#sometimes I come out of it feeling so like left behind and small

[maskedbyghost]

okaay, here's a longer fic about this, it was inspired by 'the hating game'. okay baaiii.

also look at this cute divider made by @gild-ui thank youuuu <33

MDNI!

The base always felt too small when Simon Riley was in the same room as you. Even with a desk separating you, his presence was suffocating, that familiar heat crawling up your neck every time his pen scratched against the paper. Two lieutenants forced to work side by side—Price’s brilliant idea. You hated every second of it.

And Simon wasn’t making it any easier.

“Maybe if you didn’t rush through the report like a rookie, it wouldn’t be full of mistakes,” you muttered, eyes fixed on the stack of papers in front of you.

“I don’t make mistakes,” Simon growled, his voice low, dangerous.

“You do when you’re trying to one-up me, Riley. It’s obvious you’re too focused on trying to be better than me rather than doing your job properly.” You leaned back in your chair, crossing your arms as you stared at him sitting at the other side of the office.

“What’s obvious is you overthinking every damn thing,” he shot back, his gaze unwavering. The tension between you thickened as the seconds dragged on in silence.

You clenched your jaw. “If I wasn’t here, you’d screw up half the paperwork.”

He scoffed, shaking his head like you said something stupid. “You think you’re that important?”

You leaned forward, voice dropping just enough to sound like a challenge. “I know I am.”

For a moment, Simon just stared at you, his eyes narrowing slightly, like he was trying to figure out if you actually believed the words coming out of your mouth.

You could see the muscles in his jaw tighten, his hand flexing against the edge of the desk. That’s one point in your favor.

And that’s how you would spend those hours together in the office—locked in a battle of wills. Simon was relentless, always firing back, always pushing your buttons in ways that had your blood boiling.

But you weren’t any better. You knew just how to get under his skin, how to make him scowl, make him grit his teeth in frustration.

It was almost a game at this point.

A twisted game where neither of you ever won, but neither of you ever backed down.

Sometimes, the silence between you was worse. On those days when words felt too heavy, too dangerous, you’d catch yourself stealing glances at him from across the room. Watching the way his hand gripped the pen a little too tightly. The way his shoulders tensed every time you so much as sighed.

He felt it too—this invisible pull, this heat that simmered just beneath the surface, waiting to boil over. You hated it. You hated him.

But that didn’t stop your eyes from lingering a second too long on the way his jaw clenched when he was concentrating. Or how his voice dropped to that gravelly tone whenever he was pissed off at you, which, honestly, was most of the time.

You’d stare at the clock, counting the hours until you could escape the office, escape him. But when the end of the day came, and you packed up your things, the idea of walking out and leaving him behind? It didn’t feel as satisfying as it should.

And the worst part was, Simon was starting to notice it too. You could tell by the way his eyes followed you when you left the room, just for a beat longer than usual. Like he was waiting for something to happen.

Something that neither of you wanted to admit was inevitable.

-

One day, while grabbing coffee, you overheard a conversation near the mess hall.

“Yeah, Lieutenant Riley never takes his mask off. It’s weird, honestly—no one’s ever seen his face,” one of the soldiers was saying.

Another chimed in, laughing. “Guy’s is literally a ghost, I swear.”

Never takes his mask off? That couldn’t be right. They were probably exaggerating.

But as you walked back to the office, you thought about it. Simon always had his mask off when you were working together. His face was just… there. Bare. Frustratingly close. You had memorized the angles of his face, the way his brow furrowed in concentration, the way his mouth twisted into that infuriating smirk every time he thought he got the better of you.

And yet, apparently, no one else had seen it.

It didn’t make sense.

Why would he take his mask off in front of you, of all people? You were the one person he couldn’t stand.

Wouldn’t he want to hide his face from you too?

The question swirled around in your mind as you entered the office. You glanced at him from across the room. There he was, mask off, eyes focused on the documents in front of him. Just like always.

You couldn’t help but stare. It had become so normal, so routine, that you’d never even questioned it. But now it felt strange—like there was something you weren’t understanding.

And for the first time, you felt that heat in your chest morph into something different. Something closer to curiosity. You hated him, sure, but…

Why was he comfortable enough to show you his face?

You tried to shake it off, but as the hours ticked by, you couldn’t help but wonder. Maybe you had missed something. Maybe this… tension between you wasn’t just hatred after all.

Nope. It is. End of story.

-

If you weren’t stuck in the office together, there was always a mission that forced you to team up. And this mission had been a brutal one—hours of tension, pushing your body and mind to the brink. By the time you returned to the base, every muscle ached, and your throat felt like sandpaper. The adrenaline was still buzzing in your veins, but the exhaustion was creeping in fast.

You dropped your gear by the door, running a hand through your sweaty hair, trying to shake off the weight of it all.

Across the room, Simon was silent as always, stripping off his tactical vest without so much as a glance your way. Normally, the lack of acknowledgment would piss you off, like he was pretending you didn’t exist. But today, you didn’t have the energy to pick a fight. You just wanted a moment to breathe.

Just as you sat down, feeling the tension in your shoulders starting to ease, something flew through the air toward you. You blinked, catching it instinctively—a bottle of water.

Simon stood a few feet away, his face unreadable. He didn’t say a word, just resumed his routine, as if the small gesture didn’t mean anything.

But it did.

Coming from him, it felt almost significant, a crack in the cold, indifferent wall he always put up.

-

A few days later, another soldier swung by your office to drop off some paperwork, and as he handed it over, you exchanged a few lighthearted jokes. From the corner of your eye, you noticed Simon watching, his expression darkening as he leaned back in his chair, arms crossed tightly over his chest.

As soon as the soldier left, Simon’s glare was unmistakable. He didn’t even bother hiding it this time, the tension between you two cranking up a notch.

“You done playing the comedian?” he asked, his voice flat but carrying a sharp edge.

You blinked, caught off guard. “Excuse me?”

Simon didn’t even look up from his paperwork. “Didn’t realize you needed to put on a show every time someone walked into the room.”

You scoffed, leaning back in your chair. “Oh, I’m sorry. Is being civil a crime now? Maybe you should try it sometime.”

“Civil?” He finally looked at you, his eyes narrowing. “More like you were trying way too hard to impress him.”

You rolled your eyes. “Not everyone walks around with a permanent scowl, Riley. Some of us actually know how to interact with other human beings.”

He let out a low, sarcastic laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, ‘cause flirting’s definitely the way to do that.”

Your mouth dropped open, a mix of shock and annoyance flooding you. “Flirting? Seriously? That’s what you think that was?”

He shrugged, his gaze flicking back to the papers in front of him. “Call it whatever you want. Just do it on your own time.”

You stared at him, once again letting his words frustrate you. “God, you’re unbelievable.”

-

The tension in the office was high as you and Simon argued again, this time about mission details. Papers were scattered across the desk, and the air was thick with frustration.

“You can’t just disregard the protocol like that!” you snapped.

Simon leaned back, crossing his arms. “And you can’t keep overanalyzing everything! Sometimes you just have to trust your instincts.”

“Instincts?” You shot him a look that could kill. “Is that what you call reckless decision-making? Because that’s how people get hurt.”

He stepped closer, his expression intense. “You think I don’t care about the team?”

“Right now, it looks like you’re more focused on proving you’re some kind of hero than actually doing your job,” you said, frustration bubbling to the surface.

“Oh, please! Don’t act like you’re the moral authority here,” he fired back, his voice rising. “You’re so busy trying to play it safe that you’re missing the bigger picture!”

You clenched your jaw, feeling your heart race with anger. “The bigger picture? You mean the one where you get us all killed because you refuse to follow my plan?”

Simon’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, you both stood there, breathing heavily, the air thick with unspoken words. Then, as if a dam had broken, he surged forward, closing the distance between you.

“Maybe you need to realize that not everything goes according to plan,” he said, his voice low, intensity radiating off him. “Sometimes you have to adapt on the go.”

“And that’s supposed to justify your carelessness?” you shot back, your heart pounding in your chest.

“Carelessness? You think I’m careless?” His voice was sharp, but there was something deeper there, a flicker of something that made you hesitate. “You think you’re better than me just because you follow the rules?”

You glared at him, feeling the heat rising in your cheeks. “It’s not about being better. It’s about being smart.”

His gaze softened for just a moment, and in that moment, everything shifted. The air between you crackled with something more than anger, something raw and undeniable.

Before you had time to process it, he reached out, his hands gripping your arms with an intensity that sent shivers down your spine. He pulled you closer, closing the distance until there was barely any space left between you. Your heart raced, caught between surprise and something dangerous.

And then, without another word, his lips crashed against yours, igniting everything that had been simmering beneath the surface. The kiss was fierce and urgent, a collision of emotions that sent your mind spinning. It was as if all the frustrations and tensions of the past had fused into this single moment, pouring into the way he held you, the way he kissed you.

You responded instinctively, your hands finding their way to his hair, pulling him closer as you melted into the kiss. The taste of him was intoxicating, and the world outside faded away, leaving just the two of you in a heated embrace, lost in a whirlwind of conflicting feelings. Everything felt right and completely wrong at the same time, but for that brief moment, nothing else mattered but the connection you shared.

When you pulled away, breathless and flushed, his hand still holding your neck, eyes dark and unreadable.

Finally, you smiled, breaking the tension. “Still hate you,” you whispered teasingly, leaning closer.

“Then you’re really going to hate how good this feels,” he shot back, his voice low, and before you could respond, he closed the distance again.

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i think we need a smuty scene with these two. agree??

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@daydreamerwoah

[sadreligion]

⠀⠀ ׅ ⠀⠀⠀ઉ⠀⠀𓂂 ⠀ 𝆬 ׄ skater!matt sturniolo & artist!reader.

as the new york city sun has fallen into hibernation, the routine that you’ve become so familiar with falls into place. clocking out of work, 10:30PM sharp— relieved to be free from yet another excruciatingly slow day at the library. you’d hurry to catch the underground subway, tense muscles relaxing against those filthy seats you’ve grown to love. the transportation jerkingly pulls off, an obnoxious screech left behind as it makes way for the next stop.

you pull your black sketchbook out of your crowded tote, funky stickers and your name in bold lettering adorned on the front. every ounce of stress you had, exiting as you begin to draw, one of your overpriced lead pencils gliding against the paper. art was your safe place, loving everything about the craft since you could walk.. the way it conveyed how you felt with having to utter a syllable. perfection.

it’s only when the train makes a halt that your ripped from your bubble, a boy’s infectious laugh echoing through the almost deserted station as he daps his friends goodbye, stumbling into the ride shortly after. he was beautiful, facial structure something out of a greek god description. baggy jeans hanging low on his waist, the sleek calvin klein font of his boxers on display. his hair was kept hidden in a cheap beanie— shit… is he looking at you?

your eyes immediately dart away from the stranger, gaze falling anywhere but him. you could feel his blue orbs burning into you still, the temptation to make eye contact making you sweat. it was as if he was begging, daring you to look up. finally, you push that scared feeling down before ripping the bandaid, wide eyes flickering to his curious ones.

a soft smile grows on his face, the shitty overhead light reflecting onto his invisalign. your expression mirrors his, a sense of comfortability filling up the space. neither of you knew who the other was but god, everything felt so familiar, so warm. his eyes flicker down to the sketchbook sprawled across your lap, the neat yet expressive drawings speaking life into him.

he gets up from his seat across, plopping his body right next to yours. he sets his custom skateboard down on the floor, samba covered feet coming to rest atop, keeping it in place. a pair of hands reach out, fingers wiggling as if silently asking to see your work up close. you nod with a idiotic smile, carefully placing the gem in his palms.

“y’drew these?… this shit is… woah. got a lil’ van gogh on m’hands…” he praises, his ring-clad digits flipping through the pages as his curiosity runs wild. a soft hum leaves your throat, turning a couple pages to show him your newest work. oil pastels smudged and swiped perfectly into place, pen work underneath for guidelines, his eyes widening with amazement.

“not even close t’being like him… i jus’… draw sometimes..” you brush off his very obvious compliment, foot tapping against the train floor. he scoffs, fluffy hair moving with a shake of his head. no, he saw your potential, the possibility of you. reading people was his superpower.. apparently. “nah, there’s more to it then that… feel it in m’bones. never seen sumthin’ like this before..” you roll your eyes playfully at his words, taking the gallery back and shoving it in your bag.

after a few beats of silence, the small screen on the wall reads that your stop was up next, the conversation slowly coming to an end. the boy looks over at you, a gigantic light bulb going off in his head as he speaks. “yo… uh, y’should pull up to the skatepark.. tomorrow. the one downtown. screams you.. i can show y’the pretty art n’ all that..” he explains, a hint of nervousness laced throughout in his tone..

your eyebrows furrow at the invitation, not really sure how to respond seeing as you just met him 10 minutes ago. the train pulls into a stop, the automatic doors sliding open as you stand, gathering your things. “don’t even know y’name…” you counter, a grin peeking through that neutral expression you tired so hard to keep.

the mystery boy shrugs, a sly smile adorning his pink lips. “s’a good thing, right? now y’got a reason to lemme see y’again… tomorrow! don’t forget! ” he yells after you, his pink muscle running along his retainer as you rush to make the door, biding him farewell. oh, he was hooked. and there was no doubt in his mind that you were too.

© SADRELIGION.

˖ㅤㅤ ֗ ㅤㅤ ࣭ ㅤ ⋆ㅤㅤ ۪ㅤ﹢ㅤ ࣪ ㅤ NOTES! guys, it’s literally 2:24AM, im running on mochi ice cream and a water…. my apologies if this is bad :((((((( i just wanted to introduce them to u guys asap bc i luv them so much and they mean the world to me…. okay baiiiii

[dumblilb]

I Could Be Enough

Vi x Fem!Reader

(Synopsis: They weren’t super close as children, but running around in the same crowd kept them in the know of each other. But years later she might be all Vi’s got left.)

(Warnings: drunk!vi, alcohol, mentions of physical violence ‘ not towards reader’, it’s mostly fluff, a little bit of angst, no mentions of physical attributes, just she/her pronouns, not proof read)

(Requested: yes)

(Words: 1,585)

* ・゚☆ 。・ * ・゚★ 。・ * ・゚☆ * ・゚☆ 。

You don’t even know how it got to this point. Sitting at the booth in a gross, sticky, and dark club, watching over a girl you didn’t think you would ever see again. And maybe you were right. Cause she’s not the same girl you remember running around the streets of the under city as a child. The one who always had a bright look in her eyes as she tried so hard to live up to her father’s name, and keep her siblings safe.

But one thing was the same behind those, now dark and sad, slate grey eyes. She was a fighter. In the most literal sense. She couldn’t keep her fist off a jaw if she tried. Night after night she would cover her distinct tattoos and red hair with dark paint. Disguising herself from the public who claimed her strength as a prize. Or maybe even hiding from herself. She wasn’t to sure anymore.

But as the nights carried on the paint got messier and the drinks were getting stronger. And it was hard to watch. But here you were. Watching. So hard you thought your eyes might bleed from all the strobing lights and smoke filling the air. Any other night you might have gone to bed. Ignored the aching feeling you had, and left her to party the rest of the night away. But you couldn’t. Because there she was also watching you. As she sloppily got up with a bottle in her hand and started to walk towards the exit, the urge to follow consumed you. Because you knew she wanted you too. She was practically begging. And so you did. Meeting her by the stairs leading to her small apartment.

“Thank god you came, I thought I was gonna have to drink all alone tonight.” She slurred and you sighed resting your hip against the wall, propping yourself up.

“What would you do without me.” You smiled at her. Trying not to be angry with how fucked up she sounds. Slyly taking the bottle from her and helping her steady by the waist you walk her home.

“You know you’re so pretty when you’re mad at me.” She sighs as you push her door open. You just roll your eyes. She’s been doing this for months. Ever since her first pit match. You were hired as a sort of nurse for the ring. Patching up the people who were getting their shit rocked, and the people doing the punching. Making sure they were healed enough for their next match. And the second you saw her step in that ring you knew it was her. Sure she looked a little different. But her deep upper cut. You could never forget that.

So you causally brought up growing up in the lanes while bandaging her fists that day. How you were pretty shy but always friendly with a boy named Ekko. And he had introduced you to his friends a few times. You could tell she remembered you. But she didn’t say anything. Which was okay. You could tell she didn’t really want to be known at that point. But as time went on she spent more time talking to you after matches. Sitting at the bar just trying to figure out how life got both of you here.

