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[neopuppy]

Agora Hills (M)

pairing. step-dad Johnny x step-daughter female reader

genre. arrest me daddy officer AU, cop Johnny, angst, M/F, pwp, one shot

warnings. age gap(y/n: 18, Johnny: 38), y/n is manipulative(and has extremely unhealthy coping mechanisms), multiple hook ups, death mentioned, y/n dealing with the loss of her mother by acting out, peeping, boxer-brief snatching, side characters: Jaemin Jeno Jungwoo, this gets pretty nasty. smut warnings under cut. minors DNI.

word count. 16k+

now playing. Agora Hills//Doja Cat

smut warnings. dom/sub dynamics, masturbation, stepcest, loss of virginity, heavy on size difference, daddy kink/use of ‘daddy’ + pet names, dry(wet) humping, fingering, face fucking, face slapping, squirting, possessiveness, overstimulation, spitting, choking, handcuff use, multiple orgasms, sex in public, rough sex, unprotected sex, breeding, etc

—————————————-

There’s no denying how hard this year has been, each day feels more and more like a battle. It’s hard to wake up, hard to put a brush through your hair, hard to bother with putting away your laundry. Little things really, they feel meaningless, everything generally feels meaningless.

“Hey, it’s already half past noon and you haven’t eaten anything yet.”

Concern rings between each word, dragging your body to the side to blink your eyes open and peer over to where he stands. There’s those same eyes that droop at the corners, never bright or optimistic anymore. They used to hold a softness, love, adoration, never toward you romantically, but still enough to make you feel special. 

You are special to him though, that’s why he’s concerned. Even when he has to look away, maybe because you remind him too much of her. Of the woman you both loved more than anything, the loss you both continue to suffer from. 

“Not hungry.” You mutter, pulling your blanket on tighter as soft fabric rubs against your hips and sets off warmth between your chest.

He sighs, head knocking on the door frame. “You know, I won’t let you deteriorate, your mom would—“

“Mom’s not here.” You say, cutting him off. A small pang of guilt hits when he nods solemnly, chin tucked to his chest without looking at you again.

“Fine. Have it your way.” Letting go of your door handle, he shrugs and shakes his head. “I’ll leave my card and cash out on the counter if you change your mind and get hungry later. Have to get ready for work, I’ll be home late so don’t.. worry about me.”

You’d be lying if you said you won’t worry. You always worry. Always fear the thought of receiving a late night call that he didn’t make it, that he’s on his deathbed hooked up to life support leaving his fate in your hands. Instead you nod and barely raise your fingers out of your blanket to wave goodbye.

It’s always the same routine when he has these night shifts. Pester you about eating, about getting some fresh air, doing something productive with your free vacation time, just being a damn nuisance you don’t want to deal with. You have to get through it, act like you don’t care too much, keep up a calm facade despite the anxious way your heart begins to race.

It’s been weeks of planning, trying to figure out what it would take to make your sweet nurturing step-father finally snap. 

Jaemin: Swing by to get you tonight around 10?

Yeah. That should be late enough, and from the clues you’ve gathered, you know exactly where to go.

The sound of the shower turning on from the master bedroom alerts your ears, jumping out of bed and into your slippers to tiptoe down the hall and twist your mom’s key through the lock to allow yourself in. It’s lucky you’d found it mixed in with a bunch of her items, making it easy to pocket and hide in case you’d ever need it.

He’s already inside of the shower by the time you’ve rounded the corner and crouched down by the connected bathroom door. It gets steamy, but the glass still clears up enough to take in his long muscular legs, sleek lean back, thick arms curling up to run shampoo through his hair.

It’s different today, having to cover your mouth to hold in your gasp when you spot him leaned back against the wall. His eyes are shut tight, sharp eyebrows furrowed together frustratedly, arm jerking furiously. The fog clears up along the glass with each hit of water, making the view of his large hand stroking up and down his length vividly clear. 

To your surprise, he never brings anyone home. Many would consider him to be a young handsome eligible bachelor still, a good career, attractive face, fit body. You certainly wouldn’t be shocked if he decided to start dating again. The sad truth is you often find your step-father still mourning the loss you both took. He cries through the night, wakes up with swollen eyes and dark circles, he plays it off and puts on a smile for your sake but his pain is evident. 

It’s hard to watch him struggle. The way he pulls on his cock seems painful, writing his internal guilt with each whimper and groan that squeezes from his tucked in lips. He doesn’t want you to hear him, he doesn’t want to experience pleasure through his pain. Doesn't think he deserves it.

You wonder what brought this on, what set him off enough to finally break the silent celibacy pact you assume he’s held himself accountable to. Today’s different from the way he barely touches his cock whenever washing suds off his body, scrubbing himself clean in such a robotic way without any expression. 

Sliding onto your knees, you have to adjust the oversized boxers hanging from your hips, rolling them up tighter to squeeze around your middle. He hasn’t mentioned anything about his underwear going missing yet, hasn’t had the nerve to question you about the different items from his closet that he can’t recall seeing for weeks now. It’d be too weird to suspect his step-daughter of invading his privacy and personal belongings while at work. 

Johnny’s always been too nice to ever think you could do anything wrong. Not you, not with the angelic side of yourself you grace him with. It’s almost too easy messing with him, rolling around on his freshly washed sheets when he leaves for work, spraying his cologne on your pillows to feel closer to him.

He won’t say anything even if he notices a familiar print of his underwear peeking out from your pajama bottoms.

“Shit.” You murmur, pushing back on your legs to inconspicuously crawl your way out before he can exit the bathroom. Too fast to sneak out to take in the evident failure pulling his cheeks down into a frown.

Johnny’s lonely, he’s real lonely, and you can fix that. You want to fix that.

A knock rasps down your door minutes later, halting your hand from traveling past the waistband of your stolen boxers after burrowing back inside of your bed. “I’ll be heading out now, if you need anything I’m only a phone call away.” 

Staying silent for a moment, you decide to get up and listen at the door for his breathing. Keeping your movements light enough to not make the floor creak as you make your way over. His breath comes out evenly, fingers tapping a couple of times along the doorbed before he lets out a quiet sigh and turns to leave. 

It’s better for him to believe that you went back to sleep, lessen any possible suspicion, cover your ass if you ever fuck up and accidentally leave evidence. He’s too good at his job.

The cop car stays parked across the street from your house most days when he’s working a lot, not helping the ongoing joke you hear about how your step-dad does that on purpose to ward away the men who want to date you. For the most part it worked too, living by his rules to focus on your education throughout high school and not waste your time fucking around with teenage boys.

Times have changed though, and with this year long break you both agreed would be best for your mental health, you have gotten bored.

Beyond bored. 

Sneaking over to your window, you watch as he takes one last glance back at the house before getting inside of the car. He’s handsome as ever in that stupid pig uniform, the halster cinching his waist in further really accentuating his build.

Jaemin: Your step-dad’s not roaming the streets tonight by chance? 

Watching his car drive off you reply with an angel emoji, exclaiming how excited you are to get out.

“I’ll see you later Johnny.”

—————————————-

“Didn’t think you’d ever agree to going out with me.” Jaemin grins from ear to ear. Rounding his car to get the passenger door opened for you. 

“Don’t be so modest, you know I’m into you.” You say flirtatiously, settling into the car seat. His eyebrows raise, grabbing onto the roof of the car to duck his head inside. 

“You seem to be into a lot of guys.”

That’s true, you can’t lie about that. Opting to offer him a coy smile, you shrug and tap the tip of his nose. “And you’re at the top of that list.”

Scrunching his nose back at you, he nods acceptingly. “Not only that, but your dad—“

“Step dad.” You’re fast to correct, clearing your throat. “He’s not my father.”

“Right, that, well..” Jaemin stands up straight, cooling his hands off on his jeans from the hot car roof. “Isn’t he like, a cop?”

“Yeah, so what?”

“Thought you told Haechan last semester that you’re not allowed to date..” walking around, he gets into the driver seat and reaches over to buckle your seatbelt. “Didn’t you say that’s his rule? Your step dad?”

“You sure do have a lot of questions, Jaemin.”

“I’m not trying to piss off a cop.” He chuckles, gripping onto the steering wheel. “Silly if you ask me. You’re 18, he can’t expect you to stay abstinent until marriage.”

“Well he does.” 

“Oh.”

“And I don’t care.” Leaning over the middle, you grip onto his thigh. “Right now all I care about is you and me.”

Jaemin’s mouth falls open with a hidden smile, eyeing your hand inching up his thigh. “Someone’s eager.”

“Let’s go to Agora Hills.”

“What??” Snapping his head up, he stares at you with blown out wide eyes. “Oh I thought—“

“You thought wrong, let’s go.”

Slowly nodding, he releases the brake to pull out of your street. Shaking off his shock as he pulls onto the freeway toward the notorious spot up in the mountains. “Well, if I had known, I wouldn't have made a reservation for us at that new Italian pizza spot.”

“Not really hungry,” you shrug, gripping at his inner thigh. “Not for food anyway.”

Jaemin’s eyebrows raise all the way up, a grin spreading on his face as he steps down on the gas pedal and switches to the fast lane. “Don’t think I’ve ever made it out here this fast.”

Directing him to park off in the more secluded area, you smirk and push your way past him to the backseat. “Let’s not waste time.” You say with a wink over your shoulder at him. “I’m so wet already.”

“Fuck.” He practically howls, using the door to get out and climb into the backseat with you. “You really weren’t playing with me with all those slutty pictures, huh?”

“Want you so much.” You say huskily, climbing onto his lap before he can fully even settle into the backseat. “All I can think about.”

Jaemin’s state of shock can’t leave him fast enough, groping his palms up and down your sides. He grabs onto your hips and squeezes, hissing between his teeth. “Fuck, you’re so sexy. Been waiting for you to be legal ever since I saw you last summer at my little bro’s party.”

That’s when it all started. Last summer when Jisung invited you to his graduation party. The group of guys you’d come to know as his older brother and college friends couldn’t take their perverse eyes off of you. The appeal of your innocence had struck a nerve for every single one of them, desperate to stay in touch with the forbidden fruit they knew better than to dare to take a bite of.

“You’ve been so good,” you hum, grabbing onto his bare biceps. Gripping the smooth soft skin between your digits. “So patient, waiting for me like such a good boy.”

Jaemin’s head falls back against the seat, front teeth exposed between his plump pink lips. Thick eyelashes fanning heavily over his lust-filled gaze. “You still a virgin?” He questions curiously, sliding his hands beneath your baggy t-shirt. “Never heard a virgin talk like that..”

“I watch a lot of porn.” You say cheekily, running the tip of your nose against his. “And I’m so fucking horny.”

Jaemin’s throat bobs, hips jerking up under yours. “Fuck, you’re seriously something.”

To reaffirm that, you roll your hips down against his. Building up a fast and hard rhythm against his crotch. “Didn’t Jisung tell you about me? I gave him his first blow job.”

Letting out a howling laugh, he cups over your bra and squeezes your breasts. “Of course you did, that little fucker can’t believe he never mentioned it.”

“So greedy, wanted to keep me allll to himself.” You moan, wrapping around his built shoulders. “Fuck, that feels good.” Grinding down your hips faster, you fall into a rapid bouncing motion. Assisted by his large palms clutching your hips to rock you up and down his clothed hard-on even faster.

“Bet you can cum like this, nasty slut.” He pants between his teeth. Hammering his hips up to meet your middle with each slam against his cock. “Fuck you’re really dripping baby.”

The flimsy pajama shorts you snuck out in hardly do anything to conceal the thin material of underwear plastered to your cunt. Soaked through and pressed directly against Jaemin’s sweats as your shorts move to one side and fully expose your panties. “Making a mess all over me.”

Biting down hard on your lip, you nod against his forehead and swallow down throaty whimpers. “More more, gimme more!”

Jaemin slinks down into the backseat more, wrapping his muscular arms around your waist. He pulls you to his chest and rams his hips up faster. The sound of your covered bodies slamming down on each other fills the car between groans and stuck inhales of breath. Digging your nails into his shoulders as the friction builds and rubs your underwear against your clit painfully. “Ah! T-that hurts!” You whine, not stopping your lower half from fucking dowm against the material of his drenched sweats. “You’re so big!”

“Fuck, ah yeah.” He grunts, reaching lower to bury his hands inside the back of your shorts and grab onto your ass. “G-gonna fill you up so fucking good baby. Make you take my cock like a real whore.”

“Ah, please please.” Scrabbling at his chest, you circle your hips down with rabid need. Pressing your clothed clit right against his throbbing length to reach your orgasm. Sucking at his bottom lip, he concentrates on rolling you up and down on his size. Jerking up each time your pulse against his cock.

“Fuck yeah baby, just like that.” He nearly drools, shoving your shirt up with one hand to place his palm against your stomach. “Faster!”

Getting his other hand on your lower back, he ruts you against him vigorously. Mouth hung open as pre-cum drips out of his cock and makes his boxers sticky. 

“Ah!” Falling against him, you tremble and wrap your weak hold onto his thick biceps. “I’m—I’m—“

Jaemin sits the both of you up straight again, jabbing his cock between your ruined panties. “Good fucking whore.”

“Fuck, ahh!”

Shaky hands run up his shoulders to his neck. Latching your lips onto his for a kiss that turns hungry within seconds. Seeking out each other’s taste through your release spilling out onto his groin. He licks at every crevice, sucking your tongue to steal your moan as he continues to fuck your clothed cunt after you’ve finished.

“S’too—“

“Shut the fuck up.” He spits, more aggressive as he slaps his hands down on your ass and throws you down against his cock. “Make me cum, virgin slut.”

Lights blare into the rearview window followed by the sound of rubble and rocks under rubber tires coming to a stop nearby. The bang of a door and heavy footsteps play between the sounds of your heavy panting, mixed moans and tongues gliding against each other. 

“Shit babe, stop. It’s the cops.” He says in a breathy panic, gripping onto your hips with extra strength to stop your grinding. “Fuck, what the fuck.”

“Open up.” A tap tap tap hits against the backseat window, freezing both of you in place. “Police.”

“Shit, shit, oh my God.” Shoving you off, he quickly readjusts his hardened length. Swiping a palm down his face to clean off the sweat dripping down from his hairline. Sitting up and clearing his throat, he rolls down the window with a shaky smile. “Officer.”

A familiar face pops into view, bending down with his arms rested against the car window. “Do you know that you’re on private prop—“

“Hi daddy.”

Johnny’s face goes near white when you sit up behind Jaemin’s broad frame. Speech cut off by his loosened jaw hanging his mouth open.

“Ah, fuck.” Jaemin whispers under his breath, scratching at his neck nervously. “Officer, I’m sorry, I didn’t see any signs.. it’s so dark out here.”

“Get out of the car.” Johnny points at you, directing you toward the door at your side. “Now.”

“Okay.” Hiding a smile, you press to Jaemin’s side to leave a kiss against his ear. “Sorry about this, I’ll text you.”

Too afraid to speak, he nudges you away and frantically nods. “Just go, oh my god.”

“Ugh.” Rolling your eyes, you slide out of the backseat to be greeted by your step-father half-sat on the trunk of Jaemin’s car. “Didn’t know you parole the hills too.”

“I don’t normally.” He says much too calmly for your liking. “Officer that usually does has been on leave because his wife just gave birth. That’s why I’ve been working more this last week.”

“Oh.” You knew that, of course. Having stood in the hallway sneakily while he went over his extra hours with his lead. “I had no idea this was private property.”

Pushing off the car, he hooks onto your elbow. “Let’s get you home.”

“What?” Ripping out of his hold, you shove him away. “I’m on a date.”

“It’s 1 in the morning.” Deep lines resembling whiskers appear on his cheeks, sucking at the backs of his teeth. “Now,” opening up the passenger seat door to his cop car, he tips his chin toward you. “Get in.”

“Such bullshit.” You mutter, plopping into the cop car petulantly. 

“Language.” Slamming the door shut, he rounds to the driver side, tapping the drunk of Jaemin’s car. “Get out of here boy.”

“Yes sir!” He calls out, running back to the front of the car to get his engine warmed up.

“Pussy.” You scoff to yourself, turning your torso to glare at your step-father. “Thanks for ruining my night.”

“Last I checked, you’re not even supposed to be out this late.” Reaching over to click in your seatbelt, he begins to drive off. “Since when do you sneak out past curfew? Is this something new I should look forward to now that you’re an adult?”

Johnny’s jaw twitches, tapping along the steering wheel without taking his eyes off the road. Tension between the passenger and driver seat grows thicker by the second, forcing your hands to ball up into tight fists.

“Are you mad at me?” You ask quietly, keeping your gaze lowered to your balled up hands. 

“No, I’m not mad.” He sighs, gripping the wheel tighter. “Is that your boyfriend?”

“He’s not my boyfriend.”

“Oh.” Clearing his throat, he hums and squints. “Are you dating him?”

“No.”

“Right.”

“You’re mad.”

“I’m not mad.” He huffs, exiting the freeway that takes you back home. “You snuck out behind my back to meet some guy that isn’t your boyfriend, why would I be mad.”

“Well you have no right to be mad, you’re not my fath—“

“I’m not your father.” Johnny finishes for you, pulling into the same empty spot on the street out in front of your house where he always parks the cop car when he’s working overtime. “But I am your legal guardian.”

“I’m eighteen.” 

“I’m aware, you haven’t gone a day without reminding me.” He smiles softly, turning to face you. “Listen, I’m happy to see you out of your room, living life. Even if it means finding you at Agora Hills of all places with some boy.”

“He’s 21.” You mention to annoy him, unable to catch any sign of change in his calm expression. 

“Yes, I saw his drivers license.” He informs, tight-lipped. “You still live under my roof and therefore must adhere to my rules.”

“I don’t want to.” Crossing your arms over your chest, you slump into the passenger seat. “Your rules are dated and overbearing.”

“Okay, which of my rules would you like to negotiate to change?”

“A ten o’clock curfew is ridiculous, I’m not a child anymore Johnny.”

“It is a bit late right now.” Motioning to the time on the car's dash, he runs a hand through his hair. A anxious habit of tugging at the ends. “How about midnight?”

“That’s still too early.”

“That’s two extra hours.” He says firmly. “And if you’re going to be out at these late hours with 21 year old men, I’d like to meet them first. For your safety, I’m not asking for anything outlandish here.”

“I already told you, he’s just some guy I’m fucking.” Sitting up, you make sure to emphasize the end of your sentence. “Well, would be fucking right now if you hadn’t interrupted.”

Johnny visibly swallows, tucking his bottom lip under the top row of his teeth to not respond abruptly with any anger. “You can’t expect me to be a virgin until I get married, Johnny. I’m an adult now, I have to go out and explore! It’s part of growing up!”

“Midnight, and no later. If you plan to stay out any later, I at least want you to come back home where I know you’re safe. And if I’ve already met him, he can even come over.”

“To my room?”

“With the door open.”

“Come on man!” Smacking the compartment between you, you lean closer to his face. “Would you rather me run out to Agora Hills every night behind your back to get railed in the backseat of some guy’s car? Or at least come home where you know my whereabouts?”

Pursing his lips tight, he leans away from you. “I have to get back to work, please, don’t sneak out again. We’ll discuss this tomorrow.”

Giving him a look that could kill, you grab onto the door handle to exit. 

“By the way,” he looks over you much too fast. Turning away, showing off his perfect sharp jawline. “You can do much better than some 21 year old loser that’s going to take you out to Agora Hills of all places.”

“Whatever.” Shoving the door open with too much force, you kick it shut like a total brat. “You’re ruining my life!” Storming to the front door, you glare at him over your shoulder for one more look.

Fuck he always looks so criminally good in his stupid uniform. Another night with your vibrator attached to your clit for hours until you go near blind would have to get you through this, again.

Flipping him off, you slam the door shut behind you and make the walk of shame to your bedroom with clenched thighs. Arguing with your step-dad always managed to get your blood boiling, heat churning through your stomach. He never argues back, never raises his voice at you, hardly ever even displays much of a reaction.

It’s sickening how watching this big hunk of an authoritarian man act so weak with you always gets you going. Crawling back to your bed, you search for the dildo you purchased using his account to ensure he’d see it in his purchase history. Johnny never said anything, he never does, practically allows you to walk all over him. Especially ever since your mother passed away. As fucked up as it is to take advantage of his kind heart, you can’t feel bad. 

Turning to face your window, you wait for the sound of his engine to exit the street. Sighing to yourself as the buzz between your thighs gets louder and you turn on the highest setting. 

You’re going to need it after that.

—————————————-

“So what is this? I thought you were dating Jaemin.”

“Dating?” You question with raised eyebrows full of sarcasm. 

“You know what I mean..” he remarks equally as sarcastically. Leaning against the hood of his car. His baby really. 

Everyone knows about Jeno’s legendary sports car that he spends hours working on. The exterior beams shinier than any cheek highlighter could ever with the amount of time he spends waxing it. Endless summers of working odd jobs that hired underage teenagers with a permit for some chump change finally garnered him enough to set down a decently size down payment. 

The ridiculous sports car zooming around your town always seemed to piss off the local police, most specifically your step-father.

“I want you to take me to Agora Hills.” You say cheerfully, tapping at his thick arms crossed over his chest. 

“Pfft, I don’t go up there.”

“Why not?” You pout, making him roll his eyes.

“So your daddy can prowl my ass and slap me with a ticket? No thanks.” Jeno scoffs, grabbing your wrists before you’re able to smack his biceps again.

“Don’t call him that.” Unable to tug yourself out of his grip, you lean in closer to his chest. “He’s my step-dad.”

“Narc is what he is, I swear that dick head pulls me over at least every other week.” Jeno grunts, tugging your arms down to pull you closer to him, chest to chest. “We can go to my place, sneak through the back. My parents won’t know you’re there.”

“Nooo, I wanna go to Agora Hills.” You whine, continuing to pout with a stomp of your foot. “Wanna suck you off in the backseat of your fuck-mobile.”

Jeno’s eyebrow raises, half-laughing with a curious glint in his gaze. “Never heard that one before.”

“You’ve also never given me a taste before.” With a cunning smirk, you press in closer. Teasing his chin with a flick of your tongue. “Stop being so selfish.”

“What’s with you and that spot? I don’t get the big deal.”

“Every girl wants to lose their virginity up at Agora Hills.”

Jeno seems awestruck for a moment, nudging his nose against your cheek. “You’re a virgin?”

“Did Jaemin tell you that I’m not?”

A pleased smirk slowly creeps onto his face, lowering his gaze to your lips. “If every girl dreams of getting fucked out there, I can only imagine how often you dream about getting fucked in the backseat of my car.”

“Let’s go.”

—————————————-

“I like your lips.” Jeno leans back against his seat after parking. Slowly dragging his gaze from your eyes to your lip gloss lathered mouth. “Bet they’d look really nice, all swollen and red, wrapped up pretty around my cock.”

Smoothing a hand down his stomach, he runs his bony long digits down the zipper of his jeans. “Do you like sucking cock?”

He’s already hard, rubbing over the bulge that’s pressed against his crotch. Lazily teasing at himself as you check him out and your eyes bounce over his lower half. “I haven’t.. done it too much.”

“Pftt..” his tongue clicks, tracing the outline of his member along the material of his pants. “That’s a shame.. I like girls with experience.”

“I like to learn.” You say abruptly, dropping your chin shyly. “I may not be experienced but you can teach me how to do whatever you like..”

“Are you asking me to train you?” He asks smuggly, smirking to one side. “Train you on how to suck my cock?”

“If that’s what you want..”

Jeno seems pleased by your response, eyes bouncing and sparkling with intrigue. Seemingly enjoying how embarrassed and humiliated you’ve become from his questions. “Show me your tits.” He says flatly, leaning deeper into his seat. 

Anything Jeno says to you right now has to be done. You’re here with a mission and it’s to make sure you get caught, even if it means taking off your top. Throwing it aside, you sit up on the passenger seat on your knees. Dragging your hands up your stomach to cup under your bra-clad breasts. Shoving your cleavage up together, bouncing your perky mounds of fat for his enjoyment.

Jeno reaches out to land a slap on one of your tits, humming and moving your hand out of his way to cradle one of your breasts. Sweeping his thumb down, he presses roughly against your nipple. Smoothing his fingers over your chest to squeeze and pinch the hardened bud through the fabric of your bra. “You have great tits.” He notes, all while focused on your chest. His other hand reaches out so that he can massage both of your breasts. “Nice and big.”

It’s hot in his car now, arching your back forward for him to enjoy your chest more. Nipples tugged at, lowering the cups of your bra underneath your tits so that he can properly flick and squeeze at them. Underwear grows uncomfortably damp pressed against your core, gripping your thighs together harshly to stop yourself from bursting out a tunnel of hot liquid. “Like how I play with your pretty titties?”

“Uh-huh..” you mutter quietly, looking down at how large and veiny his hands look while squeezing your fleshy fat. Digging the tips of his fingers into your tits as if you’re some type of stress ball.

“Bet they’d look so good milking my cock.” He hisses between his teeth. “You wet for me now, pretty girl?”

“Y-yes,” you nod eagerly. Throat dry, voice shaky to hold in your moans. He continues to pinch, rolling your nipples between his fingers.

“Bet your wet pussy’s throbbing, aching to feel my cock.” He says, hands dropping back to his crotch. Inhales of air fight your dry throat, watching as his hand drags down his zipper once again. Tented large against his tight jeans, he sits up straight and slowly begins to free himself; sucking in a deep breath as he gingerly pulls his cock out.

Heat flushes down your chest, struggling to take your next breath. He strokes once, twice, three times to spread around the precum gathered at his slit. Veiny cock pulsating against his palm with each drag, the glistening head so flushed it looks near red. 

“You’re really.. fucking big.” You drool, spit pooled all around your tongue. “I always thought you would be, with how cocky you are.”

“You talk too much, you know that?” Jeno scoffs, flicking your chin. “Show me that mouth is useful for something more than yapping.” Pinching your chin, he shoves his pants down lower and settles back with his hands behind his head. “You wanted to suck my dick? Start sucking, and be careful to not use your teeth.”

Dropping your jaw open with a thrilled nod, you bend over to get your mouth positioned above his erect cock. Drooling for a taste with your tongue lolled out over your bottom lip.

Gripping around the base of his size, he slides his other hand into the back of your hair and grips tightly. “Keep those pretty lips open nice and wide for me baby. Lay your cheek down on my thigh like this.” Pulling on your hair, he angles your face to the side so that he can watch the tip of his dick drag along your upper lip. Smearing your glittering lip gloss all over his already shiny cockhead. 

“You look so fucking cute like this.” He grins, biting back a groan when you start to flick your tongue out against his slit. “Wanna see you take every inch.”

The angles not the best for your neck, especially positioned in his car to not jab your stomach with his shift. You open wide for him to begin feeding his length inside of your mouth. Eyebrows furrowing once he gets a few inches in and you feel a painful stretch pull at your lips. Pushing in past the gagging sounds that reverberate around him, he aids the glide with a press of his hand to the back of your neck. “Come on pretty, take all of it.”

Already taking in loud deep breaths through his nose, he grits his teeth and releases the base of his size. Sliding the last few inches in despite how you choke and tighten up around him. It feels too good to stop now, fucking spit out past your mouth with his thick cock filling you up. The tip meeting his palm laid out on the back of your neck. “Sucking dick like a pornstar.” He rasps. Deep tone falling even lower, husky and thick with horny lust.

Gathering a bundle of your hair, he pushes against your stuffed mouth once more. Testing out how much your gag reflex can handle with half of his dick already resting heavy in the back of your throat. The extra gurgle of spit that spills out around him allows his hips to speed up and thrust in and out. Using the extra lubrication to thrust again and again and again. Holding you down roughly as a throaty deep groan exits his lips and you suffocate on his cock. Lurching around the massive intrusion, flailing your hands and slapping his thighs.

“Holy fuck that’s so good!” Jeno cries out. Lifting his hips off of the car seat as he bottoms out inside of your mouth once again. Tears spring free from your eyes, panting heavily through your nose. The biggest cock you’ve ever swallowed fucks your throat hard enough to leave it’s shape behind. The heady scent of tangy ball sweat and soap fills your head, forgetting that you’re here to piss off your step-father as your hair gets pulled at roughly once more.

Wet gagging fills up the car, the sound of skin clashing against skin emitting with the forceful thrusts he delivers. Cum-filled sack slapped against your cheek each time further solidifying what a whore you are right now. 

Jeno throws his head back letting out another howled moan. Holding your head down and grinding his cock in your throat with circling hips. Agonizing seconds go on like minutes, and all you can do is swallow and heave around him. Making the biggest mess of drool and tears beneath his ass. The resistance to gag again becomes weaker the longer he keeps you there, nose pressed up against the stubble of pubic hair left from shaving a few days ago. 

Finally hauling your mouth off pours out an obscene amount of spit. Drenching his thighs and groin with tons of it as you continue to hold in your gag and cough, gasping for air with wide teary eyes. “J-Jeno—“

“What a fucking good cock slut you are.” He sneers, brutally grasping your cheeks. His fingers dig into the hollows, shaking your head side to side. “Tried to lie to me, sucking dick like it’s oxygen.” He scoffs, releasing your cheeks with a wet slap to your face. Not too hard but enough to shock you, turn your neck to one side. “If I’d known you could take cock like this..”

He whistles, cupping your face with both hands to look at him. “Look so pretty like this.” Picking the wads of spit clinging to your chin, his palm rubs all over your face. Mascara stained down your cheeks, lips dried of gloss and swollen from painfully stretching out.

Smacking at your cheek again, he pulls your bottom lip open for your tongue to hang out. Kissing at the backs of his teeth as he presses down the center of your tongue. “Fucking nasty.” 

Without another second to waste, he shoves your head back down and kicks his hips up. Lining his cock up to your mouth with ease, no guided direction needed. Fucking deep into your mouth until he hits the back of your throat again. Swallowing around his cock sliding through your wet mouth, pulsating on your tongue, trapping your air to the point of feeling lightheaded. His hands slap down on the back of your head, pushing his hips up with violent thrusts.

“Throat taking me so fucking good.” Jeno’s teeth grind. Hips falling back down to the seat with wet splats only to thrusts even rougher into your mouth. Heavy sack slapping your face harder than before. “Slutty throat, just another hole for me to use and ruin.”

A loud broken groan leads to him pulling you off, smacking his fat wet cock down on your cheek. Shoving your messed up hair out of your face to begin dragging his long girth down the center of your nose.

Lights streak through the car window, an alarm ripping you both out of your horny daze. Jerking through your spine as you cough under his length and squint up at the bright’s illuminating his face.

“Fuck. Shit. Get off of me!” Jeno curses, shoving himself away from you with his hands pushing against the backseat. “I fucking knew I shouldn’t have come up here with you.”

Your step-dad’s timing is really something. Not that you planned everything perfectly to make sure he always finds you before anything can actually escalate and go too far between you and whatever guy you’ve managed to lure up here.

No, that would be diabolical wouldn’t it? Your step-father would be the last to believe that any of this could possibly be on purpose. He loves you too much to believe negatively of you. That’s what eats away at you sometimes. He’s just too damn nice to you to the point that it drives you insane. Because you want him—no, you need him to be anything but nice to you. Your mother would have scolded him for spoiling you all of the time, for accepting what an insolent brat you’ve been ever since her funeral.

Knock knock knock taps at the backseat window on Jeno’s side. You ignore it and continue to search for your top, knowing this is likely where your night ends.

“It’s your dad.” He says under his breath, pushing down the window button to open. “Officer.”

“Lee.” He sounds calm and easy as usual. Nothing out of the ordinary, no tension or frustration there. It’s infuriating, he should sound fucking pissed. His head pops into view, leaning over the car window with a soft smile and nod in your direction. “Hello, again.”

“Daddy.” You smile coquettishly. Wiping your chin off with the back of your hand and leaning over Jeno to get closer to him. “Is there a problem, officer?”

“Get out of the car.” Johnny says deeply. Tone falling into a serious one before tapping the hood of the vehicle and pulling away to stand up straight. “Right now.”

Jeno snickers quietly, nodding his chin for you to exit his car. “Whatever.” You mumble, using extra force to slam his backseat door shut. 

“It’s 1am, you know?” Your step-father asks, eyes dragging down your frame. His eyebrows furrowed together as he takes in how crumpled and strewn your t-shirt looks. How obscenely tiny and tight your shorts are. How he’s never seen your eyes and lips this swollen before. The light makeup you had on earlier ruined and smeared down your cheeks. “What did I tell you about coming out here?”

“Oh come on, you want me to be the only freak in this town that never visits Agora Hills? So I can be ostracized by every girl when I start school up again? What if I want to join a sorority?!” You complain, huffing past him with a roll of your eyes. “God, you seriously expect me to be known as some damn loser too depressed to ever go out ever since my mom died.”

Johnny grabs a hold of your arm before you reach the passenger door of his vehicle, spinning you around to face him. “Is that what this is about? You’re worried the other kids in school will judge you for being.. sad?”

“I’m not a kid!” Shouting at him, you stomp angrily. Further proving how immature and volatile you still handle your emotions. “I’m eighteen!!”

Taking a deep breath and a step back, he nods and releases your arm. “Yes, I know.” His eyebrows wrinkle together, rubbing at his cheeks hard enough to drag the aged skin down. Pulling at his face with a frustrated sigh. “I’m doing my best.”

“You think you are? You think this is your best?” You poke at him, stepping into his space to look up at him. Having to crane your neck to keep direct eye contact. “You can’t even bring yourself to punish me daddy.”

Johnny staggers for a moment, cheeks hallowed, droopy eyes darkening for a flash of a second. 

“I—I don’t want to punish you.” He whispers. Dropping his hands down to his hips defeatedly. “You’ve been through enough.”

“Then maybe you’re not fit to be a father. Certainly not my father.” You say snidely, turning your back to him to get inside of his cop car.

Johnny watches you fold your arms over your chest, slamming your back into the passenger seat. Shivering at the sound of the car door rattling shut from the forceful impact you use to shut it. If he was stronger, he’d be able to say something, to do something about your behavior. 

Instead he opens the passenger door to open up the glove compartment to retrieve a pack of tissues. He won’t ask anything, he won’t even speculate or allow himself to imagine what could have ruined your mascara like this. He dabs your cheeks clean instead, leaving the rest of the tissues on your lap for you to use before buckling your seatbelt in and rounding the car to drive you home.

You’re right, he’s not fit to be a father, especially not a widowed one who's been deprived of the touch of another for months now. He can’t even figure out how to deal with his own morbid thoughts, the sad empty black hole that’s formed in his heart. How is he supposed to do what’s best for you? And what is best for you exactly...

Can’t be the thoughts he shoves aside that keep him up at night. The quiet things he envisions when his eyes finally fall shut. The way he buries his face into your basket of dirty laundry, spends extra time folding everything up for you just so he can vividly imagine what you’d look like in all of the different pairs of underwear he washed for you.

He’s only surprised the spirit of your mother hasn’t stricken him to suffer an eternity in purgatory yet..

—————————————-

“Oh, you’re not working today?”

Johnny’s head lifts from the couch, his sleepy eyes blinking a few times before unblurring the image of you in nothing but his boxers and a baggy old tshirt of his.

“I’m off today.” He mutters quietly, tight-lipped as he looks you over again. “Where did you find that?”

Making your way to the couch, you pull on the hem of his shirt. Scrunching up the worn down fabric between your fingers and tugging. “Oh this? I think it got mixed in with my laundry a few months back.” With a smile you plop down right next to him. Avoiding the massive empty space on the couch you could have taken up, instead nestling into his side. “What should we watch?”

He frowns, not wanting to question why you’re wearing a pair of his tattered checkered print boxers. The same way your mother often would in the past, along with his old band shirts.. 

You probably just miss her is all. He misses her too, every hour and minute of his life. Not that seeing you resemble her almost down to a tea makes him feel any better, only consumed by guilt as he steals another look at you.

“Dad?” You speak up, wrapping around his arm to alert him. “You’re zoning out again.”

Again, yes. He does that a lot these days.

“Sorry, uhm, your choice sweetie. Been working so much these days I’m not even sure what’s new on tv.”

“Good thing for you, all I do is watch TV.” You grin, cuddling into his side more. Draping your head and neck along his shoulder.

Johnny’s used to it, you’ve always been rather touchy with him. He doesn’t mind it at all, always took pride in how comfortable you felt around him. He’d never want to make you feel any other way. More than honored to be referred to as your dad when you introduce him, he hums and smiles. Leaning back against the couch cushion with his half shut eyes. “Nothing too scary, I don’t want you staying up having nightmares all night again.”

“Oh come onnnn dad I was like thirteen!!” You whine, slapping his chest. “Besides, you’d let me sleep with you if I got scared, right? Just like back then.” You add with a sneaking smile, nuzzling in even closer.

Your mom had seemed slightly annoyed back then when you came into their room crying during the middle of the night. You’d climbed between them in bed and curled into Johnny’s front, wrapping your small arms around him. He’d never known what it was like to be a father until he had the chance to help raise you. Even now he’s not sure he’s really doing this right..

Ignoring how warm and small you feel pressed to his side, he clears his throat.

“That boy last night..” he says softly, wrapping an arm around your shoulder. “Do you like this one?”

A playful glint in your gaze finds his look of confusion. Directing the remote toward his face, you smile. “I like something about him a whole lot, more than any other boy.”

“Is he—this one, your boyfriend?”

“None of them are my boyfriend.” Turning toward him to face him better, you lay a hand against his chest. “None of them really deserve to be my boyfriend.”

It’s normal to experiment and make experiences to learn what you like, what you’re looking for. He has to bite his tongue to keep that to himself. It’s not actually any of his business who you end up forming a relationship with; not unless that boy wants to make it his business. Pursing his lips, he nods firmly, changing his focus back to the tv to drop this topic.

“Besides, Jaemin, Jeno.. they’re not exactly my type.” You add with a flirty tone. “Like Lana sang, I got a taste for men that’s older.”

Johnny’s spine freezes at that, not wanting to engage you anymore. “Should probably find something to watch before it gets too late.”

“What about you daddy?” You practically squeak, crawling your digits up his chest. “You haven’t tried to date at all since mom passed. I wouldn’t judge you for dating someone younger.. I know men have needs.”

Taking a quick hold of your hand, he has to control himself from crushing your palm in his. A serious gaze silently warning you before clearing his throat. “I really have no interest in dating anyone else. Losing your mother has been one of the biggest most unforeseeable losses I’ve ever experienced. No one will ever match up to her for me.”

A look of disappointment paints across your face, turning your lips downward as you slowly nod. “No one?”

“No one.” Johnny says between gritted teeth, releasing your hand. “Let’s watch something already, alright? I need to catch up on sleep tonight.”

The same solemn pout stays on your face even after finding a movie to watch. Some cheesy romcom that Johnny can’t help to think your mom would have loved, you always would spend your weekends watching them together with her. Now you only have him, it’s only normal that you’re acting up more than usual. You always were a good girl, never disobeyed your mother’s rules..

He can’t let you walk down the wrong path, it’s not what she would have wanted for you. Getting caught in the backseat of random boys cars up at damn Agora Hills of all places. She’d be let down, likely punish you and ban your phone privileges for weeks..

He can’t do that to you though. Not when he’s hurting this much and knows inside of his heart that you can only be hurting so much more.

At least he’ll be able to keep an eye on you if you do sneak out there again anytime soon. The one privilege he has over your life as a cop on duty, to at least stop you from trespassing and breaking any laws. 

These thoughts riddle him more and more to the point of exhaustion. Lightly snoring halfway into the movie before the lead actors can even share their first kiss. The sound of his huffed breaths between soft snores catches your ear, gingerly picking your head up from his shoulder to look at him.

He’s the most gorgeous man you’ve ever seen. High sculpted cheekbones, beautiful long brown eyes, his straight nose and jawline sharp enough to cut through glass. And his lips, his thick pouty lips that linger through your mind day and night. They tease and taunt each time he talks to you, whether he’s tucking in his bottom lip or speaking with extra emphasis on his juicy pout. You can’t stop dreaming about what they’d feel like against yours, how soft and yet powerful a kiss from your step-dad could be..

Hovering your fingers near the tendrils of hair that have fallen over his forehead, you slowly ease them back. Stroking through his scalp softly much like your mother used to when Johnny would come home late from working, exhausted and resting on her lap, lulled to sleep so easily. 

He can’t really believe that no one will ever peak his curiosity or make his heart pound again? He’s too young to live so miserably.. to never love again. A push in the right direction is all he needs, someone to set off alarms inside of him that have stayed dormant for months. If anyone can make him happy again, it’s you.

You can fulfill that emptiness in his chest, bring butterflies back to life in his stomach, give him a sense of worth to take care of somebody else..

He stirs after a bit, blinking slowly, reaching to wipe drool away from the corners of his lips. Tired droopy eyes failing to stay open when he sees you still by him. “Fell asleep, sorry.”

“It’s okay, you’re tired. We can go to bed.”

“Sorry.” He mouths again, groaning as he sits up and you latch onto his arm to help him stand.

“You don’t have to apologize for being tired. You’ve been working really late.”

“Mmm… we both have been up too late these days, haven’t we?” Johnny stops at his bedroom door. Leaning against the wall with a stern raised eyebrow. “Should I expect to catch you out past curfew again?”

“Curfew doesn’t matter anymore daddy.” You smile sweetly, poking his chest. “I’m an adult now.”

