#how to check domain authority

[sprenthecreator]

IMPURITIES EP. 4 | Falling Away From Me

Final episode from this LSF mini-series

Male reader x Chaewon, Eunchae

9,4k words

tags: hate sex for chaewon, fluff for manchae, threesome

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If you'd known how things were going to end, maybe you would have thought twice before falling for Yunjin and Chaewon's manipulation that night in New York.

You were in the living room, sitting in your usual spot, with an iPad on which you checked schedules that apparently no one cared about anymore, your hair messy and your shirt wrinkled, thinking about how you'd lost control of everything thanks to the seeds of chaos you'd once planted and that were now weeds impossible to prune.

A year had passed since that night, and what started as a little game you thought wouldn't amount to much had mutated into the main source of your exhaustion, because the truth was that your authority had eroded to the frustrating point where none of the girls respected you like they used to.

Nah. They didn't even respect you, in general.

Much of it was solely your fault, and it was something you'd made peace with a long time ago. But the girls had been consciously pushing the boundaries ever since, knowing it was as simple as giving you pussy once in a while to get you off your butt. That way, they killed two birds with one stone: they satisfied their carnal needs, and kept you appeased.

At first, it was one-off things you didn't worry too much about, like staying out late without telling you or breaking minor rules of living together. However, when they realized you weren't making a big deal out of it, they started skipping practices, staying out all night without checking in, and seeing as many guys and girls as they pleased.

And all this while making you cover for them.

For God's sake, what the hell had all that become? It was a fucking circus, and you were the highest-paid clown in it. It had to end, and soon. Of that you were sure.

Unfortunately, your only problem was that you had no idea how to proceed. While it was true that your emotional bond with Chaewon—who was the best-behaved of all of them—was by far the strongest compared to the other girls, your relationship had soured thanks to your constant encounters with the others. If it had happened a year ago, you might have been able to address the situation with the levity it required, but now you felt like there was a sea of ​​distance between you.

And all because of jealousy, bad decisions, and the audacity of four girls in their prime.

Laughter upstairs brought you out of your reverie. It couldn't be Chaewon, since you knew she was busy with her own things at that hour, and it couldn't be Kazuha, since she was out on one of her individual photoshoots. That left you with the Three Musketeers.

It wasn't your business to know what they were laughing about, and it never had been, since it was their personal space. But for some time now, you'd been suspicious of even the smallest thing. The laughter could only mean two things: either they were laughing at something innocent, or they were committing one of their misdeeds.

Experience told you it was the latter.

With a heavy breath, you put the iPad aside and stood up, heading for some stairs you hadn't climbed in days, maybe weeks. As you climbed them, you felt a strange discomfort run through your body, knowing you were entering a domain over which your jurisdiction was now null.

Upstairs, you looked around, noticing one of the doors was wide open: the bedroom Sakura and Yunjin shared. More laughter came from there. You walked cautiously, careful not to make your footsteps creak the wooden floor as you approached. A few feet away, you frowned as a smoky smell reached your nostrils. Like... burnt grass, but more intense.

When you peeked your head around the left side of the frame, your suspicions were confirmed and even exceeded.

Sakura and Yunjin were sitting on one of the two beds, dressed in loose clothing and with their hair down. Nothing out of the ordinary until you noticed that Yunjin was holding a lit joint between her index finger and thumb. She didn't notice you were watching, so you watched as she took a quick drag, held it, and then blew the smoke into the air.

They had a long history of inappropriate behavior, but this was completely new and more serious. At least for you. And you weren't going to tolerate it.

"Can you explain to me what the fuck you're doing?!" you asked, abruptly entering the room.

They both got a bit of a shock, but relaxed—yes, they fucking relaxed—when they saw it was you.

"Oh, calm down, manager-nim," Yunjin said, dismissing it with a wave of her hand. "It's just a friendly joint, it won't hurt anyone."

Maybe you were just too irascible and irritable, but that alone was enough to make your blood boil.

"Do you do this shit outside the house too?" You raised your voice and took a step forward. "Do you know that crap can ruin your fucking career? For the love of God!" You threw your hands in the air. "What the fuck are you thinking?"

"If you don't like it, leave," Kura said, shrugging. She took the joint from Yunjin's hand. "We're adults and we know exactly what we're doing."

"And I don't think you're the one to lecture us on morals, are you?" Yunjin asked with a giggle, tilting her head. "My throat still hurts from how well you fucked my face last night."

You snorted, feeling your frustration rising in your body.

"Maybe I'm not, but I'm still your fucking manager, and I've had enough." You walked over to them, grabbing Sakura by the wrist with one hand and taking the joint from her with the other. Then you turned around to walk to the door. "Next time I'll inform the company, see if that will get you in line."

Sakura and Yunjin laughed behind you. Did you tell a joke?

"Yeah, we'll just sit here and wait for you to do it," Kura mocked. "Take your time."

"Goodbye, manager-nim!" Yunjin said to you, still giggling, as you stood under the door, biting your tongue to avoid responding.

In the end, you left the room and slammed the door behind you.

The joint in your hand was still lit, and since you didn't have a stain-resistant surface nearby to put it out, you simply let it burn in a corner of the hallway floor.

As you turned around and started walking down the hall toward the stairs, one of the doors at the far end opened. You stopped as Eunchae emerged from her shared room with Zuha, wearing headphones, a cropped T-shirt that showed off a good portion of her belly, and tight shorts.

And she was carrying a can of beer.

"Oh, hello, manager-nim," Eunchae greeted with a nod of her chin after hanging the headphones around her neck. With a defiant look, she opened the can of beer in front of you.

You clenched your fists and teeth, closing your eyes to summon whatever patience you had left after dealing with the other two.

Since becoming an adult seven months ago, Eunchae had joined the others and started acting like a rebellious brat, and she was undoubtedly the biggest pain in the ass. Not because of what she did, but because, as the maknae, everyone jumped to her defense as if she couldn't even kill a fly.

"Hong Eunchae..." you began in a low but threatening voice. "You better have a good reason for having that damn beer in your hand. You know very well we don't drink here."

Eunchae walked toward you and stopped about a meter away, leaning her weight on one leg and crossing her arms.

"I'm 18 now. I think I can do whatever I please, right?"

"You can do it outside the house. But there are rules here."

"Rules?" Eunchae chuckled. "The same rules under which you fuck my unnies over and over again?"

You were silent for a moment. You had no defense against that.

"That has nothing to do with all of you being brats in constant disobedience," you opted to say.

"If we're in constant disobedience, it's because you haven't had the courage to stand up to us," Eunchae took a step forward. "Or am I wrong? Huh?"

At your silence, Eunchae brought the beer can to her lips and took a long sip. A bit of beer trickled down the sides of her chin and slid down her long neck. Then she looked at you again, closer this time.

"I just drank," she said defiantly. "Are you going to do something about it?"

Eunchae studied you for a moment, noticing your fists clenched in rage. You were about to say something, but she got there first.

"I thought so."

Then, leaving you fuming at her insolence, Eunchae turned on her heel and walked back to her room, her hips swaying.

Definitely, you'd had enough. Something had to change, and it had to change right now. Your mind immediately went to Chaewon. She was the leader, and also supposed to be the most mature, she had to take responsibility for the behavior of her members.

Feeling steam coming out of your ears, you walked to the other end of the hallway. The door to Chaewon's room was ajar, and with your best-contained anger, you entered.

Chaewon was sitting on her messy bed, knees pointed out and feet tucked under her thighs as she scribbled in a notebook. She was wearing short pajama shorts and a loose shirt that slipped off one shoulder, and she was listening to music on her AirPods. Her gaze shifted toward you when she noticed your presence, her expression stern.

"What's wrong?" she asked me with a coldness that made your heart sink, taking out her AirPods as you closed the door behind you with a firm click.

You stood near the door and crossed your arms, feeling the full pressure of being in a place you shouldn't be under normal circumstances weighing on your shoulders. You felt like an intruder, and that's probably what she thought.

"Chaewon, this has gone too far," you finally said, your voice calm and in contrast to how irritated you felt. "The damn house is in disarray. There's no more respect, no more order. Everyone does whatever the hell they want without fear of the consequences, and honestly, I'm fucking exhausted. Do you know what Eunchae was doing? She..."

You stopped saying what you were going to say when Chaewon put her notebook and mechanical pencil aside and got out of bed with a sudden movement.

"Same thing again?" she asked, her tone cutting, taking slow steps toward you until she stopped less than a meter away. "Do you realize the way you're talking?" She tilted her head. "I'm not your fucking babysitter! When are you going to get this through your head?"

You gritted your teeth, focused on not getting any more upset than you already were.

"No, you're not the fucking babysitter. You're the leader of the fucking group, and you don't seem to care that this shit's going down!"

Chaewon let out a dry laugh, shaking her head. She turned and walked over to the desk, where she began shuffling her sheet music, something she did when she was under severe stress. Her hands were shaking.

"And what about you?" Chaewon asked without looking at you. "How can you expect to blame me when this whole fucking mess is your fault?"

"My fault?" You pointed at yourself, walking over to her side. "I've been trying to keep them in line for a damn year, and you just let them do whatever the hell they want," you were inadvertently raising your voice. "You're not using the damn authority you're supposed to have! This is your responsibility too!"

Chaewon turned to face you, her face inches from yours.

"My responsibility?!" She raised her voice too. "I'm sick of taking the fall for your damn mistakes while you..." her voice cracked. "While you fuck the others like you don't care about what I feel!"

Bingo. That's the root of the whole damn situation. The worst part is that it was also your fault for letting her get involved not only sexually with you, but emotionally as well. You liked each other, a lot. But the nature of your working relationship complicated things a lot on your end. Of course, she didn't care, and she allowed herself to feel jealous of the others.

"Chaewon... ugh!" you huffed in frustration, bringing your hands to your face. When you lowered them, your eyes wandered down to her desk, where you noticed an envelope among the sheet music with what appeared to be the HYBE logo. "What's this?"

Chaewon looked where you were looking and tried to hide the envelope, but you were quicker and grabbed it. It was, indeed, an open envelope with the HYBE logo in one corner. She tried to take it from your hands, but you covered yourself and pulled out the folded paper inside.

"You've got to be kidding me..." you muttered.

The sheet contained a notice: an anonymous complaint about LESSERAFIM's behavior, mentioning rumors of parties in nightclubs, lack of discipline, and even dating scandals, with implications for legal action if these behaviors weren't corrected.

Every ounce of patience you'd been mustering evaporated in the heat of your boiling blood. That explained everything: both the girls' audacity at seeing their actions had no consequences and Chaewon's passivity in the matter. She was hiding it.

Betrayed by the leader of the group you were leading. It had gotten to that point.

"Kim Chaewon..." you slowly lowered the sheet of paper, your gaze fixed on the floor. "You knew about this and didn't do anything to fix it?"

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Chaewon tense, completely still on her feet. You could tell she hadn't planned for you to find out.

"It's not my problem..." she said hesitantly. "If they want to come, then let them. I'm tired."

You raised your gaze to face her, frowning.

"Then let them? What the fuck are you talking about?" You shook the sheet of paper in your hand and then threw it on the desk. "Don't you realize that your passivity makes you just as guilty as the rest of us?!"

"Guilty?!" Chaewon raised her voice, her face turning red. "Of course, because you can fuck the others like common whores in need of cock, and I have to smile and act like it's nothing!" She gave you a little shove. "You think it doesn't hurt me to see you with them? It makes me sick! Sick!"

"Chaewon-ah! It's not all about you!" you yelled, hands outstretched. "Don't you understand? You're being a fucking selfish bitch and letting everything get ruined over a fucking jealousy scene!

"I..."

"Grow up and talk things over with me instead of letting things get to this point!" Fuck!" You slammed the side of your fist against the desk and turned your back to take a few steps away, feeling your head start to hurt.

Chaewon, instead of closing the distance between you, took a slight step back.

"Do something, then," she said, her voice shaking.

You stood very still, thinking you'd heard her wrong.

"Excuse me, what?" you said, slowly turning around and closing the distance between you.

"Do something," Chaewon repeated louder. "Be a damn man, and do something. You're the highest authority in this house, right? Do something."

You stood in front of her, staring into her eyes as your breathing grew labored. Rage took hold of you and clouded your thinking, so you didn't measure your strength when you grabbed her by the arms and slammed her against the wall on one side of the bed, smashing your lips against hers.

Chaewon moaned and grabbed at your shirt, tugging at it and biting your lower lip as you kissed her furiously. You wrapped your arms around her body, and she wrapped her arms around your neck, one hand in your hair and the other across your shoulders. She fought for control of the kiss, making your teeth clash and your tongues swirl. In the end, it was your determination to prove your dominance that allowed you to subdue her.

You grabbed her by the thighs and lifted her into the air, spinning her onto the bed and throwing her face up against the mattress. Chaewon trapped your torso with her strong thighs, hands on your shoulders as you exchanged saliva and heavy breaths.

In a pure surge of desire and anger combined, you ripped off Chaewon's shirt with a sharp upward jerk. Chaewon gasped, her small breasts covered by a black bra that you wanted to rip to shreds.

"You're going to learn who's boss, you fucking whore," you growled. "Open your mouth."

"Make me, asshole," Chaewon barked back. "You're not gonna boss me around after months of being a pussy."

In response, you slapped her firmly across her left cheek, making her moan. Then you grabbed a handful of her short brown hair, pulled her head back, and bit her exposed neck. Chaewon dug her nails into your shoulders and let out another moan, letting you trail kisses and sucks down to her chest. You slid your hands under her back, and after removing her bra, you took one of her breasts into your mouth.

Chaewon's back arched as you swirled your tongue around each nipple and sucked on them like never before. After leaving each mound covered in saliva, you slowly lowered your mouth between them until you reached her tummy, pausing there for a moment before moving to her lower abdomen and, with your hands on her waist, yanked her shorts and panties down her legs.

With her now wet pussy exposed, you wasted no time parting Chaewon's legs, pushing her thighs back and planting your mouth there, giving her an upward lick before devouring her silky folds, addictive not only for their texture but for their taste.

"Oh god," Chaewon moaned after a few seconds, as you sucked and licked her clit. "Stop being such a fucking weakling and fuck me already."

"Shut the fuck up," you snapped, and slapped her pussy. She moaned. "You're not in charge. Get it through your fucking head."

Before Chaewon could protest further, you sucked on your middle and ring fingers and slowly guided them into her tight pussy. Chaewon reached out and gripped strands of your hair as you began pumping your wrist, simultaneously licking her clit in rapid motions.

Chaewon writhed on the bed, her moans getting louder as you went faster, your sole goal being to make her explode as quickly as possible. You succeeded after a few seconds, when Chaewon tensed her thighs and exploded against your mouth, stifling sweet squeals of pleasure that she muffled against the forearm she was biting.

"Cum again," you said, in a low but commanding voice, still pumping your fingers even though Chaewon was still squirming.

"B-But! I'm still-"

"I said cum again."

Chaewon grabbed your hair with both hands, pulling hard. Not even a minute passed before your commands sank in and she came for the second time in a row, her body seized by a series of spasms that made her crumple the sheets beneath her.

"Good girl," you said, standing up while her legs were still shaking. "That's the least obedience I expect from now on."

Still somewhat dazed from climaxing twice in such a short amount of time, Chaewon remained silent as you removed your clothes. When you were completely naked, you climbed onto the bed with her and, kneeling beside her face, took your hard cock in one hand and forced it into her mouth.

Chaewon didn't protest and closed her lips around your cock with a moan, propping herself up on one elbow to grasp your shaft at the base and pump her head with long, hard pumps. Her control didn't last long, however, as you pulled a handful of her hair into a ponytail and began fucking her face.

"That's it, slut, take it all," you groaned, rapidly pumping your hips.

This wasn't anything new between the two of you, so she was able to take almost all of your cock before her gag reflex kicked in. Still, saliva slowly seeped from the corners of her lips and dripped down her chin, and it only got worse when, after a moment, you buried the entire length of your cock inside her mouth, resting it against her throat.

"Choke on it, bitch," you gasped, tightening your fingers in her hair, feeling her throat caress your tip.

Chaewon gagged against your cock, saliva spilling from her mouth in thick drops that fell onto the sheets. Her nails dug into your buttocks, a signal to stop that you ignored at first. Only a few desperate slaps on your thigh finally made you give her a break, letting her cough and catch her breath.

"You fucking..."

You returned the words to her mouth with another sharp slap to her cheek. Chaewon groaned, looking up at you with eyes filled with pleasure and anger.

"I don't want to hear you, shut the fuck up," you said, going to kneel between her legs.

"Fuck you, motherf... mmmgh!" Chaewon squealed as you took your cock inside her in one swift motion. "God, why can't you just be mine?"

You placed your hands on her thighs and pressed them back, fucking her slowly at that angle you knew she loved. Funny, but yes: even mad as hell at her, you cared that she enjoyed it.

"Because I'm not interested in belonging to a selfish bitch," you said, jaw clenched, panting at how good the way her pussy squeezed your cock so deliciously always felt. You didn't really think that, but it was the first thing your anger put in line.

Chaewon grabbed her legs behind the knees, keeping them spread. She moaned as you went faster and pounded her against the bed.

"Those bitches don't deserve you!!" Chaewon protested amidst her moans.

"And do you?"

"At least I truly love you!" Chaewon squealed, closing her eyes and tilting her head back. "Why doesn't that matter to you?!"

You pressed both of Chaewon's thighs together and rested both of her heels on your right shoulder, then leaned forward and pushed her legs against her body with your hands flat on the mattress.

"Then why did you let all this happen?!" you yelled through a grunt, reaching deep into her pussy with each thrust. "You don't do that shit to someone you love!!"

"And you don't deliberately fuck that person's groupmates either!"

That was the last thing Chaewon screamed before cumming again, suffocating your cock with her tight walls. She shuddered beneath you and gripped your forearms, every muscle in her body contracting in an orgasm that wasn't half as strong as what you knew you could achieve in her.

"If that bothered you, you could talk to me, Kim Chaewon," you murmured, fucking her slowly. "Talking. You know what that is, right?" You slowly raised your voice. "Talking instead of putting the fucking executives on our fucking heels!! What the fuck were you thinking?! Ugh!"

You pulled out of her pussy and grabbed her forearm to force her to stand up off the bed, carry her to the desk, and bend her against it. Chaewon braced her hands on the surface, crumpling some sheet music and knocking a couple of pens out of their containers to the floor.

"I don't have to go around telling you what the fuck to do and what not!" Chaewon yelled back, a moan escaping her throat as you came back inside her. "You're a fucking adult and you know exactly what you're doing!"

"And that excuses you from being fucking negligent?" you asked, hands gripping her waist as you pounded her pussy again with fast, hard thrusts. "I understand that you're mad at me, but hiding something like that from me? What the fuck is wrong with you?!"

"You had to wake up somehow, you fucking asshole! Mmmgh!" Chaewon squealed, slumping her upper torso against the desk, knocking more of her things over. "I hope it teaches you to think with your head and not your dick!"

You reached out and grabbed a handful of her hair. Chaewon moaned as you pulled it back, causing her to lift her chest slightly off the desk.

"So you're not even sorry?" you growled, your brow furrowed.

"I won't fucking be sorry until you are!" Chaewon snapped back. "And believe me, you have plenty of reasons to apologize!"

You wished your mind had come up with a response to that, but all you could muster was a resounding slap to her right buttock that reverberated throughout the room and made her scream. More like those landed, on each buttock. One after the other until her ass was tinted a bright red, making it look like a jelly cake that you jiggled with each violent thrust.

"Keep going, keep going, keep going!!" Chaewon squealed, her hands braced against the wall in front of her. "Keep going, daddy, please!"

Chaewon exploded within seconds, in an electrifying orgasm that still wasn't the strongest you could get out of her, so you lifted one of her knees and placed it on the edge of the desk to adjust the angle and continue fucking her through a climax that still didn't relax her body.

"Oh fuckkk!!" Chaewon slammed her hand on the table, resting her forehead on one of her notebooks. "That feels so good!"

You gritted your teeth, sweat dripping from your temples and onto your chest as you redoubled your efforts. You squeezed her left buttock with your hand, and with the other, you had her behind the neck, both grips tight and rough. The railing continued until Chaewon came again, and this time you smiled when her neck arched back and she screamed at the ceiling.

"My god!!" Chaewon growled, her pussy squeezing you as her whole body shook. "How can I hate you when you drive me so fucking crazy, son of a bitch!"

"I'm the one who should hate you for what you did," you gasped, sliding a hand from her ass to her waist and pulling out of her pussy.

"And yet, you don't," Chaewon turned to look at you over her shoulder, straightening her back slightly with her hands resting on the desk again. "I'm everything you've ever wanted, and that's why you love me."

"Then you understand how disappointing it is for me that you would hide something like that out of jealousy," you said, unclenching your jaw and calming your breathing. The anger was slowly dissipating. "I… didn't expect that from you, Chaewon,” you shook your head. “You're better than that."

Chaewon opened her mouth to say something, but only a stutter came out. Then her eyes glazed over, and she wrinkled her nose in an attempt not to cry. She was realizing.

"I-I..." Chaewon pouted and looked away, two tears falling down her cheeks. "God, I'm sorry."

That looked more like the Chaewon you knew, one who put her pride aside and was mature enough to know how to give in when necessary. But despite it all, it broke your heart to watch her cry. Always.

You sighed and tilted your head, watching her as she wiped away her tears to no avail, as she sobbed on and on. Chaewon then straightened her back, turned around, and snuggled up to your chest with both arms in front of her.

