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euphorajeon · 1 month

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trippin' over, gettin' lost on you | jjk (m)

— pairing: jk x f. reader

— genre: fluff, smut | college au, slight coffee shop au (?)

— word count: 12.4k

— warnings: pov change after the first part (its kinda obvious.. i hope), sleeveless jk, jealous jk, like really jealous, side character yoongi, cameo jimin and hoseok, they work tgt in a coffee shop, boxer!jk is back to his nature (he's boxing again, at last), cocky jk (but he's hot so its ok), usual banter between jk and oc, also banter between oc and jimin, mentions of cuts and bruises from boxing, references to the movie Real Steel, uhh what else i dont rmb anything else this thing is GIANT for me, smut in the form of: kissing, marking (hickeys), making out, an attempt at dirty talk, dry humping, cumming in pants, hint at unprotected penetrative sex at the end (don't do this!). [pls lmk if i missed smth]

— summary: a visit to the coffee shop you work at rewards jeongguk not only with a cup of coffee and a plate of brownie, but also with something else simmering deep in his veins. a challenge is issued, and all hell breaks loose.

— author's note: okay first of all full disclosure i started this in sept 2022 and just finished it today ^_^ i tried to edit it as best as i could, so if you see any mistakes, pls kindly... ignore... thank you... ^_^ that aside, i also feel the need to disclose that this is only my second time attempting to write smut so pls.. be kind.. hehe. okay! i hope you enjoy this absolute giant baby of mine!!

masterlist | boxer!gguk masterlist

There’s an advantage to knowing someone for years. Jeon Jeongguk can attest to this fact from first-hand experiences he’d had with you throughout the many years you both have known each other. He’s seen you cry after you almost drowned when you were ten and you’ve seen him throw up his breakfast after drinking skimmed milk when he was twelve, where both life-threatening experiences had been deemed not serious by young-you and young-Jeongguk who used both experiences as means to roast each other. (Though growing up, your hands automatically grabbed the whole milk carton when grocery shopping with him and he’s never let you go within a five-meter radius of a swimming pool without his supervision.)

Years of friendship with you has also given him the advantage of being familiar with your likes and dislikes, from trivial ones like how you don’t drink coffee because it upsets your stomach to more serious ones like the type of boys you would date in your teen years. He’s never had a problem with the former, instead using it as another mean to annoy you (“You can’t drink coffee? What are you? A child?”), but the latter had always bugged him for reasons unknown prior to his big epiphany a little over a year ago. (Spoiler alert: it was the first time he came home with piercings on his eyebrow and lower lip, when he tempted you into kissing him stupid.)

Now he’s confident that the type of a boy you’d date would be someone who is handsome, tall, has a great smile and tattooed bulging biceps on the side. Add a lip piercing (and a fake tongue one!) as well and he’s sure you’re never going to look at other boys ever again. If you do, well, he’d just make the piercing on his tongue a permanent one, even though that means he wouldn’t be able to kiss you for weeks after. But as said earlier, he’s confident that you only have eyes for him alone.

With that same confidence, Jeongguk struts through the glass door of the coffee shop you’re working at for the summer, going up to the counter with a grin painted on his features. Said grin goes unnoticed by you, though, as you’re busy taking the order of the person in front of him. His lips stay tilted upwards as he watches you work, writing the customer’s name on the cup with your big, round, cute handwriting. Only when you’re done taking the order and the customer’s cup has been given to your coworker do you notice his presence, eyes lighting up at the sight of him.

“Hi, what can I get you today?” you greet him in your customer-service voice and smile like you do any other customer that has come before him. Jeongguk gives you an amused smile, making you chuckle as you key in his order even before he says it himself. He eyes the small screen in front of him that displays his usual choice of beverage, making a sound to stop you from ringing him up.

“Actually,” he says when you hum in question, “could you add milk to that? Make it a latte?”

“You want a latte?” you emphasize the last word, making sure you didn’t hear him wrong. “Like, with milk and foam on top?”

“Uh-huh,” Jeongguk confirms, leaning his elbows on the counter to stare at you as you change his order from an americano to a latte. “Can I also order you on the side? Look too good not to be devoured,” he adds, a sleazy smirk on his lips.

You scrunch up your face at his innuendo, his words hard to believe when you’re wearing a murky brown apron and a matching cap on your head. “I’m adding a brownie,” you deadpan. “That would be seven dollars.”

“You don’t want anything?” Jeongguk asks as he straightens up, hand reaching for his wallet to take out his credit card. “No coffee though, babe.”

“Nope, I’m good,” you answer as you accept the card Jeongguk hands you, swiping it through the card reader. “Yoongi said I can try the new menu in large for free! I’m saving calories for that so no sugar allowed for now.”

His forehead creases upon hearing the new name. “Yoongi? Who’s Yoongi?”

“Him,” you tilt your head towards a mint-haired guy who’s busy making all the drinks, hands skillfully moving from one cup to another. It’s a wonder how he doesn’t spill even a drop of liquid. “I’ll introduce you later but now you have to move, there’s a line. Shoo.”

Jeongguk gives you a playful pout as a protest but complies with your request to move, sliding down to the pick up counter as you greet the next customer in line. There are two people lined up after him, barely a line like you made it sound like, but he figures because it’s an hour before closing that you consider any amount above one person a line. He also notices that you and the mint guy (Yoongi, was it?) are the only ones manning the counter, so it’s not like you have any spare time to deal with him given the amount of work that has to be done.

“An iced latte and brownie for Jeongguk!” Mint guy shouts as he slides the drink and dessert on the counter, lingering for a second when he sees Jeongguk’s hands reaching for his order. Mint guy’s gaze trails up his arms to his face, eyes meeting Jeongguk’s confused ones. Recognition bleeds into his cat-like eyes as his mouth forms into an O shape.

“Kiddo’s boyfriend?”

The low baritone of his voice is unexpected, though that’s not the only thing throwing Jeongguk for a loop. ‘Kiddo’? He has a nickname for you??

Mint guy—Yoongi!—doesn’t take his lack of response personally, instead opting to turn around and talk to you who have just finished taking orders from the customers. Jeongguk can’t hear what words you and Yoongi are throwing around, but from the way you glance at him, it looks like the mint-haired guy is just trying to confirm the answer to his two-worded question directed at Jeongguk earlier.

Your response to Yoongi’s inquiry makes the guy give you double pats on your cap-covered head, triggering a laugh to come out of both of you. While Yoongi’s laugh looks like he’s teasing you good-naturedly, yours looks like a shy one if the pink dusting your cheeks are any indication. It prompts a scowl to appear on Jeongguk’s handsome visage, furrowed brows and clenched jaw. It is not in your nature to get shy.

As much as he wants to stay rooted to the pick-up counter to keep you and Yoongi in his close watch, he has to move his ass somewhere less crowded to avoid getting eye-fucked by the girl next to him who has been staring at his tattoos for the past five minutes. Prior to dating you, anyone who displays interest in his tattoos would make pride swell in his chest, an ego-booster guaranteed to make his day a thousand times better. He used to subtly flex whenever he caught someone looking at his sleeve tattoos, an equally subtle wink on the side if that someone is a girl he found attractive. But after dating you, he realizes that the only attention he wants (and matters) is yours. Now anyone staring at his tattoos with the intention of flirting or getting in his pants just makes him shiver in disgust.

Though, in this particular instance, Jeongguk admits it’s his own fault by showing up to the coffee shop in a sleeveless shirt. It wasn’t intentional, he just grabbed anything within reach when he packed for the gym earlier in the day, but the way he left his hoodie in the car is definitely intentional. He thought he would give you a distraction surprise by baring his sleeve when you’re working, but you seemed unaffected even when he leaned on the counter to flex his muscles. Which is weird, considering you never missed any chance to ogle his inked bicep whenever he’s boxing.

As Jeongguk plops a small piece of brownie into his mouth, he just realizes that your roles are reversed now, with you doing your thing and him doing the staring. His eyes never leave your figure as you ring up three more customers since he sat down, transferring plastic cups onto Yoongi’s never-ending queue of orders. He watches as you take the last two cups by yourself, re-reading the order before moving to grab the ingredients needed for the drink. Your hands don’t work as fast as Yoongi’s, the muscle memory not yet settling in, but Jeongguk can tell that your help is appreciated by the way the mint guy smiles at you while patting your shoulder.

When the orders are all done, you go up to the glass door to flip the sign so it shows the Sorry, we’re closed! side. A glance at the clock tells him that it is thirty minutes until closing time, meaning thirty minutes until you can get out from behind the cashier and into his waiting arms. He hasn’t seen you all day today and all he wants to do is kiss you breathless the second you get rid of that horrendous apron and cap. Jeongguk starts counting down from the thirty-minute mark, hoping time would tick by faster.

Behind the counter, Yoongi is still busy making one more drink while refusing your offer to help. It’s weird seeing your kindness being offered to someone that isn’t him, but Jeongguk supposes this time it’s strictly work-related as he knows Yoongi has been making all the drinks (except the last two that you did) ever since he sat down with his order. Though, it seems like the drink in his hand is not an order at all, because he gives the plastic cup to you instead of putting it on the counter for a customer to take. There’s an almost childish grin on your face as you sip on the drink, eyes lighting up as you shoot Yoongi a thumbs up. After you exchange some more words with Yoongi, Jeongguk watches as you skip happily to his table with your drink in hand.

You place said drink next to his cup of latte on the table before your hand reaches for his drink to steal a sip. “I just have to clean up and wait for everyone to leave, then we’re good to go.” You steal two more sips of the latte just because you can.

“Okay, babe, but I still want my latte, you can put it down now,” Jeongguk chuckles, watching you do as he says with a guilty smile on your face. But then your hand takes the little spoon that came with the brownie to cut a sizable chunk from his half-eaten treat, quickly plopping it into your mouth. “Finish your brownie so I can take the plate away to wash it.”

“Are you just here to steal all of my food?” Jeongguk jokes, no menace behind his words as he reaches up to thumb away a stray piece of brownie from the corner of your lips. “And you said you didn’t want anything when I offered earlier.”

“I didn’t,” you confirm, “stealing from you is just too hard to resist.”

Jeongguk would’ve continued the banter if not for Yoongi calling your nickname from behind the counter, signalling for you to get back to your job.

“Boss calls,” you say, sneakily stuffing some more brownie into your mouth. “Should get back. Bye!”

“He’s your boss?” Jeongguk asks incredulously, glancing at the mint-haired guy who’s still busy moving around behind the counter. “That young guy is your boss??”

“Yeah, I’ll explain later,” you wave your hand dismissively, turning to leave. “Don’t steal my drink!”

In true Jeongguk fashion, of course he steals a sip from your drink. He does it just to be petty that you won’t explain anything about Yoongi, but he’s also curious what the new menu tastes like. He doesn’t remember seeing any banner for a new menu when he entered the shop earlier, so he’s guessing it hasn’t gone on sale yet.

He scrunches up his face the moment the drink touches his taste buds, tasting the bitterness of coffee among the layers of other flavors. It’s not as strong as the americano he usually has, but he can still feel it linger even after he swallowed the drink. Definitely not the type of drink you’d order on your own, though, so why were you so excited to try this new menu?

Looking around the shop, Jeongguk’s gaze falls on Yoongi. You did say he was your boss, didn’t you? Could it be that this free drink is just a plot to use you as a guinea pig for his experimental weird recipes, knowing that you can’t refuse your boss? Was that why he refused your help earlier? So he could make the drink taste as bizarre as it is right now?

His eyes continue following your and Yoongi’s figures behind the counter, squinting them in distaste whenever he sees you laughing at something the mint-haired guy said. Your smile, your lowered gaze, your shy demeanor, all remind him of a feeling he thought he had buried a long time ago—the same feeling he got whenever you got a boyfriend in your adolescent years. Suddenly, Jeongguk feels fifteen all over again—a clueless doe-eyed boy who donned t-shirts in every color of the rainbow every day of the week and strutted like he owned the school just so you can see that he was cool, only for you to deny him of a Sunday together.

Those years have become a core memory for him that it inspired him to get one of his tattoos: Rather be dead than cool, because he realized the way to your attention was not by being cool, it was by just being himself. (Yes, the ‘him’ who showed up unannounced at your doorstep after two years and ended the day with you on his lap stealing all the breath straight from his lungs.)

Anyways, all of that doesn’t matter because currently, your eyes are not on him but on your mint-haired boss who’s busy grinning while washing some equipment. Why are you both smiling so much around each other? Do you have some kind of inside joke that’s so funny you can’t stop laughing? What is so pleasing about Yoongi’s presence that you keep beaming at him?

Jeongguk chews the straw of your drink in anger, not realizing that he has inhaled almost half of the cup’s content despite claiming that he hates the taste. Sipping on your drink has become an afterthought as he was busy analyzing how wide your smiles are while working with Yoongi and how friendly the shoulder and head pats you give each other are. It’s sickening.

Eventually, everyone else in the coffee shop left and you’re in front of him once again to get rid of the brownie plate from his table, whining when you see the half-empty cup in Jeongguk’s hand even as you’re chewing the rest of his brownie in your mouth. Fair trade, he says as you walk away with the plate and spoon in hand.

Not even five minutes has passed since you left his table, yet Jeongguk feels tired of being patient, taking your and his coffee cups in each hand before coming up to the counter. It seems like Yoongi senses his presence, because he looks up from the calculator app on the tablet in front of him to give Jeongguk a curious glance. Their eyes meet for a split second before Jeongguk moves his gaze past Yoongi’s shoulder to you, who’s still busy wiping down the counter. A knowing smile curves on Yoongi’s lips.

“Hey, Kiddo,” Yoongi turns towards you, the nickname still irritating to Jeongguk’s ears. “I’ll finish closing up, you can go. Great work today.”

“No it’s okay, I can help you mop the floor after I’m finished with the counter.” You don’t even look up as you wave him off, oblivious to Jeongguk’s presence and his increasing impatience in front of your boss. He clears his throat comically loud, making you turn around to see a frown etched on your boyfriend’s face and Yoongi tilting his head towards him with a small, almost teasing smile on his face.

“Oh.” You pull your lips into a thin line. “Okay then. Sorry about him, Yoongi.”

“No worries, Kiddo.”

Yoongi’s nonchalant response is laced with a chuckle, which for some reason, upsets Jeongguk even more than the nickname he keeps calling you by. Is Yoongi not scared of him? Of his tattoos, of his muscles? Is he not intimidating? Can’t he feel the piercing stare Jeongguk keeps giving him ever since he walked into the coffee shop?

“You.” Your stern voice tears his hot gaze away from the mint-haired guy, whose focus is back on the calculator on his tablet to count the sales they made today. “I’ll clock out first then we can go. Please don’t do anything weird in the five minutes that I don’t have my eyes on you.”

Jeongguk follows your figure with his eyes until you disappear into the backroom, leaving him alone with Yoongi. Yoongi, the guy with the mint hair, whose surname he doesn’t even know, who is your boss that strangely have an endearing nickname for you. Things that stream steady questions into his head, about your initial meeting with Yoongi to the extent of your relationship with him. It’s the nickname he can’t seem to shake off of his mind, the way it rolls easily off Yoongi’s tongue, as if he’s been calling you that for years. Has he known you for years like Jeongguk has? Been through near-death experiences with you like Jeongguk has? Has he deserved the right to call you by a nickname like Jeongguk has?

“You can stop shooting daggers at my head, you know,” Yoongi’s low drawl almost makes Jeongguk think that he’s talking to himself, but the sentence is clearly directed at him. The older guy finally looks up from his tablet to look at Jeongguk in the eyes for longer than a second, no coffee orders to complete to interrupt their interaction this time. “Kiddo’s boyfriend, Jeongguk, right?”

As Jeongguk gives a nod to confirm Yoongi’s question, a hand is extended towards him to complete the introduction. “I’m Yoongi, Kiddo’s coworker-slash-boss.”

Jeongguk grips Yoongi’s hand with more strength than necessary, unintentionally flexing his muscles too. He thought that would be enough to tell Yoongi that Jeongguk is your boyfriend and he has no business being so friendly with you, but Yoongi only glances at his tattooed arm before letting go of his hand with a comment about how strong his grip is.

“Thanks, I do boxing,” Jeongguk mutters curtly, upset at the degree of nonchalance Yoongi is showing. He starts glancing at the door to the backroom where you currently are, wishing you would emerge right this second so he can go and doesn’t need to face Yoongi’s mint hair ever again.

“Yeah, Kiddo might have mentioned that a few times, just like she won’t shut up about your sleeve tattoos,” Yoongi says, going back to his tablet. “I used to box too, by the way.”

If you asked Jeongguk what Yoongi used to do, he wouldn’t be able to answer at all as he chooses to focus on the part where Yoongi said you won’t shut up about his sleeve tattoos and tune out the rest of his sentence. “My tattoos? What about them?”

“She said you have tons. Shoulder to fingertips. That’s how I recognized you when giving your order,” Yoongi answers lightly, which piqued Jeongguk’s interest even further. Wouldn’t it be fun to use this coworker-slash-boss of yours to get information about what you’ve been saying about him at work? What else does Yoongi know about him other than he does boxing and has a sleeve tattoo?

“Really? Does she gush about how hot they are to you, too?”

It’s not a question meant to be answered, its sole purpose to show off that you indeed gush to him about how hot his tattoos are. Though, if one thinks about it, why would Jeongguk need to boast to Yoongi about the compliments you give him about the strokes of ink on his arm? What business does Yoongi have knowing about it?

Yoongi seems to be unaware of Jeongguk’s inner dilemma as his face breaks out into a grin. “I think she’d be mad at me if I told you half the things she gushes to me about you.”

So you do gush about how hot his tattoos are to Yoongi. Interesting.

The fact that Yoongi insinuates there’s more to that is both endearing and terrifying to Jeongguk, because while he’s giddy that you talk about him with other people with so much enthusiasm, too much of it could end up in you sharing something about him that you should not have. Not to mention you’re sharing it with your boss, someone you should keep at an arm’s length when it comes to sharing about your significant others. One wrong move and he could use it against you.

Jeongguk is just about to ask Yoongi to elaborate further on his statement when you step out of the backroom, now out of the murky brown cap and apron and in a white t-shirt that looks like it belongs to Jeongguk. All thoughts of Yoongi knowing all sort of things about him evaporates right away, his mind focusing on how cute you look instead. If only Jeongguk doesn’t know basic human decency, he’d pull you by the waist to taste the mouth he’s been deprived of for the whole day, not giving an ounce of care about your boss watching the whole thing.

No, he’s a good boyfriend so he opts to pull you by the shoulders instead, letting your arms go around his waist before squeezing you in his arms. The kiss he drops on your cheek is chaste yet lingering, like he wants to let you know just how much he missed you. You tighten your arms around him in return, wordlessly saying the same thing back.

“Ready to go?” Jeongguk mumbles into your hair, not yet letting go of the hug.

“Ye—oh, wait!” You pull your face away from its initial position on Jeongguk’s chest. “You haven’t met Yoongi yet.”

“We did, Kiddo,” Yoongi waves you off. “You’re free to go. Your boyfriend here has been waiting long enough.”

“No,” you say, pulling away from Jeongguk’s hold. “I mean I haven’t introduced you two properly.” You gesture to the both of them back and forth as you say their names. “Yoongi, meet my boyfriend, Jeon Jeongguk. Jeongguk, meet my boss, Min Yoongi. His family owns this coffee shop.”

“That’s what you mean by proper?” Jeongguk says to you as he takes Yoongi’s hand for the second time that day, regular grip this time because you’re watching his every move like a hawk. “I didn’t know you own the shop. Nice place,” he nods to the older guy, releasing his hand.

“Thanks. It’s my dad’s, though. I just help from time to time,” Yoongi shrugs.

“You ‘just help from time to time’ but willing to dye your hair mint in honor of the new menu.” You nudge his elbow playfully. “Speaking of the new menu, did you finish the whole cup, Jeongguk? I’ve only had a few sips.” You frown as you bring the cup to your eye level, examining just how much of it is left. It’s an exaggeration, obviously, as the cup in your hand is still half-filled. But Jeongguk plays along, saying the reason why he inhaled your drink is because he’s tired from having just gone back from boxing.

“You have your own latte,” you point out, finally taking a much-deserved sip from your free drink. It still tastes okay, so you stop grilling Jeongguk about stealing your drink (even though you kinda stole his too, in the middle of your shift nonetheless.) “Oh, and did you know Yoongi also—”

Yoongi clears his throat loudly before you can finish your sentence. You look up from your drink, alarmed, afraid you might have said something wrong. Your eyes meet Yoongi’s and he gives you a tiny shake of his head, one Jeongguk doesn’t notice because he’s busy taking sips from his own cup of latte. (And because he’s more focused on you than Yoongi.)

“He knows, I told him I used to box too,” Yoongi says.

“You did? I didn’t catch it,” Jeongguk averts his eyes from you, turning to look at Yoongi. “Wanna have a match? I could use an opponent for my session tomorrow.”

“I said I used to, Kid,” Yoongi re-emphasizes on the two words. “I have a shoulder injury. It’s healing, but I still shouldn’t do too much to it.”

“Oh come on, I’ll go easy on you.”

“Jeongguk!” A slap lands on his bicep courtesy of you.

“What? He said it’s healing!”

It’s only now that Jeongguk witnesses the exchange between you and Yoongi using only your eyes, yours looking frantic while Yoongi’s looking as cool as a cucumber. Maybe he should dye his hair a shade of green resembling a cucumber rather than a mint.

After watching you and Yoongi have a silent conversation for a minute, Jeongguk lets out a sigh as he takes the final sip from his latte. “It’s okay, babe, I was just kidding. It’s fine if Yoongi doesn’t want to have a match with me.” He throws the empty cup into a trashcan nearby. “It just means that he backs down easily from a challenge.”

You physically face-palm at his sentence, missing the way Jeongguk throws a challenging smirk Yoongi’s way. The older doesn’t seem fazed at all, instead letting a small smirk take over his features as well. “That’s not a really nice thing to say to someone you’ve just met,” he drawls.

Jeongguk shrugs. “Just stating the truth.”

“Jeongguk, please stop,” you whine from behind your hands, still facepalming because you don’t want to become a witness in case this coffee shop becomes a crime scene.

“Alright, I’ll have a match with you,” Yoongi says finally, tone resolute. You peek out from the cocoon of your hands, glancing back and forth between your coworker-slash-boss and your boyfriend who are having a staring contest, both refusing to back down. “Tomorrow after my shift works? Kiddo here can take the same shift so she can watch us too.”

“Sure,” Jeongguk agrees without a pause. “It ends at three, right?”

“Yep.”

“Cool. See you then.”

Then Jeongguk puts his arm around your shoulders, pulling you away from the counter to finally go take you home as it’s the reason he came here in the first place. You hastily give your coworker a wave goodbye over your shoulder, getting a wave back accompanied with a laugh. Jeongguk uses the opportunity to steal yet another sip from your drink.

“Stop it! You’re gonna finish it all!”

“What even is it? It tastes really weird.” Jeongguk scrunches up his face.

“It’s mint mochaccino, you ass.” You pull the cup away from him, who chases the straw with his mouth while grinning wide. “Stop or I won’t kiss you until tomorrow morning.”

“Always withdrawing kisses when I need them the most,” he pouts, retreating from your drink to let you finally finish the cup yourself. “Can I kiss you in the car or should I wait until we get home?”

(Does not matter what you answer is, because he grips the back of your neck in the car to make out with you for five minutes, and then finish what he started in the safety of his room, under the blankets.)

“Are you sure you want to fight with Yoongi later?”

You and Jeongguk are back in his car, on the way to the coffee shop for you to start your shift and for Jeongguk to get his americano to kick off the day. His nod to your question is firm.

“Yeah. My coach said it’s good to train with an opponent sometimes.”

“You could’ve fought with your coach instead, then,” you point out.

“True, but—” Jeongguk tilts his head, sucking in a breath. “He’s the one who trained me, so he knows my fighting style and pattern. It’s good indeed, but it’s missing that element of fun.” He drums his fingers against the steering wheel. “Besides, I want to know what your Yoongi is made of.” He casts a glance at you to see your reaction.

“What ‘my’ Yoongi, what are you talking about …” You heave a sigh, massaging your temple. It’s not even 9 AM yet but you can already feel a headache coming. Sometimes you wonder why you’re willing to date this childhood friend of yours, knowing all of his flaws and bad habits like this. Though it’s given you the advantage of being able to read between the lines of his actions, often you wish he’d just say things outright without you having to dig it out of him.

“You know, the Yoongi you work with? The Yoongi who gives you head pats? The Yoongi who has a nickname for you?” Jeongguk’s tone gets more annoying near the end of his sentence, almost as if he’s trying to get a certain reaction out of you.

“The Yoongi who owns the cafe I work at, which is the sole source of income I have?” you reply instead, refusing to give in to Jeongguk’s silent provocation. “Also, the Yoongi who used to box. I think you should keep that in mind when you fight him later.”

“Yeah, yeah. Bet he wasn’t even that good.”

You manage to arrive at the cafe unscathed, only losing a tiny piece of sanity because your boyfriend couldn’t keep his mouth shut about Yoongi and his non-existent boxing skills (Jeongguk’s words, not yours.) It doesn’t help that the Yoongi in question is already standing behind the register, greeting you with a smile and throwing a lopsided smirk your boyfriend’s way. You don’t like the thick tension between them at all so you quickly slip into the backroom to let Jeongguk be a big boy for once and order his own americano for the day.

Stepping out of the backroom in your mandatory work apron and cap, you’re kind of relieved when you see the shop is still intact, not thrown upside down courtesy of your boyfriend and his inability to control his strength (and emotion) in the face of a threat (read: Yoongi.) Upon seeing you, Jeongguk pushes himself off the counter he’s leaning against before reaching for your waist despite your boss standing just a few feet away. The cup of americano on the counter tells you that you took too long in the breakroom, which if anyone asks, you’d justify with adjusting your work attire. In reality, you just don’t want to face your boyfriend and the sour look he has whenever he so much as glances at your boss.

“You can always cancel the fight with Yoongi, you know,” you murmur, biting your bottom lip in worry. “You could hurt him, he could hurt you … it’s not ideal.”

“Hmm.” Jeongguk purses his lips. “What’s not ideal is your boss having a nickname for you.” There he goes again, always having something to say about Yoongi. “Aside from it being highly unprofessional, it’s also inappropriate since you have a boyfriend and that is me. Jeon Jeongguk. I am your boyfriend.”

“Jeongguk, he knows,” you groan, fed up with the back-and-forth about this whole Yoongi thing. You don’t even know why your boyfriend is so threatened by the older guy when he’s a whole lifetime ahead of him. “It’s not even a nickname. You’re just seeing what you want to see.”

Jeongguk’s reply never makes it out of his mouth as he’s interrupted by Yoongi clearing his throat, making you both look at him tapping on his wrist to signal the time. It’s a reminder that you’re here to work, not to continue the argument that sparked in the car. Your boyfriend rolls his eyes at your boss, sharing a hard stare with him before deciding to do something one should not do in front of their boss: dip down to kiss you, using your surprised gasp as a way to slide his tongue inside your mouth. In the five seconds he manages to tangle his tongue with yours, you completely missed the sound of the glass doors opening and the low whistle that came after, along with Yoongi’s chuckle and greeting to the person who just came in.

Shoving Jeongguk away by your hand on his chest, you try to cover your burning face with your other hand as an attempt to save your dignity in front of Yoongi, though you doubt it’s working at all. Jeongguk licks his lips then winks at you, squeezing your waist in his grip before stepping back to grab his cup of americano, now full of condensation sliding off the plastic cup. He takes a sip to taste test before scrunching up his nose.

“Could’ve been better,” he sneers, making you glare. “Alright, I’ll let you get to work. See you later, babe.” Then, after a second, turns to Yoongi to add: “you too.”

When Jeongguk disappears into his car, you put your head in your hands and let out the loudest groan known to man. “I’m sorry, Yoongi.”

The mint-haired guy only gives you a gummy laugh, eyes turning into crescents as he shakes his head. “Your boyfriend is really something, Kiddo,” he muses. “A really … fun early morning entertainment, you could say.”

“Entertaining it was!” You hear the voice first before you see the person, the one who must’ve come in when you were rather preoccupied with your boyfriend. Park Jimin, your other coworker, slides behind the counter in a brown apron identical to yours and Yoongi’s, just minus the cap. Good, that means he doesn’t have a bad hair day today and can take the position at the register instead of you. You could use some more time to learn to make the drinks, anyway.

“Didn’t know you and your boyfriend were such exhibitionists, Kim,” Jimin taunts you, his eyebrows wiggling suggestively. “Although, if my boyfriend were that hot, I would have wanted to exhibit him too…” He purses his lips in an exaggerated manner of faux thinking, obviously trying to rile you up. “Lucky you, Kim.”

“Shut up, Park,” you seethe through your teeth, slapping him with a dish rag while he cackles happily. “We’re not exhibitionists. You just have terrible timing.”

“Oh, it was perfect I’d say, just in time to catch sight of his tongue going into your mouth—”

“JIMIN!”

When Jimin continues making fun of you by making gross kissing sounds, you turn to Yoongi for help. As the oldest amongst you three, he must have a sound solution to get Jimin to stop making those awful sounds and put you out of your misery. Although, your trust in him is probably misplaced as Yoongi just chuckles and tells you something your own mom would tell you whenever you’re telling on Jeongguk: “Just ignore him, Kiddo.” The sacred word of ignore. “Go prepare the breakfast pastries now.”

So much for sound solution.

You go about your shift as usual, with Jimin manning the register like you planned to. Time goes by quickly when you’re busy working (and when your coworker is Park Jimin) that you didn’t realize it’s almost time for your shift to end. You glance at the line in front of Jimin and see that there are still three more people he needs to serve, while you and Yoongi still have about five tickets to finish before you can clock out and leave. Scratch that, might be eight tickets to go considering the workers who have their shift after you aren’t here yet. It’s gonna be a while before you can see your boyfriend and be a witness to an unnecessary fight between him and Yoongi.

“Hey, Kim, where’s your boyfriend? Didn’t you say he was gonna pick you up from work?” Jimin nudges your elbow when he finishes taking one customer’s order, sliding a plastic cup into the queue in front of you. “I want to see just how hot he really is,” he continues while wiggling his eyebrows.

Before you can slap the guy with your dish rag again—it’s looking more like your weapon rather than a cleaning tool at this point—Yoongi pipes up from his position in front of the sink. “Just look for someone with a tattoo sleeve. He loves brandishing it.”

“Ooh, a hot guy with tattoos,” Jimin whistles. “Add some piercings and I might steal him away from you.”

“Jimin, quit drooling over my boyfriend,” you sigh, taking the next cup in line as your coworker turns back to the register. He’s already starting to greet the next customer when you decide to give him a taste of his own medicine, sliding next to him to brew the espresso needed for the order you’re making. “He has one on his lip, but he’s mine. Note that, Park,” you whisper to him while he’s keying in an order, earning a light chuckle from the man.

“He’s just messing with you, Kiddo, don’t mind him,” Yoongi chuckles from beside you, eyeing Jimin whose focus is currently on the cup he’s scribbling a customer’s name on. “He has his eyes set on someone else already.”

“Gossiping, aren’t we?” Jimin turns to you and Yoongi with a sleazy smile. “Careful now, unless you want Hoseok to know about your hot boyfriend too, Kim.” He gestures to the glass doors, where Hoseok from the next shift just walked through. He’s a great guy, but you’ve only shared a couple shifts with him, so you think you haven’t got to the point of sharing about significant others.

With the mention of Hoseok, you and Yoongi move to finish the orders you have left before handing over the shift to the aforementioned man. When all your orders are done and you’re ready to head to the backroom, you turn to ask Jimin to go with you only to find him still rooted in front of the register. “Jimin, you’re not going?”

“Oh, I’m actually covering for Eunbi.” Jimin shrugs, sliding a cup into Hoseok’s line of orders. “Go, Kim. Have fun with your boyfriend,” he grins, sending you a teasing wink.

Hoseok, a clueless witness, looks at the both of you with a scandalous stare. “What, what, what did I miss? Why are you winking like that, Park Jimin?” he says, urging Jimin to elaborate while pouring drinks into a plastic cup.

“You should ask her, Hobi,” Jimin snickers into his hand as he turns to greet a customer. Hoseok turns to you, his expression hopeful that you will shed light on the reason behind Jimin’s wink.

“My boyfriend is about to fight with our boss and I don’t know how to talk him out of it,” you say through your teeth, giving an overly-sweet smile to a confused Hoseok. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to meet him and make sure he’s not gonna bite Yoongi’s head off.”

“Bye, Kim,” Jimin sing-songs, waving his hand to you. “Say hi to your boyfriend for me!”

