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nereidprinc3ss · 7 months ago

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do you believe me now? | 4

in which spencer reid and inexperienced fem!reader are interrupted at the most inopportune of times. he calls you on the first night of his case. dirty talk turns into a hard conversation. we get a glimpse into spencer's past, and we finally learn why he's so hesitant to sleep with you.

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18+ (smut) warnings/tags: dirty talk, phone sex/mutual masturbation, softdom!spence, obligatory he talks u through it, lots of graphic discussions of sex, established relationship, angst (sorrryyy!) a/n: so remember how i said you'd need the bonus chapter to fully appreciate/understand this part? i was wrong!! it will come in handy probably in the next part tho:) also idk how these parts keep getting so long im sorry! anyway, i love you all so bad. thank you for bearing w/ my craziness. PLEASE let me know your thoughts on this part!! i adore hearing from you!! kisses

(also special thank you to @fliesforeyes who convinced me phone sex w/ spence could be done!! i will link his phone sex blurb here :)) thank u binx!!

“Three million six hundred eighty four thousand three hundred thirty two times fourteen million seven hundred sixty one thousand nine hundred seventy one.”

You’ve lost count of how many stupid math questions you’ve asked your human calculator boyfriend, just to see if he can actually do them. Spencer is silent for a second, and you think you’ve finally stumped him.

“That one is complicated.”

You sit bolt upright in his bed, looking down at him and pointing an accusatory finger. His brows raise at the manic look in your eye.

“You don’t know.”

“I do know. I meant it would be hard to explain if you aren’t a math person.”

“Bullshit!” You scoff, “you don’t know!”

“It would display on a calculator as five-point-three-eight-eight-E-thirteen. It’s a really big number.”

“Oh, really big, huh?” you mumble, searching for your phone blindly in the sheets and scrambling to open the calculator app. “Um… what numbers did I say?”

Spencer repeats them back to you and you press the equals sign.

You look at it.

And then you set your phone down.

“I was right, huh?” he smiles up at you, probably reveling in your pouty wrongness.

Too proud to admit it, you collapse on top of him, burying your face in his shoulder.

“I don’t like this game anymore. What the fuck even is an e? Why are we doing algebra?”

Spencer laughs, brushing your hair aside.

“The e stands for exponent. It’s to the power of ten.”

“Ever heard of a rhetorical question?”

“Yes, I have.”

It’s hard not to snort even at his dumbest jokes.

“You’re annoying. Let’s do something else.”

You roll over onto your back again, letting your head flop over to look at Spencer, whose hair is exactly the right amount of messy after a long day, falling in impossibly soft waves over the perfect lines and contours of his face. Despite lounging, he’s still in his suit from work—he’d left Quantico and immediately picked you up. There were no solid plans for the evening, so after both of you pretended that you wanted to go out for a while, you ended up back at his apartment.

He looks good. Almost too good.

“Something like what?” he smiles lazily, reaching over and tracing his fingers over your cheek.

“Something… naked?”

His grin widens and he shakes his head.

“Me naked or you naked?”

Pretending to think about it, you roll your bottom lip between your teeth.

“Mm… why not both?”

“Hm. Why do I feel like I know where this is going?”

The mattress sinks underneath your elbow as you prop yourself up, dropping your head over Spencer’s to kiss him.

“Because you’re so smart, and you think it’s a great idea.”

He entertains your kiss for a moment. Just a moment.

“You sound sure of yourself.”

“Because I am!” You finally give in to your impulses, tangling your fingers in his hair and looking at him meaningfully. “It doesn’t make any sense for us to have not had sex. I don’t care about any of your weird, cryptic moral reasoning.”

He grabs your wrist carefully.

“It is not moral,” he scoffs. “We haven’t even talked about it yet.”

“Really? Because I feel like we’ve talked about it a lot.”

He begins to reply, but you realize you don’t want to get into a debate over whether you’ve technically talked about it yet. “I don’t even care! If that’s all that’s standing in your way, then let’s talk about it. Right now.”

Spencer sighs, his eyes darting between yours as he reaches up to cradle your cheek.

“Fine. But I have things to say you’re not going to like.”

“So business as usual?”

He rolls his eyes. You allow yourself a tiny self-satisfied smirk, forever relishing in his poorly-hidden soft spot for your constant teasing. Spencer ignores this. Which is probably for the best.

“I know you probably won’t see it this way, but—sex is different than everything else we’ve done so far. It can be really fun, obviously it feels good, it facilitates deeper feelings of connection—that’s all true. Which is why, in my opinion, it’s incredibly important that you be selective with who you sleep with. Because it’s so easy to do something you regret, and sex is vulnerable. It should always be with someone you trust and—and… care about.”

A pink flush stains his cheeks like watercolor as he stumbles over the last few words. It makes your heart flutter against the confines of your chest.

Maybe best not to think about the absence versus presence of certain four-letter words and what they may or may not mean. You’ll move on to more pressing matters and pretend like it doesn’t ache just a little in your whole body.

You cover his hand with your own.

“Are you going to break up with me anytime soon?”

Spencer’s eyes widen, filling with genuine horror and confusion.

“What? No!”

“Are you going to cheat on me?”

“Absolutely not, I—”

“Then I’m not going to regret it. Issue resolved. Moving on.”

“Honey, I just want you to be 100% sure that I’m what you want.”

“Oh my god,” you groan, flopping onto your back once more. “I have begged you to sleep with me on multiple occasions. We have been dating for months and I liked you even longer before that. I think about it literally every time I see you. I don’t know how to be any surer.”

It’s quiet for a moment as you study the imaginary pattern on the ceiling. The rebuttal you’d been anticipating doesn’t come—instead, the mattress shifts next to you. Spencer enters your field of vision, now leaning over you with a little smile on his face that gives you butterflies.

“Every time?”

“…yes, every time,” you agree, voice considerably thinner than it had been a moment ago. Spencer glances at your lips as he speaks.

“Interesting. And what is it that you think about exactly?”

You groan again, attempting to roll facedown, but he pins your shoulder to the bed. The way he’s sweetly kissing down your cheek and jaw is infuriating because you know it’s a false pretense.

“Ugh, I don’t know! Don’t make me answer that!”

“You said if talking about it was all that was standing in my way, we would talk about it. Now I want to talk about it. Come on,” he says, voice low and cloying against your throat as he attempts to tease the answer out of you. “Tell me what you think about when you think about us having sex.”

You let out a shaky breath at the feeling of his lips skimming your neck, hating how easily he can reduce you to this.

“I… I always wonder what it will feel like. Sometimes I wonder if it will hurt.”

Spencer sighs, interrogation by way of seduction momentarily forgotten. You silently curse yourself for saying something so un-sexy.

“It might, sweetheart. That’s one of the reasons we’ve held back. I… really don’t want to hurt you. I don’t even know if I can.”

You grab his face in both hands, forcing him to look at you with more confidence than you feel.

“Sometimes I worry about it, too. But I like you a lot more than it scares me. I still want to.”

He kisses your palm.

“You’ll be okay. It doesn’t hurt for everyone, and even if it does, you’re resilient.”

“Exactly. So you have to get over yourself.”

Spencer laughs like he wasn’t expecting to, eyes sparkling as he regards you.

“Yeah. Yeah, maybe I do.”

He’s smiling again as he leans down and kisses you—a slow, lingering thing which tastes like spearmint as you part your lips for him.

“Please?” you whisper against him after a long moment. He hums, keeps kissing you.

“What is it that you think you want? You don’t even know what you’re asking for.”

“Tell me,” you beg, chasing his lips. “Tell me what you’re going to do with me. We can talk about it. This is talking about it.”

Spencer exhales deeply, wedging a thigh between yours. Immediately you clamp around it, trying not to grind against him too overtly.

“You want to know what I’d do to you?”

“Yes—” you paw at his jacket. Surprisingly, he doesn’t stop you from pushing it off. Your heart pounds.

“Well… we both know how anxious you get,” he muses, pressing his lips so delicately to your fluttering pulse-point in emphasis, and then back to your mouth. His thigh pushes harder against you to supplant the absence of his lips as he speaks, though he kisses you sporadically and between sentences. “You’re hard to get out of your head when you’re nervous, you know that? I watch it happen. One minute you’re with me, and then you start overthinking, and getting self-conscious. The only thing that seems to relax you is letting me touch you—so first I would touch you like I’ve touched you before. I’d make sure you know how pretty you are and how good you deserve to feel.” You whimper inadvertently at his words, arching into him and grinding against his leg as he pauses to kiss the sensitive soft spot below your jaw. “You’re going to need to be really ready to let me in. Do you know what I mean by that?”

As he asks, he pushes his thigh against you harder. Your body responds immediately, arching into him and seeking more friction. When you squeak, he takes it as a no.

“I mean I need you relaxed and wet. You’ll excuse my crude language.”

You pull at his tie, breathing heavier now and so turned on it’s almost painful.

“What are you gonna do after that?”

“What else is there to do but fuck you after that?” he breathes. “You want me to tell you how I’d fuck you?”

Something about it makes you whine salaciously. You’ve heard him curse—you’ve even heard him talk about fucking you. But it feels more real now; when it’s low in your ear and you’re covertly undressing him and he’s pushing your shirt over your stomach promisingly.

“Yes, please.”

He hums against your jaw, nipping and brushing his lips over the skin as he considers. Leaves you waiting.

“I would have to take my time with you. You’ll be overwhelmed. I know you think you won’t, but you will. I’m going to have to be so, so careful with you, angel. It’s going to drive me insane. But it will feel good for you.”

“Why careful? I don’t want that.”

He chuckles. A chill runs down your spine.

“Yeah, you do. You’re going to want me to be careful when I’m—” he pauses, pressing his thumb to your bare lower tummy and dragging up to a spot below your belly button. He presses down lightly again. “Right here. Approximately.”

The surface of the sun has nothing on the temperature of your skin in this moment, as you writhe underneath him in both arousal and embarrassment. Mostly, burning need. You feel almost sick with it.

“Please don’t make me wait anymore. Just do it, please, Spencer. I need it to be you, I don’t want it to be anyone else. I promise I’m ready.”

It’s silent for a moment. Your heart quickens. You sense his walls wearing away, his instinct to keep you intact for god knows what reason crumbling. He’s finally going to give you what you’ve been begging for.

Spencer opens his mouth, eyes glimmering—

And then his phone rings.

You both freeze—he melts dejectedly before you do, more accustomed to an ill-timed phone call and realizing the finality it can present.

He’s breathing heavily against your neck, as if maybe whoever it is will just hang up. But the phone keeps ringing.

“I’m sorry.”

Your stomach sinks as he sits up, grabbing his phone from the side table and rubbing circles on your inner thigh as he answers.

“This is Reid,” he says, lackluster.

If you wanted, you could hear what Penelope is saying—but you don’t bother listening. It’s going to be a case. Spencer is about to leave. The details are his problem.

“Okay. I’ll be there in an hour.”

He hangs up, tossing the phone onto the mattress and not speaking for a moment, just continuing to rub your leg apologetically. Watching you almost mournfully—taking in your disheveled hair, your likely blown-out pupils, the shirt pushed almost over your chest.

“I have to go right now,” he finally manages with a heavy sigh, gently pulling your shirt back into place.

You sit up, shedding all the hopes that had been building for the evening, and try to sound chipper—though all you feel is bitter disappointment that goes deeper than you understand.

“I know. Go ahead, I can get a cab home.”

He frowns, running his hand over the back of your hair.

“I don’t love the idea of you standing on the sidewalk waiting for a car in this part of town so late. Do you just want to stay here for the night and go home tomorrow?”

You force a smile. Great. So you’ll be spending the night in his bed after all—just without him.

“Sure. Thanks.”

“Yeah.”

Neither of you are feeling particularly grateful.

Soon you’re walking him to his own door. Both of you come to a stop in front.

“I’m sorry,” he sighs again.

“Spencer, it’s fine. It’s your job. You don’t need to apologize. You were very clear about this part when we started dating.”

“I know, but… it’s easier in theory than in practice.”

You smile. If Spencer is a reflection of you, it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. His hair is still messy from your fingers running through it and he’s missing his tie. You hope all his coworkers see and feel bad about taking him away from you.

But it’s not their fault. You just want someone to blame.

Instead you mould yourself to his body, wrapping around him like you belong there. He returns your embrace, pressing his lips into the crook of your shoulder and rubbing your back in that way he always does with you.

In that moment, your affection for him becomes so profound it’s like a chemical reaction—everywhere he touches burns and you love him so fucking much it aches in every inch of your body the way your muscles do when you have a bad fever. Love is the most terrible of afflictions, you realize. It is a fever dream. It’s every fiber of your being screaming to tell him how you feel, to beg him on your knees not to go because you love him like a child loves a parent or a bee loves honeysuckle or the ocean loves the horizon. Pared down to your most basic components, the barest version of yourself, you require him. Your soul needs his soul.

“Spencer?”

“Hm?”

It’s nothing more than an absentminded hum against your skin.

“I…”

Should you be looking him in the eye when you say this? Should you say it right before he has to leave? Just because you say it doesn’t change the fact that he’s about to be gone for several long days. Maybe this is a terrible time to admit something that suddenly feels so true and so consequential.

He senses your internal conflict, pulling back despite your resistance and holding your face between his hands.

“You what?” He murmurs, soft eyes bouncing back and forth between your own. Fuck—you feel so observed, now. Like he can read your mind.

“I forget.”

FUUUUUUCK.

Spencer blinks. Processes. You watch the disbelief crystallizing over his eyes like ice freezing over a lake.

He knows.

He knows you didn’t forget, and he probably knows what you were going to say, and he’s going to tell himself he was wrong to spare your dignity.

Everything hurts when he kisses you. You wonder what regret tastes like.

“Well, let me know if you remember.”

It’s too gentle and at the same time he can’t hide the edge with all the tenderness in the world. You nod as if in a trance, already looking forward to dissociating as you lie in bed and stare at the dark ceiling.

Two small goodbyes are exchanged, slightly stifled now, as if shared between drunk strangers who have sobered up and are mutually embarrassed about how candidly they’d interacted before.

You close the door behind him, doing up all the locks, and meticulously flick every light switch in the apartment off before climbing into his bed—though you don’t really feel like you deserve to be there anymore.

But perhaps this is all an overreaction. It’s not like you owe it to him to say I love you, or anything—it was bad timing, anyway. And why can’t he say it? In fact, why hasn’t he said it?

Maybe you have it all wrong.

Maybe he doesn’t feel that way about you.

You fall asleep before you allow these questions to make you sick.

24 hours go by.

24 hours go by and you really had meant to leave his apartment—it was just that you woke up late, and your phone was dead so you couldn’t call a car, so you charged it while you made breakfast, and then you ate, and then you decided to take a shower and wash your clothes, and then it was two in the afternoon and you hadn’t left yet and you decided to walk to the store and replenish the groceries you’d used up.

Maybe you got a bit distracted looking at flowers and other beautiful things at the market and by the time you got home it was 5:00, so you decided to wait until seven to skip rush hour. And then eight, just to be sure.

Before you know it, it’s midnight, and you’re dozing off in his bed again (teeth cleaned with the brush you’d bought at the store—maybe this whole situation hadn’t been entirely unwitting on your part.)

Throughout the day, you tried to let all your anxiety about the previous night melt away. If it’s something that needs to be addressed, Spencer will address it. Everything will work out in the end. That thought is how you’re able to doze off.

You’re almost asleep when your phone lights up and begins buzzing on the side table. You wince as your eyes open, not adjusting well to the harsh bright display and unable to discern who’s even calling you at this hour. Stupidly, probably because you’re half asleep, you answer without checking.

“Hello?”

Your voice is groggy, quiet with sleep.

“Shit, did I wake you?”

“Spence?” you whisper, stomach flipping at the sound of his voice on the other line. You feel caught, still sleeping in his bed.

“… yeah,” he chuckles. “Did you not check who was calling before you picked up?”

“I was asleep,” you pout. “Kinda.”

“Okay. Go back to sleep, honey. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

You sit bolt upright, phone balanced between tense fingers and speaking directly into the microphone.

“No! No, I’m awake. What’s up? Why did you call?”

A longer stretch of silence—you’re too sleepy to comprehend what it might mean, though never too sleepy to worry about it. With a pang of pain, you recall your strange goodbye, the words you hadn’t said.

“I just needed to hear your voice,” he sighs. You frown, staring at nothing in particular in the pitch black room.

“Oh. Is everything okay?”

“As much as it can be.”

“Right.”

More quiet. You chew on the inside of your cheek, stricken with a sudden feeling of awkwardness that you haven’t had with Spencer in a while.

“I’m sorry… I don’t really know what to say.”

“That’s okay,” he says, and you can hear the smile in his voice which makes you feel a bit better, “why don’t you tell me about your day? Or you can absolutely go back to sleep, if you’re too tired.”

“Don’t ask me about my day,” you whisper, flopping down on the bed once more. Shame seeps into your voice. He laughs.

“What? Why?”

“Because if I tell you you’re going to think I’m super weird and you’re going to break up with me.”

Laughter tapers off into gentler tones.

“I already think you’re super weird. It’s actually one of your most attractive qualities.”

Blood rushes to your cheeks.

“But it’s like… borderline crazy.”

Immediately, he replies, “for better or worse, I also frequently find myself attracted to crazy.”

“Thank you for calling me crazy and super weird,” you grumble.

“I also called you attractive twice. Tell me.”

When his tone takes on that easy, assertive quality, and it’s sort of raspy and low because it’s late and he’s been talking all day, and you can hear the lazy smile on his face—you imagine him laying on his hotel bed, arm slung over his eyes in the dark as he grins into the microphone—you have a very difficult time saying no.

“Fine. Guess where I am right now.”

“Um, I would hope you’re in bed?”

You smile to yourself, basking in the victory of successfully throwing him off his game even slightly.

“Guess whose bed.”

Silence.

“What an interesting question.” That cocky smile, the low drawling is back, and you chew on your lip, ignoring the shiver that runs down your spine. “If it’s not mine or yours, we’re going to have issues.”

“But if it is yours? You’re not going to call the police on me?”

“Why would I call the police? To tell them there’s a pretty girl in my bed and I don’t want her there?”

“To tell them your psychopathic girlfriend broke into your apartment and might be holding hostages there.”

Spencer laughs; a brittle, drawn out thing, flat and quiet as the desert.

“If you were a psychopath, calling the cops would be a waste of time. I would handle you myself.” The idea of being handled has your thighs clenching. “But—yeah, don’t invite anyone else in.” More humor finds its way into his voice, momentarily relieving some tension that had sneakily begun to build. “Having people in my space makes me anxious.”

“But not me?” Your whisper is half flirtatious, half insecure. Spencer’s reply is soft, as if he’s picking up on this from hundreds of miles away.

“No, not you. You are always the exception.”

“Good,” you say, cheeks aching as you half-bury your warm face into his pillow. “Because I made myself really comfortable. You have a nice shower, by the way.”

Spencer groans.

“You’re killing me.”

“What? What did I do!”

“Don’t talk to me about my bed and my shower. I might start to think you’re intentionally being a brat.”

“You asked me about my day! I’m just telling you what I did!”

But you’re also intentional teasing him for sure. After a pause, he sighs in defeat.

“You’re right. I did do that. Tell me what else happened.”

“Well,” you begin, all too eager, “I had to put my clothes in the dryer after I got out, so I borrowed some of yours. But then they were way comfier than mine, so after I went to the store I put them back on, and—”

“Okay.”

“Okay what?” you frown.

“Tell me what this is.”

“I—I don’t know what you mean.”

Lying to a profiler is usually pointless.

“I’m not stupid, sweetheart. Tell me why you keep talking about my shower and my bed and my clothes.”

Caught red-handed. Your skin heats up.

“I don’t know. I miss you.”

He hums in a way that blurs the line between sympathetic and patronizing. Even through the phone you can feel the bass of it in your bones. It changes the frequency you’re vibrating at. It’s hypnotic.

“But that’s not really why you’re being intentionally provocative, is it?”

“No,” you admit quietly. “I’m still upset you had to go last night.”

“So you’re frustrated and you’re taking it out on me?”

Your brow furrows. Well, when he puts it like that…

“I’m not taking anything out on you.”

“I think you are. And I don’t appreciate that, because I’m on your side, honey. Do you think I prefer being in a hotel bed by myself or being in my bed with you?”

Somehow, he makes you feel like a scolded child. But he makes it appealing in ways you don’t understand.

“Your bed with me,” you murmur, skin prickling with the coldness of his absence even as you curl under the blanket.

“Right. So why don’t you tell me what I can do for you right now, instead of punishing me for things that are beyond my control?”

“I wasn’t punishing you,” you mutter.

“No? You weren’t intentionally talking about using my shower and sleeping in my bed and putting on my clothes so that I’d have to think about what I can’t have right now?”

“I—”

“Believe me when I tell you I have been thinking about what I can’t have, all day. Your efforts are entirely redundant and you can’t say anything about yourself that is even close to as dirty as the frankly disrespectful thoughts I’ve been having about you for seventeen hours.”

The lack of air is making you so dizzy your vision goes gray at the edges.

“What… what thoughts?”

“None that you need to concern yourself with.”

“You can’t just say something like that and then not tell me!” you insist. He’s obviously giving you a taste of your own medicine and it’s fair but it doesn’t mean you have to like it.

“I can do whatever I want,” Spencer corrects cooly in a way that pisses you off beyond belief because he’s right. It triggers some adolescent immaturity within you—a desire to get back at him, so to speak. He wants intentionally provocative? He can have it.

“Fine. Then so can I. And there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it even if I could.”

“Spencer,” you warn. “If you don’t tell me what you were thinking I’m gonna—” you look around the room for ammo. “I’m gonna look through your nightstand!”

“Go ahead. I’ll warn you, it’s not very interesting.”

“Sounds like what someone who has something hide would say,” you mumble, crawling across the mattress through tangled sheets and using your phone flashlight to open the drawer.

Spencer is patient and silent as you take in its contents—a small blue leather-bound notebook (full of what looks like Russian), a fountain pen, a glasses case, various kinds of vitamins, and—

“Spencer Reid,” you say, dragging out his name and pretending nothing is fluttering in your stomach, “what are these?”

“I don’t know. I can’t see what you’re referring to.”

“Take a wild guess.”

“Oh, I have one. But I’d like to hear you say it.”

You realize you may have gotten yourself in deeper than you meant to by going through his stuff. Well—they don’t say karma is a bitch for nothing.

“What are you doing with a box of condoms?”

He chuckles and you feel it in your whole body, warm as you stretch across his mattress and eye the box like it might jump out at you.

“Those are years old. I’ve used three since I bought them.”

“Don’t tell me that,” you whine. “I don’t wanna think about all the other women you’ve seduced.”

“You wanted them to be for you, huh?”

You flush. Honestly you hadn’t even thought about that.

“I… I don’t know. I kind of just assumed…”

It’s silent for a second and you frown, realizing you hadn’t even considered protection when you’d imagined sleeping with him before.

“You assumed what, honey?” he asks, voice soft.

“It’s dumb. I can’t tell you.”

“You can tell me anything. I’m not going to think it’s dumb, I promise.”

You chew on your lip, letting your eyes unfocus on the box as you muster the courage to be honest.

“Whenever I imagined it… we didn’t… use anything.”

The words make you cringe even as you’re saying them. So does the quiet that follows.

“When you imagine us sleeping together, we don’t use a condom?”

“Ah!” The phone drops to the mattress as you cover your ears and roll onto your side, curling into yourself once more. “You didn’t have to say it! You make me sound so weird!”

“It’s not weird,” he laughs, because he can probably imagine exactly what you just did, “I just wanted to make sure I was understanding you. That said… we would definitely use protection.”

“Do we have to?”

The quiet words take even you by surprise—and they seem to stun Spencer as well. Several false starts are punctuated by a sigh as he gathers his thoughts.

“We really should, baby. That’s the kind of thing we need to take seriously.”

“But you’re… you’re good, right?”

Thankfully he picks up on your meaning.

“I am. I wouldn’t touch you if I weren’t.”

“And I’m good. So...”

“Hm. And has anyone ever explained to you where babies come from?”

You groan in frustration.

“Spencer, I’m being serious! There are ways to negate that.”

“Honey,” he murmurs, “I understand that. But it would be irresponsible of me to say yes. We can talk about it in the future, but—”

“I’m telling you it’s already dealt with. The chances of an accidental pregnancy are slim to none.”

The new information hangs in the air for a moment until Spencer speaks—to your surprise, his voice is low and humorous.

“That is… good to know. But even so—I’m setting a dangerous precedent if I always let you get exactly what you want.”

“Is it such a bad thing that I just wanna—I wanna know what it feels like? You don’t want that?”

“That’s not what I said. I want to know exactly what you feel like. I’m just hesitant to give in so quickly because it makes me look weak.”

You laugh breathlessly, caught between being turned on by the first part of his sentence and amused by the sarcastic second half. Your thighs clench and your hand absentmindedly wanders between them.

“You know what I was thinking about?” you ask. Spencer hums curiously. “I was thinking about when you let me, um… when you let me touch you how you touch me.” He hums again, but you can hear the amused curve of a smile in it now.

“When you had your mouth all full of me and you looked so pretty?”

“When I—yeah,” you agree, too caught up to deny his compliment as your fingers brush your most sensitive spot through clothing. “And how you got me all messy after. And I was wondering what it would feel like… inside me.”

He sucks in a breath. Your legs brush against each other and you twist slightly as you pretend like you’re not touching yourself just a little bit.

“You want me to come inside you?”

“Yeah,” you whisper, brain short-circuiting at the way those words sound in his voice.

—

On the other side of the line, Spencer isn’t doing a fantastic job of thinking clearly either. His dick is half-hard already and it’s only getting worse with each little noise you make that you don’t seem to realize you’re making.

“Really? That would be very messy, baby. I’m surprised that’s what you want.”

“But I really want it,” you breathe. He’s not even looking as he slips his hand under the waistband of his pajamas and palms himself, his other hand rubbing tiredly over his face as his phone rests on his chest. This was not how he intended for this call to go, believe it or not—but he’s here now.

“Yeah? Is that why you’re touching yourself right now?”

You go silent—which is more or less exactly the reaction Spencer had been expecting. Patiently he waits for you to deny it, in three, two—

“’M not.”

Now, he could explain how he knows that’s a lie. How your breathing pattern changed, and your voice got softer and airier, and how you started speaking with smaller words in fragmented sentences. But he doesn’t feel like explaining any of that.

“I know that’s not true,” he murmurs. “You know what? It wasn’t fair to get you all worked up last night and then leave. I don’t want you frustrated, honey. I want you to do whatever you need to do.”

You make a little gasping noise, and Spencer can imagine the way your back would arch when you did it. His own hips buck slightly as his dick twitches under his fingers.

“Where are you touching?”

“Um—over my clothes.”

Cute.

“Go under them for me. Tell me how it feels when you’re touching yourself like that.”

It takes a moment, in which all he hears is the rustling of fabric, until you’re whispering, “feels… it feels good. I wish you were here.”

He inhales, freeing his cock and squeezing the base.

“I know. Just listen to my voice, pretty. I’m right here.”

Spencer allows himself a few slow tugs as he imagines what’s happening in his bed. You make a squeaking noise, like a held-back moan, and his eyes screw shut.

“I need them inside,” you whine, and he knows you’re referring to his fingers—the ones currently stroking his own leaking cock.

“You can use your own, just give yourself a minute first. Remember what I said about needing to be ready?”

“I am ready—” judging by the surprised chirp you interrupt yourself with, you’ve proven yourself right. What surprises Spencer is the weak sound of disappointment you make next. “Spence, it doesn’t feel the same.”

“We’re different sizes, honey. Your hands aren’t as big as mine. But you can still make it feel good.”

He almost says, 90% of the nerves in the vaginal canal are located in the lower third—in other words, within approximately 2.36 inches from the opening, which you can most certainly reach—but he refrains. He’s not sure if that’s good dirty talk.

“You have a really sensitive spot about three inches up, right in front. It’s going to feel a little different than the rest of you when you touch it. I want you to try and find it for me, okay?”

“Okay,” you breathe, ever-eager to please even from a great distance. There’s a quiet moment. “I can’t—I don’t think I can r—oh,”

The moan is so pretty Spencer can’t help speeding up the motion of his hand, hissing slightly as his fingers brush against the angry tip with every pump.

“Did you find it?”

“Yeah,” you whine, a weak, high-pitched thing. “Oh my god.”

“Be gentle,” he warns with some effort as his own hips jump slightly. “You’re really sensitive there. If you’re not careful you’ll make yourself sore.”

“I don’t care—holy shit—” the way your voice rises and tightens to a squeak at the end has Spencer moaning as he fucks his fist. A black hole forms and warps time, turning every minute into a second and every second into an infinity until he has no idea how much time is going by. He drags his thumb over the tip, smearing precum over his cock and whining as his jaw drops at the feeling. “Oh my god, Spencer,” in that same strained, high voice. “’M gonna—ah!”

He gets the general sentiment.

“What, baby? You’re gonna make yourself come all over your fingers? Is that what you wanted to tell me?”

“Mhm!”

“Yeah, I bet you are. It feels good, huh?”

“Yes,” you cry.

“See? You don’t need my fingers to feel good. Mine barely fit, you know that? I have to hold your fucking hips down whenever I put my fingers in you because you can’t stop squirming. I don’t know how you think you’re going to take my cock.”

“Spencer!”

He knows.

“Come, baby. Let me hear you.”

The delicate sounds you make as you bring yourself to orgasm tip him over the edge of his own—grunting as he comes all over his fist.

“Jesus,” he strains under his breath, the word dragging out into two long syllables as his hips buck involuntarily and cum drips down his knuckles. He’s lightheaded and he’s created a mess and it all happened so quickly. “Fuck,” he breathes, a rasping chuckle as he reaches for the towel he’d dropped on the bed after his shower earlier. “You conscious over there?”

“I’m conscious,” you slur, breathing heavily. “I’ve never had an orgasm by myself before.”

“Are you proud of yourself?” Spencer smiles, wiping his hand off and making sure he’s otherwise clean. “You should be. I am.”

He’s barely kidding.

“I’ll be proud when I can do it without your help,” you tease.

“But I’ll always want to help you with that.” His already warm face flushes further as he goes over what he’d said. “Sorry I was so vulgar.”

You laugh. He blushes even more.

“Are you? I think you secretly love being vulgar.”

“I don’t know why! I have no idea where it comes from. I would never speak that way in any other context. I should probably work on that. Sometimes I look back on the things I say and I’m genuinely appalled.”

