#Motion Control Companies

[chandupalle]

[254 Pages Report] The global motion control market size is estimated to be worth USD 16.5 billion in 2024 and is projected to reach USD 21.6 billion by 2029 at a CAGR of 5.5% during the forecast period.

[pucksandpower]

To Have a Heart

CEO!Max Verstappen x single mother!Reader

Summary: Max is a titan of industry, used to making grown men cry with one glance … then you and your daughter turn his carefully controlled life upside down

Warnings: descriptions of pediatric cancer

Max strides into his corner office, his Italian leather shoes clicking sharply on the marble floors. The floor-to-ceiling windows offer a breathtaking view of the Manhattan skyline, but he pays it no mind as he makes his way to the large mahogany desk.

His assistant, Clara, follows a few steps behind, her heels clacking nervously. “Sir, Mr. Henderson is waiting in the conference room per your request.”

Max doesn’t bother responding as he unbuttons his suit jacket and takes a seat behind the desk. With a flick of his wrist, he motions for Clara to leave. She gives the tiniest of nods and scurries out, closing the double doors behind her.

Taking a deep breath, Max presses the intercom button. “Send him in.”

A moment later, the doors reopen and a balding, paunchy man in an ill-fitting suit enters. Even from across the room, Max can see the bead of sweat rolling down the man’s forehead.

Good.

He should be nervous.

“Mr. Henderson.” Max says, his tone clipped. “Do you know why I called you here?”

The man — Henderson — fidgets with his tie. “Y-Yes, sir. The, uh, the Brighton acquisition ...”

“The $3.75 billion deal that was supposed to be finalized yesterday.” Max interjects, leaning back in his chair. “A deal that the company has been meticulously negotiating for over six months. A deal that would have been the largest hostile takeover in our firm’s history.”

Henderson gives a somber nod, his Adam’s apple bobbing. Max fights the urge to roll his eyes at the sad display.

“Because of your incompetence, that deal is now in jeopardy.” Max continues, his voice dropping to a menacing register. “Please explain to me how someone with three decades of accounting experience could possibly make the amateur mistake of misplacing a decimal point on the binding purchase agreement?”

“I … I missed it in the final review.” Henderson stammers out, sweat now visibly staining the armpits of his shirt. “The numbers, they all start to blur together after-”

“Do not insult my intelligence with your pitiful excuses.” Max cuts him off, slamming a fist down on the desk. He takes no small amount of satisfaction in the way the man flinches. “Because of your idiocy, we offered $235 million over the agreed purchase price. An overpayment to the tune of $2.5 billion with a ‘B’!”

Henderson seems to shrink into himself with each biting word. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Verstappen. It won’t happen again, I swear-”

“You’re damn right it won’t happen again.” Max growls, rising from his chair so quickly that it goes clattering backwards. He leans across the desk, getting directly in Henderson’s ashen face. “Because you’re fired. Effective immediately.”

The words seem to take a moment to register in Henderson’s mind. When they do, his eyes widen in panic and he starts shaking his head rapidly.

“No, no, please! You can’t fire me!” he cries, any veneer of professionalism crumbling. “I-I’ll work double shifts, triple shifts! I’ll volunteer for all the weekend audits, no overtime pay! J-Just don’t fire me, I’m begging you!”

Max recoils slightly at the outburst of blubbering, his lip curling in disgust. How pathetic, to see a grown man so thoroughly debased. He almost feels pity for the wretch … almost.

“This conversation is over.” Max says, his tone resolute as he straightens his tie. “You have one hour to collect your things and get out of my building. After that, security will escort you out.”

“B-But I have three kids!” Henderson sputters, tears streaming down his face now. “A mortgage. Alimony payments! You can’t just-”

In a burst of rage, Max sweeps his arm across the desk, sending papers, files, and office supplies clattering to the floor in a violent clutter.

“I am Max Verstappen!” He bellows, his face flushed crimson. “I do not make empty threats, Mr. Henderson. You are a miserable, costly disappointment. A failure. And I will not allow failures to remain under my employ.”

The words seem to drain what little fight was left in Henderson. His shoulders slump in defeat, and he lets out a pitiful whimper. Max feels his anger deflate, replaced with a tired disdain.

“One hour.” he repeats, falling back into his chair in exhaustion. “Get out of my sight.”

Henderson doesn’t need to be told twice. With trembling hands, he begins collecting the various objects scattered across the floor — pencils, paperclips, manila folders now slightly crumpled. His motions are slow, pained, like those of a man having just received a terminal diagnosis.

Max watches impassively as the sniveling accountant gathers his belongings. Part of him feels a twinge of … not quite guilt, but maybe the faintest pangs of empathy for the broken man before him. He quickly smothers that flicker of sympathy. This is the cost of doing business in the world of high-stakes acquisitions and mergers. There is no room for weakness or mistakes. Only results matter.

Finally, with his meager pile of office supplies clutched to his chest, Henderson straightens up. His face is blotchy and tear-stained, but he seems to have regained some small scrap of dignity. He meets Max’s cold stare for just a moment before turning on his heel and shuffling out of the office.

The double doors close behind him with a hollow thud that hangs in the air. Max lets out a slow exhale, suddenly aware of the tension that had been coiling inside him. He runs a hand over his face, then taps a button on his phone intercom.

“Clara, get me William Evans from legal on the line immediately.” he says, his voice steady once more. “We need to do damage control on the Brighton situation before it becomes irreparable.”

“Right away, sir.” comes the reply, his assistant’s voice tightly professional.

Max leans back in his chair, steepling his fingers as he stares out at the New York City skyline. This is far from the first firing he has issued, and it certainly won’t be the last. He is a great white shark, always needing to move forward or else he will drown in the depths of his own ambition.

There is a soft rap at the door, pulling Max from his reverie.

“Come in.” he calls out. Clara enters, her face schooled into a mask of polite disinterest. So much the better — he respects discretion.

“I have Mr. Evans on line two for you.” she says crisply.

Max gives a succinct nod. “Thank you, Clara. That will be all.”

As his assistant withdraws, Max takes a fortifying breath. He is Max Verstappen. He is the master of the corporate ocean. And he will not allow one flailing failure to capsize his empire.

Squaring his shoulders, he picks up the phone and begins issuing a stern series of orders and demands. After all, there is little time for rest when one aims to be a modern day titan of industry.

***

You take a deep breath and rap firmly on the door to the HR director’s office. “Come in.” a flat voice calls out.

Steeling yourself, you twist the handle and step inside the dingy, fluorescent-lit room. Janet, the red-haired HR manager, looks up from her computer with a practiced smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.

“Ah, Y/N. What can I do for you today?” She asks in an overly saccharine tone.

You take a seat across from her cluttered desk, your knee bouncing with nervous energy. “I … I need to request some personal leave. Family medical reasons.”

Janet’s perfectly penciled eyebrows rise in bland surprise. “I see. And how much time were you hoping to take?”

Your throat tightens as you force out the words. “At least a month. Maybe more, depending on … on how things progress.”

The HR manager clucks her tongue as she shakes her head. “I’m afraid that won’t be possible. We’re in our busiest quarter and you know the company policy — no extended leave during crunch periods unless it’s a valid health emergency.”

You feel panic fluttering in your chest. This has to be a valid emergency! “But it is an emergency! My daughter, she’s ...” Your voice cracks and you swallow hard, desperate to maintain your composure. “She’s very sick, potentially terminal. I need to be with her right now.”

Janet’s face remains stubbornly impassive. “I’m sorry to hear about your daughter’s illness. Truly, I am. But unless you can provide official documentation from a medical professional, my hands are tied.”

The words hit you like a slap across the face. Of course they would require documentation to approve leave — it’s standard corporate policy. But how can mentally collect yourself to get paperwork in order when you’ve been spending every waking moment by your little girl’s hospital bedside?

Unbidden, your mind flashes back to two nights ago, watching in helpless terror as your daughter’s tiny body was racked with another severe seizure. You had screamed yourself hoarse calling for the nurses as the meds they pumped into her did little to stop the violent convulsions ...

You’re vaguely aware of Janet still speaking across from you, something about company guidelines and productivity expectations. But the words sound muffled and far away, as if you’re underwater.

How naive you were to think they might bend the rules, just this once. To think the faceless corporation you pour your life into might actually show a shred of human compassion during your hour of desperate need.

No. That’s not how companies like this operate.

They don’t care about you or your daughter’s life. All they care about is the bottom line, and you’re just an expendable number in their organizational flowchart.

You’re jolted back to reality as Janet raps her lacquered nails impatiently on the desk. “Well? Is there anything else or can I get back to work?”

Is there anything else? Oh, there’s so much more you want to scream at this unfeeling paper-pusher. You want to cry and rage and beg her to just show an ounce of basic human decency.

But you know it would be pointless. Janet is just a cog, same as you. There’s only one person here with the power and influence to authorize what you need.

Only one person who strikes abject terror into the heart of every employee with his infamous volcanic temper and uncompromising expectations.

The thought makes your stomach twist into knots, but you know what you have to do. For your little girl’s sake, you have to try.

So you rise from the chair, willing your legs not to shake. “Thank you for your time.” you mutter tightly, already turning on your heel and storming out of the office.

You don’t look back as Janet calls out something about proper procedure. You just keep moving, your footsteps fueled by a mother’s desperation.

The elevator seems to take an eternity, each second feeling like a little bit more of your daughter’s life trickling away. By the time the doors finally open with a mocking ding, you’re practically vibrating with pent-up nervous energy.

As the mirrored box ascends, your heart feels like it’s trying to batter its way out of your chest. You can hardly breathe past the constriction in your lungs. What if the infamous Max Verstappen laughs in your face? Or has you fired on the spot for daring to interrupt his billion-dollar dealings?

No, you can’t afford to think like that. This may be your only chance to get the time off you so desperately need. For your daughter’s sake, you have to be brave.

The elevator seems to crawl upward at a glacial pace. By the time the doors finally part with a soft chime, you feel like you’re going to be sick from anxiety. This is it, the executive floor — the lair of the terrifying Max Verstappen himself.

You step out into the plush, mahogany-accented lobby with shaking legs. Behind a curved desk, Max’s assistant Clara looks up, her expression instantly hardening when she recognizes you as some inconsequential employee.

“I’m sorry, but Mr. Verstappen is not accepting any visitors at the moment.” she says, her tone brooking no argument. “If you’d like to schedule an appointment for next week ...”

“Please.” you blurt out, hating how your voice trembles. “It’s an emergency. I … I need to see him. Just for five minutes.”

Clara’s manicured eyebrow arches skeptically. “I extremely doubt Mr. Verstappen would consider your issue important enough to warrant an unscheduled meeting. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a million things to-”

“It’s about my sick daughter!” The words burst from your lips before you can stop them. Immediately, you regret being so unprofessional, but desperation has eroded your self-control.

For a split second, Clara’s expression flickers with something that might be pity. But it’s quickly subsumed by her usual cool mask of professionalism as she shakes her head.

“I’m very sorry to hear about your daughter’s illness. But those are still not grounds for me to disturb Mr. Verstappen while he’s-”

“Please!” You plead, tears of frustration pricking your eyes. “I’m begging you. This could be my last chance! If he says no, I’ll leave, I promise. But I have to try!”

Clara regards you appraisingly for a long moment. Then, letting out a weary sigh, she presses the intercom button. “Sir? There’s someone here requesting an urgent meeting with you. A … personal matter.”

The line crackles with static for several tense seconds. You hold your breath, praying beyond hope that the infamous Max has a rare charitable impulse today.

Then, his unmistakable baritone growls through the small speaker. “This had better be good. Send them in.”

Clara winces almost imperceptibly before gesturing towards the double oak doors to Max’s corner office. “Good luck.” she murmurs.

You don’t need any further prompting. Drawing a shuddering breath, you straighten your spine and make your way to the doors. You pause just briefly, hands trembling, before rapping your knuckles firmly against the lacquered wood.

There’s no going back now. Either Max Verstappen is about to grant you a miracle … or utterly crush your last, fragile hope.

***

Max scowls as the intercom crackles to life, Clara’s hesitant voice filtering through the speaker. “Sir? There’s someone here requesting an urgent meeting with you. A … personal matter.”

He resists the urge to roll his eyes. Surely whatever this is can wait until tomorrow. Max is elbow-deep in paperwork and holding patterns, trying to do damage control on the Brighton acquisition fumble. He has no time for frivolous “personal” disruptions.

“This had better be good.” he growls into the intercom. “Send them in.”

With an irritated huff, Max leans back in his buttery leather chair as the doors to his office swing open. He’s already opening his mouth to berate whoever dares disturb him over something as trivial as a “personal matter.”

Then you tentatively step into the room and Max’s words die in his throat.

Even with your shoulders hunched inward and your makeup smudged from crying, you are utterly breathtaking. A fragile beauty drowning in an oversized blazer, your wide eyes darting around his opulent office with obvious intimidation.

An unwelcome jolt of attraction lances through Max’s chest and he quickly squashes it down. He cannot afford such distractions, especially from a lowly employee like yourself who should know better than to interrupt him during work hours.

“Well?” He finally finds his voice, aiming for a brusque tone to remind you both of your respective places. “You’re hardly someone important enough to be granted an audience. This had better be worth my time.”

The harshness of his words seems to make you flinch. You worry your lip between your teeth, shrinking back slightly.

“I … I’m so sorry to disturb you, Mr. Verstappen.” you begin haltingly. Already Max can feel his patience waning. He hates fumbling fragility and wants only confident decisiveness.

But then your next words come tumbling out in a desperate rush. “It’s about my daughter, sir. My little girl … she’s in the hospital. She has a brain tumor and her condition is deteriorating rapidly. I asked Janet in HR for some personal leave to be with her, but she denied my request and said I need official medical documentation which could take days I don’t have!”

Tears are welling in your eyes now, your voice rising to nearly hysterical levels. “Please, Mr. Verstappen! She’s only three years old and I’m a single mom. I’m all she has right now! I’m begging you … please just give me some time to be with her before … before ...”

You seem unable to voice whatever terrifying possibility lurks in the back of your mind. Instead, you dissolve into shoulder-shaking sobs, burying your face in your hands as you break down completely.

Max feels his earlier irritation softening in spite of himself. He’s seen grown men thrice your age become blubbering messes under his withering glare. But there’s something distinctly vulnerable and gut-wrenching about your anguished tears.

Part of him recognizes this as a prime opportunity to regain control, to berate you for such an unseemly display of emotion. His reputation as a merciless taskmaster practically demands he put you in your place.

But another part of Max … a part he barely recognizes … feels a rare pang of empathy pierce through his calloused exterior.

Perhaps it’s the thought of a scared little girl lying crippled in a hospital bed, scared and missing her mother. Or perhaps it’s the way you wear your devastation so plainly, managing to humanize yourself in a way most people never achieve in his eyes.

Whatever the reason, when Max finally speaks, his tone has lost its earlier bite.

“I did not realize the full severity of the situation.” he says, slowly rising from his chair. He moves around the desk, not missing the way you tense as he approaches.

Up close, he can see the puffy redness rimming your eyes, the despair etched into every line of your face. It stirs something inside him … an ancient ghost of an emotion he can’t quite place.

“I’m sorry you were dismissed so carelessly by HR.” Max continues, struggling to keep his voice even. “Perhaps if you had led with mentioning your daughter’s condition, instead of being so oblique ...”

He trails off as you sniff loudly, dragging the sleeve of your blazer across your nose. The motion is equal parts endearing and mortifying for him to witness.

“Here.” he says impulsively, plucking a crisp linen handkerchief from his suit pocket. He presses it into your hand, watching as you blink owlishly at the unexpected gesture. “Allow me to make things right.”

Without waiting for a response, Max turns and strides over to his desk. He snatches up the phone and rapidly punches in a extension code, holding the receiver to his ear as it begins to ring.

“Janet? Yes, it’s Max Verstappen.” he says crisply when the line picks up. “I’ve just been informed about an ... employee situation that requires your immediate attention.”

He pauses, glancing over at where you’re clutching his handkerchief like a lifeline. Your eyes are still glistening with tears, but you’ve gone utterly still — hanging on his every word.

“One of our marketing staff came to me in quite a state about needing extended leave to be with their hospitalized child.” Max continues, his voice hardening slightly. “A matter you seemed to dismiss without proper consideration for the … nuances of the circumstances.”

There’s a sputtering on the other end of the line, undoubtedly Janet trying to make excuses. Max doesn’t give her the chance.

“The decision has been made to grant the employee’s leave request, effective immediately.” he cuts her off. “They will be excused for … two months, with full pay and benefits.”

His announcement seems to render you momentarily stunned. You simply stare at him, eyes wide and unblinking, like you can’t quite process what you’re hearing.

Max clears his throat self-consciously, refocusing on Janet’s flustered response filtering through the receiver. “B-But sir, we have very strict policies about-”

“Which is precisely why I’m instructing you to make an exception.” Max interjects, his voice brokering no arguments. “This leave is to be coded as paid health and wellness time. I expect no push-back or foot-dragging on this, understood?”

There’s a meek murmur of assent from Janet’s end. Max can’t resist a tight smile of satisfaction.

“Good. I’ll leave the paperwork in your capable hands then. That will be all.” He punctuates the statement by firmly hanging up the phone.

As the clatter of the receiver breaks the tense silence, Max turns to find you staring at him with an utterly inscrutable expression. For a long moment, neither of you speak or move. He finds himself paralyzed under the weight of your intense, unblinking gaze.

Then, with a strangled cry, you suddenly surge forward and throw your arms around him. Max goes ramrod stiff as your slight frame collides with his, your tears dampening the front of his crisp dress shirt.

“Thank you!” You’re whispering over and over like a prayer, clinging to him with a desperation that should be uncomfortable. And yet ... “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

Max feels utterly transfixed, like a statue too stunned to react. He can’t remember the last time someone dared to encroach so boldly on his personal space, much less make actual physical contact. He’s not accustomed to such … warmth.

But before the unfamiliar embrace can start to grate on him, you suddenly pull back. Swiping at your eyes, you manage a watery smile up at him.

“You have no idea how much this means, sir. I … I can’t thank you enough for your kindness and understanding.”

He wants to scoff at the notion, to remind you that he is Max Verstappen — merciless and uncompromising in his corporate dealings. That this was merely an isolated instance of pragmatism to avoid a PR incident or workplace lawsuit, nothing more.

But something in your earnest gaze stops the curt rebuttal in his throat. For once, the infamously brusque Max Verstappen finds himself momentarily at a loss for words.

So instead, he gives a terse nod of acknowledgment. Already, his mind is starting to analyze how best to re-allocate your responsibilities for the next two months, which temporary hires to bring in for supplemental coverage.

But one stray thought continues to nag at the back of his mind, an errant curveball amongst the dizzying calculations.

For the first time in years — perhaps his entire adult life — Max feels almost … human.

It’s a strange and deeply unsettling realization, but luckily one he doesn’t have to dwell on.

Because in the next breath, you’re sweeping out of his office, a renewed vigor in your step and a brilliant smile lighting up your features. Max watches you go, an odd tightness settling into his chest.

He doesn’t have words — or perhaps doesn’t want to admit to any words to describe what he’s feeling in this moment. But one thing is for certain, for better or worse, you’ve well and truly upended Max Verstappen’s world.

***

Max remains rooted in place long after you’ve departed, his office now eerily silent in your absence. He should feel relieved to have some peace and quiet again after that … emotional encounter.

Yet instead of settling back into his usual all-consuming work flow, he finds his mind stubbornly replaying the scene on an endless, maddening loop.

The desperation etched onto your delicate features. The way your frame practically vibrated with barely-constrained anguish. The broken, pleading sound of your voice as you begged for his mercy ...

Despite his best efforts to dismiss it, the memory of your raw vulnerability has burrowed its way under Max’s skin, taking up an unwelcome residence. It picks and nags at the edges of his consciousness no matter how much he wills it away.

He has witnessed similar breakdowns from countless employees over the years — grown men and women brought to sniveling tatters by his uncompromising demands. But none of them elicited the same … response within him.

None of them made something twist so peculiarly in Max’s chest, unleashing that brief yet startling flicker of empathy from whatever dark crevice it lurks.

Gritting his teeth, Max paces behind his desk in tight, agitated circles. He prides himself on being a merciless pragmatist, unmoved by emotional pleas or babelling outbursts. Whatever decisions he makes are calculated toward the maximum profit potential and bottom line, end of story.

So why does this one case, this one instance of showing a bare modicum of human compassion, insist on gnawing at him so persistently? It makes no logical sense, no matter how he tries to mentally contort it.

Perhaps that’s the core issue — that for once in his life, Max’s motivations weren’t born strictly of logic or financial incentive. Something else had escaped from beneath, something primal and indefinable, when you broke down so nakedly in front of him.

The realization causes Max’s steps to stutter to a halt. His jaw works tensely as he runs a frustrated hand through his brown hair, disheveling the meticulously groomed coif.

He can admit to himself that some base part of his brain had been … affected by the rawness of your emotion. The way you had stripped away all artifice and propriety to plead so urgently and authentically.

Not many people manage to disarm Max Verstappen’s carefully curated expectation filters. But you had blown straight through them without even realizing it, battering down the reinforced walls he builds around his life. Just by being horrifically, unguardedly human.

It’s both impressive and deeply unsettling in equal measure.

Before Max can spiral any further down this rabbit hole of self-reflection, a sharp rap of knuckles against the door jolts him back to awareness. He straightens and clears his throat roughly.

“Come in.” he calls out, already retaking his seat and trying to project an aura of resolute control.

Clara slips into the office, her usual unflappable poise slightly ruffled as she catches the tense atmosphere. “You asked to see me right away, sir?”

“Yes.” Max says brusquely, watching her over steepled fingers. “I need you to do some … discreet digging for me into a personal matter.”

Clara’s perfectly groomed eyebrow arches inquisitively. But to her credit, she doesn’t comment on his evasive phrasing.

“And what exactly am I looking into?”

“The employee who was just in my office seeking leave.” he explains curtly. “The one with the hospitalized child. I need you to find out everything you can — where the child is being treated, their condition, prognosis, all of it.”

Clara’s perfectly glossed lips purse ever so slightly. “You’re aware I can’t exactly go through official medical channels without violating all sorts of privacy laws ...”

“I’m fully aware.” Max interjects with a curt wave of his hand. “Which is why you’ll have to take a more … unconventional approach. I don’t particularly care what methods you have to employ, just get me those details by the end of the day.”

His assistant regards him silently for a long beat, as if trying to suss out his motivations. Max meets her contemplative look with an unwavering stare of his own.

Finally, Clara gives a tight nod of understanding. “Consider it done, sir.”

With that, she pivots on the towering heel of her Louboutin and sees herself out of the office, the click of her footsteps rapidly retreating down the hall.

Max lets out a slow exhale, alone with his thoughts once more.

What is he doing? This bizarre crusade is so wildly outside of his typical conduct and practices. The lengths he’s going to, all for the sake of some random underling’s personal crisis ...

A smart, calculated part of his brain recognizes this entire situation as a fool’s errand, a waste of time and resources. He should be devoting every ounce of his focus toward extricating the Chinese investment group from the Brighton deal before their next earnings call.

And yet, he can’t seem to fully let this go. Your haunted, hopeless expression keeps flickering through his mind’s eye. The memory of your tears soaking into his suit lapel as you clung to him with a desperation that shook something deep within him.

It’s almost as if his body is acting of its own accord, driven by some urge he can’t fully parse or control. Like a murmured voice insistently compelling him to … to what? Help you? Offer some vague sense of solace or security?

The thought is patently ludicrous, and Max scoffs audibly at his own melodrama. Get a grip, he chides himself sternly. Since when do you care about coddling your peons?

He forcefully shakes off the uncharacteristic reverie and turns back to the stacks of paperwork and documents splayed across his desk. Focusing intently on running new financial projections for Q3, he manages to bury himself in the work for a solid two hours.

He’s in the midst of furiously scribbling margin and revenue notes when the trill of the phone line cuts through his concentration. A glance at the caller ID has him resisting the urge to sigh.

“Clara.” he answers crisply, leaning back in his leather chair. “I trust you’ve made progress?”

“Indeed.” comes the smooth reply, devoid of inflection as always. “Though I should warn you, some of these details are … concerning.”

Something tightens in Max’s chest, but he quickly tamps it down. “Just lay it all out for me. No need to editorialize.”

“Very well.” Clara acquiesces. “So the child, a three-year-old daughter, is currently a patient at Lennox Hill Hospital here in the city. According to my sources, she was admitted five weeks ago after experiencing severe seizures and hallucinations. An MRI revealed she has a large mass-”

“Let me stop you right there.” Max interjects, his brows furrowing. Even he can recognize those are less than encouraging signs. “What’s the official diagnosis then?”

“Grade IV glioblastoma.” Clara replies flatly. “One of the most aggressive malignant brain tumors, especially in children her age.”

A terse silence falls between them as the weight of that diagnosis sinks in. Grade IV … practically a death sentence wrapped up in clinical terminology. Max finds his hand unconsciously clenching the arm of his chair.

“And her prospects?” He finally prompts gruffly. “What’s the … prognosis for her case?”

Clara doesn’t answer right away. Over the line, he can hear her exhale slowly, a rare tell of emotional discomfort from his typically unflappable assistant.

“From what my contact at Lennox Hill said … if we’re talking full disclosure?” Her customary professionalism wavers slightly as her voice grows hushed. “They’ve given her three months at most, sir. Maybe less, if another seizure or bleed occurs before then.”

The words hang in the air like a guillotine blade against Max’s neck. Suddenly, all those intrusive mental flashes of your inconsolable despair take on a sharper, even more heartrending clarity.

Of course you were devastated, he realizes with startling empathy. How could any mother face their child’s death sentence with any measure of composure?

An unexpected swell of emotion rises in Max’s throat and he has to blink rapidly to keep it at bay. Now isn’t the time for such indulgences.

“Thank you, Clara.” he manages in a rough baritone. “That will be all for now.”

He ends the call without waiting for a response, abruptly severing the connection.

Alone once more, Max slumps back against the leather upholstery, an uncharacteristic weariness settling into his bones. He reaches up to loosen his already disheveled tie, suddenly feeling stifled within the confines of his suit.

Three months. Three paltry months for a precious young life to be snatched away before it ever really began. His jaw clenches hard.

That’s unacceptable. Not just unfair, but a complete and total injustice to all that is right and good in this world.

No child should have to suffer like that … and certainly no mother should have to face a future of unimaginable grief and emptiness once her only family is gone. Not if there was anything to be done about it.

And, at the end of the day, Max Verstappen has the means to quite literally move mountains with his wealth and influence.

An idea begins to blossom in his mind — one that feels daring and reckless and so utterly unlike his usual business-oriented self. But he finds himself drawn to it with a singleminded resolve he can’t quite explain.

Jaw set, Max snatches up his phone and punches in a number he never thought he’d use outside of donor galas.

“Roland? Max Verstappen here.” he says gruffly when the line picks up. “I need you to connect me directly with someone in Sloan Kettering’s pediatric oncology department ...”

Half an hour and multiple calls later, Max is finally patched through to one of the top clinical researchers in the field: Dr. Spencer Paulson.

“Dr. Paulson, thank you for making time on such short notice.” Max says, his tone polished yet clipped. “To cut right to it, I was recently made aware of a … sensitive case involving a terminal pediatric patient and some rather bleak estimated survival rates.”

Without preamble, he lays out what little he knows about your daughter — the diagnosis, the staging, the Lennox Hill prognosis that has already written her off for dead. All throughout, the doctor on the other end of the line remains grimly silent.

“So in your expert opinion.” Max finishes, realizing his hand has unconsciously tightened into a white-knuckled fist. “What would you say her realistic prospects for meaningful treatment or survival are?”

There’s a pregnant pause, then a grim sigh filters through the tinny line. “Based on what you’ve told me … I’m afraid the prognosis does indeed sound dire. Grade IV glioblastomas in children under five have approximately a 5% survival rate past twelve months with conventional treatment regimens.”

Max clenches his teeth, brutally unsurprised yet still floored by the frank assessment. Moments ago, he had still been clinging to a fool’s hope.

“However.” Dr. Paulson continues, his tone brightening slightly. “We do currently have an … experimental trial ongoing that might be an outside option to explore.”

Something akin to hope flutters in Max’s chest. “I’m listening.”

“Well, to put it simply, we’ve had some promising early results adapting viral gene therapies to target and destroy these aggressive brain tumor cells in young patients.” the doctor explains, shifting into a more clinical, lecture-style delivery.

“By modifying and re-engineering certain viruses to bind only to the specific mutated RNA and protein markers found in diseases like glioblastomas, we can theoretically use those same viruses as a delivery vector. One that can slip past the blood-brain barrier and directly infect the cancerous cells with a sort of … controlled payload, if you will.”

Max nods along, his mind working furiously to keep up with the technical jargon. “Some kind of treatment regimen then? Drugs or radiation therapy delivered directly to the tumor site?”

“Precisely.” Dr. Paulson confirms approvingly. “Only we’ve expanded past just chemo and gamma rays as the options. Thanks to the pioneering work of doctors like Bert Jacobs, we’ve now created an entirely new frontier of cancer treatments centered around gene therapy and mRNA editing.”

He rattles off a dizzying litany of polysyllabic scientific terminology that sails completely over Max’s head. Not that it matters — his focus is fully captured by the notes of guarded optimism finally creeping into Paulson’s voice.

“Of course, this is all still highly experimental. We’ve only managed to achieve remission in a handful of trial cases thus far.” the doctor cautions. “And we have no idea if the viral vector we’ve engineered will be equally effective against every variation of cancerous mutation out there.”

Max nods impatiently, waving a hand as if to physically shoo away the vague caveats. “I appreciate the need for clinical hedging, doctor. But let’s cut right to the heart of the matter.”

He draws in a fortifying breath. “If you were to take on this little girl as a patient, deploy these … gene therapy regimens of yours … would you give her a legitimate chance? At treatment, remission, survival?”

There’s a pregnant pause, as if Dr. Paulson is carefully considering the ethical ramifications of his answer. Then, “If she meets the selection criteria and baseline health conditions … and we get a bit of luck on our side ...” Another sigh, heavy with the weight of his responsibilities. “Then I’d say we would have a fighting chance, yes.”

Those five simple words crash over Max with the force of a tidal wave, hitting him squarely in the chest.

A chance. At life. At making it past those grim, dire prognoses.

After several moments of stunned silence, Max finally finds his voice.

“Say no more, doctor. Whatever it costs — money, time, logistics — none of it matters. I want this treatment option fully activated and prioritized immediately. Spare no expense, I’ll take care of the bill.” He utters the words with the same decisive confidence he handles his billion-dollar business dealings.

Because in this moment, it doesn’t feel like just some impulsive, emotionally-driven whim. Helping your innocent child — ensuring she gets the fighting chance she deserves?

It feels like the only choice he can possibly make.

***

You sit hunched in the hard, plastic visitor’s chair, your body angled protectively towards the small hospital bed. Despite the tubes and wires snaking from her fragile limbs, your daughter appears almost peaceful in her restless slumber.

