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endearng · 27 days ago

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Loner to lover

Pairing: young!Spencer Reid x professor!reader Summary: Running away from your problems is said to be irresponsible, but it just might lead you to where you need to be; to whom you must be with and, utterly, to the one you're supposed to be. WC: 10.1k Warnings: jealous spencer (a warning of its own) unspecified age gap; infidelity; smut in the form of soft and vulnerable sex between two virgins - (p in v), creamp*e (sorry), softdom!spencer, dacryphilia if you squint. Let me know if I missed anything. A/N: I had to use the frightening 'L/N'. Sorry sorry sorry. Also I just know Spencer is a little shit when encouraged so... he's a bit insistent here............ anyways I love this do much and I hope you enjoy reading it as well. | Masterlist

Spencer remembers the time when you first met. The reason, happenstance and the enormous range of mixed feelings that it brought him.

Early twenties. Collecting BAs for fun. Dr. Spencer Reid thought of a social life second, third, fourth... whatever position behind his education. His responsibility and intelligence were mere details compared to his application to his studies, which was a trait that made him singular to every single one of the professors whose classes he chose to take. Quick and smart remarks, useful contributions, thought-provoking ideas, you name it; there wasn't a single good student expectation that Spencer couldn't meet. In the academic world, the young man was highly recommended and wanted by any and every superior who wanted a good insight on their research, and that was saying a lot — society's greatest minds would compete for that brilliant brain in hopes to have his attention and participation on their projects. Spencer Reid, to his colleagues, was a walking experiment: that guy was able to keep up with his classes, the research programs he was invited to be a part of (they were jealous of this particular information, because they had to almost literally fight their way into a internship) and, on his free time, he had the nerve to feed his curiosity and come up with even more ideas of his own.

A brilliant, lonely heart amidst a crowded sea of people who were mainly too focused on themselves to notice him, unless it was to compare themselves to the absolute success he was among the academic world.

Given his mild demeanor, it is no surprise that his professors would trust him anything and that he easily won their hearts over — he remembers attending dinners at their places when they were particularly close to him; Spencer was not a stranger to a safe proximity to his mentors, after all, they were his only friends. So, it was with a dreadful surprise that he received the news that his favorite professor and advisor, Dr. Brown, would retire. Immediately, Spencer thought, with a frown on his face, that nobody could replace him. Plus, it would be disencouraging to go to those classes with someone he didn’t even know. The news had dampened his mood, to say the least, and he was ready to protest.

"Don't worry, Reid," said Dr. Brown, kind eyes wrinkling in the corners as he smiled, sitting on his chair behind his huge desk, "Dr. L/N is a great person, in more ways than one. I'm sure you will be thrilled to work with her."

"I'm not sure. It takes me some time to get used to certain situations."

"I know, but I'm sure you've had to adapt to some unexpected events at some point," retorted the older man, psychologist mode in full swing, "This is no different. And, if I must say, not entirely unexpected. There's only so far a man can go without losing his mind.”

"I suppose so," Spencer muttered, feeling a bit selfish — it wasn't fair of him to put his thoughts before the older man's needs.

Dr. Brown looked at his pupil, who avoided eye contact for most of the time. The professor had taken an almost paternal liking to Spencer as they grew closer after the younger man stood behind in the classroom wanting to ask different and plenty of questions about the spectacle he had just watched, his first one. It was rare, for Mr. Brown, to have and hold a student's attention so uniquely, and it was as rare for Spencer to have someone explain things and welcome his curiosity so openly. Science had bonded them together — being men of science, they knew better than to argue with its effects.

"I was thinking, Spencer. If you're not so busy, you could keep leading the experiments in our lab, helping out our new professor." At that, Spencer's expression turned a bit sour, to which Mr. Brown chuckled, "Trust me, you'll have nothing to worry about. In fact, I think you two are greatly alike."

Spencer let nothing out but a hum of agreement, perking up slightly at that remark. He wanted to ask what the older man meant, but stopped himself, asking instead, "When does she get here?"

"I believe she is settling in her studio as we speak. You'll meet her tomorrow. I wish I could introduce the two of you, but, unfortunately, I leave at 3 a.m."

Exchanging goodbyes and wishes of a safe flight, Spencer left for his dorm, where he busied himself with the papers of the guest professor. Of course, he would not betray his ritual of researching the guest professor to know about their academic background, as well as their field of research, stylistics and projects to check if something would raise his spirits. It didn't matter that he wasn't pleased with the replacement.

Dr. L/N. You were, apparently, a great researcher for the Psycholinguistics area—a branch that made you known in fields such as Education, Criminology, Psychology, Linguistics, Communication... The list was endless. If he was honest, he felt a little baffled—and embarrassed—that he hadn't done any research on your contributions thus far. A mind like yours should get a recognition beyond any borders. Once he got a glimpse of your brain and what it could do, he was gone. Your resume was impeccable: you had studied in different institutions in countries, proficiency in multiple languages, uncountable papers and mentions of your name in studies in all the areas above.

He doesn't remember falling asleep or turning off his laptop. However, he remembers that, in dreams, he finds someone, but, strangely, he can't make up a face.

(...)

Walking through a bustling crowd of people always made you winded, the noise and the inevitable bumping too overwhelming for you to handle on top of being somewhere new. So, you preferred to sit and wait in a small, more secluded hall in the building that Dr. Brown said you would find his lab. After the morning rush, the corridors were filled by distant echoes of louder professors or students, which made you calmer; to think you weren't completely alone. Traveling to help out a friend was a much welcomed distraction from what you had left at home, something you weren't quite ready to access just yet. You could remember your shrink's voice as she said that, at times, it was useless to think so ahead of the future.

Unbeknownst to her, you agreed wholeheartedly. It was useless. The moment you could have done something for yourself was already lost, long gone, buried by endless hours of work and occupations to keep you from breaking a dam of lonely despair.

Speaking of the past, you slid your golden ring off your wedding finger, letting it fall inside your coat pocket as you made your way through the halls. Upon seeing a door with Dr. Brown's lab small logo on it, you cracked a small smile, remembering the story behind it: you and a bunch of other students trying to come up with a nice, thoughtful gift to encourage the guest professor's new interests. When you opened the door, you found a tall, thin man sitting by the computer desk, apparently engrossed until he heard the click of the lock, finding your eyes with equal parts startle and wonder, lips parted gently, surprise etched all over his pretty face.

The young man had innocent, almost bambi-like eyes. It was the first thing you had noticed about him. Staring at you, hazel eyes so expressive that you were sure he could speak through his glance alone.

After the initial surprise, you thought you knew who he was, having heard all about Dr. Brown’s new favorite student and mentee. Spencer Reid, who seemed to study for leisure, deeply intelligent and reliable. No wonder he was in the lab, settling everything so that he would be helpful. It was a faithfully vivid image, much like the one that had settled into your brain when your colleague had described who he was working with.

"Dr. L/N."

"Dr. Reid."

Your unison voices mingled in the air. You walked up to where he was, holding out a hand for him to shake. Dazedly, he stood up, taking your hands in his, which made you smile at him, appreciating his politeness. Spencer, on the other hand, felt frozen.

Whatever it was that he, at some point, imagined you would look like, it was nothing compared to the real thing. All your features seemed to be mathematically, precisely calculated to form one of the most beautiful and soft complexions he had ever laid his eyes upon. You spoke again, no longer blocked by his own voice, so gently that it was almost as if he was being physically touched by your voice. Your accent was not strong, but it was perceptible, something that he attributed to your multilingual abilities. "Sorry to barge in like that. It's nice to meet you. Dr. Brown told me a lot about you," you revealed, still smiling.

"It's okay. Nice to meet you too.” Tongue-tied. He felt illiterate, close to a woman who he was not supposed to have certain types of thoughts around. You breathed out a huff of amusement at his widened eyes.

There was a bit of an awkward silence when you both noticed that none of you had let go of the other's hand yet. With a clear of your throat and his fugitive glance, you both composed yourselves, retreating from your touch. "He said," you started with a chuckle, "and I quote, that you are now his eyes, ears, hands and brain in here. So, beforehand, I want to say that I truly appreciate your support and help." You said, politely, to which he smiled nervously with a shaky nod.

"It's no problem, really. Dr. Brown is one of the greatest here and it'd be naive of me to not accept his request."

You grinned, agreeing. "Yeah, he is a great man. Well, I believe you are more familiar with all the devices than I am." You said, motioning to the set-up behind him. "I do have these back at my university, but yours is a bit different from what I can see. I suppose they work the same way, but, to be honest, I don’t want to mess anything up."

Spencer blinked, scientist mode on full swing. "Yeah, yeah." He nodded, looking at her again. "You don't have to worry, I was just checking the last details before starting the experiments. Everything is already settled, but I can talk you through it if you want to conduct the experiment by yourself at some point.” He trailed. Curiously, he added, “If I may ask, what made you interested in this research?"

Your heart's happiness bursted into sparkles in your eyes as you smiled, glad that he asked you about it. You talked him through it, giving him specific details as he sat and listened like you were the most brilliant brain in the entire world. As you talked, he remembers feeling his lips twitching up in a small smile. Once you were done, encouraged by your honesty and heartfelt explanation, he revealed with a faint dust of pink on his cheeks, "I know. I, um, I searched and read some of your papers last night.”

"Really?" You asked, cordial.

"I try my best to get to know my professors' fields before meeting them. It's a way I found to keep my brain entertained and to get ready for what's coming next." He admitted softly, mentally patting himself on the back for not stuttering.

"That is a good approach. I must say I wish I had that kind of mindset when I was your age."

"It’s okay. You've been doing a great job."

Silence. Understanding from both parts.

"But... to answer your question, I have been really interested in working with language lately, more than usual, at least." You chuckled softly. Spencer couldn't stop his own grin at your enthusiasm, eager to hear your voice.

You agreed once he offered to show you how their device worked, sitting on the chair in front of it. Spencer motioned for you to go ahead and place your chin on the small stand. He took notice of your hands when you placed them on the desk, bitten nails and small, red spots on their edges. It concerned him, but he brushed it off, thinking it could have been a simple nervous habit, knowing he had no business asking or worrying about you. You were his professor, after all. "Whenever I lead this experiment with my students, they always tell me they feel like they are at the ophthalmologist."

Spencer chuckled. "Yeah. It does feel like it. You can't even move an inch."

You followed the instructions on the computer screen so that the device would follow your eye movements. It worked quickly, which made you pleasantly surprised and it was hard to hide it from your tone, "This is faster than any other I have tried before."

"Welcome to our university."

As you worked on the experiment, answering to the commands on the scream silently, the device following your orbs, Spencer took his time to study your features. Your hair was neatly up in a ponytail, dainty earrings adorning your ears that matched your gentle features. All your sharpness, if you had any, was in your eyes. An intense gaze that made him falter a bit, as if his brain had the need to stop for a second to store the sight of your gaze on him to remember it for good. Your movements were calm and collected, and, ironically, you looked rather young to be a doctor.

Once you had finished, you didn't pull away immediately from the device. The computer could no longer pinpoint where your eyes were, because then they were directed at Spencer instead glancing at him as if studying him, taking him in to remember his features like a quote that you knew by heart. As he turned to look at you, he started explaining how to save a volunteer's progress and, honestly, you were only half listening, focusing on his mild mannerisms, voice and use of language. You nodded here and there, absentmindedly storing that information. You two departed after exchanging some more information, mostly him guiding you through the campus, talking about each department and what was the fastest and best way to get to the building you were staying at.

Spencer remembers going home with renewed interest. He couldn't help but think about the way you portrayed yourself, the way you talked and moved, almost as if you were an ethereal being that was placed on Earth by an unfortunate mistake. Even though he had been unable to come up with a face for you last night as he read your thoughts, you had been an enchanting surprise. Unable to stop the thought, he gave it some indulgent room: you would, somehow, be a distraction. And he was crazy to get to know in which way.

A couple days went by without Spencer seeing you. You were quite busy yourself with the lectures you were planning and teaching. That morning, though, he had found you teaching Dr. Brown's previous class. It was surprising, and mildly irritating, to see that the class was the most crowded it had ever been. Taking a good look around and listening to a few comments that bothered him to no end, he found out the reason. Some of them wanted to simply see you. The thought was like being bathed in scorching water. He chose to sit in the front, because he thought, petulant, that you would know and remember his face and his face alone. As you entered the classroom and greeted the students with a warm good morning, you were pleasantly surprised to see Dr. Reid in the front row.

After neatly arranging your belongings on the desk, you started your class on the dot. “Hello, everyone. I am professor L/N and I am here to take over Dr. Brown's class.” You started, voice precisely clear. “Now, I understand that some of your colleagues might be running late for some reason. I don't mind if you are late at some point, but try not to make it a habit because it might disrupt our class. I do tend to start my lectures on the dot in respect to those who managed to get here on time. Today, we will talk about…”

You spoke gently, but you had your boundaries set and clear, which made Spencer squirm a bit. Seeing you so sure of yourself, so assertive, made something stir deep within him. Besides, the dumbstruck look of the many students gave him enough clue that he was not the only one feeling a little affected by you and your ways. As you went on and on about the topic, you gestured with your pretty hands, making smart remarks and cracking some light jokes that made everyone a lot less nervous around you. The new, pretty professor.

