#cookie kinktober

[lunaekalenda]

Day 21 with Toji?

warnings: fem!bodied neutral!gender reader, boss-employee, oral towards man ehe, i hope it isn't too bad :')

day 21 - titfucking - toji fushiguro

The underwear election wasn't a casualty. Of course, the clothes and the hairstyle weren't too. Toji identifies the hidden meaning under a ponytail easily, after all, he was the one that made that stupid joke that now plays with his sanity day and night, thinking when will it be the next day he'll see your cute hair away from your pretty face.

Supposedly, you and him are nothing more than professionals with a strict professional relationship. Nothing more than a boss and his employee. A normal professional relationship. Your co-workers are amazed on the good relation you keep with your employer. It obligates you to smile and thank them before returning to your table, near his office, where you receive his orders to let providers enter, tell him about his next scheduled reunion and attend his necessities. After all, he sits all day in the same chair, doing the same tasks, without any type of relief to that stress. Poor man.

At first, it was a casual thing. He kept you on his office hours after the last turn finished, and offered you an interesting mensual plus for just fuck with him whenever he was too stressed. You accepted, after all, giving him a quick blowjob under the desk or ride him on his office chair was even a joke for the amount of money he was offering. He's hot, he definitely knows what to do and he's rich. An easy hook up mate. Without strings, without anything. Just his relief.

Now, it became your relief as well.

You sit on the desk he put for you on the right corner of his office, giving him a glorious view of your back and your legs under the table, covered with those stockings he hates to see on you. He always has to rip them off. He's observing you, quietly moving on his chair, pen near the scar on his lip, as you move your head too much on purpose so that your ponytail bounces off your back.

"I like the hairstyle you've brought to the office today." he says.

"Thanks, Mr. Fushiguro." you answer, a side smile on his face after hearing your formal answer, as your fingers keep moving fast on the keyboard of your laptop.

You hear his chair being dragged and his steps towards the door, locking it.

"Could you please cancel everything for the next hour?" he asks. It's difficult for you to hide your smile while nodding towards him, as he keeps walking around, specially, in the area behind your chair. Suddenly, you feel his hands on your shoulders. Around your neck, up to your jaw. Under your mouth. He hums.

"Is there any motive you've decided to bring this hairstyle here today?" he asks. You watch your reflection on the laptop screen, now totally black, as you smile. His hands make your jaw look like a doll's. So little and tiny.

"I think it suits me." you answer, calmly. He smiles.

"Oh, pretty, it definitely does." he approves. "Specially when my hand is around it." He moves towards his desk, with those big windows at the back. "Well, I definitely remember the dress code you use, and would it be too audacious from me to ask you to put your knees here and your mouth to work, please?"

With an excitement you're unable to cover, you get up slowly and reach his desk. His hands are already unbuttoning his shirt, revealing all those muscles you've licked and bite before. His hands keep going as he finds the zipper to his pants. You shake your head.

"I ask you to sit on your chair and be quiet, Mr. Fushiguro." you whisper, near his ear, as your fingers start to unbutton your own shirt. "Or you will spoil the surprise."

Toji doesn't like surprises, he never did. But the way you're looking at him, bitting your lip, with shiny eyes and those movements, he obeys, flopping into the chair, entranced by the sight of you taking off your shirt as you approach him. Under your clothes, the cutest bra he has ever seen on you appears. It pushes your tits up, leaving nothing to his imagination, and keeps your nipples out by small cutouts in the fabric in the shape of a heart. The frontal part doesn't even touch your tórax, floating in between your breasts in a nice view he would never forget.

"That's definitely... Interesting." he says, eyes fixed on the black cloth as you get near him.

"You'll be surprised on the quantity of options it gives you." Rounding his chair, you open the last drawer of his desk, where a tub of pink lube rests. Taking it, you open the bottle, letting a little jet fall in between your breasts, under his gaze. The coldness of the liquid makes you sigh as Toji's eyes are fix on the way your nipples harden because of the temperature, feeling himself grow bigger on his pants. Taking the bottle with you, you finally kneel in front of him.

"I think I know what you're trying to do." he murmurs, unzipping finally his pants, as he keeps looking at you. He takes his cock out, pumping it a couple times under your gaze, as you open the bottle again to let a jet fall on his tip. He bites his lip and releases a low groan.

"You do?" you ask, getting comfier and making sure both you and him have lube and are prepared to start.

"I never thought you would get this original." he says, his eyes following every single movement: how you drag his cock towards your chest, how his tip presses against the cleavage, how your body starts to move down, taking him deep between your tits as you take a quiet rhythm. "And, honestly, never thought it would feel like this." he says, between his teeth, as his hand grips stronger to the armrest of his chair.

He was clueless of your next movement, and you thank that while you keep bouncing your upper body at a medium pace, hearing his moans and curses while he thrusts softly against them, revealing that it feels too good. You spit in between them, more for the lewdness of the moment than for actual need, but Toji bites his lip as he sees the the thread of saliva that connects your breasts to your mouth. He looks so good, so handsome, with his eyes half closed and his abs in tension, with his knuckles white from the strong grip to the leather of the chair and his lustful looks.

"Does it feel good, Mr. Fushiguro?" you ask, even when you know the answer. He takes his hand to both sides of your breasts, caressing the nipples that keep sticking out of the bra. You let a low moan escape, making him smile.

"It does, baby. And honestly, even when this bra made me hard, I think it might be time to take it off, don't you?" With a quick movement of your hands on your back, you take it out. His hands part from your tits just to grab them harder when the bra falls, controlling the pace and making circles on your nipples with his thumbs. He moans again.

"I don't think this could feel any better..." he whispers. Taking out the bra gave him the freedom to move and touch and grip, but it also gives you access to the pink tip that appears and disappears on your cleavage. As he leaves little precum pearls on your breasts, that disappear with every new thrust, you lick your lips before taking your head down.

The reaction that follows the little lick you give him is unexpected. Toji groans as he rubs your tits harder against him, tilting towards you and thrusting himself harder. You knew he was close, and probably giving him little kitten licks just helps him to follow his orgasm harder.

"D-Do it again." he asks, thrusting again as you take your tongue out. "Again, I know you can take more in, baby. Don't be bad, yeah? Open wide and suck on my tip while I keep rubbing, hm?" As he stops thrusting, just using his hands to rub your breasts on his cock, you put your head down again, opening your mouth the exact amount to let the tip in. Making circles with your tongue, you listen satisfied how the man moans more and more, his hands have just stopped his movements, letting him rest and enjoy the sensation of your tongue playing with his tip.

"Why don't you take it in and help your boss to cum?" he asks, taking now your hand to your jaw. You let your ass fall on your legs, sticky tits leaving his dick as your mouth and hands replace them. His hand takes your ponytail - he has probably been waiting for this. - as he thrusts up on your mouth without mercy, searching his own pleasure but making sure you can still breath. "Exactly like this, darling." he groans, going deeper, making your eyes teary and making you gag unconsciously. He keeps moving his hips, his hand still moving your head as the other has your jaw grabbed delicately. He's so close you can even feel it yourself on his taste, on the way he's still moving his hips and moaning curses in low tone.

"Are you gonna be good and eat all?" he asks, nothing more than a hoarse moan. "Take it, yeah? It's all for you."

Your tongue plays again on his tip when his thrusts stop and his cum fills your mouth, making him moan because of the sensible tip the orgasm left on him, and the overstimulation your tongue is giving. Taking everything inside, and making sure his half-closed eyes are still on you, you swallow it, making him tilt towards you and kiss you, with his tongue registering there's nothing of his seed inside of your mouth.

"How good." he murmurs when he parts. Both of you stand up, as he checks if you're alright and you help him to clean himself and dress again. He takes the bra from the floor, giving it back to you,

"From now on, I hope this interesting clothing piece becomes part of your daily outfit, yeah?"

Smiling and taking it back from him, you answer. "As you ask, Mr. Fushiguro."

#toji fushiguro x reader #toji fushiguro smut #toji fushiguro x you #toji x reader #toji x you #toji x y/n #toji smut #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #toji jjk #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #cookie kinktober

[djljpanda]

Fluff-kinktober

(October 13th - 26th)

Please choose a character for a scenario and if two characters are asked for one scenario I will pick the character that was asked first. Do ask for the characters that are in the tags. Please do have fun.

Arranged Marriage

Amneisa

Hurt N Comfort

Jealousy

Long Distance

Forbidden Love

Bed sharing

Warning Please from this point down please choose characters that are over the age of 18+ And these are NSFW scenarios so minors please leave.

Costumes

Shower/Bath

Vanilla

Mommy/ Daddy Kink

Threesome

Pregnancy Kink

#cookie run kingdom x reader #crk smut #wednesday addams x reader #wally darling x reader #the owl house x reader #murder drones x reader #lackadaisy x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #helluva boss x reader #lego monkie kid x reader #lmk smut #hazbin hotel smut #helluva boss smut #smut #kinktober #flufftober #fluff

[the-iceni-bitch]

Freedom in Your Arms

Kinktober Day 18: Choking

Relationship: mob!Steve Kemp x fem!reader (blade and cookie, Poison Paradise AU)

Words: ~400

Summary: You love spoiling your man.

Warnings: explicit language, explicit sexual content (unprotected vaginal sex, breath play, slapping, cream pie, mentions of plugging and f receiving oral sex, kinda dom/sub dynamics), established relationship, zero plot, SMUT!! 18+ ONLY!!

A/N: Super short and smutty! Plot just seemed unnecessary for this one, lol.

I am no longer doing taglists so if you want to stay up to date on all the latest filth, follow my sideblog @the-iceni-library and turn on notifications!

“More.” Steve was practically whimpering while he gazed up at you writhing over him, his voice a low rasp as his fingers dug into your hips and guided your movements. “Harder, make me feel it, c’mon cookie.”

“Such a needy boy, Steven.” You grinned when he really did whine at the use of his full name, circling your hips slowly and leaning more of your weight into the hand you had wrapped around his throat. “Can feel that big cock twitch every time I choke you, honey, you’re such a fucking freak.”

He could only nod in response since you were cutting off all his air, wheezing desperately while his face started to go numb as he arched into you. Feeling your cunt and your hand strangling him at the same time may have just been his favorite thing, his eyes rolling back in his skull while he felt it building in his core.

You slapped him and relaxed your grip just enough to let him draw in a shallow breath when you saw him about to pass out, cooing softly when he groaned for you and met your eyes when you started riding him even harder.

“You like this so much, don’t you, baby?” Now Steve couldn’t even nod, his mouth hanging open as he struggled to breathe while you teased him. “Such a big, tough man, but then you turn so dumb once I start to spoil you a little. So goddamn sweet, want you to come for me, Steven, fill my tight little pussy all the way up.”

Steve felt your pussy starting to flutter as you creamed all over his cock and cut off his air again, his fingers squeezing your soft hips while he rolled his body up to meet yours. Feeling you come had him following right after you, like he always did, his dick throbbing and swelling inside you until his cum started spurting against your sensitive walls.

As soon as you had ridden it out you were collapsing on top of him with a satisfied sigh, nuzzling into his neck and laughing softly when his hands slid around you to grab your ass. His eyes were fixed on you when you looked at him, a warm smile splitting his face while you wound your arms around his waist and squeezed.

“You really do spoil me, cookie.” He chuckled and gave your ass a playful slap when you nibbled on his jaw. “Gonna spoil you right back. Where’s that damn plug? Wanna keep that mess inside you so I can eat you for dessert.”

#natalie writes #natalie’s kinktober 2022 #kinktober 2022 #poison paradise #blade and cookie #steve kemp #steve kemp x reader #steve kemp x y/n #steve kemp x you #steve kemp smut #sebastian stan #sebastian stan smut #sebastian stan character

[jaylaxies]

KINKTOBER DAY 19 — SIZE KINK

PAIRING: jay x fem!reader

GENRE/CW: smut, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), cunnilingus, bulge kink, usage of nicknames.

WC: 0.8k words

WARNING: 18+ content, minors dni

A/N: hihi, angels! here’s my second kinktober fic! i hope you all enjoy reading this:3 all likes, comments, reblogs and feedbacks are highly appreciated! iloveyou all <33

✎ kinktober masterlist

“Oh, baby. You’re so small, let me get that for you, hm?” 

You gasped when you found Jay standing right behind you, his hand easily reaching the shelf you were so desperately trying to reach from the past five minutes, the size difference evident. 

Jay had noticed just how small you looked next to him, how his hand engulfed yours, how his hugs were enough to hide your body from everyone, and how his cock barely ever fit inside your little cunt. 

He didn’t mean to eavesdrop on your conversation with your friends by any means, yet he just so happened to have gotten muffins for you guys, almost entering the room before he accidentally heard your conversation. 

“He is so fucking tall, he must love the size difference,” your friend spoke up. 

“No, but seriously, does he pick you up and throw you around too?” Another one asked and you simply nodded, your expression displayed just how proud you were of this setting. 

Jay entered the room before you could verbally answer though, and he hated the timing cause he wanted to know what exactly was it that you thought about the size difference. But more than that, the fact that you liked it lingered in his mind. 

Even more so now that you were trapped between him and the kitchen counter. 

You turned around with a smile, grabbing the container from Jay’s hand while also thanking him for the same but he didn’t move, which made you look up at him in question, his eyes fixated on you. 

“Jay?” You asked, gulping. 

The worry in your voice only added to his need to have his cock inside your tight little cunt, wanting his newfound kink to fully take over his desires and actions. 

He was quick to take the container of cookies from your hands, settling them down on the counter before his thick fingers held on to your chin, “I’m sorry, baby. I can’t wait anymore,” he groaned.

His hand travelled down to your neck, wrapping his fingers around it before pulling you into a kiss, eliciting a whine out of you. He kisses you hard, hard enough for your knees to give in. He only parted for a second to wrap his arms around your thighs, picking you up with ease and kissing you again. 

“So small, so sweet,” he mumbled, biting your lower lip while taking you to the bedroom, “look so pretty in my T-shirt.”

That was another factor which had him going crazy—how his T-shirt acted as a dress for you, covering your thighs and reaching your knees. Oh, you really drove him out of his mind. 

You didn’t mind it, in fact, you loved to see him initiating affection, however, you had never seen him this worked up before. He puts you down on the bed, his hands resting on your thighs, rubbing soothing circles on them as he takes a minute to stare at you, making you feel smaller than ever under his intense stare. 

“Please,” you whimper gently, trying to pull him closer by the collar, and he lets you wrap your legs around his waist, kissing you even deeper. 

He backs away only to pull his shirt off, and get rid of yours too, wasting no time in parting your legs and holding them in place as you drooled over his well defined body, epitome of perfection. 

You wail, breathing in deeply as Jay immerses himself in tasting your wet folds, lapping and licking as his strong hands held on to your thighs, hard enough to leave marks, you clutched the bed sheets to gain some kind of hold on yourself, the sensation of arousal kicking in. 

That’s exactly when Jay stopped, making you whimper, tears gathering in your eyes before he got rid of his pants, his thick length coming in view, tip red and leaking. 

“It won’t fit,” you found yourself breathing out, causing Jay to smirk. 

He came closer, resting his cock right above the point where you needed him, his length on your lower abdomen, your eyes widening when you saw how deep his cock would be in you, stomach tingling at his reply. 

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll make it fit tonight.”

The feeling of his cock ramming in and out of your body had your toes curling, Jay thrusted harder each time, reaching deeper and deeper, his hand kept on your abdomen to feel the imprint of his cock on your skin. 

“Jay—fuck! Too big,” you cried out as he kissed your tears away. 

“You’re doing so good, baby. Just a little more, yeah?” He whispered, his cock breaching you, reaching the part no one’s ever reached before as he bottoms out, stretching you deliciously, your back arching as you convulse, making him groan, cock twitching inside you. 

“So fucking tiny,” he mumbled, and you moaned, “you like it, huh? Feeling so small, so delicate under me?” He asked and you nodded breathlessly, making him chuckle and fuck you harder. 

It was the first time you had fully taken his cock in, and he was going to make sure you feel it in you the whole night. 

THANK YOU FOR READING!

permanent taglist: @jaeminvore @macaroonff @ajayke-reads @jaysbiceps @lunalovesstories @jayzdaze @deobitifull @celeste-hoon @mari-oclock @kpoprhia @ikeuizm @woniebae @lalalalawon @blessedcursd @skzenhalove @heesuncore @seuomo @kyurizeu @haechan-nahceah @tobiosbbyghorl @jezzebear @jaehoonii @itsgivingitalian @bunhoons @hyacandoit @luvswonyoung @ma-riiii

kinktober taglist: @glitterssim @kaykay11sworld @sfsrm-blog @certifiedmoa @luvkpopp @lanawyi @heerinnie @ablackbtsstan @ma-riiii @mesopret @electrobutterfly @cupidsmoons @erehkinnie30 @mulit05ho3st4n

bold ones couldn’t be tagged!

taglist open! send an ask or comment to be added!

© jaylaxies | tumblr

#🎫 — kinktober! #enhypen hard hours #enhypen smut #jay smut #enha smut #jongseong smut #kpop smut #jay hard hours #enhypen imagines #enhypen scenarios #jay x reader #enhypen

[exhaslo]

Kinktober Day 11- Miguel x Reader (Size Kink)

        Everyone knows that Miguel was a hard working individual. He did his absolute best to keep everything up and running. As the leader of the Spider Society, Miguel did so much. Almost so that it felt like he never really took care of himself. Miguel always looked exhausted and frustrated. The stress was eating him alive. It was not hard to see why.

        You had wiggled yourself into his life by chance. It took a lot of work, but Miguel opened up to you and started a relationship. You were always there to ease his stress. To calm him down with just a simple hug. Sometimes, you wished for more. You felt like Miguel was afraid of having sex with you. Like he needed to hold himself back. You knew that it was not healthy for him. Hopefully, today you could finally help him break out of that mold.

        You and Miguel had been dating for about three months. You were a smart cookie and figured out that he was Spiderman. The embarrassment on his face when you confronted him was so cute. Hopefully, you will get a new kind of embarrassed face today. You were finally going to try and get Miguel to let loose. You were going to treat Miguel and give him the best sex of his life...and yours. This was a first for you, but it has been long enough.

"Hey, Miggy!" You chirped as he entered your apartment. You embraced him with a kiss, "I made dinner, why don't you wash up first?" You offered. 

        Miguel replied with a soft grunt, wanting to hold you a bit longer. It made you happy every time since he lifted you off your feet, literally. Miguel was huge. You felt so small beside him. You knew it was cliché, but you loved making jokes about his height. Asking about the weather, letting him know that ladders don't exist for him, all the dumb things. Miguel let you since he loved how happy it made you. You hummed happily as you prepped a big portion for Miguel. He was a big boy and worked hard, he needed to eat a lot.

"Huele bien, cariño. ¿Cuál es la ocasión? (Smells good, sweetheart. What's the occasion?)" Miguel asked as he wrapped his arms around your waist. You shivered at his breathe against the back of your neck,

"Just wanted to treat you. You need a break," You replied, feeling his wet hair drip against your shoulder, "Sit and eat. I'll dry your hair,"

"Se supone que debo tratarte como a una princesa y no al revés. (I'm supposed to treat you like a princess, not the other way around.)" He said with a chuckle.

        You felt your heart skip a beat as he laughed. Why did he have to be so charming? Hiding your face in a fresh towel, you stole glances of your boyfriend. Miguel always treated you right, now you had to return the favor. You took a moment to stare at his broad back. Oh how his shirt defined his muscles. Wiping the drool from your mouth, you wrapped the towel around his head and proceeded to dry him off. You can have your fantasies later.

"How's the food?" 

"Delicious as always." Miguel gave his thanks.

        He looked up at you, wanting a kiss, to which you gave him. You removed the towel, watching as Miguel took his empty plate to the sink. His butt so perfect in those sweatpants. Oh, tonight was defiantly going to be for Miguel...but also for you. Watching your boyfriend return to the couch, you hopped over and landed on his lap. Your legs spread over his legs, attempting to trap him in place while you wrapped your arms around his neck.

"Miguel, I'm going to treat you well tonight, okay?" You seemed hesitant now, worried for your performance. Miguel held your hips,

"Are you sure?"

You pressed your crotch against his, grinding your hips through the fabric, "I'm sure." You replied, feeling his bulge already rising. Miguel lifted you up and carried you to the bedroom,

"Sólo voy a advertirte que tengo esta pequeña cosa. (Just going to warn you, I do have this one little thing.)" He warned, towering over you on the bed.

"Nothing about you is little," You teased.

        Miguel grumbled lowly. He wanted to warn you, but it might be best for you to find out. You watched as Miguel took his clothes off, following suit. This was the first time you were going to see him naked and visa versa. Your eyes almost boggled out of your head as you saw his cock. He was covering his face with his hand. You could have sworn he was hiding a chuckle. Miguel was totally laughing at you for staring at his monster of a cock.

"Little my ass," You teased once more, approaching him.

        Miguel watched you with a gleam in his eyes. Yes, you were little compared to him. He had been itching to fucking your tiny pussy with his large cock. To hear you cry from overstimulation as he stuffed you full. There was a part of him that wanted to break you, but he loved you too much. Miguel was worried that his cock was not going to fit, that he might hurt you. He hadn't even prepped you yet. Miguel let out a soft groan as your tongue licked his shaft. Your soft lips on his tip,

"Cuidado, cariño, no te hagas daño. (Careful, baby, don't hurt yourself.) He groaned.

        You glanced up at Miguel, your tongue swirling against his tip. You were going to treat him. Miguel was too kind to you. Honestly, you had every right to be worried. His dick was larger than your biggest dildo. Just the thought of him ripping you in half was making you soak. Placing your lips against his cock again, you did a soft sucking motion. Miguel's groans were making your body tremble. Who knew he could make such noises?

        You had to balance yourself and hold onto Miguel as you sucked him. Your other hand fingering yourself. Tears were forming in the corner of your eyes as you tried to take him deeper. His dick was already hitting the back of your throat and you were only half way. You moan as Miguel placed his hand on your head, gently moving you.

"Joder, eso es correcto. Chúpame la polla con esa boquita sucia tuya. (Fuck, that's right. Suck my cock with that dirty little mouth of yours.)" He moaned lowly, sending shivers down you spine, "Mírate siendo una buena chica para mí. ¿Estás disfrutando de mi polla en esa boquita tuya? (Look at you being such a good girl for me. Are you enjoying my cock in that little mouth of yours?)"

        So this was his little issue. Miguel was such a dirty talker, but it made you even more horny. You gasped as Miguel removed you from his dick. The look in his eyes was fierce. Lust nearly consuming him as his pupils dilated. He tossed you on the bed, hovering over you. He took your lips in a rough kiss, his fingers removing yours. You whined in response, but Miguel quickly turned those into moans as he entered one finger. He took your hand in his mouth, licking your juices off your fingers.

"Hah....hah....Mig...Miguel...I'm..." You grinded your hips against his hand, feeling your orgasm arriving. Miguel smirked as he pumped his finger, curling it to draw your orgasm out,

"Impresionante, ¿mi dulce ángel tiene problemas para tomar mi dedo? Tengo que prepararte para la comida principal. Voy a estirar tu bonito coño con mi polla, cariño. (Awe, is my sweet angel having trouble taking my finger? Gotta get you prepared for the main meal. I'm going to stretch your pretty pussy with my dick, sweetheart.)"

        Those words alone made you cum. Miguel's pupils were blown as he watched you drench his hand. He chuckled as he watched your face twist with pleasure as he added another finger. Your moans getting louder as you opened your legs wider. Miguel inhaled at the sounds you were making. Your little cries, your sexy moans and of course your throbbing pussy squishing at his fingers. Oh, you were going to look so pretty taking his cock in full.

"You're doing so good, baby. Cum again for me. Doing so, so good." He whispered in your ear, curling his fingers right at that sweet spot.

        You arched your back once more, crying out his name as he drew another orgasm out of you. So much for treating him. Trying to catch your breathe since you felt like your heart was going to burst out of your chest, you gasped at Miguel. He towered over you once more, cock in hand. You had to admit that you were scared, but also excited. Watching Miguel pump his cock with his own hand made you spread your legs out for him.

"Let me know if it hurts," There was your loving boyfriend poking out of his lustful state.

        You could only nod. Miguel positioned himself and started to poke his tip inside you. You gripped the bedsheets below you. He was so big. His fingers were nothing compared to his cock. Biting your lower lip, you tried your best to not cry out. Miguel wrapped his arms around you, whispering in your ear as he kept pressing himself into you. Your hips buckled, shaking as Miguel stopped for a moment. He was letting you adjust before continuing his entry.

"Eso es cierto bebe. Eres tan apretado. Sí, lo estás haciendo muy bien. Joder, te sientes tan bien acogiéndome. (That's right, baby. You're so tight. Yes, you're doing so good. Fuck, you feel so good taking me in.)" He groaned.

        You whimpered, holding onto him as he stopped. He kissed all over your face before looking down at you. You could see the sparkles in his eyes as he watched his dick almost completely engulfed by you. You felt it too. He was hitting you so deep that you were seeing stars. The pain was subsiding and all you wanted was for Miguel to start moving. Your fear had disappeared as you tried to buckle your hips. Miguel gripped your hips,

"Look at how good you're doing," Miguel grunted as he pulled out before slamming inside you.

        You nearly yelled out a moan as you felt him hit you deeper than he just was. Your breathing grew heavy as your vision started to blur. With each rough thrust, you felt Miguel getting deeper and deeper. You heard him grunt, complaining about him being almost fully inside you. How good you felt around his cock. How your tight gummy walls were just sucking him in. Everything he was saying was making you explode with pleasure.

