.”

And he feels it the moment you start to come—the way your inner walls flutter around his tongue, the sudden flood of wetness, the sharp cry that tears from your throat. His name, maybe. Or just a sound of pure pleasure. He's too far gone to tell the difference.

But it doesn't matter. What matters is that you're coming on his tongue, coming while he tastes you, while the vibrator buzzes against your clit, while his cock throbs in his hand, so close to his own release that he can feel it building at the base of his spine.

He pushes his tongue deeper, wanting to feel every pulse, every contraction of your orgasm. The vibrator keeps buzzing, prolonging the sensation, pushing you higher and higher until your hand finally yanks at his hair, pulling him back when it becomes too much.

"Fuck," you gasp, voice wrecked, vibrator still humming in your grip though you've pulled it away from your oversensitive clit. "Fuck, Ro."

The sound of his nickname—that stupid nickname you’ve given him—paired with the sight of you flushed and trembling from an orgasm he helped create, is what does it. What finally pushes him over the edge.

His release hits him then, stealing his breath as his cock pulses in his hand, spilling onto the hardwood floor in hot spurts that seem to go on forever.

He groans against your thigh, face pressed into the soft skin there as his hips jerk, chasing the last waves of pleasure.

“Ffff—shit,” he slurs as he strokes himself through the aftershocks. “Holy sssh—oh—fuck… Ahhh.”

For a moment, there's nothing but the sound of breathing, harsh and uneven. The vibrator still hums softly, forgotten in your hand until you fumble for the off button, plunging them into sudden silence.

Jungkook rests his forehead against your thigh, trying to catch his breath, trying to remember how to form coherent thoughts.

His hand is sticky, his knees ache from the hardwood floor, his back tingles from the trail your heel left across it, and he’s pretty sure he’ll never be able to look at the entryway table the same way again.

But fuck if it wasn't worth it.

He pulls back, gasping for breath, his hand still loosely gripping his spent cock. He probably looks a mess—hair wild from your hands, face shiny with your wetness, expression dazed and satisfied.

"Christ," he breathes, looking up at you with something close to awe.

"Yeah," you agree, equally breathless.

A moment passes where you just look at each other, both trying to process what just happened. Then, because he's Jungkook and he can't help himself, he grins.

"So," he says, wiping his mouth with the back of his clean hand. "I guess you like the vibrator I picked, huh?"

You roll your eyes, but there's no real annoyance there. Just a kind of fond exasperation that makes his chest feel weird and tight.

"It's alright," you say, casual as anything, like you weren't just having what looked like the most intense orgasm of your life. "Could've been better."

He laughs, full and genuine. "Liar."

Your lips twitch, fighting a smile. "Maybe."

He sits back on his heels, suddenly aware of the mess he's made on the floor. "We should, uh, probably clean up before Yoongi gets home."

You nod, both legs dangling off the table. “Wouldn’t want to scandalize him.”

"He's seen worse," Jungkook says without thinking, then flinches. "I mean—not with me. Just, you know, in general. Living with roommates and all."

You give him a look that's equal parts amusement and skepticism. "Right."

Awkward silence falls as the reality of what just happened settles in, because this? Yeah, it was sex. But this time you took control, you made him beg, you saw him at his most desperate and needy.

And he... liked it. More than he probably should have.

"So," he says, tucking himself back into his jeans with as much dignity as possible. "That was fun."

You snort. "Such a way with words, Ro."

"What can I say? I'm a poet."

He gathers the dress from the floor and gives it to you. You throw the dress at his head, but you're laughing, and he thinks—not for the first time—that he likes that sound. Likes being the cause of it.

He doesn’t analyze it further than needs to be.

He catches the dress, handing it back to you with exaggerated chivalry. "Your garment, m'lady."

"You're an idiot," you say, but there's no bite to it. Just that weird, fond tone that makes his stomach do strange things.

Fully on both legs now, he places both his arms between your spread thighs, his face hovering close to yours, tilting to the side.

"Yeah," he agrees, because sometimes the simplest truth is the easiest to admit. "But I'm an idiot who makes you cum really fucking hard, so..."

And there it is—that flash in your eyes, that hint of heat that never seems to fully dissipate between you two.

"Don't get cocky," you warn.

Too late, he thinks. Way too late for that.

He stands there with the taste of you still on his lips and he can't help but feel satisfied.

Good.

“Does this mean we’re not fighting anymore?”

You laugh, the sound bright and genuine in the quiet room. “I guess not.”

“Good. Because that was a fucking stupid fight anyway.”

“It was,” you agree. “But the makeup sex was worth it.”

“Always is with us.”

And that’s the truth of it, isn’t it? No matter how much you argue, no matter how much you drive each other crazy, this thing between you—this chemistry, this connection—always brings you back together.

No strings attached, just pure, perfect understanding of what the other needs.

It’s not love. It’s not even like, most days. But it’s something.

Something that works for both of you.

And then, Jungkook feels your forehead press against his shoulder, which catches him off guard. Not because it’s heavy or anything—it’s not—but because it’s you.

You, who usually keeps your distance unless you're actively trying to rile him up. You, who just made him beg on his knees like some desperate idiot a few minutes ago.

And now you’re here, leaning into him like this is normal. Like this is fine.

It’s... nice. He hates that it’s nice.

His lips twitch upward despite himself, a soft smile breaking through the lingering haze of post-orgasmic bliss. His hand moves before he can think better of it, sliding up your back in a slow, deliberate stroke. His palm presses lightly between your shoulder blades, fingers splaying out as he rubs soothing circles into your skin.

Your back is warm under his touch—soft in places, firm in others—and he thinks about how strange it is that he knows what you feel like now. Not just your skin but the way you move under his hands, the way your muscles tense and relax depending on what he’s doing to you.

It’s intimate in a way that makes something uncomfortable stir in his chest if he lingers on it too long.

So he doesn’t linger.

“Cleanup?” he asks, voice low and rough from everything that just happened.

You grunt. Not a word, not even a real sound—just a grunt. Like the idea of moving is physically painful to you right now.

He chuckles softly, the sound vibrating through both of you.

“Alright,” he says, hand still on your back as if that’s going to keep you from sliding off the table and face-planting onto the floor. “Let me get some wipes.”

Another grunt. This one sounds more annoyed than tired, but he can’t tell for sure because your face is still buried against his shoulder.

“Don’t tell me…” He pauses for dramatic effect because he knows how much you hate when he does that. “You’re a cuddlebug?”

That gets a reaction. Your head snaps up so fast he almost flinches, and then you’re shoving at his chest with both hands like you’re trying to push him off the planet.

“Fuck you,” you mutter, but there’s no real heat behind it. Your hands stay on his chest for a second longer than necessary before falling back to your sides.

He snorts, stepping back and giving you space because even though he likes teasing you (maybe too much), he knows when to quit.

Most of the time, anyway.

“Stay there,” he says over his shoulder as he heads toward his room. “Don’t move.”

You don’t respond this time—not even a grunt—but when he glances back, you’re still perched on the edge of the table looking thoroughly unimpressed with life.

Very you, indeed.

Then he's stepping into his bedroom, and of course, it is dark when he steps inside, the only light coming from the hallway spilling in behind him.

He grabs the container of wet wipes from his nightstand (don’t ask why they’re there; that’s none of anyone’s business) and heads back out before his brain can start overthinking anything.

When he returns to the entryway, you haven’t moved an inch. You’re still sitting there with both legs dangling off the table.

And for a moment, he can’t help but think the sight is oddly cute.

“Alright,” he says again as if this is some kind of official business meeting instead of… whatever this is. “Let’s get this over with.”

He crouches down first, wiping at the floor where his cum has left an embarrassing mess that Yoongi would absolutely kill him for if he saw it later. The hardwood glistens faintly under the light as he scrubs at it with more force than necessary—partly because it needs to be cleaned properly and partly because maybe if he focuses hard enough on this task, he won’t think about how close your legs are or how good you smelled earlier or how fucking soft your skin felt under his hands.

When he's done with that part (and only when he's sure it's spotless), he straightens up and turns toward you.

Your eyes are on him—soft but unreadable—and it makes something twist in his stomach that has nothing to do with hunger or exhaustion or anything else logical.

“What?” he asks because apparently silence makes him nervous now.

You shake your head slightly, lips curving into something that might be a smile if it weren’t so small and fleeting.

“Nothing.”

He doesn’t believe you—not for a second—but decides not to push it because pushing things with you in this state never ends well for him.

Instead, he steps closer until he's standing between your legs again and tilts his head toward yours like he's trying to figure out what you're thinking without actually asking outright.

"Hold still," he murmurs after a beat of hesitation that's barely noticeable but feels significant anyway.

The wipe is cool against your skin as he starts cleaning you up—gentle but thorough in a way that surprises even himself. Your eyes stay on him the whole time—watchful but not wary—and it makes him feel weirdly self-conscious even though there’s no reason for it.

When he's finished (and only when he's sure you're clean), he tosses the used wipe into the trash can by the door without looking away from you entirely.

"Sleep?" he asks after another moment of silence stretches between you like an elastic band ready to snap at any second now if someone doesn’t say something soon enough.

“Yeah.” You murmur. “Your bed.”

Jungkook blinks at you like he’s not sure he heard right.

Not because it’s weird—okay, maybe it’s a little weird—but because you said it so casually. Like it’s the most normal thing in the world to ask to sleep in his bed after everything that just happened.

He doesn’t know what to say at first. He’s not used to this part—the after part. Usually, there isn’t an after part. It’s just sex, then goodbye, then see you whenever.

But this? This feels different in a way he can’t quite put his finger on, and it makes his brain stutter for a second before he finally manages to respond.

“Uh… yeah,” he says, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. “Sure.”

You don’t say anything else, just lift your arms slightly like you’re expecting him to do something.

He stares at you for a moment, confused, until it clicks.

“Oh, come on,” he mutters, rolling his eyes but already stepping closer. “You’re not serious.”

You just raise an eyebrow at him, and yep—you’re serious.

“Lazy ass,” he grumbles under his breath as he bends down to scoop you up.

Your arms loop around his neck automatically, and your legs wrap around his waist like this is something you do all the time instead of… well, never. He tries not to think about how natural it feels or how warm you are against him or how your breath brushes against his collarbone when you settle into his hold.

It’s fine. Totally fine. This is just… practical.

Yeah.

Practical.

He carries you with ease because let’s be real—he could probably bench press you if he wanted to—and nudges his bedroom door open with his foot.

“Alright,” he says as he approaches the bed and leans forward slightly to deposit you onto the mattress. “Here we go.”

But instead of letting go like a normal person, you cling tighter for half a second before finally releasing him with a grunt that sounds suspiciously like reluctance. He doesn’t comment on it because honestly? He doesn’t trust himself not to make it weird if he does.

You flop onto your back with all the grace of a drunk cat and immediately start wiggling around like you’re trying to make yourself comfortable in record time. Jungkook just stands there for a moment, watching you with an expression he doesn't even know how to describe.

“You good?” he asks once you’ve finally stopped moving and are lying still with your eyes closed like this is your bed and not his.

“Mmhm,” you hum without opening your eyes.

He shakes his head but doesn’t bother arguing because what’s the point?