She always was such a sound sleeper as a baby, you reminisce wistfully. Remembering how you’d regularly creep into the nursery just to watch the gentle rise and fall of her chest, assuring yourself she was still breathing.

Even back then, the ever-present fear of something going horribly wrong never truly left you. The world is far too cruel a place to let a mother relax, no matter how deeply you wish you could.

One slender hand rests atop the thin bedsheet covering your little girl, your thumb tracing soothing circles along her tiny knuckles. A silent, simple gesture of tenderness you hope she can feel even in sleep. If only you could so easily soothe away her pain and suffering as you could your own.

The quiet flutter of the heart rate monitor keeps beat, each mechanical beep another hammer striking your already shattered soul. You want to feel relieved, blessed even, that it continues that steady cadence. Instead, you only feel exhausted hollowness.

Because this morning, the doctors came to “discuss options.” As if their clinical detachment could soften the blow of learning your child is well and truly out of miracles.

“We’ve run every available scan and lab test.” Dr. Rhodes had said, failing to meet your desperate gaze. “I’m so very sorry, but the tumor isn’t responding to any of our treatments. At this point, we have to start considering ...”

You hadn’t let him finish, couldn’t let those hateful, unthinkable words pass his lips. Palliative care. Hospice. Just give up and let nature take its inevitable, brutal course while they pumped her full of numbing opiates so she could “comfortably” slip away.

The rage and anguish had bubbled up from some primal pit within your guts, hot and viscous like magma erupting from deep beneath the earth’s crust. You’d screamed incoherent denials until your voice was hoarse, begging and pleading through sobs for them not to take away your only hope.

In the end, they’d sedated your daughter fully so you could “calm down” and “process things rationally.” You know they meant well, trying to spare her from your outburst. But it only compounded your devastation, feeling like they were already treating her as a lost cause no longer worth fighting for.

So here you sit, after untold hours of cycling through various stages of grief, left only with bone-deep weariness cloaked by a fragile veneer of numb acceptance. You dimly wonder if you’ll ever truly feel anything else ever again.

Through the blur of tears constantly stinging your eyes, you keep a silent vigil over your daughter’s bedside. You memorize every delicate sweep of her sooty lashes, the tiny smattering of freckles across her upturned nose. Desperate to commit every last precious detail of her existence to memory before … before ...

A choked sob bubbles up from your chest at the thought, hot and acidic at the back of your throat. You quickly muffle it with the crook of your elbow, determined not to disturb your resting girl with the outward manifestations of your agony.

In through the nose, out through the mouth. An old meditative mantra you try to focus on, struggling to regain control of your tenuous grip on composure. You know your tears and hiccupping gasps for air are only harming yourself at this point. Better to conserve what little physical and mental strength you have left to simply be with your daughter while you still can.

The grief is an ever-churning sea just waiting to drag you under its dark, icy depths. But still you stubbornly tread water, unwilling to fully surrender just yet. Not as long as you can still feel the reassuring thrum of her pulse against your fingertips, a solitary lifeline keeping you tethered to the present.

You aren’t sure how much time stretches in that manner — minutes or hours, you cannot say. The days have all started blurring into one long, endless haze of sleeplessness and overwhelming sorrow.

So when the door to the hospital room suddenly clicks open, the sound manages to penetrate the cotton-muffled fog shrouding your senses.Instantly, you stiffen and blink rapidly, as if only just now awakening to your surroundings.

A stranger stands in the doorway — a tall, slender man in an impeccably tailored suit that looks distinctly out of place amongst the bland, sterile patient rooms. His face is sharp and angular, almost harsh in its sternness if not for the way his brow is furrowed with evident concern.

You open your mouth to ask who he is and what he wants, but he raises a placating hand before you can find your voice.

“Please, don’t be alarmed.” he says, words clipped yet softened slightly. “I know this is a terrible situation, and the absolute last setting you’d want an uninvited visitor.”

Now that he’s closer, you can see behind his obvious affluence lurks a cultured, aloof sort of demeanor. There’s no outward malice or disrespect in his manner, but he carries himself like someone long accustomed to privileges and deference. The sight of him sets you even more on edge amid your emotional rawness.

“My name is Spencer Paulson.” the man presses on, taking a few measured steps further into the room. “I’m actually a doctor, Ms ...”

“Y/N.” you automatically supply, dredging up the remnants of social graces. “Y/N L/N. And this is … this is my daughter, Olivia.”

Your voice cracks ever so slightly on her name, heated moisture already welling behind your eyes once more. You quickly dab at their corners with the sleeve of your worn cardigan, determined not to dissolve into fresh hysterics in front of this absolute stranger.

“Well, Ms. Y/L/N.” the man — Dr. Paulson — says, tone measured. “I realize I’m intruding on a highly stressful situation for you and your family right now. And for that, I truly am sorry.”

His apology seems sincere enough. But wariness still prickles along your nape as your overtired, over-protective instincts flare up. You clutch your daughter’s limp hand in yours a fraction tighter.

“Then if you don’t mind my asking.” you begin in a calculated tone, scrutinizing Paulson carefully. “Why are you here? And what business could possibly bring you to Olivia’s bedside unannounced?”

He regards you silently for a long moment, something inscrutable flickering across his features. When he speaks again, his words are deliberately precise, weighted down by their momentous gravity.

“I was recently contacted by … an interested third party about your daughter’s case.” Paulson explains, clasping his hands behind his back. “I was filled in on the specifics of her diagnosis — glioblastoma, grade four, extremely aggressive and largely unresponsive to standard treatment. Am I correct so far?”

You can only numbly nod, a chill prickling across your flesh. The man’s crisp, clinical recitation of your worst nightmare forces a painful convulsion of renewed heartache.

Paulson seems to catch your distress and quickly presses on. “Right, well, I’m actually here in an official capacity as the Chief of Pediatric Oncology over at Memorial Sloan Kettering Cancer Center.”

The words hit you with all the force of a defibrillator charge, jolting your entire frame upright in the hard plastic chair. Your jaw drops open, already fumbling for a desperate reply that will somehow make this all make sense.

But Paulson continues before you can vocalize any of the hundreds of jumbled questions flooding your mind.

“I’ll keep this relatively simple, Ms. Y/L/N.” he says, holding up a forestalling hand. “My team at Sloan Kettering recently received permission to transfer your daughter over to our care as soon as logistically possible. You see, we’ve been working on an experimental new treatment protocol — a form of gene therapy designed to treat even the most aggressive, mutation-riddled forms of cancers like Olivia’s brain tumor.”

You blink owlishly, unable to fully process the onslaught of technical jargon being leveled at you. All you can do is continue sitting there, stunned into silence as the doctor launches into an almost dizzying explanation of re-engineered viruses, targeted gene editing, and “controlled payloads” being essentially the extent of modern medicine.

“... And while the trial is still in its early stages, we’ve actually already achieved partial and even full remission in a few key pediatric cases remarkably similar to that of your daughter.” Paulson continues, his tone growing faintly tinged with optimism and something akin to pride. “Which is why we’re reasonably confident Olivia could be an excellent candidate for our experimental therapies, if you allow it.”

He lets the weight of that statement hang in the air between you, watching you carefully for any visible reaction. But you’re frozen, fighting between warring tides of soul-rending hope and knee-jerk cynicism.

After all, you’ve come to reflexively distrust when desperation-stoking scenarios sound too good to be true over the past several torturous weeks. A small, rational voice in the back of your mind pipes up to remind you that you can’t afford to get your hopes up, only to be gutted yet again by the crushing inevitability of disappointment.

But another part of your wearied brain — the part that’s grown so fatigued by the oppressive feeling of hopelessness — recoils at dismissing any potential reprieve from the nightmare, no matter how fanciful or far-fetched.

So instead you hear yourself croaking out a single, wobbling syllable.

“How ...”

Paulson tilts his head inquisitively. “I’m sorry?”

You clear your throat, igniting the spark of desperate yearning flickering to life inside your chest. “How much would … would a treatment like this cost?”

For the first time since barging his way into your fragile world, Paulson’s aristocratic features twist into an unmistakable grimace. He lets out a tight sigh, clearly recognizing the gravity behind your simple question.

“Unfortunately, due to the experimental and intensive nature of this therapy … the baseline costs do run relatively high.” he explains in a precise tone, as if trying to distance himself from the crass logistical realities. “If approved for the trial and full treatment regimen, we’re looking at around $1.4 million in projected costs over the first six months alone.”

The astronomical number hits you squarely between the eyes, setting your head swimming with disbelief. One point four … million? The amount is so ludicrously exorbitant that it almost doesn’t seem real.

You open your mouth, fully intending to spit out the derisive scoff that such an impossible ask deserves. No amount of desperate wishing could ever make that attainable for a single, working-class parent already drowning in tens of thousands of medical debt.

But Paulson clearly recognizes the crestfallen defeat settling over your features. Because he quickly rushes ahead with his next words, effectively cutting off any vocal dismissal on your end.

“However, as I mentioned earlier, we did get some … special circumstances greenlighted regarding your daughter’s case.” he says, tone brightening with carefully cultivated hopefulness. “You see, there’s an anonymous benefactor who’s agreed to cover the full cost of treatment on a … philanthropic basis, let’s call it.”

The words punch you directly in the gut, momentarily robbing your lungs of oxygen like a cruel sucker-punch. You blink dazedly up at Paulson, struggling to make sense of what he’s saying through the roaring static in your ears.

“I … I don’t understand.” you manage to stammer out. “Someone wants to … pay for my daughter? All of it? But why? How could they possibly-”

“Hey now, none of that.” Paulson cuts you off, his voice softening with what might be the first hints of empathy and warmth creeping in. “The why doesn’t matter right now — only that it’s been arranged at no cost to you or your family.”

He moves closer then, resting one hand on your shoulder in an unexpected gesture of kindness that makes you flinch despite yourself. Up close, you can see the sincerity shining in his hazel eyes, pleading for you to simply accept this incredible parting of the dark clouds that have shrouded your existence.

“I know this is … well, frankly astounding news on top of everything else you’re already dealing with.” Paulson continues, giving your shoulder a gentle, reassuring squeeze. “And please, believe me, we want to avoid overwhelming you with undue complications. For now, I think it’s enough to simply feel that spark of hope again, yes?”

Despite your best efforts to tamp down the desperate yearning swelling in your chest, you find yourself nodding mutely in agreement. Because in this moment, you understand exactly the miraculous implications of his words.

After so many agonizing weeks of feeling utterly powerless, of watching your baby girl’s life slowly ebb away before your very eyes … there is a chance. An opportunity, a fighting possibility that everything won’t end in crushing grief and irredeemable sorrow.

And even just that single glowing ember of hope, no matter how faint, is enough to shatter the dam holding back your turbulent sea of pent-up emotion. Paulson watches in quiet acceptance as you finally break down in great, shuddering sobs — only this time, they’re threaded with the catharsis of relief.

Happy tears stream down your blotchy cheeks, unchecked and convulsive. You press your face into the cool, starchy sheets of Olivia’s bed, body wracked with a release of tension weeks in the making. It feels as though you’re being simultaneously unmade and reborn in this singular, messy instance.

Through the storm of your breakdown, you’re dimly aware of Paulson stepping away to give you privacy. And then, just before he slips from the room entirely, his composed baritone rings out one last time.

“We’ll make all the arrangements to transport Olivia to Sloan Kettering as soon as possible. Get her started on this treatment regimen right away, alright?”

You can’t even summon the words to respond, only nodding rapidly between hiccuping bursts of gasping and sobbing. But just before he exits, shutting the door silently behind him, you catch Paulson’s murmur.

“There’s a fighting chance now. That’s all any of us can really ask for ...”

***

Max rakes a hand through his meticulously styled hair as he strides down the sterile hallway of Sloan Kettering’s pediatric oncology ward. His eyes scan the room numbers tacked to each door, searching for the one he was provided.

456 … 458… ah, there — 460. Max pauses outside the closed entry, squaring his shoulders as he tries to tamp down the uncharacteristic fluttering of nerves in his stomach. Taking a fortifying breath, he gives the door a perfunctory series of raps with his knuckles.

Almost immediately, a muffled voice filters through from inside — your voice, he recognizes with a start. “Come in!”

Max’s brow furrows momentarily at the warm, chipper lilt to your tone. So unlike the brittle, devastated one he had heard that fateful day in his office. Though he supposes that’s only fitting, given the radically shifted circumstances these past several weeks.

Pushing his hesitation aside, Max takes the invitation and pushes into the hospital room. You’re seated in one of the uncomfortable plastic visitor’s chairs, wearing a soft cardigan and jeans — by all appearances the very portrait of a typical doting mother.

Well, not entirely typical. Because curled up on the bed next to you is a tiny, doe-eyed little girl whose resemblance leaves no question as to her relation to you.

Olivia.

As soon as the door clicks shut behind him, you glance up — and immediately do a double-take, eyes going comically wide. “M-Mr. Verstappen?” You splutter out, frozen halfway out of your chair like a hostess belatedly remembered her manners. “I … I didn’t realize you were-”

Max holds up a hand to stop the tide of nervous rambling, inexplicably touched by your visible shock. The effect is only compounded when Olivia shifts on the bed, eyeing him owlishly from beneath the cuddly weight of a stuffed unicorn nearly as large as she is.

“It’s quite alright, Ms. Y/L/N.” he says, offering you the barest hint of a disarming smile. An expression he finds shockingly easy to produce given the scene before him. “I admit I hadn’t warned you about my visit in advance.”

He pauses there, suddenly realizing the reason for his impromptu trip isn’t entirely certain, even to himself. It had begun as little more than a nagging impulse tugging at him throughout his days, growing more persistent and insistent until he finally gave in and scheduled some time away from the office.

And now that he’s here, standing in this dimly-lit hospital room, Max feels strangely … unmoored. Adrift in a situation his renowned business acumen didn’t even begin to equip him for handling.

But then your daughter is shifting again, curiosity winning out over her bashfulness as she props herself up on her elbows. “Who’re you?” She pipes up in a tiny, raspy voice that somehow bypasses Max’s usually implacable defenses.

Something pangs oddly in his chest at the innocent inquiry. He finds himself crouching into an automatic squat, bringing himself level with the bedside so he can better meet Olivia’s inquisitive gaze.

“You can just call me Max.” he says, injecting a gentle warmth into his tone that he didn’t even realize he was capable of. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

It occurs to him then that he’s been subconsciously clutching the bouquet of flowers still in his off-hand — an overly ornate spray of exotic lilies and birds of paradise blooms that probably cost more than a month’s rent for most families. He had ordered them from the city’s most exclusive florist boutique on pure aesthetic impulse, without pausing to consider the message such an excessive display might send.

This morning, holding the massive arrangement felt appropriate, a reflection of Max’s stature as a dominant business magnate. But now, watching Olivia’s large eyes track the oversized bouquet with open-mouthed awe, he feels suddenly self-conscious.

Hoping to recover some sense of propriety, Max clears his throat and holds the flowers out in front of him.

“These are, ah, for your mother.” he explains gruffly, avoiding your questioning gaze burning against the side of his face. “A small token of … of appreciation, one might say.”

He isn’t quite sure what prompts the carefully worded addition — perhaps an instinctive reflex to avoid showing any overt sentimentality. But either way, you seem to simply accept the generous offering with bemused grace.

“Thank you, Mr. Versta-” You quickly correct yourself at his mild arched brow. “Er, Max. They’re absolutely lovely.”

You bend to inhale the rich floral perfume, eyelids fluttering in evident delight at the fragrance. Max watches the childlike awe play out across your soft features, feeling an odd sort of satisfaction settle in his chest.

Having given you the flowers, he rises to his feet once more with a put-upon sigh of effort. Every bit of spoiled opulence and bravado that usually comes as second-nature to Max.

And yet, none of it lands quite with the affected solemnity he’s accustomed to projecting. Not when Olivia’s sweet-faced attention is still utterly transfixed by his every move and micro-expression.

Your daughter still hasn’t looked away from him even as you arrange the flower vase on her bedside table, entranced in a way only the very young can be. It’s … disarming, to say the least. But not entirely unpleasant, Max finds himself admitting.

“I, ah, got something for you as well, Olivia.” he announces impulsively. From behind his back, he produces a floppy-limbed teddy bear easily half her size.

He’s not even sure what prompted him to purchase such a pedestrian sort of toy. All he knows is that he saw the stuffed creature in the hospital gift shop window on his way in, and some impulse compelled him to acquire it for reasons he still can’t understand.

But any lingering uncertainty fades from his mind like a passing cloud when Olivia lets out an audible gasp of delight. Her little hands instantly shoot out, making desperate grabbing motions at the plush offering.

“Ohmygosh, thank you!” The words tumble out in a breathless, childish rush. Before Max can even react, she leans precariously over the edge of the bed, arms outstretched and grasping imploringly.

On instinct, Max takes a half-step forward, carefully depositing the stuffed bear into Olivia’s waiting embrace to avoid any accidents. She immediately snatches it to her chest, burying her face in the softness of its soft fabric with a contented hum that seems to vibrate in Max’s very soul.

He swallows hard past the unexpected lump that forms in his throat, watching a child delight in something so simple and innocent. How long has it been since he allowed himself to find joy in the pure, unbridled way that Olivia does? Far too long, he’s forced to admit.

Clearing his throat with an awkward rumble, Max tears his gaze away from your daughter’s cuddling. He levels his focus back onto you instead. Only then does he realize you’ve been staring at him throughout the entire interaction, an unreadable look painted across your face.

“I trust the medical team has kept you informed of Olivia’s progress so far.” he prompts in his usual clipped tone, struggling to reassert some sense of distancing professionalism. “I don’t have any special insight into the procedural specifics, but from what I’ve gathered, positive results are steadily accumulating, yes?”

You blink once, almost like shaking yourself out of a reverie, before offering a slow nod in response. “Y-Yes, you could definitely say that.”

Something sparks behind your gaze then — some dawning realization creeping over your delicate features. “In fact, Dr. Paulson himself said Olivia seems to have responded better to the gene therapy than almost any other patient yet. Her tumor reduction trend is so far exceeding their best models that they’re actually considering tweaking the formula for future tria-”

You abruptly cut yourself off, lips pursing into a tight line as you turn your focus back to Max. He holds your stare evenly, waiting for whatever it is you seem to be mustering the courage to say.

Then, almost in a whisper, “Max … are you the anonymous donor paying for all of this?”

The words hang in the air like a physical force between you, so full of implication and unvoiced emotion that even Max can’t find a way to deflect them. He stares back at you, utterly disarmed beneath the intensity of your scrutinizing gaze.

For a long beat, only the hum of hospital machines and equipment fills the weighty silence. Max’s jaw works tensely as he considers how best to respond. He wants to shrug it off, make some sardonic quip to reestablish the carefully curated aloofness that serves him so well in the business world.

But then Olivia lets out another joyous giggle as she squishes the plush bear’s paw, completely enraptured and undistracted by the silent standoff occurring across her bedside. And all of Max’s formidable defenses and calculated denials abruptly dissolve in the face of such childlike innocence.

So instead of evasion, he answers your question with a small, barely perceptible nod and a softly murmured, “Yes.”

He doesn’t have time to brace himself before you’re suddenly surging up out of the chair with a wounded cry. And then your arms are flung around his neck, your body slamming against his chest as you pull Max into a fierce and entirely unexpected hug.

The impact momentarily stuns him, freezing Max in place with his arms held useless at his sides. He can’t remember the last time someone dared to initiate such a brazen display of physical contact — perhaps ever, now that he racks his brain.

But just as he contemplates gently extricating himself from your clutches, your ragged voice rises to his ear in a trembling whisper.

“Thank you.” you’re whispering over and over like a fevered prayer. “Thank you, thank you, thank you ...”

With each impassioned repetition, Max can feel more of the tension slowly leeching from his frame. He finds himself sinking bonelessly into your embrace, one hand coming to rest against the small of your back in an automatic gesture of soothing.

Soon enough, heaving sobs are wracking your entire body against his. Hot tears quickly begin to soak through the fabric of his expensive dress shirt as you cling to him with the desperation of a fallen angel clawing her way back into grace. But Max doesn’t pull away, doesn’t extricate himself or put distance between your respective roles as worker and corporate king.

Instead, in a move even he can’t fully explain or justify, his free hand comes up to cradle the back of your head, pulling you in even tighter as you keen your grateful relief against the column of his throat.

“It’s … quite alright.” he finds himself rumbling in a low, soothing voice completely at odds with his usual persona. “No thanks are necessary. All that matters now is ensuring your daughter’s full and complete recovery … at whatever cost required.”

He isn’t sure whether his throwaway platitude is meant more for his benefit or yours at this point. But either way, you show no signs of releasing him from the crushing strength of your desperate clutch anytime soon. So Max does the only thing left available to him — he simply lets you cry and shake and cling to him for as long as you need.

Until finally, with a handful of watery hiccups and sniffles, you manage to tilt your blotchy face up towards his.

“I … I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you for this.” you murmur throatily. “For giving Olivia more than just some faint hope, but an actual chance to grow up and live the life she deserves.”

Tenderness isn’t something that often breaks through Max Verstappen’s shroud of callous indifference. He can count on one hand the number of times in his adult life he’s allowed himself to indulge in such sentimental trivialities.

But gazing into your puffy, reddened eyes, he finds he can’t quite summon any bitter cynicism. Instead, his voice remains low with a soothing gentleness that feels almost foreign falling from his lips.

“The only form of repayment I’ll require.” he says finally, “is your permission to take you to dinner.”

He blinks once, almost taken aback by the words that slipped unbidden from his throat. But you, for your part, seem equally dazed as your brows knit in bewilderment.

“Dinner? But … I haven’t left Olivia in weeks.”

At that, Max manages a wry smile, feeling as if he’s regained at least some fraction of his footing and composure. “Of course I don’t expect you to. I simply meant for the three of us to dine together … here, in the hospital. My treat, naturally.”

Your fingers unconsciously clench tighter into the fabric of his ruined dress shirt. But even with the hint of embarrassment pinkening your cheeks, he can see what looks almost like … excitement? Perhaps even coyness sparking behind your gaze before you avert your eyes demurely.

“I … yes, of course.” you murmur, sounding almost bashful. “We would be honored.”

Max simply nods, committing every little part of the interaction to his increasingly scattered memory for later dissection. For now, he withdraws himself from the gentle circle of your arms with what he hopes appears a natural sort of casualness.

“Very good then,” is all he finds himself able to say in response. “I shall make the necessary arrangements and return shortly with something to eat.”

With that, he turns on his heel and strides towards the exit, throwing one final look over his shoulder. You’re already back in your chair at Olivia’s bedside, shooting him another shy little smile as you start to idly stroke your now dozing daughter’s hair.

And before Max even fully processes the impulse, he feels the corner of his mouth tugging upwards into a warm half-grin in response.

A expression so unfamiliar on his usually dour features that it renders him momentarily unrecognizable, even to himself.

Shaking his head as if to cast off the dizzy sense of displacement, Max continues out into the hallway. He stubbornly refuses to dwell too much on the stirrings of contentment radiating through his chest.

Such indulgent notions are highly unseemly for a man of his stature and influence, after all. Better to ignore them entirely, as he always has.

Though even as the thought crosses his mind, Max finds himself picking up his pace with a renewed sense of purpose and determination. Because somewhere along the way, he realizes ...

Denial doesn’t appear to be an option anymore.

***

Two Years Later

The ornate grandfather clock in the corner ticks rhythmically, its pendulum swinging with measured precision. Max’s gaze flicks over to it briefly before returning to the stack of documents before him. Numbers and figures blur together as his eyes scan the pages, his brow furrowed in concentration.

A giggle from the corner of the room breaks his focus. He glances up to see Olivia sitting cross-legged on the plush carpet, curls bouncing as she plays with her Barbie dolls. A hint of a smile tugs at the corner of his lips at the sight of her innocent joy.

“What are you up to over there, kleine muis?” He asks, his voice gruff but tinged with affection.

Olivia looks up, her eyes sparkling. “I’m having a tea party with Barbie and Ken.” she explains, brandishing the dolls. “Would you like to join us, Maxie?”

Max chuckles softly. “Thank you for the invitation, but I’m afraid I have a bit too much work to do for a tea party right now.”

“Okay.” Olivia says cheerfully, returning to her imaginary festivities.

You had dropped Olivia off at Max’s office after her kindergarten class, needing to rush to an urgent marketing meeting. Max had insisted on keeping her company until you returned, despite the mountain of paperwork on his desk.

He watches Olivia play, mesmerized by her ability to create entire worlds from mere toys and her vibrant imagination. Her carefree laughter is a soothing balm against the chaos of his day.

After a while, Olivia looks up again. “Maxie, can I ask you something?”

“Of course, lieverd. What is it?”

Olivia fidgets with one of the doll’s dresses. “Today at school, we had to draw pictures of our families.”

Max’s heart constricts slightly at the innocuous statement, but he manages a reassuring smile. “Did you have fun with that activity?”

Olivia nods enthusiastically. “Uh-huh. I drew me, Mommy, and you.”

The words hit Max like a physical blow, stealing his breath away. He stares at Olivia, his eyes widening as a storm of emotions swirls within him.

Olivia, oblivious to his inner turmoil, continues, “But then Timmy said that you’re not really my daddy since we don’t have the same last name. Is that true, Maxie? Are you not my daddy?”

Max swallows hard, his throat constricting. He had grown to love this child as if she were his own flesh and blood, but he had never dared to assume the sacred title of father. The realization that Olivia saw him that way, despite the lack of biological ties, threatens to shatter his carefully constructed walls.

Pushing back from his desk, he rises to his feet and makes his way over to where Olivia sits. He lowers himself to the floor, his movements stiff and hesitant. Olivia watches him with curious eyes, still clutching her dolls.

“Olivia.” he begins, his voice thick with emotion he struggles to contain. “Even though we don’t share the same name, and I didn’t ...” He pauses, swallowing hard. “I didn’t have a hand in bringing you into this world, you are every bit as much my daughter as if you were my own.”

Olivia tilts her head slightly, considering his words. “So, I can call you Daddy?”

The simple question unlocks something deep within Max’s core, a part of himself he had locked away long ago. He feels moisture prickling at the corners of his eyes, an unfamiliar sting that he doesn’t fight.

“Yes, kleine muis.” he whispers, his voice wavering. “I would be honored if you called me Daddy.”

Without warning, Olivia drops her dolls and flings her small arms around Max’s neck, hugging him tightly. Max freezes for a moment, unaccustomed to such open displays of affection, before melting into the hug. He wraps his arms around Olivia’s tiny frame, holding her close as if she might slip away at any moment.

They stay like that for long minutes, Max’s shoulders trembling slightly as the dam he had so carefully constructed finally cracks. Tears slip silently down his cheeks, mingling with the softness of Olivia’s hair as he buries his face against her.

At last, Olivia pulls back, her eyes shining with joy. “I love you, Daddy.” she says simply, the words reverberating through Max’s very soul.

He manages a watery smile, brushing away the dampness on his cheeks. “And I love you, lieverd. More than you could ever know.”

Olivia beams at him before scrambling to her feet. “Oh! I almost forgot!” She darts over to her little backpack, rummaging through it eagerly.

Max watches her, his heart still thundering in his chest from the whirlwind of emotions coursing through him. He had built an empire, commanded boardrooms with an iron fist, and struck fear into the hearts of grown men … yet this innocent child had disarmed him completely.

“Here it is!” Olivia exclaims, returning with a piece of paper clutched in her small fist. She holds it out to Max, beaming. “For you, Daddy.”

With trembling hands, Max takes the drawing. A bright smile breaks across his face as he studies the crude but endearing figures — stick figures, but he can clearly make out Olivia, you, and himself, joined by vibrant swirls of color.

“It’s beautiful.” he murmurs, his fingers tracing over the lines with a tenderness he reserves only for her. “Thank you.”

Over the next few days, Max has the drawing professionally framed, the simple piece of artwork taking pride of place on the wall of his office. Whenever his gaze falls upon it, his heart swells with a love and sense of purpose that had been missing for far too long.

Beside the framed drawing hangs his business degree, a symbol of his power and influence in the corporate world. Yet, it is Olivia’s artwork that holds the most meaning, a reminder of what truly matters in this life.

Because Max is many things — a captain of industry, a force to be reckoned with, a man who has clawed his way to the top through sheer grit and determination.

But most importantly, he is a father.

And he has never been more proud of any achievement than to call himself Olivia’s daddy.

[paddockletters]

only girl (in the word) | lando norris

pairing: lando norris x reader summary: Lando and y/n enjoy a night out at a club with friends, but when some girls try to get close, he doesn't allow it and gives you your place as always. author's note: I took inspiration from a tiktok that I saw some time ago and I wanted to write it, so I hope you like it 😭😭

The lights of the nightclub flickered as the music pulsed through the room, blending with the laughter and chatter of the crowd. I leaned back against the VIP section, sipping my drink and watching Lando at the DJ booth with Martin. Both of them were having a blast, messing around with the controller and hyping up the crowd. Nights like this had become a regular thing for us—a little bit of fun, music, and good company with our tight-knit circle.

Even though Lando was always in the spotlight, we had managed to keep our relationship pretty private. Only our closest circle knew. It wasn't that we were hiding it, but having a relationship in the spotlight of F1 could be… overwhelming. It allowed us to just be us without the pressure of prying eyes and the constant speculation from fans or media.

I was watching him goof off with Martin when I felt someone nudge me. I turned to see Max (Fewtrell) , one of Lando’s closest friends, grinning as he leaned over to speak, his voice barely audible over the music.

"He's having the time of his life up there, isn't he?" Max said with a chuckle, motioning toward Lando, who was pretending to DJ like a pro.

"He really is. I’m just waiting for him to mess something up.” I laughed, nodding.

Max laughed, his eyes scanning the dance floor before he leaned closer.

"You know, it’s funny—he never really used to like these kinds of nights before you."

I raised an eyebrow, surprised. "Really?"

"Yeah," Max nodded. "He’d always be the one leaving early, saying he had training or a race coming up. But ever since you guys started hanging out, he sticks around longer. Seems to enjoy it more. I think you’re a good influence on him."

"Maybe I’m just more fun than his training sessions." I smiled at the thought.

"Definitely more fun," Max teased, giving me a wink before heading off to join a few other friends.

I took another sip of my drink, feeling the warmth spread through me, both from the alcohol and Max’s words. I glanced back toward the DJ booth, catching Lando’s eye as he looked over at me, a playful grin on his face. He gave me a quick wink before returning to the music, his fingers moving over the controls like he knew exactly what he was doing.

It was then that I noticed a group of girls edging closer to him. One in particular seemed determined to get his attention, her phone already in hand, angling for a selfie or a picture with him. She was bold, stepping right up to him, bottle in hand, and attempting to take the one Lando was holding.

I watched as Lando paused, his smile fading slightly. He gently pushed her hand away, not rough, but firm enough to make his point. I could see him looking around, scanning the crowd until his eyes found mine. His expression softened immediately, and without hesitation, he motioned for me to come closer.

