#I've been wanting to write something in this vein for a while

[wooyoungsub]

"House Rules"

Dom ATEEZ (OT8) x Sub Reader | Full Gangbang

Summary: In a lavish mansion shared with ATEEZ, boredom strikes. But you’ve always been more than their friend, you’ve been their escape, their toy, their relief. When they whine about having nothing to do, you offer them entertainment. What starts as a teasing show quickly spirals into a night of unfiltered use, where eight men remind you just how much of you they own.

Word Count: 5235

Genre: Smut

Warnings: No developed relationship dynamics, all 8 ateez men fuck your brains out of you, Intense, Raw, Experimental, HEAVY Degrading, Dehumanizing, No Fluff

A/N: Hey guy's! I'm so sorry it's taken me so long to write another story I've been really busy lately.. I hope you enjoy this one it's really heavy and dehumanizing. This is not to be taken seriously I am not by any means saying that the Ateez members are like this it is simply inspired by a fantasy I had.

Smut will begin underneath the dividing line

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The living room felt warm, not from the summer heat bleeding through the mansion windows, but from the thick tension crawling over every inch of exposed skin. The eight of them were sprawled across the expensive sectional like gods bored of paradise, each dressed down in gym shorts and tank tops, post-shower hair still damp.

You’d grown used to being surrounded by them. Used to the stares. The smirks. The way their moods shifted when they were bored and you were available.

“Someone give me something to do before I lose my mind,” San grumbled, tilting his head back and letting out a sigh. His neck was glistening with sweat, veins stark against his skin. You caught the way Hongjoong’s fingers tapped impatiently on his thigh.

“You could work on lyrics,” Seonghwa offered from the edge of the chaise.

“Or you could just entertain us,” Wooyoung cut in, eyes already crawling up your body where you sat cross-legged on the floor.

You tilted your head. “Entertain you how?” you asked, voice dipped in a tease.

Yunho spread his legs wider. “However you want, baby.”

There was a beat of silence before you stood.

You didn’t speak. You just peeled your top over your head slowly, no bra, no shame, and dropped it on the floor. The collective shift in the room was immediate. Mingi's eyes darkened, tongue dragging across his bottom lip. Jongho's jaw clenched, fist flexing. Yeosang leaned forward like gravity had given up on everything but you.

“You all look bored,” you said, voice casual as you hooked your thumbs into your shorts and slid them down inch by inch, dragging the waistband past your hips and letting them pool at your feet.

San leaned forward. “I’m not bored anymore.”

You stepped up onto the low coffee table in front of them, naked under the heat of eight stares, your body soaking in the power you had and were about to give up.

“Then watch me.”

You started to move. Slow. Sensual. Hips circling, chest bouncing lightly with each roll. One hand slid down your side while the other grazed your inner thigh. You touched yourself like you wanted to be watched. Like you wanted to be devoured.

“Fuck,” Wooyoung hissed, hand already palming himself through his shorts.

“Keep going,” Hongjoong ordered, voice sharp and low. “You want to be the center of attention? Earn it.”

So you did.

You dropped to your knees on the table, legs spread, and ran both hands up your thighs, fingertips ghosting over the wet heat between them. The boys watched with hungry eyes, each sitting back, letting the show unfold. But you saw how Jongho’s chest was rising faster, how Seonghwa’s hand drifted toward his waistband, how Mingi’s legs shifted restlessly.

“You’re soaked,” Yeosang muttered, voice wrecked and low. “Already?”

You smiled wickedly and dragged a finger through your folds, holding it up so they could see the slick.

“Maybe I like being watched.”

That was the final thread.

San moved first, grabbing you by the waist and hauling you off the table like a doll. Your back hit the couch, knees spread by large, impatient hands. The rest followed like animals unleashed. All heat, muscle, scent, and breath. Someone’s mouth was on your neck, probably Wooyoung, by the smirk against your throat. Hands were on your thighs, your tits, your hair.

“Look at you,” Mingi groaned, brushing his cock against your soaked slit without pushing in yet. “All this for us?”

“Say it,” Hongjoong growled from somewhere behind you, voice like sandpaper and smoke. “Tell us what you are.”

Your lips parted, but Yunho beat you to it. “She’s our toy.”

“She’s our fuckdoll,” Wooyoung added with a chuckle, biting your collarbone hard enough to leave a mark.

“She’s nothing unless we’re using her,” San muttered, pushing two fingers into your mouth and watching your lips close around them greedily.

You moaned around his hand.

Then Mingi pushed in.

Your body arched, the stretch obscene, deep, overwhelming and fuck, you loved it. He bottomed out with a grunt, hips flush to yours, pulling back slowly just to watch your hole twitch before slamming back in again.

“Fuck, she’s tight,” he groaned, sweat dripping down his chest as he began to thrust.

You couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t remember what silence sounded like when your name, no, your body was being passed around like a shared secret. Mingi fucking you while San fed you his fingers and Wooyoung marked your skin and Seonghwa gentle, beautiful Seonghwa was on his knees, kissing up your trembling thigh like worship.

“Wait your turn,” Hongjoong snapped, and Seonghwa obeyed with a low nod, eyes dark with restraint.

“You hear that, princess?” Yunho whispered, kneeling beside you and dragging his cock across your cheek. “You're gonna take us all. One by one. Until you're crying.”

Tears pricked your eyes already, but it wasn’t sadness. It was too much and not enough all at once.

Mingi groaned and pulled out, panting. “She’s ready. Who’s next?”

San shoved him aside with a growl. “Me.”

Your body felt ruined in the best way, thighs shaking, lips swollen, throat raw from moaning, crying, gasping. Mingi had just left you dripping, wrecked, and open on the couch, and San didn’t wait. His hands gripped your hips like he owned every inch of you, and maybe he did.

“You’re gonna take me like a good fuckdoll, right?” he growled, dragging his thick length up your slit and teasing your entrance, already soaked from Mingi. “Or do I have to break you in again?”

You tried to answer, but San didn’t give you the chance.

He slammed into you, a harsh snap of hips that punched a breathless moan out of your chest. He didn’t stop. Didn’t ease in. He fucked like he was angry like your pussy was the only thing keeping him sane, and he needed to ruin it just to breathe.

“Fucking tight,” he hissed, pounding into you with unrelenting rhythm, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing off the high mansion walls.

Hands grabbed at you roughly, greedy. Wooyoung was behind you now, gripping your jaw and forcing your head back.

“Open your mouth,” he ordered. You obeyed instantly.

He slid in, no warning, cock heavy and already leaking.

Your throat gagged around him, spit dripping from the corners of your lips as he held your head still and used your mouth like a sleeve. "That's it, baby," he laughed breathlessly, "so fucking pretty like this. Full like you’re meant to be."

San’s thrusts didn’t falter once. In and out, bruising and perfect, his grip on your waist tightening every time you clenched around him. “You like this shit, huh?” he grunted. “Being passed around like our little cumdump.”

Tears spilled from your eyes, mouth full, pussy full, body trembling. You nodded best you could.

“She’s crying,” Yunho said from beside you, voice amused and dark. “Should we stop?”

“No,” Jongho replied bluntly. “She’s crying because she’s happy.”

“Isn’t that right, baby?” Yeosang leaned over, cupping your face gently, contrasting the brutal way San and Wooyoung were using you. “You like being our favorite toy.”

You whimpered around Wooyoung’s cock and nodded again, choking slightly when he shoved deeper.

“She’s so good for us,” Seonghwa said softly, one hand stroking your hair. “We should reward her.”

“Reward her?” Hongjoong snorted. “She’s not here to be spoiled. She’s here to be fucked.”

San came with a low growl, burying himself deep and holding you there as he spilled inside. His moan was rough, primal, dragging out as his hips twitched. He stayed for a beat longer, panting, then pulled out with a messy squelch that left your thighs sticky and your hole fluttering.

“Next,” he said, stepping back and wiping sweat from his chest.

Without warning, Hongjoong grabbed your jaw, yanked Wooyoung’s cock from your mouth, and slapped you across the face not hard, but enough to stun.

“Eyes on me,” he growled, stripping his shirt off. “It’s my turn now, and I’m not fucking gentle.”

He pulled your body forward by the hair and forced you onto your knees between his legs.

“You want to be used?” he spat, cock slapping against your lips. “Then open the fuck up.”

You obeyed instantly, letting him fuck your throat without hesitation. No rhythm. Just need. His hands fisted in your hair and he used you, hips snapping forward again and again until you were choking, drooling, your eyes rolling back. You felt the warmth of cum still leaking from your pussy, running down your legs, pooling beneath you.

You were shaking. And they were loving it.

“You were made for this,” Jongho murmured from above, slowly stroking himself as he watched. “All holes full. All thoughts gone. Just a pretty body for us to ruin.”

Hongjoong pulled out and came across your face, thick ropes landing on your lips, your cheek, dripping down your chin. He smeared it with his thumb and pushed it into your mouth. You swallowed without being asked.

“Who’s next?” he asked, breath ragged.

“Me,” Yunho growled. “On the floor.”

They flipped you onto your back. Yeosang lifted your legs. Yunho lined up and shoved in.

It was deep. Too deep. You screamed.

“Shh, baby,” Yunho whispered darkly, wrapping a hand around your throat. “You can take it.”

He fucked you slow but mean. Long, punishing strokes, his eyes locked to yours as he squeezed your throat just tight enough to make you dizzy.

“See what happens when you offer yourself up?” he murmured. “You stop being our friend. You become our fucking toy.”

You moaned high, broken, and wrecked, and Yeosang leaned down, pressing kisses along your chest.

“You’re doing so good,” he whispered, but there was a cruelty behind it. “So good at being nothing.”

Then he pressed himself between your lips. No warning. No pause.

You gagged as Yunho fucked from below and Yeosang thrust into your mouth.

It was chaos. Raw. Sticky. Loud. Hands everywhere. Breath hot against your skin. One cock after another. Inside, outside, everywhere.

By the time Jongho’s turn came, you couldn’t move.

He picked you up like a doll, spread your legs, and lowered you onto him slowly. You sobbed. He was thick, heavy, hard as stone.

“You’ll take all of us,” he whispered, barely moving, just stretching you wide and holding you there. “Even if it breaks you.”

You didn’t know what your name was anymore. Only that you existed to be filled.

And they weren’t done with you yet.

He held you there cock buried to the base inside your dripping cunt, thick and pulsing while your muscles trembled trying to stretch around him. His hands were wrapped around your waist, holding you up with ease, like your weight meant nothing to him, like you were nothing but a vessel for his pleasure.

You sobbed again, body exhausted, nerves frayed to raw edges, and yet... your pussy clenched. Around him. For him.

“Did you feel that?” San barked a laugh. “She fucking tightened on him.”

“She likes it,” Mingi growled. “She lives for this.”

Your head lolled to the side as Seonghwa approached again, cock flushed and leaking, dragging it across your parted lips. He tapped your cheek twice. “Say ‘thank you,’ doll.”

You couldn’t find the words. Only a whimper.

Tap. Harder this time. “Use your voice.”

“Th–thank you,” you whispered, lips glossy with drool and spit. “Thank you for using me.”

Seonghwa slid in.

You were being impaled from both ends Jongho lifting and dropping you on his cock with slow, punishing force, while Seonghwa fucked your mouth like it was his right. You were just a fucktoy between them now. Passed around, loaded, dripping. Full.

“She’s leaking again,” Yeosang murmured from above, voice cold and clinical like he was observing a specimen. “Already ruined and still ready.”

“Not ruined enough,” Hongjoong snapped.

“Then we fix that,” Yunho said. “Flip her. Now.”

Jongho lifted you off his cock your body clenched in protest and suddenly you were on your stomach across the couch cushions, ass raised, legs spread. Hands grabbed you from every angle. Spreading you. Smacking you. Testing which hole would give out first.

Then came the snap of a condom packet.

And the wet sound of lube.

You froze.

“Wh–who’s—”

“Don’t ask questions,” Mingi growled from behind you. “Just take it.”

One thick cock slid into your pussy again too fast. You cried out, overstimulated and twitching.

Then came pressure at your ass.

“Shh…” Wooyoung's voice was sweet and mocking as he kissed between your shoulder blades. “Relax, baby. Let us stretch you out.”

You clenched involuntarily. He didn’t stop.

Mingi thrusted deep again.

Then Wooyoung pushed in.

Slow, steady, splitting you open with slick precision until both of them were buried inside one in your pussy, one in your ass your body stretched past the edge of pain and deep into pleasure you couldn’t understand. Couldn’t survive.

You screamed.

And they moaned in unison.

“She’s shaking,” Wooyoung laughed breathlessly. “Fuck, she’s clenching like crazy.”

“Keep going,” Mingi grunted. “She’s not saying stop.”

You weren’t.

You couldn’t. You were drooling into the cushions, back arched, skin marked by dozens of hands and teeth. All you could do was take. And they gave. Roughly. Mercilessly.

“She’s ours,” Hongjoong said, kneeling beside you now, brushing sweat-drenched hair from your face. “She’s not a friend. Not a guest. She’s our property. Say it.”

You tried to speak. Failed.

He slapped you. “Say it.”

“I’m... yours,” you gasped.

“Whose?”

“All of you. I belong to all of you.”

Jongho fisted your hair and pulled your face up. “Louder.”

“I’m your fuckdoll!” you screamed, voice cracking. “I belong to all of you.. Use me!”

They didn’t need more permission.

Mingi and Wooyoung moved faster, pounding into you with animal force, stretching you so wide it felt like your body was split in two. You felt it everywhere, every nerve screaming, every muscle convulsing. Cum from earlier was still dripping out of you, mess mixing with lube, sweat, and spit as your body rocked between them.

Seonghwa straddled the couch in front of you and shoved his cock between your breasts, fucking your tits as Yunho slapped your ass red, hard, over and over until you were sobbing again from sheer overstimulation.

“She’s going to pass out,” Yeosang murmured.

“She doesn’t get to pass out until I cum inside her,” San hissed.

You came again. Harder than before.

It ripped through you like lightning, your body convulsing, clenching around them as you cried out their names in one endless string of praise and desperation. Your pussy spasmed around Mingi. Your ass clenched on Wooyoung. Your mouth dropped open with a silent scream.

And still, they didn’t stop.

Because you were no longer a friend. No longer a companion.

You were theirs.

You no longer knew where your body ended and theirs began.

You were shaking. Slick. Marked. Wrecked. Laid flat on the couch, face down, drool soaking the fabric. Holes stretched wide, trembling, still gaping from the double penetration that left your mind floating.

And they were still hard.

Still waiting.

Still hungry.

Hongjoong was crouched beside you again, tilting your head up by the chin, studying your ruined expression like a piece of art. “You thought we were done?” he asked, voice dripping with mock pity. “You don’t get to be done.”

“I can’t—” you croaked, eyes glassy.

“You will,” San snapped from behind, grabbing your arms and pulling them back. You cried out as your shoulders flexed, tits dragging along the soft fabric of the couch. “You don’t decide when this ends. We do.”

Rough fabric bound your wrists. You blinked down, one of their shirts, maybe Yunho’s, wrapped around your arms and knotted tight.

“You wanna act like a toy,” Yeosang said coldly, standing above you now, “then we’ll treat you like one.”

The world blurred as they flipped you, wrists bound behind your back, chest heaving, thighs trembling. Seonghwa shoved a pillow under your hips to keep you arched, spread, and vulnerable. Someone slapped your pussy. Hard. You whimpered.

“She’s still dripping,” Mingi muttered, dragging two fingers through the mess between your legs. He held them up to your lips. “Clean it.”

You sucked eagerly, tasting your own cum, sweat, and whatever they’d left behind.

“You’re disgusting,” Jongho said. “And so fucking perfect.”

Then came the stretch again.

Yunho slid into your ass, thick and slow, pulling a ragged sob from your throat.

You barely had time to adjust before Yeosang pushed into your pussy.

You screamed.

And then Seonghwa straddled your chest, cock dragging across your spit-soaked lips. “Open up,” he ordered.

You obeyed.

Triple penetration. Every hole filled. Every breath stolen.

Yunho behind you, thrusting hard and slow. Yeosang pounding your pussy like it offended him. Seonghwa was using your throat like it belonged to him. It was too much and somehow not enough.

They fucked you like a machine. Like your body was built for this. Like this was your purpose.

“She’s swallowing it,” Seonghwa groaned. “Her throat is fucking milking me.”

“Of course she is,” San muttered. “She’s trained for this.”

Tears streamed down your face, but your hips met every thrust.

Seonghwa came first, hot cum shooting into your mouth and spilling from the corners of your lips. He pulled out, letting it drip down your chin, smearing it across your cheek with two fingers. “Don’t waste it,” he hissed.

Then Yunho cursed, voice wrecked. “Fuck—fuck, I’m gonna—” His thrusts stuttered as he emptied himself deep in your ass, hands bruising your hips.

But Yeosang wasn’t done.

He flipped you again, bending your knees to your chest, locking his eyes with yours as he slammed in harder. Faster. Cruel.

“Cum with me,” he growled.

You did. Violently.

Your body convulsed, eyes rolling back, mouth open in a silent cry as your orgasm tore through you like a bomb. And Yeosang followed, burying himself deep and unloading everything inside until it leaked out around him and down your ass.

They pulled back and left you open, gaping, dripping, ruined.

“Look at that mess,” Wooyoung cooed, kneeling between your legs and spreading you wide. “So pretty.”

He dipped his fingers inside, scooping out cum and smearing it across your lower stomach. “Marking our territory.”

Then he leaned in and licked it up, slow, wet, obscene.

Your body jolted, too sensitive, too raw.

Jongho grabbed your ankles and flipped you again, dragging you over to the coffee table. “Crawl.”

You tried. Failed. Your limbs barely worked.

So they carried you.

San held your arms. Yeosang your legs. And they laid you back on the cool glass, tits up, lips parted, body still twitching. Someone was tying your ankles to the table legs, now open, vulnerable, utterly on display.

“She’s not cumming again until we all do,” Hongjoong said.

You whimpered.

They lined up.

One after the other.

Mingi came next across your chest, his cum painting your tits.

Then San fucking your throat until he filled it, watching you swallow and then spitting on your tongue for good measure.

Then Jongho slow, cruel thrusts into your raw cunt until he finished inside with a low grunt.

And Hongjoong last.

He didn't fuck you.

He knelt between your thighs, scooped up the cum that had pooled there, and rubbed it into your clit.

“Look at this used hole,” he murmured. “Ruined. Messy. Perfect.”

You were crying. Moaning. Shaking again.

“Ready for more?”

You weren’t sure how long you’d been tied to the coffee table, your arms bound behind your back, legs stretched wide and secured to the table’s edges with rope that bit into your skin. Cum coated your thighs, your breasts, your lips. The glass was fogged with your breath. You had long since stopped pretending to be anything but their property.

They watched you like gods circling their sacrifice. Every inch of your body had been used. Every hole stretched. Every part of your mind fogged over by pain and pleasure so vicious that it all melted into heat.

“She’s so fucked out,” Mingi laughed, running a lazy hand up your calf. “You still in there, sweetheart?”

You blinked. Barely. A moan slipped out instead of a word.

“She doesn’t need to answer,” Yeosang said, voice low. “Her body tells us everything.”

“Exactly,” Wooyoung chimed in, circling behind you, something plastic clinking in his hands. “She’s not here to speak. She’s here to feel.”

You flinched as cold touched your thigh. A smooth, buzzing hum.

A toy.

Your eyes flew open.

Wooyoung’s smirk was wicked. “That woke her up.”

The vibrator pressed against your clit soaked, puffy, swollen from overuse. The jolt of sensation made your entire body seize.

You screamed behind the gag.

Seonghwa had tied it in place minutes before, a thick black silk ribbon between your teeth, knotted cruelly at the back of your head.

“Quiet now,” he whispered in your ear. “We don’t want the neighbors hearing, do we?”

As if any part of this could be hidden.

Hongjoong knelt beside you, eyes dark and wild. “Look at her twitch. She’s shaking already. She’s gonna break.”

“She doesn’t get to break,” San growled. “She breaks when we say she does.”

And they didn’t say it yet.

Wooyoung pressed the toy harder. Circles. Pressure. Cruel rhythm. Every time you got close to cumming again, he’d pull away.

Again.

And again.

And again.

You screamed into the gag, sobbing through the denial. Your thighs trembled. Muscles locked up. Heat surged and disappeared like a tease just out of reach.

“You want to cum?” Yunho asked, voice like honey and venom. “Beg.”

You whimpered.

“Use your eyes, doll,” Yeosang murmured. “Beg us with your fucking eyes.”

You looked at them pleading, shattered. Your whole body was shaking, mouth dripping spit around the gag, chest rising and falling like you were drowning in want. And maybe you were.

“Pathetic,” San said, voice thick with arousal. “So fucking needy.”

“She’s ready,” Seonghwa whispered.

They untied you just enough to reposition you.

Then came the next stage.

They pulled you onto your knees and pushed your chest flat to the cold glass. You couldn’t hold yourself up, your arms were still bound behind your back, but it didn’t matter. You were theirs.

Hongjoong shoved the vibrator inside you this time, your slick swallowing it whole. A second one followed, smaller, pushed between your thighs and held in place by a hand you couldn’t see.

Then they all took seats.

Watching.

Mingi held a remote. “We’ll start slow.”

The toys buzzed to life.

Low. Then high. Then pulsing.

You choked around the gag, body convulsing as your orgasm slammed into you immediately.

Your scream was garbled, incoherent, but your body betrayed you, hips bucking, juices pouring, back arched in a way that screamed ruin me again.

They applauded.

“Good girl,” Wooyoung purred. “Now again.”

The toys didn’t stop.

Another orgasm.

Then another.

Your body gave up trying to come down.

It just kept going, shaking, leaking, jerking against invisible waves of overstimulation.

You’d lost count.

Had it been five? Seven? More?

Your voice was gone. You were sobbing. Hands gripped your hips, Yunho again, and pushed you up against his cock.

He slid in.

You were soaking. Stuffed. Full of buzz and slick and heat.

He didn’t move. Just held you there.

“Look up, pet,” he whispered. “Show me what that throat’s made for.”

Then Yeosang got in front of you.

You obeyed.

Because you didn’t have a choice.

Because you didn’t want a choice.

He shoved in.

You were spit roasted again. Yunho behind you, slow, torturous thrusts, and Yeosang in your mouth, face-fucking with that quiet rage he always hid behind beauty. The toys never stopped. You were cumming around Yunho and choking on Yeosang and sobbing through every thrust, gagged and bound and absolutely gone.

Hongjoong approached from the side, bent down, and whispered:

“You still haven’t broken.”

He turned the toy all the way up.

You came so hard your vision went white.

Then you collapsed.

But they didn’t let you rest.

You didn’t feel yourself go.

One second your body was tensed in orgasm, shaking, soaked, used.

The next, you were gone.

Collapsed. Mind wiped clean. No words. No awareness. Just black.

But even as you passed out, they kept going.

Yunho stayed inside you, cock still throbbing, thrusts slowing but never stopping. Your cunt milked him without your permission, body reacting purely on instinct. The vibrator was still humming inside, juices spilling down your thighs, soaking the floor under the table.

“She’s out,” Yeosang said, voice emotionless as he wiped spit off his cock and stared at your slack, ruined face.

Hongjoong crouched down, cupping your chin with one hand. “Still breathing.”

Mingi looked down at your wrecked body, tied, dripping, flushed red. “So fucking hot.”

They didn’t stop.

Because that’s what you were for.

“Wake her up,” Seonghwa said gently, brushing your hair back. But there was nothing soft in his eyes.

So they did.

A slap.

A hard one. Then another.

Your eyes fluttered open.

You gasped like you’d been pulled from drowning. Air slammed into your lungs. Tears pooled instantly. Your body spasmed.

“You’re okay,” San said, but it wasn’t comfort, it was command. “You’re not done.”

Your lips moved. No sound came out. You tasted cum and spit and salt.

“She’s awake,” Jongho confirmed. “Back in the game.”

You didn’t speak. You didn’t need to.

Because then Seonghwa climbed up, one knee on the table, then the other, and positioned himself directly over your face.

“I’m going to sit here,” he said, voice calm. “And you’re going to make me cum. No hands. No help. Just your mouth and your tongue. Understand?”

You whimpered, nodding slowly.

He lowered himself.

Your face was smothered in skin, his thighs around your ears, his cock resting on your lips, heavy and hard.

He began to roll his hips.

Slow. Controlled. Dominant.

“Breathe when I let you,” he whispered. “Or don’t. I don’t care.”

You licked. Sucked. Moaned against his weight as he rode your face like a throne, rocking until his hips stuttered. He came on your tongue, in your mouth, across your cheeks and kept you pinned under him.

“Good fucking girl,” he whispered, brushing your hair again as you gasped for air the second he lifted.

But there was no time to recover.

Jongho was between your legs again, spreading you open to reveal the mess inside.

“She’s full,” he murmured, dipping his fingers into your pussy. “So full, it’s leaking out.”

Wooyoung joined him. “Let’s fill her more.”

“What if we kept it all inside?” Mingi asked, half-laughing. “Tied her up, plugged her, and made her hold it.”

“Watch her belly swell with it,” Yunho added. “Like she’s getting knocked up with all of us at once.”

You moaned a broken, humiliating sound.

“You like that?” Hongjoong asked. “The idea of us fucking you full until you’re bloated and dripping?”

“Yes,” you gasped. “Please.”

They lost it.

The last of their self-control.

Hands everywhere grabbing, lifting, pulling. You were thrown over Yeosang’s lap, legs dangling, cunt exposed and already leaking. Someone shoved the vibrator back in, then held it there. Mingi slid his cock in beside it, two thick shapes stretching you open again.

Your stomach bulged slightly under the pressure.

“Fuck, look at that,” San hissed. “She’s stretching around it.”

They took turns again.

No order now. Just chaos.

San in your ass, rough and feral. Yunho in your mouth, face-fucking with your hair knotted in his fist. Jongho on your back, jerking himself onto your spine. Wooyoung forcing your legs open and watching the mess bubble up with every thrust.

And they didn’t stop filling you.

One load.

Then another.

Then another.

Until you could feel it.

Heavy. Warm. Stretching your walls, pooling deeper. Cum spilling out, sliding down your ass, dripping onto Yeosang's lap in a puddle of proof.

Then they pulled back, admired their work.

Your body was limp again. Barely conscious. Tied, swollen, painted in spit and semen. Belly slightly puffed from how much they’d left inside you.

“She’s not broken yet,” Hongjoong said.

“Then we keep going,” Seonghwa answered.

Because you don’t stop a doll when it malfunctions.

You reprogram her.

You didn’t remember how long it had been.

Hours? A full night? Time had stopped meaning anything. You were no longer a person, just a body, leaking and pulsing and shaking under the weight of every orgasm they gave you. You’d passed out. Come back. Been used. Passed out again.

Now… you were still.

Bound. Gag removed. Knees tucked under you, arms behind your back, ropes soft but firm around your ankles and wrists, hair knotted, lips bruised. Caked in spit. Dried cum smeared across your skin like warpaint. A mess. Their mess.

They circled you now quiet, calm, spent. Each one touched you like you were theirs. Because you were.

“She’s beautiful like this,” Seonghwa murmured, running a hand through your tangled hair.

“No thoughts left,” San whispered. “Just obedience.”

“Just need,” Wooyoung added.

“Just us,” Yeosang said, and his fingers ghosted over the bruises he’d left on your hips.

You blinked up slowly. Your voice was barely a rasp. “Yours.”

They didn’t laugh. No teasing this time.

Only heat.

Still.

Present.

Dominant.

