#think this is the last angsty one but you never know
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madamechrissy · 24 hours ago
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Baby You're No Good
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Pairings - Cult leader/clan Leader Geto x F! reader
Summarly - You have been promised to marry the psychotic, human hating leader of the Geto Clan, Suguru. Your heart sinks at the wedding when you realize you're likely to be ended once you've fulfilled your duty, giving him an heir. He detests you on sight, as do you, but something happens the first time you lay together, Suguru swears you're some witch, because he can't get enough of you. He becomes consumed with fucking you, with the excuse of 'having an heir' but you begin to wonder just where the lines are blurring. Would you survive this- and will Suguru survive being with you?
CW- Arranged marriage trope, ENEMIES TO LOVERS, psychotic Geto lol- lots of hate sex, Suguru calling you a stupid monkey, angsty in places, FULL of smut. Reader is a virgin bc she's sheltered due to been promised to him. Reader is FEISTY asf and mean right back. Explicit sex and Geto being whipped/insane/obsessed and psycho. This part- OH BOY- fingering, Suguru being a psychotic munch so oral (f recieving) rough sex, dirty talk, multiple positions, choking and smacking (in and out of the bedroom) cockwarming, mating press, creampie, TOXIC asf, hate sex, angst. WC this part- 8k
Will be three parts I THOUGHT now looking like four lmao <3 Plz share/comment/ like if you enjoy!- This won the poll as the thank you for 7k followers, tysmmm!
<<<Part One - Playlist - Masterlist - Part Three (soon) Based on Clan Leader Geto
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Part Two
“Now.”
Suguru’s quiet command was just that, a command, one for you to obey as his ‘wife’. But you damn sure weren’t going to act like you wanted to fuck this deranged psycho any more than you already did.
“Get it over with then, the sooner I get pregnant the better.”
“Exactly, we won’t have to do this any longer. Useless little-”
You smack him, earning a psychotic glare, violet eyes glittering dangerously as your hand stings, and red lifts on his perfect face. “Call me a monkey one more time.”
He smirks, leaning close now, yanking you to him, turning you and unzipping your dress, letting it fall, so you don’t see just how perfect he thinks you are. His hands slip around your front, one sliding up to squish a breast, thumb brushing a nipple, making you cry out before you can stop yourself, he chuckles at your response, his other finding your pussy now, dripping.
“Already so wet, hmm? Admit it, you love getting fucked by me, you know how above you I am, pathetic… human. Hmm?” You turn in surprise, as you’re soaking his fingers now, your lips parted, tantalizing, eyes rolling back as he finds your engorged little clit, swirling his fingers on it.
“Fuck… you… mnh…” Is all you manage, as he feels your hair fall back against his chest, and his cock is already throbbing, even after jerking it this morning and last night, he has to be inside you again.
“Soaking me from a little touch? So fucking pathetic.” He whispers, you bite down on your lip, shoving at his hands then, turning.
“Just put it in, I can take it now.” You have him lifting you like you’re nothing, and for this brief moment when he holds you, and your lips are too close, he pictures it, letting go with someone so measly and useless, someone so annoying and absolutely insolent.
But he can never think that way.
He tosses you on the bed, spreading your thighs, spitting right on your pussy then, you gasp at it, lewd and wanton, as he watches the bubbly clear liquid pool between lips still puffy from getting fucked last night. He moans at the sight, at loud, as he leans down, inhaling you, and you shove at him with your feet, earning another death glare.
“What are you doing, just get it done. Don’t… whatever that is!” He aches to taste you, fuck you’re annoying him, the scent driving him insane. He can smell how badly you want him, as he gathers his spit and shoves it in your little hole, and you whine out, sore and throbbing.
“Stop thinking you can tell me what to do, you’re nothing but a tool for me, a pretty little tool.”
“Pretty huh?” You cry out as he scissors his fingers now, done with your remarks, his other hand slamming on your mouth, muffling your protests.
“Will you shut up, fuck I’ll get there.” Suguru took his time with things, he wants to devour every pretty inch of your body, but you’re correct, it is in fact stupid to do so, to waste the talents of his tongue and mouth on your pretty, but useless human body. “Undress me.”
You take a shaky breath, sitting up now, with no help of his, undoing the buttons  of these black robes he’s wearing, pretentious and royal, stupid just like him. You’re filled with so much hate your chest heaves, as you realize your body wants this, and you hate that it does. You quickly drop his robes and once again, gulping as you remember the initial pain last night.
Suguru watches you hesitate, raising a dark brow now, acting as if his tip leaking precum is just so normal for this situation. “Go on, I’ll allow it.” He says then, and your eyes narrow.
“Allow what?” Your voice is full of laughter, he wonders if you have any sense of self preservation, serving to only infuriate him further.
“You to serve me, you may if you beg pretty enough.” He tilts your chin up then, and you burst into laughter, only making him scowl down at you.
“I’ll not serve you anymore than I already have to. Get one of your little cult girls to do that.”
“You insolent-”
“Come on now, what position is best for baby making?” He turns you around then, until you’re on your knees, you look back wildly at him, at his flexing muscles, his long dark hair falling over a shoulder as he grabs your hips.
“Arch your back, monkey.” Your jaw sets, and he realizes very quickly you won’t, sighing and rolling violet eyes, pressing between your shoulder blades, yanking on your hip and almost cumming at how pretty your ass looks arched. “Fuck…”
“This is the best po-mnh!” He’s pressing his tip against you, up your slit now, which pools out arousal, when he smacks you firm on one ass cheek. “Don’t fucking do that psycho!”
“You’ve irritated me.”
Your ass looks perfect with his handprints.
“Now, arch more, hmm?”
He just wants a good look at you, how small your waist looks like this, how your ass is shaped so perfectly, hips fitting in his big hands that are taking you over, and he presses deeper, sucking in his moans. His thumbs press into the dimples on your lower back, cursing silently at how perfect you feel, gripping just his tip he could cum, his head falling forward as he leans over you.
His feet planted on the floor, he presses further, making you cry out, as he stretches you, fills you, and damn if it doesn’t feel good. You bite it back again, inhaling sharply as he leans over you, his hair now falling against your bare shoulders, his breath hot in your neck as he shoves his cock so deep. His hand comes to cup your chin, turning it to make you look up at him.
God you’re pretty.
“Got you to shut up- hah.” He huffs, and you open your mouth to protest when he slams your cervix, squeezing your throat just so, until you’re fuzzy, and your cunt is slick, sucking him in hungry.
“F-fuck you… hate it…” You whisper, he laughs then, deep and dark in your ear, squeezing your throat tighter with long fingers, beginning to fuck into you, lewd noises filling your bed chamber as he moves.
“Could fucking kill you right now, tiny, pathetic little neck. Could snap it right now, huh?” He squeezes further, and you should be terrified, surely, but instead you’re convulsing around his cock, making you both sigh in pleasure, as each of you try to hide your body's reactions, and fail the more he pumps.
“Kill me… then… do it…” You whisper, and he squeezes more now, your windpipe pressed between his strong hand, as he presses fully in, bottoming out all his inches in your pussy, and you scream silently, eyes rolling back in your skull as you feel fuzzy, like you’re floating.
“I could do it, oh I could do it.” He loves it then, feeling as you’re close, he can tell with how your body jerks and moves, then he’s shoving deep and rolling his hips, watching as you shatter for him. “Can’t fucking help it, feel too good?”
You shake your head even as he’s squeezing your neck, as you’re cumming all over his cock, when he lets go, and you take a breath, burying your face, fingers gripping the silk red and black blankets. You don’t see Geto losing it, his hands shaking, cock pulsing as your walls flutter, and he feels it, he’s close already, you’re too tight, you’re too much.
Annoying.
“Don’t wanna show me how much you like it, do you?” You shake your head, gasping for a breath then.
“Hate it, hate you, hate your dick- ah!” He’s on you then, prone position, heavy weight over your much smaller body, taking you over. You’re whimpering helplessly when he finds your clit again, and shoves his cock deep. “S-stop touching it, shit!”
“You like it, huh?” You bite your lip, shaking your head as he fucks you far too intimately, one elbow holding himself up, hand right back on your throat, as he laps up sweat that’s dripping down the curve of your neck. “You love it, me inside you, don’t you monkey?”
“Fuck you.” You manage to breathe out, giving him no satisfaction as you bury your face again, hands gripping the blankets so hard they’re crumpling, screaming as he makes you cum again, as he makes you hate him more.
Suguru loses himself in you, burying his face in your neck, as he had last night, groaning softly as he feels your orgasm surround him, milk him, pulling his fingers back finally giving your overstimulated clit a reprieve. He puts his fingers to his lips then, and when he tastes you!?
Suguru pauses his thrusts, the sweetness of you unlike anything he’s ever tasted, making his cock twitch inside you, and suddenly it’s too intimate, it’s too much, having him inside you, on you, teeth sinking into your neck. It feels far too perfect, and you despise this monster even more for it, for making you weak against him, under him like this.
“God…” He murmurs, confusing you when he presses his lips against your ear, breath tickling it again, making you shiver. “Ready for me to fill you up?”
“Get it d-done.” You squeak out, he yanks you further down on his cock, pumping inside you then, and you swear this psycho cult leader whimpers, it’s almost disorienting hearing it, you barely manage to focus, as your vision swims. When his sexy - fuck it’s not sexy - moan fills your ears, and he’s shoving his thick cock so deep, you can’t stop your body’s reaction.
You’re cumming again, only edging him on further, laughing at you, even as he’s crying out, pulling your hair by the nape of your neck, pumping so deep. “F-fuck… gonna put so much in you, fill you till your stupid little ass can’t walk.”
“Fuck you- ngh!” Your orgasm is just extended as his cum fills you so deep inside, feeling him pulse and spurt so much cum it’s stupid.
“Bratty, annoying, insolent… fuck…” perfect, you feel perfect.
Suguru supposes if he had to be paired with a monkey, you were by far the best, he’d never felt anything like you before, even how you smell, the softness of your skin, everything just draws him in. He tries to shake himself out of the stupor, feeling your aftershocks milking every last drop from him, impulse making him press a kiss on your upper back.
“Don’t do that.” You whisper now, and he pauses himself, why is he kissing your skin, why is he lingering. This isn’t what this is for, it’s for power, it’s for an heir to get the Geto clan off his fucking back.
After that you won’t be needed to breed would you?
Suguru contemplates that for a moment, still laying on you, hoping you don’t get pregnant any time soon, which confuses him more than anything, as you’re gasping for a breath under him, wriggling just so. “You’re heavy, get off me.”
“You’re such a mean little bitch, you know that?” He hops off you then, turning you to your back and shoving you down by your collar bones, your breaths come faster as he looms over you, thin sheen of sweat coating his perfect body.
“A bitch? You expect me to be happy, to worship you? I never will.” You whisper, his fingers itch to touch you more, when he finally pulls back, and sees it, the milky white cum starting to ooze from your little hole. The sight of it ignites something feral in him, as he takes his fingers and scoops it up, your mouth drops open just a bit.
“You’re not even keeping the cum inside you, hmm? Guess I’ll have to help you keep it in.” He shoves his two thick, long fingers in your cunt then, watching as your hole swallows it, and you’re whimpering, so sexy his cock, sticky from you still, twitches again.
“N-not necessary, is this?” You whisper, clearly naive and innocent, it’s him defiling you really, but how can he help himself, when he needs more of you.
“It is very necessary, slutty little cunt wasting it all.”
“Slutty, bet your cult girls are like a - ah!” Suguru is curling his fingers in you again as you speak, making you stutter, when his thumb hits your clit again. “That… part… why do you…”
“Cumming, it’ll help it take.” You frown at him, brows drawing together. “It’s not as if I want you to have pleasure, or work at it, but it’s true.”
“We’re already done now though, can you- f-fuck I…” You’re gushing down his hands, the mix of his own cum and yours making him die to taste it.
“Tsk, so messy, aren’t you?” He slips his fingers out now, putting them inside your mouth, only for you to enjoy this asshole’s taste before you think better and bite the shit out of his fingers, making him scowl as he pulls them back. “Not just weak and useless, you’re stupid. Think I won’t kill you before you have a baby?”
“Worth it to bite your stupid fingers and slap your stupid face.” You sit up as he finally stands, blushing for a moment as you see the wet spot you’ve caused, as you see his cum trailing down his tip. You think wildly about licking it before you stand and turn away, clearing your throat and bending down to get your robes.
“You’re lucky my family needs you around, or I’d send a curse in and kill you in your fucking sleep.” You roll your eyes, adjusting your robes now as you turn, seeing him still shirtless, as he adjusts his own robes.
“Anything else you require of me, husband or Lord Geto- whatever the hell I’m supposed to call you.” He chuckles then, cupping your face, but not sweetly, no he’s squeezing it, violet eyes so dilated they look black, the intensity making your heart falter for a moment.
“Your mouth is just begging to be shut. Maybe if I fuck your throat good enough you’ll lose your voice?” He taunts, and your glare just makes him hard all over again, along with the thought of fucking this insolent mouth of yours. “Nothing to say about that? Get you wet?’
Yes.
“You wish.” He smirks his full lips, trailing his fingers down your waist now.
“You’ll be dripping me all day, won’t you?”
“I sure hope not, it’s uncomfortable and disgusting.”
“You’re disgusting.”
“You are!” You shove at him now, breaths faster and faster, he loses his smirk, his humor, gripping your wrist bruisingly.
“You’ll be ready for dinner tonight, as well as my meeting tomorrow, you’ll be everywhere I am publicly.”
“Oh joy, can’t wait.” He scoffs, rolling his eyes as he opens the door, summoning the little bull curse again, who runs up to you now. Suguru’s eyes narrow, as he turns and watches the curse lick your cheek. He’s known the curse to be odd, but the way you giggle, how your face lights up?
He’s seen you scowl, seen tears in your eyes, seen your jaw set and your eyes full of fire, but for the moment you’re just happy, as the curse is nudging at your hand, and he realizes you’re not just a pretty human. You’re fucking beautiful, the kind of girl who would have taken the Suguru of Jujutsu high days by his heart, that would have had him desperate for you.
He’s not that man, but some part of him annoyingly persists, the part that misses Gojo, Shoko, fuck he misses Nanami, so many of his fallen classmates. The rage he holds is usually enough to keep the loneliness at bay, the fact that though he’s surrounded by people who love him, who need him, he’s truly alone. There are no friends, there is no love anymore.
You remind him of a past he aches to forget, when your smile and glittery eyes look at him, before they fall, and you remember yourself, which Suguru needs almost, he doesn’t need to crave happiness for you. A means to an end, perhaps the sex has ruined his fucking brain.
“Could I name him?” You ask, and he wants to smile at you, the smile he used to have, not the cruel psychotic smirk, but instead he just shrugs a broad shoulder.
“If you must, I never gave him one. He’ll keep you…” Safe. “From leaving, but he won’t…” Hurt you. “He’s very calm.”
“I know, I like him a lot. Hmm, I’ll think of a name for you, handsome boy.” You tease him, and then Suguru hears your tummy growl quite loudly, making you flush in embarrassment.
“I’ll have someone show you where the kitchens are.” He says, he hasn’t even contemplated that you need food, and even curse users eat. Clearly he’s been a little too… involved with that insane pussy you think is normal, to worry about you properly functioning.
“Oh thank you I guess… I haven’t eaten since I’ve been here.”
“Ah, that’s… not okay for making a baby.” A baby, the words hit hard then, you know your duty but to think of it… to think of your life being over… to think of bearing this man a baby.
Your tummy lurches even as you’re starving.
“I’ll send the girls up, they’re a little more…” What should he care of your comfort!? “They’re well adapted here, it’s their home.” You nod then, and he walks out, leaving you with this derpy looking curse, body aching from Suguru’s touches, as you sit on the bed, and the curse jumps up for more pets.
Just who was Suguru Geto, how did he get this way?
Should you even care, and would you survive long enough to know if it’s even worth it?
Soon Mimiko and Nanako are giggling, taking each of your hands, sucking on little lollipops and damn near frolicking, as they guide you through each hall of this ridiculous estate. They start asking you more and more questions, and for whatever reason it doesn’t feel malicious, like Suguru, like the others, like the Geto family.
“Dad seems to really think you’re pretty.” Nanako says, and you shake your head with a laugh.
“No way.”
“Have you seen how he stared at you? While you were dancing?” Mimiko asks, and you almost snort.
“Yeah, no, your dad… hates me. Clearly.”
“Hmm, I don’t think so.” Nanako says, then points to a kitchen with cooks actively working, the aromas making your tummy growl again. “Go ahead, get whatever you want.”
“It’s all yummy.” Mimiko says, they run over and giggle, grabbing little pieces of different sushis, as the curse licks your hand, you smile a bit at him.
“What if I named you Sashimi?” It lolls its tongue out, head tilting to the side, and you giggle. “I like it though!”
Suguru finds you sitting with his daughters, who are on either side of you, stirring something in him that should not be there. But it’s undeniable, when you smile softly at them, a smile you’d never shoot his direction. Manami comes and tries to kiss him, which he quickly tilts his head away, but not before you catch him, but your eyes avert and you show no emotion.
Do you feel anything towards him but pure hatred and fear? Has he given you any reason to? Do you feel this odd energy, or is it all in Suguru’s head?
“It wouldn’t look right.” He says. Manami is his best and most loyal assistant, but he can’t stand the thought of anyone touching him.
But you.
And would you ever?
Why does he care?
“Then later, Lord Geto?” She asks, and he eyes her for a moment, her breasts apparent in this low cut blazer.
“I think it best I don’t… divert from trying to have an heir with… my…”
“Your wife?” She finishes, laughing a bit, Suguru’s jaw tenses.
“Best to spend the energy there, get it done.”
“As you say, Lord Geto. What’s on the agenda for today?” He starts to speak, but all he can really think is how much he wants you to hit him again, how just that feels like more than he’s had since long ago.
Annoying girl.
*****
Three days later
Over the next few days, Suguru can’t get enough of your pussy, of your face when he makes you cum, of your scent, of your presence. He hates it, how much he wants you all the time, like you’re some leech that’s sunk into his brain. He constantly calls you in for more, now you’re right in his office, he’s fingering you as you sit on his lap, your legs up on the arms of his enormous leather seat.
“You’re close, aren’t you dumb little monkey?” He whispers, you shake your head, jaw clenched when he pulls his fingers out and you whine pathetically. “Oh, need something?”
“Just fuck me, god.” Your legs are shaking as he’s teasing you with his fingers again, circling your clit, his other hand gripping your breast, squishing it in his hand, cock aching to pump you full.
“Sit on my desk.” He orders, husky toned, you struggle to get up, and he laughs cruelly. “Can’t stand huh? Gotta do everything, don’t I?”
He hoists you up, spreading your thighs then, sinking back into his seat as he eyes your perfect pussy, and he’s so tired of holding back, what he’s been dying to do, as he leans over, fingers pressing into the plush of your thighs. Your eyes go wide when you feel his breath on your clit, making you jerk, this mother fucker inhales you, moaning and shutting his eyes.
“What… are you sniffing me!?” You demand, thighs threatening to close, and Suguru exhales, eyes locking on yours.
“I’m going to fuck you with my mouth.” Those words are far too attractive, as your pussy throbs in response, you try to focus, you hate this psycho, you can’t have him further fucking up your head.
“That’s not how babies are made, Suguru.”
“Orgasms help, remember?” You frown, biting your lower lip, it seems too intimate, it seems like too much, as your hands grip his desk, and your hips arch, his lashes lowering, casting shadows on his cheeks.
“I cum anyway, stop acting like you don’t know that.” You look away, hating even admitting it out loud, and he smirks, chuckling and making you tickle again, as he spreads your puffy lips, watching your pussy drool out wetness more and more.
“Try not to scream too loudly.” You snort, rolling your eyes.
“Oh you’re so full of yourself, I doubt- ah!” He swipes the flat of his tongue from your hole, and then when he tastes your honeyed arousal, it’s over for him.
Moaning, he drags you against him now, closer to his face as he swipes his tongue in, and your head falls back, mouth open in a slutty O as he lavishes you, it feels so good you’re not sure you’ve ever enjoyed something this much. Addictive with each stroke, with each breath, the way his teeth hit you, fuck how his straight nose bumps your engorged clit.
Your hands instinctively grip his silky hair, for the first time you’re touching it, glossy strands in your fingers as you try to pull him off, it’s too good, way too good, this can’t be something you do. He’s licking you up and moaning, tastebuds slid inside your fluttering walls, as you desperately cry out, whining and pulling at his hair for him to detatch his mouth.
“What are you doing!?” You manage to squeak out, and he pulls back just a bit, feeling your little pathetic hands pulling on him, as if you could stop him now, that he has your slick all over his lower face.
The sight of Suguru Geto between your thighs, licking his glossy lips, eyes dilated and drunk off your pussy is far too tempting. You feel your pussy clench around nothing, as your breaths come quicker and quicker, and Suguru exhales right on you, smirking as he watches your tiny clit twitch for him in response.
“Eating your pussy, are you so stupid you don’t know what it is?” You bite your lower lip, glaring now.
“I’ve heard of it, I just… Why do you want to? Remember, you don’t want to ‘prep a monkey’ your exact words.”
“Will you shut up and just…” He pulls you back again, and he’s devouring you, no other word for it, the insane way he licks you, drinks you up, the sounds of him inhaling and slurping obscenely in his office, and you find your hands pulling him closer.
As he feels you press your cunt further in his face, he’s done, cock throbbing in his pants and oozing precum out, making him damn near cum as he feels her clenching his tongue. He dares to look up, tilting his head that you’re still yanking on, your thighs trembling on each side of his raven haired head, as you whimper, hiccuping in pleasure, tears falling from your eyes.
“Close, aren’t you?” He whispers, tauntingly, those violet eyes glinting as you shake your head, and he laughs, just the laugh touching you he sees you’re drooling more and more from your pretty pussy. “No?”
“Don’t like it.” You whisper, he smirks and flicks his tongue one more time, ending you, your orgasm washes all over your body until you are cupping a hand on your face to stop your scream, and he moans again, drinking all your cum that’s pouring down out of you.
“Fuck…” He whispers, more to himself than anything, Suguru loves eating pussy but he never thought a pathetic human would taste like you, your heat burning him, he can hardly delatch his mouth even as you pull on him.
“What even… is that…” You weakly manage, and he slips two fingers through your slick, your hands fall weakly when he leans over now, undoing his robes to reveal his ready cock, thick and heavy, slapping his belly button and leaving sticky white residue on his robes.
“Shut it, useless little human.” You can’t find the energy to scowl, your body is still shaking, trying to recover from all the pleasure he’d brought you. You grip his biceps as he sinks into you, so wet he slips in easily, and you’re so sensitive you almost cum when he slips all the way inside.
“Shit…” Is all you manage, you want to tell him- hurry up or - fuck you- maybe - hate you- but for just a moment he’s got your brain too addled, when he starts fucking you, you’re clinging to him, whining, and you hate yourself for it.
He hates you, as he watches you for once pliant, sweet even, fuck what would it be like if you wanted this fully, if you wanted him?
He can’t think like this, no it’s your pretty face and your sweet taste, he can’t stand how bad he wants to kiss your lips as he spreads you over his desk, pumping in and out of your slick cunt over and over. Your thighs grip him, your hands gripping his arms so tightly, when your head falls back, and he’s kissing and licking your pretty throat.
“Shut you up, it is possible.” He whispers meanly in your ear, and you try to focus, as his tip drags on your spot.
“F-fuck y-you.” He smiles, he smiles, loving just how that sounds, a tiny little mewl of words.
“I am fucking you, should thank me.”
“Never.” He groans now, yanking you down, turning you so you’re bent over his desk, feet dangling like you’re nothing, the way he moves you with his strength is heady, exhilarating, not frightening like it should be.
Suguru is shoving his cock back inside, gripping your wrists behind your back. He can’t take how pretty you look, he needs to stop, it’s easier this way. “Won’t thank me for fucking you? Me, a curse user, you a-”
“Shut up and fuck me then.” You glare, turning your pretty face to him, and he does just that, slamming into you again and again.
“Fuck… stupid, pathetic little thing-mnh…” He busts deep inside you, squeezing your wrists so tightly you can’t even feel them, cum filling you to the brim. He exhales as your head rests on the cool wood, and tears fall.
Why did he have to make you enjoy him more?
Suguru turns you and releases you now, you stumble and the fucker doesn’t even catch you, instead he hovers, lips just an inch from yours, as you struggle to gain any senses. “I hate you, Lord Geto.”
Suguru, could you call him Suguru?
“I don’t even hate you, you’re so insignificant.” He whispers, tilting your chin up, imagining having you taste yourself off his mouth. “Hate is even too good for a nothing like you.”
“I have enough hate for both of us.” You whisper back, before stumbling away, righting yourself, hurriedly walking to the door when he murmurs.
“My meeting tomorrow, you’ll be there.”
You just scowl and walk away, detesting the thought of having to be in a room full of psychos that want you eradicated. “Why?”
“You’re my wife, it’s one of your duties.”
“They want me dead.” He scoffs now.
“And you think I don’t?” You stomp off, slamming the door, Suguru groans as he slumps into the chair, burying his head in his arms on the cherry wood desk, thinking of how much he wishes he did want you dead.
*****
“Are you ready for the meeting?” Manami asks, coldly, and you smile at her then, shaking your head.
“You’re so worried about me, why? I don’t want your cult daddy.”
Manami glares now, tossing back her red locks. “Cult daddy!?”
“Yeah, him, you can have him. What do I fucking care? I am sure he still comes to you plenty, and I won’t stop him.” She blinks once more, mouth open in shock.
“You haven’t… you don’t care if he does?”
“Not one bit.”
“Then why hasn’t he-”
“Let’s go, monkey.” You hear now, and he catches sight of you, in a gorgeous white gown that makes your skin glimmer, you’re far, far too beautiful. For a moment he's standing there, stupidly, thinking of just how good your pussy tasted yesterday, thinking of burying his face back against it, before he shakes it off, clearing his throat. “Did I stutter, human?”
“Yeah, yeah, let’s go then.” You huff, as Suguru’s assistants eagerly set up the stage he’s to be on, and you’re both behind this dumb fucking curtain. “You’re pretentious as fuck.”
“What did you say?” He demands, brows lowering, and you laugh then, shaking your head.
“A stage, a microphone, as if you’re something so profound, and not some angry little fucking emo bitch.” Suguru glares now, smacking you right in the face, instantly hating himself more when you blink rapidly, and he sees the mark on your face.
You’re both silent then, as he just stares at what he did, but you smile suddenly, as he stutters. “I… you…I should-”
“Thank you,” you cut him off then. “For a moment sometimes I forget how fucking horrible you are.” As you turn away, you’re slipping your hair to the other side of your face, so that it’s even more apparent. “So they can see you treat humans how you should, right? Beneath you.”
Suguru’s heart pounds in his chest now, you’ve slapped him, he’s said the nastiest things, you’ve both declared hate. He’s slaughtered fucking villages, but something about his hand print on your cheek feels just too far. What’s he become, what’s he doing, why does he care if you’re hurt? Soon you and all of useless humanity will be dead.
Even if he keeps you around, who would you have? You’d be some toy, a pretty prisoner for his pleasure. You’re nothing, nothing, nothing.
Nothing.
You look at him curiously, as you wait for him to signal for the curtain to lift, standing so damn strong and proud, you remind him of his friends, of people he’s loved and lost. Your resilience in the face of everything, it’s stupid but admirable, fuck he’s admiring you, he’s…
He’s caring for you.
He’s desiring you more than anyone.
He’s upset that he just hurt you, more upset than you clearly are, what do you expect from a monster, but this, but coldness, cruelty. He’d shown you no affection aside from a small brush of his lips on your shoulder, a kiss on your clit, those were sexual. He doesn’t show you anything else but his cruelty.
“Are you going to start?” You ask, voice not even shaken, wearing his smack like a badge of honor, not sensing the inner turmoil. “Need to hit the other one, make it even or something?”
“Shut the fuck up.” You blink then, and he grabs your face, thumb brushing over raised skin, he’s too strong, you’re too pathetic and small. “Useless, weak, stupid little human.”
You go to open your mouth when he slams his lips against yours, you exhale at the sensation, yanking back in confusion at how your lips tingle, how your heart hammers in your ears. You panic as you feel it, something far different than anything before.
You can’t.
“I’d rather you hit me than kiss me.”
“I bet you would.” He drags you back to his lips again, stumbling as the onlookers from behind see what’s unfolding, mad passionate and angry kisses, teeth clicking, as you bite his lower lip till you draw blood, and he laughs at you.
“Don’t fucking kiss me.” You watch as he touches the blood on his lips, hearing a low moan that makes no sense.
“You have something, there is cursed energy, there has to be.” You laugh at him then, outright, as he studies you in the dark.
“There are no excuses for you, I’m all human. If you like anything about me, even if it’s just my pussy, I’m human.”
He curses under his breath, as you right yourself, and he aches to…
Goddamit Suguru Geto wants to apologize.
To a human, a monkey, someone beneath him, the cause of all wrong with the goddamn world. You all cause it all.
Right?
But he can’t live with smacking you now, it makes him sick, he wonders what younger him would think, would say. He wonders what Satoru would think, but then, Satoru’s long since given up on him, he’s sure. The havoc he’s brought for the past eight years alone is unforgivable, he wonders… is he going too far? But he can’t make those thoughts tangible, not now.
“You can go to your rooms if you wish.” Is all he says, and you look at him in shock again. “If you don’t… feel well now.”
“Why would you care how I feel? I’m a tool.” As you spit his own words back at him, he can do nothing but agree.
“Then let’s begin.” The curtains lift, and it’s a different Suguru than you know, he’s laughing and joking, and pointing, as he spews the most vile things about humans he can, and you’re just sitting there next to him. The few humans he allows look almost as terrified as you do, as you tremble and try to hold it together.
When it’s finally over, you go to head to your chambers, and he pauses you, a hand on your waist, you look up at him curiously. “I’ll have you tonight.”
“Again?” You whisper, he drags you now, away from your chamber, you blink in confusion as he pulls you further down the halls. Mimiko and Nanako wave at you curiously, and he pats their heads and murmurs a fond good night, before taking you by your wrist once more. “Why your room?”
“Why ask endless questions, human?” You go to protest as you enter his room for the first time, but you can’t speak once he’s got you against the door, barred with his arms. “What exactly are you?”
“I’m a human, Lord Geto.”
“That’s what you call me, huh?” Your jaw locks, when he cups your face, right where he hit you prior, you can still feel the shock, the sting.
“I could call you an emo bitch, but you like to smack for that, and I’d like my jaw intact.” He exhales now, forehead resting against yours, once again, too intimate, too close. “Don’t kiss me again, if I can ask anything.”
“You think you get to ask things from me?” You shake your head. “Hate kissing me, huh?”
“Despise it. More than anything.” His lips are a breath away from yours, when he turns you, having you face the door, hands pressed on the cool wood, and he’s slipping your dress up your hips.
“Spread your thighs.” You keep them together, frustrating him to no end.
Imagine if you wanted him.
If this was your choice.
“Fine, stupid little monkey.” He spreads them for you, finding you soaking wet, clicking sounds as his fingers pump in and out, and your head falls back, as you moan out loud.
“I hate you, Suguru.” You whisper softly, he dies then, at the use of his name, from your perfect lips, shoving two fingers inside you to the knuckle, you’re drooling down his hands, down his sleeves.
“I know you do, it’s what humans do, it’s how you create them. Fuck you’re soaked.” You blink as you register his words, as he turns you again, dropping to his knees, you gasp at the sight.
“I’ll cum without it. You don’t have to.” You whisper, knowing this man’s tongue makes you stupid, him on his knees makes you stupid, you can barely function when he puts a leg on his broad shoulder.
“Do you ever shut the fuck up I wondered? But then I realized, this is the only time you do.” He buries his face against your hot, eager pussy again, and you don’t even try to fight it, your head smacks the wall as his mouth finds you.
“It’s the only time I don’t h-hate you completely…” He chuckles, and you damn near laugh at the insanity, when he presses a kiss on your inner thigh, biting it between his teeth as you’re trembling.
“Mutually beneficial.”
“That’s it. The only reason.”
“Right.” He buries his face against you, moaning as he sucks your clit into his hot mouth, and you’re cumming then and there, pulling on this psycho’s silly locks, as he drinks every bit of cum you produce, dying for you to scream his name.
Insanity.
You’re insanity.
He’s humming as he’s got your little clit in his mouth, looking at you under long lush lashes as you cum so hard you nearly fall, clinging to him barely. He drags you down then, slamming you on the floor and shoving his cock fully in, groaning and kissing you once more, you shove at his chest.
“Fuck me, don’t kiss me, d-don’t.”
“You should taste yourself, stupid little pathetic bitch. How good you taste, what you fucking do.” You glare, but he’s kissing you again, as he fucks you, and it’s overwhelming, the dizziness, how good it is, how perfect he feels. “Prefer me to spit it in your mouth?”