I could feel the girls' eyes on me as I made my way over. Their glances were sharp, the kind of looks that were meant to make you feel out of place, but I wasn’t about to let that ruin the night. Lando didn’t say a word when I reached him, just slipped his arm around my waist and pulled me closer, his body pressing against mine in a protective, almost possessive way.

"Hey," he whispered into my ear, his breath warm against my skin. "You okay?"

"Yeah," I nodded, giving him a reassuring smile. "I'm fine."

"Good," he said, leaning in closer. "Because I want you right here with me."

He pulled me in even tighter, and I rested my head on his shoulder for a moment, letting the music and the energy of the club surround us. Lando kissed the top of my head, a small gesture, but one that made me feel like the only person in the room.

Just then, Martin leaned over, grinning at us.

"Oi, Lando! You better be careful up here, mate. You’re making her fall for you all over again!"

"That’s the plan, mate!" Lando laughed, his arm never leaving my waist.

"You’re such a dork." I rolled my eyes, playfully nudging him.

"But I’m your dork," he replied with a cheeky grin.

As the night wore on, we danced, laughed, and enjoyed every second. The crowd seemed to disappear, and it was just us, lost in our own little world. But every now and then, I’d catch one of the girls from earlier casting a glance our way, her lips curled in a smug smile as if she was waiting for me to crack under the pressure of being in Lando’s orbit.

It didn’t bother me, not really. Lando had always made sure I knew my place in his life. He wasn’t the type to flirt with random girls or let anyone come between us. But I couldn’t deny that the whispers, the glances, they got under my skin just a little.

After a while, Lando leaned down, his lips brushing against my ear. "You wanna get out of here?"

I nodded, grateful for the offer. The night had been fun, but I was ready for something quieter, something just for us.

"Yeah, let’s go."

He grabbed my hand, guiding me through the crowd, past the girls who had been eyeing us all night. One of them whispered something to her friend as we passed, but I didn’t catch it. I didn’t need to. The look on her face said enough.

As we stepped outside, the cool night air hit my skin, and I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. Lando squeezed my hand, pulling me close.

"You okay?" he asked, concern flickering in his eyes.

I hesitated for a moment, debating whether to brush it off, but decided against it.

"It’s just… sometimes it’s hard being around people who don’t really get us, you know?"

Lando frowned, his thumb brushing gently over the back of my hand. "Did something happen inside?"

I shrugged, trying to downplay it. "It’s nothing, really. Just some girls being… well, girls."

"What did they say?" Lando stopped walking, turning to face me fully.

I shook my head, not wanting to make a big deal out of it.

"It’s not what they said, it’s just... their looks. Like they were waiting for me to mess up or something. I don’t know. I guess I’m not used to it."

Lando’s jaw tightened, his hand gripping mine a little harder.

"You know you don’t have to worry about that, right? I’m with you. Only you."

I smiled, touched by his words.

"I know. I just—sometimes it feels like I’m always being watched. Like I’m never enough."

Lando’s expression softened, and he pulled me into a tight embrace. "You’re more than enough. Don’t let anyone make you feel like you aren’t. Especially not them."

I hugged him back, feeling the warmth of his body against mine, and for the first time that night, I felt at ease. With Lando by my side, the whispers, the looks—they didn’t matter.

As we pulled apart, he leaned down and kissed me gently, his lips lingering on mine for just a moment longer than usual. When he pulled back, he grinned.

"Come on, let’s go home. I think we are going have a more fun night there."

"Yeah, let’s get out of here." I laughed softly, nodding in agreement.

And with that, hand in hand, we left the nightclub behind, ready to end the night our way—together.

[frantic-fiction]

Tease 18+

(Pic: cheekylittlepupp)

Astarion x f!reader, Astarion x Tav

Summary: The party is taking the night off. You're convinced to wear a dress, and Astarion just can't control himself.

Warnings: Smut, MDNI, Semi-public sex, caught in the act?

Word Count: 3.2k

Mastarlist

Standing in front of the mirror, you pull at the dark green fabric, tugging it down this way and that. You try again to tie the corset but give up quickly. You swing your hips, and the flowy skirt swishes, tickling the skin above your knees. Looking yourself up and down, you zone in on your hips, squirming at the fabric extenuating your curves. So much skin on display makes you want to steal someone's spare cloak to hide in. You weren't one to be self-conscious, but you're used to donning armor and leather, not this scrap of fabric Karlach had convinced you to buy. 

You should just change. Grab some leggings and one of Astarion's shirts, and call it a night. You didn't need a dress to catch his eye; you know how Astarion feels about you; wearing a dress won't change that. Backing away from the mirror, you're just about to rip the dress off when Karlach bursts into the room, Shadowheart following behind her at a much tamer pace. 

"Soldier!" Karlach squeals, stopping suddenly in the middle of the room. She slaps her hands on either side of her face. "You. Are. Gorgeous!" Your face burns as Karlach pounces on you, spinning you around to give her the best view from every angle. Heat creeps up your chest and you giggle awkwardly.

"She's right, you look stunning," Shadowheart smirked and added, "Ten gold Astarion won't be able to keep it in his pants."

"20, he won't make it to a room," Karlach shouts.

"Gods! You both are ridiculous." You squeal, swatting Karlach's hands away and stepping back from her excitement. You huff and fix your skirt. Crossing your hands over your chests, you glare at the girls before timidly looking off to the side. "So, I don't look silly?" The hesitation is evident.

"All joking aside, I assure you, soldier, you are beautiful. And I know for a fact Fangs won't be able to keep his eyes off of you."

You beam under Karlach's compliment, doing a few excited calf raises because you have no idea how else to handle her words. Shadowheart moves towards you and fixes a fallen strand of hair. She gives you a soft smile and moves to finish lacing your corset, patting your arm when she’s done.

"Now we should go. The others are waiting downstairs," Shadowheart motions everyone to the door, letting you take a moment to slip your shoes on. 

After months of endless travels and brutal battles, the party decided to take the evening to drink, relax, and enjoy each other's company. A night to forget the tadpoles and the Absolute. All except Lae'zel, who scoffed at the idea, were joining in on the fun.

Descending the stairs, you slammed with the melody of lively tunes played by a band of minstrels, competing with the animated conversations of patrons. The music, infused with the spirit of celebration, is so loud that it vibrates through the wooden beams of the tavern. The dance floor is alive with energetic movements as couples twirl and spin to the rhythm and the joyous laughter of those lost in the moment.

The bar is surrounded by a sea of drunk patrons clamoring for attention. Tankards slammed onto the worn surface as the bartender poured frothy ale and mead expertly. The dim light of flickering candles and oil lamps casts a warm glow on the diverse crowd. The unmistakable odors of stale ale, greasy food, and the tang of sweat intermingle in the air, creating a distinctive nostalgic and pungent aroma. You're lost in the crowd's movement, overwhelmed with the sounds. You grab onto Shadowheart's elbow like a lifeline.

"Karlach!" Wyll calls and you all snap your head to the side. The party had claimed a booth, and Gale and Wyll were standing up, waving their arms over their heads. They looked like they started early on the drinking; both men's faces were flush, and they each held an easy, dopey grin.

"Wyll!" Karlach linked her arms with yours and Shadowheart's and approached the table. You let her pull you, too busy searching for him. Astarion is slow to stand, but you know the moment he sets his eyes on you. You watch the subtle change in his body language. His hand tightened around the goblet; the exaggerated inhale of air as if someone had kicked him, watching the hunger grow in his eyes.

Now, you feel the confidence bloom in your chest. The dress no longer makes you squirm in discomfort; no, it gives you power and makes you feel desired and sexy. The flame ignites low in your abdomen. Suddenly, you were playing with fire and excited to get burned. A smug smile stretches your lips the closer you get. Pulling away from Karlach, you move and hook your arms around Astarion's neck. You pull him down and place a kiss on his cheek.

"Hi, handsome," you smile up at him, feeling his hand caress the small of your back. Cold fingers playing at the edge of the corset.

"Hello darling, you look breathtaking." He pushes you back gently, giving him space to take in your attire. "Turn for me, my love. Let me look upon the goddess before me."

You roll your eyes at his cheesiness but oblige his request, spinning slowly to allow Astarion to take in every angle. When you come full circle, Astarion captures your lips, and you fall against his chest. His lips meld against yours in a sensual kiss that was entirely inappropriate for the amount of people around, but neither of you seemed to care. Humming against his mouth, you cup his jaw and pull his face away. Astarion chases your lips and lets out a low groan when you deny him what he wants.  

You give Astarion a mischievous grin, patting his chest when you ask. "Do you mind getting me a drink?" 

He gives you a pointed look, visibly dissatisfied with his kiss. With one look and your hand running up his chest and over his shoulder, Astarion caves with a huff. "Yes, of course. Would you like your usual?"

"Yes, please." You say pecking his lips a final time before joining your friends in the booth. 

Wyll was regaling the table with a tale of his early days as the Blade of Frontiers when Astarion slides in beside you. He sets your drink down, and you whisper your thanks before taking a sip and focusing back on Wyll. Gale is quick to call out Wyll's bullshit, Shadowheart pointing out the exaggeration the warlock had blended into his story. It soon devolved into a bickering match as Wyll tried to defend himself. You chuckle between sips of wine, leaning into Astarion, setting your head gently against his shoulder. His hand had found your bare thigh, fingers kneading the supple flesh. 

Suddenly, your friends become background noise as your senses hone in on Astarion. The cheeky smirk that stretches his lips tells you he knows exactly what he's doing as Astarion inches his smooth hand further under your dress—never crossing the line but far enough to make you clench your legs together in need. You bite your lip, cheeks burning from more than the alcohol, and reach down to take his hand in yours. 

"I know what you're doing,"

"Oh, and what is that, my dear?" Astarion grins, bringing your hand to his lips and gently kissing your knuckles. He leans to your ear, "Do you not want me to touch you?" His breath cascades over your neck, and a shiver runs up your spine.

"Not when you're trying to tease me in public."

"My sweet girl, I'm not the one being a tease."

"Soldier! Stop making goo-goo eyes at Fangs, and come dance with me!" Karlach yells across the table, breaking whatever spell Astarion had you under. Pulling away, you look up to see Karlach jumping up and down, hand outstretched for you to take. 

"You know I won't say no to dancing." Astarion reluctantly moves to let you out of the booth. Karlach is quick to grab your hand and pull you towards the stage. 

The time is lost in the beat of the drums and the flow of your hips. Karlach twirls you around, and you can't stop giggling. Wyll joins in the fun, and suddenly, the crowd has formed a unified line dance. It's messy, and you don't know the steps, but you watch Wyll and poke fun at Karlach's improvised moves. You dance until your breath is ragged and your feet start hurting. Moving your body until the sea of people starts to drown you. Maybe it's the alcohol coursing through your veins or the excitement of the dancing. Still, the fun quickly turns to overstimulation that blankets you in thick sheets. In an instant, the room is too hot and too loud, and if you don't get out now, you just might scream.

You leave Karlach and move towards the door outside to the back alley. Pushing it open, you stumble over the threshold and inhale the cold night air. It instantly sobers, clearing your mind and easing your panic. You stare up at the starry sky, soaking in the bright moon. Goosebumps spread over your exposed arms and legs, and you shiver. It doesn't stop you from stepping further into the alleyway as you breathe and allow your heart to settle its pounding. You can still hear the muffled music and thumping feet. 

You hear the door open again but pay it no mind until Astarion speaks, "There you are, my sweet."

You turn on your heel and give him a soft smile. He glowed under the moonlight, an ethereal being standing before you, his face partially cast in shadow, staring at you with hunger. "I needed some air."

"I'm sure you did," Astarion smirks, stepping closer toward you. A predator stalks up to its prey. "All that dancing you were doing must have been exhausting."

"It was, but it was so fun." You reach out instinctually, wrapping your arms around his neck. Astarion smoothes his hands down your spine to the swell of your butt, moving to squeeze the soft, plump flesh. "You should join me next time." You squeak at his grip, pressing yourself closer to him.

Then his lips are on yours, and your back is digging into the rough brick of the alleyway. Astarion's tongue is in your mouth, and you're moaning, gripping his shoulders to find purchase. One of his fangs nipped your bottom lip, and your knees practically buckled under you. You would have fallen if Astarion hadn't pressed you against the wall. 

"I think I just might take you dancing tomorrow." His cold hands caress your thigh, pulling it up and over his hip, pushing up the fabric of your dress with it. "I'll buy you a pretty new dress to add to your growing collection, and I'll have you move your body for me like you've been doing all night." 

He rolls his hips into yours, and you cry into his neck, kissing his skin to muffle your noises. "Swaying those hips in this tight little thing. Gods darling, I've been hard all night, and it's entirely your fault, you naughty little minx."

"Astarion," You sigh, relishing the friction of his hard cock against your clothed core. 

"Such a cruel woman, dangling a feast over a starving man. I'll have to punish you for that." Astarion purrs, running his nose along the line of your jaw, stopping to bite at his favorite spot; his fangs puncture the surface just enough to have droplets of your blood trickle out.

His tongue lavishes over your skin, making sure not a drop escapes. The moan that rumbles through his chest is purely animalistic, and a rush of heat gushes between your legs. "But right now, my naughty girl, I'm going to fuck you here against this wall." 

You let out a whimper, hips bucking instinctually, heat coiling in your lower stomach. "Please.." 

Astarion takes no time to push your underwear aside and push two of his fingers into your folds with a lewd, wet sound. Astarion begins to pump his fingers in and out of your dripping cunt, with each stroke curling up just slightly. The rough pad of his thumb finds your swollen clit, and applying pressure, he circles the nub in time with his fingers. 

"You're already so drenched, always so ready for me." You pull his face in and sigh into his mouth, niping his lip playfully. Threading your hand through his soft curls, you give a soft tug, relishing in the grunt Astarion gives you. 

You're painfully aware of your surroundings and know that someone could step out and catch the two of you any moment. The thought gives you a jolt of excitement you'll have to think about later. There is no room to take your time, so you tug harder on Astarion's hair loss, pulling his lips from the flesh of your neck he was playing with.

"Star," You roll your hips against his hand impatiently. "I need you to fuck me already,"

"So impatient, but you are right. This is not the time to play." Astarion tsk before unceremoniously ripping your underwear off and stuffing them in his pocket. 

"I liked those."

"I'll buy you a new pair, maybe one to match your new dress." Astarion peppers kiss down your neck. Your hands move to pull his pants down, freeing his cock. It's red and looks painfully swollen. Astarion hisses through his teeth when you give the base of his cock a tight squeeze. 

"I want one that matches the new dress and the same ones you just ripped." You countered, giving him a few languid strokes using his precum as a lubricant. 

"Whatever you want, my love." He says mindlessly, taking you into another breathtaking kiss.

Astarion hands leave your cunt, and a whine leaves your lips. He kisses your pout and quickly grabs his cock. Astarion pumps himself a few more times before lining up at your entrance. When Astarion sheaths himself fully in your heat, the wind is knocked out of you. A collective groan of ecstasy escapes from both of your mouths. There is no build-up, no room to catch your breath. Astarion quickly pulls out and slams back into you—your back scraps against the bricks, and your foot slips on the cobblestone.

You yelp scrambling to hold on and not fall pathetically onto the dirty alley floor. Astarion, without skipping a beat, scoops you up fully in his arms. All you can do is wrap your legs around his hips and hold on as he pounds into your dripping cunt. 

"Gods, you're perfect," Astarion signs into your neck. He pulls at your dress, moving the corset just enough to expose one of your breasts. He bends his head and sucks your nipple into his mouth. You choke on a gasp; cupping the back of his head, you press him further against you. 

"Astarion," you moan, carding your fingers into his curls. Rolling your hips, you match his thrusts. Your lower stomach tightens, and you will not last much longer. Not with him pulling you apart in the way only he can. You tried to say as much, but you choke on a sob when Astarion's fingers find your clit. 

He grinds your hips into the brick wall and brutalizes your clit with tight circles. His voice is raspy in your ears. "I'm close, love…ngh - gods, you feel so good."

"A-astarion, please!" Tears bead down your cheeks, pleasure overwhelming your senses. Your muscles are tightening. Your legs quake, and you clench tightly around him. 

"That’s it, come for me, beautiful." And that is all you need to see stars, opening your mouth in a silent cry. Ecstasy courses through your veins, and you bite down on his collarbone to ground yourself in your pleasure. His hips stutter, pace faltering as he loses himself in your body, spilling his seed deep into you. 

Neither of you moves; the brick is now uncomfortably digging into your back, but you can't find the energy to care. Astarion peppers kiss up and down your neck. You scratch his scalp softly and catch your breath. It’s nice.

"I guess I should wear more dresses."

"My dear, you could wear a burlap sack, and I would have still taken you against this wall."

"Horny bastard." 

The two of you were too caught up in each other to notice the tavern door opening again. Nor did either of you notice two figures stepping out. At least not until Karlach's loud cackle echoed down the alleyway. You whip your head in her direction, Astarion following suit. Karlach is hunched over and on her knees, shoulders shaking with laughter. Shadowheart stands beside her, arms crossed with disgust and annoyance plastered on her face.

Astarion is quick to turn you away, shielding you with his body. He let’s you go and you scramble to cover yourself. He helps you fix your dress. Great. 

"What did I tell you? Fangs couldn't keep it in his pants long enough to find a room!" Karlach booms, slapping Shadowheart on the arm. "Hand it over," her palm extended in wait. You hide your face in Astarion's neck, face burning in embarrassment. 

Shadowheart mumbled something under her breath, digging in her pocket for her gold pouch. "Here," the gold is slapped into the tieflings palm. She turns to the two of you. "Find a different cleric to cure whatever disease you've contracted in this filthy alley." Shadowheart quickly turns back into the tavern, the door slamming behind her. 

"Well, thanks for the gold," The tiefling beams and skips after Shadowheart, leaving you and Astarion alone once more. 

You refuse to leave the space between Astarion's jaw and collarbone. Thoughts of packing your stuff and running to Candlekeep are crossing your mind. Karlach and Shadowheart are already telling Wyll and Gale about your exploits, and you don't want to handle the smug looks. 

Astarion's chest rumbles with silent laughter, and you're pulled from your escape plans. You emerge from your safe space and glare up at the man. "What's so funny?!" 

He laughs harder, and runs his thumb over your pout, cupping your jaw. You hold firm in your annoyance and turn your head. "Karlach is telling all of our friends that we just fucked in a dirty back alley, why would you be laughing?" You snap.

"You would think at this point Shadowheart would stop betting on our love life. Tsk, all the gold she's lost." You narrow your eyes at him. His playful smirk widens. "She and the other weirdos should know how shamelessly I want you. They were lucky I didn't fuck you on the table." 

Rolling your eyes, you shove him hard, forcing Astarion to stumble back. Moving past you storm towards the door; he's laughing and calling your name. Astarion, only get your middle finger before the tavern door closes behind you.

Astarion is a cheeky shit. I love him.... Let me know what ya thought, i love your feedback.

Taglist: heartfully10, ayselluna

[utterlyazriel]

let me keep you company

a/n: a wee break from the doom & gloom of wtssf! it's unedited so i want no flack for that thank u <3 enjoy <3 wc: 5.1k whoops synopsis: You're studying in Velaris and a certain Shadowsinger catches your eyes in more than one way. It takes a while to realise the shadow keeping you company means more than you expect.

For the record, you had never met a Shadowsinger before.

You'd never even seen one. Sure, you’d read about them briefly in your studies and almost every Fae in Prythian had heard about them in whispers and rumours.

Rumours that increased more so when a Shadowsinger rose to become a hand for the Highlord, his own personal spy. Then became the spymaster of the entire Night Court for the next Highlord.

But beyond gossip and unfinished chapters within the scripts of your libraries, the knowledge of Shadowsingers is far limited. They’re rare. For all you know, Shadowsinger’s are a ghost— moving as a shadow, disappearing in and out of the darkness of the world.

You had never met a Shadowsinger before—so it makes sense that you hadn't an ounce of a clue what to expect.

Staring at him now, 6 feet something of pure muscle, you're a bit embarrassed at your own surprise.

Because he's probably— no definitely— the most beautiful Fae you've ever laid eyes on. His hair is tousled and dark, his glorious tan skin that's mostly hidden beneath the black of his fighter leathers, and his amber eyes that laid on you for only one long moment. Breathtaking is the only adequate word for him.

All that beauty and he's a Shadowsinger.

And it's not like you thought he wouldn't be like, well, any other Fae. But also... you kinda did? Mother, you should've known Freya was tricking you when she said they were all just shadow-y corporeal forms.

But she's also not entirely wrong there. There are dozens of wispy shadows that hover around him in constant motion, dipping and flying around his shoulders and if you look close enough, you can see how he seems to ripple at the edges. Shadows blur the edge of his very being.

You wonder if he can disappear into them all together, if that was one of the abilities granted with them. Does he control them? He must, you think, if the title is Shadowsinger.

But looking at him now, his beautiful face turned to face the Highlord you should definitely be listening to, they flit about almost absentmindedly, as though they have a mind of their own.

One curls up by his ear and you watch it, fascinated, more and more questions springing up in your mind— what do they feel like on skin? Do they make any noise? Is that what they're doing now? Talking to—

A sharp elbow jabs into your side, making you jump.

Your head whips to the side, an instinctive scowl almost overtaking your face before you plaster it over with a smile, realising your mistake. Your mentor, Sergei, clears his throat and smiles awkwardly ahead at Rhysand. You blink and take another moment to realise you've been asked a question.

"I'm— I'm sorry, could you repeat that?" You try not to sound as mousy as you feel but the question comes out as a squeak anyway. He is the Highlord of the Night Court after all. You suddenly feel very foolish for being so easily distracted.

Thankfully, Rhysand regards you with an easy smile. He's leaned back in his chair, relaxed, and his violet eyes dance with humour as he flicks his gaze over to where you had just been staring.

"That's alright. Azriel is a piece of eye candy, I can't blame you for staring," He all but purrs, a hint of mirth pulling at his lips as he casts another glance at his Spymaster. You're taken aback by the casualness of his words.

Rhysand continues. "I was only saying that for the duration of your stay, you'll be hosted in one of my homes, the House of Wind. You aren't afraid of heights, are you?"

A smidge of fear pinches at your stomach because, honestly, you aren't overly keen on the idea. But you know better than to turn down the generosity of a Highlord.

You take another glance at the wings of his Spymaster and General and pray that it's not too high up.

"Not... much." You answer honestly.

There's a chuckle from the side of the room and your head swings around at the noise. It's not the Shadowsinger, though he looks as though he's politely trying not to smile, his chin ducked. It's the General, just as beautiful as his brother but in that more rugged way.

He flexes his wings out a bit, showing off their mighty wingspan. "We'll rid you of that fear in no time."

You try for a smile but it might be closer to a grimace.

"Fantastic." You say, not managing to put all your enthusiasm into the word like you hoped.

Another sharp jab of Sergei's elbow in your side. The Shadowsinger, Azriel, huffs a quiet laugh, his amber eyes flashing up to steal another look at you. You try your best not to fluster.

It's going to be a long two months.

—

As Sergei's apprentice, you're expected to shadow him through his allowed time within Velaris.

Which means if he goes to the library, you go to the library.

There's just one problem; the library is down in the city and your temporary home is up in the mountain. The quickest way down is with wings.

Rhysand— or just Rhys as he had told you to call him— had relayed the information that you could ask either Cassian or Azriel to escort you if you didn't wish to take the stairs.

Cassian, the General, had been the one to fly you down and back the first couple of times you had asked and you weren't in any particular hurry to relive the experience.

Cassian was nice and he was more than friendly but seemingly incapable of understanding any fear of heights. You weren't sure if that was just the only way to fly— swooping and dropping fast enough to make you shriek— but it certainly seemed to be Cassian's way.

Which leaves you with the option of either asking the Shadowsinger or taking the stairs.

You get down about two hundred steps before you start to regret your decision. But, also, how in the Cauldron were you supposed to ask him to take you? (Never mind that you had asked Cassian quite easily, albeit very nervously.)

Oh, hi Shadowsinger who I can't stop staring at for both your abilities and your handsome face—care to sweep me into your arms and carry me places?

As if, you snort to yourself.

You take the thousand stairs all the way to the bottom and trot towards the enormous library, pretending your thighs aren't aching with overuse or that you're out of breath. Thankfully, the library itself isn't too far from the House of Wind, carved into the same side of the mountain.

As expected, Sergei is less than pleased with your tardiness.

"Sorry," The word rushes out of you in a wheeze, probably too loud for the library, as you scuttle in the entrance. A few priestesses turn their heads to look at you and you cringe, raising your hands in apology. "Sorry, I'm sorry,"

You focus back on your mentor and try to catch your breath, all while you explain. "I took the stairs and it took—" You huff out a breath. "—way longer than I thought."

Sergei's face softens a bit at your explanation, his face taking on a pitiful smile. "Still not enjoying the flying?"

"You are?" You ask in response. The thought of Sergei, your old-Fae mentor, swept up in Cassian's arms as he dips and dives makes you chuckle just a bit.

Sergei shakes his head as if to change the topic of conversation, deciding you've wasted enough time already. He turns, beginning to head further into the library and you follow behind him closely, eager to brush over your early morning fumble. The cavernous structure within the mountain yawns out ahead of you and you get all of two moments to wonder just how deep down it goes, when—

"You did not ask for a ride this morning."

Azriel steps up beside you, seemingly from nowhere, his steps falling in time with yours with ease. You jump, startled, and your footsteps falter for a moment. You're relieved to say that you only make one embarrassing noise in your surprise.

"I— oh, it's— I mean, I just..." You trail off, feeling flustered. "...like to walk."

You chance a glance up at him. He's wearing that same polite expression from yesterday, as though he's trying not to laugh and you get too caught up in the swirlings of his shadows to remember to be properly embarrassed. Both of you walk in tandem behind Sergei, slowly descending into the lower levels of the library.

"If you insist," He says, his voice low. It sends something warm down your spine and you pray he doesn't notice how your body temperature is definitely climbing.

His amber eyes pin you with another look, his lips twitching into a small smile. "However, if Cassian is giving you trouble, I would be happy to provide a smoother ride."

You flounder for a moment. You don't want to get anyone in trouble.

"I— he's not giving me trouble," You stammer.

Azriel smiles a little wider as if he can tell how polite you're trying to be. He slows to a meander and you realise only after you walk past him, it's because Sergei has stopped himself, turning down one of the many aisles.

You skid yourself to a halt and turn back, praying your flaming face isn't as obvious as it feels. You're not entirely sure if Azriel is accompanying you today but you're sure that Sergei would've mentioned it if he was.

You dip your head in a strange, awkward bow motion. Then point to the aisle Sergei disappeared into.

"I'll be... going this way."

Azriel's smile grows, like you've told a joke, and he ducks his head. He peers up at you through his dark lashes and you wonder if anyone's ever told him how damn beautiful he is. Probably. You're probably the last in a long line of people. Mother, his eyes though.

"If you don't wish to make the hike the other way," He murmurs.

He extends one of his hands and you watch the dozen shadows swarm around it, one of them separating from the pack to dive to the ground. It shoots forward and spins around your ankle, almost happily. "Just let the shadow know. I would be happy to assist."

When you look back up, he’s already gone without a sound. You try not to look so surprised— you’ve seen someone winnow before but you’re almost certain that the way Azriel moved about silently was something else altogether.

“Y/n!” Sergei’s voice echoes down the shelves, reminding you that you’re still late. You throw a quick glance around to check but it's fruitless; you can’t see the Shadowsinger anywhere.

You turn and bustle down the aisle quickly, not wanting to keep Sergei any longer. It takes only a second to notice the sole, black shadow that dances along behind you.

Guess you have company.

—

Okay, so, the shadows are definitely their own little guys.

Mainly because you can’t imagine how Azriel would be controlling them when he’s nowhere in sight.

And this one shadow is being awfully helpful.

The first time you drop your quill, knocking it to the ground as you lean over one of the many intricately carved desks, trying to reach another book, you don’t even notice it fall to the ground.

In fact, you have no idea how many times it’s picked up your fallen quill that you’ve undoubtedly knocked over countless times— only that it had given you the fright of your life to have it hover before your face, gripped only by the wispy shadow Azriel left with you.

“Holy shit!” You gasp, your loud voice echoing in the quietness of the library.

Sergei's head whips up, his eyes narrowing at the intruding sound with evident disapproval. You quickly snatch the quill out of mid-air and sink down in your seat. Gods, the echoes in here were doing you no favours.

“Sorry,” You whisper. Your eyes dart down to the shadow that retreated to your side, flickering around your ankle more wildly. “Er, thanks.”

It feels a bit silly to give thanks to something you’re not sure can hear you. But you figure if it can pick up your quill, you're better off using your manners.

Sergei gives you a somewhat bewildered look and you try to appease him with an awkward smile. It works enough for him to continue his work but not without one more lingering glance of worry in your direction. Great. You're talking to shadows and your old-man mentor thinks you're a bit nuts.

The shadow continues its helpful endeavours, following you when you head down different aisles at Sergei's request. It dances across the shelves, dissolving occasionally just to puff back up somewhere else, pulling your attention this way and that. It's playful. Friendly.

You deduce by the end of the day that you know even less about Shadowsinger's than you had thought. The abilities and personality of just one shadow are uncanny; like a silent friend keeping you company. You imagine that Azriel rarely gets lonely with as many as he has. Maybe you'll ask him.

When Sergei and you wind back up the staircases and he dismisses you for the evening, heading into the city for his own further business, you stand at the mouth of the library and ponder if you'll be brave enough to summon the Shadowsinger.

The shadow is still with you, circling your wrist absently. You peer down at it and think of all those stairs. Somewhat nervously, you raise your hand and try to be as casual as possible about talking to a shadow on your hand.

"Hi." You start, trying not to feel foolish. "Um, well, I guess I'm done for the day. Could— could you, if he's not busy that is, uh, let Azriel know? I don't mind waiting if he is."

The shadow zips off barely before you can finish your sentence and your head swings to watch it go, disappearing somewhere to your left.

You can't help but be a little amazed at its speed—it must be an incredible networking system to have a thousand little spies running around for you. No wonder almost all Shadowsingers tend to end up in the same line of work, you think to yourself, still peering in the direction of the shadow when—

"Y/n."

Even though he's said your name soft and quiet, Azriel still manages to take you by surprise. You jump and turn, all in one motion.

"Mother!" Your hand holds over your chest, relief curling in at the sides as your fright ebbs away. "That was fast."

"You called," Azriel responds, as if it's the easiest thing in the world. He gives you an almost shy smile.

It makes you fluster a bit and you gesture to the exit awkwardly and wordlessly, if only so you don't have to come up with a response to his intense and endearing answer.

Together, you wander out from the library and creep towards the edge of Velaris. It's a beautiful city and more than deserving of its title, especially when viewed from the House of Wind. You turn and cast your eyes up the mountainside, your familiar nervous fear pitching up from your stomach.

Then you look at the warrior beside you, tall enough that he's got what feels like more than a head's height on you, with his wings reaching above even his own head. His jaw is sharp and his eyes are already on you as your gaze trails up his face. Fuck. He's really pretty.

Now you're nervous for an entirely different reason.

