#and so many ways to go that haven't been explored...

[pkg4mumtown]

I Bet You Look Good in Pink (On the Dancefloor)

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Male!Reader

Rating: Mature

Summary: You panicked and grabbed some poor stranger off the street to be your fake boyfriend to get your mom off your back. What could go wrong?

Content Warnings: Crack, fluff, meet cute, first kiss, first person pov, male reader, fake relationship

A/N: This is pure crack influenced by this guy I saw doing videos walking up to dudes saying “I’m out with my husband, say hi mom” and wanted to explore Hotch reacting to that while Rossi ran amok at the end. That’s it. That’s the fic. Enjoy!

Also available on AO3. I recommend having work skins on if you do, so you can see the social media and text skins.

I was set out on a brisk jog—more of a speed walk, who was I kidding—before work to prepare my mind for the day's stresses. All that went to hell in a handbasket when I felt my phone buzz and my earbuds start playing a jingle, which only meant that my mother was calling me. 

I’d been dodging her calls for weeks knowing she was asking whether or not I was bringing my “boyfriend” to my cousin's wedding. I had made the smart decision to tell my mom I was seeing someone—a total lie—thinking I could make several excuses about his absence and things would be okay, considering I didn’t see my mom as often as I should.

Then, my cousin just had to announce a wedding on short notice. 

I had never wanted someone to call off a wedding so badly in my life. My mother couldn’t resist meddling either and marked me down as having a plus one without consulting me first.

“Patience” and “understanding” were not words I would use to describe my reaction.

I groaned when I saw that it was a video call, too. Sighing heavily, I answered the phone and picked up the pace again, hoping the loud sounds of the city and my huffing and puffing would get her off the phone faster. Knowing her, I wouldn't be so lucky.

“Hey, Mom,” I breathed heavily, my feet pounding on the pavement. 

“Hi, honey, I wanted to talk to you about Vanessa's wedding.”

“Yea? What about it?” I asked nonchalantly barely able to hold in my labored breaths, looking forward rather than at the phone so I didn't trip and eat the pavement.

“You haven't double booked anything have you?” she asked, a wary tone to her voice, expecting me to cancel at the last minute.

“No, Mom. I didn't forget.”

“Then, your boyfriend is coming, right? I think it’s been long enough that I should meet him, sweetie,” she smiled on the other end. 

Honestly, she was right. I had told her about “him” about six months ago, being as vague as possible every time he was brought up.

My brain—on the other hand—had other ideas causing me to immediately panic, not knowing how to respond. If I told her I lied to her and that he wasn’t real or that we “broke up", she would be back to hounding me and trying to set me up with every man she met. If I made another excuse, she would be suspicious. I almost felt bad lying to her, but “getting the hint” was not one of her strong suits.

As my brain warred with itself, I spotted another man running just up ahead dressed in a dark t-shirt, shorts, and plain running shoes. He was slowing down as we approached a crosswalk with flashing red lights indicating that it wasn’t safe to cross. 

This might end up topping my list of idiotic plans, but—

“Yes, Mom. My boyfriend is coming,” I raised my voice slightly as I finally got to the crosswalk where the man was bouncing on his toes to stay warm. 

I noticed the vague glance he shot my way at my voice and presence, but that was the only acknowledgment I received.

He was kind of cute this close-up. His soft dark hair contrasted sharply with his light complexion. He was in his mid to late forties but clearly in excellent shape and by his stone-faced expression, a government worker like many people in this area.

“We’re actually finishing up our run, soon,” I stepped closer to him, meeting his hawk-like eyes with a pleading, pitiful expression. With reflexes I wasn’t aware I possessed, I switched the call to speaker and turned the phone toward him, “Say, ‘hi’, babe!”

The glare he gave me was a mix of incredulous confusion and wariness as he checked his surroundings like he was expecting someone to come out and attack him while I distracted him.

Definitely a government agent, then.

“Um,” he started cautiously. “Who are—"

I hurriedly tapped the mute button on the call, wanting to grab his wrist and plead like a child asking for sweets. I restrained myself, expecting that he would have me face down on the concrete in a second if I did. 

I probably wouldn’t even mind that.

“Hi, sorry,” I quickly spat my name out at him in my haste. “Please, play along. I’ll owe you my entire life, please,” I begged.

Was I being dramatic? Totally. But I was desperate to give her an actual face to get her off of my back.

One last glance around us and he relented, bending somewhat to be level with the phone’s camera. I tapped the mute button again.

“Sorry, Mom, his hearing is a little bad. Babe, say ‘hi’ to my mom,” I raised my voice, positioning myself so I was just in front of him and both of us fit in the frame.

I heard him slowly exhale behind me, then a soft smile spread over his face in the camera preview, “Hello, Ms...”

I felt him smack my back with the back of his hand, making me jump but I murmured her last name out of the corner of my mouth.

“Right, hello,” he smiled again. “I’m age—Aaron. It’s nice to finally meet you.”

“Oh, how handsome,” she winked and I felt my soul immediately leave my body. 

How childish would it be to launch my phone into the street right now?

“Yea, um, so—we're—” I started but was interrupted.

“Aaron, sweetheart, I love my son to death but his memory is awful. I hope he told you about his cousin’s wedding. I’d love to meet you there,” she interrupted me.

Aaron’s smile faded somewhat, probably internally panicking as much as I was.

“I should have stayed home,” I heard him murmur under his breath. “Uhm, no, but it’s been a pretty hectic couple of weeks for me, so it’s not entirely his fault,” Aaron covered smoothly, bringing a hand up to my shoulder and stepping closer.

Damn, he was good.

“You poor thing,” she cooed. “Well, I hope you can make it.”

“Of course, I’ll do my best.”

“Oh, and she changed the colors to pastel pink, so I hope that’s not too hard for you to come up with, honey.”

My jaw clenched. Of course, she changed the colors. Luckily, I had a navy blue suit that would go with the only pastel pink shirt I owned.

“I’ll make it work, Mom, thanks.”

I could feel Aaron glaring at me through the video preview, his fingertips digging into my shoulder. Like he was questioning every life choice that landed him in this present moment. 

I reached my hand back, fingers barely grazing the side of his neck as I looked back at him, “I think you have one.”

Aaron’s eyes flicked down to my lips and back to my eyes so quickly I almost missed it, “You would—uh—know better than me.” He sounded unfocused and dazed as he reacted to my movements.

“I think so,” I winked, pressing my lips to his stubbly chin and focusing back on the phone, seeing my mother’s eyes lit up with glee. “Anyway, Mom, I gotta go home and get ready for work. Love you.”

“Okay, have a great week, sweetie, I love you, too! It was nice to meet you, Aaron.”

“You as well,” he smiled, giving her a small wave before the call ended.

My face dropped as soon as the call was over, turning to face Aaron, “I am so sorry for that! I panicked and I’ll admit it was not my finest moment. And I’m especially sorry if that whole thing made you uncomfortable because I’m...you know...and I kissed—yea—uhm...I’m sorry.”

Aaron scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, “It’s okay.” He shifted in place, looking at the people passing us rather than me, “I’m actually...bi? Is that the word?”

This man was getting better by the minute.

“Good enough,” I smiled.

The silence stretched between us again. Was it too late to run across the street and away from this silence? I glanced at the light as it turned back to red—the third one we’ve missed now.

“I’m—uh—sorry, too,” he finally said.

“Why?” I asked him, confused, “I trampled all over your morning.”

“I thought you were distracting me to—er—hurt me, rob me, ambush me...” he trailed off, looking just past me.

I couldn't help the laugh that bubbled up my throat and morphed into a full-bodied laugh, “Honey, please...look at me.”

Aaron’s shocked face slowly cracked, laughing with me finally. His shoulders relaxed a little, not as on edge as he was when I first approached him.

He had a beautiful smile, I was learning.

“What—uh—what day is that wedding?” he finally asked as our laughter settled down.

“Oh, you don’t actually have to go. I can make something up, really,” I waved him off. “I just needed to give her a face to give my claims some validation.”

Aaron shrugged, his arms flailing slightly, “My coworkers tell me I need to get out more, so...”

Oh.

“Well, in that case...” I unlocked my phone and checked the calendar to be absolutely sure lest my mother fry me, “It’s next month. The fifth. You have approximately twenty-five days.”

How was this my life right now?

“My schedule is—well it’s unpredictable, so I’ll let you know?” he cringed a little.

Government agent. Right. No wonder his posture was so good.

“And how were you planning on doing that?” I asked with a smirk.

He froze for a second, brain rebooting, “I was hoping I could get your number, actually,” he laughed shyly, looking down and patting his pockets to locate his phone.

He fumbled with the phone for a second and finally handed it to me. Pursing my lips, I laughed to myself as I typed my name in and put “boyfriend” with a heart in parenthesis before typing my number in. I handed it back to him, seeing the way his face flushed at the name I put in. 

“I’m serious, though, if you can’t or don’t want to just let me know. You’re in no way obligated.”

“Yeah, I will,” he nodded, making a move to continue his journey.

We both crossed the street, him breaking back out into a run and me a brisk-ish stroll as I got my music playing again. I caught him looking back a couple of times, making me wonder if he was challenging me to catch up or making sure I didn’t follow him home. A smile pulled across his face as he saw me start to speed up. As we reached the next intersection, I held my hand up in a wave as I turned left while he continued straight and crossed the street.

-

Aaron POV

Aaron had been understandably wary of the man who approached him that morning. He had a dangerous job and had experienced more than enough trauma for one lifetime. 

He was ambushed. Just not like had expected.

All of a sudden, he was talking to a lady and gently touching a man he didn’t know and—

Uh.

Did he just kiss Aaron?

On his chin, but still.

He wasn't sure if he was conscious at that moment, except for the fire burning on his face.

Aaron made it home and to Quantico in a haze. He sat at his desk, staring at the phone in his hand like it might suddenly burst into flames. A phone number, a name, and an invitation. Nothing more. Nothing less.

It had been hours since the incident, and yet, the warmth of a stranger’s lips on his cheek still lingered like an unresolved case in his mind. He wasn’t sure if it was the sheer audacity and absurdity of the encounter or the way he had simply…gone along with it. The sound of the stranger’s voice still echoed—quick, clever, and just a little desperate.

"Babe, say ‘hi’ to my mom."

And Aaron—fucking—Hotchner, a man trained in several facets like terrorism, law, and behavioral analysis, had folded like a damn lawn chair.

Which is why he now found himself in a situation far more dangerous than being ambushed in the middle of a morning run—standing in Penelope Garcia’s office.

Penelope turned in her chair and blinked at him, fingers frozen over her keyboard assessing him.

“Sir,” she said slowly, looking him up and down like he had just walked in wearing a clown wig. He certainly felt like it. “Hi, sir. Hotch. Uh, sir. What… are you doing here? Do we have a case?”

Aaron didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he set a paper down on her desk where he’d written the man’s number and slid it toward her with two fingers. “Can you run this for me?” He cleared his throat. “Unofficially.”

Her eyes flicked from the paper to his face, then back to the paper. Then back to his face.

She gasped, “Oh my God. Is this—” She clapped her hands over her mouth, muffling an excited squeal. “Are you asking for a background on a new lady friend?”

Aaron’s jaw tightened, teeth grinding under the pressure, “Garcia.”

“You are.” Her voice was an octave higher, her whole body vibrating with barely contained glee. “Oh, my stars, this is my favorite day—”

“It's not—” He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “It’s not like that.”

Garcia wiggled her fingers at him. “Oh, no, no, no, sir, you do not get to walk into my office, ask me to dig into some poor lady's entire life, and then pretend like this isn’t about romance.”

Aaron exhaled sharply.

There was no easy way out of this now.

“He approached me this morning,” he admitted. “Called me his boyfriend—to his mother over the phone—and I…played along. His mother invited me to his cousin’s wedding.”

Garcia gawked at Aaron, completely glossing over the fact that Aaron had implied a man. He shouldn’t be surprised that she didn’t care, “You played along?”

He glanced away, embarrassed, “It was—unexpected.”

She pointed at Aaron accusingly. “You liked it.”

“I did not.”

“You so did.”

“Garcia—”

She cackled, typing the number in furoiusly and bringing up several windows, “Well, now I have to know who this mystery man is. I would have never guessed, boss man, but I can't judge a book by it’s cover. Oh, what if he’s a spy? Or an undercover agent? Or—”

“I was thinking more along the lines of a scam artist,” Aaron muttered.

She hummed, making a tsk with her tongue and teeth, “Doubt it. Cute guys don’t run scams, they just break hearts.”

Hotch gave her a flat look, “That’s how you—”

“Not a word,” she held a finger up. “Give me five minutes.”

And just like that, Garcia’s fingers were flying over the keyboard. The glow of her multiple monitors flashed across her face as she scrolled through the man’s life with the skill of a seasoned technical analyst and the enthusiasm of a gossip columnist.

Aaron crossed his arms, exhaling sharply at her wild glee, “Anything?”

“Oh, my dear sir, I have everything.” Garcia’s eyes widened. “Oh. Oh my God.”

Aaron's posture stiffened, leaning in closer to the screen. Dread filled his stomach at what she could have found, “What?”

“He’s adorable!”

Aaron immediately frowned, he was too old for this shit, “That’s not relevant.”

“Oh, but it is,” Penelope turned one of the monitors slightly so he could see. “Look at this. Your mystery man is a dog dad—and look at this cutie pie of a pup! He posts pictures of her in cute sweaters—sir, he’s a sweater-on-dogs guy.”

Aaron barely glanced at the screen. “And?”

Garcia gasped, “Oh, and? And? That means he has a soft heart, sir. That means he is a man of culture. Also, look at him.”

Hotch did not look at the screen. He refused actually.

Garcia, however, had no such reservations. She clicked on another post. “He hikes! Look at him in the mountains with that perfect lighting—who is taking these pictures, wow? Oh, that’s so unfair. Pretty people should not have good lighting and cute dogs.”

Aaron exhaled through his nose, long and slow. “He sure was struggling to catch up to me today.”

“He strolls, sir. Not everyone runs marathons.”

“Garcia.”

She ignored him, clicking another post, “Ooh, he bakes. He’s posted about trying new recipes. There’s a caption—‘Husband material 😏😉’.” She turned to him, eyes wide with revelation. “This is so fate.”

He finally looked at her, doing his best to look unimpressed but he was slowly softening to the man, too, “Fate?”

She pointed at the screen. “Sir, this man makes baked goods, is absolutely adorable, and randomly fake-dated you? That is the universe working in real-time.”

Aaron pinched the bridge of his nose. Why had she put so much stress on “you”? He was a catch, too.

“Oh, wait, what’s this?” She clicked on another post and let out yet another squeal, “He dressed up as a cowboy for Halloween. Sir, I swear to you—”

“I’m leaving.”

Garcia lunged forward, grabbing his wrist before he could retreat. A playful glare had her releasing him instantly. Still, Garcia looked up at him, eyes twinkling, “He’s precious.”

Aaron sighed, rubbing his temple. “Did you find anything that would suggest he’s dangerous?”

Garcia grinned. “Only to your heart, sir.”

Hotch turned on his heel and left.

Garcia called after him, sing-song, “So, are you going to call him or what?”

Aaron was not going to dignify that with a response. He had just made it to the door when Garcia made more excited yelps and beckoned him back.

“Oh, oh, wait, wait, sir, come back!”

With a sigh, he turned, “Hmm?”

Garcia spun one of the monitors toward him, biting back a grin, “So, uh. You remember when he mentioned a wedding?”

Aaron frowned, “Yes?”

“It’s real,” She clicked on a recent post. It was a screenshot of a text conversation:

Garcia wheezed, “Sir, you are his manifested date.”

Hotch stared at the screen, resisting the urge to chuckle at his ridiculous antics. It was good to know he was actually that awkward online, too.

“…I see. To be fair, he did give me a choice.”

Garcia tilted her head, watching him carefully. “Perfect, you could just text him and say you’re not going. Or—” Her smile turned devious. “You could meet up and—you know—practice before the real thing.”

Aaron gave her a deadpan look.

She beamed.

Without a word, Aaron turned and walked out but sighed, stopping the door from shutting all the way with his hand. He poked his head back in, “Thanks, Penelope.”

MC POV

I honestly, didn’t expect Aaron to text me. It had been about a week since I ran into him. Throughout that time, I hadn’t seen him out and about any other morning. So, I couldn’t tell if he’d been avoiding me, we were completely missing each other, or he was just busy.

I chose to believe he was busy because boy would I not mind seeing him and those perfect hands again.

My thoughts were put at ease when I got a text ten days after I ran into him, smack on a Saturday morning.

I had no idea what to reply as I stared at my phone with a puppy chewing on my sweater sleeves. 

“Mochi, no,” I absentmindedly corrected her. “Daddy needs to think.”

While I thought about a response, I saved his contact to my phone under “Aaron (Mom's Fav)”.

I could practically feel his exasperation through the phone. But I did hope he thought I was somewhat funny, too.

My heart felt like it was ready to jump out of my throat as I read his text. Tonight? Like TONIGHT?

“Mochi, come here, baby. I need support,” I dragged the over-excited puppy into my lap and hugged her to my lap with one hand while the other held my phone. 

What do I even say to that? Deflecting with humor sounded like a safe bet.

Aaron’s address was sent shortly after and I wasn't surprised to see that it was only a couple blocks north of mine in the direction he ran the day we met. I threw my head back on my couch, giddy to see Aaron again. My brain finally caught up with what that meant. I was going to be alone with the man, with only Mochi as a chaperone and she couldn’t care less about who I embarrassed myself in front of. I had nothing to hide behind, no buffer, no screen, no over-excited mother to parry off of. 

Fuck. Why was I like this?

Then I realized I had a lot of work to do and leaped off the couch to make him a study guide. I had pictures of the important people: my parents, siblings, bride and groom, and some assorted aunts and uncles. I wouldn't subject him to memorizing the kids because—let's be honest—they didn't care about the old folks anyway. It wasn’t too long of a list, only about three pages that I printed out to make it easy for him.

Once I had that sorted, I thought about what to bring. Can you go wrong with brownies? Actually...I’m sure you could, but it was the most practiced thing I knew how to make without messing up considering the state of my head.

The time snuck up on me quickly and I frantically took the brownies out of the oven to cool before running to my room to get ready with Mochi hot on my heels. She guarded the shower, attacking my towels and shower mat as I hurriedly washed myself. Doing my best to not trip over her and slip on the slick floor—medical emergencies were not ideal right now—I ran back to my room to towel off and get dressed.

“Ok, little girl, what color are we feeling today?” 

I laid out a couple different collars for her, which she hopped excitedly around and chose one to attack. Lilac it was. 

“Should we match?” she gave me a beady-eyed stare, focused only on gaining possession of the collar again. “You don’t give two shits.”

I fastened the collar around her neck and tugged a matching sweater over her, taking the time to gush over how adorable she looked.

I surprisingly found a passable first-date shirt that sort of matched her and finished getting ready. In my haste, I nearly forgot the small tray of brownies as I fed Mochi and packed a couple of toys to distract her. Nearly screaming, I covered the tray and put it by the door with the other stuff so I wouldn't forget.

I was a wreck the entire drive to Aaron’s. For no reason, too. As much as I teased him, he was right. 

This wasn’t a date. But, he was hot and I was me.

I located his apartment with relative ease and waited nervously outside with an impatient puppy at my side and a glass tray under my arm digging into my ribs. His cheat sheet lay balanced atop the foil. Making a nervous whine in the back of my throat, I finally knocked with my free hand that held Mochi’s leash.

The door swung open, Aaron on the other side with a dish towel over his shoulder in a dark polo. I stared at the skin past the unbuttoned top buttons, completely missing whatever he said to me.

“—need help?” I caught at the end of his sentence.

“Oh, uh, yea sort of,” I winced as I shifted the tray, which he gladly took from me, noticing the paper on top as he ushered me inside and shut the door behind me. 

“You can let her off, it’s fine. I closed all the doors already,” he nodded to where Mochi was eagerly wanting to sniff every surface she could reach.

Wow, he’s perfect.

I unclipped her leash, laughing at the way she made a beeline for Aaron’s jeans, nipping at the material before skittering over to his sofa. I tossed the toys I brought with me to the floor, so she would leave his belongings alone.

“This is...a good look on you,” I smiled nervously, taking in the domesticity of his clothes. My bravado over text completely flew out the window.

“Mm, I was married once upon a time,” He smirked, turning back to the stove.

“Was?”

“Yea, we found out I was married to my work more.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

Aaron just shrugged, “It was a long time ago.”

I chewed my lip, desperate to change the topic. My eyes landed on the papers I brough with me.

“Oh! I brought this so we could go over my family.”

I picked up the papers and met him near the stove, leaning against the counter where there was free space he wasn't utilizing. He smiled softly in my direction as he cooked, nodding and stirring.

“Go for it,” he nodded.

I was surprised he wanted to start now while he was busy cooking but went ahead anyway. I would show him the picture, tell him their name and relation, and move on. He listened diligently, repeating names and making sure they were pronounced correctly before moving on. His eyes moved over the pictures like they were calculating and cataloging every little detail of their faces.  He would lean in for a closer look at the pictures, standing much closer and making me stumble over my words. My face would feel like it was on fire.

Aaron didn’t comment on it.

He was weirdly good at it, remembering faces and recalling details from short-term memory.

I wanted to ask how but didn’t want to intrude more than he was allowing me. My big mouth couldn’t be stopped, though. 

“Wh—,” I started, my voice hitching when he moved into my space and grabbed something on the other side of me. His arm wrapped around me, chest scraping mine as he looked at me expectantly to keep talking. “—wh—uhm…hmm,” I raised my eyebrows, scratching the back of my neck awkwardly under his gaze.

He sighed with an amused smile, “You can’t act like this every time I touch you at the wedding, boyfriend.”

I cleared my throat, blinking rapidly, “Act like what?”

Aaron shook his head, adding the item he grabbed and stirring briefly. He gave me a pointed look, “You freeze up and stutter.”

“I do not.”

“You do. You just did.”

Aaron set his large spoon down and crowded my space, “If you’re nervous about being close to me, then you need to get used it.” His hands framed my hips on the counter behind me, “Touch me.”

I nearly choked on my own saliva.

“I—I’m sorry?”

Aaron was unfazed, “If we’re going to sell this, you can’t tense up and shy away every time I stand next to you. So, touch me. Now.”

I stared at him, his brown eyes boring into mine with long lashes framing them. 

He’s so pretty.

I raised my hand up and pressed a finger to his chest. His very firm, very nice chest that stretched the fabric of his polo.

“Not like that,” he sighed, taking my wrist and guiding my hand more firmly to his chest.

Oh.

Brain.exe has stopped working.

I swallowed, pressing my palm more confidently against him and looking just past his head. Aaron tilted his head, purposely catching my gaze again. Picking up my free hand, I rested it on his bicep, where his shirt met his skin. 

“So—uh,” I tried to think at the same time, gently squeezing the muscle and sliding my hand around to the back of his arm. “You have a really good memory.”

“Mhm.”

“Where do you work?” I finally asked.

“For the DOJ,” he answered automatically.

“Got it, top secret,” I laughed.

He dropped his head sheepishly, “Sorry. It’s kind of an automatic answer for people I just met.” 

He lifted his head up, smiling and moving a hand to my lower back. I fought the jump that threatened to move my body and lost, tensing just a little.

“I work for the FBI,” he finished.

“That makes so much more sense,” I laughed, sliding my hand up from his chest to his shoulder.

I licked my lip as his head tilted away from my hand. 

An invitation.

Slowly, my hand made its way to his neck. His eyes fluttered shut as my fingers slipped around the back of his neck while my thumb brushed just below his ear.

“Good,” he hummed with his eyes still closed, helping my confidence just enough since I was no longer under his watchful gaze.

“This is so stupid, why am I nervous? I literally kissed your face on a whim in front of my mother.”

Aaron shrugged, “You tell me.”

Frankly, I did know. I was legitimately attracted to him beyond this whole fake dating bullshit.

He still stared, expecting an answer.

“Oh, you want me to say it out loud?”

“Yea.”

“Well, I—”

“Look at me.”

It wasn’t a suggestion.

Looking directly at him, I continued, “I think I’m just actually attracted to you and all of my confidence over text goes out the window when that happens. I don’t have anything to hide behind, you know?”

“Mm,” he hummed. “Would be hard to sell if we didn’t find each other attractive.”

Wait. 

We?

Aaron leaned forward.

I held my breath.

His lips touched my cheek, pressing a soft kiss there before straightening up and going back to the food before it burned.

My cheek was on fire.

He found me attractive, too?

Dinner was a little easier, reviewing my family again to make sure things were sticking with him. Mochi had come over at some point to chew on my shoelaces as we talked. Aaron picked her up, having finished his food first, and let her chew on his arm with her little dagger teeth. As soon as I finished, I grabbed his plate and took it to the sink—which he protested.

“You’re babysitting, it’s the least I can do,” I slapped his hand away.

Aaron kept me company instead, leaning against the counter with Mochi in his arms. We diligently went over our backstory, how we met, our first date, etcetera—knowing full well that my mother would ask every single question she could think of. Whether it was meant to be private or public.

Mochi eventually wiggled out of his grasp, running over to one of her toys, snagging it, and doing laps around the couch.

Aaron smiled as he watched her, then turned to take the wet dishes from my hands to dry them. My fingers tingled as his own fingers brushed mine, but I kept my cool and he noticed with a proud nod. 

“See? You’re doing better already.”

I roll my eyes, watching him push off the counter to put the dishes away. I turned the water off, busy drying my hands when I felt two hands come to my hips with Aaron’s breath against my shoulder. His body heat was plastered against my back. I was proud of myself for not tensing up, instead waiting for him to do something while I placed my damp hands over his as his hands met at the front of my hips.

“I’m assuming you know how to dance?” He murmured.

“Yes, I know how to dance at a wedding. I know you’re out of practice and all but this is not how you do that,” I laughed.

“Just making sure you wouldn’t jump,” he muttered, his nose brushing the shell of my ear and his lips skimming the back of my neck.

“I’ve calmed down a little, okay?” I rolled my eyes, turning to face him.

I gripped his upper arms, his arms still wrapped around me, and slid them up his shoulders until they could meet around his neck.

“Can I try something?” I asked.

He seemed to already know, eyes half-lidded and already staring at my mouth, “Go ahead."

I leaned in, pressing my lips to his gently, separating only to come back and press a little harder. Aaron’s hips closed the gap between us, arms pulling me close at the same time.

This had to be heaven.

My hand cupped the back of his head, eagerly bringing him down as my lips parted. The tip of his tongue flicked out at my bottom lip, nearly making me whine in the back of my throat. The friction of our pants did not help in that department.

I pulled back; the kiss having been much briefer than it felt. Aaron’s mouth chased mine, barely able to mutter, “Again,” before his tongue was licking my mouth open.

A moan ripped from my throat as his tongue skimmed the hypersensitive skin of the roof of my mouth. The shiver I fought made me grip him tighter and I had a vague thought about how far he was willing to take this as I felt the unmistakable brush of his hardness against mine. I pulled back, letting my hands drop to his chest to create some space.

His lips were swollen, eyes a little dark, but he was otherwise annoyingly calm. I was flustered, the line between real and fake being blurred so intensely in that moment.

“This might be a problem.”

He didn’t have to look down to know exactly what we both felt, “Only if you make it one.”

I shook my head, smacking his arm and squeezing myself out from between him and counter, “You’re insufferable.”

“You kissed me first,” he followed, stopping to grab two brownies out from the covered tray.

He followed me further down the counter, handing me one of the brownies and watching me with a vaguely amused look. I took a bite just to give myself something to do, staring at the floor and murmuring my thanks.

We just made out. We barely know each other. This is insane.

“You’ve been giving me an out this entire time but It looks like you might need one,” he took a slow bite of his own, clearly in no rush. “You’re thinking too hard about this.”

“You just kissed me stupid, give me a second.”

“You still kissed me first.”

“Are you seriously not letting that go?”

“No.”

He was so fucking smug. I hated and loved it at the same time. It made me want to kiss him again. I shoved the last of the brownie in my mouth, finally meeting his eyes and swallowing thickly.

“So, at the wedding, we’re not kissing like that.”

“Obviously, unless you plan on scarring your family,” he exhaled, sounding like a laugh. He crowded my space again, my brain going into overdrive at his heat and smell. “You specified ‘at the wedding’, which I find interesting.”

Aaron’s eyes flicked down to my mouth, leaning in and pressing a chaste kiss to my chocolate-flavored lips, then another, and another before pulling back. My eyes were still closed as he spoke, relishing the contrast of his gentle movements versus the intensity of before.

“We act normal. Just like that,” he smiled, grabbing another brownie and bringing it to my mouth.

“You’re way too chill about this,” I scoffed but took it from his hands.

“It’s more fun than I expected,” he shrugged. “Plus...I did mean it.”

I tilted my head questioningly.

“About the attraction. I was cautious of course last week because of my job, but I don’t know. After making sure you weren't a threat…I—” He paused, trying to figure out his next words, “You’re unfortunately magnetic.”

“So, what you’re saying is that my incessant text flirting worked?”

“Only a little,” he joked. “The cowboy outfit was the kicker for me.”

“Oh my God, stop!” I covered my face.

“What I’m saying is,” he laughed, prying my hands away from my face, “if you’re amenable of course—that maybe it doesn't have to be entirely fake.”

I feigned thinking, squinting one eye in thought, “So, this was a first date?”

“I think it was about three dates wrapped in one,” he pursed his lips.