“What!?” He spits then, as he holds your mouth open, chuckling darkly.
“Swallow.”
Why do you obey!?
It’s hard to hate a man who eats pussy and fucks like the god he thinks he is, though you’d never fucking let him know.
Suguru can’t get enough of you after that night, not even fucking close, and soon you’re in a whole cult meeting, and you’re cockwarming him. You hate this - you want to hate it at least- you tell yourself, the fact that you’re casually in his lap in front of hundreds of followers, as he’s spewing hatred, all while being shoved deep in your pussy.
You’re soaking him down to his balls, his thighs, as his veiny cock just pulses inside you, unmoving, and you feel how hot your cheeks are, your ears, trying desperately not to move. Suguru hears someone ask about you then, referring to you as a ‘monkey’ and he glares, before flinging a curse in their direction, cock twitching in your tight entrance.
All of this mind you while he has a goddamn creepy one eyed curse just standing with a morbid grin. This psycho holds a meeting while he’s buried eight inches deep in your cunt, with curses and curse users all around, not missing a single word. You look at him and hate him more, and you still hate him, even when you’re left alone, and he finally moves you up and down him.
“F-fuck… feel you… stupid, pathetic pussy so wet?” You shake your head when he lifts you off and spins you, putting you on top of him. He’s fucking up into you now, grabbing your ass as you cling to him on his plush cushions, and the angle feels so good your eyes roll back, head lolling to the side.
“F-fuck you, Suguru.” He groans at that, at his name, picking you up and slamming him down on his sensitive cock, as you eye the creepy ass curse, mumbling - ‘it’s f-fucking watching’.
Suguru laughs then, not a dark chuckle, it’s… real, as he brushes your hair back and flips you on your back for a moment, studying you with mirth in his eyes. For just one moment, as the curse disintegrates, you think… Is there more to him, is that glimmer a piece of who he used to be?
No, there can’t be.
“A whole room watched you sitting on my cock, but you mind the curse?” He’s… being teasing? You just glare, and he laughs again, enjoying it too much, enjoying you far too much.
He should worry about that, but you look too pretty, especially when he folds you in a mating press, making you suck in a breath, eyes wide on him. “This is how babies are best made, how you'll take my cum.”
You just nod weakly, while he's slamming into you, even though you've taken him many times now, the stretch and how deep he hit were too much to take. Your hands grip his back, nails digging in, and he groans at it, as he folds you under his weight, his full lips parted, eyes boring into yours, watching as you struggle to take him.
“You should beg me, for my cum inside you.”
“Hah- n-never.” He glares, pressing harder on the backs of your thighs, fucking you rougher and rougher, until you’re both shattering messes, and he’s cum so deep you feel him everywhere. You shove at him when he lays atop of you after a moment, your thighs falling to the side, as you try to get yourself together. “Beg you? You’re even more delusional than I thought.”
“You can’t keep lying.” He brushes your hair back, jaw locking as he studies your fucked out face. “You fucking love it, me inside you. Bet you have never felt anything better in your shitty human existence.”
Your teeth clench together. “You’re a conceited, arrogant, psychotic, delusional man.”
“That’s all?” He asks, raising a brow.
“With a good dick, yes, that doesn’t matter. How long till you kill me? Till you kill everyone?” He pauses, watching your perfect breasts heave up and down, as your little hands now push on his chest. “Sure, I enjoy it, what do you care, Suguru?”
“I… you just… why do…” How do you make him stutter, a man like him, a puny little girl like you have him on his knees, have him obsessed, you’re all he can even fucking think of.
You can’t fall into this, into him, with his beautiful face and his sad fucking eyes, you can’t fix this man, there’s no fixing the psychotic nature of him. As badly as you want to, as much as you feel that you keep in, that’s brimming to the surface as you lean up on your elbows, and tears make their way out of your eyes, falling down your cheeks.
Suguru pauses, as you can’t hold it back anymore, as he’s pulling back, out of you, making a mess with all of your fluids, making you feel empty. “What does it matter if I enjoy something when I’ll be dead soon? Will you… kill our baby if it’s human too?”
Suguru scowls now, on his knees, as you hastily cover up, hands shaking. “What the fuck do you mean, powers are genetic-”
“No, you don’t know that. What if one kid has em, one doesn’t huh? Gonna kill one of my kids?” He blinks rapidly, opening his mouth as you stand, and he looks up at you. “You better hope I’m long dead if you do, because I will make sure that’s the last thing you ever do.”
“Will you fucking stop?” He is standing now, grabbing your shoulders, as you shake your head, heart ripping into pieces.
“I can’t feel things for you.” You say, more to yourself than him. “Yes, pathetic monkeys feel things. As you said, too much. We cause them, yeah?”
He gulps now, hands squeezing your shoulders too tightly. “Yes, you cause them, all of it. If not for humanity, then-”
“Then what would you do? If a kid doesn’t have any cursed energy?”
“I wouldn’t kill them.” He whispers, and you laugh without humor.
“No, I can’t believe that. Where’s your line, Suguru Geto? Where does this end for you, for anyone?” He pauses as a human girl destroys him with her looks, when you cup his face for just a moment, making his heart falter. “That Suguru I met, he was sweet. I actually had a crush.” Your words speak to something, he’s transfixed, refusing to believe it.
“You were staring at Gojo.” You shake your head and smile.
“That’s what you saw. Yeah, your friend is something to look at for sure. But no, it was you that day I had eyes on. Felt butterflies.” You can’t believe you’re saying it, that he’s… listening, for just a moment. You sigh. “Do you ever miss him? The guy that you were?”
Yes.
No.
He can’t.
Suguru says nothing as you drop your hands, tugging your robes closed. “Can you summon Sashimi?”
“You named it fucking Sashimi?” You glare, a little back to normal, but he dresses, summoning him for you, as you sigh a bit.
“I’m really sore, okay? Can I go rest?” Suguru scoffs, feigning as if he could care less, when he wants you again, more of you, all of you, like a black hole that’s sucking him in deeper and deeper.
“Can’t handle dick with your puny little body?” He taunts, instead of just… Saying it.
“Not this much. You could get your-”
“I don’t go to anyone.” You blink in surprise, as he confirms what you had assumed a bit from Manami.
“Why?”
Suguru scoffs, rolling his violet eyes. “Why!? I don’t have to explain myself to a pathetic-”
“Yeah, never mind. Come on Sashimi.” You walk off, leaving him to swipe a hand across his face, your scent is all over him, your slick still on his cock, his fingers still taste like you.
“Fuck.” He grumbles, as his room spins, as he’s covered in you, consumed by you, wondering…
Did he miss who he was?
No, surely not. He sets his jaw, you’ve taken so much of his mind, and he has much to do, heading to his room alone, but he can’t focus, all he does is stare at his ceiling, thinking of you, of your words. Your face, your body, your eyes that see right fucking through him.
God, Suguru hates you.
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A/N LMAO why did I think I could do anything short? I need four parts now not three my baddd babess lol. But I hope you're enjoying psycho whipped Sugu- the monkey thing should lessen as he gets more pathetic hehe. Tysm for all the comments and love !?! I am excited to see what ya'll think hehe
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bettys-redwinesupernova · 2 days ago
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BLOWING SMOKE
rafe cameron x fem!reader
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SUMMARY: after rafe betrays her trust, y/n exposes his lies at a party, humiliating him in front of everyone—and walking away without looking back.
based on this ask !! i hope it’s what you asked for anon, sorry it’s not super soul-crushing but it’s very angsty and includes cheating >:( fuck cheaters !!
(check out my other rafe cameron & drew starkey works here !!)
WARNINGS: cheating, angst w/ no happy ending, allusions to sex, alcohol consumption, cursing, bad bitch!reader, asshole!rafe, mentions of daddy issues, reader finally putting rafe in his place, i’m thinking season 1/2 rafe because he was a cocky little shit🙄 (lmk if i missed anything !!)
WORD COUNT: 1.2k
THIRD PERSON +
The air at the Boneyard was thick with salt and sweat, the bonfire crackling like a living thing, casting long shadows over the shifting sand. Laughter and music mixed with the sound of waves crashing against the shore, the party in full swing. But Y/N wasn't here for fun.
Her grip on the red solo cup was tight, knuckles white from how hard she was holding it. The drink inside had gone warm, untouched. It wasn't why she came.
She was here for Rafe.
Her heart wasn't racing anymore. The initial sting of betrayal had settled into something colder, something sharper. She had spent days, weeks, pretending not to notice the whispers, the way people looked at her with pity. She had ignored the concerned glances from JJ, the hesitance in Pope's voice when he said, "Maybe you should talk to Sarah." She had brushed off Kie's sighs, the way she muttered, "You're not gonna like what you hear."
She had known. Deep down, she had known.
And then Sarah had confirmed it.
"I didn't want to tell you," Sarah had said earlier that evening, voice low, like she could somehow soften the blow. "But you deserve better. Rafe's been seeing other girls, Y/N. He's been lying to you."
Lying. Cheating. Playing her for a fool.
And then she had seen it with her own eyes.
Rafe Cameron, her Rafe, the boy who had spent countless nights tangled up with her, whispering things he swore he meant—his hands were on another girl. Blonde, pretty, giggling at something he said while he leaned in just a little too close.
And suddenly, all the times he'd shown up late, all the unexplained disappearances, the half-hearted apologies, they made sense.
She had been so fucking stupid.
But Y/N felt nothing now. No heartbreak, no regret. Just ice-cold clarity.
Rafe Cameron had walked into her life when she was at her weakest, slipping through the cracks her ex had left behind. He had smiled, kissed her, whispered things that felt too easy, too smooth. It was never supposed to be anything real, just something casual, just a way to forget. But then it had changed.
He had changed.
Late-night conversations that lasted until dawn. Foreheads pressed together, words left unspoken. His arms around her waist, his voice low when he admitted, "I don't do this, but with you..."
Lies. All of it.
And now, she was going to make sure everyone knew exactly what kind of person Rafe Cameron really was.
She spotted him easily—he was impossible to miss. A walking ego dressed in an expensive polo shirt, short sleeves clinging to his toned biceps. A sight that would usually make her knees weak—not anymore. He was laughing with his friends, head thrown back, completely unaware of the storm heading his way.
Y/N pushed through the crowd, ignoring the murmurs, the knowing glances.
"Rafe."
Her voice cut through the music, through the party.
He turned, blue eyes locking onto hers. For a split second, there was something unreadable in his expression—maybe surprise, maybe guilt. But then it was gone, replaced by that familiar smirk, the one he always wore when he thought he could charm his way out of anything.
"Baby," he drawled, tilting his head. "Didn't think you'd show."
"Yeah?" She took another step forward, voice sharp. "Well, I had a few things I wanted to say to you."
Something in her tone made the smirk slip.
"Tell me, Rafe," she continued, loud enough for everyone to hear. "Is she prettier than she was on the internet?"
A hush fell over the crowd. Conversations died. Even the music felt quieter.
Rafe's brows furrowed. "What?"
"You heard me." She crossed her arms. "You've been screwing around, haven't you?"
Murmurs spread through the party, people shifting closer, drawn to the unfolding scene like moths to a flame.
Rafe let out a short laugh, but it wasn't confident—it was forced. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Bullshit."
Her voice was steady. She wouldn't cry. She wouldn't break. Not for him.
"You knew my last love let me down," she said, tone cutting. "It was your one perfect opening, wasn't it? You saw me hurting, and you thought, why not? You wanted something easy. Someone easy. And the moment it stopped being fun for you, the moment it got real, you did what you always do. You ran."
Rafe's jaw clenched. "Y/N, stop."
"No." She took a step closer, her voice unwavering. "You don't get to tell me what to do. You're just a spoiled little bitch with daddy issues, aren't you? You think money fixes everything, that you can get away with anything. But you know what, Rafe? You just look stupid."
Someone in the crowd—JJ, probably—let out a low whistle.
"You look stupid going out," she continued, her voice rising. "If she's got a pulse, she meets your standards now. It's pathetic."
Rafe's face darkened, but he said nothing. Because he knew she was right.
"You couldn't point her out in any crowd, could you?" Y/N's voice was mocking now, full of venom. "She doesn't matter. None of them do. They're just distractions, just more girls to help you bury the baggage you've been carrying."
A few gasps echoed through the crowd. Even Topper, standing nearby, looked disappointed.
"Man," Topper muttered, shaking his head. "What the fuck?"
"Yeah," JJ piped up, crossing his arms. "I mean, we all knew you were an asshole, but even for you, this is low."
Rafe's hands curled into fists at his sides. "Shut the fuck up, Maybank."
"Or what?" JJ grinned. "You gonna hit me? Take your anger out on someone else because you can't handle the truth?"
Pope, standing next to Kie, shook his head. "She deserves better."
Sarah, arms crossed, looked at her brother with something like disgust. "You don't even look sorry."
Y/N let out a cold laugh. "Of course he doesn't. Because he's not." She turned her gaze back to Rafe. "You know what the sad part is? I actually believed you. I actually thought, maybe this time, it's different. But it never is, is it?"
Rafe opened his mouth, then closed it, unable to find the words.
Y/N took one last step forward, lowering her voice just enough that only he could hear. "I'll say what they won't, Rafe. I know everything they don't. And I see you for exactly what you are."
He swallowed, throat bobbing. For the first time all night, he looked truly unsettled.
Good.
Without another word, Y/N lifted her drink—still untouched—and, with the sharpest satisfaction, poured the entire thing over his head.
Gasps. Laughter. Cheers.
Rafe stood there, drenched, humiliated, and for the first time in his life—completely powerless.
Y/N turned away, not sparing him another glance. She walked past the crowd, past the Pogues, past the remnants of something that had never been real.
She didn't cry. She didn't look back.
And as she disappeared into the night, Rafe Cameron realised—too late—that he had just lost the only person who had ever truly seen him.
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(divider by @kodaswrld !!)
betty’s notes ౨ৎ ⋆。˚
i hope this was somewhat what you asked for anon !! if not, feel free to drop another request with specifics and i’d be so happy to write that :)
editing the few drafts i have so i can upload them asap !! just in case anybodies wondering why i’m uploading so much, it’s because i have pre-written some of these requests form weeks ago and have only just gotten around to editing them :)
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naomihatake · 3 days ago
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LaDs' Rafayel rambling — "Oceanic Nightfall" tender moments
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!!!!!slight poilers ahead. I also made a comparison with Caleb after his return (*cough*, coming back from the dead - it's written in a small font if you wanna avoid reading it)
This man is so special to me, to be honest. Last night I watched one of his limited Tender Moments card, Oceanic Nightfall — and when I tell you that I was absolutely flabbergasted with how angsty it was. I saw the card's image and thought "oh, this is gonna be spicy". I was so mistaken, oh Gods 🥲
That card is anything but spicy; sure, there's a lot of tension between them in the second half of the card, my heart was doing gymnastics when she entered on him being ass naked in the bathtub with a paintbrush in his hand. I hadn't expected him to be so shameless, considering I don't think at that point they were exactly lovers (or probably just at the delicate line between friends and lovers). Not that surprising, because it's Rafayel, after all; he does act strange a lot of the time if we take into account the usual standards.
I adore the fact that MC didn't walk away and the fact that she didn't give in easily. She told him square in the face that his manipulation tactics don't go unnoticed by her and I absolutely adore that, lol. Yes, gurl, say it out loud for everyone to hear.
Also, she calls him annoying and he seems to be pleased by that. Rafayel is so pleased with the fact that she does view him differently than others.
I have to admit that his tantrum with the glass had my jaw drop to the floor because I absolutely despise such behavior — I am hater through and through of that gesture, especially since she hadn't done something deserving of such a reaction.
Let's take another scenario as a comparison: when MC throws a glass at Caleb for what he's done to her, for locking her in his apartment and being an ass with his overprotective, obsessive tendencies. I completely understand her point of view and I think he deserved it, to be frank (as someone that appreciates and loves him as a character overall). I think she should've done worse, if you ask me, but that's another story (I am a hater of controlling behavior, sorry not sorry)
Actually, Rafayel's gesture triggered me. It took me several seconds to process what happened because I couldn't believe it — to the point I'm not even sure if the glass just slipped from his hand or if he really threw it on the floor (I'll do a rerun of that card just to be sure, but I don't think I misinterpreted it).
Despite it all, that made me fall for his character even more. This is a card from the beginning of their relationship, since before they even got a chance to kiss, so I think that makes it even more interesting. In later cards and events, it is shown how complex Rafayel is; he is deeply in love with her and stops his manipulative tendencies. The only people he's cruel with have nothing to do with her. Their begining seems very abrupt and he does act like an absolute menace, like a pitiful crybaby sometimes.
Later on, these moments just end up being part of who he is as a person. I know I kind of bullied him in this post until now. Truth be told, he's very mature and he's shown as being a very wise person, regardless of his childish tantrums — and they're not even exactly childish, they're just part of a very troubled personality. He's shown taking care of MC, protecting her, giving her wise advice in a way someone very old would. His soul is, indeed, old, especially since he remembers his past lives. He's watched the world change and crumble before his eyes and he's still there, in Linkon.
Rafayel can be a child in a good way, like the time when they ran in the rain together because he never did that (he's a Lemurian, it doesn't rain underwater); in several tender moments, he encourages MC to be kinder with herself, to find herself in the small things of life, to pursue her little dreams and the bigger ones. His devotion to her is undeniable, and as time passes by, there are less and less tantrums from him. It's almost as if he's found his own emotional security and stability once she appeared in his life.
Even in this card, Oceanic Nightfall, Rafayel tells her that he's changed since she appeared in his life. She questions his strange behavior and it seems like he's a bit self destructive — that makes him such a relatable and real character.
Rafayel is full of flaws and insecurities and they make him so much more beautiful; he's perfect because of his own imperfections and I love him that way. He shows that he tries to change for the better, even if it's shown as a slow process. Also, he does that for her alone. He doesn't care about other people and I think that's very interesting. I like him a little cruel, a little heartless; he has all the rights to be, considering his life (or lives) as a Lemurian.
Also, if anyone has some thoughts about this, you can share them <3 I'd be happy to hear some more opinions on this (I know that the Rafayel girlies are down bad for him exactly because he's got a twisted personality and I wholeheartedly agree 😫)
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whoredyceps · 2 days ago
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"OH LOVER BOY!" || 28 Days of Love: A Valentine's Challenge + Series
day twelve: "for you, i would."
ᰔ pairing: din djarin x reader
ᰔ summary: your time had run out, and the bounty hunter has come to collect his target. is he ready to face the music?
ᰔ author's note: this is a continuation of the last din ficlet i wrote. i wish i could be like "omg hehe so cute!" but uh, it turned out so angsty. maybe if i make another part to this, they'll have a happy ending. surely ain't this one though!
ᰔ content warning: angsty angst feelings feelings angst, unspoken feelings, steely!din, alludes to dangerous situations. no beta— we die like men
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"Mandalorian," you hummed. "Back so soon?"
"You know why I'm here." Din stood rigid on your doorstep. He had a hand on his phaser, not that it surprised you. How he stood, the tone of his voice. It was telling.
"Back for another round with the handcuffs?" You teased. Even in the most dire of situations, you were one to jest.
There was a tense silence that hung between you, something you couldn't read from the Mandalorian. You sighed and dropped the exterior you held up for him. Without a word, you opened the door and let him inside.
Din watched you carefully as he stepped inside. His hand never left his side, ready for anything you threw at him. It felt a bit ridiculous— this whole thing.
Why did you treat him the way you did in your last encounter? Many had tried to escape their bounties, but with you...
You handled him with kid gloves— No, that wasn't it. You saw past him, saw past the harsh exterior and his mask. Those eyes pierced his mind and soul.
When traversing to his next informant, all Din thought of was you. How did you get him in bed? How did you bring out this tiny piece of him that had been hidden and shoved down? This shriveled, starved nerve in him that craved for someone else to take control. You confused him.
"Let me change first, please. I don't want to go like this." Your tone surprised Din. Everything about the person who stood in front of him was not who greeted him last time.
"Take your time."
It was your turn to be surprised by the bounty hunter. The morning after he left, you were sure he'd return with guns blazing. After all, he had left his bounty without so much as a scratch. Every moment until this one had the back of your mind full of what was to come when he came to collect his bounty.
"Thank you." You bowed your head before you slipped past him. You expected him to follow, and he did.
The last time you two had been in the same room, the circumstances were vastly different. You had hoped to show him more of your prized possessions, and you liked to think that he may have enjoyed it.
Now, you felt this suffocating tension that hung in the air. It choked you, filled your throat and lungs with every breath. Not that the Mandalorian came to do his job, but the target on the back of your head had finally hit the bullseye. The end of your freedom had come in the form of a bounty hunter.
"Why are they asking for you?" Din broke the silence. He couldn't stand it, how distance had wedged itself between the two of you. There were only a few feet, but miles separated you now.
"I wouldn't say putting a price on my head is asking," you huffed out a bitter laugh. "I thought you didn't ask questions like that." You slipped off the lounging robe you had worn. Instead, you traded it for something more sturdy, pants and a simple long tunic. It came with some leather pieces, but you didn't bother. Every part of the outfit wasn't you. No one got to have that part of you now.
"I'd say there are circumstances that change that," Din returned. He watched you carefully. While his hand was on the blaster, there was no need for it. In the short time he had known you, it didn't seem like something you'd do. At least, he gave you the benefit of the doubt.
"Have you found a soft spot for me under all that armor?" You tried to smirk, but it didn't reach your eyes. It was hard to find humor in a moment like this.
Din didn't answer, and you didn't expect him to. You stood in front of the mirror and gathered yourself. After a beat, you turned to the bounty hunter and held your wrists to him. A silent surrender, ready for the real cuffs you knew he had.
Instead, he shook his head. Without a word, he motioned for you to lead the way out. You hated how quiet it was. Even with the music you had left on before Din arrived, there was the loud buzz of nothingness that rang in your ears.
You followed him to the Razor Crest, which he let you on first. Once inside, he finally put a set of cuffs on your wrists. They were heavier, thick and cut into your skin. It left a bitter taste in your mouth, the irony of the situation.
"Find somewhere to sit." Din closed the ship and finally moved his hand from the phaser at his side. He watched you sit on the floor, against one of the walls near where he piloted the ship.
"You can sit in a chair, you know?" It was an attempt to lighten the situation— why he tried, he wasn't sure.
Din bit back a sigh as you shook your head. He felt something acidic in his stomach as he took in your expression. He had seen it on many other bounties, the haunted look in their eyes as they approached their own demise. While he wasn't sure what fate awaited you, he had a feeling he'd figure it out.
"I'll stay here, if you don't mind." You tucked your knees against your chest, your arms wrapped around as you curled up.
That static silence lingered in the air as time passed. You laid your head back against a panel; your eyes drifted to the slivers of glass you saw from where you sat.
"You never answered my question." Din wasn't able to stomach another minute of silence. What he once had been so comfortable in— a blanket he had grown so used to— had been ripped and tossed to the side.
You tore your gaze away from the sights of the galaxy. Silently, you stood behind the pilot's chair. The view was nice, to see what the bounty hunter traversed through.
"Why should I tell you?" Instead of hostility, it was simple curiosity. You leaned into his peripheral, your eyes still on the stars that whizzed past the ship.
Din tried to think of a reason, but he came up short. He didn't have one, truthfully. It was his curiosity that had gotten the better of him. You waited for an answer, but when he gave you more silence, you sighed.
"As much as we'd like to run from what troubles us, that is often not the case. Once the claws have sunk in, they drag you back time and time again." Without his helmet on, you would have seen the way the bounty hunter glanced at you. He noticed the slight grimace on your face.
"Why run? Face it head on, and finish it once and for all." Din set the ship to auto-pilot as he turned the chair towards you.
You tried to hide your expression, but he noticed how you tensed. For things left unspoken, your actions spoke clearly.
"I know nothing of you, Mandalorian, but you know as well as I do that it's easier said than done. To return..." You shook your head and looked down. "How much is the bounty? It'll pay you well?"
Din looked to you. He contemplated whether he wanted to tell the truth or not. What did he gain from it? What did you lose from it? Would it bring you comfort, or push you past a point you couldn't return from.
"Enough that I took it without much thought," Din finally said. He watched your expression even though it was unclear. He turned back to watch the course the Razor Crest was set on.
"I can't blame you, I suppose. If it's who I think it is, they'll make the pay well worth your time." You gave a humorless chuckle. "Well, I hope you'll use your credits well."
The comment was off handed, but it didn't sit well with Din. It was the nature of his job, to turn people in for a price. Those who had fallen victim to the bounty hunter's target made sure to remind him of that.
Why did your comment feel like a swift kick to the throat?
"It's a job," Din said. "It's all business."
"Was what we did just business?" You asked in return. Part of you wished you saw the expression on his face, but when his hand gripped one of the handles on the console, you had a good idea of what it may look like.
"What we did," Din hesitated. "It was one time. It won't happen again."
There it was— that damn silence. You looked away from Din, back out at the expanse of the universe.
"I know. Any pleasures I've grown accustomed to have all vanished in the blink of an eye. I'll miss you, Mandalorian," you admitted. "Perhaps it's selfish, but I had hoped you would return again. Under different circumstances, though."
"You knew I would come back." Din glanced back at you.
"I suppose I always knew it would come to this. With you, with the bounty..." You trailed off, the thought left to hang between you two.
"Did you expect me to abandon myself? My morals and honor?" Din wasn't insulted, but it rubbed him the wrong way. Everything about you felt like that— like every part of you brushed against him and lingered. Searing hot to the touch, only for it to simmer under his skin.
"For you, I would." You said it without hesitation, your eyes pointed right at the T-shaped visor on the bounty hunter's head. "If I knew the price on your head and knew I was sending you back into the jaws of something vile, I would abandon myself."
You didn't wait for the silence to follow. With a shift of your hands, hope of some relief from the pain of the handcuffs for naught, you stalked out of the room.
It would be days before you made it to your destination, which still wasn't enough time to gather all your thoughts and feelings. That, mixed with the dread and torment only left you catatonic in the tiny bunk you found solace in.
Now, you were the one in bed, handcuffs left you to submit to the bounty hunter. Perhaps next time, you'd be more specific.
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vanillebunny · 12 hours ago
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hellooo!! can u pls write for steve harrington?? i'm thinking where he got with reader as a rebound for nancy but then he realizes its much more than that but by the time he does you already realized and left like an angsty thing
warnings: i think none? but please tell me if there are.
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you've always known steve harrington, ever since you were a kid. steve 'the hair' harrington, king of hawkins, ladies man--as everyone thought. to you though, he was just steve, the neighbor next door.
being neighbors with steve wasn't always easy, or quiet even. from the constant parties to the endless nights with every woman in hawkins. you'd be a lucky if you got a good nights sleep for once. your mom didn't really hear it much, not like she was ever home to.
if there was one thing you had in common with steve, it was the lack of life in your house. only for steve, he was always replacing it with having someone over whenever he possibly can, while you just stayed home alone.
not like you were never invited, it was kind of a given since you'd know about it anyway, might as well be invited. but you never came. not like it mattered. but after some time, the parties...stopped. everything became calm, and steve was like...not a douchebag anymore. everyone said it was cause of nancy wheeler, the princess. she was perfect. not a single flaw to her
you'd always see her come around, she was pretty. you couldn't lie. but damn did something about her rub you the wrong way. it was always like this, up until you knew about the big breakup
you were home as usual, and had taken your walkman to go walk at night like you usually did, but when you left your house, you saw steve on your porch, sitting silently. it didn't even seem like he was coming to talk or something, he just sat there for no reason.
"i think you got it mixed up" you spoke up, going down a few steps to where he was sitting, "your house is next door, not here" you say with furrowed eyebrows. but he didn't even look at you, he was just sat there.
"you probably already heard." he says and just keeps looking ahead, "nancy left me"
you in fact did not hear. "oh." was all that came out of you, you sigh and just sit beside him, placing the walkman beside you. "thats...weird. why? i thought you two were happy" you say and he just scoffs
"bullshit, apparently. all of it. should've known...im an idiot. girl like her, as if that would last" he mutters, more to himself than you
"hey, what?" you say, shaking your head quickly, "that's so wrong, steve. like--very wrong. you're a great guy, steve. i mean like...now--you became a great guy. and if she didn't see that and thought it's all bullshit then she's not worth it" you say, and he--finally looks at you.
"you really think so?" he asks, and you hesitate for a moment, before nodding.
"yeah, of course steve" you say, it was quiet for a while, the two of you just looking around, up until you got up and went back inside. he sighs to himself, thinking you left, until you came back with a pair of headphones. you sat back down beside him and grabbed the walkman again, plugging in a second pair of headphones, you hand him it.
he looks at you, hesitating for a moment before taking it, the two of you sat there quietly just listening to music. it was the very first time you two had even had a proper conversation--or even interaction together ever since you were kids.
ever since then, you two were always stopping by each others houses--even driving home or to school since you were both heading the same way. you got close quickly, and as much as you didnt expect it, you genuinely really liked it
you knew he changed, but you thought it was just a look. but he actually did, he was funny, really considerate and nice. you found yourself...actually feeling things for him. you always brushed it off, but to your luck, steve was a very expressive person, so he made sure to let you know he liked you back
it was all great, you didn't feel so lonely anymore. and you two were just...such a good pair. some would say even better than nancy. and you liked to think so too, until one day, you were heading to the basketball court to go see your boyfriend as usual. until you overheard tommy h and a few other guys talking to themselves, steve must've been in the locker room or something.
"how the hell are harrington and that girl together, i mean i don't get it--he and miss perfect break up, and he's already with the next girl? i don't buy it." tommy says, and one of them chimes in
"my girl says they love each other, it's total bull. we all know the real reason harrington's with her, she's a rebound. i mean--how do you get over a girl like nancy? you got a have at least a few replacements before finally moving on"
what? replacements? no--that's not right. you're sure steve likes you, genuinely likes you...right? it's not true, he's not that kind of guy. he wouldn't be using you like that, right?
you shake your head and quickly storm off, tears brewing in your eyes. you've been alone for so long, maybe you just didn't notice how he was using you? maybe you just jumped at the first chance to be with someone, so desperate?
that same day, steve was knocking and knocking on your door, when you didn't answer, he sighed and sat on the porch. for hours. waiting and waiting.
"baby i know something's wrong...please talk to me. don't...don't do this." he says as he knocks on your door one more time. he hears footsteps coming from the road, he quickly steps down the porch and rushes to the footsteps, hoping it was you.
he slows down as he sees nancy there. he furrows his eyebrows. what the hell was she doing here?
"what do you want?" he says and she just looks at him
"steve let's talk..." she says and he quickly shakes his head
"no...no absolutely not. i don't wanna have anything to do with you, don't you understand that nancy?" he says, while he's talking, you were opening the front door since you thought it's been too long.
to his luck, you were just behind him when he was talking to nancy.
"fine, fine you're right okay? i did get with her as a rebound...to--to forget you. is that what you wanted to hear?" he says and everything else quiets down in your head, they were right. they were all right. he doesn't like you, love you. he never did. how could he? you slowly walk away, your eyes distant and your face paling. how could you be so stupid to think something could ever work out for you?
but while you were lost in your own head, steve was still talking to nancy.
"but it's not like that anymore. don't you get that? i don't love you anymore, i don't even want to see your face. i wake up in the morning and the first thing i want to do is see her, she's so much better than you could ever be. i don't need you anymore, alright? you have to go nancy" he says and shakes his head, walking back to your front door, completely ignoring nancy's pleading for him to hear her out
"baby? you in there? please come out and talk to me" he sighs as he knocks on your door, but you were already gone. you had gone through the backdoor, he was gonna use you to forget some girl? you'll do worse. you were already on your way to the trailer park, tears in your eyes. you wanted to hurt him just like he hurt you, and what other way to do that other than be with the guy he hates more than anything?
a/n: hey guys i think this mightve been my worst work yet but ummm im posting it anyway, also i wanted to make it more sad but then it kind of turned into a revenge thing so idk, hope u enjoy thoo! <333
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doorlesscub00 · 20 hours ago
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The Last Goodbye
Spencer x reader drabble authors note: Hey guys!! This is the first time posting a fic I've written, so please let me know what you think!! all feedback it appreciated and welcomed!! Short write- Less then 500 words, but potential for a second part!! Not proofread either!! The reader isn't mentioned of gender- It's written in second person point of view. Theirs mention of yelling, a bit of toxicity and Spencer out of prison. It is angsty.
He's been more distant lately. You were growing more and more concerned about him. Ever since he got back from prison, he changed. He grew cold. Pushing you away. The constant fights, unable to even hear you. You tried, tried to your last bone in your body... but everyone has their breaking points. 4 years withering away like it was merely a facade.
Here he is. Dismissive and angry. Why is he shouting so loudly and incoherently? You asked him how his day was, and if he was alright, and then the split happened. Spencer is turning into this unrecognizable person, yelling at you for being too invasive, too pushy and nosey. You just wanted to help. And now he is screaming in your face...
Ring... Ring...