"S-Tan cerca. Lo estás haciendo muy bien. Mira, estoy completamente dentro de ti ahora. Joder, qué bien. Envuelto alrededor de mi polla. (S-So close. You're doing so good. Look, I'm fully inside you now. Fuck, so good. Wrapped around my cock.)" Miguel babbled lowly, feeling himself about to burst.

        You whimpered another moan, cumming once more. Miguel kept asking for more, watching you break from overstimulation. He licked your tears away, enjoying your blissed out face. The cute lil 'o' you made with your mouth every time he hit your cervix made him hard. Tightening his grip against your hips, Miguel grunted once more,

"Fuck, baby. Bebe, cariño. Déjame ver cómo tu lindo y pequeño coño se llena con mi semen. (Drink up, sweeheart. Let me watch your pretty little pussy fill with my cum.)" He moaned.

        You cried out, filling Miguel fill you. The small little bulge your stomach made as he finished filling you made him grunt. As much as he wanted to stay inside you, having you wrapped around his cock, he pulled out. Another groan escaped his lips as he heard a pop from your pussy as he pulled out. His cum dripping out. Miguel picked you up, carrying you to the bathroom,

"Told you it was a small issue," You kissed the top of your head. You muffled a groan, resting your head against his shoulder,

"There is...nothing small about you," You laughed weakly. Miguel stepped into the bathroom with you between his legs, 

"Tienes razón, pero hiciste muy bien al acogerme. No puedo esperar a volver a ser tu más alto. (You're right, but you did so good taking me in. I can't wait to tower over you again.)" Miguel nibbled against your ear.

"Easy, big boy. Let me rest first, then next time...I will try and treat you."

"Haha, can't wait."

#kinktober #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel spiderverse #spiderman 2099 #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel spiderman

[makethatelevenrings]

Day 4: Breeding Kink w/ Dick Grayson

survived work, here's some smut

Kinktober Masterlist

“Yeah, I think the dancing skeleton might have been too much. Dude, are you even listening?” Tim’s voice carried over the shrieks and giggles of kids as they filled the grounds of Wayne Manor. It was their annual Halloween celebration for the children of Gotham’s foster care and while Dick thought it was a fun event, his attention was focused on something entirely other than the crowd of kids.

You were standing next to Stephanie and chatting about something, but it was the toddler currently fast asleep in your arms that caught his eye. The kid was in some kind of Sesame Street costume or whatever the fuck kids watched these days and you were dressed up as a classic witch. Steph held your big pointed hat so it wouldn’t slump over and bump the sleeping kid. The little Cookie Monster had hid behind the legs of one of the older kids the second they stepped off the busses, but she had emerged out of her hiding place once you offered her a smile and asked her about her costume.

Now she was fast asleep in your arms as you cradled her, looking both incredibly comfortable and intensely protective over a kid you just met.

And holy shit, Dick felt his heart skip a beat. The blood in his veins was rushing so hard that he swore he could hear the roar. There was just something about how naturally you reacted to the situation that…

“Holy shit,” you gasped against Dick’s mouth as he pushed you back against the door. His lips moved down your jaw and then to your neck and then he was latching on and leaving a hickey that was sure to last. You fisted your hand in his soft black hair and moaned at his constant attention.

“Baby, what’s this all about?” you whined as his kisses dipped lower on your chest. You were changing into pajamas when he pounced on you like a panther after its prey. His fingers dug into the soft skin of your hips and he ground his clothed cock against your leg.

“Not that I’m complaining,” you added. “But you’re acting like you will die if you don’t fuck me. Did you get hit with sex pollen?”

“No,” he grunted. His fingers fumbled with the drawstrings of your sweats and you giggled before helping him untie them and push them down.

“Then what’s going on?”

He raised his head and you met his eyes, dark with lust and burning with desire. Your breath caught in your throat as Dick leaned forward and inhaled your sweet scent before he settled his lips against the soft skin just above your pulse.

“I wanna fuck a baby into you,” he sighed. “I want to see you and know that I put a baby in you. Wanna see you all round and want to touch you and know that you’re mine. I want every person that looks at you know that I fucked a baby into you.”

Your legs pressed together as want built in your veins. You grabbed the back of Dick’s hair and forced his head up so he could meet your eyes. “Don’t hide from me, Dick. You want to fuck me raw? You want to knock me up?”

He nodded, his eyes hazy with desire and his lips parted with labored pants. “God, I want it so bad.”

You shoved him back and made your way to the bed. Lying down on your back, you spread your arms out and sighed. “Well, Grayson, aren’t you going to fill me up? It might take a few tries to stick.”

#dick grayson smut #dick grayson #dick grayson x reader #dick grayson imagine #kinktober #kinktober 2023

[madisonwritesstuff]

★ ; addicted. -------------------

Infected! Leon S. Kennedy x Fem! Reader.

(kinktober day 1 ; breeding kink.)

idea was given to me by a lovely anon 🫶 (I don't have the ask cuz im an idiot and accidentally deleted it after writing this)

Tags ; kitchen sex, dirty talk, mentions of a lactation kink, soft dom leon.

MDNI.

It's been a few days, Hunnigan said this would pass in a day or two, that the vaccine should work quickly.

Yet right now you're getting pounded by Leon. He doesn't even look like himself, black veins running across his whole body, his sclera a shade of crimson.

“Don't spill it baby, keep your eyes on the bowl.” He groaned into your ear, pumping his cock into your cunt, you having cummed a while ago, the foamy ring around the base of his cock proving that fact.

“S-sorry.” You slurred, bent over the kitchen counter as you tried to mix the cookie batter properly in the bowl. But your mind is more stuck on the fact that there's pounds of cum just leaking out your pussy. You can't even count how many times he's came inside you, nor how many times you've came around his cock.

“I'm gonna get this pretty belly all swollen up, hm? What do you think about having kids?” He spoke, not stuttering once as his thrusts remained rhythmic. His balls slapping against your soaked pussy. “Yes- Mmgh- I wan' them.” You moaned out, your mind wasn't even working properly, your legs gave up a while ago, he's just holding you up by your hips at this point.

“That's right, you want my babies? I'll make sure you get them.” He huffed into your ear, speeding up his thrusts. “You'll look so pretty all swollen up, my pretty princess. You'll let me suck your tits, right? When they're all sore and heavy?” He spoke right against your ear, nibbling and licking the lobe.

“Yesyesyesyes- God yess!” You moaned out, arching your back and throwing your head back, cumming around his cock. He took this opportunity to grasp your head and lean his head back, sticking his tongue into your mouth and kissing you sloppily, drinking up your babbles and moans. “You're so cute.” He laughed, letting go of your head to dig his fingers into your hips.

His thrusts got sloppier, he groaned and gently bit down on your shoulder, rutting into you like a wild animal.

“God- Leon!-” You moaned, seeing stars as he pumped his load into you. Inhumane amounts of semen filling you up to the brim. There was no way you wouldn't get pregnant. “God your pussy is just- Sucking me in.” He groaned into your shoulder, nuzzling his head into your neck, rutting his hips slowy while the last strings of cum pump into your womb. The excess cum just spilling out your cunt and onto the kitchen floor, you felt light headed now.

You sighed in relief as he was finally done.

That was he slowly pulled his cock out, before slowly sliding it in. “Let's move to the bed, I'm tired of standing.”

all rights reserved to © madisonwritesstuff , please do not copy, repost on other platforms, translate, or modify my works without my permission.

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x reader smut #leon kennedy smut #kinktober #kinktober 2023 #infected! leon #infected! leon kennedy smut #infected leon kennedy smut #infected leon smut #infected leon #infected! leon s. kennedy x fem! reader smut #❥. madisons kinktober ’23

[jobean12-blog]

A Dash of Spice and Everything Nice

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader (Mob!Bucky AU)

Word Count: 2,375

Summary: Every year you bake for the local charity event Bucky hosts- he might be the boss but he takes care of those in need-and this time you get some extra help.

Author's Note: This is for my ongoing Kinktober celebration and my absolute love for Mob!Bucky- he is one of my kinks forever. You all know how I love him soft and sweet but still in charge. Hope you enjoy, thank you all so much for reading! Much love always ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy🥰

Warnings: it's soft and sweet and fluffy and spicy, reader is sassafrass and Bucky loves it, baking is involved but he really wants to eat something else...o-r-al, p i-n- the-v.

Kinktober Masterlist 2023

Before the front door of the house even closes you hear Bucky’s voice.

“Wow doll face. Smells so good in here.”

He walks into the kitchen and you rush into his outstretched arms. He cradles your face in his large hands, letting his eyes wander over your features before slowly bringing your lips to his. The kiss starts out soft and sweet but in the next moment he has you pinned against the refrigerator, his hand tugging at the tie of your apron.

“Wait, wait,” you whisper along his lips. “I have muffins about to come out of the oven and bread that needs to go in.”

“And I’ve missed you all day,” he counters, giving you a boyish smirk.

“Mm, missed you too,” you purr, kissing the corner of his mouth.

You slip from his grasp and flit around the kitchen, checking timers and dough.

The timer goes off seconds later and you pull the muffins from the oven, checking their readiness before sliding in the pan of chocolate pumpkin bread.

“There,” you say with a contented sigh. “Now for the cookies.”

You’re reaching up for a measuring cup when you feel him at your back, his lips skimming the shell of your ear with his whispered words. “Do you plan on baking all night doll?”

An involuntary shiver runs across your skin and you lean back into his embrace.

“No,” you gasp, craning your neck to the side when his lips meet your shoulder and he trails kisses along your throat. “But these have to be ready for the bake sale tomorrow and a little help will make it go faster.”

He stops, his lips still pressed to your skin.

“Bucky?” you ask with a smile in your voice.

“Fine doll. I’ll help you bake but as soon as we’re done we do what I want.”

You turn in his arms and dance your fingers up his suit jacket. “Don’t we always?”

His lips brush yours before his kiss and he quickly has you in his arms, lifting you onto the countertop.

“Bucky,” you admonish, your voice hardly stern and instead breathy and desperate.

“I know, I know,” he groans.

He steps back and runs a hand through his hair. “What should I do?”

You giggle as you slide off the counter.

“First of all,” you say, sauntering toward him. “You have to take off some of these clothes. Wouldn’t want you getting any flour on your Dior.”

His eyebrows raise. “Think I’m going to like baking.”

You playfully roll your eyes even as you start to gently push his suit jacket from his shoulders. Once it’s off you carefully drape it over the back of the chair and start to work on his button down.

With deft fingers you undo the first few buttons, smoothing your fingertips along his skin.

“Do you want me to get you a tee shirt?” you ask as you continue, pushing the sides of his shirt open to run your nails over his abs.

“Do you want to get me a tee shirt?” he teases back.

“No.”

You slowly remove his shirt and hang it over his suit jacket.

When you reach for his belt buckle he stops you with a firm hand on your wrist.

“Doll,” he warns. “You expect me to help you bake after all this?”

“You have to. I can’t show up to the event without my baked goodies…what will I tell everyone?”

“That your husband spent the whole night fucking your brains out and you didn’t have any time to bake,” he states with finality.

You lift your eyes from his flexing abs. “And they’ll all be too scared to say a word about it but then I won’t raise any money for our charity.”

Your pouty lips are too hard to resist and he takes your chin between his fingers, dragging your mouth to his for a heated kiss.

When he stops your eyes remain closed, your lashes fluttering against your cheeks as you sway on your feet.

“We just have to make two batches of cookies,” you whisper, still savoring his lips.

Your eyes open and you continue working on his belt. Once it hangs loosely at his hips you unbutton his pants and then pull the zipper down, revealing his patterned boxer briefs.

You drop to your knees and start to tug each pant leg off.

“Fuck doll,” he croons. “You always look so good on your knees for me.”

You look up at him and nibble your bottom lip. “You’re not making this any easier, you know.”

“I’m not trying to,” he smirks. “And this was your idea.”

As you stand you glide your fingers along his thighs, reaching up to kiss him when you say, “leave your socks on. Your feet will get cold.”

He chuckles and adjusts himself in his boxers, the outline of his arousal prominent in the tight fabric.

“You’re worried about my feet?”

You give him a look before sashaying out of the kitchen and returning moments later with his slippers. When you drop them at his feet he slides them on with a wry smile.

“You’re sassy when you bake Mrs. Barnes. I like it.”

“Don’t get any more ideas and get over there and read me that recipe,” you say as you shake your whisk his way with a no nonsense look.

“Mm bossy too,” he hums.

“Yeah, yeah…” you mutter, playfully glaring now. “And you’re just letting me do it because you like it.”

“Obviously,” he replies, holding your stare even as the corners of his eyes crinkle in delight.

“Recipe Barnes,” you repeat.

He blows you a kiss and then peers down at the paper, squinting his eyes before bringing it closer to his face. His mouth opens as he turns to you but before he can even get the question out you have his glasses in your hand and you’re holding them out for him.

“Thanks doll face,” he beams with a knowing smile, then looks back at the recipe. “Ok so first we need…”

Once you have the batter ready Bucky stands behind you at the counter, his arms on either side of you while he mixes and you watch.

You wiggle your ass into him and giggle when he growls and pins you with his hips.

“You’re not behaving,” he states.

“Who said anything about behaving?” you ask and do it again.

He stops mixing and grabs your waist. “Doll,” he warns.

You hum quietly and take the spatula to continue, ignoring his groans.

“Is it time to taste test?” he asks as he slides his finger toward the bowl.

“NO!” you shout and slap his hand. “It’s raw!”

“Ow,” he whines, making you laugh.

“Ow my ass! Come on, let’s get these on the pan and in the oven.”

“Can I at least taste something else?” he asks, his eyes sparkling with mischief and his hands pawing at your leggings.

“After,” you answer, trying to stop the tremble of anticipation that runs through you.

When the whole house smells of cinnamon, sugar and spice you sigh in relief and set the timer for the last time.

Bucky stalks toward you and takes you in his arms. “Finally,” he murmurs.

You flatten your palms on his chest. “Not yet. We have to clean up and wait for the cookies to come out. Otherwise, they might burn.”

His eyes darken and he holds you in place. “We’re using the dishwasher.”

“Of course,” you say in agreement, your smile saccharine.

He loads the dishwasher in record time while you wipe down the counters and wrap up the cooled muffins and bread.

The cookie timer goes off and before you can get to the oven he has it open and is pulling the tray out.

“Cookies are done!” he says.

“Let me check them. They might need another two minutes.”

You watch the muscles of his jaw flex as he clenches his teeth but he moves away so you can look them over.

You inspect each cookie carefully.

“Now you’re just trying to torture me doll.”

“They’re perfect,” you say after another perusal. “And I have to admit that it is just a little fun.”

“Is it?” he murmurs as he carefully moves the hot tray out of reach and cages you against the counter.

“Mm hm,” you answer and pull his glasses off.

Your fingertips brush along his cheek and he captures your wrist, softly pressing his lips to your pulse before he kisses your palm.

“Thank you for helping me.”

He nods as he continues to kiss along your skin. “For you, always…now turn around.”

Your breath hitches at his tone and you do as your told, slowly turning until his hard length is pressing into your ass.

He carefully unties your apron and lifts it over your head then drops it to the floor. Your shirt follows, his knuckles lightly skimming your back as he drags the fabric up.

You tremble, goosebumps erupting across your skin at his feather light touches. He kneels and hooks his fingers into your leggings, his every movement deliberate as he peels them off and reveals more of your skin.

His hand traces the curve of your ass before he gives it a hard squeeze and bites down on your soft skin.

You let out a squeal and squirm in his grasp.

A low rumble of approval runs through him as he tugs down your panties, leaving them wrapped around your ankles.

He gently slides two fingers along your calf and then higher until he reaches your inner thigh.

“Bend over and spread your legs,” he demands.

Again, you do as he says, the coolness of the counter a stark contrast to your heated skin.

Long, thick fingers tease your entrance and gather your arousal.

“So ready for me doll,” he praises.

You push back, needing more from him but he smacks your ass, hard, and holds you still with a firm grip.

“That doesn’t mean you get what you want yet,” he simpers, his fingers gliding lightly along your folds.

“Buckyyyyy,” you whine.

His lips brush along your skin, tracing the spot where you thigh meets your ass. He moves inward, sucking and licking and leaving marks in his wake.

When his nose runs along your slit you wiggle in his hold, your repeated pleas filling the air.

He continues to tease you with soft kisses and kitten licks, just barely flicking his tongue over your clit.

With both his hands he grabs hold of your ass cheeks and spreads them, burying his nose just above your pussy so he can slide his tongue through you.

You cry out his name and grip the edge of the counter, rocking back onto his face. He slides one hand between your legs and teases your clit, just enough to have you chasing your release with a cry of his name.

You’re still trying to catch your breath when soft hands lift you from the counter and he cradles you against his chest.

His hands wander reverently, the skim of his calloused fingertips making you clench around nothingness.

“Fuck me, Bucky,” you whisper, straining against him.

He runs his nose along your neck, bringing his lips just below your ear. “Say it again,” he demands.

You lift a hand behind you and curl it into his hair, tugging him closer. “Fuck me, Bucky,” you repeat, reveling in his warm breath as it caresses your skin.

His hands slide over your curves and he grips your hips. “You have no idea what it does to me when you say those words.”

You lean into him and sigh when his cock glides through your wetness. He grabs your chin and turns your head, pressing his lips to yours in a sweet and languid kiss that only fuels your impatience.

When you moan into it, whining his name, he shifts and fills you in one slow thrust.

“Oh my god,” you breathe against his lips. “Bucky…”

All you can feel is him inside of you, his heated skin pressed to yours, his hands, his lips. He’s everywhere and everything.

He deepens the kiss, sliding his hand down to the base of your neck and squeezing lightly. He groans out your name, breaking the kiss and pressing his face into your neck.

“Fuck fuck, fuck,” he chants every time he pounds into you.

“More Bucky. Harder,” you whine.

Suddenly everything is harder and deeper, the sound of skin slapping against skin mingling with your pleas for more.

You can feel the moment he starts to completely lose control, his labored breathing hot against your neck and his grip tightening as his cock thickens inside you. You finish with his name on your lips, your orgasm rushing through you, the squeeze of your walls taking him right over the edge at the same time.

His hips tense and he growls out your name.

You rest your head back against his strong chest and silently thank him for keeping you standing upright because you feel as if you could melt to the floor.

His hold is gentle when he pulls out and turns you around, his expression one of complete satisfaction as he studies you, catching your lower lip with his thumb. “You are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”

Your smile is soft as you trace the hard outline of his jaw. “I could say the same about you.”

He chuckles and pulls you closer. “Nothing compares to you, doll.”

His hand slides up your back and he cups the nape of your neck, tilting your head back so he can trail kisses along your throat and collarbone.

 “I can’t believe I let you finish that baking,” he whispers into your skin.

“Me either,” you giggle.

“I want more,” he murmurs as his lips find yours.

“I made an extra loaf of the chocolate pumpkin bread.”

At your deadpan words he tucks your hips against his, the feel of his hard cock making you gasp.

“There’s that sass again,” he tsks. “Guess I didn’t fuck you hard enough this time.”

“Guess not,” you mouth back.

“Good thing we’ve got all night then,” he simpers.

@book-dragon-13 @hiddles-rose @randomfandompenguin @goldylions @kmc1989

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #mob!bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x y/n #mob!bucky #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #mob au #bucky barnes au #sebastian stan #sebastian stan x reader

[magicalbats]

Kinktober Day 18: Spanking

Rating: R-18+

Word Count: 7590

Warnings: Afab!reader, gendered language, brat taming, forced submission, corporal punishment, non consensual spanking, over the knee spanking (my favorite cmdmdmd), paddling with a hairbrush

A/N: I really hope this one isn't too messy, I haven't been feeling super great and I am posting this at *checks clock* 4:26 in the morning skdnfksnf so please be gentle with me! 🙈

⭐

The Duke of Meropide was a truly infuriating scoundrel! 

You’d been arguing with him in his office for almost an hour now and it felt like all you’d done is go around in endless circles. One moment he would in all seriousness shoot down a suggestion or a point you’ve made, and the next he would abruptly ask you about tea or cookies with equal sincerity. You couldn’t make heads or tails of it, and you were quickly reaching the end of your patience with him. Had the topic of reform and rehabilitation of ex inmates not been so very important to you, you’re sure you would have stormed out of his office a long time ago. 

“For the final time, my lord, I care for neither your white tea nor your black tea.” You intone as mildly as you can manage given the state of your nerves. “Please, just listen to me for a moment. That is all I ask.” 

Perfectly casual, Wriothesley reclines back into his tall chair and brings his hands together over the bend of a propped up knee. “I have been listening. Quite attentively too. However, I just don’t see how your proposal is going to work and I think you might be barking up the wrong tree, miss. My apologies for saying so.” 

“No offense taken.” You clench your jaw so tight it hurts. “But why do you think it isn’t going to work? Have I not explained the steps to successful rehabilitation enough for your liking?” 

“No, you’ve been perfectly thorough. Excessive, even.” 

Spine snapping straight at that, you pin him with a furious look you don’t even try to conceal but he just waves it off without missing a beat. 

“The problem is, I don’t think you understand how the Fortress of Meropide functions. It is you who hasn’t been listening to me, I’m afraid.” He continues on, as stony and impassive as ever. “As I already said, the inmates are free to leave once their sentences are served in full. It’s just that the vast majority of them do not wish to return to the surface world and choose to stay here of their own volition. There’s nothing I nor you can do to change that.” 

“But — but that’s because there weren’t any systems in place to help them!” You stammer, desperately rifling through your stacks of paperwork and statistics in search of the findings collected on job and housing placement welfare. Finally locating it with a triumphant puff of air, you jump to your feet and shove it at him over the desk even when he tries to once again wave it off. “The proof is right here, your grace. It should take only a moment of your time to read and understand the data presented in this report for someone as no doubt well informed as you are.” 

Stilling, Wriothesley steadily meets your look of challenge with a cool stare of his own. A beat passes and then, heaving a rather terse sigh, he reaches out to reluctantly accept the sheet from you. “I’ll look at it but I’m telling you, miss. These graphs and numbers don’t mean anything in the real world.” 

“We’ll see about that.” You scoff and cross your arms over your chest, impertinently standing over him while he reads even when you know you’re really pushing your luck here. He was a duke, a by all accounts certificate wielding lord in the flesh and blood, and you, a lowly commoner, had no right to try and force his hand like this. Still, you hold your ground though, confident that you knew what you were talking about when you had the data to back it up. It was he who didn’t understand how the real world worked after spending so much time underneath the ocean in this rust bucket of bolts he called a fortress. 

His eyes steadily move over the page, taking in everything at an agreeable enough pace to placate you into silence, and Wriothesley eventually gives his head a curt nod when he reaches the bottom. “I see. It’s just as I thought.” 

You have but the blink of an eye to feel the first dawnings of hope start to crest over your heart and then, unceremonious as can be, he reaches over to neatly deposit the paper into the trash bin. 

“It’s garbage.” 

“Wh - wait just a minute - what do you mean it’s garbage?” You stammer, spit and sputter in white-hot affront so potent you start to feel your cheeks becoming warm. It takes every single ounce of self control you possess not to round on the desk and throttle the life right out of him! “If you didn’t understand the information all you had to do was ask, your grace and I would have gladly taken the time to - -“

“I understood it perfectly, miss, and I am once again telling you that it is your understanding of the situation that is inherently flawed, not mine. You simply can’t make the prisoners do something they don’t want. I trust that you do understand that much, at least?”  

“It is not a matter of making them!” You seethe, hands clenching into tight fists at your sides. “It’s giving them a viable option between spending the rest of their lives trapped under the sea or being able to rejoin their friends and family on the surface. I expected you to have at least a little bit of sympathy for the people under your care!” 

Heaving another soft sigh, Wriothesley unfolds his legs and sits forward to brace his elbows on the desk in the most impolite slouch you’ve ever seen from someone who was supposedly a part of the aristocracy. “Don’t take this the wrong way but I think I care about them a shade more than you do. We’re talking about people who have made a new place for themselves down here and it would be remiss of me to start kicking them out just so you can get your brownie points. This is their home.” 

You jerk as if he’d physically struck you. “Now you listen here - -“ 

“No. I have listened to you enough for one afternoon, miss.” He cuts across you like the crack of a whip without either raising his voice nor sharpening his tone, but the low rumble in it is still enough to stop you in your tracks. 

Eyes widening slightly, you watch him stand from his chair and sedately step around the desk to come loom over you with his imposingly massive frame that leaves you pitifully craning your neck back when he stops in front of you. 

“It’s time for you to listen to me now. I’m sure you had good intentions in coming here with this little scheme you cooked up but I’m telling you it isn’t going to work. The inmates who choose to stay here like the simplicity of life in Meropide and the stability it provides them. So long as they work hard and stay out of trouble they’ll have no problems earning a living for themselves but can the same be said about the overworld? What’s going to happen when they get fired from the jobs you place them in after running late one too many times? Or what about when they fall asleep during their shift from exhaustion? Do you know what happens when either of those things occur down here? They simply don’t get their regular number of coupons for the day but they can always come back and do better the next. Will they have that same security up on the surface?” 

“T - that’s why rehabilitation is so important.” You rush to say. “We can teach them to reintegrate into society so that they won’t have to worry about things like that - -“ 

“Everyone worries about things like that, little miss. Sorry to be the bearer of bad news.”

Your eyes flash at him dangerously. “Do not call me that! In fact, I believe I’ve had quite enough of you at this point! I want to speak to someone else! Preferably a person with something more substantial than rocks for brains!” 

Wriothesley scowls at that, narrowing his own eyes back at you in warning. “You can want it all you like but that doesn’t mean you’re going to get it. I’m the only person you need to speak to right now … and I would suggest you reconsider how you’re speaking to me.” 