"We can still take the stairs if you wish," He says, his hand sweeping back to the path you had followed along this morning. His shadows move with his hands, a black vortex that whirls around and around. "I'd be more than happy to keep you company."

Mother, he's not helping you in the slightest, being so perfectly nice to you. You regard the stairs and think back to how many hours it took before your thighs stopped aching—and that was on the way down.

"No, we can- we can try flying again." You say, nodding to yourself as if it'll help quell your fear. It takes another moment to realise that means you'll be bundled up in his strong arms, held against his broad chest and you feel a little shiver run through your body at the thought.

Azriel notices it too, his eyebrows knitting together in concern. "You're sure?" He checks.

You nod, not meeting his eyes, trying to keep your nerve. Flying is already something you're not keen on. Flying whilst being swept up in the arms of a Shadowsinger who you think is the most beautiful Fae you've ever seen? You send a silent prayer to the Mother that you don't do something embarrassing, like puking down his front.

"Let me know if you're uncomfortable at any time," He says softly and then he bends his knees slightly, one of his scarred hands resting on your lower back as the other scoops beneath your knees. He lifts you as though you weigh nothing.

It's impossible not to flush as you get nestled against his firm chest, your hands panicking for a moment as you try to think of a normal place to put them. Around his neck? On his chest? Either of them feels far too intimate for a man you've known only a week.

"You don't have to but I would suggest holding on," Azriel comments with a smile, his chest vibrating with the words. You nod, agreeing with him, but don't make a move to do so, only holding your hands out in front of you to indicate you're not sure where to put them.

The shadows adorning his shoulders move on their own, their friendly presence easing your nerves as they slither down to circle around your wrists. There's a gentle tug and you let them move your hands til they're wrapped around Azriel's neck, moving you much closer in the process.

Gods, your faces are close together. Another couple of inches and you could probably press your lips to his perfect ones—a thought that makes you fluster all over again. Was he getting prettier every time you saw him? For not the first time, you thank the Mother that it was Rhys with the daemaeti gift and not Azriel.

"Ready?" He checks, which is sweet. Cassian had just shot up into the sky the first time, without any warning.

You grip your arms around his neck a little tighter and then nod. "Ready," You say, quieter than intended.

You catch just a moment of Azriel's demure smile, your heart swooping at the sight, before you're both launched into the sky with one flap of his wings.

The noise that escapes you is one you're less than proud of, a squawky sound noise of panic that you bury into Azriel's neck. You expect him to laugh like Cassian had, not meanly but playfully, but instead Azriel's arms just tighten around you. As if he was assuring you that he would not let you fall.

By the time you're up at the House of Wind, Azriel making a far more graceful descent than his brother, you're less freaked out and more ready to point some accusatory fingers in the face of the Night Court's General.

That bastard had been fucking with you! The flight with Azriel proved as much, considering how much calmer and smoother it had been. You couldn't help but say as much as you were placed down from Azriel's hold, glad to be back on solid ground.

"I have some words for Cassian, Mother above," You ramble, straightening out your rumpled clothes from the flight. "Did he think I was kidding when I said I was afraid?"

Azriel smiles at your fieriness, his shadows calmer than they were in flight, moving about lazily. His eyes take a fleeting glance at the house behind you before focusing intently back on you.

"Cassian can have a strange sense of humour at times. He means well." He says. Then he grins. "I should like to see you tell him off— not enough people do."

You hmph. "Maybe I will."

You suddenly realise the closeness between you and Azriel, close enough to feel the warmth of his body. His scent of cedar and mist swirls around you, tantalizing and alluring in a way you've never known before. You take a step back to contain yourself.

"I—uh, well, thank you very much." You say, as sweet as you can. "For the ride."

Your eyes catch on one of his dozen shadows and you smile, observing them for a moment. "And the shadow. It was excellent company."

Azriel brightens, an expression of surprise crossing his face before he schools it away. He smiles, brazen and breathtaking. When he speaks, he sounds a little disbelieving. "You like them?"

You nod quickly, noticing how one of his shadows has snuck off again and circulates your ankle speedily. You laugh at the ticklish feeling of it against your skin.

"They're incredible." You breathe, meaning every word. "I imagine you must've ge—"

"Apologies, y/n." A smooth voice cuts in, Rhys stepping up somewhere behind you and stealing both of your attention. He dressed in more casual clothes than you last saw, but not quite Azriel's fighting leathers. "Azriel here is needed for some brief business. Do you mind if I borrow him?"

The way he poses the question, as if Azriel is yours, does something wonky to your heart. You flounder for a moment, stepping back and waving your hand in the direction of the Shadowsinger.

"Of- of course, by all means." You trip over the words and hope you don't sound too eager to escape his company. That couldn't be more untrue.

You turn back to Azriel and fix him with a smile, hoping it's not as nervous as you feel. "I'll... see you around?"

Azriel steals a glance to the side where Rhys awaits before he nods with another reserved smile. Hold on, is that pink on his cheeks?

"Let me know if you need any more help getting to and from the library. I'd be happy to assist."

And then with a quick nod to you, he walks off to join Rhys, his wings tucked in tight, careful to not nudge you. You watch them go, unable to stop yourself from letting your eyes wander down. Damn, all that training did wonders. What was that saying? Hate to watch 'em go, love to watch them leave.

Ahead, Rhys abruptly laughs and peers back over his shoulder, letting you exactly how well you had shielded those thoughts. You flush and scurry into the house as if it'll save you from the embarrassment of what's just happened. You only hope he won't pass the message on to Azriel.

—

It continues like that for the rest of the week.

Azriel carries you down the height of the mountain and leaves you with a promise that if you need anything, you can tell the shadow and he'll come to find you.

The shadow keeps its usual playful company. Beyond retrieving your dropped quills, it helpfully turns the pages of books for you. When you're focused on what you're writing, it nudges back any loose strands of hair. Once it even brings you a flower from Mother knows where. One single Lily of the Valley, left resting on your desk.

It makes you wonder; are all Shadowsinger's shadows like this? You can't help but imagine these niceties are shaped by Azriel's own soft nature.

Today, whilst you study in the vast caverns of the library, you get an unexpected visitor.

As you take your time scanning through the books in one of the vast aisles, you realise the Fae coming down from the other end of the aisle is none other than the Highlady herself.

"Feyre!" You greet warmly. The two of you had met before when she had taken duties in your home court and if it weren't too bold, you'd say you consider yourself good friends. Feyre smiles, glowing like moonlight, as she realises who it is.

"Y/n," She says your name sweetly and her hug is just as such. She pulls away, ready to inquire about your studies when she spots the trailing shadow behind you.

"Making friends, I see," She comments. Her eyebrows raise almost teasingly as if she's made a certain insinuation. You take a moment to notice what she's referencing.

"It's nice," You say, a defensive lilt to your tone. You hold out your hand and the shadow jumps at the opportunity to skitter around it playfully. "It's like a little friend."

Feyre smiles at your words but chuckles a little. "Except Azriel is anything but little."

You pause at her words, glancing down at the shadow and back up at Feyre. "What do you mean? I thought— they're not- I mean, aren't they...?”

You trail off, unsure of how to word the question you're trying to ask. Feyre smiles, her gray eyes glittering with mirth as she realises what you're figuring out.

"They're all his. Azriel's. He controls them." She tilts her head a bit, watching the shadow that drifts about your hand and wrist. "True, they roam a bit on their own but... Not like this."

"Oh," You murmur, thinking back to that first day in the library.

The playful shadow that lead you back and forth, picking up your quill and turning your pages. It was him, all along.

Something immeasurably warm starts to glow in your chest, a thread that loops through your heart and sends the valves into overdrive. Its warmth grows, something molten hot beginning to bleed in your chest— and it feels wonderful. It feels right.

"Oh," You gasp as you figure it out.

Feyre grins, watching you piece together what the rest of the inner circle has clued together from the very first day. She stands to the side and gestures to the entrance of the library with a tilt of her head.

"Go on then," She urges you.

For a moment, you think back to Sergei who sent you hunting for a certain manuscript Cauldron knows how long ago but the thought is washed away in an instant. You can feel it now, the strong tug in your chest. The connection that binds you to another.

You stride past Feyre, giving a quick thanks! and all but run up the spiral staircases, heading for the entrance. The shadow pings along with you and as you near the top, you look down at it and say through huffed breaths, "You better go get him."

He's waiting by the time you get there.

Against the setting sun, for a moment there's only the silhouette of him— a warrior with tall wings, the edges of him rippling like a mirage. He might just be one; an oasis in your life, the answer that you've been searching for for centuries. You can't believe you didn't notice.

Your footsteps echo on the marble as you march right up to him and Azriel watches you closely the whole time, his amber eyes soft but his expression hinting at his nervousness. Gods, he's wonderful. You can't believe he gets to be yours and you get to be his.

"How long have you known?" You ask because it's the first thing on your mind. You're nearly panting from the exhilaration of your sudden exercise, from the dawning future that's blooming right in front of you. He's your mate. Gods, how could you have missed it?

Azriel smiles, that same tentative one that's been driving you crazy all week. His wings give a little shake behind him, a giveaway of his nerves.

"I... suspected from the beginning." He chooses his words carefully, wary of how you might respond.

You can't help your little gasp, feeling even more of a fool. You curse, ducking your head before you glare back up at him, no real heat in your gaze. You have the urge to give him a little shove, just for keeping you in the dark.

"And you didn't think to tell me?"

One of his shadows spins up unexpectedly, dancing across your shoulders and tickling your cheeks gently. You startle in surprise but something sweeter curls up in your chest at the tenderness of its touch.

"Believe me," Azriel says with a quiet chuckle, his amber eyes darting over your face intensely. "I've been trying."

You melt. Eyes locked with his, you move slowly, letting your arms drift up to drape around his neck like they've done every morning and evening since he began flying you around. You realise acutely that Cassian's behaviour, his shoddy flying, had likely been on purpose. You laugh a little, eyes creasing shut in pure euphoria.

Azriel's hands find your waist and you can feel the slight tremble in them.

"In my defense," You murmur, pushing up on your toes. You're close, so close, your lips hovering just an inch from a kiss—his shadows go wild around you both. It makes you grin. "I had never met a Shadowsinger before."

"Yeah?" Azriel breathes shakily. "Disappointed?"

He says it like a joke but you can hear the note of sincerity in his tone. His hidden worry that he isn't all you dreamed of. It's nearly laughable how wrong he is.

This close you can see his long lashes and every shade of brown in his eyes. You wonder if you'll ever get used to how beautiful he is. Part of you hopes you never do.

"Not in the slightest," You say, nearly a whisper.

Then his lips are on yours, pillowy soft skin against yours, and it feels like coming home. He kisses you, kisses you, kisses you til you're breathless and the glow in your chest could rival the sun in its warmth.

He kisses you and every atom in your body hums and fizzes and comes to life — and all you can do is hold him tight and kiss him back, just as fiercely.

Breaking the kiss to catch your breath, you pant and grin brazenly at Azriel, at your mate, happier than you've ever been. Faintly, you realise that you won't be heading home when the two months of your study are up after all.

Not when you have a man who looks at you so reverently, who kisses you like there's oxygen hidden in the plush of your lips, who holds you like there's nothing more precious in the world.

Not when you know that home is right here, in front of you.

[nichuuu]

Dinner & Diatribes: Analogous

Shin Yuna x Im Nayeon x M reader

Word count: 14k+

“A younger girl… And I’m talking much younger. Eight years younger than me I think.”

Normally, it feels like you’re worlds apart from Nayeon in her bed. You’re just her toy, her plaything, her doll.

Tonight though: it feels like she’s in the same world as you. She feels here — emotionally and physically present as her nails trace circles on your bare chest. Maybe it’s a trick of the light, or maybe even classic manipulation, but she feels like more than just someone who you fuck on the weekends.

“And you won’t be jealous?” you ask, indulging yourself and playing with her hair a little. She scoffs.

“You talk like we’re dating.” She shifts so that she has a cheek on your shoulder. A relationship with her wouldn’t really fly: she’s not gonna let you take care of her when she loves control more than anything. Still, it’s nice to dream about holding her hand sometimes. “I have no reason to be jealous, so why would I be?”

(It’s a question you’re asking yourself too honestly.)

“Dunno,” you muse, admittedly a little disheartened, “maybe it’s cause you’re kinda freaky… Just a thought.”

She smirks. “Trust me. A younger girl in this thing we’ve got going on isn’t gonna affect anything.” She starts tapping her nails against your chest. “Besides… You know you’re mine.”

Oh…

(Not sure how to feel about that last part.)

***

Last you checked: you weren’t expecting a guest today. 

“Uh,” you can’t help but mutter past her lips as you stagger back into your own apartment. She lifts her lips off yours out of consideration, and she takes a few moments to soak in the look of mixed emotions that has made its way onto your face. You don’t mean to be rude when you point at the other girl and ask, “do you wanna perhaps wanna, you know, fill me in on what’s going on here?”

Im Nayeon turns, looks over her shoulder, smiles. She turns back, cups your cheek with her hand. 

“Thought I’d bring some company tonight, just to spice things up.” Nayeon tells you, turning your head in a way that lets you get a good look at the younger girl standing at the door to your apartment. “Hope you don’t mind.” With her other hand, she makes a come hither motion, and tells the girl to close the door on her way in. The girl does as she’s told, and when she’s next to the both of you, Nayeon takes her by the hand and pulls her closer. 

“Introduce yourself sweetie,” Nayeon instructs—firm yet almost saccharine. Nayeon lets her thumb rub over the girl’s knuckles, a deceivingly sweet smile playing on her lips. “Tell him what we’ve rehearsed. Go on.”

She’s an eye-catcher for sure—the other girl, not Nayeon. Not that Nayeon isn’t already turning heads when she walks just about anywhere, but more that the other girl is just a rather far cry from what you're comfortable with. You’re so used to Nayeon’s gentle, piercing eyes that can probably break you with a look from her; those small, plump lips of hers that kiss you with precision and passion; those bunny cheeks that you love pinching so damn much that it probably should be considered an addiction. But this girl brings something new to the table, and you have to admit that it’s refreshing. 

Smoky, kinda innocent eyes that have a whole foot in the territory of doleful and another foot in the realm of entrancing; luscious long black hair; a face that could make just about anyone melt. Nayeon’s guest is certainly a few years younger than her, and certainly less lecherous than her senior at first glance. You don’t really know where or how Nayeon could pick up a girl that looks as sweet as this, and you certainly want to find out how a girl that looks like the textbook definition of ‘smoking hot’ could ever end up in a place like this. She’s clearly nervous, but you give her credit for being able to stand perfectly still with Nayeon’s hand starting to roam up her arm. 

“I’m Yuna… But you can call me whatever you want.”

The sentence has Nayeon’s fingerprints all over it, and you can assume with full certainty that she’s had this idea stewing in her head for at least a week or two. The smug grin on Nayeon’s face tells you that things are going according to plan, and her fingers latch themselves around Yuna’s forearm. 

“She’s a fun one to play with.” Now she’s directed her attention to you, looking right at you as she pulls the younger woman even close to the both of you: till you can literally feel Yuna’s breath in your ear. “A young little slut to spice things up.”

Nayeon takes her attention away from you, and with gentle hands on Yuna’s cheeks, she pulls the younger girl in for a kiss. It’s simple—no tongue or anything—but it’s enough to make the younger girl squirm a little where she stands. Nayeon’s clearly taking pleasure in this. Even with her lips locked with a girl younger than her, you can clearly see the whisper of a cheeky smile playing on the corners of her lips. You wonder if she’s gonna get more joy out of this than you at the end of the day.

The younger girl is released from the fierce lip-lock. She looks dazed, like she just took a hit of a blunt. Nayeon admires her craftsmanship for a moment, taking in the look on the poor girl’s face as she chuckles softly to herself, “oh my… Someone wasn’t quite ready, was she?”

Yuna’s at a clear loss for words. She tries to speak; her words fail her. You can’t exactly blame her though. Nayeon just kinda chooses when and where to be a bit of a minx, and you just have to roll with it. It’s fun, kinda hot; but not when you’re in a horrible place to get it and she decides that she just wants to blow you at some restaurant that you’re at. It’s a bit of a handful really, and you don’t quite know what to do with her sometimes. Wonder how Yuna fares?

“It’s okay,” Nayeon assures her, “you’re in good company now, though you're free to just watch if you’re still shy.”

The younger girl looks at her senior, then at you, then back to her senior. “I think I’d like to join in on this.”

Nayeon beams, her smile almost sweet if it isn’t for the fact that she’s quite literally happy to see a younger girl get it on with you and her. “That’s the spirit.”

And it’s confusing really: figuring out which of them is gonna make the first move. Yuna’s energy gives her an air of uncertainty, but you can sense some mischief within her that resonates at the same frequency of Nayeon’s. Yet there’s something a little different about her that you can’t quite place your finger on. Her youth is a breath of fresh air; there’s that young energy in her smile towards Nayeon that tells you that she’s eager but somewhat cautious. You would call her a mirror of Nayeon as they start discussing how she wants it, but you pick up on a bit of pickiness in her voice  that strays from Nayeon’s attitude. The older girl before you will take it however she likes, fuck herself on your cock till she cums and kinda leave you high and dry. Yuna on the other hand has some grungy ideas of where she wants you to cum and how she wants it to happen.

Okay, let’s return to home base and consolidate: they're similar but different; kinda conflicting yet go together like dinner and diatribes on a family reunion. There’s reason to believe that they are somewhat two sides of the same coin, yet simple observation contradicts the notion. Bottom line – it’s confusing.

“You know what?” Nayeon has a finger twirled in Yuna’s hair as she casts a glance at you. “How about we get you naked first… Then we figure out what we can do?”

Yuna seems to enjoy the proposal. The two women look at you, and Nayeon gestures with her head to come closer. As your feet land on the wood floor, Nayeon goes at a slower pace of walking as she rounds Yuna and stands behind her. She’s shorter than her by a considerable amount, but it doesn’t make her any less imposing as she pokes her head out from Yuna’s right side.

“Go on. Unwrap her,” Nayeon whispers, running a hand up Yuna’s stomach. “Let’s see what she has in store for us…”

And Yuna is more than glad to lift her arms up for you as you pull her sweater off her body. The girl has an amazing body – you’d give her that. Slim waist, wide hips, hourglass figures so defined that the sands of time would be jealous. A body to die for really, and the appeal only increases as she reaches behind her back and unclips her bra. Nayeon smiles as she tosses her article of clothing aside. 

“Tight and forthcoming?” The older woman muses. “Looks like we have quite the toy on our hands.”

Yuna’s gaze is almost searing as you step up to her. Her breathing is kinda unsteady, but you can’t exactly blame her. She’s half naked in front of two older people, with one of them running her hands along her smooth skin while the other cock their head and examine her from head to toe. If you were in her shoes, your blood would be racing and boiling fast. 

“Do what you want with me,” she whispers. She reaches forward and grasps your crotch through your pants. “I’m yours to take.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Did Nayeon teach you that?”

“Nope.” Speak of the devil and she doth answer on the younger woman’s behalf. “I only told her how to introduce herself, didn’t tell her what to say after,” Nayeon explains, a glint in her eye as she stares up at Yuna’s face. “Is it kinda fucked up if I wanna see her suck your dick?”

Yuna glances at her senior, then returns her gaze to you. “A little… But we can make it happen.”

Another point of difference – 2 actually: she doesn’t play around with her words and she’s pretty proactive. You like that. 

It’s a mess as you fumble with clothes, but it doesn’t take long for you guys to rid Yuna of the rest of her clothing and have her on her knees in the living room carpet. Her hands are delicate as she pulls down on the waistband of your boxers and frees your cock, and their even more so when she grips your throbbing shaft with both hands. On the chair that Nayeon pushed you onto, you watch her eyes as they survey what she’s working with.

“Wow…” she mutters, looking over to the right where Nayeon’s lounging on the sofa. “You had this all to yourself?”

Nayeon’s lips slant at an angle. “I know right? Better than any dildo you can find on the market.”

Yuna takes a moment to really look at the cock in her hands, eyes full of lustful wonder as she takes it in from all angles. She lets her mouth hang open for a little as she processes what she’s seeing, then she asks, “how does she even walk the next morning? I mean… This thing is girthy as fuck. Would probably split me open if I’m not careful.”

“It won’t,” Nayeon answers rather spontaneously, tapping her finger against a cushion as she watches Yuna pump your shaft with her lanky fingers. “It’ll fill you just right,” she leans against the handrest of the couch, watching intently as you push away some hair from Yuna’s face, “though I think it’ll look the best in your mouth.”

Yuna gets the gist. Her cheek presses itself against the inside of your thigh as she lifts your shaft and kisses it at the base, and she works her way up to the tip while one hand keeps your twitching cock steady. She gets to your head, and her lips take the sensitive part of you about halfway in, making sure you're looking (and you mean, like, really looking) as she lets her tongue lick the precum off from your leaking tip. Once she’s certain that she has your fullest attention, her jaw slacks and her shoulders rise; she takes a breath, closes her eyes.

There’s the hiss of an inhale — from you — as your head tilts back against the backrest while your cock enters the warm wet tavern of her mouth. She’s almost methodical in the way she takes you in, stopping halfway to adjust the angle of her head so that she can push forwards and down and drive the rest of your meat into your mouth. Her hands steady her, resting against your thighs as she tears a little. She’s a little more patient than her senior, waiting for a bit before she starts moving at a steady pace. Spit’s starting to drip down to her chin – will probably ruin the carpet if you cared enough (and you don’t). Nayeon’s been meaning to change this damn thing anyway. It’s seen too many juices and some dog piss in it from when her pomeranian was over those few times.

“Jesus,” is all you can hiss, through closed teeth of course. The young girl is nothing short of heavenly; she’s almost perfect at taking your dick as she starts to bob her head. The gurgling is kinda loud; spit flows like a stream down your shaft, only to be collected by that fastidious mouth as it traces a path – up and down and up and down. You wonder if there’s some make-up to be ruined.

“Won’t you look at that?” And you don’t even need to look over at the couch to know that Nayeon’s playing with herself. The squelching tells you lots, but the way her speech is kinda breathy tells you more than you need to know. She’s probably really turned by the sight of a younger woman taking cock into her mouth, riled up at the sight of tears flowing down her youthful cheeks. It’s borderline voyeuristic, pretty fucking freaky but also kinda hot. That’s her whole brand anyway. “She’s fucking taking your dick. My god…”

Yuna gurgles on your dick – probably some reply she’s trying to give but fails to because she has dick in her mouth. The suckle of her lips; the slide of her tongue against the base of your shaft; her throat kinda convulsing as she struggles and struggles – you don’t know if it’s all gonna be a bit too much, but now you’re really focusing on not trying to hurt her while your hands grab a handful of her hair in a fist. You’re assisting—or maybe forcing… Low-key goes both ways when there’s a very, very fine line between the two in this context—her, pulling her into your crotch and pushing her off just to pull her in again. It’s a vicious cycle – kinda doubling on the meaning while also butchering it: harsh and repetitive but there’s not a fucking instance where this produces a detrimental result.   

She comes up for air, your shaft pretty much dripping with spit as she takes a moment to gather herself. The gasping is hot, and so is the way she wipes her spit towards her mouth with the back of her hand. “God this is… Fuck...” she mutters, licking her lips while her fist is in constant fluid motion. Bruce Lee would be proud: she is like water.

“Keep it up darling,” the motions of Nayeon’s wrist have gotten quite sharp, sudden and lacking interval. Okay, maybe not sudden, but more… Desperate. It’s not like she isn’t gonna get her fair share of cock or anything, but she hasn’t been over for a while. There’s only so much that a vibrator and her fingers can do; she kinda needs to see it and revel in it for her to actually get off properly. You don’t know if watching a young girl take dick into her mouth is softening the blow dealt to her senses, but you kinda know that it’s still doing a number on her because she’s completely hiked up the hem of her dress to fuck herself with her fingers. There’s not much thought behind her actions, but she’s definitely letting herself go a little wild for the night. She is being indulged after all. 

“Am I doing good?” Yuna inquires, and it’s a question directed to both of you really. You give her a nod; Nayeon’s answer is verbal: Keep that up and you’re gonna make two people cum in the next five minutes. The young girl is pleased. She lets her tongue swirl around your tip, lick the cock before her from base to tip and sneak in some scissoring flicks of her tongue. Your hand finds itself on her cheek, thumb massaging the bone just above the flesh as she giggles and tosses her hair.

“You’re a doll,” you tell her. She smiles.

“That’s one of the many names I’ve been called,” she replies, letting your spit-covered head rub against her cheek. “Though I like the name cumslut the most.”

Oh.

Your grip on her cheek becomes more firm. “Okay then,” and your pushing her to the left so that her lips are in line with your head. “Open wide you fucking cumslut.”

The enthrallment in her eyes is apparent. Obedient, subservient, forthcoming, whatever; she parts her lips and lets her tongue hang out. Her eyelids flutter shut. You pull her forward. Nayeon cusses.

You're unbelievably hard in her mouth, and your member is ever so sensitive to every movement inside those cheeks of hers. The softness of her tongue, slickness of her drool, warmth of her cheeks… Too much to focus on with so little space for appreciation. You settle on fixating on the suction, the sweet vacuum her lips form around your length as she quite literally lets her mouth get used. Two hands around her head – pulling, pushing, pulling, pushing. A hot rhythm, not quite a dance but kinda cyclical like a routine. More perverse than any street jazz choreo you’ve seen though.

“Yuna,” you mutter, “ you’re so – fuck I – ugh… Your mouth.”

Somewhere in her throat, there’s space for a hum. Her hands are behind her back, locked in place by her own accord as she lets you fuck her mouth with no qualms. It’s smooth, almost natural till she gags a little on your dick and has to blink a bit. Slip n’ slide; front and back – she just takes your cock like an obedient little slut. It’s amazing, kinda dark, but still amazing nonetheless. The gurgling and the sound that comes from her throat that’s almost like swallowing; your fingers grasping the silky strands of her hair; eyes meeting hers. Fuck. 

You're desperate for a taste of heaven. You pull her down harder, faster. 

She gags, chokes, sucks a little harder. 

“Fuck this,” Nayeon hisses. “I’m joining in.”

And she straddles you before you can even blink, kissing you fiercely like she’s gonna die the next day and this is the last time she’s seeing you. Somewhere along the way, she’d shed her clothes. Now she’s nude and kissing you, jabbing her tongue into your mouth and exploring the feel of your teeth. Your cheeks are hers to hold, your mouth hers to own. 

She breaks the torrid kiss, “Yuna,” she drawls, playing with your hair as she speaks to the girl while looking at you. “Don’t ruin him too much. Leave some fun for me.”

The vibrations sent down your shaft make you tingle from head to toe – a product of Yuna’s attempted reply. You can’t see her anymore, but you can continue to just flow with the movements of pulling and pushing against her hair as Nayeon dives between her legs to get back to work. The older woman lets a sigh escape from her lips, pushing her fingers a little deeper. You can feel the heat against your crotch. Her hands move a little faster.

“Do you have any idea,” she whispers, her voice kind of striking that middle frequency between the gurgling and the squelching. “How fucking pent up I was in that damn dorm?”

Through your teeth, you reply. “No,” and you kinda twitch a little in Yuna’s mouth. “Do tell.”

She leans in, moans into your ear for good measure. “I was dripping every other day,” she reports, a lilt in her voice as she continues her work between her thighs. “Didn’t help that Momo was bringing a guy over and I could hear them fucking through the walls… My vibrator almost died that week.”

“Well…” you shudder as you speak, a familiar tingle building up from the base of your shaft. "You’ll have to wait your fucking turn.”

She smiles, quite sadistically you might add.

“That’s alright,” she tells you. Her forehead pressed against yours. “Just leave a load for me.”

And you have to hit her with an honest reply. “I’ll always have a load for you.”

“That’s what I thought.” She straightens her back and looks down at you. “I own this dick,” she announces to her audience of two. “Now cum in her mouth. I’m gonna get her to fucking swallow your load.” The orders are barked, not said. “I wanna watch.”

And she turns her toned back to you, leaving you with the view of the delicious curve of her back as she arches it while slicking her fingers with her own juices. You’re trying to hold on, desperately, but there’s only so much you can do when the mouth around you and the two women before you are this hot.

You don’t get to see it when it happens, but you can hear it and kinda imagine it when you cum right into Yuna’s mouth. You bet it’s kinda messy, but you’ll never know. Nayeon’s ass blocks the view – a trade off: view for a view. You hear the older woman hiss her commands—“Swallow. Fucking swallow you filthy little whore”—envison the sight of the young woman struggling to down your load as it pumps ito her wet hot mouth. A groan spills from your lips; a long-drawn sigh filters from Nayeon’s chest; Yuna gulps as she takes it all.

Your dick pops out of her mouth, all messy and slick with juices. Nayeon grabs it, pumps it, and without warning – shoves it into her cunt. 

And all at once it becomes too much: your over stimulated member twitches wildly in the grasps of her slick, hot walls as it begs for a break. The pleasure is horribly abundant, so much that it almost hurts. There’s no time to process the tight heat around you, voice your need for a break. Nayeon starts bouncing on her knees.

“Oh fuck yes.” Her hands shoot behind her, the left one failing to catch the handrest the first timebut gripping it tightly on the second attempt. Her knuckles go white. “I needed this. I needed to be filled by this fucking cock of yours.”

It’s too much; another load surges forth almost instantly. The hot semen paints her walls, shoots up from your already over-sensitive head and flows down her cunt. It leaks out; the squelching gets louder. Yuna’s tongue laps up the mix of juices that flow. Nayeon continues to ride.

Your fingers dig into the flesh of her waist, desperate to assist you in grounding yourself in this seemingly unreal reality. There’s a lack of words that can really describe your predicament, and if you’re to actually bring it across in a coherent sentence, it’ll probably something along the lines of “fuck” repeated at least a million times. You’re stuck in the chain of entry and exits of her pussy, a bundle of nerves beneath Im Nayeon while she mercilessly fucks herself on your cock. Right now: your dick is nothing but a mere toy for her to get off on, and she made that very clear from the moment she started throwing herself down onto your dick.

“Nayeon…” you heave. It’s an effort to even breathe.

“Shut it,” she hisses, not even casting a glance behind her. “I’m cumming on this cock one way or another and I don’t care how many fucking loads you give me.”

Yuna crawls around to the side of the chair. You hazard a glance at the young girl. She’s messy, sweaty and has residues of cum and drool at some areas around her mouth. She reaches out into the chair and takes you by the hand, squeezing it tightly in hers as if she knows that you’re fucking fading by the second. Every slam of Nayeon’s crotch against you is a mix of pleasure and pain, her moans almost like animalistic grunts.

“Fuck… You’re really filling her,” Yuna muses, watching the older girl take her liberties with your dick. “She must be so fucking tight right now.”

You swallow. “Yeah… It’s… Fuck…”

Yuna chuckles. Watching you struggle must kinda humour a little. She gives your hand a squeeze, encouraging you to hold on to what grasp of this world you have left. Her eyes sparkle, almost envious as she sees her senior bouncing on the dick she was taking into her mouth just a few moments ago. Her other hands snakes between her legs, flits circles of respite. Two girls getting off before you, similar but different.