The topic, behavior, sounded redundant, at that point, because he had studied that subject over and over again, tiringly, exhaustingly, but there was just something about the way you spoke, about your mannerisms that he couldn't look away. You had a way with words, and he was fascinated by how you managed to make some more complex subjects so understandable to students, even if you sometimes drifted deeper into a certain concept, only to go back to them later. He couldn't even speak. The class was relieved while he was troubled.

“Huh, that's odd. Half of you are not in the roll.” You commented, turning the lights back on. “Is this correct?” You muttered to yourself, afraid that maybe you had the data of another class instead.

A girl suddenly spoke up, “Many of us are auditing.”

“Oh?” You wondered. “How many of you?”

Quickly calculating, Spencer bitterly noticed that about 70% percent of the class raised their hands. He wanted to think that it had to do with the fact that these people weren't around for Professor Brown. You smiled, warmly. It was a punch to the gut. “Well, I hope you enjoyed the lecture.

It was when the students slowly exited the class that he was able to reach you, gathering your papers and looking content. Sharply gentle eyes, impeccable posture and pristine clothes found his gaze and he found that he didn't want to look at anything else. He didn't seem to be ready to have that small heart attack every morning. He felt equal parts of embarrassment and a flutter on his belly. He approached you calmly, and as you greeted him, there was a warm look on your face. "Hi. Good morning, Dr. Reid.”

“You did a great job,” he blurted out, voice a bit strained. You only pretended you didn't notice. “Good morning.” He remembered to greet you back. Nice.

Your voice was low as you muttered a soft "thank you."

"Of course." He said, fiddling with the strap of his bag.

"I never asked... What is your field?” You inquired, curiously, grabbing your bag and walking side by side with him, exiting the room.

Spencer had that answer nearly tattooed on his brain. “I have PhDs in Chemistry, Engineering and Mathematics,” he started, nonchalantly, as he stuffed his hands in his pockets. "I also have a BA in Sociology and Philosophy. This is my third one, Psychology.”

“How old are you?” You blurted out, baffled.

“23. I, uh, I graduated from school at the age of 12.”

You stood there, speechless. Of course you knew that that was possible in some countries, but the casualness in his tone got to you more than his exceptional educational background. “That is… unreal.” You whispered. “You are so young and… and… You are still absorbed with learning.”

He chuckled, shrugging, delighted by your compliment. “Yeah, I guess… Not many people would make the same choices as I would.”

Your entire body froze, including your hidden hand, because his words had hit a particular spot within you. You gave him a nod, agreeing. “Well, it is still impressive.”

“I appreciate it.” He said, looking down and missing the slight dejection on your face. Nevertheless, his heart fluttered at the praise coming from you.

Shaking off the dark thoughts, you started again, “If I may ask, why did you switch from STEM to Humanities?” You asked, now mildly amused as he looked at you, taking the stairs with him to the office. Occasionally, your shoulders brushed.

“Curiosity.”

“Is that all?” You asked, puzzled.

“I was always surrounded with a wide access to books and overall knowledge. My mother was a Literature teacher.” He explained, a small smile gracing his face.

“That must have been nice. You must know a lot about the classics. They are my favorite kind of Literature.”

“They were good distractions, I guess… I wasn't, uh, the most popular kid growing up.” He trailed off.

“Me neither,” you said.

Spencer noticed that you walked with a hand on your pocket, but couldn't say anything about it, too much more focused on the way he seemed to be bathed in a newfound confidence around you. As you reached the office, he quickly placed his belongings on the leather couch by the door. With a low whine of disappointment, which caught your eye, he announced, “If you'll excuse me, I have to get a few books from the library.”

It was better than saying, hey, I was too distracted by you that I forgot that I also have responsibilities.

“Oh, sure. Go ahead. I'll be here.”

“Thanks.”

The door closed with a soft click, and you found yourself all alone again. Taking a look around, you busied yourself by analyzing your surroundings. There was a wall covered by huge, tall, dark shelves, cramped with books. The piece of furniture reached the roof with all sorts of technical literature. A small glass cabinet on the opposite wall showcased trinkets from all over the world, kids drawings and family pictures. A leather couch, cushions and an equally dark wooden desk adorned the room as well. A white light brightened the room, illuminating his titles, and a yellowish one lightened a painting on the wall, made by Dr. Brown's daughter, of the beach they visited frequently. It made you irrationally jealous. The reminder that other people had constant remnants of love was a stab to your chest, and you looked away from the bitter/sweet reminders.

Suddenly, your eyes got a glimpse of Spencer's belongings: technical books, a satchel bag, his coat and a small notebook. You wondered what he would write about in there, whether it was some sort of planner or he just thought out loud on those pages. You fought the urge to touch his stuff, deciding to sit on the couch after shrugging off your coat and laying it close to Spencer's things.

Still plagued by an annoying flicker of envy, you picked your ring, analyzing it with fierce focus between your fingers. The material, white gold, was supposed to adorn your hand for the rest of your life. The only personal thing about it was that it had been custom-made, by demand, just for you. A wedding band was supposed to hold, to be a souvenir of the deepest commitment of love. But as fate would have it, it had been nothing but an object. It held no meaning, since you and your husband easily slid it off when it was convenient.

There was a small date carved on the inside part of the ring. Neither you or Oliver wanted any stronger reminders of each other. To you, he was merely tolerable, and you struggled to feel anything but sorry for him. Despite the fact that you were helplessly coerced into marriage, you despised him for never having the guts of chasing a life, instead busying himself with living the fleeting pleasures that his parents' money provided him, spending his endless vacations overseas, sleeping around. A typical bohemian. A bon-vivant. The fact made you bitter. How does one possess every kind of mean and doesn't care to improve themselves as a person?

Inevitably, you were pulled into a strong stream of memories.

The sun filtered through the curtains, illuminating the dining room that held uncountable and expensive decorations. What caught your eye, though, is a much too long and large table with endless chairs. You remember thinking it was over the top, since neither you or Oliver would plan to have guests over. Swallowing your remarks, you smiled to your father and exchanged a look with your sister-in-law, not bothering to look at Oliver and therefore missing his awestruck look. It was the first time you were visiting the big house with its endless rooms, windows and useless areas. You ignored the subtle meaning of it: you were supposed to carry on your families’ names. The mason had been your parents’ gift, so you decided to stay quiet about it, not commenting on the tacky, outrageous muchness of things. You had learned the hard way not to fight back when it came to their decisions.

From a very young age, you were special. A charming, intelligent, quick-witted child who busied herself with studies and books who had a series of leisure time activities to go through during her free time. Hence, you grew up exceptional. You were always the center of attention somehow; being the first grandkid from both sides of your family granted you a few privileges, you held their entire focus, entertaining them with your particular and curious behavior during their gatherings. Whenever they showed up, your parents would remember some new ability for them to show you off. Playing the piano, chess, languages… You were always in the top of the class, in the best schools, surrounded by kids your age that belonged to the best families.

It was with a deep, heartbreaking sadness that you realized that you had their attention for your potential and everything you could add to their name. Nobody ever played with the first child.

Beautiful, graceful, wistful, clueless little you.

Your family’s connections and endless activities for you had been how you met Oliver in the first place. A smart, easy on the eyes boy who became a smooth talker as he grew older. You were friends from a very young age, but nothing more. You were always too caught up on working on yourself and your abilities in order to charm everyone that romance was something you couldn't even begin to fathom — it was nothing but a strange and distant feeling. You kept things platonic between you and him, spending time, mostly listening. Oliver would tell you all about his interests, and when the age came, he would tell you, rather technically, how his endeavors with other girls went.

You never thought of Oliver as more than a friend. In fact, his manners grew to annoy you, like a small barb in your shoe, if you were totally honest — not that you would dare to. You simply endured his existence, saving your reviles for yourself, because, growing up, you never knew what it was to freely express yourself. How lacking it was to grow up not knowing what it was to speak your mind freely without a strong reprimand of some sort.

Such painful dawnings had only taken place at the age of 20, when your parents and Oliver's had agreed to marry the both of you. Unable to fight back, you simply watched it happen. It was so damaging and traumatic that you could barely remember the times you had spent together, everything was just a big knot of confusing memories to which you felt more like an spectator than an actor. Over the course of the years, Oliver and you would make public appearances, but you had told him, on the first night after your marriage, that he was free to do whatever he wanted, as long as he didn't ruin your image. No. Not the one you had dedicated your entire life building.

Throughout the entire thing, your sister-in-law had been your anchor. A distant one, that sits in the bottom of the sea, as you navigated through your own life. Being too close to you was a sad reminder of your situation and she was aware of that. She had her friends and connections, unknowingly, check on you, though. She was all in for pretending her sad excuse of a brother didn't exist. Theresa and Oliver were polar opposites: a hard-working woman and a sluggish man.

Eventually, as you both moved through the world, engrossed in your true passions, Oliver had truly found someone. Someone you didn't bother learning the name of. Someone, you preferred to think, that didn't know about you and that if she did, she truly didn't care. The feeling was mutual. You, on the other hand, delved deeper into your studies, busying yourself to the fullest. It was nice, in a way, because that way, you were shielding yourself from the world and your inevitable, eternal struggle of a loveless life in the only way you knew how: through being someone.

It was far from a solution, but that's where it ended. It had been years since the last time you heard your name coming from someone else's lips. You didn't dream of it happening anytime soon. You didn't let it happen, anyway. Every advance was cut before it turned into expectations.

A small gasp erupting between your lips broke you out of your reverie when you heard the lock being harshly handled, which made you bolt straight to the door, dropping the ring on the floor. Opening it, you saw Spencer struggling to balance a huge pile of books and a tray with two cups of coffee. He thanked you softly when you offered to help him, your skin touching his briefly, jolts of something unknown coursing through both of your bodies. Pulling away, you placed the books on the desk, searching his eyes as he blushed like crazy.

“I got you coffee… I don't know how you take it, so I got it black with two sugars. There are many options these days, which can make choosing one a challenging decision, since there are undeniable and endless possibilities of you being allergic to some of the ingredients. Of course, there are also chances of cross-contamination. Now that I think about it, I should have probably gotten you tea. Oh, my God. Do you even drink coffee?” He finished, almost panting.

You stifled out a laugh. His ways were endearing. “It's okay, Dr. Reid. I'll drink it. I'm not allergic nor prefer tea over coffee. Okay?”

“Okay.” He said, puppy eyes finding yours again.

“Thank you, by the way. I really appreciate it.”

“Of course.” He said, smiling softly.

It quickly turned into your go-to order.

—

Students came and went, and you made conversation with them, which made you all the more endearing for Spencer. You asked about their day, how they ended up there, and you looked genuinely interested in their answers. It could be a stretch, but Spencer felt that, much like himself, you wanted to make connections — but not the professional kind. You wanted to belong somewhere, from the way your eyes held an intimate and unwavering hint of sadness when you heard their answers, but none of them had the nerve to ask you back. It was expected, though, because no one would think of a professor as a friend. The entire time, you were being addressed as such or as Dr.. You couldn't blame them. That was who you were, too lost in that character to remember who you actually were. If you had been someone, that is.

As Spencer sat behind the computer, ready to access today's tests, you chatted with a freshman student. Glancing at the clock, the girl with excited mannerisms almost shrieked, “Oh, my God! Is it that late already?! I have to go to my piano class.”

“Sorry to hear that,” you said, sounding a bit deflated. “It was nice to meet you, Dana. I'm really happy you've helped us.”

“Anytime, professor! Bye!” She said, walking through the door and closing it behind her.

You turned to Spencer, a hint of longing in your expression. “Are you leaving as well?”

“Not yet. I want to go over our results for the day.”

“Oh!” You exclaimed, approaching him to lean by his side on the desk, supporting your weight on one arm as your other hand touched the back of his chair. He could smell your perfume, something uniquely different, aromatic and so fitting. “Does it compare results automatically?” You asked, turned to look at him.

“Unfortunately, no,” he muttered, unfocused, eyes scanning all over your face, focusing especially on your lips. “I have to do that myself, which is why I'll take longer to leave. If we leave this for the last minute, it'll be much more stressful.”

“Slow and steady it is, then.” You said, grinning. “I'll stay to help you.”

—

Spencer remembers when he started feeling a lot stronger about you.

You were in the office, decorating it as your own. Spencer took notice of your belongings, trying to catch a glimpse of everything that made you yourself. There were abundant novels in many different languages filling the tall shelves, some souvenirs from different parts of the world, your titles… The analytic part of his brain took notice of the lack of family pictures and overall personal items. It was achingly professional and distant, the way you were setting your space. He couldn't help but chime in, “Is that all you're putting up?”

