#cheating fic

Steve didn't want to get involved with the fertility clinic, adamant that you would both get through your dry patch and conceive, but the heavy guilt of letting him down wouldn't stop eating away at you, so one afternoon when the kids we're enjoying their leftovers in their lunchboxes, and Steve enjoying whatever the canteen had to offer, you forced yourself to see your doctor to try and capture a glimmer of hope. 

Dr James yawned and typed away on his computer, asking you the regular "name, date of birth, any health conditions, do you smoke or drink, do any drugs?" with a flat tone, robotically typing in your responses before he finally swivelled in his chair and looked you in the eyes. 

"So what's the issue, Mrs Harrington?"

"My husband and I," you cleared your throat, your eyes wandering across the room full of medical equipment and scary informational posters "we've got five children and well, we're trying for our last one, but we've not been getting anywhere, it's been a year and... it's just not happening."

"Well, you're almost forty," he sighed, gesturing for you to hold your arm out as he wrapped the blood pressure cuff around your bicep, "did it not occur to you that you're... too old to have any more? that perhaps this is nature's way of saying it's too late?"

The blood drained from your face, and you dropped your arm slowly as the cuff began to inflate, the machine groaning as the fabric grazed into your skin, pulsing until it finally hissed and released its tight grip, your arm riddled with pins and needles. "I didn't really consider that, doctor. I just thought that maybe I wasn't trying at the right times, or maybe another lifestyle factor was delaying conception." 

Your doctor set your arm free, pulling apart the Velcro and quickly scribbling down the measurement. "You've been very lucky to have five children already, Mrs Harrington. I see young couples flooding in here every week in tears because they can't have kids. Why don't you take the message and be thankful for the ones you've got?" 

Your mouth opened to challenge him, to remind him that this was your body and your decision, but most importantly your husbands biggest dream, but you couldn't speak, you were hurt and enraged at his lack of compassion, yet part of yourself agreed with him; you were lucky to have five healthy and happy kids already, and maybe having another baby just wasn't meant to be.

-

"Steve, I went to see Dr. James earlier," you sighed, reaching out and snaking your arms around his waist, pressing your forehead against the broad, and familiar warmth of his back. "we've been really lucky to have the five children we've got, we're not getting any younger, and pregnancy will look a lot different for me now with my age, it's more risky."

"So that's it?" He snapped defensively, examining himself in the mirror and glaring at the reflection of your hands around him, "You're giving up?"

You could feel Steve tensing up as you tried to lay him down softly, "I'm not giving up," you slowly pulled back, setting him free, "I just think that maybe it's time I got my body back to myself again; even get back into work so I can contribute to our mortgage and the bills."

"You promised. You promised we'd have another!" He hissed, wanting to raise his voice but remembering not to wake the kids.

"I don't want to argue," you whispered softly, "I'm just exhausted of being let down every month, the disappointment I see every day in your face is killing me, I can't try any harder."

Steve ignored you and picked up his duffel bag from the bed. "I’ll be back Sunday night," he muttered, checking his watch and refusing to meet your eyes, abandoning any last effort to resolve your little squabble.

You didn't follow him or see him off with a kiss or a wave from the door like you always did, fixing the collar of his shirt or rubbing your lipstick print from his cheek; Steve needed space, and all you could do was welcome him back on Sunday night with drawings from the kids and something good to eat.

Listening to the heavy thud of his boots on the stairs and the roar of the engine in the driveway, you slowly forced yourself downstairs to tidy up the children's scattered toy cars, baby dolls, and action figures before finishing the washing up.

-

Steve's hands trembled for the entire drive, his hands vibrating against the steering wheel, his mind unable to shut off. He was exhausted from working his ass off doing overtime and being unable to relax on his days off started to get to him: up bright and early with the twins who wanted their daddy to play with them and their action figures, then finding the time to dote on his younger children, and eldest daughter, who was hormonal and always slammed a door when she didn't get what she wanted.

Isn't this what you always wanted?  His brain ate away at him. 

You're a nobody, you're nothing, you're a failure.

Steve had the option to slam his foot down and circle, and drive back to Hawkins, to crawl into bed beside you, and cover you in kisses and apologise for being so harsh for trying to take away your personal choice. He had the option to choose his wife and kids, who loved him unconditionally, but he didn't. Steve kept driving further and further away until the large, tall neon sign stung his eyes through the windshield. 

Steve climbed out of the car, pulling out his duffel bag full of random clothes from the backseat and walked towards the large oak entrance doors, leaving behind the version of himself you fell in love with all those years ago. 

-

The bar at the hotel was dim, full of expensive drinks, and private from the faithful. This was the place where men frequently checked in to cheat on their wives with their secret girlfriends, their clingy exs, and sex workers. Steve overheard the dads at his eldest son's football game talking about it. At the time, Steve felt enraged and sick to his stomach, and now he was one of them: a shameful liar and a cheat. 

The sex worker Steve arranged to spend the night with was elegant, dressed like a woman who dominated the boardroom, with well-looked-after hair and makeup; Steve couldn't remember the last time you wore a nice dress, or kept your hair down, or even had colour in your cheeks.  Her eyes finally landed on Steve and the expensive watch glinting on his wrist that you bought him for your tenth wedding anniversary.

"You're too handsome to be here all alone," She slid onto the stool beside him, her voice like velvet.

Steve cleared his throat, his fingers trembling as he gripped his glass. "It's all I feel these days," raising the glass to his lips, he nervously took a sip. 

She turned her body toward him, her knee brushing his leg, sending a jolt of electricity through him. Steve told himself that this one night of blowing off steam would be easy: just one night he could be something different to someone different, he wasn't a husband, or a father, or a man overworked and worried about his mortgage. Tonight, he could go back to just being Steve.

"You look like a man who has spent a very long time taking care of everyone else." She reached out, her perfectly manicured fingers grazed the back of his large, rough hand, lingering over his gold wedding band. "Would you like to stop being that man for a few hours?"

Steve looked at her, unable to look away from her eyes that didn't yet know the exhaustion of energetic kids. She was a beautiful stranger who knew nothing of his failure to produce another child, who didn't know or care about his credit score and credit card debt. 

"More than anything," Steve replied, getting up from his seat.

-

The guilt hit him before he even left the hotel room the next morning. The young woman woke up with a yawn, rubbing her eyes before sitting up and eventually getting out of the cosy, comfortable bed, then grabbing a large, soft towel. Steve studied her face,  her beauty from the night before no longer there; he searched her eyes for a glimmer of you but found nothing.

"I'm going to take a shower," she hummed, breaking Steve out of his spiral "Leave the money you owe me on the side, I've stayed overnight, so that's an extra two hundred."

Steve already showered in the night whilst she slept, the rush of the running water hiding the sound of his sobs as he drowned in his immediate regret. He scrubbed his skin until it was raw and red, trying to wash away the touch of another woman, the woman who mounted and pleasured him with confidence and frantic energy, but it was no use.

The physical weight and sickening feeling in his gut were just the beginning, and it kept him awake all night. Every time he closed his eyes, he was haunted by your tired, smiling face and messy hair with your hands covered in water-based paint and glitter, with the echoing of his children laughing, and the pattering of their feet whilst they chased each other around the house, ringing loudly in his ears. 

The drive back to Hawkins felt longer than any drive Steve had taken in his entire life, including the summer roadtrips with the kids in the back, arguing amongst themselves over who gets the next sip of Pepsi or handful of M&Ms. 

What have you done? He asked himself each time he caught his reflection in the rear-view mirror, was it really worth it? 

Steve thought that he'd have no guilt, that it would be a night blowing off steam and returning to normal the next day, but it was the opposite. The moment he spilt himself inside of her, he felt the crushing weight of what he'd done on his chest and shoulders, clawing at his heart. You were together from the moment you met, inseparable, now with a beautiful home and five incredible children; he threw it all away for nothing. 

He couldn't listen to the radio, he didn't stop for a rest, his eyes were glued on the road that would lead him back to you. 

Steve pulled into the driveway, his hands squeezing the steering wheel, his rehearsed confession sitting like broken glass in his throat. He walked through the front door and was met with the smell of fabric softener and cupcakes, the older kids at their friends' homes.

"Steve? Is that you? You're home early," your voice called from the kitchen, wiping down the countertops.

The tone of your excited and soft voice pained Steve as he inched closer to the kitchen, "We need to talk, I-I did something..." 

You turned around, and the confession on the tip of his tongue died in his mouth, recognising your beaming smile, the very specific one reserved for a very special milestone. Hurrying over to him, and wrapping your arms around him, with your ear resting against his chest, listening to the rapid pounding of his heart. 

"I was going to wait until the first scan," you whispered, "but after what happened between us on Friday night, I couldn't."

Pulling away from Steve, you reached into your pocket and slowly pulled out the plastic stick. With tears of pure joy spilling from your eyes, you pushed the stick into Steve's hand, the two pink lines burning into him through the little window.

"I took the test this morning, and something just felt different. We did it, Steve. Number six! Just like you always wanted."

If Steve confessed, he'd destroy you and the family you worked so hard to build. He needed to tell you, but how could he? You were so happy, so proud. Steve had no choice but to pull you into his arms and swear to himself that you would never find out.

"What did you need to tell me?" You asked softly, "You said you did something?" 

Steve swallowed hard, "Oh, yeah, the uh work trip was cut short... too many people didn't show up." Squeezing his eyes shut, a single hot tear escaped from his eye and ran down his face.

If Steve confessed, he'd destroy you and the family you worked so hard to build. He needed to tell you, but how could he? You were so happy, so proud. Steve had no choice but to pull you into his arms and swear to himself that you would never find out.

"What did you need to tell me?" You asked softly, "You said you did something?" 

Nicholas had kept his word—he didn’t act weird like he did after the kiss. He was as composed as ever, stealing long kisses when no one was looking, his hands sometimes wandering to your ass and boobs, groping you like he couldn’t get enough, leaving breathless before pulling away like nothing happened. But he hadn’t gone further than that, and you knew why.

Victoria had been pissed lately. At first, it was the time he spent with you, but even when he tried to fuck her—unfortunately or even spend time with her, she accused him of thinking about you. She wasn’t wrong, though.

You weren’t mad that you hadn’t gone all the way yet. If anything, you enjoyed dragging things out, watching Nicholas struggle to keep his composure. You teased him relentlessly, brushing up against him when you passed, wearing skirts that made his gaze linger too long on your ass, pressing a finger to his lips when he looked like he might lose control.

You had him wrapped around your finger, and you both knew it.

One afternoon, you were in the kitchen making a bottle for Madison and grabbing juice for Alexander. You hummed to yourself, swaying slightly as you reached for the top shelf. You didn’t hear Nicholas step in until his hands were on your waist, pulling you back against him.

“You like torturing me, don’t you, sweetheart?” he murmured against your ear, his lips grazing your skin.

You let out a breathy laugh, arching to feel how hard he was behind you. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you said sweetly, though the way you pushed against him said otherwise.

Nicholas exhaled sharply, his grip tightening, his lips dragging down your neck. “You drive me insane,” he muttered.

Before you could answer, small footsteps echoed down the hall. You barely had time to push him away before Alexander ran into the kitchen, his little hands reaching for his juice. Nicholas took a step back, adjusting his shirt as if nothing had happened, while you handed Alexander his drink with an innocent smile.

Close call. Again. Kids always talked and you didn’t need to scar him or have him blabber to his mother about what he saw.

Later that evening, when Victoria was out for one of her shoots—or whatever she did when she wasn’t home, you and Nicholas found yourselves alone in the living room. The kids were distracted in their playroom, giving you a rare moment of privacy. You stretched lazily on the couch, your skirt slipping up just enough to show the soft curve of your thigh and peeking to show your thong barely covering your pussy. Nicholas sat across from you, gripping the armrest so tightly his knuckles turned white.

“Something wrong?” you asked, your voice filled with false innocence.

Nicholas exhaled, shaking his head. “You know exactly what you’re doing.”

“Do I?” you giggled.

He ran a hand through his hair, looking like he was one second away from crossing the room and ruining you. But before he could even try, Madison’s cries echoed from upstairs.

You smirked, slipping off the couch and brushing past him on your way to the playroom. As you passed, you leaned in just enough to whisper, “Better luck next time, Mr. Chavez.”

You didn’t have to turn around to know he was watching you walk away, frustration rolling off him.

God, you loved this game.

The house was quieter than usual today, with Nicholas and the kids out. You had a moment to relax when you heard the sound of Victoria’s heels clicking against the floor. You didn’t even need to turn around to know she was heading your way. When she spoke, her voice was laced with irritation.

“You think you can keep up this little act?” she said, her arms crossed tightly over her chest as she leaned against the doorframe. Her eyes narrowed in your direction. “You’re not fooling anyone, you know.”

You took a breath, turning around slowly with a small, innocent smile. “What do you mean?” you asked, genuinely curious but with a subtle hint of challenge in your tone.

Her gaze flickered over you, clearly looking for any sign of weakness. “Don’t think I don’t see what’s going on between you and Nicholas. The way you act, the way you look at him, its obvious you want my husband.”

You laughed lightly, a little too sweetly for her liking. “Look, Victoria, I’m just here to do my job. If you’ve got a problem with it, I suggest we talk to Nicholas about it. I’m sure he doesn’t mind the extra help.”

She scoffed, clearly not buying it. “You think he doesn’t notice? I know you’ve got some kind of charm working on him. But don’t think you can fool me. I see right through you.”

You crossed your arms, stepping closer. “Oh, I don’t need to fool anyone. And I’m not dumb, just because I like to have—fun.” You let the words hang in the air for a moment before adding, “I graduated university early with a degree that you don’t have, not that it’s any of your business. And with honors, might I add.”

Victoria’s lips pressed together as she looked at you, clearly stunned. For a moment, she was silent, her eyes searching yours, but you were already a step ahead.

“You may think you know everything, but I’ve got a lot more going on than you realize,” you said with a sly grin. “I’m not just the dumb, pretty face you think you can dismiss.”

Before she could say anything else, you turned away, walking past her and leaving the tension hanging in the air. You weren’t about to waste any more of your time on her. What you would use your time to do though, was fuck her husband and get a one up over her. She’d see who really ran things.

As you moved to the kitchen, you thought about how she was probably stewing over the conversation but there wasn’t anything she could do. Nicholas was your boss, she couldn’t fire you. But then, just as you grabbed a glass of water, you heard the door open, and Nicholas stepped in, looking a little worn out from the time with the kids.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he greeted you with a smile that made your heart skip a beat. You returned the smile, and for a moment, the air felt electric between you two.

He stepped closer, placing a hand gently on your ass as he passed you. You caught a hint of his aftershave, the familiar scent that always seemed to draw you in. Your pulse quickened as he leaned in, his lips brushing the side of your ear. “You look gorgeous today,” he murmured, his voice low, sending a shiver down your spine.

You bit your lip, trying to keep your composure, but the closeness was intoxicating. You could feel the heat between you two intensifying. “You're just saying that to distract me,” you teased softly.

Nicholas chuckled, and for a brief moment, his hands lingered at your ass, his hands caressing the plump flesh. The touch was fleeting, but it sent a jolt of warmth straight to your core. “Maybe I am,” he said his eyes locking onto yours. “But does it work?”

Just as you were about to speak, you heard the sound of footsteps, and in that instant, you both quickly pulled apart, trying to act casual as the kids walked into the room. But the energy between you and Nicholas hadn't dissipated, it lingered in the air and all you wanted to do was pounce on him.

Later, with the kids busy playing, you found yourself alone with him again. You could feel him near, you could feel the heat radiating off him, and it was hard not to let your guard slip. You leaned in, your lips grazing his ear, your breath hot against his skin. “We’ll have to be more careful next time,” you whispered, knowing the game was far from over.

Nicholas seemed to hesitate for a second, his breath hitching slightly as he met your gaze. “I can't promise I'll be able to stay away,” he murmured. “I need you so fucking bad, sweetheart.”

Just as you both leaned in, about to lose yourselves in another heated kiss, the sound of a door opening caused you to pull away quickly, your heart racing as Victoria’s voice echoed down the hallway.

“The kids are looking for their snacks,” she said, her tone laced with something that you couldn’t quite place—annoyance? Maybe. She glanced over at you and Nicholas, her eyes narrowing.

You smiled sweetly, trying to act innocent. “I’ll be right there,” you said, offering her a wave as you stood up. You glanced back at Nicholas one more time before heading towards the kitchen, your mind already thinking about the next close call. But that next close call thought was shattered.

Something was off, and Nicholas could feel it. It wasn’t anything obvious—just small shifts in your usual demeanor. No lingering glances, no soft smiles, no lighthearted giggles whenever he teased you. You were polite but distant, your usual bubbly energy dulled to something restrained.

And it had everything to do with this morning.

Victoria had always been affectionate with him in front of you—little touches here and there, arms wrapped around his waist, fingers tracing over his jaw, but today had been different. This time, she had kissed him, pressing her lips to his with a kind of ease that came with being his wife. She had pushed herself against him, fingers lacing in his hair, and she had looked right at you as she did it.

Like she was reminding you exactly where you stood.

It shouldn’t have bothered you. Nicholas wasn’t yours. No matter how much he said he wanted you, no matter how many times he found an excuse to keep you close, he still went into bed with her at the end of the day.

But it stung.

And now, hours later, you were still in your own head about it, stirring the sauce on the stove without really paying attention. You didn’t even hear Nicholas come in until you felt his presence behind you, his hand going over your hip before stopping himself.

“Are you mad at me, sweetheart?” His voice was low.

You shook your head, keeping your eyes on the pot. “No.”

He sighed, stepping closer. “You’ve been acting weird all day. Did I do something?”

“No,” you repeated, softer this time.

He didn’t buy it. You felt him reach for you, his fingers brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. And then, before you could step away, he leaned in, lips parting, about to kiss you. But you turned your head at the last second, letting his lips land against your cheek instead.

He froze. You felt the way his breath hitched, the way his hand lingered against your jaw like he was trying to figure out what just happened. Slowly, he pulled back, his brows furrowing in confusion.

“Okay, what’s going on?” he asked, his voice more urgent now.

“It’s nothing, really. I should finish dinner before the kids get home,” you said as you exhaled sharply.

“No,” he said immediately, stepping in front of you. “Talk to me, honey.”

You hesitated. It wasn’t like you to tell him how you felt, not when you assumed this wasn’t supposed to be anything serious. But the way he was looking at you now, searching your face like he genuinely cared, made it impossible to brush him off.

You sighed. “This morning. With her.”

His expression flickered, realization dawning. He pressed his lips together, nodding like he understood exactly what you meant. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice softer now. “I should’ve—” He exhaled. “I didn’t think. I didn’t want to make you feel like, like you don’t matter to me.”

Your chest tightened. “I know I don’t have a right to be upset. She’s your wife.”

“But you mean something to me, too,” he said quickly, reaching for you again, his hands cupping your cheeks. “You mean so much to me.”

Your resolve cracked. The way he was looking at you, the warmth in his touch, the sincerity in his voice, it was too much.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, leaning in and pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I’ll make it up to you.”

You melted against him, letting him wrap his arms around you, inhaling the familiar scent of him.

“How?” you mumbled against his chest, your voice small.

He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, a small smile tugging at his lips. “This weekend.”

“What?”

“Victoria’s flying out with the kids for that wedding,” he reminded you. “You’re supposed to go, but she made it very clear she’d rather struggle alone than have you there.”

You let out a small, breathy laugh at that. “She really hates me.”

“She’s jealous,” he corrected, smirking. “Not that I blame her.”

Your cheeks warmed, but before you could respond, he continued.

“I have the Golden Globes Friday, but tomorrow, I’m taking you shopping,” he said, smoothing his hands down your hips. “Whatever you want. All weekend, you’re mine.”

“Really?” you asked, a slow, giddy smile spread across your face.

He nodded. “Really.”

You bit your lip, your usual bubbly energy returning as you swayed on your heels. “I do love shopping.”

“I know you do.”

And just like that, the jealousy and frustration from earlier faded into something warm and sweet. Because maybe, for just a little while, you could pretend that you were his. And maybe, for just a little while, he could pretend too.

The next morning, Nicholas kept his promise. You had expected something simple, maybe a quick stop at a store before he had to rush off to film. But no, he was serious about spoiling you. He had a car pick you up, a sleek black one with tinted windows, and when you slid inside, he was already waiting, his arm stretched across the back of the seat like he had all the time in the world for you.

“You ready?” he asked, smirking as his eyes dragged over your outfit. “You look pretty.”

You rolled your eyes, but your stomach fluttered at the compliment. “Where are we going?”

“Somewhere nice,” he said simply, nodding to the driver.

You tried not to overthink what somewhere nice meant. You tried not to wonder if he had done this before, taken Victoria shopping, picked out things for her, spoiled her the way he was about to spoil you.

But as soon as you arrived, stepping into the first high end designer store where the sales associates practically tripped over themselves to greet Nicholas, all those thoughts faded.

Because this? This was for you.

And he made that clear.

“What about this?” you asked, holding up a red dress, expecting the usual nod of approval.

But Nicholas shook his head. “Not you.”

You blinked. “Not me?”

He took the dress from your hands, replacing it with another—softer, sexier, something that hugged you in all the right places.

“This,” he murmured, running his thumb over the fabric. “This is you.”

Your breath caught.

And it continued like that—him choosing things for you, watching you try them on, leaning back in his seat as he took you in. It was intoxicating, the way he looked at you, the way he made you feel.

But it was dangerous too.

Because at the end of the day, he still wasn’t yours.

And as much as he wanted you to feel special, this wasn’t real.

Or at least, it wasn’t supposed to be.

