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#with some editing and polishing of course

andthebeanstalk · 1 year

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"The Professor's Workshop"

An excerpt from my graphic novel script drafts, posted here without beta bc it motivates me to write. In this chapter, the protagonists David and Kuruk are being given a tour of Armadillo Island by its mayor.

"Just wait til you meet them!" RJ exclaims excitedly. "They're the mind of a generation - maybe two!" He now adds an additional spring to his step, and David has to jog to keep up with him, despite them both being very short men. Kuruk follows behind, looking deeply skeptical.

RJ leads them down a winding forested path to a more remote part of the village, continuing to talk about the island the whole time while occasionally asking friendly questions of his guests.

They arrive at a secluded building tucked away in the bright green foliage of the island. The building is made in the same unique colorful architectural style as the rest of the island, but it has an odd overall shape - as though it has seen many small additions and renovations over the years. Paint chips in a couple places, but otherwise it looks well-cared-for. Shiny metal vents and chimneys emerge from the roof and sides, gently emitting white smoke. A stone pathway leads from the sign to the door, nearly hidden in untamed tall grass.

Out front, a high-quality colorful carved wooden sign reads:

Doctor Professor Xosha Zapata, PhD

Chemist & Architect Extraordinaire

"The sign was a gift from me," RJ chirps, stopping for a moment to admire it.

"No kidding," David deadpans politely, obviously hiding a smile.

(Behind him, the side of Kuruk's mouth twitches upwards a little for just a moment.)

RJ is marches up the overgrown stone and knocks confidently on the door, which turns out to not be fully closed; it creaks open from his knocking.

RJ stands just outside of the doorway and shouts inside cheerfully, causing Kuruk to wince at the volume. "OH, PROFESSOR!!! Are you in, Professor? I've met the most lovely chaps and I'd love to introduce them to our island's premiere scientific mind!"

There is a distant muffled sound from within.

"... PROFESSOR?" RJ shouts again, looking slightly concerned, "ARE YOU ALRIGHT?"

An indistinct wobbly speech bubble comes from inside, ending in question marks.

RJ looks both worried and like a man on a mission. "WE'RE COMING IN TO CHECK ON YOU - ALRIGHT, PROFESSOR?" He shouts loud enough this time that David and Kuruk both wince.

RJ hustles in and our heroes follow hesitantly behind.

The small entryway opens into a large room with high ceiling. It appears to be a lab or a workshop of some kind. Skylight windows light the room with soft sunlight, and dust motes float in the air in the brightest of the rays of light.

In terms of the contents of the room, the place looks like if a cartoon professor somehow had even more ADHD than usual:

There are dozens of beakers and vials on a number of desks and tables. A few of the beakers sit on lit bunsen burners, bubbling with colorful substances and sending white smoke up into the vents above them. At least one beaker has bubbled over and created an unidentifiable burnt mass at its base.

There are multiple architectural drafting tables with designs and blueprints on them in various states of completion.

There are several chalkboards full of notes in messy handwriting.

Books, papers, notebooks cover nearly every flat surface and several of the non-flat ones. Many torn notebook pages have been taped to the walls. [I guess this fantasy world has an equivalent to scotch tape now. ... I'm fine with that.]

The only decorations are a cluster of very nice painting on a small section of the wall. (Readers looking very closely will notice they all have the same artist's signature - Epa, who runs the inn.)

There is nothing to suggest nefarious scientific activity. Real "absentminded professor" energy.

In the far corner of the room, a set of scaffolding and a ladder block off a small space.

"H-hello? RJ, is that you?" says a small speech bubble from behind the scaffolding.

"Aha!" RJ leaps in that direction impressively quickly for a tiny man in his 50s.

Before David and Kuruk catch up to him, they hear RJ's relieved and once again cheerful voice:

"Ah, professor! There you are, thank goodness!!! You had us worried for a moment there!"

"...'Us' ?" says the unknown person in a pinched voice.

David and Kuruk round the corner to see three things:

One: an incomplete 8-foot-tall architectural model of a building,

Two: a fallen ladder, and

Three: a very embarrassed-looking non-binary person whom they recognize as the amateur vigilante they last saw getting shoved into the town square fountain by Armadillo Woman. Ze is wearing overalls, safety goggles pushed up on zyr head, a white shirt with some almost neon-colored stains on it, and a safety harness.

Ze appears unharmed, but they are suspended in the air by a cord attached to the back of the harness, and they look exceedingly uncomfortable. Zyr feet are dangling high off the ground, and ze is slowly and involuntarily rotating in place.

"Oh." Ze says weakly at the sound of additional footsteps. "There's... more people to witness this. ...My lucky day." They look as though they'd rather melt away into the earth. As they speak, they continue to spin, and they miss their initial chance to look at David and Kuruk, not seeing their faces until spinning slowly back around.

RJ, however, continues with his introductions, gesturing grandly and earnestly. "Mister David, Mister Kuruk - please meet the esteemed Doctor-Professor Xosha Zapata! Professor, these are my new friends Kuruk and David! They're here for the festival!"

Behind RJ, Kuruk squints at being called RJ's "new friend." David just looks amused.

"Y-You can just call me Xosha actually I'm not really--"

Xosha stops as ze finally catches sight of David and Kuruk - zyr face somehow falls even further. "Ah. We've, uh, met, actually," they say with a pained smile.

RJ is delighted. "Really?!? Fantastic! You must tell me all about it! How you met, what everyone was wearing! Every detail!"

"Um, actually, do you think maybe somebody could get me down first, please?" Xosha says in a small voice.

RJ looks surprised to find Xosha still in the air; he presses his hand to his forehead. "Oh! Oh my! Of course of course - my apologies! - I just get so carried away! Gentlemen, would you assist me?"

David and Kuruk nod. Kuruk looks like he's questioning how his life has come to this.

"Tell us what to do, Professor!" RJ says with his hands on his hips.

What follows is a ridiculous comical sequence in which Xosha explains how this happened and the men help zyr get down.

Ze was standing on a tall ladder and working on the architectural model. The safety harness they're wearing supports their torso and pelvis, and it connects to a rope from a clever pulley system on the ceiling. The early light of dawn indicates that this was probably a few hours ago.

They lean too far to reach for something and lose their balance, kicking the ladder out from under them while simultaneously knocking the pulley controls out of their reach.

Their legs kick in the air as they tried to release themselves from the harness, but in their struggles they manage only to somehow tangle the straps of their overalls and cause a lot of discomfort.

The final flashback panel is a distant wide shot of the whole workshop with the lonely defeated figure of Xosha hanging comically from the harness in the background.

Per Xosha's direction, RJ and David find the pulley controls and begin to lower zyr down in stops and starts. The pulley system is not cooperating with them, and Xosha yelps in a mix of alarm and discomfort with each small drop. It looks very painful, and David winces in sympathy. RJ looks similarly apologetic.

After the first small drop, Kuruk moves quickly to stand under Xosha.

"I will catch you," he says, looking entirely unsure of himself, but ready nonetheless.

"Thank-- you," Xosha squeaks, "It's-- YAAHH--!!!"

They let out a final yelp as they drop the last few feet. Kuruk catches them from behind [either under the arms or by the harness] and slows their fall so they land safely on their feet. Kuruk continues to support them for a few seconds until they seem steady.

As soon as Kuruk lets go, however, Xosha whimpers and lowers zyrself to the ground in a comically pained ball. Evidently, hanging from a pelvis harness hurts one's crotch and hips like a motherfucker, and Xosha is too exhausted to pretend otherwise. They are still clearly embarrassed, but they seem to have accepted their humiliating fate.

RJ hurries over to help them take the harness off, crouching on the ground next to them and patting their shoulder consolingly. He asks them what happened, and he asks if they need help taking the harness off. Xosha accepts his help and explains, accompanied by 3-5 cartoony flashback panels:

In the flashback, ze is standing on a tall ladder and working on the architectural model. The safety harness they're wearing supports their torso and pelvis, and it connects to a rope from a clever pulley system on the ceiling that can be manually adjusted by the user. The early light of dawn indicates that this was probably a few hours ago.

Xosha leans too far to reach for something and loses their balance, kicking the ladder out from under them while simultaneously knocking the pulley controls out of their reach.

They are caught by the harness and the expression of pain on their face is ridiculous and exaggerated for humor.

Their legs kick in the air as they tried to release themselves from the harness, but in their struggles they manage only to somehow tangle the straps of their overalls and cause more discomfort.

The final flashback panel is a distant wide shot of the whole workshop - with the lonely defeated figure of Xosha gently swaying in the background.

In the present, Xosha buries their head in their hands and lets out a loud long groan; they lament how stupid their mistake was, and RJ reassures them that even geniuses make mistakes! Xosha insists that ze is not a genius. RJ declares that they are too modest. It is clear that this is not the first time they have had this conversation.

David takes in the absurdity of it all and he smiles at Kuruk across the room. Kuruk doesn't smile back, but he does meet David's gaze and there is a hint of a twinkle in his eye amongst his general bewilderment.

Finally, Xosha manages to get the harness off and sit in a chair, letting out a long sigh.

On the final page of the chapter, a large panel shows Xosha in a detailed, fully-rendered (shaded, inked, colored, etc.) shot with warm natural lighting. Ze looks up from their chair with an attempt at a smile that lands a little closer to a wince. The shot is framed to make them appear endearing in their awkwardness. They are both cute and anxious.

"So, uhh, I'm guessing you have some questions about yesterday?" ze says.

Below that panel, a banner with large font reads:

Tune in next time for Part 3, Chapter 7:

"The Professor."

[End.]

If you liked this and want to read the published scripts with concept art on AO3, you can do that! I get a comment on those like once every 3 months and every time it gives me serotonin for like 3 weeks tbh. If you don't mind an unusual reading format, then you can find sexy men tied up and rescued, gay sky pirates, budding friendships, autistic/ADHD friendship, so many Trans people, sexy fat characters, empowering disability representation, a group of actors who would fit right in with The Ember Island Players, a haunted mop, a magical trauma recovery library, a lesbian biker gang that robs imperialistic museums - AND SO MUCH MORE

Note to self: I think maybe I'll change Xosha's pronouns to they/them and zey/zem, instead of they/them and ze/zyr. Seems to fit better.

#original #the blacksmith #original character #original characters #I might delete this later #but I will eventually publish a more polished version of this scene with concept art on AO3 #graphic novel #short story #my graphic novel consists of about 13 parts/arcs that come together into one story #scripts and concept art for parts 1 and 2 are up on ao3. pt 1 is lots of hurt and some really juicy comfort. pt 2 is GAY SKY PIRATE TIME.#this is an excerpt from part 3. which is called The Amazing Armadillo woman and which i am frankly very impatient to finally finish!#This excerpt is from a chapter in which the guys get a tour of the town from the mayor. - RJ is the mayor. ('But please! Call me RJ!')#RJ is the real deal tho. He is based on Gomez Addams. RJ stands for Raul Johnston - after my two favorite Gomez actors #who are Raul Julia and John Astin - from the 90s movies and the 1964 tv show #fun fact! John Astin is the father of Sean Astin aka Sam Gamgee!#anyway all of RJ's his enthusiasm is 1000% genuine - he is just Like That.#and yes of course he loves his wife and children SO MUCH #also the concept art all has full image descriptions for visually impaired readers.#the finished novel will either have full image descriptions or - even better - an audiobook!#NOTE TO JACK: do not edit this post; this is not the most updated version of the script.