"I'm so sorry, I really am," Chaewon sobbed. "You don't deserve to go through this because of me."

You swallowed and wrapped your arms around her, holding her close. You stroked her back and hair to comfort her.

"I'm sorry too," you said quietly, staring into space. "For... acting without thinking about how you'd feel."

"What I did is much worse!" Chaewon whimpered. "I messed up, and now we're going to be in trouble!"

"Chaewon-ah, please breathe," you said, seeing that she couldn't find relief from her tears. "There's time to make things right. We just have to absorb the blow and improve. It won't be more than a scolding."

That seemed to calm her down a bit. Chaewon made an effort to regulate her breathing and hold back her sobs, after leaving your chest wet with her tears.

"You think so?" Chaewon looked up at you. "I really don't want this to end because of me. I've worked so hard in this group, and... and..."

You cupped her face and kissed her gently. Chaewon held onto your wrists, kissing back.

"We both made mistakes, okay?" you said, gently holding her face. "You've already apologized for yours, and I apologize for mine."

"Can you really accept my apology? What I did..." Chaewon looked to the side and slowly shook her head. "God, I'm really sorry."

"I can accept them as long as you commit to putting things in order. To really put things in order like the leader you are," you did a pause. "Can you accept mine?"

"I can accept them..." Chaewon now looked at you. "But you know what that entails."

"I... I think I know," you nodded.

"We have terms, then?"

"They're going to riot about it, and we will have to find a solution for them, but we have terms."

"Great," Chaewon sighed and rested her forehead against your chest. "I'm still mad at you, though."

"I know, I know," you said. "Can I do anything to remedy it, even just a little?"

Chaewon looked up at you, and slowly reached down to grab your cock and rub it.

"Fuck my ass," she said, her hand sliding down your cock, wet with her own fluids. "You've never done it, and I think this is a good time to."

You chuckled.

"Really? Right now?"

"Well... you're not doing it with Kura anymore," Chaewon scribbled on your chest with a finger from her other hand while giving you a lazy handjob. "So you better get used to doing it with me."

Damn it, you weren't going to fuck Kura's ass again. The thought was painful. The sacrifice was more than necessary, though.

"So be it, then," you said, and slid a hand behind her to squeeze her ass. "Turn around."

Chaewon obeyed and bent back against the desk, her fists resting on it. She pushed her round ass back, pressing the back of your cock between her buttocks. There was no lubricant on hand, so you'd have to settle for natural methods, using saliva and her own fluids to prepare her ass.

"Mmm, fuck," Chaewon moaned, straining as two of your fingers made their way inside her butthole. "Slow, slow."

"Haven't you done this before?" you asked, carefully stretching her insides. "Not even with toys?"

"Those three have put the wrong ideas in your head, honey," Chaewon sighed, your fingers now fully inside her. "Not all girls are sluts who like things up their asses."

"I had to ask," you shrugged. "Do you feel ready yet, sweetie?"

"I think so..."

You removed your fingers from inside her ass and grabbed your cock, pressing it against it. For her first time, her hole yielded quite easily to your length, slowly filling it. Chaewon dropped her chest onto the desk.

"Well, it's not as bad as I thought..." Chaewon murmured. "Wait stop!" she said, when you were only inches away from being completely inside her.

"Is that your limit, baby?" you asked, your hands on her waist. "You can relax, I won't push any further."

"Yeah, I'm sorry, darling," Chaewon sighed, looking at you over her shoulder. "I know Kura can take it all, but I..."

"Kim Chaewon," you grabbed her neck and pulled her closer so she was looking into your eyes. "Never, and I repeat, never. Compare yourself to other girls."

"But..."

"Never. You drive me fucking crazy, no matter what. I've told you that more than once, I’m pretty sure."

Chaewon remained silent, and looking into your eyes, she pushed her hips back and drove the rest of your cock into her ass with a small cry of pain. You took her hands and intertwined your fingers together.

"Hey!" You frowned, concerned by her pained face but also delighted by how good it felt. "Baby, you didn't have to do that..."

"Shut up," Chaewon reached behind her to cover your mouth, her eyes closed as she adjusted to having you inside her ass. "You shouldn't have said that: you forced me to prove how much you deserve the best of me."

Chaewon took your hand from her mouth and returned it to the desk.

"Are you sure it doesn't hurt?" you asked.

"Just move, asshole," Chaewon replied. "I'll get over it."

Somewhat hesitantly, you began to move slowly, your hands on her waist. Your cock slid in and out of her with some friction, lacking proper lubrication, but that didn't stop it from feeling simply delicious after just a few pumps. For Chaewon, it was a similar sensation: over time, her expression softened, slowly transforming to evoke the pleasure she felt.

"Is that better, darling?" you gasped, one hand slowly moving up her smooth, beautiful back to rest on one of her shoulders. Now your rhythm was steady, not too fast for fear of hurting her.

"Oh yeah, it's feeling like I thought it would," Chaewon replied. "You can move faster."

You did so, gradually picking up a steady rhythm until you were slamming your pelvis against her ass with each thrust. Chaewon's moans grew louder and louder, letting you know that ecstasy was taking over her and that she was beginning to enjoy every second of it.

"Do you like it, sweetheart?" you asked, gaping, your fingers clutching her shoulder and waist.

"Yes daddy," Chaewon nodded quickly, gripping the opposite edge of the desk. "I love it."

"Can I go faster?"

"I'm not in pain anymore... so use me however you wish."

Those magic words were like gunpowder to the flames, allowing you to slip out of your restraints and give her a good pounding against the desk. All Chaewon did was moan, squirm, and throw even more things off the desk, including HYBE's letter. The room erupted into a perfect cacophony of flesh against flesh and moans.

Interrupted by the sound of the door opening to your left.

You and Chaewon quickly turned your heads and turned your backs to hide your private parts, seeing Eunchae standing under the door, her eyes wide open, fascinated by the scene before her.

"Hong Eunchae!!" Chaewon squealed, frowning, her face flushed. "What did I tell you about knocking on the damn door?! Get lost!!"

"No... this is entertaining," Eunchae said, looking down—probably at your ass—with the door still wide open behind her.

"God, I said get out!" Chaewon yelled, grabbing a pencil to throw at her. She missed badly. "And close the damn door already!"

You grabbed Chaewon's wrist and leaned close to her ear.

"Let her stay," you muttered, glancing at Eunchae out of the corner of your eye.

Chaewon glared at you like you'd gone crazy.

"Huh?! Didn't you learn anything from our argument?"

"This is our chance to start weeding," you said even more quietly so Eunchae wouldn't hear. "Trust me. I have a plan."

Chaewon stared at Eunchae for a moment, rolled her eyes with a snort, and stared at the ceiling.

"Okay, Eunchae," she said loudly. "You can stay. But for God's sake, come in and close the damn door!"

Eunchae hurried into the bedroom and closed the door behind her. You then carried Chaewon to the bed, putting her on her hands and knees as she faced Eunchae, whose eyes lit up at the sight of your naked bodies.

"Should I just... stay around here?" Eunchae asked nervously, pressing herself against the wall next to the door with her hands behind her back.

"If that's what you want," you shrugged, and as you looked down at Chaewon, you thrust back into her ass with a single gentle thrust.

Chaewon moaned, her ass raised from you and her back arched. You left your hands on her buttocks and went back to fucking her with the same intensity as a moment ago, only now looking at Eunchae as you did so.

Eunchae watched intently, leaning against the wall, her breathing quickening as she brought a hand to her crotch to touch herself over her shorts.

"Enjoying this, huh?" you asked between gasps, watching her rub circles on her slit.

"You two look... so hot, yeah," Eunchae nodded, biting her lower lip as Chaewon whimpered in pleasure, seconds before experiencing her first anal orgasm.

You gripped Chaewon's waist with both hands, thrusting slowly and deeply as she moaned and writhed, crumpling the sheets beneath her hands. Her ass suffocated your cock at one point, forcing you to stop and enjoy the sensation.

When Chaewon's orgasm passed, you grabbed her shoulders and straightened her back to press her against your chest. She turned her face, kissing you as she met your lips. You wrapped your arms around her, one hand playing with one of her nipples and the other between her thighs, rubbing circles on her clit. Then you pulled your cock out of her ass and quickly slid it back inside her tight, warm pussy. Chaewon moaned against your lips, placing her hands over yours, and fell forward again as you began pounding her pussy with fierce thrusts that made her shake like a rag doll.

In front of you, Eunchae had one hand inside her shorts and panties, fingering herself faster. She let out small, almost inaudible moans.

"Look at that, baby," you told Chaewon, and you slapped her ass so she arched and looked at Eunchae. "The brat is horny."

"Manager-nim... you move so well," Eunchae said with a small sigh, her cheeks flushed, moving her wrist faster inside her shorts. "When are you going to...?"

Perhaps sensing what her question was going to be, your body tingled to let you know you were close to cumming. So, grabbing Chaewon by the arms to keep her back straight, you pumped up your energy to give her a few last wild thrusts before erupting inside her pussy.

"Mmmgh fuck!" you groaned, balls deep inside her as you filled every corner of her pussy with slow pumps.

"Fuck..." Eunchae moaned. "Is he...?"

"Cumming inside me, yeah," Chaewon nodded, looking into your eyes with her mouth agape. "And he's cumming a lot."

Your head was spinning at that moment, overwhelmed by pleasure. Chaewon fell chest first onto the bed as you released her arms, now giving her buttocks a hard squeeze. Her grippy pussy was also throbbing around you, and you looked down before pulling out of her and watching your cum spill out of it.

Chaewon slid an arm underneath herself and with her fingers scooped a good amount of cum from between her folds.

"Baby," Chaewon looked at Eunchae. "Could you pass me a wet wipe?" She pointed to her nightstand, and as Eunchae watched, she brought her fingers to her mouth to eat your cum.

"Y-yeah, sure," Eunchae nodded, practically trotting over to the nightstand to grab the pack of wet wipes and hand them to Chaewon, her gaze fixed on your fluid-soaked cock.

While you sat down to rest and catch your breath, Chaewon took a brief moment to clean herself up. A minute later, Chaewon tossed the two wet towels she'd used, crumpled into her trash can and looked at Eunchae.

"So? What are you waiting for?" Chaewon asked. "Come here, cutie."

Eunchae kicked off her slippers and climbed onto the bed, kneeling beside you. Chaewon knelt in front of her and, taking her by the shoulders, led her into a gentle kiss that slowly turned passionate. Eunchae was visibly nervous, but Chaewon was sweet to her the whole time until she warmed up and was able to relax.

Chaewon grabbed Eunchae's crop top and slowly pulled it over her head, revealing the pastel pink bra underneath.

"Can I take that off too?" Chaewon asked, her hands behind Eunchae's back.

Eunchae nodded, and Chaewon unclasped her bra so it fell onto the mattress. Eunchae's tits were even smaller than Zuha's, but they looked soft, and her nipples were small and pretty. Chaewon brought one to her mouth, making Eunchae moan and grab the sides of her head.

"Unnie, touch me down there too..." Eunchae moaned, twirling strands of Chaewon's hair around her fingers.

"Hm?" Chaewon looked up with a nipple in her mouth. "Like, here?"

Chaewon slipped her hand inside Eunchae's shorts and panties, and you watched as she reached her pussy, making Eunchae roll her eyes as she circled her slit with her fingers.

"Oh yeah, just like that," Eunchae sighed, as Chaewon continued sucking and licking her small tits. "You can undress me too."

"I'm a little busy," Chaewon replied, kissing between her breasts. "Manager-nim, will you help me?"

You looked at Eunchae silently, and only when she nodded in approval did you knelt up to go behind her and pull both her shorts and panties down to her knees. Eunchae gasped, feeling your cock brush against one of her buttocks. Chaewon, for her part, arched her back and lowered her kisses to Eunchae's tummy..

"Just relax, princess," Chaewon said, looking into her eyes. "We're going to make you feel good."

Eunchae reached behind her to cup the back of your head, while Chaewon inserted two saliva-stained fingers into her pussy. She let out a moan, and you noticed a slight tug on your hair from her, a signal you took as a green light to bury your face in her long neck and shower it with kisses.

"Can I touch you, sweetheart?" you asked in Eunchae's ear.

"I can literally feel your cock against my ass, manager-nim," she replied, turning her head to look into your eyes. "I don't even know why you're asking."

Then Eunchae subtly joined her lips with yours, in a tender kiss you hadn't expected from her, considering the way she'd been behaving all these days. You placed both hands on her small waist, then moved them to different places: the left one to her tits, playing with one of her nipples between your fingers, and the right one between her legs to rub her clitoris.

Chaewon began slowly pumping her fingers in and out of Eunchae, who moaned against your lips at the double stimulus that made her squirm her hips and buck slightly. Soon, Eunchae's breathing became heavier as Chaewon fingered her faster and you rubbed faster, pushing her hips back to crush the back of your cock between her nude, soft buttocks.

"Does that feel good?" you softly said against her lips.

"So, so good," Eunchae moaned, her eyebrows raised and her mouth gaping. "I think... I think I'm gonna... Oh lord!"

Eunchae tightened her fingers in your hair as she came with a soft moan, her body trembling against yours. You moved your fingers slower, and Chaewon pulled her fingers out of her to go down a little further and lick her pussy with gentle licks. 

"I want you to... eat me," Eunchae managed to say in the midst of her climax. "Can you?"

"I'll take care of it," you replied, taking her hand and leading her to lie down on one of the pillows.

Eunchae made herself comfortable with a pillow under her head, right in the center of the bed. You got on top of her, and after a small, warm kiss on her lips, you slowly moved down her upper torso, stopping at her tummy to lick and kiss it. Then you went a little lower, now between her thighs, pressing them back and bringing your mouth to her pussy.

"Oh my... so good," Eunchae sighed, arching her back and grabbing your hair.

Chaewon joined you and lay down next to Eunchae to kiss her lips. Then she moved down her neck, stopping at her tits and sucking on them again, one hand coming down to join you as you ate her pussy with slow licks, soft kisses, and gentle squeezes of her thigh.

Eunchae's moans grew louder as you let go of the gentleness and began to eat her pussy the way you really knew how, resulting in another orgasm that had her whimpering against Chaewon's lips and cuddling her like a teddy bear.

"Mmm, I think it's time for the main attraction," you said, wiping your chin as you knelt between Eunchae's spread legs. "Do you want to do it?"

Eunchae broke away from Chaewon's lips and looked into your eyes, then at your cock just above her pussy. She bit her lip, her cheeks flushed and her breathing ragged, visibly very horny.

"Yes... I do," Eunchae nodded. "Please fuck me, manager-nim."

You took your cock and pressed the tip between her folds, but instead of taking it inside, you rubbed it up and down between them.

"Why should I?" you asked.

Eunchae frowned, confused. Beside her, Chaewon, on the other hand, gave a small smile, knowing where this was going.

"Well... because I'm naked in front of you and you just have to put it in?" Eunchae retorted.

"Indeed," you nodded. "But I'd be giving you what you want. Why would I give you what you want like you deserve it?"

"Oh come on, manager-nim!" Eunchae protested, clutching the pillow under her head with one hand. "Don't be like that! I'm sorry, okay?"

"Your apologies aren't enough, I need something more."

"What the fuck do you mean?" Eunchae tilted her head and grabbed your cock, trying to push it inside her. "Just do it!"

You grabbed her wrist and stopped her, doing it yourself, but you only got the tip inside. Eunchae twisted her hips in a desperate attempt to push more inside her.

"I need you to promise me that you'll start behaving," you said, with a stern tone in your voice that you hoped would work. "And that you'll start respecting my and Chaewon's authority, no matter what."

"And if I refuse, what are you supposed to do?" Eunchae challenged you.

You shrugged and pulled your tip out from between her folds. You made as if to get up from the bed.

"No, stop!" Eunchae stopped you, trapping you with her legs around your waist. "Oh my god, I can't believe you coerced me into this!"

"It's your fault for being nosy and not knocking before entering," you said. "And now you only have two possible choices. Decide."

"Fuck, fine! I promise!" Eunchae said. "Just fuck me!"

"You promise what?"

Eunchae rolled her eyes and growled in frustration.

"I promise I'll behave and respect your authority no matter what!" Eunchae finally blurted out.

A surge of relief washed over your body, making you take a deep breath. Nothing assured you she wasn't lying, but it was a start.

"Good girl," you smirked. "It wasn't that hard, was it?"

"Shut up."

"It's weird to ask, but are you a virgin?"

"That's none of your business!" Eunchae snapped.

"Just asking, rude ass."

Now certain you'd gotten what you wanted from her, you grabbed your cock by the base and slowly guided it inside Eunchae. The absurdly tightness of her pussy led you to believe she was indeed a virgin, but when you looked up, you didn't notice her even the slightest bit worried about it. A pained expression was what you would have expected, but Eunchae just seemed to be enjoying every inch of you filling her.

"Damn, look at you," Chaewon said from beside Eunchae, kissing her neck. "Taking all that cock in exchange for not being such a rebellious brat anymore. Don't you think that's a reasonable exchange?"

"I'm not so sure you know?" Eunchae retorted, when you were halfway inside. "But I don't think I’ll regret it anytime soon."

You sincerely hoped she wouldn't, because you wanted to get that matter with her over with so you'd only have to worry about the other three musketers.

After a few seconds of slow thrusting, your cock was buried deep inside Eunchae's pussy, which felt like a tight, warm glove enveloping you perfectly. You placed her right heel on your shoulder, and with your hand on her left thigh, you began to move your hips.

"Oh my god, Eunchae," you sighed. "You're crushing me, damn it."

"Yeah? Does it feel good?" Eunchae asked as you took the entirety of your length in and out of her with each slow pump.

"It feels amazing," you nodded, squeezing the flesh of her soft thigh beneath your fingers. "And for you?"

"You have no idea," she sighed, letting out a long moan.

Chaewon ran a hand down Eunchae's tummy and between her legs to rub her clit with swift, agile movements of her wrist. That urged you to go faster. Eunchae found Chaewon's lips again and moaned against them as you began to fuck her with swift thrusts, her hands cupping her unnie's face.

Not wanting to keep her waiting, you reached out and slid a hand between Chaewon's buttocks and found her pussy, inserting two full fingers inside her. Chaewon moaned and pulled away from Eunchae's lips, watching as you moved your wrist as you fucked Eunchae's tight pussy at a perfect pace.

The room was soon filled with both of their moans and the occasional thump of your pelvis against Eunchae's crotch. The two of you merged again in a kiss, and the first to cum was the maknae, squealing and squirming her hips. Her pussy felt even tighter that way, throbbing around your shaft and wetting it with her warm fluids.

After a few seconds, you pulled out of her and lay behind Chaewon, placing a few kisses on her shoulders.

"Come ride me, my love," you whispered in her ear.

Chaewon quickly pulled away from Eunchae and straddled you, taking your cock straight and impaling herself on it in a single motion that made you both moan. She placed her hands on your chest, and with her face only inches from yours, she began to rapidly move her hips to fuck herself against you.

Eunchae snuggled up close to you, making you turn around for a kiss. You gasped against her lips, and she caressed your abdomen. Chaewon then began to go faster, straightening her back to jump on your cock. Eunchae knelt right next to her, and returning the favor, began to kiss both her neck and her tits until she came.

Chaewon's nails dug into your abdomen as her slim, sexy body writhed on top of you, her hips grinding back and forth with your cock buried deep inside her. Soon, she got off of you, and Eunchae lay down next to you again, this time on her side. You turned toward her, and with her back pressed against your chest and your arms wrapped around her body, you went back inside her pussy.

Your lips and Eunchae's met again, this time in a fiery, heated kiss. Chaewon lay in front of her, intertwining their legs together as you fucked her pussy with hard, deep pumps. A few seconds later, you broke away from Eunchae's lips and brought Chaewon's face closer. Eunchae tilted her neck toward you, enough so the three of you could share a sloppy three-way kiss.

"Oh my fucking god, I'm going crazy," Eunchae moaned, breaking away from the kiss. "Keep going, oppa... god, keep going, keep going!"

You planted one foot on the mattress and gripped Eunchae's waist, slamming your pelvis against her buttocks and making her whimper in pleasure until she came in a maelstrom of moans and little whimpers. The way her pussy clenched around you made you moan and realize how close you were to cumming too.

"Eunchae, I'm really close..." you gasped, squeezing her against you as she writhed in pleasure. "Where...?"

"Out, oppa, please," Eunchae replied with a moan, clutching your forearm. "Not inside."

Exactly the response you expected. You buried your face in her neck, making her feel your hot, labored breathing as you resumed the rhythm in and out of her. Eunchae reached behind her and gripped your head, tugging at your hair. A minute later, you moaned as you felt that delicious tingle travel down to your lower region, and just before cumming, you quickly pulled out your cock, pressed the tip against her ass, and masturbated until you exploded.

"Mmmh fuck!" you groaned, squeezing Eunchae tightly against you as you shot a thick load that stained her waist and hips, and completely filled her ass.

"Mmm," Eunchae moaned, watching you cum, stroking your hair. "It feels so warm against my skin..."

"Let me do you a favor," Chaewon said, kneeling up to bend over Eunchae's ass and wipe your cum off with her tongue while it was still coming out from your tip. "Stay still."

Chaewon did an impeccable job cleaning every stained spot on Eunchae's skin, and when she was done, she brought your cock to her mouth to suck every inch slowly. When she left you glistening, with only a light layer of saliva, she lay down next to Eunchae, staring at the ceiling.

Silence then reigned in the room, your breathing slowly returning to normal. A while later, Chaewon sat up, covering her breasts with a blanket, and looked at you.