“Well, don’t stop on my account. Personally I enjoy it.”

“Yeah, I think I’m corrupting you. You probably shouldn’t enjoy it.”

The truth of it weighs heavy on his mind, but he’s pretty sure his voice alone doesn’t betray that and you can’t sense it through the phone.

“Oh, my god. Do not do that falling on your sword shit. I like being corrupted by you. If you stop I’ll be very upset.”

“Well god forbid you get upset,” he teases gently. Idly he wonders if the reason he’s suddenly feeling so depressed is because his cortisol levels were already high from the case, and then he jarred his system with an orgasm, spiking his dopamine and ultimately causing it to plummet without the oxytocin release that post-coital physical contact would usually provide.

Or if it was something else. It could also be something else.

For the millionth time, he wishes he was with you. Part of him also wants to go to sleep. But mostly he wishes he was with you.

—

A comfortable silence settles over the conversation. In the ditch between words, you’re mapping constellations in the texture of Spencer’s ceiling. If you squeeze your eyes almost shut, you can imagine it really is the night sky. You can imagine he’s really here.

You think about what he said—his apparently mindless vulgarity. Did it mean anything? Or was he just rambling to get you off?

“Spencer?” you murmur.

“Yeah?”

“Can I ask you a question?”

He sounds earnest, perhaps a little tired, as he replies, “always,” through the little metal rectangle on your chest. He likes me and my questions are important to him, you repeat to yourself silently as you work up the strength.

“If Penelope hadn’t called, last night… were you going to have sex with me?”

Your lip tastes like his toothpaste as you chew it. Spencer sucks in a breath of air like he’s about to speak—and lets it fizzle out like foam on a carbonated drink.

“I don’t know,” he finally admits, lamely. “That wasn’t my plan, but you can be extremely convincing when you want to be.”

“But why can’t it be your plan?” It’s an almost whine, pouty and childish—but the next words are quiet and pained. “Is it something I’m doing wrong?”

“No, no! It’s not you. You’re perfect. It’s—it’s complicated. It’s a me thing.”

Such trite words—such a ubiquitous, simple excuse sounds almost comical from his mouth when you know he’s capable of all the eloquence in the world. It’s not you, it’s me. It’s ridiculous.

“Okay. Let me simplify this for you,” you begin with an uncharacteristic assertiveness that surprises even you. “I want to have sex with you. Either we are going to have sex or we’re not. So your future branches in two diverging paths. In one, we have sex, and then we keep having sex. In the other we never have sex ever. If you want to ever have the privilege of fucking me, then we just have to do it. Otherwise it simply will never happen. And I’m not eternally patient, Reid.”

Go me, you think, slightly breathless from your monologue.

“Watch your mouth,” he says dryly. Something about the chastisement makes your stomach flip and your whole body tingle. “When you talk to me you call me Spencer. I will also accept Doctor Reid.” You wrestle down a smile, refusing to let him change the subject. A delayed sigh from him sobers up the conversation. “You know what I want. I’ve been very clear with you about that. But…”

“But…?”

Another sigh. A deeper, shuddering sigh, like his breath is searching for balance. Like Spencer is in a precarious position for which he was unprepared.

“But—but to be completely honest… I worry that you’ll regret choosing me. And I know virginity is a social construct and I’m not implying that your worth will somehow be diminished if we have sex but regardless of my views on virginity as a construct, having sex for the first time can be weird and scary and it’s incredibly intimate and I don’t want you to regret your first time like I regret mine because you chose the wrong person.”

The words come at you so rapid-fire it takes you a moment to process them. And aside from all the ways you want to reassure him that you will not regret choosing him—that you could never, ever regret anything about him—one thing stands out.

“You regret your first time?”

Something between a scoff and a sigh travels through the line. You can tell he’s not annoyed at you for asking so much as he’s flustered himself with all his own words as he occasionally does.

“Yeah. Yes. Sometimes I do. The person—she didn’t… like me as much as I liked her. And I was really, really in love with her, and she knew that and she knew she wasn’t in love with me—or maybe she was, I don’t know—but my point is, when one person likes the other more than the other person like them, things get complicated. And however you feel about me—that’s fine. It’s fine. I don’t want you to feel bad if we don’t feel exactly the same way about each other. I understand that this is newer for you, it’s different, I—I just don’t want us to do something we can’t undo because I don’t want to relive that. And I’m not saying it will never happen but I just don’t want you to make this choice when… when right now, I think we’re in different places emotionally. Regardless of that, I want you to choose the right person. I don’t want you to choose me and then find out that we feel differently after we sleep together and leave you feeling like you signed up for something you didn’t understand. I’m sorry. Maybe telling you this is selfish. But I’ve been thinking about it and trying to ignore it and I think I just have to be completely honest.”

Your ears ring like Spencer just fired a blank right into the microphone. Like you just got backhanded across the face and now you have the world’s worst case of whiplash.

Every finger is numb and your blood is so cold it feels blue as it slithers thick through your veins.

What you want to do is scream. What you want to do is go back to last night and stop yourself from almost telling him I love you, slap yourself and keep your cards a little closer to your chest. Because now he knows, and he doesn’t feel the same.

You want to scream bloody murder.

But when you try, when you unhinge your jaw and part your chapped lips and expect a bellow to come hurdling up the corridor of your throat with so much force it rattles your bones, all that falls out is a small, “oh.”

Maybe that’s worse.

Spencer doesn’t reply. You hate yourself for feeling obliged to fill the silence.

“I didn’t realize you…”

I didn’t realize that you don’t love me back.

I didn’t realize I like you more than you like me.

I didn’t realize you’d tell me to masturbate in your fucking bed and then drop this not even five minutes later.

If Spencer Reid was able to talk to you over the phone with the same amount of affection and familiarity as always, like everything was still okay, knowing you love him and he doesn’t love you the whole time, he is not who you thought he was.

“I’m sorry,” he lamely says again, like it could ever help.

More silence. Now you can’t bring yourself to speak, so Spencer does.

“I realize how awkward this is. I really didn’t mean to put you in this position. Especially not over the phone when I—god, I’m stupid. I’m sorry. But can we—can we talk about this in person when I get back? Please?”

Is that what grownups do? Is the proper etiquette for him to take you out to dinner and explain why he’s not in love with you? Is he going to break up with you?

What does one even wear to a breakup date?

“Okay,” you whisper. Your eyes sting, your everything stings, like you’ve been wrapped in a shroud of briar. Sheets that were soft a moment ago feel like sandpaper on open wounds. You feel like an open wound.

Spencer sighs. It’s a sound of relief that confuses and hurts you even more.

“Okay. I—okay. Thank you. Um—I’ll let you go back to sleep, now.”

“Okay,” you repeat—as if any of this were okay. But you can’t keep being that stupid girl who feels it all so much harder, who loves easily and begs to be loved in return, too naive to assume that someone who treats her so kindly might not reciprocate her feelings. It has to be okay, because if it’s not, you’re silly and dramatic and you’re just proving him right.

“Goodnight,” Spencer whispers, and you can’t help but feeling that it’s the last time you’ll ever hear those words from his mouth while you’re in his bed. And he’s not even fucking here.

So you pull the blanket a little higher. You let your tears stain his pillow because they’ll be invisible by the morning. It will be like they were never here. Like you were never here.

“Goodnight.”

part five

#spencer reid #spencer reid fic #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #criminal minds #criminal minds smut #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fic

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scarlettmurphy · 4 months ago

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STARCROSSED +ੈ✩‧₊˚ LOGAN HOWLETT.

logan and y/n — where you are completely in love with a man older then your father by a good 100 years.. and whose in love with another.

- content warning age gap. nsfw. sh. angst. not really happy endings! pairings: older!logan howlett x xaiver!reader

spoiler: horrible yearning!

note this is my first piece of work so i hope it’s okay! i love logan sm i had to write something for him — and this is really angsty :) pls ignore if there’s any bad grammar! i’m a bit lazy rn, also with the timeline for this fic i have no idea when im going for. im saying 2000s-2010s just remember its a bit scrambled timeline wise cos i wanted my favs here!🤭 enjoy!

you hated when he was around. you couldn’t stand it anymore. your longing glances to him, the yearning looks you gave him which were never returned and only thrown back into your face when you saw how he was looking at jean the way you looked at him.. it had all been getting too much. at first you acted like it didn’t bother you and part of your school-girl crush deluded brain pretend you were just seeing things but as the weeks / months had passed you realised that was the furthest thing from the truth.

recently you couldn’t even bring yourself to glance at him because it hurt too much and that wasn’t even being dramatic, the aching feeling in your heart wasn’t worth getting a glimpse of his timeless beauty so every time he was around you bit down the urges swallowed your pride and acted as if he was nobody to you, just a good friend. a father figure, a teammate.

it felt rude at first, to you since you were the only one noticing it, how you just stopped all those little things you were doing but you couldn’t help it or stop yourself from being like that because it was too hard to deal with — loving someone so much with all your heart but you knew you couldn’t have them. you hated to admit it but it destroyed you and that little part of you right now was falling into a full blown rage as you sat on the sofa alongside logan and wade — charles, hank, scott and rogue being present in the room too.

“i just don’t get her.” scott said out, repeating the same line over again, still bitching about the fight him and jean had after they all got back from the mission — everyone could hear the screaming and scott’s harsh gaze when he entered the room just confirmed it all and the second,of course, logan asked a question after wade made a snarky comment that set off scott and he hadn’t stopped mansplaining it since.

“yea’ well certain people don’t.” logan gruffly spoke out as y/n couldn’t stop her eyes from moving over to him at his words, feeling a sense of hurt coarse through her like it usually did whenever he spoke about jean or implied her. everyone knew what logan’s comment meant and y/n could see how scott was biting his tongue, clearly pissed off like he always was around logan. for good reason.

the tension only grew worse when scott couldn’t help himself and made a comment right back at him, his eyebrows raised as he stood from his seat. charles attention turning right to scott instead of logan, “and what’s that supposed to mean, asshole?” scott spat out like his words were venom.

rogue rolling her eyes at his words as hank shared a little glance with y/n who was cursing the entire situation in her brain as she couldn’t stop herself from looking at logan — those very same feelings boiling in her body as she saw the way his mouth twitched and his jaw clenched. how protective he was getting over jean, a feeling y/n couldn’t help have been wishing for the past two years of knowing the man he would get like over her — sure in a friends way he might’ve done it before, at least that’s how she saw but it never like this.

y/n swore she could physically feel her heart aching.

“pretty sure you know what that means pal.” logan bit back harshly, his words falling to the same tone as scott’s did as scott scoffed at what he said as he bit back with full frustration as charles clearly wanted to get involved - a little grimance pictured on his face as y/n studied her fathers expression, him clearly knowing what jean meant to logan, as y/n looked away before her dad could catch her staring her eyes falling onto a pissed off scott who downed the drink he had in his hand, placing it on the table.

“she picked me.” was all scott needed to say as the weight in the room shifted heavily on logan’s end as everyone could see the way logan’s face dropped a little, that comment taking the little coy expression he had right away but y/n didn’t even bring herself to look, scott’s eyes taking her in as if he knew what she was feeling in this moment. his eyes meeting her own as y/n felt a lump form her throat — the tightness almost burning — as he tutted at how silent logan was before he walked out the room without another word.

with this the room fell silent. everyone knowing the feelings logan must’ve been harbouring right now, y/n especially, as she glanced over to him not expecting to be met with his brown eyes looking back at her as he took in her expression before he roughly got up without another word — going right over to the door.

chaeles couldn’t help himself as he spoke up firmly the second he watched logan head for the door, “logan—“

“just goin’ for a piss, wheels.” he roughly said back before the door shut right behind him.

“more like a bitchless weaping session.” wade couldn’t help say as he had left the room, hank and rogue not being able to help their little laughs from coming out as y/n bit down on the inside of her cheek limiting the feelings she was experiencing as much as she could before she stood up.

“—i’m going to shower.” y/n said out lowly, her words slipping out quickly as the others nodded or hummed in agreement, wades eyebrows furrowing as he clearly felt he knew more of the situation then the rest did but he kept that to himself.

“take some pics for me!” wade called back to her, earning a little look from charles as hank scoffed in reply.

— +ੈ✩‧₊˚

that shower was more like watching a re run of singing in the rain which y/n couldn’t help watch the entirety of for no specific reason before she eventually hoped in the shower. the faint sounds of her speakers being heard as she hummed along to the lyrics of the specific song as she felt the cold water glide down her naked body.

swallowing the pain-filled whimpers that were aching to escape her wet lips as she acted as if the water gracing against all those marks and burns on her skin wasn’t killing her inside despite her ‘little’ case of immortality. immortality sadly didn’t mean you never experienced pain and y/n was clearly the leading case proving that matter as she soon got out the shower after washing her hair and her body.

wrapping the towel around her dainty body as she took in herself in the mirror, the thoughts forming in her brain being within the ‘self loathing’ category as she exited her bathroom. her face falling once she was met with the gruff expression on logans face which turned to one of shock as his eyes scanned over y/n immediately. him swallowing his own spit as y/n hands immediately wrapped around her towel just to make sure it wouldn’t fall.

“lo— shit, i didn’t know you were here.” she quickly managed out, her face a bright shade of red as she watched as logan didn’t move his gaze off her figure.

“—wait.” not a single word escaping his lips as y/n walked over to her bed where her clothes were laid out for her.

y/n’s breath was hitched and she swore she felt all the heat rush to her face as she took in the way logan was just staring at her as she grabbed her clothes with her other hand, taking a few steps back into the bathroom before she swiftly shut the door. her mind a mess as she quickly put on her pajamas before she sprung over to the mirror to double check her appearance before she walked back out to her bedroom.

logan being in the exact same place she had left him — not a single word had left his lips and his facial expression was the exact same as y/n nervously smiled at him.

“what are you doing�� uh, here?” y/n asked him swiftly, her words rushed as she swore she could hear her heartbeat in her ears as she saw logan slowly seem to come back to reality, scratching the back of his neck as his lips parted as he tried to say something.

yet it took a little for something to come out as y/n swore she felt something growing in the air as logan finally spoke, his gruff tone a little knocked back then usual, “was coming here to bitch about scott. didn’t mean to see anything i shouldn’t have.”

his words sent a little chill through y/n’s spine as she managed a little smile on her lips, no matter how fake it was she still managed it, as she looked at him. his first words being all the confirmation her heart needed in this moment as she held back her feelings as she felt her heart tense.

“it’s okay.” y/n rolled out quietly, her attention falling over to her bed as she walked over to the foot off it — sitting down on the edge of the bed as logan stayed in place, his arms crossed as he leaned against the fireplace in her room now.

“so scott, you wanna bitch?” y/n trailed off into as logan looked out the window, seemingly lost in his thoughts as he shrugged his shoulders.

“nah, not anymore.” he said, his voice low as y/n took in his hush voice — his words only adding to the building up tension that was making the air thick as y/n looked at him. her eyes taking in every inch off him and how he looked, her mind wondering how he’d feel.. how’d he’d taste.

yet her thoughts were immediately cut short.

“—you seen jean about?”

his words were like a harsh hit round the face as she felt a lump for her in throat, her mind tingling a little as she glanced over to the door. she hated this, every inch of this. she wanted to scream, punch him in the face. confess right there and there at him but she didn’t. she couldn’t.

no matter how much it killed her inside. every second without him being like a gun shot to the heart as she plainly looked back at him, a soft smile growing on her face which was so fake it was indescribable as she nodded to her bedroom door.

“her room, i guess.”

her low words were enough to make anyone know she was hurt yet of course logan didn’t, or he didn’t show he knew as he gave her a playful wink.

“thanks bub.” he said with a nod as he went to walk out the room — his hand on the door when y/n heard his muttered words.

“sleep well y/n.”

his words fell into silence as y/n watched him leave, the door closing behind him being the utmost reminder of how her feelings will probably never be acknowledged. and that harsh reality left her alone in her bedroom for the entire night and with every toss and turn her mind was on one thing and one thing only. him.

— +ੈ✩‧₊˚

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cattordi · 11 months ago

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a/n hi i have explanation as to why i was gone for so long please don’t sue me. i wrote this after watching saltburn and watching 2037633 felix edits. but i honestly forgot how to write so im getting back into it. don’t judge :P

summary it’s 2006 and you’re an american who recently decided to study overseas in england at oxford and there’s one person who just won’t leave you alone

pairings felix catton x american!reader

warnings smut, orgasm control, begging, foul language, creampie/breeding, overstimulation, slight choking, oral sex, not proofread, smoking cigarettes(not reader), unprotected sex, fluff, angst, name calling, daddy kink, praise, 18+ MINORS DNI

chips or crisps?

“can i just get a vodka martini?” you ask the bartender. he nods and quickly scurries off to make your drink.

england is not what you expect it to me. it’s nice. nicer than america in your opinion but the people were something.

one person you just couldn’t shake stood in all his glory across the pub. “he’s gorgeous right?” a redheaded girl says as she walks from his direction towards you.

“uh no not really” you lie. no one in their right mind could think that felix catton was unattractive. he’s 6’5, has a gorgeous smile, and a very very hot body. the only thing about him that bothered you was how he teased you. m

you didn’t know if it was because you liked him or what. “no one thinks felix is unattractive. felix doesn’t even think felix is unattractive.” the redhead continues saying.

“um do i know you?” you ask as the bartender slides your drink across the bar and you had him 4 pounds. “oou an american. i’m annabel” she says.

“hm.” you say and turn to look in felix’s direction again. hes now looking over at the bar where you and annabel are. first hes staring at annabel and then his eyes wander over to you; catching your gaze. you quickly look away not wanting to hold eye contact but for some reason your eyes wander right back to him.

he’s now smiling at you goofily because you got caught staring.

you roll your eyes and turn back facing the bar. annabel walks away after getting her drinks and now you’re officially by yourself again.

just the way you liked it.

you finish off your drink and quickly get a new one.

times passes and more people start filing into the pub; which calls for more drinks. “chips or crisps?” you hear next to you and you already know who it is.

“what do you want felix?” you groan and throw your head back.

the way your mouth is open and your neck is exposed makes felix feel a way inside. “is it chips or crisps?”

“felix i swear-“ you begin but he cuts you off. “you swear what love?” he begins and you finally look at him, “you’re you’re slap me? you’ve done that before.”

“what is your fascination with me?” you snap and he looks so amused.

“that,” he says a points at me, “what you just did is my fascination with you love.” furrowing your eyebrows he continues, “the way i get you all riled up without even touching you.” he says and his mouth is next to your ear at the point.

the smell of bourbon wraps around your head and into your nose. “you’re drunk.” you say and he chuckles.

“i’m not. lighten up y/n, you know i like teasing you.”

you can’t really tell if he’s lying so you just stop talking hoping he goes away after he gets his drinks.

newsflash: he doesn’t.

“y/n?” he says.

“what could you want now felix?”

“talk to me, love.”

“don’t call me that.. and no.”

“you just spoke to me.”

you don’t speak this time and he chuckles, “this little game we’re playing,” he begins and gestures between the two of you,” is lovely.” his accent warms you inside.

“i’m leaving.” you groan and push off your chair. you quickly gather your purse and coat before walking out; all while not even glancing at felix.

the cold england air hits you like a truck as you step outside. “it’s awfully cold.” felix says.

you jump at the unexpected sound of his voice. “felix what the hell are you doing?”

“don’t be foolish y/n. it’s 10 at night. i’m walking you back to your dorm.”

“i don’t need you to walk me back.” you say and he shrugs, “i didn’t ask you that did i?”

“whatever.” you begin walking and you can hear felix walking behind you.

after about 5 minutes of walking he finally speaks, “so y/n why don’t you like me?”

you ignore him but he won’t take that for an answer, “y/n answer the bloody question.”

you still don’t answer.

“for fucks sake,m y/n.” he says and he sounds upset. “whatever.” is all you hear before a hand wraps around your wrist pulling you between a small alley.

“felix let go.” you groan in annoyance that he won’t just leave you alone. but behind your little act, you want him to bother you; in more ways than others.

“stop acting like i don’t exist.” he begins as he gets close to your ear, “stop acting like i don’t have an effect on you.”

“you don’t.” you whisper and that pisses him off more.

“y/n,” he scoffs and you feel yourself beginning to get wet,”you act the way you do because you know, everything i do makes you feel good.”

if only he knew how true that statement was.

you shake your head, looking up at him. “listen, im not like every other girl who bows down to you. you can’t think i’m just gonna give out.”

“and why wouldn’t you love? i see the effect i have on you. i try to be so nice to you love.. and you push me away.” he begins as his hand slides into your mini skirt. “i bet you’re soaking for me.”

you refuse to make eye contact so you look down at his chest. “look at me love.” you shake your head now causing him to grab you by your jaw. “i said look at me.”

you whimper quietly at the feeling of his hand now touching the wet spot of your panties. felix’s eyes soften at your sound, “do i make you this wet love?”

after a few seconds, you finally give into all the feelings. so you nod your head but this doesn’t satisfy him, “words.”

“yes.”

“good girl. now,” he begins before pulling his hands out of your panties; causing you to whimper again at the lost of touch, “let’s go to my dorm. i’m not taking you in a bloody alley, darling.”

with that, he grabs your hand and begins walking quickly in the direction of the dorms. you can’t help but notice how big his hand is compared to yours.. and how long his legs are. one of his steps is 3 of yours.

after another 30 seconds of walking he stops. “you walk awfully slow love.”

“well sorry i’m not-“ you begin but yelp as your feet leave the ground and felix throws you over his shoulder. “felix put me down!” you groan.

“darling we are like 3 minutes away. just let me carry you.” he says and smacks your butt. the stinging feeling after keeps you quiet.

those three minutes pass so quickly you don’t even realize he’s walked the stair of his dorm and is now unlocking the door.

slowly, felix sets you down and points to the bed. “take your skirt off.”

you hum in response before pulling your skirt down. he’s watching you intently with his arms crossed. his button up shirt is unbuttoned halfway down; revealing his sculpted chest.

“now your,” he begins and points at your panties. as you slide them off the moon shines on your glistening folds and a low groan comes out of him.

as you discard of you panties, felix walks over and stands between your legs. “look at me.” you do as he says, “is this what you want?”

felix begins squatting down slowly. “do you want to be mine y/n?” he ask when he’s parellel with your pussy. his hot breath sends shivers up your spine. “hm y/n? answer me love.”

his hands wrap around your thighs. “yes felix.. that’s what i want.” you moan out as he begins kissing your inner thigh.

“well before we start.. call me daddy.” he lips your pussy in between words, “and you only cum when i say so. understood?”

you whimper lightly, “yes daddy.”

you’d never called a guy daddy before but it got you off more than you expected.

“well then,” with that felix’s mouth attacks your folds and clit causing your back to arch in pleasure.

your hands find his hair as he continues licking up and down your slit; ever so often he’ll hum and the feeling it gives almost pushes you over the edge.

“can i cum please daddy?” you ask and he hums something that sounds like a no. “please, please i want to cum.”

the begging and humming goes on for another minute or so until felix stops. “what happened?” you ask breathlessly.

“you tasted delicious darling, but i don’t want you to cum until i’m in you.”

he quickly pecks you on the lips before rolling you onto your stomach. you can’t see what he’s doing but his shadow cast on the wall as he stands.

you hear his belt being undone and soon his hand cupping your ass. “god, you’re perfect darling” he groans as his hand slides down; his accent is music to your ears.

“thank you..” you moan as he moves his dick between your wet folds. “thank you what?”

his hand wraps around your throat, “say it y/n.” the way your name rolls off his lips makes you feel so good. “thank you daddy.”

“good girl.” with that he slides in. you couldn’t see how big it was but you could definitely feel it. you moan in pleasurable pain as he stretches you.

doggystyle wasn’t always your first choice of positions because after a lot bit it was too much. every thrust would hit your cervix and begin hurting but with felix: it felt good.

“so- damned- tight.” he says and thrust harder in between words. you dig your face into the comforter moaning.

his hand snakes around your body to the front and begins rubbing your clit in small agonizingly pleasing circles. “felix-“

a sharp smack hits your ass, “that’s not my name y/n.”his hips continue to smack into you as he fucks you senselessly. “what’s my name?”

“fuck i need to cum.” you moan and he smacks your ass again, before grabbing you by the neck and pulling you up towards his chest continuing to fuck you. the new position caused him to hit your g spot in more ways than before. “what’s my name?” he ask through gritted teeth.

you’d never felt this kind of pleasure with anyone before. “can i please cum, daddy?”

“that’s what i like to hear.. but no.” his hand continues massage your swollen bud as he breathes heavily on your neck; fucking you maliciously. “god, do you feel god. all wet for me.. letting me fuck you to no avail like daddys slut.”

“please can i come daddy? please.. you feel so good.” you moan,

he pushes you back onto the bed, holding your by the neck; keeping you in place. “please daddy can i cum?” the feeling of release deepens so much and you can’t take it.

“i can’t take it.” you say through pleasured cries. the way he rubs your clit and hits your g spot repeatedly overstimulates you.

“yes you can and you will y/n.” he begins, “you’re mine now. all mine. no one could fuck you like i do. don’t you agree?”

you nod while whimpering out hushed “yes daddy”’s

“good. do you want to cum?”

“yes, yes please.”

“beg. and make sure it’s loud. i want everyone in this dorm to hear how much of a slut you are for my cock.”

“please daddy. please can i come? i want to make you feel good.” you plead and you have to admit: you can be louder.

“that’s not loud enough darling.” he says and stops rubbing your clit. the lost of friction causes you to whimper. “louder.”

“please daddy. i need to come. please, i can’t take it anymore.” you grab the sheets of his bed and grip them tight as an anchor as he fucks you.

“louder y/n, you’re almost there.” he groans. you can tell he’s getting close as well. his grip on your hips has tightened and you can feel his shaft pulsing slightly against your walls.

his fingers touch your clit again and you moan loudly, “oh my gosh, can i please cum daddy? you feel so good in me. i want to cum all on your dick.”

this time you’re so loud he’s even threatened to cover your mouth. “cum love. milk my cock like i know you’ve wanted too since we met”

at the sound of his permission, you release your orgasm. white flashes take over your vision as you release what felix has took his time to build up.

he continues to fuck you through your orgasm causing more pleasure. moaning loudly, you arch your back towards him. “holy hell, you’re so tight around me.”

he groans and pushes your hips into the bed. his thrust begin to slow and become sputtered movements. “you were made for me y/n.. so perfect.” he groans as releases hot white spurts that coat your walls.

the way he talks to you turns you on even more as you come down from your high. he continues to fuck you slowly as his cum drips out of you and onto your clit.

“fuck y/n..” he moans softly as he pulls out slowly. you continue laying down trying to catch your breath as he stands.

you hear things being more behind you but you’re too weak to turn your head and look. after a few seconds, you feel felix straddling you. “roll over.”

you do as he says to reveal he’s holding a cloth. “open your legs for me..”

slowly, you open your legs to reveal your swollen sex. “you did so good love.”

felix squats lowly and begins wiping you up. “thank you.”

smiling at you he continues,”but you know.. you never answered my question.”

“hm?”

“chips or crisps?”

#felix catton #saltburn #felix catton smut #felix catton fic #jacob elordi x reader #felix catton saltburn #felix catton fluff #felix catton x y/n #felix catton x reader #felix catton x you #saltburn x reader

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jiminrings · 5 months ago

Text

four seven eight, phase 3 (1)

pairing: jungkook x reader

wordcount: 9k

glimpse: jungkook's secure when it comes to being a husband and a dad, knowing that he grew to love being both after everything you've been through. what he isn't so secure about is the possibility that it's everything he'll ever be.

alternatively, jungkook pursues his dream of making a film, even if it means making your rival his main lead behind your back.

[ part one, intermission, part two, intermission 02, finale — complete series masterlist, from phase 1 to 3 ]

[ the return of 478jk (derogatory), major angst, fluff, the weight of devotion except jk's mean this time, flashbacks to phase 1 (im so sorry), the both of them r in an identity crisis, The Return of yoongi, yearning and the ache of unfulfillment all over, eventual redemption ]

notes: FINALLYYYYYY after a long wait, phase three is finally here :-) the og era of 478 is a time i'll truly never forget so now that i'm putting them in Several Inconveniences again, i look forward to creating another era with u citizens!!! mwah thank u love yew

as always, lmk what you think <3 send in feedback n love to my askbox anytime!!

Jungkook likes to be needed.

He likes to be needed fully, sometimes even all at once to the point that every mention of his name makes him think that his assistance is needed. He wants to be needed like the way you rummage through your old film canisters that you dumped in a large drawer just to retrieve a specific picture of him; needed like the way you sigh in relief when you find said roll.

Jungkook wants you to seek him in a crowd, past all the banners of your name from your fans and lanyards of your staff, and ask specifically him for a cold water bottle he keeps in his bag for you. As a matter of fact, he wouldn’t even mind if you ask it from him indiscreetly — he wants to be needed, even if neither of you are alone with each other.

He’s used to the feeling of being needed because it’s practically routine for him. The way Jungkook loves you has changed and evolved (needlessly to say for the better) through the years, and although he tries to look for the balance in it all, there’s a tiny, tiny part of him that wonders what would’ve happened if neither of you changed.

It’s perhaps the change in seasons, or maybe it’s the build-up of the stupid little things Jungkook’s seen recently; one of those things happen to be a ridiculously long thread by your fan, who happens to also be a fan of Yoongi, assuming that your marriage with J*ngkook (that’s exactly how they typed his name out) is ending, hence your recent collaboration on a brand deal. Jungkook, of course, has half the mind to go on his secret stan account and snark at said poster before reporting, but even then, there’s an itch in his mind that he can’t scratch.

Whatever weather it is outside nowadays or whichever stupid little thing pisses him off online, Jungkook can’t shake off the nagging question of what if in his mind.

When Jungkook cleans your water bottle every night for you to take to set the next day, he wonders if the two of you would still be together if only he didn’t rush to your place by the exact second your month-long break ended, right when he takes off the rubber from the cap to clean the ridges thoroughly.

When he blowdries your hair (even if you tell him not to bother) after you begrudgingly take a shower because you can’t sleep in bed after going outside and not washing up the second you come home, he wonders if you would’ve kept loving him even if the very incident with Sora didn’t push him to change, right when he sees you close your eyes while his hands scratch your scalp.

When Jungkook sounds out syllables to Hwayoung and tries his very best not to baby-talk her (he can’t help it sometimes) as he recounts his day to the toddler, he wonders if you would’ve even had a daughter with him if he stayed the same silent lover that he used to be, right when she parrots your name back to him with a smile.