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gremlingottoosilly · 2 months

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Chubby reader who has a very small cooking channel x Konig who doesnt really care abt the food and watches her because shes pretty and looks cute in her pink apron

Konig who listens to your videos like it's ASMR. You don't have a professional sound mix, your editing is a bit choppy. Your recipes are good, but there isn't even enough people to watch it - mostly some bored housewives who need some background noise while they are replacing half of the ingredients from your browny to make something utterly horrifying. Maybe some people could only find very specific recipes from your channel alone. You're content with having a small fanbase, with being very personal around your viewers...then, somehow, you started getting...comments. Comments are normal. They should be, after all, just about loyal fans liking your content - but there is this one user with a particularly weird taste. The one who would always comment on the color of the apron you have chosen today, on your nail polish and the way you did your hair for the video. You have a harmless little channel, so you are not afraid to show your face on the camera - and the guy(or a girl, for that matter) would always comment on how pretty you looked. The type of makeup, the smile on your face - it was creepy, but you somehow felt...good while they were doing it. You decided to do a cooking stream for your channel's anniversary. You had a small, but steady growth, some of your videos not exactly blowing up, but having at least some popularity on other social media - so a little celebration is in order. you even got a sponsor deal from some cooking website, and you smile as you thank every one of your followers while you're making cream cakes - on the stream, of course, a bit nervous to talk in front of the camera in live mode. You forget yourself and lick a bit of a cream that got into your hands - you don't want to be sloppy and ruin the tender design of the cake. So you swirl your tongue around the tip, smiling as you joke about keeping everything clean. Then you get donation for 200 Euros. With a simple, yet terrifying "More".

#cod #konig x reader #konig #cod x reader #yandere konig #yandere cod

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murdrdocs · 11 months

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just read all your imagines and they are so good!! just on here to req anything hobie brown related cos god that man is so fine. maybe like a one-shot where they are fwb cos hobie doest do labels but gets jealous and then asks reader to be his gf and then shows her off to everyone. just like really anything u want to write tbh ✨✨

end of line | h. brown

description. being friends with benefits with your best friend, hobie brown, is fun and all, but you start to realize that maybe firm labels suit you better than whatever this is

includes. slight smut SUGGESTIVE 16+, fem!reader referred to as “girl”, fluff, sweet!hobie, pav gwen and miles mention, rockstar!hobie

a/n: i have no words this was supposed to be uploaded like a week ago but then i went to disney so ... sorry yall. also not edited well bc ... disney. edit: title from the song by daft punk bc tron <3

word count: 1.7k+

things are still in your bedroom. they always are right before he arrives.

you're not a psychic, nor do you have a "spider-sense" (which, with the creepy-sixth sense way hobie described it, you don't want one either), but you like to think that you can tell when he'll come by.

nights when you haven't heard much from him, but the sirens seemed to never stop outside, were usually when your window would creek as it slid up.

you listen out for the sound now as you finish painting your last nail. you'd used the quick dry polish tonight, in hopes that you wouldn't have a repeat of last time, when your fingernails weren't dried but hobie was incredibly impatient and when you were done, you'd realized that your right ring and pinkie fingers were smudged.

the bottle's closed, you'd blown on your nail to ensure it dried, and that's when your window slides open.

there's no point in looking back at him when he tumbles into the room. he starts mumbling complaints as soon as the window's closed, the sound of his shoes unlacing padding his words, something about some common thief who hobie was going to let go but then he went and messed with the lady on the street and her cat.

you'd lost the tail end of his words whenever he started walking closer to you. you sat up straighter, pushed everything out of the way, and waited for him to turn your chair around.

which, when he did, you looked up at him, small smile on your lips as you stared into his deep brown eyes.

"how's your night, hm?" he asked, a courtesy before getting to the real action.

you shrugged, pretending to think. "nothing. just a lot of this."

"no smashing societal standards? picking off misogynists one by one?"

a small laugh in the form of a snort from you. "nah. figured i'd take a day off, you know?" the sarcasm dripping from your words. that's not who you were. you wish you could've been like that, could've been like hobie. but there's one spider-person for a reason.

"oh, yeah, uh-huh..." and hobie trailed off as he leaned in, pointer finger hooking under your chin to pull your lips to his.

it always felt good to kiss hobie.

you'd fantasized about it for weeks before it actually happened. he's your closest friend at the moment, and he occupied the title before this arrangement even existed. and of course you had the worry about ruining your beautiful friendship if you became more, fear that you wouldn't be able to go back and you would subsequently lose probably the best friend you've ever had.

but that was no need to worry. because while you could let hobie pull you up and lead you to your bed, sitting back and pulling you into his lap while he kissed you with a tenderness you know so well, you could also just be friends with him, sitting side by side on the couch and having a movie marathon of horrible biopics without thinking about jumping each other's bones.

there's a balance here that you could only hope would've existed.

and it's never thrown off. not even when he pulls your shirt over your head and his full lips find your nipples and the slightly-faded marks he'd left a few days ago. not even when he switches your position, laying you back and kissing down your torso until he can bury his head between your legs. not even when you whine and cry just a bit, slightly begging for him to pull his suit off so he can fuck into you in a way that only he can.

you try not to think about the equilibrium of your relationship with hobie when your legs hook around his waist and the heels of your feet dig into your lower back. you try to solely focus on the way his cock fills you up perfectly, mostly long with the right amount of girth for your walls, tip reaching deep within you in an almost mind bending way.

but you can't help but think about the way hobie doesn't do labels when he helps you to your bathroom, where he lets the shower heat up while you sit in a shirt he left behind a few days ago when he'd shown up as just hobie brown and not spiderman. you can't help but think about being hobie's girlfriend when his big, veiny hands run along your skin after the shower, smothering you in shea butter as you struggle to hold your eyes open. and you don't bother attempting to fight off the lasting thought of being hobie's while he hums an unknown song to himself with your head on his chest, the deep sound of his voice and the vibration of his chest lulling you to sleep.

you need to be someone's.

the friends with benefits scenario was fun, it worked, it was glorious, but you don't think it's for you. and labels aren't for hobie.

so, you look elsewhere.

you're at hobie's show, standing in the back of the pub with a drink you weren't interested in, with some guy you really weren't all that interested in, either. but he smelled nice, and he seemed nice, and you were just looking to broaden your horizons just a bit.

you and hobie weren't exclusive, but maybe it's a little wrong to flirt with someone else at his show. but you were slightly upset, and craving attention, so it didn't matter.

not until hobie got off stage.

it took a while for him to roam over to you, but even then you were still entertaining the other guy. giggling, tilting your head, batting your eyelashes, your hip popped out and a manicure, that was still fresh, blinging as your hand rested on the bone.

he greets you with a term of endearment that he uses often, but it feels different in this circumstance. you tell yourself that it feels different because you want it to feel different.

"oi, babe! who's this bloke?"

his arm slings over your shoulder and you tense under it. your hands folding over your chest, your smile tightening a little.

“uh this is steven.” your hand reaches out to point to the man, a tight lipped smile spreading onto his lips.

“steven …” hobie repeats the name slowly, and without looking at him you can tell that he’s eyeing the guy up and down.

the air is stiff, the three of you are silent, and unfortunately, steven takes the hint to dismiss himself, and you instantly turn to hobie, a scowl on your face.

“what the fuck, hobes?” you’re pissed, but the nickname still slips off easily.

hobie shrugs and reaches into his back pocket, a cigarette appearing and he sticks it between his lips. instantly, your fingers pluck it out from his mouth, instead putting it in your own back pocket.

instead of looking upset, hobie looks amused. his hands reach out to grab your waist, and you want to give in, but you try to push his hands away instead.

hobie lets you, and you don’t know if your happy or upset with that.

“what’d you mean?”

you stare at him, deadpan, then gesture to where steven had walked away towards.

“you just cockblocked me!”

a cocky grin, almost a little condescending. “i didn’t ‘cockblock’ you, babes. you weren’t trying to get with that guy.” your eyebrow lifts and you can see realization come onto hobie’s face. “oh … you were?”

“yes! of course i was!”

“but why? you are i are together.”

“sure, hobes, but we’re not ‘together’.”

“yes we are.”

“no, we aren’t.”

“why do you think that?”

you suddenly feel a little insecure, eyes scanning the thinning crowd, ears noticing the way the volume in the pub is lowered. “because you’ve never put a label on it, bee.”

another layer of realization. hobie’s hands coming to your waist again, but this time you let him pull you in.

“i didn’t know we needed a label. but you’re my girl. and i’m your guy.”

your body heats up and you bite down onto your lower lip giddily, peeking up at hobie through your lashes.

"thought you didn't like relationships?"

"labels. i don't like labels."

there's a disruption in the atmosphere. goosebumps raise on your skin, the hair on the back of your neck sticks up, and even if you weren't aware internally, the way the magazine you were previously reading floats above the table would've tipped you off.

the portal opens shortly after, but you knew it was coming. it took hobie a while to tell you that he was spiderman, longer to convince you that he was spiderman, and a while longer to convince you of the existence society, and even though you know, you still get a little shocked whenever a portal opens.

he comes through first, thud of his heavy boots against the floor of his flat. the spoon in your mouth clings against the side of the bowl, your free hand reaches out to the tv remote to pause the episode as you look over at hobie.

"oi, didn't know you were still here." is all he says before he's walking over, pulling his mask off on the way, and leaning down. your head tilts up instantly to meet his lips in a kiss, your body warming with the way his hand pushes into the back of the couch, slender but muscular form caging you in.

you expect him to sit beside you and force you to give a recap of the episode, but he stands back, and then three other people come through the portal.

"oh ... are we expecting guests?" surprise sits in your words, the tone amplified when hobie takes your bowl of cereal out of your hands to finish it off himself.

"right," he speaks through mouthfuls, saying your name as an introduction to the other three. "this is pav, miles, and gwendy. spider people." you nod, waving at each.

"this here, is my girlfriend." three sets of spider-eyes widen with the admission and you can already sense what's coming.

"wow, you're pretty. 's nice to meet you."

"i knew it! i could sense the tension as soon as we got here."

"you have a girlfriend? wait. i thought you didn't like labels."

a small smile on your face as you tuck your hands in the pocket of hobie’s sweatshirt that you wear.

in coordination learned from how close you two are, you speak at the same time.

"he doesn't like consistency."

"don't like consistency, mate."

#hobie brown x reader #hobie brown x you #hobie brown smut #hobie brown fluff #spider punk x reader #spider punk x you #spider punk #celeste writs mcu #hobiesworld!#hobie brown #spider man across the spider verse

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astraltrickster · 11 months

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This submarine situation is so wild. I'm always morbidly fascinated by industrial disasters and shit, because as much as they're tragic, they're also...usually some incredible monuments to the hubris of the wealthy, and amazing cautionary tales, and this one...this one is one of the best at that purpose I've seen in my LIFE.

Three business moguls including the CEO of the company involved, one of their adult sons, and one researcher who is on the record saying that he'd be at peace dying on a dive, climbed aboard a cobbled-together submarine to go visit the wreckage of the Titanic - a ship all but synonymous with the hubris of man, the ship declared unsinkable, whose maiden voyage was packed with the highest of white high society (and that glamorous side that adorned the papers to drum up excitement was specifically white high society; this came decades before nondiscrimination laws, the first class tickets at the center of all this pomp and circumstance were restricted by racist policies typical of the time (*this has been edited for accuracy and clarity)). Of course, despite all claims to the contrary, this big metal behemoth was, in fact, no match for the might of the icy sea. The contrast of the celebration and the hype of the launch with the severity of the disaster in the end, the broken promises, it all feels almost too poetic to be real.

