I was trembling on the floor, my body shaking so badly it almost felt like I didn’t belong to myself anymore. The closest comparison I could think of was a newborn deer—weak, unstable, legs refusing to obey, collapsing under their own weight before even taking a single step. That was exactly how I felt. Pathetic. Helpless. My legs were there, I could see them, I could feel them, but it was as if the connection between my mind and my body had been severed.
All the strength that once lived in my lower body had vanished. Not slowly, not gradually—just gone. As if soone had reached inside and flipped a switch, draining everything out through my thighs and knees until there was nothing left but numbness and an uncomfortable, lingering warmth that only made things worse. That pleasure... it hadn’t faded. It clung to like a curse, heavy and suffocating, making my muscles useless.
I wanted to stand up. Desperately.
I wanted to get away from here, to put distance between myself and this room, this mont, this situation. My mind scread at to move, to crawl if I had to, to do anything other than stay there on the floor like this. But no matter how hard I tried, my legs wouldn’t respond. They didn’t twitch. They didn’t tense. They didn’t even pretend to cooperate.
Why? What was happening to ? Why couldn’t I move?
Panic crept in slowly at first, then all at once. I could hear him already. Footsteps. The sound of soone approaching without urgency, without fear. He was coming closer. He was walking toward , and each step felt louder than the last, echoing inside my head.
What should I do?
The answer should have been obvious. Run. Hide. Get out. Anything. But I couldn’t.
I was going to get caught. There was no "maybe" anymore. No chance, no escape route. I would be caught—caught watching them like so shaless voyeur, frozen in place, exposed in the worst possible way.
And yet... even knowing that, my body still wouldn’t move.
Trying to stand felt like asking the impossible. Just shifting my weight was already exhausting, like I had reached the absolute limit of what my body could endure. It felt like I was standing at the edge of sothing with no strength left to fight against gravity, already falling before I even realized it.
I stopped trying.
The thought ca quietly, almost naturally.
Just give up.
Give up on standing. Give up on moving. Give up on pretending I could still control this situation.
And then another thought followed, sharper, more unsettling.
Why was I giving up so easily?
Didn’t I want him to not catch ? Didn’t I want to avoid this? Why did surrender feel so... imdiate? So natural? The realization made my chest tighten.
Was it because I wanted him to catch ?
The question sent a chill through .
Why would I want that?
What did that even an?
I didn’t know. I truly didn’t. And more than that—I didn’t want to know. I didn’t want answers. I didn’t want clarity. I didn’t want to dig into that part of myself at all. The thought alone made uncomfortable in a way I couldn’t explain.
Before I could think any further, the door opened.
The sound was quiet, but it felt deafening.
"Oh, Natasha."
His voice was calm, almost casual, and that sohow made it worse. He looked at the way soone looks when they’ve caught sothing they shouldn’t have—sothing guilty, sothing clearly in the wrong.
"You’re really in quite the situation, huh?"
My body reacted before my mind could. I tried to get away from him, dragging myself backward with my hands, palms pressing desperately against the floor as if friction alone could save .
"W-What are you doing?! D-Don’t co any closer!" I shouted, my voice louder than I intended, cracking at the edges.
"It’s not like I’m approaching you specifically," he replied, unbothered. "And honestly, I don’t know why you’re acting like the victim here. You’re the one who got caught with your hands inside your pants."
The words hit harder than I expected.
And he was right.
Even now—right now—my hands were still there. Inside my pants. As if my body hadn’t received the mo that I’d been discovered. As if I hadn’t even tried to hide what I was doing.
Not that it would’ve mattered.
Pulling my hands away now wouldn’t erase anything. It wouldn’t undo the ss I’d already made. I had squirted far too much for that. There was no pretending this hadn’t happened. No covering it up. No graceful exit.
He crouched down in front of , lowering himself to my level.
And then he looked at .
It wasn’t the smirk I had grown used to. Not that irritating, knowing expression that always felt like it was mocking . This was different. Subtle. Quiet. Almost... sincere.
For a mont, I didn’t recognize him.
It felt like I was seeing a version of him I had never been allowed to see before. Or maybe one I had simply never been ant to see. The thought crossed my mind that this expression wasn’t new at all—that he’d always worn it, just not around .
Maybe this was the face he showed his won.
That realization unsettled more than I expected.
"You don’t have to be scared of , you know?" I said, the words slipping out before I could stop them. "Even if you act like it doesn’t matter, the way you look down on still hurts. I’m not made of stone. So please... don’t bully too much."
"B-Bully... you...?"
His reaction caught off guard.
I hadn’t expected confusion. I hadn’t expected hesitation. I had certainly never imagined he’d repeat that word like it didn’t belong in his mouth. Hearing it from him felt strange, almost surreal.
My mind went blank for a mont, unable to process his response.
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