But she also found alcohol along the way. And that concerned you. She would always assure you she was fine. And you chose to believe her. Even though it sometimes seemed she would look right through you. Like she wished something else was there.

But even before the alcohol, the casual flirting was always there. Comments about how attractive you looked and how nice you were to her compared to the other fighters. Claiming you made her feel ‘so special’ and not just because it was coming from a beautiful girl like you.

So as you sit her down on her small bed and pull out some supplies to remove her makeup you can’t help but shake your head at her.

“Your dumb fake flirting isn’t going to get you out of this one vi. You’re a mess.” You sigh pushing her hair back with one hand, removing her makeup with the other.

“It’s not fake and you know it.” She rolls her eyes. “I want you. Please.” She says griping the hand with the cloth in it. Rubbing her thumb across your knuckles softly. The difference between her ruff scared hands and yours now glaringly apparent.

“You’re drunk and exhausted, and I wouldn’t be surprised if you had a bit of a concussion after today’s match. I haven’t seen you get hit that hard in a while.” You say ignoring her advances. As you’ve done before.

“I’m fine. You know I’m fine.” She reassures you. But the wavering of her eyes says otherwise.

“I know you think you’re fine-“ you remove your hand from hers and finish wiping her face. “But I see you, Vi. And this isn’t fine.” You say pointing from the bottle resting on her little table to her bruised fists.

She groans tossing her head back. And you gear up ready for a fight about how you don’t know what you’re talking about. But she rubs her eyes a little, her breath slowly becoming unsteady.

“You’re right I’m sorry.” She breathes out looking at you. The small bit of light roaming the room makes the wateriness of her eyes sparkle. “God I’m so tired and I don’t know what to do.” She cries.

You don’t even know how to respond. She’s never really cried in front of you before. She’s always been so tuff. But as she sits before you, even her toned and muscular body couldn’t make her look strong.

“I’m so lonely. All I have at this point is you. And you don’t even want me.” She continues and your face softens. Kneeling down in front of her you softly stroke her hair, pulling her in for a hug. She cautiously wraps her arms around you. Like just her touch might scare you away.

“You have me. You do. I think you have for a while now. I just didn’t think you were serious.” You reassure her. Her head nuzzles into the crook of your neck, and you can hear her breathing steady slightly.

“I’m always serious about you.” She says softly, it being a bit muffled by her position. She pulls away from the hug, resting her forehead to yours. “Can you stay please. I don’t want to be alone.” She asks quietly. Her warm breath hitting your lips.

“I’ll stay.” You grin and she moves to get up and grab a blanket. You help get her ready to lay down, removing her thick boots and setting aside the dirty cloth.

She props the blanket in your lap and she lays down. At first you just smile at how dainty she looks compared to how you usually see her. But her strong arm pulling you down next to her snaps you out of it pretty quickly.

Pulling the blanket over you both, you run your fingers through her hair. Analyzing her face one feature at a time. Her eyes seem a little more blue in this lighting. And you can finally see the small freckles adorning her skin.

“Are you trying to seduce me.” She asks with a soft laugh. “Cause it’s working.”

“Don’t get any funny ideas. That’s not happening. At least not tonight.” You say and you could have sworn her cheeks got a little pink.

“Well then you’ve got to stop staring at me like that… At least not tonight.” She jokes rolling over. Making you smile.

With her back to you, you place an arm around her waist holding her firm. You could feel her body stiffen and you try to remove your arm but she stops you. “No wait. This is good.” She whispers. “This is good.” And she holds your arm tight to her. Rubbing circles across it with her fingers. Her whole body relaxes against yours and you smile against her neck.

“You know I’m not that same girl anymore.” She sighs a little out of no where. But you get it, she’s trying to give you an out. A chance to run. You hum in response. “I’m different I think. I’m not as strong as I used to be.” She continues and you know she’s not talking about muscle, or brawn. She used to be a leader. Someone people looked up to. And now… most people didn’t even know her real name.

“That might be true. But that’s okay.” You say pressing a soft kiss to the base of her neck. “You’ve been through a lot. I think you’re holding on to a girl who didn’t know what life was yet. And you’re grown up. It’s normal to not be the same. Or feel the same.” You continue and she turns to face you. Caressing your cheek softly.

“I think maybe I can be okay. With you.” She muses. Placing a light kiss to your lips. Making you smile.

“Good cause I’m not going anywhere.”

You don’t know if tomorrow she would go back to drinking. Or if she would get her ass kicked in the pit. But tonight she was safe. And she was with you. And as she fell asleep to your heart beating against her, you couldn’t help but hope it could stay this way. Cause for you. This was enough.

[ninetailedfoxmanchi]

BTS! Mafia - They Are the Rival Boss Who Likes You (pt. 1)

Request: they rescue you from your abusive boyfriend who is the boss of the rival gang (This request came in over a year ago by anon but thank you so much, I love this idea - it kept me up at night - and I am so sorry it took me so long to write it!)

A/N: I had no one specific in mind when I wrote Kang; the name was chosen solely for the purpose of not having to write B/N all the time. This will get a pt. 2 or it may become even a tiny mini-series, so any ideas for the continuation are welcome!

Warnings: mentions of abuse and violence

MASTERLIST

Backstory:

You have been dating Kang for more than two years and in the beginning, he was perfect. He was sweet and a gentleman but the longer you stayed together, the more you began to see the other side of him. Kang was always angry or upset, always finding something he disliked about you. He grew more jealous and insecure by the day, even having his men follow you secretly sometimes. It escalated to the point where Kang would raise his voice and threaten you regularly. It happened only moments before you had to attend a benefit with your boyfriend. You had an argument where you tried to make Kang see reason about ending your relationship, but he took your arm and pulled you to him, his eyes blind with insecurity. "You are not leaving me," Kang growled against your face as he held your arm tight enough to break it with a single move. "Ever."

* * *

Jin

You accepted a glass of champagne from one of the waiters, finding your reflection in one of the decorative mirrors. The black evening gown with long sleeves that hid your bruise you wore was stunning yet you felt anything but. These past few months took a toll on both your mental as well as physical health but you could not see a way out.

You found Kang's reflection behind yours, his back turned to you as he laughed with some of his wealthy benefactors.

"You look beautiful," said someone out of the sudden. You turned around coming face to face with none other than Kim Seokjin. Your eyes widened in surprise. You knew him - you remembered him because you spoke at the last benefit. When Kang learned of it however, he threatened that you should never to speak to him again or there would be consequences. Jin was Kang's biggest rival.

The sweet smile on Kim's lips disappeared slowly when you did not say anything. You were taken aback by the warmth of his presence and the kindness of his smile after the evening you have had.

"Thank you," you managed at last, your fingers cold with sweat as you glanced over in your boyfriend's direction. The shadow of his frame stepped out on the terrace for a cigar with his colleagues and you breathed more easily.

You had not noticed but Kim's gaze followed yours out on the terrace before you looked back into his dark eyes. Your body trembled. You are never leaving me. Ever.

"Are you alri—"

"Help me."

The two of you spoke at the same time, your voice hushed as you began to feel tears creep into your eyes. Your gaze was locked with Kim's. You saw the way he looked at you at the last benefit, how his eyes lingered on you even when you were in the company of your boyfriend. He stayed at the events all the while you stayed although all of his friends have already left only so that the three of you could wait for your cars together. Kim did not say anything but it could not have been a coincidence.

You looked away, blinking back the tears. You found yourself embarrassed - what did you think would happen; he would help you out of the goodness of his heart and risk a falling out between the companies?

"I'm sorry," you shook your head and offered Jin a small smile, in disbelief with yourself of how silly you were.

You placed down your champagne and made to get some air.

"Meet me at the fountain in five minutes," spoke Jin discretely as he passed you by, giving no indication to anyone who could be watching that he said anything at all.

You froze, your gaze locked on his back as he walked away, your heart in your throat. The heat of adrenaline flushed through your body when you looked around the venue of merry guests. You took a fresh glass of champagne before your eyes met your boyfriend's across the dance floor. He rose his glass of scotch to you only slightly, a smile on his lips although his eyes were cold and insecure. You mimicked the gesture and smiled as best you could before greeting one of the wives of the benefactors. You soon excused yourself and walked outside, placing the untouched glass of champagne on the stone fence. You glanced behind you but there wasn't a soul.

You walked down to the fountain holding up the skirt of your dress. The heels nearly made you trip, not because you struggled to walk in them but because your entire body trembled with fear and adrenaline.

"Come," you heard Kim's voice out of nowhere. He was suddenly beside you, his large hand barely brushing against your back as he led you to a car that has been waiting. You sat in without hesitation after Kim held the door for you and he took the driver's seat. You did not ask where he was taking you, but anywhere would be better than returning home with Kang. You did not want to imagine what that would be like.

You followed Jin into the elevator that took you to the top of a large skyscraper. There was security on every corner on the way up, making you uneasy. They seemed like the kind of men that Kang would order to follow you.

"Are these your men?" you asked when the two of you reached a pair of doors. Two men stood opposite it, clad in all black with a bulletproof vest and some sort of firearm in their hands.

Jin glanced at the men, following your gaze. "They are," he confirmed and typed in the security code for the door. "They are loyal men," he added as if he could hear your thoughts.

You nodded as Kim let you inside of his apartment. It was vast and minimalist with a warm shade of white predominating, making the rooms bright and inviting although it had began to rain outside.

You took off your heels, now standing much shorter next to Kim. The reality of it all hit you like a brick.

"What will happen now?" you asked, looking up at Jin. You thought of Kang, of their business and the rivalry, how this would be seen as a betrayal of the already fragile peace ...

"Nothing," said Jin lightly as if what happened from now on was not your problem to solve.

Kim took off the jacket of his tuxedo and placed it neatly over one of the kitchen chairs.

"Are you hungry?"

Namjoon

The benefit was held at a beautiful country manor but you could not care for the rose bushes or the crystal chandeliers. You had snuck out to escape your boyfriend and his band of colleagues. Kang often teased you and spoke badly about you in front of his friends, then tried to convince you how it was all in your head, the way he treated you. You could not stand another evening like that, not after everything that had already happened before you even came to the benefit.

You ran your fingers across your elbow absent-mindedly as you leaned against the stone fence of the staircase that led to the manor. For a long time, there wasn't a soul until you head the click of a lighter and the inhale of smoke. You turned around, recognizing a familiar dark figure near the side entrance. The man inhaled, the tip of the cigarette lighting up as he stepped out of the shadows. It was Kim Namjoon. You heard of him long before you met him yourself at one of these sort of events. He was the leader of Kang's rival company and the man your boyfriend despised most in the world.

You looked away quickly, pretending to look at the moonlit gardens of the country manor. You had spoken once or twice to Mr Kim yourself. He was nothing short of a gentleman but you thought Kang was a gentleman too at first.

"Not enjoying yourself?" asked Mr Kim as he came over to you. The smoke of his cigarette followed him, mingled with the scent of his perfume. Your stomach was already in knots from your argument with Kang; you could not even imagine what he would do to you if he found out you had spoken to Kim again.

"What is there to enjoy?" you whispered to yourself, looking down at the stone fence. Kim's gaze studied you, you could feel it burning into your body. He smiled at first - he hated these kinds of events too. They were dull and nothing but false pretenses but they were a part of the job. And yet the smile drained from his eyes.

"Do you need some help?" asked Kim darkly, his question surprising you. You looked up into his eyes as they shifted between your arm and your gaze. You wore a beautiful one-sleeved dress that hugged your body only that the sleeve was on the wrong arm.

In an instant your eyes filled with tears although you had not as much as missed to smile once all evening. You looked away embarrassed.

"What could you possibly do?" you asked not unkindly, your voice cracking with hopelessness.

Kim took one last drag from his cigarette and flicked it over the fence. He took your palm as he exhaled, leading you to the parking lot with him. Kim only needed to raise his hand toward the valet and they brought over his car.

"Get in," said Kim gently as he quickly opened the door for you. You stared at him astounded before you got in, glancing over your shoulder if your boyfriend or one of his men noticed you leaving. There was nothing there but the sound of laughter echoing from inside the manor.

"It's safe here," said Kim when the two of you walked across the lobby of an apartment building. There were guards everywhere holding heavy weapons.

"What is this place?" you asked warily as the elevator door opened to introduce another smaller hall with a pair of doors protected with a safety code.

"It's my apartment," said Kim, typing in the code and opening the door for you. You hesitated, your gaze freezing on Namjoon. He of all people knew what this would mean for him, for his business. He turned to you when you did not follow him inside.

"Are you sure?" you asked. Kim could have just dropped you off at a train station and be rid of you - why take you to his apartment and exposing himself?

"I'm sure," said Namjoon, not a hint of a doubt in his dark eyes.

Yoongi

Kang's hand rested tightly on your waist as you were forced to entertain his benefactors and their wives. Benefits like this were far from uncommon, a charitable cause more often than not serving as a cover for the dealings that really went on.

Simply holding a glass of champagne and keeping your arm tense made the pain in your elbow worsen. You wore a black couture gown with beautiful puffy sleeves of white silk that covered the dark bruise in the shape of Kang's fingerprints.

You tried to smile politely and keep your calm but every once in a while your brows would fall and hopelessness would creep into your eyes. You looked around the luxurious venue, seeing many familiar faces, most of them Kang's colleagues. As your gaze began to drift back to your interlocutors, it returned to familiar dark eyes. You knew those eyes. They belonged to Min Yoongi. You met him some months ago when he attended one of these events for the first time in a while but never missed one since. After Kang learned that you talked, he threatened to break every bone in your body if you did so again. Min was one of is greatest rivals.

You looked down at your champagne. The drink was only getting warm in your hands as you were not in the mood to drink or anything else for that matter. You did not know what it was but seeing Min and the way that his dark eyes found you in that crowd was the last straw. Tears pushed into your eyes and threatened to fall.

You excused yourself to use the ladies' room, Kang's hand reluctantly letting go of your waist. You wanted to keep your gaze on the floor but as you passed by Min your eyes locked with his. The scent of his fragrance lingered on you after you walked past him. You made for the ladies room, your eyes watering with hot tears and making you walk even faster before anyone could see you cry. But a hand caught your wrist as you passed by the open terrace, pulling you out into the fresh air.

A soft gasp escaped your lips when you looked up, coming face to face with Min Yoongi.

"What are you doing?" you asked quickly as you shook your head.

"Why are you crying?" asked Min, the smile fading from his eyes.

"What?" You had not even noticed that the tears had slipped down your cheeks.

"Why are you crying?" repeated Min, his voice growing darker but his hands cupped your cheeks and his thumbs brushed away the tears.

"I'm not," you insisted although your chin quivered and your eyes watered once more. You looked down embarrassed, then glanced over your shoulder quickly if your boyfriend had come to look for you already.

"I have to go," you whispered and slipped from his arms. Yoongi caught your elbow, not ready to let you go without an answer. His eyes widened when you whimpered and pulled your arm from his gentle grasp. He had barely touched you. That is when his sharp black eyes noticed the hint of a dark bruise beneath the puffy white sleeve of your dress.

"I'm sorry," you shook your head, "I really have to go." Your voice was but a whisper as your chin quivered yet again with the threat of tears.

"I'm glad we agree," said Yoongi somberly, his fingers locking with yours. He led you across the garden to the parking lot where the valet brought his car.

"What are you doing?" you asked as Yoongi held the door of his car for you. He froze at the sight of your eyes full of tears looking up at him. His hand reached for your face once again, his thumb brushing away a tear that had escaped your eye.

"Taking you away from someone who doesn't deserve you."

Hoseok

You wore a pale pink satin dress that your boyfriend picked out for the benefit. Although the dress looked stunning on you, if you could have chosen for yourself, the gown would have been black to reflect your spirits. Kang had your hand wrapped around his elbow when you arrived but was soon distracted by other women and his colleagues, leaving you alone. In truth, you preferred it that way. You could not stop thinking about what it will be like when you return home after the benefit. Your elbow was sore enough that it was a struggle even to fix the hem of your dress or simply hold a champagne glass.

You slipped away into the garden and found a lonesome bench where you sat down. You downed the glass of champagne but it did nothing to dull your pain, particularly not that which you felt in your heart. A thousand thoughts ran through your mind; how your relationship began and how sweet Kang was at first. But once you realized his true self it was already too late.

"Hello," greeted a gentle voice, nonetheless it made you wince. You looked up, recognizing the man in front of you.

"I apologize," said Jung Hoseok, "I didn't mean to scare you." He sat down on the bench beside you unobtrusively.