Someone looked at that wreckage and thought, "there's a market here." Seeing nothing but dollar signs resting on the graves of a thousand, he built a submarine. It looked lovely and polished and refined on the outside. On the inside, it had no seats, was visibly thrown together out of parts from camping stores and big box hardware stores, and was controlled with a video game controller and one button - a duty which was to fall to one of the passengers after a crash course, but today, fell to the CEO himself.

This man fired a whistle-blower during the construction. He complained about safety regulations. He built a submarine that was bolted closed from the outside. He came up with no emergency plans, despite the need being apparent. He charged a quarter of a million dollars to ride it.

He christened this glorified sardine can Titan.

And so, down these 5 went.

And, just like with the wreckage they were going to see, something went wrong.

And so they vanished.

It feels like a plot line that resulted from the writer's strike. It's so on the nose it feels like a story written by scab labor. And yet, and yet, much of this is common of industrial disasters. The Challenger disaster. Alaska Airlines flight 261. The ultra-wealthy choose spectacle and/or profit over safety, time and time again. It's the same story almost every time...though, this one certainly has its own unique twists. The purpose. The name. The man who organized this was not only staring down constant reminders that no man, no matter how wealthy, is any match for the sea - reminders of the awe-inspiring power of nature - and instead of seeing it as something to respect, he saw it as something to conquer, as a trivial matter.

And he, and those who trusted in him, are now paying the price, most likely with their lives.

Reality truly is stranger than fiction.

#current events #oceangategate

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thestoryofusstan · 2 months

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I Wanna Be Yours

pairing: boss!ceo!harry styles x reader

request: Omg, can I request a boss!harry fic where he’s mean to everyone except from her??

summary: harry is the notoriously mean owner of pleasing, and he might have a slight soft spot for the new girl in the marketing department.

warnings: cursing, not edited

you were extremely new to pleasing, a very famous brand known for their nail polishes and perfumes. ever since you started (about three months ago), you’d hear literal horror stories about the founder and ceo.

rachel, the girl who trained you, told you that he was just plain rude. it was safe to say you feared the day he came in. thankfully, he wasn’t around much. not at your location, anyway. you were at the los angeles location, but he preferred to stay at the new york one.

tuesday morning, you got ready like every day. put on your usual outfit (a skirt, white button-up, a blazer, and heels), along with some black fleece-lined tights and a headband to push your hair back. it was getting cold out, and you couldn’t get away with just a skirt much longer.

with your iced coffee in one hand, your macbook and a few files you’d taken home in the other, you walked quickly into the building.

“good morning, miss townes,” the concierge greeted you.

“morning, nancy!” you greeted back as you ran to the elevator and pressed the button.

“late?” nancy asked.

“almost! this stupid elevator—“ said elevator dinged, and you let out a sigh of relief. “speak of the devil. see you, nance!”

—

by the time you made it up to the marketing floor (the twentieth floor out of fifty), you were exactly on time.

you moved as quickly as your heels would allow, dropping your car keys, computer, and files onto the desk.

“right on time, y/n,” rachel teased as you sat down. the two of you had cubicles right next to each other.

“long line at the coffee shop.”

“lucky you weren’t any later,” she commented as you sat down and took a generous sip of the iced coffee that had almost made you late, “mr. styles is said to be coming in today.”

you nearly choked on your drink.

“you finished those edits, right?”

“.. uh.. yeah. yeah, finished them last night,” you lied with a nod.

“y/n! he’s ruthless— he will literally fire you! that’s the new launch, and it’s overdue!”

“i know! i know, but i’ve been so busy, and fucking josh keeps making me do his shit—“

“oh shit, shut up. he’s here.”

“what?” you squeaked, quickly cleaning up your desk and opening the new launch photos on both the desktop and your personal computer.

out of the corner of your eye, you watched as what had to be mr. styles strolled through with an assistant who was talking about what you assumed was his schedule.

“you’ll have a meeting with the investors at three, and we have some papers to sign—“

you tuned her out as you tried to speed up the editing— brightening colors and adjusting the text so it fit better.

and suddenly, the footsteps of mr. styles and his assistant stopped. directly in front of your desk.

“you,” a voice spoke, and oh my god, he was british, “i don’t know you. who are you?”

your eyes snapped up to meet his, “oh. uh.. i’m y/n.. y/n townes. i’m.. um.. i’m new.”

he mouthed your name as if thinking it over.

“you’re the one doing the edits for the new launch?” he asked.

“yes, sir.”

he nodded before continuing his stroll. because, of fucking course, his office had to be on the marketing floor.

you let out a breath, sinking into your chair. rachel grabbed your arm with a comforting smile, “it’s okay, babes. he could’ve been rude.”

“he’s gonna see i’m not done and fire me!”

“it’s fine, just don’t think about it.”

—

right as you were about to head out on a quick lunch break, mr. styles’ assistant popped up at your desk.

“ms. townes, mr. styles requested your presence in his office. you, as well, ms. evans,” she said, glancing at you and rachel.

“uh— me? for.. for what?” you questioned.

“you’ll find out. i have to find a.. josh richardson. go on.”

you and rachel shared uneasy looks as the two of you stood and made your way to mr. styles’ office.

“if i get fired, i’m jumping out of a window,” you muttered as rachel pulled the door open.

“ah, ms. evans. ms. townes…. where is mr. richardson?” mr. styles spoke.

“your assistant went to grab him,” rachel answered. “what are we needed for?”

“you’ll see… ah, mr. richardson. so kind of you to join us.”

even you could tell he did not mean that.

“what is this?” josh asked, looking to you and rachel.

“you three were all put in charge of the new launch. correct?”

you all chorused variations of yes.

“and yet… nothing is done. why is that?”

you glanced to your shoes. you knew rachel was done. the whole project was all three of you were to make 300 campaigns and promo photos for the new nail polish launch. you'd devided it to be 100 each, and you all picked however many billboard designs, posters, social media posts, and so-ons that you'd do for the project. however, josh had slowly but surely pushed all of his work onto you.. until you had to do 200, and you only had around 130 done.

“i expect an answer.”

“i.. i finished all my photos and campaigns,” rachel finally said.

“i'm nearly done with.. my things. i was just helping josh before i--“

“so.. what i’m hearing so far, and correct me if i’m wrong, is that mr. richardson hasn’t been doing his job?”

josh cleared his throat, and you could feel the daggers he was glaring at you burning into your skull, “yes, mr. styles.”

mr. styles nodded, and you understood the horror stories now. he wasn’t even trying and he was terrifying. “do you like your job, mr. richardson?”

“yes, mr—“

“so why aren’t you doing it?”

“i— i’ve been.. busy.”

“busy.. right. well, i’ll make you less busy. you’re fired. get out.”

“wh— what? you can’t fire me!”

“i believe i can. and i just did. so get. out.”

“i have worked at this company for eight years! i make one mistake, and—“

“i will not ask you again!” mr. styles shouted, standing up from his chair. you flinched. “because i am not asking you, i am telling you. you are fired, and you will leave this building. and don’t even think about puttin’ this place on your resume, i won’t say a single good word about your ass.”

josh scoffed and stormed out of the room, you and rachel followed.

you turned the corner, yelping when someone grabbed your wrist and yanked it.

“what the hell, y/n? you said you’d do my—“

“i didn’t say that. you just assumed i would. i am not just apart of the valentines launch, josh, and i have fifty other things to do, and i can’t drop that just because you’re lazy.”

“you better watch what you say to me—“

a voice spoke from behind. mr. styles’ assisant, “uh.. miss townes? mr. styles requests he speak with you.. privately.”

you yanked your arm back, rubbing your wrist, “yes. of— of course. sorry.”

you walked back towards his office with your head down, glancing up at him once you entered the room.

you were surprised to see a... calm look on his face.

"miss townes, correct?" he asked.

"ye-.. uh.. yes, sir."

he smiled, which was very odd from what you'd seen of him so far, "you can relax, darling. you aren't in trouble. have a seat."

you hesitantly wandered towards the chair on the other side of his desk.

"what did you mean by.. helping mr. richardson with his work?"

"oh, well... he just.. he kept saying he was busy and asking if i could do.. certain parts of his work. and i--.. well, sometimes i'm a bit of a pushover, so i said yes."

"i see... and how much of his work, in total, did he push onto you?"

"uhm... all of it, mr. styles."

his eyes widened, "all of it? and you didn't tell a supervisor he wasn't planning on doing any of his work?"

"i.. i felt bad," you shrugged, looking down at your hands.

"yes. well... mrs. maruska, can you please bring mr. richardson back in here for a moment, please?"

you jumped when his assistant spoke behind you, not realizing she was even in the room.

"yes, mr. styles."

it was silent for a minute after the door shut, maybe two minutes, until the door re-opened and two pairs of footsteps entered.

"mr. richardson, before you leave, you are going to do something for me," mr. styles spoke. "you are going to apologize to y/n--"

you nearly choke on your own spit at his use of your first name.

"for making her do all of your work. and.. you will also apologize for whatever the hell that was i heard outside. that is no way to speak to any colleague."

josh scoffed, "i'm not apologiz--"

"i'm not asking."

mr. styles gaze switched to you as josh begrudgingly sighed, "i'm sorry, y/n."

"it's okay," you murmured, glancing at him.

"no, it isn't," mr. styles quickly interjected, keeping his eyes on you. you much preferred them on you than on josh. they were a lot kinder when they focused on you. softer. "but.. if ms. townes says it is alright... you may leave now."

you aren't quite sure what happens afterwards, because you keep your gaze away from mr. styles, because you're afraid he'll notice how nervous he makes you.

"how many did you have left?" mr. styles asked quietly. softly.

"i have 130 done. so.. seventy left. but i-- i can get them done soon, i promise. i can just stay late, or.. or--"

"no. none of that. you'll submit the ones you have.. and we'll figure out something for the rest."

"really? i mean.. are you sure?"

"i wouldn't have offered if i wasn't. you can go, now."

"thank you, mr. styles," you mumbled, standing and walking to the door.

right as you grabbed the handle, he called out.

"oh, and y/n?"

you turned around with a furrow in your brows.

"let me know if you have any other problems."

you can't even help the foolish smile on your lips as you nod and leave the room.

a/n: part 1!! i really love this request

#harry styles fic #harry styles oneshot #harry styles one shot #harry fic #harry styles au #harry styles angst #harry styles imagine #harry styles x reader #harry #harry styles #boss!harry styles x reader #boss!harry styles #ceorry #ceo!harry styles #ceo!harry styles x reader

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aseaofyoongi · 8 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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nanowrimo · 7 months

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Write Smarter, Not Harder: 5 Ways to Conquer Chaotic Writing

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katiexpunk · 4 months

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okay i’m feeling a little delulu and playing pool with the boys right now. ideas are rolling and i want a fic where joel fucks reader on a pool table (breeding kink maybe?!?) you’re the best

Run the Table | Pairing Joel and Tommy Miller X Fem!Reader

Summary: You're home for Christmas, only to find yourself there for the New Year. You decide to blow off some steam, only to end up at Joel's Place, your old local watering hole. Bits of your past get dredged up, and before you know it, Joel and Tommy have you bent over a pool table. Word Count: ~6K Warnings: Dubcon from the perspective that the reader is a little drunk, but she's definitely a willing participant. Family feuds. Alcohol. Age gap implied but not referenced explicitly. Flirting and bantering. Threesome with the Miller Bros. Betting. Pool. Oral (m and f receiving). Fingering. Praise. Use of daddy. Fucking on pool table. Pool. Suggestive use of a cue stick. Dom undertones from Joel. Hard core breeding kink. References to pregnancy. Cum kink. Cum swallowing. Praise kink. Unprotected p in v. Creampie. Use of pet names. Tommy and Joel are suave in this, but reader gives them a run for their money. Use of slut. No descriptions of reader, except that she has boobs and hair. Minimally edited. Filth, filth, filth. Authors Note: Thank you so much for the ask, Abby @javipispunk/@barzalmatty! This was such a treat to write. You naughty girl, I hope this inspires you, or at the very least, makes you O. Thanks for submitting this ask in babe, ily. This will be my last fic of 2023. Thank you all so much for your continued support.

