#looking for ways to talk 'to myself' and i had a requirement that it needed to have an option to reply like a friend in a chat could

[ceyanabbiolo]

PHOTOGRAPH // M.S [17]

Summary: Daphne Denoire, a 21-year-old, returns to Boston after 3 years—but working for her brother’s best friend, Matthew Sturniolo, wasn’t part of the plan. He’s a 26-year-old multimillionaire. She’s the girl he was never supposed to feel this way about. With secrets between them and boundaries set, how far will they go for a love they never saw coming?

Warnings: smut (not detailed at all) angst

wc: 4851

Chapter 17: Slow Down

Week One of May

Matt had given me the space I asked for.

But that didn’t make it easier.

The first week was brutal.

He still showed up to shoots, as he was required to. Still made small talk with me between takes. I responded because it was work, and because pretending was easier than breaking.

But I couldn’t shake his words.

“It’s manipulating.”

That one line echoed over and over in my head like a bruise I kept pressing.

How could he even think that? How could he say that to me?

Yesterday, during a break, I was standing near the lighting station, pretending to scroll on my phone, when I felt his presence beside me.

He held out a drink.

“Iced matcha,” he said quietly. “No sweetener, extra ice.”

I hesitated before taking it. My fingers brushed his, and it felt like a bolt of something I wasn’t ready to name.

“Thanks,” I muttered, not meeting his eyes.

He didn’t leave right away.

“I… I know I said something awful, Daphne,” he said after a moment. His voice was low, careful, like stepping around broken glass. “But I didn’t mean it. I swear I didn’t. I was angry and scared, and that’s not an excuse, but it’s the truth.”

I stayed quiet, holding the matcha like it might fall apart in my hand.

“I miss you,” he added, softer now. “Every second.”

I finally looked up at him. His eyes were tired, red at the edges.

But all I could think about was how quickly he’d said it. Like it hadn’t even hurt him. Like the words didn’t gut me.

“I have to get back to work,” I said, stepping away.

His hand fell back to his side, empty.

Week Two of May 

By week two, the numbness had settled in.

It was quieter now—no more crying myself to sleep, no more clutching my phone at night hoping for a text.

I stopped avoiding him completely at work. We spoke when we needed to, exchanged looks that lasted a little too long, but that was it.

We were two people orbiting each other in silence.

Professionally fine. Personally ruined.

He hadn’t tried to talk often, I think that hurt more than if he had.

Maybe he was letting me go, because maybe he finally got tired.

I wasn’t so sure, though. I still caught him stealing glances when he thought I wasn’t looking, and he still lingered near the elevator each morning, like he was waiting for me to arrive.

I was packing up my camera gear after a long shoot when he passed by me near the exit. He paused, his hand resting on the doorframe.

“You looked tired today,” he said. His tone wasn’t teasing. It was soft. Observant.

I blinked at him. “I’m fine.”

He gave a slow nod but didn’t move.

“You’ve lost weight,” he murmured. “You’re not eating properly, are you?”

That comment made my throat tighten. 

He still noticed.

“I’m fine,” I repeated, sharper this time.

“I still care about you, sweetheart,” he said, just loud enough for only me to hear. “I know you don’t want to hear it right now, but I do.”

I didn’t respond. I didn’t know how to.

So I zipped my bag, walked right past him, and didn’t look back.

I knew deep down I didn’t want to lose Matt forever. However,  there was a part of me that just couldn’t let go—couldn’t let myself be that vulnerable again.

No matter how many times I replayed that night in my head, I couldn’t shake the fear that he meant every word he said.

Maybe I was wrong for holding off on telling Noah after all this time…But I had my reasons, my doubts, my fears, and those things didn’t just disappear because I missed him.

Week Three of May 

I missed him.

Gosh, I really missed him.

It hurt in ways I didn’t have words for.

The way his hand used to find mine without even thinking. The way he’d gently brush my hair out of my face when I was editing, or how his eyes would search for me the second he walked into a room.

It was all still there, etched into the silence between us, and lately… I’d been wondering if maybe I was ready.

To open up. To talk.

But life had a way of testing me right when I thought I was steadying my feet again.

It was a long shoot. The client was already difficult—loud, controlling, the type of man who made every person on set a little tense.

I was trying to adjust the lighting angle, moving quietly like always, when he snapped.

“Are you seriously going to stand in the way again?” he barked from across the room. “You’ve been slowing down this entire shoot.”

I froze.

Everyone turned.

My fingers gripped my camera strap. “I was just fixing—”

He scoffed and cut me off, louder this time. “Dammit, I swear. You photographers are all the same. Hired because you’re pretty, not because you know what the hell you’re doing.”

The words hit like a slap, sharp and humiliating. I blinked hard, throat tightening.

I didn’t know what to say.

But before I could speak, I heard a voice behind me.

Firm. Cold. Controlled—but dangerous.

“Say that again.”

Matt.

He stepped forward from behind the monitors, jaw clenched, eyes burning with restrained fury.

The man raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” Matt said, voice low but razor-sharp. “Say that again. To her face.”

“Look, I didn’t mean anything—”

“No. the fuck you trying to belittle her for? To make her feel small in front of an entire crew?” Matt took another step forward. “your acting like she’s not the reason your shoot doesn’t look like shit.”

The guy shifted uncomfortably. “It’s not that deep, man.”

Matt didn’t back down. “She’s hasn’t even been here for a year and everyone agrees with her, so who the fuck are you? If you ever speak to her like that again, I’ll make sure you don’t work with anyone in this industry, let alone me.”

Silence fell over the room.

My heart was pounding. I wasn’t sure if it was from the insult or from the way Matt had stepped in, like he never stopped being mine.

The man mumbled something under his breath and walked off.

I stood frozen.

Matt turned to me, softer now. “Are you good?”

I nodded, eyes glossy but holding it together.

And for the first time in weeks… I almost reached for his hand.

Almost. 

Week Four of May 

I was sitting in a quiet corner of the café with Kara, one of the few people I trusted in this industry. She was my safe place to vent when the weight of everything felt unbearable.

“I’m telling you,” Kara said, sipping her latte, “I’m due for a raise. Seven thousand a month isn’t enough, especially if I want to move to New York next year.” 

I nodded, trying to keep my expression neutral. “Yeah, we all deserve more.”

She laughed, but there was an edge of frustration in her voice. “Seriously. I’m a personal photographer for this rising model—her brand is blowing up. But seven grand barely covers rent in the city, let alone anything else.”

I blinked, startled. Seven thousand? That was way less than what I made. I didn’t say a word, though. Something about the way Kara talked made me hold back—like this was just her reality, and I wasn’t supposed to burst her bubble.

She glanced over at me and smiled. “You’re probably making that too, right? Everyone in this game does.”

I forced a smile, nodding, but my mind was racing. If she only knew.

That night, curiosity gnawed at me. I couldn’t stop thinking about Kara’s words—and the fact that my paycheck was always so steady, so much higher than I expected.

The next day, I found myself standing outside the payroll office, heart pounding. I hadn’t planned to go snooping, but something inside me demanded answers.

I took a deep breath and asked the clerk, a kind-faced woman named June, if I could see a copy of my payment records.

June raised an eyebrow but nodded, pulling up the file on her computer.

Scrolling through the recent months, my eyes caught something strange—an extra deposit, labeled “Matthew Bernard Sturniolo Account”—with a sum far larger than my usual pay.

My heart skipped.

I looked up at June, my voice barely steady. “What’s this? This extra payment?”

She smiled softly. “Oh, that’s a private transfer from Mr. Sturniolo himself. It’s been going on for a while now. He asked us to keep it confidential.”

My mind raced—Matt had been the one paying me more all this time. More than I ever realized, more than I’d dared hope.

I knew $20 000 for a photographer a month had to be too good to be true. 

I felt a strange mix of emotions—grateful, vulnerable, overwhelmed.

He’d been supporting me quietly, without fanfare or expectation. 

As I stared at the screen, the weight of what I’d just seen hit me like a tidal wave. 

Deposit: Matthew Bernard Sturniolo – $13 000

An extra payment, quietly added month after month.

I blinked, heart pounding so loud I was sure June could hear it.

He’d been the one—Matt. All this time, the extra money I’d been counting on without knowing the source was coming from him.

My hands trembled as I took the printout, barely able to focus.

I left the office in a daze, the hallway around me feeling unreal.

Every late payment is made easier; my student loans were paid off almost immediately. Every emergency is covered without worry. Every little luxury I’d allowed myself—the nicer meals, the new camera lenses—had been because of him. 

I thought about all the times I’d told myself I was making it on my own.

But the truth was, Matt had been there all along, quietly holding me up when I didn’t even know I needed it.

Outside, the sunlight hit my face, but I felt like I was walking through shadows.

Part of me wanted to scream, part of me just wanted to cry.

How much had he done for me, without asking for anything?

And what did that mean for us?

My chest tightened with questions I wasn’t ready to answer.

But one thing was clear—this wasn’t just about money.

It was about care.

As I walked out of the payroll office, the weight of the discovery pressed heavily on my chest. Matt had been quietly supporting me all along, far more than I ever imagined.

The realization stirred something deep inside me. Gratitude, yes, but also a growing curiosity. If he’d been covering my paycheck secretly, what else had he taken care of without telling me?

A sudden thought struck me: therapy.

I’d never asked how I was officially covered. I just assumed it was through some standard health plan. But now, I needed to know.

I made my way to the head office—the place that handled employee benefits and insurance. My hands felt clammy as I approached the front desk.

“Hi,” I said, trying to sound casual. “I wanted to ask about my health insurance, specifically for therapy sessions.”

The woman behind the desk smiled politely. “Sure, let me check your file.”

Minutes later, she looked up, a little apologetic. “I’m sorry, but your plan doesn’t include coverage for therapy or mental health services.”

My heart sank. “So, none at all?” 

“Nope. Those sessions would be out-of-pocket.”

I swallowed hard. 

That meant Matt must have been paying for my therapy, too.

The quiet support, the secret help—it wasn’t just my paycheck. It was every appointment, every session––that he had suggested I go to. 

A mixture of shock and warmth flooded through me.

How many times had he been there, behind the scenes, carrying my burdens so I didn’t have to?

I left the office with a heavy but somehow lighter heart, clutching the knowledge that Matt’s care ran deeper than I’d ever known.

By the time I got back to the apartment I shared with Noah, my head was spinning.

I dropped my bag near the door and sank into the couch without even taking off my shoes. The city buzzed outside our windows, but inside, everything was still. Too still.

I stared at nothing, arms wrapped tightly around myself. My thoughts wouldn’t stop racing.

Matt had been paying me more than everyone else, months of it, slipping it into my pay without ever once bringing it up. And now… the therapy.

Those sessions had saved me. Saved me from myself on the nights I couldn’t sleep, on the days when the world felt too heavy, on the mornings I wanted to curl up and disappear.

And he… he had known. And still, he never used it to hold power over me. Never brought it up in arguments. Never once asked for anything in return.

He just did it. Because that’s who he was.

I felt a knot in my throat. The kind that comes when your chest is too full of feelings you’ve tried to bury for too long.

I didn’t know if it was love. Or guilt. Or heartbreak.

Maybe all three.

But I knew one thing—I wanted to see him.

Not tomorrow. Not next week. Now.

I stood up, wiping beneath my eyes even though I hadn’t fully cried. I went to my room, quickly changing out of my work clothes and into a plain white tee and jeans

I pulled my hair into a loose clip.

My hands were shaking, but my heart felt strangely steady.

I grabbed my phone and my keys.

I didn’t text him. I didn’t call.

I stepped into the hallway of my building. My fingers were curled tightly around my phone as I pressed the button for the elevator. The light blinked.

I exhaled slowly, trying to calm my heart.

This was the right thing. I needed to talk to him.

The elevator dinged.

I took a small step forward, expecting the doors to open and take me down. 

But instead—

They slid open…

And he stepped out.

Matt.

Hands in his pockets, standing there in a black tee and black jeans. 

His eyes locked onto mine instantly.

And for a second, we both just stood there. Frozen in place.

There he was—right in front of me, like the universe knew we had to meet this way. 

He blinked, like he wasn’t sure I was real.

“Daphne?” His voice was soft. “I… I was just coming to see you.”

My mouth parted, but no words came out at first. I felt breathless.

“I was coming to see you,” I whispered back, stunned.

I stared at him for a beat too long—long enough for the silence to stretch between us, thick with everything we hadn’t said.

Then I swallowed, lowering my gaze, and turned slightly, stepping aside.

“You wanna come in?” I asked quietly.

His eyes softened, and he gave the smallest nod.

 “Yeah,” he said, just above a whisper.

I turned fully, walking back toward the apartment door with him just behind me. My hands felt clumsy as I unlocked it, the familiar click echoing in the still hallway.

I stepped inside first, leaving the door open behind me. I didn’t turn around right away—I needed a second. 

The door clicked softly behind him, and the silence that followed felt like it was holding its breath. I stayed still, staring at the floor by the couch, unsure if I could trust my voice just yet.

Then I heard him exhale. That deep, familiar breath he always took when he was trying to steady himself.

“I didn’t know if you’d open the door,” Matt said, voice low.

I turned slightly, just enough to see him standing near the entrance, hands at his sides, eyes searching my face like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to look too long.

“I almost didn’t come,” he added, taking a step closer. “But then I thought… if there was even the smallest chance you’d let me talk to you—I had to take it.”

His voice cracked just a little at the end, and that tiny break in him made something in me ache.

“I didn’t want to go another night wondering if I lost you for good.”

I stayed silent.

Not because I didn’t have anything to say. 

But I didn’t know where to begin.

Matt stood across the room, waiting. Hoping.

Then slowly, he stepped closer.

Close enough that I could smell his cologne—familiar and overwhelming.

He reached for my hands, gently wrapping his fingers around mine.

They were warm. Steady.

His eyes found mine, and his voice was quieter than I’d ever heard it.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, like he needed to say it until it meant something. “I know I’ve said it already, but… these past four weeks? They’ve been hell, Daphne.”

His grip tightened—just slightly. Just enough to anchor me to the moment.

“I saw you every day at work and still felt like you weren’t there,” Matt said, his voice raw. “I’d come home and just… sit in silence. The place felt odd without you.”

He exhaled shakily, thumb brushing gently over the back of my hand.

“I know I hurt you. I said things I can’t take back,” he continued. “But I don’t want to fight with you, sweetheart. That’s not what this is. That’s never what we were supposed to be.”

He paused, like the next words were caught in his throat.

“I let my frustration take over. I got selfish and started thinking only about how I felt… and I didn’t stop to understand you.”

His eyes lifted to mine, glassy and full of something heavy.

“Gosh, Daphne… I’m so sorry,” he whispered, like it came from the deepest part of him. “I hate knowing I made you feel unsafe. Or doubted. Or small. Because all I’ve ever wanted was to protect you.”

His voice broke slightly, and it made my chest squeeze.

“I don’t care if we tell everybody or no one at all. I just want you. In whatever way you’re ready to be mine again.” 

He looked at me then, not demanding. Not begging. Just hoping.

Waiting.

I looked down at our hands—his thumbs gently stroking over my knuckles like he was afraid I might disappear if he stopped.

His warmth seeped into me, steady and familiar. The kind of warmth I hadn’t realized how much I missed until I was standing here, finally letting myself feel it again.

“I’ve missed you every day,” he said, softer now. “Even when we were standing inches apart, I still missed you.”

I blinked, tears quietly burning behind my eyes. I still hadn’t spoken, not because I didn’t want to—but because if I did, I knew I might break.

He took a tiny step closer, his voice barely a whisper. “I replayed that night in my head more times than I can count. The look on your face when I said those words… It haunted me, Daphne. I couldn’t sleep. I’d hear your voice in my head and just—fuck—I’d do anything to take it back.”

His hand let go of one of mine, just to gently touch my cheek. He didn’t push me to look at him. He just held it there, grounding me.

“I let my fear talk that night,” he murmured. His throat bobbed as he swallowed. “I know I messed up. But I love you. Gosh, I love you so much.”

Just like that, a tear slipped down my cheek, and then another.

But I didn’t look away. I looked right at him, eyes full of tears, heart cracked open.

Then, quietly, finally, I whispered, “I missed you too.”

Matt’s eyes softened instantly, like those four words stitched something back together inside him.

“You did?” he whispered.

I nodded slowly, blinking back more tears. “Every single day.” 

He stood there, searching my face, making sure I meant it. 

“I never stopped loving you,” I added, my voice trembling. “I wanted to be mad at you. I was mad at you… But I wouldn’t stop loving you.”

That cracked something in him.

His arms slipped around my waist and pulled me into him, holding me tightly against his chest like he’d been waiting to exhale for weeks. I melted into the hug, arms wrapping around his middle, face buried in his shirt. 

I looked up at him, my eyes shimmering with everything I couldn’t quite put into words.

Without thinking, I leaned in and pressed my lips softly against his.

The kiss was gentle at first, tender and searching—like a promise.

Matt’s arms wrapped around me, pulling me closer. 

Slowly, I pulled back, my breath mingling with his.

A small, mischievous smile curved my lips as I took his hand in mine—warm, steady, familiar.

Without a word, I tugged him gently toward my bedroom, my heart pounding with a mix of excitement and nervousness.

He followed willingly, fingers intertwined with mine, like we were reconnecting piece by piece.

The door closed softly behind us, shutting out the world and leaving just the two of us

Matt smirked, his eyes sparkling with playful mischief as he pulled back just enough to tease,

“So, you’re making the first move now?”

I rolled my eyes but didn’t let go of his hand. “Maybe I’m just trying to catch you off guard.”

He laughed softly, closing the small space between us again. “It’s working.”

Our lips met once more, slow and lingering, and I felt his hands gently tracing the curve of my waist.

“You wanna go slow, or?” he whispered against my mouth.

I grinned, fingers sliding up under his shirt. “Just shut up Matt.”

Piece by piece, our clothes came off—his shirt slipping over broad shoulders, my sweater pulled off with his help.

His hands trailed down my sides, sending shivers through me as he leaned in to kiss the hollow of my neck.  I let out a soft sigh, fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck.

“Matt…” I whispered, my voice shaky but sure.

He looked up, eyes dark with something I’d only just begun to understand—desire, tenderness, and something like reverence.

He brushed his thumb across my cheek, his breath warm against my skin.

“Are you sure you want this right now?” he asked gently, searching my eyes.

I nodded, heart pounding.

“Yeah.”

Slowly, carefully, he lowered me back onto the bed, his hands never leaving my body. Every kiss, every touch, was slow and deliberate, like he was learning the map of me all over again. 

The world outside disappeared as we moved together, a rhythm building between us—soft gasps and whispered names filling the quiet room.

“I love you, Daphne,” he murmured, voice thick with emotion. “And I’m here. Always.”

I smiled through my tears, reaching up to cup his face. “I love you, too, Matt.”

By the time he was inside me, the only sounds filling the room were our gasps and moans, mingling with the soft creak of my queen-size bed beneath us.

Every movement sent waves of sensation through my body, raw and electrifying. Matt’s hands held me close, grounding me with his warmth, while his breath brushed against my skin in hurried whispers.

We moved together in a slow, steady rhythm—each touch, each sigh, weaving us closer, deeper.

Time seemed to stretch and blur, leaving only the intimacy of this moment, the connection we’d fought so hard to reclaim.

His voice trembled as he whispered my name, and I clung to him. 

knowing this was where I was meant to be.

With Matt. 

He loved me, and I loved him.

As we slowly came down from our highs, the room was filled with nothing but the quiet rhythm of our panting breaths and gentle gasps.

Matt’s arms remained wrapped around me, his heartbeat steady against my chest.

I traced soft circles on his skin, savoring the closeness, the warmth, the feeling of him. For a long moment, neither of us spoke, just holding each other. 

Matt’s fingers gently brushed a stray lock of hair from my face as he whispered, “You’re so beautiful, Daphne.”

His voice was soft, filled with awe and tenderness.

He trailed quiet praises against my skin—little murmurs that made my heart flutter.

We lay tangled together beneath the blanket, our legs intertwined, the warmth between us wrapping around like a shield.

His eyes never left mine, full of something raw and real, as if he were memorizing every inch of me.

“I’m so lucky,” he breathed, his hand tracing lazy patterns along my arm.

I smiled, feeling safe and cherished in the quiet intimacy of that moment.

We settled into a comfortable cuddle, his arms wrapped securely around me as I rested my head against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath my ear.

The quiet warmth between us was a balm to all the tangled emotions of the past weeks.