He answered the call in two rings, it takes him two calls to answer you. It was like his entire personality shifted... He was kinder, sweeter, understanding... reminds you of the Spencer you once knew... the one you lost.
He looks at you and answers the line... "Yeah I can make it in right now. I don't have anything special going on. Yeah, I know. I'll see you in 20 Emily."
He hung up the phone and spoke coldly, telling you he needed to go back to work, went into the bedroom and grabbed his to-go back, and went straight to the front door and left.
This time would be different, you knew it. You didn't weakly tell him goodbye and to be safe. No. No more of that. You've done it every time he left, but not today. Did he even notice that.? Probably not. He left, and it gives you at least one day to get everything out, at best 12 days. But you wouldn't risk taking your time. Straight to your room and grabbing all of your belongings, throwing them into your car. Questions swarm through your head. Where would you go. What will happen to the thing you can't fit in your car to bring. Would he care you left.? Would he notice your absence when he gets back.. Would he be happy. Maybe try to find you and try to change. Could he change back to the man he once was.. You hope he could go back to Spencer you fell...
Wait! No. Stop thinking about him. You're leaving him to be happier. Free. So then why does it feel like you have a 50 pound weight on your chest. It doesn't matter. You had to do this. You had to leave.. Staying would only make you loose your mind. Be driven to insanity. it's time to hurry. Not another night here. Booking a hotel for the night and going from there would be the safest option. It's already 11:27pm. You threw the rest of the belongings you could carry in your car, leaving quite a bit behind but you needed to prioritize what you took, went back and left your key on his counter and walked out the door..
Looking back one last time, leaving behind all the forgotten laughs, all the petty fights... Your new start begun now. As you started the engine of your car, you started your new chapter in life. A chapter of which you can only go up. Find joy once more. Backing out of his driveway, you knew you could never go back on what you're choosing. And so there you were, dead of night with the street lights to show you the way as you drove away from the empty shell, the once you once considered to be a warm and loving home..
A/n: Okay so I am debating on making a second part to this- or maybe like 2 different endings to the story.? A sad one and a happy one. But let me know what you guys want!! If I should leave it as is, or continue onto it. Anywho, thank you so much for reading my Drabble!! Means the world to me, but for now, goodbye my lovely dreamers!! Till next time, have a wonderful day or night!! Better yet, both!!
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dumpywrites · 11 hours ago
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Emulsion - Kim Namjoon / RM
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Prompt: Love and business don’t mix, and so do both of you. 
Prompt request: HERE
Genre/tags: Angst (happy ending), arranged marriage, slow burn
Pairing: Namjoon x she/her reader
Word count: 3.5k
a/n: this is the most angsty angst I’ve ever written so far I actually cried while writing it omg 😭😭😭
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You knew what you were getting into when your family introduced you to the Kims. 
You knew your parents wanted to seal the deal with their corporation, and in order to have bigger share of the stocks, someone had to infiltrate in. That person being you, of course. Yes, your family totally sold you for some fortune. Very unfortunate. 
It was told that there was no pressure in marrying their son, Kim Namjoon. Said that you should just go on a few dinners with him, to see whether you enjoyed his company or not. In which to be fair, after meeting him in person, you actually didn't dislike him. He was quite easy to talk to, well-mannered, and seemed to be a bit philosophical. Also, quite the nice looking individual. Nice was a bit of a downplay actually. Man was handsome. 
Just after three supposed “dates” your parents booked a dinner at a hotel for both of you, not knowing they also booked a room for you to stay the night. 
It was never your intention. You were disappointed by how greedy your parents were and how they’d just blatantly do anything for power. The fact that they were probably thinking it was better if you just ended up getting knocked up by him was insanely outrageous. 
While you had no part in this play, Namjoon was pissed. He didn’t think you were actually this shallow or how you could stoop this low. Right after both of you were informed that a room was available for use, the man immediately excused himself, leaving you behind. 
You would think that was supposed to be the end of this story. That was until you saw a text from him, two weeks following the last incident. 
“I have a proposal for you.”
Apparently, his dying grandmother’s wish were to see him married. At the blossoming age of thirty, his old-fashioned family desperately wanted him to do so too. To the point where his father was holding his personal project back, threatening to shut it down if he disobeyed. Your greedy parents and his close minded ones somehow had one vision in common. Both of you, marriage. After all, this agreement would just simply benefited both parties.
You never wanted to marry. After your past relationships you had enough of your trust being broken, and you didn’t think it was even possible to trust anyone at this point. Namjoon never really wanted to raise a family. He did not want kids and had dreams and goals he would still like to pursue himself. But financial-wise, neither any of you were ready to be let go from your respective families if you chose to disagree. 
The ceremony of your wedding day was almost perfect. You were glad that the Kims let you get involved in the preparation, even though it was just as minimum as choosing some few options. The wedding theme was actually what you had always picture a fairytale wedding would be. The beautiful garden theme inside a dim lit ballroom, light periwinkle decorations. Despite not wanting one, a girl could dream, right? 
You barely remembered saying your vows, barely registered the way Kim Namjoon had slipped the ring onto your finger, his touch fleeting, impersonal. The cameras had captured smiles that weren’t real, a picture perfect couple that didn’t exist. Your kiss was merely a touch, but at least you were not crying on your wedding day. 
The night at the hotel, your husband spent the night sleeping on the couch. You were unsure if it was because he did not want to make you uncomfortable, or if it was due to him just resenting you as a person. 
And it had been like that for almost half a year now. You had separate bedrooms in your house, despite your wedding picture being displayed on the biggest frame they could get. Both of you and Namjoon barely had any conversation and barely even see each other when you were together in the house. 
Your life with Namjoon had settled into a quiet routine. Cordial but distant, polite but impersonal. He was never cruel, never dismissive, and yet there was always an invisible wall between you. He never spoke harshly. Never raised his voice. Never ignored you outright. But he also never sought you out unless necessary.
Most nights, you dined together out of obligation, sitting across from each other in an expensive yet cold dining room, exchanging words only when required. You weren’t strangers, but you weren’t partners either.
Yet, Namjoon was kind. In ways that were small but undeniable. He always made sure your morning tea was just the way you liked it, setting it on the kitchen counter before he left for work. He never invaded your space, never made you feel uncomfortable in your own home. If he noticed you were exhausted, he would quietly order dinner so you wouldn’t have to cook. If you fell asleep on the couch, he would drape a blanket over you before retreating to his own room.
It wasn’t love but it wasn’t cruelty either. 
And you were content with it. 
Then something happened at the worst possible time.
You and Namjoon had been carefully avoiding another confrontation, balancing on the razor thin edge of whatever this thing between you had become. But the universe had other plans.
The two of you had been at yet another corporate event, one of those weekend retreats meant to foster “unity” among business partners. You had spent most of the evening keeping your distance, exchanging polite words when necessary but never lingering.
That was until the storm hit. Heavy rain poured outside, thunder rumbling in the distance. The venue was a secluded estate in the countryside, and thanks to the storm, most of the guests had either left early or locked themselves in their rooms for the night.
You hadn’t planned to stay long and either had Namjoon. But when you returned to your designated guest room, you found him there. Standing by the window, his phone in hand, expression tense.
“What are you doing here?” You asked, brows furrowing.
Namjoon exhaled, turning to face you. “There was a mix up. Apparently, we were booked into the same room.”
Your stomach dropped. “What?!”
“I already spoke to the staff.” He said, voice tight. “All the other rooms are taken.”
You stared at him, waiting for him to say he would find another way. That he’d sleep in the lobby, the car, anywhere else. But then again, you couldn’t really blame him. Both of you booking a separate room was already weird enough. Him having to demand for it again would make it look even worse. 
“We’ll just have to deal with it for tonight.”
Your pulse pounded. “There’s only one bed.”
He ran a hand through his hair. “I noticed.”
The tension in the room thickened, suffocating, neither of you knowing how to navigate this. You were used to distance. Used to space. But now, with a locked door and a storm raging outside, there was none.
You swallowed. “I’ll take the couch.”
Namjoon frowned. “It’s barely big enough to sit on, let alone sleep.”
“I’ll manage.”
He sighed, rubbing his temple. “Don’t be stubborn. Take the bed.”
“Your body is literally bigger than mine. I’ll take the couch.” You insisted. 
To be frank you weren’t sure what would be worse, sleeping next to him and pretending you didn’t feel every inch of space between you, or letting him sleep there alone and knowing you had chosen to not try to better your relationship. 
Namjoon watched you carefully, something unreadable in his gaze. Then, after a long pause, he exhaled sharply. “I’ll sleep on the floor.”
Your head snapped up. “What? No!”
“I’m not taking the bed…” He said firmly. “And you’re not sleeping on that couch.”
You opened your mouth to argue, but the look in his eyes told you it was useless.
Without another word, Namjoon grabbed a spare pillow, tossed it onto the floor, and lay down, one arm resting over his forehead. You stood there, frozen, watching the rise and fall of his chest, the tension in his jaw.
This wasn’t supposed to happen. You weren’t supposed to be alone with him like this. And yet, as you slowly climbed into bed, lying stiffly on one side, you just couldn’t ignore the way his presence felt too close. As the storm continued outside, neither of you spoke.
Neither of you moved. Neither of you slept either.
“Namjoon,” You called softly. “Are you awake?”
“Yeah, why?” The way his voice didn’t sound hoarse at all. You knew he was wide awake the entire time. 
“Aren’t you cold? I… I think there’s enough space up here if you want…” You hesitated. 
“Don’t worry about me, just get some rest.” 
“No.” You paused. “I am worried.” 
There was a small pause coming from the guy underneath as well before he spoke again. “You sure?”
“Yeah.” Was all you said. 
You didn’t dare to look at him, but you heard his movement before feeling the mattress dipped with weight next to you. Your back was facing him, body under the covers. It didn’t seem like he slipped under it, probably too afraid to make you uncomfortable in any way. 
So you took action and got up, dragged the blanket over so it could cover his body too, before going back to your previous position. You didn’t get the chance to catch his reaction. 
“You know…” You suddenly said. You didn’t know what came over you tonight for being so bold. “That night on our first dinner… It wasn’t me. My parents booked it without telling…”
You felt his body turned to your direction, but you still refused to look at him. 
“I know.” He replied gently. 
“I’m sorry, if you ever feel used by me or my family.” 
“Neither one of our families are innocent.” He sighed. “I’m sorry I dragged you into this as well.”
You didn’t know why but the way he talked suddenly made your heart race. “Good night.” You said, quickly ending the conversation with your back still facing him. 
“Good night.” He replied shortly. 
You woke up when you felt an arm just suddenly draped around your body. You weren’t too sure of what to do. Would it be offensive if you refuse? Should you just let him be? He pulled you even closer before you even had the chance to say anything. 
Now being fully in his embrace, your back against his hard chest, you could quite literally feel his heartbeat. 
Heat pooled in your stomach, you were getting anxious. Worse, you were starting to feel hot. Surely, you didn’t want Namjoon to feel you being all sweaty. 
“Namjoon…” You called, in hopes to wake him. 
No response. 
“Joon…” You called again. Although this time, you didn’t know where did you start picking up the nickname his family used. 
“Are you uncomfortable?” 
Again, you didn’t fail to notice the lack of hoarseness in his voice. So he had been awake for some time. 
Oddly enough, you were not uncomfortable. 
Actually, it was quite the opposite. 
“No.” You replied, simultaneously feeling his heartbeat getting faster in return. 
“It’s warmer like this.” He said. 
“You’re right.” 
Both of you stayed like that for almost two hours before getting up. Somehow sleeping in his arms felt natural. Too natural that it started to weird you out. The way your heart was acting up and the butterflies churning your stomach. Clearly something had shifted inside you. Whatever happened was so cliche, but you didn’t hate it. 
It did cause some unwanted changes in your life though. 
Now your dinner became awkward, as you could barely hold eye contact with your supposed husband. You avoid any communications even more than how it was before. You started to feel scared by your own thoughts. Creeping in your head like a disease. 
Deep down you always thought that Namjoon at least despised you, even just a little bit. After all, he knew how much your family benefited from your marriage. Even though he was never rude to you, a normal guy who was most importantly was your legal husband, would at least try to do something. The fact that in the whole six months that was all he ever did to you just proved how undesirable you were in his eyes. 
You had to scold yourself mentally for being a hormonal mess for even thinking like that. 
Tonight, Namjoon seemed tensed. The frown never left his face the whole dinner. 
“Is everything okay?” You asked cautiously.
He hesitated, then sighed. “Met my parents today.”
You looked at him cautiously. 
“They want to know why we still…” He trailed off, rubbing his temple. “Why we act like strangers in front of them. They even said that at this rate they were never gonna see any grandkids…”
Your throat tightened. “And what did you say?”
Namjoon looked at you then, his gaze unreadable. “I told them we were trying. At least we fooled the investors.”
Something about those words stung more than they should have.
You scoffed, trying to mask the hurt creeping into your voice. “Trying? That’s funny. Because to me, it still feels like we’re just pretending.”
Namjoon’s jaw tightened. “Is that really what you think?”
“What else am I supposed to think?!” Your voice was rising now, the emotions you had kept buried for months bubbling to the surface. “We’ve been married for six months, Namjoon. And we still act like this! Like two people who don’t know how to be in the same room without feeling awkward.”
His expression darkened, frustration flickering in his eyes. “I’ve been trying to make this easier for you.” He said, voice steady but firm. “I’ve respected your space. I’ve never forced you into anything. Now you’re mad because I didn’t push you harder???”
“That’s not what I’m saying…” You shot back, though you weren’t even sure what you were saying anymore. 
Namjoon exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “Then what are you saying?”
You opened your mouth, but no words came out. Because the truth was, you didn’t know either. All you knew was that somewhere along the way, this had stopped feeling like a burden and started feeling like something much more complicated and you were terrified. 
So you did what you would usually do. The only way you knew to cope with this situation. 
“You wouldn’t marry me anyway if your parents didn’t threaten to shut down your collapsing art gallery.”
Namjoon didn’t say anything, only stood up and left without finishing his food. What you said technically was not a lie, but you still went out of the line. 
Things didn’t go back to normal after that night.
Namjoon was becoming distant, but not in the way he had been before. This wasn’t avoidance and restraint. Like he was holding something back, like he didn’t trust himself around you anymore. And you? You were no better. The way he looked at you that night right before he left, was still lingering in your memory. 
Instead of addressing it, you both fell into a new pattern. 
You both still had to go to a company’s daughter’s wedding. Despite the situation, it seemed like both of you were trained well to the point that you could act like the happiest couple in the world on command just like that. 
The celebration was held in this five-star hotel. Invitation list was long, so meeting an old acquaintance was bound to happen. 
Seojun was an old acquaintance, nothing more, but the moment he leaned in too closely, his hand brushing your arm as he laughed at something you had said, you felt a presence behind you shifted. You didn’t have to turn around to know Namjoon was watching.
When Seojun’s fingers skimmed over your wrist, guiding you toward the dance floor, you finally turned and locked eyes with your husband.
His jaw was tight, his fingers curled around his glass with barely concealed restraint. He seemed… angry. Not annoyed. Not indifferent. Angry. This was a first. 
Then he quickly disappeared into the crowd.
When you returned home, Namjoon was already there, tie discarded, sleeves rolled up. He was leaning against the kitchen counter, staring at nothing in particular. You hesitated in the doorway, waiting for him to acknowledge you.
“So, are we going to talk about it?” You asked, carefully watching your tone. 
Namjoon let out a low breath. “Talk about what?”
You clenched your fists. “Don’t do that. Don’t act like you weren’t—”
“Weren’t what?” He finally looked at you, eyes dark, unreadable. “Bothered? Jealous?” He scoffed. “You don’t want me to act like your husband, so why does it matter?”
Your heart pounded. “Because—”
“Because???” He took a slow step forward. “Say it.”
You couldn’t. Because saying it meant accepting that whatever this was between you wasn’t just circumstantial. It wasn’t just an arrangement anymore. So you did what you always did. You turned away.
But this time, Namjoon didn’t let you.
Before you could step past him, his fingers wrapped around your wrist. It wasn’t harsh, he just held it softly, demanding your attention.
“I don’t hate you.” He said quietly.
Your heart dropped.
“I never have.”
And just like that, the walls you had built started to crumble. 
You spent the night crying in your room. You were confused and mostly scared. You already knew what was becoming of you. You were not a little kid anymore, you knew exactly what you were feeling and why at this point. 
When in the morning you saw no tea was prepared for you, you quickly gave his room a knock. 
“Namjoon?” you asked softly. 
The door cracked open and he paused in the doorway, glancing at you before sighing deeply. His hair was messy and eyebags could be seen decorating his handsome features. “Hey.”
“Can I come in?”
“Sure.” 
As you awkwardly sat on his bed, you couldn’t help but to look around. To think that this was the very first time you stepped in this room in over six months of living in this house. 
“I don’t know how to do this anymore.” His voice was quiet but firm, a mix of frustration and something else you couldn’t place.
Your heart skipped a beat. “Do what?”
“This… Us.” His gaze dropped to the floor, his hands tightening into fists by his side. “I can’t keep pretending I don’t want more. I can’t keep pretending that everything we’ve been doing is enough.”
You held your breath, fear creeping into your chest as his words sank in. “Joon…”
“I don’t know how to do this right, but I want to. I don’t want to hold back anymore. I’m not asking you to be ready, but I need you to know that this…” He hesitated, his words heavy. “I feel like it’s real.”
For a moment, you couldn’t speak. You just stared at him, letting his words wash over you. He was laying it out, raw and vulnerable, and you could feel the weight of it pressing against your chest.
“I don’t know what this means for us, or how this will turn out, but I’m tired of holding back. I need to know if you feel the same.” He said, his voice gentler now. 
You were quiet for a long time, every part of you torn between fear and something you couldn’t name. A desire for something more, something real.
“I don’t know if I’m ready either…” You finally said, your voice barely above a whisper. “But I can’t pretend like I don’t feel it too.”
Namjoon’s eyes softened, his hand slowly reaching out toward you. You didn’t pull away this time. Instead, you let him touch your hand. The contact gave you shivers.
“I’m not asking for answers, I’m just asking you to take a chance with me.”
You felt the weight of his words, the sincerity behind them, and without realizing it, you found yourself leaning closer to him. You didn’t know what would happen after tonight, but you knew that for the first time, you were willing to find out.
Without a word, Namjoon closed the space between you, his hand gently cupping your cheek. His touch was hesitant at first, as though he was waiting for some sign from you. Then with a slow exhale you closed your eyes and leaned into him, returning the kiss with the same amount of passion. A tear escaped your left eye. His thumb was quick to swipe them away. 
“You’re not alone in this.” He said, hands still holding your face, as if you were to break if he ever let go. “Not anymore.”
And with that, you knew there was no going back. You had taken the leap. And now you would figure out the rest of this together.
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Thank you for reading! 🖤
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leashybebes · 2 months ago
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Kiss meme: BucjTommy, 34, to pretend
whoops, angst incoming. thanks for playing!
Buck can't even claim that he didn't intend this. He took Eddie to the airport, wearing the same fake smile he's been wearing for weeks, so familiar now that it's starting to make his jaw hurt. He went as far as he could, smile still pinned into place, gave Eddie a warm hug and a slap on the back at departures, promising to see him soon.
Then he drove to a bar, where he got methodically drunk enough that looking at the Uber app stopped making him feel a little curl of shame, until the thing he wanted to do felt like a good idea.
So now he's here, in front of his ex-boyfriend's house, and he's drunk enough that he doesn't remember getting out of the car, doesn't remember walking up the path, doesn't remember knocking on the door. He does remember thinking on the way over - god, what if some other guy opens the door?
What happens is even worse - because Tommy opens the door and for a split second it's like he's forgotten, like the gorgeous smile that curves its way across his face at the sight of Buck is a reflex. But then it drops away, and Tommy's hand tightens on the doorframe. Buck sees his mouth start to shape a word and he can't - he can't hear Tommy ask what he's doing here, or tell him to leave, he can't.
"Everybody leaves me," he says, and that's not what he meant to say, but Tommy's face falls.
"You're drunk," he says carefully.
"Eddie left. You left. Tommy, I'm - I'm so alone."
Tommy's jaw tightens. "Come in," he says, and Buck crosses the threshold of a house he never thought he'd enter again.
Tommy's hand hovers over his elbow, not quite making contact, and he steers Buck to the couch, disappears, reappears a moment later with a glass of water that he carefully presses into Buck's hands. Buck holds it and looks at it, but doesn't make a move to drink.
Tommy crouches down in front of him instead of sitting next to him on the couch. Buck hates that, even as he likes the way Tommy looks looking up at him, his eyes dark and concerned.
"What do you mean, Eddie left?"
"Moved back to Texas," Buck says. "For the best. Chris is more important. But it - Tommy, it hurts."
Tommy sighs and unfolds from his crouch to sit next to him on the couch, finally touching him, even if it's only with a carefully platonic hand on the shoulder.
"I'm so sorry, Buck. Can you drink some water for me?"
Buck does as Tommy asks, gulping down half the glass of water in a couple of mouthfuls.
"Take it easy," Tommy says gently and Buck drinks the rest of the water more slowly. He looks around as he does it - Tommy's place looks exactly the same as it does in his memory, as it did the last time he was here. It's like a time capsule, like he's been transported back to before.
Tommy takes the glass from him and leans forward to place it on the coffee table and when he comes back, Buck reaches out, fumbles a grab for his collar. Fumbles an attempt to land a kiss on his mouth.
Tommy stiffens and straightens up, taking himself further away, and it aches.
"Buck," he says gently, and it's the worst thing Buck's heard since 'they're not in LA, they're in El Paso'.
"Please. Just once. Just let me pretend."
"Buck - "
"Don't - don't, not that."
"Evan…" Tommy's voice breaks on the word, like Buck's doing exactly what Tommy was afraid he would do, like he's breaking Tommy's heart, right here, in real time. But he opens up his arms and lets Buck fall into him, and he kisses his hairline, just like he used to.
Buck closes his eyes and he presses a kiss to Tommy's collarbone where his face has landed and he pretends just as hard as he can.
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cuteniarose · 4 months ago
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Me: *creates an OC*
Me: *heavily implies OC will meet a bad fate*
OC: *meets bad fate*
Me:
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(Alternatively, I may have started it, but @katkastrofa enabled me and now I’m losing my mind)
#Kat and Nia and their multiverse of madness#first rule of interacting with Nia: don’t suggest a dark/whumpy/extremely angsty concept to them#they’ll take it and run a marathon with it and next thing you know their own ideas are making them cry#this is just what happens when I start developing an OC during a rough time in my life#happens every time. guess who came up with Summiya’s fall from grace after their college application fell through??#and since Summiya has a more or less completed storyline. it’s now someone else’s turn#namely Jia’s. also Sunat’s but. mostly Jia’s. Sunat is more angst than whump and I’m craving PAIN#I’ve been frothing at the mouth thinking about Jia all day#just.. imagine how terrified she must have been when she was brought before Jusamah. when he said that he’d make her talk one way or another#and if she doesn’t want to obey and confess willingly… something else can be arranged#how her fear got even worse when she was dragged into the palace dungeons. when she saw the whipping post#begging for mercy as she was stripped and tied. swearing on her life that she doesn’t know anything. that she’s innocent#rambling incoherently right up until the first hit lands. after that it’s just screams and sobs and barely audible ‘I don’t know’s#all the while she’s yelled at by a man three times her age who refuses to believe that she truly doesn’t know anything#and she doesn’t. all she did was point Aiza in a direction. she has no proof she even went in it#I don’t want to get to graphic here but let’s just say I read an article on whipping and it’s.. it’s bad#the aftermath is brutal and bloody and passing out from the pain would be a mercy#and afterwards… I do think someone is called to tend to her so she doesn’t bleed to death before they can get a confession out of her#and that person is kind. if a little detached emotionally. and likely her back could have been salvaged if the whipping didn’t repeat#but it did. because they need her to confess. maybe the excruciating pain of reopened wounds will get her to talk…#it doesn’t. she never says anything. and after a while they move on from torture to locking her up and starving her#maybe that’ll finally break her. perhaps she’s still whipped occasionally even afterwards but for the most part she’s just left alone-#in some dark cell and questioned occasionally. it lasts anywhere from weeks to months and yet she never gives out the one detail she knows#because Aiza’s safety depends on it and she knows Aiza’s punishment will be much worse than hers if she’s caught#but anyway. enough of the bloody horror show. instead think about what it must’ve been like for her parents#the town is alight with scandal following the disappearance of Lady Aiza. you know a bit about her since your daughter works for her#you don’t hear from your daughter for a while. eventually someone tells you that she’s been convicted of helping Lady Aiza run away#she’s been under interrogation since. no one’s seen her but rumour has it they’re torturing her. there’s little you can do as a poor family#you request an audience with Lord Jusamah. it takes a long time to to be granted but eventually you’re before him begging for your daughter#apparently she’s proven to be a useless waste of resources so she’s released to you. you barely recognise her. AND I REACHED TAG LIMIT FML
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skitskatdacat63 · 1 year ago
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catie hello :))) roman empire seb nando au?? saw the sketch you made during suzuka & would love to hear your thoughts!! <3
Aaaah Claire hello!!!! I think you're talking about this one, right?
I joked in the tags "Hadrian and Antonius who?????"so I guess that would be the basis??? Seb is a favorite lover of Fernando's and when he dies, Fernando deifies him 😥
This Seb is obv from a different au, but this would be how I'd vizualize them:
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imo everyone on earth should be talking about Him (don't want this showing up in the tag even though it's not a diss) but everytime i go to the tag and there's only like 3 new posts i'm like. oh yeah almost no one cares except me and like 5 other ppl on here
i ran out of tags KFHSJENNXN i don't think that's literally ever happened to me before anyways don't read them because it's just me being insane as per usual
#most of his indirects on twitter are from people in diff asian countries as well and ik he's doing an asia tour soon(?)#bruh he's never coming back to the usa is he 😭😭😭 i need him in chicago i miss him so bad#i feel very ugly emotionally rn still bc i was reading all of the rando ass dating rumors of him last night LMAO and it pissed me off#i know i have no right to get mad and i'm being irrational but at the same time like. everyone is just like 'omg he's so in love rn'#bc his music has been very angsty and like. idk... conflicted? but his new song was very happy and sweet and very In Love Sounding#and i already know all his music is about one person bc he always talks about the same shit (he's very predictable i see right thru him)#and he's putting out a new song called 'shining' and he has been talking abt a person being his light/shining on him for the last 7yrs atp#so like. that's how i know it's about one specific person and i don't think he has moved on LMAOOO so unless he was dating the same random#7yrs ago i don't think he's dating any of the people they bring up tbh... i pay attention to these things not to brag or anything but like#being attentive to the people i love and noticing inconsistincies in their behavior and when they act diff is like. the only skill i have#at least irt other people LMAO like honestly i wrote all the lyrics he ever wrote down in a google doc and it shows a clear trajectory#that starts like... innocently and just gets more fucked up and toxic as it goes. and ppl say he's one of the most sane ppl they know#meanwhile he's been writing songs about 1 person for nearly 10 years and they get progressively more desperate and insane#I'M JUST SAYING. i completely forgot what my original point was but i guess it was most likely that. no one pays attention to him like i do#the songs started being about this person at the same time i started liking him and having dreams about meeting him btw#and they got progessively more uh. spiteful and desperate and weird as the years went on. did i mention i cast a spell on him 😐#and he literally says shit like 'it's impossible for me to move on' 'i don't care about anyone else' 'it's like i'm possessed' etc#and after we met at his concert he got really into saying shit like 'that one night wasn't enough' and 'the spotlight between us'#&the ever-famous 'i like the way you look at me' 'my eyes are on you' 'focus on me just look at me' when all i did was look at him all night#if you're reading this right now and thinking 'celeste do you seriously believe a kpop guy has been writing songs about you for 7 years?'#you should remember who i am and how i reacted to ***** having a gf (that i guessed exactly right months before he revealed it)#i'm schizophrenic 🤷‍♀️ but the guy i'm into was the one who started my fascination with soulmates and destiny and fate and shit like that#you know it's funny i mention that because he also started writing about that!!!!! in his songs!!! crazy#and he talks about the person making it hard for him to sleep and wanting to meet them in his dreams again and whathaveyou#i mean even in his two newest title tracks he says 'i'm frustrated in the studio the only melody that comes out is for you' and#'i want to turn everything about you into a song' in the newest one... hm.#and btw he announced his album right when i admitted i was in love with him again to my family (they know my insanity LMAO)#and he releases a song about being happy and in love and listening for someone's voice from far away to reach him/vice versa?????#right when i get back into him???#it's my fave color & his fave color & he's releasing it in my birth month like. i know billions of coincidences are a thing but it's crazy
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tonycries · 8 months ago
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Golden Boy - G.S.
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Synopsis. Falling right back in love with the cult leader you’re supposed to kíll? Happens more often than you’d think.
Pairing. Geto Suguru x Reader 
Content. MDNI, fem! reader, friends/lovers to enemies to lovers, oral (fem receiving), facesítting, creampíe, slight Gojo x Reader, running away from it, Suguru is so SOOO in love still, unprotected, spítting, kinda angsty, hurt/comfort, mentions of bIood and kníves, pet names, swearing.
Word count. 4.4k
A/N. I was listening to fantasmas while writing this so take that how you will LMAO.
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The difficult part, surprisingly, wasn’t infiltrating Geto Suguru’s Time Vessel Association. No, a few faux tears, a decoy curse, and you were in - stepping through his grandiose hideout. The difficult part was convincing yourself that you were here to kill him. 
Something that utterly foolish little part of yourself still had trouble believing - even when you had a knife to his throat. 
“Any last words?” you spit, muffled through your mask, thankful for the way it covers up just how much your voice shakes. Maybe because of the way his lips curl into a familiar smile, maybe from his cool dagger pressing against the back of your neck.
Seconds away from a bloodbath. 
You don’t know if you’re breathing - or if he is either. Eyes locked on the way Sugur- your target only raises his hand up, up, up - getting ready to strike. To kill. Only you’d get him first and-
Snip!
You’re not dead. But you might as well have been, because your mask falls onto the tatami mat with a deafening clatter. 
“You’re as beautiful as the day I lost you.”
It’s hard not to remember. 
“You don’t have any right to say that.” your knees tighten around where you had him straddled to the ground. Your hand pinning one of his down, blade digging deeper into Suguru’s pale neck - eyeing the slow, steady drop of blood that beads down it. “Didn’t think you’d remember me, either.”
With your mask now no longer on your face, you could traitorously take in that relaxed grin - as if your life wasn’t in his hands right now. As if he didn’t care. 
Suguru’s hair was much longer now, splayed out across the floor inkily. Circling around his broad shoulders, around the eyes that were just a bit harder than they were ten years ago. And yet, you catch the way they flicker briefly with something so raw as he whispers gently, “How could I ever forget my first love?”
So quiet that you could’ve blamed it on your imagination - and you wish you did. 
It’s so unfair. 
Unfair how you let out a gasp, despite yourself. Unfair how you were the best sword wielder that Jujutsu had to offer, yet your fingers tremble on your knife. Heart stuttering at the mere sight of the way his eyes crinkle with the beginnings of a smile. Pleading, like all he could see was you from what felt like a thousand lifetimes ago. 
Those golden years. Back when rare Susanoomon cards were what you’d fight over, and the only stains he’d wipe off were from the grassy grounds of Jujutsu High, still faint underneath the encrusted blood on that uniform nestled away deep in his wardrobe.
You manage to grit out, “Shut up. You left me- us.”
“I did.”
Like it was all he wanted to see. 
“You never loved me.”
“I do.”
Your voice is shrill at this point, words stumbling over each other. “You’ve massacred more people than you’ve saved.”
Suguru wastes no time denying - or in any niceties. Looking right into your absolutely crazed eyes as he answers, “I have.” And his answer rings so hollow and emotionless in your ears, cold-blooded. Absolutely nothing like the boy you remembered. The one that would laugh and steal you away to take you around campus on his bicycle, all because the next class was “too far”.
“I- fuck.” You place both hands on the hilt of your blade, distantly registering the way that Suguru lets his own drop onto the floor. “I should kill you- I should kill you right now.”
Just one flick of your wrist. Fast and simple. 
In and out - exactly like you’d been ordered to. 
“And to die by your hand would be a death that someone like me doesn’t deserve.”
You both jolt when your knife hits the ground - as if neither of you were expecting it. And before you can stop yourself, you’re fisting his thick robes, pulling Suguru’s face up closer to yours. Mere inches away. 
“Then- then I’ll-” you choke, a hand coming up to dig into the sides of his milky neck, leaving neat, red indents on his skin. “I’ll kill you with my own hands, Suguru.”
And he’s known you for years - would never admit it, but was by your side for only half as long as he’d watched over you. 
Saw - only from a distance -  those big fat tears you cried at graduation, the curve of your lips as you pulled a very reluctant Nanami into a hug outside his new office building. The steely look in your eyes meeting Satoru’s much softer one, telling him first how you’re going into teaching. And the smile on your face when you thought of who else might have, too. If he’d gotten the chance.