Masterlist | Read on AO3 | Notifications

The living room, which was all holiday cozy a few days ago, now feels like a battleground in the weird liminal space between Christmas and the New Year. You can’t remember the last time you spent more than three consecutive days with your family, and now you remember why.

The family drama has hit an all-time high, with arguments about the dumbest stuff echoing through the house – your mother yelling that someone put her Pyrex in the wrong cabinet, your father yelling at your brother for adjusting the settings on the remote. Hell, even the dog is over it; spending most of the day lounging in front of the LED fireplace that your mother picked up at Costco last winter. You never really understood that one, given your living room has an actual functioning fireplace.

Of course, you all love each other, it’s just that the festive candle is now nearly snuffed out; not to be lit again until Thanksgiving. Or if your mother had it her way, Easter, but you haven’t cared much for Easter since that one year that your cousin Ron ate way too many hard-boiled eggs and couldn’t stop farting all night. Never again, you swore to yourself then, and still swear to yourself now.

You come back to your hometown maybe once a year, twice if someone dies. You haven’t lived here in years, and yet the streets bear the weight of nostalgia, each corner holding echoes of memories that time has both polished and weathered. The town is a paradox, frozen in a bittersweet dance between familiarity and change.

You’re cozied up under a blanket on the couch, a glass of red swirling in one hand, the Eve Babitz novel your roommate gifted to you in the other. Try as you might, you just can’t seem to relax; the words on the page are blending into a snarled blob of ink. The tension is too much; the heavy air in the house makes it difficult to concentrate. Fuck this.

You throw on your coat and slip out of the house. I’m going out, be back later, you call out but you don’t wait for your words to be acknowledged before the front door slams shut, not that anyone was listening in the first place.

You pause on your front stoop in the cool night air and take a deep inhale, tilting your head up to the sky, the moonlight coating your face like a veil. The winter air that fills your lungs makes you feel alive, and it’s then that you realize how close you were to suffocating mere moments ago.

You stand under the stars and consider your options before eventually landing on the best of them. Your old watering hole from college; the one with the heavy pours and the best pool tables in the town – Joel’s Place.

The snow crunches under your feet as you make your way there. In the silence, it’s easy to let your let your mind wander. You haven’t been back in years, and yet, your mind still drifts to thoughts of dimples and salt-and-pepper curls. You wonder if he’ll remember you – not likely, you think.

Your stomach flutters at the thought anyway.

++++

The door to Joel’s Place creaks open, releasing a gust of frigid winter air that clings to your coat. Note to self, bring a scarf next time. The warmth inside is a welcome contrast, and the familiar scent of the aged wood and whiskey acts like a time machine and transports you back in time to your early 20s. It’s just the same; the mahogany bar, stools with cracked leather seats, and vintage beer signs adorning the walls.

While aspects of the town may have changed, you’re pleased to find that Joel’s Place has not.

As the door swings shut behind you, you find yourself in a familiar dimly lit space, except – it’s not – it’s quiet. A little too quiet. The pool tables in the distance stand untouched, their felt surfaces waiting for the familiar crack of balls colliding. The hanging lights above them cast a warm, dim glow, illuminating the emptiness that seems to linger. It starkly contrasts the energy you were surrounded by earlier in the night.

The place is empty, except for one customer at the bar. The bartender – Joel, you hope – is nowhere to be seen. You hesitate for a moment, taking in the scene before deciding to sit an appropriate two stools away from the man, not wanting to be awkward. You don’t think he would mind, not really, but you suppose the rule in a situation like this is similar to public transport etiquette. If there’s more than one open seat, you never sit directly next to anyone.

“Excuse me, sir – is this seat taken?” You ask, a hint of sweetness and formality behind your voice. You know it’s not, but the manners that were hammered into you from your tidy upbringing are hard to shake.

The man looks at you, the neck of the beer he’s nursing parting from his lips as he does. Now that you have a full look at him, he’s quite gorgeous. Olive sunkissed skin, dark curls, deep brown eyes that all but scream trouble.

“All yours, sugar,” he responds. And oh, he’s southern to boot, with a hint of a twang behind his inflection.

You slip your puffy coat off your shoulders, revealing your ensemble for the night; a simple pair of jeans and a tight long-sleeve cashmere sweater that cups the curve of your breasts and lifts them just right, a lovely slit down the middle that exposes just enough. You hook your coat under the bar and pull out the stool, its metal legs scratching against the floor as you do.

“So, the producers didn’t have enough to pay for some extras for this show, or what?” you joke, a slight smirk on your face as you settle yourself onto the stool.

“‘Spose not,” he responds, a hint of a smile on his face as he brings the bottle back to his lips, his eyes locking with yours as he does.

“And the uh–bartender, Joel, if I remember correctly,” you say, a questioning tone behind your voice, “he here, or is this just a one-man show?”

And wouldn’t that be something, you here all alone with just him.

“Can’t be a one-man show with you here, darlin',” he responds, his dark eyes drinking you down like the beer in his hand. “He’s here, just in the back hooking up a new keg,” he adds.

“Oh,” you respond, your voice a smidge too high – like you’re some fucking school girl about to see her crush in 3rd period. “Good, that’s good. Can’t have all of our friends here go thirsty,” you retort, making a vague gesture with your palm to the empty space in the bar in an attempt to recover yourself from your very obvious interest in the bartender being here. So stupid.

“Can’t have that, they’re a rowdy bunch” he responds with a wink and you flash him a warm smile. “You’re funny, I like you,” he adds, “name’s Tommy, by the way, and you are?”

You give him yours with an extension of your hand. His swallows yours, but he’s gentle and discerning with the shake he gives it. He holds you there, just looking, and you feel a warmth creep up to your face. With your hands still interlocked, a broad figure pushes through the door from the kitchen with a resounding thud.

You turn to face him, and his amber eyes immediately find yours. Your breath hitches in your throat, your pulse quickens, and you’re now acutely aware of the fact that you’re still linked with Tommy.

“Well, I’ll be damned. Either ‘m getting old and my eyes are deceiving me, or it’s little Miss Shark sitting at my bar, chatting up my brother,” Joel lets out, his voice low and even. The corners of his mouth lift and you think he might smile, but his face goes just as unreadable as always as he grabs for a bottle behind the bar. “Been a long time since I’ve seen you around here, sweetheart. Good thing, too. You ran out some of my best-paying customers."

You don’t dwell on the comment, your mind is too absorbed, drunk off the fact that he remembers you. It’s been years, but you swear he hasn’t aged a day. You can’t help but eye fuck him as he slides a glass in front of you, and pours you a finger of whiskey. Not only does he remember you, but he remembers your go-to drink, as well.

As you lift the edge of the glass to your lips, you see Tommy shift his gaze from Joel and back to you, his face twisted in an expression of disbelief.

“Wait, little Miss Shark,” he begins, tipping the bottle in his hands in your direction as if to point at you, “Yo–you’re the one who ran the tables here for years? Shit, darlin’,” he says, dropping his gaze to the bartop for a moment, trying to hide the fact that he’s impressed, before looking back at you under his lashes.

“That so hard to believe?” you respond, your voice coated in the warmth of the alcohol. Your cheeks are hot, but you’re not confident it’s just from the liquor; more than likely it’s a result of Joel’s eyes, heavy like boulders, that haven’t left you since he walked in.

Tommy doesn’t answer you.

“Not my fault they underestimated me,” you retort, nursing down the amber liquid in your glass.

Joel laughs.

You and Tommy both turn to face him.

“Bullshit, sweetheart. You knew exactly what the hell you were doin’,” he adds, nodding his head slightly to you, the bottle hovering in his hand, signaling you for a refill. He pours a glass for him and Tommy this time, too.

You look at him, mouth slightly agape like you’re waiting for him to finish his side of the story. He turns to face Tommy, one hand resting on the edge of the bartop, his knuckles bleaching under his weight. The other grips the glass in front of him.

“This one used to sit at my bar, let men buy her free drinks, and then she’d work pool into the conversation,” he says, pausing to take a sip. “She’d be all, ‘I’ve never played, maybe you could teach me blah, blah’ batting her pretty little eyes until they’d cave. By the end of the night, she’d have them makin’ bets and melting like putty in her hands.”

You try to hide your embarrassment behind your glass. He’s not wrong. You used to do that. You’re not sure if you did it because you were bored, not like there’s much else to do in this shit town anyway, or because you liked the attention, but whatever the reason you have to admit it was fun.

Besides, most of them deserved it anyway. If losing a few hundred dollars was the biggest price they’d have to pay for flirting with a young college girl while their wives sat at home waiting for them to come home and half satisfy them, well then, you were okay with that. Plus it kept your rent paid.

But that was a long time ago; it’s been ages since you’ve even picked up a pool stick. You just hope that the old idiomatic expression, old habits die hard, rings true for you now.

The alcohol that courses through your veins gives you a sense of confidence to be a bit bold. You prop your elbows on the sticky bartop and gaze up at Joel. “You gonna kick me out then, Joel? Punish me for all of my wrong-doings?” you flirt, testing, teasing. You flint your eyes over your shoulder to look back at Tommy, and can’t help the surge of arousal that you feel when you notice his eyes are already on your backside. You look at Joel and see the clench in his jaw, the furrow in his brow, his pupils blown wide open.

“No, ‘m not gonna kick you out, sweetheart,” he says, filling the glasses once more. Between that and the wine from earlier this afternoon, you’re already feeling quite buzzed, and more than a little reckless. You watch him complete the pours before reaching for your glass.

“But you are gonna have to make it up to me somehow,” he adds. Your pulse doubles and there’s a familiar tug at your navel when you think of what he might mean. Before you have time to respond, he adds “Tell you what, I’ll make you a bet this time. You see Tommy here is a bit of a pool shark himself, and well, baby you already know what I am.” Both of them look at you with dark, hungry eyes. “You beat us, you can have whatever you want,” he adds.

Your skin feels hot, and you suddenly wish you opted for something cooler than a sweater. “And if either of you wins?” you ask.

“Guess you’ll just have to wait and find out,” Joel responds, downing the last of his drink, shooting Tommy a knowing look.

It’s a trap, you know it is.

And yet you agree.

++++

Joel rounds out from behind the bar and leads the way. He walks past the front door and locks it before pulling the plug on the neon open sign that hands in the nearby window. As you three approach the pool table, Tommy picks up a cue stick leaning against the nearby wall – he twirls it in his hands and hands it to you. He picks up another and passes it to Joel, before finally grabbing a third for himself.

“Hope you’re not a sore loser, Darlin’,” Tommy says with a wink.

You playfully roll your eyes. “We’ll see,” you cheekily respond, toying with the end of the cue stick and rubbing chalk on the tip end of it, being a little suggestive with your movements. Both Tommy and Joel notice.

You gather around the table, and Joel sets up the balls. “Alright, break time. You’re up first, sweetheart,” Joel says. You lock eyes with Joel for a moment and fuck, this is gonna be rough. He has you so flustered and you haven’t even started.