“Hah! Or what?” Riding high on adrenaline and jittery nerves, you impulsively reach out to jab a finger at the center of his big, beefy chest. “You can’t throw me into a cell just because you don’t like the tone of my voice! Is that the kind of operation you're running down here? Maybe when I get back up to the surface I should contact The Steambird about the tyrannical power trip his grace is on!” 

He snorts a brief laugh as if the very notion was a ludicrous one, though you couldn’t tell if it was your assertion or the thought that you might go to the papers that he found humorous. “That’s funny, but I don’t need to throw you in prison just to put you in your place, miss. I’m giving you one final warning to knock it off and calm down.” 

You take an aggressive step closer to him, head tilted all the way back now so you could see his face past the bulky mass across his pectorals. “Enlighten me then, my lord. What are you going to do to me if I don’t bend the knee?” 

“I think I might start by taking you over my knee first.” 

Giving a startled jerk, you go stock still and just stare at him for the span of a single heartbeat. The ice suddenly gripping your veins is instantly replaced by a hot, raging inferno that seems to make your blood boil and, seeing red, you viciously bring your heel down on the top of his boot, grinding it in for good measure. “I’d like to see you try it, you ba - -“ 

His hand shoots up and, much to your squawking surprise, he grabs around the meat of your upper arm to tug you into him, making you stumble and half fall against the bend of his elbow. Before you even have a chance to draw a full breath to berate him with his other hand cracks across the meat of your ass with a deafening whap! The sharp pain is immediate and splintering, rocking you against him with the abrupt impact as your mouth warbles open in equal parts hurt and shock. He gives your arm a tight yank to keep you pressed in against his side when you try to scuttle away, nudging you insistently until you realize you have no choice but to look up at him except … except you’re not sure if you do so with impotent rage darkening your face or if it’s a tearfully remorseful expression he sees looking back at him. 

Perhaps it was a frustrating combination of the two? 

Wriothesley regards you in contemplative silence for a long moment, his own facial expression not giving much of anything away while the blinding sting across your backside gradually settles into a constant burning throb, but you don’t know what else to do other than stand there and wait for him to say something. You couldn’t believe he’d struck you like that — like a child! You’d only just met the duke today so for him to be putting his hands on you like that was beyond ridiculous, and completely inappropriate. But for as mad as you were, even for as much as your body trembles with frantic, clawing anger, you didn’t quite trust yourself to speak just yet … he would hear about it soon enough. In great detail and at even greater length, once you’d recovered enough to not need to worry your voice would crack and waver over your words. Very soon indeed. 

“I told you what was going to happen,” He says at last, perfectly calm and even toned as ever considering he’d just hit you. “Didn’t I, little miss?” 

Glaring daggers at him, you give your body a furious wrench against his hold but he keeps you in place easily enough. His hand was just so big it seemed to nearly encompass the total width of your bicep, allotting him the perfect hold on you that would only cause pain and discomfort if you were to truly struggle which left you with very little in the way of options. Grudgingly, you go still again and petulantly turn your head so you wouldn’t have to look at him any longer. You needed to focus on calming yourself before anything else. Acting rash now was only going to get you hurt. 

“I don’t know who you think you are,” You finally manage to hiss. “But you've got a lot of nerve to put your hands on me like this.”

“And what are you going to do about it?” He volleys right back, not missing a beat, and you irritably twitch when you realize he’s thrown your own words back at you. He’d be in for a rude awakening soon enough, if you had any say in the matter. 

“Enjoy your fun while you can, your grace. I was only bluffing earlier but now I think I really will go to The Steambird and tell them everything that’s transpired here today! What do you think about that, hm?” Impulsively, you whip your head back around to pin him with a biting look of challenge, but he just lifts his brows up at you as if in surprise. 

“I think you are indeed a mouthy little brat in need of a good spanking to correct that attitude of yours. What are you going to do at The Steambird then? Take your pants down to show them your red bottom and let them take pictures for the morning paper?” Clicking his tongue, Wriothesley shakes his head as if in disappointment. “You’re not thinking this through all the way, but I suspect that’s a problem you regularly struggle with. Come, let’s get you sorted out.” 

You suck in a horrified, raking breath when he shifts as if to move back towards his chair and quickly dig your heels into the ground to stop it. “W - wait! You can’t do this!” You wail, and a foolish pitter patter of hope skips across your chest when he actually pauses to look at you again. Maybe you could still talk your way out of this. It might cost you some of your pride, but that seemed a reasonable sacrifice given the situation. “Ah, what I meant to say is … I’m sorry?” 

A sudden, clipped bark of laughter bursts out of him. “No you’re not.” 

“I am, really! I’m very sorry for, um, stepping on your boot like that. I’ll have it cleaned and polished if you’d like. Just please let me go. Please?” 

“I don’t think so.” 

Wriothesley starts to pull you into motion again and you reel back against his hold even when it makes his thick, blocky fingers sink into the meat of your arm. “Wait! I promise I’m sorry, I really, really am! I didn’t mean it! I swear!”  

Breathing out a patient sigh through his nose, he gently (surprisingly so) tugs you around to stand in front of him even when you stumble and drag your feet in a blithe attempt to avoid compliance. “You’re only sorry right now because you’re in trouble. I’m going to give you something to think about and a chance to reflect on your actions, and then you’ll really be sorry. Is that clear enough for you, miss?” 

“You can’t do this …” 

“Oh, but I can. Take a look around you and tell me where you’re standing. This is my fortress which means I get to make the rules here. If I decide bratty girls who like to run their mouths even after being told to calm down — repeatedly, might I add — need a spanking to get them in order then that is exactly what’s going to happen. And do let me remind you that I gave you plenty of chances to heed my warnings but you didn’t. You can thank your own attitude for getting you into this predicament.” 

You try very hard to keep your expression in check but you’re pretty sure you fail rather miserably at it, and a flash of that vulnerable fear still manages to creep into your face. “I am not a child!” You insist, shuddering violently. “You can’t treat me like one! That’s not fair!” 

“Oh, I’d say what’s not fair is barging in here like you own the place and not listening to a word I say. You’ve certainly acted like a child so I think I’m perfectly in my right to treat you like one now.” 

Not giving you a chance to think of something else to say and further stall, Wriothesley suddenly swoops down and curls his arm around your thighs so he can yank you right up off your feet. You choke in surprise as much as at the sudden rush of movement, but there’s nothing you can do to stop it when he straightens up with you clutched across his front. Stinging hot tears flood your eyes all at once and you seethe, kicking and flailing, as he effortlessly carries you back around to the desk. It’s like you barely weigh anything in his arms which neither shudder or strain to hold you no matter how wildly you try to fight him. Even when he takes his seat again he still manages to much too easily manhandle you into place across his lap like you weren’t even struggling with every single ounce of strength you possessed. 

In shockingly quick order you find yourself spread across his legs, on your tummy, but still you hiss and twist until his hand abruptly strikes across your upturned ass again. You jump so hard you nearly collapse right then and there but the thick, burly arm now curled over your trembling body keeps you firmly in place when you lurch. Wheezing frantically, you try to push yourself upright but it’s no use, and his palm swats you over your pants again, rapidly draining you of the energy to keep up the effort any longer when it hurt so bad it seemed to rob you of the ability to even think straight. Mewling at the deep hurt, you jerk forward at the next strike and let out a pitiful, broken little sob. 

“I warned you to stop.” He reminds you again, falling into an easy steady rhythm. Whap, whap, whap, whap. One cheek and then the next, each hit somehow worse than the last as the burning sting grows and spreads across your defenseless backside. Even your desperate squirming was not enough to dissuade him from finding his mark as he peppers your sit spots in quick, agonizing succession. “I gave you so many chances too, but you just wouldn’t listen. Why is that, huh? Didn’t anyone ever teach you any manners?” 

“Please stop — oww! T - that hurts, you damn brute — oww!” 

“Keep it up and I’m just going to keep adding more. When you can’t sit right for the next week you’ll think back on this, I promise you that.” 

Clenching your teeth, you fiercely try to keep the tears at bay so he wouldn’t get the satisfaction of seeing you cry but the intense, constant crack of his hand on your ass soon wins out and they start to track wet lines down your burning face. You sniffle sadly and weakly kick your legs out behind you, making an attempt to curl them up and shield your already sore behind, but he just roughly tugs you further across his lap. Abruptly finding yourself slipping forward to half dangle over the side of the chair, you gasp and mindlessly stiffen up across his lap to stop your balance from tipping. That quickly proves to be a mistake though when the tense way you’re now holding your body just seems to make it hurt even worse, and you plaintively shake your head with a wordless shriek. 

“Please stop it, your — ah! Your grace! I’m begging, I can’t — oww!” 

“Perhaps you should have thought of that before you kept acting up.”

Whap, whap, whap, whap 

“Ow, ow, owowow, ow! You’re … you’re doing it too hard! Stop it!” 

Wriothesley chuckles somewhere far above you, the low timber of his voice blanketing over your muddied senses to make you shiver. “Actually, I don’t think I’m going hard enough yet. Not for the way you were behaving. Not to worry though, all in due time. This is just the warm up, after all.” 

You go stock still across his legs, your heart skipping a long, harrowing beat. A warm up - -

“Yeow! Sto - ah - ahhhp! Please!” 

Whap, whap, whap, whap 

Hanging your head low, you openly sob and kick at the air now, clutching his thick boot with one hand while the other hangs onto the chair leg in a death grip to somewhat steady yourself. The sharp stabs of pain seem to chip away at your consciousness bit by bit, each slap of his massive hand taking with it a little piece of you each time it recedes. You’re so dazed by the constant onslaught that you almost don’t notice when he abruptly pauses and grabs under your arms. 

Then you’re suddenly being hauled up and forced to stand on legs that immediately threaten to give out under you but Wriothesley just guides you around to stand between his legs. Furiously trying to wipe the evidence of tears from your face with a sleeve, you blearily watch as he brings his hands up to unbutton the front of your pants which he unceremoniously tugs down your legs to leave them bunched around your ankles. You can’t help but gasp, your cheeks burning even hotter at having your panties suddenly exposed to him, but you don’t get the chance to so much as suck in a shuddering breath let alone actually voice your protests. 

Just like that, he’s dragging you back down over his lap and you twist against his hold with renewed fervor, clawing viciously at any part of him you can reach. His palm mercilessly swatting you across the back of your underwear freezes you in place though, and you let out a high pitched, keening sound at this new level of hell he’s introduced you to. It’s so much worse without your slacks in the way and just the thin layer of cotton to protect you from the full brunt of his punishing slaps. You’re so caught up in trying to process the extent of it when he shifts over top of you that you don’t even think to shriek at him to stop — but then his unoccupied hand fists the material of your panties and yanks them up to pull firm against your screaming backside. You outright squawk and choke at the sensation only to realize what he’s doing a split second later when he swats your ass again and the hurt suddenly feels like it’s skin to skin. 

Howling in distress, you jerk and writhe against his legs but Wriothesley’s hold on your underwear effectively stops you from crawling away. You simply can’t escape it and the space between your ears is soon once again filled with the sharp swat! of his hand lighting you up. It was easily the worst thing you’d ever experienced, even putting aside the inherent humiliation of being spanked over his knee with your pants around your ankles. 

“Waaa - aahhaaaaaa! Your grace, I - I’m sorry … owwww!” 

“Are you now?” He murmurs, punctuating the soft tone of his voice with two blistering slaps, one to each cheek to leave you withering in his hold. “And what are you sorry for, little miss? Come on, speak up.” 

That was incredibly difficult to do when he wasn’t letting up on your ass for even a moment but, hoping against hope that placating him might make this end quicker, you suck in a haggard, gasping breath to steady yourself. “I’m sorry for - eek! I’m sorry for all the rude things I said to you earlier! Oww! I - I shouldn’t have come in here and - ahh! Ahh! I shouldn’t have disrespected you in your fortress, your grace! I promise I’m sorry!” 

“And what else?” 

What else? What else even was there! 

You desperately try to think, to figure it out, but your head is swimming so fast you start to think you might pass out. Loosing a broken moan, you agonizingly kick back and try to find purchase on the floor, only succeeding in half sliding off his knee. He easily readjusts his hold and rather meanly pulls harder on your panties though, making you squeal when they dig into your cunt and it essentially forces you to straighten your legs instead of slouching away from the continuous barrage of his hand. You choke on some kind of mindless animal sound and try to shove yourself forward in your desperation but he just spanks you even harder for the trouble. 

“Well? I’m waiting.” 

“I don’t know!” You cry out, dancing on the tips of your toes as if that would somehow alleviate some of the deep, throbbing ache encompassing your rear end. “I don’t know your grace, I don’t know but I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” 

You just barely manage to catch the sound of him clicking his tongue over your wailing. “How can you be sorry for something if you don’t even know what it is? You’re really not taking this seriously, are you?”

“I am!” 

He stops so abruptly you lurch, gasping, as if he’d followed through on delivering the next blow. Shuddering uncontrollably, you warily twist to look over your shoulder with big, wet eyes to watch him fold your panties down over your ass to join your slacks around your ankles. Realizing what he’s doing your fight or flight instincts seem to kick in like never before, and you hysterically wrench against his hold. To your stumbling surprise you actually manage to slip free for a split second, for the span of but a single heartbeat, and then he’s reaching up before you can get your trembling legs to cooperate and he roughly tucks you down across his thigh again. This time with that heavy, corded steel arm locked around your waist. 

“Wait, wait, wait - -“ 

Smack! 

Your ass promptly erupts in splinters, every single nerve ending in your behind vibrating numbly at the impact. It punches the air right out of your lungs, leaves you gasping for even a sliver of air, but he doesn’t give you a chance to fully process the hurt. Smack, smack, smack, smack! The crack of his hand across your bare skin sounds deafening now and you shake uncontrollably as you cry out in unrestrained agony. Back and forth between each burning red, swollen cheek, he pays equal attention to both sides until it feels like the tingling flesh is quite literally on fire. You writhe against the blinding hurt and sob so hard the shudders wrack through you from head to toe even as you weakly try to push up and squeeze through his arm. It’s no use though. Wriothesley’s hold is as good as iron and all you can do is wrench at each blistering crack without any way to escape it. 

“Well?” He expectantly prompts, but you’re a little too far gone in the swimming daze to properly respond now, just noising a series of incomprehensible whines and mewls with every strike. Quickly picking up that you were slipping under now, he breathes out a stilted sigh. “If there is but one thing you take away from this,” He intones, still bringing his palm down again and again, and again. “Let it be to pick your opponents more wisely in the future. You don’t just get to walk in here and start calling the shots, do you understand me?” 

You croak out something that might be a yes, incomprehensibly slurred between all the tears and snot running down your face, and the sad little hiccups making your throat constrict. That seems to be good enough for him though, and he just presses on. 

“I was nice enough to invite you to come to Meropide,” smack, smack, smack, smack “Even though I could have turned you down right from the start. I already knew your little pet project wasn’t going to pan out,” smack, smack, smack, smack “But I figured I’d at least hear you out first and this is how you decided to repay me? Despite what you probably think, I don’t like having to punish people,” smack, smack, smack, smack “But I’m not about to let some upstart little brat come in here and try to tell me what my inmates need. You don’t know the first thing about this place no matter what all your worthless charts tell you.” 

Smack, smack, smack! Smack! 

You flinch, weakly rocking forward when the next slap never comes. Groaning thickly, you squirm and dance on your feet, trying to shake off some of the discomfort even though it’s useless, but still he just sits there. You’re distantly aware of him breathing a bit heavier than before, either worked up from the act itself or the physical exertion of delivering a sound spanking, and you just whine low in your throat at the resounding throb throughout your body. It seems to claw through you and set every single nerve to trembling vibration, leaving you quaking violently in his hold. 

Finally, what feels like an eternity later, Wriothesley draws a steadying inhale. “Have you learned your lesson?” 

“Y - yes …” You croak out with no shortage of effort, but his blocky fingers just dig into your hip to give you a brief jostle

“Wanna’ try that again?” 

Your already strained heartbeat somehow manages to become even more wild at the panic that rushes in to smother over you. What did he want? Would he spank you again if you didn’t figure out the answer? 

“Yes, sir?” 

“That’s better.” He relents, giving your shuddering thigh an amicable pat. Silence descends over the office for a drawn out beat and then he suddenly leans forward, half dragging you with him while he opens one of the drawers on the desk to rummage around. “I don’t think you’re really sorry, not yet. But you will be soon. I know I have that damn hairbrush Sigewinne gave me somewhere.” 

A hairbrush? 

Your blood turns to ice at the implication, and the fresh wave of fear that abruptly grips you in a chokehold seems to clear some of the fog from your head. You could think just a little bit clearer now and you did not like where your thoughts were going, not one bit. Surely he wouldn’t actually take it that far after already abusing your ass so much with his hand. 

“Your g - grace?”  

Ignoring or just not hearing the weak little mouse squeak, Wriothesley settles back into his chair again, grabbing a pinching handful of your inner thigh to drag it over his knee once more. He doesn’t quite force your body across his lap but he does make sure you’re stretched out in a rather inelegant sprawl that leaves your legs embarrassingly spread and you start to shake in earnest now. You hadn’t thought it was possible for the human body to vibrate at such a high frequency but that's exactly what seems to be happening as the crushing reality of the situation gradually settles over you like a shroud. 

And then, the press of something solid and flat touches your burning ass, and you practically jolt right up off his legs altogether. 

Your skin crawls with it making you feel truly sick and nauseous even as you frantically try to twist your neck around to see. He’s got you at such an awkward angle though that you can’t make out much of anything and your panic rapidly starts to ratchet up into damn near a full on attack until he gently taps the object against your behind to pull your attention back into the moment. 

“I’m going to give you twenty spanks with this brush, little miss. I want you to count them, and don’t forget to show me some respect while you do it.” 

“I - I - I can’t, sir, I can’t, I can’t take anymore, p - please, it’s too much - -“

“Hush. I’ve got you,” He coos, unexpectedly gentle and soft, but it doesn’t do much to ease your heaving gasps or the erratic pounding of your heart. Still, you find yourself grudgingly getting pulled into that tender croon and you make a conscious effort to calm down even as you sway unsteadily over his thigh. “You’re alright. You’ll just get yourself all worked up over nothing acting like that. Deep breaths. That’s it. Now take another for me. Good girl. See? You can listen when you want to. It’s not so bad, is it?” 

He offers the pudge around your hip a reassuring, possibly even approving squeeze when your breathing starts to slow to a normal, wheezing pant rather than the thin lungfulls you’d been sucking in just moments ago. You decidedly disliked him a great deal, perhaps more so than you’d ever disliked any one single person in all your life, but you were at least glad he was able to keep you grounded. Never mind the fact he was the cause of it to begin with, you were just thankful it didn’t feel like you were going throw up and pass out anymore. 

And still the throbbing burn across your ass keeps pulling tiny little whimpers from your dry throat. It really was too much. 

“Is it necessary?” You finally manage to rattle out. 

“The brush? In my eyes it is, yes. This will show me whether or not you’ve been paying attention this whole time, if you can be respectful towards me throughout this last leg even though you’ll probably want to curse me to high heaven and back. If you can tell me you’re really sorry when we’re done then it will be over. Does that sound agreeable to you?” 

Groaning in defeat, you hang your head low and just take a moment to think. Your options were regretfully limited but … you wanted to trust him at his word and, more importantly, you just wanted to have it done and over with already. The pain crawling across your backside was immeasurable, gradually receding to a dull, distant, but no less teeth clattering ache that reminded you it was there with every thrumming pulse, and he was right to say you wanted to curse him for it. You would have given anything to do just that but Wriothesley had made it clear what he expected of you. Obedience, compliance, respect. 

Perhaps you should have expected no less from the reclusive Duke of Meropide but you certainly would not be making this mistake again. 

“Yes, sir.” You whisper into the stillness at last, a sort of numb surprise curling over you at the lack of bite in your own voice. You’d expected to hear bitter tears, anger, defensive pride, not … such a soft, almost shaky little note of submission. 

The very idea that his unjust treatment of you had somehow accomplished exactly what it was meant to chills you almost as much as it brings you a strange sense of comfort which he only further enforces by warmly caressing his unoccupied palm over the curve of your bare waist. 

“Good. Then let’s get started.” 

An expectant pause and then — whap! 

You violently lurch, dizzy and disoriented from the sudden intensity of the impact. It was so different from his hand, so hard and unforgiving that it made your stomach feel like it was about to burst right up out of your throat. Reeling and weakly gasping in the aftermath, you futilely arch against the sting, kicking your legs out, but there’s no escaping it or shaking it off. The pain seems to engulf you all at once, making you choke on a haggard, gutted little sound. Like you couldn’t even scream around it and only whimper in breathless, mind numbing agony. 

“O - one, sir.” You finally manage to rattle out to his humming satisfaction. 

Whap! On the other sore cheek. 

“Oh! Oh, oh, oooohhhh, n - nnghhnhn!! Two, sir …” 

Whap! Back to the first. Whap! The second again. 

You can’t quite formulate the words now, just laying there spread out on Wriothesley’s lap while your legs uncontrollably shake and you suck in quick, faltering thin gasps of air in an attempt to reorient yourself. It was like the sharp, oppressively heavy stroke of the wooden brush was knocking your brain around and making it hard just to remember how to breathe. Sniffling back a rush of fresh tears, however, you force your mind to stay focused in the here and now rather than drifting off to some faraway place where you currently weren’t getting your ass beat. And that was the crux of it, wasn’t it? Why he was making you count like this, to keep you firmly planted and present to ensure your attention didn’t start to slip at the first chance and you remained attentive for this final part of your trial. The sadistic bastard. 

“Four, sir …” 

Whap! Whap! 

“O - oooh, gods … s - six, sir.” 

Whap! Whap! 

You have to take a moment to collect yourself, to breathe through the sickening pain that encompasses your backside, and he waits patiently until you eventually lift your head again. “Eight, sir.” 

Whap! 

“Eeekk! Ahh, ah … nine — ahhn, sir!” 

Dazed and more than just a little lost in the hazy delirium swimming around your head, you slowly start to find and grasp at a tiny fraction of your inner strength. Your voice comes quicker, albeit thinner, as you hold your breath tightly over the course of the next few swats of the brush, finally seeing an end in sight just over the horizon. A few more and then you would be done. You could leave this place and never see the duke again for as long as you lived. 

“Fifteen, sir!” You hear yourself blurt out, nearly sobbing in relief only to choke on it when the next swing cracks down on the opposite cheek a second later. Seething viciously, you shake for a moment before gritting out the next number. And the next. 

You’re practically hysterical when you finally get to nineteen, all but blubbering across his lap, but you take the last strike like a champ, squealing a cursory, “Twenty, sir!” And then immediately giving in to the urge to dance on your toes, trying in vain to chase away some of the skin crawling ache by moving around. He leans back into the chair, just giving you a moment to process it on your own terms, before eventually loosening his arm around your middle so he can help you up. You move gingerly and wheeze through the process of getting your jelly filled legs underneath you but, at last, you find yourself standing between the wide spread of his knees and you cautiously reach back to rub your sore bottom. 

You regret it immediately, hissing at the intense heat coming off the abused skin as much as the stabs of pain just brushing your fingertips against the tender area causes. But before you can truly process the full brunt of it, he takes your wrist in hand and tugs it away from your behind so he can hold it between the two of you instead. 

“You’re welcome to try but it isn’t going to do much to take away any of the pain. You’ll have that reminder in the back of your mind for the next few days, any time you sit or your clothes rub against it.” A pause while he studies you with that frustratingly impassive expression, taking in your wet face, the clumps of your eyelashes where they’re sticking together, the distant look in your eyes. He takes it all in and then offers you a small, brief smile. “Are you sorry now?” 

You almost choose petulant silence but, not wanting to tempt fate any further, you slowly nod your head. “Yes, sir. I’m very sorry for how I acted towards you today, and for not listening when you told me to stop. I won’t do it again.” 

“Good girl.” Giving your fingers a quick squeeze, he reaches down to take hold of your hips in both of his massive hands and carefully guide you back a step so he can rise to his feet as well. “Alright, go stand in the corner. Face the wall and keep your cute bottom uncovered.”

Immediately planting your feet into the floor when he tries to nudge you in the general direction of the wall, you send him a flustered look of warning. “You said that would be the end of it.” 

“It was, and you did so well for someone whom I suspect hasn’t been spanked nearly enough in her lifetime. But,” Wriothesley quickly holds up a hand to stop you when you draw a sharp, scathing breath to snap at him with. “It’s usually customary to give you a chance to further reflect on your punishment while the sting settles the rest of the way in. Besides, I need to run down to the infirmary to get a cream for your butt and you can’t very well sit down right now, can you?”

“You are infuriating!” You practically spit at him, fists clenching with the urge to reach out and punch him square in the solar plexus. “What exactly do you think this is, your grace? A fun little afternoon we’ve shared together over tea and gossip? I don’t want your stupid cream! I want to leave this place and never be forced to look upon you ever again, do you hear me?” 

“Oh, I hear you loud and clear.” Wriothesley murmurs with an accompanying quirk of his brow to go along with it. “Gotta’ say though, I wasn’t expecting you to bounce right back to your earlier attitude so fast. Usually brats like you need a bit more time to recoup some of their charge after getting it all out of their system like that.”

You reel back in abject shock. “Brats like me? You have some nerve acting like I’m the problem when you just - -“ 

He reaches up quicker than you can react and abruptly pulls you into the front of him, one hand lifting to cradle your head against the firm, muscular wall of his body while the other curls around your back so you can’t escape. Your skin positively crawls at the contact, lips pulling back in a vicious snarl, but then … he just gently rocks you back and forth, softly petting your hair while he does it, and you go stock still in your surprise. You didn’t understand it. What he was doing or why he was doing it, and you understood even less why it almost made you feel a bit — funny inside. Tingly, almost. 