You’re already walking away, turning to tell Jimin off when you bump into Yoongi who’s just came out of the backroom, void of his work apron and ready to go. He grabs your shoulders to turn you around, pushing you into the backroom to prevent anymore banter between you and Jimin. “Let it go, Kiddo.”

In the backroom, you catch a text from Jeongguk saying that he’s already in the coffee shop, ready to go when you are. You emerge from the room after clocking out, moving your feet to the dining area of the cafe while waving to Jimin and Hoseok behind the counter. Scanning the room, you search for a familiar mop of black hair that belongs to your boyfriend.

It’s easy to spot Yoongi’s mint hair amongst the sea of other natural-colored hairs. What’s not easy is believing your eyes when you see the person sitting in front of Yoongi waving wildly at you, grinning like a mad man. It’s your boyfriend, the person you’re supposed to see after work, the person you’re supposed to supervise when he fights your boss later, alright, that part you know. The part that you don’t know and have a hard time believing is:

Jeongguk’s hair is mint.

Not black, not brown, not the experimental half-half he tried in high school. Mint.

The exact same shade as Yoongi’s.

It feels like you’re on autopilot when your feet carry you to their table, jaw on the floor while your eyes are stuck on Jeongguk’s freshly-dyed strands.

“Hi, babe,” your boyfriend has the audacity to say, lips stretching impossibly wider. He reaches up to run his fingers through his mint hair, an act so deliberate even Yoongi sighs at the sight of it, but it makes your heart skip a bit nonetheless. “Do you like my new hair?”

The light green strands previously tangled with his fingers fall back to cover his forehead and frame his face perfectly, the light hue somehow blending well with Jeongguk’s skin tone. It also accentuates his jaw more, making it appear sharper when the grin on his lips morphs into a smirk once he notices that you can’t stop staring. Oh, that smirk. Usually hot with his previously black hair, it is now lethal with his mint hair, toeing the line of playful and dangerous at the same time.

You want to scream at the obvious and cheesy question.

Yoongi, the third person who’s been watching the entire interaction unfold before his eyes, clears his throat. “If you’re done eye-fucking your boyfriend, can we go now? I have somewhere else to be after this.”

“Yoongi!” you whisper-shout, half scandalized, half disbelieving that your boss can say something so crude in the middle of his own buzzing coffee shop. Maybe he’s been hanging out with Park Jimin too much. (Or maybe he’s just sick of you drooling over your boyfriend time and time again … yeah, maybe that.)

“Can’t wait to lose to me, Min?” Jeongguk snickers, taking your hand in his as he follows Yoongi—who pointedly ignores his taunting question—towards the glass door of the coffee shop.

You catch Jimin’s eyes as you’re stepping out, his eyes rounding in surprise before a sly smile takes over his features. Have fun! he mouths, giving you a wink. Ugh, you’re gonna face a lot more questions the next time you have a shift together with him.

After another futile attempt at talking Jeongguk out of fighting with Yoongi, you’re seated where you usually are, on the sidelines of Jeongguk’s gym, this time with heightened anxiety out of fear that your boyfriend and your boss could hurt each other. You’re worried less about the physical part—boxing is a very physical sport, after all—and more about the mental part.

Boys are full of pride, full of ego. They pride themselves on their ability to box, delivering punch after punch until their knuckles bruise. They pride themselves on their muscles, bulging biceps that took years to build and maintain. They pride themselves on their strength, how they are able to hold you up against the wall when you’re busy sucking air off each other’s lungs.

Oh, and in case it’s not clear, by boys you mean Jeongguk.

You have a lot of faith in your boyfriend, of course, but knowing Yoongi’s boxing skills, no matter how long ago it was, the outcome of the fight today could just be the one that would hurt Jeongguk’s pride. The possibility of it happening is so high that you’re already preparing yourself for when Jeongguk comes back to you with his ego bruised. God, you can only hope Yoongi won’t hit too hard.

You’re too busy thinking of the many possible outcomes of this fight that you don’t realize when Jeongguk is back from putting his gloves on and warming up, now standing in front of you. “Wish me luck?” he says, along with a toothy grin your way.

“Yeah, good luck, Ggukie,” you reply, lacking your usual sarcastic bite. Jeongguk seems to pay no mind to it, though, ducking down to peck your lips before turning around to face his opponent for the day.

You catch Yoongi’s eyes when Jeongguk has his back to you, quickly mouthing don’t hurt him! to your boss, which he only responds with a smirk. All the blood drains from your face. Looks like your worries about someone getting his ego bruised won’t be just worries after all.

When the fight has started (Jeongguk’s coach started it—you’re grateful he’s there because then you don’t have to worry too much about Jeongguk and Yoongi beating each other to a pulp), you can’t help but watch. You just realize, in the years you’ve known Jeongguk and watched him box, you’ve never actually seen him fight anyone else other than his coach. He’s said before that he only took boxing as a way to work out, not to actually fight, so you guess that makes sense.

You don’t watch boxing matches a lot (actually, you don’t watch them at all), your only knowledge of boxing you get from watching Real Steel, a movie about boxing matches for robots, set in the far future when human boxing is not interesting anymore due to the limited brutality. You’re not sure how much information you retained from the movie, and how accurate they are, but you’re pretty sure you don’t need much boxing knowledge to know that right now, Yoongi is playing defensive while Jeongguk is playing offensive.

Alright, you admit, you have no idea if the terms you’re using are right, but it’s the simplest ones you can use to describe the sight in front of you. Since the start of the fight, Jeongguk has been throwing punches continuously, while Yoongi has had his gloved hands covering his face the entire time. Okay, not the entire time, but he’s only thrown one punch compared to Jeongguk’s one hundred ones.

As the fight goes on, Yoongi starts throwing punches here and there while still dodging Jeongguk’s aggressive fists. You’ve never seen Yoongi move this much in the entire time you’ve known him, and it surprises you how agile he is. The way he ducks under Jeongguk’s arm and throws him off balance is admirable, sometimes a little bit funny (just a bit, you promise) because it shows just how calm he is compared to Jeongguk’s aggressive, almost-angry boxing style.

When Jeongguk’s coach declares a break, your boyfriend walks back to you with his brows furrowed, tearing off one of his gloves so he can remove his mouth guard and grab his water bottle. After chugging down half of its content, Jeongguk heaves a frustrated sigh.

“I can’t grasp his fighting style,” he grumbles to himself. His eyes are set on Yoongi, who’s on the other side of the room, drinking from his own water bottle. “Who the fuck ducks all the time while boxing?”

“Maybe it’s because you keep throwing angry punches at him, babe,” you say, initially to keep his frustration at bay, but instead it makes him raise his eyebrow at you in a duh way. You backtrack immediately. “Okay, okay. But it’s just your first time fighting him, isn’t it? Be patient, Jeongguk, and maybe let up your punches a little bit?”

“Baby, it’s boxing,” he says exasperatedly. “Someone has to throw some punches.”

“I know, but you just seem so … angry. Yoongi’s only ducking to dodge that. I’m saying maybe you can tone it down so he could stop dodging, so then you can see his fighting style better.” You’re saying this while gripping his biceps, hoping your words can go through his seemingly-clouded mind. “When you see his fighting style, won’t it be easier to figure out a way you can beat him? Isn’t that what you taunted him with at the cafe?”

You know it’s not even remotely possible to learn one’s boxing style just from a single fight, let alone “figure out a way to beat him”. Somewhere in his fogged mind, you believe Jeongguk stores this fact as well, he’s just currently too deep in frustration to place it in the front of his mind. You’re not even sure your suggestion to learn Yoongi’s fighting style is registered well in his head, considering your boyfriend is now back to eyeing your boss with fire in his gaze.

“Jeongguk?” You give his shoulder a firm grip as he puts his mouth guard back on. “Tone it down. Yoongi could just be waiting to punch back. You don’t want that.”

Jeongguk parts ways with you with an absent-minded nod and two pats to your head with his heavy gloved-hand. On the other side of the room, Yoongi looks ready to go back into his fighting stance. You sigh internally. Jeongguk is so going to punch him aggressively, again.

The next thirty minutes of the fight goes like a blur in front of your eyes. Jeongguk throws a hook that Yoongi dodges, Yoongi retaliates with a jab to Jeongguk’s side which makes you wince, rinse and repeat. Maybe you’re wrong about your boyfriend for once, you think, seeing his calmer fighting style now. With the way he left your conversation minutes prior, you really thought he was gonna continue raining punches on any part of Yoongi’s body he could reach. You’re relieved that that’s not the case.

Although, perhaps your relief came too soon because a boxing match isn’t over until it’s over.

Watching Jeongguk fight with Yoongi is like watching a cartoon character with an energy meter atop his head, except for Jeongguk, it measures his patience instead. As the minutes went on, you feel like you could see the patience meter above his head depleting until it’s all gone, and that’s the moment he went back to his initial fighting style: aggressive and angry. You almost pull your hair out in frustration because you just know that this is what Yoongi has been waiting for ever since the fight started.

The next thing that happens reminds you a lot of one fighting scene in Real Steel, where Atom was waiting for his opponent to run out of energy so he can fight back. In the movie, Atom knocked the other robot down with a final uppercut, gaining him a win and advancing him to the next round. Well, uh, in this case, just replace Atom with Yoongi and the other robot with Jeongguk.

Yoongi’s clean uppercut wiped your boyfriend out, who’s now lying on the ground clutching his face—which you’re sure is beginning to swell right now. Despite already knocking Jeongguk down, Yoongi is still in his fighting stance, never lowering his guard even as Jeongguk’s coach counts to ten. Your boyfriend remains immobile, though, and the second the count is up you’re running towards Jeongguk’s limp body.

“Gguk, are you okay? Baby, look at me,” you say hurriedly as you try to pry his arms away from his face. He doesn’t budge, and for a second, you’re scared that Yoongi has maimed your boyfriend for life. “At least let me know you’re alive,” you continue when his silence becomes concerning.

“Hmmph,” Jeongguk grunts. You heave a huge sigh of relief.

“Okay, good.” You run your fingers through his sweaty hair, trying to offer some comfort even though you know he had this coming. Gigantic ego, big talk, cocky as shit? Yeah, you understand that Yoongi would want to knock him down a few pegs. But now is not the time to launch into an ‘I told you so’ spiel, not when Jeongguk is still freshly bruised—both his body and his ego.

So instead, you lash out at your boss.

“I told you not to hurt him, Yoongi,” you snap-slash-whine, a frown on your lips. You thought, as the oldest among all of you, Yoongi could be trusted to knock some sense into Jeongguk’s mind without physically hurting him like this. As it turns out, all boys are the same.

The older guy just shrugs. “Probably wouldn’t get my point across if he weren’t knocked down.” He shakes the sweat out of his hair as he starts taking off his boxing gloves. When he sees you’re not impressed, he chuckles. “Relax, Kiddo, I didn’t even hit him that hard. He’ll be okay.”

“Really, Yoongi?” You roll your eyes. “You gave my boyfriend an uppercut just to prove a point!”

Yoongi just continues laughing as he chugs from his water bottle. His nonchalance about this is starting to piss you off. Maybe it’s your turn to put on the boxing gloves and sock him in the face, give him a taste of his own medicine. You scoff to yourself, picturing your own body lying next to Jeongguk if you really did that.

“Just tell your boyfriend here that there’s no need to be jealous of me, Kiddo,” Yoongi says, picking up his bag. Just then, Jeongguk’s coach appears with an ice pack in his hand, offering it to you so you can place it against Jeongguk’s swollen jaw. Despite your attempt to coax him out of his arm cocoon, he still refuses to move.

“Yoongi, look at him, you really broke him.” You’re flat-out whining now, kicking your feet like a child. It doesn’t even occur to your mind that you’re all still in the middle of a public boxing gym, with other people around you, being witness to this ridiculous scene.

“Oh my God,” Yoongi laughs before crouching down at Jeongguk’s legs. “Hey, Jeongguk, you hear that? Your girlfriend is worried about you,” he says, nudging Jeongguk’s leg lightly. “She only has eyes for you and your tattoos, too, you don’t need to be jealous at all.” You smack him on the shoulder for that.

Jeongguk finally removes his arms from his face at Yoongi’s words, his doe eyes menacing. “Go away,” he grits out at the older male, his scratchy voice making him sound less threatening than he intended. Despite that, Yoongi still holds his hands up in surrender.

“I’m going, I’m going,” Yoongi relents, standing up while adjusting the hold he has on his bag. “Was gonna go anyway, I have a date to get ready for,” he throws a grin your way. “Alright, I’ll be going first. Take care of your boyfriend, Kiddo.”

Yoongi retreats with a wave towards you both.

Jeongguk lets out a groan, shifting your attention away from your boss who’s already backing his car out of the parking lot. “Quit your job tomorrow,” he says. “I hate your boss.”

“Stop moving around!”

“It hurts!”

You’re both back at Jeongguk’s house now, with you sitting atop his outstretched legs on the bed, attempting to take care of his battle wounds courtesy of his fight with Yoongi. Aside from the swollen jaw, Jeongguk has a cut on his eyebrow and a split bottom lip. For a boxing match, you’d say these are minor injuries—proving Yoongi’s words right, he didn’t hit Jeongguk that hard—but your boyfriend is acting like a baby. He keeps jerking his head away every time the alcohol swab comes in contact with either of his cuts, it irritates you to no end.

“You have a goddamn full sleeve of tattoo and a lip piercing, quit acting like this hurts more,” you hiss, pressing the cotton in your hand to the cut on his lip as Jeongguk hiss back in response.

“At least when I got my tattoos and piercing, the artist didn’t do it while yapping my ear off,” he lisps through the cotton. “What happened to the caring girlfriend at the gym? Did she go away too, alongside Yoongi?”

“Oh, shut up, if I yapped back there Yoongi would’ve stomped on your ego more than he already did, do you want that, Jeongguk? Huh?” Your words are harsh, but you try hard for your hands to be the opposite, gentle as they cover the cut on his eyebrow with a band-aid. Jeongguk’s forehead is still damp from his quick shower earlier, beads of mint clinging to his skin. He might look smoking hot with his newly dyed hair, but the way the color rubs off on anything is starting to get onto your nerves. You wipe lightly at the color to make sure the band-aid sticks to his skin and does not come off the second he jumps around again.

“My ego is fine, you don’t need to protect it like this,” Jeongguk grumbles, adjusting the ice pack he’s holding to his jaw as you press a new cotton ball on his lip, discarding the one stained crimson red to his bedside table. “Maybe if you care about me as much as you care about my ego, everything would’ve been better.”

The way he’s rambling like he got his sense knocked out of his head as well makes you roll your eyes to the back of your head. “Don’t test me, Jeon. If I didn’t care about you I wouldn’t be here sitting on your thighs patching your minuscule injuries like they’re fucking wounds from a war.”

“Maybe,” Jeongguk half-agrees, a pout on his lips. “But you haven’t kissed me even once ever since the fight ended. Do I not deserve a kiss because I lost? Do you not want to kiss me ever again because I can’t beat Yoongi in boxing? Do you think Yoongi is way better than me now? Do you want him to be your boyfriend instead of me?”

With every nonsensical question, his pout deepens, and his eyes droop to stare blankly at nothing.

“Hah, ‘my ego is fine’ my ass,” you mumble, mostly to yourself as you turn the gears in your head on how to stop the bleeding on Jeongguk’s lip. It keeps gushing out blood, and you can’t exactly stick a band-aid to it like you did his eyebrow. At last, you just hold a cotton ball against it and hope it stops bleeding soon.

“Yoongi was right, you know,” you say clearly now, the tumble of Yoongi’s name out of your lips making Jeongguk glance up and focus his sight on your face. “You don’t need to be jealous of him at all. Heck, you don’t need to be jealous of anyone, Jeongguk. I’m your girlfriend and will always stay your girlfriend, no matter what. You don’t need to beat anyone in boxing or dye your hair the exact same shade as anyone for me to stay. You, Jeon Jeongguk, are enough.”

Jeongguk’s eyes, gazing into yours, are glassy with unshed tears. You don’t know if they are there because he’s touched by your words or are leftovers from crying over his bruised ego from the fight with Yoongi. Either way, it throws you off balance. Next thing you know, you’re being tugged down by the nape for a kiss.

Jeongguk’s lips are warm, like usual, but the tinge of metal you taste on your tongue is making you worry. Before you lose yourself in his kiss, you pull away to thumb at his lip lightly, seeing streaks of red on your skin. You’re about to continue pressing the cotton ball in your hand to his lips and stop all forms of kissing immediately, but your boyfriend has a mind of his own as he instead sucks your thumb into his mouth, wrapping his lips around the digit delicately as he holds eye contact with you.

Gone is the trace of any tears from his eyes, now replaced by something you can only identify as lust. As flattered as you are that Jeongguk finds you desirable in your current situation, it also makes you confused. He’s hurt and the only thing in his mind is getting his dick wet? Unbelievable.

The ice-cold feeling on your waist tears your attention away from Jeongguk’s dark eyes as you yelp, hand instinctively prying the cold thing away. The ‘thing’ turns out to be his hand, which was previously holding the ice pack to his swollen jaw. He’s sneaked his fucking cold hand under your shirt to hold your waist when he should’ve kept holding the ice pack to his jaw—his swollen jaw!

Your boyfriend has a swollen jaw, a busted lip and a cut eyebrow. This is not the time to be screwing around.

Pulling away your thumb out of Jeongguk’s mouth at the speed of light, you attempt to climb off his lap, but he’s read your mind even before they are conjured up in your own brain. His hands are back on your waist—yes, the cold one too—and they hold you firm in place. The side of Jeongguk’s lips turn up into a sickeningly sweet smile, before he tugs your body towards his, making your hips come in contact with his crotch. He’s hard. Oh, fuck.

“You know, I never really understood why you’re so bratty whenever you’re horny and I can’t tend to you right away, but I think I get it now,” he says right by your ear, making a shiver run down your spine. “I’ve been trying to will away my boner ever since you sat on my lap, but your weight on it is so damn distracting, it’s hard.”

“So,” he punctuates the word with a kiss on your neck, “I started saying anything to get my mind off it, but the way you care for me just … turns me on even more, if that was even possible.” He noses his way down your throat, coming to a stop at your collarbone. “And then all that talk about how I am enough … holy shit, I lost it. All I could think about was how I want to kiss you and fuck you into next week on this very bed.”

You can barely hear the last few words Jeongguk is saying, because he’s mumbling them into your skin as he peppers kisses and nips there. His fingers are now pressing into your back, pulling you closer and closer to him until there is no space left between you. You crane your neck so he can have more room to splash reds and purples onto your skin, sighing to the top of his mint head.

“You know, for someone claiming to be horny, you’re doing a terrible job at dirty talk,” you jab at your boyfriend, earning you a bite on your neck and a tightened grip on your body, making you close your eyes with stuttered breath.

“Easy, babe,” Jeongguk chuckles. “You talk as if you won’t be a moaning mess by the end of this,” he continues with much confidence. “But also, my lip is still kinda bleeding and my sides are still throbbing from the bruises. Kinda debating should we continue or just go to sleep.”

“Jeon Jeongguk I swear to God if you leave me high and dry—”

“Maybe you should kiss them better,” he cuts you off with a suggestion, his lips still trailing butterfly kisses on your neck and collarbone. The hands still on your back sneakily climb up and up until they’re reaching for the clasp of your bra, easily opening it to free your breasts from its confines. Your sound of protest gets stuck in your throat as a strangled moan comes out instead when Jeongguk massages your breasts tenderly with his fingers.

“Maybe I would—fuck—if you get rid of your shirt,” you say, tugging on the offending piece of fabric still covering your boyfriend’s gorgeous body. It’s not fair that he’s got you half naked already and he’s still fully clothed.

Jeongguk parts himself from your body long enough to tug his t-shirt off from the back of his neck in one smooth motion, exposing the golden expanse of his skin to your hungry eyes. If you thought his mint hair was smoking hot with his shirt on, it’s literally burning a flame of desire deep in your belly with his shirt off. You’re tongue-tied as you marvel at the sight in front of you, you almost jump when your own shirt and bra are taken off your body.

Now both bare from the waist up, Jeongguk wastes no time leaning back in for a kiss on the mouth, this time open-mouthed so he can slide his tongue inside. You keen happily, slipping a sigh in between as he slowly lowers you to the bed. Jeongguk anchors his hands on your hips, teasing at the waistband of your sweatpants as he keeps your mouth busy with his own. In contrast, your hands are everywhere, from his broad shoulder to his firm back, from his bulging biceps to his rock-hard abs. You even tease your fingers past his waistband, grabbing onto his ass and squeezing, making him groan hotly into your mouth. It’s only when your fingers brush against his sides that he winces, reminding you of his earlier request.

“Flip around,” you whisper against his lips, “so I can kiss your bruises better.”

“Hmm?” Jeongguk hums, your words a murmur in his head. “But I like having you like this. Under me, naked, panting, wet,” he says, slipping his hand beyond your sweatpants to prove his words right—you’ve soaked through your panties. He drags a finger slowly up your center. You shudder.

“Yeah? I can be naked, panting, and wet on top of you as well.”

“Ooh, tempting.” Jeongguk licks his lips. He flicks your clit with a cheeky smile dancing on his lips, before settling his hands back on your waist. “Alright, I’ll flip over.”

The next second, you’re staring at him from up top, admiring how his mint hair looks against his dark grey bed sheets. Although, his hair is the least of your concern right now, as you’re tugged back down for another bruising kiss. Now that you’re on top, Jeongguk takes the opportunity to return the favor that is slipping his hand into your pants to squeeze your ass, but his version involves pulling your hips down while his thrusts up, creating a delicious friction between your body that makes you exhale a moan into his mouth.

You move away from his lips, down to his jaw where you take care to land a kiss light as a feather, before moving to his neck and collarbone where you have your own share of bites and licks. Aside from your infatuation with his tattoos and biceps, you actually have another one with his collarbone, this one you keep secret from him lest he goes around the house shirtless more often just to brandish his clavicle. But maybe he’s already noticed from the way you always make sure to cover that body part of his in blooms of red and purple, taking care to trace each and every bite mark slowly with the tip of your tongue.

While you’re busy with his collarbone, Jeongguk keeps dragging your crotch steadily over his, like he can’t get enough of the feeling and wants to keep chasing it. The delicious pressure on your center is a bit distracting, so you smooth your palm across his chest to pinch at his nipple in warning. Jeongguk lets out a broken whine from his throat.

“Stop humping into me, do you want to cream your pants?” you chide, fingers still giving tiny pinches to his nipple to keep him on his toes.

“Was trying to get you to cream your pants,” Jeongguk grins guiltily, his hips snapping up yet again to collide with yours. Even if you roll your eyes at his antics, you still continue your journey of kissing down his body, making sure to suck and lick on his sensitive nipples. You love the moans and groans that slip out of his throat every time you do things to his nipples. He likes it so much that his hips keep chanting up, searching for friction, that you have to pin them down so you can slide down to pepper kisses on his abs and waist.

Jeongguk works really hard to maintain the body he has, clearly evident in the eight pack he’s sporting on his stomach and the tiny, minuscule waist that’s way too slutty for a man to have. Sometimes you’re jealous of how nice his body looks, how firm it is to touch. You told him this one time, along with your regret that you couldn’t give him a similar experience, but he’d only laughed and said that admiring and appreciating him was enough, before proceeding to show you how he admires and appreciates your soft body (he kept biting into your inner thigh as he was eating you out, coaxing you into four orgasms back to back that day.)

And so, you admire his body by kissing the taut muscle one by one, tracing the lines outlining them with your hot tongue, caressing his bruised waist with the pillow of your lips and the feather of your touch. You know he’s hurt, but you can’t hold yourself from nipping on his slutty waist, gifting him another bruise that’s not a result of a punch. From the choked sob that rips out of his throat and the jump of his dick somewhere on your stomach, you take it he likes the bite.

“So,” you say as you mouth at the seam of his waistband, hand massaging his hard cock through his pants. “Do you want to cum in your pants, in my hand, in my mouth, or—?”

“Fuck, in you, please,” Jeongguk begs, eyes glassy from your ministrations. “But can we go back to dry humping for a while? Kinda like the friction on my sweatpants,” he breathes.

“Like this?” You move your hand up and down his cock, dragging the material of his sweatpants with it, paying special attention to the head. With every rub of the sweatpants against his head, a bead of precum comes out, with Jeongguk throwing his head back in silent pleasure. “Yeah, fuuck, that feels good.”

“But babe, want you, on top,” he demands, making grabby hands at you. “Was serious when I said I wanted you to cum first,” he continues, sighs in content when you oblige, resuming your position on top of him and lining your clothed crotch with his. He starts dragging your hips against his, building the pleasure up the faster he goes. “Want to fuck your swollen pussy, dripping with cum. Oh, I’ll slide right in, no problem, so wet, warm … fuuuck.”

The grip Jeongguk has on your hips is bruising, you have no choice but to let your body be manhandled by him. Slowly but surely, the band inside your stomach begins to tighten as your hold on his shoulders does as well. You’re so close, just one more move to tip you over the edge. When Jeongguk sucks one of your nipples into his mouth, the band inside you snaps and you come with a jerk of your hips and a whine from your throat.

Jeongguk slows down his move, taking care not to cum before being inside you, before stopping altogether and wrapping his arms around you to bring the both of you into a sitting position. Your limbs feel like jelly, still trying to come down from your high, when Jeongguk pecks your cheek before carefully lying you back down on the bed with your face down. He then maneuvers himself behind you, lifting your hips off the bed. You’re starting to have an idea what position he wants you in when he spreads your knees and slowly peels back your pants and panties to reveal your bare ass and pussy.

He takes his time caressing the globe of your ass, inching his fingers towards your pussy lips before spreading them apart, tearing a low whine from your chest. You guess he’s admiring the way cum still drips out of your cunt, because he’s silent, immobile for almost a minute.

“Gguk…” you whisper out. “You gonna fuck me or not?”

Jeongguk scrambles to get his pants off. “Fuck, yes, of course, baby, you just look so beautiful like this, I want to stare all day long,” he breathes, lining up his dick with your entrance.

God, I’m so thankful you’re mine, is his last warning before he slides home in one thrust.

Later, when you’re both freshly showered and cuddling on Jeongguk’s bed—with blue bed sheets this time, because you forced him to change the sheets as the grey ones smelled gross after your activities—you ask him a question.

“Are you still jealous of Yoongi?”

There’s a three second pause before Jeongguk’s answer comes. “Maybe a tiny bit,” he says, nearly connecting his thumb and forefinger together in a ‘tiny’ motion. “Of his boxing skills only. Amazing how he could still move like that with an injured shoulder. I want to be like that too.”

“You want to injure your shoulder?”

He gives you a flat look. You giggle.

“His shoulder is actually healed, you know, so he’s still actively boxing until now. He trains the boxing club at my campus whenever our coach can't, that’s where I know him from and how I’d gotten the job at his cafe.”

Jeongguk purses his lips. “So he lied to me.”

“Hmm,” you agree. “I figured it was to ‘teach you a lesson’, that’s why I asked him not to hurt you before your fight. Did you, though? Learn your lesson?”

“What? To not be jealous of him?”

You pinch his waist. “To knock your ego down a peg and stop feeling insecure whenever I interact with other men?”

“Baby, the guy had a nickname for you. My insecurities were valid!”

“You mean the ‘Kiddo’ one?” you ask. Jeongguk nods. “He calls Jimin Kiddo. He calls Eunbi Kiddo. He calls you Kiddo. He calls everyone younger than him, Kiddo.”

More silence ensues.

“So … my jealousy was for nothing?”

“Yes! What I’ve been saying!”

Jeongguk giggles. Then he kisses you. Then he giggles again, while still kissing you.

“How about an apology?” he offers.

“In what form?” you challenge.

“Round three?”

“No.”

Well, at least he’s not jealous anymore.

a/n: thank you for reading!! please let me know what you think of this, i literally almost cried in the process of writing it and when i finally finished it :') and yes this started because of that one mint jeongguk in memories 2020/2021, i think? the one with him in a black sleeveless and a pair of sunglasses, hahah. wish he'd dye his hair mint again (he looks rly good in it ugh)

→ request is open for my 1k folls celebration!

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yanderenightmare · 3 months

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TW: nsfw, noncon, emotionally distant yandere, death threats

gn reader

Thinking about an extremely aromantic psychopathic yandere who’s completely out of touch with his feelings...

From the moment you infected his mind, he desperately wanted nothing more but to gauge you out and bleach your existence away.

He was ready to do anything.

It's not like it's something he hasn't done before. It shouldn't have been a problem. But standing there above your sleeping form with the knife to your unsuspecting neck, he felt his own throat close up.

Something he'd never felt before made him stop – something in his chest that ached worse than any pain he'd ever beared – something that made his hands shake with cold and his eyes leak warmth down his face.

He doesn't understand what's going on, and it's annoying. You're annoying. He doesn't want to see your face, but at the same time... the thought of going without it pisses him off even more.

He doesn't want to keep you around, but he ends up feeling as though he has to. He tells himself it's only until he feels ready to finish you off – like a lamb raised for slaughter in the wolf's den.

You don’t really know what goes on inside his head when he glares at you with hints of vexation and hunger – eyes narrowed at you almost in disgust, as though you’re some sort of nuisance, some sort of sickness he can’t seem to shake – but also something else – something hungry – something in the way he locks his jaw and swallows thickly before growling out an irate sigh as he throws his shirt off and climbs on top of you.

It seems almost as though he sees it all as a simple means to an end – as though the urge arising within his gut is a plague he needs to cure as quickly as possible – and you as a mere tool for him to do exactly that.

He never kisses you. You don’t think he knows how. The sex isn’t any good either – all cold, methodical movements as though he’s a robot who’s been told to complete a task it wasn’t programmed to do.

It’s obvious he doesn’t view you as much more than something he owns.

Sometimes, he’ll even look surprised when you voice wishes and needs of your own – as though he’s forgotten that you’re still a living, breathing thing and not just something he’s hunted and killed and stuffed for sport.

But that’s how you feel most days anyway – like a dog’s humping toy – just a limp thing made up of cotton and torn fabric trying to hold itself together, getting more frayed by each passing day.

It's surprising he hasn't killed you yet. He told you he would when the time was right, but it's been more than a while now. You wonder if it's a surprise for him as well.

Probably not...

He’s like a machine. Wordless, sept for the steady string of growls and groans as he fucks you fast like you’re this annoying reminder that he’ll never be able to get rid of the warmth in his gut forcing him to complete the tedious task again and again and never be done with it.

It almost feels as though he hates you.

While his hand holds yours down, cuffing your wrists above your head with the other wrapped tight around your throat. Not because you bother fighting back. But – you think, perhaps… he feels as though it’s your fault somehow – your fault that he feels this way.

He’ll mutter about it sometimes – that he was just fine before you came along – level-headed, composed, perfect before he met you.

He pulls out just before cumming inside you, tugging himself in quick faps, then blows all over your stomach and chest.

The sigh he breathes out is like an exclamation of “fucking finally” while his throbbing length bobs, still seeping pearls of cum, slowly calming down the more he squeezes it all out into a white pool on your pelvis.

He isn’t much better after, either.

Loosening his grip on you, he’ll grunt out something along the lines of “Go clean yourself up.”

But sometimes... as time goes on... he starts doing something that somewhat resembles a kiss before leaving you.

It's awkward, like a brush or press of his stiff lips against yours – one of which reminds you of the type of nudge a dog could be trained to do in exchange for a treat – almost like a thank you.

He hasn't spoken about killing you in a while...

It scares you – how it's become so trivial it almost feels marital...

You don't know what scares you more though...

The thought that he's going to kill you one of these days, or the thought that he's forgotten about it all together.

BNHA – Bakugou, Overhaul, Shigaraki

JJK – Sukuna, Geto, Toji, Kenjaku

DS – Muzan, Sanemi

HxH – Illumi, Feitan

AOT - Levi

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eraenaa · 24 days

Text

Loathe to Love

Aemond Targaryen x Strong Reader

Synopsis: Seeking forgiveness is not a thing Aemond bothers himself with, but that quickly changes when he deeply offended you.

Warnings: ¿Softer Aemond?, Mature, 18+, P in V Sex, Fingering, Oral Sex (F receiving), Targcest, Not Proofread

Word Count: 6,411

A/N: Based on a request where they wanted "Reader is Rhaenyra's daughter, who, like her brothers, doesn't have Valyrian characteristics. A scene like at dinner, in which Aemond accuses his nephews of being strong and, consequently, his wife too." (!Not related to the past two fics that were Aemond x Reader Wife!)

A blessing or a curse? Neither of you knew how to take and label this marriage devised by your grandsire. It was a final plea to unite your estranged family, offering you as Aemond’s bride because the King’s fading mind was still set on how you and Aemond were entirely fond of each other in childhood. However, that sentiment had completely changed during the fateful night in Driftmark. Whatever fondness you and your uncle had in childhood had rolled away with the tides in your supposed father’s home. Affection turned into animosity, and animosity quickly turned into resentment.