With a lopsided grin, you tried to justify, sensing his intentions. “I don't like cluttering.”

He didn't answer, sensing that it might be sensitive unknown territory. You unboxed a wood chess board, placing it on one of the bottom shelves. He looked at you, a silent question in his eyes. “Just in case someone wants to play,” you said, as you forced a smile that didn't reach your eyes.

The next day, Spencer walked through the office door with a box in hands. He hid it between the sofa and the wall. As you arrived, you talked briefly about the research, which was now coming to an end. Flopping down on the floor, crisscrossed and barefoot, you sighed, smiling as he updated you. “You know, I don't think I've ever been happier.”

“Yeah?” He asked, curiously.

“It almost feels unreal, how kind life's been to me lately.” You revealed, voice trembling a bit with emotion.

“Somehow, that's hard to believe.”

“Is that so?” You asked, playfully. Spencer had to swallow before your mischievous smile. A new expression on your face that he found that he quite liked.

“I mean, look around. You have everything some people think it takes to be happy.”

“You're right. Some people. I don't.” You retorted with a dip of your chin.

“What would make you happy, then?” He inquired, eager to find out. To become it.

You breathed in, closing your eyes. “I'll let you know once I figure it out.”

Should he say it? Would it be indelicate? Insensitive? Too much? Too straightforwa— “You sound a little hopeless.”

“Maybe I am.” You said, almost shrugging. Like it's not a big deal.

“You shouldn't be.” He retorted, sitting down in front of you.

“What makes you so certain?”

“You're young.”

“If anything, that only feeds despair, to some extent.” You said, distantly.

Internal battle at full extent, once again. “You know… I… I have been keeping an eye on you.”

You tilt your head the slightest bit, gaze unwavering. “What do you mean?”

Spencer struggled to form coherent thoughts, to articulate his own ideas before blurting them out rather excitedly. “You seem so… different. It's almost like you're out of this world. It's fascinating, actually. You're very deep in your own little world. Even the way you speak tells something about loneliness. So well, eloquently—”

“Susan Sontag.”

He smiled, satisfied. “See? How would you remember a quote by heart if your mind was filled with some things else?”

Against your will, you agreed. “You're right, Dr. Reid.”

Silence. He stood up, walking to grab the box behind the couch. He came back and sat in front of you once again, but this time, his knee brushed yours and neither of you mentioned it. You welcomed the warmth. Spencer hid the one coloring his cheeks. “Call me Spencer.”

“What is that?”

“Flowers.”

“Flowers?”

“You need some life around here.”

You giggled, absolutely delighted when you saw the box, containing an orchid Lego set. Spencer fought against his every instinct to just pull you into his arms at the sound that twisted his insides instantaneously. It was the first time he had heard you laugh, a rich, funny sound that seemed to have erupted from your own soul. “Is this for me? Because, you know, this might be the best thing I've ever gotten.”

“Oh, really?” He asks, feigning sarcasm. “I could've sworn it was the original piece on your wall.”

“Thank you, Spencer.”

“You're welcome.”

Despite your position, your posture was as elegant as it had ever been. He placed the pieces between the two of you. Eventually and almost silently, like a personal prayer, he learned how to call you by your name upon your insistence. With a soft look in his eye, he relented. Everything about him seemed to tell you that he was there to help you build the set. That it was alright, because he was there.

You two stood up, one at a time, once you had finished the set. Standing by the window, you glanced at the pretty plastic orchids that now were placed on your desk, right next to your name, a funny little piece amidst such a formal environment. He followed you after a brief moment of doubt. “You know, Spencer,” you uttered and he thought he might be addicted to the chain of sounds that makes up his name falling from your lips as he watched them, mesmerized. “Thank you so much for this. It's a nice feeling. Like I have a friend.”

You both shared the intimacy of a glance with each other. You decided to elaborate, too shaken by the thought of your loneliness being palpable. “You're right… I've always been a bit on the lonely side.”

He was pleased to see so much honesty from your end, and happy to see something of himself in you. He swallowed, trying to control these thoughts and keeping his composure. “I think you're very easy to get along with.”

“That's the first time I hear that.”

Spencer couldn't help the wince that came with the stabbing pain he felt at your revelation. “It's true. I…” Who are these people? “I think you're very easy to like.”

You thanked him again, quietly, lowering your gaze to the space between the two of you. Seemingly under a spell that had been casted by the way you let your guard down, ignoring the nervous pit on his stomach and not taking the time to process the whirlwind of thoughts and feelings running through him. You stood so close, if he could just— “Looking from up here, all people look so tiny.”

“Considering the extent of the universe, we are pretty tiny.”

You snorted, shaking your head softly. “Proportion changes perspective, huh, Spencer?”

Losing control over his words, utterly lost, he continued, “I also… I find you pretty… pretty.”

Your eyes glanced up to meet his. Spencer tried to read your expression, desperate to see if you were surprised, disgusted, uncomfortable or if you welcomed his words. Instead, he found a hint of longing in your eyes that he couldn't begin to understand. “I… I don't know what to say.”

Compliments were a sensitive, unknown territory for you. You only knew what these were if you outdone yourself in whatever earned you attention. Sighing, you looked at him, almost guilty.

“Sorry, I… I shouldn't have said anything.” He cringes, avoiding your gaze.

“It… It wasn't.” Deep breath. “It's just that… you're…”

Were there words in the English language for these feelings?

“I know. I didn't… I don't expect you to say anything in return,” he says, almost dejectedly. The truth is out and he can't take it back. “I just wanted to come clean. And I think that it's not just looks that draw me to you.”

You stood there, speechless.

“You're not mad? Or… or offended?” He tries.

You looked at his widened, scared eyes. It made you want to soothe him — the instinct disconnecting your mouth from any sense of ethics or decency that ran through your brain. Taking another deep breath, scared to death, “I’m actually flattered. You're a very beautiful person, inside and out, but… but… I'm your professor, Spencer, and older than you.” You said, voice wavering slightly as you got to look into his eyes again.

“Somehow… when I think about you… neither of these seem to be a problem. I can't—not think about you.”

His words crafted a small crack. There would forever be a memory in your brain of the exact same moment when his words settled in. You fell to pieces, and as you did, you felt yourself losing control of your own actions, of your sense of ethics or principles. Before you thought it through, as you felt every sense of reason leaving your body, you tilted your head up, a silent, welcoming consent of his lessening distance. Spencer, who looked almost pained with so much want, let out tiny puffs of breath as if the air had been knocked out of his lungs. He couldn't believe you were seemingly taking a risk like that, but he found that he couldn’t and didn't want to hold back any longer. The young man, very carefully, cradled your cheeks, bravely holding your glance as he caressed the soft skin of your cheek with his thumb. Time stood still when you closed your eyes, slowly, and he tilted your chin up the slightest bit, angling you just the way he needed. The touch, the existence of you was so intense and overwhelming that it made him shiver, and he was failing to keep his hands from shaking. Following the stream of whispered truths, you added, “I want to give you something to truly think about. I need your permission.”

Softly, Spencer brushed his lips against yours as he closed his eyes. It was gentle, tentative, almost experimental. The touch, albeit subtle, calmed his every nerve, and his shoulders relaxed at the contact. A shaky exhale left his lips when you pulled him in, placing your hand on the nape of his neck, the feeling grounding and safe. When your lips interlock together, it's a moment of realization; he doesn't think that he wanted something so badly without even knowing what it actually was.

Your touch is tender, as if you were both afraid that harshness would steal one from the other, relishing in the moment and in the rush of sensations that were unknown to the both of you. Spencer was so afraid that you were going to pull away and run, but he just couldn't control himself as he slid his tongue into your mouth, basking in the small satisfied sound that you made, his hands gripping your waist. You, on the other hand, felt as if you had been pushed into a sea of hot, scalding water. No touch had ever made you feel like that, and your desperation had you now tightly gripping at his vest, trying to get him impossibly closer to you. Your bodies pressed against each other set a trail of fire between the two of you, and the kiss gradually became more urgent. Violent, even.

When you pull back, he doesn't let you go far, his face only inches away, barely registering that you actually needed to breathe so great was his need to feel you against him once more. Panting, you leaned your forehead against his, not ready to open your eyes and see his face. You'd be lost.

“At least now I have something proper to think about.”

Flustered at him using your own words against you, you couldn't meet his gaze. You tried to say something, but all the courage pumping through your veins seemed to have found a way out of your system, leaving you helpless, utterly defeated into silence. A small feeling of guilt started to grow inside you, and you were warring against it. You had just kissed a student in your workplace when you were trying to have a fresh start. Spencer, noticing your turmoil, was quick to engulf you in a hug. The action, so simple, worked like a balm to your nerves, and you allowed yourself to take a deep breath, inhaling his scent, which had just become your favorite. You didn't want to let him go, neither did you know if you would ever be able to.

Resting his chin on your shoulder, he cradles the back of your head. Under the sofa, lies a small, shiny object that was long forgotten due to both its irrelevance in your life and the first moment of genuine affection you've ever experienced.

—

You remember how it felt like to lose control of yourself.

It had been days since the secret kiss you shared with Spencer and it had been the last time you saw him. Your days were filled with endless phone calls with lawyers and Theresa, desperate to find yourself free from your doom excuse of a… marriage? It seemed offensive to even relate that word to whatever you had been forced upon doing. Your nights were spent by your bedroom window, watching as people came and went, noticing with heartbreak how distant you seemed to be from everyone. You were a stranger in many ways, but above all, you were a stranger to yourself. Every little manifestation of action or thought made you inevitably remember all the people and their behavior that shaped you into whatever you are today.

And then there was Spencer. Spencer, whose touch was making you feel constantly equal parts guilty and entranced. Spencer, who was spamming your email inbox, wondering where you were. Spencer, who was the only person you truly allowed yourself to think about. The sight of him haunted your nights and the ghost of his voice echoed inside your head when you were sitting around in the empty studio. It was supposed to be refreshing, really, how his mere existence made a new flicker of hope bloom in your chest that had been unknown thus far. It was bold to call it hope, but you preferred to do that because there was no other word, no other feeling that you knew well enough to associate it with the memory of him.

You had forgotten the sound of your voice. The only thing your apartment walls heard in the time span of three days and three nights had been the following string of words:

“Theresa, are you there? Can we talk?”

—

Spencer remembers how it felt to miss you like a lost puzzle piece.

It had been days and your silence was upsetting him like nothing ever had. Sick of replaying that moment over and over, he decided to find you instead. It was late at night as he walked your street after pondering whether he should or not confront you about your silence. There wasn't much to discuss. It was just a kiss — secretly, he was scared that you would argue so —, but the lack of news from you had him feeling on edge. A tall building, endless windows. On the fifth floor, he could make a figure staring out into the city, and he couldn't begin to explain where the strength came from to run up to where you were. There was only one apartment per floor, so he knocked impatiently on your door.

501.

Upon hearing the sound, you stared, a bit scared, at the door. Opening a small slit, you saw him and your entire body froze. You closed it immediately, fear etched into your features as if he was an impending threat. As if he could cause you any harm.

“Please,” he cried, resting his forehead on the door. He tried not to compare the stiffness of the object to the softness of your skin. A clear of his throat. “Please. Nobody's seen you for days. I… I haven't seen you in days.”

There was a minute of mortifying silence, but he decided to wait. What was another moment if he had waited for you for so long? Spencer let out another plea, this time, calling you by your name.

You let him in, but you couldn't meet his gaze. Nevertheless, he noticed your bloodshot eyes. Speaking your name softly, he inquired, worryingly, approaching you. “What happened to you?”

You took a small step back, straightening your posture once you realized how close he was getting to you. The action made your heart shatter. “Don't,” you pleaded, soft-spoken as ever.

“Look at me.” He croaked, pleadingly, timorous.

Reluctantly, you met his eyes. They were confused, questioning, and it was a first on his expression. You felt guilty for doing this to him. “I can't do this to you, Spencer. I can't.”

“Please… Talk to me. Don't shut me out.”

“We can't do this. I'm your professor, and, and…”

“Are you seriously pulling the professor card? I'm not one of those undergraduate students. I'm me. It's me. We've been so close and when I think something finally might happen, you disappeared. It wasn't fair.”

Each of his words were stabs in your already hanging by a thread heart. Rip the band-aid.

“I'm married.”

There was a moment of stunned silence from his end. You knew how cruel it was to use your formal marital state to avoid him from coming any closer, but you tried not to dwell on it. This was it. Spencer deserved better. And for the first time in your life, you couldn't be better. His silence made your stomach churn painfully, aware of the ache you were causing him, and desperate to be the one to soothe the damage you had done.

Spencer, on the other hand, stared at you blankly. Almost skeptically, even. You'd have analyzed it better if you weren't too busy with your own turmoil about him. “I don't see him anywhere,” he finally said, defiantly.

Surprise took over your features, and before you could form another painful remark, Spencer approached you decisively. “Where is him, huh?”