"This is the first and last time this happens, okay?" she asked. "You know exactly why."

"I know," you nodded, part of your head resting on Eunchae's. "You can trust me."

"Very well. The ship will stay afloat, then."

"Look on the bright side, we've already taken a step. It's one less weed to cut."

"Oppa... unnie," Eunchae said in a small, tired voice. "Please don't let the others find out about this. I'm a little embarrassed that they'll get that image of me."

You hoped Sakura and Yunjin weren't paying attention to the noise because of how high they must be, because otherwise, they would surely have realized it was two pairs of moans, not just one, and immediately associated it with Eunchae.

"They won't, sweetie," you replied, stroking her hair. "Don't worry."

You then felt a calmness you hadn't felt in a long time. HYBE's letter was still pounding in your head, but patching things up with Chaewon and putting Eunchae back in line was definitely a turning point you were grateful for.

Chaewon stood up and began searching for her clothes with slow movements. You stared at her, noticing a big change in her expression. Her anger and resentment had definitely disappeared. Eunchae, for her part, just squeezed your hand with her eyes closed, relaxing.

Then your phone rang with a notification. You looked for it, but the noise had come from the floor. Chaewon ended up passing it to you, and you sighed in relief when you read what you'd received.

"What's wrong?" Chaewon asked.

"HYBE postponed the meeting to Monday. We have time to sort this whole mess out."

Chaewon mimicked your sigh, putting on her panties and T-shirt.

"Thank the Lord," she said, lying back down.

Eunchae sat up a minute later and got out of bed to find her clothes. Her cheeks were still flushed, and she glanced at you, embarrassed.

"I'm... sorry about the beer, oppa," she said, putting on her panties and bra. "And everything. I promise to improve and help you with the others. To... I don't know, make them reconsider."

Chaewon nodded, a proud little smile on her face, a mirror of yours.

"Thanks, Manchae," you said, watching her get dressed and imitating her, putting on your boxers and sweatpants. "I really appreciate it."

"It’s nothing. But can we take a nap?" she asked, already dressed. "I'm exhausted."

As soon as she said that, Chaewon got closer to you and cuddled up to you.

"Yes, but he's mine," Chaewon said. "You lie down over there," she pointed to the other side of the bed.

Eunchae rolled her eyes, shook her head, and lay down with you two.

But not even five minutes had passed when you heard a sudden commotion in another room: music now playing incredibly loudly. The ones responsible? Probably Bob Marley and Willie Nelson.

You sighed against Chaewon's back, realizing you had a lot of work to do.

[kole-cooler]

Lips of Ashes

Ning Yizhuo x m!reader

15K words

You're staring at the email notification on your phone screen.

Meeting request from Ning Yizhuo - Today 4:00 PM - URGENT.

Yeah, you knew this was coming. Ever since the board announced her appointment three months ago, you've been waiting for the other shoe to drop. And here you are: about to walk into what's probably going to be the most uncomfortable conversation of your professional life.

Fun times ahead, right?

The elevator ride to the top floor feels like ascending to your own execution. The numbers tick by - 47, 48, 49, 50 - each floor bringing you closer to her domain. You adjust your tie, check your reflection in the polished steel doors. You look good, you always do. It's one of your strengths, that effortless confidence that got you where you are today. No silver spoons in your mouth, just hard work and natural charm.

The executive floor is all marble and glass, the kind of ostentatious display of wealth that screams "old money." Which is exactly what Ning is - third generation chaebol princess who never had to struggle for anything in her life. Well, almost anything.

Her secretary, a nervous-looking woman in her fifties, barely makes eye contact as she gestures toward the massive oak doors. "She's waiting for you."

Of course she is.

She had been gone all this time, and yet she was never far. Tied up in another corner of her family’s empire, keeping busy, keeping away. But you knew the safety you felt was an illusion - a brittle calm, like standing on the shore while, just beyond the horizon, warships gather under a foreign flag, already cutting through the waves, already coming for you. It would be poetic in a book, but in real life it's fucking scary.

You push open the doors and there she is, exactly as you remember but somehow more. Ning Yizhuo sits behind a desk that probably costs more than most people's cars, and damn if she hasn't grown into herself since college. Her long black hair falls in perfect waves past her shoulders, framing a face that could launch a thousand corporate takeovers. Those same dark feline eyes that used to follow you around campus, but now they hold something sharper.

She's wearing a tailored black blazer that hugs her petite frame perfectly, the kind of designer piece that costs more than your monthly salary. Underneath, a silk blouse in cream that contrasts beautifully with her porcelain skin. Her legs are crossed elegantly, one foot bouncing slightly in what you recognize as barely contained energy. Everything about her screams success, power, control.

And yeah, she's gorgeous. She always was. That was never the problem.

"Close the door," she says without looking up from whatever document she's pretending to read. Her voice has matured since college, gained an edge of authority that comes with having people jump at your every word.

You do as she asks because, well, she's your boss now. Funny how life works out, isn't it? You, the scholarship kid who worked three jobs to pay for textbooks, now answering to the girl who used to have her assignments written by tutors.

"Sit."

Again, you comply, settling into one of the leather chairs across from her desk. The office is enormous, floor-to-ceiling windows offering a panoramic view of the city skyline. Her desk is positioned so she looks down at visitors, a subtle power play that would be impressive if it weren't so obvious.

Finally, she looks up, and those dark eyes lock onto yours with an intensity that makes your skin prickle. There's something predatory in her gaze, something that sets every instinct you have on high alert.

"Hello, stranger," she says, and her lips curve into a smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes. "It's been a while."

"Ning." You keep your voice level, professional. "Congratulations on the promotion."

She laughs. "Promotion? Is that what you think this is?" She stands, moving around the desk with the fluid grace of someone who's never doubted their place in the world. "I didn't get promoted. I inherited an empire."

And there it is, the same entitled attitude that made you walk away all those years ago. Some things never change, do they?

"Right," you say carefully. "Well, congratulations on your inheritance, then."

She perches on the edge of her desk, one leg swinging slightly. The movement draws your attention to her legs, and you're annoyed at yourself for noticing how the black stockings hug her thighs. Focus, you tell yourself. This is business.

Except you know it's not. Not really.

"You know," she says, examining her perfectly manicured nails, "I've been going through personnel files lately. Getting to know my... employees." The way she says the word makes it sound dirty somehow. "And I came across some interesting information about you."

Your stomach drops, but you keep your expression neutral. You've been in corporate long enough to know that showing weakness is blood in the water.

"Such as?"

"The Givens account." She tilts her head, studying your reaction. "You remember the Givens account, don't you? The one where you maybe, possibly, bent a few rules to close the deal?"

Shit. You'd hoped that particular gray area would stay buried. It wasn't illegal, exactly, but it wasn't entirely above board either. The kind of thing that happens in the real world but looks bad on paper.

"I closed that account," you say evenly. "Brought in fifteen million in revenue."

"By falsifying the timeline in your reports." She slides off the desk, moving closer. "By backdating documents to make it look like you'd disclosed certain risks earlier than you actually did."

Your jaw tightens. "The client got what they paid for. More than what they paid for."

"Oh, I'm not questioning your results." She's standing right in front of you now, close enough that you can smell her perfume - smells like danger by the way. "I'm questioning your methods. And wondering what the regulatory board would think if they saw the real timeline."

There it is. The threat, delivered with the same sweet smile she used to give professors when she wanted extensions on assignments she'd never actually started.

"What do you want, Ning?"

She laughs again, delighted by your directness. "Straight to the point. I always liked that about you." She moves behind your chair, her hands coming to rest on the back of it. You can feel her presence like heat against your shoulders.

"You know what's funny?" she continues. "Everyone told me I should fire you the moment I took over. 'He's too ambitious,' they said. 'Too independent. Too... difficult to control.'"

Her fingers trail along the leather of the chair, just barely not touching you.

"But I said no. I said, 'I want to give him a chance.' Because we have history, don't we? We understand each other."

You turn in the chair to look at her, and immediately regret it. She's leaning over you slightly, her face inches from yours, and suddenly you're transported back to that night six years ago. The party at her sorority house, her confession in the garden, the way her face crumpled when you turned her down.

You'd been kind about it, or at least you'd tried to be. Explained that you didn't want to complicate things, that you valued her friendship too much to risk it. All the polite lies people tell when they mean "I'm not interested."

The truth was simpler and crueler: you knew exactly what she was. Spoiled, entitled, used to getting everything handed to her on a silver platter. Dating her would have been career suicide - either you'd be seen as her boy toy, or you'd spend your whole life being compared to her family's wealth and influence.

So you'd said no, and she'd never forgiven you for it.

"We do have history," you agree carefully. "But that was a long time ago."

"Was it?" She moves away, returning to her position behind the desk. The loss of her proximity is both a relief and, annoyingly, a disappointment. "Because from where I'm sitting, it feels very present."

She opens a drawer and pulls out a file folder, thick with documents. Your name is written on the tab in neat handwriting.

"four years with the company," she reads aloud. "Consistent top performer. Respect of your colleagues. A real success story." She looks up. "The American dream in action, right? Poor boy makes good through hard work and determination."

There's something mocking in her tone that makes your hands clench.

"It would be such a shame if it all came crashing down because of one little... indiscretion."

You know what she's doing - the carrot and the stick, the promise and the threat. Corporate manipulation 101, except this feels personal in a way that makes your skin crawl.

"So what's the deal?" you ask finally. "What do you want from me?"

Her smile returns, wider this time, predatory. "I want what I've always wanted." She stands again, smoothing down her skirt. "I want you."

You stare at her, trying to process what she's actually suggesting.

"Ning—"

"No, let me finish." She holds up a hand. "I've thought about this for years. Six years, to be exact. Every success, every achievement, every step up the ladder, I've wondered what it would be like if you were there with me."

She starts walking again, this time moving to the window. The late afternoon sun backlights her figure, turning her into a silhouette against the glass.

"Do you know what it's like," she continues, "to have everything you could possibly want except the one thing that matters? To have power and money and influence, but to lie awake at night thinking about someone who rejected you?"

There's genuine pain in her voice, and for a moment you almost feel sorry for her. Almost. 

"That's not my fault," you say quietly.

She spins around, and the vulnerable moment is gone. "Isn't it? You knew how I felt. You knew, and you walked away like it meant nothing."

"It wasn't nothing. But it wasn't enough."

"Because I wasn't enough. The poor little rich girl, right? Too spoiled, too entitled, too much baggage to be worth your time."

She's closer now, having crossed the room while you were distracted by the pain in her words. Close enough that you can see the flecks of gold in her dark eyes, the slight tremble in her hands that she's trying to hide.

"That's not what I thought."

"No? Then what did you think?" She's standing right in front of your chair again, looking down at you with an expression caught between anger and something that might be hope.

You consider lying, coming up with some comfortable excuse that might make this easier for both of you. But something about the way she's looking at you, the genuine hurt beneath all the posturing, makes you tell the truth instead.

"I thought you were dangerous," you say simply.

She blinks, clearly not expecting that answer. "Dangerous?"

"Not in a bad way. Dangerous like... like standing too close to the sun. You were this brilliant, beautiful, powerful thing, and I was just some nobody from nowhere trying to make something of himself. Getting involved with you would have meant getting pulled into your world, and I wasn't strong enough for that. I would have lost myself."

The silence that follows is deafening. She stares at you, processing your words, and you can see the exact moment when understanding clicks into place.

"And now?" she asks quietly.

"Now what?"

"Are you strong enough now?"

It's a loaded question, and you both know it. She's not just asking about your emotional fortitude - she's asking if you're ready to be hers, to accept whatever terms she's about to offer.

You lean back in the chair, studying her face. She's older now, more self-assured, but underneath it all you can still see traces of the girl who used to follow you around campus with hopeful eyes. The girl who wore her heart on her sleeve until you taught her to hide it.

"That depends," you say finally, "on what you're asking."

"I'm asking for everything."

She moves to the side of her desk, pressing a button on her phone. "Lisa, hold all my calls. I don't want to be disturbed for the rest of the afternoon. And I don't want anyone, I repeat, absolutely anyone, to come to my office, understand?”

The speaker crackles as her assistant responds: "Yes, Ms. Yizhuo."

Then she's walking toward you again, and there's something different about her movement now. More purposeful. More predatory.

"You want to know what I'm asking for?" she says, stopping just out of arm's reach. "I'm asking for you to finally admit what we both know."

"Which is?"

"That you've thought about it too. About me. About what would have happened if you'd said yes that night."

She's not wrong, and you hate her for knowing it. Because yes, you have thought about it. More than you care to admit. There were nights, especially after particularly brutal days at the office, when you'd wonder what life would have been like if you'd taken the easy path. If you'd let yourself be swept up in the Ning Yizhuo hurricane and damn the consequences.

"Maybe," you admit.

"Maybe?" She laughs, but there's no humor in it. "You're still playing it safe. Still calculating the risks and benefits like this is some kind of business transaction."

She moves closer, and now she's standing between your legs, her hands resting on the arms of your chair. The position is intimate, threatening, and electric all at once.

"But it's not a transaction anymore," she continues. "It's an ultimatum."

Your heart is pounding now, though you're not sure if it's from fear or something else entirely. "And if I refuse?"

"You won't."

The certainty in her voice should be infuriating, but instead it sends a thrill down your spine. Because she's right, isn't she? You both know how this is going to end. The only question is whether you're going to make her work for it.

"You seem pretty confident about that."

"I am." She leans down, bringing her face level with yours. "Because I know you. I know that underneath all that professional restraint and careful calculation, you're still the same person who used to look at me like you wanted to devour me whole."

Her breath is warm against your cheek, and you can feel your resolve starting to crumble. It's been six years since anyone has looked at you the way she's looking at you now - like you're something precious and dangerous and absolutely necessary.

"Ning..."

"Say it," she whispers. "Say you want me."

For a moment, you're transported back to college. To late nights in the library when she'd find excuses to study near you. To parties where she'd gravitate to your side like a satellite to its planet. To that night in the garden when she'd been brave enough to say what you'd both been dancing around for months.

You'd wanted her then. God help you, you want her now.

"This is insane," you breathe.

"Probably." She's so close now that her lips almost brush yours when she speaks. "But you're going to do it anyway, aren't you?"

The question hangs between you like a dare. You can feel the weight of it, the implications of what she's asking. Once you cross this line, there's no going back. Your career, your carefully constructed independence, everything you've worked for - it all becomes subject to her whims.

But maybe that's not entirely a bad thing. Maybe you're tired of being in control all the time. Maybe the idea of surrendering to someone else, to her, is more appealing than you want to admit.

"The Givens account," you say, grasping for one last bit of leverage. "If I do this, that disappears."

She smiles, victorious. "Consider it handled."

"And my position in the company remains secure."

"You'll be more than secure. You'll be untouchable." Her hand comes up to cup your cheek, thumb brushing across your skin. "You'll be mine."

The possessiveness in her voice should alarm you. Instead, it sends heat pooling low in your stomach. Because there's something incredibly seductive about being wanted this much, about being the one thing that Ning Yizhuo - who has everything - can't quite possess.

Until now.

"Okay," you whisper.

The word is barely audible, but she hears it. Her eyes light up with triumph and something darker, hungrier. For a moment, she just stares at you like she can't quite believe you've finally said yes.

Then she's kissing you.

It's not gentle or tentative like you might expect from someone who's been waiting six years for this moment. It's demanding, aggressive, years of frustrated want poured into the connection between your lips. Her fingers tangle in your hair, holding you in place as she claims your mouth with a desperation that takes your breath away.

You can taste her lipstick, something subtle and expensive that probably costs more than most people spend on groceries. Can feel the way she's trembling slightly despite her outward confidence. This moment means everything to her, you realize. Everything.

When she finally pulls away, you're both breathing hard. Her lipstick is smudged, and there's a wild look in her eyes that makes your pulse race.

"Six years," she says, almost to herself. "Six fucking years I've been waiting for that."

She steps back, and immediately you miss the warmth of her proximity. But the distance gives you a chance to really look at her - at the flush on her cheeks, the way her chest rises and falls with rapid breaths, the satisfied smile playing at her lips.

"You know," she continues, smoothing down her blazer, "I used to fantasize about this moment. About having you here, in my office, completely at my mercy." She walks back around to her side of the desk, but instead of sitting down, she leans against it. "The reality is so much better than I imagined."

There's something about the way she's looking at you that makes you feel exposed, like she can see right through all your carefully constructed defenses. It's unsettling and thrilling in equal measure.

"So what happens now?" you ask.

"Now?" She tilts her head, considering. "Now we establish some ground rules."

Oh, here we go. You should have known it wouldn't be that simple with her. Nothing ever is.

"Such as?"

"Such as, you don't see anyone else. Male or female. I don't care how casual you think it is - from now on, you're exclusively mine."

The possessiveness in her voice makes something twist in your chest. It should bother you, this assumption that she can just claim ownership over your personal life. Instead, you find yourself nodding.

"Okay."

"And you make time for me. Real time, not just these little stolen moments between meetings. I want dinners, I want weekends, I want you to be present in my life in a way that matters."

Again, you nod. It's not like you have much of a social life anyway - you've been so focused on your career that dating has taken a backseat to advancement. Maybe it would be nice to have someone demand your attention for once.

"And," she continues, her voice dropping to that dangerous whisper again, "when I call, you answer. When I want you here, you come. When I need you..." She trails off, but the implication is clear.

"Understood."

She pushes off from the desk, moving toward you with that same predatory grace. "Good. I'm so glad we understand each other."

When she reaches your chair, she doesn't stop. Instead, she swings one leg over your thighs, settling into your lap with a confidence that takes your breath away. The movement makes her skirt ride up slightly, and you can see the lace edge of her stockings against pale skin.

"Ning," you start, but she silences you with a finger pressed to your lips.

"Shh. We're done talking for now."

Her other hand slides down your chest, fingers playing with the buttons of your shirt. She's so close that you can count her eyelashes, can see the faint freckles across her nose that makeup can't quite hide.

"Do you know how many times I've thought about this?" she murmurs, working open the top button of your shirt. "How many nights I've laid in bed imagining what it would feel like to finally have you like this?"

Your hands come up to rest on her hips automatically, and she smiles at the contact. Her skin is warm through the fabric of her skirt, and you can feel the subtle flex of muscle as she adjusts her position in your lap.

"Too many," she continues, moving to the second button. "Far too many for someone who's supposed to be a respectable CEO."

The way she says it makes you laugh despite yourself. "And what does a respectable CEO do when she finally gets what she wants?"

Her smile turns wicked. "Whatever the hell she pleases."

The third button comes undone, then the fourth. Her fingers are cool against your chest as she spreads the fabric apart, nails scraping lightly across your skin. The sensation makes you shiver, and she notices immediately.

"Sensitive," she observes with satisfaction. "I like that."

She leans forward, pressing her lips to the column of your throat. The contact is electric, sending sparks racing through your nervous system. Her mouth is warm and soft, and when she opens it to taste your skin, you can't suppress the groan that escapes.

"That's it," she whispers against your neck. "Let me hear you."

Her teeth graze your pulse point, and your hands tighten on her hips involuntarily. She makes a pleased sound at the reaction, her own hips rocking slightly in your lap. The movement creates a friction that makes thinking difficult.

"Ning," you breathe, not sure if you're protesting or encouraging.

"I love the way you say my name," she replies, pulling back to look at you. Her eyes are dark with want, pupils dilated. "Say it again."

"Ning."

She rewards you with another kiss, this one slower but no less intense. Her tongue traces the seam of your lips before delving inside, and you can taste the desperation beneath her confidence. This isn't just about power or revenge - this is about want, pure and simple. Six years of accumulated desire finally being given an outlet.

When she breaks the kiss, she rests her forehead against yours, both of you breathing hard.

"I need you to understand something," she says quietly. "This isn't just about getting you into bed. This isn't some kind of conquest or corporate power play."

She pauses, and for a moment she looks almost vulnerable.

"This is about the fact that I've been in love with you since I was twenty years old, and I never got over it. Not through college, not through business school, not through all the years of building this company and dating other people and trying to convince myself that what I felt for you was just some kind of phase."

"I never knew," you say softly.

"Of course you didn't. I made sure of that." She sits back slightly, her hands still resting on your chest. "After you rejected me, I decided I would never be that vulnerable again. Never put myself out there like that and risk being dismissed as just some spoiled little rich girl with a crush."

"I'm sorry," you tell her, and you mean it. "I never meant to hurt you."

"I know." She traces patterns on your chest with her fingertip, not quite meeting your eyes. "But you did anyway. And now... now I finally have a chance to fix it."

"Is that what this is? Fixing things?"

"I hope so. I really hope so."

The moment stretches between you, fragile and precious. Then she's kissing you again, and this time it's different. Less desperate, more tender. Like she's trying to communicate everything she can't say out loud through the contact of her lips against yours.

Your hands slide up from her hips to her waist, feeling the curve of her body through the silk of her blouse. She's smaller than you remembered, more delicate, but there's strength in the way she holds herself that speaks to the years of building her own empire.

"Touch me," she whispers against your mouth, and the request sends heat racing through your veins.

Your hands move higher, skimming over her ribs to cup her breasts through the thin fabric. She arches into the contact with a soft gasp that makes something primal stir in your chest. Her body is perfect - soft curves and warm skin that fits perfectly in your palms.

"Like that," she breathes, her head falling back as you massage gently. "God, yes, like that."

The blazer is in the way, so you start working at the buttons with slightly unsteady fingers. She helps, shrugging out of the jacket and letting it fall to the floor behind the chair. Underneath, the silk blouse clings to her curves, and you can see the outline of lace beneath the fabric.

