#and yet you all know what's going on somehow

[faebled-stories]

Symphony of Release

Kinkvember Day 27: Sex Dungeon

NingNing (Ning Yizhuo) Giselle (Uchinaga Aeri) Aespa X Male reader

AN: I know I keep saying, "This fic is my longest yet," but this time, I really mean it😅. This one is officially my longest, and my brain feels like total mush after putting it all together. There’s no way I’m writing this much in one day again. I know this is later than my normal post time but I hope you guys understand💖

P.S. It's 25k words. 😭

It was nearing midnight when Minjeong stumbled through the front door of the apartment. The soft click of the lock echoed through the quiet room, startling Karina from where she sat curled on the couch. A tub of ice cream balanced precariously on her knees, its smooth surface beginning to melt around the edges. Giselle, cross-legged on the floor amid a sea of folded laundry, glanced up sharply, her hands pausing mid-motion as she folded a pair of socks. Across the room, Ningning stirred from the cocoon of her blanket on the recliner, her hand hovering over the remote as she paused the neon-lit drama flashing across the TV. One by one, their gazes shifted to Minjeong.

Minjeong froze, her silhouette framed by the faint glow of the hallway light. Her hair was a mess, clinging in damp strands to her flushed forehead, and her cheeks burned with the deep pink of exertion—or something else entirely. She had clearly tried to pull herself together: her oversized sweater was hastily tugged on, the hem uneven and bunched at her side, while her face shone with the telltale dampness of a rushed wash. And yet, beneath the soap-and-water effort, an unmistakable, musky undertone lingered in the air, faint but inescapable. It clung to her skin like a whisper of the night she was trying to forget—or avoid acknowledging.

Her knuckles whitened as she gripped the strap of her bag, frozen like a deer caught in headlights under their collective stares.

“Um… hey,” she croaked, her voice cracking awkwardly. “I didn’t think you’d all still be… awake.”

Karina arched an eyebrow, her lips curling around the spoon in her hand with theatrical slowness. She withdrew it with a soft click, letting the ice cream linger on her tongue before speaking. “That’s all you’ve got? You look like you got caught in a windstorm… and something else.” She sniffed the air, her expression twisting with amused disbelief. “Oh my God. Are you serious right now?”

Minjeong’s face turned scarlet, her eyes darting anywhere but at her roommates. The silence grew louder, the ticking of the wall clock amplifying her discomfort. She took a small step toward her bedroom, her sneakers squeaking faintly against the polished floorboards.

“I’m just… really tired. Long night,” she mumbled, clutching her bag like a shield.

“Uh-uh. No way,” Giselle interjected, rising to her feet in a single, fluid motion. She crossed her arms, her stance firm and unyielding as she fixed Minjeong with a sharp look. “We’re not letting this one slide. What’s going on with you lately? You’ve been sneaking out every other night, coming home late, and looking like… this.”

“Like what?” Minjeong snapped, her voice a touch too defensive to sell the indifference she was aiming for.

“Like someone who’s been thoroughly…” Ningning hesitated, her cheeks blooming pink as she struggled to find the words. “…Thoroughly.”

Karina exploded into laughter, doubling over as she nearly sent the tub of ice cream tumbling onto the floor. “Oh my God, Ning. Just say it! She looks like someone who got wrecked.”

“Stop!” Minjeong practically squeaked, her panic sharpening the edges of her voice. “It’s not—it’s not what you think.”

Karina leaned forward, her grin widening like a cat that had cornered its prey. “Oh, it’s exactly what I think. So, who is it? Secret boyfriend? Hookup? Don’t be shy. Spill!”

“It’s no one!” Minjeong blurted, clutching her bag tighter as if it could somehow ward off the interrogation. “I’m not seeing anyone.”

“Then where are you going?” Giselle asked, her skepticism practically vibrating in the air. “Because whatever you’re doing, you smell like…” She wrinkled her nose dramatically. “…like you’ve been doing something.”

“It’s not a big deal,” Minjeong muttered, her voice barely above a whisper as she edged closer to her bedroom door. “It’s just… personal.”

Karina tilted her head, her playful grin taking on an edge of genuine curiosity. “Personal? Okay, now I really want to know. You can’t just say that and expect us to drop it.”

Ningning shifted under her blanket, her eyes darting between her friends. “I mean… we’re all thinking about it, right? Where she’d been going, coming back like this?”

Minjeong groaned, the sound low and drawn out, her head dropping slightly as if surrendering to an invisible weight. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

“Nope,” they chorused, their voices a mix of teasing and determination.

She sighed heavily, her shoulders slumping under the weight of the inevitable. “Fine,” she muttered, her tone a mix of exasperation and resignation. “There’s this… place I’ve been going to.”

Karina leaned forward, her curiosity evident as she tilted her head. “What kind of place?”

Minjeong hesitated, her lips pressing into a thin line before she finally replied. “It’s hard to explain. It doesn’t really have a name. It’s just… a space where people can explore things.”

“What kind of ‘things’?” Giselle asked, narrowing her eyes as suspicion flickered in her expression.

Minjeong’s cheeks flamed, her voice rushing out before she could stop herself. “Intimacy. It’s private. Safe. They have different rooms where you can try things, or watch, or… whatever.”

The room fell into stunned silence, the weight of her words hanging heavy in the air. Only the faint hum of the paused TV broke the stillness.

“So… like a sex club?” Ningning finally asked, her tone carrying equal parts shock and intrigue.

“It’s not a club,” Minjeong snapped, defensive as her eyes darted between them. “It’s professional. It’s about curiosity and connection. It’s not some sketchy hookup scene.”

Karina raised an eyebrow, her tone thoughtful rather than critical. “How do you even know about this place?”

Minjeong sighed, brushing her damp bangs back from her forehead. “Yunjin told me about it. It’s run by the same people who own that other place—you know, the one with the glory hole.”

Ningning’s jaw dropped, her eyes wide as she stared at Minjeong. “Wait, wait, wait. Are you serious? That place Yunjin described? With the creepy wooden wall and the literal hole?”

“It’s not creepy!” Minjeong snapped, rolling her eyes. “It’s supposed to be like that—it’s the vibe. They keep it simple because it adds to the ambience or whatever.”

Karina nodded, her expression thoughtful. “Like, the mystery of it, right? That kind of makes sense.”

“Exactly,” Minjeong said, relieved at Karina’s understanding. “But this place is nothing like that. It’s completely different. It’s modern, sleek, and everything is super private and professional. It’s all about creating a safe space for people to explore.”

Giselle tilted her head, her skepticism softening slightly. “So, it’s more like… a curated experience?”

Minjeong nodded. “Yes, exactly. It’s not shady or anything. It’s designed for people who are curious and want to try new things in a safe way.”

Karina grinned, leaning back on the couch. “Honestly, that sounds kind of amazing. I can see why you’ve been sneaking out.”

“Thank you,” Minjeong muttered, her tone softening as she shot Karina a small look of gratitude. “At least someone gets it.”

Ningning still looked flustered, her face partially hidden in her hands. “I just… I can’t believe this is a thing. Like, you’re just casually going to places like this?”

Minjeong crossed her arms, her voice sharp with exasperation. “Yes, because it’s not some back-alley setup, okay? It’s intentional, it’s safe, and it’s… honestly kind of amazing.”

Karina smirked, giving Ningning a pointed look. “You’re acting like you don’t swipe right on every guy with a dog in his profile. At least Minjeong knows what she’s walking into.”

“Hey!” Ningning shot back, her face red as Karina and Giselle burst into laughter.

Minjeong sighed dramatically, heading toward her room. “I’m going to shower. Can we talk about literally anything else when I get back?”

Karina leaned back, her grin undiminished. “We’ll see. You know we’re going to have more questions.”

Minjeong didn’t reply, disappearing into her room and shutting the door firmly behind her. The faint sound of the shower starting echoed through the apartment, the steady stream of water the only noise in the tense stillness left behind.

The three left in the living room exchanged glances.

“I cannot believe this,” Ningning muttered, pulling her blanket tighter around herself as if warding off the thought. “She’s seriously sneaking off to places like that?”

“I don’t know,” Giselle said, her frown deepening. “It still sounds kind of sketchy. Who even runs something like that?”

“I can think of a few reasons,” Karina quipped, her mischievous grin practically glowing. “Honestly, it sounds incredible. I bet she’s having the time of her life.”

“She looks like she’s been dragged through a hedge backwards,” Ningning countered, shaking her head. “That doesn’t exactly scream ‘fun’ to me.”

Karina shrugged, unbothered. “Maybe she’s just… exploring. Who knows? I, for one, think it sounds hot.”

When Minjeong finally emerged from her room, her hair damp and clinging to her cheeks in soft strands, she was dressed in a loose hoodie and sweatpants, her posture stiff with hesitation. She stopped short when she saw them still sitting there, their expressions practically crackling with anticipation. Their eyes glittered, waiting for her to speak as if the show was about to start.

“No,” she said immediately, raising a hand in protest. “I told you, I’m done talking about it.”

“Come on,” Karina said, leaning forward with an easy grin. “You can’t just drop something like that and leave us hanging. We need to know more.”

“Yeah,” Ningning added, though her tone was more cautious. “What do you even do there?”

Minjeong hesitated, her gaze falling to the floor as heat rushed to her face. Her hands balled into small fists at her sides, her discomfort obvious. “It’s… complicated,” she said softly, avoiding their eyes.

“Then explain it,” Karina said, her tone gentle but persistent.

Minjeong sighed heavily, her shoulders slumping in defeat. Crossing her arms, she leaned against the doorframe and spoke slowly. “A while ago, I read this… book. It had a scene where the character…” She trailed off, her face turning bright red as her voice dropped to a near-whisper. “...she, um, she… squirted” she pressed her lips together, wishing the floor would swallow her whole. 

The room went silent, her words hanging in the air like a challenge. Ningning’s mouth dropped open, her disbelief written all over her face. Giselle blinked, momentarily stunned. Karina, however, looked delighted, her grin spreading wider.

“Wait,” Karina said, leaning forward with a mischievous glint in her eye. “You’ve been sneaking off to this place because you read a book about someone squirting, and you wanted to see if it was real?”

Minjeong’s face was practically glowing, and she stared hard at the floor, as if it might offer her salvation. “I couldn’t stop thinking about it,” she admitted reluctantly. “It just… wouldn’t leave my mind. And then the conversation got brought up, and Yunjin told me about that place. She said it’s run by the same people as that other one she mentioned, but this one is more…” She hesitated, searching for the right word. “Broad. Structured.”

“Oh, come on,” Ningning said, her skepticism practically radiating off her. “There’s no way people actually do that. It’s so fake.”

Karina rolled her eyes. “It’s not a conspiracy, Ning. I’m sure it can totally happen.”

“But how?” Giselle chimed in, narrowing her eyes as if trying to unravel a mystery. “It’s not like that’s a normal thing, right? Isn’t it just exaggerated in movies and… books?”

“It’s not exaggerated,” Minjeong said quietly, though her voice lacked its usual firmness. “It’s just… uncommon.”

“That’s an understatement,” Ningning muttered, shaking her head. “I still don’t buy it.”

Karina threw up her hands in exasperation. “You guys are such skeptics! Just because you haven’t experienced it doesn’t mean it’s fake.”

Minjeong groaned, burying her face in her hands. “This is exactly why I didn’t want to talk about it.”

The room divided like a fault line, Karina on one side, practically bouncing with excitement, and Ningning and Giselle on the other, their skeptical expressions nearly identical. The debate escalated as they volleyed arguments back and forth, the room buzzing with contrasting opinions.

“It’s science!” Karina insisted, gesturing animatedly. “Do you even hear yourselves? Of course, it’s real. Minjeong literally just said it happened.”

“Science or not, it sounds… extreme,” Ningning said doubtfully, pulling her blanket tighter. “Like something you’d read about in a clickbait article.”

“Or fanfiction,” Giselle added under her breath, earning a sharp glare from Karina.

“All I’m saying is, it’s not impossible,” Karina said firmly, throwing an arm around Minjeong’s shoulders for support. “And honestly? I think it’s pretty amazing that she had the guts to find out.”

Minjeong groaned again, shrinking lower. “Can we please stop talking about this?”

“Not a chance,” Karina said, her grin unwavering. “This is the best thing I’ve heard all year.”

Karina leaned back with a sly smirk, her gaze flicking toward Minjeong. She leaned in ever so slightly, lowering her voice so the others couldn’t hear. Minjeong stiffened, her wide eyes darting to Karina as a faint blush crept up her cheeks. Karina’s playful, conspiratorial expression was enough to make Minjeong’s lips part in hesitant confusion.

Karina whispered something quietly, and Minjeong blinked, her expression shifting between embarrassment and reluctant amusement. She gave a tiny shake of her head, her lips pressing together as if to suppress a smile.

Karina sat back, triumphant, and clapped her hands together with deliberate force, snapping the others’ attention to her. “Okay,” she announced brightly, cutting through the tension. “You clearly don’t believe it, so here’s my suggestion.”

Giselle and Ningning turned to her warily, their skepticism etched in their faces. “What suggestion?” Giselle asked, her voice cautious.

Karina’s grin widened. “Why don’t you two go and find out for yourselves?”

Ningning blinked, her jaw dropping. “You’re joking.”

“I’m completely serious,” Karina said smoothly. “You keep saying it’s ridiculous, so why not settle it? Go. See what it’s actually like.”

“That’s insane,” Ningning said, her face turning red. “Why would we do that?”

“To prove a point,” Karina replied, shrugging. “Unless you’re scared.”

Ningning sputtered, clutching her blanket. “I’m not scared! I just— It’s ridiculous.”

Minjeong sighed, cutting through the argument with a calm voice. “It’s not about proving anything. The point is that it’s a safe space to explore. You don’t have to do anything. You can just… see. If it’s not for you, you leave. That’s it.”

Giselle narrowed her eyes. “So we just walk in and… magically get it?”

Minjeong shrugged. “Maybe. Or maybe not. It’s not for everyone. But it’s not what you’re imagining either. It’s safer. Better.”

Ningning groaned, sinking deeper into her recliner. “This is ridiculous.”

Karina chuckled, her grin smug. “Just think about it. No pressure.”

The conversation fizzled into uneasy silence as Giselle and Ningning exchanged glances. Minjeong, feeling the weight of the room, mumbled, “I’m going to bed,” and disappeared into her room.

A while later, after Giselle and Ningning had retreated, Karina lingered before slipping into Minjeong’s room. Minjeong looked up from her bed, startled but not annoyed.

Karina grinned, leaning against the doorframe. “So? Did you actually… you know…”

Minjeong hesitated, her lips trembling before she gave the smallest, shyest nod.

Karina’s gasp was loud enough to echo off the walls. “No way! That’s insane. Was it—?”

“It was…” Minjeong trailed off, her voice barely audible. “It was intense.”

Karina clapped her hands together, looking like Christmas had come early. “You have to take me next time.”

Minjeong laughed, still red-faced, and nudged Karina toward the door. “Goodnight, Karina.”

As Karina left with a satisfied grin, Minjeong allowed herself to sink into her pillows, a small, reluctant smile tugging at her lips.

-----

In the days that followed, the weight of that night’s conversation lingered in the apartment, an unspoken tension threading through their interactions. Minjeong remained quiet about the topic, going about her routines as usual, but every now and then, Ningning and Giselle would exchange glances, the question hanging in the air between them: Are we actually going to do this?

One evening, as all of them sat in the living room, the TV playing a show none of them were paying attention to, Ningning finally broke the silence.

“So…” she began, her voice hesitant but pointed. “About what unnie said the other night.”

Karina, sprawled out on the couch with her legs draped over the armrest, smirked. “Took you long enough.”

Giselle glanced up from her phone, raising an eyebrow. “I’m still not convinced,” she said, though her tone was less dismissive than it had been. “It just sounds… I don’t know, extreme.”

“Extreme?” Karina scoffed, sitting up and swinging her legs onto the floor. “Come on. It’s not like anyone’s forcing you to jump in headfirst. You could just… see it. Dip a toe in. Or don’t.”

Ningning fidgeted with the edge of her blanket. “Minjeong made it sound pretty safe,” she said, almost to herself. “And it’s not like we have to do anything, right? Just… check it out.”

Giselle narrowed her eyes. “You’re seriously considering this?”

“Well…” Ningning hesitated, her cheeks flushing. “Aren’t you? You’ve been quiet about it all week.”

Giselle huffed, crossing her arms. “I just don’t want to end up in some weird situation. What if it’s not what we’re expecting?”

“It’s not,” Minjeong’s voice cut through the room softly. She had been lingering in the doorway, unnoticed until now. Her expression was calm but serious, her eyes darting between them. “It’s nothing like what you’re imagining. I promise.”

Karina gestured toward Minjeong with a flourish. “See? She promises. And if it’s as safe as she says, what’s the harm in a little adventure?”

“I don’t know…” Giselle trailed off, her skepticism giving way to contemplation.

“You can leave anytime,” Minjeong said, stepping farther into the room. “If you feel uncomfortable, you just walk out. No one will stop you. No one will even ask why.”

“And we don’t have to… you know…” Ningning’s voice dropped as she gestured vaguely, her face burning red.

Minjeong shook her head. “Not unless you want to. You’re in control the whole time. And it’s not some creepy scene or anything. It’s professional. Respectful. Everyone’s there for their own reasons, and no one judges anyone else.”

Karina’s grin widened as she leaned back, crossing her arms. “Sounds like a glowing endorsement to me.”

Ningning chewed on her lip, her blanket now bunched in her lap. “It’s just… such a weird thing to do.”

“Exactly,” Giselle said, though her words lacked their usual edge. “It’s weird.”

“Weird doesn’t mean bad,” Minjeong said gently. “Sometimes it just means… different. And different can be good. You might surprise yourselves.”

The room fell silent, the faint hum of the TV filling the space as they considered her words. Ningning and Giselle exchanged a look, a flicker of unspoken understanding passing between them.

“Well,” Karina said, breaking the quiet, “I think you two should do it. Who knows? It might even be fun.”

“You’re not helping,” Giselle muttered, though there was a hint of a smile tugging at her lips.

Minjeong hesitated, then gave a small, reassuring smile. “If you don’t want to, that’s fine. But if you’re even a little curious… it’s worth a try. Just to see.”

Ningning let out a long breath, pulling the blanket tighter. “I’ll think about it.”

Giselle nodded slowly. “Me too. But I’m not making any promises.”

“Fair enough,” Minjeong said, retreating back to her room with a faint smile.

Karina watched her go, then turned back to the others with a twinkle in her eye. “You’re totally doing it.”

“Shut up,” Ningning and Giselle said in unison, but their cheeks were pink, and neither of them outright denied it.

The idea hovered between them, tantalizing and unresolved, as they returned to their show, though none of them were paying much attention to it now.

-----

Eventually their curiosity got the better of them and they agreed to go. By the time they arrived at the place, nerves had transformed into a strange cocktail of anticipation and curiosity. The building was surprisingly polished—a tall, elegant brick structure with clean lines and minimalist signage that simply read “Welcome.” Its shaded, frosted windows gave an air of privacy without secrecy, inviting rather than intimidating. It felt like a space designed to intrigue and comfort rather than overwhelm.

Inside, the lobby was nothing like the dungeon-like image Ningning and Giselle had tentatively imagined. Instead, it resembled a boutique spa. Soft ambient music hummed faintly through hidden speakers, blending seamlessly with the subtle aroma of lavender and sandalwood. The lighting was warm and diffused, casting golden hues over sleek, modern furniture and tasteful artwork that adorned the walls.

Then they met you.

You stepped forward with a calm, professional demeanor, offering a gentle smile that immediately softened their stiff postures. “Welcome,” you said, your voice smooth and soothing, perfectly complementing the tranquil ambiance. “I’m here to answer any questions you have and to make sure you feel comfortable throughout. This experience is entirely at your pace.”

Your words rippled through them, easing the tension that had coiled in their shoulders during the car ride over. They nodded in acknowledgment, their breaths steadying as they followed you deeper into the space. The hallway, lined with soft, abstract art in muted tones, felt like a threshold—not just physically but emotionally. Each step seemed to take them closer to something they couldn’t yet name, a blend of the unfamiliar and the curious.

You led them into a softly lit room where the golden light spilled like honey across the walls, painted in warm, neutral tones. The scent of polished wood mingled with faint notes of cedar, grounding the space. It felt intimate but not confining, like a carefully crafted haven. In the center of the room sat a neatly arranged set of tools and equipment, minimal and unobtrusive, designed to invite exploration rather than demand it.

Pausing, you turned back to face them, ensuring they were present and focused. “Before we go any further,” you began, your voice steady and inviting, “let’s talk about safe words.”

Ningning and Giselle both stiffened slightly, their expressions flickering with nervousness. You noticed the hesitation in their eyes and offered an encouraging smile, your demeanor gentle yet confident.

“This is about giving you total control of the experience,” you explained. “We use safe words as a way to stop or ease up if you feel uncomfortable. If you say ‘yellow,’ we’ll slow down; if you say ‘red,’ everything stops immediately. Think of it like a pause button.”

Giselle furrowed her brow, absorbing the information. “So, ‘yellow’ if we want to take a break, and ‘red’ if we want to stop completely?” she asked, her voice soft but steady.

“Exactly,” you said, meeting her gaze with calm confidence. “This is entirely your experience. At any point, you can say one word, and it stops—no questions asked.”

A visible wave of relief washed over Ningning as her shoulders dropped. She let out a small sigh, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at her lips. “Actually… that makes me feel a lot better. Just knowing that,” she admitted, glancing at Giselle.

Giselle gave her a faint nod in return, her posture relaxing slightly, though a trace of skepticism lingered in her eyes.

“Good,” you said, your tone soft with reassurance. “If you’re ready, we can begin.”

They exchanged a glance—a quick, silent moment of mutual reassurance—before turning back to you. Their nods were tentative but genuine, a signal of cautious readiness.

“I’ve prepared a regiment for the two of you,” you said, your voice steady and measured, watching their reactions carefully. “It’s designed to ease you into the experience, gradually introducing different sensations and emotions. However, this is flexible. I’ll be making adjustments based on your responses. This is about what feels right for you, so I’ll omit or add activities as we go.”

“Everything is planned out for us?” Ningning asked, her eyebrows raising in surprise.

“Not exactly,” you clarified with a soft smile. “I designed it with a structured flow in mind, but it’s not set in stone. Think of it as a guide, not a rulebook. We’ll adapt as needed. I’ll guide you step by step. However, there’s one recommendation: it’s best if you approach this blind.”

“Blind? Like, blindfolded?” Ningning asked, her brows knitting together in confusion.

“Not necessarily,” you explained, your tone gentle but firm. “While blindfolding is an option, what I mean is that you won’t know what’s coming next. When you let go of anticipation, it sharpens your senses and helps you focus on the moment. It lets you experience each activity more fully without preconceived notions.”

Ningning’s lips parted slightly, her expression contemplative. “So, we’d just… let it happen?”

“Exactly,” you replied, your gaze steady. “It’s about letting go of control in a safe environment. You’ll focus entirely on how you feel in the moment rather than trying to predict what’s next.”

Giselle crossed her arms, her skepticism evident. “I don’t know… that sounds a little intense.”

“It is,” Ningning said with a soft laugh, glancing at her friend. “But maybe that’s the point? I mean, if we’re doing this, we might as well do it the right way.”

Giselle hesitated, her gaze flicking between you and Ningning before exhaling heavily. “And we can stop anytime, right?”

“Absolutely,” you assured her, your voice calm and reassuring.

Ningning and Giselle exchanged a quick glance, a silent conversation passing between them. Finally, Ningning gave a tentative nod, her lips curving into the faintest of smiles. “I think we should try.”

Giselle rolled her eyes softly, but the corners of her mouth betrayed a small, curious smile. “Fine. But if this gets weird, I’m out.”

“Fair enough,” you said with a warm smile, gesturing toward the center of the room, where everything had been carefully prepared for their arrival.

With practiced ease, you guided them into the softly lit room, the golden glow casting a warm, intimate light across the space. The earlier atmosphere of calm reassurance shifted as you closed the door behind them with a soft click. When you turned back, your entire demeanor had transformed—your expression now steady and commanding, your movements precise and deliberate. The quiet authority you carried filled the room, grounding them in the gravity of what was to come.

“Strip,” you instructed, your tone calm but unyielding, leaving no room for hesitation. “Everything but your panties.”

They froze for a moment, the weight of the command sinking in. Their gazes flicked to you, a sudden jolt of arousal coursing through them as they took in this new, commanding side of you. It was unexpected—this transformation in your demeanor—and it sent a shiver of anticipation down their spines.

Exchanging a brief glance, they seemed to silently agree on their next steps. Ningning’s fingers trembled slightly as she grasped the hem of her shirt, carefully sliding it off her shoulders. Her bra followed, the clasp unhooking with slow, deliberate movements as she revealed her flushed skin. Giselle followed suit, unbuttoning her blouse with steady hands before stepping out of her jeans in a single, fluid motion. Both of their breathing grew shallow, the cool air brushing against their heated skin.

They folded their garments neatly, setting them aside in a small pile, the rustling of fabric the only sound punctuating the charged silence of the room. Their movements were measured, deliberate, as though they were hyper-aware of your presence. Left in only their panties, the vulnerability of the moment wrapped around them like a second skin.

You observed them closely, your steady gaze unwavering, assessing their compliance with quiet intensity. A faint nod of approval softened the edges of your commanding presence. “Good,” you said simply, your tone neutral but firm. “Now, hands forward.”

Their hands rose instinctively, the slight tremor in Ningning’s fingers betraying her nerves. You stepped forward with measured precision, your every motion exuding calm confidence. Picking up a coil of soft, supple rope from the nearby table, you moved toward Ningning first.

You took her wrists gently in your hands, the warmth of your fingers steadying her as you began to work. Your movements were fluid and practiced, each loop of the rope snug but never tight. The fabric pressed softly against her skin, securing her without discomfort. The quiet rustling of the rope as it glided through your hands filled the space, mingling with the faint rhythm of her breathing.

Once finished, you turned to Giselle. She extended her hands wordlessly, her gaze flicking briefly to Ningning before returning to you. You repeated the process, wrapping the rope around her wrists with the same precision, the material gliding smoothly as you worked. Her posture remained composed, though the faintest flush of color crept up her neck as the knots settled into place.

Their hands now rested just above their heads, supported by the ropes. Their feet stayed grounded, but the gentle tension in their arms introduced a faint stretch that felt unfamiliar yet oddly empowering. They exchanged a quick glance, their shared curiosity reflected in the subtle flicker of their expressions.

The sensation of the ropes—their softness, their firm yet yielding hold—seemed to heighten everything around them. The golden light wrapped the room in warmth, while the rhythmic creak of the ropes created a cocoon of quiet intimacy. What had once been a heavy sense of anticipation now felt lighter, suspended in a moment of carefully crafted care.

“Good girls,” you said softly, your voice carrying a subtle warmth beneath its grounded authority. Moving deliberately, you adjusted the ropes, your presence steady and unwavering. The care in your actions was unmistakable, but so was the quiet dominance that now defined your movements. You exuded control—not forceful, but unshakable—creating a dynamic that made them feel held and guided.

With a faint smile, you stepped back to let them adjust to the position. “Let’s start with something simple,” you said, your voice low but firm, with just enough softness to ease their remaining nerves. You turned toward a nearby table, retrieving a soft flogger, its supple material catching the golden light as you lifted it.

The rhythmic sound of your footsteps across the floor filled the space, a quiet punctuation to the moment. Ningning took a deep breath, her senses finely tuned to the subtle movements around her. Her gaze followed you with a mix of curiosity and anticipation, while Giselle briefly closed her eyes, grounding herself in the present and letting her focus shift to her body’s awareness.

“Ready?” you asked, your voice steady and unyielding, carrying no pressure but a quiet expectation.

They nodded, their breathing steadier now, though their bodies remained taut with anticipation. You stepped closer to Ningning first, letting the soft flogger trail lightly over her bare shoulder. The faint whisper of its strands brushing against her skin sent a shiver coursing down her spine, heightening her awareness of every inch of her body. Her chest rose and fell with measured breaths, her senses narrowing to the point of contact.

Then came the first light tap. The strands of the flogger landed on her upper back with a delicate precision, the sting blooming across her skin in a wave of warmth. Ningning inhaled sharply, the unexpected sensation startling her at first, her lips parting as her eyes widened. The sting faded quickly, leaving behind a faint, tingling heat that lingered, coaxing her body into a heightened state of sensitivity.

As the rhythm of the strokes continued, deliberate and evenly spaced, her initial tension began to dissolve. Each strike brought a sharper awareness, a paradoxical mixture of control and surrender that her mind couldn’t quite process but her body responded to instinctively. The faint pull of the ropes binding her wrists heightened the sensation, keeping her grounded as her thoughts gave way to raw feeling. Her breathing deepened, the warmth in her skin now merging with an unfamiliar but undeniable arousal. The sting that had surprised her at first now contributed to a growing ache of need, as though her body was awakening to a language it had never spoken before.

Gradually, the intensity increased. The strokes came harder, the flogger landing with more force, pushing her just a little further with each hit. Ningning’s moans deepened, her body reacting to the pain in ways that surprised even her. The sting turned into a fiery pulse, dancing across her skin in a way that threatened to overwhelm her but never quite crossed the line. Her head tilted back, her lips parting to release a soft whimper that mixed pain and pleasure into a single, intoxicating sound. The ache lingered longer now, the heat radiating from her back blending with the throbbing arousal pooling low in her body.

You moved with deliberate care, watching for any flicker of discomfort in her expression. But Ningning’s soft exhales, the subtle arch of her back, and the way her hips shifted told you she was riding the edge of the sensation, her body adapting as she yielded to the rhythm of the flogger.

Satisfied, you turned to Giselle, allowing the flogger’s supple strands to brush teasingly across her skin. The faint touch made her flinch slightly, a gasp escaping her lips as her body stiffened reflexively. You delivered the first light stroke to her back, the flogger landing with a muted crack. The sting rippled through her, sharp and immediate, forcing her breath to hitch. For a moment, her body froze, her mind processing the unfamiliar sensation.

But as the heat spread, the sharpness softened into something richer, more profound—a warmth that coursed through her muscles and heightened her awareness of her own body. Her breaths began to slow, her posture shifting as she allowed herself to accept the rhythm. Each subsequent stroke seemed to draw her deeper into the moment, her mind quieting as the sensation became less foreign and more intoxicating. The feeling of being bound, her wrists held securely above her head, amplified her surrender. The ropes didn’t restrain her—they anchored her, giving her the freedom to let go.

The strokes on Giselle intensified gradually as well, the flogger landing with increasing force. Her body jerked with each hit, the sharp sting leaving behind a trail of tingling heat that both burned and soothed. The line between too much and just enough blurred, her body trembling as the sensations layered atop each other. A flush crept up her neck, her chest heaving as she adjusted to the rhythm. Each strike sent a pulse of arousal coursing through her, the pain tipping into pleasure with a sweet inevitability.

The pain built steadily, each strike pushing them closer to their limits without crossing the threshold. It hovered at the brink, testing their endurance while drawing out their arousal. Ningning’s soft moans became more urgent, her body shivering as she leaned into the rhythm, her mind overwhelmed but unwilling to stop. Giselle’s breathing hitched with every strike, her head falling forward as she let out a series of trembling gasps, her body fighting the tension that teetered on the edge of overwhelming.

When you finally stepped back, both women were trembling. Their flushed skin glistened with a sheen of sweat, and their breathing synced in shallow, uneven gasps. The throbbing ache in their backs mirrored the pulsing arousal coursing through their bodies. Their eyes met, wide and glassy, the pain and pleasure written in their expressions—a silent acknowledgment that this was unlike anything they had imagined. It was raw, immersive, and undeniably arousing.

“You’re doing well,” you said softly, your tone carrying a note of approval that resonated in the quiet space. Their gazes shifted back to you, their expressions now open, filled with curiosity and something deeper, more vulnerable.

You paused, giving them time to absorb the sensations fully before speaking again. “Alright,” you said, your voice calm and measured, “I’m going to add another element.”

Ningning and Giselle both nodded, their interest fully captured now. Their cheeks were still flushed from the sensations they’d already experienced, their breaths shallow as they prepared for what was next. The soft sound of the ropes faintly creaking above them served as a quiet reminder of their bound state, amplifying their awareness of every movement.

From your collection, you retrieved a pair of intricately designed clamps, their polished metal gleaming in the light. They were delicate but purposeful, adjustable to provide just enough pressure to transform ordinary touch into something extraordinary. You held the clamps with quiet authority, their intricate design a contrast to the intensity they promised.

Starting with Ningning, you reached forward, your fingers grazing the curve of her breast with deliberate slowness. Her breath hitched as your touch lingered, her skin hypersensitive under your hand. With practiced ease, you secured the first clamp to her nipple. The initial sensation was sharp, a sudden sting that drew a gasp from her parted lips. “Ahh…” Her back arched slightly, the pull of the rope above her making the reaction even more pronounced.

The sting lingered, a constant ache that quickly shifted into a hum of sensation, heightening her awareness of her body. A soft moan escaped her as you secured the second clamp, the dual points of pressure creating a symphony of sensations. The ache was persistent, demanding her focus, but the way it blended with the warmth of arousal in her core made her chest rise and fall with quickened breaths. Beneath her, the heat of her excitement began to bloom, the dampness at the apex of her thighs growing as her body responded.

You turned to Giselle, your hands just as steady and deliberate. Her eyes fluttered closed as your fingers ghosted over her skin, teasing her sensitive flesh before carefully placing the first clamp. “Mmm…” she moaned softly, her body stiffening momentarily at the sting as the metal gripped her. A low, trembling exhale followed as the sensation settled, morphing from sharpness into a dull, throbbing ache that sent warmth radiating outward. The second clamp followed with equal care, eliciting a soft, shaky moan from her lips. “Oh…” Giselle’s breathing deepened, her chest rising as she adjusted to the rhythmic pulse of sensation.

Bound above, their hands unable to lower, both Ningning and Giselle were acutely aware of every shift and movement. The clamps weren’t merely a source of sensation; they were a constant presence, a persistent reminder of their vulnerability. And yet, that vulnerability seemed to amplify their arousal, each breath bringing them closer to surrendering fully to the moment.

you retrieved two floggers, their supple strands swaying lightly as you held them in each hand. The leather glinted faintly in the light, promising a mix of sensation that would push them further. Their eyes flickered to the tools, their bodies tensing in anticipation as you stepped closer.

You began with Ningning and Giselle simultaneously, the strands of the floggers trailing across their skin in teasing strokes. The featherlight contact danced along their shoulders, arms, and backs, coaxing shivers that made their breath hitch. The anticipation of the impact alone sent a thrill through them, their muscles tightening instinctively.

The first strikes landed, one on each of them, perfectly timed. The strands of the floggers kissed their skin with a satisfying crack, sending ripples of sensation through their bodies. Ningning gasped sharply, her hips jerking slightly against the tension of the ropes. Giselle let out a soft cry, her body stiffening momentarily before yielding to the sting. The impact wasn’t overwhelming—just enough to awaken their senses and pull them into the moment.

You continued, your movements measured and deliberate as the floggers alternated between soft trails and precise strikes. The synchronized rhythm created a symphony of sensation that reverberated through their bodies. Each strike was perfectly timed to ensure neither was left waiting too long, the alternating snaps of leather keeping their senses sharp and their arousal building.

Ningning’s head tilted back, her lips parting as the flogger’s strands brushed over the curve of her lower back, followed by a precise strike just beneath her shoulder blades. The sting blended with a spreading warmth, her breathing growing shallower as the sensations layered. Each strike heightened the ache in her chest, the clamps on her nipples pulling slightly with every flinch, amplifying the experience. “Oh… oh…” she whimpered, her voice trembling as the sensations pushed her closer to her limits.

Giselle, on the other hand, squirmed against the bonds, her moans low and breathy as the flogger struck her thighs with a sharp crack. The impact sent a shiver up her spine, the ache settling into a dull throb that pulsed through her sensitive skin. Her nipples, adorned with the clamps, tugged faintly with every motion, the combination of pain and arousal sending her reeling. “Ahh…” she gasped, her hips shifting as her body sought release from the growing tension.

Switching to a synchronized rhythm, you struck their thighs in tandem, the floggers landing with a sharp snap that made them cry out simultaneously. The matching reactions sent a thrill through the room, their voices blending in a harmony of raw sensation. The sight of them together, bound and trembling, with the faint sheen of sweat glistening on their skin, was mesmerizing.

The strikes grew slightly firmer, the intensity increasing as you alternated between their backs, shoulders, and thighs. Each impact pulled a deeper reaction from them, their cries becoming louder, their bodies arching against the ropes as the pain crept closer to the brink of too much—but never crossing the line. Their flushed cheeks and trembling thighs betrayed the arousal simmering beneath the surface, the pain merging seamlessly with pleasure.

“Breathe,” you instructed, your voice steady and grounding. The reminder was enough to steady their erratic breaths, their chests rising and falling as they adjusted to the rhythm. The floggers snapped against their skin again, and this time, Ningning’s hips bucked involuntarily, a soft moan spilling from her lips as her arousal became undeniable. The dampness soaking her panties left no question of her response, the heat pooling at her core almost unbearable.

Giselle, too, was unraveling under the dual sensations. Her body trembled with every strike, her breaths shallow and uneven as the clamps tugged with each movement. “Please…” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, the word dripping with need. Her thighs quivered, the evidence of her arousal glistening faintly between her legs.

The room was alive with the sounds of their moans, the rhythmic crack of the floggers, and the faint creak of the ropes above them. The atmosphere was charged, every sound and motion amplifying the intimacy of the moment. Their bodies were painted with faint red marks from the floggers, the lingering sting merging with the ache of the clamps to push them further into surrender.

You paused briefly, letting the floggers rest against your sides as you stepped closer. Your hands brushed over their trembling forms, the gentle touch a stark contrast to the intensity of the flogging. “You’re both incredible,” you murmured, your voice soft but commanding.

Positioned between them, your hands moved with deliberate care, teasing the soft line where their thighs met their centers. The proximity alone sent shivers through their bodies, the charged tension in the air palpable. Ningning’s hips shifted instinctively, a soft, breathy moan escaping her lips as your fingers hovered maddeningly close to her entrance. The barest brush of your touch against her slick panties drew a sharp gasp, her body arching as though every nerve had been primed for this moment. “Please…” she whispered, her voice trembling with need, the dampness soaking through the fabric leaving no question of her arousal.

On Giselle’s side, your fingers mirrored the same featherlight touch, barely skimming the delicate skin beneath the damp fabric at her core. Her breath hitched audibly, her bound wrists tugging gently at the ropes as if seeking some anchor amidst the overwhelming sensations. “Mmm… oh…” she moaned, her thighs trembling as her body leaned subtly toward you, desperate for more contact. The clamps adorning her nipples heightened every subtle motion, the tug of the chain combining pain and pleasure in a way that made her hips press eagerly against your teasing fingers.

You alternated between them with meticulous precision, your touch gentle yet deliberate. A teasing stroke here, a fleeting graze there—just enough to push them closer to the edge without offering the satisfaction their bodies so clearly craved. Ningning’s moans grew louder, her hips lifting in small, involuntary movements as if drawn by invisible strings. Her core glistened beneath the thin layer of her panties, soaking through the delicate fabric, the evidence of her surrender shining in the golden light. “Ahh… I can’t…” she gasped, her voice shaking, the ache in her body now unbearable yet exquisite.