"It's alright," you said more to yourself than to him. You could not hide the sadness on your face and you did not try to. You were just so tired.

"I haven't seen you in a while," you said to Mr Jung, trying to distract yourself from all the horrible things on your mind.

You had spoken once or twice at these sort of things and when you did not have a chance to, you at least greeted each other with your eyes although you often felt Jung's on you long after you had already focused on the people talking to you. You would never disclose to Kang though that you had spoken to Jung Hoseok. You often heard Kang talk about Hoseok with despise as they were rivals. At first you thought Mr Jung's interest in you was on the account of your boyfriend but he never brought up business or even Kang for that matter when he spoke to you.

"I was busy," said Jung with a small smile. His warm gaze cooled when he saw the look in your eyes.

"Are you alright?" he asked, studying your expression. You savored what little warmth remained in his gaze a moment longer, not even recalling when was the last time someone asked you that.

You nodded and offered him a reassuring smile although tears forced into your eyes. You tried to blink them away but when you couldn't you turned away, focusing on the garden in the distance.

"Tell me," asked Jung but you shook your head, swallowing back the tears that lingered in your throat.

"I can't," you whispered and did the mistake of looking Hoseok in the eye. He saw the tears that stung your cheeks. His brows fell heavy onto his eyes, his lips in a firm line.

"Just say the word, Y/N," said Hoseok. You looked at him astounded. He could not have known what has been going on and yet he did.

"Please," you whispered and it was enough. Jung's fingers locked with yours as he took you away from the benefit and your boyfriend.

Jimin

As Kang drove to the benefit he sped all the way because he knew it scared you when he did so. You did not say anything, you did not plead because it would only encourage him. Your eyes often filled with tears but you would not let them fall.

You fixed your fitted black gown with puffy see-through sleeves as you exited the car, the valet holding the door open for you. You held a small purse in one hand, Kang's fingers locking with those of your other palm. His grip was so tight you thought he meant to crush your bones.

As you walked up the elegant staircase of the country manor, you saw your boyfriend's greatest rival leaning against the marble fence whilst he spoke to one of his closest colleagues. Yet as you climbed the staircase, Park Jimin's gaze tore from his friend and fixed on you. His lips parted slightly as he took in the elegance that radiated off of you. You had spoken one time at a similar event and ran into him when you were shopping alone once. He was always nothing but a gentleman to you and yet so was Kang when you first met him. There was something different about Park though - a warmth in his eyes that you never saw in Kang.

You dared not look in Park Jimin's direction for more than a moment, already dreading going home with Kang later without him thinking you were fraternizing with his enemy.

Once inside, Kang went to get the two of you champagne. You flexed your numb fingers, a redness forming around your palm where his squeeze was tightest. You glanced around the venue, finding Mr Park's eyes already on you. His gaze shifted from your palm to your face when he saw your eyes turned to him. A frown framed his dark gaze before you looked away, accepting the glass of champagne from your boyfriend. His arm went to your waist and made you wince almost unnoticeably as you feared his hand might travel even lower. The last thing you wanted in that moment was for anyone to touch you but you had no choice. You stood by Kang's side, thinking of ways to convince him that your relationship was doomed, but his words kept surfacing in your memory. You are never leaving me. Ever.

You excused yourself to visit the ladies' room - the only place you could go without Kang's gaze torturing you. You walked across the venue, placing your empty champagne glass on one of the empty trays on the way. As you turned the corner to the ladies' room, you nearly bumped into someone. You stumbled back but a pair of hands secured you. You gasped as one of those hands wrapped around your sore elbow, quickly pulling away as your own hand went to the injured joint. Everything happened in the passing of a second. When you finally managed to look up you saw none other than Park Jimin in front of you.

Your wide gaze locked with his formidable frown but all words were knocked out of you.

"Excuse me," you managed at last and tried to make your way past Mr Park but his fingers caught your wrist gently. Your eyes met yet again, your own gaze blurred with tears. You barely knew Park and yet you felt as if you had been friends for years. It was as if you could not hide anything from him, nor wanted to for that matter.

"Just say the word Y/N and I will make it all go away," Jimin said to you and you alone as other people passed by.

"What?" you stuttered, staring up into his dark eyes.

"Kang," said Jimin. Your lips parted when you saw that he knew - but how could he have found out?

Your chin quivered at the realization that you were no longer alone, that you were not the only one who knew what Kang was really like. You could not hold back the tears any longer.

"Please, just ..." you began but your voice cracked. It was enough though. Park's fingers locked with yours as he led you through the side entrance down to the parking lot. You sat into his car and he drove away, leaving the benefit and your boyfriend miles behind you.

Taehyung

You managed to escape from your boyfriend's view under the excuse of using the ladies' room, but you desperately needed to get some air. His constant touch on your hand or your waist disgusted you. You could not bear it any longer.

You slipped through the back door that opened into the parking lot for staff and caterers. You leaned against the cool stone wall by the door and closed your eyes. The cold air of the night filled your lungs and cleared your head but also triggered a wave of hot tears to force into your eyes now that you were finally alone. You blinked slowly, pushing them back for the most part. You dabbed what left of them with the knuckle of your index, hoping you had not damaged your make up and made it known that you had been crying.

The back door opened again, a dark figure emerging outside. A cigarette hung from the man's lips as he lit it up and savored a long-awaited drag of smoke. You recognized him - the back of his head, his wide shoulders but what made you sure it was him was the hand he hid in the pocket of his trousers. Kim Taehyung turned around. He could feel someone's gaze burn into his back. He took the cigarette from his mouth when he saw you, his lips parting and his eyes unmoving.

You offered him a small smile but did not trust your voice to hold up. You did not know who Kim was for a long time yet you always managed to speak to one another at these sort of events - that is, until your boyfriend found out. He told you in a rage that you have been flirting with his greatest rival, although Kang's words had only half the truth. You never flirted with Kim; you would never do that you your boyfriend - whoever he was or how bad the relationship might have gotten. But ever since Kang's outburst you did not even dare look in Kim Taehyung's direction, much less speak to him. You were already threading on thin ice with Kang.

You hugged your arms and looked away when Kim did not say anything. He must have forgotten ever even speaking to you, you thought. Kim's eyes lingered on you, however, as he took another drag of smoke from his cigarette before flicking it away absently.

"What's that?" asked Kim, breathing out the smoke as he gestured his hand to your body. Your eyebrows rose as he caught you off guard with his question. You looked down at your sliver satin dress but quickly found what Kim was looking at. You had not even noticed it yourself; you thought it would be at least a day before it showed properly - the bruise around your elbow that Kang gave you before the benefit.

Taehyung stepped closer to you and you would have backed away if you were not already pressed against the wall. Your lips parted as your eyes grew wide and your body tensed. Kim traced his fingers across the knuckles of yours that were hiding most of the bruise. His touch made you move your hand although the warmth of his closeness invited you and scared you at the same time.

"Nothing, I ... I fell," you lied, your voice small.

Standing up close, Taehyung could see the fingerprints stamped around your elbow. His dark frown rose to your eyes. You could not look away even if you wanted to; his gaze grounded you where you stood. Fever rushed to your cheeks when Kim rose his hand to your face. He brushed a stray tear from beneath your eye that you did not even know was there.

You looked away embarrassed. You were never one to feel sorry for yourself or even complain but the last few months have become unbearable. You were just waiting for your boyfriend to snap.

A shaky breath escaped your lungs as tears filled your eyes against your will. Your chin quivered and although you bit on your lip, the tears fell down your cheeks.

"You should come with me," said Kim. You looked up at him, your eyebrows frowning together.

"Where?" you whispered, shaking your head hopelessly.

"Away," said Kim.

Your gaze shifted between Taehyung's dark eyes. He smelled of cigarette smoke and perfume that began to cling on your skin as well.

You licked your dry lips and nodded, your gaze lowering to Kim's shirt.

Taehyung took your hand, his long fingers gently intertwining with yours as he led you to his car.

Jungkook

You stepped out of your boyfriend's car as the pair of you arrived at the benefit, fixing your off-the-sleeve black dress that hugged your figure. The valet closed the door behind you as your boyfriend already made his way up the elegant staircase without you. You looked up, the stairs seeming like Mount Everest to you. You gathered the skirt of your long evening dress and made your way after him.

"What took you so long?" said Kang, waiting for you by the door because he knew his benefactors liked talking to him more when you were on his arm.

Kang took your hand and led you through the venue, saying hello to everyone who had a moment's time. You offered them a smile and masked how you truly felt inside. You wanted to scream for help but you knew that even if you would beg everyone on their knees, no one would dare say a word to Kang.

Whilst your boyfriend talked to his colleagues, your thoughts and your gaze drifted across the venue. You did not know what you were looking for until you found it - a pair of dark eyes that belonged to Jeon Jungkook. He wore a tuxedo befitting to the occasion, a glass of whiskey in his hand. You had spoken here and there at these sort of events until your boyfriend noticed. You had not known it beforehand but Kang was sure to inform you you were talking to his biggest rival.

You tore your eyes away from Mr Jeon quickly, looking up at your boyfriend to see if his attention was on your gaze. He must have just made a joke for everyone in the circle began to laugh but you. Your boyfriend squeezed at your hips in front of everyone, everyone seeming to enjoy his actions as most of them were older men. You looked down at your champagne, feeling the redness in your cheeks. You could not understand why but your gaze instinctively searched for Jeon's in that moment yet he was nowhere to be seen.

Your stomach was still twisted into knots even as Kang joined his buddies for a cigar out on the back terrace.

A shaky breath escaped your lungs as you struggled to keep the tears that threatened into your eyes at bay. You sat down your glass of untouched champagne on one of the counters, needing to get some air. You walked down the front staircase, glancing over your shoulder for Kang but he was still laughing with his colleagues out on the back terrace.

You reached the bottom of the staircase, feeling as if you had just ran a marathon. Your breathing became heavy and your stomach turned as if a swarm of wasps had settled inside of it. You placed a hand over your chest, trying to calm yourself when a presence to your right suddenly made you stop breathing altogether.

A small gasp escaped your lips, your eyes wide as you expected to find your boyfriend beside you. It was not him however, but Jeon Jungkook. He was holding a cigarette between his fingers, a breath of smoke leaving his lips as his unmoving eyes locked on yours. His brows slowly fell into a heavy frown.

"What's wrong?" asked Jeon although he already had his answer. He wanted to hear it from you though.

If this were the first time you had spoken to him, the tone of his dark voice would have frightened you. But in that moment, it felt as if you were speaking to an old friend you had known but not seen in years.

You looked away as you felt the tears gather in your eyes then down at your elbow nestled in your crossed arms. A bruise was beginning to form around it in the shape of Kang's fingerprints.

"Can you help me?" you whispered as you found Jungkook's eyes one more time. He exhaled the cigarette smoke, studying you with his sharp unblinking gaze that seemed to hold warmth only when he was looking at you.

"Come," said Jungkook, flicking his cigarette away and led the way to his car. His hand gently brushed against your middle back to guide you but you took a step back instinctively, your wide eyes finding his. Jeon's lips parted slightly at the sight of your reaction. He did not say anything but only opened the door open for you, not attempting to touch you again however platonically intended.

You glanced over your shoulder one last time at the venue, somehow expecting one of Kang's men to be on your trail but they must all have been too busy smoking and drinking.

You got inside Jeon's car.

[raylangivins]

The romantic haze of coming home for the weekend and eating various delicious meals with my loved ones…

[inupibaldspot]

Walk him like a dog

Pairing: Gojo Satoru x Reader

Note ₊˚⊹♡ : The first year trio are watching Gojo who is completely head over heels for you.

To the world, Gojo Satoru is the strongest but to the people who know him Gojo Satoru is a menace.

When he was in high school, he was a different breed. Yaga could not sleep at times from all the stress Gojo would cause; be it either an earful from the higher ups or checking the news only to find out there had been an explosion conveniently where Gojo’s mission was assigned.

Sometimes he would get pictured sent to him by the problem student himself, a picture with a beaten up enemy and Gojo winking at the camera with a note saying ‘Yay~ another victory! I mean it’s as normal as breathing for me (*ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ꕤ*.ﾟ’

Even when Yaga would use his authority and lecture him, sometimes Gojo Satoru would not listen; be it simply ignoring or rebutting it with his opinion— an opinion no one asks for.

And when that happens, Yaga would pull out his secret weapon ‘You’! He didn’t use this card all the time but at time Gojo was simply so uncooperative, he had to! Any word coming from you would be listened to by him as if it were law. Right now, at the age of 28 he seemed to have matured- no stopped acting as childish and Yaga didn’t have to rely on you so often.

That same Yaga watches from the window at his new first years— Kugisaki Nobara, Itadori Yuji and Fushiguro Megumi— behind a bush, hiding peeking over to you and Gojo who were on a bench.

“Ah…” Kugisaki sweat dropped at the pair. “Gojo-sensei is so smitten.” She said observing at how you were simply reading a book, as Gojo yaps away but one thing very obvious was the gentle look he gave you.

When you finally looked Gojo’s way, their white haired teacher suddenly stops, they notice a faint blush peeping under his blindfolds and when he does starts talking he stammers. THE Gojo Satoru was stammering, biting his tongue simply because you were looking at him.

“Kugisaki, let’s leave.” Itadori covers his eyes, his right eye peeps through the cracks of his fingers. “Sensei is doing such a bad job at flirting with y/n, I’m getting embarrassed.”

Kugisaki lifts her hands and grabs the collar of Itadori’s and starts shaking it. “This is the closest we’re getting to romance in this school and I want to be the witness.” She grits her teeth.

Just then Nanami walks along the path, making the pair look over. You smile as you call out. “Nanami-kun.”

Nanami stops and waits as you stand from your bench, walking over to greet him. The students stare; as soon as you got off the bench and walks Gojo follows suit not even a millisecond later.

Kugisaki cringes. “He is like a puppy…”

They could vaguely hear Gojo start to make fun of Nanami, but when you think his ‘joke’ was a slight bit too harsh; they watch you give Gojo a side eye and almost immediately their teacher shuts up.

‘y/n has the strongest sorcerer at the palm of their hands .’ Kugisaki and Itadori collectively thought.

Before Kugisaki could comment she senses a small wet feeling on her forehead, then another and then she was drowning in it. Suddenly it started raining.

“Geh. Let’s get out of here.” Kugisaki says as she quickly brought her hands up to cover her bangs. “I don’t want my hair to frizz up.”

Itadori and Fushiguro follows her lead as they walk away to the nearby building and when they did reach shelter, Kugisaki quickly turns around to check on their teacher and you, a fellow sorcerer.

Her mouth drops slightly taking in the situation at hand, Nanami was no where in sight. She assumes he left because of the rain too.

But that wasn’t the focus.

Her eyes were focused on Gojo and you, holding hands smiling fondly at each other, she also noted that he was using ‘Infinity’ to not get wet from the rain.

Gojo laughs as he raises one of your hands high which makes you let out laugh, but complies as you proceed to twirl. As soon as you make two twirls, their teacher places his hands on your face as his leans down, his lips on yours.

Kugisaki and Itadori squeal and blushes at the intimate scene infront of them, jumping. “Sensei, finally did it! He kissed y/n—!” Itadori smiles.

They watch you smile into the kiss and you bring your hands up behind his neck, slowly trailing them into his hair, deepening the kiss.

“I’m so happy,Kugisaki.” Itadori wipes his tears with the back of his hands, extremely happy for his teacher’s happiness and success in his love life.

“I don’t know why you guys are making such a fuss.” Fushiguro finally decides to add into the antics of his classmates.

“Huh?” Kugisaki quickly turns and glares at the dark haired man. ”Is your heart made of stone or something,Fushiguro?”

“Yeah! I heard Gojo-sensei basically raised you.” Itadori chirps in. “You should be more happy for him.”

Kugisaki nods in agreement.

“I mean…” Fushiguro sighs as his hands are up massaging his temple, mentally preparing for the outburst to come.

“They’re married…”

“Ehhhhh???”

Reblogs, like and comment are appreciated! Love this work? out other here

[little-miss-dilf-lover]

keeping LOGAN HOWLETT company when you notice him having a bad day

implied fem!reader. grumpy x sunshine. fluff

idk when this is set, bc xmen timelines confuse the fuck out of me. and yeah sorry, another fic for him. I can’t stop with ideas, im like a freight train

It wasn’t always easy to deal with Logan when he was this way – his grumpy, closed-off self retreating into his once far more reserved ways. Sometimes after a bad day he’d shut himself off, only finding the comfort at the bottom of an empty whiskey bottle. 