Cutting you off as you opened your mouth to speak, once again, he scowled. “Damn him. I would do anything just to have you around.”

The crack was now big enough that he could see all parts of you from where he stood. Right then, though, the glimpse he caught before you violently smashed your lips against his was enough to haunt him for a lifetime. Your gaze, so utterly tired yet determined, looking at him as if he was the only thing in your entire world — perhaps he was. The kiss was demanding, fueled by sheer animalistic hunger. You had been hungry your entire life, deprived of the simplest pleasures and there he was, ignoring all your lackness. You failed to think of a motive for his actions, but you decided that you utterly didn't care. To feel seen like that was enough of a reason for you.

His tongue pushed into your mouth, exploring every inch with a neediness that surprises even him. You gripped at his shirt's collar as his hands tangled in your hair, tightly, almost afraid you'd disappear. Neither of you recognized your own actions, everything was far too new for you to know how to act properly, losing yourself in each other, consumed by the unique, addicting taste of your kisses and the heat building between you. The sizzling, almost bothersome feeling in your core, combined with the intensity of his kiss left you feeling lightheaded. He pulls away, reluctantly, squeezing his eyes shut, as if refraining from doing something. You rest your forehead against his. Uneven breaths mingle together as you had your eyes on him, waiting for the final blow, when he would look back at you. “Let me in,” he croaked. “I wanna be yours.”

Don't.

“You deserve so much more than this. Than what I'm able to offer you,” you whisper in a ragged breath, closing your eyes, hands now softly holding his head.

“I'll take anything you are.”

You winced, a helpless crease finding its way between your brows. “You don't get it, do you? I can't. I can't do this to you. I don't know how to do this.”

He softened, hands never leaving your skin and eyes never leaving yours. “You don't have to know anything. I don't know it either. I just wanna be yours tonight.”

Silence.

“Is it because of him?”

You promptly retorted. “No. It's not because of him.”

“From now on, it's me.”

Spencer crashed his lips to yours, barely giving you time to let his words sink in. Seemingly trying to convey his emotions, his willingness to beg for you to let him in, his devotion to be yours in that moment. Brushing your fear of not getting him to stay, you gave in, too blinded by the sheer strength of the burning within you. Spencer kissed you deeper as you slid your tongue inside his mouth, ravishing and relishing in the taste of him. A small moan broke through you when he gripped your tighter, leading you to the nearest surface — conveniently, the bed. Spencer barely had time to take in his surroundings when he got there, too busy with you and the strong pull between the two of you, but his body unconsciously and seemingly knew exactly where to take yours.

You had now entered a land reserved for only the two of you. You looked at him, softly placing you on the bed, kissing all over you, as if you were something worth looking at, worth worshipping. The tears streamed down your face freely, and he kissed each of them as they bloomed again. “Let it all out. I'm here.”

Intertwining your fingers on the nape of his neck, adjusting so that he was between your legs, you looked at him intently while he lowered the straps of your cami top, eyes never leaving yours, lips caressing your collarbone gently. The action made you shiver, and you were under his trance, taking whatever he wanted to give you, signaling over and over that you allowed him to be yours, just like he asked to be. In hindsight, he was making you his.

Gingerly, you leaned up to reach his jawline, kissing and nipping at the soft skin, trying to find an outlet for all the overwhelming feelings and fire inside you. He moaned softly, basking in the feeling of being marked so gently, already satisfied with the mere thought that he would have something of yours to remember. It was when you were undoing his shirt, not so accidentally brushing your fingertips against his fiery skin that a wave of pleasure, embedded with a persistent feeling of guilt, crawled its way into your thoughts. You were like a helpless being caught between the fight of two violent ends, and you found that you loved it. You loved being at their mercy. You loved being at his mercy.

Quickly getting rid of your top, Spencer leaned even lower, brushing his skin against yours, which elicited a series of goosebumps to erupt on your skin. You clenched your hands after retreating them from his body, desperately trying to find something that could ground you instead of feeling everything all at once. He was overwhelming, and he had barely touched you. “I never knew I could feel like this,” you breathed out, unable to keep the truth from him any further when he skimmed his fingertips against your ribs, touching with the most desperate of delicacies.

Grinding against you, he whispered, rushed, “Do you feel how much I want you? I see you and I want you. Let me in.”

Spencer's words, albeit simple, were hitting many unreached places within you. Without breaking eye contact and a bit clumsily, you two got rid of the remnants of your clothes, baring yourselves to each other in more ways than one. Spencer, still accommodated between your legs, eased himself so easily into you, making you hold on tightly to his arms, you two both letting out strangled noises at the feeling. You, beneath him, around him, enveloping his length in the most pleasant wet warmth, sucking him in, gripping, squeezing, never letting him go. A broken sob erupted as he mumbled, “I missed you so much.”

You could barely find your voice, too lost in the sense of him on top of you. The taste, the sight, the smell of him inebriated you like no drug ever could. “Ah—I missed you too,” you whimpered. “You… have no idea.”

“Show me, then.”

Desperately, you pulled him in for another searing kiss, trying to convey how much his absence had made you feel, how guilty you felt by putting what it felt then like an unnecessary distance between the two of you. Trying to get closer, impossibly closer than you ever had been before. The sensations were shattering, and you found that you didn't want to be put together again. No, you were gladly ruined for the rest of your life. Scratches down his back, bites on his lower lip and an endless stream of whimpers left your lips complemented the exhilarating experience as he watched how you reacted to him.

Lowering your gaze to where your bodies met, you were met with an exquisite sight, how he pulled away just to shove his cock back inside you making you dizzy as he had his way with you. Following your line of sight, Spencer moaned as he saw the mess between you two, how his skin began to stick to yours as your arousal glimmered on his skin. Fully sheathed again, you cried out, “There's—mmmm—so much of you in me.”

“Will you remember me?” He asked, resuming his thrusts, violently shaken by your words. He wanted to give you all of him.

Struggling to speak, your entire body trembling with the force of his strokes, you stuttered, “I could never forget you.”

His hips halt their movements. He asks, pointedly, with a stark gaze that burned its memory into your very soul, "Say you'll remember," he whimpered with a small sigh. It was difficult to tell if it was from neediness, impatience, frustration or anything else.

It was not the time for semantics, but you smiled despite yourself as the tears started to to steadily roll down your cheeks, and you replied with a shaky breath, "I'll remember you forever."

Spencer pushed in again, swallowing the strangled moan that left your lips as he kissed you intensely and your tears kissed his cheek as well. Your bodies embraced one another, as if they needed each other to exist. The moon and the sea. You tried to hold on to him, hands curling against the skin of his back and legs circling around his waist. Spencer, on the other hand, had a desperate hold on your waist, which would probably lead to faint marks of his fingers. You found that you didn't care, the astounding feeling of him against you, so forcefully and simultaneously lovingly, could use all the memories to tell you later it had been real. That you had been yours as much as you had been his that night.

The pleasure building within you was new, almost scary given its force to shake everything inside. Spencer was equally reeling, trying to prolong the moment as much as he could, too caught up on the existence of you to let it go anytime soon. With a mewl of his name, you let go, pleasure coursing through your veins and spreading through your body like being bathed by the sultriness of your moment together. The fever reached your heart, and with tearful eyes, you watched him as he released inside of you, eyes dazedly searching yours and his lips singing your name like a prayer.

On top of you, in that place of sheer veneration, your bodies tangled together like an abstract painting. Neither you or him made mention to move, too content in the feeling of sticking to the other.

"I'm not leaving,” he muttered after a while, nuzzling your neck.

"Spencer..."

"I'm not leaving. You'll wake up in the morning and I'll be here.”

—

Tonight, you aren't watching strangers from the windows of your office nor from the ones in your studio apartment. Instead, you are walking home with Spencer, hand holding hand, a firm, fierce, steady grip that never faltered.

You now exist, hearing your name being called several times a day. And so does he, the one proudly uttering said name, whenever he gets the chance. A small, simple reminder that you belong together.

dividers by @cafekitsune <3

506 notes · View notes

explicit-tae · 5 months ago

Text

Ungodly Hour (Jimin)

"I think you deserve a treat.” @seokjinkismet @bloodline1632 @babycandy111 @investedreader

Word Count: 7.081

Warning: dirty talk, sexting, cursing, jimin being in denial, hatefucking, slight enemies to friends to lovers??, kissing, semi-public sex, masturbation (f), oral sex, finger sucking, unprotected sex, voyeurism/exhibitionism, face-slapping,

Kinktober Masterlist

“So,” Jungkook begins, lightly tapping his foot against the floor. “you pay for Onlyfans...”

“Shut,” Jimin’s teeth grits. “the fuck up.”

Jungkook roars with laughter, his head pushed back to let it out. Like clockwork, Taehyung begins to laugh which causes Hoseok, too, as well.

Jimin’s ears are red, just as his neck, with embarrassment.

This wasn’t the norm - he wasn’t the butt of jokes. Jungkook was and always has been. He doesn’t know how to handle the embarrassment. He does understand that he hates you with every fiber of his being.

Maybe hate was a strong word. Jimin didn’t hate you - you were, however, a rival of his.

You and your constant smart remarks underneath his tweets.

You always go against him in debates while in classes with such a condescending tone that has his hands clenching.

The way you post suggestive pictures on your twitter pages that doesn’t show everything, but just enough to have his mind wandering for more.

The way you tempt him with the link to your Onlyfans pinned on your profile that even he - someone who loathes you - has to check and see just how much of a mess you were.

The way that you weren’t a mess in the slightest and all of the free pictures you show only forces him to subscribe to you to see more; not because he thought you were attractive - just because he was a naturally nosy individual.

“I hate her.” Jimin says what he’s thinking aloud. “Because of that bitch, now I’m Jungkook.”

“A simp?” Taehyung questions with a raise of his eyebrow.

“You’re going to start barking next?” ask Hoseok.

“Okay,” Jungkook raises his hands in confusion. “why are we reverting the bullying back to me?”

Jimin rolls his eyes. “I’m doing no such thing.” he hisses. “Okay, fine. I may have subscribed. I was bored.”

Hoseok snorts.

“So bored that you became her top earner in the last few months?” Jungkook was having entirely too much fun with this. Finally, he wouldn’t be the one laughed at. Sure, Jimin and you weren’t dating and probably never would - but no longer was he the only “simp” in the friend group.

“She’s lying!” Jimin scoffs - even if you weren’t. There were certain videos that in order to be unlocked, he had to pay for them. And how could he not when you made them entirely too enticing for him, showing only a few seconds of clips that would draw him in.

“The screenshots she posted aren’t lies.” Jungkook purses his lips to hide the smirk.

Jimin is silent for a moment, his hands tapping rhythmically onto his thigh. He snatches his phone from the side of the couch to see if what Jungkook was saying is true - and low and behold it was.

“That fucking bitch.” Jimin swallows, not believing that his life was going downhill. Everyone would see him as some sort of simp freak like Jungkook, but worse!

“I think you’ve met your match, hyung.” Jungkook roars with laughter again.

“Why did you provoke her if she had all this dirt on you?” Hoseok shakes his head.

“I didn’t think she’d know it was me!” Jimin throws his phone to the side. “Shouldn’t things like that be confidential?!”

Maybe it was dumb - he had signed up with his actual account. However, he figured that you wouldn’t be able to see that. That only meant you could see everything he sent you - the gifts from your wishlist were probably the worse ones.

Jimin was feeling sick.

“It was confidential. Until you provoked her.”

Jimin licks his lips and rolls his eyes.

“You know this is normal, right? I mean…” Hoseok shrugs his shoulders. “You’re attracted-”

Jimin scoffs loudly. “As if.”

“Jimin,” Taehyung shakes his head. “We’ve seen how much you spent on her. Literally.” he begins to chuckle. “And that’s okay.”

“Yeah, it is!” Jungkook nods his head encouragingly.

Jimin swallows. No, it wasn’t okay. If Jungkook was agreeing with him about something then that only meant that he was slowly becoming like the younger boy. Soon it’ll be Jimin obsessing over what you’re doing, and how much he wants to see you and-

Jimin gags.

Honestly fuck you and everything you stand for.

And even if that’s what Jimin stood by, even now as he lays in his bed staring up at the ceiling. His mind wanders to you, as disgusted as he was at the fact.

Jimin snatches his phone from his nightstand and he’s determined.

Fuck you for embarrassing him, truly. He was going to unsubscribe from you and then you wouldn’t have anything. It serves you right for attempting to humble him.

Jimin opens his phone with every attempt to unsubscribe from your Onlyfans and save him the embarrassment until a message pops onto his phone from a number he doesn’t recognize.

Curiosity gets the best of him and Jimin clicks the message. His eyes widen and it doesn’t take long for him to feel the erection through his pajama pants.

It was you. How you got his number, he’s unsure. Yet, you seem to have gotten closer to Jungkook’s girlfriend - someone else who irks his soul - and just maybe you’ve gotten it from her.