He frowns for only a second, looking away as a deep exhausted sigh exits his mouth. “Might be corny to hear, but you’ll always be a little sweet girl to me.”

He isn’t watching to see the sheer look of disappointment dragging your smile away. Having to bite down on your teeth to contain your annoyance, you force an amused smirk. “Your little girl? Will I always be yours?”

Johnny’s tired sleep-ridden gaze trails upward, blinking away from your lips to your sparkling awaiting eyes. Pressing the side of his head to the door, he shrugs and nods. “Of course sweetie, for as long as you’ll need me. I’ll forever be indebted to you.”

It’s not exactly what you want to hear, but it’s enough. Reaching for his waist, you slink your arms through to wrap around him. Smashing your cheek to his chest for a warm hug. “You mean everything to me daddy, you’re the only reason I’m still here.”

There’s more implication behind your words than he’d prefer to fully understand. Floating hands hover over your back, slowly shutting his eyes as he succumbs and squeezes you close to himself. Maybe this is why he lets you get away with everything, your mom would berate him for it. Say that he was far too easy on you, all it took was one cute little smile from you and he’d be wrapped around your finger. He just wanted to be a good father figure for you, that’s all..

“I’ve been having nightmares again.” You whisper, rubbing your face against his chest. “Like before..”

“Like before?” 

After your mother had passed, he heard you crying in the middle of the night. Pushing your cracked door fully open to find you curled up in bed shaking and wracked by sobs..

Johnny had held you and tried to comfort you as you wailed, screamed your cries and clutched at him desperately. It was the hardest few weeks he ever had to endure. Staying up for countless hours to make sure you eventually would get some sleep. You shared with him eventually that you’d see her everytime you tried to sleep. Met with the visual of your mother whenever your eyes would fall shut. 

He didn’t know what to do back then other than hold you and repeat that everything would be okay, he’d always be here for you.

“Can I sleep with you?” You ask against his chest, sliding your hands down to his waist. Johnny shivers under your touch, batting his eyes open.

“In my room?..”

“Please daddy, I don’t want to be alone tonight. I feel.. lonely.” 

Between fighting off how exhausted he is and the pathetic sad look on your face, he sighs. Losing the ability to keep his back straight and shoulders broad. He rubs up and down your spine and nods. “I can sleep on the floor.”

The look on your face morphs in less than a second, from distressed to furious. You push away, quickly wiping at your wet eyes. “Actually, it’s okay. I’m being dramatic.”

“Hu—what?” Johnny grabs at the door frame to stand up straight. Shaking his head to be more alert.

“You need to sleep good tonight, you have work tomorrow.” Tight lipped, you force a smile and take a few steps back. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

—————————————-

“What are you doing here?” Wiping a cloth down his chest, the tall blond cleans the stains of oil and dirt. Mixing his sweat with the mess that working on his car has created on his long torso. He squints at you standing by the end of his driveway, the sun going down behind you making it harder for him to really get a good look at you.

Such a shame that he can’t appreciate the cute summer dress you planned just for today, how you spent over an hour doing your hair, the new lipgloss you used to make your lips shine and pop. 

“Didn’t your daddy tell you to stay away from me?” Jungwoo smirks, tossing the used towel on top of the hood of his car.

“Wanted to see your pretty car, you’ve been working so hard on it all week.” You say flirtatiously, moving closer to hug the driver door. Leaned against his classic Cadillac like a vixen straight out of a model car show. 

“My pretty car,” he chuckles, stretching his arms up to show off how defined his stomach muscles are. “You mean my pristine mint condition 1959 series 62 cherry red Cadillac?”

“Yeah, that.” Rolling your eyes with a smile, you round the car to poke his navel. “When are you taking me out?”

“You’re hilarious.” Jungwoo shoves your hand away, nodding his chin to your house down the street. “What? Daddy’s on duty or something?”

“Who cares.”

“Last time he saw you around me, he waved handcuffs in my face and told me to keep my distance if I don’t want to wake up with my car impounded.” Grabbing onto your wrist, lifts an eyebrow. “You might have some corruption kink, but no pussy is worth losing my car over.”

“I’d give you more than just my pussy.” You lie, scooting back to press your ass against the hood of his car. “Come on, he’s out of town. Now’s probably one of our only chances.”

Jungwoo grins, stroking up your lotioned smooth calves to your knees. “When’s he come back?”

“Late tomorrow, but we can’t do anything at my place.. he has security cameras.”

“That’s not a problem.” Jungwoo shrugs, pushing your thighs open. “That why you came over here all pretty? Smelling all nice for me.”

“We can go out to the hills, I know you just moved out here but it’s pretty common.” Pushing your thighs open more, you gather your dress to show off your pretty baby pink lace panties. Uncomfortable as hell, but they spark his interests, caressing up your inner thighs softly with a hum. “Everyone goes out to Agora to fuck..”

“Yeah? To fuck?” 

Your step-dad had complained about how rundown your neighborhood had become in the last few years. Allowing any old trash to move in. He certainly was not a fan of your newest neighbor Jungwoo Kim, rolling down the street with his obnoxiously loud engine revving up loud enough to shake each house he drove by. Johnny wouldn’t stop complaining about him for the rest of that day, throwing out comments to you that it’d be best if you avoid ‘men like that’. If only he had any idea that all you wanted after that was to do the complete opposite.

“Fine, I gotta take a quick shower.” Licking at his lips, he swipes a thumb over your clothed slit. “Come by to get you in an hour.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

—————————————-

“So, Agora Hills? I thought shit like this only existed in stupid sitcoms.” Jungwoo laughs, setting his car in park at the top of the hill overlooking the entire town. 

That’s the point, someone decided to claim this large space of land up on this hill as a place to lose your virginity. To enter adulthood, to check off the right of passage that changes one from sexually inexperienced to a lush. It’s been known as the spot for as long as you can remember, that’s the only reason Johnny’s even aware of what takes place up here.

He used to venture with different girls up to Agora Hills throughout his high school and college years. He can’t really blame you for doing the same, it’s simply the way things go here.

“It’s nice up here.” You smile, peering out of the front windshield at the city lights that burn bright from this high. The greenery that creates more shadows in the dark. The starry sky dimly lighting up the area around you. “The energies different, right?”

Jungwoo bites on his bottom lip, leaning over the front seat of his car with ease since the old model has nothing to stop him from getting closer to you. He drapes an arm around your shoulder, presses in to drag his nose down your cheek. “It’d be nicer if we were fucking.”

Plush lips find yours, using his tongue right away to lick between and garner access inside of your mouth. Freshly washed up after working on his car all day, he wafts the aroma of body wash and clean soap smell around you. Minty tongue still carrying traces of mouthwash. Jungwoo’s not interested in wasting time or getting to know you. Only in one way really.

Johnny was right to tell you to keep your distance from men like him. That’s why you had to go for him. In less than a minute he’s already swiping between your thighs, cupping over your lace covered mound. Shoving his tongue deep inside of your mouth with more confidence and aggression than Jaemin and Jeno had initially. 

He’s older(25 to be exact), Johnny hates that. His car is absurdly noisy, Johnny hates that. He blasts music loud enough to wake up the entire neighborhood early in the morning every weekend, Johnny really fucking hates that.

“Jungwoo,” you moan softly, pushing at his chest. “S-slow down a little.”

“Pft, come on. Don’t give me that shit, you’ve been teasing me for weeks.” He mutters against your lips, biting on your lower one to let you know how annoyed he is. 

“Please, I’m—I’m a virgin.” You whisper feebly. 

“What??” Jungwoo pulls back, ragged and out of breath. Lips all pink and swollen from kissing you roughly. “You’ve got to be shitting me.”

“N-no, my step-dad’s really protective..”

“The cop.”

“Mhmm..”

Shaking off an annoyed laugh, he rubs the top of your thigh closest to him. “I hate using condoms. Not gonna fuck you with one your first time either if you’re expecting some kind of princess treatment from me.”

“I don’t..” 

But you also have no intention to actually lose your virginity in the front seat of his Cadillac. Not when you know your step-father started his rounds a little over an hour ago. From your estimation, he’ll be on his way up the hill in no less than 15-20 minutes. If finding you with the neighbor he can’t fucking stand doesn’t break him, then maybe it’s time to give up.

“You ever touch yourself?” Jungwoo asks, interrupting your thoughts. Gripping the hem of your dress before dragging it up and off of your body. He reaches between your legs again, rushing to scoop your cunt with the entirety of his large palm. Digging the heel of it against your covered clit. “Like this?”

“Unghh..” you nod slowly, grinding against the pressure. 

“Tell me more.” Jungwoo’s nose flicks against your chin. Applying pressure down on your clit. “What turns you on? I want you dripping wet.”

Your step-father, Johnny. Unbuttoning his uniform. Sat stressed out at the kitchen island with his head hung between his shoulders, eyebrows furrowed together. The way he looks fresh out of the shower when he doesn’t know that you’re watching him. Droplets of water cling to his smooth bare skin, the tattoo on his bicep rippling with each movement, the pink blotches sprinkled across his back and chest from using boiling hot water. 

Johnny’s always on your mind when you touch yourself. He’s the first thing you see when you shut your eyes to fall asleep. He’s the first face you envision when you wake up and rub your eyes, sighing and whimpering to yourself. How he could be one room away and still so far drove you crazier by the minute. Creating more outlandish scenarios in your head as hours went by throughout your day and he’d be hard at work protecting the streets.

It may seem sick to some but your step-father has always been a man you could admire. He never failed you, even now when he should punish you, lock you up with no access to your phone- he doesn’t. He loves you too much to make you suffer anymore than you already have. Do you deserve his patience?

Jungwoo’s teeth nip at your cheek, shoving his hand inside of your panties when you fail to answer with a dazed look in your eyes.

“Y-you,” you mumble, stroking down his forearm to his wrist. “Older guys like you.”

It’s not a complete lie. Most of your wet dreams consisted of your step-father reminding you of how much older he is than you. How much bigger he is than you. How wrong this is. What a disappointment your mother would deem you. She’d be so upset with you, exploiting yourself like this just for your step-fathers attention. She didn’t raise you to be this way, but she’s not here anymore. You only have Johnny now, his presence and existence in your life. Nothing more, nothing less.

But you need all of him. You want it all.

“Slut.” Jungwoo sucks at his bottom lip, pinching your clit between two of his digits. “Only eighteen?”

“Mhm..”

A sadistic smile grows on his face, sliding two digits lower between your folds. “And a virgin, fuck. I can’t remember the last time I fucked a virgin.”

and he still won’t remember after this, judging by the time.. your step-dad will be here soon. At least you hope he will be…

Tips of rough calloused fingers tap against your tight hole, sucking in a deep breath as he adds a little pressure. “Fuck.. you’re so small.”

Licking down your cheek, he nibbles his way to your jawline. Teeth dragging and layering kisses down to your chin. “Messy as fuck, virgin cunt soiling through my car I bet. Wanna eat you out, bet you taste so good.”

Blood rushes to your ears, firmly shutting your eyes and slumping deeper into his passenger seat. “Anyone ever ate out your tight pussy before, angel?”

Jungwoo’s tongue flicks out, lapping up your chin to your mouth. Swallowing the moaned muffled ‘no’ you let out.

“I get to do the honors.” He trails off, prodding at your sensitive hole before sliding his hand free. “Come here.” Grabbing onto your hips, he manhandles you into a better position. Back leaned against the passenger door, cupping under your thigh with a large hand to pull you apart. “Open your pretty cunt for me just like this.” He huffs breathily, gently placing the back of your calf onto the seat. Obscenely sprawled out with your other leg on the car’s floor still.

Not bothering to pull off your panties, he shoves them to one side. Quietly whistling between his pink lips, he drags a thumb down the center of your parted open folds. “Fuck, you’re really..” his head shakes, bending in closer to gawk at your cunt up close. The dim light entering the car makes your arousal appear more as a glossy coat on your thighs. Glistening under the bright lit moonlight. “So wet. Can probably make you squirt so easily.”

Squirt? You think you mutter, dragging the back of your head against the car window. 

A gruff sound leaves his lips, lowering his mouth to your pussy without another second to waste. His tongue pokes out, gently tracing between your wet folds. Teasing side to side until your hips squirm and he lets out a pleased rumble. “Fuck, you taste better than a dream.” He gasps, eyes rolling up to meet yours from the angle he’s at. 

Dropping his mouth back down, he keeps his gaze fixated on your. Sharp eyes lazily hooded, pressing firmer licks between your pussy folds. Rolling the muscle of his tongue up and over your swollen clit. He teases there until your toes curl, reaching your hands out toward him helplessly in search of something to grab onto. 

The thick width of his tongue drags down, laps at your entrance. Testing the stretch with the tip of his tongue pushing inside with a vibrating groan that has you reaching for his hair.

It’s too much after edging yourself for hours to the thought of your step-father today. After sneaking into his bedroom as he showered to lick at his gun, sucking at it before shoving the barrel inside of your hole while Johnny jerked himself off in the shower. 

“F-fuck, I’m—I’m cu—“

Gravel. Tires skidding. A harsh pull of a car brake. Bright lights and a loud clash from a door slamming. He’s here.

The knock at Jungwoo’s car window is incessant, rapid and angry. Ripping himself off of you, he loudly curses, smearing the back of his hand across his lips before yelling for your step-father to stop out of fear that he’ll shatter the glass. “God fucking damnit.”

Rolling it down manually with renowned speed and a frightful gaze, he locks eyes with Johnny’s thinned out furious ones. Sinking down and reaching inside of the car to grab his neck with one large hand. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing boy?!”

Jungwoo squeals, eyes bulging out of shock and fear. He slaps at Johnny’s wrist, trying to call for your help.

“Daddy! Let go of him!” You shriek, grabbing your dress to hold against yourself. Trembling at the sight of your step-father in this state. He’s never looked so angry, terrifying really..

“Get out of this car. Right now.” He says sternly, burning into you with a laser focused look in his eyes. “Now.”

His demanding tone has you racing to reach the passenger door, not even bothering to get your dress back on before running over to where he still stands hunched over with an unyielding chokehold on Jungwoo’s throat. “Daddy, please! Please stop! Let go of him!”

Wrapping your arms around his bicep, you try to pull. Failing to make him budge and losing your footing when he stands up abruptly. “You, right there.” He points to the hood of the car, reaching for his back pocket to retrieve a pair of handcuffs.

“I told you I’d be on your ass if you ever came near my daughter.” He sneers at Jungwoo, grabbing his arm by the car door. He drags the younger’s wrist to the seatbelt, latching the handcuff shut to trap him to his driver seat. “And you.”

Turning toward you, he points to the hood again. Grabbing your shoulders to spin you around and bend you over, chest pressed flat to the car hood.

“Daddy!” You squeak, breath caught in your throat.

“Don’t.” He growls, slotting his hips to your bottom to keep you in place. Using one large powerful hand to lock your wrists together against your lower back. The feeling of his big warm body sends your mind into a frenzy, pressing your cheek down on the car as a whimper slips free and you meet Jungwoo’s petrified gaze through the windshield. “What did I tell you about the Kim boy down the street?” Johnny asks, controlling the anger in his tone.

“T-to—stay—away from h-him,” you whine, slamming your eyes shut. “T-too old for me.”

“But you like them older, right?” Weight drops down on your back. Heavy and crushing, pressing his hot mouth to your ear. “You love to disobey me, why is that?”

“N-no daddy..”

“Don’t fucking lie to me.” He bites, teeth snapping down loudly. The dominant tone melting you down, struggling to breathe with his chest on your back, the full weight of his groin shoved against your ass. “What happened to being a good little girl?”

“I-I—I—“ speechless is what you are. Not processing one single clear thought under him. The cool car hood encasing night air keeps you sane enough to stop losing your mind to the heat taking over your body. This isn’t really happening, your step-father.. he’d never act this way. Unless you finally succeeded, you got your wish, you broke him down..

“Tell me the truth, you’ve been a bad girl.” His free hand snakes to your throat. Knocking the breath out of your chest as his palm lays flat and everything around you reminds you of how much fucking bigger he is than you. How much older, stronger, more powerful he is. It’s every horny dream that’s ever interrupted your sleep, but so real, so fucking real. “That’s what you want to be now? Daddy’s bad little girl.”

Oh fuck. This can’t be really happening.

“N-no, daddy’s good girl.” You cry, turning your head enough to look at him from the corner of your eye. “Your g-good girl.”

“It’s my fault. I gave you too much. Let you think you could do whatever the fuck you wanted without any repercussions.” The bridge of his nose presses to your cheekbone. Electric eyes filled with flames locked on yours. “Need to put you back in your place, don’t I sweetheart?”

Tears dribble from your eyes beyond your comprehension. Falling down a dark hole without escape, you nod slowly, whimpering through your choked sobs. “Daddy.”

“I know, baby.” Soft lips drag down your cheek, firmly pressing a kiss at the corner of your mouth. 

Everything about him feels so dizzying, knowing your head would roll off of your neck if he wasn’t choking your throat right now. His fingers trail up to your chin, turning your face to look at Jungwoo’s large eyes reflected in the windshield. “You’re better than this.”

“I’m not, I’m bad. I need to be fixed.. corrected.” You manage to whine, innocently blinking over your shoulder without a care in the world for the man you manipulated into this situation. They’ve all been pawns in your game, your step-father included. All to get what your heart and body desires. “Punish me daddy!”

Johnny’s soft eyes darken in an instant, coated by a shadowed film covering his iris. His nostrils flare, laying all of his large size on top of you. “Why are you asking this of me?”

“B-because, I love you.” You sob, bouncing your lower half against him. “I love you daddy, so much!”

The last bit of fight he had left exits his lips with his next breath. Slowly dropping his eyes shut as he stays still and lets the sensation of your ass grinding back on his cock wash over him. He tried to deny, tried to ignore, berated himself for allowing such indecent thoughts about his step-daughter to enter his mind.

Ever since your behavior became more concerning, he had to set up hidden cameras around the house. He was worried, that’s all. Worried of what harm you could cause yourself when left alone with your sadness and thoughts. He wanted to tell you, he did, but it was only for your own good. And for the most part he felt at ease while he patrolled and left you alone at home. You mostly slept, laid around, occasionally made yourself food. He saw when you’d sneak around.. steal his clothing, but that never bothered him.

Today though, what he saw today, only an hour ago as he fast forwarded through the footage documented today. He saw you on his bed, the one he shared with your mother once. Tracing your fingers along his work uniform, picking up his gun to pose with in the mirror. All normal, until it wasn’t.

“What did you do with my gun?” He asks slowly, shoving your hair away to one side. “Tell me.”

Color drains from your face, wide eyes peering up at him. “I—I—“

“Why did you do it?” He continues to question, having to swallow to calm his dry throat. “What’s gotten into you sweetie? What do I need to do to fix this? To fix you?”

What has gotten into you? Depression, malignant fantasies, emptiness. Really, that's it, emptiness. Every part of you feels so empty, so hollow, unalive. The only time a shred of life shows itself is when you see Johnny, when you’re with him, when he smiles at you, when he touches you, when he wraps you up in his large arms. “Because I love you.”

One solo tear trails down his cheek, slowly nodding as he pulls you up and wraps around your waist from behind. Soft full lips press to your cheek, the lips you crave and lose your mind over. Safety, that’s what he is. Your step-father, he’s the refuge you pray for, the comfort you can’t find anywhere no matter how hard you search. “If you love me, you’ll stop doing this.” His voice cracks, shaking as he finds your watery eyes.

“And if you love me,” your lip trembles, teeth chattering. “You’ll love me.”

If there is a God, he’ll never forgive him.

Strong working hands, dangerous hands that have handled firearms for years, that have locked up wrong doers, that have nurtured and fought hard for you; strong hands squeeze your waist. Slowly turning you around to face him. “I want to take you home.”

“No daddy, I want you, here.”

Here at Agora Hills, the exact place you have been luring him to night after night. “Here?” He questions almost pathetically, rubbing down your bare stomach to the frilly material of your panties. His eyes slide over to Jungwoo’s near haunted face, jaw hung open so wide he can see all the way to the back of his throat where his tonsils hang. Surely he’ll tell everyone in the neighborhood about what he’s witnessed here tonight. May as well make it a good story. 

“Here.” Johnny repeats more assured, nodding to the hood of your neighbor’s ridiculous car. “Lift your legs up sweetie.”

The backseat of his patrol vehicle had definitely been the layout for your fantasy, skittish as you allow him to mount you onto Jungwoo’s car and the hood gives under your weight. Denting your knees in place, echoing a pitiful cry from inside of the car. Johnny’s hold around your stomach tightens, resting your back to his chest so that your legs can bend open in front of the windshield. “You let this idiot touch you baby?” 

“Y-yes..” you admit, flushing from head to toe as you meet your neighbor’s miserable expression. He really really had pissed off your daddy..

“You let him touch you here?” Longer fingers drag across the top of your lace panties. Biting down on his lip with his chin perched over your shoulder. He slaps your trembling inner thighs, reaching lower to drag a thumb down the seam of your panties stretched against labia folds. “Let anyone touch you, don’t you?”

“N-no daddy..”

“Don’t lie to me.” Johnny’s usual soft spoken voice is long gone. Falling into a deeper and raspier speech as he skirts around your panties. Tapping the tip of his nose against your cheek. “No more, you let anyone touch you again and daddy will make you regret it.”

Fuck. Shivers explode down your spine, frantically nodding as he suddenly rips your soaked underwear to one side. Exposing your blood engorged cunt to the cool night air, pornographically spread open on the hood of some classic automobile. “N-never!”

“That’s right.” He hisses, eyebrows furrowed, leaning into your back more until you fold in and can’t lift your neck. Forced into a nearly pretzeled position with no choice but to watch as his large hand lowers past your navel and he splits open your pussy folds. “Shaved yourself all pretty, I know that’s not for him.”

Erupting with a fresh batch of tears, you struggle to shake your head. Rambling a spatter of ‘nonono’ because nothing has ever been for anyone else. Only for your step-father, only for him.

It’s beyond painful how desperate you sound, losing your sight through wads of tears that won’t stop filling up your eyes. “What should I do baby? Your panties are so wet.” He tsks, tugging the worn down material bunched up in his fist even harder. Ripping a sound of lace shredding through the night air. “Want me to touch your little pussy? To use your cunt in front of your random boy toy?”

“Daddy, p-please!” He’s driving you crazy. Slamming your socked feet against the car hood, you let out the most feral of moans. Jerking your hips up with a shout

“Want me to touch you here?” Johnny murmurs, sounding on the brink of insanity himself. Tiptoeing two fingers down your cunt to your opening, spewing slick out onto his digits. “To shove them deep inside of you?”

A moment of cold silence rinses down on you, craning your neck back against his chest to look at him. Nuzzling and nodding against his throat, you whimper feebly, placing a scolding kiss on his Adam’s apple. “Please daddy, p-please fuck me.”

Shit, that’s not what Johnny expected to ever hear. The beating of his heart goes wild, throbbing its way up to his brain, filling his ears full of static noise. He’s panting heavily, winding down to your entrance in search of what can only be wonderland. Fully hunched over you, he watches with intent as the pads of his digits push against the tightness of your hole. Hissing between his teeth at the resistance he’s met with. 

There’s no way you’re still this tight if you really let the neighbor boy fuck you. How tiny can his dick be? Johnny grimaces, pushing in past the snap of skin that sucks around his fingers. Propelling spikes of adrenaline and hunger through him that scream to go harder, faster, deeper. The bend in your knees goes limp, kicking out against the car windshield, garnering another shattered cry from inside of the vehicle. 

Entranced by how you squeeze around two of his digits, your step-father stabs them deeper inside. Thrusting them in harder only to hear your cunts wet echoes splatter around his hand onto the hood of Jungwoo’s car.

“Daddy!” Exhaling something between a moan and a cry, you pant heavily under his upper body. Convulsing and shaking into him, forced to take the two long fingers jabbing in and out of you at a rapid speed. He flicks at your swollen clit, in disbelief at the way your pussy hasn’t stopped spasming since he started fucking past your holes squeeze. 

“You're so close, princess.” He huffs raggedly. Snapping his fingers in and out at a blinding pace. Pumping more wetness to stream out onto the hood of the car. The teasing flicks at your clit turn furious. Pinching your stuff bud between his thumb and pointer finger, tweak your raging nerves into a frenzy. Shots of electricity burn through your limbs, curling your toes in with a scream out to the night sky. 

It’s hot and blinding, punching your chest with cold all at once. The force of your orgasm pushes against his fingers, halting Johnny’s motions as a powerful rush of clear liquid rips out around his digits and your pussy walls grip around him. The thought of his cock filling you up next has him pulling out. Slapping his hand down to rub at your clit furiously, concentrated and focused as he watches in awe. The squirting stream shoots out harder, raining down on the car’s windshield.

“Holy shit.” Jungwoo cries out from inside, struggling to breathe.

“Knew you could do it.” Your step-father praises, kissing the side of your sweaty forehead. “My good girl.”

Johnny does the unthinkable, swiping your drenched cunt before lifting his hand up, gaze on yours with his tongue lapping at his fingers. “Tastes so good.”

Just like heaven.

“D-daddy?” You sniffle, pouting your lips out toward him with the largest saddest eyes he’s ever seen. Bloodshot, cheeks stained with tears the same exact way they were when your mother died.

A kiss, a kiss is what you beg for. A kiss from your daddy.

And Johnny, how could he ever deny you? How can he stop himself from scooping you up, wrapping your trembling thighs around his waist. Cupping your ass as he leans in and gives you one of the softest lightest kisses, leaving one on the tip of your cold nose after. He presses for more, a firmer kiss, longer contact. Rubbing your ass between his greedy hands, asking for entrance to your sinful mouth with his tongue. 

Denying you has never been an option. 

“D-daddy,” you cry between hot kisses. Overwhelmed by his dominant mouth, how easily he takes control. The suck around your tongue and lips ready to burst from how swollen they are. “Please, please fuck me. Want you to be my first, please.”

“First?” Stepping back, he looks over your naive expression. Your flushed cheeks, your beating chest, your hands trembling against your thighs. “First.”

You’re a virgin, an eighteen year old virgin. His step-daughter, pure, untouched, barely legal. Begging him to be your first.

If anyone should be your first, it’s him. He practically raised you, has the best interest in mind for you. He loves you.

“Show me.” Licking at his lips, he swallows hard. Throat clamoring for some saliva. “Show me your virgin pussy.”

And you do, you listen so well. Almost too perfectly as you place your feet flat to the car and grab your knees to hold them open. Your pretty lace panties ruined, blood-filled cunt pulsating at him. It’s a sight he hasn’t seen in years, virgin pussy. Hairless in all the right places, hole barely visible because of how fucking tight you are.

It’s wrong, he’s so big it’s going to hurt you so much. “Daddy.” But the way you whine for him. How you proudly sit there pumping your cunt at him. You need to be punished.

He wants to take you home, fuck you right on the same bed he took your mother on for years. Bend you into every position, make you scream all night until the neighbors make a fuss and turn their lights on at 3am. Nosey and curious, whispering about a murder taking place.

Wrapping you back up in his arms, he spares Jungwoo’s sobbing face one last look. Nodding with a smirk before turning around to his vehicle. At least he’d taken the SUV for patrol tonight, unbeknownst to himself of what would soon unravel. 

“You deserve the world baby.” He whispers, unlatching the back door open to climb inside with you. It’s spacious enough, thankfully, because despite how badly he needs to get you home, he needs to know how you feel even more. Fighting with each step to his cop car with his swollen sack, he’s proud of himself for not turning you over and taking you on that asshole’s car. “And daddy’s going to give it to you.”

Writhing against his back seat, you lay flat and unhook your bra, throwing it to the ground. “You’re so so pure.” He almost growls, unbuckling the large metal buckle of his belt. Blazed eyes dragging down your body, your pinched waist, round hips, panties barely holding on for life. “So beautiful and good to me.” He nods, shaking his shoulders free from his holster. Working to unbutton his long sleeved uniform shirt. “So good for me, my angel.”

Johnny means every word. You’ve never done wrong in his eyes, always his sweet little girl. Even now you’re giving him everything, all of you. An angel sent to take care of him through his misery. 

Getting down to his constricting work slacks, he situates himself between your thighs. Having to hunched in due to the shirt ceiling height. The touch of your flesh beneath his fingertips heats up like a furnace. “Your pussy, your virgin cunt..”

Eyes drunk on nothing but need, lust, desire, love stare up at him. Continuously rolling tears down your glowing cheeks. You don’t even know what you’re begging for, never having had sex.. you just want him.

“Who’s pussy is this?” He asks brazenly, surprising himself. Caressing the insides of your knees and he peers down at your cunt that seems to have a heartbeat of its own. “Who’s is it, baby girl?”

“Your!” You cough, falling into a mewl. Moaning lewdly as he nods above you, broad and large. Slinking his hands to his zipper to slowly glide down. 

“Yeah,” Johnny sucks in a deep breath, nodding slowly. Shoving his pants and briefs down past the middle of his thighs. “After I fuck this pussy, no one elses but mine.”

“Daddy’s pussy.” You moan, legs spread out for him. Grabbing your panties to tug at roughly. “Only yours.”

A glob of wet arousal pulses from your hole as you say it, and it’s enough to drop his body forward. To circle the base of his cock with one of his sweaty hands, eyes on yours. The way your cunt drips, he can only hope you’ll feel nothing but pleasure. Slapping the thick girth of his meat against your wet pussy, he hisses. Having to hold himself up with one arm bracketed by your head so that he can look down at his length covering your center. “This might hurt, baby.”

“P-please.” Make it hurt. That’s all that Johnny can hear. Your pleads for punishment, for pain, for something to heal and fill up your empty soul.

The head of his cock feels the true warmth of your cunt, your tight suffocating grip, wrapping around him like a perfect cock sleeve. 

And it’s right, it’s so right. Rolling his eyes shut, groaning as he feeds you more of his size despite your cries. The scrabbling small hands scratching his chest, your clinking teeth and sniffles. He fits the entirety of his cock inside of your pussy. Mesmerized by how fucking wet you are, wettest cunt he’s ever fucked. 

Sinking into the hilt, he meets obstruction. Mouth hung open panting heavily on top of you. He can’t take his eyes off of it, how his cock disappears inside of you, how connected you both are right now. Creeping an angry groan out of him, curling up his spine as his balls smack against your rim.

“My angel, my baby.” He pants harshly. Using his flexed abdomen muscles to hold himself up and slide both of his hands beneath your neck. “Look at us, baby.”

Johnny’s strong hands hold your head up off of the backseat, folding you in as they wrap around your neck and squeeze. The crushing weight on your throat chokes your breath, wide eyed as you look down at what he wants you to see. Fucking into you with brutal determination when he finds your gaze where he wants it to be. His glossy wet cock, pummeling in and out of you as if you’re a pro at this. 

Your cunts just too good, sucking around him like nothing ever has. He draws in and out, plunging in madly. Pulling out to the tip only to slam back in and make you take, shape you to take his cock.

Creamy wetness splurges out around his size with each stroke. Spilling out beneath your ass, filling the vehicle with a splattering sound of your arousal. The smack of his balls on your ass, hips hitting the backs of your thighs. Coughed and gurgled moans, scratching at his forearms the more he tightens around your neck. “Daddy!”

Fuckfuckfuck, you’re driving him insane. Bonkers, off the walls, throwing his head back releasing the loudest pleasured moans. Each one making your pussy squeeze and grip around him tighter. He moans louder and louder, reminding you with each that you’re the best, so good and amazing for him. 

“Da-daddy—is—is—“ you splutter, jerked up and down under the force of his hips jackhammering into you. 

Johnny’s wild eyes meet yours, loosening on your throat to let you breathe easily. His pace never falters, pushing his cock through your kissing cunt. Through your delicious maddening heat, through the milking grip trying to make him cum. “Baby wants it even deeper, huh?”

“I-is—“ you mumble incoherently, squeezing your eyes to blink away tears. Fluttering open to find his. “M-my pussy—better t-than mommy’s?”

FUCK. 

Why would you say that?! Why would you ask him that?! Johnny can’t stop his hips from stuttering, slamming in and stilling. Filling your cunt with a hot load of cum, sticky and wet. Too much for your tiny little hole to handle. He’s never lost himself like this, never emptied his balls so fast. Never came too quickly.

“What’re you doing to me.” He whimpers, falling flat and heavy against your chest. Ragged breaths punch out of his lungs, practically vibrating on top of you. His cock twitching inside of your squeezing hole, not softening up for anything.

“Say that again.” He sighs, reaching to cup your face. Nose shoved against yours. “Say that again for me baby.”

The sad desperate tone he asks you in has your pussy squeezing around the wet gush of sperm and slick filling you up along with his fat cock. Losing your strength to hold your eyes open, you slowly fade. Heavy lidded and croaking. “I-is my pussy b-better than mommy’s?”

Johnny’s bulging biceps cage your head. Pressing a searing hot kiss on your saliva drenched lips. “So much better, my fucking angel. My fucking sweet angel with he best pussy, can’t get enough of you. Will never be enough, need all of you.”

Licking at the drool covering your chin and neck, he begins to grind his hips in circles. Stretching your cock to take him again and again. For as long as he can keep it up for you, he’ll keep fucking you. Fuck all the pain away with more punishment. 

“Daddy’s gonna mold your tight little pussy.” He grunts, sitting up to haul your legs up. Laying your limp limbs against your chest with no struggle. “So flexible.” 

Of course you are, a young eighteen year old girl, good for nothing but taking cock. “Want you only taking my cock from now on, no one else’s.”

“Y-yes daddy.” You whisper, throat burning from screaming and moaning. Face scrunched up trying to hold back your urge to cum again, too swollen between your thighs to squeeze any harder. “Only yours.”

“Such a good pussy. So fucking soft and wet.” Johnny thrusts in slowly a few times. Catching his breath before slamming down, circling his thick arms around your shoulders to completely fold you in. Suffocated by his masculine body wash scent filling your senses, his deep grunts, the deep set lines taking over his forehead with every exerted movement. 

Furious thrusts only build and build to a violent speed, aided by the endless stream of slick lubricating his cock. He can’t stop fucking you, can’t make himself stop.

“Daddy, daddy!” It’s all you can say, repeat and scream. Too lost in your pleasure, the numbness coursing through you, your blacked out mind that needed this. Needed to feel whole to feel empty again, to relax your brain and scorch endless amounts of endorphins through your system. 

“Come on princess, let me feel how good that pussy cums.” He growls, chasing your orgasm for you. Grunting and fucking through your pulsing heat, hot slick pussy walls gripping him so tight. 

“A-ahh!” The drag of his length pauses, fluttering his eyes open. Letting out a cracked howl as you cum. Tossing his head back to fully take in how clench around him akin to a chokehold. Wailing and whimpering beneath him as streams of hot clear liquid shoot onto his pelvis. Too limp and out of it to break free from his position even through your writhing. Your step-father suffers through it, the best suffering he’s ever experienced. Biting down on his lip with a deep breath as he curses and fucks through the last seconds of your climax. 

He tries to stave off his release, tries to stop himself from finishing too fast again, but you’re just too good. Never letting his dick breathe with the way you milk his cock.

“Fuck shit, f—fuck. G-gonna cum.” He says between clenched teeth. Groaning from the back of his throat, digging his fingers into your thighs hard enough to bruise. “Take all of my cum baby, it’s all for you.”

All of it for you, from now on he won’t go a day without spilling himself empty inside of your pussy. Fucking his seed deep inside, painting your cervix without any concern of you getting pregnant. You belong to him now.

“Fuck that’s it.” He grits, groaning loudly with shaking thighs barely holding him up. Cock sheathed deep inside of you painting your cervix in strings of white hot cum. “Take all of it, my good girl.”

His good girl, you hum quietly. Using your last bit of energy to clamp your cunt around him and snatch every last bit of cum for your greedy hole. 

The night feels endless in the backseat of his patrol car atop of Agora Hills. Just the two of you, lost in each other’s bodies, fucking your pain and anger away. 

“Let’s get you home.” He finally finds the willpower to say after filling you up two more times. Finding a blanket in the trunk to wrap around you. “It’s too late, way past your curfew.”

The comment brings a lazy smile to both of your faces. Curling into his side for comfort.

“Daddy?”

“Yes, princess.” He sighs, rubbing at his forehead to ease whatever anxious thoughts attempt to enter now that the haze of lust and sex has cooled down.

“I love you.” 

Johnny frowns, turning to cuddle against your side. His forehead presses against your shoulder, placing a light kiss on your collarbone. “Daddy loves you more.”

—————————————-

[punkpandapatrixk]

👑Your Destined Person’s Anima vs Persona ♦︎ Timeless Pick A Card

According to Carl Jung, the anima is a man’s feminine (Yin) aspect, and thus unconscious in him. Correspondingly, the animus is a woman’s masculine (Yang) aspect, and thus unconscious in her. The anima is the Masculine’s hidden psychology, essentially.

In the grand scheme of the Cosmos, the Yin is the dark, the magnetic, the VOID—the empty space where all creations are first dreamt. In this dark space, it is up to the Masculine individual whether or not he wants to succumb to the allure of Lilith the Destroyer. In Jungian psychology, apparently, they have this thing called The Devouring Mother LMAO

All things considered, in the name of character development, it is up to the man—if he ever so chooses, which, one must first always make a choice for things to go a certain way—to make the unconscious conscious.

When the Yin and the Yang in a person are united and fully realised, that person becomes what we call Divine~ Man or woman, this person then becomes a more complete Human being. He or she then becomes the master of his/her own Destiny~⛵️

GNOSIS: A Man's Anima Reveals Itself In Sexual Fantasies as explained by Marie-Louise von Franz (entertain the comments section, peeps~)

SONG: Say You Love Me by EXO KAI

MOTHA: Kim Kardashian plays a SAVAGE version of herself in AHS Delicate 😩 by Offensive Tea

deck-bottom: XVIII The Moon Rx, Red Geographer (Marco Polo) & Priestess of Illumination

[PAC Masterlist] [Part 1] [Part 3]

[Patreon] [Paid Readings] [buymeaboba]

☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

Pile 1 – Evil Fuck vs King

‘Until you make the unconscious conscious, it will direct your life and you will call it fate.’ – Carl Jung

VIBE: Reason by EXO KAI

anima – XV The Devil

Look, babe, we keep it real in this household, OK? XD We don’t know if your Destined Person has Mars/Pluto in the 8th or 12th House—or possibly—Neptune itself in the 5th or 8th House, but essentially, your DP is a person who’s deeply fascinated by SEX and all the taboos surrounding it. They could struggle with having a lot of improper thoughts, quite often, at inappropriate times and places, deep inside.

Your Destined Person most likely watches a lot of porn or indulges themselves in those types of activities/media, and on top of that, prooobably has some mummy issues. At the very least, they could have a strange/unhealthy relationship with their mother figure or have a difficult time accepting/integrating the Yin aenergy inside of them.

Overall, this strange combo of Scorpion/Neptunian qualities in them lends to your Destined Person’s macabre fascination with all things ‘dark and sexual’. Be that as it may, this doesn’t automatically mean that your Destined Person is simply a depraved piece of fuck. Don’t be surprised to know that things changed drastically for them by the time they graduated their 1st (or 2nd if they’re slow LOL) Saturn Return~

persona – 9 of Cups

There is something about the way sexuality is expressed in this Human world that feels strangely fascinatingly depraved, which is genuinely incredibly foreign to your Destined Person’s Soul XD If they’ve felt inexplicably drawn to it, it’s because they want to UNDERSTAND fully what makes ‘sex’ in the Human world so…icky and disrespectful. 9 of Cups here is literally indicating that your Destined Person’s Soul is incredibly pure and altruistic.

And that is exactly why they are endlessly perplexed by the darkness—the sickness is more like it—surrounding SEX in this wicked world which they realised is almost completely deprived of Love. The sheer lack of a soulful cosmic connection in most sexual activities in this world puzzles the living shit out of your Destined Person!

It may take some maturing from your Destined Person until they finally understand that this dark fascination is actually quite common for people with their kind of natal configuration or let’s say, psychology. Their Saturn Return phases will play (or have played) a critical role in their awakening to a Higher Truth that eventually liberates them from the chains of a strange addiction to… yeah…

Divine Human – Queen of Pentacles Rx

At some point in Life—most likely after their, at least, first Saturn Return—your Destined Person understood why some things simply don’t add up for them when it comes to how Humans connect with each other to enjoy these…worldly pleasures; which then led to a great spiritual liberation from all the deceits they’d been told about sex and sexuality in this…mortal world.

Your Destined Person is somebody who’s quite inexplicably cosmic, you know. Either they feel to you like an alien or a fairy. They simply can’t fit into the expectations of ‘normalcy’ in most of Human societies. The depraved things people so take for granted, none of that feels ‘normal’ to your Destined Person. This is someone who’s actually incredibly decent and polite.

Your Destined Person is not the type that wants to hurt you in intimate situations. They probably don’t even prioritise the sensual sensations more than how they connect with you on an emotional level. This is a person who wants to ‘fill you up’ spiritually through a divine sexual activity, which, now that you know, explains why they’ve had to learn to unlearn the lies of sex and sexuality in their younger years ^^v

WHAT IS LOVE🔻💜

honey? – Priestess of Solitude

poison? – Priestess of Faith

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☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

Pile 2 – Many Dreams vs Unworthiness

‘One does not become enlightened by imagining figures of light, but by making the darkness conscious.’ – Carl Jung

VIBE: Amnesia by EXO KAI

anima – Knight of Pentacles

There is a chance that your Destined Person has some significant Virgo-Pisces bullshit going on in their birth chart. This is the axis of sacrifice and self-undoing of the zodiac wheel and this in itself could cause a person to ‘self-sabotage’ out of a fear of becoming happier than everybody else. It sounds crazy, right? But people with a harshly afflicted Virgo-Pisces connection tend to be somewhat of a martyr.