Always hidden.
Never so close to this frenzied glint in your gaze, a tiny sob threatening to escape your lips. Never like this - and yet, he never thinks you’ve looked so beautiful. 
But what would someone like him know about beauty, anyway?
You flinch as Suguru reaches a hand up to thumb away the furrow between your brows, catching on the single, stray tear sitting at your cheekbone. Whispering - so low that you involuntarily crane your head closer to hear - “Still such a crybaby.”
“And you’re still going to be the death of me.”
Soft - Suguru’s lips are as soft as you imagined. And it’s not exactly the tender, picture-perfectly romantic first kiss his teenage self dreamt up with you, but fuck if he wasn’t going to remember this like it was. 
Perfect. 
Pretty lips smothering yours, all slow and sensual. Drinking in those deliciously breathless gasps of yours as he sucks on your candied lips. 
You gasp, “Suguru.” and it comes out teary. Making you finally register the wetness rolling down your cheeks, glistening against the dim lighting. You tighten your grip around his neck, “This won’t fix-”
“I know.” Fuck, does he know better than anyone else. 
A hand slides up your forearm, the other cupping your face to pull you closer. He’s running his hot tongue along your cheek, pooling your salty tears on his lips. “But let me make you forget - if just for tonight. Please.”
The only answer Suguru gets is your fingers leaving his neck, dancing feather-light across his sculpted shoulders to slide under his robe. Feeling the smooth plane of his pecs underneath your palm, that traitorously thundering heartbeat he wishes he could slow down. “Kiss me.”
“Fuck.” he pants into your open mouth. The sight of your glossy, slightly puffy lips having him surge forward to reattach his with yours with a pained grunt. “God- jus’ a bit more, my love.”
Again. And again and again- like he was addicted. 
He’d always been, with you, anyway.
You let out a sinful sound of his name when Suguru kisses down your neck, lips slotting over your racing pulse. Throbbing and so real under his lips, remembering how he used to feel this song under his arms long before. 
“Oh- shit.” you moan, when his now rougher - larger - hands sneak underneath your crumpled shirt, deftly unbuttoning. Unbuckling. Impatient. “Sugu-”
A hoarse groan leaves him, only spurring him to all but rip the rest of your uniform off your body faster. 
And at the first sight of you clad in nothing but your panties, Suguru’s kiss-bitten lips are falling slack. Brows shooting up into the dark strands of hair sticking to his forehead now, “Been missing out, hm?” He’s dipping a hand down to run the back of his index along your clothed, puffy folds. Up and down. “Really been-” Heart clenching when he remembers the way Satoru now looks at you with a familiar glint. One he knew all too well. “-missing out, my love.”
You’re only trailing your fingers along his cheek - his neck, grazing over that little mark from your blade. He groans - maybe from your touch, probably from the way you’re dragging your cunt across that massive bulge underneath you. “Please, Suguru. Wan’ you.” 
And if Geto Suguru has spent ten years denying himself, surely he could sacrifice it for the way he lifts your stuttering, sloppy hips up so easily. All the way up until they were hovering over his mouth, hot breath hitting your clothed cunt. 
“Wanna taste you.” he groans, spying on the way your slick beads through your panties. “Wan’ see if you’re as hah- sweet as I imagined. Please.”
And he’s obsessed with the way you’re sinking yourself down so gently, cock jumping at the thought of you afraid you’d suffocate him - as if you didn’t have your blade at his throat just minutes ago.
“Fuuuck, don’t worry, pretty.” he groans, soft darting to lick at the juices smeared across your inner thighs. “Some more now. Put it all on me, I can take it- fuck-”
Your syrupy sweet cunt has Geto losing whatever’s left of his fucking restraint, dark eyes rolling to the back of his head because you were so sweet. So pretty looking down at him with your glassy eyes. So addictive. He moans, chest heaving as he breathes in your essence. “What happened to that feist from earlier? Gonna hafta do a lil’ more than that now.”
“B-but-”
It’s at this moment you realize that at any given moment Suguru could’ve easily taken the upper hand. A hand of his pulls down your hesitant hips, swollen lips against your covered ones in such a filthy kiss. 
He hums into your folds, bunching your panties between them. “Mmm. Shit- jus’ like I imagined.” Hot tongue dipping just underneath the flimsy fabric to feel out your sloppy entrance, “Better, even. Jus’ look how well you’re taking me, pretty.”
But you don’t - too scared to find out that you’d like the sight more than you should. How you wished you could go back to the golden days where it didn’t matter - wasn’t a matter of life and death. And something else entirely. 
And this dilemma has Suguru’s brows furrowing, sharp canines lightly nipping at one of your swollen folds. Wanting to see how it’s him - despite everything, it’s still him making you feel this way. “None of that now.”
RIP!
With this you have to look down, a desperate whine leaving your stupid mouth at the fucking sinful sight down below. Your panties now a tattered excuse in between Suguru’s teeth, baring them with such a devilish grin right up at you. 
“See?” he spits out the fabric onto the floor beside him, half-lidded eyes peering up at you so sultry. Looking right at you as his tongue lolls out, spreading your bare, needy folds shamefully. “Isn’t this much better?”
“Hngh- fuck, yes-” you slide your fingers through his now-messy hair, falling out of that half-bun. Jolting on top with each push of his tongue past that feeble ring of resistance, the lewd squelches leaving you with each graze of the wet muscle against your walls. “Shit- Suguru it feels too good. So deep ngh-”
He swats a hand against your ass, making you sit your slutty hips down deeper, all the way till Suguru’s jaw was grinding so greedily against your cunt. Tongue bullying past your folds in and out in and out in and-
“God- hah-” he’s pulling away to gasp deep lungfuls of air - secondary, to the way he was back immediately to making out so hotly with your tight pussy. “Mmm fuck. This cute lil cunt is so needy. S’like you’re trynna suck my tongue off.” Thumb reaching up to draw slow, languid circles that have you throwing your head back. “So perfect.”
Your delirious mouth is dropping open, body moving before your mind as you strain to reach your hand behind. Trembling. Shaky when you manage to cup Suguru’s aching erection. 
“G-guess m’not the only one ah- needy, hm?” you smirk, having him bucking and spitting out harsh little profanities with each rub of your palm down his drenched length. 
Suguru doesn’t give you a response - because his fingers are speaking on his behalf. Dipping into your sloppy hole, locating your g-spot, as if on instinct. He’s milking your pretty cunt while he roams for those sweet spots. Lips muffling around your throbbing clit, “You’re always right, my love. You always were.”
And his words are so gentle - mouth so sloppy. Squelches so obscene. 
Nose pressing up at the top of your abdomen, cheeks hollowing wetly around the sensitive nub. Letting your juices drip all the way down his chin, his jaw, dangerously close to that cut on his neck. 
The hand sliding back and forth across the swollen outline of his cock had Suguru get more frenzied. Faster. Like it was his personal mission to make you cum on his tongue before he fucking passed out. 
Penetrating your gummy hole with both his fingers and his tongue, spreading it open more. And it’s all you can do to keen, “Oh- oh my god.” Riding Suguru’s pretty face harder. “Shit- m’close, Suguru.”
“Always right.” he gasps, swiping his tongue faster across your clit. “Always perfect” Alternating between squeezing back into your hole, your sweet spots. Stretching out your gummy walls as far as they’d go. “Always made f’me.” Assaulting it with both his fingers and his tongue. Again. And again and again and- “Jus’ wish I got to have you sooner.”
His words make you snap your eyes up from his mean mouth to meet his gaze, devouring you as greedily and depraved as his tongue. They make your thighs burn with the effort to drag your sloppy pussy faster.
They make you cum - shaking, crying out little mewls of “Ngh- fuck. M’cumming m’cumming m’cumming.”
The way your voice is breaking at the end of each moan has Suguru’s cock straining so painfully against his trousers. One hand firmly on your waist, arching you deeper to tongue you through your high in ways he’s only ever dared to imagine. 
Ways he’s selfishly hoped only he could - even after all these years, the sight of any other man looking at you wrong having his irritation flaring. 
“S’right.” his voice is sending stars bursting behind your lids, tongue even worse. Having you pleading and so sensitive. “I got you, my love. Give it t’me.” Messy - not as forgiving as he’d like to be. “Give it alllll to me.”
And you do - all but smothering Suguru’s eager tongue with all your sweet juices. Ones he’s lapping up happily, tilting his head back as far as it’d go on the floor, letting your heady slick fill up his throat. His pussydrunk lips let out a hiss, both at the burn of that cut on his neck, and the way you’re desperately pulling your hips back. 
Too overstimulated. Too fucking sensitive. Too much - but it would never be enough for Suguru. 
“Please, Suguru.” you sob at the way your limp hips are being pulled back by a needy Suguru. “M’too sensitive. I- fuck-” He’s only lapping at your quivering cunt leisurely, smirk prominent against your swollen folds. 
And it’s all you can do to deliriously slip a hand underneath his robes, a desperate attempt to keep whatever shred of sanity you have left. Fingers feeling down his unfairly toned abs, the tufts of hair at his pelvis, reaching-
“Oh fuck!” Your heavy eyes admire the way Suguru arches into your touch in surprise - like he couldn’t help himself. Eyes flying open, glossy, plump lips curling into a disbelieving grin, “Ya really are made f’me, huh?” 
That’s all it takes for Suguru to head to your lewd whims, bruising fingers on your hips finally loosening to let you sit your sloppy cunt back down on his lap - except, this time, you were seated directly on his rock-hard cock. Pussy lips spreading around his length to just soak him. 
“Oh, my love.” He sits up, splaying you out so prettily on his lap. “How I’ve missed you.”
You don’t even register the way you’re raising your head up to meet Suguru’s - not until he spits. Once. Twice. Straight onto your awaiting tongue that you didn’t even realize you were sticking out, saccharine sweet saliva making such a mess when he’s crashing his lips into yours. 
“Yeahh, like that. Kiss me like that.” he slurs against your mouth, drunk off both sets of your sweet lips. Getting out through wet, sloppy pecks. “How I wish I had you sooner.”
You can feel your heart thumping so wildly against your ribcage, matching the needy, needy staccato of Suguru’s cock throbbing between your puffy folds. And, well, you really can’t be blamed for the way you break the kiss to look down and oh-
Oh Suguru notices that furrow between your brows, kissing away the nervous little wobble in your lower lips as he grunts, “God, you’re killin’ me.” 
Fuck. Killing him?
You were the one sent in for the kill, but it seems you won’t be making it out here alive. 
Because Suguru was so big, girth rubbing up against your thighs. So angry and heavy, smearing hot precum over his abs, your cunt, adding to add to the absolute mess. Long enough that you knew you wouldn’t be able to walk out of here - which, honestly, Suguru would’ve preferred. To keep you with him forever. 
To have you always mewling so prettily when he’s dragging his fat head down your sensitive slit. To have his name - and only his name - leave your bruised lips when he’s asking, “Who’s got you this wet?” 
You’re so cockdrunk already that you’re groaning mindlessly, “You- Suguru-”
“No, that’s not what you call me.” 
And it takes you a few, long seconds to understand what he’s saying, all the while trying to focus with the leaky tip being pressed past your swollen folds. Slow. Torturous. Hitting you so violently at the same time he slips past that first, slutty ring of muscle. 
“Sugu!”
A blinding grin splits across Suguru’s absolutely fucked-out face, brows furrowing together in ecstasy. “That’s more hah- like it.” Not having heard that familiar little nickname - one of your many - fall from your lips since high school - one that makes a heart he forgot he had grow five sizes too large. “Now, just take me-” Hips bucking up, so strong and ruthless. “-like I know you can, okay?”
Over and over. 
You can’t let out anything but barely-lucid whines at this point, letting Suguru sink in inch by fucking inch. Your walls stretched out so perfectly to take his sheer size. But the stretch- oh, the stretch.
Fuck, it has you clawing at Suguru’s exposed shoulders, fingers leaving angry, red marks down the muscles. An obscene ah! ah! ah! leaving your lips with each time he reels his hips back, only to bully his aching cock inside until he physically couldn’t.
“Hngh- Sugu, s’too big-” You buck your hips down in shallow, tentative grinds to meet his filthy method of fitting in. “Too- much. Didn’t expect you to be so mean-”
“The sorcerer that hah- held a knife to the infamous Geto Suguru’s neck-” he groans, hands groping your ass to move you further down his massive cock. To watch the way your sloppy entrance was stretching out so much to suck him up. “-can take this too, right? I know you can.” He reaches a deft thumb around to toy with your pretty clit, making your cunt relax like the good girl she is. Fucking up deeper, just a bit more mean. “You- can-”
Several things happen at the tail end of Suguru’s sentence - he’s finally fitting in all in one go. With a calculated, harsh thrust up into your poor cunt, your ass is kissing his heavy balls, pussy rubbing against the hair at his hilt. So full and so much.
And Suguru knows he just might not see heaven - but shit, does he feel like he’s there right now. The feeling so good that both of you letting out mingling gasps of pleasure. 
Your back falling onto the now soiled mats like such animals, the other not far behind.
“You alright, my love?” Suguru hums against your throat when you’re managing to adjust somewhat to the stretch, aware enough to kiss the palm resting protectively underneath your head - making sure you don’t hurt yourself.
You bat your teary lashes, “Never been better, Sugu.”
And something about that makes him remember. 
Remember the way you’d tell him the exact same thing when you fought with curses too strong for you - coming back to the dorms all battered and bruised, but alive. Flashing him that addictive grin, and a crooked thumbs up, “Never been better, Sugu. Gold, actually.”
His golden girl.
Shaking away the tightness at his throat, Suguru instead focuses on wrapping your trembling legs around his toned waist. Tight.
“Sh-shit- you’re milkin’ me so good, fuck-”
Abs burning as he just drags his cock along your plushy walls, keeping your legs held wide open for him. So tight - like you were sucking the fucking soul out of him. Making sure to angle his hips in just the way that’ll have your eyes tearing at the way he was massaging all your sweet spots. 
And sure enough - “O-oh my god-” you breathe, and shit, it was so hard to speak. Suguru’s cock too big, too depraved. Speeding up with every ram of his hips into a steady, mean pace. “Jus’ like that, fuck-”
“Mhm?”
You paw at his free hand settled by the side of your neck, trailing it down, down, down - rings and all - to the part of your stomach you could feel his thick tip hitting. A slight bulge, abusing your cervix over and over, “Here-”
“-s’where I belong.”
Your brows raise at his interjection, and you swipe away the long locks of hair partially covering Suguru’s face, legs tightening around his hips as you take a long, hard look. He repeats, “S’where I belong. Where ngh- you belong.”
Like some deep, dark part of him was trying to fuck out any and every doubt about this out of you - as if you’d have any - Suguru’s rolling his hips harder into yours. All the way until it almost hurt - until the sting of his twitching balls against your ass felt permanent, fingerpads pressing down so hard on your stomach. 
Lips searing against yours, punctuating each word with a jagged, rough thrust. “Because you sh-shouldn’t be ah- here. You shouldn’t be-” He drags you deeper onto his dick like some ragdoll, fingers frenzying on your clit. “-with me.”
Words slurring and as sloppy as his hips now. 
“Wh-why fuck- why wouldn’t I be?”
“Heh, you forgot?” Suguru spits out a chuckle, pushing you further and further up the mat with how bruising his hips were hitting yours. Alternating between marking your cervix - your g-spot - your gummy walls. “Forgot how I told ya to live a better life than this?” Everything and anything. Hips smacking so loud, echoing in symphony with those melancholy words he parted with so long ago. “How I told you to hngh- find a-another? Live a long life? To be happy?”
Now that Suguru was talking, it was like he couldn’t stop. Like a damn had been broken - both with his words and his movements. The curve of his dick drives you wild, veins molding your cunt into their shape. 
Gritting his teeth to hold back the way his drenched balls squeeze so painfully, biting down on your lower lip. “You’re s-supposed to kill me.” A drop of sweat splashing down on your cheek, “To kill me and maybe you’ll be hah- fuck mine in another universe. But not this one.” It’s like he’s out of control now, “Never this one. You can have anybody else.”
And suddenly you’re having a flashback to just a week prior, to an uncharacteristically solemn Satoru telling you words you should’ve been happy to hear. Quiet, and unassuming. Ones you knew that had you heard them before knowing Suguru, you’d have jumped into his arms - exactly how he hoped you would, the day of his departure. 
Chuckling at you being such a “crybaby” about him leaving. After all, this was just meant to be, right?
But no.
Instead, you’re here. Bunching Suguru’s beautiful, glossy hair curtaining the sides of your head, into a ponytail. Difficult - with how he was getting faster. Harder. Just ravaging your hole until you were gaping and breathless.
And yet, arms trembling and limp, you still manage to reveal the boy you fell in love with - the one you could never forget. From the flush on his pretty face, to the twisted, sad curve of his mouth. And the eyes that bore into yours like they were searching for the same thing. Smiling, for the first time since you entered this place, “How could I ever want anyone else, Sugu?”
The hand on your stomach is cupping your adorable face so softly - and it’s hard to believe those hands have killed. Betrayed.
Like they were capable of doing anything but as Suguru swipes the single tear glistening down your cheek, “Still a crybaby, huh, my love?”
And then you cum - and Suguru isn’t too far behind. 
It’s just a flash of hot white, tingles running down your spine - all the way to the thick, creamy base soon forming around his wildly twitching cock. 
And it’s so good. Too good that all you can do it scream out his name, letting him do anything - and you were glad all he did was fuck you so mercilessly through your high. So violent. Addictive. 
Vision blurry, mouth sagging open for Suguru to press intimate little kisses along the corners of your mouth. Whispering sweet praises as your cunt sucks him up so good. So sinfully milking him for everything he’s worth. 
Taking in rope after rope of thick cum that warms your gummy walls from the inside, overfilling just enough for it to dribble down into the mat below in an obscene little pool. Smearing down your thighs, his balls. Heavenly. 
His heaven.
And in the haze of it all, Suguru imagines that you’ll reach for your knife again, press it back against the curve of his exposed neck. He imagines you’ll laugh in his face, tell him what a great whim this was but you had to get back to your job, turning your back on him as he has done before. He imagines.
But what he gets is your strained, fucked-out little voice, “I missed you, my golden boy.”
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A/N. Yes, That Line was inspired by HTTYD. If I had to be hurt, y’all do, too. 
Plagiarism not authorized.
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sttoru · 5 months ago
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#𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔: “show me you’re shameless, write it on my neck, why don’t ya?”
cw. married!gojo satoru x female reader. smut, angst to comfort. cheating/infidelity. unprotected. crēampie. bréeding themes. soft angsty-ish sèx. petnames ‘baby, sweetheart, wifey’ not proofread !
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satoru has never loved the woman he married. he’s never felt an ounce of attraction or affection towards her. it’s hard to be around someone who he’s supposed to love and cherish, when all he can think about is you.
it’s you he was supposed to end up with if it wasn’t for his damned clan. setting up an arranged marriage behind his back and only telling him last minute of their plans— a bunch of assholes they are.
satoru could’ve declined, disagreed, ran away. he had all the power to, but he had fully convinced himself that his actual soulmate - you - would never return his love, which is why he settled.
. . . he was proven wrong after it was already too late.
“i love you s’much,” satoru grits his teeth as he nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck, his sweat trickling down his forehead. his hips move in a gentle rhythm, as tender as his arms are holding you. he never treated you roughly.
satoru wouldn’t do that to the love of his life. the one who he’s supposed to call his wife, his beloved. he’ll find a way to achieve his dreams. he’ll do anything to end up with you and escape this messed up arrangement.
but for now, he’ll love you like this. every day, behind the other woman’s back, for as long as he can.
“i love you too, ‘toru,” you sigh, tilting your head to give the white-haired man access to your neck. his tongue wets your sensitive skin before sucking on it. he’s claiming you as his— like he usually does whenever he manages to get ahold of you.
“say that again,” satoru whimpers against your throat whilst leaving soft kisses all over. the sounds of your bodies meeting bounces off the walls, the lewd noise of flesh hitting flesh is a melody that you both enjoy behind closed doors.
“please,” satoru pleads. you’re surprised by the vulnerability in his tone. he holds onto you - ruts into you - like he’s never experienced this before. his cock twitches and throbs within you, desperate to reach that aching release.
you swallow the lump in your throat. you feel bad doing this right on the bed that satoru shares with his wife, but you also couldn’t care less. “i love you, satoru, i really do,” you moan near his ear.
the sorcerer shivers at your pretty voice uttering those three words to him. his big hands hold onto your waist, fingers digging into your skin, leaving small dents. his breath hitches, “oh, fuck. y’do, huh?”
satoru curses as he lifts his head from your neck. the view of you beneath him while you take his dick all the way inside your sopping cunt is addicting. it’s also way too slippery because of the mixture of cum on your lower body and the sheets.
“ah,” you look down at the place your bodies meet the second you feel his cock slip out of your pussy. you reach a hand down and guide his tip back to your folds without much thought.
it’s a sight that makes satoru nearly bust a nut right then and there. “missin’ me already?” he tilts his head, that boyish smile on his lips reappearing again. his soaked, white bangs cover his ethereal eyes a little, yet you can still notice the playfulness in them.
“yeah, i do,” you sigh, whining a little as his cock slowly fills you up all the way again, “i always miss you, ‘toru.” you never fail to feel so full whenever you’re intimate with him— he’s big and knows just how to use that to his advantage.
satoru pouts at your words. he knows what you’re indirectly referring to amidst all the physical pleasure. he tries to make as much time for you as he can, without raising suspicion. though sometimes he fails to see you for days. balancing his work schedule, along with his many other duties and his private life was a hassle.
it’s frustrating when satoru is leading a double life, for both you and him. there’s nothing more in this world that he wants than to have you beside him forever. as his wife, not his secret lover.
one day, soon— he promises silently to himself and to you with a kiss.
“i’m sorry,” he breathes out, his thrusts resuming. two of his rough fingers roll your nipple between them, his tongue following to circle the sensitive bud while he drives his dick in and out of you repeatedly. “but i’m all yours tonight, yeah? only yours.”
you nod mindlessly. you trust satoru, he’ll figure this all out. for now, you’ll enjoy every single second you’re able to spend with him.
“mhm,” you hum before your eyes focus on his neck. you know he’s told you not to leave any marks on him, but tonight, you’re feeling shameless. your hand on the back of his head pushes him down until your lips touch his neck.
satoru’s eyes widen at your unexpected action. he can’t deny you anything, even if this is a risky thing to do. he moans when you suck and bite on his skin. you’re leaving hickeys he will have to hide from his wife.
“naughty fuckin’ girl,” he tries to groan, though it comes out as a choked up whimper instead. he bites his lip and his eyes nearly roll back when your legs wrap around his waist, all whilst you’re leaving those dark marks on his neck.
you softly giggle at your own bold move. satoru however, seems to enjoy this more than he thought he would. he allows you access to his neck while he focuses on his set pace.
“y’ just want me to get caught, hm?” the white-haired man clicks his tongue, his balls slapping against your ass, your juices sticking to his skin which makes the sounds of his thrusts even louder. lewder. satoru huffs, “want that woman to know jus’ how well i fuck you, sweetheart?”
you feel your body heat up, the knot in your lower tummy tightening. his increased dirty talk only could mean one thing; he’s close. and so are you. the pleasure of having satoru inches deep in your cunt after not seeing him for two whole days, is driving you insane.
“yes, fuck— yes,” you hiccup, feeling absolutely no shame at this moment. you don’t care how loud you’re getting, if satoru’s neighbours were to hear him have sex with a woman that’s not his wife.
the man himself doesn’t even seem to mind it either. not when he’s this close. he pants before pressing soft kisses against your forehead. the lingering feeling of your lips against his neck remind him of the hickeys you’ve left.
satoru moans against your hot skin. his dick twitches, his balls tighten and his arms wrap around you to cradle you against his bare chest. he’s going to fill you with his hot cum like you deserve. you deserve every single drop and he wouldn’t give it to anyone else but you.
“shit, g’nna cum,” satoru warns after a small whine leaves his throat, “take it, baby. don’t waste a drop, wanna breed you full.” his thrusts turn a bit erratic, body pinning yours to the mattress so you have nowhere to run. all you can do is lay there and take it— take his cum while you reach your own climax.
white dots appear in his vision as satoru releases rope after rope of hot, sticky cum inside of you. his hips are pressed tightly against yours— leaving no chance for his seed to trickle out of you.
the satisfaction that fills satoru’s chest is like no other. a small grin tugs at the corners of his lips as he leans his body weight on top of you slightly, catching his breath. your trembling frame rests beneath him while you’re trying to regain composure as well.
“there y’ go, atta girl,” satoru coos and kisses your forehead. he treats you so well, even after sex. he treats you like you’re his true wife. which you should be.
he rubs your sides with his hands to calm you down. his own breath is still shake as he looks down at you with a grin. a wicked idea pops up in his head once he sees the thick trail of cum that’s left on your slit after he pulls out.
“y’know how i told ya that i’ll make y’ my wife one day?” satoru hums, eyes focused on both your face and cum-covered pussy. he has told you before that he will find a way to officially make you his.
and he finally just realised the perfect way to do it.
“mhm,” you nod with a dazed look in your eyes. you wrap your arms around satoru’s shoulders and hug him, nuzzling your face into the crook of his neck. you can practically feel the smirk on his lips as his breath ghosts over your ear.
his hand travels down to your tummy, fingers splayed over the soft flesh; “good, ‘cause y’re gonna need to play the part for me already. gonna fill you up ‘til you’re nice and swollen with my kids, wifey.”
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alphabetboyluvr · 11 months ago
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habits of a clandestine nature | jjk
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pairing: collegejk x female oc (angst, smut)
warnings: college!jk, rich!jk, he's a college nepo baby!!!, waitress!oc, flashbacks to summer, (mild) enemies to lovers, oc lives with tae (they're besties), jk is besties with jimin, mentions of parents infidelity, mentions of oc's virginity (lost prior to the story starting), a little angsty, jk is nawt a fuckboi, but he is stewpid, unprotected sex, bathroom escapades, multiple positions, oral (f), mentions of blowjobs, house parties, jackson wang!!!!!!!, yoongi has no lines but is also one of my fave characters lmao
wordcount: 16k
note from holly: this was written as a commission over on ko-fi!! it went through soooo many changes and edits - at one point it was over 24k lmao. i have so much lore and backstory for this couple, but I'll save it for a rainy day!! one of the main prompts was the 2004 classic a cinderella story, and there are little nods to it throughout the story, including the diner name!! a commenter on wattpad said the pairing reminded them of danny and sandy from grease and like... i see it lmao. anywaysss enjoy!! <33
minors dni // cross posted to wattpad
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It's a well-trained habit, your fleeting glance towards the door of Montgomery's Diner when the bell rings.
Though the clatter of cheap porcelain being stacked on a tray almost manages to drown out the chiming metal, it's never quite enough. Softening your hardened expression, you continue on with your work, careful to not let your contempt show too much.
You already know who it is—or at least, who it could be. Only saw the girl leading the pack, but know that where Claudia goes, the rest of The Untouchables will surely follow.
Gorgeous in a way that money can't buy, and careless in a way that money makes up for, she's never taken personal issue with you. Barely even registers your existence.
From your quick look, you know that it's not just the girls today. It's the guys, too.
All with parents on the college board, they're regarded as campus royalty. Are aptly known as The Untouchables, 'cause the rules that apply to you don't apply to them. They'll likely continue with their lives in a similar manner for years to come, and will pass these attributes off to their offspring, whom they'll name after countries or distant relatives who were once regarded to be regal.
Gathering up the last of the discarded napkins on the table, you take one final, fleeting look just to see if a familiar face is with them.
It's not that you actively want to see him.
You just haven't seen him in the best part of a fortnight, which is odd.
He's been in your section of the Diner near enough every single night of the past three months—but school is starting up again, and he's got appearances to keep.
God-forbid Jeon Jungkook—son of the Admissions Director and heir-apparent to an unholy amount of real estate tied to the university—ever associates with the lowly scholarship kids like you.
The only reason The Untouchables ever come to this Diner is because it's the last remaining place close to the university that hasn't been snapped up and integrated into the campus. You guess it must feel like freedom to them, in a way.
In fact, you know this is the case. Jungkook has told you himself.
Has told you a lot.
Told you far too much.
Such candid honesty from him, shared during the lonely heat of a sweltering summer, is what makes it so jarring when he looks away as soon as his dark eyes meet yours.
Tall, broad, handsome; he's everything the gossip magazines you read during your downtime swoon over, but also everything they warn against. Too pretty for his own good, the resident agony aunt would call him if she were ever to see him. Would assume his ego is far larger than his shoe size; superiority complex embedded into his skin like the ink of his tattoos.
And while you think that perhaps those assumptions could be true, you also know the reality of him; how gentle his hands can be. Helpful, too. Delicate. Ornate, almost, when they fold bills into five petal flowers. Strong, when they grip the back of your neck. Commanding, when they're wrapped around his leather steering wheel.
You shouldn't know the way his car smells. Shouldn't know how he presses the heel of his palm against the wheel when he's reversing, or just how easy it is to clamber into the backseats over the centre console.
But you do, and it rests on your tongue like a dirty little secret desperate to escape: I know you.
You're not sure if you know him better than The Untouchables, but you know him independent of them. Not many people do.
It's rare to find him without Jimin cracking a joke by his side, or Claudia making a slightly mean remark masked as innocent ignorance as she leads him astray.
But summer happened, and so did Jungkook. With his friends away at their holiday homes, and his father's infidelity ripping his family apart at the seams, he'd needed something to stitch himself back together. Let you thread yourself through his very being, and once you'd tied yourself in a pretty little bow around his heart, he'd cut you off.
Is that not what all craftsmen do, though? Discard what no longer serves a purpose?
Memories of him, in all the places you never should have let him in, ravage your thoughts.
The scent of his aftershave lingers on the childhood plushie he used to tease you for having on your bed, but would also automatically hug into his chest every single time he entered your room.
The things he did—and the things he didn't do—corrupt your dreams and leave you restless when you wake.
The smudged mascara under your eyes hides the bags from your lack of sleep, and your only respite is that the little puffs beneath his eyes are extra prominent today. He's tried, too.
For a minute, you feel vindicated.
It doesn't last.
For the past few months, if he's been sleeping badly, you've known about it. Kept him company in this very Diner, or in the basement of a party house he was dumb enough to take you to, forgetting he'd have to return there after summer finished, too.
The walls might not talk, but Jackson Wang certainly does. Jungkook knows it's only a matter of time until his dirty little secrets—no matter how pure they actually are—become the talk of the town.
He always slept well in your bedroom, though.
Funny, that.
He's dressed simply, today: white t-shirt, black jeans, chunky black boots on his feet. It's still warm out, even if the sun does begin to set a little earlier than it had been during the hotter months. He's got no need for a jacket, and you despise how undeniably gorgeous his arms are in the dewy humidity. Tattoos trailing up and down his skin, you'd be forgiven for thinking he was a man of complexities.
Turns out he's just like every other good-for-nothing fuck boy who wasn't worth your time.
The Untouchables sit towards the front of the Diner. Your section is at the back, and there's no way in hell you're deviating from your set section. Not today. Not when he's with them.
"I thought we were free," your colleague, Maria, grumbles as you bring your tray to the counter.
Like you, she's a scholarship kid. Is the one who got you the job at the Diner after you both moved into the shared house you live in off-campus. Three of you live there—you, Maria, and Taehyung—and you all share the same disdain for The Untouchables.
"It never ends," you tease in reply. Glance over your shoulder, back at the table.
They're laughing and joking about something you can't quite decipher. All of them, except Jungkook.
There's a sternness to him. One of which you'd forgotten about. With one hand on the table, the other in his lap, his thumb fidgets over his tense knuckles. Sunglasses rest on the crown of his head, pushed up into his hair to hold it back off his face. Staring at nothing much, he's chewing up his bottom lip until he feels the familiar burn of your eyes on him. Looks your way.
It's curious, how looking at you halts his body from its self-soothing actions. He no longer nibbles on his lip. His tightly balled first eases.
"What do you think, Kookie?" Claudia drawls, drawing his attention back to the group. "You coming tonight?"
"Hm?" He questions, eyes pulling away from you. He begins to rub his thumb over his knuckles again. "Sorry, was just looking at the menu board. What are we talking about?"
"Party at the Conservatory," Jimin says from across the table. Though he's the one sitting beside Claudia, everyone knows Jungkook is the one that she's really interested in. Has been since their first day of college. "First of the semester. It's one of their birthdays. Reckon it'll be a big one."
On campus, but close enough to the boundaries that it's never infringed upon by security or university officials, the Conservatory isn't what it seems. A boarding house for the creme-de-la-creme of the Botany and Conservation PhD students, it's surrounded by land. Has rows upon rows of greenhouses for their projects.
Of the few times you've been there, you've always thought it was like a maze. The perfect place to get lost. The perfect place to get found, too.