However, with the marriage you and Aemond were succumbed to, you both tried your most ardent effort to work through past differences. And with half a year since your union, you and Aemond had almost fully buried the grievances you harbored against each other. Gone now was the reluctant prince who stood by the end of Sept waiting for his bride, who was practically dragged down the aisle. Looks of unbridled hatred had faded and turned to looks of passion and longing. Deep-rooted loathing was slowly fading into love that both of you had yet to admit to the other.

You broke fast in the gardens with your husband, a daily tradition that you and him established since the first days of your marriage. Most of the time, it would be just the two of you, but on some days, you two would be joined by his siblings and his mother, who surprisingly did not hold such great bitterness for you when compared to other members of your kin. And on a day such as this, you were joined by the queen and her only daughter, Helaena. “I saw the maids preparing some of the guest chambers. Are we to host a lord and their house, my Queen?” You asked your mother through marriage with a tilt of your head, your hand intertwined with your husband’s under a table, hidden from anyone’s view.

Aemond raised his eye from the book he was reading and placed it on his mother. “Not particularly guests… your mother and your brothers are set to visit,” She replied, and your brows shot up in surprise. Aemond turned to you, plush lips agape in shock. “Did you not know?” The queen asked, and you shook your head. “No… they had not written to me about such matters,” You said, your lips twitching into a smile of excitement as you had terribly missed our family. You turned to your husband; whatever reaction he had was hidden behind his ever-stoic expression. However, you did feel his hold on your hand grow tighter. Though his animosity towards you had died with every kiss shared and every hour spent in each other’s arms, you could not say that that would be the case for the other members of your family. You could practically feel the tantalizing anger within radiating off him.

“I’m going to the tiltyard,” Aemond suddenly announced and abruptly stood up, making you sigh. His mother and sister nodded, but before his departure from breakfast, you felt him place a chaste kiss on your temple before walking off. Leaving you wide-eyed and blushing before his kin for neither of you had displayed such affections so openly. The touches and kisses and pleasures you shared were saved for the privacy of your marital chambers, and to have him do such an affectionate action in front of others was completely uncharacteristic of him. You lower your head as you feel your cheeks burn red, but if you had kept your head held up high, you would see a small smile on the queen’s lips, for she too was shocked and amused by her son’s actions. Never had she imagined for her favored son to find a wife that would bring out the warmth and tenderness in him that everyone believed to be lost the day his eye was taken by your younger brother.

For the rest of the day, you were busied with your engagements with the other ladies of the court to the point that the day had faded into the night. It was past the usual time of your supper, and you were certain your husband was preparing himself for bed, which is why it was a surprise when you entered your marital chambers with Aemond seated by the table where a meal for both of you lay, untouched. “You still have not eaten?” You asked as you stood behind your seat that was across your husband’s. “I was waiting for you,” Was all he said, as he motioned for you to sit. You blinked at him; the warm, flickering light of the fire illuminated his silver locks that were unique to your house but you had not inherited. The silhouette cast made his angular, Valyrian features more prominent, and you could not help but feel a small pang of jealousy, for you were never blessed with such acclaimed features that your house was celebrated for.

You licked your lips and removed your gaze from your husband’s lilac eye. You took your seat and quietly watched him as he placed items of food onto your plate. “You should have eaten earlier,” you said quietly, knowing that Aemond’s last meal was the one you shared in the morning, for your husband did not eat luncheon nor any other small meal to aid him between the morning and the evening. “Like I’ve said, I was waiting for you,” He said as he poured wine into your chalice. You flashed him a small smile of gratitude, and like always, he gave a quiet nod of acknowledgment. “How was your day?” You asked before taking a bit of the temped meal that had been waiting for you along with your husband. “Fine. I trained, I read, and then accompanied my grandsire with business,” he said and took a sip of wine. “And yours?” He asked, and you smiled as you began to recall your day.

Aemond nodded along as he ate, and you went on to tell him about your day. He had no intention of telling you, but this was his second-most favorite time of each day. He quickly had gotten used to listening to you babble and tell him about the ventures you had just hours before. He had no particular care about the subjects of which you spoke of; all he cared about was hearing you speak. Watching you as you would reenact your encounters or how your expression would change when you told him about the latest gossip in court. He would always note how your voice would grow an octave higher when you spoke of an event you found most entertaining or exciting, and he loved gazing into your beguiling, brown eyes that would twinkle in the candlelight.

“Will you accompany me tomorrow?” You asked as you had finished retelling your day to your husband. “To where?” Aemond asked as he was slightly disappointed that you did not have many anecdotes to share that night; you would usually have prolonged stories that Aemond would listen attentively to until he had fished his meal. “To welcome my mother, father, and brothers by the pits when they arrive,” You say and play with the peas on your plate. Aemond was silent for a moment; you took in a deep breath and thought that perhaps your request was a bit much for him. Though you expected him to act civilly with your kin, wanting him to join you in welcoming them was perhaps a bit much. “Nevermind… I ca—“ Your husband interrupted your sentence. “I shall join you,” he said, and your lips agape in shock once more.

Aemond bit his tongue to hinder himself from smiling widely at the expression that flashed before your pretty face. His urges announced himself as his eye caught your plump lips parted; amusement and arousal swirling within him. “You will?” You asked, making certain you had heard no false agreement. “My lady wife had made a simple request; of course, I shall oblige it,” He answered and felt his heart flutter as a beaming smile spread to your lips. Aemond felt fire in his veins as you stood from your seat and went to him to place a supposed chaste kiss on his lips, but Aemond wanted more. You gasped as you were pulled to sit on his lap, your kiss deepening with each moment and your body aching with need as Aemond’s hands were holding your waist and the other cupping your cheek. You feel your husband’s need through his trousers and through your dress.

You moaned at the taste of wine on his tongue. His hand traveled toward your bosom, cupping your tit through the bodice of your dress, his fingers undoing the laces of your gown but the two of you never parted your intertwined lips. Aemond groaned as you accidentally bit his lip, but you would take it that he liked the occurrence as you felt his hips buck upwards and seek friction. Aemond reluctantly parted your lips to gasp for air; he watched you pant, eyes filled with longing and lust, lips swollen and shined with a glossy shine of him.

You yelped as your husband punched you on the table, sweeping away the meal you two had just shared, the plates and cutlery falling onto the floor with a loud noise, but neither of you heard as you two were completely lost and dazed with want for each other. You pulled Aemond towards you as you wanted to feel his lips once more. Aemond had fully undone the laces of your gown, and you felt the sleeves of it draping off and the hem of it being risen by your husband. You hummed in question as you felt Aemond push you to lie down on the wooden table. You propped yourself by your elbows to see what he was doing. Your eyes locked with his lone one as he sank to his knees. The hem of your dress had bundled up to your waist, and Aemond placed his cold hands at each of your thighs.

You bit harshly at your lower lip as he placed kisses on each side of your thighs, nipping the soft skin making you whimper at the stinging pain that he would immediately soothe with his tongue. “Aemond,” you called as he continued to tease you, his tongue licking strips upward to your needing heart but would abruptly stop before inching closer towards the place you need his tongue most. “Yes, wife?” He hummed, and you huffed as you sensed tease in his voice. “Please,” You pleaded in ancient tongue, and there was a long pause before he obliged your request. You breathed heavily as Aemond sucked on your delicate pearl, him humming in delight as he tasted your essence and as well to add to your pleasure.

Your moans accompanied the crackle of the fire as Aemond inserted two of his fingers, him curling the calloused digits and spurring you quickly to your peak. You could not understand how he was so skilled in such endeavors, able to make you quickly come undone even though he confessed himself that before you, he had only laid with a woman once, on the behest of his older brother.

Aemond smirked as he gazed at you laying on the table you two had your meals on, your pretty face that everyone tried to sell as plain still contorted in pleasure that he was the cause of. Aemond brought his fingers to his lips and sucked the essence of you clean, his other hand undoing the laces of his trousers as his cock painfully sought to be inside you. Aemond had always believed himself to be indifferent to the acts of intimacy, but he quickly learned that that sentiment was completely false when it came to you. On the night after your marriage, he had no plan to partake in the marital act, ready to cut his palm and pretend he beaded you so the court would not have a new gossip piece in the morning. However, that plan was quickly forgotten by just the sight of you undressing behind a divider. The candlelight illuminated your form and created a silhouette of your frame undressing and caused Aemond to need greatly. And ever since that night, the pleasures of the flesh he always thought he was indifferent to quickly turned, and he now harbored the same needing patterns he saw in his brother that he used to frown upon.

Aemond locked your lips and assisted you off the table, you had thought he would lead you towards your bed, but you frowned through your kiss as he turned you around in his arms, your back resting against his chest, his pulsating length resting against your still hiked up gown. You feel Aemond’s lips move from your lip to your neck, his cold hands forcing your gown downwards and letting it pool at your feet, leaving you exposed. You whispered as his hands made their way to cup and squeeze your breast. The sensitive buds grew taut at the coldness of touch. You hear Aemond take in a deep breath of your scent, and you let out a bubbling moan as his length is placed in the crevice of your bottom, Aemond letting it glide in between your bum.

You gasped in shock as you felt Aemond push you down onto the table, bending you over the sturdy wood and abruptly entering you without warning. You let out a wry moan as you did not know if you should focus on the pain or pleasure he gave. Aemond bit harshly at his lip as he was incredibly pleasured by the new angle he was taking you in, as well as the sight of you bent over the wooden table. He bundled your dark hair into his hands, feeling the soft silky waves and pulling on it and earning a moan from your lips and caused a further tightening in your cunt. “It would seem that my wife likes to be fucked like a common whore,” He gritted in between thrusts. Aemond knew he pleasured you well, but with this new position, your moans had only grown louder than the past times you had laid. Your cunt grew tighter and more wet, and you were quicker to come undone once more.

“Yes… yes, Aemond! Don’t stop, please, don’t stop!” You cried as he pounded at you from behind. Aemond griped the plump flesh of your behind, watching as the skin grew red from his hold; he moved his hands to your waist as he felt the urge of release coming to him as well. Your moans rang louder in his ears, his name slipping from your lips, urging him to come quickly than past nights. He groaned out your name as he spilled his seed deep inside you, hoping that his seed would finally take as he was already zealous with the thought of you swole with his child. Your dazed mind could barely comprehend Aemond assisting you up from your bent position because all your body could focus on was the peak you had reached and his lips against yours once more. You let your husband carry you to bed, him tucking you in his arms like always, and you drifted to sleep wholly satisfied.

Aemond placed his gaze upon you, who was practically bouncing in excitement at your spot next to him. You two stood by the pits as a welcoming party for your kin. Aemond placed great restrain upon himself to not let his animosity show when he spotted your brothers landing your little dragons. “Sister!” He heard the boy who took his eye scream, and Aemond felt you let go of his hand to run to your brother. He did not want to entertain the small pang in his heart as you readily let go of his hold to run and warmly embrace the boy who had maimed him beyond repair, but he knew that with your marriage, whatever fondness and understanding you and Aemond had and will develop will be divided with your love for your true family.

“Oh, I’ve missed you!” You gushed and kissed Lucerys’ cheek; you smiled widely that even though your brother was on the cusp of adolescence, he melted of talc and your mother’s oils. “Your favoritism is showing, sister,” You hear Jacaerys tease, and you sigh in amusement, letting go of Lucerys and moving to embrace your older brother.

Aemond watched you as you greeted your family with such open warmth and love that he and his kin were never accustomed to. Aemond shifted his gaze to your younger brother, who had a wary look in his oak eyes. Aemond bit his cheeks as he stared down the boy who cowardly shifted his gaze and went closer to you, like a little scared pup hiding behind Aemond’s wife.

“Where are Baela and Rheana?” You asked as you let go of your embrace of Jacaerys, looking around the pits. “They went on the ship along with Joffery and the babes. They shall reach by nightfall,” he answered, and you nodded. Your brother’s gaze shifted between you and your husband, who stood by the side, “How… how are you, sister? Is…” He trailed as Aemond challenged his gaze. You gave him a small smile, “I’m fine, Jacaerys, perfectly fine, better now that you are all here.” You said, and Jacaerys hesitantly nodded, not completely believing your sentiments. “Tala,” You hear yourself being called by your stepfather, who stands beside your mother, and you hurriedly go in their direction. “My sweet girl!” Your mother smiled and kissed your cheek as you went to embrace her. “You look more cheery since we left you. Are they treating you well? Or do I have to behead that cunt of a husband that you have?” Daemon asked, and your smile faltered at his words. “Father,” You warned, and you heard him sigh. “They are treating me perfectly well,” You said, and just like Jacaerys, Daemond gave an unconvinced nod.

You turn to Aemond, who still stands idly by the side; you make hastened steps towards your husband as members of your family remove their riding gear. “Do you wish to return to the keep?” You asked, learning he had grown bored and impatient. He turned his body to face you, his brow raised in question. “I could ride with them in the wheelhouse; you can return to your training if you wish,” You smiled. Aemond studied your eyes; he knew that the words you uttered were for his benefit, but he could not help but think it was you driving him away as you would rather spend time with your family than him.

“It is not that I wish for you to leave, but if you would rather return to your training or reading, I would completely understand,” You added, and Aemond froze at your words; it was as if you could read his mind. He did not know how you did it, but you had this ability to know things about him without him even saying them out loud. He was quick to learn that you could see past his hardened exterior and see the intent and thoughts he kept to himself. You were the only person who knew him with such a deep level of understanding. “It is fine. I shall wait for you, and we could ride back together to the keep,” He said, and his cold heart ran warm as you flashed him with your beaming smile.

“What did they do to her?” Jacaerys asked as he stood near his brother and parents. “That last time we were here, she was completely ready to sail off to Essos just to escape him,” he added, and Daemon shook his head, removing himself from the conversation as he, too, was perplexed at how you completely turned your views towards this marriage. “I believe that is what love does,” Rhaenyra sighed, and Daemon scoffed in ridicule from a distance, and Jacaerys quickly shook his head. “Love? You practically had to drag her down the aisle! That is not love… that is some work by a potion slipped into her wine!” Jacaerys disagreed, and your mother breathed out a laugh. “Believe what you want, but your sister is stronger than to let a potion alter her emotions; that affection is brought by love,” She sighed as she, too, was surprised by the outcome of this marriage but was entirely pleased to learn that you found love in a person that all believed had none.

When all of you returned to the castle, your husband went straight to the tiltyard whilst your parents set off to visit your grandsire. You, however, accompanied your brothers as they wanted to tour around the keep that was once their home. Throughout your whole tour, you could not help but grow curious at the curious and prying glances thrown at the three of you that had faded during the moons of your return to the Red Keep. “They keep staring at us,” You hear Lucerys whisper to Jacareys, who still kept his head held high despite being in the den of vipers.

“Ignore them,” You whispered to your younger brother. You smile as Jacaeyrs pulls Lucerys towards the tiltyard, hurriedly going down the steps to explore the place they used to frequent as children. You stood by the railings, your eyes catching the flutter of silver hair, your husband training with his sword along with Ser Criston, whom he battled with. You stood steady by your spot by the balcony that overlooks the tiltyard, leaning in on the railing as you watched Aemond impressively train with his sword. It was truly a wonder to watch Aemond with his sword; he was able to command the room with each swing and movement he did. Captivating everyone as he simulated the battlefield, even your brothers stopped their reminiscing to watch him train. Far was he from the little boy he tripped over his wooden sword and struggled to even keep it upright.

“Well done, my prince, you will be winning tourneys at no time,” You hear Ser Kristen compliment the prince he had molded into a warrior as the tip of Aemond’s sword placed at the knight’s neck. “I don’t give a shit about tourneys,” You hear your husband reply as you descended down the stairs, making your way to your brothers. “Nephews, have you come to train?” He asked as you paused behind Lucerys and Jacaerys. Aemond’s challenging gaze turned to you, who announced her presence. You stared into his lilac eye and saw it somewhat softened. Aemond clenched his jaw and lowered his sword as the crowd that surrounded him began to dissolve. A clear path leading to you was made, and Aemond crossed it, forgetting about his want to challenge his nephews.

“You were most impressive with your sword,” You complimented lowly as you felt Aemond guide you to the side, and he placed his hand on your lower back. “I am glad that you found that impressive, little wife,” He hummed and wiped his sword, ignoring the stares of your brothers who stood by the side. “Perhaps I should wonder more often to the tiltyard; I would not want to miss an opportunity to watch my husband best the most acclaimed knights of the realm.” You feel your heart flutter as Aemond’s lips twitch into a small smirk. “Perhaps you should,” He said, unable to control the amusement that laced his voice and shinned brightly in his eye.

“Do you believe what Mother says? That they are in love?” Jacaerys whispered to Lucerys, who looked at you smiling upon your husband, “I… I do not know, perhaps,” he whispered as he noted that the smile on your lips was no pretense nor was it forced. And the gleam in your eyes could only be translated into love. Lucerys shifted his gaze back to his brother as you walked off and Aemond returned to training. “But how? How could our sister love someone like him?” Jacaerys asked incredulously, his voice growing a bit louder.

Aemond clenched his jaw as he heard your brother’s words. It was a danger to all that rage was quickly bubbling inside him, and he had a weapon in his hold. The one-eyed prince took in deep breaths to calm himself, reminding himself that you were just by the side waiting and watching him.

But a gnawing feeling in his gut had settled, and he too started to wonder as to how you could ever love someone like him. It is no secret that you and he were raised with opposing views of the world and even clashing families as well. His mother never approved of how your mother had raised you; everything about yours and your brother’s conception and upbringing had brought shame upon the Targaryen name and reputation. And the years before were nothing short of hatred. Yes, the both of you were fond of each other in childhood, but is that enough to undo the following years of animosity and contempt? Will these past moons that were filled with shared understanding and longing be enough to undo the resentment of the past?

It was enough for him. You were enough of a reason for him to let go of the grudges and grievances harbored. By some divine, paradoxical power, your blessed touch was the only touch that could tend and stitch Aemond’s broken past created by your own kin. Even with all the traditions and honor that were desecrated by your mere birth, Aemond could not help but love you, even if he had not said it out loud. No matter your differences, no matter the truth of your illegitimacy, he loved you truly.

However, that overflowing affection he had towards you was for you and you alone. The civility he knew that he should display was slipping out from his hold as old hatred for your brothers was starting to wake, and Aemond was not entirely certain if he could control the burning rage in his veins once more.

You sat next to your husband for a rare family dinner; it was the first time the whole of your clan had been together since your and Aemond’s wedding. You smiled fondly as Baela and Rhaena had already arrived along with your youngest brothers, who were now fast asleep in the nursery. You kept your secret hold on Aemond’s hand as the dinner proceeded, your heart full of joy as you wanted to erase the emotions you were feeling the last time the whole of the family was together with something more pleasant. Gone now was the hatred and agony you felt in your heart as your grandsire ordered your marriage with Aemond. The only thing you now felt for your husband was love. It could be considered ridiculous that with just half a year of marriage, all the deep-rooted anger and ire from the past had completely decimated and turned into blooming love, but that was the truth of it.

“It both gladdens my heart and fills me with sorrow to see these faces around the table.” The king said “The faces most dear to me in all the world, yet grown so distant from each other in the years past.” His final plea for peace was supposed to be yours and Aemond’s marriage, but that seemed to do little for the others to bury the grievances made years before. Your hold on Aemond’s hand tightened as you Grandsire removed his mask and exposed his decaying face. “My own face is no longer a handsome one… if indeed it ever was. But tonight, I wish you to see me as I am. Not just a king… But your father.” He said and turned to his children, “Your brother,” the king turned to Daemon. “Your husband,” he said to the queen. “And your grandsire.” He finished turning to you and your siblings. “Who may not, it seems…walk for much longer among you. Let us no longer hold ill feelings in our hearts.” He ended.

You were so entrapped by the speech given by your grandsire that you had not even realized that in the midst of that heartfelt moment, your husband was having a contest of stares amongst your brothers. Not a word by the king affected nor lessened the hatred in their hearts for each other.

You watched and listened intently as toast from both sides of your families started to circulate to the table, obliging the king’s request for civility and the possibility of unification for your house. By the end of the toasts, the intimate feast once more commenced, and your smile only grew with each passing moment of peace. However, it was quickly taken from you as a roasted pig was placed in front of you and Aemond, our gaze flying to your younger brother, who snickered as he recalled the cruel jest they made at Aemond’s expense years before. “Lucerys,” you hissed sharply in warning. Your heart skipped a beat as your husband let go of your hold and slammed his clenched fist on the table, rendering the room silent. “Final tribute,” He announced, the attention of the entire room upon him.

“To the health of my nephews. Jace… Luc… and Joffery,” He began, and you felt your hands grow cold at his words, already knowing where this would lead. “Each of them handsome, wise…” He trailed, catching your eyes that pleaded for him to stop and not speak of offense. He, however, ignored your pleas. “Strong,” He ended, and you feel your heart painfully pit in your chest. Your gaze flew to your lap, and you softly shook your head in disappointment, for you had foolishly believed that your husband would at least grow somewhat sensitive at the matter of you and your brother’s true paternity. “Come. Let us drain our cups to these three strong boys!” He announced, and you felt a painful twist in your stomach.

The peaceful meal between your kin that you had longed for had turned ugly and violent; you shook your head as your husband and his brother, along with your brothers, waltzed back into old patterns and began to brawl and fight each other. You shook your head and stood from your seat, quietly exiting the room and leaving the fight that the other tried to break up. Aemond watched your departing figure, disappointment oozing off your frame as you exited the hall. He turned to your brothers' red and angered faces, and it only dawned upon him the severity of his offense. He was ready to go after you, but his mother pulling on his arm hindered him, the queen scolding her grown son as if he were a boy.

Moments after, Aemond rushed to your chambers in dire need to speak with you, but you were not there. Aemond walked the darkened corridors of the keep, searching every spot you would frequent but to no avail. Aemond halted in his steps as he heard footsteps and voices approaching. “I’ve told you that they were not suited for each other,” Aemond heard your stepfather say, voice enraged. “You saw how openly he disparaged and humiliated her and her siblings— what more if they were behind closed doors?” Daemon seethed, him having half the mind to march to the king and demand an annulment of your marriage with Aemond.

Aemond clenched his fists in anger as he heard how low the opinion of your stepfather had of him, but that anger was being overpowered by guilt as he recalled your pleading face earlier as you quietly begged him not to speak offense. But Aemond could no longer control himself as being in the presence of your brothers brought back the uninhibited rage he genuinely thought he could control for your sake. Aemond took in a deep breath and stomped off, determined to find you. He scoured the entirety of the keep in search of you, with each passing moment that you were not found added to his guilt and the pang in his chest. It was nearing the hour of the wolf, and Aemond still had not found you. Aemond rarely felt fear; he refused to be in fear of anything, but just by just the mere hours of your absence had him drowning in dread and despair.

Aemond thought of retiring back to your chambers and perhaps try to find you when the sun had risen, but his body could not physically rest without your presence. Aemond found him straying towards the gardens, his feet carrying him towards the weirwood tree that you two had often frequented in childhood. He halted in his steps as he heard quiet sobs and sniffling, his knees growing weak at the sight of your body curled upon the trunk of the tree, your face in your hands as you tried to stifle your sobs. Aemond made cautious steps towards you, swallowing thickly as he had never succumbed to such guilt and pain before; it was unbearable to see you cry— more so for he knew that the reason for your tears was him.

Aemond felt his breathing caught in his throat as you lifted your gaze, and your bloodshot eyes met his. “Why?” You managed to ask, your voice hoarse and filled with emotion. It was too much; Aemond wanted to fall to his knees and ask for your forgiveness; he could not take the way you stared up at him with such great sadness. “Why… why would you do such a thing? Why could you not l…” You could not even make yourself finish your words as a bubbling sob of angered sadness took over you. You tightly shut your eyes as Aemond fell on his knees before you, trying to take hold of your hand, but you over away from his touch.

“I know of the resentment you have for my siblings— for me because we are bastards and because Lucerys had taken your eye. It was foolish for me to think that with our marriage, perhaps that enmity in you would lessen or at least be concealed enough that you would not seek out revenge so… so openly and as well as disparage me and my honor,” You say, your voice shaking as you try to take hold of your cries. “I did not mean to offend you; that was not aimed toward you,” Aemond said, and you shook your head. “They are my brothers, Aemond. Questioning their paternity means to question mine as well. Wounding them would be wounding me as well,” You countered and shook your head as Aemond moved to take hold of your hands.

“I… I know it is difficult for you to be subjected to a room with my kin— especially my brothers, but could you not have let this one-night slide past peacefully? I am not seeking out your forgiveness; I was just hoping for something that resembled peace, just for one night,” You said lowly, voice trembling with your sobs and the cool night air that gusted around the gardens. Aemond sighed and rested his head against your clasped hands, still on his knees as you sat before him dejectedly. “I’m… I’m sorry, my love,” He whispered, and you froze, trying to decipher if you had heard him correctly. Never once had you heard him apologize nor use such an endearment.

“I apologize. I was consumed by my anger, and I could not control my rage. I should have kept my composure,” He said and looked up at your face, tear-stained cheeks flushed with sadness, bloodshot eyes in question, and pink lips agape in mystification. “I’m sorry,” Aemond said once more and placed a kiss on your knuckles. The word felt foreign on his tongue, but at the same time, it rolled effortlessly as he knew it would be his saving grace not to lose you. You sat quietly, uncertain what to reply, though you had been enveloped in rage and sorrow, by Aemond’s actions, it somehow miraculously faded by his words and touch.

“You called me ‘love’,” was all you could manage to say, the word still ringing in your ears even though you knew you should focus on the other matter. Aemond scrunched his brows as he gazed at your face, “I… I suppose I did,” He said, not even realizing the word slipped out his lips. He had been wanting to call you that endearment for weeks now, but he thought you would not take it well or that the softness and affection of it would lessen his stoic exterior. “Do you love me?” You could not help but ask, preparing yourself for the blow if it proves that your judgment was false. Aemond’s cold hands turned a degree colder as you asked the question. With each moment of silence, you feel your heart pit further, your mind scolding you for asking such a query. After another moment of prolonged silence, you sighed and were ready to stand, ready to mourn a different type of sadness.

“Of course I do,” Aemond finally spoke, “I love you,” He added, determined for you to believe his words. You were stunned at his confession that words eluded you, and all you could do was pull him close and kiss his lips. “I do not care about your paternity. I don’t think I ever truly did… I only acted as such to appease my mother and her father. And I know I have played the part well, acting as if I harbor loathing for you ever since childhood, but I could never resent you, not truly.” Aemond sighed as your lips parted, and you smiled widely against his lips. Tears of melancholy turned into tears of glee.

“You love me,” You mused as you cupped his cheeks, your thumb gently brushing the raised skin of his scar. “I love you.” Aemond confirmed, and he hummed as you kissed his lips once more. The events at supper were long forgotten as you and he finally shared the affection you both harbored long ago but were just too afraid to say out loud.

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mxmeiyun · 2 years

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Same-sex marriage legalized in Cuba! (Sept 26, 2022)

#same sex marriage #lgbtq+ rights #human rights #cuba #lgbtq+ stuff #current events

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thekinslayed · 1 month

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This Heaven Gives Me Migraine

summary | The revelation of your betrothed's involvement with your half-sister sends you straight into Criston's arms. Harwin is shown what he has been missing out on.

pairing | criston cole x legitimized bastard!reader x harwin strong

tags | 18+, minors dni, unprotected sex, oral sex (f), oral sex (m), cuckolding, threesome, Harwin's monster cock, daddy issues if u squint, reader is loosely based on shiera seastar

wordcount | 4.6k

note | lmao this gif is the only one i've found of them in the same frame 😭 don't ask how old anyone is, idk either <3

likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated!

song rec | Natural's Not In It - Gang of Four

(dividers by @zaldritzosrose)

When Lyonel Strong offered his son Harwin to the Princess Rhaenyra, King Viserys merely laughed in his face, stating his son was not good enough for his heir. He was, however, good enough for you, the king’s legitimised bastard. The King sired you with a Lyseni woman, whom he was introduced to by his brother Daemon and his then-lover Mysaria. That night was merely a lapse in his judgement, he had let his cock hold authority over his head. The King was determined to erase any evidence of his wrongdoings by having you sent to the Sept, but then, your mother had died, and the young queen Aemma could not find it in her heart to send a babe like you away. You were taken in a year before Rhaenyra was conceived, having served as the Queen’s temporary comfort when she struggled to produce an heir. It was the will of the good queen to have you legitimised, though despite being formally named a Targaryen, you felt like an outsider in your own family.

You had all your father’s Valyrian features, but only half the love he bore for your half-sister Rhaenyra. In some ways, you understood. You were the walking reminder of Viserys’ mistakes, and the King was adept at pretending you were invisible. The thought did little to quell the hurt in your chest as you longed for an ounce of attention Viserys bestowed on Rhaenyra.

However, you made this work in your favor. With the order of succession having skipped you, all the attention was on your younger sister. This allowed you more freedom, you took on numerous lovers, dabbled in creating potions and elixirs, and flew across the realm on your dragon as much as you wished. You grew more distant from Rhaenyra as you enjoyed the joys that came with your autonomy, while she held the pressure of being the King’s heir.

Despite the pleasures you had freely taken for yourself, you were still a princess with duties to uphold. And so, your hand was offered to Ser Harwin, as a gesture of good faith with the Strongs.

You liked Harwin. Good, honourable Harwin. He was courteous, a man of good breeding. He would clutch your hand at his elbow when you walked through the gardens, listening to every single detail you shared. His sweet words often rendered you blushing like a maiden, tugging on your heartstrings in a way no man ever had. You would often find him awaiting you in the Dragonpit when you returned from your flights, a kiss planted upon the back of your hand when you approached him. With some convincing, you would succeed in persuading Harwin back to your chambers some nights, where you sat upon his lap, grinding on his thigh while he claimed your lips. Nothing more, of course.

“We cannot, princess. Not yet,” he would whisper, stopping you from taking things any further, much to your frustration. You were dying of curiosity to learn what he was like in bed. Surely, the name Breakbones didn’t only apply to his physical prowess on the battlefield. On the nights he would be away with the City Watch, a fresh vase of flowers would always be sent from him, awaiting you on your nightstand.

And when Harwin was away, you would find yourself in Criston’s arms.

Your trysts with the Kingsguard started not long after Rhaenyra sent him away from her midst with a broken heart. He was but a dog with his tail stuck in between his legs when you had set your eyes on him. At first, you were apprehensive about taking what you thought were your half-sister’s scraps, but it did not take long for you to realize you had struck gold. Criston fucked, hard. He would take you with an air of desperation in his thrusts, as though you would disappear once he failed to satisfy you. The knight was eager to please, taking you any way you liked, however many times you wanted to. The maester was surely suspicious about how frequently you requested for moon tea on the mornings following your nights with Criston, but you made sure to remind him of your knowledge of the whores he would sneak into the Keep for his own debauchery, something your father would surely not appreciate.

You should be thankful for Rhaenyra, really. If it weren’t for her, you wouldn’t be lost in the dizzying haze of your nights with Criston, free to claim him as you wish, while she carried her and Laenor’s first. Hells, even Alicent didn’t mind you whisking away her sworn shield the second he was relieved of his duties. While no plans about your marriage to Harwin were set yet, you enjoyed your last bits of freedom with your lover, while imagining the moment you would finally be claimed by the Strong knight in your marriage bed.

Your brows furrowed as you stared at the babe that lay in the cot. Beside you, your father cooed, tickling the boy’s nose with his fingertip. Pale skin, brown hair. How in the Seven Hells did this happen? Your eyes met that of Alicent’s, who held the same glint of confusion in her big, round eyes.

You flashed Rhaenyra and Laenor a fake smile as the King showered them with praises for producing an heir. Words of good wishes fell from your lips, to which the couple responded with their gratitude. The babe stirred from the voices surrounding him, opening his eyes to reveal a vivid blue.

No.

It couldn’t be.

You’ve heard of the whispers circulating in court about your sister and your betrothed, though you had paid them no mind. The lords and ladies often had little to do to entertain their boring lives which often resulted in forming insipid rumours about the royal family. Once, they had speculated you bathed in blood to preserve your beauty, which you only scoffed at in response. You had only turned five and twenty!

But this… this was hard to deny.

You left your half-sister’s chambers with the Queen, speaking in hushed whispers as you both walked through the halls while Ser Criston trailed behind you. “I cannot believe this! Do you think…” Alicent trailed, careful with her words as she looked at your troubled expression.

“My sister, s-she… She would never bring such shame upon my name. Wouldn’t she?” You asked, turning to both Alicent and Criston. Your shoulders sagged when they said nothing but only exchanged doubtful looks. A pit formed in your stomach at the realization.

“It is too soon to say, dear girl. Do not fret, the truth will reveal itself soon, yes?” Alicent reassured you, rubbing your shoulders comfortingly.