After a moment, I looked up at him, my voice soft but certain. 

“Matt… the next time we see Noah, I want us to tell him. No more secrets.”

He held me tighter for a second, then lifted his head to meet my gaze. “Are you sure?” he asked gently, searching my eyes.

I nodded, a small, confident smile curling my lips. Yeah. I’m ready.”

His expression softened, relief and love mingling in his eyes.

“Okay,” he whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to my forehead.

Another thought stirred in my chest, one I couldn’t ignore anymore. I looked up at him, my fingers lightly tracing patterns along his chest.

“You know… this job’s really helped me,” I said slowly, watching his face.

Matt gave a small smile, brushing my hair back. “Yeah? I mean, the company pays well.”

I lifted my head a little, catching his eyes.

“Mm,” I hummed, then reached up and gently tilted his chin so he’d really look at me.

“Or is it that you pay well?”

His face froze for just a beat—long enough for me to see the truth flicker across it. Then he gave the smallest, most sheepish smile, one corner of his mouth twitching.

“You weren’t supposed to find out about that,” he murmured.

I couldn’t help the smile that tugged at my lips.

“I did,” I whispered. “So why?”

He exhaled, his thumb brushing over the back of my hand.

“No reason,” Matt said with a small shrug, eyes soft. “I just wanted to.”

I stared at him for a moment, overwhelmed by how casually he said it, like it was nothing.

“You didn’t have to do that,” I whispered.

His fingers slid beneath my chin, tilting my face toward his. “Be quiet,” he said gently, almost teasing. “I wanted to.”

I rolled my eyes, smiling despite the lump in my throat.

“Okay… then what about therapy?”

That made him laugh, quiet and warm, the kind of laugh that started in his chest.

“How are you figuring out all my secrets?” he grinned, shaking his head.

“So it was you,” I said, narrowing my eyes playfully.

He nodded, still smiling. “Yeah. That was me, too. I figured if I told you outright, you’d find some reason to turn it down.”

“You were right,” I muttered.

“I know,” he said, brushing his thumb along my cheek. “But I couldn’t stand the thought of you not getting help because of money. Not when I could make it easier.”

I looked at him, eyes soft but slightly scolding. “Matt… you don’t have to keep spending extra money on me.”

He sighed, leaned in closer, and gave me that familiar look—the one that made my stomach flutter.

“Be quiet,” he murmured again, brushing his nose against mine. “I want to. I’m your boyfriend, sweetheart. That’s my job—to take care of you.”

I blinked, heart squeezing in my chest. “…That’s very husband of you,” I whispered, a small smile playing on my lips.

Matt laughed under his breath, his hand settling on my waist.

“Well,” he said, eyes locking with mine, “maybe I’m just getting in some practice.” 

Matt’s grin deepened as he leaned in, capturing my lips in another kiss—this one messier, more eager.

I laughed softly against his mouth, my fingers sliding into his hair as he shifted us, pulling me on top of him.

His hands were everywhere—my waist, my thighs, my back—like he couldn’t get enough, like he’d been starved for this. 

“You drive me crazy, you know that?” he murmured against my skin, kissing down my neck.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” I whispered, breathless as I kissed him again.

His hands slid up dangerously close to my core, just as I was reaching for his—

The door flung open.

Matt and I froze. Mind you, still naked under the covers. 

My head whipped toward the door.

Standing in the doorway.

Mouth hanging open.

Eyes wide.

Noah. 

He yelled.

“What the fuck?”

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[a/n: now we get to the good stuff mwahhahhah! like and reblog! mwah] –ceyana

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[aeyumicore]

between the blades of grass

when sylus, the strongest warrior of the grasslands, chooses you as his mate, you're forced to consummate your union in front of the entire clan.

━ .ᐟ✧ PAIRING: sylus x female reader (afab)

━ ✧.˖ GENRE: smut, porn with very little plot, porn with feelings

━ .ᐟ✧ WORD COUNT: 3.4k

━ ✧.˖ WARNINGS: mdni, explicit sexual content, public sex, voyeurism, outdoor sex, people watching you have sex, missionary, cumming inside, medieval bedding ceremony vibes, NOT continuation off grassland romance (though inspired by it), NOT based off any real world clan, completely made up clan & traditions, implied virgin mc, implied first time sex, use of y/n, dom!sylus, dirty talking sylus, talks of marriage, mating, and some political play.

━ .ᐟ✧ LINKS: ao3 | twitter inspo 1 | twitter inspo 2

━ ✧.˖ A/N: hello! short fic since i was so heavily inspired by the new sylus memory. this is NOT a continuation of ‘grassland romance’ though it is heavily inspired by the overall theme of the memory. i began furiously writing this when they released the trailer oof i was so hooked. inspired by @/yuchanpaws_ quote tweet linked above!

please note that the clan and traditions mentioned in this fic are completely fictional. however the tradition is based loosely off of the “bedding ceremony” that medieval europe used to partake in!

i will NOT be writing fics for the new xavier or raf memories! i may write for zayne but that is up in the air. i only wrote for this one because i was super inspired by the memory and the fan discourse about it on twitter and tumblr <3

this was actually so fun to write. i might find myself writing more bite sized fics like this, that inspire me rather than feel like me forcing myself to finish them :’) unfortunately that probably means less xavier and raf from now on and only zayne & sylus…

THIS IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT. I WILL NEVER POST MY FICS ON OTHER TUMBLR BLOGS. I WILL ONLY POST ON THIS ACCOUNT AND ON AO3.

✦ . ˖ ✧ .ᐟ ˖ nsfw | minors dni | 18+ only | minors dni | nsfw ✦ . ˖ ✧ .ᐟ ˖

“Don’t look at them. Look at me.”

You can hardly hear Sylus through the deafening chants and cheers of the people around you. Never in a million years did you think you’d be caught in this situation. The Mating Rite.

Actually, it was customary for the most esteemed members of your clan to partake in the Mating Rite, those of the Elder Tribunal, the high ranking commanders of the various military societies, really any of the most respected members of the community had to participate in the Rite. To prove their bond with their chosen to the rest of the clan, committing themselves not only to each other, but to the clan. 

But you didn’t fall into any of those criteria. While you were under the strict and often suffocating protection of the clan’s most skilled warriors, for reasons they’d refused to share with you, you weren’t someone of the necessary stature needed to be required to partake in the Rite. 

But Sylus was.

The youngest warrior to be sworn into the clan’s most elite and ruthless military society. The youngest to be considered for a commanding position in the militia, a position he turned down many times. He was the most formidable and respected gladiator of your entire clan, and even that of the opposing clans of the Grasslands. 

There wasn’t a soul in all the Grasslands that didn’t know his name. You either envied him, feared him, or wanted to share a bed with him. Maybe all of the above.

You knew the day would come when Sylus would have to choose a suitable partner, and the thought of it inexplicably sent painful pangs down your very soul. The fear of losing him, when you didn’t even have him, was so utterly heartbreaking, you didn’t know how you’d bear it when the time came.

And yet…Sylus wanted you. He chose you.

You’d never forget the way he sought you out after returning from a mission he told you little of, under the massive acacia you’d often lain under, with the silver haired man in question holding you dearly. How you’d flown into his arms upon seeing his distinct form approaching you, his strong hands gripping your waist as he spun you around, whispering into your ear about how he’d missed you in his time away. 

Or when he threw you over his shoulder, his fingers gripping the underside of your rear, a clear mission in his mind as he traversed the Grasslands to the Elder Tribunal’s square. 

“I need to show them I already have a lover.”

The Elder Tribunal had been pushing Sylus’s hand for years now, wanting to see their most esteemed warrior mated, securing his future progeny to that of the clan. He’d been able to hold them off for as long as possible, his responsibility as a warrior and as your key protector keeping him far too busy to find a suitable mate. 

You weren’t exactly sure what changed, what exactly had caused Sylus’s hand to be forced. What had caused him to finally give in, choosing a partner to share the rest of his life with. 

In any case, you found yourself under Sylus’s very naked body, his thick erection nestled firmly inside your quivering walls. He was naked from the waist down, but still wore the traditional garb of the warrior ensemble’s chest harness, the bone embellishments rattling against the coarse leather. There were countless eyes around you, watching the way Sylus slid in and out of you, his eyes never leaving yours. 

Sylus did his best to use his much larger body to shield yours from the hungry stares surrounding you, wanting to take away even the tiniest bit of your obvious discomfort. You were entirely naked, as was required of women partaking in the Rite, bare and vulnerable before the many spectators. And while the thought of showing off your magnificent naked body off to others excited Sylus, as he knew that it was a sight others could behold but never have like he could, he wanted to make you as comfortable as possible. 

The warm air breezed against your naked body, only a canvas ceiling protecting you from the elements. It was a tent of sorts, without any walls, to give the crowd the best view of the Mating Rite. Of you and Sylus. 

Even though the air is warm, the, almost muggy, Grassland breeze against your bare skin makes you shiver.

“I’m sorry,” he grits, his jaw slack as you sucked him in so tightly, trying to focus on comforting you and not the way you nearly choked the orgasm out of him, “I’m sorry. I never wanted our first time…to be like this.”

His words make your mind sober up, your eyes focusing on his and not those around you. He used his thick thumb to rub the tears out of the corner of your eyes.

“It’s’okay Sylus,” you gasp, the pain of his thick cock making it difficult to speak, “I-I’m’okay.”

Sylus grimaces, hearing the choke of discomfort in your soft voice. The way your cunt felt around him was so completely and wholly blissful, and he’d be damned if he didn’t make you feel as good as you made him feel.

“Just focus on me, alright my dove?” he murmurs, his voice gruff with desire. As he continues to rock into you, unbearably gently and loving, he leans down until his lips are a mere inch from yours. 

“Let me take the pain away, hm?”

He presses his lips to yours, inhaling your gasp as he kisses you for the first time. You’d daydreamed about the way his lips would feel on yours, when you watched him train with his fellow warriors, when you’d wash fresh fruit in the brook by the clearing, when he’d watch over you, protecting you from a danger that everyone refused to tell you the truth of.

But your silly little daydreams paled in comparison to the real thing. Nothing could have prepared you for how warm and commanding his lips would be when they took yours. How his tongue, gentle yet insistent as they traced the opening of your mouth, would slip into your mouth, exploring you like he owned you. 

You never could have imagined the way he’d literally take your breath away, kissing you like he’d been waiting just as long to taste you, to have you.

It’s so wonderfully dizzying that you don’t even notice the pain of his member inside you ebbing into a burning pleasure. You don’t notice the way people holler when Sylus kisses you, the way they cheer at the scene unfolding before them. 

You squeak, a mix of a moan and a squeal when Sylus pushes so deeply into you that you briefly see warm white stars clouding your vision. Sylus groans, ripping his lips from yours to breathe out a throaty moan of pained pleasure.

“Not so tight,” he all but seethes at you. You wince at his harsh tone, doing your best to relax your squirming muscles and obey his words. Sylus instantly softens at your reaction, his hand coming up to caress your cheek.

“You’re so tight down here, sweetheart,” he grits, fingers coming down to press on your bare tummy, “It’s making it difficult for me to…control myself.”

“I-Is that…” you whimper, confused by the way he’s making your body burn with an unfamiliar pleasure, “Ngh – bad?”

Sylus chuckles, despite the tortured plea that shines in his carmine eyes, “Bad? Far from it…You feel unbelievable.”

Your heart clenches at his praises, cheeks heating at the sounds his body makes against yours. Flushed at the way people are watching Sylus claim every inch of you, your virtue. 

He continues, stroking your cheek gently, pleadingly, “But it would be embarrassing if you made me…end the Rite so quickly. In front of all these people.”

The implications of his words dawn on you and your eyes widen in a mix of surprise and disbelief. He doesn’t stop his movements even as he explains himself to you, your nails digging into his thick biceps that cage you, blocking your modesty from the spectators.

“I have an image to uphold, after all,” he smirks only half-joking, a well deserved arrogant confidence playing behind his beautiful features, “Only you would make it so difficult for me, little bird.”

“M’not trying to Sy –” you choke out, looking down and trying to focus on the way his impossible girth splits you open, and not the jeering of the crowd. You’re briefly hypnotized by the shiny ring of something filthy that encircles his base, the way his abdomen clenches with every movement he makes. 

You’re snapped out of your trance at the distinct and familiar voices, some distance behind your head. You’re acutely reminded of just how exposed you are, your thighs trying to clench shut on instinct. But Sylus’s body holds them open, his fingers gripping your chin to bring your face back to his.

“Don’t worry about them.”

“I-I just –” you whine, not even knowing what you want to say, unable to stop your eyes from darting around. You squirm when you make eye contact with the hungry eyes around you, recoiling into yourself.

“I can tell you exactly what each and every one of them are thinking,” Sylus purrs into your ear as he leans down to press his weight deliciously onto you, which only earns more hooping and hollering from the crowd, “They’re thinking about what it would be like…to be in my place.”

Sylus smirks when you shiver at his lewd words, his filthy whisperings making you inexplicably and embarrassingly excited. His voice is impossibly heated, a dangerous ferality behind them, “Thinking about what it would be like to be the one inside of you right now.”

You whine at his words, hitting his shoulder weakly, “Sylus d-don’t say that. I only want to think about you.”

Sylus groans, a beautifully deep and erotic moan of satisfaction, “Damn right. You are mine.”

He continues on, so lost in the feeling of your tight wet walls that he begins to ramble uncharacteristically, “I’m sorry, my love. I will make it up to you.”

Before you can even ask for what, Sylus is driving right back into your deepest parts, making your toes curl as you squeal unabashedly, not even registering how people cheer at the way you he fucks you.

He whispers, not paying any mind to the way people applaud the way Sylus makes your body keen, encouraging him to take you harder, “After this, little bird, I’ll show you just how good I can make you feel. Just you and me. I promise.”

As inexperienced as you were, you knew the way Sylus fucked you was otherwordly. His thrusts, both dominating and tender, his hands gentle as they squeeze your breasts, his lips as they caress yours. The way he so quickly blurred the pain to a blinding pleasure, you knew Sylus knew exactly how to use his body. 

Beyond that, you knew Sylus was well acquainted with the female body. The way he fucked you was unreal, quite literally making magic with your joined bodies. The pain had faded away, replaced with an ecstasy that nearly blocked everything else out.

Nearly.

As the whooping gets louder, Sylus only fucks you harder, trying to distract you from the crowd around you, “It’s just you and me, sweeheart.”

Despite Sylus’s comforting words, he himself was still profoundly aware of the eyes on your joined bodies. But it only served to excite him, make him harder. The way all eyes were on you, the beautiful woman he’d chosen for himself, his mate. Something they could stare at but never indulge in. It drove him insane. 

You nod, losing yourself as Sylus’s rhythmic pounding makes your nerves burn with pleasure, in a way that makes you confused and alarmed. You felt lightheaded, the pressure in your stomach overwhelming. It felt like you were losing control of your body, like you might have an accident all over him. 

“Sy-Sylus, I think something’s – nghn – happening!” you wail, “I think maybe we should – ahngh – stop.”

Sylus groans, acutely aware, even if you aren’t, that you’re nearing your very first orgasm. You squeeze him so tightly that he can’t help but meet you at the peak of that blinding pleasure.

“Let it happen, Y/N,” he soothes, trying to mask the fact that he’s about to lose his own mind from how perfectly you’re clamping down on his cock, “You’re close aren’t you?”

Your eyes widen at the realization of what this sensation is, having heard stories from the other women in the clan, almost scared of how explosive you know it’s going to be. Your fingers furiously grapple at the thick ropes of muscles on his back, scratching deep red welts into him. 

“Cum for me in front of all these people, my dove,” he coos, almost condescendingly, “Let’s show them exactly who you belong to now, hm?”

His words drip with absolute filth and it only makes the tension grow tauter, almost like a balloon being stretched to its limits before it pops. You don’t even notice when Sylus’s large hands find  the area where your bodies meet. 

Your eyes, screwed shut at the new sensations of mind and bodily bliss, fly open when he touches your most sensitive parts, rubbing furiously at the crest of your lips. The feeling is so overwhelming your back arches off the thick mat of straw and blankets that you rest on, chasing the sharp pleasure that his fingers bring onto your intimate regions.

“So responsive,” Sylus murmurs gruffly, “Just like that, my heart. Let yourself feel it, hm? For me.”

You’re honestly at a loss at how Sylus can speak to you coherently right now, if he feels even a fraction of the ecstasy he’s bestowing upon your body. 

As your eyes roll back, your mouth parted in a symphony of the most beautiful moans and whimpers, Sylus feels himself being pushed to release. The sharp claps of applause are muted as his ears ring with the overwhelming pressure of how badly his cock wants to release inside you.

For the first time, Sylus stutters, “I-I need to cum inside you. I’m sorry, my love.”

The Mating Rite required the participating parties to unify in the most intimate ways possible, and that included the sharing of essences. And the idea of that…as new as you were to the pleasures of skinship, drove you to madness.

The thought of him filling you so deeply with him, all of him. You couldn’t explain it but you wanted it more than anything you’d ever wished for.

You can’t stop yourself from begging pathetically, “I-I want it. I want you Sy. Please.”

Your voice is practically drowned out by the intensifying cheers of the crowd, but Sylus hears your pleas loud and clear. In fact it’s the only thing he can hear, his brain drowning out anything that wasn’t you.

“Do you?” Sylus smirks, trying to maintain control despite how royally fucked your words rendered him, “So filthy for such an innocent little bird.”

“Then you’d better take it all, my love.”

With frenzied fingers, Sylus sends you careening down the unfamiliar ledge of orgasmic bliss. His thrusts grow increasingly frantic, your cunt convulsing so violently that Sylus nearly wants to black out. You were so unbearably tight that his climax was forced out of him, the warm splash of milky hot seed coating every centimeter of your perfect little hole. 

As he spews into you, he feverishly takes your lips into his, desperate to taste you as his body gave you every ounce of himself. His tongue furiously finds yours, a fierce gnashing of teeth, flesh, and raw unadulterated passion. Your entire body vibrates as he moans into you, his body rocking both of you through a transcendent euphoria that will undoubtedly change your life forever. 

Neither of you can even hear the screams or the toast of applause that erupts all around you, clan members quite literally celebrating at the union of their most prized warrior. 

Sylus doesn’t still, biting the inside of his mouth as he ruts himself into a painful overstimulation. Yet, he can’t get enough of you, not wanting to pull out and be without your warmth, without you.

“The rite has been completed!”

As your body begins to come down from its dizzying heights, your senses start to return, your consciousness becoming vaguely aware of people crowding closer. 

One of the clan elders saunters over, wanting to congratulate Sylus, parade him around like a prize the clan had secured for themselves. Sylus’s body blocks his as he approaches, his head snapping back forcefully when he feels an unwanted presence encroaching on your space, intruding on his brief moment of bliss with you. 

“Sy?” you murmur wearily, your body drained of every last drop of energy, replacing your body with a heavy contentment that weighed you down. 

Sylus doesn’t respond, snapping something at the clan elder, and the other important clan members that had begun to slowly approach. Though you couldn’t hear what he said, you can make out his snarky and forceful tone, a tone you’d never heard him take, especially not with you. It was filled with an authority that would normally never be taken with those of the Elder Tribunal. 

But of course, he was Sylus.

Just like that, everyone is clearing out of the small meadow in which the Rite had taken place, heading back to the central square of the Grassland. The serenity left behind blankets you and Sylus, as he returns his attention back to you.

His manhood is still snug inside you, thick and throbbing again despite the copious amounts of slick dripping from where he still plugs you. Your legs are lazily clung to his sides, his thick body slotted between your shaking thighs. 

“Hey…” he murmurs, brushing your sweaty hair out of your face. 

Your eyes flutter open, twinkling when they catch the way Sylus drinks you in. His lips are quirked in a smirk, a classic display of Sylus-esque arrogance, but his crimson eyes are so tender, the sharp lines of his face softened. 

“Thank you,” he murmurs, brushing his lips against your clammy forehead, wrapping his arms behind your back and cradling you in his arms. He hoists you onto his lap, your legs coming to wrap around his waist, his erection still nestled into your sore walls. 

“For what?” you whisper, resting your head on his chest, trying to control the shivers that rack your body involuntarily.

“For doing this. For me.”

You glance up at him, unsure of what to say. You hardly felt like you did him a favor, between the indescribable pleasure he’d just given you and the feelings for him you’d buried deep down. 

“You don’t need to thank me,” you whisper, suddenly feeling more exposed than ever, even though the two of you finally had some privacy. 