You had sent him a picture.

Of course, it wasn’t just any picture. It couldn’t be just any picture that would allow his cock to grow hard in seconds and his palms to grow sweaty.

It was a picture of you in the very same lingerie you had in your wishlist - the very same one he bought for you.

By now, Jimin knows your body. He’s become more than acquainted with the shape of your hips along with the plumpness of your breast; even the softness of your smooth skin. It’s pathetic, truly, and he’s grown ashamed of himself.

It’s a lilac color that he knew would look amazing against your skin - and it does. It’s a lacy fabric so he could just see how erect your nipples were and how it clung to the shape of your body.

Jimin is unaware how long he’s staring at the picture until you send him another message.

‘I think you deserve a treat.’

Jimin swallows thickly, finding that his throat is dry and he is in serious need of some water. He coats his lips with his tongue, his eyes trained onto the picture, contemplating if he should respond to you or not.

You were the reason for every irritation currently in his life - exposing him as some sort of horny loser that dotted on your every command. As if he was a sort of dog that humps your leg needily!

But…this picture.

Jimin would be lying if he said the picture of you didn’t cause his already sweaty palm to grip his cock entirely through his pajama pants, mind racing if he should allow you to consume him once more. He was on a mission to humble you the best way he knew how - by unsubscribing. But here you were, as if knowing his plans, sending him pictures that would surely cause him to become distracted.

Jimin is startled when his phone begins to sound loudly, your number on his caller id, as if taunting him even further. Jimin doesn’t answer it instantly, not wanting you to know just how stuck on his phone you had him.

“What do you want?”

Jimin can hear his heart pounding in his chest as he awaits your response. He attempts to sound annoyed with you and he ponders if you know that it’s all an act.

“Jimin…”

Jimin feels the hair on his arms stiffen and rise, as if a cold breeze just runs through his body entirely. The way you say his name, so sickly sweet and yet, a hint of something sinister underneath.

“Are you upset with me, Jimin?”

Jimin swallows, his hand squeezing his phone tighter in his hand. You rarely say his name to begin with so to hear it come directly from your sweet lips causes something to go through him. Maybe it’s because Jimin knows just how sweet your voice is - how lust-filled the moans you release through them.

But, Jimin understands that you cannot know just how much he is affected by you. He won’t allow you to have the upper hand. You won the battle, sure, by embarrassing him. However, the war was his to accomplish.

“I am.” Jimin grunts. “You’re a bitch.”

Jimin hears you laugh behind the phone and his heart jolts in excitement.

“We both knew that.” you say coolly. “Isn’t that what excites you?”

Jimin scoffs.

“Don’t act all high and mighty, Jimin.” you respond. “You watch me fuck myself faithfully. That has to excite you somehow.”

Jimin’s eyes widen a bit, mentally cursing himself for allowing you to gain the upper hand.

“Not anymore.”

“Ah, so you’re that upset, huh?”

You don’t seem bothered by Jimin stating that he’s going to unsubscribe to your godforsaken onlyfans and inside, he’s seething.

“So upset that you vowed to stop jerking off to me?”

Jimin scoffs. The nerve of you!

“You’re going to lie and say I didn’t give you the best nut of your life behind a screen?” you begin to laugh, a melodic tune that infuriates him to no end. “You’re embarrassed to know that Jungkook isn’t the only one simping.”

“Like I’d ever truly simp for you!” Jimin snaps, nearly barking right into the phone. “A whore like you should be thankful that I would even give you my money. I saw you as nothing but a charity case.”

You’re silent on the other end, eerily so. Jimin takes a few moments to collect himself, contemplating that maybe his ego got the best of him for a moment. He licks his lips, his mind pondering if he should…apologize. He wants to gag.

“You must live alone with all that hollering you’re doing over the phone.”

Your tone is as nonchalant as ever and deep down, Jimin is glad that he hadn’t taken it too far to truly upset you.

“And here I was calling you to make sure I didn’t bruise your ego too much.” you tsk. “Looks like I did.”

You begin to giggle again. Your attitude strikes a nerve through him that only you ever hit. The flashbacks running through his mind of all the times you and he went at it - debates, during class presentations, under tweets and even now. You got off on irritating him just the same as he got off from you.

“I wanted to make it up to you.”

Jimin furrows a brow at that statement.

“Make it up to me how? Beg me not to unsubscribe?”

Jimin hears you snicker from behind the phone. “No. You can unsubscribe right now.” you say, yet again with little care that it strikes yet another nerve through him. “But, we both know if you wanted to, you would have already.”

Jimin hates how right you are. He doesn’t want to stop the endless amount of pictures and videos you share, especially the exclusive ones that have to be bought. Money isn’t an issue for Jimin and he found that he’s spent an insane amount on you already - no wonder you’re such a bitch. How could you take him seriously if he wasn’t even taking himself seriously now.

Jimin groans.

“How are you planning on making it up to me?” Jimin questions. “Publicly apologizing to me and admitting you’re inferior to me-”

“By allowing you to fuck me raw.” you interrupt him entirely, causing Jimin to choke on his own speech. Once more, the phone tightens in his grasp and his breathing hitches. “Of course, you’ll need to share your STD results and I’ll share mine-”

“What the fuck are you getting at?” Jimin hisses, his heart pounding. Surely you were attempting to embarrass him by seeing how fast he’d react to your insane comments.

“Are you saying you don’t want to fuck me?” you hum. “After all the times you’ve watched my videos? Sent me gifts? Or was I just a charity case?”

Jimin takes a deep breath. Okay, sure. Maybe he shouldn’t have said that - but he was upset at the moment. He has never met anyone where he felt as though he’s met his match. Him, Park Jimin, felt like you, Y/L Y/N, matched his energy so perfectly that he doesn’t know how to handle it.

“You don’t have to do this because you feel like you have to.” Jimin murmurs, unclenching his phone slightly. It’s an act of kindness he’s supposed he can spare towards you.

“I know.”

For a moment, the both of you are silent. He waits in anticipation for you to speak further.

“I’ll text you my results and you do the same.”

Jimin feels it once more, the jump in his stomach. He never truly thought either of you would get to this point, nor does he understand how it even got here.

“You actually want to do this?”

“It was bound to happen.”

Jimin knits his brows at that. Was it?

Once Jimin joined your onlyfans and witnesses just how, dare he say, enticing you were, he was ashamed to say that he was captivated.

Possibly that was why he had to antagonize you during classes; an act you returned without an issue.

One too many times did Jimin and you go at it during classes, far too enthralled in debating one another, did his mind wander to something darker. Bending you over and forcing you to shut up like he wanted you to was one way.

Taking a deep breath, Jimin licks his lips. “Just for one night…” you begin, a tone that catches Jimin’s ear, causing it to twitch. “...I’ll do as you say.”

“What makes someone worthy of leading?”

Class is nearly over, yet Jimin and you never halted your debate. Overtime, it became practical that even the professor enjoyed listening in on.

“The true question is, why would someone want to lead anything?” you ask with a tilt of your head. You wore a skirt today, Jimin notes, and your legs are smooth and shiny beneath the classroom's bright lights. “I believe it is because they’re narcissistic.”

“Narcissistic?” Jimin scoffs with a roll of his eyes. He catches the way you begin to coat your lips with a shimmery gloss.

“Yes, Jimin. Is that a big word for you?” you blink his way.

A few snicker sounds throughout the class and Jimin could only give you a short grin. Later, he was going to have you shut the fuck up like he truly wanted you to.

“Money. Power. Respect.” you hold up your fingers as you list off your point. “It all leads down to greed and narcissism.”

“So…regular humans?” Jimin furrows a brow. “Please name me someone that doesn’t require anything you listed off.”

You lean back against your chair, arms crossed.

The past week, Jimin and you continued to talk over the phone. It wasn’t always sexual, and oftentimes it would be about school. The time clock was ticking down to the time you and him would be together - the weekend was what he suggested. Still, the show must go on; even if you were determined to fuck his brains out.

“Beyond popular belief, Jimin,” you begin, your eyes shining with mischief. You know what saying his name does to him and there was nothing a little teasing would harm. “there’s people out there that aren’t fueled by greed.”

“Maybe so.” Jimin shrugs. “Still, whoever the hell those people are possibly think they’re the best, right? They believe they’re the best type of people to do the job? Is that not narcissistic?”

“Those people could want it more than others do.” you respond with a shrug.

An alarm sounds - placed by the professor that indicates when classes are over.

Taehyung watches from his seat as Jimin and you continue to stare at one another, hard gazes that are full of lust that he wants to scoff. He believes that the both of you need to fuck it out - immediately.

You gather your things, being the first to take your eyes away.

Jimin watches the way your hips sways as you saunter away, your legs appearing longer than usual. Taehyung notices the dark look in his eyes - more than lust, yet not pure hatred.

“You, my good sir,” Taehyung slams a hand on his friend's shoulder. “want to fuck her so bad.” he says with a loud cackle. “The sexual tension is high as hell. You got the rest of us horny and-”

“Shut the fuck up, please.” Jimin snaps, shrugging off Taehyung’s hand. Usually he wasn’t this snappy with him of all people and truly, Taehyung doesn’t take it to offense. “I hate her.”

“Sure.” Taehyung smirks, his eyes following Jimin’s gaze right in time for you to turn your head to look their way; directly at Jimin. “I’m positive she hates you, too.”

“Fucking bitch.” Jimin murmurs, gathering his own belongings. He continues to murmur beneath his breath, storming out of the classroom and going the opposite way of Taehyung.

Jimin’s eyes catch you almost instantly in the sea of scattering students. Once more, almost as if you can sense his hard eyes on you, you turn your head to look at him. You flash him a low smirk that only begins to irritate him more.

You enjoyed irking him, Jimin’s sure. You don’t stop walking, turning down hallways that no one but Jimin steps into until you step into a classroom, closing the door right behind you.

You’re seated on a desk when Jimin slams the door open, uncaring that it slams against the wall.

You snicker. “Jimin.” you say, tilting your head. “You following me?”

Jimin steps inside, shoulders relaxing a bit. You scan his appearance for the first time. Simpler than he usually wears, only dark jeans with rips at the knees with a similar dark shirt. It resembles the way Jungkook would usually wear, you note.

“You’re a bitch.”

You aren’t taken aback by Jimin’s words. It causes you to laugh, highly amused by his statement.

“I know. That’s what you like about me, huh?” you bat your eyelashes as Jimin proceeds to close the door behind him. “You look so tense, Jimin, what’s-”

“You love embarrassing me.” Jimin interrupts, taking a long stride towards you. “It must make your pussy wet when you talk shit to me.”

You remain silent, yet your smile never falters.

“You told me, Y/N, that for one night,” Jimin is in front of you, your legs lightly swinging. “you were going to shut the fuck up.”

“For one night, I’ll do as you say.” you repeat your words from a few days prior. Your hand reaches out to touch Jimin’s chest. It’s broad, only slightly surprising you. “Is what I said.”

“And yet, you haven’t done anything.”

“You haven’t told me to do anything.” your responses come immediately after he speaks, just as quick witted as he is.

“Hm.” Jimin glances around the classroom. It doesn’t look like any professor inhabits this room. The lights are flickering slightly and the surrounding tables have slight dust on them. “Pick your poison.”

You lick your lips. Your hand remains on his chest, this time clenching onto his shirt.

“You’re the one that’s supposed to be in charge.” you murmur. “I’ll do whatever you say.”

Jimin blinks towards you. You’re serious, he notes.

“I need to know what not to do.” Your hand unclenches his shirt to slightly trail down his chest towards his abs.

“I’ll let you know when we get there, yeah?” you say, eyes remaining on him almost innocently. If only he didn’t know just how lack of innocence you truly contained.

Jimin hums, tilting his head a bit.

It would be a lie to say Park Jimin wasn’t attractive - which is why you never did. However, you weren’t going to be a part of the women who adored him. He already had a large ego and enough sass.

Possibly this was one of the reasons why you decided to go against him in anything he did.

“Kiss me.”

Jimin’s lips are plump - you always thought so. Though now, you would have never thought he would demand you to do so. Kissing felt slightly more intimate than just a casual hookup, but you didn’t mind.

You scoot yourself closer to the edge of the desk towards Jimin, lifting your head a bit. Your trailing hand is quick to grasp the back of Jimin’s neck and force him down towards your waiting lips.

Dare Jimin says the kiss causes a spark, shooting electricity through his veins that causes him to groan against your lips. He deepens the kiss, your sweet lips coating his own with the shimmery gloss, but he doesn’t mind in the slightest.

You break the kiss to sink your teeth on Jimin’s bottom lip playfully. “You get a pass to do whatever you want to me and all you want to do is kiss?” you tease.

“I like you better when you’re quiet.” Jimin pecks your lips again. “But a bitch like you never knows when to shut up.” And yes, it was what Jimin liked about you.