The truth did, in fact, reveal itself during the feast celebrating the birth of Rhaenyra’s heir. Jacaerys Velaryon, future King of the Seven Kingdoms. You were sat beside young Aegon, who looked unamused by the whole affair. You felt him tug at your sleeve, making you lean down. “Why does he have brown hair?” He asked.

“I am not quite sure, my sweet, but don’t you think he has his father’s eyes?” You said, smiling at him sweetly. When he merely shrugged his shoulders, you caressed his silver head of hair, before directing your gaze to the crowd, unconvinced by your own words.

While the lords and ladies cheered for the introduction of the babe to the court, you watched your betrothed. His eyes lit up with joy, shimmering blues under the light of the Great Hall, though they were not looking at you. His gaze was directed at your sister who sat beside your father.

Your chest panged with hurt, your jaw ticked in anger at this shameless display. You turned your head to meet Rhaenyra’s gaze, which met yours for a second, before looking away to avoid your sharp stare. A scoff left your lips, rising from your seat to leave the Great Hall. The sound of your shoes shuffling against stone echoed through the empty halls as you returned to your chambers, slamming the door behind you.

A cup of wine was poured in haste, and your shaky hands brought it to your lips, chugging its contents down. You slammed the cup back down onto the table, before pouring yourself another. Some herbs were crushed and added to the cup of red, with the hopes of soothing your aggravated state. Behind you, you heard the sound of your door opening, followed by quiet footsteps and the clinking of metal.

“Princess,” You heard him say.

“What are you doing here?” You asked, not facing the man who stood by your door. “I came to make sure you were alright,” he responded softly. Your head dropped as you sighed, your ringed fingers clutched the end of the serving table, weight leaning on the wood.

“How could they do this to me? My own sister, my future husband?” you trembled with anger. A gloved hand clutched your elbow, prompting you to turn around to meet the Dornishman’s gaze.

Criston looked at you with worry while you shook your head, an incredulous laugh leaving your lips. “Gods, what a fool I am.”

“Don’t say that,” he interjected, frowning at your words.

“But I am,”you asserted, stepping away from him to walk towards the chaise with the cup of wine in your grip. “Fucking Harwin. I let him convince me what an honourable man he is, what a fine husband he would make,” you grumbled before you took a big swig from your cup. Criston silently listened, standing with his hands clutched together at his back. “I could care less if he took another to bed, the gods know I am not innocent of that either,” you pointed out, to which your lover gave you a look.

“But my own sister,” you fumed, tone heavy with incredulity. “What will the court say of this? Of me?”

A silence passed through the room, the only sound being the crackling of the hearth. After a moment, Criston took a step towards you, tugging off his gloves.

“Do you love him?” he asked, making you turn towards him. You pondered on his words. Though you bore good feelings for the Gold Cloak, it was too soon to call it love, and after this debacle, you could hardly consider him worthy of your affection.

“No,” you answered with conviction, your gaze upon Criston unwavering. “Not with the utter humiliation the birth of this bastard shall bring me.”

The hard metal of his armor is cool against the skin of your back as your knight pressed his front against your clothed behind. He dipped his head to kiss the exposed skin of your shoulder, nuzzling his face into the base of your neck. The stubble on his face tickled, his familiar scent wafting into your senses as you leaned your head against his.

“He is not worthy of you, none of them are,” Criston rasped. His hands slithered to embrace your waist, a sigh leaving your lips when you finally relaxed into his arms. “Harwin is an imbecile, blind to his fortune of having the most beautiful woman in the realm promised to him.”

A breathless chuckle left your lips at his words. You turned in his arms to face the knight, cupping his stubbled jaw to stare into his eyes.

“You are so good to me,” you tell him, nudging your nose against his. Criston’s heart thumped against his chest, and for a moment he worried you would hear it knock against the metal of his chestplate. He closed his eyes, pressing his forehead against yours.

Oh, the things he would do to make you all his.

Criston hated sharing, especially with that dolt Strong. If he could, he would take you away from all of this madness, and fulfill the promise of a life of freedom and love. But he cannot let himself hope, not again.

“I would do anything for you, my princess,” Criston whispered lowly, a kiss planted to the skin of your wrist to seal his vow.

“Anything?”

“Yes, yes. Anything, ask and it shall be done,” he affirmed, looking at you with sincerity in his eyes. Your heart warmed at his words, his unwavering loyalty to you something you feel completely undeserving of. You would be lying if you said you hadn’t spent many nights imagining what life would be like with Criston as your husband. Rhaenyra had told you of his promise of taking her away to Essos, for a simple life forged with love. Your sister thought the prospect entirely ridiculous. But you, you could do it. There was little keeping you here, no father who gave you love, no duty to tie you down, no throne to bleed you dry. But you cannot, not yet at least. The moment shall present itself in the future, this you knew in your heart. And when it does, you shall ask Criston to go with you and you shall never look back. For now, you settled with planting a kiss on his lips.

“I do not ask for much, just you,” you said against his lips. He cupped your chin to pull you back against his lips, deepening the kiss as his tongue pried your mouth open. “You have me,” he breathed out.

Kissing turned into gnawing as Criston all but devoured your mouth. You fumbled to undo the knots holding up his breastplate. One by one, you both worked to remove his armor, the metal plates falling on the fur carpet with a soft thud. Now clad in only his gambeson and breeches, your lover pulls you to his chest, relishing in the giggle that left you as you found your way to your bed.

He sat on your bed, turning you around to quickly undo the laces of your gown. Once the dress fell and you were clad only in your shift, Criston pulled you into his lap, your thigh caging one of his, arms snaked around his neck. You ran a hand through his recently shortened locks, biting your lip as he regarded you with a lovestruck look.

“I told you it would look better shorter,” you commented, earning a rare smile from the usually reserved knight. Your lips captured his once more, tongues twisting against each other. His large hand cupped your breast, earning him a moan. The neckline of your shift is pushed down to reveal your chest, your nipples pert against Criston’s breath as he nuzzled his face into the plump flesh. Another moan escaped you when he took one of your tits into his mouth. A gush of arousal dripped from your core as your lover played and toyed with your mounds of flesh, your hips ground against his thigh mindlessly. Throwing your head back in delight, you blindly reached down to find the lace of his breeches, haphazardly untying them to dip your hand to stroke his cock. He groaned against your breast as you started to touch him, dragging your hand up and down his hardened length. Your hips continued to ground against his muscular thigh, smearing your essence on the fabric of his trousers. Your jaw fell open as he lifted his thigh higher, directing you to the edge of his knee. A whimper left you when your pearl rubbed deliciously against his kneecap, grounding your hips harder into his leg as the coil in your core threatened to snap. A chorus of grunts and whines echoed through the room as you both chased release. Criston’s hips started to thrust into your hand as you stroked him in rhythm with your grinding. The growing heat in your belly indicated how close you were to the precipice, hips growing desperate as you hurled yourself to the end. Before you were thrown over the edge, however, the door to your chambers flew open, and Harwin’s hulking figure entered.

“What is the meaning of this?” His voice boomed, blue eyes widened after having caught you and Criston in such a precarious position. You hid your surprise at his intrusion, turning to face Harwin but made no move to rise from Criston’s lap.

“What right do you have to barge into my chambers, Ser Harwin?” you reprimanded, looking at your betrothed angrily. Blue eyes raked from your exposed chest down to where your hand disappeared in Criston’s pants. The Gold Cloak gulped, before straightening up to meet your displeased gaze.

“You disappeared from the feast, princess, I was sent here to fetch you. I heard noises from the hall, I thought you were…” he trailed off, eyes shifting to Cole who had a smug look on his face. Harwin’s fists clenched as the urge to smash the Dornishman’s face threatened to overwhelm him. You scoffed at your betrothed, pulling away from Criston to rise to your feet.

“You need not worry about me, Ser, so please, leave us,” you ordered, earning an incredulous look from the taller man.

“I am not leaving you with him! This is the most improper,” he contended, standing his ground. Your eyebrows raised at his words, a smirk on your lips rose upon hearing him.

“You are one to lecture me on what is and what isn’t proper. Tell me, don’t you have other pressing matters to attend to? Your newborn son, perhaps?” you questioned. Harwin glared at Criston when he snickered at your words, before turning to you with an apologetic look.

“Princess, you have to understand, I did not intend to–”

“No? What, did your cock just accidentally found its way into my sister’s cunt? Spare me the excuses, Harwin, I have no need for them,” you seethed. Harwin reached out to you, but you stepped away from him before he could hold you. His eyes flickered to where Cole still sat on your bed, then back to you. “I am not leaving,” he repeated, standing his ground.

“Fine, watch then,” you ordered, turning around to walk back to your lover. You resumed your previous position in Criston’s lap, cupping his face in your hands. You stared at each other, communicating silently. The knight’s contempt of your betrothed was something you were aware of, and you did not wish for this to evolve into something messier than it already was. Criston was the one to smash his lips onto yours, taking you by surprise. A low moan left you at the familiar taste of him against your lips.

Criston ordered you to rise, which you obeyed, pulling your shift off as you did so. The knight turned you around, facing your bare body to your betrothed who still stood by the door. Harwin’s eyes visibly darkened at the sight of you, blue orbs trailing down your naked flesh. Heat stirred deep within you, cheeks warming at the hungry look in his gaze.

“Best make yourself comfortable, Strong,” Criston spoke up, a mischievous glint in his eye. The hands on your waist urged you to sit back down on his lap, spreading your thighs wide to give Harwin a good view. Your betrothed settled on the chaise faced directly to your bed. You caught how he visibly gulped at the sight of your weeping slit. Criston’s fingers lowered to circle your pearl, a gasp emitting from your lips at his touch.

“Princess,” Harwin started. He fidgeted in his seat, his crotch was starting to strain in his trousers uncomfortably.

“Sit still and be quiet, Harwin,” You commanded, followed by a whine that reverberated from your chest. Criston dipped a finger into your core, groaning when your rear squirmed against his bulge. You started to pant when his middle finger started to fuck you in earnest, eyes fluttering when the pad of his finger rubbed on a particular spot in a way that made your toes clench. Both your hands gripped his muscular bicep when a second finger entered your cunny, filling you in a way your fingers never could.

“This is where your mistake is, Strong. You’ve gone around other women’s beds when you have denied yourself to indulge in what could have been all yours. See how well she takes my fingers?” Criston chided, smirking at the glaring man. His fingers continued to thrust in and out of you, scissoring and rubbing your clit simultaneously with his thumb. Harwin’s fists gripped the armrests of the chaise tightly, almost to the point of breaking. He would have shot up from his seat to drag Cole to the floor if it weren’t for the desperate moan that echoed from you. You paid little attention to whatever was going on between the men, focusing on chasing your release. Your eyes locked on Harwin’s, gaze staying on him as you spilt around Criston’s fingers. Your mouth fell into an ‘o’ while your thighs shook from the weight of your climax.

As you chased your breath, you pulled away from Criston’s lap to rise on wobbly legs to walk to where Harwin sat. His icy blues were glossy against the blaze of the hearth, jaw slightly agape when you stood in front of him. Your hand cupped his jaw, making him tilt his head upwards.

“Will you be good?” you asked, still breathless. Your betrothed wordlessly nodded, letting you grab his hand to lead him to your bed. Criston stared at you questioningly, opening his mouth to voice his defiance. You give him a look, giving no room for argument. The loyal dog that he is, the knight obediently stood up from your bed to stand off to the side.

You ordered Harwin to clean you up with his mouth. He obliged all too eagerly, licking and slurping up your essence with a wet smack. Your eyes rolled back to the back of your skull, humming in delight. You gripped his curls, they felt soft in your palms, in contrast to the rough beard rubbed in between your thighs. Your head turned to the side, and your eyes met Criston’s, who still stood frowning like a kicked dog. You reached out an arm to beckon him over. When he was close enough, your fingers reached for the laces of his breeches to pull out his still-hardened cock. You begin to pump his length, rubbing at his flushed tip with your thumb. Criston threw his head back and groaned, hips canting forward to chase your touch. With Harwin still devouring your cunt diligently, it took little time for your second release to overwhelm you. Your thighs caged his head, and the pace of your hand on Criston’s length faltered.

When Harwin stood up from his knees, your eyes fell to the bulge straining tightly against his breeches. You allowed him to unlace them, eyes widening at his massive cock. His tip was flushed red, almost purple. The cockhead wept a clear liquid, a sight that made your mouth water.

Seven Fucking Hells.

Your eyes shifted between both men and an overwhelming wave of desire washed over you, tainting you red from your cheeks down to your chest. Looking back to Harwin, you watched as he slowly stroked his cock, eyes silently asking.

“You better fuck me like you mean it, Strong,” you said, eyes hungry.

“You won’t wish for another man’s cock after tonight, princess. This I promise you,” he vowed, an air of arrogance now present as his eyes shifted to Cole who scoffed.

“I wouldn’t be so confident, Ser, not when she aches for mine every night,” the other knight retorted. Your eyes rolled at their display, cunt achingly waiting for either man to stop whining about their cocks and fill you with one of them.

“Well, so far one princess has already taught mine better than yo-”

“Enough,” you cut them off, huffing. You positioned yourself to your knees, awaiting who would start fucking you first.

Criston shoved Harwin out of the way, slipping his cock in before the taller man could protest. A whine left your lips at the familiar stretch, a dull pain so delicious. Criston gave you little time to adjust, thrusting into you brutally. He had a point to prove, and you were responding to him beautifully. You fisted the fine sheets, moaning unabashedly from the way your lover abused your cunt.

You barely registered Harwin standing on the side of your bed, his cock standing tall and proud against his taut abdomen. You lifted yourself to take him in your mouth, sucking in as much as you could. His cockhead hit your uvula with barely half of his length in your mouth, a slight gag squeezing his tip. Your hand stroked whatever length couldn’t fit, pleasuring him in tandem with your mouth. Moans vibrated on his cock, causing Harwin to groan loudly. Behind you, Criston’s pace never faltered. Your body jerked from how hard he was thrusting into you, your walls squeezing him as another wave of release threatened to wash over you.

You took your mouth off of Harwin’s length when your third climax had you whining like a wanton whore. Your hand slapped on his abdomen to ground yourself, and your nails dug into his pale skin. Your release triggered Criston’s, the Kingsguard letting out a broken moan as he spilt into your walls.

You barely get a moment’s reprieve to recover when your cunt is filled once more. Harwin grunted as he took his turn with you, your oversensitive walls still pulsing from your last orgasm. You bit your lips hard at the delicious stretch, his cock filling you differently than Criston’s. His thrusts were short and hard, and his tip kissed your cervix in a way that made your eyes squeeze shut. Curses fell from your lips, tears beading at the corner of your eyes. You moaned out his name in a sob, before pressing your forehead into the mattress to quiet your moans. The noise in your chambers could equal that of a brothel, no doubt able to arouse suspicion in whoever would have the misfortune of passing by. You were a babbling mess, the amalgamation of all the ways you had been ravished by both men robbing you of your usual wit and headstrong demeanor. You felt Harwin grab your wrist, pulling it back towards him to lift your body at an angle. His cock hit you even deeper than before, your ridged walls squeezing him so tight it made it difficult for him to move. Another peak was ripped from you, the hardest one yet. You fell forward onto your mattress, completely boneless. Your mind barely registered the warm spurts of Harwin’s seed that painted your back, lost in the dizzy haze of your pleasure.

When morning came, a cup of freshly brewed moon tea and a bright arrangement of flowers greeted you when you awakened. The memories of the night tainted your cheeks red, the delicious throb of your core the only evidence of what had occurred. Harwin felt a weight lifted off his shoulders when you allowed him to accompany you for your morning walk in the gardens, any previous contempt for him discarded, for now. What he did was still unforgivable, but if you were to marry, you wished for no ill will to taint your union.

As for Criston, your nights with him were unaffected, though he did seem to fuck you even harder than before. He had even gone so far as to give Harwin a cordial nod when they trained.

Perhaps he should lay off on Strong for a while, a silent truce, if you will. He had you, and that was what mattered most to him. He held his tongue from spitting out his usual nasty remarks about the heir’s brown-haired firstborn and his stark resemblance to the Gold Cloak. Everything was peaceful, good, even, especially with the new arrangement that benefit all three of you.

That peace, however, did not last long, for a year after Jacaerys’ first nameday, the Princess Rhaenyra gave birth to yet another brown-haired babe, Lucerys.

#bella writes ✍️#criston cole x reader #criston cole x you #criston cole smut #ser criston cole #criston cole #harwin strong x reader #harwin strong smut #harwin strong x you #harwin strong #harwin breakbones #hotd x reader

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thatsonemorbidcorvid · 5 months

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ON AN AUGUST night in 2003, a young woman who went by the name Paulina sank into the sofa of her modest, rented apartment, opened up her laptop, and began talking about sex with a man she’d recently met in a Yahoo chat group. His name was Stephen Bolen. His first communications had been terse, but he soon warmed to Paulina. It didn’t take long for both of them to begin to open up.

Paulina had told Bolen she lived in the Atlanta area, that she had a three-year-old daughter, that her daughter’s father was no longer in the picture. Soon, she was sharing more intimate details: what it was like growing up a skinny white girl in a rough neighborhood outside of D.C.; how her dad, a Marine, had died by suicide two weeks before she was born; how her mom had been emotionally and physically abusive, and had never really shown her love. How she’d had a sexual relationship with her stepfather.

Paulina would put her daughter to bed and then she and Bolen would chat throughout the night, over Yahoo and sometimes on the phone. The back-and-forth could feel like dating, but with an added element of danger and risk: Both Paulina and Bolen knew they were tiptoeing up to a line to see if they trusted each other enough to cross it. It could take a while to figure that out.

Eventually, Bolen asked Paulina to send pictures of her daughter, and she agreed to do so, though the ones she’d shared were chaste — the little girl clothed and her face turned away from the camera or obscured behind an untamable halo of blond curls. After seeing the pictures, Bolen asked to meet. While a lot of the men Paulina had encountered in chatrooms like “Sex With Younger” just wanted to trade images and videos of children, to expand their illicit collections, Bolen was a “traveler,” someone looking to act upon his obsessions.

On Sept. 17, just as they’d arranged, Paulina sat on a bench outside Perimeter Mall with a stroller parked in front of her, scanning the parking lot nervously. Part of her hoped Bolen wouldn’t show. When he did, she could see he was handsome, a preppy guy in a pink polo shirt and khakis. “Paulina?” he asked eagerly. She nodded. As he smiled and pulled back the blanket draped across the stroller, he found himself surrounded, handcuffs slipped around his wrists.

“Paulina” watched his face fall, his confusion giving way to distress as FBI agents took him into custody. It was her first undercover arrest. It would be the first of many.

[long read]

IF ONE WANTED to hide in plain sight, one could do no better than the tidy, suburban neighborhood on the outskirts of St. Louis, where FBI Special Agent Nikki Badolato now resides. The well-tended, two-story homes are so pleasantly indistinct that I could hardly tell you what hers looks like, even if it were safe for me to do so, which it is not. Suffice to say that Midwestern comfort and conformity unspool around every gently winding curve. Here Badolato has raised her two children, a daughter who is now in college and a son who is a junior at a local high school. When planning a neighborhood scavenger hunt or tending the community garden, Badolato does not often mention her many years as head of the Child Exploitation Task Force, a joint effort between the feds and local law enforcement that targets some of the country’s most heinous crimes. Open a cabinet in her kitchen, however, and a government-issued Glock 42 can be found stowed away between the vitamins and mixing bowls.

On a sunny morning this past October, Badolato sat at her dining room table, scrapbooks and albums spread out before her on the dark wood. There was the acceptance letter she’d received from the bureau the spring of her senior year of high school, after a representative had shown up to administer a test in the typewriting room. “I chose to wear a red dress and red heels,” she says of her first day as an FBI mail clerk, two weeks after her 18th birthday. “I don’t know what the hell I was thinking. I guess maybe I was trying to go in bold?” She pauses at a picture of herself on the gun range at Quantico almost 10 years later, her shoulders squared and her caramel hair pulled back into a ponytail as she fires off rounds. By then, she’d married a man she met just after high school, had a little girl, completed college at night, and been accepted into agent training in the heady days after 9/11. She’d seen her first dead body only a few weeks into the job, after the pursuit of a bank robber ended with a shootout in a Walmart. When Badolato got to the scene, the body was still warm, and the perp’s head was resting on a bag of cookies. “It was surreal,” she says. “How many times have you been in a Walmart and walked down Aisle 4, not really expecting there to be a dead person with his head lying on a bag of Chips Ahoy?”

Badolato wasn’t deterred. She felt like the bureau saved her, plucked her out of a shitty home life, and gave her prospects and purpose. As a new agent, she was intent on proving herself worthy. “My training agent told me, ‘You know, Nikki, it’s a marathon, not a sprint,’ ” she says. “I was like, ‘That’s ridiculous. I don’t even know what that’s supposed to mean.’ ” She turned a few pages to show a picture of the 391 kilos of cocaine and 140 pounds of meth she’d recovered on a single raid during a stint with a cartel squad, then pointed out another in which she poses with a five-year-old child she’d rescued, the little girl’s hair cut short because the kidnapper had wanted her to look like a boy. But the keepsake she really wants to find is the card that Bolen’s wife had pressed into her hand at his sentencing, the one with the picture of their children — a blond girl of about three years and a tiny baby — and the words “These are the faces of the children you protect each day.” Bolen’s wife had been the only one she’d ever encountered who had lobbied for her husband to receive the maximum sentence. Some wives accused the FBI of planting evidence inside computers. Most seemed intent on clinging to their delusions. (Attempts to reach Bolen for comment were unsuccessful.)

“Right now some little girl is being dropped off in the parking lot of a motel. There are four girls holed up in a hotel next to a McDonald’s. It is happening all the time.”

Which, Badolato has come to understand, is the way it goes with child trafficking and sexual abuse. She had invited me into her home — had agreed to speak on the record about her decades-long career working undercover — because when it comes to the crimes she’s spent her career fighting, she has had enough of the delusions people are under. She’s had enough of the way movies like Sound of Freedom both glamorize and trivialize the work she and her colleagues do, enough of the idea that swashbuckling white men burst through doors and rescue trafficked children with a Bible in one hand and a firearm in the other, enough of conspiracy theories about Hollywood and Washington that detract from the real root causes of why children are trafficked and abused. “Human trafficking is not the movie Pretty Woman — the girl doesn’t get the guy — and it’s not the movie Taken, where people are kidnapped in a foreign country and sold on the black market, or shipped in a container across the world,” one of the detectives who worked on Badolato’s task force tells me. “I’m not saying that doesn’t ever happen, but it’s not what we’re seeing.”

What they are seeing is a lot more insidious and a lot more homegrown. A report released in 2018 by the State Department ranked the U.S. as one of the worst countries in the world for human trafficking. While the Department of Justice has estimated that between 14,500 and 17,500 foreign nationals are trafficked into this country every year, this number pales in comparison to the number of American minors who are trafficked within it: A 2009 Department of Health and Human Services review of human trafficking into and within the United States found that roughly 199,000 American minors are sexually exploited each year, and that between 244,000 and 325,000 American youths are considered to be at risk of being trafficked specifically in the sex industry. Heartbreakingly, many of these children are victimized not by strangers who’ve abducted them from mall parking lots but rather by people they know and trust: Studies have found that as much as 44 percent of victims are trafficked by family members, most often parents (and not infrequently parents who were trafficked themselves). Between 2011 and 2020, there was an 84 percent increase in the number of people prosecuted for a federal human-trafficking offense. Of the defendants charged in 2020, 92 percent were male, 63 percent were white, 66 percent had no prior convictions, and 95 percent were U.S. citizens.

Badolato started her career as an FBI agent in some of the earliest days that children could be bought, sold, and traded online. As the internet-porn industry mushroomed, its most lucrative branch turned out to be that of child sexual-abuse materials (the term “child pornography” is no longer used by those in the field, as it implies consent). And as demand for these images increased, so did the abuse that led to their creation.

In 2003, just a few months after Badolato graduated from Quantico, a Crimes Against Children squad was formed in the Atlanta office where she’d been stationed. By then, the FBI was starting to get a handle on the extent of the problem — if not exactly what to do about it. At a weeklong training in Baltimore, Badolato was given a tour of the darkest underbelly of fetish chat groups and then instructed to figure out how to infiltrate. “Everyone was a little nervous,” she explains of the directive. “It was a process, a direction that was new.” Agents were told that they would need to come up with a “persona” and a “story,” and that they would likely have to provide images of children to “prove” they had a minor on offer. They were also told that they could use images of their own children, if they were comfortable doing so (the FBI no longer endorses this policy).

Badolato’s unit with a kidnapping victim after her recovery in 2011. A Health and Human Services review found that roughly 199,000 American minors are sexually exploited each year, and that as many as 325,000 American youths are considered to be at risk of being trafficked in the sex industry.

Badolato developed “Paulina” based on her understanding that any persona would need to share most of her own backstory and traits. “That’s the only way you can really do undercover work,” Badolato says. “People can tell the sincerity in what you’re saying, so there has to be a level of genuineness, but then you just add this criminal element to it.” Most of the things Badolato had told Bolen were true: where she was from, her family background, the monstrousness of her mother, a woman who she says would pass out cigarettes and beers to Badolato’s 13-year-old friends in a state of manic permissiveness one minute and fly into a violent rage about a piece of lint on the floor the next. (Badolato’s mother declined to comment for this article, but a childhood friend corroborated Badolato’s account.) It was true that growing up in an unstable home with a string of stepdads, she had never really felt loved, true that she had divorced her first husband, true that she was raising their three-year-old daughter on her own. The only thing that wasn’t true was her tale of being molested, her initiation into the “lifestyle” — to use the chatroom parlance — that Paulina said she now wanted for her daughter. As Badolato had familiarized herself with the language and behaviors of the chatrooms, she’d honed that added criminal element, imagining what psychological conditions might believably lead a parent to traffic their own child and how those conditions could be grafted onto her real life story. She already had a history of abuse; it was not hard to extrapolate to a fictional stepfather who had seemed to provide a gentle counterpoint, showing her love and making her feel special when no one else had, even if others couldn’t understand. From there, it was easy to convince the chatroom participants that she shared their belief — or justification — that most people had it all wrong and that “child love” was natural, and could even be beneficial for the child.

Badolato estimates that she has arrested more than a thousand people; not one of those arrests has failed to end in a conviction. She didn’t know until she was in the thick of it that most agents refuse this sort of work, that most can’t even pretend to forge a relationship with someone looking to victimize a child. But she could. “Paulina,” she points out, is not a name she chose at random; it’s similar to her own mother’s name. Badolato says she had grown up learning to compartmentalize for the sake of her own emotional survival. She’d perfected the art of engaging with someone whose actions she couldn’t stand. Doing this work had felt like a way of taking her trauma and putting it to good use, of leveraging her past as a safeguard against her daughter’s and other children’s futures.

Of course there were moments that were hard to take — when suspects mentioned which brands of lubrication were best or whether or not a parent might hold a child down. There were times when she knew that even talking about these things was a turn-on for these men, times when the conversations made her nauseous, times when she’d lie awake all night or play back a recording and think, “Holy shit, I listened to this? I said these words?” But she kept faith in the mission. She reminded herself that the pictures she sent of her daughter — the beautiful, little girl sleeping in the next room — did not represent a real child on offer. “I was thinking, ‘If I send this obscure picture of my daughter and he acts on it, then he’s never going to harm my daughter or anybody else’s,’ ” Badolato says now. “I was presenting a fake girl to save a real one.”

KYLE PARKS SEEMED to think he could get away with anything. He seemed to think, for instance, that he could get away with running a brothel, a 1-900 sex line, and a housecleaning company out of the same Columbus, Ohio, office park and under the same oxy-moronic name, XXXREC and Hygiene Services. He seemed to think he could invite one young woman and five teenagers (four of whom he had only just met) on a road trip to Florida, but instead deposit them in two rooms of a Red Roof Inn in St. Charles, Missouri. When they piled out of the minivan — high on the drugs he’d given them — saw snow falling and asked to be taken home, he thought he could make a little money off them first. All it took was a few ads in Backpage — the Craigslist of sex advertisements — and men began showing up.

Even after things started going south for him, Parks couldn’t fathom that he wouldn’t prevail. When someone alerted law enforcement as to what was going on, Parks (who, according to legal documents, had been out getting food when the police showed up) burst into the precinct the next morning looking to bail his “friend” out. When questioned about the 88 condoms found in the back of his van, he said they had been prescribed to him by a doctor. After being taken into custody, he protested that he was being set up. Most people would have cut their losses and pleaded guilty, but not Parks. He thought he could take his case to court and win.

And it wasn’t impossible to imagine that he might. Badolato knew that even the tightest cases could go sideways when put before 12 people who would inevitably enter the courtroom with a cinematic sense of what sex trafficking was supposed to be. In fact, it wasn’t just the jury that Badolato knew she would need to convince; it was also often the victims themselves, young people who had internalized the exact same misconceptions about trafficking that the jury had — along with any number of other judgments society had thrown their way — and who were loath to submit themselves to a courtroom full of more judgment.

Of all of Parks’ underage victims, the hardest to pin down had been a 17-year-old we’ll call Sierra. Once she returned to Columbus, Sierra seemed to basically disappear. Calls to her mother’s number went unanswered. When one of the other victims managed to track her down in December 2016, a month before the case was to go to trial, Sierra agreed to meet Badolato on a blighted Columbus block with a string of dilapidated homes, climbing into the bureau’s Chevy Malibu with matted hair, dirty clothes, and a wary expression.

By this time, Badolato had remarried, had a second child, relocated to St. Louis, and taken over as head of the Child Exploitation Joint Task Force, which had become one of the most productive FBI teams in the country in terms of arrests and convictions. Meanwhile, as the internet streamlined the process of buying or selling any good or service, trafficking had become one of the fastest-growing criminal enterprises, estimated by the Department of Homeland Security to bring in $150 billion globally and considered by many criminals to be a superior business model: If caught, the sentences were often lighter than those for peddling drugs; and unlike crack or heroin, the same product could be “used” again and again and again.

Badolato taught her team of 20 how to do the online undercover work she’d trailblazed in Atlanta, tracking the movements of child-abuse material through the online underworld and then prosecuting those who distributed and produced it. Her new squad also initiated her in the type of undercover work it had been doing before her arrival: covert sting operations in which a detective would pose as a john, set up a “date,” and then meet said date in a hotel room fitted out with hidden recording devices while, in the next room over, a taskforce team listened in, waiting for the code word that would let them know that enough evidence had been gathered for them to swoop in and shut the op down. This had proved a very effective technique for getting convictions, but Badolato’s arrival coincided with both a growing sentiment that consensual sex work had been over-criminalized and an increasing awareness that what looked like consensual sex work might actually be trafficking, no matter what the “date” professed in that hotel room.

Badolato has a tendency to say aloud the things she notices — about you, about others, about situations — observations that are not at all unkind but are perceptive enough that most people would keep them to themselves. She points out when someone deflects, and she has a sharp eye for defense mechanisms. She once casually mentions my tendency to mirror other people’s vocal and speech patterns. She is not shy about bringing up the emotional and physical abuse she says she experienced as a child, and she is quick to comment when someone is making excuses for someone else’s behavior. It was soon clear to her colleagues that Badolato brought a trauma-informed mentality to the work, a tendency to look beyond what someone was doing and instead try to parse why they were doing it. And she was relentless: While some squads did one or two trafficking sting ops a year, her team was doing four or five a month. In addition to the hotel rooms reserved for the john and the team, they would have a social worker set up in a third room, ready to offer services to the victims. They would have lookouts stationed to see who might be dropping the date off. If that date was found to be underage, the case was automatically classified as trafficking. But even if they weren’t, Badolato’s team was primed to get to the bottom of what was going on, to figure out whether they were being manipulated or coerced, and by whom.

“If I could put my hands on a pimp, that’s what I wanted,” says Jeff Roediger, a St. Louis county detective who was the “john” for many of Badolato’s sting ops and who makes clear that the team was not interested in policing voluntary sex work. “When I had those types of cases, and I knew they were being sincere with me, I wouldn’t book them,” he says. “It was all about talking to the girls. It’s not like in the movies where they come running to you. You know, ‘Thanks, you rescued me!’ It’s not like that. A lot of them try to bullshit you at first — ‘That’s my boyfriend, blah blah blah’— but once I talked to them for a while, they would become more forthcoming.”

Badolato’s unit was one of the first in the country to take on this “progressive and proactive” approach, as she puts it. Soon, St. Louis looked like a sex-trafficking capital — not because it was actually trafficking more victims than other cities but because the task force was so aggressively pursuing those cases, and classifying them as what they were. “I mean, I was working in vice for years,” says Roediger. “Back in the day, it was always ‘prostitution,’ ‘prostitution,’ ‘prostitution’ — until we started to figure it out a little bit, until we started digging a little deeper.”