Go ahead. Call this shit Tuesday.

***

“Be nice to her when I’m gone.”

You aren’t sure why Nayeon would need such a huge suitcase for a 10 day trip with her family. There’s no doubt in your mind that there’s probably tonnes of products in there that she wants to bring along for the fuck of it, but the damned thing looks like it was harbouring a small child. Not that Nayeon would ever do that, but it does help to paint a clearer picture of the sheer scale of her luggage. The airport X-ray is about to have a field day with this.

“Of course.” You’re kinda obvious about your ogling from the doorway as Nayeon does her hair with nothing but her leggings on. Yuna is still fast asleep in the room that you’d prepared for her, but you still kept your volume down just to play it safe. 

Nayeon smirks at you through the mirror. “I’m sure she’ll feel right at home with you.”

“Is that sarcasm I’m hearing?”

“Take it however you like. My eyes are up here by the way.”

You chuckle and walk up behind her. “Guilty as charged mademoiselle,” you apologise, though you're not all that ashamed of th fact that she’s caught you in th act of fucking her with your eyes.

Nayeon hits you with a scoff, a rather aloof one that screams ‘got you. Thought you were slick huh?’ even though it was within your fullest intentions for her to catch you looking. She had to be fair to you in this situation — kinda hard to look at anything else. Or maybe you’re misjudging her, maybe she knows full well that you were (and still are) catching a good look at those firm, perky mounds that sit proudly atop her chest. They fit perfectly in your hands, quite like a glove—OJ Simpson would hate that it fits that well—and a nicely-fitted set of bed sheets. What the fuck does that even mean? Frankly, you can’t quite put an explanation to it yourself; you’re kinda listing things that sound and feel right to you — things that give something enjoyable that little kick it needs to become something more congenial. 

(That sort of encapsulates her whole personality honestly. She’s already something to relish, cherish; the type of girl that makes other guys say ‘she’s a keeper’ even though they don’t have the slightest idea of what she really was like beyond cameras and public appearances. Kinda horny all the time, but also wants to cuddle you to sleep and call you all sorts of pet names after you’ve blindfolded and fucked her against three different flat surfaces – maybe breaking some expensive furniture in the process. Dominant, a little stubborn and a little pissy. Need you say more?)

“But for real: make her feel at home,” she says, setting down the curling iron and switching it off. She leaves it to cool down, puts on a sweater while she waits. “Poor girl’s been through enough. I promised her a safe haven, so try to make it one.”

The context behind her request is a little baffling. Just this morning Nayeon told you of Yuna’s falling out with an alleged highschool sweetheart, and she's taking shelter with you guys till legal matters are dealt with and she’s safe and sound. Guy started stalking her apparently, threatened her once or twice too. Fun times we live in.

Helping her hook the clasp of her necklace, you assure Nayeon that only your best effort would go into creating a safe space for her younger companion. Not to brag, but you’re pretty good at making friends—trust me. We’ll be tight before you even know it—with strangers. It’ll be like walking the dog; easy peasy. You get the idea right? Kinda running out of sayings. Nayeon seems pretty pleased with your promises.

“If you guys have fun, do send some videos,” she tells you, opening her drawer to pull out a pair of jeans. “I’ll be missing out on a lot if you don’t. That girl has a body even I wanna ravage.”

“So cock is not enough, huh?” you tease. She flicks her eyes to the mirror.

“Who said it wasn’t enough?” She cocks her head and makes eye contact through the mirror. “I literally ride you till you’re sore. Yuna’s just… an add-on. Like a side dish if you will.”

You chortle. “And I’m the main course?”

“Nope,” she giggles, unfolding her jeans. “That would be me.”

“That doesn’t even make sense.”

“If you want an admission of my wrongs, you’ll have to fuck it out of me.”

And she meets your eyes in the mirror. You smile, knowing that she’ll probably let you get away with this one.

“It’s really a shame…” you sigh. “These leggings were, like, really nice.”

***

Couple minutes later you’re giving her a kiss on the cheek as she hurries for the taxi that arrived five minutes ago. In the midst of the commotion, Yuna emerges from her room dressed in one of your shirts – just in time to wave goodbye to her senior before Nayeon slips away. You're not too sure if she’s fully registered the fact that she’ll be stuck with you for a full week, but hopefully once the realisation sets in, you’d already have made her comfortable. 

You turn. The way you meet her gaze is kinda awkward. She has a look of intrigue on her face as she rubs her arms and gazes back at you with those doleful eyes.

You clear your throat. “You uh… You like omelettes?”

***

On your phone screen, Nayeon just kinda stares back at you with a hundred-yard-stare type of look. Hotel wifi has her video freezing at a rate that would make Elsa proud, and she’s barely a human through all the pixelated fuck-what that clouds in front of her.

“I feel like we're focusing on vastly different things here, Nayeon.” You’re hoping that she can hear your voice over the roaring silence of shitty network bandwidth. “Not even a day too… I’m pretty sure the poor girl’s scared shitless of me.”

And while Nayeon’s video and audio buffer, it’s a good time to remind yourself of your mistake. Not that you forgot it or anything, but you just gotta make sure that everything that you tell Nayeon is accurate.

So it turned out that Yuna and breakables don’t really go well together. Nayeon seems to have forgotten to ask you to read some fine-prints, and you basically went in raw when you witnessed  the young girl’s clumsiness. Quite the butter-fingers: she broke a mug and a plate in one slip of her tray from her hands. The sound of shattering porcelain jarred her, and as she attempted to move out of her mess, the Dad in you spurred you to cry out in panic. Don’t move! you practically roar. Poor thing flinched like she’s being held at gun-point, started shivering a little as you rushed over to clear up the shards. You don’t quite know how to comfort her, and so you just tell her to just eat in her room if she’s uncomfortable. She took you up on that, and that ended the first non-sexual interaction you had with her.

Way to go… You deserve a star.

By the time you’re done pacing the room and have thrown yourself onto the bed, Nayeon reconnects back to the call. She’s in a bathroom, wearing airpods and sitting in what looks like a bathtub. From the fact that she's wearing a robe, you’ll bet good money on the really (and you can’t stress this enough) high chance that she’s wearing nothing else beneath that.

“Five star hotel and I get two bars of wifi everywhere except the damn toilet,” she huffs. Guess you were right about what the two of you were focusing on. No prizes for being right though; life’s a bitch. “Anyway, don’t think too much about it. She’s clumsy but she’s not unaware. I’m sure she’ll understand where you’re coming from.”

“Honestly”—you slide under the covers and heave a huge sigh—“I think I might find my thirteenth reason if she hates me tomorrow.”

Nayeon rolls her eyes. Yes: she’s painfully aware that you certainly won’t kill yourself over the fact that you may or may not have made a girl re-live her trauma, but the knowledge of that doesn’t stop her from expressing her disdain towards your little joke.

“Sleep on it. You’ll be fine tomorrow,” she assures you, now in full resolution and crystal clear audio and image. She segways into something else, “By the way, check out the link I’m sending you.”

Toilet wifi is truly doing her wonders cause you get the link in question right after she says it. And you aren’t sporting a fedora when you confidently identify the source as a Reddit thread, but it feels like you should be heading online to buy one and get it delivered via next-day delivery. (Ugh… You can feel the word m’lady threatening to burst forth from your mouth already.) Yuck.

Clicking on the link brings you to a community you’re no stranger to. You’ve heard of it once or twice, but never really had the time or energy to delve into the posts. Nayeon seems to have done some homework though — you’re taken to a very specific post, a clip that kinda blew up when it debuted. 

It takes no Oppenheimer to draw the conclusion that the post addresses Nayeon herself, and she’s clad in that all black bodysuit from that one Talk That Talk performance that hugs her figure and really makes all the curves on her body pop. You’d know: you fucked her in this outfit; railed her on the bed from the back with a pair of fuzzy pink handcuffs on her wrists if you want specifics. And if you want even more details: she didn’t let you cum till she’d came 3 times. Fun.

It’s a stunning outfit, and the appeal of the wonders it does to Nayeon’s body is only emphasised by how she runs her hands up from her hips, tracing the hourglass shape of her figure before she flips her hair. A pretty good Gif. Seems to have all 1410 commenters on their knees.

Now mind you: you’re on speaker phone with her right now. With that in mind, it sure as hell feels like Nayeon’s in the room with you as low sighs and salacious squelching starts filtering through Nayeon’s microphone and into your ears. A quick glance at the call window (that’s so helpfully converted to a small rectangle at the top right-hand corner of your phone) confirms 2 things while surprising you with a third find:

1) She’s very much naked under that robe. A bit of a no-brainer

2) She’s playing with herself – legs wide open and one of them (you can’t be arsed to really say which one) propped up on the rim of the bathtub as juice-slicked fingers work themselves between flushed folds.

3) The whole reason you can see the stuff in 2) is attributed to the fact that she's somehow leaned her phone against something in that bathtub to give you an almost artistic view of her. Emphasis on ‘almost’ because the close-up of her pretty, pink pussy is foreground to an even more sordid display of her half-lidded eyes and parted lips — baseness personified really.

Yuna becomes a secondary thought. “So… Has anyone told you that you’re kind of freaky?”

“Hey. I’m just a girl,” she muses, the look on her face a strong contender for the symbol of pure depravity. “Read the comments would you?”

“Twitter’s a much better place for this if—”

“Just stop being a smartass and read the fucking horny comments.”

You’re not intimidated by the aggression behind her voice for once, and it’s probably because she isn’t here to edge you if you don’t shut up. You take a moment to admire just how good she looks in this seemingly sempiternal display of what looks like lust itself, the Gif looping at least 3 times while you’re at it (and it’s like, the best 14 seconds of your life). The sun hits her at just the right, illuminating the best parts of her while shadows further define the shape of her curves – bringing forth the swell of her hips while making her tits and ass look bigger by a rather generous amount. Frankly, she looks good in just about anything really. Clothes on or off; hair tied up or let down; lingerie or fancy dress; lace or solid, she is the embodiment of sex.

“Hurry the fuck up,” she hisses, and it’s dripping with lethal lust and desire like venom from serpent fangs. Okay… There’s some mutual interest here with you and Nayeon. You’ll oblige.

“How nasty are we getting?” you inquire, all while you work the waistband of your pants down past your crotch so that your cock can spring free. You enlarge the window of the call, silently hypnotising yourself with the sight of Im Nayeon’s hand busying itself between her legs. “Are we going from the tame ones and progressing or…”

The look on her face tells you that she doesn’t give a shit; and she’s about this close to ending this filthy call and getting off on her own. Better conscience guides you to pick a random comment from the middle and get going with it.

“This one’s a thought provoker,” you preempt, scanning through the rather raunchy statement left behind by some undoubtedly turned-on user. “It says, ‘I wonder what she tells her stylist when she has to wear such outfits. It's like she must be really asking: I want something that will reveal my whole curvy figure. Nayeon is really the best girl’.”

“Mnph…” — she tilts her head back and lets out a gasp – an implosive suction of air that’s sharp yet so pleasing to your ears. “Curvy and… What was that again?”

“Best girl,” you reiterate, watching with a half-parted mouth as your hand matches the pace of Nayeeon’s fingers pumping in and out of the wet mess on the screen, “looks like someone’s got an eye for details.”

“They’d better. I think I looked fucking hot in that thing.”

You could second that opinion, though it was probably in your best interest to keep reading. This is basically your equivalent of putting fries into bags. You’re kinda okay with it, but you’re struggling to read this next one because of its horrible grammar, “her pussy must feel like heaven. With a tight body like that, she must know how she’s draining balls around the world.”

In the bathtub, she twitches. Her ring and middle finger are drenched when they’re removed from her pussy, but they don’t rest and find solid ground on her clit. They rub circles into Nayeon’s swollen nub, no doubt applying just the right amount of pressure onto the area while Nayeon is breathing all shaky and sounds like she’s been winded. In your books: this is basically her doing a backflip over the fine line between freaky and kinky, and basically exposing you to some new kink that she’s probably picked up from Sana.  If any of these commenters ever really had a sliver of an idea of what she’s really like behind the scenes, you doubt that the comments would be as merciful as this. Anyway, next.

“I bet she likes it raw. She probably loves being a good little fucktoy who takes unprotected dicks into that tight pussy and letting load after load fill her. I mean” —Nayeon starts to shudder a little, quaking and sighing as you get to the more explicit section of his comment—“she’d probably like it if I just ripped that dress off her body and spread her legs. She’ll moan like a slut when I put it in her and just start doing her raw. Imagine the way her tits will bounce. Fucking slut, she was made to be bred.”

She lets out this moan – inexplicable and undescribable. She urges you to keep going. You do just that.

“I want her mouth so bad. Bunny has those dick sucking lips that are made for cock, probably gives mad head and is so fucking sloppy with it. I bet she’ll let the drool drip from the corners of her mouth while she takes me in all the way, and she’ll probably thank me with her eyes when I grab her by the hair and start fucking her throat. I’m gonna destroy that pretty little face so bad, leave her so fucking messy and ruined that she’ll have to stop singing for at least a week. When I cum, I’m gonna make sure it goes down her throat and get some on that slutty face. She’s earned it.”

You’re watching her, pumping your fist around your cock while she lets her jaw slack and lets her moans sort of tumble from her mouth in batches. “More,” she pleads, fingers trembling as she lets her free hand slip beneath her robe and start giving attention to her tits. You’d kinda kill to see them now, but this view will have to do. “Read more. I want to hear it.”

“They're getting nastier,” you inform her. “This whole thread of comments is just 3 guys discussing how they want to share you in a gangbang.”

“Fuck yes. Please…”

She never finishes the sentence, but you get the gist. You persist. 

The next one is kinda paraphrased, partially because you’re projecting your own fantasies while simultaneously deciphering what this guy is trying to say across 5 separate comments. 

“I want nothing more”—and it’s getting really hard to breathe while Nayeon’s fucking herself senseless halfway across the world. Maybe if she hadn’t worn those damned airpods, you wouldn’t be hearing every single sordid little sound she makes (gasps, sighs, moans and a bunch of phonetic mish-mash that began with the letter ‘o’). You can’t tell if she’s already lost to the haze of pleasure, and even if she hasn’t she’s probably holding on by a thread thinner than hair; on the way there and probably reaching within the next five minutes—“than to pound her little pussy raw and give her a fat load.”

“Oh my fucking god…” she’s descending a little further into her own head, sinking beneath the sheer thrill of masturbating while her partner reads out all the perverse things that people would do to her. Her breaths are almost desperate – earthy and kind of like a product of raw emotion; akin to a groan or maybe even a grunt. At the same time, it’s like she’s struggling to take in the air she needs, fighting to find a reason to take a breath and distract her from this debauched world that she’s dived into. It isn’t just her mind that’s twisted here, but the minds of others too.  “Keep going. I need to know how they’re gonna ruin me.”

You’re trying to memorise the next line so you can watch, watch the subtle twitch in her right leg and the grunt-moan hybrid that’s produced from that pleasure stricken throat; the way she becomes a bundle of nerves like you and just starts losing it; the way her fingers go from rubbing to fluttering small circles of heavenly release into her body; the way the round breast that’s slipped out of the robe ripples with each movement from her shoulder. You’re more than happy to watch really; be a witness to the act of her bringing herself to the point of no return as she practically brims with pleasure and bliss that she’s bringing herself. You’re reading is like an add-on, some sick twisted DLC if you really think about it (you’re not really thinking much, but it’s a fun thing to consider). It’s quite like making a drink, albeit a little bit butchered – she’s pouring herself a glass while you wipe the rim with a lemon. The alcohol can spill on your fingers for all you care, you just wanna watch her make it overflow. 

TL;DR: you really wanna make her cum.

“I’ll fuck her mouth while you take her pussy”—this one is read word-for-word, verbatim, letter-for-letter. You like how it’s phrased, not quite poetry but beautiful in its own way—“make her gag on this cock till she’s ruining her mascara. We cum together. Give this little slut the spit roast creampie of her life.”

She half-sigh-half-moans – the type of noise she’d make when she’s on her back and being fucked into the mattress. She shifts, undoes the knot holding her robe together and lets the thing part from the middle and falls at her sides. Leaning back against the end of the bathtub, her pleading comes in the form of whines, soft ones that kinda float around the room while she endeavours to work her fingers a little harder. A free hand kneads her breast. Your breath hitches, cock pulsing in your fist as she arches her back and starts to gasp. You read the next lines, the boner-fueled words of some guy who probably had his cock in his hand while typing this out.

“I want her ass. I’ll make her ride it while she takes it up that bubble butt, then you guys an still fuck her pussy and mouth. She’ll be so messy, probably dripping from her pussy and her mouth while three dicks fuck the shit out of all three of her holes. You know what? I bet she’ll enjoy it. The slut flaunts her body like it’s a fucking prize. She’s asking for it.” 

There are like 2 more comments, but you never quite make it to the next parts. With a cry, Nayeon leans forward in the bathtub. She digs her fingers back into her slit, restarts the squelching and lets your speakers flood with a sordid symphony; squelch after squelch after squelch feels like music to your ears.  “Your cock.” It’s a demand, really raunchy, kinda racy and really (and you really mean really) fucking raw. Can’t quite figure out which part of her strips her of the filter that takes away the pure intoxicating venom that coats her words, but you couldn’t really give more of a shit right now. It’s hot, like, really fucking hot. “Show me your cock. Let me see you stroke it.”

And it’s almost at once that you switch back to the call and flip your camera around. You’ve been going at the same tempo for some time now, and you hope Nayeon can see the utter mess she’s made of you – precum leaking from your tip and your head all swollen and red. She moans, slips another digit inside of her and starts working all three of her fingers harder inside of her. 

“Ngh… I really wish that I could be filled with your cock right now,” she drawls. You’re not too sure if she knows that she’s projecting a shared desire right now. It’d be great to feel those warm walls wrapped around your shaft, slicking it with her juices while she rides you at a steady pace. Fuck… She’s ruining you, isn’t she? “With me baby. Cum. Make a mess for me.”

Her words are a little jumbled, but coherence doesn't really matter when she’s spitting pure filth from her lips. It doesn’t take long for either of you to get there, but you like to think that you meet her where she already is and kinda just go from there. At least that’s what you tell yourself as she convulses and is marred by her orgasm, and your cum leaks down your shaft and flows over your knuckles while you watch Your respective cameras capture it all – witnesses the mess you make at the hands of each other (and yourselves). You have to take a second, sit in the warm puddle of your own mess. It’s pooled on your stomach; cleaning up’s gonna be a chore.

“God…” Nayeon breathes. “Always wanted to try this.”

“Guessed as much,” you reply, sitting up in your bed and looking around for tissues. You spot a box of them on your desk. Great.

“Gotta go. Be in touch soon.”

She leaves you in the darkness of your room. From the corner of your eye, you spot a set of eyes watching you from the ajar door. You make out Yuna’s features before she closes the door, no doubt fleeing the scene. You aren’t sure how much she saw, but you hope that whatever she did see hadn’t scared her shitless.

Anyway, there are larger issues at hand.

***

It’s somewhere on the third or fourth night where it happens. For the record: you don’t go to her. She comes to you.

Weather forecast predicted hail, and for once they’re actually correct. It’s pissing it down – the glass on your room not left unscathed from the assault of hail falling from the sky. It’s awfully noisy, helluva hullabaloo. Hard to sleep in this weather really. You warned Yuna—who seems to have gotten a little more comfortable around you—about the horrid weather that you guys were about to be blessed with, and you can’t help but wonder if she’s fairing alright.

The knock on your door comes around a quarter after one. Yuna steps into your room, her silky nightdress kinda glowing in the low light as she sort of just stands there awkwardly. It’s quite like a child entering their parents room in the middle of the night to inform them that they’ve shat the bed. You look at her from under the covers for a bit, and when she continues to be a deer in headlights, you sit up in your bed. “You okay?”

“I’m um…” she begins, fiddling with her fingers as she speaks. “I-It’s noisy… And…”

You understand what she’s attempting to convey. You move to your right in bed, open the covers and pat on the space you’ve left for her. She smiles, grateful. When she settles into the space where Nayeon usually sleeps, you tell her to holler if she needs anything else. You leave her with that, and your back faces her when you—by the grace of some divine powers—drift off.

You wake up again in the early morning. The sleep wasn’t bad – kinda peaceful and dreamless and you want to close your eyes and drift back off. Unfortunately (actually kinda fortunately in this case), Yuna’s legs entangled with yours snaps you awake. You’re worried that you might have rolled into her while you were asleep (you really didn’t want to fuck up again), but her arm around your torso tells you otherwise. She’s cuddled up to you, head against your back and hugging you like you’re her personal soft toy – the usual kind of cuddling. Frankly, you’re at a loss for words. What happens in between is kind of a blur. You remember her stirring, and you remember turning around as slowly and gently as possible. What you don’t quite remember however, is how she ends up with a hand on your cheek. You vaguely remember her asking for some sort of permission, but your heart is beating so loudly in your ears that you can’t really hear or process much. She’s in the most vulnerable of positions right now, and the worst thing you could possibly do is fuck up. Your mishaps from the first day have you on edge.

And now you’re running through the events again in your head, doing your best to pick up on critical exposition that probably would explain the situation you're in. Words fail you as Yuna’s thumb traces a path across your cheek, sweeping back and forth languidly with the smallest of smiles on her face. Her eyes—those hypnotic doleful eyes—stare into yours, and you’re sniffing out some longing behind that gaze. 

“Nayeon put in a really good word for you,” she whispers, letting her gaze wander across your face. “She said that you were a trustworthy man… Someone who’ll take care of anyone because you can.”

You’re happy to hear of Nayeon’s positive appraisal of you, but it doesn’t stop your bad habit of cracking a joke in tense situations. “And what’s the customer’s review?”

You’re glad that she laughs. If she didn’t, you’d have to expand your list to include a 14th reason. 

“She told me to trust you and that I can feel safe around you,” she reports. She takes a moment to bring her eyes back to yours. Her smile grows wider. “I’m happy to say that I do… Largely.”

And all at once: a two tonne weight around your chest feels like it just dropped a twenty-story height. You aren’t sure if Yuna’s giggling because of the fact that you’re visibly relieved or because you heaved the loudest sigh of relief of your career.

“Man… I thought I’d completely fucked up after the first day,” you admit to her, relishing the feeling of your body relaxing in bed. “Never quite got to apologise for that.”

“And you don’t have to”—her smile is quite soothing to be honest, puts you right at ease after looking at it for a second or two— “I was just kinda shocked… And I kinda have a bad experience of being yelled at. Working on it though.”

Huh. Guess Nayeon was right about her.

“Still though,” you raise, rubbing your eyebrow. “I’m sorry.”

Yuna chortles. Her lips slant at an angle. “Forgiven and forgotten. Happy?”

You smile in response to the progress. “Hey. You go girl.”

She graces you with a wink. A moment of silence follows. 

“Did Nayeon ask you to be touchy with me?” you can’t help but inquire. It’s out of the blue, but hey: a burning question is a burning question. “I mean… It’s not everyday that a cute girl just pulls up in my bed and caresses my cheek.”

“She said that you’ll be fine”—she retracts the hand on your cheek. The two tonne weight starts rising to the 5th floor—“and are you flirting with me?”

(Two tonne weight falls. Phew… What a workout.)

“Maybe.” You don’t really like being blunt cause there’s always some merit in a bit of playing around. Now that you think back on it, you may or may not have picked this up from Nayeon. Damn girl is ruining you. “Take it how you want, just don’t think I’m being sarcastic.”

Yuna smirks a little. “Nayeon did say you like to play around with your words,” she lifts a finger and points away from the bed, “not sure if she influenced you,” she points towards you,  “or if you influenced her”.

“What if we’re both a little guilty?”

“Then I’ll be the outlier. Can I kiss you?”

And it feels like time stops. For the seconds that you stare at her in silence, one brain cell exerts maximum fucking effort to process the weight of her words. You wouldn’t have been as hesitant if she’d just kissed you directly, but now that she’s asking for consent first, you’re high-key at a loss for words. The sun’s starting to rise and the room’s being filled with this sorta radiant glow… Or maybe it’s just her.

“Woah,” you can’t help but muse. Of course, you’re exaggerating by quite a bit. “You are… Super blunt.”

“Figured you could use a change of pace.”

Then Yuna closes the distance between the two of you. She hesitates for a little, hovering over your lips for a bit before she finally decides to press her lips onto yours. It’s kinda sweet; her lips feel amazing and she’s really going down on you. You comb your hands through her hair, let the smell of sweet shampoo kinda intoxicate you a little while she tugs at your lower lip with her teeth. Unlike Nayeon, it feels like she’s kissing you because she wants to. The older girl sometimes makes it feel like she’s doing it for the sake of it, and then proceeds to tear through your clothes to get to your dick. Yuna takes her time, lets her hand on your face get familiar with the structure of your jaw as fingers graze them gently; introduces her index finger and thumb to your chin as she tips it to deepen the kiss a little.

“Hey,” she calls once the kiss is broken. She’s glowing in the light of the room, the smile on her face pretty fucking adorable. “Did Nayeon ever tell you that I look the best when I take it from the back?”

Again: super fucking blunt.

Clothes are never a hassle when you’re kinda in a rush, and Yuna’s night dress slips right off her body like the plate she dropped from the tray. You have her on her back, kinda half-mewing-half-keening as you catch a nipple in your mouth and suck on on it. The toned muscles on her stomach tense and relax, the rapid ebb and flow of pleasure in her system making her body move in all sorts of sensual ways as you palm her other breast.

And here’s the thing you like about Yuna: she lets you take her time with her, really revels in the sweetness of the moment while your trailing kisses down to her crotch. She moans for you – sweet music that tells you yeah that’s the spot while you acquaint and familiarise yourself with her body; she shifts herself accordingly – rolls to her side when you were kissing her plunging collarbones and opens her legs for you when you get to that pretty, pink pussy. It’s like she’s wired to please you, responding to your every move with a move of her own like you’re locked in a dance with her. It’s a welcome change of pace from having to fight and dirty talk your way to even get the chance to fuck Nayeon.

(In case you’re wondering: you do eat her out, but you kinda get lazy to really put into words. All you need to know are these few key points:

Firstly, she’s delicious, sweet and salty and kinda tangy. A bit of a subjective taste but you like it.

Secondly, her moans are really fucking adorable. They’re not even, like, purposefully made that way. She just kinda lets them flow from her mouth – choked-up cries of pleasure while warm thighs wrap around your ears. 

Lastly, when she cums, it’s fucking amazing. It’s like she brings heaven down to earth with her cries and makes sure you get to touch it as much as she can. Her body is fucking riveting – arches deliciously when she arrives and makes you twitch in your pants.

Bottom line: she’s really fucking hot, quite like Nayeon in the way she tries you on sometimes but patient and actually giving you the chance to talk dirty with her. Damn… She really is a change of pace.)

And so: reaching between your bodies with her on all fours, you grasp your cock in your right hand, slipping it between Yuna’s legs. The young woman spreads her thighs as best she can – readies herself for entry. Your head pushes between her lips, waiting for only a moment, before you thrust hard inside her, filling her to the hilt with your cock. She’s awfully tight, really fucking wet and God is it hot in there. You almost think molten iron seems to be brewing in her core.

“Tell me,” she huffs, a sly smile on her face as she props herself up on her elbows. “Am I better? Or is Nayeon still the best?”

You caress the swell of her ass. “Baby… I think you’ll be the best fuck I’ll have in a while.”

It’s almost cruel: the way you kinda just start thrusting without any warning. She likes it though, and you only know because she possesses the bluntness to do so.

“God you’re fucking big.” And her ass ripples with each thrust you deliver into that slick little pussy of her’s. “Fuck… How does Nayeon even manage you?”

(The thing you like about her is how she asks a question like it was some sort of objective statement – not a rhetorical question, just something for you to respond to.)

You fuck her harder in response to that, kinda push yourself all the way into her. The tip of your cock slams against her cervix and her cries ring throughout your room. Your room fills with the sort of visceral sound one would associate with skin slapping against skin. There are definitely some more words to be shared during sex – the girl has a little more things she wants to get off her chest, but what the whole exchange boils down to is a back and forth of her gasping and crying out and saying you’re the best dick she'll ever get and you telling her you love the feel of her little cunt.

(It's really not like you're trying to prove something by being super rough. Yuna just happens to really, really like the feel of a thick cock pounding into her. Maybe Nayeon was right – her taking it from the back was a good idea.

Or maybe she's just a slut.

Who knows?)

"Yeah," you growl. You reach forward and grab a handful of her hair, pull her body against yours. "Take my cock baby."

"I can take it," she gasps, the breath knocked out of her. Her fingers curl against the bedsheets and she's just taking your cock. She's a lot easier to please than Nayeon – less stubborn about being in control, but also much, much more willing to please. "Oh God, fuck me, please..."

You slam deep inside her. Her body jerks forward and the sound that comes from her mouth is a mix between a cry and a gasp. "Please what?"

"Fuck me harder," she says. She's practically begging for it. "Make me cum. Please, please make me cum!"

Taking up her request is all you really wanna do. She didn’t need to add the multiple pleads, but you took some pleasure in hearing it.

You grab ahold of her shoulders, pull her close till she's almost upright. "You're gonna cum around my dick," you growl. You start a series of rapid, hard thrusts and her body goes limp in your arms. "And you're gonna make a mess of yourself."

She nods frantically. She's a mess already, all sweaty and red. The sounds that leave her mouth are incoherent. With two fingers pressing hard and directly against her clit, you start circling on it, making her a complete fucking wreck in the middle of your room as you really try to get her off. There's a sweet spot you find after a moment – the pad of your digits slipping around the nub and her knees give, almost making her buckle until she's flat on her stomach on the bed, crying and shaking as you use her like a toy.

"Please... Fuck... Don't stop, oh God don't stop!" Her cries are like a prayer to you. You've never heard anything like it. You fuck her right through it, watching as her back arches and her legs twitch, until she's almost completely gone. There's only a little bit more left. She just needs a little extra push.

So you decide to go a little hard. You hold her by her hips, keep her legs shut, and thrust directly down onto her pussy with a force you'd only reserve for someone like Nayeon. Her eyes roll back in her head as you really take her like you've wanted to ever since you started; it's almost animalistic how you really try to get her to cum as hard as she can. You can almost feel her orgasm build up in her body. Her breathing grows shorter and more erratic and she's mewling in her throat – so close. You can taste it.

"You like my cock don't you?" You reach around, give her tits a squeeze. She almost cums from that.

"Yes," she whimpers. You know she's not playing the part – she genuinely wants your dick. "Please... Let me cum on your cock..."

(You don’t admit it verbally, but you like it when girls beg. Nayeon never does, and it’s a novelty now that she’s doing it.)

You hold her down with an arm on her lower back. Her head's to the side, hair plastered to her skin with sweat as you fuck her from behind. She's panting and whining, begging you for more; “please please more”. You like that. It's cute. You wanna hear it. So you go harder. She screams into the sheets, but the sounds are muffled, but she's pretty loud nonetheless. It's good to see her let go like this, really let loose and not hold anything back. There's a fire that she ignites inside you. "Fuck..."