Then he’s going to lay down too, but you sprawl onto his bed like you’re claiming it for yourself, arms and legs stretched out in every direction like some kind of human starfish.

Jungkook snorts, standing at the side of the bed with his hands on his hips like a disappointed parent.

“Move,” he says, nudging at your foot with his knee. “I want to sleep too.”

You crack one eye open, squinting at him.

“Then sleep,” you mumble, voice muffled by the pillow your face is half-buried in.

“I can’t sleep,” he says, gesturing dramatically at your starfish pose. “Not unless you move your limbs out of my personal space.”

You grunt something unintelligible but make no effort to move.

He sighs—long and exaggerated—before climbing onto the bed anyway, shoving at your leg until you reluctantly curl up enough to give him room.

He flops down beside you with all the grace of someone who’s been awake for far too long and immediately starts adjusting himself into what he considers optimal sleeping position.

Except there’s one problem: his arm.

It’s stuck under him, bent awkwardly against his side instead of stretched out under the pillow where it belongs. He tries shifting around to fix it but quickly realizes there’s no way to do that without encroaching on your territory.

“Hey,” he says, nudging at your side with his foot now.

“What?” you snap, voice sharp despite how tired you sound.

“Let me extend my arm under the pillow.”

“No.”

“What do you mean no?”

“I mean no,” you repeat stubbornly, turning your head just enough to glare at him over your shoulder. “Figure it out without bothering me.”

He stares at you for a second like he can’t believe what he’s hearing before deciding that negotiation is clearly not going to work here.

So instead, he does what any reasonable person would do in this situation: he forcefully shoves his arm under your neck like it belongs there.

You jerk upright immediately, twisting around to face him with wide eyes and an expression that screams 'what the actual fuck'.

“Bro,” you say, voice incredulous as you try—and fail—to push his arm away. “Get off me.”

“Bro,” he says simply, already settling back down like this is perfectly normal behavior between roommates who occasionally hook up but definitely aren’t friends yet (or whatever this is). “You’re in my bed. Shut up and act like a plushie or something.”

“A plushie?” You sound so offended that he almost laughs but manages to hold it back because laughing right now would probably get him kicked out of his own bed.

“Yes,” he says firmly, pulling the blanket over both of you with one hand while keeping his other arm firmly in place under your neck. “A plushie.”

You open your mouth to argue—because of course you do—but he shuts it down with a loud, drawn-out “SSSSHHHHH” that’s so over-the-top, so him, it stops you cold.

“Sleep,” he adds a second later, voice low, eyes already shut like the matter’s settled and he’s the authority on bedtime now.

The room stills. One of those dumb, drawn-out silences where neither of you wants to move first. Like shifting even an inch might make it real. Might make it weird.

But then you sigh. Loud. Dramatic. Flopping back down beside him like you’ve just made the ultimate sacrifice.

“Fine,” you mutter, sharp as ever, head hitting the pillow with a thud. “But if I wake up with a crick in my neck because of this stupid arm thing—”

“You won’t,” he says, already drifting, smug and certain and way too casual for someone who just turned a routine argument into a full-body tangle.

You mumble something under your breath—probably rude, definitely deserved—and go quiet.

And for a second, he just lies there. Listening to your breathing even out. Feeling the slight pull of your body next to his.

The ridiculousness of the situation should hit harder than it does.

But it doesn’t.

It actually feels…weirdly good.

Not in the usual way. Not in the easiest way.

Just—solid. Like he hasn’t fucked it up yet.

Which is a surprise, considering he really thought he had.

After Tuesday.

After the whole Jason thing—the fight that was never really about Jason. The way the guy had looked like every goddamn red flag Jungkook had ever ignored. Too neat, too careful, too condescending behind a smile that felt fake even from a hallway away.

He’d projected. Hard. Got scared on your behalf. Angry in that twitchy, irrational way he hates. Like he couldn’t stand the thought of you falling into something he knew could break you.

But that wasn’t fair. Wasn’t his choice. You’re not fragile. You’re you. You can make your own calls without his fears bleeding into them.

And he should know better by now. Should’ve remembered that you’ve survived things he doesn’t even ask about.

Instead, he snapped. Like he always does when things get too close. Like he’s got some built-in timer that detonates as soon as someone sees more than they’re supposed to.

So yeah. He’d assumed it was done. That he’d pushed too hard, too fast—again.

That whatever fragile thing had been building between you would crack right down the middle, just like every other almost-connection he’s tried to hold onto.

But then… you’d talked. Actually talked.

And—somehow—you’d listened.

Not just tolerated him. Heard him.

And tonight, he thinks—for the first time in a long, long time—he feels…comfortable. With a woman. With you.

And yeah, okay—he kind of likes that.

It’s not some life-changing moment. Not some movie scene epiphany.

Just this quiet flicker of maybe. Of could be.

Maybe he can have this. A woman beside him. No pressure. No angle. No romantic feelings. No attachments, no entanglements. Not drama, not hurt.

Just a dumb, chaotic almost-friendship built on late-night arguments and questionable sleep arrangements.

And fuck—he’s kind of proud of that.

So he lets his eyes fall shut. Lets the warmth settle. Lets the thought linger.

Not friendship. Not yet.

But maybe.

goal: 500 notes, but the wattpad goal has to be reached too

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flowercrowngods · 1 year ago

Text

based on an idea i had about steve getting a bad migraine from the sudden bloodloss after kas feeds from him

post-canon, steddie don't like each other, hermit kas, depressed brain injury steve, kinda gloomy, anxiety & compulsions

Steve cuts the engine with a sigh, feeling heavy and alien, like a lone survivor in a ghost town. He’s not a lone survivor, and Hawkins isn’t technically a ghost town because there’s still enough of them here to build it back up or to watch it crumble and cave in on itself, front row seats to the fourth wave of destruction.

Maybe the real ghost is Steve, actually, floating through his days just waiting for his brain to decide it’s had enough. Just waiting for the perpetual ringing in his ears to rise in pitch and frequency and for his skull to fucking crack open from the never ending waves of the never ending buzz.

Robin asks him about it a lot, notices how he will stop and listen to his body on every inhale that feels slightly wrong, or every movement that’s just a little too fast or just a little too sudden, the blood rushing into his head or out of it, the doctor’s words ringing in tune with the tinnitus: You watch that head of yours, young man, and do not hesitate to call emergency services when the headache won’t stop after a few hours, or when anything feels off, you hear me?

The truth is, he barely heard him then. Blood was roaring in his ears, the tinnitus still quiet, but his hearing still dull from impact and screams and shock wave after shock wave of the world sewing itself back together.

He sighs again, drumming his fingers along the steering wheel and trying to catch his breath. Taking stock of his head, the heartbeat he can only feel in his hands right now and nowhere near his temples, and the quiet little tap tap tap of his finger nails hitting the leather, wanting to make sure he can hear it. Wanting to make sure he doesn’t imagine the sound.

Always fucking needing to make sure.

Soon, he breathes a little steadier, convincing himself that getting out of the car won’t be the last thing he’ll ever do. It’s so stupid, too, that fear, all that anxiety living inside him just waiting to boil and spill over until he does something stupid just to spite it.

The cool breeze hits his face, working in tandem with his calming breaths to alleviate his obsessive thought spirals, and he stuffs his hands into the pockets of his jacket as he does nothing but breathe for a minute there.

He’s up. He’s standing. He can walk through the forest to the vamp’s hiding place, it’s fine. It’s fine. Although standing so suddenly makes him aware that he hasn’t eaten much today, too busy hating everything about this town and helping to rebuild it anyway.

Forgetting to eat and drink is another thing that’s new to him. There’s quite a few things he forgets a lot, but those are the worst. Robin is always on his ass about that, but at some point he stopped telling her. It feels like he’s stopped telling her a lot of things. Maybe that’s something else that comes with severe brain injury, young man.

He feels plenty guilty about it at least — but not enough to tell her about all the horrible things that are happening to him, or the horrible things he thinks are happening to him. The Upside Down is gone, Vecna is dead. These bad thoughts, they’re all him. But knowing that doesn’t fucking help.

Pushing away from the car and turning around to lock it, Steve decides to wallow in self pity no longer and to just get on with it. As much as he hates it. As much as part of him wants to just go home and claim that he forgot about that, too.

It’s no secret that Steve never liked Eddie. The boy’s a hypocrite, he’s loud, he’s annoying, and he just likes to shame people as publicly as possible, spitting proclamations of conformity and sticking it to the Man while at the same time turning anarchy into despotism under the guise of rebellion — and he’s the dictator.

Or, he was. And Steve never cared about him or his larger than life attitude that was worse than any of the smiles Steve ever wore to fit in in high school. Steve mostly ever just wanted Munson to shut up and eat his lunch, stop pretending he’s better than any of them just because he liked different things.

Although it wasn’t even about liking other things, it was only ever about disliking. And shaming and denouncing. Steve always wondered what kind of a miserable life that dude must have lived, shaping himself not from what he liked but from what he hated. Creating an identity that left a bad taste in everyone’s mouth because it was so fragile and contradictory and, frankly, so fucking annoying.

Still, he’d never wished for Munson to get involved in all of this. He’d never wished for the man to die. And then to come back only to be turned into some kind of vampire, doomed to live an even worse existence than he did as a human, hidden away in some shabby cabin.

Steve feels a little bad for him now. For Eddie. Or Kas, as the kids like to call him because he never reacts to his name anymore, more monster than human these days, although Dustin is sure they can domesticate him into becoming his old self again.

“Like Dart, remember?”

“Dude, don’t compare our friend to your sick little creature.” That was Lucas, affronted and annoyed. Steve could relate, although…

“You gotta admit, he’s kind of a sick little creature himself now.”

“Steve!” they’d both yelled, and Steve just playfully shoved their heads back before going to grab a coke from the fridge.

And Kas, because vampires are apparently a thing even after the end of the world, needs blood to survive. The forests are void of animals most of the time, like nature has decided to give Hawkins an ultimatum before returning and the day hasn’t come yet. Maybe it’s something to do with electromagnetic fields, or maybe it was something else entirely leading them all to safety while Hawkins was turned into a war zone. Either way, there is nothing for him to feed here.

Kas can’t just stalk around the woods at night and drink up a deer or two. Nor can he go rob the blood bank at the hospital, they’re running low as it is anyway. That left them all with only one option that Mike so disgustedly pointed out back then: Kas needs their blood. And Steve feels just bad enough for him to play along.

So now he is out here playing blood bank for the monstrous version of a guy he never even liked, and his hometown is in shambles, and his head might actually sign the fuck off at any moment now, apparently.

Things are going great.

Saving the world is just… really fucking isolating.

Still he has no choice but to announce his presence with a firm knock on the door, the pattern easy but memorable.

“This is Steve,” he adds as his hand falls to his side, waiting.

Kas always takes a while to come out and open the door, hiding away from any noise like a feral cat. Steve can kind of relate — he and Kas don’t have the best relationship either. He has no idea how sudden vampirism works, but just like feral cats will be able to tell when someone wants to hurt them and when instincts should be kicking in, Kas seems to realise how little Steve wants to be here and help him. How little he wants to have his blood sucked out of his body leaving his limbs to feel numb and uncomfortably tingly.