“She doesn’t need a name anymore,” Hongjoong said, crouching in front of you. His eyes were wild, but his voice was terrifyingly calm. “She belongs to us. She lives to serve.”

You swallowed. You nodded.

“You want a title, pet?” Yunho asked. “Something permanent?”

You opened your mouth.

Then Seonghwa leaned in and whispered it like a blessing.

“Doll.”

That word echoed in the space like gospel.

“That’s all she is,” Jongho said. “Our doll. Our perfect, empty, ruined little thing.”

Mingi brought the collar over.

Black leather. Silver ring in front. No name tag. No need.

You lowered your head willingly.

Hongjoong fastened it.

It clicked shut like a promise.

“You don’t get to speak anymore unless we tell you to,” he whispered. “You don’t get to cum. To breathe. To beg. Unless we say so.”

“Yes, Master,” you breathed.

And that was it.

The final shift.

You weren’t the friend anymore. You weren’t the guest, the girl in the mansion, the tease they toyed with.

You were property.

And you had never felt so fucking full.

San dragged you into his lap, pressing your back to his chest, spreading your legs for the others to see. “Look at her,” he growled. “Still leaking. Still twitching. Still wanting.”

Mingi cupped your breasts.

Wooyoung sucked a mark into your throat.

Yeosang stroked himself while staring at your ruined folds.

“She’s ready again,” Jongho muttered.

But Hongjoong shook his head. “Let her rest. She’s done. For now.”

They laid you out on the rug like art. Limbs loose. Breathing heavy. Cum still pooling between your thighs.

San kissed your temple.

Seonghwa cleaned your lips with a cloth.

Yunho undid the ropes and massaged your wrists.

“You did so well,” he whispered. “You took all of us. You let us destroy you.”

“And you loved it,” Yeosang murmured.

You nodded barely.

Tears welled up. Not from pain. From something deeper. Relief. Bliss. Love, even, in its filthiest, rawest form.

“You’re ours now,” Hongjoong said. “Forever.”

Your voice cracked as you whispered:

“I wouldn’t want to belong to anyone else.”

They smiled.

And as they cleaned you, kissed you, and wrapped your spent body in their warmth, you realized something:

You weren’t broken.

You were exactly what you were meant to be.

[dudewheresmynug]

Rook's Hobbies

I've been tagged in so many amazing Rook games that I decided to make one!!

For this, I'm going to tag @rooks-dagger @dancing--lights @trashwithvariety @justanecho94 @herald-divine-hell @razzberrydazz and @zombiefishgirl. No pressure! I would love to learn more about what your Rooks enjoy 🥰

Obviously, the tag is also open to anyone else who would like to try it! Please let me know if you do!

Rules: Post a few of your Rook's hobbies and write an explanation (however long you'd like) describing why they enjoy them. Then, tag some other people to play!

Lydia Thorne

Reading

A lifelong hobby of hers, Lydia enjoys nothing more than getting into a good book. Surprisingly, she mostly engages with historical or magical texts. She's always looking to advance her magic, or learn something new, or understand something that unsettles her. It's uncommon for Lydia to fall into a storybook, but not unheard of. When she does find herself getting engrossed in a story, it's usually the sappiest romance she can find. Or, it's something action-packed and high-stakes. Reading is the only hobby Lydia has that she would hate to have interrupted. Honestly, she'll ignore the culprit at best, and throw something at worst. Her favorite book of all time is The History of the Grey, which, as the title suggests, is about the history of the Grey Wardens. She first read the book when she was a kid, and she ended up stealing it from the Circle library when the tower fell. She keeps it with her even at the lighthouse.

Writing Poetry

Lydia keeps a few secret journals for poetry. This isn't a hobby she tends to share freely; instead, she's a bit embarrassed by it. That being said, she goes to lengths to keep this part of herself hidden. Lydia bought her first journal for her 24th birthday, her first birthday after joining the Order. She initially bought the journal because its design caught her eye, and she put it to good use! She would make bullet point lists about how she was doing, or what she was thinking (much like regular journaling). These eventually turned into lists about her surroundings, or recent events, and how they made her feel, and what they made her think and remember. She would also write about things she wanted to be able to reflect on in the future. From there, she slipped into the habit of writing poetry whenever she needed to process something. It was a great coping mechanism while she dealt with deep depression in the Order. Lydia will also write about her magic use or about her friends. Then, when she starts crushing on Neve, she writes about Neve. A lot. Likeee a lot a lot. And Davrin, a lot, after he dies.

Nature Walks/ Running

Lydia needs to be outdoors a LOT. Years of growing up in the circle made her less than a fan of being in enclosed spaces, especially for long periods. During those 7 years she spent living at home with her parents, after the Circle and before the Order, Lydia could often be found outside. She would hang around the farm, but she also had her little areas around Crestwood, which would be her refuge. She also enjoyed sleeping outside, which she would do as much as possible (as weather and parents allowed). Being in the Fade is...weird? It looks outsideish enough for Lydia to feel comfortable, but she still prefers not to sleep in her own room. She spends a LOT of time in Harding's room, actually. Davrin's "touching grass" trips are super helpful for her. In that same vein, Lydia really enjoys running. She's fast and has great stamina. She loves the rush she gets during and after a good run and loves the feeling of fresh air filling her lungs. She'd definitely be the type to sign up for multiple marathons a year. Lydia has definitely also challenged some (all) of her friends to races. Neve smokes her every damn time (seriously have you ever panned the camera up while running around with Neve in game? She's fast as fuck).

Baking Bread

This is a lesser-known hobby of Lydia's because she doesn't get to do it very often. Her father grew up working for his family's bakery (more of a flour mill that also baked and sold bread), so he's an expert at baking bread. Her mother has the skill, too. Baking bread was one of the ways Lydia's parents bonded with her when she came home from the Circle. It was a calm task with enough personal care put into it that Lydia could handle it without becoming overwhelmed. Lydia doesn't talk about this hobby because it reminds her of her parents, and she doesn't like to think about them. Baking bread becomes a happier hobby once she finally reunites with them. By extension, Lydia also enjoys cooking. Nothing is better than a hot and hearty dish, though she can slap a suitable meal together with whatever's lying around. She doesn't get much kitchen time, though, because Lucanis tends to cook nearly every day.

A Nice Game of (Drunk) Darts

Another one of Lydia's lesser-known hobbies, Lydia enjoys a nice competitive game of darts. As the section title suggests, it's even more fun for Lydia if she's had a few drinks. Lydia started playing darts during her time in the Order -- it was one of the games she and the other recruits would play to bond. Lydia is an alright shot on the regular. Drunk Lydia is either phenomenal or horrible, depending on the night. She's been known to throw the darts too hard or insist on getting an extra turn if she misses. She has also, on several occasions, gotten worked up enough over being heckled by other players that her magic has sparked. Unfortunately, my girl is competitive as all hell. She'll create extra challenges or rewards/punishments to make the game more interesting. She's not always a sore loser, but she can be! When she is, she's getting into shouting matches, or talking shit, or storming off in a huff. Still, she claims that the game relaxes her! Losing her favorite elemental orb in a match once has also taught her not to gamble.

Thank you for reading this (not so short) post! Can't wait to see what your Rooks enjoy <3

[kingkat12]

pornography (eric draven x reader)

WARNINGS: 18+, foul language, groping/fondling, dry-humping lol, mentions of substance abuse

summary: when you finally talk to Eric Draven in rehab, it doesn't take long before you get drawn together by a force stronger than anything you have ever encountered. it doesn’t help the situation that you eventually find out Eric has been drawing pictures of you… nude

word count: 2,337 PART 1, PART 2, PART 3

a/n: this is for all the girlies like me that just came home from watching The Crow and got their mind blown by how hot Bill was in it... holy fuck. had to write this blurb because I am so shaken up, I can't feel my face. enjoy!! there will be more parts hihi...

"I fucking hate pink," 

I couldn't believe that was the first thing I said to him-- the dark and broody stranger I had been eyeing through my first few weeks in rehab. He stared back at me, confusion swimming in his big green eyes, probably pondering why I had sat down next to him in the cafeteria. "Pardon?"

"It's a little ridiculous," I tried, watching as he put down his cutlery, pushing his food away as he gave me his full attention. Tugging at my pink sweater, which we were all wearing, I let out a nervous chuckle. "Whose idea was it to put a lot of addicts in pink, anyway?"

My eyes darted down to his hands as I waited for his answer-- they were huge up close, and completely covered in tattoos. I hadn't noticed them from afar; I had only noticed the ones peeking through the top of his shirt when he would pass me by in the hall, or the big eye he had on his chest that I had seen while passing by his room. I knew it wasn't nice to peek into his room while he was changing, but I was quite frankly starved of any male contact-- any girl would go crazy in here. 

He eventually shrugged, giving me the answer I least expected; "I guess pink is supposed to be a calming colour. It's not that bad," I watched as the corners of his mouth tugged upwards, giving away hints of amusement. "Aren't you girls supposed to like pink?"

"Maybe," I mumbled, nudging food around on my plate with my fork. "I just don't like to wear it. It doesn't suit me."

The handsome stranger didn't seem to agree, another shrug following accompanied by a shy laugh. "I can't figure out whether you're being sincere or searching for compliments,"

This was most definitely not how I wanted to come off. I straightened up, resting my elbows against the table as I cleared my throat. "I'm just trying to make conversation,"

"... Why?"

"Because you've been staring at me almost as much as I've been staring at you," I put down my fork, hoping he didn't see how nervous I was. In truth, he had been staring-- it wasn't all purely one-sided. I had caught him staring at me in the courtyard, on my way to the shower, and I had also caught him lingering outside my room several times. He would usually leave when I came out, disappearing down the hall with speed I wouldn't even dream to catch up with. 

He finally gave in to a smirk, nodding to himself as he lowered his head. "Sorry," It was clear that he hadn't thought he'd be called out like this. However, something told me he wasn't too upset about being caught either. 

"Don't be," I said, feeling my anxiety ripping through my veins. Why was I indulging? "I just--"

It was at this moment that a guard appeared behind him, yanking him away from the table with a harshness that made me gasp. I clasped my hand over my mouth, watching as he barely reacted to the brutality. 

"Guys and girls eat separately!" the guard yelled at me, slamming his fist down on the table. 

My eyes widened, looking back at the handsome stranger. "But I-- I was the one who sat down here, he didn't do anything!" I protested, watching as the guard grabbed him and led him away. Groaning, I ran my hands through my hair, frustrated with the rules at this place. Why was it so fucking strict?

I eventually looked up just in time to see that the man had managed to turn around, smirking my way; "I'm Eric!" he said, holding back a laugh as he was shoved along the cafeteria for everyone to see.

Despite the horror washing over me for getting him in trouble, I managed to croak out my name as well. It seemed that he appreciated that I had at least tried to stick up for him-- What was it that I had just started?

My question would be answered a lot quicker than I had expected. 

A few days passed, and more looks and stares were exchanged. I was dying to talk to Eric again. I knew I hadn't been sent to rehab to make friends or get feelings for someone, but something was gnawing at me to talk to him again. I wanted to be around him constantly; what was happening to me? I recognized this feeling-- it was the same feeling I got when I really, really craved something... Fuck, how I missed drugs. Maybe Eric was turning into a substitute?

It wasn't often that the door to Eric's room was open, but today it was. I wouldn't have noticed it if I hadn't taken the extra lap around the institute as usual, hoping to get a glimpse of him through the small window in his door. But today, I didn't have to get on my tippytoes to get a look-- there he was, picking up several drawings that had been scattered around the floor. His room looked like a mess, completely unlike how I was used to seeing it through the tiny window. This looked like the result of one of those raids that the prison guards sometimes did when they suspected there were hidden drugs in a patient's room. 

I felt sorry for him; I knew how horrible it could feel to have someone rip through all your stuff. But as I bent down and picked up a few drawings that were at my feet, my lips parted in surprise.

It seemed I wasn't the only one caught off guard; Eric noticed me standing in his doorway, letting out a relieved sigh as he watched me inspect his drawings. He called out my name, leaning against the wall as he sized me up and scanned me, crossing his arms over his chest. 

I cleared my throat; "Is this... me?" I held up the first drawing of the bunch. It was a sketch of me sitting in the courtyard, and I was sure that it was me-- I suppose it was my shock asking for confirmation. 

Eric snickered, kicking off the wall. "Yeah... Sorry,"

"Stop saying sorry," I shuffled through the drawings, finding he had drawn me in multiple settings, and it was clear that I had been watched the few weeks I'd been here. "These are beautiful, Eric... I guess I'm honoured--" My words trailed off as I finally approached the last drawing. Was that...?

He didn't even try to take it away from me. Eric sighed, looking away as his cheeks flushed a light pink, similar to our uniforms. 

Judging by his reaction, I had a feeling he wasn't so against me seeing this. It was a sketch of me, after all-- nude. 

I had to swallow rather hard for anything to go down. I couldn't pinpoint why I wasn't absolutely horrified at this.  "So... this is what you've been up to in here, huh?" There was no stopping the smirk that spread across my lips, holding back a flustered giggle. "This is next-level pervy, do you know that?"

It didn't take long before Eric's big hands ripped the drawings out of my hands, turning away as he shook his head. "Every artist needs a muse, no?"

"A muse? How can I be your muse if we don't know each other?"

"That's not how it works," he mumbled, throwing away the drawings into a heap on the bed. "Your beauty is all I need to get inspired."

This was enough to shock me into silence. I inhaled a sharp breath, stepping into Eric's room despite knowing it was forbidden. "So now you think I'm beautiful?"

Eric hummed, finally turning to meet my eyes. "It hasn't been the biggest secret, has it?" There was something playful about him, shameless, as though it didn't matter to him that I had just found his handmade porn. "It gets a little lonely in here, I guess. These drawings just... run out of me like water. Can't control it."

There was something so unimaginably tantalizing about Eric. Everything about him made me want to jump him then and there-- was it maybe the result of my withdrawals that were turning my brain into further mush? In a normal setting, this would have creeped me out to infinity and beyond, but knowing this was coming from the man I had been lusting after from afar for several weeks made me excuse it in a heartbeat. 

I had no idea what possessed me to close the door to his room and lock it, knowing the repercussions could be severe if we were caught. But Eric didn't seem to mind; his green eyes widened, watching my every move like a hawk.

"It was really pretty and all... The drawing, I mean," I said, inching closer to where he had sat down on the bed. "But would you maybe want some inspiration for the next one?"

Eric's plush, pink lips parted, eyes rounding out in surprise. Despite his shock, his big hands reached out for me as I came closer, and he pulled me in between his legs. I could feel him caressing my back through my shirt, holding me with the utmost gentle touch. "I'll take all I can get," he murmured, looking up at me through his brows, a knowing smirk spreading across his face. 

I let out a giggle as he pressed his lips against my stomach through my shirt, enjoying the intense feeling of someone against my skin again after all this time. Eric pulled away, glancing at the door before slowly trailing his fingers under my shirt, testing the waters. 

It didn't take long before that wasn't enough for him-- my breath hitched as Eric grabbed my waist, pulling me down with him on the bed. I barely had time to think before the euphoric feeling of being kissed engulfed me. Our lips met in an open, soft kiss, almost as though we were scared to break the other if we were too needy or harsh. As I straddled him, I felt his hands tugging at my shirt, dipping back under the fabric once more. His fingers gently ghosted over my lower back, eventually ending up trailing small circles with his thumbs along the underside of my bra. 

If I hadn't been so starved of any human contact in here, I would've never jumped the opportunity like this. But none of us knew how long we had until the guards would bust us, and it only fueled the adrenaline pumping through our veins. Our kisses became desperate, hungry, and I let out a whimper against his lips as he took the liberty of cupping my chest, feeling me up to his heart's delight. I knew I had been waiting for this moment since the first time I saw him, and I wasn't about to let it slip through my fingers-- I decided to let him do whatever he wanted to me, no matter what. 

I could feel Eric's cock twitch beneath me, clearly aroused. It was also at this moment that he made me sit up, tugging my shirt off of me before laying back down to scan me. Was he memorizing my body for his next sketch? It wasn't every night that I had a handsome stranger beneath me like this, so I allowed him to trail his hands up and down my body, lips parting in delight. "Fuck... Yeah, this will do," he murmured, pupils dilating at the sight before him whether he wanted them to or not.

"You sure?" I asked, giggling to myself. My hands rested against his broad chest, letting out a sigh of delight; God, he was sexy. As I shifted in his lap, Eric's breath hitched as I seemingly sat down in the exact right spot. Almost as though he was possessed by instinct for a moment, he grabbed my hips, rocking me against him through the fabric of our clothes. 

Who would've thought I'd be dry-humping this stranger and enjoy it so much? My hands gripped his shirt, a quiet moan spilling past my lips-- I had forgotten this feeling. This was mostly something I did when I was a teenager, before I figured out how to have proper sex with my high school boyfriend. But it felt so damn fucking good, desperate; it didn't take long before I leaned back down, capturing his plush lips in another kiss. 

I craved him like water. I wanted him against me, in me, for him to take me in every possible position ever-- a deep, dark part of me knew I would be insatiable from now on. 

But our moment of ecstasy was interrupted when a guard started banging his fist against the door, his muffled yells barely registering through my arousal. Despite my dazed state, it didn't take me long to drape my shirt back on, climbing off Eric with wobbly knees. "Shit," I mumbled, turning to him with wide eyes. "I'm screwed. We're screwed."

Everything about him was so damn beautiful. The kiss-swollen lips definitely didn't help how gorgeous I thought he looked right now. Despite the situation, knowing we were in deep shit, Eric let out a soft chuckle; "I don't think you're screwed enough, actually. We'll get to that another time," 

My eyes widened as I gave into a light giggle. There was no way this was happening-- had my naughty rehab dreams come true? The guard banging against the door was drowned out by the incessant ringing in my ears that festered through my mind as Eric leaned down to kiss me one last time; "I hope to see you around, if they don't kill us,"

"Yeah," I breathed, only now realizing how tall he was as I looked up to meet his gaze. This man was towering over me. Holy shit. "Can't wait to see your next masterpiece."

I couldn't wait. I really couldn't.

(a/n: PART 2, PART 3 here!! enjoy<33)

[sheeezu]

My diary, few days before I shifted. (I discovered this VERY late, I know I've said I didn't write anything down, but I did write sometimes, but they are scattered over notes and notion on different accounts, I didnt write regularly.)

I want to post this, in order to let others know, while I shifted I also struggled like anyone else, the tone is feigned confidence. In brackets are my comments, right now.

"The night will come.

Dawn would peak through my window soon.

I would be waken from my slumber still in the same reality."

Maybe. Maybe there's a way around it, to end my suffering, my fear of something as insignificant as waking up, maybe the sun that peaks through my window is from home. Maybe I'm four year behind time. Maybe once I wake up, everyone has disappeared and I can dance in the abandoned streets. Maybe the sky would have fallen, maybe I'd wake up to a flooded and drowned world, straying away in the water on my mattress. Maybe the apocalypse might have occurred, I'll wake up in a frenzy, and then i won't have to worry about college, will they finally hault the exam result? Would that buy me more time.

Tonight I saw in my dream. *** (dr name) walking confidently through my college's doorway. I looked all victorious and mighty. But why did I see myself, from 3rd person point of view, when I am me, that's me! I am that posh and neat looking person. I am the one with the radiant smile, looking so dreamy even in a dream.

I want to merge with all of it. Every particle of soil from my home.

A beautiful lyric speak, although it is a rewording of the iconic, "did the chicken come first, or the egg?"

"Did love came first, or was it the lover?" (This is from an urdu song, translated)

For me it sounds, did my home exist first, being the starting point of my soul, or was it me who created it with my soul?

That's too deep of a discussion to pick up now, I just know it's my everything. All I care is me being there. To be able to walk without my eyes looking to the ground once.

Anyways, I end up writing so meaninglessly, that I exhaust myself.

What I've learnt about shifting, today: there is no requirement for order in my existence. Just because I fell asleep here, doesn't mean I'll wake up back here. That's too... humane, I rise up the need to look at the time. Hardwork ≠ success, the sooner I unlearn this the better. Its dangerous if I follow it. It'll only lead to me being another donkey in the system. In my vein flows the path back home, I just need to feel where the wind's direction is. I've talked about time before, oh dear circumstances! You're just colors flashing on the screen.

I will simply, just be there. I will simply be where I am supposed to be.

I've been better mentally, I am too ashamed to do anything, I always pretend that ***(deceased loved one) or people from home are watching me. I haven't talked to many people today, everyone is asleep. I am tired but I can't sleep, I end up daydreaming about home! I feel tingly, I feel like being on the verge of shifting, I'm too excited to see what it'll be like to convert it into ACTUALLY shifting, I will hand craft a method for myself. I'll think about it!! Definitely. Right now I am going to distract myself from this reality, I will be writing, and play THE playlist in the background. :)))))

Please deliver my love to *** (dr s/o) and dad!

[awearywritersworld]

tell me you don't want me

gojo satoru x reader summary: gojo adds falling in love with his dead best friend's little sister to the list of things that keep him up at night w/c: 1.8k tags/warnings: angst to fluff. gojo takes care of reader when they have a migraine. they watch shark week together, so shark haters beware. arguing, but nothing super harsh. protective!gojo. reader is referred to as a sister but there are no pronouns. gojo is around 27, reader 23. curse words. no out right smut, but a heavily suggestive ending so lets say 18+ a/n: i've been writing purely fluff for gojo, so it seems about time to return to my angst/fluff roots. today's epi made me had me feeling some type of way. may write a part two to this? idk lemme know what you think! masterlist check out my latest work for gojo here

after you arrived at jujutsu high as a first year, everyone wore the same expression when they looked at you, their eyes full of pity and apprehension. you really couldn't blame them though. after what happened with suguru, you were left a shell of yourself, paranoid that you were destined to the same fate as your older brother.

however, the boy that suguru called his best friend held something different in his gaze whenever his eyes fell on you. understanding, maybe? gojo knew that if there was anyone in the world who missed suguru as much as he did, it had to be you.

for most of the year, the two of you really only talked in passing, dancing around a discussion neither of you were brave enough to initiate. then your brother's birthday rolled around and you found yourself drenched in rain, sneaking into the boys' dormitory to knock on gojo satoru's door.

he wasn't surprised to find you standing there.

"that idiot always refused to let me celebrate his birthday," you blurted out, damp hair sticking to your forehead.

he laughed. it was just a breath, but it was still genuine. "right? he couldn't stand being fussed over for one day."

and as you both stood there, rain pattering against the window, you felt months of unspoken tension melt away. "well, come in. i bought cake."

after that day, gojo took on the roll of your older brother and he really leaned into it. flicking your forehead to annoy you, threatening anyone he thought had a crush on you, giving you advice whenever he deemed you needed it.

you weren't sure if he was aware, even after all these years, that he'd saved you— pulled you away from the brink. you became like the little sister he never had, while he tried his best to fill the hole suguru had left in your heart.

gojo spends more time in your apartment than his own, so it's no surprise when he barges in one afternoon, singing out your name (rather terribly, one might add).

"i have a migraine, 'toru," you groan from the couch, pulling the blanket up over your head as the bright light from behind his figure worsens your discomfort. all of your blinds are shut, the curtains pulled together. "can you please close the door?"

he hums, stepping inside and pulling the door shut quietly. "you seem to be getting them a lot lately."

"probably because i spend so much time with you," you whine facetiously.

he gasps, hand clutching at his heart. "i come all the way here to visit you, only to be ridiculed. my devastation is untellable."

after grabbing a washcloth from the linen closet, he pads over to the kitchen sink. you peer at him from under the blanket as he runs it under cold water, noting how the veins in his forearms become more prominent once he wrings it out.

you're laying across the entirety of the couch, but you scoot away from the edge and he situates himself in the space beside your hip, his body facing you. the corner of his mouth is turned down, evidence of the worry swirling in his chest. he presses the back of his fingers to your forehead before folding the cloth neatly and laying it there.

"you should mention the migraines to shoko," he suggests earnestly.

"they just flare up sometimes, you know that. it's really not a big deal."

"yeah, maybe.. but i still worry about you."

you can't help but notice how close he is and while it feels casual, it also feels... intimate? the cold cloth does bring some relief to your head, though you'd have preferred it if his hand had remained there instead.

"have you eaten?" he questions after a moment, pulling you from your thoughts.

"not yet."

"then i'll go pick up some food," he offers, rising to his feet. "do you need anything else-"

"no," you say a little too quickly, your fingers wrapping around his wrist. "i mean.. can you just stay?"

he suddenly looks very smug. "oh, what's this? are you sure spending more time with me won't make your head feel worse?"

you attempt to roll your eyes but the movement sends a sharp pain through your skull, causing you to grumble. "don't make me hurt you satoru. i was joking."

"i know," he smirks, decently self satisfied. "but you do have to eat, so-"

"there's leftover egg drop in the fridge, can you just warm that up for me please?"

"'course! anything for you, (y/n)-chan!"

his tone makes it sound as if he's teasing you, but he knows it's the truth. he's painfully aware that there isn't a thing you could ask of him that he'd deny. he tries not to think about that though, because he can't bring himself to admit what it all means.

once your soup is ready, he joins you on the couch. you move to sit up and while that makes plenty of room for him, he still lifts your legs, sitting so that they lay across his lap. one of his hands is resting on your shin, the other on your knee.

"shark week?" he suggests as you reach for the remote.

you nod eagerly. "yes."

the two of you have never fought before.

well, maybe that's not entirely true. it isn't uncommon for the both of you to argue over video games, the latest chapter of a manga, or other things of that nature. but you and gojo have never had a genuine disagreement.

that is, until you mention wanting to challenge a decision made by the higher ups. he's well aware of how they deal with people they deem troublesome, so he can't help the vexation that bubbles up in his chest at your words.

"absolutely not," he tells you. his voice is low, not one hint of amusement to be found.

the tone leaves you narrowing your eyes, and you sound a bit misbelieving when you ask, "what do you mean 'absolutely not'?"

after everything that happened with geto, the higher ups have been wary of you. honestly, they're probably just looking for an excuse to pull another stunt like the detention center and he can't risk that. he can't risk losing you.

rather than express any part of that sentiment, however, he just goes all stone faced and vague. it's weird, so naturally it's followed by a bit of back and forth that goes nowhere, the conversation growing unreasonably volatile with each passing second.

why can't you just listen to him? why can't you give him the benefit of the doubt? he's earned that by now, hasn't he?

"i don't understand!" you hiss, your chest heaving with indignation. "why are you acting like this?"

because i love you. because i need you. because you mean more to me than everything else in this world put together.

he can't possibly say that though.. can't lay his shame bare for you to see.. can't bring himself to admit the feelings he has for you.

he's in love with dead best friend's little sister and it's wrong. it keeps him up at night. claws away at his self respect.

"i'll take care of it," he promises, sounding a bit defeated. "just please stay out of it."

"quit treating me like i'm a child, satoru. you're not my father."

your assertion makes the air in the room shift, and the feeling that forms in the pit of gojo's stomach is not unlike a cord being pulled too taut before snapping.

"so what am i then, huh? what am i to you?" he interrogates, taking a step toward you.

his eyes burn with intensity and the conviction in his voice is dizzying, especially since it's meant only for you. he immediately notices the way you stiffen, suddenly unable to meet his eye.

he swallows thickly, any restraint he has left ebbing away once he hears your small, nervous voice. "'toru, w... what do you-"

you're cut off when he takes another step in your direction, your back meeting with the wall after you attempt to maintain the space between the both of you.

one of his palms presses to the wall beside your head, though the other remains at his side. he doesn't want to trap you there, not when he still doesn't have a clear idea of how you're feeling.

his breath fans across your face, your mind struggling to process what was happening. you whisper his name, unsure of how else to respond.