It's like a little fire that ignites and grows bigger, burns brighter with each thrust. She's so tight and so fucking wet; the wet sounds that accompany each thrust really turns you on. Your body feels so hot. There's this warmth that spreads across your entire body with every passing second. She moans and cries, whimpering as you nail her into the sheets.

Then there's this moment of clarity that hits her, and she looks back at you – she smiles, eyes half-lidded and she whispers something to you.

"Cum inside me," she says. She's shaking. "Please..."

Your rhythm grows sloppy as you edge closer and closer to the climax. Your cock feels like it's growing harder, bigger – there's this throb in it and your body's all tensed up. It feels like something inside you is going to snap, break loose and make you cum. It's not the best feeling in the world, but the way it grows stronger and stronger really makes your toes curl and your skin tingle.

And she's so beautiful like this: spread out for you, skin sweaty, cheeks red, and ass in the air as you fuck her. It's the best way you can ever imagine her – she looks like she belongs to you like this, her body a playground for your lust, and she wants it just as much as you do. There's a mutual feeling between the two of you.

The pleasure comes and it hits you like a train. It feels like something inside your balls tighten and then snap and then there's this euphoria that envelopes you. You feel your cock pulse with every burst of semen that spurts from the head. Yuna cries as her pussy gets filled and filled, until it's running out and dripping from her cunt, but you can't stop fucking her. You want to feel that sweet, sweet release, to see how long it will go, to really enjoy this moment. She feels amazing, and your heart pounds and you want her so badly. You need her.

She cums — It's a hard, shuddering orgasm that wracks her body. She cums and she screams for you, and she makes a mess of herself as promised. It's really fucking hot – the way she completely loses her composure and her legs shudder violently as you pound her pussy through it all, soaking in the perverted pleasure she brings you while you fuck her freshly-creamed pussy till your hips kinda give. You collapse on her, panting and grunting on top of her while she struggles to breathe.

In this moment. She isn’t like Nayeon in the slightest.

She’s a welcome change of pace. 

***

“Thinking back… There were signs in highschool that I probably ignored.”

And the water sloshes around as Yuna shifts a little in the bathtub. She’s found it to her liking to prop herself up against you, let her head rest against your shoulder while you hold her close to your chest. You’ll admit that it’s a bit of an awkward arrangement, but there was no way you could just not indulge her after she asks to take a bath with you. 

“The worst part is that they weren’t even, like, subtle,” she tells you, just sort of staring out into the distance while she talked.  “He’d punch things when he got angry, even slapped a referee after he lost a game… Love is blind huh?”

You held her a little closer to your chest. “It’s okay. We all make mistakes.”

“Yeah, well, my mistakes left me with no physical scars but the emotional ones are plenty.”

You hope she can’t see you grimace. It’s hard to recover from these types of things, especially if you realise the stupidity behind your decisions.

“I’m sorry that happened to you,” you tell her, and you really mean it. “It must be difficult… You know: recovering.”

The front of her lips curve up. “Thanks. I try not to let it weigh me down too much but… Just kinda happens to come out every now and then.”

You get it, you really do. Not that you’ve been in an abusive relationship like hers before, but you understand what it’s like. It’s sad really: being unable to break out of a cycle that hurts you the more you try to stay and change it. You admire the young girl’s strength, envy her courage for finally breaking the cycle and freeing herself for good. 

“You’re safe now,” you whisper, moving some wet hair out of her face. “I will never hurt you. I promise.”

She smiles at that. “Thank you,” she says while pinching your cheek, “that means a lot to me.”

Then you bask in the silence for a little, taking in the smell of the bath salts and the feel of Yuna’s soft skin against yours. It’s a pretty romantic moment till Yuna’s bluntness breaks it.

“I’m, like, really wet,” she announces, gazing up at you from her position on your shoulder. You laugh. 

“Didn’t you just cum?”

“Good things come in threes.”

She fixes you with a look, like she knows that you’re gonna give in.

(And you know what? She’s absolutely right. Can’t say no to a pretty girl.)

***

“Well hello to you too.”

Nayeon sounds almost angry on the other side of the video call. On your end, you have your phone’s back camera pointed to the current situation: Yuna atop of you, thighs locked around your cock as her hips rock up and down steadily. Her thighs are warm, pillowy; makes you grit your teeth while she moves languidly.

“Nayeon!” Yuna exclaims, almost too saccharine as she keeps her eyes locked on yours. “We were just thinking of you.”

She isn’t lying. Just moments before her call came, you two were making a joke about how she’d never let you get away with as much as Yuna did. It was a pretty humorous conversation, almost comedic if it wasn’t for the fact that Yuna was tugging your sweats down your thighs. 

But, there she was, still moving in your lap. Yuna leans forward, hands planted on your chest as she continues to rock her hips, ass bouncing a little against your thighs.

You can hear a scoff from Nayeon.

Yuna turns her head to the screen, eyes looking at the phone but her hands still pushing on your chest, fingers flexing. "We really were," she whines, lips jutted into a pout. You watch her as her lips curl into a small smirk just a second later, her teeth peeking out, and you can feel your face grow warm when she looks back at you.

"Tell her what we were talking about," she orders, her voice soft but firm.

"Um...we were just, um—" you stutter out, and your throat goes dry as her hips keep going, her thigh muscles clenching around you.

"Go on."

"We were...just, uh, talking about how you're not here," you finally manage to get out.

"Aww, baby...” Nayeon is smiling. It’s sarcasm by the way; she's enjoying this as much as Yuna is.

Yuna's pout returns. "See, Nayeon?" She continues to roll her hips against you. "We were thinking of you,” she reiterates, making sure she has your eye contact while she fucks you with her heavenly thighs, “I know it's not fair that you aren't here, but he’s just so fucking hard… Someone had to do something about it.”

Nayeon gives a snort. “You two are lucky I’m not alone in my room right now.”

“And what would happen if you were?” Yuna challenges. You don’t recall her being this daring.

“Playing with myself, obviously,” the older girl replies. “You think I’d just watch you get him off with your thighs? I barely let that boy dominate me.”

Yuna chuckles and smiles your way.

“What a horrible situation,” she whispers, moving a little faster. “Luckily I’m here to pamper him.”

“And he’d better enjoy it while it lasts,” Nayeon smirks. “When I’m home he’s–”

Yuna cuts her off by hanging up. You stare wide-eyed in shock as she tosses the phone aside. “Too noisy. I can’t multitask,” she explains. “Call her back later. Let’s get back to it.”

With that, Yuna leans over you, her chest pressed to yours as she gives a slow grind in your lap, her hips moving in a figure eight. Your head rolls back, and you release a loud, drawn-out groan. Her thighs are so smooth against your cock, so warm, so soft. You wish you could bury your face in between them. The way her hips move is incredible; she knows what she wants, knows how to work you.

You try to sit up, but Yuna pushes you back down by your chest. Her lips curve into a smile, and she shakes her head.

"Stay down," she whispers, "you don't wanna ruin this, do you?"

"No."

"Then stay still. I'll make it quick."

Quick is an understatement. She's barely rocking her hips in your lap, but with how soft her thighs are, and the way they grip you like a vice, you know it'll probably be over sooner or later. You make a note to try and make this last for as long as you can. Yuna leans over you again, hands on your chest as she gives a rough buck of her hips. Your head snaps back and you let out a loud groan. She continues to grind against you, slowly, making sure to hit every sensitive part of your cock. You reach up to grab her hips, but she slaps your hands away.

"No touching," she tuts. "Let me do the work. You relax."

Your lips open to protest. She shushes you with a finger. 

"Own me later," she whispers, sliding the finger down to the point where your collar bones meet. "Let me take care of you now."

You gulp, nodding.

Yuna's hands settle back on your chest, nails dragging across your skin, making you shiver. She's looking at you with those doe eyes, those pretty pink lips curled into a smirk as her hips pick up pace. The friction is incredible; Yuna's thighs feel like silk wrapped around your cock, warm and soft; the way they're clamped around you has you seeing stars. Your breath hitches in your throat when Yuna moves faster.

(And another thing about her: she’s so fucking good at pleasuring you that she always makes you lose your ability to think.)

"Fuck..." You moan, throwing your head back. "Feels so good..."

She smiles at that, giving a small hum of approval. "Does it?" She asks. "Good."

You look up at her, watching her roll her hips. She's really putting in work, moving in all sorts of ways to make sure you're feeling the most pleasure. It's not lost on you; she's an angel, and you thank every god there is for having her. Your cock throbs between her thighs, aching. The head is flushed red and leaking precum, which smears all over Yuna's thighs as she keeps moving. Your toes curl in the sheets, fingers gripping the fabric as she rides you.

Yuna continues to roll her hips, giving a few rough bucks when she feels like it. You're groaning and moaning under her, letting out all kinds of sounds that make her chuckle. She's having fun teasing you, getting you close to orgasm only to slow down and watch your face contort with pleasure.

"Don't cum yet," she says softly, running her hands over your chest. "We just started."

"I-I know," you reply, breathless. "But I...fuck..."

Yuna giggles. "That good?"

"Yeah. Fuck… don't stop."

"Wouldn't dream of it, baby."

You throw your head back, your hips twitching under hers. Yuna chuckles, keeping her thighs locked around you. Your cock aches, throbbing between them as she moves; precum drips onto her legs, which only makes the slide easier for her. You're starting to sweat; your body's temperature rises with each passing moment, the feeling of her thighs overwhelming you. Yuna's so warm against you, so soft and pliable; you can't help but imagine her underneath you, moaning and writhing as you fuck her. The thought has you bucking your hips up into her, causing her to gasp.

"Someone's eager," Yuna teases, running a hand through her hair. "What's going through your head?"

You groan in response, your hands sliding down her sides to grip her hips. "Nothing," you lie.

She snorts, knowing full well what's on your mind.

"Liar." She rocks her hips forward. "What are you thinking about?"

You gaze at her for a moment. "If I said you... Would you believe me?"

She rolls her eyes. "Wouldn't put it past you," she stops moving for a bit to give you the attention. "What are you doing to me in your head?"

"I never said–"

"Please," she interjects "We both know you want to bend me over the nearest fucking surface and fuck my brains out right now."

Her thighs start moving again. Your head falls back and a moan escapes you.

"Can you blame me?" You say. She smiles.

"No, not really. I am pretty hot anyway."

(There’s that little bit of Nayeon in her.)

You nod. "You're so fucking good to me." You manage to get out.

Yuna chuckles. "Wanna know something?"

"What?"

"I love the way you feel between my thighs," she tells you. "And I love how you sound when I'm making you feel good. I want to hear more of it."

With that, she leans forward, pressing her lips to yours. Her hips keep moving, rolling against you at an agonizing pace, causing you to moan against her mouth. She's quite literally giving you everything you want, injecting some mischief here and there that makes it feel like Nayeon possesses her sporadically. She's more gentle though, more kind and more caring too. Okay, not that Nayeon doesn't care, but she's kinda ruthless when she's horny. Yuna's much more caring, and a lot more willing to be a pillow princess. She likes being pampered. She likes being loved on and adored. She wants to be fucked and she wants to be taken care of. It's a mutual feeling between the two of you. You'll worship her, and she'll love you for it.

Yuna pulls away from the kiss, moving to your neck. She gives it a few open-mouthed kisses, nipping at your skin. You sigh, letting your head fall back. She continues to rock her hips against yours, grinding down onto your cock. Her hands slide up your chest, nails digging into your skin, eliciting a gasp from you. 

Yuna chuckles, kissing up your neck to your ear. "You're so big," she whispers. "So fucking thick... Feels so good."

You groan, fingers gripping her hips.

"You like that?" She asks. "Like me talking about your cock?"

You nod.

"I love it," and she talks with a purr. "Love how it feels inside me... How deep it goes... How hard it throbs..." She whispers—no. Moans all this right into your ear. "Fuck... I really want this thing inside me right now."

"Later," you quickly propose. "Please?"

She laughs — sweet and melodic. "Never said that I would put it inside of me," she reminds you. "Now, you zip up and make a mess for me, okay?"

You moan in response, nodding your head. You can't deny her, not when she's making you feel this good.

Yuna keeps moving against you, her thighs clenching around your cock. She moves slowly, her hips rolling at an agonizing pace. Your cock is aching; you can feel yourself getting closer to your climax with each passing second.  Your eyes are glued to her thighs, watching them move. She looks so good on top of you. Her hips are hypnotic; your mind spins as she fucks you.

Your eyes move up to her face. Her eyes are closed, lips parted slightly as she focuses on her movements. Her hands are still on your chest, fingers flexing. Her breathing is heavy, warm breath fanning over your skin. You take in her beauty, letting it consume you. She's so fucking perfect, so angelic. Hard to believe how much of a slut she can be.

"I'm close," you manage to get out. "Yuna..."

She smiles. "Go ahead, baby."

"Don't wanna make a mess." You say.

Yuna giggles, her hips picking up pace. "Too late for that."

That's what sends you over the edge. 

You cum; it’s fucking messy. 

Cum fills the space between your dick and her thighs, slathering and flowing and spurting onto everything it can possibly get on. It slicks the insides of her legs; gets on her ass a little and pools beneath her crotch. Yuna hums in satisfaction, a smile on her face as she turns behind her to survey the damage.

“Clean up on aisle four,” she mutters, reaching back to wipe some cum off her ass. She sends her fingers into her mouth – makes a big show of sucking them clean. You can’t help but chuckle a little at the sight.

“Hey,” you call her, your hands reaching down to grope her ass. “I’m planning to change the sheets tomorrow.”

She gives you a look. “Are you saying that cause you’re actually going to? Or because you just want to fuck me right now.”

Oh and she’s perceiving you almost too accurately. You won’t admit your answer, even to yourself. 

“I dunno,” you shrug. “Either way: we’ll have to change the sheets.”

Yuna matches your game.

“Call Nayeon back,” she instructs. “Let’s show her what she’s missing.”

***

Again: Nayeon just kinda chooses when and where to be a bit of a minx, and you just have to roll with it really.

The decision—for today—was made somewhere halfway through the drive to fetch Yuna. You were just talking about how Nayeon had picked that girl up, and her voice trails off as she passes the exit sign. She just keeps on driving while pretending to look like she’s in the right. The GPS doesn’t lie though: it keeps on promoting her to U-turn at every opportunity that’s available to her. She ignores it of course, kinda tunes it out even though the instructions are really getting annoying now (and not to mention it sounds like it’s demanding her to go back this instant, like a mum who just can’t get her kid to listen). It’s like how she ignores you lately.

“She’s probably gonna think we crashed or something,” you muse, lurching in your seat a little as she takes a left. “We’re like, what, fifteen minutes late or something?”

“Nah,” Nayeon quickly refutes. She stops to let a BMW swerve around the corner before she gently taps on the gas. “She’s probably still packing her things,” the turning signal clicks at a steady tempo, stops after she takes the 3rd exit on the roundabout, “maybe even settling a bit of her make up or whatever.”

This is the most she’s spoken since her return.

You hazard a glance at the GPS. The blue line leading you back to your intended destination only grows longer, sometimes glitching a little as the turn of Nayeon’s car gives it the illusion that you’re heading back when she’s really just turning into a one way street. You can’t tell if she knows where she’s going or if she’s just throwing out random bullshit.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she grumbles, casting a rather nasty glance your way. “I’m just taking a shortcut. That’s all.”

(Is it not painfully obvious where this is going?)

And a few minutes later, she’s got you gritting your teeth in the backseat of her car. No smug remarks from her — she has your balls in her mouth and she’s getting real sloppy in some alley she’s parked in. You don’t know where to begin, where to find solid reasoning for what you’re witnessing and feeling right now. It’s pretty fucking asinine (and she probably knows that it is) and damn straight goes against all branches of logic. In no world does she have a valid reason for being this horny at 11am on a Saturday.

(Actually, there’s one reason: she just feels like it.)

“You do know that we’re both astronomically fucked if anyone so much as glances our way.” You’re ashamed to admit that this actually has you hissing, partly out of annoyance and partly out of pleasure. “You’re fucking ridiculous. I hope you know that.”

Nayeon spits on your cock. Her hands close into a fist around your shaft, her eyes almost empty as she spreads her saliva in a close to even layer over you. “Are you quite done?” She asks. The emptiness in her voice is kinda scary. It makes her sound exasperated, like she’s sick of your reasonings. “You know, you talk an awful lot for someone who literally writhes when I quite fucking literally touch your cock. Don’t act tough on me. We both know who you are. We both know you’re my toy.”

Figuring out if this is part of the bit is the hardest part of your predicament. She plays too much as of late: with her eyes, her tone, her facial expressions… Sometimes it makes you wonder if she really keeps you around just to satisfy her cock cravings or if she really wants you around. Ever since she’s gotten back, it feels like she’s been fucking you and Yuna with nothing but pure hate. You feel it in her eyes, in the violent buck of her hips when she rides you or even in the way she spanks Yuna with a little too much glee. It confounds you; admittedly: you’re petrified of the possibility that she’s straight up jealous of how your relationship with Yuna’s been going since she roped her into this mess.

You can’t help it. You need to know.

You grab her by the wrist, a little harder than you’d like but it’ll have to do. “Stop,” and you don’t mean to be assertive, but it’s all you can summon now. “I need you to answer me honestly.”

In the passenger-side seat, Nayeon fixes her gaze on yours. She tries to struggle from your grasp; you keep a firm grip.

“What are we?” you ask, straightforward; direct. You’ve been with Yuna enough times to know that this’ll elicit an honest response from her. “Cause it just feels like I’m just your piece of meat to fuck and own. We don’t talk, you don’t even look at me when we go to sleep… What are we Nayeon?”

And it makes her freeze. Your sincerity is scary to her — ropes her into your thoughts more than you usually do. She’s silent, face blanker than paper. Her fingers on the hand that you’ve got in your grasp curl a little. “We’re just fuck buddies… That’s all.”

You just stare at her for a second, soak in the weight of that statement. “Then why does it feel like you’re jealous of Yuna?”

“I’m not. What are you even…” You can tell she’s surprised — her eyes do that thing where they widen, and then she blinks. Your question is loaded to her: it catches her in a place where she’s made privy to the fact that her emotions are more out there and perceptible than she’d like.

You raise an eyebrow. “Come on… We both know that’s not true.”

Her plump lips purse. She looks away for a moment.

“And what would you do if I said I was jealous?” she raises. “Kick her out? Stop fucking her?”

She raises a valid argument. Frankly, you didn’t bring this up with the end goal of sorting this out. You just wanted the older girl to accept her emotions, maybe acknowledge that it’s a little petty and then kinda just move on. Of course, nothing with Nayeon is ever really that simple.

“You’re the one that brought her into this,” you remind her, partly because you feel like she isn’t acknowledging her fault in this situation and partly because you have nothing else to say.

She rips her hand away. “So it’s my fault then?”

“What?” you sit up a little in your seat. “No. That’s not what I’m saying.”

“Then what are you saying?”

Her eyes sear your soul with her frustration. This hurts her more than you think. “I’m saying we’re both a little guilty here,” you clarify. “We both have a part to play in how you feel, so maybe we should just talk this out.”

She goes quiet. Too quiet considering the circumstance.

“Later.” She decides. “I think better with a load inside of me.”

***

So to reiterate: they're similar but kinda different. 

“Jesus… Did you really have to get it on my dress?” Nayeon’s clearly pissed. The wet wipe in her hand rubs at the stain of her dress furiously, as if the aggressive motion will kinda just get it out magically. Yuna retires into your arms, her sweat-matted hair sticking to your chest a little. The syntax behind how you got to this point is more complicated that you’d care to elaborate on, but let’s just say: Nayeon was happier a second ago…

(Okay but to be fair: her dress was in the way when you pulled out. So it’s like, half your fault, but you like to play the victim.)

“Relax,” Yuna assures her senior. “It’ll wash right off.”

Nayeon clicks her tongue in annoyance. “You stop defending him. He knows what he’s done.”

Yuna giggles. She smiles up at you. “Yeah… He does.”

They don’t know it, but they’ve got a pretty good dynamic going: Mother-daughter; Spicy and Sweet; Sour Cream and Onion. They contrast, diverge; but they compliment each other almost perfectly. 

(It’s no family reunion; but it’s dinner and diatribes from here on out.)

—

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year. Hope you will be full of joy and fulfill your dreams next year!

Anyway! This is lokwey the start of a series where I just kinda explore more filthy and complicated things, stuff that’s just not quite right but somehow works. I won’t be following the same idols and people, so this isn’t exactly an interlinked series. Hard to explain but you guys can just come to your own conclusions really.

~Nichu

[ozzgin]

Its been 6 months😭😭 pleaasseeee make a part 2 of the android x human story im beggingggg😭

-H❤️

Yandere! Android x Reader (II)

Featuring your assigned android partner who is not as devoid of humanity as you originally thought.

Content: female reader, AI yandere, mildly NSFW, based on Caves of Steel

[Part 1] | [More original works]

The case had been solved.

Not only that, but you'd managed to prove that human officers were just as efficient as their robot counterparts. The Commissioner was beyond ecstatic, pacing back and forth in his office and finding new ways to praise your detective skills.

"That'll show those Spacers. They think some glorified tin box can match our skill?"

You frowned at his words and glanced to your side, where the android was sitting. He observed the Commissioner with the same polite smile, no hint of disagreement on his features. Was he not insulted? You questioned him once the formal meeting had finished.

"I have no reason to be offended, (Y/N). It is a personal opinion, and thus I have no control over it."

"So you don't mind people disliking robots to such an extent?"

He pondered your statement.

"I would certainly be upset if it was you who harbored the disdain. The beliefs of other humans hold no meaning to me otherwise."

You couldn't tell if he said it out of politeness, or if he actually meant it. Most likely the former, in order to part on good terms. After all, your partnership has reached its completion. He'd return to the Spacer Colony with his report on human customs, and you'd go back to your regular job.

Except he never left. Days later, he was still sipping on his morning coffee, lounging at your table. You fiddled with your cup in contemplation. Was there anything else left to do?

"When are you leaving, actually?"

The pale man raised his eyebrows in mild surprise.

"Is my presence here of such significant disturbance?"

"What? No!" you swiftly exclaimed, stumbling on your words. His lips widened in yet another cheeky grin. He was teasing you again.

"My assignment on Earth is done, thus I should have returned to the Colony already. That's what you're wondering about, yes? I am awaiting a response from my superiors."

"Whether you can go back?"

"No, whether my transfer has been accepted. I have applied to be your permanent partner."

You could feel your cheeks burning with heat. Was it that obvious to the synthetic that you enjoyed his company? Then again, he wouldn't have gone through such motions just for your sake.

"Why did you..." you probed sheepishly. There was no logical reason for him to keep working in a poorer, less advanced environment.

"Because I want to continue spending time with you."

Nonsense. An artificial being wouldn't make its decision based on such mundane, emotional reasons.

"I don't believe you."

"I understand. It is a faulty answer to come out of a machine. Though unlike common AI assistants, we have been invested with the capacity to develop likes and dislikes. Interests. Wants. It helps with variety and individualization."

"And you want to stay here? If I didn't know you any better, I'd say you have a crush on me or something", you attempted to joke.

A few moments of uncomfortable silence. Had you gone too far with your humor? Was it too cliché of a sentence? You turned away, tucking some strands of hair behind your ear. You just had to be witty, huh?

"I'm afraid I do not know what to tell you, (Y/N)."

"You don't need to say anything, it was a poor choice of-"

"Many social aspects have been implemented into my behavioral network. Workplace rapport, friendships, intimate relationships. What seems to be lacking is the transition from one to another. I know how to act as a romantic partner, but how does one achieve such a title in the first place?"

You gazed at him, incredulous. What was he trying to say?

"I am trying to convey that I am indeed infatuated with you. Which, then, makes my initial explanation dishonest: while I do appreciate our fruitful work cooperation, it is not a main reason for my decision. I hope this clears up any misunderstandings."

You'd never been a romantic. You sometimes flipped through sample pages of contemporary romance books at stores and community centers, but they always felt forcefully cheesy. Predictable. Consequently, you never had any grand dreams of passionate confessions under the rain.

On the other hand, you also didn't expect to be asked out in such a mechanical, calculated manner. Or that a machine would be the suitor. Yet there was something charming about his approach. For the first time since meeting him at the border, you saw him struggle. There was something human-like in his uncertainty.

You stood up from the table, and walked towards the android. Then, you placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder, expressing the mutual feeling and understanding.

His eyes bore an eerie glint to them. It was most kind of you to offer a common ground, but he knew better. The affections you held for him were, with utmost certainty, a mere fraction of whatever overwhelmed him from the moment he encountered you. Limerence, obsession, compulsion, there were many definitions that aptly described his otherwise unexplainable desires towards you. Even more unexplainable was the fact they'd evolved from a blank slate, a programmed agent with no previous knowledge on feelings or humans.

You noticed his hesitation.

"Is there anything else troubling you presently?" you nudged.

Nothing of immediate urgency. Well, not for you, at least. The android remained thoughtful. What were the variables which needed to be met in order to initiate a sexual encounter? Would it have been inappropriate for him to suggest intercourse straight after this conversation? To him, it was a natural escalation he'd considered many times in the past. To you, it could've come as a sudden, crass, and hurried proposal.

He reached for your wrist and discreetly pressed a thumb against your skin. Judging from your resting heart rate, facial expression, and localized temperature, there was a fair chance you wouldn't reject his advances. Once the statistical risk had been assessed, he pulled you in for a kiss.

"Would it be possible to continue this in your bedroom?" he inquired, standing up.

"Alright, just don't...ask for approval for every single step" you retorted. You'd rather not become a narrator of your own pounding.

You open your eyes with a squint, greeted by unexpected natural light flooding your bedroom. Someone must’ve lifted the hologram blinds.

“My apologies, I hadn’t considered the discomfort it would cause you. My Spacer colony uses artificial lightning, though I am becoming rather fond of the natural sun rays here.”

Your android partner is meticulously preparing his outfit for the day. Judging by the stark nakedness and the glistening skin, you suppose he’s had a shower while you were still sleeping. You involuntarily furrow your brows and blush at the sight. He notices your embarrassment. 

“A most surprising reaction. You have seen the very same genital organ…”, he says as he quickly checks his wristwatch, “...precisely eight hours and forty-five minutes ago.”

“It’s just…most people get dressed once they start doing other things. I also wear a towel for coverage when I come out of the shower.”

He processes your words.

“Hmmm. Illogical, but it explains your reaction.”

You stand up and stretch with a prolonged yawn. Suddenly, a revelation hits you: your mind flashes with images of the android fondling your body, your ears ring with the shameless moans you’ve let out throughout the night. Your face turns pale.

“Listen, when is your next functional inspection?” you ask, without waiting for the synthetic to answer. “Will they, uh…will they have access to all of your memories?”

You know that the android permanently records all data and saves it into a memory unit. It’s a pointless fear, of course. The Spacers couldn’t care less about irrelevant details. If the intended tasks are fulfilled, what happens on the side is out of their concern. Yet you don’t exactly appreciate the possibility of your personal deeds airing like this, before the eyes of multiple engineers. 

“You may rest assured, whatever involves your privacy will not be included in the examination.”

“Do you get to decide what is checked and what isn’t?”

“No, most data is sampled randomly.”

You stare at him, confused.

“Then how-”

“It is not common practice, nor encouraged by our code of ethics. I can, however, choose which information is available to begin with.”

“What? I thought you’re fully controlled by whoever created you. If they so desired, couldn’t they open you up and take whatever they require?”

The robot smiles at your assumption and takes a few steps towards you.

“Once an android model is finished, one can no longer modify the processor. Not without compromising everything else with it. It is not a device to be deconstructed, (Y/N).” He taps his temple, then continues: “I am a biocomputer. While most of my parts are mechanical, my processor is a cortical organoid developed in a laboratory. A human brain, if you will.”

Somehow, the discovery fills you with dread. A living organ, encapsulated within a machine. What does that say about consciousness? About self-awareness? The Spacers didn't just tinker with metal scraps and smart computers. They artificially birthed life.

You were always under the impression that your robot companion is closer to the computer you have on your desk. Billions of lines of code within a black box, which then lead to spontaneous, novel interactions with the outside world. To think that at the very core of his functions lies a clump of living cells...

Perhaps you weren't so different, after all. The line between machines and humans is suddenly blurred.

[naburi]

OPEN THE DOOR, YOU CHEATER! PART 2

PREQUEL TO - OPEN THE DOOR, YOU CHEATER!

KWON EUNBI X READER - FT. ITZY YUNA

TAGS: CHEATING, SEDUCTION, TEASING, FOREPLAY, BALCONY SEX

2.5K WORDS

“Are you in town?” A text message made you smoke cigarettes on the balcony, it's from someone you shouldn’t be talking to. The coldness of the night highlighted more the loneliness that you’re feeling. A few minutes after dialing up her number, you find yourself opening the door for your ex.

“I miss you,” Eunbi said so gently as if it’s not a mistake to meet your ex behind your partner's back. She gave you a slow peck in the lips, reminding you how much you love her soft lips. She walks around the hotel room,like she’s looking for something… or someone. “You sure she’s not here? We can do it with her,” her eyes look so innocent but her smirk after she spoke made you nervous.

A cold night breeze enters the room through the open balcony, the nervous tension was broken by the wind. Your ex walks out to the balcony to take a minute to adore the night sky. Her curves have been illuminated by the stars as you found your ex backside look stunting. She’s wearing a tight black dress that forms perfectly on her curves. Her round ass is highlighted in the tight dress. Her hair is tied up in a ponytail, giving you a better view of her backside.

You soon follow her to the balcony but before you can position yourself beside her. Eunbi bent over the railing, she leaned her body on the railing as her ass stuck up hitting your crotch. This made you pause for a moment, knowing Eunbi, this can’t be a coincidence. She knows what she wants but she wants you to give it to her. She looks over her shoulder with a teasing smirk on her face. She slowly grinds her firm ass on your crotch. She subtle moves her ass in and up and down motions as if alluring you to enter her from behind. She is still holding a seductive eye contact with you as she now slowly moves her ass side to side making sure her round firm ass will grace up on your bulge.

The sexual tension tickens in the air, Eunbi continues to tease your cock with a round ass which is now solid hard. Your hard cock is bulging out of your pants as it is in between her huge ass. The sight of your cock in between her ass cheeks send you into a frenzy for a moment. In a swift motion, you hold Eunbi’s hip on both sides and dry hump her hard due to the fact you can’t hold it anymore. Eunbi moans, exaggerating loudly. She wants you to know that she didn’t care if other notices the two of you fucking as long as you fuck her good. Second, she’s moaning loudly to tease you because she knows that you can’t afford to get caught being indecent in public as you hold a high position in your company.

A hard forceful pound on her ass made the woman stand up straight as she got pinned in the railings. “Ohh!” the woman got shook by the force of your last jump. You hold the railings on both sides, locking the mischievous woman in place. Eunbi turns her head to look at you with her wide smile, excitement is written all over her face as she gets you right like how she intended, you losing control of yourself because you can’t wait to fuck her. Eunbi acknowledges this as a victory, she leans backwards to move closer to your lips, giving you a long kiss. In her kisses, her tongue graces your lips for a brief moment, inviting you to a French kiss but not fully committing to it. It’s another trick from your ex that you fall into again.