“Well, I don’t put out on the third date, so it might be my time to leave,” I teased.

He just grinned, swooping in and claiming my lips. I decided then that the brownies tasted much better with him.  I kissed him as fervently as I needed air to breathe, gasping as his hips ground softly into mine purposely. 

It felt so good.

So good that by the fourth time it happened, I had to remove myself from him, “I was—mm—I was serious about the third date thing—as-as eager as I might be.”

Aaron nodded in understanding, chest heaving.

“And if you were serious before, I just-I just want to make sure, you know? If that’s okay?”

“Of course,” he smiled down at me, his reddened lips still so inviting but I needed to go before my resolve crashed and burned.

“I should go before it gets out of hand,” I smiled sadly, “but study up and keep those,” I pointed at the brownies. “Take them to work or something.”

“That’s probably for the best,” he cringed a little as he glanced down at the unruly bulge in his jeans. “You’re definitely not freaking out anymore,” he pointed out smugly.

I made some kind of noise. A flustered scoff? Panicked laugh? A dignified, manly squeak? I didn't know but I did know that if I stayed here any longer, we were either ending up in bed or I was leaving with soiled pants.

“Shut up,” I murmured, a smirk playing at my lips. “Mochi, it’s time to go home!” I called the puppy, leaning over and seeing her curled up on top of an afghan thrown over Aaron’s couch. 

I clapped my hands together, her ears perking up as she stretched. Aaron didn't try to stop me as I gathered my belongings, just leaning back against the counter looking completely satisfied with himself. He met me at the door, opening it as I carried the sleepy puppy.

“Drive safe,” he said casually, voice warm and comforting. Before I could walk out completely, his fingers pinched the center of my shirt, guiding me backwards and pressing a gentle kiss to my lips. Then obnoxiously, “See you soon, boyfriend.”

“Good night, sweetheart,” I sassed back, running my shoulder straight into the doorframe on my way out.

-

Luckily, they had the shirt in his size and it came in a couple days before the wedding.

I rushed up to his apartment door, fully dressed for the wedding with the pink shirt in hand. The wedding wasn't far from here and it was still an hour before we needed to be there. I knocked frantically on the door, met with a still damp Aaron from the shower. 

"Oh, I could get used to that sight," I commented appreciatively, looking at his bare chest and taking my sunglasses off. 

"Are you sure it wasn't too much?" he asked about the shirt

"Hush, go get ready," I pushed him away by the chest.

He took advantage, tugging my arm to him so I would stumble forward into him. His hands grasped my hips immediately, lips finding mine easily in all the movement. 

"Aaron," I murmured trying to get him moving. "You're wet."

"Mhm," he smiled into the kiss. “Just getting some practice in before showtime.”

I fought the urge to roll my eyes.

He finally let me go and took the shirt, shaking it out and nodding as he felt the material between his fingers.

When he came out of the room fully dressed, my jaw was on the floor looking at his form in a fitted navy suit. We were fucking matching.

"You are feeding my mother, I swear," I laughed. "We look like we're about to take engagement photos."

A satisfied smirk stretched over his face at my admiration. He strode forward but stopped short.

"Where's Mochi?" He frowned.

"Oh, she would cause mayhem. My neighbor is watching her."

"You trust your neighbor with her?"

"You're so perfect," I gushed, wanting to squeeze his face. Cute aggression, I swear. "Out the door, please," I waved him toward the front door.

I didn't know how I convinced him to let me drive, but he luckily backed off as soon as I started ranting about his alpha male need to control everything and that he probably took over driving everywhere at work.

"Just be a good little passenger princess," I settled my hand on his thigh as I took off.

"I don't always drive," he muttered under his breath.

"Somehow, I severely doubt that."

The country club was a short drive, allowing us to arrive fifteen minutes early before the actual wedding ceremony was due to start. We entered the country club, following the signs for the wedding outside. The reception would follow indoors. Several signs along the way instructed guests to turn their phones off, which Aaron hesitated to do.

"Just put it on silent or vibrate. They don't want all the aunties' phones in the photographers shots," I touched his wrist, seeing him contemplate. "If you're on call just do vibrate."

"I'm not technically, I just don't want to miss a call if they do. It's a little unpredictable."

"Whatever you do, do it fast," I wound my arm around his as I spotted my mother among my family.

I heard Aaron clear his throat and shove his phone in his pocket, plastering an award winning smile on his face. 

“Oh, sweetie, you're here!” My mother ran up to me, nearly stumbling in her heels.

“Woah, careful,” I lunged, holding my hands out to catch her but Aaron was faster, grabbing her hands and stopping her forward momentum.

“Aaron, honey, how sweet are you?” she gushed, holding onto his forearms. “It's so nice to finally meet you.”

Aaron and I were dragged around to my family and he—unsurprisingly—remembered all of the information I had fed him. Throughout the ceremony, Aaron had his arm wrapped around me, hand resting on my lower back. It was strange being here with someone after expecting to be here by myself, but as I leaned my head on his shoulder I was glad it was Aaron I picked off the street. He caught me looking at him, giving me a soft smile and kissing my temple.

The ceremony was blissfully short as the afternoon sun started to heat up. I just about dragged Aaron inside after, eager to not sweat through this light-colored shirt. 

The reception started off without a hitch. Aaron offered to drive while I had a few drinks—who was I to decline such an offer—and dancing commenced while we waited for the food.

Aaron begrudgingly danced with my mother—only to slow ones per his request—but he kept his awkwardness at being interrogated hidden well. When it was my turn to dance with my fake boyfriend, I did so happily, not one to complain about being close to Aaron. 

Aaron’s hand was warm on my lower back as we swayed to the music. His thumb brushed small, lazy circles along my spine, and I was very much not immune to it.

"You're suspiciously quiet," I teased, tilting my head up to meet his gaze. "Having fun?"

"Something like that," he said, lips twitching in amusement.

"You're thinking about work, aren’t you?"

"No," he replied, then smirked. "I'm thinking about the conversation I just had with your mother."

I groaned, "Oh God. Do I even want to know?"

"Probably not," Aaron said, but the glint of humor in his eyes gave him away.

I gave his shoulder a light, playful shove. "Tell me."

He hummed, swaying us slightly to the left as another couple passed by. unable to resist, he pressed a quick kiss to my lips and continued speaking, "She asked when we were having kids."

I almost tripped over my own feet. My hand tightened on his bicep as I choked out, "She asked you what?"

"When we were having kids," he repeated, perfectly calm.

My mouth opened and closed, my brain short-circuiting. I finally sputtered out a laugh, "Jesus Christ, she didn't even ease into it?"

"Not even a little," he confirmed.

I tipped my head back with a groan, "Okay, well, the real question is—which one of us is gonna carry the baby to term?"

His lips twitched. "Hmm. Probably you."

"Excuse me?" I gave his shoulder a scandalized smack. "Why me?"

"You've got the instincts for it," Aaron said, voice low and teasing.

I blinked. My jaw dropped, "Did you just insinuate that I'm Mochi's mother? Because she knows damn well I'm her daddy."

Aaron’s shoulders shook with restrained laughter, "I'm just saying. You hover. You told me you checked her paws for three days straight when she yelped after stepping on a leaf."

"That’s called responsible pet ownership, Aaron. She’s just a baby."

"Mhm,” His thumb traced another slow circle against my back, and I absolutely did not shiver. 

Nope, not at all.

We were both grinning like idiots when my mom passed by again, shooting us a look that said: You’re next.

Aaron leaned closer, voice low in my ear, "She seemed pretty convinced we're soulmates."

"Oh God. We are never gonna live this down."

"Probably not," he agreed.

"You're enjoying this way too much."

"I really am," he murmured, then kissed my temple.

I rested my forehead on his chest, laughing so hard I almost missed his hand tightening just slightly on my waist.

It was inevitable that I would have to run to the bathroom after several alcoholic beverages. I swayed slightly as I washed my hands, grinning at my own reflection. My face was warm, appearance slightly disheveled from dancing with Aaron, and my smile wouldn't go away—not that I wanted it to. I’d spent the better part of the afternoon glued to Aaron’s side while my family peppered him with questions. He’d taken it like a champ, even dancing with some of my aunts before my mother would steal him back, all while keeping his arm casually draped around me like we’d done this a million times.

Honestly, he was too good at this. I was beginning to suspect he actually enjoyed the chaos. 

As I stepped back into the reception hall, the music thumped under my feet, mingling with the sound of clinking glasses and laughter. I scanned the crowd for Aaron’s broad shoulders, but before I could find him, my mom’s voice sliced through the noise.

"Who the hell are you, and why are you taking my son’s boyfriend?"

My heart just about stopped, what the fuck?

I turned toward the commotion and froze. Across the room, Aaron stood stiffly near the entrance with a vaguely exasperated expression, one I saw a handful of times on our date. My mother had one hand on her hip, the other gesturing toward a very well-dressed group of strangers attempting to pull Aaron toward the door.

"Ma'am," the oldest of the group spoke to my mother, holding his hands up in mock surrender. "I assure you, we come in peace."

"You're not answering the question," my mom snapped.

Oh, mom. 

"He’s my ex," the man blurted out without missing a beat. His voice dropped into something heavier, "And I’ve come to win him back."

The entire room went silent. I swore someone actually gasped.

Aaron’s jaw twitched as his eyes found mine across the room. He looked annoyed, amused, and frustrated all at the same time.

"Your...ex?" my mom repeated, voice pitched with disbelief.

The man sighed, bowing his head like he was carrying the weight of an old, familiar pain. 

"Yes. We were once...so much more," He lifted his eyes to the ceiling with a wistful expression, voice trembling just enough to sound authentic. "I gave him my heart, but he belonged to the world. And now, seeing him here..." He placed a hand over his chest. "It's like I’ve been wandering through a desert of loneliness only to find an oasis I no longer deserve."

Someone near me whispered, "That’s so beautiful."

My mom’s jaw slackened. "I...I don’t know what to say."

He continued, "Sometimes, the greatest act of love is letting go." He cast a mournful glance toward Aaron, "Even if it means watching the only man who ever understood me walk away with someone else." 

A sniffle echoed from the corner. I glanced over and saw my cousin Vanessa—the bride—dabbing her eyes with a cocktail napkin.

I nearly fell over at the absurdity of it all.

"And these people?" my mom asked, voice cracking slightly as she gestured to the rest of the group.

The youngest man in the group awkwardly rose his hand, "We're, um..."

“We were in an polyamorous relationship—with Aaron,” a dark-haired woman spoke up. 

A fit man with a shadow of a beard—damn he was hot, too—hid a laugh behind his hand while hiding his face behind the dark-haired woman. 

My mother did not look impressed.

Meanwhile, Aaron stood there like a hostage, shoulders rigid and lips pressed into a thin line. I knew that look—he wore it when I ambushed him on the street—his I am using every ounce of my patience right now face.

I made my way toward the group just as my mom turned back to the older man.

"Listen here, buddy," she snapped, poking him in the chest. "I don’t care how much you still love him. He’s here with my son, and you’re not going to ruin this by dragging him off for some last-ditch romantic gesture."

Rossi gave her a deeply sympathetic look, "I—we just want to beg for another chance, ma'am."

The crowd melted.

Someone whispered, "That’s love."

Another person sobbed openly into their champagne flute.

By the time I reached Aaron's side, the tension had shifted. My mom was still skeptical, but several of my cousins were openly swooning at the spectacle.

I gave the crowd a tense smile as I approached, resting my hand on Aaron's upper arm and leaning in to his ear and whispering, “What the fuck is going on?”

The older man gave me a nod, lowering his voice, "We hate to break up the party, kid, but we need Aaron. Urgent case."

"Right," I said, suddenly more sober. He was needed, I could text him later.

The team ushered Aaron through the door to the sound of faint applause from the wedding guests.

I stood there, shaking my head at what the hell just transpired.

My mother actually wiped her eyes and sighed, "I'm so sorry, honey, I tried to stop them. I didn't realize he had so many partners before you.”

“Mom, those were his coworkers picking him up for an urgent issue.”

"Oh, sweetie," she said, patting my cheek. "You just don’t understand modern relationships. 

Later that night I was sprawled over my couch, my mother having driven me home as I had a few more drinks to make up for Aaron’s absence. My guest room was prepared ahead of time, thankfully. 

I groaned, loosening my belt lazily, still in my suit. I had gotten Mochi from my neighbor, needing my baby to ease the sing of Aaron’s depsrture. She lay across my lap, belly-up and snoring. My mom sat in my recliner, a glass of wine in hand now that she could decompress from the wedding.

“It was such a beautiful day,” she mused. “Until Aaron didn’t come back after that discussion with his exes,” she grumbled.

“Mom…” I groaned into a pillow. “Mom, they’re not his exes, they’re his team at work. They were messing with you.”

“Mmm,” she hummed, not sounding the slightest bit convinced.

The TV hummed in the background, low enough for us to ignore until I heard a familiar voice break through our conversation.

“…we were able to quickly apprehend the suspect and bring an end to these tragic events."

My mom gasped, leaning forward, "Oh, honey! Isn't that Aaron?"

I sat up so fast Mochi nearly flopped off my lap, and sure enough—there he was on the news, standing in front of a sheriff’s station with a microphone in his face. Same pink shirt. Same navy suit. Same faintly irritated expression.

"I told you he was working," I muttered, running a hand down my face. “All of a sudden you love him again,” I rolled my eyes.

"—ultimately, the case was resolved after it was determined that the suspect was, in fact, the sheriff," Aaron said, voice monotone and precise. "He left his own boot prints at three of the crime scenes and, when confronted, confessed almost immediately."

There was an awkward pause as reporters scribbled notes.

"Wait," one asked, "so it...was just the sheriff the whole time?"

"Yes," Aaron said.

"And he...admitted it right away?"

"Yes," Aaron repeated, slower this time. His jaw twitched in annoyance.

"So," the reporter pressed, "you flew in from Quantico...for that?"

The muscle in Aaron’s jaw jumped again, "Yes."

I barked out a laugh.

The camera zoomed out as Aaron stepped away from the microphones. His team followed closely behind, the blonde agent talking with the older agent animatedly. The last shot before the feed was cut off was Aaron rubbing his temples.

I shook my head and stood, scooping Mochi up under one arm, "I'm going to bed."

"Tell Aaron I said ‘hi’ next time you talk to him!"

"Mm-hmm." I carried Mochi toward my bedroom, but halfway there, my phone buzzed in my pocket.

I smiled, tucking my phone away again and held Mochi tighter. 

I called back down the hallway, “Aaron says ‘hi’.”

“What a sweetheart. I really do like him, honey,” she called back.

“Yeah, me, too, Mom.”

[jubileebloom]

I aspire to be a lover not a hater. but

[corpocyborg]

you know what would have been really cool if they wanted a franchise "reset"? a dragon age game set in the age of andraste. that way they wouldn't have to worry about whether past choices matter because they haven't happened yet but it also avoids the problem that andromeda has (in the sense that it doesn't really feel like it's actually the same setting as mass effect) because the narrative would still be deeply tied to the lore of the original games

[derinthescarletpescatarian]

what’s the story about the generative power model and water consumption? /gen

There's this myth going around about generative AI consuming truly ridiculous amount of power and water. You'll see people say shit like "generating one image is like just pouring a whole cup of water out into the Sahara!" and bullshit like that, and it's just... not true. The actual truth is that supercomputers, which do a lot of stuff, use a lot of power, and at one point someone released an estimate of how much power some supercomputers were using and people went "oh, that supercomputer must only do AI! All generative AI uses this much power!" and then just... made shit up re: how making an image sucks up a huge chunk of the power grid or something. Which makes no sense because I'm given to understand that many of these models can run on your home computer. (I don't use them so I don't know the details, but I'm told by users that you can download them and generate images locally.) Using these models uses far less power than, say, online gaming. Or using Tumblr. But nobody ever talks about how evil those things are because of their power generation. I wonder why.

To be clear, I don't like generative AI. I'm sure it's got uses in research and stuff but on the consumer side, every effect I've seen of it is bad. Its implementation in products that I use has always made those products worse. The books it writes and flood the market with are incoherent nonsense at best and dangerous at worst (let's not forget that mushroom foraging guide). It's turned the usability of search engines from "rapidly declining, but still usable if you can get past the ads" into "almost one hundred per cent useless now, actually not worth the effort to de-bullshittify your search results", especially if you're looking for images. It's a tool for doing bullshit that people were already doing much easier and faster, thus massively increasing the amount of bullshit. The only consumer-useful uses I've seen of it as a consumer are niche art projects, usually projects that explore the limits of the tool itself like that one poetry book or the Infinite Art Machine; overall I'd say its impact at the Casual Random Person (me) level has been overwhelmingly negative. Also, the fact that so much AI turns out to be underpaid people in a warehouse in some country with no minimum wage and terrible labour protections is... not great. And the fact that it's often used as an excuse to try to find ways to underpay professionals ("you don't have to write it, just clean up what the AI came up with!") is also not great.

But there are real labour and product quality concerns with generative AI, and there's hysterical bullshit. And the whole "AI is magically destroying the planet via climate change but my four hour twitch streaming sesh isn't" thing is hysterical bullshit. The instant I see somebody make this stupid claim I put them in the same mental bucket as somebody complaining about AI not being "real art" -- a hatemobber hopping on the hype train of a new thing to hate and feel like an enlightened activist about when they haven't bothered to learn a fucking thing about the issue. And I just count my blessings that they fell in with this group instead of becoming a flat earther or something.

[gldrushh]

GUILTY AS SIN | JK

"You are stuck in time, and Jungkook doesn't stop running from it until he eventually does, and you learn that grief doesn’t wait for death, that love isn't all that dignifying."

→ Pairing brother in law!Jungkook × widowed fem!reader

→ Genre forbidden love! au, childhood friends to lovers, angst, smut

→ W.C 17. 32k

→ Warnings unrequited love :(, oc is in love with his older brother, early character death of the said older brother who is haunting the narrative, cute childhood sweethearts who are doomed by me, mentions of dealing with grief and acceptance, mention of cancer, a minor scene where harassment is attempted,emotionally troubled! oc, emotionally troubled and detached! jk, simp jk, pathetic man in love, he's so so lovesick, ceo! jk, protective jk, yearning, pining, loads of angst, fluff if you squint, breif yoongi mention, namjin yay!!,rich people party, mentions of anxiety,sexual tension,slow burnish,smut (omg everyone look away), kissing, unprotected sex (raw and deep, next question),dirty talking, oc is insecure,hickies,oral (f! Receiving), he cums in his pants,big dick jk, soft Dom Jungkook, fingering, penetrative sex, creampie, praise, cuddles if you squint again

→ Playlist Guilty as sin, control, killing me softly with his song, do I wanna know?

→ A/N the idea of this one shot came to me at 1 am when I was supposed to be studying for a test that probably my future depends upon and after much much complementing I'm finally posting it. To me, its very experimental and I was just trying to explore my writing style and writing things that I haven't before, like smut 🫠 so please please bear that in mind!! I hope you enjoy reading and if you did please comment!! It makes my whole day 🥰💕💕

P.S: cross posted on wattpad.

It is a believed fact that it takes three to four short months to fall in love. 

For you, it took one summer. The summer spent watching him sketch galaxies in the dirt with a twig, summer spent learning the way his laughter sounded after stealing popsicles from the freezer, summer spent holding his hand as they made paper planes under the blazing sun. It was the kind of love that grew roots so deep, you couldn’t separate where he ended and you began.

That summer, you met Minho. The boy next door with a mind as wild as his curls and a heart so warm it seemed to shine blindingly bright. He showed you how to climb trees, told stories he'd crafted all by himself, convincing you that the universe could be held in the palm of your hand. He shared his world with you, and you fell in love with it.

You kissed his cheek on the porch of your house one late July evening, bold and brimming with the kind of confidence only childhood summers could bring. “Now you’re gonna have to marry me, Min Min,” you teased, hands behind your back, your toes curling against the wooden floorboards.

He blushed, a shade of red that rivaled the setting sun, but his grin mirrored yours.

The porch of your house was a witness to many things. Your first steps, held your first scraped knees, your first dog and Minho's new brother; your new friend.

A boy of your age, younger than Minho had appeared from right behind him, his hands clutching onto Minho's flannel, his watchful eyes going everywhere all at once. The kind of boy who never spoke unless he had to, the kind who was more familiar with loss than comfort, lingering on the edges of things, unsure if he belonged.

Jungkook.

Now, Jeon Jungkook.

You and his brother had taken it upon themselves to bring him into your fold, turning your duo into a trio. With time, he laughed with you both, trusted you both, became one of you both.

The three of you were inseparable— in the backyard of your house, in elementary school, in high school. How could you not be? You had tied the promise in the form of handmade friendship bracelets around the wrist of both boys.

Even though what you wanted with minho was far from friendship. A bold dreamer, you always have been. But not so much when you turned sixteen. Sixteen; what a awkward age.

An age of overthinking haircuts, dreams, and the lives your peers are gonna live all at once. Visits to the school councilor are doubled. Relationships happen; Friends part.

But you only grew closer with Jungkook. He didn’t seemed interested in making a move on the timid, short haired girl who passed him notes in chemistry class, neither did he talk much about the future. When you asked him what he wanted to do, he’d shrug and say something like, “Whatever makes sense at the time.” He wasn’t aimless, exactly—just grounded in a way that made you think he didn’t feel the need to plan everything out.

Minho, though, was spiraling.

He now spent more time with the councilor that he spent with you both. Had this bitter look on his face every morning you saw him on the bus stop that will have you sharing a knowing look with Jungkook—Minho had been having a lot of fights with his dad, had been overthinking a lot more because the world seemed so much bigger than he had imagined.

Maybe for the eldest son and heir to a family that ran a company as old as the town itself, the world really was big. But to you, he was just a hopeful boy with all the colors in his eyes. The colors that you loved. The colors that didn't belong in a office, crunching numbers.

Your heart ached for him, but you didn’t know what to say. At sixteen, nobody has the answers.

Seventeen is a different story. It's a starlight dream. It's you acing the college entrance test. It's Minho surfacing back. It's Minho kissing you on that very same porch, promising, “One day, we’ll have our own porch, and I’ll kiss you there every day.”

And he was one to keep his promises.

You married him at twenty-five, in crisp autumn. To your family and friends, it was "About time." To you, it was nothing short of a dream as you walked to promise forever to the man you love, a vision in white. It was nothing big, just a dreamy intimate affair with soft twinkling string lights. Something you both agreed on. Because you were content with what you had, overjoyed actually after picking out a quite cozy apartment for the both of you and landing a job as a humanities professor in a university that wasn't too far from the said apartment. Minho was too and while things weren't the same with his father now, he did what he loved. Ever the artist at heart.

It was like everything you ever wrote in your middle school diary, everything you wished for was now laid under your feet like a carpet unfolding.

You were given a good time before it started pulling away from your feet.

At first, it was subtle. A missed dinner here, a canceled hangout there. Then he told you both he’d taken up an opportunity abroad to manage the family business, something Minho had no interest in, just on the night of your wedding after he had fulfilled his role of the groom's best man, watched you walk down the aisle.

You hadn’t seen the decision coming—not that night, not like this—but you couldn’t deny it either. Jungkook had seemed restless here, especially after finishing college.Conversations with him in those days had been brief, distracted, his eyes darting to the distance even as he smiled at you. It felt as you were trying to talk to the Jungkook who had appeared on your porch the first time. He hadn’t asked for understanding, and you hadn’t known how to offer it. His reasons were vague, more like placeholders for something unsaid. And so he left, quietly, with little fanfare, and though Minho seemed sad to see him go, you could tell he understood.

“It’s good for him,” Minho had said. “He deserves something for himself.”

Relationship happened; Friends parted.

You weren't sure if you understood. While you agreed with Minho, you couldn’t help but feel the loss of a friend now that his calls became less frequent until they stopped altogether. One day, he was simply gone, leaving behind only the memory of the boy who had once trusted you with his rare, precious smiles.

"You’d laugh if you saw me right now. I tried to fix the leaky sink in the kitchen, and now the entire floor is flooded. Minho’s being no help—just standing there laughing."

"Hey, stranger. Our anniversary is next weekend. We’re just doing a small dinner. You should come. Seriously, koo, don’t make me guilt-trip you."

"Saved you a slice of cake, but Minho ate it. You’d better show up next year, or I’ll stop saving you anything."

"Hey, Koo. Just checking in. Hope you're healthy and happy. Would love to hear from you"

You'd text him timely, in hopes that he still knows how to use a phone. But apparently, not.

Still, you had Minho. Your husband, your best friend.

Until you didn't.

Until the carpet was at last, snatched right down from your feet.

The diagnosis came in the spring. It started with a faint weakness in his voice. A shortness of breath he dismissed with a wave of his hand. “Just tired,” he’d say, smiling that same easy smile. But tired turned into tests. Tests turned into results. And results turned into a diagnosis that was oh so cruel.

Leukemia. Early stages. Aggressive.

The months that followed were a blur of hospital visits, treatments, and quiet nights where you held him as he cried. You tried to be strong, for him, for both of you. Told him what the doctor in the sterile white office will tell you. "They've caught it early so we're not at a great risk here." You'd reassure him. "You have yet to get away from me, min min." You'd try making him laugh but he had always been better at that.

Now, suddenly he wasn't. The next two years, your life was just the slow, agonizing process of watching the man you loved fade away, losing every bit of his lively soul to the cancer, holding his hand when he was too weak to hold yours back.

Perhaps it wasn't only Minho who was chipping away. It was you too.

You turned into the woman who knew exactly how to track medication schedules, who could list every side effect of his treatment in order of severity, who spoke with doctors as if reciting a memorized script. You learned how to bite back the frustration when he snapped at you because he was in pain, and how to smile when all you wanted was to scream at the unfairness of it all.

You started to measure time not in days or months but in cycles of chemotherapy, in percentages of remission and relapse. Life was divided into hours spent in sterile hospital rooms, waiting for results that were never as hopeful as you needed them to be, and hours spent at home trying to pretend those results didn’t exist.

You had stopped dreaming. And minho had stopped painting.

Grief doesn’t wait for death— or so you've realized as you often found yourself grieving the life you had built together, the one you knew would never be the same. You grieved the sound of his laugh, which became quieter as the months passed. You grieved the way he used to tease you about your love for terrible reality shows, You grieved the mornings spent tangled together, talking about everything and nothing.

By the time the end came, you had already lost so much of him that you thought you might be prepared.

You weren’t.

And then he was gone.

With an, "I'm sorry. I love you." He was gone.

The house was too quiet without him, the days too long. You withdrew, not just from the world but from yourself, letting grief shape the edges of your existence.

The world moved on, even if you didn’t. They tell you how long it takes to fall in love but not how long it takes to get over it.

2 years, 240 days. And you're still counting.

Time passed in pieces—fractured and unrelenting.

Your family, Minho’s family, even well-meaning friends—none of them knew what to do with the mess you’d become, so they did what people often did. They tried to fix it. To fix you.

Blind dates were their answer, little nudges toward what they called healing. The word had been said so many times it began to lose its meaning. Healing. As if it were something—a destination you could stumble upon.

You didn’t have the energy to argue anymore, so you let them dress you up, hand you phone numbers, and convince you that this—whatever this was—was what you needed.

But your heart wasn’t in it.

Because as the man sat in front of you in the dimly lit bar continued to talk about how his ex couldn't handle his success, the trials of being a man with ambition, you really couldn't even bother to pretend you were interested. He was nice enough—tall, well dressed (consdering the dingy bar) with a confident smile but your thoughts kept drifting, as they often did.

2 years, 240 days since Minho had died.

2 years, 240 days of waking up alone in your bed, his side untouched.

2 years, 240 days of trying to find your way back to the woman you used to be.

“Hey,” the man interrupted your thoughts, leaning forward with an eager grin. “I feel like I’m talking too much. Tell me about yourself. What do you do for fun?”

You forced a smile, your stomach twisting. “I paint. It’s... therapeutic.”

“That’s nice,” he said, reaching across the table to touch your hand. You pulled back instinctively, your stool scraping against the floor. His brows furrowed.

“Sorry,” you muttered. “I just—”

“You don’t need to apologize,” he said, but his tone was tighter now. He leaned back, shrugging as if trying to dismiss the moment. “You know, you should loosen up a little. You’ll never find anyone if you keep acting like you’re still married.”

The words hit you like a slap, your chest tightening as you struggled to process the audacity of his statement. “Excuse me?”

“I’m just saying,” he continued, ignoring the warning in your tone, “you should give people a chance. I mean, you’re here, right?” He smirked and stood, coming around the table. “Let me take you home. We can—”

“Stop,” you said sharply, rising to your feet.

But he didn’t listen. His hand reached for your arm, his grip firm.

Then, just as suddenly as he’d grabbed you, he was gone.

The man stumbled backward, a hand jerking him by the collar. The force was so swift, so unexpected, that it took you a moment to register what had happened.

And then you saw him.

“..Jungkook?” The name caught in your throat as you turned.

You took in the man standing before you, taller and broader than you remembered, the years etched into the sharp lines of his jaw and the set of his shoulders. His dark eyes were fixed on the man who had dared to touch you, glinting coldly.

His voice was low, dangerous. “She said stop. I suggest you listen.”

For a moment, the world tilted.

You weren’t in a dingy bar anymore.

You were standing at the edge of a memory—the first time you’d ever seen Jungkook, the quiet boy who clung to Minho’s shadow.

And the last.

The last time you’d seen him, a looming figure in an ocean of black suits. A barely recognizable shadow among the mourners at your husband's funeral.