Nicholas had certainly followed through on every word, after, he made sure to take you from one designer store to another, never once flinching at the price tags. Gucci, Chanel, Cartier—if you wanted it, it was yours. He helped you pick out the perfect dress for the ceremony, something elegant but undeniably you, pairing it with Louboutin heels that made your legs look even longer. You had even restocked your makeup with Charlotte Tilbury, layering yourself in luxury.

But the best part? He let you indulge in your favorites. Juicy Couture, where you picked out sets in every color. Victoria’s Secret, where you didn’t hold back, tossing lace and silk into your shopping bags without a second thought.

Nicholas didn’t complain once. He only watched, entertained and amused, as you treated yourself like the princess he claimed you were. It wasn’t until you were in the dressing room, slipping into a plush pink robe, that things took a turn.

You were adjusting the belt in front of the mirror when the lock clicked behind you.

Your breath caught.

Nicholas.

He had slipped inside, shutting the door behind him, his presence instantly making the small space feel even smaller. His gaze dragged over you like he had all the time in the world to admire you.

“You look beautiful,” he murmured.

“Mr. Chavez, you’re not supposed to be in here.”

His lips twitched. “You’re right.” He stepped closer, pressing a hand to the curve of your waist, his breath ghosting against your ear. “Because, being in here makes me wanna fuck you right here, right now.”

A shiver ran down your spine. You turned to face him, eyes wide. “Mr. Cha—”

“I know,” he cut in, his fingers tracing the belt of your robe, his voice soft but insistent. “I can’t. But I can do something else.”

Before you could ask what he meant, he dropped to his knees. Your stomach flipped. “Nicholas—”

“Shh,” he murmured, smoothing his hands over your thighs. His eyes lifted to yours, dark. “Let me make you feel good.”

Your breath hitched.

Outside, the store was filled with people—other shoppers, sales associates, people who had no idea what was happening behind the locked door.

You shouldn’t. But when Nicholas pressed a kiss to the inside of your thigh, looking up at you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered, your resolve crumbled.

And as his hands slowly spread your pussy open, as he whispered soft praises against you, you realized something dangerous.

For the first time all day, it wasn’t the diamonds or designer labels that made you feel spoiled.

It was him.

You pressed a hand to the wall, the other gripping the belt of your robe like an anchor, your knees threatening to give out as Nicholas ravished your pussy with his mouth.

He had always been good with words, but now? Now he spoke in a way that made your head spin—soft groans and whispered praises against your core, each one sinking into you.

“You taste so sweet,” he murmured. “So perfect, baby.”

You whimpered, biting down on your lip to stay quiet, but the pleasure was overwhelming. His hands gripped your thighs, holding you steady as you trembled against him, your body betraying you, giving in to everything he was pulling from you.

“Oh my God,” you gasped, fingers tightening in his hair. “We—we can’t—”

His lips curved against you, amusement in his next words. “Then be quiet.”

But how could you? How could you when he was so relentless, when every stroke of his tongue made your breath hitch, made heat coil in your stomach until you were seconds away from breaking apart?

And then—a knock.

Your heart jumped into your throat. “Everything okay in there?” A voice—feminine and concerned. An employee.

Nicholas didn’t stop. If anything, he doubled down, dragging his hands up your legs, pulling you closer, deeper into his mouth like he wanted to see you panic, like he loved the idea of you barely holding it together.

You slapped a hand over your mouth, trying to stifle a whimper as you forced out a breathy, “Y-yeah! Everything’s totally fine!”

The pause outside the door felt endless.

Then, finally—“Alright, just let me know if you need anything.”

Footsteps faded, and you sighed in relief, only to gasp as Nicholas gave you one last, devastating pass of his tongue.

That was it. That was all it took.

Your whole body tensed, shaking as the pleasure crashed over you, silent but all consuming. Nicholas held you through it, his hands steady, his mouth working you through the aftershocks until you were barely standing.

Only then did he finally pull away, his breath heavy, his lips slick and shining as he looked up at you with that signature smirk. His chin was soaked. And the worst part? He knew exactly what he had done to you.

“You should see yourself right now,” he murmured, dragging his thumb over his lips. “Most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

Your legs still felt weak, your head foggy, but couldn’t speak.

Nicholas carried your bags, all of them like it was nothing, his arms stacked high with luxury shopping bags as you both stepped outside. The flash of cameras caught your attention, a few paparazzi managing to snap some photos before security ushered them back.

You didn’t think much of it. You were too dazed, still floating from earlier, your legs still wobbly in your heels.

Nicholas opened the black car door for you, helping you in before tossing the bags into the trunk. Once he slid in beside you, he didn’t stop looking at you.

That smug, self satisfied look. “Stop it,” you said, narrowing your eyes.

“Stop what?” he smirked.

“Staring at me like that,” you pouted, crossing your arms. “It’s weird.”

His grin widened. “But I made you cum, didn’t I?”

Your whole body burned. “Mr. Chavez!” You smacked his arm before burying your face in his chest, muffling your groan of embarrassment.

He chuckled, wrapping an arm around you. “You’re too cute.”

You huffed, refusing to look at him. But the way he was holding you, stroking circles against your hip, made it impossible to be truly mad.

By the time you reached the mansion, you had regained some of your composure. Nicholas let you breathe, retreating to his own space while you packed away your new things.

You still couldn’t believe it. A rich, married man. Your rich, married man. It was wrong. And yet, here you were.

You were admiring a new diamond bracelet in the mirror when he appeared in your doorway, leaning against the frame with that same smirk.

“Pretty,” he murmured. “But not as pretty as you.”

“You’re such a flirt,” you said as you turned, rolling your eyes but unable to hide your smile.

He stepped closer, his hands finding your waist. “Only for you, baby.”

Your breath hitched as he leaned in, tilting your chin up before pressing his lips to yours. The kiss was slow and deep, his tongue exploring your mouth.

You melted into it, hands sliding up his muscular chest, fingers curling into his shirt. He kissed you harder, guiding you back toward the bed, his hands slipping under your crop top, pushing it aside. You gasped as his lips trailed down your neck, his touch igniting a fire that burned hotter by the second.

Clothes came off, piece by piece, heat building until you were naked beneath him, your body arching against his. And then—he stopped.

You blinked up at him, dazed. “Nicholas?”

He sighed, pressing his forehead to yours. “Not like this,” he murmured.

You pouted. “But—”

He kissed you again, soft but firm. “I want your first time to be special,” he said, brushing a thumb over your cheek. “Not rushed.”

Your heart was aching at how genuine he sounded. “But,” he smirked, “I can still make you feel good.”

Before you could respond, his hand slipped between your thighs, drawing out a gasp as he touched your pussy that was already dripping wet for him.

He took his time, watching every reaction, whispering sweet praises, coaxing you to the edge.

His finger thrusted inside your pussy, curling and finding your g spot as you moaned freely beneath him. Finally you didn’t have to worry about being caught.

He look at you, his eyes moving from your lips to your pussy gushing for him. “Those sweet moans. God, I can’t get enough of you.”

You pressed your forehead against his, grinding against his hand so his palm calm in contact with your clit.

“Good girl, now it’s time to cum for me,” he said, voice low and rough.

Your pussy clenched around him and you cried out, a release so intense it made you squirt all over his fingers. He held you close as you trembled, pressing kisses to your forehead.

By the time you came down, trembling and breathless, he was holding you close, stroking your back.

“You’re so perfect,” he murmured, kissing the top of your head.

You sighed, melting into him, eyes fluttering shut as you fell into slumber.

The next morning came quicker than expected. Sunlight streamed through the large windows, casting a golden glow across the room. You stirred slightly, still tangled in the sheets with the events of the previous night in your mind. Nicholas had slept in your bed and it was a wonder how he managed to keep his dick in his pants.

The Golden Globes was that night, and he was up early, making sure everything was in place. You, however, took your time getting ready, ensuring every detail of how you looked was perfect.

Just as you were slipping into your dress, a soft knock sounded at the door.

“Are you ready?” Nicholas called.

You took one last glance in the mirror before stepping forward and opening the door. Nicholas stopped breathing.

His eyes roamed over you, taking in every inch, the dress hugging your figure perfectly, the way your makeup highlighted your best features, your hair perfectly curled, the effortless way you carried yourself.

“Sweetheart,” he exhaled. “You look—” He trailed off, shaking his head in disbelief.

You gave him a twirl, the fabric of your dress catching the light just right. “You like it?”

“Like it?” He scoffed, stepping closer, his hand grazing your waist before he caught himself. “Sweetheart, I love it. You look absolutely breathtaking.”

His words made your body warm, but before you could reply, he held out his arm. “Shall we?”

With a small smile, you looped your arm through his, and together, you stepped out, ready for the night.

The moment you arrived at the Golden Globes, all eyes were on you. The flashes of cameras were overwhelming and reporters and photographers called out Nicholas’ name. But then, to your surprise, they started calling you too.

You instinctively held onto Nicholas’ arm, nerves creeping in. He felt it immediately, his hand covering yours, reassuringly.

“You’re doing great,” he murmured. “Just give them that beautiful smile.”

You did.

Together, you posed for pictures, his hand resting securely at your waist. But then, a few photographers started asking for solo shots. You hesitated, glancing at Nicholas.

“Go on, sweetheart,” he encouraged softly.

Taking a breath, you stepped forward. The photographers gushed over you, snapping pictures from every angle. Compliments came from all angles, how elegant you looked, how cute you and Nicholas were together. It was overwhelming, but Nicholas never took his eyes off you, standing just a step away.

Meanwhile, he was pulled into an interview, and of course, the questions about you came. “And who is this stunning young woman with you tonight?"

He laughed, his gaze flickering to you as you clutched his arm, still smiling.

“A very special woman,” he said vaguely. “She’s been my biggest supporter.”

Before they could press further, the ceremony began.

The night went on but nothing compared to the moment Nicholas’ name was announced as the winner for Best Actor in a Motion Picture – Drama.

The second it echoed through the hall, you both shot to your feet. His first instinct was to turn to you, his hands finding your waist, his face so close, his lips brushed yours before he remembered. His wife was watching.

He stopped himself just in time, but you didn’t care. You threw your arms around him instead, jumping up and down, screaming in excitement.

“You did it!” you squealed. “Mr. Chavez, you won!”

He hugged you tightly, holding onto you for a minute longer before he finally made his way to the stage. The applause was loud as he accepted his Golden Globe, his expression a mix of awe and gratitude.

“Wow,” he exhaled into the mic. “This—this means everything.”

He thanked his team, the cast, his family, his kids. And then—

“I want to thank a special woman,” he said, his voice steady. His eyes flickered to you.

You stilled.

“Yeah, you know who you are,” he continued, lips twitching into the smallest smile. “You were the one who pushed me to audition for this film. You told me the role was mine before I even believed it myself. Without you, I wouldn’t be standing here right now. You’re my biggest supporter.”

Your heart clenched.

Tears burned at the corner of your eyes, but you held them back, shaking your head in disbelief, hands clasped over your mouth.

The moment he stepped off stage, you were in his arms again, holding on tight.

As the ceremony wrapped up, you leaned into Nicholas, your hand slipping into his. “We should totally celebrate,” you whispered.

He smirked, holding up his award. “The best celebration?” he murmured, leaning closer, “would be with you in my arms.”

Your heart skipped a beat.

The car ride home was quiet and very intimate. Nicholas held his award in one hand, his other resting over yours. At one point, he lifted the Golden Globe, pressing a kiss to it before turning to you, brushing his lips against yours. You melted into the kiss, reaching to straddle him, fingers threading through his hair, but the car stopped. You had arrived home.

He exhaled a laugh, his hands slipping to your waist as you both pulled away, breathless. “Come on, sweetheart,” he murmured.

Hand in hand, you stepped into the mansion like you were his wife. He had been gushing over you all night, and now was no different. He stopped you in the grand hallway, taking a moment just to admire you. “You have no idea how perfect you are, how perfect you look,” he murmured.

Then, he smirked. “I have a surprise for you.”

Curious, you followed him up the stairs, only to freeze at the sight. The entire staircase was lined with rose petals and pink flowers, leading up to his bedroom.

“Nicholas,” you gasped.

He pushed the door open, revealing the room filled with candlelight. Roses were scattered everywhere, the soft scent filling the air.

You turned to him, stunned. “Is this for me?”

His expression softened. “Of course, sweetheart,” he murmured, his hands finding your waist. “You deserve it.”

Before you could say another word, he lifted you effortlessly, carrying you toward the bed.

“You’re unreal,” he whispered against your skin. “So beautiful. Flawless.”

His lips brushed your forehead, your cheek, your jaw and then finally, your lips.

And in that moment, you knew—he was in love.

Nicholas backed you toward the bed, his gaze dark. His hands were gentle as they trailed down your arms, fingertips going over your skin as if you were something precious.

“You have me at your mercy,” he murmured, voice low.

Your breath hitched as the backs of your knees met the edge of the mattress, and before you could fully process it, he was kneeling before you, his large hands smoothing over your thighs. His touch was savoring every inch of you, his lips pressing kisses along the path his fingers traced.

His hands found the hem of your dress, gathering it slowly, sliding it up your legs as his lips followed. A kiss at your knee, another at the inside of your thigh, each one sending a shiver through you. He held you firmly, his breath warm against your skin as he murmured, “You’re perfect. So beautiful, so sweet, my perfect girl.”

Your fingers tangled in his hair, a desperate attempt to hold onto something as his lips and touch gave you overwhelming pleasure. He hummed in approval, his hands spreading your legs, squeezing gently, savoring the feeling of you beneath him. His kisses against your pussy turned hungrier, his voice a quiet worship between them.

“So goddamn wet for me, you taste so good.”

You arched under his devotion as his tongue explored you and he took his time, as if memorizing you, drawing out every moan with precision that came with being with an older man. Every brush of his lips, every press of his thumb against your clit built, heightening the pleasure until you were trembling, breathless, gasping his name.

He didn’t stop. He soothed you through it, whispering how good you were, how proud he was, how no one else could ever make him feel the way you did. His hands caressed you, his touch never leaving you, even as you came down from the high he had so effortlessly brought you to.

When he finally pulled back, his lips and chin were soaked with your juices. He tilted his head up, watching you with satisfaction, his lips ghosting over your inner thigh before pressing a lingering kiss to your clit. Then, rising slowly, he brushed his lips against your temple, then your cheek, before finally pressing a deep, slow kiss to your lips.

“Did that feel good, sweetheart?” he murmured against your mouth.

You could only nod, still lost in his touch.

He smiled, brushing his knuckles over your cheek. “Good. Because I’d do it again and again if it meant seeing you like this.”

Nicholas held your gaze, his fingers replacing his mouth in your pussy, working slow thrusts as he pressed a soft kiss to your lips.

“Have to get this tight pussy ready for me, sweetheart,” he murmured.

His free hand cupped your cheek, thumb stroking gently as his lips trailed over your chest. His finger curled inside your wetness as his thumb rubbed rough, but gentle circles on your throbbing clit, “You’re so good for me,” he praised, watching every reaction, every tremble. “My pretty girl.”

Your fingers dug into his arms, breath hitching as warmth built deep inside you. “Nicholas—” you whimpered, your body arching into his touch.

“That’s it, my love,” he coaxed, kissing you deeply, his hand never faltering. “Cum for me, I’ve got you.”

You could barely hold back, gripping his shoulders as your body responded to the deep strokes of his fingers, finally reaching an orgasm that had you gasping as you squirted all over his fingers. He knew exactly how to make you feel good.

“Taste yourself,” he murmured. You held on to his hand, sucking your juices off his fingers before you took them in deeper.

“So obedient,” he praising, rubbing his thumb on your lip. “What a fucking mouth.”

“And I know how to use it,” you said, finally speaking.

“Are you sure you want to, sweetheart? Tonight’s about you,” he retorted.

“Tonight’s about you too, we’re also celebrating, remember,” you pouted and that did it for him.

His gaze was fixed on you, as he shrugged his pants and the rest of his suit off. Your fingers brushed over him in all his glory, and his breath caught when you made contact. He was hard, long and full of girth, feeling weighty in your hand. The tip was pretty, pink and leaking, pre cum oozing and slowly dripping down his shaft. As you looked up at him through your lashes, you could tell by the look in his eyes how badly he wanted this, and that only made you want him more.

God, you were almost jealous. Victoria used to get that dick every night. But then your jealousy turned into pride—it was yours now. She was stupid to be neglecting him.

His hands wrapped in your hair, creating a makeshift ponytail. “Take your time, sweetheart.”

As you took him into your mouth, each motion drew out quiet sounds from him. You took him deeper and deeper, swirling your tongue as you did and using your hands to rub his bare thighs then to caress his balls.

“You look so beautiful,” he murmured. “Everything about you is perfect.”

His praises made your pussy throb and you started deep throating him, using as much tongue as you could to make it sloppy just the way you knew older men liked it.

“Sweetheart, if you keep taking me like that—fuck, I’m gonna cum, you’re so good at this.”

You moaned around his cock, then took it out of your mouth to spit on it. Sticking your tongue out, you looked up at him as you slapped his cock against it and he moaned in response, his head tipping back.

He gently placed a hand on your cheek, caressing as your movements caused salvia and his pre cum to drip down your chin. You were a sight for sore eyes and he was ready to see you swallow his cum.

“H-holy fucking shit baby, I’m gonna cum down that throat,” he moaned, his voice breaking.

You took him as deep as you could, then gliding your mouth and your tongue across his shaft as you felt his warm cum shoot down your throat. You swallowed every drop and smiled up at him.

“Good girl,” he cooed, pulling you up to him, “I’m so proud of you.”

Nicholas stood in front of you, his hands gentle but firm as he carefully took off your dress, his gaze never straying from you. His eyes were filled with admiration, a soft smile tugging at his lips. He didn’t want to take off the beautiful dress you’d been wearing all night but you somehow looked even more beautiful underneath.

“You're absolutely stunning,” he whispered, his voice low and sincere. “I can’t even begin to explain how gorgeous you are.”

You felt your cheeks heat at his words, but his tone was so comforting and warm that any nervousness quickly faded. His hands were tender as they glided over your skin, slowly removing your undergarments from your body, piece by piece.

“Is this okay?” he asked, his eyes locking onto yours for a moment, checking if you were still comfortable.

You nodded, feeling a sense of trust as he continued. “Yes, I'm okay.”

Nicholas took a deep breath, visibly trying to steady himself. He reached out and held your hand, squeezing it gently as he spoke again.

“I want you to know that this is all about you,” he said softly. “And I’m here with you every step of the way, okay? If you need a moment, we can stop. Just tell me.”

You nodded again, your heart fluttering, feeling a mix of excitement and comfort with his reassurances.

“This might be a bit uncomfortable at first and once again, if you want me to stop, let me know.”

He lined his raw, hard cock with your entrance, his movements slow and thoughtful, making sure everything was gentle. He kept his promise, holding your hand tightly and keeping his focus entirely on you.

“You’re incredible,” he murmured, his voice filled with admiration. “You feel like Heaven.”

His thrusts stilled when he felt your barrier, and he slowly leaned down, your hand remaining in his as he kissed you softly. He pushed against the barrier and you bit down on your lip, the discomfort unmistakable but soon fading into immense pleasure. Your hot married boss was taking your virginity.

He rubbed your clit as he moved inside you, his thick cock only managing to go half way in, yet it felt so good. His muscles flexed as he was above you, his abs glistening under the candlelight.

He continued to check in with you, asking if you were okay, his affection unwavering. You felt safe, cherished, and respected as he made sure to only move forward when you gave him the go ahead each time he checked if you were fine.

He pressed a kiss to your forehead. “You're taking me so well,” he murmured. “I knew you would.” His words and steady thrusts built you up and you felt the coil in your stomach tighten. Your pussy clenched around his cock even tighter, your moans growing louder.

“I know baby, I know. Cum for me, cum on my cock,” he encouraged.

He pressed his forehead against yours, and your fingers dug deep into his back, leaving a trail of fire as an intense orgasm washed over you. Your legs shook and you cried out as you came, his touch comforting and grounding you through it all.

He caressed your cheek, moaning as a rush of liquid soaked his cock. “That’s it. Good girl.”

When your breathing slowed, he gently flipped you onto your stomach, his touch delicate as he continued thrusting slowly, tracing kisses along your shoulders and down your back. “You’re so beautiful, from this angle.”

His hands gripped your hips, guiding your movements on his cock as the sensitivity made you feel the tension build again, his whispered words filling you with warmth and reassurance.

“Rub your clit for me, sweetheart” he panted, cock pulsing inside you.

Doing as you were told, you rubbed your clit, jolts of pleasure shooting through you. His thrusts increased but still gentle and each time he pulled out leaving only the tip in, his cock was covered in your cream and juices.

“Cum again for me, baby. Cum with me while I cum inside this perfect pussy,” he breathed. “Best fucking pussy I’ve ever had.”

With one final thrust, he groaned, a low and guttural sound—almost primal spilling inside you as you clenched down on his cock and squirted. You milked him of all he had, ropes of his hot cum lodged deep inside you. He stilled, tracing his fingers along your spine. “You have the most perfect ass,” he teased, making you smile as you both caught your breath.

The warmth of Nicholas’ embrace putting you on your back made reality slowly settle around. He held you close, his lips pressing against your forehead. His breath was still a little uneven, but his focus was entirely on you.

“Are you okay?” he asked softly, tilting your chin so he could meet your gaze. His eyes were full of concern. “Did I hurt you?”

You shook your head, a shy smile on your lips. “No,” you whispered. “That was amazing.”

Something in his expression softened even more and he tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his thumb on your cheek. “You were perfect,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple. “I’m honored you trusted me with this.”

The exhaustion was beginning to settle deep in your bones and Nicholas noticed immediately, shifting to sit up, his arms still wrapped securely around you. “Let’s get you cleaned up, sweetheart,” he said gently. “You’re tired, I’ll take care of you.”