“Young-ie’s probably starting to need me less and less,” he sighs to you with a pout, eyebrows knitted in concern as he gives you his rookie version of a blowout he’s still trying to perfect. Jungkook can’t flick his wrist the way professional hairstylists do, just in the same way you can’t pick up why he’s brought up the thought out of nowhere.

“How could you say that? She’s the biggest daddy’s girl ever,” you chuckle, placating him with the truth despite your initial confusion. If you weren’t fully awake awhile ago, you certainly are now — mostly because Jungkook springs up an unbelievable idea, and partly because whenever he tugs the brush at your hair, your whole head comes along with it.

“Not really. More like biggest mommy’s girl, you mean,” he defensively scoffs, apologizing quickly when he hears you wince at a particular experimental tug he does on your ends.

“Should we wake her up right now and let her decide?” you murmur, your eyes locking with his on the mirror.

Jungkook, at his most comfortable state, wearing ratty oversized pajamas and glasses on his face that he’s yet to update the prescription on, has never felt more competitive in his life.

“Well we could-…”

“I was joking,” you deadpan, the silence between the two of you getting long enough to the point that you suddenly find yourself laughing, effectively getting Jungkook out of his daze.

“… I knew that.”

You may have had an inkling about Jungkook feeling slightly off before in the past weeks, but all it took was his random, unprompted question tonight for you to solidify that seed of concern in your chest.

Jungkook likes to be needed, even if he can’t say the same that you need him as much as he thinks you do. He thinks it’s a perfectly rational feeling to want to be needed by both your wife and your daughter, and although he’s not as receptive to being needed as much by anyone other than his family, the feeling still stays the same.

He has all the time in the world. You’ve enabled him to do so even if he’s the one mainly looking after Hwayoung while you worked, but despite that, Jungkook doesn’t feel needed enough.

There’s an itch in his mind that he can’t scratch with neither your constant affection nor Hwayoung’s grabby hands. There’s an unplaceable, agitating urge in Jungkook’s chest to put a pause on everything and be back to who and what he used to be, despite your affirmation that he is needed.

There’s that tick going on in Jungkook’s brain that amplifies everything he does to seem wrong; that makes him grumpy when he wakes up to prepare you breakfast whenever you had early shoots, that makes him purse his lips when his daughter asks him to watch the same movie with her for the third time in the week.

All of the uneasiness in him, however, disappears when Namjoon, the acclaimed screenwriter that he has for a friend (whom he actually met through you), calls him up with an offer that Jungkook can’t refuse.

It’s an offer that releases the ache from his bones, makes him want to blowdry your hair better, and watch the same movie over and over again with his daughter — but Jungkook postpones saying it to you when you come home and want nothing more than to be in his arms, and for Hwayoung to be in yours.

( ♡ )

Jungkook could wait more.

He convinces himself that he can because although there’s a date set for the short film that Namjoon’s pitched for him to produce, it hasn’t grown yet to become the unstoppable force against Jungkook’s immovable object: family.

He knows he needs to tell you eventually and that he’s not really asking for permission in the first place, but there’s a sense of guilt in him whenever the thought of breaking the news to you comes into mind. He’s not nervous per se because he knows you’re as supportive of him, if not more, like he is with you.

It just happens that it’s within the fine details that Jungkook truly feels hesitant to tell you that he has to leave for awhile.

Jungkook could wait more, and although that means he has to deal with the occasional voice in his head telling him that lying to you (even under the guise of protecting you) has the capacity to bite back at him, he manages. He swallows down the words whenever you unintentionally give him an opening to tell you about the news of him going abroad, and just settles for holding your hand.

He could wait more because telling you now wouldn’t be the right time, now when you’re on your day-off as you’re close to wrapping up your current project before moving to the bigger, more exhausting one; not now when you have a time of reprieve to spend with your family before taking on the biggest project of your career to date.

Jungkook hums to himself as he looks down on Hwayoung who has a tiny shopping cart to herself, her strikingly round eyes that she got from him (Hwayoung looks more like him the older she gets) looking up to his own.

“Hi, pretty girl,” he lulls, mumbling loudly enough for only her to hear. “You’d understand if appa left for awhile, right?”

“Left?” she questions, holding up her left hand at the mention yet she reels at his query, brows furrowing as she seems to digest the question. “Why?”

“Yup. That’s your left. Good job, baby,” Jungkook praises, the knot in his throat growing when he looks to his daughter who looks confused at the sudden query, again, that came out of nowhere. “You would, won’t you?”

Hwayoung hums because she doesn’t quite understand, but that’s the thing that Jungkook fears most — she’s young and smart and although he wants to use those facts to his advantage, he realizes that Hwayoung being the age that she is in now could also prove him to be dispensable.

Jungkook likes being needed, but he’s much too afraid of the possibility that Hwayoung won’t even recall him as soon as he leaves.

Your husband’s snapped out of his reverie when you go downstairs with a skip in your step, the tell-tale mischievous tone to your voice already predicting that Hwayoung would make the two of you chase after her in the backyard all day. “What are the two of you plotting again?” you ask playfully, hands on your hips as Jungkook chuckles at the sight of his two girls.

“Nothing!” Hwayoung giggles, the word slipping out of her seamlessly as she even shakes her hands fervently, accustomed to what you mean exactly with your tone of voice. She’s young and bright and you see so much of Jungkook in her, even if Jungkook would argue otherwise.

Jungkook’s dazed this morning with the way his gaze locks in from far away, his bottom lip bit between his teeth more often than not as if he’s always at war with himself.

“You okay, Kook?”

“Mhmm. Couldn’t be better,” he hums half-heartedly, his lips grazing your temple as he guides you to sit down on the carpet with him. “You finally slept for more than eight hours. That’s good,” he says as an afterthought, the pauses in between his words growing in distance as his gaze is fixated on everything but you.

Jungkook looks at your daughter who’s now pushing Miso around the house in her shopping cart, and while your cat (who’s always seemed to hate your husband) looks more than pleased at being played with, she meows to Jungkook and only at him with a hiss at the end of her spiel as if in warning — as if Jungkook is guilty of something that only the two of them know about.

Almost as if out of everyone in the room, it’s only your cat who knows that Jungkook’s lying.

Jungkook can wait, but he’s certain that he can’t wait any longer because if his brain is unoccupied for long enough, he’ll start to hear Miso cursing at him through her yowls.

“Hwayoung doesn’t look like she needs you any less,” you say gently, your line of sight following Jungkook’s as he tenses at your words.

“Oh,” he sighs, jaw grinding down to a halt. “Right."

Your words seemingly came out of nowhere, even if the both of you know deep down that they’re influenced by his impulsive thoughts from last week.

“You can say the same for me,” you add, not as an afterthought, but as a lesser-known fact that Jungkook seems to forget every now and then.

There’s a weight in his chest because all of a sudden, Jungkook can’t wait anymore. The itch in his mind has already been scratched too much that it had already bled and scabbed.

There’s a weight in his chest that reminds him he can’t wait anymore, because in hindsight, the weight of him and everything that comes with him settles on his shoulders.

Maybe, Jungkook doesn’t want to be needed as much.

( ♡ )

Jungkook drops the news on you while you’re folding laundry.

He was meant to go for sincere but the way the words leave him, right when you’re in the middle of folding Hwayoung’s pajamas that she’s about to overgrow in the soonest, it sounds as if he’s been dying to tell you; now that he has, he sounds beyond relieved.

“Namjoon offered me a script,” he announces, taking the pajamas from you to put in his pile as he sees your eyes widen, the remnants of the heavy mascara they used on you on set awhile ago highlighting your surprise. “He wants me to produce.”

“What?” you punctuate, tilting your head as you try to make sense of what Jungkook’s saying. You know he’s speaking and you’re familiar with said words; you just never expected for them to be compacted in the same sentence, meaning the way that he makes it out to be. “Kim Namjoon, as in the producer for In Terms of Eternity?”

He chirps at that, posture straightening as he tries to jog your memory. “Yeah. You’ve worked with him before and introduced us, then turns out Jin’s also a friend of his and-…"

“I mean I know Namjoon and that you’re friends with him, Jungkook,” you interrupt, trying to reel yourself in as you’ve lost your focus trying to fold Hwayoung’s clothes and talk to your husband at the same time. “But I didn’t know you were that close for him to ask you to produce something for him.”

Jungkook doesn’t completely crash from the high he’s in over finally telling you the news, but there’s that spike that flashes briefly over his face, the frown on his lips letting on more than he shows.

“What’s that supposed to mean?"

You sigh at the impossible position the both of you are in, the words that try to line themselves up in your temple being no match to the way they translate out-loud. “It means nothing. I’m just… surprised that he’d ask you to be a producer for his script, that’s all. It came out of nowhere.”

Jungkook recoils at that, a stubborn brow raised as he tries to keep his composure. “Because you don’t think I’m capable of being a producer?”

“That’s not what I’m saying,” you inhale sharply, gripping a random article of Hwayoung’s clothing beside you to pace yourself. “Namjoon’s.. big. He’s established, and well, you’ve never become a producer before.”

“And you have?” Jungkook digs, even if it’s unnecessary to do so, and the way his face falls at the forthcoming regret that creeps up to him lets you know that he thinks so too.

“Jungkook,” you try again, quirking your lips to the side as you try to manage with the pace he’s set you up on. “I’m just surprised, that’s all. This is all new to me. All new to you, even. If anything, it’s nice that Namjoon trusts you a lot.

“He does. We’re close,” he nods, clearing his throat as he feels that the both of you could move on to the other phase of the news you had interrupted him at. “As a matter of fact, we’re taking it on a global scale.”

Jungkook doesn’t get why your face falls.

He doesn’t get why your shoulders rise and fall, not in relief, but out of controlled tension that threatens to pour over.

“What?”

“The script. The film,” he smiles, trying to get you to finish his sentence and connect the dots together but to no avail. “It’s… it’s — we have to film in the US for a few months.”

“What?” you repeat, the knot in your throat tangling up more and more hesitance in you the longer it stays there.

“I said, we have to-…”

“No, I heard what you said,” you interrupt, jaw clenching tightly as you try to grasp everything Jungkook has said.

You don’t get why Jungkook’s smiling.

You don’t get why he’s completely at ease and only in confusion as he sees you piece everything out.

“Then what’s the matter?”

“Kook, all of this is new. Everything you’ve just said is and will be new,” you chuckle humorlessly, running your hand through your hair in frustration as you try to relax. “I’m happy for you, believe me, but Jungkook, what you’re saying is serious. It’s a lot to take in,” you pause, eyes wide as you repeat the words to yourself. “You. Producing. In the US, of all places, a-and for months.”

There’s not one exact emotion that runs through you because the longer that Jungkook looks at you, ecstatic, while you’re weighing what he’s just said like a bag of bricks — you feel even more conflicted.

Your husband wrings his hands together, nervously smiling at you as if he’s asking for permission, but the both of you know that his mind’s already set. He thinks the opportunity of producing a short film that’s been drafted by his friend is a once-in-a-lifetime thing, eager to take off even if he’s had no experience at all in the industry.

“I don’t know, baby. It’s just been so long since I got this excited and alive, y’know? It’s a nice change of pace and I get to do something nice-…”

“Isn’t being with your daughter nice?” you ask abruptly, unable to mask the conflict that’s been brewing in your mind ever since Jungkook pulled you aside to talk. You feel hesitant; disconnected even from wrapping your head around his wording.

Even convincing yourself that you’re just spent from working sunrise to sundown doesn’t work. No matter how hard you try, Jungkook’s tone remains as is.

“Y/N,” he sighs, lips in a tight line as he screws his eyes shut. “Don’t start.”

“I’m not starting anything, Jungkook,” you grit, crossing your arms in defense. You feel guarded more than ever, not because you’re the one whom he’s pertaining to, but because your Hwayoung is involved and you won’t sit around for it. “It’s just that when you put it like that, it sounds like taking care of Hwayoung is a chore.”

You used to be sure awhile ago that you were seeing double because in between memorizing scripts and going from schedule to schedule without any time to rest in between, you’ve been worried sick because Jungkook hadn’t texted you the whole day. You were shocked enough to come home to your daughter playing by herself downstairs (with Miso watching her the whole time), even more-so when you saw Jungkook engrossed in a highly-enthusiastic phone call.

Jungkook sighs as if talking to you completely exhausts him, pinching his nosebridge before muttering under his breath. “Like you’re one to talk.”

“Excuse me?” you blink in surprise, tilting your head in sheer confusion. You’re about to shrug it off but he does that thing again, the one where he almost rolls his eyes at you but realizes it at the last minute.

“Nothing.”

“Say that again, Jungkook.”

“My god,” Jungkook groans, throwing his head back. He runs his hands through his hair frustratedly, sucking in a rushed breath. He looks straight at you when he gives his grievance. “I’m just saying! Why do you get to live out your dream but I don’t?”

“This is my job,” you bite back instantly, the second it took for you to digest his words being enough time for him to groan again. “If it were up to me, do you think I’d work six days a week? Do you not know how much it kills me to stay away from my family?”

You’re at a loss for words, the tiny bit of insecurity you have being dug up once again. You feel guilty because you actually don’t — you know to yourself that you still dedicate so much of yourself to Jungkook and Hwayoung even if you work full-time.

Jungkook chokes up a laugh in front of your face.

“Then quit your dream if you’re so miserable.”

Your jaw clenches quickly in annoyance, unable to retain the disbelief that builds up in your chest. “My dream is my job! It’s why we’re living this life in the first place, Jungkook! Your dream is this project that was pitched to you like what, two weeks ago?”

“Can I not live my life the way that I want to?” he asks exaggeratedly, eyes wide in defense. “Why am I only your husband and why am I only Hwayoung’s dad? Why can’t I go to the US a-and try things out? Why can’t I be free from all this even for just a while?”

Your mouth falls apart at that, your moment of shock simultaneously being Jungkook’s instance for guilty. He wants to reel it in right then and there, but the small part of his pride grows to hold him back.

“Do we hold you back that much?” you whisper, the headache that has been building in your head since this morning shrinking to the size of Jungkook’s words. “What are you getting so angry for? I’m not saying no. I’m asking you why you’re so hellbent on suddenly leaving to do this.”

A large part of you, if not all, feels more disappointed than angry. Hwayoung has not and should never be an afterthought for the both of you yet Jungkook brings her up with you like mere variables.

You can grasp the fact that being a parent is a full-time job like yours yet what you can’t get a hold of is your husband’s apprehension; his sudden need of pursuing something beyond your family.

“Because I’m scared, Y/N,” Jungkook whispers, exhaling heavily. “I’m scared that this is all what life could ever be for me.”

It’s only when you’re completely silent that he comes back to the severity of his words, the tension that’s been building up in him breaking the moment that you break eye contact with him.

“I’m sorry for being your wife.”

“Baby, that’s not-…” Jungkook tries to correct himself, hot on your heels as you get up from your seat on the couch. You’re not even speeding up yet he catches you just as urgently, the hold he has on your arm doing little to put you at ease.

“And I’m sorry for making you a dad.”

“Y/N, sweetheart, I’m-…”

“You should do this project if you really want to,” you quip, back still turned to him as you enter the bedroom. Jungkook noticeably stops in his tracks, the furrow in his brows fading because you’ve put him on whiplash.

“What?”

“You’ve held down the fort while I was out being the breadwinner. It’ll be nice for you to do your own thing,” you smile tightly, eager to sleep on the whole thing just so you don’t stay hung-up for too long.

“What about Hwayoung? What about your film? They want it to be an entry for the Academy, right?” he asks in concern, different from the worry he had awhile ago when he thought you were against him leaving.

You nod, easily shrugging despite the weight on your shoulders. “I’m her mom, of course. She’s gonna come first. And for the film, I think I can still do it. I’ll juggle them both if I have to.”

Jungkook nods, eyes set on the floor. He didn’t think this far at all.

“Do you want to hire a nanny? I know a friend.”

“I’ll pass. I don’t trust nannies.”

There’s an overwhelming silence that engulfs the both of you, the white noise machine in your nightstand unable to fill it completely. Jungkook looks at the ceiling while you look at Hwayoung who’s sprawled in the middle of your bed, clutching Miso like a teddy bear — she already fell asleep waiting for the both of you.

“I didn’t mean what I said awhile ago, I’m sorry. It came out the wrong way,” Jungkook apologizes after some time, hand darting out to hold yours while you only hover above your vanity, taking off all of your jewelry except for your wedding ring.

“When do you leave?” you ask, still unable to meet his gaze.

“Next week,” he clears his throat. “When do you start filming?”

You nod, coming into terms that Jungkook would leave no matter what you say. “Next week.”

You’re arranging the covers when your husband tries to hold you again, voice strained and rushed. “Y/N, I really am sorry. I love being your-…”

“Shh,” you interrupt, pursing your lips. “Hwayoung’s sleeping.”

( ♡ )

You asked for a day off.

You’ve rarely ever asked for them throughout your entire career because you were built on the mindset that at the end of the day, you’re also an employee no matter what gig you land. Be it the cameos you used to book with Yoongi or the titular characters you take from studio after studio, you’re still the employee who had worked her way up fairly.

You didn’t ask for it during that instance when you fell sick after back-to-back shoots because you didn’t want to waste anyone’s time. You didn’t ask for it when you woke up with the type of fatigue that settled in your body no matter how hard you closed your eyes or laid your head against the cushions.

You’ve never asked for it for your sake, but you’ve asked for a day off now because Jungkook’s leaving for a place you can’t come and go to as you wish.

Unlike your house or the hotels you book for him and Hwayoung to be at whenever you have to film out of town, Jungkook’s out of reach. He’s one call away, granted that your timezones match up and there’s a connection strong enough for it to continue without a hitch. He’s far from your grasp and he will be for months on end, and you don’t think you can ever stomach working on the same day he’s leaving.

“Are you seeing me off at the airport?” he asks during the car ride, voice audible enough for only you to hear and not Hwayoung who’s sprawled across both of your laps, sleeping soundly with her plushie that resembled Miso.

“I will, but I don’t think I can see you off near the gate. I can only manage up to here,” you answer honestly, willing yourself not to break down even if the both of you are still in the car, away from any prying eyes of the media that lurks outside. “So can Hwayoung,” you add, a large part of you being grateful that she’s asleep when Jungkook has to leave so neither of you would hear her cries.

Jungkook sees that hesitance in you, the same kind that softens him into fragments.

“It’ll only be for awhile, okay? Just for a few months,” he smiles tightly, rearranging his backpack next to him, the keyring that held Hwayoung’s second-favorite toy (not the ultimate favorite because she won’t ever let him take it) clattering loudly. “I love you,” Jungkook murmurs. “Do you know that?”

“Mhmm.”

“Say it back.”

You refuse to do so because saying it back feels finite, perhaps even forced, because although you love Jungkook, saying so at the moment only weighs you down as reality sinks in. “This is gonna be easy for us, right?"

“It’s not like we’ve never been in a similar set-up before,” he shrugs, the pout on his face casual as he tries to level with you.

“But this is different, Jungkook. This is beyond different. We have Hwayoung and now, we’re both working,” you stammer, chest rising and falling as you wrap your head around everything. “This— this isn’t Seoul to Jeonju. This isn’t a leave by day, come back by night type of trip. This is-…”

“You’re freaking out,” Jungkook interjects, his soft yet stern voice cutting through your thoughts as he lays a hand on your thigh, the platinum of his wedding band looking right up at you.

You surrender in defeat, not because you’re fighting with your husband, but because there’s simply no other answer he could ever conjure for you as to why this is happening.

“Why aren’t you? Why am I the only one scared?” you whisper.

“You’re not supposed to be.”

“Of course. It’s not like you— we put everything on the line,” you clear your throat, looking down on your shoes as you convince yourself. You ignore how you’re still not entirely aware of what’s with Jungkook’s project, other than the fact that Namjoon’s the screenwriter, all in favor of giving you a semblance of sanity before Jungkook leaves you and Hwayoung. “Right?”

( ♡ )

You wonder if Jungkook already ate breakfast.

You wonder if he ate the supposedly excellent in-flight meal that comes with first-class tickets, or if he ate the ramen he’s always had a penchant for eating especially during your trips, whether by land, sea, or air. You wonder if he’s grumpy with the altitude and the way he has to pop his ears ever so often, along with the way he always seems to be too long for airplane seats turned into beds.

You call but Jungkook doesn’t answer, even if you know he’ll never not purchase in-flight wifi because he’d rather knock himself out than have to read a book or something of the sort. You message, but then again, your husband doesn’t answer, even if you know he’ll much rather reply via text than to record a voice note because he’s shy with people hearing him in public spaces, albeit closed.

Hwayoung waits patiently beside you, swinging her legs back and forth on the couch as Miso stays up with her. She should’ve been in bed half an hour ago but you let her stay up with you, all in the pursuit of getting Jungkook to respond.

“Appa?” she asks again after a minute of you trying for her dad but through another app, her pout reminding you of Jungkook’s who’s unreachable.

You try not to frown in front of her, leveling yourself as you settle for kissing her forehead to cover up the sigh that originates deep from your chest.

“Not yet, Young-ie.”

There’s no text from Jungkook when you wake, but there is a picture of him in the buffet of the private lounge he’s staying at during his layover.

Atleast Jungkook did eat breakfast and Hwayoung was able to sleep without him (the first of what you dread is many), nevermind the dull thrum in your chest in Jungkook’s absence.

( ♡ )

Hwayoung's been behaved the whole time you were on set.

With Jimin prioritizing his voluntary role of being a babysitter to your daughter over his position of being a manager to you, you became instantly comforted at the reassurance that you're not in this situation alone.

It's only been a week since you started working right after Jungkook left, his absence rearranging every system you've previously had in place. You do your very best to have Hwayoung still thriving, and even just the reminder that you are succeeding at being the only present parent for the meantime melts all of your fatigue away.

Your trailer's more equipped for her than it is for you, the space apparently reminding Hwayoung of home so much that it's enough to make her remind you that Miso should go join the both of you sometime. Your dressing room's always been hers, and so has been the affection of everyone close to you.

“I take my role of godfather very seriously.”

Yoongi explains even if you haven't asked him anything. In fact, you weren't talking to begin with. It's not in his nature to talk for the sake of talking (that's Jungkook's), but even with Hwayoung in his arms and you still being lost in your thoughts, he can't help but to feel concerned.

“I can tell," you snicker, finally taking notice of the sight in front of you. The earpiece that was previously on Yoongi is now slung over Hwayoung's shoulder, obviously too big on her. She wanted it as an accessory (it reminds her of the toy stethoscope she'd put on Miso as a collar) and with Yoongi being himself, he can't bring himself to say no.

Your shooting day's nearly over and although today wasn't as long as your previous record of hours on end, you already seem exhausted. Yoongi, of all people, knows what scenes wear you out. You hated doing monologues as a rookie and still despise monologues (but with random, out-of-place advertisements in between) as a veteran — you’ve done neither today.

"What's with the frown?" he asks gently, not only because Hwayoung’s been quiet for the past two minutes and she’s getting groggy, but also because if he were to ask you any louder, he feels as if you’d break.

"It's nothing," you answer automatically, looking at Hwayoung to ground yourself. "Just usual family things, I guess."

"Trouble in paradise?" Yoongi asks with a chuckle, abruptly stopping his fit of amusement when he gets goosebumps starting from the tail of his spine. He instantly recognizes it as deja vu. "I've asked you this before, haven't I?"

The realization doesn’t hit you until he points it out.

"Mhmm," you hum absent-mindedly, playing with the hem of your dress. “I don't think the problem now is anything like how it was before, though."

One night several years ago, you and Yoongi were sat side-by-side in the booth of a club, the heartbreak you had over what Jungkook’s done (and haven’t, at the time) being the wedge between you.

Now, Yoongi’s standing in front of you while you’re sat down, your daughter with Jungkook in his arms.

“Me neither. I don't know how you and Jungkook can encounter any problem worse than last time, to be honest," he chuckles, shaking his head at the recollection of the hell you’ve been through. "Also, I think I can say that because I literally don't know what's going on with you. But if you do tell me-!"

"You're so nosy,” you snort, the brief moment of playfulness welcome because your head aches the longer that you dwell over your worries.

"I can be the judge to see if what you're going through now is worse than before," Yoongi shrugs to fake nonchalance, unaware that you’re gasping in awe until you kick him lightly in the shin.

Hwayoung’s asleep in his arms.

"She's never did that with anyone before," you murmur, fishing for your phone to take a picture, but not before quickly skimming to see if Jungkook’s sent you any messages; he hasn’t. “She only either sleeps in mine or Jungkook's arms. Not for my parents, not for my in-laws. Just me and him."

Yoongi smiles proudly, stroking Hwayoung’s hair proudly. "What can I say? I'm godfather of the year."

He only sways her gently back and forth, rocking her with the patience and attention that remind you of Jungkook’s when Hwayoung was a newborn.

You’re calm and quiet to see her adjusting so well already, but you can’t help but to feel lost because you feel the exact opposite. No one’s gonna stroke your hair for you and tell you to take your time — those are Jungkook’s tasks alone, yet your grievances are also because of him.

"Jungkook's producing this short film in the US. It's by his friend," you mutter under your breath after some time in silence. Yoongi flicks his eyes up at you as if you’re talking about the weather, careful not to make you feel more conflicted than you already are. “You know… by Namjoon.”

"Since when was he into that?" he asks out of curiosity, eyebrows furrowed because he didn’t know that your opening line would ever transition to this point in the conversation. Yoongi catches a second wind the longer he processes your words, the scoff that leaves his lips making his bangs loose despite the hairspray on them. “Since when did Jungkook and Namjoon belong in the same sentence?”

"I don't know either.”

"So we're both producers now?" he snickers, the teasing already coming natural. "Nepo husband alert."

You roll your eyes in recognition, clearing your throat as soon as the laughter died between the two of you. “We got into this argument and I don't know, I-I realized I was being selfish for a moment because I didn't want him to go at first, you know?" you admit in full sincerity, exhaling the lump that forms in your throat. “He said he was afraid that this is everything he'll be. My husband, Hwayoung's dad. So on and so forth."

Yoongi only listens this time, giving the occasional hum there to remind you that he’s still there.

"And last night, he, uh, he forgot to call," you gulp, already feeling the weight of your worries settle in your stomach. "The call wasn't even for me. It's for Hwayoung because he promised he'll still read her whatever she wants."

The three of you cherish that time together because normally, it happens as soon as you get home from work. Hwayoung’s long graduated from storybooks and has now branched out to the most ridiculous texts that Jungkook indulges her with nonetheless — from the ingredient list at the back of milk cartons, and all the way to Reddit threads of how cats find their way back home to owners.

"He's been secretive about the whole thing and I-I… I do that too with my projects, I get it. But only at first because I'm literally bound to an NDA," you stammer, pinching your nosebridge to get past the frustration. “I’m just-…!" you give up, admitting the truth. "I did some snooping."

"And?" Yoongi prompts, tilting his head in anticipation.

"I think he's been secretive because the main lead's Eunsu."

Yoongi recoils at that, so much so that it almost wakes up Hwayoung.

"Eunsu? As in Park Eunsu?" he repeats, the scowl on his face getting deeper the more that you stay indifferent. “Eunsu as in your nemesis?"

You relent, the mention of her finally hitting close.

"Nemesis sounds a little childish."

Yoongi scoffs immediately, rolling his eyes at your correction. “I mean yeah, because people keep pitting her against you when she doesn't even come close," he shrugs easily, make you tut in warning. "What? I'm just saying what everybody's been thinking."

To know that you can still confide in Yoongi no matter what comforts you — what doesn’t is that this time around, your gut feeling’s stronger than it had been the last time.

"I hope I'm wrong."

"I hope so too," he exhales, shaking his head in disbelief. "What kind of asshole sleeps with his wife's enemy?"

"Don't put that out there,” you grumble, the unintentional yet weird arrangement of words making you dizzy.

"Sorry. It's a metaphor, dummy," Yoongi surrenders, clearing his throat. "Okay. Retake. What kind of husband produces a film featuring his wife's rival?

"Hopefully not mine."

( ♡ )

It takes little effort to love you.

Loving you specifically doesn’t have to be hard.

Jungkook thinks that loving you isn’t hard when you serve as the peace to his otherwise hectic and turbulent mind. You manifest into the comfort he looks for in all seasons, be it the heat pack you wordlessly put in his coat pocket or the scrunchie you put around his wrist no matter the weather whenever his hair got too long.

You don’t text him at every hour of the day whether you were working or not, but you’ve made it a point to always check up on him multiple times even if the both of you are at home, going as far to randomly waking up in the night to pause your breathing and check up on his with a hand on his chest.

It’s easy love — one that could be grasped by everyone because as the world has proved to him time and time again, you’re easy to fall with and for.

You may not coo and awe at every single thing he utters, but the adoration behind your eyes always makes him warm from the inside because you held onto him, no matter how anticlimactic his stories could be.

Neither you and Jungkook are easy, that much he knows.

He knows it because although it’s never been his intention to come home late during his allotted short break between filming (it’s disguised as a break even if he only came back to take care of work-related matters personally), you make it known that you’re irked with him for every other reason.

He knows that you aren’t easy because for the past three weeks he’s been gone, you’ve reiterated twice in the last hour alone how you’ve asked him again and again who will star in his short film. You’ve asked Jungkook repeatedly to give you details outside of Namjoon and the vaguest bits he could ever give you, establishing the fact that he isn’t even bound to an NDA.

It’s the persisting barrage of questions in your head that bothers you without a single break. It’s the hovering feeling of doom above your head because having no answers to any of them, on top of Jungkook closing himself off with or without the physical distance between the two of you and being Hwayoung’s sole caregiver, that your patience ultimately thins.

Your annoyance towards your husband is clearly obvious and it bothers him to the point of frustration. Jungkook’s been convinced since last week that if he just dodged your questions for long enough and blamed it on the connection of your call, he wouldn’t have to answer to you; he wouldn’t have to explain the fine details of the project he’s kept from you.

If he had only avoided you for long enough, you would’ve forgotten about the rumors surrounding Namjoon’s upcoming screenplay that had been leaked to the press, and the roster of actresses thought out to be the main lead of his short film.

If he had only ignored your pleas for long enough, he would have never succumbed to the preliminary guilt that comes with lying to you under the impression that he’s only being protective, pushing him to drink until his vision spins — enough for him that when he admits the truth to you, your face of heartbreak directed at him isn’t as anguishing.