"You're beautiful," you tell her.

She smiles, but there's something almost shy about it. "You don't have to say that."

"I'm not saying it because I have to. I'm saying it because it's true."

The blouse has tiny pearl buttons that require patience to undo. She watches your face as you work, biting her lower lip in a way that makes you want to kiss her again. When you finally get the fabric open, revealing the delicate lace bra beneath, she inhales sharply.

"Beautiful," you repeat, and this time when you say it, she believes you.

The bra is pale pink lace, almost virginal except for the way it showcases her breasts. Your fingers trace the edge of the cups, making her shiver, before you lean down to press your lips to the swell of her cleavage.

"Oh," she gasps, her fingers tangling in your hair. "Oh, that's..."

You don't let her finish the thought, too busy exploring the newly revealed skin with your mouth. She tastes like expensive soap and something uniquely her, a flavor you know you'll crave long after this moment ends.

Her breathing becomes more ragged as you work your way across her collarbone, finding the sensitive spot where her neck meets her shoulder. When you bite down gently, she actually whimpers, the sound going straight to your cock.

"We should..." she starts, then loses the thread when you suck a mark into her skin. "We should probably..."

"Probably what?" you ask against her throat.

"Go somewhere more private. Someone could walk in here at any moment. I asked not to be disturbed, but some people here are incredibly stubborn, you know."

She's right, of course. The thought of being caught like this - you with your shirt open and her half-undressed in your lap - should be sobering.

Instead, it's incredibly arousing.

"Let them look," you murmur, and she makes a sound that's half protest, half moan.

"You're terrible," she breathes, but she's rocking against you again, creating a friction that makes clear thinking impossible.

"You started this," you remind her, hands sliding down to grip her thighs. "In your office, in the middle of the day, where anyone could walk in."

"That's different. I'm the CEO. I can do whatever I want."

"And what do you want?"

She looks at you for a long moment, her eyes dark and hungry. "I want you to fuck me on my desk like you've been thinking about for the past six years."

The crude words send a jolt of pure lust through you. This is Ning Yizhuo, ice princess of the corporate world, talking dirty in a way that makes your head spin.

"Have I been thinking about that?" you ask, playing along.

"Haven't you?" She climbs off your lap, moving to stand between your legs. "Haven't you wondered what I'd look like spread out for you? What I'd sound like when you made me come?"

Christ. The image she's painting is vivid and immediate and makes your cock throb against the confines of your pants. You can see it so clearly - her pale skin against the dark wood of her desk, her legs wrapped around your waist as you drive into her.

"Maybe," you admit roughly.

She smiles, satisfied by your reaction. "I thought so."

Then she's stepping back, putting distance between you that feels like a loss. But before you can protest, she starts moving toward her desk with that same predatory grace, and you realize she's giving you a show.

Her hands go to the zipper at the side of her skirt, and she draws it down slowly, holding your gaze the entire time. The fabric falls to pool around her feet, revealing long legs encased in sheer black stockings held up by a garter belt that matches her bra.

"Fuck," you breathe, because you're only human and the sight of Ning Yizhuo in lingerie is enough to short-circuit your brain.

She steps out of the skirt, kicking it aside with one designer heel. Now she's standing there in just her blouse, bra, panties, garter belt, stockings, and heels - a vision that belongs in every executive's fantasy.

"Like what you see?" she asks, though your expression probably makes the answer obvious.

"Come here," you growl, but she shakes her head.

"Not yet. I want you to look at me. Really look." She turns slowly, giving you a view of her from every angle. "I want you to see what you turned down all those years ago."

The panties are the same pale pink as her bra, a small triangle of lace that leaves very little to the imagination. Her ass is perfect, tight, firm and round in a way that makes your hands itch to touch. The stockings make her legs look endless, and the heels add just enough height to make her movements impossibly graceful.

When she completes the turn, facing you again, there's triumph in her expression. She knows exactly what she's doing to you, and she's enjoying every second of it.

"Now," she says, perching on the edge of her desk, "come here."

This time you obey, standing on unsteady legs and crossing the space between you. When you reach her, she spreads her legs slightly, making room for you to stand between them. The position puts you at eye level with her breasts, and you take a moment to appreciate the view.

"Touch me," she commands softly, and you don't need to be told twice.

Your hands go to her waist, spanning the narrow space between her ribs and hips. Her skin is warm silk under your palms, and when you slide them up to cup her breasts again, she arches into the contact with a soft moan.

The bra has a front clasp, you discover, and it takes only a moment to flick it open. The lace falls away, revealing perfect breasts topped with dusky pink nipples that are already hard with arousal.

"Perfect," you murmur, and then you're lowering your head to take one peaked nipple into your mouth.

She cries out, her hands flying to grip your shoulders. Her nipple is sensitive, you discover, responding immediately to the stroke of your tongue. When you suck gently, her entire body trembles.

"Yes," she gasps, "oh god, yes, just like that."

You lavish attention on first one breast, then the other, taking your time to learn what makes her moan, what makes her arch against you, what makes her fingers dig into your shoulders hard enough to leave marks.

She's responsive in a way that makes you want to explore every inch of her, to catalog every sound she makes and every spot that makes her tremble. This is Ning Yizhuo, who commands boardrooms and makes million-dollar decisions without breaking a sweat, and you're reducing her to breathy moans and desperate touches.

"Please," she whispers when you spend particularly long teasing one nipple with your teeth. "Please, I need..."

"What do you need?" you ask against her skin.

"More. I need more."

Your hands slide down her sides to her hips, thumbs hooking under the edge of her panties. The lace is already damp, you can feel it, and the knowledge that she's this affected makes your cock throb painfully.

"These need to come off," you tell her.

"Yes," she agrees immediately, lifting her hips so you can slide the panties down her legs. You take your time with it, enjoying the way she shivers as the lace trails over her skin. When you reach her ankles, you leave the panties dangling from one heel, too impatient to remove them completely.

Now she's spread before you in just her stockings, garter belt, and heels, exactly like the fantasy you never admitted to having. Her pussy is bare, you discover, smooth and glistening with arousal. The sight makes your mouth water.

You drop to your knees before her, and the sight of Ning spread before you like this - vulnerable yet commanding, desperate yet still somehow in control - makes your heart race. Her thighs are trembling slightly, whether from anticipation or the cool air of the office, you're not sure. What you are sure of is that you've never wanted anything more than you want to taste her right now.

"Look at you," she breathes. "On your knees for me. Do you know how long I've fantasized about this exact moment?"

You slide your hands up her thighs, feeling the contrast between the silk of her stockings and the warm bare skin above them. Her breath hitches as your thumbs trace small circles on her inner thighs, so close to where she needs you but not quite there yet.

"Tell me," you murmur, pressing a soft kiss to the inside of her knee.

"Every night," she confesses, her fingers threading through your hair. "Every fucking night since college. I'd imagine you between my legs, making me scream your name." Her grip tightens as you kiss higher up her thigh. "I'd touch myself thinking about your mouth on me, wondering if you'd be gentle or if you'd devour me whole."

The raw honesty in her voice makes your cock strain against your pants. You can see how wet she is, her arousal glistening in the afternoon light streaming through the windows. The scent of her is intoxicating - clean and sweet with an underlying musk that's purely female.

"And which did you prefer?" you ask, your breath ghosting over her sensitive skin. "Gentle or being devoured?"

"Both," she gasps as you nip at the crease where her thigh meets her pussy. "I want everything from you. Everything I've been denied for six fucking years."

You lean back slightly to look up at her, taking in the sight of Ning Yizhuo - CEO. Her cheeks are flushed, her lips parted as she breathes heavily, and there's a wild look in her eyes that makes something primal stir in your chest.

"Then everything is what you'll get," you promise, and finally, finally, you lean forward and drag your tongue along her slit.

The sound she makes is inhuman - a broken moan that echoes off the walls of her office. Her back arches off the desk, and her thighs try to clamp around your head, but you hold them open with firm hands.

"Oh fuck," she gasps, "oh fuck, your mouth feels so good."

You take your time, learning the taste and texture of her. She's sweet and tangy, with a flavor that's addictive in the best possible way. Your tongue explores every fold, every sensitive spot, cataloguing what makes her writhe and what makes her cry out.

When you find her clit with the tip of your tongue, she actually screams - a high, desperate sound that would probably be audible in the hallway if anyone were around to hear it. Her hips buck against your mouth, seeking more friction, more pressure, more everything.

"There," she pants, "right there, don't stop, please don't fucking stop."

You circle her clit with broad strokes of your tongue, then switch to quick flicks that make her entire body shake. Her taste is stronger here, more concentrated, and you find yourself getting drunk on it. This is Ning Yizhuo falling apart because of you, and the power of it is intoxicating.

"You taste incredible," you murmur against her pussy, the vibrations making her moan. "Better than I ever imagined."

"You imagined this?" The question is breathless, barely coherent.

"More than I should have," you admit before sealing your lips around her clit and sucking gently.

The effect is immediate and devastating. Her back bows completely off the desk, her hands fisting in your hair hard enough to hurt, and she lets out a string of curses that would make a sailor blush.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, yes, just like that, oh my god, I'm going to come, I'm going to come all over your face."

You increase the pressure, alternating between sucking and licking, and you can feel her thighs starting to tremble uncontrollably. Her breathing becomes erratic, punctuated by little whimpers and gasps that go straight to your cock.

But just as she's about to tip over the edge, you pull back.

"No!" she cries out, her eyes flying open to stare down at you with a mixture of desperation and fury. "What the fuck are you doing? I was so close!"

You smile up at her, your lips glistening with her arousal. "Patience, boss. We have all afternoon, remember?"

The look she gives you could melt steel. "You bastard. You absolute bastard. Do you have any idea how long it's been since someone made me come?"

"How long?" you ask, pressing soft kisses to her inner thighs while she tries to catch her breath.

"Too fucking long," she growls. "And you're going to make me wait even longer?"

"I'm going to make it worth the wait," you promise, then lean forward to drag your tongue through her folds again.

This time you avoid her clit entirely, focusing instead on the sensitive entrance to her pussy. Your tongue delves inside her, and she tastes even better here - richer, more intense. You fuck her with your tongue while your hands grip her thighs, holding her open for your exploration.

"You're evil," she pants, her hips rolling against your mouth. "This is torture."

"This is worship," you correct, pulling back to look at her. "This is me taking my time with every perfect inch of you."

You mean it, too. You want to memorize this moment - the way she looks spread out on her executive desk, the sounds she makes when you touch her just right, the way her body responds to every stroke of your tongue. This is Ning Yizhuo completely at your mercy, and you're going to savor every second.

Your hands slide up to cup her ass, lifting her slightly so you can get better access. The new angle lets you go deeper with your tongue, and she responds with a broken moan that makes your cock throb.

"Please," she whispers, and there's something broken in her voice that makes you look up. Her eyes are glazed with lust, but there's something else there too - vulnerability, need, a desperation that goes beyond physical desire.

"Please what?" you ask softly.

"Make me come. Please, I need it so badly. I need you to make me come."

"Okay," you whisper against her skin. "Okay, baby, I've got you."

The endearment slips out without your permission, but she responds to it with a shuddering breath that tells you she needs the tenderness as much as the pleasure.

You return to her clit with renewed purpose, sealing your lips around the sensitive bundle of nerves and sucking while your tongue works in quick, consistent strokes. Her response is immediate - her back arches, her thighs clamp around your head, and she starts to fall apart with beautiful, devastating completeness.

"Yes, yes, yes, oh fuck, I'm coming, I'm coming, don't stop, please don't stop!"

You don't stop. You work her through it, feeling her pussy clench and pulse against your tongue as waves of pleasure crash over her. She's loud - so loud that you're grateful for the thickness of the office walls - and completely uninhibited in a way that makes you want to give her a hundred more orgasms just to hear those sounds again.

When the tremors finally subside, she collapses back onto the desk, her chest heaving as she tries to catch her breath. You press soft kisses to her inner thighs, tasting the salt of her sweat mixed with her arousal.

"Holy shit," she breathes after a long moment. "That was... holy shit."

You smile against her skin, pleased with her reaction. "Good?"

"Good?" She laughs, the sound slightly hysterical. "I think I just saw God. Or at least the corporate equivalent."

You chuckle, sitting back on your heels to look at her. She's a mess in the best possible way - her hair is disheveled, her makeup is smudged, and there's a pink flush covering her chest and neck. She looks thoroughly debauched, and the sight makes your cock throb with need.

"Come here," she says, making grabby hands at you.

You stand up, and she immediately reaches for your belt buckle with fingers that are still slightly shaky from her orgasm.

"My turn," she says with a wicked grin.

But before she can get your belt undone, you catch her hands in yours.

"Wait," you say.

She looks up at you with confusion and a hint of frustration. "Wait for what? I want to taste you. I want to suck your cock until you come down my throat."

The crude words make your cock twitch, but you shake your head. "Later. Right now, I want something else."

"What?" she asks, though there's a knowing glint in her eyes that suggests she already has an idea.

Instead of answering with words, you lean down and capture her lips in a kiss that's all heat and desperation. She can taste herself on your tongue, and the knowledge makes her moan into your mouth.

When you break the kiss, you rest your forehead against hers. "Turn around," you murmur.

Her eyes widen slightly. "Here? On the desk?"

"Here. On the desk. I want to fuck you exactly where you make million-dollar decisions. I want you to think about this every time you sit in that chair."

The possessiveness in your voice makes her shiver, and she nods eagerly. "Yes. God, yes."

She slides off the desk and turns around, bending over the polished wood surface. The position showcases her ass perfectly - round and firm, framed by the black straps of her garter belt. 

"Like this?" she asks, looking back at you over her shoulder.

"Perfect," you breathe, running your hands over the curve of her ass. "Absolutely perfect."

You take a moment to appreciate the view - Her pussy is still glistening from your mouth and her orgasm, and you can see how swollen and sensitive she is.

"You're so beautiful like this," you tell her, pressing a kiss to the small of her back. "So fucking beautiful."

She wiggles her hips impatiently. "Less talking, more fucking. I need you inside me."

You chuckle at her impatience, but your desperation matches hers, a frantic thrumming deep in your bones. This entire afternoon has been a slow, calculated demolition of your control, and now you stand in the rubble, ready to claim your prize.

Your hands, suddenly clumsy, find the buckle of your belt. The metallic click is deafeningly loud in the quiet office. The leather slides free with a soft hiss, and you work the button and zipper of your trousers with a feverish haste that feels foreign to your usually composed self.

Your cock springs free, hot and aching, straining toward her in the cool, conditioned air. It’s painfully hard, a solid length of need pointed directly at the woman who has orchestrated your undoing.

“Condom?” you manage to ask. A part of you, the wild, reckless part she has so expertly unearthed, prays she says no .

“Pill,” she says. “I’m on the pill. And I’m clean. Are you…?”

“Clean,” you confirm. You reach down, your fingers wrapping around your own length, stroking yourself once, slowly. The slick pre-cum that beads at the tip is for her, all for her. “It’s been a while since…” You let the sentence hang, unfinished. There’s no need to explain. 

“Good,” she says, and the firmness in her tone is a command. A verdict. “I want to feel you. All of you. No barriers”.

Her words are the final nail in the coffin of your restraint. No barriers. The thought is intoxicating. The idea of being inside her, skin to skin, feeling every twitch and clench of her body around you, is enough to make your cock throb.

You step closer, closing the small gap that remains between your bodies. You’re standing directly behind her now, the heat from her skin calling to you. You press the head of your cock against her, not at her entrance yet, but against the soft curve of her ass. She gasps, a sharp, involuntary sound.

“Just want you to feel how ready I am for you,” you murmur, your lips close to her ear. “How hard you make me.”

You move from her flesh to her folds, running the thick, crowned head of your cock through her slickness. She is so incredibly wet, a proof of the orgasm you gave her, her body weeping with arousal. You glide through her slick folds with an ease that makes you both groan, a shared sound of imminent satisfaction.

Her scent rises to meet you, a complex, intoxicating perfume of expensive soap, female musk, and the lingering, sweet tang of her climax. You breathe it in, letting it fuel the fire in your veins.

“Please,” she whispers, her voice breaking. She pushes back against you, a subtle, desperate movement that begs for more. “I need you inside me. God, I’ve waited so long.”

You position the head of your cock at her entrance, just the very tip breaking the seal of her body. The resistance is exquisite. She’s so tight, so hot, a perfect, velvet clenching that promises heaven.

You can feel the delicate inner folds of her body giving way to you, the slick heat a welcoming caress. She’s so tight you know you’ll have to go slow, a fact that wages war with the desperate, frantic need to slam into her and claim her completely.

“Relax,” you murmur against the shell of her ear, letting your breath ghost over her skin. One hand comes to rest on the small of her back, a gesture that is both possessive and soothing. “Just relax and take me, Ning. Let me in, baby."

The endearment slips out, unplanned but feeling more right than anything you’ve ever said. Her breath catches in her throat, a tiny, hitching sound, and you feel a subtle shift as some of the tension leaves her body. She is yielding to you. Opening for you.

You take the invitation, pushing forward, slowly, deliberately. You savor every single inch of penetration, every millimeter of your body being swallowed by her heat. She feels impossibly good, a sheath of hot, wet silk gripping you, squeezing you. It takes every ounce of your willpower not to lose your mind, not to thrust into her with all the pent-up frustration of the last six years.

“Oh, fuck,” she gasps out, the words punched from her as you stretch her, fill her. Her hands, which had been resting on the desk, are now fisted, her knuckles white. “You’re so big. So much bigger than I ever imagined.”

“You imagined this, too?” you ask. You pause, holding yourself there, just an inch or two inside her, letting her body adjust to the sheer size of you. You want her to feel every bit of you.

“Every night,” she confesses. “Every single night. I’d touch myself and imagine you like this. Filling me up, stretching me, making me yours”.

Her confession is your undoing.

“You are mine,” you growl, the words torn from a place deep inside you, a place of primal, possessive instinct. You thrust forward with that declaration, pushing deeper into her slick heat. “Say it.”

“I’m yours,” she gasps immediately. “I’m yours, babe, I’m completely, fucking yours”.

Her submission, so total and immediate, snaps the last thread of your restraint. With one final, powerful thrust, you drive yourself forward, bottoming out inside her, burying yourself to the hilt in her tight, welcoming heat.

She cries out, a sharp, piercing sound that is half pain, half ecstasy. Her body clenches around you, a powerful, involuntary squeeze that nearly pushes you over the edge. 

For a long moment, you don’t move. You can’t. You just stay there, buried deep inside her, your chests pressed together, your heart hammering against her back. You feel the frantic pulse of her own heart, a frantic, hummingbird rhythm that matches your own.

“God, you feel incredible,” you breathe out. The feeling of being inside her is almost too much - so tight, so wet, so hot. You know that if you start moving now, this will be over far too quickly. You want to draw this out, to make this moment last an eternity.

But Ning has other ideas. She has waited six years for this, and patience is a virtue she no longer possesses.

“Move,” she demands. She pushes back against you, her hips rocking in a clear, unmistakable invitation. “Please. I need you to move. I need to feel you.”

You obey. You pull back, slowly, torturously, until just the thick, crowned head of your cock remains inside her, teasing her entrance. She whimpers at the withdrawal, a desperate little sound of protest. Then you thrust forward again, a single, deep, deliberate stroke that makes her see stars.

A matched set of moans fills the opulent office, your deeper groan harmonizing with her higher-pitched cry. You can feel her pussy clenching around your length, milking you, trying to pull you even deeper inside her, if such a thing were even possible.

“More,” she begs. “Harder. Don’t be gentle. I’m not going to break”.

You establish a rhythm, your hips finding a steady, rocking cadence. Slow, deep, punishing strokes that are designed for maximum sensation, for both of you. Each thrust drives you deeper into her core, each withdrawal is a sweet, agonizing torment. The wet, slick sounds of your bodies slapping together fill the quiet room, a filthy, glorious symphony of their own making. It’s obscene. It’s perfect. It is everything you never knew you needed.

Your hands find her hips, gripping the sharp bones as you pull her back onto your cock with each powerful thrust. You are in control, yet you are completely at her mercy.

“You feel so good,” you tell her. “So tight and wet and perfect. It feels like you were made for my cock”.

“I was,” she pants, her words coming in short, breathless bursts. She meets your thrusts with an equal, desperate enthusiasm, her hips bucking against you. “I was made for you. Only you. Only for this.”

The raw, possessive certainty in her voice fuels your own. It ignites a firestorm in your blood. You both know, in that moment, that this is more than just fucking. This is a claiming. This is a branding. There is no going back from this. There is no pretending this is just about scratching an itch or a corporate power play. This is possession. This is surrender. This is two halves of a whole, finally, violently, crashing together.

You lean over her, pressing your chest flush against her sweat-slicked back. Your bodies move together as one. You lower your head, your lips finding her ear.

“Is this what you wanted, Ning?” you murmur, your thrusts never faltering. “Me, fucking you on your desk? In the middle of the afternoon, where anyone could walk in and see us like this?”

“Yes,” she gasps, the word a prayer. She turns her head, craning her neck to try and find your lips with hers. “Yes, I want them to know. I want everyone in this entire building to know that you belong to me. That you’re mine”.

The kiss is awkward from this angle, frantic, a desperate clash of teeth and tongues. But it’s no less passionate for its clumsiness. You can taste her desperation, her want, the years of accumulated longing finally being sated. You taste her lipstick and the faint, salty tang of her sweat. It’s the most intoxicating flavor you’ve ever known.