“There, there,” Wriothesley murmurs, just holding you tightly enough to prevent escape but still soft enough not to smother. “Is this what you need instead? I didn’t take you for the sort but I have no problem giving it to you as long as it gets rid of that grumpy frown for a little while. You’re way cuter when you don’t look so damn mad …” 

You stand there for a long beat unsure of how to react. Knowing you should kick up a fit, fight him tooth and nail, drag his name through the mud for how he’s treated you here today and yet — somehow the heat of his body, the heady scent of his muted cologne seems to drain the fight from your body. It leaves you feeling empty and hollow, and a sudden rush of emotions quickly floods in to replace it all. You don’t really understand it, nor are you entirely sure you want to, but you were a little too tired to keep up the pretense any longer. Not while there was a veritable storm whipping up inside your chest.

Eyes watering with a new, inexplicable sheen of tears, you slowly bring your hands up to clutch at his waistcoat. Maybe it would be okay if you entertained this for just another moment longer … maybe you could attack him when his guard was down after you’d finished fighting back the sobs suddenly threatening to wrack through your body. He’d chipped away at you, wiped the slate clean, so to speak, and now he was filling you back up with a comforting warmth you wouldn’t have expected from him given his icy demeanor. 

You still weren’t particularly fond of his methods but at least there was some amount of peace to be found in his embrace, and you may or may not have liked it just a teeny tiny bit. Not that you’d ever admit that to Wriothesley, but what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. You could certainly keep the secret.

⭐

Crossposted: here

#genshin impact #wriothesley #wriothesley x reader #self insert bullshit

[1800jjbarnes]

◇ 𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝟏𝟑: 𝐁𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐲 - 𝐁𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐲 𝐁𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐬 ◇

Make You Mine

【sʏɴᴏᴘsɪs】 : Bucky can't help but send death glares to any man who tried to have your attention for too long. Too bad you don't belong to him… yet.

『ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ』 : 1.87k

-> ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: Suggestive. Office Au.

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: CEO!Bucky x Assistant!Reader

[ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs] : Man handling. Pet names. Dominance kink. Choking kink. Fingering. Use of the name slut. Slight Exhibitionism kink. Mention of sex. Making out. Edging. Use of Bucky's metal arm.

Masterlist | Kinktober List

He was staring you down like a piece of meat. His lips were snarled as he watched you standing among newcomers. Recruits from a highly skilled agency, joining the team company for the moment until they later get filtered out to other buildings that lay under Bucky Barnes's name. Barnes, the largest family company in New York. James took over soon after his father passed. He was only twenty-five when it happened. But he grew up quickly, so naturally, taking the role of CEO was easy. It was hard, and the toll it took on him was painful. But the one thing he looked forward to every time he came into work was you.

His pretty little assistant.

You were young, just turning twenty-one when you joined his team. That was three years ago now. He always made sure to have you by his side whenever he could. Oh, he needed a coffee? He’d make sure to grab one for you, but not a coffee, no, no, you like a hot chocolate no matter the weather cause you only like sweet things. He needed to organize planners and meetings. He’d make sure you were sitting with him in his office while you both chatted the day away as he worked on the planners. Grabbing lunch? Always without fail he’d grab you something to eat, drop it off in front of you on your desk along with a white chocolate and raspberry cookie and before you could even tell him he didn’t need to buy you food, he was gone. Slipping into his private closed office space.

To say he was in love with you was the only thing to mention. And no, he did not have a crush or a thing… he wasn’t a player looking for a hookup even though practically every woman that worked for him and all the past assistants threw themselves at him. He didn’t budge.

Until you.

He was a man, deeply in love, the moment he laid eyes on you. A sweet thing looking for her first big girl job. You were smart, reliable, friendly, and oh that smile you make every time you look at him. His heart would swoon every time you sent it his way. You were the definition of perfect. And he wanted you as his. So seeing these new men, crowding you at the office party made his blood boil. No man was worth your attention, even he at times. Sam, a friend of Bucky, seemed to take notice of the way Bucky's nostrils were flared and his brow was knitted with frustration. He could practically see steam pouring out of his best friend's ears.

“If you’re so mad, go talk to her instead.” Sam nudged Bucky, snapping him out of his stare for a moment to shoot a quick glance at the older man, only merely huffing in response before turning back. “Come on, boss man, tell her you like her. You know she likes you, right?”

Okay, Sam officially has Sam's attention now. “What now?”

“You didn’t know? Of course, you didn’t see it. You are so stupid sometimes.” The young one laughs, chuckling thickly. He couldn’t believe his old brooding friend was so blinded by the idea of you being someone he could call his. Before Bucky could respond, his eyes shifted to your suddenly moving figure. You were walking away with John, one of the new recruits following you like a lost puppy. Bucky brain was suddenly on high alert. Where were you going? Why was John going with you? He needed to know, and he needed to find out now. “Hey wait, where are you going?”

Bucky didn’t answer instead he strode through the crowds of people, weaving around bright faces thinking they’d gotten the chance to talk to the quiet boss, but was quickly greeted with a grunt for them to move, or a long-distance stare that was nowhere near wanted pointed in their direction. No, Bucky was on a mission and had no time for chit-chat from anyone other than whatever John could possibly say to keep your attention. Jealous was reeling through the large man’s veins, and he did not care in the slightest. And once he turned the corner seeing you trapped in the hallway with John too close to you for comfort, he knew he had to act quickly. Taking large steps, he made his presence known to both of you. You snapped your glance to Bucky the moment he was in view, but John, well, he simply pretended the older male didn’t exist. He only wanted you and to have you in his mind, so the boss just had to wait.

“What do we have here?” Bucky's deep velvet voice sent shivers down both your and John's spines. But they were both very different effects. John swallowed thickly, trying to keep up the tough guy act while you melted, squeezing your thighs while never breaking eye contact with your employer. “The party is back there.”

James had no time for games, but a part of him didn’t want to scare you into thinking he was being controlling. Yes, he wanted you to himself, and he wanted nothing more than to show John exactly why you belonged to him. But alas, you weren’t his…

Yet.

“Oh hey, boss, we are just getting to know each other a little more.” John didn’t even let his eyes leave your figure, not paying the taller, broader man standing in his frustration behind his attention. That pissed off Bucky, and a snap went off, grabbing the collar of John's and tugging it back, making the small man let out a cough. He stepped back, trying to save his breath, but Bucky kept pulling back, making John not able to breathe.

“I don’t think this beautiful woman is interested in whatever comes out of your filthy mouth.” Bucky's voice was deep, seductive. Everything was screaming sex appeal, and you wanted more. Bucky finally let go of the other man's shirt, letting him finally suck a jagged cough in. He held his neck, feeling a soreness begin to form;

“You fucking ass.” Was all John could say, going to stand but Bucky caged you for a moment, checking to see you were okay. You quickly nodded, giving your boss a smile, letting him turn around to see John running at him. Why? You couldn’t understand that, it’s not like John could do anything against someone like James Bucky Barnes.. “Why can’t you just―.”

John's words were cut short as Bucky's left hand cupped his neck, pushing the smaller male against the wall next to you. Bucky's grip got tighter, and his eyes were darker than normal. You watched intensely, seeing the soft smile disappear from Bucky's features, being replaced by one of a sadistic nature. Heat grew in your core, seeing Bucky rough up the pathetic excuse for a man. The way his fingers are wrapped so beautifully around his neck, the way he holds John's life in his hand. Call you crazy but the scene in front of you turned you on more than you’d admit.

“Just what hmm? Why can’t I leave and let you continue to harass my girl? Hmm, let me think… One, that gorgeous thing next to us belongs to me. Two, You are a waste of space and you’re lucky I don’t fire you for harassment. And three, if I ever see you near my girl or any of the women here for that matter, I will ruin you to the point no one will ever hire you. Do you understand?”

John nodded.

“Do. You. Unerstand.” He punctuated every word with a loud, deep whisper. John started nodding like an idiot before coughing out.

“y-yes s-si-irr.”

Jamew let him go after that, making the man fall to his knees, sounding like he was about to cough up a lung. Your boss just stood staring at Lucas with pity and disgust, straightening his own tie before saying. “Go, before I change my mind.” And with that, John ran from the hallway, heading straight for the elevators, not wanting to mingle anymore. Silence fell quickly as you both watched John scurry away, but your eyes drew to Bucky soon after, studying his deadpan face. “Your girl, huh?”

He turned with a simple smile, stepping closer to where you still stood, leaning against the wall. “Of course you are. As I am yours...” he placed his hand next to your head, tilting his head slightly. “You want that?”

You couldn’t help but smile, taking your chance to lean forward, taking his soft lips against yours. He wasted no time wrapping his right hand around your waist while the other gripped the back of your head, keeping you in place as he swallowed your moans. You could feel his growing bulge on your thigh through his slacks. The fighting must have excited him a bit, along with…other things. You moaned out his name, bucking your hips in order to find his, but his hand kept you in place. He had to chuckle at how responsive your body was for him, never knowing you could be even more good than you already are.

“My sweet, sweet thing.” He groaned between kisses, “You just need someone to hold, you.” His hand that held your hip, moved down slowly, letting his fingers graze the top of your dress pants before slipping into your panties “Someone to touch you where you need it.” His metal hand that held the back of your head suddenly moves to snake around your throat, making your eyes widen at his bold move, but he just smirks, eyes dark, filling with lust. “Don’t think I didn’t notice the way you clenched your pretty thighs at me strangling that dickhead before. How your eyes sparkled…”

He tightened his grip, slightly making your head begin to spin in the best way possible. Spreading your stance more you let his index finger slide against your soaking cunt, letting out a moan from the pleasure surging through your body like a firecracker. "B-Bucky please…”

“Shh it’s okay, baby. You just a dirty little slut, needing to be pleased no matter who might see. But don’t worry my darling, I’ll make sure to fuck you good once I get you back to mine. Well unless I get too patient and decided to fuck you in my car.”

You couldn’t help but yelp when James pinched your clit. He crashed his lips against yours one more time letting his hand that sat beautifully on your neck squeeze a little tighter. It felt like he was literally stealing the air out of your lungs and before you could do anything he pulled away entirely, and if it wasn’t for the fact he grabbed your waist you would of fallen on your knees from how wobbly your legs became. He kept his hand around your waist, helping you get your footing before giving you a gentle smile unlike the sinisterly cheeky one you saw prior.

“Let’s get out of here hmm? I still wanna fuck you before the day ends.”

Nope, still sinister

#1-800-jjbarnes #marvel #jjbarnes #bucky #bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #james barnes x reader #james bucky buchanan barnes #james barnes #james buchanan barnes x reader #james buchanan bucky barnes #james bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x female reader #kinktober 2023 #mcu kinktober #kinktober #winter soldier x reader #winter solider x reader #winter soldier x you #winter soldier x y/n #winter soldier #mcu smut #marvel mcu

[ja3hwa]

♡ 𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝟏𝟑: 𝐁𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐲 - 𝐂.𝐒 ♡

Make You Mine

【sʏɴᴏᴘsɪs】 : San can't help but send death glares to any man that tried to have your attention for too long. Too bad you dont belong to him... yet.

『ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ』 : 1.87k 

-> ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: Suggestive. Office Au.

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: CEO!San x Assistant!Reader

[ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs] : Man handling. Pet names. Dominance kink. Choking kink. Fingering.use of the name slut. Slight Exhibitionism kink. Mention of sex. Making out. Edging.

Thank you, @wooya1224 , for requesting San for this day ♡♡♡.

Masterlist | Navigation | Kinktober List

He was staring you down like a piece of meat. His lips were snarled as he watched you standing among newcomers. Recruits from a highly skilled agency, joining the team company for the moment until they later get filtered out to other buildings that lay under Choi San’s name. Choi, the largest family company in Korea. San took over soon after his father passed, he was only twenty-five when it happened. But he grew up quickly, so naturally, taking the role of CEO was easy. It was hard, and the toll it took on him was painful. But the one thing he looked forward to every time he came into work was you.

His pretty little assistant.

You were young, just turning twenty-one when you joined his team. That was three years ago now. He always made sure to have you by his side whenever he could. Oh, he needed a coffee? He’d make sure to grab one for you, but not a coffee, no, no, you like a hot chocolate no matter the weather cause you only like sweet things. He needed to organize planners and meetings, he’d make sure you were sitting with him in his office while you both chat the day away as he worked on the planners. Grabbing lunch? Always without fail he’d grab you something to eat, drop it off in front of you on your desk along with a white chocolate and raspberry cookie and before you could even tell him he didn’t need to buy you food, he was gone. Slipping into his private closed office space.

To say he was in love with you was the only thing to mention. And no, he did not have a crush or a thing… he wasn’t a player looking for a hookup even though practically every woman that worked for him and all the past assistants threw themselves at him. He didn’t budge.

Until you.

He was a man, deeply in love, the moment he laid eyes on you. A sweet thing looking for her first big girl job. You were smart, reliable, friendly, and oh that smile you make every time you look at him. His heart would swoon every time you sent it his way. You were the definition of perfect. And he wanted you as his. So seeing these new men, crowding you at the office party made his blood boil. No man was worth your attention, even he at times. Wooyoung, A friend of San’s seemed to take notice of the way San’s nostrils were flared and his brow was knitted with frustration. He could practically see steam pouring out of his best friend's ears.

“If you’re so mad, go talk to her instead.” Wooyoung nudged San, snapping him out of his stare for a moment to shoot a quick glance at the younger, only merely grunting in response before turning back. “Come on boss man, tell her you like her. You know she likes you right.”

Okay, Wooyoung officially has San’s attention now. “What now?”

“You didn’t know? Of course, you didn’t see it, you are so stupid sometimes.” The young one laughs, chuckling thickly. He couldn’t believe his old brooding friend was so blinded by the idea of you being someone he could call his. Before San could respond, his eyes shifted to your suddenly moving figure. You were walking away with Lucas, one of the new recruits following you like a lost puppy. San’s brain was suddenly on high alert. Where were you going? Why was Lucas going with you? He needed to know, and he needed to find out now. “Hey wait, where are you going?”

San didn’t answer instead he strode through the crowds of people, weaving around bright faces thinking they’d gotten the chance to talk to the quiet boss, but was quickly greeted with a grunt for them to move, or a long-distance stare that was nowhere near wanted pointed in their direction. No, San was on a mission and had no time for chit-chat from anyone other than whatever Lucas could possibly say to keep your attention. Jealous was reeling through The large man’s veins and he did not care in the slightest. And once he turned the corner seeing you trapped in the hallway with Lucas too close to you for comfort, he knew he had to act quickly. Taking large steps, he made his presence known to both of you. You snapped you glance to San’s the moment he was in view but Lucas, well, he simply pretended the older male didn’t exist. He only wanted you, and to have you in his mind, so the boss just had to wait.

“What do we have here?” San’s deep velvet voice sent shivers down both your and Lucas’s spines. But they were both very different effects. Lucas swallowed thickly trying to keep up the tough guy act, while you melted, squeezing your thighs while never breaking eye contact with your employer. “The party is back there.”

San had no time for games, but a part of him didn’t want to scare you into thinking he was being controlling. Yes, he wanted you to himself, and he wanted nothing more than to show Lucas exactly why you belonged to him. But alas, you weren’t his…

Yet.

“Oh hey, boss we are just getting to know each other a little more.” Lucas didn’t even let his eyes leave your figure, not paying the taller, broader man standing in his frustration behind his attention. That pissed off San, and a snap went off, grabbing the collar of Lucas’s and tugging it back making the small man let out a cough. He stepped back trying to save his breath but San kept pulling back, making Lucas not able to breathe.

“I don’t think this beautiful woman is interested in whatever comes out of your filthy mouth.” San’s voice was deep, seductive. Everything was screaming sex appeal and you wanted more. San finally let go of the other man's shirt, letting him finally suck a jagged cough in. He held his neck, feeling a soreness begin to form;

“You fucking ass.” Was all Lucas could say, going to stand but San caged you for a moment, checking to see you were okay. You quickly nodded giving your boss a smile, letting him turn around to see Lucas running at him. Why? You couldn’t understand that, it’s not like Lucas could do anything against someone like Choi San. “Why can’t you just―.”

Lucas’s words were cut short as Sans's left hand cupped his neck, pushing the smaller male against the wall next to you. San’s grip got tighter and his eyes were darker than normal. You watched intensely, seeing the soft smile disappear from San’s features, being replaced by one of a sadistic nature. Heat grew in your core, seeing San rough up the pathetic excuse for a man. The way his fingers are wrapped so beautifully around his neck, the way he holds Lucas’s life in his hand. Call you crazy but the scene in front of you turned you on more than you’d admit.

“Just what hmm? Why can’t I leave and let you continue to harass my girl? Hmm, let me think… One, that gorgeous thing next to us belongs to me. Two, You are a waste of space and you’re lucky I don’t fire you for harassment. And three, if I ever see you near my girl or any of the women here for that matter, I will ruin you to the point no one will ever hire you. Do you understand?”

Lucas nodded.

“Do. You. Unerstand.” He punctuated every word with a loud, deep whisper. Lucas started nodding like an idiot, before coughing out.

“y-yes s-si-irr.”

San let him go after that, making the man fall to his knees, sounding like he was about to cough up a lung. Your boss just stood staring at Lucas with pity and disgust, straightening his own tie before saying. “Go, Before I change my mind.” and with that Lucas ran from the hallway heading straight for the elevators, not wanting to mingle anymore. Silence fell quickly as you both watched Lucas scurry away, but your eyes drew to San soon after, studying his deadpan face. “Your girl huh?”

He turned with a simple smile, stepping closer to where you still stood, leaning against the wall. “Of course you are. As I am yours...” he placed his hand next to your head, tilting his head slightly. “You want that?”

You couldn’t help but smile, taking your chance to lean forward, taking his soft lips against yours. He wasted no time in wrapping his right hand around your waist while the other gripped the back of your head, keeping you in place as he swallowed your moans. You could feel his growing bulge on your thigh, through his slacks. The fighting must have excited him a bit, along with…other things. You moaned out his name, bucking your hips in order to find his, but his hand kept you in place. He had to chuckle at how responsive your body was for him, never knowing you could be even more good than you already are.

“My sweet, sweet thing.” He groaned between kisses, “You just need someone to hold, you.” His hand that held your hip, moved down slowly letting his fingers graze the top of your dress pants before slipping into your panties “Someone to touch you where you need it.” His left hand that held the back of your head suddenly moves to snake around your throat, making your eyes widen at his bold move, but he just smirks, eyes dark, filling with lust. “Don’t think I didn’t notice the way you clenched your pretty thighs at me strangling that dickhead before. How your eyes sparkled…”

He tightened his grip slightly making your head begin to spin in the best way possible. Spreading your stance more you let his index finger slide against your soaking cunt, letting out a moan from the pleasure surging through your body like a firecracker. “S-San please…”

“Shh it’s okay baby. You just a dirty little slut, needing to be pleased no matter who might see. But don’t worry my darling, I’ll make sure to fuck you good once I get you back to mine. Well unless I get too patient and decided to fuck you in my car.”

You couldn’t help but yelp when San pinched your clit. He crashed his lips against yours one more time letting his hand that sat beautifully on your neck squeeze a little tighter. It felt like he was literally stealing the air out of your lungs and before you could do anything he pulled away entirely, and if it wasn’t for the fact he grabbed your waist you would of fallen on your knees from how wobbly your legs became. He kept his hand around your waist, helping you get your footing before giving you a gentle smile unlike the sinisterly cheeky one you saw prior.

“Let’s get out of here hmm? I still wanna fuck you before the day ends.”

Nope still sinister and still very cheeky...

- ♥︎

#ateez #ateez smut #ja3hwa #ateez scenarios #ateez imagines #ateez reaction #ateez reactions #ateez fanfic #ateez fluff #ateez scenario #ateez x reader #ateez x female reader #ateez x reader smut #ateez fic #atz san #atz fluff #atz smut #atz drabbles #atz hard hours #atz imagines #atz scenarios #atz x reader #atz fanfic #kinktober 2023 #kinktober #choi san x reader #san smut #choi san #sangie #san

[bedoballoons]

so give me a frappe (dom,teasing) and cookies (venti and lyney)

-🧕🍌-

I'm back, took a break and listened to some music, now I've made today marked anon appreciation day! Imma write as many marked anon requests as possible! Next up, bananon! Your request made me hungry 😭 I hope you enjoy~

─⊰⁠⊹ฺ🎃𝔾𝕖𝕟𝕤𝕙𝕚𝕟 ℍ𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕔𝕒𝕟𝕠𝕟𝕤⊰⁠⊹ฺ🎃

{༻~Yummy~༺}

CW: NSFW! MDNI! Sub GN! Afab Reader!, teasing, dirty talk, slight cockwarming, unprotected s*x, and just overall a fun time! (Pet names: Lyney: My love, Venti: Darling)

(Includes: Lyney and Venti!)

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

𑁍༄Lyney:

Lyney groaned into the crook of your neck, teeth grazing your skin in a way that had you gasping, his grip on your hips so tight all you could do was beg for him to let you move, yet even with his cock so deep inside your tight walls and your body wanting him more and more, growing hotter by the second..he wanted to tease you first...and that meant you had to sit there and be good while he had his fun.

"You're pouting my love, do you want me so badly that sitting on my cock all pretty isn't enough?" He thrusted up into your sopping heat making your head fall back as you almost screamed in pleasure, tears welling up in your eyes as you clenched around him, words falling from your lips without you even thinking about them, "M-mmore pleasee~"

"Hehe, I suppose I'll give you what you want, only because you asked so nicely~"

𑁍༄Venti:

Venti giggled quietly, watching with lust in his as you rubbed your thighs together impatiently, trying to get friction while his fingers only ever grazed against your heat. He'd been teasing you for almost half a hour now, kissing your sweet skin with his breath that smelled subtly of wine and whispering dirty things into your ear, rhyming his words like a siren song. He just couldn't help but take pleasure in your bright red face and the fact you were so wet just from his teasing alone, it had even begun to leak through your undies, dripping onto the sheets and his fingers.

"Hmmm, should I finally help you out darling? Or do I keep up with this fun little game of ours until you beg~" His eyes met yours as he spoke, his fingers coming to his mouth at the end of his sentence so he could taste your sweetness on his tongue. It was so erotic you could barely keep yourself from moaning, you needed him, not more teasing, "Please, p-please Venti. I-i want you, want you so much!"

He smirked at your pathetic pleas, "Awe...but I think I want to play more~"

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

◥(•̀￦•́)◤☪︎ ִ ࣪𖤐 ☾𖤓~Happy kinktober~*⁠.⁠✧

#kinktober #genshin impact #genshin headcanons #genshin smut #genshin #genshin fanfic #genshin imagines #genshin x reader #genshin scenarios #genshin x you #lyney x reader #lyney headcanons #lyney smut #lyney x you #lyney genshin #venti headcanons #venti x reader #venti x you #venti smut #venti genshin impact

[htchnr]

★ gentle hands ❥ A. HOTCHNER.

➻❥ masterlist. ➻❥ patreon.

CW ➥ reader has issues with eating ⋆ very brief mention of an alcohol problem ⋆ mention of binge eating or not eating ⋆ sweet and sappy comfort fic ⋆ if i missed anything, lmk!

WC ➥ 1,3k. SONG ➥ chocolate mint , duster.

SUMMARY ➥ you've always had issues with food, you either eat too much, or not enough, or not at all. you've always struggled with it yourself, but now that you live together with Aaron it's a little difficult to avoid or hide. so when you tell him about your struggles, he comforts you. as requested by an anon, but i lost the ask 😭

AUTHORS NOTE ➥ i'm getting a little bit better! still feel like i've got the flu, but i've atleast been able to concentrate on writing a request! 😁 i'm gonna try my best to finish up the remaining Kinktober posts, those will at the very least be all done before the end of November!

★ - © 2023 HTCHNR. do not copy, share or translate my work to this platform, or any other! - ★

you rolled on your back, eyes glued to the ceiling as you tightened your jaw. the clock had briefly flashed 3:28AM when you moved. your hands clenching and unclenching at your sides.

the urge to eat something was so overbearingly painful. you weren't necessarily hungry, you just need something to eat. you've tried explaining it to therapists before, but it never came out the way it needed to. you've briefly talked about it with Morgan once, though ended up not continuing the conversation after you got a call about a case and left.

and you didn't want to bring it up with Aaron; he already worried about the smallest things, the tiny bad habits you had. Aaron was one of the best people you've met, but you felt like you only burdened him with your flaws. though if Aaron ever heard you say that, he'd crush you in a hug and force you to apologise. to yourself, for ever daring to think that you were a burden to him.

your fists clenched one more time before you sat up, rubbing your hands across your face in frustration. some nights food was comforting, other nights; like this night, it was a nuisance and it frustrated you so much, your self image took the bullet for it.

you carefully moved the blankets off of you, letting your feet quietly hit the cold wood floor of your bedroom. you glanced behind you at the figure in your bed; Aaron laid peacefully, the deep creases in his face looking more relaxed as he slept.

you brushed a hand through your hair as you quietly left the bedroom and walked towards the kitchen. you yawned as you pulled open the main cupboard where you kept most packaged foods like crackers, cookies, cereal etc. one hand holding the door, the other on the bare skin of your waist, you hadn't bothered putting anything else on beside the bralette and the pair of pyjama shorts you had worn to bed.

you hesitated, i should shut the door and just go back to bed, you thought to yourself. but your body moved on it's own accord, grabbing a box of cereal and two granola bars. your hold tightened around the bars, plastic crinkling in your grip before you set the items on the counter. you pulled open the fridge to grab the milk, and pulled out a rather large clean bowl from the dishwasher. you made a mental reminder to empty that out after you were done eating.

you poured the cereal into the bowl, hoping the sound didn't trigger Aaron and then twisted open the cap of the milk before pouring it in, the quiet 'crackle' of the cereal filling your ears.

you cracked open the dishwasher once more, grabbing a spoon and shoving it in the bowl, stirring and coating all the cereal in the milk. you took a bite, your tense form almost instantly relaxing a smidge as you chewed on the cereal. see? eating was a good idea. you stood facing the counter while you ate, stuck in your own headspace.

so much so that you hadn't noticed that Aaron had left the bedroom. you rather quickly finished the bowl of cereal, putting it down on the counter beside the sink. as you grabbed for one of the granola bars, a pair of warm, gentle hands slid around your waist and their fingers splayed across your stomach, followed by a pair of lips pressed against your bare shoulder.