In practice, where your Destined Person is concerned, this affliction plays itself out in the form of endless rumination, as well as a sense of not being worthy of what they’re actively daydreaming about. This is almost giving me that main character from the movie Parasite. This guy dreams and plans a lot, but fucks everything up in the end because he’s simply not…capable enough?

OK, that’s a bad example but this aenergy is almost similar to how the guy is portrayed by the very end of the film XD This afflicted Piscean aenergy especially, is making your Destined Person, most likely subconsciously, afraid of letting themselves happy. So then, as a means to reaffirm this ‘belief’ their brains ‘course-correct’ by fucking up whatever nice bit of Reality they’ve manifested…

persona – 5 of Swords Rx

After experiencing the same kind of bullshit for some time, could be a number of years for some, too, your Destined Person could’ve become dejected. This is a very normal human response, right? They could’ve developed some kind of inertia within themselves. Always frozen mid-air when thinking of actually jumping into the next breakthrough or any other sense of adventure. They tend to not take action towards liberating themselves from either boredom or a dead-end of a situation.

A lot of people who interact with them regularly probably only know them as a mild-mannered person who’s quite pleasant to talk to. But deep inside, your Destined Person is raging chaos, waiting to murder someone. They’re sometimes possessed by this strong feeling of wanting to destroy something massive or ruin another person’s Life completely. All because they’re superbly frustrated by the lack of action or excitement in their own everyday Life…

At minimum, this is a person who could struggle quite a bit with regulating envy or jealousy upon seeing another person’s success, freedom and happiness, but most of all, another person’s sense of advancement in Life. This isn’t to say that your Destined Person is simply an evil fuck of a devil incarnate; actually, quite far from it! It’s just that this person has dealt with, really, quite a bit of systemic letdowns from the Universe itself…

Divine Human – Page of Pentacles Rx

Life rarely feels fair when someone’s Virgo-Pisces axis has harsh afflictions. Then again, this is quite literally your Destined Person’s ultimate test of strength and of character. That’s precisely why their Soul chose to be born with such afflictions in the first place. To see how their Human Avatar would navigate this type of crazy in their psyche~★ I promise you that you aren’t destined to marry an actual psychopath LMAO But, let’s see…

In the beginning, your Destined Person could’ve struggled with looking into the depths of their own disturbed psychology. This could be a fear from within themselves and so they refused to do so, but especially if your Destined Person is an XY, this could also be their environment/society’s wrong reinforcement when they say, ‘Boys will be boys, riiight?’ as a means to excuse your Destined Person’s refusal to learn and grow from their failures and mistakes *smh*

Whether XY or XX, your Destined Person’s mother could’ve been a pick-me or straight up a narc; and due to this lack of proper guidance, structure and discipline in your Destined Person’s childhood, they could’ve grown up to embody somewhat of a dark triad personality. In actuality, your Destined Person wasn’t allowed the chance to grow up emotionally or psychologically—honestly, whoever their mother figure was, she failed them.

WHAT IS LOVE🔻❤️

honey? – Priestess of Abundance

poison? – Priestess of Love

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☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

Pile 3 – Lazy Escapism vs Mahoroba

‘People will do anything, no matter how absurd, in order to avoid facing their own souls.’ – Carl Jung

VIBE: Blue by EXO KAI

anima – 7 of Wands Rx

Your Destined Person is out with lanterns looking for themselves~ Doesn’t this picture make you think that? ^^ Your Destined Person is a walking paradox to say the least; they are the type that may not always be honest with even themselves. I sense it is because they feel this burden from all around them to be the highest-achiever or the best-mannered or whatever else. Other people have put such high expectations on them that they originally thought they too had to think precisely that way.

In the beginning, your Destined Person might not have known who they were at the core of their Soul. They had only known themselves through the lens of other people’s perception and expectations. Though they might have thought this normal when they were small, at some point in Life—possibly when Saturn made its last aspect at around age 21—your Destined Person was nudged by the Cosmos to go on a Soul-search.

During this time—and all through their first Saturn Return—your Destined Person realised for real for the first time that they are quite a rebellious spirit, and when met with the wrong situations, can honestly be quite vengeful XD At this point, they may have developed some bitter feelings about how they had allowed others to murky their own perception of themselves! This Soul-search could’ve been quite world-shattering for your Destined Person…

persona – 3 of Swords

Most people don’t seem to notice this but a self-denial kind of issue is actually really quite painful on an emotional and psychological level. Like this feeling of not knowing themselves, not embracing their inner child, not allowing themselves more freedom, all of this, upon being realised, broke your Destined Person’s heart so horribly. It was such a deep psychological issue that they may not have found any person to confide in.

Some of their friends, even closest friends, might’ve perceived that your Destined Person was distant from them. They sometimes felt standoffish or simply…well, distant. Not quite there with the rest of them or they could also have avoided hanging out too much with even those closest to them. They became somewhat of a loner. To process their feelings, your Destined Person often disappeared into the dreamscape.

In many ways, I think your Destined Person became quite deluded, if not delusional XD The dreamscape, their escapism, provided so much more comfort and excitement than real life. In the daydreams, they could be so much more real than what they’re allowed to be in the real world… So when you realise the reason, it’s really quite sad and poignant.

Divine Human – 6 of Pentacles

Your Destined Person is truly a Divine Human in that they do truly have such a generous, charitable heart. If this is your main pile, a common ground here is that your Destined Person is so much more kind and gentle than appearances may give—even if they’re already perceived as kind and gentle~ It’s almost unbelievable that someone as pure as this still exists in today’s world, especially if your Destined Person is an XY LMAO

This person, all they wanna do in Life is to be good and to love people and share good times and promote good deeds. Alas, that was very childish of them tsk tsk tsk… It took them a real smacking on the head to realise they’ve been victim to so much gaslighting practically their entire Life. Because in this wicked world, ‘goodness’ is weaponised by bad people to victimise actually good people.

A total mindfuck, yeah, took them a while. As they grow older, your Destined Person learns to balance between what is ‘fake short-term good’ and what’s ‘divinely good in the grand scheme of the Cosmos’. All in all, whether or not they have the technical knowledge, your Destined Person is actually a WITCH. Some of the most powerful witches out there—an alchemist of the highest order😉

WHAT IS LOVE🔻💚

honey? – Priestess of Inspiration

poison? – Priestess of Energy

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☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

[PAC Masterlist] [Part 1] [Part 3]

[Patreon] [Paid Readings] [buymeaboba]

[sirenmoontarot]

How do you need to nurture yourself? ☁️🕊️

𝑀𝓎 𝓈𝒽𝑜𝓅 ~ 𝒫𝓈𝓎𝒸𝒽𝒾𝒸 𝑅𝑒𝒶𝒹𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈 ~ 𝐻𝑒𝒶𝓁𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈

~~~~~ 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 ~~~~~

Welcome to the cottage! I am Alla <3 Sit with me in the garden and let’s have some mystic tea as we see what the Oracle has to tell you. Take what resonates and leave the rest!

Pile 1

Okay guys so for this first group i feel that what you actually need to do is to shine on and embrace yourself as how you are and instead of giving into the chaos of uncertainties and your emotions, allowing yourself to gently flow through those emotions in order for you to be fully yourself. We have the moon theme twice, you would benefit from connecting with it, and using the full moon to manifest. I strongly feel you need to expand your energies, you are constrainign yourself a lot of the time, you dont know how to navigate in your own emotions, this pile is encouraged to believe in your power to create, vision, manifest, create the lifeyou want. The power of the yet-not-created is yours. However in your journey this is continuousl affected by pains and shadows of the past, making you sttray away from you power and purpose. I sense many people of this pile have number 11 prominent in their numerology or birthday. Indicating you are called to lead in this lifetime and you also have a strong purpose here that could be related to spirituality, but it often is hard to manage or not fall in the negativity that makes you sabotage everything. The moon reminds you you are in constant fluctuation and you should embrace the ‘’becoming’’ and the feminine principles of flowing, and embracing your emotions. Times of rest and restoration are needed for you to recharge and connect deeper. A new depth of your spiritual practice is calling you. You should aim for ease and stillness, this will help your mind and life overall. The archeptype you have to heal within yourself is ‘’the judge’’ are you using this to be critical ofyourselg, punishimg, unforgiving, building walls around you? This is a powerful energy and it is a gift of discernment, to do the right actions, power, advocacy and compassion but you have to be careful if you are channeling it wrong towards yourself and therefore others…

Pile 2

First of all I am hearing guys you should believe more that you are on ther right paht, because you are. Start walking more confidently in your life, be in presence, strongly with the conviction that you are where you need to be. You need to work on your shame feelings, everything that doesnt let you live as you would wish. You need to meditate more to calm down those thoughts and dissolve those traumas. To find an inner temple inside. Stop hesitating so much, it all comes from childhood wounds. Many people of this group will resonate with the childhood wound of humiliation. You need to feel mothered, some of you in this group need this very strongly, due to mother wound. Connecting to the earth can help you on this, and after that, you will also learn to mother yourself. You also struggle to fully connect to yourself and find yourself a reliable, sacred space. This is normal it also comes with growth, but you are led to do this now, find or create a sacred space within yourself. The feelings of safety are necessary to you as well. sometimes trauma gets embedded in our system, but we are not always in danger. Practicing the mantra ‘’ i am in peace ‘’ can help you a lot. You need to find security in yourself! Also remember to give yourself the space to evolve, change, with ease, grace, and nurturing. Let yourself shed as many skins as you need. Life might have been extra tough for you lately, as if Saturn was lashing you, lol but you are called to breathe and find activities, places that allow you to breathe, expand, release the tention, stress and burden, and this way see the colours of life again. I am seeing lots of green so again, for this group connecting to nature specially trees and rivers will be very nourishing for you.

Pile 3

Okay you guys for this group the energies are very clear, i am getting PRAYING, connecting with the divine; you should hand over your worries, problems and burdens to the Divine. Put your hands on to work, on what you can control and let God do the rest. Hand it over, The thing is, the Divinity wants you to, not put your energies, focus, power in the wrong things. Some things have to end from your life, for actually better things that would be surprising to you will come. Don’t attach yourslef, mainly is out of fear or unawareness of the wonders of the universe. Do not force, let thing run its course, and count on the Divine to help you out, ask God and your angels for an easy path, for the solution, for them to guide you in ease and out of stress. The Divine wants you to start living your soul’s path, and not to focus elsewhere, things that may seem shiny are actually a void, there are other paths that are more aligned to our soul’s nature, abilities and evolution. You are called to go to a temple, you could also create one, or make your house/room a little temple. You are also called to nurture your human vessel, both physical and spiritually and actually embrace this term of Vessel to know more about what it means and might represents for you.