Eventually, though, the door opens with a creek, just enough for a pair of eyes — too large, too wide, too wild — blink back at him. Steve just lifts his eyebrows, really kind of not in the mood to deal with this barely human vampire and his absolute lack of learning curve about this situation.

When he’s sure Kas has blinked at him for long enough now, he pushes open the door and shoves inside rather roughly, immediately feeling bad when he hears the slight whimper.

“Sorry,” he mutters, stuffing his hands into his pockets again and trying not to grimace at the stale, disgusting air in the cabin. “Jeez, you really gotta open a window every once in a while. Thought vamps were supposed to have heightened senses or some shit.”

Kas growls at him, mirroring Steve’s move and shoving past him this time, his shoulder slamming into Steve’s with painful strength. Glowering at the stupid vampire, he rubs at his shoulder before crossing his arms in front of his chest.

“Listen, buddy, I can just leave and have you deal with your hunger, okay? No big deal for me, I even get to keep my blood.”

Kas snaps at him, showing his fangs and crossing his arms, too; a laughable copy of Steve’s own stance.

“Or you could just cut the crap and get on with it so I actually can leave again without taking shit from the peanut gallery. Your choice.”

The huff that follows is so indignant, Steve wonders if that could be what gets Kas out of Munson’s body and let the human win over the monster. Maybe indignation and annoyance is what will break the spell eventually, lift the curse just enough for Munson to get back into his old habit of monologising and spouting nonsense out of that big mouth of his.

Steve is half tempted to try, but he really does want to just go home and lie on his large couch with no sensory input whatsoever, tuning out the world and his anxieties that might be about to turn into compulsions just for him to gain a little control over everything again. So he squares his shoulders and takes off his jacket before tilting his head to the side, allowing Kas full access to his neck.

It’s always a little scary but still oddly fascinating, filling him with that same rush that came with witnessing all the supernatural shit over the past few years. Kas is the last remnant of all that, and somehow, buried beneath piles of rubble and trauma and the teenager he had to give up on being, Steve feels weirdly protective of that.

Not of Eddie. Of Kas. Of the monster that lies dormant. Of the last bit of danger in his life, because he doesn’t know how to live without it anymore — so much so that he has to make it up.

Maybe it’s a symptom of his self destructive tendencies, as Robin would call it. But Steve might be as fascinated with the vampire as Robin is with fire; so she doesn’t get to have a say in this.

There is always a strange intimacy in the way Kas approaches him. Slowly, carefully. Like a hunter his prey. Steve doesn’t feel like prey, not really, but a part of him wants to. A part of him needs to be prey again, if only for those instincts that manifest with a perpetual tremor and a restless feeling in his chest to be of use again. If only so he can have a point again. Something to fight that’s outside oh his own head.

Now, his point is standing still entirely and feeling those chapped but warm lips trail up and down his throat a little before Kas finds the right spot that won’t really hurt Steve, the right spot that will make it all go by quickly and without any hiccups.

Still he shivers, like always, and Kas holds him close when he finally bites down. Like always.

He stands motionless as he feels his blood flow alternating, rushing in his ears and his head, his heart thump-thump-thumping, putting up a fight against the strange intrusion. He hardly even breathes at all, focusing instead on his body and burying his finger nails in his palm for five seconds before releasing his hands and repeating the process three times before he gets it right.

But then his head is pulsing, his heartbeat slowing down as his vision briefly blacks out in the same way it does when he gets up too quickly, and his heart falls. It’s too much. Too sudden.

“Kas,” he says, but the vampire doesn’t hear him, drinking more and more of the blood that must be so thick with how little he’s had to drink today — something he only just remembered. “Kas,” he says again, more urgently this time; but still the vampire drinks.

And where before Steve had a clear vision of the door in the dark room — the light of day streaming in through the cracks and framing it almost mystically —, it’s spotty now. Just slightly off. Like something is missing but his brain is working overtime to complete the picture anyway, reducing the blind spot to merely an illusion. But Steve knows what’s happening. He knows what the sudden pulsating of his head means, especially when it’s followed by his vision just going AWOL on him.

No, he thinks as the situation really settles in, and he begins to push Kas away. Not like it matters anyway now; the damage is done. No, no, no, no, fuck!

He frantically shoves at the vampire now, blinking against the blind spot even though he’s painfully aware it won’t help. Kas breaks away from him, wiping his mouth and smearing his face and the back of his hand with Steve’s blood. If he looks just right, he can’t even fucking see it.

Heart falling further, Steve buries his hands in his hair and pulls, hoping that by some kind of miracle he can just pull the migraine out of his head before it can really settle. It’s his only chance. He can’t drive like this, he shouldn’t walk like this, and soon he won’t be able to do anything at all.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” be hisses, hearing the edge of desperation in his own voice and caring very little about that right now.

Kas is on him again in a second, and Steve waves him off, tries to shove him away but the vampire is stronger and persistent.

A high keening sound builds in Kas’s chest, and Steve knows he doesn’t really speak, doesn’t really use his words, ever — maybe he doesn’t know how. But the keening sounds more like a whine, and the way he pulls at Steve to look at him is as much an indicator of worry as he’s going to get.

But Steve doesn’t want Kas’s hands on him, wants to just get out and away before the pain comes. So he takes another step back and holds up his hands, hoping that the vampire will just fucking take a hint.

A little too quickly and a little too frantic, Steve shakes his head, his eyes flitting about the room to see if there’s still pieces of it missing or if phase two is about to start. He has about twenty minutes left before his body will be composed of nothing but skull-splitting pain that is only equal to someone ramming actual nails into his head — and even that would be preferable right noe, because at least that pain he wouldn’t need to explain. Or justify.

Another keening sound interrupts Steve's burgeoning spiral, and his eyes land on Kas, who really looks like a kicked puppy right now.

"I gotta go," he says, voice a little unsteady with apprehension and panic, but just as he's about to rush out of the cabin, Kas crosses his path and won't let him move.

A strong hand lands on his chest, and Steve really, really doesn't want to deal with that right now. He tries again, tries with more force to sidestep and push past him, but Kas won't let him budge.

"Let me go." But Kas doesn't let up. "Kas. Please. You gotta let me go, I gotta get home, I—“

The first flash of white in his peripheral vision catches him off guard, moving his focus away from the clawed hand on his chest and toward the flickering line that cuts through the left side of his vision right now.

Curious or worried or maybe just really fucking stupefied at having Steve act so weirdly, Kas inclines his head and ducks to catch Steve's eyes.

"Move," Steve says again, as assertive as he can manage with his brain and body scattered between following the flickering lights that are invisible to everyone else and the pain that is about to consume him, leaving him incapacitated for several hours at least.

Instead of moving out of Steve's space and allowing him to leave, Kas shoves him backwards with that superhuman strength he has now, forcing Steve to stumble back helplessly. Fear rises in him again, and it's a different flavour this time that mixes horribly well with the anxiety and apprehension and all the waves and waves of blinding panic he feels out of nowhere almost all the time now.

His knees buckle when they hit something rather violently, and then he's falling, landing on the worn couch with a breathless gasp, his instincts running wild. He needs to fight, he needs to run, he needs to get home and be safe and get the fuck away from this monster who won't let him go now. Steve doesn't know Kas as someone who will just take what he wants, but, well, he is Munson, in a way. So that tracks.

But instead of attacking him, instead of going for his neck again and sucking the rest of his blood, instead of beating Steve to a pulp to keep him pliant and unmoving and turn him into some sort of personal livestock, Kas just... sits down next to him. Hands in his lap. Worried look trained on Steve, who needs to catch his breath and calm down.

"Hurt."

It startles Steve. Kas has never spoken to him. But what’s more, Steve shouldn't be that obvious. He doesn't want to be that obvious, especially about hurting and being hurt.

So he shakes his head, his hands coming up to press into his eyes, hoping to get rid of the flickering lights even though he knows that once they stop, the pain will come; and it will come badly.

"'M not hurt," he says, lying through his teeth and the heel of his hand. "I just gotta go home."

"Hurt," Kas says again, and it's more assertive this time, less of a question. Like he's telling Steve rather than asking. Like he's making him understand.

He reminds Steve a little of Robin in that regard, and he almost has to smile. He would, too, if he wasn't so aware that it would become a horrible grimace, wavering and pale even by vampire hermit standards.

So he sighs instead, letting his hands fall into his lap and wringing his fingers. There are about ten, maybe fifteen minutes left. Not enough to get anywhere safe on foot, and he sure as hell ain't driving when his vision is halfway through its rendition of a TV without signal, zig-zagging in white and red and green, flickering and flaring and leaving him a little disoriented even when all he's doing is sitting on that dusty old couch.

"Hurt," Kas repeats for the third time, and Steve tenses, ready to snap at him to shut up, that he's not hurt yet but will be any minute now and that Kas should really just shut the fuck up and leave himself if he won't let Steve go anywhere.

But looking at those wide eyes, he doesn't snap. He deflates. His shoulders fall and his eyes close, which only makes the flickers worse, he feels.

“I’m… I’m gonna have a migraine," he sighs, letting that hang in the air between them, letting the words take up the whole room and suffocate him while he knows that they won't touch Kas. That he won't understand. Nobody does.

It's just a headache, Steve, get over it.

They leave a bitter taste in his mouth, and he's just waiting for the huff to come.

But it doesn't come. Instead, Kas just keeps looking at him; same worried expression, same unobtrusive posture, same everything. Right. He probably doesn't know jackshit about what that's supposed to mean.

So Steve explains. “I, well. I kinda can't really see right now, but that'll pass. That's when the pain comes. I won't want to move. No light. No noise. No nothing. And all I can do about it is wait it out, which is why I need you to let me leave..."

It's one of those moments where he hates that he's the only one of their group with a license; that he can't just radio with a code red and have someone come get him no questions asked.

"I just wanna go home, man," he sighs, hating his voice for the weak whine around the edges.

A beat passes between them, and Steve pretends like he's not counting the seconds. Like he doesn't notice that the flickering zigzag line is getting smaller and dimmer, and that agony is imminent.

"Here," Kas says then, and somehow it's both an offer and a command. "You. Here."

Steve blinks, the words not really translating through the tired fog of his brain.

"Huh? Sorry, uh, what?"

"You," Kas says, shuffling closer to him, like that sort of helps him translate what it is he wants to say.

"Me."

Kas nods, then motions around the room and pats the couch cushion, releasing a cloud of dust from it. "Here."

“You—“ Steve frowns. "You want me to stay here?"

The nod is decisive and in another world Steve would have called it eager, with the way Kas is shuffling on the spot.

"Kas," Steve sighs, rubbing his face, not quite sure how to make the vampire explain that it's gonna be bad. Really, really bad. The flickering shimmer is already waning, and phantom pains are already setting in, settling along his skull like little pinpricks of warning.

A clawed hand reaches for his wrist, making Steve flinch away, but Kas doesn't hurt him. He pulls Steve’s hand away from his face almost gently, slowly, and makes sure Steve looks at him.

"Safe." And he looks so genuine about it. He looks like he knows what that word means. "Safe."

With a sigh, Steve accepts his fate. Kas isn't gonna let him go anytime soon, and at this point Steve really doesn't want to face the gloomy weather outside, stuck as it is somewhere between drizzle and downpour and so endlessly grey for days.