Sylus doesn’t speak, holding you dearly as he gazes off into the flat plains of the Grassland, a few large acacia trees littered in the open fields. 

“It was…incredible,” you admit, “You’re incredible.”

Sylus looks down at you, the usual cockiness and arrogance faded, letting you really see into the soft and warm soul of the Grassland’s most revered warrior.

He bends down to kiss you, his lips impossibly soft and patient as opposed to the violent way he’d kissed you earlier. Every touch is a caress, every second precious and fleeting. 

Sylus bites back his groan as he feels himself stirring back to life inside you. He tries to focus instead on how it feels to hold you, to have you. 

He fully intended to make good on his earlier promise, showing you just how thoroughly he could love you. But for now, he just wanted to feel your lips on his, your skin against his. The way he’d always wanted. The way he’d always intended. 

A warm gust of wind sweeps through the meadow, making the foliage dance lazily. For over two decades, you’d lived between these very same blades of grass. Yet as you kissed Sylus, the Grassland had never felt quite so alive.

© aeyumicore 2024.

.ᐟ✧ THIS IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT. I WILL ONLY POST ON THIS ACCOUNT AND AO3. i am not @/aeyumicores or @/aeyumiicore or any variations of my blog name.

✧.˖ i do not permit translations or reposts of my work on tumblr, ao3, or others. please do not reuse my blogpost headers, dividers, or layouts. these are original designs of my own.

[pleasantlycrazyworld]

Summary: Bob doesn’t do well with compliments—especially not when they come casually, softly, sincerely, from you.

It started so innocently.

You were both in the Tower’s kitchen late at night, the rest of the team long gone, off doing their own thing or passed out in their rooms, the room quiet except for the low hum of the refrigerator and the soft clink of Bob’s spoon as he stirred honey into his tea. The light above the stove was the only one on, casting him in this dim, golden glow that made him look soft, and safe, and—

“Fuck, you are so pretty,” you murmured, not even really meaning to say it out loud. Honestly, you thought you said it in your head.

Bob froze mid-stir. His hand stopped moving, his shoulders tense, and his head turned toward you just slightly—like a deer caught in a compliment. “…What?”

You looked up from your mug, confused for a second—until you realized shit I said that out loud. “You’re pretty, like so pretty” you repeated, gently, smiling with a slight eye roll like it wasn’t a big deal. Because to you, it wasn’t. Not in the way it should have been. But Bob? He looked at you like you had just gave him the moon.

“I—” he stammered, feeling his heart rate spike and his palms getting sweat, he doesn't realize the spoon slipped from his grip until a slight clink echoed between the two of you as the spoon fell into the mug. “You think—me?”

“Who else would I be talking to? It's just you here honey” you asked, leaning against the counter. “You’re literally glowing right now. I feel like I need to be paying someone just to stand next to you.”

He blinked. Blinked again. And then backed up two whole steps like he couldn't breathe the same air as you. “You can’t just say that” he whispered, like it was scandalous. “That I mean -- that's just dangerous.”

“Dangerous?” you laughed. “It’s a compliment, Bob.”

“No, it’s a threat to my emotional stability. Do you know what you’ve done? Do you understand how fast my brain is spiraling right now?” He ran a hand through his already-messy hair, only making it worse. “My entire internal monologue is just screaming, ‘She called me pretty, act normal, don’t faint, don’t cry, don’t propose—’”

You nearly choked on your tea. “Propose?”

He clapped his hand over his mouth like he’d just revealed state secrets. “Forget I said that” he muttered into his palm before waving his hand around as he rambles. “Strike it from the record. Rewind time. Go back thirty seconds before I embarrassed myself into a new dimension.”

“Bob.” You stepped forward and gently tugged his hand away from his mouth. “I meant it. You’re pretty. Not just during your glow-in-the-dark god-mode or whatever. You’ve got those kind, beautiful blue eyes, and a warm smile, and your hair does that floppy thing when it’s humid—”

“I hate the floppy thing,” he whispered. “I love the floppy thing,” you corrected, and watched as his cheeks turned a deep, unmistakable red. “You’re gonna kill me with your sweetness,” he muttered, looking down at the floor like it had better answers than you did.

You leaned in closer, nose nearly brushing his, making him look back at you. “Then I guess I’ll have to revive you with kisses.” That earned you a stunned blink, a sputtered half-laugh, and then a wide, dorky smile that split his entire face open like sunlight escaping through clouds.

“…Okay,” he said breathlessly. “But fair warning. You call me pretty again and I’m legally required to build you a shrine.” You grinned and blush slightly. “Noted.”

As always if you like my work, please let me know! Reblogging, commenting, and liking are huge and easy ways to let me know you're enjoying my work, and it keeps me motivated to post way more!!! Requests are open <3

Tagging:

@msfirth

@my-name-is-baby

@metalarmsandmanbuns

@live-love-be-unique

@disillusioniary

@you-bloody-shank

@sarcazzzum

@itsjustisa

@qardasngan

[hellyeahscarleteen]

"Fat folks have unique needs when it comes to body care and we often aren’t ever taught what those needs are. Because we have been taught to be ashamed of our bodies and view them as a punishment because we look the way that we do, we are often even discouraged from learning the proper techniques required to care for ourselves.

This guide is here to help fix that! It’s here to walk you through some of the starting steps I -- writer Sarah Biette --- took for myself that revolutionized the way I cared for my fat body, especially my skin. I’ll also talk about some of the stereotypes and judgements I had to work through while going on this journey. While I discuss my own experiences a bit in this article, I hope that you can see it as a jumping-off point to start your own relationship⁠ with caring for your body. The list of tips and tricks I have below is not at all exhaustive, and I would love to hear what methods have worked for you over the years!"

Check it out the rest of this amazing new piece here!

[fxrheisenn]

Andrus Laansalu talked about making Disco Elysium at EKA (Estonian Academy of Arts)

"Initially, the church wasn't a focal point. There were certain characters that needed to visit this location, and I asked, "Seriously, what do we have in our church?" The others replied, "Nothing at all. Our church is completely bare—just a wheel, really. It's quite basic."

That's when I decided to unleash my creativity in the design. For example, they chose to install a glass structure at the top of the church to create a reflective surface. It was like placing an optical clock up there. Therefore, one of the most crucial aspects of designing the church was ensuring the lighting was just right to create the desired atmosphere."

"Let me show you an example of Baroque architecture, which is rich in detail. We're also designing the interior of the church based on large cathedrals. However, the foundation you use might not yield the expected results, because the church itself doesn't require such intricate details. Sometimes, it's about simplifying the design."

"I used Articy for the initial scriptwriting of Disco Elysium. The image only represents a tiny fraction of the text and choice variables involved. This system was also the reason I eventually abandoned the project after a year of outlining the script and shifted my focus to becoming a sound designer. My mind struggled to keep up with the dynamic graphic rules, but fortunately, a more talented writer took over afterward."

"In terms of sound design, it's essential to develop different layers to bring out the charm of the church as a cohesive space. Although this represents only a small portion of the overall design, each layer actually requires a significant amount of time to compose the whole....... Whenever there's a shift or a change due to the dialogue itself, you need to adjust the background sounds. Each time you modify the details in the dialogue, I have to refine the background audio, ensuring that these elements build upon each other like an intricate layer of work."

"It's funny how many scenes involve characters getting smacked in the face. My job was to recreate those, so I locked myself in the bathroom with a recorder and hit my forehead until it turned red.

As a sound designer, I really dig those unsettling, drill-like sounds. So, I mixed in creepy lectures, metal scraping, moans, and cries of pain—because I just love that stuff! (laughs)

Players will be moving through all kinds of areas, so it's super important to make the sound transitions feel natural, trying to create a more immersive vibe in certain spaces.

With all the scenes featuring big cranes, you can hear them from far away, and I wanted to capture that eerie ringing in your ears. That's going to be a thing throughout most of the game. I've found ways to really mess with players while they're playing!"

"I've come across a lot of old objects (like phones and radios) that I needed to perfectly replicate the sounds. I started to become a bit of a hoarder, buying up different models of old phones whenever I found one to add to my collection. The sound effects I can simulate from them are really impressive."

"Some of the devices don't actually exist in real life—just a mix of architecture and tech. When I need to create sound effects, I first look for something similar that exists in our world, then I try to simulate what the sound and appearance of that thing might have been like a century ago.

Towards the end of the game, there's a character carrying a fuel canister. We needed the sound of the canister, so we dug one up from our garage—it had been sitting there since it was five! I realized this would make the sound perfect. So, it had been there for 50 years, and after 40 years, it finally found its purpose.

In some places, I needed unique sound waves, and recreating them was a real headache until one day I happened to walk by a swimming pool and stumbled upon an old wartime torpedo. You can rotate the torpedo's probe, and it slowly rises up, like a proud zombie head. The sounds it made were exactly what I needed!"

🙋How did you manage to get funding?

"Well, since we're in Estonia, you just need to know a wealthy person. You don't need five people—just two who can network, hang out together, and convince them to keep investing! (laughs) Back then, we constantly ran out of money and would tell them, 'Oops, looks like we spent it all! Can you invest a bit more?' That's how we made it through!"

🙋How did you all come together to make the game?

"Luck. It usually doesn't happen this way, and that's the key difference. It has to be. If not, you couldn't create a game of this scale - well, I mean in terms of budget. But creatively, Estonia definitely has writers and artists who can pull it off. With such a small population, there are a lot of quirky folks who are good friends. We were really lucky, though - lots of fortunate circumstances came together. It brought the right people together, allowing those talented fools to collaborate with us. They had experience but hadn't tackled projects of this magnitude before. So yeah, luck is pretty important!"

Lecture experience shared by 白兔YIYANG SUN on 小红书, reposted & translated by me with her permission.

[kiwisoap]

How to Make Your Own Binder that Fits Well and Looks Good

A while back I was in need of some new binders and thought hey, I bet I can make one way cheaper than buying it from somewhere (especially cus some of the ones I’ve bought in the past didn’t really fit right). Except when I started looking for a binder patterns online, I was very surprised that I really… couldn’t find many that looked very nice lol. Most of them had really wrinkled necklines, or didn't bind well, or just overall looked weird. A lot of the patterns also required a serger, which I don't have.

So I just said fuck it and made my own pattern! And it ended up being relatively easy! And the binders fit REALLY WELL and are comfortable to wear, even for long periods. The neckline doesn't show under shirts with loose collars, and the bottom hem doesn't gap or stick out. Here's me wearing one:

(plus I was able to make myself 5 of them for a total of like ~$50.)

So I figured I could throw together a guide to help out anyone else who wanted to make their own binder but was dissatisfied with the patterns available!

Disclaimer: This tutorial is going to assume a baseline level of sewing experience, and also will require access to a sewing machine. It is not a complicated pattern, but it will most likely require some tweaking and adjustments after you make the first one. Don’t be afraid to make alterations to make it fit better!

This tutorial is for a gc2b-style half-tank binder. It could be altered to be a full-tank binder, but all instructions will be for the half-tank design.

Materials needed:

Stretchy fabric, probably listed as 'athletic fabric' (I use this kind from Joann’s. Most athletic stretch fabrics should work, look for around 80% nylon/20% spandex blends)

Stiff fabric (I use this shirting cotton because I like how lightweight it is. If you want something a little stiffer with more structure, you can use a cotton or cotton/poly blend twill like this. gc2b binders use twill for theirs.)

Lightweight fusible interfacing (I use this kind) (get FUSIBLE not sew-in)

Fusible webbing like Pellon Wonder-Web (this is technically optional but it WILL make your life easier when you’re sewing - just make sure to get the kind with the paper backing!!!)

“But kiwisoap thats 4 whole kinds of materials, surely I don’t need that many!” Ok sure, you can probably get by without the fusible web and interfacing, but consider: they are both dirt cheap (im talking like $1-2/yard), they will make it much easier to sew the final product, and will give you an overall better-looking result. This tutorial is written with the assumption that you’ll use them.

"How much fabric will I need?" Measure the circumference of your chest below your armpits. Add 6 inches just to be safe. This is the yardage of stretch fabric you’ll need, and should give you enough material to make at least 3 binders without much excess left over. You will need around half as much stiff fabric.

Other supplies:

Big Paper (for drawing the pattern)

Flexible measuring tape

Sewing machine

Iron

Pins

Step 1: Measuring

You will need 4 main measurements for this pattern.

A) Measure the circumference of your chest just below your armpits, then divide the number in half. This will be the widest part of the pattern.

B) Measure from the top of your shoulder down to where you want the binder to end. For most folks, this will usually be around the natural waist (narrowest part of the torso), about 3-6 inches above the belly button. This will be the overall height of the pattern.

C) Measure the distance from below your armpit to where you want the binder to end. This will determine where the arm hole starts.

D) Measure the circumference of your waist where you want the binder to end, then divide the number in half.

So for example, after dividing A and D in half, my measurements are 17", 15", 7", and 14.5".

Next:

Subtract one inch from measurement A - This will help provide some compression. You might need to take it in even further depending on how it fits, but one inch is a safe starting point. I take mine in around 1.5 inches.

Subtract half an inch from measurement D. This will help prevent the bottom edge of the binder from gapping. Again, you may need to take it in more or less, depending on your own body.

Add 1.5 inches to measurement B and one inch to measurement C. This is to account for the hems and armhole placement.

This makes my final measurements

A = 16"

B = 16.5"

C = 8"

D = 13.5"

From here on out, we are only going to be working with the measurements that we have added/subtracted to, NOT the ones we initially took.

Step 2: Drawing the Pattern

You will need a piece of paper large enough to accommodate the entire pattern. This may involve taping multiple pieces together, or using a piece of newsprint, etc.

I recommend folding the paper in half to ensure that you get a symmetrical pattern. However, this means you will need to divide measurements A and D in half again, or else you’ll end up with a pattern that’s twice as wide as it should be!

Also note: the pattern is drawn with the seam allowance built in! You don’t need to add any seam allowance.

To draw the pattern:

Begin with your folded paper. Measure and mark B and C on the paper, and draw a line extending across the paper. These will be your guidelines.

Measure and mark A and D along the middle and bottom guidelines, respectively. Remember, the paper is folded, so you only use half of the measurement for A and D.

Draw a loose curve connecting the endpoints of A and D. If needed, you can also just draw a straight line between the two.

Mark the opening for the neck hole. Depending on your size, it will measure around 6-8 inches across at the top (remember to divide this in half for the folded paper) and about 5-6.5 inches deep. (mine is 6.5" across and 5.5" deep) Draw a curve to connect the two points. This part will take some tweaking and adjusting to get it to look right lol.

Measure the width of the strap - this should be somewhere between 2.5 - 4 inches wide. They will end up about 1/2” to 3/4” narrower once you sew them. Draw the line at a slight angle, as shown.

Connect the endpoint of the strap to the endpoint of line A with a curve like in the diagram.

This will be the pattern for the front piece.

To make the back piece, trace the front pattern, but make a very shallow curve for the neckline instead of a steep one, as shown:

The last piece is the stiff front panel. This is what provides the flattening effect of the binder. To make the pattern, trace the front pattern again. Trim 3/8” in on the sleeves and neckline, and 3/4” to 1” along the bottom. This gives a flatter hem. Then trim the straps shorter by a few inches. This helps the binder lay flatter along the shoulders.

When you're done, you should have 3 pattern pieces that look approximately like this (stiff panel shown overlaid on the stretch fabric to show how it fits together).

NOTE: If you want more compression or just want to make it a bit sturdier, you can add a second panel of stretch fabric to the back piece. Just use the bottom half of the back pattern (from the widest part down to the bottom hem) to cut out another piece of stretch fabric. Attach it to the back piece with a strip of fusible webbing and a zig-zag stitch along the top.

Step 3: Putting It All Together

Once you’ve made the patterns and cut out the pieces of fabric, you should have something that looks like this:

The next step is adding interfacing and fusible webbing. Use your pattern to cut out 3/8" strips to fit on the top of the straps for both pieces, and to the neckline, sleeves, and bottom hem of the back piece, as shown:

If you want to add it to the bottom hem of the front piece, it will help keep that hem flat when sewing it down later, but it's not essential.

If you choose to also use fusible webbing (WHICH I RECOMMEND), you will apply it to the stiff front panel similarly to how the interfacing was applied, ~3/8” strips along the neckline, sleeves, and top of the straps. Cut out two strips for the neckline and sleeves, because we'll use those later too.

Iron the strips onto the front panel as shown:

Once it's on, just peel off the paper, position it webbing-side down on the stretch fabric, and iron it to fuse the two pieces together so everything stays in place while you sew. THIS MAKES IT WAY EASIER TO SEW.

After the stiff front panel is fused to the stretch fabric, you’ll sew the straps of the front and back pieces together, then join the pieces along the sides. Pin the hell out of it to keep everything in place -this type of material is VERY prone to puckering.

When sewing, USE A ZIGZAG STITCH. A straight stitch will NOT WORK for stretch fabric. I adjust mine to 1.3mm long and 3.5mm wide which has worked well. If your machine doesn’t let you adjust stitch length or width, well. That sucks, I don’t really have any advice.

After you sew the front and back pieces together, you can add more fusible webbing to the front panel to help hold the hem down flat and prevent it from puckering while you sew it. Just add the strip, peel the paper off, then fold the hem over and iron it down. This part isn’t really necessary, but it does make the hems look nicer. If nothing else, I would recommend adding it to the neckline.

After that, you just fold & pin all the hems and sew them up with a zigzag stitch, then go over the raw edge at the top of the stiff panel (where we cut the straps shorter).

And that’s it! You’re done! And now you can make your own binders whenever you want!

And hey! If you used this tutorial and wanna throw me a dollar or two on ko-fi, I wouldn't complain.

[dduane]

Hello Ms. Duane I hope you're doing okay today.

This is a very personal ask and if it's too much and you need to ignore it I totally understand!

I was just wondering how you are managing to stay so strong and positive after what happened.

My partner and I are in our 40s and neither of us are the healthiest people and I am so very afraid of losing him one day. Sometimes, in private, I cry just thinking about it. I can't see a future in which I could go on if he died first.

But you manage to continue even after your terrible loss. You travel and write and continue to experience joys in life. Do you have any thoughts or advice on how to be ready for this future? How to survive the grief?

I hope I am not overstepping my boundaries. I have no one I could talk to about his, and your current strength amazes me.

First of all: thanks for the kind words. They're very, very appreciated.

Secondly: Everything that follows is intensely situational, and everybody else's mileage will inevitably vary. (So what else is new?)

(Adding a cut here, as I'm still ambivalent about how to handle these issues "on main". Warning: contains discussion of pre- and post-bereavement issues, the loss of longtime spouses, mental-health travel, and turning into trees.)

...Anyway. How am I managing?

Frankly, damned if I know.

In my case, I'm really not sure it's attributable to strength, as such. (Though, yeah, one learns some of that over time, if one's not afraid to expose oneself to life. Which, admittedly, is a way bigger ask these days, it seems to me, than it used to be.)

Some of it is mere habit, intertwined with unavoidable responsibility. There are things that my daily life requires me to do that can't be evaded, or not for long: and habit keeps me pushing through those. (And some of them are so fecking mundane. Keeping the online store running, doing the damn dishes, dealing with web issues [right now I'm having a deeply frustrating discussion with Peter's website about under-the-hood memory issues: a discussion that I wish I could just end with a polearm of some kind]...) This is the "This Gets Me So Damn Pissy" side of being a grownup. ...With the inevitable side question: when the hell did I grow up? Is this it? Because this bit of it is really annoying me right now.

Some of it is sheer bloody-minded stubbornness (with a side of You can't give up on dealing with this. He wouldn't like that. And also, You have to keep on surviving this to the point where you get past the worst of the pain: because you know that point will come if it's just given enough time... and he would not want the last thing he did to have caused you so much pain that you gave up).

...Is any of this making sense? God only knows. Please excuse all unnecessary parentheses.

And also: Some of this is the simple realization that it would not be either desirable or healthy to give up, or set aside, even temporarily, the whole spectrum of individuated, nothing-to-do-with-him things that have made me, and continue to make me, me... some of which were plainly (to my then and continuing delight) what got that guy to marry me in the first place.

Peter had only disapproval for the concept of suttee. But not merely because of that, I refuse to burn myself away on his pyre (or to allow my own carelessness about my physical and/or mental states to let that happen). It would serve no useful purpose, would inevitably cause pain to a lot of other people... and in any case, he would just really not approve.

Admittedly, I'm feeling kinda scorched around the edges right now. But give it time enough, and scorching can heal.

