#this is it: the fucking dynamic between the three

[madamechrissy]

Mr. Nanami's Secretary

Pairings - Boss Nanami x Secretary reader

Contents/warnings- based off the movie 'The Secretary' quite clearly aha, BDSM heavy, dom/sub elements, Nanami is NOT nice lol, power dynamics, some sexual teasing, quite an ass beating bc Nanami is mad at your typos!!!

This is for my baby @indiewritesxoxo she wanted this fic to win so badly lol! If ya'll want a tag for part two lmk in the comments <3

How did you end up here?

Crawling on all fours, with Mr. Nanami's paper dangling between your lips, wearing your black gartered stockings and your little blouse and pencil skirt, utterly professional looking - but here you are, crawling like a little puppy over his hardwood floors. As you get closer and enter his office, he leans back, lowering his green glasses, stern face assessing you when you crawl up to him.

You tilt your chin up and he reaches a hand down, tugging it out of your teeth's grip, inspecting it while tugging at his cheetah tie. It's the one quirky thing about his otherwise serious attire, this suit that fits him just a bit tightly, his muscles so big under his dress shirt it's like the material has to stretch.

You know there are two outcomes to this paper.

One, praise.

Two, punishment.

You're perfectly happy with either, you love his punishment as much as you love his praise - only one thing would be better, and that's having all of Mr. Nanami, which you're dying for. Your cunt is wet again just thinking about it, about another three days of not sitting right because he's beat you with his belt, and maybe he'd actually do more with you.

Nanami's lips purse as he's carefully studying your typing, if he finds just one flaw, you'll be bent over his desk, if you do it perfectly, he'll pat your head so sweet and let you rest your cheek on his lap. The thoughts make your heart race, as you patiently wait, your palms flat on your thighs as he likes you.

"Hmm," his husky sound just makes you desire him more, fuck you're tired of touching yourself to the thoughts of him, eyeing his side profile in the soft lights ahead. "What a shame, you almost got it all completely perfect."

"I did-"

"Did I tell you to speak?" His voice is calm, raising a thin brow, turning to you now, you're flushed when he tilts your chin up with two fingers, hazel eyes glinting.

"No, Sir."

"No, I didn't, yet you're still talking, huh?" You open your mouth again, just to close it. "I was going to let this slide, because it's just one letter wrong, but..."

He stands now, pushing back his giant office chair, standing so tall over you as his hand enwraps in your hair, tugging just a bit, you see the tenting in his slacks, making your cunt throb around nothing. You barely hold in a whine as he speaks slowly.

"Go lock the door."

You know better than to argue or ask, it's been your new routine, serving him, and he in turn tells you what to do. What to eat, what to wear, what to say, fuck you love it, love feeling like finally your life has some sort of order, wanting it to belong to him utterly.

With a gentle click of his door, you look back over your shoulder at him, so tall and broad, he's loosened his tie just a bit, showcasing the veins running across his neck. You swallow nervously as you head back to him, until your heels are right against his perfectly polished dress shoes.

"Bend over the desk," he murmurs, stepping around it, as you walk up nervously, doing just that. "Lift your skirt."

You're palms flat on the desk, arched for him, you've tugged your skirt up over the curve of your ass, while he just stands there. "Mr. Nanami..."

"I haven't given you permission to speak darling, have I?" The way it rolls off his tongue, when you feel his fingers ghosting your ass, the way you wish he'd do more, touch more, for once he does barely brush your slit for just a moment, your eyes shut, a gasp escaping. "Your slutty cunt is soaking wet from crawling on the floor?"

You look back at him, he nods. "No sir."

"What are you dripping for? Going to make a mess of my floors, tsk," he aches to sink two fingers inside your cunt - but not just yet, you have to need him more, beg for it more. So instead he lands a sharp smack against your ass cheek, cock throbbing when he sees his hand print, hearing your muffled cry as you bite your lip. "Ah ah."

He leans over, cupping your chin now, you're arching further against him, dying for more contact, he lands another smack. "Mr. Nanami..."

"Don't muffle your cries, I want to hear them, hmm? Nod if you understand." You nod quickly, nearly tasting his breath before he pulls back and lands another smack. The sharp sting just makes your cunt ache even more.

He doesn't stop there, no his sharp smacks echo in his office, mixed with muffled cries as your tears well up in your eyes, sniffling as you try to not fall to the ground. It's one after the other, so many your thighs nearly collapse, smacks until you'll be bruised from him for weeks, marked from him.

The sight of you was so fucking sexy like this, Nanami can't stand it, your arousal glistening and dripping down your inner thigh. He swipes a bit of it up, your thighs are twitching, cunt pushing more and more clear strings of arousal out. He can't help but captures some of it on his thumb, slipping it in his mouth and biting back a moan and how good you fucking taste, before smacking the fuck out of your ass again.

He loves how it jiggles for him, he loves how his hand prints are littered across it in patterns. "Don't move, you know the rules, don't you?"

"S-Sorry..." You can't help it, not when he touched the cunt you've been playing with since you started working here. "Could you... do more?"

"Now you're demanding things of me? That's not how this works, darling." He smacks you right across your cunt, your head falls back, hoarse moan escaping from your throat. "Do you deserve that after that glaringly apparent typo?"

"N-no..."

"I was going to lick this pretty cunt," he trails a finger from your clit up your dripping slit, up past your hole, teasing but never entering, yet this is more from Mr. Nanami than you've gotten so far. "But you aren't acting appropriately, are you Miss?"

"No, I'm sorry Mr. Nanami - ah!" He smacks your cunt again, fuck you almost cum, the sting and burn and ache so perfect, but then he pulls back, brushing back your hair almost gently.

"Go type the paper up again, make it perfect, not one mistake, hmm?" He tugs at your hair, yanking your head back, you nod, and he smiles just a bit. "Good girl."

He leaves you to sit back in his chair, you carefully tug your skirt down, biting your lip at the sweet pain, you go to open the door when he stops you. "Yes Mr. Nanami?"

"Hands and knees," he says softly, you sink right down, and he smiles just a bit, serious attorney Nanami having just one little moment where you see the real him come through. "Crawl on back to your desk now."

He props his feet up, crossing his legs at the heels, as you do just that. You should feel degraded, or feel some shame, right? But all you can think of as you crawl to your desk is how badly you want your boss Mr. Nanami inside you, even as you can barely sit on your stinging and bruised ass, you feel it, your mind drifting to it.

Just how did you get here?

♡ 💜 ♡︎ ♡ 💜 ♡︎ ♡ 💜 ♡︎ ♡ 💜 ♡︎ ♡ 💜 ♡︎ ♡ 💜 ♡︎ ♡ 💜 ♡︎

I love when Nanami is mean lol

[vaginalvr]

Hi! I love your work! It’s soooooo gooood!!!! Like I want to crawl inside of them and just live there lol.

Would you be able to do a Spencer x reader x Hotch one with like double penetration and some like m/m action?

content warning: extremely explicit sexual content, 18+ only, includes double penetration (reader receiving), m/m action (kissing, touching), and dominant/submissive dynamics with trust and affection throughout.

a/n: i spent so long on this its disgusting and i love it its 5 am here god this is what i do with my life now

word count ~ 6k

REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

It was supposed to be one last drink.

The case was over, the unsub was in custody, and for once, no one had died. The three of you ended up back at Hotch’s apartment — his invitation, casual and unexpected, drawing you and Spencer like moths to a flame. Maybe you all just weren’t ready to say goodnight yet. Maybe something else had been simmering under the surface for too long.

You sat on Hotch’s couch with Spencer beside you, legs tucked beneath you, your fingertips brushing his as you passed him your empty glass. The warm flush on your skin had little to do with the whiskey and more to do with the way Hotch was watching you.

And Spencer.

Both of you.

With heat.

With want.

With decision.

When Aaron finally crossed the room and pulled you to your feet, there was no pretense. His fingers curled under your jaw, lifting your gaze to his. “Say stop,” he murmured, “if you want to stop this.”

You didn’t.

Neither did Spencer.

You’d never felt more naked than you did fully undressed under both of their eyes.

Hotch stood behind you, firm and steady, his hands tracing reverent lines down your body. In front of you, Spencer looked wrecked already — his curls mussed, his shirt gone, his belt unbuckled and hanging open. His eyes darted from your chest to your lips to Aaron’s possessive grip on your hips.

“You’re stunning,” Spencer breathed, and Aaron’s hand moved lower in approval, pressing you back against his chest.

“She’s more than that,” Hotch said lowly, his breath ghosting over your ear. “She’s ours tonight.”

Spencer swallowed, visibly shivering.

Hotch kissed your neck, slow and claiming. “Get on your knees for us, sweetheart. Show Spencer how good you are.”

You sank to the floor, between them both.

They took their time.

Spencer fumbled slightly at first — always so brilliant, always so eager — but once his cock was in your mouth and your lips were wrapped around him, he forgot to be nervous. He forgot everything but the way your tongue swirled, the way your eyes met his, the way Aaron stood behind you murmuring filth in your ear.

“Look how much he loves it,” Hotch whispered. “How hard he gets when you moan around him.”

Spencer’s hips bucked involuntarily and you held him in your mouth, letting him fuck your throat gently, your fingers curled around his thighs. Hotch’s hand cradled the back of your head, guiding the rhythm, watching both of you fall apart a little more.

By the time Hotch tugged you up, Spencer was trembling — not from orgasm, not yet, but from restraint.

“She needs both of us,” Hotch said firmly. “Come on. Bed.”

You laid out on Aaron’s mattress, spread for them, every nerve ending on fire.

Spencer knelt between your legs, his fingers moving carefully through your folds, slow and attentive, while Hotch prepared himself behind you. The slick sounds, the low sounds of both their breath, the heat curling deep in your belly — it was overwhelming.

“Is this okay?” Spencer asked, always asking, always gentle.

You cupped his cheek. “I want you. Both of you.”

Hotch’s voice was rough. “She’s ready.”

And then you were surrounded.

Spencer lined himself up and pressed inside first — slow, stretching you, filling you with a gasp. He leaned down to kiss you, and it was sweet, shaky, like he couldn’t believe he was inside you.

Hotch didn’t wait long.

The extra stretch of his cock behind you was more than full — it was mind-blowing. Hotch took it slow, carefully, giving you time to adjust as he eased inside alongside Spencer, groaning low in your ear when he bottomed out.

Double penetration — you’d fantasized about it, but nothing prepared you for the sensation. You were completely filled, tight and trembling, with both of them pressed inside you, holding still while you clutched at Spencer’s arms, trying to breathe through the overwhelming fullness.

“You’re perfect,” Hotch growled. “So tight like this. Taking us both.”

Spencer kissed you, panting. “God, you feel… incredible.”

They started to move.

Not too fast, not at first — a slow, deliberate rhythm as they moved in sync, careful not to overwhelm you. Spencer fucked forward while Hotch thrust deeper behind you, and the friction, the stretch, the heat had you gasping their names, clawing at the sheets, shaking apart.

Aaron’s hand slid around your throat, just resting there. “Good girl. Look at Spencer while we fuck you. Let him see how pretty you are like this.”

You moaned — loud, uninhibited.

Spencer leaned down to kiss you again, needier now, his tongue sliding into your mouth as you whined into it. You felt Aaron’s chest at your back, his breath ragged, and then — his voice low and deliberate —

“Kiss him again.”

You obeyed.

And then something electric happened — Spencer whimpered into your mouth as Aaron reached forward and curled his fingers into Spencer’s hair, pulling him close. And before either of you could fully register it, Aaron was kissing Spencer too.

It wasn’t shy. It wasn’t delicate.

Hotch kissed him like he owned him.

Spencer moaned into it, his cock throbbing inside you, and the low sound Aaron made in response had you clenching hard around them both.

“That’s it,” Hotch muttered darkly. “You both belong to me tonight.”

It became a blur after that.

They moved faster, deeper — fucking you harder, praising you, touching you everywhere. Spencer’s hand found your clit, rubbing firm little circles that had your legs shaking. Hotch gripped your hips, thrusting deep, his voice low and filthy in your ear.

“You were made for this, sweetheart. Made for us.”