Now, standing before you, he was real, tangible—and so was the flood of emotions crashing over you.

It was so loud, you could barely hear as the the man stammered out an excuse, something about a misunderstanding.

“Leave.” Jungkook snapped, his voice sharp enough to cut and bring you back to the moment.

The man hesitated, his mouth opening as though he wanted to argue, but one glance at Jungkook’s expression and he decided against it. Without another word, he turned and stalked out, muttering something under his breath that neither of you caught.

Silence followed.

Only then did you felt his gaze on you. His presence was larger than life, and you were suddenly hyper-aware of how much had changed. How much he had changed. You hadn’t registered that at the funeral. Now, you didn't know what to say, you could hardly manage to look at him. While he wasn't Minho's real brother, didn't share any resemblance with him, it still hurt you, sucked you back into those times when it was the three of you, when it wasn't.

He too didn't reply right away, his gaze searching your face, as though he was also trying to piece together the version of you he remembered with the one standing before him now. When it landed on the arm you were clutching, the arm that dipshit had grabbed, you saw his eyes glint again.

"Did he hurt you?" It sounded more like a demand rather than a question but you couldn't even deciper the words, too focused on how his boyish tone had turned sharper, harder.

"W-What?" You fumble out like a fool.

"Did he hurt you, y/n?" This time, you heard him.

Letting your hand fall, embarrassed, you shook your head, finally managing to utter something sensible out. “No—yeah. I’m fine.”

He glanced back at the door that man had fled from before looking back at you. Finally, he exhaled, his voice low and quiet.

“You weren’t answering your phone.”

You blinked. “My phone?” You don't remember getting a call from anyone but then you realize your battery had died down as you looked down to see your dead device laying flat. "Oh. I didn't realis—"

“Mom said you’d been gone a while. Told me where you were.” He interrupted. There was an edge to his voice now, faint but undeniable.

You feel more embarrassed now that you know it's because of your mother in law's anxious nature that he is here. Your fingers brushed against the strap of your purse, desperate for something to do, something to hold onto as he speaks again. "Are you ready to leave?"

“I’m fine,” you said quickly, the words tumbling out before you could think them through. “I can get a cab.”

His brows furrowed, just slightly, and you noticed for the first time the faint shadows beneath his eyes, the hint of weariness in his expression. “It’s late,” he said simply.

"So?”

“So,” he echoed, his tone calm but unyielding, “I’ll take you.”

You hesitated, your pride and your exhaustion warring within you. Finally, you exhaled out in defeat, reaching for your coat. It's just a thirty minute ride. You reassured yourself. It'll be fine.

The cool night air wrapped around you and so did your coat as you stepped outside, and the streetlights cast long shadows that flickered as you walked toward his car. He opened the passenger door for you, his movements deliberate, and waited for you to slide in before closing it softly behind you.

The drive started in silence.

It wasn’t the silence of old friends, the kind that felt easy and safe. This was different—fraught, taut, like a thread stretched too tight.

You stole a glance at him as he started the engine, too aware of the small space you were packed in with him.

“I didn’t know you were back,” you said finally, your statement sounding more accusatory that you or he would have liked.

“Just for a little while,” he replied, his tone ofcourse, unfazed. “Business.”

Buisness. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes at the word. If someone could look like that word, you thought, it'd be the man in the fine tailored suit with eyes fixed on the road ahead and a rolex that didn't look any more cheaper than the car he was driving and you wondered.

Wondered if the lines of his palms—the callouses from late-night basketball games, the way they had felt solid and familiar when he held yours to steady you on the wobbly bike Minho had convinced you to ride—had changed too.

Had they turned forigen, unyielding? Had time eroded their familiarity?

When the car slowed, you glanced out the window, expecting to see the acquinated sight of your apartment building. But instead, the streetlights gave way to a quieter, darker road. You frowned, turning to him.

“This isn’t the way to my place.”

“I know,” he said simply, not bothering to elaborate. "You're coming with me."

You felt your chest tighten, your pulse quickening as unease prickled at the back of your neck. “Jungkook,” you started, the word heavy with protest.

"Y/N." He ends, sparing you a glance that has you sinking back into your seat, arms folded across your chest like a petulant child that you could swear made his lips twitch at the corner, you could swear you saw your old friend who had grown a sassy tounge at the age of fourteen that'd earn smacks at the head from his older brother for a fleeting cruel second there. But that was it. It was gone as fast as it had appeared, summoning the return of the silence that felt like its own living thing.

The house was still the same.

That was the first thing you noticed as the car slowed down in front of the building that loomed at the end of the road like a memory waiting to consume you.

The overhead lights still flickered faintly, casting shadows across the steps where you and Minho had once sat, daring each other to stay outside until the stars disappeared. Even the smell was the same—faintly woody, with the comforting hint of whatever candle Jungkook’s mom always lit in the hallway.

You hesitated in the doorway, the memories rushing in too fast, too loud. It's not like you haven't been here in ages but since the year you celebrated your first marriage anniversary with Minho here, it felt like you have lived a thousand lives.

Lives that haunted you still, made you randomly pause in the grocery aisle and now before this house until you felt Jungkook’s presence press behind you as if silently urging you on.

Clearing your throat, you slipped out of your heels that have been as much as pain as the man you had been on a date with. The floor creaked softly beneath your feet as you stepped inside, the sound jarring. The same hardwood floors, polished to a faint sheen. The same floral wallpaper lining the hallway. The same photo frames arranged along the wall—a collection of childhoods captured and frozen in time.

But as you glanced toward the corner of the living room where the three of you used to pile up pillows and blankets for makeshift forts. The corner was bare now, save for an old armchair, but in your mind, you saw it vividly: Minho’s determined grin as he shuffled the pillows, Jungkook, always following the lead but never quite competing for it. You would snuggle a pillow to your lap, nestled between the two brothers, peeking from behind your fingers and giggling at the the way Minho’s face would light up in triumph when he won another round of rock-paper-scissors.

A type of smugness that came from knowing he’d get to flick Jungkook’s forehead next. But your smile would fade as soon as you would realize that it's your turn next. “Wait, wait!” you’d plead, wide-eyed, deploying the best puppy-dog look you could muster. It was the same look that had, on occasion, earned you extra TV time with your dad. Jungkook would glance at you and chuckle. Relent like your father would and sheild your forehead with his palm that'd have Minho pouting. "Hey! That's not how you do it!"

"Y/N?" A well recognized voice pulled you back to the where you were supposed to be, back from the fort of pillows and blankets.

You turned around and instantly found yourself wrapped up in a tight hug. You managed a small smile, letting your arms wrap around the warm frame of your mother in law, the scent of her jasmine oil and apprehensive energy pulling you in. "Mom." You greeted back.

Mrs Jeon hadn't always been this.. overbearing. Though after the passing of your husband, she had teamed up with your mother and been on a determined mission to make sure you are well and on a road to healing.

The next few minutes, she did what she had been doing best—fussed over you, asking how you’d been, if you’d eaten, if you were warm enough. In that time being, Jungkook had resigned to wherever his room was.

You planned to do the same, especially now that you could see on her face how she is on the brink of asking about the disaster tonight. You showed some obvious sign of weariness, in hopes she'd let it go for the night and tell you where you're supposed to go to bed for.

"Third on the left, my dear. And I'm gonna need you to stay for breakfast, okay?" You wondered if stubbornness was a running streak in this family.

Hours later, sleep had yet to come.

You lay awake, staring at the ceiling, counting the faint grooves in the plaster as if they could somehow lull you into rest. The trick didn't work. It hadn’t worked in your own apartment either—the one you and Minho had picked out together, picked the colors of the walls together, and argued over where the bookshelf should be. Yet, it was still your space. You could control how you faced the memories there, pacing them, deciding when and how to confront them.

There, at least, you’d managed four or five hours of sleep on a good night. Here? In this house that held so much of him, so much of them, you weren’t sure you’d manage even one.

The room you were led to was neat and welcoming, the kind of space that had been carefully prepared for guests. But there was no comfort to be found in the knowledge that two doors down lay Minho’s childhood room, untouched, a shrine to a boy who grew up into the man you loved and lost.

At some point, you gave up.

Sliding out of bed, you wrapped your arms around yourself as you padded quietly downstairs. The house was silent as you made your way downstairs, the faint hum of the refrigerator the only sound, the indistinct glow from the kitchen spilling into the dimness. You didn’t expect to find anyone there, but as you rounded the corner, your steps faltered.

Jungkook stood by the counter, a glass of amber liquid in his hand, his other resting on the marble surface. His jacket was gone, abandoned somewhere, leaving him in his dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

Tattoos.

They sprawled across his skin, intricate designs etched into muscle and sinew, that you didn't think you'd ever see on him.

Perhaps you thought wrong. Perhaps you never knew. Never knew him.

He glanced up, his dark eyes meeting yours that looked just as caught off guard as yours did. For a moment, you didn't feel comfortable moving from your spot until he eventually spoke.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked, his voice quiet.

You shook your head, stepping into the kitchen. “Needed some water.” You said and opened a cabinet, finding the glasses exactly where you remembered, and filled one with water.

Behind you, Jungkook leaned against the counter, his presence impossible to ignore. Funny, how he always preferred to blend in the background as a child, now his mere cologne—earthy and warm—demanded attention, filled the room before he had even entered.

“Do you… do you drink often now?” you asked hesitantly, glancing over your shoulder, at the way his fingers curled around the glass, the tattoos on his hand shifting as he tilted it.

“Sometimes.” he said, his tone vague.

If things were anything like before between you two or anything like before at all, maybe you'd have pushed further, asked him if this was growing to be a unhealthy habit.

Now, it didn’t seem right when there was an ocean between you—a chasm of time. Felt intrusive. And you know it would only sound hypocritical from your mouth—talking about unhealthy mechanisms. Hah.

You ended up only nodding and put the washed glass back so you could go back to counting the grooves in the plaster. Resume your restless attempt at sleep.

But Jungkook spoke again.

"How long have you been going on.." He started suddenly, setting his glass down with a quiet clink. His voice was calm, but the muscle in his jaw twitched as he spoke. "These dates?"

You blinked at him, taken aback by the question. "Uh—for a while now, I guess?"

“Are you willing, or are they forcing you?”

The question, the way he asked it—sharp, direct—left you off balance. So did the way he was looking at you now, his eyes no longer holding the casualty as they once did when he had the glass of alcohol in his hand.

“I—” You faltered. “They just want to help. They think it’s time.”

“And what do you want?”

To go back to your room. To ask him what did it even matter to him, after all this time.

But what came out was forthright honesty. “I don’t know,” you admitted, “I don’t know what I want anymore.”

He stepped closer, his feet padding softly against the kitchen floor—a contrast to his rigid frame that now towered just close enough. Close enough to see how his chest rose and fell with every breath. Close enough to see how his eyes lingered on you, like he was trying to unravel something he didn’t understand.

“You don’t have to do anything for them or anyone,” he said, his voice soft but no less rough. “Not if you’re not ready.”

You opened your mouth to respond, to deflect, to do something, but his gaze held you in place, tracing down from the dark circles that weighted your eyes to your parted lips. All you could feel was his gaze burning on you and hear your own pulse in your ears.

“Jungkook…” His name escaped your lips in a whisper, barely audible.

He lingered for a beat longer, his eyes searching yours, then he stepped back, his jaw just as tight. “Get some rest.” He clipped out before he turned and walked away, leaving you alone again.

You didn't got any sleep that night.

8:00'o clock. The time's a etched number in your brain ever since you started your job at the university.

It's a routine that needs no alarm clock. It's a number you keep waiting for as you blink at the time passing. And you're more than eager when the morning comes softly along with smaller needle stopping at 8, sunlight slipping through the curtains in streaks too gentle to match the weight in your chest.

With Minho, you were the one to wake up first but here you find that the house was awake before you.

The smell of freshly brewed coffee drifted through the air, mingling with the faint sound of voices coming from the dining room. Breakfast was warm and lively, much like your mother in law. She greeted you with a brightness that almost made you feel guilty for your somber disposition.

“Good morning!” she said with a smile that could have been plucked from a painting. Reaching for a plate of toast, setting it down in front of the empty seat beside her.

“Good morning.” you murmured, sliding into a chair.

Across the table, your father in law sat at his usual spot, his attention fixed on his phone, only looking up to give you a nod of acknowledgment. You had never fully understood him, not as Minho’s father, not as a man.

Perhaps, It had always been because of the sore spot between him and your husband, the way his father disapproved of his wishes—choosing art over business, passion over practicality. You remembered the arguments you thought would never hear after the age of sixteen, the way Minho would come home, his face tight with frustration. “He doesn’t get it,” he’d say. “He never will.” You saw the way it wore on him, the way he carried the weight of his father’s disapproval like it was stitched into his very skin.

Even now, as you sat across from him, you wondered if he ever regretted it—if he ever wished he had spoken softer, loved louder. But his face was as impassive as ever, his thoughts a mystery.

“Jungkook left early this morning,” his mother said, breaking the silence. “Something about a meeting downtown.”

You nodded, relief washing over you in a way that felt almost shameful. You hadn’t realized how much you were dreading seeing him until you knew you wouldn’t have to.

“Busy as always,” you said lightly, reaching for your coffee.

The conversation drifted into familiar topics—neighbors, extended family, stories you half-listened to with polite nods. The table felt both too full and too empty, the gazes of all the people that sat there never straying to the right one in the left corner, just right beside yours.

The older woman turned to you, her tone bright with enthusiasm.

“There’s a party this weekend,” she said, her smile widening. “Just a small gathering with some friends and business partners. It would be lovely if you came with us.”

The suggestion made you squirm uncomfortably in your chair. “Oh, I don’t think—”

“It’ll be good for you,” she interrupted gently, her gaze soft but insistent. “Everyone would love to see you.”

You hesitated, the thought of mingling with people, of putting on a brave face for strangers already making you want to go back to bed. “I’m not sure I’d be good company,” You glanced towards your father in law, half-hoping he might say something to discourage the idea, but he couldn't be any less bothered.

“Nonsense!” she pressed. “You don’t even have to stay long. But it would mean so much to us.”

There was no malice in her persistence, no attempt to guilt you, just a genuine desire to include you in their lives. You couldn’t bear to disappoint her.

“Okay,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll come.”

Her face lit up with a smile. “Wonderful. Jungkook will pick you up and bring you there. That way, you don’t have to worry about driving.”

You froze, cup midway to your mouth. "There's no need for that, mom."

"Oh hush." she said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “He’ll be coming from the office, so it’s no trouble.”

You nodded slowly, your appetite not too great or you just wanted to get out of here.

8'30. You glanced at the rose gold wrist watch, your first anniversary gift. Your first class is due in an hour, the perfect excuse wrapped around your wrist which you use to excuse yourself from the suffocating walls that always feel like they are closing in on you.

You have come to prefer the morning buzz of the university more—the hum of young adults chatting in the hallways, the scrape of chairs against tiled floors.It was a rhythm you found comforting, predictable in its own way. Here, you were just a professor, the one who explained history and philosophy with hands that only shook sometimes.

The teenage year you would have thought predictable as boring but you— a woman gone through a dubious sets of events found a fellow feeling in it.

Found the task of grading thesis, making power point presentation better than you would have ever imagined.

But Gods, your students need to realize that they can't dump about their toxic ex in every essay. A woman can only take so much.

You were sorting through the said papers in your office when the door creaked open, and a woman peeked her head in, the light from the outside catching in her curly locks.

“You busy?” she asked, her voice light and familiar.

You looked up to see Mira, the economics professor and one of your closest colleagues, walking toward you with her usual warm smile. Mira was more than just a coworker though—being practically family, the wife of Minho’s dark haired cousin who didn’t talk much in family gatherings, and over the years, she had become a friend you could rely on and share lunch with.

“Not for you,” you said, smiling as you waved her in.

She dropped into the chair across from you, setting her bag on the floor. “You look like you didn’t sleep a wink.”

Was it that obvious?

“I didn’t,” you admitted, sighing softly. “I stayed at the Jeons’ last night.”

Her eyebrows rose, but there was something in her eyes—a softness, an understanding—that made you look away for a second. “How’d that go?”

You hesitated, picking at the edge of a notebook on your desk. “It was… fine.”

“Just fine?”

“Jungkook’s back,” you said, and her eyes widened slightly, the topic seeming to catch her attention.

“Really? I didn’t know he was in town.”

“Neither did I, until yesterday.” You shrugged, leaning back in your chair. “Just for a while, though. Business stuff, y'know?”

Mira tilted her head, a small, knowing smile tugging at her lips. “And how’s that going?”

You frowned, caught off guard by the question. “What do you mean?”

She shrugged, but her eyes stayed on you, curious. “I mean, it’s been years, hasn’t it?"

“Yeah,” you said slowly. "It's fine, I suppose. We didn't talk much."

“Hmm.” Mira hummed thoughtfully as if tasting the question she was gonna ask on her tounge. “Are you okay with him being back?”

Were you okay with him behind back? Okay with him stepping in your vicinity after years of acting like you were not even family, let alone a friend?

“I don’t know,” you admitted finally. “It’s strange seeing him again after all this time. But he’s been… kind. Quiet, mostly.”

Mira didn’t press further, but there was something in her expression that made you uneasy, as if she knew something you didn’t.

You cleared your throat, desperate to change the subject. “There’s a party this weekend. His mom invited me. Please tell me you’re going.”

Mira winced, her smile apologetic. “Date night with the husband. Non-negotiable.”

"Oh." You tried not to show the dejection on your face but it was there. "Lucky you."

She studied you for a moment, her expression gentle. “Are you okay with going?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “I feel like I have to.”

“You don’t have to do anything for them. Not if you’re not ready.”

If only he understood how much easier it was to do things for others than to face yourself.

“Y/N…” Her voice softened, and for a moment, she looked like she wanted to say more. Instead, she reached out and squeezed your hand. “You’ll be fine. And if you’re not, you can text me. I’ll make up some excuse to get you out of there.”

You smiled, grateful for her before bidding bye to her for her next class and focusing back on the pending work spread across your desk while simultaneously going through your closet in your mind.

Minho had always said red made the brown of your eyes excel more.

And you have really tried to believe it, looking at yourself from above your shoulder, from the side of your arm in the mirror but perhaps it's not only this red, off shoulder dress that's not doing your eyes justice. It's every color you have once known, once loved.

It's like, it's you that's not doing them justice.

As you stared into the mirror, your eyes flitting from one detail to the next—the slightly uneven tuck of fabric, the exposed skin of your collarbone—it felt wrong.

The little things were missing—his hands fixing the clasp of your necklace, his voice telling you not to overthink it, that you looked beautiful. That it didn’t matter what you wore, because it was you who wore it.

But he wasn’t here.

With a sigh, you adjusted the necklace you had chosen yourself, a simple silver chain that rested delicately against your collarbone. The mirror wasn’t forgiving, but you looked anyway, searching for something familiar in your own reflection. You smoothed your hands over the fabric, told yourself this was just another party, and dodged the doubts of this being a mistake.

The knock at your door came too soon, sharp and punctual, like everything Jungkook had become.

You felt your stomach clench, nerves twisting with something else you couldn’t name. Smoothing your dress one last time, you crossed the small space of your apartment, pausing just before the door.

When you opened it, Jungkook was standing right before you.

He had stood on the edge of cliffs where oceans met skies too, in countless countries at that, walked through streets that droned with history. Scrawled through the wonders of the world—the kind that made poets immortalize them in verse—but nothing—nothing—would ever measure up to this.

To you.

You, standing in the doorway, framed by the soft glow of the hall light, your hair falling in waves that he had memorized long ago.

His chest tightened, the memory of another doorway bleeding into the moment as gaily as if it had just happened. He had been in the room meant for waiting, where your parents had sat moments before, your mother sniffling into a tissue, your father pacing in his polished shoes. Now it had been his turn.

The thought alone of being the second person to see you before you walked away from him for good had made his tie that he had been trying to get the hang off felt too stressed around his neck, his palms clammy despite the air conditioning. He rubbed them on his pants, glancing at the small clock on the mantle every few seconds. The minutes dragged, each one seemed longer than the other.

What would you look like?

The thought ran circles in his mind, only for a creak of the door to startle him back.

Footsteps had echoed in the quiet, minimizing the distance until he could practically feel the nervous energy of a bride bounce against his. "Okay. You can turn around now." He had heard you speak, had seen the skittish smile on your face before he even turned around.

And when he did, he felt as if the air had been sucked out of the room.

The dress hugged you like it had been designed with only you in mind, its soft fabric flowing as if in defiance of gravity. Your veil cascaded behind you, catching the light, and your smile was small, almost shy, as you looked up at him, waiting for his reaction.

“Well?” you prompted, turning slightly, your hands brushing the fabric at your sides. “What do you think?”

What did he think? He thought the universe was wicked for allowing him to witness this and still expect him to let you go.

He had swallowed hard, forcing his voice to steady when he finally said, “You look—” His tongue had faltered over every adjective that came to mind. Beautiful wasn’t enough. Breathtaking felt like a cliché. “Perfect.”

You—Beautiful, Devastatingly, so.

You—who weren’t his to look at this way.

He feels his breath catch, his hands clenching at his sides to keep himself from reaching for you.

Because while that version of you had been a dream, this version—worn, weathered, but still so unmistakably you—was real. And the reality of you had always been what he wanted most.

Fuck. He shouldn’t be here.

He shouldn’t have agreed to pick you up, shouldn’t have stepped into this space, should have kept the distance he had spent years bridging.

But he has always found himself hopeless and running back to wherever you were concerned, hopeless in a way that had him studying for a test he didn’t even have to keep you company or show up.. here. Content to be near you in whatever capacity he could. He told himself it was enough. That it would be enough to watch you from the sidelines, to sit across from you at family dinners.

It wasn’t.

Because Jungkook wasn't a virtuous man. He never had been.

Virtue belonged to his brother—the one who could weave dreams out of thin air, who saw the world in colors Jungkook had never learned to name. His brother—Minho—who had been the light, the warmth that people, he gravitated toward. He had admired Minho, even envied him, resented him in ways he never admitted aloud and kept it in shadows.

When Minho died, the shadow became a man. And that man had spent years running.

Running into work, into unfamiliar cities, into the kind of purpose that left no room for thought. No room for the times when everything was right, when he tasted family and friendship for the first time ever, no room for the last time he tasted it when you walked down the aisle to his brother looking at him like he was the sun and how it burned, how he had burned with nails biting into his palms.

And only men with no integrity burn. Men who are cowards, restless, afraid of thier own greed try to run, in hopes that the distance would save them.

But distance didn’t save men like Jungkook.

Because here he was again, standing before you, the fire still smoldering.

“Hi,” you said softly, your voice pulling him back, creating a doubt in his belief.

“Hi,” he replied, his own tounge feeling heavy in his mouth.

“You’re early,” you said, your tone carefully light.

He cleared his throat, his hands slipping into the pockets of his slacks in an attempt to keep them to themselves. “Traffic was lighter than I expected. Are you ready to leave?"

You nodded and he stepped back, revealing his sleek Mercedes benz parked just right in front. He let you walk before him, watching how your movements were hesitant, as if the ground beneath your feet wasn’t entirely steady. He wanted to ask you if you were okay. He wanted to tell you it was okay if you weren't.

He settled for opening the car door for you.

“Thanks for this,” you said, your gaze fixed on the passing streetlights. “I know it’s probably the last thing you want to do.”

His grip tightened against the leather of the steering wheel with a force that made his knuckles ache. There was a rancorous way that you spoke to him, carefully restrained, that he couldn't even blame you for.

"It's not." He gritted out. "It's not a problem."

He had earned every inch of this gap between you, had spent years building it brick by brick, mile by mile. He's all to blame for. For carving the space between you with every ignored call, every excuse he made to avoid family dinners where you’d inevitably be.

For the leaving the wreckage in his wake—yours, his, theirs.

It wasn’t fair to hate the consequences of his own choices.

But hell, if he didn't outright loathed feeling like he was staring at a wall of frosted glass when he looked at you—where he could see the outline of you, but the details were blurred, distant. Like he had lost the privilge of knowing you from one glance, lost the privilge of having you speak up to him whenever you wanted, call him out, intoxicate him with your laughter that lightened up a room he wasn't even aware was dark. Found it fucking unbearable.

So much that he felt relief washing over him when the venue of the gathering came in view. A grand mansion, framed by manicured gardens and sprawling oaks that seemed to whisper old secrets to one another. It had a timeless elegance that made you wonder how many lives it had seen pass through its doors.

Small gathering, she said. You scoffed internally at rich people and their definition of small.

“Nice place,” you murmured as you walked beside him, your steps careful on the stone path after the car was eased into a parking spot.

“It’s the Kim's family home,” Jungkook said. You nodded, though the name didn’t spark much recognition. The Kims had been mentioned here and there at family dinners—names dropped in passing between sips of wine and shared laughter. You had barely paid attention then, too busy suppressing laughs at the jokes that Minho whispered near.

The front doors were open, the faint scent of fresh flowers and expensive cologne wafting out to greet you. Inside, the space was as opulent as expected—high ceilings adorned with crystal chandeliers, polished floors that gleamed under the soft light, and clusters of well-dressed guests milling about with drinks in hand.

A tall man stood near the entrance, his broad shoulders and sharp jawline making him impossible to miss. Beside him, another man stood with a softer air, his eyes crinkling with warmth as he leaned into the first man’s side.

The taller of the two men turned, his expression lighting up as he spotted Jungkook. “There he is,” He said, his deep voice carrying effortlessly.

"Hyung." Jungkook softened, clasping hands in a firm shake before pulling each other into a brief hug, the kind that spoke of collaboration and respect.

You shifted awkwardly on your feet, your fingers curling around the strap of your purse as you wondered whether to step back and leave him to his conversation or stay and risk being out of place.Would it be rude if you chose the former?

You were saved from your uncertainty when the two of them pulled away from Jungkook and took you in, a gleam of recognition passing through their face. Recognition, shock, then pity. You know how it went.

“You must be Y/N,” the taller one said, his gaze shifting to you with a warm smile.

You blinked, clearly caught off guard by the direct attention. “Yes, that’s me.”

“Kim Namjoon ” he said, offering his hand. “And this is Seokjin, my partner.” You smiled, nodding in acknowledgment before taking the hand of the charming one in the beige suit. “It’s nice to meet you, both. This is a beautiful venue.” You assume that they're the hosts of the party. The Kims that this house belonged to.

“Thank my father for that,” Namjoon said with a chuckle. “Sixty years old and still insists on hosting the most extravagant parties. He’d never let me live it down if I didn’t pull out all the stops.”

“Extravagant is an understatement,” Seokjin chimed in, his tone playful as he glanced at Namjoon. “I’m pretty sure half the flowers in the city ended up here.”

You smiled again, but it faltered when Seokjin's expression changed in a beat.

“We’ve heard a lot about you too,” he said gently, his gaze dipping briefly to Jungkook before meeting yours again.

You tilted your head, curiosity flashing across your face. “All good things, I hope.”

“Of course,” Namjoon assured you. “Your family is well-regarded, and we-we're sorry about Minho. He was brilliant in every sense of the world. We can't even imagin—"

“Thank you,” you said softly, trying really hard to not let the tightening of your throat strain your voice. “He was.”

Jungkook watched as your smile faltered, just slightly, at the mention of Minho. He decided to steer the conversation away but you recovered quickly, offering a polite nod and beat him to it.

There was a brief, loaded pause before you glanced at Jungkook. “I should find mom. She asked me to join her earlier.”

"Yeah, right.” Jungkook said, his voice steady despite the way his chest tightened again when he looked at you.

You walked by Jungkook, brushing close enough that your shoulder brushed against his chest, the faintest hint of your vanilla perfume that was so maddeningly you lingered in the air. He tensed, his breath catching before he could stop it. His fingers twitched at his sides, an almost imperceptible motion, but it was enough.

Subtle as he tried to be, he caught himself leaning slightly, his chest rising with a quiet inhale as though he could take the ghost of your scent and keep it for himself.

"Not as subtle as you think." Seokjin snickered by his boyfriend's side who also raised an eyebrow, his expression knowing and somewhat giving away his discomfort. “Is there something you’d like to share with the class?”

Shit.

Jungkook straightened, his jaw clenching as he avoided their eyes, fixing the collar of his shirt hoping they won't catch on the heat creeping up on his neck too. “Don’t.” he said quietly, his tone low and edged with warning.

"Maybe you don't sniff her like a dog in public? Maybe you have some decorum?" Seokjin judged, proud and loud.

"I have plenty, hyung." The younger male side eyed the older one, his eyes narrowed and the tips of his ears already crimson red like he was a boy caught watching porn for the very first time.

Namjoon sighed, though there was a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “Let him be, honey.”

But the look he gave Jungkook was far from dismissive. It was the kind of look that saw too much, that peeled back layers Jungkook wasn’t ready to confront. Gods, he needed new friends.

He turned his attention back to the crowd where you disappeared.

The soft hum of conversations and the faint clinking of glasses followed you as you weaved through the grand hall, your eyes scanning for your mother-in-law’s familiar figure. The air in the mansion was heavier than it had been when you arrived, the brush of silk against silk, the way every movement seemed calculated, observed, and weighed.

You navigated through the crowd like a ghost in a gallery, your steps measured and slow, eyes flicking to the floor more than once to avoid the speculative stares. With rich circles came dirty gossip—whispered words disguised as laughter, false smiles that hid daggers. You’d learned to let them roll off your back, like rain on stone.