He has to remember he has you now. He’s no longer alone.

He’s out on the porch, sitting on the steps, elbows on his knees with a crystal tumbler clasped in hand. It was starting to rain, the clouds spitting as if to add insult to injury – the weather mirroring his feelings. 

You wanted to give him time – give a moment for him to come to you. But as you see the rain fall harder, his exposed self sitting under a heavy patch of downpour, you grab your umbrella from its nook by the front door. 

You open the door slowly, trying not to startle him with the abrupt noise. 

“Hi,” you say, voice soft. “Can I keep you company?” you ask, hesitant footing keeping you in place.

He nods, moving the bottle from his side to between his booted feet – making space for you. He keeps his eyes ahead, looking out into the forest.

You sit beside him, holding the umbrella higher up to shield you both, scooting in closer when you notice parts of him left out under the covering. 

“Do uh—” you stall, turning to look at the side of him. “Do you want to talk about it?” you question, speaking carefully as not push him away further. 

“Nothing much to say,” he murmurs, words quiet and distracted as he swirls the amber liquid in the glass – eyes focused as he watches its motion.

You pause and fiddle with the handle of the brolly, uncertain of what to say. It wasn’t that you were uncomfortable, but instead, it was the opposite. You were so comfortable that you didn’t want your keenness to act as a repellent. So you wait, trying to find the words he wants to hear. Not what you think he wants to hear. 

And then you realise, the reason it was so hard to find words, is because no words should even be said at all. Words often hold no meaning, but actions, they do. He doesn't want verbal comfort, but instead something physical, something silent and earnest. 

So you rest your head on his shoulder, leaning into him as if to voicelessly show your care – the act sweet and gentle. He raises his glass to take a sip only to pause, pulling it away as if he was questioning its use. His eyes focused on the small amount at the bottom like he was debating with himself.

But he decides against it, placing the tumbler aside – his now free hand finding itself reaching over your shoulders to pull you into him. He takes the umbrella from your hand, holding it as he shields you both from the rain – replacing your job as he thought it to be his.

And like him, your hand now empty, you find yourself reaching behind him – wrapping an arm around his back as if to further the comfort. You nuzzle your head into his burly shoulder, nestling against him as you both look out into the vast expanse of greyscale brown and green. 

“I’m here when you’re ready.”

[hxltic]

First time makin out with Bakugo.

suggestive!!

Ur laying down, splayed on top of him, but who can say anything about it? You saw the black tee and sweatpants combo he flaunts while he was casually making food in the kitchen. You’d practically jumped him.

But he didn’t mind; his temper deteriorates later into the night, so the only thing he can feel right now is your fingers wrapped around his neck and your lips slowly dancing against his. Not that he had much of a temper around you anyway.

He groans satisfactorily in the back of his throat. The pads of his fingers creep up the thighs that on either side of his hips and trickle just under the fabric of your shorts. There was no point getting under the covers of the dark bedroom, the only light came from a candle on the dresser from sometime earlier and the only sounds emanated from you two.

That moment he gently tugs your lip between his teeth, just to release it and grin tiredly when you hum in response. At the same time, you shift above him, turning your head into a deeper kiss.

His lips are so soft. They move perfectly against yours, molding like they were made for each other. He looks so content like this, sharing a sultry kiss with you, his body completely relaxed. Mostly.

Your tongue slips out to meet with his as if it had been done a billion times. His touch sends fire through your skin, and with each movement he gets even closer, your heart feels like it’s about to explode; however, despite how it appears to be, he is in the same breathless boat. Your hand only disconnects from him to brush the falling tendrils of hair behind your ear.

There was a hardness growing beneath you that made your heart beat ten times faster, but nothing was done about it. He ignored it—instead trailing one of his palms up and down the span of your back while the other reaches a little further.

His brows furrow only a bit when he inquires as softly as possible in his gruff voice, “You’re not wearin’ anything under these tiny shorts?”

You dip your head back to his lips, taking them in sensually. Of course, he returns it, but the question is left in the air. Your mouth leaves his so you can leave slow, sultry kisses along his jaw that gradually cover his neck. When you come back up, the answer is given as a whisper. “Hmm…thong.”

He blinks open his orbs swimming with fire and a glint of disbelief. The hand on your back then moves to your nape so he can tug you down to him, already feeling the withdrawal of your taste. Simultaneously, his fingers inch all the way up until he can feel the garment himself.

He effortlessly slips his finger under the thin string and lifts it until he can’t anymore so that it delicately snaps back in place. His tongue soars deeper into yours when you react with a small gasp.

He smiles with a low sound deep in his chest, “Seems like you want somethin’ from me.”

“I do,” you breathe. “Didn’t wear it for nothing.”

It’s then he rolls over, taking you with him onto your back.

©️hxltic

[augustinewrites]

“what’s on these?” megumi asks, holding up a box of memory cards.

cleaning day always unearthed all types of lost and forgotten items. sometimes it was clothes long forgotten in you and gojo’s closet, other times it was the kid’s old books or toys. you knew every inch of your little apartment, so most times you could identify any mystery items that came up.

“i don’t know,” you hum, plucking a card from the box to inspect it a little more closely. the only hint as to what’s actually on it seems to just be a date.

2006

…and it’s in gojo’s handwriting.

curious, you pop one into the video player and turn on the tv. the kids join you on the couch, clearly eager to entertain any distraction from your cleaning crusade.

when the screen flickers to life, a familiar courtyard comes into view.

you can’t help the gasp when haibara comes into focus…but then you see satoru standing standing across from him, arms spread out.

“who is that?” megumi asks, pointing at haibara.

you think of the bright smile of the boy still lingering in the edges of your memory and tell him, softly, “an old friend.”

“suguru!” gojo shouts, looking towards the person holding the camera. he’s all messy hair and wide smiles, exactly how you remember him in his youth. “make sure you get this one!”

geto grumbles about how he’s paying attention, and suddenly you remember exactly what this is.

“ah, these are from when yaga would make us record ourselves practicing cursed technique application,” you explain as a haibara lines up a shot with a pencil.

the pencil hits gojo in the face, gifting him a small cut on his cheek. “ah, shit!”

behind the camera you can hear nanami and geto laughing as haibara apologizes profusely, and shoko comes over to practice her healing. you come over too, holding a cloth.

“don’t pout,” your younger self says, reaching up to wipe a thin trail of blood from his cheek. “you’ll get it next time.”

as soon you turn away, you hear geto snicker and the camera suddenly zooms in on gojo’s face.

he’s blushing.

“ugh,” you hear him groan behind the three of you, finally finished cleaning the bathroom. “are we done cleaning yet?”

“we’re taking a break!” tsumiki tells him, as megumi pops another card in.

gojo ignores megumi’s protests, stealing the spot on the couch next to you and wrapping an arm around your shoulders with a smirk. “move your feet, lose your seat.”

tsumiki, angel that she is, moves over so her brother can sit on your other side as the video starts.

this time, gojo is the one recording, holding the camera out so it’s pointed at his own smiling face. “haibara versus nanami, round one!”

you feel your boyfriend stiffen beside you, looking over to see an odd look on his face. “oh, fuck—”

“jar,” megumi says flatly.

he glares at the kid, and is about to get up when you stop him. “wait! i want to watch this!”

he slumps back, throwing an arm over his eyes as he groans dramatically. ignoring him, you watch the fight play out, which ends with haibara whining whilst in a headlock.

you hear geto’s murmured commentary off camera as nanami releases his classmate, expecting the video to zoom in on the victor.

but it drifts a little to the left, where you’re laughing with shoko on the sidelines.

“so obvious,” geto scoffs. the video wobbles for a moment before being pointed directly at the tips of satoru’s shoes, then ends abruptly.

when you glance over at satoru, he’s pulled his sunglasses over his eyes as if they can hide his pink cheeks.

the next videos are similar. memories of your past viewed through a different lens, showing you things you’d never picked up on when you were living them.

some moments you watch with an aching heart. like when suguru leans close to you and makes a joke at satoru’s expense, or when you reach up to ruffle haibara’s hair.

(moments with cherished friends proving that the grief of losing them never got any lighter as you moved forward with your life, but at some point you’d just gotten used to carrying the weight.)

but what might be most interesting is seeing yourself in satoru’s eyes.

his focus, whether he was the one holding the camera or not, always seemed to drift to you. for all the times he’d denied crushing on you in your early years, the camera proves otherwise.

the way he peeks at you shyly as you fix your hair before a fight.

the way he reaches out instinctively whenever you’re knocked backwards.

the way he smiles brightly whenever you laugh at one of his jokes.

the way your gaze would occasionally meet his, and his smile seemed to come naturally.

“okay, that’s enough for tonight,” satoru announces, shutting the tv off and shooing the children away. “go clean your rooms, you freeloaders.”

you stand, looping your arms around his neck before he can run away. smiling, you gently pull his glasses off, tossing them onto the couch.

“hey! those are gucci—”

you shut him up with a kiss, feeling the way his lips curve upwards against yours. “i love you, you know that?”

blue eyes meet yours, the pensive look he’d been wearing melting into something a little softer. something reserved for you. “you’re obsessed with me, i know.”

you simply laugh, letting him dip down to give you another kiss.

(because you’d had his heart in your pocket long before either of you had realized.)

[tojiphile]

ONE PIECE LIVE ACTION MEN + DICK HEADCANONS & SIZES

a/n. i wrote this last night at 5am while sleep deprived so the further it gets the more wack it gets LOL

cw/tw. f!reader, rough sex, blowjobs, dirty talk, slight exhibitionism, body hair, skinny penis, unprotected sex, for 18+ readers

MONKEY D. LUFFY

— 6.5” but thinks he’s average, so he doesn’t stretch it out with his abilities. not too girthy, but he makes up for it with his unrelenting stamina. it curves up against his stomach and leans left slightly. a little bit messy because he tried to shave it once and nicked himself, so he just settled with the hair. honey-toned towards the base and a deep red at the tip, especially when he’s raring to go.

— he wants to do it in every position, on every surface. he has you bent over the dinner table, one leg up and slamming into you mercilessly. he has you spread eagle in the bathtub, legs locked behind his back as he stuffs you full. it’s almost as if his dick is made for you, the curve perfectly abuses your g-spot as every orgasm overwhelms you, and you’re left a sobbing, babbling mess. he wants to know if he’s doing well, and he gets his answer when you chant “s— so, ah! good, fuck, d— don’t stop!” like a prayer.

RORONOA ZORO

— long, fat and heavy. he’s blessed with a stunning 7.3” length, though if anyone asks, he rounds down to make them feel more at ease. veiny. the mushroom tip is flushed purple, and it’s rests nicely on your tongue!! probably messy down there, he doesn’t see the point in shaving or trimming, but if you ask nicely, he’ll grunt, roll his eyes, and do it for you.

— you insisted that you didn’t need any prep, but as you straddled him, lining up your cunt with his cock, you soon realised your mistake. you have to spread yourself open, face scrunching up, and slowly sink down. he loves the feeling of your pussy walls fluttering as you start riding him. when your eyes flutter shut and your hips stutter, he takes control—holding you tight by the waist and fucking into you until you’re screaming.

SANJI VINSMOKE

— 6.4” and so so pretty. slender, with a pale shaft that leads into a rosy pink at the tip. it curves up and to the right. the carpet matches the drapes. he keeps it neat, though he probably doesn’t grow much hair anyway. he trims it once every few days, but he’ll never admit to it. smells the best AKA smells really clean, like soap.

— he goes crazy when you maintain eye contact and drop to your knees. you take his cock in hand, lifting it to run your tongue on the underside, tracing a prominent vein. you swirl your tongue around his sensitive head and his whole body is shaking, knees buckling as he chases that familiar high.

USUPP

— coming in at 5.8”, he makes up for it in his thick girth. when he jerks himself off, he can barely wrap his hand around it. he’s soooo sensitive that the wind can blow and he’s be hard. fat fat fat mushroom head that’s olive, golden-hued, and always oozing precum. heavy heavy balls. he might be clumsy and inexperienced, but his size alone is enough to make you drool. trims sometimes but only when he thinks he might get lucky.

— his hand grips your hair as you worship his cock, working magic with your mouth. as you jerk him off, you give small kitten licks to his leaking tip, tasting his salty precum. you whisper, “i want you” and before you know it, he has you pinned under him, rutting his thick cock into you desperately. his eyes are fixated on the way your cunt swallows him, and only strangled groans escape his lips.

BUGGY

— sorry buggy simps but he’s definitely a shower not a grower, though he still does comes in at a nice 6”! also, it’s ya boy, skinny penis. built like a tree branch but at least it’s really veiny, AND he knows how to talk you through it. so really, it might not be the most impressive but with his confidence when he’s fucking you? he’ll fuck you out and make you believe he’s 8” and 5”.

— he loves admiring your sopping cunt as it swallow him whole, your princess parts stretching to to accommodate his cock. he likes to fucks you. he presses you up against a window and fucks you from the back, choking you with his forearm and practically purrs, “taking me so well, ya dirty slut, fuckin’ cunt was made for my cock.”

SHANKS

— he doesn’t act like it buuuuuuut monster cock. it’s 7.8”, thick, and curved so much it slaps against his happy trail. let me tell you that when he sun tans, he does it naked. he lathers that horse cock up with sunblock and spreads eagle on the sand, hands behind his head, so he’s bronzed and beautiful. trims when he feels like it or if you ask, he doesn’t really think much about it.

— he doesn’t look like he’s putting in much effort when he fucks, barely breaking a sweat, but he has you writhing, hands gripping the sheets, eyes hazy and choking on your own spit. he knows what he’s doing to you. his thumb finds your clit, rubbing in delicate circles making you cum over and over again until you’re absolutely wrecked. when he’s close, he picks up the pace, grunting heavily, hips stuttering as he spills his seed inside of you. when he pulls out, he takes the time to finger fuck his cum back into you, your body shaking as you work through the aftershock.

[euaphora]

ִ ♱ ₊ ࣪ ITS NOT HEALTHY FOR ME TO FELL THIS!

✎ᝰ mean bully!megumi x reader

bully!megumi who started picking at you for no reason, you didn’t know what you did wrong or what you had said. At first he did it for fun just to pick on you but then he started seeing the faces you would make when he would slap your ass,small or big, he loved the sound it would make as you slightly jump up.

bully!megumi who tried to flirt with you while you put your books away in your locker but you kindly told him you had to go. You were just super uncomfortable and wanted to go to class already, honestly.

bully!megumi who noticed that and slapped you against the locker, hands against them as he traps you. You try and see if anyone will help but they just avoid him, knowing who his dad was and just knowing he would treat them same way he was treating you. They knew you were getting bullied but didn’t report it.

bully!megumi who brushes his hand against your upper thighs during classes as you slap it away when the teacher asks what’s going on, calling you pet names behind your ear, teasing you by taking away something you were just randomly holding, he would put it over your head watching you jump and down, and reached to grab it, the visible height difference between you two causing troubles. You take it away from him, seeing your clothed breasts bounce, feeling his pants suddenly tighten.

bully!megumi who would drag you to any empty classroom and lift your uniform skirt up and pulling down your panties, slapping your ass as it turns a darker shade of red by the minute. He would have you laid down and on his lap, sometimes rubbing his thumb to your clit, feeling your squirm under him as you try and get off, just making things worse.

bully!megumi who threatens you and blackmails you with clips of you having him deep in your mouth, gagging sounds as the background coming from the video, swiping to the left, the next clip showing you bouncing on his cock at the dean’s office. He had a whole album of you two and just for personal reasons. You look back at him with doe eyes, tears slipping out of you.

bully!megumi who gaslights you, “I don’t want to have to show the dean but if you report me, I’ll have to, sweetheart..” he coos while holding on your hips as you sit on his lap as he rocks your hips making you rub against his bulge as you cry into his shoulder. You just nod, hugging him tight by his torso— mascara being ruined and smearing on his dress shirt.

bully!megumi who hates seeing you talk to other guys that aren’t him. He would take that anger out on you the next time you would meet up again, you being so confused why he was so mad all of a sudden when just yesterday he was praising you, telling you how good you were to him.

bully!megumi who likes to go raw all the time, never having a condom in hand. He didn’t have sex with other girls anymore since he was always with you now. He would invite you over to his house, you never really having a choice either way. When you would ask him, “Can we use a condom, please? I don’t wanna end up pregnant, megumi.” You whine as you roll your eyes back gripping onto the bed sheets.

bully!megumi who would be mad at your response, slapping your pussy then grabbing you by the back of your hair with the other hand, humiliating you by having his phone on the nightstand as the video records every second. Of course he wouldn’t post it or show it to anyone, he liked having the power of knowing he was the only one that made you feel good, the only one who saw you for what you really were, a slut.

bully!megumi who likes to have you in missionary half of the time because he loved watching you pant, losing your breath as he would ram himself inside you— ignoring your pleads.

bully!megumi who makes you swallow all his cum after you suck him off, if one drop fell down your mouth he would make you get on your knees again, shoving his cock back in your mouth and ramming your head back and fourth to create fiction on his cock.

bully!megumi who eventually stops going so hard on you, leaving you alone and no longer picking on you but later later realizing how much you loved getting treated like a rag doll. You would pull him into the staff bathroom going into a stall and lifting up your skirt, hinting him to put his cock inside you.