Before you could protest, he had already lifted you into his arms, carrying you through the candlelit room and into the bathroom. The scent of roses was still in the air, mixing with the faint cherry aroma of the bath bomb he poured into the warm water. Steam came around you both as he stepped into the tub, settling in first before guiding you between his legs, your back resting against his chest.

His arms circled around your waist, holding you securely as the warmth of the water enveloped you. His lips brushed against your shoulder, trailing soft kisses up to your neck. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice full of awe. “And you did so good for me. I hope you know how much you mean to me.”

A deep warmth spread through your chest and you leaned into him, allowing your eyes to flutter shut as he ran a washcloth over your skin with delicate care.

By the time he had you wrapped in a plush towel and carried you back to bed, sleep was already pulling at you. He slipped in beside you, tucking the covers over both of you before pulling you into his arms once more. His heartbeat was steady beneath your cheek, his fingers tracing light patterns along your spine.

“You mean the world to me,” he whispered, pressing one last kiss to your hair.

As sleep began to take you under, you barely registered his next words, soft, almost like a breath against your skin.

“I love you.”

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿

The request came late on a Sunday evening. Washington D.C. prosecutors had reached out to the BAU about a trial finally going to court. An unsub they had helped catch over a year ago, a man named Daniel Sykes. Sykes had been methodical in his violence: a series of abductions across Virginia and Maryland, women held for days before being released beaten but alive. He’d staged elaborate “games” of control in his basement, and it was one of those survivors who had finally identified him.

Hotch remembered the case well. It had been messy— jurisdictional disputes, a slippery suspect, and evidence that was largely circumstantial until Garcia had dug out Sykes’ online footprint. They had arrested him in his home, but the defense had fought every piece of the Bureau’s evidence since. Now, it had come to trial, and the prosecutor’s office wanted the BAU on the stand to solidify the narrative of how he’d been profiled and ultimately caught.

Hotch had testified before. He knew the rhythms of the courtroom, the ways a defense lawyer would try to twist words, turn confidence into arrogance, professionalism into supposed bias. He’d been a prosecutor once, before joining the FBI. He knew the game.

Still, as he adjusted his tie and filed into the courtroom with his team. Gideon at his side, with Reid, Prentiss, and Morgan behind them. Hotch felt the familiar tightness of anticipation.

The room was crowded: the jury attentive, reporters lining the back rows, the unsub himself sitting stone-faced at the defense table. Sykes didn’t look at Hotch, but Hotch didn’t need him to. He’d already spent weeks studying that man’s pathology. He could conjure it in an instant.

The bailiff called for order, and the judge asked for the prosecution to begin. They announced their first witness.

“Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner,” the prosecutor said.

Hotch rose, buttoned his jacket, and strode toward the stand with measured steps. The oath was perfunctory—he raised his right hand, swore to tell the truth, then took his seat, his posture straight, calm.

The prosecutor began with background: his credentials, his position as Unit Chief of the BAU, his role in the arrest of Daniel Sykes. Hotch answered each question in his clipped, even tone, careful to keep his voice steady and his words precise.

Then the prosecutor nodded, satisfied, and said, “Defense may cross-examine.”

The defense lawyer rose.

And Hotch’s breath caught.

You.

Hair pinned up in a professional but imperfect bun, dark strands slipping loose against your cheek. Glasses sliding slightly down the bridge of your nose. White blouse, fitted pencil skirt, black heels that clicked softly as you stepped toward the stand. For a moment, you didn’t look at him, your eyes on your notes, flipping through papers.

Then you lifted your head.

Recognition hit like a punch.

You blinked, startled, then schooled your expression into a professional mask. A small, restrained smile tugged at your lips, the kind lawyers gave witnesses before they tore them apart.

“SSA Aaron Hotchner,” you said smoothly, acknowledging him for the jury.

Hotch swallowed, fighting the flicker of memory. He knew you. Not just from the case file, not from the present moment—but from years ago. When he’d still been in the D.C. prosecutor’s office, before Quantico, before the BAU. You’d been fresh out of law school then. Young, determined, burning with ambition. He’d taken you under his wing—mentored you through your first hearings, late nights drafting motions, explaining trial strategy over bad courthouse coffee.

Now here you were. Opposite him.

He shifted minutely in his seat, adjusting his posture. “Counselor,” he replied, voice level.

Inside, though, the profiling had already begun. Your attire: polished, deliberately sharp. Your eyes: unwavering, confident. And the ring—plain, gold, glinting on your left hand as you adjusted your notes. Married. He didn’t know why his gaze lingered there. He was married too. Always had been. Hailey, his high school sweetheart. His wife. His anchor.

Still—thinking back to those mentoring sessions with you always stirred something. A what if he had never allowed himself to dwell on.

You cleared your throat, drawing the jury’s attention back. “Agent Hotchner, you testified that your team arrested my client at his home, correct?”

“Yes.”

“You arrived without a warrant?”

“We had a warrant, Counselor,” he said, his voice clipped, precise. “Signed by a federal judge. It’s included in the evidence packet.”

You nodded slowly, lips pursed as if considering, though Hotch knew that look. You weren’t surprised—you were setting up your next move. “And prior to that arrest, you had interviewed several individuals who lived near Mr. Sykes, isn’t that true?”

“Yes.”

“Neighbors, colleagues, his ex-wife?”

“Yes.”

“And each of those individuals provided statements that were later found to contain inconsistencies?”

Hotch inhaled through his nose. He knew this tactic. Undermine the reliability of witness testimony, then cast doubt on the agents who relied on it. He’d taught you this. Damn it.

“Witness testimony is often inconsistent in traumatic cases,” Hotch replied evenly. “That’s why the Behavioral Analysis Unit focuses on patterns of behavior and corroborating evidence, not just statements.”

You tilted your head, as though weighing the answer. “So you’re admitting those statements weren’t reliable.”

“I’m saying they were consistent with the profile we developed of the unsub.”

A few jurors scribbled notes. You didn’t smile, but there was a spark in your eyes—Hotch caught it, even if no one else did. The same spark he’d seen years ago when you’d cornered him in a moot court exercise, proving him wrong for the first time.

His jaw tightened, but he kept his composure. Outwardly calm. Inside? Impressed. Intrigued. Caught somewhere between admiration for how sharp you’d become and frustration that you were using his own lessons against him.

The cross-examination continued, your questions pointed, professional, circling like a hawk around its prey. Hotch deflected each one with steady precision, refusing to give ground, but he could feel the tension coiling between you. The courtroom wasn’t just a battlefield. It was a reunion.

And for reasons he didn’t care to analyze, the ring on your hand was the only thing he couldn’t stop noticing.

Hotch sat back slightly as the defense lawyer concluded the cross-examination. You were precise, sharp, deliberate with each question, forcing him to thread every word carefully. The jury scribbled notes, the judge tapped a pen thoughtfully, and Hotch felt the old spark of admiration flare inside him—though outwardly, he remained stoic.

“No further questions, Your Honor,” he said, voice calm, controlled, betraying nothing. Inside, however, he was impressed. That little upward tilt of your chin, the measured tone, the way you didn’t flinch even as you pressed him—it was all you. The lawyer he had once mentored, now standing opposite him like an equal… no, like a challenge.

The judge called recess for the day. Hotch rose, gathering his papers and straightening his jacket. His team filed out behind him—Reid already muttering to himself about some forensic detail, Morgan grinning and shaking his head, and Prentiss giving a professional smile that barely hinted at amusement.

As they stepped into the foyer, bustling with court staff and observers, Hotch caught sight of you again. You passed by, carrying a slim folder, hair slightly loose from the professional bun you’d tied that morning. Your eyes flicked briefly to him, and a small, professional nod of recognition brushed across your lips.

Hotch’s gaze followed, unbidden. Subconsciously, his eyes dipped to the curve of your hips under the pencil skirt, tracing a line he knew he shouldn’t. Morgan, walking a few steps behind, noticed.

“Uh… Hotch,” Morgan said, voice low but teasing, “you following someone with your eyes, man?”

Hotch’s jaw tightened. “I—no, I’m observing for procedural reasons.”

Morgan raised an eyebrow. “Right… procedural. Sure. Uh… that’s her, isn’t it? The lawyer from the D.C. office?”

Hotch nodded once, tight. “Yes. I know her from years ago, when I was a prosecutor. That’s all.” He downplayed the recognition carefully, masking the sudden tightness in his chest. Already he felt guilty—his composure had slipped just slightly, and he hated that he even noticed.

Morgan shrugged, unconvinced, and moved on. Meanwhile, Reid, hearing snippets of the exchange, whispered something to Morgan about profiling body language. Hotch didn’t hear it; his focus had already drifted.

Across the room, you had paused near a wall-mounted directory. Hotch moved a few steps toward you, trying to appear natural, though his normally precise control felt slightly shaky. He cleared his throat.

“Counselor,” he said, careful, formal, though the weight behind his eyes betrayed more than words.

You turned, your expression shifting from professional neutrality to the barest flicker of warmth. “SSA Hotchner,” you said, a faint smile curling your lips. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”

“I—” he paused briefly, then exhaled softly, regaining control. “I’m impressed with how you’ve come along. You’ve… sharpened considerably since we last worked together.”

You tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, eyes curious. “That means a lot, coming from you. What about you? How’s… the BAU? Must be a different world from D.C. prosecution.”

Hotch allowed a small, rare smile, the one few people ever saw. “Different, yes. Challenging. The work… it’s demanding, but I manage.”

A moment of silence passed, filled only by the murmur of distant court staff. Hotch’s gaze lingered on you longer than he intended. Then he asked, carefully, deliberately, the question that hovered between them like a loaded pause.

“So… you’re married?” His voice was steady, but the underlying curiosity was palpable.

You gave a faint, composed smile. “Yes. Samuel. Been married for a few years now.”

Hotch nodded once, slow, almost reluctantly. He didn’t press further, though part of him wanted to. He caught the faint glint of your wedding ring, a reminder that this moment—this sudden proximity—was dangerous. Yet the pull of old familiarity, of the person you had once been, and the tension of who you were now… it was magnetic.

“Samuel… that’s good,” he said finally, voice low, careful. His eyes studied you, memorizing the way you carried yourself, how your poise had sharpened over the years. Every calculated gesture, every inflection of your voice, spoke of someone who could have rivaled him even back then.

You inclined your head slightly, nodding. “And you… still married?”

Hotch’s chest tightened briefly. “Yes. Hailey,” he said simply, precise, leaving no room for debate.

There was a pause. both of them aware of the subtle tension in the air. The past had collided with the present in the most unexpected way, and for a fleeting second, neither could ignore the pull beneath the layers of professionalism, marriage, and years of unspoken what-ifs.

You’d once seen Aaron Hotchner as untouchable. Brilliant, sharp, endlessly composed. Back when you were green, when your motions were clumsy and your arguments too wordy, he’d sat with you in cramped conference rooms and guided you through every draft. Patient, meticulous, his eyes softening in rare moments of encouragement.

You knew he was married. Everyone knew. Hailey—his high school sweetheart, the kind of woman you could tell he’d worshipped from the very beginning. It never stopped you from developing a crush you buried deep, convincing yourself it was nothing more than admiration. After all the hours you spent together, how could you not?

Nothing had ever happened. You wouldn’t have let it. You weren’t that kind of woman. At least, that’s what you told yourself whenever the thought crept in.

Now, you’re married too. Samuel is… good. Solid. Kind. He provides stability, he cares. He’s everything you should want. Everything you told yourself you needed. He’s great.

Yeah. Great.

Aaron’s voice pulled you out of your spiraling thoughts.

“Would you want to grab a drink to catch up?” His tone was even, almost casual, but you’d worked with him long enough to hear the subtle cracks. A quiet effort to sound detached, when he wasn’t.

You met his eyes, felt that flicker of something burn in your chest, and nodded.

“That sounds nice. Sure.”

The corner of his mouth softened, not quite a smile, but close. Without waiting for further conversation, he walked with you out of the building, keeping an even pace at your side.

The streets of D.C. were familiar, buzzing with late-afternoon foot traffic, the courthouse looming behind you. The two of you didn’t need to ask where to go—you both already knew. There was a bar, only a few blocks away, where you’d spent too many evenings bent over files together, arguing over strategy, sipping whiskey while waiting for the copy clerk to run depositions.

Back then, it had been professional. Mostly. There were moments you’d caught yourself staring too long at the line of his jaw when he loosened his tie. Moments when his sighs about Hailey had stretched too long, heavy with fatigue, and you’d wanted to reach across the table to touch his hand. You never did. But the wanting never quite left.

The short walk to the bar was quiet, filled only with the rhythm of footsteps and the weight of memory pressing between you.

When you stepped inside, the smell of wood polish and whiskey hit you, achingly familiar. It was the same as you remembered—dim lighting, leather booths, dark-stained floors. You could almost see your younger self at the corner table, notebook open, Aaron across from you in a crisp shirt and weary expression.

Without speaking, you both headed to that very booth, sliding into your usual places like no time had passed at all. You sat opposite each other, your bags set aside, your posture deliberately professional, though your body thrummed with awareness.

A waitress approached, smiling politely. Aaron didn’t look at the menu. “Scotch,” he said, his voice firm, low. “Neat.”

You hesitated only a second. “Same.”

When the waitress left, silence stretched between you. Comfortable, and yet not. Heavy. You traced your finger idly along the rim of the glass of water already at the table.

He was the one to break it. “You’ve done well,” he said quietly, his gaze steady on you. “In there today. You had me cornered twice.”

You let out a small laugh, though it came out thinner than you intended. “That’s only because you taught me half my tricks. Honestly, I was just waiting to use them on you someday.”

His brow ticked up a fraction. “And you did.” He lifted his glass when the drinks arrived, fingers long and deliberate against the cut crystal. “You always were persistent.”

You clinked your glass lightly against his, your eyes catching his. “You never made it easy.”

The scotch burned as it went down, sharp and smoky, loosening the tension in your shoulders, though it did nothing to soften the way Aaron’s gaze felt pinned to you. He was studying you—like always—profiling, cataloguing, dissecting.

You tried to match it, even though it made your chest ache. “And you?” you asked. “You left prosecution for the Bureau, then the BAU. That’s… not the path I thought you’d take.”

His lips pressed together before he answered. “It was the right choice. Most days.” A pause. “The job’s… consuming.”

You tilted your head. “And Hailey?” The name came out gently, careful, as if you weren’t supposed to say it.

Aaron’s gaze flickered, just for a moment, to the condensation on his glass. “She’s good,” he said finally, his voice low, firm. “Jack’s two now. She deserves more than I give her, but she’s patient.”

You nodded, unsure how to respond, your chest tightening at the quiet guilt in his tone. He shifted, his eyes returning to you, and the air between you thickened again.

“So,” he said, voice softer now, “you’re married.” He asked again.

Your fingers brushed unconsciously over the band on your hand. “Yes. Samuel.” You smiled faintly, trying to make it sound full. “We’ve been married for a few years.”

Aaron nodded once, measured. “That’s good.”

But you saw it—the way his throat worked, the faint twitch of his jaw. He was trying too hard to keep his face neutral.

And under the table, your leg bounced restlessly, betraying the storm building inside you.

The first drink disappeared too easily, the burn of scotch warming your chest and loosening your tongue. By the second, conversation flowed like it used to—fluid, effortless, the old rhythm between you resurfacing as if no years had passed at all.

You swapped stories—cases you’d handled since you’d parted ways, ridiculous moments from the courthouse, the kind of nostalgia that made the corners of his mouth soften in ways you rarely saw.

Aaron Hotchner smiling was… dangerous. The weight of his usual composure meant that even the faintest curve of his lips hit harder than a belly laugh from anyone else. You watched it unfold slowly, his expression unspooling with each sip of whiskey, until you realized you were staring.

He leaned back in the booth, tie loosened, jacket folded neatly at his side. His shoulders—usually tight with tension—looked broader without that perpetual rigidity, and it hit you how different he seemed in this dim, amber light. Less SSA Hotchner. More Aaron.

You weren’t drunk. Not really. Tipsy, maybe. Just enough to feel bold, to let your guard slip when he asked, “Back then… did you ever resent me? For pushing you so hard?”

You blinked, startled by the question, then laughed lightly. “Resent you? No. If anything, I probably admired you too much.” The words slipped out before you could stop them. “Hell, I had such a crush on you it was embarrassing.”

The air stilled.

You immediately froze, heat rushing to your cheeks, your fingers tightening around your glass. “I—forget I said that. Scotch makes me honest. Too honest.”

But Aaron didn’t frown, didn’t look uncomfortable. He only watched you with that piercing steadiness of his, the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. Not mocking, not cruel. Understanding. Confirming. Like you’d just proved something he’d always suspected.

Your heart thudded.

He didn’t say the words, but the flicker in his dark eyes said enough: maybe it hadn’t been one-sided.

“You always did underestimate yourself,” he murmured finally, voice low, almost intimate despite the crowded hum of the bar around you. “You were better than you gave yourself credit for.”

You exhaled, trying to ground yourself. The words weren’t overtly suggestive, but with his gaze steady on you, they felt like a caress. You tried to joke it off, swirling the amber liquid in your glass. “You’re deflecting. I just admitted a crush, and you’re giving me a performance review.”

That earned the faintest chuckle, and God help you, it was warm, rich, and nothing like the clipped tones you usually heard in a courtroom.

“I suppose I am,” he said softly. “Old habits.”

The third drink arrived. Neither of you needed it, but neither of you stopped it. The nostalgia had become its own intoxication, pulling you closer to something you’d never dared touch.

By the time you set your glass down again, you realized his hand had drifted closer across the table, fingers tapping idly near yours. Not quite touching, but close enough that the heat of him brushed your skin.

Your chest tightened. You knew you should pull back. You were married. He was married. This was dangerous territory, the kind of blurred line that could unravel everything. And yet—

“Aaron,” you said, his name softer than you meant it to be, slipping past your lips like a secret.

His eyes flicked to yours, sharp, unreadable. He didn’t look away. “You haven’t called me that in years.”

“Felt strange not to,” you admitted.

The pause that followed was thick, weighted with everything unsaid. With every memory of late nights in this very booth, papers scattered between you, shoulders brushing when you leaned too close, laughter spilling out at hours you should’ve been home. With every unspoken thought you’d buried, and every one he might have buried too.

Finally, he leaned in, elbows resting on the table, voice quiet but firm. “If what you felt back then had been… different—if I’d crossed a line—would you have told me?”

The question hit you square in the chest. You swallowed, your throat dry despite the scotch. “Yes. I would’ve. But you didn’t.”

A flicker of something—relief? Or disappointment?—passed over his features. He sat back, but the tension didn’t ease.

Your knees brushed beneath the table, just barely, but the spark of contact made your stomach flip. He didn’t move away. Neither did you.

The lines were blurring.

And in the back of your mind, a single thought repeated, dangerous and insistent: maybe it was never just you.

The air had changed. Not in a bad way. In a dangerous way.

Aaron shifted his weight, lifting his glass and setting it down again before sliding across the booth. He found some excuse—too loud in here, or easier to hear you this way—but you both knew that wasn’t it. He settled beside you, close enough that his shoulder brushed the back of the leather seat, close enough that the warmth of him reached your skin. Still a sliver of space between you. Not nearly enough for professionalism.

Your pulse jumped.

His fingers tapped idly against the side of his glass, the sound barely audible over the low hum of the bar. Then, without warning, he said it. Quiet. Measured. Like he’d already weighed every possible outcome.

“I felt the same way,” he admitted. “Back then. Hell—” his jaw flexed as he looked away briefly, “even now.”

Your whole body went still.

Now? Back then too?

The words jammed in your throat. You wanted to demand he explain himself, to rewind and make sure you’d heard correctly, but all you could manage was a strangled laugh. “You’re drunk.”

It came out lighter than you intended, a half-joke, a plea to brush it aside.

But his eyes turned back to you, steady and unflinching, and you realized—no. He wasn’t drunk. Tipsy, maybe, his edges softened. But not careless. Not this.

“I’m serious,” he said, and his voice was low enough that you felt it as much as heard it. “It’s wrong. I know that. I’ve told myself that a hundred times. But being here with you again… it’s brought back every feeling I tried to suppress. All the what ifs.”

The air in your lungs thinned.

Your gaze darted to his hand—the one resting on the table, fingers flexing like he needed to hold something, ground himself. And then, slowly, carefully, he shifted. His hand slid beneath the table, over the edge of the seat, until his palm rested against your thigh.

Not forceful. Testing. Waiting.

Your heart pounded, every nerve alive under his touch. You could’ve moved his hand. Should’ve. But you didn’t.

And that was answer enough.

You didn’t look down. You looked at him. His face was a storm—brows furrowed, lips pressed in a hard line, like he was wrestling himself even as his thumb brushed, feather-light, against your leg.

“You shouldn’t let me do this,” he murmured, the words more confession than command.

“I know,” you whispered. Your voice cracked, and you hated how much you meant it. “But you’re doing it anyway.”

His throat worked as he swallowed, eyes darting to your lips for the briefest second before he forced himself back to meet your gaze. “You’re married. I’m married. If this goes too far—” He stopped, shook his head, the muscles in his jaw straining. “We’ll hurt people who don’t deserve it.”

His hand didn’t move. Neither did yours.

The silence stretched, full of every rational reason to stop and every irrational reason not to.

“Aaron…” You said his name softly, tasting it like it was forbidden.

He closed his eyes for a moment, like the sound alone was enough to undo him. When they opened again, the restraint was still there, but fraying at the edges.

“I should get us out of here,” he muttered, voice rougher than before. “Before I forget myself.”

But he didn’t move. Not yet. His hand stayed firm on your thigh, thumb tracing the barest circle, every pass more dangerous than the last.

The line was so thin now, you could barely see it.

And for the first time all night, you weren’t sure you wanted to.

His gaze dropped to your mouth. You didn’t even realize your own eyes had flicked to his until the air between you tightened, pulling you forward before either of you could think better of it.