“Fine, fuck it! Since you’re so nosy, yes. Eunsu is my main lead, there! She’s my muse!” Jungkook just about yells, breathless from the burn of alcohol in his throat that spreads all the way to his chest, and from the back and forth he’s been going at with you for the last hour.

“Why didn’t you tell me in the first place?!” you retort, fists clenching at your sides as the thought of Jungkook with Eunsu, with her of all actresses, in a foreign place at almost every minute of the workday irking you.

“Would it have made a difference? You’d still be angry at me,” he rolls his eyes, placing a hand on his hip as he tries to stabilize his gaze on you.

“And even then, you wouldn’t do anything about it, right? Because that’s just your nature, Jungkook,” you scoff, your dig at him being incredibly low yet you steel your pride, unwilling to back down at the thought that Jungkook’s been lying to you for three weeks– perhaps even longer.

He presses a tongue to his cheek as you pertain to the past loud and clear, the sarcastic nod he gives you making your breathing tremble.

“Why? Why does it have to be her?” you try again, this time with your jaw clenched so your anger won’t flare up because you’ve been dying to have a decent explanation from Jungkook for weeks.

“Why can’t it be her?” he counters. “B-because she’s what, she’s your rival or something? You’re jealous? Bitter?”

The knot in your chest tightens, the recall you have of the woman who had sabotaged you repeatedly when you were still a rookie putting a metallic taste on your tongue. She’s hindered you in ways that not even Yoongi could explain fully despite being the closest friend to you in the industry, the vitriol you’ve had for Eunsu in the past reviving back to life.

You have no words except for the fact that begs to be acknowledged without a single syllable.

“I’m your wife, Jungkook,” you exhale shakily, the gravity of it seemingly not enough for him because he refuses to use it as a reason to get on your side.

“Don’t you think I know that? Don’t you think everybody knows that by now?” Jungkook spits. “When I’m producing my film with Eunsu, I don’t want to be your husband, Y/N! I’m sick of it,” he seethes. “Eunsu has nothing to do with me. Why should I fight your battles for you? Why do I have to carry your grudges for something that doesn’t even concern me?”

Jungkook’s the drunkest he’s ever been in his life, yet he utters the clearest words you’ve ever heard him say.

“This is showbiz, Y/N. It’s inevitable for you to get caught up with shit.”

“You’re talking as if being my husband and being Hwayoung’s dad is a chore.”

“Because maybe it is!” Jungkook bursts with a cry, the tears that spring out of his eyes momentarily blinding him. “Because maybe, I’m fed up trying to be sickeningly devoted to you all the time.”

There’s something akin to white, hot, searing pain that spreads across your chest all the way to your temple, the tremble of your lips not enough for Jungkook to realize that you’re on the verge of sobbing.

“Sometimes I hate this. I… I-I hate this life I’m living because of you, Y/N,” Jungkook whispers. “I hate how you’re so, so perfect in juggling everything. I hate how I could spend an hour just convincing Hwayoung to eat a single carrot and you come in the room, and she finishes the bowl with a smile on her face. I-I hate how you never complain whenever you need to do late night feedings after a long day because I’m already snoring. I hate how with or without work, you’re still just—…” he stills, looking at you with a distraught gaze. “You’re still so content. You’re still able to be yourself like you’ve always been.”

There’s no words left in you; no thought at all that could ever pick you up from the ground and gather yourself the way you’ve always had whenever you and Jungkook had felt the furthest from each other.

“Jungkook,” you sniffle, even if he waves you off half-heartedly. “I’m sorry if-…”

“There it is. There it fucking is again!” Jungkook whines, foot agitatedly stomping against the floor as he pulls at his hair. “You’re apologizing for being so perfect in life that it’s making me feel bad!”

“But I’m not! I’m far from it, what the hell are you talking about?” you rasp, the sarcastic laugh that goes past your lips making his ears ring. “I’m sorry if it seems that way but I’m telling you myself that everything is not perfect the way you make it out to be. I’m sorry because it makes you feel bad, but if anything-…”

Jungkook raises a finger at you, his jaw tightening the longer he stews in displacement.

“Don’t. Don’t. Don’t tell me how content you are with everything despite being exhausted, or how you juggling everything is worth it. Don’t tell me how good of a dad I am."

“Then what can I say to make it lighter for you, Jungkook? What can I say that won’t make you resent me?” you grit in surrender, chest falling so lowly, you’ve forgotten to breathe for a long second. “Do you hate the life that we’re living now so much that you can’t even look at me?”

Love isn’t always a matter of ease and although it’s always stuck to you, you prove now that Jungkook coming home to you at this instance, in this light, that he makes love the most difficult thing.

“Do you hate the life that I gave you so badly?”

“I don’t,” he answers, mouth dry as his vision spins. “Sometimes. Tonight, though — maybe I do. It comes and goes.”

“Then what can we do about it?” you whisper, your vision hazy as you look at him. “Where do we go from here?”

“It’s getting late,” Jungkook only whispers, unwilling to look at the bed you share. “I have an early flight tomorrow.”

#heh . how r we feeling citizens!!!! :O #jungkook imagine #jungkook oneshot #jungkook oneshots #jungkook series #jungkook angst #jungkook angst imagine #jungkook fluff #jungkook x reader #jungkook x y/n #jungkook au #jungkook scenario #jungkook fanfic #jungkook x you #bts jungkook imagine #jungkook scenarios #jeon jungkook x reader

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ja3hwa · 1 month ago

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♡ 𝐒𝐮𝐛𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐒𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 | 𝐂.𝐒 ♡

Day Twenty Two - A/B/O

【Synopsis】 : He was your best friend. The only person would could trust. But yet you had kept a secret from you that would change your relationship in an instant. How would he react once he finds out?

『Word count』 : 3.43k

-> Genre: A/B/O. Smut. Angst. Romance.

Pairing: Alpha!San x Omega!Reader

[Warnings] : Mention of gambling. Bets. Sub-gender. Misogynism. Sexism. Protective San. Typical a/b/o hierarchy system. omegas are considered rare. scent blockers. heats and ruts. a lot of crying. mating and the idea of soulmates. listen, this one big ball of mess. Unprotected sex. Sweet love making. Crying. Use of the name omega and alpha. Ripping of clothing. Claiming. Marking. Biting. Blood.

Networks: @wonderlandnet @illusionnet @cromernet @k-vanity

Note: This is my first time writing Abo and boy was this hard. Ahha. Im so used to adding the Werewolf trope into this kinda genre, so trying to separate it was a challenge, but i hope i did well none the less. ♡♡

Masterlist | Navigation | Kinktober list | Tip Jar ♡

The town where you grew up, small and concealed between two rolling hills and dense forests, was all you knew. When you moved there when you were only four years old, your parents quickly made a name for themselves. New life, new identities. It wasn’t that your parents were criminals, on the run from the law. But it was more so for your sake. Your father was a gambler and one evening in a drunken rage and the loss of almost every penny he had to his name, a gentleman bet for another round. One simple game. And if he won, he could walk out with everything he lost, including an extra hundred thousand for his troubles… but if he lost,

You would now belong to the man.

It was simple really, you were an omega. A rare jewel in the ever-growing population of betas and alphas. So the man wanted you. To raise you for your sub-gender. Your father lost that night and shook the man's hand in defeat but when he went to leave he stole one of the priceless rubies that hung on the mantle before fleeing. The ruby bought him and your family a new life far away from the crime lord. But that day your father had decided to take matters into his own hands, using his earnings to find scent-blockers that were so potent, you would show as a beta.

Your life was luckily in a state of normalcy after that. Both your mother and father led stable jobs and happy lives as you progressed smoothly in school. But it wasn't until you hit high school that you met Choi San, your best friend. San, the confident and charismatic alpha, who had always been protective of you since the day you met. He couldn’t explain it but it was like whenever you were around, nothing else mattered. He knew you weren’t soulmates since the click never happened but maybe you were a different kind of soul mate? A bond shared between two people that was unexplainable? San would spend most nights thinking about how to describe his feelings towards you but he would always end up landing back on the same word over and over again…

Home.

Your bond had flourished over the years of teenhood and evolved stronger in your college years. It was built upon late-night conversations, shared secrets, and laughter that echoed in the empty spaces of each other's homes. And with each day somehow, you both fell more and more in love. But yet, you could never find the right moment to tell him the truth. That you weren’t a beta but in fact an omega. Your father's last wish on his deathbed was that you would never tell a single soul what you really were. Thanks, dad… And with your mother out of town for a conference with her job, you were left with fate and oh, had it played a cruel trick on you.

The scent blockers you relied on to keep your omega pheromones at bay had been discontinued without warning, leaving you vulnerable for the first time in your life since the crime lord all those years ago. You didn’t know how to react when the woman on the phone said they had been removed from stocks. Something about an illegal toxin? You weren’t paying too much attention after that. She had advised you to go to a doctor since you had never been without the blockers and it could cause your body to go into shock.

And, oh boy did your doctor nearly fall out of her chair when you told her the truth. She was luckily an omega herself so she understood why your family did it but the withdrawals and long-lasting effects the blockers had were not healthy in the slightest. She prescribed an antibiotic to help with the pain but she strongly insists you go through your first heat and let your body regulate itself before you go onto normal scent blockers for omegas.

To say your life went face up all in one afternoon was not an exaggeration. And that is how you found yourself dodging San, struggling to maintain your composure as the instinctual nature of her omega threatened to surface. The first day without your scent blocker had been manageable, but by the third day, you were acutely aware of the heat in your cheeks and the way your heart raced at the thought of San drawing near. You had to call into your college and tell them you were ill and unable to come onto campus until further notice.

Day four the symptoms grew. The heat pooling all over your body while the cramps began to brew inside your lower belly. All your senses felt like they were turned up to a thousand, the slightest wrong noise or texture would throw you off and you found yourself slowly building a nest in the centre of your lounge room. You’ve never nested before let alone experienced any of the natural omega tropes since the blockers completely had stripped that part of your identity so you felt completely out of place as you stared at the piles of pillows, plushies, blankets and of sorts.

“Why did I have to be like this?” You whispered to yourself, feeling a twinge of guilt and disgust. It wasnt that you hated omegas, it's just that you hated the world for wanting them so bad. Letting out a sigh. You could feel the growing yearn simmering beneath your skin, beginning to crave the only thing that she cared for in her life…San. But he couldn’t have him. They were friends and he needed to stay away.

San, however, was not the type to be easily deterred, nor did he want to listen to your randomly vague text about being sick. He quickly noticed your sudden withdrawal and lack of communication making him feel a gnawing worry clawing at his insides. With every unanswered text and unreturned phone call, a sense of dread embedded itself in his heart. So, on the afternoon of the fifth day, he decided he couldn’t stand it any longer. Determined to find you and get to the bottom of what was really going on, he raced over to your place, concern fueling his speed.

As he entered your home, the first thing that hit him was an overwhelming, intoxicating sweetness that engulfed his senses. It was your scent—rich, vibrant, and uniquely yours. San had always recognized the floral undertones of your pheromones, but this time it was all-consuming. The moment he inhaled deeply, something primal stirred deep within him, awakening the animalistic instincts of his wolf. You were…

“Doll!!” he called, the sound of his voice echoing against the walls as he hurried down the hall. He found you in the living room, curled up on the floor in the centre of your nest, a book lying loosely in your hands as you were using it to distract yourself. Looking up, your eyes widened with concern and panic, but as your gaze locked with his, San felt an insatiable instinct surge through him, igniting the dormant feelings he had kept buried for so long. A click that was supposed to snap a long time ago.

"San!" You exclaimed, trying to mask the flush creeping up your neck and the growing embarrassment you felt when you looked at him. Of course, he was your mate, it was obvious from the start, but your blockers had prevented the bound from snapping in place leaving you both in an abyss of strange longing and sleepless nights. “You shouldn’t be here. I—I haven’t been taking any blockers.”

The weight of your words hung in the air, shifting the atmosphere between both of you. His mind raced with thoughts he had never dared to voice, yet the raw, potent scent of your pheromones coaxed his animal side to the forefront. The thoughts of claiming you grew stronger with every breath that hitched in this throat. You looked so cute in your little sleep shorts and one of his old band shirts. You were disappointed it doesn’t smell like him anymore when you found it in your room but it was the only thing that was bringing you comfort in this situation.

“I was worried about you,” he admitted softly, stepping closer before stopping himself. “You’ve been avoiding me, and I was beginning to think…”

“San, I don’t think you understand,” You said, desperation creeping into your voice. The sense of heartbreak began to overwhelm you. The foolishness of your actions building up and the pain that the world had forcibly put you through. Hiding your sub-gender to protect yourself from those who wished to use it for their own desires, had now caused you to lose out on time with your mate. Time and moon cycles you would never get back... “I can’t control it, and you being here… it’s making it worse.”

“But why?” he pressed, his wolfish instincts battling against the tender pull of their friendship. “You think I don’t want to be near you? You think I don’t feel something for you, too? We are mates for fuck sakes!”

The confessions hung heavy in the air, laced with a tension neither had anticipated. Your heart raced at his words, a mix of fear and exhilaration swirling within your chest. But you couldn’t help but cry, “Do you even know what you’re saying?” she breathed, her pulse quickening. “You could—”

“I could, what? Hate you for hiding that you’re an omega? Hate you for being my soulmate?” His voice was intense, eyes glinting with the raw emotion of his desire, he too was now breaking into tears. “I could never hate you. I’ve been… I’ve been waiting for so long.”

“Waiting for what?” You hiccuped, frustration mingling with longing. Your knees pressed firmly against your chest, trying to make yourself as small as possible.

“To tell you I’ve always wanted you. Even before this. When I thought you were a beta.” He took a step closer, the space between you buzzing with electricity that pulsed like a heartbeat. Just then, something in the air shifted. It was as if all the unspoken words finally collided, twisting in San’s heart until it could no longer ignore the truth standing before him. He stopped at the foot of your nest, not daring to enter unless you wanted him to. “I didn’t care about anything other than being with you…”

Your body thrummed with a mix of fear and excitement watching him step forward. You lowered your knees ignoring the way your stomach screamed and twisted in a slight burn. The longing that had been nurturing beneath your skin since you first met him. “You mean it?”

“Every fucking word,” San replied, his breath coming quick as he waited for you to grant him permission to enter. The enveloping feeling of your scent and the promise of everything he hadn’t yet explored. His fist balled slightly, trying his best not to let your heat send him into an early rut.

“Come here.” You let out a hand for him which he gladly took. Quickly lunging for you in a second. His lips found yours and his hands found your hips. He caged you onto the floor with a thump as you tipped back onto the soft plush blankets. His nose nudged yours, as he inhaled sharply, smelling the way your scent sparks with the sweetness of fruits and fresh grass, mixing into a calming nature from his scent mixing with yours. “I’m sorry.”

“D-don’t say that.” San nibbles your bottom lip before pulling away. “Don’t ever apologise for the world's mistakes. You didn’t ask to be an Omega. None of this is your fault.”

“Thank you…” You whispered, locking your lips against his once again. And finally, for the first time, it felt like you found your way to where you needed to be. At that moment, the barriers had dissolved, and all that remained was the newfound bond between you and your soulmate. A bond that had been waiting, just beneath the surface, to blossom into something beautifully and unequivocally real.

“I need you.” You beg through his desperate lips.

Your plea was music to San’s ears as he hungrily swallowed each and every noise you made. His hands roughly started to rip clothing, shredding all the fabric in his way until you were bare beneath him. Your legs opened willingly as the tingles spiked through your body, a feeling you’ve never felt before. S-San.” You managed to pull away, tugging on the end of his hair that sat on the nape of his neck. Your breath was hitched as you felt tears pool on your eyes. “I…Everything feels weird. I don’t know..wha—Shhh it's okay, I've got you.”

San laid caged gently on top of you, his voice made a sense of calmness wash over you, and little did you know he had used his alpha voice to silence the anxiety he smelt on you.

His touch became more demanding by the second, his fingers leaving a trail of fire on your skin as he growled a low rumble. "Mine," His voice deep and primal. He closed the distance between you again in an instant, his strong hands gripping your hips while his lips sealed tightly on yours.

Your breath came in short gasps as your shirt was ripped open, strips of fabric scattering across the floor. San's eyes devoured your naked body, his gaze lingering on the telltale signs of your omega nature. Your scent glands, your sweet aroma, the way you presented to him.

"San, please..." You pleaded, your voice trembling with need. You wanted this, craved San's touch, but the intensity of the moment was overwhelming.

San's lips crashed down on yours once again, silencing your further protests. His kiss was fierce and possessive, his tongue demanding entry. You moaned into his mouth, unable to resist the onslaught of pleasure. San's hands roamed freely, squeezing and kneading your sensitive nipples, drawing out little gasps and whimpers that he happily swallowed.He moved lower, inching his lips and tongue down a wet trail on your trembling body.

He paid special attention to your neck, marking you with bites that would surely leave visible to your friends for weeks to come. But what he stopped at was your gland, inhaling sharply against your soft skin. Your hands tangled in San's hair, urging him on as he suckled and nipped at your sensitive skin. “Alpha please…”

Your confession rang in Sans ears like church bells, feeling his heart skip at the word that spilled from your delicate lips. "You're so fucking beautiful…" San growled, his voice rough with desire. He spread your legs wide, exposing your glistening pussy, already swollen with need. "And you're all mine."

You arched off the pillows as San's fingers delved into your soaked cunt, stroking and teasing your sensitive bundle of nerves. "Please, San," you begged again, their voice breathless. "I need you."

San's cock, hard and throbbing, was freed from his pants as he quickly fiddled with his belt and zipper, before he positioned himself at your entrance. "I'm gonna breed you so fucking well, my love," he promised, his eyes blazing with passion. "Gonna knot you so deep, mark you as mine."

You nodded eagerly, your body yearning for San desperately, bucking your hips against him with knitted brows. You felt San's tip slide against you, your slick coated his cock. “Hurry San, I need you so badly.”

You felt your heat surge Through you, your cramps worsening without more. But San was quick to ease your pain, sinking into your tight wet heat thrusting forward, filling you in one smooth motion. You cried out, your sensitive pussy stretching to accommodate San's thick length. San set a relentless pace, pounding into you with brute strength. His hips snapped forward, driving his cock deeper with each thrust. Your moans filled the room, your fingers digging into San's shoulders as they rode the waves of pleasure, feeling tears prick on the corners of your eyes. “Fuck San, Fuck so b-big…argh.”

"That's it, baby," San grunted, his voice strained. "Feel me, feel how deep I am inside you. my fat cock snug inside your tight little pussy."

Your body clenched around San's cock, your orgasm building rapidly. San's fingers found their sensitive bud, massaging it firmly as he continued to thrust. “You wanna cream around my dick baby? I need to feel you clench around me.”

"Oh fuck, I'm close!" You cried out, tears rolling down your face, staining your flushed cheeks, your body tensing as your heat finally started to subside.

San's own release was imminent. He withdrew almost entirely before slamming back into you, his cock swelling as he reached the point of release. "Cum for me, my love," he commanded, his voice thick with need.

Your body exploded in a cascade of pleasure, yout pussy milking San's cock as they cried out his name begging for him to claim you. “Alpha please, mark me.. please please please.”

San's growl was guttural as he snarled against your neck. His hips jerked uncontrollably, baring his teeth on your gland, sinking his fangs into you. Claiming you. He filled you with his hot load as he groaned against your flesh. San cock twitched and pulsed, knotting and swelling deep inside your willing hole. You laid entangled, breathless and satisfied, in the aftermath. He finally unlatched his teeth lapping up your wound with his tongue Swiping away all the blood. With San's cock still twitched inside you, his knot keeping you joined you finally felt like you could breathe.

"I love you…" San whispered your name, his voice tender. "My beautiful omega."

You couldn't help but smile, feeling a sense of relief and contentment. "I love you too, San. My alpha."

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evie-sturns · 5 months ago

Text

secret - Chris Sturniolo

summary: chris wants to keep your relationship a secret from the fans, which means he is never around as much as he should be. this sparks an argument, where chris suggests that you 'should just leave.'

contains: angst, cocky!chris, crying, fluff, yelling, comforting.

----------------------≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫----------------———

i lay in chris and i's bed, wrapped up comfortably in the thick sheets.

my head snaps up to look at chris as he swings open the door, he walks inside the room wearing a white tanktop and some black sweatpants.

"just gonna go film." he says vaguely before walking out of the room,

"chris- can i come!?" i call out,

"y/n, no. we talked about this" chris sighs, i get up out of bed and walk towards him,

"please- i don't have to be in it, i just haven't seen you for like a week." i say softly, chris shakes his head, practically discarding me.

"i see you every week, ill be gone for about two hours okay?" chris says blankly,

i feel my face grow hot with embarrassment, i feel like im practically begging for chris to want me, even though im his girlfriend. anger courses through my body, pushing me to my breaking point.

"why- why do you not care about me- or anything i have to say!" i raise my voice, pointing my fingers at chris's chest as i glare my eyes.

"you don't scare me y/n." chris chuckles, bringing my finger down from his chest.

"proves my fucking point! right there--!" i yell, chris just stares at me with a smug smile on his face.

"we agreed to keep us a secret-" chris starts, but i cut him off

"we both agreed to keep us a secret from your fans, not everyone else you've ever known! yes- i get it your fans will be mad but you're- your'e-" my voice breaks as i turn away from him

"don't be acting all pissy because i have a job and you don't." he raises his voice at me,

"excuse you?" i almost laugh,

"yeah, get a grip y/n, honestly." chris sighs, grabbing his phone and going to walk out.

"don't fucking leave-" i shout, "you're a horrible person chris-" i say, holding back floods of tears.

"maybe you're just being a sensitive little bitch?" chris says, the regret is prominent on his face as soon as those words leave his mouth.

"you're being- so mean-" my voice breaks, tears rolling down my flushed face.

"then leave- i'm actually done with you're bullshit, please leave." chris raises his voice.

i look up at him, "actually-?" i say through loud sobs,

he hesitates for a second before speaking, "i- i dont know- if you can handle me being popular then leave-"

"your ego is incredible you asshole-" i squeeze out, walking past him.

he grabs my chin and stops me in my tracks, his large hand clasped tight around my small chin. "excuse me?" he looks down at me,

"i'm going to find nick." i sigh loudly,

"no you're not." chris states,

"i thought we were done?" i say with a loud cry, i wipe my tears away quickly.

suddenly matt peeks his head through the door, "everything okay in here?" matt asks with concern clear on his face

“fuck off matt, genuinely.” chris raises his voice,

“dude, you’re making her cry-“ matt points out, his eyes locking with mine.

“and it’s none of your business, fuck off!” chris yells shakily at matt,

matt walks into the room angrily, pushing chris’s shoulder. chris let’s go of my chin, discarding me.

“you want my girl now?” chris almost laughs as he approaches matt,

“she’s literally like my little sister and i’ve known her my whole life- so god forbid i ask if she’s okay after i hear you scream at her through the walls!” matt grows angry,

“y/n can’t understand that the fans can’t know about me and her, that’s literally it- she’s just being ignorant, like always.” chris speaks as though i’m not here,

“sort your shit out chris.” matt mutters, pushing chris backwards before walking out of the room.

“i- i think i’m gonna go to matt’s room.” i whisper, barely audible.

“yeah- go fuck him while you’re at it.” chris says with a petty tone,

i let out a frustrated sigh before pushing his shoulder back with an angry sob.

“pathetic.” chris scoffs, “do it harder-“ he taunts,

i storm out of the room, slamming the door shut behind me with a loud bang.

i swing open the door to matt’s room, he’s sat at the edge of his bed on his phone.

“matt-“ i sniffle, matt looks up at me before standing up,

“hey- hey you okay?” matt asks frantically, his voice soft.

“i think chris just broke up with me-“ my voice breaks, matt wraps his arms around me, pulling me into a hug.

“i’m sure he didn’t, he’s just upset right now, you think?” matt whispers into my hair,

i nod, “you can stay in my room tonight, i’ll get the spare mattress.” he suggests, i nod as tears continue to pour down my face.

“i hate him- ihatehimihatehimihatehim.” i sob, matt rubs my back,

“no you don’t, arguments are normal, it happens.” matt sighs.

“i do- hes so mean to me!” i bury my face into my hands.

“shh- sh it’s okay.” matt says, “are you in your pyjamas?” matt asks,

i nod, “okay- then let’s get out the mattress and you can get to sleep.” matt states.

he lets me go before tugging out the matress from under his bed, he throws a couple of blankets and pillows on it before handing me his pug stuffed animal,

“you want this for tonight?” matt asks with a small laugh, i grab the small pug stuffed animal before flopping down on the mattress on the floor.

matt’s always been like a big brother for me, he’s always cared about me so much.

matt bends down and covers me in the blankets, tucking me in. “try have a good sleep okay?” matt whispers, i nod with a small ‘thank you’.

————-

4:23am

i stir awake slowly, i sit up off the matress and look over at matt who’s fast asleep on the bed beside me.

i stand up before stumbling over to the door swiftly, the need to go to the bathroom is overwhelming.

i slowly creak open matt’s door and step out into the corridor.

my footsteps slap against the cold wood as i yawn loudly

i swing open the door to the bathroom, and i’m met with him.

chris.

he’s sitting on the edge of the bathtub, scrolling on his phone. i turn on the warm light which illuminates the small bathroom.

“oh-“ i whisper, spinning back around and reaching for the door handle.

“no- no please come back-“ chris’s voice wobbles.

he’s wearing spider-man pyjama shorts, the same ones that i teased him for a couple weeks ago.

he’s got a thin white shirt on and his brunette hair is messed up completely, his eyes are bloodshot and swollen along with his puffy lips and pink cheeks.

he stands up, looking down at me. i can see the gears in his brain physically spinning as he tries to think of what to say.

“i-i’m sorry i’m still here- i was gonna pack up in the morning.” i break the silence with a couple deep breaths.

chris’s face drops, he buries his face into his hands with a shake of his head.

“i- i didn’t mean that- i was just so caught up in the heat of the moment and i really- really- don’t want to loose you.” chris starts, his eyes watering

“and i’m so sorry for taking you for granted. i love you more than anything, i love you more than anything ever.” chris’s voice breaks loudly, he goes silent as his body jolts up and down.

“are you crying?” i ask softly, he nods.

i don’t say anything, just wrapping my arms around him, he hugs me back weakly.

he buries his head into my shoulder, his soft hair covers half my face.

“and- i’m sorry for crying i just- don’t want you to think i’m only crying for sympathy i just feel really upset.” chris clarifies, i laugh softly,

“i know sweetheart,” i sigh,

“and— and- you don’t have to forgive me- ever— i said proper mean stuff to you.” chris’s voice trembles,

“i forgive you, i just want my old chris back, yeah?” i rub his back,

“you will get that- forever-“ chris sniffs.

we stand in the cold of the bathroom, his arms holding me tightly now, as though he’s afraid to let me go.

i stroke his hair lightly with my manicured nails,

“chris- i don’t mean to ruin this moment but i really really need to pee- that’s why i came in here—“

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#sturniolo #matt sturniolo #chris sturniolo #nick sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo x reader #sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo x you #christopher sturniolo #christopher owen sturniolo #sturniolo triplets x reader #matt sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo angst

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xxchumanixx · 30 days ago

Text

Glimpses

Bucky Barnes x reader

Warnings/Tags: fluff, angst, Bucky (yes, he's a warning), reader has the ability to show other people images in their head (does that make sense?), otherwise not described, spoilers for fatws

Word count: tba

Authors note: To be honest, I've been working on this for months, bit by bit. I didn't have much time to write or post something lately, and somehow, the motivation went with it. But I love this man to no end, and I had to finish this (for my sake, too). Im not a hundred percent happy with it, but we're just gonna roll with it.

I hope you enjoy it.

It gnawed at you, gripping you with a hand made of iron, it's icy fingers sending chills down your spine.

How could she do this to you?

Someone you once envied for being related to Peggy Carter, one of the founders of SHIELD, maybe one of the coolest persons to have ever existed.

Now, you couldn't help but pity Sharon Carter.

Sam nudged your foot with his, ripping you out of your thoughts. "What's up with you?" he wanted to know, brows furrowed.

Blinking at him, you tried to grasp what he was talking about, before shaking your head with a sigh.

"When Sharon was pardoned, I heard her say something I don't know what to think of..." you mumbled, biting your cheek. Sam rose a brow in return, Bucky's furrowing.

You were sitting in a private jet, a small table in front of you, with Sam sitting diagonally to your right and Bucky to your left.

"When she came out, she dialed someone, saying something about super soldiers being off the menu, weapons and 'should be something for everyone'." you recited what you had heard her say.

You had been there to congratulate her, welcome her back. But, when she stepped out the building, immediately dialing someone, you hid back in the crowd, carefully listening.

Yeah, eavesdropping wasn't nice, but something urged you to do it.

And you had been right.

"Nah," Sam made, shaking his head with a chuckle. "You must have misheard her."

Licking your lip, you shook your own head. "No, I know what I've heard."

Sam's brows furrowed, eyes trained on you. "Y/N, I'm sure you just misheard her." he repeated his words softer.

Eyes widening, your mouth was agape. "Sam-" you started, but he cut you off. "No, Y/N-" "Sam!" with a yell of his name and a slam of your hand on the table, you locked eyes, letting your power whir to life.

You could see your own eyes change color in his iris, energy flowing through you, as you forced him to see what you've seen.

Sharon left the building with a smile on her face, radiating confidence. Pulling out her phone she dialed a number, slowly walking further down the steps.

"Start lining up our buyers." she spoke into the phone, seemingly not caring enough to watch her surroundings for anyone listening. "Super Soldiers might be off the menu, but we're about to have full access to government secrets, prototype weapons, you name it. Should be something for everyone."

With that, she left, leaving you speechless.

With a gasp, you let go of Sam's mind, rapidly blinking to get the dry feeling out of your eyes.

Sam stared onto the table, swallowing. His hands trembled slightly, whilst Bucky grew impatient.

"Can I see?" he wanted to know, eagerly leaning forward in his seat. It made you chuckle, despite the dread in your stomach.

Letting Bucky enter your mind, was something different.

You weren't able to control your powers a hundred percent, which would be a risk, when letting someone in. There could be emotions or flashes of memories that could seep through, something you didn't want.

Especially not with him.

You had been in love with him for a while now, but never dared to make a move on it. Not, when he was so far out of your league.

Swallowing, you nodded hesitantly.

Locking eyes with Bucky's blue ones, you let your power come to life again, heart pounding faster.

You showed him the same thing you showed Sam, trying your hardest to concentrate only on the memory of Sharon, nothing else.

Slipping back out of it, you blinked rapidly, whilst Bucky sat frozen in his chair.