When you break the kiss, you straighten up slightly, pulling back just enough to change the angle of your thrusts. You push deeper, your cock sliding against a different wall inside her. You feel a ridge, a specific spot that makes her entire body jolt.

You’ve found it. Her G-spot.

She screams, a raw, uncontrolled sound of pure pleasure that echoes off the walls of her office.

“There!” she cries out. “Oh god, right there, whatever you’re doing, don’t stop. Please, please don’t fucking stop!”

You don’t. You aim for that spot with every single thrust, a relentless, targeted assault on her senses. You watch, mesmerized, as she completely falls apart beneath you. Her professionally manicured hands are no longer fisted; they are splayed out across her desk, scrabbling for purchase, fisting the expensive stationery and scattering papers to the floor. She is probably ruining million-dollar contracts, but in this moment, neither of you could possibly care.

All that matters is this. The slick, glorious slide of skin against skin. The symphony of your mingled breaths and desperate moans. The feeling of her, wrapped around you like a second skin, like she was born for this, for you.

You feel the tension in her body begin to build, a new, frantic energy. Her inner muscles begin to flutter around your cock, a prelude to the storm that is about to break.

“I’m close,” she warns you. “So close, I’m right there, please, I need to come. I need you to make me come.”

“Then come for me, Ning,” you growl. One of your hands leaves her hip, sliding around her body, between her legs, to find the slick, hard nub of her clit. You circle it with your thumb, the rough pad of your skin a stark contrast to the sensitive pearl of flesh. “Come all over my cock. Show me how much you want this”.

That final touch, that direct stimulation, is all it takes to push her over the edge.

She comes with a scream that you are certain could shatter the very glass of the windows. It’s a sound of pure, unadulterated release, a sound that she has probably never made in her entire, controlled life. Her pussy clamps down on your cock, a series of violent, ecstatic pulses that feels like you’re being milked, drained, worshipped.

The sight of her, the sound of her, the incredible, mind-altering feeling of her coming apart around your cock, is your undoing. It shatters your own control, pushing you right to the precipice.

“Ning,” you warn, the name torn from your lips. Your own thrusts become erratic, frantic, your hips bucking of their own accord.

“Inside me,” she gasps, still riding the aftershocks of her own powerful orgasm. “Come inside me. Please. I want to feel you fill me up. I want all of you”.

That permission, that desperate, pleading invitation, is all you need.

With a final, guttural groan that seems to be ripped from the very depths of your soul, you thrust deep one last time, burying yourself as far as you can possibly go. You hold yourself there as your own orgasm crashes over you, a tidal wave of pure, white-hot pleasure. You spill your seed deep inside her, emptying yourself into her heat with a sense of finality, of completion.

She takes it all, her pussy still pulsing, clenching around your softening cock, milking every last drop from you as if it were the most precious substance on earth.

For a long, silent moment, you both stay frozen in that tableau. You, buried deep inside her, boneless and spent. Her, bent over her desk, trembling with the aftershocks of her climax. The only sounds are your harsh, ragged breaths, mingling in the sex-scented air.

When you finally find the strength to pull out of her, the sound is wet and obscene. You look down, and the sight that greets you nearly makes your knees buckle. Your cum, thick and white, is starting to leak from her well-fucked pussy, pearling on her swollen lips before tracing a slow, lazy path down her inner thigh. The sight is so incredibly proprietary, so filthy and so perfect, that your spent cock gives a reflexive twitch of renewed interest.

“That was…” she starts, her voice trailing off into a long, boneless, satisfied sigh. She can’t seem to find the words.

“Incredible,” you finish for her.

Slowly, carefully, she turns around to face you. And the sight of her steals the breath from your lungs. She is a beautiful, glorious ruin. Her meticulously applied makeup is completely wrecked, mascara smudged beneath her eyes, her lipstick a faint, blurry memory. Her expensive, perfect hair is a tangled mess, sticking to her sweat-sheened face. There is a deep, pink flush covering her cheeks, her neck, her chest. She looks thoroughly, utterly, beautifully debauched. And in the center of it all is a post-orgasmic glow that makes her more stunning than you have ever seen her before.

“Come here,” she says.

You take a step closer, your own legs feeling unsteady. She rises up on her toes, her hands coming to rest on your shoulders, and she kisses you. It’s a different kiss from the others. It’s softer, slower. There’s no desperation in it, no frantic claiming. It is a kiss of quiet satisfaction, of deep, resonant connection. It’s a kiss that tastes of your mingled scents, of salt and sex and satisfaction.

When she finally breaks the kiss, she doesn’t move away. She rests her forehead against yours, her eyes searching your face. Her expression is one you’ve never seen on her before. It is vulnerable, and hopeful, and more than a little scared, all at once.

“This changes things,” she says quietly. It’s not a question. It’s a statement of fact.

“Yeah,” you agree. “It does”.

“I meant what I said before,” she continues, her gaze unwavering. “About loving you. About all of it. This wasn’t just about sex for me”.

You are starting to realize, with a terrifying, exhilarating clarity, that what you feel for this woman, this incredible, infuriating, intoxicating woman, goes far beyond simple lust or even affection. She has been a ghost in your life for six years, a “what if” that you never allowed yourself to explore. And now, in the space of a single afternoon, she has made herself terrifyingly, beautifully real. She has gotten under your skin in a way that should send you running for the hills.

But you don’t want to run.

“I know,” you tell her, because it’s the only truth you can manage right now. The words “I love you, too” are there, perched on the tip of your tongue, but they are too new, too frightening, to set free just yet.

She seems to understand. She gives a small, accepting nod, her eyes softening with a wisdom that seems beyond her years. She finally steps back, creating a space between you that feels like a physical loss.

“We should probably clean up,” she says, a reluctant practicality creeping back into her voice. “Make ourselves presentable”.

You’re about to agree, to nod and start gathering your scattered clothing. But then your gaze falls again to her thighs, to the milky evidence of your climax still glistening on her pale skin. And suddenly, you are not quite ready for this to be over. You are not ready to return to the real world just yet.

“Not yet,” you say.

She raises a single, perfectly sculpted eyebrow, a flicker of the imperious CEO returning to her features. “No? And what, precisely, did you have in mind?”

You don’t answer her with words. Instead, you drop to your knees before her.

Her eyes widen, her lips parting on a soft, sharp gasp of surprise as she realizes what you’re about to do.

“You can’t be serious,” she breathes.

“Dead serious,” you murmur, your voice muffled as you press a soft, reverent kiss to her hip bone, right where the strap of her garter belt digs slightly into her skin. You trail a line of kisses inward, toward the prize. “I want to taste us together. I want to taste you”.

The idea, by all rights, should be repulsive. It’s primal, animalistic, possessive. But instead of disgust, a fresh, potent wave of arousal crashes through you. Your cock, which had begun to soften, gives a hard, affirmative twitch. There is something so incredibly intimate, so fundamentally possessive, about the thought of tasting your own seed mixed with her arousal, of cleaning her with your own mouth. It is the ultimate act of claiming.

“That’s so… dirty,” she whispers, but there is no condemnation in her voice. Only a raw, breathless heat that tells you she is just as turned on by the idea as you are.

“ You love dirty ,” you point out. You reach her inner thigh and nip at the soft flesh, a gentle, playful bite that makes her jump.

She doesn’t deny it. She can’t. Instead, she spreads her legs wider, an unspoken, eager invitation. She is giving you better access, offering herself up to you completely.

You lean forward, your heart hammering against your ribs. And then, you drag your tongue through her slick folds, gathering the mingled fluids of your releases.

The taste is… overwhelming. It’s intense, salty from her sweat, musky from her arousal, and with the unmistakable, slightly alkaline flavor of your own cum. It’s the most intimate taste imaginable, a flavor that speaks of possession and surrender, of a boundary crossed and obliterated. The taste of us . It makes your head spin, and from the strangled, desperate sound she makes above you, you know she feels the same way.

“Oh, god,” she gasps, her fingers immediately tangling in your hair, gripping the strands tightly. “ That’s so fucking hot. Oh, fuck.”

You take your time. You are meticulous. This is not a rushed cleanup; this is an act of worship. Your tongue delves deep, seeking out and gathering every last drop of your seed from within her. You lick her clean with a thoroughness that borders on obsession.

She is so incredibly sensitive now, her nerves raw and singing from your previous ministrations and her powerful orgasm. Every slow, deliberate stroke of your tongue makes her shiver and gasp. Her hips begin to rock, a slow, unconscious grind against your mouth as she seeks more friction. She is chasing another pleasure, another release, even in the aftermath of the last one.

By the time you are finished, she is breathing heavily again, her knuckles white where she grips your hair. Her thighs are trembling. And your own cock, to your astonishment and delight, is fully, painfully hard once more.

You pull back, licking your lips. You look up at her, and she is staring down at you with a look of pure, unadulterated lust.

“My turn,” she says.

Before you can even begin to process her words, before you can protest or agree, she is moving. She slides from her perch on the desk and drops to her knees in front of you, the movement fluid and shockingly graceful.

The sight of Ning Yizhuo, the powerful, untouchable CEO, on her knees in her own office - still wearing nothing but a pair of ridiculously expensive heels and a black lace garter belt holding up her sheer stockings - is enough to make your brain short-circuit completely. It is the most debauched, most incredible thing you have ever seen.

“I have been wanting to do this for hours,” she murmurs. Her small, cool hand wraps around the base of your thick, straining cock. The contrast of her delicate fingers against your coarse flesh is electrifying. “Do you have any idea how hard it was to sit across that desk from you, trying to look threatening, when all I could think about was having you in my mouth?”

You’re about to respond, to say something, anything, but the words die in your throat. Because she leans forward, her dark, silky hair brushing against your thighs, and takes the thick, crowned head of your cock between her lips.

The sensation is a lightning strike, a pure, jangling bolt of pleasure that shoots straight from the tip of your cock to the base of your spine. Any and all coherent thought you might have possessed evaporates into thin air.

“Fuck,” you breathe out. Your hands, acting of their own accord, find her hair, your fingers tangling in the soft, silken strands.

She hums around you, a low, satisfied sound of approval. The vibration travels down the length of your shaft, a deep, resonant thrumming that makes your toes curl in your shoes.

Then, she takes you deeper. Her lips are impossibly soft, her mouth wet and hot. Her tongue, slick and agile, begins to work its magic, tracing the sensitive vein along the underside of your shaft as she swallows you down, inch by agonizingly slow inch.

You are dimly, vaguely aware that she is incredibly skilled at this. Her technique is flawless, practiced, perfect. And the thought of her learning these skills, of her perfecting this art with other men, makes something possessive and ugly and fiercely jealous rear its head in your chest.

As if she can read your mind, as if she can sense the sudden shift in your mood, she pulls off of you with a wet, popping sound that echoes in the quiet room. She looks up at you, her dark eyes knowing, perceptive. A single, glistening string of saliva connects her full, pink lips to the head of your cock.

“No one else has ever made me feel the way you do,” she says. Her hand, which is still wrapped around your base, begins to stroke you, a slow, hypnotic rhythm. “No one else has ever mattered. This mouth? It was always waiting for you” 

Her words, so honest and direct, soothe the jealous, snarling beast in your chest. You reach down with one hand, your fingers stroking her cheek, a gesture of thanks, of acceptance.

“Good,” you say simply, the single word conveying a world of possessive satisfaction.

A slow, wicked smile spreads across her face. She knows you. She understands your need to possess her as much as she needs to possess you. Then, she takes you back into her mouth with a renewed, ferocious enthusiasm.

This time, she goes deeper. Much deeper. With a practiced ease that makes your knees feel weak, she relaxes her throat and takes you all the way down, swallowing your entire length until her nose is pressed against your pubic bone and her lips are flush against your pelvis.

The sight of your own cock completely disappearing between her perfect, crimson lips is almost too much to handle. It is a visual of total submission, total worship.

“Jesus, Ning,” you gasp out, your hips giving an involuntary buck. “Your mouth feels… fuck, it feels incredible”.

She pulls off you again, just enough so she can speak. That glistening thread of saliva stretches between you once more.

“I used to practice,” she confesses, a husky whisper that is for your ears only. “On toys. While thinking about you. I wanted to be perfect for you. For when I finally got the chance to do this. To have you”.

The mental image she paints - of Ning Yizhuo, the untouchable chaebol princess, alone in her room, practicing fellatio, all for you - is so intensely erotic it makes your cock give a violent, convulsive twitch in her hand.

“You are perfect,” you tell her. “So fucking perfect, babe.”

She takes that as her cue. She takes you back into her mouth, and this time, she holds nothing back. She is a woman on a mission, a woman who has waited six years to claim her prize.

She bobs her head eagerly, her movements quick and sure. She takes you deep on every stroke, her throat muscles clenching around you, while her free hand works the parts of you that she can’t fit in her mouth. The wet, sloppy sounds of her efforts fill the office, an obscene and beautiful chorus that is music to your ears.

You can feel your second orgasm building with an embarrassing, shocking quickness. Your body is still humming from your previous release, your nerves are shot, and her skilled, relentless mouth is simply too much. But just as you’re about to warn her, just as you’re about to pull out, she stops.

She pulls away, leaving you throbbing and painfully close to the edge.

“Not yet,” she says, and her grin is pure, unadulterated wickedness. “I’m not done with you. Not by a long shot”.

She stands up, the movement fluid and graceful. You’re about to protest, to beg her to finish what she started, when she turns around and bends over the desk again, assuming the same position as before.

This time, however, she looks back at you over her shoulder, her dark eyes glittering with a new, challenging light.

“I want you to fuck my ass,” she says, her voice blunt, devoid of any softness. 

Your brain, already overloaded with pleasure and sensation, stutters to a complete halt. “What?” you manage to choke out, certain you must have misheard her.

“You heard me,” she says, voice firm. “I want you to fuck my ass. I want you to claim every single part of me. I want you to leave your mark everywhere. No part of me left untouched by you”.

Your cock, which was already painfully hard, seems to gain a new, impossible thickness. But a sliver of your rational mind takes over.

“Ning,” you say. “We don’t have any lube. And I don’t want to hurt you. I won’t hurt you”.

A slow, secret smile touches her lips. Without taking her eyes off you, she reaches to the side and pulls open one of her desk drawers. Her hand disappears inside for a moment before reemerging, holding a small, sleek, silver bottle. It’s personal lubricant. High-end, by the looks of it.

She sees the look of pure, dumbfounded surprise on your face, and she shrugs, a casual, nonchalant movement of her shoulders.

“I’m a woman with needs,” she says, matter-of-fact. “And a very, very stressful job. Sometimes, a girl needs to… relieve a little tension during the workday”.

The thought of her, sitting here in this very office, in her power suit, touching herself, sends a fresh wave of heat crashing through you. Your mouth goes dry.

“You masturbate at work?” you ask, the question coming out as a strangled whisper.

“When the mood strikes,” she says, completely unapologetic. She holds your gaze, her eyes glittering with mischief. “Usually while thinking about you, if I’m being completely honest”.

That confession, that final, devastating admission, makes your head spin. But before you can fully process the implications, she is pushing the cool, metal bottle of lubricant into your hand.

“Please,” she says, and the command is gone from her voice now. It is replaced by a soft, raw vulnerability that cuts right through your shock and straight to your heart. “I need this. I need you to take me completely. To own me. Please”.

“Are you sure?” you ask.

“I have never been more sure of anything in my entire life,” she replies, resolute.

You nod slowly. You twist the cap off the bottle and squeeze a generous, viscous dollop of the clear lubricant onto your fingers. It’s cool against your skin.

You approach her slowly, reverently. You start with just one finger, working the slick lube around her tight, puckered entrance. She breathes in deeply, trying to relax her body for you.

“That’s it,” you murmur. “Just relax for me. Breathe”.

Your first finger slides in with a surprising ease. She gasps at the intrusion, a sharp, startled sound. Her inner muscles clench tightly around you for a moment before slowly, consciously, relaxing. You work your finger in and out slowly, letting her get used to the strange, new sensation of being filled this way, before you add a second finger.

She is incredibly, exquisitely tight. You take your time, stretching her carefully, gently, with a patience you didn’t know you possessed.

“More,” she gasps out after a few long, silent minutes. “I can take more. I want to feel you. All of you”.

You add a third finger, and she moans, a low, guttural sound of pleasure and pain mingled together. The stretch is intense, but you can feel her arousal growing with it. Her slickness has started to mingle with the lube. You reach around with your other hand, your thumb finding her clit and brushing over it lightly. She nearly jumps off the desk, her whole body jolting with pleasure.

“I’m ready,” she says, her voice breathless, urgent. “Please. I’m ready now”.

You withdraw your slick fingers with a soft, wet sound. You squeeze a liberal amount of the lube onto your own cock, coating the entire length until it glistens in the afternoon light. Then, you position yourself at her tight, waiting entrance. You press forward, slowly, carefully.

The thick, crowned head of your cock breaches her tight ring of muscle, and she cries out, a sharp, high-pitched sound that is pure, unadulterated sensation.

“Okay?” you ask immediately, freezing in place, your body rigid with the effort of holding back.

“Yes,” she gasps. “Yes, it’s okay. Keep going. Don’t you dare stop”.

You push forward, incrementally, giving her body time to adjust to each new inch of you. It is the most intense, most incredible feeling you have ever experienced. She is so impossibly tight, the pressure almost painful, but in the best way imaginable. The heat inside her is scorching. When you are finally, finally fully seated inside her, buried to the hilt in her tight, welcoming sheath, you both pause, breathless, just trying to process the overwhelming sensation.

“How does it feel?” you ask.

“Full,” she breathes out, the single word conveying a universe of feeling. ]“So fucking full. I can feel you everywhere. In every part of me”.

You start to move, your first thrusts incredibly slow, almost tentative. You pull back until just the head of your cock remains inside her, and then you push forward again, sinking back into her tight, hot depths.

The sensation is unlike anything you have ever felt. It’s a different kind of friction, a different kind of heat. It is almost overwhelming in its intensity.

“Faster,” she demands after only a few slow, torturous strokes. “I need it faster. Harder”.

You increase your pace, your hips finding a new, harder, faster rhythm. Your hands grip her hips tightly, your fingers digging into her soft flesh as you drive into her again and again. She meets your thrusts with a wild, desperate enthusiasm, pushing back against you, taking every inch of you without hesitation.

“Touch yourself,” you tell her. “Touch your clit for me. Come for me while I fuck your ass”.

She obeys immediately, without a single word of protest. One of her hands slides down between her legs, her fingers finding the sensitive, hard nub of her clit.

The combination is explosive. Your cock, buried deep in her ass, and her own fingers working her clit, sends her into a frenzy of pleasure. She moans continuously, a long, unbroken stream of pleasure-drunk sounds that bounce off the walls of her office.

You can feel her climax building, the tension in her body winding tighter and tighter, like a spring being coiled to its breaking point.

“I’m close,” she warns. “Oh god, I’m so close”.

“Come for me, Ning,” you growl, your own orgasm building with a terrifying rapidity. “Come with my cock buried in your ass. Let me feel you come apart for me”.

The permission, the command, is all she needs. She comes with a scream that you are certain must have been heard three floors down. It is a sound of pure earth-shattering release, a sound torn from the very depths of her soul.

Her entire body convulses around you, a series of violent, ecstatic spasms that grip your cock like a fist. Her back arches impossibly high off the desk, her head thrashing from side to side, her perfectly styled hair now a wild, sweat-soaked mess. A stream of raw, unfiltered curses pours from her lips, mingling with desperate, broken pleas and your name, repeated over and over like a prayer.

“Fuck—oh God—yes—please, don’t stop, fuck!”

You feel every single clench of her tight anal muscles, but the feeling of her coming apart around you is not your undoing. It is not the thing that pushes you over the edge.

It’s your fuel.

Her climax, so total and absolute, incinerates the last vestiges of your control. The part of you that was trying to be careful, the part that was tempering your strength, is burned away, leaving only a raw need.

“That’s it,” you growl against her ear. “Take it. Feel my cock in your tight little ass while you come.”

Your rhythm changes instantly. The slow, deep, almost hypnotic strokes are gone. In their place is a brutal, punishing battery. You stop pulling out, instead keeping yourself buried to the hilt and just pistoning the last few inches of your length into her, short, hard, vicious thrusts that are designed to shatter what little composure she has left.

“Feel that, Ning?” you pant. “Feel me fucking you? You wanted this.”

The polished wood of her desk groans under the force of your assault. Your balls slap against her reddening skin with each powerful slam.

She is a wreck beneath you, boneless and shuddering in the aftermath of her orgasm, but she’s still with you. She pushes back, her movements weak but defiant, trying to meet the force of your thrusts.

“Yes,” she sobs. “Yes, please—harder—fuck me harder.”

“You want it harder?” you say. You grip her hips, your fingers bruising the soft flesh, and haul her back against you as you change your rhythm again, pulling almost all the way out before slamming back into her with the full force of your body.

Each thrust feels like a lightning strike. Each impact makes her cry out, a fresh wave of sensation washing over her already hypersensitive nerves.

“I’m going to break you on this desk,” you tell her. “I’m going to fuck you until you forget your own name. All you’ll know is my cock in your ass.”

“Fuck,” she moans. “Fuck, babe, you're ruining me!”

“Yes,” you snarl. “And you’re going to take my cum, Ning. You’re going to take every fucking drop of it.”

You can feel your own orgasm clawing its way up your spine, a desperate, unstoppable force. Your vision begins to narrow, the edges of the room blurring into a smear of color. All you can see is her, bent over for you, taking you. All you can feel is the incredible, crushing tightness of her body around yours.