“This is a bad idea,” you whispered, a final protest, weak and already crumbling.

“I know,” he breathed back—then his mouth was on yours.

The kiss was instant, searing, like it had been waiting years to happen. His lips pressed hard, parting yours, and the taste of him, scotch, heat, and something unmistakably Aaron—filled your senses. You pushed a hand against his chest, palm meeting the firm plane beneath his white shirt, not to hold him away but to steady yourself. His own hand clamped on your thigh, tight, anchoring himself to you, like he needed the contact just to stay grounded.

The kiss deepened quickly. Your mouths moving together like you’d done this a thousand times, like your bodies had always known the rhythm even if you’d denied it. His tongue swept against yours, coaxing, claiming. When his teeth caught your bottom lip, the sharp sting made you gasp, and his tongue soothed over it immediately, deliberate, possessive.

When he finally pulled back, it wasn’t far. His forehead rested against yours, both of you breathing hard, muttering against each other’s mouths.

“This is a mistake,” you murmured.

“Terrible mistake,” he agreed, his breath ragged. His voice dropped, rough and low. “But it feels too good.”

And you hated how much you agreed. “It does.”

That was all it took for him to kiss you again—rougher, hungrier. The kind of kiss that made your stomach drop and your thighs tense. His hand shifted higher, sliding along the inside of your thigh, and you parted your legs without meaning to, a silent invitation that had his grip tightening.

His fingers grazed over your panties, right at the damp spot you didn’t have the strength to hide. The sound he made was guttural, breaking into the kiss as he pressed his mouth harder to yours.

Then he pulled back, lips trailing against your jaw until he found the slope of your neck. He kissed once, then again, slower, open-mouthed, his breath hot against your skin.

“So wet,” he whispered against your pulse, the words making you melt into him. “And I haven’t even done anything.”

Your laugh came out broken, trembling. “This is nothing?”

His reply was a groan, low and dangerous. He slid his hand beneath the lace, fingers slipping against you, and the heat of his skin against yours made your hips jerk.

“God,” he hissed, his restraint fraying audibly. “You’re soaked.” His voice dropped to a warning growl. “Tell me to stop right now… or I’ll show you exactly what I can do.”

Every rational part of your brain screamed to pull back. But your body, your heart, every reckless part of you—the part that had waited years for this—burned hotter than reason.

You didn’t say stop.

Instead, your hand fisted in his shirt, dragging him closer, your voice hoarse with want. “Don’t stop.”

For a moment, his whole body went taut. His mouth pressed hard against your neck, like he was punishing himself for what he was about to do, then his lips ghosted up to your ear.

“You have no idea what you’ve just agreed to,” he whispered.

His fingers slid deeper, teasing, testing, and you were already trembling beneath his touch.

His fingers grazed against the lace again, lingering, teasing. The pressure was just enough to make your breath catch, your thighs clenching before you forced yourself to relax.

He lifted his head from your neck, eyes dark, his voice dropping into that low, commanding register you’d heard countless times in a courtroom and briefing room—but never like this.

“Do you want me to touch you?”

God. He was so good. Even now, in this dim corner booth of the bar, his control was absolute. He didn’t move until you nodded, until you gave him permission.

“Yes,” you whispered, barely audible.

That wasn’t enough for him. His hand stilled completely, his stare burning into yours. “I need to hear you say it.”

Your pulse was racing, heat coiling tight in your stomach. “I want you to touch me.”

The faintest smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth—satisfaction, victory, restraint all tangled together. “Good girl.”

The words nearly undid you.

He slipped his hand back under the hem of your skirt, slower this time, deliberate, like he was savoring every inch of skin he uncovered. When he reached your panties again, his fingers slid beneath, and then—finally—inside.

You gasped, gripping the edge of the seat.

“Try to stay quiet,” he murmured, his lips brushing your ear, hot breath making you shiver. “Can you do that for me?”

You nodded frantically, opening your legs wider, giving him the access you’d ached for.

“That’s it,” he coaxed, his voice low and husky. Two fingers eased into you, stretching you just enough to make your body jolt forward against his hand. “So fucking tight.”

A whimper escaped your throat, and his other hand was suddenly on your jaw, tilting your face toward him, his eyes sharp even as his fingers worked you. “Shh. Eyes on me. Don’t give us away.”

The demand made your pulse throb harder between your legs. You tried to bite your lip, but it only seemed to please him.

“Already soaking my hand,” he muttered, curling his fingers inside you, finding a spot that made your hips jerk. “You came in here looking so put together, and here you are—falling apart on my fingers.”

“Hotch—” You choked on his name, muffling it against your hand.

“Say it again.” His tone wasn’t a request. His pace quickened, the heel of his palm pressing against your clit now, building pressure so fast it left you dizzy.

“Aaron—” The word broke out of you, sharper this time, and his eyes flashed dark.

“That’s better.” He leaned closer, his lips brushing your temple, his voice low enough for only you to hear. “Let me feel you come. Right here. Right now. For me.”

Your head tipped back against the booth, legs trembling, every nerve set on fire as his fingers moved faster, deeper, ruthless but precise. The sound of your breath came ragged, barely contained, and you felt yourself tightening around him, right on the edge of giving him exactly what he wanted—

You dug your nails into the fabric of his sleeve with one hand and the edge of the table with the other. His fingers curled just right inside you, stroking with deliberate precision that made your entire body tremble against the booth.

“God—” you choked out, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Quiet,” Hotch breathed against your ear, his lips grazing your skin, his tone equal parts warning and coaxing. The smirk tugging at his mouth betrayed how much he was enjoying your struggle to keep still, to keep silent. His pace didn’t falter, his fingers pumping, curling, pressing until your legs shook.

He angled his head closer, so close that his words seemed to settle inside your head instead of your ears.

“I used to think about this,” he said, low, filthy, confessional. “Back then… late nights in the office. You leaning over my desk, giving me that look. I wanted to bend you over it and fuck you until you couldn’t speak.”

Your whole body seized at his words, a wave of heat crashing through you so fast you almost lost it right then. You bit down on your lip hard enough to taste blood, muffling the moan clawing up your throat.

“That’s it,” he praised, curling his fingers harder, dragging the pads over that spot inside you that made your thighs clench around his wrist. “Good girl. Taking me so well. So damn wet for me already.”

Your head fell against his shoulder, eyes squeezing shut as you tried to breathe through it. “Aaron…” you whispered, desperate.

“Say my name again,” he demanded, his voice darker, filthier now. His thumb pressed against your clit, circling, rubbing in ruthless rhythm to the stroke of his fingers. “Let everyone else sit here drinking while you come apart on my hand. No one has to know.”

You whimpered, your nails digging into his arm. “Please—”

“Please what?” he pressed, almost taunting, though his hand never slowed. “Please don’t stop? Please make you come? Tell me what you want.”

“Please don’t stop,” you finally gasped, the words strangled between clenched teeth.

He groaned softly at that, his lips brushing down your jaw, kissing your neck like he’d been starved for the taste of you. “I knew you’d sound like this when you begged. Knew you’d be this tight around me.”

The coil in your stomach snapped tight, unbearable, and you felt your climax rushing up too fast, threatening to spill over right there in the corner of the bar.

He felt it—of course he did. His smirk deepened against your throat, and his fingers drove harder, faster, mercilessly precise. “Come for me,” he ordered, voice ragged but steady. “Now. Let me feel it.”

That was all it took.

You bit down on his shoulder, muffling the sharp cry that tore out of you as your body convulsed, your walls clenching around his fingers, pulsing, soaking his hand. He held you through it, arm steady around your waist, keeping you from falling apart completely in public as he worked you through wave after wave.

“Fuck—” you gasped against him, shuddering, your thighs trembling violently under the table.

“That’s it,” he soothed, pulling his fingers out slowly, obscenely slick. His voice dropped again, that mix of dominance and tenderness. “You did so well. Came so hard for me.”

When your eyes finally fluttered open, his gaze was locked on you—dark, hungry, and still not satisfied. He brought his glistening fingers to his mouth, tongue sliding over them slowly, deliberately, like he was savoring every drop.

“Tastes even better than I imagined,” he murmured, low enough for only you to hear.

Your whole body burned, the bar around you suddenly spinning. Because this was only the beginning.

His voice was low, steady, but his eyes betrayed him—dark, unguarded.

“We should get out of here,” he said, not a question but a quiet command. His hand squeezed your thigh once before slipping away. “Together. My hotel room.”

The weight of the words settled heavy in your chest, dangerous and thrilling. You nodded, breathless. “Okay.”

You shifted in the booth, smoothing down your skirt, making sure you didn’t look like someone who’d just been finger-fucked into silence in a bar corner. Hotch slid out first, his hand brushing yours in a fleeting touch, and then you both slipped outside into the night.

A taxi waited by the curb as if it had been conjured for you. He raised a hand, flagged it down, and opened the door, letting you slip in first. He followed immediately, his thigh pressed to yours as the cab pulled away from the curb.

The ride was a cage of tension. The hum of the engine, the city lights streaking past, the driver oblivious—none of it mattered compared to the heat between you. His hand found yours again, his thumb flexing over your knuckles like he couldn’t let go. The other hand rested on your thigh, deceptively casual, though the strength in his grip betrayed his restraint.

Neither of you spoke. Every word unsaid filled the silence, charged the air. You tried to steady your breathing, but the pulse in your throat gave you away. He felt it too—his jaw tight, his gaze fixed on the city outside like he was forcing himself not to look at you.

Luckily, the hotel wasn’t far.

When the cab stopped, he paid quickly, the bill folded and shoved toward the driver with barely a glance. Then his hand slid into yours again, this time more deliberate. He didn’t just hold it—he claimed it, tugging you out of the cab, up the steps of the hotel, through the lobby.

It was late, and the desk clerks barely looked up, but even if they had, there would’ve been no mistaking it: the purposeful stride of a man on a mission.

In the elevator, the silence became unbearable. His hand stayed locked around yours, his palm warm, his grip firm, flexing every so often like he was testing his own restraint. The hum of the elevator was the only sound, but the tension was deafening.

You finally broke it with a whisper. “Aaron…”

His head turned, his eyes sharp, unreadable. “If you tell me to stop now, I will.”

Your breath caught. You searched his face for hesitation, but there was none. Only hunger and restraint, at war inside him. “I don’t want you to stop.”

His hand squeezed yours, hard. “Good.”

The doors opened with a ding, and then it was a blur: his key card, the click of the lock, the push of the door. He barely got it shut before his mouth was on yours.

The kiss wasn’t tentative like in the bar—it was hungry, commanding. His hand fisted in your hair, tilting your head to deepen it, while the other flattened against your back, dragging you into him. You gasped into his mouth, your fingers scrambling against his chest, the crisp white shirt already wrinkling under your grip.

He pressed you to the door, his body caging yours in, the sharp line of his arousal already hard against your hip. His kiss was consuming, his tongue sweeping into your mouth like he’d been starving for this.

You broke the kiss for a breath, panting. “Aaron—”

“Do you have any idea,” he cut you off, voice low, rough, “how many nights I imagined this? How many times I thought about pulling you into my office, locking the door, and having you like this?”

Your knees buckled, but his grip held you up, his hand sliding down your body to clutch your ass, pulling you against the hard length straining against his trousers.

“Tell me,” he demanded, his lips grazing your jaw, hot against your skin. “Tell me you thought about it too.”

Your head fell back as his mouth traced down your neck, teeth grazing just enough to make you shiver. “I did,” you whispered, breath hitching. “I thought about it all the time.”

A low groan rumbled in his chest, vibrating against your throat. His hand slipped under your skirt, fingers gripping your thigh possessively. “Then tonight,” he growled, “you’re mine.”

He kissed you again, rougher this time, tongue and teeth and desperation. His hands roamed like he couldn’t decide where to touch first—your hips, your waist, your breasts—like he wanted all of you at once.

And you let him. You wanted nothing else.

You were both desperate. The air between you was thick with need, the scent of him—the crisp, sharp tang of his cologne, the warmth of his body pressed against yours—driving your senses wild.

“God, you’ve wanted this as much as I have,” he growled, fingers gripping your hips tightly, dragging you closer. “Look at me… tell me you’ve wanted me.”

“I’ve wanted you,” you gasped, arching into him. “Every single day.”

A low, guttural noise rumbled from his chest, vibrating against you. His lips crashed down on yours again, teeth grazing yours in a rough, possessive kiss. You moaned into his mouth, the sound muffled, and it only seemed to fuel him.

“You feel so good,” he whispered against your neck, lips nipping and sucking along the sensitive skin. “So wet, so tight… God, I’ve thought about this for years. About bending you over my desk, about making you mine when no one else is watching.”

Your hands went under his shirt, gripping the firm planes of his chest, nails digging in as you pressed yourself fully against him. He groaned, a deep, dark sound that sent shivers down your spine, and tugged at your hair, tilting your head back to expose your throat.

“You’re mine tonight,” he growled, voice low and dangerous. “Do you understand me?”

“Yes,” you breathed, your body trembling with need. “Please…”

He smirked against your skin, and the hand that had been on your hip slid down, rough and demanding, slipping under your panties, fingers teasing and pressing against your core. The friction alone made your back arch off the bed.

“You’re so fucking wet for me,” he murmured, thrusting one finger inside, curling it expertly to make you moan into his mouth. “All this time… and you were thinking about me too. Every night. Huh?”

“Yeah,” you choked out. “Always… you.”

His mouth trailed lower, teeth grazing your collarbone, tongue flicking over the spot that made you gasp. “Tell me how much you need me,” he demanded, hand working faster, curling and pressing with a rhythm that had your knees threatening to buckle.

“I… need… you,” you whispered, trembling, voice breaking, fingers clawing at his shoulders.

“That’s it,” he growled, thrusting two fingers in deeper, curling them expertly, making your hips lift off the bed. “So tight. So perfect for me. You feel so fucking good. God, I want to bury myself inside you.”

The desperation in his voice, the way his eyes darkened with hunger, made your body shiver uncontrollably. You were his. And he was yours in every sense.

He pulled back for a breath, his mouth inches from yours, eyes blazing. “Do you want me inside you? Tell me—say it. Tell me you’re mine.”

“Yes,” you gasped. “Please. I want you. I’m yours.”

A sharp grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Good girl,” he murmured, thrusting two fingers in harder, curling inside you, thumb circling your clit with merciless precision. “God… you’re going to come for me, aren’t you? You’re going to let me make you come like this?”

“Yes,” you moaned, body arching, walls tightening around him as your climax threatened to take you.

He groaned, brushing his lips across your jaw, teeth grazing your earlobe. “Then come for me,” he whispered, voice low and filthy. “Come all over my fingers. Let me see how good you are for me.”

Your body shuddered, back arching, legs trembling as you teetered on the edge. He watched you, smirk dark and possessive, as he drove you harder, faster, expertly teasing you closer to release.

You felt the heat of his gaze as he withdrew his fingers, licking them clean with that low, guttural sound that sent shivers down your spine. The moment he freed himself, you saw him fully—thick, hard, heavy, straining with need. Your breath hitched, your chest rising and falling as your body prepared itself for him.

Without a word, he positioned himself between your legs, and the first inch of him pressed against you. You tried to suppress a moan at the delicious stretch, the overwhelming sensation of him finally inside you, but his hand on your hip kept you pinned.

“Don’t hold it in,” he growled, voice low, dark, commanding. “I want to hear you. I want to know how much you want me.”

Your body betrayed you, shuddering as a soft, needy moan escaped. “Aaron… please…”

“Good,” he whispered, pressing deeper, inch by inch until he was fully seated inside you. “Feels so fucking good. You’re so tight, so perfect for me.”

You trembled beneath him, hips tilting, trying to adjust to the stretch, and he leaned closer, pressing his forehead to yours. His hands gripped your hips with unrelenting strength, fingers digging into your skin as he started to move.

“God, look at you,” he growled, thrusting in slow, punishing strokes. “So wet, so ready. All these years, I thought about this… about having you like this, and now—you’re mine.”

You gasped, your hands gripping his shoulders, nails digging in as he slammed into you with a rhythm that left you breathless. His pace was rough, relentless, and filthy, but every movement was calculated to make you feel stretched, claimed, and utterly his.

“You like that, don’t you?” he demanded, his voice rough, a low growl vibrating against your ear. “You like me fucking you like this?”

“Yes… yes, Aaron,” you moaned, hips meeting his with every hard stroke. “Feels… so good…”

“That’s it,” he hissed, thrusting faster, deeper, his hands roaming your body with control and dominance. One palm gripped your jaw, tilting your head so he could kiss you roughly, teeth grazing, tongue sliding, marking you in every way he could. “Look at me when you come… I want to see it. I want to hear it.”

Your body shuddered as the coil in your stomach tightened, the sensations building into something unbearable. He leaned even closer, voice low, harsh, filthy.

“You’re mine,” he growled, each thrust deeper than the last. “All mine. I’ve wanted this for so long. Take it—take me like you’ve always wanted.”

“I… I want… you,” you moaned, voice trembling as he slammed into you, his hips punishingly hard, dragging groans from deep in your chest. “Please… don’t stop.”

He smirked against your lips, thrusting one last time before slowing slightly, letting you feel every inch of him as he whispered, rough and dirty, “You’re driving me insane… so wet, so ready. God, I’m going to make you scream my name.”

Your thighs shook around him, every nerve screaming, and he leaned down, teeth grazing your shoulder, lips sucking, marking, whispering filthy promises. His hands gripped you like he couldn’t let you go, and each controlled, punishing thrust pushed you closer to that edge you couldn’t resist.

His hands gripped your hips and then, with a controlled push, he flipped you over, pressing you against the bed and positioning himself behind you. The moment he nudged inside, your body jolted at the stretch, the fullness, the relentless thrusting that followed.

“God, you’re so tight,” he growled, slapping your ass hard, making you gasp and see stars. “You feel so good. So fucking good, and all mine.”

You couldn’t stop the moan that tore from your throat, louder than anything you’d ever uttered, and it only seemed to fuel him. His hands roamed over your body, one palm gripping your waist, the other slapping, kneading, marking.

“Take it,” he hissed, voice low and commanding. “Take all of me. Don’t hold anything back.”

“Yes… Aaron,” you gasped, arching into him, desperate for more. Every thrust sent fire through your body, the bed squeaking beneath your movements, your nails digging into the sheets.

He drove into you harder, faster, each stroke deep and punishing. “So wet… so fucking tight. You’ve wanted this too long. You’ve wanted me like this,” he growled, his voice rough, every word dragging a shiver down your spine.

“I… I’ve wanted you… forever,” you moaned, unable to stop the words from spilling out. “Please… don’t stop.”

He smirked, gripping your waist, fingers pressing into the sensitive flesh of your ass. “Oh, I’m not stopping,” he muttered, each thrust grinding into you deep enough to make your toes curl. “I’m going to make you come all over me. Every inch of you belongs to me right now.”

You trembled, your body teetering on the edge, every nerve screaming for release. The force of him, the roughness, the filthy heat of his words, the way he controlled and dominated—it pushed you closer than you’d ever been.

“You’re going to feel me fill you,” he said, voice dropping lower, filthy, dark. “Feel me breeding you, taking everything you’ve been holding back. You feel that? You’re mine, and I’m not letting go.”

“Yes…” you whimpered, your walls tightening around him, hips pushing back to meet every punishing stroke. “Yes, Aaron… I’m yours… please—”

“Good girl,” he hissed, slapping your ass again. “You take me so well. God, look at you, moaning my name, taking all of me. You’re going to come with me.”

The sensation built faster, every thrust driving you higher, the intensity of him behind you, his hands gripping you with ownership, slapping and marking, while his words kept you grounded in the filth of the moment.

“I’m so close… Aaron—please,” you gasped, voice trembling, body shaking as the heat in your core coiled tighter and tighter.

“You feel that?” he growled, teeth grazing your neck, whispering filthy promises. “That’s me filling you… mine. Come with me. Come with me now.”

And then the world shattered.

Your walls clamped down, a shudder ripping through you, pulling him with you as your climax hit—hard, relentless, a tide of heat and trembling that left you breathless and trembling. He groaned deep in your ear, chest raking against yours, his own release following seconds after, thrusts deep, hard, breeding into you as he let out a guttural roar of need and dominance.

The two of you shuddered together, bodies entwined, sweaty, gasping, the bed shaking beneath the force of your shared climax. His hands stayed on your hips, chest pressed to your back, voice low and rough as he murmured, “You’re mine… all mine. God, you feel so fucking good.”

The room was silent except for your ragged breaths and the wet, heavy proof of everything that had just happened. Even after the release, his hands didn’t leave you—anchoring, claiming, Dom and protective in that way only Aaron Hotchner could be.

The heat of him inside you had barely faded when he pulled out, leaving you both trembling and slick, your bodies humming from the intensity. Instead of moving away, he immediately shifted, curling around you, pressing your back into his chest.

“Shh…” he murmured, one arm slung possessively across your waist, the other brushing your hair back from your face. His lips pressed to your forehead, soft, deliberate, grounding. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

You melted into him, the tension leaving your body in waves as his chest rose and fell against yours. You could feel his heartbeat under your cheek, steady and strong, the solid anchor you’d always known him to be.

“You’re… so gentle,” you whispered, breath still uneven. “After… that.”

His lips curved in a faint smile against your temple. “Gentle where it counts,” he murmured, voice low, warm. “I need to make sure you’re okay. That’s… important.”

You tilted your head back to meet his gaze. Even with his Dom, commanding side earlier, there was this… tenderness now. This care. It made your chest tighten in a different way than desire had. “Aaron… shouldn’t we… feel guilty?” you asked, voice small.

He pressed another kiss to your temple before letting it linger on your forehead. “We’re… married,” he said quietly, and there was a pause, a sigh that rumbled in his chest. “We should. But right now… I’m only worried about you. About how you feel. About making sure you’re safe. That you’re… okay.”