"i want you." he nearly chokes on the words, the pain of admitting them evident in his voice. "want you more than anything."

and he does. he wants you more than the sleep he never gets. more than he wants to honor suguru. more than he wants to be a good man.

his head dips down, your breath catching in your throat when his lips find the spot on your jaw just below your ear.

"please, tell me to stop," he begs, sending a shiver down your spine.

your hands move to his chest, the rise and fall of it uneven and sporadic. god, you make him so fucking weak it's almost pathetic.

his lips shift to your cheek, closer to your mouth, and his hand reaches up to cradle the other side of your face. he sounds irrevocably desperate now, "tell me you don't want me."

your heart's beating so loudly in your ear drums, you can hardly hear yourself speak. "satoru, please."

"please what?" he asks, and for a moment you're unsure of the answer.

you try to open your mouth once more, but the words are lodged in your throat. confusion and frustration rattle around in your head, making it difficult to string together your thoughts. finally you just give in, grabbing his face between your hands and pulling his lips against your own.

he let's out a strangled noise, some unknowable mix of pleasure and relief. his hands land on your hips at once, greedily pulling your body against his own.

his lips are chapped, but they're perfect in the way they move against yours. the kiss isn't clumsy, nor is it unsure. it's ardent and comfortable, as if it's the most natural thing in the world.

you pull away first, each of you holding the other's gaze. you're both hazy eyed, your mouths curved into giddy, lovesick grins.

gojo doesn't hesitate when you glance down at his lips, your words easing that bitter self loathing he'd been enduring for longer than he cares to admit. "if you want me... then make me yours."

taglist: @torusmochi @moonmalice

[woantohae]

In my veins || (Spencer Dutton au! x reader)

Summary: Y/N Y/L/N's hand had been proposed to by a well-off man eager to make her his fiancée. The girl was excited to get married, as she always wanted a wedding to remember and a husband who loved her, although in this case she didn't know him well, because it was an arranged marriage.

Y/N must travel to the Walker mansion to meet her future husband, and who better to take her there than the family's faithful foreman: Spencer Dutton.

The man who crawl under her skin just to bothered her.

Author's note: Hello! I want it to write something like from a long time ago, so here i am.

I need to tell you guys i haven't watched the show, but i got inspired by his character in 1923's, so I apologize if I write something wrong or that the character doesn't do; i'll try my best <3

P.S: This story is set in the 19th century.

《tags: fluff, enemies to lovers trope, angst, mentions of bad words and body parts, sexual tension, reader and spencer hating each other, +18》

It was a hot day.

Summer had arrived, and with it the perfect weather for Y/N to wear her floral dresses with fake underskirts that made her look even more extravagant and elegant. She liked dressing up, but even more so for this occasion.

Her father had given her the news a couple of days ago of the marriage arrangement between her and the Walker family's son, John. Although she didn't know him well, her heart couldn't contain the excitement of finally meeting the man of her dreams. The man who would become her husband.

She had always dreamed of falling in love with and marrying the Prince Charming from the stories her mother used to tell her, but she had never received many letters from suitors asking to meet the girl. So she wouldn't waste this opportunity.

Right now, she was waiting for the person who would take her to the Walker mansion, as it would take about a week to get there. Her housekeeper helped her carry her suitcases filled with fine clothes and everything she needed for the journey. Y/N couldn't hide her excitement and nerves at being so close to leaving and beginning this new experience in her life. She only hoped to meet James and that he would be a gentleman and love her as she was.

"My dear daughter, everything is ready for you to go," her father announces as he comes to her side. She smiles. "Everything will be fine. You just have to do your part and be the lady we taught you to be."

She nods.

"I will, Father. I just hope we have something in common," she says in a soft voice with a hint of emotion. "I don't know whether to talk to him about the books, or the plays we've seen. Do you remember the one about...?"

Her father looks at her disapprovingly.

"Darling, we already talked about this." She lowers her gaze, embarrassed. "No man likes a woman who babbles and talks nonstop about meaningless things. Just smile and be nice. Nothing more."

Y/N smiles feeling disappointed.

"I will, father" she says.

The carriage arrives a few seconds later, and she feels nervousness consuming her. Her housekeeper begins packing her belongings while she watches the foreman's back. Her father greets him politely and begins to discuss some things with him, while Y/N smooths her skirt.

"Y/N, my dear. Everything is ready for your departure," her father tells her, returning to her side. Now she notices how the rider begins to dismount from the seat. "I've decided to entrust you to my most loyal man, who will take you safely to the Walker's. Spencer, come here, man."

Y/N freezes as she sees the man walking confidently and indifferently toward them.

Spencer Dutton.

The man who, just by opening his mouth, made her blood boil with hatred. He made it his mission to mock her every chance he got, calling her a princess for living in luxury and never having picked up a shovel in her life, just because she had people who did everything for her and her family.

It wasn't Y/N's fault, of course. But Spencer enjoy seeing her angry, or atleast trying to look angry.

The man was handsome, that was something Y/N couldn't deny. The worst part was that he knew it, he knew it damn well and he didn't hesitate to use it against her, but he never went too far or made her feel uncomfortable. After all, this job was what provided him with food.

Spencer smirks in amusement and bows slightly to Y/N.

"Miss Y/L/N. It's a pleasure to see you," he says.

"Likewise" she says with a force smile.

"Dutton, I want you to get her to the Walker mansion without a scratch or a trace of fatigue. You know what's going to happen to you if you don't listen to me, kid."

Spencer plasters a tight smile on his lips.

"As if it's the last thing I do, sir. You have my word," the man promises.

The older man just smiles and kisses his daughter's head before disappearing without staying to say goodbye. Y/N is a little disappointed, but she knows he's a busy businessman, so she ignores the ache in her chest.

The man smiles at her and reaches out to help her into the carriage.

"May I?" he asks, his tone mocking.

Y/N rolls her eyes. "Don't think just because you're driving me means I'll let you get away with it, Dutton" she warns.

He laughs as if it's funny.

"Princess," he begins, leaning closer to her, "you know it's more fun that way. It's how our relationship works, right?"

Ignoring his hand, she climbs into the carriage on her own and waits for it to depart. It will undoubtedly be a long journey.

———

The sound of the horse galloping was the only thing heard on the road. Neither Spencer nor Y/N spoke to each other, their egos too big to put aside their differences. Y/N read a book while she felt the carriage move.

The truth is that their hatred for each other wasn't fully explained, but it mainly had to do with the class differences between them. While Spencer had to work his ass off to live, Y/N had everything without lifting a finger. It wasn't that Y/N was rude to the workers in her house; in fact, she was the only one in the family who treated them with respect and dignity. But Spencer had a fixation on Y/N, and that's why he bothered her so much.

Suddenly, the carriage comes to a screeching halt, and Y/N jumps, dropping the book from her hands. She rushes to stick her head out the carriage window, but Spencer's firm voice stops her.

"I don't want to fight, gentlemen," he says outside.

"Give us everything and you won't get hurt, man. You don't want to mess with us," says another deep voice.

Y/N is slightly startled by the tone of the conversation, and has an idea of ​​what might be happening outside.

Before she can even move, she feels a gun placed against her temple. She freezes, her heart racing, and she immediately raises her hands in surrender.

"Look what we have here," the man says, still pointing the gun at her.

The stranger forces the girl out of the carriage, so she does so with trembling knees. It hadn't crossed her mind to have to live through this situation now, and she hated it.

The girl's frightened gaze meets Spencer's who doesn't take his eyes off her.

"She's a cutie, boss. What should we do with her?" The man moves his mouth to her neck.

"Hey!" Spencer warns, while the other man, who is apparently the boss, points a gun at him. "Take whatever you want, but leave her alone."

The disgusting man laughs, causing Spencer to clench his jaw.

"I'd say she's more worthy of us taking, huh?"

"What's in the carriage could let you live worry-free for the rest of your lives," he says in a firm voice. The pair of thieves seemed to be considering it, given the doubt on their faces. "Take everything, except her."

They didn't like the idea very much, but they finally agreed, letting their greed take over.

The bastard suddenly released Y/N, pushing her into Spencer's arms, who immediately caught her. In that moment, the hatred seemed to be camouflaged by the adrenaline of what was happening.

They remained like that for a few moments until they saw the carriage disappear, hearing the pair's triumphant laughter getting away with her belongings and food for the travel.

She immediately breaks away from Spencer and fixes her dress, blurting out in frustration.

"Oh my God, I had all my dresses and jewelry in there," she complains, sounding like a brat. "And the food. My books! What are we going to do now?"

Spencer snorts and starts walking away from her.

"Find a place to spend the night before it gets dark." he says.

Y/N chases after him, grabbing the hem of the only dress she has left.

"I can't walk that far in heels. It's the only pair of shoes I have left," she says, and he stops, turning suddenly and approaching her. "We need to do something, call for help... what do you think you're doing?!"

Spencer has lifted her over his shoulder, making sure the hem of the oversized dress doesn't ride up, so he wraps his arm around it.

"Spencer Dutton, you better put me down right now!" she orders, hearing a laugh escape his lips.

"It'll be a long walk to the nearest town. I say you settle in, princess," he offers as he continues walking.

Y/N opens her mouth indignantly to snap at him, but stops when she feels his arm around her body forcefully tuck her onto his shoulder. She sighs and tries to stay still to avoid falling, because she still doesn't trust the man.

Or maybe it's because she feels warmth when she feels his hand clinging to her waist.

Spencer, for his part, has a smile plastered on his face as he hears the girl's angry little snorts on his shoulder, every time he tried to make her fall. It was the closest the two of them had ever been to each other, and he was surprised Y/N didn't throw a tantrum to get him to stop holding her.

"Tell me, princess," he says, moving forward, "what is the name of your dream man?"

Y/N seems interested in that question after being silent for a couple of minutes on the road.

"James Walker," she answers simply. Spencer lets out a laugh. "What are you laughing at, if I may ask?"

"I just realized you only know his name; you don't even know what this James guy looks like," he replies.

Y/N frowns, ready to intervene, but she's left wondering how true his words are.

"I'm sure he's more of a gentleman and handsome than you," she says with a shrug, without him seeing her.

Spencer nods. "I hope you're right, because I'd hate to see you make a mistake and be disappointed that your future husband is an old man."

Y/N lightly pats his back, falling silent. And she just hopes that James Walker isn't an old man. At all.

———

They arrive at a tavern that has rooms available for the night. On one hand, she's relieved to have a place to sleep, but on the other, she feels uncomfortable feeling the gaze of several men on her while Spencer eats the food with his hands as if they're chasing him.

She grimaces at her plate.

"You could at least have some table manners," she chides the man, who looks up at her. "Is this how you behave around a lady?"

He lets out a laugh and pops a piece of bread into his mouth.

"I don't usually behave around them. They say the like it that way," he says, his words hinting at something else.

Y/N blushes and looks away from the man, who seems amused by her reaction. She doesn't understand why she suddenly feels a heat spread through her stomach when she imagines him like that.

"Eat," he says, looking at her plate without touching it. "Later, your stomach will hurt from not eating."

"I highly doubt it's because of that and not because of how the food was made," she says, eating a piece of bread.

Not even five seconds pass before a man approaches their table to flirt with Y/N.

"Hey, beautiful," the man says, "what's a lady like you doing in a place like this?"

Spencer clears his throat and looks at him seriously.

"She's with me," Spencer says firmly.

For some reason, Y/N feels a sense of satisfaction when she hears those words come out of his mouth. The other man laughs mockingly and spits on the floor. Y/N backs away a little, feeling uncomfortable. She'd never been so exposed to this kind of environment, and she now understands why.

"I could make you feel better, miss," the redhead says with a disgusting smile. "You look miserable next to this idiot."

Spencer suddenly stands up from the table and towers over the redhead in front of him by several inches. The difference between them is noticeable, with Spencer looking more toned and muscular compared to the other. Y/N senses a tension between them and hears how the atmosphere seems to quiet down and focus on both men, who stare at each other defiantly. The girl stands up and stands between them, placing a hand on Spencer's chest, who continues to stare at the redhead.

"Spencer, it's better if we go to the bedroom. It's not worth fighting over this," she tells him.

Spencer lowers his gaze to her for a few seconds and seems to soften his gaze when he feels the touch of Y/N's fingers against his chest, since the top buttons of his shirt are undone. Then, he nods with his head.

"Yeah, that's what I thought. She's just a little bitch," the redhead says mockingly.

Spencer turns around and punches the other guy in the nose. Y/N backs away and watches as Spencer takes care of him, encouraged by the other men in the bar. The girl doesn't interfere because she knows it'll be pointless to even separate them, so she waits for them to finish. After a few seconds, the brunette drops the redhead on the floor, complaining about having his nose broken. Spencer licks his lips and goes to grab his jacket and hat, taking Y/N's hand to lead her to the room they rented for the night.

Entering the room, Spencer locks the door while Y/N paces the room, frantically mumbling.

"I can't believe what beasts you men are," she says. "The guy could have killed you."

Spencer lets out a laugh, leaving his garment on the chair.

"He didn't even have a chance," he replies, going to sit on the bed.

Y/N rolls her eyes and takes the cloth from the pocket of her dress that she always carries with her and wets it with the water from the wall faucet. While she does this, Spencer takes off her shirt.

"I can't believe we've already been robbed and had a fight. What's next, huh? I don't even want to know, no..." Y/N turns around and freezes when she sees Spencer shirtless and smoking a cigarette.

The man looks at her amused, seeing her paralyzed, standing a few feet away from him.

"What's wrong? Have you never seen a man without a shirt?" Y/N clears her throat and approaches him, sitting on the bed and gently running the handkerchief along the corner of Spencer's lip, while he looks at her intently.

"You're an idiot," she says simply, ignoring the heat spreading to her cheeks.

"You've already told me that, but what else?" Y/N ignores him and continues cleaning the wound, avoiding looking at his hairy chest.

After a while, they get ready for bed, and Y/N remains in her dress sitting on the bed while Spencer arranges a pillow and blanket on the floor. She was going to be a married woman in a few days and couldn't share the bed with him, not to mention the fact that she hated him enough to let him be so close to her.

Spencer stares at her.

"You're not going to sleep in that, are you?" Y/N looks at him.

"No, of course not," she says immediately. "It's just... I can't undo it in the back."

After a few seconds, he says:

"Stand up,"

She frowns and stands up. He takes her by the waist and turns her around, starting to work on the knots of her corset so she can remove it more easily. Y/N stills as she feels his fingers skillfully working the knots, and when he finishes, she allows herself to let out the breath she'd been pent up.

"Thank you," she says, turning her back on him.

Spencer makes a sound in his throat and lies down on the floor to sleep, ignoring the tingling he feels in his fingers after nearly touching her. Only a layer of clothing separated him from her skin.

———

They continue their walk early in the morning, but first they decide to go to the town market to see if they can get something to eat.

Spencer had spent what was left of his money on the room rent, so they didn't have any breakfast.

"It's impossible," he says, coming up to the girl's side. "No one wants to give us even a piece of bread. And I won't steal, so let's go."

Y/N bites her lip and suddenly has an idea.

"Wait here. I have an idea." Spencer frowns slightly as he watches the girl wander through the stalls with a sweet smile, chatting with the vendors.

What surprises the man is how easily he notices the girl is given fruit, bread, and a little water. After a moment, she arrives at his side, acting nice to people, her hands full of food and a triumphant smile.

"Our breakfast," Spencer smiles and rolls his eyes in amusement.

"I would have avoided embarrassment if you'd thought of it first, Princess," he says, taking an apple from the girl and helping her with the rest of the things.

She shrugs. "That's why I'm smarter than you."

They both continue on their way, breakfast, lunch, and dinner ready for the day. After that, they both seem more comfortable with each other's presence. Y/N talks more with Spencer, leaving the teasing comments aside. With a twinkle in her eye, she tells him about a book she just finished reading, which she'd lost after being stolen.

"It's a beautiful love story, where the girl ends up with the person she least imagined she'd end up with," she tells him with a hopeful smile.

"Who's the lucky one?" Spencer asks, giving her a sideways glance.

"Her faithful guard," she answers timidly. "The one who protected her and took her everywhere without anything happening to her."

Spencer makes a sound with his mouth, to which Y/N ​​looks at him amused.

"Sounds like me, doesn't it?"

She rolls her eyes and shakes her head.

"It could be..." she begins to play along, "but he was more polite and tender with her, something you lack."

Spencer chuckles. "Oh, princess. How you enjoy making me suffer."

They both share a laugh.

He tells her some things about his life, as they arrive at a small river that can be heard in the silence of the road. The water is crystal clear and feels refreshing compared to the heat burning the back of their necks. Y/N feels the dress stick to her skin from the sweat running down her body, reminding her once again that it's time to get clean.

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Spencer begin to remove his clothes, leaving them on the floor without a care in the world.

"What do you think you're doing?" she asks, watching as the man proceeds to take off his pants.

She looks away.

"I should take advantage of the water to get rid of the smell; the heat doesn't help much," he replies, and Y/N hears him jump into the water.

The girl turns around and can see the water reaching the beginning of the V-line of his body. She takes a few steps and sits down at the edge of the river, feeling the heat of the dress growing. She doesn't know if it's because of the weather or something else.

"Come on. Get in. You're not thinking of sitting in the sun until you burn to death, are you?" Spencer questions, swimming until he is in front of her, immersed in the water.

"I can't go in there naked. I'm getting married in a couple of days. What would people think of me if they knew I was naked with another man in the river?"

Spencer raises an eyebrow and shrugs.

"There's no one here," he says in a low, almost dangerous tone. "Just you and me."

The girl decides to do so, unable to bear the sticky feeling of her body any longer. She stands up and begins to remove her dress as best she can, struggling to undo the knots. The she hears the water moving and notices Spencer approaching her to help her.

"You could just ask for help, you know?" he says in a suggestive tone.

Y/N turns around and lets him take care of the garment. If he had offered help a few days ago, she would have flatly refused, but now that she was alone with him, she had no choice but to accept. After a few seconds, she feels the garment fall from her body and holds the dress to keep it from falling. Y/N turns to look at the man and notices the closeness between them, then notices the drop of water running down his bare chest.

She clears her throat. "Thank you," she says in a soft voice.

Spencer smiles sideways.

"I'm starting to get used to hearing you say thank you to me." Y/N can't help but smile.

He mimics her and crosses his arms in front of her, revealing his much more defined arms, making her wonder what it would feel like to be surrounded by them in a hug. She pushes those thoughts out of her head and clears her throat.

"I don't want you to see me," she tells him.

Spencer lifts his hands and begins to walk backwards until he gets back into the water, then turns around to give the girl space. She decides to stay in her underwear and puts one foot in the water, then her whole body in.

"You can turn around," she says.

The man turns around and stares at her, while she stays on the edge of the lake away from him.

"I don't bite," he mocks.

Y/N shakes her head. "I'm fine here," she declares.

Spencer laughs and begins to swim deeper, suddenly sinking while the girl watches.

"I won't fall for that." But Spencer doesn't float for a while, which worries the girl. "Spencer, it's not funny."

She swims to the spot and sees no sign of the man.

"Spencer!" She starts to worry and tries to search or feel the man's body, but it's in vain. "Spencer!"

Her heart races until she feels arms wrap around her waist, making her jump. Spencer's husky laugh makes her spin, held in the man's arms.

"It's not funny," she says, hitting his chest a couple of times before Spencer's hand wraps around hers to stop her.

"Were you worried about me, Y/N?" he asks, getting closer to her.

She catches a glimpse of the man's lips and shakes her head.

"Of course, you still have to take me to the Walker mansion."

Spencer brushes a strand of hair from her forehead, while the girl feels a shiver run through her body at the small gesture. He doesn't seem to want to let her go, and he's having a mental debate about him as he begins to feel more strongly about the girl in his arms.

———

After that moment, something had changed in their dynamic. The tension that began to build between them was palpable, shifting from the hatred they felt for each other to—so to speak—the acceptance of being with each other. All those touches, those subtle glances, and the racing hearts were turning into a pleasant sensation. A warm one, too, every time their hands brushed on the way to the nearest place to spend the night again. Silence had found them again on the road, but this time it was a pleasant silence, even though it still revealed certain emotions.

Y/N stood with her back to Spencer, carefully and gracefully arranging her dress, placing it on the chair. The man watched her for longer than he should have, recalling the feeling of having her so close to him at the lake. He was a man after all, and although his mother had raised him to be a gentleman, he couldn't help but glance at the girl's breasts, which were visible when they both got out of the water.

"So..." he begins. She turns away, and he avoids eye contact, thinking that if he does, he'll be unable to control his urges. "Are you excited about tomorrow?"

Y/N doesn't understand what he's talking about at first, but then she realizes he's talking about meeting her future husband. The truth is, she'd been forgetting the real reason for this trip, mostly because Spencer's company and everything they'd experienced together these past few days.

"Oh, that. Mhm, yeah," she says hesitantly. "I'm excited."

A smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes rests on her face. Spencer looks up and notices it, feeling her heart weigh.

"That's... that's good," he says, clearing his throat. He seems to want to say something else, but decides not to. "He'll be lucky to know you, Y/N."

She smiles faintly and licks her lips.

"It's not that big a deal," she says, playing with her fingers.

"It is," he chimes in confidently. "Anyone would be lucky to call you theirs."

Spencer turns around to take off his shirt and set it aside.

"Even you?" she ventures, which leaves the man frozen in place.

Y/N approaches him, while his back is still to her. He swallows and closes his eyes with a heavy sigh.

"Y/N..." he warns, turning and looking into her bright eyes.

"You can't ignore what's happening," she tells him. "I've been feeling it for days. And I know you have too."

"Y/N, you know it's not right. And you can't change the way you feel about someone overnight," he replies with a confident tone, or so he tries to. "We hated each other, remember?"

"Yes..." she says in a low tone, moving closer to him. "I remember. I still hate you."

Spencer lowers his gaze to her lips for a few seconds and curses himself for doing so, because now he wants to kiss them.

"I've been having doubts about what I want for myself," she confesses, and he listens attentively. "I don't know this man, and my father never listens to what I really want. I'm afraid of not knowing the world for myself and deciding what I want."

Spencer looks at her attentively and understands what she means. He decides to place his hand on her cheek.

"You are capable enough to do everything you set your mind to and more. Don't be afraid to express what you feel or avoid doing things because your father won't let you. You are incredible, Y/N. You are a great woman." he says sincerely.

Y/N smiles, feeling the tears in her eyes. Spencer quickly wipes one away with his thumb.

"So... can I say what I want?" she asks, looking at his lips. Spencer nods, trying to resist the urge to grab her and kiss her right away.

"Spencer. I want you." Spencer leans his face closer to hers, their noses touching.

He slides a hand around her waist and pulls her closer, leaving no space between their bodies.

"Be clear that if we start this, I'm afraid I won't be able to let you go," he says as he strokes the girl's back. "I won't be able to take you to that Walker guy, and I won't be able to watch you marry that bastard, because I'll want you for myself."

Y/N smiles against his lips as she moves her hands up to his bare chest, sending shivers down his spine.

"Then take me"

And it's enough for Spencer to devour her mouth and press her against his body, hearing the girl gasp at the action. Y/N clings to his shoulders as she feels a heat spread through her stomach, continuing through her lower intimate area.

Spencer lowers his hands to the girl's butt, pulling her closer to him and feeling his member rub against her stomach. Spencer takes her in his arms and sits with her on his lap on the bed. They lock lips again for a long time, exploring each other's bodies with their hands, he possessively grabbing every corner of her body. She pulls away from him enough to begin pulling her underwear down her torso and freeing her breasts. It doesn't take the man five seconds to suck on one and massage the other with his hand, while the girl throws her head back.

"Spencer," she moans, grabbing strands of his hair and tugging at the sensation of him sucking on her breasts.

"Yeah, princess?" he says in a raspy voice "Yo like that?"

"Hmh" she says in a moan.

"I need you to tell me. In words, gorgeous," he says, pulling away to look at her, immersed in pleasure.

"Yes.... I like it, Spencer," she says, hugging him to keep him going "Please, i need you"

Spencer laughs softly and continues playing with her tits. Then, he feels her begin to move in his lap, feeling his member harden at the touch. He moans and grabs her waist with his hands to keep moving her.

"Princess, you're going to drive me crazy," he says, and she smiles shyly. He finishes pulling down her underwear, leaving her naked before him. "See what you do to me? Feel it, princess."

She moans and nods, starting to feel how wet she is in his pants. Spencer kisses her and doesn't leave her side when he leans her onto the bed with him on top of her. He takes off his pants, leaving his erect penis on her stomach, and she licks her lips at the image of him, hard and big, and wonders if he'll fit her.

Spencer teases her by rubbing his tip against her pussy, kissing her lips again and swallowing the moan she lets out. Spencer intertwines one hand with hers, lifting it to rest on top of her head, while with the other he works to mold her pussy and prepare her for him. She moves her hips to continue feeling him and find relief from the pleasurable pain of having to wait for him. Spencer pulls away from her and places a kiss on her forehead.

"Believe me, I want to go crazy with you, but I'll be gentle. It's your first time, and I want you to enjoy it," he tells her, and she nods, feeling excited and nervous at the same time. "Tell me if you want me to stop, okay?"

She moves her head and, with her free hand, grabs onto his shoulder. Spencer enters her as gently as possible and notices the pain on her face at the new sensation. He begins to move slowly so she can get used to it, feeling how tight and wet she is. After a few seconds, Y/N feels a delight in the movement and her legs wrap tightly around his waist, opening herself wider to feel him completely.

"Spencer," she moans, closing her eyes.

"Yeah, baby? Are you alright?" he asks, continuing to move his hips, feeling her deeper.

"Move faster" she begs.

He moans loudly upon hearing her say this and quickly moves, listening to their bodies crash against each other. She whimpers, feeling a sensation in her pussy with each thrust he makes. Then she feels the hand entwined with Spencer's as he moves down to feel her stomach.

"Do you feel that? You're taking me so deep and delicious, princess," she moans with pleasure, and he kisses her lips, each time feeling the expected climax approaching. "You're doing so well. You'll almost feel yourself letting it all go. It'll feel delicious, I promise."

Y/N kisses him and feels his tongue explore the cavity of her mouth as their bodies move in sync.

She feels herself about to let go, and she can't hold it in any longer.

"I can already feel it coming, Spencer," she says against his lips.

He moans and begins to speed up his movements, touching her deepest spots.

"Yes, princess. Let it go, cum for me."

And the feeling of letting it all out and cumming is the most pleasurable thing Y/N has ever felt in her life. He takes it all like a champion claiming his prize, moving a few more times inside her before pulling out and releasing all his cum onto her thigh. Spencer drops his head to Y/N's breasts and kisses them softly while she catches her breath.

"That was.... amazing" she whispers.

Spencer looks up to her and smiles.

"Did it feel good?" She nods, and he kisses her passionately and lovingly. "I'm glad you enjoyed it as much as I did."

Spencer settles in to open the bed sheets and cover her and him, wrapping his arms around her and holding her face to face. She gently caresses his face, and he strokes her thighs, trying to clean the traces of him off her.

"What do we do now, Spencer?" she asks.

"What do you want to do, princess?" Y/N smiles.

"Now I want to stay like this for a while." Spencer kisses her lips, tasting her, feeling the girl melt before him.

"We can stay here for a while, yeah," he declares. "But what about that Walker guy, huh?"

She smiles amused. "He can keep waiting."

Spencer kisses her, and they both sink into the heat of the moment, enjoying each other's bodies and the feelings they can no longer deny.

[bingbongsupremacy]

70 Years Apart

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!reader

Warning: Y/N use, swearing, rejection, ghosting

Summary: A one-night stand with Bucky before he leaves ends with you pregnant. You tell him what's going on. How will he respond?