Unfortunately for the PhD students, the house custodian took on the role for one thing and one thing only: to throw the biggest ragers on campus. Knows fuck all about growing anything that isn't illegal. Only managed to get the role, 'cause like the rest of The Untouchables, his dad works high up in the college. He's a few years older than them. Belongs to a different generation of campus royalty, but is keen on making sure his legacy remains.
After all, there ain't no party like a Jackson Wang party.
Namjoon—one of the Botanists and the birthday boy himself—has started padlocking the greenhouses.
Another one of them—Yoongi—minored in mechanical engineering. Has a coin-operated lock on his bathroom door. Makes enough money from a single Jackson Wang party to sustain himself for an entire month.
Hoseok and Jin, the remaining two, are just as messy as Jackson. Have only started PhDs because they don't know what else to do and don't want their youth to abruptly end. Live for the parties; survive for the studying.
"Now, who's told you that?" Jungkook smiles, as if the prospect of showing up at the Conservatory doesn't make him feel a little bit sick. "Jackson?"
"Obviously."
"Well, of course he's gonna tell you it'll be big," Jungkook laughs. "Wants to rope as many of you fuckers in as he can."
"And it works every time," Jimin smirks back. "If everyone thinks it'll be a rager, everyone will want to go. He's a marketing genius, if you ask me."
Jungkook rolls his eyes. Is fond in how he interacts with his friends. Has grown up with most of them. Whether or not they're everyones cup of tea is debatable, but they're his people.
And yet he finds himself glancing back over to the counter. You're not there anymore. Are out back, he assumes. Knows the layout, now. Where the walk-in freezer is. The little nook that you sit in during your break. He doubts any of his friends have ever been in a commercial kitchen, let alone one at a place like this.
While yes, his friends have only ever been good to him, he knows that it isn't the case for everyone they interact with. Is well aware that his friends would be confused beyond belief if they ever found out he knows how to click through the Diner's cash register and find the discount section. Would be even more perplexed if they were to see his initials hidden in one of the codes.
But summer was lonely.
Or at least it was.
Lonely, until it wasn't. Isolating, until he sought solace in someone he can't even bring himself to speak to in front of his friends.
Casting his eyes back down to the table, well aware that he's got no reason to feel as cut up as he does, he fakes a laugh. Looks up again at his friends with a grin so sincere that they'd never guess the way it feels like his heart is in his throat. "Alright. You're on. What time?"
The conversation dissolves into plans—what to wear, what drink to take.
After a summer apart, Jungkook thought it would be nice to be with his friends again. Thought he'd be excited; that he'd welcome them all back with open arms. Ask them about their summers, and lament his time spent here.
When Jimin asks him why he didn't go to the Italian villa his parents normally insist they spend the summer at, Jungkook shrugs.
"Dad has some stuff to sort out, so it was better to stay here," he says, minimising the reality of what really happened. Even you don't know for certain. All you know is that his father did something incredibly immoral, to the point where Jungkook can't even stand to look at him.
Is why he spent all those nights in the diner.
Was confusing at first. He was always angry. Always frowning. Always ordering black coffees and nothing else, huddled up in the corner booth, away from the world.
But with summer comes monsoons, and with monsoons come terrible conditions for walking home.
He expected you to say no when he offered you a ride. You expected to say no, too—but then a please and thank you had escaped your lips.
A routine grew. Habits formed.
Curious little thing, habits are. 21 days. That's all the time they take to develop.
Jungkook spent 63 days of summer with you in varying capacities. Enough time to learn a habit three times over.
The one that haunts him most is how it felt to have your hand beneath his on his gear stick. Finds the absence of you when he drives unbearable. Knows he's got no one to blame but himself; not just for creating distance, but also for minimising it in the first place.
He's the one who offered you a lift. He's the one who messaged you on your days off to see if you fancied going for a drive. He's the one who didn't turn the AC on just to get you shaking your jacket off your shoulders.
And he's the one that drove you out to the coast one evening for no other reason than wanting to hear the waves. He's the one who opened up to you about his family. He's the one that made things more than what they were.
Had walked along the shore with you, too scared to hold your hand beneath the lunar light. Opted for playful banter instead, nudging you into the lapping waves.
But the waves got bigger, and Jungkook's unbridled desire to have you close did just the same. Like always, he took things too far. Drenched in sea water, you'd laughed with him for the entire ride home.
Invited him in. Said, "The salt will ruin your clothes. We should wash them."
"Hand wash only," he'd said, pinging his damp t-shirt against his chest. It stuck to him in such a way you learned all of his edges before you ever saw him naked—not like there was much time between these two instances. Ended up in your shower with him, clothes beneath your feet, the excuse of hand washing disregarded the second he had you naked.
You learned three things about Jungkook in that shower.
The first is that he giggles. Lips on yours, hands clutching your jaw, whenever the water was a little too intrusive, he'd separate with a laugh. Would kiss you again, a smile still on his face. Would pretend as if he wasn't giggling.
But he was, and it was lovely.
The second was that he's the type to lean his head forward, not tip it back. With his hands pressed to the shower tiles behind you as your fingers wrapped around his thick shaft, he let his head dip to his chest. Gave him ample opportunity to press kisses to the top of your head—or at least it did until you got to your knees and started taking his hard cock in your mouth.
"Shit," he had husked. Whined. Praised. "Fuck. You're so fuckin' good at that."
It was around then that you became aware he was a head pusher, too.
Almost as if he was saving the best until last, the third thing you learned was how he likes to cum; in your sheets, cock buried in your pussy, your hands clasped above your head. Missionary, 'cause he likes to kiss you through it. In your bed, 'cause he likes losing himself in everything you are. Prefers finishing inside you, but you refuse to fuck him without a condom so he never gets exactly what he wants. It's close enough, though.
Spent weeks—months—laying unfair claim to your body, and now he can't bring himself to look in your direction. It infuriates you.
But more than anything else, it embarrasses you.
Even your reflection laughs at you. Cackles 'told you so' every time you look in the mirror.
You always wondered why you never heard much about Jungkook's hook ups around campus. Everyone knows about Jimin and how his cock has been perpetually wet since the first day of freshers week, but there's always been a secrecy when it comes to Jungkook.
It's something you've teased him about; in your sheets, bodies clammy, his heart beating so fast in his chest you'd been forgiven for thinking he'd just run a marathon.
"When do I have to sign it?" You had giggled.
"Sign what?" He'd husked, voice all wispy and fucked out.
"The NDA," you'd replied as if it was obvious. "It's been, like, what? A month? Surely it's about time you made sure I kept my mouth shut like all your other girls do?"
On your front, your arms were folded over his chest, and he was gently rearranging the pretty little updo he'd made a mess of. Though he was looking at his hands as he replied, you kept your eyes on his. Studied his sincerity.
"Reason you don't hear about other girls is 'cause there aren't any."
A smile twitched at the corner of your lips, but you didn't let it shine for him.
"Sure."
There was a small jerk to his torso as a breathy smirk formed on his face.
"You think I can't be trusted?"
"I think it's foolish to trust any man."
His deep, dark eyes sank down to focus on yours. Offered you all the sincerity you'd be searching for, and more.
"That's all I am, huh?" He'd challenged you. "Just another one of your men?"
"One of the many," you'd teased just to rile him up a little.
"Ah," he'd played along. "So that's why I always have to wear a condom?"
With a saccharine smirk on your lips, you'd gotten back in position, legs straddled over his hips. Had kissed him. Whispered, "No. That's just because I know it annoys you."
"You annoy me all the time," he'd mumbled into your lips, hands gripping your waist to get you grinding against his still sensitive cock. Barely fifteen minutes since he'd last finished, there was no way he was ready to go again.
"Hm?" You'd hummed against his kisses, then began to work your way down his neck in a way that always got him a little moany. "If I'm so annoying, why are you getting hard again, baby?"
"You can be annoying and hot," he told you as he desperately tried to not let his insatiable need for you show.
"Is that how you like your girls?" You'd ribbed once more, just to piss him off a little. It was never serious. Never something you would actually fret over.
Perhaps you should have done, but then he told you with a little too much candour, "No. It's how I like my girl. Singular."
Loose lips sink ships, and Jungkook was one iceberg away from greeting the ocean floor. Closing his lips back down on yours, he was making sure you were just as insatiable for him as he was for you. He didn't cum again that evening, even if you did more times than you cared to count.
A greedy lover, is Jeon Jungkook. Edacious.
And so you understand, now, why the girls he gets entangled with stay silent; how the hoaxes he plays leave them utterly hysterical. They're subject to silence, because who would possibly believe all those sweet little lies he tells? How mad would they be considered if they tried to convince anyone he has a heart?
His brazen lack of humanity is proven when he comes to pay for the table. Any of them could have done it. Yet he elects to stand in front of your till and wait for you to serve him.
Have you not served him enough?
You refuse to utter a single word in his direction. Don't look at him, don't give him any satisfaction. He can read it for himself, he can pay, and he can fuck off.
"Keep the change," he mumbles tossing down the bills—but like fuck are you gonna keep anything he gives you.
He begins to walk away, a little shrunken in his stature.
"Excuse me, sir."
Stopping dead in his tracks, Jungkook is perplexed to hear you address him so coldly.
"Your change," you say, holding a closed hand out for him to hold his own hand beneath. He doesn't want to cause a scene. Obliges. Is surprised when notes, not coins, fall into his palm.
More specifically, notes folded into the shape of flowers. His handiwork, he's certain. Was something he used to do in the early hours of your late night diner shifts. If he said something a little mean, or bickered with you a little too hard, he'd fold his notes up like posies and give them to you as a remedy.
Never used those notes to buy you real flowers, mind you.
Back when things were still easy, you pulled him up on it. Told him that you'd be far easier to seduce with a little wooing. He'd told you that you were easy to seduce regardless.
You didn't speak to him for the rest of your shift.
Ended it with fourteen folded bills in the shape of a bouquet, and when the backseat windows of his car had a thick veil of condensation coating them that same evening, he'd drawn you flowers on them.
"No point in flowers," he'd told you. "They just wither up and die."
Which is funny, 'cause it kinda looks like Jungkook is doing that very same thing right in this moment. He goes to speak, but nothing comes out.
Disappointing, you think, then realise of course he is. Has done nothing but disappoint you.
You smile. Jungkook looks like he wants to cry. Good.
"Don't let the door hit you on the way out."
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21 repetitions. That's how many times it takes to form a habit. You know this.
You also know that 90 days of this repetition will form a habit to last a lifetime.
As you hook up your apron, and free your hair of the ribbon that had been tightly wrapped around your ponytail, you know these are 'lifetime' habits. Apron, then ponytail. Always.
But when you say goodbye to Maria, and ask if she'll be at home this evening, you find yourself leaning into a recently formed habit. It's not anything particularly noteworthy. Not something anyone would notice.
Well, not anyone who matters. You don't think Jungkook counts as someone who matters, anymore.
But he'd noticed; how you'd started glancing across to his parking spot whenever you clocked out. Had teased you for it. Asked you if it was the highlight of your day, seeing him there, as if it wasn't the highlight of his.
You should have known the playful banter when he told you not to get used to it wasn't really banter at all.
Yet here you are, glancing across to his parking spot only to see it empty.
It's not even like it's his spot. Whenever he's with his friends, they walk. Live right on campus, so don't need to drive, and if they do, they'll park right by the doors.
In the height of summer, when the lot was empty and Jungkook wasn't driving for his sake but for yours, he liked to park in the far corner. Said dumb shit about not wanting any weirdos scratching it. Whined and moaned whenever someone performed the very human act of parking next to the only other car in an empty parking lot.
"So many spaces!" He'd blather on. Would speak with his hands. Get deliberately more animated, 'cause it always made you laugh. "And they choose here?!"
The memories make you smile, until the yellow headlights of another car flood into the parking lot. They reveal what's right in front of you; a crowd of cars and not a single one of them you care for.
It's not like you cared for Jungkook, either. Was just something to pass the time when the streets were quiet and his head was loud. 
In turn, you gave him quiet, and he made your summer feel loud.
But the leaves are turning brown and the water in the roadside puddles is becoming stale. The seasons have changed and so has the nature of your interactions. It's fine. You don't care. Really. Couldn't think of anyone you'd want to hang around less. Would rather die than associate with The Untouchables.
You never needed a lift, not really. Especially not when it always took you an hour to get home 'cause Jungkook just wanted to keep on driving.
Grumbling to yourself just to try and divert your mind from thoughts of him, your heart almost skips a beat when your phone vibrates in your pocket. For a second, you wonder if it could be him.
Where you at? It could read. I'm here.
Or maybe, I miss you.
I can't sleep without you.
This is so stupid. Can I come over?
It won't say of those things and you damn well know it.
Your text thread is dormant. The last message is from you, two weeks prior.
You: you not coming in tonight?
You: you'll be pleased to know my fairy godmother turned a pumpkin into a carriage to make sure i got home safe x
You: ... at least let me know if ur alive?
Rolling your eyes at how mortifying your desperation feels, the scowl that settles into your expression is comical. It's like you're fighting with the wind that's threading itself through your hair.
Pulling your phone out, the scowl only intensifies.
Jackass Wang: party tonight
You: so????
One thing about Jackson is that he's not gonna leave anyone on read, especially when he's trying to drum up attendees for his parties.
Jackass Wang: so i haven't seen you around for a while, montgomery
"Fuckin' Montgomery," you mutter at the nickname.
It's the one that all of Jungkook's friends seem to refer to you as, as if you don't have a personality outside of your job.
Still, at least Jackson is a little bit inventive with it. Calls you Monts. Monty, Monstera Plant, Monte Carlo, and god knows what else. If it starts with 'Mon,' he's found a way to end it with a cheeky smirk and smug anticipatory look in your direction, as he awaits your reaction.
You: i like it better when i don't see you x
Jackass Wang: you know that isn't true. loverboy will be there. come with him. or don't. i don't care. you can bring your little friends with you.
You: they'd rather die :) x
Jackass Wang: y'know, you're replying an awful lot for a girl who's not interested ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
You: you just can't take no for an answer
Jackass Wang: yes i can - but you haven't said no yet. c'mon. loverboy has been moping around all week. i can't be arsed with his mardy ass energy all evening.
You: so don't invite him???? i don't see why it's my problem?????
The fact that you don't need clarification of who Jackson means is proof enough that perhaps Jackson's onto something.
Jackass Wang: conservatory any time after 9. be there or be square montgomery. or don't be. i'm sure loverboy can get his dick wet without you, but it's easier for everyone if he doesn't.
You: charming x
Jackass Wang: it's why the ladies love me.
You: all of them except this one, apparently. have a nice party. stay away from the drugs.
Jackass Wang: can't be tamed, monte carlo. nor can loverboy. come keep him company.
The block button towards the top of your message thread looks incredibly tempting. Just a single click and you'll never have to deal with Jackson Wang and his dumb parties ever again.
Part of you can't believe you've ever been associated with them, as it is.
Summer defied the conventions of the life you've built for yourself. You weren't the person you thought you were.
Kicking off your shoes when you arrive home, the door slams shut behind you. A gentle voice calls through to check if it's you.
"Maria's still working," you say as you walk into the kitchen, tossing your bag down on the floor and your phone on the counter.
Taehyung, your best friend since your first week at college, is cooking himself dinner, but offers you a spoon of the tomato sauce he's making. Humming as you taste it, you're amazed by how he manages to make even the simplest thing delicious.
"S'good. What is that? Cumin?"
Nodding, he smiles. "A little paprika, too. You want some?"
His hair is dishevelled, blonde and sunkissed from the sweltering summer skies. He always looks great with a tan; radiant and full of youth.
Shaking your head, you really don't have an appetite. "Think I'm gonna have an early night."
He's about to reply when your phone buzzes. Both of you glance down. Your skin feels red hot, and when Taehyung almost chokes on the spoonful of sauce he's just tried, he's all sorts of confused.
"Why the fuck is Jackson Wang messaging you?"
"Hmm?" You hum as if you have no idea what he's talking about. Realise from the look on his face that he doesn't buy it for a second. "Oh! That Jackson Wang. Think he sent a text to his entire contact list. Something about a party."
"No," Taehyung asserts. "Absolutely not. You cannot bullshit out of this one."
"It's not bullshit," you whine as you pretend to look in the fridge for something to drink. Settle on a beer left by one of Taehyung's friends at a party held last semester. It wasn't quite a Jackson Wang level party, but nothing ever is. "He's just trying to drum up numbers for his stupid party tonight."
Taehyung is many things, but stupid he is not. Though he's blonde (thanks to a bottle of bleach and a few too many jack and cokes), he bends all the stereotypes. His tuition is covered by a scholarship for academic excellence.
"Don't give me that bull."
"It's not bull!"
"So you're telling me, out of everyone at our college, the Jackson Wang is texting you to make up numbers for his party?"
"Yes!" you exclaim, partially a little offended at it being such an unfathomable idea. "And he said you can come too, so maybe you're the one he's really after!"
His expression is flat. You are paper thin.
He's known you long enough to know when you're giving him half-truths.
He also knows you spent the summer alone in this house, and that there's a new toothbrush in the bathroom next to yours.
"You're hooking up with him, aren't you?"
"No!"
Out of everyone to be accused of sleeping with, Jackson Wang is, like, the worst of the worst. He's handsome, sure, but he's also slept with pretty much every girl on campus. Is a teenage boy in a grown adult's body. You'd rather not fornicate with a guy who still finds 'your mum' jokes funny.
Taehyung gasps at your immediate denial. "You are!"
"I'm not!"
"All that talk about saving it for someone special, and you mean to tell me you went and lost it to Jackson fuckin' Wang?!"
Everything about this conversation is making you want to punch yourself in the face. The topic of sex, and just why you've never gotten around to it, has dominated many conversations around this dining table. If you have to discuss it again, you might move out.
"Oh my God," you whine, throwing your head back. "We are not having this conversation."
"Yes, we are."
"No, we're not, because I didn't lose my virginity to Jackson Wang!" You stress. The more you think about it, the more offended you are.
"To Jackson Wang," Taehyung echoes, as he begins to join invisible dots. "But you did lose it to someone."
"No," you insist, but Taehyung refuses to buy it. Knows you too damn well.
He always thought he'd know when you lost it. That it'd be a boy you'd been dating. Committed to. Someone good. Someone worthy. Not someone you keep in the shadows.
"There's something you're not telling me," he frowns. "What the fuck happened this summer?"
With a sigh so deep it's a miracle you're still breathing, you relent. Never signed one of those NDA's you're convinced Jungkook must hand out like candy, as if he's some sort of celebrity and not just some college reprobate.
"Jungkook," you feebly admit. Take a sip on your beer. Don't look at Taheyung, 'cause you're afraid to see his reaction. "Wasn't Jackson. Was Jungkook."
You tell Taehyung everything. How Jungkook never knew you were a virgin. How he still doesn't. How you blame yourself for your hurt, but him for not getting you any band aids to help deal with it; for not kissing you better when he was the one to cause you such hurt in the first place.
As you recite you memories, you play a game against yourself: take a sip every time you want to cry.
By the time you've told Taehyung the nitty-gritty truth, the bottle of wine that had been in the fridge is finished, as well as your beer.
"I can't believe this," Taehyung says for what feels like the billionth time.
There's a certain shame that comes with Taehyung's confusion.
Embarrassment, like the way Jungkook would cringe at himself whenever he stumbled on his words, or the way you'd covered your reddening cheeks with your hands when he teased you for looking at him in the way you did.
Remorse of time wasted before him, and time wasted with him.
Regret of the things you did and the things he didn't.
It's all very confusing. Exhausting. If you were to really think about it, you'd spend a week in bed with a box of tissues. Would ask Taehyung why he didn't warn you that a heart could feel this horrid.
But he did, and you damn well know it.
Shrugging, you reach for the bottle and split the final few glugs between your glasses.
"We were just bored," you play it off. "Had nothing better to do. No one better to do."
But Taehyung shakes his head. "You don't have to do that, yanno. Pretend like it didn't matter. It's okay that it did. Even if he is a prick, and even if he's no better than the rest of them. It's okay that it hurts."
You're silent when he says this.
Despite your teasing, you never really thought Jungkook was much of a player.
But his friends are back now, and you've been relegated to the sidelines. Doesn't matter if he spent weeks—months—playing in no field but yours. Greener pastures have presumably sprouted. Your turf is wrecked from his carelessness, and he's left you to heal yourself while he goes and wrecks another.
Whoever he was pretending to be in the summer isn't who he is now that his friends are back—but when they're laughing and joking in the basement of the Conservatory that evening, Jungkook knows which version of himself he prefers.
"You need to get laid," Jimin tells Jungkook with a laugh. "Never seen a man look so bloody miserable at a party."
Of all the things Jungkook needs, getting laid is not one of them. In fact, he thinks it would be a very sensible idea if he never got laid again. Sex is messy. People get all emotional over it.
Or more so, he gets all emotional over it.
Had never been the type to, before. Always thought it was something that just happened to other people. Not to him.
He pushes the thoughts aside. Feels a little sick. Shrugs off Jimin's remark.
"If I wanted to get laid, I would get laid."
"So why don't you? Will do us all a favour. Claudia's been—"
"I couldn't give a fuck," Jungkook interrupts Jimin. "I'm not interested."
He never has been. Wants nothing to do with this university, and the men that run it, and so would never date one of their daughters.
They're all corrupt. Every last one of them. All cheat on their wives. All throw their families under the bus for their own selfish exploits. His own father's affair has proven this to him.
Jungkook pities his friends. Just because their parents haven't fucked up yet, doesn't mean they won't.
"Oi, Loverboy," Jackson calls from across the room, breaking the tension only to replace it with a headache for Jungkook. "Where's your little girlfriend? I told her to come."
"Who?" Jimin chirps.
Jungkook grates his jaw. Is deadly serious when he says, "Leave it, Jackson."
"Trouble in paradise for our lovebirds, huh?"
"I said leave it."
"Who the fuck is he talking about?" Jimin continues to ask, incredibly curious about this turn of events. Leave town for a couple of months, he thinks, and everything changes.
"No one."
"That one from the diner," Jackson just continues fuckin' talking. Jungkook wants to scream. "The one with a stick up her ass—"
"Jackson, cut it out," Jungkook snaps. "She's no one. Just fuckin' leave it."
"You ashamed, huh, Loverboy?" Jackson berates him a little bit. He isn't trying to be a dick, but he thinks Jungkook is acting like a tool. Jackson is no saint, but at least he doesn't ever pretend to be something he's not. "Poor girl. Wear her like your favourite pair of shoes all summer and then throw her to the trash when your friends come back? I thought better of you. So did she, probably. Shame."
Of all the people Jungkook ever expected to receive lessons in morality from, Jackson Wang was not the one. He parades himself around the Conservatory like Hugh Hefner reincarnated, his class attributed to money and not behaviours.
"The fuck have you been doing this summer, Kook?" Jimin laughs, utterly dumbfounded by his reactions.
They've all had their fair share of less than conventional lovers. If Jungkook has been fucking around with a girl from the Diner, then so what? Who cares?
"Nothing," Jungkook snaps.
It's not that he's ashamed. 
It's that you're separate.
When he's with you, all of this—the bullshit of college life and calamity of his family falling apart—dissolves into nothingness. He doesn't have to think. Finds himself at ease.
If you were to ever become a part of his life—his real one, not the one he got so used to living in with you over the summer—then it'd all change.
He doesn't want that.
He wants you to be a safe haven.
A refuge point can't be in the midst of a fire, though. He has to keep you away. At arms length.
But god damn, he wishes you would come and put out his fire. He's struggling. Finds existing without you so fucking hard. Doesn't know at which point he became so dependent, but knows his oxygen is running low.
He's suffocating. Isn't sure how much longer he can keep this up.
"Yeah, sure seems like nothing," Jimin smirks with a shake of his head as Jungkook storms off to get some much needed air. "Oi, Jackson, what was that all about?"
With a shrug, and yet another girl on his arm, Jackson grins. Puts on a pathetic little voice to mimic Jungkook's tantrum. "Fink baby boy has a wittle cwush."
"Girl from the diner?" Jimin implores, still smirking at Jackson's dumb humour. "Which one?"
"You really have to ask?"
For all of his mystery, Jungkook has never been a man of subtleties. His eyes give him away.
They always have done.
When he was looking at the menu board earlier that day? It was obvious.
Before college broke up for summer, and how Jungkook would always cast his eyes down to his hands whenever you, specifically, came to take their order? It was obvious.
How Jungkook would always make sure he was on the side of the booth that gave him ample opportunity to steal glances of you? It was so fucking obvious.
Sometimes he'd laugh at the slightly sarcastic remarks you gave Claudia whenever she would ask irritating questions about the menu.
When they were deciding where to eat, Jungkook would suggest the Montgomery's Diner, always.
So, no, Jimin doesn't really have to ask.
"Stupid prick," he sighs, sipping on his beer. Loves Jungkook to absolute death, but will never understand him. Figures that maybe you do. Worries that Jungkook is about to wreck it all. He calls after Jackson, "She here tonight?"
"Invited her," he calls back. "But she's got an attitude problem to rival his. Fuck knows if she's around. You'll feel her ice before you see her."
Which is funny, because the lingering summer heat sticks to your skin as you nervously meander up a driveway you know all too well.
The Conservatory is decidedly not a conservatory.
It's a complex. A maze of buildings, and greenhouses, and fuck knows what else. You've no interest in gardening, but if excelling at it meant living somewhere like this, maybe you'd consider taking it up as a hobby.
The buildings are mostly redbrick, with large windows, and even larger doors. It's the kind of place you'd imagine a Duke of some far away land prancing about in. Playing croquet, or secretly courting a lowly village girl that his parents will never approve of.
The irony isn't lost on you.
"Wait, how do I look?" Taehyung asks for what feels like the hundredth time. "Not too dressy?"
"You're wearing a waistcoat," you reply, face twisted in affectionate condemnation. He looks great, but he also does look far too dressy. It's his 'look', though, and one that'll get him attention, both good and bad.
If Kim Taehyung walked around with the arrogance his handsome face warranted him with, he'd be the heartthrob of the campus. You think even Claudia would want a slice of him—and given his distaste for the elite yet pining desire to be on their level, it'd be quite the complex pairing.
All of the other men here are in t-shirts, but Taehyung has never been like other men. It's part of the reason you like him so much.
One thing, however, you don't like about Taehyung is his domineering need to 'fix' things. It comes from a place of love, and he only ever does it because he cares, but it's not always in your best interest.
When he told you to go and get changed out of your work uniform, you thought he was planning on taking you to a bar. That you'd be drowning your sorrows over wine you can't afford.
You would never agree to go to the Conservatory. Not now.
Which is why he didn't tell you of his plan.
Instead, he ordered a cab and didn't give you the chance to protest. You were already halfway there by the time you realised.
"Why don't we just go home?" You whine, tugging on his arm as you stand by the gate that leads through the gardens—the same ones you used to traipse around in with Jungkook. "We don't need to be here."
"Uh-uh," he shakes his head, firmly standing his ground. "I've avoided this place for two years, and the second my back is turned it becomes your new home. The least you could do is invite me round for dinner."
"It's not my new home—"
"MONTGOMERY!"
The voice of Jackson Wang yelling across the front lawn makes you want to shrivel up and die. Sink down into the ground. You'd make great compost for the botanists.
"Y'know, you and Loverboy really need to stop lying so much," he says with an incredibly intoxicated grin as he lumbers towards you. You'll never admit it, but part of you is pleased to see him. "First you saying you weren't coming, then him telling everyone nothing happened between you. Both as bad as one another."
Nothing happened between you.
It doesn't surprise you, but it does sting. And it also confuses you. Why on earth would you be a topic of conversation? The people here know you as Montgomery. The girl from the diner. You're nothing but a background character to them.
"What did he say?" You ask, disregarding everything else, not even bothering to introduce Taehyung. He's finding all of this incredibly bewildering.
"Oh, Jimin was grilling him," Jackson waves his hands around, disregarding it. "Kept saying you were no one. Refused to admit that he'd practically tied his laces with yours for the whole summer. Don't you worry, though, Monte Carlo. I had your back. Set the record straight."
Jackson Wang having your back isn't something you ever expected to happen.
Jeon Jungkook's absolute denial of your clandestine affaire de cœur is, disappointingly, something you expected.
It doesn't mean that it comes without hurt. If anything, it's far more visceral, for you only have yourself to blame. These wounds are self-inflicted, even if they're carved with a knife Jungkook crafted out of silly affirmations he never should have made.
"Where is he?" You ask, cold in your tone.
Jackson shrugs. "Try the basement. S'where I last saw him."
As Jackson saunters off to find another poor partygoer to mildly offend, you're left with a bad taste in your mouth. You've been irritated since you saw Jungkook earlier that day.
How he can just show up at the diner and act like he doesn't even know you, let alone knows what it's like to wake up next to you, is beyond insulting.
"C'mon," Taehyung urges you along. "I need a drink, and you could use three."
Conversely, you think you need an entire bottle.
A bottle of what, you don't care. Just something strong. Anything other than the shitty, overpriced whisky Jungkook always insisted on drinking.
"Fine. But we're not going to the basement."
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It's perplexing to walk the halls of the Conservatory without Jungkook; to pass by strangers who have no idea who you are, but who know and admire him as if he's some sort of Hollywood celebrity.
They don't know him like you do. Don't know what it feels like to have his hand around their throat, or his fingers gently intertwined with theirs. They've never heard him laugh like you have.
And yet when you're a few drinks deep, and on the verge of calling a cab to go home, you hear that laugh again and wonder how he can bear to be happy right now.
Glancing up, his face is unreadable. The lights are dim, and the shadows obscure the painful furrowing of his brows. He looks just the same as he did back in the diner earlier that day. Perplexed. In pain. Somehow perfectly fine, too.
The group he's in is small. Some of them you know, some of them you don't.
Claudia sits across from him on the lap of some other guy, yet she doesn't take her eyes off Jungkook. She laughs a little harder at his jokes. Directs questions to him. Flirts with other people in front of him to no avail. 
Not even now, after summer when her skin is sunkissed and her radiance is rejuvenated, can she keep his attention.
In fact, none of them can once he spots you from across the room. The big lights are off, fairy lights strung up, and a sunset lamp pours a clementine hue over you.
Summer becomes you, he thinks—adores—from afar.
The year is a body, and you're eternally condemned to its heart. That's where he'll keep you. Where you belong.
Had it been spring—the brain of the year—when he'd been hauled up in that diner, he never would have let things get as far as they did.
Had it been winter—the cunt of the year, for lack of a better term—he would have let it get that far, and he wouldn't have felt bad about it, either.
But Autumn is drawing close. The gut. The time to trust his intuition, and he damn well knows it.
A hand wraps itself around your wrist, dragging you away from his car crash eyes. Jungkook slips into the dull shadows of the room, right where he belongs. Was foolish of you to ever think otherwise.
"Do you mind?" you snap, but let yourself be dragged away regardless. Part of you hopes it'll make Jungkook do something. You're not sure what. Just something.
The man who is leading you astray is familiar. Recognisable. Park Jimin.
Though he's not aggressive, he definitely isn't gentle as he leads you out to the gardens. Lets go of your wrist by an overgrown shrub just beyond the benches that are made for drunken DMC's. He isn't after one of them. Wants the facts.
"Cut the bullshit," he says.
"No hello?" You chirp. "Nice to see you? Or better yet, an introduction?"
"You know who I am," Jimin tells you, expression flat. You hate that the arrogant fucker is right. "But I know fuck all about you, and apparently you're the reason Jungkook is walking around like death warmed up. So cut the bull. What happened?"
Frankly it's none of Jimin's business. Even if he's done you wrong, Jungkook trusted you. You're not gonna throw that back in his face and air his dirty laundry—especially not considering that Jimin is Jungkook's friend. If Jungkook wanted him to know, he'd have told him.
"Nothing," you tell him. "Barely even know him."
Jimin sighs. Jackson was right. There's a reason why you and Jungkook got along so well. Are both insufferable.
Glancing behind you, Jimin raises his brows.
You turn to face his line of vision, and fail to hide your surprise when you see Jungkook by the back door. Like a deer in headlights, he's frozen in place, his darling bambi eyes so startled he almost looks scared.
"So if you barely know him," Jimin continues as you and Jungkook stare one another out. "Why the fuck is he looking at you like he's seen a ghost?"
It takes a second or so, but you manage to pull your gaze away. Turn back to face Jimin. Shrug. Play dumb.
"Mistaken identity."
"Oh, I get it," Jimin smirks, knowing you aren't gonna give him an easy way out. Needs to bamboozle answers out of you. "You both went to the same bullshitting classes over summer? Is that it?"
You're surprised to find yourself smiling. Surprised that you find humour in Jimin's words. Surprised that you aren't rolling your eyes.
He's always been the Untouchable that has annoyed you the most. Is too loud. Laughs at the most obnoxious things.
"Top of the class," you reply because it somehow feels okay to joke with him. Perhaps spending so much time with Jungkook has lowered you Park Jimin-related intolerance. Not cured it, by any means, but definitely made it easier to manage.