Still he feels pathetic about it. Vulnerable. Exposed. Like a last bastion falling, the castle walls crumbling, the fragile house of cards finally falling, because suddenly this agony isn't something he keeps only to himself.

Even if it's only Kas who witnesses it. Kas, who’s endured worse than that, Steve knows. Brainwashing, manipulation, the agony of shaping human into vampire so excruciating his mind has gone into hiding still.

"Okay," Steve breathes at last, pretending that his voice didn't break on that single word. "Okay."

Kas hums, the sound resembling more a gurgle than anything else, and before Steve knows what's happening, cold hands are pulling him up and off the couch.

"Jesus," he mumbles, barely catching his footing and pulling away from Kas's grasp, but following nonetheless, not even thinking about fleeing now. "I'm coming, I'm coming, man, don't touch me."

Miraculously, Kas does stay away, walking just one step ahead of Steve, turning towards him every two steps to make sure he's still following. It reminds Steve of a mama duck herding her ducklings across the street and making sure they're all still there. It's weirdly endearing.

"Why do you even care?"

He doesn't get an answer, but that's no surprise, and he doesn't really mind either. It was more about wondering, about putting that question out there and letting it take up space for future contemplation.

Kas leads him to an adjoining room, the north-facing windows all barred shut, ripped and moth-eaten curtains drawn to block out the last of the light. Right. Fitting, for a vampire's lair.

The bed in the middle of the far wall is surprisingly large, though, and looks surprisingly soft. It's unmade, but that's just as well. There are no belongings in the room otherwis that Steve can make out, the framed pictures on the wall look as dusty as the rest of the cabin, so they can't belong to Kas. Or maybe he likes them enough to keep them, to claim them as his own now.

It’s a heartbreaking thought.

Stupidly and out of nowhere, Steve wonders if he could take care of this cabin. Dust it and clean it and only fill it with things Kas likes. Maybe things Munson used to like — surely the kids would know how to go about that. Or Wayne.

He's about to ask; about the pictures, about the stuff, about Wayne — if he's been around lately, if he's still telling stories to bring back the dormant Eddie parts of his modified and manipulated mind.

But just as he's about to turn to the vampire and ask, the blinding flickers disappear from his field of vision in the dark room, and within seconds something inside his skull bursts, leaving his body awash with pain that nearly has his knees buckling. A whimper escapes him that he tries to steer into a groan, but then his hands are flying to his head and he stops caring about how he expresses this immediate agony to the world.

Kas is on him again with a whimper, suddenly just as fucking tactile as his once-human form.

“Don’t touch me,” Steve rasps, wrenching himself free from the gasp once more. He really wishes Kas would stop touching him. "You want me to lie down here, yeah? Take your bed?"

Kas nods again, looking at Steve with those wide eyes that seem to glow in the dark — or maybe that's his migraine-addled mind seeing things where they aren't, making up for the blind spot and the flickering.

Steve looks away, the motion hurting his entire face, and he closes his eyes as pins and needles are moving along the inside of his face, pricking up against the skin but never breaking through.

"Right then," he whispers, his voice barely audible and still too loud, making his ears click and pressure collect around them, making him wonder if they're going to burst. "'M gonna lie down."

Struggling with the heavy blanket, Steve is close to giving up and just lying on top of it, but Kas is quick to help him once he realises that Steve needs it. He pulls back the blanket, still looking so damn stricken about everything, like he's genuinely worried about Steve. It doesn't make sense.

He doesn't have the strength for a Thanks or even a smile, but he nods just once, just barely, before sluggishly falling onto the bed and fumbling with the blanket once more. Every movement hurts. Every twitch of a muscle is too much, and just moving his pinkie is enough to douse his body in never-ending pain that travels from his skull all the way down.

Something Steve has always wondered is why migraines make his body shut down like that, leaving him in a state where all he can do is lie down and fall into a near-catatonic limbo until the pain has lifted enough to face the rest of the world again. Fighting inter-dimensional monsters and posing as a feast to demonic, modified monster bats was also agony. It also made him lose his footing and almost pass out from blood loss and pain, his back scratched open completely where the bats dragged him across rough stone.

Migraine pains don't really compare to those, though, and it scares him. Because he knows that's all up in his brain. His fucked up, mangled, thrice-concussed fucking brain he never got cared for because the government goons never took them seriously. Never took him seriously.

And now here he is, lying in a stranger's bed in a pitch-black room that's still somehow too bright, unmoving, too weak to even pull up the blanket, and hoping to pass out from it all. Hoping he won't hallucinate again this time. Hoping that he won't throw up this time, his body convulsing because it knows it shouldn't be feeling like this.

Throwing up from pain. There's really nothing more fucked up than that. Or, there is. Throwing up from pain and begging an invisible man to make it stop, only to realise hours later that the most painful migraines can also make you hallucinate.

He doesn't want that. He doesn't want any of that ever again, and certainly not in a strange, dark cabin with a vampire forged from a human he never even liked.

Tears spring to his eyes, but they're not the kind that'll fall and bring relief. They just stay in the corners of his eyes, his only way to express the waves and flares of pain washing over him, wishing he could just pass out now.

Kas tucks him in. Steve didn’t know he could do that. It strikes him as extremely non-vampiric even in this state he’s in. Steve doesn’t react, doesn’t so much as blink his eyes open as the pain travels up to his hairline and settles there, flaring over his forehead to his eyes and down to his cheekbones and then up again, a never-ending motion that he never stands a chance to get used to.

“Safe,” Kas says again, and it zings through Steve’s body with violent force that doesn’t match at all with the gentle tone he’s using.

Scrunching his forehead to stave off more words, Steve hopes that Kas will take the hint and know to shut up.

But he has no such luck.

“Here.”

“Shhh.” He shakes his head minutely, shushing the vampire with a barely there noise, keeping the damage to a minimal amount. “You can go,” he slurs, trying not to speak at all. “Please.”

A beat of blessed, blissful silence, before there’s shuffling again. Kas does walk to the door, but then stops in the doorway. Steve doesn’t want to look.

“No.” Kas sounds surprised about it. Mystified. Like he wants to leave but can’t.

What?

“Stay. Here.”

Whatever you do, just please be quiet about it, Steve thinks desperately. Instead of saying any of that, he shushes him again, hoping that the thump he hears means that Kas is sitting on the floor now. Though he doesn’t understand why.

Why do you even care?

“Safe,” Kas says again, whispering the word into the room, and it doesn’t zing through Steve this time.

With Kas refusing to leave and his pathetic state of existence so blatantly on display, and with waves and waves as his nerves fire signals to his overworked and tired brain, more tears sprint to his eyes. And this time they fall. Silently, and without a sob, without even a sniffle of acknowledgment. But they fall.

And Steve just wants to go home.

🤍 permanent tag list gang: @skiddit @inklessletter @aringofsalt @hellion-child @stobin-cryptid @hotluncheddie @gutterflower77 @auroraplume @steddieonbigboy @n0-1-important @stevesjockstrap @brainvines @puppy-steve @izzy2210 @itsall-taken @mangoinacan13 @madigoround @hammity-hammer (lmk if you want on or off, for this story or permanently)

part 2 here

#steddie fic #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #kas eddie munson #dio words #kas takes care of steve fic #still not sure if this is tumblrable but it shall no longer stay between me and the discord thread girlies

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allisondraste · 2 years ago

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I’ve seen various different posts on the website formerly known as Twitter and this one right here, discussing Gale’s behavior in romance as obsessive, possessive, and possibly codependent. And while I support everyone having their own interpretations and opinions, I do disagree, so I want to talk about it!

First— it’s so important to acknowledge that Gale is strictly monogamous. He is not someone who is comfortable with a partner having other partners. This is fine, and not inherently indicative of any unhealthy attachment styles. Wyll, Karlach, and Lae’Zel are also monogamous in a relationship.

Gale does struggle with some insecurity that at times bleeds it’s way into his romantic relationship, but isn’t a product of the relationship itself. His biggest insecurity is feeling like he isn’t enough (in general, not just for a romantic partner). Mystra had a way of making him feel like nothing he did was ever enough, he always needed to do more, to be more, and when he tried, when he made mistakes, she abandoned him.

Those are wounds that do not heal quickly, and so he needs quite a bit of reassurance from both friend and lover PCs that he’s fine just the way he is and that he doesn’t have to try so hard or pretend to be fine when he’s not.

He’s lonely. Due to his condition, Gale, who is an incredibly social person, had to hermit himself away from his friends and colleagues for over a year. Mystra was no longer interacting with him, and he was afraid to be around his mother because he didn’t want her to worry. His only company was Tara, and as much as he loves her, shes not a replacement for human or humanoid connection. Usually with folks who struggle with codependency and insecure attachment, there are long patterns of each of those things in all of their other relationships, but Gale seems to have had pretty healthy relationships, the Mystra situation being the exception, not the rule.

It excites him when he gets to travel with a group, have friends. It’s even more exciting to him when he finds someone who makes him forget the hurt Mystra has caused. Yet he still has to withdraw from even that because he does not want to put their life in danger. It is not until act 2 after Elminster has cast the incantation to calm the orb that Gale feels comfortable enough to give in to his feelings. And yeah! He comes in strong because he’s been holding it in. He’s been pining away, sad that he can’t let himself so much as kiss Tav or else he quite literally explode.

When you talk to Gale after his romance scene in act 2, you’re able to confront him about his feelings for Mystra, and he is very direct, stating that he does still have complicated feelings for her. Which makes SENSE. The game and Gale himself try to minimize Mystra as just his ex, but she is more than that. She is his groomer and abuser. Gale is traumatized, and it will likely take him the rest of his life to get over that. It’s not something that more time alone is going to heal. He needs a support system to help him. He needs his mom, his friends, and maybe even his new partner.

You can also ask him if he meant it when he said he loved you, and his answer is “I am many things to many people, but I am never one to throw the l-word around lightly.” He didn’t just say it on a whim. He thought about it, probably extensively. Judging from the dialogue we get, he’s aware that he is rushing to say it, and admits that it’s because he’s scared that he’s going to literally die tomorrow. It’s not a love bomb. It’s an “I need you to know this, just in case something happens to me.”

Once he doesn’t die in act 2, he simmers down. He becomes more concerned with curing his condition, he faces Mystra, he accepts that he doesn’t need to have godly power to be worthy of love and respect.

At the end of the game, he asks you if you’ll come back to Waterdeep with him, which is his way of proposing more or less, but its more that he wants to be home and he wants the person who has become so important to him to come with him, to meet his mom, to see his hometown. He wants them to want that too.

He’s a grown man, mid to late 30s, not a naive young person. He knows what he wants. He’s thought about it, extensively.

In my opinion, there’s nothing possessive, obsessive, codependent, or unhealthy about any of that.

#gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #meta post

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vanillavengeance · 5 months ago

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ROTTMNT Bad!Leatherhead Outline

I’ve had this outline for a while but I don’t think I’ll ever get around to fully writing it, so I’ll share it here to get rid of the brain worms

Warnings for psychological/emotional manipulation, hypnosis, and past cannibalism (stay with me here—)

Timeline - Post season 2, pre-movie

Genre - psychological thriller

ROTTMNT Leatherhead AKA ‘Edd’

Mutant crocodile, between 25-30 years old

From Louisiana, still has accent, migrated to the New York Hidden City after ~events~

Hermit, chronically alone, bitter towards Yokai and the world at large

Despite this he’s not outright AGGRESSIVE if approached with no intent to harm

Generally pretty grumpy

Hasn’t had any sort of relationship with ANYONE since the ~events~

Plot

First Meetings

The switch of Raph to Leo for leader at the end of S2 creates immense amounts of friction, specifically in fights and tense verbal spars between Raph and Leo, with Mikey and Donnie caught inbetween

Mikey takes the brunt of the attempts to de-escalate to very limited success, and Splinter tells them they need to work it out themselves

Donnie eventually completely checks out from all of it and figuratively throws Mikey to the wolves, holing up in his lab to get away from the constant noise and tension

The fights aren’t physical, but it causes all of them to avoid the common areas of the lair and on top of Mikey getting frustrated with the fights in general he’s really lonely and mentally exhausted with everything (Leo and Raph both try to drag him to their sides and blow off all his attempts to create a compromise)

Nothing’s fun or calm in the lair anymore and April is busy with finals so Mikey has very little options to feed his need for a social life

Draxum kicks him out and/or hangs up whenever Mikey tries to call and vent about things, too

Eventually Mikey’s spending more time out of the lair than in it, only returning each night with the hope of having a family dinner again (and being disappointed each time, eating at the table by himself and a rare visit from Splinter)

On one of his outings he’s in the Hidden City and accidentally draws the attention of the Hidden City Police with his tagging, he tries to talk his way out of it but gets rebuffed immediately by the officers once they hear that he’s a ‘teenage MUTANT ninja turtle’, they’re very xenophobic towards mutants

Mikey tries to escape but gets clipped by a mystic taser which completely nullifies his ninpo (not permanently, just for like 15 mins)

Ran towards the very outskirts of the city towards a swampy area, where the officers finally catch up and pin him

They’re about to drag Mikey off (he’s cursing in his head about it) when Leatherhead ‘Edd’ comes out of the treeline and scares off the officers, who leave Mikey to be possibly eaten

Edds very tense and standoffish but still asks if Mikey’s alright, and happy to find a somewhat friendly face Mikey brightens and profusely thanks him, Edd gives him a weird look and tells him to beat it, going back the way he came

Mikey follows and asks a million questions to Edd and is met with silence all the way to his run down shack where he finally snaps and makes it VERY clear that he’s a MUTANT and not a Yokai like he thinks Mikey is, Mikey gleefully corrects him and Edd’s a little taken aback meeting another mutant but loses any kind of aggression, leaving him awkward

Insinuates Mikey should be getting home and after Mikey morosely agrees Edd awkwardly asks if Mikey wants to stay for dinner and Mikey eagerly agrees (no stranger danger here) as long as he can know his name, Edd says it’s ’Leatherhead’ and Mikey nicknames him Edd immediately and there’s no complaints about it

Edd’s already getting charmed by Mikey and is even more shocked when Mikey asks for his number (Edd doesn’t have a phone) but Mikey says he’ll just be back in a few days and Edd has no chance to disagree in the face of the whirlwind that is Mikey excited about a new possible friend

…New Friends (?)

Things still aren’t going great in the lair, so Mikey spends more and more of his time at Edd’s to chase away the loneliness, and justifies it as him being there for Edd who is also very alone, he even stays the night once or twice, and when none of his family asks where he went it sends him into a bit of a spiral

He has no clue how obsessed Edd is getting with his company, thinks the fun nickname he gave Mikey (‘mon frère‘, AKA ‘my brother’) means friend in Cajun French cause that’s what Edd told him it meant

On one of those overnight stays Mikey finally pries Edd’s backstory out of him

His mother was mutated right before they hatched (Edd was the oldest) and she threw them into the water, contaminated with runoffs of residual Empyrean, to be mutated too. Edd felt responsible for looking after his little brothers (about 34 of them) when his mother left

After four years their mother stopped coming back, everything went bad and his hungry little brothers started trying to kill each other, Edd got caught up in the carnage and rage, ended up as the last one standing, since he was too scared to leave his home he ate most of their bodies to survive

He relives this everytime he closes his eyes and desperately wishes he could have another chance to be a good big brother *wink wink*

When he finally left and stumbled into the New Orleans Hidden City he was outed as a mutant and persecuted with death threats, similarly happened at Philadelphia and Pittsburg Hidden Cities until he managed to make it to New York which is also not great towards mutants but he wasn’t forcibly chased out, he just deals with the prejudice and harsh words and keeps to himself

Throughout all this time Edd has been slowly sprinkling in doubts about Mikey’s relationship with his brothers/family, how if they’d really cared they’d know he’s gone and check up on him, they show no appreciation on how Mikey keeps them together

It’s not enough to create obvious red flags but enough to have Mikey think about it more than he should, and in response now HE’S getting snappy and irritated with his brothers for not noticing that he’s NEVER home anymore except to sleep

When a fight finally turns physical Mikey snaps (not explosively, but he left during it which he would have NEVER done before), Donnie gives him a weird look for it but doesn’t comment and is back in his lab to avoid everything once again

Mikey packs a bag and leaves for Edd’s (his safe place now), Edd of course welcomes him warmly but gets concerned with how withdrawn Mikey is

He finally breaks down sobbing about how broken Mikey’s family has become and they’re not acting like brothers anymore, Edd comforts him through it all, saying he can stay for however long he wants and that he’ll always be there even if his family won’t

Mikey stays for 3 straight days (with no one reaching out wondering where he is) before he thinks he should probably head back

Edd seems panicked and fidgety when he hears it and practically begs him to at least stay for dinner, and Mikey wasn’t going to but Edd bribed him with his favorite southern dish and he’s convinced to stay

Edd is staring at him all throughout the meal, barely picking at his own, Mikey notes that’s there’s something sweet about it that’s not normally there but brushes it off since it still tastes REALLY good, starts trying to leave and gets hit with a wave of dizziness

Edd acts concerned and insists that Mikey can stay if he’s not feeling well when he still tries to leave, everything starts getting fuzzy for Mikey and he can’t think straight

Mikey’s picked up before he can fall on his face and placed in his hammock above Edds bed (he feels like he should be concerned but he can’t feel anything except calm and pliable), Edd comforts him, tucking him in, and then brings out a hanging lamp right in front of the hammock

The lamp had light that flows gracefully between greens/blues/yellows, Mikey passes out watching it completely calm and mind suspiciously quiet

Under the mystic hypnotism Edd whispers things like ‘it’s aight, you’re already home’ ‘I’ll take care of you’ ‘You’ll get everything you deserve’ ‘nothing will hurt you again’ and ‘You’re big brother will make sure you stay safe and sound’ ‘I won’t mess up it this time’

Where’s Mikey?

April finally visits the lair after finals, she’s prepared to party but finds the lair suspiciously empty, expects Mikey to be in the kitchen and doesn’t think much when he’s not

She goes to the lab and Donnie’s very happy to see her but reluctant to admit everything about the fights and being cagey about it, Aprils already frustrated and calls a family meeting after dragging Donnie out of the lab

Mikey’s the only one not present and no one knows where he could be (he’d NEVER miss a family meeting), cue hunt through the lair that no one except April takes seriously at first until Leo gets to his room and freezes next to the calendar hanging by the hammock

Mikey was always on top of crossing out the days, but the X’s are missing from the last 2 weeks

They start panicking a little bit more and try tot rack his phone, the signal is at the bottom of the harbor, the subdermal tracker thankfully works and shows him at the CERY VERY outskirts of the Hidden City, and they set off to bring him home (Leo and Raph bicker the entire time)

Meanwhile, Edd and a hypnotized Mikey have been having tons of fun as Edd tries to teach him everything he knows and how to survive

Since it’s things to do with crocodiles and not turtles Mikey’s pretty terrible at it but that just endears him to his amazing ‘big brother’ even more than before, cementing in Edds mind that Mikey will always need him and won’t ever leave

Hypnotized Mikey believes that Edd gracefully took him after his real brothers were neglecting him, and looks up to him as if he’s the best thing ever, never going against Edd and when there is some pushback Edd gives him a little bit more of the mystic hypnotic to make it go away and has no desire to return to the lair, irises ringed in a very faint glittery green

The family finally finds Mikey and try to drag him home but Mikey resists, Edd gets VERY AGGRESSIVE when he stumbles out to what’s happening, Donnie (very uncharacteristically, hold on though) convinced everyone to avoid a fight and retreat as Edd forcibly drags Mikey back inside the shack where it’s ’safe’

When Donnie gets flack for the retreat he reveals the mystic aura that he could see covering Mikey from head to toe from his glasses, he couldn’t tell exactly what it was and didn’t want to accidentally hurt Mikey because of it, they get Draxums help figuring out the hypnosis thing and go on their mini adventures to get the ingredients for the sure fire antidote

Edd’s getting progressively more agitated and aggressive the more Mikey questions why his previous brothers were here, why they would want him back after all that happened, why they’d look like they cared about him when Edd said they didn’t, etc.

It gets to the point where Edd nearly turns Mikey into a mindless doll with how much mystic hypnotic he gives him to try and erase the encounter and stop talking about it so he can keep his ‘little brother’ for himself and protect him like Edd couldnt with his other little brothers

The others obvious come back with the antidote and Draxum which leads to a big fight against the wards Edd put up in his paranoia about Mikey being taken and then Edd himself

Leo manages to sneak into the shack and finds Mikey listlessly watching the lamp in his hammock, he takes Mikey out of the hammock and gives him the antidote, starts snapping out of it immediately and Leo fills him in on what was happening because of the explosions outside

Mikey, pretty weak, gets out and tries to reason with Edd where he’s facing off against Raph, the fighting momentarily stops and they’re all glad to see Mikey okay

Mikey very much doesn’t appreciate what Edd did but since he’s Mikey he says that he can forgive Edd for it given enough time (the others VERY vocally disagree on that, and April says they’re going to have a talk about his tendency to forgive abuse)

Edd seems to deflate and understand, backing down and walking remorseful towards Mikey and Mikey’s hopeful that he can still have Edd as his friend after they get some time apart

In the next moment Edd snaps and tries to kill Mikey, claiming that if he can’t have his little brother than no one can (he’d rather know that Mikey’s dead than living somewhere without him being happy), Draxum takes him out with his vines before he can get far and has to take him to the police where he’s imprisoned immediately for being a ‘volatile mutant who’s a danger to the general public’

Mikey finally speaks to April about the stress he was under with all the fights and trying to keep the family together before he finally had enough, April makes it VERY clear that none of it was his fault and he didn’t deserve any of it

She also gives the others a talk and they all reluctantly agree that they’ve definitely been drifting too far apart and vow to have family time where they don’t dissolve into real fights (Leo makes this hard but there was no rule against being a nuisance on patrol so he’ll live with it

Mikey hopes that Edd can get the help he needs and live an actually happy life

(He doesn’t, every time Edd escapes the prison he goes after Mikey, only gets stopped when he gets Kraangified and goes ‘missing’, AKA the officers of the Hidden City finally have a justification for executing him)

The ending’s sad for Leatherhead, I know, but some people don’t change or get better even if they DO get help, which Edd doesn’t. On top of that, sometimes trauma makes people do bad things and they don’t have any remorse for it. Seeing as this was meant to be a psychological thriller kind of fic I think the unhappy ending for him was fitting.