“Please,” you whimpered, not even sure what you were begging for anymore.

“Let go,” Spencer urged, voice cracking. “Come for us. Please, I want to feel—”

You shattered.

Your orgasm ripped through you with a violent, shaking cry, your body clenching down so hard on both of them that Spencer nearly lost it.

“Oh god—” he choked, “Hotch, I’m—”

“Go ahead,” Aaron said. “Come inside her.”

Spencer gasped as he came, pulsing deep, his face buried in your neck. Hotch held both of you through it, still moving behind you, still thick and hard and aching for release.

When Spencer collapsed beside you, spent and panting, Hotch pulled you up and over into his lap, never pulling out. He adjusted your hips until he was buried deep again — this time alone — and you moaned at the soreness and fullness, your body already so wrecked.

But you wanted more.

You rode him as he gripped your hips, thrusting up hard into you, chasing his own high. Spencer leaned in, kissing your shoulder, murmuring sweet praise into your ear — how good you were, how beautiful, how perfect.

Then he kissed Aaron.

It was slower this time. Aaron’s hand slid up to cradle Spencer’s jaw, and Spencer moaned into the kiss while Hotch finally came inside you with a low groan, gripping you tight, thrusting deep as he emptied himself.

You collapsed between them, boneless and overwhelmed.

Aftercare came like a wave.

Hotch cleaned you up gently, wrapping you in one of his softest shirts, placing you between them on the bed. Spencer spooned you from behind, pressing soft kisses to your shoulder while Hotch held your hand and rubbed circles into your palm.

No words were needed.

Just soft breathing. Gentle touches. The warmth of being held by two people who had you — completely — and who you had in return.

As you drifted to sleep between them, you felt Spencer murmur something against your skin.

“…hope this wasn’t just one night.”

Aaron answered before you could.

“It won’t be.”

[hawkinsuniversity]

hidden indulgences

word count: 2.2k

pairing: rafe cameron + jj mayback x reader

warnings: 18+ content, sexual acts, bdsm elements, humiliation, domination, multiple partners, power dynamics, graphic language, voyeurism, exhibitionism, orgasm control, dual penetration & more.

minors please do not interact due to 18+ content.

•••

rafe and jj's eyes lingered over your supple breasts as they bounced rhythmically in the white summer dress that cascaded down your figure. the three of you had spent the day at the country club and despite desperate efforts to suppress their erections both boys knew they couldn't hold out much longer.

although the pair had historically been at odds, you seemed to be the one thing that brought them together.

as you made your way towards them the two men snarled as they watched onlookers and peers avert their eyes towards your backside. your boyfriends were aware of how desirable you were, although neither were particularly fond of the unsolicited attention you seemed to attract.

both let out a guttural growl while quietly chuckling under their breath.

as you made your way back into jjs welcoming embrace the feeling of rafes cold hand clamped down harshly on the back of your neck.

upon the sudden impact a mousy squeak escaped your sealed lips.

the two men laughed quietly to themselves, almost as if they were to share an inside joke.

as you raised your head slowly in anticipation, your innocent gaze met their hungry glares and it was clear your fate was sealed. 

before you knew it the pair had already briskly whisked you away into one of the nearby coat closets, making it clear they were both to have their way with you at once. 

rafe struck you harshly against the wall by the throat while jj positioned himself under your legs and used his upper body strength to hoist you onto his shoulders, slipping his tongue within the tight slit between your thighs. 

as jjs cool tongue met the warmth of your heat you gasped out desperately while rafe continued to playfully but forcefully slap and squeeze your face and throat mockingly. 

as you hung there, suspended between them, you could feel rough fabric scratching against your bare back. rafe’s hand was a vice around your throat, his fingers digging into your flesh as he held you in place. his other hand roamed freely, squeezing and kneading your breasts, his touch a mix of dominance and cruelty. you could feel his erection pressing against your stomach, a hard and insistent promise of what was to come. 

jj, meanwhile, was a torment of a different kind. his tongue lapped at you, slow and deliberate, teasing you with gentle flicks and soft sucks that sent shivers down your spine. his hands gripped your thighs, holding you in place as he feasted on you. you could hear his muffled moans, feel the vibrations of his pleasure against your sensitive flesh. it was a stark contrast to rafe's harsh treatment, and you found yourself torn between the two sensations, your body aching with need.

"look at you," rafe sneered, his voice a low growl in your ear. "so fucking eager. you love this, don't you?" he tightened his grip on your throat, and you gasped, your eyes watering as you nodded frantically. "yes, sir," you managed to choke out, your voice hoarse with desire and fear.

jj pulled back slightly, his breath hot against your thigh. "she's so fucking sweet rafe." he said, his voice mocking. he flicked his tongue against your clit, and you bucked against him, a desperate moan escaping your lips. "but I think she needs more. don't you, sweetheart?"

you whimpered, your body on fire with need. "please," you begged, not even sure what you were begging for. more of jj's gentle torment? rafe's harsh dominance? you just knew you needed more.

rafe chuckled, a dark and cruel sound. "she's pathetic, isn't she?" he said, but there was a note of satisfaction in his voice. he enjoyed your desperation, your need. "alright, let's give her what she wants." he released your throat, and you gasped, sucking in a deep breath as he spun you around, pressing your face against the wall. his hand came down hard on your ass, and you yelped, the sound echoing in the small closet.

"such a pretty little sound," jj said, his voice a soft purr. he was behind you now, his body pressing against yours as he reached around and cupped your breast, his fingers teasing your nipple. "let's hear it again, shall we?"

rafe's hand came down again, harder this time, and you cried out, your body jerking against jj's. he chuckled, a low and wicked sound, and pinched your nipple, rolling it between his fingers as rafe spanked you, each smack of his hand against your flesh sending waves of pain and pleasure coursing through your body.

"please," you begged again, your voice a hoarse whisper. "please, I need more."

jj leaned in, his lips against your ear. "more of what, sweetheart?" he asked, his voice a soft mockery. "more of this?" he pinched your nipple harder, and you cried out, your body arching against his. "or more of this?" he reached down, his fingers finding your clit, and he rubbed it in slow, torturous circles.

rafe's hand came down again, and you screamed, your body shaking with need. "i don't know," you sobbed. "i just need more. please."

rafe chuckled, a dark and cruel sound. "you're such a needy little thing, aren't you?" he said, his voice a low growl. "alright, let's see how much you can take." he reached down, his fingers finding your entrance, and he pushed two fingers inside you, curling them up to hit that sweet spot that made your toes curl.

you cried out, your body clenching around him as he began to move his fingers, pumping them in and out of you in a brutal, demanding rhythm. jj's fingers were still on your clit, rubbing and teasing, his other hand still toying with your nipple, and you were overwhelmed, your body a mass of sensations, each one more intense than the last.

rafe leaned in, his lips capturing yours in a brutal kiss, his tongue invading your mouth as he continued to finger you, his other hand gripping your hip, holding you in place. you could taste his dominance, feel his power, and it sent a shiver down your spine. you were his to command, his to use, and you loved every second of it.

jj, meanwhile, had moved behind you, his body pressing against yours as he reached around and cupped your breast, his fingers teasing your nipple. "you like that, don't you, sweetheart?" he murmured, his voice a soft purr. "you like being our little toy."

you whimpered, your body on fire with need. "yes," you gasped, your voice hoarse with desire. "yes, I do."

rafe pulled back, a cruel smile on his lips. "good girl," he said, his voice a low growl. he turned you around, pressing your back against the wall as he dropped to his knees, his hands gripping your thighs as he hoisted one leg over his shoulder. "let's see how well you can take my cock."

before you could respond, he was inside you, his cock filling you, stretching you as he pushed in deep. you cried out, your head falling back against the wall as he began to move, his hips snapping against yours in a brutal, demanding rhythm. jj was behind him, his body pressing against rafe's as he reached around and gripped your other thigh, holding you open for rafe's assault.

"look at you," jj said, his voice a soft mockery. "so fucking eager. you love this, don't you? being our little toy." he leaned in, his lips capturing yours in a soft, gentle kiss, a stark contrast to rafe's brutal taking. you could taste his mocking, feel his amusement, and it sent a shiver down your spine. you were their toy, their plaything, and you loved every second of it.

rafe's hands gripped your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh as he pounded into you, his cock hitting that sweet spot with each thrust. you could feel your orgasm building, your body tightening as you climbed higher and higher. jj's fingers found your clit, rubbing and teasing as he kissed you, his tongue invading your mouth in a soft, gentle dance.

"come for us, sweetheart," jj murmured against your lips. "let us hear that pretty little sound."

and you did. your body exploded, waves of pleasure crashing over you as you cried out, your voice echoing in the small closet. rafe groaned, his body tensing as he came, his cock pulsing inside you. jj chuckled, a low and wicked sound, and pulled back, a cruel smile on his lips.

"such a good little toy," he said, his voice a soft mockery. he turned you around, pressing your face against the wall as he dropped to his knees, his hands gripping your ass as he spread you open. "now, let's see how well you can take my cock."

before you could respond, he was inside you, his cock filling you, stretching you as he pushed in deep. you cried out, your body still sensitive from your orgasm, each nerve ending on fire as he began to move, his hips snapping against yours in a brutal, demanding rhythm. rafe was behind him, his body pressing against jj's as he reached around and gripped your hips, holding you in place for jj's assault.

"look at you," rafe sneered, his voice a low growl. "so fucking eager. you love this, don't you? being our little toy." he leaned in, his lips capturing yours in a brutal kiss, his tongue invading your mouth as jj fucked you, his cock hitting that sweet spot with each thrust.

you could feel your orgasm building again, your body tightening as you climbed higher and higher. rafe's fingers found your clit, rubbing and teasing as he kissed you, his tongue invading your mouth in a brutal, demanding dance. jj's hands gripped your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh as he pounded into you, his cock hitting that sweet spot with each thrust.

"come for us again, sweetheart," rafe murmured against your lips. "let us hear that pretty little sound."

and you did. your body exploded, waves of pleasure crashing over you as you cried out, your voice echoing in the small closet. jj groaned, his body tensing as he came, his cock pulsing inside you. rafe chuckled, a dark and cruel sound, and pulled back, a cruel smile on his lips.

"our personal cum dump," he said, his voice a low growl. he turned you around, pressing your back against the wall as he dropped to his knees, his hands gripping your thighs as he hoisted one leg over his shoulder. "now, let's see how well you can take both our cocks at once."

before you could respond, he was inside you, his cock filling you, stretching you as he pushed in deep. you cried out, your body still sensitive from your orgasms, each nerve ending on fire as jj moved behind rafe, his body pressing against rafe's as he positioned himself at your entrance. you felt a moment of panic, a moment of doubt, but it was quickly replaced by a wave of lust as jj pushed in, his cock filling you, stretching you as he joined rafe inside you.

you cried out, your head falling back against the wall as they began to move, their hips snapping against yours in a brutal, demanding rhythm. they took turns, one pulling out as the other pushed in, their cocks sliding against each other as they fucked you, their toy, their plaything.

"look at you," rafe sneered, his voice a low growl. "so fucking full. you love this, don't you? being our little slut." he leaned in, his lips capturing yours in a brutal kiss, his tongue invading your mouth as jj reached around and gripped your breasts, his fingers teasing your nipples.

jj chuckled, a low and wicked sound. "such a pretty little sound," he said, his voice a soft mockery. "i could listen to that all day." he leaned in, his lips capturing yours in a soft, gentle kiss, a stark contrast to rafe's brutal taking. you could taste his mocking, feel his amusement, and it sent a shiver down your spine. you were their toy, their plaything, and you loved every second of it.

their movements became more frenzied, more desperate, their bodies slamming against yours as they chased their release. you could feel your orgasm building, your body tightening as you climbed higher and higher. their fingers found your clit, rubbing and teasing as they kissed you, their tongues invading your mouth in a brutal, demanding dance.

"come for us, sweetheart," they murmured against your lips, their voices a low growl, a soft purr. "let us hear that pretty little sound."

and you did. your body exploded, waves of pleasure crashing over you as you cried out, your voice echoing in the small closet. they groaned, their bodies tensing as they came, their cocks pulsing inside you, filling you with their release.

as both pulled out, and you slid down the wall, your mind a blur of pleasure and pain. they stood there, looking down at you, their chests heaving, their cocks still hard. you looked up at them, your eyes filled with tears, your body aching, as your legs went numb 一 and with that your vision went dark.