The pressure in your balls builds to an almost unbearable point. 

“Gonna cum, Ning” you roar, the words ripped from you as you drive into her one last time, burying yourself so deep you feel like you’re touching her soul. “Fuck, I'm cumming!”

Your orgasm crashes over you, a devastating, all-consuming wave of pure, white-hot pleasure. You come hard, your hips bucking uncontrollably as you flood her tight, hot channel with your seed. Thick, hot jets of your release pump deep inside her, one after another, an seemingly endless torrent. You empty yourself completely into her, filling her, branding her, claiming her in the most absolute way possible.

For a long moment after the pulsing stops, you don’t move. You collapse on top of her, your bodies slick with a shared sweat, your chest heaving as you try to drag air into your burning lungs. You stay buried inside her, your softening cock still nestled deep in her heat, feeling the faint, residual tremors of her orgasm and the gentle pulse of her muscles around you.

Finally, reluctantly, you pull out of her. The sound is wet and obscene, a thick, slick sound of separation. She whimpers at the loss, a soft, breathy sound of protest.

You’re both trembling, boneless and spent. But you’re not finished. Not yet.

“Don’t move,” you whisper.

She obeys, staying bent over the desk, her body trembling with exhaustion and pleasure.

You step back, your own legs unsteady. You look down at her, at the incredible, debauched sight she makes. And then, you reach forward. You place your hands on her ass, your thumbs finding the cleft.

“I want to see,” you murmur. “I want to see the mess I made of you.”

You press your thumbs into her flesh and pull her cheeks apart, spreading her wide open for your inspection.

Her hole is a beautiful ruin. The delicate, puckered ring of muscle is swollen, pink, and gaping slightly from the force of your fucking. It’s glistening, coated in a mixture of her slickness and the clear lube.

And then, you see it.

As you hold her open, a thick, pearly white bead of your cum wells up from inside her. It pushes its way out of her tight, abused hole before beginning a slow, lazy ooze down her skin, a milky testament to your climax. You watch, mesmerized, as more follows, a slow, thick leakage that pools between her cheeks before trailing down her thigh.

The sight is the most possessive, most depraved, most beautiful thing you have ever seen.

“Look at that, Ning,” you breathe. “Look at my cum. Leaking out of your perfect ass. You took it all for me.”

“That was…” she starts, her voice trailing off into a sigh of pure, boneless satisfaction.

“Incredible,” you finish for her, again.

She turns around slowly, her legs visibly shaky from the intensity of the session. When she looks up at you, her eyes are glistening with tears she won’t let fall - you’re not sure if they’re from emotion or the intense pleasure you just gave her.

“I love you,” she says quietly. And this time, it doesn’t sound like a confession or a weapon. It doesn’t sound like blackmail or a fantasy. It sounds like a simple, undeniable truth.

“I…” you start, but you stop. The words are there. They are screaming in your head. But your throat is tight, and you can’t seem to force them out.

She reaches up, her hand cupping your cheek, her thumb stroking your skin gently. “You don’t have to say it back,” she says. “Not yet. But I needed you to know. I needed you to hear it”.

You lean into her touch, completely overwhelmed by the intensity of everything that has just happened between you.

“We should clean up,” she says after a long, silent moment, though she sounds just as reluctant to move as you are.

“Yeah,” you agree.

But before either of you can take a single step toward your scattered clothing, a soft, hesitant knock sounds on the heavy oak door of the office.

You both freeze, your eyes locking in a shared moment of pure, unadulterated horror.

Ning’s secretary’s voice, muffled but clear, comes through the heavy wood. “Ms. Yizhuo? I’m so sorry to bother you, I know you said not to, but there’s an urgent call from the Seoul office. They say it’s an emergency. That it can’t wait” 

Ning stares at you, her eyes wide with panic. Then her gaze darts around the room, taking in the scene of complete and utter carnage. Your clothes and hers, scattered across the expensive carpet. Important-looking papers strewn across the floor and her desk.

“Just a moment, Lisa,” she calls out, and her voice, to your utter astonishment, is remarkably steady. It is the voice of a CEO in complete control, not a woman who was screaming in ecstasy just minutes ago. “Transfer the call to my private line. I’ll take it in a few minutes”.

“Of course, Ms. Yizhou," the secretary replies.

You both hold your breath, not moving a muscle, until you hear the faint, distant click of her heels walking away from the door.

Then, the tension breaks. Ning collapses against you, a sound bubbling up from her chest that is half laugh, half sob of hysterical relief.

“That was close,” she whispers, her face buried in your chest.

“Too close,” you agree, but you can’t suppress the wide, disbelieving grin that spreads across your face.

She looks up at you, and there is a wicked, unholy mischief glittering in her dark eyes. “Good thing these office walls are soundproof”.

You raise an eyebrow. “Are they really?”

She laughs, a genuine, delighted sound. “God, I hope so. Otherwise, the entire executive floor just got quite the show”.

The thought, which should be mortifying, is instead incredibly, intensely arousing. The idea of everyone in this building knowing that she is yours, that you are the one who can make the unshakable Ning Yizhuo scream with pleasure, it's a fantasy that feeds your ego.

“We really do need to clean up now,” she says, but she makes no move to step out of your arms.

“I know,” you say, but you don’t move either.

She reaches up and kisses you again, softly, sweetly. When she pulls away, she smiles, her expression open and hopeful and completely unguarded.

“Dinner tonight?” she asks. “Somewhere private. Somewhere we can talk without the risk of… interruption”.

“Your place or mine?” you ask, and the ease with which the question comes feels both strange and perfectly natural. Her smile widens.

“Mine,” she says. “I want to cook for you. It’s something I’ve been wanting to do for six years”.

“I’d like that,” you say, and you mean it.

“Good,” she says, finally, reluctantly, stepping away from you to begin the process of gathering her scattered clothing. “Because we have a lot to figure out”.

You watch her as she dresses, mesmerized by the startling efficiency with which she transforms herself from a debauched, wanton sex goddess back into the impeccably composed CEO. It is a startling, impressive transformation. By the time she is finished, the only remaining evidence of the last few hours of madness is her slightly disheveled hair and the deep, satisfied glow in her eyes.

“How do I look?” she asks, smoothing down the front of her skirt.

“Like you just had the best sex of your life,” you tell her honestly.

She grins back at you, a wide, triumphant flash of white teeth. “Perfect. That’s exactly the look I was going for”.

You finish dressing yourself, and by the time you are both presentable again, it is almost as if the last few hours never happened. Almost. Except for the way she keeps stealing secret, hungry glances at you when she thinks you’re not looking. Except for the way your skin still tingles where she touched you. Except for the fact that the entire world seems to have shifted on its axis.

“I should take that call,” she says with a reluctance that you share.

“And I should get back to work,” you agree, though the very last thing on earth you want to do is leave the sanctuary of her office.

She walks you to the door, a silent, shared journey across the room. Just as your hand reaches for the cool metal of the doorknob, she catches your hand, her small fingers lacing with yours.

“No regrets?” she asks, uncertain for the first time.

You look down at her. At this woman. This incredible, impossible woman who has turned your carefully constructed, meticulously ordered world completely upside down in the space of a single afternoon. You think about the complications, the consequences, the sheer, insane risk of it all. And you realize that despite all of that, you don’t regret a single, solitary second.

“No regrets,” you confirm. Her smile is so bright, so radiant, it could power the entire city. “Good. Because this is just the beginning”.

You know she’s right. Whatever this is, whatever it becomes, it is going to consume you both completely. And for the first time in six long, lonely years, you are ready to let it. 

You are ready to burn.

But just as you reach for the door handle a second time, she stops you again.

“Actually,” she says, and her voice has taken on that low, commanding tone again. That tone that makes your blood sing and your cock stir. “There’s one more thing”.

You turn back to her, your eyebrows raised in a silent question. The look in her eyes makes your pulse quicken. It is the look of a predator who has tasted blood and has decided that it is not yet finished with its meal

“What’s that?” you ask.

Instead of answering you right away, she moves back to her desk. She doesn’t sit behind it, but perches on the polished wooden edge, crossing her long, elegant legs in a way that deliberately, pointedly, draws your attention back to the sheer black stockings that still hug her thighs.

“Close the door.”

You raise an eyebrow, a flicker of your old, defiant self returning. “Ning, your secretary just said there was an urgent, emergency call from Seoul-”.

“The call can wait,” she interrupts, decisive. “This can’t”

There is something in her voice that makes you obey without another word of protest. You close the heavy oak door, the soft click of the latch sounding like a verdict. You turn back to her, and she is watching you, her gaze so intense, so focused, that it makes the fine hairs on your arms stand on end.

“Come here,” she commands.

You cross the room slowly, your footsteps unnaturally loud on the plush carpet. You are hyperaware of her eyes on you, tracking your every movement. When you finally reach her, standing before her at the desk, she spreads her legs slightly, a silent, clear invitation for you to stand between them.

“I lied,” she says simply

“About what?” 

“About being done with you.” Her hands, quick and sure, go to your belt, her nimble fingers working at the buckle with a practiced, devastating efficiency. “I am nowhere near done with you”.

Your cock, which had finally, blessedly, started to soften, immediately begins to stir, to harden again at her words, at her touch.

“Ning, we just-” you start to protest, your mind reeling.

“We just had the most amazing sex of our lives,” she agrees as she frees you from the confines of your pants for the second time in as many hours. “And now, I find that I want more”.

She wraps her small, cool hand around your semi-hard cock, her fingers stroking you slowly, expertly, coaxing you back to a full, throbbing hardness. The sensation is electric, especially since your nerves are still raw and humming from your previous, powerful orgasms.

“You’re insatiable,” you breathe out.

“Six years,” she reminds you. Her grip on you tightens slightly, a possessive, proprietary squeeze. “I have six years of fantasies to work through with you. We’ve barely scratched the surface”.

The reminder of just how long she has wanted this, how long she has wanted you, makes your head spin. You are already fully, painfully hard again, your body responding to her touch, to her proximity, to her sheer, indomitable will.

“What do you want?” you ask, because you know, with a terrifying certainty, that you will give her anything she asks for in this moment.

“I want you to cum deep in my throat,” she says. “And later, at my place, I want you to cum on my face. I want you to cum all over my body. I want to feel you all over my skin.”

The crude, explicit words, the sheer, unadulterated filth of her request, makes your cock give a violent, convulsive twitch in her hand. The image she paints - of her, on her knees before you, your thick, white seed painting her perfect, beautiful features - is so intensely, shockingly erotic that it is almost too much to process.

“I'm not against the idea,” you manage to choke out.

“Great. Let's get started.” She slides gracefully from her perch on the desk and drops to her knees in front of you for the second time that afternoon. “I want to taste you again. I want to feel you lose control in my mouth. I want to swallow you down”.

She doesn’t wait for your permission. She doesn’t wait for your response. She leans forward, her dark, silken hair falling around her face like a curtain, and takes the thick, crowned head of your cock between her lips.

The sensation is, if possible, even more incredible than the first time. It is made more intense by the knowledge that you are still sensitive, still humming from your previous activities. The heat of her mouth, the slickness of her tongue, is a paradise of sensation.

“Fuck,” you gasp out, your hands, as if they have a mind of their own, tangling in her hair, gripping her head, holding her in place.

She hums around you, a low, pleased vibration. Then, she takes you deeper, her agile tongue working its magic along the sensitive underside of your shaft as she swallows you down, inch by agonizing inch. The sight of your own cock disappearing between her perfect, crimson lips is almost too much to handle. It is a sight you know you will never, ever forget.

This time, there is no hesitation. There is no holding back. She is a woman possessed, a woman driven by six years of pent-up desire. She bobs her head eagerly, her movements quick and sure. She takes you as deep as she can on every single stroke, while her free hand wraps around your balls, cupping you, weighing you, claiming you.

“That’s it,” you encourage her. Your grip in her hair tightens, not painfully, but firmly, possessively. “Take it all, Ning. Take all of me”.

She responds to your command by relaxing her throat muscles completely, taking you even deeper than before. She takes you until her delicate, aristocratic nose is pressed against your pelvis, until her full, soft lips are flush against your skin. You are completely, utterly engulfed in the wet, hot heat of her mouth. The feeling of being so completely consumed by her makes your knees feel weak, your legs tremble.

You can feel your third orgasm of the afternoon building with a terrifying, shocking speed. The sensitivity from your previous climaxes has made every touch, every sensation, a hundred times more intense.

She seems to sense how close you are. She can feel the way your hips have started to buck, the way your muscles have started to tense. She doubles her efforts, her mouth working on you with a new, frantic energy. She sucks harder, her head moving faster, her tongue working in a dizzying, hypnotic rhythm.

“I’m close,” you warn her, and she doesn’t stop. Instead, she looks up at you, her dark, beautiful eyes wide and dark with lust and a fierce, unwavering determination.

And the sight of her, looking up at you with such raw, naked adoration while she swallows your cock, is your final, complete undoing.

Your orgasm crashes over you with a devastating, tidal force. You roar out your release, your head thrown back, your eyes squeezed shut, as you come hard and fast down her willing, eager throat.

She takes it all. She swallows every single drop of your release, her throat muscles working around you, clenching and pulsing as she milks you completely, greedily.

When you are finally, finally spent, your body trembling with the aftershocks of your release, she pulls off of you slowly, deliberately. She licks her full, plump lips with a look of deep, feline satisfaction. She has conquered you. She has consumed you. She has won.

“Delicious,” she purrs. She rises to her feet with a fluid, startling grace.

You’re about to respond, to say something, anything, when she surprises you by stepping forward and kissing you deeply, passionately. And you can taste yourself on her tongue. It is the most intimate, most shockingly dirty, most perfect flavor imaginable. You realize, in that moment, with a terrifying, exhilarating clarity, that you are completely, irrevocably addicted to this woman, and to everything she does to you.

When she finally breaks the kiss, she looks up at you. 

“Now I really am done,” she says, and a slow, wicked grin spreads across her face. “For now”.

The promise, the threat, in those last two words makes your spent, aching cock give a final, reflexive twitch of renewed interest.

This woman, you realize with a sense of dazed wonder, is going to be the death of you. And you find, to your utter astonishment, that you don’t care. Not even a little bit.

“You’re incredible,” you tell her, and you mean the words with every fiber of your being.

“I know,” she says, with a flash of her old, mock arrogance. Then, her expression softens. “But so are you. You were better than I ever dreamed”.

“That call,” you remind her reluctantly, the real world intruding once more.

“Right. The call.” She smooths down her hair, adjusts her clothing, and in the space of a few seconds, she transforms back into the composed, powerful CEO. The transformation is, as always, both startling and incredibly arousing.

“Dinner. Eight o’clock,” she says, all business once more. “I’ll text you my address”.

“I’ll be there,” you promise.

She reaches up and kisses you one last time

“Good,” she whispers against your lips, her breath warm and intoxicating. “Because we still have a lot to learn about each other, babe. If you know what I mean.”

As you finally, finally leave her office, your head spinning from the events of the last few hours, you realize, with a sense of dazed wonder, that your carefully constructed, meticulously ordered life is about to become beautifully, gloriously, chaotically complicated.

And for the first time in a very, very long time, you are looking forward to every single messy, passionate, unpredictable moment of it.

The elevator ride down feels completely different than the one up. It feels like you are descending from Mount Olympus, back into the world of mortals, a world that has been fundamentally, irrevocably changed while you were gone.

Your reflection in the polished steel doors shows a man who looks thoroughly, comprehensively satisfied. A man who looks dazed, and humbled, and completely, utterly conquered. You wonder, with a flicker of amusement, if everyone you pass on your way out of the building will be able to tell what just happened in that top-floor office.

As the numbers on the display count down - 50, 49, 48, 47 - your mind replays the events of the afternoon. You think about dinner tonight. You think about the raw, unguarded promise in Ning’s eyes. You think about the way she tasted, the way she felt, the incredible, uninhibited sounds she made when she came apart in your arms, in your mouth.

You think about six long years of missed opportunities, of unspoken desires, of paths not taken. And you think about the incredible, miraculous good fortune of getting a second chance.

The elevator reaches the ground floor with a soft, gentle ding. As the doors slide open, you step out into your new reality.

[barabones]

With our Crips for Esims for Gaza Itch Bundle halfway to the $100,000 goal, let's take a minute to actually spotlight some of the works in it! A lot of stuff was specifically created or submitted for our cause, and are not only entertaining, but are great resources for getting yourself involved!

Let's check some of these projects out!

What Palestinians’ Use of eSIMs Can Teach Us About Tech

A fantastic introduction essay written by friend of the group, @chloetankahhui.bsky.social, specifically for our bundle! I highly suggest it as your first download after purchase!

What Is An eSim?

Another project designed to quickly inform people on how eSims are used in Gaza! Made by various volunteers in our own Crips for eSims group. We hope to use this as an easy printable way to spread the word of what we do!

Cartoonists for Palestine anthology

250 whooping pages of incredible art! It is worth spending an evening looking through all 63 stories! Thank you to @redgoldsparks for submitting this collection!

a fruit is a stone

A chapbook made by one of our volunteers, who also apparently studies rocks on Mars! Go ahead and take a minute to read some poetry about sediment.

Game Assist for Palestine Companion Zine

If you love video essays about video games, especially breaking down the politics in them, then grab yourself the companion zine for some of Game Assist's videos!

In Fear of Fucking It Up

In Fear of Fucking It Up is a zine collecting scraps of essays focused on the authors personal thoughts; all themed on the intersectionality of the Palestinian and African American struggle, the overwhelming pressure to perform socially, and general thoughts about acts of resistance. A neat little zine with a very personal perspective!

'Tis the Season

Have you ever wanted to be a mistletoe themed superhero? Check out this TTRPG to get involved with domestic actions from protecting protestors to destroying arms shipments!

ANY SAND

May be a little biased, since hexcavator is one of the wonderful authors of our bundle, but Any Sand is a beautifully crafted point and click game with themes of resistance similar to the Rasha Abdulhadi poem it is named after.

Drawings for Palestine

Now it's time for some free poster assets! This bundle by Axell is planned to be updated over time; with all works in the public domain!

RISO PRINT FILES FOR PALESTINE

I'm not entirely sure what a risograph print is, but these also have inkjet and laser printer file formats available! The concept of scanning in your own keffiyeh for the red layer is a brilliant way to make your own print run unique!

MASK UP! Poster print pack

Plenty of color options available for your needs! Gosh this poster is just so cool. Thanks @counterintuitivecomics for submitting it along with a really cool guide for navigating Covid-19!

Esims for Gaza Poster Graphics

Ending on my own art hahaha! I've been doing what little I can to make poster graphics for our cause since July of 2024. I never would have expected them to end up wheatpasted around Canada! I'll also be updating this pack with new assets or updated information when I can. Use these graphics and characters however you like, just be sure to send me pictures!

And that ends our round up of Palestine themed projects! This should be plenty to keep you busy for a few evenings, but that's only some of the over 200 projects submitted to our bundle! There's plenty more hidden treasure in there, but that may be for another day. This post is already getting to "color of the sky" length anyways.

But hey hey, did YOU read a zine or game in this bundle that you really enjoyed, and you think people should check out? Let folks know! And let them know that our bundle is still going until the end of May 19th!

At the time of this post, we are already halfway to our new goal of 100k! Let's get it up there!

[moomine]

backwash II | daisuke

author's note: totally awesome people should check out part one as well ⍢ also, if you want to be part of a taglist for future updates feel free to reply or dm me! (cover image credit)

summary: (daisuke x f!reader) It's been a little over a month since the Tulpar departed on its 382-day long haul. Anya takes the reader aside to perform her monthly psych eval, where she discusses her experiences with her peers and life on the ship so far. After she's clear to go, she runs into Daisuke who's drawing in the lounge.

word count: 2,291

warnings: mild language? all characters are 18+

now playing: Radiohead - "Motion Picture Soundtrack"

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

EMPLOYEE STATEMENT 028—

I’m starting to feel more and more homesick. I miss my mom’s roast chicken. I miss swimming pools and the feeling of the breeze. I miss burning incense. I miss my friends. It hasn’t been that long since we left Earth, but I guess I just never considered how still outer space would be. How lonely I’d feel. The others have been nice, yeah. Especially Anya. And Daisuke. I get the feeling that Captain Curly is still warming up to me. I wonder if he’s ever taken on another apprentice before. I don’t know about Swansea, or Jimmy. They seem to tolerate me at best. But then again, those two kind of just tolerate everyone, except for maybe Captain Curly. It’s only been almost a month. I just have to keep my head. 

If mom were here she’d say: “Everything gets easier with time. Time and patience.”

DAY TWENTY-SEVEN—

“Everything okay, [Name]?” Anya asked in a gentle tone, gingerly placing a hand on the table in front of you.

Your shoulders tensed at the sound of her voice as it filled the otherwise silent lounge. You looked up at her, feeling the tension seemingly wash away by the sight of her face. She offered you an understanding smile, her tired features softened as she looked down at you.

“Yeah. I’m sorry. Just lost in thought, I guess,” you responded. 

You raised a hand to rub your eyes. It had been difficult to find sleep lately. The groaning of the ship was almost haunting at night. Laying in your bed, staring at the ceiling, you spent the few hours allotted for sleep thinking about Earth, about what laid just beyond the door to your room, about the ceaseless whining of steel and steam. About the next three hundred and fifty four days.

Anya nodded sympathetically, moving her hand from the table top to your shoulder blade. “It gets easier. I promise,” she paused as Jimmy and Curly entered the room, their voices loud and booming. “Are you ready for your psych eval?”