Giselle was lost in the rhythm of your touch, her thighs quivering as her moans softened into low, fervent whispers. “Mmm… please,” she murmured, her lips parting as she gave in completely. Her body rocked subtly, her movements bolder with each stroke, while the clamps on her nipples pulsed in time with the ache radiating through her. Her voice, breathy and trembling, added to the tension that thickened the air. “More…”

Between them, you worked like a conductor orchestrating a symphony, their bodies the instruments responding perfectly to your touch. The wet sounds of their arousal, the quiet clink of the chain between the clamps, and the soft moans that spilled from their lips blended into a harmony of pleasure and need. Every shift of your fingers and every intentional pause amplified their yearning, drawing them closer to the precipice with every touch.”

Ningning’s response was a choked moan, her body trembling as her slickness overflowed, soaking the thin fabric of her panties until it clung to her. Giselle whimpered in unison, her thighs trembling as her own need reached a fever pitch. Their breaths became erratic, their gazes hazy and unfocused, their arousal undeniable as they teetered on the edge of release.

Just as the crescendo seemed inevitable, you slowed your movements, teasingly lightening your touch until your fingers hovered maddeningly close to their centers without fully making contact. Ningning let out a desperate whimper, her hips lifting instinctively toward your touch, only for you to withdraw entirely. “Ahh… please,” she moaned, her voice trembling with need.

Giselle echoed her plea, her lips parting as a low, drawn-out whine spilled from her throat. “Don’t stop… please,” she murmured, her voice thick with desperation as her thighs quivered against the restraint of her own arousal.

With a small, deliberate pause, you slipped your fingers to their soaked panties, pressing lightly against the fabric to collect the wetness that pooled there. Both of them gasped, the sudden pressure sending a jolt of sensation through their bodies. “You’re dripping,” you said softly, your voice a mixture of approval and tease.

Holding your fingers up to Ningning first, you pressed them lightly to her lips. “Taste yourself,” you commanded gently. Her eyes widened slightly, her breath catching, but she obeyed, her lips parting to take your fingers into her mouth. Her tongue flicked against them tentatively at first, her eyes fluttering shut as the intimate taste of her own arousal spread across her palate. A soft moan escaped her throat as she sucked lightly, her cheeks flushing deeper.

Turning to Giselle, you offered her the same. “Your turn.” Without hesitation, her lips wrapped around your fingers, her tongue tracing deliberately against them as her moan resonated low and deep, her lashes fluttering against her flushed cheeks. The shared intimacy of tasting themselves lingered in the air, their gazes flicking to each other, a mirrored hunger reflected in their expressions.

Their breathing grew shallow as you moved behind them, the tension in the room thickening. Their bound hands, secured above their heads, stretched their bodies taut, their exposed curves highlighted by the glow of the golden light. The vulnerability of their position sent a fresh wave of arousal coursing through them, their soaked panties clinging to their flushed, sensitive skin.

You placed a hand on Ningning’s lower back, the heat of her skin radiating against your palm. “Good girl,” you murmured softly before raising your hand and delivering a sharp smack to her ass. The sound echoed through the room, her gasp sharp and startled as her body jolted forward. The sting lingered, blooming into a warmth that sent a shudder through her.

Without hesitation, you turned to Giselle, delivering the same measured strike to her. Her response was different—lower, more guttural—as her bound wrists shifted slightly, and her legs trembled beneath her. “Mmm…” she moaned, her voice thick with a mixture of pain and pleasure.

You alternated between them, your strikes deliberate, each impact eliciting a sharp gasp or moan. Their backs arched further with each touch, their bodies instinctively lifting to meet your hand. The heat radiating from their reddened skin blended seamlessly with the growing slickness soaking through their panties.

Once their breathing became ragged and their moans deepened, you let your hands drift lower, teasing the edges of the damp fabric covering their centers. Both women froze for a moment, their bodies trembling in anticipation as you pressed lightly against the soaked cloth. The heat from their folds was undeniable, and your teasing touch only heightened their arousal.

With a swift, deliberate motion, you brought your palm up against Ningning’s throbbing area, the spank sharp even through the damp barrier of her panties. She cried out instantly, her voice raw and breathless. “Ahhh—oh!” Her hips bucked forward, her thighs trembling as the mix of sting and pleasure shot through her body.

Giselle barely had time to react before your other hand landed on hers in a similar motion. Her moan was deeper, her legs quaking as she pressed her hips against the table. “Mmm… oh my God!” she gasped, the vibration of her voice carrying through the room.

Sliding your hands under their thighs, you brought your palms up, the strikes landing directly on their folds. Their voices rose in unison, desperate and raw. “Please…” Ningning whimpered, her body quaking as another spank drew a muffled scream. Giselle’s voice followed, her cries breathless and broken as she teetered on the edge of release.

“You feel it, don’t you?” you murmured, your voice low and commanding, leaning close enough for your breath to tickle their ears. “The way your bodies crave this, the way you’ve surrendered completely.”

They nodded helplessly, their voices lost in the symphony of gasps and moans that filled the room. The smell of their arousal mingled with the warmth radiating from their skin, creating an intoxicating atmosphere. Their panties clung to their slick folds, glistening in the light as their trembling bodies sought release. Every strike sent ripples of sensation through them, pushing them closer and closer to the precipice, their cries growing louder and more desperate with each passing second.

Suddenly, you untied the ropes that bound their hands above their heads, granting them a fleeting moment of respite. Their arms fell limply, their muscles trembling from the strain and the lingering arousal coursing through them. They flexed their fingers instinctively, a faint tingling running through their limbs as they adjusted to the sudden freedom.

“Take off your panties,” you commanded, your voice calm but firm, cutting through the haze of the moment. “And give them to me.”

The instruction left no room for hesitation. Ningning’s trembling hands moved first, hooking her thumbs under the waistband of her panties and sliding them down her thighs. The damp fabric clung slightly before coming free, revealing her reddened lips. Her cheeks flushed a deeper shade as she held the soaked garment in her hand, the wetness undeniable against her skin.

Giselle mirrored her, peeling the damp fabric from her heated core with slow, deliberate movements. The cool air brushing against her sensitive skin made her inhale sharply, her eyes flicking briefly to Ningning before focusing on you. She held her panties between her fingers, feeling the slick weight of her arousal before hesitantly extending them toward you.

You accepted them with steady hands, your expression unreadable but commanding. “Feel them,” you instructed, holding the garments back toward them briefly. “Understand just how deeply your bodies have responded.”

Ningning’s fingers brushed over the damp fabric, her eyes widening slightly as she pressed her lips together, trying to contain her reaction. “Oh my god…” she whispered, her voice barely audible, her cheeks glowing as she comprehended just how soaked they were.

Giselle’s response was quieter, her thumb grazing the wetness as a small, knowing smile tugged at her lips. “That’s… a lot,” she murmured, her breath hitching as the realization settled over her.

The moment was fleeting. Without a word, you folded their panties neatly, the damp fabric a testament to their arousal. With deliberate care, you slid them into your pockets, before stepping forward, your presence grounding them as their breathing quickened.

“Hands behind your backs,” you said, your voice smooth and unyielding, and they obeyed immediately. Their arms moved into position, trembling slightly as you secured their wrists once more with soft, silken ropes. Each loop was precise, snug without being harsh, holding them firmly yet comfortably.

“I want you both to sit tight for a moment. I’ll be right back,” you instructed, your tone firm yet reassuring. With a nod, you turned and left the room, your quiet footsteps fading into the adjacent chamber.

Left to their own devices, Ningning and Giselle’s minds raced with curiosity, their bodies still alight with the sensations you’d left them to process. Giselle, her chest still heaving, turned toward Ningning with a faint, knowing smile. “That was… so good,” she whispered, her voice tinged with excited apprehension.

Ningning let out a breathy laugh, her cheeks glowing as she leaned slightly forward. “I can’t believe how wet I am right now,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper, tinged with awe and vulnerability. A shiver ran through her as she shifted slightly, the slickness between her thighs a constant reminder of her arousal.

Before Giselle could respond, the sound of your footsteps returning drew their attention. You stepped back into the room, your presence commanding yet calm, your arms cradling two sleek, identical machines that hummed faintly with potential. The golden light of the room glinted off their polished surfaces, casting a warm glow that seemed to heighten the anticipation.

Giselle’s eyes widened in recognition as her gaze fell on the devices—two Sybians, infamous for their unrelenting intensity. Though she had never personally experienced one, the stories she’d heard were enough to send a shiver down her spine, her breath catching in her throat. Beside her, Ningning regarded the machines with a blend of curiosity and confusion, her innocence apparent in the whispered query, “Wait… what are those?”

Leaning closer, Giselle whispered, her voice tinged with both apprehension and excitement, “They’re… well, let’s just say they’re intense.”

You positioned the Sybians carefully, facing each other, the low hum of their engines vibrating faintly in the quiet room. The promise of what lay ahead hung thick in the air, a heady mix of arousal and nervous anticipation. Your movements were deliberate, almost ceremonial, as you arranged the scene, ensuring every detail was perfect. Ningning and Giselle watched, their bound hands resting behind them, their breathing shallow as they tried to steady themselves for what was to come.

With meticulous care, you guided them toward the Sybians, their knees trembling slightly as they straddled the velvety surface of the devices. The upholstery was soft against their thighs, a tactile contrast to the power that lay just beneath the surface. The slight height of the machines forced them into a position that was equal parts vulnerable and intimate, their bodies cradled by the contours designed to meet their most sensitive areas.

As they settled into place, the machines hummed to life, their low vibrations spreading through the room. Ningning gasped softly as the first subtle tremor reached her, her hips shifting instinctively in response. The sensation was like a gentle pulse, resonating deep within her core and coaxing her body into heightened awareness. Her lips parted as a soft, breathy moan escaped her. “Oh…” The sound carried a note of surprise, her innocence melting into tentative exploration.

Giselle, more prepared for the experience, exhaled a slow, shaky breath as the low purr of the Sybian spread through her. The vibration was pervasive, sinking into her muscles and radiating outward, like a wave of warmth that seemed to unwind her body from the inside out. Her head tilted back slightly, her bound wrists pulling faintly against the ropes as she surrendered to the initial sensations. “God…” she murmured, her voice low and tinged with both awe and arousal.

The machines were still on their lowest setting, their vibrations soft but insistent, like a whisper coaxing their bodies to respond. The hum resonated through their folds, teasing their most sensitive nerves without overwhelming them. It was a careful prelude, a tender invitation to let go. Ningning’s hips began to shift involuntarily, seeking more pressure, the dampness between her thighs betraying how deeply her body was responding. “It’s… so much,” she whispered, her voice trembling with both nerves and arousal.

You watched closely, your eyes flicking between Ningning and Giselle, gauging their reactions. Their breaths were shallow, their bodies quivering with the lingering intensity of the Sybians’ vibrations. It was clear they were teetering on the edge, their flushed cheeks and parted lips betraying their heightened states of arousal. Satisfied that they were ready for the next step, you moved with deliberate precision, reaching for the chain that would transform their experience into something even more profound.

With a smooth motion, you adjusted the clamps already adorning their sensitive nipples, the faint creak of the metal audible in the quiet room. Ningning whimpered softly at the renewed pressure, her body tensing briefly before relaxing into the sensation. Giselle’s lips parted in a shaky exhale, her chest rising and falling as she adjusted to the small adjustment.

Then, with deliberate care, you connected the clamps—first attaching Ningning’s right nipple to Giselle’s left, and then repeating the action on the opposite side. The fine silver chain between them gleamed under the warm light, a delicate but unmistakable bridge that tethered their bodies and sensations together. The effect was immediate and electric. The slightest movement from one caused the chain to tug on the other, creating a feedback loop of stimulation that neither could escape.

Ningning gasped as the chain shifted with Giselle’s movement, the pull on her nipple sending a fresh wave of sensation rippling through her. “Ahh…” she moaned softly, her hips trembling against the Sybian beneath her. The cool metal of the chain warmed quickly against their flushed skin, its presence a constant, tangible reminder of their connection.

Giselle inhaled sharply as the chain tugged her in response, her own gasp echoing Ningning’s. The clamps’ unyielding grip amplified every shudder and twitch, their sensitive peaks now bound in a dance of give and take. “Oh… god…” she murmured, her voice low and breathy, her body swaying slightly as the sensations intertwined.

“Now, the only rule here is to sit still,” you commanded softly, your voice steady yet firm. The authority in your tone sent a shiver through them, grounding them even as their bodies threatened to spiral into the overwhelming sensations. “If you move too much, you’ll only make it more intense for each other.”

The Sybians hummed beneath them, their vibrations deepening as you turned the controls slightly. The shift was subtle at first, a gentle increase that teased their already overstimulated bodies. Ningning let out a broken moan, her thighs clenching instinctively against the velvety surface of the device. The vibrations seemed to seep into her very core, spreading like wildfire through her body. “Oh my god…” she gasped, her voice trembling as the sensations climbed higher.

Giselle’s reaction was no less immediate. Her lips parted in a low, guttural moan, her bound hands pulling slightly against the ropes as the Sybian’s pulsations grew more insistent. Each small movement from Ningning sent the chain between them tugging at her clamps, adding a sharp, delicious edge to the vibrations that rippled through her body. “Mmm… it’s so much,” she managed to whisper, her voice thick with need.

The clamps acted as a bridge between them, magnifying every tremor and shudder. A twitch from one sent a wave of sensation to the other, binding them in an intimate, inescapable loop of shared pleasure. Ningning’s moans grew louder as she struggled to keep still, the vibrations and the relentless pull of the chain driving her closer to the edge. “Ahh… I can’t… it’s too much…” she whimpered, her voice a mix of desperation and exhilaration.

Giselle, no longer able to hold back, let out a trembling cry as the chain tugged at her again, her body arching against the device. “Oh… oh god… please…” she gasped, the rhythmic pulsations of the Sybian combining with the clamps’ steady pressure to push her closer to surrender.

Ningning’s breath hitched, her chest rising and falling as her body quivered beneath the mounting waves of pleasure. The air around her was thick, carrying the faint, musky scent of arousal mingled with the warmth of their shared exertion. Her thighs trembled against the velvety surface of the Sybian, the vibrations resonating deep within her, coaxing her closer to the edge with every relentless pulse. The clamps connecting her to Giselle tugged lightly with each subtle movement, a sharp yet tantalizing sting that tethered her pleasure to her partner’s.

Her breaths turned ragged, a series of shallow gasps punctuated by moans that grew louder as her climax approached. The sting of the clamps, now warmed by her flushed skin, was a constant reminder of her vulnerability and connection. Each breath carried a faint sweetness, the room’s ambient scent laced with the unmistakable notes of sweat and arousal that hung heavily in the air. It was intoxicating, enveloping her senses as she surrendered to the rising tide of sensation.

Giselle, seated opposite her, was equally enraptured. She watched Ningning with wide, glassy eyes, her own body responding to every tremor that traveled through the chain between them. The faint jingle of the silver links with every motion sent shocks of stimulation to her oversensitive peaks. The sight of Ningning on the brink—her flushed cheeks, her parted lips, her moans rising in pitch—only pushed Giselle closer to her own edge. The sharp, metallic tang of the clamps against her skin mixed with the faint musk in the air, creating a sensory symphony that heightened the intimacy of their shared experience.

Ningning’s body tensed, her muscles tightening as the vibrations reached a crescendo, the pleasure building to a point where she could no longer contain it. Her hips bucked instinctively, the Sybian beneath her humming relentlessly against her swollen lips. The sensation was maddening, a sweet torment that stole her breath. The tug of the clamps against her nipples sent shockwaves that echoed through her chest, amplifying every pulse of the machine beneath her.

Finally, with a choked cry, Ningning tumbled over the edge. Her climax erupted in a cascade of pure, unbridled ecstasy, the pleasure radiating outward in waves that seemed to reach every nerve ending in her body. Her back arched sharply, her bound hands pulling against the ropes as she cried out, her voice raw and guttural. The room echoed with her cries, the sound rich with the depth of her release. A sheen of sweat glistened on her skin, the heat of her orgasm suffusing her body with an electric warmth.

But her climax triggered an unexpected reaction. As she convulsed in pleasure, her body shifted slightly, pulling against the chain that bound her to Giselle. The sudden tug on the clamps sent a searing sting through Giselle’s sensitive peaks, forcing a sharp intake of breath. “Ahh—!” The pain, brief and sharp, acted as a spark, igniting the overwhelming pleasure already coursing through her. The sudden shift from the sharp edge of sensation to the deep pulse of pleasure tipped her over the brink.

Giselle’s climax hit her like a bolt of lightning, her body convulsing as the pleasure surged through her like an unstoppable current. Her thighs clenched against the Sybian, her toes curling as waves of ecstasy consumed her. “Oh… oh my god!” she cried, her voice breaking into gasps as her muscles tightened and released in rhythm with the machine’s relentless vibrations. Her bound wrists strained slightly against the ropes as her body arched, her head tilting back as she surrendered fully to the storm of sensation.

The chain between them continued to shift, transferring the echoes of their climaxes back and forth. Each shudder from one sent a tremor to the other, keeping the intensity alive, binding them in an intimate dance of shared release. The air was thick with their moans and cries, the scent of sweat and arousal mingling with the faint metallic tang of the clamps and the warmth of their bodies.

As the waves of their orgasms ebbed, both women collapsed against the Sybians, their bodies trembling from the aftershocks. Their breaths came in short, uneven gasps, their flushed skin glowing in the golden light of the room. Ningning’s head lolled forward, her damp hair clinging to her forehead as she let out a soft, breathy laugh. “I… I can’t believe that…” she murmured, her voice trembling with exhaustion and satisfaction.

Giselle let out a weak chuckle in response, her body still tingling as she struggled to catch her breath. “That was… oh my god…” she whispered, her words trailing off into a soft sigh.

You approached with a quiet calm, your hands steady as you began to remove the clamps. Ningning flinched slightly as the pressure released, a gasp escaping her lips as the blood rushed back to the nubs. Giselle let out a low whimper as her clamps were removed, the absence of the sting leaving behind a bittersweet ache. The chain clinked softly as you set it aside, the delicate links gleaming under the light.

The room was silent for a moment, save for their heavy breathing. The faint scent of sweat and musk lingered in the air, a reminder of the intensity they had just shared. Slowly, you helped them off the Sybians, their legs shaky as they stood on unsteady feet. Their gazes met briefly, and in that moment, they shared a wordless connection—one of trust, vulnerability, and the profound bond forged through their shared journey.

The air is heavy with the scent of perfume mingled with the musky, unmistakable aroma of arousal, amplifying the intimacy of the moment. Your voice broke the silence, steady and inviting. “This entire evening began because there were questions. Uncertainties. I think it’s time we find some unforgettable answers.”

With a gesture, you beckoned them to follow. They obeyed, their movements tentative but eager as they stepped into the next space, their trust in you palpable.

The room they entered was a world unto itself, bathed in a soft, golden light that seemed to cast everything in a sensual glow. Shadows played along the walls, which were adorned with subtle, tasteful art hinting at themes of connection and exploration. The centerpiece of the room was the table—an object both functional and artful. It was designed with purpose, offering support and exposure in equal measure. Its smooth, cool surface gleamed under the light, and the padded leg rests positioned on either side made its intent unmistakable.

The air was cooler here, brushing against their bare skin as you gestured for them to move toward the table. The change in temperature heightened their awareness of every inch of their exposed bodies.

With their hands still securely tied behind their backs, you stepped closer, offering calm guidance. “Let me help you,” you murmured, your voice steady but soft. You lifted Ningning first, your hands firm but gentle as you supported her waist and carried her toward the edge of the table. She let out a soft gasp as her thighs brushed the cool surface. With care, you guided her legs into the padded rests on either side of the table. The gentle pressure of the rests spread her legs deliberately, leaving her fully exposed while providing enough support to keep her stable. Her bound hands rested against her lower back, the ropes pressing lightly into her skin as she adjusted to the vulnerable pose. Her chest rose and fell in shallow breaths, her arousal evident in the faint tremble of her body.

Next, you turned to Giselle, offering the same care and precision. Her flushed cheeks deepened in color as you approached, her gaze flicking briefly to Ningning before meeting yours. Without protest, she allowed you to lift her, her body pliant under your hands as you settled her beside Ningning. You guided her legs into the rests, positioning her with equal care. The deliberate spread of her thighs mirrored Ningning’s, the padded supports keeping her comfortably stable despite the exposure. The ropes binding her wrists brushed against her back, grounding her in the moment as her breathing quickened. A soft shiver passed through her as she adjusted to the position, the coolness of the table contrasting sharply with the heat blooming across her body.

The leg rests left them both completely open, their flushed folds glistening in the soft light with evidence of their earlier arousal. Their slightly reclined positions and bound wrists emphasized their vulnerability, making them acutely aware of their own exposure. The design of the table kept them secure yet unrestricted, every detail thoughtfully crafted to heighten their sensitivity.

Their gazes met across the table, their expressions a mix of embarrassment and curiosity, with undeniable arousal flickering in their eyes. The leg rests not only positioned them perfectly but also ensured they could see one another clearly—every curve, every trembling breath, every glisten of their shared vulnerability. This perspective forced them to confront not only their own openness but also the beauty of the other, creating a charged intimacy that crackled between them.

“Good,” you said softly, stepping back to take in the sight before you. Their spread legs, the sheen of sweat on their skin, and the soft flush painting their cheeks created a stunning tableau. “You’re both perfect like this.”

The praise sent visible shivers through their bodies, their breathing deepening as they settled into the moment. The tension in the room was palpable, each subtle movement and soft exhale amplifying the anticipation that enveloped them. The deliberate positioning, the careful exposure, and the warmth of your voice wrapped around them, leaving them completely immersed in the present.

From a nearby table, you reached for two butt plugs, their sleek surfaces already glistening with a generous coating of lubricant. The subtle gleam of the objects caught the soft light, drawing their attention. Your gaze flickered over both women as you held the plugs in your hands, your movements deliberate and calculated.

Starting with Giselle, you stepped beside her. Her bound hands rested behind her lower back, her body tense with anticipation. “Relax,” you murmured, your voice calm and soothing. Your hand rested firmly on the curve of her hip, grounding her as you brought the tip of the plug to her back entrance. The coolness of the metal met her warm, flushed skin, and she inhaled sharply, her body stiffening momentarily before yielding.

Her tight ring fluttered under the gentle pressure, the initial resistance giving way as you eased the plug inside with slow, deliberate movements. The sensation was unfamiliar but not unwelcome—a mix of stretch and fullness that sent a shiver through her. Giselle’s breathing quickened, a low moan slipping from her lips as her body adjusted. The weight of the plug settled deeply within her, the sensation of being filled creating a pulse of heat that spread to her core.

From her position, Ningning watched intently, her wide eyes fixed on the sight of the plug slipping into Giselle’s body. The intimacy of the moment left Ningning trembling, her lips parting as her own arousal deepened. A soft whimper escaped her, her thighs quivering as she anticipated her turn.

Giselle exhaled shakily as the plug settled fully into place, her cheeks flushed a deep crimson and her thighs trembling with the effort of holding still. “Good girl,” you murmured, your voice rich with approval. The tension in her shoulders eased, her body relaxing as she adjusted to the sensation. A soft moan escaped her lips, the fullness bringing a strange but exhilarating pleasure.

Turning your attention to Ningning, you moved beside her. Unlike Giselle, her body tensed visibly as you brought the plug to her entrance. Her tight ring quivered under the cool touch of the metal, her breaths quick and uneven. “Breathe,” you instructed gently, your free hand stroking the small of her back in soothing circles. “Relax. Let your body accept it.”

Ningning whimpered softly, her body resisting at first, but she focused on your voice, her breaths coming in slower, measured waves. With patient care, you applied gentle, consistent pressure, coaxing her to open for you. “That’s it,” you murmured, your tone low and encouraging. “You’re doing so well.”

Finally, with a soft, wet sound, the plug slipped inside, settling into place with a quick plop. Ningning gasped sharply, her body jerking slightly as she adjusted to the intrusion. The sensation was intense—a stretching, filling heat that left her trembling. Her head tilted forward, her cheeks burning with a mix of embarrassment and arousal. As she focused on her breathing, the tension in her muscles softened, and the unfamiliar weight of the plug began to sink in, igniting a low, persistent heat deep within her.

From across the table, Giselle’s gaze met Ningning’s, her lips parting in a small, knowing smile. The shared vulnerability in their expressions created an unspoken bond, their arousal deepening as they took in the sight of one another.

As their eyes lingered on each other, the plugs within them seemed to pulse in response to the visual stimulation. Ningning’s lips trembled as the subtle throb of fullness radiated through her, amplifying the heat already pooling between her thighs. Giselle’s cheeks flushed darker as her breathing quickened, the sensation of the plug sending shivers up her spine at the sight of Ningning’s wet folds and trembling thighs. Their bodies reacted in tandem, the intimacy of their shared position heightening the sensations coursing through them.

“Perfect,” you said, stepping back to admire the tableau before you. The sight of their flushed bodies, the plugs nestled snugly within them, and the glistening evidence of their arousal was nothing short of mesmerizing.

Your hands moved with purpose, brushing lightly along their inner thighs. The contrast of your warm skin against their cool flesh drew gasps from both of them, their hips shifting instinctively at the sensation. Ningning’s thighs quivered as she felt her wetness slick against her skin, while Giselle bit her lower lip to stifle a moan, her body trembling under your touch.

“Trust me to take you where you’ve never been before,” you said, your tone calm but firm, your presence a steady anchor in the storm of sensations flooding their bodies.

They nodded in unison, their gazes flicking briefly to the other’s exposed, flushed sex before returning to you. The sight of one another—the swollen, glistening evidence of their shared arousal and the plugs nestled intimately within—intensified their responses. Ningning’s lips parted, her breathing quick and shallow, as her hips lifted slightly, her arousal pooling beneath her. Giselle’s legs trembled visibly, her hands twitching faintly in their bindings as she struggled to maintain her position. The unspoken connection between them bound them tighter than any rope, their shared vulnerability becoming an electric force in the room.

You stood like a shadow of command, donned in sleek black gloves that seemed to absorb the dim light rather than reflect it. Every movement was deliberate, precise, as if you were an enigmatic conductor preparing to orchestrate a symphony of sensations. 

The room, bathed in a soft, ambient glow, felt alive with anticipation. The air was thick, a heady mix of warmth and the faint, musky scent of arousal that clung to the participants like a second skin. Every breath was heavier, every sound amplified, from the soft creak of the table to the slight rustle of fabric. Giselle and Ningning knelt in vulnerable expectation, their flushed faces glistening faintly in the subdued light, their eyes locked on you with a mixture of trepidation and eager surrender.

With the gloves flexing against your fingers, you moved closer, your gaze sharp and intent. “We’re raising the stakes,” you murmured, your voice low and commanding, sending a ripple of tension through the room. They watched, their lips parting as their breathing quickened, aware that the next moments would challenge their boundaries further.

The new clamps gleamed faintly in your hand, they’re longer, more elaborate designs promising a deeper sensation. You approached Ningning first, your gloved hand brushing over the soft, flushed curve of her breast as she let out a shaky breath. The room seemed to hold its breath as you secured the first clamp, the cool metal biting lightly into her sensitive peak. A soft gasp escaped her lips, the sting sharp but intoxicating, her body responding with a subtle shiver as the clamp tightened.

Giselle was next, her body tensing momentarily before she exhaled slowly, her chest rising toward your touch as you affixed the clamp to her. The device closed over her nipple with a firm click, its grip sending a wave of warmth radiating from the point of contact. Her lips parted as a low moan slipped out, her eyes fluttering shut for a brief moment as she adjusted to the sensation.

But the clamps alone weren’t your final act. With calculated precision, you introduced a weight suspended delicately between them, its polished surface gleaming faintly in the soft light. The fine rope connecting the clamps grew taut as the weight hung in balance, a silent promise of the delicate interplay between pleasure and pain. The shift in pressure elicited a duet of gasps from the two women, their bodies adjusting instinctively to the new, heavier sensation.

You weren’t finished. From your pocket, you produced two pairs of panties—the same ones they had given you earlier, now slightly crumpled but still heavy with the dampness of their earlier passion. The delicate fabric, saturated with their arousal, carried a potent, lingering scent that filled the air as you held them up. The sight alone made both women’s eyes widen, their breaths hitching as they recognized their most intimate garments.

Instead of returning the panties to their respective owners, you swapped them. Ningning’s panties, still soaked, were brought to Giselle’s lips. The soft fabric brushed against her mouth, the dampness transferring a hint of warmth to her flushed skin. Giselle opened obediently, her tongue grazing the material as she accepted it, her lips closing tightly around the fabric. A muffled moan escaped her, her cheeks darkening as the heady taste of Ningning’s arousal filled her senses.

Next, Giselle’s panties were turned toward Ningning. The sight made Ningning’s lips tremble, her gaze darting toward Giselle briefly before parting her mouth. The damp fabric slipped inside, brushing against her tongue and flooding her senses with the musky essence of her partner. A soft whimper escaped her, muffled by the gag as her thighs quivered against the table. The mingling sensations of taste, texture, and the intimate act itself sent a fresh wave of heat coursing through her body, leaving her breathless.

But you weren’t done. With calculated precision, you retrieved a fine rope and tied it securely to the weight that hung between their clamps. The other end of the rope was looped through the panties now acting as their gags, the tension creating a delicate balance. The setup ensured that the weight’s position depended entirely on their ability to keep the fabric held firmly in place with their mouths.

“Hold it,” you instructed, your voice calm but firm, commanding their full attention. “If you let go, the clamps will pull free. The choice is yours.”

The weight of your words sank in immediately. Their glossy eyes darted to the rope, then to each other, wide with a mixture of trepidation and arousal. A silent understanding passed between them, their bodies tensing as they adjusted to this new layer of challenge. Both nodded, their muffled breaths quickening as they accepted the stakes.

Ningning was the first to react, her thighs trembling as she tried to maintain her composure. The subtle pull of the weight tugged at her sensitive nipples, the clamps intensifying every small motion. Each jolt of sensation sent ripples of pleasure and sharp stings coursing through her, her muffled whimpers growing louder as she fought to steady herself. The fabric in her mouth teased her tongue, the lingering taste of Giselle’s arousal adding an almost surreal intimacy to her predicament.

Giselle fared no better, though she held herself with a fraction more control. She bit down firmly on the soft, damp fabric of Ningning’s panties, her lips tightening as the weight swayed faintly between them. Every movement created a delicate tension that sent sharp, electrifying pulses through her clamps. The stinging pleasure spread across her chest and down to her core, each shift adding to the heat pooling between her thighs. Her muffled moans were low and throaty, her breaths coming in shallow bursts as her body fought to adapt to the exquisite torment.

The air in the room grew thicker, heavy with the mingling scents of their arousal and the faint metallic tang of the clamps. The ambient lighting cast golden shadows on their trembling forms, highlighting every quiver, every subtle motion. Their glistening folds, slick with evidence of their arousal, shone under the warm light, small beads of moisture trailing down their inner thighs.

You stepped back slightly, your hands folded behind your back, watching with quiet satisfaction as the weight swayed gently between them. Every tremor in their bodies, every muffled moan, sent ripples of shared sensation through the taut rope, binding them together in a fragile but electric equilibrium. The rope connecting their mouths to the clamps created a symphony of tension—each motion resonating through their bodies, amplifying the moment.

“Beautiful,” you said softly, your tone filled with calm approval.

They responded with muffled moans, the vibrations resonating through the soaked fabric of their gags. Ningning’s hips shifted slightly, her thighs trembling as her arousal continued to build, pooling beneath her. A bead of moisture slipped down her inner thigh, drawing a low, muffled whimper from her lips. Giselle’s chest heaved as she focused on steadying her breath, her body shivering with each pull of the clamps, her muffled cries blending harmoniously with Ningning’s.

With the stage perfectly set, you turned your attention to the vibrators resting in your gloved hands. The sleek, smooth surfaces glinted faintly in the ambient light as your fingers moved over them with a deliberate precision, each motion infused with purpose. For a moment, there was a hush, a reverent stillness, as you prepared for the next act of this intimate composition.

You stepped closer, the faint hum of the weight’s sway and the soft rustle of rope filling the room. Giselle and Ningning’s flushed bodies trembled in anticipation, their gags muffling their shallow breaths as their glossy eyes darted between you and the objects in your hands. Their legs spread wider, their glistening folds exposed to the cool air, a stark contrast to the heat radiating from their cores.

With exquisite care, you placed the vibrators on the outer lips of their eager sexes, the cold touch of the devices drawing gasps from both women. Ningning shuddered visibly, her thighs quivering as the initial contact sent ripples of sensation through her. Giselle’s hips twitched slightly, her muffled whimper vibrating through the fabric in her mouth. The vibrators rested there like poised instruments, their presence a tantalizing promise.

Then, with a flick of your fingers, you brought the devices to life. The vibrators hummed softly at first, their song blending seamlessly with the tension-charged air. The sound resonated not just in the room but seemed to echo deep within the women’s cores, a prelude to the symphony you were carefully crafting.

The first waves of vibration were subtle but insistent, coaxing their bodies into movement. Ningning arched slightly, a muffled cry escaping her as the gentle pulsing teased her sensitive lips. Giselle exhaled sharply through her gag, her chest heaving as she adjusted to the sensations coursing through her. Their reactions were immediate, their hips shifting involuntarily as the vibrators’ rhythm built slowly.

With deft adjustments, you increased the intensity. The hum deepened, growing richer and more resonant, filling the space with its intoxicating song. The vibrations now pulsed in steady waves, syncing with the rhythm of the girls’ trembling bodies. Their breaths became shallow, the rise and fall of their chests mirroring the unrelenting tempo of the devices. Giselle’s moans grew louder, muffled yet urgent, as her hips pressed closer to the source of her pleasure. Ningning’s hands gripped the edges of the table, her knuckles white as her body strained against the ropes and clamps that bound her.

Your gaze never wavered, every detail of their responses etched into your awareness. You adjusted the settings with the precision of a seasoned conductor, attuned to the smallest shifts in their cries, the slightest quiver of their thighs. The vibrators pulsed harder, their relentless rhythm sending jolts of pleasure through their already overstimulated bodies. The once-quiet room now echoed with the melody of their muffled cries and the low, persistent hum of the devices, the sound forming an uninhibited symphony of desire.

The crescendo built steadily, the tension between them palpable. Their flushed folds glistened with arousal, the vibrations drawing out a slick warmth that heightened the intensity of every sensation. The scent of their musk filled the air, mingling with the faint metallic tang of the clamps and the subtle perfume lingering in the room. The heady aroma wrapped around them, amplifying the connection between mind and body.

As the devices continued their tireless pressure, you introduced a new layer to the symphony. Your gloved hands began a slow, deliberate journey along the insides of their thighs. The cool material of the gloves brushed against their overheated skin, the contrast sending shivers rippling through them. Ningning whimpered, her gag stifling the sound as her legs quaked under your touch. Giselle’s hips jerked involuntarily, her body seeking the pressure she so desperately needed.

Your fingertips danced along their sensitive skin, tracing the delicate curves of their inner thighs. Each caress was maddeningly gentle, a featherlight tease that left them yearning for more. The touch wasn’t enough to satisfy—it was a whisper of contact that promised release but kept it tantalizingly out of reach. The fine rope connecting their gags to the weight pulled taut with every movement, adding an extra layer of tension to their predicament.

Giselle’s hips twitched again, her body betraying her need for more. Her thighs clenched briefly, only to relax as the vibrations overwhelmed her once again. Ningning moaned softly around her gag, the sound vibrating through the fabric as her head tilted back, her eyes fluttering closed. Her fingers curled tighter against the table, her entire body stretched taut with unfulfilled desire.

Then, with a swift, decisive motion, your gloved fingers plunged into the molten heat of each woman, their slick arousal enveloping you as their bodies reacted immediately to the sudden intrusion. Giselle let out a shocked, muffled gasp, her back arching against the tension of the clamps. Ningning followed with a deeper, guttural moan, her hips jerking as her walls clenched tightly around your fingers.

“Ahhh… mmmph!” Giselle whimpered, her voice muffled by the fabric in her mouth, her thighs trembling as she adjusted to the dual onslaught of your fingers and the relentless hum of the vibrators.

“Mmm… ohhh,” Ningning cried, the panties in her mouth softening her desperate moans. Her body trembled violently, the tension in her thighs visible as she tried to hold steady against the overwhelming sensations.

Your hands worked with calculated precision, thrusting and curling in perfect harmony with the relentless rhythm of the vibrators. Every movement was deliberate, each touch aimed at stoking the fires within them. The wet, rhythmic sound of your thrusts mingled with their muffled cries and the hum of the vibrators, creating an erotic symphony that filled the room.

The air was thick with the scent of arousal, a heady musk mingled with the faint metallic tang of the clamps. Each breath was heavier, laden with anticipation and desire. The clamps tugged faintly with every motion, the delicate chains swaying and adding a constant sting that heightened their already overstimulated senses.

“Look at each other,” you whispered, your tone low but commanding, cutting through the haze of their ragged breathing. “See the ecstasy on your faces. This is real, and it’s happening to both of you.”

Their gazes lifted, hesitant and hazy with arousal, before locking onto one another. Giselle’s flushed cheeks and glazed eyes mirrored the same overwhelmed passion radiating from Ningning. In that shared moment, they saw themselves reflected in the other—the trembling thighs, the arch of their backs, the unrestrained pleasure in their moans.

“Mmm… Unnie…” Ningning whimpered, her voice muffled but still carrying the raw intensity of her feelings.

Giselle’s own muffled response came as her lips pressed tighter around the fabric, her eyes locking onto Ningning’s. “Mmm… you look… so good…” she moaned, her hips shifting as your fingers curled again, finding the spot that made her tremble uncontrollably.

The sight of each other—flushed, vulnerable, and writhing in synchronized bliss—heightened their arousal to dizzying heights. Their muffled cries grew louder, mingling as they surrendered completely to the sensations.

Your fingers moved with an intuitive rhythm, delving into their cores with the precision of an artist sculpting a masterpiece. The pads of your fingers grazed over their most sensitive spots, curling to press against hidden nerves that made their bodies jerk and spasm. When your thumb brushed over Ningning’s swollen nub, her body jolted, her muffled cry vibrating through her gag.

“Ahhh—ohhh!” she whimpered, her thighs trembling as the dual sensations pushed her closer to the edge. Her walls clenched tightly around your fingers, the slick heat enveloping you in a way that made each motion fluid and electrifying.

Giselle wasn’t far behind. The relentless thrusting and curling of your fingers sent waves of ecstasy radiating through her. “Mmmph… don’t stop!” she moaned, her voice vibrating against the fabric. Her body arched, her hips bucking involuntarily as she chased the release that was tantalizingly close.

The clamps tugged with every movement, the sharp sting blending seamlessly with the relentless pleasure coursing through their bodies. The vibrators pulsed harder, their rhythm unrelenting, and the room was alive with the symphony of muffled moans, gasps, and the slick sounds of your fingers working them toward their breaking points.

Their gazes remained locked, the intensity of their connection building with every shared moan and cry. They weren’t just watching each other—they were mirroring, feeling the same overwhelming sensations, tethered not just by the clamps and chains but by the raw intimacy of their shared experience.