You refocus your gaze on the triangular arrangement of balls. You steady your feet and bend over the table, smiling a little when you feel both of them look at your ass. With a swift motion, you strike the cue ball, scattering the rest across the table, sinking a solid and a stripe into two adjacent pockets. Not so bad for being a little rusty, you think.

Joel lets out a low whistle and looks at Tommy. “Shit, brother, we might be in trouble here,” he says. You smile at the compliment, and round around the table so you’re directly in front of Tommy. You look at Joel as you bend over the table, lining yourself up to hit the solid ball with a clear path to the pocket in front of it.

Your ass skirts against the front of Tommy’s crotch and his breath hitches in his throat. As you’re about to take your shot, a large palm ghosts over the curve of your hip, and the sensation causes you to miss the shot. Fuck.

“Aw, what’s the matter sweetheart, you a little distracted?” Tommy coos.

They wanna play dirty. You can play dirty.

Joel’s up next. His broad frame rounds around the table, and his shoulder brushes against you as he does. He finds his best angle and deftly lines the cue stick up, his biceps straining under the cloth of his shirt at the new position. You walk over to the line of his shot and bend over on the opposite end of the table, your tits spilling out of the slit in your shirt, effectively distracting him. He takes his shot and misses.

They wanna play dirty. You can play dirty.

“Ooo, good effort on that one,” you tell Joel, placating him, “better luck next time,” you conclude with a wink. Joel clears his throat and steps back from the table.

Tommy circles the table next, attempting to find an easy shot. “So I’ve been thinking, we should make this game a bit more interesting,” you say. You watch as Tommy bends over and lines up his turn. He pulls the cue stick back, and just as he’s about to knock it against the ball, you finish “For every shot we miss, we have to strip a piece of clothing." The shock of your words causes Tommy to miss his shot.

“Guess that means you’re starting us off,” you tell Tommy. He shoots you a look. His hands find the buckle of his belt and he undoes it, discarding it on a nearby chair.

The three of you play like that until both Joel and Tommy are clad in nothing but their boxers and socks. You, on the other hand, are still mostly clothed, except for your sweater. Your game started rough, but despite their best efforts to distract you, you’re running the table.

With only one ball left on the table, you walk up to where both of them stand side-by-side. You stand there facing both of them, and they allow their eyes to linger on your chest. Tommy is standing with his hands cupped in front of his crotch, in an attempt to hide his growing bulge. Joel, however, is unreadable as ever.

You lock eyes with him as you snake your arms behind your back, fiddling with the clasp of your bra. You unhook it, your nipples stiffening in response to air. He casts a quick gaze down to your breasts but doesn’t allow them to linger before he looks at you. His jaw is stiff, and he looks at you like you’re something to eat. Keeping your eyes peered into his, you hold the bra out and give it to Tommy. The moment is so charged. So many things being said with no words, all body language discussion.

You take a few steps back before turning around to grab your cue stick that’s resting against the edge of the pool table. You walk over to the other end of the table and line up the final shot of the game. “So I’ve been thinking about what I want as my prize,” you say, bending down far enough that your tits smush against the felt on the table. “And what’s that, sweetheart?” Joel asks. You let out a little hum of satisfaction, dragging the cue stick back. “Want you both to fuck me, right here on this table,” you add, punctuating your statement with your final shot. You watch with bated breath, releasing it when you see the last ball on the table fall into the pocket.

The three of you stand there in silence, waiting for someone to make the first move.

“You heard her, brother,” Tommy says, advancing towards you. “A bet’s a bet.” His hands find your hips from behind, and he pulls your backside against his firm body, dropping his head to nip at your neck. His lips trail up the side of the sensitive skin there and you let out a little purr as his tongue darts out to lick your pulse.

Your lusty gaze watches as Joel closes the gap between your bodies, and he pauses inches from you. He lifts his palm and uses the backside of it, trailing his knuckles down your cheek, over the soft swell of your chest, until his hand opens up and cups your breast.

It’s all dizzying touch, your vision already a little fuzzy from your buzz, and with Joel’s hand on your body in addition to Tommy’s mouth, you’re the one who’s putty in their hands this time. Joel brings your nipple to a stiff peak using his thumb and forefinger, before he lifts them back up to your face. He hooks two fingers under your jaw, tilting you up to face him.

“You’re such a fucking tease, you know that?” Joel says, voice low. You look up at him with doe eyes.

“I know. Now what are you going to do about it?” you taunt.

Tommy stops his affections on your neck and looks up to lock eyes with Joel. He gives a knowing smirk and Tommy reaches his arms around your body and begins to undo the button on your jeans, the zipper following, before he's pulling them down far enough for you to step out of them.

“Oh, sweetheart. We’re going to fucking ruin you. Right here on this table, just like you asked,” Joel says.

“Think you can handle that, hmm? Want both of your daddy’s to stuff that pretty little cunt of yours until you can’t think straight?” And fuck, he’s filthy. His words go straight to your core and you feel slick pooling in your panties, your pussy just begging to be touched.

Before giving you time to respond, his large hand comes down to cup your sex.

“Shit, baby. All this for us?” Joel asks. Your eyes close when you feel Tommy continue his assault on your neck. You’re pinned between both of their bodies, their hard cocks pressing up against you from both angles. It’s already so intense. The want, the sheer desire you feel for both of them is almost overwhelming.

“Use your words, Darlin’, we wanna hear it,” Tommy rasps against your skin.

“Ye–yes, all for you both, want you so bad,” you respond with a moan. A groan reverberates through Joel’s chest, and he gives Tommy the same knowing look they’ve shared all night.

Tommy steps back and comes to stand by Joel’s side. “You’re gonna have to earn it. On your knees, baby,” Joel commands.

You fall to your knees and feel the hard, wooden floor against your bare calves. You position yourself in front of both of them and fold your hands in your lap, waiting for one of them to give you further instructions, practically worshipping at the altar of the two gorgeous men above you. Joel reaches down and brings his pointer finger to lift your chin to face him. He runs his thumb over your lips.

“So pretty like this,” he rasps. As he releases you, they both nod and you take that as permission to release both of them from the confines of their fabric prison.

You start with Tommy, dipping your fingers beneath the band of his boxers. Instinctively, your eyes find Joel’s and you glance at him as if to ask for permission again. He nods once more, and you drag them down to the middle of Tommy’s thighs. The cock that springs free is fucking delectable; a perfect width and a sizable length. The tip is prominent and there’s a thick vein bulging along the side of it. He’s well endowed, and thank fuck for that. Your hands reach up to grasp the base of it, and your tongue darts out to lick the bead of pre-cum that’s welled at the tip. It’s salty and delicious, leaving you wanting more, more, more.

You pull your mouth away from Tommy and replace it with your hand, slowly and firmly stroking the length of him, his skin smooth like butter under your palm. He starts to protest when he realizes what your next move is. You use your free hand to release Joel from his fabric confines and moan at the sight of his cock. Of course, they both would be blessed below the belt. As delicious as Tommy’s cock is, his older brother has a bit of a lead on him.

Truthfully, you’re not surprised in the slightest. Joel’s cock is well above average in length, but the main attraction is the thickness. Just from the looks of it, your fingers probably wouldn’t meet if you wrapped your fingers around him. His girthiness intimidates you, but you don’t scare easily. You were hungry before, but now you’re positively ravenous. You kitten lick Joel’s tip then fully suck on it, eliciting a throaty groan from him. You smile around it, pleased at yourself for being able to affect him like that.

You want to please the pair of dangerously handsome brothers, but you’re aching for praise from Joel.

“Lay back, baby,” Tommy commands, guiding your hips up to rest against the grain of the pool table. And you do, the texture of the felt rubbing against your back in a soft embrace. Both of their hands find your chest with flat palms, and they drag them down over the expanse of your breasts and stomach. They pause, both of them face-to-face with your cunt. ‘Go ‘head brother, all yours,” Joel says to Tommy.

And shit, the hot mouth that greets your wet core is inviting in more ways than one. His lips lock around your waiting clit and you moan in response to the sensation. As Tommy sucks at your center, his tongue making perfect rotations on your clit, you can’t help but let go.

“Shit, that’s so good – need more,” you beg, and Joel can tell the ask you’re making is for him. He slips his middle finger into your pussy, and your wall clenches around him. The pressure that Tommy applies to your clit is so good, you could probably come just from him, but the added drag of Joel’s finger sawing in and out of you reminds you that you want more, need more, need him.

“Joel, yes – fuck, yes, please don’t stop,” you beg. Tommy continues tracing patterns over your clit and Joel adds a second, then a third finger, which you greedily accept. “More!” you beg, and Joel obliges, slipping a fourth finger into you. “Such a tight fucking cunt, not sure how I could fit another, but happy to stretch you out baby, gotta get you ready f'us,” Joel says. Tommy purrs as he laps up your release, and Joel groans, wishing he was the one at your chef’s table, sampling all of your flavors.

With the way both of them work at you, you feel like a helpless fish, caught on their hook. They dropped the bait and you were quick to bite, now having to pay the price for your decision. The both of them reel in their line, pulling you closer and closer to your orgasm. They drag you to the water line of your orgasm, and you give up any hope of staying below the shoreline.

Your release washes over you like a wake from a boat, an inevitable. You let the waters fall from your shore before you open your eyes and see both of them, their hard cocks staring you in the eyes. Giving you a moment to come up for air, Joel gently strokes your cheek, an act of tenderness amongst the debauchery taking place.

Tommy gives Joel a knowing look and lifts his right leg to help hoist him onto the pool table. With you spread out underneath both of them, he positions himself right above your head. You all but drool at the sight of him stroking his cock from this vantage point, Tommy looking down at you as if he were seeing his reflection in a pond for the first time. His jaw hangs slack as he works himself from base to tip.

Meanwhile, Joel’s hands find your hips and he deftly tugs you down, so your waiting pussy is just barely hanging over the edge of the pool table. He puts your legs over his brawny forearms, bearing the weight of your lower half, and spreads your legs wide, fully exposing your glistening cunt to him.

You’re almost shivering with how badly you want his cock inside you. He grabs the base of it in one hand, the tip of him barely ghosting against your wet and dripping seam. He collects some of your arousal on him, before using his thumb to drag it over the length of his member.

He knows he could fuck you just like this, lord knows you’re wet enough, and he's done his due diligence to stretch you, but he knows he’s a lot to take. He leans his head down and spits, his saliva falls onto the tip of him, partially covering himself and your clit. He taps the mushroom head of his cock on your clit a few times, a thin string of saliva connecting both of your bodies as he pulls it back.

As much as you would love to focus on Tommy’s length in your face, your sole attention is on Joel, who’s about to fill you to the hilt. “Mouth wide open, baby,” Tommy begs above you, calling you back to his attention. You feign your hardest to listen. You open your jaw wide, and he places the tip of his cock on the tip of your tongue, dragging the heaviness of it over the expanse of it.

Just as he slides in deeper into your wet and waiting mouth, Joel bunts his hips forward, pressing half of him into your tight hole. It’s so much, and they’re both not even halfway in yet.

They lock eyes with each other and synchronize their thrusts. Joel pulls back and thrusts into your cunt, and Tommy pulls back momentarily before your mouth welcomes him deeper into your throat, so deep in fact that the tip of him bumps up against the back of it, nearly causing you to gag. The corners of your eyes prick with tears, and whether it’s from the stretch of Joel’s cock, or the head of Tommy’s knocking on the back door of your throat, you’ll never know.

“Shit, brother. She’s taking this cock so well, Jesus fuck,” Tommy mutters, thrusting his member in and out of you with a relentless pace, his hands now tangled in your hair like a bird's nest in a tree.