You nearly didn’t hear her over the sound of the other two. They were reminiscing, shouting stories back and forth of college parties, bar fights, and past lovers.

“As I’ll ever be,” you said with a timid grin. 

Anya nodded once more, motioning toward the door just past the kitchen space. You came to your feet and followed her until the two of you made it to her domain. The medical bay had become a safe haven for you. Over the past month, you gravitated toward Anya the most. She had been kind to you from the very beginning, almost sisterly. When there was no more work to be done, you often found yourself walking straight through the lounge and into her office. Anya didn’t mind. In fact, she had grown to rather enjoy the company.

She walked around the desk before taking a seat in her chair. Behind her was a wall of white shelves and cabinets with glass doors. Inside they held assorted medical supplies and books on psychology and basic clinical practice. To the right of her was a bulletin board, cluttered with posters, a calendar, pictures of her hometown, and notes and reminders. A number of Daisuke’s doodles had made it up as well, namely ‘Yimpy’, a rather horrible caricature of Jimmy. It was pretty realistic.

You sat across from her with your hands interlocked in a tight ball. “Same as last time, right?”

Anya grinned as she organized your file. “Yep, same as last time. Since it’s only your second evaluation, I’m going to go over it one more time. Is that okay with you?”

You nodded.

“Lovely,” she said with a soft hum. Tapping the papers into a neat pile against the desk, Anya glanced at you once more. Her eyes flickered from the page to you, you to the page as she read aloud. “I’m going to ask you a series of questions about your experience, relationships, and general well being during your time under contract with Pony Express. It is your responsibility to answer as truthfully as you feel comfortable and/or deem necessary. Your answers remain confidential unless you give reason to believe you are at risk of harming yourself or others. Do you have any questions?”

“No questions here,” you replied with a shake of your head.

“Perfect. Let’s get started. On a scale of one to ten, how confident do you feel in your capability to complete your work and responsibilities on a day to day basis?” Anya read.

“Maybe eight? I’m still getting a hold of some of the more technical aspects. The Tulpar is an older ship… I wasn’t exactly trained on her special quirks in school,” you said with a nervous laugh.

“You’ll catch on fast. You already have,” she reassured, jotting down your response with that sweet smile still on her face. “Okay, next question. You mentioned last time that you’ve been having difficulty sleeping, is that still a relevant cause for concern?”

“I don’t know if it’s that concerning. I think I’m just having a hard time getting used to the new environment. It’s been getting easier to fall asleep though,” you responded. A little, white lie.

“I’m happy to hear that, [Name]. Your rest is important. I remember not being able to sleep at all during my first haul. I spent all night just tossing and turning, reading my books if I could focus on them long enough. It’s normal, but from the sound of it, you’re doing a great job adjusting.” Her gaze softened as she spoke. It was clear that she had grown to care for you quite quickly, and you did the same for her. “Only a couple more left to go…”

Anya listened intently while you answered each of her questions, taking the time to write down key details of your responses. Between questions, the sound of her pen etching against the paper filled the room. As Anya wrapped up the second to last question, your eyes wandered to the evening window screen. The warm orange and reds of the artificial sunset made the room look like it was on fire. You looked back to your hands, reaching up to take a piece of your hair and twist it between two fingers.

“All right,” Anya spoke up. “Last but not least, how do you feel about your relationships with the rest of the crew? Is there anything I should know about in particular?”

“No, I don’t think so. Everyone has treated me fine enough. Other than you, I’m still trying to get to know everyone better,” you said, still focused on your hair.

Another sympathetic smile graced Anya’s lips as she looked over at you. She knew how it felt to feel slightly out of place. “Look, I’m technically not supposed to tell you this, so you have to keep it a secret. Okay?” Anya let out a quiet laugh as you nodded quickly. She watched amused as you dropped your strand of hair and leaned in closer. “Daisuke mentioned during his eval that he wanted to get to know you more. Maybe you could try talking to him? You two have more in common than you might think.”

You looked down at your lap again, biting at the inside of your cheek. “Yeah, okay. Maybe I will.”

“Well, you’re all set. You’re free to go.” Anya closed the file and tucked it away alongside the others in her desk. “Thank you for your time, [Name]. I assume I’ll see you here tomorrow. Same time as usual?”

“Same time as usual,” you echoed, beaming as you got out of your chair and left the room.

From the hallway leading to the medical bay, you could tell that the lounge was quiet now. Curly and Jimmy must have wandered off elsewhere. It would have been completely silent if it weren’t for the subtle sound of pencil scratching coming from deeper within. As you entered the room you noticed Daisuke, hunched over the table as he sketched something in his sketchbook. Completely oblivious. You leaned against the doorway and watched from a distance for a moment, admiring as he tucked a tuft of fried brown hair behind his ear. 

“What are you drawing?” you questioned.

Daisuke jumped in his seat like a cat that had been snuck up on. His eyes shot to you, the surprise he felt immediately quelling into a tenuous excitement. He hastily closed his sketchbook —almost like he was hiding something— and smoothed out his hair. His mouth broke out into a wide, infectious smile, the gap in his two front teeth a thin ravine and the dimples on either side of his mouth tiny sinkholes.

“Me? Oh, y’know, just doodling,” he said, leaning back in his chair as if trying to act casual. “Where ya been? I couldn’t find- I mean, I didn’t see you back in the cockpit.”

“Psych eval.” You pointed over your shoulder with your thumb as you pushed yourself from the doorframe. “Can I see it?” you asked, walking up to the table and taking the seat across from him.

“Uhh… see what?” Daisuke asked in turn, voice coy and simultaneously flustered.

“Your doodles,” you responded with a laugh. “Only if you’re okay with that, obviously.”

“Oh! I mean, yeah. That’s like, totally fine. But, fair warning, they’re not that incredible or anything.” Reluctantly, Daisuke passed you his sketchbook. He looked rather bashful, cheeks slightly flushed and smile wavering.

“Hey, that’s not fair. I’ve seen your stuff on Anya’s corkboard. You’re really good.” You took the sketchbook in your hands, looking down at the cover of it. It was absolutely littered in a random assortment of stickers. Only through the few and far between gaps could you see that it was once a pure black. It looked much cooler now decorated with the various games, bands, and whatever else Daisuke liked. “Are you sure you don’t mind me looking? Again, it’s perfectly fine if you changed your mind.”

“Nah, it’s all good. Just don’t expect too much, ‘kay?” he replied, running a hand through his hair.

“No expectations,” you agreed.

You turned over the cover, revealing the first page. In red ink you read ‘if found please return to Daisuke, thank youuuuuu’, alongside it was a doodle of himself looking particularly grateful. Or maybe he was pleading. You chuckled under your breath and began flipping through the rest of the pages. Each one was filled with sketches and those increasingly familiar doodles of predominantly other people. Friends, maybe family, and characters from the different games he liked. His work wasn’t quite realistic, but not the most stylized either. Rather, it seemed to be a perfect mix of the two. Something entirely unique to him. To Daisuke.

The deeper you got into the book you started to spy familiar faces. Captain Curly, Swansea, Anya, even Jimmy, but mostly you. You glanced up at him, seeing that he was seemingly avoiding eye contact with you all together. His hand was still tangled within his hair, head turned to the side, and lips knitted into a fine line. That mole —high on his left cheek— stared at you more than his own eyes.

When you finally got to the last page you realized he hadn’t been doodling at all. Instead, there before you, in soft pencil sketching, was a portrait of you that Daisuke had drawn from memory. It wasn’t perfect, but it was incredibly detailed nevertheless. You held up the book, taking in the details with a look of awe on your face. He captured all of your little imperfections —the tilt of your eyes, the quirk in your smile, all of it. 

“Daisuke, these are actually so good!” you exclaimed, setting the book down and passing it back to him.

“You… you really think so?” He let out a breath of relief, finally looking at you again. “Man, I thought you would find them totally weird. I’ve been too scared to show anyone else but Anya.”

“Why would I think they’re weird?” you asked.

“Shit, I dunno…” Daisuke trailed off.

You shook your head. “You’re really talented.”

“I- Thank you,” he breathed. Daisuke’s face softened as you looked at him from across the table. The flush in his cheeks was barely noticeable, a fair pink dusting the peaks of his features. “Hey, I noticed you brought a Walkman on board with you. I never thought I’d actually see one of those things in the flesh.”

“Oh, yeah,” you laughed lightly. “It was a gift from my mom. It’s outdated as hell, but I’ve got a bunch of custom tapes back in my room. We should totally listen to them sometime.”

“Are you kidding? Dude, I’d love to-”

“Daisuke!” Swansea called from down the hall, cutting him off. He rounded the corner, sticking his head into the lounge with a sweaty brow. “There you are. Get your ass up, break time’s over. We’ve got work to finish up before dinner.”

Daisuke looked noticeably disappointed at the sight of Swansea. “But I-”

“No ‘buts’. C’mon now, I don’t have all day,” Swansea said with a huff before he turned around, walking back toward the utility room.

“Coming,” Daisuke sighed. He stood up, tucking his sketchbook under his arm with a slight frown. “Guess I’ll see ya later, [Name].”

“Yeah! I’ve got to show you some of my mixes, remember?” you responded sweetly, smiling up at him.

Daisuke nodded enthusiastically. As he left the room, he adopted a pep in his step. A smile was glued to his face as he beamed down the hall. The human embodiment of sunshine in that moment.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

previous part: here

next part: here

[earls-wife]

Prepare to be sick of me ahh i love your writing so much!!❤️ How about intimate moments with Ciel that some people might deem sexual but to them it’s like a normalized thing? Like them just having skin to skin moments alone 🌝���

Your wish is my command, have these snippets of brain worms that refuse to develop into butterflies. I headcannon the Earl and his wife are not societies prude ones. He still has class, he's just very dotting with her (and likes to use their affection to keep his business deals and other annoying members of society: cheap, in line and out of his home lol).

Keep the requests coming, if you dare. ;)

Reminder: OCiel is aged up to late 20s and goes by the name Astré here. For details, check out my page and my other works if you'd like!

Warnings: smoke, busybodies, suggestive moments but not detailed, naked but not described, Astré is a simp for his wife! I guess this could be considered NSFW....

Moments That Didn't Stay in The Dark

They didn't understand. How could they?

A fleeting temple kiss in a candles flame from a dark corner of the billardroom was seen as a scandal. To him it was a play for power. To bring her into his domain of authority among smoke, the clatter of a cue ball and his next target.

A caress to his wife's lower back on the rare occasion they danced at a gathering, a communication to say 'I desire you', not a reason for the gossiping hens of society to cluck behind their fans at them. Nuisances.

His gloved fingers hapazardly tugging the bodice of her gown back in place as a servant (MeyRin) squeaks out an apology for interrupting. He sighs wondering if he'll ever get a moment alone with his wife in his own home.

Her fingers gripping his thigh at the dinner table among guests that baggered him. Unlike upperclass tradition of hosts not sitting together, he simply didn't care. He wasn't letting other men near his bride, not when she looked so appetizing and stroked her thumb closer to...

Mumbling in French to her after a long day of work in the office. He had forced himself to spend time away so they could develope a routine outside of the honeymoon phase that still nipped at their hearts. Now in bed, he quickly removed her chemise and pulled her beneath him so he could kiss her heart and get lost in her arms before exhaustion took him. Sleeping together was mandatory and anyone who said his wife shouldnt stay in his bed would be escorted away by Sebastian. Two rooms? Please. Good riddance to the thought.

Desperate kisses dragged across eachothers lips, heated and full of fire while a shocked audience watched on. She had returned from a business deal (kidnapped), and his hands were quickly balling up her skirts in his hands to get to her, to her skin that was alive and not dead, like his family.

Kissing her ankle after she had a tumble playing crochet with some friends. A Lord on his knees? A ladies ankle, bear of a stocking? His wife's great aunt fainted seeing his affection so publicly, while other ladies watched in in envy of his wife. Other gentleman shifted uncomfortable with seeing the guard dog collared and smitten by a woman.

Astré (OCiel) kneeling before the bed, head resting in her hap as she carded her fingers through his hair after a case that left him spiraling. The demons clung to him yet she plucked each one and set them in a box for later deliberation. As the weight wore away he wrapped his arms around her waist burying his face in her stomach, desperate to know he's not alone.

His wife's hands caressing his back in the bath, not joining him for once, but insisting on doing a servants duty and washing him down. Her fingers trace his brand and her eyes soften with knowing the horrors. He turns and caressed her face assuring her that after all there time together, he isn't afraid of her touch...no matter how hesitant she may be. Astré quickly ignored her request to finish bathing him and pulls her into the bath instead to correct her assumptions. A wet night dress and a few evening delights later had her convinced he was telling the truth.

Breathless and sweaty from pleasure as the sheets stick to there bodies. His wife resting against his bare shoulder as he kissed her hairline, rubbing her arm as he summoned air into his lungs. She was gonna kill him with all that energy. But he wouldn't trade her hunger for him for the world. He just wished he could keep up better. He makes mental notes to ask Sebastian to find some 'reading material' to surprise her with next time she was in need.

[th3-past3l-cl0wn]

The portraits of Neha and Elizabeth Beaufort: an analysis

By me

At first glance it was easy to observe the clear inspiration Neha’s portrait had of “the girl with the pearl earring”, however we can somehow feel this when looking at Beaufort’s portrait.

But the deeper we look into their character, the more we realise how opposed they are to each other, representing her inner character.

our first encounters

In both cases, you don’t know them for who they are, but you are introduced by what they are, “the novelty dice maker” and “the gardener”.

You get to later know their names, you might only know one for Neha but it doesn’t distance you from her, quite the opposite it feels like a nickname.

Learning Elizabeth Beaufort’s full name distances you from her, she is now a title, a figure of authority.

Neha is hidden, and if you wish you can even decide to go the whole game without seeing or talking to her. But Beaufort? She is centric to the story, you have to talk to her, she is one of the first characters you see when you go outside, one of the first that helps you in the examination process with the ammonia and gardening gloves.

the girl with the pearl earring

while we can see it clearly for Neha, it feels more vague for Elizabeth.

Neha’s head covering is worn in a more modest and classical manner, her pose practically identical to the reference, she symbolizes the “old” what was once. An art piece and aspiring individual of her time. The way her portrait is painted is very academic, there is very little use of dark outline if ever. Everything about it is almost soft and comforting.

In contrast Beaufort’s portrait adopts a widely different, almost provocative pose, the way she wears the headgear covering less for instance but attaching her hair, prioritizing practicality over appearances. There is a more modern touch to her portrait, the colours are saturated and there is a bold dark outline, she is defying the traditional. She represents the “youth” of Martinaise.

While Neha resembles almost identically to the portrait, Beaufort distances herself from it, the past but still she finds a way to keep a part of it, what made her what she is, and then turn it into something personal.

In both of their portraits, the background is applied similarly for the taints and almost like they were mirrored vertically, however Neha’s are softer, almost like they are fading away, while Beaufort’s are high in contrast.

the postures

The novelty dice maker, upon your first meeting with her, is turned away from you, she’s working, she stills open herself to you, as she presents her arts and studio in an almost familiar way. You enter her domain of creation, you’re inside her soul. Maybe you could picture it sort of like a confessional, there is intimacy between the two of them and they won't necessarily need to face each other. She looks at you from the side, seemingly making you feel as though you were disturbing her, and yet she is not. But she stills look at you from above, this could be referring to the fact she was up, high in her workshop’s room while the crime scene was unfolding, not only this but she “disregarded” it when it was happening, as she had one of the best view on it, and yet stayed absorbed by her art.

On the other hand, Beaufort is facing forward all time, she’s observing your every move, she looks up at you, from beneath it is easier to see all (visual calculus check “gardening in march”, you point out the fact she is stationed at the best spot to keep tabs of people). She looks at you with an interrogative expression, she was expecting you to be here, to talk to her. She shields herself from you when she crosses her arms or when she hides her real identity from you at the start by going as “the gardener”, she makes you believe that you are someone above her, and you believe it. She is always in a public space, never once alone, she is either outside or in the Whirling-in-rags. There is no intimacy, if even a way to talk to her as “Elizabeth” instead she is “a member of the union”, this could also be reflected in her looking upward, as stated earlier, as she is in the middle of a hierarchy in the Union. Her purpose is to exonerate the Union of the presumed crime, “the Union fixer”. She is cleaning up the mess caused by the Union’s dogs. Even if there is a “box” reminding of a confessional where the Hardie boys stay, it is, not only a long process to get them to confess, she is the first to stop them when they open up, but you are also constantly observed by the public, not only her but the people at the Whirling.

Knowing this, Neha also found herself “shielded” by the entrance of her studio, though it served an entirely different purpose as it can always be opened. Beaufort wears different masks that you can’t take off as you talk to her, but rather break by any new dialogues you have surrounding the case, there is no way to get under her skin without making her reach a breaking point. They are facing opposite directions, Neha leaned toward the past, Beaufort toward the future, but they both look in your direction: the present.

No matter their difference, both of them wear blue clothes, this reflecting their social class, they're both born blue collars, even if Beaufort wears a white shirt, representing the purity of her youth and her future aspirations, she works for the union, the symbol of the working class, she represent them on a legal point of view, as a lawyer. Her jean strapped overall partially visible in her portrait also can remind of a tank top, or “débardeur”, which could be an echo to the organization she works closely with, the dockworkers union” or “débardeurs’ union”. Elizabth’s softer features in comparison to Neha’s sharper ones also amplifies this duality of “youth” vs the “old”.

the lightings

Beaufort’s portrait shows a significant amount of green on her forehead, associating blue and yellow, blue symbolizing intellectual skills and yellow motorics, this is her mindset. However the right side of her face is lit in dark red, which can be associated with physique skills, indicating her short temper she tries to hide. The fact it is cast on the right side of her face could imply that it is her “real” face, what is “right”. In her eyes and her nose you can also see a reflexion of light that Neha doesn’t have, echoing to her “ bright and hopeful” futur, the fact she is highly regarded by her peers, but also maybe her more emotive tendencies, not in a derogatory way, but more in a youthful ardor, defending her ideals.

For Neha, her yellow, we could even say gold lighting highlights what she is handling right now, her works, her art, that is what is important to her, she is what she creates, her face being cast in the shadow. This choice of colour for the light might be associated with motorics skills knowing she is a dicemaker. The light could also represent the future ahead, the change in the world, the “miracle – from the northwest”. She is averting her gaze from it. It is too late for her.

[mrpenguinpants]

Ttorschlusspanik [ Commissioned ]

[ Hcs for Dottore where the reader is very sleepy/sleep-deprived and is constantly falling asleep in battle, on dates, or maybe during research and experiments! ]

Word Count: 4k

Ayato Ver: Pale Blue Slumber Semi Part 1: Low Battery Warning [Masterlist]

Thank you so much for commissioning me! You’re so sweet, and I truly appreciate the tip, but I can’t accept this level of generosity. Please let me know if I went under the word count. Also, thank you for your patience—I got really sick this week and am still recovering.

Torshlosspanik. noun. 1. A desperate feeling that something desired is fading, missing, or being taken away. 2. A feeling of frustration when something one has is departing.

A slumbering figure, a nearly empty desk, and foreboding fabric are the greeting signs to the infamous lab. It’s ironic, really. The concept that the Doctor’s domain comes with a “receptionist” setup stationed in front of imposing steel doors, giving the illusion that this place is as normal—and as morally sound—as any other doctor’s office. At best, it’s laughable to think anyone would believe this place accepts patients willingly, let alone frequently enough to require check-ins. Yet, a shabby but sturdy wooden desk stands innocently in the corner of the entrance, its chipping edges lined with plastic chrysanthemums and white lilies. The artificial flowers are faded, their colors dull from years of neglect, as if mocking the very notion of hospitality. Behind the desk sits an equally worn-down office chair, large enough for someone to curl up in. Its fabric is stained and frayed from years of misuse, the cushion lumpy and barely holding its shape but still useable. All for a receptionist, if you can call them that, who spends more time asleep than actually working as an employee in this most unlikely place. Legs curled up on the seat, arms crisscrossed over the knees in a fetal position. A chin tucked towards the chest, hidden from the view of passersby. Back facing toward prying eyes, leaving only the pronounced slouch of their spine visible, an angle practically begging to develop scoliosis. But the most harrowing detail isn’t the position. It’s the unmistakable black-and-white fur coat draped over them like a blanket, the fabric’s presence carrying an air of authority and fear. A coat only gifted to the Eleven Fatui Harbingers. The desk itself is of no help either. There’s no clipboard, no pens, no paper-nothing that could even remotely resemble the tools of an actual receptionist. It’s an empty stage prop, barely held together by the weight of its own absurdity. And yet, for all its flaws, it stands as the gateway to a place no one in their right mind would willingly step into.

No one dares attempt to wake you. Successfully doing so is practically a death sentence, especially if you go whining to Dottore about the unprompted “alarm clock.” He has a reputation for ensuring the offender never makes a sound again. The only ones bold enough to try and emerge unscathed are his fellow Harbingers, though even they tread lightly when it comes to disturbing your slumber. It’s both impressive and deeply concerning how much of a deep sleeper you are. The bustling footsteps of agents pacing outside the lab, their sharp voices discussing assignments, don’t stir you. The deafening clangs of machinery, coupled with the revolting squelches of severed monster parts being dissected, fail to trigger even a flicker of awareness. Not even Tartaglia’s incessant yammering, loud enough to make glass shudder, elicits so much as an irritated swat from you. Instead, you remain in a state of unyielding sleep, utterly detached from the chaos around you. Your peculiar habit has become such a fixture in the lab that the staff barely remember you exist. You sit perched at their entrance and exit, as still and silent as a gargoyle guarding a forgotten ruin. To them, you are little more than part of the backdrop. A slumbering figure whose presence is a curious mix of ominous and benign.