[kingkat12]

pornstar martini (roman godfrey x reader)

WARNINGS: spanking, blowjob, punishments, sub/dom dynamics, kinky mails, masochism, masturbation, throwing up (very briefly cause of a hangover), Roman is a fucking ass even though he's overseas ughhh, jealousy ploys

summary: Mr. Godfrey has been away in Geneva for a few days now without as much as a peep-- getting drunk and upset about it certainly won't help, but when have you ever been of sound mind?

word count: 7,710

← previous chapter |

a/n: I'm so fucking drunk while editing this rn, reader is drunk throughout this whole chapter, so... at LEAST I'll have a good representation of intoxication?? I've missed this story tho, thank you all for ALL THE LOVE AHHHH you give me hope, you give me life, so I give you this!<333 mwah, enjoy, you little freaks

"It's your cousin,"

Letha turned to me, slow enough for it to be a clip straight out of a comedy movie; "What?" she asked, putting down her cosmopolitan. 

I groaned into my palm, swirling my half-empty pornstar martini. The loud bar around us made my head pound, each beat hammering into a new part of my brain that I didn't know could feel pain. "It was his shoe," 

"The shoe you... humped?"

"Yeah," I breathed, hiccuping as I tried to force my eyes to open wider. It was impossible to concentrate when I was this drunk. We had been out for dinner around six, then we had met some of Letha's friends at some bar around eight, then we had met mutuals from college who had led us to wherever the fuck we were right now-- we had long broken apart from that group, and we were now sitting in some tent-like structure, having our fourth cocktails for the night. "He told me to, and I did it. Your cousin is hot, are you aware of that?"

Letha blinked over and over, scrunching her nose; "Nope," she said. "He's just Roman to me. He's the same guy who ate snow with me in my backyard when we were six, and I watched him go through his emo phase when he was fifteen. Also, if I ever say yes to that, shoot me, because I'm most likely possessed."

Mr. Godfrey, eating snow? What an odd thought. What an odd thing-- for him to be human.

I scanned Letha; her cheeks always got flushed when she was drunk, and tonight, she was properly drunk. Very, very drunk, and so was I, undeniably. "I don't want to shoot you," I mumbled, bringing my pornstar martini back to my lips. "Aren't you mad, though?"

"Mad? Meh," Letha shrugged. "I'd be mad if you fucked my father, but--"

"Ew, Lee, what the fuck!--"

"But!" She held one finger up in the air, effectively shutting me up. "This is sort of a win-win situation. If you get with my cousin, like, properly, then we could technically be sisters or whatever."

I cleared my throat, trying to straighten up as I pulled the most serious face I could in this state. Letha would've probably not have been so enthusiastic about this if she were sober. "I don't think it's like that," I mumbled, staring at the cocktail I had nearly finished. If this conversation were to continue, I'd need about three more of these. Why couldn't I just shut up? 

"So... what? It's a strictly hump-my-shoe sort of thing?" Letha chimed in, grinning from ear to ear as she watched my cheeks redden to the likes of hers. "You naughty girl! He's your boss, too!"

"Shut up!" I hissed, smacking my forehead twice. Why did my head hurt so bad? Maybe it was time to put down my drink. "It's the suit, and it's the green eyes. I die a little every time I look at him, and soon enough, there will be nothing left of me except my clit."

"... Ew," 

"I'm so fucking serious, Lee!"

"Oh, I'm not denying it," she said in between sips of her cosmopolitan. "Not that I want to know, but I'm drunk and not in the right mind, but do you do anything else? You hump his shoe, and he does?"

What the fuck was I supposed to say here? "Hey, okay, I did that once!--"

"Shut up!" Letha said, giggling uncontrollably. "You hump his shoe, and he does...?"

I blinked, trying to recover from her incessant teasing. I hump his shoe, and he does...? He gets me expensive gifts. He spanks me when I misbehave. He makes me cum when I'm being good, whatever that means. I'm never good, in theory. Mr. Godfrey didn't usually do anything except order me around, yet that was sort of the appeal-- the less I knew about him, what he looked like beneath that suit, who he was, the more I felt like he was a God-like entity. Hence, whenever I had his attention in any way, I felt beyond special. 

That was the appeal of Mr. Godfrey; he was nothing, yet everything at the same time. 

"He makes me feel," I mumbled, pressing my drink to my bottom lip as my eyes blanked. Mr. Godfrey's presence in my life felt like impact-play, but I couldn't say that out loud? "He looks at me, and I... I feel everything at the same time. I feel good, I feel like hell, and sometimes I even feel special. But honestly, sometimes it becomes so overwhelming that I wish he'd set me on fire just so that he could watch me in my very last moments and know that I have suffered for him."

Letha didn't move, didn't breathe, for long enough to make it unusual. Something told me I had told her too much, but just as I was about to clear my throat and try to explain myself, she spoke; "I could report you to HR,"

"You wouldn't do that to me, babe," I grumbled, finishing my pornstar martini shortly after. "You know I hate those people. Also, the HR lady is scary, but really darn hot. I don't want her running around Mr. Godfrey for long enough for him to notice her nice legs."

"Mr. Godfrey?" Letha repeated, choking down a giggle. "You can't even make yourself call him Roman, huh?"

Nope. 

Nope, no, never. 

That felt wrong, like it was something I needed permission for. I probably did, anyway.

Letha let my silence off the hook easily; "Or maybe that's the appeal? He's your boss, so you probably wear short skirts around him, and bend over his desk and purr sir in his ear or something--"

"No!" I cried, burying my face in my hands as Letha laughed. "I don't!-- Ugh." Liar, liar, pants on fire. The more I thought about the time Mr. Godfrey pressed me down into the wood of his desk, holding me steady as he inspected my underwear, made my ears burn; had I been shameless like before, I would've even crossed my legs right now and relieved the intense sensation between my legs, but no-- I had gotten a mental block about that, quite frankly.

"Just don't tell him I told you," I mumbled. "I don't think he even knows we know each other."

Letha's green eyes twinkled; "Don't worry about it,"

"But this sort of leads me to another point," In the middle of a new hiccup, I decided to just go for it. "Has your cousin called you from Geneva? He's been gone for two days, and he's, like...  completely out of reach."

"Oh?"

"Yeah," I breathed, swirling my empty glass. "I caught him calling in on some meeting earlier today, so I know he's not a missing person or whatever, but he hasn't sent me anything. Hasn't talked to me. It's like he's ignoring me, or-- yeah, I have no idea."

Letha's brows drew together; not out of concern, but intrigue. "Did he tell you he'd stay in touch?"

"... No, but he said he'd be available,"

"So maybe he's waiting for you to send something, then?" Letha's green eyes seared into mine, once again reminding me that they were related-- they had the exact same fucking eyes. Maybe if Mr. Godfrey completely iced me out someday, I could get over the heartache by looking at Letha. There was my backup plan. The shittiest but wittiest one to date. "But if this is strictly a sex-thing, I wouldn't put it past Roman to be completely unattached to it."

With that, my heart sank. "What?"

Letha shot me a look-- "Come on," she huffed. "He's a Godfrey. If I'm the way I am, can you imagine him? Do you not read those gossip magazines? They psychoanalyze him better than I could ever do, especially now that I'm drunk at three in the morning."

The only magazine I had formally read about him was the Forbes magazine I still kept tucked beneath my pillow-- not the proudest moment of mine. "I know I'm not his girlfriend or whatever, but... what we have feels special, y'know? Like it warrants a snarky email asking whether I've burned the office down or something,"

Letha sighed, checking out the guy to her left as she thought about how to answer me without stomping on my feelings. However, it was three in the morning, and after enough drinks, Letha Godfrey had the filter of a neurodivergent toddler; "Of course it feels special. Doesn't mean that you are to him, though,"

"... Letha, what the hell?"

"I'm just being honest," 

Her attention had completely left me, and she was now waving at the guy with that flirty shimmer in her eyes that I knew too well. It made me turn around to look at him properly, to see who I was battling against, and I couldn't contain the annoyed groan that left me. "Sometimes, he slips up and says things that allude to him thinking about me more than he lets up," I huffed. "I think I warrant an inappropriate mail from Geneva."

Busy flirting, Letha batted her long, blonde lashes at the guy. "Aha," she mumbled, nodding, clearly occupied. 

I gritted my teeth, wondering how long I could keep myself together before I had an angry, drunk meltdown. "What happened to Barty?" I whined. "Bartholomew? He-who-must-not-be-named? The guy you were dating?"

Letha shivered and turned to me with a grimace-- I knew that name would bring her back to me. "We don't talk about him. That was a slip-up in the Matrix," She put down her drink, letting out a sigh as she scanned me, disregarding the guy for now. "So, what, you're going to sulk all week because Roman's AFK?"

"AFK...?

"Away-From-Keyboard," she said, softening her gaze. "Don't let yourself fall apart because of some man. That's so lame. What happened to the girl I knew in college?"

How was I supposed to explain to Letha that it was this exact spiral that made me feel alive? That the way I burned in agony over being ignored satisfied me to some extent? It was too complicated to even begin to decode.  "I don't know..." I stared down at my empty glass, realizing my head was spinning. "I think I'm too drunk to think clearly about this. Should we maybe just get a cab home?"

Letha didn't answer, and instead, reached over the table to put her hand over mine. Like this, lit up by the orange heat-lamps above us, she looked beautiful as ever with her perfect blonde hair lying perfectly over her shoulders. She was so soft like this, so feminine, so gentle-- "Just mail him, babe," she murmured. "Or, call us a cab, and then mail him. Take charge."

Taking charge was Mr. Godfrey's thing, though. That was another thing that I wouldn't explain to Letha. "It's nine in the morning over there," I tried. "And what if he doesn't reply?"

Letha shrugged-- "Then you'll know,"

I looked down at my glass again, the stem sweating against my palm; somehow, knowing sounded so much worse. 

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

Ten minutes later, we were in the back of a cab, the windows fogged and streaked with rain, the city blurring into watercolor neon. I curled against the cold leather seat, phone clutched in my hand like it had wronged me. My makeup was smudged, my head spun like it always did after a night out with Letha, and everything inside me buzzed with that erratic, mortifying energy that came with four drinks and too many feelings.

Letha was already asleep, head tipped back, her phone unlocked and resting dangerously close to her cleavage. I stared down her blouse for a bit too long, and with one drunk thought after the other, I ended up slowly easing her phone down her bra, containing my giggles. 

So, with Letha's phone sticking proudly out from between her tits, I eventually stared down at mine in my hands. I had distracted myself for a moment, yet I couldn't distract myself forever.

Hiccuping, I opened my mail, clicking into Mr. Godfrey's account-- he had been online two hours ago. Fucker. He had probably already read yesterday's report. Probably dismissed it, too. Probably dismissed me. I was spiralling, but this spiral had edges. This spiral had teeth. This spiral was the same girl that Letha knew in college.

I opened a new mail. Then, without thinking, I started typing-- it poured out of me, fingers fumbling, typos aplenty, autocorrect working overtime like it had taken pity on me, but there was no stopping now. Fuck it.

From: You

Subject: Being Stupid

Hi.

Hi!!

I'm writing this in the back of a cab, so if you see any typos, no you don't. I might perhaps also be a bit drunk, but who cares!! Maybe you're in a conference room in Geneva rn while some old dude talks to you about trade routes and money laundering. You must do some money laundering, sir? Every rich guy does that. Probably? Right? Seems like it, these days. Capitalism!!!!!

Okay, so, I know you said you'd be available if there were any crisises crisies? crisi? but there are none except for me. Before you left, you said that I was an HR liability, and I keep thinking about that, because that's SCUHA A LIE. SUCH. I would never rat you out to the HR lady who is frankly too hot to be walking around like that, she has legs that are longer than the Chinese wall, and it's kind of disturbing. I wouldn't sir!!! I'm not like your last secretary, whether the fuck happened to her. I wouldn't sue you. I'm a good secretary. 