Shaking your head, you felt it deep in your chest, slowly making its way up - luckily for you, you had cut the connection already.

It was a memory you cherished deep in your heart, one of your favorites. It was Bucky, smiling happily.

Most of the time his smile didn't reach his eyes, not like it should have. He wasn't as carefree, at least not until he teamed up with Sam.

He was lying on the sofa in Sarah's house, Sam's sister. The kids had been playing with the shield, whilst Bucky was still sleeping on the couch.

You had been sitting at the small coffee table, able to see him, but he wouldn't see you at first glance.

When he woke up, softly calling out to the kids with a smile and a peace, they panicked, putting the shield back into its bag.

It had you smiling into your mug, quietly chuckling, as you sipped your coffee.

His smile was real, beautiful and rare. His eyes sparkled with joy, sunlight catching in them, highlighting the blue of his iris, as he leaned back into the cushions.

It showed the Bucky he was back in the forties, slowly peeling away layer after layer of his hardened shell.

Closing your eyes, you willed the memory away, slowly shaking your head, to get rid of it.

When your eyes opened again, looking back up at Bucky and Sam, Bucky's eyes were glued to your face.

His brows were furrowed, deep in thought. His mouth opened the slightest bit, but it closed again, like a fish.

Your own eyes widened the slightest bit, belly churning, as you realized.

The faint line connecting your minds - it was still there.

Your breathing fastened, fist clenching, as you looked at Sam, trying to come up with something to pull him into a conversation - but your mind was as blank as a wall.

Seriously, now you were able to think of nothing?

Your hands began to sweat, as you tried your hardest not to burst into tears. It was exactly what you had feared to happen, not being able to control it.

Mostly the reason you never really let Bucky enter your mind, fearing what he might find.

"Do you think-" Sam started, but cut himself off with a shake of his head. "That she's the power broker?" you returned, eager to flee into this conversation, but it was over just as fast as it had begun. "Yeah."

Bucky didn't say anything, eyes fixed on his hands that were seated in his lap.

Sam sighed, one hand swiping over his face. He was tired, you could tell. Being the new Captain America wasn't easy.

"Excuse me." you mumbled, standing up, before heading out of the room and towards the bathroom, where you locked yourself in.

You choked on a breath, fighting the tears, but soon losing. How could you be so careless? You should have known it wouldn't end well, letting him enter your mind.

But it would have been suspicious not to show him, either.

You could only hope you'd get out of this unscathed.

_____

Sam cleared his throat in discomfort, fist clenching on the table.

If he hadn't known your memories were true, he would have brushed it off with a laugh. He'd worked with Sharon before, and she never seemed like someone who would turn on her own people.

How long, til she would turn on them?

Eyes lifting, they met the side of Bucky's face. He was quiet, more than usual.

"How can she do this to us, after all we went through?" Sam asked in a mumble, ripping Bucky from his thoughts with a "Huh?".

Brows furrowing, Sam tried to analyze the man he didn't want to call friend, even though he'd become exactly that over the past few weeks.

"What's up with you?" he asked, frown deepening. Sure, Bucky had his moments where his thoughts drifted off, but not like this.

Not when you just basically fled a minute ago.

Bucky shook his head, trying to clear his mind. "I don't know." he gave back, forehead wrinkling in thought.

Hell, if he could only make sense of what he'd seen.

"What happened?" Sam dug deeper, having noticed how long you two had been silent when showing him what you'd seen.

It took longer than he thought needed to.

Bucky wiped over his face.

It was like he switched bodies with you when that memory of yours slipped through. He could feel everything.

Every little emotion.

"I-" Bucky was searching for the right words as he suddenly stood. "Excuse me."

He followed into the direction you'd taken off to, causing Sam to frown even more.

He stopped in front of the bathroom door, softly knocking before the courage could have left him.

"Y/N?" he called out, heart beating unsteady. "Can we please talk?"

You flinched, perched on the toilet seat as you desperately wiped at your face. "Why?" you called out, giving your very best to sound neutral.

You could hear him hesitate, the little sounds that left his mouth that he himself didn't even notice. "Please?" he then just asked, fingers drumming on the door.

You hesitated as well, not sure if you should open the door to face your imminent death of shame.

With a heavy sigh you got up, though, shaky fingers fumbling for the lock, taking a moment longer to unlock it before it was pushed open by Bucky merging into the small bathroom, cramping the space even more.

You stumbled back, colliding with the sink.

"What was that?" Bucky wanted to know, eyes on yours, searching them for anything that gave him an answer. "What?" you gave back, deciding to act dumb.

Maybe he wouldn't notice.

Of course he would, you idiot.

His brows furrowed, a look of confusion and bewilderment crossing his features. "You know exactly what I mean, don't play dumb now, Y/N!" he shot back, not amused.

See?

Told you so.

You swallowed the lump that somehow didn't want to budge, blocking your airways. "I- I don't know." you stuttered out, mentally cursing yourself for being so reckless to let him enter your mind in the first place.

Bucky frowned even more, not sure whether to believe you or not. After all he had felt it, not sure if he really wanted to know, though.

He didn't dare to hope.

You inhaled shakily, trying to force your heart rate down, to calm yourself a little.

Easier said than done.

"Are you sure you don't know?" Bucky pressed, voice tinged with something you couldn't place. "Because I'm sure I didn't imagine what I've seen or felt."

You flinched at that.

He knew, he knew for fucks sake, and there was no way you could have made him believe that it was nothing.

To be fair, you wouldn't have believed yourself, either.

No one would feel immense happiness, content, and warmth just because of a person they saw as a friend.

Come on.

You swallowed, averting your gaze. There was no backing out now, not when Bucky literally blocked the exit with his presence and muscular body.

"You- you felt it." you mumbled, biting your cheek as your cheeks warmed up slightly, gaze glued to the floor.

Bucky huffed, searching for words for a moment. How was he to explain what he felt?

"It- it was like I was back in the forties." he began, licking his lips. "I felt content, happy. And then I saw this... this memory of yours from me. I didn't know you were there, I didn't see you. What does this mean?"

He sounded desperate, and you didn't know whether it was because he didn't want your feelings for him or if it was the exact opposite.

Your name fell from his parted lips when you didn't answer, and had you looked up into his cerulean eyes, you'd seen the desperation, too.

"I can't tell you." you eventually mumbled, biting your cheek raw. "What? Why?" Bucky gave back, eyes widening before he frowned. "Y/N, what does this mean? Please, tell me!"

You looked up at him, your own brows furrowed in a frown.

Why did he want to know so badly?

"You know what it means." you gave back, doing your best not to avoid his gaze this time. His lips parted a fraction before he shook his head. "No." he said. "I want you to say it."

You heart stumbled once more, threatening to burst from the pace it was going at.

Did he want to have something to laugh about? Did he want to make a fool of you?

Swallowing, you shook your head. "No." you breathed out. "I can't."

His gaze hardened slightly, blue irises growing darker. "Say it." he repeated himself, not going to back down.

He'd rather go back to HYDRA than let this opportunity, this chance pass.

Your eyes widened, and you shook your head again. But before you had the chance to decline once more, he said it again, this time louder. "Say it!"

"I have feelings for you!" you blurted out loudly, his agitation causing you to crack and slip up.

Suddenly, the room grew eerily silent, the ringing in your ears blocking out his harsh breathing. His heart was racing way too fast for a man his age, and he forgot how to breathe for a moment.

He had hoped to hear these words, after all they were the only logical explanation, yet he was speechless. Didn't know how to react.

It's never like it is in your dreams.

Especially not when a dream suddenly comes true.

You shrinked back mentally and physically, his lack of response unsettling. It made you more nervous than you already were, hands sweating as you desperately tried to keep your shit together.

Why didn't he say anything?

When you wanted to push past him, and out of the small bathroom, his metal hand wrapped around your wrist. Your sudden movement had broken him out of his stupor, and he simply couldn't just let you go.

Before you knew it, he had tugged you back in front of him, his lips pressing against yours in a searing kiss.

It wasn't gentle, it was hard and rushed, as he tried to somehow tell you what his vocal cords weren't able to at the moment.

You gasped for air, not prepared for being hauled back and kissed breathless like that.

Bucky greedily took the invitation that wasn't one, his tongue pushing inside your mouth, exploring it before it tangled with yours. Your arms wrapped around his neck, his own around your waist as he tugged you closer.

You tasted sweeter than anything he'd ever tasted in his life.

Gasping for breath he let go of your mouth, eyes closed as he leaned his forehead against yours.

"Don't go." he breathed out shakily, arms wrapping tighter around you like he was scared you'd suddenly vanish if he let go. "Please. There's so much I need to tell you. So please, don't go. I need you, Y/N."

You watched his lashes flutter as he inhaled shakily before his eyes opened. His words had your heart beating faster again, leaving you wanting more.

"What? B-Bucky-" you started, confused because you were so sure he'd reject you.

"No." he cut you off, holding your face in his hands. "I love you."

There it was, out in the open. His most vulnerable moment since HYDRA and he delved into it headfirst. "You have no clue how much I love you, how much these words and these... glimpses mean to me, doll."

You inhaled shakily, every emotion rushing through you at once.

"I just never thought you'd feel the same, deem me worthy of someone as angelic as you."

Your heart ached at his self-deprecating words.

"Bucky," you breathed out his name, shaking your head in his grip. "You're far more worthy than you think you are. You deserve everything good and more."

He grimaced slightly, still not used to being a normal human again. "That's an argument for another time." he said, sending you a crooked smile.

He didn't want to fight right now, not when he much rather wanted to pepper your skin with kisses. And that he did. He kissed everywhere he reached, ignoring your giggles of protest before his lips met yours, silencing you.

It was a feeling that quickly got you addicted.

After a few moments, you broke the kiss, and he placed your head on his chest, inahling your familiar scent.

"Was it intenional?" Bucky wanted to know after a few moments of savoring your warmth, arms circled around you.

It felt really good to hold you like that.

You grimaced slightly. "No, of course not." you gave back. "I can't always control it. Besides, I never thought you'd want me."

"Why?" he asked, confusion lacing his voice as he pulled back slightly to look down at you. "Because I'm weird." you explained, blushing as you averted your gaze. Bucky huffed, using his finger to tilt your chin back up, forcing you to meet his gaze. "Baby, weird is my second name." he gave back softly. "Maybe I need a little extra weird."

You wanted to respond something, how you would love to be his extra portion weird, as it suddenly knocked on the door loudly.

"Hurry up, I need to pee!"

Tag List:

@ava @sapphirebarnes @skywalker0809 @freyathehuntress @queenslandlover-93 @judig92

#bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #james bucky barnes #bucky #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes #bucky x y/n #bucky x female reader #marvel imagine #winter soldier x reader #the winter soldier #winter solider x reader

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sturnsreckless · 2 months ago

Text

𝐅𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐃,, c.sturniolo

summary: while arguing with chris you flashed him to shut him up

cw: smut, making out, missionary, fingering, p in v, slight angst

you let out a loud sigh as chris continues to go on about the same thing that he has been for the past thirty minutes —chris was arguing with you because you were at a party last and you over done how much you drank.

“you’re so irresponsible when it comes to drinking!” chris says, running a hand through his messy hair.

you huff and stand up off the sofa and walk into the kitchen, trying to get away from this pointless argument.

he follows you into the kitchen, continuing his rant, “the fuck have i told you about walking away from me when im trying to talk to you?” he says, slamming his palm on the kitchen table.

“chris this is a pointless argument, i said sorry.” you say rubbing your temples due to the headache that was forming.

“i don’t care if you’re sorry. but you always do this, you always walk away when im trying to talk to you, it’s fucking annoying.” he says, his frustration beginning to show.

you throw your head back with a loud groan, rolling your eyes as chris rambled on about how you always walked away from him.

“and i swear to god if you roll your eyes at me again…” he threatened, walking closer to you, “do you ever stop complaining?” you ask rhetorically with a fed up tone.

“no i fucking don’t because you never listen to me and always do whatever the fuck you want.” he groaned, his fist balled up at his side. “and right now i want you to stand there and look at me, without rolling your eyes or walking away.” he demanded, his voice stern and commanding.

you try to think of something, anything to get him to stop talking. and once it finally came into your head you felt like the next albert einstein.

if there was anyone watching you two right now, they would’ve saw the idea literally pop into your head.

a grin comes over your features as you brung your hands to the bottom of your shirt, wrapping your fingers around the hem before lifting the fabric enough until it was exposing your bare chest to the boy in front of you.

his eyes immediately fell to your bare chest, his anger briefly forgotten as he took in the sight of your bare skin. his jaw slacked slightly, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.

“cat got your tongue, baby?” you ask, tilting your head and running your tongue over your top teeth as you watch chris’ expression.

chris doesn’t say anything, just a small ‘woah’ falling from under his breath — just his eyes flickering between your chest and your eyes with a look of disbelief and desire in his eyes. his cheeks turned a slight shade of red as he realised you had flashed him in an argument to shut him up.

you let out a small laugh at his reaction before slowing dropping your shirt to cover your chest again.

after a few seconds, chris finally managed to talk, “what the fuck was that?” his voice a combination of shock, arousal, and residual anger.

he run a hand through his disheveled brunette hair, “you can’t just…flash me like that in the middle of an argument, that’s not fair.”

“well, i had no other choice.” you shrug with a smug look on your face. your legs walked you forward until you were standing in front of chris, you looked up at him with a certain look in your eyes.

his breath hitched as he looked down at you, his heart pounding in his chest. his anger was quickly being replaced by something else entirely as he looked into your eyes. he let out a low groan, his body tensing as he saw the look in your eyes. “what are you doing?”

“just…testing the waters.” you mumble before leaning up to his lips and placing a soft kiss on his lips to see how he would react to your touch.

he stiffened under your touch, his breath hot against your lips as he tried to rein in his body’s immediate reaction to you. he let out a low groan, his hands finding their way to your hips, gripping onto them tightly. “you’re insufferable, you know that?”

“am i?” you question, bringing your hands up to rest of either side of his neck — deepening the kiss.

he groaned into the kiss, his lips parting slightly as his resolve began to crumble under your touch. his hands slid from your hips to the small of your back, pulling your body flush against his. he deepened the kiss, his tongue delving into your mouth to tangle with yours.

as chris parted his lips the slightest bit, you slid your tongue past his lips and into his mouth, which earns a low grunt from him.

his arms wrapped tightly around you, his hands splayed across your back as he crushed you against his chest. He kissed you passionately, his emotions a whirlwind of frustration, desire, and anger. he broke the kiss only to trail his lips along your jaw and down your neck.

you felt chris’ hands come to under your thighs and hoist you up his waist. once you secured your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist, he began to walk to the sofa.

he carried you to the sofa and lay you down before hovering over the top of you, his hands on your hips. he broke the kiss to lean his forehead against yours as he tried to catch his breath, “we shouldn’t…” he began, his voice breathy as he tried to calm himself.

“why shouldn’t we?” you ask with a confused expression on your face, licking your lips as you place your hands back on either side of his neck.

he swallowed hard, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he looked up at you with lust-darkened eyes, “because we were fighting…” he said, his hips shifted slightly under you, betraying his growing arousal.

“forget about it for now?” you ask, giving him a look so he would give in quicker.

he let out a low groan and licking his lips, “fine…” he breathed, his hands sliding up your sides and back to your back, pulling you flush against him once more. “for now, we’ll forget about it.”

you moved his head closer to your lips to capture him in a kiss. you closed your eyes and moved your mouth against his, his hands tightened on your hips.

he kissed you back, all thoughts of the argument forgotten as he lost himself in your taste and touch. his hands slid under your shirt, caressing the soft skin of your stomach and sides as he deepened the kiss. he grinded his hips against yours, letting you feel how much he wanted you.

you let out a low whimper as you felt him against you, causing you to slightly buck your hips up into his.

the motion made him break the kiss, panting heavily as he looked down at you. “fuck, you’re driving me crazy,” he said, his voice strained with desire. he sat up slightly, reaching for the hem of your shirt, looking up at you for approval before pulling it off over your head, leaving you in your bra.

you sit up on your forearms so you could reach your arms around you back and unclasp your bra, letting to straps fall down your arms before throwing it off to the side and laying down again.

he let out a low groan as you revealed yourself to him, his eyes hungrily roaming over your curves. he leaned down, capturing one of your boobs in his mouth and swirling his tongue around your nipple. his hand reached up to caress your other breast, squeezing gently.

“fuck” you breathe out, biting your bottom lip. you throw your head back as you leaned up on your forearms, your hair flowing down your back.

he groaned around your nipple as you arched your back, the sound vibrating against your sensitive flesh. he lavished your breasts with attention, alternating between sucking and licking until your nipples were hardened and straining. his hand trailed down your stomach, teasing along the waistband of your sweats.

“come on, don’t tease.” you whine out, bringing your head down to look at chris again — see his mouth still wrapped around your boob, but his hand was trailing over your lower stomach and waist band.

he smirked at your whine, enjoying the effect he had on you. he released your nipple with a wet pop, blowing cool air over the damp skin, "you’re so impatient," he teased, his nimble fingers undoing the drawstring of your sweats.

he slowly lowered your pants, his knuckles brushing against your clothed heat. he hooked his fingers in the waistband and tugged them down your legs, along with your panties. he tossed them aside carelessly, leaving you bare before him.

your hands landed on the hem of his shirt, looking up at him for a nod of approval, once he does you bring the black shirt over his head and toss it over to the pile of your clothes. you then hook your hands around his neck and bring him down onto you again, bringing him into a heated kiss.

he eagerly kissed you back, his hips settling between your thighs. he grinded against you slowly, the friction against his jeans driving them both crazy. he trailed one hand down your side, gripping your thigh and hitching it higher on his waist.

you felt chris’ hand come down to your heat, he runs two of his fingers down your folds, causing you to let out a whine.

he swallowed your whine with his kiss, his fingers parting your folds and slowly slipping inside. he moved them in and out, his pace slow and torturous. he added a third finger, stretching you and scissoring his fingers to prepare you for him.

he watched your face as he continued to finger you, his touch gentle yet firm. he crooked his fingers, brushing against that spot inside you that made your back arch and your hips buck against his hand. "that's it, baby," he encouraged, his voice low.

as chris’ fingers hit that spot that sent you to a different world, you let out loud moans, “f-fuck…oh my god” you stuttered out in a high pitched whine.

he continued to stretch and prepare you, his touch unyielding. he leaned down and kissed you again, his tongue mimicking the motion of his fingers as he continued to toy with you. "i think you're ready for me now," he murmured, his voice strained with desire.

you nodded frantically, biting your bottom lip as chris pulled his fingers out of you, “please… fuck me” you whimper out, your chest moving up and down at a fast pace due to your heavy ragged breaths.

chris sat up on his knees between your legs and undid the zipper of his jeans, shoving them down along with his boxers enough to free his straining erection.

you bit your lip as you watched chris. you felt yourself getting wetter as you looked at him, bringing your hand down to rub your clit as you waited for him.

chris leaned back down to hover over you, bringing his hand to your wrist and moving it away from your clit and intertwining your fingers together.

he positioned himself at your entrance, rubbing the tip through your slick folds. "you ready, baby?" he asked looking you in the eyes, his voice husky with desire.

“yeah” you said nodding your head. you moved your body about the sofa until you were comfortable. you brung your free hand around his neck and lowered his head into your neck as he slid inside you, a strained moan falling from your parted lips.

he let out a low groan as he sank deeper into you, his thickness stretching you to your limits. he held still for a moment, savoring the feeling of being buried inside you. "fuck," he breathed against your neck, his heart pounding against your hand that was now on his chest.

“shit,” you hissed through your teeth, squeezing your eyes shut.

“you okay, baby?” chris asked, moving his head away from your neck. he moved one of his hands to next to your head to hold his weight up as he watched your pussy engulf his dick as he slowly moved his hips.

you took a deep breath and nodded, your hand squeezing his, "i- yeah… just go faster," you said, your voice barely a whisper.

chris sped up his hips, moving in and out of you with more force as you let out lewd moans. your head now thrown into the cushions as far as they’d go with your eyes squeezed shut in pleasure.

he grunted with each thrust, the sound of your bodies meeting filling the room. "you like that, baby?" he asked hoarsely, his voice thick with desire. "huh?" he teased, also throwing his head back and biting his bottom lip.

“fuck yeah” you moaned, letting go of chris and bringing your hands up to your tits, running your hands over your nipples causing the knot in your stomach to tighten further.

his eyes locked onto your hands on your breasts, his own movements growing choppier. he brought one hand down to your thigh, hitching your leg higher around his waist and changing the angle of his thrusts to hit that spot inside you. "you're so perfect,"

when chris changed angles you felt a whole new type of pleasure wash over you, “o-oh my… fuck chris, that feels so fucking good.” you cry out, your hands now gripping the side of the cushion under your head.

he let out a guttural groan, his pace quickening as he drove into you with increased fervor. his hand on your thigh squeezed tighter as he watched your face contort in pleasure.

“i’m gonna- im gonna come” you moan, your teeth sinking harshly into your bottom lip. your knuckles were turning white due to your grip on the pillow.

"come for me then, baby," he encouraged, his voice low and gravelly. he buried his face in the crook of your neck as he pistoned his hips, his movements becoming sloppy as he neared his own release.

you could feel chris nearing his own orgasm along with you. when you felt his hand push down on your stomach it made you reach your orgasm, the knot in your stomach bursting as your legs begun to shake beside chris. stuttered moans and whines falling from your mouth, your hands letting go of the pillow and falling onto chris’ back, your nails gripping into his skin.

feeling your walls clench around him sent chris over the edge. with a final deep thrust and a muffled groan against your neck, he came hard, his hips jerking erratically as he spilled himself inside you. he continued to move slowly, riding out the waves of his intense orgasm.

after a few moments, he stilled and lifted his head to look at you, his eyes filled with warmth and satisfaction. he leaned down and gently kissed your swollen lips, "you okay, baby?" he asked softly, caressing your cheek with his thumb.

“mhm” you hum, opening your eyes and moving the hair away from your face. you sit up on your forearms, looking at chris who has a fucked out look on his face — his hair messed up, his lips swollen, a light layer of sweat on his forehead causing the strands at the front of his head to stick to the skin, and his eyes all hazy.

he grinned at you lazily, his arms tightening around you as he pulled you flush against his chest. "you look so beautiful right now," he murmured, his voice lazy and content. he nuzzled into the crook of your neck, placing soft kisses on your skin.

you let out a giggle as you make space for chris to lay next to you on the sofa, once he gets comfy he looks at you letting out a small giggle before saying, “so about that argument..”

@sturnsreckless

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aliyahwritings · 25 days ago

Text

THE CONTRACTED HEART — Rafe Cameron (05)

MASTERLIST | Basketball Player & Model!Female Reader

Summary: Rafe Cameron, a basketball star, needs a marriage to fix his image, while Model!Reader needs one for citizenship. They may be the perfect solution for each other.

Warnings: smut, descriptions of violence, jealousy, usage of drugs, talks about body image/ed, angst, and lots of bickering. Reader is confident, a people-pleaser, has a traumatic past, and is a sunshine with an attitude. Rafe is a whore, possessive, cocky, and secretive about his past.

Word Count: 9.4k

Aliyah's Notes: i have two exams in five years and i still haven't slept, so if u notice any mistakes pls ignore them. i'll fix them when i have time, and yes a scene is inspired by the maddest obsession BUT ANYW AHHHHHH!!!!!!!!! THIS CHAPTER IS INSANE AND PLS DONT SCREAM AT ME FOR THE ENDING LIKE IM SO SORRY BUT IT HAD TO BE DONE

“Hey, you want to know something?” Sarah said, approaching you as you sat quietly at a table, lost in thought. Beside her, two girls: one had mid-length brown curls and sun-kissed blonde highlights, gave you a friendly grin, her energy light and approachable. The other had wavy, jet-black hair that framed her face, her features both sharp and effortlessly beautiful. They were stunning, you thought, in a way that felt both comforting and a little intimidating. “I never liked her. Even back when she and my brother were together, I never got along with Chiara.”

The girl with the highlighted curls nodded, sliding into the seat next to you. “Same here. There’s always been something... off about her,” she agreed, scrunching her nose in a way that made you smile. “Oh! I’m Kiara, by the way,” she added quickly. “Different spelling than Chiara, but I promise we’re nothing alike.”

The girl with the wavy black hair gave a little wave as she took the seat across from you, her smile warm and easy. “And I’m Cleo,” she introduced herself with a slight accent. “Can’t say I disagree with Sarah and Kie here. Chiara’s just... kind of a staple at these things. She’s always been around, so the guys still invite her out of habit.”

“And if they didn’t, she’d probably throw a tantrum,” Sarah added, rolling her eyes in exasperation.

You felt a warmth creeping into your cheeks as you looked at the three of them, surprised by how welcoming they were. “Thanks, girls. I’m Y/N, by the way,” you said shyly, offering a small smile.

“Girl, we know who you are,” Cleo came to sit on your side and nudged you softly. “But don’t worry, you’re part of the group now—Chiara who?” she joked, making you all laugh.

You cleared your throat, glancing between the three girls who were deep in conversation. The question had been sitting heavy on your mind since the moment you met Chiara. “So… Rafe and her—did they used to date?”

The girls exchanged a look, the brief silence almost uncomfortable. It was as if they were weighing their words, deciding what to say or what to hold back. Their reluctance only made you want answers more. Who was Chiara to Rafe, really?

Finally, Sarah glanced away, a frown crossing her face. “It’s… complicated.”

You couldn’t help but lean in, unable to stop the curiosity stirring in your chest. “How complicated?” you pressed. “Were they exes? Friends with benefits? Did they break up right before Rafe and I got together? Or was it just her holding on to a crush he never—”

Kiara gently placed a hand over yours, her eyes warm and understanding. “Y/N, it’s okay. You don’t have to overthink it, alright?”

You sighed, the uncertainty making your stomach twist. “I just wish I knew what they are—or were—to each other. Rafe hasn’t said a word about her. Not a thing.”

Cleo gave you a sympathetic look, and Sarah hesitated, biting her lip as though weighing whether to say more. Finally, she began, “Wait, so he really didn’t tell you about what they—”

But Sarah’s words were cut off abruptly as Rafe’s voice broke through the noise of the party. “Sweetheart, can we talk?”

The girls turned toward him, their expressions ranging from surprise to mild disgust.

Kiara shot him a skeptical look, brows raised. “Who did he just call ‘sweetheart’?”

Cleo’s eyes widened as she put her hands up in mock innocence. “Definitely not me.”

Sarah shook her head, holding back a laugh. “Don’t look at me. My brother’s never called me any nickname. So, nope, not me either.”

Their eyes turned back to you, and it clicked. Rafe’s gaze was fixed on you, his face serious, almost imploring. You fidgeted with your hands, glancing over his shoulder to catch a glimpse of Chiara. She was a few steps away, engrossed in a conversation with JJ, yet her eyes were unmistakably trained on you and Rafe. Her expression was unreadable, something between irritation and curiosity, and the ambiguity of it only frustrated you more.

Rafe’s voice softened, his eyes searching yours. “Y/N, let’s go. Please?”

“I’m serious about her, Chiara,” was what Rafe replied earlier, his voice firm but before you could register the words, Chiara grabbed his arm, pulling him toward the garden without so much as a second glance in your direction, leaving you alone in the middle of the party—feeling like a complete idiot.

You weren’t sure how to feel about Rafe’s words. It was exactly what you’d hoped to hear, but his delivery had been off, and the way he left with her immediately afterward left a sour taste. You remember watching them through the windows. Their conversation looked intense. Chiara’s hands moved wildly, gesturing with a frustration that seemed matched by Rafe, who kept sighing and tossing his arms up in exasperation. Whatever they discussed, it was clearly charged.

But now, Rafe was standing in front of you, his expression unreadable as he asked to talk. About what? You didn’t know. Maybe he’d finally explain who Chiara was to him or put to rest the suspicion twisting in your gut, though you doubted he would. Instead of lingering on the countless possibilities, you took a steadying breath, nodded, and followed him outside.

The night air was cool, a stark contrast to the party’s warmth, and you found yourself standing on the porch beside him, facing the quiet street. For a moment, silence fell between you, thick and awkward, as if neither of you knew where to begin. He glanced at you and you felt a flicker of anticipation mixed with unease, wondering what he’d say—if he’d finally give you the answers you were looking for.

Rafe leaned against the porch railing, arms folded, his gaze fixed somewhere over your shoulder. “Look... Chiara just… she doesn’t handle change well,” he said, his tone flat, almost dismissive. “She’s just… used to things being a certain way. She's dramatic."

You crossed your arms, holding back the questions building up. “Right. So, she drags you outside because she’s feeling… what? Dramatic?”

He glanced at you, then quickly looked away, jaw tightening. “It’s not like that,” he said, his voice clipped. “She’s… she’s just not used to seeing me with someone else.”

You raised an eyebrow, trying to keep your tone light. “Oh, so I’m the problem?”

Rafe sighed, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “No, it’s not you. It’s…” He paused, as if weighing how much he wanted to say. “She just thinks… I don’t know, she has her own ideas about things. She probably assumed things were the way they used to be.”

You frowned. “Used to be?” The question slipped out before you could stop it, and when Rafe didn’t answer right away, you continued. “So, you two were… what? Together?”

He shook his head. “Not exactly. Things just... overlapped for a while. It was just… a thing. A long time ago.”

Your patience was wearing thin. “And by ‘a long time ago,’ you mean… what? Last week? Last month?”

Rafe exhaled sharply, his frustration bubbling to the surface. “Shit, why does it matter? Whatever it was, it’s over, alright? I didn’t think I had to spell it out for you.”

“Maybe you do need to,” you shot back, feeling your cheeks heat. “I think I deserve to know when I’m about to walk into a situation where some girl is going to pull you away and act like I’m the one intruding.”

Rafe’s jaw tightened, and he leaned in slightly, his eyes narrowing. “She’s not just ‘some girl.’ She’s… someone I’ve known for a while. And she’s… complicated. Okay?”

“Right. ‘Complicated.’” You let the word hang in the air, dripping with sarcasm. “I’m sure it’s just so complicated that you couldn’t even bother to tell me about her before dragging me into this.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, looking away. “It’s not like that. I just… I didn’t think she’d show up here. I didn’t think it would matter.”

You shook your head, folding your arms tighter around yourself. “Well, maybe it does matter, Rafe. Because from where I’m standing, it looks like she has some claim on you.”

"What?" Rafe’s eyes flashed with irritation, and he straightened up, clearly done with the conversation. “Look, she doesn’t have a fucking ‘claim’ on me. It’s nothing. Just… drop it.”