"what are you doing up honey?" he asked quietly. he noticed the atmosphere the second he entered the kitchen. your hand tensed around the granola bar, before shoving it against the counter and letting it go. your frame was still tense, even against Aaron's warm body. you don't need the granola bar, you eat enough as it is.

you shook your head a second after Aaron's question. "it's nothing, i was just-" you paused. don't tell him, you'll just give him more to deal with. one side spoke. while the other side encouraged you to open up to him about this. "what's wrong? i can hear those brilliant gears turning. talk to me dear." he spoke endearingly, a slight tease to his tone, that left as soon as it came. you turned in Aaron's arms, your lower back now against the counter, the granola bars behind you as you faced Aaron's bare chest.

"it's nothing Aar, go back to bed.." you insisted, still not meeting his eyes.

Aaron's hold tightened a little on the swell of your hips before lifting one hand to tilt your chin up to face him. "i know when something's wrong, please just talk to me about it." he spoke in a tone a little higher than a whisper. he leaned in and placed a gentle kiss against your forehead.

"it's just that," you paused. are you doing this right now? "i," you suck in a breath. you couldn't seem to find the words now.

Aaron stroked your cheek. "hey, take your time." you encouraged you gently, a reassuring smile on his lips.

you nodded, looking down at your hands. do it, come on. "i have a problem with eating." there, it wasn't that hard, was it? Aaron nodded lightly, prompting you to continue. "i, i either eat too much or nothing at all." Aaron's hand returned to your waist, his thumbs rubbing reassuring circles into the soft flesh.

this wasn't as hard as you made it out to be. "some nights i feel like the urge to eat is so strong, that it eats away at me until i eat. though i'm not always even hungry, i just, have to eat. that doesn't make sense does it?" you chuckle sadly, leaning forward to rest your forehead against his warm chest, your arms still hanging at your sides. "and some days, i just avoid food all together. it's like the feeling of eating makes me feel so sick? not necessarily physically sick, but mentally." you continue, a slight crack in your voice.

Aaron's heart breaks at your confession. he knew something was going on, but not that it ran this deep. "and some days, i just drink all day. being drunk blocks out all the issues with eating. either i eat a normal amount, or i don't really eat at all, but it takes the bad feelings about each away." you mumble. this is embarrassing. Aaron lowers one of his hands down to one of yours, intertwining his fingers gently with yours. your thumb fiddled around with his thick fingers.

"i'm sorry i'm laying this all on you i know-"

"hey, don't." he speaks, his voice still gentle and quiet, but more assertive. you look up at him. "don't be sorry about something you can't control. as for not talking to me about it, i'm not mad at you, i just wished you'd come to me with these things more often. i know you're struggling, but i have no way of helping you, or even just being there if i don't know what's going on in that gorgeous mind of yours."

tears well up in your eyes. Aaron's thumb coming up just before a tear rolls down, gentle wiping it away. "come to me when you feel like this okay? come to me when you're having one of those days where eating pains you, or when you crave to eat the whole day. i'm here for you okay honey? i'm here for you, no matter what." he's here to help you, so let him.

you nod, licking a tear off your lips. he wraps an arm fully around your soft bare waist, the other one wrapping around your shoulder as he pulls you against him. your arms wrapping around his waist as you hold him tight. "thank you." your voice is muffled by his skin, but Aaron hears it. "i love you." you hold him tighter, pressing your face against his warm chest, the feeling of being held by him calming down any negative thoughts or feelings.

"i love you too." he whispers back, placing a firm kiss on the top of your head.

he pulls away, his thumb wiping away some tears. "do you want to eat something before we head back to bed?" he asks you, he had already spotted the granola bars behind you. you think for a second before nodding.

Aaron nods along, reaching for one of the bars behind you. he opens it, leaning away from you for just a second as he throws away the wrapper and hands you the bar. his hand wraps around yours as you take the bar from him, his thumb rubbing brief but gently against the back of your hand.

you eat the bar slowly, having Aaron stand in front of you calms the intensity of the craving. and when you're finished with the bar Aaron smiles. he leans down and captures your lips in a soft kiss. you wrap your arms around his neck as you lean into it. Aaron leans down, his warm gentle hand sliding down your waist and hips until they reach the back of your thighs, pulling you up and into his arms. you wrap your thighs around his bare waist and lean your head on his shoulder as he carries you back to the bedroom.

tonight might've been conquered, but there's still many more nights and days to go. though, now they don't seem as dark and daunting..

#⋆୨🩷©2023 htchnr #⋆୨⭐️aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotch hotchner #aaron hotch hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner oneshot #aaron hotchner comfort #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner angst

[0oolookitsme]

Better than the Dream

Type - One-Shoty Blurb

Verse - Artist!Harry x Housewife!Y/n

Word Count - 1.7k

Warnings - Talks of after-birth changes and affects (hair fall, weight change, persona change), insecurity about weight, curse words, and smut.

A/N - Second fic of Kinktober! It's a stinking sweet one y'all.

Kinks - Praise Kink, Face Sitting

KINKTOBER MASTERLIST | MASTERLIST

Please rb to share!

Harry could feel the cold trapped in the room, yet the love he had bundled up in his arms made him warm. It felt too good to be wrapped around in a blanket this warm and have Y/n curled around him to leave the bed. 

Her hair still faintly smelled like the baby shampoo she had to use the previous morning because of Opal's excitement for showering. Y/n had warned her, yet she cackled loudly as Harry made faces at her while brushing his teeth, and knocked over the open bottle of shampoo. 

Y/n had cursed out loud and smacked her hand on her mouth before picking up the bottle out of which the liquid was rushing. Turning to look at Harry with a look that said 'I'm going to rip your hair off', she couldn't help but laugh at the horror on his face. 

Knowing that Gemma was on her way to take Opal for a weekend's getaway with Anne, she shook her head before washing the bubbles off of the little one's hair. "Look at you, all squeaky clean," she scrunched her nose, rubbing it against Opal's cheeks as she kissed each one. 

Walking over, Harry hooked his hands under her armpits. "If you don't get ready now, then aunt Gemma is going to eat your cheeks! Garhh!" He growled, lifting the girl and taking her out of the bathroom in a manner that made her look like an airplane. 

Y/n laughed inside, exhaling deeply before stripping herself rid of her clothes and using the shampoo from the floor to wash her hair. She didn't need much anyways, since giving birth has thinned her hair so much that she had to get it cut up till her very neck. 

By the time she had come out, Gemma was there already and Harry was seeming quite sad. "C'mon Harry, it's just for two days. Have some rest, you know she'll have fun with me," Gemma assured him, looking at Y/n for help. 

It wasn't the first time, yet it felt like so every time to Harry. He just didn't like her being away from him, but he knew that it was fine and he and Y/n needed this break. Handling a toddler was a very precious phase, but it was hard. Very hard. 

So, with lots of kisses and goodbyes, Y/n and Harry finally let the two go – looking from the main door as Gemma backed out of the street. They waved again, watching Opal's little hand wave back before Gemma rolled up the windows. 

Heaving out a breath, Y/n turned to Harry. "I'm so ready for a two day long nap." 

"I'll order the takeout," Harry said, wrapping his arm around her shoulder. 

And so they had both ended up on the floor space between their bed and the TV, the kitchen just parallel to the room as their door remained open. Sharing food and stealing bites every once in a while, they ended up having a make out session after eating the cookies that Gemma had brought with her. Harry even leaned in to litter her neck in kisses, which led to Y/n shrieking, "how the fuck did you manage to cover me in so many hickies!?" when she saw her reflection in the mirror while wetting her toothbrush.

It didn't escalate to anything further though, as the both of them were tired out of their minds. 

Deciding to call it an early night, they had slipped under the sheets – Y/n sleeping on her stomach and Harry's leg swung over her hips, his arm wrapped around her waist as the snores left her mouth right away. 

Somehow though, throughout the night, Harry's thigh had slipped between her thighs and Y/n had started dreaming. Dreaming something that had her cheeks a little flushed, snores silenced but lips still parted as small puffs of breath passed her open mouth. 

Harry lied there silently as something cool rubbed against his thigh. Perhaps, something wet. He just knew that she was soaked. 

His arm slipped down from her back to her waist, giving her support as she continued to rub against him in her sleep. Turning to kiss her cheek, he chuckled when a small noise came from the back of her throat.

Stirring, she blinked her eyes open, breathing a little heavily and a little confused. She sat up and rubbed her face, and realized that she had sweat beads on her forehead.

"Had a nice dream?" Harry asked, his voice a little groggy due to the lack of its use in the past few hours. Hell, he didn't even know if it was about time that his alarm would go ringing, or the time that Y/n considered ghostly.

She turned to look back at him, a look of horror on her face. "Oh god, don't tell me I was doing some shit," she groaned, slapping her hands on her face. She heard him laugh and punched him in the side, an embarrassed smile on her face. 

"Go back to sleep, you perv," she said as she laid back down, facing away from him. 

"Not going to take care of that?" 

Y/n only grumbled something in response, her voice muffled. 

Harry turned just enough to lay on his back. "C'mon, I'll take care of it," he said, looking at the back of her head. 

"Don't be shy – I'm your husband!" He grinned, turning her towards himself. She wasn't like this before, but ever since she's given birth to their beautiful daughter, her personality has become more reserved and shy, and a bit insecure. 

"Come, sit on my face."

At that moment, Harry felt her body go a bit rigid. "W-what?" She asked, looking up at him with her big questioning eyes. 

Bringing his hand to her head, he ruffled her hair a bit. "You heard me -- come sit on my face, darling," Harry confirmed to her, feeling a little sad that she was shying away from him. 

Having a toddler around the house meant little time for them to just spend with each other. Sometimes they shagged in the bathroom, sometimes in the kitchen when the little one was out like light in her crib in the bedroom. It was mostly them making each other reach their highs -- rarely did they ever get to fuck properly, because there was never any time. 

So, muttering a few more encouragements to Y/n, he convinced her to crawl up on him. "I'm still losing weight, Harry. I won't actually sit on your face, you'd have trouble breathing," she muttered, looking down at him as she hovered on his neck, holding onto the headboard. 

"Baby, I have asked you to sit, not hover. You know I can handle you, have you forgotten?" 

"No! It's just-" 

"Sit, Y/n." Harry interrupted her, curving his arm around her thighs like ivy. He only hummed in response when she asked him to tell her if he had any problem, and pulled down over his face. 

She hadn't shaved, and it felt nice to Harry to know that she wasn't insecure about that with him. Sure, she was hesitant at first but over the time they dated, she'd realized that he really wasn't fazed by it at all, and might as well prefer it that way. 

Her body was still upright and rigid but Harry didn't want to tell her too much, knowing that she would herself relax once she's in the groves. 

His mouth met straight with her cunt, and immediately he started lapping at her wetness. She was, indeed, dripping wet. Her arousal had slipped out of her pussy, white strings stretching as Harry licked at her. 

Her head had fallen back, that much Harry could tell. The headboard was making slight sounds that told him she was gripping it hard already. "Fuck," she breathed out, and suddenly Harry felt like he wanted to be suffocated like this all night. 

Slowly but surely, she was sitting down lower and lower on him. Curse words spilling out of her mouth, as she felt the knot starting to form in her belly. 

"Harry, oh my- feels so good," she groaned in pleasure, feeling like she could cry from all of the electricity that was rolling through her body in waves. 

Harry continued licking her, playing with her swollen clit with his tongue that he knew was growing more sensitive by each lick. He felt so upset that he didn't get to eat her out as often anymore, everytime he did it. Her sweet arousal had coated his tongue by now.

Her thighs had tightened around him, and they were beginning to quiver a little. Without much thought, he shifted all of his focus on torturing the little bundle of nerves

"Harry- H, fuck I'm going to come," she whimpered, rolling her hips against his mouth as she felt the knot moving lower and lower inside her belly. 

Shaking and feeling overly sensitive, she began to move away from his mouth, but Harry held her down, and licked into her rapidly, again and again flicking her clit with his tongue. 

 "H, please! Oh- O-oh!" Y/n stuttered, shaking entirely as her thighs began to close around his head, despite her trials against it. But Harry didn't budge. Instead, he pushed himself further into her pussy, licking and nibbling her clit furiously.

"Oh, fucking hell – Harry!" She yelled as silently as she could, shaking and trying her best to get away from his mouth that was still licking at her, riding her through her orgasm.

"Fuck, fuck," she flinched when his tongue brushed her clit again by accident. 

He licked her clean, before finally releasing his hold on her. 

She got off of him the moment she felt his arms unwind around her thighs. Breathing heavily, she wiped some sweat away from her forehead. "Fuck," she whispered, finally turning back to look at Harry. 

He had a wide smile on his face that only turned into a dimpled-grin at her glance. He slapped her hand away when she protested that she wanted to return the favour, and instead, sat up with her. 

"Wanna go again? You look good like this."  

"Harry – I- you haven't changed one bit," she laughed, leaning in to kiss his lips. "Definitely better than the dream," she chuckled, and instantly knew that they wouldn't be going back to sleep the moment his mouth kissed her jaw.

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles ff #harry styles fic #harry styles fluff #harry styles smut #domrry #soft dom!harry #dom!harry #harry styles x reader #harry styles x fem!reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #harry styles au #harry styles masterlist #harry styles fic recommendation #harry styles fic rec #harry styles mature #harry styles one shot #harry styles one shots #harry styles blurb #harry styles blurbs #harry styles imagines #harry styles imagine

[fizzydrink698]

conflict, conceal, confess | minho

kinktober day 31: thigh-riding

pairing: lee minho x reader

word count: 18.1k (💀)

genre: college au, enemies to lovers, (modern!consort au)

warnings: sexual content (thigh-riding, oral sex, fingering, handjob, marking, a whole lot of smut honestly, like 6k words of it), swearing, an ungodly amount of academia

summary:

“Why don’t we call a truce?”

Minho blinked, caught off-guard. “Truce?”

“Yeah. No more arguments…” you trailed off, the words already sounding hollow and you were the one saying them. “OK, maybe some academic debate. But nothing personal.”

“Nothing petty,” Minho added, giving you a pointed look.

It took an impressive amount of willpower to force your smile to stay on your face. “Exactly. We somehow managed it as kids. How hard could it be to do it again?”

“Your brother is such an asshole.”

You wondered how many of your conversations with Felix had started with those exact words. In the years since childhood, there had probably been countless variations of this very situation: you collapsing into a seat near Felix, ready to unleash after biting your tongue for however many hours beforehand.

His reaction was second nature at this point. Without even glancing towards you, Felix paused in the middle of rolling out what looked to be shortbread dough and turned to switch on the coffeemaker. “What is it this time?”

“Do you remember how many new people signed up to debate at the start of the year? Had to be at least twenty, right? Maybe thirty?”

“At least thirty,” Felix confirmed. “I gave out blondies to every person that signed up. The entire pan was gone in like an hour.”

Yes, you remembered that day. Specifically, you remembered Felix holding up the empty pan with a big smile on his face and proudly declaring how many people had shown interest in joining. And you’d had to figure out how to politely break it to him that the hordes of first-year students walking back and forth in front of his table were eyeing a little more than just his baked goods.

Sweet boy. Sweet, innocent, oblivious boy.

“Guess how many are left,” you challenged him, eager to prove a point.

Felix frowned, thinking it over. “There were still about fifteen when I was last there. So, ten?”

“Six,” you exclaimed, balling your hand into a fist and planting it onto the tabletop for dramatic effect. “And Minho made one of them cry today.”

In just a few years, you and Minho had transformed your university’s debate team into one of the most successful in the country. You’d won awards, you’d attended international competitions, you’d gained notice from several notable figures in academia. Membership of the debate team had gone from a minor footnote you’d discard in an application to a badge of prestige, of recognised talent.

Minho’s standards were high, shockingly so, but he got results. As a second-in-command in all but name, it was usually up to you to run damage control, to nudge members towards persevering instead of walking out the door. The good cop to his bad cop, the carrot to his stick. You’d be tempted to call it exhausting, were it not for the undeniable rush of satisfaction whenever you succeeded in building up a member where Minho failed.

Lately, however, your efforts were starting to fall short. In just eight weeks, over twenty recruits had quit before team selections had even finished.

“Oh, jeez,” Felix muttered. Before he could say anything more, the coffeemaker chirped behind him, and he wasted no time pouring you the biggest cup he had lying around.

You motioned it over with greedy little grabby-hands, accepting it with a smile.

Felix returned to his shortbread dough and picked up a star-shaped cookie cutter. “Why did they cry?”

You made a vaguely displeased noise through a mouthful of coffee, only managing to word a response when you set the mug down. “I don’t even know. This week’s debate was on the ethics of nuclear power, and I could tell she took pretty much all her talking points from Wikipedia. I assume it was about that. Minho probably got all Minho about it and tore her to shreds.”

Felix paused. You wondered if it was just because he was concentrating on his cookies, until you realised he was hesitating. “…I don’t know. I know Minho takes this stuff seriously, but he’s not the kind of guy to make some poor kid cry over debating.”

“Why not?“ You asked, and you can’t stop the bitterness creeping out into your voice. “It’s nothing he hasn’t done before.”

“Oh…” Felix said, eyes widening in realisation. He lifted his head up to look at you, sympathetic. “Shit, yeah. I’m sorry.”

For the most part, you’d gotten over your experience in high school debate club, but the memories still stung a little.

You’d been so eager, signing up the very second you were eligible, talking Felix’s ear off about how excited you were, how much you were looking forward to it. You’d known that Felix’s older brother - a year ahead of you - was somewhat of a big deal in the club, and you’d maybe imagined him taking you under his wing. Looking out for you, encouraging you with gentle feedback and a warm smile.

You’d gone into your first debate, attempted to expand upon the few points you’d known about the topic, and shyly waited for Minho’s counterarguments.

He had stepped up to the microphone, levelled you with a blank stare, and eviscerated every single argument you’d made. Pointed out every logical fallacy, every gap in your research, every misspoken or poorly worded statement, everything. He’d cut you right to the bone, with zero mercy.

You spent the rest of the club meeting holding back tears, ran all the way to Felix’s house as soon as it was over, sobbing your eyes out – and actually, maybe that was the first of many “your brother is an asshole” exchanges.

Huh. Funny how things come full circle like that.

When Minho returned home about a half-hour after you, you’d stormed into his room and demanded to know why he would treat you so badly. Did he want to drive you away from the club? Did he secretly hate you this whole time?

You’d never forget his response. The shrug he gave you, the arch of one eyebrow as he took in the sight of you, burning with rage, fists clenched by your side. The fucking sigh.

I just thought you’d do better than that.

What a fucking thing to say to a fourteen-year-old. Especially one that looked up to him the way you did.

And, deep-down, there was a certain sting that accompanied his words. Something you could never bring yourself to admit out loud, not even to Felix. An extra flash of pain, because back then you’d…

Whatever. It was ancient history.

You had almost quit on the spot. Instead, you dove headfirst into researching the next week’s topic, determined to beat him, paranoid about every little mistake he might pick at.

And that…

Well, that was your life for the next nine years. Even that one blissful year when Minho had graduated, the year you’d taken over as head of debate club, the year you’d gotten your team all the way to nationals - he still didn’t leave you in peace.

He’d turned up to that final competition, gaze intense, face neutral. You’d spotted him in the audience, unable to tear your eyes away, watching every little twitch of his jaw, every tiny shift in expression, and knew he was picking apart your arguments. Waiting for you to trip up and fail in front of everyone.

It felt like a glorious ‘fuck you’ when your team won that year. You’d held that trophy, looked right into Minho’s eyes, and wanted to scream ‘I fucking told you so’ right in his smug face.

Ugh. Asshole.

“It’s all in the past,” you said, forcing yourself to shrug it off.

Taking another swig of coffee, you reached over and poked Felix’s shoulder, grinning.

“And besides…Minho isn’t the one coming with me to the U.N. next month.”

“Next month,” Felix repeated, slightly in awe, matching your excitement and then some. “Holy shit, it’s so soon.”

It was. In just a few weeks’ time, you’d be standing in front of a U.N. committee giving a speech on commitment to environmental preservation with your best friend by your side. You’d worked for this for months, years even. And you’d be doing it together.

“I’m afraid I have bad news about the U.N. speech.”

You sat there, horrified, as your supervisor – Dr. Koning – shuffled the papers on his desk with a grave expression. “What? What happened? Don’t tell me it’s cancelled.”

“It’s not cancelled,” Dr. Koning said, before pausing. “…But it has been postponed. Certain recent global events have pushed it further down the agenda. The speech will happen next January.”

“January?” You repeated, and horror quickly dawned on you. “No, wait. Felix can’t do January. He’s studying abroad next semester. There has to be some other…”

“I’m afraid there’s not. I’ve tried to speak to the few contacts I have, but changing the agenda of the United Nations is…well, a little beyond our capabilities, I’m sure you can understand.”

“But this is just as much Felix’s speech as it is mine. It’s on environmental preservation, he’s the one that’s specialising in environmentalism, he can’t just get dropped like…what if he flew back for the U.N. speech? That’s doable, right?”

“Even if he could, he would still be missing the weeks of preparation leading up to the speech,” Dr. Koning reminded you, sounding genuinely apologetic. “Unless he withdraws from his study-abroad program, I’m afraid we have to give his spot to someone else.”

You felt like you’d just been punched, right in the gut. Felix couldn’t withdraw from the program. It was one of the main reasons he’d chosen this university in the first place. He’d spent months competing for the limited spaces at the best partner university, he’d e-mailed the faculty there ahead of time to begin networking, he’d based his entire career path on the connections he could make there.

Even the fucking United Nations wasn’t worth the damage his future plans would take if he dropped out of studying abroad.

“…Who’s taking his spot?” You asked, quiet, defeated.

Dr. Koning looked down at the papers, and adjusted his glasses. “Well, there are a few candidates in mind. But at such short notice, there’s really only one feasible choice. One of my colleague’s PhD students, you might know him. Lee Minho?”

…No.

No.

Absolutely fucking not.

You choked on the sudden anger bursting from your chest, trying your best to push it down before you started cussing out Lee Minho right in front of your professor. Finally, you were able to respond through gritted teeth. “Yes, I know him. We don’t…really get on.”

Dr. Koning frowned, pushing his glasses higher up the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry to hear that. Are there any incidents I should be aware of?”

“No, nothing like that,” you said. “Just…it’s been a thing since we were kids. We don’t like each other.”

“Well, we can look for others…” he said, before trailing off. Frowning, he leaned forward slightly, granting himself an air of conspiracy, like he was letting you in on a secret. “But, honestly…if this is something you feel comfortable setting aside, just temporarily, you should know that Minho really is the best candidate. By quite a wide margin.”

Of fucking course he was.

You let out a deep breath, closing your eyes and fighting the urge to start massaging your temples.

“…Maybe,” you relented, even if it took every ounce of willpower you had. “I’ll talk to him.”

“Good to hear,” Dr. Koning said, smiling. “I really do hope the two of you can work together on this. Both of you have shown astounding potential. I look forward to seeing what you come up with.”

“…Mm-hm. Me too.”

It was a cold, crisp Monday morning, and you found yourself stood on the steps of the lecture halls. The expression on your face was enough for the dawdling first-years around you to give you a wide berth, allowing you to scroll through your e-mails in peace.

Scroll through your e-mails, and wait.

For him.

Felix had mentioned that Minho was sitting in on a talk from a visiting financial expert on the state of global economics, and you figured now was as good a time as any to confront him about the speech.

…And by ‘confront’, you meant ‘patiently and politely open channels of communication’. Of course.

Fuck, it was freezing.

You shivered, pulling your scarf just a little tighter around your neck, and exited out of your e-mails to shoot a text to Felix.

You

Who in their right mind voluntarily sits in on an economics lecture at eight o’clock on a Monday morning?

Lixie

…

i mean

…literally you last week

You

OK first of all

That was a fucking Guillaume Van Bebber seminar

The man has a Nobel prize

Second of all

That wasn’t a Monday

Third

Shut up

Lixie

ok no cookies for you

You

Wait no, what??

I take it back.

Take it all back.

You’re my bestest friend in the whole world.

Bestest and smartest.

Waittt

You were so distracted texting Felix, you didn’t notice the doors to the lecture halls opening, and the slow stream of students beginning to file out.

You did, however, notice a familiar voice.

Your head snapped up to see Minho at the top of the steps, talking with who looked to be the guest lecturer. The two were standing still, rather than walking along with the rest of the students, positioned just out of the way so they could continue whatever conversation they were having without interruption.

Cool, even more waiting.

You shifted your weight, shoving your hands into the pockets of your coat to keep warm, and watched as Minho continued to speak – and, unbelievably, managed to make this lecturer laugh.

You blinked.

What the fuck? Minho didn’t make people laugh. He made them miserable, yes, but never laugh.