“Degradation kink. Noted.” you nod your head, earning a soft chuckle from Jimin, a break of character. “I’ll be your bitch for tonight. Then…” it was your turn to press a kiss against his lips. “...it’ll be my turn.”

Jimin feels an excited jump in his stomach.

“My bitch?”Jimin isn’t sure why he likes the sound of that. Maybe because now he could do what he always wanted to you and you’d do as he said; finally. You wouldn’t go against him like you did during classes or embarrass him in front of others.

“Touch yourself.”

You’re taken aback by Jimin’s request. He proceeds to take a few steps back, sitting against a table with crossed arms.

“Get naked and touch yourself. Like you do on your onlyfans.”

Your body engulfs in warmth. You were by no means embarrassed by the fact that you had an onlyfans; most people who knew you knew that you did. If they were bothered by it, you didn’t care.

Yet, it was different recording yourself in the comfort of your own home and uploading it. You never really know how many people are watching you as you didn’t want to think about the amount of eyes; yet even now as Jimin was only one person, it’s a request you weren’t familiar with.

“Don’t act shy now, Y/N.” Jimin’s plump lips form into a smirk. He notices the look upon your face, shocked and confused. “I watched you fuck yourself all the time.”

It’s just the two of you here. There was no hiding - initially, Jimin thought him being subscribed to you would be confidential. Now realizing that it’s not, he finds it…hot. In a way.

You swallow the lump in your throat, biting back a snarky remark.

You were his bitch tonight, you tell yourself. It’s all a game that you initiated, you can’t back down now.

You lift your shirt over your head, Jimin’s dark eyes watching the way you discard it. Your breasts are guarded by the lacy, white bra you wore.

Next was your skirt. You drop yourself from the desk to remove the jean skirt from your frame, revealing the matching lacy panties. Jimin begins to think you planned this further ahead than he thought.

You kick off your shoes, furrowing a brow at Jimin.

“Touch yourself.” Jimin repeats, a jolt in his own pants at the half-naked sight of you. His mouth salivates at witnessing your body - that he’s seen thousands of times before behind his screen - right in front of him. “The old fashion way. You don’t have any of your toys, baby.”

The pet-name was new. You were only ever used to the insults he hurled at you (that you gladly returned) yet it would be false if you said you didn’t enjoy it.

“Can you help me?” you ask Jimin, batting your eyelashes. You just couldn’t help yourself in returning his playful manner. “Take off my bra…?”

“Come.”

Your skin is soft, Jimin thinks. His hand ghosts behind your back, longing to touch you just as much as you want him to. His fingers unclasp your bra prior to him trailing up your spine to your shoulders. He lightly pushes away the straps from them so you can allow it to fall to the ground.

“Thank you.” you murmur, your fingers digging into your panties as slowly, you begin to remove them, bending right in front of him as you do so.

Jimin swallows, his eyes fixed on you. His palms long to touch every inch of your body, but he remains stoic, understanding what you’re doing. It kills you to be the submissive one now, as you are a headstrong person.

“You’re very beautiful, Y/N.”

Jimin notices you stiffen again, the same shyness overwhelming you once more.

“Why are you continuing to act shy?” Jimin finally touches you, his hand reaches out to place itself onto your waist. “It’s just me.” he says, as if this is something you two did all the time. As if you and he hadn’t gone at each other's head since the beginning of the semester, seemingly hating one another.

You feel Jimin’s hand begin to lightly drag itself up your body.

“Is this not what you want?”

“I do.” you respond instantly, the familiar heat rushing throughout your body by how quick you answered.

“Then do as I say. You said so yourself, right? Tonight you’ll be my bitch.” Jimin chuckles lightly, because that only meant next time he would be in your position. “And I want to watch you touch yourself, okay?”

You bite the inside of your lips as Jimin’s right hand ghosts past your breast. Slowly, you turn around to face him.

“Okay.” you nod your head. It’s funny to think that Jimin is coaching you in a way. You, the same girl who does this behind a screen every other day.

You had to remind yourself just who the hell you were - Y/N. You never allowed Jimin to get to you before, why start now?

You seat yourself atop of the desk once more, fully naked like Jimin intended and your legs part slightly.

Jimin licks his lips. Having seen your pussy many times you’d think it wouldn’t cause him to react this way; mouth salivating and cock throbbing in his pants. Atlas, he was just a man, after all.

You were about to place your hand right onto your clit when Jimin stopped you.

“You don’t have any toys with you.” Jimin reminds you. “You sure you’re wet enough?”

You were, Jimin thinks, truly wet enough. He can see you from here, yet he has to revel in this moment that you weren’t going to fight him.

Jimin begins to step forward, your eyes watching him closely.

“Give me your hand.” Jimin murmurs, his voice suddenly deeper - the deepest you’ve ever heard.

You swallow, eyes slightly widening at the sound (and how it causes a tingle in your core). You do as you say, lifting your hand that Jimin takes. He places three fingers into his mouth, your index, middle and ring, and fully coats them with his tongue.

You haven’t had anyone do this before and you’re left shocked - and more than a little aroused. He takes them from his mouth and furrows a brow at you.

“Begin.” Jimin says, and nothing more.

Nor does the man step away from you. Jimin is just as close, now fully intended on watching you from where he stands.

Jimin was getting off on this. The slight nervousness in your body language, the bewildered look on your face and the warmth of your embarrassed skin; it’s a sight he never gets to see while bickering with you in classes. It’s a vulnerable sight, indeed, one he wishes he can see more often.

Licking your lips, you nod your head softly. Your eyes remain on his, reaching between your legs to do exactly what he told you to. You’re already wet thanks to Jimin, a thought you never would have assumed to be possible.

Your wet fingers twirl onto the sensitive clit, a soft moan passing your lips. Slightly, your back arches and draws you closer to Jimin, who still doesn’t step away as his eyes watch you.

You’re unable to hold Jimin’s intense gaze any longer and your eyes begin to flutter close.

Your free hand reaches upwards to grip your breast, hardened nipple brushed against your soft palm.

Jimin itches to touch you - feel your skin against the palm of his own hands. His mouth salivates hungrily to taste your skin; suckle onto your breast that bounces teasingly as you touch yourself. He wants to dive right between your legs and ravish on your pussy until you’re cumming against his tongue.

Jimin groans at the disgusting thoughts of you. It’s evident that the sexual desire was there before; for quite too long for his liking. Him watching your damn near daily didn’t help, either.

“Feels good?” Jimin murmurs, the same damn deep tone in his voice that arouses you further. “Speak when I’m talking to you.”

“Yes!” you whimper out, nodding your head rapidly. “Feels…so good.”

“You speak dirtier than that, baby.” Jimin chuckles, shaking his head. Without warning - his body speaks before his mind can - Jimin grasps your jaw, forcing you to look at him. “Talk to me like you do during your videos.”

You were a whore when you were in the comfort of your room. You spoke to your “viewers” as if you were right there with them, giving them what they wanted. A dirty whore who was willing and waiting; all a fantasy of course. A fantasy that sells.

“I wish it was your fingers touching me.”

Jimin grunts, his fingers tightening around your jaw. Your eyes are as cloudy as his now.

“I think about you touching me…all the time…” you disclosed with struggle as Jimin makes no attempt to let you go. “Especially when we’re in class.”

Jimin quirks a brow. “Yeah?” he responds smugly.

“Y-Yeah…” your fingers go lower towards your clenching hole. “I-I think about you bending me over all the time. Right in front of everyone.”

Jimin is first to look away from you, cursing to himself at how slutty you were. He couldn’t allow you to take control of the situation, but damn was it hard. He wouldn’t consider himself a dominant person at all times. He had no problem with being teased - but that wasn’t what had to be done now.

“I think about you fucking me stupid.” you continue, your fingertips inching closer to your hole. “Fucking me until i’m begging you to stop. To take it easy on me.”

Fuck - Fuck - Fuck.

Jimin’s cock throbs.

“But I know you won’t…you never do.” you whimper, your fingers plunging inside of your wet entrance. “And deep down, we both know I don’t want you to. I’ll continue to be a little bitch to you because I know you’ll just fuck me into submission.”

Jimin releases your jaw only to slap you.

You’re caught off guard, sure, but you enjoyed the slap far too much.

“That’s why you fight me so much?” Jimin hisses. “A bitch like you can never just admit she wants to be fucked head-on?”

You lick your lips, remaining silent. You plunge your fingers deeper inside of you greedily, free hand now tugging on your hardened nipple.

“I should open the door and have everyone hear just how good I fuck you, huh?” Jimin growls, again slapping his hand against your face just to keep it there. The stinging feels good - especially at a time like this.

You whimper once more, nodding your head at the insane statement.

Jimin chuckles. “So fucked out that you’ll agree to anything.”

Jimin leans down to you to connect his lips, forcing your mouth open with his tongue. Kissing you isn’t something he’d ever thought he’d enjoy doing - he hated you. But, this was hot. You were hot and now more than anything, Jimin wanted every inch of you that you were willing to give.

“You can fuck me right now.” you say, breathing hitched when he releases your mouth. “And I’ll be submissive. I’ll let you do whatever you want.”

Your fingers weren’t enough. No, you needed Jimin’s cock in you. You needed to be fucked by him to release all the tension you and he held for years.

“You can cum wherever you want.” you whisper, breath tickling his skin. “On my ass…breast…face…” your teeth clamp down on Jimin’s bottom lip. “...or inside me.”

Jimin shakes his head. You were a deadly person.

“Feel it…” you insist. “...I’m wet just for you.

“You fucking bitch.” Jimin curses, his hands reaching down to do just that. You’re so wet that he has no choice but to hate you further - how could he not want to shove his tongue in your core? How is he expected to not fuck you in the room?

“...So wet now. You want my cock this bad?”

Jimin’s fingers twirls on your clit, the warm skin gushing juices onto him.

“You know I do.” you whine. You were genuinely begging now; this wasn’t an act anymore. “I thought you said you were going to make me your bitch tonight?”

“We have all night.” Jimin responds boldly, leaning away a bit to look at you.You were intended to come to his place - this was a silent invitation that you still could.

“Then fuck me now.” you say, head falling back a bit when Jimin’s fingers twirl onto your sensitive clit. “...f-fuck…then…you can fuck me again all night. Until you’re done with m…m-me.”

Jimin growls once more, swallowing thickly. This was too tempting. The chance to fuck you into submission the entire night is tempting - take years of anger he had with you out on one night sounded amazing.

“You bitch.” Jimin hisses, forcing his hands from your clit to tug at his jeans. He pulls them down, his bulge pulsing to be touched. “I’ll cum all over your skin tonight, huh? Show you just how much of a fucking whore you are for me.”

Licking your lips, you eye the bulge as he kicks his jeans lower around his knees. His dirty words are highly intoxicating and you find yourself wanting to be submissive for the man; just for one night, of course.

“I’ll cum inside you now,” Jimin groans, fingers digging into the bang of his boxers to push it down and allowing his cock to spring out. “and you’ll walk around with my cum in you all the way until tonight.”

You had to be at work later, you think, but right now it felt tempting. The way the mind works while under such desire and temptation is truly amazing.

“Okay.” you nod your head, pussy clenching around absolutely nothing and wishing it was Jimin’s cock.

Jimin’s cock was truly pretty, the tip flushed pink and angrily oozing pre-cum. You hate how it captivates you instantly, veins pulsing and it twitching for attention.

Fuck you hated him even more now and the feeling was mutual.

Jimin grasps the length of his cock and inches closer to you, slapping the tip against your clit. You yelp when he begins to softly stroke it between your folds.

“I hate you.” Jimin groans, clouded eyes focusing on how well your pussy is coating the tip. “You have such a pretty pussy…fuck I hate you.” he groans with a shake of his head. It’s even prettier in person

You want to respond with the same statement. It wasn’t fair that Jimin’s cock was so pretty along with an attractive face, but you don’t have time to speak as he’s entering you.

Jimin groans, closing his eyes for a moment. So wet and tights; walls so warm wrapping around him greatly. He hated you with every fiber in him. A bitch like you shouldn’t have a pussy like this.

Your nails dig into his dark shirt, forcing him closer - cock deepening inside of you. Your thighs quiver, mouth agape as you release a sharp moan from it. “...f-fuck…” you stutter.

Jimin connects your lips to his, releasing his cock just to plunge it right back inside of you. His left wraps itself around your waist while his right hand forces your thighs apart to keep you in place.

Jimin quickened his pace, tip scraping against your walls greedily, and you allowed it. He disconnects your lips to let out a hushed moan, forehead pressed against your own. He wants to be quiet, sure, but that meant he couldn’t fuck you the way he needed to and that wasn’t an option now.

“Shit…” Jimin grunts, nails digging into your thighs. “...fuck you feel so good. You’re such a bitch, Y/N, you don’t deserve to have a pussy this good.”

“Fuck you.” you hiss, clenching around his cock as he pounds it inside of you. It causes Jimin to gasp. You wrap both of your arms around his neck.