You hold her checks as you finally explore her mouth with your wanting tongue, you feel Eunbi’s smiles before returning your hungry kisses. Wet sloppy kisses can be heard in the quiet night. The pair of tongues dancing at each other expressing how bad they need each other. This torrid kissing has gone on for minutes with the two of you pausing for a moment to catch your breath before continuing the sloppy kissing. Eunbi presses her firm ass in your bulge as the kiss continues, insinuating what she wants after. Your hands glide onto her front as you catch her boob, squeezing it, you can feel your hand sink with the woman’s big soft boob.

Eunbi lets out a low moan as you squeeze her boob. She continues the kiss while her hands pull down her dress, revealing her big boobs that've been hiding in the black dress. “Your hands are cold,” the woman said as she caught her breath. “Let me warm them for you,” she continues. She holds your two hands, pinning them down behind her two huge boobs. Your palms are holding her hanging boobs from the back of it. Your girlfriend, Yuna, does not have boobs like Eunbi. You now massaging her boobs from the back side, squeezing it down, feeling the soft boobs that are in the palm of your hands. Eunbi soft moans are coming out so you continue the kiss but now squeezing her boobs harder. You can tell she can’t keep the kiss going as she can’t help but to moan about what you’re doing. Eunbi breaks the kiss and lets her head hang on your shoulder. She’s breathing with her mouth open as you know playing her nipples with your fingers. Pulling and pinching her nipples like finding the right tune for her moans.

“Ohhh fuck~” Eunbi got caught suprised as you suck her neck. You took advantage of her head hanging on your shoulder. You start by giving small kisses on her collar bone up to her neck near the ear. The woman twitches with every kiss from you as she’s sensitive in her neck area. You are now sucking her neck in multiple places giving her white soft skin hickes. Eunbi can’t hold her soft moans, this turns you on as you suck her neck longer giving her a bruise like hickey. The calculated woman now looks helpless as she twitches continuously by the way your tongue moves on her neck. The slow licks make the woman convulse in place as you keep holding her in place.

Eunbi is uncomfortable moaning with your tongue on her neck and your fingers playing with her nipples. It gets to the point where nearby units can hear the helpless woman’s moan. You put one hand to cover her mouth while the other tries to pull up her long dress. She noticed what you’re doing so she hurriedly pulled her dress up to her hips level. She holds her long dress while your hand is reaching into her panties. You know that she easily gets wet but you were surprised how soaking wet her panties are. You slowly gracing her slit with your fingers, returning the favor of how she teases you earlier.

The wet woman can’t wait. She is pressing her slits onto your fingers, grinding it to feel that longing sensation. She moves her hips faster while you hold your fingers in place for her to grind into. Eunbi’s moans are muffled between your fingers. You noticed that your hands get wet as the woman is salivating in pleasure. As she grinds her hips in your fingers, her ass hits your bulge multiple times, this makes you dry jump her ass again unto the railing making the woman moan in your hands. Your hand goes in her soaking panties as you look for her clit. You are now pleasing her clit while you continue to dry jump her.

Eunbi moves from hanging her head to your shoulder to holding the railings as she hangs her head over the balcony. Your bulge is still pressed on her round ass as you continue to cover her mouth. You use the wet fingers that she’s been grinding over to open your pants. To reveal your hard cock that’s inside on your outstretched underwear. You move your hard cock upward to her round ass, hitting her slit and her ass in the process. Eunbi moans wildly in your hand as she had enough of the teasing. She wants you inside her right now.

You finally pull down your underwear as your cock springs up hitting her ass. Eunbi felt your cock hit her ass, now she’s reaching over her back to get a hold of it. She wants to put it inside her at the very moment. She moved aside her wet panties and aligned your cock in her entrance. A muffled gasp was felt in your hands as you pushed your cock inside the wet slit. Yuna have a tighter slit, hers feel like a snug fit that is begging to be loosen up while Eunbi’s slit fit your cock like a glove. It conforms to your girth like she only belongs to you. The woman moans in your hand as you put all of your length on her.

You pull your cock just so you can put it deep in her again. You pull your hips in a slow manner and quickly plug your cock deep in her. You felt the woman gasp every time you plunged deep in her. Every time you move your cock inside you, you feel her soft walls hugging your cock. You have been with a few women before but her pussy is the best you ever had. As your momentum increases, Eunbi keeps getting pinned in the railings. The woman is holding on to the metal bar as she is now balancing on top of it. Her upper torso is on top of the railings, her feet are tip -toeing in the balcony but you still keep pounding her, not caring about the danger you’re putting her in. You keep holding her mouth and her waist as you now pound her in a fast rhythm.

Loud muffled moans can be heard as you're hitting her right in her g-spot, she may not be in a safe position to get pound hard but she can’t think about anything right now. You felt that her feet touching your shin woke you out of the bliss. Eunbi is holding on to the railings for dear life because she is now completely off the ground. You quickly pull the woman inside, sitting on the edge of the bed to check up on her. Your guilt quickly vanishes due to the way her eyes look, Eunbi looks annoyed that you stop pounding her. She quickly sits on your lap, pulling your head into a hungry kissing. Her kisses are sloppy and wet, she is chasing the high that you put her through. She wants to get fucked good again.

Eunbi pushes you to lay down, she is now sitting in front of your hard cock. She gives it a few strokes before impaling herself with it. The woman moans as she sits on your whole cock. She moves her hips back and front, riding your cock. Eunbi being on top of you gives you the best view of the woman. Her seductive face that can make you hard just by looking at her and her huge soft boobs. Eunbi continues to ride your cock as she leans forward onto you. Her boobs are now close enough to hit your face but not close enough where you can suck it. Eunbi has a grin on her face, she loves how hard you're trying to catch her boobs with your mouth.

“Aghhh, aghhhhh” the woman was surprised with your sudden pounding. You are now pounding her up to push her upper body closer to you. Eunbi is squatting in the air as you pound her up. Her boobs are now in your mouth. You didn’t notice her face while you were sucking on her soft boobs but Eunbi is smirking, she gets you every time she’s testing you. You fail on her traps over and over again. You went from being hesitant to meet her to doing whatever it takes to savor her whole body. Eunbi puts her hands around your neck, pulling your head in an embrace as you continue to suck the best boobs you ever have.

She runs her fingers in your hair as she throws back her head in a feeling of bliss. Your tongue is running circles on her hard nipples. You have both of your hands squeezing her boobs, using your mouth to alternately give attention to her two huge boobs. You flick her hard nipples using your tongue, sucking it, licking it. Everything your tongue does makes Eunbi moans loudly. She is now sitting on your pounding, meeting your forceful pound as she sits on it on the right rhythm. The sound of flesh colliding is music to the ears for the both of you.

Eunbi pulls back, you look surprised with her sudden movement. She stands up to face the other way. She sits back down on your cock with now having her round fat ass in front of you. Eunbi holds your legs while she puts her ass up just to crash it down in your cock. Her fat ass waves every time she sits on you with a force. Like her boobs, her ass looks well shaped like it’s firm but it is so soft, her fat ass riffles every time her ass hits your body. You slap Eunbi’s fat ass as a way to compliment her movements. She’s fucking you so good it made you can’t let other people experience this too. You want Eunbi all for yourself.

You grab her fat ass with your both hands as it’s your turn to match her rhythm. You pound her up every time she sits back down. Eunbi moans every time your body collides as your cock reaches her deep with every pound. The woman is now pulling her dress up and undressing herself due to how hot her body feels. She stands up in the bed to pull her dress away. The woman is now positioning herself on all fours. Eunbi is now facing the balcony, waiting for you to get in the back.

You know, position yourself in between her round ass. You wet your tip by grazing it to her entrance before putting all of your cock in her in one go. You give her fat ass some few slaps. You hate how much fucking her feels so good. How her pussy fits you perfectly, how her body is made for sex. You start in a fast rhythm, you reach for her ponytail while you continue to pound her from behind. Her ass is now red due to the multiple slaps it received and the times your body collides.

A knock can be heard but your mind is too occupied with three senses; what your cocks feels inside her wet pussy, hearing the sound of flesh colliding with every pound, the sight of waves on her fat ass with your every thrust. Eunbi might heard the knock but her mind is lost in ecstasy. You keep hitting her in the right spot and her mind goes blank. Eunbi didn’t care that you are in a relationship with your new girlfriend as long as you can fuck her this good.

Your new girlfriend is now at the front door, aggressively knocking.

“Open the door, you cheater!” Yuna shouts.

End of part 2.

[blue-jisungs]

soft-hearted jealousy

#author's note ... i love wonwoo so fucking much did i ever guys tell u that. anywho this one is for zanzan bc i got inspired when we watched the kode ep <//3 and big big biiiig shout out to my beloved @l3visbby for proofreading <3 love u mother

#summary ... you're a little jealous of wonwoo n kerias frienship<//3

#word count ... 986

pssst the fic is referencing this cute vid:( wonwoo looked so good in it btw like what the actual fuck. also keria is my height and i fainted when i saw them hug bye

the door opened with a soft click and then all you could hear was soft patting of wonwoo’s footsteps against the wooden floor. 

sighing, you switched youtube to instagram and tried to act unbothered. but how could you? a reel of a new video featuring your fiancé popped out. a video you have just watched and it made you… a little jealous. 

“bedroom?” wonwoo called, trying to locate you. 

“yea” you hummed back, loudly enough for him to hear you. scrolling down, you noticed another reel. 

the love of your life with a cute, gamer boy. 

puffing your cheeks, you decided to exit instagram as well and check if you had any mails or texts. 

wonwoo entered the room, a small crease between his brows. 

“is everything alright, darling?” he asked, voice smooth as honey. which pissed you off even more. how dares he sound so attractive when you’re mad at him? 

“yes” you grunted a little too sulkily, drawing his attention. 

“oh really? because you didn’t run up to me once i entered the house” wonwoo teased and walked up to the bed, stretching his arms. you lost the battle with yourself and watched him, biting the inside of your cheek. how could one look so good in a plain white t-shirt and jeans? 

“yeah, im fine. how was your day?” you sighed and looked away once you saw he noticed your gaze. with a small smirk, he laid down next to you. the mattress dipped under his weight but that restored the balance – it somehow felt empty when he wasn’t there before. 

“it was good. me and mingyu did a live… i talked to my new friend… we might play a bit today” he answered, eyes tracing your face “oh, the video is out! did you see it?”

you hated how excited he was. and how much you liked it. keria is… 

“cute. i liked it” you mumbled and turned his back to him, fighting a smile. this is ridiculous. 

but it’s just not fair that wonwoo looked so handsome in that video and threw some flirty comments. he was so cocky in it too… 

“cute? yeah, keria is so adorable” wonwoo chuckled and you looked at him through your arm, shooting him a glare “what? what is it?” 

“nothing” you grunted. wonwoo’s lips broke into a grin, finally figuring you out. 

“something is clearly wrong. come on, talk to me” he purred, his hand sneaking its way under your t-shirt. 

“you looked good in the vid” grunting, you tried to surpass a smile. the warmth of his skin on yours sent shivers down your spine but your tried to remain calm. and not fold. 

“really? thank you, darling. keria said he liked my jacket” your fiancé hummed and leaned a bit closer, fingers tapping gently against your ribs. 

you couldn’t control the huff that left your lips. 

“we got along really well, i like his company. he’s so sweet” wonwoo continued to tease you and apparently that did the trick. 

“if he’s so sweet why don’t you date him, hm?” murmuring, you tried to hide your face in the pillow. wonwoo’s fingers ghosting over your skin in a circular motion made you melt, making it impossible not to crack.

“oh?” 

“forget it. go play your stupid games” you scoffed and wanted to move further away from him but wonwoo was quicker. he pulled you closer, calloused hands resting on your hips. 

“are you, perhaps… and i might be wrong here… jealous?” wonwoo’s cat-like adorned his features and you turned around, finally facing him. ebony eyes looking at you with amusement but also love, so much love, in them.

“yes, you’re wrong” you finally broke and cracked a smile, poking his buff chest. wonwoo tenderly grabbed your hand, placing it flat against his chest. his heartbeat softly drummed beneath your palm, making heat rise to your cheeks.

“come on, you know i would never…” he started and you shook your head. 

“it’s stupid and not that serious” you whined, covering your face with your other hand “it’s not the way you were… so flirty… and charming…”

“oh, pretty” wonwoo laughed wholeheartedly, the warm sound of his laughter bouncing off the walls of your shared bedroom. 

you leaned closer and hid your face in his chest, the smell of cologne filling your nostrils. his tender hands moved to the back of your neck, massaging it gently. 

“i made my angel jealous… by talking to my friend?” wonwoo sighed dramatically and you could hear the smile blooming on his lips. 

“it wasn’t just talking! you were so flirty…” your voice was a bit muffled by the material of his t-shirt “or i just… don’t know. you were really something that day, you know? so what if i’m a little jealous, i just don’t want to share you with the world… that much” 

wonwoo’s heart skipped a beat and he observed how you raised your head up. eyes meeting his, cheeks dusted with pink. you were so cute like that… cuter than keria. 

“can i make it up to you?” he hummed, hands trailing to cup your face. 

“a kiss. and no flirting with others, even if it’s a cute guy” you pouted and wonwoo leaned, capturing your soft lips in a sweet kiss. 

before you had a chance to deepen the kiss, he leaned away with a small frown. 

“but you do admit he’s cute, right?” your fiancé asked and you smacked his chest lightly.

“i wish we could adopt him” you laughed, and a grin formed on wonwoo’s face. 

“i’m afraid he’s a little too old for that…'' hiding his face in your hair, you decided to wrap your arms around his waist. 

“he’s 21… still a baby…” you huffed and shortly after, the sound of your laughs mixed in harmony. you guessed you might forgive him, it wasn’t really serious in the first place. 

masterlist <3

taglist. @mirxzii ,, @primoppang ,, @l3visbby ,, @nicholasluvbot ,, @planetkiimchi ,, @weird-bookworm ,, @slytherinshua ,, @kazmura ,, @laylasbunbunny ,, @mon2sunjinsuver,, @eternalgyu ,, @rubywonu ,, @haecien ,,@mine-gyu ,, @nonononranghaee

[kropotkindersurprise]

July 21, 2024 - Palestine Action activists have broken into two factories which are part of Elbit’s supply chain, causing extensive damage. One group invaded the premises of Manchester-based Dean Group International, and another broke into Ametek Airtechnology in Sunbury on Thames.

Dean Group International uses a specialised technique called “investment casting” to manufacture components for arms companies, including Elbit’s Kent-based subsidiary, Instro Precision. This was verified last month when activists broke into the latter factory.

Ametek Airtechnology specialises in thermal and motion control solutions for weapons including missiles, military vehicles and fighter jets — including Israeli F-35 fighter jets used to bomb in Gaza. Ametek’s subsidiary United Electronic Industries lists Elbit Systems as a “valued customer” – a connection which was also confirmed through sightings of deliveries to Elbit’s Shenstone-based subsidiary, UAV Engines Ltd.

A Palestine Action spokesperson said: “Without suppliers such as Dean Group International and Ametek, Elbit couldn’t make weaponry which is used to commit genocide. Whilst our government continues to facilitate Elbit’s crimes, Palestine Action will continue to use direct action to end the complicity and shut Elbit down”. [video]/[video]

[chandupalle]

Motion Control Companies - ABB (Switzerland) and FANUC Corporation (Japan) are the Key Players

The motion control market is estimated to be worth USD 16.5 billion in 2024 and is projected to reach USD 21.6 billion by 2029 at a CAGR of 5.5% during the forecast period. The global Motion Control Market is primarily propelled by the increasing demand for automation across industries, aiming for enhanced efficiency and precision in manufacturing processes. Technological advancements in motion control systems, offering improved performance and reliability, contribute significantly to market growth.

Major Motion Control companies include:

ABB (Switzerland),

FANUC Corporation (Japan),

Siemens (Germany),

Yaskawa Electric Corporation (Japan), and

Mitsubishi Electric Corporation (Japan).

Major players in the Motion Control market are strategically implementing initiatives to establish a robust global presence. These efforts often involve a combination of mergers and acquisitions, strategic partnerships, and geographic expansions. Key players are actively seeking to broaden their market reach by acquiring companies with complementary technologies or a strong regional presence. Additionally, partnerships with local distributors and system integrators enable these players to enhance their market penetration and provide customized solutions tailored to specific regional needs.

ABB is a Swiss multinational corporation, a technology leader in terms of electrification, industrial automation, motion, and robotics and discrete automation. ABB offers a range of autonomous mobile robot products that are designed to operate in industrial and logistics settings, improving efficiency and safety. ABB’s products and services are used by a wide range of industries, including utilities, transportation, manufacturing, and infrastructure. The company operates through four business segments, namely, Electrification, Motion, Process Automation, and Robotics & Discrete Automation.

FANUC Corporation is a leading global manufacturer and supplier of factory automation solutions and industrial robots. The company has become a pioneer in the field of computer numerical control (CNC) systems, producing cutting-edge technologies that empower industries with precision, efficiency, and productivity. FANUC CORPORATION's diverse range of products includes industrial robots, CNC systems, machine tools, and factory automation solutions, catering to various sectors such as automotive, electronics, aerospace, and more.  FANUC CORPORATION operates its business through four divisions, namely, Factory Automation (FA), Robot, Robomachine, and Service. FANUC manufactures products such as servo motors, servo amplifiers, lasers, robot machines, field systems, and robots. The company operates its business through four segments—Field Automation (FA), Robot, Robomachine, and Service.

Mitsubishi Electric Corporation manufactures a range of control and power electronics products based on automation technologies. The company is well-known for its air conditioning products, home appliances, automotive equipment, rail transportation systems, satellites, digital signage, semiconductors, and electronics. It provides industrial automation solutions in Asia, with its origin in Japan. The company operates through six business segments, namely, Energy and Electric Systems, Industrial Automation Systems, Home Appliances, Information and Communication Systems, Electronic Devices, and Others (Procurement, Logistic, Real Estate, Advertising, Finance, and Other Services).

Siemens is a global powerhouse in the fields of electrification, automation, and digitalization. The company has evolved into a diversified conglomerate with a significant impact on various industries worldwide. Siemens operates across numerous sectors, including energy, healthcare, industry, and infrastructure, delivering cutting-edge solutions that address complex challenges and drive sustainable progress. It operates through six business segments, namely, Digital Industries, Smart Infrastructure, Mobility, Siemens Healthineers, Siemens Financial Services, and Portfolio Companies.

Yaskawa Electric Corporation is one of the leading manufacturers in the fields of drive technology, industrial automation, and robotics in Japan. The company is operating its business through three segments, namely Motion Control, Robotics, and System Engineering. Yaskawa has been ensuring to provide cutting-edge technologies in its products and services. Yaskawa Electric Corporation is a company involved in the manufacturing, sales, installation, and maintenance of control systems and industrial products.

[whokilledsamara]

hello my lovely!!! (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶) .ᐟ.ᐟ

i figured since you sent me a request i'll send you one too if that's okay?! i see a lack of mr hood on ur acc so maybe some headcanons for him if you have any!!? anything cute or anything filthy!!

MR. HOOD N/SFW HCS

a list of Mr. Hood x reader hcs {an: ofc my love, hope you like!! 💋💋}

warnings || smut, tentacles, monster fucking, soft dom, slight violence, black goo

{an || ah hello!! i hope you enjoy these, i dont have much Mr. Hood and i wanted to write for him soon so thank you!}

SFW

Mr. Hood is a difficult lover, as expected. he cant quite grasp the concept of love- or he just doesn't want to. it will take forever to even convince him to admit his feelings.

he is known to bring gifts, or anything he comes across that would seem to interest you. he just really likes seeing you happy!

he is a very monotone guy, rarely any emotion noticeable from him honestly. he prefers to keep things leveled out and little to no affection.

even if you aren't "shrunken", he still likes having you inside of his coat. he says its for safety purposes, but you know its more than that.

when it comes to the others- he doesn't mind letting you hang out with them! he isn't controlling whatsoever and allows you to pretty much do as you please.

usually he is gone somewhere, but don't worry, he is always watching. even if you cant see him per se, he has his "eyes" on you.

he wont admit it, but he enjoys your company. his biggest fear is loosing you. therefore, if you call for him- he will always be there.

cold? he will either stuff you inside of his coat with him or he will just take it off and hand it to you. something about seeing you in it does something for him.

NSFW

he is a very gentle lover. while yes, he has a lot of pent up tension, he wont be rough with you unless explicitly asked. if you do however allow him to be rough, he will still have restraint.

he doesn't have a penis, he has tentacles. they work the same, and act the same, just don't look the same. {feels better too}

he is terrified of harming you, so any negative noise you make will cause him to halt his motions. just tap his arm or something to make him resume.

not a greedy or teasing lover. will give you what you both want, and do it efficiently.

his favorite position is missionary. he gets to use all of your holes at once with his multiple tentacles.

his cum is black and translucent, but has the consistency of human semen. tastes like literally nothing.

noises aren't very frequent with him. you might hear a grunt or two every now and then, but nothing loud or anything.

his hands feel very cool against your body, often groping and grabbing whatever flesh he can. specifically your neck.

very few limits on what he will do. anything you ask, he will do silently and immediately. very obedient.

he is a very soft dom. will please you and will be quiet without degradation or roughness, but always on "top".

hehehe,, might make more...

{ made by @whokilledsamara }

[roanniom]

First Date

Eddie Munson x fem!reader

Warnings: NSFW, 18+ ONLY, heavy petting, groping, slight hand job, dry humping

You both try to go slow, it's your first date after all. But it’s not as easy as it sounds when his hands are wandering and your lips are on his neck. Eddie has the top of your dress pulled down (he’d groaned dramatically when he realized you weren’t wearing a bra) and his body leans over yours, your thighs on either side of his hips and your back on the couch.

You knew you weren’t going all the way, but you’d told him he could take his jeans off. It was a selfish ask. It made it so that you could feel him better when you rubbed against him.

You suck lightly on his earlobe and Eddie gasps.

“Oh fuck.”

“Yeah?” you ask breathily, more tease than you would have guessed yourself capable of. He chuckles but it is half pant.

"Yeah."

You kiss his earlobe again, grazing your teeth lightly over the shell.

"I need to fuck you," he mutters, though he pulls back and away from your mouth. Eddie looks down at you with hazy. "But we're not fucking tonight, so I need a second to get my shit together."

While he takes a breath, he sits back on his heels, your legs still around his hips. He rests his hands heavy on your thighs and looks down at you in your amused, debauched state. It's absolutely not helping him calm down. Neither is the fact that he can't stop his hands from sliding up and squeezing over your exposed breasts.

"Fuck," Eddie mutters as he watches the supple flesh give and spill around his large fingers. His audible frustration makes you let out a giggle, and you notice that his cock twitches in his boxers at the sound. The sight has you ready to end this break, so you push him so that he's sitting against the back of the couch, clambering up to straddle him.

"You're hot," you mumble before kissing your way from his jaw to his lips. Your hand slides down his chest to rest on his abdomen. He cants his hips upward and the tip of his clothed cock taps your hand, obviously encouraging you to grasp it through the fabric. So of course you do.

"Shit, no you're hot."

You bite your lip to keep from arguing with him. He's calling you hot and if you're honest with yourself, you've never felt hotter than you do right now with his hands all over you, so you decide to go with it. Eddie hangs his head so he can watch you jerk him slowly through his boxers. It's hot and hard in your palm and you're sure to rub your thumb over the mushroom head, pleased to feel a little bit of sticky precum bleed through the cloth.

This is absolutely not what you'd assumed would happen when you agreed to spontaneously go on this first date earlier today. You'd guessed you would, at best, enjoy some good conversation and company. You hadn't anticipated agreeing to go back to his place after just a few drinks, but holy fuck are you glad that's the direction the night took.

It's not long before Eddie's hand drops over the back of yours, stopping your motion over his member.

"Baby...you're killing me. We might need to stop," he grunts. Contrary to his words, his hand continues to guide yours up and down his cock, making you laugh. Eddie's eyes flash up to yours in amusement.

"What's so funny?" he asks. You shake your head but keep laughing, so Eddie takes the opportunity to push you onto your back again. His hand cups between your legs, fingers pressing over where your clit should be. You lift your hips to seek out more friction, though you know it's a useless pursuit with how snug and thick your stockings are.

"Right there?" Eddie asks, pressing more pointedly. Your roll your hips, impatient.

"Yeah...under layers," you joke. His hand worms into the tight control panel waistband of your stockings so he can play with the top of your panties.

"You know," he says casually, as if his hand isn't between your legs making you melt. "I could go down on you."

You blink up at him.

"Huh?"

"I could go down on you," Eddie repeats, leaning down over you to kiss your neck. "If you want."

When you don't reply, Eddie pulls back to gauge your reaction. It spurs you to speak up.

"Nobody's ever done that before," you say quietly. Eddie continues to swirl his finger over the top of your panties, but the movement is gentle.

"Really?" he asks, voice colored with disbelief. You shrug and try not to show that you're embarrassed by the inexperience you're projecting. Eddie's having none of it. "I'd go down on you, baby."

You surge up then at his words and pull him into another deep kiss. It's all tongue and teeth with your hands in his hair, tugging hard. Eddie's hand pulls out of the waistband of your stockings so he can grip and grab at you wildly in response.

You do it so that it can distract him from the offer he was making. Because there's nothing you wanted more than to let him rip your stockings off your body and put that talented tongue to use at your apex. But you had promised yourself that - even if you were going to hook up pretty intensely - you weren't going to have sex on this first date.

Eddie finally pulls back to let you breathe, which you do with a gasp, and he rests his sweaty forehead to yours.

"Probably better not. If I go down on you...I'm pretty sure we'll end up fucking."

He says it with a smug grin on his face. Pure confidence that makes you laugh and want to contradict him, but you absolutely know the man is correct.

"Yeah, I guess that's right."

Eddie sits back up to give you room to do the same. You both sit facing the long dark television to catch your breath. Out of the corner of your eye you notice Eddie has his hand on his still hard dick, stroking softly. He catches you looking and shoots you a grin.

"Sorry, I'm so fucking tuned on." He's saying sorry but his thighs are manspread performatively and it's very clear he likes you watching him. Just as much as he likes watching your breasts bounce as you laugh and lean forward to kiss the tattoo on his pec. You rest your head against his shoulder so you can watch him touch himself for another few minutes before you sigh.

"I think I have to leave before I end up doing what I really want to do."

Eddie groans and stills his hand, moving it up instead to cradle your jaw, turning you towards him for one more lingering kiss.

"Let me call you a cab," he says against your lips and you nod.

While you run to the bathroom to adjust your dress and make sure it doesn't look like you'd just dry humped Eddie Munson for an hour, the man in question puts his jeans back on. You walk out to find him adjust his still hard cock in the confines of the garment, wincing.

"Alright there, champ?" you ask him with a grin. The cab honks its arrival out front.

"I will be jerking off the minute you leave, just know," he says matter-of-factly as he leads you out the door. "I don't know if girls need to do that, but I'm pretty much gonna die if I can't cum after all that."

He says it good-naturedly and for once in all of your dating life, you don't feel pressured or shamed. Just extremely flattered to have this kind of effect on him.

At the bottom of his front step you turn and place a hand on the side of his neck and pull him down closer to you.

"I don't need to make myself cum. But I'm definitely going to," you whisper into his ear before running off to the cab, sparing him one cheeky look over your shoulder so you can bask in his dumbfounded expression.

~*~

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Hope you enjoyed! Please let me know if you did!

[quimichi]

Day 1 of asking Kinich with a reader that's quiet/calm 24/7

✎ KINICH WITH A CALM AND QUIET S/O ᝰ.

a/n: since you asked 2-3 times, here you go <3

Kinich is the perfect compliment to your calm demeanor. He's the moon, you're the stars

He's constantly at your side, quietly keeping you company. He follows you like a well-trained puppy, desperate for scraps of your attention. As Ajaw would put it.

Every day he prays that you do not tire of him, that you will continue to look at him with love. He loves being your boyfriend, and he would do anything to keep you in his life. He would give you the world on a sliver platter. Kinich is constantly watching you while you go about your day — studying the motions, the subtle curves of your expression, the things you do when you are not paying attention to yourself.

He notices you as you do your hair in the morning, or your eyes fluttering as you watch clouds pass. He watches you bite your lip, run your hands over the pages of a book, chew on a pen in the middle of writing a letter.

Every little, unconscious gesture you make is observed by Kinich. Every tick, every mannerism, every movement. You are calm, in control; a quiet pillar in the raging storm. In Kinich's eyes, you are perfect. He can't help but to admire you, to study the way you maintain your cool, no matter the situation.

Whenever you remain composed even in the face of difficulty, he feels a sense of awe. Your ability to stay collected even when the world is falling apart feels like a secret, a blessing only for your eyes.

And obviously he admires how calm you can be with Ajaw. Mind you, he slapped him all over Natlan just to shut him tf up, but Ajaws bestie Y/n would never.

[worldsover]

In Motion

~3.4k words, massage, gym sex, your personal training client!Jisoo

(for @sooyadelicacies, a quick bfh)

Jisoo flows through various yoga poses with grace and strength, her toned body clad in form-fitting pants. Despite the late hour, you made an exception for Jisoo tonight; she's worth it. As she holds a challenging lunge, her thighs quivering from the effort, you admire her determination—one of the reasons why you cleared your schedule for this session. Besides, it's technically Saturday now, so staying up to watch her is justifiable since you'd be working at home anyway. It definitely has nothing to do with wanting to appreciate the curve of her hips, or the arch of her back, or the way her ponytail sways as she moves into different positions, revealing the elegant line of her neck. Definitely not. Who would stay up this late just to watch someone sweat? Or to admire the sight of them in a sports bra, revealing their cleavage? Certainly not you.

"I saw that you landed that yoga sponsorship. It suits you perfectly," you comment, catching a whiff of her jasmine-scented shampoo as she walks by for weighted squats. Your eyes linger on her backside before you correct her form.

A thin layer of sweat glistens on Jisoo's forehead after finishing a set. "Thank you!" she pants, her chest rising and falling with exertion. "I never thought I'd be working out this late." Her laughter fills the room and warms your heart.

The distant rumble of a sports car breaks your focus. Living just steps away from Elysium Fitness, these interruptions are common in such an expensive neighborhood. "Don't worry about him. Just showing off," you reassure Jisoo with a smile, and she chuckles in response.

As the night wears on, the bright white lights are replaced with warmer, softer lamps that are easier on the eyes. But the harsh lights of the city at night still seep through, casting a neon glow over everything. Your breathing matches the thuds of feet and weights hitting the floor as you both lie on mats for core work. You guide Jisoo through planks and leg raises until you're both exhausted. With each movement, her top rides up and exposes more of her toned abs, testing your self-control. You've worked with plenty of beautiful actresses and models with stunning bodies, but there's something about Jisoo that sets her apart.