You nuzzled into his chest, inhaling the scent of him—the familiar, grounding cologne that had always reminded you of long office nights, mentoring sessions, late coffee-fueled talks—and shook your head. “I don’t feel guilty,” you admitted, the confession soft, almost ashamed. “Not even a little.”

He hummed, pressing his forehead to the back of yours. “I don’t either,” he admitted. “I… I wanted this too long. And I can’t pretend otherwise.”

Your hand found his, fingers intertwining with his as you rested against him. His hand on your hip flexed lightly, thumb brushing over your skin in absent-minded reassurance. “You’re mine,” he murmured, voice low, controlled, but still warm. “Even now, after… everything.”

“I’m yours,” you whispered back, breath shaky, heart pounding. “Even though we… shouldn’t be.”

He tightened his arm around you, holding you like you were fragile glass, like he could keep you from breaking apart if he just held you long enough. “Then we’ll just… enjoy this moment,” he murmured, voice almost reverent. “Because… right now, nothing else matters. Not the world outside, not the rules… just us.”

The room was quiet except for your breathing, the rhythm of his heartbeat, and the faint hum of the city beyond the windows. Your hands roamed over his chest, feeling the firmness, the tension still lingering in his muscles, evidence of the rough heat moments ago.

“You’re incredible,” he whispered, voice thick, his lips brushing along your temple again. “God… you’re amazing.”

You let yourself smile against him, feeling safe, cherished, and completely consumed at once. “You too,” you murmured. “You’re… everything.”

He kissed the top of your head, soft, grounding, and for the first time since the night began, there was nothing filthy, nothing commanding. Only warmth, care, and the shared understanding of everything you’d just done—and everything you both still felt.

“You’re okay,” he repeated, as if saying it would make it real. “And I’ll keep you okay. Always.”

And in that moment, lying tangled in his arms, both of you still caught in the aftermath of lust, desire, and secret longing, there was no guilt. Only the quiet, undeniable truth that sometimes what was forbidden could feel… exactly like home.

Jungkook takes a deep breath, then presses in the code Siri gave him—the same one she uses for everything, since she never really hides anything. Not from him, at least (except her painful past about Phoenix).

The door unlocks and as soon as Jungkook closes the door, there Siri is, running towards him.

"Woah!" He's stunned and stumbles back a little when she throws herself at him. She jumps up where her arms wrap around his neck, legs around his waist, and her lips crash into his.

Jungkook catches her, making the bag drop from his hand, causing the snacks to hit the floor. His hands grip her ass and her back, pulling her tighter against him as the kiss deepens. Her mouth is desperate as if it isn't just horniness doing this, it's something else. Something deeper.

Jungkook pulls back just enough to catch his breath. "Damn," he chuckles, eyes so soft and warm on her, "that was a great surprise. You must've really missed me, huh?"

I did, she thinks, but she doesn't say anything. She just gives that teasing smile she always does before her nose brushes against his and she kisses him again, softer this time. Sweeter. She holds onto him like she's holding onto that silly little bit of hope. She kisses him, giving him everything she has and all the love she's too afraid to admit she has for him.

She doesn't ask if Jimin spoke to him. Doesn't ask if he'll stay after. She doesn't say anything at all. She just holds Jungkook and kisses him. 

And just like that, everything Jungkook planned to say vanishes. Every word, every intention. Gone.

He's not ready to say the words that will ruin this. He thinks having Siri one more time is what he needs, so he kisses her back with everything he has too. To him, it feels like her mouth and her arms are the only places his heart feels steady and safe, and her body in his arms feels like home, even though it shouldn't.

He carries her to her bedroom, knowing the place like the back of his hand. He places her softly in the middle of her bed like she's his treasured little secret—which she is.

They slip each other's clothes off, piece by piece, with minimal breaks between their kisses. When they're finally naked, Jungkook hovers over Siri's frame where he settles between her legs, all while he places warm open mouthed kisses down her neck and across her chest. 

He wants to taste all parts of her, worship her with his mouth since this will be the last time. 

Siri can feel his hard cock pressed against her core, and so she wraps her legs around his ass, digging her heels into the back of his thighs to pull him closer.

"Want you, Jungkook," she murmurs, brushing his hair back from his face. "Please."

It was almost like she was begging for him—for all of him. Jungkook could see it in her blue eyes and feel it in her tender touch how much she wants him, and god, it broke his heart a little 'cause if he could give his whole self to her, he would. 

He knew, in that moment, that whatever Jimin tried to tell him about Siri wanting just sex and the thrill, it was wrong. 

"You have me, baby," he tells her. You have me for tonight... For the last time...

He guides his cock to her entrance, sliding the tip up and down between her folds before he slowly pushes inside her, all while keeping his gaze locked on her. When he's all the way in with no more room to go, Siri lets out a soft whimper.

"Fuck," Jungkook breathes out while his eyes shut, overwhelmed by the feeling of being sheathed by her walls. She was all warm, tight, wet, and perfect in every way that makes letting her go feel impossible.

He rests his forearms on either side of Siri's head, caging her in as if he can somehow shield her from what's to come; their end.

He starts to move, slow and gentle at first as he wants her to feel everything. Every veiny inch of him. Every achy stretch of her walls. And he wants to feel her too, all her velvety ridges and the way she clenches around him when he hits the deepest part of her.

His hips roll in a way like he's doing body rolls on her, and every time his cock pulls out, he goes back into her a little harder. Each time, Siri lets out a sound that Jungkook loves to hear.

They kiss each other between moans and gasps, they nibble one another's lips occasionally, and their tongues entwine. Jungkook's thrusts become stronger and more intense, filled with a purpose like he wants Siri to feel him for days after he's gone.

"Shit," she rasps out while shutting her eyes from the intensity as she could feel that knot in her core growing. "Fuck—Kook..."

He grunts, moving a little deeper. A little faster. A little rougher. "I know, baby. You're taking me so good," he murmurs, kissing her jaw, her cheek, her forehead. "My favourite girl, you are."

Favourite girl? More flutters of hope come in, sending butterflies into Siri's stomach. Maybe Jimin didn't get to him... Maybe we can still keep this going... 

She wraps her arms around Jungkook's back, rocking her hips up to meet every roll of his. She grinds against him, needing that friction on her clit. Needing the feel of his body pressed to hers 'cause she loves his warmth. Loves it when there's hardly any space between their bodies. They can't get much closer than this really and that's how she wants it. 

She gets wetter, clenching around him tighter, and it makes Jungkook moan in pleasure. "Shit, your pussy's hugging my cock so good. So fuckin' perfect for me. Don't ever wanna leave."

"Then don't."

Jungkook stops thrusting as he stares at her, searching for the meaning behind her words. It’s all there in her eyes though, and it’s there in her parted lips looking like she wants to say more but doesn’t. It’s also in her hands as they move from his back to cradle his jaw so gently.

It was such an easy reply. Just two simple words that slipped right off Siri's tongue, but they carried everything she's too scared to say aloud.

Stay. Choose me. I love you. I'm scared, but can you love me too? Please don't abandon me...

Jungkook's heart is in his throat and guilt aches it's way into his soul when he sees the look in her eyes. He didn't need to hear her say anything else when her expression said everything. 

Siri's offering him her heart and it fucking destroys Jungkook because he knows he can't keep it. He's already made the choice to end things; to try and fix his marriage, to be the father Mingyu deserves, and be the husband Sohee is missing. No matter how much Jungkook wants to stay with Siri, he can't. Not without losing everything else.

That's when Siri sees it.

His doe eyes are soft, loving, even. But they're also undeniably sad. 

Somehow, Siri's always been able to read Jungkook and understand him. And she realises now, ever since he walked in her door, he's just been delaying the inevitable. 

She sees his pretty doe eyes go watery, telling her, I'm sorry. I wish I could stay. Wish I could love you. I wish things were different.

And just like that, her hope dies once again.

Her throat tightens, and her chest starts to ache. It feels like her heart's caving in on itself, and she has to close her eyes tight to stop the tears from coming. 

So this is it... This is the last time. This is goodbye...

Siri should've known better—well, she did know better. It's just that for the first time in seven years, she wanted to let herself believe in love and hope again. But as usual, hope brings nothing but disappointment and heartbreak for her.

Siri keeps her eyes closed while she forces her lips to curl into a smile, just enough to show Jungkook she understands. That it's okay. That she won't make this harder for him than it already is.

He sees the way she's pretending it doesn't hurt, and sees the way she's trying to protect him from her heartbreak, and it kills him inside.

Jungkook presses his forehead to hers, closing his eyes as he exhales a shaky breath against her lips.

Neither of them say anything as they both try to not let any tears through. They just hold onto each other, bodies still joined while their hearts ache. 

Siri then leans in and kisses Jungkook to take the pain away. He kisses back to deepen their kiss, slowly rocking hips against her again because he understands her, too. Both just want to forget about the ache. 

She tangles her hands through his hair, and her legs stay wrapped around his waist, keeping him close, keeping him hers—for now.

While Jungkook's length strokes her walls, Siri's lips brush against his jaw where she presses little kisses to his cheek, his temple, under his ear, and his neck—all the spots she knows that makes his heart flutter and his dick throb. She's so soft and affectionate about it all, her actions clearly tell Jungkook she loves him.

He hates that he can't do anything about her feelings except to try and ignore them and pretend they don't exist.

But then, Siri doesn't want it to be slow anymore. She doesn't want tender. It's too kind and too close to goodbye. It's too much for her already damaged and broken heart. 

"Harder, Kookie," she husks against his ear. "Fuck me harder. Make my pussy ache and only remember you."

Jungkook moans at her words. Not only was it hot, but he understood what she was trying to say. It was a plea; make this unforgettable for me coz I know you won't be back.

He stills inside her where he can feel her heart pounding so hard against his chest. It makes him already yearn for her even though she's right here with him. 

But she won't be soon...

With a heavy heart, Jungkook presses his lips to Siri's temple, giving her a soft kiss before he whispers, "Turn around for me, baby." 

He pulls out gently, allowing Siri to flip over and get on all fours. She arches her back and sticks her ass out for him, and Jungkook couldn't help but bite his bottom lip while he strokes his cock at the sight of her. 

He caresses her ass before he glides his hand down her spine, causing goosebumps to appear on her skin. He leans in, placing soft kisses on her ass cheeks before he reaches her wet pussy. His tongue dives into her hole, needing to taste her one last time.

Siri squirms from Jungkook's tongue fucking her, licking her as deep as he can go. She then feels his fingers reaching around her waist to rub her clit. He vibrates his digits in the way he knows she likes it, and it makes her mewl into her pillow while she grips her bed sheets. 

Then suddenly, the loss of his tongue makes Siri whine. "Kooook, I was close to getting there."

"I know, baby, but I want you to cum on my cock."

He doesn't give her the chance to whine more or say anything else. One hand grips her hips while the other aligns his cock to her pussy where he shoves himself inside her, deep and hard, just like she asked. 

Siri gasps as her body jolts forward, and Jungkook groans at the feeling of her walls wrapped around him again.

"Goddayum, you feel like heaven."

He watches himself pull out just enough so his tip stays in, then he slams back into her, making her yelp. He repeats this action slowly, wanting to ensure there's a loud, satisfying smack every time his hips meet her ass, and he wants to see his cock glisten with her creamy slick. 

And then he gets faster. Rougher. He spanks her ass hard, making her moan out, and then he squeezes both her cheeks in his hands, watching the red handprints bloom across her skin.

"God, your ass looks so fuckin' good," he huffs, breath ragged. "Love this tight pussy... love the way you take me."

The pleasurable stinging feeling of Jungkook's cock hitting her deeply makes Siri forget about the ache in her chest for the time being. 

But then he suddenly slows and leans over her back. One arm wraps tight around her torso as he pulls her up, bringing her body flush against his so her back is against his chest. Their bodies align perfectly, skin pressed to skin, chest to chest, and heart to heart once again.

"Look," Jungkook murmurs against her ear. "Look in your mirror, baby."

Siri furrows her brows in slight confusion, and turns her head to the side where she sees her mirror opposite the bed.

"Watch us," Jungkook whispers, his voice hoarse from the sex. "Remember this." Remember us.

Siri's breath hitches as she watches their bodies move in the reflection. Not only were they both totally sexy together, but she sees the way his tattooed arm is locked tightly around her torso, keeping her close, like he doesn't want to let her go.

She sees his other hand is on her left breast, fondling and massaging it within his grasp, while his hot mouth is on her shoulder, placing tender kisses on her skin. 

She sees the strain in his muscly thighs underneath hers, spread slightly to keep her legs open for him, holding her steady so he can fuck into her at just the right angle. Every thrust rocks her forward slightly and her body automatically goes back against him again where her ass ripples each time their skin meets with a loud clap. 

And then Siri notices something else.

The way Jungkook's holding her... it doesn't look like dominance and it doesn't look like possession. It looks like protection.

His strong arms are wrapped around her like a shield, his broad chest flush against her back, his solid frame envelopes hers as if his body is trying to keep the pain away. 

In the reflection, she doesn't just see a man fucking her. She sees the man who makes her feel safe in the world, even if he's about to leave it.

Siri lets out a shaky breath as she watches them move. She makes her right hand reach back to tangle her fingers in Jungkook's hair, keeping his face close to hers, while her left hand goes over his hand that's on her breast, moving it so it's on her heart.

Feel my heart. Feel me.  Feel the way you make me feel.

And then, she pulls Jungkook's left hand to her lips where she kisses the inside of his wrist, her action practically telling him; I love you, before she places it back on her breast (and heart) again.

Jungkook's heart skips and aches at the same time. His arms tighten around her as he lets out a whimper—a whimper he tries to hide by pressing his face into the crook of Siri's neck. He can't let her see his eyes, not right now. Not when they're burning and prickling with tears again.

But Siri sees enough.

Her eyes go glossy too, but she doesn't look away. Even though her heart is breaking, this is the final time, and this is hers. This is their moment, and she wants to remember them exactly like this.

Jungkook’s eyes are still squeezed shut against Siri’s neck, breathing her in, trying to memorise the way she smells, the way her body fits in his arms, and the way she holds his hand against her heart as if he holds it.

He's never felt such intimacy like this and it breaks him. God, he thinks bitterly, how fucking cruel is the universe?

Cruel for making someone like her exist. Cruel for bringing her into his life when he already promised himself to someone else. Cruel for giving him everything he never knew he wanted in someone he can't keep.

Suddenly, Jungkook shifts from being sweet and tender to something a little more rougher again. Just like Siri needed it harder to take the pain away, Jungkook also needs that too. 

His arm tightens around her as his hips start to move faster, pounding into her from behind while still holding her against his chest. His left hand slides down her stomach until his fingers find her clit. He rubs fast circles on her nub, going at the same rhythm as his hips. 

He hears her moan and mewl loudly into her apartment and it makes him want more. 

"Come on, baby," he breathes raggedly against her ear. "Wanna feel you cum for me. Let me have it. Give it all to me."

Siri's body starts to tremble as her walls clench tightly around his cock, making Jungkook hiss through his teeth. 

"Fuck, just like that," he groans. 

With his fingers vibrating harshly on her clit, that aching heat in Siri's core becomes too much and her orgasm hits. She cries out as her thighs shake and her pussy contracts around him. 

The way her walls pulse around his cock makes Jungkook's head spin and he can't hold back anymore. With a guttural growl, he leans back slightly, grabs her waist with both hands, and hammers into her over and over, each thrust rougher, deeper, angrier.

He's angry at himself. Angry at the timing of meeting Siri. And angry that he has to walk away from the only place he's ever truly felt at home.

His cock throbs inside her, hitting that sweet spot where he hears Siri's moan again, but louder and higher this time. 

"Fuck, Kook!" she gasps, her voice cracking as another orgasm makes its way from the intensity of his pounding. 

He's slamming his cock harshly against her wet pussy, creating sounds of thunderous sex, and Siri has to hold both her bouncing breasts in place. She quickly side-eyes her mirror, seeing that sexy determined look on Jungkook's face, seeing how his toned body fits with hers perfectly. Fuck, they looked good. Too good. Too sexy. 

If only this could last forever.

With a few rough thrusts more, they're both cumming together. His body jerks as he spills deep inside her, painting her walls white with his strings of hot cum, while her walls contract around him once again.

Jungkook's fingers dig into Siri's hips as he rides out their highs, and slowly, a lump forms in his throat as he empties the last of himself inside the only woman he's ever truly lost himself in.

When it's done, they both collapse forward onto the bed, all puffed out. Siri's cheek and chest rests against the sheets while Jungkook's chest presses against her back. Both of them are sticky with sweat but they didn't care. 

After some time, with a soft exhale, Jungkook gently rolls off her. Siri stays still, her body too tired to move. They lay there in silence for a long moment, side by side, too close for two people who are no longer allowed to belong to each other.

Then suddenly, Jungkook sits up, swinging his legs over the bed. Siri's heart races with worry as she watches him reach for his Calvin Klein underwear on the floor and pulls them on.

Dread creeps up her throat as she asks, "You leaving already?"

Jungkook glances over his shoulder and gives a soft shake of his head. "No. Just... hang on," he murmurs.

He disappears into the hallway, and Siri closes her eyes, trying not to overthink. Trying to not panic. She tells herself she won't cry—not yet, anyway.

A minute later, Jungkook returns holding a warm damp washcloth in his hand. He climbs back onto the bed and nudges her to roll over and to part her legs.

The cloth is soft and warm against her skin. Soothing, even. Jungkook moves carefully, wiping around her inner thighs, then between them. He's tender and delicate as if he's afraid of hurting her. As if this act of care is the only way he knows how to say I'm sorry.

It makes Siri's chest ache, but it also makes her smile.

She looks at him and the way his brows knit slightly in concentration, the way his tattooed arm tenses as he cleans her up, and the way he's still so gentle even after all the roughness.

"You always do this," she says softly. "Take care of me before we have a smoke to chill with afterwards."

Jungkook glances up, and the corner of his lips curve too. They share a quiet smile together, but then their smiles falter and drop when they both realise this is it. This was the last time.

Silence takes over for a moment, until Siri decides to break it. Even though she knows the answer, even though her heart is already broken in her chest, she still needs to hear it.

"This is it, isn't it?" she asks quietly. "We're done?"

Jungkook swallows thickly, his gaze falling to the cloth in his hand as he continues to wipe the mess from Siri's thighs. He gives a small hesitant nod. "It has to be," he says, his voice hoarse from the lump in his throat.

Another moment of silence before she asks, "Jimin talk to you?"

Jungkook nods again. "Yeah."

Siri closes her eyes, letting the ache take root properly now that it's real.

"Well..." she sighs in defeat, letting out a sad chuckle. "It was fun while it lasted."

Jungkook freezes for half a second on her thigh, but before he can say anything, Siri gives him a small smile. 

"Not bad for a mechanic," she says playfully, nudging his thigh with hers. "You really outdid yourself, Kookie. Might be hard to top that."

Of course Siri's trying to put on that unbothered mask she's learnt to use to protect herself. She needs it right now because she doesn't want to break in front of Jungkook. 

He lets out a similar sad chuckle, playing along with her facade because he doesn't want to fall apart either.

"Yeah? That your way of saying I was unforgettable?" he gives a smirk and it makes Siri genuinely smile. 

She shrugs, pretending to play it cool by rolling her eyes. "Maaaybe. But don't go getting a big head now. No one likes a cocky asshole."

Jungkook chuckles under his breath, eyes crinkling just slightly. "I won't. Promise."

They share a soft smile again where it lingers between them. It's like it was their last attempt to hold on to something light. 

But then their smiles begin to fade once again and silence creeps back in, but it was heavier this time. 

That was until a small thud on the mattress interrupts the tension, followed by the bouncing of four little paws. 

Smokey, the grey kitty-cat, hops up onto the bed as if he knew it was the right time to come. He lets out a single chirpy meow as he plops himself near the two humans, nosing Jungkook's arm for attention.

Jungkook lets out a real laugh this time. "There he is." His expression softens instantly as he reaches to give Smokey his well earned cuddles. 

He scratches behind the cat's ears and leans in slightly, his voice going into a playful, affectionate tone. "You always wait till we're done, huh?" Jungkook coos. "Such a good boy. Always so respectful of us."

Siri laughs lightly, even with an ache in her chest. "Honestly, I still don't know how he knows. It's kinda creepy."

Jungkook snorts. "He knows everything. Don'tcha little guy?"

The cat purrs, settling comfortably between them. In that moment, everything feels soft again. The humans both smile as they look at Smokey and at each other, but it's a smile that's trying to cover their aching hearts and shared sadness. It's their one last gentle thing before the goodbye comes.

Then, awkwardly, Siri looks away first.

Her fingers stroke her cat’s fur as she stares at the ceiling, blinking up at it repeatedly to stop any tears as she tries to find the strength and courage to say what needs to be said.

"You should probably go," she says softly.

Jungkook doesn’t argue since he does have to go. He just nods, but he doesn’t move right away. Instead, he takes some time to scan Siri's face; memorising her cute button nose, her sparkly blue eyes, her plump, luscious lips—every detail of her since he won't see her again. 

He leans forward one more time to pat Smokey gently between the ears. "Be good to your mummy," he murmurs.

Siri's heart flutters at that whilst tears brim her eyes, but she tries to keep herself together. 

With a deep breath, Jungkook slides off the bed, picking up his clothes from the floor and putting them on. Siri lets Smokey go so she can do the same. And then... she follows Jungkook to her door.

"Oh, uh..." he starts to say, reaching for the bag of chips and cat treats on the floor near the front door. "I got these for you and Smokey."