The bluntness of his words stung, and you took a steadying breath, keeping your voice as even as possible. “Fine,” you said coolly, shrugging as if you weren’t affected. “But you might want to let her know that.”

He shook his head, muttering something under his breath before his gaze met yours again. “You’re overthinking it. She’s… she’s just used to being a part of my life, and now things are different. She’ll deal with it.”

You raised an eyebrow, tilting your head slightly. “Funny, because from where I was standing, it didn’t look like she was planning to just ‘deal with it.’ It looked like she was… I don’t know, trying to stake her territory or something.”

Rafe sighed, looking away again. “That’s just how she is. She’s always… been intense. Doesn’t mean anything.”

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes, feeling a mix of frustration and something uncomfortably close to jealousy. “So, I’m just supposed to ignore it? Pretend she didn’t pull you, my boyfriend, outside to… to lecture you about me?”

“Exactly,” he replied, his tone abrupt. “It’s just noise. Don’t pay her any mind.”

The simplicity of his response only fueled your irritation. “Right. Because I should just… ignore all of this and act like nothing’s wrong.”

“Look, I didn’t ask her to make a scene,” he said, his voice sharper now. “And I didn’t think she’d come here tonight. She just… showed up, okay?”

You paused, studying his expression, which was a mixture of defensiveness and something else you couldn’t quite place. “So, what’s the story with her?” you asked, trying to keep your tone casual, though you knew it was anything but.

Rafe let out a frustrated breath. “There’s no ‘story,’ alright? She’s just… she was around for a while, that’s it. We had… an understanding.”

You raised an eyebrow, the vagueness of his answer only adding to your frustration. “An understanding,” you repeated slowly, crossing your arms tighter. “Well, it seems like she didn’t quite get the memo that whatever ‘understanding’ you had is over.”

He shifted uncomfortably, glancing toward the house as if hoping someone would interrupt. “She’ll get over it. I just didn’t expect her to… make it a whole thing.”

“Maybe she made it a whole thing because you haven’t made it clear to her that it’s… nothing,” you said, emphasizing his own words back to him.

Rafe’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Why are you making this such a big deal? It’s not like we're actually together. This—" he said, moving his fingers between you two "—is fake, in case you forgot.”

“Oh, right, because it’s so normal for the girl you used to have… whatever with to show up at a party and act like I’m the one intruding.” You shook your head, exasperated. “Forgive me for wanting to understand the situation.”

He shrugged, still not meeting your eyes. “It’s just… old history. Not worth bringing up.”

“Then maybe you should have thought of that before dragging me into this,” you shot back, your voice laced with frustration.

He finally met your gaze, his jaw set. “Dragging you into what? It’s not like I invited her here.”

You raised an eyebrow, challenging him. “Did you invite me here to watch your past blow up in front of us?”

Rafe let out a bitter laugh. “This is what I get for trying to bring you around my friends. Next time, I’ll keep it strictly professional. How’s that?”

You felt a pang of hurt, but you masked it with a tight smile. “Perfect. I’ll remember that for next time, Rafe.” You turned away, taking a few steps back toward the house, hoping he’d get the hint that you were done.

But Rafe’s hand closed gently around your wrist, stopping you. “Wait.” His voice was low, reluctant, but there was a softness there you hadn’t expected.

You turned, catching his gaze, which had softened just slightly. “What?”

He hesitated, then let go of your wrist, his fingers lingering just a moment longer. “I just… I didn’t expect her to react this way. I thought… things were clear between us.”

“Clearly, they’re not,” you replied, unable to keep the edge from your tone.

Rafe sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ll try to talk to her, alright? Make sure she understands. But can we just… leave it here?”

You watched him, seeing the frustration, the tension in his shoulders, and you knew he wasn’t about to tell you any more than he already had. So, instead of pushing it further, you forced a casual shrug. “Fine. Whatever. It’s none of my business anyway, right?”

A flicker of something passed across his face—surprise, maybe, or regret. “Right. It’s not,” he said, though his voice was quieter, as if the words didn’t sit right with him.

You nodded, biting back the urge to say anything more. “Great. Glad we’re on the same page.”

An awkward silence settled between you, the tension thick and unresolved. Rafe shifted, glancing toward the house. “We should get back. People will start talking if we’re both out here too long.”

You let out a humorless laugh. “Oh, we wouldn’t want that, would we?” The sarcasm was sharp, but you didn’t care; you were too irritated to soften it.

He shot you a look, somewhere between exasperation and apology, but said nothing as he turned to head back inside. You followed a few paces behind, feeling the weight of the conversation pressing down on you, every unanswered question lingering like a shadow.

Before reaching the door, Rafe paused, his hand resting on the doorknob as he glanced back at you. “Listen…” He hesitated, as if searching for the right words. “It’s… just a lot, okay? Give me some time. I’ll sort it out.”

You held his gaze, unsure whether to believe him, but you nodded once. “Fine. But make it clear, Rafe. I’m not here to play second fiddle to some girl from your past. My life is on the line and I don't have time to worry about this sort of thing.”

He opened his mouth to respond, but whatever he was about to say, he swallowed back. Instead, he gave a tight nod and pushed open the door, slipping back into the noise and light of the party. You followed him and plastered on a fake smile while wondering if you’d ever get the truth out of him.

For the next hour, you put on a mask, pretending everything was fine—like nothing happened. But no matter how hard you tried to push the thoughts away, they lingered, clouding every moment. What was Rafe and Chiara’s relationship? You forced yourself to focus on the laughter, the music, and the warmth of the people around you, determined to enjoy the night with Rafe’s friends. Yet every so often, your mind drifted back to Chiara and Rafe, leaving an uncomfortable knot in your stomach.

Rafe took you around the room, introducing you to his teammates: Topper Thornton, Kelce Miller, JJ Maybank, Pope Heyward, and John B Routledge. They each greeted you with a friendly smile and a welcoming vibe. You found yourself particularly drawn to Topper's lighthearted humor and Pope's quiet charm, making it a bit easier to relax. But it was the girls who truly helped lift your spirits. Their energy was infectious, and you quickly found yourself laughing and swapping stories as if you’d known them forever.

Just as you were in the middle of an animated conversation, you heard someone call out, "Miss supermodel!" You turned to see Topper staggering toward you with a mischievous grin, clearly several drinks deep. “Come drink with us! You haven’t had a single sip all night!”

You couldn’t help but smile as he swayed slightly, holding up a red cup with a challenging look. He finally came in front of you and you had to shake your head. “I’m sorry, Topper. I can’t drink tonight. I’m on contract.”

He whined and threw his head back. “Why? A little sip won’t hurt you, right? Come on, please.”

You laughed, shaking your hands as he pouted dramatically, swaying slightly. “Topper, you’re wasted! I think you’ve had enough for both of us.”

He held his heart in mock offense. “Oh, come on! Just one tiny sip!” He held out the cup, swirling it a little as if to tempt you. “Look, it’s just tequila! You can handle tequila, right?”

You hesitated, glancing down at the cup and then back at his hopeful face. “I really shouldn’t… If anyone from the agency finds out, I’m in trouble.”

“Who’s gonna know? It’s just us here, right?” He looked around, grinning mischievously. “Your secret’s safe with me. And, hey, you can’t just let me be the only one embarrassing myself tonight.”

You sighed, rolling your eyes playfully. “Alright, one sip. But that’s it, okay?”

Topper’s eyes lit up like a kid on Christmas morning. “Yes! That’s all I’m asking for.” He held out the cup, his face eager with anticipation.

You took the cup from him, feeling the weight of all the eyes on you as his friends turned to watch, clearly amused by the scene. Raising the cup to your lips, you took a big sip, the tequila burning as it went down. You scrunched your nose at the taste, earning a round of cheers from Topper and the girls.

“There we go! Wasn’t so bad, was it?” he laughed, throwing an arm around your shoulders.

“Awful,” you teased, wiping your lips. “But now you can’t say I didn’t drink with you.”

Topper gave you a victorious grin. “I knew you’d come through! You’re practically one of us now.”

You should’ve known.

Less than an hour later, you were stumbling across the living room, thoroughly tipsy and clinging to Kiara, who was somehow even more drunk than you. The two of you were giggling uncontrollably, reduced to hysterics over the silliest things—the pretzels shaped like animals, the crooked painting on the wall. Every little thing was hilarious, and the alcohol only seemed to amplify your laughter and loosen your inhibitions.

Lost in your little bubble, you didn’t notice Rafe watching from across the room, his gaze sharp and unblinking as he kept tabs on you. He hadn’t seen you like this before—free-spirited, a little reckless, and definitely wilder than he was used to. He couldn’t help but chuckle as he watched you shout out something along the lines of, “Everyone should just strip already!” before lifting the hem of your top, ready to make good on your words.

That was Rafe’s cue. In a flash, he crossed the room, slipping his hands over yours before you could pull your shirt over your head. His touch was firm, grounding, a stark contrast to the chaos around you. "Whoa there," he murmured, his voice laced with amusement, but his eyes were warm, almost protective.

You blinked up at Rafe, a goofy grin plastered across your face as you realized he was standing right in front of you. The room spun just a little, but his steady hands on yours felt oddly comforting.

“Rafe!” you slurred, beaming as though you hadn’t seen him in days. “Fuck! Isn’t it, like, super hot in here?”

Rafe smirked, shaking his head. “I think that’s just the tequila talking, baby,” he replied, steadying you as you swayed. His fingers stayed wrapped around yours, almost possessive, but he didn’t let go.

You pouted, glancing around at the half-dressed friends who were now laughing at your enthusiastic outburst. “Fine, but I was just trying to help everyone loosen up, you know?”

“Oh, trust me, you’ve definitely loosened up,” he chuckled, his eyes scanning you, both entertained and slightly exasperated. “Maybe… a little too much.”

You leaned in closer, your voice dropping to a playful whisper, “You know you enjoy it.”

Rafe’s gaze softened, but there was something else there, too—like he was seeing a side of you he hadn’t before. “Maybe I do,” he replied, his voice low, almost as if the words had slipped out unintentionally. He cleared his throat, his grip tightening on your hands. “But I also love it when you’re not stripping in front of half my team.”

You giggled, reaching up to playfully ruffle his hair. “Aww, big, tough Rafe is jealous I haven’t stripped to him first, is that it?”

Just then, Kiara stumbled over, clearly in search of more entertainment. “Hey! Let’s play a game, everyone!”

Rafe sighed. “Alright, I think that’s our cue to leave,” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head as he looked back at you.

You tugged on Rafe’s arm, leaning into him with a dramatic pout. “Nooooo… let’s play the game, and then we can go,” you insisted.

“Y/N, you’re beyond wasted,” he said, arching an eyebrow in disbelief. “I doubt you’ll even be able to play the game right.”

“I am not drunk,” you protested, crossing your arms defiantly. The words slurred just slightly, giving you away. Rafe’s skeptical look only deepened. “I’m just a little tipsy,” you amended quickly, giving him a grin. “Come on, don’t be such a buzzkill.”

He hesitated, watching you with a mixture of amusement and concern. For a moment, he seemed ready to argue, but as you flashed him your brightest, most convincing smile, he sighed, a reluctant smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Fine,” he muttered, finally giving in.

You joined everyone on the floor, settling into a circle with a bottle of vodka at the center and shot glasses placed around. The music was turned down, but the room’s energy buzzed with anticipation. You found yourself between Rafe on your left and Sarah on your right. Across from you were Pope, Cleo, John B, and Chiara, each giving you encouraging grins or a raised brow.

Kiara took charge with a gleeful smile. “Alright, you all know how Never Have I Ever works, right?” She scanned the group, receiving nods all around. “Perfect! If anyone wants to skip a question, you take a shot. Simple enough. Should I start?” She tapped her chin playfully before flashing a mischievous grin. “Never have I ever dated someone at least ten years older than me.”

A chorus of laughter and surprised murmurs rippled through the group as Rafe, Kelce, and Topper each dropped a finger. A few gasps followed, and your eyes darted to Rafe, eyebrows raised in curiosity.

"So, you’re into cougars, huh?” you whispered, unable to hide your amused smile.

He shrugged, glancing at you with a glint of mischief in his eyes. “Not anymore,” he murmured, his gaze flicking to your lips. The slow lick he gave his own sent a spark through you, making you gulp and look away quickly. Was it the alcohol, or did he just do that on purpose?

JJ smirked, taking the lead for the next round. “Alright, let’s up the stakes. Never have I ever been in handcuffs…and I don’t mean the kind from a police station.”

The number of people lowering their fingers was surprising. Sarah, John B, Kelce, Chiara, Cleo...and even you. As soon as you put your finger down, Rafe snapped his head in your direction, his eyes wide with surprise. You avoided his gaze, a sly smirk playing on your lips as you focused elsewhere, feeling his lingering stare and the unspoken question in his eyes.

“Lots of naughty people here,” Kiara smirked, eyeing the group of us who had fingers down. Her grin was wicked as she surveyed the room, making everyone squirm just a little. “I see y’all… I see y’all! Alright, someone else ask the next question!��

Topper jumped at the chance, grinning as he dramatically raised a finger. “Never have I ever had a crush on someone in this room,” he declared, looking around with a teasing sparkle in his eyes.

You watched as some people—those who were obviously in relationships (and Chiara)—put their fingers down, laughing and giving each other cute looks. You shrugged, you didn’t relate to that question. You didn’t do anything, leaning back as others shared knowing glances. But then, Rafe nudged your shoulder, leaning down close enough for you to feel his breath against your ear.

“Come on, put a finger down,” he whispered, his voice low and warm. His hand rested on your knee, his thumb grazing in gentle circles, as if to coax you into admitting something.

You shook your head, letting out a sleepy laugh. “I don’t have a crush on anyone,” you slurred, clearly drunk. Your words came out slower, a bit softer, and you could feel Rafe chuckle beside you, probably entertained by how far gone you were.

“Did you forget we’re together?” he asked, amused. Without waiting for your response, he took your hand and put a finger down for you. His touch was gentle, yet possessive.

JJ spotted the exchange, laughter bursting out of him as he pointed at you. “Oh, damn, Rafe! She actually forgot she even likes you!”

Rafe shot him a mock glare, flipping him off with a grin. “That’s on you, fuck-heads, for handing her all those shots,” he retorted, pointing an accusatory finger around the group. “We’re gonna head out soon if she keeps this up.”

“No! Don’t go!” Cleo’s voice suddenly cut through, practically pouting. “I like her! Don’t take her away from me—us!”

Pope waved his hands, laughing as he tried to steer the game back on course. “Alright, let’s just keep this moving before the girls start crying. Here’s one—never have I ever had a threesome.”

The room went quiet, people hesitating to react. Then smirks appeared, and the accusations started flying at JJ, with Topper and a few others pointing fingers. “Come on, man! We literally saw you making out with two girls at once last month!”

You felt the conversation slipping in and out, barely paying attention to the bickering. Your head felt heavy, and with each passing second, you found yourself drifting further. Almost without realizing it, you leaned into Rafe’s shoulder, your head resting there like it had always belonged. His arm wrapped around you, hand trailing up and down your shoulder in comforting circles, and you closed your eyes, feeling strangely at peace. His warmth surrounded you, making the noise around you blur into the background. For a fleeting moment, you wondered if you could stay like this forever.

Across the room, Chiara’s eyes narrowed as she caught sight of the two of you, her jaw clenching almost imperceptibly. Her stare was sharp, piercing, and a flash of something darker seemed to flicker there.

“Hey, guys! Let’s stop arguing and actually play,” Sarah called out, snapping everyone’s attention back to the game. She pointed at you and Rafe, grinning. “Those two are practically out like lights! Okay, here’s one: never have I ever had sex in a movie theater.”

Laughter erupted again as John B hesitated, clearly too shy to admit to anything. You looked up at Rafe, raising an eyebrow playfully as if to ask if he’d ever done something like that. He met your gaze, shaking his head.

When he raised his brow to ask you the same question, you mimicked his gesture, shaking your head. But then, with a mischievous glint in your eye, you leaned into him, dropping your voice to a whisper. “Bathrooms, though… I’ve done it there.” You weren’t sure why you said it—he hadn’t even asked. “I don’t know if that counts…”

Rafe’s brows shot up in surprise, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Guess you’re freakier than you look.”

You chuckled, leaning back. “What’s that supposed to mean? I don’t look like the type?”

He shook his head slowly, letting his eyes wander over you, his gaze lingering on your lips before it drifted back up to your eyes. “Not exactly,” he murmured, voice low.

“Oh?” you asked, hand drifting to rest on his thigh, watching the glint in his blue eyes intensify as he looked down at your hand. “Come on, Cameron. Tell me what I look like, then.”

His fingers traced light patterns under the hem of your shirt, brushing over the skin at your waist in a way that made your breath hitch. He leaned in close, his lips brushing your ear as he whispered, “You look like you want to be fucked roughly,” he paused, letting his words linger before he added with a smirk, “but maybe you should get some sleep instead.”

You playfully swatted his arm, pushing yourself upright with a laugh. “Screw you, Rafe.”

With a grin, he pulled you back to his side, wrapping his arms around you as you settled against him again. “Oh, come on, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice gentle but teasing. “You know I’m just messing with you—”

Chiara Romano’s voice cut through the chatter with an edge sharper than before. “Okay, my turn now,” she said, raising her head, her eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made you feel uneasy. “Never have I ever…” she paused, letting her gaze linger on you a moment longer, her lips curling into a smirk that held none of the warmth and humor everyone else’s questions had. “... never have I ever filmed myself in the bathroom puking my guts out after eating.”

A shocked silence fell over the room. You felt the air freeze, every eye darting to Chiara in disbelief, and then back to you. The words hit like a punch to the gut, and the humiliation was instant and overwhelming. Your face flushed as the awful memories flooded back—the horrible moment that video had been leaked, exposing your bulimia to the world without mercy. You’d spent months trying to rebuild, to reclaim your own story, but now it was out in the open again, with a cruelty that left you breathless.

Your cheeks flamed with humiliation, and your chest tightened as if the air had been sucked out of the room. You felt every gaze on you, piercing, questioning, but you couldn’t bring yourself to meet anyone’s eyes. Your fingers curled around your tighs, gripping tightly, almost leaving red marks.

You closed your eyes the moment you felt tears coming up. You didn’t want to cry in front of everyone, it was embarrassing enough that they got reminded of the most embarrassing moment of your life—crying would embarrass you even more. None of them know what you went through after that video got leaked. No one knew the nights you spent in rehab centers getting mocked for the video—as if everyone there wasn’t in because of mental illnesses too. They didn’t know the amount of strength it took for you to finally get clean… only for you to relapse again this afternoon.

They didn’t fucking know!

Rafe stood up beside you, his body going tense beside you. His jaw clenched as his eyes narrowed at her. “What the fuck is wrong you?” he yelled, his voice sharp, like he was barely holding back.

She shrugged, feigning innocence, though the smirk stayed firmly on her face. “What? I thought we were all sharing our secrets here, right? After all, the video has already been leaked for everyone to see, like, years ago… didn’t think it was such a big deal.”

You felt like you were drowning, the walls closing in on you as Chiara’s words rang in your ears. Without thinking, you bolted for the door, the need to escape driving you forward. You pushed past Rafe, who instinctively reached out for you, but you couldn’t stop. You needed to get out, away from the judgment, away from the stares that felt like daggers. The cold night air hit you as you stepped outside, but it didn’t matter; all you could think about was putting as much distance between yourself and the party as possible.

The rain poured down in sheets, drenching you instantly. You stumbled through the downpour, your heart racing as you made your way toward the car, the asphalt slick and glistening under the streetlights. You couldn’t believe it had come to this, running away like some frightened child, but the humiliation burned too fiercely to stand another moment.

Behind you, you heard Rafe call out your name, his voice cutting through the sound of the rain. “Y/N! Fuck—wait!” He sounded frantic, his tone a mix of worry and urgency. You could hear him rushing after you, his footsteps splashing through puddles as he chased you down.

“Just leave me alone!” you shouted over your shoulder, the words coming out more desperate than you intended. You didn’t want to feel his pity, didn’t want him to see you like this—broken and exposed.

“Look, I’m so sorry for what she—”

“I don’t want your fucking pity, Rafe!” you turned around to see him running toward you. His clothes clinging to his body. “Just go back there, and leave me alone for the night, alright?”

“I’m not leaving you!” he shouted back, his voice firm. You could hear the determination in his tone, and it both soothed and angered you. Why wouldn’t he just let you go?

You reached the car, fumbling with the door handle, your fingers slipping as the rain poured down, obscuring your vision. You wanted to get inside, to hide from everything—from Chiara, from your mistakes, from the shame that clung to you like a second skin.

Just as you finally got the door open, Rafe was there, blocking your way. He stood next to you, soaking wet but unbothered, his expression fierce and protective. “Y/N, please,” he urged, his voice softer now, almost pleading. “Come on… Just… just talk to me.”

His presence was grounding, but you couldn’t shake off the overwhelming tide of emotions surging through you. “What’s there to talk about?” you asked, your voice broke. “It’s all out there for everyone to see. I couldn’t handle it back then and I… I can’t handle it now. I can’t…” you felt tears pooling at your eyes.

Rafe took a step closer, rain cascading down his face, but he didn’t reach for you. Instead, he held his hands up, palms facing you. “Don’t run away from this.”

“Watch me,” you shot back, glaring at him through tears. “You can’t fix this, Rafe, so just let me go.”

“I am not letting you go,” he insisted. “What she did was cruel—she felt miserable seeing us together. You know better than this.”

“Do I?” you echoed, feeling your own resolve wavering as you locked eyes with him. “It’s easy for you to say. You’re not the one with the history she just exposed. You’re not the one who’s been ridiculed for something that was leaked against your will!”

“Neither am I the one hiding in a corner, sulking because some jealous bitch decided to take a cheap shot,” Rafe countered, his frustration evident. “You’re stronger than this, so stop acting like you’re not. Stand up for yourself!”

“Stand up for myself?” You laughed, a hollow sound that echoed in the rain. “And how do you suggest I do that? By going back there and asking her to apologize? By acting like it doesn’t hurt?”

“Why give her the satisfaction of knowing she’s getting to you?”

“Because it’s easy!” you snapped, frustration boiling over. “It’s easier to run away and hide than it is to face the pain! Don’t you get that? I thought I was done with all of this, and now I’m just… I’m back to square one. I thought you understood me better than that.”

“Clearly, I don’t,” he said, his tone cutting. “You want to hide, and I’m not going to let you hide from yourself. I care about you, Y/N...”

You felt your heart pound in your chest, caught between anger and a flicker of something deeper. “What you care about is saving face. You want the perfect girlfriend who can handle anything. But I’m not that person, Rafe. I’m a mess. I have issues, and I’m tired of pretending I’m not.”

He stepped closer, the tension between you thick and electric. “And I’m not asking you to pretend. I’m asking you to be real. To be honest about what you’re feeling. We can face this if you’d just let me help you instead of pushing me away.”

You hesitated, the rain drumming a steady rhythm around you as you stared at him. “Maybe I don’t want your help. Maybe I don’t need anyone to fix me.”

“Then why the hell are you running away from this?” he challenged, his voice rising again. “Because it’s too hard? Because it makes you uncomfortable? Life is uncomfortable, Y/N! That’s the reality, and running away doesn’t change that.”

“I just don’t want to do this right now,” you shot back, the weariness of the night creeping in. “I didn’t sign up for a therapy session. I wanted to have fun, to forget, and now it feels like I’m being dragged back into all the crap.”

Rafe’s expression softened slightly, but his resolve remained. “And you can’t forget by ignoring it. You have to face it, and I’m not going to let you do it alone. If that means we argue, then so be it. But I’m not walking away.”

You looked away, biting your lip to keep the frustration at bay. “Maybe you should. Maybe it would be easier for both of us.”

“Easier? For who?” he challenged but you couldn’t answer him anymore.

You didn’t have the strength to fight. You sighed. “Can you get me home or not?”

He ran his hands through his buzzcut and nodded. “You’re not gonna say goodbye to everyone?” You shook your head, not wanting to get back in there and look at them staring at you. “Alright… get in the car, then.”

You climbed into the passenger seat, the cool leather sticking to your damp clothes. Rafe slipped in beside you, his jaw set, hands gripping the wheel. Neither of you said a word, the silence thick and uncomfortable, each of you lost in your own thoughts. You stared out the window, watching the raindrops race each other down the glass, trying to focus on anything other than the weight of the tension that hung between you.

Your heart was still pounding, the adrenaline from the confrontation lingering in your veins. You could feel the shame gnawing at you, the humiliation settling into a deep, aching hollow inside you. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Rafe shifting in his seat, glancing at you every so often, his mouth twitching as if he wanted to say something. But he kept quiet, his gaze fixed on the rain-soaked road ahead. His fingers tapped against the steering wheel, a small, nervous rhythm that betrayed the stillness in the car.

The silence was suffocating, heavy with words unsaid. You could feel the questions he wanted to ask, the concern he held back, but he didn’t press. Part of you appreciated it, yet another part of you wished he would just break the silence, say something to shatter this unbearable quiet.

You stole a glance at him, his brow furrowed, jaw clenched. He was clearly wrestling with something, struggling between respecting your need for space and his own instinct to reach out. But his restraint made everything feel even more surreal, like the two of you were strangers again, pretending not to know each other’s pain.

Eventually, you wrapped your arms around yourself, feeling the chill of your damp clothes seep into your skin.

When he pulled up in front of your apartment building, he kept the engine running, his hands still gripping the wheel tightly. He didn’t make any move to get out or say goodbye. He just sat there, glancing out the window before looking back at you, his lips parting slightly as if he might finally say something.

With a quiet sigh, you pushed the door open, stepping out into the drizzle that had softened into a gentle mist. The cold bit into your skin, but you barely noticed. You closed the door behind you, barely looking back, willing yourself not to dwell on the weight of his stare as you turned toward the entrance of your building—but you paused, feeling a pang of dread at the thought of stepping into your apartment alone. The quiet and emptiness that usually felt like a sanctuary now seemed suffocating. You hesitated, glancing back at the car where Rafe still sat, staring out into the rain.

Before you could second-guess yourself, you turned back and walked toward him, knocking gently on his window. He looked up, a mixture of surprise and uncertainty crossing his face as he rolled the window down. The awkwardness was palpable, hanging between you like a fragile thread.

“Do you… want to come up?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. “I just—I just don’t feel like being alone right now.” You glanced away, feeling vulnerable, exposed. This wasn’t easy to admit, especially not to him.

Rafe blinked, clearly caught off guard. He hesitated, the tension in his posture softening as he considered your request. “Uh, yeah… sure,” he replied, though there was a touch of awkwardness in his voice, like he wasn’t sure he was the right person for this. Still, he killed the engine and got out of the car, following you toward the entrance.

Inside the building, you moved wordlessly up the stairs together, the elevator’s light out as usual. The quiet between you was no longer charged with unspoken tension but instead carried a strange, subdued calm. Each step felt heavier, and you could feel his presence just a few inches behind you, grounding you in a way that felt strangely comforting.

When you finally reached your door, you unlocked it and stepped inside, flicking on a dim light that bathed the space in a warm, muted glow. Rafe followed, taking in the familiar yet intimate details of your apartment as he shrugged off his jacket. He looked unsure, like he didn’t quite know where to stand or what to say, so he hovered near the doorway.

You offered him a small, grateful smile and gestured toward the couch. “You can sit, if you want. I’ll make some tea or something,” you mumbled, moving toward the kitchen before he could respond. The warmth of your apartment slowly started to chip away at the lingering chill from the rain outside, and you felt a hint of comfort beginning to settle in.

When you returned with two mugs, Rafe had taken a seat on the couch, his gaze still wandering around the room, perhaps more at ease now. He accepted the tea with a quiet “thanks,” and you sat beside him, the silence stretching out once more, but this time it didn’t feel as heavy.

You can feel the heat radiating from his body, close enough that your knees almost touch, and every so often, your eyes meet and then dart away, a faint spark igniting each time.

It’s you who finally breaks the voice, your voice soft. “I’m going to change. I can… One of my friends’ left his clothes there, I can give them to you, if you want?”

Rafe looked up from his mug, his expression caught between surprise and a hesitant relief. “Yeah, that’d be… that’d be great,” he replied, glancing down at his damp clothes, his shoulders relaxing slightly.

You rose from the couch, moving to your room to dig through the small pile of clothes left behind from friends. Finding an oversized hoodie and some sweatpants, you returned and handed them to him, offering a half-smile. “They might be a little big, but better than wet clothes.”

He nodded, accepting them with a quiet “Thanks,” and stepped into the bathroom to change. The moment he was out of sight, you took a deep breath, feeling the quiet around you settle into something both calm and unfamiliar, his presence somehow easing the edges of your earlier anxiety. You wrapped your arms around yourself, still shaken by everything that had happened, but also oddly comforted by knowing you weren’t alone tonight.

When he emerged, dressed in the loose-fitting hoodie and sweats, he looked different—more relaxed, less guarded. He took a tentative step back into the living room, running a hand through his damp hair as he caught your eye, almost sheepish.

You managed a faint smile, gesturing to the couch again, and he sank down beside you. He set his mug on the table, his fingers fidgeting slightly before he leaned back, settling in.

“Well, I... I’ll just go change. Make yourself comfortable,” you said, your voice soft but inviting. Leaving Rafe in the living room, you headed to your bedroom, slipping into a comfortable black tank top and a pair of Hello Kitty pajama pants—the ones Nina, your agent, gifted you when you’d first arrived in the U.S. They were worn in with memories, each time you wore them a reminder of how far you’d come. You removed your makeup and pulled your hair into a ponytail, feeling lighter and more yourself.

When you reemerged, you noticed Rafe standing in the hallway, intently studying a small collection of photos you had on the wall. You approached him quietly, noticing that he was particularly focused on a picture of you from when you were nineteen, dressed in a deep green saree at a friend’s wedding in the States. You were surrounded by your group of friends, all of you smiling.

“You looked beautiful,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, as though speaking louder might disturb something precious in the moment.

“Thank you…” you murmured, feeling a soft warmth rise in your cheeks. You glanced back at the photo, remembering how special that day was. “I really like this one. I’d just arrived here and didn’t know many people yet. Then a few friends invited me to the wedding, and I felt... confident, you know? Like I could start fresh here. And wearing a saree again just felt like home—the color, everything... It was my first time going to a wedding here.”

“And how did it feel?” he asked, genuinely curious.