*Not Proof Read*

□□□□□□□

I didn’t mean for it to happen.

Not the party. Not the drinks. Not the way his eyes locked on mine through the haze of smoke and laughter like he already knew how I tasted. And definitely not the baby now growing inside me.

But it did.

That night in Brooklyn had been one of the last warm ones before autumn settled in, the kind that wrapped the air in a humid cloak and made every movement feel a little slower, a little heavier. I hadn’t planned on going out, but Clara insisted. She said we deserved one last hurrah before the world got darker and we had to prepare for college.

"He's leaving for war," she’d said. "Half the boys are. Might as well dance while we still can. Maybe we'll get lucky." She smirks while eyeing a group of boys leaning against the wall of the abandoned warehouse. The boys-most I've known growing up, are loudly chatting. Bucky Barnes is amongst them.

With liquid courage running through my veins, I asked him to dance. No fear of rejection. No worry. Just confidence. After all, this would likely be one of the last times I saw him for a while. Why not do what I've always wanted to do.

He said yes. Then we danced.

Bucky Barnes was smooth with a capital S, charming in that roguish, self-assured kind of way that made girls swoon and boys scowl. I’d only spoken to him a handful of times before that night — always in passing, always brief. A polite hello in the hallways, a helpful answer when one of us needed help with homework. A smile. A nod. Once, a quick compliment about my dress that made my cheeks go hot. Despite us going to school together all throughout middle and high school, I never really knew him. He had his friends. I had mine.

But that night? He saw me.

And I let him.

We drank. We laughed. We kissed behind a big tree lit by the moonlight. And before I could think twice, I let myself fall into something warm and reckless. It didn’t last long, just one night. We were never looking for anything serious. He was on his way to the war. I was on my way to school. It was one tangled, breathless memory.

Then he was gone. Not gone-gone, not yet. But gone from me. He’d said goodbye with a kiss to my hand the next morning and a promise that he’d write if I ever wanted to talk again.

I never wrote. I didn't need to.

Not until now.

Not until the little stick I bought from the corner pharmacy turned pink in both windows, and I sat down on my bathroom floor and stared at it in shock. I want to curl up and cry. I want to scream. This can't be happening. Not now, not when I had just began school

I don’t know him. He doesn't know me.

We're two strangers who, for one night, spent some time together.

I kept repeating that like it would change the facts. Like it would make the wave of nausea (part baby, part panic) fade from my throat. But it didn’t.

Now I’m here, at the base where he’s training, a dusty field of tents and shouting voices and trucks that roar like thunder. I clench the strap of my bag tighter against my shoulder and try not to bolt. My hands shake as I get closer.

A soldier points me in the right direction. I catch sight of him near the barracks, shirt half-unbuttoned, dog tags clinking against his chest, laughing at something one of his friends said.

He looks even better than I remember. That makes it worse.

I want to turn around and run to Clara, who's waiting in the car. Maybe come back another day. Or not. But I don't. I force myself to stay. “Bucky,” I call out, barely above a whisper.

My heart pounds against my chest.

He turns.

His eyes find mine in an instant, just like they did that night. His smile falters when he sees the worry behind mine.

“Y/N?” he says, confused but smiling. “Wow, I didn’t think I’d see you again. Not here. Why are you here?” He steps closer.

I try to smile but I can't. My worry is too powerful.

“Can we talk?” I ask.

His brows furrow. “Of course. Yeah. This way.” He nods toward a quieter area behind the mess hall. I follow, heart pounding, breath shallow.

He leans against a low wall and crosses his arms. He steadily holds my gaze. “You alright?”

“I… not really.” My voice is so small. I hate it. I don't want to tell him, but I have to. He deserves to know. So I rip the band-aid off. “I’m pregnant, Bucky.”

His face doesn’t change at first. He blinks once. Twice. Like the words haven’t quite landed.

Then they do.

“You’re...? And I’m...?” His voice cracks in a way that makes my stomach twist. “You’re sure it’s mine?” His eyes scan over my body, like he's looking for some sort of proof. His eyes land on my stomach which has not started showing yet.

I nod. “Yeah. It’s yours. I haven't been with anyone since...” That night.

He runs a hand through his hair and lets out a shaky breath. “Okay. Okay. Damn.” I can see the thoughts racing through his head.

I look away and wait for it. The panic. The backpedaling. The "sorry, but I can't, you understand, right?" But it doesn’t come.

He looks back at me with something soft in his eyes. “Are you okay? How… how far along?”

“Almost two months.” I look back at him, surprised by his response.

“And you just found out?” His eyes flicker back to my stomach.

“I’ve known for a couple weeks,” I admit. “I just didn’t know how to tell you. Or if I should tell you. I mean, we don’t really know each other. And you’re about to go to war. This would be so much to add on to your plate. I don’t even know if—if you want anything to do with this.” I gently place a hand on my stomach.

Silence. A breeze kicks up, scattering dust across the ground between us.

“I want everything to do with it,” he says finally. His voice is low, steady. “With you. With the baby. I know we didn’t plan it — hell, we barely knew what we were doing, but I’m not the kind of guy who runs. I promise you that. I helped make it, and I'm going to help raise it.”

I look down. My hands are trembling. It's a relief. I should feel better. But I'm still scared.

He takes a step closer, reaching gently for one of them. “I’m scared, too,” he says. “I don’t know what the hell’s going to happen out there. But I do know this, I’m coming back. And when I do, I’m going to take care of you both.”

Tears prick the corners of my eyes. “You don’t have to say that just to make me feel better.”

“I’m not,” he says. His grip tightens, reassuring. “I’m saying it because it’s true. I’ve seen what war does. I know I might not get another shot at a real life if I don’t hold onto this. Hold onto you.”

“Bucky—” My throat catches on his name.

“I don’t know if I’ll be a good father,” he continues, “but I want to be. And if you’ll let me… I want to try.”

My heart shatters and knits itself back together in a single breath.

“I’d like that,” I whisper. This is going better than I thought.

He smiles, gentle and wide, and for a moment, it feels like maybe the world isn’t falling apart. Like maybe we’re allowed this — just this — before the storm comes.

He leans down, presses his forehead to mine.

“I’m coming back to you,” he murmurs. “No matter what. I promise.”

And I believe him.

God help me, I do.

----

When Bucky leaves we write to each other, almost every day. I give him updates and exciting news and try to keep his hopes up. He sends me beautiful poems and hopes for the future. Through these letters I get to know him, as he does me.

I learn his favorite color and food. What he likes to do in his spare time. He tells me about his best friend, Steve and his family.

I tell him about me.

Suddenly our relationship begins to change. We're not just some people brought together by a surprise baby. We're friends. We're close.

I look forward to reading his letters-to getting to know him more. My anxiety turns to excitement. My happiness turns to love. I began to fall in love with him, and I think he was falling for me too.

Then I got the letter.

Letter from Bucky Barnes

Postmarked: December 13, 1943

My dearest Y/N, I think about you every single day. That night in Brooklyn feels like a dream now, like something too warm and sweet to have been real, like a movie reel I can’t stop replaying in my head. You in that dress, laughing into your glass, your eyes sparkling in the moonlight. I remember every inch of you. And now I think of you with a hand on your stomach, feeling the tiniest flutter of the life we made together. I won’t pretend I’m not scared. Some days out here, the noise is so loud I can’t think straight. But your name grounds me. I whisper it under my breath when the bombs fall. I think of our child — our baby — and I remember why I need to come home. Why I fight. I want to be there when they take their first step. I want to teach them how to throw a baseball, how to tie their shoes. I want hear them learn to talk and laugh. If it’s a girl, I hope she has your eyes. If it’s a boy, I hope he laughs like you do, like sunshine cracking through clouds. I don’t know when I’ll be able to write again. I’m heading somewhere dangerous, can’t say where. But please believe me when I say I’m fighting to come back to you. Every bullet I dodge, every breath I take out here, it’s for you. For the baby. You've given me something to look forward to, to fight for. And I will come home. I love you, Y/N. Yours always, Bucky

Three Weeks Later

Brooklyn, January 1944

The letter is folded neatly, worn at the creases from how many times I’ve read it. Sometimes I hold it against my chest, like I can press his words into my skin and make them stay.

Today I have it clutched in my hand as I waddle, yes, waddle, down the steps of my apartment, the cold air biting through my coat. I’m seven months now. The baby kicks stronger every day. It’s the only thing that reminds me that Bucky was real.

Clara is already standing at the end of the sidewalk, scarf wrapped tight, her eyes glassy. She doesn’t speak.

That’s when I know.

I stop walking. My breath clouds the air in front of me, and suddenly it feels too thick to breathe.

“Clara?” My voice is already shaking.

She walks up, slow and quiet. Reaches out like she’s scared to touch me.

“They came to my house,” she whispers. “Figured you wouldn’t want to be alone.” Her eyes confirm my fears. Sadness. Worry. Pity.

I blink. The world tilts. “No.”

“Y/N…”

“No, no. He said he’d come back.” My chest tightens. The baby kicks hard, as if they can feel the panic rising in me. “He promised, Clara. He promised me.”

“They said it was during a mission. He fell from a train — they couldn’t find a body.”

My heart pounds.

“No body?” My voice latches onto the words like a lifeline. “Then he’s not gone. He’s not. Maybe he’s hurt. Maybe he's lost and they just need to find him! Maybe—”

“Sweetheart—” Clara's voice cracks, emotion coming through.

“Don’t call me that,” I snap, voice sharp and foreign. “Don’t—don’t act like it’s over. He wouldn’t leave me like this. He promised, Clara. He promised me. He promised our baby.”

I press both hands to my belly, trying to ground myself in something real. But the world is cracking open around me. The sidewalk. The snow. The windows lined with frost. It’s all wrong. None of this is supposed to happen. He wrote me. He told me he loved me. He wanted this.

I sink to the steps, knees giving out. This isn't true. She's lying. She has to be. Bucky's going to be home soon. I know it. He has to be.

The letter slips from my fingers into the snow. I snatch it back, heart thudding, and cradle it like a lifeline.

“I’ll keep reading it,” I whisper. “Every day. Until he comes back.”

Clara kneels beside me, arms around my shaking shoulders, but I don’t cry. Not yet.

If I cry, it means I believe he’s really gone. And I’m not ready for that. I don't know if I'll ever be.

Not when I can still feel him in every heartbeat. Not when his baby is still kicking inside me. Not when his last words were a promise.

“I’m coming back to you.”

----

I should have listened to my instincts the night I woke to the sound of the window creaking open.

Brooklyn was never quiet, not truly. Someone's always out and about. But that night was too quiet. I remember the way my breath fogged in the cold winter air as I sat up, rubbing my swollen belly, half asleep.

The next thing I remember is the flash of metal. A deep rumbling voice.

A sharp sting to my neck.

The scream that never made it out of my throat.

My eyes shutting on the image of someone standing next to me.

When I woke again, it was under flickering fluorescent lights. My wrists were bound, cold steel cutting into my skin. There were voices, clipped, foreign. German. One of them said the word Versuchsperson.

Test subject.

I knew that word. My stomach lurched, and not from the baby shifting inside me. From fear.

Where am I?

They didn’t care that I was pregnant. They cared only about what my body could endure.

“If she survives, we can push the limits of cryostasis on vulnerable subjects,” one of the scientists murmured.

“She is carrying Barnes’ child,” another replied, clinical. “Genetic value. Possibly enhanced.”

“Not likely. She looks too far along to have conceived after the enhancement. It's most likely from before. ”

Enhanced? Bucky? What is going on?

No. No, no.

I thrashed as they wheeled me into the freezing chamber — the same kind I’d only ever heard whispers of. It's terrifying.

“Please,” I sobbed. “Please don’t do this. I’m pregnant. Please.” My shoulders shook from fear.

No one looked at me. No one stopped.

The fluid began rising. Cold seeped into my skin like needles.

“I have a baby,” I whispered, teeth chattering, as my body began to shut down. “Please-” I beg.

Everything went black.

-----

I woke to alarms and shouting.

My vision was blurry as I tried to adjust to what's going on.

Not the Hydra voices I’d heard when I went under. No, this time, it was English. American. Familiar.

Memories hit me like a freight train, shocking me as they all rushed back at once.

They cracked the glass, pried me out. My legs didn’t work. My body was limp, useless. But I was alive.

And the baby—

A stab of pain hit me before I could think. Pain worse than anything I could've imagined. My scream tore through the sterile air, and someone was shouting, “She’s in labor!”

I didn’t know what year it was. I didn’t know who these people were. But I knew I wasn’t alone. Not anymore.

Any baby was on the way.

-----

I named him James.

Not for Bucky- not just for Bucky, but for the piece of him that lived inside our child. His eyes are exactly the same. The same shape, the same stormy color. Sometimes, when he laughs, my heart cracks open all over again.

We live in a small apartment SHIELD set up for us. Stark helped with the furniture, though I didn’t ask him to. Said it was the least he could do after “pulling an actual time traveler out of a Hydra tomb.”

The world is… impossible.

There are tiny computers in everyone’s pockets. Cars that drive themselves. Food that comes in boxes with instructions printed on plastic. I still flinch when doors open automatically. Things are very different.

SHIELD checks on us regularly. Mostly research. Blood draws, vitals, endless psychological evaluations. They’re studying me like I’m a relic. And maybe I am.

I try to keep James out of it, but they’re fascinated by him too. “Genetic goldmine,” I once overheard. I don’t let them take him anywhere without me.

He’s my whole world now.

I tell him stories about the 1940s. About jazz clubs and movie theaters with curtains. About his father, though I never have the words right.

How do you explain a love that bloomed and died in less than a week but left a scar that stretched across time?

----

I don’t expect to see him. Not today.

It’s just a standard check-up at the SHIELD facility — a few blood samples, a scan or two, a quiet nod from Dr. Cho saying I’m still stable, still alive, still miraculously whole. I’ve done this dance for years now, adjusting to a time seventy years ahead of the world I knew. Raising my son in a place that barely feels real, in a body that should’ve crumbled long ago.

James skips beside me down the hallway, holding my hand with sticky fingers, clutching his toy dinosaur in the other.

“Do you think Mr. Wilson will be there?” he asks, hopping every third step.

“If he is, no jumping on his wings this time, please.”

He giggles. “But I was gonna fly!”

I smile, brushing a hand through his hair. He’s grown so fast — not just taller, but louder, bolder, full of that same spark I used to see in the boy who once kissed me behind the big oak tree and whispered that everything would be okay.

My chest aches every time I think about it.

Bucky knew. He knew I was pregnant before he shipped out. I told him just a few days before his unit left. We cried, clung to each other, and made promises we were too young to fully understand. And then the letters stopped. The news came. Clara told me what she learned.

Sergeant James Barnes: Killed In Action.

I read the letter so many times that I have it memorized. I think about it often.

I never stopped loving him. Not for a moment.

But I learned to grieve him. To build something out of the pieces he left behind. I had to. My son needed me to.

And then today — today, the world tilts again.

We turn the corner into the medical wing, and I feel it before I see it, that sudden pull in my chest. A weight, a breath caught sideways in my ribs.

I freeze.

James tugs on my arm. “Mama?”

He follows my gaze, then goes quiet.

At the end of the hallway stands a man I once thought I’d never see again. Older. Sharper. His hair pulled back, jaw clenched, eyes scanning the room like he’s ready for a fight.

He's similar, but at the same time, so different. His muscles are much larger than I remember. His arm, once flesh, now glimmers under the building lights.

Then he sees us.

And everything stops.

“Y/N?”

The voice is different, rougher, like gravel, but it shakes something loose in my soul.

My lips tremble. “Bucky?”

He stares, stunned. Like I’ve just stepped out of one of his dreams -or nightmares. His eyes shift, flickering to the child standing at my side.

I see the moment he realizes. His eyes widen in disbelief. His lips part, like he wants to say something but can't quite find the words.

His knees nearly give out.

James blinks up at him, head tilting in that curious, unfiltered way only a child can manage. “Mama, who’s that?”

My throat closes.

I kneel beside him, one hand on his back, the other over my heart.

“That’s your dad, sweetheart.”

Bucky makes a sound, something like a gasp, something broken.

“I knew,” he whispers. “I never forgot. You told me, and I—they told me you were taken, gone. Most likely dead.. That the baby was likely-”

“I thought you were dead,” I say, standing slowly, my hand reaching out. “They told me you were gone.”

“I was.” He steps closer. “They took me, Y/N. I didn’t even remember my own name for decades. But you-our baby...” His voice breaks. “You were real. The only thing that felt real.”

Tears blur my vision. “I kept him safe. I promised you I would.”

“I promised I’d come back,” he whispers, voice thick. “I didn’t know it would take seventy years.”

James moves closer, eyes wide and searching. “You wrote letters to Mommy,” he says solemnly, like it’s the most important fact in the world. He remembers my stories.

Bucky kneels in front of him, tentative. “Yeah, buddy. I did.”

James holds out his hand.

Bucky stares at it like it’s holy, then gently wraps his fingers around it, so tender, so careful.

I watch them-my son and the man I thought I’d lost forever, and something inside me begins to stitch itself back together.

“I didn’t expect this,” Bucky murmurs, looking up at me with tear-glassed eyes. “But I want it. All of it. If you’ll let me.”

“I already have,” I whisper. “I told you before, Bucky. I want you in our lives.”

And for the first time in seventy years, we’re not just surviving.

We’re starting over.

Together.

Our little family

[thatdisasterauthor]

I am not sure where my fascination with disasters came from, but I have had it for a long, long time. So much so that I very specifically remember being in Middle School and writing a short story about a tornado hitting our school and trapping all the students in the gym (but none of the teachers, of course, because what fun would it be if the teachers were around?). My poor teacher didn't quite know what to do with me when she tried to pair everyone up by genre to critique one another's stories, as no one else had written something remotely similar. It didn't matter though, I was hooked. That afternoon I was standing in my garage and thinking about how I wanted to grow up to be an author who wrote disaster stories, and I wanted to write one story about each kind of disaster.

After several years (and two agents) trying to get these books picked up traditionally with no luck, I've decided to just do it myself. And so, the Little Disaster Books collection has been born! When you pick up a Little Disaster Book, here's what you're going to get:

A short read. Each book is around 50,000-70,000 words. That's a bit longer than a novella, and shorter than most novels, because sometimes you just need a quick book, not a door-stopper.

Each book is a standalone. Because, again, sometimes you just need something quick that you don't have to invest in for a decade while you wait for each book to come out.

Lots of queer characters of all sorts. The disaster genre is, unfortunately, pretty notorious for either not having queer characters at all, or killing them off. Little Disaster Books will instead center them and their narratives. But, the stories won't be ABOUT queerness, they'll just have characters that are queer.

No quickie romance. There will be characters in relationships (I'm a sucker for books with couples that are already together at the start), and maybe the first blooms of a potential romance, but nobody is falling head over heels when they should be focused on survival.

No gore for gore's sake. Characters might get hurt, or even die, but these aren't horror books or slasher books or anything in that vein.

A realistic look at disaster. I'm not just obsessed with fictional disasters, I'm obsessed with the real ones too. I have spent a lot of time studying disasters, myths around disasters/disaster response, and the sociology of disasters. With Little Disaster Books I have worked very, very hard to make the books as realistic as possible when it comes to things like civilian responders, everyday heroes, and how disaster response tends to work. At the end of the day they are still fiction, but they're fiction heavily grounded in reality. No "everyone for themselves/we're all animals when the lights go out" nonsense here.

Full endings. There's a bit of a trend in survival thrillers for them to end right at the climax/moment of rescue, or within a few pages of it, even if things haven't been fully wrapped up. Little Disaster Books will all have more rounded endings that delve, at least a little bit, into the aftereffects of what the characters go through, because sometimes the after is the hardest part of all.

The first book in this collection, Lie Down in the Ashes, is launching on Kickstarter on Janaury 15th, 2025! Sign up to be notified on launch here. It is about a group of teens who get caught in the middle of a fast moving wildfire that one of them accidentally starts.

Sign up to be notified on launch here.

[knoxic]

Teasing and Loving

Eris Vanserra x Reader

Summary: smut, Eris being a simp, smut, emotional talk, smut

wc: 2,8k

warnings: p in v, unprotected sex, trying for a baby (hinted at), oral (m and f receiving), cum eating, no beta

a/n: technically it was part of the How to be a High Lady series but it works better as a one shot imo

"Love?" Eris called out to her, pushing her office door far enough to fit his head in, at her nod he let himself in, closing the door behind him. "A letter arrived from Winter." He gently set the letter on her table, away from the other papers scattered around the place.

"Oh, what did they want?" She looked up from the book she was studying, catching the amused grin he tried to hide.

"I don't know, it's for you." He slid the letter closer to her as if to make a point.

"Ah, I'm still getting used to receiving letters like this..." She felt slightly embarrassed but brushed it off, she closed the book carefully and placed it aside before picking up the letter. Eris had made his way around her table and was leaning against it by her side, watching her every move.

"Hello, fellow High Lady! I was hoping we could spend some girl's time together, perhaps while our males discuss some court business, let them handle all the work for a while, now that we are allies, they ought to be friends too. So, what do you say? We could meet here in Winter and I could show you the wonders we have, or, you could show me what Autumn has been hiding all these years, Kal and I have always wanted to visit Autumn, the few hours we get to spend there for the meetings do not do it justice, that I'm sure of.

Eagerly waiting for your response,

Your fellow High Lady, Viviane."

"Viviane is asking if I want to spend some 'girl's time' with her," she giggled, "And I think Kallias finally crowned her High Lady." She showed Eris the letter, pointing to the first and last phrases.

"About time," Eris uttered, "Was starting to think he didn't have it in him."

"Eris." She gave him a pointed look. Sometimes his old self would come up, a natural response, they were both working on it.

"Habit, sorry." He smiled at her, faking innocence but quickly erupted into laughter, making her join him. It was so weird for him not having to insult someone at any opportunity encountered, that when he did, out of nowhere, it was funny.

"You're so stupid." She said, stomach cramping from how hard she was laughing.

"Darling, you marry this stupid, deal with it." Eris sighed, running a hand through his perfect hair trying to compose himself. "So, will you?"

"Yes, it's been way too long since I've had a girl's time." She started searching for some paper so she could write back to Viviane.

"Not to sound insecure or anything but... what exactly do you females do on your 'girl's time'?"

"Just girly things, males and our sex life, you know," she responded nonchalantly, "Last time I had one, one of my friends had even reenacted some scenes..." Eris' face at that moment was something she'd paid to see again. His eyes looked like they'd pop out of his head, his cheeks flushed redder than she'd ever seen before, his mouth was hanging open and he looked like a fish when he trying to talk.

"Relax, Eris! I'm just joking." She laughed, her belly protesting. She saw through watery eyes the moment Eris regained his composure, his smirk gave her a hint that they had a long night ahead.

Two big hands pulled her body up, making her squeal and laugh even harder. Eris picked her up and turned them both so he was now sitting on her chair, his lips kissed her neck while his hands found the ticklish spots around her body.

"You think you can fuck with me and not be punished for it, little witch?" His voice was rough with lust, her laughter died down and turned into soft moans.

"Careful, I might reenact what you'll do next with Viviane..." A hand smacked her cheek, the warm feeling of the scalding fire that ran through his veins made her shiver with goosebumps, the whisper of his slender fingers running up her spine only making her tremble harder. The effect Eris had on her was insane.

"Don't you dare. Not the time to play, love." He bit her shoulder. She nodded, knowing Eris wouldn't actually be mad at her for misbehaving, but he would be stressed, and while he'd never act like his father, an stressed Eris was more sad than anything, and she hated that. He was done being used and beaten, the stress he endured all these centuries was enough to mess with his head so hard that now he could barely bear feeling stressed.

She nodded against his neck, kissing and nuzzling his shoulder. In response, he tugged her closer to him, his fingers finally working on the buttons of her dress, pulling apart and setting her down on her desk to take their clothes off.

When Eris was done unbuttoning his shirt, her hands found his muscular chest, pushing him back, signaling for him to sit. She quickly got down on her knees, Eris purposely slipped the fabric of her dress where her knees would meet the floor, making sure they wouldn't hurt so much. Her fingers worked on the strings of his trousers, when they slipped inside the waistband, Eris lifted his hips for her to slip them out, his briefs following suit, during their undressing, Eris had also taken his boots off.

Her hands danced around his torso and tights, lightly scratching his skin, her fingers followed his happy trail before touching his cock, squeezing him the way he liked while running her hand up and down. His warm fingers caressed her arms, encouraging her to keep the pace.

After he was completely hard, she started licking his tip, running her tongue against the underside, slowly going down and licking the whole expanse of his member. His quiet sights and humming making her skin tingle, leaning away from him she admired her artwork, the way his skin was redder in certain spots, his breath was ragged even with so little action, his eyelids almost fully closed and his hair the same messy hair she saw at home. His vulnerability came with a messy version of Eris that would make anyone question if it was really him, his usually perfect styled hair seemed to have never seen a hairbrush, his enviable posture sometimes slumpy.

"Don't stop..." He whined, his head lolled from one side to another.

Taking pity on him, she brought her mouth back down, taking as much of him as she could, bobbing her head slowly, taking him deeper everytime she went down until her nose was pressed against him.

"Gods... What did I do to deserve you?" Eris mumbled, when she looked up, his eyes were fully closed and his mouth had formed a pleased smile.

Eris wasn't really into blowjobs, at least not like the other males she knew, he'd never refuse it of course, but he wasn't one to ask for it. She never asked and Eris never said anything, but she had an inkling that it might have something to do with his father, the way he viewed and treated females, Eris was bound to have heard and, perhaps, seen some disgusting things.

Her mate's hand gently cradled her head, not moving her, just holding. His hips twitched every time her mouth fully enveloped him, she noticed how much effort he was putting into not thrusting up.

"You can fuck my mouth if you want." Her voice was raspy and breathless when she spoke, immediately going back to sucking on him, paying special attention to his tip. His eyebrows furrowed like he was in pain, mouth opened in a silent moan, the muscular thighs under her finger tensed. Suddenly Eris was pushing her head away and yanking her up into his lap.

"For someone who claims to hate teasing, you're doing it way too well, sweetheart." His hands slipped through her hair until he had a good hold of the back of her head, he pushed her closer to his mouth, just enough that she could touch him if she stuck her tongue out, when she tried to lean in for a kiss, he pulled at her hair. He laughed at her pout and gave a mocking peck to her bottom lip, a mere brush that could never be called a kiss.

"You're mean, you know that?" She pushed at his chest, not exactly trying to push him away, all her strength went to keeping her smile at bay.

"But my love... someone needs to take that seriousness off your pretty face."

"You just say that because you can't be serious around me, I smell envy..." She sniffled jokingly, the only scent that filled her nose was arousal, the musk smell of Eris and the slick coating her thighs.

Eris giggled, throwing his head back, one of his hands left her waist to rest at his abdomen, his body convulsing with soft laughter. None of the males she met before laughed like that, in fact, she wasn't sure if they ever truly laughed. Eris, despite his upbringing, knew how to have a good laugh.

"Oh Gods... I couldn't have asked for a better mate." His  head was still thrown back, if the sight of his body slumped in her chair didn't say anything, his relaxed smile sure did. "Kiss me." The hand that remained on her waist ran up to her cheek, "Kiss me." He repeated, bringing her head closer. "Drown me with the taste of you." Their tongues danced. "Make me forget how to breathe without your hands on me." Her hips lifted enough to take him inside her warm cunt, the feeling making them both groan. "My body is yours, my soul is yours, my heart is yours, take my mind too. My every thought is yours, everything I think is formulated with your face in my mind, everything I plan is thinking of you and us, our future, our family..."