Btw I had a pornstar martini today!!! Three, I thin. k. Four! No, three. Four? Do you drink anything other than bourbon? You need to try a pornstar martini, sir. They are really fucking nice because they're sweet and you sometimes get a pomegranate in it and it's actually kinda inconvevnient inconvenient but it's cutesy!!! Maybe you don't like cutesy tho. Bet you don't. Okay maybe you should stick ot th e bourbon. 

YeahhhtThis message is embarrassing and long and I'll probably try to unsend it in the morning, but if you do read it please don't pretend like you didn't. I know how you are. Just say something. Anything!! Even if it's cruel. I might like it? I can take it. I'd rather have your cruelty than your silence. I'm a good secretary.

Happy money laundering!!!!!!!!

PSPSPS: plsssssss bring me something, I wasnt joking;(((

Click click click,

Your Secretary.

I didn't care to re-read it. It was too long, and at the moment, it felt like poetry that I shouldn't touch. This was genius, wasn't it? This would definitely make Mr. Godfrey pull himself together and send me a heartfelt message about missing me, I was sure of it. 

And then, because I definitely had the traits of an emotional masochist, and because Mr. Godfrey was probably out there, doing anything but thinking of me, I hit send. This was going to fix this. This was fucking genius.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ No, retreat, retreat-- not genius.

Oh...  my God.

Oh my fucking God?!

The next morning, seated behind my desk with the worst hangover known to man, I stared at the mail that I had sent last night. It was glaring back at me from my computer like a reminder that I was getting executed in a few hours.

Not genius. Not fucking genius! 

I so desperately wanted to die. That execution sounded really nice right now. Why couldn't I sink through the floor and haunt the building instead? Why did I have to live through the possible consequences of this stunt? Fucking Letha. 

But said consequences were painfully delayed-- my inbox was empty. This was worse than cruelty; silence. I imagined a ball of dry wheat rolling past my email like in those cowboy movies, a sinister whistle-sound coming from afar. Was Mr. Godfrey blatantly unaware of this, perhaps? Or worse, was he laughing about it? Forwarding it to legal? Telling the hot HR lady with the war-crime legs that I, in fact, was an HR liability?

I imagined Mr. Godfrey and his Forbes nose skimming the message with his unreadable, handsome face. Maybe he was sipping something expensive (and definitely made with Swiss skimmed goat-milk), scowling over my drunken meltdown. Maybe he had already shown it to some diplomat friend over lunch, and they were both laughing at it right at this very moment? "How fucking pathetic... Do you know how hard she cums when I call her a sick fuck?"

My palms were sweating, my stomach twisted with every movement of my spinning chair-- God, I had asked him to be cruel. Who the fuck does that? Who begs their boss for cruelty like it's affection? Why did I drink four pornstar martinis? Three? Four. Whatever.

I slammed my forehead against the desk once. Just once, dramatically, with a soft thud. 

Racking my hungover brain, I tried to figure out if I could get away with hiding in the archive room all day, but then a low voice, smooth and familiar, cut through the fog behind my eyes;

"Rough night?"

My red eyes snapped up, staring up at Peter. His hands were in the pockets of his dark, sleek coat, his hair slightly messy in a way that looked deliberate, clearly just having gotten to the office. He was smirking like he already knew exactly how rough my evening had been, like he had seen me hunched over my fourth pornstar martini telling Letha about the spiritual experience of humping her cousin's shoe-- God, just thinking about that right now made my head pound even harder. 

I cleared my throat, straightening with a slight hiss; the fluorescent lights of the office were killing me. "Remind me to never drink martinis ever again,"

"Oh, that's a shame," Peter murmured, cocking his head. "Martinis can be really damn good. Was it a sweet one?"

"Yeah, pornstar,"

"What?"

Blinking, I caught myself-- I couldn't just say that word without following it up. "Pornstar martini," I corrected, rubbing the back of my neck as I attempted a laugh. "Not saying you're a-- no, no, it's just the name of the drink, I-- ugh, you get it."

"I do," Peter hummed, containing a laugh with a bite of his lip.

"The name is foul," I mumbled. "But it's the best drink ever. I always have one of those when I go out."

"Meaning, you're not gonna have your last one any time soon," With that cool ease he always had, Peter put his briefcase on my desk, leaning over my computer-- he knew that'd have me clicking out of whatever I had been staring at previously with anxious fervour. Chuckling, he shook his head. "Seems you've really let loose with bossman away."

Yeah... if only Mr. Godfrey would come back and pull at my reins again.

"That's slander," I muttered, minimizing my inbox. "I've been nothing but responsible. I'm a really darn good secretary, believe it or not." 

Peter raised both eyebrows, clearly amused by my mantra as he pointed to my scalp. "Uh-huh. That forehead-shaped dent on your face would like a word,"

I glared at him and pressed a palm to the tender spot. "Dramatic expression of productivity," I mumbled. As much as I loved visits from Peter, I felt like too much of a mess to keep up with the banter-- my hangover was ripping me apart, limb by limb. I softened my gaze, rounding out my eyes in hopes of sympathy, so as not to sound too harsh; "Did you need anything, Peter? I'm drowning in work here, and my head is pounding, I'm-- I'm sorry."

Peter tapped his knuckle gently on the corner of my desk, then hesitated; "Actually, uh... there was something I was gonna ask you,"

"Please don't be about tech support. I'm one migraine away from throwing my monitor out the window,"

He laughed; "No, not tech support. It's, um... about the banquet."

I blinked-- huh?

"You know, the one on Sunday?" he quickly added, stuffing his hands back into his pockets like he regretted taking them out in the first place. "Mr. Godfrey's annual charity... whatever. Doubt he cares about the cause, but it's an excuse for everyone to get drunk on company money. Champagne, string quartets, awkward company small talk.... All very classy, very terrifying."

"Right," I breathed. My stomach clenched, and not from the hangover this time. Something in me moved, and it wasn't puke; I suddenly felt unimaginably warm. Was this really happening?

Peter scratched the back of his neck. "I wasn't sure if you were going, but I thought maybe, if you didn't have plans?-- or if you didn't want to go alone, or, like-- we could, I don't know, go together?" He rushed in to fill the second of silence that followed, not daring to let me hesitate; "Not, like, go go. Just-- go as, you know, not-alone people? Coworkers. Who dress up. And pretend to be functioning adults."

My lips parted as my mind buzzed; Mr. Godfrey was still in Geneva. Still silent. Still a fucking ghost. Was he even going to this banquet? He was still going to be in Geneva by Sunday, right? Yeah, he wasn't going to attend, then. What could be the harm? 

Or, actually... there could be a lot of harm.

To my ass, specifically. 

Just the thought of Mr. Godfrey storming back from Geneva after finding out that I had accepted the invitation from Peter, all broody and dark, jealous even, made my cheeks burn. I wondered what he'd do; he'd definitely spank me raw. Tell me how I was his submissive, his secretary, how he didn't like sharing. His big, rough hands would leave a large, pink, stinging mark, before he'd proceed to dip his fingers into me, easing them in one by one, pumping the shame of my actions deeper into me as he'd tell me how sick I was for even thinking I could get away with this. 

But back in real life, I realized a bit too late that Peter might've misinterpreted my blushing, and the tongue-tied silence. I looked blissed out right now, didn't I? 

He was still smiling that soft, hopeful smile that made my chest tighten with guilt; "No pressure. Just thought I'd ask. You know where to find me when you decide,"

"Okay," I breathed, swallowing hard as I continued staring at the way too hot paralegal in front of me-- were all the people in this office hot? Seemingly so. "It sounds really nice, Peter, but I don't even know if I'm free Sunday night, I might have plans with--"

"Sure, sure," Peter said, that charming smirk of his returning; something told me he was convinced he had secured me nonetheless. With that same classy, cool ease, he backed away, putting his hands in the air; "Think about it. Or don't. It might be a no-brainer when you get some water into your system."

Then, with secure steps, and that warm twinkle in his brown eyes that I secretly adored, Peter walked off down the hall with a confident stride, bag in hand. 

The moment he disappeared around the corner, the warmth in my belly bloomed, giddy and low, a little pulse between my thighs I couldn't stop; I would've, had I had the permission. Fucking freak. 

And for a split second, the idea of going to the banquet with Peter thrilled me.

But then, I imagined Mr. Godfrey walking into the room with that inhuman grace and sharp suit and catching me at Peter's side-- my stomach flipped.

No, it turned.

"Oh no," I muttered, gagging, hand flying to my mouth; I yanked the trash bin from under my desk and heaved into it. The sour burn of alcohol and existential shame hit my nose all at once, and I gagged again.

When I was finally sure there was nothing left in me but regret and stomach acid, I wiped my mouth with a trembling hand, panting, eyes watering. God, that was undignified. I needed to get rid of this thing, this trash bag of humiliation, before someone came sniffing around. Peter might've walked off looking suave, but if he doubled back and caught me hunched over like some hungover troll in a pencil skirt? No. No fucking way. Over my dead, spanked body.

The ladies' room was too far away. The kitchenette was too risky. I blinked through the fluorescent haze, heart pounding in my ears-- then, like a beacon from the divine, my gaze landed on his door.

Mr. Godfrey's office.

I knew a cleaning lady was coming there in about twenty minutes-- if I stuffed my little mishap in his trash, then I wouldn't be caught red-handed with it! Genius. So, clutching the top of the lined trash bag like a biohazard, I slid out of my seat, pulse hammering as I tiptoed toward the forbidden door.

Mr. Godfrey's chair sat in perfect alignment behind his desk, screen dark, blinds half-shut. The lingering scent of his expensive cologne remained in the room, and I let out a half-sigh as I closed the door behind me, engulfing myself in the sensations I had missed. Then, snapping out of it, I crossed the room fast, knelt by the trash can beside his desk, and tucked the bag of vomit inside.

Gone. Buried. Out of sight.

Yet... I wasn't. 

A loud pling came from Mr. Godfrey's computer, and I let out a horrified squeak as I slammed my head into the back of the desk. "Fuck!" I hissed, hand flying to my scalp. My heart thrashed against my ribs like it wanted out, and I whipped my head over the edge, eyes wide, to face the glowing screen of Mr. Godfrey's monitor, which had lit up with a single, new email.

Sent to... himself?

I got closer, skimming the top part of the mail;

From: Roman Godfrey

Subject: Re: Being Stupid

Dear secretary,

If you are reading this, you are more predictable than I thought. Did you really think you could sneak in here without me getting an alert? Nasty little girl, snooping around where you do not belong. 

Now, sit down. Legs crossed. Palms flat against the desk.

My breath caught, trembling, frozen somewhere between terror and a rush of heat that settled thick and low between my legs. I backed away slowly from the desk like it was wired to explode.

He knew.

Mr. Godfrey knew I'd come in here (probably not for the reason he'd have thought, though). He had set this up. Not only was I busted-- he had baited me. Something about that made my throat dry, yet a small smile spread across my lips. This was beyond hot. He knew me so well that he was sending scheduled mails to himself, knowing I'd read it. Holy fuck. 

With burning cheeks, I sat down, crossed my legs, and placed my palms flat against the desk; there was something so deeply satisfying about being bossed around like this. God, how I had missed it. 

My eyes skimmed the time it had originally been sent in my timezone; 07:32. Mr. Godfrey hadn't been ignoring me-- he had waited for me. Had he timed it with the alarm going off in his office? Whenever someone neared the desk? Risky. Hot. Pressing my thighs together, making myself comfortable (the best way I knew how), I proceeded to read the rest of the mail. 

Secondly— what the fuck did I just read?

A good secretary would not drunk-email her employer from the back of a cab while slandering global finance and confessing to three (four?) pornstar martinis. A good secretary would not admit, in writing, to being a liability, nor would she make vague, possibly actionable comments about her predecessor and the HR department.

I have read your email three times. Once at the hotel bar. Once in the elevator. And once again this morning, against my better judgment, in a boardroom while a Swiss man with an unfortunate moustache explained cryptocurrency regulation. I have no idea what he said. That is on you.

You are lucky I like chaos. You are lucky that I like the look of you in your little skirts in the morning. However, next time you decide to fall apart, do it in person, so I can deal with you accordingly. Also, the drink is called a pornstar martini— it can never be "cutesy", you fucking gremlin.