You let out a small laugh, recalling the night. “It was just like back home, only better in some ways. No one really knew who I was, so I didn’t have any aunties critiquing me. Though they did make sure I had enough food to last a week,” you chuckled, a smile playing at the corner of your lips. The memory was comforting, a reminder of the warmth that had welcomed you into this new life.

“The color suits you,” he said, his eyes still lingering on the photo before meeting yours with a hint of a smile.

“You sure you’re not only saying that because it’s your favorite co—”

Before you could finish your phrase, he closed the space between you, his hands finding your face as he pulled you into a rough, heated kiss. His lips crashed against yours with a passion that caught you completely off guard, leaving you breathless, swept up in the sudden intensity of his need.

When he finally pulled back, your pulse was racing, and you stared at him, dazed. “Why… why did you kiss me?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper, still trying to catch your breath.

A slow smirk spread across his face as he brushed his thumb over your cheek. “I wanted to know what you tasted like… again,” he murmured, his voice thick with a teasing confidence that made your cheeks flush.

You swallowed, still feeling the lingering heat of his lips. “And what do I taste like?”

He studied your lips for a moment, then met your gaze with a dangerous glint. “Come il mio,” he said softly in Italian, his words like a promise before his mouth captured yours again, this time slower but just as consuming.

Without breaking the kiss, he guided you back into the living room, his hands firm as they slid around your waist, drawing you close. He lowered you onto the sofa, his lips moving from your mouth to trace a path down the curve of your neck, igniting your skin with each graze of his mouth. His hand slipped to the small of your back, pressing you deeper into the cushions as he continued kissing you, his breath warm against your skin, leaving you dizzy and yearning for more.

You moaned softly when he kissed and sucked the curve just below your collarbone. His lips pressed firmly against your skin, his mouth hot and possessive. The gentle graze of his teeth sent a jolt of desire through you, leaving you breathless and wanting for more. He lingered there, sucking and kissing with a fervor that made you ache for him, making you grind against him unconsciously.

“That’s going to show, Cameron,” you tried to scold him, breathless, feeling both exposed and exhilarated as he moved lower, tracing the outline of your neck.

A wicked smile curled at the corners of his lips, his breath warm against your skin as he murmured, “Good. I want everyone to know.” The rasp of his voice, thick with desire, made your insides flutter as he leaned in closer, his mouth capturing the tender skin just below your ear.

He pulled back slightly, his eyes dark and hungry as they roamed over you. Your flushed skin, your red and pulped lips, and your hard nipples. He was admiring the evidence of his claim. The look in his gaze made your pulse quicken, both thrilling and intoxicating, as if he were savoring the sight of you beneath him.

“Shit! You look perfect like this,” he murmured, his thumb brushing over one of the marks he’d left behind. The softness of his touch contrasted sharply with the heat pooling in your core, making you feel both cherished and utterly desired. “Like you belong to me.”

You sat up abruptly, a surge of confidence washing over you as you peeled off your top, revealing your bare breasts to the air without a hint of shame. Maybe it was the way his eyes roamed over you, filled with wonder and desire, as if you were the most beautiful sight he had ever encountered. Or perhaps it was the intoxicating buzz of alcohol still coursing through your veins, amplifying your boldness.

Either way, you didn't care.

“I’m the luckiest motherfucker on earth,” he muttered to himself, his voice low and awestruck, before sinking back onto the sofa, his lips finding your skin with fervor. His mouth was like fire against your breasts as he sucked and kissed, igniting a wild heat within you. You threaded your fingers through his closely cropped hair, tugging gently as you lost yourself in the pleasure of his touch. His tongue flicked against your nipple, sending delicious shivers coursing through your body, and you couldn’t help but wonder how you had gone so long without him.

As his fingers slipped beneath the waistband of your pants, your breath hitched with anticipation. His hand glided up your thighs, tantalizingly close to where you needed him most. “Rafe…” you breathed, your voice trembling with longing. “Please…”

“Please what?” he challenged, his tone teasing but laced with desire. “Tell me what you need, baby.”

“Just… touch me. I want you to touch me,” you moaned, your hips instinctively rolling against his hard cock-straining against the fabric of the sweatpants you gave him.

“Touch you where?”

His playful question sent a spark of frustration through you, and instead of answering verbally, you guided his hand, placing it firmly on your pussy. “Here. Touch me here. Please…”

In an instant, your pajama pants were gone, discarded like the inhibitions that had held you back. He kissed his way down your stomach, trailing hot kisses over the fabric of your panties, before moving to the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. A shiver ran down your spine, and you couldn’t resist glancing down at him, but something tugged at your thoughts. You called out his name, your voice breathy.

“Yes, baby?” he replied, looking up with hunger.

“Take it off.” You pointed at his shirt, and without hesitation, he stripped it off in one smooth motion, revealing his chiseled torso. He climbed over you, his body hovering just above yours, radiating warmth and strength. You couldn’t help but reach out, exploring his body—his hair, his lips, his broad chest, and the defined muscles of his abs.

With a sudden intensity, he kissed you again, their lips melding together as if they were made for one another. But after a moment that felt too short, he pulled away and descended between your legs once more.

Just the image of him between your legs could make you come.

“God, I want to taste you,” he groaned, his fingers touching your clit through your panties. “Tell me, pretty, do you want me to taste you?”

You nodded.

“Words, baby.”

“I do,” you moaned, your nails digging into his shoulders as you wrapped your legs around him. “I want you so fucking much, gosh!”

As the heat in the room swelled, just when you thought Rafe would finally remove your underwear, he suddenly stopped. His hands ran frantically through his hair as he began to pace around your living room, his agitation palpable. Confusion washed over you, your brow furrowing in concern as you sat up.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. “Rafe, please talk to me. What’s going on?”

“I can’t do it,” he said, shaking his head, the anguish in his eyes cutting through the atmosphere like a knife. “I can’t do this—”

“Do what? What are you talking about?” Panic tightened your chest as you searched his face for answers.

“Have sex with you,” he finally admitted, his gaze finally locking onto yours. “I can’t have sex with you, Y/N.”

The world around you faded, and a cold wave of vulnerability crashed over you, leaving you feeling exposed and raw. Tears prickled at the corners of your eyes as you scrambled to grab your black top from the floor, pulling it over your head, a desperate attempt to cover not just your body but the aching hurt in your heart. “Wha… why? Why can’t you? We were doing so well… I thought it was good.”

Rafe stepped closer, his expression softening but shadowed with pain. He cupped your cheeks in his warm hands, but instead of comfort, it felt worsel. His eyes shimmered with unshed tears as he leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, as if he were trying to transfer some of his strength to you. But then, he turned and walked toward the hallway to put on his shoes, and the ache in your chest grew.

You couldn’t let him leave like this. Panic surged through you as you sprang to your feet, rushing to the door to block his path. “Tell me why,” you insisted, your voice cracking as you wiped away the tears that had begun to fall.

“Y/N, you’re drunk…”

“So are you! You’re tipsy!” you threw your arms up in frustration. “Why does that matter? I want you. You want me—”

“Because I don’t want you to regret it,” he said, his voice breaking as if the words were tearing him apart. He sighed deeply, the weight of his decision hanging heavy between you. “I don’t want you to hate yourself when you wake up in the morning because you slept with me.”

“That’s not going to happen, Rafe. Please don’t leave. Stay here with me—we don’t have to do anything,” you pleaded, desperation dripping from your every word.

But his mind was made up. He leaned in, brushing his lips softly against yours one last time, a sweet farewell filled with unspoken emotions. As he asked you to step aside, you felt a piece of your heart crack. You moved reluctantly, watching as he walked toward the elevator, each step echoing in your mind like a countdown to the end.

Just before the doors closed, he turned back, his expression a mixture of regret and sorrow that mirrored your own. “I am sorry, sweetheart.”

And then he was gone.

Since then, you haven't heard from him in two weeks.

chapter six

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shuafiles · 15 days ago

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lie to girls [l.jn] preview

SUMMARY | it was hard watching jeno struggle with his relationship, but it was even harder when he ran to you for comfort every time. especially when you, his long-time best friend, have been in love with him for the longest time. but when jeno starts lying about where he’s going and who he’s with, you realize the biggest lie might be the one you’re telling yourself—that he’ll ever choose you. or girls will cry, and girls will lie, and girls will lose their goddamn minds for you.

PAIRING | nonidol!jeno x afab!reader

CONTENT | university au, angst, best friends to ?, aespa members included, cheating, swearing, drinking, smut (not everything is included in the teaser yet but just so you know whats in store)

WORDS | 855 (just this teaser)

A/N | sneak peek of what im working on! im planning on making this a looong one but i was too excited so i decided to share without spoiling too much. let me know if you like it! total wc is still unknown and the release date will hopefully be before november ends. also its my birthday today so heres my gift to you :D

“hey.” jeno greeted you, standing at your front door, which only meant one thing. they fought again.

you pushed the door wider, letting him inside. he looked like a mess, his shoulders slumped, dark bags around his eyes, hair disheveled. even from afar, you could tell he was going through something. his phone was in his hand, checking for notifications, but he let out a huge sigh when the home screen was empty.

“do i even want to know?” you prodded, eyes watching him as he plopped down on the couch. his head tilting back on the headrest, head filled with thoughts.

“you know how she is.” jeno mumbled, rubbing his face with his hands. “said she needed some space.”

unfortunately, i do know how she is. jeno’s girlfriend, karina. they’ve been together since first year of college when jeno met her at some random party. they were the kind of couple on campus that, at first glance, seemed perfect, but you knew all too well what kind of chaos haunted them in private. you were too familiar with how she behaved with jeno; most of the time, you couldn’t help but feel sorry for him.

jeno didn’t even have to say anything when you saw him at your front door. you have grown accustomed to this pattern: the same heartache, apologies, and cycle of hope and disappointment. and every time it occurred, jeno ended up here—at your door, at your couch, sulking.

you wanted nothing more than to scold jeno for letting himself get run over by her, but you kept your lips sealed. deciding that giving him comfort and support was probably what he needed right now.

“again, huh?” you sat down on the opposite side of him, tucking your legs beneath you.

“i don’t even know what that means, y/n.” jeno sighed, running his hand through his hair. he lifted his head to face you, gaze soft as he held eye contact with you. “one minute, everything’s perfect, and we’re fine, but suddenly, i’ve apparently done something wrong, and she won't even tell me.” his voice cracked, hopelessness evident in his tone. it pained you to see him like this. how many times is he going to let her do this to him?

“well, did you do something wrong?” you asked, but you knew jeno too well, he wouldn’t do anything to sabotage his relationship. sure, he has made mistakes in the past, but he was a good person, a good friend, and a good lover, you suppose.

jeno stayed silent for a moment, recalling if he had done something to make his girlfriend upset. “i–no, at least i don’t think so.” he shook his head, “i’ve just been busy with classes, but i always make time for her. and everything we’re together, i always try to make it special. you know?”

you nodded along to his words, resisting the urge to roll your eyes. you have heard this story countless times, so you could probably recite it to him. it wasn’t unusual for karina to act like this; she’d get upset over something vague, and then jeno would beat himself up for it, but he’d still bend over backward to get her back.

“maybe she’s just going through something?” you said, trying to think of what to say to ease his mind.

you and karina were acquaintances at best. it’s not like you didn’t try to be her friend, but something about her attitude just seems so off-putting to you. you weren’t entirely sure if karina was fond of you either. of course, you never told jeno any of these. you knew he wouldn’t listen, not when it comes to her. he loves her. he’d return to her every time, like a moth to a flame. and you’d be there, picking up the pieces when he got burned.

“i wish she’d just tell me what’s on her mind instead of leaving me wondering what i did wrong.” his face twisted into frustration with a mix of confusion.

“jen, you know i can’t help you if you don’t tell her what you’re feeling.” this time, you couldn’t hold back. “you’re supposed to tell her these, not me.”

jeno flinched at your words, somehow unsatisfied with your advice. “yeah… you’re right.”

you watched his expression, his eyebrows furrowed while he was deep in thought. “i’m sorry if it’s not what you wanted to hear.” you hesitated, knowing you were treading dangerous waters. “i just think… you deserve someone who actually appreciates you.”

jeno stayed silent, processing your words as if he hadn’t told himself that a million times. but for some stupid reason, he couldn’t keep it in his head. he looked down at his phone, tapping the screen once more, but to his disappointment, there was still nothing. “i know you’re just looking out for me, y/n. but… i just can’t give up on her. not yet.”

and just like that, you could feel him slipping away, back into her orbit, leaving you alone with all the things you couldn’t say, wondering when he would run back to you again.

#tell me your thoughts please <3 #lee jeno #nct #nct dream #jeno imagines #nct imagines #jeno x reader #nct x reader #jeno angst #nct angst #jeno smut #nct smut

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osarina · 3 months ago

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ᡣ𐭩 MAKE YOU FEEL LIKE NEVER BEFORE

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: your patience is thinning. despite having a conversation with dazai and being led to believe everything is okay, he's suddenly avoiding you again. luckily, or maybe unluckily, his hand is forced when he realizes that you're not waiting for him this time. whether he likes it or not, this confrontation is happening—except you slowly realize as it goes on that dazai's definition of intimacy is dreadfully different from yours.

{wordcount: 10.4k; ņsfw; fem!reader, pm!reader, i wouldn't say this is angst but it does deal with some references to heavy topics; jealous!dazai, depictions of dissociation (dazai), dazai's on the brink of a mental breakdown for a bit in the beginning, references to abuse (dazai. no actual depictions), references to dubcon (dazai. no actual depictions), dazai is wildly intelligent but not so much when it comes to sex & other forms of intimacy (he is quite uneducated in fact), slight oral (male rec), unprotected sex, sub!dazai, dazai and reader argue for a bit (he calls her a whore - doesn't mean it but still says it)}

AUTHOR'S NOTES: 😒i hope you guys know im sitting here glaring at my computer because i did not want to post this fic. it's been sitting in my google drive for like AGES and im literally having to physically force myself into formatting this post because i wanted to keep it hoarded forever. anyway, read the warnings for this one pretty pls, this fic is a bit loaded—not exactly angst, but it references some heavy topics. let me know if any warnings are missing as always!

“I’m so sick and tired of him.”

You listen as Chuuya lets out another heavy sigh next to you, pointedly taking a sip of his wine, but you don’t even bother to glance at him as you glare down at your phone. Left on read, again, Dazai ignores your message asking him to meet you and Chuuya at the bar. You slam your phone down on the dark wood of the bar top before reaching for your own glass, taking a large gulp of it before opening your mouth to continue complaining, much to Chuuya’s displeasure.

“I thought things would be different after we talked. He moved back into my apartment but he’s still avoiding me like the fucking plague. I mean Christ, I broke up with my boyfriend, came crawling back to him because I knew he was pissed even though he’d rather kill himself—literally—than admit he likes me. Why the fuck can’t he even given an inch? Meet me halfway?”

“Because he’s Dazai,” Chuuya says dryly. “What did you expect from him, honestly? … And we all know you weren’t going to stick with that civilian.”

“Oh, shut up,” you tell him bitterly. “That’s not the point. The point is I did, and I went right to him, and we talked, and he acted like everything was fine, and now he’s pulling this shit. How is he going to live in my fucking apartment and avoid me at every corner? And whenever I do manage to catch him, he makes up some bullshit excuse about a mission I know he doesn’t have and disappears.”

You lean back in your chair, brows furrowed and fingers curled around your glass. By now, all of the people that had been sitting near the two of you at the bar have dispersed to the dancefloor—if your arrival with Chuuya hadn’t been enough to send them scattering, your foul mood was more than enough to make them give you a wide berth.

“I’m frustrated,” you finally hiss. “I’m just frustrated, am I allowed to be frustrated, Chuuya?”

Chuuya side-eyes you. “Stop fuckin’ complaining to me about it and do something about it, jeez,” he says, hand sliding into his pocket to pull out a cigarette, holding it between his lips as he fumbles for a lighter to light it.

“Have you been listening to a word I’ve said?” you ask, becoming increasingly more irritated as you pull out your own lighter to light it for him. “I tried talking to him, now he’s ignoring me.”

Chuuya has the audacity to roll his eyes, looking at you with an unimpressed expression that makes you want to pluck his cigarette out of his mouth and put it out on his skin. As if he can hear your thoughts, he leans back, giving you a suspicious look.

“I’m not talking about that shithead,” Chuuya drawls. “If you’re so frustrated, go find some sorry bastard to fuck it out of you. We both know that’s all it takes to get you to settle down.”

“Fuck you,” you say instantly, not appreciating how he acts like you’re a nympho. But already, your gaze is carding across the room, trying to see if someone catches your eye. When you find yourself disappointed, you look back at him and ask, “You offering yourself up?”

Chuuya barks out a laugh. “Fuck no,” he tells you instantly. “No way. Don’t even say that shit to me.”

You’re almost offended, squinting at him and leaning back in your seat. “Why not? Like old times. You know what I like, I know what you like, we can make a good night out of it,” you propose as you lean your elbow on the bartop and observe him.

“Because shitty Dazai will never let me hear the end of it if he finds out,” Chuuya says pointedly, taking a long drag of his cigarette. “Bastard is annoying as is, if he finds out I’ve slept with you? It’d be the end of the world.”

“You have slept with me though, Chuuya,” you taunt. “Who’s to say I won’t tell him anyway?”

You won’t, but you like the way Chuuya’s lip curls up in irritation around his cigarette.

“Go ahead,” he tells you. “I’ll tell him all about that time in Osaka.”

You gasp, scandalized. “Chuuya,” you hiss. “You would not. You swore.”

“Try me,” Chuuya says, raising his eyebrows at you, looking all too smug as you flounder for a response.

Humbled, and a bit mortified, you return to looking around the club, lowering your standards this time. You spot a blonde standing in the corner of the club, eyes flitting around curiously as he observes the people on the dancefloor, and a redhead laughing wildly as she spins with a drink in hand, teetering off to the edge of the floor. You purse your lips.

“No one is catching my attention,” you complain, sinking back down in your seat.

You decidedly don’t like the smirk that edges onto his lips as he looks at you, and it’s for good reason, because the next words out of his mouth have your eye twitching: “You’re that down bad for him already? Jesus.”

“I am not,” you spit out, glaring at him before pointedly returning to your hunt, looking around more intensely this time.

But even as you do that, you start to wonder if that’s why no one is standing out to you tonight. How the fuck is anyone supposed to compare to Dazai Osamu? The thought is ridiculous—you don’t want to tug at blonde hair to pull someone down into a kiss, you don’t want a head of tousled red locks buried between your thighs, there’s only one person you actually want in your bed and he’s been avoiding you since you talked things out with him.

You let out a heavy sigh, considering just admitting defeat, but then your eyes drift to a tall, dark haired man entering the club, making his way over to the bar; his hair is a bit too long and a bit too straight, and his eyes aren’t the right shade, but they’re sharp enough and you’re tipsy enough to willfully confuse them for the familiar brown you desire.

“Nevermind,” you breathe out. Chuuya doesn’t even spare you a goodbye as you slip from your seat to make your way over to the man, lifting his hand in a lazy wave. “I found someone.”

Chuuya was right.

You think maybe you should stop doubting him as much as you do. This is not the first time that you’ve fought him tooth and nail about something only for him to be proven right in the end. But you’re not going to tell him that because he has a big enough ego and you’re not going to feed into it.

Dealing with Dazai’s fickleness the past two weeks has been much easier now that you’re fucking out your frustrations with strangers as soon as he’s gone for the night on whatever mission Mori assigns him. You take his aloofness in stride, ignoring the way he blows you off and avoids you in your own home. You think it’s bothering him, actually, because now when you walk past him without a second glance, you can see the way he hesitates from the corner of your eye, an indecipherable expression crossing over his face.

Good, you think. You hope he feels like shit.

You let out a soft breath as you tilt your head to the side, giving the man you’re with better access. From the corner of your eye, with the tousled brown hair, you can almost pretend it’s him, but you know it’s not. His hair isn’t as soft as Dazai’s, who all but hijacked your expensive shampoos and conditioners, and you can’t feel the bandages that should be tucked beneath the tufts of hair. Your mind starts to drift, comparing how you think Dazai’s touch would be to this man’s. When you first kissed him, he was unsure and hesitant, would he still be now? Or has he grown more confident? You think he must’ve, you’ve seen him with people during events, lips tilted up in a sensual smile, lashes fluttering as he leads them into one of the backrooms.

Sick and unfair, you think to yourself bitterly.

You let out a heavy, disappointed sigh.

“You good?” the man asks—you don’t remember his name, you don’t even know if you cared to ask. His voice is distinctly different from Dazai’s low hum whenever he teases you, a total immersion-break from your desired reality.

You roll your eyes, irritated. “Don’t speak.”

The man lets out a noise of agreement, fingers biting a bit harder into your waist as he continues kissing down your neck. You don’t really mind, the sting is nice, just enough force to draw your mind away from Dazai. The sigh you let out is more pleased now, eyes slipping shut as his hands slide up your body, kisses trailing down your neck to your collarbone. His lips are too soft; Dazai’s are horribly chapped no matter how much chapstick you force on him.

Dazai is out on another “mission”. You don’t even know if it’s a real mission or if he’s just claiming it’s a mission so he doesn’t have to stick around the apartment while you’re there, lowering the chances of running into you. For all you know, he’s just going back to that shitty shipping container he spent a year in and hanging out there until you leave for one of your own missions or a meeting. He looked particularly sullen as he left earlier, casting looks back to where you’d disappeared into the kitchen, not realizing you could still see him before he finally left your apartment.

He’s such a pain in the ass, you think, getting irate again as he drifts back into your thoughts. He makes everything so difficult, things would be so much easier he just admitted that he wanted to be with you. You really don’t know how much more of this back and forth, wishy-washy shit you can take from him. You care about Dazai. You do. Probably more than anyone else in your life and you’re sick of him taking it for granted.

You hum in approval when the man lifts his hands to your button-up, hesitating as he waits for your consent, and your gaze flicks up to the ceiling as he continues kissing down the revealed skin; from the crook of your neck to your collarbone, between your breasts, he unbuttons all the way to your navel.

You find yourself a bit bored, counting the specks on the ceiling, taking note of the crack that you’re sure is somehow Dazai’s fault. You think there must only be two more buttons left for him to undo before you can slide the shirt off of your shoulders but you start to feel uncomfortable under his touch, you feel prickly and his lips trailing down your body makes your skin crawl.

“Off,” you finally say, voice sharp. You press your hand against his shoulder to push him off of you, sitting up straight to sit properly on the couch. You scowl as you fumble through your pants pockets to find a cigarette.

This is Dazai’s fault somehow.

“Did I do something wrong?” the man asks hesitantly, trying to shift closer to you again. “I-”

“No,” you say bluntly, lighting the cigarette and lifting it to your lips. “Get out of my apartment.”

The man hesitates, you can feel his eyes lingering on you and you’re becoming increasingly more irritated, shooting him a glare from the corner of your eye until he finally rises to his feet, buttoning his shirt as he makes his way over to the elevator. You slump back against the couch, sighing as you look up at the ceiling and take a long drag from your cigarette.

Dazai’s fault. As soon as he crossed your mind, your whole demeanor had changed and you try to convince yourself that it’s because you just don’t know what his issue is. You don’t know why he’s avoiding you, you don’t know what changed after you met with him at the bar; you thought things would be good between the two of you. You thought you’d be able to be with him now that nothing’s left in your way but evidently there still is something preventing the two of you from being together and it’s something that Dazai is not sharing with you.

Bastard, you think bitterly, about to pull out your phone to send Chuuya a very irritated and very foul message about Dazai but before you can, the elevator leading up to your floor bings and you look up to watch the man you’d invited over leave.

Except as the doors slide open, you realize that someone is already standing in there.

You sit up straight when you see Dazai standing in the elevator, black gaze trained right on the man leaving your apartment. His movements are almost robotic as he steps out of the elevator, his head twisting to follow the man as he steps in the elevator. He looks distinctly unnerved as Dazai’s soulless gaze tracking him until the elevator doors slide back shut.

It’s only then that Dazai only turns to look at you. His face is eerily void of emotion as he looks at you, gaze dipping down to your unbuttoned shirt and the light bruises blooming on your neck and collarbone. You tilt your head to the side as you observe him, wondering if he’s going to say something, but he only stands there staring at you.

“I thought you had a mission,” you finally say, leaning forward to put your cigarette out on the ashtray on the coffee table to button up your shirt half way so you’re not nearly undressed. When you finish, you pick up your glass of wine and take a sip. “You’re back early.”

“I finished early,” Dazai replies, monotonic.

He doesn’t budge from where he’s standing, limbs stiff and face blank. You glance down, noticing that he’s holding something in his right hand—a bag, takeout, maybe? Looks like it’s from that place in Hodogaya-ku that you like.

“What’s that?” you ask, nodding toward the bag. Dazai follows your gaze down to it, staring at it as if he doesn’t even know what it is. You frown, becoming a bit concerned as you rise to your feet. “Dazai, you good?”

Dazai’s gaze doesn’t leave the bag for a second; after what feels like an eternity, he finally looks back up at you but he doesn’t even seem to be looking at you, rather it feels like he’s looking through you like you’re not even there.

“I got food,” he says blankly.

Your eyes widen a bit, wondering if this is meant to be his apology for being an asshole the past few weeks. Dazai never apologizes—he disappears until he can act like nothing happened or he does something to make up for what he did, but he doesn’t ever acknowledge what he did. It’s frustrating, but you’ve gotten used to his quirks over the years. You’d been wondering why he seemed so melancholic before he left.

You nod at the spot next to you on the couch, accepting the apology and sitting back down. “I’ll put on a movie.”

Dazai looks at the spot like it’s been poisoned, expression finally twisting from the emptiness into one of disgust.

“What?” you demand, offended.

Dazai doesn’t even respond to you; you can only stare in disbelief as he turns on his heel and walks in the direction of the kitchen. You don’t budge for a second, staring in shock to where he disappeared to, but after a few moments, you force yourself up to your feet and follow after him.

Your mind races as you make your way down the short hall into the kitchen, standing in the door frame as you watch him put the bag of takeout on the kitchen counter, pulling the different containers out of the bag and then opening the fridge. His movements are stiff and abrupt, almost robotic, and your irritation slips away when you see the expression on his face.

Closed-off. Withdrawn. Very reminiscent of the look on his face from that time he came back to your apartment after a mission that went wrong post-Dragon’s head Conflict, right before he had his first breakdown in front of you. He’d been trying to hold it all back, desperate to not lose control in front of you, but it was to no avail because it only made it worse.

“Dazai, what’s wrong?” you ask carefully as he stuffs another container into the fridge, so roughly that the plastic almost snaps. “Dazai-”

“Nothing,” Dazai responds sharply, voice cold and cutting but the way he takes in a sharp, shaky breath betrays him. “Nothing is wrong. Nothing.”

“Okay, that’s a lie,” you say flatly, sighing to yourself. “Can you just-”

“You’re the liar,” Dazai cuts you off, voice shrill and defensive in a way you’ve never heard from him before. Something crosses his face: a weird mixture of panic, anger and distress, like he knows he’s losing control of his emotions but he can’t stop himself. You don’t usually have such a hard time reading Dazai—it’s difficult, yes, but not as impossible as it currently is. It’s stressing you out because you don’t know what’s wrong and he’s clearly working himself up more over it. “You’re the liar. You’re the liar.”

Your eye twitches. Three breaths in and three breaths out. Now’s really not the time for you to lose your temper on him considering he’s on the brink of a mental breakdown for whatever reason. But you’re pissed, you don’t know why he’s calling you a liar and you don’t know what is going on, and you don’t want to deal with this especially after he just spent weeks ignoring and avoiding you.

“What did I lie about, Dazai?” you ask tightly, nails digging into your palms as you wait for a response. “Please, enlighten me.”

Dazai doesn’t respond, jaw tightening as he resumes tossing the food into the fridge.

“Dazai, stop,” you tell him, taking a step forward when he finally gets to the bottom of the takeout bag and slams the fridge shut so hard that it rattles. He grabs the empty bag and is about to storm over to the garbage can but before he can, you reach forward and grab his wrist, stopping him. “Will you fucking talk to me?”

“Let go,” Dazai hisses, trying to rip his arm from your hold but your fingers are too tight around his wrist, his bandages rough against the pads of your fingers—you don’t know why he’s still using those old scratchy ones when you stocked up with the softer ones but it only serves to irritate you more because why are you going out of your way to do nice things for him if he’s just going to toss it to the side? “Let go of me.”

“Tell me what your issue is,” you demand. “I’m done playing games with you, Dazai. Grow the fuck up and communicate.”

Dazai’s eye is wide and wild, looking far too much like a cornered animal as he bares his teeth at you and tries to yank out of your hold on him again. “My issue is that you’re a whore,” he spits out. “Let go of me. Now.”

You let go of him.

Instantly, the anger in Dazai’s face fizzles away. His eye is just as wide but his expression is lax, lips parted as if he’s only now just registering what he said. And you know he regrets it, you know that Dazai lashes out when he feels cornered; he becomes cruel and vicious, desperate in his attempts to protect himself when he feels vulnerable and since Dazai is Dazai, he knows how to hurt people. Knows exactly where the chinks in your armor are, drives the dagger in deep and twists it.

But even knowing this, it still hurts hearing that from him of all people.

“Okay.”

Your voice is quiet, you don’t even waste a second before turning on your heel and leaving the kitchen.

“Wait,” Dazai calls after you, voice wavering. “Wait, I didn’t…”

He can’t even finish the sentence because Dazai is Dazai and he doesn’t apologize and he doesn’t admit his wrongs. Doesn’t admit that he lost control and said something he didn’t mean to say. Would rather preserve his false visage of control than do anything like that.

“Where are you going?” Dazai asks and you can hear him trailing after you, words drawn long and shaky. “Hey, wait-”

You don’t know where you’re going. Leaving your apartment, you think, considering your feet are moving right to the elevator, but once you leave the building? You’re not sure. Maybe you’ll head over to Chuuya’s and crash at his apartment for the night, maybe you’ll go get shit-faced at a bar. You don’t really care, you just don’t want to be anywhere near Dazai right now. He’s put you through enough the past few weeks for you to stand here and take this shit from him.

“I don’t know, Dazai,” you say, voice cold and sharp. “Maybe I’ll go find that guy I kicked out and finish the job if I’m such a whore.”

Dazai inhales sharply from behind you. “What?” he breathes out. “No. No. I didn’t-”

“You didn’t what?” you scoff, not even looking back at him. “Didn’t mean it? You can’t even bring yourself to say it, Dazai. Clearly you did.”