Their heartbeats synchronized, their mouths dancing, the rhythm of her hips rocking their bodies, their chests collided with rapid breaths, hands here and there squeezing and feeling. "Eris–"

"Yes! Yes, yes, please!" His hands went back to her hips, helping her bounce on top of him, her head dropped to his shoulder, nodding.

Eris gasped, as pleasure threatened to push him off the edge, he braced an arm on her waist and lifted himself off her chair, his unoccupied hand pushed the paper off the desk, he'll help reorganize them later. Feeling the kisses she planted on his neck, combined with her sigh of pleasure when he slipped her down his cock, almost made his knees buckle.

He set her down onto the desk, curving an arm under her head, giving her time to adjust to the new position before he started to thrust, his forehead resting on hers, their breaths fanning each others faces.

Her hands ran the whole expanse of Eris' back, encouraging him to thrust into her, each snap of his hip against hers threatening to push her off the desk, the arm he slung under her head being the only thing keeping her from doing so. The intensity of having sex with Eris never failed to amaze her, she wasn't sure if it was because he was her mate, or if it was really just in his nature to be intense, probably both. Due his accidental edging, Eris already felt close to cuming, the fact that she kept squeezing him didn't help, he was sure she was doing it on purpose, brat, he really taught her well. He couldn't stop his hips from stuttering so he just stopped, resting his cock fully inside her, his head dropping to her chest to suck on her perky nipples, trying to pretend it was all in purpose, unfortunately for him, it didn't foul her. Her soft giggles filled his ears, both her hands moving to his head, running her fingers through his wild red hair.

"Have I already told you I love your messy hair?"

Eris pulled back from her breast to look at her, a expressionof shock on his face before a breath burst out of him, "My hair is not messy, love." He answered while giggling, thinking she was joking. She only rolled her eyes in response, moving her hips against his, Eris' mouth feel open, his eyes slammed shut.

"Close already?" She smiled up at him, knowing too well the effect she had on him. Her legs moved so she had a firm grip of him, now being able to move her hips better, squeezing his cock whenever he was pushed deep inside her.

"Keep doing that–" His words were cut off by a groan, "And I'll cum before you." Eris' whole body trembled.

"It's okay." She pulled his head closer to hers, nuzzling his nose before initiating a kiss. She doubled her efforts to make him cum, moving her hips harder and faster, licking into his mouth like an starved female.

Eris groaned, his body tensed, his knees buckled, his arms gave up and he fell fully against her, she could feel his thighs shaking and a hot liquid filling her cunt. She felt every spurt of cum, his cock throbbing, the way that even when he was finished he was still hard. As soon as he regained control of his legs, he trusted slowly into her, pushing his cum as deep as he could.

When he came down from his high, Eris pulled back from her mouth, not once had she stopped kissing him, his eyes roamed through her beautiful body, his hands squeezing her breasts and stomach, sliding down until his thumb met her clit, rubbing lazy circles on her, just enough to feel good.

Eris slid his cock off of her slowly, catching the small spurt of cum that came out and pushing it back inside her. After meeting her gaze one last time, he fell to his knees, his mouth placing gentle kisses and nibbles on her plump thighs.

His nose brushed her clit, their scents mingled together filled his nose, his tongue licked her slit like the starved male he was, slurping his own release mixed with her wetness. Her moans drew him insane, she was a quiet female so to know she made those beautiful noises because of him, was maddening. Her hands brushed his hair out of his face, careful fingers touching his pointed ear, making it twitch involuntarily. She felt more than heard her mate's groan, the vibration directly on her clit pushed her off the edge she didn't even know she was treading. Eris didn't stop, the pleasure building up inside her as if she never reached her release at all. His slender fingers pushing through her throbbing slit, curling into a spot inside her that made her see stars, after years of experience, Eris could definitely bring her orgasm after orgasm if he wanted to, and that's what he did. Pushing his fingers as deep as they'd go and pulling them out before she could slip off again, he played with her until he was sure she was too deep in pleasure to hold it back.

When he was done, she could barely feel her own body, still tingling with pleasure and her mind too fogged up. She felt warmth and his scent enveloped her, her cheek pressed into something hard, his heartbeat helped bring her back to herself. Eris' hand brushed her locks behind her ear, caressing her hair mindlessly, he planted kisses where he could reach, head, forehead, eyes, nose, until she stared back at him, eyes still shining as she smiled.

"That was good." She said, voice barely a whisper. Eris hummed in response, smiling back.

He helped her into his shirt, knowing she was too sensitive to wear her dress again. After that they went back to their chambers, still holding one another as they went. All the servants had gone to bed by now, so no one saw their half dressed High Lord and Lady walking through the corridors.

"Are you too tired for a bath?" Eris asked agaisnt her neck, never one to stay away from his mate. "Hungry? I can go make us something." He brushed her jawline with his nose, arms tightly holding her against him.

"Not too tired, and kind of hungry but I'd rather have you here with me." She answered with her eyes closed, bathing in the affection he poured on her.

"I'll draw us a bath, and then we'll go eat something." It was natural for them, so many times had Eris gone to visit her in the middle of the night with an empty stomach, right after finishing all of his work for the day. It only got worse when he became High Lord, so many things to be fixed that the only moment they got to themselves was at night, when Prythian was asleep.

Taglist: @callsigns-haze , @lilah-asteria , @mybestfriendmademe , @coldmermaidhologram , @rcarbo1 , @andreperez11 , @st4r-girl-official , @tenshis-cake , @pirana10 , @esposadomd lmk if you want to be added/removed

A/n²: I accidentally wrote "you can duck my mouth if you want"... and when I read it midway through the smut it was... cringe, I stopped writing. had to go feed the ducks

[mysticalcrowntyrant]

Do you know the fatal frame/project zero video games? I’m really into the concept of a centuries old malevolent spirit yandere and the helplessness of being haunted by something so unbelievable

Yandere Ghost x Reader

AN: Sadly I've only ever heard about them. :( I tried my best to fit the prompt. I hope it still works!

You used to believe that fear had limits.

It was a thing you could define: the shadows under your bed, the creaking of an old house, the dark water in a lake you couldn’t see the bottom of. Things you could rationalize, things that lived in the world of the explainable.

Then you came here.

The village is barely a name on a map, nestled between mountains too jagged to be hospitable and forests too old to be familiar. You came for a research grant, something about documenting local folklore, something academic and meaningless. A few interviews. Some dusty records. A chance to get away from your life, from yourself. From the quiet sense that nothing really matters anymore.

You didn’t expect the silence to follow you here. The kind that sinks into your bones. The kind that makes you think—maybe it’s not the world that’s quiet. Maybe it’s you who’s been hollowed out.

The house you’re staying in is old. Creaking beams, paper-thin walls, drafty windows that let in the howling wind. The locals don’t speak of it directly, but they hesitate when you mention the name. They look away. One man muttered a prayer under his breath.

You laughed it off. You told yourself it was quaint. Superstition.

That was before the mirror started lying to you.

At first, it was small. You’d turn your head, and your reflection wouldn’t. Or you’d blink, and it wouldn’t. Then it would smile when you weren’t. The kind of smile that meant something else. The kind of smile that said: I see you. I know you.

You smashed the mirror.

But it didn’t stop.

He started appearing in the corners of your vision, at first. Pale skin like drowned paper, black eyes like split voids. Hair dark as rot. The clothing looked ceremonial—traditional, but wrong. Ancient robes stained with something darker than time. He never said anything. Just stared. Long enough to make your chest tighten, your pulse spike, your breath come short and shallow.

You told yourself it was stress. That you were seeing things. Hallucinating. The mind plays tricks in isolation.

Then he started talking.

Not with words, at first. With feelings. You’d be halfway through brushing your teeth when the sensation would hit you—watched. Then: wanted. Like a hand sliding down your spine, invisible but possessive. Like breath on the back of your neck, slow and warm and not yours.

At night, you stopped sleeping. Every time you closed your eyes, he was there. Not in your dreams—through them. Standing over you. Kneeling by your bed. His voice like silk dragged through broken glass: “Mine.”

You tried to leave.

The roads washed out in the storm.

You tried to call for help.

Your phone died and wouldn’t charge again.

You tried to write letters, scream for help, run screaming through the woods like a mad thing. But even when you stumbled upon another soul, they looked through you, like you weren’t even there. Like you’d already started fading.

You don’t know when it changed from haunting to something else.

When the whispers started sounding like affection.

When the cold that clung to you began to feel like an embrace.

When the fear turned to a low, steady dread that you could never leave. That he would never let you.

He says he’s waited centuries for you. That your soul has worn many faces, lived many lives. That he’s killed every lover you’ve ever had, snuffed out every path you tried to take away from him. He whispers their names in your ear while you try to sleep, his hands ghosting over your skin, icy and unyielding.

He says you were promised to him. That your ancestors wronged him, that this is his due. That the blood in your veins calls to him, recognizes him, belongs to him.

You scream. You cry. You beg. You deny.

It doesn’t matter.

There is no priest brave enough to exorcise him. No god powerful enough to free you. No friend left who remembers you exist. You are a whisper between worlds now, caught in the grip of something ancient and wrong.

Something that loves you the way fire loves dry wood.

Masterlist

[monimccoythings]

Like Father Like Daughter

I have so many WIPs from different fandoms and this Wolverine fic ideas just keep coming and coming... I appreciate so much the support I've been shown, I don't look at the notes because it shows in activity that is 99+ and I get anxious lol. Logan has a nasty temper but is really fun to write.

Living with an ill-tempered man like Logan wasn't always easy, but living with him and his variant's teenaged clone turned adopted daughter who had the exact same temper as him, was proving to be quite the challenge.

As anybody would expect, those two were constantly butting heads at everything, be it food, curfews, or, just as they were doing at this very moment, Laura's choices in fashion.

The girl had chosen some shorts and black leggings, with black sneakers, and a crop top that was way too short for an old fashioned man like Logan to approve, to hang out with some friends she had made at her new high school. Barely sparing a glance at her outfit, Logan had snapped at her to go back to her room and change into something more appropiate, which Laura took it as well as any teenage girl that had spent part of her earliest teen years dressing and doing what she pleased in the void would. And then the screaming match had begun.

"NO CHILD OF MINE IS GOING OUT DRESSED UP LIKE THAT."

"IT'S JUST A SHIRT, IT'S NOT A BIG DEAL."

You let out a quiet sigh. You knew daughters were supposed to rebel against their parents, but having two superpowered beings at each other's throats at all times wasn't the great idea the universe thought it was. You knew they loved each other deeply and would kill for each other, but sometimes they were way too much alike.

"Sweetie, listen to Daddy on this one, he just wants what's best for you."

How the fuck had Wade gotten in and embraced your husband's muscular arm without anyone noticing. With a low growl, Logan pushed him away. Laura did not seem too pleased with him either.

"FUCK OFF, YOU AREN'T MY MOM!"

Wade covered his mouth and let out a shocked gasp that honestly was worthy of an Oscar nomination. You quietly thanked him for his presence, maybe that would help relieve the tension in the room. Laura turned at you, imploringly.

"Tell him he's just overreacting. Please."

You sneakily looked at your husband, who seemed to be red with rage, his lips pulled back in a feral snarl that clearly was a display of dominance, knuckles pressed against the wooden table so tightly that you started to fear for the well being of the furniture. His muscles were so tense he looked like he was going to burst out of his shirt, by the way the veins in his neck were swelling.

You didn't want to disrespect his authority over his daughter, but you also didn't want to make Laura direct her hate at you; you loved that girl and her attitude as if she was your own child. It seemed they needed some consesus, and you guessed you'd have to be once again the bigger person here.

"Laura, your father is just worried about you. If you want to wear that top, then you'd have to put a jacket on. And we want you back home by eleven."

"But my friends-" She started to protest, but you quickly cut her off.

"Eleven and that's more than your father was willing to give you."

She bit her lip, considering her options. With a huff, she stomped back towards her room to get that jacket. She slammed the front door on the way back out, not even bothering to say goodbye. Teenagers.

The living room got quiet. Really quiet. You could only hear Wade munching on some popcorn he had gotten from God knows where. Logan was fuming, not at you of course, but at his unruly adoptive daughter's behavior. He stormed towards your shared bedroom and slammed the door close hard enough, it made the pictures on the wall tremble. You sighed.

Well that went well.

It wasn't until half an hour later that he cooled off and decided to come out. You were cleaning up some dishes while Wade sat on the couch watching some cartoons. It made you smile, it was like you had two children running around.

You felt your husband's stubble and nose nuzzle against the back of your neck, as he embraced you from behind, his massive hands covering the entire expanse of your fourth month pregnant belly. "Feeling better now?" You casually asked.

His teeth nipped at the skin on your neck leaving a burning feeling that only his tongue could soothe. "I don't know what to do with her, she seems to fight against everything I do or say." His deep rumbling voice sent shivers running down your spine.

"Deep down she knows you love her. And she loves you too, even if she is too 'cool' to admit it." He let out a bitter chuckle, massaging your belly while leaning his chin on your shoulder, his sideburns made you tickle.

"I just hope this little one doesn't give us that much trouble."

"Hey, however they come out, we will love them the same, because they are a part of our family." He kissed your cheek and you leaned back into his embrace.

"Yes, our family." You let out a laugh at the sudden extra weight on your backs. Looks like Wade had gotten tired of the tv and had decided to join you into your little embrace.

"Wade..." Logan started warningly, carefully prying his hands away from your belly.

*SNIKT*

[starrihan]

Hii <3

How do you think &Team Hyung line would react to female best friend not wearing a bra and they accidentally touch them.

I love ur writing! ⭐️

hiii nonnie! youre too sweet thank you!!! i always appriciate when people say they love my writing 🥹🥹 also its crazy that i already had an idea to write something like this so im excited that we had the same idea!

each part is ~500-700 words long (they get longer for each member 😅)

-> Here's a link to all my other masterlists!

༄ ༄ ༄

K:

he called you over to the dorms as if it were an emergency. you were laying in bed, about to go to sleep when his messages kept buzzing your phone. you groaned, picking up the device and looking at the dimly lit screen, only to read in all caps: "Y/N COME QUICK ITS URGENT I NEED YOUR HELP!" so of course you spring into action, not bothering to put on a bra and just grabbing your jacket, bolting out the door.

you're there within minutes, making sure you brought emergency meds and a first aid kit just incase, knowing the boys didn't have any at their dorm.

"whats all this for?"

K says casually as he opens the door. But you don't pay him any mind, running in:

"WHERES THE EMERGENCY? WHAT HAPPENED? ARE YOU OKAY? WHERE'S TAKI? DID MY SON GET INJURED?!"

you look around frantic, adrenaline still pumping through your veins.

"what? no. i needed your help with this recipe. i don't know how to do this one technique and you cook so i thought–"

your back is turned to him, anger bubbling up inside of you.

"–Koga Yudai. you texted me that it was an emergency but ALL YOU NEEDED WAS HELP WITH A GODDAMNED RECIPE??!! I COULD JUST KILL–"

he reaches his hand out, trying to grab your shoulder to spin you around when you decide to turn yourself, stopping your sentence when his big hand lands straight on your right boob. he's frozen in place, stunned by his own hand placement.

"hello? earth to K? mind taking your hand off of my chest so i can yell at you more you sick pervert?"

"oh, uh... yeah, sorry..."

he says, nervously, an awkward hand going to scratch at the nape of his neck as a light pink blush dusts his cheeks.

"what? you've never touched a boob before? why the bashfulness?"

his blush grows deeper, quickly denying your allegations.

"i've touched a woman's boobs before but never my best friend's! sorry for feeling embarrassed, damn."

you shrug your shoulder, crossing your arms over your chest, elevating them.

"i didn't mind it. you could've kept it there longer, its been a while since someone's touched them anyway, what better person to do it then you i guess."

its like his brain short-circuited for a second. like he couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"you're serious? you want me to keep touching your boobs?"

"i didn't mean it like that. i'm just saying if you want to, you can."

you look away, feeling a little embarrassed yourself now for even suggesting the idea.

"and suddenly i'm not hungry anymore."

he looks at you dead in the face as you look down, watching the ever-growing tent in his pants forming before your eyes, a smirk creeping its way onto your face as you let out a little chuckle.

"you're too easy, you know that?"

"i'm a touch starved man and busy, what did you think was going to happen?"

༄ ༄ ༄

Fuma:

you wanted to start going to the gym to get in shape. you had many events coming up and you wanted to be in the best shape you could, at least to keep your energy up throughout the day, so of course you enlisted the help of your best friend and gym rat, Fuma.

"you better be grateful, i'm skipping one of my precious gym days to help you out."

you stop in tracks, bowing down to him and being extra dramatic in your delivery:

"thank you, oh great lord Fuma. your assistance is much appreciated i have no earthly idea what i would do without your holy guidance!"

he rolls his eyes, gently nudging you forward as you laugh at your own antics. upon making it to the gym, you set your belongings down near the yoga mats, stretching first as a warm-up. he shows you what to do, like your own personal trainer, having you complete a set of stretches and even some Pilates-style workouts before heading over to the big machines.

after your workout, you both decided to get some food. you head over the bathrooms, showering quickly before putting your gym clothes away and putting on your regular outfit. you look in your bag, finding everything you needed except for a spare bra. after looking in your bag two more times, you curse at yourself, realizing that you forgot to pack an extra bra. the shirt you brought to wear after your workout was a little tight, but you hoped not much could be seen, you didn't really have an other choices for clothing, opting not to bring a jacket today because it was nice out.

upon walking out, you can't help but shiver, the cool air from the AC's blasting throughout the gym catching you off guard. you didn't notice the way your nipples had pebbled due to the cold. you sit at one of the nearby benches, waiting for Fuma. a couple minutes later, he walks out with all of his belongings.

"finally, took you long enough!"

you exasperate, getting up and facing him. he laughs, looking down at you when he notices your nipples poking through the shirt. you don't notice his wandering eyes, another shiver running up your body.

"cold?"

he says as you nod.

"i think its just the AC's though, i should be fine outside."

"no, here."

he says, going to put his jacket over your shoulders. you laugh, trying to fight his jacket away, saying you'll be fine one you leave the gym. he continues his actions though, now just to tease you but stops when he manages to get the jacket over both of your shoulders, the palm of his hand grazing your hard nipple as you let out a soft moan.

he looks at you in shock as your face flushes a deep red, embarrassment coursing through your body as the moan you let out because of your best friend. you take the jacket, forcefully pulling it over your shoulders to hide your chest.

"if i had known you would be moaning for me i wouldn't have done it in public."

he says, trying to lighten the mood.

"so you would do it in private?"

you look at him, dumbfounded by the audacity of the man in front of you to crack such jokes.

"only if you wanted me to."

he says, walking ahead of you while laughing. you scoff angrily, catching up to him.

"you're a freak!"

"i'm not the one that moaned in public because of my best friend."

the smirk he wore on his face was smug, but you couldn't lie and say you didn't consider his offer after that.

༄ ༄ ༄

Nicholas:

he called you over to the practice room one day, asking for help on this new choreography that he was trying to learn. you had both met in a dance academy so he knew he could rely on you as a dance partner to help him out.

thinking that it wasn’t going to be anything too vigorous, you opted for a comfy outfit, a simple hoodie and leggings and no bra. heading to the room, you greet your best friend with a hug.

“Y/N!”

Nicholas calls out. you hadn’t seen him in a while with his group being so busy promoting and preparing for a comeback and tour, so naturally you were really excited to see him again.

“Nicho!”

after catching up for a bit, he showed you the choreo, laughing a little when you tried to replicate the moves with just your arms first. once you felt you had the hand movements down, you stood up to practice the actual steps of the dance, the footwork a little confusing at first.

after practicing by yourself for a while, you told Nicholas that you were ready to practice with him, going over each move step by step. he was having difficulty executing the move smoothly. the way he was doing it made the dance feel segmented instead of flowing naturally with his body. the move required him to spin into a backflip, then having to continue the dance without getting dizzy as the footwork was hard.

you practiced over and over again, helping him with his spins into the flip, but each time he’d mess up the footwork afterwards, still slightly disoriented from the spin-flip.

you tell him to rest a little, practicing the moves separately at first before trying to combine them. you started off fine, facing the same struggles as him before understanding how you kept yourself oriented. Nicholas just stood there, watching as you tried over and over again to perfect the move. he could tell you were starting to get a little dizzy yourself, the speed in combination with such difficult moves catching up to you.

you tried again, losing control of your spin. you braced yourself, expecting your back to hit the hardwood floor, but never feeling the impact. instead, you look up, opening your eyes to see a wide-eyed Nicho looking down at you in horror.

“geez, do I look that ugly from this angle? why do you look so scared?”

but it isn’t until the adrenaline wears off that you feel it: both of Nicholas’s hands cupping your unsupported tits. your eyes go just as wide as his before you find the footing to get yourself up.

“why aren’t you wearing a bra? we’re practicing a dance!”

“i didn’t think it was gonna be this hard! bras are uncomfortable!”

you’re yelling at each other out of embarrassment, the blush on both of your cheeks the same color as Nicho’s hair, but he couldn't argue your logic.

"next time i ask you to practice can you please wear a bra?"

"why? its not like you'll have to hold them again."

"well what if i do?"

and you look at him confused, cause why would he need to hold your boobs for a dance?

"if you do then you're a pervert for wanting to hold them again. too good to keep your hands off?"

he looks away from you as if your stare could turn him into stone, but his silence intrigues you.

"oh my god Nicholas do you want to hold my boobs again?"

"well not when you put it like that, you weirdo."

he grumbles, hands in his face that he even admitted that in the first place.

"if you can perfect this part by the end of the day i'll let you hold them again."

his head shoots up from his palms, the motivation to learn the dance rushing back. he gets up without a word, practicing again.

"and i'm the weirdo."

༄ ༄ ༄

Euijoo:

you had asked him to study at library together. you both had exams coming up, but you didn't want to study alone, so you called him to keep you company knowing he had his own work to catch up on.

"hey Y/N! thanks for inviting me out to study with you. i've gotten so sick and tired of being holed away in my dorm. Nicholas can be a handful sometimes."

he sighs, putting his stuff down across from you at the library table. you laugh, enjoying his little anecdote.

"i've only met him a couple of times, but he does seem a little high-maintenance. i'm glad i could get you out of there for a bit! i know i'm gonna be here for at least 4 hours studying for this exam."

you sigh, getting ready to bury yourself in your books, catching a glimpse of Euijoo putting his glasses on above your laptop screen. you didn't want to admit it to yourself, but you had been crushing on Euijoo for a while now. you felt wrong about it, knowing that he was your best friend and that he probably didn't see you in that way.

about an hour into your study session, you look around your work space, overwhelmed at the amount of papers and books you have scoured open to write this essay. it was a 15-page research paper for your biomed class that required you to search through published books you couldn't find online. you stand up, alerting Euijoo of your plan to search for a particular book, not to mention the fact that you needed to stretch your legs. he nods, going back to his work.

you don't travel very far, still within Euijoo's line of sight as you come across the biomed section. you scan the bookshelf, silently cheering when you find the book. you go on your tippy-toes, the book much higher on the shelf than you were able to distinguish upon initially seeing it. you kept trying, just barely grazing the book each time.

looking up from his laptop, he notices your struggle, finding it cute before chuckling to himself and getting up to help you.

"need some help?"

he chuckles, watching you struggle some more. you turn to face him, about to say yes when you feel your hand on the book slip, knocking it out of place. Euijoo moves quickly, grabbing your waist to move you out of the way of the book's fall, or what he thought was your waist.

you look up at him, surprised etched on your face, one because of how quickly he reacted in moving you out of the way, essentially protecting you, but two because of his risqué hand placement, especially since you chose today of all days not to wear a bra underneath your hoodie. it didn't help that he was holding onto you so tight, effectively squeezing your tits.

"are you okay? you didn't get hurt, right?"

you smile at his concern, shaking your head 'no,' awkwardly pointing your finger at his hand that was still wrapped around you, probably out of shock and making sure you were okay. the blush on your face makes so much sense to him now, reeling his hand back in horror after realizing what he had been holding this whole time, but he couldn't help but think about how your tits felt in his hands, especially without a bra.

"oh my god i'm so sorry. i guess i underestimated our height difference, i thought i was holding your waist..."

you found his nervousness adorable but you thanked him nonetheless for helping you out.

"do you usually not wear bras?"

your entire body heats up at his question, not expecting him to be so bold. you shake your head, looking down to avoid his gaze while picking up the dropped book.

"i normally do wear them, but they do get uncomfy, maybe i shouldn't wear them as often."

you look up to see his reaction, his face the same shade of red as yours. you exchange quiet glances during the rest of your study session, not being able to shake the thought of your crush holding your boobs.

༄ ༄ ༄

-> Here's a link to all my other masterlists!

[kingkat12]

pinking up (roman godfrey x reader)

WARNINGS: spanking, discipline, humiliation, clit stim, Dr. Pryce jumpscare lol

summary: finally, you're Mr. Godfrey's official submissive-- but what does that entail, exactly?

word count: 10,056

← previous chapter | next chapter →

a/n: I've been wanting to write a scene like this for SO. DAMN. LONG. this story is turning into me writing all my experimental kinks so y'all are in for a ride lol, enjoy!!<333

And suddenly, the warmth in the air made living easier.

Spring comes to a climax around May every year; I always know exactly when it comes, because the first breath I take while exiting my apartment fills my lungs with joy, and not with the urge to jump into incoming traffic, as usual. 

So, when Mr. Godfrey asked me to meet him up on the rooftop terrace this morning, I gladly accepted; all for fresh air, am I right? He usually only asked me to fetch him his coffee, mark up his schedules, and occasionally run down to the bougie bakery down the street to grab macarons, so this was a happy change of routine. However, now that I was his submissive (as he called it), something told me that this wasn't a casual rooftop meeting-- my blood buzzed in my veins out of sheer excitement, and I could feel the tips of my fingers vibrate as I I walked out on the terrace, my Louboutins knocking gently against the wooden planks as I suppressed a smile. 

The sun was veiled behind a thin layer of clouds, but the air was warm, my dearest Spring, heavy with the scent of city heat rising off brick. It mixed with the trail of smoke from Mr. Godfrey's cigarette-- even they damn smelled expensive when touched by him. Fucking Midas. 

Mr. Godfrey stood near the edge of the balcony, one hand resting on the railing, the other bringing the cigarette to his lips. Wind played with the hem of his shirt, white and crisp, with the sleeves rolled up just enough to show the veins in his forearms; I knew I shouldn't be staring at him like this, but I couldn't stop myself. The first two buttons were undone-- slut. Slutty, slutty man. Whore.

Smoke slowly curled out from Mr. Godfrey's mouth, like he was too lazy to properly exhale it. The smoke rose like something sacred in the air, blurring the sharp line of his jaw for only a second before the wind swept it away. He didn't glance at me right away; he simply took another drag like he had all the time in the world. My eyes followed the perfect angle of the Forbes nose-- how was it possible to be so beautiful?

When Mr. Godfrey finally did turn his head, it was lazy. His green eyes flicked down the length of me, and he spoke with a sharp dryness; "You're late,"

I stopped a few steps away from him. "I'm not, sir,"

Mr. Godfrey gave a breath of a laugh, barely audible, more an exhale than anything, before he turned his body to face me fully, his cigarette hanging between his fingers as he pointed them at me; "You are," he said, voice low, amused. "By about thirty seconds. I counted."

I stared at him, unsure whether he was joking or if he truly did stand up here and count the seconds until I arrived. Did he have nothing else to do? What about the oil, the steel, and the whatever-the-fuck he did? "Sir," I tried. "Is this about the new schedule format? Why did you ask me up here?"