“Fuck me, ‘gumi…couldn’t stop think about you all last period.” You pout your lips as you look back at him having a big grin spread across his face. “Thought you didn’t like when I would fuck you?” He teases, pulling down his zipper, briefs joining them.

[thinkinonsense]

old!logan and his obsession with the cute diner girl *mdni

a/n: this is my first attempt at writing something smutty so if it sucks im sorry lmao also if any writers have any tips please share! :)

logan has been around for long enough to know when a woman is attracted to him. there was a certain essence given off that was always a dead giveaway. usually it came from women close to the age he looked like and it tended to be brief moments of lust before all hope was lost. this was until he met you.

the pretty young girl working at the diner during her time off from college. everyday, he came in and ordered a black coffee. the coffee wasn't even that good but logan would spend two dollars every single day of his life if it came with the view of you bending over in that tiny uniform skirt.

logan would watch you for hours while he drank and skimmed the news paper alone in a booth. your hair was always up in either a ponytail or held together with a hair clip. he loved seeing your pretty handwriting as you scribbled on your notepad, taking orders. it was part of your job to be nice to everyone but you were especially nice to him. even your friends began to notice how you would linger by his table, constantly topping off his coffee mug and making small talk; sometimes giving him a slice of cherry pie on the house.

"don't you think he's kinda old for you?" one of your friends whispers to you behind the counter.

it's stung but you suppose she had a point. what would a man old enough to be your father want with a young wild girl like yourself?

"i-i guess so?" you stuttered, embarrassed at your previous attempt at flirting with him.

the rest of the night, you hoped he would leave before close so you could have some time alone with your feelings. summer was almost over and you would go back to the city soon. it was time to forget these silly fantasizes.

by ten, all the other waitresses went home except you, the older woman in the back who counted the drawer every night, and a few of the cooks. the only customer still there was logan. he flipped through one of the books he brought with him; still sipping away at that damn coffee.

"isn't it getting a little late for you, sweetheart?" he asked nonchalantly, not even looking up at you as you bent over to scrub the table next to his. the fifth table you've cleaned in the last hour and the second time you've cleaned that specific table. logan noticed but you didn't.

"need the hours." you mumble, frustrated by a stubborn stain. all logan could focus on was your scrunched nose and how your tight top pushed your boobs together just right for his viewing. "college is fucking expensive plus grants and scholarships only cover so much."

"hmm.." logan grunts. grants? scholarship? what a goody fucking two shoes, logan thought to himself. "if you bring me piece of pie, i think i can help you out."

you lean off the table and go get what's left in the glass container. it's probably a little hard so you definitely didn't plan on charging him for it. you sit the plate down in front of him and before you could turn around to walk away, logan reaches for your wrist softly.

"join me." he offers.

you knew you shouldn't but what was really the harm? at least your friends weren't here to make fun of you. the radio played quietly on an older station while you watched logan take a bite of the pie.

"why did your friends leave you here alone?" he asked, watching your face turn sour at the memory of them.

"don't wanna talk about it." your voice was small in the empty diner.

"why? think an old man like me can't relate to it?" logan chuckles. your thighs squeeze together without thinking. so much for not embarrassing yourself.

"no, no, not that." you shake your head and a strand of hair falls from your bun. "just sort of juvenile, you know?"

logan could tell that you were trying to come off more mature around him. you didn't want him to see you as some college kid.

"juvenile, how?" he eggs on, pushing down his glasses a bit.

god, those glasses got to you; and logan knew it.

"they don't understand how i feel about someone." you sigh.

"how do you feel about this person?" logan noticed you now avoiding his gaze, not liking it one bit. "eyes on me, princess."

the nickname caught you off guard like a dear in headlight; blinking and trembling up at logan. something logan enjoyed very much and could get used to.

"it's not important, just some stupid crush." you lie through your teeth. "they will forget about me in a month."

"why don't you think it'll work?" he cocks his head to the side a bit. "you're a pretty young thing, dollface. anyone of those college boys would be lucky to be wrapped around your little finger."

"i don't want college boys." you mumble, slightly annoyed by the memory of your friends.

logan felt himself getting hard at you admitting you had a taste for someone older. his eyes grew dark as he leaned in a little over the table.

"then what do you want?"

your moment to answer was interrupted by the older woman from the back, releasing you to go home for the evening. this was your chance to get up and leave before you admitted anything else that you would regret.

both of you stood up. logan threw down some cash while you went to collect your stuff behind the counter.

"i'll see you tomorrow, lo-"

"you didn't answer the question."

"i must go now if i want to catch the last train."

logan worried about you taking the train back to your apartment alone this late at night. usually you drive back but your car has been in the shop for almost three days now. he would watch you get to your car every night to make sure you were safe.

"i can drive you home." logan offers.

you shouldn't be this excited to be sitting in a strangers truck alone at night but here you were. the two of you sat in silence for a few minutes before logan brought up the conversation from the diner again. what did you even want?

"i want someone who understands me..." you begin rattling off the first things that come to mind when you notice logan's hand on your knee. you don't dare move.

"someone who is responsible..." with every word, his hand creeps higher and higher up your skirt. logan is more than pleased when he notices your legs spread on their own.

"someone who is m-mature..." logan's fingers inch towards the delicate skin of your inner thigh. there's no way this was happening, you thought as his index finger plays with the lace on the center of your pink underwear. he smirked at the wet spot front and center, waiting for him.

"treats me r-r-right." every word was a struggle to form as he stroked you softly. back and forth. back and forth.

logan nods along, not letting up down below. his index finger hooks onto your underwear, pulling it aside. you weren't even sure if you were breathing at this point; all this teasing was torture.

"p-p-please, logan..." you whine. "touch me."

his thumb rubs tiny circles on your button, adoring the way his name pours from your glossy lips. your hands fly to his wrists, needing more; nails digging into his skin in the most delicious way.

"where did this greediness come from?" logan groans, dipping his index finger inside of you. "what happened to that good girl from the diner?"

logan's finger barely fit in the tight space. your head fell back and a loud moan escaped you.

"oh, you weren't letting those college boys touch you at all, huh?" logan mocks, adding another finger and creating a steady pace.

"n-no!" you whine, lifting your hips a little.

"you were waiting for a real man to have his way with you, isn't that right, pretty girl?" he growls, pushing your hips back down.

you completely missed logan pulling off to the side of the road until now. his pace increases becoming rather rough now that he isn't driving. logan leaves deep purple bruises down your neck and across your chest, praising you to no end until you gush around his fingers, completely soaking his palm.

your heart pounded like you had just finished a marathon. logan allowed you to catch your breath as he carefully removed his fingers, bringing them up to his mouth to lick clean. he can feel your dazy eyes staring at him as he does so, making a real show of it.

"i've been wanting to do that for months now." he admits with a smirk.

"me too." you said, leaning forward and pulling him into a kiss; tasting yourself on his lips and tongue. logan wraps his hands around your hair, pulling you back a little when another moan falls from your lips.

"and we aren't even close to being done."

[luveline]

would you do a james fainting fic 🙏🙏

—James doesn’t like you, but he’ll come to your rescue. fem, 1.5k The office is hot. 

James dabs at his neck. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Remus rubbing his eye. 

“You okay?” he asks. 

You look up from the paper on your desk. When you realise he isn’t asking you, you look away, your lips pressing into a tight line. James tries not to show he’s noticed. 

“Fine,” Remus mutters. “Fucked off ‘cos of the portal changing again. I hate these long passwords.” 

“Are you hot or is it just me?” 

You clear your throat. Usually, unless it’s Remus who’s spoken first or James has said something you find ridiculous, you won’t interrupt. “I’m really warm,” you say, “do you think I can open the window?” 

“Like you can reach it, shorts. I’ll do it.” James jumps up from his seat. Whether you’re short or not has nothing to do with it. James is taller, and he holds it against you diligently. 

He rounds your desks. The sun is worse on his skin than the heat alone. He can’t imagine how awful you must feel to have it on the side of your neck all day; in the half minute he stands there opening the window, the heat makes him queasy. 

He tugs the blinds down enough to shield you. It’ll help the entire office, he thinks. Not just you. If you thought he was doing something nice you’d only interrogate his motives until you both turned irate, and that’s the last thing anyone needs today. 

James isn’t sure how you and he ended up not liking one another. He’s never met anybody he didn’t like that wasn’t a massive wanker, and you are but you’re not, not really. When you first started he’d actually thought you were cute, and funny, if a little quiet. It didn’t matter because James is used to quiet people. But one thing turned to another, he’d used your mug without washing it, you’d left him off of the department emails for the quarter, then the snipping started. Constant nitpicking and bickering. You make it too easy, and so what if he likes how you look when you’re mad? It doesn’t hurt anybody to put your mug in the stockroom and your lunch on a different shelf. If anything, he’s keeping you vigilant. 

You don’t look vigilant. You don’t say anything as James sits back down, even though he hits his knee for the hundredth time on his desk. You usually love it. Sometimes when you’re tired he does it on purpose to give you a reason to keep going till 4:30. 

“Are you okay?” James asks finally, eyeing your face. “You look funnier than usual.” 

“I’m fine.” 

“Are you sure?” He should stop being mean. You look like you’re gonna pass out. 

Remus peeks over his computer screen. “You don’t look well,” he says. 

“I’m fine.” You roll your seat back. 

James pushes back at the same time. “Wait a second–”

You’re standing before James can stop you, but he stands up anyways, and he takes your elbow into his hand though he shouldn’t. You give him the most peculiar look, almost like you’re enjoying his touch, just for those two seconds, before your chin dips down and your eyes squeeze closed, and all of you goes slack. 

James grabs you at the precipice of a bad fall. 

You’re still as a doll in his hands. He leans back with a quick sigh, his arm curling over the small of your back and upward. Your legs aren’t holding your weight, and you begin to slip. 

James could keep you up, he doesn’t go to the gym for nothing, but Remus rushes to his aid and pushes your chair back, helping him set you down on the floor. “What do we do?” Remus asks urgently. 

James puts his hand behind your head. You’re slack. When he touches your face, your skin is as hot as the heart of a furnace. 

“Can you get some water?” he asks Remus. 

James is peculiarly calm. He knows you’re just hot, it’s not uncommon for people to faint in high temperatures, and he’s honestly confident in his ability to look after you. It’s very sad to see you unwell, of course, and his heart is beating fast as he takes in your slack mouth. 

“Hey, Y/N,” he says, cupping your cheek gently. He gives your face a little shake, reluctant to be rough with you while you’re vulnerable, even if some force would help. “Hey, can you hear me? You’re okay, can you open your eyes?” 

Nothing. He leans down a touch to listen for your breath, and it’s fine, if a tad fast. 

Remus comes back with a cup of water and Sirius, which is predictable but not super helpful. “Jesus,” Sirius says. “I’ll call an ambulance.” 

“She’ll die of embarrassment,” Remus says. 

“She’s coming around,” James says, patting your cheek, thrilled when your eyelashes twitch. “I think we should go into the break room, is it empty? We can sit her on the sofa.” 

“You don’t think we should do something a bit more drastic?” Sirius asks. 

James feels rather defensive of you. Remus is right, you would die of embarrassment if they called an ambulance, and he’s sure you’re fine. You have to be fine. “She just fainted, it’s so hot in here. Go open a window in the break room and we’ll wait for her to come around.” 

Sirius glares playfully at being told what to do, but he goes, and Remus kneels down beside James with a cup of water. Someone from the front of the office asks if you’re alright, but James misses what they’re saying as you let out a whine. 

All of a sudden, his attention is fully yours. 

“Hey,” he murmurs. 

Your eyes open slowly, lashes heavy like they’re thick with honey. You take in a deep, deep breath through your nose, and you blink, and you turn into his hand where it’s holding your cheek with all the familiarity of a lover. “James,” you mumble. 

His stomach aches. He ignores it. “You okay? Can you look at me properly? I need to make sure you’re fine.” 

“I’m fine,” you say, face pressed to his hand. 

“Just look at me. Just for a second.” 

You pull yourself with clear annoyance from his hand and open your eyes properly. He can pinpoint the moment you realise who he is, how you're touching, and he can’t explain the pang he gets when you rush up and away from his touch. “Oh, fuck,” you mumble, dropping your head, your fingers to your forehead and your thumb covering your eyes. 

“Hey, don’t move around so much.” He continues to be soft. You might have realised who it is that’s trying to look after you, and you might not want him to, but he’ll be damned if he lets your bickering stop him from making sure you’re as okay as he’d claimed to everyone else. “Are you okay?” 

“Did I…” 

“You fainted. Don’t worry, I caught you. Take it easy, okay? Have this.” 

He presses the cup of water into your hand.

Somewhere behind him, Remus has moved away, and is seemingly fending off the masses of people coming to offer assistance. 

You see them looking at you behind him and cover your face. 

James shuffles forward quickly. “Hey, it’s okay. I’m not gonna let anyone see you. I’m saving this embarrassment all for myself. Please drink your water.” 

“Did everybody see me fall?” 

“They saw us engaged in a loving cwtch. It was very romantic.” 

You sip your water. In truth, you don’t look much better for passing out, and James can’t get the feeling of your face out of his hand. He wants to touch you again, his fingers hesitating an inch from your knee. 

“Sorry.” 

“Don’t be,” he says. “You don’t control the weather. Do you?” 

“Of course I don’t.” 

“Then why are you sorry? It was alright. You have nothing to be sorry for, okay? We just want to make sure you’re okay. Sirius wanted to call an ambulance,” —you visibly baulk— “and I told him no, don’t worry. Then all the attention would be on you, and not me for my valiant rescue.” 

“Was I heavy?” you ask, your mumbling nearly friendly. 

“I can bench press two twenty.” 

“That… doesn’t mean anything to me.” 

“You’re nothing I couldn’t handle, shortcake. Do you think you can stand up? I’ll take you into the break room. You can lay down on the sofa.” 

You make a soft sound James won’t soon forget and put your hand out for his help. He doesn’t have to force you. You don’t have to ask. He helps you stand and keeps an arm behind your back, shielding you from the worried and curious gazes of your coworkers. 

You press your cheek to his chest. 

Remus looks at you both like you’ve been body-snatched, but it’s too late to wuss out now. 