Siri takes the bag gently from him, smiling with thanks. “You know the way to a woman’s heart, don’tcha mechanic?” She wasn’t just copying what Jungkook said to her a couple weeks ago when she brought him banana milk to his work, she’s also pretending to be teasing, but there’s some hidden truth to her words. Because Jungkook does know the way to her heart somehow. 

He just smiles sadly in return and turns to open the door. Then, the two stand just there, staring at each other. Looking at each other with their eyes saying, I wish this wasn't the end. 

Automatically, like two magnets, they couldn't help but lean in at the same time for one last kiss.  

He holds her waist tightly while she reaches for his face, holding him there. Their mouths press together deeply, tongues entwining, tasting and holding onto the last spark of something beautiful before the dark takes it all.

When they finally part, all breathless, Siri gazes up at Jungkook, looking into his soft chocolaty doe eyes. "I hope you'll be happy," she says quietly and sincerely.

Jungkook swallows thickly. His heart aches so hard he wants to cry. The last thing he wants to do is let her go, but he has to.

He cups her face one last time and places a kiss on her forehead. "You too," he says. "You deserve to be happy, too."

Then, Jungkook turns and walks out without looking back. He's afraid if he does, he might not leave her. 

The door closes behind him with a soft click and Siri lets out a breath she didn't realise she had been holding. Her breathing is heavy as she stands there for a moment, staring at the door, willing herself not to fall apart.

Don't cry. You knew things had to be this way. 

She swallows the lump in her throat as she turns and walks to the kitchen. She drops the bag of snacks on the counter then grabs her purse. With shaky hands, she fishes out her cigarettes and a lighter.

Lighting one, she walks over to the window where she pulls it open, just enough to let the smoke drift out, then she sits down on the small bench beside it. She looks out at the night sky and the city lights, feeling the sadness that fills her apartment. 

Her eyes sting as tears start to prickle behind them. She exhales smoke towards the window, feeling like she's grieving again. 

She knew this wasn't forever. She knew things were doomed from the start. Because she's not the wife. Not the mother of his child. And... she's not the one who has his heart 'cause if she was, he would've stayed. 

Siri takes another drag and exhales again to try calm her aching heart. She blinks hard while her eyes feel like they're burning—but still, no tears yet.

But then, a soft meow breaks the silence.

Siri glances down to see Smokey hopping up onto the window bench beside her. He stares at her with those big, concerned eyes only animals can give. Eyes that say 'I know something's wrong,' even if he can't understand what.

Siri stubs out the cigarette against her window and flicks it outside before she lifts the grey cat onto her lap. He immediately nuzzles into her chest, curling against her with another meow before he purrs.

Just from that, Siri bawls. Tears slip down her cheeks as she holds him tight, burying her face in his fur. Her shoulders shake as her body curls around the little grey cat, desperate to hold onto something that won’t leave her.

"He's gone, baby," she mumbles through the tears. "Daddy's not coming back..." Her voice cracks.

"He has another family to love and look after. A real one. With a wife. A son. His true home..." She swallows the lump in her throat, trying to keep the sob within her from escaping. 

"And I—no, we—are not part of that. We never were... But we'll be okay, right?" she says with a weak, broken smile towards her furry friend. "We've got each other, right baby? And Yoongi too."

Smokey doesn't understand, but he stays in her arms and meows as if he does.

Siri closes her eyes as more tears slip out, soaking into Smokey's fur. She lets out a shaky breath, rocking her little furry king as she clutches him tighter.

It's okay. We'll be okay. 

Jungkook had to leave, and I had to let him go. 

After all... if you love something, you let it go, right?

Sir Henry Muck shows up already undone.

Not drunk — just exhausted in that particular way that makes him reckless. Jacket still on, hair a mess, eyes dark and unfocused like he’s been carrying something heavy all evening and finally decided to drop it at your feet. You don’t ask questions. You never do. You just step closer, hands lifting instinctively to smooth his hair back, and the sound he makes — low, involuntary — tells you everything you need to know. Henry was your boss and you were one of the employees but you were a special one as he has always been weak to your kindness. To being touched without expectation. His body leans into yours before his mind can catch up, breath warming your skin, want threading itself through relief in a way that feels dangerous and familiar all at once.

He exhales against you like the room is finally quiet.

“I’ve spent the entire evening smiling at people who don’t even like me,” Henry mutters, voice muffled when you draw him closer. “Private equity firms pretending they’re long-term thinkers. Shareholders demanding patience while sharpening knives behind my back.”

His hands slide to your waist without asking — familiar, entitled, tired.

“They want certainty,” he scoffs. “Returns. Predictability. As if any of that exists.”

You feel him tense when your fingers brush through his hair, the way they always do. That softness — it ruins him faster than any drink ever could.

“Do you know what my wife talked about tonight?” he continues, bitter amusement curling his mouth. “Optics. Appearances. Who was photographed with whom. She treats our marriage like a fucking merger. Sometimes I really wonder who the fuck did I marry? Not exactly complaining... We're sexually active”

A pause. Then, quieter — dangerous.

“No due diligence. No exit clause.”

You came closer as he sat on your bed and you stood in front of him. His forehead rested against the curve of your breasts, like he’s ashamed of how close he already is.

"It's alright Henry.. you can share anything with me.. I'm right here.. " you assured him.. running your fingers through his hair as he exhales against your warm breasts.

“I sit in boardrooms all day selling conviction,” he says. “Telling investors I believe in the long game. And then I come here and realise I don’t even believe in my own marriage.”

His thumb presses absent-mindedly at your hip, grounding himself.

“With you,” Henry admits, voice dropping, “there’s no strategy. No pitch deck. I don’t have to perform competence.”

He lifts his head then, eyes searching your face — greedy, conflicted, honest in a way he never is anywhere else.

“I want you,” he says plainly. No flourish. No apology. “Not in a this makes sense way. In a this will absolutely destroy my reputation way. As if my reputation isn't already fucked”

A bitter laugh.

“Which, frankly, is the most truthful thing I’ve felt all week.”

"Then take me.. I'm all yours.. take what is yours" you breathed pressing yourself against him..

"My needy little whore" teased Henry.. he knew you wouldn't mind.

His hand tightens, betraying him.

“I regret marrying Yasmin,” Henry adds, shameless now. “And I don’t regret sitting here with you. That should tell me something. Or maybe it already has.”

He leans in again — not kissing yet, just close enough that his breath ghosts your skin.

“Tell me to leave,” he murmurs.

“Or don’t. I’m catastrophically bad at walking away from bad investments.”

Midnight always found him unraveling.

Henry talked the way men did when the markets were closed and no one was recording—about shareholders who wanted blood, private equity firms circling like vultures, boards that smiled while sharpening knives. He spoke while pouring some wine in his glass and his jacket discarded somewhere on your floor, voice low, bitter, indulgent.

“Marriage,” he scoffed softly, thumb tracing the rim of the glass, “was meant to be a stabilizing asset. Turns out it’s the most illiquid thing I own. She manipulates me.. she doesn't exactly care about me”

And then he looked at you—really looked—like this was the only place he ever came to rest.

"Does your wife Yasmin know that you're here.. with me?" You asked him while still caressing him head on your chest..

"Fucks sake babe.. we're in.. we're in a pretty open relationship you know that and I don't think she cares about me that much to be bothered by who I'm fucking.. she knew who I am.. it's always an abuse of power when it comes to me in a relationship" henry scoffs.

You cupped his bearded cheeks and kissed him.. "You know I love you right....?"

"Yeah I know.. that makes you either stupid or reckless.. I don't know if I love you.. perhaps I'm too selfish.. fuck.. but I do want you.. I do want to fuck you so hard.. I do want to suckle on your tits and eat your wet pussy like it's my last meal that's what I know.." said Henry with a perverted smirk on his face which made you shiver a bit but you held him against your chest anyway.

"Do you fuck all your employees like this? Is it all the same with me or is it something different?" You asked..

"Nah.. not exactly.. because you really do love me.. silly little thing aren't you..? teased Henry.

"Fuck why you're still clothed? You know the beast in me who needs you completely naked" said Henry completely stripped off restraint..

"You first" you teased back..

Henry immediately started unbuttoning his shirt and you brushed your hands on his gorgeous abs...

Then you unzipped his trousers and took them off.. then his underwear.. Henry stood completely naked, unapologetic.

"Quite enjoying the sight aren't you love?" asked Henry.. not exactly mocking but in a playful tone..

Then Henry's reached the hem of your t-shirt as he pulled it off you.. then your trousers leaving you only in your bra and pants..

"Do you want me to tear them off you?" said Henry with a sinister smile on his face.

You nodded then kissed him...

Henry unclasped your bra.. and inhaled the scent of your bra wiping his face on it.. then he took your pant off.. and kissed it..

"mmm I needed this more than I need oxygen" he teased.

He lifted you up and placed you on the bed and hovered over you..

He pressed his lips against yours.. then his hands cupped your breasts.. lightly squeezing them.. his thumbs circled around both of your nipples.. they were already hardened..

"I need you Henry.. I want you" you moaned beneath him..

Henry was hard down there.. you could feel his bulge against your core.. you touched his hard cock..

"See what you've done to me... I need you so bad.. I need to be inside you.. I would rather die while I'm inside you" he whimpered

"No!! I will never let you die... Not while I'm alive" you protested.. and that turned him on even more.

He leaned his head on your breasts and buried his whole face on them.. breathing in you.. and then he latched his mouth on your left nipple..

He suckled hard on your breast.. as hungrily as a newborn baby.. then he shifted to the right one.. suckling on the right nipple with the same intensity.. as hungrily as he suckled on the left one.. your hands roamed all over his back fervently.. he was sweating.. and you loved it even more because of the sweat...

Henry's hand went between your legs.. reaching to your wet pussy..

"God you're dripping for me" said Henry.. moaning.. his thumb rubbed your wet core..

"I want you inside me" you almost begged..

Henry teased you by grazing his teeth on your neck then on your breasts which was clearly his most favourite spot.. and then he left trails of wet kisses on your breasts.. then your torso.. then around your navel.. then he went downwards... Until his mouth touched your core.. your felt his soft full lips right on your wet core.. you moaned in his touch.. Henry smirked at you between your thighs..

You spread your legs wider to give him the full access... His lips roamed over your inner thighs and then he kissed your wet cunt.. his tongue teasing your entrance.. Henry was incredibly good with his tongue.. he pushed it on your core just to generate the pressure to make you moan his name even louder..

Then he started eating you up there as if it was his last meal.. your fingers gently gripped the back of his head.. pushing his face even deeper into your core as he kept pleasuring your with his mouth.. his hands went upwards and he grabbed your breasts with both his hands squeezing them hard... You pulled him up on your breasts in a way his face got buried on right there again.. he craved that softness of your breasts more than anything..

"God I don't deserve you" he whimpered..

"I don't care about that.. I love you Henry.. I love you so much my chest aches for you.. and that's what matters to me" you said..

"Fuck.. I would be the death of you" said Henry..

"I wouldn't regret that" you replied..

"Now I want you inside me.. please Henry.. " you knew how pathetic you sounded but you didn't care anyway...

Henry didn't waste a second and thrusted inside you without any warning.. it made you gasp in pain and pleasure.. you grabbed Henry's broad shoulders as he inserted himself inside you.. it wasn't the first time he was inside you though but with Henry it always felt like the first time... He moved inside you fervently.. the last shred of self control left him completely..

"Fuck... I will do anything to fuck you like this and see that unwavering love you have for me in your eyes" he panted as he kept thrusting inside you making you grab the bedsheet..

His mouth kept suckling on your nipples and then kissing you alternatively..

"I love how you're so needy for me.. makes me want to spill inside your tight little pussy a thousand times" .. you know dirty talking was apparently Henry's love language..

"Ahhh go deeper.. ahhh just like that.. ahh right there.." you moaned as Henry's cock was hitting your G-spot..

Henry pinned your hands against the bed and increased the pace of thrusting inside you..

"Open your mouth" said Henry..

You did as he said...

He spat in your mouth just to see your reaction..

You swallowed it.. henry smiled at you.. there was an entitlement in his smile..

"You really are down bad for me.. aren't you? God what would I be without you?" he said..

"Keep kissing me.. " you moaned

He kept kissing you.. putting his tongue inside your mouth..

"Fuck I'm so close... I want to come" he groaned.

"Then come.. come inside me Henry" you moaned while kissing his neck..

"You want me to spill it inside you? are you sure? You know the pullout game isn't quite my strong suit" said Henry breathing heavily..

"Yes I want you to come inside me.. I want to feel all of it inside me" you said firmly.. reassuring him..

And after few more thrusts Henry could not hold it anymore and he came inside you.. and he collapsed on your breasts.. burying his face on your sweat slicked breasts... Both of you were exhausted.. you embraced his head against your breasts with your both arms.. pulling him even closer..

"I love you ... I love you Henry.. I love you.." you kept saying that for uncountable times..

"You're the only good thing in my life you know that?" said Henry... kissing the curve of your breasts...

You kept patting his head.. and he rested his face on your left breast and closed his eyes leaving a long sigh..

"I don't know if I'm in a right headspace to say this to you.. but you really humanize me.. when the entire world sees me as a sin, a scandal.. you see the part of me that nobody has ever seen.. you really make me feel so.. so vulnerable"

You kissed his forehead ..

"You know whenever I feel this much vulnerable.. what exactly I need to stabilize myself? Will you do that for me? " you knew what exactly Henry meant..

"Are you asking me to..." before you could complete the sentence Henry interrupted..

"yeah I need you to relieve yourself on me"

You stared at Henry with so much concern in your eyes..

"now?" You asked..

"Yes.. now.. it's a good habit to take a piss after sex.. " he teased..

Your thighs were still sticky with his cum..

Henry guided you to the loo.. both of you were completely naked.. you saw the wedding ring on his finger.. he never took it off..

"Please.. do this for my sake.. I need this more than you'll ever realise" said Henry.. with a desperate tone..

You cupped his cheeks first and then kissed him.. you kept kissing him while you started urinating on his thighs.. that undid him completely.. he had such a satisfied unravelling expression on his face while you were peeing on him..

After you completed urinating you hugged him..

"You're the purest soul I know" said Henry..

"Let me clean you up" you said.. feeling a bit embarassed.. you always felt embarassed after peeing on him even though you knew how much he craved it..

You washed his thighs and wiped him with a towel..

Henry was never familiar to this sort of aftercare.. it stirred his feelings..

Then you guided him back to your bedroom..

He rested his head down on your breasts and you wrapped you arms around him..

"Nothing's ever felt better than resting my head on your chest like this" he said .. "it really makes me forget that I'm surrounded by sharks when I'm not around you"

You hugged him tightly against your breasts..

"I need you right here Henry.. this is where you belong.. right on my heart" you said with an earnestness in your voice...

And it was already 3am ...

"God.. time really slips like quicksand with you" he murmured..

"You need some sleep now henry.. you have work tomorrow.." you said..

"yeah yeah yeah practically I have to make those shareholders bend for me" said Henry with his usual obscene sarcasm.. but you never flinched... You loved him for it.. you loved him for who he is..

He rested his face on your breasts and you kept running your fingers through his hair.. and that made his muscles relax.. he pressed his face even deeper into your breasts..

And within few minutes he got drowsy and he eyes closed.. you could feel his eyelashes on your bare chest.. and then he fell asleep on you.. his hair was messy.. his mouth open on your breasts.. after a while you felt something wet on your skin.. Henry's mouth was open and he was unconsciously drooling on your chest in his sleep.. that didn't make to hesitate.. you loved everything about him and kept embracing his head against your breasts..

"Sleep well baby.. you'll shine tomorrow" you whispered.. kissing his temples..

Henry murmured something against your chest in his sleep.. that reassurance was enough for him to keep himself stable..

August 5th, 2025 — Seoul, South Korea

The apartment was too quiet for a Thursday night.

The ceiling fan spun in lazy half-circles, its soft creak almost rhythmic over the muted hum of the city bleeding through the windows. Out there, the world was alive—neon signs flickering, motorbikes cutting across intersections, couples walking arm-in-arm like it wasn’t unbearably humid. But inside? It felt like time had stopped somewhere between 8 and 9 PM. The sun had dipped behind the buildings hours ago, and yet I hadn’t moved from the spot on the couch. Just sat there, the back of my head pressed into the cushions, one leg kicked out lazily over the edge like I didn’t care how much space I was taking.

I didn’t.

The lights were off except for the kitchen, where a dim overhead flickered faintly, casting a soft amber glow onto the wooden floorboards. A takeout bag sat unopened on the table, condensation pooling beneath the drink that came with it. I couldn’t even remember what I ordered. It didn’t matter. My phone screen lay face-down on the coffee table, buzzing occasionally with messages I wasn’t going to read.

The TV played quietly in the background, some late-night rerun that felt like it belonged to a different life. A better one. Laugh tracks and sitcom music filling the room like cheap perfume, trying too hard to cover up something bitter underneath.

Every few minutes, I’d rub at my eyes. Not to wipe away tears, because those had already dried sometime earlier. Just trying to stay awake, like sleep might hurt worse than this numb, weightless feeling. Being cheated on doesn’t feel how movies make it out to be. It’s not always explosive. Sometimes, it’s just silence. Just long hours sitting in your own stale air, replaying moments over and over like you're trying to find where it cracked, even though it doesn’t matter anymore.

I hadn’t told anyone yet.

No one except the walls. And maybe the fan, if it was listening.

The clock on the microwave blinked 11:02. Time kept moving. But I hadn’t.

Not yet.

The longer I sat there, the heavier everything felt—not in some dramatic, cinematic way, but in that dull, suffocating way that crept into your bones and sat there like a weight. It wasn't even the act itself that hurt the most. It was what came after. The silence. The days that kept rolling forward like nothing had changed.

I kept thinking about how normal she looked when she said it. Like it was weather. Like she was commenting on the forecast.

I didn’t mean for it to happen. It just got complicated. I didn’t want to hurt you.

Bullshit. All of it. I’d heard lies before—little white ones, ones you laugh off, ones you forgive. But this wasn’t that. This was something darker. Something careful. Something chosen.

And it haunted me, how easy it was for her to go to bed at night with me on one side and someone else still on her breath. How she could look me in the face, ask me what I wanted for dinner, kiss me before leaving, and then disappear into someone else’s hands like it didn’t cost her anything.

I sat forward, elbows on my knees, rubbing my palms over my face again. It didn’t do anything. My skin was still hot. My eyes still stung. My thoughts didn’t slow down.

"Why do people cheat?" I muttered to no one. Just the room. Just the fan spinning slow circles like it might give me some wisdom if I kept watching it.

I stared at the floor, brows furrowed. My voice was low, but it cracked just slightly at the edge.

“Why don’t they just say it?” I said again, quieter. “If you’re done… if you’re not in it anymore… just say it. Why pretend?”

My chest tightened. My nails dug into my palms without realizing it.

“Why let someone wake up next to you every morning, look at you like you’re still theirs, make fucking coffee for you, when you know your heart's somewhere else?”

The TV kept playing in the background. Some laugh track. Someone said something funny. I didn’t hear the joke.

“It takes so much to trust someone,” I said. “And cheating—cheating’s like watching someone set that on fire and then smile at you through the smoke.”

I sat back again, throat dry.

“It’s like... something the devil does,” I murmured. “Smile in your face and lie through their teeth like it’s nothing.”

My hands dropped to my sides.

“I just wish she said something. Anything. Instead of living like I didn’t deserve the truth.”

There wasn’t an answer. Just the dim kitchen light. The blinking microwave clock. The fan.

And me. Still here. Still sitting in the middle of the wreckage, trying to remember what it felt like before it all came crashing down.

I stayed still for a long time.

The kind of still that makes your body ache—not from pain, but from not doing anything at all. My arms felt heavy. My back was sore from the couch, but I couldn’t bring myself to move. I just sat there, staring at the same patch of wall across the room, watching nothing, thinking everything.

My head kept circling back to that moment. The night I found out.

Not a scream. Not a dramatic reveal. Just a message. Someone else’s name on her phone. A conversation I wasn’t meant to see, full of little things that screamed everything.

She didn’t even cry.

I think that’s what stuck with me most. Not a single tear. Just a shrug. A soft sorry like she’d bumped into me in the hallway and not shattered something I didn’t know could break like this.

And it wasn’t just heartbreak. It was humiliation. All the nights I stayed up for her. The gifts. The arguments I let go of just to keep the peace. The way I’d talk about her like she was a reason to believe in something. And the whole time, she was already somewhere else—mentally, emotionally, probably physically too.

People say cheating isn’t black and white, but I don’t get that.

If you don’t want someone anymore, say it.

If you’re drifting, say it.

Don’t drag someone along for the ride just because it’s convenient. Don’t make them build a future in their head while you’re already busy tearing it down in secret.

I blinked slowly. My throat was starting to burn, but I didn’t cry. Not anymore. I was past that.

Now it just sat in my chest like smoke. Not enough to choke. Just enough to linger.

I ran my hand through my hair and sighed, leaning back until my head hit the couch again. Eyes closed. Breathing shallow.

I didn’t want to talk about it. I didn’t want to hear someone tell me she wasn’t worth it or you’ll find someone better. I didn’t want platitudes. I didn’t want pity.

I just wanted to stop feeling it.

And maybe, for a little while… not feel anything at all.

The quiet was starting to feel cruel.

There’s a certain kind of silence that comes after heartbreak—not peaceful, not still. Just empty. Like a hotel room after checkout. The smell of someone’s perfume still lingering on the sheets, but no trace of the person who wore it. That’s what this apartment felt like now. Like she’d lived in my mind for so long that even without her ever being here, she still haunted the walls.

I’d memorized the layout of this place months ago. It wasn’t big. A couple bedrooms, a bathroom we shared, a small kitchen with creaky drawers, a living room with cushions that never sat quite right. It wasn’t much, but it was home. And even now, with the fan humming and the soft flicker of TV glow brushing the corners of the ceiling, I felt disconnected from it. Like I was just squatting in someone else’s place. A visitor in my own life.