And then, suddenly, as if he could sense your insults, Minho looked over and locked eyes with you. His eyebrows raised slightly, probably in surprise at seeing you on campus so early in the morning. You made sure to maintain eye contact – an old habit with Minho, by this point. You hated being the first to look away, it always felt like weakness.

He turned away, saying something to the lecturer with a slight incline of his head.

The lecturer blinked, before nodding. You watched as, with a warm smile, the lecturer extended what looked to be a business card to Minho.

Minho accepted it, the two exchanged one final handshake, before Minho turned on his heel and descended the steps.

Towards you.

It was a little unfair, you wanted to grumble, that Minho always looked so put-together, no matter the time of day. He was wearing a black turtleneck sweater, perfectly suited for the chilly October morning air, under a tailored beige overcoat. It looked designer, the plaid pattern on its lining looking vaguely familiar, but that was standard for Minho’s wardrobe. You’d known since you were a little kid that Felix’s family had money.

Like, ­fuck-you money.

You forced your eyes up to his face before they travelled any further downwards, but you knew from a glance that Minho was wearing some form of tight black jeans. They were a staple of his wardrobe, and you hated them. You hated any and every reminder of Minho’s…

Well, Minho’s fucking tree trunk thighs.

Which you also hated.

With a passion.

He did dance as a kid. And some kind of equestrian thing in his teenage years – because, again, fuck-you money – which all contributed to…

You know what?

Didn’t matter.

Because you hated them. They weren’t worth mentioning.

“We need to talk about the U.N. speech,” you said, as soon as he got close enough, cutting straight to the chase.

“OK,” Minho nodded, approaching closer. You paused, confused, as he showed no sign of slowing. He drew closer and closer, and something tightened in your chest, as he–

He brushed past you, shoulder nearly bumping yours, continuing onwards past you.

You stilled, rooted to the spot for a moment, blinking at the empty air where he had just been standing.

Shock quickly morphed into incredulous anger, and you turned sharply to storm after him, blown away by his rudeness. “Hey, where – what the fuck?”

Minho paused, turning to face you, halting so suddenly that you almost bumped right into him. You stumbled back a step or two, before righting yourself, as Minho asked. “…Wait, did you mean now?”

The way he said it, confused, as if you were the strange one for not specifying the obvious.

“No, I was thinking in three weeks. But let me just check my calendar first,” you retorted, deadpan. “Yes, now. Why else would I be here?”

“For classes,” Minho pointed out, gesturing to the lecture building he’d just exited.

You opened your mouth instinctively, before pausing.

Because the honest answer, that you were here because you’d been waiting for him, now sounded…

“…Look, are you free to talk about the speech or not?” You asked, folding your arms over your chest.

Minho stared at you for a moment, before giving you a shrug. “I’ve got about an hour before my next class.”

“Good.”

“I usually get coffee around this time, while it’s quiet.”

“…OK? Good for you?” You said, frowning slightly.

Minho kept staring, looking…strangely expectant.

What, he wanted a pat on the back for having coffee in the morning?

Finally, with a sharp exhale that could almost be mistaken as an exasperated sigh, Minho turned away and set off walking again.

Rude. You were literally just having a conversation? Now, he just expected you to follow him?

Ugh.

Reluctantly, you did just that, having to quicken your pace to match Minho’s stride with those…fucking gargantuan legs of his.

Legs that didn’t matter. Because you didn’t notice them. At all.

To your surprise, Minho didn’t head for Muffin House, the main coffee shop on campus. That was your go-to place for caffeine – it was cheap, they had a bunch of muffins in different flavours, and they had an irresponsibly large number of discounts on extra espresso shots for students.

Instead, you had to follow Minho down a little side street nestled between two of the towering science blocks, cut across a near-deserted car park, and finally took a right towards a quiet little pocket of buildings on the edge of campus.

You would have walked right past the coffee shop entirely, were it not for Minho suddenly ducking through the doorway of a non-descript stone building. You paused, and it was only after looking up and studying the front face of the building that you noticed the sign for Kwon’s Koffee.

Inside, it looked indistinguishable from other coffee shops on campus – except it was far less crowded, with only a few tables taken up by exclusively postgraduate students.

This was definitely one of those little insider-knowledge haunts for PhD students, like Minho. And the idea almost made you want to hate it on principle.

You joined the queue behind Minho, gaze wandering toward the board of coffee specials.

…Fuck, OK, they did look pretty good.

Still, the principle of the matter remained.

“You realise Muffin House was so much closer, right?” You asked, glancing at Minho.

Minho made a face. “Yeah, but their coffee is shitty.”

“No, it’s not!”

“It’s always bitter.”

“Yeah, because it’s made to go with the super-sweet muffins,” you said, slowing your words as if trying to explain the concept of taste to a toddler. “They balance each other out.”

“Which means if you don’t get muffins, you’re shit out of luck,” Minho pointed out, and glanced over his shoulder at you. “And I never get them.”

You stared at him, genuinely affronted by this statement. Yet another thing to add to the colossal-sized list of reasons to dislike Minho. “What? Why? How?”

He shrugged. “I don’t have much of a sweet tooth.”

“How are you and Felix even related?”

“It’s because of Felix,” Minho argued, and you had to admit, your interest was piqued. “Who do you think was the test subject for all his recipes?”

“What, were they bad?” You asked, intrigued.

Minho smiled ruefully. “Some were. But the most dangerous ones were the great ones. There’s only so many whole pans of brownies you can inhale before your body just rejects sugar on sight.”

Huh.

You forgot, sometimes, how close Minho and Felix were. It didn’t entirely fit in with your general doctrine of ‘Minho = The Worst’ so it was often banished to the back of your mind.

You supposed even the absolute dregs of humanity usually had at least one redeeming quality.

…Wait, this was coming dangerously close to an actual conversation with Minho.

“I think you’re just a coffee snob,” you dismissed with a shrug.

Minho rolled his eyes, and that brief façade of reasonable humanity vanished. “If Muffin House figured out how to brew coffee without burning it to shit, I’d drink it. But they haven’t yet, so…”

You opened your mouth, already raring to start an argument, but it was at that moment that the person in front of Minho in the queue finished ordering. Minho turned away from you, and walked up to the counter.

You followed closely behind, and it was only when your attention shifted from Minho to the person behind the counter that your eyes lit up.

“Seungmin?”

Seungmin blinked, leaning to the side just a little to look over Minho’s shoulder at you, surprised. “Oh, hey! Long time no see.”

Seungmin had been a stalwart member of your debate team for the first few years of undergrad, until he landed a job as research assistant for one of the most respected professors on campus. You had a lot of good feeling towards him, not least because he – along with Felix – often acted as the mediator between you and Minho.

He must have remembered that role too, as his gaze soon shifted back and forth between you and Minho, and his brow furrowed slightly. “Wait, are you two getting coffee? Like, together?”

You saw Minho bristle out of the corner of your eye, and you fought back a scoff. Did he really find it so insulting to be seen in public with you? “Yes, we are.”

Seungmin’s eyes flickered between the two of you again. “…Voluntarily?”

Minho answered this time, seemingly through gritted teeth. “Apparently.”

“Huh,” Seungmin said, mostly to himself. “Interesting.”

“Can we order now?” Minho asked, impatiently.

Seungmin shrugged, ignoring Minho’s rudeness, and set about taking your orders.

(Of course, Minho took his coffee black. Pretentious motherfucker probably had a whole thing about palate and bean aroma or whatever. You threw in a muffin with your order, to spite Minho more than anything else.)

It was only at the end, when it came to payment, that Seungmin looked up again at the two of you. “Are you guys paying separately, or…?”

That was kind of a dumb question.

“Separately,” you said, pointing out the obvious.

“Very separately,” Minho echoed, giving Seungmin a very pointed look.

Impressively, Minho’s glare did little to change Seungmin’s expression. In fact, Seungmin only smiled a little wider, calmly reverting back to his standard customer service script. “…OK. Cash or card?”

After payment, it only took a few minutes of waiting for your coffee before you found yourself sat at a table in the corner of the coffee shop, facing directly across from Minho.

The two of you sat there in silence, coffee in front of you.

How did you…how did you even start a conversation with Minho that wasn’t an argument? Usually, you relied on him to say something incorrect and pounce on it.

Now? You had to figure out how to be…nice. Civil. All because of this dumb speech.

You watched Minho shrug off his coat, turning in his seat to drape the coat over the back of his chair. The black turtleneck he was wearing underneath was surprisingly form-fitting, and when he turned back around to face you and pick up his mug, your eyes dropped down to your own cup before you gave into the urge to scowl openly.

Sometimes, you wondered if it would be harder to hate Minho if he were less attractive.

It was a thought you crushed down the second it came into your head, but you couldn’t entirely deny it. There had been moments, unspeakable moments, when you started dating someone, that your brain betrayed you and compared them to Minho. It was like he had to just…infect every part of your life. He had to ruin everything.

You swallowed, curling your fingers around the handle of your mug, tapping the edge of it with your thumb. “…So, the speech.”

“The speech.”

“I assume Koning already talked to you about it?”

“Yes.”

“…And?” You said, resisting the urge to scream. This was like pulling teeth. “Your thoughts?”

Minho sat back in his chair, eyeing you closely. “Why the U.N.?”

Easy question. So easy, you’d almost call it moronic. “It’s the U.N. It’s literally where I want my career to take me.”

“You want to work at the U.N.?” Minho asked, and you could almost mistake his tone for interest.

“Yes,” you said, confidently, half-prepared to defend yourself in case Minho decided to find your ambition laughable. Screw him. “The Human Rights Council, preferably, but I wouldn’t say no to a job in the General Assembly.”

“Who would?” Minho remarked, deadpan.

“Ergo, a speech there. It wasn’t easy, but we managed it,” you said, not even pretending to be humble.

“…It’s impressive, honestly. What you’ve achieved.”

“What me and Felix achieved,” you corrected him automatically, but honestly, you were a little thrown. That sounded…dangerously close to a compliment. From Minho.

“Koning said it was your idea,” Minho said. “You came up with the proposal, and you were the one ballsy enough to actually submit it to the U.N.”

“Yeah, but the speech is literally on environmental preservation–”

“International NGO commitment to environmental preservation,” Minho interrupted, and you bit down the sudden flare of anger that he felt the need to correct you on your own fucking speech topic. “International commitment is your wheelhouse, isn’t it?”

“And Felix is literally specialising in environmentalism,” you reminded him, and it was then that one of your biggest concerns about this whole situation reared its head. “Which reminds me, actually, why did they pick you to replace him on it?”

Minho stared at you for a solid moment, eyebrows slowly raising, as if he couldn’t believe you were being serious.

You felt yourself bristling, growing defensive. “What? You’re a politics student, not–”

“My master’s thesis was literally on environmental activism. I help teach undergrad classes on green politics and ecological efforts in government policy. How do you not know this?”

…OK. So, fine, maybe you didn’t pay that much attention to what Minho actually studied. Why would you? You imagined it would only piss you off more, reading through his fucking glowing examples of academic writing – like, seriously, in your second year of undergrad, one of your professors used one of his essays as a literal example of how to do the assignment.

You scoffed, lifting your coffee up to your mouth, muttering under your breath. “Ego-logical efforts, more like.”

Minho tilted his head, clearly having heard every word you just said. “What was that?”

You stared him down, taking one long, unabashed drink of coffee, before setting your cup down. Maintaining eye contact, you forced your most innocent smile. “Nothing.”

Another moment of silence fell between the two of you, as Minho’s mouth twitched. You could tell he was very tempted to call you out, and you almost wanted to dare him to say something. Going this long without some kind of conflict with Minho felt…weird. Strange.

Instead, Minho sighed, and you couldn’t imagine the visible shock on your face when his expression actually softened towards you. “…Look. I know you really wanted to work with Felix on this. It’s really shitty that this got taken out of your hands.”

…What? What the fuck was happening here?

He continued. “I’m sorry you got screwed over like this.”

What the fuck was in this coffee?

“I’m not trying to butt in and mess with everything you’ve prepared,” Minho said. “I genuinely just want to help you. I know we’ve got…issues.”

“That’s a bit of an understatement.”

“Sometimes people just don’t get along,” Minho said, eyes flickering downwards to his mug as he took a sip of coffee. “But I hope we can be professional about this.”

You fought the urge to scowl, but you couldn’t quite stop yourself from clenching your jaw at the assumption.

You could be professional.

You could be insanely fucking professional.

“Yes, I hope we can,” you said, your voice perfectly level. Calm. Composed. Professional. “So, actually, until this speech is over…why don’t we call a truce?”

Minho blinked, caught off-guard by your choice of words. “‘Truce’?”

“Yeah. Until the speech is done, we’ll try to be nice to each other. No more arguments…” you trailed off, the words already sounding hollow and you were the one saying them. You backtracked slightly. “OK, maybe some academic debate. But nothing personal.”

“Nothing petty,” Minho added, giving you a pointed look.

It took an impressive amount of willpower to force your smile to stay on your face. “Exactly. We somehow managed it as kids. How hard could it be to do it again, for the next few months?”

Minho didn’t answer immediately, clearly thinking the proposition over.

You took another sip of coffee, trying your best to leave it at that. But you couldn’t help but add, pointedly. “I mean, I don’t think it’ll be hard for me. But if you think you–”

“I’ll manage,” Minho interjected, dryly, unimpressed. “You’re the one who starts it most of the time, anyway.”

“I don’t–” you bit your tongue, taking a second to claw back your patience. “…I mean, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure.”

You sat just a little taller, frowning. “OK. So, we’re decided.”

“Yep.”

“Truce?”

“Truce.”

“…Good.”

“Good.”

“Great,” you said, maybe just a little eager to get the last word. Maybe.

It was only when you took another sip of coffee, content with yourself, that Minho dropped the sudden curveball. “My housemates are throwing a Halloween party this weekend. Maybe you should come.”

You very almost did a spit-take with your coffee. “What?”

“If you’re so interested in a truce,” Minho added, tapping his fingers against the wooden surface of the table, and that was when you recognised the invitation for what it was.

A challenge.

Minho was absolutely trying to get you to chicken out.

You straightened your shoulders. “I’d be happy to,” you said, and it sounded vaguely threatening.

“Great, I’ll let them know.”

“Looking forward to it.”

“Me too,” Minho said, his words so edged, you could imagine them slicing into you.

Yeah, this truce was definitely going to last.

This was a terrible idea.

You hesitated on the pavement outside of what was very obviously a Halloween party in full swing. You’d purposely waited a little, hoping to avoid the awkward early stages of house parties, your imagination filled with dreadful images of being one of the first to show up and having to make conversation with Minho.

The later, the better. More people to act as a buffer, and a better excuse to get drunk.

Hopefully, fingers-crossed, maybe Minho had already gotten absolutely wasted and wouldn’t even notice you were there.

Bolstered by the thought, you shot a text to Felix – who should already be inside, having volunteered to swing by early and help his older brother with decorations – to say that you were here.

OK.

Breathe.

Go.

You marched up the path towards the front door, refusing to be distracted by the partygoers scattered around the front yard, smoking and chatting and one couple leaning against the wall and already looking very handsy.

The front door was open, and you made your way inside, senses alert for any sign of Felix (to approach) and Minho (to avoid) as you did so.

The house was impressively large for student housing – of course it was, Minho lived here – and yet, every room held a crowd of people. Dancing, drinking, having fun. A drunk girl, dressed in what looked to be some variation of zombie Disney princess, stumbled into you, giggling apologetically as she did. Her drink – a can of something, maybe a bottle – was icy-cold as it brushed against your thigh.

You should have worn something longer, you thought. Your costume was cute, and dare you say, maybe even kinda hot, but it was not cut out for any temperatures colder than a room full of warm bodies. Just the walk up to the house had you shivering, just a little.

Your hunt for Felix led you from room to room, as you tried and failed to prevent yourself from rolling your eyes at the size of this place. Someone had set up tables – multiple – for beer pong in one room, while another room hosted an impressive speaker system for dancing, while another room was all softly-lit and calm background music, clearly the designated room for quieter, laid-back conversation.

A layout that checked all the house party boxes, sure. But a terrible place to try and track someone down.

Eventually, somehow, you found yourself in the kitchen, and it was here that you wondered whether you should just give up for a second and grab something to drink. You’d find Felix at some point, hopefully. Just as long as you didn’t run into…

“Oh.”

You turned at the voice, instinctively, but on second thoughts maybe you should have pretended not to hear.

Minho was standing in front of you, leaning against the kitchen counter.

And he…

He looked…

Holy fucking shit.

From the fake blood on his billowy white shirt and the painted-on bite mark on his neck, he was clearly some kind of vampire. Someone – maybe Minho himself – had applied the subtlest amount of eyeliner, and between that and the rumpled dark hair, and the…

Fuck, those were leather pants. Skin-tight.

Oh, you had to leave right now–

“Hi,” you said, standing your ground.

“You’re late,” Minho noted.

It was only then that you realised Minho was part of a loose cluster of guys, all of whom turned to see who Minho was talking to.

And one of them, to your intense relief, was Felix.

“Hey!” Felix greeted, wandering over to throw an arm around you in a half-hug. He was a cheerful drinker, and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t help your confidence a little to see someone so unambiguously happy to see you here.

When he pulled away, you noticed that the little hand-drawn stitches around his neck had already started to smudge. Miraculously the little fake plastic bolts on either side of his head remained intact.

“I like your costume,” Felix told you. “It’s very…pink.”

“It is very pink,” you agreed, looking down at yourself.

When you glanced up, you caught the way Minho’s eyes flickered upwards too, as if he’d just finished looking you up and down.

You tensed a little, preparing yourself for some kind of critique. Lee Minho, champion appraiser of cheap Halloween costumes.

To your surprise, however, Minho quickly averted his eyes and took a deep swig of the drink in his hand.

“I like your costume too,” one of Minho’s friends chimed in. He was kind of cute, all dark hair and big brown eyes, so adorable that his werewolf costume came across as looking more like a chipmunk. “What are you?”

You smiled, relaxing a little. “The most accomplished woman of our time.”

The guy blinked, looking briefly thrown for a second, eyes back on your costume as he tried to decipher who you were.

But Minho, astonishingly, cracked a half-smile. Which, for Minho, was practically a laugh. “Are you Barbie?”

“Yes,” you admitted, reluctantly, half-tempted to lie just to be petty. Except, damn it, no more pettiness. You’d agreed.

“Barbie is the most accomplished woman of our time?”

“Princess. Astronaut. President. I am prepared to fight you on this.”

“Really?”

“Yes, and I’ll win.”

“Mm,” Minho hummed, and again, his gaze flickered downwards. What, was it so shocking to see you in pink?

You shifted your weight, and you almost folded your arms over your chest before you remembered what the neckline was like on this dress. Maybe not.

Unbeknownst to you, Felix and Minho’s friend exchanged a look.

Clearing your throat, you turned your attention to the large and varied alcohol selection littering the kitchen counter. “So, what can I get to drink here?”

“Minho can talk you through it,” Minho’s friend suddenly announced, patting Minho on the shoulder. Minho blinked, tearing his eyes away from you to look at his friend. “I’m gonna go find Chan, he promised me a beer pong rematch. Felix, bro, you should come with.”

Felix hesitated. “…Actually, maybe I–”

“Nah, come on,” Minho’s friend insisted, hooking his arm with Felix’s, cheerfully pulling him away. “Be my cheerleader.”

You stared, as it dawned on you that your biggest support in this minefield of a conversation was being frogmarched away.

Right. OK. Alone with Minho.

Cool.

You chanced a look back towards Minho, only to find him still watching you, and you quickly diverted your attention to the alcohol again. Smoothing down your skirt, you forced yourself to shrug. “I thought about coming as Frieda Dalen, but I figured no one would get the reference. She was–”

“The first woman to speak at the U.N., yeah.”

You snapped your head back to stare at him, bewildered. “How the fuck do you know that?”

Minho raised one eyebrow, and you were genuinely irritated that, in combination with the hair and the blood and the outfit in general, it almost…almost maybe twisted something in your gut. “My first official university debate was about the history of women in global affairs. She was a good factoid. 1946, right?”

You fought the urge to scowl as you confirmed his answer. “Yep. 1946.”

And, because even the tightest of leather couldn’t dull your burning dislike of seeing Minho smug, you pressed him further.

“Do you remember which country she was the delegate of?”

“No,” Minho admitted, tilting his head slightly to one side as he looked at you. After a moment, he straightened up from where he’d been leaning, gaining an inch or two of height in doing so, forcing you to tilt your chin up slightly to continue meeting his gaze. “Why don’t you tell me?”

His words should have sounded patronising.

Except, there was a strange edge to his voice, almost a playfulness but not quite. Not a lightness, because it definitely didn’t feel light. It felt kind of heavy, actually.

If you didn’t know any better, you would almost mistake it as…

“Minho!”

Both of you jolted at the sudden shout, barely having the time to turn towards it source before a tall guy with a Phantom of the Opera mask and ridiculously pretty long, blond hair staggered into Minho and hugged him.

You blinked, too caught off-guard to even appreciate the bemused expression on Minho’s face as the pretty guy mumbled into his shoulder. “Minho, I think…I’m druuunk.”

You took that as the perfect opportunity to back out of this…interaction with Minho, even as something strange twisted inside of you. You quickly grabbed the closest drink you could and retreated out of the kitchen as fast as your dignity would allow.

You needed to drink. And maybe dance. Anything to distract you, before your mind wandered anywhere dangerous.

This wasn’t working.

Drinking your problems away was a terrible idea in and of itself, but you’d been tempted to give it a go. After your second drink, however, you were blindsided with the intrusive thought of getting wasted and throwing up in Minho’s bathroom, and all the humiliation that could go with it, and it had warned you off alcohol for the rest of the night.

Dancing, your alternative solution, had worked for the first hour or so. You had let loose a little, but as your drink-fuelled buzz slowly faded, you found yourself growing increasingly uncomfortable by the stale air and the press of warm bodies. You were getting hot, something under your skin beginning to itch.

You needed to get out of here, just for a moment, to clear your head.

With crowds of people blocking your way to the front door, you decided on a different path towards some peace and quiet. Upstairs was mostly left untouched, understandable since there were no drinks to be found and no music playing, and you breathed out a sigh of relief when you reached the top of the stairs and turned a corner, and found an empty hallway.

Perfect.

Before you could think twice, you sat down on the floor, your back against the wall. The relief of taking a break from standing in these heels was immediate, and you let your head loll backwards, closing your eyes.

You just needed a few minutes here, you decided. Just to recharge.

“What are you doing?”

You didn’t open your eyes, but you felt your expression immediately sour. Of course it had to be the worst possible person to find you here, alone and close to misery, sitting in the hallway.

Minho approached, or at least, that was what you gathered from the sound of his footsteps. He came to a halt fairly close, pausing, and spoke up again.

“How are you this wasted already?” Minho asked, and there was surprisingly little amusement in his voice at the idea. In fact, you’d almost mistake it for concern.

“I am distressingly sober, actually,” you replied, slowly opening one eye to glare at him, but it was half-hearted at best, and you closed it again. “Just needed some quiet. Had a headache.”

Minho didn’t say anything in response. In fact, it was silent for so long, you started to wonder if he’d walked off without you even noticing, when he suddenly spoke up again. “I know a good place for quiet. And for fresh air, if you want it.”

Slowly, you opened your eyes again, fixing him with a look of suspicion. Admittedly, whatever he was suggesting sounded like the perfect place for you right now – which was exactly the reason you were so suspicious. “Where?”

“It’s pretty nearby,” Minho said, and to your disbelief, held out his hand.

Your eyes flickered from his face, to his outstretched hand, to his face again, before taking a deep breath and pushing yourself up to your feet by yourself. To his credit, Minho withdrew his hand smoothly, seemingly unaffected by your refusal to take it.

“After you,” you said, still reluctant to let down your guard.

Minho nodded, and set off down the hallway, going just a little further from where you were sitting, and stopping in front of a door. With a glance back to you, probably checking to see if you were still following, or if you’d lied about being sober and collapsed while he wasn’t looking, he opened it and wandered inside.

You took a few steps towards it – and then caught one look inside the room and halted dead in your tracks.

That was…

Was that…?

“Is that your fucking bedroom?” You asked, in pure disbelief.

Minho stopped, turning around to look at you, and how the fuck could he look so calm about this? “…Yeah? Last time I checked, why?”

“Why? Are you…” you trailed off, scoffing, before putting on your best Minho impression. “‘I know a good place, come follow me’ and it’s your bedroom. Come on.”

“I wasn’t…I was talking about the balcony. There’s a balcony through…” Minho gestured vaguely towards the far wall, where you realised the huge ceiling-to-floor curtains hanging there must be hiding the doors to it.

Of course he has a balcony.

Of course.

For once in his life, Minho looked just the slightest bit ruffled as he finally caught on to the incredibly obvious implications.

He swallowed. “Look, if you’re not comfortable, that’s–”

You interrupted him with a scoff. “I’m not uncomfortable.”

In fact, to prove just how comfortable you were, you marched into his room, forcing yourself to appear entirely unbothered.

“See? Fine,” you said. “Just, maybe lead with the balcony thing next time, so you don’t look like some massive sleaze.”

Again, Minho’s reaction surprised you. Instead of anger or annoyance at your accusation, Minho cracked another half-smile. “Fair.”

…Yeah, you really weren’t used to this whole ‘nice’ thing between the two of you. It felt weird, like the very foundations of your dynamic were shaken by it.

As Minho led you towards the balcony, you tried your best not to look too closely at his bedroom, as much as your curiosity protested otherwise. The most detail you got was that it was fairly neat, fairly clean, and he had a stupidly large bed. Which, you know, Minho, fuck-you money, that made sense.