“Don’t look away,” you murmured, your voice both commanding and soothing. “Stay with each other. Feel this together.”

Their cries grew more desperate, their bodies trembling violently as the crescendo neared. Each thrust of your fingers, each pulse of the vibrators, brought them closer to the inevitable. The moment hung in the air, electric and heavy, as their bodies teetered on the edge of release. The symphony of their pleasure filled the room, their connection deepening as they surrendered to the shared ecstasy.

Giselle, her once porcelain skin now glowing with vivid hues of arousal, was the first to succumb. The vibrator pressed firmly against her wet sex relentlessly, the rhythm an unyielding assault that synced perfectly with the precise thrusts and curls of your gloved fingers. Each calculated movement was designed to draw her closer to the edge, her body reacting with a raw, uncontrollable urgency. Her thighs trembled visibly, muscles quivering with the effort to hold still as her hips instinctively sought more pressure, more friction. The soft, relentless buzz of the vibrator sent deep, reverberating pulses through her core, unraveling her composure thread by thread.

Her breathing was uneven, sharp gasps escaping her parted lips as the waves of sensation coursed through her. Her chest heaved, the rise and fall of her breaths drawing attention to the beads of sweat trailing down her flushed skin. Each shiver, each arch of her back, was a testament to the unrelenting pleasure building within her.

Across from her, Ningning moaned softly against the gag between her lips, her muffled cries carrying an edge of desperation. The relentless rhythm of the vibrator pressed against her own slick folds mirrored Giselle’s torment, while your fingers worked her just as masterfully. Yet, even as her body writhed and arched under your touch, her gaze was fixed on Giselle. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from her partner’s unraveling—the way Giselle’s thighs quivered, her hips bucked, and her flushed cheeks glistened in the dim light.

The sight sent a jolt of shock and anticipation coursing through Ningning, heightening her own arousal. She whimpered against the gag, her muffled voice a mixture of awe and need as she watched Giselle’s mounting climax unfold. The connection between them—the shared vulnerability, the mirrored sensations—made every moment more intense, every touch and vibration more profound.

Giselle’s moans grew louder, sharper, her hips rocking desperately as she teetered on the brink. Her breaths turned shallow, her chest rising and falling rapidly as every muscle in her core pulled taut. The vibrator’s relentless hum dug deeper into her, and the precise thrusts of your fingers coaxed her closer and closer to release. Her body trembled violently, the tension building to an unbearable peak, so unbearable that…

She screamed.

It was raw, primal, and utterly unrestrained. The sound tore through the room like a thunderclap, shattering the fragile equilibrium and reverberating off the walls. The force of Giselle’s scream was so visceral, so forceful, that it dislodged the gag from her lips. The damp fabric fell away, dragging the taut rope with it.

The weight plummeted instantly, yanking the clamps from their places in one brutal, unrelenting motion. The sharp metallic clatter of the clamps hitting the table punctuated the moment, a harsh counterpoint to Giselle’s piercing cry. Her head snapped back, her body arching violently as the pain hit—a fiery, stinging jolt that lanced through her sensitive peaks.

The sudden movement caused the plug nestled inside her to shift, pressing deeper against her inner walls. The fullness was maddening, its weight tugging slightly with each convulsion of her body, adding a new layer of sensation that bordered on overwhelming. The plug pulsed with her every breath, each subtle motion an exquisite mix of pleasure and pressure that amplified the storm raging through her body.

Across from her, Ningning’s muffled cry of surprise transformed into a full-throated scream as the clamps tore from her nipples. The sudden, searing pain ripped through her chest, sending her body into a spasmodic convulsion. Her eyes flew wide, tears pooling at the corners as the shock merged seamlessly with the relentless pleasure from the vibrator and your skilled fingers. The plug nestled deep within her shifted with her movements, its girth pressing insistently against her sensitive inner walls. The sensation was inescapable—filling her completely, intensifying the uncontrollable quaking of her thighs.

Ningning’s body trembled as the sensation of fullness took hold, her muscles contracting around the plug as her hips bucked instinctively. Each motion sent it pressing against new nerve endings, the lubed surface gliding effortlessly but unrelentingly with every shift. Her breath hitched, a mix of sharp whimpers and guttural moans spilling from her lips as the combination of the vibrator, your touch, and the unyielding presence of the plug became too much.

The room was alive with their screams, their voices colliding and amplifying in the charged air. The sharp, fiery pain of the clamps’ removal didn’t detract from the pleasure—it magnified it, adding an edge that sent their senses into overdrive. Their trembling thighs pressed against the relentless buzz of the vibrators, their hips bucking uncontrollably as the sensations overwhelmed them. The plugs, nestled deep inside, provided a constant reminder of their complete surrender, amplifying every vibration, every contraction, every spasm of their bodies.

Their bodies convulsed violently, each arch and shudder a testament to the overwhelming collision of pain and pleasure. Their swollen, oversensitized peaks throbbed with every heartbeat, the absence of the clamps leaving their nerves exposed and ablaze. The plugs moved subtly with their contractions, nudging against sensitive spots that sent new waves of sensation coursing through them, adding depth to their uncontrollable responses.

The symphony of their cries filled the room, a raw and primal testament to the depth of their shared experience. Their voices echoed, weaving together into a cacophony of desperation and release, each sound layering onto the next. Their shared screams became the crescendo, building to the inevitable climax that would consume them both.

And then it happened.

You felt it first in the way their bodies tensed—a subtle tightening of their cores, an instinctive reaction as their climaxes surged forward like an unstoppable tide. The plugs inside them seemed to magnify the tension, each subtle movement adding to their unraveling. Their walls pulsed around your fingers and the unyielding plugs, gripping tightly in a telltale rhythm that signaled their impending eruption. Recognizing the moment, you withdrew your hands with deliberate speed, ensuring nothing obstructed the force of their release.

The dam within them burst, and from their cores erupted a torrent of liquid ecstasy. They squirted—streams of warm, clear fluid arcing through the air, an undeniable declaration of their release. The sight was mesmerizing, a luminous display of their bodies’ raw, unfiltered response. Each spurt carried the weight of their shared passion, the vulnerability of the moment laid bare in every glistening arc.

The liquid splashed against their trembling bodies, the warm essence coating their exposed, flushed sexes. The heat of their release mingled with the lingering vibrations of the devices, amplifying the intensity of their sensations. Ningning let out a choked gasp, her moan raw and unrestrained as her thighs quivered violently. The plug inside her seemed to amplify the sensation, pressing firmly as her body convulsed, each spasm sending it moving just enough to heighten her ecstasy.

Their streams weren’t contained to their bodies alone. The arcing jets crossed the space between them, spraying each other’s thighs and stomachs in a chaotic, sensual cascade. Ningning’s release splattered against Giselle’s trembling skin, streaking her flushed chest and dripping down her abdomen in warm rivulets. Giselle’s own torrent painted Ningning’s heaving stomach and thighs, droplets clinging to her glistening skin before sliding away in teasing trails.

The sheer force of their release left the table beneath them soaked, glistening with the evidence of their climaxes. Each surge seemed more powerful than the last, their bodies responding with an intensity that even you hadn’t fully anticipated. For a moment, you found yourself taken aback, a faint flicker of surprise passing through your otherwise composed demeanor as the sheer volume of their shared ecstasy unfolded before you.

The sprays didn’t stop at their bodies. Streams arced further than expected, warm droplets landing on the floor, the surrounding table, and even your arms as you steadied yourself near them. Some of their essence reached their faces, warm, saline splashes landing on lips and cheeks. Giselle’s tongue darted out instinctively, catching a droplet of Ningning’s release and tasting the faintly salty intimacy of their shared moment. Ningning, wide-eyed and trembling, whimpered as she felt the same—her tongue brushing against her lips and meeting the unmistakable flavor of Giselle’s climax. It wasn’t just a connection; it was a visceral, undeniable bond that transcended words.

Their bodies quivered uncontrollably, each wave of pleasure rolling through them in relentless succession. Giselle’s thighs quaked as her hips bucked against the relentless echoes of her climax, her hands gripping the edges of the table as though to anchor herself. Ningning, her cheeks streaked with her own release and Giselle’s, let out a soft, broken moan, her body trembling as the final spasms left her utterly spent.

The cries they let out echoed through the room, raw and primal, the acoustics amplifying every gasp and moan into a symphony of passion. The unrestrained music of their climaxes filled every corner, a harmony of desperation and release that seemed to resonate beyond the walls. Each sound, each trembling shudder wove together into a tapestry of sensory overload, a shared expression of the overwhelming pleasure that consumed them.

Even as their streams began to wane, smaller bursts continued to spatter against their already soaked skin. Ningning’s thighs were slick with her own release, her essence mingling with Giselle’s in a chaotic, intoxicating display of vulnerability and pleasure. Giselle’s chest heaved as she took in shuddering breaths, her flushed skin shimmering in the golden light as trails of liquid traced down her stomach and thighs.

Finally, the torrents subsided, leaving their glistening bodies sprawled and trembling. The table beneath them was slick, the evidence of their shared climaxes pooling in small rivulets that dripped to the floor. The air hung heavy with the heady, musky perfume of their arousal, the scent a tangible reminder of the intimacy they had just shared.

The stillness of the room was broken only by the sound of their shallow breaths. Giselle and Ningning lay limp, their flushed bodies trembling faintly as they came down from the intensity of their shared release. The faint sheen of sweat and evidence of their climax clung to their skin, a vivid testament to the raw passion they had just experienced.

You stepped closer, your movements deliberate and soothing, your presence grounding them in the aftermath of what had just transpired. Slowly, you reached down to Giselle first, your hand brushing lightly over her lower back as you murmured, “Breathe and relax.” Carefully, you began to ease the plug from her, the gentle but firm motion drawing a soft gasp from her lips as her tight ring fluttered around the intrusion. As the plug slipped free with a quiet pop, a small dribble escaped her slick folds, trailing down her trembling thighs. Giselle shivered at the sensation as she adjusted to the absence.

You took a moment, letting her breathe as you moved to her bound wrists. “You’ve done so well,” you said softly, untying the ropes with practiced care. As her arms were freed, she let out a small sigh of relief, her muscles trembling from the strain but grateful for the release. Her hands rested limply on her lap for a moment before she slowly began to flex her fingers, her expression a mix of exhaustion and contentment.

Turning to Ningning, you repeated the process, your hand resting reassuringly on her hip. “Easy,” you said gently, your voice a calming balm. Ningning’s body tensed slightly at first, her breaths uneven, but with your steady guidance, the plug slid free. A soft, wet sound accompanied its removal, and a glistening bead of arousal followed, slipping down to pool beneath her. She let out a shaky whimper, her cheeks burning with renewed embarrassment as she tried to steady herself.

You placed the plug aside before reaching for the ropes binding her hands. “Relax, Ningning,” you murmured, your fingers deftly working to undo the knots. Her hands fell free, her wrists showing faint marks from the ropes, though there was no discomfort in her expression—only a quiet, lingering warmth. She flexed her fingers tentatively, her gaze flicking toward yours with a dazed but grateful look.

For a moment, you let them rest, their bodies too spent to move. You crouched beside them, brushing damp strands of hair from their flushed faces, your touch gentle and grounding. Giselle tilted her head into your hand slightly, her eyes fluttering closed as if savoring the brief comfort. Ningning blinked up at you, her expression dazed but filled with quiet gratitude, her lips parting as though she wanted to speak but couldn’t yet find the words.

“Well done,” you murmured softly, your tone a mix of praise and reassurance. The weight of the moment lingered, heavy with intimacy and trust, as you let them bask in the quiet aftermath.

Finally, after a few beats of stillness, you straightened and offered your hands to each of them. “Come on,” you said, your voice steady but warm. “Let’s get you up.”

Giselle and Ningning each took your hand, their fingers weakly gripping yours as you helped them sit upright. Both winced slightly, the overstimulation evident in the soft, breathy gasps that escaped their lips. When they swung their legs over the edge of the table, they faltered, their knees wobbling beneath them as they tried to stand. You supported them gently, your hands steadying their arms as they leaned against you for balance, their bodies still trembling from the intensity of their shared experience.

“Whoa…” Ningning muttered, clutching your arm for balance. Giselle let out a shaky laugh as she leaned into you for support, her body still trembling. “I don’t think I can walk straight for a week,” she said, her voice light but still breathless.

“Take your time,” you assured them, your hands steadying their arms as they slowly found their footing. Once they were upright, you stepped back, giving them a moment to adjust.

“Thank you,” Giselle said, her voice soft but sincere, her cheeks flushed not just from exertion but from a lingering sense of awe. Ningning nodded in agreement, her lips curving into a faint, grateful smile as she echoed, “Yeah… thank you.”

Ningning turned her head slightly, her half-lidded eyes catching Giselle’s. A faint, breathless laugh escaped her lips. “That… was incredible,” she murmured, her voice shaky but filled with awe. Giselle, still catching her breath, managed a soft smile, her cheeks deepening in color as she nodded in agreement. Words seemed insufficient, the intensity of the moment lingering between them, heavy and unspoken.

You stepped forward, your movements deliberate but calming, your voice soft yet firm. “You’ve both done wonderfully,” you said, your tone carrying an unmistakable note of pride. “It’s over now. You’ve experienced all you came for.”

The words hung in the air, settling over them like the final note of a beautiful symphony. For a moment, both women seemed to process the finality, their breaths still uneven, their flushed faces reflecting a mixture of contentment and loss. An emptiness where the intensity had burned now lingered in its place, raw and unfamiliar. They exchanged a glance, a silent understanding passing between them, before Ningning spoke, her voice hesitant but filled with newfound boldness.

“I don’t want it to be over,” she admitted, her cheeks flushing deeper as she struggled to maintain eye contact. “I don’t even know how to describe how I feel right now, but I want… more.”

Giselle nodded, her voice low but steady. “You’ve given us something unforgettable. We want to thank you—properly. Not just with words.”

Your eyebrows raised slightly, though your expression remained composed. A flicker of reluctance passed over your face before you replied, your voice calm but softer, tinged with sincerity. “That’s not necessary,” you said. “This was always about you—your experience, your journey. There’s no need to thank me.”

The two women didn’t falter, their gazes locked on yours with earnest determination. Ningning leaned forward slightly, her voice trembling with a mix of nerves and excitement. “We want it,” she said, the quiet intensity of her words ringing out. Giselle echoed her sentiment with a soft, “Please,” her lips parting slightly as her eyes gleamed with certainty.

You studied them for a moment, your expression thoughtful. Then, giving a slight nod, your demeanor shifted from instructor to something warmer, more inviting. “If it’s something you truly want…” you began, your voice deepening with an edge of authority that sent a shiver through them, “then it’s a possibility.”

Their faces brightened with anticipation, their flushed cheeks deepening as they exchanged a quick glance. With a steady breath, you gestured toward the door. “Follow me.”

You extended a hand, and they took it eagerly, their legs still trembling as they stood. You led them through another doorway, the atmosphere shifting subtly as the space opened into a luxurious room. The centerpiece was a large, inviting bed draped in soft, elegant linens. The lighting was warm and intimate, the scent of fresh linen mingling with the lingering musk of their arousal.

They exchanged a glance, a silent conversation passing between them, before their attention turned fully to you. With a mix of boldness and reverence, their hands moved toward you, beginning the process of undressing you. Ningning’s fingers were the first to find the buttons of your shirt, her movements slow and deliberate as she worked her way downward, her gaze flickering upward to meet yours. Giselle followed suit, her hands trailing lightly across your shoulders as she slid the fabric away, leaving your chest bare.

The room seemed to hold its breath as their hands continued, working in unison to undo your belt and ease your pants down with careful precision. They paused briefly, their eyes traveling over your now-exposed form, and a shared breath escaped them, a soft sound of awe and anticipation.

Wordlessly, you guided them forward, stepping out of the last remnants of your clothing and moving to the bed. You settle onto your back with deliberate ease, the soft linens cool against your heated skin. Their eyes followed you closely, the intensity in their gazes growing as they climbed onto the bed, each taking a position on either side of your legs.

They hesitated for just a moment, their eyes meeting once again in silent understanding before turning back to you. The air between the three of you was thick with anticipation, the intimacy of the moment stretching taut as they prepared to continue.

The room seemed to hum with the charged energy between the three of you. Giselle moved first, her confidence shining as she leaned forward, her lips parting. Warm breath ghosted over your tip before her tongue flicked out, her first touch tentative but deliberate. She began with slow, exploratory movements, her lips pressing softly as her tongue traced deliberate paths. Her hands rested firmly on your thighs, steadying herself as her rhythm built.

Ningning watched closely, her wide eyes fixed on Giselle’s movements, her breath catching as she took it all in. After a moment, she joined in, her hesitation evident in her softer, more delicate approach. Her lips brushed lightly against your member, a tentative kiss that quickly deepened as her tongue followed, her confidence growing with every touch. Her hands mirrored Giselle’s, settling on your other thigh as she sought to match her partner’s rhythm.

The contrast between them was intoxicating—Giselle’s firm, deliberate strokes complemented by Ningning’s softer, more exploratory touch. Their lips and tongues alternated, each adding their own unique intensity to the experience. Sometimes their movements overlapped, their tongues brushing against one another as they worked in tandem. The accidental contact of their lips, faint and fleeting, sent a ripple of warmth through all three of you, heightening the intimacy of the moment.

As their synchronization improved, their rhythm became seamless. Giselle’s confident strokes guided Ningning’s more delicate approach, and together they created a dynamic harmony. Their lips sometimes pressed against one another as they adjusted their positions, their shared focus blurring the lines between their individual efforts. The wet, rhythmic sounds of their tongues and lips filled the room, punctuated by their soft, muffled moans.

You placed a hand on each of their heads, your fingers threading gently through their hair, guiding them closer as they worked. The warmth of their mouths enveloped you, their tongues gliding and flicking with growing intensity. “You girls are amazing,” you murmured, your voice thick with approval. The praise spurred them on, their movements growing more deliberate as they leaned into the moment.

Giselle glanced up briefly, her gaze meeting yours with a glint of pride before she redoubled her efforts. Her lips pressed firmly, her tongue moving with deliberate precision as she explored every inch of your shaft. Each stroke was confident, her focus unwavering as she worked with practiced grace. Ningning, inspired by Giselle’s lead, grew bolder in her own movements. Her lips and tongue mirrored Giselle’s rhythm at first, but after a brief pause, she shifted her focus.

With a soft hum of approval, Ningning trailed lower, her lips brushing over the sensitive skin of your base before moving to your balls. Her tongue darted out tentatively at first, tracing slow, delicate circles that sent a subtle shiver through your body. Encouraged by the reaction, she grew bolder, her lips wrapping around one side as her tongue continued its exploration. The warmth and softness of her mouth contrasted perfectly with the firmer, more focused pressure of Giselle’s movements above.

The dynamic between them shifted into something even more enthralling. Giselle maintained her focus on the shaft, her tongue gliding over the cock with deliberate care, alternating between firm strokes and teasing flicks that left your body humming with sensation. Meanwhile, Ningning lavished attention on your balls, her lips and tongue moving in gentle, rhythmic motions. The combination of their efforts created an intoxicating duality—the firm, deliberate touch above and the soft, warm caress below.

Occasionally, their coordination brought them close enough that their lips brushed faintly against one another, a fleeting contact that only deepened the intimacy of the moment. The gentle friction of their mouths meeting, even briefly, sent a spark of warmth radiating through you, adding another layer of connection to their synchronized devotion.

Your hands remained on their heads, fingers threading gently through their hair as their efforts intensified. Giselle’s moans vibrated against your shaft, each stroke of her tongue more deliberate and precise as she sensed the growing tension in your body. Below, Ningning’s quieter, reverent whimpers continued as her mouth explored your sensitive base. Her tongue traced languid circles, her lips warm and soft as they enveloped one side and then the other, her gentle rhythm a perfect counterpoint to Giselle’s focused attention.

Their coordination was seamless, a perfect harmony of passion and purpose. Giselle’s lips tightened, her pace quickening slightly, while Ningning pressed more firmly against you, her hands gripping your thighs for balance. The wet sounds of their tongues, the heat of their mouths, and the occasional gentle friction when their lips brushed against one another created an intoxicating symphony of sensations. Each flick of their tongues, each press of their lips, sent waves of pleasure coursing through your body.

The intensity grew, your muscles tightening as you felt yourself approach the edge. “I’m close,” you murmured, your voice thick with the weight of the moment. The words hung in the air, a signal that spurred them both into action.

Giselle slowed her pace slightly, pulling back just enough to meet Ningning’s gaze. Her eyes sparkled with mischief and understanding as she reached down, her fingers brushing Ningning’s cheek. With a gentle but deliberate touch, she guided Ningning upward, encouraging her to take the lead.

Ningning hesitated for only a heartbeat before following Giselle’s lead, her lips parting as she moved to take your release. Giselle’s hand lingered on Ningning’s jaw for a moment, a silent gesture of encouragement, before she settled back slightly, her lips brushing against Ningning’s cheek as they passed.

As Ningning wrapped her soft lips fully around you, Giselle shifted her focus lower, her movements deliberate and exploratory. Her lips pressed against the sensitive skin at the base of your length, trailing lower, her hot breath ghosting over your skin. Slowly, she descended further, her tongue darting out to taste and tease the delicate area. Her exploration didn’t stop there—her lips found the sensitive ring of muscle below, and she paused for only a moment before pressing her tongue against it.

The first touch of Giselle’s tongue was tentative, a light flick that sent a shiver rippling up your spine. Your body tensed reflexively at the unexpected sensation, and a sudden, involuntary twitch coursed through you, pressing deeper into Ningning’s mouth. She gasped softly around your cock, her lips stretching slightly as her eyes widened in surprise. The movement only seemed to spur her on, her tongue stroking with renewed determination as she adjusted to the change.

The sensation of Giselle’s tongue was electrifying, her warm, wet strokes contrasting sharply with the cool air of the room. As she grew bolder, her tongue moved in slow, deliberate circles around your entrance, teasing the sensitive nerve endings there. Each lap was firm and exploratory, her lips sealing softly against your skin as she alternated between gentle strokes and firmer presses. Her low, muffled hums of satisfaction reverberated through you, intensifying the already overwhelming sensations.

Above, Ningning’s mouth enveloped you with unrelenting heat. Her tongue moved with purpose, circling and stroking with a rhythm that deepened the connection between her and the act itself. Her soft moans vibrated against your length, the vibrations sending shocks of pleasure through your body. Her hands rested lightly on your thighs, her fingers clenching slightly with every twitch and thrust, her arousal mirrored in her every action.

The dual sensations were almost too much to bear. The wet heat of Ningning’s mouth surrounding you, paired with the rhythmic lapping of Giselle’s tongue at your most sensitive entrance, sent shockwaves of pleasure cascading through your body. Every nerve felt alive, ignited by their synchronized efforts. Your hips instinctively rocked forward, driven by the intensity of the pleasure building within you. The contrast between Ningning’s focused, deliberate rhythm and Giselle’s teasing, exploratory movements created a synergy that pushed you to the brink.

The throaty hum of Giselle’s muffled moans as she worked only heightened the experience, the vibrations reverberating through your core. At the same time, Ningning’s lips slid down your cock with an almost reverent focus, her tongue pressing firmly and swirling along the underside in perfect harmony. The combined sensations left you entirely at their mercy, your breaths coming in ragged gasps as the overwhelming pleasure built to an unbearable crescendo.

“Oh, fuck… I’m cumming!” The words tore from your throat, raw and unrestrained, as your body stiffened in response to the tidal wave of pleasure surging through you. Your hips bucked reflexively, driving deeper into Ningning’s warm, wet mouth, while Giselle’s tongue pressed harder against your sensitive entrance, intensifying every nerve-ending’s response.

Loud, guttural grunts and moans escaped you in quick succession, each sound a testament to the sheer intensity of your release. Your voice reverberated through the room, blending with the wet, rhythmic sounds of Ningning’s mouth and Giselle’s deliberate movements. The primal force of your climax left you momentarily unguarded, your vocalizations echoing with abandon.

When the release came, it was powerful and unrestrained. A moan escaped Ningning as the warmth of your climax surged into her mouth. She froze momentarily, her eyes fluttering open with a startled glint before they softened again, her lips tightening instinctively to hold the full weight of your release. The heat filled her mouth, thick and overwhelming, her body trembling slightly from the intensity of the moment. She didn’t swallow—her cheeks puffed slightly as she held it, her chest rising and falling with shallow breaths.

Below, Giselle continued her slow, purposeful movements, her tongue still teasing and lapping as if savoring every reaction she drew from you. The lingering sensations were amplified by the combination of Ningning’s focused efforts above and Giselle’s meticulous attention below. The two of them worked in perfect harmony, each touch and movement adding to the unrelenting tide of pleasure that left you utterly undone.

As Ningning began to pull back, a small thread of your release slipped past her lips, streaking down her chin in a glistening trail. Giselle, quick to act, leaned forward with a tender tilt of Ningning’s chin. Her lips captured Ningning’s in a deep, sensual kiss, the act as intimate as it was deliberate. Their tongues met immediately, intertwining in a slow, exploratory dance as Giselle shared in the taste of you.

The kiss deepened, their movements unhurried yet passionate, each of them savoring the shared essence between them. Their lips glistened, the faint, wet sound of their tongues mingling filling the air as the room seemed to hold its breath. Giselle’s hand slid gently to the back of Ningning’s neck, holding her close as they exchanged every drop of your release, the warmth and saltiness a tangible reminder of their connection to you and to each other.

When they finally parted, a faint string of saliva and release still connected their lips, breaking only when they exchanged a final, gentle flick of their tongues. Their eyes met, a mixture of satisfaction and unspoken understanding passing between them. A subtle flush deepened their cheeks, and with a silent agreement, they each tilted their heads back slightly and swallowed half, the deliberate action slow and sensual.

The soft sound of their throats working in unison punctuated the quiet of the room, a shared act that carried both reverence and intimacy. When they turned their attention back to you, their gazes held a newfound confidence, their breaths uneven but steady as they smiled—content and radiant, their connection with you and with each other now etched into the memory of this profound moment. Their glistening lips, flushed skin, and languid postures spoke volumes, a testament to the depth of the shared experience and the bond it had forged between the three of you.

As the moment of stillness settled, Giselle’s gaze lingered on you, a spark of playful determination flickering in her eyes. Without breaking the charged silence, she moved with deliberate grace, shifting her position. Rising to her knees, she swung a leg over your chest, her movements fluid and confident, until she was poised above your face. The intoxicating scent of her arousal filled your senses as she slowly lowered herself toward you.

Simultaneously, Ningning moved with equal intent, positioning herself at your hips. Her hands guided your cock into place with a mix of precision and eagerness, the warmth of her touch electrifying. As she slid you inside her, a low, throaty moan escaped her lips, her head tilting back as her body adjusted to the fullness. The tight, wet heat of her walls enveloped you completely, her hips rocking experimentally as she found her rhythm.

Your mouth met Giselle’s waiting heat with deliberate intensity, your tongue darting out to taste her. She gasped softly, her thighs trembling as she pressed herself against you, her hands gripping the headboard for balance. Each flick of your tongue sent ripples of pleasure through her, her moans cascading down to mingle with the sounds of Ningning’s gasps and the rhythmic slap of skin on skin as she rode you. Giselle’s movements grew bolder, her hips grinding against your mouth, the wetness of her arousal coating your lips and tongue as you worked to bring her higher.

Ningning, meanwhile, moved with increasing fervor, her hips undulating as she took your cock deeper with each thrust. The sensation of fullness sent shivers up her spine, her moans growing louder as she adjusted to the rhythm of your movements. Her hands rested on your chest for support, her nails digging lightly into your skin as the sensation built within her.

The room was alive with the sounds of pleasure—Giselle’s breathy cries as your tongue found her most sensitive spots, Ningning’s desperate moans as she rode you, and the wet, rhythmic sounds of their shared arousal. The heat between the three of you was palpable, an all-encompassing intimacy that left no part of the moment untouched.

Their gazes met across the expanse of your body, each watching the other with unrestrained arousal. Giselle’s lips parted, her flushed cheeks deepening as she locked eyes with Ningning, who mirrored her expression with wide-eyed awe. The sight of each other’s pleasure only seemed to spur them on, their moans becoming more urgent, their movements more synchronized.

Giselle’s hips pressed harder against your face, her thighs quivering as she chased her climax. “Oh… yes,” she murmured breathlessly, her voice trembling as your tongue continued its relentless work. Above you, her chest heaved, her hands gripping the headboard tighter as her body began to tremble.

Below, Ningning’s rhythm grew erratic, her movements desperate as she leaned forward, her forehead brushing lightly against Giselle’s arm as her own release neared. The connection between them—the shared sounds, the exchanged glances, the mirrored vulnerability—heightened the intensity for all three of you.

Your hips met Ningning’s movements with deliberate thrusts, driving her wild with each upward motion. Simultaneously, your tongue flicked and pressed against Giselle’s most sensitive spots, her cries growing louder as she tilted her head back, completely lost in the moment. The three of you moved in perfect sync, an unspoken harmony that left the room bathed in the raw, unfiltered sound of shared passion.

Giselle’s cries grew louder, her hips grinding more insistently against your mouth as her body quivered. Each flick of your tongue sent electric shivers coursing through her, her arousal pooling and dripping down onto your lips and chin. Above, her thighs trembled with the strain of holding herself upright, her fingers gripping the headboard so tightly that her knuckles turned white. “Oh—yes! Just like that!” she gasped, her voice breaking as she teetered on the edge.

Ningning was lost in her own spiral of pleasure, her hips rolling in erratic, desperate movements as she took your cock deeper with every thrust. The wet, rhythmic slap of your bodies echoed through the room, mingling with her breathy moans. Her hands pressed into your chest, her nails dragging lightly against your skin as she leaned forward, her forehead brushing against Giselle’s arm. Her voice was shaky but insistent, punctuated by gasps. “I can’t… I’m so close!” she whimpered, her slick heat clenching tightly around you.

As your tongue worked relentlessly against Giselle, your hands moved instinctively, your body attuned to their needs. Blindly, one hand slid down Ningning’s trembling body, your fingertips brushing against the swollen nub at her center. The instant contact made her gasp sharply, her hips bucking as your fingers began to circle her clit with deliberate pressure. The soft, slick heat beneath your hand pulsed with need, and her cries grew louder as the added stimulation pushed her closer to the brink.

Simultaneously, your other hand snaked upward, your fingers finding Giselle’s own sensitive nub above you. Your touch was firm but controlled, matching the rhythm of your tongue as it flicked and pressed against her. Her thighs trembled violently as her moans turned into incoherent cries, her body reacting to the dual assault of your mouth and fingers. “Oh my God—yes!” she cried out, her voice trembling with desperation as her pleasure soared.

The connection between them heightened the intensity, their gazes locking in an unspoken challenge as they each fought to hold on, to chase their climaxes together. Giselle’s flushed face was streaked with sweat, her hair sticking to her temples as she rocked against your mouth. Ningning, her lips parted and eyes heavy-lidded, couldn’t stop herself from stealing glances at Giselle, the sight of her friend’s pleasure fueling her own.

Your fingers moved in perfect sync with your other actions—pressing, circling, and teasing their most sensitive spots with unwavering precision. The added stimulation sent their bodies into overdrive, the tension in the room reaching a fever pitch. Ningning’s thighs quivered uncontrollably, her moans turning into frantic cries, while Giselle’s grip on the headboard tightened further as her hips bucked wildly against your face.

“Unnie—look at me,” Ningning gasped, her voice breaking with urgency. Giselle’s head tilted downward, her glazed eyes meeting Ningning’s as they shared a moment of raw connection. Seeing the desperation mirrored in each other’s faces was the final push they needed.

Giselle’s climax struck first, her body jerking violently as she let out a scream that echoed through the room. Her thighs clamped around your head as her hips bucked, her release flooding over your tongue in warm, powerful surges. She gasped and moaned, the cries spilling out of her uncontrollably as she gave in to the overwhelming pleasure.

Moments later, Ningning followed. Her walls clenched around you, tight and insistent, as her climax erupted. Her body convulsed, her moans turning into desperate, breathless cries. “Oh, God—yes, yes!” she screamed, her hips jerking wildly as her release poured over you. The warmth and tightness of her pulsating core became the tipping point, the overwhelming pleasure building to an uncontrollable crescendo.

Your hips bucked instinctively, your movements deep and deliberate as the pressure within you surged forward. With a guttural moan, your release came, spilling deep inside Ningning as her walls fluttered and pulsed around you, her body seeming to draw every last drop from you. The sensation sent waves of electricity through your body, your climax prolonged by the sheer intensity of the moment.

The force of your release triggered a reflexive sound, a deep, raw moan that reverberated through the room. Giselle, still trembling in the aftershocks of her climax, felt the vibrations through her connection to you. The sound seemed to ripple through her, igniting an unexpected wave of pleasure that caused her to cry out once more, her body arching as an aftershock tore through her already sensitive nerves.

Ningning gasped at the sensation of your warmth inside her as her trembling walls milked you for every drop, her body convulsing as her cries turned into soft whimpers., her head tilting back as her hips rocked involuntarily, drawing out every ounce of the shared moment. Her breathing was ragged, her body trembling as her climax merged seamlessly with yours, leaving her utterly spent.

And then, like a pleasurable déjà vu, their bodies, already trembling from the force of their orgasms, arched simultaneously as a second wave overtook them. Streams of warm, clear liquid erupted from their cores, their squirting an undeniable affirmation that the first time wasn’t a fluke. Giselle’s release showered over your face, mingling with the wetness already there, while Ningning’s sprayed against your hips and thighs, the force splashing onto Giselle’s legs as well.

The air hung heavy with the scent of arousal and sweat, the room drenched in the evidence of your shared passion. Giselle finally collapsed forward, her body spent as she leaned heavily against the headboard, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath. Ningning followed suit, sinking against your chest, her trembling hands resting lightly on your shoulders.

The three of you remained entwined, the quiet punctuated only by the sound of your slowing breaths. Their bodies were slick with sweat, their flushed faces radiant as they exchanged a tired but satisfied smile. It wasn’t just the act itself but the undeniable bond you had forged that left an indelible mark on all three of you.

As the final tremors subsided and the intensity of the moment gave way to stillness, Giselle was the first to move. Her breathing still labored, she carefully shifted off your face, her legs unsteady but strong enough to carry her. Her flushed skin glistened in the warm light, her chest rising and falling as she ran a hand through her damp hair, trying to steady herself. A satisfied smile played on her lips, but her movements were measured, deliberate—a sharp contrast to the state of her companion.

Ningning, however, was visibly more affected. Her body quivered as she slowly lifted herself from your hips, her thighs trembling uncontrollably with every movement. She sank onto the bed beside you, dazed and breathless, her flushed cheeks and glassy eyes a testament to the intensity she had endured. Her hands trembled as she tried to adjust her posture, her body too overwhelmed to fully cooperate.

Giselle noticed immediately, her smile softening as she leaned closer to Ningning, her hand reaching out to brush a stray strand of hair from her friend’s face. “Hey, you okay?” Giselle murmured, her tone gentle but filled with concern. She wrapped an arm around Ningning’s shoulders, pulling her close in an attempt to soothe her. Ningning nodded faintly, her lips parting as if to speak, but no words came. Instead, she rested her head against Giselle’s shoulder, her body still trembling slightly as she leaned into the comfort.

You moved with quiet care, sitting up and reaching out to rest a hand on each of them. Your voice was low and calming as you addressed them both. “You did beautifully,” you said softly, your hands offering a grounding presence. “You’re both incredible.”

Giselle gave a small, grateful smile, her hand rubbing soothing circles against Ningning’s back as she glanced at you. “Thank you,” she said, her voice steady despite the lingering exhaustion. “I don’t think we’ll ever forget this.”

Ningning’s eyes fluttered open, and after a moment, she echoed Giselle’s words with a faint, breathy whisper. “Thank you.” Her voice was trembling, but there was no mistaking the sincerity behind it. Her gaze drifted to you, still dazed but filled with gratitude.

As the minutes passed, the remnants of their aftershocks began to fade, leaving them both calmer and more composed. They moved slowly, helping each other sit upright as they prepared to dress. Their movements were tender and unhurried, an unspoken bond evident in the way Giselle steadied Ningning, offering a guiding hand whenever her balance wavered.

Once they were dressed, they turned to you one last time. Giselle, still steady and confident, spoke first. “Thank you again—for everything. This was… more than we could have imagined.” Her expression was filled with warmth, and she nodded firmly, as if solidifying the memory.

Ningning, though still leaning slightly against Giselle for support, managed a soft smile. Her nod came slower, her dazed eyes meeting yours briefly before her gaze drifted downward, her exhaustion still evident. “Thank you,” she repeated, her voice quiet but filled with sincerity.

You returned their smiles, your tone professional but warm. “You were both wonderful to work with. I hope you’ll consider coming back in the future. It’s been an absolute pleasure guiding you through this experience.”

Giselle nodded eagerly, her smile widening. “Absolutely,” she said, her enthusiasm clear. Ningning followed with a slower, smaller nod, her lingering haze making her response quieter but no less heartfelt.

You glanced toward the facilities with a small apologetic shrug. “Unfortunately, the shower is unavailable tonight. I’m sorry for the inconvenience.”

Giselle waved the comment off with a laugh, her arm tightening around Ningning’s waist as they leaned into each other. “It’s okay,” she said lightly. “I think we’re good.”

Ningning hummed softly in agreement, her head resting against Giselle’s shoulder as they made their way toward the exit. Their steps were slow, their bodies leaning heavily on one another for support, but there was no mistaking the contentment in their shared posture. As they passed through the doorway, arm in arm, their laughter and whispered words faded into the distance, leaving behind an air of fulfilled intimacy and a bond that would linger long after the night ended.

The cool night air embraced them as they stepped outside, a stark contrast to the heat and intensity of the room they had just left. The crisp breeze kissed their flushed skin, sending a shiver through their bodies that brought a hint of grounding. Yet, despite the coolness of the air, the warmth of what had just transpired lingered, leaving their minds spinning.

Ningning clung to Giselle’s arm as they walked, her steps unsteady and her legs trembling beneath her. Her face was still flushed, her breath uneven, and her eyes dazed as if she were trying to process what had happened. Giselle, steadier but no less affected, kept an arm wrapped securely around Ningning’s waist, her own body swaying slightly with each step as they leaned on one another for support.

“I…” Ningning’s voice came out soft and trembling, almost as if she were speaking to herself. “I can’t believe we actually… squirted.” She blinked slowly, her wide eyes darting to Giselle, her words trailing off into the cool night air. “Not just once—but twice.” Her cheeks flushed even deeper as she said it, the disbelief thick in her tone. “For real. That actually happened.”

Giselle let out a breathy laugh, her lips curving into a dreamy smile. “Me neither,” she admitted, shaking her head as if to clear it. Her voice softened, her gaze distant as her words slowed. “That… that was the best orgasm I’ve ever had. Hands down.” She glanced at Ningning, her smile widening as a faint blush crept up her cheeks. “I don’t even know how to describe it—it was just… perfect.”

Ningning nodded, though her movements were sluggish, her body still trembling faintly. “Same,” she whispered, her voice hurried but tinged with awe. “I didn’t even know my body could… do that.” She let out a shaky breath, her fingers gripping Giselle’s sleeve for balance. 