Mr. Godfrey took another drag before answering, his eyes squinting slightly against the sun-diffused sky. The cigarette glowed faintly at the tip, then dimmed again as he spoke around the smoke. "Because I felt like it," He let the smoke leak lazily from his mouth like he had no care in the world-- cocky. "I can do that, y'know? I can also summon a shaman or a Tibetan monk if I want to, and someone will fly the guy in. I once asked for a Catholic priest straight from Rome, too, but that ended up with a call from the board asking whether I was having some sort of mental breakdown or religious epiphany... so now I'm asking my secretary to join me on the rooftop. Is that a crime?"

I blinked. How was I supposed to respond to this info-dump? "What was it then?"

"Was what?"

"Was it a mental breakdown or a religious epiphany, sir?"

Mr. Godfrey smirked, handsome as ever, as the cigarette balanced between his fingers. He leaned back into the railing again, looking out on the skyline; "Neither. I don't believe in God, and I just wanted to see how far I could push before someone told me no," He brought the cigarette back to his lips, his green eyes gleaming with intrigue as he watched me through the veil of smoke separating us. "They didn't."

"Right," I breathed, wondering how long to entertain this show of ego-mania. I hated that some part of me enjoyed this side of him, the side that was unimaginably cocky, privileged. There was something about exactly this that made me want to jump him, and I hated myself for it. "Sir... I have a rhetorical question."

Mr. Godfrey glanced at me, and I took that as a yes; "Have you ever been told no?" I asked.

"That's not rhetorical," he muttered, unimpressed.

"Then it's... just a question, sir,"

His mouth twitched at that, not quite a smile. "Careful," he murmured. "You're getting too comfortable." 

I didn't even try to brush off the hit his words gave me, and I instead focused on trying not to let the breeze whip my hair into my mouth-- it was easier said than done. "Am I supposed to be uncomfortable around you, then? I thought our new... arrangement would make things a bit easier."

With that, Mr. Godfrey immediately straightened up. His smirk dissolved, and his cigarette hung forgotten between his fingers, burning quietly as his eyes locked onto mine-- steady now, less amused, yet all the more worrying. "That," he said, "is what concerns me."

I blinked, thrown off by his sudden change. "What does?"

Mr. Godfrey stepped forward-- not aggressive, but direct, to take action. I backed myself up against the ledge, swallowing hard as I felt my eyes widen. Mr. Godfrey now stood next to me, leaning down a bit to get on my level before he lowered his voice; "Do you think this is a shortcut to avoid how uncomfortable I make you?"

I stiffened, unsure how to answer. "You don't make me uncomfortable, sir,"

"What, then?"

"I just-- I don't know, do you want me to be completely frank?"

"Always,"

I let out a shaky breath; I was screwed. "You just... fluster me, sir," I was two seconds from digging myself a hole and dying in it. Why couldn't I ever shut the fuck up?

Mr. Godfrey's eyes sharpened, not having expected that to leave my mouth. His whole frame stilled, the lazy, practiced slouch of him tightening just slightly as the cigarette stayed perched between his fingers, near his mouth, forgotten mid-drag. "I see," 

For a moment, he just looked at me-- really looked. Like the word had cracked something in the air between us. The wind tousled his hair, the soft strands catching the sunlight. He finally took a drag, a long one, like he needed it to anchor him. His cheeks hollowed slightly as he inhaled, and his veins faintly raised on his forearm; I had never wanted someone the way I wanted him. "Every time," he said. "Every time you say something, without fail, I never know what's gonna leave your mouth."

I swallowed hard. "Sorry, sir, I-- I just mean--"

"No," he shot in, tutting his tongue. "Don't ruin it by explaining. I like an enigma." His eyes dragged over me, down, then back up, like he was recalibrating something, seeing me with fresh clarity. Then, with maddening elegance, he turned slightly and leaned back against the railing again, letting the cigarette dangle between his fingers. "I also like control," he continued. "I really, really like it, which is why I wonder why you'd want to give yours up for me."

I held my breath as Mr. Godfrey sighed. He flicked the ash over the edge of the balcony and leaned forward just slightly, watching it disintegrate into the air. "See, I know why I like this arrangement, but you?" He gestured to me, cigarette trailing smoke. "I have no idea. And something tells me you have no clue, either."

Mr. Godfrey brought the cigarette to his lips one last time, inhaled deeply, then stubbed it out on the metal edge of the railing with a slow, deliberate twist. 

Anxious, I tried to wet my lips, but I immediately regretted it; I felt like I had now swallowed fifty percent of my lipstick. As I tried to get the taste of it off my tongue, I also tried to recover. "I don't think I need to know why I want this," I breathed. "Just please don't call a shaman on me." 

I knew what the shaman would say, anyway; 'Your crush has led you straight into the arms of a BDSM freak. Congratulations!'

In return, Mr. Godfrey laughed, shaking his head as the last of the smoke left his system. He was gorgeous like this, free, and unlike how I usually saw him; his brown hair fell slightly over his eyes, and he ran his fingers through it to push it away. I wondered if he'd ever let me do that for him someday. But just as I was about to get lost in my daydreams and pink haze, Mr. Godfrey's voice cut through the fog; "What's your size?" he asked, dragging the words out like he was tasting them.

"... What?" I mumbled, whiplashed. "My size?" What size? For what?

Mr. Godfrey made a low sound, something between a hum and a scoff, and rested his elbow on the railing behind him. It made his dress shirt stretch across his shoulders, every line of him deliberate. "Bra-size," he said, as though it was a casual thing to ask.

I let out a shocked, choked breath; "Sir!" It was impossible to brush this off as a natural continuation of our previous conversation. "That's not!-- Why do you?--"

"Okay, then," Mr. Godfrey straightened up, throwing his cigarette over the ledge with no care in the word, yet his brows were drawn together with dissatisfaction. "I want it in an email by twelve o'clock, sharp."

"Sir!" I tried to calm myself out of the anxious giggles that were escaping me one by one. "Please, that's!--"

"Inappropriate?" Mr. Godfrey met my eyes, the sharp gleam in his gaze searing straight through my vanity. He leaned down, lowering his voice again with a dark tone; "I've seen you cum. Get over yourself." 

... Crap.

I swallowed, feeling my eyes round out. Something about his voice, his gaze, and the scent of him, made my head dizzy-- I wanted to be good for him, though, despite my shock. I wanted him to be pleased with me. I wanted him. Wanted, wanted, needed. "Okay," I breathed, hoping to recover from my reluctance. "Can I ask why you?--"

"No,"

"Oh," Breathless.

Mr. Godfrey stepped back from me, like the storm had passed. He adjusted his cuffs, sighing like I had disappointed him and insulted his whole bloodline; "Next time I ask you something, just answer. That's lesson number one,"

With that, he turned and walked back toward the glass doors that led into the office-- shoulders squared and broad, pace unhurried, exuding that infuriating, spine-melting calm he wore like an expensive cologne. The wind caught the back of his shirt as he went, tugging at the crisp fabric, accentuating the muscles of his upper back, and all I could do was stand there like I'd been hit by a very sexy freight train.

Lesson one?

Alright-- I was ready to be taught. 

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

After having sent Mr. Godfrey my bra-size with utmost reluctance, I sat behind my desk wondering whether a magical carriage would appear before me and take me to a ball. Before the clock strikes twelve. Where was my fairy Godmother to save me from the boredom of today? 

I had hoped that something would come out of my new arrangement with my boss. That he'd perhaps touch me, do something that would send me spiralling, or literally anything-- but ever since our meeting at the rooftop a few hours ago, he had promptly worked on some papers as though nothing had changed, and he'd had about two visitors with whom he seemed to have had pleasant business-appropriate conversations. Oh, how I longed for something wildly inappropriate to happen-- I was almost inclined to get off right now, in perfect view of him behind his desk, just to piss him off.

Mr. Godfrey hadn't glanced at me once through the glass dividers of his office. He was underlining some transcripts, minding his own business, as I repeatedly dug the heel of my Louboutins into a specific spot in the carpet; I had a competition with myself, wondering when the material would be pierced. I didn't have anything proper to do before the staff meeting in about twenty minutes, so I was bored out of my fucking mind. But just as I was about to dare to cross my legs at my ankles, not fully, just to tease both him and me (I bet he'd look at me then, huh?), someone showed up in front of my desk.

"Peter!" I exclaimed, feeling my body fill with delight at the sight of him. 

He stood there like something out of a cozy daydream; broad shoulders beneath a rolled-up shirt, his forearms dusted with faint freckles that somehow made my thoughts wander. There was something unassuming about Peter's good looks, which made them all the more disarming-- wait, why the fuck was I thinking about this in the first place? 

"Hey, kid. I was just coming from legal," Peter said, flashing me a small smile that lit up his whole face. "Saw you from the end of the hall and thought I'd... check in." He sounded a little unsure, like he didn't know whether he was overstepping-- that alone made me want to wrap my arms around him in gratitude. 

At least someone was looking at me, then. My eyes snapped toward Mr. Godfrey to check whether he was witnessing this, but he wasn't; with a sigh, I beamed back up at Peter. "I'm fine! Just happy to see you, honestly. I'm fucking bored to death,"

Peter chuckled as a few dark strands of his hair fell over his eyes. "Snake isn't saving you this time?"

"Sadly not,"

"Right... But honestly, I'm checking in because I wasn't so sure I'd see you back here," he added, gaze flicking briefly toward Mr. Godfrey's office. "After, uh... last time."

When I had gotten yelled at in front of the whole office? Fuck, I had almost completely repressed that. My mind had been too occupied with the fact that I was now Mr. Godfrey's official submissive-- when would that come with its perks? "I'm okay," I said, softening my voice as I tucked my hair behind my ear. "We talked. He basically apologized." In his own way, yes.

Peter's brows drew together. "Apologized?" His tone was gentle, but I could feel him trying to solve something, like he couldn't believe that Mr. Godfrey would ever apologize for anything. I couldn't blame him-- he was right. My boss hadn't said those exact words, but... 

"We solved it," I said with a vague shrug of my shoulders. "He's not going to yell at me again, and I'm going to start forging his signatures. Win-win, if you ask me. Just you wait until he starts letting me sign checks."

Peter rolled his eyes, biting down on another laugh. "You shouldn't be telling me that," he teased, a twinkle appearing in his brown eyes. "I work for legal, after all. You could get in big trouble."

"Crap," I breathed, playing along. "I'm screwed, aren't I?"

Peter leaned in just a little closer, bracing one hand lightly on the edge of my desk. "Guess I'll have to keep an eye on you now," he murmured. "Make sure you don't turn into a full-blown criminal, or something."

I smiled, but I felt a sting in my stomach-- I noticed that shift, that subtle lean of his body toward mine. His tone was still warm, still Peter, but suddenly, I was very aware of how tall he was, how the veins in his forearms shifted when he moved, how good he smelled, how--

Oh my God. Peter was flirting with me, wasn't he? "Noted," I breathed, flicking my gaze up at him as I tried to recover. "You gonna rat me out if I do?"

He smirked; "Nah... I'd visit you in jail, though. Bring you oranges. Handwritten letters. Make sure you don't join a gang,"

"Wow, okay... So you wouldn't be doing your best to bail me out, then? Not much of a help,"

Peter tilted his head slightly, and then came the smallest pause. A sliver of silence between us that wasn't awkward this time, just charged. His gaze lingered, a little lower than before, like he was letting himself look at me in a way he hadn't dared to before. "I'd be whatever you needed," he finally said, low and charming.

And suddenly my cheeks were burning. My breath caught somewhere between my ribs and my throat. I didn't have anything clever to say to that, not a single thing, and it made me feel like the biggest fucking idiot ever.

Peter noticed, too. His smile faltered a bit, like he was catching himself doing something he shouldn't. "Too much?" he asked, almost shyly, as he rubbed the back of his neck with one hand.

"No, no!" I said, maybe too quickly. "It's-- It's fine."

He nodded, stepping back just a touch. "Oh well," he said, voice gentle again, blinking quicker. "You looked like you needed a distraction."

The care in his voice made me feel something strange-- safe. And it was this exact safety that made me feel nauseous. Not because Peter was making me uncomfortable, but because it felt like a mirror to something I didn't have with Mr. Godfrey. Peter was the kind of guy you took home for the holidays, the kind your mother would adore before even offering him dessert, and I was letting him talk to me like he had a chance to be something like that to me. Would he like to be, though?

... Maybe I should keep that in mind before venturing too far down the road with Mr. Godfrey?

Then, just as I was about to respond, my computer let out a loud, annoying pling that I knew too well. Immediately, I straightened up and tried to swallow my heart, which had made its way up my throat in record time. 

When I saw who the email was from, I was sure I'd throw up all over Peter. In a hurry, accompanied by an anxious, breathy chuckle, I tried to click away the notification.

Peter raised his brows, automatically leaning over the desk to check out what had gotten my stomach in a knot. "You good?"

Finally, I managed to exit the window in a blur. "Yep!" I said, far too brightly. "It was just some reminder. Outlook being clingy."

Unsure whether to believe me or not, Peter backed off, hummed, and ran his fingers through his hair, tousling it a little. "Don't let Outlook bully you. You've got enough going on with that guy," he said, nodding toward Mr. Godfrey's office-- I didn't dare to look that direction just yet. "You sure you're alright working with him?" Peter added.

"Yes," I squeaked, forcing a smile that was way too wide to be natural as my heart pounded. 

Peter looked like he wanted to say something else, but held back. "Well..." he said after a moment. "If bossman gives you a hard time again, I'll come back with a bat."

"Now that would be illegal!"

He leaned in once more, his grin lazy now; "Get back to work, kid,"

I grinned back like a fool, and Peter gave me a parting look; one that lingered, one that made my spine feel like it had turned to honey, before he walked back toward his office. 

As soon as Peter disappeared down the hall, the air around me changed. His absence made everything quieter, sharper-- the hum of the fluorescent lights, the clack of someone's keyboard a few desks down, along with the muffled whirr of the air conditioning above, made me want to curl into myself and disappear. I checked the time; I had fifteen minutes until I had to be at the staff meeting.

Then, when I opened the mail, I pressed my lips into the palm of my hand. This way, I knew I'd at least catch the acid reflux that threatened to claw its way up my throat. It burned, burned, seared through me, but it was the most toe-curling anxiety that oddly made my clit jump-- it filled me with unimaginable masochistic joy. 

From: Roman Godfrey

Subject: Your Posture

Dear secretary,

You slouch when he talks to you. Fix it.

Linearly,

Roman Godfrey, CEO of Godfrey Industries.

I nearly jolted right out of my chair-- my back straightened in an instant as my anxious gaze flickered to Mr. Godfrey, who smirked as he circled something in the transcript before him. Bastard. Had I known any better, I'd have assumed that he was sitting there, amused with his own little jokes. But something told me that this email had a bit of an undertone to it, one his emails didn't have before; was he perhaps not so keen on me talking to Peter?

From: You

Subject: Sudden Awareness

Dear Mr. Godfrey,

Are you watching me, sir?

I will correct my posture. Was that all that bothered you?

Curved,

Your Secretary.

I had half the mind to genuinely lie down and demonstrate just how horizontal I could be, but I suddenly remembered the time I had slithered down from my chair and onto the floor the last time I had sent Mr. Godfrey a risky email. I wouldn't want to repeat that, especially in perfect view of him.

However, my plans were interrupted when I got my reply.

From: Roman Godfrey

Subject: Redirection

Dear secretary,

Do not start feeling special. I am simply making sure that you are fulfilling your duties as my secretary. 

And as for Rumancek, I must remind you that he does not know what you respond to. Do not encourage the illusion.

Vertically, 

Roman Godfrey, CEO of Godfrey Industries.

I bit down on my bottom lip and scooted closer to my desk-- this was way too amusing. Finally, this day was taking the turn I had hoped it would, but I was left with a bit of a sour taste on my tongue. Illusion? What illusion?

However, I checked the time; I had to make my way to the damn staff meeting soon. I needed to wrap this up, yet I also needed to know what he meant.

From: You

Subject: Confusion

Dear Mr. Godfrey,

I would appreciate it if you could specify. 

What do you mean by illusion, sir? Do you believe my kindness to my coworkers is an illusion? I would like to have you know that I am very well liked in the office, not only for my charm, but also for how nice I am. I am nice. That is not an illusion. 

Horizontally,

Your Secretary.

Seriously, what the hell? I glanced into Mr. Godfrey's office and caught him tilting his head as he read whatever popped up on his screen, brows drawn together-- I could only guess it was my email. I wondered whether he had nothing better to do right now but to poke his secretary. Then, my response ticked in within no time--

From: Roman Godfrey

Subject: Clarification

Dear secretary,

I am referring to the illusion that he could handle you. He could not. However, I would like to reiterate: nice? Is the whole office unaware of your foul mouth? I must say I am impressed, yet irked— you manage to keep yourself under wraps around everyone else except me? I am almost offended. You unravel easily. It could be interpreted as a flaw. 

Anyway. Get me a cup of coffee. Thank you.

Parched,

Roman Godfrey, CEO of Godfrey Industries.

My... foul mouth? After that mail, I definitely needed a break from Mr. Godfrey's green eyes and ridicule. I got up within a beat, sending him a stern glare that he didn't see (or acknowledge). I barely had seven minutes until I needed to be at the staff meeting, so I knew I had to be quick.

I must've been gone for about three minutes, maybe less, but something told me that my coffee-fetching had been deliberately timed-- the large box that was suddenly on my desk was perhaps the biggest tell. It was either a bomb sent by the government to eradicate Mr. Godfrey, or someone had brought me a gift.

With careful steps, I approached it, letting my eyes feast on the huge, white bow enveloping it. I put the coffee down before I reached forward to run my fingers through the satin. Some clepto part of me wanted to keep the bow after I was done unveiling the enormous box-- fuck it, I was definitely doing that.

I felt my fingertips tingle to the point of it almost being painful before I opened the box with utmost delight. Baby-pink tulle was the first thing that met my eyes, yet the sight of a cream-coloured handwritten note on top of it got my attention. I picked it up;

Part of your updated wardrobe policy.

Effective immediately.

-- R.G.

With my heart beating its way up my throat, I did my best to bite down a squeal that would've alarmed the whole office. I made sure no one could see me before I pulled the lace into my hands, threaded it between my fingers, and stared at it in awe-- this was lingerie. 

Black, lace, and ridiculously expensive lingerie.

Oh Lord. Was this why Mr. Godfrey needed my bra-size?! How the fuck had he managed to arrange this so quickly? Who had brought this here? Was he perhaps writing this card earlier, instead of fixing the transcripts? My mind felt like it was actively melting.

Gathering the courage, I dared to let my eyes wander into Mr. Godfrey's office, only to be met with burning green. Green, green, green. He stared back at me, didn't move a muscle, not an inch, not a breath-- until he mouthed; now. 

I swallowed hard. Something told me I would get some extra repercussions if the coffee was cold by the time I was done. With a small nod, and possibly a tiny, shy smile, I grabbed the box and made my way to the restroom; finally, something was happening, and it made me so excited that I didn't care that I'd be late to the staff meeting.

Whatever it was, I couldn't wait.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

The fucking staff meeting was the biggest case of the snores ever. Who allowed that to even be a thing? Why did I have to sit for an hour and hear about staff regulations? This could've been compressed into a nice little email I wouldn't read.

As I sat there, all I could think about was how soft my new underwear was. Was I going to get to take this home? Was this a present? Was this all I could wear to the office from now on? Was I then going to get more...? I refused to wear the same pair over and over without washing it; if Mr. Godfrey wanted me to do that, then that would cross into the land of disgusting. Had I signed up for that?

I knew I was overthinking it, but I couldn't help it; my heart was hammering with thrill and excitement as I now made my way back from the staff meeting, knowing I was about to see Mr. Godfrey again. 

The tightening of my throat didn't get any better when I saw that the blinds to his office had been pulled down. Was this an invitation? I barely even dared to knock, but I was sure that he didn't have any visitors, so I stepped in with full confidence.

And... I definitely shouldn't have. I cringed when the door clicked behind me, and I cursed at myself when I saw that he had company.

Mr. Godfrey stood with his back to me, joined by a man in a white coat. They were mid-conversation about something scientific and horrifying on a clipboard. However, my boss didn't react, didn't turn to yell at the intruder to get the fuck out-- no, he definitely recognized the soft click of my Louboutins. But then, without turning his head, Mr. Godfrey gestured loosely with two fingers toward his chair.

Wait?-- His chair?

He didn't look at me. He just kept talking, like he was waiting for my immediate obedience. Who was I to deny him that?

"--It's not about that, Pryce, it's about instinct. You can't brute-force that, but I can feel that something is off about this,"

When Mr. Godfrey said the name, it finally hit me that the other man in the room was the Johann Pryce, the man who was on all the posters regarding the medical research of the Godfrey Institute. This guy was basically God. With zero acknowledgement from any of them, I nodded to myself, proud that I had connected the dots, before I carefully made my way to Mr. Godfrey's desk.

Sitting down in his chair felt wrong on all accounts, but I tried to make myself comfortable as they went on. He didn't have any pictures on his desk; I had noticed that a few weeks ago. This felt like a sterile place I shouldn't be anywhere near without some form of mask, so I remained very, very still as my eyes focused on the untouched cup of tea to my right.

"The gene expression changes post-serum are erratic," Dr. Pryce said, flipping the page on his clipboard. He wore a very particular expression; something told me this man wouldn't know what humour was, even if it hit him in the head. "Unstable tissue formation... Fragmentation around the spinal cord."

"It's not fragmentation," Mr. Godfrey huffed, pointing to the research on the clipboard. "You're over-compensating with the dosage! It's rejection, look-- the body's rejecting the shortcut!"

"You think it's psychological?"

"No, I think it's behavioural. Conditioning. A person isn't just cells, right? They have to believe they're changing, otherwise the nervous system... revolts," Speaking of nervous system-- without as much as a glance at me, Mr. Godfrey made his way toward his desk and proceeded to slide the cup of tea along the desk before it was perfectly positioned before me. He continued speaking to Dr. Pryce, but I couldn't make out any of the words as he dropped a cube of sugar into the tea and stirred. And just as I thought-- he stirred only thrice. 

Was I perhaps hallucinating, or had Mr. Godfrey just... made me a cup of tea? Had he anticipated that I would walk in, after all? 

"Ah," Dr. Pryce said, dry as ever. His voice brought my mind back to the room. "So your solution is... what, spiritual transformation?"

Mr. Godfrey fully turned toward Dr. Pryce, flashing an easy smile I didn't recognise. "If I wanted spirituality, Johann, I'd send the fuckers to church," He tapped the spoon against the saucer with a loud, obnoxious, and jarring clink, and it made my breath hitch at the sudden noise.

Only then did Dr. Pryce looked at me, and I immediately felt like a nuisance. He had a certain look about him that made me feel like a bug he wanted to stomp, and I had to do everything in my power to not cross my legs or sink under the table. "Sorry," I breathed, reaching for the tea to occupy my hands. Why did I have to be such a pathetic mess all the fucking time?

I didn't need to look at Dr. Pryce to know he was rolling his eyes, and probably exchanging patronizing glances with Mr. Godfrey about my incompetence. "Church? Roman, are you having another religious epiphany perhaps? Who are we flying in next time, the new Pope?"

I nearly choked-- I had to do everything in my power not to laugh. Fine, Dr. Pryce got points for that one. 

Mr. Godfrey only huffed, finally glancing down at me with a look of clear disapproval; something told me I had a smirk on my face that I needed to wipe. The more the silence dawned on me, the more I realized how strict he actually looked. Everything about the eye contact made me want to give up and die; Mr. Godfrey didn't blink. He just stared, like that'd make me cease to exist. With chills running down my spine, I gulped and sank into myself, not caring that his guest could see me falling apart. 

"Sorry about her," he eventually said, turning back to Dr. Pryce. "She can be a charming girl, but more than often, I'm reminded that she's straight from college."

Uh... hello? 

I hated when Mr. Godfrey did this; when he spoke like I wasn't in the room. It made me feel less than worthy of life, but also shamefully horny. What the fuck was wrong with me? I could only force a sip of my tea, not wanting any of it to go to waste. 

"She's young," Dr. Pryce's voice sounded, cutting through the tension that oddly didn't make him the least bit uncomfortable. He wasn't looking at me anymore, disregarding my presence. "That's not a defect. It's moldable. Isn't that ideal?"

"Spoken like a man who's never had to house-train anyone," Mr. Godfrey muttered, a verbal flick of the wrist. "Anyway, run another set. Lower the dosage, and send me the report."

Dr. Pryce gave a slow, meaningless nod. It was clear that this situation had bored him. "We'll reconvene Friday," With a quick turn of his head, he turned to me and plastered a polite, eerily polished smile; "It was nice to meet you, miss. You might still be here by Friday, right?"

... Ominous fucker.

The door clicked shut behind Dr. Pryce, and I instantly dreaded what was about to come; it was the most beautiful dread in the world. If only it would asphyxiate me and allow me to faint, thereby escape it.

Alas, the tension in the room was unescapable-- Mr. Godfrey didn't speak right away. Instead, he rounded the desk, slow and fluid, and perched himself on the edge of it, directly in front of me, arms folded loosely over his chest. Without breaking eye contact, his green eyes seared into mine as he pushed the steaming tea aside. "Do you not knock anymore?" he asked, his words cutting through the false sense of security I had sewn into my skin.

My throat tightened. "I..." I wet my lips, horrified that my voice had barely sounded. "I'm sorry sir, I saw that the blinds were down, so I thought--"

"Well, you thought wrong," Mr. Godfrey wasn't angry. Not really. Right? "Do you understand why that matters?"

I nodded too quickly. "Yes, I do, sir,"

"Do you?"

"I--"

"I'll give you the benefit of the doubt," he said, brushing a thumb once along the edge of his folded sleeve as though he was bored out of his mind. "But from now on, if you're not sure if I have company? You knock. Did I tell you to come into my office?"

I wanted to cry. "No, sir," I breathed, mortified. 

Mr. Godfrey sighed and rolled his eyes; something told me he didn't like the sound of me on the verge of tears like a fucking crybaby. Everything about this made me feel ridiculous, and for what? For walking through a door? Why did I put myself through this, and why the hell did I like it? 

"Get up," Mr. Godfrey groaned. "Let's see if you've done the thing I actually told you to do."

... Oh.

Oh, yes, yes, yes! 

I let out a shaky breath as I got up from his (ridiculously comfortable) chair, not daring to meet his green eyes as I placed myself in front of him. My throat bobbed as I swallowed over and over, hoping to also swallow the giggle of excitement that threatened to escape me; there was no way in hell I'd allow myself to show how much I enjoyed this, after I had proclaimed my love for his torture just yesterday. "The set is very pretty, sir," I breathed. "Thank you."

"Yeah?" Mr. Godfrey motioned for me to step closer, to take the space between his legs, and I dared to obey. Now that I was close enough to smell his cologne, his voice dropped and smoothened; "You think it's pretty?"

I didn't dare to look at him. Refused to. I barely even dared to breathe as my heart pounded in my chest. "Very much, sir,"

"Yeah?" His words were low, deep; sensual, almost. "You wouldn't mind showing me, then?"

Static noise-- that was what filled my brain. It completely short-circuited when I realized that Mr. Godfrey's breath was falling gently against my collarbone, and I felt goosebumps cover my skin all over. Slowly, yet confident, he reached down and let his fingertips brush the hem of my skirt like he meant to lift it. His hand hovered, waiting to see if I'd stop him, and--

And I did.

Instinctively, I pushed at his chest. "Wait-- Wait," I breathed, feeling Mr. Godfrey's body still against my palm. "Could we-- Could we at least lock the door first?" 