~~~~~ 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 ~~~~~

Thank you for reading! Remember, take what resonates, leave the rest. Lots of blessings ☁️🪽🌙🕊️

~~~~~ 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 ~~~~~

[azulock]

I spend a feel days without writing an I feel rusty already, let's see if I can fix this in time for writing the one Halloween fic

the moment he notices he caught feelings

Oliver Aiku.

It's when his other conquests become bland. every date he goes to feels a little boring, every new person a little uninteresting. sure, the sex might be good, great even, but it still feels lackluster, and he catches himself wanting to leave faster than even his usual. suddenly, this hunting game he had liked to play for so long just doesn't appeal quite as much as before. and sure, as much as he likes to pretend he isn't aware, pretend he doesn't know what changed, he knows, especially when his eyes linger too long on your number on his phone screen.

Reo Mikage.

It's when he starts to memorize the things you like. he doesn't even notice he did that until it starts seeping into his everyday life. he passes by a shop and sees clothes he thinks fit your style and finds himself staring for a long minute. he sees a new restaurant that he thinks you'd like and memorizes where it is. he passes by a stall and sees a keychain of something you enjoy and he buys it on impulse. suddenly he is hyper aware of his surroundings, but only of the things that connect back to you.

Michael Kaiser.

It's when he wants to share any victory, any accomplishment he has with you, be it small or big. where before the small things were reserved for himself, now he wants to share them with you. and sure, his big victories he still wants the world to see, but he wants you specifically to be there, to notice them first. he will look for your face in the crowd after a goal, he will feel the impulse to call you after signing a big contract. before, he was the only person whose opinion really mattered, but now he wants your recognition too.

Ryusei Shidou.

It's when he finds himself wanting to share everything he likes with you. he will be engaging in some hobby and wonder if you'd like doing it too. he will go watch a movie and think of coming back to watch again but this time with you. he will be visiting someplace nice and think of why he didn't ask you to come along. it feels strange at first, he'd always been plenty comfortable with doing anything he wanted by himself, and he still is, but now he feels a force compelling him to pull you into his world.

[runariya]

🐉🤫🥰

Wolf hybrid JK has a human female mate, and he wakes up to learn that his still sleeping mate has started ovulating. It's making him feral (she smells delicious and he just wants to bury his nose between her legs) and he has some fun trying to arouse her into waking up so he can satisfy his urge to breed her even though he knows she's on the pill.

(fantasy+smut+fluff) part of the prompt game pairing: wolf hybrid!Jungkook x human!female reader genre: fantasy!AU, established relationship, hybrid!AU warnings: explicit sexual content, OC's ovulating, JK falls into a rut, JK whines, a little bit of tail wagging, desperate and feral JK (and OC), oral (m. and f. receiving), 69, unprotected seggs (didn't mention the pill but alas), breeding kink on both sides, kind of daddy kink, OC rides JK, doggy, multiple orgasms, size difference because duh, allusion to missionary, lmk if I forgot smth word count: 1.419

a/n: I hope the love confession suffices as fluff... lol

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Jungkook’s nose twitches, a mouth-watering scent lulling him out of his deep, restful slumber in the middle of the night.

It’s unusual to be met this early with this sweet, addictive indicator of your fertile phase of your cycle. Normally, your ovulation should start in two days, when he’s out of town, knowing that if he’s around you during these days, he’ll be forcefully thrown into his rut, which, mildly put, would be fatal for your human body in the long run.

But there’s nothing he can do now, his rut not only softly approaching but making an entrance with trumpets blaring. You’re still fast asleep, both Jungkook and you sleeping naked as usual, him needing this intimate connection during the night to feel truly safe and loved.

Jungkook can’t help but watch you now, cock rock hard and leaking endlessly while your lashes flutter in your sleep, soft pink lips parted, letting out small puffs of breath. You’re beautiful, even while asleep, but he can’t do much when his thoughts turn explicit, your ovulation triggering his primal instincts.

Every cell of his is impatient, tail angrily twitching as he battles with the dilemma of what to do. He might try to wake you up, see if you’d be in the mood, which he reckons you will be—your own arousal fills the air. He knows you’re horny during this time, knows that you’ve got plenty of toys to satisfy your needs when he has to be out of town. But now he’s here, and when his hormones crash over him, he’s gone and won’t turn back.

He needs you. Now.

So he silently sits up, letting the duvet fall from his naked body and carefully pulling it off yours too. You’re lying halfway on your stomach, one leg angled upwards, giving him a perfect view of your glistening cunt. You smell divine, and when your hips softly push into the mattress and you let out a barely audible moan in your sleep, he knows he needs to help you out.

Jungkook lets his nose stray from your neck down to your cunt, sniffing and inhaling you. His balls are swollen at this point, and he’s no longer able to suppress the needy whines escaping his throat. He needs to wake you somehow, but shaking you awake doesn’t seem right. No, he’ll give you the most loving wake-up call you’ve ever had.

Your cunt is now drenching the sheets, Jungkook lying on his stomach right in front of it between your legs, his hips desperately rutting into the mattress as he watches your weeping hole. He’s restless; he needs to bury not only his big, fat cock inside you but his tongue as well. With one last deep inhale of your arousal, he lets his instincts take over, knowing you’d love him waking you up like this even when you’re not ovulating.

His tongue takes a long, leisurely swipe over you, Jungkook entering paradise because you taste so fucking delicious. Your hips move at that, a silent moan again escaping your sleeping form as Jungkook continues to lick your juices like ice cream on a hot summer’s day.

Jungkook can’t help himself; he whines and moans against your core, pushing his tongue as forcefully inside you as his hips push into the mattress. He’s going insane, and every reason behind it is you—always has been.

The haze of his rut is too strong, and he can’t think straight now as he grabs you by the hips and straightens onto his knees. You wake with a yelp just as your legs wrap around his neck and your arms around his middle, your face now dangling right in front of his massive cock.

“Jungkook,” you try to scold, but it’s more of a moan than anything else.

He’s unable to stop, unable to distance himself from your cunt as he buries his face and nose between your legs, his breath and groans adding to the pleasure he gives you.

“Fuck,” you cry strangled, fingernails digging into his perfect ass as you can’t help but put his cock inside your mouth, sucking him off as desperately as he’s eating you out.

You’ve always wished for him to be with you when you’re ovulating, your hormones just too strong to really handle on your own, and even though you would have rather slept through the night, it’s not like you’re complaining now, secretly loving it when Jungkook’s in his rut—desperate and feral just for you.

It’s no surprise that Jungkook’s unable to control himself when his cock hits the back of your throat, rutting into your mouth like the wolf he is. The sight of his tight, big balls makes your mind short-circuit, knowing tonight you’re going to be sated like never before.

“So delicious,” he growls against your core, your hole pathetically pulsing in his face. And when you moan around his cock, arousal being pushed out of your cunt, he can’t hold back any longer and releases right into your perfect, hot mouth.

You swallow like you’re made for it, and he reckons you are, because there must be a reason for you to be his mate after all. He’s not sad his first orgasm hit him this early, knowing there’s more to follow and that your beautiful cunt isn’t worthy of his first batch.

“Gonna breed you like the bitch you are.”

And it’s like there’s a wolf inside you too, as those words make you feral in a way he hasn’t seen before. You push yourself away from him, tumbling onto the mattress but getting up immediately, tackling him down despite your smaller frame.

Your lips are on his in an instant, tasting not only his but your own arousal on both your lips and tongues.

“Gonna show the big bad wolf who’s in charge now,” you taunt while you line his cock up and slowly sit down.

He’s bigger than usual, and it shows in the way your cunt protests at its size. But you don’t stop, can’t stop. You need him, you need his seed to fill you up, need to pretend he’s putting babies inside you.

“Wanna carry your babies, Kook,” you mewl as you slide all the way down to his pelvis, cunt fluttering wildly with the fantasy of him filling you up until his seed spills through your body out of your mouth.

“Fuck, ___. You want it? Want me to make your belly swollen?”

“Yes, fill me up, Kook.”

You’re not sure who’s fucking whom—if you’re fucking yourself on his cock or if he’s fucking upwards into you—but at the end of the day, it doesn’t matter. All that matters to you is Jungkook, his cock drilling into you, and the need to feel as one.

You’ve never felt this good with him, never enjoyed the squelching sound of your pounding more than now, and it shows in the way Jungkook too can’t slow down.

“Baby mama of my pups, hm? Desperate to show who’s your daddy, hm?”

“Yes, fuck yes, daddy, please give me your pups. Love your pups. Deserve your pups.”

There’s not much more to say after that as Jungkook flips you around, his cock ramming right back inside you from behind as he keeps fucking you like he’s meant to. His fingers dig into the flesh of your hips while you bravely keep your arms straight, taking every thrust like you’re made for it too. 

Something about the way Jungkook fucks you in this position makes you feel so much more connected, and you know he feels it too, his primal instincts aligning with yours so perfectly.

“I’m about to cum so hard,” Jungkook whines as his hips grow irregular and frantic. And while you, up until now, weren’t near your own release, it’s the pulsing of his big cock inside you and the pressure of his seed spilling inside that pushes you over the edge as well.

“I love you so much,___.”

You’re a moaning mess, Jungkook unable to stop rutting, making you come again and again, arousal and cum coating not only your thighs but your ass as well.

Before you can collapse down on the mattress face-first, Jungkook flips you around again, his golden eyes shining down on you with a lust barely sated.

“I’m not done with you,” he growls, and as he aligns his still hard and creamy cock with your sobbing entrance, you know the night is far from over.

[gyuuberryy]

a tailored connection

pairing: designer!sunghoon x muse!reader

synopsis: sunghoon, a talented designer, has always harboured feelings for his longtime friend, you. when he invites you to be his muse, the sessions are charged with a tension that neither of you can ignore. as sunghoon’s compliments and intimate moments reveal deeper feelings, a surprising twist shakes your world. with your engagement to someone else looming and sunghoon grappling with his emotions, both of you face a turning point that will challenge everything you thought you knew about love and friendship.

genre: friends to lovers, both are fools in love

warnings: looot of tension, angst!! , kissing, crying, not really proofread

note: aaand with this royally yours comes to an end, i had a great time writing it! where can i get a man who makes me dresses like this :( i hope you enjoy reading this<3

word count: 16.8k

royally yours masterlist | prev:jake

if you liked it please reblog or comment to give me your feedback! <3

the sound of laughter echoes through the village streets, a memory woven into the fabric of your childhood. sunghoon had always been there, his presence as familiar to you as the sky above. you grew up side by side—first as playmates, then as something more complicated, though neither of you had the words for it yet.

it started with simple things. the way he’d hold out his hand to help you over the stones in the river, his grip firm but gentle. the way he’d always save the last piece of the bread he bought for lunch, handing it to you with a shy grin. and the way he’d linger just a bit longer when you hugged him goodbye, his arms wrapping around you like he was afraid to let go.

you were never apart for long, always finding reasons to be in each other’s company. as children, you’d run wild through the village, a pair of inseparable companions. the streets had been your playground, the trees your hideout, and the open fields your kingdom.

sunghoon was the one who taught you how to climb trees, his long limbs making it look easy as he scrambled up the tallest one in the village square. you’d followed him then, determined to keep up with him no matter what, your competitive spirit something he both teased and admired.

“come on, you can do it,” he’d called down to you one day, perched on a sturdy branch high above, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “i’m not leaving you behind.”

“i’m not going to be left behind,” you’d retorted, climbing faster, though your hands were trembling. you didn’t want to admit it, but heights terrified you.

sunghoon had seen through you, though, like he always did. when you reached the top, his hand had shot out to steady you, his touch reassuring. “see? i told you,” he said, smiling in that soft way that always made you feel warm inside.

that was how it always was—sunghoon pushing you to be braver, to go further, but always there to catch you if you stumbled.

as you grew older, the carefree days of your childhood evolved into something quieter, but no less meaningful. sunghoon’s passion for design began to bloom, his sketchbook always tucked under his arm, filled with dresses, cloaks, and the kind of ornate embroidery that would make any noble gasp. he’d spend hours at the village tailor’s shop, learning from the master tailor, and you’d sit in the corner, watching him work, admiring the way his hands moved with precision and care.

“why don’t you just play outside like the other girls?” the old tailor would often ask you, shaking his head with a smile. “this place is no fun for someone your age.”

you’d always smile back, knowing full well why you stayed. “i don’t mind. besides, i like watching sunghoon.”

sunghoon would look up from his work then, a shy smile tugging at his lips. “she’s my best critic,” he’d say, as if that explained everything.

but it wasn’t just about watching him work. there was something in the quiet moments between you, in the way you understood each other without having to say a word. he would sketch something and glance up, catching your eye, and you’d know exactly what he was thinking. he didn’t have to say it.

the bond between you deepened with every passing year, though the village seemed blind to it. to everyone else, you were just friends, nothing more. but there were moments—fleeting, subtle—when you felt something stirring between you, something neither of you dared to speak aloud.

it wasn’t until one late afternoon, when the two of you were sitting under the large oak tree at the edge of the village, that you truly realised how much he meant to you.

the summer sun cast a golden glow over the fields, the breeze carrying the scent of wildflowers. you were both quiet, simply enjoying each other’s company. sunghoon had his sketchbook open on his lap, his charcoal pencil moving lazily across the page. you were watching him, as you often did, wondering what it would be like to have your portrait sketched by him. would he see you differently if he looked at you that way? would the feelings you’d kept locked inside for so long show on your face?

“what are you drawing this time?” you asked, breaking the comfortable silence. it was always your way of trying to sneak a glimpse into the world that sunghoon poured into his designs.

he looked up, startled from his thoughts, his pencil pausing mid-stroke. “just... a dress,” he said, and though it sounded like a simple answer, there was a softness in his voice that made you curious.

“a dress?” you echoed, smiling. “for who?”

“for... no one in particular,” he murmured, closing the book before you could peek at it. “just an idea.”

you tilted your head, studying him. “you’ve been spending a lot of time on these designs lately. are you preparing for something big?”

he shrugged, a small smile tugging at his lips. “maybe. i’ve been thinking about... making something new. something different. i don’t want to just follow the same old patterns forever.”

you nodded, understanding. sunghoon had always been ambitious, but his talent had begun to outgrow the small village you lived in. you knew it was only a matter of time before he would have to leave—venture into the capital or even beyond to showcase his work.

“whatever it is, you’ll be amazing at it,” you said, your voice steady, though your chest tightened at the thought of him leaving.

he glanced at you then, his expression unreadable. “you really think so?”

“of course,” you replied without hesitation. “i’ve always believed in you.”

the words felt heavier than they should have, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. sunghoon’s gaze lingered on you, something unspoken flickering in his eyes, but just as quickly, he looked away, his fingers nervously tapping the cover of his sketchbook.

“i couldn’t have come this far without you,” he said, his voice quiet. “you’ve always been there for me.”

you smiled softly, nudging him with your shoulder. “that’s what friends are for, right?”

but even as you said it, the word “friends” felt inadequate—too small to hold the depth of what you felt for him. and though you couldn’t say it aloud, you wondered if sunghoon felt the same.

as the sun began to dip below the horizon, casting long shadows across the fields, the two of you sat in silence, side by side. in the fading light, everything felt suspended—like the world was holding its breath, waiting for something to happen.

but neither of you moved, and the unspoken feelings between you remained just that—unspoken.

for now.

the day had started like any other. you were making your way through the village, the familiar sights and sounds surrounding you—children running through the streets, merchants shouting their daily specials, and the distant clang of the blacksmith’s hammer. but today, something felt different. there was an odd flutter in your stomach, though you couldn’t quite place why. perhaps it was because you were heading to sunghoon’s workshop, as you often did, or perhaps it was something else.

his shop had grown over the years, its modest space now brimming with elegant fabrics and mannequins draped in partially finished garments. sunghoon had worked tirelessly, his name slowly gaining recognition beyond the village, though he remained humble about his achievements. it had become a routine for you to visit him, to sit in the corner while he worked, offering your thoughts or simply watching the magic unfold under his skilled hands.

when you arrived, the door was slightly ajar, and you pushed it open to find sunghoon standing at his worktable, deep in thought. his back was turned to you, the late afternoon sunlight filtering through the window and casting a soft glow around him. he was focused, hunched over a sketch, his pencil moving in rapid strokes, as if he were chasing some fleeting inspiration.

you stepped inside quietly, not wanting to disturb him. he was always at his best when he was lost in his work—his mind far away from the village, immersed in a world of silk and satin, seams and stitches. but even in those moments, it wasn’t uncommon for him to sense your presence before you spoke.

today, though, he was more distracted than usual. he didn’t notice you until you were almost beside him, peeking over his shoulder to catch a glimpse of his newest creation. “what’s this one?” you asked lightly, hoping not to startle him.

he jumped slightly, straightening up and turning to face you, a small smile forming on his lips when he saw it was you. “you’re early.”

you raised an eyebrow. “am i interrupting?”

“no, not at all,” he said, closing the sketchbook and setting it aside. “i was just... thinking.”

“you do that a lot,” you teased, leaning against the edge of the worktable. “what’s on your mind today?”

for a moment, he didn’t answer. his gaze drifted toward the window, his fingers playing absentmindedly with the hem of a piece of fabric. you could see there was something weighing on him, but sunghoon had always been the type to choose his words carefully, never speaking until he was sure of what he wanted to say.

finally, he turned back to you, his expression serious but soft. “i’ve been working on something new. something important.”

you crossed your arms, intrigued. “i figured as much. you’ve been spending even more time here than usual. what is it? a new collection?”

“not exactly,” he said, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant. “it’s... different this time. i want to create something that’s truly mine, something that will set me apart. but to do that, i need help.”

you blinked, surprised. sunghoon rarely asked for help, especially when it came to his designs. “help? from me?”

he nodded slowly, his eyes meeting yours with an intensity that made your heart skip. “i want you to be my muse.”

the words hung in the air between you, heavier than you’d expected. muse. it wasn’t just a word—it was a role that carried meaning. in a way, you’d always been part of sunghoon’s creative process, offering suggestions or simply being there to share in his successes and frustrations. but this... this was something else entirely.

you shifted your weight, suddenly feeling a little unsure. “a muse? what do you mean?”

“i mean...” he hesitated, running a hand through his hair as he searched for the right words. “i’ve been designing dresses, outfits for people i’ve never even met. but none of them feel personal. none of them feel real. i want to create something that speaks to me, and to do that, i need someone who inspires me. someone i know. someone... like you.”

your breath caught in your throat. the way he said it, the way his eyes lingered on you—it was impossible to ignore the meaning behind his words. he wasn’t just asking you to be part of his work; he was asking you to be at the centre of it. to be the person he looked at, thought about, dreamed about while he created. and that idea stirred something inside you that you hadn’t been prepared for.

“i don’t know if i’d make a very good muse,” you said, trying to laugh it off, though your heart was racing.

sunghoon stepped closer, his gaze never leaving yours. “you’re perfect for it. you’ve always been perfect.”

the air between you shifted, growing warmer, heavier with tension. it wasn’t the first time he’d complimented you—he was always kind, always thoughtful—but this felt different. his words weren’t casual or lighthearted. they carried weight, an unspoken truth that had been building between you for years.

you felt the heat rise in your cheeks, your throat tightening. being his muse meant more than just standing still while he draped fabric around you. it meant letting him see you, really see you, in ways that no one else ever had. it felt intimate, like a part of you would be etched into every piece he made.

“what would that mean for us?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

sunghoon blinked, startled by the question. “what do you mean?”

“you and i,” you clarified, feeling the weight of the words. “if i agree... won’t it change things between us?”

for a long moment, sunghoon didn’t speak. he seemed to consider your words, his eyes searching your face as if trying to decipher your feelings. finally, he took a deep breath, stepping even closer, so close now that you could feel the warmth of his body. “maybe it will,” he admitted, his voice soft but steady. “but maybe it’s already changed. maybe it’s been different for a long time.”

his words hit you like a wave, the truth in them undeniable. he was right. things had changed—slowly, quietly—but neither of you had ever dared to acknowledge it. until now.

your heart hammered in your chest, the weight of his confession settling over you like a blanket. you could feel the tension between you, crackling like the air before a storm. there was something fragile, something precious hanging between you, and the slightest word or movement could shatter it.

but then, without thinking, you made your decision.

“i’ll do it,” you said, your voice barely audible, but firm.

sunghoon’s eyes widened, a flicker of surprise and relief passing across his face. “you will?”

you nodded, your gaze never leaving his. “yes. i’ll be your muse.”

for a moment, neither of you spoke. the silence stretched, heavy with the unspoken feelings that had been buried for so long. and then, slowly, sunghoon’s lips curved into the softest smile—a smile that reached his eyes and made something inside you melt.

“thank you,” he murmured, his voice rough with emotion. he reached out, his fingers brushing against yours, and for a brief, electrifying moment, it felt as if time stood still. you were acutely aware of how close he was, how much more intimate things had become between you in just a few short minutes.

you smiled back, though your heart was pounding. “i think it’ll be fun.”

sunghoon laughed softly, the sound low and warm, and the tension between you seemed to ease, just a little. but even as you both fell into a more comfortable silence, you knew that things between you had changed. there was no going back now.

the sun was beginning to set as you made your way to sunghoon’s shop, a soft, golden glow spreading across the village. it had been only a few days since you agreed to be his muse, but the weight of that decision still lingered in your mind. there was a sense of anticipation, an underlying current of excitement that thrummed through you, but also an edge of nervousness that you couldn’t shake.

you had always been comfortable around sunghoon, but this felt different. it wasn’t just visiting a friend; you were stepping into a role that felt intimate in ways you hadn’t quite expected. and you knew that once you crossed the threshold of his workshop today, something between you would shift again.

when you arrived, sunghoon was already waiting. the door was propped open, and you could hear the faint sounds of rustling fabric and the occasional scratch of his pencil against paper. you hesitated for a moment at the doorway, taking a deep breath before stepping inside.

sunghoon looked up as soon as you entered, a soft smile pulling at his lips. “you came,” he said, sounding almost relieved.

“of course i did,” you replied, trying to keep your tone light despite the quickening of your pulse. “i’m your muse now, remember?”

his smile widened just a little, and he motioned for you to come in. “right. my muse.”

the word still felt strange on your tongue, and hearing him say it made something flutter in your chest. you glanced around the room, noticing that he had cleared some space near the large windows where the light poured in. rolls of fabric were neatly arranged, sketchbooks stacked nearby, and a dress form stood at the centre, waiting to be draped with something new.

you stepped closer, feeling the warmth of the sunlight against your skin, but also the weight of sunghoon’s gaze on you. his eyes followed your every movement, a soft intensity in them that made the space between you feel smaller, more charged.

“so, where do we start?” you asked, forcing a smile to break the tension that was building in the room.

sunghoon set down his pencil and moved to stand beside you, his shoulder brushing against yours as he reached for a roll of fabric. “i was thinking we’d start by figuring out what you like. i want to design something that feels like you—not just any dress, but one that you’d wear and feel... beautiful in.”

the way he said the word beautiful made your stomach flip. you swallowed hard, trying to focus on the task at hand instead of the way his voice lingered on the compliment.

“what i like?” you repeated, frowning slightly. “i’m not sure. i mean, i’ve never really thought about it.”

sunghoon raised an eyebrow, glancing over at you with a small smile. “you’ve never thought about what you like in dresses? after all this time of coming here and watching me work?”

you laughed, a little nervous. “i guess i’ve always been more interested in what you were making for other people.”

“well,” he said, his voice softening, “now it’s time to think about what’s right for you.”

he moved closer, picking up a few pieces of fabric and holding them up to the light. “what do you think of these? what colours feel like you?”

you eyed the fabrics he held—a deep emerald green, a soft blush pink, and a striking midnight blue. each one seemed to carry a different weight, a different mood, and the idea of choosing one for yourself felt strangely personal.

“i’m not sure,” you admitted, reaching out to touch the green fabric. “i’ve always liked green, but... i don’t know if it suits me.”

sunghoon tilted his head, his eyes flickering over you, as if he were studying you in a way he hadn’t before. “it suits you,” he said quietly, the certainty in his voice catching you off guard. “it brings out your eyes. but so would the blue.”

you blinked, surprised by the compliment. sunghoon wasn’t one to flatter people needlessly, especially not you. his compliments usually came in the form of casual remarks, offhand observations about how a colour might work or how you carried yourself in a certain style. but this—this was different. there was something in his tone, in the way he looked at you now, that felt far more intimate.

you felt your face grow warm under his gaze, suddenly self-conscious. “you think so?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady.

“i know so,” he replied, his eyes never leaving yours. “you have a way of making things look better just by wearing them. it’s not just about the dress—it’s about how you wear it.”

the room seemed to shrink, the air between you growing heavier with each passing second. you hadn’t expected this—hadn’t expected him to speak so plainly, so openly. sunghoon had always been composed, professional, even around you. but now, there was something more vulnerable in the way he spoke, something unguarded.

you cleared your throat, trying to break the moment before it became too much. “well, what about styles then? i’ve always liked simpler designs. nothing too extravagant.”

sunghoon nodded thoughtfully, his eyes still lingering on you, as if he were trying to memorise every detail of your expression. “simple suits you,” he murmured. “but there’s something about you that deserves more. something elegant.”

“elegant?” you echoed, unsure of where this was coming from.

“mm,” he hummed, reaching for his sketchbook. “you’ve always carried yourself with a kind of grace—like you don’t even realise how beautiful you are.”

your breath hitched. you stared at him, your heart pounding louder in your chest as his words hung in the air between you. this wasn’t just a compliment—it was something else. something deeper. and the realisation of it hit you like a wave.

sunghoon, too, seemed to realise the weight of what he’d just said. he quickly looked away, focusing on his sketchbook as if he could take the words back by drowning them in his work. “i didn’t mean to... i mean...”

you stood there for a moment, unsure of how to respond. you had never thought of yourself the way sunghoon was describing you now, and the fact that he saw you like this—it was overwhelming. you could feel the tension crackling between you, the unspoken feelings that had always lingered beneath the surface suddenly threatening to rise.

“i just... think you should have something that shows who you are,” sunghoon continued, his voice quieter now, more careful. “not just as my muse, but as you. something that makes people stop and see you the way i do.”

your pulse quickened at his words, and for a moment, you weren’t sure if you could trust yourself to speak. the way he was looking at you now, with an intensity you hadn’t seen before, made it feel like the walls of the workshop were closing in.

you glanced down, trying to focus on the fabric in your hands, but the weight of his gaze lingered. “sunghoon... i don’t know what to say.”

he shook his head, stepping back slightly as if to give you space. “you don’t have to say anything. i just... i want you to feel beautiful in whatever i make for you. that’s all.”

there was a long pause, the only sound in the room being the soft rustle of fabric as you ran your fingers over the green material again. your mind was spinning, your heart racing, and yet you couldn’t deny the warmth that spread through you at his words. it wasn’t just the compliment—it was the way he saw you, the way he always had.

finally, you looked up, meeting his gaze once more. “i trust you, sunghoon. i always have.”

his eyes softened, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “good,” he said quietly. “because i promise, whatever we create together, it’s going to be something unforgettable.”

the light from the late afternoon sun bathed sunghoon’s workshop in a golden hue, casting long shadows that stretched across the room. you stood near the centre, nervously smoothing the fabric of your dress as sunghoon readied his tools. he had done this countless times—measuring clients for garments—but somehow, this felt different. more intimate. more real.

“alright,” he said, his voice a little too casual as he approached with a measuring tape in hand. “this won’t take long.”

you nodded, trying to keep your breathing steady as you watched him move closer. sunghoon had always been meticulous when it came to his work, his hands sure and steady, but today there was a faint tremor in them as he unspooled the tape.

“so, uh,” he began, his gaze flickering between your face and the tape in his hands. “we’ll start with your shoulders. just... relax.”

you forced a smile, though the tension in the air was impossible to ignore. “i’m relaxed.”

he shot you a look that said he wasn’t convinced, but he didn’t argue. he stepped behind you, and you could feel his presence—warm, steady—just inches away. the fabric of your dress shifted slightly as he gently placed the tape around your shoulders, his fingers grazing your skin ever so lightly. the contact sent a shiver down your spine, though you tried your best to suppress it.

for a moment, the only sound in the room was the soft rustling of the measuring tape as he adjusted it. you could feel your heart beating faster, your pulse quickening with each passing second. sunghoon, on the other hand, seemed to be holding his breath, as if he were just as aware of the closeness as you were.

“alright,” he murmured, his voice quieter now, more focused. “now your waist.”

he stepped around to face you, his gaze briefly meeting yours before dropping to the tape in his hands. his movements were careful, almost hesitant, as he crouched slightly, bringing the tape around your waist. you swallowed hard, your throat suddenly dry as his fingers brushed the sides of your dress, the heat of his touch lingering longer than it should have.

the proximity, the feel of his hands so close to you—it was almost too much. you bit your lip, fighting the urge to fidget under his intense concentration. sunghoon had always been calm, composed, but now there was an unmistakable tension in the air, a subtle awkwardness that made your heart race even faster.

he straightened up, pulling the tape taut as he noted your measurements. “i... uh,” he began, clearing his throat slightly, “i’ll need to get your bust next.”

you blinked, feeling your face grow warm. “oh. right.”

it wasn’t as if you hadn’t expected it—this was part of the process, after all—but somehow the idea of sunghoon taking that particular measurement felt... different. the room seemed smaller, the air thicker as you watched him struggle to keep his composure.

his hand hovered for a moment, clearly unsure of what to do. “i—uh,” he stammered, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “just... hold still.”

you nodded, though you could feel the flush rising to your cheeks as he brought the tape around your chest, his fingers brushing the fabric of your dress with the lightest touch. his face was close now—closer than it had ever been—his breath mingling with yours in the small space between you.

neither of you spoke. the silence stretched, heavy with the unspoken desires that had been simmering beneath the surface for so long. his fingers fumbled slightly as he adjusted the tape, and for a brief moment, his hand brushed against your skin, sending a shock of electricity through you.

you inhaled sharply, your breath hitching at the unexpected contact, and sunghoon froze. his eyes flicked up to meet yours, wide and startled, as if he hadn’t meant to let the moment slip.

“sorry,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. “i didn’t mean to...”

“it’s fine,” you said quickly, though your heart was pounding so loudly you were sure he could hear it.

but he didn’t move away. his hand remained where it was, the heat of his palm radiating through the fabric. you could feel every inch of him—every breath, every subtle movement—and the closeness was dizzying. there was something in his eyes, something unspoken, that made your pulse race even faster.

you swallowed hard, your voice barely steady as you spoke. “sunghoon...”

he blinked, as if snapping out of a trance, and quickly stepped back, dropping the measuring tape as if it had burned him. “i—i think that’s enough for now,” he stammered, rubbing the back of his neck again, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “i’ve got what i need.”

you let out a breath you hadn’t realised you’d been holding, trying to regain some semblance of normalcy. “are you sure? i mean, if you need more measurements—”

“no!” he said, perhaps a little too quickly, then cleared his throat. “i mean, no. we’re good. i’ve got everything.”

the tension between you was palpable, thick and heavy, but neither of you knew how to break it. sunghoon busied himself with gathering the tape and jotting down notes, though his movements were jerky, his usual calm demeanour nowhere to be found.

you watched him, feeling a strange mix of emotions swirling in your chest. there was an awkwardness, yes, but also something else—something that had been building between you for a long time, simmering just beneath the surface, waiting to spill over.

finally, sunghoon spoke again, though his voice was softer now, almost hesitant. “you know,” he said, not meeting your eyes, “you really do have... perfect proportions.”

your heart skipped a beat, his words catching you completely off guard. “what?”

he cleared his throat, rubbing his neck awkwardly once more. “i mean... for the dress,” he added quickly, as if trying to backtrack. “you have a really... balanced figure. for tailoring, i mean.”

you blinked, taken aback by the sudden compliment, and for a moment, you didn’t know how to respond. it wasn’t just what he said—it was the way he said it. the way his voice softened, the way he fidgeted under your gaze, as if he were revealing more than he intended.

“i... thanks?” you managed, feeling your cheeks burn with a mix of surprise and awkwardness.

sunghoon gave you a tight-lipped smile, clearly as flustered as you were. “yeah. no problem.”

the silence that followed was thick and heavy, both of you too aware of the tension that had settled over the room like a heavy blanket. sunghoon quickly turned away, busying himself with his sketches, but the weight of the moment lingered in the air, unspoken but undeniable.

you took a deep breath, trying to calm your racing heart, but you knew—no matter how much you both tried to pretend otherwise—something between you had shifted. and neither of you were quite ready to confront it yet.

the days following that first measurement session seemed to blur together, each one filled with quiet moments, shared glances, and unspoken words that hung heavy in the air. sunghoon had thrown himself into the design, sketching feverishly as if creating your dress had become not just his project, but his obsession. every stroke of his pencil seemed deliberate, every detail in the fabric a reflection of how closely he had studied you—not just your body, but you as a person.

the workshop had become a second home to you, and you found yourself spending more and more time there as the dress took shape. each day, you would come in, greeted by the soft sounds of scissors slicing through fabric and the rhythmic hum of sunghoon’s needle as he stitched delicate patterns. his focus was unbreakable, yet there was always that moment when he would pause, look at you, and give a small, almost shy smile, as if he still couldn’t believe you were there, helping him create something so personal.

the tension between you grew thicker with every passing day. it was as if the fabric sunghoon was weaving was also binding the two of you together in ways neither of you had expected. there were the long stretches of silence, where the only sound was the soft brush of fabric against your skin as he worked, and then there were the moments when his hand would linger just a little too long as he adjusted the fit of a sleeve or pinned the hem of a skirt.

each session brought a new creation—a new dress, a new style. it had become almost routine: he would sketch out his ideas, asking for your thoughts on the design, and then you would model the fabric as he draped it over you, pinning it into place before moving on to the next step. but no matter how professional sunghoon tried to keep things, there was always that spark of something more lurking beneath the surface.

one afternoon, as you stood in the centre of the room, sunghoon paced around you, scrutinising the latest dress he had draped over your frame. this one was softer than the others, a light cream-coloured gown with delicate embroidery along the bodice. you could feel the weight of his gaze as he circled you, studying every fold, every contour, as if he were memorising the shape of you through the fabric.

“what do you think?” he asked, his voice quiet but steady, his eyes focused entirely on you.

you glanced down at the dress, running your fingers over the soft fabric. “it’s beautiful,” you murmured. “you’ve really outdone yourself.”

sunghoon didn’t respond right away. instead, he stepped closer, his brow furrowing slightly as he adjusted the neckline of the gown. his fingers grazed your collarbone as he worked, sending a shiver through you. he seemed to hesitate, his touch lingering for just a moment longer than necessary, before he cleared his throat and stepped back.

“i’m trying to capture... something,” he said, his voice trailing off as he picked up his pencil and notepad, scribbling down a few notes. “something that feels... like you.”

you blinked, surprised by his words. “like me?”

he nodded, not looking up from his notes. “it’s not just about the dress. it’s about how you move, how you carry yourself. i want to create something that feels like it belongs to you. not just any dress, but... your dress.”

there it was again—that intensity in his words, the way he seemed to see you in ways no one else ever had. you weren’t sure how to respond, so you simply nodded, letting the moment settle between you.

the sessions continued like this over the next two weeks, each one more charged than the last. sunghoon worked tirelessly, sketching new designs late into the night, and every day you would return to see the progress he had made. he would greet you with that familiar smile, sometimes shy, sometimes teasing, and you would fall into the rhythm of your muse-and-artist routine.

but there was something else growing between you, something neither of you could ignore. each time sunghoon draped a new fabric over your shoulders, each time his fingers brushed your skin as he measured or adjusted the fit, the unspoken tension between you deepened. his compliments, once casual and light, became more thoughtful, more personal.

one day, as he worked on the finishing touches of a new gown—a soft lavender dress with delicate lace trimming—he paused, glancing at you from across the room. “you know,” he said, his voice softer than usual, “i’ve always known you were beautiful.”

you froze, your heart skipping a beat at his sudden confession. he didn’t meet your eyes, instead focusing on the hem of the dress as he stitched. “i just... i don’t think i’ve ever told you that,” he continued, his voice almost hesitant.

the words hung in the air, and for a moment, you weren’t sure how to respond. sunghoon had always been complimentary in his own way—praising your grace or your proportions for the sake of his designs—but this was different. there was something raw, something vulnerable in his tone that made your chest tighten.

“sunghoon,” you began, but he quickly shook his head, cutting you off before you could continue.

“i’m not saying it for any reason,” he said quickly, his hands still busy with his stitching. “i just... i think it’s something you should know. you’re more than just a muse to me.”

your breath caught in your throat. the weight of his words was impossible to ignore now, the line between friend and something more growing blurrier with each passing day.

you watched him work, his brow furrowed in concentration as he focused on the task at hand. the quiet intimacy of the moment settled around you like a soft cloak, and for a moment, it felt like nothing else existed outside of this room—just you, sunghoon, and the delicate threads of connection that were slowly being woven together.

by the time he finished the lavender dress, the air between you had shifted once again. there was no denying the feelings that had been bubbling beneath the surface for so long, but neither of you were ready to confront them. not yet.

“i think it’s done,” sunghoon said quietly, stepping back to admire the dress.

you turned, catching his eye for a brief moment before looking away, the tension between you still thick and unresolved.

“it’s perfect,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

sunghoon nodded, his gaze lingering on you for just a moment longer before he turned back to his sketches, his hands already moving toward the next design. but as he worked, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something between you had shifted once again, pulling you both closer to the inevitable.

the day sunghoon finally called you to his workshop to try on the completed dress, your heartbeat quickened with anticipation. you had witnessed pieces of the gown as it came together—folds of fabric, tiny swirls of embroidery—but you hadn’t yet seen the masterpiece in its entirety. now, standing at the doorway, you felt a fluttering mix of nerves and excitement, an invisible pull drawing you into sunghoon’s world once more.

as you stepped inside, you found sunghoon waiting, his face a picture of quiet intensity. he nodded toward the mannequin where the dress hung, his eyes unreadable but somehow deeper, darker than usual, as if holding back something unspoken.

when your gaze finally landed on the dress, your breath caught in your throat.

it was breathtaking.

the gown was nothing short of exquisite—lavender silk flowed like water from the bodice down to the floor, shimmering under the afternoon light that streamed through the windows. the neckline was delicately embroidered, the threads so fine they seemed like whispers etched into the fabric, while lace fluttered over the sleeves, giving the piece an ethereal, almost dream-like quality. the entire dress exuded elegance, but more than that, it felt like you—a reflection of something so deeply personal that you almost couldn’t believe sunghoon had captured it.

you couldn’t tear your eyes away from the gown. “sunghoon... i don’t even know what to say,” you whispered, your fingers brushing the edge of the fabric. “it’s perfect.”

he remained silent, watching you with a quiet intensity that sent shivers down your spine. his gaze didn’t waver as you admired the dress, his expression unreadable but brimming with something just beneath the surface.

“try it on,” he finally said, his voice low and steady, though there was a note of something raw in it.

nodding, you carefully took the dress from the mannequin and disappeared behind the changing screen, your heart thumping wildly in your chest. the fabric felt cool against your skin as you slipped into the gown, the weight of the silk settling around your body like it had been made just for you—which, of course, it had.

the dress hugged your curves in all the right places, the bodice fitting snugly while the skirt fanned out into a soft cascade of fabric. you ran your hands down the front, smoothing the delicate lace as a quiet gasp escaped your lips. it was perfect—no, more than perfect. it was everything you had dreamed of.

but there was one problem. as you reached behind your back to tie the strings that secured the dress, you quickly realised they were positioned just out of your reach. you stretched and fumbled, trying to catch the ties, but it was no use. frustration bubbled inside you, and after a few more futile attempts, you sighed in defeat.

“sunghoon?” your voice was hesitant, your cheeks warming as you called for his help.

“yes?” he replied, his voice soft but nearby.

“i... i can’t tie the strings on my own. could you—could you help me?” your request was almost timid, aware of the intimacy it required, but there was no other option.

a pause followed, but then you heard his footsteps approaching. he came closer, and the air between you seemed to shift, charged with a kind of tension that hadn’t been there a moment ago.

“of course,” sunghoon said quietly. his voice had taken on a softer tone, one that sent a quiet thrill through you as you stood there, waiting, feeling the heat of his presence behind you.

you turned your back to him, exposing the bare skin between the open edges of the dress. the silence that followed was thick, palpable, as his fingers grazed the strings, brushing against your skin in the process. his touch was featherlight, but each accidental contact sent small jolts through you, your senses heightened by the proximity, the intimacy of the moment.

sunghoon worked with slow, deliberate care, pulling the strings through the loops at your back. his fingertips continued to brush your skin, his movements precise but betraying the tension in the way his breath seemed to catch when his hands touched you. you could feel his closeness—the heat radiating from his body, his steady breath that almost matched the rhythm of your own heartbeat.

in the mirror directly in front of you, you watched his expression as he tied the delicate knots. his brow was slightly furrowed in concentration, but there was something else, something simmering beneath the surface. his lips parted ever so slightly, his eyes darkening as they traced the movement of his hands against your skin. you couldn’t stop staring at him, watching the way his fingers worked, almost trembling as they lingered on your body longer than necessary.

your pulse quickened, your breath coming out a little too shallow, and you wondered if he could feel the way your muscles tensed under his touch. it was impossible to ignore the tension—something unspoken, something that had been building between you for weeks, was about to break.

“there,” sunghoon murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. his hands remained on your waist, resting lightly against the fabric as though he couldn’t bring himself to let go just yet.

you swallowed hard, watching him through the mirror. the look on his face wasn’t just one of pride in his work—it was something far deeper. his gaze softened as he admired the way the dress fit you, his fingers tightening slightly against your waist. “you look... beautiful,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “it suits you perfectly. is it comfortable?”

the words were innocent enough, but the way he said them—the hushed tone, the way his eyes never left yours in the reflection—made your heart race. you nodded, unable to form words, still lost in the haze of the moment.

“it’s perfect,” you managed to say, your voice trembling slightly.

sunghoon’s hands stayed where they were, his touch sending a heat through you that was impossible to ignore. your eyes met his in the mirror, the intensity between you crackling like a flame barely held back. his grip on your waist tightened just a little, his fingers pressing into the fabric as though he were anchoring himself.

for a moment, everything froze. the workshop, the world outside—none of it seemed to matter. all that existed was the way he was looking at you, the way his breath hitched as he stood so close. his fingers brushed against your waist, just under the edge of the fabric, grazing the skin there ever so slightly.

then you turned around, and suddenly, the space between you was gone.

you were standing so close that you could feel the warmth radiating from him, your chest brushing against his as you moved. his eyes darted to your lips, then back up to your gaze, conflicted but full of want. the air was thick with tension, so much that you could hardly breathe, and then, without warning, sunghoon’s restraint snapped.

he kissed you.

the kiss was swift, almost frantic, as if he’d been holding it back for too long. his lips pressed against yours with a kind of hunger that sent shockwaves through your body, stealing your breath. one of his hands slid up your back, pulling you closer, while the other remained at your waist, fingers curling into the fabric of the dress as though he were afraid you’d slip away. the kiss deepened, your senses overwhelmed by the heat of his mouth against yours, the way his hands held you like he’d never let go.

your mind spun in a whirlwind of sensation. the kiss was impulsive, raw, filled with all the feelings he had been holding back for so long. you couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe—all you could do was respond, kissing him back with the same intensity, the same desperate need that had been growing between you for weeks.

but then, reality crashed down.

sunghoon pulled back, his eyes wide with shock and regret, his breath ragged as he stared at you. “i—” his voice faltered, his hand still lingering on your waist, trembling slightly. “i’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “i didn’t mean to—”

you were just as dazed, your heart still pounding, your lips still tingling from the kiss. “it’s... it’s okay,” you said, though the words felt hollow. the kiss had left you reeling, and you weren’t sure what to think, what to feel.

sunghoon’s expression twisted with regret, his hands falling away from your waist as he stepped back. “we shouldn’t have—” he shook his head, his face pale. “i crossed a line.”

you swallowed hard, feeling the tension between you shift into something heavier, something filled with confusion and guilt. “maybe we should forget this happened,” you whispered, though the weight of the kiss still lingered in the air.

he nodded, his expression tight, though the pain in his eyes was unmistakable. “yeah. let’s... forget it.”

but neither of you could. the kiss, the way his hands had held you, the way your heart had raced—it was etched into the fabric of your friendship now, impossible to untangle.

word had spread quickly about sunghoon's exceptional craftsmanship. it began with whispers among the town’s elite, impressed with the stunning gown he had created for you, and soon, nobles from far and wide were flocking to his workshop, eager to have their own garments custom-made by his skilled hands. what had once been a modest business now thrived under the weight of new orders, with sunghoon’s talent finally receiving the recognition it deserved.

every day the workshop buzzed with activity—fine fabrics and intricate patterns sprawled across every surface, and sunghoon worked tirelessly, sketching designs, selecting fabrics, and stitching together dreams. you often found yourself there, as his muse, watching as he brought these creations to life, offering input or simply keeping him company through the long hours. his success was yours to share, and you couldn’t have been more proud.

one day, a letter arrived from the royal palace itself. the princess had heard of sunghoon’s work and requested him personally to craft a gown for her upcoming ball. the letter was written in elegant script on fine parchment, a formal request for his presence at the palace to discuss the details of the gown. when he read it aloud to you, you could hardly contain your excitement.

“sunghoon, this is incredible!” you exclaimed, beaming at him as he held the letter in his hands. his eyes shone with a mixture of pride and disbelief, as though he couldn’t quite believe this was happening.

“it’s surreal,” he admitted, glancing at you with a smile that warmed you from the inside out. “i never thought i’d be making dresses for royalty.”

“you deserve it,” you said earnestly, feeling your heart swell with admiration for him. “you’ve worked so hard, and now everyone can see just how talented you are.”

sunghoon’s smile faltered for a moment, something unreadable flickering in his eyes as he looked at you. “i couldn’t have done it without you,” he said softly. there was a weight to his words, a depth of feeling that you felt but couldn’t quite name. your heart skipped a beat, but before you could respond, he turned away, folding the letter carefully.

the trip to the palace was an experience neither of you would forget. the sprawling estate, the opulence of the interiors, the sense of awe that filled you as you walked through the grand halls—it was like stepping into another world. sunghoon had been invited to meet with the princess and discuss her gown, and as his muse and close friend, you accompanied him.