If you read all that, I hope you found some enjoyment from it! It’s also a little showcase of how I outline the stories I write lol

#rottmnt #rottmnt mikey #tmnt #rise of the tmnt #rise of tmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #tmnt au #Leatherhead #fic outline #writing #fanfic #psycological thriller #manipulation #hypnosis #psycological horror

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neocrias · 8 months ago

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Two worlds apart

synopsis: After having some strange dreams about other dimensions, you take off on a journey to explore the nearby forest. What you hadn't expected was falling asleep next to a fairy circle and waking up to a very peculiar - and handsome - nymph close to you.

pairings: jun x reader

wc: 6k

aus: sweet as possible; star-crossed lovers

warnings: cursing; reader is referred to as a girl

Light...There's so much light. And a breeze, too. So soft, passing through your hair. Everything is so calm and apparentely good, but there's something missing and a strange feeling in your chest rises as you take a deep breath. Finally, a heat covers the light from where you laid, and all you can see is the pair of rosy cheeks, plump lips and a glowing skin hovering on top of you. That's when your heart fills up entirely: there's nothing to miss now. He's here.

You stand up in a hurry, feeling your heart pounding as a droplet of sweat runs down your temple. Your hand runs to your chest, sensing it rising and falling rapidly as you scan the dark room around you, getting each second more familiar with the well-known bedroom.

– Not this again… – You run your hands over your face, trying to recover from the fright that the dream so realistically gave you. An emptiness spreads through your body as quickly as the cold night and the small cottage seems smaller than it ever was. You look around, your eyes getting used to the darkness as the silhouettes of the furniture become clearer. – I need water.

You get up, looking for the simple kitchen beyond the walls of the small room. The ancient wood creaking under your feet as you tried vehemently to ignore the involuntary pain in your heart. Why do I always feel so bad after these dreams?

Why do I miss so much something that I don't know what is?

The water you were pouring into your glass almost overflows in the midst of your drowsiness and agitated state of mind, causing you to take a few steps back. Your head lifts again to the kitchen sink, looking beyond it and through the window that surrounded it. The impression of seeing a bright light amidst the darkness of the forest startles you for a few seconds, but the vision soon dissipates, leaving only a darkness too frightening to stare at for long. "Enough, this has to stop."

–And how's life as a reclusive hermit? – Ahrin, your best friend, asks over the phone, her voice slightly shaken by the audio.

– I don't know… I guess normal. – You answer, monotonously, popping another snack into your mouth as you absent-mindedly watch the TV on some uninteresting channel. – To tell you the truth, I've been having some strange dreams. I don't know if they're memories of when I used to come here as a child, but they always make me feel a bit sentimental.

– Girl… what if you're being haunted by your dead grandmother? What if she doesn't want you there? – Ahrin's voice is laced with humor and you let out a muffled laugh.

– I guess if my grandmother didn't want me here she wouldn't have left me this cottage in her will, would she? – You scoff, rolling your eyes.

– Yeah, so I think you're going crazy with the solitude and all the bush and forest around you. – She concludes. – “The Shining” ass type of thing. Please don't kill your wife and child.

– It's always so comforting to talk to you, Ahrin. – You ironize with a scoff. – I don't know… these dreams have been disturbing me too much, I always wake up with the feeling that something is missing. It's like I'm suffering. Ahrin, do you believe in…

But a loud noise suddenly interrupts you, making you look straight at the bookcase behind the television.

– Y/n…? Are you still there?

– I'll call you back, Ahrin. – You answer, hanging up. Getting up, you notice that a book from the last shelf has fallen onto the cottage's shag carpet, and you roll your eyes at yet another of the strange occurrences this house has provided you with.

Your life in the city used to be very stressful. The exhausting routine of working for a large company took all your time. And that's why, when your distant and reclusive grandmother passed away, leaving you the cottage where she had lived for most of her life as her only inheritance, you thought it was a great idea to take a few months off for yourself, quitting your job and living off small savings while taking some time to rebuild your life bit by bit.

However, life in isolation in the small cottage on the edge of the forest also had some stresses on a psychological level. At first, everything seemed perfect, but over time, constant signs began to terrify you: things falling, doors and windows opening and the repeated dreams - every night, they revealed themselves to you as something new, comforting you among the lights and breezes, until you spotted that mysterious figure with an undefined face and woke up, panting and with a feeling of enormous emptiness. Of course you tried to rationalize these events, but you couldn't help letting your superstitious mind take you to darker places, and at times you could swear you were being haunted by some kind of ghost or otherworldly creature.

Life without people was also a challenge: although you hated the crowded spaces of the city, and always refused to go out to big parties or restaurants full of people, being absolutely sure that you would love being able to be alone for a few months in the chalet, now this reality was turning against you, and the loneliness was starting to show. Talking to yourself was good, and a very common habit of yours, but sometimes you felt like you really needed someone by your side to listen to you, if only for a few moments. The loneliness was so widespread that last week you found an injured bird in your yard and didn't think twice about naming it, caring for it for days and crying tears when you had to return it to the wild. "I could have kept it a little longer."

Putting away your daydreams, you stood to pick up the book and return it to its original place, but something about the title startles you, giving you a very strange feeling: Fairies and Other Magical Beings, the letters say in spaced golden graphs across the thick green velvet cover.

As you looked at the book, a scene flashed through your mind.

– Grandma, what are fairies? – You asked as you looked curiously at the book on the top of the shelf. Your feet stretched as far as they could towards the curious artifact, but you still couldn't reach it.

– Ah, dear, fairies are very interesting creatures. They live in the forest and are very tiny. – Your grandmother's rough hand ran through your hair, messing it up a little. – But don't confuse them with the nymphs: they also live in the forest, but they are responsible for the elements of nature. There are the water nymphs, like the ondines, the air nymphs, like the sylphs…

– And the sylphs live in the forest behind your house! – You asked, excited by the subject.

– Of course they do. – Your grandmother's smile gradually grew, forming wrinkles around her eyes.

A shiver ran down your spine as you remembered this moment that had been stored in the back of your mind for so long. Your grandmother's smile, always a symbol of sweetness and affection for you, took on a sinister air of mystery as you remembered that day - as if she knew something you didn't, and was proud of it.

You shake the thoughts away, staring at the book in your hands for a while before opening it and scanning the chapters fiercely. Fairies. Sylphs. Elves. Elementals. Forests. Potions. Circles. Magic.

– Shit, am I being haunted by a… fairy?

– Okay, recap this for me, please… Do you think you have a fairy living with you? – Ahrin's voice resounded with laughter through the cell phone line.

– Yeah… A nymph, to be precise. – You answer, focused on carefully removing the fragrant apple pie from the oven. – They live in places like this, isolated forests. It's quite common, in fact, for people to see these apparitions in rural towns, really. Just google it.

– Yeah, yeah, it's all the same. Girl, are you okay? Do you want me to come and visit you? – Ahrin asks, starting to sound a little more worried and cautious. You roll your eyes at your friend's tone, knowing that you really were sounding a bit crazy with all that talk of magical creatures. For a few moments, you regret having told anyone about these daydreams: maybe you really were going mad because of the solitude in the cottage. Maybe that warm pie in your hands was another sign that you were crazy.

Thinking to yourself, you roll your eyes, frustrated at having let yourself go so far.

– Actually, there is a slight difference, but I won't bother you with that. – You finally reply. – I have to go, I'm busy in the kitchen.

With an “okay, bye” rather suspicious, Ahrin hangs up the call, and all that's left is the tortuous silence and the incredible smell of your baking. Tempted to eat the pie, you control yourself, leaving it cautiously on the small kitchen table.

– Now let's see if I'm right or going completely mad. – You whisper to yourself, staring at the pie with your arms crossed and a sudden, strange feeling that you're being watched.

Shrugging, you walk to the bedroom, ready to sort out some things on your laptop.

– No. fucking. way. – The words come slowly out of your mouth. – So it's true.

The half-empty pie tin stares at you with overwhelming irony. The leftover pieces of pie, cut in an imprecise and rounded way, no longer looked as tasty and lively as they did when they were first taken out of the oven: now, they looked almost stale. And absolutely devoured, in your own home, by someone who hadn't been you. But that was the least of it, of course.

You run to the bookshelf in the living room, placing your hands on the famous greenish book, endlessly searching through its pages without any kind of calm or order, almost making a few tears in the process.

“Fairies and nymphs usually accept gifts from humans, as long as they have been left willingly. Some of their favorites are baskets of fresh fruit, freshly-baked pies, pretty flowers or nectar juices. Be careful, though, because once a food or drink is touched by a magical creature, its fruitful and vital energy is taken away, and the food will no longer do anyone any good. Never consume the remains of a fairy or nymph.”

Your eyes go from the book to the rotten-looking pie, making you frown a little. You decide that the best thing you can do now is throw the pie away, being careful not to touch it any more than necessary.

Okay. Now you know what's been plaguing you for the last few months, but how do you stop it? How do you stop the dreams and get that crazy nymph out of your cottage?

“A good way to communicate with the fairies is to go to the places where they live: forests, fields and flowerbeds are good examples. Leaving offerings such as those mentioned above can arouse gratitude in these little creatures, thus guaranteeing you friends and companions who can help you when needed.”

– Good. – You sighed, dropping the book on the nearest table as you prepared in the kitchen to fill a basket with all the fruit, flowers and baked goods you could find in the little cottage. – Now I have to go into the middle of the forest to feed these creatures in exchange for a little peace. It's the height of it.

You looked up unconsciously, as if asking some greater force to help you. With the cloudy, cold weather outside, the urge to stay at home was great: but you had to do it. If it was going to guarantee you at least one peaceful night's sleep, without those strange dreams and the feeling of loss, then it was worth it.

A shiver ran down your spine as you surveyed the empty cottage one last time before closing the front door behind you.

The book, still open on the table, illustrated a very important last paragraph, which your haste had prevented you from reading:

“Be very careful with fairy circles. In dense woods or forests, it is common to find mushrooms planted in a circular shape, almost on purpose. These are actually powerful portals to the world of fairies and nymphs: and as tempting as it may seem to travel to another dimension, the ethereal world of nymphs holds far more magic than a human heart can bear. Never enter a fairy circle.”

You don't know exactly how many minutes have passed since you entered the dense forest, but the thin mist doesn't leave you much sunlight to guide you. It's the first time since you moved into the cottage that you've risked walking alone through the forest which, despite being isolated, still seemed full of dangers. You vaguely remembered walking among these same trees in early childhood, but you understood that a child's mind finds these natural mysteries much more enchanting than the troubled mind of a lonely young adult.

The cold wasn't tearing, but it was a little uncomfortable. The warmth permeated your skin without burning, but left an ominous reminder that it was all around you, and the air you inhaled went deep into your lungs.

You didn't have to go that far to deliver a basket to a bunch of hypothetical nymphs, but you wanted to make sure you wouldn't be bothered by any more strange beings - whatever they might be. So, when you reach a clearing after a long walk, you decide that's where you're going to stop and sit down to rest for a while.