Fuck. Swallowing became impossible. I looked straight into his green eyes, then at the Forbes nose, and the beautiful upward curve of it. What if he didn't think I was beautiful, too? Why was I panicking about this right now? Mr. Godfrey was just so damn perfect, and I realized a little too late how inadequate this made me feel-- now, I was trapped. 

"Please," I breathed. "I'll do whatever you want, just-- just lock it, please." He had a button on the underside of his desk that I knew automatically locked it, anyway, and I had half the mind to just nudge it myself.

But Mr. Godfrey stayed unbelievably still. He hadn't blinked, hadn't breathed-- I didn't feel his chest rise beneath my palm, his lungs getting filled, nothing. It was as though he had completely frozen, and I should've pulled away right then and there. I should've known better. I should've apologized and stepped back, but my hand lingered-- my hope held me back. I held my palm against the firm heat of him, caught in the moment, caught in him, in the impossibility of being this close to someone so untouchable, and then...

Mr. Godfrey's green eyes slowly, achingly slowly, darted down to my hand as though he was watching a snake crawl up his body. This was awful to him. My touch was horrifying to him. 

Then, with no warning, his hand closed around my wrist with restraint strength; I could almost sense the way he was holding back from cracking my bones. "You don't touch me," he hissed, ice threading through his voice. "You don't ever touch me."

In one controlled, terrifyingly fluid motion, Mr. Godfrey rose from the desk, forcing me to stumble backward. Then he sat down in his chair, and my body spun around with him as his grip around my wrist remained unrelenting, and then--

He yanked me down into his lap. Mr. Godfrey's hands, large and sure, gripped my waist and drew me downward, down, until I had no choice but to fold across his thighs, my breath leaving me in one shocked, helpless whimper.

His lap was warm. Solid.

And I--

God, I was spread over it, just like one of the girls in my favorite porn videos. Was I hallucinating? Perhaps. Bent like this, perfectly arranged, skirt already rucked halfway up my thighs just from the motion, I wasn't sure whether this was a humiliation ritual or a dream come true-- something told me this could be both at the same time.

"You don't get to take liberties," Mr. Godfrey's voice was low, threatening, thrilling. "Not with me. That's not how this will work." He adjusted me slightly, his palm spreading along the arch of my back to press me lower, until the blood rushed to my face and my ass tipped up in the most humiliating, vulnerable angle. A whimper escaped me, and he huffed like he had already predicted every sound I would make.

"You touched me..." he continued, listening to my breath hitch. "Like you had the right. I thought I had taught you better by now. Are you always so disappointing?"

Oh God. Was this really happening? My eyes burned with the tears of shock that I was biting back. I didn't want to disappoint him; I wanted to be perfect. I wanted to be perfect for him, and what was I if I couldn't be? Nothing was worth it, then. Nothing. "Sir, I'm-- I'm so sorry," I pleaded. 

I tried to turn and look up at him, and I watched as Mr. Godfrey's eyes caught the subtle edge of my underwear beneath my skirt; a flash of lace, the exact colour and style he had picked out for me. Did he like it? I so desperately wanted to know. Did he think it was pretty on me? Did he think I was pretty?

"I'm sorry, sir," I repeated. "I'm-- please, I'm so sorry." Please, please, please don't forgive me. Or do. Or?

With a low, bored hum, Mr. Godfrey dragged a finger slowly up the back of my thigh, just enough to make my lungs stall, until he paused, fingertips curling around the hem of my skirt to pull it over my ass, making me squeeze my eyes shut as I realized he could see everything.

Mr. Godfrey sighed; "I suppose you can take this as lesson number two," His hand smoothed over the back of my thigh, fingers slow, trailing higher until his middle and index hovered over my clothed sex. Something told me he was itching to pull the fabric aside, like he was unwrapping a gift he already owned. With my breath high in my chest, I hoped he might, but I knew he had a history of being reluctant; if I couldn't touch him, why would he want to touch me?

Then, with that same low voice, dripping with what I could only pinpoint as arousal, Mr. Godfrey spoke with the most ominous tone of the century; "Do you like pink?"

What? I had lost the ability to speak. Consequently, a pathetic nod from me followed as I wondered why the fuck he was asking me that in the first place--

I choked back a gasp.

Blinding pain ripped through me, and all the air in my lungs got sucked out.

Mr. Godfrey's palm had came down sharp and sudden across the curve of my ass, and I whimpered from the sheer shock of it. The noise was obscene in the silence, skin against skin. Before I could catch my breath, he did it again, a little harder this time, and the fabric of the underwear didn't do much to soften the blow.

I had gasped, but not from pain, not really. From the sound, yes-- the crack of skin against skin, the raw immediacy of it, the fact that it had happened, that he had done it, without hesitation. Every sick and twisted cell in my body twisted with satisfaction; God, how special it made me feel. Twisted fuck.

Mr. Godfrey's hand laid flat against my skin like it'd soften the sting. He took a few seconds to calculate my reaction, to make sure that I wasn't sobbing with complete and utter horror. His palm stayed there, resting against the tender heat he'd just left behind as though to absorb it and to ground me. "Breathe," he ordered-- something told me that he had done this before. 

And I did; slowly, shakily. The sound of his voice pulled me back from whatever haze I'd started to drift into, from the heat, shame, and terrible pleasure of it all. Mr. Godfrey's fingers stroked down again, a featherlight drag down my inner thigh that made my clit jump. His touch was calmer now, steadying, as though I was some cat he occasionally liked petting.

What was his play here? I couldn't figure it out. 

"Pink it is, then," Mr. Godfrey muttered, as though he was thinking out loud. 

"... My ass?"

He sighed-- I would've believed it was a laugh, had this been any other situation. "No. Not yet, at least, but we're getting there. I'm saying that pink will be our safe word. It's ironic," His fingers dipped down again, tracing the edges of my lace panties. My stomach flipped, and I held back another hitch of my breath; I so desperately wanted him to touch me properly. 

Then-- "Do you want me to stop?" 

"No," came my answer, without as much as a second thought.

A hum followed, and then the next strike landed a little lower, sharper. I arched with it, and the noise I made felt utterly filthy, a sound I never thought I'd ever make between the four walls of an office, yet I couldn't stop it. My hips twitched toward Mr. Godfrey, searching for pressure, for more contact-- anything.

"Count," he commanded. "We'll do five more."

I blinked through the heat in my eyes; every part of my body burned with excitement. Mr. Godfrey's tone wasn't cruel, and that was the worst part-- he sounded like this wasn't strange at all, like disciplining his secretary over his lap was just one of many tasks he planned to check off before leaving work. 

The first strike was anticipated and therefore easier to handle than the previous ones, yet a whimper left my lips; I wondered whether my skin was turning pink yet. "One," I breathed, shivering at the free hand Mr. Godfrey placed on my back to brace me. 

The second blow landed without pause, not giving me time to stabilize. I made a sound, something caught between a gasp and a whimper, and immediately bit it back, horrified by my lack of restraint. I didn't want the whole office to hear me, after all. The sting echoed a moment longer than the first, seeping in slowly; "Two," I choked out. 

By the third one, I was starting to feel sore. The sharp crack filled the room, and I started to squirm in Mr. Godfrey's lap, feeling my skin burn and my brain buzz with twisted pleasure. I knew I'd miss the sting of this. I knew it. "Three," I breathed, euphoric. My body betrayed me; I shivered. Some part of me wanted to beg him to give me his absolute worst, but the sane part of me knew I wouldn't be able to take it.

I allowed a small smile to form across my lips, possibly tilting into delirium-- Mr. Godfrey caught it. "What, are you enjoying this?" he chimed, his fingers ghosting over the faint handprint forming on my ass.

I gave a simple nod, not daring to speak. And then--

"Freak," he hissed. 

I was unsure whether Mr. Godfrey rewarded me or punished me with what he followed his insult with, but it certainly felt like a reward; his free hand moved up along my thigh, and he proceeded to press his thumb against the wet spot that had formed in my underwear, dipping into me just slightly. As though he had set me alight, I let out a whiny whimper, bucking reflexively, shame turning me inside out at the shock of him finally touching me there.

I shouldn't have done that. "You're soaked," he said, like it was the most disgusting, revolting thing in the world, before the next strike came-- I could only tremble. 

"Four," I whimpered. My skin burned, my breath came high and shallow, and my skirt was pushed so far up now it felt less like clothing and more like a memory of one.

Mr. Godfrey continued, pouring verbal venom all over my bare skin as he moved his thumb further up along my sex, slowly circling my clit once. Just for a second, I wanted to be his damn cup of coffee- then I'd at least get three circles, right? "You're wet, you're cocky, and you're sick for liking this," There was no heat in his voice. There was no raised tone, and only that cold, confident cadence he always had in meetings, like every outcome was already decided and he was simply watching me catch up. "You're fucking sick. Do you like hearing that?"

"No," I whispered, squeezing my eyes shut as the humiliation seared into my heart-- I lied. I did. It was freeing to hear it be said out loud, for someone to acknowledge it. None of my exes had, no one had ever seen me the way Mr. Godfrey did, and it was the most thrilling, liberating fucking feeling on earth.

Mr. Godfrey's thumb rubbed another slow, deliberate circle around my clit through my underwear, listening to the strings of broken, pleasured whimpers that left me-- he knew exactly what he was doing. He knew exactly what pressure to use before my legs would start kicking, and he knew exactly how to touch me to keep me denied yet pleasured. "You're pinking up," he mumbled, mostly to himself. I imagined he was inspecting the handprint on my ass, now. "I suppose this is the shade Rumancek's face would be if he knew you were in this position right now."

Oh God. 

No, no, no.

I couldn't think about Peter. If he knew I was happily spread over Mr. Godfrey lap like this, he'd be so, so disappointed, and I couldn't deal with that right now. Just the thought of him knowing me like this, seeing me like this, made me want to both cry and cum at the same time. What the fuck was wrong with me? "Don't," I breathed. "Please don't-- don't say his name."

There was a three-second pause, then a short, angry sigh, before Mr. Godfrey's palm lifted, hovered, merciless--

Crack.

The final one landed with precision, harder than the others. The sound was obscene, and I cried out before I could stop it. It wasn't a dignified cry; it was something raw, shocked, high in pitch, and drenched in shame from the image of Peter walking in on us, which he in all technicality could because of the damn unlocked door. 

"Five," I whispered, barely audible, broken.

Then, finally knowing I was done, it all fell out of me with a hitch; "I'm so-- I'm so sorry, I'm so-- so, so--" All the shame from having misstepped, from having taken the liberty to touch Mr. Godfrey, from the thought of Peter, drowned me.

As my apologies rambled on, Mr. Godfrey calmly reached for my skirt, dismissing my pleas of forgiveness. He pulled it over the pink, stinging handprint on my ass with surgical precision. If anything, he seemed like he had expected this, like this was the common outcome whenever he did this. 

 My breathing was ragged as my stuttered apologies continued, and the room spun with heat and shame. I couldn't ground myself, couldn't think, couldn't snap out of the shock. What had just happened to me? What had I done? How had I dared to touch him? How would I ever possibly explain this to Peter?--

Fuck. Peter.

Mr. Godfrey's tone was completely different when it made its way through the fog in my brain; "You're okay. Breathe,"

His voice wasn't harsh, but it cut through the haze like a whip. I turned my head slightly, just enough to meet his eyes over my shoulder. They were unreadable, still cold, still that corporate green glass, but there was something quieter behind it now. He wasn't enjoying this in the way people thought of enjoyment; he was committed to it. 

To the act. 

To me.

Mr. Godfrey's clinical care made the intimacy more unbearable. My thighs trembled as I breathed through the aftershocks, and my mind was still running crazy as Mr. Godfrey guided me to sit in his lap like delicate glass. I didn't dare to move, didn't dare to touch him to adjust, couldn't function. 

The incoming pleas for forgiveness were stopped when he spoke again, and the following words nearly knocked the wind out of me; "You did well. You did good," 

Was Mr. Godfrey complimenting me? Yeah, I had definitely died or something. Dead by spanking. That'd look good on my grave. I sniffled, not daring to look at him as I caught a distraught tear with my finger. 

Thankfully, he didn't comment on it, but he didn't soothe me either; didn't shush, didn't touch my face, or murmur reassurances like every part of me hoped for in the aftermath of what had just happened. Instead, he reached forward with one hand, slow, practiced, and opened the side drawer of his desk. The soft mechanical click of it, a quiet, domestic sound, accompanied another one of my sniffles.

To my surprise, Mr. Godfrey took out a handkerchief. It was confirmed-- he had expected something like this to happen. He had prepared for it. The handkerchief was one of those fine, silk linen ones folded into a precise square; "Stay still," he said, before bringing it up to my cheeks. I held back a hitch of my breath, and my glossy eyes were wide with confusion as they searched his green ones. Was he... taking care of me now? I couldn't believe it.

Mr. Godfrey hummed, not meeting my gaze. "Are you lightheaded?" He dabbed beneath one eye, then the other, with an unreadable expression. "That's to be expected... but I could pour you a glass of water?" There was a hint of softness to his touch, and the pressure of the handkerchief was almost gentle. Yet, before I could let my mind race, I did my best to convince myself that he wasn't doing this out of the kindness of his heart, and I took him for what he actually was; a man erasing the evidence of something he would never name.

"No, thank you," I breathed. "I'm fine, sir."

"You sure?" 

Something in me snapped; "Why are you asking me that?" Why was he acting like he cared?

With a sigh, Mr. Godfrey put away the handkerchief-- my eyes traced his hand as it slowly went to rest at my thigh. Oh God. Finally, he looked at me, not interested in reprimanding me for my sharp response, but to calculate his next moves. "We never actually discussed any conditions," he said. "But you didn't safe word me, so I can only assume--"

"Why can't I touch you?"

Mr. Godfrey blinked. His gaze faltered for a second. I hoped that he could see the hurt in my eyes, the confusion, yet the gentle, innocent nature of my question. I wasn't here to persecute him-- I simply wanted to understand. 

His green eyes traced my face and the flustered redness of my cheeks; "I don't like it," he answered. 

The words dropped like iron between us.

There was no elaboration. No explanation. Just the sterile finality of a man who had already made peace with his limits and didn't see the need to explain them to anyone, and least of all me. He continued, and his hand on my thigh burned with the hypocrisy; "If that's going to be a problem, you should say so now,"

The silence buzzed around us. An invisible bruise bloomed on my heart, wider than the handprint on my ass. I looked down at my folded hands in my lap. "But you can touch me?" I whispered, hating the way my voice shook from the aftermath of what had just happened.

Mr. Godfrey didn't answer right away. He shifted in his seat, slow, deliberate, and my body moved with his. "I didn't say it was fair," he said. "I said it was the rule."

"Can I... also implement rules?"

It was clear to me that no one had asked him that before. "Well..." I dared to look at him again, rounding out my eyes to hopefully advocate for my case through the sad, drowned puppy-dog look I had mastered. It worked every time with others, so why wouldn't it work with him? Mr. Godfrey's neutrality faltered for a moment, and his brain recalibrated the course before he answered; "Sure, fine. But I can veto them."

"That's unfair!"

"Bet it is,"

Just for a second, I felt our dynamic. Just for a second, I could imagine us breaking out into small hiccups of laughter. Because now, I could see hints of amusement in his green eyes again, could think clearly enough to recognise how intimate this felt, how intimate this was-- he was teasing me, wasn't he? That felt normal. This could be normal, had the both of us been normal too; it killed me that we would never be.

"Fine," I mumbled, hoping to recover from the blow to my heart. "I want two new rules."

Mr. Godfrey nearly laughed-- I saw it in his eyes. "Two?"

"Two,"

"You're getting ahead of yourself,"

"You just pulled me over your lap and spanked me. I'm being reasonable,"

That was what it took. Mr. Godfrey sat back with an acknowledging hiss, raising his brows as though to motion for me to continue; was I really bargaining with a seasoned businessman? And was it working? Damn. 

I cleared my throat, fixating my gaze on the hand he had on my thigh. "After... after something like this happens, I get ten minutes. With you, to-- to just... exist in the same room without you barking orders. To just be normal,"

Mr. Godfrey didn't look thrilled, but he also didn't say no. "Ten minutes," he repeated, flat. "Clock starts the second we're done."

"Deal,"

"And the second one?"

I swallowed hard; I knew that my next condition could be slammed down with a hard, dismissive veto vote. My voice was small and frail when my words finally left me; "I want you to actually look at me,"

That seemed to confuse him. "I am looking at you,"

"No, no, I'm not talking about right now," I mumbled. "But I know that you know that I look at you from my desk, and I want you to... look back from time to time."

I expected silence. Maybe a scoff, or that bored blink Mr. Godfrey gave when he was ready to move on. But instead, something shifted in his expression, like a tiny crack along porcelain. "I don't know about that one," he finally said.

My heart sank. "Why?" 

"Because the more I look at you, the more distracted I get," 

"In what way would that be distracting? It's just eye-contact! It would take less than a second out of your day, and!--"

"I get distracted," he bit back, speaking through gritted teeth like he had to contain himself with all he had. "Because every time I look at you, I start thinking about how I promised myself to make the new hire one I wouldn't want to gawk at all day."

My breath caught. It actually caught. I stared at him, stunned, my lips parting but unable to form anything concise. Was this real? Had he actually said that? "Wait-- are you saying?--" I couldn't even finish. I was grinning, I felt myself grinning like an idiot, and I couldn't stop it. "You think that I'm?--"

"Your ten minutes are over," He didn't smile back. He probably didn't enjoy how any of this made him feel. Was he regretting saying that? 

Then, with no ceremony at all, he shifted beneath me and nudged me off his lap with a firm, unapologetic scoot, like this was a conference call that had just run long. I landed on my feet, still stunned, still warm, and stupidly happy. "Mr. Godfrey, sir, I--"

"Get back to work,"

Fucker. "But... my day is over now,"

Mr. Godfrey groaned, rolling his eyes as he turned his computer back on. "Go home, then," 

Then, to my surprise, one of his hands went beneath his desk, and the lock to the door clicked open with a click. Wait-- when had he locked it? When had he managed? With my heart in my throat, I turned to him, beaming; "You actually locked it," I breathed. 

Mr. Godfrey let out an annoyed huff as he glared up at me. "I'm not a fucking idiot. Of course I locked it,"

I would've squealed, had this been such an occasion. "Thank you," I purred, adjusting my skirt-- God, how I hoped I'd have a mark on my behind. I knew I was going to rush to the bathroom to check it out now, anyway. "Will that be all, sir?"

His green eyes didn't leave me-- didn't blink. "Do you like blue?" he suddenly asked.

"... Are we going through the colours of the rainbow today, sir?"

"Obviously not. I'm just thinking out loud. Maybe red would be more suitable?"

"For what...?"

Mr. Godfrey shrugged like this was the most normal conversation on earth-- you best believe it wasn't; 

"Your next present,"

(a/n: need me a Mr. Godfrey, like... STAT. thank you for all the support my loves, I have been re-reading ur comments over and over and AGHHH life is worth living<333)

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Kismet — 황현진

Pairing: boxer!hyunjin x fem!reader

Genre: strangers to lovers, mutual pining, slow burn, instant connection, damsel in distress, angst if you squint

Synopsis: Hyunjin encounters a lost girl outside a club and steps in to help her when she's harassed. They end up stranded together, sharing a memorable night. Despite losing contact, fate intervenes, bringing them back together and sparking a powerful connection between them.

Warnings: not proof read! mention of alcohol and cigarette use, injuries/blood, harassment/assault, anxiety, fear, physical fights, and underground boxing. Let me know if I should add anything else!

Word Count: 2.9k

Authors Note: Hi! this is my first time posting something I've written, I had this idea in mind for a while it might not be perfect since I'm not really that good a writing and English is not my first language but I really tried my best to express everything I wanted to, I wrote everything in Spanish first and translated it myself to English (I had to look up words to portrait it better) so I hope you all like this! Please let me know if anything needs to be a warning. Feel free to leave a comment with any suggestions or with your thoughts on this!

Hyunjin didn’t intend to meet her that night.

The night air was heavy, laden with the scent of tobacco and alcohol seeping out from the club, with the cold biting at his skin. Hyunjin stepped out through the back door, the sharp smell of cigarette smoke curling around him as he lit one, his knuckles still swollen from the fight earlier that night. He leaned against the brick wall with a silent sigh. The dim glow of the streetlights highlighted his buzzed head, the subtle sheen of sweat from his last fight still clinging to his skin. He shouldn’t have been there — not really. He should have gone home, iced his knuckles, and rested for his next match. But adrenaline still burned in his veins, and the chaos of the crowd inside the club only made it worse.

He didn’t expect to find her there.

She appeared like a whisper, slipping through the club’s door as if the night itself had pushed her outside. Her chest rose and fell, fingers gripping her phone as she paced back and forth. Her breath was ragged, not from dancing but from the anxiety of losing her friends in the middle of the crowd. She stared at the dead screen of her phone, cursing the drained battery, trying to calm herself with the fresh air. Against the darkness, she seemed fragile, her silhouette delicate under the neon glow.

Hyunjin watched her from the corner of his eye, saying nothing, leaning against the wall with his gaze fixed on the street. It wasn’t his problem. It didn’t have to be.

They wouldn’t have spoken to each other if it wasn't for the group of guys who stumbled out a few minutes later, laughing too loudly, their sharp gazes locking onto her like she was a trophy. They approached her without any attempt to hide it.

“Hey, gorgeous, you lost?” one of them asked, stepping too close.

She took a step back, uncomfortable but trying to be polite.

“No, I’m fine. I’m waiting for someone,” she said.

“We can keep you company until they show up,” another one sneered, closing the distance.

Hyunjin tried to ignore them at first, flicking the ash off his cigarette with a clenched jaw. He didn’t want trouble, but the way they cornered her made his stomach turn. When one of them grabbed her wrist, and she flinched, he moved without thinking.

“Let her go,” he said, his voice low, each word laced with warning.

The guys turned, sizing Hyunjin up. They laughed. They always laughed at first.

“And who are you? Her boyfriend?” one of them sneered, stepping closer.

Hyunjin’s fingers twitched, curling into a fist at his side.

“No,” he said, glancing at her. Her expression was fearful, her chest rising and falling with silent pleas — “But I can break your face if you don’t back off and leave her alone.”

Her eyes widened in surprise, and the guys stiffened. One shoved Hyunjin, but he didn’t budge. It wasn’t until they tried to touch her again that Hyunjin snapped. His fist connected with the guy’s jaw with a sharp crack, sending him sprawling to the ground. The others lunged at him immediately.

“Come with me!” Hyunjin barely had time to grab her hand before they started running, their feet pounding against the pavement, shouts echoing behind them. They didn’t stop until their lungs burned, until all that remained were their ragged breaths, the nervous laughter escaping in gasps, until the city swallowed them whole and the night fell silent around them.

As they slowed down, their surroundings suddenly felt… off. The streets weren’t as familiar as they had seemed in the chaotic confusion of their escape. They had run farther than she’d realized, deeper into a part of the city that felt more like a maze than anything else.

“Are you okay?” Hyunjin asked, breathing heavily, trying to catch his breath.

“I’m fine. That was crazy, but thank you,” you said, trying to steady yourself as you stood in the middle of the street. You looked around, searching for some kind of landmark, but nothing looked familiar.

“No problem. I just thought you could use a hand,” Hyunjin said with a lopsided smile as he stopped and surveyed the area. You were surprised to find yourself looking at him for the first time. The adrenaline still surged through your veins, but now it felt different — lighter, less frantic. In the dim glow of the streetlight, his features stood out with striking intensity, his jaw was sharp, his eyes dark and steady, carrying the same determination you’d noticed when he stepped in to help yoy. But there was something else, something softer beneath that surface— a quiet attentiveness as he made sure you were okay.

She felt the electric pull between them before she could even fully process it. His presence was powerful—like a contained storm, and for a brief moment, she felt as if she were standing in the eye of a storm, drawn to him in a way that caught her off guard.

“Do you know where we are?” you asked, clearing your throat, trying to hide your flushed face.

Hyunjin turned to look at you, a sheepish smile on his face as he ran a hand through his buzzcut. “Honestly? I have no idea where we're standing right now.”

“Oh... I thought you knew where we were going — well, never mind. We can split the fare for a cab and head back to the club. I was with some friends, but I lost them and my phone died. Do you think we could use yours?” you asked, speaking quickly, trying not to panic.

Hyunjin patted his jeans pockets, searching frantically.

“Yeah, of course... except my phone’s dead too,” he muttered, the last part barely audible. He ran a hand through his hair again, this time with frustration.

“Oh, great,” you said, sarcasm lacing your words as frustration and fear crept in.

“Hey, it’s okay...” Hyunjin stepped closer, his hands raised as if to calm you, waiting for you to say your name — something he’d only just realized he hadn’t asked.

“I’m Y/N, and you?” you said, meeting his gaze, making Hyunjin feel something he couldn’t quite describe.

“Hyunjin. Nice to meet you, I guess... Anyway, look, Y/N, if you want, we can look for somewhere to stay or see if we find a taxi. Given the time, I assume nothing’s open. Either way, I'll pay, so don't worry about that.” Hyunjin said, visibly frustrated, trying to find some kind of solution.

She noticed his broad shoulders then, the way his hands, bruised and rough, had clearly known more than one fight. But there was a softness in his eyes, like he was waiting for her to decide what came next. It was crazy — she barely knew this guy. And yet, the attraction was undeniable. The night had shifted, and now, lost in an unfamiliar part of the city with just the two of them, she couldn’t ignore the magnetic force drawing her closer to him.

And in that moment, in the stillness of the situation, when he looked at her, she realized that she no longer felt afraid. Instead, something else began to emerge. Something much more dangerous.

“You’re right... And don’t worry about paying. We can split it,” you said, and Hyunjin sighed, somehow relieved.

They were lost. Their phones were dead. But it didn’t matter. They walked for hours, talking about everything and nothing, sharing stories under the flickering city lights. By the time they finally found a small motel, rain had begun to fall, making them sprint to the entrance, laughing as they tried not to get drenched.

The rain gently tapped against the roof of the small motel in the middle of nowhere. Droplets slid down the window, reflecting the flickering lights of the sign that advertised available rooms… although, in reality, there was only one left.

“Just one room?” you asked, your voice tired but trying not to sound desperate.

The receptionist nodded indifferently, sliding the key across the counter. Hyunjin took the key and gave her a soft smile.

“We can look for another place if you want,” he suggested, scratching the back of his neck. “I don’t mind walking a bit more.”

You looked out the window. The storm was still intensifying, and you’d already spent hours wandering with your phones dead and no idea where you were. You sighed and shook your head.

“It doesn’t make sense to keep looking in this weather,” you said, crossing your arms. “We can share the room.”

Hyunjin nodded, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. They climbed the stairs in silence, their shoes squeaking against the wet floor. When they opened the door, they found a modest room: one bed, a small table, and an old television hanging on the wall.

Hyunjin dropped his jacket on the chair and ran a hand through his damp hair.

“You can take the bed,” he said, gesturing toward the mattress. “I’ll sleep on the floor.”

You frowned, shaking your head.

“Don’t be silly. The bed is big enough for both of us. Besides, I doubt we can sleep after everything that happened.” you laughed, sitting on the edge of the mattress. “Why don’t we just stay up and talk?”

Hyunjin hesitated for a moment but eventually sat beside you, leaning his back against the headboard, legs crossed, hands resting on his knees.

“What do you want to talk about?” he asked, looking at you with curiosity.

“I don’t know... Why don’t you start by telling me something about yourself?”

Hyunjin stared at the ceiling as if searching for the right words.