the princess was gracious and kind, and she spoke with sunghoon about the design she envisioned, praising his previous work. throughout the conversation, you couldn’t help but steal glances at him, watching the way he carried himself with quiet confidence, his artistic mind already turning over the details of the gown in his head. it was hard not to feel a swell of pride, knowing you had played a part in his journey to this moment.

afterward, when the order had been placed and the royal commission secured, sunghoon suggested you both celebrate the occasion.

the restaurant was warm and cosy, tucked away in a quiet corner of the city, far removed from the grandeur of the palace. the two of you had shared many meals together over the years, but tonight felt different. the weight of sunghoon’s newfound success hung in the air between you, the knowledge that his life—your lives—were changing in ways you hadn’t fully anticipated.

you sat across from him, toasting to his success with glasses of wine, laughter bubbling up as you reminisced about old times. “do you remember the time we tried to make that dress for my cousin’s wedding, and the fabric tore right before the ceremony?” you said, laughing as you recalled the chaos.

sunghoon chuckled, shaking his head. “how could i forget? i thought i was finished as a tailor before i even started.”

“but you saved it in the end,” you said, your smile softening as you looked at him. “you’ve always had this way of making things beautiful, even when they seem impossible.”

his laughter faded, and for a moment, there was a lingering silence between you. his gaze met yours, and the atmosphere seemed to shift—something unspoken hung between you, thick and heavy like the summer air. the warmth from the wine and the closeness of the moment made it difficult to focus on anything else but him—the way the candlelight flickered against his features, the way his eyes softened when they lingered on you just a little too long.

he leaned forward, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “you know, this success… it’s more than i ever thought possible. and i don’t think i could have done it without you by my side.”

his words struck a chord deep within you, the intensity in his eyes making your breath hitch. there it was again—that undercurrent of something more, something that had always been there, just waiting for the right moment to break free.

your heart pounded in your chest as you leaned in slightly, your faces just inches apart. the air between you crackled with anticipation, the proximity sending sparks down your spine. you could feel the warmth of his breath, the space between you narrowing with every passing second. your eyes locked, and in that moment, it felt like the world had fallen away.

the moment stretched on, and you could feel your heart racing, your pulse thundering in your ears. he was so close now, close enough that you could feel the heat of his body, close enough that all it would take was one small movement, one tiny step forward, and—

“i’m getting married,” you blurted out, the words slipping from your lips before you could stop them.

sunghoon froze, his eyes widening in shock. the spell between you shattered, and you immediately regretted speaking, but there was no taking it back now. the air between you went cold, and you felt your stomach drop as the weight of your announcement settled over the table like a heavy blanket.

“what?” his voice was low, strained, as though he couldn’t quite believe what he had just heard.

you swallowed hard, your heart pounding in your chest. “my parents... they’ve arranged a marriage for me,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “i’m engaged.”

the silence that followed was deafening. sunghoon stared at you, his expression unreadable, though you could see the flicker of pain in his eyes. his jaw clenched slightly, his hand tightening around his glass as if he were trying to steady himself.

“when?” he finally asked, his voice tight, controlled.

“the date hasn’t been set yet,” you admitted, feeling your throat tighten with guilt. “but... soon.”

sunghoon sat back in his chair, his gaze dropping to the table. for a long moment, he didn’t say anything, the silence between you stretching into something unbearable. you could see the conflict in his eyes—the hurt, the frustration, the confusion. the tension that had been building between you for weeks, months even, was now thick with an unspoken finality.

finally, he looked up at you, his eyes dark and clouded with emotion. “congratulations,” he said quietly, though the word felt hollow, like it had been ripped from him unwillingly.

your heart sank, a wave of disappointment washing over you. you had expected... well, you didn’t know what you had expected. for him to fight for you, maybe, to protest or say something that would change everything. but instead, all you got was a distant, polite congratulations.

“sunghoon—” you started, but he shook his head, cutting you off.

“i’m happy for you,” he said, though the strain in his voice betrayed his true feelings. “i’m sure he’s a good man.”

the words stung, more than you had anticipated, and you couldn’t help but feel a deep ache in your chest. this wasn’t how things were supposed to go. but what could you say? you were engaged, and he... he was congratulating you, just as any friend would.

“yeah,” you mumbled, your voice barely audible. “thanks.”

but neither of you was happy, and you both knew it.

the walk back home felt heavier than usual. the excitement and easy flow of conversation that had filled the night seemed to dissipate into an awkward, thick silence. sunghoon walked beside you, his hands stuffed deep into his pockets, eyes focused on the road ahead. normally, you’d both talk about everything and nothing—jokes, shared memories, or the latest designs he had been working on. but tonight, every step felt strained, as if the unspoken words were choking both of you.

you could feel the weight of what had happened at the restaurant still hanging between you, as if the tension you hadn’t acted on had only grown with your admission. sunghoon had insisted on walking you home, just as he always did, though the usual warmth in the gesture felt distant now. neither of you had tried to break the silence, though you kept stealing glances at him out of the corner of your eye.

his face was unreadable, lips pressed into a thin line as he walked with an unusual stiffness. you wanted to say something, to break the thick silence, but no words came. the engagement had changed everything between you, and you hated how powerless it made you feel. there was a dull ache in your chest as you watched him struggle with the weight of emotions he clearly wasn’t ready to share.

when your house came into view, you slowed your steps, almost wishing the walk could last just a little longer. but it didn’t. you reached your doorstep, and just as you were about to thank sunghoon for the walk, the door swung open.

your mother appeared, her face lighting up the moment she saw the two of you standing there. “sunghoon! what a surprise!” she exclaimed warmly, stepping out and pulling him into an embrace before he could protest. “you look so well!”

sunghoon smiled politely, though you could tell he was caught off guard by her enthusiasm. “good evening, ma’am. i was just walking your daughter home.”

your mother beamed, glancing at you with that knowing look of hers. “he always does, doesn’t he?” she teased lightly. “such a good boy.”

“mama...” you muttered, feeling embarrassed.

but your mother wasn’t finished. “come in, come in! you can’t just leave him standing outside like that,” she scolded, ushering sunghoon into the house before either of you could object. you shot him an apologetic look, but he waved it off with a small smile as he followed her inside.

the warmth of your home enveloped you both, the familiar scent of dinner lingering in the air. your father was sitting by the fire, and when he saw sunghoon, his face brightened. “ah, there’s the young tailor everyone’s talking about! come, sit with us.”

sunghoon looked between you and your parents, clearly not wanting to intrude, but it was hard to refuse the hospitality of your family. you watched as he settled into one of the chairs near the fire, his polite smile fixed in place, though you could sense the unease in his posture.

your mother sat beside him, clasping his hands in hers as she looked at him with pride. “sunghoon, i’ve heard such incredible things about your work lately. everyone is talking about you, and we couldn’t be more proud.”

you could see the discomfort in his eyes as your mother’s words began to feel more like a reminder of the distance between you. he offered her a tight smile. “thank you. it’s been... unexpected.”

“and well deserved!” your father chimed in. “we always knew you’d make something of yourself, ever since you were little.”

your mother nodded eagerly, her gaze softening as she looked at him fondly. “we’ve seen you grow up alongside our daughter, sunghoon. you two have always been so close... practically inseparable.”

you stiffened at the words, knowing what was coming next.

“which is why,” your mother continued, glancing at you briefly before turning back to sunghoon, “it’s been so hard for her, this whole engagement business.”

your stomach twisted. the topic you had been dreading was now out in the open, and you didn’t miss the way sunghoon’s jaw tightened ever so slightly. he was trying to stay composed, but the flicker of surprise in his eyes was unmistakable.

“she’s protested quite a bit, hasn’t she?” your mother added, her tone half-amused, half-concerned.

sunghoon’s eyes darted toward you, his surprise evident. you could see the confusion in his expression as he processed your mother’s words. you hadn’t said yes to the engagement? not fully? he had assumed you had accepted it without question, but now...

you averted your gaze, feeling your cheeks flush under the weight of both his and your parents’ attention. you hadn’t exactly fought against the engagement with much force either. it was an unspoken understanding between you and your family that the marriage would happen eventually, even if your heart wasn’t fully in it. but now, seeing sunghoon’s expression shift, you could see the conflict in his eyes.

your mother continued on, oblivious to the tension now thick in the air. “it’s just nerves, of course. every girl feels a bit uncertain before a big step like this.” she smiled, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “she’ll come around.”

you wanted to protest, to say something that would dispel the awkward silence stretching between you and sunghoon, but the words caught in your throat. instead, your mother’s next words hit like a hammer, unknowingly driving the wedge deeper.

“actually,” she began, her voice suddenly filled with excitement, “we were hoping you could help us with something, sunghoon.”

he blinked, taken aback by her tone. “of course, ma’am. what is it?”

“well,” she said, glancing at you with a grin, “who better to make our daughter’s wedding dress than the most talented designer in town?”

the room felt as if it had dropped several degrees, the weight of her request pressing down on all of you. you felt your stomach churn, a sinking feeling of dread settling in. you hadn’t expected this—he hadn’t expected this. you watched as sunghoon’s expression faltered for the briefest moment, his composure slipping as the full impact of your mother’s words hit him.

make your wedding dress. your wedding dress.

he smiled, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “i’d be honored,” he said quietly, his voice strained.

your mother clapped her hands together, beaming with delight. “oh, that’s wonderful! i knew we could count on you, sunghoon.”

he stood up then, a sudden stiffness in his movements. “thank you for your kindness,” he said, his voice more formal now. “but it’s late, and i should be going.”

your mother stood as well, ushering him toward the door with a fond smile. “of course, of course. but we must meet soon to discuss the dress!”

sunghoon nodded, his gaze avoiding yours as he headed for the door. you followed behind in silence, the heaviness between you both suffocating.

at the doorstep, he paused, his hand resting on the doorframe as he turned to face you one last time. there was something broken in his expression, a quiet sadness that you couldn’t quite place. for a moment, it seemed as if he might say something—something real, something raw—but then, he simply nodded.

“good night,” he whispered, before turning and walking away.

as you watched him disappear into the night, your heart ached with the words left unsaid, the feelings unspoken, and the love you both were too afraid to fight for.

as sunghoon walked through the dimly lit streets, the cool night air did little to ease the storm brewing inside him. each step echoed in the stillness, but his mind was anything but calm. the evening had turned from tense excitement into a suffocating weight pressing down on his chest.

he replayed your mother’s words over and over in his mind: “who better to make our daughter’s wedding dress than the most talented designer in town?” the words had cut deeper than any blade, the cruel irony of it all making his heart twist painfully. he had dreamed of crafting something beautiful for you, yes, but never like this. not for someone else’s wedding. not for the marriage that would take you away from him.

sunghoon clenched his fists, his knuckles white as his nails bit into his palms. a marriage. to someone else. he could barely picture it, the idea so foreign and painful that it seemed absurd. but the reality was right there, looming in front of him like an unstoppable force. he had always known that this day would come. you were from a noble family, destined to marry someone of status. and him? he was a tailor, nothing more. his growing reputation in town meant little in comparison to the weight of your family’s expectations.

it’s for the best, he told himself, over and over, like a mantra he hoped would dull the pain. your life with that man—whoever he was—would be easier, more secure. you’d live the life you were meant to lead, filled with luxury, stability, and everything a noblewoman deserved. sunghoon had nothing to offer in comparison. even with his recent success, his craft could never provide you with the life that an arranged marriage could.

sunghoon’s pace quickened, the weight of his emotions making it harder to breathe. his mind whirled with a painful realization: it’s better this way. he had no right to confess his feelings to you now. no right to complicate your life any further. you were getting married, and he had to respect that. confessing his love wouldn’t change anything—it would only hurt you more, and he couldn’t bear the thought of being the cause of your pain.

he thought of the way you had looked at him tonight, how your eyes had softened when you admitted that you hadn’t agreed to the marriage yet. the flicker of hope that had briefly ignited in his chest had been swiftly extinguished by the cold voice of reason. you deserved better than him, better than a life filled with uncertainty and struggle. and even though it tore him apart inside, sunghoon knew he had to let you go.

she’ll be happier without me. the thought twisted like a knife in his heart, but he held onto it like a lifeline. it was easier to believe that than to face the truth—that he was simply too afraid. too afraid to fight for you, too afraid of what loving you truly meant. because if he did confess, if he asked you to choose him, what then? you would have to give up your life of comfort, your family’s support, and the future they had planned for you. and what if you regretted that decision later? what if he couldn’t be enough for you?

no. he wouldn’t let that happen. he couldn’t risk it.

by the time sunghoon reached his workshop, his heart was heavy with the decision he had made. he stepped inside, the familiar smell of fabric and wood filling the space around him, but it no longer brought him any comfort. he stood in the dim light, surrounded by the tools of his trade—the very things that had brought him success—and felt nothing but emptiness.

he wouldn’t confess. he couldn’t.

because he loved you too much to ask you to settle for less.

the tension between you and sunghoon hung in the air like a thick fog, clouding everything you had once held dear.

he avoided you, not because he wanted to, but because he couldn’t bear to look you in the eye. each passing day, you found yourself hoping—desperately—that he would come to you, that he would say something to stop the impending wedding. but instead, sunghoon pretended to be okay. he carried on with his work, his life, as if the confession hadn’t happened. as if you hadn’t bared your soul to him and he hadn’t done the same. he buried his emotions, putting on that same calm, controlled front, and it drove you mad.

he wouldn’t fight for you.

your heart ached with the realisation, and it became painfully clear during the next few days that sunghoon had no intention of changing the course of things. the silence between you both was unbearable, the distance growing wider with each passing moment. and just when you thought it couldn’t get any worse, your parents made it worse.

they scheduled an appointment with sunghoon for the most painful task yet: designing your wedding dress.

the irony of it was too cruel. sunghoon, the man who knew every inch of you, who had memorised your shape, your measurements, who had held you so intimately in his arms, was now tasked with crafting the gown you would wear as you married someone else. it was the final blow, the final insult, to a relationship that had been ripped apart by circumstances you couldn’t control.

when the day of the appointment arrived, you found yourself standing outside his workshop, dread pooling in your stomach. you didn’t want to go inside. you didn’t want to face him, not after everything that had happened, and certainly not for this.

with a deep breath, you pushed the door open, stepping into the familiar space that now felt cold and foreign. sunghoon was already there, standing by his work table with rolls of fabric laid out in front of him, but the usual warmth in his eyes was absent. he looked up when you entered, his expression neutral, professional. he greeted you with a small nod.

“let’s get started,” he said, his voice low, as if he too was trying to suppress the emotions that lingered just beneath the surface.

you could barely look at him. the air was thick with tension, and you forced yourself to speak, though your voice came out flat, distant.

“i don’t even know why i’m here,” you muttered, crossing your arms tightly over your chest. “this is just… a formality.”

sunghoon’s eyes flickered briefly with something—hurt, maybe—but he masked it quickly. “your parents want you to have the perfect dress. it’s important to them.”

the atmosphere inside sunghoon’s workshop felt suffocating. you sat rigidly on a small chair, staring at the neatly folded fabrics in front of you while sunghoon prepared his tools. everything about the moment felt forced, mechanical, nothing like the ease and flow of your previous sessions together. you didn’t want to be there. and you were making it painfully clear.

sunghoon turned to face you, holding a few sketches in his hand, his face expressionless. but you could sense the tension in the air, the unspoken pain that lingered between you both. he wasn’t the same, and neither were you.

“so,” he began, keeping his voice calm and professional, “do you have any preferences for the neckline? maybe something you’ve always liked?”

you shrugged, not even looking up at him. “don’t know. don’t care.”

his brow furrowed slightly, but he said nothing, nodding as if that response was perfectly normal. he glanced down at the sketches again, adjusting the paper. “okay… how about the fabric? i was thinking something soft, maybe silk? or—”

“whatever,” you muttered, crossing your arms. “doesn’t matter.”

sunghoon paused, his eyes lingering on you for a moment. you could feel his gaze, heavy with concern, but you refused to meet it. you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing how hurt you were, how badly you wanted him to say something, anything, that would change this.

he sighed quietly, turning back to his worktable. “i just want to make sure it’s perfect for you,” he said softly, his voice gentle but strained. “this is an important day…”

you clenched your jaw, the words digging into your heart like shards of glass. an important day? for who? certainly not for you. he kept talking about the wedding as if it were inevitable, as if you were excited about it, and it made your blood boil.

“what about the waistline?” he asked again, forcing the conversation to continue. “something fitted, or maybe a bit more relaxed?”

“i don’t care,” you replied tersely, your tone sharp. “you’re the expert, right? just do whatever.”

the silence that followed was deafening. sunghoon stood still for a moment, his hands resting on the fabrics, his back to you. you saw the slight slump in his shoulders, the way his fingers gripped the edge of the table just a little too tightly, and for a second, you almost regretted your words.

but the frustration bubbling inside you wouldn’t let up. you had come here hoping, praying, that he would give you a reason to stop the wedding, that he would fight for you. instead, you were sitting here discussing necklines and fabric as if everything was perfectly fine, as if you weren’t on the verge of losing everything.

he turned back around, this time holding a measuring tape. “let’s… start with your measurements,” he said, his voice sounding tired, defeated.

you stood up reluctantly, moving toward him, your movements stiff and reluctant. you stood there in the middle of the room, feeling the weight of the moment pressing down on your chest.

sunghoon stepped closer, the tape measure in his hands, and for a moment, you both stood in silence, the tension between you thick and suffocating. his proximity felt overwhelming, but this time, it wasn’t filled with the same spark as before. instead, it was heavy, burdened with all the things you both refused to say.

he hesitated for a second before gently wrapping the tape around your waist. his fingers brushed lightly against your skin, but there was no tenderness in the touch. it was robotic, methodical, like he was forcing himself to distance every part of him from you.

“what about the sleeves?” he asked quietly, trying to fill the silence. “long or short?”

“whatever,” you snapped. “it doesn’t matter. none of this matters.”

sunghoon froze for a moment, his hands stilling against your waist. the silence stretched between you, thick with unresolved tension, before he pulled away, the tape measure slipping from his fingers. he turned to face you, his expression strained, frustration and confusion swirling in his eyes.

“what’s going on with you?” he finally asked, his voice low but firm. “why are you acting like this?”

you stared at him, your chest heaving with a mix of anger and sorrow. his question was the breaking point, the floodgates that had been holding everything back bursting open all at once.

“why am i acting like this?” you repeated, your voice trembling with emotion. “because you’re standing here, pretending like everything’s fine when it’s not!”

sunghoon’s brow furrowed, but he said nothing, his eyes searching yours for an explanation.

“this dress… this wedding… none of it matters to me!” you continued, your voice growing louder with every word. “i don’t want this. i never wanted this. and you know it, sunghoon. you know it better than anyone!”

he opened his mouth to respond, but you didn’t let him. the words kept pouring out, all the frustration and pain you had been bottling up for weeks finally spilling over.

“i’ve been waiting for you to say something, to do something—anything—that would make me stop this wedding. but you’ve just been standing there, acting like this is what i want when you know it isn’t!” your voice cracked, your hands trembling at your sides. “why won’t you say anything? why won’t you fight for me?”

sunghoon stared at you, the weight of your words hitting him like a punch to the gut. he looked down, his shoulders sagging as if the burden of everything you had just said was too much to bear.

“i… i thought this was what you wanted,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “i thought you deserved someone better than me. someone who could give you everything i can’t.”

you felt your heart clench painfully in your chest, the ache of his words almost unbearable. “that’s not for you to decide!” you shot back, your voice breaking. “you think i care about any of that? i don’t. i never did. the only thing i care about is you.”

the silence that followed was thick with raw emotion. sunghoon stood there, his expression torn, his hands trembling at his sides. he looked like he wanted to say something, like he was finally ready to fight, but the fear in his eyes held him back.

“i’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “i’m so sorry.”

the apology shattered whatever was left of your composure. you turned away, not able to stand the sight of him any longer.

“i don’t want to wear a wedding dress if it’s not for you,” you said quietly, tears brimming in your eyes. you swallowed the lump in your throat and forced yourself to leave, your heart breaking with every step you took toward the door.

sunghoon didn’t try to stop you. he just stood there, broken, as you walked out of his life.

it was the dead of night, the streets shrouded in silence, broken only by the soft crunch of your hurried footsteps on the cobblestone path. you didn’t look back. you couldn’t. not when you had finally made your decision. with nothing but the small bags clutched in your hands, you walked with purpose, heart pounding as you made your way toward sunghoon’s home.

the weight of the evening air pressed against your skin, thick with the lingering tension that had been suffocating you for days. since that fateful conversation at his workshop, the ache in your chest had only deepened, every moment spent away from him gnawing at you. there was no escaping it. you couldn’t go through with the marriage. not when you knew where your heart truly lay.

the small house loomed ahead, a single dim light flickering from the window, signalling that sunghoon was still awake. your pulse quickened, the gravity of what you were about to do hitting you all at once. you were throwing away everything—your family’s expectations, your arranged marriage, the life you had been destined to live—all for him. and yet, none of it scared you.

because sunghoon was worth it. he was the only thing you wanted.

you reached the door, your breath shallow as you hesitated for a split second, your heart hammering in your chest. then, without another thought, you raised your hand and knocked.

a few moments passed, the silence inside the house dragging on like an eternity before you heard soft footsteps approaching. the door creaked open, revealing sunghoon standing there, his hair tousled, his eyes widening in surprise when he saw you standing there, drenched in moonlight, with your bags in hand.

“y/n?” his voice was laced with confusion, concern flickering across his features as he glanced between you and the bags at your side. “what are you—what’s going on?”

you didn’t answer right away. instead, you stepped forward, crossing the threshold into his home without invitation, leaving him to close the door behind you. the room was dimly lit, casting soft shadows across the familiar space where so much of your time together had unfolded. it felt both comforting and surreal to be here now, on the brink of something monumental.

“i couldn’t do it,” you said at last, your voice barely a whisper but filled with determination. “i couldn’t marry him, sunghoon.”

he stood there, frozen, his brow furrowing in confusion. “what do you mean? the wedding—it’s—”

“i don’t want to marry him,” you interrupted, turning to face him fully, your eyes locking onto his with an intensity that made your heart race. “i don’t want any of this. the wedding, the life my parents planned for me—it’s not what i want. it’s never been what i wanted.”

sunghoon’s breath hitched, his confusion deepening, but you could see the glimmer of hope slowly dawning in his eyes. “then… what are you saying?”

you dropped your bags to the floor and stepped closer to him, the raw emotion swirling inside you finally breaking free. “what i’m saying is that i’m here, right now, because i’m choosing you, sunghoon. all i’ve ever wanted is you. i thought—i hoped—you’d feel the same. but you never said anything. and i can’t keep waiting.”

his eyes widened, a storm of emotions flashing across his face. he looked torn between disbelief and longing, his lips parting as if to speak, but no words came out.

“i know you think i deserve better,” you continued, your voice growing more urgent, your hands trembling slightly as you reached out to him, “but i don’t care about that. i don’t care about anything except you. all i wanted—all i ever wanted—was for you to tell me you felt the same. to fight for me.”

sunghoon swallowed thickly, his eyes locked on yours, and for the first time since you had shown up, he looked utterly vulnerable. “i do… i do feel the same, y/n. i’ve always felt the same. but i thought—” his voice cracked, and he took a shaky breath. “i thought you’d be better off without me. i was afraid i’d ruin your life if i held you back from everything you deserve.”

you shook your head fiercely, your heart pounding. “you’re wrong. you never would have ruined anything. the only thing that’s been ruining me is the thought of losing you.”

tears welled up in his eyes, his composure crumbling as the weight of his emotions finally caught up to him. he took a step closer, his hands reaching out to gently cup your face. his touch was warm, familiar, filled with the tenderness that had been missing for so long.

“y/n,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion, “i don’t deserve you… but i can’t let you go.”

your breath caught in your throat as the distance between you vanished. his hands trembled slightly against your skin, but the intensity in his gaze spoke volumes. you could feel the raw need, the longing that had been suppressed for too long, finally coming to the surface.

“then don’t,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “don’t let me go, sunghoon. i love you. i’ve always loved you. and i’m not going anywhere unless it’s with you.”

the words seemed to unlock something in him. without another second of hesitation, he pulled you into his arms, his lips crashing against yours in a desperate, passionate kiss that spoke of all the years of pent-up desire and unspoken feelings between you. it was everything you had hoped for, everything you had longed for—pure, unfiltered love.

when he finally pulled away, breathless and trembling, his forehead rested against yours, his eyes still closed, as if savouring the moment.

“run away with me,” you whispered, your hands still tangled in his shirt. “we can leave this place, start a new life. i don’t care where we go as long as i’m with you.”

sunghoon opened his eyes, searching yours for any hint of doubt, but all he saw was determination—love. a soft, disbelieving laugh escaped him, his fingers tracing the lines of your face as if committing them to memory.

“are you sure?” he asked, his voice shaking. “are you really sure about this?”

you smiled, leaning into his touch, your heart swelling with the certainty of your decision. “i’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

sunghoon closed his eyes again, pulling you into a tight embrace, as if afraid to let go. “i love you,” he murmured against your hair, his voice raw with emotion. “i’ve always loved you.”

tears of relief and joy welled up in your eyes as you buried your face in his chest, holding onto him like he was your lifeline. this was what you had been waiting for. this was all you ever needed.

“we’ll leave tonight,” he whispered, his voice resolute. “we’ll start over, just the two of us.”

you nodded, a smile breaking through the tears as you felt the weight of the world lifting from your shoulders. this was your new beginning. your future with sunghoon, the one you had always dreamed of.

and together, you knew you could face whatever came next.

the moon hung low in the sky, casting its pale glow over the winding road that stretched out before you and sunghoon. the cool night air clung to your skin as you both moved in silence, hearts pounding in unison as you left the only life you had ever known behind. with each step, the weight of your decision lifted, replaced by a thrill that sent shivers down your spine.

you glanced over at sunghoon, his face illuminated by the moonlight, a mix of determination and exhilaration playing on his features. his hand gripped yours tightly, as if afraid to let go, as if letting go would mean losing you forever. neither of you had spoken much since leaving his house, but the unspoken understanding between you was stronger than ever.

the path ahead was unknown, but that no longer frightened you. in fact, it excited you.

as you crested the hill that overlooked your town, you both stopped for a moment, turning to take in the view one last time. the place where you had grown up, where your families lived, where your life had been planned out for you—it all felt so distant now, like a world you were no longer part of.

you turned to sunghoon, a soft smile tugging at your lips despite the enormity of what you were doing. “so… where are we going?”

he turned to look at you, his eyes filled with that familiar spark of ambition you had always admired. “there’s a city,” he began, his voice low and steady. “a place i’ve always dreamed of going. it’s known for fashion, for artisans, for people like me who want to make a name for themselves.”

you could see the excitement dancing in his eyes, the dream he had always kept close to his heart. “i’ve heard of it,” you said, your smile growing. “you’re talking about sorina, aren’t you?”

he nodded, his grip on your hand tightening. “yes. it’s always been my dream to open my own studio there. to create something that’s entirely mine. but… i never thought i’d actually go. i didn’t think i’d have the chance.”

your heart swelled with pride and affection as you looked at him. “well, now you do,” you said softly. “and you’re not going alone.”

his expression softened, and for a moment, he just looked at you—really looked at you, as if he still couldn’t believe this was happening. then, with a quiet laugh, he pulled you into his arms, burying his face in your hair. “i don’t deserve you,” he whispered, his voice trembling with emotion.

you smiled against his chest, wrapping your arms around him. “you’re wrong. you’re everything i deserve.”

with one final glance at the town behind you, the two of you turned and began your journey to sorina, the city of dreams. the road ahead was long, but the promise of a new life with sunghoon made every step feel lighter. the thought of him creating masterpieces, of you being by his side as his muse, filled you with a hope you had never known.

and as the two of you settled into your new life in sorina, that peace only grew. sunghoon’s dreams were coming to life with every stitch, every sketch. he was thriving in a way that you had always known he could, and you were there to see it all. your role as his muse was more than a job or a title—it was the culmination of your deep connection, your bond that had grown through years of friendship and love unspoken.

there were moments when the thought of your parents crossed your mind. the guilt of running away lingered in the back of your heart at times, knowing how much they had hoped for you to marry into the match they had chosen. you wondered if they were angry, disappointed, or hurt by your decision. but as days turned into weeks, those worries faded. you knew your parents—they loved you too much to hold on to their disappointment forever.

"i’m sure they’ll forgive me," you said one evening, resting your head on sunghoon's shoulder as you both watched the busy city streets from your studio. "they’ll come to understand… eventually."

sunghoon looked at you, his eyes searching your face for any signs of doubt. “you really think so?”

you nodded, smiling softly. “i know they will. they’ve always wanted me to be happy. and when they see how happy we are… when they see all you’ve achieved, they’ll realise we made the right choice.”

he reached out, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, his thumb lingering against your cheek. “i hope so,” he said, his voice quiet but filled with warmth. “i just want you to have everything you deserve. i want them to see that.”

“they will,” you reassured him, your voice soft but firm. “they’ve known you all your life, sunghoon. they know how hard you’ve worked. they’ll see why i chose you. why we chose each other.”

sunghoon’s lips curved into a small smile, one that made your heart flutter. “we’ll make a life together that’s worth showing them. one day, when they see what we’ve built, they’ll understand.”

and deep down, you knew he was right. your parents loved you, and in time, they would see the joy that your life with sunghoon brought you. they would forgive the abrupt departure, the wedding that never was. because while it wasn’t the life they had envisioned for you, it was the one you had always dreamed of.

as sunghoon’s studio grew, and as the two of you thrived in sorina, you no longer felt the weight of your decision. you had chosen love over duty, dreams over expectations. and in the end, you knew it would all work out. one day, when the time was right, you would return to your parents—not as the daughter who had run away, but as the woman who had found her happiness.

for now, though, the life you had built with sunghoon was everything you had ever wanted. the city of fashion, the thriving studio, the man you loved—it was more than enough.

and with every stitch sunghoon sewed, every dress he designed, you were reminded that you had made the right choice. together, you had found your place in the world. and you had no doubt that the people you loved most would come to understand that too.

BONUS SCENE !

in sorina, life had unfolded beautifully, and not just for sunghoon. the city may have been known for fashion, but it was also a hub of opportunity for anyone willing to carve out their own path—and you had done just that.

while sunghoon spent his days sketching and tailoring in his studio, you found your own passion and footing in the city. before long, you’d built something of your own—a modest business in jewellery making, a craft you had dabbled in back home but now took seriously. the bustling markets of sorina were filled with artisans from every walk of life, and soon your intricately designed pieces caught the eye of locals and visitors alike.

at first, it was a hobby. a way to pass the time while sunghoon worked. but it didn’t take long for you to gain recognition. your designs, delicate yet bold, paired perfectly with the high-end garments sunghoon was crafting. your pieces began to complement his work, and you both realised the potential of collaborating together—not just in love but in business.

the two of you often worked late into the night, your small workbench tucked in the corner of his studio. sunghoon would be bent over his latest creation, needles and thread in hand, while you arranged shimmering stones and metals into intricate patterns.

“you know,” sunghoon said one evening, breaking the comfortable silence between you, “we’re going to need a bigger space soon.”

you looked up from your work, raising an eyebrow. “why’s that?”

he smirked, nodding toward the scattered jewellery and sketches of new designs littering the floor. “because you’re taking over my studio, that’s why.”

you chuckled, shaking your head as you placed a bracelet you’d been working on down on the table. “i think we both know you’re the one taking up all the space. these fabrics are everywhere.”

“touché,” he replied with a grin, his gaze softening as he looked at you. “but i’m serious. your business is growing. people are asking for your pieces specifically now. you’ve got clients lined up at the door. we can’t keep pretending this is just a side gig.”

you shrugged, but your smile betrayed your pride. “maybe. but it’s not like i’m doing this on my own. you’ve helped me a lot. half of the clients only know about my jewellery because it’s paired with your designs.”

sunghoon shook his head. “no. they come for you. you’ve worked hard to get here. don’t downplay that.”

his words warmed your heart, and you leaned back in your chair, watching him for a moment. “i guess we’ve both come a long way, haven’t we?”

he met your gaze, the familiar spark of affection lighting up his eyes. “more than i ever imagined.”

as the weeks passed, the collaboration between your jewellery and sunghoon’s garments became the talk of the city. nobles and royals who ordered dresses from sunghoon began requesting matching jewellery pieces from you. soon, you were no longer just sunghoon’s muse or his partner—you were an established name in your own right.

at events and gatherings, whispers of “have you seen her designs?” filled the halls, your name mentioned alongside sunghoon’s, but never overshadowed by it. the partnership between the two of you was equal, balanced by your mutual respect and admiration for one another’s talents. while sunghoon’s studio flourished, so did your own reputation. you set up a small stall in the heart of the city, your jewellery catching the sunlight and drawing the attention of passersby. with each new order, you found yourself standing more confidently in this new life you had built.

one evening, as the two of you sat in the now-expanded studio, reviewing orders and discussing the future, sunghoon turned to you, a playful grin tugging at the corners of his lips.

“so, what’s next for you? you’ve got clients begging for your work, you’re practically a household name now,” he teased, nudging you gently. “maybe it’s time you open your own studio, too?”

you smiled, considering his words. “maybe. i’ve been thinking about it, actually.”

sunghoon raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “oh? you’ve got plans you’re not telling me?”

you laughed softly, shaking your head. “no, nothing concrete. but i do think it’s time i take things to the next level. i want to expand, maybe hire a few apprentices. i don’t want to just make jewellery—i want to teach others how to do it, too. there’s a lot of talent in this city that deserves to be nurtured.”

he looked at you with such pride in his eyes, it made your heart swell. “you’re incredible, you know that?”

you shrugged, trying to downplay your excitement. “i’m just doing what i love.”

“and you’re damn good at it,” he said firmly. “don’t forget that.”

it wasn’t long before you made that dream a reality. you secured a space in one of the city’s artisan districts, a small but beautiful shop where you could sell your creations and train apprentices in the art of jewellery making. the shop was an extension of yourself—chic, elegant, and full of the creativity that had always been a part of you.

soon, your shop became as well-known as sunghoon’s studio. the two of you were often talked about together, not as a couple who had run away from their old lives, but as two individuals who had built something remarkable side by side.

every piece of jewellery you created had its own story, just as every dress sunghoon designed had its own flair. and while you both supported each other’s work, neither of you relied solely on the other to define your success.

the life you had built together in sorina was not just about love—it was about the dreams you had both nurtured and the independence you cherished. you were more than sunghoon’s muse. you were a creator, a designer, a businesswoman in your own right.

as the sun set over sorina, casting a warm, golden glow across the city, you stood at the threshold of your jewelry shop, taking in the scene before you. the streets were alive with people bustling between vendors, artisans displaying their wares, and musicians playing softly in the distance. your heart swelled with contentment as you looked out over the life you had built, not just for yourself, but alongside sunghoon.

the sound of footsteps broke you from your thoughts, and you turned just in time to see him approaching. his face was illuminated by the setting sun, a soft smile tugging at his lips as he drew closer. even after all this time, your heart still skipped a beat whenever you saw him. there was something about the way he carried himself, the quiet confidence, the kindness in his eyes, that always made you feel safe and cherished.

"busy day?" he asked, his voice low and familiar as he stopped in front of you, his gaze warm.

you nodded, leaning against the doorframe with a soft smile. "busier than usual. i think word is spreading faster than i expected. what about you? how’s the studio?"

he chuckled, glancing back toward his own shop down the street. "same here. we might need to start hiring more help."

you laughed softly, and the two of you stood there for a moment, soaking in the peaceful atmosphere around you. the city was beautiful in the fading light, and for a brief second, everything felt perfect. but then sunghoon shifted slightly, his eyes locking with yours, and you saw something deeper flicker in them—something that had never fully disappeared.

without a word, he reached out, gently brushing a loose strand of hair from your face, his fingers lingering just a little too long. the simple gesture sent a shiver down your spine, the air between you charged with an unspoken tension that had only grown stronger over the months.

“you’ve got a speck of something,” he murmured, his voice softer now, more intimate. “right here.”

you felt the heat rise to your cheeks as his fingers lightly grazed your skin. “thanks,” you whispered, barely able to find your voice.

sunghoon didn’t pull away immediately. instead, he stayed close, his eyes never leaving yours. there was something different in his gaze tonight—something tender, yet intense. and as you looked back at him, you felt the weight of all the moments you’d shared, the quiet yearning that had simmered between you since the day you’d arrived in this city together.

“do you ever think about… everything?” he asked suddenly, his voice breaking the stillness. he didn’t have to explain further. you both knew exactly what he meant.

you swallowed hard, your heart racing. “i do,” you admitted quietly. “every day.”

his hand slipped down to your waist, tentative at first, as if testing the waters. but when you didn’t pull away, he drew you in closer, until your bodies were nearly touching, the warmth of his chest radiating against yours. you could feel the rise and fall of his breath, and it was intoxicating.

“i never imagined…” sunghoon’s voice was barely a whisper now, his lips close to your ear, sending another wave of shivers down your spine. “that we’d end up here. together.”

you leaned your forehead against his shoulder, closing your eyes as you took in his scent—so familiar and comforting. “me neither.”

for a long moment, you stood there, wrapped in each other’s arms, neither of you daring to move or speak. the world outside seemed to melt away, leaving just the two of you, suspended in time.

and then, without warning, sunghoon pulled back just enough to tilt your chin up with his fingers, his gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that made your breath catch.

“i love you,” he whispered, the words escaping him like they’d been held back for far too long. “i’ve always loved you.”

your heart stopped, the confession hanging in the air between you, heavy and undeniable. you had known it, felt it, but hearing the words out loud still sent a rush of emotion through you.

“i love you too,” you replied softly, the words coming out as naturally as breathing.

sunghoon smiled—a slow, tender smile that reached his eyes. and before you knew it, he was leaning in, capturing your lips in a kiss that was soft at first but quickly grew more passionate. it was as if all the years of longing, of unspoken feelings and missed opportunities, had finally culminated in this moment.

you melted into the kiss, your arms wrapping around his neck as his hands slid to your waist, pulling you closer. his lips were warm and gentle, yet insistent, and you could feel the depth of his emotions in every touch. the world spun around you, but all you could focus on was him—the way his lips moved against yours, the way his hands held you like you were the most precious thing in the world.

when you finally pulled away, breathless and flushed, sunghoon rested his forehead against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the quiet of the evening.

“i don’t want to wait anymore,” he whispered, his voice hoarse with emotion. “we’ve waited long enough.”

you nodded, your heart swelling with a sense of certainty you hadn’t felt in a long time. “neither do i.”

you smiled, feeling a deep sense of peace settle over you. the future felt bright, and for the first time, you could see it clearly—both of you, side by side, not just as lovers but as equals. you were no longer running away from the life you didn’t want. instead, you were running toward the life you had built together, filled with love, passion, and the promise of a beautiful tomorrow.

you weren’t just sunghoon’s muse. you weren’t just a girl who had fallen in love. you were a woman who had taken control of her destiny, and now, with sunghoon by your side, you were ready for whatever the future held.

𝗰𝗼𝗽𝘆𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁 ©𝗴𝘆𝘂𝘂𝗯𝗲𝗿𝗿𝘆𝘆 on Tumblr

˚ · .𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁𝘀 𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗲𝗿𝘃𝗲𝗱

taglist: @punchbug9-blog @firstclassjaylee @capri-cuntz @addictedtohobi @jaysfavoritegirl (the rest will be tagged in the comments since tumblr is acting up again )

[zathechaosgod]

Minecraft Live 2024 Highlights

I've been lied to, they started early!

It's ("just") youtubers/streamers talking abt what minecraft means to them. 15th anniversary celebration moments

dantdm is here!! (on video)

i saw someone say "please bring back copper".... who took copper from you,,

ENDERCUP MENTION!!!!!!!

throwback to when everyone wanted the final sequence of endercup to be a teaser of a new end update (but maybe this time????? 👀👀👀)

One final compilation of all the big youtubers right now (including a Lot of familiar faces from hermitcraft, life series, rats, even rtgame!)

Inside footage of the mincraft stockholm office! (Incredible decoration hoooly)

not the movie mention 💀

the original minecraft trailer!!!! that's the one that got me to play....

jeb! recapping this year

change of pace in releasing features???

more frequent regular updates instead of the big yearly one!! like the armadillos

two drops that will release in the next few months!

First drop new unique biome

Second drop is a combination of two things: hardcore mode in bedrock, and bundles!!

VILLAGER NEWS INTERRUPTION

SHOUTOUT TO INCLUDING STEVE IN THE LISTING OF MONSTERS BY THE VILLAGERS

rip villager number 31

rip... all the villagers?

new monster<333333333

few things i can say about the way they introduced the minecraft movie other than the fact it came directly after the banger villager news horror story and that i grimaced at their word choice. it might have included "authentic".

at least chat is no longer fighting! they're very united in their hatred <3

this entire segment has me starting tiredly into the camera like i'm on the office.

"one meter by one meter was too big" go order a fucking creeper. looking at the uncanny valley and feeling at home IS THE POINT

minecraft in real life experience!!!! (a la that one van gogh exhibit if you know that)

New biome announcement!!

OOOO IT'S LIKE A DEAD FOREST BETWEEN DARK OAK AND SPRUCE CALLED THE PALE GARDEN

2x2 grey trees, hanging moss, silence, Meant to be creepy at night

SOMETHING LURKING IN THE SHADOWS

created for low visibility, new grey moss (hanging like vines and block and carpet!)

CREAKING A TREE-LIKE CREATURE, HARD TO SEE EXCEPT THE YELLOW EYES IT HAS/ IT DOESNT TAKE DAMAGE BC IT'S CONNECTED TO A BLOCK IN THE CANOPY

creaking is a hivemind puppet of the creaking heart block!!! you need to destroy that to kill the creaking

THE CREAKING ONLY MOVES WHEN YOU LOOK AWAY. DON'T. BLINK.

the creaking heart drops as a block and can be placed by players <3

i love this guy smsmsmsmsm

pale oak wood set!!!!! WHITE WOOD

moss inspired by weeping willow trees and spanish moss!!

new wood type is for bdubs personally. i think.

return to villager news! news reporter villager 9 survived along with the nitwit, who is using this newfound power to get his justice

... so no end update [breaks skateboard]

but aftershow pale garden playing!

i love him so much,,,,,

peak commentary: "....whoops"

it feels mean to say but my main takeaway from them showing off the little village they made using different material in combination with the pale oak is "oh none of these people are very good at building" very 2015 vibes. they shouldve just given scar and bdubs a texture pack

creaking hard needs to be aligned between two pale oak logs for it to activate!! making for easy on/off switches

the block stays on and red as long as a creaking is spawned in!

this means that 1) red heart flooring will have Basements of creaking mistreatment and 2) if you want cool particle beams, pray your server doesn't have peta

competition of farming creaking hearts that keeps spawning more creakings? banger design honestly. in gridrunners when

group of creaking has officially been deemed a crunch <3

ignoring a certain movie, absolute banger of a minecraft live. Very excited to see the next releases come to the game!

[ssa-dado]

9 - Folie à Deux

Aaron Hotchner x bau!fem!reader Genre: fluff, slow burn, so much tension it hurts. Summary: After being called to Houston to solve a gruesome case involving a dancing, folie à deux couple, you and Hotch are forced to go undercover, posing as a couple at a dance event. The operation brings you closer, revealing unspoken emotions as you navigate dangerous waters both on and off the dance floor. Back at Quantico, a matchmaking mission further blur the lines between partners, friends, and something more, solidifying your unique bond. Warnings: The case in this one is very graphic! Mentions of blood. Word Count: 14.1 k - I know, but trust me on this one Dado's Corner: My job with this one was simply to make your heart flutter, and I hope I’ve succeeded. I’m especially proud of this chapter (I secretly titled it “the ovulation chapter.” in my drafts). Unintentionally, it also works as a stand-alone one-shot. Consider this a small treat for all the suffering you’ve endured so far. Please comment and let me know what you think!

previous chapter ; masterlist

A few months had slipped by since you had finally admitted to yourself that you had a crush on Aaron Hotchner - your stoic, impossibly composed coworker but also your unexpectedly humorous friend. Accepting it didn’t make it any easier, though; it only sharpened your awareness of him, turning every stolen glance and fleeting smile into a secret thrill you could never quite tame.

His voice, deep and steady, lingered in your mind long after meetings ended, and every accidental brush of his hand felt electric, sending your heart racing in ways you couldn’t control. You found yourself memorizing the little things: the way his brow furrowed in concentration, the rare warmth of his smile that made the room feel lighter, and the quiet strength he carried that drew you in without trying. Working alongside him became a careful balancing act, a daily routine of holding back when all you wanted was to lean closer, to let your feelings spill out in ways that terrified and thrilled you all at once.

That day especially felt different, it wasn’t just any morning at the BAU; it was the day Hotch would owe you his 200th coffee - a milestone you had secretly been counting down to with a mix of excitement and fondness. What had started as a friendly wager between two competitive colleagues had evolved into a cherished ritual of ‘ constantly reminding you of your failures’, a small but meaningful connection that gave you an excuse to be near him, to share something uniquely yours in the chaos of your demanding jobs.

You stopped by your usual coffee shop on the way to work, picking up two cups of your favorite blend to mark the occasion. And because you couldn’t resist, you brought along the book you’d bought for him months ago but didn’t have enough courage yet to hand him due to the reminders of the dreaded night at Peter’s welcome back party - Hegel for Dummies. You couldn’t wait to see his reaction. Every detail, every inside joke felt like a small victory in your ongoing, unacknowledged crush on him.

As you walked into the bullpen, the morning light was filtering through the windows, casting a soft, golden glow over the quiet office. The light caught Hotch just right, illuminating him like some kind of ethereal portrait, and for a moment, you couldn’t help but marvel at the sight. He was sitting at his desk, engrossed in a stack of case files, the crease between his brows deepening with concentration.

His hair, usually so meticulously combed back, was already starting to rebel, a few strands falling loose and grazing his forehead in a way that made your heart skip. You loved how those little imperfections softened his usually sharp, composed appearance, making him look a touch more human, a little less like the untouchable rising star agent and more like the man you admired.

His eyes, a deep, rich brown that turned to liquid gold when the sunlight hit them just right, glanced up from his work as you approached. The way he looked at you, warm and attentive, made your breath catch. Those eyes, so often serious and guarded, held a softness that in your delusional mind he seemed to reserve just for you. It was like he saw you, really saw you, in a way that only a few else did, and that small, silent acknowledgment never failed to make your heart flutter.

“Good morning, partner,” Hotch greeted, his voice low and rich. It was a voice that always wrapped around you, grounding you in a way you couldn’t quite explain. The way he said “partner” felt special, loaded with a meaning you were too afraid to fully unpack.

“Good morning,” you replied, setting the coffees and the book down on his desk with a playful smile. “Today’s a special day, so I thought we’d celebrate.”