Jimin does, thrusts increasing as if to punish you. He lifts his head from touching your forehead to look right at your fucked out expression.

“Milking my cock like a whore. If this is what you wanted the entire time that’s all you had to say” Jimin grumbles, the room erupting in wet skin slapping against one another. He sure hopes no one comes down this hallway.

“You been wanting to fuck me, too.” you retort, head falling back to moan. He fucks you so deeply that your clit rubs against his pelvis each time - and each time did you whimper a little louder. “You’re the one fucking me like you love me.”

Jimin groans, now wrapping his right hand around your waist to keep you still as he continues to pound inside of you.

“I hate you.” Jimin spits, venom laced in his voice.

“I hate you, too.” you repeat, still pulling him closer while you continue to milk his cock. “I still want your cum in me.”

From the outside looking in - if people didn’t know you and Jimin were sworn enemies since the beginning of the school year - it did appear as if he felt some sort of compassion towards you. The way he refuses to let you go as he pounds inside of you, the way your arms wrap firmly around his neck. The little pecks of kisses here and there where you two would groan into one another’s mouth. The short breathy questions of “do you like it, baby?” Jimin would ask and the little, “yes, so much” you would respond with.

It truly didn’t appear like two enemies who hated the other’s soul would fuck so passionately. Yet, this sexual tension was years in the making. Jimin wouldn’t admit that he found you attractive prior to him subscribing to you just like you wouldn’t either.

“Play with yourself while I fuck you.” says Jimin, lips against yours. “Cum all over my cock like I know you’ve been desperate to do.”

“You never get tired of watching me play with myself.” you joke, but you didn’t protest the matter. You unhook your arms from Jimin’s neck and he allowed you to lay back a bit so you could.

“Isn’t that what I pay you monthly for?” Jimin retorts smugly, his eyes watching as you place your fingers back onto your already sensitive clit. “Those gifts you get aren’t cheap.”

You know, you think. The lingerie set is the finest quality you’ve ever received - you wouldn’t tell him that, however.

“I know…” you sigh out, fingers twirling rapidly onto your clit. “Thank you.”

Knitting his brows, Jimin scoffs. That’s the first time he’s heard you thank him.

Jimin decides to ignore you instead of telling you that he had more lingerie sets he thought would look nice on you. Then he’d sound like Jungkook - and he wasn’t a simp like him.

Your pussy was taking him far too well, Jimin grunts. There’s milky cream gushing onto his cock as he watches you, thrust turning sloppy. Your pussy clenches and unclenches around him while your thighs shake to be shut - something he wasn’t going to allow.

You’re cumming hard, your fluttering shut as your fingers lazily rub along onto your clit for added overstimulation. Your voice is a mere hushed whisper of “oh my god’s” and “fuck’s” that has Jimin going over the edge of how fucking whorish you look and sound; and the fact that it was him having you like this.

“Gonna cum in you…” Jimin groans, squeezing his eyes shut as he coats your womb entirely with his cum.

Your back hits the cold desk, chest heaving. Your body is entirely warm and the cool surface does nothing to lower your body temperature. You can feel the warm substance of his cum inside of you and you swallow.

Jimin’s head falls back as he attempts to catch his breath. He releases himself from you, assuring that you didn’t fall off the desk when he takes a step back

The high dies down and the two of you are quiet for the most part. Jimin pulls his pants back up and glances your way.

“Are you okay?” Jimin brings himself to say, slightly through gritted teeth. You haven’t moved from the desk yet.

“Yes.” you respond meekly.

Jimin scoffs. He picks up your discarded clothes from the ground and places them beside you. Jimin gives you a quick glance. “There’s…this cafe.” he grits once more, as if it was hurting him to speak with you. “That we can go to.”

“Good pussy got you asking me out on a date?” you ask, a teasing tone in your voice that has you giggling after you speak. You lift yourself into a seated position to look at the man.

“Fuck you.” Jimin hisses, a tint to his cheeks. “Good dick had you sprawled out on the desk.” he retorts. “It’s not a date, either.”

“Good, because,” you smile. “I hate you.”

“I hate you, too.” Jimin shrugs, a twitch upward of his own lips.

Kinktober Masterlist | Ungodly Hour Masterlist | Part 2

#ungodly hour #jimin x reader #jimin smut #bangtanwritershq #btswritersclub #bangtan smut #btsmasterlist2022 #bts smut #btswritingcafe #bts college au #explicit-tae #trivia-yandere #kinktober 2024 #kinktober masterlist

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insidekatmind · 3 months ago

Text

Our secret-Juder Bellingham

The sound of rain against the window windows filled the room, creating a relaxing but at the same time disturbing melody. You were lying on the bed, phone in your hands and a smile printed on your lips. The screen illuminated your face as your eyes read the last message from Jude.

"Are you sure he doesn’t suspect anything? I don’t know how long I can hold on without touching you in front of everyone."

You held back a laugh and responded quickly

"Don’t worry, Kylian thinks he’s the investigator of the century, but he doesn’t get it. We’re smarter than him, Jude."

Seconds later, his answer arrived.

"Smarter, you say? I want to see how smart you are when I have you in my hands."

You felt a shiver go down your back. Jude had a way of provoking you that left you speechless. It was always him who made you lose control, even with a simple message. But that secret relationship, that constant risk of being caught, made it all the more exciting.

"y/n! Come down, dinner is ready!" Kylian’s voice broke the spell. You got up quickly, taking one last look at the phone before turning it off and putting it in your pocket.

"Here I come!" you answered as you dressed your sweatshirt and looked at yourself in the mirror. There must be nothing strange in your behavior, no clue that could raise suspicion to your brother.

When you got to the kitchen, you found Kylian sitting at the table with a quiet expression as his phone was running. Your brother always had that leading air, a controlling aura that made everyone afraid. But you were his younger sister, and if there was anyone who could challenge him, it was you.

"Finally! It took you a lifetime to get down," she said, giving you a look of reproof.

"Sorry, I was texting a friend of mine," you lied naturally, sitting next to him.

"Who friend?" he asked with an raised eyebrow, as if he could really guess everything with a single question.

"Chiara, you know her," you replied nonchalantly, taking a fork and sticking a potato out of your plate. He nodded, visibly uninterested.

Your phone has vibrated slightly in the pocket of your jeans. You tried to ignore it, but the thought of it being Jude made you want to check it out right away. You waited for the right moment, took advantage of a distraction from Kylian, and pulled out your phone under the table.

"I’m coming to Kylian’s to watch the game. Get ready."

Your heart started beating faster. It didn’t warn you before. The tension started to rise. With a deep breath, you answered quickly.

"You should have told me before! Idiot."

Jude answered immediately

"I like to see you in trouble, honey."

You clenched your lips, trying to keep calm. You couldn’t let yourself be betrayed by the blush that was coming up on your face. You got up from the table, looking for an excuse." I go to my room, I’m tired," you said to Kylian, who’s eyes were up.

"After you get off, there is the game. Play the monk, I do not want to hear excuses,"ordered you as if it were your father.

"Yes, yes," you answered in a pissed-off tone, but you actually knew you’d have to come down, especially if Jude was there.

---

Later, the door of the house opened and you heard the voices of Kylian and Jude talking in the living room. Jude’s voice was unmistakable, warm and confident, with that relaxed tone that made you feel like you were always in the center of attention.

"Brother, your team has no chance tonight," said Jude, laughing loudly. "Prepare for defeat."

"Yeah, how not. We’ll see who laughs in the end," Kylian replied with a competitive tone.

You came down slowly, trying not to attract attention. When you got to the living room door, you saw them sitting on the sofa. Jude wore a black sweatshirt and sporty pants. His eyes noticed you immediately, even though he pretended not to see you. But you knew him too well. That micro-smile he had on his face was only for you.

"Here you are," said Kylian, beckoning to come closer. "Sit with us."

You snorted but sat in the middle of Jude and Kylian. The latter was too focused on the game to notice how Jude looked at you, his dark eyes following your every move. You felt his gaze burn on you.

"Comfortable?" he asked you in a provocative tone, without taking his eyes off the screen.

"I’m better without your voice in my ears," you said sour, but you crossed his gaze and saw the spark of defiance in his eyes.

Jude laughed softly, looking down at his hands. It was a continuous game between you two. A silent battle where you both tried to have the last word. But when Kylian wasn’t there, you knew who was always winning.

At one point, Kylian got up to go into the kitchen and you felt your heart racing. It was time. As soon as the kitchen door closed, Jude moved to your side. His hand touched your leg, and you held your breath.

"I missed you," he whispered in the lowest, warmest voice ever.

You swallowed, feeling his fingers caress your thigh.

"You’re crazy, Kylian can come back,"you answered in a low voice, but you didn’t move.

"Then we better hurry," he said with a haughty smirk.

Your heart was beating so fast you were afraid he could hear it. But, as risky as it was, you couldn’t help it. No one was to know, but that secrecy made it all the more exciting.

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vinjinssunglasses · 5 months ago

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Hi dear how are you I hope you are doing well! Can you write a hc about yamazaki shingen in which he loves one of his wife(yn) but yn is and independent , smart and strong will woman who doesn't like her situation! And he only knows her children his own!

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✧ character; yamazaki shingen

✧ summary; all your life, you’ve been mistreated. Until you met Shingen, who showed you compassion. However, in this clan you’re just a pawn. To them, you’re not human. Shingen only claims his children as his like the others do, brainwashed by his upbringing. You hate your situation, and admist the tears you tell him how you really feel.

✧ tags; hurt/comfort, angst, tragedy, communication

✧ w/c; 3.4k

✧ a/n; tysm for req ^^ help this took so long. shingen crying btw?! uhhbye ily guys <33

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You head towards your favourite place in this forsaken place, the only area you could feel calm under its gaze — the fountain. Its splashes of water calm you, letting you take a deep breath as if a weight had been lifted off of your shoulders. You flipped a coin inside, wishing upon the stars to give you a stroke of luck. Even though you did this everyday, everything always seemed to get worse. Cleaning up for others beyond your own will, while questioning authority will only get you tied in tighter shackles than before, is it really worth the risk? Despite your protests, you were always forced into submission.

As if the world despised and damned your very existence, cursed your name in spite, life seemed to only get worse from here. Letting out a disappointed sigh, you hear the familiar laughing and gossiping in the background. As soon as you turned around, you instantly regretted it. Those other ‘lowlifes’ were laughing at your situation, accompanied by a few low-rankers of the Yamazaki clan.

Don’t they ever get enough?

Nobody here liked you, they all wished upon a more wealthy clan to take the spot as Gun’s mother. They only knew you as Gun’s mother anyway.

They yelled and threw curse words at your name, while you rightfully walked past them, ignoring their usual antics. It was like this everyday, it was just something you were forced to get used to. You know better than to let them go like this, however your protests don’t improve the situation. And they’re starting to get tired of reprimanding your behaviour.

“Go back to your lethargic husband then, huh? We all know Shintaro—.” What? The rage hit you, sharp and blinding. Before you had even realised, your hands shot out, tangling in her hair before yanking her forward, forcing her to look into your eyes.

“What? What did you say?” The girl’s laughter cut off, dissolving as you slapped her, the sound ringing in the silence.

“Talk about me all you like. But I won’t sit here annd listen to you insult my husband, understood?”

Her eyes widened, darting between you and your clenched fists, body trembling as she dared not spare another word. Her defiance crumbled under the weight of your hard, breath catching in her throat as she nodded obediently.

Then you heard it, the familiar shout of your name, cutting through the noise, sharp and unyielding. You loosened your grip on her, turning to the tall figure walking towards you. Quickly picking up those girls were creating false accusations against you, claiming you started to pick a fight, you could only sigh and await your punishment.

Here it comes, the bitterness sinking deeper.

“Come with me.”

You clicked your tongue in a subtle gesture of disapproval, following along unwillingly. The distant chatter of the girls fading away eased you a little, yet you were still stern. He fanned himself, choosing his words carefully as though to not provoke you up further. The trees are starting to blossom into a lovely pastel pink, and the sun is starting to set later than it should. Summer is one of the only things you look forward to. Its burning rays distract you from the thoughts that often keep you awake at night.

“What happened?” His tone unusually kind, as if offering a branch of support.

“Whatever they said about me.” A curt reply passed your lips, as you upheld your serious frown.

“Still, there was no need to—“ He stopped himself, adjusting his glasses as though rethinking his approach. Shintaro parted his lips, as if to say something, before speaking: “I have an offer for you.”

His gaze narrowed slightly, and you raised an eyebrow and you came to a halt. Shintaro scanned the area for any potential spies, then leaned closer, breathe warm against your ear.

“Betray Shingen with me. It’s a simple process, and I guarantee you a happier life.”

“What?” This bastard is also a traitor? Recently, there has been a slow yet steady rise of people disliking the current leader, and the vice president’s support of this sentiment increases the danger. For a moment, you were paralysed. Is this some sort of a rebellion? “I’m not going to do that.”