You point-blank refused to dwell on it.

As soon as he slid open the door, you quickly leaned forward and breathed in that refreshing cold night air, and felt your headache fade just a little. It was only when you stepped out onto the balcony that you truly felt yourself relax, and the tension built up in your head began to ease.

“Better?” Minho asked, and you heard him come up from behind you, coming to a stop beside you to look up at the night sky. You couldn’t make out many stars from here, thanks to the light pollution of the city, but it was still undeniably a pretty cool view.

“Yeah,” you admitted and, begrudgingly, you turned towards him to mutter. “…Thanks.”

“No problem.”

“I won’t be too long out here,” you added, feeling the weirdest need to justify accepting this kindness from Minho, to downplay it. “I’m not exactly dressed for October weather.”

Minho paused, keeping his gaze fixed on the night sky above and very much not on you. “Yeah.”

…Yeah?

You frowned, unable to stop yourself from feeling slightly defensive. “I mean, you’re one to talk.”

That got his attention. Suddenly, Minho had no problem looking at you. “What?”

“Your pants, Minho. Did you paint them on yourself?”

And you realised then and there that you must have made some kind of error, because Minho looked genuinely amused. Glancing down at himself for a moment, his eyes wandered back up to meet yours, and there was a genuine note of curiosity in his voice. “What, do you like them?”

You stilled, faltering just slightly, before retorting. “I’d probably like the cow they’re made from more.”

“Don’t worry, they’re not real leather,” Minho quipped back. “If that’s your only issue with them.”

“Well, you know, the fake leather industry is actually…” you trailed off, because your comeback sounded lame even in your head. “Whatever.”

The two of you fell into a silence, both watching the stars for a moment, listening to the thud of the bass downstairs and the muffled cacophony of voices.

And then, quietly, reluctantly, Minho spoke. “…Can I ask you a genuine question?”

If it was about the pants, you might actually throw him off this balcony. “OK. You’re not guaranteed a genuine answer, but go ahead.”

“The U.N. speech. It was your idea. If you want to go into human rights, why are you doing a speech about the environment?”

You paused, genuinely flustered by his question. Your response came out jumbled. “I don’t…you know, the two aren’t mutually exclusive, environmental damage is having a huge impact on–”

“Yeah, but that’s not what the speech is actually about. It’s a great speech, but why isn’t it on a subject youwant to do?”

“Who says? You? You don’t know what I want,” you shot back, irritated, refusing to admit that he’d touched a nerve.

Rather than snapping back at you immediately, Minho took a deep breath, calming slightly. “…You’re right. I don’t. I shouldn’t assume.”

What was this? You didn’t want him to agree with you, you wanted an argument. This ‘nice’, truce stuff was really starting to grate on you. “Exactly.”

“It’s just…it’s important that you do what you want, and not try to shape yourself around other people.”

“I don’t,” you argued. “Maybe what I want is for you not to attack every little decision I make. Like you always do.”

Minho’s brow furrowed, his stance shifting slightly. It took a second to realise that he was appraising you, eyeing you thoughtfully.

“You…really seem to dislike me,” he noted.

“Oh, do I?” You remarked, bitterly.

“Why is that?”

You let out a deep breath, mostly out of frustration, but also a little out of exhaustion. Closing your eyes for a moment, you tried to construct some kind of response.

There seemed to be a multitude of answers to that question. Minho was arrogant. He was atrociously blunt in most social settings and seemed indifferent to the hurt he caused others. He had an exorbitant amount of money and had very few qualms showcasing it. He scared away almost every single new debate team recruit because he was apparently allergic to the concept of constructive criticism. He’d ruined more than one relationship you’d had. Apparently, you talked too much about him, but there were only so many ways to honestly answer questions about your day or how you were feeling without mentioning how aggravating Minho was in some capacity.

But honestly, the more you thought about it, the more you felt yourself slipping back into the shell of that little fourteen-year-old, looking up at the cool older boy with wide eyes and hoping for just one kind word.

And it made you feel so…small. Pathetic.

“Because you’re an asshole,” you stated, simply.

Minho stared at you for a second, before frowning slightly. “I mean, not really.”

…Oh, he decided to say just exactly the wrong thing there, didn’t he?

“You absolutely are. Like, objectively,” you argued. “You literally made a girl cry last week over debating.”

“What? Who?”

“That first-year girl. Dark hair, super perky. You know, when she’s not crying her eyes out.”

Something approaching recognition dawned on Minho’s face, but to your surprise, his expression dimmed slightly. “Oh, her. She told you it was about her debating?”

Well, not in exact words, you wanted to say. But it wasn’t hard to read between the lines, given what you knew Minho to be capable of.

“OK, then what was it about?” You asked.

“She came up to me after our last meeting and asked for some tutoring,” Minho said, before giving you a very pointed look. “As in, a specific kind of ‘private’ tutoring. Very specific. And she was not subtle about it.”

You blinked. “…What?”

Minho’s brow furrowed, visibly searching through his memory of the incident. “To be fair, I might have laughed in her face. In my defence, it was less about her and more about the audacity.”

You pictured the scene, of that girl coming onto Minho, his face when he realised what was happening, and the worst part of you maybe wanted to smirk a little. But you would not indulge it. “Still, sounds like you could have been nicer abut it.”

“OK, yeah, I feel a little bad. But no, it wasn’t over her debating skills. I might be harsh, but you think I’d make someone cry over that and not give a shit?”

Every ounce of amusement drained out of you in an instant, replaced by something cold. “I mean…yeah, you’ve done it before.”

“What? When?”

He didn’t know?

How could he not know?

You might have finished sobbing by the time you’d confronted him, all those years ago, but hadn’t it been extremely obvious?

You stared at Minho for a good few seconds, waiting for him to slip up, to give up the joke. But all you got in return was a genuinely confused expression on his face, waiting for you to clarify what exactly you were talking about.

Oh.

Yeah, he really didn’t know.

Shit.

You swallowed, looking down at your hands, picking at one particularly jagged edge of your thumbnail. “…Me.”

Minho stilled. You could feel his eyes burning into the side of your head, searching your face. “You cried?”

Oh, fuck this guy. You stiffened, embarrassment roiling in the pit of your stomach, and snapped, seething. “Just forget it–”

“No, I didn’t mean…” he trailed off. When you braved a look over at him, you didn’t find the smirk you were expecting. Minho looked genuinely chastened, watching you with a deep but unreadable emotion. “I…didn’t know.”

You didn’t like this, you didn’t know how to handle…earnest Minho. Where the fuck did asshole Minho go?

“It was just the once. It was my first debate, and you were a dick about it,” you said, forcing yourself to shrug.

“Oh,” Minho said, with such a strangely specific tone that you couldn’t help but look over at him. There was a look of dawning realisation on his face, and the slightest hint of…

Embarrassment?

“I think I remember that,” Minho said, sounding vaguely horrified. “…This is going to sound dumb.”

Minho? Dumb? And aware of that fact? “…OK.”

“And a little pathetic.”

“Good, go on.”

“But I think, at the time…I was hoping you’d ask me for help.”

You stilled, trying to comprehend the string of words that had just left his mouth. Trying to forge them into anything that made even the smallest bit of sense.

“…And you didn’t, I don’t know, think about offering your help? Before humiliating me in front of my classmates?” You asked, and you almost surprised yourself with the way your voice shook with an old, familiar anger. “That didn’t, you know, maybe occur to you?”

Minho turned his whole body to face you head-on, hand curling around the balcony railing at his side. It was in that moment, seeing him entirely, that you glimpsed that blunt, ruthless young man that had cut you so deeply all those years ago – and saw, for the first time, how small he really was. That memory had taken up so much space in your mind, had warped itself until Minho towered over you, a titan, a symbol of each and every one of your failings.

Now, for once, a new image appeared. An awkward teenage boy, too embarrassed to admit that he wanted to be something in your eyes.

You softened, just for a second.

And then, remembering yourself, remembering all that had happened between the two of you since then, you came back to your senses.

“And what about everything after? It’s not like you were nice after that one little misunderstanding, you picked at everything I did for years.”

“In my defence, neither were you. You refused to speak to me unless you had to for years,” Minho pointed out. “And I realised how much you could do, what you could achieve–”

“If you kept being an asshole?”

“If I held you to actual standards,” Minho corrected, and for the first time in this conversation, he was starting to get heated. Good. “The next time the club met, you wiped the floor with seniors. Seniors. You were just as good as me, and you barely had experience.”

A compliment from Minho, however begrudging and biting it was, had a dangerously addicting effect on you. Actually, maybe the begrudging part only made it better. “And what? That pissed you off?”

Minho’s expression faltered, just for a split-second, and that spoke more than any confession could.

“It did,” you said, half-shocked for a second, before pressing on. “So, you wouldn’t get off my fucking back foryears. You even turned up at nationals after you graduated, hoping I’d fall flat on my face.”

“Is that what you think?” Minho asked, incredulous.

“What else would it be?”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe…” Minho stopped, before letting out a short, bitter laugh. “Never mind. Forget it.”

You wanted to press him further, but the anger that had sustained you so far was starting to flag a little.

This was just…exhausting, sometimes.

You let out a deep breath, just as a cold October breeze decided to kick up, making you shiver. Instinctively, you folded your arms over your chest, tucking your hands into your sides to get just a little bit of warmth.

Maybe it was time for you to leave.

You looked over at Minho, opening your mouth to say something–

Only to catch his gaze openly, unmistakably, dipping down towards your cleavage.

You stopped.

You stared.

His eyes moved upwards again, finding yours, and he realised he’d been caught.

He tensed, just for a second, and you watched a tangle of emotions play out across his face before he settled on a neutral, blank, composed expression. But he didn’t speak.

He just…looked at you.

Waiting for you to say something? Daring you to say something?

It was hard to decipher, because at that moment, your brain was still 100% stuck on the fact that Minho had been checking you out.

Because that wasn’t some little accidental flicker, his gaze had stayed there.

Minho had been absolutely, undeniably, checking you out.

For all your complaints about the cold weather, it was starting to get very warm out here.

Why the fuck wasn’t he saying something? Anything?

You swallowed – or, well, you tried to at least.

Something had awoken, deep in the pit of your stomach. You felt it starting to unfurl, slowly, your nerve endings beginning to prickle.

“Are you…” you didn’t finish the question, you couldn’t finish the question, because the words ‘are you into me?’ were so laughably alien that they just refused to leave your mouth.

Minho waited, expectant for something, searching your face. Whatever he found – or didn’t find – was enough to make him speak.

“What?” he asked, and it was that same voice he had in the kitchen. Quiet, loaded, just a touch lower in register that almost made your breath catch.

It was like he was challenging you. Goading you. Wondering whether you were too much of a coward to finish that question.

You needed to ask. You needed to say it.

Come on, you were about to talk to the fucking United Nations in a few months, surely you could handle asking one question to Lee fucking Minho.

“Are you…attracted to me?”

Already, you were starting to cringe internally. Already, you were preparing for the worst. You tried to reassure yourself that it was fine, that when he said ‘no’ you could call him out on staring at your chest, he had no room to speak, it was a logical question, it…

Except Minho didn’t say ‘no’.

He didn’t say anything.

And the longer he looked at you, the longer he stayed silent, the more obvious his answer became.

…Oh.

That…

Maybe you were drunk, actually. Surely you had to be. Because the idea that Minho found you attractive didn’t drive you off like you thought it would.

Minho found you attractive.

Minho, the man with an ego so large it could smother a man, a superiority complex so vast it could bring awe-stricken observers to tears, that Minho…found you attractive.

Huh.

As you stared back at him, you were hit with the sudden thought of kissing him.

Which would be a terrible idea.

Because Minho was Minho and just because he was into you, just because he was perhaps objectively maybe a little good-looking, just because he’d admitted that all these years he’d seen you as an intellectual equal, just because he had the kind of thighs that could probably crush a watermelon, he…

He…

You paused, mind-blank, before rising up on your toes and pressing your lips to his.

The first few seconds were strange. Of course they were, it was surreal to feel someone’s lips on yours and know this was Minho, holy shit. You could feel how still he was, how shocked, and you knew he must have been on the exact same wavelength.

And then, he closed his eyes, his hand lifted up to gently cup your cheek, and everything clicked together perfectly.

This felt right, like really weirdly right despite it all. Some kind of base level of brain chemistry was screaming about how right this was, and it had you shivering in a way that had nothing to do with the cold.

Was this a bad idea? The two of you had to work together for the next few months, you should have been aiming to keep things strictly professional, personal issues could complicate–

Minho let out the tiniest exhale, recapturing your lips immediately, and your thoughts stopped dead in your tracks.

Fuck professionalism, you’d earned this, you’d been working your ass off for months, you deserved to take satisfaction whenever you could get it.

You looped your arms around his neck, pulling yourself up slightly to press the entirety of your front against his. He was warm, shockingly so, and when his free hand moved to press itself into the small of your back, you chanced parting your lips just a little.

Minho followed suit, deepening the kiss, angling his head just slightly. Everything about his touch, how he held you, it was all so strangely gentle in comparison to the usual way he treated you. As if you were an illusion, like if he squeezed too hard, you might disappear.

One of your hands came up to run your fingers up his neck, through his hair, and the drag of your fingernails coaxed a quiet hum out of him.

Every noise you pulled from Minho, every little reaction, felt like winning an argument. It felt like a strange natural extension of your debates, isolating the weakness in the other’s defence and targeting it.

You let your fingers tangle in his hair, biding your time, and when you tested a sharp little twist, you heard his breath catch.

Minho went still, just for a second, just enough to take a deep breath, before grabbing your hip and swinging you around, pushing you up against the sliding balcony door, trapping you between it and him.

The impact was enough to knock a gasp out of you, and he pulled away briefly. You watched him, cheeks flushed, eyes dark, breath heavy, as he tried to form words. “Fuck, are you–”

You pulled him back to you, a hand fisted in his shirt collar, too impatient to let him finish the rest of his question. Your kiss was rushed, insistent, and you took your time before you pulled away to mutter against his lips. “I’m fine. Just…fuck it, just keep kissing me.”

Minho’s head dipped towards yours, briefly, as if he were about to do just that – before he paused. “…Ask me nicely.”

“Fuck off,” you snapped, impulsively, heat rushing to your face.

He pulled his head away, his whole body even, until the two of you were just barely touching. He lingered, teasingly close, an amused glint in his eye. “Why, is that want you want? Me to fuck off?”

You didn’t know if he was being sincere or not. You never knew if he was being sincere or not. That was Minho, through and through.

You scrabbled for an answer, brain still sluggishly working through the fact that you weren’t kissing anymore, chest rising and falling with every quickened breath. You found your words, looking him directly in the eye, tilting your chin up slightly.

“Kiss me,” you said, practically venomous, before setting your jaw. “Or I’ll find someone else to do it for you.”

You didn’t know why that was the threat you made. Logically, it held no weight – Minho might have been attracted to you, but would he really care if you kissed someone else? You half expected him to laugh you off, and wander off back to the party without even a glance back at you.

He did neither of those things.

In fact, the teasing look in his eye vanished completely. His gaze turned so intense that you wondered if he could burn a hole straight through you.

When he finally spoke, he was deceptively calm, his voice perfectly even as he noted out loud. “I see. So, that’s how we’re playing this.”

You barely had time to process his words, before his mouth was back on yours, almost feverish, and with a newfound harshness.

You met him with just as much enthusiasm, matching him move-for-move.

A gentle Minho was too complicated. A soft, kind Minho forced you to confront some preconceived notions that you were very happy to keep unchallenged.

This Minho, the one who dragged his right hand down your side, the one who gripped your hip so tightly you could imagine it bruising, this was something you could handle. Something you didn’t have to overthink.

Because, fuck, you really, really didn’t want to think right now. You were sick of thinking, your whole life was thinking.

Minho’s hand slipped downwards to your thigh, his palm sliding around to the back of it before he lifted your leg up slightly to slot his thigh right between yours.

The instant he lowered your leg, you realised exactly what he’d done. Immediately, you felt the press of him between your legs, subtle enough to allow plausible deniability, and yet too firm for you to just ignore. To make matters worse, you were now just slightly off-balance, your foot just brushing the floor.

You couldn’t lower it, you couldn’t regain your balance, without pressing down even more on his thigh. You tried anyway, and the friction resulted in your first whimper of the night, light and breathy against him.

Minho’s grip, still on your leg, tightened.

He dropped his head to press his mouth to your neck, kissing at the skin there – and then he clenched his fucking thigh muscles, and your resulting moan slipped out right by his ear.

Your hands scrambled for him, clutching his shoulders, breath heavy as you tried not to rock your hips. You couldn’t give him the satisfaction, you absolutely refused to. You grabbed a fistful of his hair again, pulling by the roots to drag his head back upwards so your mouths could meet again.

Your kiss was now heated, almost clumsy. You caught Minho’s bottom lip between your teeth and nipped, enjoying the way he hissed, the way his tongue licked over where you’d done it, the way his left hand came up to your face – not to cradle this time, but to clutch, to grip.

His right hand moved up to your ass, giving it one firm squeeze, before suddenly and very deliberately pulling you down and along his thigh. More noises fought their way out of your mouth, and you were too weak to resist just one roll of your hips, chasing that same friction. It had barely been a few minutes, and you could already feel yourself starting to ache, heat beginning to collect at the apex of your thighs.

It was gratifying to learn, when you pulled Minho even closer, forcing the full length of his body to press against yours, that you weren’t alone in that. You felt something firm beginning to press into your hip, and when you slid your hand down to confirm what it was, palm sliding against it, Minho inhaled sharply.

You grinned against his lips, and squeezed him through those damned fake-leather pants.

He groaned, eyes drifting shut for just a second, before suddenly snapping open.

“Come on,” he said, swallowing, and took you by the wrist. Before you knew it, he pulled you away from the balcony door to slide it open again, and hurriedly tugged you inside.

You had been a little too distracted to notice how much colder it must have turned outside, but inside welcomed you with a warmth that radiated through your whole body.

But it took you a moment, brain still in a thigh-induced haze, to realise the full extent of what it meant to be inside.

To be inside Minho’s bedroom.

You hesitated as Minho slid the balcony door shut behind you, drawing the curtains together.

You stared ahead, eyes on that huge bed – and the first hints of panic seized your chest.

Quickly, almost unthinkingly, you grabbed Minho by the arm and pulled him. He stumbled, clearly caught off-guard, but he went along with it, letting you pull him to you and turn, pressing him up against the wall.

Easy. Your back was to the bed now, removing it from your sight, and that strange new weight of anxiety disappeared entirely. You went back to kissing him, hands back in his hair. Your new comfort zone, apparently.

Apparently, however, you didn’t entirely fool Minho, who must have picked up on your tension at least a little.

“I thought,” he murmured, between kisses, and made no move to grab at you like he had outside, “you might want,” more kisses, “some more privacy.”

You hummed, non-committal, your concerns already disappearing as you tried to figure out how to get Minho’s leg back between yours again without outright asking.

“Outside, people can…” he paused, probably because your nails had scraped along his scalp almost accidentally, and he shivered, “hear.”

You pulled away slightly, hiding how breathless you were, fixing him with a playful look.

“Hear what?” you challenged, pretending as if you hadn’t literally moaned in his ear just a short while ago.

Minho didn’t answer, but you knew that expression. It used to keep you awake at night, anger burning through you at just the thought of it. He was smug.

Surprisingly, the sight no longer filled you with burning rage – but it did prompt you to back him up against the wall again, stepping right back into his personal space, and pull his head down to kiss you again.

He relaxed into you, soft and gentle as his hands eased over your sides, which only served to wind you up more. Frustrated, you tugged at his shirt, pulling it up and out from where it had been tucked into his waistband, and let your hand snake up under it.

You had learned over the course of the evening that Minho, as mouthy as he liked to be around you, wasn’t the most vocal partner you’d encountered. Maybe that would have discouraged the average person, but you knew Minho. You’d known him for years, you knew every tell he had, the meaning behind every hint of body language.

You knew that when Minho’s breath caught, as your hands ran up his stomach, up his chest, exploring his upper body, it was basically his equivalent of shaking with anticipation.

You took the hint, grasping his shirt with both hands and pulling it upwards. The shirt – some kind of billowy white poet’s shirt, the kind with the little lace-up ties at the neck that he’d left undone and open – was loose enough to remove easily, and you let it drop without a second thought.

Even now, despite everything, you were reluctant to stroke Minho’s ego by openly ogling him. It was a challenge, trying to ignore the smooth skin, the lean muscle, so you dipped your head before he could see your reaction, pressing open-mouthed kisses to the underside of his collarbone.

Again, it felt like a special talent to recognise Minho’s deep inhale, when your hands brushed his chest, for the emotions it betrayed.

Your mouth descended lower, eager, towards his chest – and you let your tongue brush his nipple.

His breath caught again, and when you experimented with a quick nip of your teeth, his grip on your sides tightened briefly.

That was Minho’s equivalent of being horrendously, painfully turned on.

Your hand slid down past his abdomen, cupping him through his pants, and this time you let your palm gently grind against him.

Minho’s body shivered under your touch, and it felt like winning.

And then, suddenly, as if he had somehow read your mind, he scrambled for the zipper of your dress, determined to even the playing field. You briefly pictured denying him, pictured staying clothed while undressing Minho, having that kind of advantage over him.

Tempting, maybe. But then you imagined the feel of Minho’s hands on your bare skin, and you made your decision pretty quickly.

Minho pulled down your zipper, building anticipation as he hooked two fingers under each of your spaghetti straps and slowly peeled your dress from you, letting it pool around your ankles.

His eyes dropped, and his expression changed.

“Oh, wow.”

You couldn’t help but grin slightly, glancing down at what you knew Minho was staring at. Your underwear was a matching set of pastel pink silk, with little hints of lace and ribbon, even a bow or two. You’d taken one look at it and knew it screamed princess.

“I always commit to my costumes,” you replied, refusing to feel even the smallest hint of embarrassment. It was hard to feel so anyway, with Minho staring down at you with dark eyes, drinking the sight in, amusement long since shifted into something else entirely.

He reached forward, tracing the ribbon at the edge of your bra cup with his thumb, before letting it sweep down over the lace – and right over the peak of your nipple, eliciting a sharp inhale from you. “Were you expecting someone to see it?”

“No,” you admitted, half-tempted to arch your back, just to press your breast into the curve of his palm. “Nothing about this was expected.”

Minho hummed quietly in agreement, still taking his time admiring you. He grabbed at your breast, not quite rough but not entirely gentle, fingers splayed, making sure to drag his thumb back over your nipple as he did so. “I never imagined you wearing something like this.”

You were so focused on the weight of his hand on your chest that you almost missed the implication. Almost. “Imagined? You imagined?”

Minho’s eyes darted up to meet yours, looking caught out for just a moment before his expression smoothed again. “Sometimes. Occasionally.”

OK, you had to ask. “What did you imagine?”

“Not this,” Minho stated, stubborn, refusing to give a single detail.

Your mind whirred at the possibilities anyway. What? Did that mean it was the complete opposite of this? What was the opposite of this sugary pink ensemble? Black, sexy? Leather? A whole dominatrix-style thing, was that what Minho was into?

“Tell me,” you demanded, incredibly curious now.

He hesitated, before sighing. “…You know that red skirt you wear sometimes?”

Well, that was not where you thought this was going. “Yeah?”

“I’ve thought about you wearing it at debating. You’re stood behind the podium, most of you hidden from sight,” Minho described, and his voice slowly began to shift. “I’m stood behind you, like I’m reading your notes over your shoulder. You don’t look at me, but your legs part, just a little.”

Your breath caught, as his left hand brushed against your inner thigh, fingertips stroking circles into the sensitive skin there.

“You let me slide my hand up,” he continued, and slowly, his hand begins to drift upwards. “Because you want me to know you aren’t wearing anything underneath.”

Holy shit.

“And you want me to feel how wet you are, waiting for me,” Minho said, pausing his hand just a few inches from the edge of your underwear, waiting as he checked your face for any signs of protest.

You couldn’t imagine what exactly your expression was, but you’re certain that protest was probably the furthest fucking thing from it.

And so, his hand moved, cupping you through your underwear, feeling just how damp the fabric was. Your breath rushed out shakily at the first moment of contact, almost akin to a gasp, body shuddering.

“That’s what I imagine,” he said, and fucking shrugged, even as his thumb pressed directly against your clit.

You moaned, your hand immediately flying up to clutch at his shoulder for balance. Everything about Minho’s touch, the pressure, the pace, screamed relaxed. He wasn’t trying to do anything but just…touch you. Gauge your reaction.

You closed your eyes, dropping your forehead to his shoulder, as his fingers continued to work small, slow circles around your clit, still over the barrier of your excessively pretty underwear.

“Should have known,” you murmured, trying not to gasp, and trying not to push your hips towards his hands. “You’re the type to tease.”

Minho’s voice came low from somewhere above your ear, as his hand moved at that same maddening pace. “Not usually.”

“Ah,” you breathed, understanding. He was on the exact same wavelength as you. Every reaction sparked from the other was a victory, to be enjoyed, to be savoured. “I get it. I’m special.”

Minho murmured something under his breath, something you couldn’t quite make out, and pressed just a little firmer against you. You moaned from the surprise of it, burying your face further into his neck.

Beneath your hand, you could feel his dick twitch, now so firm and so insistently pressing against your hand that you knew it had to be aching, trapped in those skin-tight pants like that.

You moved your hand up, struggling briefly with how tightly his waistband sat around his hips, before your hand suddenly slipped inside, fingers grazing roughly against something slick and warm and hard.

Minho finally moaned, loudly, openly, hips bucking briefly up into your hand. “Shit.”