Hotch’s eyebrow quirked, his mouth curving into a teasing half-smile that made your stomach flip. God, you lived for that smile. It was so rare, so fleeting, and every time you saw it, it felt like a personal victory. “Special day? What did I forget?”

You rolled your eyes, biting back a grin as you watched the subtle play of emotions on his face - curiosity, amusement, that faint twinkle of mischief that always caught you off guard. “Come on, Hotch. Today’s the 200th coffee you owe me. Two hundred times you’ve somehow managed to beat me at this ridiculous game, and I’m starting to think you have a secret strategy you’re not sharing.”

He chuckled softly, a sound that was low and quiet, but so genuine that it made your chest tighten. There was something about the way his face softened in those moments that made you want to memorize every line, every subtle shift. “I’ve been wondering when you’d bring that up,” he said, his voice laced with that familiar, dry humor you adored. “At this rate, you’ll owe me another 200 before you even come close to winning.”

The banter between you was effortless, filled with a warmth that made every exchange feel like a private little world the two of you inhabited. You leaned against your desk, studying him like you always did - quietly, reverently, as if each glance was a stolen moment.

There were so many things you loved about Aaron Hotchner, so many small details that made your crush feel like a living, breathing thing. The way his tie was just slightly askew, hinting at the frantic rush of his morning. The way his hands moved as he spoke, precise and deliberate, fingers that always seemed to know exactly what to do, whether they were flipping through case files or adjusting the cuffs of his perfectly pressed shirt.

“You know, by now, you owe me more than $200 worth of coffee,” you teased, unable to suppress the smile tugging at your lips. “I think it’s about time you start paying up.”

Hotch’s eyes gleamed with that playful challenge you loved, the one that said he was always three steps ahead but still enjoyed every second of sparring with you. “Only if you can actually manage to win, which -let’s be honest - could take you an eternity. A philosopher I know once told me the story of Achilles and a turtle”

The lighthearted exchange was cut short when something on your desk caught your eye: a small, neatly wrapped box nestled under your lamp. It was a simple package, wrapped with an almost meticulous care, and you felt a surge of curiosity as you picked it up.

Hotch watched you, his expression softening, as you carefully unwrapped the box, revealing a sleek, elegant gel pen - the same kind he used religiously, except this one had a small “200” engraved near the clip.

Your heart skipped a beat, the significance of the gift hitting you like a tidal wave. It was just a pen, but it was also so much more than that: thoughtful, personal, and unmistakably him. You held it delicately, almost reverently, as if it were a secret you weren’t quite ready to share with the world.

Before you could find the words, Hotch spoke, his voice gentler than usual, tinged with that rare, intimate tone he reserved for moments like this. “I know Gideon never remembers anniversaries,” he began, his eyes flickering with the inside joke you shared, “but I’m not Gideon. And this is my promise that you won’t ever have to storm around like Rossi did on our first case together.”

It was such a simple statement, but the way he said it, so earnest and sincere, made your throat tighten. You couldn’t help but focus on the way his mouth moved, the slight pull of his lips that revealed just the faintest hint of dimples when he smiled. “Hotch, this… it’s perfect. You didn’t have to do this.”

He shrugged, effortlessly brushing off your gratitude in that casual, understated way that always made your heart ache. "I wanted to. It's my favorite kind of pen, and I thought you should have one too. The only difference is the ink color," he added, a teasing smile tugging at his lips. "I've noticed you always use blue... a bit of an unusual choice, but hey, if it works for you."

You couldn’t stop staring at him, your chest fluttering at the way he noticed your quirks and habits. His attention to detail, his thoughtfulness, made you feel seen in a way that was both exhilarating and terrifying. It was as if he’d quietly gathered the pieces of you - those you tried to keep hidden and the small, silly traits that made you who you were - and somehow found them all worth celebrating.

“Thank you,” you managed, your voice barely more than a whisper. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Hotch. You’re… you’re the best partner I could ever ask for.”

He smiled, that small, almost imperceptible curve of his lips that felt like a reward, and it made your heart soar. He leaned back, crossing his arms in that familiar, confident way that somehow made him look both commanding and completely approachable. “I could say the same about you,” he said, his voice carrying that rare sincerity that made you feel special. “Though I’m still waiting for the day you actually beat me.”

You laughed softly, your gaze locked on his. “This is so thoughtful, it almost makes me want to kiss you on the cheek… if you weren’t so against physical contact, of course.”

Hotch’s smile turned mischievous, a rare twinkle lighting up his eyes that made your heart flutter uncontrollably. “Well, unlike Rossi and Gideon, we’re not married, yet.”

Though it was meant as a joke, it felt layered with something deeper, like a hidden promise disguised as banter. “Yet?! Are you planning on proposing? Because after all this thoughtfulness, you just might get a yes out of me,” you teased, your tone playful, even as your heart raced with the weight of your own words.

Hotch’s gaze lingered, his expression softening into something almost vulnerable. “I’ll make you another ‘lawyer’ deal,” he said, leaning forward, his voice dropping to that low, intimate register that made your skin tingle. “I’ll propose by the time I owe you a thousand cups of coffee. So, you’d better start winning, or you might just be stuck with me forever.”

The words were light, meant to tease, but there was a sincerity in his gaze that made your breath hitch. Your heart pounded, the beat echoing in your ears as you tried to think of a witty retort, but all you could focus on was the way his eyes lingered on you, the faint curve of his lips, the way his presence filled the space between you.

“Be careful what you wish for,” you managed to say, your voice wavering slightly despite your best efforts to sound composed. “You know that if you give me a deal like that, I won’t be able to help but accept.”

Hotch’s smile softened, and for a split second, his expression was almost tender, a quiet vulnerability that he rarely allowed himself to show. “Forever,” he murmured, as if testing the weight of the word, as if it were something fragile and precious.

“You’re a lawyer, Hotch,” you teased, though your voice was softer now, tinged with something you couldn’t quite name. “You should know better than anyone that divorces exist.”

Hotch’s gaze held yours, steady and intense, the faintest hint of a smile playing at his lips. “Forever,” he echoed softly, the word hanging in the air like a quiet dare.

You tucked the pen into your pocket, feeling its weight like a promise, a small, tangible reminder of the connection you shared, the quiet care that threaded through every interaction.

As Hotch turned back to his files, the brief flicker of vulnerability and humor slipping into the familiar stoic composure he reserved for work, your thoughts couldn’t help but drift to that thousandth day. A small, impossible hope lingered in the back of your mind, quietly daring to imagine what might happen when that moment finally came.

☐ ⬛

“Well, if it isn’t my two favorite night-owls gracing me with their presence,” Rossi greeted, his voice carrying its usual mischief as he glanced up at you and Hotch. “Hope you’re ready to pack up, we’ve got a situation in Houston. Local police just found a second victim, and it looks like this one’s escalating fast.”

There was no hesitation. Within hours, you, Hotch, Gideon, and Rossi were on a train bound for Houston, the rhythmic clatter of the wheels on the tracks a relentless echo of the urgency ahead. The details of the case gnawed at your mind, filling the air with a heavy dread that clung to you like a second skin. This wasn’t just another case, it was darker, more depraved than anything you’d encountered in recent memory. Two victims in two weeks, seemingly random but bound by the sheer, almost ritualistic brutality of their deaths.

The first victim, Lauren Fields, a 21-year-old English literature student with bright eyes and a future full of promise, had been found hanging from the ceiling of a derelict warehouse. But it wasn’t just the fact that she was dead, it was how she had been killed.

Her body was marred by deep, deliberate cuts, as though the unsub had taken their time, savoring the act. He had let her bleed out slowly, cruelly drawing out her final moments. The scene was a nightmare of gore: blood sprayed across the walls, congealed in thick pools on the floor, smeared in what almost seemed like purposeful patterns. The blood on the floor told a grim story of its own, scattered in ways that suggested not just violence, but movement.

The second victim, Eric Watts, a 36-year-old plumber, had been found in much the same state. Another warehouse, another scene of calculated carnage. His body hung from the ceiling, suspended like a grotesque puppet, slashed with the same cold precision. His blood had pooled beneath him, the same sickening patterns left behind, as if the killers found joy in the desecration of human life.

There were no obvious connections between Lauren and Eric: no shared history, no common threads, but the horror they endured bound them together. The only connection was the sheer sadism behind their deaths, the terrifying reality of what they had suffered.

When you and Hotch arrived at the latest crime scene, the atmosphere was suffocating, the heavy stench of decay mixing with something far more sinister - a creeping, invisible darkness that seemed to pulse from the walls and seep into your bones. The warehouse was cold and damp, every step echoing in the cavernous space, amplifying the feeling of dread that settled under your skin. The scene before you was like stepping into a nightmare: blood was smeared across every surface, splattered like a grotesque and violent artwork that told the story of terror in a language only the twisted could understand.

The victim’s body still hung from the ceiling, pale and lifeless, suspended like a gruesome puppet left to rot. The stark contrast of crimson against the cold concrete created a macabre impressionist masterpiece, each streak and spatter of blood capturing the chaos and suffering of the final moments.

But it was the floor that truly made the scene unbearable: bloody footprints crisscrossed the entire space, overlapping and swirling in erratic patterns, turning the ground into a nightmarish dance floor painted in red. It wasn’t just the sight of the blood; it was the story those prints told, a sickening ballet of violence and madness performed by the killers who saw their victims as props in a twisted dance of death.

Hotch moved through the scene with his usual composed intensity, every step deliberate, every glance calculated. He had a way of grounding you even in the most horrifying moments, his presence a constant reminder that you weren’t alone in facing this darkness.

You watched him closely as he crouched near the center of the room, his dark eyes scanning the bloody prints with the kind of focused calm that never wavered. There was something impossibly magnetic about his concentration, how he could look at chaos and find the patterns hidden within it. It was reassuring, and you couldn’t help but feel even more attracted by him every time you watched him work.

Hotch leaned in closer, tracing the jagged, uneven edges of the footprints with the tip of his pen, his expression hardening as he took in every detail. “There are two sets of footprints,” he observed, his voice steady and sure, cutting through the suffocating silence. “One left by a man, the other by a woman.” His focus was absolute, as if he were piecing together a puzzle only he could see.

You stepped closer, feeling the coolness of the blood-slicked floor through your shoes, the sticky sensation almost making you shudder. As you looked down at the prints, your mind raced, trying to make sense of the bizarre choreography. The shapes and patterns were hypnotic against the blood-stained concrete, swirling and merging in ways that felt oddly deliberate, almost purposeful.

You could feel Hotch beside you, his presence a steady anchor amid this violent tableau, and you leaned into that unspoken support, drawing strength from his calm.

“They’re not just walking around,” you said softly, your voice almost lost in the vast emptiness of the warehouse. The realization struck you suddenly, sharp and undeniable. “It’s almost like they’re dancing.” The prints weren’t just random; they moved in loops, turns, and steps that followed no logical path but instead mirrored something more fluid, more rhythmic. It was as if the unsubs were performing, dancing in the blood of their victim as they died above them.

Hotch’s head snapped up, his eyes meeting yours in an intense, electrifying moment of shared understanding. You could see the same chilling realization dawning in his expression, the pieces clicking into place with a horrifying clarity. You were both thinking the same thing, and when you spoke, the words tumbled out in perfect, uncanny sync: “It’s a folie à deux.”

Folie à deux - madness shared by two. The way the killers had moved around their victims, the sickening dance in their own blood, it all pointed to a couple lost in their own twisted world, feeding off each other’s delusions.

Hotch’s gaze lingered on yours, his expression a mixture of determination and something deeper, something that mirrored your own emotions, an unspoken acknowledgment of the darkness you were about to face.

The air between you felt charged, every breath heavy with the weight of what you had uncovered. In that brief moment, you felt a rush of warmth that cut through the chill of the crime scene, a reassurance that whatever horrors lay ahead, you would face them together, side by side.

You turned your attention back to the scene, but the connection lingered, a silent promise that neither of you had to say aloud. This wasn’t just about catching killers; it was about understanding the twisted minds that had found solace in each other’s madness.

☐ ⬛

Back at the police station, the atmosphere was tense, the air thick with the urgency of finding a connection that seemed maddeningly out of reach. The four of you were gathered around a large conference table, the crime scene photos spread out like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle that refused to fit together.

You watched as Hotch leaned forward, elbows on the table, eyes fixed on the images before him. You couldn’t help but steal glances at him, admiring the way his brow furrowed in concentration, the way he absentmindedly tapped his pen against the table, little quirks you had memorized in the quiet moments between the chaos.

“They have no connection,” Rossi said, frustration evident as he flipped through the victim profiles. “One’s a student, the other’s a plumber. Different neighborhoods, different circles. There’s nothing that ties them together.”

Gideon nodded, his usually sharp eyes clouded with concern. “Lauren was outgoing, well-liked in her classes, no known enemies. Eric kept to himself, lived alone. They were single, no significant relationships that would tie them together. No overlap, no common link.”

You studied the crime scene photos, trying to piece together the senseless brutality into something that made even a fragment of sense. The killers weren’t just murdering—they were performing, re-enacting something deeply personal.

A thought struck you, a theory that felt like it was teetering on the edge of insanity, but you couldn’t shake it. “Maybe the connection isn’t between the victims,” you said slowly, your voice trembling slightly as you spoke. “Maybe it’s about the killers. They’re choosing substitutes, victims that represent something to them. They’re killing themselves over and over, using these people as stand-ins. It’s the only way they can keep their bond alive.”

Hotch leaned back, his gaze fixed on you, piecing together the fragments of the theory you’d just laid out. There was something about the way he looked at you - sharp, attentive, and with a hint of pride that sent warmth flooding through you. “If that’s the case,” he said thoughtfully, “then the unsubs must have a significant age difference. At least ten years, maybe more. One victim is young, the other is older, they’re acting out their issues, punishing each other through these surrogates.”

Gideon’s expression tightened, urgency pressing down on him. “But now we’re running out of time. The pattern is clear: they’ve killed one victim every Friday. Today is Thursday. If we don’t catch them soon, we’ll be looking at another body tomorrow.”

Silence filled the room, heavy with the weight of the ticking clock. The profile was solidifying, but you were still searching for that key piece that would lead you to the unsubs before they struck again.

Rossi tapped his pen against the table, drawing everyone’s attention. “They’re not picking these people at random. The way they kill, it’s theatrical, ritualistic. It’s personal. It’s like they’re putting on a show for each other.”

You pointed to the photos of the bloody footprints, the twisted dance steps that had been burned into your mind since you’d first seen them. “The dance. The way they move around the bodies - it’s coordinated, like a rehearsed routine. Both victims had connections to dance events in the city. Lauren was part of an improv dance group, and Eric attended open dance nights with his niece. They’re targeting couples who, in some way, remind them of themselves.”

Hotch nodded, the pieces clicking into place. “The unsubs are drawn to these events. They’re either participants or observers, targeting couples who challenge their twisted ideas of love and connection.”

Gideon and Rossi exchanged knowing looks, their expressions shifting from grim determination to something almost playful. There was a hint of amusement in their eyes, a rare break from the tension as they turned their attention back to you and Hotch.

“You know what that means,” Gideon said, his tone laced with a sly undertone that hinted at more than just strategy. “We need someone who can really get under their skin, challenge their so-called ‘love.’”

Rossi leaned back in his chair, a smirk spreading across his face as he glanced between you and Hotch. “And who better than the two of you? You fit the victimology like a glove - twelve years apart, just like their preferred targets. Plus,” he added, his voice dripping with mischief, “you two have pulled enough late-night sessions over case files. Now you get to do something a little more… interactive.”

He gave a wink, clearly enjoying the irony, and you could practically feel the teasing energy radiating off him. It was all too clear that Rossi and Gideon were having far too much fun at your expense. They knew exactly what they were doing, and the thought of you and Hotch going undercover as a couple was like handing them a golden opportunity to poke at both of you.

They didn’t just see partners, they saw the unspoken chemistry, the way you worked together like a well-oiled machine, and they weren’t going to miss the chance to play matchmaker, even if it was in the guise of catching killers.

Rossi’s grin widened as he saw the look on your face, and you could tell he was reveling in every second of this. “It’s fate,” he said with a chuckle, barely able to contain his amusement. “Out of all the things you two have faced, this might be your greatest challenge yet.”

Gideon nodded, barely suppressing his own smile. “So, go on. Pack your dance shoes. Time to see if you can keep up with the unsubs.”

The suggestion hit you like a freight train, sending your thoughts spiraling. The idea of going undercover as a couple with Hotch was equal parts thrilling and terrifying. It wasn’t just about pretending, it was about pretending with him.

Every time you looked at him, you felt the undeniable pull of your own feelings, the crush that you’d tried so hard to keep hidden, now bubbling dangerously close to the surface. Being this close to him, touching him, dancing with him… it was everything you wanted and everything you were afraid to confront.

Hotch caught your eye, a small, almost teasing smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Out of all the things I signed up for when I joined the Bureau,” he said, his voice edged with humor, “I never thought I’d end up dancing.”

You tried to suppress the nerves fluttering in your chest, forcing a playful smile in return. “Be careful what you wish for, Hotch. Remember the deal you made back in Quantico? That you’d propose when you owed me a thousand cups of coffee? Well, here we are—on our anniversary, rehearsing for what could be our first dance.”

Hotch chuckled, his smile widening, eyes twinkling with mischief. “Guess we’re ahead of schedule, then. I might have to get that ring ready sooner than I thought.”

You both laughed, but beneath the banter, there was a flutter of something real, something that made your heart skip. The weight of your joke hung between you, laced with the kind of unspoken longing that you’d been trying to ignore for far too long. If only he knew how much you wished those playful words were true.

☐ ⬛

Later, back at the hotel, you found yourself in the lobby, staring down at the dance steps outlined in the file Gideon had handed you. It was a romantic routine: timeless, intimate, and designed to draw attention. As you studied the sequence, you felt Hotch approach, his presence warm and grounding.

You looked up to find him leaning casually against the wall, jacket draped over his shoulder, his sleeves rolled up to reveal the strong lines of his forearms. You couldn’t help but notice how his hair was starting to fall loose, framing his face in a way that made him look almost boyish, at how he was effortlessly handsome.

“You ready for this?” Hotch asked, his voice a low, comforting rumble. There was a lightness in his tone, but you could see the hint of nerves in his eyes. It was oddly reassuring to know that he was feeling the same strange mix of anticipation and anxiety that you were.

You shrugged, trying to keep your voice steady. “The Bureau never prepared me for undercover ballroom dancing. I think the last time I slow danced, I tripped over my own feet more times than I care to admit.”

Hotch’s laugh was warm, genuine, and it sent a ripple of something achingly sweet through you. “Well, it’s not exactly standard training. But you’ve got rhythm, you’ll pick it up. And hey, if we can survive a shootout together, we can handle a dance floor.”

You arched an eyebrow, teasing. “I’m starting to think you’ve been hiding some secret dance skills. Were you secretly moonlighting as a dance instructor?”

He shook his head, grinning. “Not quite. But I did take a few lessons back in college. Thought it’d be a good way to meet people. I was terrible at first - tripped over my own feet more times than I’d like to admit.”

You laughed, the image of a younger, awkward Hotch struggling through a dance class making you smile. There was something endearing about the thought, something that made you feel like you were seeing a part of him that few ever got to see.

Hotch extended his hand, his eyes meeting yours with a gentle challenge. “Ready to give it a shot?”

You took his hand, the touch of his skin sending a rush of warmth up your arm. “Not even one bit.”

The song Gideon and Rossi chose for the two of you was ‘It’s All Coming Back To Me Now’ by Celine Dion. The music began, soft and slow, filling the lobby with a melody that felt both timeless and intimate. As you moved together, each step felt like a tentative exploration of something more than just a dance.

Hotch’s hand on your waist, the subtle strength in his hold, the way his eyes never left yours, it was all so much more than you’d expected, and you couldn’t help but feel the weight of every unspoken feeling between you.

“Careful,” Hotch teased as you stumbled slightly, catching you effortlessly. “Can’t have you falling for me on the dance floor.”

You shot him a playful glare, your cheeks burning with the double meaning behind his words. “If I do, it’s entirely your fault.”

Hotch’s smile softened, his thumb brushing against your hand as you continued to move in sync. “I’ll take full responsibility.”

The song played on, each step bringing you closer, each touch making it harder to ignore the truth you’d been hiding. Dancing with Hotch felt like stepping into a dream you didn’t want to wake from, a dangerous, beautiful dance where every move whispered of what could be, if only you were brave enough to reach for it.

As the song ended, Hotch pulled you close, his voice low and teasing. “Guess we really are rehearsing for our first dance.”

You laughed, trying to ignore the way your heart pounded in your chest. “Yeah, and just think, you’ve still got 800 coffees to go before you have to propose.”

He smirked, a twinkle in his eyes. “Better get to work beating me, then. I’m not planning on waiting forever.”

The words hung between you, playful yet laced with an unspoken promise. You knew it was just banter, just another layer of the teasing that had become so natural between you. But standing there, wrapped in the lingering closeness of the dance, it felt like so much more.

You stepped back slightly, breaking the intimate proximity but not the connection that buzzed between you. Hotch’s hand lingered at your waist for a second longer than necessary, and you felt the warmth of his touch sear through the fabric of your blouse, leaving a ghost of a feeling that you knew you’d carry long after this moment was over.

The silence stretched, not awkward but charged, both of you caught in a rare moment of vulnerability. Hotch’s gaze remained fixed on you, his dark eyes searching yours as if trying to read the unspoken words that hovered just out of reach. For a moment, you thought he might say something, something real, something that would bring down the walls you’d both so carefully built. But instead, he broke the tension with a soft, knowing smile.

“You did good,” he said, his voice a low, comforting murmur that sent a thrill down your spine. “I think we’ve got this.”

You nodded, trying to muster your usual bravado even as your heart thudded in your chest. “Yeah, well, it’s not every day I get to dance with a lawyer. I’d say that’s worth at least a few points in my favor.”

Hotch chuckled, a sound that was all warmth and affection, and you couldn’t help but bask in it, soaking up every second. “Just remember, you’ve still got a long way to go before you catch up. But I’ll admit,” he said, tilting his head with a playful glint, “you’re getting closer.”

The lightness of his words belied the heaviness in your chest, the way your feelings for him felt like a secret you could no longer keep hidden. You wanted to say more, to let him know just how much these moments with him meant to you, how every joke and every stolen glance was a lifeline amid the chaos.

But you couldn’t bring yourself to risk the delicate balance of your partnership, the friendship that had grown into something far more complex than you’d ever imagined.

Instead, you settled for a smile, one that you hoped conveyed at least a fraction of what you felt. “I’ll take that as a compliment, Hotch. And who knows, by the time we hit a thousand coffees, maybe I’ll have you dancing circles around me.”

Hotch’s smile turned softer, almost wistful, and for a fleeting second, you thought you saw a flicker of something more in his eyes, something that mirrored the quiet longing you carried for him every day. “Maybe,” he said, his voice tinged with a kind of quiet sincerity that made your heart ache. “But if you ask me, you’re already leading the way.”  

The moment passed, but the unspoken sentiment lingered between you, a promise wrapped in uncertainty, an almost that hung just out of reach. As Hotch turned back to the files spread out on the table, his focus already shifting back to the task at hand, you couldn’t help but steal one last glance, committing every detail of this moment to memory. It was hard not to get lost in the fantasy of it, to imagine that maybe you and Hotch were dancing for yourselves, not just to catch a pair of killers.

Because even if it was just banter, just a playful dance of words and what-ifs, it was enough.

For now, it was enough to be by his side, to share the weight of the cases and the late nights and the stolen moments of something that felt almost like happiness.

For now, you’d keep dancing around the truth, holding onto the hope that someday, the steps would lead you to something more.

☐ ⬛

The atmosphere in your accommodation felt charged with an energy that was hard to ignore. You and Hotch had just finished a long day of preparation, your bodies still buzzing from the adrenaline of the evening.

This was the first time you had shared a room with him since you realized your feelings for him had deepened into something more, and you were painfully aware of the tension that hung in the air.

You were both drenched in the aftereffects of your undercover mission. The dance had felt so intimate, so dangerously close, and now you found yourself grappling with those emotions in a more personal setting. The idea of showering was both a relief and a distraction, a way to wash away the sweat and tension from the evening.

As you stepped beside the bathroom, you couldn’t shake the feeling that the moment was significant, that it marked a turning point between you and Hotch. You had shared hotel rooms on countless occasions, but this felt different. This time, there was an awareness, a hint of vulnerability that made your heart race.

“Do you want to go first?” Hotch asked, ever the gentleman, as he leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. You nodded, grateful for the moment to gather your thoughts, to shake off the lingering tension of the evening.

After your shower, you dried your hair and slipped into a comfortable shirt and your usual pajama shorts, taking a deep breath before reentering the main room. As you emerged, you found Hotch sprawled out on the bed, a bemused expression on his face as he flipped through the pages of the book you had given him, Hegel for Dummies.

You couldn’t help but laugh, the sight of him attempting to wrestle with philosophical concepts a delightful surprise. “Look at you, and I thought I was the official philosopher of our duo,” you teased, crossing your arms and leaning against the doorframe. “I never thought I’d see you actually reading a book about philosophy. I was sure you were too serious for ‘Hegel for Dummies’.” you emphasized the word “dummies” with a smirk, savoring the rare chance to poke fun at his usually serious demeanor.

Hotch glanced up, his dark eyes twinkling with a rare spark of amusement. “What can I say? I’m already feeling a bit wiser,” he replied with a dry smile. “But hey, who wouldn’t want their mind expanded by ‘Hegel for Dummies’?” He emphasized the word with a smirk, playing right into your joke. “Though, I’ll admit, this wasn’t exactly how I envisioned unwinding after a long day on the job.”

“Just promise me you won’t start quoting him at me,” you said, dropping into the chair opposite him with a playful grin. “I’m not exactly in the mood to have my brain twisted around philosophical notions of love and duty - especially not whatever version of that ‘Hegel for Dummies’ is peddling. That sounds like a headache waiting to happen, that could get overly-simplified.”

Hotch stood up and stretched, his muscles flexing beneath his shirt as it rode up slightly, revealing a teasing glimpse of the firm, toned skin at his waist. You caught yourself staring, heat flooding your cheeks as you quickly looked away, caught between admiration and a surge of embarrassment.

“I’ll do my best to keep the heavy philosophy to a minimum,” he said, his voice low and slightly teasing as he moved toward the bathroom. “But I can’t promise I won’t slip up.” The way he glanced back at you, a subtle challenge in his eyes, left you feeling a little breathless, as if his words were more than just about Hegel for Dummies. 

As he stepped into the bathroom to shower, you couldn’t help but stare at the closed door, the lingering warmth of his presence still in the air. It was a mix of nerves and excitement, and you were acutely aware of how much you wanted to cross that invisible line between partnership and something more.

When Hotch emerged from the bathroom, his hair was still damp and tousled, messy in a way that made him look effortlessly handsome. Droplets of water clung to his skin, trailing slowly down his neck and disappearing beneath the collar of his shirt, drawing your eyes to the strong lines of his throat and the hint of muscle beneath. For a moment, your breath hitched, and time seemed to stretch as you took him in - disheveled, raw, and undeniably attractive.

He exuded a quiet confidence, his body a blend of strength and subtle elegance that was captivating, even in his exhaustion, you couldn’t tear your gaze away, admiring the man who, even at his most worn-down, was impossibly magnetic.

“Are you okay?” he asked, catching your gaze. His voice held a hint of concern, a gentle nudge back to reality.

You shook your head, trying to focus on the task at hand. “Yeah, just… lost in thought.” Your voice sounded distant even to you, the weight of everything lingering in the air. “Oh, and Peter just called. He’s in Los Angeles on a case, and he wanted to know if we’d be up for grabbing drinks when we get back.”

Hotch raised an eyebrow, concern and curiosity mingling in his gaze as he studied you closely. “Are you okay with that?” he asked gently, his voice softening with genuine care and a quiet, almost protective undertone. He hesitated, his eyes lingering on yours, as if trying to unravel the emotions you kept hidden just beneath the surface. “And what about the date you had with him? How did that go?”

You sighed, feeling the weight of the unspoken truth bubbling up before you could stop it. It wasn’t easy to admit, especially to Hotch, but something about his presence made it impossible to hold back. “Honestly, it just reinforced what I already knew,” you confessed, your voice tinged with a mix of frustration and resignation. “We’re compatible as friends, but when it comes to being a couple, there’s… something missing.”

Hotch leaned against the doorframe, his posture relaxed but his eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that made your heart race. His expression was open, his concern genuine, and it was clear that he wasn’t just asking to be polite; he wanted to understand. “Missing how?” he pressed, his voice low and full of quiet curiosity that pulled you in.

You hesitated, grappling with the vulnerability of sharing the deeper truth, a truth that you hadn’t even fully admitted to yourself. “I don’t know,” you said slowly, searching for the right words. “It’s like there’s no spark, no real connection that makes me feel… grounded. I keep trying to find this balance within myself, this sense of who I am and what I want, before I dive back into dating. With him, I just felt like I was going through the motions, hoping for something that wasn’t really there.”

You watched as Hotch absorbed your words, his expression shifting with a flicker of understanding. There was a look in his eyes that told you he got it, maybe more than anyone else ever could. “You’re being honest,” he said softly, his tone filled with quiet respect. “That’s important. And it sounds like you’re making the right choice, prioritizing what feels true to you instead of forcing something that doesn’t fit.”

A small smile tugged at your lips, warmth spreading through you at his validation. “Thanks,” you murmured, feeling the comfort of his support like a gentle embrace. But beneath your gratitude, there was a lingering ache, a nagging wish that you could tell him the other real reason you were so hesitant to start something new with anyone else. The truth was, it wasn’t just about finding balance within yourself, it was also about him.

Hotch studied you for a long moment, his gaze never wavering as if he were searching for something deeper, some hidden truth that you hadn’t yet found the courage to voice. “Just remember,” he said, his voice gentle and laced with a sincerity that made your heart flutter, “it’s okay to take your time. There’s no rush to figure it all out, and no rulebook you have to follow.”

His words were simple, but they carried a weight that hit you straight in the chest. Hotch wasn’t just talking about your reluctance to date; he was offering you the space to breathe, to heal, to find your way without pressure or judgment. It was the kind of reassurance you hadn’t realized you needed, and it made you feel seen in a way that was both comforting and terrifying.

You offered him a grateful smile, feeling a surge of affection for him that was impossible to ignore. “Thanks, Hotch. That means a lot,” you said softly, and you meant it more than he would ever know.

“And, by the way,” you added, trying to lighten the mood, “Even if you are the philosopher now, I don’t think you have to worry about being proposed to anytime soon.”

Hotch chuckled, his voice playful  “You never know. A thousand coffees and a philosophical debate might just seal the deal.”

You laughed, trying to shake off the weight of your feelings. “Well, I’ll just have to make sure I’m ready for that day, then.”

Hotch turned away, rummaging through his bag for a fresh shirt, and your eyes couldn’t help but follow the movement. As he pulled off his damp shirt, you caught a glimpse of the toned muscles in his back, the way they flexed subtly under his skin. The faint sheen of moisture made his skin glisten, his hair clinging damply to his forehead in a way that was both rugged and impossibly enticing. Your breath hitched, heart pounding as you watched him, captivated by the effortless grace of his movements.

You were drawn to him in ways that you could hardly admit, even to yourself. It wasn’t just his looks - though the sight of his broad shoulders and the curve of his spine definitely didn’t help your situation - it was everything he embodied. He was stability, strength, and an unwavering presence that grounded you even in the darkest moments. He was everything you craved, everything you told yourself you shouldn’t want, and yet here you were, heart racing and pulse quickening at just the sight of him.

You shifted on the bed, trying to focus on anything but him, but it was useless. Every movement he made drew your attention. The way he absentmindedly ran his hand through his wet hair, ruffling it in a way that left it messier than before. The subtle tilt of his head as he absorbed your words, genuinely invested in what you had to say. He made you feel seen, and that was more dangerous than any undercover mission.

“So,” Hotch said as he slipped his arms into his shirt, the fabric hugging his shoulders in a way that made your heart race, “do you ever regret it? Not… dating, but just how all of this can make things so complicated?”

You looked up, surprised by the question. The vulnerability in his tone caught you off guard, and for a moment, you didn’t know how to respond. “Honestly? Sometimes,” you admitted, your voice soft. “But I think it’s normal to feel that way. The job… it demands so much. And sometimes I wonder if it’s worth the trade-offs. But then I remember why I started, why I wanted this, and it keeps me going.”

Hotch nodded, his gaze distant as if he were sifting through his own set of regrets. “I get that,” he said quietly. “It’s easy to lose sight of things, to get caught up in the job and forget what you wanted in the first place.”

You swallowed, feeling the weight of his words settle over you. It was a rare, intimate glimpse into Aaron—the man beneath the stoic exterior, the version of himself he reserved only for moments like these, moments shared with you outside the rigid confines of work.

It was moments like this that made your feelings for him feel far deeper than a simple crush. It wasn’t just a fleeting infatuation; it was something profound, something that had quietly grown over time through every shared late night, every unspoken understanding, and every instance of mutual respect and unacknowledged care.

“Hotch,” you began, hesitating as you searched for the right words, “I don’t think I’ve ever told you, but… I really look up to you. You’re the reason I push myself every day. Because you set this standard that I want to live up to. Not just as an agent, but as a person.”

Hotch glanced at you, his eyes softening with a hint of something you couldn’t quite place. Gratitude? Affection? Whatever it was, it made your pulse quicken. “You don’t need to live up to anyone but yourself,” he said, his voice gentle but firm. “You’re… you’re better than you realize. And I’m glad to have you as my partner.”

The sincerity in his words settled over you like a warm blanket, soothing the frayed edges of your nerves. You wanted to say more, to tell him how much his opinion meant to you, but the lump in your throat made it impossible. So instead, you just nodded, hoping he understood the depth of your appreciation.

Hotch finished to dry his hair with the towel, and for a brief moment, you allowed yourself to imagine a different scenario. One where this wasn’t just another case, where you weren’t just colleagues sharing a hotel room for the sake of the job. You imagined lazy mornings, quiet dinners, and dances that were just for the two of you, moments untethered from the weight of your work.

“You know,” Hotch said, breaking the silence with a teasing smile, “for someone who’s supposedly my biggest competition, you’re pretty soft.”

You rolled your eyes, grateful for the lighthearted shift. “Don’t let it get to your head, Hotchner. I’m still gunning for that 1,000th coffee win, and when it happens, you’ll be the one stuck making breakfast every morning.”

He laughed, the sound rich and genuine, and it made your heart swell. “If that’s the price of losing, I think I can live with it.”

He sat down on the edge of his bed, picking up the book again, flipping through the pages as if searching for something to focus on. The sight of him engrossed in philosophy, his brow furrowed in concentration, was both endearing and a little surreal. You hadn’t expected him to take to the book so earnestly, but here he was, deep in thought, as if dissecting the nature of existence itself.

“Never pegged you as the type to dive into Hegel,” you teased lightly, hoping to steer your thoughts away from the yearning you were struggling to hide. “I thought you’d find it too abstract.”

Hotch glanced up, his smile small but genuine. ”Hegel for Dummies” he corrected you “Well, you did say it’d make me the official philosopher of the team. Besides, it’s… interesting. Challenging. A good distraction.”

“A distraction from what?” you asked, curious but careful, not wanting to pry too much.

Hotch hesitated, his eyes briefly clouding with something unspoken. “Just… life, I guess. It’s a lot easier to focus on someone else’s theories than to get lost in my own head sometimes.”

You nodded, understanding the sentiment more than you could say. “Guess we all need a distraction every now and then.”

He smiled at that, and for a moment, the room felt lighter, the heaviness of the day lifting just enough for you to breathe a little easier. Hotch stood up, stretching his arms up again, the hem of his shirt lifting slightly to reveal a glimpse of toned muscle beneath. You quickly averted your eyes, focusing on anything else, the artistry behind the pattern of the carpet, the flowers motives taking inspiration from 1800’s Art Nouveau… anything that wasn’t him.

Hotch caught your flustered expression and chuckled, the sound warm and unexpected. “If there’s something you want to say, you can just say it. I’m not a mind reader, you know.”

You fumbled for words, desperately trying to mask the fact that you’d been caught staring. “No, it’s nothing,” you stammered, your mind scrambling to come up with a quick distraction. “I was just thinking… once this case is over, maybe we should figure out a way to hand this undercover gig back to our two lovebirds. You know, let Rossi and Gideon get a taste of their own medicine. They’ve had way too much fun at our expense.”

Hotch paused, a mischievous smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “You mean like turning the tables on them?” he asked, his tone light but carrying a hint of something more devilish beneath it. “Maybe set them up with a little undercover operation of their own. I bet Gideon would look great in a dance ensemble.”

You laughed, enjoying the image of the two seasoned profilers stumbling through a dance routine. “Oh, definitely. Maybe we should get them to ‘rehearse’ with us. A little late-night surprise choreography. We could even record it, strictly for case review purposes, of course.”

Hotch’s eyes sparkled with amusement as he leaned in, clearly enjoying the idea. “We’ll make them pay for every smug look and every teasing comment. Let’s call it payback with a side of public humiliation.”

“Partners on the job, partners on the dancefloor, and partners in crime,” Hotch said, his voice laced with a mix of playful mischief and sincerity.

You grinned, feeling a rush of warmth at the thought of plotting with him. “The unholy trinity. They should have known better than to pair us up in the first place,” you said, savoring the moment.

Hotch’s expression softened slightly, his smile still lingering. “We would’ve found our way, no matter what,” he said, his voice laced with a quiet conviction that sent warmth flooding through you.

☐ ⬛

The next evening, the dance hall was alive with a soft, romantic glow, illuminated by chandeliers that cast a warm, golden light across the polished wooden floors. The air was filled with the soft murmur of conversations and the gentle strains of a live band playing in the corner.

Elegantly dressed couples moved gracefully around the room, their easy smiles and carefree movements masking the dark reality that lingered just beneath the surface. But for you and Hotch, this wasn’t just another night out, it was a hunt, and the dance floor was your stage.

Hotch was dressed in a tailored black suit that hugged his frame perfectly, exuding both authority and elegance. The crisp white shirt beneath his jacket added a touch of classic sophistication, but it was the open collar and the absence of his usual tie that gave him an air of relaxed charm that was rarely seen. His presence was magnetic, drawing eyes even in a room full of polished strangers.

You wore a sleek, simple white dress that softly hugged your curves, the fabric flowing with every step and catching the light as you moved. It was elegant yet daring, a statement piece that matched the confidence you needed to exude tonight. The neckline dipped just enough to be provocative without crossing the line, and the slit at your thigh gave you the freedom to dance with ease, a pair of dance heels completing the look.

Hotch’s hand rested lightly on your lower back as you entered the dance hall, his touch warm and firm, a silent reassurance that anchored you in the moment. You could feel the heat of his hand through the thin fabric of your dress, and every gentle press of his fingers sent a shiver up your spine that was impossible to ignore.

It was part of the cover, you reminded yourself, just an act to make you look the part. But every time he leaned in close, every whisper of his breath against your ear, it felt like so much more than that.

“Remember, stay close,” Hotch murmured, his lips brushing your ear as his voice rumbled low and intimate, almost sending a shiver straight to your core. “We need to blend in, keep it natural. And if you see anything—”

“Signal you,” you finished, your voice steady despite the pounding of your heart. You shot him a teasing smile, trying to mask the way his proximity made your pulse race. “I’ve got it. Just don’t step on my toes, okay?”

Hotch’s smile was quick and genuine, his eyes twinkling with a rare playfulness that made your breath catch. “No promises,” he said, his tone light but laced with the familiar seriousness of the job. “But I’ll try to keep the damage to a minimum.”

The music shifted, and the opening notes of “It’s All Coming Back to Me Now” filled the room, the familiar melody wrapping around you like a soft embrace. You took your places on the dance floor, and as Hotch’s hand found yours, a current of electricity passed between you. This was the routine you’d rehearsed endlessly, designed to lure the unsubs into revealing themselves. But as you stepped into the familiar movements, it felt like more than just a strategy.

Hotch’s grip on your waist was firm but gentle, guiding you effortlessly across the floor. His other hand clasped yours, fingers interlacing in a way that felt both intimate and natural, as if you’d done this a hundred times before – and actually you did last night.

Each step was precise, each turn fluid, but it wasn’t just the choreography that made your heart race, it was the way Hotch’s eyes never left yours, dark and intense, as if you were the only two people in the room. His movements were smooth, confident, and you couldn’t help but be drawn to the quiet strength that radiated from him.

With every spin, you felt the brush of his suit against your dress, the closeness of his body sending heat coursing through your veins. You were acutely aware of every touch, every shift in his posture as he pulled you closer, his breath mingling with yours in the space between.

The dance was supposed to be a lure, a means to an end, but in that moment, it was easy to forget the purpose behind it. It felt like an unspoken conversation, every movement a confession of the emotions simmering beneath the surface.

As Hotch twirled you around, your back pressed against his chest, the world seemed to narrow to the rhythm of the music and the warmth of his touch. For a brief, dizzying moment, you weren’t just undercover agents, you were two people lost in each other, sharing something that went beyond words.

He leaned in, his mouth hovering near your ear, his voice barely audible over the music. “You’re doing great,” he murmured, and the sincerity in his tone made your heart flutter. It wasn’t just praise; it was a reminder that he was with you, that you were in this together, not just on the dance floor but in everything.

As the song built to its powerful crescendo, you felt the weight of the room shift. Eyes were on you - some admiring, others envious, and two pairs watching with a chilling intensity. The unsubs had noticed you, just as you’d hoped. But in that moment, it was hard to remember that this was all a performance, that the heat between you and Hotch was supposed to be an act.

“Doing okay?” Hotch asked, his voice low and steady as he pulled you closer, his hand resting at the small of your back.

You nodded, meeting his gaze. “Yeah. I think we’ve got their attention.”

Sure enough, as you continued to dance, you noticed a couple standing off to the side, watching you with an unsettling intensity. The man was tall and rigid, his expression dark and brooding. The woman beside him was younger, with a delicate, almost ethereal appearance, her eyes flickering between you and Hotch with a mix of curiosity and thinly veiled hostility.

Hotch’s grip tightened ever so slightly, a silent signal that he’d seen them too. “They’re watching us,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “Don’t make it obvious. Just keep dancing.”

You nodded, trying to maintain your composure as the unsubs edged closer, their movements purposeful and predatory. The woman’s gaze lingered on you with a kind of disdain that made your skin crawl, as if she were sizing you up, looking for weaknesses. You felt Hotch shift slightly, positioning himself between you and the male unsub, a subtle but deliberate move to protect you.

As the music swelled, Hotch spun you in a graceful arc, his hand firm against your back, guiding you effortlessly. The dance felt like an extension of your partnership: fluid, unspoken, each movement a testament to the trust you’d built.

“This is it,” Hotch whispered as he dipped you low, his face inches from yours. You could feel the tension in his hold, the urgency mixed with something else, something that made your breath hitch. “They’re coming in. Just a little longer.”

You nodded, eyes locked with his, feeling the weight of the moment. When he pulled you back up, you spotted the unsubs moving toward you, their expressions dark and taunting. They joined the dance, circling you and Hotch with a menace that was palpable. The woman moved erratically, her steps sharp and aggressive as if mocking your movements, daring you to falter.

The man sneered, his presence looming as he matched Hotch step for step. “You think you’re good enough to keep up with us?” he spat, his voice dripping with disdain. “This isn’t just a dance.”

Hotch’s expression remained calm, but you could see the fire in his eyes. “It’s not about being good enough. It’s about knowing when to stop.”

The tension reached a breaking point as the woman lunged at you, but Hotch was faster, pulling you back and shielding you with his body. The room erupted into chaos as undercover agents moved in, surrounding the unsubs with practiced precision. You were yanked out of the way, Hotch’s hand never leaving yours as he guided you to safety.

The man fought back viciously, but the agents overpowered him quickly, wrestling him to the ground. The woman was dragged away, her screams echoing in the dance hall as she cursed and spat, her eyes wild with fury. It was over in a matter of seconds, but the adrenaline coursing through your veins made it feel like an eternity.

Hotch stood beside you, his breathing ragged but controlled, his eyes fixed on the scene unfolding before you. “You did great,” he said softly, his voice tinged with a mix of pride and exhaustion. “We did it.”

You turned to him, the weight of everything hitting you all at once “Yeah,” you replied, your voice unsteady. “We did.”

“Guess our partnership does extend to the dance floor after all,” Hotch said with a faint smile, echoing your earlier banter. His eyes held yours, warm and familiar, and you couldn’t help but feel a flicker of hope for whatever might come next.

You laughed softly, squeezing his hand in return. “Yeah, but I’m still holding you to that deal, Hotch. A thousand coffees, remember?”

He chuckled, his expression softening in a way that made your heart skip, he teased. “You just might get it.”

And for the first time, you let yourself believe that maybe, someday, you would.

☐ ⬛

Back at the hotel, the adrenaline of the night had finally worn off, leaving you both drained. Hotch was seated at the small table in your shared room, his usually sharp posture softened by fatigue, sleeves rolled up. He had his jacket carelessly tossed over the back of a chair, his face illuminated by the soft glow of a desk lamp as he flipped through the case notes one last time. The quiet rustle of paper filled the room, a familiar sound that normally calmed you, but tonight, it only reminded you of how much had happened in the span of a few hours.

You sat across from him, cradling a cup of coffee that had gone cold a while ago, but you didn’t care. Hotch glanced up, his eyes meeting yours, and for a moment, the exhaustion in his expression softened, replaced by something gentler, more personal.

“You handled yourself well out there,” he said, his voice low but filled with a sincerity that sent warmth rushing through your chest. “That wasn’t easy, but you kept your head, and… I couldn’t have asked for a better partner.”

You felt your cheeks warm under his praise, the knot of tension in your chest loosening ever so slightly. There was something about the way he said it, the way his gaze lingered on you, that made you feel seen in a way you rarely allowed yourself to feel. “Thanks, Hotch. I couldn’t have done it without you… literally,” you said with a soft smile, trying to keep your voice light despite the emotions stirring within you.

Hotch chuckled, the sound low and warm, a rare softness that made your pulse quicken. “I think we made quite the team tonight. I’d say Rossi and Gideon were right for once.”

You both laughed, the sound easing the lingering tension in the room. You could almost hear Rossi’s smug voice ringing in your ears, the playful teasing he’d surely throw your way once you were all back at the office. But as the laughter faded, the reality of the night settled back in, leaving you with a quiet, contemplative moment that was all too fleeting.

“It was strange,” you said softly, your gaze dropping to the coffee in your hands. “Being that close to… everything. To you.”

The words slipped out before you could stop them, vulnerability lacing your voice, and you quickly tried to cover your tracks with a joke. “Especially because you’re not the most physical person I know—and this comes from another relatively not-so-physical person.”

Hotch raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips as he leaned back in his chair. “Well, as I’ve already told you, you’ll have to wait until the 1,000th coffee before you get any kind of physical contact.” His eyes sparkled with amusement, the joke a reminder of your earlier banter, but underneath it, you sensed the deeper acknowledgment of the closeness you’d shared on the dance floor.

“Be careful what you wish for, Hotch,” you teased, your voice light but tinged with genuine affection. “With the way things are going, we’re not just approaching our 1,000th coffee; we’re practically rehearsing for our first dance.”

Hotch shook his head, his smile widening as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Maybe it’s all part of Rossi’s master plan. Get us so tangled up in undercover work that we forget how to do anything else.”

You laughed, rolling your eyes at the thought of Rossi’s meddling. “If this is his idea of fun, then I’d hate to see what he has planned for our next assignment.”

The teasing between you felt like a lifeline, something solid and real to hold onto amid the chaos. But even as you joked, there was a flicker of something deeper in Hotch’s eyes, a quiet recognition that this was more than just another case, more than just another day on the job.