They both laughed, the sound light and filled with a mixture of disbelief and wonder. Giselle tightened her arm around Ningning, steadying her as their legs wobbled slightly beneath them. The intimacy of what they had shared was palpable, creating a bond that felt unshakable, as if the experience had fused something deeper between them. Words felt almost unnecessary; the shared memory spoke volumes.

As they strolled down the dimly lit street, their earlier laughter began to fade, replaced by a contemplative silence. The golden glow of the streetlights bathed the path ahead, casting long, swaying shadows that moved in rhythm with their steps. Giselle crossed her arms tightly against her chest, bracing herself against the crisp night air seeping through her clothes. Despite the chill, her expression remained soft, her thoughts clearly elsewhere. Beside her, Ningning adjusted her jacket with slow, fumbling hands, her flushed cheeks and unfocused gaze revealing her preoccupation. Flashes of the evening seemed to replay behind her eyes, each memory drawing her further into her own quiet reflection.

When they reached the corner of their block, their synchronized footsteps faltered. They both froze, their gazes snapping to the opposite side of the street. Emerging from the shadows under the muted glow of the next streetlight were two familiar figures: Karina and Yunjin.

Instinctively, Giselle and Ningning moved closer to the edge of the sidewalk, their eyes locked onto the pair. Karina and Yunjin’s presence felt almost surreal. The two moved in unison, their steps light and easy, their laughter floating softly into the quiet night. Yunjin leaned into Karina’s side, her arm looped loosely around her, her expression radiating a confident ease. Karina’s lips curled into a faint, knowing smile as Yunjin whispered something that made her chuckle softly, their connection palpable even from a distance.

The direction of their path, however, was unmistakable. They were headed toward the same discreet entrance Giselle and Ningning had only just left. The heavy door loomed in the distance, barely noticeable to anyone unfamiliar, yet its significance was impossible to ignore.

Frozen in place, Giselle and Ningning exchanged a quick, wide-eyed glance, their unspoken thoughts mirrored in each other’s faces. They stood in silence, their breathing shallow, as Karina and Yunjin slipped through the door. The soft click of it closing behind them echoed in the stillness, as though punctuating a realization neither of them wanted to put into words.

No words were necessary. In that shared glance between them, everything was understood: the disbelief, the reluctant acceptance, and the strange comfort of knowing their personal experience wasn’t as unique as they had thought. Whatever had drawn them there clearly extended beyond their own curiosity—a thread of something universal, intimate, and quietly thrilling.

Without speaking, they turned and resumed their walk, their steps slower now, their pace deliberate as the surreal encounter lingered between them. The air seemed heavier, their thoughts weaving unspoken questions and answers into the night.

The faint sound of their laughter returned after a while, but it was softer, tinged with awe and a touch of disbelief. They moved in step with each other, letting the moment settle as they headed home, the night leaving its quiet mark on their still-racing minds.

-----

When they arrived back at the apartment, the faint glow from the living room spilled into the hallway. Giselle hesitated at the door, her fingers trembling slightly as she unlocked it. Ningning shifted beside her, her legs wobbly and her cheeks still flushed, mirroring Giselle’s expression. They exchanged a glance—nervous, uncertain, and still overwhelmed—before stepping inside.

Minjeong was lounging on the couch, her legs tucked beneath her and a tub of ice cream balanced on one knee. At the sound of the door, she looked up casually, her expression neutral for a moment before a slow, knowing smile crept across her face. She set the ice cream aside, tilting her head as her gaze swept over Giselle and Ningning.

Their clothes were rumpled, unevenly tucked, and their hair was a mess, clinging to their damp foreheads. A faint sheen of sweat still glimmered on their flushed skin, paired with the heavy, unmistakable scent of musk and arousal clinging to them. It was all the confirmation Minjeong needed.

“Well, well,” she said, leaning back into the couch and crossing her arms. “Look who’s back.”

Giselle froze, her eyes darting anywhere but at Minjeong’s smug expression as she clumsily shrugged off her jacket. Ningning fidgeted beside her, wringing the hem of her shirt with trembling hands, her blush deepening by the second. The air between them felt heavy, suffused with the weight of shared secrets.

Minjeong’s smirk widened, her tone playful but dripping with amusement. “So,” she began, letting the word hang tantalizingly in the air, “do you believe me now?”

The question hit like a challenge, undeniable and loaded. Ningning blinked rapidly, her flush spreading all the way to her ears as she stammered, “I… uh… what?” Her voice barely rose above a whisper.

Minjeong raised her eyebrows, clearly savoring every second of their discomfort. “The squirting thing,” she said with a casual shrug. “Do you believe me now, or should I assume you two just fell into a puddle on the way home?”

Giselle groaned loudly, slapping her hands over her face. “Oh my God,” she muttered through her fingers. “We’re not doing this.”

“Oh, but we are,” Minjeong replied smoothly, sitting up straighter as she gestured at them. “Look at yourselves. I’m pretty sure half the apartment can smell exactly where you’ve been.” She waved a hand in front of her nose with mock drama. “Seriously, go take a shower before you stink up the place.”

Ningning let out a breathy, nervous laugh, rubbing the back of her neck as if she could physically brush off the embarrassment. “Fine, okay,” she admitted, her voice tinged with defeat. “You were right.”

Minjeong leaned back, her smug expression only growing. “Damn, I love being right.” She grabbed her spoon again, pointing it between them for emphasis. “And for the record, you two look way worse than I ever did. Way worse.”

Giselle opened her mouth, no doubt to protest, but one glance at Ningning’s equally disheveled state made her snap it shut with a resigned groan. “Okay, fine,” she muttered. “We get it.”

“So?” Minjeong continued, her voice light but probing. She looked back and forth between them, her amusement palpable.

Giselle and Ningning exchanged a look, their faces still burning from the intensity of Minjeong’s scrutiny. Finally, Giselle sighed heavily, her tone a mix of exasperation and reluctant awe. “It was… insane.”

“Amazing,” Ningning added softly, her voice almost reverent. “But absolutely insane.”

Minjeong chuckled, digging her spoon into the ice cream as she watched them shuffle awkwardly toward the hallway. “Thought so,” she said, her voice laced with amusement. “Now go before you stink up the place.”

Giselle rolled her eyes, dragging Ningning along. “We’re going,” she grumbled over her shoulder. “And stop being so smug.”

The bathroom door clicked shut, and Minjeong leaned back against the couch, her smirk softening into a faint grin. “Told them,” she muttered to herself, taking another bite of ice cream as her eyes glinted with satisfaction.

-----

After their showers, Giselle and Ningning returned to the living room, collapsing onto the couch beside Minjeong. The TV murmured softly in the background as they all sat in comfortable silence, Giselle and Ningning still recovering from their experience. Minjeong barely glanced up from her mug of tea that she had replaced the ice-cream with, her smirk faint but ever-present.

A couple hours passed quietly, the three of them lounging in the warm, cozy space, the tension of the evening fading into the background.

Then the front door creaked open.

They all turned to look. Karina stepped inside, and the sight of her left them speechless. She looked utterly ravaged, as though every ounce of energy had been drained from her in the most unrestrained way. Her heels dangled limply from one hand, the straps swinging with her unsteady steps as her bare feet padded softly on the floor. Her mascara was streaked down her flushed cheeks, evidence of tears shed not from pain but from overwhelming sensation. Her lips were swollen, parted as she panted softly, her chest rising and falling in deep, labored breaths that made her shirt cling to her damp skin.

Her shirt was disheveled, one sleeve slipping halfway off her shoulder and exposing the curve of her flushed skin. The fabric bunched awkwardly around her midsection, twisted as though it had been yanked and tugged in the heat of the moment. The absence of a bra was glaringly obvious; her hardened nipples pressed against the thin material, betraying her sensitivity and the cool air that kissed her overheated body.

Her neck was scattered with marks—dark, blooming hickeys and faint, precise bites painting a vivid, unspoken story from just beneath her jawline to the delicate curve of her collarbone. Among them, faint but undeniable, was the ghostly imprint of a hand—its shape outlined in a faint redness across her throat, a testament to moments of raw, restrained intensity. The marks deepened in color toward her shoulders, a testament to the passion and force of the encounter. Her hair was a wild mess, tousled and damp with sweat, clinging in strands to her forehead and neck. A few stray locks stuck to her temple, framing her flushed face like a halo gone astray.

Her skirt, barely hanging on, was wrinkled and skewed, riding up on one side to reveal the faint imprint of fingers along her thighs where she'd been gripped firmly. The fabric clung to her hips as though it, too, had been caught in the chaos. A thin sheen of sweat coated her glistening skin, catching the light and accentuating the sharp curve of her hip bones and the subtle tremble of her legs as she took another step.

Karina’s lips twitched into a lazy, self-satisfied smile as she leaned lightly against the doorframe. Her eyes, half-lidded and glossy, carried the unmistakable glow of someone thoroughly and unapologetically satisfied. Despite her thoroughly wrecked appearance, she exuded confidence, her posture unbothered even as her body showed every sign of having been pushed to its absolute limit.

Minjeong, still leaning comfortably against the couch cushions, raised an eyebrow, her smirk widening as she took in the sight. “You good?”

Karina let out a breathy laugh, running a hand through her tangled hair, her voice husky and dripping with contentment. “Never better,” she replied, not even trying to straighten her clothes or clean herself up.

Karina’s lazy smile widened as her gaze flicked over to Giselle and Ningning, both of whom froze under her gaze. Tilting her head slightly, she drawled, “What happened to just experiencing, huh? All I could taste was the two of you the entire time I was with him.”

Giselle’s mouth opened, but only a strangled sound escaped. “I-I… we… it wasn’t—” Her hands flailed slightly before she dropped her head into her hands, groaning in embarrassment.

Ningning wasn’t any better, her face turning an impossibly deeper shade of red as she stammered, “It’s not… we didn’t mean to—ah, oh my God.”

Minjeong, sitting cross-legged on the couch, looked back and forth between them, her brow furrowing. “Wait… what? Taste what? What’s going on?”

Giselle and Ningning didn’t answer, too busy sinking into the couch cushions, their faces buried in their hands as they tried to suppress their embarrassment. Karina, clearly pleased with the chaos she’d left behind, simply chuckled and disappeared down the hallway, her door clicking shut behind her.

Minjeong blinked at the scene, utterly baffled. “Am I missing something?”

No one answered. The silence, filled with mortified tension, hung in the air as Ningning and Giselle continued to avoid Minjeong’s questioning gaze, their faces buried in their hands.

Minjeong raised an eyebrow, her smirk returning as realization began to dawn. “You know, I’d ask again, but I think I already have my answer,” she teased, her voice laced with amusement.

Ningning stammered, “I-It’s not like that!” but her words dissolved into incoherent mumbling as she slumped further into the couch. Beside her, Giselle shook her head rapidly, muttering something incomprehensible, her face still hidden in her hands.

Minjeong chuckled, leaning back with a satisfied grin as she grabbed her tea. “Right. Not like that. Sure. Whatever you say.”

Her casual tone only seemed to make things worse. Ningning shot Giselle a desperate look, silently begging her to do something, but Giselle merely groaned louder, sinking even deeper into the cushions as if trying to vanish.

The apartment settled into uneasy quiet, the faint sound of the TV providing a backdrop to the heavy tension. Minjeong took a sip of her tea, her expression smug as she glanced at the other two. The warmth in the room was palpable—tinged with shared embarrassment, reluctant amusement, and an unspoken agreement that this would not come up again.

At least, not anytime soon.

[mayullla]

Title: His Dream Wife

Character(s): Richard (Original character / Original work)

Synopsis: He always wanted a perfect family, but life never gave him what he wanted. Instead, he was blackmailed into marrying a gold digger. But after seeing you for the first time the wife of his friend all he could think of was you. So don't mind him when he was given the option to swap his wife's consciousness with yours he took that chance immediately.

Warnings/tags: Yandere Dilf x meek reader, yandere pov, general yandere themes, body swap between reader and Yandere's wife, cheating (not done by reader), arranged, baby trapping, Yandere wants that traditional wife and lifestyle. Word count: 4.2k (Please tell me if I miss anything!)

Note: I just finished reading the webtoon "Marry My Husband," so you can probably see many small ideas taken from it in this story!

Ever since he was young, Richard had fantasies and dreams of a perfect family. He always loved the idea of someone relying on him just as much as he would on them, and someone who would love him exclusively and trust him completely. Maybe that was why he liked wolves, having been told back then that those animals would mate for life. He liked that. He wanted that. Friends were nice there is nothing wrong with that. But there is something about a family that he wanted. Maybe it was because he was jealous back then of how affectionate his grandparents were between each other, while his parents were far from that.

That was what he wanted and well maybe he started to want a little more the older he got. He wanted what his grandparents had, he wanted what the movies had… he wanted what his fantasies had. He loved the idea of a family, coming back from work to an affectionate housewife with her tummy big inside a second or third child while holding the first. The idea of kisses between each other, while his lover irrupts in giggles, playfully pushing him back telling him that he should not let the food turn cold or let the kids see them.

Someone he could spoil and give everything to while she relied on him and his money. He would work hard every day just for her and the kids, to give them the home they deserve. She would give back by cooking and cleaning the house, anybody knows that those things are hard work and everything takes time. But she would do it for the both of them, for him. 

Yet he wasn't able to attain that dream. He wasn't allowed to have it. He attracted the attention of a viel woman, who had used any and every blackmail to tie him down to her. He was a manager at a big company already quickly climbing up but also came from a rich family, he unwantedly got the attention of a woman who was greedy for money and something handsome. 

And her own manager was ripe for the picking.

She did many things but somehow he was able to avoid many of them however that could only go on for so long. She was cunning, too smart for her own good. He didn't know how she did it, it made him furious at what she did waking up in a hotel with her right beside him. He had no memories of the night yet she did when she told everyone that she had his baby a month later.

Everyone was frantic, his parents especially who cared so much about their appearance and reputation than anything else. While he hated them for the lack of love or care only forcing him to their whims to get a word above their acquaintances and rivals. The idea of him their own son mudding their name with the fact that he got someone pregnant without marriage made them furious. They wanted him to marry her immediately and he had no choice not when they held his job, reputation, and life above him not when that woman too did the same with her connections and people behind the scenes. It was idiotic that he fell into her hands like this, no matter what he did she did not let go and sank her claws deep into his skin.

Richard wanted to know if this child was his, but there was no time when everybody demanded his and that woman didn't give him a chance to check. Only to cry after the marriage that the child from miscarriage due to stress from his selfishness. Many blamed him even though he knew that she was lying this whole time but no matter what he said her crocodile tears worked far better than any explanation.

He was furious, angered by everything that happened but he wasn't allowed to do anything he wasn't allowed to break up with her. His life, everything that he worked for had turned to nothing by this woman. She could care less about love or something genuine and only cared about his money, demanding that he give her money to go shopping to buy expensive brand items and clothing while also going to parties and bars with her friends coming back home late leaving only a mess with how drunk she was.

Some days she would not come home at all and he assumed that she was with another man, as he didn't give in to her sexual demands even if they were husband and wife. At this point, the idea of touching her body even her hand disgusted him.

He thought he lost everything, he felt hopeless when he could not break up with that woman who made sure that he could not have a divorce without destroying his reputation and paying her a huge amount of cash. She was insane.

Rather than be with her he would rather drown in his work in his office. The house smelled like her strong perfume that could only make his head hurt the moment he took one whiff of it even though that woman wasn't even in the house having already left to head to the next new bar that opened up in the city.

That was his life, he genuinely thought that this was his ending, a story that didn't end so well, yet unable to change anything with knives around his neck daring him to move. But in the end, nothing is concrete, sometimes all it takes is helping an old lady who just so happens to be a fortune teller. 

Typing away at his computer late at night in his office as he looked at the time, his thoughts could not help but let his thoughts drift for a moment. Richard closed his eyes slightly burning from looking at the laptop for too long. Leaning his chair, he pulled his tie down a little as he thought about this afternoon when he helped out a poor fortune teller the old woman after picking some stuff up at the market, who looked to be in her 80s stuck outside homeless and struggling to open her shop. As she had dropped something that had rolled towards him he picked it up and gave it to the old lady. He didn't know what moved him to help her. But as a present, he had gotten a small viel.

"Thank you for your help. You are quite the hard worker." The old woman said, sitting on the chair when everything was finally set up. She looked at him with a sly smile on her face. The old woman he later realized had a way of speaking, that wasn't normal. Weird yet at the same time sharp... too sharp. “Too bad you are stuck with such a mean spirit woman. How you handle such a woman for so long now… I am impressed.” Sharp as in she knew too much than he would have liked for a stranger to know.

"Buahahaha, don't worry boy this would be the last you would ever hear from me after this." The old woman laughed at his stiff glare. He didn't know how she did it but she seemed to know a lot about his relationship with his wife and the trouble that he was in yet at the same time she had a knack for poking at his sore spots. 

Before Richard could think about calling the police she suddenly pulled out a vial inside containing a blue liquid, "You help me with my little trouble so I want to give you a little something, that could help you with your own little trouble. Besides, I couldn't resist helping someone in need.” 

“A little swap potion, let your wife and your sweetheart drink it and they will swap at the start of the next day. The lil spell would wear off in a month but if there is nothing to return to… well then that means nothing could even happen. Dont yah think so boy? Haha!” He took the vial from the lady, thinking about throwing it when she was nowhere in sight. The creepy grin didn't match her so-called kind action, but she was not finished with talking.

“You better move fast my boy, that woman will make sure you will be dead before a year. It is very easy to hide evidence with a car crash.”

After that, it was difficult to throw the thin vial. Part of him could not drop the liquid into the bin, so he stored it on his office desk, locked but with a key, along with other important documents and such.

"Richard!! Why did you not show up at the dinner party?! Do you know how much embarrassment you have caused me?" his wife screamed. He couldn't help but groan in annoyance the moment he walked through the entrance. It was too early in the morning for such screaming, but she just continued on and on: "And why are you here now?!! It is the next day!? Explain yourself!"

"I don't need to explain myself to you at all." Walking past his wife who was glaring daggers at him. The more he learned about his wife the more he realized that she was similar to his parents, cared only about reputation, and was selfish putting themselves first before anything else. Hypocrites. "I had to finish up some work so I stayed at my office. I needed to finish all the file work before the meeting." Unlike a certain someone who would come home the next day afternoon after being in someone else's arms. 

Walking into his own home, he could not recognize it... everything was thrown about and trashed everywhere. Expensive decorations on the floor and shattered. Sofa and pillows ripped letting cotton spill from them. Walls wet and dirty with glass cups, and pots of plants shattered on the floor. Looking at everything he kept his anger internally holding everything in as he continued to walk towards his office and bedroom locked with a key.

This wasn't the first time this happened, he had found out that there was no use to teaching someone who saw no reason to change her ways. He just needs to call in some cleaners, replace the things that broke and that was it.

Heading to his home office to place his bag on the table he suddenly received a text on his phone. Pulling out the device to check who it was while the woman continued to scream at him.

"That doesn't explain why you didn't tell me you couldn't join the dinner!" It was because she wouldn't listen, no matter what. If he had told her, she would have either demanded that he come or screamed at him—first on the phone, then again when he got home. "Answer your phone when I call! Are you even listening to me?!"

He knew of the calls and messages. She had been calling non-stop and texting for an hour since he didn't come to her friends' dinner. He just didn't care to answer and left it on mute to let him focus on his work. Looking at the sender he couldn't help but sigh.

"Hey, I am talking to you!" Her shrill screaming was mind-numbing as he got his clothes unable to stand her voice and would rather change elsewhere. "RICHARD!!!"

He quickly left the house and got into his car, ignoring the high-heeled shoe that was thrown at him—missing as it landed. Starting the engine, he drove off, tuning out her shouts.

It was past midnight, and he was alone on the road. No one else was in sight. As he waited at a red light, he pulled out his phone to check a message. It was from a "friend" he had made at university, inviting him to dinner the next day. The guy had always been friendly—or at least tried to be. He had the personality of a know-it-all, and while he didn’t care for him much, it seemed the guy had once considered them friends. That was until money and popularity got to his head.

The guy knew a lot and had multiple connections and friends, he was the one who helped him find a cleaner will to keep silent about everything that happened in the house after the housemaid quit due to his wife assuming that he and the maid had done something sexual in the bedroom. The woman was crying as her hair had been pulled and her face slapped by his wife.

He also had seen the lust in that friend's eyes whenever he looked at her. Even after the guy was married for over a year he still looked at another wife with lust, it was disgusting to Richard that his friend would do such a thing but as the guy had helped him with a few of his troubles he didn't just cut him away.

The message was an invite for a double date. Having just left his house and his furious wife behind (not that he would ever take her anywhere unless absolutely forced), he tried to decline, saying that his wife was a bit "busy."

[Dude, dont worry about it and just come then.]

[Won't it be awkward for your wife?]

[It doesn't matter she would just say that it is fine either way.]

[Don't leave me here with her. You have already talked with her either way it is not a problem anymore. ]

From what he remembered it seemed that it was an arranged marriage between the two. Something that was decided by their parents for the benefit of their companies. The guy absolutely hated the fact that he was pushed into this marriage and had nothing good to say about his wife but that was a goody two shoes and boring. "She lacks the wildness that I am looking for." The guy said he was drinking in a bar one time having called him to express his frustrations after an official meeting with her. "She probably doesn't know anything except how to clean dishes.”

"I would not leave the house with a babe like yours. How do you keep everything in your pants?" The guy asked too drunk from all the alcohol to be careful with his words. "You might like my fiance a lot with your uptight attitude and lack of fun. Maybe we should switch wives later. Hey, wanna wife swap one time? It would be fun~~."

He had ignored the very obvious lust in the guy’s eyes, choosing not to address it and instead steer the conversation elsewhere. In the end, between hiccups, the guy told him he’d introduce him to his future wife and insisted that he should come to the wedding.

A few days later, with the invitation in hand, he attended the wedding. There, he saw the guy’s wife—and he was absolutely floored.

It was just a moment. A fleeting glimpse. He caught sight of her for only a second, walking toward his friend across the hall. Through the open door of the bride's room, he saw her, and he froze.

She was stunning.

He could not believe that a woman like you would become the wife of the guy. He wanted to take a step back to see you again, yet when his wife called him he was forced to start walking again not wanting to cause a scene due to her fickle pride. 

After all, he could see you again on the walkway when the wedding starts.

But he didn't want to leave either way.

Seated on the husband's side as the music stopped hinting to the guest that it was about to start soon. He watched as his friend walked the aisle, knowing but not commenting on the dirty slutish look his wife was giving to the guy looking at him up and down and waiting for you to show up.

You arrived soon after, dressed elegantly and sophisticated holding bouquets of flowers. He noticed how pretty you were, your walk and movements were elegant and soft, a far cry to his wife who walked to call the men's attention dressed a little too revealing for the formal occasion.

Would he have married a woman like you if this wench hadn’t come to destroy his life? Would he have married you if your parents and your friend’s family hadn’t forced the two of you into it? If this wasn’t some kind of mask, and this really was you, he wouldn’t have any complaints about being stuck with you. In fact, he would have demanded it—forced it, if he could. But that wasn’t how life turned out... You were not his.

The wedding soon came to an end and that was it. Legally you were tied to his friend while he was already stuck with his own problems. It wasn't fair. He just couldn't let it go as he stayed in his seat even after the end of the wedding speech as everybody started to leave to eat and dance. While his wife went to meet up with the groom he stayed where he was just thinking.

How surprised he was that he ended up meeting you so soon.

The guy had invited him to dinner a few times and he quickly understood that it was to have someone else in the group after the guy was forced by his parents to take you out a few times. But that didn't matter to him when he was finally able to talk to you, to chat with you.

When he reached the restaurant, the guy stood up after a small conversation, stating that he needed to run to the bathroom, take a call, or use some other excuse he had up his sleeve. He left the table for as long as possible only to come back near the end with maybe a lipstick on his shirt or something. And if Richard’s wife was there, the guy would start subtlety flirting with his wife, uncaring if he or his own wife was there, not that the woman herself cared.

He pitied you, as you kept on your smile even when your eyes swirled with an understanding of your place, yet at the same time, you were still so hurt. You were silent for the most part keeping to yourself.

You and he become rather close but not really, it was a kind of comradery of your situations or that was what he would like to think. Whenever you and him were left alone, rather than keep the awkward air around he would start to talk to you.

You were a little flustered at first but slowly you started to get used to talking with him. Chatting amicably as if enjoying the conversation between you and him. He also did enjoy conversing with you. No heavy topics, it wasn't business or anything to do with work but stuff like traveling, hobbies, and favorite food. The things that you would like to do if you only had the time or chance to do them. 

You weren't loud but you were delicate, gentle, and easy to fluster too. You were polite and careful with your words but also curious asking him many questions when he talks about his own stories. You would keep all your attention on him, even if he noticed you didn't seem maybe that interested in a topic or two.

There was one time he went to your apartment, an invitation from your husband who invited him and his wife. Your place was in a high-end apartment probably paid by the family, with decorations that were chic and modern but there was also a homely feeling to the place, cleaned and cared for with love, unlike his messed up house. The smell of the house was similar to that of a fragrant laundry detergent instead of strong perfume. Just for a moment, he realized that you were the one who did all this when he saw you coming out from the kitchen unwrapping the apron you were wearing.

Just for a moment you gave him an actual vision of a home, a vision of what he wanted so much and could have had yet was taken away from him. You gave him a vision of what it would be like to have a wife who cares so much. 

He could not help but crumble and fall.

He started to crave for you, the more he chatted with you the more he fell every night he fantasized about you in his arms. He wished... he craved for you so much that he thought he started having delusions that you were his. At night, he couldn’t close his eyes without seeing you clearly in the darkness.

But you just had to break everything, you just had to slam a hammer to his dreams and fantasies just like everyone else.

"I'm sorry," you said, a sorrowful smile on your lips. "I know my husband is using you to get out of our date. I apologize for taking up your time when you're so busy. Please, I’ll make sure this doesn't happen again. You don’t have to come every time he asks you to. I’m sure you’re busy too."

Why...? Why did you say that? He thought you knew that he already understood. He thought you knew that it didn’t bother him at all—especially when you both always had such enjoyable conversations. Why did you apologize? Why would you tell him to stop coming? Why were you pushing him away?

Your eyes looked at him in sorry and guilt and it clicked you were scared you were so scared that something wrong might happen. Because in the end, you were loyal, loyal to a man who didn't even love you.

It made him livid. 

Even if you thought you knew more than he did, he was the one who knew more. He knew well what your husband does on nights that he isn't home, where he goes, and what he does there. In Richard’s own house, he could hear the sounds of two people with familiar voices thinking they were alone. 

His wife and your husband.

You didn't know that, while you probably knew that he partied every day you seemed to have hope that he didn't have the audacity to lay in bed with another married woman much less the wife of his own friend. He didn't care who that guy lay with, but it made him irritated that a guy like him had you.

That appointment ended up awkward. Too awkward as both of you waited for your husband to arrive. The guy knew something was up the moment he arrived but seemed to choose not to say anything having enough tack not to right at that moment when he usually didn't.

Looking at the message again he sighed declining the invite again even when the guy tried to put up a fuss. It was just that he could not face you right now, not when you made it clear that all you felt towards him was guilt.

If only it was you... if only he had found you first if that woman didn't chain herself to him using blackmail and connections.

If he could just swap his wife with you he would have been happier... he would have the life he wished he had and he would spoil you with all his love and time. While you would wait oh so lovingly for him while cooking and cleaning while he worked to bring the money to keep you happy materially. He would be a better husband than your own and he already knew that you would be a far more better wife than his own.

But you just had to draw that line. That line of law and morality.

Watching the road as he drove, he could not help but let annoyance fester him at this whole situation till he saw a poster pass by him. Purple with a familiar design that he saw just this morning. Something to do with a certain fortune teller who knew a little too much and who gave him a small vial.

Truthfully he didn't believe in such things, but part of him had become so desperate that he just could not think straight. He was desperate and he knew that the old woman knew that and was laughing at him for it.

"Here yah go. This is a little something that would have cost a shit ton but I am gonna give it to you for free." The old woman cackled, she was having way too much fun knowing his situation. "If you plan to add this to a drink don't worry about the colour at all."

He didn't believe in such things. But there was a whisper in his mind a little spell in his brain that told him that this would work. That there was something different about that mad woman who probably lived only in entertainment.

His hand moved before he could even think about it, accepting the dinner invitation as he finally reached his office. It was supposed to be closed, but a few employees were pulling an all-nighter, so the building wasn't locked. In his mind, all he could think about was the life he once dreamed of—the life that had been taken away from him. All he wanted was a life with you, and that thing—that vial—would be the answer to all his problems.

[cheyisagirlkisser]

i really really need pitfighter vi being mean to reader during sex🙏

Too real she needs to blow off some steam and reader has a thing for getting degraded. They match each other's freak soooo well.

Content: 877 words, strap-on sex (r! receiving), multiple + forced orgasms, overstimulation, choking, degradation kink, dacryphilia, use of degrading names, spanking, hair pulling

Vi is deep inside your guts, her cock slamming into you over and over again without even a second of mercy.

She has pulled three orgasms out of you already, and she has no intentions of stopping yet.

Your face is buried in the sheets, the only pillow being used underneath your stomach so you can feel the way Vi is pounding into you so hard you swear her silicone shaft is gonna be imprinted into your pussy.

You try begging for mercy. Vi slams harder into you and delivers a harsh blow to your ass cheek.

"You want me to stop now? Is that what you want?"

You're too cock-drunk to answer, only gurgling out a broken little whine.

"Listen here, baby," she gathers your hair into a ponytail and yanks it back, forcing you to look back at her, "you deserve to get fucked hard for what you pulled earlier."

You whine, knowing it was true. She thrusts into you even harder after being reminded of how you looked all smug with some random creep offering to pay for your drink. She releases her grip on your hair only to dig her black nails into your hips.

"You wanna go flirt with other people to get my attention, huh baby?" She pulls out, making you think she is finally through with you, before she slams her thick cock right back into your tender pussy. Then, one of her hands leaves your hip and strikes another harsh smack to your ass, her handprint branded into the fat. making you cry out and grasp the sheets. "Well, mission accomplished."

You know you look a mess, tears running down your face and your mascara staining up the sheets. Your hair is all tangled from Vi grabbing onto it so much so she can force your head up or to just treat you like a bitch. You let out breathy little cries every single time her harness meets your ass, only to feel the raw heat of overstimulation when she grinds up against your g-spot.

You can feel your fourth orgasm of the night bubble up within your pussy. You think one this may actually give you a heart attack, but it feels so fucking addictive.

You don't even know what's wrong with you; you always do this to Vi. Go slut around to the guys at the Zaun bars so she will get jealous and wreck your pussy. It's not like it is cheating, you two are only fucking and she likes the game just as much as you do, but she sure fucks you like she hates you. Even if you don't know it yet, she owns you completely. Even if you're not her girlfriend yet, your pussy? It belongs only to her. Nobody else gets you.

She eases the shaft out of your dripping pussy and flips you over onto your back before you can even protest. She pulls you by your legs further back so the pillow underneath you is perfectly situated for her advantage, and then you realize why she flipped you over when she hand grasps at your throat.

Her other hand guides the cock back into your pussy, earning a broken moan from you that sounds almost wounded, but the greed in your eyes tells her you're not tapped out yet. Her fingers wrap around your neck, squeezing tightly as she pumps her cock deep inside you once more. Her hand reaches between your bodies, harshly rubbing at your clit and flicking at it with her calloused fingers.

You start to cry when your orgasm finally crashes over you. It is somehow even more intense than the others. Maybe it's the view of Vi's pretty face, her pigmented black makeup trailing down her cheeks or the hunger in her eyes. It is most likely the hand around your neck knocking the air out of your lungs.

Wave after wave after wave. Vi isn't lenient, even as you sob. It feels so euphoric to get fucked so roughly, and she at least knows you well enough to see the look of raw pleasure making your eyes roll back into your head. She knows just how to treat your needy pussy, how to make it satisfied until your walls are tender and your clit is swollen and abused in the best way possible. You cum so hard it truly hurts. It hurts so good.

She talks you through it all, coaxes your juices out of you in the worst way possible.

"Bet the dickhead from the bar couldn't fuck you like this?"

"Yeah, baby...cum all over my dick. You like my fake one better than his real one, huh?"

"You don't fucking deserve to cum."

When you come down, she does stop. She can see that you're finally satisfied, and so she pulls out. She doesn't even pull the strap-on off of her hips, only falls limps back onto the bed.

After a few minutes, she hears you speak up. "Vi..?"

"Yeah?" Jeez, you sound as wrecked as I do, Vi is what you're thinking.

"Can you do it one last time? Please..?"

Vi snorts and sits up. "Your stamina is so fucked," but she is already back between your legs once more.

[tabaciberez]

Everyone goes off about the sandals, and to be fair, they're really crude sandals next to all the everything else, and yet: when we go into the dungeon, what are the early parts? A burial hall, a giant forest, and a water-soaked ruin. Yeah, she's getting hella blisters, but you know what she isn't getting? Trench foot. These things will dry out in a skinny minute, and until they get down to the dryer floors they're actually a really solid choice: especially since they mean she doesn't have to risk sharing socks with Laios.

I've shared socks with guys like Laios. Your feet will reek so bad you'll see colors normally associated with welders touching off an arc and closed head trauma- and the blisters will somehow get even worse at mach speed.

I just can't get over the peculiarity of Marcille's outfit

Everything looks very practical and layered and comfortable. Sensible, tied back hair, warm overcoat with a hood, long dress that seems made of durable, dense fabric and heavy stitching, with a sturdy leather belt and at least what seems to be bloomers or longjohns underneath...

.... and then you've got these fucking cheap ass basic bitch sandals. No insulation, no traction, no padding, no arch support, not water proof, no protection from anything whatsoever. You're going to run in THESE? You're going to traverse rock and stone and slime and ice and tall grass in THESE?? You're going to BATTLE FOR YOUR BLOOD SOAKED CHIMERA GIRLFRIEND, IN THESE!?

Girl you are AT LEAST getting hella blisters

[rothpie]

❝FIDELITY❞ |part9

MASTERLIST -`✮´- Rafe Cameron x Kook!Reader x JJ Maybank

Summary: Kook!Reader’s world is upended by betrayal, and her only way forward might lie with the most unlikely person—JJ Maybank. But as they build a new life together, old flames and past mistakes refuse to stay buried.

Warnings: mentioning miscarriage, blood, mentioning drug and alcohol use, daddy issues

Selly's note: First of all I'm sorry. I wrote this while my heart was broken. I learned my ex left the country. He was the first person I loved. LIKE COME BACK???? We HAVE TO marry!!!!! Sorry for oversharing💗, and if there is a mistake. I didn't re-read this. Love y'all.💗💗

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Your hands trembled. Your whole body felt numb, yet the shaking tethered you to reality. There was a heavy weight on your chest, as though even breathing had become an uphill battle. A knot in your throat tightened with every passing second, making even the simple act of swallowing painful. You didn’t know what to do. The chaos of the moment was tearing your mind into pieces, your thoughts tangling into a knot so thick you couldn’t unravel it. 

You hadn’t done anything unusual. The day had started like any other. You made yourself some herbal tea, watched TV, read a book about baby development. You cleaned the house a little, then opened the packages that had arrived—items for your daughter’s room. 

Alone. 

Since the moment you arrived in this town, you’d always felt alone, but this was different. This was like falling into a deep, endless chasm, where there was nothing to grasp, no hand to reach for. You could feel your hands flailing in the void, desperately searching, yet finding nothing. 

The warm, sticky sensation spreading down your legs sent a jolt of panic through you. Your eyes flicked downward involuntarily, but you didn’t want to look. Yet it felt as if everything around you was betraying you, even the streetlamp outside, which cast its harsh glow on the spreading pool on the floor. You didn’t want to see it. You feared that seeing it would confirm your worst fears. Your eyes filled with tears, but you couldn’t cry. You wouldn’t cry. Would tears ease the crushing weight of this fear? You doubted it. 

You reached for your phone, but even your fingers trembled. Touching the screen, dialing a number, selecting a name—it all felt like an impossible task. The chaos in your mind blurred your thoughts. Everything was moving too fast and too slow all at once. Seconds stretched into eternities, yet time pressed on, dragging you deeper into helplessness. 

You hadn’t wanted this. You had left the island just for this pregnancy, determined to build a life here. And now, was it all going to be taken from you? After all the effort to adjust, after everything? 

You glanced around. The silence of the room pressed down on you like a weight. It felt as if the entire world had pulled away, leaving you stranded. You knew there were people—so many people—but none of them were close, not really. Placing your hands on your belly, you clung to the small hope that the motion could somehow quiet the storm of fear inside you. But it didn’t work. 

The voices of fear echoed in your mind: What if I’m too late? What if it’s over? What if this loneliness never ends? Each scenario was scarier than the last. You closed your eyes, but even the darkness offered no solace. The images in your head only fanned the flames of your terror. 

When you finally held the phone in your hand, you knew you had to choose someone to call. Should it be your mom? Or your dad? Maybe… someone else? But what if they couldn’t come? That thought pushed you deeper into despair. It suddenly felt as if the entire world had turned its back on you, as if every person was out of reach. The weight of isolation was crushing. 

Your hands were cold and clammy. As your fingers hovered over the screen, trying to pick a name, you felt frozen. You couldn’t move them. It was as though your brain had redirected all its attention to the fluid trickling down your legs and the stabbing pain in your abdomen. Panic consumed you, leaving you paralyzed and unsure of what to do. 

A quiet voice in your mind whispered, Everything will be okay. But it was impossible to believe. That voice was so faint, so far away, drowned out by the louder, darker thoughts. Reality felt so distant that even hope seemed like a luxury you couldn’t afford. While your mind scrambled for answers, your body refused to move. 

You tightened your grip on your belly, as though holding on harder could anchor you to something, anything. Alone in that dark, silent room, you had never felt smaller. The outside world was shut off from you, leaving only your fears, your thoughts, and the suffocating weight of solitude. 

Since moving to this town, you’d thought a lot about loneliness. But now, you truly understood its meaning. Loneliness wasn’t just sitting in silence. It wasn’t merely being by yourself. Loneliness was not having anyone to reach when you needed them most. It was feeling as though your voice couldn’t reach anyone, as though you were invisible. 

The trembling didn’t stop. Your eyes darted around, trying to focus on something, anything, but everything was blurry—not because you couldn’t see, but because you couldn’t concentrate. Nothing made sense in that moment. 

You searched for a way out. But maybe the only thing you could do was wait. That thought terrified you even more. Waiting... it made you feel so helpless, so powerless. But what else could you do? 

Tears welled up again as you struggled to breathe. But each breath felt heavier, each inhale pulling the loneliness deeper into your chest. That loneliness, like a black hole, seemed ready to devour you. 

You couldn’t bring yourself to look at the pool of liquid spreading on the floor. You couldn’t face it. If you didn’t look, maybe it would stay a bad dream. Maybe this was just paranoia playing tricks on your mind. 

Even though you could feel the warm liquid dripping down your legs, you clung to the hope that you’d wake up. That you’d open your eyes in bed and thank God it was just a nightmare. 

You wanted to wake up. You didn’t want to believe this was real. Not after everything you had done to adjust to this new life. Not after leaving the island to start fresh. 

You had left everything behind. Everyone. 

