💦)꒦꒷📖꒷꒦)💦

Sucking off Sunday Oak under his desk was a dangerous idea. But watching him struggle to keep his composure? Absolutely worth the risk.
♡જ⁀➴ ♡

He tries to ignore it. To pretend he’s unaffected. But when your fingers undo his belt, slow and deliberate, his entire body locks up. His gloved hand tightens against the desk.

"You—" A sharp inhale. His voice, usually measured, already frays at the edges.

Footsteps approach. A voice—Welt’s, just outside the door.

Sunday goes rigid. His golden eyes flicker—warning, pleading, furious, desperate.

He should stop you.

But when your lips brush against him—his breath stutters. His composure crumbles. His hips jerk, completely betraying him.

"Harmony—" The curse is barely a breath, lost between clenched teeth.

Beyond the desk, conversation continues. Too close. Too dangerous. If they walk in—if they see—

He shouldn’t let this happen. He should pull away. He doesn’t.

And when the voices outside finally fade, he exhales—slow, ragged, completely undone.

Golden eyes burn down at you.

"Stop now—" His voice is a thread away from unraveling. "—or don’t stop at all."

Because if you push him any further, he won’t have the strength to pull you away.

🖤)꒦꒷💦꒷꒦)🖤

💙✨ Note from Zero ✨💙

Look, I know exactly what I did.

I could try to justify it—say it’s about testing limits, about power dynamics, about the thrill of control slipping through Sunday’s fingers. But let’s be real. I just wanted to watch him come undone. (≖‿≖)

The way he tries to act normal? The barely-restrained tension in his voice? The sharp, ragged exhales when he thinks no one will notice? It’s delicious. And you? You’re only making it worse.

He’s fighting a losing battle, and I am thriving.

This is pure indulgence. A slow, torturous unraveling. The kind of tension that gets under his skin and stays there. And honestly? I have zero regrets. (o///o)

This is part of my A-Z Sunday series. If you love watching him struggle, unravel, and utterly break, there’s more to come.

- Zero 💙💫