I thought about deleting our old photos. I’d opened the gallery more than once tonight, thumb hovering over her face, over the memories. Her smile at a café. The blurry ones we took in bed, laughing at how bad the lighting was. The ones where she clung to my side like she couldn’t imagine herself anywhere else.

Guess that was the lie.

I didn’t delete them.

Not yet.

It felt like admitting she won. Like erasing proof that at some point, she did want me. That I wasn’t always just someone to lie next to until something better came along.

I glanced at the clock again. 11:47.

Was she with him now?

That question made my stomach tighten. Not out of jealousy. But because I’d spent months giving her all the best pieces of me—and she gave those same pieces away to someone who hadn’t earned them.

That’s what cheating is, isn’t it? A theft.

Not just of trust, or love, but of time. Of effort. Of all the little things I’ll never get back.

I exhaled slowly through my nose, rubbing my temples, trying not to spiral again.

I just wanted the ache to go quiet. To stop playing the scene in my head over and over like I was trying to rewrite the ending.

But there’s no rewrite.

She cheated.

And I stayed here.

Still loyal. Still hurting. Still trying to understand a choice that didn’t have to be made if she’d just been honest.

I looked toward the hallway then. The door to her room—my roommate’s room—was closed, dim light leaking out from underneath it. No voices. No footsteps. Just that light.

It reminded me that I wasn’t alone in this apartment.

And maybe… I didn’t have to sit in the dark with this shit forever.

I stayed on the couch long enough for the thoughts to start repeating. Same questions. Same answers that never made sense. Same ache.

The kind that crept into my jaw, down my chest, tightening in my stomach every time I thought about her body pressed up against someone else's like mine never existed. My leg bounced. My hand fidgeted with the edge of the cushion. I’d stared at that microwave clock too long—it was almost midnight now.

The floor creaked softly from down the hall.

My eyes flicked up, slow and tired, just as DaHyun stepped into view.

She didn’t say anything at first. She was in her usual sleep clothes—loose shirt, dark shorts, one sock missing like always. Her hair was messy, half up in a bun, strands falling loose around her face. And she looked just as surprised to see me as I was to see her.

“Didn’t think you were still out here,” she said quietly, her voice groggy but gentle.

I blinked. “Yeah. Kinda… forgot how to move.”

She raised an eyebrow, stepping in a little further, her bare foot padding softly against the wooden floor.

“You eat?” she asked, nodding at the bag still sitting untouched on the table.

“No,” I muttered. “Wasn’t hungry.”

She didn’t respond right away, but I saw the way her eyes swept across the room—the dim light, the flickering TV, the slump in my posture.

Something clicked.

“You good?”

I opened my mouth. Closed it. Then laughed a little under my breath. It was hollow.

“No.”

That caught her off guard. She came around the side of the couch slowly, eyes narrowing just a bit, like she wasn’t sure how much space to give me.

“You… wanna talk about it?”

I hesitated. Then I shook my head, lips pressing into a thin line. I didn’t want to talk about it. But I also couldn’t keep sitting here pretending I wasn’t coming apart.

So I said it.

“She cheated on me.”

It hung in the air like a dropped glass. Shattered quiet.

DaHyun blinked. Her face didn’t shift immediately. She was still piecing it together.

I stared at my hands, feeling a weird heat build behind my eyes again. “Found out a few days ago. Tried to let it sit. Thought maybe it’d hit me later. It didn’t. Just kind of… sat there. Like this thing I didn’t know where to put.”

She stayed quiet. Listening. That’s what she did best.

I kept going.

“She didn’t even look sorry. Just said it like she forgot to take the trash out. I didn’t yell. Didn’t even ask why. Just sat there. And now I’m here. On a Thursday night. Trying to forget that someone I loved acted like I was furniture.”

DaHyun took a slow breath, then moved closer, lowering herself onto the other end of the couch.

“You wanna hit something?” she asked after a beat. “Could set up a pillow wall or throw a shoe at the door.”

That made me huff a laugh, my throat tight. “Not right now.”

She nodded. “You wanna scream?”

“Don’t got the energy.”

She leaned back, stretching her arms behind her neck as her head tilted toward me.

“Then I’ll just sit here.”

I looked over at her, finally meeting her eyes. And for the first time all night, I felt something loosen—just a little.

“Thanks,” I said quietly.

DaHyun shrugged, but the edge of her voice softened.

“Of course.”

And even though I didn’t say much else, something in me finally started to settle.

She didn’t push.

She just stayed.

We didn’t speak for a while after that.

The TV still played—some late night drama with over-the-top crying and dramatic slaps—but neither of us paid attention. The sound was just background now. A filler for everything I couldn’t say yet.

DaHyun didn’t fill the silence either. She just leaned back, legs curled up under her, thumb grazing the edge of the couch cushion as if she needed something to fidget with but didn’t want to seem obvious about it.

I sat with my knees pulled up, arms wrapped around them like a barrier I didn’t even mean to put up. My chest still felt tight. Not as sharp as earlier. But heavy. Like the pain had sunk deeper, settling into places I didn’t even know were part of me.

She was cheating while I was picking out flowers for her birthday. While I was lying awake wondering what our apartment might look like in a year or two. While I was choosing her every fucking day.

And she was choosing someone else.

DaHyun shifted beside me and let out a slow breath through her nose, not looking over.

“She’s stupid.”

I blinked. “Huh?”

“She’s stupid,” she repeated, quieter this time. “To cheat on you. To not even tell you. That’s coward shit.”

I rubbed my thumb against my knee, still staring at the coffee table. “Yeah. Kinda feels like the worst part is that she made me feel crazy for suspecting anything.”

DaHyun tilted her head slightly toward me now.

“She gaslighted you?”

I nodded once. “Just enough. Y’know? Just enough to make me question myself.”

That silence fell again.

But it was different now.

Not lonely.

Just… shared.

I leaned back a little more, letting my shoulders drop finally. The exhaustion had set in fully. My body felt like a pile of bricks slumped into the cushions.

DaHyun glanced at me, her voice barely above a whisper now.

“You did everything right.”

I looked at her.

She was watching me closely—not in pity, not in discomfort. Just… seeing me. Like I wasn’t just a broken version of myself on this couch. Like I was still whole somehow. Even with everything cracked open.

“I’m serious,” she added, softer now. “People like her? They don’t cheat because they’re missing something in you. They cheat because something’s broken in them. You loved her. You were honest. That’s more than most people do.”

I felt my throat tighten again, and I swallowed it down.

“Thanks, DaHyun.”

She smiled—small, tired, but real.

“I’ve got your back. Always.”

And for the first time in what felt like days, I didn’t feel like I was drowning. Not all the way.

Not with her next to me.

I leaned further back into the couch, letting the last of my tension bleed out into the cushions. It didn’t leave all at once. Just slowly. Like warmth returning to fingers after being out in the cold too long. DaHyun was still there beside me, one leg tucked under her, arms crossed over a pillow she’d pulled into her lap.

The way she was looking at me made it hard to think. Not because it was intense or pitying—it wasn’t. She wasn’t dissecting me, wasn’t waiting for me to collapse into some dramatic confession. She was just… there. Solid. Steady.

And I didn’t realize how much I needed that until now.

“Do you think,” I said slowly, eyes still on the TV, “that it makes me stupid? To still kinda miss her?”

DaHyun didn’t answer right away. She reached over for the remote and muted the volume, letting the room fall into a more comfortable quiet. Only the faint sound of the city buzzed in from outside.

“No,” she said finally. “Missing someone you loved doesn’t make you stupid. It makes you human.”

I nodded faintly.

“It’s just weird,” I murmured. “I don’t even want her back. I just… miss the version of her I thought I had. That person that made me feel safe for a while.”

“That wasn’t her,” DaHyun said quietly, and when I turned to look, her expression hadn’t changed. Calm. Firm. “That version of her only existed because you were the one loving her.”

That hit harder than I expected.

I looked down at my hands. My knuckles were dry. I hadn’t even noticed I’d been clenching my fists again. I forced them to relax, splaying my fingers over my thighs.

“And now I’m just here,” I muttered. “Kinda floating. Kind of… lost.”

DaHyun didn’t say anything at first. Then I felt it—her hand, reaching across the cushion, settling lightly on top of mine.

“You’re not lost,” she said softly. “You’re just not there anymore.”

I turned to her. Her fingers were warm. Gentle. Like she wasn’t trying to pull me anywhere—just letting me know I wasn’t sitting in this alone.

I didn’t say anything.

I didn’t have to.

She stayed there beside me. Hand on mine. Thumb brushing faintly over my knuckles. Her touch wasn’t flirty. Wasn’t presumptive. It was grounding. Like an anchor.

Like something that hadn’t let go of me even when everything else did.

I finally spoke again after a long pause. Voice rough.

“I don’t think I’ve really told anyone that before. Not like this.”

DaHyun squeezed my hand once, just enough.

“Then I’m glad I was here to hear it.”

And fuck, somehow that mattered more than I thought it would.

I stared down at our hands—hers resting over mine, fingers not locked but touching just enough to feel her warmth. Something about the way DaHyun touched me felt different from everything I’d been through lately. It wasn’t heavy with expectation. It wasn’t performative. It wasn’t laced with guilt or apology or lust.

It was just real.

And for the first time in weeks, I didn’t feel like I was being dissected. I wasn’t someone’s regret. I wasn’t someone’s secret. I was just a guy sitting on a couch at midnight, broken in quiet ways, and she was here. Not trying to fix me. Just being with me.

My throat felt dry again, but not from crying. It was that feeling you get when something’s lodged deep in your chest—like a dam that wants to crack but keeps holding.

“Do you ever think about how much trust it takes to let someone love you?” I asked, not even sure where the question came from. It just slipped out, soft and slow. “Like, to actually let them in. And then… when they do what she did, it’s not just betrayal. It’s like... they stole that from you too.”

DaHyun shifted slightly, turning toward me. She didn’t interrupt.

“Now I keep thinking... what if I never trust someone like that again? What if I can’t? What if this broke that part of me?”

Silence. Then her voice, calm as ever.

“It didn’t break it,” she said, “it just bruised it.”

I looked at her.

“Same thing, isn’t it?”

“No.” She shook her head gently. “A break means you’ll never be the same. A bruise means it’ll hurt for a while. But it heals. You just have to stop pressing on it.”

I let out a quiet laugh. “Yeah? You been reading therapy blogs again?”

She rolled her eyes with a soft smirk. “Shut up.”

But she didn’t pull her hand away.

And I didn’t either.

The room stayed quiet, still bathed in the amber haze of that single kitchen light. The takeout bag still sat untouched. The muted TV flickered faintly across the walls. And beside me, DaHyun sat cross-legged, half-asleep but unwavering.

It wasn’t a grand moment. No swelling music. No dramatic tension. Just the kind of peace you feel when someone chooses to sit next to your grief instead of walk away from it.

And maybe that’s what I needed most tonight.

Not advice.

Not revenge.

Not closure.

Just someone who didn’t leave.

DaHyun didn’t move away, and I didn’t want her to.

There was something about the quiet between us now that felt… safe. Not like the silence earlier—cold and sharp, the kind that echoes off walls and makes you feel lonelier than you already are. This was different. Warmer. Lived-in. Like the kind of silence you only get with someone who’s seen you at your worst and doesn’t flinch.

Our hands still touched. Not holding. Not reaching. Just resting, like we both knew pulling away would be too loud, too noticeable.

I glanced over at her. Her head leaned against the back of the couch, eyes half-lidded, watching the TV with a kind of vacant focus. She looked tired—but not in the exhausted way. In the peaceful way. Like being here with me was enough. Like she didn’t need me to say anything else, didn’t need to fix the jagged edges of tonight.

I don’t know when I started watching her more than the TV.

I studied the slope of her nose, the way her lips parted slightly as she breathed, the faint curve of her jaw where a single strand of hair clung stubbornly to her cheek. I’d known her for a while. Lived with her. Laughed with her. Swapped food orders, fought over laundry days, existed in each other’s space like two people who’d figured out how to make room for one another without ever really needing to label it.

But tonight, something felt different. Or maybe it had always been there, simmering beneath the surface, too quiet to notice until everything else in my life cracked loud enough to make me hear it.

I think she noticed me watching her, because her eyes shifted slightly and met mine.

“You okay?” she asked again, quieter this time. Like she wasn’t just checking in—like she meant it on a different level.

I nodded slowly. “Yeah. I think I am. Or… closer to it.”

She smiled faintly, not moving away.

We stayed like that for a few seconds longer than we probably should have.

And something started to change in the air between us.

It wasn’t drastic. Not sharp or fast. Just a slow tightening. A stretch. A hum under the skin.

DaHyun blinked first, and when she did, she sat up straighter, reaching over to grab the remote. She didn’t turn the volume back up—just clicked the TV off entirely.

The sudden quiet was louder than the show ever was.

“I should probably sleep,” she said, stretching her arms up briefly, then letting them fall back into her lap. Her shirt lifted a little when she did. I didn’t stare, but I noticed. And I think she noticed me noticing too.

“Probably,” I said softly.

But neither of us moved.

Her eyes flicked to the hallway. Then back to me. Then down to our hands, still grazing.

And that hum under the silence? It started getting louder. Not in sound. Just in weight.

“I don’t know if I want to be alone tonight,” I said suddenly.

DaHyun looked at me again.

“Not like that,” I added quickly, even though I wasn’t sure if it was true. “I just… don’t want to go back into my room and sit in it again. With her voice in my head. With all of it.”

She nodded slowly. Thoughtfully.

“Then don’t,” she said.

She didn’t say more than that.

Just those two words.

Then she shifted again—closer. Her thigh brushed mine. Her shoulder leaned against mine. And her head tilted softly toward me, resting there without permission, without need for it.

And I let her. I didn’t flinch. I didn’t overthink it.

Because it felt natural. And kind. And strangely right.

If tonight was about breaking, this part felt like stitching. Gentle, quiet, and slow.

And I think we both knew, without saying anything, that something was slowly beginning to bloom beneath all the wreckage.

We just didn’t know yet where it would lead.

The room felt smaller now. Not claustrophobic—just closer. Like the edges had pulled in around us, making space only for what was happening here on this couch.

DaHyun's head rested lightly against my shoulder, and neither of us moved for a long time. Her warmth soaked into my side. It wasn't intense or overwhelming. It was subtle. Quiet. Just present. The kind of closeness you don’t realize you need until it’s there, until your body instinctively leans in to keep it from slipping away.

My hands had finally gone still, resting loosely in my lap. Her fingers—still faintly touching mine—twitched slightly now and then, not in nervousness, just rhythm. Like she was keeping time with the silence.

And for once, I wasn’t thinking about her.

Not about the girl who cheated. Not about what I could’ve done different, or how long it had been going on, or whether her new thing made her laugh the way I did. None of that held any weight right now.

I was here.

With DaHyun.

And I was starting to realize that her presence wasn’t just comforting—it was undeniably grounding. Like I’d spent weeks trying not to drown and hadn’t noticed someone had been holding a rope the whole time.

Eventually, she stirred again. Just slightly. Her head lifted off my shoulder, not far—just enough to meet my eyes.

“You sure you’re okay?” she asked again, voice barely above a whisper.

I nodded. “Not all the way… but yeah. Better.”

Her gaze lingered. Then drifted down. To my mouth. For just a second.

I felt something flicker low in my stomach.

It was subtle. Delicate.

But it was there.

Her voice came again, soft, testing.

“You wanna sleep in my room?”

I blinked at her.

Not because I was surprised she offered.

But because of the way she said it.

Not flirtatious. Not teasing. Just careful. Like she was opening a door and letting me decide whether to step through.

“I… yeah,” I said quietly. “If you’re okay with it.”

“I wouldn’t have offered if I wasn’t.”

We didn’t rush.

She stood first, stretching again, her shirt rising just enough to reveal a sliver of skin at her waist. My eyes dipped before I caught myself.

And hers met mine again. Neither of us called it out.

I stood slowly, my body stiff from hours on the couch. She waited beside me, barefoot, hair loose now, messy in a way that made her look real and soft and close. I followed her down the hallway without a word, the apartment dark except for the soft glow from the bedroom she left cracked open.

I didn’t know what would happen.

Didn’t need to.

All I knew was I wasn’t thinking about what I lost anymore.

I was following something new. Something warm. Something real.

And it was waiting for me just on the other side of that door.

Her room smelled faintly like citrus and fresh linen.

It was cooler than the rest of the apartment—curtains pulled halfway shut, the fan in the corner humming softly in low oscillation. The sheets on her bed were slightly wrinkled, like she’d been laying there before she heard me in the living room. Her lamp was still on, casting a soft golden glow across the pale walls, the kind of light that made everything feel slower. Softer.

DaHyun moved ahead of me, wordless, as if this wasn’t the first time we’d done something like this. Like me walking into her room wasn’t anything unusual. But it was. It was, and we both knew it.

She didn’t pretend otherwise.

She sat on the edge of her bed, glancing up at me while tucking her hair behind one ear. Her legs crossed casually, and even though her posture was relaxed, her eyes weren’t.

They searched mine for something. Not permission. Not curiosity. Just clarity.

“You sure?” she asked.

That again.

I nodded. “Yeah.”

No hesitation. No confusion in my chest this time. Just… want. A quiet want that didn’t need to be loud or reckless. It just needed to be shared.

DaHyun exhaled through her nose, subtle relief softening her shoulders. She leaned over and pulled back the comforter, scooting toward the far side of the bed to make room.

I stepped in slowly, sitting beside her first, letting my legs dangle off the edge. The bed dipped slightly under our combined weight, and for a second we just sat there, close enough to feel each other but not touching.

Then, gently, she leaned into me again. Her arm brushing mine. Her voice coming softer now.

“You still feel heavy?”

I thought about it. Then shook my head faintly. “Less than before.”

Her fingers brushed against my wrist this time. Barely. But the contact made something stir.

I turned to look at her.

She was already looking at me.

Her eyes lingered. Then dropped again—mouth, chest, lap. She was searching again. But this time it wasn’t for words.

I didn’t say anything. I didn’t need to.

I reached up and brushed a strand of hair from her cheek, slow, deliberate.

She closed her eyes for a second at the touch. Breathed in.

And when she opened them, they were different. Glassier. Hungrier.

We didn’t lunge. Didn’t crash into each other like some movie scene.

We leaned.

Closer.

Closer.

Until her lips brushed mine.

Just once.

Then again—deeper. Warmer. Slower.

Her hand slid up my chest. Mine wrapped around her waist. And when we finally settled against each other fully, body to body, the heat between us wasn’t explosive. It was a simmer. It was earned.

She kissed me like she was afraid to break me. I kissed her like I’d finally stopped thinking about someone who didn’t deserve a second of my breath.

And there, under the golden light, tangled in quiet comfort and the smallest sparks of something new, I knew…

This was more than just not wanting to be alone tonight.

It was about wanting to be seen. Held. Understood.

And DaHyun… was all of that.

And maybe more.

The kiss deepened with each breath.

Not frantic. Not rushed. Just steady, slow, intentional. Like we were both tasting something we didn’t expect to find in each other—relief, maybe. Or recognition. That quiet hum of finally, even if neither of us had known we were waiting.

DaHyun’s hands found the sides of my face, gentle but certain, her thumbs grazing along my jaw as she pulled me in again. Her lips were soft, her mouth warm, and every movement told me she wasn’t here just to distract me. She was choosing this. Me. Now.

I let my hands settle on her waist, fingers curling just slightly into the fabric of her shirt. She exhaled against my mouth, her hips shifting the smallest bit forward, enough for her knees to brush against mine. The movement sent a slow pulse through my chest—not lust, not yet. Just something heavier. Anticipation.

Her forehead rested against mine for a beat.

“You okay?” she asked, voice low, eyes half-lidded and watching me from barely a few inches away.

I nodded. “Yeah. Are you?”

She smiled, small and real.

“Yeah.”

She kissed me again—deeper this time. A little hungrier. I felt her fingers at the hem of my shirt, toying with the fabric like she was waiting for a signal. I gave it to her by lifting my arms.

The shirt came off, tossed gently to the side, and she sat back just a little to look at me. Her eyes moved slow, not gawking, not rushing—just taking me in.

“You’re beautiful,” she said, as if it were just fact. Not meant to fluster, not meant to seduce. Just truth.

I almost laughed—not because I didn’t believe her, but because no one had said that to me in a long time without expecting something in return.

“You’re just being nice,” I murmured.

“No,” she said softly, fingers now trailing over my bare chest. “I’m being honest.”

I leaned in again. Kissed her slower now, deeper. She made a soft sound in her throat that vibrated against my mouth, and I felt her shift in the bed, moving to straddle my lap gently. My hands came to her thighs, squeezing without thinking.

She was warm. Everywhere.

And I felt her even more closely now. The pressure beneath her shorts—thick, firm, unmistakable—pressing subtly against my abs as she settled against me. We both froze for half a second, the moment stretching between us like a string pulled taut.

Then she whispered it.

“I’m hard.”

Her voice was almost shy. Like she wasn’t sure if that was too much, too soon.

But it wasn’t.

I didn’t pull away. I didn’t stiffen. I just looked up at her, my hands still on her legs, my chest still rising and falling under her weight.

“I know,” I said, barely above a breath.

And I didn’t move.

Not because I was unsure.

But because I wanted to feel this moment. Let her know I wasn’t afraid of it. Of her.

She watched me for a second longer—eyes searching.

And when she saw that I was still here, still steady, still hers in this moment—

Her lips parted again.

And something between us shifted into the next gear.

She kissed me again—harder this time, with her weight pressed more fully into my lap. I could feel the full shape of her cock through her shorts now, thick and heavy against my stomach as she rolled her hips just slightly, grinding into me through the layers.