(sighing) Let me back away briefly from that whole set of issues, to look a little at the background. Whenever this subject has come up for discussion between us over the years, P. and I have been of more or less instantaneous agreement that we'd both deeply prefer, when the day and hour rolled around, to be turned simultaneously into trees. 😏 Neither of us was ever wild about the other one surviving alone and having to deal with the partner's loss. Yet—barring the chance of dying together in some natural disaster, or in a train or plane crash or something (which is frankly kind of hard on all the other people on the plane or train)—we knew damn well that eventually, whatever our preferences, that was what was most likely going to happen.

So we talked about it. We made some (as it now turns out, fairly rudimentary) plans. Some of them are turning out to be useful. Some of them are less so (in that some of them depended on assumptions about which of us would be likelier to go first). But the important thing was that we jointly acknowledged that one-of-us-goes-first was the likeliest outcome.

And nothing is served by trying to pretend that it's not likely to happen, or by failing to acknowledge and discuss it with your partner. This is hard to say, and will doubtless be hard to hear. But I promise you that all of this would have been endlessly worse for me (or for him, if I'd gone first) if we hadn't even been willing to get as far as the acknowledgement: which is vital.

One who commits to a real-world, long-term partnership must sooner or later be willing to commit to the difficult truth that it will someday end. Denial doesn't help at all. The physical universe has all kinds of seriously annoying ways to deal with that. (And if this sounds kinda stern, please understand that it's mostly myself I'm being stern with here.) ...But if you're already experiencing distress over the eventual possibility of something at this level of inevitability happening (she said, briefly putting her psych-nurse hat on*), I think you might be wise to consider how to broach the subject with your partner sooner rather than later. If you need professional assistance with this, do what you can to seek it out.

But make some kind of plan for the time when two become one (in the probably least-delightful sense of the phrase). It doesn't have to happen all at once. You don't have to spend hours over the business, or days. Peter and I handled this issue (most recently, and not with an eye to any illness...) over a matter of months, in brief conversations that sometimes lasted only minutes at a time, or even seconds. (Hilariously, it was P. finally getting his senior citizen's unlimited-public-transport pass that triggered us most recently getting into this issue in any depth.) But having done so—even in rudimentary form—each of us could rest a little easier that the other knew where to quickly reach for the already-emplaced "lifesaver," and wouldn't have to be thrashing around in the deep water all alone with no immediate help in sight.

(sighing) ...So. As to feeling joy about things? I suspect I'm a good ways off that yet. Flashes of amusement and happiness (and also of extremely black humor, possibly rather blacker than usual) have been coming and going as usual. But then the "happiness" thing is kind of unavoidable for me, because in this regard I am a very cheap date, and always have been. I mean, anybody who looks at my shitposting here should be able to detect that. :)

Meanwhile, as for travel: There's definitely a therapeutic side to this. Right up until his last day, P. and I had stacks and stacks of plans for places we wanted to go in the short- to long-term: some of them ones we'd been to before, some not. I find (not entirely to my surprise, but with satisfaction that it works) that there's currently some relief available for me in carrying out these plans, even though P's not with me except in "Shoulder Angel" mode. What I mean by this is: me traveling and seeing new and interesting things, and predicting—I like to think with some accuracy, after forty years of observing and interacting with the man—what Peter would generally make of them. So that practice will continue, when I can afford it and can spare the time away from home. (Those who want to contribute to these efforts are cordially invited to go over to the Ko-Fi and drop in whatever they please with the tag "Operation Shoulder Angel," so I know what it's about. And thanks in advance to any who feel inclined to do this.)

Additionally, in terms of the general suggestion some have made, that I should "Get out of the house and go be with your Tribe when you can", at the end of the month it seems I'll be at Archipelacon 2, on an island I didn't even know existed until some weeks back, and had to Google for. That should be interesting! Detailed reports will follow.

As for continuing to write: that won't stop until it's my turn to stop breathing, if I have anything to say about it. Casual writing, like this, is enough of a daily commonplace that it's in no danger, I think, of being interrupted. Meanwhile, I look forward to being able to settle back into actual prose work as soon as possible, as things are kinda backed up at that end. If I have to travel to do that because it's difficult to do at home... well, I've done that before, and often. If I must, I'll do it again. Some of my best writing has happened in holiday flats and hotel rooms.

Anyway: thanks much for the question, which took courage to ask! I honor that. And as for you: hang in there and do what you can for your own situation... though (obviously) at your own speed. I can tell you for sure that action on this issue will help, at least a little, over time, to kill some of the fear... and will help you prepare for the unexpected.

HTH. ❤️

*Even though we didn't wear caps. When I was still practicing, we worked in street clothes. Just as well, as I always looked like a dork in a cap.

[drchucktingle]

THE TEXAS LIBRARY ASSOCIATION HAVE ISSUED AN APOLOGY AND A RE-INVITATION. HERE IS MY STATEMENT

hello buckaroos. the TEXAS LIBRARY ASSOCIATION have issued a formal statement and apology which you can read at the attached link.

while i find the language used to discuss what was done a little unsatisfying, i would like to start by saying i appreciate anyone taking steps to prove love is real and make things right. the genuine feeling of ‘realizing you have made a mistake and hurt someone else’ is a terrible one, and i have so much empathy for this group as they reckon with their choices causing harm. i appreciate their apology.

i also think more good than bad has come from this situation. i am so thankful this happened to me (someone with a large social media presence) and not a smaller buckaroo author without the means to stand up for themselves. i think the next time someone comes to the TXLA with an accommodation need, they will hopefully be taken more seriously

lets trot down to business about specifics now. the TXLA has re-invited chuck to the original panel and even offered to take a moment at the top of the panel to talk about what happened. this is very kind of them and i will say THANK YOU. 

unfortunately i will also have to decline.

the fact that it took this much effort, social media backlash, and discussion to let me simply EXIST PHYSICALLY in a way that is authentic to myself is not a good sign. if this organization immediately questions an authors chosen presentation in this manner, i cannot imagine what my other accommodations would be met with.

sometimes i am at an event and i very quickly need extra space to breathe. sometimes i am at an event and i need special guides to help me along from place to place. these are not ‘big asks’ and every other conference has gladly provided them, but if the TXLA had this kind of initial reaction to my physical appearance, i cannot imagine them readily helping with my other needs without ‘proof’.

this is clearly not a safe place to trot for those who require additional accommodations. regardless of any apology, their ACTIONS have shown that people who appear unusual or unique are not welcome at this event on a subconscious level. i believe the TXLA have some serious inner work to do beyond this apology, and i believe this inner work will involve actions more than words.

but even more importantly i would like to make this very important point: IT DOES NOT MATTER IF MY MASK IS A DISABILITY AID OR NOT. i appreciate the way this discussion has allowed us to trot out some deep talks on autism and proved love in this way, but i think there is a much more important point at hand.

regardless of WHAT someone looks like, it is not the job of an event or conference to pick apart WHY. physical presentation can be a part of someones neurodivergence, or gender, or sexuality, but i can also just exist as a nebulous undefined part of their inner self. it can be a piece they are not ready to openly discuss yet. the guests at TXLA are authors (aka ARTISTS) and the idea that a conference dedicated to an ART is going to deny people with unique and unusual presentations for ANY reason is absurd. since when are we applying a ‘dress code’ to our artists?

without knowing it, i personally believe there is an element of the ‘good queer, bad queer’ phenomenon going on here. there is a push to say ‘LOOK we accept these marginalized groups and cultures’ but behind the scenes that means ‘we accept these marginalized groups and cultures who are quiet and speak in turn and wear the metaphorical suit and tie’. it is easy to show diversity when you only take on the voices that arent too ‘strange’.

to prove my point i ask you this: do you think orville peck would have FOR ONE SECOND been asked to perform at the texas library association event without his mask?

so with that i say ‘very sincerely, thank you, but i will have to decline the re-invitation. maybe next year’

[moondustbaby]

You’re Still My Girl

Blue collar!Rafe x Wife!Reader

a/n: based on this request! 💌

Summary: It’s your first formal event since having the babies, and dress shopping brings out every insecurity you’ve been trying to ignore. But Rafe’s not having it—not when you’ve never looked more beautiful to him.

⸻

You should’ve been excited.

It had been months since you and Rafe had gone out—like really out, somewhere nice, somewhere that didn’t require packing snacks and extra diapers. When the wedding invitation came in the mail, he grinned like a kid. “We’re going,” he said, already setting it on the fridge. “Mia and Jace can stay with my sister. You and me—just us.”

And it sounded perfect. Until you had to find something to wear.

The first dress you tried on barely zipped. The second clung to every part of you that still didn’t feel like yours. By the third, you were blinking back tears in the dressing room, hands trembling as you tugged at the fabric.

Your body had grown two babies. It had been stretched, softened, changed—and most days, you were proud of it. But not here. Not under the fluorescent lights, with Rafe waiting outside, hopeful and smiling like this was supposed to be fun.

You cracked open the door.

He stood up immediately, eyes lighting up like they always did when he saw you. But the second your arms crossed over your chest, his smile faltered.

“Baby,” he said gently, stepping closer. “Talk to me.”

You shook your head. “I look terrible.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I do, Rafe. None of these fit right. I hate the way I look—I just… I don’t feel like myself.”

He was quiet for a second. Then, without asking, he pushed open the door the rest of the way and came inside. His hands found your waist, rough fingers brushing against the curve of your stomach.

“You feel like you to me.”

Your throat tightened.

“I mean it,” he said, voice softer now. “You think I care that your body changed? I watched you carry our babies. I watched you wake up every night, feed them, rock them, love them when you could barely keep your eyes open. You think I look at you and see anything but the strongest, most beautiful woman I’ve ever known?”

You looked down, tears blurring the cheap tile under your feet.

His thumb brushed your cheek. “I know it’s hard. I know it’s different now. But it’s still you. You’re still my girl.”

A breath caught in your chest.

“I love you,” he said. “All of you. Always.”

And maybe it wasn’t the dress. Maybe it wasn’t your body. Maybe it was just the pressure to feel like everything was back to normal when your whole world had changed. But with Rafe’s arms around you, forehead pressed to yours, something inside you softened.

You ended up picking a dress you hadn’t expected to like. A soft navy blue one that flowed where it needed to and hugged where it didn’t hurt to be held. Rafe’s eyes practically bugged out when you stepped out of the store in it.

“You’re gonna ruin me in that,” he murmured, hand resting on your lower back like he couldn’t help himself.

That night, he zipped it up slow, whispering praises into your neck, kissing every inch of skin he could reach.

And when you walked into the wedding, hand in hand, his pride was louder than anything you wore.

༶⋆｡ﾟ☽✿⋆˚✧✿☾ﾟ｡⋆༶

a/n: this one’s for the girlies who cried in a Target dressing room and still made it to the event!! blue collar!rafe doesn’t give a damn about stretch marks or soft tummies—he just wants his girl to feel like the goddess she is. let him hype you up and zip your dress, ok?? also rafe seeing you in that navy gown? he’s not surviving the night.

♥️ lani

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[neptunsx]

When the Truth Texts Back | Y.JW

⤷ genre: angst.

⤷ synopsis: jungwon as your boyfriend who cheated on you.

Jungwon was always the one everyone liked.

He didn’t have to try hard. He just existed, and people followed. Girls at school called him dreamy. He had that quiet, magnetic presence, kind of mysterious, always a little hard to read. He wasn’t loud like the other boys, but he was confident. When he spoke, people listened. And when he smiled, people melted.

And somehow… he chose me.

At first, it felt unreal. I’d watch girls glance at him when we were out and I’d think, He’s mine. He picked me. That kind of pride, stupid and sweet, it makes you ignore the little things. Like the way he didn’t always introduce me to people when they came up to talk to him. Or how he’d act cold in public, like affection was something to be hidden, something embarrassing.

I told myself he was just private. That not everyone loves loudly.

But I loved him loudly. And for a while, he let me.

He’d kiss my wrist when he thought I wasn’t paying attention, he’d give me expensive gifts, drive me home…all the things that guys do that make you think, “he is in love with me.”

And when we were good, we were so good.

But when we weren’t? It was like walking on glass barefoot. No blood yet, but you knew it was coming.

He didn’t like it when I went out without telling him. Didn’t like my guy friends, even if he’d met them. If I took too long to respond, he’d go quiet. Passive aggressive. Make jokes that didn’t feel like jokes.

But when I brought it up? He’d make me feel like I was crazy.

“I’m just protective, baby.” he’d whisper into my hair. “I can’t help it. You’re mine.”

At first, I liked that possessiveness. It made me feel wanted. Needed. Like someone couldn’t bear to lose me.

I didn’t realize it meant he didn’t trust me. Maybe because he also didn’t trust himself.

One evening, we were curled up in his room, his head on my shoulder as he scrolled on his phone. He was tired. I could tell by the way his eyes fluttered shut every now and then. Eventually, he dozed off, phone still in his hand, screen dimming and lighting up again with notifications.

That’s when I saw her name.

A girl I didn’t know. Minseo.

Curiosity wasn't the reason I picked up his phone. Instinct was. You know that gut feeling? The one you can’t explain? That was it.

I tapped into the messages. The thread was brief. Too brief.

Minseo: Let's meet near campus? You’re free this weekend right? Jungwon: Yeah, let's catch up. It's been forever.

That’s where it started. But I knew that wasn’t the beginning. I could tell by the way the tone was already familiar. Comfortable. Like they’d been talking for days, maybe weeks.

He had deleted the rest.

I put the phone down and sat there in silence, heart pounding like I had just stolen something. It didn’t make sense. He had nothing to hide… right?

Then why hide it?

I asked him about it the next day. Softly. Carefully.

“Who’s Minseo?”

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t panic. Just looked at me with those unreadable eyes and said, “She’s just a friend. From university. Haven’t seen her in ages.”

“That’s cool...” I said. “Why’d you delete your messages with her?”

His smile faltered. Barely. But I caught it.

“I knew you’d overthink it. It’s nothing. I didn’t want to deal with a fight over nothing.”

“But if it’s nothing...” I said, voice tightening, “why would I be mad?”

He didn’t answer.

“If I did that” I continued, “if I deleted messages with some guy and told you we were just ‘catching up,’ you’d lose your mind.”

Still no answer. Just a long, frustrated sigh and, “God, Y/N, can you not make this into a thing?”

That night, I cried in the shower so he wouldn’t hear. I told myself I was being dramatic. That love requires trust. That he hadn’t done anything.

But something inside me already knew. I just didn’t have proof yet.

The days after were weird. Off-balance.

Some moments, he was clingy, more than usual. Texting me out of nowhere. Showing up to my place with snacks and saying he missed me. Kissing me like he was trying to prove something.

Other moments, he was cold. Distant. Taking hours to reply. Cancelling on me. Picking fights over nothing.

I was dizzy from it. Tired. I couldn’t tell which version of him I’d get.

But I couldn’t stop thinking about that girl. That message thread. That missing conversation.

So one night, when I couldn’t sleep and the doubt was louder than my own heartbeat, I found her on Instagram. I stared at her profile for a long time, fingers shaking.

And then I typed:

“Hi, I know this is random but… I’m Jungwon’s girlfriend. I know you two went out and I just wanted to ask if anything happened between you two. I’m not trying to cause drama, I just want to be sure.”

She replied the next afternoon.

“Wait, what? You’re still dating him?” “He told me you guys broke up.” “I’m really sorry, but yeah… we hooked up.”

I dropped my phone. Literally dropped it. My hands went numb. I read her message over and over, as if I could force the meaning to change.

He told her we broke up.

And then he slept with her.

My vision blurred. I forgot how to breathe. I couldn’t even cry, my body just kind of froze.

He lied. He cheated. And then he came back to me like nothing happened.

I didn’t sleep the night I found out.

Even after the tears dried and the anger settled into something quieter, heavier. I just laid there, staring at the ceiling. Cold, silent, replaying everything he ever said to me. Every “I love you,” every “I’d never do anything to hurt you.”

He did.

And worse? He planned to keep it from me. To hold my hand, to kiss me, to come over my house, sit on my bed and have sex with me like nothing ever happened.

I stared at his name in my messages for a long time.

Then I typed:

“Come by my place. I need to talk to you.”

It was short. Direct. No emojis. No “baby.” No “please.”

He replied fast.

“On my way.”

Ten minutes later, I heard the quiet rumble of his car pull up outside. The same car we used to sit in for hours, listening to songs and eating food. The car we kissed in after our first real date. The car where he whispered, “I think I’m falling for you.”

I stepped outside. The air was still. Almost too quiet, like the world was holding its breath.

Jungwon was in the driver’s seat, one hand on the wheel. When he saw me, he smiled softly…nervously.

I opened the door and slid in without a word.

“Hey.” he said, voice soft. “You okay?”

I didn’t answer right away. Just stared out the windshield. My hands were clenched in my lap, nails digging into my skin. My voice came out low. Even.

“I talked to her.”

His expression froze.

“Minseo.” I added, turning to look at him. “I texted her. Just to be sure.”

Silence.

“She said you told her we broke up.” I swallowed. “And then you slept with her.”

He stared at the steering wheel like maybe if he didn’t look at me, it wouldn’t be real.

His jaw tightened. “I… I didn’t think you’d find out.”

I laughed under my breath. It wasn’t funny. It was the saddest sound I’d ever made. “That’s what you’re going with?”

“I’m sorry, I-” he said quickly, finally turning to me. “Y/N, it just happened. I didn’t—she didn’t mean anything, I swear—”

“But I did!”

He stopped.

“I meant everything to you! That’s what you told me! That’s what you kept saying while you were lying to me, touching me like nothing happened!”

“I didn’t want to lose you.” he said, and his voice cracked.

“You did lose me!” I yelled. “The second you made that choice!”

Tears stung my eyes, but I didn’t let them fall. Not in front of him. Not again.

“I loved you Jungwon.” I said. “So much. And you broke me.”

“I can fix it.” he said, reaching for my hand. “Don’t give up on me, please—”

I pulled away.

“No. You don’t get to fix it. You made this mess. And now you have to live with it.”

His jaw clenched, frustration flashing across his face. “You act like I’m the only one who messed up.”

I turned slowly. “What did you just say?”

“You’re not perfect either.” he snapped, voice rising. “You always doubted me. Always assumed the worst. Do you know how exhausting that was?”

My eyebrows shot up. “You lied to me. Cheated on me. And now you're trying to flip it on me because I didn’t trust you enough? You made me feel crazy for things you were actually doing.”

He looked away, gripping the steering wheel like it could anchor him. “If you weren’t so distant lately, so cold- maybe I wouldn’t have…”

I let out a sharp breath. “I was distant?! All the times I texted you, called you, trying to ask you to go out or come over and you were GHOSTING me for HOURS, or cancelling our plans to, who knows, go out with your new slut? And now it’s my fault you couldn’t keep it in your pants?”

“I didn’t mean it like that-”

“You meant exactly what you said.” I cut in, voice shaking with anger. “You wanted a reason to justify it. And instead of talking to me, you ran to someone else and lied about us to get what you wanted.”

His silence was loud. Heavy. And telling.

I reached for the door handle.

“I hope she was worth it.” I said, stepping out of the car and slamming the door.

He called my name once, soft and broken, but I didn’t turn around.

I walked back inside.

And I didn’t look back.

I don’t know how long it’ll take for this to stop hurting. But I know it will.

Because the version of him I loved doesn’t exist anymore.

Or maybe it never did.

© NEPTUNSX, 2025 / do not copy or repost.

[readychilledwine]

New Beginnings

Summary - Having two mates was never easy, especially when you all had different homes.

Warnings - Readers boyfriends definitely are not boyfriends, references to smut, swearing, drinking

A/N - you all thought I wouldn't try to get my poop in a group for my beloved @polysjmweek? Wrong. I had drafts. I'm forcing myself to post them. @acourtofladydeath, forgive my lateness. And my dropping of many things late. Closed Vs are something we had talked a lot about, and I wanted to make sure to feature one this year! A closed v is a challenging dynamic that requires 3 very secure people, and it felt so right to start my late posting with this. 

This fic was written for day 1 - who's court is it anyways?

SJM Poly+ Week 2025 Masterlist

✨️Master Masterlist✨️

“Mother, save me,” you murmured as Azriel and Eris started arguing again. Life would have been easier if Azriel and Eris were also mates, but the Cauldron decided this was much more entertaining. You sighed and got between them. They’d been arguing for several hours about which court you three would be settling into as a permanent home. Eris wanted to stay in Autumn, and rightfully so, with his chances of being High Lord so high. Azriel believed the Night Court was the best option and that he owed Rhysand his life, possibly even his first born with how loyal he was.