For a life with your baby. 

You had wanted this baby. Even with your initial doubts, you had wanted it. And for what? To have it taken from you? 

Your eyes shut tight as your hand clenched the phone and your other hand pressed harder against your belly. You wished the pain would stop, that the ache—so reminiscent of a menstrual cramp—would just go away. 

Only days ago, you’d noticed your belly start to show, a tiny swell that made you smile. You had cradled it with your hands, talked to it, even though you didn’t care if it could hear. You wanted it to know you were there. Just a few days ago, you’d been excited about buying clothes for it. 

For this? 

For it to be taken away? 

When you finally opened your eyes, the only sound in the room was the ticking of the clock. You wanted to block it out. You wanted the sensation in your legs to disappear. For a moment, you convinced yourself it was all in your head. But the warm trickle that followed was a harsh slap of reality. 

Your trembling eyes drifted downward. The sight of the blood pooled on the floor knocked the breath out of you. Your heart skipped, as if an elephant had perched on your chest. Your legs gave way. Falling to the floor hurt, but it was nothing compared to the pain in your chest. 

You had never seen them. They’d only been with you for five months, but the thought of that bond breaking—of losing them—felt like your heart was being ripped out. 

When you love something so deeply, does it always have to be taken away? Is that just the way life works? Had everything led to this moment? 

Had you fought with your family, with Rafe, for this? Had you left your entire life behind, moved to this town, just to lose your baby? 

Even your family had started to share your joy. They were thrilled for you, as ecstatic as you were. And now, for what? For this? 

Were you supposed to mourn?

To learn a lesson, did you really have to fall this hard? You hated it. You didn’t want to learn any more lessons. Not if they hurt this much. If growth meant falling like this, you were ready to stay exactly the same—stagnant, unchanging, and safe. 

The moment you felt a fragment of clarity, just enough to push panic aside, you called 911. You couldn’t afford to lose more time. It felt like your mind had snapped back into place, even if only temporarily. 

But you had no idea what you were saying. Your words felt foreign, disjointed, even as you tried to describe what was happening. They assured you they’d come to your home. They told you not to hang up.

Then you realized—you needed to call your family. You needed them with you. Right now, you just wanted to be back in Outer Banks, in your own house, surrounded by the people who had always been there for you. 

If you were there, you wouldn’t feel this crushing loneliness. They would be by your side. 

You didn’t even know how many times you tried. Your fingers repeatedly dialed your mom’s number, then your dad’s, over and over again. Each time, you were met with the same recorded message: unreachable. 

Still, you kept calling, clinging to that faint hope that someone, anyone, would answer. But each attempt ended the same way, the monotone voice echoing the same result. 

And then, without thinking, your fingers moved on their own. They dialed his number. In that moment, you didn’t care about shame or pride. All that mattered was that you needed help. You needed Rafe. Even if the chance was slim, even if it was just a sliver of hope, you needed him to answer. 

As the phone rang, your heart pounded so violently it felt like it would burst out of your chest. Each ring amplified the fragile hope blooming inside you. Your lips moved as if uttering a prayer: “Please pick up.” You needed someone—anyone—to be there, to tell you that everything was going to be okay. Tears streamed down your face as the call rang on, unanswered.

He wouldn’t ignore you, you told yourself. He wouldn’t turn you away. He’d come. You knew he would. He had to. You prayed he wasn’t still angry, that he didn’t hate you for not terminating the pregnancy. 

When the call ended without an answer, you didn’t stop. Your trembling hands hit redial without hesitation. Shame and pride were irrelevant now. You needed him. If he wouldn’t come, you needed him to reach your family. You were utterly alone otherwise. 

Alone. The word echoed like a hollow drumbeat in your chest. 

For a moment, time seemed to stop. The racing of your heart, the chaotic swirl of your thoughts, even your tears—all stilled in the suffocating silence of your own helplessness. But you didn’t give up. You called again. And again. Your trembling fingers barely functioned, struggling to tap the screen. But you kept trying.

Fuck pride. You needed help. You needed someone by your side, someone to hold you, someone to tell you it wasn’t the end. Your lips quivered as you let out a stifled sob. “Please…” When the call went to voicemail yet again, your shoulders shook with the weight of another unanswered prayer. 

Wasn’t this his baby too? Didn’t it matter to him? You hadn’t made this baby alone. Surely he would care. You didn’t need him to grieve with you. You just needed him here. And he would come. Rafe was a lot of things, but when it came down to it, he wouldn’t leave you stranded. 

Not you. 

You had to believe that. You clung to that hope like a lifeline, begging for it to still be true. 

Another sob tore through you, reverberating through the empty room. This time, it came from somewhere so deep inside that it left your chest heavy, crushed under the weight of despair. You prayed he’d answer.

You weren’t strong enough to endure this. 

You didn’t want to do this alone. You fought to steady your trembling lips, desperate to string together the words you’d need to say if he picked up—when he picked up. But once again, the line went dead.

This time, it felt like a door slamming in your face. But it wasn’t just rejection—it was the crumbling of a trust you hadn’t even realized you still held onto. Deep down, you had truly believed he would answer. That he’d help you. That he wouldn’t leave you to face this on your own. 

As the silence deepened, your hands fell to the cold floor, sticky with blood. You didn’t even care. You felt like everything you wanted, everything you’d dreamed of, was slipping through your fingers. Did you not deserve happiness? Had you done something so wrong to deserve this? 

You wanted to scream. To set the house on fire, to rip apart the tiny baby clothes you’d just bought. 

You nearly buried your face in your hands, but the sight of blood on your fingers stopped you. Frantically, you wiped them on your nightgown, trying to erase it. You wanted it gone—needed it gone. You wanted to forget everything that had happened today. 

The phone was still in your hand, your fingers gripping it like it held a flicker of hope. Rafe hadn’t answered. Your family hadn’t answered. Their silence only pushed you deeper into yourself. Your tears began to dry, replaced by a hollow ache gnawing at your insides. 

After your final attempt, you let the screen go dark. The reflection of your tear-streaked face stared back at you from the blackened screen, ghostly and unfamiliar. Your lips still trembled with silent cries, your voice barely audible even to yourself. 

Then, the phone buzzed. The unexpected vibration made you flinch. The screen lit up, and your heart stuttered before racing into overdrive. A message. 

When you saw the name, a fraction of the emptiness lifted. JJ. His name sat there like it belonged, as if the chaos hadn’t touched it. You opened the message, holding your breath. 

How’s it going with your new street animal buddies? Found yourself a soulmate yet?

It was stupid. Ridiculous. But somehow, in all its absurdity, that sarcastic tone cracked something open inside you. A tiny window of light broke through the storm. 

And yet, the relief was fleeting. Looking at the message, then back at the blood pooling on the floor, your emotions surged in a tangle of anger, helplessness, and unrelenting fear. 

You needed him. Right now. Without thinking, your trembling fingers scrolled back to his name.

The name on the screen made your eyes well up. JJ. So ordinary, so simple. Yet, at that moment, it felt like your only tether to life. He’d come. He would, wouldn’t he? 

With trembling hands, you pressed the call button. As you held the phone to your ear, the silence was broken only by the erratic pounding of your heart. Each ring sent a jolt of panic through you—what if he didn’t answer? “Please…” you whispered, barely audible. “Please pick up…”

It felt like you were losing your mind. Was this real? Had he really sent that message? 

“Hey, Princess. I noticed we’ve upped the calls lately. Can’t manage without me, huh—”

The distant sound of sirens reached your ears, and your lips quivered. Even JJ’s voice, with its usual cocky tone, felt like an anchor. Just hearing him talk, hearing that familiar teasing edge—it was everything. It made you feel as if you’d already done all you could. 

“I need you here.” 

The words came out shakily, and there was a pause on the other end of the line. One hand rested in your lap, the other gripping the phone, both stained with blood. 

To be honest, you were terrified. Not just about what might happen but about losing the baby. 

“What’s wrong?” His voice had lost its playful tone, replaced with a sharp seriousness. He was waiting for an answer, but you felt too drained, too scared, to put your fears into words. Saying the possibility of a miscarriage out loud felt impossible. 

How did he always know? How could he tell when you needed him the most? Was he like this with everyone, or just you? 

When he said your name, you tried to take a deep breath, but it came out broken and shallow. The sirens were getting closer. “I’m bleeding.” The weight of the words nearly crushed you as they left your lips, leaving you lightheaded—not from pain, but from the sheer gravity of it. 

You were so used to him being there. The idea of him leaving, of him not being there, was unbearable. “I called everyone, but—”

“I’m on the way. Did you call 911? Listen, I’ll be there, okay? Don’t worry. I’ll get there as fast as I can. You’ll be fine. You’re going to be fine. I’ll meet you at the hospital. Okay? I need you to say something.” His words were quick, determined, unwavering. 

You nodded instinctively, even though you knew he couldn’t see it. Even if this was your fate, you didn’t want to accept it. 

“I’m scared.” A sob escaped your lips as the sirens grew louder. They were on your street. 

“I’m coming. Everything’s going to be okay.”

—

Last night was ordinary. A night that fell short of expectations—not that Rafe knew what he was expecting anymore. He had become a ghost of himself, far from anything resembling pride. 

Had he ever been proud of himself, really? 

He couldn’t focus on the future or the present; he was stuck in the past. 

His eyes had searched for you everywhere. There wasn’t a corner of the Outer Banks he hadn’t roamed. The beach, parties, the country club—he’d scoured them all, just to catch a glimpse of you. 

He even shopped at the grocery store near your house, the one far from his own. Almost every day, he’d find himself there, grabbing a drink, some crackers, whatever he could justify, just to linger for a chance to see you. 

He missed your presence. Your scent. 

He missed the moments in bed with you—not the sex, but the times he held you in his arms, kissed you, and just existed in your warmth. He missed looking into your eyes, the overwhelming urge to tell you he loved you. 

But Rafe was a coward. He couldn’t admit that to anyone, not even himself. And you? You already knew. You didn’t need to hear it from anyone. 

He hadn’t told his father. He hadn’t told anyone—Topper, Kelce, Sarah, even Wheezie. Not that anyone else could really understand. 

You were the only one who truly knew him. And he’d lost you. Because he was a coward. 

He missed the sound of your voice. If he could go back, he’d want you to talk more in those old videos. He’d spend hours talking to you if he had the chance again. 

He couldn’t adjust to your absence. 

When he threw himself into alcohol, he didn’t think much about it. When had he ever truly sat down and thought anything through? All he knew was how to make impulsive decisions that wrecked his life. 

He couldn’t stand Topper and Kelce’s phases of chasing random girls, calling them over, laughing at nothing. Rafe’s mind, body, and soul belonged to you. He couldn’t bring himself to touch or even look at anyone else. 

Every time he closed his eyes, every time he tried to sleep, the only image in his head was your face. 

He hadn’t touched another woman. Not that he tried. He knew he couldn’t. It wouldn’t be the same. They wouldn’t be you. 

There was a time when he thrived on quick, meaningless flings. He hated attachments—blamed it on his childhood. He figured it was because he didn’t know what it meant to make love. He never let emotions into it. But with you, it was different. 

It was intoxicating—better than anything drugs had ever made him feel. It was addictive. 

He loved whispering “I love you” while he was with you. It made him feel like less of the mess he knew he was. But even then, he hadn’t said it enough—like the idiot he was. 

You had been gone from his life for almost four months, and the void was unbearable. Not even when he’d tried to quit drugs had he craved their presence the way he craved yours. 

It was like he was a teenager nursing his first heartbreak. And yet, somehow, this was the mildest punishment he thought he deserved for his cowardice. 

He’d worked so hard to get Ward’s approval, to finally be seen by his father. Ward was noticing him now, for the first time. He could see Rafe’s potential, and Rafe knew it. For once, it wasn’t Sarah he was looking at—it was him. 

For the first time, Ward saw Rafe accomplishing something for Cameron Development. For the first time, Rafe gave his father the impression that he was capable of more. After years of begging for attention, Rafe was finally getting it. 

But it had cost him you. 

He couldn’t bear the thought of losing his father’s approval. He couldn’t face that rejection again. Ward had finally placed a hand on his shoulder, and Rafe didn’t want to feel that hand pulled away. 

He hadn’t wanted to lose you, either. That was never part of the plan. It just… happened. Too fast. And he’d been too scared. 

Scared of seeing that disappointment in his father’s eyes again. 

Everyone around him noticed his spiraling depression, even Topper and Kelce. Though he never opened up to them, they could tell something was wrong. If they noticed, then everyone else must’ve, too. Not that Rafe cared. Nobody dared bring it up to him anyway. 

Under Topper and Kelce’s relentless pressure, he found himself at a party. Not to have fun. Not to let loose. But to see you. He spent the night searching for you, glancing around like you might walk in at any second. 

He looked for your old friends, the ones he’d seen you with before. He hoped you’d be there, even though he knew it was unlikely. You were pregnant. You probably wouldn’t come. But the possibility, however slim, was enough to drag him there. 

That same possibility kept him shopping near your place, day after day. 

For the chance of you. 

The more he didn’t see you, the more he drank, as if alcohol could drown out the ache. Nothing could fill the emptiness you left behind, but he still clung to his glass, hoping—maybe if he drank enough, he’d hallucinate you. 

He didn’t know how much he drank. It didn’t even feel like a party. Topper and Kelce flirted and joked with girls, but Rafe didn’t bother looking their way. He just drank and searched. 

You were the one who used to go to parties with him. You were his girl. And Rafe? He was yours. It wasn’t an open relationship; he wouldn’t have shared you with anyone. 

You used to pull him onto the dance floor. He’d groan and complain at first, but you always got your way. And once he gave in, he didn’t hate it. Not when he was touching you. He loved every moment he could hold you. 

Even now, he could hear your voice in his head, persuading him to dance. Him pretending to resist. You insisting, until he finally caved. What an idiot he’d been. He should’ve just said yes every time. Done anything you asked. 

His regrets were endless. His self-loathing, boundless. For being such a coward. For being a failure, yet again. 

You had believed in him, even when he didn’t believe in himself. Your faith in him had given him the courage to ask his father for opportunities, small as they were. And with you, he’d felt like he’d succeeded, just a little. 

Now he hated himself for choosing his father’s approval over you—and the baby. 

The thought of you moving on, raising a child without him, was unbearable. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw you with your swollen belly, or playing with your child—his child. And the thought of not being there... 

He hated himself for fearing his father more than losing you. For crawling for scraps of his father’s affection like some pathetic creature. 

Which he was. 

And now, for the rest of his life, he would hate this moment—and himself—for choosing so poorly. 

Rafe thought he’d made it home thanks to Topper and Kelce. He vaguely remembered stumbling through the front door and collapsing into Wheezie’s arms. The idea that the tiny girl could hold him up was almost laughable. Somehow, he’d managed to make it to his room.

Wheezie had laid him down on his bed before leaving. You’d have to be an idiot not to notice something was wrong. She knew her brother too well. She hadn’t seen him this quiet, this withdrawn, in a long time.

You were always there with him.

When you were around, Wheezie could hear your laughter coming from Rafe’s room. Even when Rafe was being his usual insufferable self, you made him bearable. She never thought he had that side to him. Frankly, she wasn’t even sure it existed until you came along.

When Rafe opened his eyes the next morning, a sharp, pounding headache greeted him like a cruel companion. The remnants of last night’s party echoed in his skull. Sitting up in bed, hungover and disoriented, fragments of the night before started to drift back into focus—crowds, noise, laughter. The sunlight filtering through the curtains hit him square in the face, intensifying the pain. All he wanted was to throw up and stay in bed for the rest of the day.

He didn’t remember much, just that he went to the party and drank like it was his last night on Earth. Alcohol had been a more reliable friend than Topper or Kelce that night.

Rubbing his hands over his face, he tried to shake off the fog. The smell—his own and the room’s—was rancid, like a stale cocktail of sweat and regret.

He kicked off the covers, intending to get up, when his eyes landed on a single pill and a glass of water sitting on the bedside table. Without thinking, he swallowed the pill and drained the glass.

Stumbling to the window, he threw it open, letting fresh air seep in. He took a quick shower, practically praying for relief from the headache that felt like it was splitting his skull in two. The cold water shocked his system, but it wasn’t enough. He wanted to crawl into a dark room and hide there for a week.

Out of the shower, he wrapped a towel around his neck and caught a glimpse of his reflection. Dark circles framed his eyes, his face bore the fatigue of a man who hadn’t truly rested in years. The weight pressing down on him wasn’t just from the alcohol; it was everything else. Everything he’d tried to suppress. “You really are a master at screwing things up,” he muttered bitterly at himself.

His gaze drifted around the room—clothes tossed haphazardly on the bed, an empty bottle lying on the floor, a lighter on the nightstand. Even the carpet under his feet made his skin crawl. He needed to pull himself together, maybe eat something, grab a coffee. But first, his phone.

It sat there on the edge of the table, an unspoken threat. Reaching for it, a wave of unease washed over him. He didn’t know who he’d talked to, what he’d said, or worse, what he’d texted. His fingers trembled as he picked it up and unlocked the screen.

Notifications flooded in—group chats, Instagram likes—and then, there they were. Three missed calls.

From you.

His breath hitched. He stared at the screen, the timestamp mocking him. Midnight. One after the other. His thumb hovered over the call log, uncertainty gripping him. Why had you called? 

And why at midnight?

It couldn’t be. Not you. Not after everything. You never made the first move, especially not in the middle of the night. 

For a moment, he considered calling you back. His thumb ghosted over your name. Should he? Maybe. Or maybe not. What if it led to the same arguments—about the baby, about why you didn’t want to stay, about why he let you go? He could still feel the weight of everything left unsaid between you, haunting him like a shadow.

He dropped the phone back onto the table, running his hands through his hair. Deep down, he knew these questions were rhetorical. No matter how hard he tried to convince himself otherwise, he hadn’t stopped thinking about you—or the life you might’ve had together.

Rising from the bed, he moved to his closet, grabbing the first shirt he saw. A hollow ache settled in his chest as he debated whether to call. The courage he’d relied on last night felt a thousand miles away.

Just then, the phone buzzed. Another notification. His heart skipped. Was it you? No. Someone else. But the fleeting hope that it might’ve been you twisted something inside him.

Setting the phone down again, he took a deep breath. *Calm down,* he told himself. But calming down was impossible. The unease coiled tighter, mixing guilt and longing into a cocktail of misery.

Without thinking too much, he hit your name and let the call go through. The ringing filled the room, amplifying his heartbeat. What if you were asleep? What if he woke you? He hated the idea of disturbing you.

The line clicked off before you answered. His worry deepened. What if something had happened to you? His fingers hovered, then dialed again, this time with more urgency.

The second call rang longer. Each tone ratcheted up his anxiety. And then, finally, the line connected. 

“Hey,” Your voice was quiet, cautious.

For a moment, Rafe’s words stuck in his throat. He tried to speak, but it felt like someone had stolen his voice. Finally, he managed, “Hey… uh, you called me?”

It sounded weak, tentative. But hearing your voice, even like this, sent a pang straight through him. He missed you more than he could put into words.

A pause. The silence stretched, making him wonder if you were about to hang up. Then you answered, “I was drunk.”

The words hit him like a slap. Drunk? That was it? Just a drunk dial? The thought made his stomach twist. Was it really that meaningless?

“Are you okay?” he asked, this time more firmly, though it took everything not to press harder.

“I’m fine.” But your tone was too quick, too dismissive. He knew you better than that. He could always tell when you were lying. But he didn’t push. Maybe he didn’t want to know the truth.

“Alright,” he said, not knowing what else to say. He wanted to keep you on the line, to hear more, to find some excuse to hold onto this moment.

“Okay,” you said, your voice faltering briefly before you caught yourself. “I have to go.”

And just like that, the call ended. The short beep that followed felt like a final blow, sealing the unbearable silence around him.

Rafe stared at the phone. Drunk. The word echoed in his head. It collided with another thought, one that sent a chill through him. Did she…?

Had you gone through with it? The decision he’d pushed you toward but never truly wanted? He’d convinced himself it was the right thing to do, but now the thought made his chest tighten unbearably.

He slumped back into his chair, burying his face in his hands. He didn’t know how to feel—relief, regret, or something else entirely. But one thing was clear: he hadn’t stopped loving you. And that realization hit him harder than anything else.

He glanced at the phone one last time. Your name was still there on the screen, a painful reminder of everything he’d lost. 

He thought about texting you but stopped. No words felt right. Maybe silence was all he deserved. After all, what was left to say when you’d already walked away for good?

[cobaltperun]

Jerks With Hearts of Gold - Work For It

Request: Tara Carpenter x Female Reader

Summary: The first kiss should not be this difficult to get, yet nothing is ever easy for Tara Carpenter.

Masterlist / Side story of this request

Word count: 2.7k

She could no longer deny it, she could no longer fight it, and she hated every single thing about it. Except she didn't actually hate it, she absolutely loved it, only she would never admit it, especially to anyone other than herself.

Tara Carpenter was in love with a jerk.

How could this have happened? Sure, she wanted to live her life, set aside everything that's happened while being comfortably cautious about which people she let in, but she did not expect to let the biggest jerk of them all in. And if that wasn’t bad enough, she took it not just a step, but a fucking marathon further by falling in love with you. So, there Tara was, lying on her bed facing the ceiling and glaring at it as if she had your face painted right on it. She might as well have it painted there, because that's all she could see when she closed her eyes. Your smiling face, that stupid grin when you prove her wrong, or when you get the upper hand in a debate, or when you just annoy the living hell out of her.

“Jerk,” she muttered as she looked through window that was somehow facing the direction you were in. Of course, you were far away, too far for her to even see your neighborhood from her window, let alone your apartment, but just the fact that she knew she would be looking in the direction of your apartment if she looked outside her window infuriated her. Why did you have to be so good to her? You stopped smoking just for her, and that really was the true start of her downfall. But you couldn’t stop there, could you? Ever since she opened up about the attacks she survived you've been crazy attentive to everything she was feeling, noticing even the minute details about her mood shifts.

Somehow, despite only knowing you for a relatively short period of time, Tara was absolutely certain you wouldn’t turn out to be a Ghostface. Maybe worse than even that was how sure Tara was that if she confessed and you returned her feelings that the two of you would just stay together. That you would never break her trust or her heart.

And that just made her afraid that one day she would do that to you. Because there was that feeling deep inside of her, that thought that maybe she did ruin everything she touched, and that she just wouldn’t know how to let you love her.

Yet at the same time, Tara knew she wanted that kind of love, that almost unconditional love, more than she wanted anything in the world. So, Tara picked up her phone and sent you a message.

~X~

You were bored beyond what you imagined was humanly possible. You were so bored you might actually consider doing schoolwork that was still far from the deadline. That's how bored you were. You weren't in the mood for a movie or some new TV show or a new book or anything that would reasonably take more than a few hours to finish, but you also weren't in the mood to go out and have fun, or go to a stupid party if Tara wasn’t there, or anything of that nature.

Luckily, just as you were about to lament on your ruined night, your phone rang and you jumped to your feet cheering loudly that there was even a smidge of distraction to be had tonight.

You placed your palms together in front of your face praying to whatever higher being that might exist. “Please be Tara, please be Tara, please let me annoy her tonight!” because you would not be that desperate to actually send the message first. Not after sending the first message four times in a row.

You plucked your phone off your charger and the screen lit up and you pumped your fist at your side. “Yes!” you exclaimed. It was Tara. “Oh, I love this girl!” your eyes widened when you said that.

Well, you did love her, and you knew that, and you knew how you loved her, how much, and how intensely. But you haven't really said it out loud and with that sudden realization the urge to annoy her faded away and you just opened the message she just sent you.

Tara: Let's meet up tomorrow

Please I'm bored

Well, that was direct and right to the point, just the way Tara always was, and you grinned like a fool because you would get to see her tomorrow instead of waiting for the next week's classes. So, you replied with a simple ‘Of course! Usual time usual place?’

It took Tara less than a minute to reply, and you've never thought a simple ‘yes’ would make you this happy.

You walked back to the bed and just fell on top of it, still grinning. You loved this girl. You loved her so damn much and she didn't even know it and maybe, just maybe you could confess tomorrow. Just see how it goes. At least you won't be painfully stuck in friendzone and things would be clear, you would know if you should give up on these feelings or if you would just have to wait for some time until she got more comfortable. You understood perfectly well just how difficult opening up would be for Tara, and all you really wanted was to know if there was even the slightest chance that she might one day reciprocate your feelings.

~X~

She must have done something right lately because all of a sudden and without even considering all of those things Tara ended up being really lucky. First of all, she didn't have classes today, Sam was working, and all of her friends had classes, so no one was free to hang out with her. Not even Chad and he was the most relaxed about classes out of all of them. At least before the exams, once the exams were going then he was the one worrying the most.

That would probably be something you and Chad could bond over. You had the same annoying nonchalant approach before the exams only to completely flip it once exams actually started. She still smiled, because somehow, despite everything, she found that endearing.

The usual spot was your code of sorts, for a small secluded spot in the park that Tara found when she first came to New York, back when she felt the need to escape from everything and pretend she was just a normal teenager. And you came to appreciate the spot as well, so instead of hanging out in a café bar or some other place, one of you would get the drinks and the other some snacks and you just go and sit at the park. And it worked well, because not only was it a nice place where she could breathe easier, but it had designated spots for picnic, so that was just another plus in its own way.

Her heart was hammering in her chest as she walked through the park toward the place where you would meet up. The basket filled with your favorite food felt a lot heavier than it really was. You weren't really a flowers kind of girl, or rather Tara wasn't, she just felt that would be a bit too on the nose and she wants to be a bit subtle about everything. Although… There was nothing subtle about being twenty minutes early.

She picked a good spot for the picnic. The one with a nice shade, far enough from the people walking through the park, and light fresh breeze blowing through her hair bringing in the scent of the flowers blooming in the park.

“Guess we are both early,” Tara jumped when she heard your voice and flipped around to see you standing there sheepishly rubbing the back of your head, all the while holding a bag filled with a couple of bottles of probably juice if she had to guess. You were kind of boring like that, not really consuming alcohol, but she guessed that would make Sam like you more because you weren't some party animal.

“Damn it, you scared me!” Tara put her hand over her chest trying to calm her heart rate down. Getting scared was not one of her plans for the day!

Your eyes widened and immediately she could see the guilt on your face. “I'm sorry! I should have texted you or something, I just didn't want you to rush if you weren't here and-“ you facepalmed, you didn’t forget about anything, you just got eager to see her and she wasn’t expecting you. “God, I'm such a fool for scaring you like that!” there you were being the caring, gentle dumbass she fell in love with.

Tara smiled widely, unable to restrain her reaction. “Hey, it's fine, come on, let's just sit down and start this again, OK? Shit, look at us,” Tara laughed as you joined her, still looking at her apologetically. “We're like two teenagers trying to go on their first date instead of hanging out as friends,” she chastised herself and you to an extent because you were both nervous and she couldn't wrap her head around why you were nervous. She was the one who intended to confess her love for you… unless…

No, that couldn't be right.

The two of you knelt down on the blanket and began taking things out of the bag you brought, and the basket Tara brought. “You really went all out! And it's all homemade!” you commented, and Tara just knew you could see the blush on her face.

You only complimented her cooking, once granted she only cooked for you once, and ever since then has been practicing, wanting to impress you once more.

“I just grabbed the leftovers,” of course she wasn’t going to tell you the truth. She would die of embarrassment if that happened, but you knew, you probably knew every single time she uttered a ridiculous lie just to save face.

You snorted at that. “Of course, of course, I wouldn't dare to imply the great Tara Carpenter would prepare food for an occasion this beneath her,” you laughed and despite the joke you just said something just didn't feel right about it. It annoyed Tara more than she ever imagined it would. She just hated that there was a certain sense of self-deprecation within your voice.

So, Tara reached up, grabbed you by the chin and pulled you closer. “Don't you dare ever think that,” she leaned in, intending to kiss you and get all of this confession bullshit out of the way, and just show you how she felt instead. But then you smirked and pulled away from her and her hand was just left hanging in the air, empty, while her lips remained stuck, slightly pursed as she intended to kiss you.

“Work for it, Carpenter,” you did not just say that. You did not just deny her of the kiss she wanted for so damn long.

“What the fuck?!” Tara just stared. You actually did that to her. “Work for it? How do I- I mean- You know-“ she paused, taking a deep breath. “Was I reading this all wrong,” she gestured between the two of you. “And you actually don’t feel the same way? Y/N, I can take it if you don't feel the same way, I'm not some-“

You interrupted her by placing the tip of your finger on her lips and snickering and now she was just confused. “I do feel the same way, I love you too, Tara,” you said it so easily even if she didn't, even if she wasn't all that sure she could say those three words anytime soon, despite how genuinely she felt them. “I just want you to work for the kiss. You've been a pain in my eyes for so long, I deserve this!” you laughed and took a bite of the sandwich she so carefully prepared, choosing all the ingredients you loved, and here you were saying she had to work for the kiss.

“What do you even mean by work? How?! Tell me how?!” she demanded red in the face from the anger and the embarrassment and because she was denied of what she wanted and like a petulant child that was suddenly rejected she was just about ready to throw a tantrum.

And that wasn't like her. She was denied so many things as a child, it wasn't in her nature to throw a temper tantrum, yet with you she really felt like that. She felt like the way you were loving her, even when you were just friends, was allowing that child within her to come out for perhaps the first time in her entire life.

“Ask for it, you can’t just take it,” you winked at her. “Come on, now, Tara, all you have to do is ask,” oh, you were enjoying this. You got your victory. You knew she felt the same way that you did before you even uttered a single word and here you were eating it all up like the menace you were.

“I'm just not gonna do it,” Tara pouted and refused to look at you even if she knew you would just shrug and keep eating the sandwich.

“Whatever works for you,” you were being way too nonchalant about this and she should have been elated that you felt the same way that she did, but this was infuriating in so many ways. Of course it had to be like this with you it couldn't be just an easy, simple confession, followed by a soft kiss, followed by a passionate kiss that would threaten to consume both of you. No, it had to be this complicated and difficult because that's who you were and that's who she was. She was Tara fucking Carpenter and every single thing in her life just had to be complicated.

Well not this time.

“Let me kiss you,” she leaned in and you burst out laughing backing away once more not allowing her to claim her reward.

“That's not how you ask, dumbass,” you just laughed and sure, fine, she could play that game too.

“I want to kiss you,” you were still leaning away and she faked a smile, speaking through gritted teeth. “Come on, Y/N, people are watching. They're looking at me leaning closer to you and you are not working with me here,” she was working hard for it and she had the right to her hard-earned reward.

“Not the magic word, Tara,” surely you weren't going to make her actually ask for it! You loved her back, why was this so complicated! She even licked her lips to tempt you, and she saw you looking down on her lips, she knew you wanted to kiss her as well! You just weren't giving in.

Fuck…

“Please, can I kiss you?” there. She asked. You smiled and didn't back away as she leaned in and that was all she needed to just go in and press her lips against yours for a heated, passionate kiss. And when she pulled back, she truly was rewarded by getting to see you being a stuttering, embarrassed mess. “Cat got your tongue?” she asked and stuck her own tongue at you, the tongue that was mere seconds ago inside of your mouth because of course she couldn't go for a soft kiss for the very first kiss. She had to be intense with everything that's included.

Especially with this because you deserved to be loved just as intensely as you loved her.

Safe to say you failed to construct a proper sentence for the next twenty or so minutes. Frankly she was impressed it only took you that long to get your composure back and actually start putting words together in a way that made sense.

[multipleoccupancy]

Knowing it wasn't up to them where it was she went, Theo would have much preferred she didn't travel at all but that too was out of his control. He just hoped that they would find a way to prevent Him from interfering with her. He would never have expected her to end up in the ward and he worried where else she might turn up and what else she might see that he couldn't comprehend yet. He'd have never imagined a world where everything was somehow the wild west just with monsters a well known part of life and everywhere.

"They're just people, sometimes people make stupid decisions and sometimes they go all out on them." He said of the other agents, not quite applying that logic to himself in that moment. Though he nodded along with the mission failures, "they just walk away, which is not something that should be done. The whole point is to stop the monsters." Theo ran another hand through his hair in thought, he would always say that agents were too valuable to lose but there were resources available to continue the fight. "There is a line of support where it's needed. Agents can call in some major help."

He softened as she explained she had been more worried than scared and missing that it was still a heavy guilt she was carrying about it. He wasn't feeling back to normal and in truth he wasn't sure he would now that he remembered what had happened to him but he was wise enough not to reveal that to Violet. At least not verbally. "Yeah, I am in a much better place than I was a few days ago." He managed a smile, though he still dreaded the nights as they came. "How are you feeling?"

𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐎 & 𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐓 @multipleoccupancy

Whether Violet would see Evil Theo again or not was unfortunately up to the Horned One. She wasn't naive enough to think that He wouldn't send her back there eventually, but she couldn't help but hope anyway. He hadn't sent her to the cultist timeline in a while, after all. Who knew? Maybe He felt bad that his protegé had thrown her out the window. (Even as she thought it, Violet knew that could not possibly be the case.)

Civilian casualties? Agents attacking each other? Agents being inappropriate? "I didn't think agents would do things like that," admitted Violet, displaying her young age -though it was perhaps a good thing, that all the things she had seen had not jaded her yet. Between Davidson and her dad, she preferred to think most agents were like her dad. "Why wouldn't they complete a mission?" She frowned. If there was a monster, agents had to kill the monster. That sounded pretty straightforward to her. It didn't help that, at only 14, Violet had killed plenty of monsters.

She shook her head. "It wasn't your fault." It was hers. "And... you didn't scare me. I was just worried about you." It had rattled her, yes. Seeing her dad so broken. But the worst was the guilt. She hadn't managed to shake it yet, despite her dad and Samantha's reassurance. Maybe she never would. Guilt had a tendency to cling to her, like wet fabric. "I'm glad you seem to be feeling a little bit better," she said tentatively, carefully. Afraid that, now that she'd said it, the illusion would shatter.

[temiizpalace]

☆┊MAY I HAVE THIS DANCE?

SUMMARY: many heroes wished to share this dance with you, yet you chose him.

CHARACTERS: HEARTSLABYUL

GENRE: fluff

OTHER: heartslabyul savanaclaw octavinelle scarabia pomefiore ignihyde diasomnia

NOTES: thank you for an entire year, tumblr! as celebration for my first anniversary, have a small mini scenario as a token of my gratitude.

reader is g/n, reader is yuu

PROLOGUE ☆˙∘

excitement fluttered within the confines of the classroom. a nationwide gala was being held this evening for students all over twisted wonderland, and this years selected host was none other than the prestigious night raven college. you couldn’t help but feel a little nervous with how everybody spoke of such an event.

even if dances weren’t your thing, it was still worth it to go, right? “myah.. what’s with all the blabbering? it’s just a borin stuffy ball, right? all ya do is stand around for hours. i can guarantee ya not everyone’s gonna have a dance partner.” grim huffs, beginning to grow annoyed with the gossip.

“well, there’s going to be food from all over the region. at least then we’d have something to do, right?” you grin, your partner in crime suddenly very excited for the dance. “why didn’t ya start with that?! we needa go prep our outfits right now!”

evening came sooner than you anticipated. as chaotic as nrc was, somehow this was 10x as lively as usual. everybody had spoke with someone new while you were stuck at the snack bar with grim. a new face appears, wishing to have a small chat.

🌹┊RIDDLE ROSEHEARTS∘˙✩

“so you’re the magicless prefect, hm?”

a young boy leaned on the table, his unexpected presence startling you. “and you are..?” you question, curious as to how he knew you. he looked unfamiliar, but you couldn’t help but notice his pristine and well dressed appearance. he was handsome, certainly.

“where are my manners? amias reinheardt, a pleasure.” he smiles, bowing slightly before you. “i have heard lots about you, meeting you in person is truly an honor.” the way he spoke so highly of you was flattering, it was almost too much. but all his praise leads back to the same question: how does he know you?

“it’s nice to meet you, but how do you know me exactly?” you ask, raising your brow. “you’re quite popular. my classmate neige had many things to say, i just had to meet you myself.” he chuckles, and suddenly it clicked. classmate? “you’re from rsa?”

“correct you are.” he chuckles. now it all made sense. he was surprisingly chatty, but not in an off putting way. it was actually nice having someone not stuffing their face anytime you tried to talk to them. however, your chatter and laughter caught the attention of a nearby redhead.

“riddle, calm down.” trey sighs, seeing as riddle grit his teeth from afar. “what are you on about, trey? i am perfectly calm.” unfortunately, riddle was not raised as a good liar. “just go up to them, im sure it’s fine.” the boy in glasses sighs, adjusting them so they don’t fall off his face.

“it’s rude to interrupt conversations, you know.” riddle frowns, crossing his arms. despite his attempts to act unbothered, his gaze would still find its way back to you. seven why must you do this to him?

maybe he should just go over there. why fight it if there’s nothing to gain but seething jealousy?

a slow song starts to play, students suddenly stopping and taking their partners to the floor. amias paused as well, looking to you with a small smile. “oh? prefect, shall we?” he holds his hand out to you, waiting for you to take it.

riddle, on the other hand, was not going to stand for that. “[MC].” riddle struts over, causing you to whip your head over in his direction. “riddle?”

“may i have this dance?” he puts a hand behind his back, bowing slightly while reaching out for you. “pardon?” amias interjects, looking to riddle then back at you. “i believe i had asked first.”

oh. taken aback by their sudden proposals, you had to take a moment to ensure this is reality and not some weird vivid dream you were apart of.

you hesitate for a moment before taking riddle’s hand. “im sorry amias..” you mumble, shooting him an apologetic look. “don’t be. maybe someday..” he trails off, watching as riddle led you to the dance floor.

“at least try to be more cautious around strangers, prefect. not all of them have good intentions.” he sighs, waltzing you around the ballroom. his movements were refined, not perfect but not imperfect either. he made sure not to step on your foot no matter how bad your dancing may be.

“oh come on, he wasn’t a bad guy. maybe you’re just jealous.” you laugh, his silence a clear enough answer for you. his cheeks were red, but it was far too endearing.

“i wouldn’t want to share this dance with anyone else, riddle.” you hold a firm grip on his hands as you spoke, unable to hide your own flustered expression in turn.

“..im happy to hear that, [MC]..”

❤️┊ACE TRAPPOLA˙∘✩

“you [MC]?”

you turn to find a short boy invading your personal space, taking a few steps back to get a clear view of him. “uhm.. yes? and you’re.?” you answer, confused. his outfit was a tad disheveled, like it was barely put together. there were wrinkles and folds in his suit, but he had an odd charm about him.

“alan. alan fletcher. upcoming star player for rsa’s basketball team.” he grins triumphantly, his expression almost cocky. “ohh, i have a friend in basketball!” you reply, making the boy flinch.

“what?! err i mean, i heard a lot about ya. popular dude from school talks about you sometimes.” he shrugs, like he was reading your mind. you were just about to ask how he knows you!

“well there’s not much to know about me.” you laugh awkwardly, fiddling with the ends of your sleeves.

“yeah right, you’re from a different world! cmon, talk about it! im curious. what’s different there?” he asks, leaning on the table. it’s been awhile since you’ve last got to talk about home. with all the chaos at nrc, you’ve almost forgotten you’re trying to look for a way back.