“God damn, you’re telling me. Little cunt is taking me so well,” and his words cause you to clench harder around him.

“Gotta ease up baby, or both of your daddy’s are gonna fill you sooner than we both want to,” Tommy rasps behind a breathless voice, “so good, so fucking good, my god.” You revel in their doubled praise and you can’t help but clench tighter, and Joel notices.

“Ah fuck, brother. I think that’s what she wants. Little slut wants us to pump her full of our cum,” Joel rasps, continuing his relentless pace, dragging his cock in and out of you. You moan in response, your words muffled around the expanse of Tommy, “Fuck, want you to fill me up so bad, both of you.”

“You hear that,” Tommy says in a breathless voice. “You heard her, give the girl what she wants,” Tommy encourages Joel. And fuck. These two are going to be the death of you.

“That what you want, sweetheart? Want Daddy Joel and Daddy Tommy to pump you full of all of our seed, want us to leave you dripping with both of us,” Joel says, his pace quickening, his grip on your hips strong enough to bruise. “Yes, fuck, fill me up, want every last drop of both of my daddy’s cum.”

Joel looks up at Tommy.

“Wouldn’t that be quite the fucking sight? Her all round from your baby, her pretty tits engorged with milk, me fucking dribbling out of her mouth," Tommy says.

"Such a dirty little slut, so good for us,” Tommy praises. Had anyone else uttered those words your skin would crawl, but it’s different coming from the pair of them. You’d let them spread you open wide and fuck you full of their come any day.

“Fuck, I think she likes the thought of that, I can feel her clamping down on me, gripping me so goddamn tight, brother,” Joel rasps. Your lips tighten around Tommy, and they both continue to use you, fucking you like they want, like how you know you need. They abuse both of your holes in their relentless chase for their own orgasm.

“Shit brother, ‘m close, not gonna last much longer,” Tommy groans, and you can tell. His cock stiffens and his pulses become more and more erratic.

“Not yet, need her to come again for us first,” Joel demands, dropping his thumb to your clit, beginning to drag slow and near-perfect circles over your sensitive bud.

“Need you to give us one more. C’mon, you can do it,” Joel continues to egg you on. “You’re so pretty when you come, give us one more, baby. Our perfect girl, let us feel it.”

With that, your whole body convulses and your vision goes white. You can’t help the shakes that follow, your entire body trembling like an earthquake. “Fuckfuckfuck, yesssss,” you cry out, your release taking over you like watercolor paint spilling onto paper, blurring the lines your pleasure has always been confined to – until now.

Joel and Tommy continue their movements, slowing as they reach their own peaks. “So close, baby, gonna come down this pretty fucking throat, gonna be a good girl and swallow your daddy’s thick load,” Tommy grunts out before he stills and shoots his spend down your throat. It’s so much, some dribbles out the corners of your mouth and down your chin.

Joel watches as you greedily swallow his brother's load. “Such a good girl. You gonna tell your pretty little cunt to swallow all of me too, hmm? Gonna flood that little pussy with my load, fill you so full,” he raps. “Gonna plug you so good after ‘m done, not drop is gonna go to waste, baby.”

You gulp, swallowing the rest of Tommy’s spend before answering, “Yes, Joel, p-please fill me up with your come, daddy,” you squawk out, voice hoarse from Tommy’s crusade on your mouth.

“As you wish, pretty girl,” Joel teases, as if he wasn’t the one to come up with the idea.

He thrusts once, twice and he’s filling you with his cum, just as he promised. He stills inside of you, and his forehead comes to rest on your chest. The sticky sweat on his skin makes it tacky, clinging to you in a way that parallels how you’re clinging to this moment. Both of your chests are heaving, ragged breaths coming out almost in sync.

After a few long moments, Joel reluctantly lifts his head up and slowly pulls out, but before any of his load drips out he uses a finger to plug your hole. You gasp and your body jolts from the oversensitivity. “Makin’ sure it sticks, darlin’,” Joel coos in your ear and gently moves the stray strands of hair from your face.

Thoroughly fucked out, you ask the pair of them, “So just out of curiosity, what would you have asked for if either of you had won?”

They both look at each other as if to decide if they want to tell you the truth or not.

“Come back next year for a rematch and we’ll tell you,” Tommy says.

With the way both of them look at you, how could you not?

It’s not even January and yet, here you are – excited for Easter.

What a fucking plot twist that is.

END

Tagging moots and those who I think might like this: @endlessthxxghts @sydneyinacoma @bastardmandennis @untamedheart81@lavema @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @dugiioh @nervoushottee @milly-louise @ghostwritesthings@josephquinnswhore @drunk-and-capable @peachmy @survivingandenduring@darkheartgatita @hotgirlbedtimescenarios @ohheypedrito @joeldjarin @nerdieforpedro @joeldjarin @nerdieforpedro @amyispxnk @paleidiot @brittmb115 @ghostwritesthings @kulekehe @darkheartgatita @goldenhxurs @javiscigarette @morallyinept @tobesolovelysstuff @notsosecretspy @alokaerza @ro-nahime-things @gwendibleywrites @morgaussy @missladym1981 @pedrostories

As always, feel free to let me know if you'd like to be added to my tag list, or removed (even if we're moots, no hard feelings). I'll still be using my tag list for now, but I just started a notifs blog, so will be transitioning to that eventually. Please follow @katiexpunkupdates to get notified when I post fics.xx

Happy New Year!

#joel and tommy #joel miller smut #tommy miller smut #threes0me #joel miller x female reader #tommy miller x female reader #joel miller fanfic #tommy miller fanfic #pedrohub #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fandom #tlou fanfiction

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sunmoon-starfactory · 4 months

Text

Loads o' Laundry 2.0

2 years after the release of Loads o' Laundry, we now present: Loads o' Laundry 2.0: a much-improved version of the Laundry mod and system!

Several gameplay features have been improved and many annoyances bigger and smaller have been resolved! A large number of new objects have also been added for your enjoyment. Sims 3 and 4 players may see some familiar things... Overall, it represents a marked improvement over the original version.

Furthermore, the Laundry Mod now comes with full language support for Dutch, French and European Portuguese with more coming soon... Edit: Polish has been added!

Before proceeding further, make sure you have the following requirements installed:

Requirements

Easy Lot Check

Easy Inventory Check

Smarter EP Check

Money Globals

Time-out Controller

Fetch Water (water bucket)

Suds 'n Bubbles (for making your own detergent)

Flowing Fabrics (for the fresh outfit)

Various master meshes (see Manual)

A more detailed list of requirements as well as detailed instructions can be found in the Manual.

Gameplay overview and Download links below the cut

Gameplay Overview

Your Sims will now generate laundry if their hygiene is low enough. This requires the Laundry Global Mod (offered separately from the objects) as well as a Laundry-related object being present on the lot.

Sims may store their laundry in a hamper. Sometimes automatically if it's close enough and your Sim is inclined to be neat....

Wash and dry your clothes: a variety of both historic and modern, manual and mechanical ways to wash and dry your laundry are included.

Tired of the laundry piling up? Simply place a "Laundry-Begone-Box" on your lot and your Sims will no longer generate laundry!

Laundry Global Mod

The global mod is the backbone of the laundry system. You will need it in order to have your sims produce laundry. As it is a Global Mod, it is in its own rar. The Laundry Mod also has various trait-related features for you to enjoy:

Support for the Nevernude, Neat and Slob trait

Support for the following custom lifestates: Ghost, Mermaid & SkeleBro

NEW: Support for @anachronisims' Nudist trait

NEW: Hamper magic! If your sims are neat enough, they may automatically put their dirty laundry in the hamper (if there's one in the room)

MAC-compatible!

You need to have the file "SunMoon-Laundry_Hamper_Wicker_Round-REQUIRED" in your folder in order for the global mod to work!

Washers, Dryers, Tubs and Lines

Your Sims may wash their laundry using a wide variety of both manual tubs and modern washers. Both of these require detergent to use. Of course, after your laundry has been washed, you can dry them using either a dryer or a line. Just make sure not to hang your laundry outside on a rainy day. Just a small overview of the features offered:

Laundromat mode: run your own laundromat business at home or on a community lot! Sims will actually wash their dirty laundry! Of course, it works for visiting Sims too!

NEW: @anachronisims Big Spender Trait now effects the likelihood of a Sim using a laundromat machine

NEW: Stock your washer or tub with a detergent of your choice; no longer will you need an entire box of detergent for a small load, now one detergent will last multiple loads!

NEW: 2 extra detergents have been added. You can now choose between a Box or Bottle of detergent, Soap Solution or even a Baggy of Soap Nuts!

NEW: The fabulous @jellymeduza has created a fantastic little ceiling rack for drying your laundry

NEW: Many more washers and dryers straight from the Sims 3 and 4

NEW: Modern laundry detergent vendor. You can still access any laundry product still despite its looks.

Custom sounds and animations: not only does laundry come with custom (Sims 4) animations courtesy of @mortia, there are also some custom sounds!

Color Controller

This set also comes with a "Color Controller". This object allows you to choose the look of not only your newly-spawned laundry, but also how the fabric on your drying lines looks like! Use only ONE per lot.

Bonus

Another new feature is the (optional) support for @lazyduchess Laundry token: players with FT installed, have the option of downloading his laundry mod and getting the same slower motive decay for comfort when changing into different clothes using our fresh outfit object. Players without FT and/or this token will get a small bonus to the comfort motive instead. This is NOT available for MAC-users! You will need the following files from his mod should you want this feature:

ld_BecksLaundryMotiveDecayController

ld_BecksLaundryMotiveDecayToken

Download links

Now for what you have all been waiting for: the download links. REMOVE all old files before updating! File names have been changed!

Download Laundry Global Mod (Required) Download Loads o' Laundry (objects) View Manual

Localization

Added support for Dutch

Added support for European Portuguese - Obrigada @logansimmingwolverine!

Added support for French - Merci @helene2troie !

Partial language support for many other languages has been added in the form of catalog descriptions for Sims 3 and 4 conversions. (NOTE: 3t2 conversions have no Simplified Chinese, 4t2 conversions have no Hungarian. None of them have Thai)

Polish, Russian and Brazilian Portuguese support is currently in progress and should hopefully become available sometime in early 2024

Would you like to have this set fully translated into YOUR language? Don't hesistate to make a translation using the localization strings. Just send it over when you're done and we will add it to the set! (send it via or Discord or PM fireflowersims)

Special credits and thanks: @gayars, @2fingerswhiskey, @picknmixsims, @lazyduchess, @jellymeduza, @logansimmingwolverine, Gaby, @hodgekiss, @mustluvcatz-reloaded, CashCraft, ATS/Sandy, EAxis, all the people who helped to localize The Sims 3 and 4, all our many wonderful Beta testers

#ts2 #sun&moon #s2cc #crafting stations #sims 2 #loads o laundry #mod #update #localization

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forlorn-crows · 9 days

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𝒎𝒖𝒔𝒉𝒚 𝒎𝒂𝒚 𝒅𝒂𝒚 3: 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒔𝒂𝒈𝒆

pairing(s): aether/mountain words: 1318 EDIT: now with art from @cryptid-stuff !!

✿

“You’ve got to release all this, starlight,” the earth ghoul insists, prodding at the tension in his neck, his upper back. Some of it’s normal muscle tightness from playing, but Mountain knows there’s other, nastier things lingering between those tendons. Supernatural stress and magick that’s built up over weeks of healing and loving and caring for others.

The hurt he takes away has to go somewhere—and Aether’s learned the hard way that the things he takes on eventually have to be expelled.