Your home had been immediately denied. “Why would we move to the coldest place in Prythian,” Eris had asked. Azriel immediately had agreed, stating his wings would freeze in the bitter winds of the Winter Court. 

“Rhysand needs me,” Azriel growled at Eris. “My court needs me!”

“So does mine,” Eris shot back. “I will be High Lord some day, and I have to be in Autumn to heal Autumn!” 

You sighed softly, hands on two strong chests as they glared. “Does anyone care what I think?” Both males seemed to relax at the sound of your voice. “Because I think this is ridiculous, and maybe we all aren’t actually ready to move into one home.” The silence that met that statement was deafening. You had spent the last 7 years having to bounce between Autumn and Night. a  week with Ers. A week with Azriel. A week at home, the Mountain House, a quiet comfort. Dating two males, being mated to two males, especially two males who were not interested in each other, was not for the faint of heart. You took a deep breath, eyes closing as you did. “I think we have a great thing,” you continued. “Our relationship and the dynamic we have is special to me, but I worry it isn’t special to you two. I worry that us moving in together will not be with you not-” You paused. “With you two.. Unable to cooperate and get along.”

Eris and Azriel looked at you, eyes so different. Eris was inquisitive, Azriel was stunned. You had never shown any signs of thinking there were issues within the relationship the 3 of you shared, at least, not issues you had acknowledged to them. You were such a relaxed fae and would go where the wind took you. Eris sat down, knowing this was a serious conversation time, not a fun one. He pointed to the chair across from the couch he was on, his rings sparkling on his long finger as you moved and sat. Azriel sat by Eris, leaned forward so his elbows rested on his knees. “How long have you felt this way,” Eris was fighting to keep his voice soft. “And why are the two of us just finding out?”

Azriel then added, “And how can we fix it?”

They had similarities, and this process was one of them. They allowed the comfortable silence to fall over the room as you thought and then took a deep breath. “I think I first started feeling this way at our first Starfall all together. I felt pulled and like spending too much time with Azriel disrespected you,” you said to Eris. “But too much time with Eris, and I was hurting you,” you directed at Azriel. “I felt.. Spread so thin.”

Eris nodded in clear thought. He was thinking over everything you had told them first before nodding, wanting you to continue. “I have tried to bring it up to both of you one on one since us in one place rarely happens, but my time with Azriel is spent-”

“Do not finish that sentence,” the Illyrian blushed.

“And my time with Eris is spent acting like the perfect future Lady of Autumn,” you smiled and held in a laugh to Azriel’s sudden shyness.

Eris chuckled, a laugh deep and full like his whiskey, “A shame, really. Sounds like your time with Azriel is much more productive than your time with me. Does she curl her -"

Azriel blushed harder, the faint pinkish-red hiding under his tan skin. “Shut up, Eris. She still has to tell us how to fix it.” They both turned back to you, “Keep talking, salvation.”

It was your turn to blush, the precious nickname Azriel had given you always enough to make your heart flutter and the bond grow warm. “I just would like you two to be friends. For you two to learn to be civil enough that we could spend time as the three of us. I don’t need you two to ever want to have sex, but knowing I could leave you two alone for 2 or 3 hours to head to market without one of you being dead when I came back would be nice.” Both males nodded. 

Another deep breath relaxed the feeling of your heart beating in your chest.  The two of them were studying each other. “It starts with addressing the elephant in the room, Eris,” You said as gently as you could. 

He leaned forward more, taking a moment to center, and he began. He told Azriel everything about his relationship with Mor, the illyrian nodding as Eris explained his choices to Azriel and explained everything he had done was to protect Mor, you, and himself. Azriel then had to explain himself as well, admitting the Night Court had a plan for killing Eris as soon as Morrigan said yes, but they had told Morrigan it would not happen now that Azriel was tied to Eris in a roundabout way. It was several hours of your mates talking, voices low and unhurried. They’d never gotten along this well and for this long. 

The conversation switched at some point, the males going from discussing their issues to the things you had known for a while they shared in common. Dancing being the biggest one. From there it became showing their dagger collection. Discussions on the hounds. Hunting. You.

Beautiful, brilliant you. 

You were the first to retire for the evening, standing in the hall between the guest room and Eris’s. Whenever the 3 of you were together, you had to make a choice on who you slept with each night, bouncing between beds sometimes like it should have been a profession. Soft hands led you by your hips, pushing you into Eris’s room. The warm scent of baked apple and fire was like a pull, drawing you in more and more. Your own hands found the ones holding you, scarred flesh, greeting them. “I think his bed is large enough for all three of us,” a voice like deep night whispered to you. “Think we can make that work? We know how happy it would make you, and it is time for us to try.” If Eris had a scent that pulled like a magnet, Azriel’s was the lock shutting you in. The two mixed, that chilled air and cedar in weaving into fire, felt like the safest combination you had ever wrapped yourself into. 

“I think we’d all fit,” the softness of your voice had him smiling.

“Then lay down. We’ll come in once we finish our drinks.”

And that night, the three of you tucked into one bed together. It felt like something new was beginning. A new chapter. One you had been hoping to welcome for far too long now.

General Taglist:

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[wysteria-bloom]

↪"you're lucky I...adore you."

Bg3 companions if they've been affected by succubus magic

Bg3 x bard!reader

Warnings : nothing that I can think of.

Genre : fluff, just pure fluff

A/n : still haven't finished this damn game and it's nearly been a year. You don't want to know how many hours I've spent on it I'm genuinely so disappointed in myself 🥲

▢ lae'zel

Gone was her usual stern demeanour, this woman was huffing and puffing to try and hold herself back. Her mouth pulled into a grimace as the words tumbled out of her mouth against her will.

"Tav.... your battle prowess is... most pleasing to witness..." Her eyes were hazy as she leaned down slightly to your level, brows pulled tightly together despite the contrasting words coming from her mouth," Were you a githyanki, I might even consider... taking you as a mate."

You just sort of blink at her, string pulled taught against your finger as you were trying to fix your violin. A slow smile made its way to your lips," ... you're certainly direct." You cooed out, brows raised suggestively as you look her up and down," I'm flattered, really, but perhaps you should save the mating proposals for when you're not under the influence of succubus magic, hm?"

The githyanki huffs, embarrassed but still utterly bewitched, her nostrils flare," usually... a gith would take offense at such a vehement rejection..." Her forehead presses against yours as she frowns deeply," You're lucky I... adore you." She gritted out with much difficulty.

"It was a spell. Nothing more. Forget it happened unless you want to see your innards splattered across the dirt you stand on."

You smirk, pressing your forehead back in response," Lucky, indeed~"

-

"My pretty lips are sealed, milady."

▢ shadowheart

She leans casually against a nearby tree, watching you with that adoring green gaze of hers that she tried to hide underneath her awkwardly mysterious aura.

She listens to the soft tunes you play with your lovely fingers, humming slightly and almost drunkenly," You know.... your music isn't the only thing enchanting about you."

These strangely uncharacteristic words made you pause in your playing, raising a brow up at her in surprise.

She, herself, didn't know what she was saying but she just couldn't stop herself as her lips twitched into a smirk," perhaps we should compose a duet of our own?"

The blatant flirting amused you to no end and a hand shot to your mouth to suppress a laugh," a duet?" You repeated," As memorable of a performance that would be, I think it best for you to sleep off whatever magical nonsense that succubus casted on you."

Shadowheart gave you an incredulous look and tried to play it off, shrugging with a pout," Oh no, this is... all me." She tried, but the words trembled," totally natural."

"... Let's never talk about this again."

"What a ball of charisma you are."

-

"I've already got a tune decided for our duet. No backing out now, little cleric~"

▢ gale

The wizard approaches his dearest bard with his usual theatric flair, but the lines falling from his smart mouth were far more dramatic than usual as he tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear," your beauty... it's like the stars themselves - unreachable, radiant, and yet somehow, you make even the Weave seem mundane in comparison."

Your hand removes itself from your instrument to pinch the bridge of your nose. Despite your exasperation, you couldn't hide your amusement," Gale... that succubus has broken you. You don't need to keep... weaving poetry to me."

"Ah, but for you, my dear, no spell is required for me to express my-"

You cover his mouth with your hand and you swear you see hearts in his eyes," mhmm, let's talk about something else, okay?"

"Ahem... I maintain that my delivery was impeccable, spell or no."

-

"Didn't make me swoon, however. Maybe you should give it another try."

▢ karlach

You pause in analysing what spells you had when a shadow fell upon you, making you look up slowly to see Karlach's wry grin shining down upon you like the rays of Lathander himself.

Her infernal engine was humming a lot louder than usual, her enthusiasm palpable," look at you, soldier! All studious n' shit." She cooed as she crouched down, but she still towered over you. Her head canted to the side, hair falling wildly along with her," You're hotter than the hellfire burnin' in my chest... and that's saying something."

You burst into laughter, shaking your head with a flush rising to your cheeks. Whether it was because of Karlach's heat or her words? You couldn't tell. You didn't care either.

"That might be the most intense compliment I've ever received... did the spell possessing you come up with a list of pickup lines to read off of? Or is this all just you?"

Karlach's eyes glinted with affection and amusement as she shrugged," all me, babe." She lied before catching herself, looking up at the sky to think,"... or.... uh, the spell." She tapped her chin in thought, brows furrowed," maybe both?"

"Don't hurt yourself, love."

"Tav, you have to admit, the hellfire thing was pretty fuckin' good!"

-

"True... I'd like to hear you say it without slurring your words, this time."

▢ wyll

His confident strides never faltered despite the magic clearly affecting him, his usual charming demeanour was cracked up to tenfold as he leaned forwards to you, a soft little smile spread to his lips.

"You know... your voice could tame a dragon, and your smile could slay a Devil." He took your hand into his, pressing a gentle kiss to the back of your hand," let me be your Knight, forever at your side."

You giggle, reaching out to put a hand on his shoulder and you had to ignore the flip of your heart when he instantly leaned into your touch," Wyll, that's sweet, but I think you're laying it on a little thick here, sweetheart." The pet name made his head buzz," I'm impressed, honestly... did the spell teach you how to swoon like a bard?"

His hand moved to your one resting on his shoulder and squeezed with purpose, brows furrowed with a lovesick grin curled to his lips," no spells required, my love."

You snort," sure, and my lute plays itself."

"I... apologise for whatever nonsense spewed from my mouth. I was merely playing the part, you understand-"

-

"Hmm... nonsense, was it? And I was so looking forwards to you being my Knight. A shame, really."

▢ astarion

A finger twirled your hair as you strummed your instrument absentmindedly, trying to come up with a catchy bar tune.

Astarion was staring hazily, his usual smirk had actually fallen as his crimson eyes glinted,"... did you know your blood smells sweeter than the finest wine?"

You give him a deadpan look, pausing in your strumming to look up at him which immediately prompted for his hand to move to your chin," Astarion... did the spell make you forget how incredibly creepy that sounds?" You grimace.

He blanched at you, a hand pressing to his heart rather dramatically but his eyes were still infatuated with your every crevice and cranny," creepy?? No, no it's a compliment, I'll have you know!" Then he frowned as he thought of his words and quickly added on a," in a vampiric sort of way..."

You snort and grabbed his wrist, rubbing your thumb up and down it gently," let's revisit this topic when you're not spellbound... or thinking about my blood."

"But it's such lovely blood, darling!" He whined only to be interrupted.

"Nope. We're done here."

"Well, I regret absolutely nothing."

-

"That's because the things you said weren't anything out of the ordinary you freak."

▢ halsin

The uncharacteristic sparkle in his eye is what made you pause as he approached with his usual gentle facial expression. He opened his mouth and you were enraptured with every word-

"I was missing you... and found a lily of the valley," he held out the flower cutely, the size of it compared to him made your heart clench. What a pure man he was," they truly remind me of you... delicate, radiant and captivating."

You reached out and gently took the flower from him, cradlingnit as your cheeks flush warmly," You adorable man." You then moved your hand and tucked a strand of his hair behind his ear, but before you could pull your hand away, he pressed it to his cheek," Halsin... this is lovely but I'd prefer if you did this whilst not being under the influence of a spell. It's turned you into a poet."

He hums, half-listening to you as he closed his eyes, trying to memorise the temperature and feeling of your hand," poet? Not quite... just a humble druid who's helplessly ensared by your otherworldly beauty."

You sigh and smile, shaking your head as you pinch his cheek, grin widening at the displeased groan that he emitted," helplessly ensared, hmm? Well, let's just hope this spell wears off before you start building me a shrine."

He seemed to lift his head at attention when you said that, moving your hand to his chest and pressing it against his beating heart. The serious look in his eyes sent a flutter through your entire body, his voice a low rumble as he leaned close to your face," would you prefer one of oak or stone?"

You grimace but your face was certainly burning," Oh no, it's definitely time for you to snap out of it."

-

"Tav... forgive me if my words earlier were... overzealous. It was the spell, of course, though they were not entirely untrue."

"Not entirely untrue, huh? I'll keep that in mind the next time you're waxing poetic about flowers and shrines."

▢ minthara

Minthara, usually composed and calculating, strides up to you with an intensity that borders on unsettling. However, her voice takes on an unusual softness that left you weak in the knees.

"I believe now is the chance for me to express this... you are a weapon forged by the gods themselves - sharp, striking and impossible to resist." Her deft fingers ran up and down your arms softly, soothingly, hypnotically," Were I to claim you..." Her eyelashes lowered," none would dare challenge us."

You could only blink with that shit eating grin you always took on when you irritate her," That's flattering, Minthara. But you should save this for when you're not enchanted."

Her voice lowered," I do not make declarations lightly, Tav. You belong at my side. Drenched in the blood of our enemies."

"Whoo... at your side, huh?" You liked the images she created," what, no throne or crown to sweeten the deal?"

God, the smirk that twitched to her lips was utterly mind boggling. You wished you could sew her mouth to permanently stay that way," Oh... there would be both. Gold and blood, in your honour."

You coughed out a reluctant," I'll pass for now, thanks."

-

"Whatever foolishness I said under the spell - forget it. I would not waste words on such sentimentality."

"Of course not, Minthara. The throne and crown offer was purely strategic, I'm sure."

[joejhang]

neil's learned obliviousness

gearing myself up to write another essay about neil josten. the grind never stops. had to figure out why people making neil super clueless and oblivious always rubbed me the wrong way even tho it's technically canon so here it is.

ok so i have a lot of thoughts about neil and obliviousness but i'm gonna mostly condense them into this single thesis statement: neil only pays attention to and notices things he deems important.

we've been knew atp that neil has insane tunnel vision, and that often comes across in his narration. because of this, it's easy to assume that neil is just genuinely very clueless and oblivious when it comes to social interaction and also romantic relationships, flirting, etc.

i know nora herself said that neil wouldn't realise if someone is flirting with him because he's dense as a brick and while i appreciate the comedic value of socially oblivious neil i generally take this characterisation with a grain of salt because it very quickly leans into territory of neil being just generally dumb and inept, which i lowk can't stand because it sanitises and declaws neil a lot and makes him boring and stereotypical.

so i raise you this: neil's obliviousness (if you want to call it that) throughout aftg and in his narration is deliberate. mostly, i think it's all intentional. he literally intentionally refuses to notice or give attention to certain things. and because of his relentless focus on only a couple of things (exy and his survival), things like socialising and relationships get put on the backburner unless they relate to the two aforementioned things.

let's dissect it using examples.

nicky's flirting. neil's narration is pretty clear-cut when it comes to this. he doesn't demonstrate much confusion towards nicky's behaviour except that he doesn't really know why nicky's more interested in him than exy. crucially, he isn't confused about why nicky demonstrates an interest in him (which is because he thinks neil is hot), he's just confused about why nicky is investing energy into flirting with him when, in his mind, there are better things to be doing. it seems, at least in his narration, that he knows nicky is flirting, he just doesn't know why and also doesn't really care to focus on it. aside from an initial discomfort/expression of disinterest, neil doesn't linger on nicky's comments and flirtations for the rest of the series. he narrates it when it's relevant but doesn't make any additional internal comments towards it because it doesn't pertain to his two priorities: exy and survival.

marissa's flirting. i feel like there's two ways to interpret neil's response to marissa's advance "i can give you my number". neil says "what for?" and you can either take this as genuine confusion or just neil kinda being a dick. i lowk never considered the first option and just jumped straight to "neil doesn't really care about hurting this girl's feelings" lmfao. i think i'm right tho, because he elaborates and makes it clear he isn't interested in pursuing relationships outside of the foxes (see: priority no. 1, exy) and when nicky and dan comment on it, making it explicitly clear that marissa was asking neil out, neil doesn't express any confusion over what she was trying to do. people who write neil being genuinely exaggeratedly clueless when being flirted with need to remember that neil wasn't unaware of marissa's intentions during this scene, he was just so aggressively disinterested that he failed to remark on most of it. he never expresses any actual confusion or obliviousness about her flirting.

andrew. ok look. this is gonna require some explaining. first of all let's talk about andrew's attraction to neil on a purely physical level. their nothingship era, if you will. neil's dizzying whiplash during the "that doesn't mean i wouldn't blow you" scene is honestly pretty understandable. like really, who wasn't surprised during that scene? the hints in the previous books about andrew's attraction towards neil were so subtle that most of us readers had to reread a couple times to actually catch the progression and build-up. and also, andrew was high and manic for most of the first two books, so it's understandable that neil probably chalked up a lot of andrew's yapping and odd behaviours to the drugs, rather than a genuine expression of andrew's feelings. that's not to say he discounted the things andrew told him, but since he's always taken andrew at face value, he also didn't doubt andrew's "i hate you" and supposed dislike of him. i think it's actually very very understandable that neil didn't pick up on andrew's attraction to him because 1. why would you ever assume that about anyone anyway 2. neil is pretty preoccupied with being hunted down by his serial killer father and the japanese mafia 3. andrew was NOT making it easy on neil at all. this is partially because andrew himself wasn't ready to face the reality of his feelings for neil and also just his general confusing way of going about things. it makes a lot of sense that even neil, who's generally good at reading andrew and picking up on his hints, would miss whatever hints andrew was dropping about this, if any. and finally, 4. andrew wanting to fuck neil doesn't have anything to do with exy or survival, so neil instinctively filters it out and doesn't think about it a lot. next, i guess we have to talk about andrew's actual feelings for neil. again, we like to make fun of neil for never picking up on the fact that andrew is in LOVE with him during their situationship phase. but again, i think it makes a lot of sense? yes, andrew wasn't exactly subtle about it by a certain point (see: baltimore reunion) but also, neil has literally been pavloved to reject romantic relationships. one of the ways he "justifies" his nothingship with andrew is by assuring himself that andrew is only physically attracted to him. and the other justification is that he sees andrew as intertwined with the idea of his survival, because of the deal they have. keeping andrew close and being in a relationship with him is directly related to his own safety and survival. because neil's lowk manipulated his own thinking to associate andrew implicitly with survival, suddenly their relationship is a lot more prioritised in neil's mind and narration, because it pertains to priority no. 2, survival. i truly, truly believe neil's refusal or inability to see andrew's actual feelings for him is deliberate. he doesn't want to notice that andrew actually is in love with him because that is area he isn't familiar with and he doesn't want to hurt andrew when he dies. but because he obviously does want to continue this little "nothing" with andrew, and because he associates andrew with survival, he's unwilling to let go of him. so he just refuses to notice and remains deliberately oblivious to andrew's feelings for him. it's all very psychological.

final argument: people like to make fun of neil for not realising his own feelings for andrew but listen. he does realise. he never says that he doesn't feel anything for andrew. he never denies being in love with or attracted to andrew, not even in his own head. he registers, literally in trk, after his conversation with nicky, that he sees andrew differently and could be developing feelings for him, but he literally forcibly pushes the thoughts away because they would distract him from priority no. 1 (exy) and priority no. 2 (survival). he also notices in the back half of tkm that their nothingship has taken on new weight and means more than just "nothing" but he avoids acknowledging it with andrew even when he's aware of it in his own mind. so yeah. neil isn't in a state of denial. like at all.

also, neil does notice things when they pertain to his priorities. like, he picked up on jeanee the same way kevin did. he noticed literally in trk the way jean reacted differently to renee, but he only chose to acknowledge and mention it out loud when he could use it to his advantage. and it did work out in everyone's favour, because he brought it up with kevin, kevin gave renee jean's number, and that's how jean was able to escape the nest and survive the year. so, lbr, neil isn't as clueless and out-of-it as the fandom likes to make him. he can be very perceptive and socially aware when it pertains to his narrow-minded priorities.

ok at the end of the day, i can acknowledge: it is not that deep. if ppl want to make neil super oblivious and clueless and socially inept, it's not rlly a big deal. i just personally hate when they dumb neil down when he is honestly such a smart and perceptive character and his intelligence is actually such a huge part of the series. so anyway. i hope u enjoyed this essay, it's been a while so it's a little rough.