"Academic rivals," Jimin supposes, realising that maybe there's a little more to you than he's ever given you credit for. "That's pretty hot."
"He seemed to think so," you lament, knowing that you're revealing a far more truthful rendition of your time spent with Jungkook. Or at least, admitting that time was spent together.
With a sigh, you walk a little further into the garden. Cross your arms. Look back over your shoulder to the door, only to find Jungkook is gone. It shouldn't upset you like it does, but you find your lips pressing together in a small pout.
"Look," Jimin says, exhaling a breath so deep you're sure his lungs must be empty. He comes to stand beside you, looking across the vast expanse of the gardens. "I'm not asking for your life story. If you don't give a shit about Kook, then that's fine, I'll leave you alone. But he's my best friend, and I've never seen him like this."
Glancing at Jimin, there's a taut discomfort on your face. Guilt, almost—but you've not done anything wrong. It's on him. He's the one who chose for things to be this way.
"I give a shit," you quietly admit as you look back out towards the garden, then sigh out a pitiful laugh. "You know him. You know what he's like. Of course I give a shit."
Quite honestly you think it's impossible to not fall for Jungkook. He's everything you're hardwired to appreciate: hardworking, charming, incredibly funny. You lost count of how many nights dissolved into laughter with him. Had never known your cheeks to hurt so much.
He was gentle, too. Stroked his thumbs against your cheeks just as often as he made them ache.
It's your heart that's aching now, and he's not around to soothe your woes.
Back inside, Jungkook feels so viscerally unwell that he thinks he might be sick. Or maybe he's actually dying. One of the two.
This is everything he didn't want. You were supposed to be separate. Supposed to be a sanctuary away from this all.
You're in the thick of it, now. Jimin is grilling you, and Jungkook doesn't know what to do. It's too much. All of it. The party, the people, the fact that you look at him with ice in your eyes when he knows damn well they used to harbour the warmest of fires.
Beelining for the basement, he kind of hopes the ground will swallow him up. Stop him from making the bad decisions he seems to find so god damn irresistible.
As he yanks open the small fridge at the back of the basement, Jungkook doesn't care what he drinks. Just needs something to help soothe his fragile mine; to make him feel better, 'cause lord knows you won't.
Reaching for a beer, he doesn't ask around to see if it belongs to anyone. Finders keepers. He's an Untouchable. This place is basically his by birthright. No one is gonna argue against him.
But Kim Taehyung isn't just anyone.
"So, when you apologise for being a gargantuan pillock, are you planning on also trying to win her over? Or will you just clean your conscience and wipe yourself clean of her, too?"
Jungkook's jaw tenses as his teeth grit together. "Don't know what you're on about."
"Had a girl in tears at my dinner table earlier tonight," Taehyung exaggerates. Just wants Jungkook to feel as awful as he knows you do. "Your friends might not give a shit about your well-being, but I give a shit about mine."
And for some reason, this irks Jungkook. He gives a shit about you. Cares so much he's been torturing himself by staying away. Thinks it's better for you both.
If it truly was, neither of you would be feeling so gut-wrenchingly awful.
He knows you're angry. You've made that perfectly clear.
But he also knows you do cry when you're frustrated. Was a lesson learned when you were stressed over the diner roof leaking one night during the monsoons when no one else was in to help you fix it.
It was the first night he offered you a lift home. Had taken pity on you. Had also liaised with the college maintenance guy to check it out the next day, even if the diner wasn't technically part of campus.
Because Jungkook does give a shit about your well-being, and he refutes the claim that he doesn't.
"So what? You here to tell me to stay away?" Jungkook scoffs as he prizes off the cap of the bottle. Swigs down a sip. Then another, 'cause he's not wankered enough for this.
"I'm here to tell you that you're an asshole," Taehyung asserts. "She didn't deserve to be used by you for the summer and then tossed to the trash just because semesters starting up again."
The roll of Jungkook's eyes is so weighted that it almost feels as if they'll get lodged in the back of his skull. The last time they'd rolled that deep was in bed with you. Back then it was because his body was so divinely out of sync that his muscles couldn't keep up with his actions. This time, pleasure is the furthest thing away from how he's feeling.
"You want me nowhere near her, but the fact I'm staying away makes me an asshole?" Jungkook petulantly laughs. "Can't ever fuckin' win, can I?"
"This isn't about winning or losing," Taehyung argues back. "She trusted you."
Jungkook doesn't understand what that has to do with anything. He's not betrayed your trust. Has kept all your secrets. Tried his best to keep you secret, too.
"What was she to you, huh? Some project? A virginity to get under your belt? Something to pass the time—"
"I don't know who you think I am," Jungkook snaps, fed up being accused of something he's not. "But not once did I ever treat her badly, okay? I—" He cuts himself off. Doesn't know how to articulate himself. "We— Look, you just don't get it. You don't know me. I was nothing but fuckin' nice. Okay? And she was nice. And it was nice. And we..." He trails off. Realises what Taehyung said. "The fuck do you mean, 'virginity to get under your belt'?"
It's about now that Taehyung realises he's said too much.
But every cloud has a silver lining.
"Talk to her," Taehyung shrugs as he begins to walk away. "Not me."
He leaves a scowling Jungkook by the fridge. Heads to the stairs, and once he reaches the top, is yanked away by a small but mighty force.
"You," Jimin asserts. "With me. Now."
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The sound of three knocks on the bathroom door serve as a signal: let me in.
A panicked text from Taehyung had practically begged you to go to the basement bathroom and wait for him there. Said there was drama that he needed to talk with you about.
And you believed him, 'cause you're a few too many drinks deep and honestly could do with the respite.
Perched up on the countertop by the sink, you reach over and unhook the latch, giving Taehyung the all clear to come on in. Your legs languidly swing and your shoulders are slumped, this party well and truly over for you.
The only reason you're still here is because you know Taehyung's secretly been revelling in his first Conservatory party. You fear he'll want to come every weekend, now.
"You better not have your cock out," a playful voice you know all too well jokes, as the door pushes open. Eyes closed as he enters, he shuts the door behind him. Asks, "Am I safe to open my eyes?"
You're gonna kill Taehyung. 
In the most loving but brutal way, you will absolutelymurder him for setting you up like this.
"Safe," you grimace.
Jungkook doesn't open his eyes. In fact, he presses them even tighter together. Frowns. "Jimin isn't in here, is he?"
"We've been bamboozled," you sigh, and as much as he doesn't want to, Jungkook smiles at your choice of words. Tips his head down, and open his eyes. Is a little too scared to look your way, for fear of being greeted with wrath.
"Their days are numbered," Jungkook assures you, quickly glancing across to try and work out how you're feeling.
"My sentiments exactly."
Jungkook goes to speak, but you both notice a grating metallic noise by the door. Immediately, Jungkook presses his hand down on the door handle, but there's absolutely no give. It won't budge
"Jimin," he calls, voice strong and domineering through the wooden panels. Hastily painted white, they're chipped and tarnished; covered in numbers and Instagram handles, rumours and declarations of love. It's not your first time locked in this bathroom with Jungkook, but the last was of your own choice. Had been you turning the lock with a smile and glint in your eyes that had promised him trouble. "Open it up."
"No can do," Jimins smugly sings from beyond the door. "Sort your shit out."
Hopping off the counter, you nudge in front of Jungkook to pound against the door with an open fist. Though he steps back, it's still the closest you've been with him since he left your bedroom a couple weeks ago. Part of you laments the fact he moved away from you. Part of him does, too.
"Tae," you try calling instead, hand banging on the door, but you're met with the exact same response.
"Figure it out," he calls back, but also adds, "And if he's still an insufferable asshole in five minutes time, I'll come let you out."
Despite everything, you laugh at this. Not so much because of Taehyung's words, but because Jungkook's face screws up like an old newspaper.
"What is it with him and calling me an asshole?" Jungkook mutters under his breath with a shake of his head.
The bathroom is small—just a toilet and sink built into a cabinet. There's a mirror covering the back wall over it, and another cabinet above it that you assume is filled with empty bottles and misplaced lipglosses. There's barely even enough room to breathe, although there is enough room to make Jeon Jungkook come undone in the least dignified of ways. You should know.
You wish you didn't.
"He calls you one because you are one," you assure him.
"Excuse me?" 
"What?" You scoff, hopping back up on the counter, your eyes on his 'cause you want to watch the way he gets nasty. Wanna remind yourself of how horrible he can be. Replace the memories of him in this bathroom, 'cause in all reality, they're actually really lovely. Nice, even. Warm. Everything you're trying to convince yourself he's not. "Gone deaf as well as turned into a massive prick?"
"Jesus Christ," he says, rolling his eyes, turning back to face the door. Shakes at the handle. "Give it a rest."
"Why?" You ask as if butter wouldn't melt on your tongue. "Would it make life easier for you if I just wasn't around?"
Jungkook knows what you're doing. Has bickered with you enough times to understand your tricks. This is how you start; put words in his mouth that he can't defend against.
And so he doesn't try.
"Yep," he declares, turning to face you. "Way easier. Can you tell your friend I'm an asshole, still? Get us out of this place?"
You recline in defiance. Perched up on the counter next to the basin, your back is against a mirror. Legs crossed, you're in the same white summer dress you wore to your first party at the Conservatory.
Nearly everyone had been away for the summer.
You had spent the evening tucked up together on an armchair meant for one, him in the seat, you perched on the armrest, feet in his lap.
"People will talk, y'know," you'd assured him, elbows on your knees, chin in your palms.
"So let them talk," he'd smirked. "What's there to say? We're just sitting?"
It was strange for him to be seen with you. Even Jackson has been confused, but let it slide 'cause another partygoer is another partygoer. He cared for numbers, not names.
"Dunno," you had teased. "Might start talking about the way you look at me."
"Yeah?" He'd husked as his long fingers wrapped around your wrist. Gently pulled you closer.
"Yeah," you'd whispered, the sound of the music keeping your conversation obscure. "How long has it been that you've been looking at me for? A minute, already? Only one more until you fall in love, according to science."
"You tryna make me fall in love with you, Montgomery?"
"No," you'd innocently chirped, then pulled back. "Why? Were you?"
He'd shrugged. Sipped on his beer. "Guess we'll never know."
Looking at him now, you find it hard to believe he's the same person as he was back then.
"Why would I do that?" You feign naivety. "You're not an asshole?"
He doesn't reply. Knows you're going somewhere with this. Leans his back against the wall opposite you and folds his arms as if to say, go on.
"Assholes fuck people over," you state. "You'd never do that. And you'd definitely never spend your summer in some poor girls sheets and then pretend like she doesn't exist in front of your friends—"
"There is it," he confirms. Knew it was coming. Didn't expect you to actually try and speak about things like adults. So fuckin' childish.
"Oh?" You chirp. "So you're well aware of the fact you're an asshole? Good. Glad we have that one sorted out."
"Yep," he confirms, mouth drawing to a thin line.
The fact he isn't engaging in the fight infuriates you. Just proves he doesn't care. That he fucked you over for sport.
"I'm an asshole," he says, voice full of snark. "You know it, I know it. There's no reason why you should want to be around me. No reason why you should waste your time."
"It's so funny," you gasp in fake surprise. "I was thinking the exact same thing! Isn't it so great that you came to this conclusion after you already wasted months of my life?"
He's silent, now. Cowardly.
"Y'know I always knew you were an obnoxious prick," you say, voice now soberly quiet. "But I didn't think you were this cruel, Kook."
"You know that's not—"
"What?" You interrupt, voice growing louder with each question. "Not true? You woke up in my bed one morning, and then never spoke to me again. Who does that? What the fuck is wrong with you?"
"I don't know!" He shouts, and it surprises you both.
Raking his hand through his hair as he turns away from you, Jungkook wishes he had an answer. Wishes he could explain himself in a way that made sense to you both. Instead, he harshly swallows down his anger. Turns to face you again. Looks like he might cry.
Feels like it, too. 
"Why didn't you tell me, huh?" He quietly asks.
"Tell you wha—"
"That you were a virgin."
Your previous thoughts about murdering Taehyung return. Of all the things he could have divulged to Jungkook, and that's what he chose?!
Men, you internally scoff. All fuckin' idiots.
"Hardly relevant, is it?"
"Of course it is," he snaps, turning back to face you. "If I'd have known—"
"You'd have what? Ghosted me sooner? Made it into a fun little competition?"
"I didn't ghost you."
"Gaslighting, too, now are we?" You scoff. "Hold on, let me go and get my bingo card. Things Jungkook does that are absolutely fucking infuriating. Wanna cross it off the list. It's right next to how fast you drive your car, and how much I hate your stupid fucking alarm tone."
"Well good job you never have to hear it again, isn't it?"
"Why not? 'Cause you are ghosting me?"
"No, because this is fuckin' stupid," he says, yanking on the door handle, on the off chance it will finally budge. It doesn't. "You think I'm the devil reincarnated. You don't want me, so why bother with this? This is done. Us. Whatever the fuck it was. You never trusted me in the first place. Would have told me if you did. So just call your friend, tell him I'm an asshole. We're done."
"Oh, well you're two weeks too late for this conversation, don't you think?" you argue back with a cold laugh. "But has it ever occurred to you that my life doesn't revolve around you? That you aren't the reason I'm here? Jackson invited me."
"Ah, so that's what it is?" Jungkook sarcastically exclaims, your insatiable need to fight finally sinking into his skin. "You were just using me, huh? Getting those V-plates off, so you could be ready for him? Is that why you didn't tell me? Huh?"
The mere thought of hooking up with the college's very own Hugh Hefner makes you wanna gag—but if it'll piss off Jungkook, maybe you'll consider it.
"Why would you care if I let him fuck me?" You ask with such pointed anger Jungkook can't help but feel like you're driving knives into his chest. "Do that thing you like with my tongue? You think he'd like my pussy, huh? Maybe I'd let him fuck me raw."
You never let Jungkook go unprotected. Insisted on it each and every time, and he complied even if he was a little pouty about it after you'd been fucking for a while. The trust was there. You were on the pill. He knew he was clean and had told you as such, but it made no difference.
To even suggest you'd let Jackson fuck you raw is laughable.
With a smirk on his lips, Jungkook edges towards you.
Put his hands on your crossed knees. Waits for you to jerk him away—but you don't. Instead, you watch on with salacious confusion. Say nothing. Not even when he uncrosses them, nor when he spreads them apart.
With a hand either side of your head against the mirror, Jungkook stands between your legs.
Looks down at you.
Is so close you can smell his aftershave.
A month ago, in a position like this, you'd have kissed him.
"Hm?" You cock your head. Repeat your question. "You think he'd like my pussy? How long do you think he'd take to cum? Longer than you, I hope."
Jaw tense, Jungkook swallows down the way he wants to curse you out. Closes his eyes. Lets his head dip further, his forehead now resting against the top of your head.
The contact is minimal, but God, you've missed it. Trapped in position by him, you'd forgotten how lovely it was to lose yourself to Jungkook.
"You're not being fair," he whispers. Whines, even.
"Fair?" You laugh, but it's gentle. Matches his tone. "You can hardly take the high ground on fairness, Jungkook."
He nods. Takes a second, and then pathetically begs: "Don't fuck him. Please."
"Why shouldn't I?"
"You know why," he says. Stands straighter, now. Rakes a hand through his hair. Looks down on you with such pained desperation you almost feel bad. He tries to speak, but struggles with his words again. Takes him a few attempts to get anything out. "I didn't like you because I was fucking you. I fucked you because I liked you. You know that. You know it wasn't...Fuck. You know what it was."
The past tense he speaks in cuts you up inside.
Jungkook shrugs in defeat when he's met with silence. Purses his lips. Eyes on yours, they're glassy. Watery, almost.
Yours are just as bad, because what the fuck are you supposed to say to that? He's the one that cut you out. He did this.
"What did I do?" You ask, voice meagre and pathetic. Your vulnerability is mortifying, and yet you just can't help yourself as a tear streaks down your cheek. "What the fuck did I do that was so wrong, Kook?"
The heat of his hand scalds your skin as his thumb wipes away your tears. After his cold shoulder for the past two weeks, your body doesn't know how to respond. Should you be angry? Hurt? Comforted?
All you know is that you're more confused now than you ever were when you first started hooking up with him.
"Nothing," he quietly promises. Holds your cheeks in his hands. Rests his nose beside yours. Is far too close for a man who's been trying to stay away from you. Is beginning to realise that maybe his self-preservation was thinly veiled self-sabotage instead. "I thought I was doing the right thing, but it's been so fuckin' miserable, and then I didn't know how to fix things, and then it was all such a mess and—"
The words Jungkook is yet to speak are lost in the soft press of your lips against his.
Brows furrowed, Jungkook's grip on your face tightens. Keeps you close, 'cause he feels the pressure of your lips waning but doesn't want you to pull away.
And so you don't. Instead you apply more pressure. Harder. Deeper.
It's not like kissing Jungkook is a new experience. You've done it upwards of a thousand times, now. You know his lips and his tongue, and how it likes to flick against yours; his piercings, and the frequency of his moans that vibrate into your mouth.
Kissing Jungkook is just as easy as it is hard. Easy, in the way he takes not a single considered thought. Hard, in how it becomes your only tangible thought for minutes, hours, days afterwards.
An eternity and a millisecond is lost in the kiss, just like the summer that lasted an age and yet was gone with the wind.
When your lips finally part, there's silence. Forehead resting on yours, Jungkook shakes his head ever so gently. Doesn't know how to articulate his thoughts. How to say sorry, or how to fix his mess.
While his logic was flawed, and his execution careless, his intentions had been good. As much as he had a life to go back to, and friends that wouldn't get it, so did you.
He knows they hate him—isn't ignorant to the roll of Maria's eyes every time they walk into Montgomery's, and has experienced Taehyung's disdain first-hand this evening.
He'd spent his summer getting out of the house to avoid the fall-out of his father's infidelity. Knows how much his family is suffering all because of a man who just couldn't control himself. Was trying to be better. Trying not to wreck both of your lives.
As he stands in the dingy bathroom of a party house, the lingering burn of your lips on his still smouldering, he knows that he wrecked you both regardless.
And so it's up to him to put you back together again.
"I'm sorry," you say as you break the kiss, mortified at how stupid of an impulse it had been. You don't that. Not anymore. A month ago, sure, kissing Jungkook in a dingy bathroom at a party house would have been exciting. Now, it just feels embarrassing. "I shouldn't have—"
His lips are on yours again, stealing your words from you. He doesn't want to hear you apologise. Knows that you don't need to.  Also knows that he does need to.
"Don't," he quickly says between kisses. "Please, don't say sorry."
"But I—"
"Shut up," he smiles against your lips, shaking his head ever so slightly. He kisses you again, and this time it's soft. Pretty. Poetic, almost in how it makes you feel. And then he speaks, and you're reminded of just how easy it is to adore him, even when you know you shouldn't. "You know how much I've missed this? God, I've missed you so much. Please don't say sorry. I'm sorry. It's on me. I made a mistake, alright? I fucked up." 
He pulls back. Has your cheeks in his hands as he makes sure your eyes are on his. They're dark, now, in the dim light of the bathroom you're in, but they've never been warmer.
"I mean it. I'm so fucking sorry," he whispers. Brows furrowed, lips pouty, he's got the kind of face you're hardwired to trust. To adore. Or maybe, it's just him, in general, that you're inclined to feel this way about. "Okay?"
His large hard hands are still holding your cheeks, as yours wrap around his wrists. With a shake of your head, you shrug. Pout, too.
An apology is appreciated, but it's just words. It's his actions that have been upsetting you. Not his words (or lack thereof).
"We're gonna leave this bathroom and you're gonna pretend like I don't exist again," you tell him.
The frown on his face deepens. "That's not true. And that's not what I was trying to do in the first place, either. I just thought—"
"What? That it was a good idea to kiss me on my doorstep and promise you'd pick me up from work, only to never show? To ignore my texts? To—"
"No," he quietly admits, dropping his head between his shoulders. "I made the wrong calls—but I can make it up to you. I want to make it up to you." He rests his forehead against yours. Quietly begs, "Please."
Slowly, Jungkook nudges his nose up against yours. Waits for permission.
Beyond the door, loud music thuds through the room. It obscures the conversation you've been having, keeping you just as secret as you always have been.
It's not like you told any of your friends, either, and when it came to telling Taehyung, you weren't exactly forthcoming. Perhaps you would have been the one to pretend like he didn't exist, had he not done it first.
"I want you," he husks against your lips. 
"You wanna fuck me," you correct him, lips tantalisingly brushing his with every word.
"True," he admits. "But I also wanna send you dumb memes again, and go for drives after work, and wake up in your bed. I wanna go for breakfast, and I still need to cook you my world-famous makguksu. I want to have not been a dick for the past two weeks, but I can't change that. I just wanna be what I once was to you again."
"And what was that?" You encourage.
There was never any label. Realistically, there's no right answer. 
Or at least there isn't, until Jungkook just simply says, "Yours."
And what else can you do when confronted by such a pathetic, yearnful admittance from him, except to give into how you're feeling, too?
Frantic in the way your hands are on his body—his arms, his waist, around his throat—there's a neediness to you. One he's missed. One he reciprocates, as his large palms stroke up your spread thighs, then get your legs wrapped around his hips.
The movements of your bodies are so well nurtured by now that you know what comes next; how the bulge in his trousers will press against your covered pussy, and how you'll whine at the contact no matter how minimal.
"Fuck," you whine as his hands slip under the skirt of your dress. It's an old routine at this point. He knows exactly where to go, what to do. His fingers press against the wet fabric of your underwear, just gently enough to make you moan a little harder into his mouth.
"Oh?" He smirks when he realises just how needy you are, his fingers stroking against your slick panties. "Missed me, too?"
"You're an asshole," you tell him with a smile. As his fingers get firmer, you can't help but whine. "You know I have."
He pulls back to look down at your body. Pushes the fabric of your dress out of the way. Curses when he realises the underwear you're wearing. Is his favourite pair. Red and lacy, there's a suspender belt to match it. While you're not wearing it right now, he's got pictures of you in it that belong in a fuckin' museum.
"Did you wanna fuck me tonight, huh?" He mumbles into your lips.
"Not everything is about you," you say with a smile, wrapping your arms around his neck.
Except it is. They're your favourite pair too, simply for how insanely he reacted to seeing you in them. Sure you're not in the full set up, but it was enough to have you feeling ever so confident as you left the house with Taehyung.
As his lips press against yours, his finger hooks beneath your underwear. Tugs them to the side. Gets you exposed for him.
"No?" He husks, as his fingers begin to sink between your soaked folds. "So this isn't about me, huh?"
You shake your head. Lie. "Never been less turned on."
He plays into your little theatrics. Has always enjoyed them.
"So you don't want me to do this?" He asks as his middle finger sinks into your entrance.
"Can't even feel it," you pretend, as if his thick knuckles aren't stroking against you in just the right way.
"No?" He grits. Sinks a second finger inside you. Gets you whining again, nails gripping onto his arms. His fingers slowly pump into you, easing you into the way it feels for him to be inside you.
There's something electric about Jungkook. Sends shivers through your spine. Always knew exactly how to manipulate your pussy into doing whatever he wanted, and now is no different. As you clench around him, he's overcome with satisfaction.
"This is just my fingers," he reminds you. "I don't think you can handle my cock."
Scoffing, you're desperately trying to pretend you aren't melting for him. "Please, I can handle it just fine."
"Sure you can, baby," he teases with so much arrogance you kinda wanna fight him again—but it's also why you like him. He challenges you. Gets your brain in overdrive.
And when he crouches in front of the counter, eyes aligned with your exposed cunt, you think you might actually lose it entirely.
His hands are on your thighs, spreading you further, getting a good look at the mess between your legs. When he sighs, the shallow breath that escapes his lips feels like absolute sin against your wetness.
"Oh, you really haven't been fucked since me, have you?" He teases again. "Look at how fucking keen you are. Been missing my cock, huh?"
"My vibrator's been doing the job just fine," you assure him, but it has him pulling back to cock a brow in your direction. He knows many things about you that other people don't, but he was not aware you owned any sex toys. Finds that his cock only throbs even harder in his pants at this revelation.
"Maybe so," he husks, leaning closer just so he drags his flat tongue up your folds. Has to stop himself from moaning, 'cause the taste of you is somehow even better than his memories. "But it's not better than me."
With a point to prove, and a desperation to reclaim you as his own, Jungkook doesn't entertain chitchat any longer. He dives back in, tongue lapping against your lips as his fingers push back inside you. The way he curls them just right as his tongue flicks against your clit is enough to make anyone lose their head.
Hands tangling in his hair, you find your body responding to him in the way it always does; pathetically, needily, hungrily. There's no dignity to be found.
His tongue works against you like a well trained craft, until his lips latch around your swollen bud and begin to lightly suck on it. When he hums in satisfaction—which he does often—the suction only grows stronger.
Gets you whimpering, "Like that. Fuck. Like that."
The build is just as undignified as you are. Your grip on his hair gets tighter, and the shake of your legs grows stronger. Dragging his tongue up and down your folds, he settles back on your clit. Flicks his pointed tongue against you until he knows you can't take it any longer and begins to suck again. Curves his fingers just right. Strokes you so gently that orgasm pours out of you like liquid gold. Guilds him into the most gorgeous aureate glow.
He doesn't ease. Keeps his lips wrapped around your clit. Makes sure you're spent.
When he finally releases you, he's breathing just as heavily as you are. Gets to his feet, fingers still plugged in your tight pussy. Is pleased to find you're just as insatiable as he is, pulling him in for the messiest of kisses as soon as you can. There's no care given for the fact he's covered in your arousal. You just want that tongue of his in your mouth—and when it is, you find yourself moaning from the withdrawal of his fingers.
Your hands reach to the waistband of his jeans to unhook his button. Get his zipper down. Your hands down the front of his trousers, when his thick cock is restricted by his tight boxer briefs. By the tip of his cock, a small wet patch resides; his desperation for you obvious. Gently rubbing your thumb across the pre-cum, all you can think about is his slit, and how you wanna kitten lick across it.
But it's been two weeks of near-constant pining, and all Jungkook wants is to bury himself inside you.
"Let me fuck you," he begs. "Please, baby."
If the girl who had first seen Jungkook in a shared lecture hall two years ago would have known she'd end up in a shitty bathroom with him begging for her, she'd have laughed. Wouldn't have believed it for a second.
Fresh-faced and so out of your comfort zone, the first few days at university were full of potential. It was before you had wised up to your place in the pecking order; when Jungkook was just a boy in your orientation class.
Skin kissed by European sun, there had been a radiance to him that seemed to captivate just about everyone. You weren't the only girl who had been sneaking glances his way.
You'd thought about him a lot in those first few weeks. Came to learn of his family ties around the same time you befriended Taehyung. Stopped seeing him around campus so much, and rarely ever thought of him.
But on those rare occasions you crossed paths, your gaze would always linger.
As he frees himself of his boxers, trousers suspended midway down his thighs, he gently rubs the tip of his cock between your folds and husks, "Always thought you were so pretty, y'know?"
Looking up at you for just a second, he smirks. Looks back down. Continues to rub himself against you, prepping himself with your slickness.
"Freshers week," he continues. "You never came to any of the parties."
The tip of his cock kisses your entrance, but doesn't penetrate. You stay in limbo just shy of what you both want.
"Had a stupid fuckin' crush on you," he admits. Has never acknowledged it before, but has always known. Kept it hidden. Safe. Secret.
"No, you didn't," you smile. He didn't even give you a second glance. Was always you seeking him out in lecture halls.
"I did," he says with absolute certainty. "You wore that little black sundress on our first day. Had ruffles on the shoulders."
It hangs in your wardrobe, a little out of style but still sweet in the right setting. You know the exact one he's talking about, because he's right. You did wear it on that very first day.
His cock nudges a little deeper. Enough to make you gasp, but not moan. Not yet. Gripping his arms, brows furrowed, you nod. He sinks himself just a little bit further. The feeling is overwhelming; fire on ice.
"Would have fucked you in that lecture hall, if you'd have let me," he smirks.
"You didn't even know my name," you counter, but he cuts your questioning off as he edges a little deeper, still. His hand dips to gently rub languid circles on your clit. He's not pushing himself any further, not yet. Wants to ease into how this feels.
"I did," he admits. "Listened extra hard during the roll call."
"So this has all been some big elaborate scheme to get into my pants, huh?"
"Is it working?" he jokes, leaning over to yank the cabinet above the sink open. A few random bottles and packets clatter into the sink, but he doesn't care.
He's looking on the top shelf, rifling through old boxes, sending more miscellaneous objects to their untimely demise. Spotting what he's after, he's assertive as he knocks the cabinet shut. Passes you the box.
"S'all there is. They alright?"
"Sure," you say, pulling one of the foil packets from the box. You check the date stamped on the front—only to see it's a year out of date. Some protection would be better than none, regardless of the date, but fuck it. You're on the pill. "You haven't fucked anyone else? In the last couple weeks?"
"What?" His brows contort in confusion. "No."
His expression softens, but is still laced with confusion when you toss the box of condoms down into the sink.
"I don't care. I don't want them—"
You're cut off by the way Jungkook clasps your jaw, keeping your eyes locked on his. There's a seriousness to him now; the same demeanour he holds himself with when he was taking photographs. He's intentional. Assertive.
"Promise me," he says with stern certainty. "You want this?"
When he's got you like this—legs spread, body his to claim, your soul to take—it's impossible to do anything but comply. See, things with Jungkook are reciprocal. Your feelings, your tortured misunderstanding of how a relationship could ever work, and his seriousness, now, too.
"I promise," you swear.
As a chaste kiss is pressed to your lips, his hands stroke down your spread thighs, pushing you a little further open for him.
"Can't unfuck me," he softly reminds you. Is taking his time not for the anticipation, but because he's scared. "If you fuck me raw—"
"Then I fuck you raw," you simply repeat, knowing that it's up to you to ease his woes. If anyone should be scared, it's you—yet there's a safety that comes with being with Jungkook. Smirk, then say, "Trust me. I know I can't unfuck you. I've been trying to forget—"
"Ouch," he laughs, nudging his nose up against yours.
"—but you're just..." you tailed off, not wanting to compliment him too highly. He's still in the dog house. "Memorable."
With a sardonic smile that he knows only means trouble, you reach down to grip his incredibly pert ass cheeks. Squeezing, just because you can, you encourage him to push even deeper into you—and he's the one who whines, now.
"God, you're so fuckin' tight," he praises with such pained desperation it almost sounds like he'll cry. He won't. It's just that he can't quite believe that he's raw inside you right now, and that you feel just as good as he always imagined. Better, even.
"Yeah?" You question, as you pull his hips closer, gasping as he finally sinks his full length into you once more. His fingers were thick, but they've got nothing on his cock. Like he's taken all the air from your lungs, your voice is all light and airy. Makes Jungkook even more insane.
"Yeah," he mumbles as he nods into a kiss that is just as feverant as his need to pulse his hips. He doesn't dare do it yet. Is waiting for you. "Feels so fuckin' good."
"So just fuck me," you hungrily moan into his lips.
You're challenging him deliberately, and it works a fucking treat when he pulls back with a grin. He doesn't withdraw himself, but he does pulse his hips ever so slightly. Keeps you plugged. Is just nudging even deeper into you as he keeps a hold on your thighs, keeping them spread nice and wide.
"Say please," he grunts as his pulsing becomes a singular deep thrust.
Your argumentative streak wants to fight.
You'll berate yourself later for the way you whimper, "Please."
His thick cock withdraws just a little to push back into you. He groans. Curses. Builds momentum. Speed.
The sound of his skin slapping against yours as he pounds himself into you is impossible to ignore. Your moans build. Double. Treble. He's grunting too, and then his lips are on your neck. It's a mess, quite frankly.
In the sordid shadows of this bathroom, your bodies become acquainted with an intimacy not yet bridged before. You can pretend to ignore each other in the hallways of your shared lecture buildings, but you'll never be able to ignore the desperation you have for one another. Jungkook was right. You can't unfuck him. And now he's fucking you raw, it only make it even more potent.
Harshly pulling himself out of you, Jungkook almost fuckin' cums on the spot when he realises how soaked he is from your arousal. It's not like it's a new thing, but skin on skin, it's so much more intense. Gasping from the sudden loss of pressure, you're a little unsteady. Lurch forward as if your body could stop him from withdrawing.
Holding the base of his thick shaft, Jungkook spanks against your pussy with his cock. Rubs your slick wetness around with his tip. Hooks his elbows under your thighs. Pulls you closer. Instructs, "Arms around my neck."
Wrapping an arm around your back, the other one tucks under your ass as he lifts you.
He turns. Presses your back to the wall, and lines himself up.
"Legs around me," he tells you, and as soon as you do, his cock pushes up into you again. He keeps you pinned against the wall as he begins to fuck himself into you, his lips pressing wet kisses to the curve of your neck.
The sight in the mirror behind him is lethal; his broad back covered by his shirt, but it doesn't matter. You know what he looks like. Know his muscles, and the valley of his spine, like the back of your own damn hand.