The Jeon matriarch had mentioned being near the back, closer to where the banquet tables were set. You followed the direction she’d gestured toward earlier, passing servers who moved seamlessly with trays of sparkling champagne.

Halfway through the journey, your steps faltered as your gaze landed on the centerpiece of one table—a chocolate fountain. Warm, rich, and cascading like liquid satin, it stood surrounded by an array of treats. Strawberries gleamed like rubies in the low light, their surfaces polished and inviting.

You hesitated, glanced around as if expecting someone to berate you for indulging in something so ordinary, but eventually, you plucked a strawberry and dipped it into the cascading chocolate.

You let the sweetness settle on your tongue, closing your eyes for a brief moment. For the first time all evening, you found this place somewhat tolerable.

Free food always making things better.

“Excuse me, miss.” a small voice piped up beside you, tugging on the flowy end of your dress.

A boy, no older than six or seven, stood by your side, his wide eyes flicking between you and the fountain. He looked as if he had stepped out of a luxury children’s catalog, his little suit tailored perfectly, his bow tie slightly askew. “Can you grab one for me? I’m not allowed to reach it by myself.” he asked, pointing at the fountain. His voice was polite, but there was a hopeful edge to it, as if he wasn’t used to asking for things twice.

“Of course, love.” you said, your lips curving into a small smile. You picked another strawberry, dipping it with care before crouching slightly to hand it to him. "There you go."

“Thank you!” he chirped, grinning immediate and radiant, the kind that softened the edges of a hard day.

"What's your name?" You asked him, crouching down to his level.

“Do-yun!” came a sharp voice, the kind that turned your stomach before your brain even processed it.

Who you assumed was the boy's mother stepped forward, her elegance severe, her lips painted in a red that matched the strawberries. She took her son’s hand but not before her eyes raked over you, head to toe, with an expression that left no room for interpretation.

"What did I tell you about bothering strangers?” she scolded do-yun who stared at the skewer in his hand apologetically.

“He wasn’t bothering me,” you said gently, straightening up and having the woman’s eyes flicker to you again, assessing.

“He just wanted a treat.”

Her eyes flicked to the chocolate fountain, then back to you, her lips pressing into a tight smile. “how kind of you.”

There was no warmth in her tone, no hint of gratitude. Just a faintly dismissive air. And with that, she turned, her child in tow, leaving you with the faint scent of something floral and the taste of bitterness on your tongue.

You'd learned better than to expect warmth from people bound by history.

You'd learned not to mind it. To overlook it. To not pay attention to them at all.

"That's her, isn't she?"

“Such a shame, losing her husband so young.”

“Yes, but you know, they weren’t exactly power players, were they? He was an artist, wasn’t he?”

The words hung in the air like cigarette smoke, acrid and inescapable.

A laugh, soft and cruel. “I suppose she’s lucky the Jeons still keep her close. Poor thing, all alone now. Must be awful.”

You stopped in your tracks. The sharp sting of their voices cut through the party’s hum, louder than the music, louder than your own heartbeat.

You could feel your palms start to get sweaty, eyes suddenly unable to meet anyone's.

Breathe. You reminded yourself.

One: Find your breath.

Two: Focus on something neutral—the fountain, the floor, the chandelier above.

Three: Remind yourself: They don’t know you. Their words are weightless.

But weightless wasn’t the right word.

“Though, you’d think she’d be a bit more modest. That dress isn’t exactly… widow-appropriate, is it?”

You tried to focus on your numbers but you lost it.

You turned, your fists clenched, your lips thinned, the polite demeanor cracking away from your face under the weight of your frustration.

“I’m sorry,” you said, your voice sharper than you intended. “Was there something you wanted to say to my face?”

The women froze, their eyes widening in surprise. One of them, a younger woman with a nervous smile, tried to backpedal. “Oh, no, we didn’t mean—”

“Because if you have an issue with me or my dress, feel free to say it outright,” you continued, your voice clear despite the way your heart hammered in your chest. “I’d hate for you to waste any more time whispering behind my back.”

The group exchanged glances, communicating in a language of their own, you couldn’t care less about. Atleast not in this moment.

“We didn’t mean to offend,” one of them muttered, her tone brittle.

“Of course you didn’t,” you said, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “How could I possibly take offense to strangers dissecting my life as if it’s some dinner party entertainment?”

Stupid old hags with no life of their own!

You kept that to yourself.

Then, without waiting for a response, you turned on your heel and stormed away.

The chandeliers above blurred as tears pricked the corners of your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. Not here. Not now.

You weren’t looking for anything specific—just distance, just air that wasn’t thick with judgment and whispers. A bathroom, maybe, though you weren’t going to ask for directions not when your voice felt like it would crack the moment you opened your mouth.

People brushed past you, their scents of expensive perfumes swirling in the air, their muted voices blending into a hum you couldn’t quite focus on. One or two bumped into your shoulder, but you didn’t apologize, didn’t bother looking back.

You just needed to get away—you just needed out of here.

And then, as if the universe wasn’t finished testing you, a firm hand of another one of a frame you jerked into, closed around your wrist, halting your momentum.

You looked up, brows scrunched, eyes glossy and mouth parting, ready to snap but then you were met with a amicable pair of dark eyes.

A crease of his own wrinkling his forehead as he looked down at you. "Is something wrong?" He asked and you almost wanted to laugh mockingly.

Instead, you did what you initially wanted to do. Your eyes flicked to his hand, then back to his face. “Let me go.”

He hesitated for a moment, tounge poking his cheek, grip on your hand loosening but not releasing entirely. "What's wrong, y/n?"

“I said, let me go,” you repeated, your voice firm, frangible at the edges before you pulled your hand away from him and pushed past to walk away without another word.

The next random hallway you stumbled into was quieter, emptier, and for that, you were grateful, stretched ahead like an endless corridor of polished wood and muted gold accents. The noise of the party faded into the background, muffled by the thick walls and heavy doors.

You couldn’t find it in yourself to roam around mindlessly any further. This should be good enough, you told yourself and leaned against one of the walls, your forehead pressing against the cool surface as you tried to breathe through the wave of vehemence emotions that crashed through you.

One: Inhale.

Two: Exhale.

Three: Forget the words they said. Forget them.

But they echoed, persistent and savage, circling in your mind like vultures.

Poor thing, all alone now. Must be awful.

You’d think she’d be a bit more modest. That dress isn’t exactly widow-appropriate, is it?

Your chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven breaths, your hands clutching at your dress as if the fabric could somehow hold you together. But nothing could, nothing had. You had tried and tried and tried.. and fuck you didn't wanted to do it anymore.

Turning around, your head tipped back against the wall, the ceiling swimming in and out of focus as your vision blurred.

You shouldn’t have come here.

You should have stayed home, buried yourself in the comfort of your quiet apartment where no one whispered behind your back or looked at you with pity thinly disguised as deference.

Why did they care? Why did it matter to them how you dressed, how you existed, how you grieved?

It shouldn’t have mattered.

But it did.

You pressed the heels of your palms against your eyes, trying to will the tears away. Crying wouldn’t help. It wouldn’t change anything.

Your hands gripped your clutch tightly, the edges digging into your palms, and for a moment, you considered throwing it—hurling it across the hall just to feel something break.

But you didn’t.

You couldn’t.

Because even here, in this quiet, empty hallway, you felt the silent expectation that you hold yourself together, that you keep smiling, keep nodding, keep existing in a way that made other people comfortable.

You hated this. You hated being you. You hated being the one who was left behind. And God you hated being alone. No Minho to make a quiet joke about the ridiculousness of it all and pull you toward something fun and irreverent.

Just you.

It will be always be just you. You've never admitted that to yourself but now that you did, you feel such panic rise in your chest that you don't hear him at first. Not until his voice broke through the haze.

“Y/N.”

It was soft, tentative, but it still cut through the silence like a blade.

You flinched, your head snapping toward the source of the voice. Jungkook stood a few feet away, his dark eyes searching yours, his expression shadowed with concern.

He had followed you.

“I told you to leave me alone,” you managed, your voice trembling as you turned away, willing him to disappear.

“I’m not leaving,” he said, his footsteps growing louder as he moved closer with a cautiousness that made you feel like a wounded animal. “Talk to me.” He added, the pleading in his voice almost running free.

"I mean it, Jungkook.. go away." You tried putting distance between the both of you again but far too quick for your slowed senses, he was now standing right in front of you, hands hovering in the air as if he didn't know what to do with him while also knowing.

"And I told you, I'm not leaving." His tone had coarsened and your dam had broke.

“Why now?” you cried, stepping closer to him, your fists balling at your sides. “Why do you want to stay now? You’ve spent years acting like a stranger, Jungkook. Years acting like I didn’t exist. And now—”

You shoved at his chest, your fists pounding weakly against him, but he didn’t move.

“Now you want to act like you care?” you yelled, your voice cracking as you hit him again. “Now you want to be here? Why?”

Jungkook stood still, his arms at his sides, his chest solid and unyielding beneath your fists. He didn’t flinch, didn’t step back, didn’t even try to stop you. He just let you hit him, let you pour out everything.His silence infuriated you, and yet it steadied you in a way you couldn’t explain.

"Why do you care now?" you repeated, your voice cracking, trembling like your hands as they hit his chest incessantly. Each word felt like it scraped raw against your throat. "Where were you, Jungkook? When everything fell apart, when I—when I needed someone. Where were you?"

“I don’t need you now!” you snapped, your tears falling freely now. “I don’t need you to come here and act like you care, like you’ve always cared, because we both know that’s not true."

“Because you left!" your voice cracked, the words laced with betrayal. The hurt from the breach of faith weakening you and your punches on his chest until they finally stilled, your hands trembling still as they curled into the fabric of his shirt. Jungkook caught your wrists, his hold firm but gentle, and for a moment, you fought him, your breaths coming in sharp and ragged. But when he didn’t let go, when he didn’t flinch or step back, the fight drained out of you.

Your knees buckled, and his arms came around you slowly, hesitantly, as if he were afraid you might push him away. But you didn’t. You couldn’t. You were too tired now. Empty hands that had been holding onto something for as long as you could remember were too tired, have forgotten the feeling of what it felt like to be held instead.

You allowed to let yourself feel that. You allowed yourself to feel someone else other than the woman you couldn’t even recognize in a mirror as you sagged against him, your head pressing against his shoulder as your tears soaked into his shirt, body shaking and shivering from the quiet sobs that you let out.

"I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry, angel." You heard him say those words like a mantra against your hair, arms tightening around you, nestling you close against his chest.

For a moment, you heard pain there, raw and unfiltered, pain that felt similiar to your own in ways you hadn’t expected. You clutched his shirt tighter. You didn't wanted to be alone and Jungkook felt and smelled of times when you weren't. Earthy and Warm. Like that one time when he pulled you in to him after the death of milo- your first dog, and didn’t even mind your snort.

You had clung to those memories but it felt better clinging to him. A small, desperate part of you wanting to drag him closer, to cling to what little you had left of the past. The rest of you wanted to push him away, to keep screaming at him for daring to come back after all this time, after all this distance.

The sobs subsided slowly, leaving behind the kind of stillness that felt fragile, as if it might shatter with the wrong word or movement. Jungkook didn’t push you away, didn’t loosen his hold. If anything, he pulled you closer, as though he feared you’d slip through his fingers if he let go.

You pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at him, your gaze searching his face. His eyes shadowed, a stupid perfect strand of his stupid perfect hair falling on his forehead with tension prominent in his jaw and you wondered if there was a time there wasn't.

You wondered if it would make you any more vulnerable that you are right now if you say the words that sit on the top of your tounge, sting in the tears that linger in the corner of your eyes.

“I missed you,” you said softly, the words slipping out before you could stop them. They felt dangerous, like exposing a wound that had barely begun to scab over.

His eyes darkened, a low sound rumbling in his chest—something between a growl and a sigh. “Fuck,” he muttered, his hand coming up to cradle the back of your head as he pressed his forehead to yours. “I missed you too, angel."

The rawness in his tone made your chest clench, a part of you craving more, while another part shrieked at you to stop this before it went any further, gather whatever semblance has left of you and walk away, play his cards against him.

But you have never been too good with cards or walking away.

“Then why did you leave?” you croaked. “Why did you stay away for so long?”

His gaze dropped to the space between you before meeting your eyes again, his own breathing now getting uneven. You could feel it beneath you. Rising. And Rising. And Rising.

"I didn’t knew how to look at you and not feel like I'm.. betraying him." His voice trembles as he drews in breath and you're so close you feel the heat of it brush against your temple. "And I can not, not look at you. That became a problem."

His eyes darkened, a low sound rumbling in his chest—something between a growl and a sigh. “Fuck,” he muttered, his hand coming up to cradle the back of your head as he pressed his forehead to yours. “I missed you too, angel."

The rawness in his tone made your chest clench, a part of you craving more, while another part shrieked at you to stop this before it went any further, gather whatever semblance has left of you and walk away, play his cards against him.

But you have never been too good with cards or walking away.

“Then why did you leave?” you croaked. “Why did you stay away for so long?”

His gaze dropped to the space between you before meeting your eyes again, his own breathing now getting uneven. You could feel it beneath you. Rising. And Rising. And Rising.

"I didn’t knew how to look at you and not feel like I'm.. betraying him." His voice trembles as he drews in breath, and you're so close you feel the heat of it brush against your temple. "And I can not, not look at you. That became a problem."

Your body stiffened at the confession, the world around you shrinking until it was just the two of you, his voice echoing in your ears.

Your first instinct was disbelief.

This can't mean what you think it does.

This can’t mean what you think it does!

The words replayed in your mind, over and over, refusing to settle. Each repetition twisted something deeper, something buried in the hollow space that had once been you.

You pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at him, needing space, needing air.

He didn’t move. His gaze followed you, his expression resolute, like he was determined to lay everything bare now that the first truth had slipped out.

But you didn’t even wanted to acknowledge it as something, let alone, a truth. “That’s not—” Your voice cracked, and you forced yourself to start again. "Are you drunk, Jungkook?" You found the thought so repulsing, you could only think of ways to brush this up, put all the blame on the champagne.

From the way his eyes narrowed and brow ridged, you could tell that it was not the champagne.

“Y/N.” he says with a warning. “I’m not fucking drunk.”

“Well, you sound like you are,” you shot back, your tone sharper than you intended. “Because that—what you just said—sounds like something someone says when they’re not thinking clearly. You're not making any sense, Jungkook!"

“It makes sense,” he was starting to get frustated now. “It’s the only thing that’s ever made sense to me.”

And you were starting to get scared. You needed him to stop talking. Anything and everything he said made you physically want to recoil. You took another step back, your arms wrapping around yourself as if you could shield yourself from the weight of unsaid words that are no longer so.

“Don’t,” you said, your voice breaking, hands tempted to cover your ears like a child. His confession felt like a pin pulled from a grenade, and now the blast was unfurling within you. “Don’t do this. It's not fair. It's-It's not fair to him. Or me. Or you."

I know. He admits quietly to himself because he doesn't think anyone knows better than the man who was holding the jagged ends of a once delicate thread. And he hates himself for it because hating you was as unrealistic as the existence of a greater being to him. He had tried. Tried turning to salvation. Tried to despise you for being the one thing that has turned him the best and worst person he can be but he just can't. He prefers hating himself better.

He wants this punishment, that is you. He wants to whisper I'm sorry- I'm sorry for leaving- I'm sorry for coming back in every crook and nook of your body for the rest of his life so you'd feel his expression of regret that could only be a product of love so consuming embedding into you.

Because it's truth. It's his truth, has been for years and years, before he even knew what are the consequences of being a honest person. Now that he is seeing you in front of him—you with a revolting look, a stray tear rolling down your eyes that is nowhere near as angry as it had been before, he understands that it's not a consequence he can take.

He dares to step forward again and even if takes a whole lot of power in him not to pull you into him again, he doesn't and only raises a hand and catches the tear with his thumb.

“You don’t get to do this to me.” you repeat, your voice low and trembling.

And so does his. "I know."

Jungkook didn’t know what he expected you to say, what he hoped for. Forgiveness? Understanding? He wasn’t sure he deserved either.

Yet when you don't pull away, look back at him with the same daring he had stepped forward with, a silence understanding passes between the space that is separating you from him. And he's done being separated from you.

He tilted his head down, his breath stirring your hair when he inhaled deeply, his nose tracing a path down until it rubbed against yours—softly, deliberately—as if giving you time to move away. You didn't and his eyes fell on your inviting mouth again.

Fuck it.

Jungkook surged forward, his hands cupping your face, tipping your face up to him as his lips crashed against yours. The way he kissed you was nothing like the way he had touched you. It was rough, desperate with the way tounge and teeth clashed, filled with years of pent up desire and regret and emotions too tangled to name.

He kissed you like the nights he’d spent staring at the ceiling in places too far from home, wondering if you’d be happier without him there to complicate things, wondering if things had been any different if he said something before. Will you have looked at him like the way you looked at his brother? Would that choice have saved you from years and years of tragedy? Would that have saved him from the weight of his guilt, his love—love that had been a silent, unwelcome presence in his life for so long that it felt like another organ, vital and inescapable?

When he felt you grip him again and kiss him back. Nothing else mattered. The world stopped spinning and he didn't wanted to run anymore.

His hands found your waist, gripping tightly. A low groan slipping from his mouth to yours at the feeling of how you melted against him when he deepened the kiss, tounge proding and exploring all that your sweet mouth had to offer. Gods, he was drunk now.

"Shit." He shuddered as the taste of you finally started to settle in, pulling you closer and closer, then pushing you back until your back met the wall of the hallway.

You should be scared, anxious and pushing him back. The mere thought of someone walking in on you kissing him, your supposed family. Should make you want to end this because you could only imagine the stake they'd pin you on. They'd be not wrong to.

This is traitorous—what you're doing, what you're allowing yourself. But so is a shameful part of you that had always reached for him. Something that whispered to you, so soft it felt like it came from inside your own chest.

It's not so bad. His lips feel good.

But oh, it is. It makes you sick from just thinking how bad it is. Anger, confusion, guilt—oh, the guilt—swirl together and make you so sick.

"W-We shouldn’t.." You gasp against him as your unpracticed lips suck on his in a contradiction.

"No, we shouldn't." He kisses you harder, his mouth only leaving yours to trail a train of kisses along the column of your accessible throat to him, making you whimper out loud that he takes as an sign to nibble and bite.

Your hands find their way to his shoulder and his to your hips. "Legs around me." He licks the length of your neck, narrowing your world down to the feeling of his provoking wet tounge on your skin, his calloused fingers squeezing your hips. It felt all too real now. And despite you being balant enough to start this in the first place, you're not sure if you're still feeling bold. What you are feeling is this sinful, unexplainable craving seeping into your bones, curling around your ribs, making it hard to breath and think. Or maybe it's him.

Whatever it is, you get yourself to pause his eager hands and hungry mouth and speak, your breath coming in short, hot puffs. "Jungkook.. I don't think-" He straightens up and the vulnerability in his voice and eyes is gone as he squeezes your hips tighter.

"Finally gave me that perfect mouth of yours and now you want to walk away? Do you like tormenting me, angel? Do you like knowing that I'd fuck my fist to only the thought of you when you do?" He growls against your ear and you feel yourself flush so hard you're sure he even feels the heat coming off you in ripples.

"Please, baby." He pleads unapologetically, fingers tugging you closer even when all of you is pressed against all of him. "I want you." So bad it hurts.

Gone is the man who had once been so armored, seemed so unreachable and untouchable. And left is Jeon Jungkook, who looks like he will crumble to the ground if you pull away now.

You wouldn't want that. But the words came anyway, right from where shame twisted in your stomach, tangling with the guilt that clawed at your throat. "Do you still want me even if I'm nothing like the woman I used to be?" It came out breakable and in segments, and the second they left your lips, you weren’t sure what to except as a answer.

For a moment, all you could hear was the ragged rhythm of your combined breathing.

You swallowed hard, pulling back slightly to meet his gaze. The intensity in his dark eyes was almost unbearable, raw and unrelenting as they searched yours.

"Don't ever say that again." he bit out, every syllable heavy. "I want you always. I want you with my every breath. There's always been only you for me, understand?" He added with a brief grind of his hardened arousal against your front, making you mewl.

The words, though, hit you like a physical forcek, breaking through the walls you’d built around yourself, the ones you’d convinced yourself were impenetrable.

Before you could respond, he moved.

His mouth fell onto yours again and with practiced ease, his hands slid to the backs of your thighs, lifting you like you weighed nothing. "Now. Legs around me, baby." he murmured in the kiss, and though your mind was a whirlwind of what seemed like every single thought you've ever had, your body obeyed.

You could barely figure out to where he was taking you, too engrossed in the kiss that you steered towards a softer, mellow one, fingers tangling in the hair that has grown a little bit on the nape of his neck. Feeling like you both were two audacious college students trying to find a space in a messy party where you both won't be interrupted.

When he halted in his steps, you assumed that he found it as he kicked it open with a firm nudge of his boot, the room beyond dim and quiet but he barely give you time to register anything else, his movements urgent and frantic as he carried you over to the bed in the middle after swiftly locking you both away. You bounced on the silk mattress as he set you down, though his intentions were grave, his actions or the way he held you was gentle, tounge swiping over his glistening lips like chasing the taste of you that made you want to give him once more.

Audacious, you were.

Your eyes on his face, shadows played along the planes, softening the hard edges of his jaw, but his gaze burned. Dark and piercing, it held you in place as if daring you to look away.

You didn’t.

Your eyes followed the sluggish movements of his hands as he reached up, his fingers deftly working the knot of his tie. The fabric slid free, whispering against the buttons of his dress shirt before he cast it aside, forgotten on the nearby chair.

Next came his jacket. He shrugged it off with practiced ease, the broad span of his shoulders rolling beneath the fabric. Your breath hitched as he discarded it, leaving him in the crisp white shirt that clung to his frame, the outline of him barely hidden.

And then his hands moved again, this time to his wrist.

You watched, mesmerized, as he undid the strap of his watch, the silver buckle catching the faint light. He pulled it free and set it down on the nightstand, the movement so fluid it felt almost rehearsed.

It wasn’t until he turned his wrist slightly that you noticed it—the worn thread of a bracelet wrapped around his wrist, faded from time and use but unmistakable.

The one you’d tied around his wrist when you were kids in an action of promise to stay friends for years to come.

But he still wore it.

He still wore it.

Your fingers twitched against the bedspread, the urge to reach out and touch him almost overwhelming.

And as if understanding your anticipation, he soon followed you down, your breath catching as he hovered above you. You waited for him to kiss you again because god help you, you liked a little too much but he only pressed a chaste one, smirking subtly at the pout that subconsciously formed on your lips that soon parted in a gasp when he started to suck on your neck again, this time with the intention to claim the spot with the scrape of his teeth.

He hummed against your skin, the sound deep and satisfied, before he drew your flesh into his mouth again, harder this time. The sharp pull sent a jolt of pleasure-pain coursing through you, thighs clenching together.

"My angel." he said softly, yet nothing was soft about the way he pulled down on the straps of your dress. The fabric slipped, baring the smooth skin of your shoulder, and he pressed his lips there, warm and firm, before trailing lower, his mouth following the path he’d just uncovered. "My undoing."

The red fabric gathered at your arms as he pushed it further, exposing the tops of your collarbones and the swell of your chest. His gaze flicked up to meet yours then, dark and questioning, seeking permission even though his hands were steady, his intention clear.

You nodded, perhaps with too much enthusiasm and earned a chuckle from him that you were sure was the reason for the wetness pooling between your legs.

You had missed that sound. You had missed him.

And he was hell bent on making up for lost time as he dived face first into your chest, humming again when he took in your pebbled nipple in his mouth, swirling his tounge around the roundness of you.

"Oh shit." Your back arched, hands finding their way to his hair again. Pulling and tugging. Urging him on until his hand was fondling the other, abandoned tit. Squeezing under his rough palms that made the heat lowering your stomach worse—all of it felt too much, too soon. And yet, it wasn’t enough.

It had been so long.

Too long since someone had touched you like this, with a reverence that made you feel seen, whole, wanted.

You told yourself it was natural, that anyone in your position would respond this way. That it wasn’t about him—it couldn’t be. But your body betrayed you before your mind could even catch up. Your legs wrapped around his waist once more as you ground yourself against him. Against the print of his bulging length you could feel pulsing against you.

"Fuck yeah.." You cursed low, head falling back on the pillows and Jungkook looked up, his own cock twitching at the sight of you, at the feel of you. Of everything he has ever wanted. Of everything he thought he would never have. But here you were straight from his flithest wet dream that would have him taking more cold showers that he could keep count of.

A goddamn miracle for him, this wasn't a dream.

"This here needs some attention too, hmm?" He rasped, hands slipping down from the curve of your waist, to bunch up your dress to your hips. Wasting no time in finding the wet mess you made of your panties. "Look at this." He grunted, hand cupping your clothed mound. "So wet."

You exhaled out like you'd been freed from shackles that felt too heavy and a whimper followed right after when he disposed you of them, exposing your deprived cunt to the cold air that had you clenching around nothing. "And so fucking responsive." He breathed against your bare sex after moving his head down.

You hadn’t expected that. You breath was bated, cheeks were flushed and heart was pounding at the view alone of his face between your thighs.

Then again, he was all about surprising you today.

Though, it didn't make it any less overwhelming.

The way his hands gripped your thighs, firm yet careful, as if he were both anchoring you and holding himself back. His fingers dug into your skin just enough to leave the faintest imprint, a reminder of where he had been, where he was. Your legs draped over his shoulders, trembling with a mix of anticipation and disbelief, as though your body was still catching up to the reality of this moment.

Never in your wildest dreams, it would have come to this. Come to Jungkook licking a greedy strip up from your folds.

"Jungkook—oh God!" You gasped and he groaned, feeling all of his restraint and the plan to savor this, to savor you, slip away from his tightening hands. One taste of you and he wanted to grasp every drop of like it would be his last.

And so he did.

Burying his face in your wanting pussy like a man with purpose, he lapped. His mouth wrapped around your clit, tounge swiping and licking with a reverence because you were something sacred, something he had put on a pedestal so high, others in his life barely mattered.

"Oh- mhm. Feels so good!" You moan out, mind in a haze of pure fog and he takes it as his cue to plunge his digit inside your dripping core. You're sure you've got no mind now. Grunts of his own leaving him at the thought of your heat wrapping around his aching cock instead.

He felt no shame in that. No shame in what he was doing right now. Because then you moved, your body arching toward him as if to erase every doubt. Your fingers found their way to his hair, tugging as selfishly as he fed on you, flatenning his tounge on your slit to take all he can get, to give you all he can.

A shaky exhale brushing against your folds. The sound was low, guttural, and filled with more longing than he knew how to contain. "Does it, baby? Sweet pussy's feeling good?" His fingers—knuckles deep now—worked you faster, curling and testing ways to get you closer to the edge.

This was more desire that he knew he was possible of as his hips started to rut on their own, seeking friction in a way that was both instinctual and helpless. Brain flat lining. Face drowned in the essence of you. Desperate, as you pulled on his hair. Pathetic, as he chased his own high from just the taste of you, from just how you enveloped his curving fingers. Ecastic, when you finally reached your breaking point from how he alternated between broad strokes and targeted flicks, making you come all over his mouth that kindles his face, that he swallow all because he refuses to let anything go to waste.

"Ah fuck—Oh lord!" You fingers tear in his scalp and hips bucked against his face, eyes rolling back until they whitened.

Oh.

Oh.

It was in this moment, with your thighs braced against his shoulders and his name spilling from her lips, that Jungkook knew.

He would never be the same again.

That he too would be coming in his pants like a high school boy.

It wasn’t enough—nothing would ever be enough—but it was all he had, and it drove him to the edge faster than he would’ve liked to admit. The tension inside him snapped before he could stop it, his body tensing and toes curling because he found everything else secondary to the sheer joy of watching you fall apart beneath him.

"Oh shit, y/n. Shit. Shit. Shit." He whimpers against your cunt, his hips finally slowing down their mindless movement. His forehead pressed against your thigh as he caught his breath. His chest heaved, his heartbeat thundered in his ears, and his entire body felt like it was vibrating, the aftershocks of his release making his muscles twitch.

He swallowed hard, his throat dry, and shifted slightly, pressing a kiss to your clit before leaning back up to feel another wave of release threatening to overcome him when he sees your content expression, hands loosening their grip in his raven hair, half lidded eyes meeting his own before they trail down. "Y-You.." You didn’t know what to say, couldn’t have spoken even if you tried.

A lazy smirk made it's way to his lips that caught the light before he licked whatever remnant what was left of you on his fingers.

"I'm a starved man, angel. Cut me some slack." He panted, pinching your bud in emphasis and moved back up before you could even process it, the warmth of his breath retreating, replaced by the cooler air of the room as he straightened. The absence of his lips against you left you gasping, your chest heaving, your pulse thundering in your ears or maybe it was you still riding your orgasm or maybe it was the knowledge that he came in his pants from just eating you out.

Then he was there again, his hands sliding from your thighs to the mattress on either side of you, bracketing you in like a secret he refused to let escape.

"Hi." He breathed against your forehead.

You felt a shy smile twitch on your lips. "Hi." You reply just as breathlessly.

He presses another kiss, this time to the tip of your nose. "I'm gonna fuck you now, yeah?" You couldn’t reconcile it.

How could he say things that made your cheeks flush, your body respond in ways you couldn’t control, while his lips brushed against your temple with a tenderness that felt like an apology?