[inkskinned]

hello. you left a neon pink post-it with pgs 194-359 due 9/12 in the book, by the way. it is now May 23rd and the library's printer is running out of ink. it jammed and tore my passport application. one of the librarians dutifully blacked out all my information (front and back!) before proceeding to use every unmarred inch as scrap paper.

i think maybe our (plural, inclusive) lives are connected. all of them. i have been thinking a lot about borrowing. about how people move through the world in waves, filling in the same spaces. i have probably stood on the same subway platform as you. we held the same book. all of us stand in the same line at the grocery, at the gas station. how many feet have stood washing dishes in my kitchen?

i hope you are doing well. the pen you used was a nice red, maybe a glitter pen? you have loopy, curling handwriting. i sometimes wonder if it is true that you can tell a personality by the shape of our letters. i'm borrowing my brother's car. he's got scrangly engineer handwriting (you know the one). it's a yellow-orange ford mustang boss. when i got out of the building, some kids were posing with it for a selfie. i felt a little bird grow in me and had to pause and pretend to be busy with my phone to give them more time for their laughing.

i have a habit of asking people what's the last good book you read? the librarian's handwriting on the back of my smeared-and-chewed passport application says the glass house in small undercase. i usually go for fantasy/sci fi, but she was glowing when she suggested it. i found your post-it on page 26, so i really hope you didn't have to read up to 359 in that particular book. i hope you're like me and just have a weird "random piece of trash" "bookmark" that somehow makes it through like, 58 books.

i wish the concept of soul mates was bigger. i wish it was about how my soul and your soul are reading the same work. how i actually put down that book at the same time you did - page 26 was like, all exposition. i wish we were soul mates with every person on the same train. how magical to exist and borrow the same space together. i like the idea that somewhere, someone is using the shirts i donated. i like the idea that every time i see a nice view and say oh gosh look at the view, you (plural, inclusive) said that too.

the kids hollered when i beeped the car. oh dude you set off the alarm, oh shit is she - dude that's her car!! one was extremely polite. "i like your car, Miss. i'm sorry we touched it." i said i wasn't busy, finish up the pictures. i folded your post-it into a paper crane while i waited. i thought about how my brother's a kind person but his handwriting looks angry. i thought about how for an entire year i drove someone to work every day - and i didn't even think to ask for gas money. my handwriting is straight capital letters.

i thought about how i can make a paper crane because i was taught by someone who was taught by someone else.

the kids asked me to rev the engine and you know i did. the way they reacted? you would have thought i brought the sun from the sky and poured it into a waterglass. i went home smiling about it. i later gave your post it-turned-bird to a tiny child on the bus. she put it in her mouth immediately.

how easy, standing in your shadow, casting my own. how our hands pass over each other in the same minor folds. i wonder how many of the same books you and i have read. i wonder how many people have the same favorite six songs or have been in the same restaurant or have attended the same movie premier. the other day i mentioned the Book Mill from a small town in western massachusetts - a lot of people knew of it. i wonder if i've ever passed you - and didn't even notice it.

i hope whatever i leave behind makes you happy. i hope my hands only leave gentle prints. i hope you and i get the same feeling when the sun comes out. soulmates across all of it.

[ja3yun]

Guilty as Sin Pt.2 | P.SH

ceo!sunghoon x assistant!reader warnings: smut (mdni), unprotected sex, cream pie, multiple orgasms, dom!hoon, oral (m.rec), deep throating, fingering, cum eating, power dynamics, spanking, window fucking, punishment vibes, he makes her lick his shoe, pet names (good girl, slut), slight degradation, slapping, no aftercare mentioned but implied (kinda), age gap (reader is 22 and hoon is 27), anything else lmk! w.c: 8.2k synopsis: after your boss heard you on the phone last night, it was time to face the consequences of your sins, however, he has something else in mind other than firing you. a/n: hi! it's the much requested second part and i need to tell you i got carried away with this. 6k of this is pure smut so it's kind of a pwp still. you can also read this as a stand alone if you really want to. i hope you guys love it and thank you so much for the love on the first part! as always, reblogs, likes, comments, and feedback are welcome

part 1

The door in front of you seems daunting, an imposing barrier that looms larger with every passing second. The air grows suddenly cold as a draught from the office behind it whooshes through the slits in the frame, sending a shiver over your body. You've been standing here for precisely 2 minutes and 12 seconds, the weight of your hesitation pressing down on you. The confrontation ahead feels monumental, the necessary action of knocking on the door an insurmountable hurdle.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves. With your left hand, you awkwardly smooth down your charcoal pencil skirt. The fabric, meticulously ironed earlier this morning, clings slightly to your legs, stopping just above your knee. You adjust the waistband, ensuring your crisp white blouse is neatly tucked in. This is a constant ensemble you wear to your work and has been accepted and sometimes praised by others, yet today it doesn’t feel up to standard.

The coffee in your right hand was supposed to be a peace offering, a gesture to sweeten up your boss after last night’s…escapades. You had hoped the familiar aroma of his favourite brew would set a positive tone for the conversation. But the barista had made the wrong order, a careless mistake that left you with a cup of something less than ideal. With no time to wait for a replacement, you had rushed out of the shop, the seconds ticking away, and now here you are, standing at the threshold, the incorrect coffee staring at the door with you, a bubbling disappointment he will surely add to the list.

It wasn’t supposed to end up like this. You were supposed to have a quiet night in with a glass of wine in one hand and a dildo in the other, not your boss possibly thinking that you’re a pervert. There is no way he didn’t hear you on the phone as you climaxed to his voice; it was so loud you think the old lady from three flats down could have heard you. 

As fucking amazing as the orgasm was - possibly one of your most star-bursting - it does leave you with dire consequences that you have to face right this instant. You’re already a minute past 6am and he isn’t going to be too happy about that.

Gathering every ounce of courage, you straighten your posture, shoulders back, head high. You take one final, steadying breath. With your heart pounding in your chest, you lift your hand, knuckles brushing lightly against the door, and tap firmly three times. The sound echoes in the silence, each knock a heartbeat, a countdown to whatever awaits on the other side.

The moments stretch interminably. You can almost feel the seconds dripping by, thick and viscous, each one a testament to your growing anxiety. Your grip tightens around the coffee cup, the warmth seeping through the thin cardboard sleeve, a small comfort against the chill that has settled into your bones.

“Come in.”

His booming voice filters through the oak door, startling you despite your knuckles alerting him of your presence. Although he has given you the go-ahead, you still don’t move for two beats, suddenly regretting the decision not to quit via email as soon as you cleaned the cum from your dildo and finished off the entire bottle of wine.

With a shaky breath, you force your legs to carry you forward. The door feels heavier than it should as you push it open, the creak of the hinges matching the tension coiling in your stomach. 

The office is modern, with floor-to-ceiling windows occupying one corner, offering a panoramic view of the cityscape. The rest of the room is a study in black and white - sleek, minimalist furniture and stark contrasts that give the space a sterile, yet sophisticated feel.

Behind a glossy wooden desk, your boss sits, his stern gaze fixed on you, making the room feel both expansive and claustrophobic at the same time.

“Good morning,” you manage to say, your voice sounding meek and uncertain. You step inside, the door clicking shut behind you with an ominous finality. Whatever happens, whatever reprimanding he is about to bestow upon you, there is no escaping.

Your boss doesn’t respond immediately. His eyes flicker to the coffee cup in your hand, a slight frown creasing his brow. “Is that for me?” he asks, his tone cool and unreadable. He knows you bring him coffee every morning but the hesitance in your step confuses him.

“Yes, Mr. Park, but I’m afraid it’s not your usual order,” you confess, stepping forward and placing the cup on his desk. The surface is immaculate, reflecting the cup and your trembling hands like a dark mirror. “The barista made a mistake and put oat milk instead of soya and a pump of vanilla rather than honey.”

He picks up the cup, his fingers brushing against yours briefly. The contact sends a jolt through you, a reminder of last night’s indiscretion, how you wished it was his hands all over you. He inspects the label, then takes a small, unsure sip.

Playing with the tips of your fingers and tapping your knees together briefly, you wait for a scolding, yet nothing comes from it. His face insinuates that he isn’t exactly thrilled by the taste, but he isn’t throwing it in your face or firing you, so, you relax a little.

He isn’t the type of boss who lashes out at you; rather, he keeps his calm in most situations. Even that one month when you scheduled all his June appointments for July and June was filled with May meetings. That day, he simply told you that you couldn’t leave the office until everything was finalized and settled; it was a long night.

Not looking at you, he goes back to typing something on his laptop, his face now back to that monotonous glare that gives zero indication of his feelings away. Was he mad? Confused? Disappointed? You could never know by his neutral expression.

You stand there awkwardly, shifting your weight from one foot to the other, awaiting further instruction. The silence stretches on, making the ticking of the wall clock seem unbearably loud. Usually, he has a list of things you should be doing, and to get you up and in the office early seems pointless if you’re just going to stand there in your gifted black, shiny heels - gifted by him nonetheless.

Finally, you clear your throat softly and speak up. “Your meeting is in three hours, sir. Did you want me to come in early to help or…?” You trail off, unsure how to proceed.

Mr. Park looks up expectantly, one eyebrow raised as he peers over his glasses. “Or?”

The single word hangs in the air, loaded with unspoken expectations. By the glint in his eye, it was clear he wanted you to continue, to confess to your sins, which means he did hear you come undone last night. If you could jump out of his office and onto the cold concrete 39 floors below, you would; it would be much less painful.

You feel a tint of warmth along your cheeks, head bowing in a sorry gesture. There is no way you can just turn around and say ‘Sorry about last night, it should be a compliment considering no other man or porn is able to get me off quite like your Instagram does’. That is a HR appointment waiting to happen.

So instead you stay silent, much to his impatience.

Once he realises you aren’t going to use your voice box anytime soon, he shuts his laptop over before sitting back in his chair, inhaling so deeply you see his chest rise under his white Prada shirt. 

As you take in his appearance, a pool forms between your legs. No matter how many times you see him in his work aesthetic; black fitted slacks, a white, tight fitted shirt, the black tie that he forms in a Windsor knot, and those silver framed glasses that you’re convinced are just for aesthetic and not functional, you still can’t control the lewd thoughts in you mind. His face with those perfect eyebrows and dark eyes only makes you draw closer to his face.

It’s worse when you’re both in a lift and you imagine it breaking down, clothes flying as you ravage one another-

“I think it’s time we had your supervision, don’t you?” Sunghoon’s question rips your attention away from your filthy thoughts and back to reality.

“But, Sir, I just had my supervision last month,” you recall. Every three months, Sunghoon calls you in to track your progress, give you direction on how to further progress as an employee, and list areas you can improve on. It is also a time to bring up any issues he might have with your performance.

Last month, like all the other supervisions you have dreadingly attended, had a positive outcome, with no complaints from your boss despite your mistakes. You’re beginning to think he might not be as harsh as he seems, the CEO stereotype of cold, mean, and detached sometimes clouding your perception of him. Sure, he can be scary, but isn't that true of every boss?

“I must have lost the file,” he says, sucking his teeth in a feigned apology. “Please, have a seat.”

Sunghoon gestures to the black leather chair across from him. His pupils expand, and his tongue swipes past his lips as you sit, crossing one leg over the other like you have many times before. Your skirt hikes up to mid-thigh, exposing more skin than is office-appropriate.

Sunghoon adjusts his glasses, peering down at some papers on his desk, scanning through them as if they contain all the questions he needs to grill you on. You know they don’t because he keeps all his files electronically; it's easier for him to find and navigate, plus he hates adding unnecessary pressure on the environment. You discovered his soft spot for the earth after he asked you to double-check his bank statement and you saw multiple transactions to various environmental charities.

“So,” he begins, reading the nonsense papers, “How do you think you’ve performed over the past few months?”

The questions are always the same, so you always answer them the same way; how Sunghoon wants them answered. “Good, Sir. I think I have made progress, but there is always room for improvement.”

“And what would you improve?”

“I believe my performance is steady, but it would be good to challenge myself. The opportunities you’ve given me to explore different departments have been invaluable. It could be beneficial to work closely with you and bring forth ideas in pre-meeting discussions between us.” You repeat what you said last month, just in a different order. Your boss loves it when you subtly praise him; it always causes his eyebrows to rise and a small, tight smile to grace his face.

Except this time, he smirks - a look he only adopts when he’s either about to obliterate someone in the boardroom or win an argument. Neither scenario fits your current conversation, leaving your mind swirling with uncertainty.

The atmosphere has turned thicker with heat. Maybe it's your own problem as you tighten the grip on your crossed legs, watching his large, veiny hands flick through a stapled booklet, sometimes licking his finger for grip.

Should you be looking at him like this after what happened last night? Probably not, but you’re just a woman with needs, and you crave Sunghoon to curb those needs as quickly as possible, no matter the working relationship.

But this is how you got into this mess - letting your thirst for him take over your state of mind. Now, you’re facing an unnecessary supervision that could lead to your termination or a department transfer. You work under Sunghoon as his assistant, but he has allowed you to grow and learn in ways a typical boss wouldn’t. Instead of fetching coffee and running errands, he’s included you in meetings, let you make some decisions, and introduced you to department heads, especially the graphic design team, the field you wish to progress into.

Perhaps that’s the source of the heated atmosphere - not your uncontrollable lust but your fear.

“And would you say you have a good working relationship with others at work?” he asks, his shoulders tenser than before.

This is a new question, one you haven’t rehearsed an answer for.

“Uh, yes?” 

He stops shuffling papers at your lacklustre response, clearly unimpressed, and gives you a moment to elaborate. “I mean, yes, I do get along with most people here. I try to maintain professionalism and have a healthy balance along with friendships.” It’s a generic answer, but mostly true.

“Do you think we have a good working relationship?” Sunghoon hasn’t looked at you this whole time, but you can see him fighting the urge.

“I believe so, Sir. I think we get along well and have a solid foundation built on respect,” you answer honestly, omitting the times you’ve thought about him in a less-than-professional light.

Sunghoon takes off his glasses, pushing his chair back slightly. “I see.” His words are sharp and contemplative, making your chest tighten. He’s absolutely firing you today, and he has every right to do so. He probably feels disrespected and disgusted by what he heard last night.

Circling his desk, he leans against the edge, his body now close to yours, radiating an air of dominance. You can feel the heat of his presence, the way his gaze pierces through you, making the room feel even smaller. 

This isn’t going to end well for you.

“So, what was it you used to get yourself off last night to the sound of my voice?” he asks, his tone low and menacingly curious.

The question hits you like a freight train. You choke on your own saliva, eyes bulging, mouth turning drier than a Ritz cracker without butter. Your heart pounds in your chest, echoing in your ears like a drum. You try to form words, but your mind is blank, overwhelmed by the sheer audacity of his question and the implications it carries.

Sunghoon's eyes narrow slightly as he watches your reaction, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. His demeanour is composed, but there's an underlying intensity that sends a shiver down your spine. He seems to relish your discomfort, his confidence only growing as he maintains eye contact, making it impossible for you to look away.

Your thoughts race, trying to find a way out of this situation. The room feels suffocating, the silence between you stretching endlessly as you struggle to regain your composure. The memory of last night flashes in your mind, the sound of his voice in the background as you gave in to your desires.

Sunghoon shifts slightly, his stance more relaxed, yet every movement is calculated, deliberately exuding power. He taps a finger on the desk, the sound sharp and precise, mirroring the tension in the room. His eyes glint with a mix of expectation and something darker, making it clear that he won’t let this go easily.

“Do you need a moment to answer, or should I repeat the question?” he asks, his voice dripping with mock politeness.

You swallow hard, your throat dry, and manage to find your voice, though it comes out as a hoarse whisper. “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about, Sir.”

He pokes his tongue to the side of his cheek, fighting the urge to smirk fully. “Don’t play coy with me. I heard everything. Now, answer my question.” 

Your mind scrambles for an escape, but there’s no way out. You’re trapped, cornered by his authority and your own actions. The room feels like it’s closing in on you, the tension thick with something unspoken. You know you have to say something, anything, to break the silence and diffuse the situation, but words fail you.

Sunghoon’s gaze remains fixed on you, unrelenting. “Well?” he prompts, his voice a dangerous whisper. He rolls up his sleeves devilishly slow, giving you a show of his veins and strong yet soft hands.

You take a deep breath, steeling yourself for the inevitable. “It was a mistake, Sir. It won’t happen again,” you manage to say, your voice trembling despite your efforts to stay calm.

He raises an eyebrow, clearly not satisfied with your response. “That doesn’t answer my question,” he says, leaning closer, his presence overwhelming as his eyes fixate on yours. “What did you use?”

The question hangs in the air, heavy and oppressive. You can feel the weight of his expectations, the demand for honesty. There’s no escaping it. You have to confront this head-on, no matter how humiliating it is.

Taking another shaky breath, you finally confess, your voice barely audible. “I used a dildo, Sir.” You want the world to swallow you whole, to never see the light of day again because how could you possibly admit to that in front of the Park Sunghoon?

His smirk deepens, clearly enjoying your discomfort. “What size?” he asks, his tone almost casual but laced with a dangerous curiosity.

Your heart pounds even harder. Every beat is a reminder of the humiliation you’re enduring. “Six inches,” you whisper, your face burning with shame. Now your boss knows the size of your dildo. Great. 

Sunghoon's eyes gleam with a predatory satisfaction. “And was it me you were thinking about?” he asks, his voice dropping to a low, seductive murmur. The question pierces through the remaining shreds of your composure.

You squeeze your eyes shut for a moment, feeling the weight of his stare. “Yes,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “I was thinking about you, Sir.”

Sighing with feigned disapproval, Sunghoon crosses his arms and shakes his head. “Y/N, I am very disappointed in you.” That is the last thing you want to hear; the respect you have for him as a boss and a professional makes the words sting just a little bit more than if it was anyone else.

You bow your head in shame, rubbing your knee to comfort yourself against his harsh tone. “I’m so-”

“It should have been at least eight,” he interrupts, causing your eyes to snap to his, widening in shock.