You wanna see it though. Give it a tug. Send him the right message. Get him tearing his shirt off and dropping it to the floor for you. Victory is so damn sweet.
"Kook," you whine as he really begins to get deep. "You're gonna make me cum."
"All over my cock, huh?" He grunts. "Gonna cum on cock, are you?"
His taunting only makes you whimper even more. "I'm so close."
And because he just likes to get you all whiney and needy, Jungkook stops. Puts you down. Gets you facing the mirror as you protest his unfair stealing of an orgasm.
But then he's lining himself up again, getting ready to take you from behind. Spanks your ass ever so quickly.
Sinking into you again, Jungkook curses. "Tighter like this."
"Good?" You pathetically check, and Jungkook can't help but think it's sweet.
"Yeah, babe," he promises, and pretends as if it's completely usual for him to speak to you so tenderly. "Feels so fuckin' good. Missed you so much, gorgeous. You and this tight cunt."
"Romance," you joke through your needy whines. He smirks at this, and delivers a curt little spank to your ass.
"I can be romantic," he assures you, as if you aren't being soundtracked by the sound of your skin slapping together, his thick cock fucking itself into your soaked hole. 
His eyes rise from the steady gaze he'd had on your ass to your eyes. 
Slowing himself, Jungkook holds his cock inside you without thrusting. Says, "I made that photo you took of us in your room my fuckin' phone wallpaper. I listen to that asmr guy you like before bed, every single fuckin' night. I keep one of your ribbons tied around my gearstick. That romantic enough for you?"
There's an incredibly bashful smile on your pretty face, which contradicts the way in which your pussy is tightening around him in the most lewd of ways. You're giggling when you say, "Shut up and fuck me."
But then he's giggling too, just how you like him to be. Says, "I missed your body, but I missed you more. Stupid."
"You're stupid."
"You're stupider."
"Kook," you laugh, as he's completely forgotten the task at hand. The way that he looks at you, you'd be forgiven for thinking he has. Truthfully, the connection he has with you is so much more than what sex has ever been for him before. 
His hips lightly pulse, as he says, "Sorry. Where were we?"
"Think you were gonna make me cum."
"Ah, yeah. That. My bad."
His gentle thrusts begin to build pace once more. The grin on his face drops a little as he begins to concentrate on you. Watching him in the mirror, you're perplexed to be reminded of just how ethereal Jungkook looks when he fucks.
The deep ridge between his brows intensifies, as his mouth hands slack. His cheeks hollow a little, and his eyes remain entirely focused. Dark. Deep. Brooding.
As his hand dips around to gently stroke against your clit, Jungkook is just as taken away by the way you look. He isn't sure what it is that gets his heart so heavy in his chest, but he knows that he wants you to cum. Doesn't give a fuck about himself.
The walls of your cunt begin to tighten around his length as your moans deepen. You whine his name and he encourages a response, but neither of you can really talk. A numbness is washing over you, your balance unsteady.
"I'm gonna..." you begin, but find it impossible to finish.
"I know, baby," he nods all out of breath and desperately fucked out. "Give me what I want. Cum for me."
You trust and keep your eyes on him, but the nudging on his cock against your g-spot and the slow rubbing of your clit is just enough to tip you over.
"Kook," you whimper as your walls begin to tighten around him, but it's fruitless. There's a shake to your legs, and he's the only thing keeping you supported.
"Oh, fuck," he curses from the strength of your pussy around him. He's shaking just as much as you are. "Cream on this cock, baby. Oh, fuck. Yeah.Just like that. You're gonna make me cum, too. Gonna make me cum so fuckin' hard. All in your pussy. You want that, huh?"
It's as you're desperately whining, cumming all around his thick shaft that Jungkook feels his body lose control. There's a tightness to his balls, and a shudder to his sternum, that he hasn't felt since the last time he was in your bedroom. Last time he was in you, more specifically.
"Kook," you whimper his name, and that's when Jungkook really can't hold back.
"Yeah, babe," he rasps, as his hard thrusts become pathetic stutters. "I'm cumming."
The announcement isn't needed, for you swear you can almost feel it as his thick cum begins to fill you. The lack of a condom makes it all the more primal, the way his body shudders indicative of just how much cum he's filling you up with. 
His body collapses on yours a little, his clammy torso pressed to your back. The dress you're wearing is barely on properly, and the feeling of his skin against yours is catastrophic. As intimate as sex is, it's this right now, the beat of his heart thrumming against your spine that is the real disaster. How you can ever look him in the eye again is beyond you.
But then his lips are pressing chaste kisses to the curve of your neck, and his hands are squeezing at your hips. He doesn't pull out. Keeps himself warm inside you. Says, "How the fuck am I ever supposed to give you up, huh?"
That's the thing.
He isn't supposed to, and you damn well know it.
Reaching back for some tissue to help you out, Jungkook slowly withdraws. Holds his hand beneath your pussy, then replaces it with tissue. Turns you around and lets you take over.
"Here's a radical idea," you offer, not looking at him as you quickly make sure you're decent. Stay standing with your legs crossed, just in case. "Don't."
Pulling his shirt back over his head, Jungkook presses his back to the wall. There's a distance between you, yes, but you don't really feel it, 'cause it's purely physical.
And it's not like it lasts for very long either, 'cause Jungkook decides he needs to kiss you all over again.
"Alright," he whispers against your lips. "Say we don't. Say I wanna be yours. What the fuck do we do now?"
You shrug. The answers aren't yours to decide. It's up to you both.
"Well, firstly I'm gonna text Tae," you hum. "Tell him you're still an asshole and that I need to be let out immediately."
It's been half an hour.
He came to check on things about ten minutes ago.
The music might be loud, but not loud enough to drown out the way you guys fuck. 
Summer had been quiet. In his car, in your empty house, you've never had to keep it down before. Didn't even realise quite how loud you were being.
Which is why Jimin is the one who unlocks the outside bolt with a smirk a few minutes later, Taehyung watching on with a little disgusted grimace a metre or so back.
"Gross," he whisper shouts at you, but then he's smiling, too. Notices how Jungkook touches you—the hand he has on the small of your back, and the way he clasps your hand as you begin to walk ahead of him—and finds it impossible to be mad.
"C'mon," Jimin calls behind himself, leading you up and out of the basement. "We're going to the diner."
"We?" You question, incredibly confused.
"We." He simply says. Doesn't leave it up for debate. Gathers up the rest of the Untouchables (though Claudia is noticeably absent), and tells them the same thing he told you. Drags Taehyung along as well.
Jungkook was scared of integrating you into his life, but there's no other way to do it. Has to rip the band aid off.
As you walk into Montgomery's, hand in hand with the boy who had spent his summer wasting away with you in here, both of you realise that maybe it isn't such a huge deal.
Or at least, you do until Maria clocks you. Eyes darting from you, to Jungkook, and then to your gently clasped hands, she's in a state of absolute shock. Almost drops her tray.
"Sorry, what the fuck?!"
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littlelamy · 3 months ago
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Could you write a Rafe x reader fic where reader says she wants to spend more time with Rafe, but he gets upsets and says something mean in the heat of the moment. Reader is upset and stops "bothering" him and initially Rafe doesn't realise it, but he figures out you're ignoring him
Maybe with a fluffy HEA ending, but if you want to keep it angsty I'm also all for it (:
hope you like it! ⭐️ it was a quiet friday night when you finally found the courage to bring it up. things with rafe hadn’t been the same for a while. he was always out with friends or buried in work, his phone practically glued to his hand. you could see him drifting further and further away, and it left you feeling like an afterthought. you missed him, missed the little moments when he’d look at you like you were the only person in the world.
so, you decided to say something—softly, carefully—as the two of you sat on the couch with takeout boxes scattered around you.
“hey…baby,” you started, keeping your voice light. “i was thinking… it’d be nice if we could spend a little more time together, you know? just us.”
rafe barely looked up, shoveling food into his mouth. “what’re you talking about?” he mumbled through a bite. “we’re together now, aren’t we?”
you forced a smile. “yeah, but… i mean like actually spending time together. like doing something fun. or even just… talking.”
he let out an irritated sigh, setting his food down with a clatter. “are you serious right now? i’ve got so much shit to deal with, and you’re really gonna start whining about ‘spending time together’? Jesus, can you just not be so goddamn needy for once?”
the words hit you like a punch. you froze, staring at him, trying to process the fact that he’d actually said that. rafe’s face was already turned away, clearly oblivious to the way his words had cut through you.
you felt your throat tighten, but you managed to swallow back the hurt, forcing yourself not to react. the last thing you wanted was to give him more reason to see you as a burden. so, you nodded, blinking down at your food, even though you suddenly couldn’t eat a bite.
“sorry,” you whispered, more to yourself than to him. but rafe didn’t hear, or maybe he just didn’t care enough to ask you to repeat it. he’d already gone back to his phone, acting like the conversation had never even happened.
that night, you made a decision. if rafe wanted space, you’d give him space. you stopped asking him to go out with you, to spend time together, to do any of the little things you used to enjoy. when he came home late, you didn’t wait up. when he sat down on the couch, you found something else to do. if he wanted room, you’d make sure he had more than enough of it.
at first, rafe didn’t seem to notice the change. he thought you were just busy with work or hanging out with friends, maybe that you’d taken his words to heart. it wasn’t until a few days had passed that he started to feel the shift, the strange, nagging quiet in the air whenever you were around.
you were no longer the warm, lively presence you used to be, filling the silence with laughter, stories, and little gestures of affection. instead, you felt distant, almost guarded, your movements careful, like you were tiptoeing around him. you didn’t smile at him the way you used to; you didn’t light up when he came home. you’d become polite, restrained, keeping just enough distance that he felt it even when he didn’t want to.
one night, rafe came home late, expecting to see you in the living room with a book or a show. but the lights were dim, the place eerily silent, and when he checked the bedroom, you were already asleep. he stood there for a moment, feeling an odd pang of emptiness. he brushed it off, but as the days went by, the feeling gnawed at him more and more, leaving him with an ache he couldn’t ignore.
finally, he couldn’t take it anymore. one night, he found you alone in the kitchen, stirring a cup of tea with your gaze far away. he leaned against the counter, crossing his arms as he watched you, his expression unreadable.
“are you avoiding me or something?” he asked, his tone sharper than he’d intended.
you looked up, a flicker of surprise in your eyes before you masked it with a tight smile. “no, i’m not avoiding you, rafe. i just… didn’t want to bother you.”
that word—bother—hit him hard, dredging up the memory of his own callous words. he felt something twist in his chest as he realized what he’d done, how his careless anger had made you feel so small, like you didn’t even deserve to be there.
“fuck,” he muttered, raking a hand through his hair. “look, i’m sorry, alright? i was a complete asshole, princess. i was stressed, and i took it out on you, and i shouldn’t have done that.”
you shrugged, your face guarded, unreadable. “it’s fine. i get it. you’re busy, and i didn’t want to get in your way.”
“Jesus, stop saying that,” he mumbled, stepping closer, his voice softer now, almost pleading. “you’re not in my way. you’re the only person who… who makes all this shit bearable. i just didn’t see it until you started pulling away.”
for a long moment, you said nothing, just staring at him, weighing his words. finally, he took a tentative step forward, reaching for your hand. when you didn’t pull away, he felt a flicker of hope.
“let me make it up to you,” he whispered, his voice rough. “i’ll cancel my plans this weekend. we’ll do whatever you want, i swear. just… give me another chance.”
your gaze softened, and a small, hesitant smile crept onto your lips. “alright. one chance.”
he pulled you into his arms, wrapping you up in a tight embrace, his relief flooding through him. you relaxed into him, and for the first time in days, you felt the warmth return, that aching void in your chest slowly filling up again.
“i’m sorry, baby,” he murmured, his voice low, genuine. “i swear, i’ll never take you for granted again. you mean too fucking much to me.”
you let your head rest on his shoulder, feeling his heartbeat steady beneath you, his arms strong and comforting. and as he held you there, you felt the hurt start to fade, replaced by a quiet, growing hope that maybe, just maybe, things would be different this time.
taglist: @namelesslosers @princessslutt @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @starkeysprincess @sixrosberg @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @kissrotten @rafesangelita @sstargirln @rafedaddy01 @soldesole
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nereidprinc3ss · 6 months ago
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in which spencer disappears from fem!reader's life entirely for three months, right as it seems they were finally about to make things official. when he comes back they reunite, all the while knowing things can't be the same as they were.
18+ (smut, angst) warnings/tags: oh god so many. NOT canon compliant in the slightest, i make shit up, softdom!spence, nipple stuff prob, fingering, oral f receiving, piv sex, unprotected sex, pet names, tara mentioned, depression, mentions of trauma cause its the prison arc duh, passing mentions of alcohol, mentions of spencer losing weight, reader mistakenly thinks spencer tried to kill himself BUT ONLY FOR A SECOND, where is diana reid, nobody knows or cares, probably filming glee, optimistic ending a/n: haven't posted smut in forever but this wip required it and the angst was so angsty i just had to finish it. it was started in jan or feb and subsequently added to and changed months apart and then edited so the writing quality varies from section to section which i apologize for. originally based on good guy by julia jacklin... also the odyssey by homer? can't really explain that one you'll just have to see for yourself anyway byeeee ilysm!!! PLS tell me if you liked it! or if you hated it! but preferably if you liked it! MWAH! wc <12k
It’s been about three months since you last saw Spencer Reid.
About three months since you had an early Valentine’s Day celebration (even though you weren’t a couple) complete with champagne (even though he doesn’t usually drink) and slow dancing (even though you swore you’d be terrible and he spent the first ten minutes laughing at you as you stepped on his toes.)
About three months since you finally settled your head on his shoulder and let the warbling vinyl carry you somewhere distant as the two of you danced slow circles on the parquet floor for what felt like hours.
You’d have liked him to stay later that night. You’d have liked him to stay all night if you were being honest with yourself, but at 11:45 he gently pulled away and told you he had to go.
“Curfew?” you joked, the corner of your mouth lifting a little and you hoped you were hiding your disappointment well.
“Actually, I’m going down to Texas for a few days to speak with one of the leading doctors in experimental Alzheimer's and dementia treatment. I’m going to see if he can get my mom into a clinical trial. I leave early tomorrow morning.”
“Oh my god, that’s amazing, Spencer! What are you doing still here? You should be at home getting ready to go!”
A rosy blush stains his cheeks and he looks down at the ground, laughing that little self-deprecating laugh of his. It makes your heart dance to see him so happy, makes you want to wrap your arms around him and never let him go so that he knows how much you absolutely adore him—but you settle for an affectionate squeeze where your hands have come to rest on his biceps.
“I wanted to see you tonight because I won’t be here for Valentine’s Day... but I still really wanted to spend it with you,” he admits meekly.
If before your heart was dancing, it is now melting.
The dreaded ‘what are we’ talk has been lurking in the dark corners of every conversation you have with each other lately—at least, in your mind it has. What you have with Spencer is not easily defined, and near impossible to explain to your friends—you act like a couple, you go out on dates, he introduces you to his team like you’re his girlfriend without ever putting it into so many words—but this validation that your pseudo-relationship might be evolving is better than any flowers he could have gotten you (although the peonies he brought will look very nice on your bedside table.)
“Four whole days... what will I do without you?” you whisper, brushing a hand along his face, and your chest aches with the heavy truth of it—despite the fact that he often is gone for stretches about that length. They don’t ever start to feel shorter.
“Well, you can start by reading that copy of The Odyssey I annotated for you.”
“Depressing,” you admit. “And a little ominous, considering you’re about to embark on a hero’s journey.”
“I think you’ll like this one,” he smiles.
You chew on your bottom lip, looking up at him as you think.
“Give me something to look forward to,” you say, earnestly.
“I—well, honestly, I just really want to kiss you and I’ve wanted to for a long time now and, you know, if that’s something you’re maybe also interested in then we could, uh, figure out a time to—”
“You want to kiss me?”
“Wh—you couldn’t tell?” Spencer says, like he can’t believe it.
As if on reflex, you lunge up and capture his lips with your own. It obviously catches him by surprise, but when you lower from your tiptoes he follows you, pulling you in closer and holding your face in his hands.
It’s too natural, too right, to be exhilarating. There’s no rush of adrenaline—it's more like stepping into a hot bath or warming your freezing hands at a fire. Like pieces clicking into place. It’s a relief.
You breathe into it, letting more and more of yourself melt against him. He keeps coming back to you deeper and deeper like a rising tide, and you want more than anything to keep getting closer to him—but then he stops. He stays close enough for you to breathe his air, but dodges your kiss gently before supplanting it with a gentle one to the corner of your mouth.
“I really have to go,” he breathes, before moving away from your mouth to kiss your forehead and speak softly against your skin. “If I don’t leave now I’ll be here all night.”
Which is exactly what you want, and the implication does little to make you want him less. But you care about him too much to be so selfish.
At some point, his hands found their way into your hair, and you gently grab his wrists.
“Incentive for you to come home.”
Nearly three months since that night.
At first when he stopped answering texts, you’d assumed he just had too much going on down in Texas. Which you could understand—you knew how stressful this situation with his mother was.
Even when four days came and went without even an alert from him that he was back in town, you thought, okay, maybe he’s been called away on a case. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s disappeared because of his work. But even then, he’d at least text you enough information so that you would know he was alive. Now, radio silence.
So you tried not to be clingy. You tried to act like an adult, to focus on school and your life outside of Spencer, but when Tara Lewis cancelled your weekly meeting due to an “unforeseen work-related emergency”you called her immediately. Tara was something of a mentor, and it was she who had connected you and Spencer to begin with. You had met the other members of his team by that point, yes, but none who you knew as well as Tara.
When she had informed you that Spencer had been arrested in Mexico and was now facing prison time for murder, you laughed.
Laughed until you realized her end of the line was silent.
Realized it was not at all a joke.
In a catatonic state of tranquility, you asked her for more details. Beyond assuring you of his innocence, she couldn’t (or more likely, wouldn’t) provide them. Asked where he was now. Asked all the right things that made sense to ask.
Then you hung up and had a panic attack because Tara said something about 25 years and you saw Spencer evaporate from your future like an apparition.
Slowly, you felt him evaporating from your past, too. Those memories from the night he left, became visions of you swaying with a ghost. Holding nothing but light between your hands as you kissed the peony air of your apartment.
He doesn’t want to see you, she had said into the phone one night, her tinny voice cutting in and out. You’re not on his list of approved visitors.
“You asked him about me?” you had whispered, curled up on top of your made bed in the dark.
I tried. I’m sorry. I’ll call you when I know more.
All your days melded together like a muddied smear of paint. Suddenly you felt you had nothing to look forward to. No anchor, no goal. Yes, a PhD... and then what?
The only thing that punctuated one 24 hour period from the next was the time you spent crying because Spencer was in prison and he didn’t want to see you and by the looks of things you may never see him again. When you weren’t crying, you were thinking about how your life was a big cosmic joke. An unfortunate statistical anomaly that didn’t mean anything to anyone else, and that you couldn’t do anything about.
That copy of The Odyssey, which wasn’t even bound and instead was a thick stack of printer paper organized by a single black clip, became something of a manifesto for you—a tome that your poured over, reading and re-reading each note in the margins, each word beautiful and imbued with meaning because you knew Spencer had selected every single one specifically for you. You traced the letters reverently, because in a way this was the last thing he had said to you—about Lattimore’s faith to the original text, Merrill’s strict use of dactylic hexameter, the stylings of Wilson and Lombardo, and how he thought you would enjoy Hammond’s prose just as much as he did.
Day by day it was becoming more prophetic than fictional, and you allowed yourself to sink into madness. You would rather be a deluded zealot than be nothing at all.
He didn’t want to see you.
He might as well have been dead, for all that you were grieving him. And you started to hate him, because he wasn’t dead, but wouldn’t do you the kindness of proving it. Like a festering wound, scratched open day after day so as not to ever heal, you had to live knowing he was less than an hour away. So no, you weren’t exactly over it. You lived day by day, waiting for the occasional call from Tara to keep you updated on Spencer, but either she didn’t want to share much about how he was doing, or he had specifically barred her from doing so, because she was always sparse on the personal side of things. That thought actually lifted your spirits, because it meant he was at least acknowledging your existence in some tiny way.
But your routine was becoming more regular, and so you staid on top of your classes and your non-Reid related meetings with Tara once a week, and you learned to dip your toes into existential dread and the oily black pool of depression every night without ever fully submerging yourself. You learned hope, because it was pretty much all you had, and the BAU had confidence that they would get Spencer out one way or another so you did too.
So you didn’t really think about it when you missed a couple of calls from Tara some evening in May. You were preparing for finals and had way too much on your plate academically to think about anything else which was a welcome relief so you fully embraced it. I’ll call her back tomorrow, you think, as you clean up from dinner before going back to the living room where your textbooks and papers are completely covering every available surface. Maybe I have no idea what I’m going to do with my life after school, but I’ll be damned if I don’t even make it that far.
Hours later, well into the night, you’d all but forgotten about the calls. A knock at the door takes you a bit by surprise, and you frown as you stand again, tugging your Georgetown sweatshirt down over your shorts as you shuffle to the entrance of your apartment. You’re not expecting anyone, so you crack the door, peering around the edge of it.
And you couldn’t even consider trying to hide that shaky inhalation of dead air when you see Spencer standing on the other side.
Surely you’re hallucinating.
Surely this man in front of you who looks like he just got back from a day of work didn’t spend three months in prison pretending you didn’t exist.
He looks the same. Hair a bit longer, maybe—and gaunter even more than is normal for him. 
But it's him.
You can’t think about the apprehensive look on his face—you can’t think about the impossibility of him being here. You can’t think at all. Without your explicit permission, your body surges forward into his, and he’s real, and alive, and warm, and he is an anachronism in the hallway as he accepts everything you pour into the embrace, doesn’t flinch when you move your arms from around his waist to loop around his neck and back to his waist again with crushing force because you just can’t get him close enough.
“I’m sorry,” Spencer mutters into your hair, I’msorryI’msorryI’msorryI’msorry, he keeps saying, rubbing your back as you try to find a solid grip on the sleek material of his suit—try to gather all the pieces of him, already afraid he might fall apart and float away again.
“You—dis—disappeared,” you hiccup after an eternity, pulling away enough to look up at his pretty face. Tears blur your vision and darken the front of his jacket, bending the florescent lights so they form a kind of halo above his head.
Through the surreal haze you can see his throat bob.
“I know.”
He knows?
He knows?
You scoff.
“You have no fucking idea, Spencer. What the fuck is wrong with you? I—I'm—”
The hot anger is such a relief for a second, boiling the oceans of your despair into a wrathful, scorching fog, but as soon as you try to tell him how you feel, the barbed wire cuts into your throat again. You shove him away, skin burning where his hands had been.
“I’m sorry,” he croaks, hands hanging uselessly at his side. There’s that kicked puppy look about him—and it’s familiar, but now there’s more damage. You don’t know anything about his time in prison, you haven’t heard a damn thing, but beneath the glassy desperation in his eyes there is an unfathomable void that seems to be preventing him from being fully present—and you realize for the first time that he is different.
It chills you.
Before, you and Spencer shared everything. There wasn’t one part of his internal machinations that you didn’t understand, nothing you kept from each other. But as you study him now from a few feet away, you realize there might as well be a yawning chasm between the two of you.
He is so different.
Those eyes look deeper. No gears turning just behind the slashes of gold and brown anymore—only an endless dark corridor that goes places you will never go.
Gone is the perpetual boyish up-turn at the corner of his lips that always made him look slightly vacant in a way that you found incredibly amusing. Something you had been so fond of, even if you teased him.
He seems to have aged ten years—if not physically, then in demeanor. And now you feel like a little kid throwing a tantrum.
You cross your arms, suddenly unable to meet his eyes.
You’re embarrassed. And pissed. And relieved. Everything is worse and better. You want to fall back into his arms, but you have been jarred by the revelation that this might not be the same Spencer. It might not be the same relationship. You have no idea where you stand.
He says your name gently, with so much familiarity you’re briefly jerked into the past. It makes you wish you could look up to find him as he was three months ago. Wish this was just a bad dream. But that’s not fair to him.
“Sorry,” you mutter, studying the grey carpet fibers instead of looking at him.
“Don’t apologize,” Spencer says immediately, “you’re right. I don’t—” he clears his throat— “I’m being incredibly selfish. I shouldn’t have just shown up, I’ll just—I'll leave. I’m sorry.”
A silent moment passes.
You don’t look up as he turns and swiftly begins to move down the hall toward the stairway, leaving as quickly and silently as he had come, like a few bars of a song sighed in and away on a fleeting breeze.
Your bare feet are concretely planted, imagining him jogging down the steps and speed-walking away from your building—
And suddenly you’re sprinting after him, feeling like you might puke because Spencer was just here and you let him go again—and even though you’re still so mad and confused and hurt, the realization that he is leaving again makes the entire building spin and lurch.
“Wait!” You yell, almost wiping out as you run down the stairs and whip around corners in your slippery fucking socks. “Please, wait!”
The lobby is already empty as you spill out into it, and cold dread tightens around your neck like a fist as you shoulder your way through the double doors and right into Spencer.
“Please don’t leave again, you just—I'm sorry, I really need you to not go—” you blabber, lachrymose once more, gripping onto his forearms for dear life.
“I’m not going,” he breathes shakily. “I tried to leave because I think you were right and maybe I should and maybe it would be better for you but I can’t.”
“You can’t,” you agree, more sob than spoken word. He cups your jaw, then your cheeks, wiping tears and brushing away hair like he can’t figure out how to hold enough of you between his hands. The wild kaleidoscope of his eyes, bright and alive and real as he scans you desperately captures your attention enough to slow the tears to a trickle. He notices this and stares back, entranced.
A silent agreement is made, or maybe an inevitable fate is accepted—either way, something was set in motion three months ago and it matters to see it through. Spencer kisses you and you’re ready for it. You don’t need slow or tender. You need to feel how he feels. You need to know what he knows.
You sling your arms around his neck and he pulls you closer until you almost tip backward, chasing the bruising kiss even as you regain your footing. You want to drink him in and you do your best, breathing deeply as he kisses you deeper, backing you inside and toward the elevator.
“Is this okay?” he manages, only after blindly reaching for and mashing the up button on the wall panel.
Ideally it wouldn’t happen like this, but the world you live in obviously isn’t ideal and your personal situations as they coincide are far from ideal, so this is how it has to happen. But it’s hard to explain, and you’d rather not admit that this is so far from what you wanted for both of you and follow up with the fact that despite that you need him like you need water. So you don’t say a word as the metal doors slide open promptly. Instead you pull him in and let him press you to the chrome wall as he hits your floor button, and that very hand comes back to grab your ass like you didn’t think Spencer Reid capable of. It almost aches as his fingers dig into the flesh, but it’s a good ache because it means he’s real and he’s there.
You gasp as he hitches your leg up, arching into him. The shorts that you’re wearing leave very little to the imagination to begin with, but they become downright indecent like this.
Quickly the elevator stops and the doors hiss open. You don’t hesitate to pull Spencer by the hand down the hall. When you notice you left your door wide open, you don’t even care. Neither does he, apparently—once you’re inside he slams it shut, flipping the deadbolt while his eyes are glued to you like you’re already naked. Now Spencer is shameless in the way he drags his eyes over every curve, every place your clothes and hair are disheveled from his touch and eye-fucks you so obviously it makes your face warm. Three months ago Spencer would have at least been bashful about it when he met your eyes again, but this Spencer is far from apologetic as he pins you with his burning gaze once more. His hand stays stuck to the door like he’s holding himself back.
“Is this what you want?”
There’s an undercurrent of sorrow below the gravely arousal, like this isn’t what he wanted for the two of you either. But you’re both at the mercy of fate. This is all you have, and it might be all you can do for each other anymore. So you don’t need to say that, because he understands.
“Yeah. Yes, this is what I want.”
For just a second more he watches you from his place by the door, and there’s an unexpected softness to it. He looks at you the way he would have looked at you before. Like as long as he stays there he can entertain the idea of being that person again.
Need wins out quickly, though, and he surges forward. Immediately you’re caught in the riptide of him, helpless as he kisses you all the way to your bedroom.
He’s never been in here before. You find yourself glad it’s relatively clean—one of the pastimes you’d picked up in his absence was keeping everything tidy. It was something you could control.
A lamp glows at your bedside. You lean against the footboard of your bed, hands timidly behind your back and suddenly shy to have in him in your intimate space. Both of you set aside the heaving desperation long enough to catch your breaths, and for him to scan the room like he too is being forced to reconcile with the innate and unexpected intimacy of the moment. He cuts a harsh, dark gash in your sweetly decorated bedroom, radiating something wild and powerful and unsure of himself like a chained bull as he takes in the soft, pale bedding, the paintings and photos taped to the walls, the woven rug and the sheer drapery. His breathing slows as he studies it all—eyes eventually catching on something behind you. Looking is unnecessary. You’re sure he’s spotted the dried peonies in their ceramic vase. Or maybe the now worn stack of papers that is his Odyssey, marked up and soft around the edges from constant flipping-through.
Then Spencer looks at you, and that softness seeps in again. Along with something like... fear? Grief?
In some other universe your first time with Spencer is sweet and giggly and kind and he smiles at the decor in your room and looks around with wonder because it’s another way he gets to know you. It’s a different way to learn you from the inside.
You sense that he’s caught in between universes right now as well, painfully aware of what he would have given you that he can’t anymore.
He breathes your name like an apology, and foolishly you let a second go by in which you think he might offer you one. But he doesn’t. Not with his words, anyway. His eyes tell a different story.
“It’s fine,” you say unprompted on a whispered exhale, then a little louder as you push off the footboard, crossing the space until your hands are on his chest. You focus on his tie, not making eye contact as you rush to undo it. “It’s fine.”
He lets you do this for a few seconds before finally covering your trembling hands with his own. You still can’t meet his eyes.
“We don’t have to do—”
“No! No, please. I want to. I need—I need us to be okay.”
“Hey,” he murmurs, catching your chin and forcing you to look at him. “We are okay. Me and you are fine.”
It’s a pretty thought, but it’s not true. In fact, it’s a hideous and abject affront to the truth. Sure, maybe you’re fine in comparison to last week. Maybe anything feels fine compared to an eight by six cell. But it would be impossible for you and Spencer, for your relationship, whatever that relationship may be, to be fine. It’s especially impossible for him to make that claim, after all he did or rather didn’t do while he was gone. What you need is for him to stay anyway. What you need is to find a way to be with him, to exist with him, even when you are so clearly not fine.
“I just need you to stay,” you whisper, and he’s already nodding, wide-eyed like he’d do anything for you. You ignore all the bitter venom rising in your throat. You pretend this isn’t all happening after he cut you out of his life with a dirty switchblade. Instead you focus on his hands on yours, the familiar smell of him, which invites you to let go of each and every thought and worry. He must’ve showered before coming here, you realize. How long has he been out? What happened? 
“Okay. Okay, I can stay. What else can I do? How do I make it better?”
You sniffle and look back down.
“You can untie that for me.”
He hesitates, then nods some more, fingers working under yours to undo the tie around his neck.
“Okay.”
A moment goes by and after that final whispered word, the tension begins to build again. Spencer senses it in the way your fingertips linger on his chest and you step even closer, dragging them down to his belt. The metallic sound of it unbuckling, despite being your own doing, still manages to flip your stomach. How many times have you pictured this? When was the first time you realized you wanted it? You’re sure you haven’t stopped wanting it even once since then.
Spencer tosses the tie away and is shrugging off his jacket now, then before you see it coming he’s kissing you again, ducking down to do it. He feels taller this close up, and especially in your bedroom, where he just seems rather out of place. But you want him here. God, you want him here.
You break the kiss, forced to look down as you fumble with his belt.
“Sorry,” you gasp, embarrassed by your lack of dexterity. The light is barely sufficient to see what you’re doing, especially when he’s wearing black on black and your eyes are still bleary.
“You’re okay,” he assures you, and it’s so Spencer a fresh round of nerves electrifies the tips of your fingers. That thing is happening—the thing you’d hoped to avoid if you hadn’t lost momentum partway through, where you’re allowing your actual feelings for him to get in the way rather than getting swept up in the pathos of the moment and letting everything be easy and mindless. “Here, can I help you?”
But he doesn’t actually wait for an answer before he’s finishing off the belt for you, tugging it loose from his hips till it’s a leather coil in his hands. Your fingers brush the material and he lets you take it as if it were your prize. It’s heavier than you thought it’d be, and you just feel the weight of it in your hands for a moment, your dropped head brushing his chest.
You have a terrible feeling that if you do this now, it doesn’t mean everything will be alright. Because it can’t just go back to normal. Spencer has told you nothing of what must be an enormous trauma, and you haven’t spoken about it at all, but you sincerely doubt that after this he’s going to be ready to just jump into that committed relationship the two of you had been toying with for months before his absence. You’re almost... scared of him, now. Scared of where he’s been and what he’s endured—things you’re sure you couldn’t have taken. What that does to a person, you can’t imagine. He seems so solid and real in front of you now—but you know that’s not always enough. Maybe you’re just scared that somehow whatever he’s been through will have made him care for you less. That you were too far removed from the whole ordeal, and now you’ll never understand. If you could understand, maybe you could fix it for him. Maybe he’d stick around.