– Okay, here are the fruits. – You grumble, holding out the basket to the empty space in front of you. – They're not very fresh, because it's not the season, but…

You shrug, feeling a sudden tiredness take over your body.

– Now, please, please, – you plead, putting your hands together in prayer. – Take these strange dreams away from me. I can't stand it any longer. There's something, here, – and your index finger travels to your chest, pressing lightly – that hurts every time I wake up.

But before you could complain any more about how uncomfortable it was, your eyes began to get heavier and heavier, along with your limbs. Of course, your rational side wouldn't let you sleep in the middle of the forest, but it didn't seem to be working, as if there was some kind of trance moving you towards it. Yes, leaning a little and lying down on the damp grass seemed the right thing to do. Naturally, that forest was calling you, and you could swear you heard a soft voice moaning some kind of deep incantation, guiding you as your eyes closed softly. And just like that, you fell asleep.

Without even realizing how many mushrooms surrounded you.

Light… lots of light. And sparkles through the light green trees, as if everything was shimmering. The slight rustle of leaves above you calmed you down. Everything seemed perfect, even the slight warmth of the sunlight above. It's when your eyes open a little wider that this light is dimmed, and all you can see are rosy cheeks and plump lips, hovering above you as your heartbeat increases.

"It's happening again, another one of those dreams that messes with me,” you think.

But as soon as you blink your eyes hard, hoping to wake up, you are faced with a new sight as soon as you open them wide: a pair of eyes. Brown. Dark. Deep under the light flutter of curious eyelashes.

You let out an exclamation of surprise and the air around you seems to speed up. The breeze, once calm, becomes desperate along with the pair of eyes above. The leaves around the clearing begin to fly around you and you finally sit down on the ground where you were lying before.

Your eyes search for the person you had never seen before, even though he appeared in all your dreams with his mysterious and unrevealed face. Your heart beats harder than ever and you bring one of your hands to your chest to try to stop the feeling that closes your throat.

But there was no one in the clearing apart from you - and, of course, the leaves flying wildly around you.

– I think she can see me. – A sweet, unsure voice practically whispers next to you, but there's no owner for that familiar yet distinctive sound.

– Stop being a coward, Jun. – A second voice joins the conversation, a little harsher. Your eyes scan the clearing, but there's no one there. A sense of dread runs through your body, chills running up your spine as you feel your head getting more and more airborne and your blood freezing.

– Who's there? – You take the initiative to ask, your voice shaking in the process. The flying of the leaves slows down for a few seconds, limiting itself to a few smoother glides.

– I don't think she can see us now. – The same second voice comments, and you quickly turn in the direction you felt the sound come from. To your surprise, the sudden movement of your torso brings you face to face with a new sight: a man.

You almost scream with shock, but something inside you stops you, and you find yourself completely dazzled by the sight: a young man with fine features, platinum hair and flowing white clothes was watching you carefully, leaning over your figure as you sat on the ground. Your eyes met and you finally understood. It was him. The boy who appeared in your dreams.

The rosy cheeks, the lips. It was all recognizable to you. His face was centimeters apart, but you couldn't feel his breath on you, and for a few seconds it seemed too unreal. Almost as if it was just that - a dream. Translucent and bright.

His eyes flickered in your direction a few times, but you just watched him in silence. For some reason, the apparition didn't disconcert you: on the contrary, you felt calmer than you had in months. Your heart still beats heavily, and something like nervousness didn't leave your chest. Something inside you told you that this was an important moment, but you didn't understand why.

– Who are you?

– You shouldn't be here.

You say in unison. The boy hesitates a little, unsure, and it's almost as if he's afraid to address you.

You look around. The leaves in the clearing have stopped fluttering and the wind no longer blows hard. Now, only a light breeze hung around, caressing your cheeks and hair.

– Where am I? – You asked emphatically, looking out at the unusually bright and ethereal clearing.

– In the realm of the fairies. A place highly unsuitable for humans. – The same harsh voice you heard earlier utters, and a dark figure beside you catches your eye, making you turn to face the new person in the clearing.

Another young man materialized in front of you. This one, also with delicate and beautiful features, but dressed entirely in black, with sharper eyes and a wry smile on his face. You feel like you know him, but you've never seen him before.

– We need to take you back. – The one in front of you says again, in a disappointed tone.

– So you're the ones living in my house? – You ask acquisitively and the two young men exchange guilty glances. The one in white arches his eyebrows, but the one in black just shrugs, unconcerned.

– You're the one who took me there, so… – The black one says, nonchalantly. – And Jun is just plain stupid.

– Sicheng… – The one in white warns, reproaching him.

– Jun… – The other imitates his tone, mocking his friend.

– Jun? – The name escapes your lips before you can think, and it sounds like a question. For a second, the name seemed strangely familiar, but now you couldn't understand where the knowledge came from.

– That'd be me. – He replies, gently, giving you a cautious smile. The young man extends his hand towards you and you accept it. As soon as your hands touch, a warmth spreads through your body and a shiver runs down your spine. There is no roughness in Jun's hand, and his touch is so soft that you hardly feel it.

You finally stand up, coming face to face with the boy. It's only then that you notice a subtle movement behind Jun's back, and you lean a little to see what it is.

Wings. Yes, he's a fairy.

– Air nymph. – Sicheng interrupts your thoughts, waving one of his hands in front of you to snap you out of your trance. – There is a difference.

You're startled - especially at the possibility of that strange being reading your thoughts.

– Sorry, it's involuntary. – He explains himself, again interfering in your thinking. – And also hella funny. – Jun arches his eyebrows at him, incredulous and impatient.

– Let's get you out of here. – Jun gently changes the subject. – Don't worry about him.

– Why do you appear in my dreams? – You pluck up the courage to ask. You didn't want to leave without answers.

Jun's eyes widen and an expression of surprise takes over his face. Sicheng follows him, looking extremely curious about the situation.

– For God's sake, Jun… What have you done? – Sicheng asked, turning to his alleged friend. Your eyes turn to the two boys alternately, trying to get some clue as to what was going on - and what they didn't want to tell you.

– What are you talking about? You were the first to interact directly with her! A human. – And Jun's tone was a mixture of accusation and forced contempt, trying to reproach Sicheng, who was unfazed.

– In my defense, it was her who interacted directly with me.

– I didn't do any of that! – You defend yourself, seeing the two pairs of dark eyes turn in your direction. Sicheng grinned mischievously arching one eyebrow in your direction.

– Are you sure about that, cutie? – He asks, crossing his arms over his chest. You don't lose confidence, but you begin to wonder if you haven't actually interacted with a fairy in recent months, even indirectly.

And only then, paying attention to Sicheng's smug posture, do you realize that he doesn't have a pair of translucent wings floating behind him.

So he's not a nymph…?

– Touché. – He jokes before you can vocalize your feelings. The boy then uncrosses his arms, tilting his head a little before surrounding himself in a black smoke that gradually grew around him. From head to toe, feathers appear on his body as his form shrinks in size.

The transformation before your eyes makes you open your mouth in shock, but it all starts to make a little more sense when the man in front of you takes the form of a bird. And not just any bird: the crow you helped recover from an injury weeks ago.

Sicheng, in his bird form, displays some of his feathers ironically, and you finally understand the familiarity you felt towards him before. A feeling of naivety passes through you, unsettling you a little.

The little crow bends down towards you and, as his last act of cockiness, he takes off into the forest, without waiting for your reaction to his big revelation.

– Show-off. – Jun complains, watching the bird fly away.

– So, what do I do to stop you from haunting my house? – You ask, now alone with the nymph Jun. He turns, giving you a slightly affected look.

– That won't happen again. – He mutters and you can see a slight blush rising to his cheeks. – Now I'm going to get you out of here, come on. I'll explain on the way.

You shrug, and although it didn't seem like the safest thing in the world to walk behind a nymph through a strange, shimmering version of the forest you knew, there didn't seem to be many other options either.

– How did I end up here? – You begin, after a few seconds of silence. Your incessant questions didn't seem to affect Jun, who remained patient and focused on the trail in front of him.

– The fairy circle. – He replied, unapproachable. – The wheel-shaped mushrooms, basically.

– Ah… – You start to remember some of the blurs and how a sudden sleepiness came over you when you entered that part of the forest. – And can't we go back and get out?

– The entrance door is not the same as the exit in the fairy world. –Jun turns and smiles sideways.

Your heart squeezes at the nymph's smile, but you don't understand why. It was the same feeling as always with all those dreams, and you feel the urge to keep asking him questions until you finally understand what strange connection you had with him, or what kind of spell he was putting on you.

You are stopped, however, when you notice the familiarity of the place around you. A small stone path, a garden neatly planted under the blue sky and not interrupted by the green of the dense forest that surrounded it: this was it! Your house! The cottage!

As much as the idea of getting out of that world excited you, something dark flashed across your face in a matter of seconds: if you got home now, you would never have the answer to your questions, and you would never be able to confront Jun about his constant appearances in your dreams.

– We're here. – You exclaim dejectedly. Squinting your eyes slightly, the cottage seems strange. The colors are more vibrant, the paint chips that had faded at the edges of the wooden walls were now impeccably painted, the vines that used to climb up around the house were no longer there, and a soft yellow light was coming from inside the cottage, which emitted a thin smoke from the chimney that you were sure you hadn't left on.

– The fairy world is a parallel dimension to the human world. – Jun begins to explain as he notices your strangeness. – Many things are very similar, even the same, but they are just deformed projections of what you have. They are irreconcilable. – He lowers his head slightly, hiding his face so that you don't see him, but you notice his sad countenance.

– It's strange… Why do I feel like we've already met? – You have the urge to touch him, and the words are out of your mouth before you know it. Jun arches an eyebrow in your direction, waiting for some explanation of what you've just said, but nothing comes. Even you don't understand what's going through your head, and maybe that's just the effect of the shimmering translucence of this perfect, complicated world.

– I've been to your cottage a few times. – He begins, looking embarrassed. Jun takes the lead, walking to go around the house and continue on your way. – It's subtle, but sometimes what we do here in our world can affect yours a little, and vice versa.

– So you were the one who knocked things over! – You exclaim excitedly, picking up your pace to walk alongside Jun. Strangely enough, even the nymph's gait was light, and he often moved and you could barely notice much effort on his part, as if he barely weighted anything.

A shy smile grows on his lips, and he tries yet once again to hide his face from you in a shy manner. Jun scratches the back of his neck, clearly uncomfortable at having been caught, but you're willing to find out more. You lean in his direction, trying to get a glance of his eyes, but Jun just suddenly stops in his tracks, almost bumping into you at the sudden proximity. Looking right into his eyes, and standing so close to the nymph, a strange sensation passes through you, and it's as if you've overlapped the image of a much younger Jun in front of you.

You blink, trying to dispel the strange image, and all that remains are the familiar features of the boy in front of you. A shiver runs down your spine, and suddenly you feel an absolute but unfounded certainty that this was not your first time in the fairy world.

Jun lets out a mirthless laugh, having no idea what had been going on in your mind for the last second, and turns away from you, keeping walking smoothly and determinedly through the bright forest.