His words hang in the air, and the implications send a shiver down your spine. He pushes off the desk and moves closer to you, his presence even more imposing. “You see,” he continues, his voice low and controlled, “if you’re going to fantasise about me, you should at least get the details right.”

Your heart races, the mixture of fear and anticipation almost too much to bear. Sunghoon leans down, his breath hot against your ear. “Now, let’s assess your performance. I expect complete cooperation from you moving forward. Understood?”

It’s a subtle way of asking your permission, knowing that once whatever is about to transpire in this office happens, there is no going back to your previous assistant and boss relationship, especially if his hungry eyes and your pulsing core have anything to say about the matter.

Nodding, you agree quickly, granting him your consent, but that isn’t good enough for him.

“Y/N, one thing that constantly comes up in these supervisions is your development of communication skills,” he says, tutting with a mocking glare. “Use your words.”

You take a deep breath, your pulse racing as you summon the courage to speak. “Yes, Sir. I understand.”

A satisfied smile crosses Sunghoon’s face as he takes in your words. “Good,” he murmurs. “Now, bend over the desk.”

You comply, standing up and leaning forward until your chest is pressed against the cool surface. Your skirt rides up, exposing your thighs, and the vulnerability of the position sends a shiver through you. 

The energy in the office is charged with anxiety and anticipation. The gentle hum of the air conditioner does little to alleviate the heat emanating between the two of you. The familiar surroundings suddenly feel exotic and infused with new vitality. The mixture of the light from the world waking up outside and the glow of his desk lamp creates an intimate, almost clandestine ambience.

Sunghoon’s imposing desk, usually a symbol of authority and professionalism, now serves as an altar for your transgression. The smooth, polished wood feels cool against your skin, a stark contrast to the heat coursing through your body. Papers and office supplies, once orderly and mundane, now seem like silent witnesses to the unfolding drama.

Sunghoon steps closer, his presence looming over you. The scent of his cologne, a mix of sandalwood and something distinctly him envelops you, mingling with the faint, clean scent of the office. His hand smooths over your exposed skin, gentle but possessive, sending goosebumps over your delicate skin. He hikes up your skirt so your ass is exposed and ready for the inevitable.

“You need to be taught a lesson, to help you improve your vocal skills, wouldn’t you say?” he asks, his voice a dark, seductive whisper that cuts through the silence.

Without warning, his hand comes down sharply on your ass, the sound of the slap echoing in the room. You gasp, the sting of the impact radiating through you. He doesn’t give you time to recover before delivering another smack, then another, each one firm and precise.

It’s electric and better than anything you could have conjured up using your imagination alone. His spanks are harsh but not unpleasant, each vibration of his hand to your cheeks rippling down to your core. It aches to be touched, wetness glistening over your folds to exhibit your desperation.

Pressing himself against you, you feel his bulge prominent against you. Fuck, you really did underestimate how big he was. Even concealed, you know he’s packing so much that your dildo pales in comparison. His hands now soothe your scarlet ass, giving you some relief.

However, the calm is short-lived. “You’re going to tell me everything you fantasise about, no detail left unturned. Got it?” His voice is dark, his breath warm against the back of your neck, and his lips so close to your skin that you almost whimper out in need.

You can’t believe this is happening. All those months of wishing he would touch you, spank you, punish you, praise you, and do literally anything to you are all coming to fruition right now. Maybe you should have slipped up earlier, maybe those chances to touch his thigh at meetings or drunkenly kiss him at work nights out would have gotten you in this position a lot quicker.

It does beg the question, how long has he wanted this? Has he thought about you at all in any way other than his assistant? Perhaps this is a spur-of-the-moment kind of thing or could he want you just as badly?

“Yes, Sir,” you answer his previous question, cheek pressed against the cool desk as your body heats up.

“Good,” he murmurs, his hands tracing over the redness of your ass, fingers brushing lightly against your skin. “Start from the beginning.”

You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. “I fantasise about you, Sir,” you begin, your voice trembling slightly. “I think about you touching me, I want to please you in every way.”

His hand comes down again, a sharp reminder of his dominance as he leaves a lingering sting. “Be specific,” he demands. “I want details.”

Your mind races, trying to find the words because what haven’t you thought about? You have imagined him in every possible scenario; loving you, hating you, cuddling you, punishing you, and most importantly, fucking you into oblivion. Even last night, you thought about him punishing you exactly how he is right now. 

“Sometimes I-I think about you punishing me, spanking me until I cum,” you admit, your voice quivering with a mixture of embarrassment and arousal. It feels incredibly dirty to vocalise your fantasies, yet Sunghoon seems more than thrilled by the idea you paint with your words.

He has always been the controlling type, commanding respect without arrogance, a quality that naturally makes people want to please him. Unfortunately, you've taken that want and twisted it into a filthy need.

Your boss delivers another firm smack to your ass, causing a gasp to escape your lips and a slick of your arousal to drip onto his polished shoe. He notices, but any reprimand is postponed; for now, he's focused on your communication skills to help you improve as an employee…of course.

Sunghoon’s touch is deliberate, each spank is a calculated act of dominance that leaves your skin tingling and your thoughts scattered. His hand moves with precision, alternating between stinging slaps and soothing caresses, creating a rhythm that both punishes and rewards.

He is nothing if not fair.

“Just spanking?” he teases, his fingers hooking into the band of your panties as he plays with it, feeling the lace on his skin. 

You quake at his touch, caught off guard by his question. His fingers toy with the delicate fabric, sending a shiver of anticipation down your spine. The air around you crackles with tension, thick with unspoken desire and the heady scent of arousal. 

“No, Sir.” You pause, gathering your thoughts. This is the one time to make your fantasies come to life, whatever you tell him now will probably be what you receive. You need to make sure this is everything you truly want, it could be the first and last time. “I imagine your fingers inside of me, calling me a good girl as I cum.”

Sunghoon’s jaw tenses, eyes closing behind you as the dirty confession sends an electric current through him. His hand tightens on your panties, a possessive grip that both excites and reassures. His controlled demeanour cracks slightly, revealing a raw hunger beneath the surface.

“You want my fingers inside you, hmm?” he murmurs, his voice husky with desire. “You want me to make you cum, to be my good girl?”

His words send a thrill through you, your body responding instinctively to his commanding presence. Sunghoon’s touch becomes bolder, sliding the lace of your panties aside to tease your folds, his fingers brushing against your wetness.

“You’re so wet,” he observes, his tone both approving and teasing. “Did my spanking turn you on this much?”

You nod, unable to form words as pleasure coils tight in your belly. Sunghoon’s fingers explore your slick heat, his touch igniting a fire that threatens to consume you. The desk supports your trembling form as he leans closer, his breath hot against your ear.

“I’m going to make you cum,” he whispers his voice a promise that sends a shiver of anticipation through you. “But first, you have to beg for it. Prove to me that you can use your voice.”

You whimper, the command sending a jolt of need through you. “Please,” you gasp, your voice pleading and desperate. “Please, Sir, I need it. I need your fingers inside of me, making me ready to take your cock.” You should be humiliated by how easily the sentences tumble from your mouth but the cocktail of your lust and his teasing touch make you weak.

Sunghoon’s lips curl into a satisfied smile, his fingers finding your clit and circling it slowly. “That’s it, you always have been a fast learner,” he murmurs, his touch sending sparks of pleasure to your heart. “So good for me.”

His words fuel your desire, the intensity building with each stroke of his fingers. Your body responds eagerly, hips pushing against his hand in a silent plea for more. His touches are slow and precise, giving just enough attention to your nub to make you want more before he drags his fingers down your folds and plays with your aching hole. 

Sunghoon’s eyes darken with intent, his fingers delving deeper into your slick folds. The teasing pace shifts, his touch becoming merciless as he thrusts his fingers inside you with an intensity that makes you gasp. Sunghoon’s control is absolute, his touch expertly bringing you closer to the edge. 

"Is this what you wanted?" he asks in a deep, governing tone. "Is this what you begged for?"

You can only groan in return, your body arching towards him, yearning for more. The sound of your wetness fills the room, mixed with your frantic whimpers as his fingers curl within you, finding the point that causes your vision to blur.

"Look at you," he says with a satisfied tone in his voice. "So eager and desperate. My good girl."

His words add another surge of pleasure and your hips move in sync with his unrelenting fingers. Every time he calls you a good girl, you swear a piece of your pussy and heart is imprinted with his name. The sensation is overpowering, with each stroke of his long fingers drawing you closer to the brink. You can feel your release building, like a coil of fire tightening in your centre.

Sunghoon’s thumb finds your clit, adding to the exquisite torment. He rubs it in slow, deliberate circles, the dual sensation making you cry out. The pleasure is almost too much, your body trembling with the intensity of it.

“You’re going to cum for me,” he demands, his voice a rough whisper. “I want to feel you tighten around my fingers. I want to hear you scream my name. Be vocal, don’t hold back.”

His directive is all you need. With a final effort, the cord inside you snaps, and your release crashes over you in waves. You shout out, his name on your lips, and your body convulses with delight. Sunghoon keeps moving his fingers inside you, prolonging the climax until you're a shaking, gasping mess.

You are so happy no one else in this building can hear you.

As your breathing slows, Sunghoon withdraws his fingers, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips. He brings his glistening fingers to his mouth, savouring your taste with a hum of approval. His gaze locks onto yours, filled with a mix of satisfaction and lingering hunger.

“Look at the mess you’ve made,” he murmurs, his eyes dropping to the floor where droplets of your release have landed on his shoe. “We can’t have that, can we?”

Before you can respond, he grabs your hair, yanking you up from the large desk. His body is still pressed behind you, his lips ghosting your lobe as he breathes heavily. “The next part of your assessment is following instructions. Clean it up,” he commands, his voice brooking no argument. “Use your tongue.”

Your cheeks flush with a mix of embarrassment and arousal, but you nod, obediently lowering yourself to your knees. The sight of you on the floor, eyes filled with submission, seems to please him. His fingers trace your jawline before guiding your head downwards.

The leather of his shoe glistens with your essence, and you lean forward, your tongue darting out to lap at the droplets. The taste of yourself mixed with the leather is intoxicating, the saltiness of your release mingling with the rich, earthy flavour of the leather. You can feel Sunghoon’s eyes burning into you, watching every movement with rapt attention.

“Good girl,” he praises, his voice a low purr. “Make sure you get every drop. Lick it spotless.”

You work diligently, your tongue tracing over the shoe, cleaning every last bit of your release. The texture of the leather is smooth under your tongue, each lap bringing a mix of shame and excitement. You should not be this willing to humiliate yourself, especially in front of a man, but he makes it so easy to fall in line.

Sunghoon’s hand rests on the back of your head, a constant reminder of his control. His fingers thread through your hair, tugging and petting gently as you continue your task.

Once you’re finished, you sit back on your heels, looking up at him with pride and submission. Sunghoon’s eyes soften slightly, a hint of warmth breaking through his dominant facade. He crouches down, his thumb brushing over your swollen lips.

“You’ve done well,” he murmurs, his voice filled with approval. “But we’re not done yet.”

He stands, the glint of authority returning to his eyes as he begins to unbuckle his belt. The sound of the metal clinking sends a shiver down your spine, your gaze locked on his hands as they work with deliberate slowness. The belt slides free, and you can’t help but lick your lips in anticipation, the desire to touch him overwhelming.

As your hand moves forward, Sunghoon’s reflexes are swift. He catches your wrist, his grip firm but not painful. “Not until I tell you to,” he warns, his tone stern. “Don’t make me tie you up.”

Your eyes widen slightly, and you nod, drawing your hand back to your side. The threat of being restrained hangs in the air, adding another layer of excitement. Part of you wishes that he would take that sleek black tie from his collar and wrap it around your wrists but you know that if you can’t touch him, you’ll go insane. 

Sunghoon releases your wrist, his eyes never leaving yours as he pushes down his dress trousers and boxers, revealing his throbbing erection.

The sight of him, thick and pulsing with need, makes your mouth water. It’s fucking beautiful, so much more exquisite than in your sinful fantasies. You lean forward, eager to please, but he places a hand on your shoulder, keeping you in place. “Patience,” he says, his voice a low growl. “You’ll get what you want, but on my terms. Don’t make me tell you again.”

He steps closer, the tip of his cock brushing against your lips. The warmth and hardness of him send a thrill through you, and you part your lips, ready to take him in. Sunghoon taps himself on your outstretched tongue a few times before he guides himself into your mouth, the taste of him filling your senses. You begin to suck gently, your tongue swirling around the head, savouring the salty tang of his pre-cum.

Sunghoon’s hand finds its way back into your hair, gripping tightly as he begins to move his hips. He pushes deeper, his cock sliding over your tongue and hitting the back of your throat. The sensation makes you gag slightly, but you relax your throat, allowing him to press further.

“Good girl,” he praises, his voice a husky whisper. “Take it all.”

He thrusts into your mouth with increasing intensity, each movement making your eyes water and your throat constrict around him. The feeling of being filled so completely is overwhelming, a mixture of discomfort and pleasure that sends a rush of heat through your body. You can feel him hitting the back of your throat, his cock sliding in and out with a rhythm that leaves you breathless.

Sunghoon’s grip tightens, and he begins to fuck your mouth with a relentless pace. Your hands clutch at his thighs for support, the muscles beneath your fingers tensing with each thrust. His breathing grows heavier, each exhale is a rough pant that tells you how close he is to coming undone.

“You’re doing so well,” he murmurs, his voice strained with lust. “Just a little more.”

With a final, deep thrust, he holds himself at the back of your throat, his cock pulsing as he reaches his climax. You feel the hot rush of his release, his cum spilling down your throat as he groans your name. You swallow eagerly, the taste of him lingering on your tongue as he slowly withdraws.

Sunghoon looks down at you, satisfaction evident in his eyes. He brushes a thumb over your swollen lips, smearing a bit of his cum across them before guiding you to stand. He kisses you deeply, the kiss a mix of dominance and raw need, a reward for your obedience. His tongue licks into your mouth, tasting himself, which only drives him deeper into arousal.

The intensity of the kiss deepens, his hands roaming your body with a sense of urgency. He grips your hips, pulling you flush against him, the heat between you igniting. His fingers hook into the waistband of your panties, and with a swift motion, he tears them away, the sound of the fabric ripping only adding to the raw desire between you.

You gasp into his mouth, the sudden exposure sending a thrill through your body. Sunghoon’s hands are everywhere, caressing, squeezing, exploring every inch of your skin. His touch is both possessive and reverent, each movement fuelled by a hunger that matches your own.

It’s wrong, he knows it, he should have stopped it at the spanking; he shouldn’t have started this at all. But when he heard you last night, moaning his name and cumming over the phone to his voice, it erupted a desire in him he hasn’t had for anyone in such a long time. 

Sunghoon has kept you as his assistant selfishly because he knows you are better suited in a lead role somewhere else in the company, your ideas and suggestions invaluable to the work that goes on here. Your potential is wasted by his side but he can’t let you go, not now, not ever.

He has never denied your beauty, a bonus to the intelligence you harbour inside of you. He just could never act on it, knowing that even a slight brush of his hand against yours could send him spiralling out of control.

And that is exactly what is happening now. He started with complete control and now he just wants to fuck you against every surface of his office, make you beg for more, and ruin your pathetic fantasies with the real deal.

Your hands find their way to his shirt, fingers fumbling with the buttons in your haste to undress him. Sunghoon’s mouth moves to your neck, his teeth grazing your skin as he helps you, shrugging off his shirt and letting it fall to the floor. Clothes fly and shoes scatter as you both lose yourselves in his office.

His hands grip your waist, lifting you with ease as his lips trail hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck, across your collarbone, and over your breasts. Your legs wrap around his torso, seeking friction against the growing hardness pressing against you. You writhe in his hold, your body desperate for more, your arousal slicking his skin as you move to gain any sort of friction on your cunt.

Your mind, much like always, is going to places where he devours you and makes you his, only driving you to complete desperation. All those months of longing for your boss's cock and knowing that it’s simply inches away from your pussy makes you mewl out.

“Sir-”

“You want to beg some more?” he says cockily, smirking as his lips pepper kisses down to your collarbone and just above your top breast. Sunghoon’s mouth finds your nipple, sucking and biting gently, causing a moan to rip from your throat. His teeth are applying just enough pressure to hurt but not scar, tugging and rolling your nipple until you’re begging him.

“Please, Sir, I need you, I need your cock so badly.”