“i guess there are a few things.” you chuckle, causing the boys heart to flutter.

ace frowned from afar, an unfamiliar feeling of jealousy coming over him as he stared. “ACE, THATS WAY TOO MUCH PUNCH! STOP POURIN.” deuce yells, his cup overflowing and spilling onto the tablecloth.

ace looks to deuce. he was absentmindedly scooping punch into his cup without realizing it. “gah, we need napkins! professor crewel would kill us if he saw this.”

while deuce was fretting over the spill, rushing over for napkins or any cloth he can find to mask the spill, ace felt lost. has he always been this jealous over you? i mean, sure he’s given a few dudes the stink eye every now and then, but this felt different.

the song changed abruptly, everyone now finding a dance partner or stepping off the floor. alan looks at you, waiting for you to say something. you try to avoid his gaze, his stare beginning to grow unsettling.

breaking the silence, alan spoke. “hey, do you wanna—”

“yo! [MC]!” ace shouts, running over to you with a cheeky grin. “been lookin for ya. cmon, let’s dance!” he grabs your hand, pulling you towards the middle of the ballroom.

“what?! hey!” alan calls out for you, but by the time you turned around to apologize, he was already out of sight.

you frown at ace, to which he scoffs in return. “what?”

“that was a bitch move, ace.” you pinch his nose, causing him to wince in pain.

“OW! look, we can apologize later. shut up and dance for awhile!” he chuckles, spinning you around.

“thought you were gonna dance with deuce. you jealous?”

“..i said shut up dance.”

(deuce was pissed to see ace leave him with the stain but at least you’re having fun).

♠┊DEUCE SPADE∘˙✩

“are you the student with no magic?”

a boy in a tacky looking hat smiled at you, making you stare for awhile before finding his eyes. aside from his hat, his suit was quite.. eccentric. colorful, for sure. somehow it all tied together, but he would most definitely stand out in a crowd. “i am..” you nod slowly.

“the names thistle!” he grinned, holding his hand out. as you reach out to shake his hand, he pulls a rose out of his sleeve and hands it to you elegantly. somehow this guy reminds you of a certain somebody in pomefiore.. interesting.

“are you familiar with che’nya? i know he sneaks onto your campus at times.” he laughs.

“i see him at unbirthday parties. didn’t know he talked about me so often.” you chuckle, finding the thought flattering.

“he tells me you’re from another universe. care to talk about it?” he asks, resting his chin on his hand.

“hm.. to kill time i guess.”

deuce stared at you, his expression blank and empty. you were laughing and having a good time, he should be happy, right? why does his heart ache so much?

seeing you with a rose in hand and a huge smile on your face would be such a breathtaking sight if it weren’t for who was next to you.

ace took notice of deuce’s expression, or lack of thereof. he smirked and nudged him gently. “looks like the prefect is hot on the market.” Ace teased, a cocky grin on his face.

deuce shoots him a glare, suddenly frowning at his partner in crime. “shut up! they can talk to whoever they want! im not jealous.” he huffs, crossing his arms.

“i never said anything about jealousy. yeesh, lighten up.” ace holds his hands up in defense, backing away slowly. “if you’re really upset just go talk to em. im sure your presence is welcomed with open arms anyway.”

“you think so..?” deuce felt his eyes lighten up, his gaze averting back to you.

the ballroom crowded to the center, students finding their partners to dance to the slow rhythm. thistle looks at you, putting his hand out. before he can even ask, a loud shout from across the ballroom stops him in his tracks.

“[MC]!!” deuce sprints over, stopping in front of you while panting for breath.

“deuce?! where did you—”

“WOULD YOU LIKE TO DANCE WITH ME?” he asks in between breaths, eyes shimmering in a newfound confidence. realizing he sounded a little pushy, he finally regulates his breathing and asks once more.

“uhm— i meant uh.. may i have this dance.?” he holds his hand out, bowing slightly before you.

you look to thistle, he smiled and gestured for you to take deuce’s hand. before taking off, you mouth an apology before turning to deuce and bringing him to the center.

“you didn’t have to run, yknow. i would’ve turned him down anyway.” you laugh, noticing deuce’s stiff movements.

“s-sorry. i guess i was just scared.” his dancing was robotic, missing his steps constantly. he stepped on his foot, but you managed to pick up the slack.

“ah! sorry!” he mumbled an apology, to which you grin in return.

“don’t worry, we can work on your dancing together. how about next week?”

“r-really?”

“really. consider it a date.”

“A DATE?! oh, i mean— sure. sounds good!” despite deuce’s attempts to seem calm and collected, he couldn’t hide the dopey grin spread across his face.

♦┊CATER DIAMOND˙∘✩

“so it’s true! nrc does have a student without magic!”

a startling shout from your right catches you off guard, turning to meet a rabbit beastmen with a huge smile. he wasn’t really wearing a suit, more of a vest. it wasn’t buttoned up all the way, but you must say he had really nice hair. looked so smooth.. “uh, tadaa?”

“what’s your name?” he asks, looking at you intently. “what’s yours?” you asked in turn, putting a hand on your hip.

“woah, woah, i asked first didn’t i?”

“well you initiated the conversation.” you shrug.

“alright, alright. im timothy parker, and you are?”

“[MC], nice to meet you.”

“i’ve heard so much about you from a friend of mine! we should get to know each other! have you played 20 questions?” he was a quick talker, you barely had time to reply before he talked about something different.

“i think ive played before.” you recall, nodding your head. “cool! ill start then!”

cater watched you, two drinks in his hand held firmly within his grip. he wasn’t one for jealousy, but something about this guy doesn’t sit right with him. his expression was usually so well hidden, but he couldn’t hide his frown. riddle took notice of cater’s dismay and raises a brow.

“cater, the drink might spill if you hold the cup so tightly.” riddle sighs, catching the attention of the boy beside him. “whoopsies! sorry, riddle! got a little distracted, haha!” he tries laughing it off, but that only makes him less believable.

“is something bothering you?” riddle questions, crossing his arms while looking in the direction cater was staring at.

“nope! don’t worry about it, cay-cay is fine!” he gives riddle a wink before walking towards you with a smile. “[MC]! heyy!”

you turn to see cater approaching, flashing a smile before waving enthusiastically. “cater!” timothy looks over, his smile faltering slightly at the sight of a new face.

“timothy, cater, cater, timothy.” you introduce them to each other. both boys stay silent for a moment before breaking the silence with a few casual greetings and fake smiles.

“hii! names cater, [MC]’s bestie!” cater hands you a drink, to which you eagerly accept. “hello. im timothy.” he replies dryly, much different than the way he greeted you.

the conversation flowed normally, though you chose to ignore their obvious distaste for each others presence. such cheery guys choosing to hate each other instead of bond, it made you kinda sad.

the music shifts to a slow song, cater immediately looking at you with a smile. “[MC], wanna dance?” he asks before timothy could, not failing to see his frown. cater put out his hand, gesturing for you to take it.

you felt your cheeks warm up. you put your drink down to hold his hand as he takes you away from the snack bar.

“isn’t this fun!” he beams, waltzing around with you. “i should take a photo!”

“if you do, you should send it to me. we can have matching profile pics.” you laugh, twirling him around.

“that’s so cute! smile for the cam!” he holds his phone up, snapping a quick photo of you two together. he posts it quickly, putting a string of emojis on the caption before putting his phone away and spinning you both around the room.

your smile means the world to him. it always will.

he didn’t want a viral post, he just wanted to keep your smile preserved for all time.

♣️┊TREY CLOVER∘˙✩

“boo!”

you jump, turning to find a floating head beside you. that head looked familiar. “che’nya?”

“meow how’d you guess?” suddenly, in the blink of an eye his full body appeared. his outfit was definitely not up to dresscode, lots of patches stitched onto an already brightly colored vest. it does suit him, but it feels like you were flashbanged.

“just a hunch. did you need something?” you ask, only to be met with his usual catlike smile. che’nya looked somewhere, grinning mischievously before averting his attention back down at you.

“wanna see a trick?”

“uh, sure?” and with that, he pulls out a deck of cards. he gestures for you to take one before suddenly changing the deck into a full tea set.

laughing in amusement, trey couldn’t help his heart from singing. why did his damn friend need to tease him like that? he clenched his fist tightly, feeling a little embarrassed for being jealous like that.

“trey-trey, let’s take it down a notch! che’nya’s just playing!” cater reassures his friend, patting him on the shoulder. trey sighs, adjusting his glasses properly.

“i know.. i shouldn’t even be jealous. it’s not like we’re together or anything.” he laughs awkwardly, making cater tut in response.

“don’t you see the way they look at you? when they bake with you it’s more than just being a helping hand, yknow?” cater crosses his arms, causing trey to stiffen.

“huh?”

“enough chit-chattt, let’s go join their convo!” cater drags trey to the snack bar, actively ignoring his protests and obvious refusals.

the melodies of slow violin play across the ballroom, students around beginning to slow dance.

“now’s your shot! go!” cater shoved trey towards you with great force. trey nearly fell to his knees but he managed to find his balance before he embarrassed himself.

“GAH!”

che’nya smirks, pointing behind you. “what?”

“trey?!”

“[MC],” trey puts his hand out for you. “may i have this dance?” a small smile hinted at the corners of his lips, you swore butterflies began to erupt in your stomach.

“it’d be an honor.” you take his hand, leading him away to the middle of the floor.

trey was surprisingly good at slow dancing. much better than that time with the ghost bride. “taking dance lessons, clover?” you ask, laughing as he averts your eyes.

“i’d rather not humiliate myself for a second time, haha.” he chuckles, swaying you around.

“i was honestly a little jealous seeing you have a good time with che’nya.” he admits, in which you burst into laughter in return.

“whys that? im sure you know he was just playing?”

“you can never be too sure.”

“don’t worry trey, this dance was reserved for you.”

“that’s reassuring to hear..”

A/N: names for these NPCS were harder than the actual fic 💀💀💀

date published: 11/27/24

© temiizpalace — do not copy, steal, or put my work into ai. thank you!

divider found here! ☆

[meazalykov]

mother who stepped up

stepmom!lena oberdorf x mom!reader

summary: lena accepts you, and the mini-you

warnings: one mention of death, nothing too impactful to the story though. very long fic

you’ve never been one for surprises. your life, at least recently, has been built on carefully crafted routines, ensuring that your two-year-old daughter, macy, is comfortable and happy. 

dating? it was something you thought would come much later—if at all. after coming to terms with your sexuality, you didn’t want to date unti you were reassured that you’d be with the right woman for your daughter. 

here you are, sitting across from lena oberdorf, a suggestion from your well-meaning friends, and even though you like her, there’s something you or your mutual friends haven’t told her yet.

everything had been going smoothly with lena from the start. she was charming, funny, flirtatious, and made you feel seen in ways you hadn’t felt in a long time.

you didn’t think you could get used to someone so effortlessly, but somehow, lena just fit into your life—except for that one secret you hadn’t yet shared.

you’re sitting across from lena at a cozy café, sipping your coffee and listening to her talk about her game against wolfsburg– a club she played many years ago. 

it’s easy to get lost in the sound of lena’s voice, the way her eyes light up when she talks about football. you nod along, smiling as she recounts a funny moment from practice. 

for a while, everything feels perfect—simple, like your lives are in sync. in the back of your mind, you know you will have to tell her about macy. the little mini-you that is currently coloring in her daycare class across munich.

the conversation shifts to lighter topics, and you pull out your phone to check a notification. 

you sit your phone flat on the table and as you’re about to lock the screen, lena leans in, catching a glimpse of the photo that displays on both your home and lock screen. 

your heart skips a beat when you realize what she’s seeing—macy, her chubby little cheeks, dimples, and wild curls staring back at you from the lock screen. 

lena’s brow furrows slightly, curiosity flickering across her face.

“aweee who’s that?” she asks, her tone casual but with a hint of intrigue.

you freeze for a second, unsure how to respond. 

here we go, you think, heart pounding. swallowing hard, you try to brush it off with a light chuckle. 

“oh, that’s little macy.”

lena tilts her head, staring at the screen for a moment longer before locking eyes with you. 

“macy?” she echoes. “is she… your niece or something? she looks just like you.” she smiles, clearly finding the resemblance cute.

you force a small smile, feeling your throat tighten. this is it—the moment you’ve been dreading. 

“uh, no… she’s not my niece.”

“oh,” lena says, looking at you, then back at the picture. 

“then, what, a cousin? a friend’s kid?”

you can see her mind working, trying to make sense of it. your fingers tighten around the edge of your phone, and you finally decide to rip the band-aid off.

“she’s my daughter….”

lena’s eyes widen, her gaze darting back to the screen, then to you. her lips part in surprise, but she doesn’t say anything right away. she stares at the lock screen as if seeing it for the first time, really seeing it.

“your daughter?” she repeats softly, almost like she’s processing the words.

you nod, feeling the anxiety rising in your chest. 

“yeah. she’s turning two in a few months. macy’s my little girl.”

for a long moment, lena just looks at the photo, her expression unreadable. you watch as her gaze flickers between the image of macy and you, comparing the two of you. 

“she… she looks just like you,” lena murmurs, her voice almost in awe. 

“i thought she was you for a second, like, as a baby.”

you let out a small, nervous laugh, trying to keep the mood light despite the tension knotting in your stomach. 

“yeah, she’s basically my mini-me. she’s got my nose and everything.”

lena doesn’t seem to hear your attempt at humor. instead, her brow furrows deeper as she studies the photo. 

“wait, she’s… really your daughter? like, you have a kid?”

you bite your lip, feeling the weight of the moment settle over you. 

“yeah, she’s mine. i know i should’ve told you sooner, but…” you trail off, not knowing how to explain the complexity of it all.

“but why didn’t you?” lena asks, her tone still soft, but there’s something raw in her voice—an undercurrent of emotion that you can’t quite place.

you glance down at your coffee, swirling it absentmindedly. “i didn’t know how,” you admit. 

“i didn’t want to scare you off. most people aren’t exactly thrilled about dating someone with a kid.”

lena leans back in her chair, processing what you’ve said. “you thought i’d be scared off because you’re a mom?”

you shrug, feeling a little defensive but mostly scared. “it’s happened before,” you say quietly. 

“people hear ‘single mom,’ and they run for the hills. i just… didn’t want that to happen again.”

lena is quiet for a moment, her eyes still on the picture of macy. she seems to be absorbing everything, and you can’t help but hold your breath, waiting for her to say something—anything.

“is the father around?” lena says her thoughts out loud. 

“oh no no no. um– he didn’t want anything to do with macy. he also passed away shortly after mae turned one. her father and i were never together or even had feelings for eachother– it was just um..” you trail.

“i’m very sorry about that.” lena says, looking up at you before looking back to the photo of your little daughter. 

“oh no don’t apologize.” you say.

there's a pause for a few minutes. its clear that you wanted to switch the topic away from macy’s biological father, who wanted nothing to do with her before his passing anyways. 

lena looks up at you, giving your phone back with her expression softening. 

“you’d thought i’d run?” lena asks, a small, incredulous smile playing on her lips. 

“because of this? because of her?”

you shrug again, not trusting yourself to speak. all your worst fears are bubbling to the surface, and you can’t shake the feeling that this might be the moment it all falls apart.

lena reaches across the table, taking your hand gently in hers. 

“y/n, she’s beautiful,” she says, her voice sincere. “i mean, she really is a little version of you.”

you blink, the words not sinking in right away. “you… you’re not mad?” you ask, your voice trembling just slightly.

lena shakes her head, squeezing your hand. “no, i’m not mad. i just… wish you’d told me sooner. i know we’ve only been official for a week but–” she pauses, her thumb brushing over your knuckles. 

“i get why you didn’t, but… i’m not going anywhere. i like you. and now that i know about macy… i like her too. even if we haven’t met yet.”

the relief that washes over you is almost overwhelming, and you feel your eyes welling up. you’ve been bracing yourself for rejection, for lena to tell you this was too much for her. 

though here she is, sitting across from you, holding your hand, and telling you that she’s not going anywhere.

“you’re really okay with this?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

“more than okay,” lena says, her voice firm but kind. 

“you’re a mom. that’s a part of who you are, and that’s okay with me.”

you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, your heart finally starting to settle. 

“thank you,” you whisper, blinking back the tears. “you don’t know how much that means to me coming from you.”

lena smiles, giving your hand one last squeeze before letting go. “so, when do i get to meet this little mini-you?” she asks with a teasing grin.

you chuckle softly, wiping at the corner of your eye. “soon. i just… didn’t want to spring her on you right away.”

“well, now that i know about her,” lena says, leaning back with a playful smirk, “i feel like i’m the one being kept a secret from macy.”

you laugh, the tension between you finally breaking. “i guess we’ll have to fix that soon.”

lena grins, taking another sip of her coffee. “i’m looking forward to it.”

the next day– lena doesn’t text much. you know that she is busy training at bayern but anxiety consumes you. 

your thoughts spiral. maybe she changed her mind and realized that it was too much for her. maybe she’s having second thoughts. 

by mid-afternoon, you’re glued to your phone while macy is with her aunt (your sister), checking for any sign from her. 

nothing comes, and your heart sinks.

as you’re picking macy up from your sisters, your phone finally buzzes. lena’s name flashes across the screen, and you almost drop your keys in your hurry to check it.

lena: hey, can we talk later? i’ve been thinking a lot.

you stare at the message, panic clawing at your chest. thinking doesn’t sound good. you force yourself to respond.

you: sure. what time?

the reply is almost instant. 

lena: i can come over tonight?

you hesitate. having her over… that means she’ll meet macy, and you’re not sure if you’re ready for that yet. you also know you can’t keep her at arm’s length forever. you type back quickly.

you: yes, come at 7.

you spend the rest of the afternoon trying not to overthink it. 

as soon as macy is fed and bathed, your nerves start creeping back. you’re pacing the living room, glancing at the clock, when the doorbell rings.

macy, sitting on the couch with her stuffed miffy bunny and fluffy blanket, perks up. 

“mama, door!”

you smile, ruffling her hair. 

“stay here, baby,” you say softly, walking to the door. 

you open it, and there she is—lena, standing on your doorstep wearing a black outfit along with a grey beanie, looking as unsure as you feel.

“hey,” she says, giving you a small smile.

“hey,” you reply, stepping aside to let her in. you’re about to close the door when macy toddles over, clutching her miffy bunny in her small hands. lena’s eyes immediately land on her, and she smiles.

“this must be macy,” lena says, her tone soft and warm.

you nod, watching as macy stares up at lena with her wide (reader’s color) eyes. 

“yeah, this is her.”

lena crouches down to macy’s level, holding out her hand. “hey, macy. i’m lena.”

macy looks at you for reassurance before shyly reaching out to shake lena’s hand. 

“miffy bunny,” she says, showing off her stuffed toy.

lena chuckles softly. “that’s a cool bunny.”

you watch the exchange, your heart swelling with something you hadn’t expected. lena looks so natural with macy, and it’s a sight you weren’t prepared for. 

you clear your throat, trying to shake off the wave of emotion.

“so, um, you said you wanted to talk?” you ask, motioning for lena to follow you to the couch.

she nods, standing up and giving macy one last smile before sitting beside you. macy toddles back to the couch, climbing up and sitting between your legs, still clutching her bunny as her small arms hug your waist.

“yeah,” lena says, glancing between you and macy. “i’ve been thinking a lot since last night.”

you nod slowly, waiting for the bomb to drop.

“i know this is a lot,” she continues, her voice gentle but steady. 

“and i understand if you’re worried about how i’ll fit into your life, into macy’s life, but… i want to try.”

you blink, taken aback. “you do?”

lena nods, reaching out to gently take your hand. 

“yeah. i mean, i didn’t expect this either, but i really like you, y/n. and if macy’s a part of your life, then i want to be a part of that too.”

you sit back, still reeling from the way the conversation unfolded. the tension that had knotted up your stomach starts to loosen, but you can’t help feeling the need to set some boundaries—just to be sure lena knows what this really means. 

it’s too early in the relationship to assume anything, and you don’t want to put any pressure on her, especially when it comes to macy.

taking a deep breath, you meet lena’s eyes. 

“i just want to be clear about something,” you say softly. 

“i don’t expect anything from you when it comes to macy. you’re not obligated to her, and i’d never force any duties on you. it’s still really early in our relationship, and i don’t want you to feel like you have to step into a role you’re not ready for. if you just want to date me, that’s okay. i mean it. however i just want you to understand that in a case between you vs. macy– i’ll always choose macy.”

lena watches you closely, her brow furrowing slightly as she listens. she leans forward, resting her arms on the table, and shakes her head gently. 

“y/n, you don’t have to put up walls.”

you bite your lip, feeling the weight of her gaze. “i’m not putting up walls,” you explain quietly. 

“i just… i want to be fair. macy’s is the biggest part of my life, but she’s my responsibility, not yours. i don’t want you to feel like you have to take on so much at once. i don’t want you to feel trapped.”

lena sits back in her chair, exhaling slowly. her eyes soften as she takes in your words. 

“first of all, macy isn’t a trap,” she says firmly, her tone leaving no room for doubt. 

“she’s your daughter. i don’t see that as something to run from.”

your heart stumbles at her words, but you try to stay grounded. “but it’s still a lot for you,” you press gently. 

“being with me means being with macy too, and that’s a lot to ask of anyone. especially this soon.”

lena reaches across the table again, her hand finding yours, warm and steady. “i get what you’re saying,” she begins, her voice calm but sincere. 

“and i appreciate that you don’t want to rush things or put pressure on me. but, y/n, macy is a part of you. she’s part of your life, and if i want to be with you, that means i’m choosing to include her too.”

she squeezes your hand, her eyes locked on yours. “i’m not saying i’m trying to be her mom right away, or that i know how all of this is supposed to work. but i want to figure it out. because macy is important to you, and that makes her important to me.”

your heart swells, and you can feel the tears prickling at the corners of your eyes again. you hadn’t expected this, not so soon, and certainly not with such certainty in her voice. 

it’s like lena had already made the decision in her heart before you even started this conversation.

you blink back the tears, swallowing hard as you nod. “i… i didn’t know if you’d feel that way.”

“of course i do,” lena says softly, her thumb gently brushing the back of your hand. 

“i’m not scared off by you being a mom, y/n. it doesn’t make me want this any less.” 

you take a shaky breath, overwhelmed by the depth of her words. “i’ve never had anyone say that to me before,” you admit, your voice barely a whisper. 

“it’s always been the reason people walk away.”

lena’s eyes soften even more, and she moves her chair closer to you, her hand never leaving yours. “well, i’m not them,” she says simply, her voice steady and sure. “i’m here. and i’m not going anywhere.”

the emotions well up in you, and for a moment, you’re speechless. you look down at your joined hands, feeling the weight of the moment settle over you. she’s serious. she’s really serious.

“thank you,” you finally whisper, your voice thick with emotion. “thank you for… for staying.”

lena smiles, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to your temple.

macy, oblivious to the weight of the conversation, leans against your arm, yawning as she starts to doze off. 

you glance down at her, then back at lena, your heart full in a way you hadn’t felt in a long time.

from that moment on, things between you and lena shift. she starts coming over more, spending time not just with you but with macy too. 

at first, macy is a little shy around her, but lena is patient, never pushing too hard, just gently easing her way into your daughter’s life. it doesn’t take long before macy is running to the door to greet lena with a grin, her little arms reaching up for a hug.

the first time macy calls her "obi”,  your heart skips a beat. it's a simple moment—you're all sitting on the floor of your living room, surrounded by toys, when macy tugs on lena's sleeve, her big eyes looking up at her expectantly.

"obi, play?" she asks, holding out a mermaid barbie.

lena grins, taking the truck from macy. "of course liebe."

watching them together, you can't help but smile. it’s becoming clearer each day—lena’s not just here for you. 

she’s here for macy too. sometimes you joke that she is only here for macy.

as the years goes by, lena becomes more and more involved in your life. she starts joining you for bedtime routines, helping with bath time, reading macy her favorite stories as she grows older. 

after lena, macy, and you move into an apartment together— lena is for the tantrums, the messy dinners, the sleepless nights. sometimes, she will take the initiative so you can rest. the more time she spends with macy, the more it feels like she belongs in your little family.

three years after the important conversation, your life with lena feels like a dream. 

macy is five now, full of energy and curiosity, and lena has been there for all of it—every scraped knee, every preschool recital, every bedtime story. your home is filled with laughter and warmth, the life you never imagined you’d have when you were raising macy on your own. 

now, as you sit together on the couch, macy fast asleep in her room, lena leans into you, her fingers tracing patterns on your hand. she’s quiet, more thoughtful than usual, and you can sense something’s on her mind. she glances at the engagement ring on your finger, the same ring you’ve been admiring for months now, and then turns to you with a serious expression.

“i was thinking,” lena says quietly, her voice soft in the dim light.

“about what?” you ask, turning to look at her.

she hesitates for a moment, her hand pausing on your arm. “about macy. and… about us.”

your heart skips a beat, but you keep your voice steady. “what about us?”

“i know it’s still early but…” she says, her voice careful, 

you blink, processing her words. “but…?”

she takes a deep breath. “once we get married i’ll be macy’s stepmom. something i’ve been thinking about for a while. however i don’t want to wait until then. i want to be a mom to macy. if you’ll let me.”

the weight of her words settles over you, and for a moment, you’re speechless. you’d always hoped, deep down, that lena would want to be a part of macy’s life, but hearing her say it out loud—it feels overwhelming in the best possible way.

“i know i’m not her biological mom, and i’ll never try to replace that, but… i love her, y/n. i love both of you. and if you’re ready for that, i’d like to be her mom too.”

the tears you’ve been holding back finally spill over, and you reach up to cup her face, your thumb brushing against her cheek. “we’d love that, obi.” you whisper. “we’d love that.” you repeat in awe.

when macy starts calling her “mama lena,” after she turns six– your heart nearly bursts with love.

macy is seven now, and the bond between her and lena has only grown stronger over the years. she clings to lena in a way that sometimes surprises you—like she’s always seeking her approval or comfort. 

it’s been that way ever since lena officially adopted her after turning thirty-one, and you and lena got married. 

you remember that day so vividly, the moment the judge declared that lena was now macy’s legal mother. the joy on lena’s face, the way macy had leaped into her arms, calling her “mama” with such pure excitement, filled your heart with pride and love.

it wasn’t long after when lena got the call—an offer from chelsea. it was a huge opportunity, one that meant she’d be competing in the women’s super league. after a lot of late-night talks and some serious decision-making, lena accepted the offer, which meant the three of you were moving to london. 

the change was exciting, something fresh and new for all of you. macy was thrilled at the idea of living in a new city, and as for you, the thought of starting a new chapter together made you incredibly happy.

in london, lena is the person macy runs to for almost everything. scraped knees, homework help, even just to ask if she can have a snack—lena is her go-to. most days, it fills you with happiness to see them so close, to know that macy has someone who loves her so much. 

sometimes, like today, you can’t help but feel a little sting.

you’d been in the middle of getting macy ready for school. she was in a hurry as usual, fidgeting in her seat while you knelt to help her tie her shoes. 

before you could finish, she pulled her foot away, laughing. “no, no, mama lena does it better!” she giggled, her bright smile lighting up her face.

you laughed too, even though the words pricked at your heart. “oh, really?” you teased, raising an eyebrow.

“guess i’ll need to practice, huh?”

macy just grinned, her curls bouncing as she wiggled her toes. “yeah, you should! don’t worry, you’re still good at other stuff!”

you smiled, ruffling her hair. “well, i’m glad i’m still useful for something.”

she giggled again, completely unaware of how her innocent words had stirred something in you. 

you shoved the feeling aside quickly, focusing instead on making her laugh as you pretended to dramatically fumble with her shoes. her laughter filled the room, her curls tumbling down her back as she leaned forward in her chair, watching you with bright eyes. 

it wasn’t until you were dropping her off at school that the feeling crept back in, like a quiet ache in the pit of your stomach.

it wasn’t that you were jealous—at least, you didn’t think you were. you loved that macy and lena were so close. you’d always hoped that one day macy would have a strong bond with lena, and seeing it unfold so naturally had been like a dream come true. 

still, moments like this made you wonder if you were slowly being edged out, if macy was starting to see lena as the “cool” mom while you were just… the other one that happened to look like her.

you tried not to dwell on it too much. lena had been nothing but supportive, always making sure you knew how important you were to both of them. and really, you were happy. 

lena had embraced being a mother to macy in every way—going to parent-teacher conferences, staying up late to help with school projects, even helping macy with her football in-between training at chelsea. 

that was another thing: football.

macy had recently started showing a serious interest in the sport, much to lena’s delight. she idolized her mama, always asking about drills and tactics, begging to go to practice with her. 

one afternoon, after watching one of lena’s games, macy had turned to you both, her eyes wide with excitement. 

“i want to play football too!” she’d said, bouncing on her toes.

lena’s face had lit up with pride. “you do, huh? well, we can definitely make that happen.”

since then, lena had been working on getting macy into training, talking to coaches and setting up practice sessions in your backyard. you’d watch them sometimes, lena patiently teaching macy how to pass the ball, how to position herself. 

the way macy looked up at lena, so full of admiration, always made you smile. you were thrilled that your daughter had someone like lena to look up to, someone who could teach her the things you never could.

and yet, in the quieter moments, when macy would run to lena after a long day, her arms wrapping tightly around her waist, you couldn’t help but feel a tiny pang of sadness. it wasn’t that macy didn’t love you—she did, of course.

there was something different about the way she clung to lena, like lena was her whole world. you couldn’t blame her. lena was a natural with her, always knowing just the right thing to say or do to make macy feel safe and loved.

you’d catch yourself watching them sometimes, a soft smile on your face as you listened to their conversations, the easy way they communicated without needing to say much. you’d hide your feelings behind a joke, like the time macy had joked about lena being better at making breakfast, and you’d playfully said, “well, guess i’ll just stick to making the coffee then.” macy had laughed, and you’d felt the sting lessen, pushing it to the back of your mind.

around this time, you and lena had started talking more seriously about having another child. 

this time, you would carry, using lena’s egg along with a donor. you’d been through a few consultations, and after what felt like a whirlwind of planning and waiting, the IVF procedure was finally successful. 

you were pregnant with another little girl.

the joy that filled your heart was indescribable. the idea of adding to your family, of giving macy a sibling, was something you’d dreamed about for so long. and now, with the news confirmed, it was time to tell macy. 

you weren’t sure how she’d react—she’d always been so used to being the only one, the center of attention. but you were hopeful that she’d be excited.

one evening, you and lena sat macy down, her favorite blanket draped over her lap as she snuggled on the couch between you. lena’s arm was around your shoulders, her hand resting gently on your belly, already slightly swollen with the new life growing inside.

“munchkin,” lena said softly, looking at macy with a warm smile. “we have some big news for you.”

macy looked up, her curiosity piqued.

“what is it?”

you took a deep breath, smiling as you leaned forward a little. “you’re going to be a big sister, sweetheart.”

macy’s eyes widened, and for a moment, she just stared at you, her mind clearly racing to process what you’d said. 

“a big sister?” she repeated, her voice uncertain.

“that’s right,” lena added, squeezing your shoulder gently. “there’s a baby in here.” she gestured to your belly. “a little sister for you.”

macy’s face scrunched up, her expression a mix of confusion and hesitation. “but… i like being the only one,” she admitted, her voice small.

you shared a glance with lena, both of you understanding her hesitation. “we know, sweetheart,” you said gently. 

“and you’ll always be our first, our special girl. but having a sister means you’ll have someone to play with, someone who’ll look up to you, someone who’ll need your help.”

macy was quiet for a moment, clearly thinking about what you’d said. her little fingers twisted in the edge of her blanket, her brow furrowed as she processed the news. you could tell she wasn’t sure how to feel.

“and you’ll still get to do everything you love,” lena added. “football, school, everything. this just means there will be more love in the house. and maybe, when she’s old enough, you can teach her some football moves.”

macy’s eyes brightened a little at that, the idea of teaching someone something she loved appealing to her. “i get to teach her football?”

you smiled, nodding. “absolutely. you’re going to be the best big sister ever.”

slowly, macy’s frown faded, replaced by a tentative smile. “okay,” she said, her voice soft but a little more certain. 

“i’ll be the best big sister ever. but only if i get to teach her football.”

lena laughed, pulling macy into a tight hug. “deal.”

and just like that, your family took another step forward, your heart full of love as you prepared for the next chapter in your lives—together.

masterlist

[razorblade180]

Ekko Location

Ekko:*thousand yard stare*….

Caitlyn:(Should I tell him? No, false hope doesn’t do any good. Especially in this case.) *looks left*

Giant mural of Jinx

Caitlyn:….Ekko?

Ekko:What could you possibly want after everything?

Caitlyn:Hopefully, an olive branch. I have to tell you something but you have to promise to not get your hopes up, or tell Vi. This is something I’m trusting with you specifically.

Ekko:And how in the world did I get such an honor?

Caitlyn:Because if it wasn’t for one act of kindness, I’d be in your shoes right now.

Ekko:…What do you have to tell me?

xxxxxx

One month later. Somewhere across the water, in a nice quaint land known for its view of the ocean and mountains, a cloaked girl bobs her head to music as she roams the back alleys streets without a care in her mind.

Jinx: 🎶Do you ever wanna catch me?Right now I'm feeling ignored. *turns corner*

Jinx:So can you try a little harder? I'm really getting bor-

Ekko:*cloaked* !?….

Jinx:…..(Just when I thought I’ve wrangled all the voices. This is a low blow, me.) *closes eyes* (Just gonna breathe in and-)

Ekko:*grabs her wrist*

Jinx’s eyes immediately shoot open to see him right in front of her. She starts looking back, forth, everywhere; her thoughts trying to rationalize this moment because what do you mean he’s real!?

Jinx:Y- wha- how? How!? Fuck everything else. How?

Ekko:Let’s just say someone offered me a little hope. Honestly it was more like wishful thinking.

Jinx:Ekko, that’s not a “how” at all! You left Zaun to chase wishful thinking? That’s alone is crazy, but not as crazy as you actually finding me! I could’ve gone in any direction and stopped anywhere yet somehow you’re right here searching in the correct city? Gasps Did you put something in me?!

Ekko:What? No! Jinx, we used to spend literal hours talking about all the places we wanted go; the sight ls you wanted to see. Sometimes you rambled so much I never got a word in to say mine!

Jinx:So you’re telling you just remembered all that ramble and started flying to the places I yapped about!? Who the heck remembers stuff like that!?

Ekko:Me!! Since when have I ever forgotten anything!? Especially stuff about you!?

The girl was too stunned to speak. Ekko told no lies and he had a point, however, what the hell? How was she supposed to respond to that? She told absolutely nobody that she was leaving and left no trace, yet somehow wishful thinking from probably the world’s most annoying enforcer and childhood memories was enough for Ekko to find her in a little over a month. Jinx could only squint at him in disbelief. Sure, she could definitely break free of grip and make a break for it, yet this moment only gave her the strength to exhale tiredly before him.

Jinx:Anyone else know?

Ekko:Nope. You think people have time to chase hypotheticals?

Jinx:So you just left??

Ekko:Told them I needed some air. Had to move quickly. You don’t exactly stay in one place for long.

Jinx:…..Alright. Out with it. I know you have some rehearsed lecture and rant you’ve prepared in case you actually somehow weren’t crazy and found m-

Ekko:*hugs her* I can tell at you later.

Jinx:You really just might be crazier than me.

Her entire body relaxed as she finally put her arms around him. Despite all odds, he really was right here. Leave it the Boy Savior to yet again foil her schemes.

Jinx:At this point I should call you Ekko Location or something.

Ekko:I this point, I should put a fucking bell on you.

Jinx:I’d still get away.

Ekko:And I’d find you again.

Jinx:Heh, yeah. *hugs tightly* You would, wouldn’t you?

[gilbirda]

House limped into the hospital and immediately tried to turn around to leave.

"House!"

He froze, knowing that Cuddy would follow him to the deepest pit of hell if needed. It was her most annoying trait.

"House—"

"Well, good day to you too, Cuddy." He sighed, leaning on his cane. People walked past, barely giving them a glance. He noticed a folder in her hands. "You have a gift for me?"

"I have a job for you."

He lifted an eyebrow. "Is this you finally snapping and firing me? I thought I was your favorite doctor."

"You are not," she snapped, pushing the folder to his chest, "and you are not fired. Yet." She added with a pointed look. "I already spoke to your team, they will take over your patient for today."

"I have a patient."

"Had. Now you don't." Cuddy turned around, looking over her shoulder. "the car will pick you in fifteen minutes."

Car? House didn't open the folder, trying to gauge what could have happened to make Cuddy get rid of her best doctor this quickly. Money, probably. Specially since a car was going to pick him up.

Some rich dude with an ouchie needed a private doctor? Sure. He could do this.

In and out. Piece of cake.

***

It was not a piece of cake.

Mostly because this was the most uncooperative patient he had. Ever.

"Where were you when the... accident happened?"

He was trying his best, promise. The moment the car picked him up, an expensive black Mercedes being driven by an actual modern day butler, House knew that he was right. Some rich guy was willing to pay crazy amount of money to have Gregory House do a house call. Well, a mansion call.

But the guy was not giving him anything to work with.

Also his whole damn family was hovering and he couldn't think!

"I was camping."

It was a lie, of course. But Bruce goddamn Wayne had asked for him, personally, to be brought all the way to Gotham to treat him. Why was he being so uncooperative?

"We think it's some kind of poison." The elder son, whose name he had already mocked enough times that it stopped being funny, interjected. Somehow he make House miss Chase.

"You think."

They had a lot of thoughts. Thoughts they kept talking about.

He couldn't hear himself think.

House took a deep breath, tapped the fancy wooden floor with his cane. "Look," he looked at Bruce in the eye, "I know you are lying. I don't know what you are, but I understand if there is some kind of... double life you rather not say. A dark secret," he lifted his eyebrows, "maybe something you do a night?"

Of course he knew this man was the Dark Knight of Gotham himself. It wasn't hard, if you were paying attention. Even Foreman would have been able to figure it out.

Mr. Wayne's facial expression hardened. Even in a lot of pain and probably with more broken bones he admitted to, he tried to intimidate him.

"You won't—"

"I don't care about any of that, of course." House twirled his cane, glancing at the circus hanging around them with bated breath. Probably the rest of the superhero gang. "I only care about whatever is wrong with you. Apart from the whole dressing as a furry and beating the shit out of people for fun," he shrugged, "but I've met rich people with weirdest hobbies, so. More morbid curiosity that professional concern."

He let his cane down and tapped it again, watching Bruce Wayne's expressions change at high speed.

"Now, will you be honest with me or are you going to keep wasting everyone's time?"

i need Dr. House to be Batman's temporary doctor for a month while Dr. Leslie Tompkins is recovering from some sort of rogue activity.

[elseishollow]

✶┈ GOOD GRIEF — FIYERO TIGELAAR

synopsis: fiyero seeks refuge from a rather dull event at Shiz, but you don’t find him charming, do you?

pairings: movie!fiyero tigelaar x gn!reader

warnings: nothing but fluff. relationship is… undefined? yeah, we’ll go with that. this is entirely going off the movie by the way. this was made on a whim and I had no idea where this was actually going, so be nice.

The room was alive with the sound of muffled chatter, the scrape of chairs on wood, and the faint clatter of cutlery. You stood at the far end of the hall, leaning against a tall window frame, fiddling idly with the stem of your glass. The evening sun painted the room in warm hues, but your peace was interrupted when you felt an unmistakable presence too close to your side.