Once they did, the task force found that roughly a third of the sex-trafficking victims they recovered were under the age of 17 — and they began to see the reach of the problem. Kids were being trafficked out of every hotel in the area, from the seediest roach motel to the fanciest Ritz-Carlton. They were being trafficked every time of day and by every socioeconomic group (“Before you go do brain surgery, you got to bust a nut real quick,” one underage victim told Badolato of her high-end clientele). Some of the victims were girls. Some were boys. Some were LGBTQ kids who’d been kicked out of their homes. Some were straight cis kids from the suburbs. “I tell people that I could probably name two or three [kids] in the school district they live in that have been trafficked,” Roediger says. “And they just can’t comprehend it.”

“If I can be perfectly honest, I truly don’t believe that the FBI realizes what they put their agents through doing that kind of work.”

There were kids who were about to age out of foster care (a particularly at-risk group, according to those who work in the field), kids who’d run away, kids who were being sold to pay their family’s rent, or to buy their family member’s drugs. There were kids who’d sit in the hotel room, backpack at their feet, dutifully working on their math homework while agents and social workers tried to figure out what to do with them. Was their home life safe enough that they could be returned to it? Would a residential program take them? Of all the imperfect options, which would make them least likely to be trafficked again?

The one common denominator was this: They all had a vulnerability that could be preyed upon. They all lacked a safety net — societal, familial, emotional, or some combination thereof — that might have broken their fall. Mostly, their stories weren’t dramatic; they were typical American tales of neglect, of abuse doled out casually, of a steady stream of letdowns by people and institutions who should have propped them up. Badolato found that she had a knack for getting them to talk about this, for getting them to open up to her. She didn’t look like an FBI agent — at least not what they’d imagined. She spoke softly, but with authority and a slight vocal fry. And she thinks that, at some level, they could probably sense that she’d once been a vulnerable kid too, that with only a few slightly different twists of fate, she could have become a trafficking victim herself — and that she knew it. “My trauma looks different than theirs, but it’s trauma nonetheless,” she says.

“And I think victims can feel that.”

AS THE TASK force learned more about the psychology of victims, they also learned more about the ways in which their vulnerability was being manipulated, and how those ways were evolving. It was known in law-enforcement circles that once a skilled trafficker set his or her sights on a vulnerable young person, they could be groomed in a matter of days: one day for an introduction, a day or two to make the victim feel special and cared for, and then the day when a “friend” comes over and he needs to be “cared for” as well. Sometimes violence was involved at that point; sometimes drug use was involved throughout. But emotional manipulation was the key element, which is why it was so easy for grooming to move online, for groomers to take advantage of the false senses of connection fostered on social media.

Of the victims who are not being trafficked by family members, the majority are being groomed in this way. “I would say that probably 75 percent of the initial grooming is happening online now,” says Cindy Malott, the director of U.S. Safe Programs at Crisis Aid International. “Recruiters used to have to work really, really hard to get access to kids, but now they’re practically sitting in a child’s bedroom. And kids put everything out there — what’s going on in their life, who they’re angry about, parents are going through a divorce, their insecurities about their body, about themselves, what they do, how they spend their time — so it’s like a gift to these predators.”

The ways to manipulate are legion: Get a kid to send a compromising photo, and she’ll do almost anything to keep you from sending it out to all her Facebook friends; find out a gay kid is still closeted, and the threat of outing him gives you incredible power. And predators aren’t just on Instagram and Snapchat; they lurk in the chat functions of Roblox, Minecraft, Grand Theft Auto. “They’re everywhere,” says Malott. “People think, ‘Oh, I just got to keep my kids away from those porn sites, those horrible places.’ Well, no, predators are gonna go where the kids are.” And once there, they’re going to zero in on the kids who are most vulnerable.

That’s what got to Badolato. In her online undercover work, she’d plumbed the psychology of pedophiles, but now she wasn’t just dealing with suspects; she was spending time with victims and seeing the same vulnerabilities in them that the traffickers had seen: the instability or poverty, the addiction or mental health issues or abuse that had been normalized in their lives long before the traffickers entered them. Sometimes Badolato couldn’t help but feel that all the conspiracies and misconceptions weren’t just a distraction from the truth of trafficking but rather some sick attempt to let society off the hook for trying to solve the much more intractable problems at trafficking’s root.

“People would rather stick their head in the sand than address the real problem, because then you have to face and talk about the societal issues,” she says. “With a movie like Sound of Freedom, it’s like, ‘Oh, this is in a jungle in South America. This isn’t actually in [my neighborhood].’ You know? It’s easier for people to ignore the problem than deal with the issues on a societal level.”

BY THE TIME Badolato was sitting in that Chevy with Sierra, on that blighted Ohio block, she knew that the rate of revictimization for children who are trafficked was as high as 95 percent, according to FBI reports. She knew that 90 percent of sex-trafficking victims have a history of child sexual abuse, that more than 75 percent had lived in foster or adoptive care. She knew that she could arrest one perpetrator, and another would pop up in his place, that she could send one pimp to prison and the same victims would show up to stings some short time later, run by a different crew. She knew that testifying was a way for Sierra to psychologically push back against what had happened to her, and she was right: After the young woman took the stand on Jan. 10, 2017, Parks was found guilty and sentenced to 25 years; while testifying, Sierra had seemed to transform, to channel and embody a sort of empowerment. But Badolato also knew that once her testimony was over, Sierra would go back to that blighted block. She wondered how long that empowerment would last.

She also wondered about her own trajectory, her own ability to continue doing this work. The youngest trafficking victim she’d ever recovered from a sting op — an 11-year-old who’d been recruited through Facebook — had been returned to her family in a house that had no heat (Badolato had used an FBI slush fund to get it turned back on). One did not become immune to the human misery of such things. They compounded, became harder and harder to compartmentalize. “It’s just a combination of all of those years — and it’s all awful,” she says. “But there are particular moments that, for one reason or another, you can’t get out of your head. I just don’t think it’s in human nature to be exposed to that for so long and it not start changing who you are.”

One night, at a restaurant near where Badolato lives, I ask her whether she thinks children are being sex-trafficked right then, in that very moment, in just the mile or two radius around us. She’s quiet for a long time, her gaze fixed downward at her glass of wine. By the time she looks up, her whole body is trembling. “It’s happening right now,” she says quietly. “Right now some little girl is being dropped off in the parking lot of a motel. There are three or four girls holed up in a hotel next to a McDonald’s. It’s not only when we think about it. It is happening all the time. And if I’m just sitting here, present, having dinner, not thinking about it, that means I’m ignoring a problem that I know is real.” Tears stream down her face.

“Many images have never left my mind,” she says. “It’s really hard to have worked your entire life in law enforcement with a lot of child crime victims and be at the end of your career looking at the situation where you realize you can only do so much to make a difference.” Badolato wipes back the tears with the palm of her hand and shudders her head, as if she can shake the thoughts away. “Damn,” she says. “Fuck. I shouldn’t be the one crying. I’m not the victim of this.” The veteran agent steels herself and repeats, “I am not the victim.”

THE HOUSE WHERE Korina Ellison says she was first sex-trafficked no longer exists. It once stood on an unassuming lot in a residential suburb of Portland, Oregon, that stumbles down to the banks of the Willamette River. Now, Ellison can’t quite bring the house’s features to mind. She was so young back then, maybe four or five. There is so much she’s repressed, or only pieced together after the fact. As a child, she wouldn’t have known what she now believes to be true: that her grandmother scored her drugs by offering up her youngest daughter, Ellison’s mom. Or that, once her mom was hooked on the meth cooked by the man who’d lived in that house, she’d known just what to do to get more. But Ellison does remember being inside the house, unclothed. She does remember how the man would touch her.

Her life unspooled from there. Her father died of a heroin overdose when she was six. Her mom lost custody for good. She bounced around foster care, then various residential institutions, then whatever shelter she could find. In the story she tells of how she was sex-trafficked again in her teenage years, there’s no moment of drama, no kidnapping, no clear coercion. There was just a random, rainy afternoon when she had no place to go and was alone in the street and a car pulled up. The man inside took her home with him, fed her, introduced her to his girlfriend. They took her shopping. They let her stay. When men showed up at the home to have sex with the woman, Ellison was invited to watch, but she wasn’t expected to participate — not at first, anyway. According to a statement Ellison later made to law enforcement, she just “realized that people aren’t going to take care of [me] for free.” Soon, the woman was posting Ellison’s services on Backpage — $150 for half an hour, $200 for a full one — and the trio were traveling the Midwest. For a long time, it didn’t even occur to Ellison, then 16, to leave. “Where would I have gone?” she asks. “I’d been missing for over a year. Nobody was looking for me.” When the man told her to call him “Daddy,” she complied.

That was more than a decade ago, near the beginning of Badolato’s tenure as head of the Child Exploitation Task Force. But by 2021, leaving it had seemed a necessary form of self-preservation. One of her last cases had gone well legally: The perp, a retired police officer from California who had produced child sex-abuse materials of three sisters in Manila, had pleaded guilty to such charges when he learned that Badolato had brought the girls to the states to testify against him. But the experience had been emotionally devastating for Badolato, who had wanted the sisters, then 16, 13, and 11, to have memories of the U.S that consisted of more than reliving their trauma in a courtroom. She took them shopping and to the zoo, invited them to her home to have dinner with her own family, saw them slowly start to open up and laugh and behave like the children they were. Then she’d had to put them on a flight back to Manila, back to the aunt who had allowed the man to abuse them and who Badolato had been unable to extradite. Fortunately, she says, their estranged father ended up intervening and taking custody of the girls, but that feeling of futility in the fight lingered.

“I stayed for a little bit longer after that trial, but it really was when I should have been able to look myself in the mirror and say, ‘Nikki, you’re done,’ ” Badolato had told me in St. Louis. “It became clear that I had been doing it too long.” She’d spend the last couple of years working national security, a position without the immediacy of child-exploitation work, but also without the heartache. “If I can be perfectly honest, I truly don’t believe that the FBI realizes what they put their agents through doing that kind of work. I just don’t,” she says.

And yet, here Badolato was in Portland, leading Ellison, now 30, up to her hotel room, telling her about all the announcements she’d heard in the Atlanta airport instructing travelers to be on the lookout for sex trafficking. “It’s like white noise in the background,” she says as Ellison settles into the sofa. “It’s a false sense of doing something to help.”

“Here’s the thing: Nobody knows what to look for,” Ellison agrees.

“And what about the victims who are in that airport, who are walking around and listening?” Badolato asks.

“I wouldn’t have even heard that announcement,” Ellison replies. “Because I didn’t feel like a victim. It goes a lot, lot, lot deeper than anybody realizes.”

That’s what she and Badolato both understand. That’s why they started talking eight months ago. Of all the teenage victims Badolato’s task force recovered, Ellison is one of the few who she knows has permanently extricated herself from being prostituted, though it took years for her to get to that point, years for her to see that what happened to her was not her fault but rather a fault in the system, a fault in many systems over the course of generations. Neither she nor Badolato can fix that.

Yet they can’t help feeling like there’s something they can fix — or at least try to. Under the umbrella of an organization she’s founded called Innocent Warriors, Badolato created a program for schools, instructing educators on the signs that might indicate a student is being trafficked and teaching kids how to avoid getting groomed online, which, she believes, is not about stranger danger but rather an awareness of subtle manipulation. Ellison has been working with trafficked youth through nonprofits like Children of the Night, the residential program where Badolato’s team sent her when she was 17. Together, they’ve been talking about having Ellison help train undercovers who are learning to do trafficking sting ops. They’ve also discussed starting a mentorship program in which children who are still being sex-trafficked are paired with young adults like Ellison who once were, providing a way for victims to begin to envision a different future for themselves and a path toward it even while being prostituted. Such a program may be retroactive rather than proactive, but it would capitalize on Badolato’s and Ellison’s experience and expertise — and it could help in the healing of mentors and mentees alike.

Badolato had traveled to Portland for the two to talk face-to-face about how the program might work. “You have to understand how they’ve been traumatized because sometimes, to a child, relating doesn’t sound like you’re relating. It sounds like you’re pointing out all the bad things in them,” says Ellison from the driver’s seat of her Nissan Pathfinder as she drives Badolato around to show her certain landmarks of her past after she’d left Children of the Night: the bridge she’d slept under for over a year after a boyfriend had gotten her hooked on heroin, the blocks downtown where she’d bounced between a children’s shelter and the needle exchange. It had taken a prison sentence for her to finally break her addiction and commit to a different kind of life, though that evolution had had less to do with not having access to drugs than with seeing her own mother cycle in and out of the same facility — like looking into her own future and witnessing how bleak it would be. Maybe, she thought, she could provide the inverse of that for kids in Innocent Warriors. Maybe she could reverse engineer her own escape.

“I just want to make it very clear that if you were a victim, you are a victim, and just to not have any shame in that,” she tells Badolato as they drive through Portland’s misty streets.

“What I anticipate and hope is that then we get survivors that are like, ‘They get it,’ ” Badolato replies. “And that it opens up doors to help, for people to recognize that there are people who get what’s really going on.”

“It took a really long time for me,” Ellison says of coming to terms with her own victimhood.

“It’s like reworking your thought process about some of those things,” Badolato agrees. “And that’s hard, and it happens slowly over time, and it looks different for everybody.”

Ellison grips the wheel tightly. “The truth does matter. It does. The truth is the fucking truth. And it’s been empowering to be able to talk about it because that’s another way that I’ve realized, like, ‘Man, I was a victim,’ is re-going over all of this. Because when it happens so many times, you do blame yourself. It’s a lot easier to just continue to live in a lie than believe that you were lied to.”

Still, Ellison and Badolato agree that the impressionability that makes children vulnerable is also what makes them open to guidance and mentorship if a relationship of trust can be established. “What do you think a parent does? They groom you. I’d been waiting to be guided and groomed,” Ellison says.

It’s been instructive to see that potential from another perspective, as a mother doing the guiding. As the afternoon wears on, Ellison stops to pick up her then-15-month-old son, who was being watched by a social-worker friend. She buckles the little boy into his car seat, ruffles his hair, and passes him a bottle. He grins widely and begins removing his shoes and socks, throwing them gleefully onto the floor of the car and then kicking his tiny feet in time with the music as Ellison glances back at him and smiles. “Kids are so perfect,” she says.

The last stop of the day is the large plot of land where the drug dealer’s house once stood. Now, it’s been turned into a playground, with brightly-colored jungle gyms, a covered picnic area, and a large lawn, where a couple leisurely walks their dog. Ellison and Badolato climb down from the car and stand at the park’s edge, as Ellison’s son toddles around the grass, oblivious to what had transpired in that very spot. There is some form of poetic justice in the land being earmarked for children’s enjoyment, but neither woman voices it. Mostly, they’re quiet. Night is falling, the air growing cooler, and the gray sky fading into dusk.

“You would never think a park could hide what it used to be,” Ellison says at last. And yet it did. Driving off with Badolato at her side and her son babbling happily in the back seat, Ellison glances in the rear-view mirror, but only for a moment. Badolato keeps her eyes fixed only on the road ahead.

606 notes · View notes

aseaofyoongi · 9 months

Text

my heart did | jjk

jeon jungkook x reader (f)

genre: e2l | bully romance | smut | angst

rating: mature audiences only (strictly 18+)

summary: as soon as senior years comes to an end a lot of teens shed who we were and strive to be flourish into a more polished version of themselves. although, broken hearts aren’t so quick to heal what happens when thoughts reveal all we need to know?

warnings: lets begin.. themes and mentions of bullying; brief physical violence; brief mention of blood; bickering; denial of feelings; mention of less than ideal parents; cliche high school themes (in flashbacks); foul language; oral (m. receiving); penetrative and unprotected sex; clitoral stimulation; nipple play; thigh riding; vag fingering; overstimulation; sub!jjk themes - he is a good boy; he uh.. arrives on her face.. anyways; i hate this trope ugh but miscommunication; jjk has a big d!; not edited.

word count: 25,5 thousand words

posted: wed sept. 6, 2023 at 12:28PM

notable songs: like i want you - giveon | thinkin bout you - frank ocean | like or like like - miniature tiger | war of hearts - ruelle | sunday morning - maroon5 🎧

The sun is now setting.

Behind you as the last hours of the late summer evening approached the sun was beginning to finally pucker its lips against the horizon, as a result, the sky became dusted with hints of deep orange, yellow and purple. The clock finally struck nine o’clock and you couldn’t help but slump down on the palms of your hands, sitting behind the main desk on the same stool you had been since the beginning of your shift. Your pupils followed as the little hands on the clock hung on the opposite wall seemed to move slower and slower, completely freezing you in time.

Fucking Mondays.

You sighed. When you had initially signed up for the work study position at the library you thought things would be just a bit different.

For example, you thought being a staff member here would get you free access to course books and materials but that wasn’t the case. Right before you’d been hired, some idiot named Yoongi who worked behind the help desk at the computer lab was caught selling copies of the course materials to multiple students on campus.

Like—right before you were hired and now that privilege had been swiped right off the tip of your fingers the moment your member badge had been printed.

Secondly, time behind that rotating door at the main entrance just stopped. No, more like slammed down on the brakes abruptly the moment you crossed that threshold. There were no warnings or brake lights or even a bright sign to apprise in advance.

Another drawn out sigh escaped your lips.

There was no exaggeration in your boredom, however, besides the ‘promises’ of saving money on school materials vanishing entirely, you still needed the monetary earnings so you hid behind a fabricated smile and immediately accepted the job offer happily.

Well, as happily as you could be.

God, you were jaded. Five after nine. Only five minutes had gone by yet it felt like an eternity.

Your mind was on overdrive yet your body remained stationed in the same exact place—in the same exact position. Not a single tendon transposed and they constricted your muscles in place. You were there sort of glued to the metal surface of the stool but fuck did you wanted to move.

Needed to actually. You needed a sort of mobile stimulation but still you couldn’t seem to get your arms and legs to comply. Not until your focus circled around your extremities and your need to just fucking. . do something.

You crossed your legs to the left, then to the right, then you hung your legs on the wooden bar under the desk to give them a rest from just hanging on your side, then you sat with your legs spread open before realizing you wore a skirt and you quickly pressed your thighs together tightly. Shift after shift you grew more angsty, more impatient, more exasperated with the sluggish speed the hours of the night adopted.

Slowly, you reached into your bag and unwrapped a piece of gum before sticking it in your mouth. You chewed slowly. Seven after nine, only two minutes have gone by since you last looked at the time.

Okay, maybe if you number your chews to the rhythm of each second then time will somehow speed by. Right? You began your countdown backwards from sixty.

You chewed down on the watermelon flavored stick of gum. Sixty.

Again, fifty-nine.

And, again, fifty-eight.

Once more, fifty-seven.

In just a matter of minutes the sky behind you turned pitch black and finally the stars came out to play, they pranced around dancing in the sparkling delight and you couldn’t really help but envy their freedom as they lived without confinement.

“Tell me something. .” You quickly registered that irritating tone, that very familiar and insipid, absolutely annoying and vexing tone. The same one which sent a bubbling shot of acid to course into your bloodstream every time you were faced with the disdain of hearing it, “should I reprint you a copy of the employee manual? Last time I checked skirts above the knee and gum chewing are strictly prohibited in the work place.”

You leaned your head to the side, narrowing your eyes in his direction as he stood by the doorframe, “you’re not the supervisor, let alone the manager,” you murmured through gritted teeth, “fuck off.”

He shook his head slowly while clicking his tongue. He was mocking you, the little shit was mocking you, “Not a manager. Just someone who likes to enforce the rules especially comes to you.”

“Rule enforcer?” you scoffed, chewing louder and louder as you chomped down, purposefully smacking your gum in the process, “sounds a lot like you being a little bitch. I guess it’s all just the same to me.”

“Bitch?” he guffawed.

“Yes, that’s what I said,” you challenged.

“Mini skirt, gum chewing, and foul language. You’re really making this so easy for me,” he mocked.

The extent of your interactions were always, always, reduced to this. Just the endless streaks of taunting, the continuity of poking at each other buttons beyond forgiveness, and to top it all of the boiling irritation cooking up in the pit of your stomach.

As far back as you could remember there wasn’t an ounce of amiability in the mixture of your interactions together.

You and him met the summer before the ninth grade. From there on you knew him once classes began. Well ‘knew’ was a very loose term in this situation. The two of you were just teens, fifteen years old to be exact, in the same school, in the same home room, yet from different cliques.

His brown eyes drank you in like he was consuming every inch of your soul—it was invasive, intimidating, and exactly what you deserved. Deep down you were one hundred-percent sure of the fact.

“What?” you barked.

“Just remembering the good old time,” he smirked, “the ones where words remain your preferred and deadliest weapon.”

What transpired from that night was nothing compared to his cold gaze and punctured words.

Faint lights of that night sparkled into memory, years have passed but you remember every detail as if it was just yesterday.

The school bathroom was your least favorite place in the building, it was usually crowded with destined criminals, the stench was horrid and it was the obvious root of every ridiculous rumor to ever be birthed within the walls of Oakwood High School.

You leaned against the white ceramic sink, your back faced the stained plastic mirror as you faced him sitting on top of the toilet tank. He was the personification of trouble, the very synonym of everything you needed to stay away from.

The two of you came from two different worlds.

He was draped and wrapped up in a black hoodie, complemented by dark distressed jeans while his rugged and muddy boots stained found camp on the toilet seat, staining it beyond repair.

“What exactly is it that you need from me?” he asked, his tone wasn’t as stern or deep as you usually heard around the halls. There was a slight stutter; a falter.

“It’s more than one thing,” you exhaled, your eyes flickered between him and the stall just to the right of him, “. .that I need from you.”

He hummed, “go on.”

The sun trickled in through the foggy windows and it embellished very detail, every feature that you had never once before noticed on the boy before you. His eyes were giant orbs almost doe like, his lips were a deep taint of roseate the same one which dusted the apples of his cheeks. There was a certain delicate look behind the dark aura he cemented within himself.

You took paced steps in his direction feeling just a bit dizzy the closer you became.

Perhaps, it was that overbearing piss smell.

Or, perhaps, you just didn’t want to go through with this. You wanted to call this off but there was this fervent exhilaration burning just below your skin—you wanted to continue speaking to him, you wanted to envelop yourself in the softness of his lips.

But this wasn’t right but you couldn’t help the guidance of your feet, until finally you stood right before him.

Up close his eyes were prettier, shinier yet darker and you easily found yourself swimming in them engulfed in vastness simulating the bottomless sea.

He was everything you wanted and everything you needed to stay away from.

Two different people. Two different worlds.

“Are you going to tell me what you need?”

“I think,” your palm landed on his knee for support as you climbed onto the toilet seat taking a seat on his lap, “it’s much better if I show you.”

By now, and by the radicle of his reputation you expected for him to push you right off his life, for him to gargle the disgust in the back of his throat and regurgitate it right back on you. But he didn’t instead his gaze intently followed you every move, he probably already noticed your quivering figure hiding behind your confident facade.

There was no shaking off this nervousness, even but in your mind you reminded yourself that you were you and he was simply him.

“Show me what exactly?” he swallowed, his Adam's bobbed distinctively, “you know this is the first time you’ve ever uttered a single word in my direction.”

“I highly doubt that,” you hid your nervousness behind the security of your confident tone.

“It’s true,” he continued, “I bet you have never even noticed that my locker is directly across from yours.”

“Wait. .” You hooked your bait, hanging it low over his head attempting to reel him in once and for all, “do you spend your time in the halls looking at me?”

“I never said—“

Your palms found their way up to towards the back of his neck and you inched closer to his face vividly detailing the golden tone of his glowing skin.

You never noticed before, he was always an arm’s length away, which was probably your fault to begin with, but he was truly beautiful.

“You did kind of imply it.”

“I don’t think it works that way.”

“Does to me.”

His eyes remained on your lips as you tucked your lower lip under your upper teeth. There was an unreadable expression ignited behind his pupils, something you’ve never seen before, not behind the frigid gaze of your best friends and it certainly wasn’t present in the way your boyfriend looked at you either.

It held the comfort of tenderness and it wrapped you right into his warm embrace.

“You know, you keep averting my question.”

“Remind me, once again,” you smiled softly, “what is it that you wanted to know.”

“What do you want to show me?” you pursed out your lower lip before licking them agonizingly slowly to almost emphasize their plumpness. While coating them in a thin layer of the sheen shininess from your saliva. That put him in a trance, his eyes were locked on you intently. It’s working.

“Kiss me,” you whispered, your lips hovered right over his, the waft of your paced breath fanned one another. His mouth was enveloped with the cool aromatic scent of mint. You liked that a lot—it drew you in.

He froze against the white tiled wall behind him, his eyes were closed and he waited in anticipation of your lips finally meeting his. Instead, you took the liberty of snapping a mental picture. One you knew you would hang in the forefront of your mind for a very very long time, because after today, after the tones of both of your pink lips finally meshed together everything would go to shit.

And it would all be your fault.

“For someone who’s begging to kiss me you sure are taking your sweet time.”

The pads of your fingers brushed against his velvet lips as they spread wide depicting his smile, in turn you’d notice the way that very smile trickled to everyone of his features. From the dimples impaling his honey cheeks to his scrunched up nose and brows scrunched up together.

“I’m not begging,” you objected, laying against his chest—he was broad you could tell even under the dark clothes and he felt firm. All you wanted was to be cocooned in his heated touch.

Even in the scorching summer his warmth is.. a solace. You didn’t mind being consumed by it burning in the flames ignited by his touch.

“I asked. Just curious to know if you would even want to kiss me,” say no, run away, run away from me, you yelled at him in your head.

“Curious?”

You hummed, “So.. Do you wanna?”

“Kiss you?”

You hummed again, “I’m not asking for your hand in marriage. It’s just one kiss.”

“Just a kiss?” He asks a lot of questions.

“Okay,” he breathed.

There were many things you forbid yourself from submitting to at the expense of your insatious desires. This included consuming sweets past eight o’clock, drinking any type of soda, and even suppressing anything you’ve ever felt for anyone in return for the validation of others. Deep behind the rhythmic beating of your heart you knew this should’ve also included kissing him. You knew you should’ve backed off, said no, avoided him as if he was something you ran away from.

But you couldn’t help but be guided here by the pure delight of getting to have this for once. You wanted to be selfish and drown in those very desires you didn’t dare act on prior to today. Not under self-induced circumstances instead something you know could hurt him right after you pulled away from his lips.

You were a wretched person but all you think about, all you cared about was the way he inched closer towards you, rapidly closing the gap between the two of you. The only sounds bouncing off the walls were your needy pants and the thump thump which composed a song out of the beats of both of your racing hearts.

His head tilted slightly as he leaned in, his eyes explored every inch of your face taking in every depiction of your features. And no matter how many times you could attempt to hide it—he would know. He could clearly see the birth of the flames rampant behind the tones of your eyes.

He nudged his nose against yours, and your mouths fell together, soft and open. You closed your eyes instantly and they felt heavy, almost as if your eyelids were glued together. Though, you urged to open them, to live in every single second your lips remained connected with his, because you knew this wasn’t likely to happen again. Not after today. Not ever.

You couldn’t help but want to bear witness to the perfectness of your lips dancing against one another.

His mouth was silken, you found yourself melting into his body, into his lips, into his touch. Nobody had ever kissed you with the unspoken one passion he was.

No one. Certainly not your boyfriend.

You allowed yourself to become drunk under his trance and he fed the butterflies flapping their wings against the lining of your stomach rapidly.

You wanted to camp in the fondness of that moment forever, and ever. and ever. . .

Vacating the stool you stood by the large windows facing the parking lot behind the library. However, your attention was clutched by the sparkling stars, it was a form of a distraction. You wanted to stop thinking of him, his gaze seizing your figure tracing the outline of your legs, the curves and dips between your hips and waist and finally the sneaky peaks of your collar bones under your crop top.

His eyes were hard to read making it impossible to decipher whether he undressed you or condemned your being.

Though, you knew you deserved the latter.

“Words were never my weapon,” you whispered the fib hoping that you would believe it if you heard it outloud. It didn’t work.

He chuckled, “right. . your lips were the blades that pierced my heart and your words were the bullets that finished me off.”

“Jungkook. .” you trailed off.

“What?” he spat, “can’t handle the truth?”

Fuck, that hurt but you deserved it.

“Jungkook, just shut up.”

But his back was already turned towards you and his eyes no longer scanned you like you were the phrases typed on the pages of his favorite book.

“I’m so. .” you began but you just couldn’t get it out.

“There it is again,” Jungkook shook his head, clicking his tongue.

“That’s not what I meant,” you sighed, collecting your thoughts why did you always manage to say the wrong fucking thing, “I’m just trying to apologize to you for. . everything.”

“Right. . now?” he wore a puzzled expression, his eyes squinted with skepticism. Back in highschool Jungkok was quiet, shy and mysterious. He could’ve easily flown under the radar and lived his life in the seclusion of being a wallflower. But then you happened. You in that bathroom, on his lap with his lips on yours.

Even now, years later, you could still feel their phantom softness on yours.

You played with the loose thread on the hem of your top averting the scrutiny of the judgment in his eyes, “better late than never.”

“You put me through hell and I’m supposed to act as if all is forgiven. Today, because you can no longer live with that guilt?” there was a smirk plastered on his face while traces of venom laced his words.

“That’s not the reason why…”

“Then, why… Why?”

Words failed to roll off the tip of your tongue, and there was a cloud of shame hanging over your head but Jungkook was resentful and cold with his words and you knew that at this point your apology would do nothing to fix what was already broken. Nevertheless, you stood there like a child being scolded because the least you could do was be the receiver of his resentment.

“Are you looking for a shot at self redemption? To feel better about yourself? Or maybe the guilt really is eating you bit by bit. Whatever it may be I don’t forgive you and I never will. You wanna know why? Because unlike others I’m not convinced that people like you can change,” he continued, there was a rampant anger burning in his eyes now, “you look back on our time in high school and feel this sense of. . relief that you were who you were. There is not an ounce of your being that would go back and change things and if we were to turn back time you would still choose to be the viper who could go around injecting your venom into others at free will. I know you just want to leap over that stepping stone and prove to yourself that you have grown-up but you can’t fool me and you will not make an example out of me.”

“That’s not. .” you drifted off, tears swelled behind your eyelids but you blinked them away, “That’s not why I wanted to do Jungkook. .”

“No?” he asked.

“No,” you muttered through gritted teeth, mad at your past self for being a piece of shit, mad at him for not allowing you to speak, mad at life. Everything.

“You want me to forgive you?”

You remained quiet.

“Then, beg.”

“You know what?” You quickly wiped the tear that trickled down your heated cheek, “I actually did mean to apologize but I’m not sure that you actually deserve it anymore.”

They say what comes around goes around and you were certain this was the circle of justice you would forever be looped in the extent of your interactions with Jungkook because, this is pretty much how they always played out. He would never forgive you and you would never be able to form the right words to ease the pain of what you have caused. There wasn’t anything that you could do or say.

Things would always remain this way.

He turned away from you once again, “if I don’t deserve your apology that only proves you don’t deserve my forgiveness.”

You looked at the clock on the opposite wall, it was now finally thirty minutes past nine and you were due to go home. To be embraced by the comfort of your sheets, to bask in their warmth, something less chilling than his frigid words.

Grabbing your bag you slipped past him hoping that you would now stoop to becoming nothing but an insipid wallflower.

Entirely, invisible. That’s all you wanted to be.

Fucking invisible.

Your cloak of invisibility was short lived because as soon as you crossed the threshold to your dorm you were met with a crowded living room. Amongst the faceless features of the random strangers spread out in the tiny space you spotted a similar face belonging to the biggest pain in your ass and roommate adjacent, Hobi.

You trudge through the ocean of bodies, resisting the sway of the waves leading to bump to those in your way, simply wanting to get as far away from whatever this was as soon as possible. When Hobi’s eyes finally met yours you signaled him towards using your pointer finger—quickly, his smile dropped, beads of sweat adorned his temples and his head hung low.

A party on a Monday was… Definitely, Hobiesque.

With paced strides he stumbled towards you following you down the small corridor and into your room. Hobi’s eyes hung low, the buttons on his shirt hung open all the way down to the pit of his stomach, his cheeks were red and puffy, his hair the right amount of disheveled, and he had a tight grasp on a nearly empty red solo cup (it definitely didn’t look like it was his first or last drink). The lights were dimmed but even under the shitty lighting there was a bright glimmer outlining his figure.

“Now, before we begin this intervention,” his words were a bit slurred, “I had a really shitty day.”

“Yeah, that makes two of us,” you hung your bag on the hook behind the door and threw your keys on the desk.

He slumped down on your bed and stared up at the ceiling with a blank expression—you weren’t sure if the shift in his usual energetic charisma was due to the alcohol but you didn’t like it. You were so used to seeing his heart shaped lips spread into wide curves showcasing the amiability of his colorful personality.