Eventually, Hotch set the case notes aside, his focus shifting entirely to you. He leaned back, studying you with an expression that was equal parts admiration and something softer, something you dared not name. “You should get some rest,” he said gently, his voice carrying a note of concern that tugged at your heart. “We’ve got a long day tomorrow, and I think we’ve both earned a break.”

You nodded, feeling the exhaustion tugging at your limbs as you stood and made your way toward your bed. But before you turned off the light, you glanced back at him, unable to keep the small, grateful smile from spreading across your face. “Goodnight, Hotch. And… thank you. For not having stepped on my toes.”

Hotch returned the smile, his eyes lingering on you in the dim light. “Goodnight,” he replied, his voice soft but resonant. “And thank you, for the dance.”

☐ ⬛

When both of you were back to Quantico, the bar was buzzing with the lively hum of weekend chatter and soft music playing over the speakers. After the intensity of your recent cases, you, Hotch, and Peter had agreed to meet up, seeking some semblance of normalcy amid the chaos of your jobs.

The three of you were seated at a circular table, dimly lit by the glow of a nearby lamp. Peter was talking animatedly about his case in Los Angeles, recounting the details with a mix of exasperation and pride, while you and Hotch listened, nursing your drinks.

You watched Peter with a fond smile, grateful for the easy camaraderie you shared, but also feeling the weight of recent revelations about your own feelings. As he talked, you couldn’t help but notice how animated he became when he was excited, the way his eyes lit up when he was deep in a story. It was moments like these that made you value his friendship so much, but also reminded you of why things between the two of you could never be more than that.

Your gaze drifted absently around the bar, soaking in the low-lit ambiance and the scattered patrons enjoying their evening. The clinking of glasses, murmured conversations, and soft laughter created a comforting buzz in the background.

But something else caught your attention: a woman at the table next to yours, just out of Peter’s line of sight, was eyeing him with a mix of curiosity and barely concealed interest. She was attractive, with an easy smile and bright eyes that flickered over to Peter whenever he wasn’t looking. Her body language screamed intrigue—subtle glances, a quick smoothing of her hair, and the nervous excitement of someone contemplating making the first move.

Instinctively, you glanced over at Hotch, who was already watching you with a knowing smirk, as if he’d been waiting for you to catch on. His dark eyes gleamed with the unspoken mischief you both shared, reading your thoughts without a single word.

It was one of those moments that felt like a silent conversation, a shared understanding you’d perfected over years of working together. You both knew what this was: Peter deserved someone who saw him, who could give him the attention he deserved, something you were too tangled up in your own unresolved feelings to offer.

Hotch leaned in, his voice low and conspiratorial, his breath warm against your ear. “We should give him a chance,” he murmured, his lips twitching into a subtle smile that sent an unexpected flutter through your chest.

You nodded, catching on to his plan immediately, your own smile mirroring his. “We just need to find a way to leave him alone. Got any ideas?” you asked, your voice playful yet filled with anticipation.

Hotch’s eyes sparkled with a mischievous gleam, and you could practically see the wheels turning in his head. He had that look—the one that told you he was already five steps ahead, crafting a plan with the precision of a seasoned strategist. “Follow my lead,” he said, amusement lacing his tone. Hotch stood up, stretching casually, his movements drawing subtle glances from the surrounding tables. He made it look effortless, but you knew it was all part of the act.

“I’m going to grab us another round,” he announced, loud enough for Peter to hear but casual enough to keep up the ruse. He glanced back at you, a hint of challenge in his eyes. “You want anything, Y/N?”

You caught on without missing a beat, slipping into character with practiced ease. “Yeah, I’ll come with you,” you said, shooting Peter a quick, reassuring smile. “Keep our spot warm, okay? We’ll be right back.”

Peter, engrossed in his latest story about a wild case from the past, barely glanced up as he waved you off, too wrapped up in his own world to notice the unfolding setup. As you and Hotch made your way toward the bar, you risked a glance over your shoulder, just in time to see the woman take her chance.

She moved quickly, sliding into the seat next to Peter with a confident smile, striking up a conversation as though she’d been waiting all night for this moment. Peter’s expression shifted from surprise to a genuine, pleased smile, his posture straightening as he turned his attention fully to her.

Hotch watched the scene unfold, his smile turning smug with satisfaction. “Another mission accomplished, partner” he said softly, his voice carrying a quiet pride that mirrored your own. It wasn’t often you got to play matchmaker, but seeing Peter’s face light up made it all worthwhile.

You stifled a laugh, feeling the thrill of a plan executed perfectly. “I think he’ll thank us later,” you quipped, sharing a quick look with Hotch that was filled with conspiratorial delight. It was a simple moment, but one that cemented the bond between you.

Hotch returned with two glasses of whiskey in hand, the amber liquid catching the dim light as he handed one to you. He raised his glass, a playful glint in his eyes. “For love at first sight,” he toasted with a grin, the humor in his voice unmistakable.

You couldn’t resist adding your own cheeky touch. “And maybe to something a little more… physical happening tonight.” You clinked your glass against his, the sound crisp and satisfying, and took a sip, savoring both the taste and the success of your little scheme.

Just as you settled back, the familiar, haunting opening notes of “It’s All Coming Back to Me Now” began to play over the speakers, the dramatic chords filling the room with a nostalgic charge. The coincidence was surreal, almost eerie, and you both froze, exchanging a look of incredulous surprise, as if the universe was nudging you with a playful elbow.

“What are the odds?” you laughed, barely able to contain the mix of surprise and amusement bubbling up inside you. Hotch shook his head, smirking as he read your thoughts with ease.

“No,” he said firmly, though the smile playing at his lips betrayed his resolve. “I don’t think we’re going to do another show tonight.”

You leaned in closer, teasing him with a sparkle in your eyes. “Oh, come on, Hotch. Can you imagine the looks we’d get? It would be priceless. Plus, I bet drinks would be on me for the rest of the night.”

Hotch raised an eyebrow, his expression a blend of challenge and barely restrained laughter. “You don’t even have to ask me twice, then” he said, his voice low, filled with that familiar warmth and a hint of mischief that made your heart skip a beat.

Without another word, he set down his drink and extended his hand to you, his eyes gleaming with a mix of playfulness and something deeper, something that had been simmering between you for longer than either of you cared to admit. You hesitated for just a second, your gaze locked with his, before taking his hand, the contact sending a rush of exhilaration through you.

Hotch led you onto the dance floor, his grip firm but gentle, guiding you into position with a confidence that made it easy to fall into step. The music swelled, and suddenly it was just the two of you, surrounded by the soft glow of the lights and the muted conversations of the crowd. There was no case to focus on, no killers to catch, just you and Hotch, moving in sync to a song that seemed to echo every unspoken feeling between you.

His hand settled on your waist, his touch warm and steady, and you couldn’t help but lean into it, your body responding instinctively to his. Every spin, every step felt like a conversation without words, a silent dance of emotions that had been building between you for longer than you cared to admit. When he pulled you closer, his breath mingling with yours, the rest of the world seemed to fade away.

As the final note of the song hung in the air and the applause continued, you found yourself still standing impossibly close to Hotch, your breaths mingling, his hand still warm against yours. There was something thrilling about the moment, something unspoken passing between the two of you as the crowd around you slowly came back into focus.

Hotch smirked, his gaze flicking briefly to the bar. “Well, I believe someone owes me at least two rounds of whiskey,” he said, his voice teasing yet still carrying that low, rough edge that made your heart skip a beat.

You chuckled, your chest still heaving slightly from the dance. “A deal’s a deal,” you replied, your own grin widening. “And I’m nothing if not a woman of my word.”

He let go of your hand reluctantly, the absence of his touch leaving a small void that you couldn’t quite ignore. But there was warmth in his eyes, that familiar sense of playfulness that had surprised you earlier in the night, and it softened the space between you. As the two of you made your way back to the bar, you glanced around, catching sight of Peter and the woman still deep in conversation. A small part of you felt a sense of satisfaction, your matchmaking mission had been a success.

Rossi, ever observant, caught your eye from across the room and raised his glass in a mock toast. You couldn't help but laugh under your breath, giving him a subtle nod in return. He’d undoubtedly have something to say about the impromptu performance on the dance floor.

As you approached the bar, Hotch leaned casually against it, his presence commanding even in the relaxed setting. He waved the bartender over and ordered two whiskeys, his expression calm but his eyes still gleaming with the aftereffects of your shared moment. You had seen him in so many different roles - coworker, partner, friend - but this side of him, lighter and more playful, felt like a rare gift you hadn’t quite expected.

“So,” Hotch began, turning toward you as the bartender placed the glasses in front of you both, “think the unsubs would’ve been impressed with that performance?”

You raised an eyebrow, smirking as you lifted your glass. “They would’ve been running for their lives,” you quipped, taking a sip of the smooth whiskey. The warmth of it spread through you, mixing with the buzz of the evening. “You should see the way you move out there. If profiling doesn’t work out, I’m sure Broadway could use you.”

Hotch let out a soft laugh, shaking his head as he lifted his own glass. “I’ll take that as a compliment,” he replied, his voice still low, but there was an unmistakable amusement in his eyes. “But I think we should leave the dancing to the professionals.”

You clinked your glass against his, grinning. “Agreed.”

Before you could say anything more, Rossi sauntered over, his trademark smirk firmly in place. “Well, well, well,” he drawled, swirling his drink in his hand as he looked between you and Hotch. “I never thought I’d see the day. You two make quite the pair on the dance floor. I’m starting to think we missed our chance to send you undercover at a ballroom competition.”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t hide the smile tugging at your lips. “You’re just jealous you didn’t get an invite.”

“Jealous?” Rossi feigned offense, his hand over his chest. “I’m just glad I got a front-row seat to the show.” He winked, clearly enjoying himself far too much.

“Don’t worry, Rossi,” Hotch chimed in smoothly, his voice dry but full of that subtle humor you’d been seeing all night. “I’m sure there’ll be another opportunity. We’ll make sure you’re prepared next time.”

Rossi chuckled, clearly entertained. “I’ll hold you to that, Hotch. But next time, I expect a full routine, choreography and all.”

As Rossi took a swig of his drink, Peter wandered over, his face flushed with a combination of excitement and, likely, a couple of drinks. “Hey,” he said, slightly breathless, his eyes darting between you and Hotch. “That was… something. I didn’t know you two could move like that.”

You exchanged a quick glance with Hotch, both of you trying to suppress smiles. “Just trying to keep things interesting,” you said lightly, noticing how Peter kept glancing back toward the woman he’d been talking to earlier.

Hotch, always perceptive, raised an eyebrow. “Seems like you’ve had a good night yourself.”

Peter’s grin widened, and he rubbed the back of his neck, clearly pleased with how things were going. “Yeah, actually. I’m kind of surprised, but… she’s great. I think we’re going to grab dinner next week.”

You felt a surge of satisfaction at that, knowing that your little matchmaking effort had paid off. “That’s great, Peter,” you said genuinely. “She seems like a good match for you.”

Peter beamed, clearly grateful, before excusing himself to rejoin her. As he left, you turned back to Hotch, the playful energy between you simmering just below the surface.

“Well, look at us,” you mused, swirling the remaining whiskey in your glass. “We’ve played matchmaker, stolen the show, and now I owe you drinks. I’d say tonight’s been a success.”

Hotch tilted his head, that familiar smirk making an appearance again. “Not to mention you’ve proven I can dance without stepping on your toes,” he teased.

You laughed, the sound genuine and light. “I’ll admit, you exceeded expectations. Though, if I remember correctly, you said something about ‘no promises.’”

He raised his glass in mock defeat. “Guilty.”

As the night began to wind down, the bar’s atmosphere softened around you, the conversations fading into a gentle hum beneath the dim glow of the hanging lights. You found yourself more at ease than you had been in a long time, just sitting here with Hotch, sharing drinks and easy laughter, without the shadow of a case looming overhead. And in those quiet minutes, you felt the undeniable bond that went beyond your roles as agents, reaching into something more personal, more real.

Hotch seemed to sense your thoughts, and he turned toward you, his expression softening in a way that was so rare for him—vulnerable, unguarded. “Thanks for tonight,” he said quietly, his voice low and filled with sincerity. “For playing along… and for everything else.” The weight of his words lingered, filled with unspoken appreciation for the comfort of your presence, both on and off the field.

The simple, heartfelt acknowledgment made your chest tighten with warmth, a feeling of closeness that was hard to describe. “Anytime, Hotch,” you replied softly, meeting his gaze and feeling that familiar rush of something deeper between you. “A philosopher I know once said, ‘partners on the job, partners on the dancefloor, and partners in crime.’”

Hotch laughed, the sound rich and genuine, his dimples making a rare appearance that you couldn’t help but adore. “I wonder who that wise man might be,” he mused, his tone playful and self-deprecating.

You grinned, leaning back in your chair, savoring the moment. “Oh, just the real advocate of the ‘Hegel for Dummies’ philosophical current,” you teased, your voice dripping with mock seriousness. “The man who’s mastered the art of the unholy trinity.”

Hotch chuckled, rolling his eyes but playing along effortlessly. “Ah, yes. The esteemed ‘Hegel for Dummies’ dialectics—a groundbreaking philosophy,” he said, putting on an exaggeratedly thoughtful expression that made you laugh. “It’s all about the triad, right? The unholy trinity: partners on the job, partners on the dancefloor, and partners in crime. A revolutionary approach to teamwork.”

You couldn’t contain your laughter, enjoying the easy back-and-forth. It was moments like these that made you feel like you and Hotch were more than just friends, you were partners in every sense of the word, sharing in the lighter side of life that was often overshadowed by the darkness of your work.

As you sipped the last of your whiskey, a mischievous thought struck you, and you leaned closer to Hotch, your voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “What do you say we sign Rossi up for the karaoke list? A little payback for all his teasing.”

Hotch’s eyes gleamed with delight, his smile widening at the suggestion. “I thought you’d never ask,” he said, his voice filled with that familiar blend of amusement and quiet mischief that you loved. “I’m sure he’s got a rendition of ‘My Way’ just waiting to be unleashed.”

The two of you moved with quiet stealth, slipping over to the karaoke sign-up sheet while Rossi was engrossed in conversation with a couple of admirers at the bar. You exchanged a quick, mischievous glance as Hotch scribbled Rossi’s name onto the list with a flourish, choosing the most dramatic ballad you could think of, something that would make Rossi’s grand, showman personality shine, but also give you and Hotch a much-needed laugh.

Rossi’s name was called moments later, and the surprised look on his face as he stepped up to the microphone was priceless. Hotch leaned in close, his arm brushing yours as you both watched Rossi take the stage. “This might be the best decision we’ve made all night,” he whispered, his breath warm against your ear.

You nodded, unable to keep the grin off your face as Rossi launched into a hilariously over-the-top performance, complete with exaggerated hand gestures and dramatic pauses that had the entire bar captivated, and you and Hotch doubled over in laughter.

It was the perfect end to an unexpected evening, a night that reminded you of the simple joy of being around people who knew you deeply and cared without question. And as you stood there beside Hotch, sharing in the moment, you couldn’t help but feel grateful for the twists of fate that had brought you here, partners on the job, partners in crime, even if you always hoped for something even more.

[gaijinhunter]

I am writing this as a Tumblr post because I don't want to make a video, as I feel this person is just trying to engagement bait me so he can grow his channel. Looking at his videos, he has seen an increase in views for videos that have been clickbait or trying to "call out" something. I guess you gotta do what you gotta do to grow your channel, but I am not about that.

Iixxion recently made a video and for the third time already, is rambling on about how he has been annoyed that he ran into people that referred to the portable series of MH games as being developed by a different "B team" than the ones that make the non-portable game's "A team". Of course, that notion is incorrect, anyone with a brain knows that both lines of MH games are created by Division 2 in Capcom Osaka and that there is plenty of overlap between titles in terms of staff. He argues that this misconception is the cause of tribalism and animosity in the MH community and is the single most dangerous issue in terms of growing the user base. My perspective is that there is indeed a divide on people who like the portable series and those who don't (which is fine!), and released platforms also contributed to that division, but no one is writing off any mainline game (MH, MHF, MHG, MHF2, MH2, MHFU, MH3, MH3U, MHP3, MH4, MH4U, MHGen, MHGU, World, Iceborne, Rise, Sunbreak) because it was made by some separate unrelated team.

The issue is that he blames me for this apparent misconception and points to my video from 2020 (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nhpDnFU6lAo) where I cover the rich history of KH games and how each of the games and the portable series' games, have influenced the franchise as a whole and what features each entry introduced. He says that my video is one of the main sources of this division and that it is somehow my vague wording around the different teams on each MH title has caused horrible damage and that I am irresponsible and lazy for this. (BRUH)

Not only was my video just 4 years ago and focused on the development history and features of each title, if there was tribalism between console and portable games, that existed long before 2020. But he uses a Staw Man argument to "call me out" which is to argue against the notion of an A team and B team that are completely separate from each other, which isn't something I ever said in the first place. When i corrected him, he counters with "so you agree with me then" and that is when I realized it would be useless to discuss with him and took a look across his past videos and found a pattern of engagement farming, so I decided to just delete my comments on his videos and walk away from it.

If you want to make an argument against vague wording, it could be him saying the only consistent difference between the members that work on a "console" game versus the "portable series" games is the Director. That OFC is not true.

Some fun data looking at staff rolls.

Very natural overlap in the areas that you'd imagine with game design and programming being the main specialized fields.

Now if you want to argue semantics, then there isn't even a "monster hunter team"--it simply doesn't exist. Only Capcom developers exist and if you had to split them into distinct teams, that is Division 1 and 2.

He would likely say "see, he is supporting my argument, told you!" or "why weren't you this clear in your history video" but that is because he is making a false connection between some crap he read online, and my video and he sees me as the main cause of this "tribalism". A very disappointing conclusion he came to. My video wasn't about team compositions, it was about the franchise title history, and I pulled and used data all from official sources and interviews with the directors themselves.

I guess when you work hard across multiple years to make fun and hopefully informative videos on a franchise, the more you get targeted with bad faith arguments or engagement farming. Doesn't make it less tiring...

Stop worrying about reddit user tribalism over console/portable games, the games do have a different game design philosophy and on different consoles, so some division is to be expected, and we have so much cool news to focus on than to waste time creating drama for clicks. Be better.

-Gaijinhunter

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Hi! I'm a big fan of your blog and love reading all of your posts. You always have such interesting perspectives and incredibly thoughtful points to add! I'm not quite sure if you're open to answering questions like this right now, and if not, feel free to ignore! But I was wondering if you have any information about the Island of Woe and what life is like there? Like do they ever have to import or export things, do they have more there than just S.T.Y.X to keep them occupied/entertained, etc.? I was trying to figure it out myself and all that I learned was that most people live on the upper walls in the Oceanus section. Do the Shrouds live there too, or do they live within the S.T.Y.X. headquarters? And do they ever have to travel for their jobs, beyond the little mishap that happened in Book 6?

Anyways, again, totally disregard this if you don't want to answer! Thank you for even reading this. I look forward to seeing more of your posts and enjoying your writing and input!

Aaaah, thank you!! ^^ Glad you enjoy my content, whatever it may be!

The bulk of lore for the Isle/Island of Woe comes to us from 6-40 of the main story. We (comparatively) have more information about Styx and how it is run, so I had to isolate what lore is about the island itself + life on the island and what lore is about the organization.

To begin with, here is a map of the area:

Most of the island residents don’t live in Ancient City at the seabed level. Instead, people tend to live in the residential block of Oceanus, which is the outer wall which covers the island. (This is how Ortho describes it to us in game, but it’s sort of confusing what exactly he’s referring to since we don’t see land above the water; based on Epel’s dialogue, the “outer wall” may refer to the upper levels. This means that technically all of the Island of Woe is underwater.)

Ancient City refers to the seabed level of the Island of Woe: It seems to be the community that surrounds Styx HQ, which lies at the center.

The giant pillar in the middle of the city connects to Oceanus Gate, the entrance at the surface of the water, and ends in Tartarus at the other end.

Trains, elevators, and Styx-made technomantic flying vehicles called Chariots are used for transportation. (I assume that only Styx agents are allowed to use Chariots, but this isn’t made clear.)

There is an artificial sky over the isle. This is because natural light provides mental and physical benefits to humans.

Styx makes efforts to use advanced technologies to emulate life on land. This results in the Island of Woe having seasons, weather, forests, and rivers even at the bottom of the sea.

Idia’s post-OB flashback implies that there may be strong security systems in place not only in Styx HQ, but also around the entire island (since he talks about wanting to leave the island and having to disarm the security in order to achieve that; Styx is also shown to control the Oceanus Gate and therefore controls entry to and from the isle).

Going hand-in-hand with the previous bullet point, Ortho states that it’s dangerous to wander the area.

The architecture is a remainder of the Island of Woe’s olden days as part of the Kingdom of Heroes. The buildings are relics there have been well-preserved.

The entire isle used to be spoken of by the common man as like… some kind of superstition or boogeyman?? Lilia tells us that “People believed the Island of Woe would punish any wizard who abandoned their principles and went mad with power.” This is attributed to the isle’s origins as being the place where the Jupiter family sentenced the Phantoms in the Age of the Gods (a period of time in which mages were feared and the relationship between magic and blot was not yet established). Since Styx is not an organization that the general public knows about, it’s possible that the public assumed residents of the isle themselves were vigilante agents of justice against mad mages.

Idia describes the Island of Woe as "filled with the lamentations of give billion people [...] It's dark and gloomy 365 days a year." He also refers to the island as his hometown.

The Island of Woe has bugs, but different kinds than what you would see in the outside world.

To address your specific questions (and please keep in mind that these points are not directly answered in TWST and instead relies on inferencing):

Do they have to import or export things?

While the island does receive sunlight and have seasons + varied weather, I don’t think they’d be entirely self-sufficient depending on the population size and its needs. Styx seems to run the show, but I’d imagine they need to focus their efforts on research and not food production or something. This could easily be automated with tech, I guess??? But some things they just couldn’t get, even with automation. They may have to import some stuff from the outside, though I imagine there are multiple security measures in place to convolute the supply chain and to keep the location of the Island of Woe hidden.

I’m not sure about exports since the island isn’t noted to produce anything significant (other than Styx tech, which I’d imagine they want to keep confidential).

Do they have more there than just S.T.Y.X to keep them occupied/entertained, etc.?

Being that there’s an entire city down there, yes, I’d have to think that the people don’t just work all day. Idia himself is one huge example; how did he get into anime, games, idols, etc. if no entertainment exists in the isle? We even see him as a child playing his beloved Star Rogue in his post-OB flashback scene—and his childhood bedroom is also littered with other signs of his hobbies and interests. Ortho has also mentioned that their family celebrates birthdays and go on outings to parks and such. This implies to me that there are definitely recreational activities around on the isle.

Do the Shrouds live there too, or do they live within the S.T.Y.X. headquarters?

I believe the implication is that the Shrouds technically live in Styx HQ. (A researcher remarks that “Idia hasn’t come out of his room for over two years now” while the background shows the Styx interior.) I’m not sure if this is true of the entire Shroud family, but I think it would make sense if they did since it would add to their vibes of isolation and gloom.

Additionally, it’s stated that it benefits the Shrouds to reside in a blot-dense area like Styx HQ so that their hereditary curse burns through blot in their immediate surroundings rather than burning through their own magic (and potentially life force). I don’t think the Shrouds are forced to stay IN Styx HQ all the time though; they clearly leave and explore the seabed city since Ortho says their family used to go on trips like that.

Do they ever have to travel for their jobs, beyond the little mishap that happened in Book 6?

I don’t know how often travel for work occurs, but it does happen. Styx agents are deployed as needed to secure Phantoms, as well as to speak with important figures. Leona, for example, mentions seeing Ferrymen lurking at the palace of the Sunset Savanna.

[arlana-likes-to-write]

Sugar Rush

Family is More Than Blood Masterlist

Summary: Carol needs advice on how to ask you on a date.

Warning: fluff, some amount of angst, mention of past abuse from the Red Room and Dreykov, Val is a good friend, everyone loves to tease the reader, gay panic

Word Count: 5.3k

Maybe Carol was overthinking it. This wasn’t foreign territory to her. It was easy for her to get a girl into bed with her. Yes, it built her a reputation as a playboy, but no one got hurt. In her eyes, she was entitled to a bit of fun after all the hell she’s been through. But you were different, so Carol needed to be different. Carol found you attractive. She believed anybody was an idiot if they failed to see your physical beauty. However, it was your heart that drew her in.

Her time was between patrolling the stars and helping the Avengers on Earth. Somehow, you were all Yelena talked about when she was at the compound. Since the fall of the Accords, Yelena has painted this picture of you. Her older sister gave herself up to Dreykov, so she and Natasha could be free. Carol was intrigued by you. She wondered how someone who was captured by the darkness so young and for so long was good.

It was easy for you to capture Carol on your web; she knew you had no idea what you were doing. At first, it was the way she caught you staring at her when she got done meeting with Steve. The blush on your cheek was Carol’s new favorite color. Then, it was the way you confronted the Widow after exposing her to the red dust. You opened your arms to her without hesitation. You comforted her and reassured her that it was not her fault.

At the bar, where you thankfully agreed to get a drink, it was your smile as you tried to hide it. The way your eyes lit up when you talked about your sisters. Even when she spoke of her life, you hung on every word she said.

What she told your sisters was true. She wanted to be your friend. If it led to more (which she hopped), then she would be grateful. But it would be on your timeline; she wouldn’t force you to do anything you weren’t comfortable with.

So here she was, on her ship and lost on what to do. You were visiting the compound for a few days, and it linked up to when Carol was coming back to Earth. Your friendship was growing through text messages or short phone calls. Carol wanted to plan something fun to do together. She called Valkyrie for help. Was it wise to call her ex-girlfriend and her first girlfriend since Monica? Unsure, but there weren’t other people she could ask. Besides, she and Val ended things on good terms; they were better off as friends. “Oh captain, my captain,” Val teased when the call connected and her hologram came up. “What do I owe the pleasure?” Carol rolled her eyes.

“Am I interrupting?”

“Oh, you are, but being a king is trying work,” she sighed dramatically. “What do you need? You never call.” She winced and made a mental note to be better at that.

“I need advice.”

“Is this about the Black Widow you fancy?” Val asked.

“I don’t fancy her,” she stood up from her bed and moved around her ship. “Also, who says fancy anymore?” Val laughed. “But yes, it’s about her,” she picked up a toy for Goose and threw it. The flerken ran after it. “I want to plan something but don’t know what to do.” Val hummed.

“Is the endgame to sleep with her?” Carol slapped her hand against her forehead. “What?” Val asked while laughing. “It’s a valid question, and depending on the answer, I could give different options,” Carol sighed, picked up the toy Goose brought back, and threw it again.

“Yes,” she admitted. “But not right away. She’s special, Val, and I don’t want to fuck this up like I normally do. If I do, I will have two very pissed-off Black Widows after me,” Carol paused. “3 if her mother decides to join in on the hunt,” Val laughed so hard, she almost fell out of her chair. The sound made Carol smile. Val was a pain in her ass sometimes, but she was grateful for her.

“Goodness, I forgot how funny you are.” Carol wasn’t sure if that was a compliment, so she kept her comments to herself. “So we want friendship to possible lovers’ date ideas, right?”

“Yes,” Carol sighed, shaking her head. She was starting to regret asking Val.

“And she’s the one who gave herself up for her sisters,” Carol hummed. “Heroic,” Val was silent beside the click of her pen, and she leaned back in her chair. So Carol kept throwing the toy for Goose. “Take her to an arcade.”

“An arcade?” Carol questioned, froze mid-throw, and looked at Val’s hologram. The flerken yelled at her, so she threw it at him. Val was leaning on her desk with her hands crossed.

“Yeah, she’s probably never been to one. You guys can be all cute and competitive; then you can woo her by winning her a prize.”

“I hate you,” Carol deadpanned, but it wasn’t a bad idea.

“No, you don’t, or you wouldn’t have called me,” she had a point. “Let me know how it goes.”

“Thanks, Val,” Carol smiled. “I’ll come visit soon.”

“Bring the new boo thang,” Carol hung up before Val could say anything. Sighing, she sat down in her chair with her hands over her eyes. She felt a little silly, acting like a teenager with a crush. But she was nervous and a little anxious, and these were feelings she wasn’t used to. Goose ran over and jumped on her lap, rubbing his head against her hand to get the captain to pet him. Carol smiled.

“Maybe I should take you with me. She does want to meet you,” the flerken meowed. “Do you promise not to eat any of them?” Immediately, Goose jumped off her lap. “That does not provide me with any confidence.”

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

“Hey stranger,” you turned around from your spot in the kitchen to see Carol. While you were in Russia, you missed your sisters. You missed spending time with Wanda, but you missed Carol the most. These feelings were something you were still trying to understand. While apart, your friendship was forged over text messages and phone calls. You worried your friendship wasn’t going to work in person.

“Did you bring him?” You asked. Carol shook her head but chuckled at your frown.

“Stark doesn’t like Goose,” she said and took half of the sandwich you made. You could give two fucks about Stark’s feelings. You wanted to meet the cat or Flerken or whatever. “Goose tried to eat him last time.”

“Good,” you shrugged. “He probably deserved it.” Carol laughed and took a bite. “Is it good?” The captain nodded with a smile. You rolled your eyes and took a bite of your half. She was right. It was good. Another thing about the compound is that your food was never safe.

“Do you have plans for tonight?” Usually, you would spend it with whoever wanted to watch a movie or play video games.

“Nope,” you said. “Do you want to do something?” You watched her smile grow, and you enjoyed it.

This is the first time you’ve done this. You only looked at someone and enjoyed their mannerisms by analyzing every detail for a mission. Slowly, you were unlearning those behaviors while leaving with the Avengers. Wanda liked tea before she went to bed. Steve always had a sketchbook next to him. When Yelena was nervous or anxious, she played with the rings on her fingers.

You liked learning about Carol. When she was reading over a mission report, she was spinning a pen between her fingers. Her eyes would light up when she was asked about Monica or Goose because she loved them both. She was playful, snarky, and wasn’t afraid to tease your sisters or Tony. “Do you want to go somewhere with me?” She asked.

“Do I get to know where we are going?” you countered. Carol shook her head. “It sounds like you are kidnapping me,” the captain smirked.

“Do you think I could kidnap you and get away with it?” You shrugged. It would be a challenge, but it would be fun. Besides, she could not get very far. Carol laughed.

“Do you trust me?” It went against your training to trust anyone, but you wanted to trust her.

“Yes,” you answered.

“Good, wear something casual, and I’ll pick you up at 5,” she winked at you, leaving you alone in the kitchen. You shook your head with a smile and ignored the way her playful gesture filled your stomach with butterflies. Instead of focusing on the upcoming hang-out with Carol, you began to clean the kitchen. It was a simple task that kept your mind busy and present. You were so distracted that you didn’t realize someone else entered the kitchen.

“Why are you cleaning?” You jumped at the sound of Wanda’s voice. “I am going to brag for years that I was able to sneak up on you,” you rolled your eyes at the witch and splashed water at her before drying your hand. “That was uncalled for.”

“Are you hungry? I can make you something quick,” you said, ignoring her question by opening the fridge and pretending to look through it. But you felt her eyes on your back. “Stop that,” you said.

“Then answer my question,” you sighed and closed the fridge. Wanda sat on a chair, and you leaned against the counter. Thankfully, Wanda gave you time to collect your thoughts. It seemed wild that these people cared about you when you hadn’t been in the compound for long. It was a feeling you were getting used to. You’ve been on your own for so many years. Sighing, you twisted the ring your sisters gave you for your birthday.

“Carol asked if I wanted to hang out tonight, and I said yes,” you said slowly.

“You guys hand out all the time,” Wanda said with a slight tilt of her head. That was true. If you weren’t with Wanda or your sisters, you were with Carol.

“Her asking me felt different,” you told her. “I think she asked me on a date.” A smile grew on the witch’s face.

“Finally!” She threw her arms in the air. “I’ve been so tired of listening to her thoughts whenever you guys are in the same room.” You felt your body heat up.

“She thinks about me?” You questioned.

“All the time,” she answered honestly. “Some thoughts aren’t very PG,” you groaned and snapped a towel at her. Wanda laughed and took your weapon of choice. “I will be fine,” she said. “Besides, she is in your mind just as much, if not more.” You flipped Wanda off as she took an orange from the fruit bowl and left.

You tried to keep your thoughts at bay around Wanda. Yelena told you the story of how they met the witch. You trusted her, especially since your sisters did, but your mind was filled with so much bloodshed you caused that you did not want to subject her to that. Of course, she was right. Carol always seemed to be on your mind. Maybe it wasn’t a bad thing after all.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

“An arcade?” you questioned and looked at Carol. You stood at the entrance, amazed by the sounds and lights.

“Yeah, I thought it would be fun and a little competitive.” Carol walked over to the counter and bought two game cards from the high schooler. You were busy looking at the lights flashing and the sounds of the games. “Is this okay?” she asked and handed you a card that looked like an ID.

“I’ve never been to one,” you followed her to where the prizes were. They had candy, stuffed animals, and fidget toys. Above everything else were the more expensive prizes like game consoles and household products. You weren’t sure what a kid would do with an air fryer. “There was one in the mall in Ohio, but I wasn’t allowed to go in.” You were so jealous of the kids that were running around being kids.

“Is this okay?” Her question snapped you of your thoughts. She looked concerned.

“I’m gonna kick your ass in that shooting game I saw.”

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

You won the shooting game, but she got more tickets than you. Combined, you had enough for a small teddy bear that she gave to you, and after the arcade, she took you to dinner for food. You had a great time. Not that you feared you wouldn’t, but this felt different. You weren’t afraid to hide your glances at her as you watched her concentrate on the silly games. She was adorable, and the smile on your face hurt your cheeks.

“Hey,” Carol’s gentle voice pulled you out of sleep. “We are back at the compound.” You opened your eyes and blinked away the sleep.

“Shit, sorry, I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” you rubbed your eyes and Carol smiled.

“It’s fine,” she said and turned off the car. You looked cute.” It was reflexes when you punched her arm softly, but you felt your body heat up at the compliment. Her laughter followed you as you exited the car with her teddy bear in hand. Out of the car, you heard the weather—the pounding of the rain against the walls. There was the distinct sound of thunder.

“It’s raining,” you said.

“Yup,” Carol closed the door of the car. “We seemed to have followed the storm.” A smile grew on your face. “Why are you smiling?” You loved the rain. You loved laying in bed and listening to the weather back in Ohio. Sooner rather than later, Yelena would end up in your but that moment of peace you cherished. Without answering, you placed your prize on the car’s roof and walked to the garage door. The hum of the garage opener filled the silence. Then, the smell of petrichor filled your lungs. “What are you doing?”

You glanced over your shoulder with a mile and walked up the driveway. Immediately, the rain soaked your clothes. A gasp left your lips as the temperature of the rain startled you. Soon, your body got used to the cold. “You are going to get sick,” Carol said with a smile and crossed arms.

“I can’t get sick,” it was a half-truth. It was more challenging for you to get sick. “You can come keep me warm,” you smirked. You held your breath as you watched Carol think it over. Maybe you were being too forward. Perhaps all she wanted was to be friends. The captain shook her head. With a smile, she ran up the ramp and into you. You laughed as you wrapped your arms around her neck, and she spun you in a circle. Carol placed you on the ground. Your laughter died down, and you stared at her lips.

You couldn’t remember your first kiss. It was before Ohio, you thought - a short kiss between you and another Window. As you got older, kissing was used as a tool. You would make out with a target and slip a sedative in their drink. Now you wanted to kiss someone and have it mean something. That scared you. Would kissing her change what you already had? You would rather stay friends than ruin it.

“Tag your it,” you said, tagged the Avenger, and ran off. Running seemed like the more straightforward thing to do.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

Carol sighed and stepped out of the bathroom. Her hair was still wet from the shower, but she had time to dry and style it. Her phone rang when she changed into gray pants and a white sports bra. “Hey Val,” she said, placing the phone on speaker. “I find it rude that you aren’t at this party.” Val laughed.

“Maybe Stark shouldn’t plan something so last minute,” Val had a point. “Turn on your camera. Let me see what you are wearing.” Carol rolled her eyes and placed her phone against the lamp to turn on the camera. She was finishing buttoning her white shirt when her friend’s face appeared on the phone. “I like the gray suit,” she wiggled her eyebrows. “Is she going to be there?”

“Not sure,” Carol stood in the bathroom to dry her hair and brushed it out. “She’s returning from a mission. Nat isn’t sure if she’ll be back.”

“But you are still trying to look hot,” Carol shrugged.

“Always good to be prepared,” she returned to the closest to put on her gray vest. It was more than just looking good. She felt confident in this suit. After the almost kiss in the raid, she needed all the confidence she could get.

“What’s wrong?” Val asked. “If you keep frowning like that, you will get more wrinkles.” The captain flipped her friend off. “So what’s the matter?” Carol sighed.

“We almost kissed last week, and we haven’t hung out since then,” she told her. “I don’t want to force her into something she isn’t ready for. I’d rather be friends than lose her.” Val was watching her closely.

“You aren’t forcing her, Carol,” she said. “If she did not like you, she wouldn’t hang out with you. " That was true, but Carol was worried. She is her own person.” You were, and Carol was lucky to see glimpses of the person you were becoming. “Goodness, you have it bad for her.”

“Shut up,” Carol mumbled, but she did not deny it. “I’ll talk to you later.”

“Let me know how it goes!” Carol waved and ended the call. She had it bad for you, and it was so worth it.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

“There she is!” Yelena cheered. Carol watched the blonde run over to you. Something short-circuited in Carol’s brain. It wasn’t her proudest moment; the way her jaw dropped, a bit of her drink fell down her chin.

“Damn, you got it bad, Danvers,” Steve laughed and handed her a napkin. Carol snatched it out of his hand.

“Language, soldier,” but he wasn’t wrong. It was hard not to look at you. She saw the politicians glance your way. The red dress highlighted your figure with a thigh slight and spaghetti straps. She could tell you were wearing little makeup, but you never needed it, in her opinion. Steve chuckled.

“Maybe you should tell her how you feel,” he said. “You never know what could happen”. Carol looked at Steve and then back at you. Natasha and Maria joined the small group around you. You caught her looking, and you waved. She raised her glass to you with a smile. It was embarrassing how often she thought about kissing you or holding you in her arms. But she promised your sisters and herself she would take it slow and not force you.

“Yeah,” she whispered. “Maybe you’re right.”

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

God, you hated parties with politicians. The dress wasn’t helping your situation, but when Sonya discovered your slight crush on Carol, she suggested the red dress. It was working. Her eyes were on you as soon as you arrived, but she hadn’t moved toward you. You sat at the table with your back to the wall, nursing a rum and coke. Yelena was with Sam and Wanda. Natasha was talking with some politicians whose names you couldn’t remember. You weren’t worried. She could handle herself around men like this. Men who valued power over personal values. It was hard to find a good politician these days. Maria and Steve were with her.

Honestly, you were so exhausted - mind, body, and soul - which wasn’t helping your mood. The past three days were late nights chasing down Widows, exposing them to the red dust, and then helping them settle. All you wanted to do was crawl into bed and sleep for a week, but luck was not on your side. Tony was having a party with a few politicians. You could have gone back to Russia, but it was packed with Widows, and you would get no rest with Alexei being annoying. So, the compound was the best option. Even though Yelena wanted to see you at the party. “Well, well, well,” a man said, walking over to you. He was drinking an old fashion. “Mind if I join you?”

“It’s all yours, sir. " He smiled and took the empty seat. I don’t believe we’ve been introduced.”

“David Palmer,” he extended his hand for you to shake. Before you could introduce yourself, he cut you off. “I know who you are,” you said, keeping your smile on your face and tapping into your training. To everyone here, you were a businesswoman from Boston. The fewer people who knew you were with the Avengers, the better.

“Who am I, Mr. Palmer?” You asked and sipped on your drink. You saw Carol looking at you over the man’s shoulder.

“You are Dreykov’s spider,” he whispered as if he were telling you a secret. You felt the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, but you kept on smiling. It was only a matter of time before you ran into someone who knew your past. You wished it wasn’t happening here. You circled the liquid in your glass and leaned back in the chair with your right leg crossed over your left. His eyes trailed up and down your body.

“If I am who you think I am,” you said. “What will you do with that information, Mr. Palmer?” He sipped on his drink and looked around the party.

“Do they know?” He questioned. “Do they know everything you did for him?” Natasha and Yelena knew a fraction of what occurred between you and Dreykov. But you wanted to keep that a secret for the others, especially Carol. “I’m guessing they don’t because you are among the heroes here.”

“What do you want, Palmer?” You asked. You were done with being nice. He wanted something. It was the only reason he was here. David placed a hand on your thigh. You fought your instincts not to break every one of his fingers. You hated the way his hand felt on you.

“Just one night with you,” he said. “Or I won’t go to the press. No one will know that the Avengers are harboring a killer.” His hands squeezed the flesh of your thigh. “You can imagine how bad that would look for them.”

They would lose their credibility with the public. Everything would be questioned. As for you, well, you could not care. You had to protect them, but you hated the idea of sleeping around to keep a secret. “Thank you, Mr. Palmer, but I’d have to decline your very generous offer.” You removed his hand and stood up. Before you could walk away, he grabbed your hand and pulled you back, flesh to his chest.

“Do you think you are better than us, slut?” He asked. You’ve dealt with men like this before. Men that weren’t used to hearing no. “You are a nobody without the men that made you. So get on your knees and start serving me.”

Before you reconnected with your sisters, you would have done it. You would have gotten on your knees and pleased him because that was how you were trained. You were different now. Your life was different, and you hated the way this man touched you. You twisted out of his hold and grabbed a pressure point on his wrist. The man crumbled to his knees. The irony. “It’s not nice to grab someone if they don’t want to be touched.” You felt the eyes of everyone at the party. You were causing a scene.

You quickly turned around, put your half-finished drink on the bar, and walked to the stairs to the roof. Even with the Red Room gone, that place was still haunting you.

You liked the way the cold weather felt on her arms. It was like a gentle embrace, a crisp and refreshing touch that awakened your senses. The air’s chill contrasted with your skin’s warmth, creating a delightful shiver. There was a sense of tranquility in the coolness, a quiet calm that settled over everything. Each breath you took felt clearer and purer. “What did he say to you?” Carol asked, walking up behind you.

“Nothing, I haven’t heard before,” you answered, not looking at her. Even when she stood next to you.

“You can tell me if it would make you feel better.” You shook your head.

“I don’t want you to look at me differently,” you admitted. She was quiet as you both stared into the vast darkness.

“I could never,” you glanced at her, and she looked at you. “Do you need a hug?” she asked. You nodded, and she was quick to pull you into a hug. Her warmth was intoxicating. Your body relaxed, and muscles loosened as if you had shredded a heavyweight. Her hug felt safe, a sanctuary where you could feel relaxed and at ease. “I almost punched him,” she broke the beat of silence that passed between you and her.

“Better you than me. He’s a slimy piece of shit,” her chest vibrated as she laughed.

“Oh, I know. I hated how he looked at you,” so did you. It was like you were a piece of meat to him. Then again, it wasn’t a look you were unfamiliar with. You pulled out of the hug to look at her better. “You do look stunning in this dress, by the way,” you smiled and fixed her tie and gray vest that you had messed up from the hug.

“You don’t look half bad yourself, Captain.” You liked the way her cheeks blushed. “I wore this for you, by the way,” you walked away, fingers running across the metal railing. You felt her eyes on your back.

“Wait, wait,” she jogged to catch up. “What did you mean by that?” You shrugged as she gently grabbed your wrist but immediately let go of you. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have grabbed you.” You frowned at her statement. You offered her your hand, and she took it. “Why did you wear this dress for me?” She asked. You concentrated on the way your hand felt against hers. Her hand was rough but warm. It showed years of hard work.

“I wanted you to notice me,” you whispered.

“Notice you?” Carol questioned. “I am always noticing you. I can’t keep my eyes off of you,” a small squeak left the back of your throat. Carol smiled. “Do you want to go on a date?”

“Like a date-date?” You questioned. “Not as friends, but maybe as something more.”

“Do you want to be something more?” The question stumped you. But Carol was patient and played with the ring your sisters gave you on your finger. Did you want more? Did you want to go on dates? To fall asleep in her arms? To wake up to the feeling of her lifts on your skin? The idea terrified you. Before Carol, you ‘dated’ two other people. One was a girl in your class in Ohio. You both were too young to understand what it meant. The second person was a Red Room guard who trusted the man’s loyalty. He failed, so he was killed. There was a brief moment when you thought you were in love with the Winter Solider, but Carol could be different.

She would be someone without the influence of the Red Room, someone who understood a life of fighting, someone who could like you and look based on the scars on your body and the blood on your hands. “Yes,” you finally said. “But I’m not sure if I’ll be good at this,” Carol smiled and hugged you again. Immediately, you slummed into her warmth.

“I’m in the same boat,” she chuckled. “We can learn together.” Her lips briefly touched your forehead. The spot tingled, and it made you smile.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

Your eyes closed as soon as your back hit your bed. Carol walked you to your room, kissed you on the cheek, and wished you a good night. You were frozen to the spot for a split second, and touched your cheek. Finally, you entered your room, showered, changed, and flopped onto the bed. The exhaustion of the past few days was catching up to you. But your eyes were forced open when there was rapid knocking on your door. “Come in,” you called out. The door opened. Suddenly, a body jumped on you, and blonde hair covered your vision. You groaned. “Get your fat ass off of me,” you pushed your sister off, and she fell onto the floor with a grunt.

“First of all, I am not fat,” she stood up. “Second, you are just jealous of this ass.” You rolled your eyes, and she sat next to you. “We wanted to make sure you are okay.” You pushed yourself up to your elbows and saw Natasha. Your sisters were changed and freshly showered.

“Stark threw that jackass out, and Maria is working on getting him removed from office,” it was a start, and you were grateful they were taking it seriously. But you knew it was only a matter of time before another dirty politician took his place.

“I’m okay,” you told your sisters. You watched Natasha close the door and sit down next to you. “What he said to me is stuff I’ll always hear.” You were numb to all of it. You’ve been called a monster, a slut, a killer. Everything from A to Z was thrown at you. It was something you were used to.

“I thought Carol was going to kill him,” Yelena said. “Steve had to stop her.” The mention of Carol made you smile, biting your lip, which Natasha noticed.

“What happened on the roof?” You shrugged, but the smile gave you away. Natasha nudged your shoulder with hers. “Come on, tell us.”

“She asked me on a date,” you said slowly. “And I said yes.”

“You said yes?” Yelena questioned. You nodded. There was silence before Yelena squealed and put her arms around you. She shook you from side to side.

“You and Natasha could go on double dates,” Honestly, that was the last thing you wanted to do. You pushed Yelena to the floor again. “Stop doing that!” You laughed and looked at the redhead. You weren’t sure why you looked for Natasha’s approval.

“I’m so happy for you,” she squished your cheeks. “Look at you dating. I love seeing you all happy,” you pushed her hands away and glared at her. That was payback for your teasing with Maria.

“I hate you,” you deadpanned. Natasha smiled. She stood up and moved to the top of your bed. “What are you doing?” You asked.

“You need sleep,” she answered. “Melina said it had been a long few days.”

“Alright, Mom,” you crawled up to the headboard. “Are you going to tuck me in?” She flicked your forehead. “Fuck off!” You said and rubbed the spot she flicked.

“Move over,” Yelena said, pushing you to the bed’s edge.

“I’m gonna need some room, too,” Natasha added. Yelena pushed closer to you, and Natasha laid down next to her. “You need a bigger bed.”

“I wasn’t expecting sleepovers all the time,” you said, closing your eyes and slowly falling asleep to the steady beat of Yelena’s heart. Then you felt Natasha’s hand on your shoulder. You opened your eyes to see Natasha looking at you.

“I hope you know we don’t think you are any of those things that man called you,” she whispered. “No one here does.” You forced a smile.