– Speaking of which, that pie was great. – The boy murmurs, almost inaudibly, but you hear perfectly. His lips move into a smile, which precedes a laugh.

–I knew I wasn't going crazy! – Jun follows your laughter, seemingly amused by your reaction. – How can you touch things from the human world?

You're curious again, and this time Jun seems a little more willing to answer you.

– As I said, the things here are copies of your world. – He shrugs his shoulders. – If you have a pie there, the pie appears here, especially if you make it with the intention of giving it to a nymph. It takes a bit of energy on our part, but we can access your world a little more easily than the other way around.

You make a sound of confirmation, understanding a little about the boy's explanation.

– Can you… watch us? – You ask, curious. Jun blushes at the implication of your speech, and nods slightly. His confirmation also makes you a little shy, and you begin to wonder how much Jun has seen of you in your daily affairs.

– I didn't mean to scare you. – Jun begins, sounding apologetic. – With the things falling and all. I guess I just ended up being a bit too curious, and clumsy too. I'm sorry.

He lets out a shy laugh and you follow him.

– No problem. – You raise your arm and lightly touch the boy's hand in a gesture of consolation. The touch sends shivers through your body when you come into contact with Jun's soft, delicate skin. Again, an image flashes through your head, along with a very strong sense of longing and tenderness.

All of a sudden, you realize that you can't leave the fairies' world. At least not without the answers you seek.

Jun seems to feel something similar, and slowly walks away, watching your facial expression with his eyes, searching for anything different. He tries to act normal, but it's clear that the spark between the two of you has reached him too, in ways you can't understand.

– Why do I dream about you, Jun? – You ask almost in a whisper. The trees around you have become denser along the way without you noticing, and now the world around you seems darker than it has ever been. The pronunciation of his name on your lips affected him, and you can tell by his wide eyes. The nymph stops in front of you and seems to question whether or not he should answer your question. He hesitates a few times, opening his mouth to speak and then closing it.

A soft breeze circulates, and you feel a little calmer. However, this doesn't stop your heart from beating uncontrollably fast. A dark shadow passes across the sky, startling you and Jun, who swallows dryly.

– I don't know much about human dreams. – He replies at last, focused on looking at the sky.

You realize he's lying, and are ready to question him once again when the same dark shadow passes over you, stopping behind Jun at an impressive speed, transforming into the human version of Sicheng you had met earlier and interrupting the conversation.

– I see you've finally arrived. – Sicheng explains, stopping beside Jun with his calculated gait, but not at all as light and subtle as the nymph's. – The portal to go back.

You squint your eyes, trying to understand what is so special about that dark part of the forest. Sicheng notices your gaze, and moves a little away from the two of you to show you with a wave of his arm something behind the dark trees in a clearing that had gone unnoticed by you.

Tombstones. Rocks. Stone angels. A cemetery.

The image wouldn't terrify you so much in the world you come from, but something about seeing that place right there, hidden in the middle of the forest, surrounded by such a sparkling and beautiful reality was unsettling on an inexplicable level. The pounding in your heart became a strong squeeze and a pain that you couldn't tell where it was coming from.

– A source of life as a gateway. – Sicheng explains. - And a den of death as the exit door. – He clicks his tongue, seemingly displeased by the morbidity of the place.

But you weren't ready to leave yet. You needed to understand what it was you had been feeling for so many months. You needed more time with Jun. You needed to see him and feel again that strange sensation that had been troubling you. You couldn't leave without understanding him.

Why was his presence so familiar? Why did his smile hurt you? Why did your heart beat so fast when he approached? What were you feeling?

– When a nymph loves a human, that person is condemned to a deep connection with them. – Sicheng said, without looking anywhere in particular. – Come on, it's time she knew.

– Sicheng, don't… – Jun warns, and for the first time his voice sounds less soft and more serious.

But the shapeshifter doesn't listen to his colleague and comes dangerously close to you.

– Thoughts, strange physical responses, dreams… – He lists, searching your eyes for every reaction. – That tightness in your chest, you know? All courtesy of our loverboy here. – He points at Jun, who knits his eyebrows together, disturbed.

Your gaze alternates between the two boys, and now they seem a little taller than before. Without you noticing his approach, Sicheng appears at your side and pushes you. He doesn't use enough force to knock you down, but only to make you unbalanced, tumbling to the side and finally into the gloomy clearing of the cemetery.

Just as you stabilize yourself, you're invaded by a sharp headache. The last thing you see around you is the despair in Jun's eyes before the memories flood back.

– My grandmother told me about you… You're a fairy! Look at your wings!

– I'm a nymph, to be precise.

– Ah, it's all the same!

– Actually, there is a slight difference, but I won't bother you with that…

Jun's smile lit up the clearing, and the cemetery no longer seemed as sinister as when you had accidentally wandered into it.

It turns out that childhood comes with a gift: curiosity. And spending the vacations at your grandmother's cottage on the edge of the forest after hearing thousands of stories about magical creatures definitely helped to feed it. When you got lost, you cried desperately, but you didn't expect another boy to appear: a boy with wings and a kind smile.

– Can we be friends? – You asked, raising your pinky finger towards Jun. He didn't seem to understand exactly what you meant, so you gently brought his hand up to yours, showing him how to cross fingers together. – There, now we'll be friends forever!

The memory causes a tear to involuntarily run down his cheek, and Jun seems to understand exactly what was going through your head, because his gaze goes exactly to the gravestone where you first met, more than ten years ago.

But that wasn't the only memory that flashed before his eyes.

– And then he broke up with me! – You finished explaining the story to Jun, who nodded calmly. You hid your head a little more between Jun's outstretched legs in the forest grass, feeling him stroke your hair with the greatest delicacy in the world while you tried to hide the tears forming in your eyes from him.

Jun placed his hand lightly on your cheek, turning your face so that you were facing him. Lying there on the grass, watching Jun above you and the blue sky that hung imposingly above him, none of your problems in the human world seemed to matter. Only he mattered, and now you understood why, at sixteen, every boyfriend you'd ever had had dumped you: you only had eyes for one.

The nymph leans over you, and the warm touch of the sun is overshadowed by Jun's equally warm closeness. You felt a refreshing breeze around you both, and some fallen leaves circled you in a slow dance in the wind before Jun's lips finally touched yours, transforming the whole world you had known until then into something new and far more beautiful.

The crying was now more aggressive, and you were sobbing. Your hands went to your lips, unable to bear the weight of the memory. In the midst of your confusion, Jun had approached you unbeknownst to you, and rested both hands on your cheeks, wrapping them around it tenderly.

– How could I have forgotten you after so many years? – The thought tortured you. There were so many memories with Jun, at so many different stages of your life, that now it finally made sense to feel the absolute emptiness you had felt over the last few months.

A large part of your life had been erased, but not your love for him.

Jun brought your bodies closer, sticking your foreheads together while he breathed irregularly, his eyes closed. You enjoyed the closeness for a few moments, trying to force your mind never to forget that moment, even though it already seemed to slip through your fingers like sand.

Finally, the nymph sighed deeply and brought your lips together with a ferocity that was unlike his usual delicacy. It was a desperate, thirsty, longing kiss. If you hadn't remembered Jun for all those years, and had still suffered his absence, you couldn't even bear to think how much Jun had had to be alone with the memories of both of you. His hands wrapped around your waist, gluing your bodies together in sync. Your hands squeezed the back of Jun's neck tightly, as if he was going to disappear in that instant and you needed to prevent him from doing it so.

The kiss was something new for you, but at the same time it was painfully familiar, and you could taste his tears between the two of you. Jun finally separated them, still holding you close, squeezing you for fear that you would leave.

– I missed you so much.

– So why did you let me go? Why did you make me forget you?

– I didn't… I…

– Humans and nymphs can't be together, Y/n… – Sicheng interrupted, also entering the cemetery. His words didn't say anything absurd, but you felt them like a knife in your chest.

It didn't matter. It would be different with you two. You and Jun could work together: you were born for each other.

A rebellious feeling overwhelmed you, and you knew that now that you finally had your love back, you wouldn't give it up.

But Jun's taciturn gaze, which never left his face, was affected by his friend's harsh words. You felt that he didn't think the same way as you, and that killed you inside.

– I had to do it. – He whispered so that only you could hear. – I couldn't take you out of your world, and I didn't want you to suffer… The distance helped, but when I realized that you'd gone back to the cottage, and were now living there… I couldn't keep my distance any longer. I was wrong and selfish. I never imagined that you would dream of me.

– No, I don't mind. – You exclaim, full of fervor. Deep down, there's a small part of you that understands that this was the best thing to do for both of you, but you didn't want to let him go for anything, especially not after spending so many years without Jun. – I'm not going back. I want to stay with you.

But Jun just held your trembling hand into his, gently bringing it to his lips and placing a chaste kiss there, without taking his eyes off yours.

– I'll leave you two alone. You know what you have to do. – You heard Sicheng's voice behind Jun, and the young man suddenly turned into a crow, flying away.

– Please. – You beg, letting the tears run free down your cheeks. Jun's grip on your hand tightens and his eyebrows draw together in an expression of deep pain. The nymph nods quietly, very subtly, and you feel your heart grow lighter.

– I love you. – Jun says in an incisive whisper, meeting your eyes in reaffirmation. He moves closer again, planting a kiss on your lips that is much calmer and more restrained than the last one, lingering for a few seconds next to you. – And I need you to live.

A push on your shoulder shoves you away, and you feel yourself fall. Your eyes widen as you take one last look at Jun, noticing the bright tears falling from his eyes, a mixture of guilt and pain

And then, darkness.

Light… there's a lot of light. An uncomfortable, painful, cold light.

– Oh my God! – A voice exclaims as you open your eyes with difficulty, feeling your whole body ache. – She's here!

Sounds of leaves rustling on the ground and flying through the air in a spiral around you wake you up, and the pain of the recent farewell attacks you again.

Two hands find you, gently holding your shoulders. For a few seconds, your heart stops beating in futile hope. When you look ahead, however, it is Ahrin's face that stares back at you in shock.

Your friend begins to cry, hugging you tightly. She drops the lantern she was holding to the ground, leaving the forest around you dark again, but not dark enough for you not to notice the circle of mushrooms surrounding you. The darkness, however, doesn't last long, and many other lantern lights appear, with hooded people approaching the two of you in the midst of the storm that was wetting everything around you.

– What are you doing here? How did you get here so quickly? Who are these people? – You ask, still holding your best friend who is bursting into tears.

– Quickly? Y/n, I haven't been able to talk to you for over two months. You've disappeared.

Your alleged disappearance into the human world had caused quite a stir. Although you had spent little less than a day in the fairy world, time had flown by much faster in your world, and it was only then that you understood why Jun had made such a point of keeping you away, even if it hurt both of you.

Living with him would mean giving up everything you've known so far - which you would do, for him - but God only knows what long-term effects the fairy world would have on a human. At least those were the thoughts that comforted you when you remembered Jun.

Since then, you've never dreamt of him again. Even if you wanted to, and even if you tried. You were afraid of forgetting him again, so you tried to communicate in every way.

– Fine, we'll try again tomorrow… – You huffed, letting your shoulders slump in disappointment as you looked at the dining room table. The apple pie seemed to stare back at you, completely untouched.

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