Also, you are not a good secretary. I am going to keep you, though.

PS: I will bring something back. However, if you ever ask for something that way again, I will indeed be cruel, and not in the way I know you like. 

PSPS: Cum before you leave. 

Entertained,

Roman Godfrey, CEO of Godfrey Industries.

And you best believe I did-- legs crossed, palms flat against the desk.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

After a really long day, I had spent some time in bed reading my beloved Forbes interview over and over, tracing the outline of Mr. Godfrey's nose and side profile before slowly nodding off. Sleep wrapped around me like a warm duvet, and I was sure I fell asleep smiling-- Mr. Godfrey hadn't fired me. Mr. Godfrey might even... like me? 

But when I was abruptly awoken by the loud buzzing of my phone, I tapped around my pillow to find it, and I realized I had drooled down onto the fabric-- I blamed that on the dream I just had, where Mr. Godfrey had told me to suck his cock beneath his desk. One day. One glorious day. 

I blinked at the screen when I finally found it. Unknown number, international code; +41, Switzerland.

My stomach dropped-- Geneva. 

I sat up with a squeal, the room spinning for a moment as the last wisps of sleep clawed at my brain. Smacking my cheek once, twice, trying to snap out of the rush of adrenaline that shot through me, I answered the call; "Hello?"

I knew who it was. Of course this was him. Who else would dare to call me at two in the morning? Still, as every CEO probably did, he went the polite route with me. "This is Roman Godfrey speaking,"

Prick. Now that he wasn't here to see me, I allowed myself to roll my eyes, suppressing a laugh at the predictability. "I know, sir," I mumbled, embarrassingly hoarse. This was beyond exciting-- what did he want? I didn't care. He was here. I could hear his voice again. He was here. 

There was a pause; the kind that crackled with suspense. Would he say something about me being a smartass? Would he command me to fling myself out of my window now? I might've even complied if he did.  "You sound terrible," Mr. Godfrey eventually said. "Are you sick?"

A sick fuck, perhaps, as he had so kindly diagnosed me before, but-- "No, sir," I croaked, flinging my duvets off of me as if that would help me think straighter. My legs were tangled in it, my shirt stuck to the back of my thigh from sweat. "Just tired. You, uh... woke me up."

"Mm. It's nearly nine here,"

Of course it was. Of course he would sound wide awake, clear-headed, as if he'd just stepped out of a glacier-fed shower and into a designer suit, and of course he had no remorse for my state. "I would've taken you to be the type to be up all night," Mr. Godfrey continued. "Have I caught you fixing your sleep schedule?"

Nah, you actually just caught me in the middle of gagging on your cock.  "I-- no. I was just... reading,"

"Reading?" he echoed.

"Reading, sir, I just started this one called--"

"Oh, I don't want to know," Mr. Godfrey huffed. "I just need you to send over the LVMH file. I don't have it on my hard drive here, and I'm meeting Bernard soon."

I scrambled out of bed and grabbed my laptop off the floor; I had to contain a sharp gasp when I opened it. Why the fuck had I not closed this tab before I went to sleep? It had frozen on a video I had dug into the depths of PornHub to find, in the category of men wearing suits-- I needed to get this out of my grid, stat. "The LVMH file... uh, yes, one second, sir,"

As I typed in my password with shaky fingers, the only sounds between us were the soft tapping of my keyboard and the hum of something muffled on his end. Was that... a news anchor? A coffee machine? The shuffle of hotel slippers over plush carpeting? 

But then, it hit me; I adjusted my phone between my shoulder and ear. "Sorry, sir, did you-- did you mean Bernard Arnault?"

Mr. Godfrey let out a small, humourless chuckle; "I didn't realize you were such a fan,"

"I'm not a fan, I just-- I mean, I know who he is. Obviously," I pulled the file from my drive, trying not to sound as shocked as I felt. "He's like... luxury fashion royalty. And you're just-- meeting him? Casually? In a hotel?"

"Yes," Mr. Godfrey replied, the warning in it unmistakable. "And now you're delaying it." 

I swallowed down my instinct to keep digging, to ask which one of his suits he'd be wearing to this meeting (so I could picture it for later, innocent purposes), and instead, I clicked send.

"Done," I mumbled.

I could still hear the faint background noise-- definitely a hotel room, definitely a coffee machine. "Good girl," Mr. Godfrey murmured.

Fuck, how I had missed him. 

But despite me having fulfilled all my tasks, he... he didn't hang up, like I had expected him to. Didn't he have a meeting to get to? Instead, a click of porcelain, a rustle. "You included the updated graphs from Friday's briefing?"

I blinked. "Yes. Of course," I checked, triple-checked, just in case; "Slide twelve, sir."

Another pause. "You corrected the typo in the Q2 earnings summary?"

Oh... So he was stalling too?

"Yes," I murmured, biting down on my growing smile. Couldn't do anything about my blush, though. "Changed the wordings here and there, and the margin line graph was widened, too."

"Good," Mr. Godfrey said, but it came slower this time. "You don't usually miss things... Although it seems you've missed me, based on your little email."

Oh no. 

I felt heat flood every part of me as my heart stopped; this was horrifying. "Sir, I... I sincerely apologize," I breathed, pressing my palm against my temple to soothe the pounding of my head. "I really, really-- I'm so sorry. I should go."

"Should you?" Mr. Godfrey's voice felt like a siren call-- warm, low, alluring, yet threatening. "No, I get it actually. You must've had a lot to drink to send me that email."

Why couldn't the ground swallow me whole? Judging by his tone and the sprinkles of amusement in it, I allowed myself to groan out loud, falling with my back to the bed again. "I'm so sorry, sir," I mumbled, tossing and turning. "Thank you for not... firing me."

"Now, why would I fire you?" Mr. Godfrey chimed in, probably cocking his head. "You mentioned pornstars, capitalism, and my bourbon preference in a single email. I should probably give you a raise, 'cause I haven't seen this level of compelling writing since Trump wrote me that he wanted to buy the company."

"I was joking--" My brows drew together; "Wait, what?"

"Were you?" Mr. Godfrey's voice dipped lower, ignoring that last part. "Because you also said you'd rather have my cruelty than my silence. That didn't sound like a joke."

"Sir, is the President buying the company?!"

 "That's not the--"

"I will not work as his secretary, I refuse! I quit if that's how it is!"

Mr. Godfrey let out a scoff, which sounded more like a laugh; "Don't worry. I told him no," he murmured. "The company is mine, and so are you."

My breath caught, and I sat up in my bed again, wide-eyed and sprouting like a rose. So are you. So are you. So are you. My ears perked up, and my free hand grabbed the duvet like it'd save me from the way his words wrecked my brain, gigabyte by gigabyte. 

Breathless, my answer fell out without a second thought; "Come back soon,"

Mr. Godfrey let the silence stretch, like he enjoyed hearing me flounder in it. I imagined him there, sleeves rolled up, shirt half-buttoned, sitting on the edge of a luxury hotel chair with that lazy, cold smirk he always wore when he knew he had the upper hand. "Contain yourself, now,"

"Don't wanna,"

"Oh, is that right?"

"Why should I contain myself?"

"Because I said so,"

"Yeah, but you're in Geneva," I whined. "What are you gonna do, huh?"

... Bad move. 

Bad fucking move. Don't snark, don't snark, don't be a brat, don't talk back, don't, don't, bad fucking move, bad move. 

Mr. Godfrey didn't answer at first, but then he... laughed? It wasn't a warm laugh, definitely not one that let me off the hook; it was low, breathy, and ominous, like smoke under a door, like something you don't hear until it's too late. I could practically feel it slinking through the speaker, curling around my throat like a rough, calloused hand.

And I knew, knew, I was fucked. My body had frozen, spasmed up probably-- this was that kind of stillness that only meant one thing with him; he was deciding what to do with me.

Then, just when I thought he might let it go, just when I started convincing myself I hadn't poked the bear--

"Distance won't keep you safe," he murmured. "I'll show you what I can do."

Click.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

I had asked for cruelty, and I had gotten it. 

For about forty hours, Mr. Godfrey completely vanished. He was nowhere to be found at the scheduled meeting with the logistics department, I was unable to reach him when Dr. Pryce slithered up from his dungeon (or wherever he came from) to discuss something with him, and he was completely off the grid all together.

I scoured the internet for some sort of access to watch Mr. Godfrey give his speech in Geneva (was that today?), wondering whether it was some sort of Ted talk-like arrangement on YouTube, yet nothing. What I managed to find was password-encrypted, walled off from the rest of the peasants in the world-- assholes. 

This was hell. 

One day. One day, and fifteen hours. It was three o'clock on a Friday, now. I hadn't heard from him since Wednesday morning/night. Where was he? What was he doing?

Sulking and beyond depressed, I clicked the snake on my screen, watching it eat the red apples one after the other. Life was so boring without Mr. Godfrey; I hated how I had come to depend on him to have a good mood. If only he'd appear, spank the hell out of me for snarking, and then jerk off on me again, I'd feel fine. He could even cum in my mouth this time, I'd take it. I'd swallow. I hadn't swallowed before, though, but I could try? I bet he tasted like nothing in particular-- then again, Mr. Godfrey was an avid smoker, so wouldn't it have some traces of that? Would I get nicotine shock from his semen? Gosh, I hoped not. Still, I'd swallow. I'd do it. I'm a good secretary.

"I'm a good secretary," I echoed out loud, whispering it under my breath, wondering whether to reach out to Mr. Godfrey again. No, that'd be pathetic, right? That'd be the most disgusting, filthy, pathetic thing, and I wouldn't sink down to that level, not again. Not when he was pulling this crap on me, not in the middle of our emotional warfare. Did he get a kick out of this? Did he get a kick out of... not talking to me?

Oh no...

Did he like not talking to me?

Maybe he enjoyed this. Maybe this was the perfect opportunity to get away from his horny secretary who wanted to do nothing more than hump his shoe and get spanked in his office. Maybe he went to Geneva to get away from me? Maybe he hated me? 

Groaning, I sat back in my chair, clicking out of snake, and that was when I got a new mail from someone who probably had never sent a mail before. I couldn't imagine that she even sat behind a PC to do this; she loved that darn pink phone too much.

From: Letha Godfrey

Subject: Familiar Cunts (Cunty!!)

hey girl!! 

how's work? hopefully you're rlly busy so you won't see this immediately, but... I thought it'd be best if you heard this from me. or, found it out through me, ig? anyway, you seemed really down the last time I saw you because of my dickhead cousin, and I'm sorry to be proven right about this, but I think you've got to see this... 

BUTTT for your information, Barty (yes we r talking again, big dick alert) has some friends I could introduce you to if you're up for a distraction!! god knows you'll need it

sending the link here, I know it's Daily Mail, I knowww it's trash, but they've got pictures and... ugh yeah, I'm sorry about this

https:///www.dailymail.co.us/celebritynews/article-69420/roman-godfrey-spotted-partying-at-supermodel-penthouse-in-Switzerland.httml

I'm really sorry:(( I have tequila at my place, come over after work<3333

smooches and hugs, 

Letha

Sent From My iPhone

I clicked out of the email, my heart already dropping, heavy and stupid in my chest like it knew what was coming. The link hovered in front of me, burning through every second that I hesitated, and I--

Of course I clicked it. I'm not a fucking maniac.

The page loaded fast, too fast, and I felt it in my throat, in my hands, in the tips of my fingers; I was about to have a heart attack wasn't I? 

There he was--  Roman Godfrey, half-lit by flashing cameras and city lights, standing on the balcony of a penthouse that probably cost more than my soul. Shirt half-open, hair tousled in that deliberate way that I hadn't seen before, one hand sunk lazily into the pocket of his slacks while the other held a glass of something visibly expensive.

And the girls... the fucking girls.

In the next picture beneath this one, he was joined by two of them. One was pressed to his side like she belonged there, laughing into his shoulder, and the other tucked beneath his arm, tipping her head back in a way that made it look like he was hers. 