How could he make you feel like you were unraveling and being held together all at once?

You wanted to know. "Mhm. Please." You mewl, hands softly going through the beautiful mess that you made of his hair.

"Please, what?" He demanded, lips on your cheek.

"Please fuck me." You whine and he bumped his nose against your face, chest rumbling from a sound so feverish that you can't help but grind against him again. Coaxing his cock back into hardness with your bare cunt against him, from the realization that you shared the insatiable urges with him.

It got his hand trembling when they reached down to unbind his belt, pushing the fabric down his hips to reveal predicament he's made of his boxers that were bounding his hard, leaking cock but hell if he had it in himself to care.

He had been bidding his time for far too long. Waited enough—longer than any man should have to wait for something that felt this inevitable, this right, this his.

Ridding himself of the last piece of clothing on him, other than the white dress shirt that flexed against his coiled muscles, he took himself In a fist, groaning when he pumped himself in one slow stroke. Eyes never leaving your wide ones like you weren’t sure if you should be impressed, intimidated, or both.

Your breath hitched audibly, and your chest rose and fell as your eyes darted from his face to the undeniable evidence of his arousal. Heat bloomed across your cheeks, but you couldn’t seem to tear your gaze away, couldn’t stop the thought that immediately took hold.

"You're too big." Your throat dry, and your fingers fisted the sheet beneath you, trying not too think too much about how thick he would feel down your throat. The sounds he'd make when you would lick him just right.

"And you're gonna take every inch." He said it like a statement, a prominent vein popping in his neck when he finally let go of the locked gaze and focused instead on compressing the tip of his angry, veiny cock to your slick folds.

"Won't you, angel?" He asks with a confident smirk passed your way for a second before his breath wavered again, brows scrunched together and if it wasn't for his tip nudging inside you, you'd thought him endearing.

But once his tip is actually is in, you're left with no thought. Rendered speechless, eyes falling shut when he starts to jab inch by inch.

"Dear lord—" You gasp out loud. The sheet beneath you not providing much semblance so you switch to his shoulders. And you swear, he feel him shake when he is finally all in. Closes his eyes and relishes in your heat stretching around. "Fucking hell." The sensation was overwhelming—heat and softness so consuming it felt like his mind short-circuited, every thought dissolving into static.

But you feel that its your pussy that feels like it's going to split apart any moment now that's stopping him from moving. And partly it is. "You're so..tight." He hisses out and squeezes your hips with great roughness.

"Been long since you've been fucked, eh?" He muses, dark hungry eyes devouring yours when he makes an attempt to move inside you like he was testing your limits. Your mind reels, caught between the sharpness of the initial sensation and the overwhelming desire that followed.

He felt impossibly big, like your body wasn’t prepared for the sheer intensity of him, and for a fleeting moment, doubt crept into your thoughts.

It’s been so long.

The thought came unbidden. Your body had grown used to quiet nights and cold sheets, to the impersonal hum of a vibrator and the absence of warmth.

"Been so long." You confirm, nails clawing at his shoulders, mimicking the roughness that only spurs him on. His lashes fluttered shut, his forehead drops to your shoulder and with a whine of disagreement from you, he pulls back fully just to (to your satisfaction) bury himself back to the hilt.

An unadulterated moan from you broke the silence, a sound so sweet it made him want to come right there and then again. But he'd much rather have you convulse first. Priorities.

His jaw clenched, a low groan rumbling in his chest as he started to move his hips against yours, slow and deliberate, like he needed to feel every inch of your.

Your legs tensed around his hips, pulling him closer. You couldn’t help it, couldn’t stop the way your body reacted to him, your mind a dizzy blur of heat and need and overwhelming sensation.

He pulled back again, the drag of him leaving you feeling empty, only to return with the same slow, measured thrust.

“That’s right,” he muttered, his voice rough and uneven, barely coherent through the sounds your free spilling moans and the fact that his face was buried in the crook of your shoulder. “You’re—fuck, you’re perfect.” His voice unrefined at the edges, raw with honesty and disbelief, like he couldn’t believe you were really here, with him, like this.

Your hands slid down his back, clinging to the flexing muscles beneath your palms. You suddenly didn't like that his shirt was still on. Wanting to map out his bare skin with every graze of your nails. But with each thrust, pleasure sparked at the base of your spine and spread outward, your thoughts scattered like autumn leaves.

"Yeah- Oh mphm! Just like that!" He flourished in your cries of encouragement, his grip on your hips tightening, his fingers digging into your skin as he was afraid he'd lose control too soon.

And you wanted nothing more. "F-Faster! Please go faster!" His pace was unhurried but devastating, every pull and thrust deliberate, designed to drag you to the edge and keep you there, teetering. You couldn’t take that anymore.

And Jungkook couldn’t take keeping you unsatisfied. His lips found the corner of your mouth, brushing against it in a fleeting kiss before moving lower, his teeth grazing your jaw. His hands moved to your thighs, urging them higher, wrapping them around his waist as he drove into you with more force, more intent.

“taking me so well, was made for this cock.” Were made for me. he praised, his voice sounding like a backdrop to the obscene sounds his hips snapping against yours as your own body moved with his, meeting him with the same intensity, the same desperate need. "Yeah." He grunted, punctuating his words with a squeeze to your boob. "Fuck me back. Use me. Feel me."

All you could possibly do was feel him.

He felt like fire and electricity all at once, a heat that spread from your core to the very tips of your fingers and toes.

“Jungkook…” you whispered again, your voice catching on the syllables when his head tipped forward, his forehead pressing against yours, his damp hair brushing your skin.

He whimpered in response, a deep, guttural sound that reverberated through you, and he pistoned his cock harder, pulling a cry from your lips that you couldn’t hold back.

"I-I missed you." You can feel tears gather in your eyes again. You don't even know why. Why you're repeating what you've already admitted. Why the words feel more vulnerable now. All you know that you missed him and the coil is tightening in your stomach.

Jungkook, too feels like he will break down any moment when he stares down at you. But he’s got a impending orgasm to deliver.

He kisses your eyelids, is tempted to lick the tears that slowly make their way down to your chin but doesn't. He's not sure he'll be able to handle the taste of your despair without feeling like he has to chastise himself for ever being the reason for it.

"I know. I know." His cock thrusts with renewed vigor. "I missed you too. I missed you." He says through his gritted teeth, feeling how your walls fluttered around him.

"Gonna cum now?" He knows what your answer will be. There's a smug underline tone in his rasps that gives him away. How he takes pride in knowing that he's the one to make you release all this tension; once on his mouth; then on his cock that is pulsing with an reoccurring ache.

You can only manage to nod, lips tightly tucked between your teeth, hands scratching and marking on his once crisp shirt that is now crumpled from the fate of your hands.

"Gonna soak my cock, huh? Go ahead, baby. Go ahead and come with me." He demands, his hand slipping between you to rub tight circles against your puffy clit that is just enough to tip you over at last.

"Koo.. ah..oh god!" The name you've always called him with a fondness falls unintentionally from your lips when your walls tighten for the last time and you release all over his cock that is now stuttering with it's every thrust.

"Oh fuck. Call me that again." He all but snarls. Cock turns firmer inside your heat that hugs him. And balls screw up.

"Koo.." You whine and that's all he needs before thick ropes of white hot cum is spilling inside you, filling you to the brim. "Mhm, take it all. There's my girl. Pussy looks so good stuffed with my cum." He grinds the best his spent body can into yours that still welcomes him and fuck if that doesn't make him never want to leave.

And he doesn't, for a moment, when he collapses onto you. Just not enough to crush you under his weight. Just enough to latch his lips where ever he can find and whisper words of affection. "Could'nt fucking breathe without you." He's yet to get enough of you. This life won't suffice, he thinks. Then finally pulls out his softening cock from your slick hole with a hiss.

You too feel the loss the of the connection that had pulsed faintly between you, leaving you achingly empty.

He moved with the same carefulness, reaching for the tissues on the bedside table. The room was quiet save for your mingled breaths as he knelt beside you, his touch impossibly tender as he wiped at the inside of your thighs. You shivered under the cool press of the tissue against your skin, the sensation making you acutely aware of the aftermath—the way your body still quivered, the way your breaths still came uneven.

You stared at the ceiling while he did so, the edges of your perception blurred as you tried to silence the tingles that still hummed across the length of your legs. A reminder of how throughly he had disentangle you, how throughly his very essence had penetrated into you.

You were ruined by him.

There was no going back from this. You knew that.

What scared you was the realization that you didn’t want to.

You just didn't know how to admit that out loud where everyone and he could hear you.

Your eyes seeked out for him as if that alone could answer all your questions. He returned back against you without a question. Hands finely adjusted the strap of your dress and drew you closer to him with a soft voice, hoarse from the strain of everything he’d given you. "Come here, angel." Bundled you up in his arms and then only did he breathe out.

Your breath stayed differing. “Why do you call me that?” Your voice was curious but tentative. “I don’t think I’ve ever asked you.”

You felt his lips curve up against your temple. "You were wearing this really pretty white dress the first time I met you." he began, his voice quiet, almost wistful. “Had these frills on the sleeves. I thought you looked like an angel."

You tried to piece together the memory. “That was so long ago."

It might be understood that it takes months to fall in love but Jungkook had been falling all his life.

[feathersandblue]

So, full disclosure, I haven't been a Solas fan before.

I am now.

And that's because of Veilguard and the many, many ways in which I felt let down by this game.

The aspect that bothers me most is the reduction of nuance and complexity.

Rook's hero's cakewalk (because “journey” really isn't the right word) is a ready-made path that offers no deviation at all and never challenges the player in any meaningful way.

Sure, you can spend some time pondering the pros and cons of saving Treviso or Minrathous. Ultimately, it makes no difference. Rook does their best, they just can’t be in two places at once.

Same with the companion character arcs. What does it mean if you decide to you turn Emmrich into a lich? For the most part, it's idle musing. Indulgence. He’ll be happy either way, there are no real stakes. Yeah, your actions do have consequences, just not the sort of consequences that make a substantial difference. It’s the illusion of choice – reduced to cosmetics.

The problems with decisions that cost nothing is that they don’t feel like an accomplishment. They also don’t allow for character growth. Rook doesn’t change, they remain static. Even the section in the Fade where Rooks faces their regrets is easy and comparatively lightweight. Varric was killed by Solas, Harding resp. Davrin died in combat and either Bellara or Neve was abducted by Elgar’nan. It’s not like Rook’s decisions actually caused these events, it’s not like Rook actually failed through a choice they had to make that turned out to be the wrong one. Everyone was there willingly and volunteered to fight the good fight. Rook’s regrets are not about real guilt, they are about feeling sad and guilty. And that – it needs to be said – is not the same thing. At all.

At the same time, the story carefully avoids any kind of true ethical dilemma.

It's not even about the lack of mean or edgy dialogue options; that’s just a symptom. The cause is the writers’ unwillingness to let realism intrude in Rook’s fairytale – the lack of anything that would require Rook to compromise on morals, or fight temptation. Rook is never faced with any sort of moral conundrum, or allowed to act out any kind of vice that realistic characters have. In its straight-path simplicity, Rook's story is apparently written for children and people who remain child-like in their yearning for simple, uncontested truths.

Of all the sorts of conflicts that a story can offer, Veilguard carefully avoids the most realistic and (in my opinion) interesting ones: Character vs. self and character vs. society, aka, politics. The game firmly refuses to go there. To the point where it creates a completely unrealistic consensus on all sides that eliminates yet another sort of conflict: character vs. character.

If Rook and their companions would talk politics, they’d all be on the exact same side. In a two party state, they’d all cast the same vote.

I am sure that there are many players who feel comforted and reassured by that fact, who sincerely believe that this is how stories should be written. That stories should reflect the world not as it is but as they think it should be. But for everyone who likes their stories a little more realistic, that lack of meaningful interpersonal conflict, that lack of real diversity which comes not from appearance but from different cultures and opposing viewpoints amounts to a frankly cringe-worthy, artificial and juvenile surface-level interaction between characters. Or, to phrase it differently: the diversity remains skin-deep and doesn’t extend to the philosophical, and even in the few instances where it does, it shies away from the political.

Which means that the only conflicts that remain are the most boring and stereotypical ones: character vs. monsters resp. the supernatural, where all foes are evil in the blandest way (Supremacist Venatori! Fascist renegade qunari! Power-hungry necromancers!). These conflicts are resolved through exploring maps and endless, repetitive combat.

The only thing that brings a bit of nuance to the game is Solas’s story. And there is an element of character vs. character in Rook’s and Solas’s relationship, but the sad truth is that what could have been a fascinating mirrored character journey falls flat for all the reasons already explained – because where Solas is a character as layered and controversial as it gets, Rook is anything but.

Solas’s story shows how even people with the best intentions and the greatest integrity are ultimately broken by what life throws at them, both by the decisions that are forced upon them and the choices they make on their own. It shows how a prolonged war is always a sunk cost fallacy: I’ve gone this far, if I stop now, it was all for nothing.

Rook’s victories, on the other hand, come without a cost – both in terms of moral corruption and in accountability. The guilt Solas bears is real. The fight against the titans, followed by his war against the Evanuris, requires compromising his own morals, one day at a time, one century after another, he’s trying to save the world yet doomed to fail. Sacrificing the spirits to win a battle after the war has gone this far? Every single war leader around the globe would make the same decision. In fact, all of them do: They do sacrifice the lives of others if it will help them win, they do send soldies into the trenches to die, whether these soldiers want to or not, and they are rarely, if ever, truthful about the reasons why.

In a certain way, the story of the spirit of wisdom turned flesh is reminiscent of the biblical Fall of Man: the original sin. Solas has fallen, and he’s broken. In trying to heal the world, he’s trying to heal himself. The burden is too heavy, the responsibility to great, the knowledge that he is responsible for all of it too devastating. Solas’s greatest conflict is character vs. self. It has the potential to be great. In a way, it is. It’s the single redeeming quality that, depending on your interpretation of what went on behind the scenes, the writers managed to salvage from the original concept of Dreadwolf or the lone pillar that withstood all their attempts to bring it down.

Only sadly, infuriatingly, in the end, that fallen hero’s ending is put into the hands of a protagonist who judges him from the perspective of someone who has never even stumbled – not because they are wiser, braver, or kinder. No, just because the writers were gracious – or cowardly? – enough to never let them fail.

The game gives Rook a moral high ground which isn’t earned in the slightest because Rook never had to walk even a quarter of a mile in Solas’s shoes. They don’t know what they would have done in his stead, they have no idea what it actually means to see the sorry shape the world is in and know that it was your hands that shaped it. And even where Rook might actually be culpable – the interruption of Solas’s ritual that freed the remaining Evanuris – anyone is quick to assure Rook that it wasn’t their fault.

Whatever regrets Rook carries, they’re born from self-doubt and trauma response. Survivor’s guilt, mostly. When compared to Solas’s immense guilt, Rook’s regrets are, for lack of a better term, insignificant. That Rook manages to face them doesn’t mean that they are more truthful or emotionally mature, it just means that Rook’s story is a tale for children and Solas’s is not.

It’s not that I’m necessarily opposed to the idea that the player decides Solas’s fate through their actions. It’s the injustice of it all that bothers me: The player is led through a game that provides a safe space for their character, one that is devoid of any interpersonal conflict and any ethical quandary. Rooks succeeds through kindness and heroism and taking their companions on team bonding exercises.

As if Solas could have won the war against the Evanuris if he’d taken the time to take his companions on coffee dates.

The juxtaposition – Rook vs. Solas – fails, simply because of this deep divide. Rook’s story is detached from reality and yet Rook gets to be Solas’s judge, jury, and executioner. On what grounds?

As I said, right in the beginning, I haven’t been a Solas fan before. But by the end of Veilguard, I was firmly, irrevocably, Team Solas, just because I was so annoyed that the narrative put Rook in a position of moral superiority. I detested my own character. Jesus, what a goody two-shoes! I was rooting for Solas simply because his story was so much more: a genuine tragedy, a study in complexity. Rook, on the other hand, remains bland, snotty, unchanged. Untried.

The thing is, I don’t believe that my reaction was one the writers had intended. I strongly feel that they didn’t mean for me to pick up on their double standard, that they expected me to walk away fully satisfied, convinced that Rook and The Team were the Good Guys because they went on picnics and petted the griffon, their final victory well-earned and just. If only Solas had had a Team and taken care of their emotional needs – he could have taken down the Evanuris with nary a scratch!

It’s all so very disingenuous.

Rook and, by extension, the player exist in a bubble of sanitized content. That is clearly deliberate. The player is meant to like it there. (In that sense, it’s only logical that they changed the title from Dreadwolf to Veilguard.) And clearly, it does resonate with a certain kind of their player base: mostly with people, I think, who would like their real life to be a bubble too and whose only experience with moral corruption is when they find it in others.

[soliloqueeer]

When I first watched this episode, I was very confused about Lestat's motivations for being at the trial. During Claudia's execution, I kept thinking, why isn't he moving? Just do something. Help her.

I understand now that Lestat, at this point, is much weaker than usual for reasons that haven't yet been fully explored. From interviews with Sam Reid, I also learned that there was no way Lestat would miss this trial. However, Lestat isn't a planner—he arrived, memorized his lines, yet was utterly unprepared for what was about to unfold. The only thing he knew for sure was that he was going to save Louis. That was his sole plan.

When Claudia says, "It's never been about me," you can see the guilt and shame in Lestat's eyes. Yet, when she announces her plan to kill everyone in the crowd after her death, he's staring at her with pride.

I believe Lestat did a lot of reflecting while in his coffin, pondering how he ended up in this situation and what led his fledglings to turn against him. I think he was actually proud of Claudia for successfully orchestrating his murder. She outsmarted him, and he had entirely underestimated her. This final act of violence made them equals in his eyes.

However, I don't think Lestat ever truly saw himself as a 'father.' He had no example of good parenting in his human life and this had no idea how to treat a child. From the beginning, he was referred to as Uncle Les while Louis took on the paternal role. Then, when Claudia became an adult, Lestat was forced to regard her as a sister.

The idea that someone could look to him as a father wasn't even conceivable to Lestat. In Claudia's final moments, when she looks to him like a child looks to a parent for help, it is horrifying on so many levels. It shocks him to his core when he realizes that he is her father and that he's letting her die right before his eyes. And even worse, Claudia was right—it was never about her.

[shepherds-of-haven]

The End of an Era, and the Road Ahead

Hi everybody, the recent news about Dashingdon shutting down feels like it's a bittersweet turning point for many in the ChoiceScript community. Before Don stepped up and took things into his own hands, volunteering his own money, manpower, and time to create and maintain the site, there was no good way for people to host ChoiceScript demos and games in one place: I think the previous solution had been different Dropbox links (which was eventually nuked by security changes in how they hosted files) and possibly separate Neocities sites? Without the Dashingdon site, none of us would have had such an incredible space to gather, share and explore and experience games together, or--for some--even feel motivated to write a ChoiceScript game in the first place, not without an easy and intuitive way of sharing it with others in a playable format. The Dashingdon site significantly lowered the barrier of entry for anyone wanting to make or play or share games; more than that, it was a place of memories, creativity, and connection, and I fully believe that it served as a vital backbone of the ChoiceScript community for many years. A lot of that community relies on the efforts of volunteers--including the creator of CSIDE and the moderators on the forums--and, as with them, I can only thank Don wholeheartedly for his generosity and his 10 years of tireless, selfless, and often thankless work. The fact that a lot of people didn't even know he was a volunteer shows his altruism!

However, all of that work could have only fallen on the shoulders of one person for so long. It's a sad loss to see, though, and I'm very sorry to everyone mourning the loss of the community space, old or inactive WIPs, and save files that will be lost when Dashingdon goes dark at the end of the month. I do wish that there could be an official, stable, company-supported place for authors to host their games in one place, but at least there are alternatives for people to migrate to! (Thank you too to @hpowellsmith and everyone in the community who's taken it upon themselves to spread the news and try to make this transition as smooth as possible for everyone surprised by this announcement. And thank you to the volunteer who's taken up the banner at cogdemos.ink!) I don't know if cogdemos.ink has a page set up to help defray costs, but Dashingdon himself has a ko-fi if you want to leave a tip or thanks for his years of service to the community!

To that end, I want to reassure you all that Shepherds of Haven is safe and isn't going anywhere, and that this change won't affect the game's future. The news has, however, sped up my announcement of something I've been working on for a long time: transitioning away from ChoiceScript and moving Shepherds of Haven to Twine.

Granted, this wasn't how I originally planned on sharing this news. Patrons have known about this move since I decided on it, but I'm a dogged perfectionist, possibly to a fault. I wanted everything to be absolutely polished before unveiling the Twine build, but this unexpected news has been the nudge I needed to take the leap sooner. It's always been my habit to polish my work to an extreme degree: I will rewrite entire novels five, seven, however many times it takes before I send it to my agent or editor... or even before I show it to my own fiance! I still haven't let him read Shepherds, or the novel that I've been talking to him about since 2019, because it "isn't ready" yet, not in my own mind. A common refrain I've always heard from career associates is that my work is "unusually impeccable" by the time it hits their desk. When I do share something, it's usually done. But if I'm learning anything as I grow as a writer, it's that progress matters over perfection. The sudden closure of Dashingdon has made me realize that no one moment will ever feel perfect--and that’s okay. I have to accept that things will never be as perfect as I want to make them before I let them out into the world. Instead of holding myself to an impossible standard, I’m embracing this opportunity to push forward and bring you something I'm truly proud of. (However nerve-wracking that may be!) So, instead of reuploading the ChoiceScript demo somewhere else, only to take it down again later, my efforts are going to shift entirely to getting the Twine version ready for release. It’s a huge task, but it ensures I’ll have complete control over Shepherds of Haven and its future. If I drop everything and focus entirely on this for the next several weeks, my best estimate is that it will take 3-5 weeks of full-time work to make that final push and finally get everything caught up and ready.

Why Twine? There were a lot of reasons behind my decision to move. The biggest of all was that, as the game's wordcount grew, so too did my creative vision for it, and I found myself longing for a version of ShoH that could be just as visually rich and mechanically engaging as I was imagining. Codex entries, interactive maps, infinite saves that can be downloaded directly to your device! Moving to Twine removes the limitations of ChoiceScript's simpler engine, and allows me to honor the game's creative potential and deliver on it in a way that feels true to the journey we've shared so far. It's also a platform that offers greater flexibility and independence for both me and the game: I've put so much work into this project that I'd prefer for its success to rest more in my hands, even if that means taking on the monumental task of publishing it myself, rather than anyone else's.

So. Both the public demo and the alpha build will be released in Twine as soon as I can make that happen. The majority of the work's already done--I just need to get the alpha build caught up with some lingering day off interludes and Chapters 8.5 and 9, and I need to address a queue of lingering quality-of-life questions and tweaks. I want to also note that, while there are very exciting additions to unveil, everything foundational to ShoH remains exactly the same. The story, text, and original functions have been ported in their entirety to Twine, outside of basic edits and refinements that would have happened in the normal course of revision, anyway. I have even taken pains to implement a visual "classic" setting that will replicate the font, colors, and general simplified look of the original version, if players want to use that instead. :) But otherwise, this thing is stuffed to the gills with awesome new features. Custom music soundtrack! Clickable maps! Actual trading card collectibles! Stunning new art! Revamped codex and store and inventory systems! Helpful tutorials and autosave points! Important quality of life improvements, like being able to select pronouns separately from gender and change them any time! This doesn't even touch the surface of it, but needless to say, I think we're going to have a lot of fun. Thank you all for your patience, encouragement, and support so far, and please give me some time to get my ducks in a row. A new version of Shepherds of Haven will be ready for you to play soon!

[sims-himbo]

THE SIMS 4: BARBIE Legacy Challenge!

oh hi there! i haven't posted here in a while, but i just watched the barbie movie a few days ago and needless to say, it is now my entire personality. so here's my first ever legacy challenge based on barbie's many, many careers and achievements!

apologies in advance, this challenge uses a lot of packs! i'm sorry! i might try to make a base game version at some point

BASE GAME version

portuguese translation by @demaciana-sims

sims 3 version by @appaloosawhims

challenge rules below the cut

All heirs must be female and named Barbie. (non-heir children may have any name)

You may use the freerealestate cheat for your first house, but try not to use money cheats after that!

You are allowed and encouraged to use lot traits and rewards to boost skill gain, anything that’s in-game is fair game.

Packs you will need:

EPs: Get To Work, City Living, Cats & Dogs, Get Famous, Island Living, High School Years

GPs: Spa Day*, Parenthood

Optional packs (for the optional generations):

EPs: University, Cottage Living, Horse Ranch

GPs: Strangerville

*You only need Spa Day for the High Maintenance trait in one of the generations and nothing else, so it's fine to skip out on it.

You've been raised with traditional values: find a good man, start a family, be a homemaker... But you want your children to aim higher, so you'll make sure to set them up for success.

Complete Successful Lineage aspiration

Max Parenting and Cooking skills

Have at least 3 kids and 1 pet, each child must complete at least one child aspiration and they must all max out their grades in school

Must have Family-Oriented trait

Your mother was happy staying at home, but not you. You're ready to fight your way to the top and make enough money to support your family for generations to come.

Complete Fabulously Wealthy aspiration

Max Charisma and Logic skills

Max Business career (Investor branch)

Must have Ambitious trait

Your family is pretty wealthy, so you've used your funds to open up your very own vet clinic and follow your dreams of being surrounded by furry little guys all day! But it might be more difficult than you thought...

Complete Friend of the Animals aspiration

Max Veterinarian skill

Run a 5-star vet clinic

Have at least 3 pets and be good friends with all of them

Must have either Cat Lover or Dog Lover trait

You grew up surrounded by pets, and you now want to explore even more of the animal kingdom... So you're going underwater! What magical secrets will you discover on your journey?

Must live in Sulani

Complete Beach Life aspiration

Max Conservationist career (Marine Biologist branch)

Become a mermaid

Max Logic and Fitness skills

Must have Child of the Ocean trait

Your mother had an almost supernatural level of fitness at sea, so now you've been inspired to master fitness on land! You're determined to reach your full potential in physical performance and become a world class champion.

Join Cheer or Football team as a teenager and reach highest level

Complete Bodybuilder aspiration

Max Fitness and Charisma skills

Max Athlete career (Athlete branch)

Must have Active trait

Your family has achieved many, many accolades, and you've set out to capture all of it in an epic Tell-All novel that you spend your entire life writing!

Complete Bestselling Author aspiration

Max Writing skill

Write Book Of Life and bind it to your parent, use it to successfully bring them back from a premature death

Must have Creative trait

Movie stardom is the next logical step for your lineage, so you set out to conquer the silver screen. Will you catapult the family name into even greater heights, or will it now be associated with infamy?

Complete Master Actress aspiration

Max Acting skill

Must reach at least Proper Celebrity status

Must have a secret affair with a fellow Actor!

Must have High Maintenance trait

As the child of a successful actress, people may roll their eyes and immediately write you off as yet another nepo-baby trying to start a music career... So you must prove them all wrong by becoming a proper rockstar!

Complete World Famous Celebrity aspiration

Max Singing skill

Max skill in at least 2 instruments

Max Entertainer career (Musician branch)

Must have Music Lover trait

What's next after conquering so many careers and reaching worldwide fame for the family name? World domination, of course! Become the greatest Leader this nation has ever seen!

Complete Mansion Baron aspiration

Max Politician career (Politician branch)

Max Charisma skill

Must have Self-Assured trait

Now that you've conquered the world, it's time to venture out into Space! There's so much to explore out there, and Barbie must leave her mark all across the galaxy.

Complete Nerd Brain aspiration

Max Astronaut career (Either branch)

Max Logic and Rocket Science skills

Go to SIXAM at least once and bring a souvenir

Must have Genius trait

Still want more? Here's some extra Barbies that you can play with!

Secret Agent Barbie

Complete Bodybuilder aspiration

Must have Active and Geek traits

Complete Secret Agent career (Diamond Agent branch)

Max Logic, Fitness and Charisma skills

Become enemies with a Sim in the Villain branch of the Secret Agent career! (You may need to cheat this career level for sims outside your household)

Countryside Barbie

Complete Country Caretaker aspiration

Max Gardening skill

Must make all money from gardening, farming, wine making, etc. No day job!

Must own a horse and have it max every skill

Must have Animal Enthusiast trait

Army General Barbie

Must live in Strangerville

Complete Strangerville Mystery aspiration

Max Logic and Charisma skills

Max Military career (Either branch)

Must have Erratic trait

Scientist Barbie

Complete Nerd Brain aspiration

Max Scientist Career

Be abducted by Aliens at least once

Must have Genius trait

Ultimate Barbie

Set lifespan to long

Complete at least 2 child aspirations

Complete Renaissance Sim AND Academic aspirations

Max 10 skills

Have 12 or more traits

Graduate from college

Reach the top of any career

Have a house worth 1 Million Simoleons

Have at least 5 kids and max your relationship with all of them

that's about it! if you play this, please use #sims barbie legacy

have fun:)

[incognit0slut]

MASTER OF PERSUASION

Part 4 of kinktober | main masterlist

meandom!Spencer/Hotch x fem!reader; Threesome, creampie, dumbification, degradation, brat taming, abuse of power, edging, dubcon

Your involvement in a heinous crime was questioned by the two FBI agents who were eager to do anything to get you to talk.