“Okay, which one of us should go first?” he asked.

“Don’t you have a party to get back to?” you sat by the pillows on the bed, your back leaning against the headboard, your legs pressed up against your chest as you laid your head on your knees.

“I’ll get back in a minute,” he replied nonchalantly, “just tell me about your day.”

Hobi laid his head closer to your legs, quickly you found your fingers combing through the dark strands with a thin layer of sweat. There was a cool draft slipping in the room through the window left slightly ajar. The bittersweet flashes of your time in that library behind the main desk played back in your mind.

“I saw… spoke to Jungkook tonight,” your voice was soft, almost hoping he wouldn’t hear. You and Hobi have been friends since your senior year in school and while he wasn’t there for the horrid days of your freshman year tyranny you confessed to everything you had done during those dark days—everything that happened with Jungkook.

“Spoke?”

You nodded.

“You two have the same work study you’ve spoken to each other before right?”

“Yeah, but our conversations are always reduced to nonsensical banter. He pushes my buttons and I push his, sometimes we even land a few jabs at each other when the other isn’t looking but today,” you felt at ease sitting there in Hobi’s company, the only noise surrounding the two of you came from the booming of the loudspeaker stationed in the living room, “…it was personal.”

“How personal?” he continued peering up at you with idle eyes.

“I tried to apologize for, well you know.. everything,” you sighed, “and things didn’t really go as planned. Stupid of me I know.”

“Definitely, not stupid. You tried to make things right. There’s no harm in that,” his thumb rubbed your hand softly as it wrapped around your shins.

“There was definitely a lot of harm done.”

“You’re right,” he mumbled, “what you did is not justified, but all that matters is that you are trying to make things right and we can only hope he is willing to forgive.”

Jungkook’s vicious words played on a continuous loop in your head. He was not willing to forgive. He never would be and sincerely you couldn’t blame him for him.

This guilt.

It will eat you alive and as a result you will experience a slow and excruciating death. A well deserved demise and one that became written in the stars for you the moment you kissed him in that fucking bathroom.

Still, a timid smile slowly creeped on your lips. Hobi’s hopefulness is your safety net, the only thing you could ever need to keep pushing forward.

“Enough about me and my self-inflicted issues,” you cleared your throat, “what’s got you so down today, sunshine?”

“We broke up.”

You laid beside him on your bed, reaching down taking his hands into yours hoping he’d feel the same deal of comfort you do by him.

“What happened?” you offered.

“I was in my dance practice and he—“ he paused, “he just fucking texted me. Said he couldn’t do it anymore.”

“Did something happen before all of this?”

“We’ve been on a bumpy road lately,” he hesitated before continuing—you guessed it was because he was trying to structure his thoughts, “two dancers dating bring a conflict of interest into a relationship.”

“Please tell me you guys aren’t just fighting over your choreography.”

He remained silent before continuing.

“You two are going to send me into cardiac arrest,” you shook your head, “I need details, Jung.”

“Don’t call me, Jung,” Hobi poked out his lower lip, frowning, “makes me feel like I’m in trouble.”

“I can’t be mad at you when you’re so adorably tipsy,” you pinched his rosey cheeks.

“Stoooop,” he swatted your hand away from his face while stretching out the letter ‘O,’ “I’m being serious though. I think it’s really over between Jimin and I, forreal this time.”

“You’ve said that every other time the two of you have broken up over dance.”

“Right. .” he yawned, cozying up under your sheets while his eyes began to close.

“Oh, no,” you smacked him upside the head with one of your cushions, “get up and go host your little party.”

He brushed it off turning before turning away from you, his soft snores now a remix to the music playing just outside of your door, “who the fuck throws a party on a Monday. . Hoseok, get up!”

“I know, you’re so irresponsible for letting me throw a party on a weekday.”

“Bitch.”

As it turns out, kicking people an hour after a party had started wasn’t as easy as it looked. Leaning against the front door you finally came face to face with the mess left behind. The music still played, though, much lower now and there was an array of empty beer cans, red solo cups and other waste decorating your living room.

It was as if you were standing in front of the mirror looking back at yourself, you were nothing but a mess of a human being. It was uncanny.

Although, this mess you could clean, and you would, you weren’t sure if Jungkook would ever allow you to pick up all of those broken pieces that you had shattered all of those years ago.

For what it’s worth you really wanted to try. You wanted to make things right.

It is now Tuesday and the weather is horrid.

The last time you checked, the forecast called for scattered showers and mostly cloudy days. But, now it’s one in the afternoon and as you settle down on the bench by your bay window overlooking the narrow street, the sky was overtaken by the torrent clouds weeping viciously accompanied by the occasional strikes of loud thunder.

Usually, when the weather looked as shitty as you felt you opted for staying home and becoming enveloped in the comfort and warmth of your sheets, today would have been no different but of course luck is never present in the deck of cards paving your life, also having an irresponsible roommate usually doesn’t help in any way.

“Please, don’t forget my ginger ale,” he coughed dramatically, running his hand through his disheveled hair, “I can’t believe I feel like literal shit.”

“You can’t believe it?” You sneered, “you drank half of your alcohol supply before I even made it home and the party had only been on for like thirty minutes.”

“Fuck, I did that. Didn’t I?”

“You did,” you playfully yanked your covers off his body, “you drunk fuck.”

“That was my nickname in highschool,” he smiled.

“It was,” you zipped up your rain jacket and grabbed the umbrella sitting on your desk, “now go take a hot bath and don’t throw any more parties while I’m gone.”

You heard his infectious giggles as you closed the front door behind you. The two of you lived on the third floor so the walk down the stairs to the lobby wasn’t too unbearable. Through the clear doors of the main entrance in the rain you saw how the downpour fogged up the path ahead. Namseok’s Kitchen is only a five minute walk, you can do this.

Walking out you opened your umbrella and stood still for just one minute paralized by the pitter patter of the droplets meeting your umbrella.

It was the beat to a dreadful song you knew too well.

You pushed past the blue metal doors of the gymnasium. Your nostrils are no longer consumed by the smell of sweat and dirty laundry and the muffled conjunction of laughter, voices, bouncing balls, and whistles died out the minute the door closed behind you.

Gym class was a drag and there was truly nothing worse than an hour long class period with sweaty kids in such a tiny space. Usually, you opted for walking on the track for the duration of class but that option became futile the moment it began to pour an hour ago.

In fact it was still raining, but you stood under the navy awning covering you from becoming soaked. Your eyes are closed and you lean against the red brick wall inhaling the scent of petrichor, the resulting smell of the parched earth just as the pouring rain continues to beat anything standing right below it. The sweet aromas seeped into the air sweeping past your nose with the soft breeze that blew by.

It was as if the earth had exhaled, emanating its distinct fragrance from millions of pinpoints all at once. Inside that smell, the seconds slowed and each moment seemed to dilute. It filled you with relief.

Then, suddenly the remnants of your heaven became blurred and the walls holding up the roofs began to tumble down and with it a whiff of nicotine became tangled in your nose.

Your eyes shot open and there he was, Jungkook. The boy you’d kissed a week ago in the boy’s bathroom.

“Cigarettes are bad for you, you know..” You felt a knot in the pit of your stomach as soon as he turned. You heard what happened to him but you hadn’t gotten around to seeing him yet, you’d been avoiding him.

“Yeah, I keep thinking I’ll quit and I can’t seem to make it past a couple of hours,” he was honest and he smiled, two characteristics you thought had died the moment your boyfriend’s fist met his face. He still had a soft purple bruise under his eye to prove it.

“You need something else to get your mind off of it.”

He threw the butt of the cigarette on the ground and stepped on it to put it out and leaned right beside you on the wall. Up close you saw a deep gash on the apples of his cheek, it was still red but stitched up.

“I know.”

“Are you really littering right now?” You eyed the discarded smoke under the tip of his chunky combat boots.

“Right, sorry miss president of ‘i love earth’ or whatever,” he bent over, picking it up and placing it in the pocket of black jeans, similar to the ones he wore that day minus the rips around the thighs.

“It’s actually called, ‘advocates for planet earth’ for your information.”

“I love earth sounds better,” he shrugged, “should consider the name change.”

“I’ll bring it up in our next meeting.”

“I’m surprised,” Jungkook began, his eyebrows furrowed together and you could tell he was in a mental battle to continue, “that he lets you join cute little nerdy clubs.”

Twenty minutes before you entered the boys bathroom last Thursday, you and your friends sat in the library during study hall, your homework long forgotten and with continued complaints of loud talking all of you had settled for a game of quiet dare or die.

The set-up was easy.

There were two piles out in-front of you, one die, one dare. The object of the game created by your friends was to choose a dare and record yourself completing it before the end of the school day or else you’d have to do something even more embarrassing from the die pile.

Your dare was to graffiti the side of the school. A bit excessive, compared to the other ones which only called for kissing each other, going against school dress code for the rest of the day or skipping the last period.

Ditching the crumpled up paper you chose a die deciding that whatever it was at least it probably wouldn’t come at the expense of being expelled.

‘Kiss Jeon Jungkook (loser)’ it read.

You could’ve said no but you didn’t. Instead you fed into the taunts of the very boy you’d find your eyes lingering after. The same boy who occupied your thoughts day and night, the same one who kissed you like no one else has and whose touch (though, brief)—permanently marked a trail of goosebumps only he could procure.

“He doesn’t control me, Jungkook.”

“He doesn’t,” Jungkook nodded, registering every gravity of your words which felt heavy on his tongue. If your boyfriend didn’t control you then that meant you had also dealt a hand at the countinuously fucked-up encounters between him and your boyfriend. But this also finally cemented the idea that you had kissed him willingly; you saw it in the way his eyes sparkled even when the sun had been hibernating for the duration of the day.

He seemed to have finally realized that both of those could be true. That love and pain could dance together hand in hand when it came to the two of you.

Your eyes scanned his chocolate ones, slowly reaching up using the pads of your finger to caress his cheek. They were full and warm and you were careful not to inch too close to the purple and green-ish spot under his eye.

“Will you believe me if I tell you something?”

“Tell me.”

“I really did enjoy that day.” You clarified, “our kiss despite what I said afterwards.”

He chuckled, “hopefully saying me too doesn’t get me another black eye.”

The tightness in your chest squeezed tighter and immediately you felt like you couldn’t breathe. When Jungkook was around you felt as if your heart and mind collided against each other and you were left in a daze, castaway in your own body and mind. Like, right now, your brain urged you to walk away and get as far away as possible from him but your heart called out to him and down that same path it set out a route leading to his silken lips.

Your heart beat to a deep crescendo nearly synching to the sound of the beating rain against the awning just overhead.

“Shouldn’t you be getting back to class?”

Snapping out of your daydream you replied, “uh, yeah, I should get back.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll see you around.”

Jungkook smiled, “I’ll see you around.”

The hefty winds blew your umbrella yet you remained in the same exact spot just a couple of feet away from the entrance to the dorm building. You were drenched from head to toe causing your gray sweats and hoodie to stick to you all while they weighed you down. Although you were inclined to move away from the droplets adorning your figure, your legs just would not submit to the command.

The smell, the dark skies, and the feeling of the rain on your skin all ignited a sense of familiarity, contentment yet melancholiness.

There were too many feelings jumbled into one.

“If you stand here, like this, you’ll end up sick.”

You hadn’t realized your eyes were closed until the moment his voice overshadowed the roaring screams of the pouring rain. Jungkook’s outfit mimicked yours slightly but even you could admit he looked much better than you. He wore gray sweats and a gray hoodie draped off his shoulder over a white wife beater. His tattoos peeked through outlining the beginning of the sleeve following the length of his extremity down to his fingers.

He’s breathtaking, he’s always been.

“I wasn’t aware that my well-being was any of your concern.”

Jungkook combed his slender digits through his jet black hair inching closer to you until his umbrella covered the both of you, “it doesn’t,” he said, “ I just figured you were either drunk or too much of an idiot to be out in this storm.”

“Well, in that case that makes us two idiots standing out in this weather.”

“I was not out. I’m not crazy,” he cleared his throat, “I just so happen to see you through my dorm window.”

He came down for you, “yet here you are now.”

“Need I remind you, if I wasn’t, you’d still be out here getting soaked.”

“Soaked,” you snickered.

“Grow up,” his voice was laced with annoyance but the rose tint on his cheeks told you everything you needed to know.

“Where did my umbrella even go?”

He pointed to your feet where your Converse swam in a puddle and there was your unbrella was looking as fucked up as ever. Immediately, you made a mental note to never buy umbrellas at the dollar store ever again. You supposed that’s the only thing you were good at; making one wrong decision after the other.

You huffed, “ah, I’m okay. It’s okay, I got it from here.”

“Were you going somewhere?”

“You don’t have to help me, Jungkook,” you didn’t dare look at him because Jungkook was good at one thing, it was peeling back at your layers with his piercing eyes. He made you feel vulnerable—bare. And you always feared the psychedelic enchantment wiring in your brain whenever he looked in your direction.

Back then that was your excuse for not helping him, for not being a better human being. It was a shitty excuse, you know that now but you always feared your willingness to succumb to your hearts’ cries.

You feared falling into him—falling for him.

“Ironic, isn’t it?” He laughed, “just lead the way. I have nothing better to do anyway.”

“I was just going down the street to Namseok’s Kitchen to get Hobi some chicken noodle soup. He isn’t feeling too well this morning.”

“That’s only a five minute walk,” he nodded toward the path ahead, “Let’s go.”

Five minutes felt like an eternity as the two of you walked towards your destination in utter silence. The street was pretty empty—only Jungkook, yourself and the rain remained. . And your thoughts, of course. They ran at record speed as you tried to relive every single moment from your past, you know; divulging in all the good times and wanting to fix every fucked up thing you’ve ever done.

If only you could turn back time you’d make things right.

In an attempt to skip another puddle, to prevent your socks from becoming sodden you accidentally moved closer to Jungkook and your elbow brushed against his. The feeling wasn’t foreign to you and it transported you to those nights, all of those moment when your bodies were so close you could smell the soap he’d used that morning, cardamom and vanilla, the scent still lingered around in your nose and you wondered if you were just hallucinating or if he actually still used the same soap.

“While you order I’ll get us something hot,” he walked you to the glass door of the small diner, then turned towards the coffee shop across the street.

“Jungkook!” You called out and he looked back in your direction, “Hold on,” you dug in your pocket reaching for a ten dollar bill, “Here.”

“Just worry about the soup and get one for yourself. Your body will thank you tomorrow morning,” he shouted back.

He disappeared into the shop as cars sped by in his shadow. You almost didn’t believe he was just right there. With you. Was he?

The bell on top of the door chimed as you walked into the restaurant, the squishing sound of your drenched shoes against the white tile bounced off of the baby blue walls. As you walked closer to the counter you wrapped yourself in a tight embrace to provide yourself with some warmth against the blasted AC. The place has always been light on decoration and made to feel more homey than anything else. There was a faux wall with photographs of customers hanging from loose thread, next to that there was a small circular table where the polaroid and its film was stationed. The remaining walls held all sorts of artworks in different shades of azure from Seokjin’s boyfriend, and Hobi’s brother, Namjoon. Towards the front was your favorite place, a bench stationed in-front of the floor to ceiling glass window.

Namjoon approached the register, “oh no, what the fuck did he do now?”

“He threw a party and woke up sick as fuck. I was just coming to get him some soup. He’s said he would puke anything else.”

“And that little shit made you walk?” Seokjin walked up behind Joon taking a seat on the stool beside him. “Look at you…” he motioned towards you and you took a look at yourself in the circular mirror hung behind the two guys, a fucking mess, “you’re all wet. Did he make you come here alone?”

Before you even had the chance to answer Jinnie continued, “I’m going to kill him. You hear me?” He turned towards his boyfriend, “I am going to kill your brother.”

Joon mumbled, “I might just join you.”

“Before your two go on a killing spree…” you leaned against the wooden surface of the counter, “I kind of offered because I felt bad for his dumbass.”

“He still let you come all the way down here in this weather and that is enough to plan a crime,” Seokjin hissed, “Joonie will you get her a towel from the back?”

Joon disappeared behind the beaded curtain.

“Okay, so one soup for the idiot and one for you?”

You nodded, “yes, chicken noodle soup please. Can you make that three though?”

“Who’s the third one for?” He raised an eyebrow staring you down like you had an intimate secret you were keeping from him. Well, technically, you were keeping some things to yourself but you weren’t lying just withholding the truth. It wasn’t the same thing.

“It’s for the person who accompanied me here today.”

“And who is that?” Joon asked, they were both overprotective, like older brothers, “you only have one friend and unfortunately I am related to him.”

“Not a friend. . Just someone I know.”

They hummed in unison exchanging suspecting looks between one another. Then, the bell on top of the door chimed once again, the same way it did when you walked in. You didn’t need to look to know who it was, his scent gave him away immediately.

“Hi, welcome to Namseok’s kitchen,” Jin greeted him.

“Hey,” he walked deeper into the restaurant until he finally stood right next to you as you continued drying off, “here. I got us lemongrass tea. I didn’t know what you like so I figured I get you the same as me.”

Grabbing the to-go cup from his hand, you reply, “yeah, I like lemongrass tea.”

You took a sip, basking in the heat of the piping hot liquid as it traveled down your throat and into your tummy. A tired whimper escaped your lips, as you became entirely immersed in the flavors of the lemony taste exploding on your tongue. There was silence around you but you could feel three sets of eyes on you and instantaneously your eyes shot open.

“I almost forgot Jin, Joon, this is Jungkook. Jungkook, this is Jin and Joon, Hobi’s brother and brother in law.”

“Nice to meet you.”

“You, too,” Jinnie smiled in his direction and Joon followed suit, “Jungkook..” He repeated, “why does your name sound so familiar?”

“I went to highschool with Hobi and..” he pointed at you, avoiding even the utterances of your name. There was no disgust lingering in his face but then again his expression was unreadable and you were sure he was masking his true feelings at the expense of the two men in front of you.

“I knew it,” he clasped his hands together but as soon as you saw the thoughts wiring in his head and connecting together you shook your head to prevent him from continuing. Thankfully, he understood immediately, “yeah, I thought I had seen you before.”

Jungkook also connected the dots because Jin hadn’t been in high school at the same time he was. Jinnie was three years older than you guys were and by the time he and Hobi had moved into town Seokjin had already graduated. But he was now aware that you had mentioned him in passing—now he knew that you had to have mentioned something about that time.

“I’m going to go check on those soups,” Jin announced walking back towards the kitchen, “Joon, come on join me.”

You walked past Jungkook with the brown cup held tightly in your grasp before taking a seat on the bench by the front window. The storm still ran rampant outside and the streets remained barren. Jungkook sat two tables down, near the wall, far away from you.

“Do I owe you anything for the tea?” You mumbled holding up the cup in his direction.

“I told you to not worry about it..”

“I didn’t know Seokjin would bring that up,” you didn’t look at him, eyes lulled by your dusty white converse, “I didn’t know he would remember you.”

“Just forget about it,” he shook his head, “you don’t need to explain.”

“No, I feel like I do.”

“You don’t.”

“Jungkook, please let me,” your eyes watered and your voice faltered.

He sighed, taking a small sip of the tea before continuing, “please don’t explain. I don’t need an explanation. I have buried it all, it still lives in my head but it’s buried and I don’t need to resurrect the tsunami of emotions that comes along with that..” he pointed at his temples, “it’s still here but please do not awaken them. I don’t want to brush the brush off of those memories.”

You two were the only people in the shop but you knew Joon and Jin were behind one of the walls eavesdropping. It was silent and the only noise in the small space was the whirring of the AC.

“Are our good memories also buried somewhere?” You knew better than to ask but you needed to know.

“I put those to rest first,” he admitted and your heart sank, “those memories, although good, were an incitement to everything else that lingered right behind. I had to get rid of those memories to get rid of everything else.”

��Okay,” tears were beginning to swell up in the corners of your eyes and you tried your best to blink them away, “yeah, that’s okay. I understand why you had to do that.”

“I’m sorr—” Jungkook began.

“Don’t, please, you’re not the one who should be apologizing to me. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I let you do that.”

The bell at the front desk chimed, ripping your attention away from Jungkook. Seokjin stood behind the counter holding two paper bags, “order’s up.”

Walking up you thanked him and grabbed the bags, “thanks. I’ll have Hobi venmo you for this.”

“Don’t even worry about it,” he smiled softly, “free lunches till you guys graduate remember. That goes for you too now, Jungkook.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I want to,” he handed him the smaller bag, “I mean it. I better see you around here more often.”

“Thank you,” he smiled brightly, the kind of smile you hadn’t seen him wear in years. It was radiant and lit up his face with warmth. The indents on his cheek were deep and they framed his rose lips like they were a work of art. Not even the silver hoop piercing his bottom lip shone as brightly as he did when he smiled. You almost forgot how good it looked on him and you couldn’t help but stand there and admire him taking mental pictures to keep forever.

He deserves someone better. Someone who’s going to make him smile like that until the end of time. Someone who wasn’t you.

“And thank you for coming along with her since Hobi couldn’t.”

“It’s no problem.”

“I would offer you guys a ride back home but Jin and I walked to work today. Guess we didn’t really think things through either.”

“It’s okay, Joon,” you zipped up your rain coat and pulled the hood over your head, “it’s only a five minute walk back.”

After thanking Jin and Joon, the two of you exited the store and cut in through the alley way before landing on the road leading back to the dorms. Once again, the two of you stood dangerously close to one another radiating off each other’s body heat and before you knew it the building came into view and Jungkook led you up the walkway leading you to the main door. You didn’t want to let him go. You didn’t want him to leave you but it’s not like you could actually say that.

You were a mere burden jumbled into bad memories and the worst years of his life.

“Thank you for coming along,” you pushed the thoughts although you don’t think you could ever really get rid of them.

“No thanks needed. I couldn’t let you take the trip on your own, especially not in this weather.”

He couldn’t let you. Your heart began to race as you tried to keep yourself from reading too much into his words. They probably didn’t mean anything… But what if he still cared? What if Jungkook still cared about you?

“See you around.” He nodded before heading off in the direction of his dorm.

I shouldn’t have said anything.

You turned around, but Jungkook was no longer near. His back was turned in your direction as he continued trotting down the sidewalk. Great! Now you’re hearing voices, after reaching for the metal door handle the voices reappeared.

Our memories are flavored in bitterness but I still can’t get her off my mind.

Jungkook was gone.

The thing about rumors is that they spread like wildfires and no matter how hard you work to extinguish that fire it is always too little too late. That’s how you felt as soon as you crossed the threshold from the bathroom and into the congested hallways. Everyones prying eyes read you so intently condemning you for the hypocrisy of allowing someone like Jungkook to permanently ink his lips on yours. The passionate dance the two of you composed left behind the imprints of his lips as he tattooed your skin with each one of the pecks he left behind.

Your phone buzzed in the back pocket of your jeans. You pulled it out, unlocking it, quickly seeing the photo your friend had snuck of you on his lap pop up. Your mouths devour one another and your bodies pressed together closely while your hand rests on his shoulder.

You wanted to frame it—live in the pixels of that picture forever.

‘Death complete bitch.’ Your best friend’s text read below the photo, ‘I can’t believe you actually kissed him.’

‘I can’t believe I did it either.”

‘What was it like?’

The worst part about it is that it had to come to an end. Your mind traveled an hour back and you recall the velvet feel of his lips as they moved against yours mimicking the softness of clouds. At the sametime his tongue was saccharine tasting of the sweetness of strawberries and maple syrup leading you to guess he had either waffles or pancakes for breakfast that morning.

All you wanted was to run back into that bathroom.

‘Nothing memorable. Just glad it’s over.’

‘Don’t worry you won’t ever have to kiss him again.’

Yeah, that was the fucking problem. You wanted to kiss him again, preferably you wanted to kiss him forever.

‘Yeah, thankfully.’

You didn’t know when that kill switch that made you a complete and utter bitch was flipped on, but all you remember were those calamitous days when you didn’t really know who you were and who you were meant to be. Those days were marked with pen squiggles, they were blurred and you chose to permanently turn the light off and lock the door behind you in that section of your brain.

Middle school was rough to say the least. But that was the beginning of your novel and you knew perfectly well who you were now.

You had the friends you did because they made you look good, you had the clothes you did because you had a reputation to uphold and you had the boyfriend you did because someone like you is supposed to be with someone like him. Those were the simple unspoken rules of high school and at first they were easy to follow until they weren’t.

Everything was simple until that summer before freshman year. The day you visited the park near your house and you spotted him, with his chunky black boots and signature black outfit matching his jet black hair. The two of you were only fifteen then but he already had a tattoo on his wrist peeking out of the sleeve of his crewneck, back then he didn’t have his lip piercing—not yet at least.

“I thought you only hung out in abandoned buildings and sketchy alley ways,” you remembered telling him that and the two of you spent hours on those swings talking the afternoon away. Back then, you learned Jungkook was a gentle giant disguised in an intimidating disguise. He was thoughtful in the way he looked at life and dreamt about the future, he was caring in the way that he spoke about nature, tattoos, music and everything else he held a deep passion for and lastly, he was attentive in the way he listened to you thoroughly drinking in every detail you had shared.

That was the Jungkook that made you fall for him in the blink of an eye but back then you didn’t know who he was and you were certainly not made aware of how things would end up.

The bell dismissing you from your last period class snapped you right out of your thoughts and you dashed out the door of the classroom wanting nothing more than to escape home and be left alone to bask in your thoughts.

“There’s a fight outside!” a few students called out running past you.

“Let’s go!” someone else yelled across the hallway.

You were nervous to ask but you did anyway, “fight? Who’s fighting?”

“Your boyfriend’s fighting someone,” a girl you didn’t quite recognize replied, “Jungkook, or something like that I think.”

By the time you made it to the parking lot there was already a crowd of people forming a circle around both boys. Jungkook held his bloody nose while your boyfriend clenched and unclenched his hand, likely to relieve the pain of hitting Jungkook. You ran in their direction but as you neared them you saw as the boy you called yours landed another punch on Jungkook’s face causing him to fall back on the concrete.

He didn’t fight back, didn’t even respond to the other boy’s insult. He just sat on the ground holding his face waiting for it all to be over.

“Hey,” you finally reached him, shoving him back to prevent another callous attack on the boy behind you, “what the fuck are you doing?”

“I saw the fucking picture,” he muttered through gritted teeth.

“The girls and I played a game of dare or death,” you explained, “it was only part of the death I had to complete. It didn’t mean anything.”

He lunged towards you and poked at your chest, “you still kissed him.”

The crowd went silent and your boyfriend’s anger highlighted the very thing you’d intended to place under lock and key—your pretty little secret no longer a secret or even pretty for that matter. You felt light headed and you weren’t sure if it was the punishing rays of the sun or the mental strain this was all causing.

You didn’t regret that kiss; you never would but you also thought that picture would stay between you and your friends.

A wave of murmurs swayed all around you and you knew your reputation was descending by the second.

You didn’t dare look at Jungkook, you knew his hypnotizing dark eyes would make you crumble. Seeing him like that. . The way he did all helpless and unprotected would compel you to care for him and cradle him in your arms until nothing or no one else could hurt him, “It meant nothing. Okay?” You heaved, “It meant nothing.”

Instead, you were dragged away from the boy your heart screamed out for.

Fuck, do I still like her?

Just shut up, Jungkook. It’s too early for this.

I shouldn’t be asking myself that. Ever.

Presently, you’ve gotten to know Jungkook for being reserved and fairly quiet, similar to how he was in high school except back then he actually spoke to you. But now, he is quiet and he doesn’t bother uttering a single word in your direction. The only times he ever addresses you is when he throws continuous jabs at you, landing every single one—he spews spiteful words of retaliation as a result of the shitty person were years ago and although you knew it was well-deserved that didn’t mean it hurt any less. Unlike his recently reserved outer shell, you quickly learned Jungkook’s mind traveled at the speed of light and for two days now, you could hear the constant battles of thoughts breaking out in his head.

Words crashed against each other; phrases were left abandoned half way through and ideas were left unfulfilled.

You groaned smacking your silk pillow over your face, your mind was exhausted on overdrive and increasingly overheating all because Jungkook couldn’t ease his thoughts and empty his mind at five in the fucking morning. Who. . Thinks this much at such ungodly hours of the morning, the sun isn’t even up yet.

The scattered clouds invaded the dark blue sky dusted in shades of purple.

Does she think of me?

I do.

Did she ever feel what I felt when we kissed?

I did—I do. I still feel it. Similar to how the sun feels on you on a hot summer day, the sparks on their ignited route as they traveled through every single inch of your skin setting it alight even today. You felt it then and you could feel it now.

Finally, his thoughts ceased and you guessed he’d probably drifted off into a slumber. He probably looked so peaceful you thought, grabbing one of your extra cushions, laid on your side and placed it in between your legs like a mommy pillow. Sleep came knocking on your door and your eyes began to feel heavy.

Jungkook probably looked like an angel as he slept. You could picture him laying in a sea of his messy sheets against his golden tone.

By the time you woke up once again, it was nine in the morning and the sun peeking in through the windows ripped you right out of your sleep.

Your room door burst open, “hey! I knew you’d be awake. What do you have planned for the day?” Hobi took a seat on the edge of your bed.

“Whatever happened to knocking? I could’ve been naked you know..”

“We’ve seen each other naked plenty of times.”

“Fair enough,” you laid facing the ceiling, “I wasn’t going to do much today just going to check Mr. Kim’s list. He posted it on the bulletin outside his class for our upcoming project.”

“Do you want me to make you something to eat before I go?”

“I’m okay. Thank you, though.”

He planted a soft kiss on your forehead, “I’ll be in the dance studio. You wanna come see me later?” His heart-shaped lips did very little to cover his pearly whites as he grinned, “I’ll give the front desk your name so they can let you up when you get there.”

“Please, don’t forget like last time or I’ll have to fight someone for real this time,” you said.

“Won’t,” he called out as he strutted towards the front door, “I promise. See you later.” You heard the door open and shut before you began falling asleep once again but the peace and quiet was very short lived because you heard him again.

What did I even dream about?

You wondered the same. Was he the type to dream up cute scenarios in that pretty head of his as he drifted off for the night? Did your face invade his mind in the late hours of the night? You hope you did.

Your name echoed in the basis of his mind followed by the emission of thunderous groans.

He seemed. . frustrated.

Ah, fuck. Yes, Jungkook just imagine it’s her.

The image in your head was impure as soon as you finally realized what Jungkook was actually doing. You’d imagined his hand disappearing under the base of the pyramid forming through his duvet. Stroking himself slowly, his head lolled back against his headboard, sweat glistening on his chest and forehead, while his eyes fluttered closed as his eyelashes batting away all reminders of reality.

I want her touch—need it. So bad.

You’d become too enthralled in the symphony of Jungkook’s whimpers that you hadn’t really noticed the death grip you had on your bed sheets as your knuckles turned white and the way your legs rubbed against each other in a desperate plea for some friction.

This was private. Jungkook needed privacy and while your mind opened a portal which prevented that, the best thing you could do was ignore him and the sensual persuasion laced in his bedroom voice, no matter how desperately he called out for you, it wasn’t right.

Ignore.

God, I would fuck her so good.

Think of something else.

With my cock buried deep inside of her. Fucking her into my mattress until she’s shaking with the overbearing stimulation of pleasure. Until, even her own name becomes a mere afterthought.

You grabbed your phone from the night stand but your lame attempt at a ‘distraction’ was useless. His words were addictive and you were already soaked right through your panties. Your sheets began sticking to your sweaty skin while Jungkook’s ardent words continued heating you up.

She would take me so well. Fuck!

A shower! That’s what you’d do—just take a cold cold shower to ease those thoughts and shut him out until he finally finishes.

You hissed as the hard pressure of frigid water hit your body from the shower head, even this wasn’t enough to mask the way your body shuddered as Jungkook continued. It was even more enticing that after everything—after his hostile gazes and cold words your face was in the forefront of his brain as he touched himself.

His alluring thoughts kept on playing one after the other and your cunt became the victim crying out to him with patterned pleas he would never hear. Your juices strolled down your inner thigh mixed in with the streaks of water and you could no longer bear the desperate thumps of aching cunt. You were going mad, honestly his stamina and self control were all to blame. The combination was torturous.

While you weren’t one hundred-percent sure of what he was doing the way his thoughts became sporadic weathering winds of pleasure and then tranquility. It was a cycle, he would be on the verge of succumbing to his peak and then all of the sudden he would stop. Before beginning once again and again and again.

The viciousness of his desire lasted until right around the time you turned the shower off and you couldn’t tell if for the past twenty minutes you had been in your own personal heaven or hell.

I hate how much I still want her.

I hate that I can’t have her.

You can have me, Jungkook. You can have me now, tomorrow and forever.