I didn't even realize I was holding my breath until it left me in a shaky rush; fuck these damn supermodels. I so sincerely hoped he hadn't done just that, but... I wasn't stupid, 

My jaw locked as I scrolled down. There were more photos, many I scrolled past, many I couldn't bring myself to look at. Mr. Godfrey was smiling, actually smiling, at these models, and it wasn't that clipped, managerial half-smirk I was used to seeing from him; this was the kind of grin that was meant to charm, to put on a show. 

The worst photo was probably the one where he had wrapped his arm around a tall blonde, pulling her closer to him as he whispered something into her ear, his lips visibly touching her shell-- but just as I thought it couldn't get worse, the next photo practically shot a bullet straight through my forehead.

Because in the next photo?

Mr. Godfrey was looking directly into the camera-- this was him saying gotcha.

I jolted away from the screen, clicking out of the article as I gripped my desk with all my strength; this was my punishment. This. I wasn't allowed to touch him, yet the models could. I wasn't allowed to touch him. They were. They were supermodels-- I wasn't. 

I gagged. I gagged, over and over, until I was convinced I'd throw up in my bin all over again. 

Roman Godfrey didn't party by accident; he knew how to get away from the paparazzi, and he also knew how to get caught. He knew I'd see this. He knew. He fucking knew.

I pressed the heels of my hands into my eyes until my sockets ached, then dragged them down my face. I sat there in the silence of my office, chest tight, stomach rolling, mascara probably halfway down my cheeks as the words rolled through my head; he wanted me to suffer.

Well. I could do that.

Or, I could do something else.

I smoothed my skirt as I got up, combed my fingers through my hair, and reapplied a touch of balm to my lips as I passed my reflection in the glass-- just enough to look sane, just enough to look like this wasn't a declaration of war.

But it was.

This was war, and Mr. Godfrey had just shot Franz Ferdinand of fucking Austria. 

Rolling in my tanks, preparing the army for combat, I knocked on Peter's door four times, just as I knew a certain OCD freak would've hated it. 

The door opened a few seconds later. Peter stood there, backlit by his desk lamp, button-up sleeves rolled to his elbows, and with his box of snus in one hand. Clearly, I had caught him in the middle of important business. He looked like he had been working on something complicated, probably dense, probably foreign, but his expression shifted as soon as he saw me, his eyes rounding out with curiosity; "Well, if it isn't the fugitive," he murmured, leaning against his doorframe as he crossed his arms over his chest. "Running from the guillotine again?"

"Yeah," I breathed. It was impossible not to smile; Peter was the only fucking nice person in this office, apparently. "They're trying to hang me for something completely unreasonable,"

"What did you do this time, kid? Spit it out,"

"Nothing crazy. I stole a loaf of bread,"

With that, Peter snorted; "Good one,"

"And you, mister,just gave away that you're caught up on musicals," Oh, how I hoped my humour would distract him from noticing my real mood. "Anyway, before I'm taken back to my certain death, I wanted to say yes."

Peter blinked; "Yes?"

"Yes, I want to go with you,"

"To the... banquet?"

"Yes,"

He inhaled sharply, scanning me; he didn't ask why. He didn't need to, and I adored that about him-- how he always seemed to know when to speak and when not to. Lawyer. Peter stepped back, opening the door wider; "Come in," he murmured, grinning. "We'll go over the details."

I walked past him, spine straight, every inch of me rehearsing poise, but inside, something bitter and electric surged like a storm; I was going to look beautiful. I was going to smile all night, and Mr. Godfrey was going to hear about it from every loser in this goddamn office.

He wanted to punish me?

Fucking bite me.

(a/n: omfg... is it rlly a kingkat fic without some sort of prom or banquet tho?? nope. U R NOT READY. and have I finally written Letha as a supportive sweetheart? YESSSS I HAVE BEEN WAITING!!! thank you so much for all the love, you are too kind, and I LOVE YOU, MWAH<333)

← previous chapter |

lovely little taglist:

@likecherriesinthespring @muchwita @fish-eyes-png @voidpixies

@voidofsunlight @sn0wybowie-blog @scarledy @carmillavalentine

@succubustacy @sweatyconnoisseurstrawberry @ohperiodtpoohhh

@kikibit @prismozo @dreamxaboutxsomethingxnice @scarledy

@useyourwandbro @malenoradgn @veesenya @immernixia

@lunaskye999 @555-hya-kai @a-differentbrandof-beans @humongoussweetscowboy

@melpomenismask @babyslilbee @halexdowney @kittydiarys

@immernixia @hellokitty811

[respectfulrebel]

I usually have no problem reading smut in public, but this one… 🫢 it got me closing the app a few times like

And not because it was super “dirty” or smutty but because of the raw intimacy between those three and because, once again, I felt like I was intruding on a private moment (you seem to be extra skilled at making me feel this way with your writing 🤭).

"Make her wetter," he instructed Noah.

By then, her mind was beginning to blur, the edges of her awareness softening. She was slipping, surrendering to the heady haze of subspace, losing herself in the rhythm of it. She liked this. If she didn't, Oliver wouldn't have her draped across his lap and Noah wouldn't be crouched down staring at her with awe and lust.

*dreamy sigh*

"Fuck," Noah hissed. "You're going off-script," he muttered to Oliver, shoulders sagging in surrender.

"That's the best part,"

Oli is such a menace 🤭

When she moaned around Oliver, it wasn't just from what they were doing to her. It was from the way they came alive through her, because this was how they worked best: together, wired by touch, by need, by the ache they stirred in each other.

I love their dynamic so much 🫠

The love and adoration the boys have for her is just ugh 🫠🫠🫠🫠

the anger of gods | part iii

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ Additional 3-part to my series Into the Abyss of Bad Habits🌶️

Previous part here | Words: 3.7k | Reading time: 15mins aprox | This takes place after the additional multipart Hearts Like Ours.

Tags & trigger warnings: established, polygamous relationship,  dominant husbands, dom/sub dynamics, mentions of pregnancy, mentions of phone sex and reader having recorded herself while masturbating, spankings, masturbation, fingering, handjob, blowjob, noah makes her lick her own fingers, choking, use of a vibrator, "good girl", spit used as lubricant, unprotected double penetration, passing out, implied aftercare - let me know if I forgot something, there's always so much going on bw these three

the anger of gods | part iii

The temperature in the room shifted the moment they stepped inside. Perhaps it was her imagination, or perhaps it was real. Their bodies carried a heat potent enough to chase away every lingering trace of cold from the air and from her very cells.

She followed them with her eyes. Noah shut the door behind him, and both men turned to face her, Oliver leaning against the long dresser that stretched along the wall. He rubbed his chin while Noah crossed his arms over his chest. She didn’t miss the way his eyes raked over her, scanning her from head to toe, clearly taking in the outfit she wore.

“We’ll start with an apology,” Oliver began. Despite the cool detachment in his expression, there was a glint of remorse in his green eyes. “Our apology to you.”

“We should have been more careful,” Noah said.

“We got carried away,” Oliver admitted. “But that’s no excuse. It won’t happen again. We’ll start using protection from now on. Always,” he resolved. “Unless, of course, you want us to fill you up.”

She glanced between them, her lips parting. That was a proposition she hadn’t expected, not after their anger mere minutes before. Were they considering…?

“I—”

Noah lifted a hand, silencing her.

“That’s a conversation for another time. We can talk about it later, if you want. But right now, we do the talking.”

Her lips pressed together.

Oliver pushed off the dresser and closed the distance between them. She held his gaze, her breath steady despite the way her pulse quickened. When his fingers caught her chin, a shiver coursed through her. A thought intruded her mind: he would make a really good dad. A second later, the rough pad of his thumb traced along her lower lip and the thought dissolved into how good he was as a lover.  

“Off the bed.” It was a command, but he softened it by offering his hand. She took it, rising as he guided her up. By the time she turned, Oliver had already seated himself at the edge.

She knew exactly what came next. 

No time to waste.

“Bend over,” he ordered, patting his left thigh.

She wasn’t sure how to balance her weight, where to perch. It was something that always made her feel a bit shamed. All the same, she knew the fact pleased him more than it should.

Drawing in a deep breath, she complied and draped herself over his lap. Her fingers curled around his thigh for support as she arched her back, presenting herself. His palm settled over her ass, caressing the curve of it before retreating. She braced herself, eyes slipping shut, anticipating the first strike… only to flinch when Noah’s voice came from in front of her.

“You’re getting twelve spankings,” he informed her, crouching to meet her gaze. “Six from Oli. Six from me. And you’ll count each one out loud. Understood?”

She nodded, but Noah lifted a brow, waiting for the right answer.

“Yes, Noah.”

“Good.” His lips quirked. “Before we start,” he grasped her chin and brought her mouth close to his, “remind us, baby. Who do your orgasms belong to?”

It took her a moment to find her breath.

“To you and Oliver.”

“Good girl. Now count.”

And they started.

The first spank landed on her left cheek, a sharp clap against her skin, making her breath hitch. Despite Noah’s warning, it still caught her off guard. She yelped.

“One,” her voice wobbled. 

Ruthlessly, Oliver squelched his guilt. Moments like this always brought a mix of excitement, pleasure, and a faint unease at just how it had to be done. “Ready for more?” Under him, she tensed, clearly bracing for more of that sweet sting.

“Yes, Oliver.”

As he lifted his hand again, he saw the clear red print of his hand on her ass. With his other hand laying between her shoulder blades, he traced comforting patterns with his fingertips.

The second spank came, slightly harder, but not painful. 

She nearly cried out, her body jolting, as she took the blow. Her nails dug into his calf as she tried to process the pain, biting her lip, squeezing her eyes shut, yet she couldn’t escape the heat radiating across her ass or the weight of Noah’s gaze from the front, piercing through her like it could see everything.

Her back stiffened, and she shuddered. “Two.”

Then the third came.

The fourth.

The fifth.

By then, her mind was beginning to blur, the edges of her awareness softening. She was slipping, surrendering to the heady haze of subspace, losing herself in the rhythm of it. She liked this. If she didn’t, Oliver wouldn’t have her draped across his lap and Noah wouldn’t be crouched down staring at her with awe and lust.

A firm grip on her jaw snapped her eyes open.

“You missed the last two, baby,” Noah chided, his fingers tilting her face up toward him. “Should we start over?”

“No. Four, five.”

And then the last one.

Oliver’s hand grazed her reddened skin. He bent to press a kiss into the dimples at the small of her back, then let his fingers slip beneath the waistband of her thong, exploring, testing. A smirk tugged at his lips.

“She’s wet.”

He guided her upright, his grip firm. Then, without a flicker of hesitation:

“Make her wetter,” he instructed Noah.

Noah sat on the bed, occupying Oli’s spot now, and she didn’t need to be instructed how to position herself this time.

Noah fisted her hair in his hand, tilting her head back so she was forced to look at Oliver, now occupying the very position Noah had just vacated.

“You look beautiful like this,” Oliver murmured.

Bent over Noah’s lap. His hand gripping you hair, forcing you to look at me while he gets ready to give you a good spanking.

There was no teasing touch this time. Noah wasted no time delivering the first one.

“Let me hear you,” Oliver murmured.

She moaned. “One.” 

Noah was more careful. Maybe he saw the red marks on her skin and had second thoughts. She wanted to tell him not to hold back, but she was too breathless to say anything, too consumed in the sensations and the bulge in Noah’s pants now pressing against her side. 

When he was finished, he grabbed her hair again, forcing her up. His lips brushed her ear as he praised her. Before letting her stand, he slapped her ass, not a spanking, just a loving, lusty gesture, followed by two breathy kisses on her shoulder. 

She stood on wobbly legs in front of her men. She knew better than to ask, but there was nothing wrong in taking a look, so she let her eyes wander down each of them, taking in the fact that she made them so hot, so hard, without barely doing anything, even when she had disappointed them. 

She could feel the blood throbbing in her ass, but her nipples were also hard and straining against the thin fabric of her bra. In truth, her entire body was reacting to the presence of the two men in the room, their eyes and their undivided attention all focused solely on her.

“Strip naked for us, love,” Oliver instructed. “Get on the bed, spread your legs, and start touching yourself.”

Oh. 