[qwordavoider]

I present to you 650 words of the beginning of my take on Buck transferring to the 122 under Sal. It'll eventually lead to a tevan reunion, but I want to do it from Ravi and Buck's pov to switch it up. I will also be adding it to the make me write that I have going right now. So feel free to request more of the 122 transfer fic 🚒 and enjoy Ravi's pov to start off.

-

“Hey Buck,” Ravi greets as he walks into the locker room at the start of shift. He expects to get the typical, “Morning Rav,” from him. Instead he finds Buck staring blankly at the locker in front of him. Ravi can’t help but notice that it’s a little emptier than the last shift. 

“Buck?” he prompts again when there is no sign that Buck heard him. “You good?” Ravi asks.

Buck jumps and it’s clear that he was in his own world, but he nods in response to Ravi’s question and starts slowly getting ready for their shift. He had been like that a bit more lately. Ravi knew Buck was probably taking Bobby’s death hard, even if he didn’t necessarily see it most days. Buck was the one checking in with him the most and he really appreciated it, but he always brushed off Ravi’s offer to talk. The others didn’t seem worried, so he was assuming Buck was just grieving in his own way. 

The first time he became really worried was when Buck said he was transferring. He never thought the man who chased him with a chainsaw to make sure Ravi was worthy of taking over his spot, would ever willingly leave the 118. Ravi studied Buck out of the corner of his eye and now that he paid more attention, he could see the tension and exhaustion in his face and the way he held himself. He hadn’t taken the time to look beyond what Buck was telling him to see that he wasn’t doing well. 

He’s about to ask how he’s really doing when Buck whispers, “I’m still transferring.”

Ravi stills to think through the best way to respond. He had really thought that Chim’s speech had been enough to convince him to stay. It had been for Eddie and he had bought a house in Texas, so Ravi just assumed that Buck had pulled the transfer papers. Guess he was wrong. 

“You’re not gonna bring out the chainsaw on me again are you?” Ravi eventually asks, deciding to try and lighten the mood. 

Buck stares at him for a second before he catches on, cracking a small smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, “Nah. You earned your spot here a long time ago Rav. No chainsaw required.”

“Are you sure this is what you want to do?” Ravi asks. 

“Yeah, I am.”

Ravi nods, that’s good enough for him. “Well I’m gonna miss you. Despite our rocky start I’ve learned a lot from you. But like you said to Hen, you gotta do what’s best for you. I admire you for that.”

Buck looks surprised that Ravi’s not fighting him on it. He can’t blame the guy. Seems like every time Buck decides to do something he’s either asking for advice from the team or they try and talk him out of it. He’s glad to see Buck doing something for himself. 

Since Buck doesn’t seem like he’s able to say anything right now, Ravi continues, “Is that why you’re slowly cleaning out your locker?”

Buck nods, “Today is my last shift.”

Wow, that’s quick. He doesn’t know why Buck hadn’t told anyone, so he asks, “Does Chim know?”

Chimney had taken over the role of captain for the last few shifts while the chief decided on whether or not it could be permanent. It seems like something the interim captain should know about. 

“I-”, Buck sighs, “I’m going to tell him right now. Just psyching myself up.”

Ravi nods, “Do you know where you’re going?” 

“A-shift at the 122, under Captain Deluca,” Buck replies.

Ravi thinks that name sounds familiar, but he’s not sure why because Tommy immediately comes to mind when he hears it. Weird. 

“Well, don’t be a stranger. If you need anything- well, not anything, I won’t steal a helicopter for you. But if you need a friend… I’m here,” Ravi offers, hoping that Buck sees it as the outstretched hand it is.

-

Part 2

[kingkat12]

the secretary (roman godfrey x reader)

WARNINGS: dry-humping, inappropriate usage of shoes, humiliation, degradation, masturbation, email-banter (tihi), mentions of BDSM, dom/sub dynamics

summary: Mr. Godfrey isn't done with you-- definitely not after he watched you cum yesterday. but are you sure you want to let him continue running over you like this? you're intrigued, that's for sure; obsessed.

word count: 7,815

← previous chapter | next chapter →

a/n: the way I have literally written all of this in the span of 24 hours because I CANNOT let go of this plot and the things I'm uncovering about myself this way????? I'm ashamed. you are ashamed. we are all ashamed. welcome to the club of shame, and enjoy;)

Anyone could be an assistant.

Anyone could write emails, organise meetings, take phone calls, and I knew this very well. My job didn't need me to have a big brain, didn't need me to be a PhD candidate, and didn't need me to be any kinds of sharp to handle my position. 

But the more I worked for Mr. Godfrey, the more I realized that not anyone could be a secretary.

Not the normal kind of secretary, fuck no-- not the kind that arranged appointments and answered messages, but Mr. Godfrey's secretary.

That was why he hired me, wasn't it? Because he saw that I could handle it. He recognized, in my job interview, that I was capable of handling the requirements of working for him, to take whatever he would throw at me. I had no idea how, or what the indicators were, but right now? Right now, I felt perfect for the job, and it was partially because he made me feel perfect.

Lilac. French tips. Hair down. Mr. Godfrey's instructions had left me feeling like a doll, and in the best way possible. Even as he was out of office, and would be for the next two hours, I sat by my desk, ready for him to pass me by and hopefully give me a nod of approval; anything would do, after what he had pulled on me yesterday.

Why had he asked me to make myself cum in front of him? Actually, a better question was, how the hell had I allowed myself to comply? There was something about the way he was talking down to me, the way he didn't look at me while I crossed my legs and complied with his every word, and it had thrown my mind for a loop. Why had I enjoyed it to that extent, the humiliation of it all?

I had stayed up all night, wondering what the fuck had happened. The more I googled it, the more I scoured the internet, the more confused I got-- because what came up, were BDSM relationship dynamics. Terms I had never heard before, terms I had never even considered, and they were suddenly floating around in my brain as though they were trying to find their assigned seats. 

I was ashamed to admit that I had watched some... odd videos. And by calling them odd, I was being gentle about my wording. They started out rather weird, with people tied up and stuff-- that wasn't my thing, that was for sure. But then, I stumbled upon some subcategory of suit-clad men, and... that was certainly up my alley. 

It was easy to imagine them being Mr. Godfrey, especially when the suits were a specific shade of greyish black and the shoes had a certain kind of shine. I felt bad, dirty, disgusting even, the more I went on, the more I let my imagination float around freely, because I was sure I shouldn't be having those thoughts about my boss. I was certain it was wrong on all counts of wrong. You-should-be-ashamed wrong. You-should-be-locked-up-you-disgusting-pervert wrong. 

I felt like a pervert. Imagining myself as those girls in the videos, those girls who were getting off on the suit-man's thigh, the ones getting bent over the suit-man's lap and spanked until their behinds were a rather pretty pinkish-colour-- I wondered whether that colour would suit me, and how gorgeous I'd feel with Mr. Godfrey's handprint on my ass. I'd feel like a goddess, I was sure of that. 

Then, I found one specific video.

The one video that I ultimately ended up saving on my hard drive. 

Because in that video, the woman was getting off the same way I got off beneath my desk, and the suit-man was filling out some sort of paperwork, not giving her an ounce of his attention. Was my life... a porn movie? That was a twist from what I thought it was, that was for sure, yet that wasn't important-- what was important, was what it made me feel, and what the video was categorized as.

The video title read as following (nasty as always); dom puts needy sub in place.

Was Mr. Godfrey a dom?

And yesterday, had I agreed for him to be... my dom? Was that what all of that was?

If so, then I was the luckiest girl in the world-- truly. The thought of all these new revelations left me sitting behind my desk with a bright, beaming smile as I watched his new email tick in with heart-eyes. I revelled in the feeling of being chosen-- chosen to do this, chosen to be his sub(?), being chosen to be his secretary.

From: Roman Godfrey

Subject: Questions And Concern

Dear secretary,

I will be back in my office around 14:40. If Mr. Avery stops by before that, tell him I can meet him around 15:00 sharp. If he insists to meet me any earlier regarding whatever, tell him to shove his cock up his ass. Quite frankly, I couldn't care any less about the colour he wants to paint the lobby, and I have much more important things to care about.

However, I find myself concerned regarding my absence this morning. I trust you have not allowed the lack of direct orders to loosen your discipline? I expect your behaviour to extend beyond my line of sight. 

Can I trust that you are focused?

With regards,

Roman Godfrey, CEO of Godfrey Industries.

If I were focused? Fuck no. How could I be? How was I supposed to focus when Roman fucking Godfrey was sending me mails about my discipline? If he was so damn worried about my discipline, he should come and discipline me himself, honest to God. The more I thought about that word, the more I thought about the good-looking men in suits who were disciplining those women in the videos from last night-- 

I was about to become a porn addict, wasn't I?

From: You

Subject: Holding The Fort

Dear Mr. Godfrey,

You will be pleased to know that Mr. Avery has not stopped by. Hopefully he will not, so that I may avoid having to tell him to shove his cock up his ass. How would that even work, sir? I have never had these thoughts before, and I must say I am a bit stumped. Male anatomy is not my strong suit.

Regarding your concern, I must assure you that I am capable of performing my duties without your presence in the office. You have hired me for a reason, sir, and everything is running smoothly as of now.

Focused as ever, Mr. Godfrey.

Kind regards,

Your Secretary.

Was that too much? It couldn't be. He wouldn't have used the word cock in an email had he not warranted this sort of interaction. Or? Holding my breath at the suspense, I decided to try to calm myself down by opening my private folder--

No, I wasn't about to watch porn at work, you pervert. I was just finding snake, the best game to play in the office. 

Time passed quicker this way, when I could turn my brain off and click on the cute snake to chase a bright red apple. It wasn't as though I had any pressing matters to tend to, now that Mr. Godfrey was out of office, and I allowed myself the liberty of slacking off, sure. Who wouldn't? It wasn't like he'd ever know. Now that he wasn't here, I wasn't stressing my ass off either, and I didn't feel the need to relieve myself like I had been caught doing-- I wasn't planning on doing that ever again in this damned office. At home, maybe. While waiting for the bus at the bus stop, fine. But while eating dinner? While filling out tax forms and paying my rent? No, that had to stop. I was doing this way too often, way too freely, way too casually. How many people had actually noticed throughout the years, just like Mr. Godfrey? How many times had I thought I had been slick when I had been blatantly obvious...?

The more I thought about it, the more I wanted to throw myself off the top of the Godfrey Tower. But just as I was about to beat my high score on snake, having let my mind wander, a new email ticked in.

From: Roman Godfrey

Subject: A Teaching Moment

Dear secretary,

You have managed to momentarily short-circuit my brain. Congratulations.

However, since you are so stumped, here is your answer: one could probably do that with significant flexibility, a concerning amount of dedication, and—presumably—a severe lack of dignity. I would not recommend looking it up. Knowing you, you already have.

Now, about your claim of being focused as ever. You do realize I can see your internet usage? You have been playing 'Snake' for the past seven minutes. That culminates to seven minutes of wasted company time. Seven minutes of me rethinking your job security.

I do not care if you are bored. Return to your work, and do not lie to me again.

With reluctant indulgence,

Roman Godfrey, CEO of Godfrey Industries.

What?! I immediately clicked out of snake, and pressed my palm against the camera of my computer. Could he see me, or was he only getting some sort of report when he clicked on my device? That would mean that I was connected to his phone, somehow. That was both horrifying and endearing; was that company policy, or was that just Mr. Godfrey not being able to get enough of me?

... Probably the first thing. Something told me I lightly annoyed him, despite his indulgence with me. 

After ripping a Post-it and putting it over the computer camera, I straightened up in my seat, crossing my legs at my ankles as I typed up a response. 

From: You

Subject: Consider Me Taught

Dear Mr. Godfrey, 

For your information, I do not wish to see that sort of thing, and neither have I ever seen it. I find your assumption offensive. I am not some pervert; I am your secretary.

Regarding you seeing my internet usage, I consider my privacy violated. How is that allowed? I do not feel comfortable with that. Yes, I have been playing 'Snake', but that is because I have nothing else to do at the moment and I am taking a short break. Had I had any pressing matters, I would have been busy. I am perfectly capable of doing my job, and you threatening to fire me over something so insignificant and inconsequential does not help the matter. 

I apologize. However, I did not lie to you. I do not appreciate being called a liar.

Focused regards,

Your Very-Focused Secretary.

That was too snarky, wasn't it? I couldn't help it-- I stared at the Post-it note in front of my camera and felt my brows draw together with dismay. But here I was, slaving away all day, answering all of Mr. Godfrey's emails, dealing with annoying people who wanted to schedule meetings with him, taking all his calls, and he was monitoring me like I was some lousy secretary? 

Was I not special? Was I not?--

Wait. 

Mr. Godfrey had answered. Exactly two minutes and thirty-one seconds after I had sent my email. That must be a record of some sort.

From: Roman Godfrey

Subject: Alright

Dear secretary,

You humour me.

I apologize that my access makes you uncomfortable. Is it maybe time for us to discuss some boundaries?

PS: You are a pervert.

With restrained regards,

Roman Godfrey, CEO of Godfrey Industries.

I had to do everything in my power to not jolt in my seat and gasp. Instead, I opted to press my forehead against my desk, holding back a string of screams. Was this seriously happening? It couldn't be. Did he seriously just call me a pervert in an email? I could send this to HR and get him in enormous trouble, yet... I gathered the strength to straighten up and drag myself out of the mud; fuck it. If he was calling me a pervert, I'd call him three.

From: You

Subject: Disagreements

Dear Mr. Godfrey,

I am glad I humour you, sir. 

And if I am to be honest, I am afraid to say yes to anything related to the word 'boundaries'. It sounds a lot like something I associate with pijvodbuhvdobAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

... I didn't end up sending this, obviously. But was I about to type out the word? I couldn't. Would that scare him off? Would the direct call-out make him back off? Mr. Godfrey seemed like a typical avoidant. I didn't want to fuck this up, yet I felt like we couldn't progress without the necessary wordings, sadly. My comfort was necessary too, right?

I tried again.

From: You

Subject: Disagreements

Dear Mr. Godfrey,

I am glad I humour you, sir. 

But, if I am to be honest, I am afraid to say yes to anything related to the word 'boundaries' after what happened in your office yesterday. It sounds a lot like something I associate with BDSM. I am fairly new to both the world and that sort of thing, but I did watch Fifty Shades of Grey illegally on some pirated website back when I was 15, so I would appreciate it if we could get it cleared up. Is that what is happening here? 

PSPS: You are a pervert, too.

Respectfully confused,

Your Secretary.

This could cost me my job. This could cost me everything. I regretted that email the second I sent it, and I squirmed in my chair and pushed away from the desk the second I hit send. What the fuck had I done? Why had I said that? Why on earth had I typed that?!

My body turned into jelly as I gave up on the intense anxiety coursing through my veins, and I allowed myself to slide to the floor. No one saw me, anyway, with how my desk was positioned in the office-- I wormed my way along the floor as I felt my breath constrict in my chest, and now that I wasn't allowed to get off to relieve my anxiety, I was left hyperventilating with no way to calm down.

Was this a panic attack? Had my clumsy email pushed me to that state? I wanted to cry and scream and orgasm from the adrenaline pumping through my veins-- this was confusing. And now, of course, Mr. Godfrey wasn't answering quickly anymore, so I was left to boil in my cauldron of torture. 

But just as I started creeping under my desk, hoping to hide, I realized someone was watching me. It wasn't my boss through my post-it covered camera, it wasn't God (I hoped), but as I slowly dared to look up, I saw a very concerned Peter leaning over the desk with a cocked brow. This could've been taken straight out of some coming-of-age romance movie, yet I couldn't feel any of the humour; now, I was only horrified to be found in this state.

My eyes widened, caught red-handed with my back to the floor-- "Peter," I breathed.

He broke out into a soft smile, followed by a gentle laugh; "Hey,"

"Hey," I mumbled, not even trying to get up. With a sigh, I submitted to my role as the girl on the floor, and shrugged. "This is not what it looks like."

"And what do you think this looks like, kid?"

"Like I'm having a stroke?"

"Meh," Peter walked around my desk, no longer suppressing his warm chuckle. He crouched down next to me, tilting his head as he scanned me on the floor. "It looks like you might be in need of a lunch break."

"I already had a break," I breathed, letting my body go limp. "I played snake."

"Snake?"

"The game where you have to make the snake hit the apple? The tail grows with every apple you bite, and then the screen gets crowded, so--"

"Kid, I've played it before,"

"Oh,"

Peter extended his hand for me, visibly amused by my antics. "Need a hand?"

"No," I said, accepting my position. "I'm waiting for the floor to swallow me."

"... Why?"

Because I was an idiot? Because I screwed up between me and Mr. Godfrey before anything had time to actually happen? "Because," I breathed, closing my eyes. "I'm just overwhelmed. I don't think I'm doing my job very well."

Peter sighed, the sound of it mixing with a brewing laugh of his. "If you're playing snake all the time, then I gotta agree,"

His teasing landed softly, and despite myself, a small, pitiful smile flickered across my lips. "I don't play it all the time," I muttered, voice muffled as I pressed my cheek to the floor-- I prayed that my skin wouldn't break out because of it. "I only play it when... when I've sent an email to my boss that may or may not have ended my entire career before it even started."

Peter shifted to sit cross-legged beside me, elbows on his knees. "What kind of email are we talking about here?"

I definitely couldn't tell him that. I opted for something vague; "The kind you don't survive,"

Peter raised an eyebrow, curious now. It took him a few seconds to scour his brain for all the stupid possibilities I could've gotten myself into. Then; "Don't tell me you sent Roman nudes?"

"What?! No!" I sat up so fast I nearly headbutted him. "It wasn't nudes, I'm not-- I'm not that kind of girl!"

"Okay, okay!" Peter put a hand on my shoulder, hoping to calm me down. "Whatever it is, I bet Roman won't care too much. He generally doesn't care, if you haven't noticed."

He was right-- Mr. Godfrey wasn't a man to take much offence, yet... something told me it was a front. He almost cared too much. Why else would he have made me get off in front of him? It was obviously some sort of power play. It was a way for him to feel in control again, right? A man who didn't care wouldn't go to such lengths, and all of this quickly deflected Peter's argument. "I hate it here," I groaned, glancing down at my lilac nails. French tips. French tips. Forbes nose. Oh, the Forbes nose...

Peter laughed properly this time, low and warm as he watched me fall apart, before he stood and offered me a hand again. "C'mon, kid. The floor's not gonna help. Come take a walk, get some water, anything. You're spiralling, but you're not getting fired," he added, gentle. "Even if you're a little weird."

Ugh. 

"... Thanks," I mumbled, begrudgingly taking his hand. Peter helped me up with surprising ease, and I did my best not to think about the way his bicep bulged through his shirt when he pulled me up.

Why couldn't my mind function properly? Why was I thinking about all these men this way? However, as I dusted myself off and tried to regain my composure, my computer pinged again.

My blood ran cold. That better not be Mr. Avery. 

Peter glanced at the screen. "That him?"

I shrugged-- some part of me didn't want to know, yet the other was screaming at me to lunge at my desk. 

"Well, don't just stand there," Peter said, nudging me. "Go read it. Life could be worse... He could humiliate you in front of Middle Eastern royalty, or something."

I shot him a look. The mention of that incident gave me a major case of PTSD. "Ha-ha. You're very funny,"

"Just don't let him fire you," he teased, stepping backwards. "Who else would I find lying on the floor at this place? I need my court jester."

"Hilarious, Peter! I'm dying of laughter, here!" 

With a snarky grunt, I refused to watch him walk away when he did. I didn't need to see him to know he was smirking. I stepped back behind my desk with unmatched speed the second Peter was out of sight, adjusted my blouse like it would fix the past ten minutes, and opened Mr. Godfrey's email with my body trembling from the adrenaline.

My eyes skimmed the email--

Oh fuck.

From: Roman Godfrey

Subject: Clearing Things Up

Dear secretary,

You are not in a position to send me emails like your previous one. You are overstepping, and you are being inappropriate. I suggest you get back to work and no longer mention explicit movies and terms. This exchange was beneath both of us. Do not repeat it.