“Ah, there you are,” Fiyero announced as if he’d been searching for hours, though he couldn’t have missed you. The room wasn’t that big. “I need your help. Immediate help. Dire circumstances.”

You arched an eyebrow. “Dire? What did you do this time?”

He stepped closer, his hands fluttering mid-air. “Absolutely nothing. Yet. Which is precisely the problem. I have no idea what they’re talking about at my table, but they keep looking at me as if I’m meant to contribute something… intellectual.”

You bit back a laugh, tucking it behind a smirk. “And you came to me because…?”

He tilted his head, feigning an innocent expression. “Because you’re clever. And you’ve got that look about you. People believe you when you talk.” His hand waved vaguely in the direction of your face, and his lips curled into a teasing grin. “You know, all… knowing and intimidating.”

You gave a dry laugh, shaking your head. “So, what? You want me to save you from the unbearable burden of conversation?”

“Exactly.” He stepped even closer, now entirely invading your space. He smelled faintly of warm spices and fresh air, like he’d been wandering outside before arriving. “Just say something about, I don’t know, books? Politics? Trees? I’ll nod along like I’ve had an epiphany, and they’ll think I’ve got layers.”

Your lips twitched. “You? Layers?”

“Rude.” He placed a hand dramatically over his heart, though his grin only widened. “I do have layers. You just need to dig. Maybe with a small shovel.”

You rolled your eyes, setting your glass down on the nearby table. “If I help you, will you stop hovering?”

“Am I hovering?” he asked, his voice drenched in mock confusion.

“Yes. Always.” You nudged him lightly in the chest with your hand, but he didn’t move back. Instead, he caught your wrist in his hand, a glint of mischief flickering in his eyes.

“See, that’s the problem with you,” he said, his thumb brushing against the inside of your wrist as if entirely unaware of the intimacy of the gesture. “You act all exasperated, but deep down, you like having me around. Admit it.”

“I will never admit that,” you shot back, yanking your wrist free, though your voice lacked conviction.

He laughed. a soft, rich sound that somehow made the world feel a little lighter. “That’s alright. I’ll stick around until you do.”

You groaned, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Fiyero, go back to your table before someone notices you’ve disappeared.”

“They probably think I’ve wandered off to study bark or something,” he said, shrugging. Then, leaning in, close enough that you could see the specks of gold in his eyes, he added, “Which, honestly, sounds far more interesting than this dinner.” His eyes flickered to your lips, then back to your eyes, a slight smile tugging at his mouth.

He was very close now, so close that you could feel the heat of him, his breath just barely brushing your skin. You weren’t sure if you wanted to look away or stay right where you are. And for a moment, you almost asked him what he meant. But before you could, he leaned back and straightened. Now fully smiling like knew exactly what he was doing and grabbed the glass you’d abandoned moments ago.

"Anyway," he said casually, “I’m stealing this,” raising it as if to toast you. “Because you’ve left me no choice.”

You blinked, lips parted slightly in disbelief and amusement, your hands unconsciously lifting as if to gesture at the entire situation.

“Unbelievable,” you muttered, watching as he sauntered back to his table, moving through chairs with a lack of spatial awareness that made several people flinch and move their drinks out of harm’s way.

Just before he sat down, he turned and shot you a lopsided grin, raising your glass in a silent, triumphant toast.

And against your better judgment, you found yourself smiling back.

notes: i’ll try and go through my requests inbox as soon as I can!! thank u to those who left a few :)

[zara-renata]

Before you came, things were as they should be | ao3 | masterlist

Summary: You spend a lot of time wrestling with questions of morality, there's more poetry because the author has no self control, you may or may not burn out Mephisto's eye optics with your antics trying to provoke Sylus, Noah and the twins drag you to the club.

Notes: Sylus x gn reader, Sylus x mc, second person POV This story contains: profanity, alcohol use, mc with self esteem issues, nudity

This is how it goes.

You watch Sylus as he moves around the kitchen, the dark marble counters gleaming in the soft light, the fire crackling in the huge fireplace, his fortress a yacht in a sea of desolation.

His hands are strong, sure, as they slice vegetables, as they slice meat, as they flip colorful medleys of ingredients in the carbon steel wok.

He leans over the corner of the island, where you’re perched on one of the black leather barstools, offering you his pinky dripping with sauce. “Taste.”

You watch him as you lean forward, wrap your lips around his finger, let your tongue run along his skin, obeying him and tasting the sauce. When you’ve sucked it clean, you continue watching him, the sweep of his soft white hair, the flush in his pale cheeks, his eyes on your lips, your lips wrapped around his finger.

You’ve been focusing on all the wrong things. You’ve been paying attention to all the wrong things.

Sylus has all but admitted that you are his beloved. That you are the one he adores, the one he has been trying to win over. You would be mad about his manipulation, if you didn’t also recognize that you wouldn’t have believed him, three days ago, that you are who he wants to convince of the sincerity of his intentions. You wonder if Sylus’s evol can manipulate time—every second here in his home feels like the equivalent of a year in the outside world. You wonder if the changes you feel in yourself, the changes in the way you’re looking at him, are a result of time being sped up somehow without you realizing it. 

You’ve been so wrapped up in your pain, in your fear, that you’ve let your fear of the end, your fear of rejection, your guilt, your unworthiness—you’ve let all these things distract you. It’s easy to wallow. It’s much, much harder to open your eyes and look.

You should have died when Caleb died.

You probably should have died before your memories begin—who knows what caused you to lose your childhood? What accident led to you being taken in by your grandmother’s lab, your heart fodder for experimentation, because you shouldn’t have lived anyway?

Expendable. Your whole life, expendable—your mangled heart the byproduct of that expendability—and yet Caleb is the one who is dead.

But you didn’t die. You didn’t die in whatever calamity took your parents. And if they weren’t killed, then you didn’t die when your parents abandoned you—what do you know? You know only fear, guilt, a lack of memory, and now—with Sylus playing records for you, playing the piano for you, providing you with poetry in his library—now you’re full of, if not memory, then familiarity. What do you know? 

Nothing. Too much. Not enough.

You watch Sylus. You want to see him, without fear, without awe, without judgment. He said he’d give you time. You weren’t ready to acknowledge that you are who he wants, despite the mounting evidence that he has never lied to you. But he also hasn’t told you the whole truth, has he? Sylus, the master of the fine print.

The question is: if you are Sylus’s beloved, why?

And if you are Sylus’s beloved, what are you willing to accept in order to return his feelings?

You think of the executioners singing their joyful songs.

The refugees going nowhere.

The ships whose fate is salty oblivion.

You watch Sylus, whose lovely finger slips from between your lips. You watch his big hands, and think of them letting blood diamonds carelessly clatter to the floor as so much of the world starves.

What does it mean to love a man like Sylus Qin? What does it make you, if you want to be loved by a man like Sylus Qin?

You watch him as he pops his finger into his own mouth, despite it being clean from your tongue. His nostrils flair. “The verdict?” he asks.

“It’s good. Not too salty. Nice umami,” you murmur, honestly. Sylus is a good cook. You wonder where his chef is. Why you haven’t seen any other staff that he has to have in order to maintain a house of this size in the clean, meticulously kept state that it’s currently in. Not like when you first met him, with dust coating everything.

“Oh, nice umami, huh?” he teases you.

“You’re not the only one who can say pretentious shit.” You lean over the counter, stretching your body, resting your cheek on the cool marble. You watch him watching you, his eyes tracking your chest, your waist, before they slide back up to meet your eyes.

You don’t feel worthy of his eyes on you. This feeling is compounded by the fact that this man is opposed to everything you’ve spent your career working to fight. You aren’t worthy of the man and wanting the man, makes you more unworthy still.

What would Caleb say, if he saw you with Sylus’s fingers in your mouth? His wealth wrested from the hands of the dead, clothing your body, filling your belly, soothing your tired, hurting soul?

But Caleb’s dead too. He doesn’t have anything to say at all, anymore.

“A penny for your thoughts,” Sylus says, watching you watching him. He must see something in the expression of your face.

“Only a penny? Why are the rich the stingiest fuckers of all?” you ask without heat.

“I don’t know the value of your thoughts. What if I offer my heart in payment, only to find out that you’re thinking about indigestion, or the latest plot twist in Super Hunters?” he asks, turning away, spooning fluffy, fragrant rice into a pretty little black bowl, heaping the stir fried meat and vegetables, with the delicious sauce, over the rice.

“I would hope that even my most inane thoughts are worth more than a penny to a person who properly values me,” you say, taking the bowl and the chopsticks he offers you. You say this, while not believing it. You don’t dare hope for the knowledge of your indigestion to be of value to anyone but yourself. But for the people you care about—you would want to get Xavier Tums if he had a stomachache. Get Tara a hangover remedy if she’s too hungover to move. Make Rafayel a snack while he whines melodramatically on the couch in his studio after having been so wrapped up in completing a painting that he forgot to eat.

Sylus pours sake into little cups, slides one over to you before turning and plating food for himself. “Ah, kitten is in a contemplative, belligerent mood tonight. How about I offer you a tour of my favorite part of the greenhouse in exchange for your current thoughts?” he asks serenely, joining you at the counter. 

“You already promised me that,” you say, just to vex him.

“Driving a hard bargain tonight, darling.” He sips the sake, closes his eyes, savors. “What can I do to cheer you up?”

“Just tolerate me when I’m like this,” you say honestly. It’s not his fault that he is who he is. That his wealth, his manner of approaching the world, his appreciation of the mutilated world poses such a conundrum for you. You suspect that he has his reasons for doing what he does, for how he does it. You think of the sense of loss you felt hearing The long and winding road. The piano piece he composed. The sense of familiarity that his touch brings when his fingers are gliding along your skin.

You wonder again what he was like as a little boy. What he must have survived to be this bored, cynical, cruel man.

You already feel unworthy of the good things in life. Of the accolades of being a successful hunter. Of having lived, when Caleb died. It’s not Sylus’s fault that you look at everything he has to offer and wonder what you will have to sacrifice in order to fully accept him. You're unworthy, and ungrateful.

As you watch him watching you, as you revel in the glow of his eyes, the uneven slope of his nose, his big lovely mouth—but more importantly, the softness in his gaze as he watches you watching him—you already know how it ends.

This is how it goes.

You sleep the sleep of the dead. One of the things you cruelly, unfairly, envy Caleb for. Because he’s at peace. He’s not hurting anymore. All the sorrows and cruelty of surviving in this world are behind him. Or they had better be. You can’t bear to believe in a universe cruel enough that even the dead know no peace.

You sleep the sleep of the dead. Sylus provides this for you, most nights. Wrapped in his arms. Underneath him. Spooning his big body, your arm thrown over his waist, when you wake in the middle of the night and find that he's too far away. You fall back asleep almost instantly.

As the days pass, as Sylus follows you like a shadow, and the nights which are actually days slip by without another night terror, without the endless hallways of your gran’s house, without falling to your death, you feel that you’re steadily growing stronger. Rested. Your broken pieces knitting back together, if a little jaggedly.

You know that there are some wounds that will never heal.

Your guilt that Caleb died, while you survived. Your jealousy that Caleb died, while you have to live. Your jagged pieces still rub against each other unpleasantly at times, even as you physically heal. But you feel more alert. Physically, you are stronger than you’ve been in months.

You’ve only been here a week, but already you feel like you’ve been gone from your normal life for months, years.

Your feet heal. Whatever balm Sylus rubs along your soles each night must contain something priceless with how quickly your skin knits back together.

You try to give Sylus space. You don’t want him to tire of you too quickly, after all.

Every time he gets a phone call, you leave the room. You wander to other parts of the house. Mephisto follows you each time. And each time, Sylus finds you again. No matter what you’re doing, he joins you. In the theater room, starting a film that you plucked from his collection. He stretches out on the couch, pulls you alongside him, spoons you from behind. The film is in black and white, and it takes its time telling the story. You don’t mean to, but you fall asleep. He’s there when you wake up.

One time, you drift to the gym and find the twins in the boxing ring, pummeling the shit out of each other. You have a feeling the twins chose the decor in the gym, because it looks like a video game streamer’s ideal setup in terms of lighting. The twins are shirtless, well-muscled torsos slick with sweat reflecting the LED lighting ringing the edges of the ceiling which changes colors every few minutes, a constantly morphing rainbow. Screens line the walls showing various athletic competitions as well as video game tournaments. 

You turn and find Noah on a stair stepper facing the boxing ring. She’s sweating, her braids pulled back and up and held in place with a wide colorful cloth headband.

“Wanna join? Are your feet up for it?” she asks, eyes flicking between you and the twins. Kieran lands a punch to Luke’s stomach that has him doubling over, laughing breathlessly.

“Nice,” he pants, before wrapping his arms around Kieran’s torso and ramming him into the ropes. Kieran shoves him to the mat, and they wrestle for a while, grunting and laughing. They sound like they’re having the time of their lives.

“My feet may be, but not the rest of me. How are you not bored out of your mind on that thing?” you ask her. You’ve always hated cardio machines like the stair stepper, the treadmill, the elliptical. You’d rather run outside, Caleb at your side. Or lift weights, loud music and the strain on your muscles distractions from the monotony of the workout.

“Knowing my fine ass is only getting finer keeps me going,” she grins at you. She glances back at the twins. “The view isn’t awful, either. Not that I’d tell them that again though.”

“Oh?” 

“Luke’s ace, and I don’t wanna creep him out.”

You stare at her.

“Don’t look at me like that. I’m a car thief, not a creep. I'm appreciating art now, nothing else.”

“I didn’t say anything,” you laugh. You watch Kieran and Luke for a while longer when a thought occurs to you. “Will you tell me now what you meant by not doing Sylus’s work for him?”

“Oh, yeah, I guess it doesn’t matter if you know now.” She pants a little, adjusts the speed of the stair stepper. “I’m not Sylus’s driver. Can you imagine that man letting anyone else drive his big ass around?”

The way she worded that sentence makes you imagine a driver just carting Sylus’s ass, and only his ass, around in a wagon. It could use its own zip code, so you don’t think the imagery is that absurd but you still have to stifle a laugh. “Not really, no. I can’t see him trusting someone enough to do the job as well as he thinks he can,” you say drily.

“Yeah, exactly.”

You gaze up at her. “So?” You prompt, when it’s clear that she’s gotten a little distracted by Kieran downing a water bottle, the water spilling over his mouth and down his broad chest and splattering onto the sweaty mat.

She looks back at you, not looking at all ashamed at being caught gawking. “You’re supposed to be a detective or some shit. So detect. Who do you think I’m supposed to be driving around?”

You think back to the argument she and Luke had while you were having a mounting anxiety attack about the bet. On standby in case the hunter wants to go anywhere.

“Sylus hired you to drive me around?” you ask, stunned.

“Ding ding ding, there’s hope for you yet.” She rolls her eyes. 

“When?” you ask, trying to wrap your mind around this fact. Sylus only ever came to your place, before the night he asked you to Amnesia. You’re perfectly capable of driving yourself anywhere, on either two or four wheels. Why would he think you need a driver?

“The other night at Amnesia.”

“So he had just hired you when I saw you for the first time?”

She nods serenely, back to looking at the twins. 

“But why?”

“I’m just the driver, ask your scary boyfriend,” she says distractedly.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you protest. 

She looks down at you incredulously. “Does he know that?”

“What?”

“The way that man carries you around like a damned koala is not friendly. It’s boyfriendly. Or like, obsessively. Also, he hired me and hasn’t made me do anything at all. I am getting paid more than I ever have in my life, I have paid holiday, insurance, holiday bonuses, and all he asks is that I’m available anytime you need a ride or a getaway driver. Would the scary-ass motherfucking leader of Onychinus do that for just anyone?”

You just gawk at her. 

At the look on your face, she snorts. “That poor bastard must have the worst case of blue balls in the history of men who love clueless idiots. Truly, the duality of man. Sinister overlord of the N109 Zone on the one hand, a helpless simp on the other.”

“Okay, okay, no need to call anyone names,” you mumble, reeling from this information. Why Sylus thinks you would trust anyone to drive your ass around any more than he would allow anyone to drive him around is beyond you. But the thought is so fucking sweet, even if you don’t understand what he’s thinking at all.

After a few minutes of sitting with Noah in companionable silence, Sylus finds you in the gym. He nods to Noah and opens his arms. “Come, I’m hungry.” You stare at him for a moment, thinking about what Noah just told you.

You have no idea how long I’ve already waited.

But why won’t he kiss you? What if Noah is wrong too?

You walk into his arms, let him lift you and carry you out of the gym. Noah mouths Boyfriend at you as you meet her amused look over Sylus’s broad shoulder.

This is how it goes.

Another day, after yet another phone call, you wander back to the library, pull out more poetry. You stare at the twisting wrought-iron staircase. He told you to explore, didn’t he?

Before you take the first step, you test a theory. “Fire,” you order, and the fireplace roars to life. You stare into the flames. The house recognizes your face. It recognizes your voice. Mephisto watches you from a perch in the corner of the library, ruby eyes glittering. You watch him in return. You think about Sylus watching you through all those long weeks after he released you from his home after the auction, through Mephisto, through the twins. What did he see when he looked at you? The dark circles under your eyes. Your clumsiness in battle from the endless insomnia, the injuries. Your solitude, even when surrounded by people. What do you have to offer such a man? Why was he looking then, and why is he looking now?

You approach Mephisto, clutching the book in one hand. “May I?” you ask. He caws softly, a terrible little sound. You run your hand along the soft feathers along his back and he lets you. 

You step back, and he tilts his head.

The library is warm. Warmer than the rest of the cold hallways. It wasn’t this warm when Sylus first showed you the space. 

You stare at Mephisto, who stares at you in return. Sylus will use him to find out where you are, when he’s done with his phone call. As he found you in the pool.

He licked cinnamon and sugar from the side of your mouth. He bit your lip. He pushed your hand away when you touched the tie of his pants. His body responds to you, but he does not acknowledge it.

If you’re his beloved, what is stopping him, when you can’t hide your emotions from him at all? Surely he can see the want all over you when he’s near.

You think about his hands, soaked in blood. Blood diamonds clinking on a cold marble floor. His signature bombs bringing down buildings while people are inside, the collateral damage a price he’s willing to pay with other peoples’ lives.

You reach down with one hand, clumsily lift the hem of your sweater, pull it over your head. You’re wearing a tight tank top underneath.

You turn, set the book on a table in the soft pool of light from one of the colorful stained glass lamps. You shimmy out of your sweat pants. You place your sweater and your pants on the table, neatly. You turn and face Mephisto again, watch him watching you, as you stand in your underwear in the warmth of the library.

After a moment, you turn again, and softly pad up the winding wrought-iron staircase.

At the top, it’s warm. Heat rises. It’s a sort of crow’s nest, a lighthouse, a lookout. Windows in a three-hundred-sixty-degree circle, a pinnacle of Sylus’s home. You see the greenhouse sprawling into the distance below. The barren N109 Zone wasteland in one direction, its cityscape in the other. Lining the little circular room under the windows is a soft bench seat, almost all the way around. Pillows and blankets. This is a reading room at the top of the world. You can breathe. The red moon is waning, less full than when you first arrived, but its light still fills the room, blankets everything in softly sinister light. The flap of Mephisto’s wings alert you to the fact that he has followed as you knew he would. You watch him for a moment, wondering if Sylus is looking yet, and then stretch out on your stomach along the curving window seat, resting on your elbows, your legs bent and crossed at the ankles in the air. You begin to read.

You lose yourself in the poetry.

After a while—it could be a few minutes, it could be hours, time feels like it has no meaning here after all—Mephisto flutters his wings and suddenly a swirl of scarlet and ink flows up the stairs and winds around your ankles, cuffing them together. The mist flows under your elbows and stomach, and you’re gently lifted until the tendrils solidify underneath you. Where before you were leisurely reading on your stomach, now you’re draped across Sylus’s lap and he has both of your ankles in one big hand.

You just drop your head onto your open book and laugh a little helplessly.

“Well, are you going to read to me or just continue to laugh?” Sylus asks, as if him appearing underneath you is perfectly normal and requires no further comment.

“And if I’m just going to keep laughing at your theatrics?” you tease him.

He rests one big hand on the back of your naked thigh, runs his palm up, up, until it rests just under your ass. “I don’t mind this position at all. Keep laughing, see what happens.”

You laugh again, and wiggle on his lap. “Empty threats,” you taunt him. He grunts, softly, and then squeezes your thigh almost to the point of pain, in what seems to be an attempt to get you to stop moving.

Your heart sinks a little. He doesn’t want this flirtation from you. You all but invited him to slap your ass, to do something. Noah is wrong. Maybe his idea of a beloved is someone on a pedestal, whom he simply wants to admire like an interesting accessory, a collectible that he never takes out of the box. What the fuck do you know?

You give up. 

“Do you want me to read to you?” you ask, trying to crane your neck so you can look back into his face.

“Don’t strain yourself,” he scolds you, lifting you with his evol. You’re weightless, suspended before him, before you’re gently turned, spun from your stomach until you’re floating on your back. His evol sets you down again, this time with your head in his lap, and you can look up into his face comfortably. He graces you with a slight smile, one corner of his mouth lifted. “And yes. Read to me.”

You watch him, watching you. He makes no comment about the fact that you’ve taken off half your clothes. You wonder what he sees when he looks at you.

You think of how warm his lap is underneath you. How he now rests one of his hands on your bare thigh, caresses it with a calloused thumb.

You think about his trigger finger along your skin, and wonder how many people he’s killed with it.

What kind of person does it make you, that you want his hand with its calloused thumb and trigger finger to drift up, up, to where your thighs meet, and have them live there. Despite all evidence pointing to the fact that he does not want to touch you in that way.

You think about Noah saying that Luke is asexual. You wonder if Sylus is too. If he cares for you, but will never be interested in physical intimacy, can you live with that?

And how do you return to your job hunting men like him, with the memory of his hands on your skin?

What would Caleb say if he saw you now, spread out along this most wanted criminal’s lap, yearning for more of his hands, for his mouth, for his everything?

You begin to read.

Before you came, things were as they should be: the sky was the dead-end of sight, the road was just a road, wine merely wine. 

You stop. You have never read Faiz before. You wonder what the original language sounds like to a native speaker, if it’s different from the translation you’re now reciting. The translation itself is gorgeous in its simplicity.

This time, Sylus doesn’t tease. He doesn’t rush you. He just watches you as you read, as you pause, as you let the words soak into your skin.

You continue, Now everything is like my heart, a color at the edge of blood: the grey of your absence, the color of poison, of thorns, the gold when we meet, the season ablaze, the yellow of autumn, the red of flowers, of flames, and the black when you cover the earth with the coal of dead fires.… You have to stop again. You’ve never read this poem before. It’s not familiar to you in a way that the Zagajewsky collection was. But this poem speaks to you in a way that all good poetry does—describing a universal experience in ways that render the experience new to you again. You continue for a few more lines— And the sky, the road, the glass of wine? The sky is a shirt wet with tears, the road a vein about to break, and the glass of wine a mirror in which the sky, the road, the world keep changing.

The more you read, the more your heart hurts. Sylus seems to sense your distress. He begins to caress your hair.

Don't leave now that you're here — Stay. So the world may become like itself again: so the sky may be the sky, the road a road, and the glass of wine not a mirror, just a glass of wine.

“The end,” you whisper. You set the book down on your chest and just stare up into Sylus’s face.

“Are you a fan of Faiz?” he asks, still caressing your hair. You turn your face into his stomach and breathe in the scent of his warm skin, the softness of his sweater.

“I had never even heard of him until I found his book on your shelf today.”

“Do you like what you’ve read so far?”

You think about what a vein feels like when it’s about to break—you know that feeling all too well. You think about what it feels like when Sylus is not in the same room with you, not touching you with his blood-soaked hands. You think about how, no matter how this ends, you’ll never be able to drink another glass of wine without seeing him, the sky with the blood moon looming, the road littered with corpses that leads to and away from him, in its reflection.

“I do, very much.”

He just smiles down at you, faintly, watching you watching him.

“And you? Is this one you’ve read, or one for the future?”

“One of my favorites.”

“What other poems from him do you like? I can read them to you.”

Instead of agreeing like you expect, he turns his head, gazes through the windows with the night spilling into this crow’s nest at the top of the world. He squints, continues to run his hands along your hair, the curve of your cheek, and starts to recite in his low, soft voice.

When whatever you want to do cannot be done,

When nothing is of any use;

—At this hour when night comes down,

When night comes, dragging its long face,

dressed in mourning...

He shifts his gaze, looks down into your face,

Be with me,

My tormenter, my love, be near me.

He grows quiet, but his fingers still drift along your skin. “I have them memorized. You can ask me to recite them for you in the future, if you’d like.”

“I'd like that," you whisper. Clear your throat. "Is that the whole poem?" you ask.

He shakes his head a little. "No, just the last few lines."

"More surprises from the boogeyman of the N109 Zone,” you say, instead of surging up and kissing him, sucking his poetry-soaked tongue into your mouth, feasting on him, your tormenter, your—

He ignores your taunt, and probably the look of naked want all over your face. “I’m pleased, though not surprised that you like his work.” He smirks a little, as if daring you to ask why he’s not surprised.

Kindred spirits.

You don’t need to ask. 

“Did your phone call end okay?” you ask instead.

“Yes.” He doesn’t elaborate.  “Did we get bored with our clothes, kitten?” he asks instead, eyes drifting from your face to your chest, your bare legs.

“It was warm in here,” you say, watching, watching. “Problem?”

His eyes flick back to your face. He runs his fingers up, just as you had imagined, but right as they reach the edge of your underwear, they reverse direction, drift down again.

If you are his beloved, why won’t he take what you are clearly offering? He has already taken so much without asking, without permission. You are still here. You can’t bring yourself to take from him first—or to offer first, any more obviously than this. What if you’re wrong?

“No,” he says, simply.

 You stare into his eyes, and he stares back. You want him. You want more than his hands on your skin. More than his eyes on you. More than his voice in your ears. You want to be inside him. You want him inside you. You remember a kiss that never happened, and you can taste it. Your mouth waters.

He leans down, his soft hair falling over his forehead, and you resist the urge to lean up, to meet him. “Do you want to keep reading?” he asks.

You shake your head.

He leans down even further, his big body curved over you, his breath warm—coffee and toothpaste. “What, then?”

Kiss me. Swallow me. Don’t turn me away.

“Your favorite part of the greenhouse,” you say, arching your back, suppressing a whine of irritation that he’s so close, that he’s asking you what you want to do, instead of doing what you’re clearly asking him to do.

“Still not ready to go out?” he murmurs, slipping a hand underneath the arch of your back, big palm splayed over and across your spine, pulling you up. The movement brings your face up, up, and he runs his nose against yours.

“Why? Getting bored?” Your heart stutters at the thought. Not yet. He can’t be bored yet. You haven’t had enough. Not nearly enough.

“Far from it.” With his hand on your back, he straightens, pulling you with him, against his chest, until you’re drawn into his lap, until his other hand slides up the back of your thigh, holds you right under one ass cheek. 

He’s hard. 

He stands, guiding your other leg around his waist, pulling you up his body, so that you’re no longer pressed against the hard length of him. You want to scream.

“You’ll want your clothes again, for the trip to the greenhouse,” he says, carrying you down the spiraling staircase.

He sets you on the table where you had set your clothes. You reach for your sweater, but he picks it up first. He spreads it in his hands, opening the bottom hem. You stare at him, and he stares back. You take the hint and lean forward—he settles it gently over your head, pulls it down your torso, adjusts the cuffs after you’ve slipped your arms through.

He then takes your sweatpants and lifts one of your legs, his hand wrapped around your calf. You lean back on your hands to support yourself. He watches your face as he works one pant leg over your foot, as he slowly drags it up your outstretched leg, as he repeats the motion with your other leg. He then steps between your legs, slides one hand under your ass, lifts you, and lifts the waistband with his other hand until the pants are settled around your waist properly. When he’s done, you are dressed again, your hips are flush with his, and you can feel his still-hard length against you.

You watch him, watching you. His cheeks and ears are pink. But other than that, you can’t see a change in his expression. You want to lean forward and bite one of his nipples faintly outlined by his thin v-neck sweater. 

You shake the thought from your head and wrap your legs around him. You told him when you first arrived that you didn’t need to be carried everywhere, but he offers every time you move from one room to another, and you can’t bring yourself to say no, to deny yourself this constant embrace.

“There’s no hurry for you to want to go somewhere,” he says as he takes you into the hallway, as the chill settles through your clothes. “But there is something I’d like to do with you, in a couple days. It’s in the heart of the Zone. Interested?”

Even if you weren’t interested, how could you deny him anything? But you are interested. You’re curious. Your feet feel better. You can’t hide in his home forever. “Yes.”

“It’s a date,” he says, pleased.

In the greenhouse, he follows one of the slate pebbled paths that leads away from the garden fuck-bed, the fountain, the bar. The heavy foliage gradually gives way to a little clearing and a smaller building, nestled within the larger greenhouse. He sets you on your feet as his phone begins to vibrate.

His brow furrows and his mouth hardens, the tension rolling off of him palpable. You turn without thinking, grab one of his hands and put it on your cheek, your own hand against the back of his.

He exhales, slowly, and he seems to relax. He lifts his other hand and traces your eyebrow with his finger. When he speaks, his voice is calm.“Go in. I’ll make this quick. Don’t touch or eat anything.”

You nod into his palm and let go, stepping back, out of his reach. His hand drops, and he flexes it at his side, before turning away and reaching for the phone in his pocket.

The greenhouse within a greenhouse's door swings shuts behind you. 

It’s much cooler in here than in the main part of the greenhouse. A tall arching trellis overgrown with what looks like ivy forms a long tunnel leading further into the building. You walk for a few minutes, admiring the fairytale feel of the tunnel, until it opens into a space that is surprisingly not so large. Slate stones, flower beds filled with plants and flowers. There are several  you recognize—foxglove, with its lovely little spotted flowers drifting down the thick stem, purple and white autumn crocus, oleander with its pinwheel petals. There are also many bushes and other flowers that you don’t recognize, but which don’t look particularly striking. Along with the vegetation, there are a couple benches, torches giving off soft light—they circle a reasonably sized, but not gigantic, still pond, ringed with stones. You can’t see anything particularly spectacular about the space, or why Sylus would favor it compared to the riotous life of the tropical part of the main greenhouse. It’s quiet. Maybe he likes it for the same reasons he likes the solitude of his library. You walk to the edge of the pond and see large koi fish swimming leisurely in the serene water.

You wonder who maintains this space, along with all the others of his sprawling home.

You turn again, and spot what you now know is a bush of datura flowers. You wander over to them, let your fingertip caress one of their sharp little pointed petals. It feels like a lifetime ago that you found a pot of datura on your kitchen island and had no idea who it could be from.

It occurs to you that you need to ask Sylus if it’s possible to have someone water your plants while you’re gone. You suddenly can’t bear the thought of them dying in your absence. You will have to return to them, and your real life, probably sooner than you’d like. You can’t neglect everything, even as you still refuse to check your phone. Your friends may survive without you, but your plants won’t.

You don’t want to think about that right now.

You turn back to the datura plant, and then look at the other plants. You recall the threatening aura of the datura before you knew what it was, what it could be used for. Hallucinogen. Poison. Aphrodisiac. Your eyes drift over the other plants you recognize—foxglove, crocus, oleander. He told you not to eat anything in here. You suddenly know that the other plants in here, like the datura, are not random, or innocuous.

Sylus’s favorite part of his greenhouse is his poison garden. Because of course the edgy bastard would have a poison garden. You don’t recognize many of the plants because they’re not common houseplants that you’ve ever looked into adding to your own collection.

You huff a laugh, put your hands on your hips. An idea occurs to you.

You walk to one of the benches near the koi pond, stretch out on your back. You let your head roll, gaze wandering over the pretty, deadly flowers. Your mind drifts to the poem you read him earlier. Before you came, things were as they should be: the sky was the dead-end of sight, the road was just a road, wine merely wine.

You think of how flowers are no longer simply flowers, but threats. Promises. Reassurances. Tools. 

A pomegranate is no longer a pomegranate, but the feel of his body underneath yours before you throw him off a bed.

A cinnamon roll is no longer a sweet treat, but the taste of Sylus’s finger in your mouth.

Feathers, wine, the poetry of your youth, a bomb exploding, Caleb’s absence, a motorcycle revving its engine, the grip of a pistol in your hand, blood dripping from your wounds.

Now everything is like my heart, a color at the edge of blood: the grey of your absence, the color of poison, of thorns.

This is how it goes.

You already know how this ends. 

You huddled in Sylus’s gem vault and bemoaned the blood diamonds piled high, and then you rolled over to him in the night, wrapping an arm around his waist, breathing in his skin, and slept like the dead.

He said that his favorite stone was whatever you’re wearing, and your heart thrilled and despaired—stones from him come at the cost of someone else’s pain. And he’ll give you as many as you want, and revel in your wearing them, and you’ll soak in his admiration like the vast desert that you are. You’ll bloom like these poison flowers under his care, your feet and hands covered in the same blood as his.

Don't leave now that you're here — Stay. So the world may become like itself again: so the sky may be the sky, the road a road, and the glass of wine not a mirror, just a glass of wine.

Even if you were to leave right this second—even if you were to move to the arctic and cut every tie to him from your life, you’d be tearing out your own veins, carving out chunks of your own flesh, in an effort to remove his talons from how deep they’ve dug into you, starting from the moment he found you in a crowded nightclub and drove you around all night just so you could finally sleep. Maybe from a moment even before that. The auction, with your hand in his pocket, clutching the detonator, his arms around you, his voice in your ear. Look at me. Look only at me.

And you did. And you haven’t looked away since, no matter how hard you tried.

It's already too late. You made your decision the moment you let him into your home when you found him wounded on the sidewalk near your home. You have known what, who he is, all along. The only way you can continue, the only way you can move forward without crippling yourself, is to find a balance. 

A balance between the horror that is inseparable from Sylus’s rough hands softly touching you, the horror inside of you that you’ve always known is there, and the goodness that you want to offer the world since you lived when you should have died, over and over again.

Caleb’s dead. It doesn’t matter what he’d say, because he���s dead and he’s never coming back, and you lived when you shouldn’t have, and he gets to rest and you have to move through each fucking day, one after the other, without him, without Gran, so that you can watch the sunsets for them, so that you can snatch lives back from death’s maw every time a wanderer attacks, and offer the world and Caleb and Gran these gifts because only you can.

A balance between remembering and forgetting, of living in the moment and refusing to looking away from the terrible fruit of Sylus’s labor.

A balance of walking your path in the light as the Association’s sword, of seeking refuge in the glittering night of the sanctuary Sylus is offering you.

If you are his beloved.

If he wants you at all. 

Is it so terrible, to want something just for yourself, even if that thing is a knife in the wounds of the world you struggle to save?

You huff a laugh again. You want him. You want him so much, it hurts. So what if he never touches you beyond holding you close? Biting your lip? Offering to carry you everywhere through his house, turning to you in the night and wrapping his own arm around your waist so that you mirror each other, curved towards each other. When did you become so greedy? What gives you the right to be so greedy?

You throw your arm over your eyes. Enough. Enough.  

You think about your little idea when you realized that this is Sylus’s gothy poison garden. You wonder if it’s too mean, but then you remember how mean he was to you when you first met him. You’ve forgiven him. But you haven’t entirely forgotten.

After a while—who knows how long, you hear the crunch of Sylus’s footsteps on the slate pebbled path.

You let your arm fall, your fingers uncurling against the pebbled slate path and letting a pair of little purple berries roll from your palm to the ground.

You hear his footsteps stop, and then nothing. You resist the urge to open an eye and peek, to see what he’s doing.

“Asleep again, darling?” he murmurs, quietly. So that if you really were asleep, you wouldn’t wake.

You say nothing.

A footstep, and then a creak of the bench underneath you as he settles his weight, the warmth of his thigh next to you on the bench.

He runs featherlight fingers along your neck.

“You’re not asleep,” he says, low.

You ignore him, make no move.

“I’ve been with you long enough while you sleep to know the patterns of your breathing when asleep versus awake. Feeling playful, kitten?”

You ignore him.

He walks two fingers up your neck, gently pats your cheek. “Look at me. I don’t like not having your eyes on me when you’re awake.”

You stay still.

“Sweetheart.” He pats your cheek a little harder. You let your head loll to the side. “You have terrible taste in pranks,” he tsks, but he’s starting to sound worried.

You start to hold your breath. Begin to count.

You feel one big hand come to rest heavily on your chest. There’s a pause. “Oh? Raising the stakes?” 

You’re at thirty. You keep counting.

“If you had really eaten nightshade berries, you’d be surrounded by vomit and probably would have shit your pants. You wouldn’t be lying here pristinely, looking beautifully asleep.”

You’re at sixty. Your lungs are starting to burn. You’ve never been good at holding your breath for very long.

“Your heart is starting to pound from your efforts to hold your breath, darling, you’re not fooling anyone,” he scolds, sounding increasingly irritated, but he leans over, rests his ear against your mouth.

You can’t help yourself. You lick the shell of his ear.

He jerks up like you just lit him on fire and glares down at you. You take a huge breath, struggling to both breathe and cackle at the same time.

“You were a little worried, admit it,” you pant, grinning up at his indignant expression.

He doesn’t respond. Instead, he leans down, hauls you up into his lap like a sack of potatoes, and squeezes you tightly, burying his face in your shoulder. “You can joke about anything, except the idea of you dying. It’s not amusing. It will never be amusing.”

He holds you so tightly you can hardly breathe. You feel his eyelashes flutter against your skin, his breath warm on your neck. You just sit still, not knowing what to say. You did not expect this response at all.

After a long time, he finally speaks. “What was the point of this little prank?”

“Can’t have you getting bored with me,” you murmur.

He lifts his head, looks at you with a strangely pleading expression on his face. “I will tell you as many times as it takes. I am the farthest from bored when I am with you.”

You stare at him, taken aback by his gentle reassurance even while clearly upset with your immature prank. But why are you still surprised when he is tender with you? He has been nothing but indulgent, tolerant, generous, since he secured a promise from you to use your home as a safe house. He has treated you so gently through all of your worst moments since then.

But if you say that out loud, if you acknowledge it, you won’t be able to stop yourself from asking for more. You’re so greedy. It’s not enough, to be held by him. Now you want his mouth. His tongue. His everything.

“You sent me into a poisonous garden without telling me. Rude.”

He lifts a dark silver eyebrow. “I told you not to touch or eat anything in here. Are you a pet, or a child?”

You don't know why you're arguing. “You know the fastest way to get me to do something is to tell me not to do it.” He knows this. He has used this against you before, in fact.

He finally smiles a little back at you. “A child then, I see.”

You stick your tongue out at him, remember what he has done every time you’ve done that, and immediately pull it back into your mouth.

“But you’re a quick learner,” he smiles wider, revealing one sharp tooth.

You just scowl at him.

He exhales heavily, as if letting go of a great weight, and you feel bad for making him worry. “Is everything okay with business?” you ask, trying to change the subject, to take his mind off of whatever he just went through because of you. You resolve not to prank him like that ever again.

“Business is good. Too good. Hence the constant calls. Nothing to worry about,” he says, letting you distract him. He sinks a little lower onto the bench, spreads his long legs. You lower your head, rest it on his big shoulder.