The heat was overbearing and you could feel the way your tank became soaked with sweat and the thin fabric stuck to your body. You heaved as you pushed open the glass door into the English building. Mr. Kim’s room was on the third floor and the bulletin board was stationed right next to his door. After opting out of climbing three flights of stairs you ride the elevator up and exit out to look at the posted partners for Mr. Kim’s upcoming project. Walking down the main hall you turn left and there it is—there he is.

The simplicity of his outfit was composed of a plain white tee, gray sweat shorts, and over the ankle white socks tucked into black slides. The colorful ink adorning his skin still peaked under the sleeve of his shirt, his black wavy hair rested on the nape of his neck.

The hallways were completely empty and his back still faced you so you kind of just stood there unsure of what to say or do. I mean you’d heard him masturbating just a few hours ago and while you truly did not mind even the slightest you weren’t quite sure how to even interact with him moving forward. While he seemed to despise you for the events that unfolded back in high school this morning was a complete change of events. His voice was dipped in sex as he moaned your name until he finally came.

God, why was it so hot in here? Is the AC really off mid-summertime?

“Hey,” his doe eyes stared at you, studying your off-putting exterior. Your eyes were blown wide, your tank was still soaked with sweat and you just stood there ogling him, “are you okay?”

He stepped towards you with worrisome eyes. ‘Oh yes Jungkook, I’m okay. I’m just picturing the way your hand climbs up and down the length of your dick, head tilted back, mouth slightly opened as groans form at the root of your throat. You know, the way you probably looked this morning.’

Instead you decided on a soft, “I’m okay.”

“You look like you’re about to pass out,” he placed his hand on your shoulder and you nearly fainted at the intense heat emitted from his skin to yours, “here, sit down,” he guided you to one of the lounge chairs sat opposite Mr. Kim’s class, “have you drank anything today?”

How could you kindly explain that was not the kind of thirst you were looking to quench.

“No. .” you shook your head.

“Okay, okay,” he grabbed a water bottle from the black backpack sitting at his feet. You hadn’t even noticed it before, you had been so focused on him the entire time, “here drink some.”

The bottle was half empty meaning his lips were on it and now your lips would be on it too. This wasn’t really what you meant when you said you wanted to feel his lips on yours but you didn’t really mind either.

“Yeah, sorry, I got thirsty on the way here,” he scratched the back of his neck, “I can get you one from the vending machine.”

You must’ve been looking at the bottle resting in his grasp like an idiot, “no, it’s okay Jungkook,” you rested your palm on top of his hand, “it’s not like we haven’t kissed before right?”

His eyes turned a shade darker than their usual brown and he cleared his throat, letting go of the water bottle right into your grip, “right.” he stepped back as if you were a cactus ready to nick him with one of your spines, “I was looking at the list for Mr. Kim’s class and we are partnered together with Jimin for the project.”

“Okay, should we meet at my place tonight or tomorrow? This is due this Monday,” you took a sip of the water tasting the remnants of Jungkook’s strawberry chapstick left behind on the rim.

“I have a basketball tournament due tonight but we can meet tomorrow if you’d like.”

“Tomorrow,” you repeated, “any time?”

“After four?”

“See you then.”

For the first time in forever Hoseok had actually left your name at the front desk of the studio on campus. After being left up you walked in through the double doors of the dance studio where the music blasted at highest volume and your best friend’s shoes squeaked against the shiny wooden floor as he moved throughout the room swiftly executing his choreography with perfection. Hobi was a force to be reckoned with and dance was his element.

“You’re here,” his professional and focused aura peeled back as soon as he saw you enter the room, “I need a break anyway.”

You sat on the floor with your back resting against the wall of mirrors.

“I’m here and I cannot believe I witnessed such perfection,” you clapped your hands, “I still cannot believe my best friend is talented enough to finally snatch me away from poverty.”

“You know I got us,” he sat beside you before laying his head on your lap. He was covered in a thin layer of sweat from head to toe, “but let’s not forget you chose to be poor.”

“I didn’t have much of a choice. I can’t really help having idiotic parents,” you shrugged.

“I know baby,” he cooed. Hobi was quiet which was definitely out of his usual nature where he radiated a blinding luminescent orb around his being. He fidgeted with the strings on his sweatpants and opened his mouth only to say it again.

“Hoseok, you’re anxious and it’s making me anxious. Just say what you need to say.”

You combed your fingers through his damp hair, “I saw they, your parents, left a voicemail for you last week. Did you ever get back to them?”

“No,” you sighed, “and I don’t think I want to either. Everything they tried to do and were willing to do was truly wicked and unforgivable.”

“You never told me what happened.”

“It involves Jungkook, of course, and everything we did while in high school, Yeonjun’s party the summer before senior year.”

“The one he threw the week before school started?”

“Yes.”

“To this day I still can’t remember shit about that night.”

You chuckled, “a lot of our classmates don’t remember that night at all but I do. I remember every single detail.”

He didn’t say anything so you continued.

Yeonjun’s lake house was like a maze. There were numerous narrow halls with an array of doors carved on each wall and it was the same for every single corner you’ve turned into so far. The little bit of alcohol you had began clouding your mind and you felt more intoxicated than you actually were. Your kitten heeled black sandals clacking against the hardwood floor sought a way out of this elaborate labyrinth and back to what you originally came for.

The music playing just a floor below faded as you traveled deeper and deeper into the second floor, although you could still feel the booming bass vibrating right under your feet.

You just needed a bathroom—not because you actually needed to use it but because you needed to take a minute to yourself. . to breathe. Every other corner of this house including the back and front yards and even the fucking lake are already invaded by massive seas of drunk teenagers. Their voices were too loud, the music was headache inducing and the atmosphere adopted a stench of sweat and b.o.

After ditching the red solo cup on a nearby console table, you leaned against the off-white walls closing your to block out the dim lights making you a bit lightheaded.

Seriously, who even had this many fucking rooms in one house. You mumbled.

Sure, your family was wealthy but you were nothing like the Choi family. Your parents were both doctor’s devoting their time to the tiny private practice the two of them founded but on the other hand Yeonjun’s family came from a long lineage of businessmen and they practically owned a handful of the businesses for miles and miles around.

You weren’t jealous of all of the extra zeroes attached to his parents’ net worth, you and your own lived comfortably enough to not have any financial complaints. However, his parents were more liberal and they didn’t clip his wings. They weren’t clingy or demanding and they certainly did not push anything on him that he didn’t want to do. Your parents were not this way, they were controlling, and they told you what to do and eat, who to hang out with and date. With covetous thoughts you wondered if there would ever be a point in your life where you could feel as free as Yeonjun did.

Maybe now that you’ve turned eighteen things would be different. Doubtful—your birthday was a month ago and nothing has changed. Unfortunately, you still lived under their roof and relied on their money.

You removed your shoes and hesitated whether to travel back down stairs and out somewhere into the depth of the forest but immediately erased the thought from your mind as you looked down at your bare feet, mini skirt and crop top. This wasn’t really an appropriate outfit to go off exploring the woods in the middle of the night.

The minutes continued ticking by and finally you spotted a door at the end of the opposite hallway with a vertical rectangular piece of frosted glass cut right down the middle. Your feet traveled down the heated floors before your hand reached out for the black knob; turning it slowly.

It was a rooftop balcony.

The railing was wrapped in garden lights, while two sets of black cushioned reclining beach chairs sat around a propane fire pit. There was a massive grill to the other side, a bar that would put a nightclub to shame and a huge patio furniture set.

Your eyes thoroughly scanned your surroundings before landing on the boy leaning against the rail staring at the idiots swimming in the lake below. For the first time since you met him approximately four years ago his legs were exposed under the light washed knee length jorts, he wore a white t-shirt and a pair of black and white checkered vans. Still, right up the alley of what his style embodied but you had to admit you missed his signature chunky boots.

He still hadn’t noticed you so you walked up slowly, “I never thought I’d see you at a party like this,” you whispered in his ear before jumping right beside him.

The moon rays reflected a twinkle in his dark eyes, “Yeonjun and I are cool.”

“So, why aren’t you down stairs?”

“Why aren’t you?” his gaze traveled from your black painted toes all the way up to your eyes as if he was studying you intently.

“Too crowded,” you shrugged, “and not enough room to breathe.”

Jungkook looked ahead, his vision once again consumed by the dark green and brown shades of the dense forest once again, his side profile put artworks all across the world to shame.

“Yeah, same,” he added, “I’m gonna let you in on a little secret but parties aren’t really my thing.”

“No way. . I’ve seen you at every party for the past three years,” he dramatically rolled his eyes at the sarcasm in your voice and you chuckled before continuing a bit softer, “is this your first one?”

Jungkook nodded, “first one I’ve been invited to and the first I’ve ever attended too.”

“We’re breaking records tonight aren’t we.”

“I guess I’m feeling a bit audacious.”

You sneered, “audacious? Big word.”

“Don’t tell me you think I’m stupid like the rest of our classmates. .”

“I did my internship in the main office last year which included sealing report cards and sending them off,” he walked to one of the chairs and laid on it placing both of his palms under his head. Was he flexing? Couldn’t be. “You’ve practically taken every AP class offered at our school and aced all of them too. It’s a miracle how you have managed.”

“What can I say?” he smiled and his cheeks rose like two loaves of bread in an oven, “I’m all brains baby.”

“Brains and beauty,” you corrected.

“I can’t also be ‘beauty’ when you’re here; living, breathing, being,” Jungkook is the personification of all of your desires and his aura worked hard to draw you closer and closer in his direction no matter how hard you worked to stay away, for his sake. Even when you tried to repel away from him the gravitational force he exuded called out your name and your tympanum became inundated by the wails of his being.

Only he lived in your thoughts.

The video-like memories you have shot of him throughout the years loop in your mind day and night. It was dizzying but you didn’t want it any other way.

“You are beautiful,” you let your thoughts roll off your tongue freely—too tipsy to care and too enthralled by his striking features to lie about what you truly felt. What you’ve been working so hard to suppress for the past few years. You were tired of hiding, so fucking tired, “with your big beautiful eyes, and your cherry lips and rosey cheeks and all of these tattoos,” you carried on, “oh, and those piercings. Don’t you know that Jungkook?”

He was flushed and his head became tilted down as he played around with the silver rings on his fingers, “know what?”

“That you are more beautiful than life itself.”

Jungkook scooched over on the chair and patted the empty space beside him inviting you to sit near him and you did. He laid on his side while his face rested on his left palm.

“Are you drunk?” he asked.

“I only had two sips of Hobi’s drink,” you looked up at him through your eyelashes, “I’ve been on cranberry juice most of the night.”

“So this is not a case of drunken words you’ll forget once the sun comes up?” he leaned in closer and you could see the faint freckles dancing on his cheeks and on the bridge of his nose.

His eyes sparkled projecting bright constellations never before seen in the heavens, “I could never forget anything about you.”

“You know I can’t believe that right?”

“Why not?”

“Because you’ve forgotten about me for the past year,” he smiled devilishly, “you haven’t spared me the time of day. I’ve missed your sneaky glances. The way you’d drop your pencil half way through algebra just to bat those pretty eyelashes in my direction kind of like you are now.”

“I didn’t do that just to look at you,” you clutched the thin gold chain hanging from his neck, guiding him closer to you, “I was just genuinely clumsy.”

“I’m just saying it’s funny how the pencil always fell in my direction,”

“Forget the pencil, Jungkook,” shivers cascaded down your back as his lips hovered over yours—his breath fanning against them. The aroma of lemon, and mint, with woody and balsamic undertones tickled your nostrils.

Jungkook shook his head, his eyes remained on your lips as you swiped your tongue along them, “it’s not about the pencil?”

“It’s not,” you added, tucking the few strands of hair that framed his face behind his ear. You just wanted to lay there with him forever, to be consumed by the warmth of his embrace, to lose yourself in the tenderness of his kisses, to wake up next to him tomorrow and also every single day after that.

“So just admit you wanted to lo—”

You lips landed on his and finally you remembered just how magical kissing Jungkook was except unlike that day in school the bathroom, today, it wasn’t a game. You were there on your own free will and you didn’t care who was around to see. The only concern clouding your mind was how much more of him you craved. The way your mouths moved each other made you feel inebriated, even more than alcohol ever could and you weren’t afraid to admit his lips had you addicted.

The silver metal hoop hung onto the corner of his lip felt cold, but so good in comparison to his heated kisses. Despite where you were or how many people currently invaded Yeonjun’s house it felt like you and Jungkook were the only two people on the entire planet. Just the two of you with your lips dancing on each other with the moon and the stars baring as your only witnesses.

Jungkook pulled away slowly—panting slightly, “please shut me up like that more often,” he held your face, resting his forehead on yours and pecking your lips continuously, “tell me you’ll do it. Tell me you’ll always kiss my stupidity away.”

You nodded, “Jungkook, how about I kiss you like that always and forever. Not only because of your stupidity as you call it but just because.”

“Are you trying to confess something?”

He sat across from you on the beach chair taking your legs onto his lap, his soft hands massaged the soles of your feet. You swallowed back the guttural groan riding up your throat melting deeper into the chair due to his therapeutic touch. His fingers moved higher and higher up the length of your extremities, halting right above your knees, yet he continued kneading his fingers into your skin.

“Tell me.”

You hummed.

“I need you to be an open book with me. What are you looking to confess?”

Your eyes remained closed as he continued touching you gently—almost feather-like, “Jungkook, I can’t really think when you’re doing that. .”

“Should I stop?”

“No, please,” you pant.

He continued kneading your thighs, “tell me.”

From the tips of his fingers currents of electricity trickled onto your skin, “ah, fuck. .” you breathed, “I like you Jungkook. I like you. Okay?”

Hobi sat up beside you, now leaning against the mirrors as well. The sun has begun its journey towards the horizon and its rays peaked through the slightly drawn blinds, “wait so you guys. .?”

You nodded but said nothing else. That night had been a secret between you and Jungkook.

“On the roof of Yeonjun’s house during our senior year back to school bash?” The surprise in his tone was evident but you weren’t taken back by it all.

“Yes,” you smiled faintly, unwilling to hide the giddiness you felt from the memories of your time together from Jungkook, “it was our little secret. We swore to each other we wouldn’t say anything to anyone. That’s why I didn't mention anything to you before but obviously someone saw and word got out that same night.”

Hobi sighed, “don’t tell me another fight broke out between him and your dumbass ex-boyfriend.”

You shook your head, “this time it was different. I wasn’t scared of what others thought anymore. In that moment I decided I would stop caring. I wanted to stop hurting him,” your clammy hands began to shake slightly and Hobi placed his palms on top of them to stop their trembling, “that night after the party we rode around all night aimlessly. Enjoying each other’s company and truly I was the happiest I had ever been all my life. Everything went to shit as soon as I made it home and walked in through the door. My parents waited for me to get in, they sat me down and began rambling about my change in behavior and how different I had become.”

He hummed and you took that as a sign to continue.

“As soon as I sat on the chair that night they slid over my mom’s phone and there was a picture of Jungkook and I kissing on one of the longue chairs. I swear I had dejavu from freshman year.”

“Did you ever find who took the picture?”

“I never did but I always figured it was one of my ex’s minions or something,” you shrugged, “to be honest, trying to figure it out was the last thing on my mind. They started talking and talking rambling on about my personality change and rebelliance and how Jungkook was the cause of it or some shit.”

“How did they even come up with that?”

“I asked myself the same thing,” you snickered, just thinking about it even now makes your blood boil, “but it didn’t matter. Being eighteen didn’t matter; they just wanted to keep us away from each other at all costs. They made all types of threats to make me press charges and file a restraining order which I obviously refused. Then, they vowed to make his life hell if I didn’t stay away and I didn’t want to find out what they meant so I decided to comply and stay away.”

“Okay, now I’m beginning to understand why you moved in with my family half way through senior year,” his thumb rubbed circles on the dorsal side of your hand, “were they mad when you left? I used to ask my mom if your folks ever reached out but she always avoided the question.”

“They were livid but nothing they could ever say or do would ever make me stay in that place.”

“Did they manage to leave Jungkook alone?”

“Well, after the big cut-off Jungkook and I were never able to find our way back to each other,” your voice was low, almost as if you couldn’t hear yourself it just wouldn’t be true, “and I moved in with you and your mom and I completely blocked them out of my life.”

“Good. I’m glad you ditched them,” he pinched your cheeks, “you deserve better than them and their money’s no good to you anyway.”

“I just wish I would’ve kept in contact with him. Maybe tell him what was going on or something,” you scratched the back of your neck obviously frustrated at your lack of communication skills as a stupid eighteen year old. You were such an idiot—why couldn’t you open your fucking mouth?

“We all make bad decisions at one point in our lives but you had no choice, baby. You were sandwiched into the wall one bad choice up against another. You made the best decision you could with the circumstances at hand,” he snuggled closer to you, wrapping one hand around your shoulder, “don’t beat yourself up over it please.”

“I love you. Seriously, I don’t know what I would ever do without you.”

He kissed your forehead, “I love you more.”

Today Jungkook’s highway of thoughts has eased and though you liked how calm the morning has been you also kind of missed the feeling of his lingering presence—almost as if your own shadow was missing.

You despised waking up towards the early hours of the afternoon but today you couldn’t seem to peel yourself out of of your bed, until finally you couldn’t fathom the idea of napping your day away—plus couldn’t do that even if you wanted to because Jungkook and Jimin would be over in about thirty minutes to begin working on Mr. Kim’s project.

Jimin had been the middle man in this entire set-up, he had both of your numbers so he took it upon himself to text the two of your separately (because he knew you and Jungkook were physically impossible of initiating a social exchange amongst yourselves), and get you both on board with a neutral territory to meet at. Of course, Jimin’s idea of a neutral territory involved a place where he could catch glimpses of his ex strutting around which meant your apartment was his ideal meeting spot and although his thoughts hadn’t revealed anything so far you just knew Jungkook wasn’t ecstatic about this whole arrangement.

After taking a quick shower, getting dressed and setting up a plate of sliced fruits and a couple bags of snack size chips and cookies you heard a light knock on your door.

Taking a deep breath you turned the knob before pulling the door open. It was Jungkook and as always he looked breathtaking. You were beginning to think comfort was his go-to because yet again, he wore sweats and a simple t-shirt—tattoos still peeking out at you, his bottom lip still pierced with the same small silver hoop, hair half up half down and his book bag slung on his left shoulder.

Removing his headphones he stared back at you as you continued ogling him, “hey. .” he greeted in his deep tone.

Why is she staring at me like that?

Do I have a stain or something?

He looked down at his shirt but when he saw nothing he just stared back at you tilting his head slightly.

“Hi,” you stepped out of his way and he finally crossed over the threshold into your apartment, “you’re the first one here so we’re just waiting on Jimin to make it before we begin. Please sit anywhere.”

He nodded.

The apartment wasn’t necessarily big but it wasn’t small either. An open floor plan made up the space between the kitchen and living room area with a rectangular island separating the two rooms. Immediately to the right of that was the door leading to Hobi’s room, then your room sat at the end of that hall just a couple feet away and the bathroom was just across from your door.

Yet even as you walked towards the kitchen and Jungkook made strides towards the love seat in the living room you felt like the two of you were cramped in a tiny box with the temperature hiked to the highest setting. God, there were about a million things you could say or offer him but nothing could ever mend his broken heart and that was enough to keep your lips sealed tight.

Where the fuck is Jimin?

I don’t know if I can be here alone with her for much longer.

And it’s so fucking hot. I’m gonna pass out.

Fuck, you knew it. He’s upset. Though you already figured coming here was probably hard for him, you didn’t imagine it would hurt you as much as it did to actually know how much he despised being in your vicinity, but it did.

Jungkook sat rather stiffly on the couch, bag still slung on his back as if he was ready to leave, staring off into the distance while his leg bounced up and down anxiously. Strolling past him silently you nearned the thermostat and cranked the AC up higher.

That’ll literally fix nothing at all.

You turned around taking a seat on one of the accent chairs near the row of windows on the opposite end of the living room. If it wasn’t for the invasion of his thoughts, the silence would be killing you softly.

“Have you heard anything from Jimin?” he finally looked in your direction but not into your eyes instead they lingered lower—in the direction of your legs. The hunger displayed in his eyes took you back to the night before when he moaned your name so sweetly.

“Nothing,” you tapped your screen to show him the lack of texts and placing the phone back on your thigh, his gaze followed almost like he was hypnotized.

You would give anything to hear him just one more time—Fuck, just once more.

He cleared his throat, snapping out of those sinful thoughts cooking up in your head, “yeah, same. And I’ve texted him like three times.”

“I’m thinking that little shit bailed even though he planned this whole thing,” you were scared to form your thoughts into actual words, “do you want us to start or would you rather wait for him?”

He breathed out almost exasperated—damn, you should’ve kept the suggestion to yourself. You were about to take it all back but then he finally spoke up, “We’re both here now. I think we can begin and then fill him in. . If that’s okay with you.”

“Yeah, I think that’s the best we can do,” did he just willingly comply with staying alone with you, “I’ll go get my notebook. Gimme one second.”

“Okay.”

Right. . Okay. Just here to get our work done. That’s all. That is all. Yeah.

You sat beside him on the couch startling him just a bit—he seemed tense, “so we’re supposed to pick a movie, and match no less than three scenes to at least one of the emotions listed.”

“I say we do the very minimum and pick the movie I’m sure we’ve all watched,” he asked, unzipping his bag and pulling out his notebook.

“Titanic?” you asked.

“No, The Blind Side,” he scoffed, “do we really want to sit here for one hundred hours just to recap the eternity that is Titanic?”

“But the emotions for Titanic are so easy to dissect; we have happiness, love, and jealousy right off the bat,” you argued, “the assignment is practically done for us already.”

“Yeah, but everyone’s going to do Titanic. We need to stand out. Be different.”

“It’s an intro to writing class. I vote for taking it easy, weren’t you just moaning about taking it easy anyway?” your tone was a bit condescending you’d admit but the way he scanned your figure was addicting. There was nothing you craved more in this world than to have his gaze drink you in as if you were his favorite drink.

“I wasn’t moaning.”

I was last night though.

You swallowed hard, biting your tongue and holding yourself back from going along with begging him to moan the way you’d heard him do so the night before. His husk groans so low and sweet, so fucking sweet, “But you were.”

“It was a suggestion. There was no moaning involved.”

“Well, maybe if you did moan I would cave and take your suggestion,” the words rolled off your tongue before you could ever stop them.

He smirked, “so you just wanna hear me moan.”

Don’t smirk.

Eternally mad at her, remember?

The internal conflict raging within him gave you at least a little bit of hope. As you mapped out the field of his thoughts you figured he wanted nothing to do with but distance himself; to be cold and standoffish but he also revealed he wanted you. He wanted you near—to hold you, kiss you, touch you.

It was confusing and headache inducing but you liked that you still lived in his mind the same way he lived in yours.

You shrugged, “maybe I do.”

“Please, don’t,” his eyes finally met yours.

Look away.

But he didn’t and you were glad he didn’t.

“Do you want me to beg Jungkook?” you purred low and slow—the translation intended was desperation and you hoped he understood exactly what you were hinting at. You were tired of hiding behind your emotions.

She’s a fucking pied piper and I’m the snake hyptonized by sweet song and mindlessly slithering towards her.

Yes, Jungkook. Come closer, come to me. If only he could listen to your thoughts, this would be a whole lot easier.

Fucking one way telepathy.

“Uh,” there was a mere blank look plastered on his features. His pupils were blown and a soft tint of rose dusted his cheeks. It was as if your words had sucker punched him and he was still processing the hit.

You moved closer to him on the couch, placed your hand on his thighs to balance yourself as you drew closer to his ear, “please, Jungkook. Please, I need to hear you moan again.”

Fuck.

Fuck!

He groaned and the honeyed husk tone sent a trail of goosebumps up your thighs resulting in your panties becoming moist, “please.”

“Jungkook, I want you,” it was the first time in years you’d heard those words adjacent to his name and fuck did it feel good.

Fuck it.

His calloused hands were now on your waist and he began guiding you to lay on the loveseat before your hand landed on his chest to stop him.

“I said I want you,” you sat him back down before kneeling in-between his legs. The fit of his sweats got tighter, lifting and taking on the shape of a tent, “you didn’t reciprocate the sentiment so that means I’m in charge here today.”

Tell her. It’s easy.

Tell her you want her too, you fucking idiot.

He never vocalized it but you didn’t mind—knowing the thought pranced around on his mind was more than enough for you.

“Are you okay with taking these off?” he complied, taking his sweats off swiftly, letting the pool at his ankles. Jungkook is fucking big and you were taken back by the sight, “good boy,” you cooed.

His head fell back on the headrest while his eyes were shut tightly and his breathing became uneven. Oh! He likes that. He likes being called a good boy; you made a mental note to call him that again if you find yourself in a similar predicament.

You raked your nails along his inner thigh, “Jungkook?”

He hummed.

“What do you fantasize about?” you laid your head on his thigh, his dick just a couple inches away from your face and truly all you wanted was to take him all in your mouth.

“Alot of things.”

You reached up, taking his length into your hold and he winced at the contact as you began moving your hand up and down once and once again, “I need more details than that.”

“I think of. .” his words became jumbled in his throat as you continued your very mellow and teasing touch, “of you doing, ah fuck, of you doing all these things to me.”

You clicked your tongue and shook your head at his semi-confession, “Jungkook, have you touched yourself while you think of me, hm?”

Of course, you already knew. You’d heard it yourself but you just loved seeing him become so affected and so sensitive as a result of your lewd utters.

Your palms traveled up to his pink tip and began rubbing circles with your thumb painting it white with his precum.

“Good boys don’t touch themself.”

Jungkook’s mouth remained agape but there were no words communicated instead he formed a sort of soft whimper, and that was the kind of motivation your body needed to go into overdrive.

You wanted. . No, needed to rid yourself of these suffocating ass fucking clothes, you needed to touch yourself—to release that tension aching so painfully in between your legs. But you didn’t. Today was not about you.

“I know. .” he groaned, digging his nails onto the black leather couch, “but when I have you invade my thoughts,” he paused looking for all of the right words, “I just can’t control myself.”

“Hm, seems like I have a lot to live up to compared to your fantasies,” you kissed the head enveloped in your hand before swiping your tongue along his shaft and he hissed.

His saccharine noises should be made into a playlist so that you could be able to replay them over and over everywhere you go but especially when you lay under the covers of your bed in the late hours of the night. The only thoughts occupying your mind would be the compositions of his lustful cries as your fingers worked diligently to get yourself off.

It was so tempting to just allow his hands to continue traveling down your stomach and waist, a few more inches and his fingers could be at the exact location where your body screamed out for his attention.

You wanted it so bad.

You tutted while clicking your tongue, “sit back, Jungkook,” you removed his warm feeling away from your lower back and placed them on his knees before patting them softly, “and keep your hands to yourself. Yeah?”

“It’s really hard to,” he said, “nearly impossible when you’re working so hard to get me off and you’re just sitting there squirming whenever I talk about touching you. Cause the thought has lingered around in your mind, right?”

“Jungkook, this is not how tonight is supposed to go.”

“Then, how is it supposed to go?”

Your hand began moving up and down his cock, pumping him once again before you felt the corners of your mouth beginning to sting as you wrapped your lips around him. It was painful. . Good painful though. With each passing second you bobbed your head on his cock working to take him inch by inch but no matter how much you tried, it was nearly impossible.

His hand snaked around your neck aiding you, sinking himself deeper into the warmth of your mouth. With strings of saliva streaming down your chin, puffy lips, heated skin and a sort of fucked out look in your eyes you continued the repetition.

Seeing him lose himself under the ministrations of your touch and mouth was overwhelming and drove you to the verge of nearly succumbing to the peaking orgasm lurking close by. Instead you diverted your mind to what you were doing instead of what you felt. Placing one your hand around the base of his balls massaging them into your touch, while you put firm pressure with your thumb on the perineum—and that’s when you saw the explosion of fireworks erupt in his eyes while his thighs began to shake.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, Her mouth is—fuck!

“I’m so close,” a needy whimper escaped his lips, “please don’t stop. Don’t ever stop. Please.”

You complied, nearly choking on his cock. The feeling of being nearly rid of your ability to breathe was addicting and yes, if tonight were to be your last day on earth it would be a pleasure to die with Jungkook’s dick in your mouth.

“I’ve been a good boy,” he cried out, “can I please cum?”

Been such a good boy. So good.

You hummed in approval right before he spilled into your mouth and you swallowed every bit of it before turning to see his splayed out body—all limp and tired.

After wiping the corners of your mouth you sat beside him on the couch. Your knees were red and stung just a bit but honestly you could do it all over again—all night if you could. Slightly, opening his eyes he looked down, placing a kiss on each knee.

“I never thought we would-” he paused momentarily, “we would do something like this ever again.”

“Really?” your voice became hoarse, “because I’ve thought about it for a long long time now.”

“You have?”

“I have,” you continued, “and I’d like to think you do as well but if you’re ever ready to actually admit what you truly feel you know where I’ll be.”

I do want you. So bad.

And my feelings for you have always remained the same. I still have feelings for you, I feel everything for you. I always have and always will.

He didn’t say a word but simply offered a sly smile before slipping away to get himself together in the bathroom.

… But you were not disappointed.

He needed time and that’s okay. You’d be more than happy to give him the time to dissect this peculiar relationship the two of you have. . developed. It’s the least you could do after all these years.

In your heart you just hope he finds his way back to you.

“So you sucked him dry and then you both continued to work on the project like nothing happened?” Jimin asked; his head laid on Hobi’s lap. Yes, they were back together. This was apparently the reason why he had missed the project session the night before.

“We were kinda forced to when your ass was MIA from the very meeting you set-up.”

He rolled his eyes, “nobody forced you to suck his dick.”

“Fuck you, Jimin.”

“Why don’t you begin by fucking Jungkook instead.”

“Jungkook and I aren’t fucking anytime soon,” you sighed spinning around on your desk chair. The ceiling seemed to come crashing down on you even as you thought of gravity of your fucked up reality, “it’s like I can feel that he still feels something for me but he just won’t vocalize it.”

Hobi caressed the apples of Jimin’s pink cheeks, stroking them lightly with his thumb. They were the picture perfect image of love—whenever they were not fighting of course.

“So you sucked his dick at the expense of what?” Hobi inquired.

“I really just wanted him in my fucking mouth,” you shrugged not really wanting to scramble for any other explanation because the truth of the matter is all of you would always calls out for Jungkook whether you wanted to or not.

“Oh, baby,” Hobi abandoned his place on your bed and kneeled in front of you holding your hands in his, “while I support all forms of slut revelations and tendencies as your best friend it is within my obligation to require you to tend after your heart.”

You nodded.

“Jungkook is alluring, captivating, mysterious and absolutely handsome—” Jimin cleared his throat behind him, but he ignored his boyfriend and proceeded, “and the two of you have a lot of history both good and bad but you have to understand what happened in the past is yesterday’s event. Jungkook can break your heart or hurt you in any way and it’ll be just as fucked up no matter what happened between the two of you back in high school. Okay?”

“Okay,” Hobi was right but how could you shut out the part of your brain which justified every single way Jungkook could tear you apart? Underneath the spark; shining bright in your eyes every single time he appeared in your line of vision you knew you deserved his wrath for every inconvenience you had a role in while inserted into his path.

“Don’t just say it. Mean it.”

The room felt smaller, suffocating, colder and Hobi’s words rolled around in your head in every single direction. The three of you were sprawled around your full bed watching a random movie Jimin had picked out. You sat up against the headboard while the two of them laid on their stomachs facing the television hung on your wall. You weren’t alone but your bed felt empty and as you looked off to your right you couldn’t help but be transported back to last night when you and Jungkook finally settled on the Titanic.

The tragic telling of two people who found their way to each other against all circumstances and the barrier of societal norms and expectations that stood in-between them. Of course, aside from Leo unnecessarily dying in the final act this could be a retelling of pinpoints on your relationship with Jungkook. You liked each other, your parents were against it, you lived in the moment and you let your heart lead a way here and there but as soon as the iceberg (your parents, your ex, and even you) became introduced as the antagonist the two of you found yourselves swimming in an ocean of heartbreak and despair.

You would always assume responsibility for every single way you hurt Jungkook in the past but if one thing must be crystal clear is that you also love him. You did back then and you do now—the only difference is that back then you were looking to please all of those around you and you suppress your feelings in the deepest pocket of your heart but you wanted to liberate it all. You were finally ready to listen to your heart.

It was a composition to a beautiful song, one so loud it courses through your very being, awakening your nerves and causing your thoughts to explode into a frenzy.

You wanted him here with you. Snuggling into you sharing longing looks and deprived touches.

You wanted him to be open and push all of his fears away.

You wanted him to realize that you were different now. Things were different and you would treat him so well.

I need to talk to her. Yeah.

Almost as if his brain and his phone were wired together you heard a ding go off right beside you.