However, if you insist on misbehaving, do have the courage to do it properly.

Sternly,

Roman Godfrey, CEO of Godfrey Industries.

... What the fuck was that supposed to mean?! 

So, I just got the telling off of the centuries, yet I was encouraged to go on? What the fuck?! This was becoming masochistic on my part, and I realized I wouldn't participate in that willingly. In the midst of my brain melting, I felt my thighs automatically pulling together, clenching and unclenching despite Mr. Godfrey's clear instructions not to do that anymore-- I knew what happened the last time I was caught doing this, but he was gone now, right? He wouldn't know. He would never know, and I could relieve myself, I could feel better, I could cool down my brain--

Wait.

My fingers went to my keyboard, operating on autopilot, because suddenly, I remembered the loophole. Mr. Godfrey had explicitly offered me an option to this yesterday, when he said that I could do it, but... with his approval.

From: You

Subject: (No Subject)

Dear Mr. Godfrey,

... May I?

Waiting,

Your Secretary.

One minute. One minute and fifty-seven seconds. That was how long it took until my computer filled the silence with a robotic pling, and I could breathe again.

From: Roman Godfrey

Subject: Re: (No Subject)

Dear secretary,

What a smart girl you turned out to be.

With that said— no. I'll deal with you when I return.

Patiently,

Roman Godfrey, CEO of Godfrey Industries.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

The blinds were down, and the door to Mr. Godfrey's office was slanted, slightly open-- the sight of it made my heart stop in my chest. I had been gone for about three minutes, only to grab a glass of water, fix my hair in the reflection of the windows and pop some gum into my mouth, but I had somehow managed to miss him coming back to his office.

This was bad. This was so bad.

Just as I anxiously hovered around my desk, trying to get a quick glance inside the office to see whether Mr. Godfrey was free, I spotted the briefcase that had been left outside, leaning against the wall. I recognized that briefcase immediately-- Mr. Avery's.

... Oh no. 

And it was at this moment that I spotted the man I had been dreading to see all day, yet the one I had waited for with burning fervour. His suit was dark blue today, complementing his pale skin and bringing out the gorgeous brown colour of his hair-- my eyes were morphing into tiny hearts, and I could do nothing to stop it. 

But suddenly, green was all I saw. Green, green, green, as I locked eyes with Mr. Godfrey through the crack in the door, and they were beautiful, but they were filled with burning wrath; the sight of it nearly made me accidentally swallow my gum. He crossed his arms over his chest, jaw clenching, eye twitching with restraint as he quickly jerked his head, motioning for me to get the fuck inside before he chewed my head off. 

With a sharp hitch of my breath, I hurried to get through the door, shutting it behind me with a click. In an ideal world, I'd press my back into the door and hyperventilate, but I knew I had a job to do-- by the look of Mr. Godfrey, I needed to get Mr. Avery out, stat.

Anxious, I tried to chew my gum as quietly as possible whilst approaching the intruder. He was going on and on about repainting the lobby a rather particular shade of orange to hopefully raise the happiness-rate in the entire building; "Statistically, orange is the thing-- the colour that is supposed to improve someone's mood!" he said, stammering and stumbling around his words. "I think it would help the general feeling of the office. If your employees walk in happy, why not do it?"

I blinked-- orange? Godfrey Industries... orange? Mr. Avery was clearly a man who was either sick in the head, or sick in the head.

With unsure steps, I took my place next to Mr. Godfrey, who was now leaning against his table, staring back at a rambling Mr. Avery with disbelief-- or was it disgust? I didn't dare to look at him for too long. This way, with him half-sitting, we were almost the same height. For a split second, I wondered how it would feel to kiss him when he was on my level, whether he'd be the kind of man to gently pull me in by my waist or yank me toward him-- 

My mind would've wandered on like that forever, but out of the blue, Mr. Godfrey extended his hand out in front of my mouth, palm up. Without looking at me, his fingers curled once in a quiet, demanding gesture.

My pulse stuttered.

He wanted the gum.

He wanted to see if I would follow him blindly. This was another test, wasn't it?

I stared at Mr. Godfrey, bewildered, waiting for him to laugh and retract his hand. However, that moment never came. What did come, was an annoyed huff, and another quick curl of his fingers telling me to get on with it without a single word.

So, I leaned forward-- I didn't dare to hesitate too long, and I parted my lips and let the gum fall into Mr. Godfrey's palm. My cheeks burned with shame as my eyes dared to dart toward Mr. Avery, whose voice had faltered mid-sentence. 

His gaze flicked down to the hand, then to me, then back again.

God, how humiliating-- and how good it felt to be the one chosen to be humiliated. Even in the thick silence, I had to bite back a rather sheepish smile. Mr. Godfrey and I had managed to shut up our annoying intruder, after all. Efficient. Genius. 

But without so much as a glance in my direction, Mr. Godfrey closed his fingers over my gum and turned to drop it into the wastebasket beside his desk, shrugging as he absentmindedly said; "No orange. There will be no orange,"

Mr. Avery could shove his cock up his ass. I knew he was itching to say it.

And on the other side of the room, our annoying guest was fumbling to gather his stuff and get out as fast as possible. I wasn't the only one who got intimidated by Mr. Godfrey, and that was actually rather nice to see. "Oh!-- Of course, yes," Mr. Avery stammered. "It was stupid, really. But I'm always happy to-- to try!" He stumbled toward the door and exited with the clumsy urgency of a man who knew he had overstayed his welcome.

The moment the door clicked shut, I turned back toward Mr. Godfrey, opening my mouth to apologize for letting in the intruder, but I stopped the second I saw green.

He was looking at me now, and it was quiet. The kind of quiet that suffocates, the kind that shreds you apart like the shredder on the 16th floor that nearly chopped my finger off the other day.

Mr. Godfrey didn't say anything. He was just looking at me like he was deciding something, and that made everything a thousand times worse. Was he maybe thinking about how to tell me I was fired, or was he deciding how to deal with me, like he had said in his email? In the midst of my inner panicked monologue, last night's research buzzed into my head. 

Dom puts needy sub in her place. The suit-clad men. The handprints left on sore, pink skin. Why had this burned itself into my mind? Why couldn't I be busy with something good for me, like... activism? Ugh, fuck it.

Then, Mr. Godfrey's voice cut through my thoughts with a stern; "Turn,"

What? I blinked. "Pardon?"

"Turn," he repeated, slower this time, voice dipped in that particular kind of mockery only he could master. His fingers tapped against the edge of the desk behind him, impatient. "You do know what that means, don't you? Or did all the video games and the gum rot your brain as well?"

My lips parted with a breath I couldn't catch. I felt heat crawl up my neck, shame prickling against my scalp. I should've turned around and done as told, but instead I stood there, blinking like a deer in headlights, unsure if I was supposed to obey or be insulted. In the midst of it all, I could feel the red lights going off in my brain-- what was he about to do? 

Mr. Godfrey sighed, long and theatrical. "Pathetic," he muttered, pushing away from the desk. I let my eyes follow him, allowing myself to watch how fantastically tall he was-- every part of me wanted to climb him.

He was right in front of me now, close enough that I caught a faint trace of his cologne, and then his voice dropped just above a whisper; "Turn. Around,"

Something sharp and electric ran through my spine, and my legs moved before I could stop them; I turned around, and every atom I was made of screamed for him to praise me for it. Face flushed, heart hammering, I stood with my back to him. Silence followed as I felt him looking, like his gaze had weight, and like it was actively crawling up my spine. "Mr. Godfrey, sir, I--"

"Bend over,"

I blinked, unsure I had heard him right. "Excuse me?--"

"My patience is running really damn low, so I suggest you don't make me reiterate a fourth time,"

My breath caught, and it resulted in me hesitating for just a second too long.

Cold fingers curled around the nape of my neck-- not tight, not cruel, but enough to make my knees buckle. Mr. Godfrey pressed, and my body obeyed without another thought; my palms braced against the cool wood of his desk, and to my horror, I could feel my skirt automatically sliding up my thighs.

... Was this why he told me to wear a shorter skirt yesterday?

"Sir?" I breathed, feeling my eyes prickle. For the first time, I found myself feeling scared. I could fantasize all I wanted, sure, but having it all happen in real life? I wasn't sure I was ready for it. "Sir, please don't-- please don't--"

"I'm not going to fuck you," Mr. Godfrey said, calm and precise as his hand left my neck. "I have no interest in that whatsoever, I can assure you. However, I need you to stay still so I can check something out."

Could my boss perhaps read minds? I let out a choppy stream of air, nodding against the desk. 

Behind me, Mr. Godfrey moved with no rush. He was crouching, now, and I could feel the deliberate slowness of his breath near the backs of my thighs. Then, his fingers brushed the hem of my skirt, lifting it higher with clinical, unhurried care. 

My breath caught; I could've sworn I heard him hum. Why hadn't I worn nicer underwear today? Fucking hell. Of course, I had no idea anyone would be seeing the pair I was wearing right now, but I was happy I had at least chosen something with a little bow in the front. 

"You're not wet," he murmured, more to himself than me. "I take it that you didn't go against my word, then?"

Was he talking about how he had denied me getting off earlier today? Me not being wet anymore had nothing to do with that, though. I was sure I could've gotten off completely dry, if I wanted to-- but did Mr. Godfrey need to know that? Certainly not. "I didn't,"

"What?"

"I-- I didn't, sir,"

"Good," 

As I exhaled against the desk, I found my brain buzzing with my inner voice pleading with him to touch me. Just the brush of his knuckles against my inner thigh would make my knees buckle, I was sure-- my cheeks were a rather embarrassing shade of pink as I closed my eyes and imagined how good it would feel if Mr. Godfrey decided to press his thumb against my clit, or even better, against my core to check if my wetness just hadn't reached my underwear. I didn't even care if his hand was still sticky from the gum he'd held in his palm.

But then, I couldn't feel Mr. Godfrey's breath against my thighs anymore. "Stand up," he said, rising behind me.

I scrambled upright like my body had been waiting for permission to move. Fidgeting, anxious, I adjusted my skirt, pulling it down as much as I possibly could. Now, Mr. Godfrey had seen me cum, and seen my underwear. What would be next? Would the next thing be him witnessing my suicide, because he had driven me to it? Hopefully not. 

My gaze met his the second I turned around, and I immediately regretted it. Green, green, green. Forbes nose. There was no softness in his expression, no teasing-- just that steady, infuriating coolness of a typical CEO. And just as I thought he was about to say something nice, praise me for following his orders, anything; "You... smell like need,"

I blinked. "Weed?"

"... Weed?" Mr. Godfrey echoed, blinking back at me. "Need. Are you partially deaf, or?--"

"Sorry, sir," I squeaked, no longer meeting his gaze. Why did I think he had said weed? Stupid, stupid! "I swear I don't smoke. I barely even drink, sir."

Somehow, I felt like my blabbering intrigued him. "Oh, is that so?"

"Positive,"

"Well, I do," he said, shrugging. "Weed can be nice. Do you have any schizophrenics in your family?"

What?! "No...?" Not that I knew of?

"Good. Then you most likely won't go into psychosis if you try some," Mr. Godfrey tilted his head, scanning me as his brows drew together just slightly. "You seem like a risk-taker to me, though. Why don't you smoke?"

"I--" My knees were still weak, and I had to clear my throat. "I like my lungs."

Mr. Godfrey hummed; "Why don't you drink?"

"Cause I'd be an alcoholic," I blurted out, swallowing. "I get addicted to things really easily. I'm rather obsessive, sir."

"Obsessive?"

"Yes, sir,"

"About...?"

"Things I shouldn't,"

Mr. Godfrey didn't speak. He just looked at me with a blank expression, not giving away anything until he suddenly moved. One step, then two, and he passed me by. For a split second, he was close enough that I could smell the faint bitterness of his cologne and something else under it: smoke, leather, maybe the edge of something metallic?

He sat down in his chair with a satisfied sigh, spreading out. His green eyes were tethered to me, like if he looked away or blinked, I'd manage to run away. "Down," he said.

Baffled, I stared. "Sir?"

He looked vaguely irritated by the fact that I was still standing. "Get over here, and get on your knees,"

The words hit like a low bell in my chest, reverberating; yet, I obeyed... slowly. When I reached him, my knees kissed the floor, and my skirt folded around my thighs as my heart climbed up my throat. I wasn't sure what this was-- punishment? Reward? A lesson for not having sharp ears? What was about to happen?

He didn't explain; this was Roman Godfrey, for fuck's sake. He didn't explain himself to anyone. Instead, he spread out further, just far enough that the pointed toe of his right shoe came into view. It was glossy black, expensive, possibly new. He angled his foot slightly toward me, casual.

"Obsessive," he repeated, as though he was tasting the word. "I suggest you don't tell me any more of your weak points. I'm compelled to use them against you, and I'm not keen on restraining myself in my own office."

I stared up at Mr. Godfrey, eyes round with a mix of fear and confined excitement. However, his eyes were on his right shoe, watching the way the gloss shone beneath the office lights. "You've done well today, compared to yesterday," he hummed. "You aren't rejecting the structure I'm implementing in you, you've controlled yourself, for once, so... I believe that deserves something. Doesn't it?" 

I didn't dare answer-- my thighs were shaking. The floor felt too hard beneath my knees, and still I didn't move. Not because I liked it, but mostly because I kind of hoped it would bruise. I'd bruise my knees for Mr. Godfrey any day. "I-- I don't know, sir," I finally whispered. 

"Don't lie. You want something, but you're afraid to ask. You're allowed to ask, are you aware of that?"

I was... allowed? I was so tense I could feel the ache behind my knees. My whole body was humming with unreleased want, my thoughts skipping like stones across a lake I couldn't dive into.

Then, Mr. Godfrey leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees, voice dropping: "You can get off now. But if you must, you will use my shoe,"

I blinked. "I-- Sir?"

"You heard me," There wasn't a hint of humor in his tone. "I'm tired of watching you squirm in your seat. Are you not able to cum any other way? If not, then we have to change that."

Shame crashed over me like a hot wave. "I-- I don't know, sir, I haven't tried--"

"Don't play modest. You're obsessive, so obsess," He nodded once, slow and deliberate, at the pointed leather. "Go on."

I couldn't breathe. This was seriously almost exactly like something I had watched in one of the pornos from last night. How was this happening? How was I letting this happen?

But... my body moved.

I shifted forward, the floor scraping faintly under my knees, and lowered myself just enough to press the clothed ache between my legs against the toe of his shoe. The friction was maddening even through my underwear-- just the firm drag of polished leather against a part of me so tender I could barely keep my balance. 

My breath hitched, and my pleading eyes found his; "Mr. Godfrey, sir, are you-- are you sure?" Please, please don't let this be some mean trick. 

He didn't react-- not a twitch. Just sat there like the authority figure he was, watching me demean myself. "Don't question my word," he said, icy. 

... Okay, then.

My thighs trembled as I started to move-- tentative, shallow motions, with my clothed sex gliding against the stiff leather of his shoe. The room blurred out of focus, and I wasn't even sure if I was breathing anymore. Why did this feel so good? I never thought I'd ever sink so low, yet here I was.

There was no sound in the room but the slight drag of fabric and the soft, wet sound my body made against something that would never respond to me. 

And still, Mr. Godfrey didn't move, didn't blink, but at least I had his full attention this time. Now, he was actually looking at me. Yet; "Pathetic," he murmured, just loud enough. "It's almost sweet."

I swallowed a gasp and squeezed my eyes shut, but it didn't stop the wave of humiliation from peaking and breaking over me. My cheeks were wet-- maybe with sweat, maybe not. I couldn't tell anymore, yet still, I rocked. Each movement sent a shudder up my spine, each pass over the tip of his shoe tugging a needy, desperate noise out of me. I needed more pressure, needed to lean into it, but I couldn't balance.

Without thinking, I reached forward, planting a shaky hand on the edge of his thigh for support, feeling the soft fabric of his suit against the burning tips of my fingers.

But... I shouldn't have. Holy shit I shouldn't have, because instantly, he recoiled in what I could only decode as disgust. Mr. Godfrey wafted me away like I was something distasteful-- "No," he hissed, biting and sharp. "You don't get to touch me."

Fuck-- I froze. Something about his knee-jerk reaction shocked me to my core. My whole body seized in place, and that was when it hit-- the burn. Not just between my legs, but in my eyes, in my chest. The rejection, sharp and cold and cutting straight through the heat of arousal; my vision blurred as tears welled up in my eyes. I blinked hard, but it was too late. He saw.

Mr. Godfrey's gaze locked on mine again-- green, cold, assessing. Just for a second, I thought I saw something resembling guilt, but that would be impossible. Roman Godfrey didn't feel guilty about anything. If anything, he made you feel guilty for even existing in his vicinity. 

But then, something shifted. He didn't soften, not quite; he didn't have that in him, I think. Still, he leaned forward, slow and deliberate, and brought his hand up between us.

I flinched, until my foggy brain realized Mr. Godfrey's thumb was gently pressing against my lips. 

Open.

Without thinking, my mouth wrapped around his thumb, slow, obscene, wet, as my hips ground down harder against his smooth shoe. Something about this functioned like a pacifier, and I suddenly found myself no longer wanting to cry. What the fuck?

Mr. Godfrey's eyes stayed on me, watching the way my lips closed around him. And then, he granted me the words that were the closest to an apology than anything he'd probably ever granted anyone before; "Good girl," he cooed. "That's better."

My tears, freshly humiliated, welled again, but now they mixed with something sickly warm-- something that felt dangerously close to affection for both of us. He wasn't angry anymore. He was... assessing me, testing me out like he was trying me on for size. I could breathe again. He had actually praised me. Roman Godfrey had praised me. That was all I had ever wanted, since the second I started working for him.

Mr. Godfrey shifted his hand, thumb still in my mouth, and the pad of it traced over my tongue like he was checking the texture. My jaw ached to close around it, bite down, do something that would make me feel less helpless, but I didn't dare. I suckled, soft, obedient, grateful.

"There we are," he murmured, like he was proud of a kid for saying a full sentence.

The burn of his affection made me whimper. I didn't mean to, but the sound escaped from somewhere buried deep. 

"Was that too much for you?" he asked, brushing a tear from under one eye with the knuckle of his free hand. The question was rhetorical-- he didn't wait for an answer. "Told you we had to talk about boundaries."

I didn't know what to say, yet couldn't say anything at all with his thumb filling my mouth. Still, my body kept moving, clinging to the friction, chasing release like it was the only lifeline I had left.

"Greedy girl," Mr. Godfrey murmured, shaking his head. "You want comfort and corruption. That's a dangerous combination. That'd get you obsessed for sure, and that's not what I want."

What the hell did he want, then? I had no idea.

My fingers curled into fists-- he wasn't wrong. I didn't know how to want something halfway, I never had. I only knew how to consume, obsess, drown, and right now, I could feel myself drowning in the pleasure. Who would've thought grinding against a shoe would feel good? Those girls moaning their asses off in those porn videos were seemingly not lying that much.

Mr. Godfrey watched me the way a handler might study a trembling animal-- somewhere between clinical and captivated. His thumb stayed in my mouth, anchoring me to him, keeping me quiet, subdued. It was too much. It was not enough. I didn't know which.

"That's it," he said, his voice like blood-drenched silk. "You're almost there, aren't you?"

I whimpered around his thumb, nodding, the friction unbearably perfect now; sharp leather, soaked-through panties, and the humiliating rhythm of my own hips chasing a finish that felt impossible to stop.

"Pathetic little thing," he whispered. "You're one heck of a fucking secretary."

That did it-- I shattered.

My orgasm hit like a car crash, sudden and sickeningly sweet; my body convulsed as my hips locked down hard against his shoe. I moaned around his thumb, eyes screwed shut, utterly undone and unable to hide it; I didn't have to.

And Mr. Godfrey just let me. He didn't move. Didn't help. Didn't soothe. He let me. He held his thumb steady in my mouth, watching me with quiet satisfaction as my body betrayed me; I shuddered, and clenching and weeping against something that would never, ever love me.

"Look at that," he murmured when I finally started to come down, my thighs trembling, my body wrecked. "See what happens when you follow my rules?"

I... 

Yes, but... 

I couldn't believe what had just happened. What the fuck had I done? When would this feeling of shame leave me? 

And had I just... gotten off on somebody's shoe?!

The post-orgasm clarity hit me like never before. With the last shred of dignity in my body, I allowed my teeth to gently sink into Mr. Godfrey's thumb-- it was barely anything, barely a scrape, barely a bite, but I had to do something in order to soothe the fire raging through my soul.