My breath hitched.

Not from surprise. Not from confusion.

From how right it felt.

DaHyun wasn’t rushing anything, but the heat was unmistakable now. Her lips moved from my mouth to my jaw, slow and open-mouthed, trailing down to my neck. I tilted my head without even thinking, baring it to her, breathing harder with every warm drag of her lips against my skin.

“You’re okay?” she murmured against my throat.

“Yes,” I breathed. “Please don’t stop.”

That was all she needed.

I felt her shift back just enough to pull her shirt over her head and toss it to the floor. Her body was toned but soft in all the right places, the gentle curve of her chest rising and falling as she leaned back in to kiss me again. My hands slid up her back, pulling her closer as her hips rolled into mine with more intention now.

The weight of her cock pressing through her shorts and against my lower stomach made my own twitch in response. My boxers were tight now, hot and damp, and the friction of her slowly grinding against me was making it worse—in the best way.

DaHyun pulled back just enough to speak, her voice low and warm.

“Can I take care of you?”

I nodded instantly. “Please.”

She kissed me again, slower this time, like sealing the promise. Then she began to move.

Her hands tugged at the waistband of my sweats, slowly, carefully. Not hurried. Like she was unwrapping something delicate. My cock sprang free, already hard, flushed at the tip, and her hand wrapped around it instinctively—warm, smooth, confident.

She stroked me slowly, just once, her thumb teasing over the head. My hips twitched in response.

“Fuck,” I breathed.

DaHyun smirked slightly but didn’t say anything. She moved back enough to free herself, pushing down her shorts and boxers at once. Her cock bounced out—thick, flushed, the tip already glistening. My eyes widened slightly at the sight.

God, she was huge.

She watched my reaction, and her voice dropped lower.

“You okay seeing me like this?”

I looked up at her, still breathing hard.

“I want to see you like this.”

That made her pause. Something softened in her face for a second.

Then she leaned in and kissed me again—harder this time, deeper.

And then she lined herself up.

Her hand wrapped around both our cocks, stroking them together slowly, letting the slick from her precum and my leaking tip blend. The feeling was dizzying—hot, wet friction between us, her shaft grinding alongside mine in her palm.

My hips rolled into her grip.

“You feel so good,” I groaned.

She moaned softly against my mouth, stroking a little faster.

“I’m gonna fuck you,” she whispered. “Gonna make you forget all about her.”

And when I moaned—desperate and breathless—she pressed her forehead to mine.

“Say it,” she growled gently. “Tell me you want me to.”

“I want you,” I gasped. “DaHyun, I want you to fuck me—please.”

That was it.

Her hand slid down to grip my thighs, spreading them apart as she positioned herself. Her cock, thick and glistening, pressed against my entrance.

She met my eyes one more time.

And then she pushed in.

The moment she started to push in, everything else stopped.

My breath hitched. My eyes fluttered. My fingers gripped the sheets beneath me like I needed something—anything—to anchor me.

Her cock was hot. Thick. The kind of thickness that made my body instinctively tense, only to slowly melt as she eased forward with that quiet, steady pressure. It wasn’t painful—but it was new. A stretch I’d never felt before. Deep. Full. Like my body had been waiting for something this specific, this exact shape, to fill the space inside me I hadn’t known was empty.

“Fuck,” I breathed, head tilting back into the pillows.

DaHyun leaned over me, one hand gripping my thigh while the other stroked softly along my side. She didn’t rush. She didn’t force it. She let me take her—inch by inch—until her hips were flush against mine and I could feel the full length of her pressed deep inside me, her cock pulsing with heat.

“You’re so tight,” she whispered, voice rough in my ear. “Fuck, you’re holding me so good…”

I whimpered, body trembling under her as I tried to adjust to the fullness. She stayed still, just barely grinding her hips in small, careful motions. Letting me feel her there. Letting me feel the way she filled every inch of me.

“It’s a lot,” I admitted, voice shaky. “But—fuck—I don’t want you to stop.”

She kissed the side of my jaw, her breath warm and ragged.

“You’ve got the perfect ass for this,” she groaned. “Soft, fuckable… so good around me.”

Her hand slid down to grab one cheek, squeezing hard, using it to pull herself tighter into me. I moaned again—louder this time—because the pressure, the stretch, the fullness was sending shockwaves through my whole body.

Every time her hips rolled, her cock rubbed against something deep inside me, something electric. I clenched down on her instinctively, and she growled low in her throat.

“God, you like this, huh?” she whispered, voice thick with lust. “Your ass’s milking my cock already…”

I gasped, eyes wide and unfocused, too lost in the feeling to answer with anything more than a needy moan. My whole body felt lit up, like I was being rewired from the inside.

And DaHyun hadn’t even really started fucking me yet.

DaHyun began to move—not rough, not frantic, but with a rhythm that felt devastatingly intentional. Every thrust pushed her thick cock back into me with just the right angle, the kind of depth that made my toes curl and my hands fist the sheets tighter each time.

The stretch had stopped feeling unfamiliar. Now it was just addicting. That deep, pulsing fullness I hadn’t known my body could crave. She filled me completely, hips rolling with control, pressing down into me like she wanted to leave her shape inside me long after she pulled out.

I moaned for her. Loud. Open. Shameless. The way her cock dragged along my insides with each thrust sent hot pulses through my core—pleasure flaring sharper with every grind of her hips against my ass. My thighs trembled beneath her, legs twitching around her waist as I gave her everything—every squeeze, every shiver, every sound that left my throat.

“Fucking perfect,” DaHyun groaned, her voice hot and gravelly against my ear. “You’re taking it so well… god, I could fuck you like this forever.”

She pushed deeper and I choked on my moan, my back arching from the bed. Her hands were everywhere—gripping my waist, sliding down to squeeze my ass again, holding me open as she moved harder now, her rhythm more deliberate. The slap of skin meeting skin echoed in the room, and the slick sound of her fucking into me—my hole soaked, her cock coated—filled the silence between our moans.

I could feel the drag of her cock along every sensitive part of me now, her length grinding inside with a steady force that made my eyes roll back. Each time she pulled out just enough to thrust again, it was like my body reached for her, needing more of it—more of her—like the emptiness between thrusts was worse than the stretch itself.

“You hear that?” she whispered roughly, fucking into me harder now. “That wet little sound? That’s your ass taking me so well.”

I couldn’t speak.

I could only nod, mouth open, panting, shaking beneath her.

My cock was leaking against my stomach now, untouched, bouncing with each thrust. DaHyun looked down at it, her eyes dark and wild, and groaned again as she pushed deeper.

“Look at that fuckin’ mess,” she muttered, her thrusts sharper, harder. “Didn’t even have to touch you, and you’re already dripping for me.”

I gasped as she gripped the backs of my thighs and pushed them higher, folding me more beneath her so she could fuck down into me at a new angle—one that made my voice crack with every stroke, made my body jolt like it couldn’t take the pleasure she was forcing into me.

She didn’t let up.

And I didn’t want her to.

DaHyun began to move—not rough, not frantic, but with a rhythm that felt devastatingly intentional. Every thrust pushed her thick cock back into me with just the right angle, the kind of depth that made my toes curl and my hands fist the sheets tighter each time.

The stretch had stopped feeling unfamiliar. Now it was just addicting. That deep, pulsing fullness I hadn’t known my body could crave. She filled me completely, hips rolling with control, pressing down into me like she wanted to leave her shape inside me long after she pulled out.

I moaned for her. Loud. Open. Shameless. The way her cock dragged along my insides with each thrust sent hot pulses through my core—pleasure flaring sharper with every grind of her hips against my ass. My thighs trembled beneath her, legs twitching around her waist as I gave her everything—every squeeze, every shiver, every sound that left my throat.

“Fucking perfect,” DaHyun groaned, her voice hot and gravelly against my ear. “You’re taking it so well… god, I could fuck you like this forever.”

She pushed deeper and I choked on my moan, my back arching from the bed. Her hands were everywhere—gripping my waist, sliding down to squeeze my ass again, holding me open as she moved harder now, her rhythm more deliberate. The slap of skin meeting skin echoed in the room, and the slick sound of her fucking into me—my hole soaked, her cock coated—filled the silence between our moans.

I could feel the drag of her cock along every sensitive part of me now, her length grinding inside with a steady force that made my eyes roll back. Each time she pulled out just enough to thrust again, it was like my body reached for her, needing more of it—more of her—like the emptiness between thrusts was worse than the stretch itself.

“You hear that?” she whispered roughly, fucking into me harder now. “That wet little sound? That’s your ass taking me so well.”

I couldn’t speak.

I could only nod, mouth open, panting, shaking beneath her.

My cock was leaking against my stomach now, untouched, bouncing with each thrust. DaHyun looked down at it, her eyes dark and wild, and groaned again as she pushed deeper.

“Look at that fuckin’ mess,” she muttered, her thrusts sharper, harder. “Didn’t even have to touch you, and you’re already dripping for me.”

I gasped as she gripped the backs of my thighs and pushed them higher, folding me more beneath her so she could fuck down into me at a new angle—one that made my voice crack with every stroke, made my body jolt like it couldn’t take the pleasure she was forcing into me.

She didn’t let up.

And I didn’t want her to.

DaHyun shifted over me again, hands sliding up the backs of my thighs to press them tighter to my chest, keeping my body folded open beneath her. Every grind of her hips sent a jolt through my spine now, her cock hitting that spot deep inside me that made my entire body twitch with every thrust.

She leaned down, chest brushing mine, sweat mixing as our skin met in hot, sticky contact. Her mouth found my neck again, sucking just below my ear this time, teeth grazing. I moaned for her, arching into the kiss, and that’s when her hand slid up—slow, deliberate—until her palm was spread across my chest.

Her fingers found my nipple.

She pinched it softly at first, testing the reaction. My body jolted.

I gasped. “F-fuck, DaHyun—”

A deep moan rumbled in her throat.

“You like that?” she whispered, grinding her cock deeper into me as her thumb brushed slow circles over the sensitive bud. “You get off from your nipples being touched, huh?”

I didn’t answer. Couldn’t. I was too busy trembling under her.

She leaned in and took it further—sucking the same nipple into her mouth, lips warm and wet, tongue flicking over it slowly while her hips kept moving, thick cock still splitting me open with every thrust.

I cried out at the sensation, my voice raw and wrecked now.

The way she sucked and teased made my whole chest burn with heat. Her other hand found my neglected nipple, rolling it gently between her fingers while she lavished the first one with her mouth. Every stroke of her cock inside me hit harder now, the added stimulation sending me spiraling.

“You’re so sensitive,” she murmured, pulling off with a wet pop. “You’re fucking twitching from this…”

She pinched both of them now, not rough—but with a rhythm that matched her thrusts. Each time she sank into me, she tugged on them just enough to make me arch up into her, my moans spilling uncontrollably from my mouth.

My cock bobbed between us, still untouched, the constant grind of her hips and the teasing at my chest sending lightning bolts straight down my spine.

“Such a good fuckin’ boy,” she groaned, cock slamming in harder now. “Letting me play with you like this… I could watch you fall apart all night.”

And she wasn’t wrong.

I was falling apart.

But I didn’t want her to stop.

Not now. Not ever.

DaHyun’s hands stayed on my chest for a moment longer, her fingers rolling and pinching, coaxing these broken, helpless sounds out of me with almost no effort. Every squeeze, every flick of her tongue over my sensitive nipples sent another rush of heat straight to my core. My thighs clenched around her waist. My toes curled.

My body felt wired—like every nerve had been lit up and handed to her to play with.

She sucked again, tongue circling the swollen bud before letting it go with another soft pop. Her thumb flicked over the other one, and I shivered under her.

“You’re so fucking sensitive,” she breathed, her voice rough and breathless. “Didn’t even know you had this in you, huh?”

I shook my head, moaning into her shoulder. I didn’t. Not like this. Not until her.

She grinned against my neck, hips still rolling slow but deep, burying her cock inside me again and again, like she was savoring every grind of our bodies together.

Then, without a word, she slowly pulled her hands away from my chest—releasing the grip, easing her mouth from my skin, letting my body cool just slightly where she’d left it hot and buzzing.

I whimpered at the loss of contact, my chest rising and falling hard, nipples still aching from her attention, my hole still wrapped tight around her thick shaft.

“Too much?” she murmured, wiping her mouth against her wrist.

I looked up at her through half-lidded eyes. “Not too much,” I whispered. “Just—fucking intense…”

She smirked, licking her lips. “Good.”

Her hands returned to my hips now, gripping them with more strength than before. She adjusted her position slightly, lifting my legs again, settling into a deeper angle.

Then she started to fuck me in earnest.

No teasing. No playing. Just her cock dragging deep inside me, hips slapping into my ass with heavy, rhythmic thrusts.

My moans came louder now—shameless, open, broken apart.

The nipple play had left my whole body sensitized, and now every thrust felt amplified, her cock splitting me open and grinding into every place I didn’t even know I needed to feel.

I clung to the sheets again, head thrown back as she fucked down into me, panting against my mouth.

“Let me have you,” she groaned. “All of you.”

And I gave it. Every inch. Every sound. Every squeeze of my body around hers.

Because I wasn’t hers before.

But I was now.

DaHyun’s pace picked up, her hips slamming into mine with growing urgency, the sound of skin meeting skin echoing off the walls of her room. The air was thick—humid with sweat and heat and the low, filthy noises of our bodies locked together.

Her cock was driving into me with powerful, rhythmic strokes, each thrust making my whole body jerk against the mattress. My fingers gripped the bedsheets so tight my knuckles ached. I could barely think, let alone speak. I just felt—the stretch, the fullness, the slick slide of her cock dragging against the deepest parts of me like she was trying to leave her mark inside.

DaHyun’s breath was hot against my face as she leaned in, fucking me into the bed with deliberate, perfect pressure. Her eyes never left mine, even as her jaw clenched and her abs flexed with every deep thrust.

My legs were folded up against her sides now, helpless, open, trembling with every grind of her hips.

She grabbed at my waist, pulling me down onto her cock harder.

“Just like that,” she panted, voice breaking slightly. “You’re so fuckin’ good like this. This pussy was made for me.”

I moaned loudly, head rolling to the side, drool slick on my lips, my dick leaking a steady stream of precum untouched against my stomach.

I didn’t need to stroke it.

I didn’t want to.

All I wanted was her. All of her. Just like this.

And she was giving it. Every inch. Every sound. Every drop of sweat and every ragged breath. She was taking me apart completely.

I wasn’t thinking about anything else anymore. Not the girl who left. Not the pain. Not the weeks of silence.

Only DaHyun.

Only her voice. Her cock. Her hands. Her body.

And I didn’t want it to end.

Her rhythm turned brutal.

Each thrust drove her deeper than the last, and I could feel it now—everything. The weight of her cock inside me, the slick of her cum-slicked shaft dragging through my soaked walls, the way her hips slammed down like she was trying to bury herself even deeper, like she could fuse with me if she just fucked hard enough.

DaHyun’s grip tightened at my hips, her fingers digging into my skin as her body trembled above me, chest pressed to mine, sweat sticking us together. Her breath stuttered against my cheek as her moans grew louder, raw and guttural now, her whole body grinding into mine with desperate purpose.

She was so deep. So fucking deep. The head of her cock slammed into that spot that made my vision go white, over and over and over again, and I could barely do anything but cry out for her—voice cracked, body wrecked, legs shaking.

“Fuck, I’m gonna—” she groaned, voice hitching as her pace turned ragged, erratic. “I’m gonna fuckin’ cum—”

And then it happened.

Her cock THROBBED violently inside me, swelling thick and hot as her whole body locked up.

“Fuckfuckfuck—” DaHyun gasped as her hips slammed forward, her cock twitching hard inside my hole as she came.

She exploded inside me—thick, hot spurts of cum pumping deep into my ass, flooding me so hard and so much that I could feel it spilling out around her cock as she kept grinding through it, pushing it deeper with every twitch of her hips.

“Take it,” she groaned, forehead pressed to mine, her voice shaking. “Fucking take all of it…”

Her cock kept THROBBING as she emptied herself inside me, the wet slap of her thrusts now accompanied by the messy, squelching sound of her cum spilling back out around her shaft.

I cried out beneath her—body shivering, cock untouched but ready to burst from everything she was doing to me.

My own climax hit seconds after hers.

My cock THROBBED once—twice—and then I was cumming hard against my stomach, thick white ropes shooting up over my chest, my abs, dripping down the sides of my waist as I moaned into her mouth. It kept coming, spilling out in messy, uncontrollable spurts as my body shook beneath her, my hole clenching tight around her still-throbbing cock with every pulse.

DaHyun fucked me through it, grinding deeper, her own orgasm dragging out with every squeeze of my body around her, her voice a low, trembling whisper now.

“Good boy… good fuckin’ boy…”

She finally slowed, her body shuddering as the last few drops of her load leaked out inside me. Her cock twitched once more before going still, buried deep in the mess she’d just creampied into me.

I was wrecked. Legs trembling. Covered in sweat and cum. Still twitching around her cock.

And I didn’t want to move. Not yet. Not when I could feel her so warm and full inside me. Not when she was still there, kissing my jaw, whispering praise I could barely process.

Because in that moment… I’d never felt more wanted in my entire life.

DaHyun didn’t pull out right away.

She stayed pressed against me, her body still trembling faintly, her cock twitching one last time deep inside my hole. The warmth of her cum was thick between us now, leaking out slowly around her shaft, pooling beneath my ass in sticky, wet heat. Neither of us said anything for a long moment. Just breathed. Her cheek rested against mine, her lips brushing my skin, sweat dripping from her jaw onto my collarbone.

She was the one who finally moved—gently. A slow kiss to my jaw, then to my neck. Her hips shifted slightly as she eased her softening cock out of me, careful and slow.

I hissed through my teeth, body flinching at the sudden emptiness. Her cum followed immediately—thick, white, and hot, spilling out of my stretched hole in slow, dripping globs. I could feel it running down between my cheeks, onto the sheets.

“Fuck…” I murmured weakly, head tilted back into the pillow.

DaHyun sat back on her heels, looking at me for a second—like she was trying to memorize the sight. My body, my chest, my face flushed and sweaty and wrecked. Then she reached for a towel from her nightstand, already knowing this was about to get messy.

“Don’t move,” she whispered. “I’ve got you.”

I nodded, barely able to respond.

She started with my stomach, wiping up the mess of my own cum streaked across my skin. Her hands were steady, warm, her touch slow and careful like I might break. Then she moved lower, between my thighs, cleaning around my hole, letting out a soft exhale when she saw how much of her had spilled out of me.

“Sorry,” she said quietly, almost sheepish. “I didn’t know I had that much in me.”

I smiled through the haze. “Don’t apologize.”

She grinned softly but didn’t say anything. Just finished wiping me down before tossing the towel aside and reaching for a bottle of water from the nightstand. She opened it, brought it to my lips.

“Here.”

I drank. Slowly. Then looked at her, eyes half-lidded. “You good?”

She leaned over me, brushing damp hair off my forehead. “I should be asking you that.”

“I’m fine. Just…” I groaned softly as I sat up a little. “Fuck. My legs.”

DaHyun laughed gently, wrapping an arm around me to help me sit all the way up. “You walked in here cocky, and now look at you.”

I smacked her shoulder lightly. “Not fair.”

She smiled and kissed my temple.

“Come on,” she said, swinging her legs off the bed. “Let’s get you to the shower.”

I stood slowly, wincing slightly as I put weight on my legs. My thighs trembled, and my knees felt like they might buckle—but I managed to stay upright. DaHyun watched me like a hawk, ready to catch me if I collapsed.

“I can walk,” I muttered, taking a step.

“Not with that limp,” she teased, sliding an arm around my waist.

We made our way down the hall, her body tucked close to mine. The lights were low. The air cooler now, tinged with post-sex quiet. She didn’t say much as she guided me into the bathroom. Just turned the water on, tested the temperature, and pulled off the last bits of her clothes before helping me step into the shower.

Warm water hit our skin. She held me under it first, letting me relax into the heat. My back rested against her chest. Her hands ran over me slowly—cleaning, but also holding. Comforting. Her fingers traced circles on my hips, over my chest, into my hair as she lathered shampoo.

It wasn’t sexual.

It was something softer than that.

When we finished, she wrapped a towel around me, another around herself. Helped me back to her room. The sheets had been pulled back. Clean ones already waiting. She was fast.

We collapsed into them together, limbs tangled, skin still warm and damp. Her hand rested on my stomach. Mine on her waist. Neither of us said anything for a long time.

And I think for the first night in a long time… I wasn’t thinking about her.

I was thinking about DaHyun.

And I wasn’t alone.

The room was quiet now.

Only the soft hum of the ceiling fan above and the distant noise of the city slipping in through the window—muffled by curtains, dimmed by time. The kind of stillness that only came after everything had been said, everything had been done. The sheets were warm against my skin, slightly damp from the shower, still holding the faint scent of her shampoo, mingling with mine.

The bed creaked softly as I shifted, her arm instinctively tightening around my waist. I didn’t need to look to know she was awake. Her breathing was slow, but not deep enough for sleep. Just… calm. Present. I could feel it in the way her thumb moved gently over my side in slow, absent circles, like she didn’t even realize she was doing it.

The moonlight filtering through the blinds caught the edge of her dresser, cast shadows over the floor, over our bare feet sticking out from under the covers. It all felt surreal in a quiet way—like I was living in a scene I’d watched from a distance a thousand times before but never thought I’d feel from the inside.

My body still ached, in a good way. My thighs were sore, my back a little stiff. But wrapped in this silence, under these sheets, with her warm and steady beside me—it didn’t matter.

I wasn’t thinking about being cheated on.

Or who I wasn’t good enough for.

I was thinking about how she held me after. How she cleaned me up. How she didn’t rush to pull away or speak or ruin the silence.

Just let it hold us both.