It’s a painful process, one that can’t be done without some help. In today’s (stubborn) case, the tough love variety.

Mountain makes a questioning noise, looking over Aether’s shoulder at his face. “You’ll let me help?”

The quint ghoul sighs, tired and sore down to the bone. He really doesn’t want to do this right now. Not with his upcoming duties.

“Darling, if you don’t let me do it now, you’re going to fizzle out on us,” Mountain reminds him, kindly yet sternly. He places a kiss on his temple and whispers: “I have the time and the energy. Let me do this for you now.”

Aether sighs heavily. Wishing the tension would flow out with it. “Okay,” he says after a beat.

Mountain kisses him again, pats his shoulders. “Shirt off. Preference for incense this time?”

“The one that always smells fresh, with the . . . the, uh . . .”

“Verbena?”

“Yes, that’s the one.”

“‘Course.” Mountain gets up to gather supplies, leaving Aether to remove his shirt and settle into the floor cushion.

Thankfully, it’s peaceful today. Quiet. He listens to the earth ghoul rummage around in the curio cabinet. The air in the greenhouse is warm, tinged with the smell of fresh-blooming petunias and magnolias from just outside the rain-dirtied windows. Aether closes his eyes and breathes it in. Rolling his neck and tuning into his body and the pain that hangs on his frame like an ill-fitting garment.

Behind him, the scratch of a match being lit. Touched to charcoal and snuffed out on the worn bench top.

“Have to let it burn a bit. Here, for your lap.” Mountain hands him a black stone that spans the width of his palms, cool to the touch and polished smooth. Obsidian, if he remembers correctly. Or tourmaline, maybe? He isn’t so good with the names, but he knows to place it in the middle of his loosely crossed legs, at the bottom of an imaginary line drawn down from the tip of his nose. Helps channel the energy, Mountain had said once.

“Do you need anything else?” the earth ghoul asks in a soft voice.

“No, ‘m alright.”

“Okay.” Mountain smooths his hands over his bare shoulders, raising goosebumps with each tender pass. When he runs his palms along his spine, he tuts. Hovers over a spot right under his ribcage. “That’ll be a tough spot,” he sighs.

Aether nods in agreement. “Yeah, don’t know why it decided to settle there this time.”

“I’ll be as careful as I can, starlight.” It’s a promise he doesn’t have to vocalize, of course. Aether knows he will be, despite the strenuous task ahead of them both. “But we’ve got to get it done.”

The lack of crackling behind them signals that the charcoal is ready for the incense to be added. Mountain gets up to do so, and Aether sinks back into the calmness of the greenhouse atmosphere. A tiny square of light falls on his knuckles as he shifts on the cushion; he can feel the slight difference in heat move across his skin as he dips his hand in and out of the fractal. Zeroing into the moment, the calm before the storm.

Before long, fragrant curls of smoke fill the space; tendrils of orange peel and lemongrass, jasmine and the tiniest hint of vanilla. And of course, the verbena tying them all together. All scents to help set the intention for cleansing and re-centering.

“Ready?” Mountain asks, returning to sit behind him.

“Now or never, I guess,” Aether laughs tiredly.

The earth ghoul sets the bottle of oil next to them; a slightly amber liquid with sprigs of eucalyptus and buds of juniper berry suspended within it. His own blend, of course. He fills the well of his palm with the oil, rubbing in steady, counterclockwise circles as he warms it. Aether doesn’t have to see his face to know it’s firm with concentration, eyes closed and lips moving with unspoken words. Setting intentions before even touching the oil to his skin.

Eventually, his hands make their way to his head, and the massage begins. Mountain rubs the oil into his scalp, starting at the very top between his horns, working his fingertips down to the crown, the occipital bone, and the nape of his neck. The way he works the oil is like following the pattern of rain down the stem of a flower, manipulating the tension—and the negative energy that goes along with it—towards the ground.

It would be easy to lose himself in the sensation, if it weren’t for the emotional and physical force it takes to drain this pent-up byproduct of quintessence use. It sits deep down in the muscle, harboring pain. The longer it sits, the more effort will be required to siphon it back out again. Extraction rituals are usually painful, and in rare cases, near incapacitating.

Swiss and Mountain, and on occasion, Omega, see to it that it never reaches that point.

“Breathe,” the earth ghoul whispers, shifting up onto his knees. The pressure comes on his exhale, bearable but targeted. Mountain digs into the tightness at the base of his neck, twin points on either side of his spine that hold until the muscle begins to release. Aether hisses through his teeth.

“Bit more . . .'' Mountain sighs along with him when he feels things shift, however slight. His hands move further away from his spine, and he digs into another spot, working his way down the slope of his traps. Push and breathe, constrict and release. Mountain continues until he’s reached the curve of his shoulders, pausing to drip more oil into his palms.

Doing alright? The lilt of Infernal on his tongue is warm, comforting.

Yes, Aether replies softly. He’s beginning to ache, but it’ll only get harsher from here.

Mountain hums. Think loose, he whispers, aiming for levity.

Aether chuckles and shakes out his shoulders. Wish that was all I had to do.

Then you wouldn’t get my hands all over your oily body.

You are making it sound far more pleasurable than it actually is, love.

“Touché.”

Aether snorts at the purposeful break from their native tongue. Come on, start jabbing me with your knobby drummer’s hands. The sigh Mountain gives is equivalent to a verbal eyeroll, and he places his hands, renewed with warm oil, back on the quintessence ghouls’ shoulders.

I promise you a warm bath and a full night of cuddles for the impending torture.

It’s silent as they focus on the task at hand—well, apart from the pained groans from Aether and the occasional grunt from Mountain. It’s hard work, plain and simple. A never ending cycle of heal, absorb, expel; a cycle that inherently relies on others. Quintessence is a funny thing, though, in that it will build up from disuse, too. It will beg with its weight sitting on the bones of one’s vessel to be used, to flow. The holder of the magick will have to eventually release the excess, essentially wasting it, dumping it out of an overflowing bucket.

In that sense, Aether would much rather endure the pain of sharing, if it means connection over isolation. It’s a principle he clutches as tight as possible when Mountain’s hands start feeling like knives along his shoulders and down his back, when all he wants to do is sob and scream fuck your strong hands straight back to Hell.

𝒑𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒆 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒓𝒆𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒈𝒊𝒏𝒈 ✿

#mushy may 2024 #the band ghost fanfic #ficlet #mountain ghoul #aether ghoul #mountain/aether #aether/mountain #the band ghost #mountain x aether #aether x mountain #mushy may #earth ghoul rituals my beloved #dont you love how sometimes you write 300 words and then the next day its 1.3k

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crescencestudio · 3 months

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Alaris Enhanced Demo Beta Build Out Now!

The beta build of the Enhanced Demo is OUTTTTTT!!!!! If you'd like access to the build, please feel free to sign up for the Hydra tier ($10/month) on my Patreon.

Features

While there are still some things I'm going to be cleaning up before the Early Access/Final Build, this has a LOT of new features, assets, and more, including but not limited to:

New GUI

New Backgrounds

New Prologue Art

More Polished Sprite Art

Added SFX and VFX

Edited Script (Much of the Free Time dates have been revamped)

Expanded Communicator Function (texting and calling)

New OST

Fixed Vision Function

Access

If you'd like to play, please feel free to sign up at my Patreon!

I'm extremely proud of where the demo is at already, and I hope you all like it if you get the chance to play! While it's just in the beta stage, it largely represents my vision and what the full experience will feel like in the Final Build ^^

Access to the beta build will extend through this month. Depending on when I finish everything else that needs to get done for the Final build, Early Access may get to see the Final Build either at the end of this month or early March. Early Access is given through the Wyvern tier ($5/month). Of course, I'll keep you all updated so you know when to sign up for that tier if you'd like ^^

To those who want to give the beta build a go, I hope you like it and thank you as always for the support!

#alaris #otome game #english otome #otome #visual novel #romance visual novel

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thestoryofusstan · 2 months

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Uptown Girl

pairing: fashion designer!harry x younger!fashion designer!reader

summary: you’re working in a designer boutique, and just so happen to have a late entrance when world-renowned designer harry styles visits for a collaboration. he seems to take a liking to you, and you aren’t sure if that makes you relieved or more anxious

warnings: some cursing, not edited as usual

harry styles was a well-known name. ceo and founder of pleasing, a nail polish and perfume company. he also owned many other companies, but really, there were too many to keep track of. he was also, most importantly, one of the biggest fashion icons.

you were very familiar with him— had saved up every penny when you were younger to buy a pleasing perfume and now owned a very small collection of their nail polishes.

so, of course, you lost your shit when you found out he’d be coming into your job.

you were a fashion design major at nyu, and had gotten a job at a very esteemed designer (not one of the name brands, but still). although you did expect the job to have more opportunities to.. actually design fashion, you were still grateful nonetheless.

it was just your luck that the day that harry styles was coming in, you were late. it wasn’t your fault! really, it wasn’t! you were always on time because you got anxious at the mere thought of being late.

by the time you parked, you practically ran to the store, silently praying you wouldn’t break a leg as you were running in heels.

“i’m not late am i?” you ask breathlessly as you finally enter the store, fixing your hair and outfit.

you had curled your hair the night before, so they were still pretty much intact. your outfit consisted of black heels, brown dress pants, and a black, tight-fitting turtleneck.

“yes, y/n. you are late,” your boss gave you a look, and you knew you’d be in trouble. “mr. styles, i am so sorry. our employs are.. usually punctual.”

your head snaps over to look in the direction she was talking, and your heart drops when you make eye contact with harry styles.

great.

“mr. styles, i am so sorry,” you apologize.

“it’s perfectly alright,” he gives a kind smile.

that makes you feel a bit better.

“y/n, a word in my office please.”

you deflate as you look back to your boss and follow her to her office

the second the door is closed, she’s chewing you out.

“how unprofessional can you be? i know you are in college, but jesus christ!”

“i’m sorry! there was so much traffic, and my car is so old it stops working if i go faster than 50, and—“

“i don’t need excuses,” she cuts you off. “i need you to be more professional.”

you inhale, “i am sorry, but it was not my fault. i have never once been late before, and you know that. it was a one-time mistake.”

“it better be.”

she walks out and slams the door to the office, leaving you alone in there.

you look up to the ceiling as you bite your lip and try not to cry.

after taking a few minutes to collect yourself, you walk back out into the otherwise empty store and slap a smile on your face.

you do your usual tasks of tidying the store and fixing the mannequins.

mr. styles, his team, and your boss (her name was diane but she was more like satan) were all working on sketching designs and throwing some fabrics onto the mannequins to get a rough idea of what they wanted.

“i don’t know if i like it,” mr. styles murmurs, staring at the mannequin. you glace over at it and have to force yourself to not make a face.

no shit, he didn’t like it. it was bad.

the sketch was good, but the color combination was all wrong and the whole thing was too.. chunky. in the way that everything was flowy and baggy, so it had no shape.

“well, what do you not like about it?” diane asks.

“i’m not sure. it doesn’t look quite right.”

“you have to fix the shape,” you say to yourself as you fix the files of custom orders to be done.

“what was that?”

your head snaps up, and you realize he heard you.

“oh. uh.. i was just—“

“talking to herself,” diane interrupts, glaring at you. “she’s an intern. don’t mind her.”

“no, i’d like to hear what she has to say. might have the answer to our issue. let’s hear it— what was your name again?”

“y/n l/n,” you squeak out.

“well, y/n, what do you think is wrong?”

you hesitantly walk over, “well.. i can see the idea. but it’s just not.. executed well. the whole thing is too flowy.”