So that was how they were going to take her apology, by turning her vulnerability into their pleasure. She wouldn’t protest, for the thought alone was already working… 

She obeyed, peeling off her clothes with trembling fingers, each discarded piece making her feel exposed inch by inch, more theirs. Noah watched every movement of her fingers, how the open bra revealed her breasts, how the thong slid down her thighs… The bed dipped as she climbed onto it, the cool sheets a contrast to her fevered skin. She offered their ass first, but she tried not to be too obvious. She wasn’t in control today, so she had to tread carefully. In another occasion, she would have sent a nasty, provocative look over her shoulder. This time, she just turned to her side, backing herself up until her back touched the headboard, and she spread her legs, letting them see everything. 

“Do as you’re told. Show us how you touch yourself when we’re not here.”

That could go down in all kinds of ways. Sometimes she’d done it on the bed, sometimes in the shower, once sprawled out on the couch. She’d even recorded herself with her hand between her legs in the kitchen and sent them the video while they were playing at a festival in Germany. Another time, they’d been on FaceTime, each in a different country, getting filthy through the screen, saying nasty things to each other.

Settling for the option closest to hand (no pun intended), she bent her knees and opened her legs wider. With one hand, she touched her chest, slowly, and grabbed one of her breasts. Her hand was nothing in comparison to Noah’s or Oliver’s. It didn’t really have the same effect, but she fondled it either way, flicking the nipple as she maintained eye contact with Oliver. 

If she’d looked at Noah—or at his erection, to be more precise— she would’ve noticed how it twitched in his pants. 

She dragged her fingers down the valley of her breasts after a minute, down her stomach, and straight to the spot between her legs. She was wet, and her fingers coated in her slick instantly. Finding her clit, she ran soft circles around it, keeping the pace slow. 

She’d just let one finger slide inside of herself, making her gasp, when a growl brought her back to her senses. 

“Yes.” Noah’s voice. Hoarse and contained. His eyes predatory, devouring her, devouring her pussy. “Lick them clean.”

It was embarrassing how much she loved being told what to do. How much she loved pleasing them. 

She brought her glistening fingers to her lips, spreading her wetness across her bottom lip until her tongue poked out. She swirled it around her fingers. The taste of herself and the way their eyes, green and brown, locked onto her mouth made her clench around nothing, aching. 

Desperation grew.

Then Oliver moved and her pulse jumped. 

He didn’t move towards her, no. 

He reached for Noah, hand slipping into his pants with a familiarity that burned. She watched how Noah’s jaw tightened before a low groan escaped him. She wasn’t in control, but she refused to let Noah look away. Her eyes held him, demanding his attention while Oliver’s fingers moved with a possessive and coiled precision up and down his dick.

“Fuck,” Noah hissed. “You’re going off-script,” he muttered to Oliver, shoulders sagging in surrender.

“That’s the best part,” Oliver said, his grip tightening around Noah’s cock.

But Noah wasn’t having any of it. 

“Strip, Oliver. Now.”

Oliver smirked, gave him a few more claiming strokes, then shed his clothes with effortless arrogance. When he was bare, he climbed onto the bed, crawling to her until he was kneeling beside her, moving her so that she was lying on her back. His cock was thick and heavy in front of her lips. 

“Open,” he murmured, thumb pulling at her bottom lip.

She did. She took him into her mouth with a moan, hollowing her cheeks as she started to suck. Above her, Oliver cursed, fingers tangling in her hair.

Noah, finally undressed, approached the end of the bed, placed his hands on her knees and spread her open. He crouched, licked his lips, used his fingers to pleasure her, sliding into her without warning. Her reaction was a jerk and a muffled cry that vibrated around Oliver’s length as Noah started to pump into her, his thumb circling her clit just enough to tease, never enough to let her tip over.

When she was getting close, she didn’t need Oliver to pull out for her to speak—Noah could read her body like the back of his hand.

“Not yet,” he growled, watching her hips writhe, her entire body straining for release. “You don’t come until we say.”

Oliver thrusted deeper into her mouth. “And we’re not done with you yet. Keep sucking.”

Their rhythm was ruthless, like always, but also finely tuned. It was a push and pull of control and surrender. She lived for this balance: giving, receiving. When she moaned around Oliver, it wasn’t just from what they were doing to her. It was from the way they came alive through her, because this was how they worked best: together, wired by touch, by need, by the ache they stirred in each other.

Oliver pulled out of her mouth with a wet sound, his grip shifting from her hair to her chest to press her down onto the mattress. His hand wrapped around his cock and he looked at her, mouth open as he traced the contour of his lips with his tongue. 

“I’m considering all the ways we could fuck you.” He pumped himself and she watched, fisting the sheets as Noah continued to finger her, placing kisses on the inside of her thighs, on her lower belly.  “Sit up”, Oliver instructed, his palm sliding to her hip to guide her to shift to the side. “I want you right where we can use you best.” 

He lay on his back, hand still on his cock. He reached for a pillow, propping it beneath his head. With his free hand, he beckoned her closer. 

“Come here. Back against my chest.”

He helped her set herself, her head into the crook of his neck and shoulder. His arm wrapped around her middle, steady and possessive. Noah had paused, letting her adjust, watching the way she melted against Oliver. 

But when her thighs parted again in a shameless, unconscious invitation, he didn’t hesitate. 

He prowled again, his fingers dragging possessively over her inner thighs before circling her clit again, just to watch her squirm and Oliver’s cock, hot and hard, twitch in front of him. 

Oliver murmured something against her ear as his hands slid up to palm her breasts, thumbs quickly teasing her stiff peaks. 

While Noah continued working her up, Oliver’s teeth grazed her pulse point. He felt her vibrate with every circle Noah traced over her clit before… 

“Oh my—”

Something actually vibrated against her clit. When she looked down, Noah was pressing a small vibrator against it, smug smile on his face. When he had gotten his hands on it, she had no idea. But the buzz wrenched such a gasp from her that her hips jerked forward, and Noah had to grip her thigh to hold her in place. 

“None of that,” he warned. He waited until she was used to the intensity of the vibration to free her so that he could use his hand for something else. 

He took hold of Oliver’s cock and guided it to her soaked entrance. 

In one smooth, relentless stroke, Oliver pushed inside, filling her.                                     

The dual sensations—the stretching and the unrelenting vibration—drew a broken moan from her lips.

“Fuck,” she cried, her arms flailing blindly, desperate for something to hold onto—the sheets, Oliver’s arms, his hair. Her chest heaved with ragged breaths, every nerve alight. “I don’t think—I don’t think I…”

Noah pulled the vibrator away as Oliver said, “you don’t think what? That you’re going to last long?” 

She struggled to say yes. 

“Too bad, love, because you’re not deciding when you come. Besides, Noah hasn’t even filled you yet. My hand is not around your neck. You’re going to have to try harder than that.”

With that, Oliver pulled out, leaving her empty and yearning, her head spinning, thinking that if she failed them once again today she wouldn’t forgive herself.  

The toy dropped at her and Oliver’s side. When she looked up, Noah was getting on the mattress, making space for himself between hers and Oliver’s thighs. 

He nudged her entrance with the tip of his cock before sliding in, moaning all the way until he was sheathed, hands on her knees for support. 

“Heaven, innit?” Oliver asked from beneath her. She wriggled, nudging his chin with her forehead, preparing for what was to come.

“Paradise,” Noah conceded, drawing back just a few inches before diving back into her with a groan.

Then, he spat into his hand, fingers slicking quickly before he moved them to the place where Oliver would soon claim his own space. 

“She’s ready,” Noah announced, voice reverent. 

They were always careful, but she was their home, and they knew their way around her body, knew how to read every gasp, every twitch, every sound she made. And now, the three of them poised together, it was less a punishment and more a kind of worship, primal, practiced, perfect.  

Five seconds later, they were inside of her, filling her up in that delicious way that only meant one thing: absolute, devastating ecstasy. 

Then they moved.

And as if that wasn’t enough, just when her body had barely adjusted, Noah reached back for the vibrator.  

Oliver’s thrusts were deep and measured, each one grinding her against Noah’s touch, while Noah adjusted the toy’s pressure just enough to keep her teetering on the edge. The room filled with the slick sounds of skin on skin, her ragged breaths, their low, approving growls.

“Feel that?” Oliver nipped at her earlobe, his hands tightening on her hips. “This is what you’re for. Taking us, pleasing us—fuck—just like this.”

The air between them was thick and charged with the kind of electricity that made her and their skin prickle. Oliver’s grip on her hip shifted to her neck and tightened just enough to remind her of his control, his dominance. 

“Oh, God!”

“Oh, yes,” Oliver growled back.

“Please, I can’t—” she gasped, her voice breaking.

Noah stilled, his dark eyes locking onto hers, Oliver’s cock pressing against his through the thinnest layer of skin. He raised his voice. “Are you saying your safe word?”

“No, but I don’t think I can take it.”

A slow, knowing smirk curled Oliver’s lips. “We know your limits, love. You can take it. You’re not coming until we say so.”

She let her head fall back against his shoulder, a shaky exhale escaping her. She believed his words, but that didn’t mean this was going to be any easier.

A second later, Noah was pressing the vibrating toy against her clit again, and her breath caught, her entire body tensing as pleasure crackled through her like lightning.

She tried to hold back, to obey their command, but the overwhelming sensation of being filled by both of them, with Oliver thrusting deep from behind while Noah rocked into her from the front, combined with the relentless buzz of the vibrator shattered her control.

Her body trembled, every muscle drawn tight. Her breath caught in desperate gasps. She clung to discipline, to the rules they set, because that was part of the pleasure too—earning it, holding off, giving them everything they asked for. Her nails scraped against Oliver’s thighs, and her moans came out in broken fragments, begging without words.

She wanted to please them, to last for them. But…

Her thighs shook, her mouth fell open, and she whimpered, “Ah! God, I can’t—Please…”

They knew. 

Noah bent over her, the movement driving his cock even deeper inside, dragging a raw, involuntary scream from her throat. Her back arched, her fingers clawing for purchase against sweat-slick skin and tangled sheets. His hand came to her jaw while Oliver’s hand stayed curled around her neck. “Let go,” he murmured, his voice low but commanding.

“Now,” Oliver growled behind her, his grip tightening as he slammed deeper.

And she did—or maybe she had already. 

He body gave in, every barrier gone. Her vision whited out as her climax crashed over her, so intense that her body arched violently between them, her release crashing over her like a wave, feeling pulled under by the sheer force of their hands, their bodies, their voices wrapped around her like a tether and a promise.

The last thing she heard was Oliver’s low growl of approval and Noah’s husky laugh. Her body was still pulsing, aftershocks rippling through her in waves that left her weightless, boneless, undone.

The world around her dimmed at the edges. Her limbs refused to respond, suspended between ecstasy and exhaustion. She was vaguely aware of hands, stroking over her back, down her thighs, soothing her…

Her vision blurred, breath shallow, heart thudding somewhere far away. Her body floated, caught between them, safe in the chaos, lost in it.

Then, like a candle being gently snuffed out, darkness curled in around her, soft, and she surrendered to it without fear, knowing she was in the arms that kept her safe. 

When she woke hours later, she was alone in bed, with the sheets tangled around her legs. She was still naked, no sight of her lingerie set or Noah or Oliver’s clothes on the floor.

The room was quiet, with the only sound being the faint hum of the air conditioner. Sunlight streamed through the curtains, making her squeeze her eyes as she stretched on her forearms, muscles waking up.

She spotted a glass of orange juice on the nightstand. Next to it, there was a folded note in Oliver’s sharp handwriting. 

The smile that instantly crossed her face was pretty stupid, but it was genuine.  

She reached for it, her bones cracking, her body making her aware of how pleasantly sore her muscles were. She had no idea how long it had been since she’d passed out, but she could still feel both of them inside her. 

She unfolded the paper.

Text us when you wake up. We love you.

Another slow, drowsy smile curled her lips as she sank back into the pillows, stretching her arms above her head with a contented moan before reaching for her phone. They had a pending conversation, but for now, she simply relished the quiet certainty that they’d forgiven her, and that everything was okay. 