Still—even if you do end up pushing him further away in the long run—won't it have been worth it to have had him so completely, even just once?
You toss the belt to the ground, compressing all of these very complicated thoughts and feelings into a few seconds so short he can’t ask you any questions about them. Instead you find his top button, and just as you manage to undo it with relative ease he’s gently grabbing your wrists. You look up at him, immediately surrendering.
“If we’re going to do this I need you to relax a little bit.”
Gears grind in your chest. You feel need and anxiety comingling in every square inch of your body. It’s a sick buzz—a high on an empty stomach.
“I can’t,” you admit.
“Yeah, you can,” Spencer gently disagrees, slowly lowering your hands. When he’s sure you’re not going to try ripping his clothes off again, he releases, and his eyes lower to the zipper of your hoodie. His fingers follow, warm against the soft triangle of revealed skin at your chest as he grips the small piece of metal between barely shaking fingers. “You can.”
You match his eyeline, breathing shallowly and watching as he slowly drags the zipper down. You wonder if that sound has haunted his fantasies the way the sound of his belt has haunted yours. If he’s seen this hoodie on you and wondered what’s underneath, staring at you and daydreaming during movie night with you none the wiser.
Both of you have your eyes glued to the span of skin as the zipper parts. Spencer stalls with the zipper at your sternum, just below the band of your bra.
Right. No shirt.
You look up and find his eyes already on you, tinged with a curious kind of humor.
“I wasn’t expecting guests.”
The words come out shy. Spencer’s chuckle has its own nervous airy quality as he resumes tugging on your zipper, leaning down until your noses bump.
“You don’t have to explain yourself to me.”
Then he kisses you again, a little sweeter now. Sweet enough to give you butterflies and for them to flutter right out of your stomach and spill from your lips in a little whimper against his.
It comes as a surprise when he pushes the fabric from your shoulders without looking or asking. Not that you’d have said no—you're just underprepared for how assertive he is in this foreign context.
Left just in your flimsy shorts and your thin bra, you feel quite exposed—but Spencer’s hands are as demanding and hungry as his mouth. They skim up your sensitive sides and sweep lower, suggesting less proper placement over your ass and pulling at your bottoms until you gently put a stop to their wandering.
“Wait. We’re... we’re uneven.”
It’s a struggle to get any words out at all when he keeps chasing your lips, nipping at you like he physically can’t stand not kissing you, but they catch his attention and he laughs airily, pulling back to let his gaze pour over your less clothed form. It lingers and catches and lights you up everywhere it touches, drops of heat soaking into your skin and making you feel all fuzzy and needy.
“We are,” he acknowledges, tone low and colored with the faintest smile. “You’re a lot prettier without your clothes on than I am.”
“I don’t believe you.”
The challenge comes immediately and thoughtlessly. Spencer’s golden eyes flash up to yours. He’s breathing a little harder than usual.
“You want me to show you what I mean?”
If that means getting him naked, then yes, absolutely.
You nod, but rather than immediately stripping, he takes your hand and holds his own open next to it. A thick pink scar bisects some pretty significant palmistry lines, but you don’t mention that. Instead you swallow—your thoughts, your words, your nausea.
“That’s new.”
You wonder how you hadn’t noticed it earlier.
He nods.
“A lot is new.”
It sounds almost like he’s challenging you—there's a kind of tremulous force in his voice, despite the perpetual softness there, like he’s inviting you to say it’s ugly. And you realize he’s referring to more than just the glowing scar cutting an asteroid trail against the flesh of him palm. The scars he obtained in prison must form a constellation over his body.
“I don’t care. I wanna see you.”
Spencer swallows, cupping your face with the scarred hand once more. You can’t feel it against your cheek but you know it hasn’t gone away.
“I’m sure you think you do,” he permits, and that’s where the conversation ends for the moment—with his hand on your face and his lips back on yours. “For now why don’t you let me worry about you?”
Obediently, you breathe, “okay.”
This is, for whatever reason, amusing to him. The brief levity dies as quick as it comes like a snuffed-out brush fire as soon as he lets his hands fall back down to your hips.
“I want... I want to give you slow. But...”
But slow is for people who didn’t lose three months of their life. Slow is for people who don’t know what it’s like to be starving. Slow is not for the desperate.
You understand the feeling.
“I don’t need slow.”
You’ll let him use you up like quick-burning fuel if that’s what he needs. You’ll go as fast and as bright and as hot as he tells you.
“But you want slow,” he murmurs, a secret acknowledged into your own waiting mouth. You’d keep it there forever. You could be the object he hides his soul in. “I know you do. You deserve to get what you want.”
“I can go fast. I want whatever you can give me.”
Spencer’s shuddering exhale is like a drug, dizzying as you inhale it and your eyes flutter at the high, pressed head-to-head with him. For so long you’ve needed him so badly. It’s overwhelming to have him now, all over you. If only your walls could breathe him in the way you are, if this room could remember what it feels like to hold him the way you will, if any inanimate object could bear witness to how you’ll give yourself, any part of yourself, over to him, so willingly.
“I’m going to try.” Spencer’s voice is hoarse as he walks backward to the bed, taking you by the hips as he goes. “I want to do it right. I want to do this the way I... the way I imagined it, before...”
Now he’s sitting, and you’re standing between his legs as he finds the clasp of your bra and undoes it, his fingers a comforting pressure where they ghost down the slope of your back. Your heart is pounding at the confession, at the way his tongue darts over his bottom lip and his fingertips journey back up to your straps, looking up at you with haloed irises as if he’d find anything other than the most dangerous kind of smoldering devotion in your eyes—the kind cult-leaders seek and spend years nurturing, and he’d earned with a mere brush over your bare skin.
The fabric slides down your arms, and as it falls to the floor, you watch something like despair flash-flood his eyes. It is a deep, distinctly human grief. The ineffable kind where something is almost too beautiful; so perfect it offends the mortal senses because it should be permanent, but nothing is, and the clash of divine beauty with unstoppable time which oxidizes copper and covers marble with vine is almost as grotesque as metal rending delicate flesh. It is the grief that drove the first poet to write and the first parents to press their baby’s painted hands to the walls of a cave. It is the desire to do the impossible—to capture ephemeral perfection and make it eternal, and the knowledge that it is hopeless. You recognize it because you’ve felt it for him.
“I thought about you all the time,” he whispers, doesn’t bother calling you beautiful but you don’t mind because he’s telling you with his hands and his eyes and the waver of his voice. “When I was gone, I thought about you—”
You’re just as quiet, just as soft.
“Don’t, Spencer.”
He doesn’t get to tell you about when he was gone. Not now. Not after he acted like you didn’t exist.
“Okay.” He swallows the things he’d wanted to tell you like you choked on the things you needed to tell him for three months. “I’m sorry.”
But his hands—his hands are perfect over your waist and his lips are perfect where they kiss your ribs like they’re his homeland. You could forgive a thousand wrongs for each kiss he puts to your skin. Light from the full moon stretches over the room like a blessing from the cosmos, and you have every intention of making the most of that gift, how the silver gilds the planes of his face and highlights curls like they were carved, and invites you to search for something in each shadow.
Some of his kisses land over the sensitive skin of your breasts though you doubt he has much intention or that there is any sort of end-goal with the trail he blazes—in fact, you have to root your hand in his hair and pull gently back when he doesn’t seem to realize that he’s making you wait again. His eyes are glassy and cheeks slightly pinkened—you weren’t expecting this wave of fondness to knock you on your ass but here you are, falling all over again.
“You don’t have to go that slow.”
A slow smile splits the heart of his mouth at your bashful tone and he’s emboldened to bring his hands higher for a moment, thumbs brushing particularly delicate though not downright indecent spots. Nonetheless, your breath catches.
“Impatient girl,” he scolds, and though it’s lighthearted it still inspires heat to dance across your face. Oh, I think I’ve been plenty patient, you itch to say, but you bite it back because it’s only sad and true and unkind.
Still, he gives you the beginning of what you want, really only the tip of the enormous iceberg that is your desire for him, by slipping his thumbs into the waistband of your shorts and tugging them down. His hands slide up the fronts of your thighs, tracing the trim of your underwear, and you’d swear he’s not even breathing. The moment one of his hand loops behind your knee and pulls forward until it’s pressed to the mattress and you’re half-kneeling, half standing, desire begins to truly cloud your mind. Manhandling never seemed like Spencer’s style, but when paired with how softly he reveals your hip, pulling gently down on the fabric of your underwear just to admire you up close, you don’t mind it.
More kisses are littered over your stomach, and he takes you by surprise a second time with a quick maneuver landing you on your back and him on top of you.
“I wasn’t doing you justice with my imagination,” he murmurs against your mouth. “I couldn’t have known.”
“Couldn’t have known what?” you pant as he shamelessly digs his fingers into the plush of your ass. You almost hope it bruises.
“How pretty you would be,” he coos like he means it, and you dissolve, slipping through his fingers like sand in an hourglass. “You were holding out on me.”
It’s a tease, not at all serious, but you manage to hit him with a, “Was not, asshole,” and he chuckles, placating your little hurt with another sticky kiss, and you get another disorienting glimpse of some other timeline where you’re both a little less damaged. Where it’s a little easier.
But in this timeline, his touch becomes starving and ragged and urgent, and you accept the drag of his thumb up your thigh and between your legs, gasping when he runs his knuckles up the center of you. This touch is metal on screeching metal. It does not pretend to be anything more than what it is—brute, powerful, executed to elicit sensation. You get the sense that Spencer’s never touched anyone this honestly, and while you do envy the girls who got to have him gentler, you’ll take this as the compliment that it is. A kind of vulnerability that is nearing primal.
His lips, though—always his lips—are kind when they brush and land on your skin guided by some invisible map. A dip down your neck and chest and then a plunge, his tongue dragging over your hips, chasing the fabric of your underwear as he almost pulls it off and then reroutes, making room for himself between your legs and pushing lace aside to mark the hinge of your inner and upper-most thigh. Your chest heaves and you don’t dare move for fear he’ll stop leaving signs of himself on your body and you won’t be able to reassure yourself that it was real and he was here and it was not another dream.
Because something in you knows, if only consciously recognizing it for the first time now, that he will disappear again. That this may be your only chance.
The desire to make the ephemeral eternal. An impossibility.
He’s clearly losing himself to something, eyes shutting blissfully. You wonder when the last time he let his guard down even a  little was. You’re okay with being the thing he gets lost in, even if you’re not exactly okay with him—something you are becoming more acutely aware of as each touch makes a part of you want to cry. Maybe you still have some things in common. A strange pain that doesn’t quite feel like it belongs to you, for one thing.
You slam back into your body as his nose nudges against you through fabric, and his lips catch on cotton as he drags himself up, eventually settling a kiss against the little bow at the waist of your underwear. There he stays, eyes closed, mouth pressed to you.
“Is this okay?”
You swallow, buzzing. Is this really what he wants? After everything?
“You don’t have to...”
“But is it okay with you?”
Nothing more than an airy whisper, you reply, “Yes, if that’s what you want.”
Being emotional at this point seems wrong, but it’s difficult to ignore the fact that you have thought about this before and it’s finally happening but it’s not exactly as you’d imagined it. There is an indelible sadness to it, to the way he’s so hungry for you because he’s been deprived, to the desperation with which he touches you because he’s had everything taken from him.
For a moment, before he tugs your underwear down, he pauses, and you wonder if he’s freezing one moment in time, this moment, and grieving all the other ways it could’ve been, and accepting that this is the way it is going to be. You are.
These higher realms of thought abandon you as he finally pulls the last barrier down your legs and encourages you to spread them further. You don’t have time or energy to be embarrassed, not even by his staring, or the way his eyes dart up to yours and back down again, wide and shining, as if to say, have you seen yourself? Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?
All you feel is the lack of him on you, the pull to have him closer so strong it’s almost sickening because he could be gone at any second. Maybe he understands that because he doesn’t waste anymore time before he’s kissing the most sensitive part of you. The drag of his tongue has you loosing a shuddering cry.
His mouth wanders, making connections you wouldn’t have realized the value of until you feel them on your skin. Your hips buck as he traces you and you’re unable to stop yourself from tangling your hands in his hair. Speech fails you—hell, you can hardly breathe as you watch his with a furrowed brow and parted lips, only expelling air from your lungs in the form of little cries and gasps and failing to hold your hips down to the bed.
The tip of his tongue teases around your entrance and he catches your leg as your foot rises off the bed, slinging it over his shoulder and consuming you more fervently until you have no choice but to moan though you’ve never been one for theatrics. Nobody has done this for you like he’s doing it for you. Locks of hair fall in front of his face and you hold them back for him, shuddering as he shifts his weight and presses the tip of his finger to your cunt.
“Ah—please,” you manage, your first words since he started. Spencer groans against you and the sound is so wonderfully unexpected, so much better than in your dreams. You cant your hips up in further invitation, chirping as he takes it, pushing two fingers into you at once. Your eyes screw shut and you bite back a whine at the slight stretch, unconsciously writhing your hips either to get further away or take him deeper, you’re not sure.
Spencer pulls back, kissing your hips and thighs and pumping his fingers very slowly as you adjust.
“’M sorry,” you pant, “it’s been awhile, I...”
“Don’t apologize,” Spencer says like it’s simple, his own breath coming quicker. “How’re you feeling? Need me to stop?”
“No! No, it feels really good, I feel good.”
He holds your burning gaze, matching it with his own, and his hair is tousled and his cheeks are flushed as he continues to move his hand.
“Yeah?”
“...Yeah.”
This little show of obedience, of call and response, has him smiling before he occupies his mouth with something else once more. It’s a different smile than you’re used to from him, but you decide you don’t at all mind it.
Like that, with his tongue and fingers working tirelessly, your orgasm comes on quickly. The feeling is rare but not entirely foreign, and in that brief moment of utter disconnect between your brain and reality, of sheer white-hot pleasure, you don’t feel you’re missing out on anything at all. How could you be, when you are here and Spencer is here and for a moment all your neurons are lighting up and flashing neon? How could there be anything more to life than the searing feeling of him slowly withdrawing his fingers from you, than your hips between his hands like he’s cradling the world, and his lips, indiscriminate with where they kiss because every part of you is worthy of attention?
You’re reeling, and your legs are gelatinous as he so affectionately sucks the darkest mark yet onto your inner thigh like a parting gift, like he’s signing his trembling work. If you could clamp your legs shut around the almost painful aftershocks you would, but he’s climbing back up your body, so all you can do is wriggle against him and release delayed, stunted little moans. He stops to kiss your neck before he makes it to your mouth and drinks down all your sounds until you’re gentle and pliant for him like you haven’t been yet.
His voice is soft and sympathetic when he speaks. “Better?”
Wordlessly you nod, both comforted and unsettled by how well he knows you. What, exactly, has been made better, you’re not sure. Not trust. You don’t trust him anymore. Something cheaper, but temporarily effective. A sense of permanence, maybe, however fleeting it may be. You’ve completed something with him now, and he’s still here, still sweet.
He looks into your eyes, then, for a moment—and there is just enough light in the room for you to tell yourself that the shadows dancing there as he looks at you are love.
They morph as you watch into haunting, wild hunger. Pained even now.
He sits up abruptly and so do you, scooting back against your headboard and pulling your knees to your chest to protect your pounding heart as Spencer takes you in with darting eyes and quick breaths. His fingers find the collar of his shirt and he begins to unbutton.
“I need you to remember it’s all going to heal.”
He swallows, and you hardly have the wherewithal to study the way he unbuttons his shirt, a way he exists in the world that you had previously not been privy to. The words are too distracting.
“What?”
Sometimes he reminds you of a deer, with those big brown eyes that can’t help betraying anxiety. Moreso in those old pictures he’d shown you from his early days at the BAU—but it shines through occasionally even now. It’s reassuring to know that something inside of his has remained soft.
“Just...” his fingers don’t stop at their task, and you come to the disturbing realization that his knuckles are bruised. “Please don’t freak out, alright?”
Your mouth goes dry, eyes glued to the lengthening span of revealed skin.
And before he even has his shirt fully undone, something isn’t right.
He’s like a Pollack of bruises—starbursts and watercolor blots of discoloration blooming over his side and stomach.
You’re glad the light is off for two reasons: one, being that you don’t think you could handle the bruising in all its glory, and two, you hope the look of horror painted on your face is at least partially obscured from Spencer.
But you can’t. You simply don’t have the gas in the tank to freak out, as he’d said—at least not externally. Those bruises shouldn’t be there, but 96 days is a long time to be gone.
You drag your eyes back to his—nervous, deeply insecure and mistrustful. A deer. Just like those pictures of a 24 year old Spencer in an FBI jacket that was too big for him.
It’s enough to have you scooting on your knees across the mattress to him. Those big eyes stay glued to you as you draw near, falling as you carefully push open his shirt, cautious not to bump any tender spots as it falls to the bed. A flash of white gauze wrapped around his forearm that makes your stomach flip. How? You want to ask. Why?
He doesn’t seem to know what you’re going to do, and neither do you, until you’re grabbing his hands, bruised knuckles and all, and just... holding them for a minute.
“I lost weight,” he says quietly, as if that’s the most shocking thing about his current appearance, though it is noticeable.
“You’re still pretty.”
He smiles at this—a true Spencer Reid smile. Flattened lips, eyes tinged silver with sadness, voice quiet and anxious and wavering.
“I didn’t have a lot to spare.”
A moment goes by.
“I’m not going to ask you about them,” you promise, though you care so much and you want to know but you already understand that he won’t want to tell you.
Another moment. It doesn't surprise you to watch the shiny vulnerability in his eyes to freeze over completely. But he squeezes your hands once in thanks, and you know it’s still the same Spencer.
“Lie down.”
Oh. Right.
This.
You do as he says, taking a deep breath to try and exhale the concern twisting your stomach like a poison. Somehow your room feels so unfamiliar, so new with him in it. Even the whorls on your ceiling look different as you study them, trying to time the pattern of your breathing with the pattern of the paint and plaster and not let the sound of Spencer further undressing quicken your heartrate too much.
Soon he’s coaxing your legs apart again, reverently, and kneeling between them, studying every part of you—lingering not on the parts you’d expect. He traces the scar on your knee with his thumb, follows a line down your thigh to the freckle on your hip. The scrutiny is unnerving and warms you everywhere. Perhaps he senses the microscopic clench of your thighs as you imagine pushing them together, if he weren’t in the way.
“You alright?” He asks, still stroking your hip. Tender again. It’s so hard to keep up.
“I...”
Suddenly your heart beat is a deafening echo in your own ears. The tide of your breathing is too powerful, too in and out and whooshing, leaving you always too empty or too full but never comfortable.
Maybe he’s changed, and he’s harder to know now, but he is the same Spencer. He is the Spencer you’d fallen in love with. The hard part is knowing that now you may never get a chance to tell him that. You don’t know if he’d be able to hear it.
There are things you can’t have with him anymore. Not now, at least. Maybe not ever. But you can have this. It will be different, but you’d rather him be different and here than the same and only in your memory.
You swallow.
“I’m good.”
Tangling your hand in his hair once more, you pull him down into a kiss. It’s hesitant, at first—maybe he can taste your thoughts, where they’d been balancing just on the tip of your tongue. But the uncertainty fades and he kisses you deeper, harder, in a way that is hard to keep up with. You like the messy overwhelm of his lips, teeth, tongue. That’s the only way he knows how to want you.
When you go to wrap your leg around his waist he catches it, running his hands over the soft plush of your thigh. The hard line of him presses against you like memory foam and you gasp and he breathes it in deeply as your brain short-circuits, as you realize this is really going to happen, that you’re going to have him like you’ve never had him before and in ways you’ve only imagined and immediately felt ashamed for.
“Spencer,” you whisper. He ducks to leave open-mouthed kisses along your neck and your eyes flutter shut, craning your neck but not losing sight of your objective as you reach down blindly. When you find what you’re looking for he freezes, groans against your neck at the same time as you breathe the tiniest whimper. Just in your hand he feels impossible, hot and imposing and hard. Your heart palpitates.
Without thinking, you angle your hips up and encourage him closer, until the tip of him is smearing through your folds, and you both go utterly silent like the breath had been stolen right from your lungs. The moment crystallizes, time around you hardening like preserved amber to keep you frozen there forever.
And then he rolls his hips, catching the underside of his cock on the crux of you, and then he does it again, and you choke out a moan and so does he, and it’s beyond perfect—it's nirvana, more than you could ever have conceived of, with his weight pressing you into the mattress, arms caging you in, his heavy breaths hot against your neck and vice versa as you twine together like serpents on a rod, your foot floating in the air as you widen your legs to make more room for him.
And you’re not even fucking yet.
“Oh my god,” you whine, just for him, barely audible under the heavy cloak of night, the thickened air in your bedroom and the sound of panting and fabric shifting. It’s like your heart is trying to reach through your chest to his own where they’re pressed together—that is how hard it’s beating.
Spencer only breathes a long, low curse and shifts so he can grasp himself. Your fingers drift down the shaft of him as he slots himself at your entrance, notching half an inch in and you hold your breath, and you brace yourself—and then he’s kissing you again, but gentler this time. Reassuring. You soften, you can’t not, releasing all your air in a soft gust through your nose, and then he’s pushing in.
Your lips part at the stretch as it fuzzes your mind, but he stays right there, nose pressed to your nose, lips ghosting over your own. He’s not going anywhere, you think, and you’re glad for it, when it burns ever so slightly, and the tiniest whine escapes your open mouth.
“Shh,” he soothes immediately, low and soft, only fractionally louder than you had been. “You’re okay.”
Spencer. Your Spencer.
For a moment, you’re living in that alternate universe. The kinder one. The flash of pain you feel then has nothing to do with the way he’s opening you up.
This is the closest you have ever been, and in some strange way, the furthest apart.
Together, fingers brushing, you guide him until he settles at not quite your deepest point. You can feel that he’s not giving you everything yet, but you’re okay with that, as you adjust to the full feeling. Spencer again senses your desire to close your legs against the deep intrusion, and gives you the best he can by encouraging you to wrap your legs around him.
“Good girl,” he whispers tenderly, nudging at your jaw with his nose and dragging kisses along the ridge of it. Your stomach flips at the moniker and your brain turns to warm sludge as your eyes flutter shut. It makes you feel all light-headed and you flutter around him. Spencer chuckles into the junction of your neck and shoulder and the vibrations send a chill down your arching spine. “I thought you might like that one.”
“Mhm.”
“Mhm. How are you? You okay?”
“’M ready.”
“You’re ready?” His tone is dripping sarcasm and faux-disbelief as he pulls back the slightest bit only to push right back in deeper, this time. Your toes curl, one thigh sliding higher up his waist as you cling to him.
“Fuck,” you manage, a pitiful, high pitched curse tossed to the wind. He echoes the sentiment.
“Oh, my god,” he groans, continuing with that slow pace, “you feel so good, angel.”
You grapple at his back, searching for purchase as your brow knits. “Faster.”
This inspires another breathy chuckle, but he obliges, and you cry out softly. It’s almost unreal, your head buried against his neck, drunk on his scent and the drag of him like a shock felt in the far reaches of your body, again and again.
There’s nothing you can say that will accurately demonstrate what you’re feeling, so you elect not to speak, to remain silent and try to get a grip on this cacophony of sensation and emotion. But it’s too much to be alone with. You feel you have to get it out, to seek understanding. You can’t do it alone.
“Spencer.”
“Hm?”
“I don’t know...” the sentence trails off into a gentle keen. He moves to kiss you, speaking against your lips.
“You don’t know?”
Shyly you shake your head. Spencer sighs wistfully.
“Do you know how much I missed you?”
It’s like he can sense your need for comfort. For something grounding.
And while this topic was off-limits earlier—you're softer now. The stone walls that form your boundaries have been chipped away and lowered.
Spencer continues unprompted.
“I thought about you every day. Every night while I was falling asleep. You were always on my mind, angel girl.”
You whine. Whether it’s pleasure or distress is anyone’s guess—including your own.
“You were gone so long,” you whisper, eyes shut.
At this, Spencer slows again, and the tension that was building settles back to a simmer.
“I know. I wish I could—I wish I could change that. But I’m here, okay? I’m right here with you.”
Then he makes sure you feel every last inch, and it takes your breath away. If your thoughts were any more coherent, they’d be something along the lines of: but for how long? How long until you leave again?
“You’re here.”
You say it like a mantra, once out loud, and then again and again in your head, timed with every clash of your hips. With each repetition he becomes more real. Every little ache, every tingling, head-emptying brush against that most sensitive spot inside proves to you that he could not be any closer. This can’t be faked. It can’t be another dream to wake up in tears from.
“You’re here,” you gasp as it hits you, as it truly sinks in.
“I’m here,” he breathes.
There’s so much you want to say—three months of words you need him to hear, of things you need to talk to him about, things you need to yell at him for and things you can only say crying in his arms and things you can only say laughing or whispering or drunk or half-asleep—and in this moment you can’t manage any of it. Every word condenses into one drop of salt water, drifting away from your eye and down your cheek. Spencer doesn’t tell you to stop crying. He only kisses the tear away, and murmurs I’m here I’m here I’m here over and over again against your skin until he’s not even speaking it out loud anymore. But you feel it. With every brush of his lips, every breath, every movement, you feel it.
Soon he’s adjusting his angle, gradually picking up the pace but retaining that unforgiving depth, and your nails bite into the skin of his back as your jaw drops. Spencer hisses, pressing impossibly closer.
“I’m sorry!” you squeak.
“Do it again.”
“Wh—what?”
“Please,” he begs, low and hot against your jaw, just beneath your ear. “Do it again, honey.”
Honey.
You’d do anything for him if it meant he calls you that again.
When he shifts his weight to one arm and reaches down between your bodies to play with your aching clit in exactly the right way, you don’t really have a choice. You arch and moan wantonly enough to feel embarrassed as your nails scratch down his back. At the same time he’s making noises of his own, and you almost feel guilty for marking him up like this only you think he likes it. The most perfect and troubling tension is building in your core, so taut you almost fear the inevitable rebound when it snaps. But you’re driven to be exactly what Spencer needs right now, and to let him try and be what you need. Even if it scares you. Even if you’re not sure how.
Spencer groans, head tucked to the bend of your shoulder. “I’m not gonna last.”
Any response you might’ve been about to muster is annihilated by a sudden, deep bolt of pleasure.
“’M gonna cum,” you mewl like it’s a secret.
“Are you?” he asks, coming up breathless. If your eyes were open, you’re sure you’d see him above you.
“Mhm.”
“Look at me. Look at me.”
It is unmistakably a command—one you fight to follow.
You cry out as you meet the intensity of his gaze, those shadowy corridors suddenly ablaze and alive. They are not unending, like you’d thought. They are a door thrown open to let the light in, or maybe to let the fire out. They’re open in this moment for you.
No more words are spoken after that—you cum hard, gasping as you fall and spin. Spencer follows very shortly after, like he was holding it together just for you, and your eyes are still locked though everything is a bit bleary.
“Fuck,” you whine as he continues to fuck you for as long as he can, despite your writhing hips, but you’re entranced by him, unable to look away now that you’re hooked. Until he slows to a halt, glances down at your mouth, and you just have time to pray that he’ll kiss you before he does. You whimper against his lips—a plea for understanding. A plea for him to stay, even though this is over. He kisses back so soft and sweet it’s like he can read your mind. Echoes of I’m here I’m here I’m here still buzz across your skin. His eyelashes tickle your cheek. Your heart stops beating quite so quickly, melting and warm like the rest of your body.
Soon the kissing ceases and you’re just breathing together, trapped and faced with the knowledge that it must end just the same as you had waited for it to start.
Eventually the air between you becomes mostly carbon dioxide and you let your head fall to the side, dizzy and giggling breathlessly as you nearly avoid asphyxiation. Spencer laughs too, letting his head fall to your shoulder once more, and you finally let your eyes flutter closed. To do something as simple as laugh with him again is its own small euphoria. It’s unexpected, and a soft landing once all that tension breaks underneath your combined weight.
It can’t last forever, you know that well. But the slow fade of it makes the next parts a little easier.
Spencer presses a kiss to your neck. “Is your bathroom through that door?”
You hum a confirmation and are only slightly disheartened when he pulls out and rolls off of you. You’re further disturbed when you see there’s gauze around his thigh, matching what’s around his arm, and you wonder how you missed that. Spencer scoops up his clothing and disappears into the adjoining restroom, assuring you he’ll be right back and leaving you alone with your thoughts and the whorls on the ceiling which have seemingly shifted into entirely new constellations.
He leaves the door cracked which is oddly reassuring—the sliver of warm light and the sound of the sink running. Only a few moments pass before he’s returning clad in boxers once more to sit on the edge of the bed, pushing away the sheet you’d just pulled over your chest and pulling one of your legs over his lap. Your face warms as he brings a washcloth between your thighs. As soon as he glances up at you and catches your eye you’re looking back to the ceiling.
“I should’ve asked first,” he says quietly as he cleans up the mess he’d made of you.
You speak just as softly, like you’re both afraid of disturbing some peace, of waking some sleeping giant. “It’s okay. I would’ve told you if I didn’t want it.”
His reticence, his unreadable face, make you nervous.
When he’s done, he rises to toss the dirtied cloth in the laundry bin, and with his back to you (as scratched up as it might be) you feel braver.
“Are you gonna, like... hate me now?”
It was a mistake. That’s clear by the way he turns around, brow knit deeply and grimacing slightly like even the suggestion offends him.
“Am I going to hate you?”
Again you pull the sheet up, and again you look away, studying the pattern of moonlight stretching out over the floor and scooting to make room for him when he steps in it.
“Not hate, I just...” the bed dips beside you and you are indescribably glad he’s not immediately running out the door. “I’m not dumb. I know what this was.”
He pulls you into him and you settle against his chest. It feels good. “I never thought you were dumb.”
This is your first real conversation since he’s gotten back, you realize. And how quickly you’re falling into familiar patterns, familiar syntactical beats. You know when to speak. You know when to bite your tongue and keep him talking.
The silence goes on longer than you’re used to. Maybe he got good at not speaking while he was away.
Eventually your eyes wander, falling to the white strip over his thigh where it is parallel to yours on the bed, only over the sheets.
“What happened?”
You said you wouldn’t ask, but that was then, and you’re upset again. You almost want to hurt him. To piss him off. You don’t know.
But it doesn’t work.
“Do you really want to know?” There’s a note of something heavy in his voice, and you look up at him. It’s a privilege to have him this close—his beauty is a constant surprise that you’d become unaccustomed to over the months. You say nothing, and he takes that as the yes that it is. “I... I did it to myself.”
He may as well have reached down your throat and grabbed for fucking heart for all its clenching. Tears well almost immediately, though they’ve been waiting in the wings all night.
“What? Did you—were you trying to—”
His eyes widen.
“No! No, honey, no.” You wilt as he gathers you closer, a deeply confused frown still contorting your features, too heartbroken even to cling to him, or to appreciate the ease with which honey slips past his lips again. “No. I was—it's complicated. I didn’t—I wasn’t trying to hurt myself, but I had to—I had to do it before someone else did something worse.”
The bruises covering his abdomen.
You sniffle and pull back enough to look up at him tearfully. “Why would they want to hurt you?”
Mist fills his eyes even as he’s looking down at you, a layer of separation, as if he’s two places at once. Even as he goes to brush your hair behind your ear, to stroke your cheek.
“I’m... not... the same, as I was.” It’s not an answer to your question—but it’s the beginning of the answer to a question you’d been too afraid to put into words.
“Don’t say that,” you beg, because you know where this is going. He keeps smoothing your hair like it’ll make this easier.
“But it’s true,” Spencer says gently, the slightest waver betraying his own emotion.
“You’re just going to leave again.”
And you’re losing to the tears.
“I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”
“But you will,” you insist, like a child crying to a parent come to comfort them after a bad dream.
“Not right now. Right now I’m here.”
I’ll stay until you fall asleep again.
For now, maybe that has to be enough. 
You cry on his shoulder. He kisses your head and doesn’t tell you to stop. 
Eventually, you sniff and wipe your eyes. 
“We were so close. Before you… we were almost there.”
You’re sure of it. You’re sure that if he hadn’t gone when he did you would’ve been a real couple. You would’ve told him you loved him. 
“We’ll get there again,” he promises, rubbing your arm. “I just… I need a little bit of time. I think you do too. But we’re going to get there again.”
Maybe it will never be like it was. 
But as so often is the case—Spencer is right. Difference doesn’t mean it won’t ever be good again. 
You have to believe that, just as you had to believe you’d see him again. 
You look to The Odyssey on your bedside table. 
The sun has been obliterated from the sky, and an unlucky darkness invades the world. 
But the sun has a habit of rising, time and time again, after the longest nights, after the darkest storms. 
You feel the beginnings of its rise, see the golden tips of it lighting the room as he holds you. Even now. 
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