“I’m a boxer. Well... an underground boxer.”

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Really? How long have you been doing that?”

“A year,” he shrugged. “I started because I liked training, and a friend convinced me to try underground fights. I guess I got hooked on the adrenaline.”

You smiled, resting your head against the headboard.

“That sounds intense. I’m a photographer. I have a small studio in the city.”

Hyunjin turned to you, genuinely interested.

“Really? That’s amazing. What kind of photos do you take?”

“Mostly portraits. I love capturing moments, people’s expressions... it's like every picture tells a story.”

The conversation flowed naturally, as if they had known each other forever. They talked about dreams, fears, silly anecdotes, and things they had never shared with anyone else. Without realizing it, their eyelids grew heavy, and at some point, they both drifted off to sleep. Their hands rested almost touching on top of the blanket, bodies finally relaxed after the night’s storm.

At dawn, the first rays of sunlight slipped through the window. Hyunjin opened his eyes first, blinking slowly as his brain processed the scene: they were in the same bed, only inches apart.

You woke up shortly after, realizing the same thing. You looked at each other, faces burning with embarrassment, but soon burst out laughing to ease the awkwardness.

“Well... at least we survived the night,” you joked, stretching your arms.

“Yeah... and without you kicking me in your sleep,” Hyunjin teased, grinning as he stood up.

You left the motel with wrinkled clothes and still-damp shoes, but with a strange lightness in your chests. You shared a taxi, and Hyunjin insisted on taking you home first.

When you arrived, you stepped out and smiled at him from the sidewalk.

“Thank you for everything, Hyunjin.”

He nodded, resting his arm on the window frame. “See you soon, okay?”

He watched her disappear into her building, feeling an unfamiliar ache in his chest as the door closed behind her. The taxi pulled away, leaving them both with the same sensation in their hearts, something had changed that night, and somehow, they knew this wouldn’t be their last encounter.

It was only when Hyunjin got to his apartment that he realized the mistake: they never exchanged numbers.

⭑.ᐟ

Days went by, but you couldn’t get him out of your head. Every time you closed your eyes, you saw his crooked smile, the way his eyes lit up when he talked about boxing, the way he had protected you without hesitation. You remembered his hands, the same ones that had held yours as you ran through the streets, and the softness in his voice when you talked in that tiny motel room. But you never exchanged numbers.

You kept checking your phone as if somehow he might have magically found a way to text you. But nothing came. Just the echo of a night that felt farther away with each passing day.

“Come on, it’ll be fun,” Minho insisted, sprawled out on your studio couch while you edited some photos.

“I already told you no,” you sighed, not taking your eyes off the screen. “I’m not interested in watching a bunch of guys beat each other up until they end up all covered in blood.”

Minho scoffed, rolling his eyes. “First of all, it’s not just a bunch of guys— It’s Hyunjin. And second, you need to get out. You’ve been acting weird lately.”

Your heart skipped a beat.

“Hyunjin?” you echoed, as if the name had escaped from a dream.

“Yeah, a friend of mine,” Minho shrugged. “He fights underground. He’s good — you should see him.”

The universe had to be playing some kind of cruel joke on her.

At first, you refused, but Minho knew exactly how to convince you. And so, a few hours later, you were in a dimly lit basement, the air thick with the smell of sweat and nicotine. The crowd roared around the ring, and you felt put of place, your heart pounding far too hard against your ribs.

When the announcer called the next fight, the room erupted with excitement. And then, you saw him.

Hyunjin stepped into the ring, chest rising and falling with heavy breaths, knuckles wrapped tight in white bandages, that same intense gaze making him impossible to ignore. But the second his eyes met yours, all the noise faded away.

He froze for a moment, shock written all over his face — and then he smiled. A wide, genuine smile, like he’d finally found something he’d been desperately searching for.

You couldn’t move. You could barely breathe.

The fight was a blur. You didn’t know if he won or lost, because the only thing you could feel was your fingers clutching the hem of your jacket, trembling with anticipation. The second the fight ended, Hyunjin jumped out of the ring, ignoring the sweat dripping down his face, weaving through the crowd straight to you without a second thought.

“I found you,” he panted, voice rough but radiant.

You laughed, unable to contain the rush of emotion.

“I found you,” you echoed, as if you needed to say it out loud to believe it was real.

They exchanged numbers immediately, laughing at how ridiculous it was they'd forgotten to do so before.

From the moment he saw you at that underground match, eyes wide with surprise as you recognized him in the ring, Hyunjin knew he was doomed. You kept running into each other, as if fate refused to drift you apart, and from then on, you never stopped talking. Endless texts, shared laughter, dates that lasted until dawn because neither of you wanted to say goodbye.

Hyunjin had never been afraid of fighting. He was used to the blows, the adrenaline burning through his chest, the blood sliding down his skin as if it were part of him. But what he felt for you… that terrified him.

He'd never felt so vulnerable. Every smile, every touch from you made him feel like he was lowering his guard, leaving his heart exposed to the possibility that everything could shatter at any moment. So he did what he knew best — run away.

It started with short replies, then excuses to cancel plans, until he stopped responding altogether. Three days. It had only been three days, but every hour without talking to you felt like an open wound. He couldn't sleep, couldn't fight properly, couldn't even pretend he was okay.

That night, without thinking, he ran to your apartment in the pouring rain, not caring about anything else. His breathing was erratic, hands shaking as he pounded on your door. The rain soaked through his clothes, but he didn't care. His heart was beating so hard it hurt, and when you opened the door, brows furrowed and eyes heavy with sadness, Hyunjin felt something inside him break. 

“I'm sorry,” he blurted out, voice raw and broken. “I've been an idiot. I thought pushing you away was the right thing to do, but… I can't. I can't be without you”

And without waiting for a response, he kissed you.

He kissed you with all the fear, desperation, and love he'd bottled up over those days. His lips sought yours with frantic need, as if he were terrified you might disappear. You froze for just a second, then started laughing against his mouth before kissing him back, holding onto him like you never wanted to let go.

That night you talked for hours, until you fell asleep tangled in each other's arms, as if letting go wasn't an option.

The next day, you officially started dating. It wasn't perfect — there were insecurities, silly fights, and moments of doubts. But you always chose each other. You always found your way back.

Because Hyunjin finally understood that loving you didn't make him weak.

He loved you because, for the first time, he'd found something truly worth protecting.

© 2025 all rights reserved to user nujeskz

[xichilie]

I love the Mydei’s secret friend fic so much

Remember what we talked about 😏 your idea you did not post?

I want to requast the part where they first meeting plus that reader is like the recarnation or looks exactly like his old friend cough lover cough

Since he's immortal, he is around for a while and his family was shitty to him and tried to kill poor boy but she stood by him but his side, so they killed her 🪦

But then DRAMATIC EVENT INSIDE THE RUINS AFTER THE BATTLE HE TOOK HER MASK OF AND BOOOOOOOM THE FACE HE MISSED THE FACE HE MOURNED FOR HEREEEEEEE AALIVE

And that's why he gets protective of her and doesn't like phainon interested in her

You tould me you won't write it because it's just a silly thought

I force ya too 😈

Youuuuuuu......Fine.... I've been working on it anyway ( ｡ •̀ ⤙ •́ ｡ )

_______________________________________

Mydei x (fem) reader

Mydei's secret friend (memories of the past)

The ruins of Kremnos stood in solemn defiance of time, their once-grand structures now mere skeletal remains of a forgotten age. The air carried the scent of dust and ancient stone, while the distant echoes of shifting debris whispered secrets of a bygone era. Y/N moved with purpose, her boots crunching softly against the ground as she navigated the crumbling pathways. The towering remnants of temples and palaces loomed over her, casting long, jagged shadows that danced in the waning light of the afternoon sun.

She had heard stories of this place—tales of an ancient city swallowed by war, its people lost, its history reduced to rubble. But legends often left out the details, the smaller truths buried beneath the grandiosity of myth. That was why she was here. To uncover what had been forgotten, to see with her own eyes what the world had let slip into obscurity.

The ruins were eerily silent, save for the occasional gust of wind that howled through the broken columns and shattered archways. But Y/N knew better than to assume she was alone. She had sensed it the moment she set foot inside—a presence, heavy and watchful, lingering just beyond her line of sight.

Then, the ground trembled.

Y/N barely had time to react before a Titan Kin emerged from the shadows, its hulking form towering over her. It was a massive, humanoid creature of living rock, veins of crimson energy pulsing through the cracks in its rough exterior. Its glowing eyes locked onto her, soulless and unrelenting. With a guttural roar, it raised a colossal fist and swung downward, the sheer force of the attack sending a tremor through the ruins.

Y/N leaped back just in time, the impact shattering the ground where she had stood moments before. Dust and debris filled the air as she steadied her grip on her greatsword, its steel glinting in the dim light. Without hesitation, she lunged forward, flames igniting along the blade’s edge as she struck.

The Titan Kin retaliated with a swipe of its massive arm, forcing her to pivot to the side. She moved with practiced precision, dodging its attacks while delivering swift, calculated strikes of her own. Every clash of her blade against its rocky hide sent sparks flying, the heat of her flames searing its surface. But it was resilient, absorbing the damage with little sign of faltering.

She needed to be faster. Stronger.

Summoning her energy, Y/N channeled her fire into a concentrated blast, slamming it directly into the Titan Kin’s core. The explosion sent the creature staggering backward, molten rock dripping from the wound she had inflicted. Seizing the opportunity, she charged forward, ready to end the battle—

And then she felt it again.

The presence.

It was closer this time, more distinct. A weight in the air, pressing against her senses like an unseen force. Her instincts screamed at her, warning of something far more dangerous than the Titan Kin before her.

And then he spoke.

“You fight well.”

The voice was deep, unwavering. It cut through the chaos like a blade, freezing her mid-motion. Y/N barely had time to register the words before the Titan Kin’s movements suddenly ceased, as if something had shifted in the atmosphere.

Slowly, she turned her gaze toward the source of the voice.

A lone figure stood atop a broken pillar, bathed in the dying light of the sun. He was shirtless, his muscular frame adorned with intricate crimson tattoos that pulsed faintly against his skin. His golden hair, tipped with red, caught the light in a way that almost made it seem ablaze. Heavy gladiatorial armor covered his arms and shoulders, gleaming with the remnants of past battles. But it was his eyes that held her attention—sharp, golden, and unwavering.

He looked like a ghost haunting the ruins.

Y/N exhaled slowly, gripping her sword a little tighter. “You’re watching me.”

His lips quirked slightly, though it wasn’t quite a smile. “And you’re trespassing.”

Her brow arched. “Didn’t realize these ruins belonged to anyone.”

He stepped forward, descending from the broken pillar with effortless grace. “They don’t.” His gaze flickered briefly to the now-motionless Titan Kin before settling back on her. “Yet, you’re here. Fighting. Seeking something.”

Y/N didn’t respond immediately. She studied him, trying to piece together his intent. He carried himself like a warrior, but there was something else beneath the surface—a quiet intensity, an air of something ancient and unresolved.

Then, without warning, he shifted his stance.

A challenge.

Y/N narrowed her eyes. “You want to fight?”

He flexed his fingers, the golden armor on his hands glinting ominously. “I want to see what you can do.”

There was no room for hesitation.

The moment she moved, so did he.

Their clash sent a shockwave through the ruins, the impact of his armored fists against her greatsword ringing through the air. He was relentless, each strike fueled by raw power and precision. But Y/N met him blow for blow, her flames licking at his armor, forcing him to adjust his attacks.

It was a battle of endurance as much as skill. He fought with unyielding force, his movements refined, honed through countless battles. She countered with fluidity and adaptability, her fire weaving through her strikes like a second weapon. Sparks flew, embers danced, and the ruins bore witness to a battle unlike any in centuries.

Yet, despite her best efforts, she could feel herself slowing.

Her stamina was wearing thin. And he was still going strong.

A misstep. A fraction of a second too slow.

That was all he needed.

In a blur of motion, he disarmed her, her greatsword skidding across the stone floor. Before she could react, he closed the distance, pinning her in place with a single, firm grip on her wrist. She met his gaze, breathing heavily, defiance flickering in her eyes.

And then he reached forward.

With deliberate slowness, he removed her mask.

For a fleeting moment, something shifted in his expression. A flicker of recognition. A ghost of something long buried.

He froze.

Y/N blinked, confused by his sudden stillness. He stared at her, golden eyes unreadable, yet holding something deep beneath the surface. Something fractured.

Then, just as quickly as it had come, it was gone.

He released her wrist, stepping back. “Who are you?”

Y/N straightened, brushing dust from her clothes. “Y/N. And you?”

A pause. Then, with a voice heavy with something unspoken, he answered.

“Mydei.”

Silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken words. He studied her for a moment longer before exhaling sharply. “What are you doing in these ruins?”

Y/N tilted her head, watching him curiously. “Exploring.”

He regarded her for a long moment before nodding. “Then I’ll accompany you.”

She raised a brow. “Why?”

His gaze flickered to the ruins around them before settling back on her. “Because these ruins hold more than history.”

And so, they walked together, the weight of something unseen lingering between them.

The ruins loomed ahead, their towering structures bathed in the dim light filtering through the cracks of a long-collapsed ceiling. Y/N walked beside Mydei, her keen eyes scanning the surroundings, ever watchful for lurking threats. The air was thick with dust, carrying the scent of decay and old magic, remnants of a forgotten past.

Their earlier battle had left both of them on edge, but now, having established a fragile truce, they pressed forward together. Mydei’s usual brooding silence was punctuated only by the occasional grunt or huff whenever Y/N dared to ask a question he deemed unworthy of an answer. She took his gruff demeanor in stride, finding a strange amusement in his perpetual state of annoyance.

Titan kin lurked in the shadows, their hulking forms shifting amongst the ruins. One lunged from the darkness, its stone-carved body adorned with ancient glyphs that pulsed ominously. Y/N reacted swiftly, her greatsword igniting in flames as she met the creature head-on. Sparks flew as steel clashed against hardened rock, her movements precise and unyielding.

Mydei observed her technique with an unreadable expression, stepping in to handle a second Titan kin that emerged from behind. His golden-armored fists connected with crushing force, crimson energy crackling around him as he sent the creature reeling backward. Crimson crystals erupted from the ground beneath it, impaling the beast and reducing it to rubble.

They fought in unison, an unspoken understanding forming between them as they tore through their adversaries. It was strange—unnerving, even—how easily she moved beside him, how instinctively she countered his strikes, filling in the gaps in his relentless assault. It was… familiar.

A flash of memory overtook him.

A different time, a different battlefield. The same seamless coordination. A voice filled with laughter, calling out his name amidst the chaos. Soft hands that reached for him despite the blood staining them. Eyes filled with unwavering faith.

He blinked, forcing himself back to the present. Y/N was not her. It was impossible. And yet, the way she carried herself, the confidence in her movements, the stubborn gleam in her eyes—it all gnawed at the edges of his mind.

She turned to him after the last Titan kin fell, wiping sweat from her brow. "You're quieter" she remarked, her tone light but observant.

"I prefer silence over meaningless chatter," he shot back, crossing his arms as his crimson energy dissipated.

She smirked. "And yet, you tolerate mine."

Mydei huffed but said nothing. He had no rebuttal. It was true—he hadn't told her to leave yet.

They pressed onward, deeper into the ruins. As they walked, Y/N traced her fingers along the crumbling walls, deciphering the old carvings with interest. Mydei watched her, the way her expression softened in wonder, the way she breathed in the history surrounding them. It was how she used to be. Before she was taken from him.

He clenched his fists, pushing the thought away. Whatever this was—whatever connection Y/N unknowingly stirred within him—it did not matter. He was not here for sentimentality.

But as they stood before an ancient chamber, their reflection flickering in the golden glow of an undying ember, he could not shake the feeling that fate had dragged him back to this place for a reason.

Memories crashed against Mydei’s mind like waves against jagged rocks. He was no longer in the ruins but in the past, where warm sunlight bathed the high walls of Kremnos, and laughter echoed through its hallowed halls.

She had always been a whirlwind, teasing him relentlessly, challenging him when no one else dared. He could hear her voice, clear as day.

"Mydei, you really need to learn how to lighten up! Your face is going to get stuck like that," she would say, poking his cheek with an infuriating grin.

He would swat her hand away, scowling. "Stop that."

"You always say that," she laughed. "But you never mean it."

And she was right. He never did.

There were softer moments, too. Nights spent under the vast Kremnos sky, watching the stars while she spoke of dreams beyond their ruined city. Mydei had listened, pretending not to care, but her voice had always been a comfort he never admitted needing.

And then there were the funny moments—like when she, ever the fearless explorer, tripped over nothing and sent an entire stack of ancient scrolls toppling over her. He had laughed for the first time in years, earning a glare and a handful of parchment thrown at his head.

But those days had ended.

He could still feel the cold steel of chains against his skin, hear the roaring accusations of his family, see her standing there, defiant even in the face of death.

And then she was gone....

"Mydei?"

Y/N’s voice cut through the haze of memory. He blinked, realizing he had stopped walking. She was looking at him with mild concern, head tilted slightly. "You okay? You kind of just… froze."

He scowled, brushing past her. "Mind your own business."

She huffed, catching up. "You’re not exactly subtle, you know. If something’s bothering you, you can talk about it."

He shot her a glare. "No."

She laughed at his bluntness, shaking her head. "Fine, fine. But don’t look so miserable. We’re exploring ancient ruins, fighting Titan kin—what’s there to frown about?"

Everything, Mydei thought, but he didn’t say it.

Instead, he walked ahead, pretending that the ghost of his past wasn’t breathing down his neck with every step he took.

Over the years, his reluctant alliance with Y/N grew into an unexpected friendship. Though Mydei remained his usual gruff and irritable self, he found himself tolerating her presence more than anyone else’s. When she insisted on dragging him along on her explorations, he would scoff and protest, yet he never actually refused.

She had a way of drawing out something buried deep within him—reminding him of laughter he had forgotten, of warmth he thought had died with Kremnos.

There were moments when her presence felt so much like hers that it was almost painful. The way she tilted her head when deep in thought, the way she smirked when she bested him in a battle of wit or blade, even the way she could be so utterly, hopelessly clumsy at times.

Once, she tripped over a root and tumbled straight into a pond. Mydei, standing on the shore, arms crossed, had merely raised a brow.

"I meant to do that," she had declared, drenched and unbothered.

He scoffed. "Of course you did."

Another time, he had found himself standing outside her home, arms full of ingredients she had insisted they buy for some ‘experiment’ in baking. He didn’t know how she convinced him, but there he was, watching as she kneaded dough with an enthusiasm that bordered on reckless.

"You know, you could help instead of just standing there like a statue," she quipped.

"I’m not interested in your ridiculous hobby," he muttered, but when she turned her back, he found himself reaching out, adjusting the way she was rolling the dough. "You’re doing it wrong."

She blinked at him in surprise before grinning. "So, you do know how to bake."

He glared at her. "Shut up."

It was in these moments that he let his guard down, even if just slightly. But never for long.

Because every now and then, when she stood before him, firelight flickering against her face, he would catch a glimpse of the past. And it was both a comfort and a curse.

Y/N never pried, never asked why he sometimes looked at her like he was staring at a ghost. And for that, he was silently grateful.

But he knew the truth—one day, he would have to face what haunted him.

And he wasn’t sure if he was ready.

[sturnioloszn]

CAUGHT (1) - C.S

summary; after hooking up with chris at a party, you realise he has a twin brother, and you decide to have some fun with that new piece of information.

warnings; smut, unprotected sex (wrap it b4 u tap it), oral, dirty talk, mentions of alcohol, mentions of drugs.

a/n; i am genuinely so sorry it's taken me this long to get around to writing this, but the first part is finally here. also, this is my first time writing chratt, so if it's shit we all know why. btw this was inspired by @sturnobessed.

P2, P3

The house was alive with energy, lights flashing loud, vibrant colours as erratic music pulsed through the air. Laughter and chatter filled the space, combining with the raw smell of cheap liquor and weed. I took a sip of the weird concoction in my cup before spotting a sexy stranger on the couch across the room.

His dark hair covered the top half of his face, but his prominent jaw and cheekbones stood out regardless. His legs were spread apart, with one of his veiny hands sitting on his lap, holding a lit joint.

The music continued to thump in the background as I took another sip of my drink, letting the warmth of the alcohol course through my veins, giving me the courage I need to make my way towards him.

As I approach him, I occupy the vacant seat next to him on the couch. He finally turns his head to look at me, slowly raking his eyes over my long legs and skimpy dress; I take this as the opportunity to get a closer look at his features, coming to the realization that dark blue eyes are hidden beneath his long hair. I stare a little longer, allowing my gaze to linger on his full, pink lips.

"What's your name?" I ask, breaking the silence between us. He looks away, bringing the burning joint to his lips before replying.

"Chris," he murmurs, looking over to me again, indicating that he wants to know my name. I return the favour, to which he just gives a small nod.

After a few moments of silence, the tension is palpable; remembering I have a drink in my hand, I chug down the rest in hopes of easing my nerves. He then nudges his joint towards me, encouraging me to take a hit.

"Oh- I don't um... smoke," I gulp, looking into his now bloodshot eyes. I watch his eyebrows furrow slightly as he continues to push the joint to me. I've never been easily influenced by peer pressure, but something about him made me succumb instantly.

Instead of taking it from his hand, I leaned down and placed my lips on the end of it while it still rested between his fingers. I looked up at him through my eyelashes and inhaled the smoke.

Sitting back up, I released the smoke, coughing. My inexperience makes him chuckle before pulling the joint back to his own lips and inhaling. I don't even have time to recover fully before a random girl comes over and places herself on his lap, completely disregarding my presence.

"Hey Chrissss," she slurrs, tracing small circles on his chest with her finger. This girl was obviously drunk as shit, even I could see that, and I was tipsy myself.

I watch intently as she leans into him, placing her lips to his ear, whispering something, and giggling obnoxiously. My gaze lands to his hand, resting comfortably on her waist. I decided to save myself the embarrassment and just remove myself from the situation.

I move to the kitchen and grab myself some more liquid courage before moving back to the dance floor.

A couple of songs and drinks later, I find myself slowly grinding on a hot stranger. I rhythmically sway my hips against him, one of my arms reaching behind myself to pull him closer. I feel his hard dick pressed against my ass, which motivates me to keep going.

As the song is coming to an end, I feel a hand wrap around the top of my arm and roughly pull me away. My eyes struggle to focus, but when they do, I discover that it's Chris dragging me away from the crowds and towards the bathroom.

"What're you doing?" I question, trying to shrug him off, but instead, he tightens his hold on me even more.

"Shut the fuck up, you've already pissed me off," He spits, opening the bathroom door and shoving me inside. He wastes no time entering the bathroom himself, locking the door, and turning back to look at me.

I'm not sure how I ended up bent over the sink with my panties at my ankles, but I wasn't complaining. I looked up at him through the mirror, admiring his fucked out face. His hands were bruising my hips while his cock bruised my cervix.

"You're so fuckin' tight, ma," He whines, his hard cock drilling into me harder. The feeling of him stretching my sloppy cunt out so good had me on the edge. My moans grew louder as he plunged himself deeper, but just as I was about to finish, he pulled himself out completely.

"Turn around, lemme see your pretty face when y'come on my cock," He mutters, aggressively turning me around and lifting me onto the counter.

I lean back onto my elbows as he slips himself back into my slippery pussy, resuming his earlier pace. He has one hand firmly on my waist, making sure I don't inch away with each harsh thrust. His other hand reached to the top of my dress, pulling it down, revealing my pierced nipples; the pink diamonds decorating my breasts.

Seeing my tits like that was his final straw, he quickly pulled out and jerked his cock for his orgasm; ropes of cum shot from his slit, dropping onto the tiled floor.

"Shitttttt, you're so perfect," he groans, milking himself for the last of his cum. As soon as he comes down from his high, he focuses solely on my pleasure, leaning down and spitting on my already soaked cunt.

He traced the outline of my pussy with his tongue, before attaching his lips to my clit, sucking gently. I then felt one of his fingers toy with my entrance. I shoved my hand into his hair, pushing him further into me. His mouth disconnects from my clit and licks over my entire heat while fucking his finger into me.

"Fuck Chris... please, feels... so good," I screw my eyes shut, and thrusts my hips into his face. His red eyes look up into mine as he kitty licks at my sensitive nub, and it pushed me over the edge. He hums in approval as he soaks up my liquids, licking me clean.

"You taste so good," he compliments, standing up straight and wiping his mouth and chin with the back of his hand. I feel my already flushed face become redder as he helps me down from the counter. I fix my dress and hair while he cleans up the mess he made on the floor.

We're pulled away from our tasks when there's a knock at the door, "I need to peeee," a girl whines from the other side.

"Give me your phone," Chris says, extending his hand. I give him a confused look but nevertheless reach into my small bag and place my phone into his hand.

I stare as he pulls up the keypad and punches in a number I can only assume is his. He saves the contact and hands the phone back to me. I look at the screen where a number was stored with the contact name as 'best dick of your life 🍆'.

I look over to him, shaking my head in disbelief while allowing a smile to crawl onto my face. He gave me a small grin before unlocking the door and leaving. Nobody was outside, so I guess the girl didn't need to pee that bad.

I finished sorting myself out and headed back to the party. I checked the time and realised that it had gotten quite late without even noticing. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the brunette boy in the kitchen on his phone, and wondered if he could take me home.

"Hey, do you mind dropping me home?" I ask, giving a small smile. Chris looks up from his phone and gives me a confused look.

"Um... sure?" He says, tucking his phone into his pocket. I'm not sure why he was confused. Maybe he just thought I wouldn't leave already, but I'm tired and definitely ready to go sleep.

Getting into his car, I thank him for going out of his way to take me home and give him the address to my house. It's not long before I feel someone slowly shaking me awake.

"Wake up, we're here," He whispers, unbuckling my seatbelt. I didn't even realise I fell asleep. I wrap my arms around his neck, motioning that I'd like to be carried. I could walk, but my feet were incredibly sore from being in heels all night, and walking up three flights of stairs right now sounded like torture.

He laughs lowly and scoops me up into his arms, closing the car door with his foot. As we're walking up the stairs, or should I say as he's walking up the stairs, the smell of his cologne infiltrated my nostrils, and I could've sworn it was different earlier. I blame my confusion on my tiredness and drunkeness.

We eventually reach my apartment, and he scavenges my bag for my keys. He somehow manages to unlock the door, carry me to my bedroom, and tuck me in all without disturbing me.

The second my body sank into the mattress, I knew I was gone for the night.

-

I woke up to the feeling of my head pounding, I turned over in bed and strained my eyes open. On my nightstand sat a bottle of water, two advils, and a note. I swallowed down the pills and chugged some of the water before moving to the note.

I picked up the folded piece of paper to reveal a phone number with the name 'matt :)' scribbled beneath it. Matt? Who's that?

I thought about it for a moment, completely baffled at my lack of remembrance for 'Matt' until it dawned on me.

It wasn't Chris who took me home last night; it must've been his brother. That explains the confusion on his face when I asked him to take me home. He had no idea who I was, even when I caught a whiff of his cologne, which was definitely different from Chris'. How did I not notice they were two different people? They were even wearing different clothes and I didn't realise.

I smile at my stupidity but also at the fact that I had bagged twin brothers on the same night without either of them knowing.

a/n; this is part 1 of the 3 done! this is also a reminder that my requests are open so feel free to leave suggestions for future fics. anyway, hope you enjoyed this, love you <33

Taglist; @idrk2292 @starclinexo @clairesrose @045696 @forgottxen @mattsturniolover @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut @chrissturniolodailysluts @sturnobsessedwh0re