Shintaro sighed, almost as though he expected your refusal. “I should’ve guessed.”

“Don’t speak another word of this.” You spat, your mind whirling as you turned sharply, making your waytowards your chambers. Each step felt like nails stabbing into your feet, and you dragged your torn self.

‘Rebel against Shingen’ Those words replayed in your mind like a broken record, making your mind dizzy. Lost in thought, you collided into someone. Mumbling a rushed apology, you tried to push past, only to feel a clamped hand around your wrist.

“I was looking for you! Shingen’s kid are playing In the garden when he should be training, so can you-” Shingen’s kids? Those words struck like a slap. Am I just a babysitter to these people?

“Get off me!” You pushed them away onto the floor, tearing up at the eyes. Once having fought for your independence, you believed your life had a purpose other than the cruel expectations set upon you as a birthing machine, a housewife. Your beliefs are all worthless, mercilessly proven by how now you were drifting upon a place that left no room for your wants and needs.

Where did all of this mess began? Was it the day you were born that life was fated to become like this? Nurtured to be obedient and quiet, yet you never want your voice to be silenced. It didn’t matter how much you tried to scream, yell, protest, it was if you were deafened to arrogant ears. Your teenage years were the worst point, you were described as reckless and selfish to the yakuza rules. All these emotions stirred inside to create a mixture of depressive episode and lashes of anger, all to make someone listen to you even once.

It wasn’t your best bet to resort to violence. But it worked. Even though you were allowed to personally train as a woman, you were just as capable as a man at heart. Secretly watching how your older brothers took over aikido, you begged for them to train you behind your clan’s backs. When they found out, they almost disowned you. Where else were you to go? Wandering the streets, with all these tattoos? Nobody would talk you in as the mess you were.

Shingen.. The leader of a clan known for its ability to make even the strongest, well-known clans to sink to their knees. Although he was seem ruthless by his uptight exterior, he was the first to ever appreciate you. The only man to ever carry you in his arms, bury his face into your neck, and treat you so lovingly. You hated yourself for the little you were worth, but he truly made you feel like the only person in the world.

It feels like your world is collapsing atop you, nobody there to pull you out of the way of a boulder. Deep breaths, deep breathes… For all your life you’ve bottled up all your emotions, so why is it so difficult now? As soon as you pushed open that door, you practically collapsed onto that bed, sinking into the warm sheets.

That following week came the dreaded family event, where other clans came to congratulate the birthdat of Gun. He was just a little boy by now, 10 years old. That little boy deserved the world, to be happy and play kendama all day as he wished. Though his life was already planned for him — the day he was to take over all the gangs in the area, the day he’d give up all his dreams and surrender himself. Just two years ago, would he cling to your skirt and hold your hand tightly when you spoke to unfamiliar people. How do they expect an innocent soul like his to ruthlessly murder like his father?

Life isn’t fair on him, nor on you. Coexisting in this selfish world, only you stood by his side. You wanted the best for him, for him to do anything he wanted. Against your will, he were to be a street fighter, fated to inheriting that name, ‘Machine Gun’.

You make sure to apply extra concealer to cover the dark circles and the tear stains from the night before. Shingen came from behind you and kissed your neck, biting your earlobe teasingly, his tall stature curling around you.

“Are you okay, baby?” It’s best if he doesn’t know anyway, right?. Around you, he seems to never stop smiling, unable to keep his loving gaze off of you. it’s be a shame to wipe that all away with your own burdens.

“Im alright, Shingen.” I smile, resting my free hand upon his head, stroking through the silky-smooth strands.

“We have to get going,” Shingen softly spoke, taking your hand in his. Before leaving, he pressed a delicate kiss on the back of your hand, reminding you how much he values you.

It’s 5 o’clock, and Shingens swarmed with the other ladies from different clans. Although jealous, they must be going through the tough traditions we must uphold — to marry and have sex with the man who upholds the most power. In this case, your beloved. That was how your twisted romance started — from the unfairness placed upon you and thousands of other undeserving women. You were lucky to have given birth to your son. Ever so often, you think about what could’ve happened in stead. What if Shingen never opened his heart to you, fallen so deeply in love with you?

Taking a glass of wine, you finished it in one gulp, hoping to shove these thoughts to the back of your mind. Shingens still the same man he was when he first met you — cold, unbothered with a sharp, scrutinising glare. The same one that you found yourself shamefully attracted to. Unbothered, he sighed, absentmindedly making conversations, eyes drifting away from theirs as if something is occupying his mind.

Before you could even stand, you hear the familiar shout of your name. Applauding joyfully with a half-finished wine glass in her hand, hiccuping while congratulating you

“It’s been a couple years,” She smiled, wrapping her arm around your shoulder. You scowled while stiffly trying to make some distance in between you two. “How’s his son?”

“His..?” You muttered, confused. “He’s doing well, he’s a quick learner. The Kojima’s have said he’s mastered Aikido by now.”

Keeping up appearances was something you were always taught to follow. It was engraved in you, impossible to unlearn after being beaten for forgetting.

“Right, right. He’ll grow up just to be like his father. Shingen-nim has been raising him well.” One thing you hated about Shingen was that he was not present in his child’s life often. When Gun cried in the middle of the night, it was put upon you to rock him to sleep once more; despite the aches of your back. Breastfeeding, playing with him, changing his diapers — your responsibility. The only thing the Yamazaki clan did for you was train him to be a killing machine, it was his sole purpose for his birth in the first place.

“Yes. He’s a good father.” Your eyebrows furrowed, yet you had to keep that polite, strained smile on your face.

“He looks just like him, doesn’t he? Reverse eyes, fighting skills—“

“Apologies, it seems I have something to do right now. Is it okay if I get back to you?” Your fists clenched at your sides, voice straining to keep its elegance.

“Oh well, if it’s that important then it cannot be helped.” She took another drink of her wine, waving you goodbye while you stormed off. Fighting skills and reverse eyes… If it wasn’t for that, would she even care? Was she purposely ignoring all the resemblance I have to my own child? He’s the splitting image of me for crying out loud?! Holding your head in your hands, you quickly realised this would be a bad look.

Your son was sitting next to his nephew, Haruto. Gun loved playing games and having fun, while on the other hand Haruto was interested in strategies and books. Whenever you saw him, he was always knee-deep in another tale. Although they were opposites, they always got along. Such a shame that Gun won’t have much time to play with him when he got older. Their bond was like brothers, if you saw Gun you would also see Haruto. As if they were attached at the hip. He’d even watch him practicing martial arts, and Gun would rest his head upon his shoulder while Haruto read. The warm, spring breeze hitting their faces while he basked in the sun’s rays.

Unlike Gun, you felt isolated — nobody to truly let out your emotions to. Everyone was enjoying the evening while you were torn in the corner. Where’s your happy ending? That son, your blood and tears in one being, wasn’t even socially considered yours. And Shingen didn’t seem to mind your discretisation. Sitting here, bathing him his own luxuries, on top of the world like he’d always had been. Raised to be head, nobody had ever put him in his place.

That rebellion Shintaro mentioned.. Your eyes shift to Shintaro’s overwhelming presence in the crowd, creating chatter amongst the women. If they couldn’t have Shingen, they’d atleast marry another powerful man like him. This all makes you wonder, is the rebellion valid? Again, you’re giving yourself a headache, it’s best not to think about it.

The night carries on, and you find yourself sitting, alone with the company of the depressive thoughts to fight to shove them away. That conversation replays in your head like a broken record. He’s your son too, right? You birthed and raised him all by yourself.

Shingen excused himself from the idle chatter and came to sit next to you, lacing your hands in his.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you. What was the lady from that clan talking about?” He asked, unable to suppress a smile when he’s with you. Softly gazing into your eyes, a sharp contrast from the same stern eyes that he used at those women striking conversation.

“Jonggun. She was asking how he were getting along.” You answer honestly, while his thumb gently strokes the back of your hand. “I told her he’s mastered Aikido.”

“Of course, he’s a Yamazaki through and through,” Shingen spoke, taking a deep breath while using that steady authority he always used, with a hint of gentleness. “I expect no less, my bloodline is pure.”

Those careless words pierced through your chest like a sharp blade. All this constant stress made your headache even more, and you poured another glass of the wine resting on the table.

“Pure..” You muttered, those words buttering your tongue, voice drowned out by the hum of chatter. Taking a glance at his face, he remained unfazed, looking down upon your soft fingers against his scarred, calloused ones. He never noticed how you felt. Never read the emotion building up onto your voice, causing your face to contort into one of frustration. Then again, you’re in public, you’ve been taught to remain calm and collected.

“The children will carry on my legacy.”*

“Your legacy, you say..?” You repeated once more, this time loud enough for his ears to catch on. Setting the glass down with more force then necessary, creating a loud thump that diverted eyes and conversations.

“I’m feeling unwell, please excuse me.” Walking through these damned hallways once more, the echo of gasps seemed to fade away. You almost couldn’t bare to see his face any longer. Undoing the laces and ties of your kimono, you threw it onto the floor in a fit of fury . The undergarments lay scattered upon the floor while you buried your head into your pillow. The makeup slid off your face, staining the pillow and smudging your mascara. Whether it had been minutes or hours, you didn’t know. After a while, you eventually calmed down, sniffling while staring at your blank ceiling. Only then did you hear the door sliding open.

He called your name, and you instantly rolled over, turning away from him.

“Are you alright? What’s the matter?” He sat onto the bed, you weren’t ready to confront him with this yet. The years you’ve endured this pain. The mistreatment. You were ashamed for yourself. Gathering all your courage, you spoke:

“What you said back then. Before I excused myself.” Shingen raised an eyebrow. “You always say that.” You spat, voice trembling, bubbling over with the suppressed tears.

“Our children. Our legacy. They’re my children too. My tainted blood runs through their veins just as much as yours. But you never say that, do you? Not does anyone. Nobody acknowledges my very existence, they only talk to talk about your son, your achievements. You don’t bat an eye — no, you don’t even care how I feel.” You swallowed throat right, tears streaming down your face. “Or maybe it’s my fault, I..”

The words tumbled out your mouth now, chest tight, spilling with the words you’ve always wanted to say. “How come the world only cares about you? I was the one who changed his diapers, I was the only one who was acruallly present in his life. Were you even there when he took his first steps? Or learnt how to say ‘mama’? I’m just the perfect vessel to continue your perfect bloodline.”

The room was deadly silent. Shingen held his head in his hands, lips parting yet remained silent. He took a deep breathe, as if fully processing it all.

“I can’t do this anymore.” You let out a chocked sob. “Pretending everything’s fine, being fucked over constantly, I..”

Shingen breath hitched, the silence between you becoming unbearable. Finally he spoke, low and ashamed.

“I haven’t been completely blind to all of this. I know they haven’t been as accepting of you as they should. You’re a strong woman, yet I’ve let things go too far. There’s only so much in person can take.” Voice barely above a whisper, laced with a vulnerability you rarely heard, he felt too ashamed to even look at you. “The things they’ve said behind my back are unacceptable. I’ve seen how they deduce your worth to nothing…” Shingen could barely piece himself together to finish that sentence, struggling to string together words.

“They’re my family; I was raised this way.. This ignorant mindset of mine passed down from generations, it’s almost apart of me. It’s no excuse for what I’ve let you go through. You’re right — I should’ve been there but I wasn’t.” For the first time ever, you watched a tear glisten down his cheeks. “I should’ve been there. Not just for you, for our son.”

“Why must you make me stay in a household where I’m never good enough? I can’t live like this forever.”

Shingen didn’t have an answer. He sniffled, as if weighing all the years he refused to reflect on. The silence was think and oppressive, and neither of you wanted to spare a word. Finally, he raised his gaze, coming to terms with himself.

“It’s time things changed. From now own, I want you to tel me what you want. I’ll do anything, even if it’s means shedding blood.”

You blinked, the words sinking in slowly.

Shingen reached to cup your face, with the familiar feel of his firm yet gentle touch.

“This clan has always been my legacy to take over. Ever since I was young, I’ve been subjected to vigorous training to be the man that I am today. But if it costs me my beloved and our own child, it’s time I choose differently. For you, for us, for him.”

The you pulled yourself into him, pressing your tear-streaked face against his kimono while he wrapped you in his arms. You choked back your words, your sobs muffled against his increasing heartbeat. The tension within you. unwinded slowly while his words lingered in the air. Shingen sighed, uncontrollably smiling while he sobbed.

Shingen’s hand found its way back of your head, fingers tangled in your hair, his relieved breaths a soothing sigh against your temple. As he held you, his face twistes into one you’ve never witnessed before — remorse. After years, he saw himself break, quiet trembling sobs escaping his lips. His grip around tightened, as if he were afraid to be alone.

It was his first apology. A start to a new era.

#lookism #yamazaki shingen #shingen yamazaki #lookism x reader #lookism manhwa #lookism hcs #yamazaki shingen x reader #lookism x you #lookism webtoon

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