So, I get to humiliate myself like this when I follow his rules? I get to feel shame beyond belief in exchange for him shaping me to his liking?

No, sir.

Eyes burning with every feeling churning in my gut, I glared up at Mr. Godfrey through my brows, making him face my rebellion. How dare he use my affliction with him against me like this? How dare he waft my hands away from him? What the fuck was his problem? Why was he doing this?! I wanted to sob and hit him, to beg him to explain what he was doing to me. Was he conditioning me? What for? The image of the previous secretary flashed before my eyes, the odd tear in her skirt making the pit in my stomach heavier than ever; angered, I flared my teeth, sinking them harder into his thumb, hoping for some sort of reaction or wince from him, yet nothing. 

Instead, Mr. Godfrey pulled his thumb from between my teeth as though he couldn't feel a thing, and abruptly got up from his chair. I guessed he could see the thoughts behind my narrowed eyes, and it didn't take a genius to figure that it pissed him off. He had granted me my orgasm, so I should be grateful, right? Fuck no. Then, it didn't take long before he got his foot back from under me, and--

I gasped. 

Mr. Godfrey pressed his shoe against my chest and pushed. 

He stood on top of me, not pressing his whole weight on me, yet it was enough to make my eyes bulge as I tried to catch my breath. My back had hit the floor with a thud, and I struggled to understand what the fuck was happening. I would've hit him, would've tried to get him off of me, but... I wasn't allowed to touch him.

Even as he was stepping on me, my mind wouldn't let me go against him.

... This was so fucking bad.

Mr. Godfrey leaned down, pushing down hard enough to make me whimper, before he hissed with pure wrath in his eyes;

"Brat,"

(a/n: never have I ever found shoe-humping hot. never. I still sorta don't, but this was... yes sorry this was HOT IDKKKK WTF IS HAPPENING TO ME??? BUT THANK U IF YOU'VE READ THIS FARRR AHAHAH<33333)

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lovely little taglist:

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@voidofsunlight @sn0wybowie-blog @scarledy @carmillavalentine

@succubustacy @sweatyconnoisseurstrawberry @ohperiodtpoohhh

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[sugarushwriting]

vampire enhypen and you’re their human blood bank (part six!!???!)

jay isn’t happy with your decisions

neither is sunghoon

jake or heeseung

they became possessive over you and refuse to allow you to leave them

straight smut coming this chapter, forewarning. i will not warn anymore after the “keep reading” point. i am not the best at writing smut (jealous of those who can) so please be easy on me!!

next part (?) should not have heavy smut like this one or any at all. didn’t expect this many parts but hi, hello, here we are.

do not repost or translate. but please feel free to reblog, like, and comment! not proof read.

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ ₊˚⊹♡

your leg nervously bounced while you waited in class for the professor to begin. students began whispering wondering why this class was mandatory. the girls were whispering wondering where jay was.

where was he? he made it a whole ordeal that you come to class today and he’s not even here?

the entire class period went by boringly, but the professor did talk about important things. maybe he did need to talk about it to everyone, but no need for it to have been mandatory and worth so many points.

as he dismissed class 10 minutes early, he called you to the podium where he stood.

“yes professor kong?” you asked adjusting your backpack on your shoulder.

“mr park needs to see you in his office. he says it’s about your recent grade.”

you stood frozen, “um, i thought i did okay on that paper?”

“he did too, but he said he found some things and he’s worried about plagiarism?”

“that’s ridiculous! all that work came from me and i made sure to reference correctly.”

the professor shrugged, “i haven’t seen it myself, and i trust mr park.”

well you didn’t. “thank you professor kong.” you nodded politely and walked out the classroom, an immediate ding to your phone notifying you had a text.

jay: come to my office. im watching you. don’t try to hide and run.

you read the text and huffed in annoyance. you looked around for him, but of course, if he didn’t want to be found by you, he wouldn’t.

you made your way to his office in the business building, which was luckily the same building class was held. you took the elevator to the top floor, and made your way to the end of the hallway were his small but cozy office was.

your university gave teaching assistants either their own office or shared office depending on the amount of work they would be doing for the professor. plus teaching assistants were required to hold office hours for extra help for students with a minimum of 2 hours a week. whether it was in person office hours or through zoom.

you raised your fist to knock, but startled when you felt a hot breath on your neck. quickly turning around, you came face to face with jay. your back flat against his door.

he reached beside you, unlocking the door. “go in.”

it wasn’t a question or statement. it was a demand. his tone was hushed, but deep. you recognize his authority tone he usually used on the guys.

you quickly turned back around and walked into his office.

he locked the door behind him, hands in his pocket and made no effort to talk to you.

“professor said you had worries about my paper?” you asked.

jay was behind his desk now, and his brown eyes snapped up from the drawer he was rummaging through. “your paper is fine.”

“but—,”

jays sharp eyes made contact with you and you quickly hushed. his irises were red.

jay grabbed a roll of duct tape and made his way towards you. he ripped off a piece, and when you went to ask what he was doing, he quickly placed it over your lips. again, he said nothing, until you lifted your arms to take off the tape.

“take off that tape and i will turn your ass black and blue.”

his tone was threatening, and even though usually you’d push back, something told you not to this time. you put your hands to your sides, waiting for his next move.

he took your bag off of your shoulder, then next, he taped your hands together in front of you.

he threw the tape off to the side, it clattering to the floor. jay stood in front of you, straight eye contact, pushing your body subtly to his desk, until your butt rested against it.

you’ve never seen jay so quiet. it terrified you to be honest. but you also felt a thrill. is he showing you his dominate side you’ve been asking for? or maybe this is his fed up side with your behavior. you knew you were to be mad at him. and you still was, however, for good sex? you might put it aside just for now.

jay roughly pushed you down on his desk, and put your arms to rest above your head. “move your hands and arms, and you won’t be able to lift them for weeks.”

another threat. you swallowed. jay wasted no time lifting your sweatshirt above your bra, and removing your sweatpants off your legs. without warning, jay slapped your underwear covered pussy—hard. like someone would slap an ass.

you tried to scream, but of course your mouth was covered so it was muffled. jay smirked.

he removed your underwear, throwing them over his shoulder, and pulled your bra down to expose your breast. he took each in one hand, gripping hard, causing pain. another muffled scream.

jay wasn’t being his usual gentle self. and you were thinking this is more than his dominate side.

your arms jerked, and jay raised a brow, waiting for you to move it, but you didn’t.

“good girl.” he praised, and you rolled your head to the side. he clicked his tongue on the root of his mouth, “nope, eyes on me the entire time.”

your head rolled back to meet jays eyes. “good to know you do listen.”

you were surprised when jays fangs extended. your eyes going wide. his kissed your jawline, the tape where your lips would be, and one kiss to you neck. he peppered kisses down your chest before his mouth latched on to a nipple, and you could feel his fangs slightly break skin.

another muffle scream came. he did it to the other breast. then he kissed down your stomach, occasionally scraping his fangs against your skin. your stomach recoiled at the slight touch, because one you were ticklish, second because you were nervous he was going to break skin fully, not just a tease.

he kissed down your body, your left thigh, left leg, then made his way back up your right leg, to your right thigh, stopping just inches away from your core. you could feel his hot breath fanning, and you wiggled a bit. he didn’t move. you whined behind the tape, earning a chuckle from jay.

your eyes closed as you waited for the sensation of his tongue licking your core. you didn’t notice jay was taking his pants and boxers off, stroking his cock twice, aligning himself to your entrance.

he roughly, swiftly, and quickly bottomed out, cause a deep groan of pleasure from his mouth. a loud muffled scream of pain came from your mouth behind the tape.

fuck you wasn’t expecting him to just bottom out like that. usually jay takes his time with slowly entering you. he always makes sure you’re wet enough.

“what a shame, usually you’re dripping for me. this time you’re barely wet.”

if you could talk you would scold him and say it’s because he didn’t give you time! he didn’t prep you!

he knew that. he wanted to bring you pain. a tear slipped from your eye. he didn’t give you time to adjust to his thickness when he started ramming in and out of you, at an unhuman speed and strength, or at least something you weren’t used to. his hands and fingers tightly gripped your thighs to hold you in place. your body rocked against his desk, scared it was going to break.

your eyes rolled to the back of your head, as jay mumbled incoherently under his breath. you couldn’t hear what he was saying, nor did you care.

not until you realized your arms left the place they were supposed to be, and went to wrap around jays neck.

he quickly removed himself, you moaning low from the loss of him, and he lifted you off the desk by pulling you by your taped hands.

“what did i tell you?” he asked through gritted teeth. your eyes went wide and he flipped you on your stomach, the cold surface hitting your bare breasts and stomach. your arms back reaching over your head, gripping the edge of the desk.

jay quickly entered you from behind, this time gripping your ass so tight, you really were gonna be black and blue after this.

all you could do was let muffled sounds escape from the tape as he hammered from behind, landing slaps to your ass.

his cock was reaching into your cervix, and you didn’t know to scream of pain or pleasure. tears now flowing out of your eyes.

your orgasm began building, and with jays sloppy and low sounds leaving his mouth, you knew he was close too.

it didn’t take long for him to come inside you. but just as you were so close, he removed himself and watched his come drip out of you.

you whined. you whined and cried because you were so close to your orgasm and he stopped! that wasnt like jay. he always made sure you orgasmed first, if not, at least made sure you had a successful orgasm.

you banged your fists on his desk in frustration, as his come slowly dripped out of your cunt, down your legs.

you began crying fully, because you just couldn’t control your emotions. your legs bucking, your knees going week. jay emotionless put his boxers and pants back on, lifting you up by your hair, leaning down to whisper in your ear.

“not nice when someone won’t listen to you huh? when they ignore you. when they ignore what you want and your needs.” jay snickered and dropped you back on the desk.

jay went to the other side of his desk, grabbing scissors from his drawer. no further word, he cut the tape from your bound hands, and lifted your chin from the desk, removing the tape—not so gently—from your lips.

but you were too wore out to even complain. you can’t fathom how you were tired. 2 simple positions, but jay used his strength and energy on you. he probably could’ve went harder, faster, but that might’ve killed you.

you lifted yourself on your forearms to look at jay, who still had that lazy smirk on his face. you lifted yourself fully, and when you went to lift your bra, you had to use two hands, but lost balance and fell to the ground. while lying there you lifted your bra to cover yourself again, and pulled down your sweatshirt. you reached over to grab your underwear that was lying on the ground next to you.

“you’re seriously gonna get dressed while lying down?”

you had no energy to even speak. you grabbed your underwear, but couldn’t even bend to put them on your legs.

jay sighed in frustration and disbelief (how dare he, jerk!!) and came to assist you with getting dressed. “good to know you can’t fight back. you’re coming home with me.”

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

jay threw you onto a bed. you couldn’t even focus on who’s bed and room he brought you to. a small sound came from your throat. wasn’t even a full sentence. you said, “thirsty.”

jay nodded and left the bedroom. oh shit were you gonna die of thirst now? your limbs were still weak but you could slightly move. what the fuck happened?

footsteps could be heard and you saw sunghoon enter with a cup of what you’re assuming is water, hopefully.

sunghoon said nothing as he came closer to you, helping you sit up in the bed and brining the cup to your lips. he assisted you with drinking the water.

“thank you.” you finally said in a whisper.

“our baby doll can talk now.” he smiled and patted your head. he laid you back down on the bed. it must be his.

sunghoon hovered over you, straddling, as he took off his shirt with a smirk. “be prepared baby doll. you’re not gonna be able to move for a while once we’re done with you.”

his lips came down to yours, a rush kiss, as he swiftly took off your pants and underwear at once and lifted your sweatshirt to expose your belly.

you were so distracted by his tongue deep in your mouth, you didn’t feel or notice sunghoon taking off his own pants and boxers. it wasn’t until he rubbed his tip against your clit.

“ah,” you moaned out from the feeling. your body still not recovered from jays attack or lack of orgasm. was sunghoon not gonna prep you either? he loved to eat your cunt out, almost, almost, as much as jake.

this would also be your first time having sex with sunghoon.

your thoughts were answered when he entered into you, slightly slower than what jay did. sunghoon was longer than jay, but with slight less thickness to him.

your hands went to sunghoons shoulders to grip, and he bottomed out, a loud moan leaving his lips. “why have i never done this before?” he mumbled to himself. your walls gripping him snuggly. “baby doll you feel so good and right for me. for us.”

sunghoon found a pace rocking his hips against yours, you connecting your lips together to muffle the sounds. once he started to reach an orgasm, his paced picked up and so did the roughness of how he fucked you. he lifted his lips off of yours as his fangs extended and his teeth scraped your shoulder like a slight pinch and he buried his head in your shoulder.

“so so good, baby doll.” he moaned, using his hand to wrap one of your legs around his waist for a deeper and better angle.

your head tilted as far back as possible from the pleasure building in your stomach once again. “sunghoon, im close.” you groaned out, removing your hands from his shoulders to grab onto the headboard.

you felt sunghoon fill you up with his come, and you were worried he wouldn’t let you come, but he fucked his come deeper into you as you soon came as well with the loudest moan you’ve let slip past your lips.

maybe it was because of the first orgasm denial, so this one was so intense. it had your body shaking afterwards, specifically your legs and they went numb.

you were so tired, all you wanted to to was nap. not even caring as sunghoon pulled out, you closed your eyes.

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

when you awoke, you were in a different bed, and heeseung was playing a game at his desk in front of you.

you tried to move your body but couldn’t. not because you were tied down, but because your body was so sore and worn out. the only thing you could do was let noises escape your mouth.

your whine caught heeseung’s attention from the game and he smiled seeing you awake. he turned off the game, coming to the bed beside you as you finally noticed him shirtless, only in pajama pants.

all you could do was stare. “baby, you’ve been sleep for hours. was starting to get worried i wouldn’t get my turn.” he pouted.

hours? you slept for hours? you turned your head to look out the window and saw dusk was falling. what time was it?

you mentally did math—okay so class ended around 11:40, you met jay at his office around 12. how long did that last? a hour? maybe longer? then what about sunghoon? how long did that go?

with the light, it had to be around 5 or 5:30 in the evening. “time?” you croaked out.

heeseung smiled. “it’s almost 5, baby.” he pulled you to the edge of the bed, so your feet hung off the edge, your butt close to it. “i’m glad jay and sunghoon didn’t go too hard. was worried you wouldn’t be able to take me or jake.”

wait, they all were going to fuck you? and what does he mean they didn’t go too hard? you could barely move or speak!

you tried to form words, but your mind turned to mush when heeseung got on his knees and lifted both of your legs so they were over his shoulder. “i can’t wait to finally taste you.” he whispered against your inner thigh.

that’s when you finally realized, you were only in an oversized shirt and some boxers. you didn’t know who dressed you in it. maybe sunghoon or maybe heeseung.

heeseung kissed your cunt through the boxers, his nose burying itself to inhale deeply. he pressed open mouth kisses all along both of your thighs, before his vampire fangs felt like a pinch to your thigh. you jerked, but heeseung held you in place. his teeth scraped against your inner thigh, a moan leaving your lips as you turned your head to the side, and ran your fingers through is hair.

he swiftly took the boxers off your legs and lifted the shirt up above your belly button. no warning, heeseungs tongue swiped between your folds, your legs tightening around his neck as he buried himself between your legs like he was home. he licked, sucked, bit, nibbled, all he could on your cunt, clit and in between.

“fuck you taste too good baby. no wonder jake and sunghoon love to be buried between your legs.” heeseung sighed in pleasure, as he continued his attack. meanwhile, your head was rocking side to side, your eyes rolling to the back of your head, all while holding heeseung in place by your legs and your fist in his hair. the harder you gripped he would bite.

you were nearing your third orgasm of the day, but before you could let heeseung know you were close, he removed his delightful lips and tongue from your cunt, kissing up your stomach, lifting the shirt higher above your breasts, to your neck, still leaving open mouth kisses, licks, and occasionally nipping with his fangs.

you whine at the loss, heeseung smiling against your skin. his lips met yours in a sloppy kiss, you tasting yourself on his lips and tongue.

his lips made their way back to your breasts, his lips wrapping around one nipple, you sensitive to the feeling. another moan left your mouth, but then a louder moan mixed with a yelp came next as without warning, heeseungs fingers entered your cunt.

not one. not two. but three of his long fingers, knuckle deep. your body jerked at the feeling, but it caused heeseung to bite your nipple, your cunt growing wetter every second, and even wetter than before due to the bite.

“so so wet for me.” heeseung smiled then did the same attack on your other breast and nipple. he was loving the loud sounds coming from your wet cunt.

now, one hand was in heeseungs hair, the other on his muscular back as his fingers rocked in and out at a fast and bruising pace. “mhm heeseung.” you moaned out in between taking deep breaths. even without his cock he was filling you up deliciously.

your walls clamped tighter on his fingers, so he kept the speed of his fingers, his thumb rubbing circles on your clit. his tongue licked and sucked your nipple harder, his fangs making another appearance with a pinch.

it sent you over the edge. you came hard. your juices soaked his fingers, leaking onto the edge of the bed, down your thighs, and down his stomach.

you let out the loudest moan you ever had, and your chest heaved up and down as you chased oxygen as you felt so breathless.

you weren’t done. you kept coming and coming for at least a full 2 minutes, your body weakening every second as heeseung continued moving his fingers to your orgasm.

it wasn’t until tears filled your eyes that heeseung removed his fingers and lifted his body off of yours as you shook. you couldn’t imagine taking his cock right now.

“you’ll get my cock another time, baby.” he whispered against your forehead, easing your mind for the time being.

your eyes began to close as exhaustion took over.

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

different bed. you woke up in a different bed and next to a different body. your eyes slowly opened to the darkness both outside and in the room.

your heartbeat sped up to not knowing your surroundings. you felt familiar lips on your neck with a kiss and a familiar aussie accent, “you had us so worried baby.”

you swallowed, trying to find your voice. “sorry.” your voice cracked. “im so sorry.” you apologized. this was your punishment for ignoring them. they were letting you know, you were theirs.

“it’s okay baby. we know you won’t do it again.” jake sighed and began sucking on your neck.

you knew jake had a high sex drive. even before he became a damn vampire. you could only imagine how becoming a vampire upped it. usually when he feasted on you, he could stay for hours eating you out, giving you multiple orgasms in a short time period.

“jakey im tired.” you pouted hoping jake would give you a break.

“don’t worry baby, just lay there, jakey will do all the work.”

and he did. you laid flat on the bed like a damn mannequin. your mind couldn’t even focus on whatever jake was doing. you just remember the cold air hitting your naked skin, his lips, his tongue, his teeth, all over your body.

jake gripping your thighs so tight you were sure handprints would be left behind, along with his nails digging into your skin.

you moaned, whined, and cried. jake was enjoying it so much. he didn’t care if you couldn’t participate back. as long as his lips were somewhere on your body he was happy.

between your legs, your thighs, devouring your cunt. your breast, nibbling your breasts. your lips for sloppy kisses, spit mixing between your mouths.

he moved you onto your stomach so he could eat you out from behind. he positioned your body so your head was buried in the sheets, your hands by your side, your ass in the air.

jake feasted, slobber and spit running down your leg. or was it come? did you orgasm? you were so tired maybe you did and didn’t even know.

jake mumbled, “so wet baby. coming so much just from my tongue.”

your mouth was so dry.

jake landed a slap to your ass, you groaned in reaction, and jake smiled liking that you finally responded to stimuli.

next you felt long slender fingers enter your cunt from behind, this time you bit into the sheets. your cunt genuinely could not handle anything else.

jake pumped his fingers at an ungodly speed, or what felt like it, your screams muffled by the sheets of his bed. your hands found the strength to grip onto the sheets.

“come again for me baby. i know you want to.”

and you did. you don’t know what orgasm number this was. you don’t know how long you orgasmed for. you just know your body could not take anymore.

you cried, shaking your head. “no more jakey, please. i—i am so sorry.” you sniffled.

jake shushed you, rubbing your back trying to get you to take deep breaths through your sobs. “it’s okay baby, no more.” he kissed your back. you collapsed onto the bed.

jake got off the bed, and helped you sit up, bringing a cup to your lips. “drink some water baby.”

you did. he had to help you, get you to slowly drink as if you tried to drink to fast, it would miss your lips and dribble down your chin.

once done, he laid you back down, covering up your naked body.

you cried yourself to sleep being so worn out from your body being wrecked by 4 vampires.

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ ₊˚⊹♡