Words: 6802

a/n: This one is dedicated to my nasty, touch-starved btches who secretly wants to be manhandled by two older men. Enjoy this pure filth🫶

YOU WERE FAR FROM BEING A GOOD PERSON. From the surface, you seemed like a normal, typical woman, just one of the countless faces within the crowd. But when the doors shut behind you, you find yourself involved in endeavors you should never have pursued in the first place.

You knew too much. You were acutely aware of how many crimes happening in your vicinity. The number of deaths resulting from these heinous acts should be enough to terrify you, but it didn't, because unbeknownst to your peers, you were one of the reasons why they happened.

Although you never played the role of the perpetrator, you were the person these criminals came to for information. You were good with technology, you could hack into any secure system in the blink of an eye. It was almost as if you were a deity of the dark web, a mastermind whose mere presence served as a godsend to those carrying out these crimes.

It was easy money; you gave what they wanted, received what they paid you, and most importantly, you made sure to never look back. You always wiped everything out after each job was done, but somehow, after working on so many deals, your luck finally struck out.

Somebody hacked into your system—no, somebody good hacked into your system. This person knew what they were doing. They managed to hack through your firewall and retrieve a few of your data while also discovering your identity.

You honestly wanted to praise whoever was on the other side because you had never encountered someone who could match, if not surpass, your own skill. But it wasn't until you heard the loud banging on your front door, followed by people in uniformed vests rushing in and pointing their guns at you, that you finally realized who had breached your system.

It was the FBI.

So that was how you found yourself sitting inside an interrogation room hours later with two agents across from you. A very tall, intimidating man stood at the corner, his arms crossed as he watched you silently. Dr. Spencer Reid was how he introduced himself, and the way he emphasized the title in front of his name, you were certain he was the type of person who took extreme pride in his intelligence.

He seemed a little too cocky.

Special Agent Aaron Hotchner, on the other hand, was hard to decipher. The older man appeared somewhat guarded as if his job had forced him to put on a facade devoid of genuine emotions. Maybe it did. He was, after all, a federal agent. Both of them were. These men were probably taught to master the art of maintaining an inscrutable poker face.

Nevertheless, they were both intimidating, and you wondered to yourself, was good cop bad cop not a thing anymore? Because as far as this was going, none of them seemed inclined to make things easy for you.

The man in front of you cleared his throat, his voice was a well-practiced blend of authority and curiosity. "You've been quite elusive, haven't you, Miss Y/L/N?"

You leaned back, studying him through half-lidded eyes, your fingers tracing the edges of the table with a cool, almost casual detachment. "Elusiveness is a matter of perspective, Agent Hotchner. I prefer to think of it as adaptability."

"Adaptability?" He leaned in closer, his sharp gaze never wavering. "You've made quite a name for yourself. You've infiltrated government agencies, stolen classified data, and even orchestrated financial heists... Impressive, I must say."

A faint smile danced upon your lips, revealing just a glimmer of amusement. "I simply explore the hidden avenues of the World Wide Web. It's not about the thrill; it's about the knowledge."

His eyes narrowed. "But your actions have consequences. You've caused quite a chaos, don't you think?"

"Consequences are a part of every action, whether in the digital realm or the physical world. As for chaos..." You met his gaze with unwavering confidence. "Well, sometimes chaos is necessary for evolution."

He leaned back, his expression unyielding. "Evolution or anarchy?"

"As I said, everything is a matter of perspective, even anarchy," you replied, your voice smooth as silk. "In the grand scheme of things, I'm just a catalyst. Society's flaws were there long before I came along."

The man in the corner took a step forward. His eyes bore into you with resolve as if he had grown weary of the ongoing debate. "You've had your say," he interjected with a steely tone. "You know why you're here. Our victim's files were found on your computer, we need to know who requested them."

You met his gaze with a mixture of defiance and amusement, unfazed by his direct approach. "Doctor Reid," you said, your voice laced with a hint of mock surprise. "Always chasing ghosts in the machine, aren't you?"

His expression remained composed, his intellect undeniably sharp. "We're not here to discuss my pursuits. We're here to talk about the life you've disrupted."

"Disrupted? I'd say I've merely revealed the cracks in the system. Your victim, as you call them, was a casualty of a much larger game."

"Games have rules, Miss Y/L/N. You seem to operate outside of them."

"Rules are made to be broken, Spencer," you retorted, your tone cutting like a blade through the air. "I can call you that, right? I hate having to speak with such formalities."

"It's Doctor Reid," he corrected. "Tell us who you're working for."

His unwavering determination was met with a subtle, knowing smile from you. You leaned forward, your eyes locking onto his with a hint of intrigue.

"I don't know, Spencer," you began, your tone slightly softer, as if you were letting him in on a secret, "The digital world is a labyrinth of information. Files come and go, they disappear and reappear... It's like trying to catch a shadow in the dark. It's useless."

He addressed you with a cold stare. "You're playing a dangerous game here."

You raised an eyebrow, your voice honeyed with allure. "Oh, I'm well aware of the game we're playing. But don't mistake my refusal to cooperate for arrogance. It's just that some secrets are meant to stay hidden."

The room seemed to contract, the air thick with unresolved tension. Aaron cleared his throat and your eyes fell back on him. "Miss Y/L/N, give us a name and we can make things easier for you. But if you don't cooperate..." His eyes traveled down along your body, the goosebumps rose on your skin in response to the heat of his gaze. "I'm afraid we have to resort to extreme measures."

A brief pause hung in the room. There was something in the way he was staring at you. He was looking at you with a profound determination that seemed very different from the way he assessed you before. Under the weight of his scrutiny, you felt your body growing hot. Your breath hitched, and a flush of warmth crept up your neck and tingled in your cheeks.

You regarded him for a moment before you finally spoke, your voice calm but tinged with a hint of defiance.

"If you think you can break me, Aaron, you're gravely mistaken. But if you're interested in the name..." you leaned back, crossing your arms. "I guess you'll have to earn it."

The tension in the room escalated as your words hung in the air. His jaw clenched, and when you thought you had won the upper hand over this battle of wits, he surprised you by waving his hand in the air, and Spencer came forward.

It was as if they had planned this. The way Aaron instructed his partner to move seemed rehearsed and calculated. Spencer walked over to you and before you could register what was happening, he grabbed onto your arm and wrenched you out of your chair with a force you didn't know he possessed.

Your voice carried a mix of anger and frustration as you protested, "What the hell are you doing?"

You suddenly felt him run his hands along your arms. "Checking for weapons."

The scoff you gave him was loud. "Oh, now you're treating me like a criminal?"

"It's a mere precaution."

And then you felt it, the way his touch lingered on your body. It was far from any normal search. His hands felt warm on your skin, even over the material of your shirt, as he continued to pat down your arms. There was a certain roughness in his movements as he slid his arms around your backside and you couldn't mistake the way he gripped your ass more than he should probably have.

"This is ridiculous," you muttered under your breath. "You won't find anything."

"I'll be the judge of that." He slightly shoved your shoulders. "Put your hands on the table."

You reluctantly did as you were told, silently gritting your teeth. His hands moved with purpose, and as much as you wanted to stop this questionable act, your body was reacting in a way that had you questioning yourself instead.

Why was your heart beating so fast as he stood behind you? Why was it getting so hard to breathe when his hands slipped around your waist? And why did it seem you were anticipating more when his palms slightly hovered over your breasts?

"Is this really necessary?" You asked quietly, trying to act as if his rough hands on you weren't affecting you. "This feels more like an attempt for intimidation."

You could practically hear the smugness in his voice as he asked, "Are you intimidated, Miss Y/L/N?"

You liked to think that you weren't, but honestly, you didn't know anymore. You had tried your best to put on a mask to avoid appearing weak, but as he started to squeeze your breasts in the palm of his hands, it finally dawned on you what was happening—You were finally caught, there was a high chance of you ending up in jail, and now a federal agent was touching you inappropriately, groping you in a crude form of patting you down.

And to your dismay, you actually liked it.

But you had too much of a pride, that was why you found yourself lying through your teeth. "No."

Spencer hummed a reply as if he didn't believe you. He squeezed your breasts through your shirt again, palming at them as he slightly felt your nipples stiffen through the material, and he couldn't resist rolling them as his touch continued lower. Your breath hitched as he mapped out your curves, one of his hands delving between your thighs before he stopped right at the center of your heat.

You let out a gasp.

"I-Is this even legal?"

Your mind went blurry as you felt his fingers touching you through the thin fabric of your pants. "Are you questioning how the law enforcement works?"

You couldn't answer him. Not because you didn't want to, but because you weren't able to form any coherent words as he continued to palm your sex, his fingers continuing to rub you. You were suddenly so focused on the way he was touching you, your head hanging low as you felt the sensation throughout your body, that you didn't even hear Aaron calling out your name.

It wasn't until Spencer retrieved his hand from between your thighs, and yanked your hair from behind, that you were forced to meet Aaron's gaze. "He called you," Spencer mocked, tightening his grip.

Aaron leaned forward, assessing the way you were arching your back with both of your hands planted on the table. "You have two options. One, we can play nicely, you give us a name and we'll go easy on you." His voice dropped lower as he continued, "Or two, you keep with this attitude and we might have to coax the answer out of you."

You locked eyes with him, a silent challenge burning in your gaze. Despite being in this vulnerable position, there was an undeniable strength in your stare, a refusal to surrender to their intimidation. Aaron met your gaze with a profound understanding.

"The hard way it is then." You saw him lean back in his chair as he crossed his arms, the subtle movement actuating his broad chest. "You know what to do, Reid."

There was nothing remotely gentle about the way Spencer handled you after those words. He shoved you, knocking the air out of your lungs as you gasped, your body pressed against the cool surface of the table. Somehow between your struggles, he managed to slide his hands around your waist, unbuttoning your pants before pushing them down your legs.

The air hit your bare skin, and even when you felt the cool breeze, your body was seething with fire, burning through your veins. The warmth spread along your cheeks as you realized you were wearing your skimpiest underwear, a flimsy material of dark lace that barely covered your sex. He gripped your ass with the palm of his hands, fingertips digging into the plush skin as he spread you apart.

"Well, aren't you a pretty thing?" You felt him shift behind you and you imagined him kneeling right in front of your heat. The moment his knuckles brushed along your wet patch, your hips bucked involuntarily. "She's wet, Hotch, I think she's getting a little too excited."

"I'm not surprised," the older man said. "She does seem like a slut."

Your head snapped at him. "I am not a slut."

"Oh, you are a slut." He leaned forward and reached out his hand, holding your chin in a vice grip, forcing you to look at him. "And we'll prove you how much of a whore you actually are."

Right on queue, a surprised gasp left your lips when Spencer's large palm burned your skin, giving your ass a harsh slap. The sound echoed in the room and he repeated the motion, watching in satisfaction the way your ass rippled for him. You fell into a false sense of security as he began to soothe his hand against your burning skin before pulling back to give another loud smack, and your mouth fell apart in pleasure.

"Not a fucking slut?" Aaron taunted, his thumb brushing on your lower lip. "That's the most farfetched lie you told us ever since you walked through that door."

You glared at him, but your defiance slowly shattered when you felt Spencer pulling down your panties over the curve of your ass, slipping them down your legs. The evidence of your arousal stuck onto the fabric and you felt your cheeks going warm in embarrassment. Spencer sucked in a gasp as he took in the sight of your lower half completely naked for him.

"Barely even touched you and you're soaking wet," he murmured, letting his thumb brush over your pussy, gauging your reaction. Your nose scrunched as you tried to bite back a moan that threatened to slip out. He started with gentle strokes, keeping his fingers only on the outer side, yet you could still feel his touch everywhere.

Each downstroke he made gave a light pull against your clit without giving any direct contact, and each time his fingers came back up, he slowly spread your folds open for him, briefly allowing your slickness to come in contact with the cold breeze of air.

Your mind became hazy, and just when you thought your body couldn't react more to his touch, he slipped a finger between your folds, feeling your slick against the dainty flesh. The motion caused your hips to buck erratically and your hands immediately reached up to grip onto the edge of the table.

He slipped deep inside you as your arousal coated him, circling your tight entrance as he felt the way your walls fluttered around the tip of his finger. He let out a low grunt as he felt how tight you were around him, curling at the knuckle while he began to drag his calloused pad against the soft spot inside you, making your body shake just from the mere contact.

The subtle reaction didn't go unnoticed by Aaron and he watched as your eyes glazed over. He couldn't stop himself from smirking, his features revealing a hint of amusement.

"You're enjoying this too much. I'm starting to think you're keeping your silence for the sake of this." You moved your head away from his grasp, only for him to grip your jaw harder. "Don't fucking move. Keep your eyes on me while he fucks your tight little pussy."

You never thought you'd be hearing such crude words from him, not with his stoic demeanor and polished facade, nor did you expect your body to react the way it did when those words filled your ears. You couldn't help it, your body betrayed your mind as your cunt continued to throb between your thighs. You could feel the desire building inside you, threatening to burst as you felt your body shake, and Spencer was well aware of this as he felt your walls clenching around his finger.

The laugh coming through his lips rang in your ears, sending shivers down your spine. "She liked that."

Aaron raised his eyebrows at you. "You like it when I talk like this?" He taunted. "You like it when I tell you how much of a slut you are taking his fingers so deep inside you?"

Your eyelids dropped lower at his words, and right at that moment, a lewd squelch filled the room as Spencer slowly slipped another finger into your dripping cunt, stretching you out as he began to thrust them inside you at a steady pace. Your body quivered as your breath quickened, and you found yourself grinding against his touch, desperately trying to get him to press the same spot inside you.

"Look at you fucking yourself on my fingers," Spencer cooed, his free hand smacking your bare ass again, and you found yourself arching your back. "You really are filthy."

Aaron laughed. "Acting like you didn't want it a second ago." He gripped your jaw tighter, forcing a gasp out of you at the subtle pain. He took advantage of your opened mouth by slipping his thumb inside. "Suck on my finger, Sweetheart."

You didn't know which one surprised you the most, his sudden term of endearment, or the order he gave you. You hesitated, because the moment you willingly sucked on his finger, you knew you would lose. The moment you followed through to his demand, he would have the upper hand and you would simply be the pawn in this game.

Aaron, as you realized, wasn't a patient man. His other hand reached for your hair and then, with a sharp and sudden yank, he tore at your hair. "Don't make me use more force than I already am."

Your roots tingled, your scalp throbbing, and a few tears welled up in your eyes. You blinked them away, not wanting to show any sign of weakness, and leveled your gaze at him.

He pulled your hair again. "Suck."

The pain was so much for you that you found yourself wavering. You swirled your tongue around his thumb before closing your lips and sucking with an approving hum. A husky moan was pulled from deep within him, overwhelmed by the feeling of your mouth on him, and, especially, the sight of you. "That's it," he praised you. "Suck on it as if you're sucking my cock."

Your walls clenched again. A sound of pleasure erupted from Spencer as he felt your cunt sucking in his fingers, and without warning, he pumped them into you with so much force you couldn't stop yourself from moaning this time. He laughed, as did Aaron, and your body shook as you felt that familiar sensation tightening along your body.

The room around you seemed to blur and melt away at the pleasure coursing in your veins. It started in the pit of your stomach, a warm, liquid sensation that spread like a slow-burning fire, radiating outwards in waves. Your hushed moan was muffled by Aaron's thumb in your mouth, but the sound of your pathetic whining didn't go unnoticed by both men.

You were so fucking close you could feel every nerve in your body on high alert. Your breaths came in ragged gasps, and your body quivered with the intensity of the sensation. Your eyes fell shut as the lewd sound of your arousal filled the room, and just when you were about to let go, Spencer suddenly pulled his fingers out of you, wrenching away that peak of pleasure you were desperately chasing.

Your eyes shot open, dilated pupils now wide with shock and confusion. Aaron met your gaze with amusement, a sadistic smile dancing on his lips as he pulled his thumb out of your mouth with a pop. "Stupid girl, thinking we'd actually let you cum."

The abrupt contrast between the heights of your pleasure and the stark void that followed was jarring. But before you could comprehend your disappointment, you heard a shuffle behind you followed by footsteps circling you. Spencer finally came back into your line of vision and with no one standing behind you, you tried to push yourself from the table, only to be shoved back down by Aaron.

"Fucking stay where you are," he commanded, his sharp voice piercing right through you. Your eyes were fixed on him, gaze unwavering as he slowly rose from his seat. And then suddenly he was the one behind you, and now Spencer stood right in front of you, looking down at you with amusement.

"You know," he started, his fingers trailing the side of your face. You moved your head away from his touch, but unlike Aaron, he didn't force you to look at him. He merely chuckled as he continued, "You wouldn't be in this position if you had given us the name."

Hearing this, you finally glanced up at him. The self-confidence he carried was starting to annoy you and you couldn't stop yourself from spitting venom, especially when he had ripped away the pleasure thrumming in your body. "I told you to fucking earn it."

The remaining air was knocked from your lungs when the palm of his hand collided with your cheek, your head jolting to the right from the force of the impact. Bright white stars danced behind your closed eyelids, and for a second you thought that you were dizzy from the shock. But then you felt it, the pressure that had been building in your core giving way, a wave of pleasure washing over you.

"Dirty girl," he taunted. "Here I was trying to shut you up and you actually liked that? You like being slapped around?"

You remained quiet, looking away from him.

"And don't worry, you will tell us by the end of this." You faintly hear the sound of metal ringing in your ears. Your eyes fell back on him and your heart sank when his hands moved down to his belt, unbuckling it as he let it hang around his hips.

His fingers moved to unbutton his pants before tugging down the fly. The sight of his hard cock tenting beneath his briefs had your cunt clenching in anticipation, as much as you hated to admit it. Then his thumbs dipped into the hem of his boxers, tugging the fabric down, and you looked up at him with wide eyes. He was bigger than you'd expected. He was thick and solid, veins danced along his length and the droplet of wetness on his tip was too mesmerizing you couldn't look away.

He wrapped a fist around his length, hissing in relief as he made his way towards you. "Now let's put that filthy mouth of yours to good use." He pressed the head of his cock against your lips, half-lidded eyes gazing down at you as he leaned forward. "Open."

The musky scent of him overwhelmed you as you breathed in and you involuntarily opened your mouth wide to accommodate his girth. The flat of your tongue pressed against the underside of his cock as he gave soft, shallow thrusts inside your warm mouth. His fingers held onto your face as he watched his length disappear inside you.

"God, look at you—" Spencer rasped, his voice sounding strained. "Good fucking girl."

Each roll of his hips has more of his thick cock slipping inside your mouth. His palm moved to the back of your head, holding you steady as he forced his length further down your throat, watching as your cheeks darkened and your eyes watered. Your hands moved up to push at his thighs as you struggled against his grip, the desire to breathe overwhelming as you tried to push him away.

You suddenly felt lightheaded from the lack of oxygen and you began to cough and splutter around him, your throat constricting as the sensation flowed directly through his cock. The sensation made him groan out in pleasure as he finally eased his grip on your head and leaned back, allowing you to breathe as you continued to splutter, drool dripping down your chin as you gulped for much-needed air.

Your head felt delirious. You were too focused on catching your breath when you unexpectedly felt something thick pushing into your cunt in one swift motion, knocking you over as you let out a scream.

"Hotch," Spencer laughed, tightening his grip on your hair while he positioned his cock back onto your lips again. "You shocked her."

Aaron merely grunted a reply as he held onto your hips and started to thrust his cock into you. His thickness sent a ripple of pain between your legs. He was definitely bigger than anyone you'd been with before, your breath coming out in soft, shallow pants as he drove more of himself inside your tightness. Your teeth bit down on your lower lip as a dull ache filled your body, trying to ignore the pain as he continued to stretch your tight heat.

There were no words after that, the room was hazy with desire as the heat built within the small space. The two men focused their attention on your body as you took them at the same time. It was filthy, depraved, and something you'd never done before. You never thought you would be in this position, nor did you think you'd actually enjoy being used like this.

Because you did, you really fucking did. Your entire body felt hot, a scorching fire flowing through your veins as you embraced the sensation, an indescribable pleasure taking over as Aaron's cock curved towards that delicious spot inside you with precision.

Your body was pressed against the table, sweaty and exhausted. It was torture, the way he was slamming his cock inside of you at the pace that left you breathless, it hurt and burned with pleasure at the same time. Each thrust had you hanging on the edge of release, unable to think straight as your mouth continued to mindlessly babble around Spencer's cock.

Every so often he'd hold the back of your head securely so you couldn't move away as he continued to bury himself in your throat. A pleased sound escaped his lips as you started to choke around his girth. It felt like you were starting to drown yourself as he shoved into you ruthlessly. Your lungs cried out for air as you began to feel woozy from the lack of oxygen, desperately trying to breathe through your nose.

"Fuck," he hissed, finally easing his hips back to give you relief. You spluttered as you gasped for air, a mixture of his arousal and your spit dribbled down your chin. "So fucking messy."

You tried to calm your breathing, but it didn't take long for your brain to turn into mush again because Aaron snapped his hips, pulling a moan from your lips as he started a harsh pace. Fingertips dug into your hips as he buried more of himself inside your tightness, your inner walls pulsing around him.

His thrusts were hard and you were certain you'd have marks on your skin from the way he was rutting against you, a dull ache panging inside your lower half. Your mouth fell open in a constant moan as you tried to hold your body up against the table. A throb coursed through you as you tried to hold onto the edge, your breath coming out in harsh pants. You were so desperate for your release, your body so close to coming undone.

"Fuck, Sweetheart, are you going to cum?"

You mumbled out a garbled reply as he continued thrusting into you relentlessly, your fingertips digging into the table as you felt his cock dragging against your inner walls. Aaron grunted at the sensation of you clenching around him. His eyes drifted down to where your bodies were connected and watched the way his cock slid in and out of your tight cunt.

He was on the edge of his release, you could tell by the way he thrust into you desperately. You prepared yourself for your own pleasure, your hips moving involuntarily, meeting his erratic movement, as you seek more friction from him. You whimpered, feeling his fingertips dig into your skin almost painfully and you felt the familiar sensation traveling along your body. Fuck. Fuck yes. You were finally going to—

A drawn-out whine left your lips when he pulled his cock out from your tight heat. The sudden emptiness had your body shaking violently. It wasn't until you felt a streak of wetness spluttering on your back that you realized he had reached his own high without letting you reach your own.

"Shit," he gasped, slapping your ass as he watched his own liquid seeping down the curve of your back. "That was incredible."

You groaned. Fucking selfish man.

"What was that?"

It then dawned on you that you actually mumbled those words out loud. You shook your head and he groaned at your lack of words. "That didn't sound like nothing."

And suddenly, as if you weighed nothing, he grabbed onto your body and turned you over, pushing you onto your back. You were too weak to even fight him as he shoved your pants off your feet before spreading your legs apart. You watched as he leaned down and a long string of clear liquid fell from his lips toward your cunt, letting it trickle down between your folds.

"Knew you were a slut," he hissed, before straightening himself and tucking his cock back in his pants. Your eyes drifted toward him. He was big, just as big as you felt him inside you. But it wasn't his sheer size that surprised you, it was Spencer standing by your feet that had your heart peaking up its pace. Aaron smirked as he stepped back and Spencer quickly took his place between your legs.

"Look at you still holding back," Aaron taunted, genuine curiosity lacing in his voice as he paced around the room. "You're worn out. You're filthy. Aren't you tired of playing this game?"

You looked over at him tiredly. Amidst the pulsing waves of pleasure coursing through your veins, you fought to maintain your focus. "Y- You haven't done anything m-much to earn—"

His laughter sent a chill through the room. "Oh, Sweetheart, you think you're winning, but you're not." He then locked his gaze on you. "Trust me, we already have you in the palm of our hands."

You tried retorting back but the once-sharp edges of your concentration began to blur when you felt Spencer's throbbing cock right between your pussy. Each pulse of pleasure sent tremors through your resolve as he eased his hips back to drag the thick, swollen head through your outer lips. His eyes focused on the way you spread for him as though inviting him inside.

"You're already fucked out," Spencer murmured, dragging the tip of his cock through your wetness, feeling it catch against your tight entrance. "Yet look at you swallowing me."

He let the underside of his cock split your folds open, resting it between them snugly as he let out a low groan at the heat radiating from your core. The sinful noise that left your lips had his cock throbbing painfully, the thick veins protruding from his length. He angled your body against him, pushing more of his thick girth inside your trembling body, feeling the way you squeezed around him as he stretched you out.

Spencer pressed his fingers into the curve of your hips as his gaze flickered between your face and his cock splitting you apart. You gasped, your breaths growing more erratic as he managed to push all of his length inside you. He ran his hand over your abdomen as he tried to feel his cock inside you, pressing against your pelvis as he pulsed at the sensation.

"Fuck, baby," he growled, "Taking me so well."

And then he slowly dragged his cock away from you, keeping just the tip in your entrance before plunging back inside in a harsh, jarring movement, jolting you in surprise. You arched your back and tipped your head back in pleasure, just to find Aaron towering above you, looking down at you with an eerie smile.

His fingers trailed down your shoulder blades before they hovered at the buttons on your shirt, slowly unbuttoning them. "I think it's time that you give us a name."

Your body writhed in response to the waves of sensation as you tried to ground yourself. But it was hard to keep thinking straight when he grabbed onto the underlayer of your bra and lifted it over your chest. The way your perky breasts spilled out from beneath the fabric made both men hum in satisfaction.

Calloused palms grabbed onto your breasts and your eyes rolled at the back of your head at the sensation. His thumb brushed against your soft nipple, watching as it began to rise to a stiff peak as he mimicked the action on your other breast, all the while as Spencer began thrusting into your cunt at a painfully slow pace.

"Come on, Sweetheart, don't you want to cum on his cock?"

"Fuck," Spencer grunted, feeling you clench around him. "Keep talking to her."

Aaron chuckled as he continued playing with your breasts. "It's torture, isn't it?" He closed his index finger and thumb around your nipples, pinching ever so gently. You let out a soft sigh and closed your eyes as arousal flushed through you. "Give us a name and we'll give you what you want."

And then you felt Spencer rocking his hips at a steady rhythm, burying himself deeper and deeper before he slowly began increasing his speed. Your body jerked wildly each time he pushed deep into you. Noticing this, his thumb moved to your clit as he pressed messy circles against the sensitive nub, twisting it beneath his calloused pad. It felt too good, so good that you could no longer hold back from moaning out loud.

Your cries of pleasure snapped him into action and his hands moved down to your ass, holding you up to him as he started pounding harder into you. Your head fell back, chest heaving up and down, and that was when you felt Aaron closing his lips around one of your nipples. You writhed, your body thrashing underneath both men. Your senses reeling, the warmth of multiple hands on your skin sent jolts of electricity down your spine, igniting a wildfire of pleasure within you.

Aaron pulled away from you and your eyes flickered open at the loss, only to be met with Spencer hovering above you. Your eyes swept over him, and you looked down where you were joined, watching how his hips moved in constant thrusts. He was enjoying this, you could tell by the way his fingers burned your skin and the occasional grunt escaping his lips.

At the sound of his voice, you looked up at his face, glistening with a sheen of sweat while his messy hair tousling over it. The moment your gazes met each other, something inside you snapped. The muscles in your core began to coil, tightening and constricting around him right as your climax slowly pushed through the fog inside your head. Spencer felt it too, and he suddenly slowed his pace, throwing you a cunning smile.

You felt your resistance starting to crumble. The intensity of your pleasure grew almost unbearable, and you could no longer deny it. Your eyes welled with tears at the overwhelming sensation, and the thought of having your orgasm ripped again from you seemed like another torture you didn't want to endure.

You were going to regret this. You definitely would. But you couldn't dwell on the consequences of your actions when desperation coursed through you like a fever, an all-consuming hunger that you couldn't deny. Your body ached for release and craved it with an intensity that was maddening. 

Your breath came in ragged gasps, and then your eyes, wide and filled with desperation, pleaded with him silently as you found yourself finally giving in, muttering a name you had tried to keep to yourself. A name involved in the crime these men had been pestering you for. A name that had Aaron smirking devilishly as he leaned over to you, brushing his knuckles on your cheek in a caress that was so foreign.

"Good girl," he mumbled, his voice lacing with satisfaction at the way you finally crumbled. He was right, you were already in the palms of their hands, it was simply a matter of time until you caved in. "Good fucking girl."

Once you surrendered, you couldn't stop the whine falling through your lips. Your desperate moan rang deeply in the room, snapping something primal inside Spencer, and he trusted his hips into you roughly. A gasp escaped your lips, legs falling open wider as he split you wider than you already were.

Your mind went absolutely numb with pleasure as he kept rutting up inside you, your body becoming nothing more than a mess, overtaken by a wave of sweat and erotic bliss. You felt yourself trembling, your breathing becoming more ragged as his thrusts became sloppier.

“Fucking hell,” he grunted, noticing the way your mouth fell open as pleasure engulfed you. "That's it, baby, let me fuck you dumb."

You cried out, babbling incoherent sentences as he thrust harder, grabbing your hips and tilting into you slightly, making him go even deeper as he moved with you.

"Go on, cum on my cock," he growled breathlessly through his rapid pounding. "Let me feel you."

“Fuck—” You cried out for him, your overstimulated body shaking beneath him. Wave after wave of pleasure came rushing through your body, erupting in the most intense way. He watched the way you convulsed beneath him in your release, watching the way a white, sticky liquid circled his cock every time his skin brushed your inner walls. His thumb was unrelenting against your clit and you tried to angle your body away from his touch, the pleasure too intense as your lower half throbbed around him.