“Yeah? What perverted fantasies are twisted in your mind now?” His question is laced with curiosity and mockery, knowing exactly all the lewd thoughts that could cross your mind. 

His words send a shiver down your spine as he carries and pushes you up against the tall windows of his office. The cool glass contrasts sharply with the fevered heat of your bodies, making you gasp. The city skyline stretches out behind you, a silent witness to your passionate encounter.

He snarls at you, not in a demonic way - although his dark pupils could have fooled you - but no, he’s snarling like an animal looking at his prey, ready to pounce and ravage you in whatever way you want. 

Glancing behind you, you see the city and even though you know you are too high up for anyone to see you, a gleam of embarrassment shines from your face and your naked body cowering into itself as you hide from the outside world.

Noticing your sudden change in manner, Sunghoon scoffs, forcing you to look at him as he brings your face to meet his gaze, pressing you further against the window with his body to ensure you don’t escape. “What’s wrong, Y/N? You didn’t seem to mind an audience last night.”

You whimper, shaking your head. Of course, you didn’t mean to answer his call during your private session, letting lust take over your senses. But you somehow still have a fraction of your senses left, enough to know that drones fly by daily in this city, and what if birds actually do have cameras in their eyes? They could record you and post it on Twitter or something.

Your mind doesn’t just come up with elaborate scenarios for fucking your boss.

Sunghoon sees your focus drift to what-ifs and wraps his fingers around your throat, squeezing tightly to draw your attention back to him. His eyes are hooded, and the CEO that you know so well is gone, replaced with a primal man needing to devour you right in front of the city he so proudly claims as his home.

“You think anyone out there cares? Or can even see you?” he hisses, tightening his grip slightly, just enough to make your breath hitch. “You wanted these fantasies and I am being more than kind in fulfilling them considering I could have fired you, called HR and made sure you could never work in this industry again. But I’m fair, aren’t I? Generous, almost.”

“Yes, Sir,” you manage to gasp, your voice trembling. He has every right to say all of this to you because it’s true; he could have easily fired you and blacklisted you from every marketing company in the country, never mind the city. Yet, here he is, granting you your deepest fantasies and not firing you.

“That’s better,” he growls, his lips crashing down on yours in a bruising kiss. His hand moves from your throat to hoist you up further, so your cunt is in perfect alignment to meet his thrusts.

The cold glass against your back is a sharp contrast to the feverish heat radiating from both of your bodies. The city sprawls out behind you, an array of lights and buildings that seem distant and irrelevant compared to the intense connection you’re sharing with him. Your fingers clutch desperately at his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as if he’s the only thing keeping you tethered to reality.

His cock slides into you with an intensity that leaves you breathless, each thrust a powerful reminder of his control over you, in both business and pleasure. The way he moves, precise and relentless, has your head spinning. The sensation of him filling you, stretching you, is overwhelming, but you crave more, arching your body to meet his every thrust. The slick sounds of your bodies coming together are loud in the quiet office, accompanied only by the occasional grunt or moan escaping his lips.

Sunghoon’s eyes are dark, almost predatory, as he watches you. There’s a hint of gratification in his gaze, knowing he has you completely at his mercy. His hands grip your hips tightly, guiding you to the perfect angle where every thrust hits that sweet spot deep inside you. The pleasure is blinding, white-hot, and it builds with every movement, a tight coil of desire that threatens to snap at any moment.

“Oh, fuck!” you cry out, nails clawing into your boss as his hips buck ferociously, the head of his cock dragging against the bumps of your walls so perfectly. It’s like his cock was made for you and you curse your dildo for never preparing you for how intense and good this feels.

His right hand crashes against your cheek, stinging across your skin. You moan out, relishing in the feeling. The CEO just slapped you and you fucking liked it.

“Don’t swear in my office,” he demands, slapping you once more but leaving his hand there to ease the pain. He adores punishment but also soothes you straight after.

Your breath comes in short, ragged gasps, the window fogging up behind you from the heat of your exertions. The cityscape outside is nothing more than a blur, your world narrowed down to the feel of his cock driving into you, the hard press of the glass against your back, and the delicious ache in your thighs as they wrap around his waist tighter.

“Such a fucking slut,” he murmurs against your ear, his voice a low growl that sends shivers down your spine. “Sucking me in so good. Is this what you pictured while you fucked yourself with that pathetic excuse of a dildo? It’s nothing compared to my cock, is it?”

The words send a thrill of humiliation and arousal through you, making your cunt clench tighter around him. Of course, your toy is nothing compared to his long, thick cock. The pink dildo never hits up into your cervix like he does, and it certainly doesn’t bulge out your stomach. You didn’t think dicks like this existed except in books or porn, so to have him filling up every inch of you, is enough to send you reeling into a sex-crazed insanity.

His pace increases, thrusts becoming more forceful, and you can feel the desk beneath you shuddering with the intensity. Each stroke is a blend of pain and pleasure, reminding you that this is a punishment, a lesson you need to be taught.

You can feel your orgasm building, a tidal wave of sensation that starts low in your belly and radiates outward, making your toes curl and your vision blur. Sunghoon’s hands move to your ass, lifting you higher, allowing him to drive even deeper. The new angle has you crying out, the pleasure almost too intense, and you bury your face in his shoulder, biting down to stifle your screams.

The rhythm of his thrusts becomes erratic, and you know he’s close too. The thought of him losing control, even just a little, is enough to push you over the edge. Your orgasm crashes through you, a violent wave of pleasure that has you shaking and crying out, your walls spasming around his cock.

He wraps his hand around your neck once again, squeezing tight as he claims you, your euphoria heightening as the air struggles to filter to your lungs.

“Jesus Christ, Y/N. I want to be buried inside your tight cunt forever,” the admission throws you off balance, intensifying your high even more. His head rests on your shoulder as you grip his hair and tug at it, nodding in agreement. You never want him to leave, always attached to you in some way.

His words, raw and possessive, echo in your mind, amplifying the sensations coursing through your body. The heat between you is overwhelming, your bodies slick with sweat as the world outside the window fades away, leaving only the two of you in this feverish bubble of desire.

He follows you over the edge, a low growl rumbling in his chest as he empties himself inside you, the sensation of his hot release only prolonging your own pleasure. The feeling of his seed filling you, marking you, sends another wave of ecstasy through your body, your walls spasming around him, milking every last drop.

He stays buried deep within you, his body shuddering with the aftershocks. Even though his muscles ache from holding you up, he doesn’t let you fall, his hands gripping your throat and waist tightly. There’s an intimacy in the way he holds you, a possessiveness that speaks volumes about his intentions.

You’re both panting, the air between you thick with the scent of sex and sweat. Sunghoon’s gaze is still intense, but there’s satisfaction there now, a smug pride in knowing he’s thoroughly claimed you. He doesn’t want to say he owns you, but he definitely is never, ever letting you go.

His eyes scan your flushed face, taking in every detail, the way your lips are parted, the dazed look in your eyes, the way your chest rises and falls rapidly. He’s so glad he called you yesterday and so glad you answered. This, this moment, was worth every risk, every potential consequence. 

Sunghoon slowly pulls out of you, both of you wincing at the loss of connection. He carefully sets you down, your legs shaky as they touch the floor. You lean against the window for support, your body still tingling from the overwhelming pleasure.

“I’ll clean you up and then we need to go to the meeting. My notes?” He asks, the CEO persona in him slipping back into focus almost effortlessly.

“In the L drive of your computer,” you mumble, exhaustion taking over. He fucked you so good all you feel is relaxation in your spent body. You almost forget you have a whole day’s work to complete.

Sunghoon kneels to your limp body, caressing your face gently. “I’ll get you a coffee on the way there, I need you to be alert.” He leans close, his fingers dipping between your sore folds, gathering your mixed juices and plugging them back inside of you. “And you better be ready, I also think I lost the file for your appraisal.”

You shiver, knowing exactly what that means - your sins are far from over...

perm tag: @immortalvee , @snoopypupp, @sunpov @heeseungspookie @strawberrysavi @monstanctiny21 @diorsyun @heexzbae @yzzyhee @baekhyunstruly @zeeloveshee @haechonly @berryblog @no-mannerism @jaehoonii @notevenheretbh1 @iikeustar @shawnyle @addictedtohobi @jiminie-08 @emberuby @nctislifue @lilyuwon @skzenhalove @heeshlove @idkdykilr @chocminteu @y4wnjunz @rikibun @ivesti @parksunghoonsgf @branchrkive @brownsugarbaybee @xxbluestrifexx @bambangan @dollyyun @iluvikeu @deobitifull

[peachesofteal]

Through Me (The Flood) - secret baby fic Simon Riley / female reader - warnings: 18+ daddy kink, sexual content, phone sex

"Whit do ye think, LT?"

Simon vaguely hears Johnny's voice. It's somewhere in the background, something he's not dialed into right at this moment, since they're not in an active situation.

For now.

Instead, they're all holed up in safe house with shitty mattresses, shitty couches, and thin walls crowded inside a concrete box. Simon's on his back, on the couch, flicking through his camera roll, picture after picture of you and the baby filling the screen. There are new ones, ones you've sent over the last three weeks, and when he fires off a text to let you know his phone is on for a little bit, you send a video back almost immediately.

"That the wee one?" Johnny says from over his shoulder, and Simon nods, clicking play.

"Okay Ry, let's show daddy," Orion's on his tummy in the living room, holding his head up, staring at you behind the phone. He's giggling a little, smiling, wriggling around, and you place one of his toys just out of his reach, to the left. "You can do it bub, come on. Daddy wants to see." There's more encouragement, Orion rocking back and forth on his belly and kicking his feet-

before rolling over completely onto his back.

"Good job bub! What a strong boy." You pull him into your arms, his back to your chest, legs up over yours, and turn the phone so the video shows both of you. "So, that's a thing." You smile, and kiss his head. "Think we'll have a crawler on our hands soon." Something sad flickers in your gaze and you chase it away. "Anyway, we uh... we miss you. Call tonight?" A knot forms in his throat, and he practically leaps off the couch, making for the back door. Johnny calls after him, but he pays it no mind.

>Can you take a call now?

>You just missed him, I'm so sorry. He's asleep :(

>That's okay. I want to talk to you.

>Okay, sure.

"Hello?" You're not quite whispering, but your voice is still soft, careful, and he closes his eyes.

"Hey."

"Hey. How are you?"

"Fine. Can't believe he's rolling over." You stifle a small laugh.

"I know. He's going to be crawling soon, I can feel it. Keeps trying to push himself up with his arms and scoot his legs forward. It's cute. He looks like a seal." You sigh, and he gets lost in it, honey sweet spiderweb trapping him in the middle, tangling him up for the feast, your fangs already deeply embedded in his flesh.

That's what you are. Something under his skin. Something possessing him down to the marrow. A man who only takes orders from one other-

willing to say 'how high' if you would only say 'jump'.

He hears his promise every day, every night, ringing in his ears.

Johnny thinks he's flipped a switch somewhere. Gaz says he's more bloodthirsty than he's ever seen.

John just smiles at him, a knowing look in his eye, a mutual understanding.

He's going home, no matter what. If he has to kill every single soul he comes across, that's what happens.

He made a promise.

"Hope he waits." He tries to control the rough scrape of his voice, but it's still there.

"I'm sure he will." You're gentle in your reassurance, kind. His kitten.

"How's he doin' otherwise?"

"Good. Fussing has calmed down a bit, thank god, but I think he misses daddy."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," you pause, small intake of breath, a barely there gasp. "I miss him too." He takes a cursory look around, and then drops the tone of his voice.

"Y'miss daddy, sweet girl?" The two of you have been dancing around this, for the last week. Since landing at the safe house, he's been able to call almost every night, sometimes he catches Orion when he's up and sometimes he only catches you, and recently, you've been engaging him with sexually charged late night conversations that make him jerk his cock behind a locked door somewhere, and come into his own hand.

Feels like a waste. He wonders if you'd let him get you pregnant again.

He doesn't even know if you can have sex right now, to be honest. He knows you tore, badly. Knows you had stitches. Knows you're probably still nursing the wounds, physically and mentally.

That's okay. He'll wait. He'll wait as long as he needs to. For this. For you.

He doesn't know where the change came from either, but he's not complaining. Or questioning. He's indulging and dreaming and telling you to reach into your pajama pants to touch yourself for him while he's tossing off on the other end of the line.

If he had to guess, he'd say the distance has given you some sort of courage, some sort of emboldenment to feel it out, gain comfortability.

The killing makes him extra rank, fills him with ardor for you, for his life now. He's always felt purpose, devotion, to his job, the 141, but now, there's a higher altar to lay himself at, a higher calling.

Getting a ring on your finger, for one.

"Are you in bed mama?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah? Gonna play with your pussy for me?"

"Oh god." You groan, but it's breathy, wild on the other end of the line, a whole world away.

"Tell daddy what you're doing, honey." He's rock hard, so much it aches, but he's not going to fulfill the burning need right now. He wants to be focused on you. "Are you touching yourself?"

"Y-yes."

"Does it feel nice?" You whine. "Rubbing your pretty little clit f'me, making it feel good?”

"Oh my god- yeah."

"Daddy's so proud of you, sweetheart. Taking such good care of Orion. Taking good care of yourself, making yourself cum since he can't be there to do it for you." You moan, unintelligible, nectarous melody on the wind. "I wish I was there. I think about the night we made our baby all the time, how you looked spread out on your bed, taking all my cum like a good girl."

"Oh, oh-"

"Took my cock so pretty, mama. Did so good, fit me like a glove." You're panting, tiny, bright whines slipping free, and he knows you're close. "Don't stop. Let me hear you." He orders, slipping a palm over the swollen mass of his cock.

"Fuck, daddy-"

"Keep going honey, come on." He can nearly hear your teeth grinding.

"I'm cumming, oh- daddy, I'm, I'm-" There's a shuffle, a high pitched gasp, and then you go silent, breathing heavily into the phone.

"Good job, mama."

He's sour by the end of week four. Muscles tight from the agony of being away, awful visions, nightmares, rotting the frontside of his brain when he closes his eyes.

The balaclava is heavy with blood now, everyday. Red stains white, fetid and curdled, trying to strain through his teeth.

They've moved from the safe house. The phone calls are only a dream. He turns his phone on for five minutes every other day, desperate to download the photos you're sending, only to get one out of the ten. Can't text you back.

At night, he stands outside with his chin tilted up, orientating himself with the skies, searching for Orion in the cosmic chaos. It takes time, too long, but eventually he spots it, south west in the sky, glittering alongside the moon. His stars. His moon.

John tries to temper him. "You'll have to get better at this, if you're planning to stay, Simon. It won't get easier, but you can ease the ache."

It's never been a question about staying, he's served the 141 for far too long to give it up now. The want is incredibly selfish, but he doesn't consider himself the other kind of man, the one who would take a desk job or sacrifice his duty. His life's work, essentially.

He's not a good man. But he's yours. He won't have it any other way.

Kyle's got a girl at home now, he tells Simon. Maybe we should introduce them, ya know LT? Give em someone to lean on, when we're gone. A brilliant idea, if he's ever heard one. Though he's not surprised. Gaz is the top of his class in everything.

He and Johnny speed run through the last part of the op, raining hell down upon everyone in his path, and he finally sees that crazy glint in Soap's eyes, the one that's been missing this entire time.

"Was fun, LT." He slurs the night before exfil, glass of whiskey lax in his hand. "Almost sad to be goin' home."

Not too long ago, he might agree. But now that he's staring down the barrel of five and a half too long weeks, he can't wait for it to be over.

>Hey

>Hey omg, I've been worried.

>All's good. On our way to base now. Gonna shower here, change. Alright if I come over after?

>Yes.

He’s a livewire stepping off the bird. Three paces behind Gaz, he’s trying to type out a text to you, hardly paying attention, spreading his stride to close the gap between him and the showers.

“Hey darling.” Gaz is wrapping someone up in his arms, pretty little thing with dimples, Simon barely glances up-

And then nearly trips over his boots, tongue tied to see you standing behind Kyle’s new girl, sundress swinging at your thighs, Orion babbling away on your hip.

His bag drops.

He sprints.

“Ah!” You shriek as he tugs you into him, lifting you and the baby with an arm under the plush of your ass. “Simon, oh my god-“ you curl forward, free hand gripping his shoulder, and he presses his mouth to yours.

“Missed you mama.” Your top teeth bite into your bottom lip, bashful and sweet. “You too, bub.” You kiss him again, longer this time, ignoring the whooping from Johnny in the background.

“Welcome home.”