Series taglist 🏷️:

@girlfromrussia-universe | @oro-e-diamanti | @lacy1986 | @missduffsblog | @bngurngheart

@winterwinchester | @jilliemiw86 | @sorrowsofsilence | @th4t-em0-k1d | @to-be-written

@nonamessblog | @somebodyels3 | @starsomens | @ditto66 | @dominuslunae

 @cookiesupplier | @midnight-eternals | @pennysky | @iknownothingpeople | @cncohshit

@ladyveronikawrites | @blackveilomens | @robabankfuckmickeymouse | @silentglassbreak 

@sammyjoeee | @pathion | @shilohrosechicken | @skulliecadaver-blog |@anameunmusical

@lobolocaamo | @somewhere-diamond | @hoe-for-daddywise | @respectfulrebel | @alwaysfightforwhoyouare

[lostsyren]

Sofia/Rafe/Kie…OBX’s Latest Love Triangle?

I think I’ve finally understood why I can’t get behind the Sofia/Rafe/Kie love triangle plot line, or any kinda interaction between the three characters with a shipping dynamic in mind.

The (clearly fabricated) rumours or Rafe and Kie becoming a thing, while Rafe and Sofia are trying to patch things up (?) is just odd. And having both of them be linked to him in a romantic sense gives the impression he is a prize— something to be coveted and fought over. His affection is worth something.

When it is not. (I’m not talking about fanon and policing who you can and can’t ship— do whatever!! Purely talking about the narrative of the show!!)

If anything, his affection is an affliction— it actively hurts the person who he bestows it on. Whether that be Ward, Wheezie, Barry etc.…he’s hurt them all in some capacity. Trying to “save” Ward by killing the Sherriff. Offering Wheezie drugs. Dragging Barry into his bullshit.

And he does the same thing with Sofia tenfold. We see his affection multiplied, thus the affliction Sofia feels is multiplied too. (This point is disputable cuz objectively, the other people in his life have been affected way worse…BUT I think Sofia suffered more in the sense that she was so high off the ground on the fantasy that Rafe fed her, that when it inevitably came crashing down, she fell harder, as she loved him more [don’t wanna hear anything, that girl LOVED that man, she lost all self respect idc!!]).

So, if we’re to suddenly have a plot point where Rafe and Kie go through an arc of growth and healing together, and Rafe becomes a viable option for her as a love interest, then this affection as affliction pattern will be lost. It will be wildly out of character. There should be no world where getting with Rafe Cameron promotes growth and healing, which is what Kie’s arc should be heading towards.

[ And if we consider what their relationship would look like if it was in character…

Firstly, I don’t think Kiara will hold him accountable. What power does she have? She can anger him, she can remind him of his mistakes. She’s fearless and just. But Rafe wouldn’t just bend so easily to her word. (Don’t bring up Singh’s mansion pleaseee, he was only nodding his head and biting his tongue cuz he was about to get killed, his compliance was not because of kie). Secondly, Rafe will probably get violent. Anytime anyone mentions his crimes, he gets defensive. He is not hurting kie because he wants to fuck her in some weird sadistic power play, he’s hurting the thing that’s making the noise…the object that’s announcing the trauma that he hides from. (That’s why the “I’m a killer too” line was so odd…why is he admitting it?? I feel as if him being cognisant of the fact he is a killer should’ve been more profound😭) And thirdly, someone who can’t shut up even if her life depended on it, and someone who will physically subdue a person if they’re saying something he doesn’t like, having a romance seems so stupid…when they can’t even have a conversation. ]

Okay I went off on a tangent. Lemme get back to the point— Sofia and Kiara both liaising with Rafe gives the impression that Rafe is being proffered as a prize.

The ‘who will he choose/who is better for him’ narrative that it will imply, is so odd. And this fandom is already doing that (I’ve probably written some post about this too cuz it literally points you in that direction of thinking).

Like please, get that man away from kiara. If they do bond, it becoming romantic will feel so out of place.

I understand it looks like I have a contradictory perspective, considering I ship him with Sofia. BUT his relationship with Sofia only highlights his character better imo. It clarifies he isn’t villainous all the time, but it also conveys he can’t be with someone unless that person enables him blindly. Them developing Rafe and Sofia’s bond further will be interesting to see, now that the wool has been peeled off both their eyes; Rafe is once again struggling to deal with a betrayal from someone he trusted/loved/cared about, and Sofia being forced to actually assert herself if she wants to be with him and save what they had. It pushes both their characters in a direction where they’ll get developed whilst also retaining their nature.

And Rafe is clearly NOT the prize in this situation. He’s not acting as Sofia’s saviour, or saving grace, he’s not helping her (even if he thinks he is).

I feel as if Rafe and kie shippers lean into this idea of Rafe being the one to aid Kie and help her come to terms with her grief– and that is the catalyst to push them towards each other…but idk that concept is so unappealing and odd to me. Sofia acts as a great romantic foil, where Rafe’s character is augmented…his harshness, his volatility, his cruelty. I just think people find asinine reasons not to like her character because they genuinely view her as an impediment to their ship rather than looking at her character objectively.

And then comes this stance of well there’s other characters that are more important than Sofia who Rafe should have scenes with…and I agree, his relationship with Sarah is indisputably the most salient one and deserves development/closure. But it’s a TV show…you can have more than one storyline… stop pulling reasons out of thin air to get mad at the fact Fiona was spotted on set and her scenes are with Drew.

Conclusion is, yayyyy Sofia/Fiona are getting more scenes, and I’m excited to see what they do with her. But I really hope that it doesn’t involve Kie cuz it will just worsen/obfuscate the development for Kie, Sofia and Rafe.

[quinttyz]

“the cliffracer incident”

Ok so Lucifer had a lil bit of history between Talen-Jei and Keerava right LMAO,, I headcanon that even though Lucifer is welcome to the tavern, Talen was still upset about what happened last time

So when Lucifer ordered 3 of Talen’s special drinks, the latter decided to ~add a little more spice~ to Lucifer’s drink as a payback HAHAHHA

UNFORTUNATELY, KAIDAN GRABBED THE WRONG DRINK BY MISTAKE and ended up with the cursed cliffracer LMFAO (Sainte-Juste’s idea to wake him up was to literally just hit him with her lute fr fr)

(Bonus: Lucifer tries drinking the cliffracer and just says “wow this is spicier than I remembered” hahaha it literally had no effect on my guy 💀)

[hypertechnica]

THE LOVE TRIANGLE

ford, fidds, and bill are living in a late 70s/early 80s sci fi psychological horror film that was buried upon release due to its explicit gay themes but quickly became an underground cult hit

numerous associations would decry its depiction of homoeroticism between its principal characters, but nobody could deny the surrealist film had its merit. “it’s like someone concocted an unholy combination between the shining and space odyssey and then died of the instantaneous nuclear fallout. why would anyone make this? are they stupid?” one reviewer said.

more alternates + sketch under the cut

[renee-minkowskis-therapist]

Oh. Oh, thinking about Minkowski and Hilbert again. Thinking about how Hilbert can always push her buttons because he understands her better than anyone. Thinking about how he calls her out on her worthlessness because he knows he's worthless too, and she wouldn't be here with him if she weren't. Thinking about how she goes to him when she needs advice because for better or worse he *knows* her. Thinking about how many people like her he's seen before, and how he knows her type by now. Thinking about how Lambert was just like her, how he killed him, how he said he "liked" him, which he doesn't say about anyone else. Thinking about how he looks down on her for needing orders and structure because he has always done what he thought was right (in his big-picture, immoral way) despite people telling him not to. Thinking about how when she finally does kill someone she confides in him again, even though he's gone. Thinking about how despite never showing one bit of affection for him when he was alive, she tells Jacobi she wants revenge for his death. Thinking about how he asks her if he's still part of her crew, and she doesn't answer. Thinking about how the answer was always "yes". Thinking about how she calls him a bitch in Polish and he understands it perfectly. Thinking about how she thanks him in Russian after he's gone.

[akuma-tenshi]

i think my favourite thing about aom is that you can tell everyone (except maybe alice) fucking hates each other but they're also trying to be so calm and polite about it. the breakfast scene where orpheus infodumps about mary is the best example of it. his pointed comments so clearly digging into sore spots for both melly and frederick, melly's seething tone of voice when orpheus addresses her about loyalty before immediately throwing the heat onto frederick, frederick just setting down his drink, dismissing the whole thing, and then immediately fucking off but not without one last pointed glance at orpheus, it's so good. like i am just waiting for these people to rip each other apart. alice is on her own quest and getting dragged into these people's beef by virtue of just existing near them and being way too nosy for her own good, it's the fucking best

[instinctsxbad]

*scratching at the walls thinking about how no one has adapted Peter’s college arcs in a consistent and satisfying way.*

[fantastic-mr-corvid]

Need to kill the part of me that wants to write in a way that isnt open to bad faith readings and so wants to strip away the very point of the fic...

i'm having Rage fic thoughts... None of the character changes since counter whats written in fact they work with the themes perfectly but they do make the deeply uncomfortable well fucking everything even worse soooo. Hm. the question is how far am i willing to go and well really share.

[misspickman]

I do think there's something interesting in how bruno, trish and narancia are all fandom-mischaracterized in ways that can be p much disproven by a couple of scenes they share

during the grateful dead fight:

and after the first green day attack:

Bruno is always shown as the doting mom of the team, narancia as the clueless kid who doesn't know what hes getting himself into, and trish as a sort of self obsessed arrogant girl thats often the mold people put female characters in, even though theres two instances of bruno ordering narancia to put his life in direct danger for the sake of the mission and justifying it by saying that narancia knew the risks when he took this job, narancia accepting it (during green day) because bruno is right and he did in fact know the risks, and trish being kind of baffled by brunos coldness and worried about narancias safety. This very similar situation happens twice and yet,

[riot-control-camp]

OKAY NOT DONE TALKING ABOUT THE LITTLE GARDEN ARC

ESPECIALLY THE NARRATIVE PARALLELS BETWEEN ZORO AND SANJI AND DORRY AND BROGGY??? THE FACT THAT THOSE PARALLELS PARTICULARLY IMPLY THAT THEY HAVE A SPECIAL BOND THAT WILL LAST LITERALLY FOREVER???

THE VISUAL WHERE THE AUDIENCE REALIZES THAT THE MOUNTAIN RANGES WERE SKULLS?? PAIRED WITH THEM LYING IN THE SAME POSITION AS ZORO AND SANJI'S TWO DINOSAURS LEFT BEHIND ON THE BEACH?

average tumblr user notices single instance of symbolism, more at 11.

but usopp getting more moments of bravery!!! WE STAN HIS ARC!!!!! I LOVE HIM!!!

zoro getting to laugh and tease people this arc was beautiful, i love that stupid cunty bitch

sanji getting his part of the arc done through cunty trespassing, lying through his teeth, and beating up animals? FANTASTIC THANK YOU FOR MY LIFE (specifically thank you for that twisting move he did with his heels around the vultures head. how does it feel to live MY. D R E A M)

LUFFY WAS SO SHAPED. I WOULD KILL FOR HIM. HE'S SO FERAL.

and calling it now, nami is absolutely going to get malaria girl is the QUEEN of "it's nothing [2 episodes later it is in fact a resonant Something with excruciating plot relevance and emotional stakes attached to it"

almost simped for crocodile but miss all sunday was Right There MA'AM. MA'AM. RESPECTFULLY AND ASEXUALLY, TILL THE BED FUCKING BREAKS--

also he has a giant gold pet which i don't fuck with. also his rings remind me of redd white from ace attorney who is Unfuckable as he is a murderer of a mentor figure (other forms of murder have not detered me from simping in the past. in fact it is typically a point in a character's favor)

also oh my god tumblr makes so much more sense now that i am attempting to use it while high, my fluency rate and understanding of how every person on this platform is distressingly and hilariously comfortable assuming their experience is universal

okay but the still of the giant's weapon shards thrown over their head in victory? makes me insane, will never be over it cannot fucking handle it will be crying forever and ever

[obligatory-name-change]

hate it in yandere horror games when even the romantic path has flavor text like "he's so fucking creepy and i hate him but also he's so handsome" like no you're godmodding im hanging up

[slit-you-open]

one of these days i'll write something for this blog again. not soon. but one day