You continued to clench around him between your bliss, your legs trembling from the position as he arched his back, focusing the power of his thrusts straight into your tightness. A shiver burst through you at the sensation. And with one final thrust, his whole body tensed. He pushed forward, burying his cock in your soft, warm cunt, spreading his warmth in much slower and shallow rolls of his hips.

You were breathing hard, trying to regain your composure, and a moan left your lips when he finally pulled out. Cringing at the fluid slowly leaking out of you, you tried to close your legs only to be stopped as he gripped the back of your thighs, spreading your legs apart to expose your body. You were so wonderfully disheveled, your cunt clenching around nothing, gleaming with your arousal and his own release.

“Look at the mess you made." Piercing eyes watched you as white liquid trickled down your ass. A feeble mewl left your lips as his thick fingers moved down to catch it, deliberately pressing against your folds as you wriggled in his grasp. A laugh left his lips as he dragged the string of wetness along your sex, pushing it back inside you.

"I think I ruined her."

Aaron's laughter filled the room, and just as you were about to push yourself off the table, you felt him grasping both of your hands, pushing them above your head. Your eyes widened in shock. "Wh-what are you doing?"

Then you felt it, the cool metal wrapped around your wrist, sinking into the flesh of your skin as you tried to move from his grip. An unexpected panic surged within you. "Sweetheart, we know you're involved in more than one crime." The soft click of the metal lock was loud in your ears. "You need to give us more names."

Your body, still tingling with the aftershocks of pleasure, now felt more exposed than ever. You looked up to find both men staring down at you, and at very moment, you realized, as you felt the handcuffs digging into your wrist, that you were going to be here for a very long time.

[cvnt4him]

okay, how do we feel on squirting on izuku? hear me out now—

UA dorms, 3rd year, everyone is 18+!!!!!

you and izuku are having a midnight fuck sesh cause it’s quite literally the ONLY time y’all get to be sexually intimate so things are REALLY hot & heavy. I’m talkin’ like having to hold in moans to not wake your neighbors up, the bed is creaking, you had to put a pillow in between the headboard because it was making too much noise, sweating everywhere and izuku has to keep making out with you so y’all can get your moans out quietly!! 🫣

and all of a sudden after izuku moves his hips slightly, you just start squirting EVERYWHERE, like your soaking his bed and you have to moan into a pillow cause it felt so good 😵‍💫

“Did…Did i make you…?”

“..yes…yes you..did..haa..”

“Can i..keep going?I-I haven’t came yet..”

“Yes baby, please keep fucking me…!”

and then just proceeds to overstimulate you while your whining and moaning into his mouth and scratching on his back.

do what you will with this information 🥸

-🩸

I kinda free balled even though you literally told me what you wanted lol, I hope this is to your liking my loveᡣ𐭩

It was after midnight, you were at least sure all of your dorm neighbors were lying down if not asleep by the time you went over to izukus dorm.

You and your boyfriend haven't been able to explore each other's body in so long given you're in your last year of highschool which means not only will things become more advanced but you have even less time to get all of the things done. With all the stress of colleges and your futures taking over your brains you two only had time to text each other 'good morning' 'goodnight' and 'I love you'

It hurt you but none of that mattered anymore, you were finally in your boyfriend's arms after so long. This was the only time you two had together let alone to be intimate with one another you had to take advantage of it.

Izuku had your face shoved into the pillows and your back arched painfully you can hear him groaning above you, his eyes squeezed shut as he slammed his cock inside of you repeatedly.

His thick cock forcing its way into your gushing pussy. The way you squeezed around him had his head rolling back he couldn't take it. He'd already cum inside of you about 2 times given how long it's been since he'd felt your tight wet walls, the thought of them alone had him busting a nut.

You heard his gutteral moans being hushed by his face being buried in your shoulders he began biting them harshly causing you to scream into the pillows, luckily for you they were quite scream proof izuku made sure of that when he bought them.

“ ....ohh...~ you sweet thing... ngh- need it s’bad huh? hmmn. c'mon cum in my cock baby..”

The way he whispered in your ear, so dirty yet so sweet. He was never rough with you but he couldn't help himself fucking you as if you're some cheap fleshlight he needed all that he could take. His hands coming down to harshly grip the flesh of your ass before slapping it making your back arch and your ass grind back onto his cock.

He loved the feeling of you fucking him back, throwing your ass back onto his cock while he tried shoving it deeper inside. The bed creaking with each rough motion of you thrusting back against him, izuku groans at the sticky sounds of the two of you thinking he should've put a pillow behind his headboard someone was definitely going to complain!

“ ngh..! give it t’me, give it t’me zuku— need it s’bad- ugh...”

Your words were coming out muffled and sloppy you were losing your mind with how sensitive you were, you'd come so many times its as if it was happening all on its own. You couldn't control it anymore letting him split you in half on his cock while you lost your mind.

“ let me.....huff....let me flip you over baby.. wanna look at’cha when I fuck you.”

You hum and with that he pulled out causing you to whine, he instantly flipped you over into your back to get a good look at your soiled face. Tears streaming down and spit down your jaw, your eyes were glossy and you could hardly see all you wanted was to hold your strong boyfriend.

You heard him shakily sigh above you, lining his sticky and cum covered cock back up with your dripping cunt, cum leaking out of it and creating a ring around his cock as he quickly shoved it in causing you to jolt upward into him, he instantly leaned down and held you locking lips with you to sustain your whine and moans you were shaking in his arms and your spit was slowly leaking down both your chins.

Izuku sat inside of you for a moment letting you convulse around his cock, this was more for him than it was for you. The feeling of your nasty icky cunt spasming around his twitching veiny cock had his mind melting just as much as yours. He was trying his hardest not to fall apart inside of you but God was it hard with you squeezing him tighter than anything he's ever had.

Izuku gulped down hardly and slowly jerked his hips up into you there was something inside of you, a coil that just snapped your head was thrown back and you couldn't help but to moan aloud izuku was too late to catch it pitchy moans echoing through his room you had started squirting all over his cock your eyes were rolling and your mind was completely blank.

Izuku was in utter awe with you, gasping lightly as his cock only began plugging you deeper with how thick it was, your juices were spraying all over his abdomen and his bed you would be embarrassed if you were coherent and understood what was going on around you. Izuku rubbed your thigh and cooed sweet words to you telling you how proud of you he was.

“ awh honey.... m’ so proud of you baby, did so good f’me.”

“ do...do you want me to keep going...? can I? I wanna cum again...”

You nod your head at his words hardly even understanding any of them. With that he took all that he had and began thrusting into you once more, not as rough as he once was but just enough to get him there and to have you squealing into his chest tears wetting him as your body rocks with his arms wrapping around his back and scratching his back harshly.

His back arched into you a wince leaving him as he sped up, hips stuttering into yours. The nasty slaps of skin filling the air along with your hiccups and moans and his low groans. The bed creaking faster with his movements.

“ sh...shit baby..! m’gna cum inside of you... fuck-!”

Giving it all he could with a couple sloppy messy thrusts, he came inside of you hard and deep. His moans turned into high pitched whines his cock was twitching so much and you were squeezing him so tightly after he'd already cum he couldn't help squeezing your hips tightly making you wince and squirm.

You felt his shaky breath fan over your neck as your face was buried in his chest drool getting all over him as he just collapsed on top of you not even bothering to pull out. His poor cock was too thick for you to push out so you just sat there plugged and fucked full of cum.

The next day you were both told by your teacher that izuku had many complaints from his neighbors due to loud squeaking that sounded as if someone was being murdered. You both had detention for the rest of the year and were BANNED from going near each other's dorm and would be kicked out of U.A if caught in the other's room.

Was it truly worth it....

[hoaxghost]

Mouthwashing has been on the mind cause the intentionality and execution of its concepts make me dive further into it than I normally would otherwise. Haven't seen as much discussion on it but one aspect I super like is the theme of children/offspring. Heavy spoiler discussion

Like there are so many parallels you can draw between Daisuke and the unborn baby. The way Daisuke was a last minute addition to the team despite the ship only having enough resources for four members (and four cryosis pods), the way he's seemingly a burden upon everyone because he's a nepotism hire whose new to the whole job, and especially the way Jimmy's selfishness kills Daisuke in the end. Like there's a reason the fetus was located in the vent system along with all the hibiscus flowers you can find scattered throughout the section. Just as how a baby is loud, disruptive, and immature, so is Daisuke in contrasting against the rest of the team with continuous optimism, much more colourful (and childish) attire, and fondness for sweets. It's worth noting he's the only one to really mention his family back home.

It's also worth noting how both Daisuke and the unborn baby had to be 'put out of their misery' by their 'parents' (Swansea being a clear father figure and well Anya is self explanatory) despite their harm/existence being caused by Jimmy. It's the way Jimmy has convinced himself that responsibility means the 'burden' of ordering others to their deaths that makes it all the more gut wrenching. He didn't want to take on the responsibility of the unborn baby- so it led to him crashing the ship and dooming everyone to their deaths. He didn't want to go in the vents to visit the med bay so he used 'captains orders' on the one person in the crew whose too naive to refuse them. Also the whole thing with Swansea too- how the old man expresses near constant frustration throughout the game with him but then its revealed its more of a frustration with himself and his difficult relationship with taking responsibility with his family back home. How much easier it is to fall into hedonistic pessimistic alcoholism and involve his intern when faced with 99.99% guaranteed doom. At the end, it's too late for him to change anything. The only thing left he can do is to put Daisuke out of his misery cause he let his intoxication be manipulated by Jimmy. There are other facets to Daisuke's personality too I think are interesting to explore but those are more fitting for a different post... stares off into the fake sunset sky...

[hippiegoth97]

Random Spencer Reid Thought #2

A/N: Fucking FINALLY got something written for once. Enjoy some crumbs, lovely readers <3

Content Warning 18+ Only, Minors DNI: swearing, smut, virgin!Spencer Reid, fem!reader, no use of Y/N, fingering, groping, unprotected sex, loss of virginity, dirty talk, rough sex, fluff

Some tags: @rafeyscurtainbangs @loserboysandlithium @hotwritergf @bloodibambiidoll

"Are you sure you're ready for this, Spence?" You ask Reid as you're straddling his thighs, the two of you naked in his bed as you have been so many times before. Although, it's different this time, because he's just asked you to take his virginity from him.

"Yes. I'm ready." He replies softly, sitting up against the headboard, his hands resting at your waist. He's brought you here on many occasions, though up until recently the most you'd do is make out until your lips were sore.

He'd met you at a book shop a few months ago, reaching for the same first edition of some dusty old classic. Sherlock Holmes, maybe, or perhaps even Moby Dick. He doesn't quite remember (and his unmatched memory captures everything), as he was far too focused on the gorgeous, soft hand that brushed against his own in grabbing for the book. A shared laugh soon followed, light and airy, like it was the easiest thing in the world. Your beauty enraptured him instantly, and he nearly tripped over himself to give you his number and await your call to plan a date of some sort. It was so unlike him to do so, it made him seriously question his sanity for an hour or two. But after a conversation with you that lasted hours into the night when he returned home that evening, he was pleased to find he'd made a very wise decision.

Fast forward to the last month or so, and things have rapidly progressed from hand-holding and passionate kisses to touching various naked areas with your hands and mouths. You've been patient, guiding Spencer along each stepping stone towards intercourse, encouraging him, exploring him in every way imaginable. Despite your insistence (and multiple comments he receives from certain coworkers of his), he's never exactly found himself to be attractive. Not really.

He's spent most of his life a full step ahead of everyone else in terms of education and career, leaving him considerably younger than most of his peers. That fact alone has made it rather difficult to experience a lot of 'firsts' in regards to intimacy. He's been kissed before you came along, maybe even felt up a little bit, but nothing beyond that. In all honesty, a part of him is glad to have been spared the awkward adolescent groping and vulgar attempts at playing grown-up, because now he's been able to share all of these amatory encounters with you.

"I want this. I want you." Spencer reiterates as you haven't made any next moves yet.

"I want you too, baby. I just have one more question." You say softly, brushing a wispy hair out of his face before cupping his cheek.

"And what's that?" Reid asks, unable to help smiling as you gaze at him adoringly.

"Do you want me to put a condom on you, or are you okay without one?" You ask, the words sounding a bit more clinical than you'd like. But it's a fair question.

"I-I dunno. Should I?" His brow furrows, unsure how to go about this. He's aware you're on the pill, though that statistically isn't 100% effective. And he may be a virgin, but he's aware of the mess sex can make, and it might spare a bit of cleanup afterwards. He's getting stuck on it now, pondering inside his head as you play with the foil wrapper between your fingers.

You giggle at his momentary trance, shaking your head. "It's only if you want to, Spence. It's not exactly a life-altering decision."

"That's not true. You could still end up pregnant." Spencer retorts, about to rattle off statistics at you about just how many children were born to parents who assumed oral contraceptives were enough. You put a finger over his mouth to stop him, and he sighs when he realizes how intense he's getting about this. He gently moves your hand away, speaking again. "I'm sorry, I'm being silly."

"No, you're not. It's sweet that you're so concerned." You reassure him, giving him a soft kiss. He hums into you, allowing your tongue to slip into his mouth for a moment. You pull away shortly after, taking his breath with you. With your lips still brushing against his, you meet his dizzied gaze. "I only ask, because I want your first time to be extra special. And it'll feel so much better if you fuck me without a condom on." You say seductively, making his pupils dilate with lust.

"Actually, studies show that there's little to no difference in sensat-" Reid's gargantuan mind starts up again, leaving you no choice but to cut him off by taking his cock in your grasp. "-fuck." He mutters, losing his train of thought entirely, his eyes flicking down to look at the scene between his legs. His stiff, ample length throbs in your hand, pearly beads of precum dripping down the side as you lazily stroke him.

"Baby, look at me..." You purr, drawing his gaze to you. "I'm gonna ask you again. All I need is a 'yes; or 'no', okay?" You wait for him to give an understanding nod. He does, as well as letting out one of the filthiest little moans you've ever heard. "Do you want to wear a condom?" You ask, letting his dick fall from your hand for a moment. He whines at the loss, the sound sending a flare of arousal between your legs.

"No. I want to feel you. All of you. Please." Spencer begs, and you could just about melt at the pitchy whimper in his voice. You've noticed he grows rather needy in bed, and it doesn't take much to rile him up. The way he takes everything you give him like a precious gift is so goddamn intoxicating.

"So do I, Spence." You say with a smile, one he mirrors. "Is this position okay? We can do it any way you want."

"This is fine, makes me feel close to you." Reid says sweetly, squeezing your hips a little.

"You wanna warm me up a little bit first?" You ask, longing to feel his touch.

"Of course." He nods, leaning in to press his lips to yours. Spencer always starts with a kiss, no matter what it is you end up doing. It's really romantic, and makes your knees weak every time. You let him lead, allowing his tongue to dominate yours in a fervent dance. His hand leaves your waist, trailing along your supple skin, leaving goosebumps in his wake. His long fingers brush past your inner thighs, reaching their intended destination without him having to look. He rubs slow circles on your clit, making you moan against his mouth. It doesn't take long for him to venture further, slipping two fingers inside your drenched cunt.

"Fuck, Spence." You moan aloud, the way his fingertips can reach your g-spot so quickly and easily takes you by surprise every time. You grab hold of his cock again, mainly holding it to keep him ready. Although, the sounds you're making and how wet you are seem to be doing that job just fine. The air of the room heats up, growing thinner as the seconds pass. Unabashed moans escape the two of you as you work each other up, building towards the one thing you've both desired for so long. "I'm ready when you are." You say breathlessly, eager to finally feel Spencer inside of you.

"O-Okay." He stutters, nodding his head enthusiastically. He pulls his fingers out of your cunt, bringing them to his lips. He sucks them clean, moaning at the taste of you. "Mm."

"Dirty boy." You tease, making a deep blush bloom wildly across his cheeks. You start to stroke him again, very slowly. You get up on your knees to position yourself over him.

He watches your every move, unable to say a word. It's finally happening. He's going to have sex. With you. Reid feels like a silly teenager with all these thoughts running through his head, but they all fall away the second you bring the tip of his cock to glide through your folds. You share a moan at the sensation, gazing at one another with parted mouths. Hearts pounding in anticipation, breath stolen from your lungs, arousal leaking from you both and mixing together in the indescribable friction. Spencer could cum just like this if he isn't careful.

"Ready?" You ask one final time, just to be absolutely sure that he wants this.

"Yes." Reid nods, trying to keep himself from squirming. You feel so good, and he's not even inside you yet. He's certain he won't last long, but you've already told him a hundred times that it won't be a problem.

You don't waste anymore time, holding his cock at your entrance and gradually sinking down onto him. "Fuck, Spence. You're so big." You moan as he splits you open. He's a bit larger than you've had before, and it's been quite some time since you've done this, so every inch is deliciously stuffing you full.

Reid, on the other hand, has gone completely mute. His mind has stopped working, and all he can do is grip onto your hips with all the strength he has without hurting you. You're absolute heaven inside, if he believed in such a thing. So hot, and slick, and snug, squeezing around his dick perfectly. He finally understands what all the fuss is about. He could just about cry from happiness in this moment. Once you're fully seated on him, your walls constrict out of reflex, which appears to get Spencer's sex-addled brain working again. "Oh, my...fuck- I, um, wow..." He babbles, unsure what to do with himself. His hands fidget at your sides aimlessly, and his expression twists and bends in all manner of ways as he attempts to get a grip on one singular thought.

"Shh, look at me, Spencer." You coo to him, leading his chin with your finger. He meets your eyes, though his own desperately want to roll back into his fucking skull. "That's it, baby. Just breathe, alright? Nice and slow, 'kay?" You guide him through the initial shock, nodding together slowly as he takes deep breaths. "There you go. I'm gonna start moving now, okay? Don't worry if you cum early, and just tell me if you need me to stop." You say softly, keeping things light and low-pressure. The last thing you need is him worrying about his performance.

"Okay." He breathes, chest shuddering as you start to ride him. You lift yourself up, almost letting him fall out altogether, and come back down at the same pace. You do this a few more times, gradually picking up a bit of speed.

"That feel good, baby?" You ask him, rolling your hips as you set a steady rhythm.

"Yeah, so fucking good." Spencer huffs, feeling close already. But he puts that out of his mind, focusing instead on enjoying this with you. "Do you feel good?" He asks, needing more than your vulgar moans as confirmation.

"So good, Spence. You fill me up so well, I'm so fucking wet for you." You admit these lewd thoughts to him, no stranger to being vocal during intimacy with him. Reid enjoys it immensely, adding words to the actions just makes everything astoundingly better. "Tell me how it feels to fuck me, Spencer." You say through a moan, riding him a little bit faster now.

Spencer groans at your increased speed, doing his best to hold back his orgasm. "I-It's exactly what I'd always hoped it would be." He starts. "I can hardly find the words to describe how much I'm enjoying this right now. You've blown my mind to pieces with this perfect fucking pussy." His grip on your waist grows rougher, taking you by surprise. He's following his instincts, leading you with his hands as you bounce on his cock. His assistance punctuates every landing you make, your noises growing louder as pleasure builds inside you. "I can feel you making a mess all over me, fucking soaked." He says, marveling at the drenched patch on his crotch. Your arousal glistens in the light as it's caught on his coarse hair and pale skin. "It drives me crazy to know you're loving this just as much as I am."

"I am, baby. You're so deep, hitting all the right places inside me." You say, speeding up a bit more. Spencer's hands migrate to your ass, squeezing your flesh roughly as he continues to keep up with you. You're surprised he's lasted this long, oddly proud of him for doing so.

"Fuck, you're incredible." Spencer groans, getting dangerously close to the edge again. He'd tell you to slow down, but everything feels too good to stop. Instead, he tries to drag you down with him, starting with diving face first into your tits. His mouth nips and sucks at your flesh wildly, struggling to land where he wants with your ceaseless bouncing. The noises he makes are borderline animalistic, groaning and grunting against your chest.

"Jesus, Spence!" You can't help letting out a breathless laugh at his urgency, picking up on the fact that his end is closer than your own. "You wanna try to help me out?" You offer, eager to feel him take some of the control. He doesn't say anything, just nods and makes an unintelligible sound at you. He thrusts his hips up, following what his primal urges are telling him to do. It appears to be working, given the shocked gasp that leaves your lungs at his effort. He keeps doing it, his mind turning to mush more and more as he fucks into your cunt to meet you halfway. "Oh my god! Yeah, keep doing that." You pant the words out, clinging to him by the shoulders.

Reid grins against your flesh, still biting and suckling while he pounds into you over and over. He's doing it, he's really doing it. He's keeping control of himself, he's going to make it. "Feel so fuckin' good, gonna make you cum, gonna make you scream, I promise...promise, promise..." Spencer murmurs to you, vowing to not give up, even though his balls are screaming for release right now. He has to get you there, if it's the last thing he'll ever do. "Such a perfect pussy, so good for me, so, so wet, fuck-" He groans when your walls constrict around him a bit, almost making him blow his load entirely.

"Don't stop, baby, you can do it, fuck me, make me cum, please, Spence..." You plead as your orgasm builds near the point of toppling over. His filthy mouth and feral actions have set you on fire from the inside out. You knew sleeping with Spencer would be special, and intense. But this is an entirely new level. His craving of you has blocked out all else, leaving him only with the mission to chase release. His, and your own.

"Oh, god, lay down, lay down, I'm gonna cum, gonna cum..." Spencer babbles, attempting to push you over onto your back. You follow his lead, his cock still sheathed inside you as you let him lead you where he wants. As soon as your body hits the mattress, he proceeds to ram himself into you as hard and as fast as he can.

"Fuck! Spencer!" You cry out as he hits an entirely new angle inside you, your ass resting over his knees as he thrusts forward. His hands grip your hips so hard, sure to leave dark bruises once he's through with you.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, gonna fill you up, gonna cum deep inside this pussy..." Reid grunts, sweat slicking him down, stomach clenching as he's about lose it.

"Keep going, baby. Don't stop, I'm almost there. Cum for me." You whine as his cock slams into you again and again.

"Fuck!" He nearly shouts when he finally feels it, his balls tightening, bliss washing over him, his hips stuttering as he fills you with thick ropes of white.

All you can do is bear witness as Spencer cums, harder than he ever has in his life. His brows knit together, mouth falling open as he moans so fucking loud. He keeps slamming his cock into you, hoping to pull you down alongside him. Feeling his load spill inside of you, as well as his desperate thrusts sends you tumbling over the edge. "Oh, god! Spencer!" You cry as your orgasm rips through you mercilessly. Your pussy clenches down on Reid's spent length, making him gasp as he keeps thrusting to get you off. You thighs shake violently, stars blurring your vision, hands clawing at the sheets beneath you. It's the most beautiful thing Spencer has ever seen.

You both slowly come down from your high, soaked in sweat and totally spent. Spencer carefully pulls out of you, though you still wince a little. "You okay?" He asks, noting your discomfort.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just a bit worn out." You laugh lightly, crawling over to the right end of the bed to lie down. Spencer joins you, pulling the covers over you both and taking you into his arms.

"Sorry about that, I don't know what came over me." He says, a little embarrassed for losing control the way he did.

"It's okay, baby. More than okay, actually." You reassure him once again, stroking his damp face with your thumb. "I'm surprised you had it in you." You chuckle, and he does, too.

"So am I. I guess you...bring it out in me." He explains, and you nod in understanding.

"And I take that as a compliment." You say with a sleepy smile. "Did you have enjoy yourself?" You ask.

"Very much. Even more than I thought I would." Spencer says earnestly, making your heart skip a beat.

"Me too, Spence. And I'm so happy you chose me to enjoy this with." You reply, leaning in to give him a tender kiss. This night has been the best one of your lives (so far), and you look forward to sharing many more moments just like this one in the future. Together.

[goldweaverr]

Hi! I just saw your first post about our beloved Kremnos prince, Mydei, and I absolutely love it! ❤️ You captured his character so beautifully, especially his views on love and romance. I adore how meticulous and accurate you were in portraying him—I completely see him that way too! Our prince carries the heavy burden of his family's royal lineage and the countless people who rely on him in the name of Kremnos. This perfectly explains his inexperience with love and romance—he simply has no time or hasn't been able to find someone to share such a connection with. I absolutely love how you portrayed his behavior when he finally discovers someone he can truly open his soul to! It’s so beautifully done! ❤️ I wonder—have you ever thought about Mydei letting his lover take the lead in bed? Whether it’s because of his inexperience or his eagerness to explore, the idea is so captivating. I love imagining Mydei finally letting go, allowing himself to be passionately ravished as he releases all the pent-up stress and burdens he’s carried for so long. It feels so fitting for his character—a vulnerable yet liberating moment where he can truly surrender and experience love in its rawest form. ദ്ദി(｡•̀ ,<)~✩‧₊

OH MY !! I wasn't expecting such a lovely response at all, I'm so flustered, thank you so so much !!! I'm glad we share an opinion and I'm so glad you like how I portrayed him !!! I was hoping people would see The Vision™ so I'm beyond happy to know that not only has it reached, but others see it too ~! I'm very overwhelmed with the positive responses, and I'm more than happy to be sharing a space with so many fellow Mydei fans!! I finished the quest today and haven't been okay about him since, I hope he doesn't get sidelined too much as the story progresses and more characters get introduced because I sincerely love him so, so much <3

Again, thank you for your kind words!! They mean so much to me!!

And as for that lovely idea... muehehe let's get to it then ! (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧ I hope I can do it justice !

— NSFW! MDNI! No spoilers!

Love. In it's rawest form.

He knew he could let you take control. All your midnight rendezvous so far had him taking the lead. It just simply felt natural to be the one to drop you on your back — hand behind your head to soften your impact against the already soft mattress — and pleasure you until you can't take any more. Until all you can do is scream his name endlessly. Until you forget there were Titans out there to worship instead of him. That was his role towards you, it felt only natural. He didn't mind it one bit, he was more than happy with it. Steadied above you by the strength of his arms, staring at the gorgeous sight of you unraveling underneath him, your expressions, the eye contact, your nails on his back. It was divine.

Sometimes, you two would spice it up a bit by making slight changes. Trying a few new positions. You were both still so new to this, taking it really slow to remain comfortable. Yet so eager to explore more of each other, of love, and sex, intimacy. Although he understands there's no shame in having discussions about these things beforehand, it still felt easier for him to learn through action. If something bothered either of you, neither would hesitate to express it, and everything halts. He's not an animal. He understands boundaries, limits, preferences, comfort.. he doesn't shy away from expressing his own, and wants you to always be equally as comfortable. Love is not meant to be uncomfortable.

For example, one thing Mydei found he doesn't like is when you're on all fours and he's taking you from behind.

The position felt... Uncomfortable to him in a strange way. He found it felt a bit degrading to you, and it prevented him from seeing your face and expressions. Which upset him when he came to realize that not staring at your beautiful face while he's making love to you takes away so much of the intimacy that brings him comfort during these activities. He loves watching your reactions. He even likes talking to you through it. Lacking that made him feel vulnerable in a way. So after you were done, he told you how he felt, and that was the last time the position was used. Simple as that.

You had both been thinking about bringing it up, but wondering how to approach it.

He might not look like it, but when it came to this newfound love, he was so no less eager to discover everything that came with it. He wanted to know everything about you and show you everything about him. He wanted to know how to kiss you in the right ways, how to hold you with a grip that's balanced between protective and loving, how to be there for you in a way that doesn't suffocate you, where on your body to put his lips so that he drives you insane, what pace of thrusts makes you see stars in the glory of Kephale's morning...

And through it, he discovers himself. He's learning along with you. He doesn't know much about these parts of who he is, he's endlessly grateful you've given him this opportunity to learn and get to know himself more. And his recent thought is that it might be nice if sometime, you were to get on top of him and ravish him the way he usually does to you.

But, that can't be right? He can't ask you to do that, can he? Is he allowed to want this? Shouldn't it be his job to pleasure you and take care of you? It might be shameful if he wanted to just sit back and let you do all the work...

You, on the other hand, were thinking about it endlessly. Wanting to watch him relax, watch him unwind. Wanting to be the one giving him pleasure for once, he deserves it. He takes so much care of you, always putting you above himself, in every aspect. Even outside of your relationship, he's always putting others first. Prioritizing Phainon's safety over his own, even the two outsiders above himself. Putting the city of Okhema and it's citizens safety first, putting the wants of his people above his own... He's never given enough credit for how much of himself he sacrifices everyday for others, because they view him as too distant, too rough, too cold... His actions speak louder than his words, and his actions are constantly putting himself in harm's way if it meant someone else would be safe.

So, for once, he deserves to turn his mind off. Turn off his senses and his desire to please. To just enjoy being taken care of, being loved, being thanked for everything.

So when midnight came around (or the hour people got used to being midnight, not like the endless sunlight indicated much for them) and you two found yourself tangled up in the usual dance that happens so often, you decided it's now or never. As Mydei began to slowly guide you towards the mattress, lips never once leaving yours, you turned your position around an dropped him down instead. The sudden movement broke the kiss and left him with an expression of shock on his face, staring at you questioning what just happened. You smile at him and gently push him up a bit more, letting him get entirely comfortable on the bed. He follows your lead slowly, unsure where this is going, but curious to see what you're up to. Your expression remained calm, a smile that looks almost like a smirk, mischief and adoration in your eyes as you stared into his fiery gold ones. "let me take care of you" you broke the silence by saying. His mouth opened slightly, as if to answer, before it closed again after not finding the right words. His eyebrows furrow in confusion as he doesn't break eye contact, "take care of me?" He asks, tone full of uncertainty. You nod, "you're always taking the lead. In battle, in bed.. why don't you just let me thank you this time, hm?" Your voice came out soft and gentle as you began to straddle him, hands pushing him down slightly so he can be fully relaxed into the comfortable bed and he follows your every silent order as you get yourself comfortable on top of him. His lap, your throne.