“So. A poison garden,” you say. “Your favorite part of the greenhouse. Not the lovely jungle, the fuck-bed, or whatever else you have hidden in this huge place.”

“I’ve always had a particular weakness for deadly, lovely things,” he says, running a hand soothingly up and down your back.

You feel like he’s trying to tell you something, beyond his appreciation for flowers.

My beloved is perfect to me.

The bet was about how long it will take for my beloved to realize how I feel about them. 

But how could he have waited so long for you, how could he feel so strongly for you, when you only just met? 

You think about how strongly you already feel about him, and wonder if it even matters. 

You think about his little quip, time is a construct and inherently meaningless, when you asked him about his drinking.

It was a joke, but maybe there is truth in it.

Does it even matter? Is it so bad for you to just want to take what he’s now so clearly offering? Even if he’ll never kiss you?

“Do you ever use these plants for nefarious purposes?” you ask. “Or just to admire and brood around?”

“I do not brood. I plot,” he sniffs indignantly. “And you already know that I like a more direct approach. Sometimes Luke and Kieran used plants from here for pranks, back when I had guests more often.”

Guests? More often? Do you want to know? What kind of guests? Does it matter?

You lift your head and ask a question that has been on your mind for a while now to distract yourself. “Who takes care of your house? Your greenhouse? Your pools?”

He raises his eyebrows a little in surprise at your non sequitur. “I have staff who take care of everything.”

“Where are they? I’ve not seen anyone else but the twins and Noah since I arrived.”

“I’ve asked them to adjust their schedules for the time being. They come while we’re sleeping.”

“Why?”

He gently flicks your forehead. “Why do you think?”

“Can you never just answer a question without asking another question, Socrates?” you huff.

“I’m not going to spoon feed you answers that you should already know by now,” he taunts.

“What should I already know?”

“That I know you don’t like being around people you don’t know. That you find it uncomfortable to be around people who you aren’t sure are safe. That you wouldn’t be able to prance around my library in your underwear if you feared some stranger walking in.”

You poke him in his firm stomach. “I prance about as much as you do, Mister Broody McPoisongarden.”

He laughs softly.

You close your eyes. Let his answer sink in. His thoughtfulness shouldn’t surprise you by now. But every time, the tenderness, the kindness he shows you—it hurts. What will you do, once you have to return to your real life? What will you do, if you ever fall off the pedestal he has built for you? What have you done to deserve his attentiveness?

You are trying to live in the moment. You will find a balance. Maybe it’s for the best if he doesn’t want to kiss you. If he never wants closer physical intimacy. He already has so much of you already.

Enough. Enough.

You rest your head on his shoulder again and sit with him in comfortable silence.

This is how it goes.

Another day. He receives a phone call. You wave at him, back away, his eyes tracking you as you go, until the door swings shut.

You drift to the pool room again. Its humid warmth, the bar in pale wood, the zen garden. You take a bottle from the shelf behind the bar, pour a shot. Does it matter what time it is? Not right now, in the timeless night of Sylus’s fortress. Mephisto has followed you. You toast him, holding up the shot glass, and then down it. It burns. You wonder how Sylus can drink this shit. Even the good stuff hurts.

You walk to the edge of the pool. Think about the twenty different swimsuits Sylus showed you after he found you naked in his pool the first time.

You turn, making sure Mephisto is watching. You remind yourself that he’s a robot. He doesn’t care what he sees. But the man on the other side might care. You're lying to yourself when you say you can live without Sylus ever kissing you. You remember a kiss that never happened, and the memory haunts you.

You strip out of your clothes, watching Mephisto watching you.

Look, then. You’ve been watching me since before we even met. You’re the only one I want looking, and you won’t take what I’m offering. I’m now watching you, watching me.

You don’t know what you’re hoping to achieve with your sad little provocations. Sylus has only ever responded with covering you up. You’re just being greedy. Why can’t you be satisfied with him just being near? My tormenter, my love, be near me.

You pause, watching Mephisto thoughtfully, your clothes piled at your feet. After a few moments, you turn and dive into the pool.

You enjoy the water, your empty mind as your body takes over. You feel stronger than you’ve felt in months. You enjoy the strength in your muscles, the weightlessness. You slap the edge of the pool after yet another lap, are about to turn, go again, when you glance up and see Sylus right there, standing above you.

This time, his eyes are open. He’s looking down at you, eyes fixed on your face. His thumbs are hooked in the pockets of his dark pants, the picture of relaxed, a fluffy towel hanging over one wrist.

He says nothing. He simply looks. You make no effort to conceal yourself under the water. You return his gaze, watching him watching you.

The silence stretches. You wonder what he’s thinking. “Everything okay this time?”

He frowns a little. “Worried about my business?”

“I just want you to be happy,” you say truthfully. You don’t want him to be worried about business, or your time here to cause problems for him. No matter what his business actually consists of. Balance. Balance.

“Then we’re both in luck,” he says. “I’ve been happy all week.”

You tilt your head. “Just this week?”

“Mmhmm.” He looks down at you, fondness softening his features.

You think you can live without him kissing you, if he will look at you like this every once in a while.

“Are you not happy with the swimsuits I arranged for you?” he asks, his fond look melting into a bored expression.

“I’m happy with them,” you answer, looking steadily back at him.

“And yet you won’t wear them.”

“There’s no one here.”

“Am I no one?” His gaze flicks down your body, then back to your face. 

You look at him. You look at him, and want him so terribly. You’re lying, every time you tell yourself you’ll be satisfied with a look, an almost kiss.

“You’re the only one,” you force yourself to say.

He’s too far away. You can’t see what effect, if any, what you just said has on him. His face is still impassive.

“Am I to interpret this, as well as the library the other day, as an invitation?”

Your heart is pounding. “Do you want it to be an invitation?”

He opens his mouth, only for it to snap shut again. Even from here, you can hear his phone vibrating in his pocket.

You want him to ignore it. You want him to answer your question.

He takes the towel in one hand, and reaches into his pocket with the other.

You’re already so greedy, wanting him to ignore his business for you. You suddenly feel incredibly pathetic.

You look down at yourself. Muscle and scars. What are you doing? Trying to tempt a man like Sylus Qin with what you have to offer, such as it is. A dull, scratched blade.

His beloved? 

His tormenter, his love?

It’s only been a week, and you’re this delusional.

You sink underwater, turn, launch yourself from the side of the pool, knife through the water. You haul yourself up on the other side, walk through the barroom to the door, and stride, dripping through the cold hallway.

You shower. You try to keep your mind blank. You don’t want to betray yourself, when you have to see him again. There’s nowhere to hide.

You’re relieved when you find his bedroom empty when you’re done in the bathroom.

You throw on clothes.

You slip back into the hallway. Mephisto must have stayed in the pool room with Sylus. You start to jog toward the lift leading to the underground garage. Sylus never said you had to stay in the house while you waited for him to be done with business. You’ll be back when you can trust that your face won’t give away how stupid you feel for trying to seduce him through Mephisto. 

You’ll strangle the wanting inside you like Sylus strangled you when you first met.

As you’re passing the living room, Noah steps into the hallway.

“Whoa, there. You look like you’re on a mission.”

“Maybe,” you say, trying to smile. She stares at you.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Of course.” You nod. You’re fine. You’ll be fine.

“Is this another case of we need to call the boss?”

“No, thank you.”

“Well since you ask so politely,” she smiles at you. It’s genuine. You think this is the first genuine smile she’s ever given you. “You want company?”

“I don’t even know where I’m going,” you say. 

“I’ve found that just going for a drive can make me feel better,” she says. “I am your driver, after all. Wanna put me to good use?”

You blink at her. She’s not going to call Sylus and tell on you? She’s not going to badger you with questions?

“You sure? I’m not amazing company.”

“Coulda fooled me with how Boss follows you like a lovesick puppy.”

“Huh?”

“Don’t worry about it. C’mon, let’s go.” She turns and leads the way toward the garage lift. When you pass the theater room, Luke and Kieran poke their heads out. “Going somewhere?” Kieran asks.

“We’re going for a drive. C’mon, nerds,” Noah says breezily, waving them forward.

They look at each other, seem to have a silent conversation, and then follow obediently.

“Does Boss know we’re going somewhere?” Luke asks.

“Not unless you snitch,” Noah answers.

“Is it like, a secret?”

“No. But maybe the hunter needs a little breathing room.”

Luke and Kieran turn and stare at you.

“Do you need some space from Boss?” 

You grimace. “Not because of anything he did. I just need to get a little perspective.”

“You’re not leaving him, right?” Both twins look stricken at the idea.

“Leaving him? We’re not together like that.”

“Why the fuck not?” Luke demands.

Kieran puts a hand on his shoulder and looks at you. “You don’t have to answer that.”

You squint at them. “You say that like it’s up to me if we’re together or not.”

Luke squints back. “Isn’t it?”

You shake your head. “I’m not going to discuss your boss’s private life when he’s not here.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re loyal to him, you’re nuts about him. We already like you, there’s no need to prove anything.” Luke rolls his eyes. He’s about to speak again when Kieran begins to steer him away by gently pressing on his back. “We will meet you in the garage,” he tells Noah. “We’ve got to get our masks if we’re going out.”

“Ah yes, the cosplay twins make a reappearance,” Noah grins. “See you in a few.” With that, she takes your hand like you’ve been friends forever, and swings your joined hands as she practically skips to the lift leading to the garage.

In the underground garage which is surprisingly spartan for a man of Sylus’s tastes, she drags you to the tank. You eye with longing a long row of vehicles that look like they’d be amazing to go offroading across the N109 Zone’s wastes in.

“No, nooooope,” Noah says, hurrying you along. “Boss’s orders. I have to cart you around in the Phantom anytime we’re in the Zone. It’s why he bought it.”

You let her herd you to the tank. “What?”

She opens the backseat door and makes a sarcastic sweeping gesture. “Your chariot awaits.”

You sigh. “The backseat? Really? I can’t even ride up front?”

“You’re the VIP. Get in.”

You decide not to fight her this time. You’re going to take out the beat up Toyota Hilux you saw parked amongst the other vehicles to see if you can get it to flip one of these days, and you want her on your side when you do it.

She slams the door shut after she’s ensured you’re buckled in and then swings around to the driver’s seat. She puts on some music that sounds like metal, but you have no idea what particular genre. It’s loud.

“What do you mean Sylus bought the tank because of me?” you shout over the music.

She has mercy on you, reducing the volume, then resumes tapping her long fingers on the steering wheel as you both wait for Kieran and Luke to arrive.

“What’s there not to understand? He bought something that’s advertised as being able to survive the apocalypse to protect you when you need to be in the Zone.”

You think of Sylus, vulnerable on his motorcycle. Just as vulnerable as you on yours. Okay, so he can heal quickly, but you doubt he can heal from being decapitated in an accident. “I can protect myself. That is ridiculous.”

She shrugs. “You worry about these things when you love someone. Doesn’t matter if it’s logical.”

You stare at her. She sounds like she speaks from experience.

“And the Zone is fucking dangerous. More dangerous than Linkon City. His worry is logical in this case. There’s more than just reckless driving to account for in the Zone.”

You startle when the front passenger door and the other back passenger door fly open at the same time, and both twins launch themselves in, almost in sync. They’re both wearing the masks that they were wearing when you first met them, which are probably meant to be crows but just look like plague doctor masks to you.

Noah backs out of the parking space and screeches out of the underground garage like the unwieldy tank is a rocket ship instead of a roided out SUV.

“Can we change the music?” Luke whines. “It’s so fucking… uh. Cock-cockiphinous.”

“Cacophonous,” Kieran corrects gently.

“I’m the driver, I choose the music,” Noah says, swatting Luke’s reaching hand away from the dash.

Luke just groans and then twists in his seat, poking his beak into the backseat.

“So we know you’re loyal and wanna protect our boss. Your secrets are safe with us. Blah blah. Now spill the tea, why do you need space from him?” 

You groan and cover your eyes with your hand. “Not gonna talk about it.”

“Is it because he almost kissed you and then didn’t?” Luke ignores your protest. “Or about him spying on you with Mephisto like a creep even though he claimed it was an accident?”

You drop your hand and stare at his masked face. “What?”

Kieran starts making a throat cutting gesture at Luke, as if to say Shut the fuck up NOW.

“Oops,” is all Luke says.

“Let’s talk about something else!” Noah says in a sing-song voice. She then proceeds to make a very controversial statement about the latest video game they all played together, and they argue animatedly all the way into the urban heart of the N109 Zone.

“We’re going to Amnesia?” you ask in a daze as Noah steers into the now-familiar underground garage.

Noah shrugs. “Yup. Fastest way to see how someone really feels.”

“What?” You feel like a broken record. What the fuck does she mean?

The twins look at each other and then nod in unison. “Jealousy is a powerful motivator,” Kieran says thoughtfully. “Good plan, Noah.”

“What?” you ask again, more forcefully.

“Don’t worry about it.” Noah grins. “C’mon, just get yourself a drink and dance a little. It’ll take your mind off things. I, for one, have been going stir crazy without having anything to do while you and Sylus dance around each other while simultaneously being attached at the hip.”

You’re too shocked to resist, and let yourself be dragged along by the trio of Sylus’s unruly children, past the security at the door of the lift, through the winding hallways, out into the main part of the club where the night is in full swing. The dance floor is packed, the beats organic and animalistic, and the aerial dancers still spin from the ceiling.

You can’t believe it’s only been a little over a week since you were here for the first time.

Noah pushes you to the packed bar, where you’re immediately served by one of the exceedingly attractive bartenders despite other people already waiting. “Shots!” Noah cries, handing one to you, Kieran and Luke.

“To Boss’s bizarre mating ritual!” Luke crows, and they all down their shot, the twins bringing it up to their mouths under their masks.

You look at it the neon glowing shot in your hand and grimace. Eh, what the hell. You shoot it as well.

“C’mon, let’s dance!” 

You do not want to dance. You need to think. You just wanted to get out, to find a little space to breathe away from Sylus’s overwhelming presence, and weight of your suffocating hunger for him.

“I’m fine here!” you shout.

“Fine, but don’t leave without us, got it?” Noah shouts back.

“Same for you!” 

They melt into the crowd.

You squeeze your way through the crowd to take up a spot leaning against the wall, eyes scanning the mass of dancers, the aerial artists leisurely twisting above, the lights a seizure-inducing fever dream.

You keep an eye on Noah, who finds a group of gorgeous women to dance with. The twins, who dance next to each other, are seemingly oblivious to all the attempts by various men and women to slide in and dance with them.

After a while, you head back to the bar. You’re immediately served again, as if the staff recognize you. You take your frilly cocktail and resume your place along the wall.

Mind blank. Just soaking in humanity, feeling like you have a purpose, protecting Noah and the twins in case the unlikely happens and some asshole escapes the notice of Sylus’s extensive security to fuck with them. You don’t let yourself think about anything at all.

Your meditative vigil is interrupted when a big man leans against the wall next to you, squinting out over the crowd like you are.

He’s quiet for a few minutes, and you think that maybe he’ll leave you in peace.

“What are we looking for?” His voice is deep, and close to your ear as he leans over to be heard over the deep bass of the music.

You flick your eyes up to his face, and then back over the crowd. Handsome, in a rugged way. Dark hair, dark eyes. A nose that's a little too perfect to actually be perfect. Not like Sylus's actually perfect nose.

You’re feeling loose from the drink, a little tipsy. You answer honestly.

“Possible threats.”

“You security?”

“Nah. Just a concerned citizen.”

You can hear the smile in his voice. “Those are rare in the Zone. Usually people mind their own business around here.”

You just shrug.

“Can I get you a drink?”

You look down at the drink in your hand, lift an eyebrow.

“Okay, let me try again.”

You turn, look expectantly at him. In another life, you would have found him charming. You would have responded to his obvious interest, maybe taken him home for the night. Maybe even dated for awhile, before he realized that the person he met in the club is the person you are all the time: closed off, alert, never dropping your guard even while being honest. Not like how you are with Sylus. Pliant. Affectionate. As open as you can bear to be while still not knowing what he truly wants from you.

“Dance with me?”

“Thanks for the offer, but I’m okay here.”

“You come to one of the most exclusive clubs in the Zone just to decorate the wall?”

You snort. “Don’t insult this place’s interior design.”

He gives you a slow once over. “Oh, I’d say you’re the focal point here.” Before you can scoff, he tries again. “Just one dance. I promise not to step on your feet.”

You think of Sylus holding you in at the auction's banquet.  Look at me. Look only at me. Sylus holding you in the seedy BOOM BOOM ROOM. Dancing slowly while the rapid beat shook your chest, as if only you and he existed in the entire world.

“I’d rather lean on this wall and pine,” you say.

His eyebrows shoot up, but then he smirks. “I bet I have more to offer than whoever is stupid enough to make you pine for them instead of recognizing what’s right in front of them.”

“Doubt it,” you smirk back.

“Try me. What’s so great about this person?”

“I don’t think there’s enough time to list everything,” you say.

“I’ve got time for you. Unlike this person, since they’re not here with you.”

You frown. Sylus is busy as fuck, but he has always offered you his time. Even when he’s pulled away by the near-constant phone calls, he tries to come back to you as quickly as possible.

“For one, he’s gorgeous. Tall, big.”

“I’m big and tall,” he flexes a bicep. It’s respectable. But it’s not as big as Sylus’s.

“He’s bigger, and taller.”

He shrugs, concedes. “All right, but that’s just the package. What’s he got on the inside?”

“He’s perceptive. Clever. Funny. Fearless. Unbearably sweet.”

“Damn. You’re not making this easy for me.” He sounds forlorn.

“Sorry, man.” You smile at him. He seems nice. But he does nothing for you. You’re worried no one else ever will again. Despite all of your fretting, all of your wallowing, your moral dilemma, you know how this is going to end. Sylus is under your skin now. You are going to do everything in your power to satisfy your greed, to keep both your job and the man who is coming to mean as much to you as your job, formerly your sole reason for continuing to fight so hard to survive. To earn your breath, your life, your having lived while Caleb died.

“So what’s the problem? Why are you here pining, instead of with this perfect guy?”

“I can’t tell if he feels the same way.”

“Have you told him how you feel?”

“He’s perceptive, remember? I’m pretty sure it’s fucking obvious. But no matter what I do, he won’t even kiss me.”

“You tried kissing him first?”

You grimace. “Can’t bear to be rejected if he doesn’t feel the same way. I’d rather just pine.”

“Here you are, badass ready to take on an entire club if a fight breaks out, but scared of just going for it with your man?” He smiles at you, slides closer to you along the wall.

“See? I’m not as great as my packaging suggests.”

“Oh I doubt that. But now I know I have something that your man doesn’t.” He turns, leaning one shoulder against the wall, and bends down toward you.

You watch him curiously. If he gets too close, you’ll sidle away, say thanks but no thanks, again. If he doesn’t get the hint, you’ll punch him in the throat. “Oh yeah?”

“I’m here, and he isn’t. And I don’t have the same self control—how could he not kiss you when you’re standing right here outshining everyone else?”

You’re about to roll your eyes at his obvious exaggeration and move away when you feel a sudden warmth blanketing your back.

“Announcing that you have a lack of self control isn’t the flex you might think it is.” Sylus’s deep voice is next to your ear, his leather-clad arm is wrapping around your waist.

You turn your head, meet his blood-dark eyes. He tilts his head, frowns at you questioningly. “When have I denied you anything?” he asks.

You’re confused until you realize he was listening to your conversation. Oh fuck. How much did he hear?

“Kitten, don’t tell me you’ve had so much to drink that you can’t remember if I’ve ever not given you what you’ve asked for.”

It occurs to you that you’ve asked for very little from him, because he has always offered you everything you could have wanted without you having to ask in the first place. But anything you have ever asked, he has promised to give. 

“Never,” you murmur.

“So if you wanted me to kiss you, you could have just asked. No need to torture me through Mephisto.”

You feel your face flush red. “Torture you?” You want to pull away, but he holds you tightly.

“Yes. Torture me. My tormenter, my love,” he says, leaning down, his lips almost touching yours. “May I kiss you?”

You can’t get over the mortification of Sylus having heard what you said to the guy hitting on you.

“How much did you hear?” you ask, wincing.

He looks smug. “I’m big, and tall, and perceptive and—” He asked to kiss you. Surely it’s okay if you lean forward, try to brush your lips against his lips. Just to shut him up.

He leans back. “No.”

Your insides freeze. What the fuck? What kind of fucking mindgame is he playing? He asks to kiss you and then rejects you in the next breath? You try to jerk out of his hold.

“I’m not kissing you for the first time in this ridiculous nightclub,” he growls, his arm a steel bar over your waist. 

What? Because there are so many people? People who might know him? And see him with… you. 

You want to crawl out of your skin, leave it behind so that no one can recognize you when you move to the arctic to escape this feeling. This is what you get for being greedy. For reaching for what you don’t deserve.

What would Caleb say, if he saw you here, an object of embarrassment for this lord of war, the antithesis of everything you’re supposed to stand for?

It occurs to you for the first time that maybe Sylus hasn’t kissed you because he’s wrestling with the same questions that have been running through your mind since you had yet another pathetic meltdown in his gem vault. You’re a hunter. A tool of the Association. A fucked up mental case. What do you have to offer him in exchange for what he would have to risk, to give up, in order to actually be with you?

A hell of a lot of nothing, aside from all the emotional baggage.

“Because you’re ashamed that the person you’re kissing is me?” you ask, watching his face for microexpressions, for the bored mask, for anything to give away what he’s really feeling.

He scowls, his frown line deep between his eyebrows, like he’s just bitten into something foul. Well that’s fucking clear. You squeeze your eyes shut. You may not be able to escape his hold, but you don’t have to endure him looking at you like he did when you first met him. Like he can’t believe how utterly disappointing you are.

“Look at me,” he demands. You want to cry.

“Please,” he says, tone softening. You open your eyes.

Suddenly the crowd, the guy flirting with you, the lights—everything disappears as Sylus cups your cheeks in his big hands, leans down, and kisses you.

Warmth. His impossibly soft lips. You feel like you’ve been here before. You’ve tasted him before—his tongue parts your lips, filling your mouth. You open your mouth wider, trying to take more of him in. You can hear soft whining noises under the loud music, and realize that you’re the one making them. He uses his hold on your cheeks to tilt your head the way he wants as he tastes you. He takes a step forward, big thigh pushing between your legs, and backs you into the wall, blanketing you with his big body.

You suck on his silken tongue. He presses his thigh with more force between your legs, and you wrap your arms around his neck, grind back against his leg. 

It’s not enough. You wanted his mouth, and now that you have it, you want more. You’re so hungry for him, even as he’s feeding you his tongue.

He tears away from you, panting, a sloppy trail of saliva falling away from his bottom lip.

You stare at his flushed face, wide eyed. 

What now? Is he going to regret it? Tell you it was a mistake? Maybe this is another dream. Another dream you’ll only half remember. Nothing that has to be undone. Nothing that will ruin the rest of your stay in his house. You’ll be better, you promise yourself. You’ll stop being greedy. You’ll be thankful for the generosity he’s already shown you, and you’ll never hope for more again. It will be enough, him holding you in his arms, him showing you precious glimpses into his lovely, complicated mind.

You’ll wake up any minute now, and maybe you’ll forget everything, including the taste of his tongue. You’re haunted enough.

He turns to the guy who was hitting on you, the aether core in his eye glowing bright. “You’ll forget you ever met my beloved,” he orders, and the guy’s face goes blank. He then frowns and shakes his head a little, like he’s coming out of a daze. He turns and wanders back into the crowd without looking back.

You gape after the poor bastard. “What did you just do to him?”

He looks at you, looks back at the guy’s retreating back. Then looks back at you, squinting. “Isn’t it obvious? I made him forget that he ever met you, so he can’t sell intel about my biggest weakness.”

You stare at him. “Your biggest weakness?”

He hangs his head, the soft fall of his hair whispering against your cheek. “Can we leave now? I really want to keep kissing you, and I’m not doing it with an audience.”

You’ll wake up any second now, you tell yourself. You didn’t just guilt him into kissing you in public despite his better judgment. You didn’t endanger him by being an insecure freak.

He flicks your forehead gently. “Whatever you’re thinking, it’s wrong. I didn’t want our first kiss to be in a nightclub. I wanted it to be somewhere romantic, like you deserve. And once I start kissing you again, I don’t want to have to stop. Any objections?”

You stare at him, feeling like you’ve just stumbled off of a goddamned roller coaster. “You want to keep kissing me?”

“Kitten. Sweetheart. Darling. Beloved. Yes, I want to keep kissing you. No, I’m not sure I’ll be able to stop kissing you, and more, once I start. Any objections?” He stares into your eyes.

You find yourself shaking your head.

He closes his eyes, exhales. Opens them. All you see is red. His big hand finds yours. He clasps yours tightly. “Resonate with me,” he says.

You look at him in confusion. “Please trust me,” he says, voice strained.

“I do trust you,” you say. “I just don’t trust that this is real. Are you sure this isn’t a dream?”

He smiles. Big. Genuine. His sharp canines gleaming in the flashing lights of the club. He squeezes your hand gently. “I promise that it’s finally not just a dream,” he says.

You stare into his beautiful ember eyes. You’re so fucking scared to believe that this is real, but he promised you that it isn't. And Sylus says he always keeps his promises.

This is how it goes.

You've already known how it ends, from the first time you willingly took his offered hand in yours.

You squeeze his hand in return, and let your power flow through you.

End note: hopefully more smooches in the next part.

[michelle-is-writing]

Stunt Driving, Spencer Reid

Word Count: 1.8k~

3rd person, Spencer x fem!reader

Other than Derek Morgan, Spencer didn't know anyone that could drive so recklessly, yet, still be safe at the same time. That was until Agent (Y/n) (L/n) was hired at the BAU. She was intelligent, but she couldn't compare to that of Spencer's list of achievements. (Y/n) didn't graduate high school at age twelve, nor did she have several masters degrees or Ph.D.'s under her belt. Instead, she slightly leisured and worked hard at the same time. She gained her degrees with good grades while making memories with those around her. One person she grew close to was her father.

Being an auto mechanic who worked at home, (Y/n)'s father got to work on a lot of cars, especially those from the seventies and eighties. Once the cars were fixed, (Y/n)'s dad always took it for a drive with her in the passenger seat, and even though it probably wasn't the best idea, he would teach her how to drive fast - whether it be to have fun (again, probably not the best idea) or get out of a dangerous situation. The things learned by (Y/n) would last her a lifetime and would prove to be necessary in this current moment.

Driving one of the FBI's SUV at ninety miles per hour wasn't something that Spencer imagined himself experiencing today, and as he looked at the beautiful woman in the driver's seat beside him, he didn't exactly know what to think. She seemed so focused on what she was doing, and because of the mileage they were reaching, Spencer was thankful for this. However, there was still that screaming statistic in the back of his mind, shouting, "40% of all accidents are caused by speeding over 75 miles per hour!"

"(Y/n), slow down!" Spencer yelled as she swerved in and out of traffic, the unsub's car merely twenty feet away from their vehicle. Gripping the safety handle above him as hard as he could, Spencer felt like he could have a heart attack any moment now. She was unsafe in her driving because of the speed she was traveling at, yet, she was somehow keeping them safe by her constant reflexes and quick reaction times. "You're going to get us killed!"

"Spencer," (Y/n) said his name, swiftly checking her mirrors before speeding into the next lane, the engine screaming as she did so. Looking over into the driver side window, Spencer could see the unsub constantly checking over his shoulder, his panic only growing once he sees the BAU's vehicle next to his. "Do you trust me?"

"What?" Spencer asked his coworker, her gorgeous (e/c) eyes flashing over to his for a quick second. Despite being in such a tense situation, Spencer couldn't help but be lured in by her eyes as his heart had grown for the woman as soon as she started working in the BAU. Fortunately, (Y/n) felt the same, he just didn't know it.

"I need you to trust me," She repeats her words, gaining an almost groan from Spencer. He was trusting her enough by putting his life in her hands at the wheel, what else did she want?

"You know better than anyone how to calculate an unsub's next move," She reminds him, the unsub speeding up to get ahead of their SUV. "And you and I both know he's going to swerve in front of me at some point and slam on his breaks," she points out, frowning as she yanks the car into the same lane as the unsub. "I need you to tell me when you think that's going to happen."

Determination laced throughout her voice, (Y/n)'s eyes stayed glued on the banged-up car in front of her as the RPMs of their vehicle bounced between its high and low numbers. Not knowing what her full plan was, Spencer questioned himself as to why he quietly nodded at her words, but nonetheless, still turned his head to watch the car in front of them. As facts about the unsub came to mind, Spencer compiled everything into one of his long, drawn out equations before estimating when the murderer would do just as (Y/n) had said.

It was only when he saw the unsub sit closer to the wheel with a tighter grip on it that Spencer felt he was going to change his moves. "Now," Spencer told the woman, watching as she slowed their vehicle down only slightly, but still deliberately. Seconds after the SUV reached 80, the car in front of her slammed on the breaks, causing (Y/n) to smirk as she knew her plan was in full effect.

Quickly swerving into the line beside her, she wastes no time before lining her front wheels up to his back ones and slamming into him, effectively making him begin to slide uncontrollably on the road, the side of his vehicle pinned to the front of their SUV. Spencer watched in panic as the unsub tried to regain control of his car, only to swerve away and into a field. Sitting back against his chair with a sigh, Spencer shut his eyes as he felt the car begin to finally slow down. He'd never done a pit maneuver on anyone before, having only read about it before in books or hearing about it in news cases.

For a second, he let himself relax until he felt the SUV start reversing before swerving in a 180 degree motion, making his eyes shoot back open and see their vehicle now facing the same direction as the unsub. The wheels immediately regained traction against the asphalt before lunging into the dirt and across the grass covered field. The unsub had barely any time to react and drive away as the SUV made contact with the front end, pushing it farther into the field all the while further destroying the car and preventing it from driving anymore.

Now stopped, (Y/n) threw her seatbelt off and dashed out of her seat. Once again, Spencer found himself watching the scene unfold in front of him, his eyes glued to the way (Y/n) held her pistol all the while dragging the unsub out of the vehicle. Surprisingly, the man's arms eventually came up to hold his head, showing he was still alive despite being hit twice.

It's only then that Spencer snapped out of his haze, clambering out of the vehicle behind her as she tugged the injured man onto his stomach. Aside from the man's cries, the sound of sirens began to follow them much to Spencer's delight. They couldn't keep up with the unsub, losing him in traffic due to his speeds, but that wasn't a hard challenge for (Y/n).

Clearly.

It was merely thirty seconds later that the rest of the team joined them, followed by several ambulances and police vehicles that promptly looked over the murderer before taking him away to jail. This left both Spencer and (Y/n) to be checked over despite being alright throughout it all. It took hardly any time for Spencer to be declared fine, leaving him to make sure (Y/n) was okay.

Walking over to her ambulance, he saw an EMS worker finish wrapping up (Y/n)'s slightly bleeding wrist, his steps now a bit more panicked as he came closer to her. "I cut my hand on a piece of glass when handcuffing the guy," (Y/n) quickly explained to the worried man, smiling at him. "I'm okay, Spence, really."

Feeling his heart warm up in response to (Y/n) calling him the nickname she adopted for him, he saw himself sitting next to her and sighing. "Where did you...?" Spencer began, not knowing where to go with his question. Instead of waiting for him to continue, she smirked and finished for him.

"Where did I learn to do that?" She asked for clarification, receiving a nod in response. Still smiling, she happily answered him. "When I was younger, my dad fixed cars, but you already knew that," She explained, Spencer nodding along as she spoke.

"Well, he also liked stunts and he taught me a few things too," she shrugged, "The pit maneuver was nothing, but that j-turn was something else," She explained, the Spencer's ears perking up as she answered his next question without him even saying it.

Her smile slowly died down before she slid a hand over to his resting on the ambulance, albeit a bit cautiously. However, his unchanging expression showed her it was okay, and so, she left her hand on top of his.

"I am sorry if I scared you, Spencer," She apologized, "Not everyone's used to... well, my driving, but I can't help it," They both shared a small laugh at this, staring at each other for a few moments before she spoke up once more. "Still, I hope you don't see me as reckless or immature."

In response to her words, Spencer let out a small laugh before wrapping an arm around her back and pulling her close. Perhaps it was the chaotic experience they just faced, or maybe it was the longing stares and touches they sometimes exchanged, but Spencer didn't know where this sudden burst of confidence was coming from. In fact, the only thing that reassured him of his actions was (Y/n) reciprocating them and nuzzling into his side ever so slightly.

"You didn't scare me," Spencer lied, putting on a genuine smile due to the happiness he felt from the combination of (Y/n)'s touch and words. "To be honest, I thought it was kind of hot," The words left his lips as awkward as they could, followed by a dark blush taking over his porcelain cheeks.

Although, (Y/n) paid no mind to his embarrassment, and instead, she couldn't help but lean up and gently kiss Spencer's soft lips. They were slightly swollen from him biting them in the car out of anxiousness and fright, but (Y/n) didn't care. She was happy just to be kissing the man, and even more elated at the sensation of him kissing back.

A small amount of applause filled the area around them, causing the two to part and look around to see their teammates grinning and clapping their hands.

"I knew it!" JJ yelled, clapping her hands together with an excited smile. "This was going to happen sooner or later,"

Beside JJ was Emily, smiling as well while clapping her on the back. Spencer and (Y/n) then began to stutter to Emily that they wouldn't let this interfere with their work, but the dark-haired woman simply held up a hand in response. "It's okay, I know you two, and I know you'll still be the same excellent workers," The smile she wore grew into that of a smirk, anticipating her next reply. "Just a bit more cuddly... and cute."

Relieved, both (Y/n) and Spencer couldn't help but let out a small sigh simultaneously, causing them to look back at each other with sheepish smiles from being caught. Barely any words had been expressed between the two when it came to their new relationship, but one thing was definite: (Y/n)'s motor-loving heart had become entangled with Spencer's chess-loving one, and he was happy.

[thecolorblockcurator]

I’ve been thinking about a few things lately

And it seems like we’re at the precipice of another dark age. Dark ages are typically when education, reading, writing, scientific progress are lost

And by precipice I mean, it could go either way. Historically the rise of fascism has lead to incredible powerful art movements - as well as aggressive censorship

Now I don’t think it’s so dramatic that everything will be lost, collapse of a civilization -only ruins will be left kind of thing. We’re in a completely different age with more visibility and information than ever before

But I do think this time it’s a shift from reading and art to content that has been happening over the years & with generative AI it’s only pushing it further.

What got me thinking about it was- I just read about a new publishing company that is only selling AI generated books & plans to publish and flood the market with 8000 new ai generated books next year.

There is power in art. Art is transformative, political, it teaches us to be curious, to think creatively, to see things from different perspectives. Making art of any kind helps us from everything to processing trauma, to expressing our voice, to creating communities.

Content passes the time, it grabs our attention. It fills the room with noise. And it keeps people distracted. It keeps people in a passive yet heightened state.

And the second thing I’ve been thinking about is feudalism. The economic / political system that was around in the last dark age in Europe.

Now what I studied in my history program was more of the rise of industrialization & colonialism so I’m not as strong with my background in feudalism and I want to fully understand it before I completely form this idea

But, I’ve seen others write about this too and I think they’re onto something- it seems like we’ve breached late stage capitalism to some new type of feudalism. And I think that has some validity

Whether it’s related to the tech industry or corporate real estate. Or some combination of the two. I can see how this could be a type of feudalism. The effects are the same in terms the distribution of power, wealth, labor, ownership, as well as the cultural factors of approved art what art is allowed to be made and visible or in our case, consumed.

In regards to art- I can see how content, noise, trends are more valuable to a new type of feudalism than art. And how they both lend themselves to create a new type of dark age

So what does that mean? What should we do?

Create art. Write stories, poetry, zines, paintings, collages. Wrestle with ideas. Learn about new things that are confusing and difficult to understand at first. Carve out time for silence, so you can actually think without 3 different types of media all playing at once.

I think we have to actively fight this. And trust me I get sucked into instagram and tumblr more than I want to be.

And for me I know what I’m fighting is- it’s gotten to this point where it feels like by not being engaged in content I’m not being productive. That sitting in silence to let myself wrestle with ideas for a bit is somehow wasting time. - Which of course it’s not.

[qqueenofhades]

I bought your 'Empire' the other day (which I am excited about; I haven't started it yet), but somehow completely missed that you had written historical fiction, and about the Plantagenets, my favourite historical dynasty, so I'll be jumping on that.

I was wondering if you had recommendations for historical fiction set during the Plantagenet reign? I've tried Sharon Kay Penman and unfortunately didn't get on with her writing, which is a shame as I've heard good things about her series. I know Philippa Gregory has several novels set during that time period, but her books seem to be verging on bodice rippers, which isn't what I'm looking for. Was just curious if you had any suggestions for well-researched fiction set during the Plantagenet reign.

This ask has been sitting in my inbox for several days (my apologies) largely because I was trying to think of a more helpful answer for you. Medieval historical fiction is VERY hit and miss for me, not least because it is often written by people who, uh, are not historians and thus have Certain Ideas (TM) about what the medieval period is like. Or they want to use various aesthetics, or they want to make some (usually questionable) point about how women were treated in the past, or they just go whole-hog on total nonsense. As an example of all of these things at once, let us all stare in horror at this recently-released book description together:

(The book is called the Stone Witch of Florence, by the way. I took one look at this and ran screaming. WHY.)

A stone witch?? So she channels the power of gemstones like a modern-day Instagram healing crystals influencer??? BUT ZOMGZ WITCHCRAFT. In the middle of the Black Death. "Unorthodox cures" you say. But they also need holy relics for protection, and I totally trust the author to understand about medieval hagiography/cult of the saints. Totally. We definitely won't get some half-baked comparison between Sekrit Women Magical Gems Which Really Work and Dark Ages Church Superstition Holy Relics Which Are A Fraud, or.... something??? And our nobly mistreated protagonist will super definitely be a real physician if she gets these and never ever accused of witchcraft (which LET US ALL SAY IT TOGETHER IS AN EARLY MODERN THING!!!!) Because medieval medicine was just a bunch of gemstone vibes anyway! Makes total sense!

...my head hurts.

Anyway, while not all examples are this egregious, the point is: I love historical fiction, but I almost always can't read it when it's set in the medieval era. I read Sharon Kay Penman a while ago and enjoyed her stuff at the time, though I have assorted gripes with it on a stylistic/historical level. While Philippa Gregory does have real academic credentials, she likewise has gone totally down the bodice-ripper alternate-history crackpot theory Secret Women Magic version of things, which is... fine if that's your jam, but just like you, it is not mine. I thus have to read fiction which is set in other periods or which I know less about or where at least I am more capable of turning off my brain and accepting things for the sake of the story. So as you see, I unfortunately don't have many useful suggestions for you in this field, since the kind of medieval historical fiction that I like to recommend is, say, The Name of the Rose. Which is terrific and written for someone of a professional medievalist's level of knowledge, but is not exactly everyone's cup of tea when they just want something fun and easy to understand.

I am, of course, happy to give other book recommendations if you'd like to broaden your request, and I'll do my best to think -- but yes! As I said, I wish I could be more helpful here. I shall persist.

(Also, of course: thanks for buying EMPIRE! I do hope you enjoy.)