“isn’t the point for it to flow?” he asks, raising a brow.”

“it is,” you answer quickly, “but.. there has to be something that isn’t as.. baggy, i suppose. something has to be tight-fitting. it doesn’t have any shape. it just kinda.. looks like a box.”

he stares at you for a moment, and diane clears her throat.

“y/n, this is time for the professionals. get back to—“

“no, diane. she is.. she’s right. it does need shape.”

at his words, the people around him begin to pin it differently.

“and the colors,” you rush out. “the colors don’t.. it’s supposed to be a statement piece, right?”

“that’s the goal,” he nods.

“well.. the colors are too.. light. they’re more pastel, which is fine, but for it to really be a statement, it’s better to use brighter ones. or at least make one of them brighter. i would.. i think make the base the brighter one.”

diane looks ready to kill you.

mr. styles laughs, “well, don’t you know a lot? diane, where did you find her? wish my interns knew half as much as her.”

your face grows hot.

“she’s a student,” diane sighs.

“a student?” he asks.

“i… uh.. i study fashion at nyu. fashion design— i’m in my last year.”

he seems to sense that you're damn near about to shit your pants, because he grins at you (slightly patronizing, but also kind), before turning back to diane.

"i'd like her to be with me for the rest of the project. y/n, darling, how much are y'makin' here?"

your stutter, "uh--... $15 an hour."

he tuts his tongue like that's horrible, "i'll pay.. ten times that while y'workin' with me."

your eyes widen, "wh-- that's not-- you don't have to--"

"nonsense. it's what most people i work with start with. i'll up it if needed, of course. and you obviously don't have to, but i'd love your insight."

"i-- no, i-- i'd love to, i.."

"great," he grins, and you're extremely dizzy. what the hell was going on?

"uh.. mr. styles, if i may give my opinion," diane pipes up.

"you may," he eyes her skeptically.

"y/n is a student. she's still learning, and she's never worked on anything here. it's very risky to--"

he cuts her off by asking you a question, "have you designed things? sketched 'em out and all that?"

you nod.

"i'd hope you've also done the whole... actually sewing things together and really making them?"

you nod again.

he turns back to diane, "seems like she's got experience," he looks back to you, "do y'have photos of any of those?"

"yeah-- they're.. i think i left them in my car. i have photos on my phone."

"we'll meet later to look at all that, then. i'll give you my number later. for now.. i'd like your input on our other ideas."

for the rest of the day, you follow harry around, and you sort of feel like a lost puppy just following him around and answering when he asks something of you.

after a while, you got more comfortable giving your input without being prompted, but you always tiptoed around what you were really trying to get at in fear that you'd anger him.

at the end of day, he put your number in his phone with the promise that he'd text you later about more details.

the text came three days later.

From: (Maybe): Harry

Hello, Y/N. This is Harry. Would you be free to meet tomorrow at noon to discuss the details of the project? Please bring your sketches and any photos of designs you've done, and anything else you feel necessary.

To: Harry Styles

Hi! I should be free tomorrow, yeah. Where do you want to go?

From: Harry Styles

I'll let you decide.

To: Harry Styles

There is this one coffee shop named Maman?

Sent Location: 239 Centre St, New York, NY

From: Harry Styles

Alright. I'll see you tomorrow, Y/N. Have a nice rest of your day.

To: Harry Styles

You too!

you spend the rest of your night fretting about what to wear. you were stuck in between classy but not too fancy, but also not too casual. comfy, but not so comfy that you looked like you didn't give a shit. but also not so uncomfortable that you were, well, uncomfortable, and looked like you were trying too hard.

you'd eventually settled for something simple. long, light-wash denim skirt, a plain black top, and some mary janes. you tied some of your hair back with a white ribbon, did some natural makeup, and called it a day.

you got to the coffee shop at 11:45 and ordered your drink, as well as a chocolate croissant.

harry walked in at exactly 12:00, and grinned when he saw you sitting at a table, scrolling on your phone with a manilla folder and sketchbook beside you.

really, you can't blame him! you were pretty, he'd have to be blind to not know that. and really, you weren't that much younger than him.

he's 29, and you're 23. he's not a stalker, he just did a background check like any good business person would do.

so what he finds you cute? the relationship would be strictly professional. besides, you deserved a break from your horrible boss. contrary to what diane thought, the walls were not soundproof, and he could hear her chewing you out.

sure, he'd done that to one of his employees once or twice, but it was always deserved, and never on the first time of being late. that was ridiculous.

"good morning, y/n," he greets. your head snaps up to make eye contact and he has to force himself to not laugh. he wasn't laughing at you, per se. it was more so the fact that he found it amusing how jumpy you seemed around him.

"good morning. did you order?"

"not yet. never been here, so i've got no clue what's good."

you open your mouth to respond, but the barista calls out, "large iced honey lavender latte with a pain au chocolat for y/n!"

you give a sheepish smile and run up to retrieve your food and drink. when you come back, you take a sip of your drink and set what looks to be a chocolate croissant down on the table.

"well, i'm more of an iced coffee girl. and i also don't really like the taste of coffee, so i've got a bunch of sugar in mine. what do you usually drink?"

"'m more of a black coffee, to be honest. iced is fine, but hot's better."

you wrinkle your nose, "i don't know how you stand the taste of coffee. it's so bitter."

"better than what you've got!" he laughs, "might as well just down a sugar packet."

you giggle at his teasing, "only psychos drink plain black coffee. this," you hold up your drink, "is so much better."

"oh, is it now?"

"yes, it is," you cross your arms proudly.

"lemme have a taste."

you hand over the drink, and he takes a small sip before coughing, "christ, y/n! that cannot be good for your health!"

"hey, i'm still alive, aren't i?" you shrug.

“that you are.”

“well… just ask for an americano, i guess. the rest of their drinks are kinda sugary and fun.”

he got his drink, and once the both of you were sat down, he got to business.

“so, how long have you been designing?”

“i’ve been doing it since middle school. i.. uh.. i saw that one american girl doll movie. where she was a designer. and i just got obsessed. obviously they weren’t good, but…”

“so you’ve got a lot of experience then?”

you nod. he grins.

“may i see the sketches?”

you grab the folder off the top of the sketchbook and pass it over to him.

he flips through it in silence for a few minutes, and you anxiously nibble at the skin around your fingernails.

“..so?” you ask.

“they’re great. really, you’ve got talent. i can’t draw for shit, so you’ve got me beat,” he laughs.

you laugh with him, “most of those are just ideas, i’ve never made them. but i have photos of the ones i have made. i printed them so it’s easier.”

you pass over the manilla folder, and he opens it to look at all the photos you’d printed out. there was around fifty— those were just the ones you actually liked and were confident showing.

he holds one up, and your cheeks flush. “why’s this the only one where you’re the model?” he asks.

“that was.. uh.. that’s my senior prom dress.”

his eyes widen, giving you an impressed look, “you made your own prom dress?”

you nod, “i just wanted something very specific, so.. i figured i’d just make it myself.”

“y’look great— the dress looks great,” he coughs. “you’re very talented.”

“thank you,” you blush.

“so tell me why someone as talented as you is working in diane’s shop not designing a single thing?”

“i didn’t realize that was the job. i just got excited when my professor told me they were interested in my work, so i took the job. i thought i’d at least do a little designing, but.. it pays.. decent, though.”

he scoffs, “darling, 15 bucks an hour is not decent pay. that’s what you make being a hostess. you’re an artist. someone would pay thousands of dollars for just your sketches.”

“i don’t think i’m that good—“

“you are,” he’s firm. resolute. there is no room for argument with him. “i think you’ll be a great asset to the project. i could use your… talent. i’ll send you an email with the nitty gritty details. i’ll see you soon, y/n.”

and with that, he stands and leaves, leaving you to sit there, dumbfounded, confused, and grinning.

a/n: guys i have too many series going on 😭😭

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles oneshot #harry styles one shot #harry styles imagine #harry styles fic #harry #harry fic #harry styles au #harry styles fluff #designer!harry styles #designer!harry styles x reader #harry styles x designer!reader #harry styles x fem!reader

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adozentothedawn · 3 months

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I have now watched the Rogue Trader christmas special with some of the voice actors and it was hilarious. I decided to once again put my very rudimentary editing skills to the test and have picked out my favourite Marzipan lines for you. Enjoy!

Do keep in mind though that these are not polished game lines of course, this was a table top game. I do recommend you go watch the full stream yourself, it is very good from everyone.

#warhammer 40k rogue trader #voice lines #marazhai aezyrraesh #what a character #i just couldn't resist picking these gems out they're very good #i am so sad it was just the one short episode

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nanowrimo · 5 months

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How to Write a Quality First Draft

Every year, we’re lucky to have great sponsors for our nonprofit events. ProWritingAid, a 2023 NaNo sponsor, helps you turn your rough first draft into a clean, clear, publish-ready manuscript. Today, author Krystal N. Craiker shares some tips on how to make sure your first draft has some good bones to start with:

One question I often hear about National Novel Writing Month is, “Won’t my novel be of terrible quality?”

It’s true that writing 50,000 words in 30 days won’t give you a polished manuscript. And it’s always great to embrace the creative mess of the first draft.

However, there are some tricks to ensure that your first draft has plenty of usable content. These tips are also a great way to move your story along when you get stuck.

1. Have a Plan

Pantsers, this might be hard to hear. But having even a basic outline of your story can ensure you stay on track. You don’t have to sacrifice creativity when you outline. After all, you’re still the author creating a story.

A detailed outline can even act like your messy first draft. The more work you put into planning, the better your first draft will be. When I spend more time plotting, I spend far less time cutting things from my later drafts.

2. Make Every Scene 3D

Okay, I get it. Not everyone is a plotter. Luckily, there are other things you can do to ensure your first draft is good quality. One is adding enough sensory detail to bring your story to life.

I like to use a 3D method: have at least three of the five senses in every scene. It’s a great trick to improve the flow of your scene. Take a few minutes to immerse yourself in your story and write what your characters are experiencing.

You might change it or move it around in your final draft, but you’ll save yourself time during revisions if you add sensory detail from the beginning.

3. Reword Your Writing

Sometimes we get stuck after one bad sentence. The imposter syndrome kicks in, and the scene just falls flat.

Ideally, we completely turn off our inner editor during NaNoWriMo. But when you encounter that one pesky sentence, it’s okay to rewrite it.

You can use a tool like ProWritingAid’s Rephrase. Just highlight your sentence, click Rephrase, and select a new sentence. Rephrase uses your own words and enhances them. And don’t worry about security and privacy—ProWritingAid never uses your writing to train AI.

4. Embrace the Chaos

Of course, the most important thing about National Novel Writing Month is to embrace the messy creative process. It’s okay not to have a perfect manuscript at the end of the month—no one will.

Everyone will need to revise, edit, and rewrite after November ends. That’s why NaNoWriMo includes "I Wrote a Novel... Now What?" resources. And when you’re ready to turn your mess into a masterpiece, ProWritingAid will be there to help.

Krystal N. Craiker is the Writing Pirate, an indie romance author and content writer who sails the seven internet seas, breaking tropes and bending genres. She has a background in anthropology and education, which bring fresh perspectives to her romance novels. When she’s not daydreaming about her next book or article, you can find her cooking gourmet gluten-free cuisine, laughing at memes, and playing board games. Krystal lives in Dallas, Texas with her husband, child, and basset hound.

Top photo by No Revisions on Unsplash

#nanowrimo #writing #first draft #writing advice #writing tips #by nano sponsor #firstdraftpro #krystal n. craiker

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