That’s not true, you know it’s only Dazai’s pride that prevents him from forcing those words out, but you know it makes him flinch and you know it makes him hesitate. You also know how to target chinks in armor.

“No,” Dazai tries again, more insistent this time. You can hear him speeding up behind you when he realizes you’re going for the elevator. “No, you don’t need to do that. I don’t-I don’t get you. I don’t get this. I don’t get any of this.”

He sounds confused, borderline distressed—you don’t even know what he’s talking about, what he’s so confused and distressed about. How could you? He never explains anything to you, never communicates.

“You don’t get what?” you demand, reaching out for the button of the elevator but Dazai lunges forward to grab your wrist before you can. You finally turn to look at him, catching the way his jaw is tight and the strange emotion swimming in his eye. “You don’t get what, Dazai? Spit it out.”

“Why are you still sleeping with other people?” he asks, voice hitching. “You have me. You don’t need anyone else.”

You can’t help yourself—you laugh in Dazai’s face.

“No way,” you say immediately.

You don’t mean it in the way it comes out. You know it comes out as if you’re saying you’d never sleep with him, but you’re more so saying no way because you can’t believe he has the audacity to say this to you after he just spent weeks avoiding and ignoring you.

Is this what his issue is? He doesn’t know how to cope with emotions so he evades and lashes out and just expects you to stick around waiting until he grows up? Fuck him. You deserve better than that, you waited long enough, you thought you were done with these games with him.

You don’t miss the way Dazai’s expression crumbles at your words, the way he stares at you, lips parted in disbelief. You don’t correct yourself, a part of you is happy that you can get your own knife in even if you do know you’ll regret it later.

“What do you mean no?” Dazai’s voice wobbles a bit before he takes half a step back. His fingers are weak around your wrist but he doesn’t let go, feels a lot like a child clinging to their parent’s shirt. “What-I-I’m here. You want it, you were just going to-”

Not that that’s even the issue anymore, but you’re definitely not in the mood now. Honestly, you just want to go to bed. Your head hurts and Dazai is stressing you out and pissing you off all at the same time, plus you have no interest in fucking him when he seems like he’s on the verge of a mental break anyway.

“No, I don’t. I changed my mind,” you say, frustrated. “I’m tired. I want to go to bed.”

“No,” Dazai replies, voice pitched and tinged with something too close to desperation. “No. You want me and I’m here, so you should-”

God, what the fuck is your life? You’re so frustrated that you want to pull your hair out and scream at him.

“Enough, Dazai.” You raise your voice at him. “Enough. I don’t want you. I want to go to bed.”

“No,” Dazai insists and your eyes widen when you feel his grip tighten on your wrist.

“Daz-” You start to say but you can’t even finish his name, cut off by his other hand finding its way to your hip, pressing you back against the closed doors of the elevator as he dips his head down to capture your lips with his own, swallowing your protest before you can even get it out.

You think absently that you were right earlier when you were letting your thoughts wander to what kissing Dazai would be like. He’s no longer unsure and hesitant with his touches, his lips slide against yours with the expertise of someone who’s spent a lifetime kissing. The hand on your hip slides up your body so that he can hold your jaw, tilting your head back to deepen the kiss. And you shouldn’t be indulging this, you know that—Dazai pissed you off, he has some nerve calling you a whore and then whoring himself out to you—but his lips are intoxicating, you can hardly think straight with them pressed against yours.

He has your right hand pinned to the metal behind you, fingers curled tight around your wrist as he holds you in place. The way he kisses you is familiar, almost, and your brows furrow as you try to figure out why until feel his fingers brush through your hair, slow and lingering, dizzying, right before his tongue darts out to swipe across your bottom lip—a pattern of actions that you usually take to make your partners more malleable.

Did he teach himself this just by observing the way you act with people at events?

You don’t fall for your own tricks though, so instead, your free hand drops to his waist, fingers slipping through his belt loops as you press into him, pushing off the elevator to walk him backwards down the hall to his bedroom. He lets out a surprised noise in the back of his throat, letting you walk him back; his fingers fall from where they’d been around your wrist and you take the opportunity to hook yours around his other belt loop, keeping his body flush to yours until you have his back pressed against his bedroom door.

You notice, a bit absently, that Dazai is a lot more pliant now with you in control. His hands are loose at his sides as if he doesn’t know what to do with them—much like when you shared his first kiss with him—and he still kisses you back, lips moving slowly against yours, but it’s not with the intensity he had when you were pinned to the elevator door.

Strange.

You think kissing Dazai is a lot like a drug, one that you got your first hit of two years ago when you offered to be his first kiss but then never had another chance to get another taste of. You were bitter when he first started following in yours and Chuuya’s footsteps in taking people to bed to unwittingly ease information out of them—you’d find yourself watching him like a hawk as he drew people into secluded corners, as he pressed his lips against theirs and let their hands explore his body. You’d hardly be able to draw your eyes away once, not until he eventually led them out of the area to a bedroom.

You hated it. Truly. You like to tell yourself that you’re not jealous but you know it’s a blatant lie. As much as people would sell their souls to spend a night with you, they’d be just as desperate for one with Dazai because Dazai is Dazai. He’s untouchable. The Demon Prodigy. The Port Mafia’s Black Wraith. The youngest executive in history. He can be smooth and charming, yes, and he’s undoubtedly handsome. But more than that, he’s dark and unfathomable in a way that piques peoples’ interest in a sick and perverted fashion—they want to know what he’s like behind closed doors, they’re terrified of him but they want him, be it because of morbid curiosity or sheer lust.

And you hated that other people got to be with him in ways you couldn’t. Your only consolation seems to be that he had his eyes on you as much as you had yours on him, seeing how he’s pretty much perfectly mimicking the way you kiss and touch people, but you don’t know if that’s just because he was trying to learn through observing you—as he does with everyone—or if he hated watching you with other people just as much-

Oh.

Oh, you’re so stupid.

“You were jealous,” you realize, understanding what had triggered Dazai’s meltdown with the takeout food and insults toward you. Dazai stiffens against the door and you take the opportunity to trail your lips from his down to his jaw. “You were jealous over the guy I had over.”

“No-”

“You were.” You don’t even let him finish the protest, nipping at the spot beneath his ear gently and watching how he shudders. “How cute.”

“It’s not cute.” Dazai bristles. “You-you weren’t supposed-you’re not supposed to keep seeing people. I thought you were done with that. I thought we were-”

“We were what?” you ask coolly. “You avoided me for weeks after we talked, Dazai. Whatever we may or may not have been after we talked at the bar, it’s nothing when you start actively ignoring me for weeks after that.”

“But-”

You’re getting irritated again. “Dazai, you ignored me for weeks. I was pissed off and frustrated. And when I’m pissed off and frustrated, if I don’t have some way to relieve my stress, I do something stupid. Something stupid like putting a bullet in you the next time you stepped into my apartment after actively going out of your way to avoid me.”

“I was going out to get food,” Dazai says sullenly as if you were supposed to know that. “So we could watch a movie.”

“Last I recall, telepathy isn’t exactly part of my ability, Dazai,” you say dryly, calming yourself down by leaning in to brush your lips against his again.

A drug, you think again as the anger melts away when you feel his breath hitch against your lips. You reach behind him to open his bedroom door, guiding him in as you kiss him slowly. He’s fumbling again, unsure what to do with his fingers, clumsily moving his lips against yours until the back of his knees hits the bed, and he goes flopping down back on it.

You snort at the surprised look on his face, joining him on the bed as you straddle his hips. You hover over him for a second before leaning down to give him another chaste kiss, enjoying the way he tries to chase your lips when you pull away.

“Tell me why you were avoiding me,” you say quietly as you lift a hand to cup his cheek.

A foul move, you know. Dazai is always weak to gentle touches as much as he tries to pretend otherwise. You’ve noticed it when you watch movies with him and when he curls into bed with you on nights he can’t sleep. Just as you expect, he leans into your touch, lashes fluttering.

“Dazai,” you urge, “tell me why. What did I do?”

You didn’t do anything, you think bitterly, but you figure taking responsibility will be the easiest way to get him talking. You’ll fight about it later.

Dazai, to your surprise, turns his face away from you and your touch, a faraway look in his eye as he stares at the wall.

“You didn’t do anything,” he says. “I just didn’t-”

He cuts himself as if he can’t even bring himself to say it, and you know you have to do something because he seems to be withdrawing even more into his own head, eyes growing more distant with each passing second. You turn his head so that he’s facing you again and you lean down to press your lips briefly against his.

“You didn’t what?” you ask him.

Dazai still looks like he doesn’t want to answer, conflict spreading across his face as he stares up at you before he sighs and averts his gaze. “I don’t understand any of this. I didn’t want to disappoint,” he says so quietly that you barely hear him.

Your brows furrow.

“Disappoint?” you question, a bit baffled. Dazai has a complex about failure. You know that too, have known it since you were sixteen. He can’t handle it, nothing makes him spiral quite like the idea of failure—you and he are quite similar in that regard—but you don’t understand what he means in this context. “Disappoint with what?”

Dazai doesn’t answer, doesn’t meet your eyes either, and your mind races to figure out what he might be referring to. You recall how he became hesitant and unsure when you finally took control, fingers twitching at his sides, body pliant as you moved him around, almost like a doll for you to maneuver as you pleased.

“Disappoint with this?” you finally realize, watching as he grimaces, confirming your suspicions. Your chest drops. “You avoided me because… you didn’t want to have sex?”

That makes you feel a bit sick to your stomach because what does he think of you if he went to this length to avoid you just because… Dazai’s entire body jolts at your words as if realizing how they came across.

“No,” he pushes out instantly. His hands dart out to cling to your shirt as if he’s worried you’re going to leave. “No, no. I want to. I do. Not just this… just in general. Everything. Me… This is just one part of it… the easiest to make mistakes with. I don’t like making mistakes.”

It’s only mildly reassuring.

“Dazai…” You start to say, pulling away, but his hands dart up to grab your waist so he can hold you in place on top of him. You think maybe the two of you need to talk. Again. “I just, I don’t understand.”

“I want this,” he repeats again, hands sliding down from your waist to curl his fingers around the hem of your shirt. He sees that you’re not convinced by his words so he pushes out a “Please” that nearly stops you in your tracks because you don’t think Dazai Osamu has ever begged for anything in his life.

You lean down to press your lips against his again. You set the pace this time, lifting your hand to cup his cheek—you pull the same move that he tried with you, nails gently scraping his scalp as you brush your fingers through his hair. Dazai melts into it in a way that you didn’t, lashes fluttering and lips parting instinctively, letting you deepen the kiss. Dazai’s breath catches as you push your tongue into his mouth, shivering when you trace the back of his teeth.

Too pliant. All of the confidence he had earlier when he had you pinned to the elevator is gone. His breath wavers against your lips, and his fingers tremble as he grips at the hem of your button-up. Not a firm grip like you’d have anticipated, with his fingers digging into the plush skin of your hips as he grinds you down on his cock; instead, his fingers are clinging to the fabric as if he’s too overwhelmed to even think of grabbing your body.

“Tell me what you like,” you say quietly, fingers still absently carding through his dark locks as you kiss down his neck. Your other hand slips beneath his dress shirt, smoothing out over the bandages wrapped around his torso. “I want to know, wanna make you feel good.”

Dazai’s lips part to respond to you, but the only thing that escapes them is a pitched gasp—high and cracking in desperation, grip on your shirt so tight that you think he might rip it. He’s already hard, can feel his cock straining against his black pants, pressed against your thigh.

“I don’t-” Dazai’s voice is ragged; he sounds overwhelmed, almost confused. “I don’t know.”

“Hm?” you prod, nipping his neck and relishing in the way his whole body shudders at the feeling. “C’mon, Dazai, you’ve done this before. Tell me what you like.”

His gasp is choked when your hand tightens on his slim waist, lashes fluttering as his eyes roll back. More pliant and more sensitive, you note curiously, kissing back up his neck to tug at his earlobe with your teeth, a shiver running down your spine at the broken moan Dazai lets out into your ear. He jolts, eyes widening and face flushing—he looks as if he’s startled himself by the noise that escaped his lips, and you start to become a bit suspicious.

“I don’t know,” he tells you, sounding confused and frustrated. “I don’t know. It’s never felt like this before. How are you doing that?”

You pause.

You make a soft noise in the back of your throat, pulling your face back from his ear to look at him carefully because why is he acting like he’s never done this before? You know he’s slept around a lot. He picked it up over half a year ago when he got tired of hearing you and Chuuya brag about how easy it is to get things out of people like this. Made a point of making sure you knew about it when you had your boyfriend.

It’s never felt like this before.

Your chest swirls, and you feel a bit disconcerted as his words finally process. It’s never felt like what? Dazai doesn’t know why you’ve stopped, you can feel him tugging at your shirt, hazy eyes trying to focus on you. You wonder if the gears in his head are turning, realizing something might be wrong but unable to pinpoint what.

You kiss him to distract him, deeper this time. You press his head back against the soft pillow, one hand sliding to cradle the back of it as you try to break all of the quick-moving cogs in his brain so you can think in peace, cursing the fact that his mind has always been quicker and sharper than yours.

Dazai is Dazai. He’s smooth, charming—when he wants to, he could seduce anyone into his bed. You’ve watched him do it at events, sidling up close and leaning in to speak to people, dark eye lidded and voice low, a slow smirk curling at his lip as he brushes his finger lightly against the target’s lower back before guiding them out of the room. Christ, he’s nearly flustered you on more than one account. You want to say that he’s not the same kid who was nervous to kiss you two years ago, but he clearly is with how he’s reacting to your kisses and touches right now. But he shouldn’t be—maybe it’s because it’s you he’s with, maybe he’s just nervous because it’s you and not some random person he’s seducing for information.

But that doesn't explain the comment. Doesn’t explain it’s never felt like this before.

“Never felt like what?” you ask as you kiss the corner of his lips and down his jaw again, all the way to the line of bandages peeking out from his dress shirt. You undo the first few buttons, watching the way his chest rapidly rises and falls under your touch as you smooth your hands over his chest. “Hm?”

“I-I don’t know,” Dazai says, voice cracking and another breathy sound spilling from his lips as you kiss the underside of his jaw. “It’s just-it’s usually just-it’s not this.”

That doesn’t help you at all, you think. You’re about to press, but your lips on his skin have evidently made Dazai’s lips looser than they typically are because you don’t even have to voice a clarifying question to get him talking again.

“The way you’re touching me. Kissing me. It’s not like this, doesn’t feel so good,” he continues and you can hear the whine building in the back of his throat as he speaks. “It’s just sex.”

You slide his button-up off of his shoulders, revealing his bandaged body to you. You don’t make any move to remove them, but now you stare down at him, a bit perplexed. “This is sex,” you say, voice a bit stunted because you didn’t expect him to say that.

“No,” Dazai says, seemingly equally perplexed by your words, drawn out of the haze of pleasure into a more confused state. “Sex is sex. It’s penetrative.”

“... Sex isn’t just penetrative, Dazai,” you say, baffled. “This is sex. It’s foreplay.”

Dazai stares at you like he doesn’t even know what that word means.

Oh, you realize, heart sinking as you realize why Dazai is so thrown off by all of this. How has he had sex without foreplay? Sex without foreplay is… it’s boring, not enjoyable at all. More animalistic than anything, borderline painful half of the time. Is that what he’s been doing with all of the people he seduces for information? The thought is a bit jarring, but the more you think about it, the more you think it might make sense.

Dazai is prodigious when he’s given something that he can study and mimic; can execute flawless imitations of the behaviors he’s trying to learn. He learned the art of leadership from observing Mori. The art of war from observing the Colonel’s operations before his death. Adaptability from observing Kouyou during missions. Business from observing Ace’s meetings and transactions. Seduction from observing you interacting with people during events. Dazai is as terrifying as he is because he’s a perfect amalgamation of the entire upper echelon’s best skill sets. He’s adopted Mori’s mannerisms, the Colonel's strategic capability, Kouyou’s ability to adapt to any situation, Ace’s shrewdness with yen, and your charisma.

If there’s something he can observe, he can mirror it to near perfection.

So, is it really that surprising to you that the front he puts up during events is just an imitation of how you act with people? That it doesn’t translate behind closed doors? That he had nothing to study and nothing to mimic once seduction progressed to the bedroom, so he let whoever he was with take the lead to try to learn from them in the moment?

That maybe someone would use his ignorance on the subject against him?

Dazai is Dazai, you think, for the fifth time tonight. He doesn’t watch porn, he doesn’t ask people for help, and this isn’t something Mori would have ever taught him—you know that better than anyone. Mori sheltered Dazai from everything, even tried to keep you away from him; he didn’t want anything or anyone to taint the control he had over his precious Demon Prodigy. While you and Chuuya have had the chance to live, experiencing life and the outside world, Dazai’s been stuck under the watchful eye of the boss, hardly ever out of arm’s reach, caged like a circus animal to be put on display whenever Mori sees fit.

Of course, Dazai would only see it as another way to get the job done, disregarding his own comfort and pleasure—because when does Dazai Osamu ever care for his own comfort and pleasure? He lived in a fucking shipping container until you dragged him out of it. It’s not a thought that casually crosses his mind, and he wouldn’t think twice once he thinks he has an idea of what’s going on. He doesn’t see things the way you do, was never given the opportunity to understand, taught by Mori to see things as tools and means to an end, even himself.

Dazai can see your mind racing. You know he’s going to put together that something is wrong soon if you don’t move on from this. But it’s hard—it’s a bit fucking jarring to realize that Dazai’s so overwhelmed by your touch because every other time he’s had sex, he’s probably been uncomfortable or even in pain.

You lean down to kiss him again, halting his thoughts. You place two chaste kisses on his lips, sucking his bottom lip gently before kissing his cheek down to his jaw.

“What all have you done with people?” you ask him, sitting back on his thighs, lacing your fingers with his as you look down at him.

Instantly, his face is on fire. “What does it matter?” he demands, but you can feel his fingers tightening around yours.

You roll your eyes at his obstinateness. “Humor me,” you say dryly. “Are you usually the one leading, or is your partner? Are you the one penetrating or-”

Dazai’s grip on your hands becomes almost painful, so you quiet down, giving him an amused look. Maybe it's an awkward subject, but you want to have a vague idea of what he’s been doing before you do anything.

“... partner is,” he finally tells you, hardly looking you in the eye. It’s kind of cute. “... and only when it’s a woman, but she still takes the lead.”

“Do you want to take the lead tonight?” you ask him, running your thumb over his knuckles to try to get him to loosen his grip.

He does, but only barely.

“Not tonight,” he says after a few moments.

“Not tonight,” you agree. “Did you prefer topping or bottoming?”

Dazai thinks for a moment and then says, “Topping. Bottoming was…”

You force yourself not to wince, suspicions confirmed by the way he trails off.

You hum, sliding your hands up and down his bandaged sides soothingly, enjoying the way he slowly relaxes beneath your touch. “That can feel good, too,” you tell him. “I can show you that one day if you’d like.”

Dazai’s brows furrow, pointedly looking down at your clothed lower half as if trying to see through them. Your lips quirk up as he says, “But you don’t have a-”

“There are ways to work around that,” you snort, hands finally resting at his hips, drawing circles over his protruding hip bones.

“… Not tonight,” he finally repeats.

“Not tonight,” you agree again.

You lift your hands back to his cheeks, holding his face between them as you kiss him again. You kiss him deeper this time, rolling your hips against his to make his breath hitch. You drag the tip of your tongue against the roof of his mouth—he tastes like cigarettes and faintly of whiskey. Tastes familiar. Like home.

You think you could kiss Dazai forever and never find yourself sick of it. Kissing him is like a drug, you think again. Kissing him gives you butterflies in a way that you’ve only ever experienced with him when you were sixteen, and giving him his first kiss.

Kissing him is like coming home after being away for years.

He kisses you back clumsily, all of the finesse he had earlier in the night long gone. His teeth nearly knock against yours, it’s a bit too wet and a bit too messy, but you think it’s the best kiss you’ve ever had. You smile against his lips before pulling away to kiss the corner of his lips, nipping his skin when he lets out a shaky breath against your ear.

Your hands slide down his body to the waistband of his pants, fingers slipping beneath before you look up at him questioningly. “Can I?” you ask him, tilting your head to the side.

“How else are we going to do this?” Dazai counters petulantly.

Brat, you think to yourself, a bit fondly. Thoughts race through your mind but you push them away—maybe another night. You don’t respond to him, raising your eyebrows and waiting for a verbal response.

His cheeks dust pink as he says, “Yes.”

You work quickly to unbutton his pants, patting his thigh so he lifts his hips. You trail kisses down his bandaged chest as you slide off his pants. He’s very responsive to your touch, each kiss makes his breath stutter, you can feel it in the way his chest rises and falls and it only makes you want to watch him fall apart more.

“Are the bandages okay?” Dazai asks after a few moments when you kiss down to his navel. You look up at him, brows furrowed, catching the hesitant expression on his face, dark eye trained on you. “Do you want them off?”

“Do you want them off?” you throw back at him, squinting up at him.

Dazai stares at you for a moment before he shakes his head, a strange expression on his face—you wonder if he was worried you’d ask him to take them off, wonder if his other partners made comments about it, pushed him to remove them.

You wonder if it’s part of the reason why he avoided you for so long: he wasn’t ready for you to see him without them but thought you would ask him to take them off.

You leave it at that though, returning to kissing down to his hip bone, nipping the skin there and watching how his body jerks a bit in surprise. You let out a puff of laughter against his skin before you ease his briefs off, freeing his cock from where it was straining against the cloth—the soft ones you’d bought him when you’d found his rough, tattered ones in your washing machine a few months after he first moved into your apartment.

You don’t usually find cocks pretty—they all mostly look the same—but Dazai’s is. Long, not too thick, his tip is flushed a pretty pink color and a vein runs along the underside. He’s leaky too, precum drips down from his tip, right along that vein and you want to taste him, so you do.

You lean in to press your lips against his length, sucking gently on the vein before kissing up to his tip. A bit too salty for your taste, probably because of his shitty diet, but you don’t mind because the pitched moan that tumbles from his lips makes up for the taste entirely. You peek up, breath catching at the sight of his head tossed back against the pillow, swollen lips parted in a pretty moan and long lashes fluttering. He looks stunning, you wish you could take a picture—maybe another night.

You think all of his previous partners have severely missed out.

“Ah,” he gasps. “Shit, shit-”

Even with just your lips wrapped around his tip, you can feel Dazai’s cock twitching in your mouth—you wonder if he’s already on the edge. You can see the way his abdomen is spasming beneath the bandages, how his fingers are curling around the soft sheets beneath him. You don’t want him to finish yet, you want him inside you when he cums, so you only spare a few chaste kisses trailing up and down his length before sitting up straight again.

Immediately, he tosses you an accusing look. Bottom lip pushed out, cheeks flushed the same pretty pink as his tip. “Why-”

You silence him by pressing your lips against his. This kiss is lewder than your last, you push the bit of precum you’d gathered on your tongue into his mouth as you unbutton your own slacks. He makes a noise into your mouth but you don’t pull away until you feel him swallow. You smile against his lips before you pull back to slip off your own pants, watching his face twist.

“Yuck,” he says, wrinkling his nose and sticking out his tongue. “Tastes bad.”

“Have been telling you to start eating more fruits and vegetables,” you tell him, flicking his thigh as you shimmy out of your slacks and toss them to the side. “You don’t listen.”

The smile he tosses up at you is familiar, a welcome change from the distress and confusion that’s been plaguing him most of the night. “You’ve been thinking about what my cum tastes like for that long? Pervert.”

“More like I’ve been thinking about how high your cholesterol must be with how much canned crab and buttered bread you eat,” you say dryly, returning to where you’d been straddling his waist.

You lift your hands up, beckoning him to take them. He does, reaching up to lace his fingers with yours. A smile curves at your lips as you lean over him, pinning his hands to the mattress on either side of his head as you kiss him again.

Your chest feels light in a way that it hardly ever does when you’re fucking someone, fluttering in the same way it was when you first kissed him two years ago. Usually when you’re sleeping with someone, it’s all about keeping up appearances. Flirty, sensual, seductive, you’re always more focused on the task at hand than you are enjoying yourself, this is… different. You mean, it always feels good—you know how to make sure it feels good for you while getting the job done—but this…

Feels like home, you think again. Being with Dazai feels like home and it scares you a bit because he’s so flighty and unpredictable but you push away the fear to kiss him harder. You have him now, that’s what matters.

“I like canned crab and buttered bread.” Dazai pouts as he mumbles against your lips.

“Shut up,” you tell him.

You feel him smile and you know you’re not going to like what he’s about to say so you cut him off by reaching down to position his cock at your entrance. Instantly, he chokes over a moan and your lashes flutter, feeling him slide between your folds.

Shit, you hadn’t even realized how wet you were, too caught up in trying to make sure Dazai was feeling good, but now with the feeling of the tip of his cock pressed against your clit and his length firm against your core, your abdomen feels all hot and tight, head fuzzy.

You keep your forehead pressed to his, noses nudging, sharing the same sliver of air as you roll your hips, letting out a soft moan against his lips when his tip presses against your hole. Each breath he lets out hitches into a soft whine at the end, a glassy look to his eye. You don’t sink down on him yet, feeling how his grip on your hands tightens, how his breath becomes shuddered and his gaze becomes lidded.

You wonder maybe if he can cum just from the feeling of his tip pushing inside you—maybe another night.

“Please,” he breathes out for the second time tonight and who are you to deny him?

You don’t kiss him as you sink down on his cock, eyes fluttering shut when you feel how his cock stretches your walls—you want to hear him, hear the way he gasps, the way his breath catches, you want to hear his moans and whimpers. He tries to chase your lips but you keep them just out of reach until he gives up, fingers tightening around yours and hips jerking up.

“‘s so tight,” Dazai gasps as you rock your hips slowly against his. “Feels s’good.”

“Yeah?” you press, breathless.

You distract yourself from the rapidly spreading heat by kissing his neck, letting go of one of his hands to bring it to his cheek, watching as he instinctively leans into your touch, hardly able to hold his eye open. He presses a sloppy kiss to your palm, hand coming up to hold yours to his face.

“Yeah,” he says shakily, lashes drooping and lips parting in another silent moan. “Feels…”

“Feels what?” you ask him, kissing the other side of his neck before trailing wet kisses up to his opposite cheek, feeling him shudder as you tug his earlobe.

“Right,” Dazai tells you, dark eye glazed over as he looks at you, lips wet and swollen and so entirely kissable that you can’t help yourself from leaning down to steal another from him. “Feels right.”

You wonder if Dazai feels just as at home with you as you do with him and that thought is enough to make you rock your hips.

The noise that Dazai lets out is obscene and pornographic, pitched and breathy. You can hardly appreciate the lewd expression on his face—his hair matted to his forehead, eyes half-rolled back and lips parted in a pretty ‘o’��because the feeling of his cock dragging against your walls nearly has you tumbling over the edge.

Shit, you think to yourself, desperately trying to rein in the rapidly building pleasure. Shit, what the fuck?

You never cum this quickly—usually you have to slip your hand between the sweat slicked bodies of you and your partner to rub circles around your clit so you can bring yourself over the edge at the same time as him. You don’t think you’ve ever come from penetration alone—but the stretch of Dazai’s cock, the feeling of his tip bullying deep into your cunt, the sound of skin on skin and his pretty moans, it all goes right to your head and to your pussy, the telltale signs of your thighs tensing and your abdomen tightening warning you that you’re close already.

“Fuck,” you breathe out, voice shaky. “You’re so…”

You don’t even know what you're trying to say, mind becoming increasingly more empty of thought as you rock your hips again, setting a steady pace. Dazai chokes over air beneath you, the hand still intertwined with yours squeezing hard while the other one drops from the hand you have on his face to claw the bed sheets.

You feel his cock twitch inside you, the way his moans are becoming louder and lewder, the way his head falls to the side, face half pressed into the pillow, eyes knocked back, body arched. Dazai’s already so gone that you think any second he’ll cum deep inside of you and that thought alone makes your body shudder.

You grab the hand clawing at the bed sheets, guiding it between your bodies as you bounce on his cock. You can feel his hazy gaze trying to figure out what you’re doing but you’re more focused on guiding his finger to rub circles around your clit.

As soon as the pressure is placed on the sensitive nub, your hips are stuttering and a gasp is tearing from your lips. Dazai’s choking when he feels your walls spasm around him, hips thrusting up erratically to meet each of your rocks, but he’s just barely coherent enough to keep his finger rubbing circles on your clit.

Your breath becomes heavy and shaky, the pace of your hips quickening, fire spreads through you so rapidly that it’s impossible to control.

“I’m gonna-” you gasp when you feel yourself tipping over the edge, eyes trying to focus on Dazai’s face and the sight you’re met with is enough to push you over the edge.

Dazai’s jaw is slack, drool pooling at the corner of his lips, the white of his eye just barely visible, cheeks flushed a deep red. He's babbling out incoherent words: you can just barely make out your name, s’good, too tight, too much, and I’m gonna-

And then you’re choking over your own moan when you feel Dazai finish inside of you, cum warm and heavy as he fucks it deep in your cunt. His lithe body trembles beneath you, tense and arched, holding your hand so tight that you think he might break it, and your vision goes white as you cum on his cock, mind blank when the taut cord snaps within you, nails digging into Dazai’s skin.

Dazai’s cock is still twitching inside of you when you slump onto his chest, tremors still spreading through his body. You tilt your head up to ghost your lips against his jaw before sliding off of him, laying on the bed next to him. You feel empty without him inside you but you distract yourself by lifting your hand to his cheek again, tilting it to the side and forcing him to look at you.

More emotion swims in Dazai’s eye than you’ve seen him express in the entire two years you’ve known him, he looks at you so reverently that you can almost imagine three words spilling from his lips, breathy and adoring. You know he won’t say them, but it’s a nice thought, you think. You lean in to ghost your lips against his briefly, the tips of your fingers carding through his dark curls. You want to say something but you don’t know what.

Well. You do know what but you can’t say it.

“You wanted me soooooo bad,” Dazai finally says, a bit more clarity returning to his eye as his lips curl up. “I knew it, you wanted me so bad.”

“You’re so annoying,” you tell him but your voice is fond and you can’t help yourself from shifting forward to press your lips against his. You feel him smile against your lips and that warm, fluttery feeling returns.

Home.

“You love it,” Dazai sings, nipping your cheek.

A bit longingly, you think, I do.

Instead, you roll on top of him to straddle his hips, pressing your lips against his again.

“You wish.”

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