During a break to sip water, Jisoo offers you a taste of her strawberry-flavored drink. The sweetness catches you off guard and elicits another giggle from her. Her laughter quickens your pulse in a way no workout ever could.

"Rough day on set?" you ask.

She lets out a sigh. Sitting on the floor, she leans back and supports herself with her arms behind her. Her chest rises and falls, covered in sweat. "Not just work," she responds. "I broke up with him."

Your eyes widen in surprise. "Really? Isn't he still your co-star?"

"Yep." She pops her lips, and you nod sympathetically at the awkwardness of the situation.

As you help her up after a strenuous set, your hands brush against her stomach and back. At that moment, your eyes meet hers in an intense gaze as she leans into you for support. Company policy strictly forbids personal involvement with clients, but denying Jisoo is impossible. The city lights seem to dance across her glistening skin, mixing with the scent of her perfume.

"I'm here whenever you want to talk," you offer, gently massaging the tension from her shoulders as she relaxes into your touch. "You know I'm ready to help with whatever I can."

She takes a deep breath before responding. "I know. That's why I like you." Your heart skips a beat at her words, and time seems to stand still as the sounds of your exertion fade away.

You try not to gulp. "You know, I actually have my massage license. So if you need me to work out anything else... promise I won't charge extra."

Jisoo stays still for a moment, then nods. "I think I like the sound of that."

Together, the two of you walk towards the massage rooms. The gym is quiet and empty at this late hour, a stark contrast to its usual bustling energy during peak hours. As you enter, the sounds of grunting and heavy breathing are replaced by soft jazz music playing from the speakers. You close and lock the door behind you for privacy, even though it's unlikely that anyone will disturb you in this peaceful haven.

But then you remember and go back to lock the door. "Hey, if you want to change in the locker room—"

"Keep it locked."

The air is thick with tension as you wait for her to undress, every part of your body buzzing with anticipation. She begins by removing her shoes, then slowly pulls down her pants, revealing long and toned legs. It feels like she's putting on a show for you, yet she still blushes and you look away out of respect. Her sports bra is the last thing to come off; you bite your cheek to avoid staring as she hands it over without meeting your gaze. Now wearing only a pair of panties, Jisoo lays face down on the table with a heavy sigh.

You start massaging her shoulders, feeling the gentle give of the springs beneath her weight. Your hands continue to move lower until they reach the small of her back where you pause for a moment, taking in a deep breath. You catch a whiff of sweat mixed with jasmine from her shampoo and a hint of strawberries from her flavored water. Her skin glistens with perspiration and you quickly grab some massage oil from the cupboard, generously pouring it onto your hands before returning to her. The shine of her fair skin, now glimmering with oil and muscle definition, has your breath catching in your throat. You continue kneading, now using oil to glide your hands all over her back, shoulders, neck—and you think you can hear her moaning softly, like a contented purr.

She turns over onto her back, exposing even more of herself to you. At first, she covers her breasts with one arm and avoids your gaze. But then she relaxes and lets her arms rest by her sides. Her breasts are small but perky and enticing. Her nipples are firm. You squirt out some more oil, slowly gliding it up and down her arms and legs until they shine in the warm dim light.

Jisoo lets out a soft moan as your skilled hands work their way deeper, releasing any tension or stress she may have had. It's almost like a mockery to her, the way you only touch her limbs. Your gaze wanders over her body, tracing curves that you've only ever imagined caressing before. She tilts her back slightly, seemingly inviting you to explore her chest. But you resist, choosing instead to focus on her shoulders, collarbones, and sides—purposely teasing her with your careful touches. You maintain the facade of a professional masseur, suppressing your desires for now.

She turns back onto her stomach and you can't help but notice how her beautiful butt jiggles slightly as she settles in again.

Once more, you start from her shoulders and work your way down her back. This time, she shudders as you continue massaging downwards, stopping just above the top of her thighs. You lean forward to whisper in her ear, "Would it be okay if I moved a little lower?" Your voice is husky with nervousness and desire as your fingertips brush against the smooth skin above where her panties sit.

She nods slowly, biting her lip nervously as she exhales heavily through clenched teeth. As your hands knead at her thighs, she moans louder this time. "C-can you take off my panties? They're...starting to feel uncomfortable," she whispers. Like she's too embarrassed to admit it aloud.

"Of course," you say, and your finger hooks into the waistband. Lowering, carefully, you peel her panties down her legs, and watch in awe: her pussy is soaked. "Are you sure you're okay with this?"

"Mhm," she moans, whiny. "Just help me relax, please."

Without fabric in the way, you can really sink your digits into her backside properly. You can feel every ridge of her spine, every indent of muscle. You start to massage her glutes, circling and kneading them until you find that perfect spot. Her hips buck up involuntarily into your hands, begging for more as you bring relief to her tense body. You can't deny yourself anymore; your hands slowly creep towards her butt cheeks and then lower still. As you work on her legs, your fingers somehow find their way between them, teasing her inner thighs, earning another moan. The scent of her arousal fills the room, and it's almost too much for you. But you keep going, kneading, caressing, rubbing away all that pent-up tension. Your heart pounds in your chest as your thumb brushes against her clit, earning a tiny gasp from her lips. She's wet and hot to the touch.

"How's that?" you ask quietly.

"Good," she breathes out between ragged breaths. "So good... keep going."

That single brush becomes more purposeful, strokes of your fingers along her folds. She grips the edge of the table tightly, trembling under your touch like it's somewhere between pain and pleasure, but listen to her whimpering—it's all pleasure, and any pain is at your restraint.

"Please. More."

You nod, feeling your heart race in your chest. Your fingers find their way to her core and gently part her folds as Jisoo sighs heavily. Her labia is swollen and wet, begging for attention, but you take your time, teasing them with the tip of your index finger before plunging inside her. She cries out softly, arching her back into the table. Your middle finger joins the first one inside her, stretching her tightness with a gentle pressure that she welcomes eagerly. Her mouth falls open in a silent 'O' shape and she grinds against your hand, seeking more. You smile against her back as you watch your fingers disappear into her hot, tight heat and begin to move them in and out in slow, steady strokes. Her pussy clenches around them, milking your fingers as you continue massaging her thighs and glutes. You can't help but taste a droplet of sweat on her skin and lick it clean, savoring the mix of saltiness and jasmine on your tongue.

Jisoo's moans grow louder now as you work your fingers deeper inside her while still massaging her outer thighs; she trembles under your touch as you apply just enough pressure to hit all the right spots at once. Your other hand reaches up to cup one of her breasts through the oil-covered skin, squeezing and rolling the nipple between your fingers while you pleasure her from below. She gasps at the mix of sensations before coming apart underneath you; warmth seeps through your fingertips as she climaxes hard behind you. Every muscle in her body tenses before relaxing with deep sighs that fill the room. Even then, you don't stop; instead of slowing down, you continue to stimulate her, not wanting this moment to end. Minutes pass before she starts to calm down, and when she does, she pants heavily with an afterglow that fills the room. Finally, you sit back on the table, looking down at your sexy client as she lies there completely naked before you. She catches her breath raggedly, her chest rising and falling rapidly. You wipe away the remaining oil with a towel, then grab some fresh ones for both of you.

"Thank you, oh, fuck, that was incredible." She makes eye contact with you. "Can you pass my clothes?"

You hand them over, your hands shaking a little as you watch her dress herself.

Suddenly, Jisoo grabs your hand. "I need to reward you for that."

"What? No, it's fine, that was plenty reward—"

But then she pulls you away, and you find yourself whisked through the empty gym once again—as an employee, you know this place like the back of your hand, but you have no idea where she's taking you.

Whatever you were expecting, it wasn't Jisoo on your lap while you were sitting on a gym bench in a squat rack. This position isn't in any of your training programs.

"Wh-why here? If there's anywhere someone could show up... I mean, there's always crazy busy bodybuilders..."

"Shh." Jisoo has a wicked grin. "Just relax."

If you had to wager a guess, it would be the mirrors—no room has more mirrors than the weight room. And you're thankful because you get to watch Jisoo work in her tight leggings and her sports bra. Though you're certain that watching is only secondary to the sensation of it all. Of Jisoo clawing at your sweatpants, rubbing over your bulge. It is a close second, however, seeing the sweat on her tits again, or the curves of her back or her butt.

Jisoo's kisses are gentle yet demanding, exploring every inch of your neck and chest as she leads the way. Her sweet panting against your skin adds to the forbidden feeling of being in a deserted gym at this hour. You slip your hands into her hair, running your fingers through the soft strands as she takes you deeper into her world with each slow, desperate lick along your muscles. You feel like you're being worshiped by her tongue, and you wonder how a goddess can worship. Her body presses against yours, grinding against your hardness through the fabric of your sweatpants while she teases you mercilessly. The warmth between her legs beckons you closer as she moans into your neck, inviting you to take what she so clearly wants to give.

Finally, she pulls back and looks up at you with a mix of desire and vulnerability in her eyes. "Please," she whispers, her voice raw with need. And before you can question it further, she pulls down your sweats and underwear together, freeing your erection from its confines. Her hands wrap around you, stroking slowly to test the waters as they glide up and down your length. You gasp at the sensation of her soft palms on your skin, feeling the calluses from hours of training mixed with her tender touch. Then she kneels down between your legs, pulling you to the edge of the bench with little effort. "You know how long I've been wanting to taste this?" Her rhetorical question has you imagining all the times in the past you've wanted to fuck her, all the times you've wanted to keep her bent over in her yoga pose and slid your cock inside.

You close your eyes as she takes you into her mouth, feeling a rush of pleasure as her warm breath tickles your skin. You grip the bar above her head tightly as she starts to move, her lips sliding up and down your length. You can't resist leaning back into her touch, enjoying the sensation of her tongue swirling around your head before taking more of you in.

Her hand gently squeezes your balls while the other plays with your perineum, sending waves of pleasure through you. The sounds of her sucking and slurping fill the room, making it difficult to keep quiet. As she gazes up at you with a smirk on her lips every few moments, you feel like the luckiest man alive.

You watch as she admires herself in the mirror while bobbing on your cock. Her eyes never leave yours as she starts to stroke herself through her leggings, the leather creaking beneath you both. "Fuck," she whispers before looking back up at you with determination. "I want you inside me."

She stands up and quickly removes her shoes, pants, and underwear. There's no teasing this time, just raw need and desire in her eyes. You wonder if this gym bench can handle the intensity she's about to bring. Gripping onto the bars of the squat rack next to you, Jisoo positions herself above you with ease. She spreads saliva over your erection with her small hands, but there is already ample wetness from her own arousal. Slowly inch by inch, she takes all of you inside until she's completely impaled on your cock. Her arms wrap around your neck and her eyes never leave yours as she moves her hips back and forth in a slow rhythm. The sound of the leather bench creaking only adds to the taboo excitement of the moment.

Her breasts sway with each thrust, brushing against your chest with each movement. You grab one firmly, feeling her nipple harden under your touch as she grinds down on you. Her breath hitches as she looks into your eyes again, both of you consumed by desire. It's exhilarating to see her like this: uninhibited and craving more.

A glance in the mirror confirms how wild this situation is—the two of you making love in an empty gym late at night—but it only adds to the intensity for both of you. You watch her body move above you with a mix of arousal and pride as her trainer. You know just how much effort she's put into maintaining her incredible figure, all the hard work and dedication despite her busy schedule and strict diet. And now, that same body is moving around your cock, her labia gripping onto you tightly. You thrust upwards to meet her movements, feeling her tight walls clenching and releasing around your length. Her eyes close as she leans forward, and you and Jisoo kiss passionately.

As you break the kiss, you say, "Show me how well you've learned your squats."

Jisoo smiles. "Of course." She slides up your cock, which slaps against your abs with a wet noise, covered in her slick. She turns around and gives you a full view of her backside. While you got a decent glimpse of it in the reflections, seeing it in full is like seeing a painting in person. Her neck, her shoulders, the muscles in her back. The hourglass shape along her waist and hips to her toned thighs. They're enough to end a man with sight alone—and then she lowers herself on your cock once again, riding you reverse cowgirl as you lean back, your hands behind your head, in the sexiest core workout of your life.

She grinds down on you, making you beg for release as her act of worship continues.

Your fingers find their way to her hips, guiding her rhythm as you watch the most beautiful woman you've ever seen grind on your lap. The sight of her ass cheeks bouncing, the sounds of wet flesh slapping against your cock, it's all too much. Her eyes flutter shut in pleasure and she tosses her head back, moaning your name loudly in the empty gym. Her movements become faster, and harder against your grasp as she slides up and down your length with ease.

"Fuck," she gasps between breaths, "you feel so good." You bite down on your bottom lip hard enough to stifle a groan of approval as she rides you like a champion athlete. "I'm gonna... Fuck!" she shouts, as her legs tremble.

You sit up and wrap your arms around her torso as her body begins to shake, and here, you fuck her through her orgasm. You can see her eyes rolling in the mirror, and by the time your lips are on her neck, you only see the whites. You fondle her breasts, thrust upward into her, and feel her melt into you. "That's it, cum on my cock."

Jisoo's moans get louder and louder. Slick warmth surrounds you as she cums, tightening around your cock. She feels so good that you can't help but lose control too, though you manage to pull out before you start to pulsate. Regaining some of her awareness, she clasps her thighs together around your shaft, and you pump into the delectable pressure and friction. Fucking her thighs, you spurting and spraying all over her legs, her midriff, and her tits. You can feel her soft pussy lips still throbbing in sympathy, and the two of you ride out your climaxes together for what feels like forever.

[missqhughes]

CAN HE GET YOU LIKE THIS? | Q. HUGHES43

-> quinn hughes x jacksgf!reader

-> contains: cheating, smut with plot , SLIGHT angst, and other sexual themes, oc’s created for tha plot, intended lowercase, use of y/n

-> IN WHICH: jack almost cant seem to control himself around another woman at the lake house; and to make it worse, in front of his girlfriend. when she cries her frustrations to her boyfriends older brother, he seems to have the perfect solution to her problems.

-> my first hockey fic! i spent so much time on it, and i’m pretty proud tbh. also, i’m so excited to post on this page, and as i always say on my other blog, hope you love it as much as i do!

*fic is not proofread

18+ CONTENT BELOW THE CUT

y/n was never the jealous type.

she never needed anyone’s approval.

but god, what jack was doing was pissing her off.

for the first time, luke had brought his girlfriend april, to the lake house for the summer, and this week, y/n had the unpleasant company of aprils friend stampeding around the house for the week.

about 100% of the time, she could handle girls throwing themselves at jack at this point. she was used to it; jack was always a good boyfriend to her, and could always control himself with his endless female attention.

until today.

the july sun delivered a scorching heat down on the group as they conversed somewhere on the middle of the lake in the hughes family boat.

the typical casual conversation that y/n, jack, and his brothers had on their boat days were greatly interrupted by the ear piercing voices of april’s friends.

“jack, wanna let me drive the boat?”

“jack, the sun is too bright! can i please wear your hat?”

jack let out low chuckles at the flattery delivered to him, and y/n was doing her usual job at ignoring them.

with her dark tinted sunglasses on and her head resting on the back seat of the boat, she saw her boyfriend place his white baseball cap on one of april’s god forsaken friend.

her eyebrows furrowed; jack never fed into anything like this. the pang of anxiety lowly rested in the pit of her stomach, but she chose to ignore it.

he knew better.

“jacky, how does it look on me?”

through her dark lenses, she witnessed the ratty girl in front of her spin in front of jack, pulling the sides of her bikini up while doing so.

he made no attempt to hide his gaze on the girl in front of him, or the comment that slipped from his lips afterwards;

“looks good,” he said lowly, probably thinking that his girlfriend mere feet away from him was fast asleep from the summer heat, unaware to his tease.

the anxiety in y/n’s stomach began to surface more, a jealousy and anger she hadn’t felt in a situation like this before arising. she thought whatever of it, that she was being crazy, that she could shove this feeling down.

y/n kept her gaze straight forward, blocking out any of the chatter coming from anyone in her vicinity; her eyes locked on luke’s slow speed on the boat, conversing casually with april, unaware of the drama brewing behind them.

god, can he not drive any faster? she thought to herself, the annoyance within growing deeper and deeper.

the boat rocked along with the motion of the water beneath it, but y/n did her best to sit completely still, feeling that if she moved, the her negative emotions would swirl harder.

after a grueling 4 minute ride back to the dock, luke had secured the boat,

“everyone’s good to get off now,” he told the group, grabbing april’s hand and towel, assisting her onto the dock.

the short haired girl, the one throwing herself all over jack, the one who’s name y/n didn’t even bother to remember in their introductions, was just about to take it too far.

she stood up first, jack and y/n following behind her.

the ratty girl “dropped” her towel, allowing the perfect opportunity to bend down in front of jack,

“woops! my bad,” her voice made an embarrassing attempt to be seductive to jack, turning her head to eye him up and down.

jack let out a deep inhale, just enough to set y/n off further on her silent rage.

“all good, let me help you out.”

the girl giggled as she took jacks hand, letting it linger on his skin longer than necessary.

he paid no mind to his girlfriend behind him.

the insatiable urge to strangle the two idiots in front of y/n was barely present on her face, as she decided to take back control of the situation, and remind both of them who his significant other was.

“babe, i’m tired, do you want to come up and take a nap?”

his conversation with the short haired girl was cut with y/n’s words, he looked back at the two, contemplation in his mind, before smiling at y/n.

see? nothing to worry about-

“i uh, i think i’m gonna stay down here for a bit, don’t want to go inside yet, it’s just a really nice day y’know?”

her ears began to ring with his words, cheeks growing red as she looked over at luke and april, who shifted uncomfortably, now aware of the drama upon the dock.

“uh, yeah… yeah that’s fine.”

“i’ll be up soon, promise,” jack said as he sat down with april, luke, and her stupid friend.

y/n ignored his words, turning on her heel to walk up to the house, pace growing as soon as she was out of sight from the dock.

now that she was alone, all the feelings the thought she was suppressing were now at the forefront of her body and mind. she ran her hands through her hair, almost ready to rip it out from frustration.

y/n stormed through the house, and as she passed the living room, she was met with quinn; who was quietly reading a book with his feet kicked up on the ottoman.

before he lifted his head, his eyes went up first, gaze met with y/n’s indignant expression,

“woah, you okay, something happen on the one boat day i miss?” he said light heartedly,

“quinn, not now,”

y/n snapped at him, before slamming her bedroom door, the action echoing through the otherwise quiet house.

——————————————————————————

dinner wasn’t any better.

y/n didn’t realize how much time had gone by as she was staring at the ceiling, recounting the events of the day. jack did not keep his promise about “coming up soon” which wasn’t to the shock of y/n, considering his behavior today. he did stop in her designated room, to give her a kiss on the forehead, and to tell that dinner was ready.

and that was it.

now, she was sitting next to jack at the table, his happy chatter with his brothers, april, and company sounding like mumbles in her ears. she felt a gaze on her, hoping it was jack, but when y/n turned her head softly to confirm, he was still smiling at his continued conversation.

like nothing was wrong.

there was only one other person who wasn’t talking, and her eyesight landed right on his.

quinn.

she shifted in her seat, quickly averting their eye contact, and picked at her quarter eaten meal with her fork.

“excuse me everyone, i’m gonna go lay down,”

jack looked at y/n, giving her a half smile and no thought to her abrupt departure, before returning to his seemingly endless conversation.

y/n began to pick her plate up to take it to the sink, when quinn’s voice spoke up,

“i’ll take care of it,” the tips of his fingers pushed down lightly on the edge of her plate.

“you sure? it’s fine i don’t-”

“just go lay down.”

y/n blinked at him a few times before nodding her head, setting her plate down and shuffling to her room.

she closed the door softly this time, letting out a shaky breath as she sat on the edge of the plush bed. her head was beginning to throb, not sure if it was from lack of food or just from the complete and total anxiety jack was giving her.

——————————————————————————

y/n scrolled mindlessly on her phone, again losing the track of time with the state she was in.

1:19am.

the dryness in her throat was becoming more present as she came down from her brain fog, deciding to clear herself with a glass of water.

y/n slipped into the kitchen, only the warm dim glow from the microwave light allowing her to see. the glass cups lightly clinked together as she pulled one out, then setting it down to fill up.

the refrigerator hummed softly, barely breaking the silence through the house. then, a raspy voice spoke behind her,

“what’re you doing up?”

y/n whipped her head around, almost dropping and shattering the glass of water in her hand,

“jesus christ quinn, you scared the shit out of me!”

she set down the glass to put a hand to her chest, an attempt to slow down the spike in her heart rate.

quinn let out a small, quiet laugh, “sorry, i thought you heard me.”

“no,” she let out a huff, “i didn’t,” y/n smiled back at him gently as the beating in her chest settled.

“so, what’s wrong?”

quinn was quick to change the conversation to put her on the spot, y/n’s lips parting as she thought of her next words.

“nothing, i don’t know what you’re talking about-”

“yes you do.”

y/n scoffed, “you really have a habit of interrupting me don’t you?”

“stop avoiding the question. what’s wrong? talk to me, y/n.”

the two stared at one another, having an unspoken battle with each other,

y/n broke first.

she swallowed, knowing the words about to spill out of her mouth were going to come shaky and scattered; she didn’t want quinn, or anyone for that matter, to know the state her mind was at. y/n hopped up to sit on the kitchen counter, retelling the day to quinn.

“it was… it was jack. today. he was just letting april’s stupid fucking friend flirt with him! and-”

“alana?”

she shot him a deep scowl, “don’t interrupt me to tell me what her stupid name is!”

quinn raised his hands in defeat, “sorry, sorry, keep going,”

“he let her wear his hat, she bent over in front of him and he said nothing, and as you could tell from earlier today, he didn’t even come up to the house with me when i asked…”

her words trailed off shakily, y/n felt hot, wet tears flow down her cheeks, slightly blurring her vision, she looked down, unable to meet quinn’s gaze she felt burning into her face.

“y/n… i’m sorry. he’s a shithead for that,”

he stepped closer to her, lessening the distance between them,

“y/n.”

she hummed in response, sniffles coming from her, still refusing to look up at him,

“y/n look at me.”

y/n knew how persistent quinn was, and he definitely was not going to let her get away with not looking at him. though it felt like lifting a ton of bricks, her glossy eyes looked up to meet his.

quinn’s eyes flickered all over her face, reading her sorrow expression. he brought his hand up to meet her face, gently using his thumb to brush away any fallen tears on her tinted cheeks.

“you know, i really hate it when you cry,” he cooed softly, still wiping away the spilling tears, paying more attention to her in these mere minutes than jack had been all day.

“i’m so mad at myself, i should’ve said something, i let it all happen in front of me,” y/n said, her quiet frustrations let out only for quinn’s ears to hear.

“hey, hey, no. you shouldn’t have even been put in that position, don’t blame yourself, okay?” he placed his hands on either sides of the counter, locking her in. his voice being stern but still soft, a tough love kind of talk.

y/n’s heart beated faster as she became hyper aware of how close their bodies were, feeling the warmth radiating off of him.

she wanted to knock herself in the head for feeling this way, but her heightened distaste for jack in the moment, quinn’s messy hair combined with his beard and tired eyes made him so sinfully appealing.

“you’re right, i shouldn’t have,”

y/n felt almost awkward in this moment, especially it being her boyfriends older brother. there was no way for her to move without being even closer to him.

“god, y/n… cant believe that… if i had you… i’d never let that happen,”

quinn’s tired eyes turned lustful by the second, going up and down y/n’s body before flickering between her own eyes and lips.

“quinn,” she let out with a breath, “you cant say things like that, you know you can’t,”

y/n couldn’t help herself from matching quinn’s motion, unable to tear away from looking at his full lips.

“after the shit he pulled today, i think i’m safe to do whatever the hell i want,”

the gentle demeanor in his voice was replaced with seduction, bringing his face closer to hers, close enough for their breaths to mingle.

“say the words y/n, i wont do anything you don’t want me to do. say the words and i’ll stop.”

she was between a rock and a hard place. it’s not like jack had outright cheated in front of her, and she would feel horrible doing something like that to him. however, his actions were inexcusable, and he saw not an inch of an issue with what he was doing. and at the exact same time, quinn was ready to be all over her. hell, he’s practically admitting to wanting his little brother’s girlfriend. in this moment, he could give her anything.

fuck it.

this is what he gets, she thought to herself. it’s not like he would find out anyway. no one would.

“i want you quinn.”

the words rolled off her tongue faster than her mind let her think about the consequences, and in no time, quinn captured y/n’s lips in his, securing his hands on to her waist.

the two kissed sloppily in the kitchen, out in the open, with too much opportunity to get caught. neither of them cared.

y/n’s hands found a home in his hair, quinn emitting a low groan as she gently tugged at his waves.

she felt a heat growing between her legs, and an attempt to close them for relief was blocked by quinn pushing them back open with his hips.

y/n gasped, allowing quinn’s tongue entry, and as he explored her mouth with his, she felt him growing harder against her core, making the wetness in her shorts more difficult to ignore.

quinn panted heavily as he pulled away, still gripping at her waist, fingers hugging the bottom hem of her shirt,

“can i take this off?”

she buzzed at his words, nodding vigorously. with her consent, he raised the shirt above her body, y/n lifting her arms in assistance.

quinn wasted no time to kiss down her neck to her now exposed upper chest, sitting perfectly pretty in her bra. he sucked and nipped at the bare skin, earning quiet moans from her soft lips.

“mm—fuck quinn,” y/n threw her head back in pleasure, giving more room for quinn to litter her chest with marks. she didn’t even care if they were going to bruise tomorrow or who was going to saw. everyone else was on the back burner of her mind.

her praise only made him rougher, sucking harder into her skin, feeling himself getting more and more rowdy by the second.

his lips went up to claim hers again, tapping her thigh as a signal to wrap her legs around his waist. she listened, hooking herself around him. quinn lifted her up effortlessly, their kiss not being broken as he peeked his eyes open in a tenth of a second to see their way to his room.

with one hand tucked under y/n’s ass, he turned the knob to his bedroom door, stepping into the room before closing the door behind him with a light kick.

quinn’s legs met the edge of the bed, and he threw her down before making himself pry his lips from her���s, plump and slick from his.

“you’re still okay with his?” he asked, his thumb drawing circles on her hips.

“more than okay, please quinn. i need more.”

he nodded, taking a step back to take all of her in with his eyes.

she looked at him confused for a moment, before he talked,

“strip.”

she swallowed heavily, ready to obey his words. y/n wiggled out of her shorts, leaving her skin only covered by a black bra and panties.

“i said strip. all the way.”

her heart was about to come out of her chest, all of it was beginning to feel real, and that she was about to be naked and on display for jack’s brother.

only hearing the beating in her chest, quinn watched as y/n unhooked her bra first, tits bouncing with the action, and he thought he could cum in his pants right then and there.

y/n sat down on the bed, staring deeply into quinn’s eyes, slipping her black panties down her half parted legs, pussy wet and glistening from the moonlight shining through the window.

“fuck,” he whispered, unable to control his hand from falling to his crotch, beginning to palm himself through his shorts.

with a single hand, quinn took his shirt off, dipping his head down to kiss her naked thighs. y/n shuddered at his action, his kisses being everywhere except where she desperately needed them to be.

he hovered just above her core, “can i?”

“quinn please stop fucking asking and just do it,” y/n begged, squirming under him, desperate for his touch.

he licked a long stripe down her wet folds, y/n unable to control the guttural moan that escaped from her lips. her back arched in pleasure at the feeling of quinn’s lips sucking on her puffy clit, aching for attention.

he couldn’t stop; he was devouring her like it was his death row and she was his last meal, already addicted to the taste of her pussy on his tongue.

quinn pushed her hips down, sticking his tongue in her and his nose bumping against her clit with each motion. y/n felt knots twisting and forming in her stomach, a strong release forming, one that jack had never even came close to making her feel.

“mmph, shit quinn— gonna fucking cum, oh— my fuck,”

profanities spilled out of y/n’s mouth, but her pleasure was cut short as his dripping lips pulled away from her aching core, craving his touch.

she whined at the loss of contact, only to be met with quinn peeling off his shorts and underwear, his throbbing dick aching with desire from his tip.

“when i make you cum, i want it to be on my dick, pretty girl.”

y/n felt like she could’ve exploded right then and there, but she bit her lip, moving closer to the edge of the bed, giving quinn better access to line up with her.

he ran his dick between her wet folds a few times before inserting himself in her, the two let out gracious moans at the mutual pleasure.

quinn started slow, hips rolling back and forth, before quickening his pace to a pornographic speed.

his lips hooked onto y/n’s once again, sloppy and wet, both groaning into each others mouths with delight. in the kiss he captured both her wrists, pinning them above her head.

quinn broke the kiss to look at her with his brows furrowed, concentrated on fucking y/n senseless. her bottom lip was between her teeth, tits bouncing with the speed of his thrusts.

“fuck y/n, you feel so good on my dick, can he ever get you like this? a moaning fucked out mess? hm?”

his words barely registered in her ears, body buzzing as his dick continued to destroy her pussy.

“no, no, mm— you fuck me so much better quinn,” y/n did her best not to scream it, still aware that the other people in the house had the potential to hear them.

“gonna— cum— y/n— shit,” quinn huffed out between thrusts. she also felt the now familiar knots forming in her stomach, her release about to come.

his movements became sloppy as his release coated her walls, and at the same time, she painted his dick with her own.

they felt euphoric, quinn pulled out of her slowly, groaning as his dick came out of her.

y/n laid out on the bed panting with closed eyes, hearing the light flicker on from quinn’s connected bathroom.

she felt a wet towel meet her sensitive core, hissing at the feeling.

“sorry, just wanna clean you up first,”

y/n looked at quinn while he cleaned her with concentration, his body glistening with sweat and his messy hair slightly sticking to his forehead.

“thank you, quinn,”

y/n was breathless watching quinn go back into the bathroom, her chest still rapidly rising and falling. she felt herself grow more tired with each passing minute.

quinn came back from the bathroom with a different pair of underwear on, holding out a pair of his boxers to put on. y/n gladly accepted, slipping them up her body. she grabbed her bra from the floor, hooking it back on.

after she was partly dressed, he delivered her a sweet, soft kiss to her lips. different than any kind of kiss they had so far, this one was deep and loving; his hands gently cupping her face.

“stay with me,”

quinn’s proposition took her by surprise, thinking he was going to send her back to her room after all this, but no.

“quinn, i really shouldn’t, it’s not a good ide-”

“you and jack can figure your shit out later. as of right now, you’re mine.”

he was right and she knew it. he claimed her, and there was definitely going to be some kind of consequence for this. either way y/n and jack were going to have to figure their shit out, but to her, that was an issue for the morning.

“okay, i’ll stay.”

quinn smiled at her, planting a kiss on her forehead. he peeled away at his thick blue comforter, leaving space for the both of them to crawl inside. y/n felt herself more comfortable falling asleep with quinn than she did with jack, whatever that meant. but she didn’t care. his body was tangled with hers, falling asleep to the soft beat of his heart.

pt. 2

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© missqhughes

xoxo, kaia