“Thank you, Nat,” you whispered. “Now go to sleep,” she chuckled, and you closed your eyes. It did not matter what they thought of you. You knew who you were. You knew you were a killer. The blood on your hands runs deep. No matter how often you tried washing your hands, the blood remained.

[cvrsedslytherin]

I’ll Fuck the Depression Out of You

Professor!Sebastian Sallow x FemaleStudent!Reader

Minors do not interact.

Professor Sallow knows exactly how to cheer up his perfect little student; the two indulging in their usual sexual acts. It was the only way she knew how to counter the depression. Getting fucked by her favorite professor. The only man to make her feel anything else and he certainly didn’t mind. As she was the only woman to make him feel alive again.

Warnings: Age gap, size difference, unprotected sex. Just jumping straight into the smut. PWP ish.

There is fluff too.

Disclaimer: University AU; characters are adults. This is just a work of fiction.

Divider Credit: @/thecutestgrotto

Sliding in and out of her slick and warm tight heat had him a groaning mess. One strong hand of his, firmly pinned her delicate wrists above her head as he pounded into her with enough force to make the bed creak and almost shift across the wood of the floor.

“Bloody hell… you’re so fucking tight, love.” He rasped out, thrusting with reckless abandon at this point. Making sure that she felt every inch of his cock in that tiny cunt of hers. The other hand gripping her hip strongly, enough to leave a mark.

To go along with the other various marks he left on her earlier; love bites, little bruises. A little pain mixed with the pleasure, just as his petite beauty wanted.

She loved it when he called her ‘love’… or any pet name that felt like a sign of affection. That made her feel utterly wanted by this man, in more ways than one.

“Ngh… mnn… a-ah…”

Incoherent moans and whines escaped her pretty, swollen red lips. Swollen from all the kissing and biting he did previously. Her pleasure reached a new height and he could feel it in the way her pussy wrapped so tightly around his cock, wanting to milk everything out of him.

As his hips kept rocking back and forth, making sure to hit every delicious spot inside of her—he would grind his cock wherever she felt most sensitive. Knowing every part of those warm walls that engulfed him, what made her writhe. To feel destroyed in orgasmic bliss.

A face so innocent; so fine like a porcelain doll yet underneath that mask of flowery visuals was filth. A corruption that she only shared with him, her favorite person in general, not just a professor anymore. Granted, he was the reason she got so corrupted in this world of sexual satisfaction.

“Hngh! S-sir…—” She started whimpering but he stopped her, giving her a forceful deep thrust that hit her womb; which made her cry out.

“Sebastian… sweetheart. You don’t call me that when we’re doing this,” he hissed out, not stopping as she shuddered under him. There were no formalities in this yet she still would accidentally let it out.

“You call me by my name… haa, only my name because right now, we’re two humans, sweetie. Not a professor and student— fuck,” he asserted a bit breathlessly, jaw almost wanting to clench. He couldn’t halt pumping into her; she just took him so well as if he was made to connect with her. He never experienced such fantastic gratification before; never. Only with her.

“After hours… you’re mine,” the utter need in his voice was oozing out and she shivered now. Goosebumps of delight all over her arms; her pussy almost vibrated around his large shaft for a moment.

“That’s right… you felt the truth…” a low growl as he rolled his hips more; his hand squeezing the wrists above her head.

“Mine and I’m yours,” another groan left his mouth. Every urgent movement of his causes a groan out of him and a wanton whine from her.

The tightness of her walls squeezed his cock even more than before; his eyes almost rolled back, “fuck… keep, ah…” he panted, “keep squeezing, such a good girl.”

At the praise, a needy wail came out. He knew she loved it… loved hearing it from his low-toned voice; the Scottish drawl when he was just as wrecked as she was. Her praise kink only made an ego grow; the fact that his words meant so much to her.

“That’s right… my good girl.” He pulled all the way out for a moment; making her hips buck up a little, seeking him out. He smirked then plunged his cock right back in, to the hilt.

“Ohh, gods… Sebastian,” she choked up, eyes rolling back in ecstasy and he almost let out a needy whine at the way she sputtered out his name. His name sounded so beautiful coming from her lips; as if it was a prayer made just for him.

This had become a new recent routine; fucking like frantic lovers who couldn’t get enough. Fucking her until her cruel depression numbed out, making her incapable of feeling anything but him and these moments.

She was his best student, a model example of intelligence and hard work. With that deep set of knowledge came a depression though. The other students envied her for constantly surpassing them in grades. Then it was the way she looked… a haunting little beauty, only planting more seeds of jealousy to grow.

Which had caused her to be quite isolated from the rest of her peers plus she did not think like the rest of her generation did. Loneliness would accompany her, reminding her that she was a misfit. She was somewhat of an old soul as well and Sebastian noticed immediately, slowly getting close to her without meaning to until one day, their desires spilled out in his empty classroom. He would never forget the first time he fucked her… the first time he made her cum and not even once but multiple times. The way her virginity got stretched out by him although he was hesitant that first time. Not wanting to cross that forbidden line despite being adults. Not wanting to hurt her either but he did enjoy being her first. A primal urge had escaped though, unable to resist her. It was those damn stunning eyes… those big, doe-like orbs making him feel like all she saw was him. The disappointment on her face when he resisted a bit at first, trying to hold onto morals. The way she began to accept it and walk away. The last thing he wanted to do was make her feel that way.

Not when he needed her too. So he showed his desire again, coaxing hers back out. It was a first time she’d never forget either. A memorable one.

Never did he think… this would happen. A reoccurring routine of ruining her, helping her get out every wild fantasy she ever had but never acted upon. That he’d be fucking this perfect, doll-like young woman frequently. This woman would go far with all the wit she carried but he should have expected it, he thought to himself.

That he’d get to have her in his bed often once the classroom, bathrooms or his private office weren’t enough. That he would feel the way his cock just perfectly molded into the tightness of her—it almost felt like a crime for the sex to be this amazing. And a crime to get to have her always.

The way her tight heat would just swallow his cock up, every single inch until the lewd noises of flesh slapping against her ass would fill the room too.

She was everything, brains and etherealness. Almost a Goddess that he felt lucky to know. Sebastian wanted to worship her, praise her… remind her that she was perfect. Even that raw, dirty side of her was magic. Every part of her soul collided with him, igniting a flame that never burnt out but only grew stronger.

He couldn’t believe that this small Goddess wanted him. He was about twelve years older than her; freckled faced with tired eyes from countless tasks with his job and diving into books and research of his own. He felt his age very slowly catching up to him though he was not old at all. She was twenty years old but still; he thought she should meet a man her age. Someone who would age the same with her, alongside her.

He was devastatingly handsome; everyone knew; the other professors, the other students. Despite the slight cloud of darkness around him, he had the charm and looks. A brain that attracted his perfect doll to him first over anything. The way he’d teach… the way he’d sometimes mix in some fun and banter. He could be serious, lightly aloof yet attentive and engaging. Words flowed out of his mouth so poetically at times; it made her feel like a moth to a flame. Wanting nothing more than to listen to him for hours—he made learning better. His looks were just a bonus. That brown hair, stylized in a slight swoop showed some messiness still. He probably had curls but didn’t know how to properly work them out. That was okay since this worked out too. Deep-set brown eyes that appeared dark but would glow honey-like in the lighting, nice lips; the bottom half was plump. Freckles peppered all over that face like constellations in the night sky. Then that body… strong from his achievements in dueling and such. He was tall and built well as if he was sculpted by the Gods themselves.

Despite being confident and sometimes cocky; he had also been a man with deep insecurities and doubts. Almost feeling as if he didn’t deserve this, didn’t deserve her. He was a single man; not ever having a serious relationship yet. A man who was once lost in trauma but became a respected professor. He was known for going stoic, being hard to get close to fully. The hardships of life got to him from childhood to now but this woman stepped into his classroom, entered his life, and brought back the soul in him, gradually.

Maybe it was love because it wasn’t only during sex that he felt alive. It was any single moment with her. A person never impressed him as much as she did. It was so much more but those deeper feelings stayed unspoken between them for now.

“How does my perfect girl feel right now?” Words punctuated by his movements, “You better feel nothing but this… hngh, all that sadness, I want it fucked out.”

He hated her depression; didn’t want it to capture her and demolish her down the line—she was made for so much and had proven it. If this was what helped then he promised to her, ‘I’ll fuck the depression out of you.’

Who needed medicine when you had Sebastian Sallow?

Her back arched a bit, her hands trembling in his grasp—mind gone almost fuck dumb as he succeeds in his promise.

“Y-you… I only… feel you…” her broken yet lust-filled voice croaked out, “Sebastian…”

“That’s my princess… so fucking proud,” he beamed almost. “Letting my cock steal away any hurt… letting me fill this sweet little pussy of yours… gods, this pussy that was made to be fucked by me.”

That got her arousal at a fever pitch now; “fuckkkk… Seb…” and his cock almost felt like it grew larger inside her at that reaction. He was absolutely throbbing now.

“Nnn… you like it when I say dirty things to you, don’t you? You like hearing me confess filth… huh?” His eyes darkened slightly as that came out in an almost feral sound.

“Y-yes… yes.” She barely strained out, “I- I do…”

A young woman who can say so many words during class hours; someone so sophisticated… now unable to form many words at all.

Leaning his face down as his thrusts started to get more needy, knowing he would be close soon but he wanted her to cum first—he captured her lips in a burning kiss, tongue diving in to remind himself how divine she tasted. So sweet, like a freshly picked cherry ready to be eaten.

He felt her tongue try to swirl against his in an attempt at dominance. He found it cute, grinning a bit against her lips until he won that battle—showing her who was the dominant one here. Muffled moans came from her throat.

Swallowing up her moans like a starved man who needed to feast on her. His hand on her wrists let go, slipping down to find her perky breast; to knead it. To make sure more parts of her body felt worshipped. Even though he gave her plenty of foreplay and action beforehand, the tender love marks on her body as proof.

With her hands freed, they latched onto his upper body; nails digging in to mark him in scratches he’d proudly wear. He groaned into her mouth, lifting his lips off of her.

“You’re driving me mad, you know that?” His voice rasped more and then he felt it—her cunt tensing up around him; pulsating with need and the way she squirmed with her body… then the look on her face.

He knew what it meant.

He stared at her for a moment; panting harshly as he admired how she would look before coming undone. His eyes trailed down her body… the way she was much smaller than him. His heart rate increased more at the sight. He looked at his cock working into her… the size difference of it all made him feel a bit animalistic.

‘She’s gorgeous… perfect… fuck… how did I get so lucky…’

“That’s it, darling, let go for me.” His voice was hoarse because he knew he would be coming right after her.

“S-Sebastian.. I’m… ah—!” She could barely finish that sentence as the orgasm hit and her release coated him. Her back completely arching in the bed; nails dug in deeper, drawing out a little blood which he didn’t mind.

The flooding sensation of her release pushed him to the edge this time; he pulled his upper body straight up, still rutting into her through her orgasm as he felt himself about to explode. His cock was throbbing so violently now, the buildup forming viscously in his balls. Her body went slightly limp, loosening as her nails left his skin—dropping to her sides, lying on the bed. Her pussy waiting for him to be next, still a bit tight even after she came—always relishing it, the final piece of satisfaction.

“Fuck, where… where do you want me to…” he managed to get most of that sentence out, holding back until she answered. He always asked her… despite the answer being the same every time.

“Inside.” Without hesitation she moaned out, seeing slight stars in her vision.

“With pleasure, love,” and he finally let go. Spilling waves of hot cum into her; making sure to fill her to the brim so that she knows, they belong with each other. That only he can fill her like this. His hips jerked and cock twitched inside as every drop was taken by her. He always had so much cum to give her and hearing that final cry of his name from her when it happened made it end perfectly.

He gently collapsed onto her; their breaths erratic, chests rising up and down, and bodies covered in sweat. Glistening in the light they tried calming down. They felt beyond satisfied and spent—nothing else was in this moment.

He was still buried inside her as he didn’t want a drop of his cum to slip out yet; he thought he could stay inside of her forever.

Oh, how he wished.

His face nuzzled into her neck as he lay there, peppering light kisses when they started regulating their breathing better. Making sure she got delicate aftercare of love, only some small pants and gasps are still around.

“You were amazing… took me so well, as always,” he murmured against her skin and she smiled softly to herself, eyes half-lidded and dazed. A hand of hers moved up to his back, to rub soothingly up and down.

“You’re amazing too… you make me forget the world.” She whispered sweetly and he let out a soft breath against her neck.

“You do the same for me… beautiful.” He whispered back, slowly lifting his face off her neck so he could look at her properly. When he got some strength back, he moved to not smush her with his weight.

She was blushing at the compliment and looked at him with hearts in her eyes. It was at that moment that he realized, he really did love her. He needed to say it, the feeling was gnawing in his chest.

“Gods, I’m in love with you…” The sincerity in his voice was heard, “Not just when we do this… not because of sex, but because it’s you. You make me feel everything…” he took his hand and caressed her cheek tenderly, gazing at her with sheer fondness.

Her heart skipped a beat; a soft exhale escaped as she had waited for that… prayed for those words one day, “I’m in love with you too… there’s nobody but you for me. You make me happy, Sebastian. You make me want to fight in life, you give me strength. I can unapologetically be myself around you.”

His hand trembled a little on her cheek as he melted at her words, “I don’t deserve you but I sure as hell am never letting you go.” A possessiveness overcame him and he pulled out of her, fluids spilling a little to drip down her inner thighs. Had he stared there, he would have gotten hard again but he focused on her eyes, the confessions they finally shared.

He moved to her side, laying down in bed and taking her easily to make her lay on top of him now. Wrapping his strong arms firmly around her waist, “my love.”

She leaned her face to give him a chaste kiss on the lips, whispering against them with the same words, ‘my love.’

Honestly, this was the first smut I wrote & completed. I considered it just a tester… 😅 To see if I could actually write some type of smut lol. A little dip into. I don’t consider this that well written and from my recent fic, you’ve seen the direction I’d kind of like to go in now. Exquisite Hell… is my best work after all.

[vilapollo-arts]

dressing up for the enemy

pairing: Sylus x gn!reader

tags: mdni, overstimulation, facefuck, blowjob, consensual nonconsent (mc uses the word "no" and begs him to stop during sex but not their safeword), aftercare, possessive Sylus, (slightly) drunk sex, Sylus uses his Evol during sex, not edited

a/n: you can find the full censored version of the illustration on my twitter @/vilapollo_arts!! Please consider following the account. I'll be releasing uncensored versions of Xavier's and Sylus' NSFW artworks once I reach my goal of 100 followers! And with that, I hope you guys enjoy this fic!!

It takes a lot of patience on Sylus’ part before you even start to get under his nerves. Most of the time, when you do, he bends you over any surface near the both of you and fucks you into oblivion. It mostly happens when the both of you are alone. However, this time, you decide to test the limits.

Sylus was invited to a private party which he asked you to come. Of course, he didn’t invite you just to be a beautiful display by his side. You have a target in that guest list and you need them to acquire some information. It’s as simple as that, so you decide that this is also the perfect time for you to also play around. Of course, Sylus only knows the first part of your plans tonight. You needed his connections for that.

You decide to buy a new outfit for this particular party. It’s not often that you splurge on clothing, but then again, Sylus pays for it anyway. You can blend in with the other party goers and definitely attract two of your targets–the person you need your information from and Sylus himself. The best part is that the type of clothing you bought will definitely rile Sylus up, knowing that you have you other ways to extract information from other people.

You tell Sylus that you’re coming from Linkon straight to the party, telling him that it’s best if the two of you arrive separately so that you won’t scare your target off. You want to surprise the man when he sees the outfit you bought yourself for this party. Sylus instead sends a car over to your place to pick you up and send you to the place of the event.

You decide not to bring your weapons with you. After all, you have Sylus to back you up. If you get into trouble, you trust that that man will not let you be harmed.

You arrive at the hotel where the party will be held. You inform the front desk what you were there for. Showing her your copy of the invitation. The lady nods as you and calls for a bodyguard, someone that doesn’t seem to have the same uniform as the usual guards patrolling the hotel. The man escorts you to where the party will be held, which is at the hotel’s sky deck.

Sylus meets you right at the entrance, taking you from the bodyguard’s hands. He doesn’t say anything, but his eyes say it all. You directly meet his eyes as he brings you to an area with less people.

He leans over towards you. “You really outdid yourself with the…preparations you need for today,” he says.

You tilt your head to the side and smile. “Of course,” you reply as you spin around to show him the back. “Business at the front, part at the back. Like it?” you ask, looking up at him over your shoulder.

Sylus chuckles. “You know I prefer it when you don’t have anything at all,” he says, tracing his fingertips on your back. “Perhaps, after your mission, I can take you in my room and help you wash the blood off of you?”

You scoff, crossing your arms over your chest as you fully face him. “Don’t worry about that. No blood will be shed tonight,” you say. “At least, not by me,” you continue in your head.

“That’s a little disappointing, but I guess that’s one less problem to worry about,” he replies. “I’ll leave you to go do your thing now then. I do have other matters to take care off as well.” He almost leans down to press a kiss on your forehead, but one of the guests suddenly comes over. He takes a step back and gently picks up your hand. “It was nice meeting you, sweetie.” He winks as he presses a soft kiss on the back of your hand.

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. “It was nice meeting you too,” you reply.

Sylus’ hand lingers before he finally lets go of you and walks away. Once he blends in with the other guests, you put your mask on and walk towards the crowd as well. You look around among the mingling crowd and spot him at the bar, talking to someone. You decide to saunter over to the bar. As soon as you take your seat right beside them, you feel the two men eye you up and down. Well, if your clothes were enough to rile up the leader of the Onychinus, of course it will also catch the attention of other people.

Your plan is to make him come to you first, which is not really a hard task considering he shooed away the person he was talking to and turns to you.

“Good evening,” he greets, inching his seat closer towards you.

You smile back. “Good evening,” you say sweetly.

“Henry,” he introduces himself and offers his hand for a handshake.

You shake his hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Aren’t you going to tell me your name?” he asks.

“Aren’t you going to buy me a drink first?” you ask, reaching your hand out and pressing your hand on his knee.

He smirks, amused. “One drink for them please. Put it on my tab,” he tells the bartender. He turned towards you with a wink. “Well, there you go. Aren’t you going to tell me your name now?”

You smile as you take the drink from the bartender. You take a sip and nod in satisfaction. You turn back to him and introduce your fake name.

“Are you here with someone? I doubt someone as eye-catching as you would come here all alone,” he says.

“I could say the same thing about you,” you reply, leaning forward closer to him. “No one will come and suddenly drag me out of here in a body bag, won’t they?”

From the corner of your eyes, you can see a familiar figure standing a few feet away, staring at the two of you menacingly.

Sylus’ fingers twitches. Without even using his Evol, his piercing gaze alone is enough to probably kill the man. Still, he wouldn’t want to get in the way of your mission. Perhaps once you’re done with him, he’ll send over the twins to take care of him. He’s not usually a jealous man, but he sees the way this man is putting his arm around your waist currently. It doesn’t help that he sees you glance over your shoulder and meet your gaze as if challenging him.

He huffs out a laugh, pressing his tongue against the inside of his right cheek. He downs the whiskey in his hand and places it down on the table before forcing himself to look away.

Throughout the party, you're glued right beside that man. Sylus, on the other hand, tries to ignore you. And it frustrates you because it seems like he doesn't really care that another man is parading you around as if they own you. Despite being disappointed and mad that Sylus isn't giving any attention towards you tonight, you still focus on feeding Henry’s ego so he would eventually spill the information you need from him. And you get to deal with Sylus right after. Or maybe, you will have to pour your frustrations on this man before going back to Sylus.

Unbeknownst to you, Sylus has actually been keeping an eye on you. Even though he’s trying to do his own thing, he still makes sure that you don't leave his periphery for more than 2 seconds. And he’s getting quite concerned with how quickly you're downing your drinks. You still remain the same composure as you had before but Sylus can see how you're starting to slow your movements and even letting the man get more and more handsy towards you. All of that, he’s able to hold himself back. All he could think about is breaking the man’s fingers and skinning his arms so he gets to be reminded to not touch what isn’t his next time. However, he composed himself.

What his breaking point is when the two of you start to leave the area with you pulling him back into the hotel. He rises to his seat and contacts Kieran and Luke to ask for information about the man’s room. Not a minute later and he receives the information that he needs. He knows that you can still handle yourself, considering how you seem to be the one pulling the man behind you. However, it still took a lot of him to not to immediately follow the two of you.

He leaves the party and follows the two of you after five more minutes and heads to the room that the twins have told him.

He arrives at the guest’s suite. He uses his Evol to unlock the door and lets himself in. There's no one to greet him at the door or the living area. He can hear his own heartbeat in his ears because that means the two of you are in the bedroom. A part of him knows that you can handle yourself, but at the same time, he knows that with your current state, you’re still you may still be taken advantage of.

He immediately heads towards the bedroom, slamming the door open.

As soon as he opens the door, he’s greeted by your figure straddling your unconscious target on the bed. You jump at the sound of the door opening, so you immediately lift your gun to the direction of the door, directly at Sylus.

Sylus is unfazed by the gun. He leans against the wall and throws a smirk your way. “If that man wasn't already unconscious, I would've sucked the light out of his eyes and I would’ve deeply enjoyed watching him go limp,” he says.

You lower your gun as soon as you hear his voice. You throw your legs over the body underneath you and hop off of the bed.

“You got what you needed, kitten?” Sylus asks, watching you sway as you walk towards him.

He slowly snakes his arm around your waist and lets you lean against him for support. “No,” you sigh.

Sylus furrows his brows. “What? Was he not the one holding the information you needed?” he asks, brushing away stray hair from your face. You don’t respond right away, so Sylus speaks again, “That’s alright, sweetie. Let me take you upstairs to my room first. You need your rest first.”

“No,” you protest, struggling to look up at him. Your face breaks into a smile in that same second. “What I mean is,” you wrap the end of his tie around your hand and pull him down towards your face, “you.” You then glare at him. “You weren’t paying attention to me all night. You don’t like my outfit?” you ask.

Sylus raises his eyebrow. “For a trained Hunter, I’m kind of worried that you haven’t noticed my attention being on you all night, sweetie,” he says, tightening his hold on you. He looks back at the unconscious man on the bed. “You didn’t notice how much I want to snatch you away from that man and show who actually owns you, kitten?”

You swallow. You don’t know what he actually means by that. However, all you mind could think of is the most unholy things Sylus could have done to you at the party, right in front of everyone. Your legs, which are already feeling like wet noodles, now feel much weaker. If Sylus’ arm isn’t currently around you, you would’ve already collapsed on the floor.

Sylus seems to notice this. Suddenly, he sweeps your legs over the floor, carrying you bridal style. The corner of his lips curve upwards. You yelp and immediately wrap your arms around his neck. “Let’s get you out of here. I’ll let the twins take care of the garbage.”

As he brings you to his own suite, you can’t help but start to feel the insides of your thighs become moist. Your whole body is heating up. The way he’s carrying you as if you weigh nothing at all definitely doesn’t help the thoughts entering your mind.

The elevator is empty when the two of you enter. “Here, let me put you down first,” he says before gently letting you stand on your own two feet. He pulls out his room card and presses it up against the sensor to activate the elevator before pressing a button. As soon as the doors close, Sylus suddenly turns to you and picks you up under your thighs before pinning you against the elevator’s wall.

“Sylus!” you gasp as his hands start roaming on your skin. His touches are rough and possessive, squeezing your arms, waist, and thighs. He buries his face on your neck, his tongue tracing the path from your jaw to your collarbone. He bites down on the area where your neck and shoulders meet. Your whole body shudders.

“You riled me up all night, kitten,” he whispers, voice heavy with lust and possessiveness. “I can’t help but think that you definitely did it on purpose.”

You throw your head back against the wall as Sylus’ fingers travel up your chest and start playing with your nipples, flicking and squeezing them through the fabric of your clothes. The world around you is blurry. All you can feel are his tongue and hands on your skin. You don’t even realize yourself wrapping your legs around his waist, grinding against the tent forming on his pants. You can feel his thickness from just rubbing yourself against him. And all you could think of is him manhandling you as he’s fucking you.

“Please, Sylus,” you whimper, your fingers running through his well-kept hair and gripping them in between your fingers.

Suddenly, Sylus pulls away from you with a smirk on his face. “We’re almost at our floor,” he says. He puts you down and fixes your clothes for you.

The elevator dings and the doors open. He ignores the pleading expression on your face and sweeps you off of the floor once again and into his arms. He walks towards the only set of double doors on this floor. Inside was a luxurious suite, much bigger than the suite you came from. However, you can’t really focus on the grandness of it right now considering that you’re drunk and really, really, really horny.

You swallow as Sylus brings you to what you guess is the bedroom.

“Stop squirming,” Sylus tells you, looking down at you with an amused expression plastered on his face. You can’t help but think that this man has some kind of trick up his sleeve.

As you enter the room, Sylus puts you down on the king-sized bed. He loosens his tie and takes off his suit. You can’t help but bite your lower lip as you watch the muscles on his body move. He hovers over you, planting his hand against the headboard and the other right beside your head. He holds your eyes with his intense gaze. His eyes travel down your body, stopping at your squirming thighs.

He looks back to your eyes and smirks. “I know you, kitten,” he whispers. His breath has a hint of alcohol in it. It feels like he must’ve drank a little more than usual tonight as well. “You don't usually have the need to use that pretty face of yours on your missions. You're smarter than that. Usually, you only use all of this,” he lifts his hand from your side and traces his fingers on your cheeks down to your lips, “when you need something from….me.”

His thumb traces your lower lips. You take his finger between your lips and sucks it lightly, keeping eye contact with him. “And what if I did?” you ask. “What are you going to do about it now that another man has laid their hands on me?”

Sylus’ jaw tenses. He lets out a deep breath with a chuckle. “I already have that man dealt with. The only thing I only have to deal with is you.” He takes his thumb out of your mouth and lightly slap your cheek but still hard enough for you to feel the sting.

He stands back and pulls the chair near the window closer beside the bed. He sits down, legs spread and gestures for you to come to him. “Get up and show me who you’re actually supposed to worship.”

Without waiting for a second, you stand up and are about to approach him but then, a black smoke comes out of nowhere. Before you realize that it's actually his Evol, the smoke pushes you down on your hands and knees.

Your palms and knees sting from the impact, but the pain is actually welcome. If anything, it only adds to the arousal already present between your legs. You crawl towards him, looking up at him through your lashes. When you reach him, you try to lift your hand but the black smoke keeps your palms planted on the ground.

“Keep your hands and knees where they belong,” he says, looking down at you.

You obey. You lean forward and use your lips and teeth to unbutton and unzip his task, which isn't an easy feat. You keep eye contact with him as you take the hem of his underwear between your teeth and pull it down slowly.

“Oh, fuck,” Sylus curses.

Sylus’cock springs out of his underwear, slapping against your cheek. The tip is already glistening with his own precum.

He chuckles. “I can't get over how my cock is as big as your face.” He holds his cock against your face, rubbing it against you. “Now, take it down your throat like a good little kitten.”

He helps you line his cock to your lips and you immediately take his head in your mouth. Your tongue circles around the tip and you moan as soon as you get a sweet taste of his arousal. It’s just his precum and yet it’s already so thick. You can't help but wonder how much he is going to make you swallow. Inch by inch, you take him in your mouth.

Sylus above you watches as his shaft disappears into your mouth. He places his hand behind your head and guides your head forward, pushing his cock further in your throat. He grits his teeth, stopping himself from shoving his cock down your throat. He knows that's what you also want, but he first needs your spit all over his cock so he can fuck your mouth mercilessly without stopping.

You look up at Sylus and his head is leaned back against the wall. The tip of your nose soon touches his stomach. You can feel your throat being spread wide open by his girth. On the other hand, Sylus bites down a string of curses as he feels your throat tighten around his shaft.

He loosens his grip on the back of your head and you pull back, leaving only the head of his cock inside before swallowing it whole once again. You start bobbing your head along his shaft. Without the help of your hand, you do your best to make sure that you swallow the entirety of his cock every time while meeting Sylus’ eyes at the same time.

And Sylus loves it. He loves the way your cheeks become hollow as you suck on his cock. He loves the way you gag occasionally when you accidentally hit the back of your throat with his cock. He loves the heavy breaths you're taking through your nose. Most importantly, he loves how you're shaking your ass in the air as if imagining that he’s fucking you from behind.

Oh, he will give you just that, but for now, he has to fuck your face first.

He grabs the sides of your head with both hands, stopping your movements. And without any warning, he starts fucking your face.

Sylus watches as your eyes roll back as you take his cock in your mouth. Spit starts to bubble at the corners of your lips as he pumps his cock into you.

Sylus’ Evol disappears around your wrist but you don't move. You know that he removed them so you could tap him whenever you needed to breathe or if he became a little too rough.

But you know you can still take it.

Your face is immediately a mess. Your own drool slips down your chin and down your neck. Sylus starts to move your head to meet his thrusts. You ball your hands into fists when Sylus fully buries his cock in your mouth and keeps your face pressed against his stomach.

He doesn't move, keeping your head down. Your eyes start to roll and you attempt to pull your head back but his hands won't budge.

“You know what you should do, kitten,” he says, voice raspy. Even he is out of breath.

You let him hold you like that for a few more seconds before you began frantically tapping his thighs. Sylus immediately lets you go.

You pull your head back, gasping for air. Your tears start to roll down your cheeks, mixing in with the mess of your saliva.

Sylus cups your entire jaw with one hand. “Fuck, you look so pretty like this,” he mumbles before slapping your cheek. His eyes travel down to your thighs and he smirks. “You like that don't you? You like choking on my cock, kitten?” he asks.

You bite your lower lip as you smile up at him, either alcohol drunk or cock drunk, maybe both. “Uh-huh,” you reply.

“Such a good kitten. Open your mouth for me.” You obey, opening your mouth with your tongue out. Sylus spits into your mouth and you happily swallow it down.

He then wraps his hand around your neck. “Stand up,” he orders. He tightens his fingers on the sides of your neck as you stand up. He pushes you backwards, towards the bed. And when the back of your knees hit the edge of the bed, Sylus throws you down.

He climbs on top of you, He takes the fabric of your clothes in his hands and rips it apart. He chuckles at the gasp that you let out. He wraps both of your legs around his waist before pinning both of your hands on your sides.

Sylus keeps his eye contact with you as he slowly moves his hips forward, lining his cock to your hole. His cock easily penetrates your entrance. Your jaw drops as your back arches. You close your eyes, sighing as Sylus' cock pushes against your insides.

But then, Sylus pulls out and buries his cock inside of you in one thrust, pushing a scream out of your throat.

“Keep your eyes on me, kitten,” he demands, pressing his whole body forward, folding your whole body in half, pushing his cock deeper into you.

You cry out and immediately open your eyes, meeting Sylus’ dark gaze. “I’m sorry,” you whimper.

He smirks. “I forgive you for that, kitten. However, you still have something to be sorry for.”

You furrow your eyebrows, confusion painting your face. “H-Huh?”

“I know that you set this night up on purpose. Aside from that mission of yours, you also took this opportunity to make me jealous, didn’t you?” He lets go of your other hand and wraps his fingers around your neck once again. He squeezes, harder than his grip earlier. “Didn’t you?” he repeats.

“Y-Yes,” you squeak. “I did.”

“Wearing that gorgeous outfit, purposefully catching the attention of each and every person in the room. You really took a huge risk just to rile me up, huh?” He laughs. “Such a naughty little kitten.” You see the glint in his eyes before your vision is suddenly covered by the black smoke of his Evol. With your vision clouded, you flinch when you suddenly feel Sylus’ breath against your ear. ““Perhaps I should give you a reward for going such lengths just to get on my nerves. Don’t expect me to hold back though, kitten. I’m gonna fuck you the way you want so fucking good that it’s going to feel like a punishment. Cry all you want, let the whole hotel hear that sweet voice of yours, but I’m not gonna stop until that slutty little hole of yours takes the shape of my cock.”

His deep voice feels like it’s caressing your entire body, leaving goosebumps on your body.

“You know your safe words, right?”

You nod.

“I need you to speak up, kitten.”

“Yes, Sir,” you say out loud. “My safe word is crow.”

“Good kitten.” You feel his soft lips against your forehead.

And when his lips pull away, he immediately starts pounding into you.

He isn’t holding back, staying true to his promise, giving you exactly what you want. His thrusts are hard and rough and his hands on your neck, tightening around you. Your head starts to become woozy. Your body feels light and the only feeling you can focus on right now is the way his cock is drilling into your tight hole. Your eyes roll to the back of your head, not that it matters because he has your vision blocked as well.

Your screams do nothing but fuel Sylus’ thrusts. His eyes remain on your face, which has the messiest and most beautiful expression right now, making his cock harder than it already is inside you. He feels like he’s about to burst. As much as he wants to fill your stomach up with his thick cum, he still has to break you.

As his cock keeps on hitting that sensitive spot inside of you, it doesn’t take long for you to reach your first orgasm. Your back arches, pressing up against Sylus’ torso. Sylus grunts above you as he feels your walls suddenly grip onto his cock. However, this doesn’t faze him at all. Despite being in the middle of an orgasm, Sylus keeps on fucking into you. He does remove his hand from your neck though, letting you cry out loud. He moves his hand on one of your legs and brings it from his waist to his shoulder.

He leans over, using his free arm as a support and fucks you deeper. That immediately brings you to your second orgasm.

“Sylus!” you cry out. “It’s too much! Please stop! Oh god! Oh fuck!!”

He slows down a bit, swallowing your screams with a deep kiss. His tongue dominates yours, swirling it around and sucking on your lower lip. “You know your safe word, love. Would you like to use it?” he asks, voice a bit gentler.

You purse your lips and shake your head. “Please keep on fucking me,” you plead. “I want your cock, Sir. Please let me have your cum inside me!”

“That’s right, kitten. I don’t want you to stop begging, you hear me?”

Without waiting for you to answer, he fucks you as rough as he was fucking you earlier. The slapping of skin to skin blends in with your cries. Your whole body feels so sensitive, each pleasure that his cock is sending throughout your body feels like it’s tripled. You don’t know where your hands are going anymore. You’re reaching for any type of anchor you can hold onto.

“I’m gonna cum again!” you cry out. “Sylus, please, it’s too much!!”

“Hold it in,” Sylus orders.

“No, I can’t!” you cry out. “Please…! I can’t cum anymore!”

“Hold it for me or I’ll let you keep coming for the rest of the night,” Sylus warns through gritted teeth.

You bite down on your lips, pulling on the sheets, trying to focus on everything else but the pleasure building up in your nerves. You do your best to relax your entire body, but Sylus starts to suck and bite on your neck. His fingernails are digging into your hips as he grips them in place while he slams his own hips against you.

“Fuck,” he growls. “I’m close. You better fucking come with me, sweetie.”

Your body automatically responds on its own, immediately tensing up as you feel your orgasm start to build up once again. He lets go of your hips before reaching for your head, slipping his hand underneath, and gripping your hair. He presses a deep kiss against your lips. His thrusts begin to stutter before he fully buries himself deep inside you. Your whole body twitches as you come again for the third time, the sensation elevated because of the feeling of Sylus’ cum inside of you.

Sylus pulls away from the kiss, resting his forehead against yours. You breathe each others’ air as the two of you come down from your high. He lets go of your hair and begins to caress your cheek. He straightens himself and slowly pulls out. He sucks in a breath as he watches his own cum ooze out of your hole. He forces himself to snap out of it and get off of the bed to head towards the bathroom.

You whine at the loss of his warmth.

A few seconds later, you can feel his presence once again. You feel a warm damp towel being pressed up against your hole. You realize that Sylus is cleaning you up, wiping your crotch area, stomach, and thighs. You then feel his arms underneath you and he fixes your position on the bed. He disappears once again and comes back with a new clean towel. He wipes your entire body this time. He cleans the makeup off of your face as well. The whole time, you’re in and out of your consciousness.

Sylus disappears one last time. When he comes back, he lays down beside you. He’s entirely naked this time, but smells like soap. He must have taken a quick bath. He gathers your limp form in his arms, basking you in his warmth once again. You feel his fingers caressing your back. You snuggle up against him and he lets you. The last thing you remember that night is the soft humming of your voice and the soft kiss he presses on your forehead.

“You belong only to me, kitten. Remember that.”

[mrghostrat]

Haven’t been on tumblr in a long time.. I remember your streamer au, but nothing more. Id appreciate a small recap! :3

HII! for anyone who hasn't read it, it's a very slice-of-life collection of scenes for the most part, so there's loads of lil scenes i'll leave out of this. but here's a look back at the overall friends-to-lovers plot!

and they were streamers (10/16) (unfinished wip)

aziraphale and crowley are full time twitch streamers who live together in a london townhouse. crowley streams whatever he wants, usually toxic pvp games and "just chatting" hanging out and drinking. aziraphale streams all kinds of wholesome crafty content, such as cooking, baking, reading, and book binding.

crowley has been in love with aziraphale since... god, far too long. he'll never say anything because he knows aziraphale only sees him as a friend

aziraphale is bombarded with a hate raid during pride month, and is severely ill-equipped to moderate it himself. crowley jumps in to shut it down and fix his security settings to protect him further.

aziraphale brings crowley a cup of tea one stream (standing off-camera) when he's heavily focused on a game. he startles at the sudden presence, shouting "angel" accidentally for everyone to hear. aziraphale doesn't mind, but the chat go nuts speculating over the pet name and his relationship with his roommate

furfur, a sub-par streamer and tea-spill investigator, notes a connection on twitter between this "angel" and and old stream clip where crowley is caught ranting and rambling (very smittenly) about an "angel" in his life.

aziraphale's chat starts to wonder about the fondness between him and his elusive off-screen roommate

crowley posts in aziraphale's chat asking if he can have a bite of what he's cooking. he goes to the kitchen to try some, but the chat is too distracted freaking out that the notorious crowley is watching an aziraphale stream to realise aziraphale has actually handed a plate off camera. aziraphale seems troubled when he notices the chat is so beserk, so crowley makes a secret side account to send him a donation and tell him to keep up the good work

aziraphale comes home to find crowley in a discord call, playing party games with anathema, newt, and nina. he settles in beside him on the couch to join in.

crowley surprises aziraphale by raiding him at the end of his stream. he uses his 3,000 viewers to ask if aziraphale plans on going to a twitch meet-up in edinburgh. when crowley finally asks himself, aziraphale says yes.

the dark council, a huge and popular UK twitch team, tweets their curiosity about crowley's elusive roommate, wanting anyone with sleuthing abilities to spill the tea for them.

shaxx encourages furfur to investigate his theory that aziraphale and crowley live together, wanting him to impress the dark council twitch team to grow both their streams.

aziraphale and crowley drive to edinburgh together, playing games in the car, answering questions on twitter, and have a tense conversation on what to do if you harbour a secret crush. aziraphale thinks you should go for grand gestures, but crowley thinks it's best to bottle things up.

they attend the meet-up at a packed pub. crowley introduces aziraphale to beelzebub and promises to stick by his side, but as the drinks start flowing, they both get more comfortable to mill around and socialise on their own.

furfur, hired as the photographer for the event, arrives only after crowley and aziraphale separate from one another. but at the end of the night, gets a photo of them leaving the pub together in a drunken giggle fit, looking like smitten lovers. shaxx and furfur speculate they might be more than just roommates.

back in london, aziraphale makes plans for his holiday fundraiser stream. his viewers suggest a "roommate reveal" for £5,000. both he and crowley are flabbergasted that anyone is even slightly interested. furfur rushes to compile a tea spill twitlonger before the fundraiser.

while planning for his christmas events, aziraphale bakes a practise batch of angel cake on stream, crowley's favourite. he jumps up from the couch to eat a slice, accidentally wandering straight onto camera-- spoiling the fundraising surprise, and ruining furfur's tea spill. they're trending on twitter the next day.

aziraphale is hate raided again, but this time the raiders hack into his chat bot. crowley rushes in to reset the bot's data before they can export years of chat logs and sensitive viewer information. when the raid is halted, aziraphale is relieved, then devastated to realise everything has been wiped, until crowley assures him he made a backup of the logs, a la saving his books.

aziraphale finally realises he loves crowley. he's so overcome with affection for him, it starts to freak crowley out. crowley thinks he's getting swept up in the christmas season and is reading into affection that isn't actually there, and aziraphale thinks he's making crowley uncomfortable by upsetting the status quo

aziraphale becoems downtrodden by how closed-off crowley is being, and crowley panics when he realises he hasn't been subtle at all. he promises aziraphale hasn't done anything wrong and that he's just in his own head about their upcoming christmas party with their mods. aziraphale tries to believe him.

[queenoftheimps]

Artistic Expression as a Form of Love: aka Some Meta About Interview with the Vampire

hey guess who spent all of today putting off a really boring work task

So I'm just suddenly just having a lot of feelings about how love is tied to creation in Interview with the Vampire.

Specifically, each character's artistic impulses and what they say about their relationships, and how they use their creative output as a sort of love language.

From the very first episode, we see hints of this. Miss Lilly asks about Lestat's music box, which plays a song he wrote for Nicholas once upon a time, evidence of his love for someone who's been dead for over a century.

He later writes his own song for Louis, 'Come to Me', and Claudia makes the connection explicit while deliberately poking at him -- he wrote a song for each of his true loves, but does one signal love more strongly than the other?

She's being facetious to prod at him, but the show seems to genuinely make the point that we can track each characters' relationships through the art we see them create.

After all, we see it with Claudia herself later -- even before there's any discussion of becoming companions, we can feel Madeleine's compatibility with Claudia in the way she makes dresses for her.

Madeleine dresses Claudia as the grown woman she wants to be seen as, as she really is, even before she fully understands the circumstances of Claudia's age. It's telling that in Madeleine's dying vision, the one that convinces Louis of her love for Claudia, that Claudia is wearing a dress that Madeleine made for her.

By contrast, we see how Claudia is incompatible with the coven in the role that they have quite literally written for her. If Madeleine shows her love by treating Claudia as an adult, the coven shows their lack of caring by creating artwork where Claudia is forced into playing a part that diminishes her.

In turn, we can see Claudia's enthusiasm for the coven tied into her willingness to perform -- she starts off trying to smile her way through the situation, before quickly growing tired of the performance (and, relatedly, the coven itself).

But then again, how does the coven show its real loyalties? Well, with a painting.

We don't know who painted Lestat (Armand, possibly?), but having artwork of him in a place of prominence is pretty telling. But then again, the theater's creation is itself a reflection of art as a signifier of love & bonding -- Lestat suggests a theater to a lonely Armand as a way to regain a family/coven structure, after the last one fell apart.

Which makes particular sense for Armand, the character who most explicitly equates artistic expression with love and understanding. We see him underline it in his own telling of his backstory -- "No one has painted me in over 400 years." He associates painting with being seen and cared for by his maker --

-- and yet we, the audience, can plainly see what a warped, toxic relationship it was from the painting itself : a whitewashed version of Armand's face that doesn't truly look like him.

Hell, we even see Armand's betrayal of Louis in the form of creative expression -- to quote Daniel, "He directed the play!"

His treason isn't just that he sold Louis & Claudia out, it's that he participated in a creation that would condemn them. Artistic expression shows us love and loyalty in this world, yes, but it can also be used as a tool of abuse or betrayal.

Which brings us to Louis, he who has the eye for art but maybe not the skill for it, who never said 'I love you' to Lestat and wouldn't call Armand his companion, who ultimately gives up on creation in favor of becoming a collector.

It's especially interesting that his abandonment of photography is also explicitly tied to the end of his visions of Dreamstat. Even the one photo he takes that garners praise is one he tries taking of Armand & Dreamstat at the same time -- as if the closest he can get to expressing love through creation is something that blurs the lines between both men he has complicated feelings for. (Note that the scene where he develops the photo is directly after the "Show me the only way you know how to love" sequence of Louis bashing some guy's head into a wall.)

Hell, if we want to take it even further, we can even see some of this pretense in the inclusion of the Fred Stein photos (assuming Armand actually did sneak them in). On one level, we can see it as Armand trying to build up Louis' happiness, but on the other, it's him trying to build up the image of their romance.

After all, if artistic creation is a sign of love -- especially to Armand! -- what does it mean if Louis is openly disparaging his own abilities to make anything at all?

Taking it further, what does it say that he and Armand have a collection of photos of various boys over the years and expensive artwork hanging on every wall, but Louis doesn't seem to have taken any pictures of Armand in almost eighty years?

And hey, speaking of fascinating boys: what does it mean when Louis hasn't made anything creative of Armand since the 1940s, but he has no problem writing a book for ten hours with some guy he picked up at the bar?

Hell, writing a book where Louis spends ten hours talking about his life and hasn't even gotten up to the part with Armand yet? The supposed love of his life doesn't even garner a mention, to the point where Daniel didn't even know he existed when he arrives fifty years later.

And what does it mean when that book you never wrote is a giant hanging thread in your life, enough to create a connection strong enough that you remember that guy fifty years later and go back to that writing it? Even over the objections of the love of your life?

Especially when find out that Daniel's entire writing career is sparked in part by inspirational words given to him by Louis -- a sign of their bond withstanding the test of time, enough to make them friends after a fifty year absence.

That said, if we're working with the idea of artistic expression as proof of connection -- especially when it comes to Armand -- then it also makes perfect sense why Armand would insert himself into the interview once he's been revealed.

Then it's no longer about Louis & Daniel, or Louis & Lestat, it's about Louis & Armand and artistic proof of their connection! They're both now creating a story, a book that will include their entire romance! It's the first time that Armand has had the possibility of being an artistic subject in decades, so no wonder he's quick to latch onto it.

Even then, though: I think it's interesting that when Armand is talking to Daniel alone, the first story he thinks to tell him about is his relationship with Lestat. Make of that what you will.

(Also, I've said this before, but I am very curious what Armand's feelings towards Daniel will be after having an entire book written in which he plays a starring role.)

I think that this is all very rich with subtext and possible further progression, especially since we are about to enter a season where a new book is being written by Daniel and there's going to be an entire tour's worth of music being performed, all of it ripe with potential for further relationship nuance.

And while I don't want to wander too far into book spoiler territory, I think this might even neatly factor into a potential Season 4 -- especially since book fans will know that a specific musical performance is the catalyst for a lot of what happens in The Queen of the Damned.

[starswritingdorm]

SENTIENT AU

━━━━∘˚☆∘˚

being all so alone in school is not fun. You have no friends at your school no matter how many time your parents said you’ll make some. Spoiler alert you haven’t.

The only true friends you have are the ones in this little disney based mobile game you have.

Twisted Wonderland

You started to play it out of curiosity and how it was based around childhood disney movies you watched as a kid. You never expected yourself to be attached to it as is.

The fighting mechanics, the story, the rhythm game, and the facts system

Everything about it made you feel less lonely! You had friends since these little characters in your phone changed that! You finally had friends after forever. If only they can talk to you back though…

━━━━∘˚☆∘˚

They can talk back to you did you know? Did you know they can hear you talk and sing? Did you know they can sometimes see your face if they’re your home character? Did you know they heard everything about how this game changed your life and that you have friends?

They don’t want to scare you but they want to help you and feel safe. So they all try to plan how to get you to come to their world so you feel safe and free! There has to be a way to connect your worlds there has to be!

There is a way. You have to get what’s called an isekai. Then you’ll be able to get to their world! Don’t worry, how you have ramshackle in your game is how it’s designed when you arrive! These boys will always help you craft stuff to suit your humble abode!

You just have to play twisted wonderland while walking home from school!

That’s all!

They’ll be waiting patiently, they miss you after all