This is what he's been thinking of. He should be happy. But he finds himself feeling a bit guilty, like he doesn't deserve it, like this isn't fair to you, and that prevents him from relaxing entirely. The worry on his expression was clear to you, you understood each other through the tiniest of microexpressions, and you could tell what he was thinking. "You're worth everything" is all what you say in response to soothe your worries, deciding to follow in his example and let your actions speak louder than your words.

You pressed your lips in kiss gently, moving against his in a soft rhythm that felt too innocent considering the moment blooming between the two of you. His hand came up to grip the back of your head carefully, letting you do what you want and following along as best he can. Your hand on the other end got to working off the armor on his body, shedding away the last piece of protection that separates his bare body from you, thinking to yourself how grateful you are that he trusts you to this extent, to allow himself to be this vulnerable and unprotected in your presence. His hands shift as they help you take off his clothing, the sound of metal hitting the ground resonating as more and more pieces are thrown off to the floor carelessly until he was naked. Although it was all about him tonight, you still pulled away to strip yourself as well, not wanting him to feel an imbalance in the dynamic between the two of you. As soon as you were naked, he leaned in to kiss you again but you dodged his lips with a playfully chuckle, he lets out a sulking scoff in response.

You begin to kiss his jaw, running your tongue over the spot you knew he liked, before you slowly went down to his neck. Your arms wrapped around his waist to drag your chest flush against his, wanting to feel him as close as you can as your lips continued to explore his neck, as perfectly sculpted as everything else about him is.

Marks left shamelessly decorating his neck, paying no mind to how easily they can be seen through the little clothing he wears. Your hands and mouth worked in tandem to assure his pleasure, one hand busying itself rubbing his length up and down slowly, another playing with his chest, as your mouth kept leaving kisses and bites and hickeys all over his neck and collarbones, tongue tracing over the red marks adorning his torso. His breathing heavy, his chest heaving up and down quickly, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise them, shameless moans and grunts and groans coming from above you. Sneaking a peek over to look at him, his eyebrows are pressed together tightly in pleasure as his eyes are closed shut, head leaning back, sweat dripping down his forehead.. a divine sight. One that motivated you to work even harder to pleasure him. Your mouth left his neck and went down to take a nipple in your mouth, earning you a harsh jolt of his entire body that made you yelp. "Sorry.." he apologizes sheepishly, face red as his hands try to distract you by roaming all over your body. You suppress a chuckle and plant a quick smooch on his lips to tease him, and he lets out a quiet groan as he rolls his eyes at you. You get back to what you were doing, sucking his nipple the way he does to yours, hand playing with the other way, all while your other hand never left his length, giving him just enough friction to stay excited, never enough to cum.

Eventually you let go of his chest and pull back for a minute to admire your work so far, admire how he already looks spent despite you barely being halfway through your mission. He'll complain and scold you for all the marks left across his torso tomorrow morning, but you'll deal with that problem later, currently you feel proud of yourself. Your gaze moves over to the vein on his bicep and your nail drags against it softly, idly, as you consider your next move. He stares at you wordlessly, anticipating what's next. He might not be admitting it through words, but he is entirely enjoying this. He doesn't understand why he'd hear some men complain about feeling their pride sting if they ever let their partners take the lead, if anything, Mydei has never felt more like a king than he does in this moment, all the attention on him as he's practically being worshipped. He feels so powerful, but most importantly, so loved.

You make eye contact with him again, a gentle expression as the friction between your gazes could practically be seen as sparks of electricity. "I love you" he says, breaking the silence but igniting that flickering flame that needed a fuse. You smile, not responding, but instead immediately pushing yourself down to the ground to kneel in front of him, preferring to answer him with more service. He props himself up on his elbows to keep watching you intently, as you wrap your arm around his length again, and bring your lips to it. He's used to gripping your hair when you go down on him, guiding you to the pace he prefers, but this time when he grips he makes no other moves, trusting to let you take the lead entirely how you want to. You won't deny him his pleasure after all, it's you.

At times he has the most random thoughts. Like if the walls are actually thinner than he thinks. Like if anyone on the other end can hear the mighty crown prince moaning out his partner's name. Like if Aglaea's golden threads can even pick stuff like this up, oh no ....

But a jolt of pleasure brings his thoughts back to reality as he redirects his attention back to you.

He isn't ashamed of what he has with you. He's afraid of where it might take him. Of how much he's willing to do for you. He knows every minute spent with you indulging in romance and desires is playing with fire while he's made of gasoline. And he'll burn down to ashes in his most graceless moments when he's bare under your gaze that burns gold into his skin, liquifying his flames into a puddle of adoration for you.

While maintaining eye contact with you, a silent exchange of vulnerability, it spoke an endless capacity. An unspoken sentence of 'Y𝘰𝘶 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘦𝘹𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘱𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘦' ringing loudly in your ears. '𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘢𝘣𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘮𝘺 𝘢𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴'.

You brought out the best out of each other, but simultaneously the ugliest human parts as well. Brought out the honesty he's hid from others and himself, brought out the desires he's kept ignored without caring about the hole they were digging in his soul. Gnawing away at his very being and turning him hollow. Brought out the love he was afraid to ever confront. But he's here now, confronting it and ruling over it's court. And tonight is the summit of Mydei's seemingly pathetic life. The two of you are wrapped up in a galaxy of your sins; summed down to nothing but a constellation of the most raw human desires. Who were the titans to demand worship when they knew nothing of what true religion was. This was a ritual. An exchange of souls. It meant more to Mydei than anything else has. This was raw, this was love. He could live in a reel of this night replaying endlessly forever.

The rest of this cursed world could matter later, to hell with every prophecy that demands his presence, nothing felt more worth experiencing in this moment than your mouth on him and your heat surrounding him and your praises spilling against him and your touch killing him and bringing him to life a thousand times over in this bed.

This was love in it's rawest form, and they can call Phainon the chosen one all they want, but Mydei feels like he's received the greatest blessings this universe has to offer him when he made eye contact with you the first time, and if the black tide was to eventually swallow even the last standing holy city, then to hell with all of it if you'd still be by his side.

[anakinstwinklebunny]

DILF!ANAKIN HEADCANONS 🍷

TW: at some point it contains crazy sexual content, so if you're feeling uncomfortable with it, please do not read it for your own safety and comfort 💓 shout-out to @slutforfinnickodair that helped me, check her blog out! She's amazing (just like my every mutual 😼) obvious age gap (reader is younger), pet names like..you'll see yourself, ALSO BUNNY COSTUME EVERYONE!!

Dilf!Anakin who was very desperate to have you. The first time he had seen you was in the luxury restaurant he and his friends went and he'd be lying if his eyes weren't wandering towards your moving body through the tables. And since that time he decided to make you his

Dilf!Anakin who came to this restaurant way to many times so he could see you

Dilf!Anakin who, when found out where you live, send bouquets of crimson red roses with small notes (after, of course, you had a few interacts with him due to his often appearance at your work place)

Dilf!Anakin who spoils you rotten after you two got together

Dilf!Anakin who obviously doesn't care about the age gap between you two but he sees it in daily life; you using phrases he doesn't heard of or doesn't understand

Dilf!Anakin who is more experienced in finances than you so you use his help a lot

Dilf!Anakin who's extremely protective. Would make sure you're okay wherever you go and that no man dares to touch you or speak to you in a way that makes you uncomfortable

Dilf!Anakin who's a way better cook than you are (at least not in cookies, cakes and things that in general are sweet)

Dilf!Anakin who's the best cuddler; you often fall asleep in his arms/on his lap

Dilf!Anakin who makes you absolutely needy after leaving for business trip;

anakin gasped in surprise, taken back by the intensity of your sudden kiss. He just got home from the three day trip. He knew you've missed him dearly (like always) and he knew he left you in..specific state. But what he didn't know was that you're gonna throw yourself on him the second he opens the doors

your hands pulled on his tie to bring him closer and he had to hold back a groan. A surge of desire ran through him as he returned the kiss with equal fervor, your lips hungrily exploring each other

"wait--" he chuckled, breaking the kiss briefly. he took a step back, his fingers lingering on your skin for a moment before fully closing the doors. His eyes fell back at your desperate and impatient self, wearing specific (but his favorite) costume. He clenched his jaw at the sight before taking off his outside clothes

"i can't wait more" you whined, desperately reaching for his black tie again

anakin couldn't help but give in to your needy plea, unable to resist you. Just looking at your wide, helpless eyes was enough to make him agree on anything. Especially when you were practically begging for it. You may didn't know this, but the power you held over him was insane. His heart and stomach flipped at the sight of you in your bunny costume once more before he chuckled

"naughty bunny" he murmured teasingly "i haven't even been inside for five minutes, and you're already all over me"

"please" you whined again and pulled on his tie to bring your lips together once more

your desperate whine went straight to his core, making him groan softly. He reluctantly gave in to the growing ache for you "you're gonna ruin my tie, bunny" he murmured against your lips

"you have so many more of them" you retorted

his deep chuckle filled your ears and your cheeks flushed "such a needy, greedy bunny" his lips trailed down your jaw. It did not help with the throbbing feeling that appeared down your body "what should i do with you, hm?"

"touch me..please" you pleaded

leaning down, he brought his lips to your ear and whispered in a low, sensual voice "oh sweetheart..i'll touch you everywhere"

anakin's long fingers worked to untie your bunny costume. But for your liking, he was doing it awfully long "just hurry up" you urged

he grinned with the chuckle following right behind it "patience.." he finally removed the last knot "i like unwrapping my gifts with care.."

Dilf!Anakin who has beautifully hot morning voice;

It was early Saturday morning, six a.m. Anakin was already up and in the kitchen, his curls a tousled mess and he was still dressed in his pajamas. It was awful to wake up at such hour in the weekend but he completely forgot to turn off his everyday alarm. He did try to fall asleep once more, however he couldn't. And it was killing him.

Opening the fridge, he scanned the shelves but found nothing appealing. He moved to the food cabinet, rifling through various boxes and cans, but nothing seemed to catch his eye. Maybe he just didn't have an appetite? Even if, his movements were slow and groggy, the early hour weighing heavily on him. The sudden burst of need for caffeine became, in time, undeniable.

With a sigh of resignation, Anakin decided to go with something he actually had a craving for. He filled the kettle, set it to boil, and prepared the coffee grounds, the familiar routine helping to shake off the last remnants of sleep. The rich aroma began to fill the kitchen, offering the promise of wakefulness and a clearer mind to tackle the search for breakfast.

When he heard the steps against the wooden floor, his head twisted towards the sound. His expression immediately softened at the sight of you; still sleepy and half-awake. He smiled softly, thinking to himself how adorable you looked when you were just waking up. “Good morning, sleepyhead,” Anakin greeted you in a raspy, deep voice, his eyes lingering on your beautiful figure.

That voice was one of the many things you were obsessed about. It was undeniably one of the hottest things about him. He leaned against the counter, waiting for the coffee to brew. You didn’t say anything back and wrapped your arms around his waist while he grabbed his coffee.

“Feeling needy this morning, hm?” he teased gently as you let yourself nuzzle to his chest. You were tired, you were hungry and such combo only made you clinger than you often are

His lips curled into a small smirk when his free arm wrapped around your waist. His lips (before taking a sip from his mug) pressed a kiss on the top of your head “Such a needy little girl…” he murmured affectionately

"Can I have a sip?" you looked up at him, your chin pressing against his chest.

He raised an eyebrow in amusement, glancing back down at you. “You hate my coffee,” he chuckled, his thumb caressing your waist over your pajamas.

“Yeah, I hate your bitter coffee,” you admitted with a playful smile

His arms wrapped gently around your waist, pulling you closer until your bodies were pressed together. His lips brushed softly against the side of your neck, and his nose nuzzled there, taking in your familiar, comforting scent. It was something he loved inhaling deeply, a scent that seemed to ground him and give him strength to face the day.

“Anything interesting in the fridge?” his breath warm on your skin before he placed a tender kiss there.

And again, this damn voice..

"Maybe scrambled eggs? Or pancakes... Are you hungry?" you cleared your throat to shake away your dirty thoughts. His voice really could do magic on you, like nothing else

He hummed in thought, contemplating your suggestion before placing another kiss. Then another, and another “For you? Always,” he joked, gently spinning you around to face him, to which you gasped at the sudden situation; the fridge's doors closing smoothly behind you

"You know I didn't mean that"

He smirked, a chuckle escaping him, and you could see his adam apple going up and down.

Gods..

Leaning down to your ear, his lips lightly brushed the edge of it “But I did,” he said in a low, deep voice, filled with innuendo.

"ani--" you shivered after his large hands slid under your shirt to grope on your breasts

"shh..relax..let me have my breakfast" he whispered

"you're impossible"

He used the closed fridge doors and pressed you against them to lean back towards your neck

so that's how you're gonna spend your morning

you let out a small moan when his lips touched the sweet spot on your skin and reached with your hands to tangle your fingers in his curls "that's how we're gonna spend our breakfast?"

"absolutely" his voice dripping with mischief "and lunch.." his mouth traveled up to your jaw "..and dinner"

"what about dessert?"

"dessert is definitely included"

Dilf!Anakin who prided himself on making the best hot chocolate; it was a small tradition passed down from his mother who often made him one when he was a kid

Dilf!Anakin who's work ends the second you step into his office

Dilf!Anakin who takes you shopping;

Anakin was sitting on the leather couch in Victoria's Secret's changing room, dressed sharply in his business suit as he waited for you to try on the set of lingerie you had picked out.

Usually, Anakin found these stores mind-numbingly boring, but this time was different. This time, anticipation thrummed through him as he waited for you to step out of the dressing room and show him the lingerie and make the experience far more entertaining.

you pushed the curtain aside, revealing yourself in the tight, black lingerie that hugged your curves perfectly and accentuated your cleavage

anakin's eyes moved to your body, to which his breath hitched at the sight. For a moment, he was speechless. Simply swallowing the growing arousal he began feeling "you look...gorgeous" he finally managed to say, though the word felt like a massive understatement in his eyes

your smile widened "yeah? What about the backside?" you turned around so his eyes could catch the sight of your plump bottom perfectly highlighted by the dark material

anakin was rendered speechless again; his eyes roved over your figure once more but for him, it wasn't enough. He wanted to just sit peacefully and watch you even for an entire day and he would never get tired "gorgeous, absolutely beautiful"

he stood up, stepping inside your small changing space. He closed the curtain behind him and moved closer, taking, one more time, the sight of your incredible body in mirror's reflection. His intense gaze made your cheeks flush and you felt his arms wrap around your waist before his chin rested on your shoulder

"how could i resist you like this?" he murmured and began brushing his lips against your shoulder "look at you..such a beautiful girl..do you like it?"

"it's pretty..i like the material"

"it looks amazing on you" he complimented

"yeah?" you grinned

he hummed "it shows your curves so well" his large hands began to move up to your chest, his thumbs caressing the delicate skin of your cleavage that only ignited the fire up to your cheeks

his fingers then moved to the straps of the lingerie, pulling on them back and forth "you want it? i can buy it for you..or do you want something else?" he tried to keep his focus on you and not your body

you turned around to face him "what about this lacy bra?" you suggested with your eyes sparkling with mix of excitement and mischief as your hands rested on his chest

his lips tugged into a smirk and he raised his brow "yeah? you want that?"

"can i?"

"you can have everything you want" he gently squeezed your hips to emphasize his words "you know i can't say no to you, sweetheart"

Dilf!Anakin who often takes a shower with you. When you're too tired to do anything, he helps you clean yourself. Or things just get spicy under the running water

Dilf!Anakin who 'hates' when you tease him during the important calls/meetings (mostly online)

Dilf!Anakin who you tease at the family dinner;

It was Anakin's family dinner, and of course, you were invited. His family was amazing and they loved you as their own. However, the conversations sometimes became a bit dull for you. Remembering the intimate pictures you once had taken, you quietly took out your phone and decided to tease the love of your life.

Anakin was in the middle of an animated discussion when his phone suddenly buzzed. He furrowed his brows slightly as he discreetly reached into his pocket and pulled it out after saying the small 'im sorry'. Unlocking it with his passcode, he glanced at the new message. At first, he thought it was from work, he awaited the message about another contract with big company. However when he saw it was your name at the notification, he was confused. Couldn't you just say it to him right now? But when he saw the provocative picture, his expression shifted instantly to the one of flushed pink

He looked up at you from across the table with his eyes widening with surprise and a spark of excitement. You caught his gaze and tried to hide your mischievous smile with your hand

He was trying so hard not to get distracted, but that picture did something to him. He didn't know if it was the fact that everyone was around and he couldn't do anything or the fact that you had sent him something like that, knowing it would drive him crazy.

He did his best to act normal, keeping the conversation going, but in reality, he was dying to get his hands on you as soon as possible.

Setting his phone back down, he tried to act cool but he couldn't keep his heart from pounding in his chest. His fingers drummed impatiently on the table, and he stole glances at you time to time

Achieving your main goal, you sent another picture, this one even more provocative to make him even more desperate to end this dinner

Anakin almost choked on his water as the image appeared on his phone. His breath hitched as he took in the sight. Seeing you sitting so casually across the table, acting as if nothing had happened, was driving him insane.

"Ani, is everything alright?" Shmi, his mother, asked worriedly.

Anakin swallowed the liquid and took a deep breath, trying to compose himself once more "I'm-I'm alright. Just swallowed the wrong way," he said, his voice a bit strained. He discreetly put his phone back into his pocket and shot you a sharp look across the table, almost as if promising retribution.

Anakin tried to focus on the conversation, he really did. But it was impossible with the second picture. His thoughts were consumed by you and the images you had sent, leaving him barely able to pay attention. His expression betrayed his frustration with his mind slowly unraveling.

You were proud of yourself. Making your lovely man in such conflict with himself was more pleasant than you thought it would. So, as your mother kept saying - 'three times a charm' - you snuck in yet another picture, this one much spicier, with your hands squeezing your full breasts and your legs spread

Anakin almost immediately opened the message. His eyes widened, and he almost flinched at the photo. He looked at you again, the fire in his eyes growing darker "I—Excuse me for a second," he said quickly, rising from his seat. His steps were quick as he walked away from the table, heading to the bathroom to cool down.

Everyone watched Anakin leave, and Shmi's face was filled with worry for her son.

"Is he alright?" Shmi asked, concern evident in her voice.

"He must have just needed some air," you replied with a casual smile, masking your smirk with a glass of water.

Anakin walked to the bathroom, closing the door behind him. He pulled out his phone again and looked at the latest text he received. He let out a shaky breath, trying to calm down, but the picture made it nearly impossible. His breathing was shallow, and his body was reacting intensely to the image. "You damn little tease," he muttered through his teeth, his hands gripping the sink to control himself.

Shmi turned to you with her concern evident. "Sweetie, maybe you should check if everything's alright. He looked pale."

"Of course," you replied, rising from your seat to head upstairs where Anakin had gone. When you reached the bathroom door, you knocked softly. "Ani, are you alright?" you asked

But before you could finish, he pulled you inside and pinned you to the wall. Anakin quickly closed the door behind you, trapping you between the wall and his tall, broad frame. His eyes were dark with desire and frustration "You," he said, your name leaving his lips like a curse and a plea, "You damn tease."

"I—I don't know what you're talking about," you mumbled innocently.

"Bullshit. Yes you do."

His face was just inches away from yours and his eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that made your breath hitch.

"You knew damn well what you were doing, didn't you?" he growled, his hand wrapping around your waist and pulling you closer.

"I--"

"You knew exactly what you were doing" his voice low and heated. His hand slid up from your waist to cup your jaw. His fingers were gentle, yet squeezing your jaw in a little firm way "sending me those pictures while i was sitting at the table, trying to act as if nothing's happening. You saw how frustrated and bothered i was, and yet you loved every second of it, didn't you?" he continued, his blue eyes burning into yours, making you shiver. it was so intense, your knees felt weak

you couldn't help anymore and curled your lips into a smirk "i--well--yes" you admitted almost too proudly

his eyes moved to the exposed skin of your neck and you could see something swich in them. He leaned forward so that his breath touched your face; it looked like he was about to press his lips to yours so you parted them to give him better access, for him to only lean to your neck to brush his lips against your delicate skin

your eyes closed and you casually tilted your head to give him even more access to your neck. He inhaled your scent deeply: it was driving him insane, not being able to take you right there against the wall. However somehow the anticicpation made the experience even more exhilarating. So to pour his need and desire for you, he bit down on your neck lighty, sending the pleasant shiver through your body before speaking:

"you're a little devil in disguise, aren't you, sweetheart?" his voice a mix of frustraition and admiration

you moaned quietly, not wanting anyone to find out about what's happening in the bathroom. But suddenly he pulled away, daring himself to leave you breathless and confused

"wh-where are you going?" you stammered, pushing away from the wall

He chuckled at the whine in your voice, smirking as he walked toward the door. "Back downstairs to the table. The rest of the family will get suspicious if we stay here too long."

"That's mean—and unfair," you protested with disappointment in your tone

He paused with his hand on the door "And you were fair during dinner? Sending me those pictures, teasing me the entire time, and not letting me do anything about it?"

And with that, he left you in the bedroom alone. All needy and desperate for him

in the evening, as you were sitting with anakin's stepdad and stepbrother that had his arm around his wife on the couch, anakin walked into the living room with his hands in his pocket. His eyes lingered on your form before he followed your gaze on tv screen.

just a few hours ago, you had been pinned against the bathroom wall by him, and the memory of both situations (the pictures he replied almost every ten minutes) filled his mind with all sinful thoughts

he walked over to the couch, taking his hands out of his pockets to rest them on the backrest and lean down to whisper in your ear "c'mon, we're going for a ride"

you stirred a little at his words. you were so focused on the movie that you hadn't even noticed him stepping inside the rooom. You turned to face him and raised your brow in confusion

your gaze met and his eyes were completely different from yours; were sharp with a mix of lust. His urge to drag you to the car was growing stronger witch each passing minute "let's go" his head nodded toward the hallway

"Where are you guys going?" Anakin's stepdad chimed in

"For a quick ride, we won't take long," he replied quickly, but the look in his eyes conveyed far more than his words.

"Just be careful, Ani," Shmi added, her voice filled with gentle concern.

"We will," Then he quickly turned his gaze back to you "C'mon, sweetheart."

You swallowed hard, recognizing the look in his eyes, and quickly followed him out of the room. You knew what was about to happen, you knew what he was about to do..

anakin strode out of the door, you following closely behind. Once outside, he grabbed your hand and lead you to the car. You felt his firm yet somehow gentle grib against your skin, as if he was still concerned to hurt you

the cool evening air did little to cool the fire between you, this nervous aura ignited in your stomach and quickly after enveloped your body. You just followed him like a puppy as he swiftly opened the passenger door for you "get in" he instructed with urgency and light sharpness

you immediately slipped into the seat, heart racing, the tension between you almost tangible (which obviously didn't help at all). Anakin then closed the door with a decisive click and hurried around to the driver's side. Sliding in, he started the engine with a quick, practiced motion, the sound coming with a low growl

he barely waited for the gates to fully open before driving out of his family's driveway, to which you exhaled nervously. The normally calm, controlled anakin was now tense. At least that's what you could tell from his clenched jaw and the veins that popped out on his forearms from his tight grip on the steering wheel

feeling the weight of his silence, you couldn't help but ask softly "is everything okay?"

he remained silent for a moment with his gaze unwavering on the road before slowly, his hand left the gear stick to slid it down on your thigh. Your eyes moved down when his fingertips traced lightly along the bare skin. Did it help to ease your nervousness and excitement? Absolutely no, especially when he gave you a firm squeeze

"everything will be soon" his low, deep voice gave you shivers

"where are we going?" you asked with sudden boldness

"you'll see" he replied "dont worry about it"

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅

he parked the car in a secluded spot, surrounded by nothing but trees visible through the window "get into the backseat" he commanded

the sudden command and his tone only increased the deep blush painting on your cheeks (which thankfully he didn't see due to the late hour)

"c'mon, or i'll just drag you in there myself" he said impatiently, turning to face you more directly

"it was just a-a jo-oke--" you tried to say between moans from his thick member pounding into you from behind "i-i swe-ar!"

"a joke huh?" his tone sounded breathless as his curls were a mess (just like you were), falling on his right eye. He let his large hand run from your spine down to your hip to thrust deeper into you "i don't think it was a joke, sweetheart..i think you just like to tease me, drive me insane"

the car swayed to the sides from your crazy love making and the forest echoed in both of your moans. His lips tugged into a smirk when his hand went down to slap your ass, which gave you the pleasant sting cover your cheek "that's right, baby, you just love to make me all crazy, huh?"

"ye-yeah" you said through half-linged eyes

his proud, smoldering gaze moved to your enticing backside, drinking in the sight of your cheeks jingling with each relentless thrust "you're such a naughty girl, teasing me like that.." his long fingers sink into your flesh, kneading and massaging the plump globes of your ass. The rough, insistent pressure sends sparks of pleasure shooting up your spine, making your toes curl and your inner walls clench around him

"need to--gonna--co-ome" you whimpered out

he groaned, his hips snapping forward with a particularly deep thrust that made you gasp. His fingers dig into your ass even more from the building feeling down his body "not yet, sweetheart..i'm not done with you yet"

Dilf!Anakin who sometimes teased you about dating older men;

"youre such a pretty girl..so innocent" he murmured directly to your ear while adding second finger inside of you "but i bet you like being handled by a man who's experienced, who knows exactly how to make you feel good, hm?" you whimpered at his words "I guess good girls don't fuck guys my age, right princess?" you mewled in response "atta girl" he grinned "--so you are a bad girl after all..and bad girls need some punishment, don't you think baby? Do you want your punishment?"

Dilf!Anakin who loves watching you ride him

Dilf!Anakin who often plays with your breasts; running his thumb over swollen skin to harden your nipples and intensively memorize how your face twists in pleasure

Dilf!Anakin who always does aftercare after love making; he would not move to do anything without that

I apologize for it being so long 🙈, wanted to include everything I had in mind (which still wasn't everything). Also was too impatient to wait six days to show you guys my latest works (if you don't know what I mean check my earlier post)

TAG LIST: @kingdomhate @ysrjune @divineani @erosmutt @haydensprettyprincess @mistress-amidala @catnipaddictt @heartscone @haydensbbg @inneedsoffanfics @fuckmyskywalker

(if you want to be removed or added then don't be shy and let me know 💋)

[olderthannetfic]

I mean, I do feel like if someone was traumatized by their religious upbringing, helping them to recognize that as a bad thing and helping them to be free of it is arguably the right move? Yeah just telling them “god isn’t real, get over it” is most likely insensitive but arguably freeing them of their self hating beliefs is the ideal outcome?

--

Man... I was raised to despise religion, but a steady diet of nerdy youtube and really weirdly anti-intellectual takes on tumblr has forced me into repeatedly defending religion. I did not ask for this, but here we are.

Personally, I find most religion kind of dumb, but it is a key part of a great portion of humanity's search for meaning. It's the backbone of so many cultures in so many places and times. Knowing about it is useful for everything from being more politically informed to making up better fantasy world building in fiction.

When a person has religious trauma because they were told that their religion, in this context probably Christianity, hates them, telling them to ditch religion is like telling them they're not allowed to ever have a birthday party again because their abusive parents did something awful at their past ones. Ah yes, cut yourself off from major celebrations and cultural experiences, not to mention community. That's sure to fix things!

It would be far more effective at 1. making them feel better and 2. making them stop adhering to a shitty religion if we introduced them to better religion.

The history of Christianity is one of the most studied subjects on the fucking planet. There are a multitude of progressive scholars who have explored things like how the early church very possibly had major female figures that later asswipes tried to downplay and cover up. I think Religion for Breakfast has some interesting videos that at least touch on this.

There's a whole complex conversation to be had both about how the early church actually handled same-sex relationships and about why a given prescription is even in there from an anthropological perspective. Take the pork thing: it's probably about taxes. Some of the others are about differentiation from nearby groups at the time. Understanding the historical cultural context helps dismantle the idea that this or that specific prescription is a vital core part of the religion that must remain unchanging thousands of years later.

"A true Christian wouldn't have abused their gay kid" is a far better message than "Give up everything you know", and it has plenty of support from scholars who are deeply religious but not dumbass textual literalists who can't grasp that even if a holy text were the word of god, English language edition such-and-such is subject to human interference in the form of All Your Base-level translators.

If Christianity or whatever religion is the issue is a no go due to the traumatized person's past experiences, plenty of people would still be happier finding a different religion than going without.

I really, really cannot emphasize this enough: Religion is a key part of many people's lives the same way, say, sex is.

A lot of people around here seem to fundamentally not get this in the same way that you see people who haven't realized how ace they are going "But whyyyyy?" over the central role that horny plays in somebody else's life. You don't gotta get it, my dudes. Doesn't mean it's going away.

Even just understanding the parameters of what counts as religion and all the different flavors that exist out there will help put the trauma into context for many people. Your asshole parents are in a cult not because all religion is lies but because this Christianity has been perverted into a vehicle for abuse. Other religious people like the scientific method, research, logic, and evidence. It's just your church that's atrocious.

Shitty religion leads to self hate.

You can pick another religion.