“What was that you were saying?” you asked, innocently, running your fingers back over what you knew to be his cockhead, teasing. “About no underwear?”

Minho sucked in a breath, and from where your head was resting in the crook of his neck, you could hear him swallow. “…These were already too fucking small.”

“They are stupidly tight.”

“Don’t act like you – fuck,” he hissed, cutting himself off. Probably because you’d squeezed him again.

His free hand found its way to the corner of your jaw, prying your face away from his neck so he could duck his head down and kiss you, hungrily. You reciprocated, basking in the way he groaned against your mouth.

And then, he asked. “Bed?”

You stilled, hesitating. “…Bed?”

Minho paused, pulling away a little to take in your expression. Immediately, you did your best to smooth it out, to appear unbothered, casual, fine.

He wasn’t fooled. “Is something up?”

You swallowed, still trying to maintain your composure. “Besides your dick? No.”

Minho raised an eyebrow, and faked one short, sharp laugh. “Ha. You’re so funny when you dodge the subject.”

“I’m not dodging anything,” you argued.

He paused again, waiting, watching you. And, after a moment, he pulled his hand away from your underwear to wrap around your wrist, gently tugging your hand out of his pants.

“OK, fine,’” you relented, composure cracking. That old familiar dread returned, lodging itself in the pit of your stomach. “I just don’t…do this. All this,” you said, gesturing between the two of you, and towards the room at large. “The way it’s all spontaneous, I mean.”

“Me neither,” Minho said, calmly, still waiting expectantly. “What else?”

Fucker.

You scowled, jaw clenching, teeth gritted as you admitted. “And my experience in general, is…one could say limited.”

“I figured as much.”

“Rude,” you pointed out, vaguely offended. You’d had this man fucking shivering from just touching him. And what? Now, he was calling you inexperienced? Amateurish? Like he could tell the whole time? Bullshit.

“No, not…” Minho cleared his throat, looking mildly exasperated. It was a look you often inspired in him. “I don’t mind. That’s why I’m saying this, because I don’t want you pretending when it comes to shit like this. If you’re not going to be honest, I don’t want it.”

Honest.

Shit.

You hesitated, debating internally, weighing the pros and cons in your head. It was so fucking Minho to pick the most aggravating time to do the right thing. Of course, the one time that him being an asshole worked in your favour, he refused to do it.

“Fine,” you snapped, crossing your arms over your chest. “Fine. OK.”

He waited, eyes on you, and you couldn’t stop yourself from averting your gaze, looking up at the ceiling.

“Technically…technically,” you repeated, with emphasis, “one might argue that…I haven’t had sex yet.”

Minho stilled, staring at you, eyes widening.

You swallowed, trying to stay firm. “It’s really not a big deal…”

“It is,” Minho argued, tersely, but when you looked at his face, there wasn’t a hint of anger. There was, however, a strong hint of guilt in his eyes. You could practically see his thoughts, the way he replayed everything he’d done tonight, the fear that he’d done too much, come on too strong, picturing you as some blushing innocent virgin he’d deflowered–

“I’ve done everything else,” you said, eager to clear up that misconception. You were far from innocent, there was just one particular act you hadn’t gotten around to. “Hands, oral, all that. Done it. It’s literally the one thing that hasn’t…like, I’ve had relationships, it just never reached the point that…”

It always went around in circles. You wanted your relationship to be serious, to be settled and firmly established and in a good place before it happened – but the time it took to get there made your partners panic, made them think that to go so long without sex, without wanting them, the relationship must actually secretly be failing. And then you’d break up, and you’d be even more guarded and hesitant the next time, and on it went.

“And I’ve been busy with school and my career anyway,” you added, swallowing, forcing a shrug. “Who has the time?”

Minho was still staring at you, but at least the guilt had faded away.

He’d made no move to get away from you, at least, so you took this as a good sign. With a deep breath, you turned around and took slow, measured steps towards that ridiculously large bed, and looked him dead in the eye as you made a point of sitting down on it.

Doing your best to sound certain, reassuring, convincing without leaving a single bit of room for doubt, you spoke.

“I’m happy and comfortable with everything but sex-sex happening. So, if you want that…” you trailed off, trying to think of a polite way to phrase the thought in your head, before giving up with a shrug. “Tough shit, I guess. That’s my line in the sand. Everything else is fair game, though, so don’t get all…weird about it.”

“I’m not getting weird about it,” Minho said, stubbornly.

“You were. Just a little. Like you’re afraid to break me or something.”

Something sparked in Minho’s eyes, and he smiled slightly. “I’d never think I could do that.”

“Good, because you can’t,” you repeated, firmly. “There, honesty. Done. So, either come over here or leave.”

“Leave my own room?” Minho asked, amused.

“Yeah,” you said, doubling down, leaning back to plant both hands behind you on the bed. “It’s my room now.”

For a second, it looked like Minho was going to laugh. And then you caught the way his eyes began to lower, following the lines of your body, the way you were sitting on his bed, clad only in underwear, waiting.

He exhaled slowly, appreciatively. “…This is happening.”

You weren’t sure if that was aimed at you, or himself, but either way it didn’t matter much when he crossed the room in a flash. Barely taking the time to plant one knee into the mattress beside you, his mouth was on yours, hand on the back of your head.

It was a gentle gesture, sweet even, how he cradled the back of your head.

So, just to be certain that he knew exactly where you stood, and exactly how much patience you had for gentleness, you took his other hand and slid it into your panties.

Minho groaned, pulling away from the kiss to look down, and you felt his fingers slip through your folds, the movement made slick and easy by the way you were soaked.

“You’re so impatient,” he muttered, but he didn’t sound particularly annoyed about it. “All the time.”

“Yeah,” you replied, unapologetic. “I know what I want.”

“Mmhm. And so do I,” he said, and pulled his hand out of your underwear. You opened your mouth to argue, to question why, until you felt his hands move to your back, to the fastening of your bra.

He unhooked it easily, sliding the straps off your shoulders. Pushing up from the bed to stand tall, Minho let the bra fall from his hands, before reaching down to grab at your waist and pull you to standing.

He kissed you again, briefly, ignoring your bewildered expression, before switching your positions – him sat on the bed, you standing over him.

“These are staying on. They’re a bitch to peel off,” he told you, and your gaze was practically glued to his hand as it ran up his faux-leather-clad thigh before he gestured to your underwear. “It’s up to you, what you do with those.”

Your hand, unthinkingly, drifted to the lacy hem of your underwear.

“…What, no preference?” you asked him.

Minho stared at you, eyes dark, the corners of his mouth twitching ever so slightly with knowing, and didn’t reply.

Heat flooded your belly. You swallowed once, and hooked your fingers around your waistband, stripping out of your underwear before you could think twice.

He reached for you immediately, his hands on your hips, pulling you towards him. From what you could tell, he seemed to be guiding you towards straddling his lap – to which you took the slightest detour at the very last second, planting your knees either side of his thigh, the very same one that had been pushed between your legs on that balcony.

How very familiar a feeling. And yet, how very different, because now you were pressed against Minho’s naked chest, and when you kissed, one hand went straight to your bare breast, the other arm hooked around your bare waist.

Logically, you should have felt exposed – but there was very little room for logic here, not when Minho was squeezing you so tightly against him. You felt…enveloped by him. By his warmth.

It was…nice.

And then you finally let go of those last few traces of stubborn pride, and let yourself grind down on his thigh, and it was fucking fantastic.

You moaned, breaking the kiss to press your forehead against his, and rocked your hips faster. His thigh was so solid under you, thick bands of muscle from a lifetime of sports, clenching and unclenching. Heat pooled in your gut, spiking with every rock of your hips, every drag of your clit against him.

You felt Minho’s hand drop from your waist to curl around your hip, gripping tightly, urging you to keep moving. You pulled your face away from his, just in case – headbutting him in the nose, no matter the context, would very probably be a mood-killer – and instead lowered your head to plant kisses on the side of his neck.

Minho tilted his head back, just a little, granting you better access, his breath escaping him in one long, shaking exhale. You were forced to grip onto his shoulder with one hand, just to steady yourself, still grinding down on him.

Tension built between your legs, pulsing with every heartbeat as you continued to grind against him, and your kisses grew clumsier. Open-mouthed, harsher, teeth scraping against sensitive skin in a way that left Minho gasping.

“If I left marks, would it…” your voice was sluggish, raspy, dazed, “would…can I?”

It was a silly question, because the obvious answer was ‘no’, he wasn’t going to want any reminders of this temporary lapse in sanity.

And yet, Minho’s reply was immediate. “Yes. Yeah, you can, if…that’s…”

He broke off, with a noise so low in his throat that you could almost feel his chest vibrate from it, as your mouth latched onto his neck.

Your movements weren’t deliberate, not exactly. You had no strict intentions of marking up Minho’s skin, but it was just whenever it felt good. With every new sudden jolt of sensation shooting through your body, you sucked, leaving a path of your own pleasure scattered intermittently along his neck, the base of his throat, the swells and dips of his collarbone.

Minho reacted to each, and when you thought to look down, you saw his dick straining against his pants, so much so that it was even starting to pull his waistband away from his skin, revealing glimpses of what lay underneath.

You watched his hand lower to his crotch, as he tried to adjust himself, to figure out a way out of his discomfort. Without thinking, you reached down and pushed his hand away, letting your own slide into his paints.

Minho sharply inhaled, as you slid the palm of your hand over the head of him, letting your fingers grow slick, before wrapping your hand around his length.

He was hard, very obviously and very painfully hard.

And all of that was because of you.

Because he wanted you.

You felt your body physically judder at the thought, your thighs clamping around his. Something sparked inside of you. Up until now, you’d been turned on – obviously. You were naked on Minho’s bed and straddling his thigh, of course you’d been turned on, but it had been manageable. Like burning coals, smouldering, blazing hot to the touch, sure, but under control.

This, seeing him like this, was as if someone had jabbed right in the heart of those coals, oxygen rushing in and flames erupting, sparks crackling in the air. No longer under control, but all-consuming and desperate.

The muscles of your core clenched so tightly that it was almost painful, and with a ragged breath, you finally began to ride in earnest.

Minho clutched you with one hand as you moaned, his other snaking down to join yours on his dick. You let him guide your hand, controlling how hard you squeezed him, how slow you pumped him. Honestly, at this point, you didn’t have the concentration for it on your own, not when your legs were starting to shake with every new press of his thigh. You could feel something build, like a wave swelling, the crest just in sight but not quite…

“That’s it,” he murmured, and pressed a kiss to your chest. His eyes were dark when he pulled back, watching the way you bounced. “You’re…God, you’re fucking hot, do you know that?”

His words only drove you further, stoking something within you, and you moaned in response.

“Oh, is that what you like?” Minho asked, eyes lighting at his new discovery. His moved the hand on your waist to settle on your breast, squeezing lightly. “Me telling you how good you look?”

“Minho,” you muttered, half-warning, half-longing.

“With our history, I’d have thought you liked me mean,” he continued, and you should have wondered where that smart mouth of his had been this whole time.

He leaned in, kissing your neck, following upwards, until he reached your ear.

“But that’s not it,” he observed, murmuring into your ear. His hand – the one on yours, the one helping you stroke his dick – quickened, gripping yours just a little tighter, and his breath caught for a second, before continuing. “You want to hear how good you feel. How good you are.”

You whined, your body faltering for a beat, before picking up again.

“That’s it, isn’t it? You like praise,” he said, so very confident. Knowing, almost, like there was something else to it. Something he recognised, intrinsically. “You want me to admit how…fucking perfect I think you are.”

“Minho.”

You felt him twitch under your hands, felt the way he reacted to the way you breathed his name.

“Because you are,” he said, the words falling from his lips, as you grew even more frantic. “You are, you are, you’re good, you’re perfect, you’re…fuck, keep going. I can feel how wet you are, you…”

Fuck, fuck, it was too good. Too good and yet not good enough. There were tears in your eyes and your legs burned from how tightly they were clamped around Minho’s thigh, how desperately you’d ridden him, trying to chase an orgasm you just…you just couldn’t quite…

“Maybe you should fuck me,” you whined, voice hoarse, shaking. You’d spent the last five minutes essentially edging yourself, your brain was fried, and all you could imagine was how easy it would be for Minho to pull you over just a short distance onto his dick, let it fill you, maybe it…

“Don’t. Fuck, don’t say that,” Minho gasped, trying and failing to make it sound insistent, final. You could see the effects of your words. He was tempted, he was sorely fucking tempted. You knew he was picturing the exact same thing that you were. “I’m not taking your virginity at a fucking house party. You…”

He broke off with a moan, letting whatever words that would follow die on his tongue as you squeezed him.

“I need…I need more,” you gasped, through gritted teeth. Your body was starting to betray you, your legs starting to give out before you could reach your climax.

You buried your face in his neck, panting.

“I can’t…fuck,” you moaned, before one little word fell from your lips, the one word he’d asked for so long ago, out on the balcony, “Please.”

With a sudden, sharp breath, Minho hooked his arm around you and rolled you over, pressing you into the mattress. Your hand slipped out of his pants as he moved, hurriedly, down your body.

He paused at the apex of your legs, glancing up. “Are you OK with–”

“Yes,” you hissed, your hand fisting in his hair and pushing him downwards. You were so close, you were so close, and his thigh wasn’t between yours anymore, and you just couldn’t… “Yes, fuck, please.”

You could glimpse the beginnings of a smirk as he followed your hurried pushing, but before you could even register it, you felt him lick one long stripe along you, and your head emptied of all thoughts.

His mouth was hot and wet and almost immediately targeted your clit, leaving you shaking as you ground up into his face without shame, chasing the orgasm that had been just inches away for so fucking long. You could barely breathe from it, each breath wracking your body in almost-sobs, every muscle stiff and coiled in desperation.

You felt Minho hook an arm under your leg, pulling it up so that it could sit on his shoulder, parting you just a little wider.

You arched your back, your head pressing even further into the mattress, eyes squeezing shut. When you spoke, it was barely coherent, a loose string of words. “…H-hands, fingers…please, whatever it…Minho, I’m so close, I’m…ah…”

You felt him slide in a finger – two fingers? More? You didn’t know, you didn’t care, you just knew how close to the edge you were. Your muscles were locking up, body shaking, even as Minho placed his free hand on the curve of your hip, thumb brushing your skin in small, reassuring strokes.

Your grip in his hair tightened, mind going blank, tears in your eyes as you gasped. “Yes, keep – keep…keep–”

You came, and it felt like shattering. Your body’s muscles locked, rigid, shaking, as your own moans rang in your ears. At some point, your thighs had clamped around Minho’s head, your one anchor as you tried to come back down to earth.

It was like every rational thought, anything with even the slightest bit of complexity to it, evaporated. You were left weightless, on your back, dazed. Slowly, sluggishly, your gaze drifted to Minho.

What a sight, you thought. Pretty.

His cheek was pressed into the flesh of your inner thigh, skin flushed so pink, head tilted down so that most of his face was hidden by his rumpled hair. He was kneeling, and you saw that his hand had returned to his dick. It was as if he were trying to be discreet, almost quiet, even as he desperately pumped himself.

Barely even thinking about it, you reached down. His breath caught when you wrapped your own hand around him again, letting him guide your movements once more.

His head lifted, and you caught a glimpse of his dark brown eyes looking up at you. Always so unreadable, even now, even when burning.

Your mouth moved before your thoughts could catch up. “You’re…”

You didn’t know how to finish that. Gorgeous? Annoying? Terrifying?

All of it was true, none of it felt right to say in that moment.

You just watched him, eyes locked, until he choked out a moan, squeezed his eyes shut, and came with a soft, low, “fuck.”

It felt dirty, almost voyeuristic, to watch him cum. But even if you didn’t look, you still would have heard him, you still would have felt it on your hands, your thighs. You still would have felt the way he slumped forward, head dropping to your chest, forehead pressed against the valley between your breasts, his quick, deep breaths against your skin.

You still would have felt the way it all fell quiet – until it was just you, Minho, and the impending repercussions of what just happened.

What you’d done.

What had you done?

Your head dropped back against the mattress, looking up at Minho’s ceiling but not really seeing it, as your senses slowly returned to you.

Shit. Fuck. Every other fucking expletive, they all ran through your head.

What the fuck had you–

Minho cleared his throat, lifting his head up off of you. You could feel the weight of his gaze on your face, and you tried to school your expression into something neutral, pushing down the storm of thoughts in your mind.

You didn’t know why, but you expected him to withdraw from you immediately. Maybe that was doing him a disservice, but it was true.

That was why you were so surprised by the kiss he pressed to your temple, strangely gentle, even as his usual sardonic tone crept back into his voice as he spoke. “Let’s clean up first, overthink later.”

“I’m not overthinking,” you argued immediately, because old habits died hard even in a fucking surreal situation like this.

He didn’t laugh, but there was the slightest twitch to the corner of his mouth as he replied. “Sure.”

He sat up, and you caught the way he winced, probably in newfound discomfort over the state of his…current attire. While he attempted to strip out of his ruined pants with anything close to dignity, you pushed yourself up to a seated position, trying to look anywhere but him.

What now? What now? It was all well and good for him not to overthink, but you couldn’t drive away the sudden flood of consequences that threatened to overwhelm you. Of all times, why did it have to be now, when you were forced to interact with Minho so much more? You’d have to work with this man for the next few months, fuck, you had to talk at the U.N. with him. What would people say?

What would Felix say?

Something powder-blue and soft entered your field of vision, smelling of detergent and lavender fabric softener. You blinked, looking up to find Minho offering you a towel, and you wondered how long you must have zoned out, wrapped in your own thoughts. There wasn’t quite a smile on his face – nothing so extreme like that from Minho – but there was something gentle in his eyes.

You took it, swallowing, and cleaned yourself up as best as you could. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Minho pull on a pair of black sweatpants – and when he straightened up to standing, you finally clocked the blooming purple marks littered across his skin.

“Oh, fuck, your neck. I’m so sorry,” you gasped, mortified at the blooming purple marks on Minho.

He glanced towards you, and gave you half a shrug. “It’s fine.”

They were very much not fine. They were prominent, the kind of hickeys you’d be embarrassed to leave on a long-term partner, let alone a…

A…

Well, whatever Minho was.

You swallowed. “It’s not, have you seen them?”

He paused.

“…Yes,” Minho replied, firmly, and there was something about his tone that made you stop, that made you stare at him.

He stared back, face perfectly neutral but refusing to look away. The implications were not lost on you, and your face began to warm.

Clearing your throat, you set the towel by your side and reached for your clothes, having to get up to pick up each item along the shameless trail that ran from the bed to the balcony doors, gathering them in your arms in a small, pink pile. “Please tell me you have your own bathroom.”

Minho laughed a little, nodding towards the door to your right. “Where do you think I got the towel from? Through there.”

You spent a few minutes in the bathroom, trying to compose yourself, trying to clean up properly, slipping your costume back on. The strange feeling in your stomach didn’t ease up, not even once. In the mirror, you looked almost exactly the same as you had when you first stepped into Minho’s room – but how was that possible, when everything had changed?

Fuck, just…you didn’t need to think about it. Deal with it later, deal with all of it later. You just needed to get out and get some space and distance and just…

You drew yourself up as high as you could, squaring your shoulders, and pushed open the bathroom door.

You found Minho standing in the middle of the room, seemingly in mid-step, turning quickly to face you. If you didn’t know better, you’d think he was…what? Pacing?

“I can’t stay,” you stated, trying to sound firm. You mostly succeeded, were it not for the slightest hesitation you had, the faintest strain to your voice.

Minho paused, catching it immediately. “…Do you want to?”

You didn’t know how to answer that. It felt like a trap, even now, as if Minho was preparing to pull the rug out from under you. You wished you couldn’t imagine that level of cruelty, and yet you feared it, however irrational it was. “…I don’t want people to talk.”

Minho eyed you for a second, and yet again waited before he spoke, like he was trying to choose his words before they left his mouth. He settled for a very simple, very Minho statement. “Fuck people.”

At any other time, in any other situation, you would have rolled your eyes. You even felt the urge now, tied up in the same desire to go back to normal, to pretend everything was fine. “It’s not as easy as that.”

“It is,” Minho argued, but there was no irritation in his voice. Just quiet. “But I get it.”

“This was very…uh,” you swallowed. “…Impulsive.”

“Yes. It was definitely that,” he replied, and was he even capable of being any more cryptic?

You glanced away, finding it difficult to look him in the eye as you admitted, quietly. “…But, uh, good.”

Minho paused. “…Yep.”

Couldn’t he just say what he was fucking thinking? You needed to know, you needed to know if he was on the same page as you, if he was also thinking that it was too weird to just leave things like this. Silent and awkward and just…dancing around each other like this.

You swallowed, and folded your arms over your chest. You weren’t quite brave enough to look at him again yet, but you spoke up again. “Did you…have a good time too?”

And just when you were expecting another cryptic little non-response, Minho decided to cut straight to the point and catch you off-guard. “I had a great time.”

You blinked, shocked enough that your eyes darted back to him without a second thought. “…Good. That’s, uh…good.”

It was so strange to see him like this. Lee Minho, always so put-together, never a shred of vulnerability – and there he was, hair mussed, shirtless, barefoot, taking a breath as he tried to put together his next words.

“I had a great time,” he repeated. “With you. And…”

He stopped.

“And…?” You asked.

His mouth opened. Closed. And opened again. “…I…you don’t have to go.”

You felt something warm unfurl in your chest. “Minho, do you want me to stay?”

“…Yes.”

You took a step forward, tension melting from your shoulders, replaced with a new curiosity. You couldn’t quite believe this was happening, and yet…

Well, you couldn’t let him off that easily.

“Yes, what?”

He exhaled, making a sound almost akin to a huff. You recognised that sound, you knew it from debating, from arguing, from whenever you caught a weakness in his defence and pressed him on it. “Yes, I want you to stay.”

You took another step. “Why?”

This time, he scoffed, as if it could hide the slow flush of pink making its way up his neck. “You know why.”

“No, I don’t.”

He narrowed his eyes slightly, and wow, this was fun. “Yes, you do. You’re too smart not to.”

You grinned. “Thanks, but no. You’re going to have to say it.”

“You’re infuriating.”

“I am,” you said, without shame, and added. “You’re into that.”

He sighed, and gave in. “Yes, I am.”

“Well done,” you laughed, finally drawing it out of him. “You’re into me.”

Minho eyed you for a second, still just a touch out of reach. Like he’d done it on purpose, kept just enough space to protect himself.

You watched the way he hesitated, and for once, his mask slipped and his face gave away just a peek into what he was thinking. You could see the thoughts warring within his head, the way he hesitated before committing.

“…More than just that,” he said – he confessed – softly.

Just four words, but the meaning behind them was loaded. They hung in the air, obvious, weighty, vivid.

You froze, taking them in. You didn’t know why, you didn’t know how, but despite everything that had occurred tonight, Minho still had the ability to surprise you.

More than just that.

More than just…

Oh.

That was all your brain – your proudest attribute, your big, university-educated, sharp-witted genius brain –  was capable of thinking.

Oh.

“So…” Minho said, before trailing off, watching you, and eventually forcing the smallest of shrugs. “Don’t go.”

You were still reeling. You tried to make it all fit, every piece of information you had. The gentleness he’d held you with, the strange softness he’d had, the look in his dark eyes when you threatened to find someone else to kiss, the way he smiled sometimes when you were trying to piss him off, the way he just…watched you in conversations, in arguments, like he was just as interested seeing you think as he was countering the words that came out of your mouth.

When you laid it out like that, when you visualised it like points in a debate – with so many in the for argument and frighteningly little in the against – it seemed so obvious.

“I…” your words came out hoarse, dazed. “…Yeah, I can…not go.”

Minho’s eyes searched every inch of you, trying to figure out what exactly you were thinking.

“…You look like you’re about to pass out,” he observed, bluntly.

“You just said you like me, can you blame me?” You asked, hysteria close to creeping into your voice.

Minho didn’t reply for a second, still watching you. “Is it such a surprise?”

“Yes,” you blurted out, instinctively, until you took a second to actually think about it. “…No? Yes and no? I don’t…you’re, like, annoyingly hard to read.”

“Am I?” Minho asked, but the corners of his lips were twitching, suggesting he already knew the answer to that. “I’d say the same about you, but honestly, sometimes you’re an open book.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Especially when you stare at my mouth.”

Your eyes snapped up back to his, blinking, caught. There was definitely amusement in his gaze now, a glimpse of relief creeping in.

You scowled, face beginning to heat. “You’re enjoying this.”

He smiled, not a trace of hesitation behind it, a real and genuine smile, and finally stepped towards you. “I absolutely am.”

“Assho–”

You were cut off, as Minho ducked his head down to kiss you, and you couldn’t even pretend to do anything other than respond eagerly.

The next time the two of you got coffee, on another cold autumn morning when you were ten minutes deep into a squabble over geopolitics that you were determined to win, Seungmin had the grace to at least act surprised when Minho bought you a muffin and slipped his arm around your waist.

“Wow,” he murmured, deadpan, watching the way you relaxed into Minho’s side, even as you unpicked every thread of his argument. “Gee. Who would have guessed?"

taglist: @buntrsh​ @liz3056​ @sunnyville36​ @sleepylixie​ @healinghyunjin​ @aliceu​ @laikaya​ @the7thcrow​ @lynx-paw​ @mainexiii​ @springdeity​ @bettyschwallocksyee​ @kawaiiayasan​ @tae-kook-lover​ @itshoonie​

#straykidsland #kinktober #stray kids smut #lee minho x reader #lee minho fanfiction #lee minho smut #minho smut #minho x reader #lee minho x y/n #minho x y/n #college au #enemies to lovers #lee minho fanfic #lee know smut #lee know x reader #skz minho x reader #skz smut