‘Hey, can we please talk?’

Your heart sank because in your experience that sentence never led to a good thing. Never.

‘Sure. When are you free?’

‘Right now.’

‘Hobi and Jimin are home. You can come over if you don’t mind some company or we can meet somewhere else?’

‘Come to my apartment in 5.’

‘K.’

Jittery was the exact word you’d use to describe Jungkook at soon as he opened up the door to his apartment and stepped aside to allow you in. The length of his finger had a slight tremble and his eyes were blown wide.

You hadn’t really seen him like that in a while.

“Jungkook, are you okay?”

He nodded, “yeah, just a bit stressed with everything going on plus I’ve had like five energy drinks in the past five hours.”

“What’s got you so stressed?” you asked standing before him, you felt hesitant to sit anymore. I mean you did have his dick in your mouth like less than twenty-four hours ago but you didn’t want to push it and you certainly did not want to invade his personal space.

“Too many things, honestly. School for one. .” he ran a hand through his hair taking a brief second to determine exactly what he wanted to reveal to you, “work study plus now I'll be co-coaching the swim team as well.”

“You’re headstrong Jungkook,” you offered, “I’m sure you’ll do amazingly even with this hectic schedule you are so determined to take on.”

“I went to this psychic once and she told me my ambition to take on everything would lead to my demise,” he chuckled airily, “I’m beginning to think she was right.”

“Psychics are bullshit. Who says you can’t have cake and chocolate ice cream too?”

“Right,” you hadn’t noticed before but casual was Jungkook’s new staple. Seems like he has drifted away from his black boots and particularly dark toned outfits. You liked that version of him quite a lot, although you hadn’t really shown it in the past. However, you also liked the version of him standing before you where he maximized comfort and migrated to mostly tones of white, gray and nudes, “of course you would make that comparison. Cake and chocolate ice cream have always been your go to dessert combination.”

“Isn’t it everyones?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugged, “for example my nutritionist might say it’s too sugary.”

“Well, fuck the psychic and that nutritionist of yours too,” Jungkook’s laugh is just like the rest of him—inviting, sweet and genuine. When he laughs, it’s addictive enough to make you want to make him laugh again and again, just so you can hear that sound and see her giggly smile as much as possible, “forreal, but also just remember you gotta just live in the moment, don't worry about tomorrow or even yesterday. Today is all that matters.”

“I definitely agree but funny enough I kinda wanted to talk to you about what happened last night..” He cleared his throat, “on the couch of your apartment. Well you and Hobi’s apartment.”

You looked down at your dusty white converse before finding his eyes once again, “what exactly did you want to talk about?”

Go on. Go on.

“We’re good right? Are you okay after—well, you know,” was he worried about hurting you after you suck him off yesterday? God, you could suck his dick all over again and then once more after that or preferably until your jaw locks and your knees dissipate. Though, that still wouldn’t be enough to extinguish the burning desire in the pit of your stomach.

“What exactly are you asking?” you took a step towards him, “shouldn’t I be the one making sure we’re good especially considering all of our history together?”

“Forget that.”

Don’t bring it up, please. Just forget about it.

“I can’t Jungkook,” you sighed, “I wanna make sure we’re okay and I wanna apologize for what happened. Please, let me do it. I don’t want you to resent me for the rest of your life because of it.”

“There’s no need to. I forgave you long ago. The cold stares and snarky comments were always just a front,” he confessed, “I forgave you the second after everything went down.”

“And I thank you for that but I still need to do this. I need to get it off my chest,” you reached for his hand; the warmth of his hold settled your nerves and finally you were able to go on, “Please, forgive me Jungkook. For going through with that dare and kissing you in the bathroom. I did want to kiss you but I should’ve never let them take a picture; it only made things worse for you. I’m sorry for not comforting you after your fight with my idiot ex, although I wanted to. I was scared but you were too and it was my fault so I should’ve been there. I’m sorry for ghosting you after we spent the night together at Yeonjun’s party—my parents, they gave me an ultimatum and I was just a high school senior still very dependent on them and I know that’s not an excuse but I managed to make it one back then. Most of all I’m so fucking sorry for not reaching out to you sooner and making things right. I just hope it isn’t too late now.”

His hands abandoned yours and instead he leaned over before cupping your face, “I told you already. I forgave you for everything a long time ago.”

“I appreciate your kind heart and forgiving nature, Jungkook,” you leaned into his touch, closing your eyes in the process, “but still I needed you to know how truly sorry I am.”

“Please, stop apologizing,” he sighed, “the past is the past and you have no reason to be apologizing to me right now.”

“You keep saying that but I did and I do,” Jungkook’s stare was comforting; his eyes felt like embers burning your skin under the sun rays shining bright during the mid-afternoon sun, “and I will continue to do so at any given minute. I need to make up for all of that lost time—every single minute; every hour I’ve let you slip through my fingers. You deserve to be treasured, loved and cherished for the rest of your days and I will do just that if you allow me to.”

“What exactly are you asking me?”

“I’m simply asking that we allow things to ride out and perhaps the tide might just take us somewhere beautiful.”

He giggled, “do these sonnets just live in that pretty little head of yours?”

“My head is more than just pretty,” you challenge.

“I know that,” this is the giddiest you’ve ever seen Jungkook be. In recent times he had adopted a sort of hard shell, which he often wore like a shield but today as he leaned on his kitchen island with his head propped up on his palms he looked elated, “I just like the way you describe the potential of there being an. . us.”

“Do you like it enough to give things a chance? Maybe even go on a date?” the tremble in your extremities gave away just how truly nervous you felt, though you tried your best to hide it. You’d never asked anyone out before but for Jungkook you were willing to make the first move.

She’s so poetic with her affinity for love. I like the way her eyes light up when she talks about us being together.

“How about tomorrow?”

“I’m free tomorrow.”

The following day was a blur overshadowed by a nimbostratus cloud which swept in a vicious squall with gusts so powerful your room was left a literal mess as you spent hours prior to Jungkook picking up frantically looking for the perfect date outfit.

Now, you sat in your little casual red dress in the passenger seat of the car Jungkook borrowed from his best friend. Your balmy sat atop your thighs and you tapped your fingers lightly on your heated skin.

The night sky was beautiful—drowning with a million of bright stars and a moon so illuminating it spotlighted your path. Nightlife here roared with vibrancy and the sidewalks were congested with people bar hopping or looking for dinner spots among other things. This scene had great capability in finally claiming your attention away from Jungkook and his sinful thoughts but it was hard. Every single image Jungkook painted within the beauty of his mind blasted in your head seemingly like a framed art piece in a gallery. Except, the only difference was that roaming around a museum was peaceful, whereas Jungkook's wandering thoughts made you quiver and sent glacial shivers down your spine.

For the duration of the ten minute car ride he’s use the weapon known as his mind and managed to peel your clothes off, re-imagining the way your mouth moved on his cock, then, within seconds he painted a picture of what it would be like to fuck you against the hood of his car. You’d admit the depiction of you against the cold metal bumper with your dress hiked up to your waist, while he pounds into you relentlessly really was more than enough to ignite (with the man sitting behind the wheel; eyes hyper focused on the road ahead; and his tattooed knuckles gripping the steering wheel), about a million fantasies you wanted to fulfill with his assistance.

But the urge to have the heat of his touch roam every inch of your body became abated when Jungkook parked his car and you found yourselves sitting across from each other in the red booth of a seafood restaurant on the pier. The incandescent bulb overhead did very little to irradiate the space between you and yet Jungkook still looked as radiant as ever. The muffled and incessant chatter of the patrons scattered throughout the establishment became similar to the buzzing of bumble bees and truly you weren’t really too sure you could make out conversations they engaged in.

You were kind of nervous and although you’d hope it wasn’t too obvious you couldn’t help the way your eyes scanned the room and your body failed to comply with the simple order of sitting still.

“You look beautiful tonight,” Jungkook sat up on the leather seat and looked off outside the glass window drinking in the vicious waves as they crashed against the golden shore.

You look beautiful every single day.

“Thank you,” you smiled, “I see your signature black boots have finally made a comeback,” you followed his eyes out to get a view of the roaring sea, “I thought you might’ve grown out of them.”

This look—tonight was the epitome of teenage Jungkook core and you couldn’t help but savor the brief stroll down memory lane. Of course, back in high school you’d always had a tiny little crush on him and while you worked to get over it; that was not an issue today. You were gawking—practically drooling at how amazing his biceps looked under the sleeves of his white tee, his black jeans hugged his thick thighs and his hair was tied half up half down and of course those damned black boots.

“They’re my secret weapon. I just keep them in the back of my closet for special occasions.”

I also know they were always your favorite look on me.

“In that case, I’m honored that a night with me is considered a special occasion enough to bring out the boots,” Jungkook finally turned towards you, his eyes shining bright like jewels even in the shitty lighting.

“I figured it fit our little slice of history perfectly.”

“Don’t tell me these were the exact ones you wore that day?

“They are the exact same ones.”

“I thought you would have gotten rid of them with everything that transpired,” you whispered; talking about the past still felt taboo.

“I contemplated that many times,” he shrugged then proceeded in a timorous voice, “but I just couldn’t. There is an abundance of bad memories attached to them but the memory of my first kiss trumps all negatives.”

“Your first kiss?” Your shock was evident and for a second you had to look around just to make sure you weren‘t too loud but the people around the two of you were too into their own conversations. They were oblivious to the little corner you and Jungkook occupied towards the back of the restaurant—in your own little world, “I-I was your first kiss?”

He nodded before taking a small sip of his water.

“Jungkook?”

He looked at you, “what?”

“Are you being one-hundred percent serious. . I was your first kiss?”

Jungkook pressed his lips into a tight line causing his cheeks to become impaled by his chasmic dimples; then, he closed his eyes briefly before taking a deep breath, “I was a loser in high school. Of course, I was spared a few friends but in the ‘love’ department I was lacking severely so naturally no one was ever interested in pursuing anything romantic with me. Until, that afternoon when the girl I’d been crushing on finally walked up to me in the bathroom.”

“If I could go back in time and embrace the feelings that I had for you, Jungkook just to tell you how I actually felt I’d do it in a heartbeat,” your heart beat rhythmically in your chest and quickly you began feeling fatigued as if your air supply would be cut off if you didn’t peel back every single one of your layers and confess exactly how you felt.

“If I could go back in time and tell you what I actually felt despite the consequences I’d also do it in a heartbeat,” he murmured, taking your hands in his.

“Good evening and welcome to Under the Sea, can I get you started on anything tonight?” the server approached. Her hair was tied up messily and she wore a black polo and black pants while carrying around a small notepad and pencil in her hand. She seemed friendly but a bit overwhelmed—though, you couldn’t really blame her, this place is leaning a whole lot towards chaos.

“Yeah, we’re ready,” Jungkook said, a fib of course, the two of you had been too busy talking to scan the menu before she came over, “I’ll take the Cioppino. Anything looking appetizing to you?”

“I think I’ll take the Paella.”

“And for drinks?” she asked scribbling away on her notepad.

“I’ll have a Coke.”

“Same here,” the two of you handed back the menu, “thank you.”

“I’ll be right back with your drinks,” she smiled before walking off towards the kitchen.

The rest of the night at Under the Sea was brief and while you and Jungkook indulged in small talk here and there the two of you were starving and more concerned about getting something in your stomach. After leaving the busy restaurant Jungkook led you in the opposite direction of the parking lot towards the small park across the street from the beach. Right under the live oak tree there was a blanket laid out with numerous flameless candles flickering their feeble light around the very spot. As you got closer you noticed the basket sitting next to the blanket on the grass and the rose petals scattered around.

“Jungkook. .” You became stunned at the attention to detail of the man before you. Everything looked so beautiful, “you did this all? W-when did you even have the time to set this up?”

“I set everything up before our date and I know some of the workers from the restaurant and asked them to check in every once in a while and bring our snacks out like five minutes ago so nothing would spoil.”

“You prepared snacks for us?”

“More like I cut-up some fruits.”

“In that case I’m judging your knife skills.”

“Not too harshly though,” he tittered softly and airily. It mimicked the comforting tunes of lullabies, “come one, let’s sit. I have some things lined up for us tonight.”

You sat beside him on the velvet fabric, you folded your legs to your side and used one of the spare blankets to cover your lap. Before you there were two medium sized tabletop easels and a selection of paints and brushes.

Jungkook removed the white button up he’d left unbuttoned and kept on the white wifebeater. For the first time you finally had a full view of his sleeve; on full display. The black traces filled in with colorful shades adorned every inch of his right arm all the way down to his wrist. You had the urge to reach out and trace every single pattern but you held back—you and Jungkook were good but this is the beginning stage; first you have to dip your toe in and test the waters.

She’s staring at my arms. . Be calm.

Don’t flex. . Don’t flex.

Dammit.

He flexed, reaching up to brush a stand of hair back and out of his face.

You smiled, “so, what’s supposed to be our inspiration for painting tonight?”

“Each other. You paint me and I’ll paint you.”

“Jungkook, I’m a lousy painter,” you whined.

“The point isn’t for it to be good,” Jungkook began brushing soft strokes on the canvas, “it’s about the creative process. . the ideas that your mind interprets into art.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” you scoffed.

“Art didn’t always come easy to me.”

“How did you know this is what you wanted to do for the rest of your life?” you finally picked up a brush and squeezed a dash of paint on the wooden palette, allowing your hands to work freely—to create.

“The first time I drew anything for others to see was in high school,” his eyes were gleaming with thoughts of reminisce, “Ms. Julie, reached out to me sophmore year, said she needed my help designing the yearbook cover for the seniors that year.”

“I remember the cover that year,” Jungkook looked over at you and there was a layer of joy featured on his face, “it was absolutely beautiful and I also remember every single cover after that being just as amazing.”

“Thank you,” his cheeks were a crisp crimson now, “I designed all of the year books every year after that as well. Actually, I still help Ms. Julie from time to time even now.”

“That’s amazing. It’s truly a gift that your hands possess and I’m so glad we get to see what they create.”

Jungkook stopped his movements all together, his gaze no longer set on the easel, instead he looked downward, his cheeks still burned bright, maybe a little more now than before and by the paced heaves of his chest he seemed to be calculating his every breath.

“Thank thank you,” he stammered.

“And just so you know I intend to shower you with compliments, so get used to it.”

He beamed, “what about you?”

“What about me?”

“What are your passions?”

You shrugged, “Hm, I was never really good at anything back in highschool and while I knew I had to do something. I had a really tough time figuring things out.”

“But then. .”

“Then, I did an internship at the daycare on campus the summer before classes started and I realized how much I love being around all of the kids,” you said, “and at that moment I automatically knew what my major would be, come the fall semester.”

“Funny how life works right?”

“One-hundred percent.”

The cool draft of the expeditious night swept by softly allowing you to leave behind the once scorching afternoon. Right now, you became a resident in your very own slice of heaven and in your head the only people around for miles were you and Jungkook. For the past thirty minutes, the two of you haven’t crossed many words, you were too focused on contextualizing the perfect artwork—one that’ll remind him of you wherever he sees it.

Now, you were not an artist by any means but you tried nevertheless. The best interpretation of him you could come up with was to depict the sheer contrast between the different versions of himself.

The two were slightly different yet when meshed together working symbiotically to make Jungkook the perfect mixture of tranquil, mesmerizing and lulling all in one.

Your canvas was split in two—one side you painted baby blue with music notes substituting the clouds in what would be the bright afternoon sky and and a lousy excuse for a guitar sitting on the bottom. This was the version of him that lived inside and the one only a few people got to see. His mysterious aura and great passion for music. Then, on the opposite side you painted a black background in combination with it there was an abundance of colorful art supplies scattered all throughout. This one represented what he chooses to show and what many saw on the outside on his day-to-day course.

After some finishing touches you moved back on taking one last look at your work, “okay. . Here, I tried my best but it’s not your face. Just some things that remind me of you.”

“Let’s see,” he hummed excitedly, waiting for you to turn the canvas around.

“Be nice, okay?”

“I will, I will.”

When Jungkook was excited there were a lot of distinctive actions that communicated with his body and expressions. His eyes lit up like the explosions of fireworks on a summer night; his shoulders were raised up past his jawline and his cheeks burned bright.

“It’s not good, okay,” you beamed at his cheerfulness; it was cute how thrilled he was.

“It’s perfect,” he leaned closer to sneak a glance, “come on. Let me see.”

“Fine,” turning the canvas around felt like an invasion of privacy, although everything on it was solely about him, it was still like a clear window into your soul and how you saw him.

You’d never been this vulnerable before with anyone. Never.

He scanned the explosion of colors sitting in-between your hands. Jungkook’s lips curved up while the corners of his eyes wrinkled in amusement.

“This is amazing and absolutely the best depiction of everything I love.”

“Don’t lie to me, Professor Picasso.”

“I don’t lie about art,” he reached for it and you placed it in his hands, “and this is a masterpiece.”

You scoffed.

“I’m serious,” he argued, “this is going up on my art wall. Front and center.”

“This better be the only thing on your art wall,” you muttered.

Jungkook finally grabbed his canvas holding it close to his chest. . Well, as close as he could due to the wet paint, “Here’s mine.” he still had not turned it around for you to see.

“You know you actually have to turn it for me to take a look.”

He chuckled, “I know but nervousness is contagious. . Just gimme one second.” He took a deep breath before slowly turning the canvas in your direction and there you were. Same facial features, hair style and red dress you had chosen for the night. The talent his fingers convey is jaw dropping. It is evident Jungkook is an amazing artist through and through.

“Jungkook. .” You knew he was good; you’d seen the covers he had designed for the highschool yearbook back then, still, that didn’t prepare you for this in the slightest bit to see yourself from his point of view, “I don’t have an art wall but this will definitely be the beginning of one in my apartment.”

He guffawed while passing his painting over.

“I’m serious,” you continued, now closely examining his precise attention to detail. He got every single attribute down to the smallest scars and birthmarks, “your talent is impeccable. Just look at how amazing this is. It’s actually not fair at all. I want mine back.”

“No way! You can’t take back gifts you have already given away to someone.”

“Yes, I can,” you argued, “especially if my gift looks like shit next to yours.”

“It most definitely doesn’t. I already told you, I love it and it’s going up on my wall and there’s nothing you can do about it,” he leaned closer, placing a soft peck on your forehead and clutching the painting tight in his grasp.

You groaned admitting defeat, “but I am expecting a lot more paintings from you.”

“Always.”

Of course. As long as you’re beside me, and even if some day for some reason you aren’t, you’ll continue to be my muse forever.

His muse. You love the sound of that.

The sound of the pouring rain beat rhythmically on the glass window. For the next few hours your bed was your haven and Jungkook’s bare arms were your form of a warm blanket.

Although the clock on your night stand marked four o’clock, the day was as dark as night and as the sun refused to come out to play the dark nimbus clouds invaded the stretch of the expansive sky, refusing to allow even a single ray of light to illuminate your bedroom.

The power had gone out but the two of you had lit up some candles in various locations of your room. You were both in your underwear, semi-sticky with a thin layer of sweat coating your entire body as a result of the air conditioner no longer being on.

Even in the heat the two of you couldn’t untangle yourselves from each other.

“We’ve been laying here in the heat for hours,” his fingers raked over your shoulder and down to the middle of your back.

“There’s nowhere we can go to cool down for the day. I’m afraid these four walls are it for us today,” you complained.

“And moving will only make us hotter.”

“I think the two of us being tangled up like this is already making us hotter.”

His hands tightened around your waist, “yet there’s nothing you can say to let me go.”

“Then, it’s a good thing I don’t want you to let go,” you crossed your arms on his chest and laid your chin on them; looking up at him through your lashes taking in his figure as he laid back against the headboard.

“Why are you looking up at me like that?” he asked though his eyes were still closed.

“I just like having you. . here.”

“In your room?” he asked.

“In my life,” you confessed, “I guess I never thought we could make it here again.”

“I had faith—hope. I knew that eventually we would get to talk and forgive each other.”

Every fight and every bicker was a call to drive you closer to me. Immature I know, but it was all I could do and say to get close to you.

“You didn’t do anything wrong to me, Jungkook,” you traced lines over his collarbones leaving before sparks of electricity; you felt as they traveled down to the tip of your finger, “if anything I was constantly praying you’d forgive me.”

Forgiving you was the easiest thing I’ve ever done.

“I walked away after Yeonjun’s party,” he caressed your cheeks with the pads to his finger, “that was my worst mistake and I knew exactly how it looked too; like I just hit it and quit it.”

“You didn’t hit it and quit it, Jungkook,” you sighed, “I did that to us. I was the one who walked away from us. None of it was your fault.”

“But I let you walk away. I didn’t fight for us.”

“Hey,” you cradled his face in your hands, “I didn’t let you fight for us. This is on me.”

But I never went searching for you. I just let you—walk away. The night you got up from that longue chair on the rooftop of Yeonjun’s house I thought that was our beginning; I just never thought it could be our end instead.

“It’s on us,” Jungkook leaned into your touch, softly moving his cheek against your palm, “but we can only work to overcome our past. . Together.”

You held onto the gold link looped around his neck, clutching it in order to pull him towards you until finally your faces were just an inch away from each other, “Together.”

“Kiss me, please,” his breath fanned across your lips as you continued guiding him closer and closer to you—his eyes were closed once again and he completely succumbed into this trance of your navigation. His lips were warm and velvet; parting slowly before they landed on yours. You became lost in the way your heartbeat continued beating faster and faster. The soft ballad of the steady thrumming tickled your ears and along with the taste of his mint lips on yours you began feeling a bit faint.

The room was still hot, the power was still out and you still sat on Jungkook’s lap but now you became exhilarated riding off the feelings in the way your body connected. It wasn’t just the kiss—no, it was also the way his electric touch began tracing the lines outlining your body, traveling down between your breasts, then down your stomach and up your sides until they rested on your hips. Jungkook’s fingers teasingly toyed around with the elastic waistband of your panties, rubbing small circles on your lower back.

You were breathless pulling away from that kiss but in between breaths you managed to pull his forehead against yours before allowing yourself to speak one again, “Jungkook, can I tell you something?”

He nodded.

“I-I want you, Jungkook,” your brain felt like it melted right into mush and there were no coherent thoughts in your head that didn’t revolve around Jungkook.

You were dickmatized. Yes, you were.

“You have me.”

“I want all of you.”

“Take it all,” he whispered.

Do anything you want to me. Do everything you want to me. Do whatever you want with me. I am yours for the taking.

You felt the beads of sweat strolling down your body accompanying the slight tremble in your every movement. Still, you moved with the facade of faux confidence and soon you found yourself straddling his thigh, sinking down against his heated and sticky skin. Indulging in a steady pace you began moving back and forth against his thigh all while holding onto his shoulder for support. Jungkook’s head fell back against the wall but his hands never left your waist guiding your movements to the quickened beat of desperation.

“You look so pretty riding my thigh. You know that?” he smirked; his cheeks were the tone of wine. Jungkook bit his lip to maintain focus on the sloppy motion he continued to maneuver.

You hummed entirely consumed by that heated feeling in between your thighs—entranced in the way his soft whimpers only guided you towards that very place where you could finally reach out and touch the stars.

“Fuck—fuck, keep going, yeah?” you stammered never ever wanting him to stop being the root of your every desire.

What gave her the impression that I’d stop? This. . Us, it just feels so right. I will never be able to live in a reality where the image of her getting off on my thigh could ever cease—not after today. Not ever.

“Just-just let me guide you, baby girl,” his voice was low and husk followed by a series of unpaced breaths.

“Take me there, Jungkook,” you moaned.

Oh, fuck—I’ll take you there baby. I’ll take you there. I’ll take you there.

His fingers dug into you while his fingernails left behind marks of deep crescents traced on your skin. The guidance of his movements was near animalistic and the fabric of your panties was now sticking to your juices and there was nothing you craved more than the desirous urge to unravel under the trance of Jungkook’s ministrations.

Back and forth; back and forth you moved reaching higher and higher as your fingertips brushed touch the points of the luminous star and before you knew your teeth sunk into his shoulders suppressing your moans and your hips no longer followed the rhythm he previously set and you were finally swimming in the night sky—so high; so satiated.

“Oh,” you breathed, “that-that was amazing.”

“You tired yet?” he asked.

“Not at all.”

Jungkook hugged your waist and flipped the two of you over; your bodies pressing together heatedly against the ocean of sheets, breathing heavily as your lips pressed together once again. His hands quickly dipped under the waistband of your panties reaching for your inner thigh, until you felt him press the pads of his fingers in between your folds smearing the combination of your juices. After his torturous teasing he slipped two fingers pumping them in and out of you quickly.

“Oh, baby,” he finally pulled away from your lips, allowing a string of whimpers to slip past your swollen lips, “you feel so fucking good.”

“Jungkook, faster please,” you rocked your hips to match the beat of his fingers moving in and out of you.

“Is that what you want?” he hummed, “tell me. You want to cum at the mercy of my fingers?”

“Yes-yes. That’s what I want please.”

Jungkook laid beside you on the bed with his face buried in the nape of your neck. His hand still worked diligently to get you off as he whispered soft praises against the shell of your ears. You were in your very own depiction of utopia—euphoric with stimulation of endorphins.

“I’m close-close, Jungkook,” you dragged your nails down his back, likely leaving streaks of red trails behind as he quickened his pace. Meanwhile, you felt your body temperature skyrocket and the knot in the pit of your stomach tightened until it could not become any tighter and for the second time that night you felt how the storm passed and once again you floated throughout the night sky.

While Jungkook strove to read your body like the ink inscripted into the pages of his favorite book; the absence of his wandering hands made you feel empty—as if you couldn’t really breathe. At all.

“What happened, baby girl?” his lips traveled downwards on your body while his hands finally worked to unclasp your bra, (two orgasms later you couldn’t believe you still had all your undergarments on), and now your breasts became the forefront of his attack and leisurely he took each nipple in between his teeth smirking at your gasps and shudders as a result of your sensitivity, “are you the one who can’t stand the rule of not touching today?”

“Ah—,” he lightly bit the side of your left breast before kissing it better, “the only thing I hate right now is that your dick isn’t in me right now.”

He laughed; the booming sounds struck just like the raucous cries of thunder just outside your windows, “what makes you think I’m gonna fuck you tonight?”

“I don’t know. Maybe the fact that I can feel how hard you are against my leg.”

“What? This?” Jungkook sat-up on the bed working to remove his boxers. When he finally did he discarded them to the pool of clothes somewhere on your bedroom floor while his cock sat before you like it had been a few days prior. Jungkook laid back down in front of you, placed a tender kiss on your forehead before he moved closer towards you, lifting your leg up and allowing it to rest on his hip. Once positioned he began rubbing the head of his cock against your clothed slit —especially focusing on the sensitive bud.

He traced the lines of your lips over and over until you couldn’t take it any longer and tears began filling your eyes and you chanted hastely begging him to fuck you right into the mattress.

“Please, Jungkook,” a needy whimpered rolled off your tongue, “please fuck me, please fuck me please.”

Jungkook was now on top of you and he reached down, moving your soaked panties to the side before he lined himself at your entrance. You closed your eyes anticipating that moment when his cock would slip in and stretch you out so good you’d feel full beyond relief. And just as you imagined he slowly pushed himself past your entrance, your mouth fell agape at the sensation of his cock invading you inch by inch.

The feeling was immeasurable and better than anything you’d ever felt before.

“Will you be okay if I move?” he asked almost out of breath.

You nodded frantically.

“Just let me know if you wanna stop at any point, okay?” he remained still.

You nodded once again.

Jungkook moved cautiously, setting a lento rhythm—almost as if he thought you’d break if he fucked into you too hard. His tattooed hand brushed your heated cheeks as he continued his agonizingly slow thrusts. The room was still silent for the most part except now in company to the pitter-patter of the pouring rain the two of you contributed your very own duet composed of his guttural groans mixed and your shaky pants.

His lips left sweet kisses behind on both of your cheeks, then your nose, your chin and lastly your forehead.

She looks so fucking beautiful like this; all sweaty and aroused just for me. Fucked out just for me. I’m so lucky. So lucky.

“Jungkook?” you tucked your bottom lip under your top row of teeth.

“Yes?”

“Deeper, please,” you whined, “not faster but harder. I want to feel you deep in me.”

Deeper? Fuck. She’s gonna be the death of me. I swear she is. I’ll fuck you just how you’d like baby girl. I’ll fuck you right.

“Okay—okay,” he stammered.

Jungkook stopped his movements and pulled out momentarily as he adjusted his position in between your legs. He grabbed both of them and wrapped them around his waist before pushing past your entrance once again, and yes, it felt just as jaw dropping as the first time. Jungkook’s pace remained lento except now whenever he was about to push back into you he made sure to lunge himself deeper causing the sounds of his skin slapping against yours to echo within the walls of your room.

“Oh, Jungkoook,” you let out a drawn-out moan, chanting his name repeatedly, “right-right there, oh, Jungkooook. Right there. Please don’t stop.”

He continued penetrating you just as you wanted until once again, for the third time that night, you were on the very edge of the planet. You could see the exact place where the sky met the earth. Trotting towards the phenom you felt the way your heartbeat quickened and finally as you approached you began clenching around him until you witnessed an explosion of stars behind your eyes; a feeling so blissful your knuckles turned white as you clutched the sheets underneath you in your grasp.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck. .” he hissed pulling out quickly.

“What’s wrong?” you gasp at the feeling of emptiness now substituted by a ravenous void.

“I almost finished inside of you and we forgot to wear a condom,” his cock was held tightly in his hand.

You swiped your tongue on your lips, “would you like some help with that?”

“That is not how today is supposed to go,” he mocked.

“Fine,” you shrug, “but I was going to offer my body as an alternative.” Jungkook’s pupils become dilated, your words obviously peeking his interest, “come on my face, Jungkook.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

Jungkook towered over you on the bed, kneeling right beside you on the bed—by now you were spent, too tired to do anything but lay there and admire the way his head hung back as he worked to find his release. The design of his tattoos followed suit beginning all the way from his shoulder blade, to his flexed and veiny bicep all the way down to the tight clasp of his finger around his shaft moving hastily from base to tip.

“Look at you, baby girl. All eager for me to come on you,” Jungkook said through clenched teeth, “you’re so naughty for me. All for me.”

“All for you, Jungkook,” you repeated, “I can’t wait to feel just how warm you’ll be on my face. Come on, baby. ”

Your mantra of praises rolled off your tongue semi-automatically but you were needy to feel his seed on you so you continued using your words to aid him in the process of jerking off. He continued moving his hand up and down his length until the tip became painted white with drops of pre-come.

“I’m almost—” he cried out; his guttural whimpers sent waves of glacial shivers interlacing with the ridges of your spine.

“Yes, Jungkook. Be a good boy.”

“I am a good boy,” his labored breathing came out in puffs, “I am. .”

“Then, come on baby. I’m waiting.”

Jungkook was immersed in what you knew was likely the build-up of his approaching release. His chest inflated and deflated rapidly, while the muscles in his stomach tightened accentuating his already sculpted physique while his cheeks turned a bright scarlet.

“I’m coming!” He cried out.

The spurts of his white semen painted your face as he worked himself to the very last drop. Even in his moment of release Jungkook was careful enough to aim towards your mouth and chin and you licked everything within reach of your tongue.

“Let me get a wet rag and I’ll clean you up okay?” Jungkook stood from the bed and placed a kiss on your forehead before walking towards your bedroom door and opening it up.

A few seconds went by and suddenly you heard a loud shriek and a plethora of muffled words which sounded a lot like your best friend, Hoseok. Not a lot of time went by before you saw Jungkook enter the room frantically before slamming the door shut and leaning against the wooden surface.

“Hoseok’s home?” you laughed.

“And Jimin.”

“And they saw?”

“Mhm.”

“Please remind me to never leave this room naked again.”

“Yes! Please remind him!” Hoseok yelled from just outside the door.

A bursting titter erupted between the two of you and Jungkook climbed back into bed with you before he helped you wipe off the mess he’d made on your body, then laid down beside you.

“Can I ask you something?” You began snuggling deeper into his embrace.

“Yes?.”

“Will you stay here tonight?” You asked barely above a whisper—barely audible.

Jungkook rested his chin on the crook of your neck, “of course, I’ll stay with you tonight.”

There was no place you’d rather be than embraced in the solace of Jungkook’s warmth.

Tonight, tomorrow, and forever after that.

I’ll always stay with you.

an: you know what im about to say right? ignore the smut scene ~if you must~ it literally took me like two weeks to write because my brain wasn’t working >.<

i literally started working on this like a week before seven released…. *gulps*

#bts #bts smut #bts angst #bts reactions #bts imagines #jungkook angst #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook #jungkook x reader #jungkook x y/n #jungkook x you #bts jungkook smut #bts jungkook au #jungkook imagine #jungkook drabble #mentions of literally every member + txt’s yeonjun

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