While it's obvious that the answer to rousing you is to find Dottore himself, or one of his segments if he isn’t around, the interesting part is how you wake up. You're not immune to the initial dizziness that comes with awakening. When you finally open your eyes, blinking the sleep away from your eyelashes, you’re always disoriented. Your eyes feel glazed over, as though you’ve gone blind from keeping them closed too long. Yet, there’s always a common theme: you always reach out toward the nearest blue object. Whether it's an odd trinket or a test tube of acidic liquid, your hand automatically tries to grab it and pull it close to you. It’s part of the reason your desk is stationed outside the lab, away from anything potentially dangerous hidden behind heavy steel doors. Artificial blue has been on the rise lately. Luckily, in nature, blue is very rare. Less than one in ten plants has blue flowers, and even fewer animals are blue. Unfortunately, the biggest nuisance has blue eyes—dead as they are. Tartaglia may not like the doctor, but he does like you. Maybe it’s because your sleep demeanor can be categorized as cute, or maybe you remind him of the simple life in an organization that’s so uptight. Regardless, that little fox has been clawing at the wooden legs yapping for attention. It's only made worse you don't bother to dissuade him, only indulging in his playful antics. It's led to many, many, lectures from one particular segment.

It's fascinating watching how each segment interacts with your sleepy demeanor. While each segment has varying features and appearances, under the same clothes and mask, they would be indistinguishable if they stood still and never spoke. The only true way to discern them is through their actions and mental processes. Hence, it's easy to tell who is who by the way they go about holding you.

Omega is by far the least attentive or affectionate toward you. Perhaps it’s because he’s the most selfish of them all. There’s still an ongoing debate over whether his dislike for you stems from the fact that you stand in the way of fulfilling his desires or if his ambitions extend beyond simply overtaking the divine gaze. Or perhaps the divine gaze isn't actually his goal in the first place. Either way, it’s two sides of the same coin. When it’s Omega’s turn to fetch you, he does so as if you were any other patient. Completely beneath him. One arm rests behind his back, while the other holds a piece of paper clenched tightly in his hand. His mouth is set in a firm line as he gazes down at your slumped form. Although the air around him is calm and silent, it doesn’t take a genius to know that if he could get away with it, he’d drag you through the halls by your hair. Alas, that kind of act would get him permanently disassembled, so he settles for unceremoniously flipping you upright. The arm resting on the small of his back is removed and curls under your stomach. With one swift motion, you’re treated like one of Signora’s shopping bags. The sight of a limp body folded in half under an arm that surely digs into the stomach is the best way to know if it’s the Omega segment or not.

Beta, on the other hand. Beta. That maniacal and neurotic freak adores you but couldn’t care less about you. His research typically focuses on fusing humans with machinery to create “better versions” of themselves, and he fully believes in that philosophy. You would look so much better if he were allowed to be your sole care provider. If your drowsiness were caused by a medical condition like heart disease, asthma, pain, or a nerve condition, he could simply replace them, and you’d be perfect. If it were a mental issue, well, he’d love you no matter how unresponsive you might be. It wouldn’t be much different from you being asleep anyway. When it’s Beta’s turn to fetch you, he does so with a waltz. He walks purposefully toward your desk. Loud and firm, his hands fisted at his sides with unrestrained glee, swinging in time with each step. Even with a mask that obscures most of his face, it’s clear to see the overexcited grin stretching across his lips. It’s almost like there’s static buzzing in time with his artificial heart, fuzzy yet electrically sharp. There’s no fanfare, as soon as he’s within arm’s reach, he grabs the nearest piece of skin and hauls you out of the chair. By some miracle, you’re always still asleep from the rough handling, which is more than enough for Beta to wrap his other arm around your waist. Your chests press together, and he swings your body to and fro in his mad dance. The sight of a limp body dragged into a dancing plague that’s surely pulling your stiff joints out of place is the best way to know if it’s Beta or not. Beta has been recently banned from coming within a six-foot radius around you. 

The original Dottore, Zandik, is a unique case. All of the segments originated from him but at different points in time. However, they are still parts of his thoughts and mannerisms. There really is no order in which the segments are ranked, as they can’t compete with each other. What’s more pointless than trying to beat yourself? You’ll still lose in the end. Zandik is a strange mix of every segment yet none at all. When he wants to see you, he does so slowly, with all the time in the world. His methodical steps echo lightly on the concrete floors of the lab, his arms still at his sides yet loose enough that the slightest wind could blow them away. It’s as eerie as it is tranquil. Everything about the original whispers of restrained patience—that when he arrives at the front of your desk, he simply waits. Usually, it takes you hours or even days to wake up on your own, but when it’s Zandik standing at the edge of your daydream, your eyes slide open. Small ripples in the pond. You’re still lethargic, blindly feeling your way back into your body as your eyes ricochet off the walls until they land on blue. A weighted hand reaches out to grab that ashy blue, and another hand meets your fingertips.

It would be cute if it were anyone else. The sight of a man with curly light blue hair, carrying a bundled-up figure dressed in a white coat with a fluffy black collar, legs dangling from either side of his waist while his hands rest on the lump’s presumed back and thighs. It would be so cute indeed, if it were anyone else but Zandik. But for him, it only looks lonely, despite the two of you pressed together.

The moments when you're awake only happen on two occasions: either you just happened to wake up at that time, or it’s check-up day. What kind of doctor would Dottore be if he didn’t conduct physicals for his only patient who manages to live long enough each year? The check-ups happen twice a week, always two days apart. Never past two days of separation. Ever. Your exact relationship dynamic with Dottore remains as obscure as ever as to why he cares so much. Whether you’re old friends who knew each other before Dottore set foot in Snezhnaya or even when Dottore was called a different name. Or maybe a dead lover resurrected as a zombie in the pursuit of selfish greed and glorious progress; both are possible options. The zombie theory at least explains why you’re constantly drowsy. The staff have never seen you eat anything before, and with the abundance of... zombie food, it's not outlandish as much as it is disgusting. The old friend theory would explain why you can stomach being around someone who can fly off the handle at any moment. The most willing yet unwilling patient. No matter how often Dottore has to wrestle you upright, only for you to slump back asleep the next second, he never loses his temper. If he has to strap you into a straitjacket and hang you from the goddamn ceiling to keep you sitting with a straight back, he will. But by no means will he get anything more than slightly miffed. If he has to force-feed you your medicine because you’re too loopy to remember how to swallow, he’ll shove his fingers into the back of your throat with nothing but a blank smile. The only good thing about your sleep-deprived state is that you’re probably so out of it that you can’t feel discomfort. It saves on using the limited supply of anesthesia the lab carries.

Dottore, for lack of a better word, is displeased with your constant need for sleep. He is deeply frustrated with each check-in and the stagnation of your results. For him, bad results are no different from good ones—they’re still a means of moving forward. Something that will tell him which direction to take rather than wandering around aimlessly in the dark. But in your case, there are no significant changes, as if everything he’s done has been for nothing. He could have closed his eyes and spun a wheel for the same results. The day before your check-in is always the calm before the storm because the staff knows that when the next day comes, they’d better keep their heads down or risk losing them. No one is quite sure if your sleepiness stems from mutated genetics or if it’s a side effect of being around Dottore for too long. Stir-craziness and breakdowns are common in the lab, whether among "patients" or "employees." Everyone eventually goes mad, cooped up within the same cell-shaded walls and working under possibly the worst boss imaginable. Add to that the fact that the Fatui don’t believe in “mental health” days, and with no coping mechanisms in sight, it’s unfair to expect anyone to function effectively. Most people eventually devolve into screaming or manic episodes. Perhaps your escape is more literal. A peaceful retreat from reality through sleep. You’re not even sure why you’re constantly sleep-deprived, especially when you spend more time slumbering than awake. At first, you thought you might be narcoleptic or taking the wrong pills; a diagnosis from scratch must take a long time, right? That was until Dottore bluntly called you an idiot. He told you it’s a bad habit to self-diagnose every minor inconvenience. You should let him do all the thinking and simply listen to him. And truthfully, with the haze clouding your mind, it’s too difficult to think clearly anyway. So, you nod and do as you’re told. It’s easier that way.

It doesn’t happen often, but it occurs more than it should, considering who Dottore is and the reputation he holds. If you wish to cross him, you’d better make it count—because it’ll be your last. He’s in the middle of a meeting with Pantalone, arguing over the lab’s finances when a frantic knock interrupts. Apparently, there’s been a scuffle at the entrance of the lab. To Pantalone's knowledge, there aren't any guards or any agents stationed at the doors except for that sleepy receptionist. Perhaps the doctor's staff finally had enough and decided to take their anger on someone who couldn't fight back? Pantalone's not a good enough person to not find amusement in the situation, infinitely curious as to what Dottore's reaction will be to all of this. Whatever the banker decided to gamble on, his expression doesn't twitch as he follows behind his fellow Harbinger as they walk leisurely through the halls, as if the world has come to a standstill. It’s almost amusing that when your life is potentially on the line, he suddenly decides to take a midday stroll. The only indication of his amusement is the slight shake in his shoulders, hinting at a silent laugh. Dottore punches in the lock code and throws open the steel doors before the automatic switch can activate, slipping through as soon as the gap is wide enough. He stops at the shabby wooden desk that’s now gained a few new dents.

This time, you’re curled up on top of the table, your office chair thrown across the room. Broken. It’s no matter, he’s been meaning to replace it anyway. The chair is just another expense to add to his name. He collects you into his arms effortlessly, and you instinctively sink into the familiar hold. A quick scan from head to toe confirms that you’re unharmed, save for a few strands of hair out of place. Behind him, Pantalone lets out a noise of approval as he surveys the scene. In the center of the room stands a robot with a striking design. A star-shaped frame with six triangular segments forms a perfect symmetry. Glowing cyan cores illuminate the metallic structure, positioned at its center and edges. The intricate details combine sharp, crystalline elements with mechanical precision, radiating an aura of both elegance and menace. As expected of the Doctor. Pantalone can’t help but wonder where this machine was hiding when Signora ventured to Inazuma. Perhaps if it had been deployed then, she might have returned in one piece.

Although Dottore no longer needs to sleep to survive, there are times when, as he passes by your sleeping form, he’ll pause. He stands still, staring for what feels like an absurd amount of time, meticulously detailing and recording every breath you take within a single minute. It’s always 17. Sleep occupies about one-third of a person’s life, a significant portion of time that, in Dottore's mind, could be devoted to something useful. Something productive, instead of wasting it frolicking in dreams that neither matter nor will change anything. Yet, even he can’t deny that, occasionally, a break from reality can serve as a fragile bandage over a wound that refuses to heal. A fleeting comfort in an otherwise relentless existence.  

It’s as awkward as it is unnatural. Despite his title as "The Doctor", his hands weren’t designed for gentle touches of flesh and bone. Yet he tries. His fingers twitch involuntarily as he tilts your body to the side, just enough for him to slide in beside you. Carefully, he rests your body against his shoulder. He expects you to jolt awake, his shoulder is bony and hardly a suitable place to rest your head, even when compared to the flaky cushion of the office chair you’ve somehow grown fond of. But you don’t. Of course, you don’t. You simply lay there, your head nestled against his shoulder as if it were the most natural thing in the world. No protests, no shifting away, just stillness. The transfer of heat begins, as described by the laws of thermodynamics. Hotter, faster-moving molecules collide with cooler, slower ones, transferring energy in a quiet exchange. No fireworks, no blaring alarms, just the science of touch, as mundane and profound as ever. Zandik dares to lower his chin, letting it rest lightly against your head. His mask doesn’t obscure the quiet moment, though he can feel the unnatural curve of his lips twitching upward ever so slightly. Down here, in the deepest layers of the lab, not even the howling winds of Tsaritsa’s snowstorm can reach. It’s eerily quiet, save for the rhythmic sound of your breathing. For a moment, he wonders what it would be like if you woke up now. If your half-lidded eyes would squint at him in confusion, or if you’d simply close them again, surrendering to the haze of sleep. But you don’t stir. Instead, he lets himself linger, suspended between an unusual warmth and the cold detachment of his own thoughts

"Breaks" are not something you can indulge in down in the labs. The closest the staff ever got was when one of the Harbingers passed away, and even then, it lasted only half a day before they were right back to work. Still, if you ask nicely, Dottore will nod toward an empty seat, silently giving you permission to make yourself comfortable. You take the opportunity to describe the dreams you’ve had while Dottore tinkers away in the background. You talk about a train whose tracks stretch far into the stars, far beyond the snow-obscured sky you glimpse through the scarce, frosted windows scattered about the lab. Sometimes, you dream of a whimsical city filled with cute shops and tiny bunny-like robots waddling through fissures in space. You’re certain he isn’t really paying attention, his hands busy with instruments, and his focus locked on his latest project. Sometimes, you suspect he forgets you’re even in the room despite your rambling. A small part of you wants to stamp your feet and pout like a child. After all, you’re only awake for a few fleeting hours each week, and even then, all he can think about is his experiments. His endless, obsessive tinkering. The man’s only "hobby" is experimentation, and you wonder if he’s even capable of entertaining anything else. At least Omega and Beta would give you some attention. Omega might tell you to be quiet with that dismissive tone of his, while Beta would enthusiastically scribble down every word you say, his excitement unnerving yet oddly gratifying. Still… your gaze drifts toward Zandik’s back as he works, the muscles beneath his coat shifting subtly with each precise movement. You pull your knees up against your chest, wrapping your arms around them as you rest your cheek against your folded arms. For a moment, you simply watch him in silence, the quiet hum of the lab filling the space between you. Eventually, your eyes grow heavy, and you let them slip shut. A faint smile tugs at your lips as you wonder where your dreams will take you this time. You wonder if Zandik would come with you.

On the rare occasion that Dottore chooses to sleep of his own will, most likely due to substances that induce drowsiness and force his body into a state of rest, it’s always a remarkably uneventful night. He doesn’t dream anymore, nor does he wish to. Dreams, like the past, serve no purpose to him now. On certain days, if he concentrates hard enough, he can faintly discern whispers from the other segments he's created. However, they are nothing more than distractions, a cacophony that only aggravates his already meticulous mind. When he wakes, it’s as though he hasn’t truly slept at all. His eyelids parted smoothly, his pupils sharp and alert as if no time had passed. Yet there is an unusual sensation, warmth. Dottore does not run warm, and the lab, built for functionality rather than comfort, certainly doesn’t harbor it either. He turns his head, curiosity fleeting, and finds you huddled against his side. Your arms are wrapped around his waist in a loose embrace, and your face is pressed against his chest, seeking solace in his stillness. The white coat with its black feathered collar, the one you wear more often than he does, is draped across your body, serving as a makeshift blanket. His hands remain clasped on his stomach, and he realizes with mild irritation that he can’t move without risking the possibility of waking you. For a moment, he lingers. The seconds on, and his mind races ahead to the tasks awaiting him. The pursuit of progress waits for no one, not even himself. Every moment spent lying in this bed feels like a year’s worth of lost discovery. 

With calculated precision, he shifts. His movements are methodical, almost robotic, as he carefully bundles you in the coat, ensuring the hood doesn’t cover your face and obstruct your breathing. In a single fluid motion, he lifts you into his arms as he rises from the bed. He spares a brief glance at your sleeping form, red eyes devoid of emotion. Your breathing is steady at 17 breaths per minute—a rhythm he has memorized and measured countless times before. Still as serene as ever. But then, for just the faintest of moments, his gaze softens, almost imperceptibly, before he turns his attention back to the work that never ceases to call for him. What a peaceful way to escape the world, the thought as cold and clinical as his expression.

---

Hi, thank you for reading! I'll reblog this with further writer notes but I wanted to include the research bits in order of appearance. I can't guarantee the full accuracy but I hope I didn't get anything wrong.

Chrysanthemum & Lily

In many Asian cultures, especially in China and Japan, chrysanthemums are symbolic of death and mourning. In China, the flower is closely linked to the Day of the Dead, and in Japan, it is used in funeral rites. While in some contexts chrysanthemums can symbolize longevity or fidelity, their association with death makes them unlucky in certain circumstances, especially when given as gifts or during celebrations.

Lilies, especially white lilies, are often associated with death and mourning, particularly in Christian symbolism, where they are linked to funerals and burials. While lilies also symbolize purity and rebirth in other contexts, their frequent appearance in funeral arrangements.

Head-Down Position

The sleep position reader takes is a parody of the Head-Down position of babies in their third trimester. The head-down position (cephalic presentation) is the most common and ideal position for birth, where the baby’s head is facing downward, towards the birth canal. This allows the baby to navigate the birth process more easily.

Dancing Plague

Also called the Dancing Mania, this refers to a series of events in the 16th century where groups of people, primarily in Europe, suddenly and uncontrollably began dancing for extended periods, sometimes for days or weeks, often to the point of exhaustion, injury, or even death. The most infamous and well-documented outbreak of the Dancing Plague occurred in 1518 in Strasbourg, then part of the Holy Roman Empire (modern-day France).

Algorithm of Semi-Intransient Matrix of Overseer Network

The robot Pantalone sees is the early concept art for ^ but also known as the "Tomb Guard of the Desert King.".

17

The number 17 is considered unlucky in Italy because of its association with the Latin word for 17, which is "XVII". Rearranging these Roman numerals gives the word "VIXI", which means "I have lived" or "I am dead" in Latin. This gives the number an ominous connotation, as it can be seen as a symbol of death or misfortune.

Honkai Star Rail & Zenless Zone Zero

Yes, reader was describing these two games as their dreams lol.

[novella-november]

I have no idea why this needs to be said, but you can hate generative AI, love the Public Domain, love media preservation, hate the overbearing US Copyright system, and... still believe that Copyright Laws exist in the first place for a reason, (even if, thanks to Big Corporation Monopolies, it's been twisted into its current behemoth monstrosity.)

You can hate Large Language Models and still believe in Copyright Reform over Copyright Abolishment.

You can believe in Media Preservation and still believe that Plagiarism is wrong.

You can hate the current restrictive Copyright Laws without wanting to abolish them entirely.

You can love the Public Domain and still loath predatory corporations stealing everything they can get their hands on, to literally *feed the machine.*

These things are not mutually exclusive, and if you think that

"you can't hate AI if you hate the current copyright laws"

or that

"Hating on Generative AI will only give us more restrictive copyright and IP laws, therefore you need to normalize and accept generative AI stealing all of your creations and every single thing you've ever said on the internet!"

I just genuinely don't understand how you can say this kind of crap if you've ever interacted with any creative person in your life.

I'm a wanna-be-author.

I want as many people to be able to afford my written works as possible without restrictions, and I fully plan on having free ebooks of my works available for those who can't afford to buy them.

*That does *not* mean I, in any way shape or form, would ever consent to people stealing my work and uploading it into a Large Language Model and telling it to spit out fifty unauthorized sequels that are then sold for cash profit!*

You cannot support generative AI and turn around and try to claim you're actually just defending small time artists, and *also* you think no one should have any legal protections at all protecting their work from plagiarism at all.

Supporting unethical generative AI (which is literally all of them currently), protecting artists, and *completely abolishing* copyright and intellectual property laws instead of reforming them *are* mutually exclusive concepts.

You *cannot* worship the plagiarism machine, claim to care about small artists, and then say that those same small artists should have absolutely *zero* legal protections to stop their work being plagiarized.

The only way AI could even begin to approach being ethical would be if using it to begin with wasn't a huge hazard to the enviornment, and if it was trained *exclusively * on Public Domain works that had to be checked and confirmed by multiple real human beings before it was put into the training data.

And oh, would you look at that?

Every single AI model is currently just sucking up the entire fucking goddamn internet and everything ever posted on it and everything ever downloaded from it with no way to really truly opt out of it or even just to know if your work has been fed to the machine until an entire page of text from your book pops out when it generates text from someone's writing prompt.

And no, it's not just "privileged Western authors" who are being exploited by AI.

For an updating list of global legal cases again AI tech giants, see this link here to stay up to date as cases develop:

[breelandwalker]

Willow Wings Witch Shops - July 2025 Newsletter

Visit the Shop

Grab your library cards and your favorite backpack, it’s time for Summer Reading! This month, we’re celebrating those pillars of education and community, our local public libraries. While the weather outside may be frightful (in multiple ways), this is the perfect time to visit a quiet, comfortable, temperature-controlled sanctuary full of free books, music, and movies. Need to find a library to visit or need accessibility options? Here are some places that can help you look!

Find Your Library (National Library Service, USA)

Libraries.org (World Library Directory)

Little Free Library (World)

Library Finder (U.S. Dept of Labor)

Library Landscape (Latin America & the Caribbean)

Canadian Library Directory (Canada)

Lighthouse Libraries (EU)

Library Resources Outside the U.S. (Brown University Library resource)

Project Gutenberg (free public domain digital books)

Global Grey Ebooks (free public domain ebooks supported by donations)

Librivox (free volunteer-read public domain audiobooks)

Open Culture (online archive of free media)

Libby (app)

Scribd (app)

Everand (app)

And here in the Willow Wings Witch Shop, I’m following suit by discounting ALL of my books, including the money-saving Book Bundle! Add some magic to your personal library this month with Grovedaughter Witchery, The Sisters Grimmoire, and Pestlework. (They’re all based in practical, secular witchcraft so no matter what path you’re on, there’s something you can use!)

Use code READMORE for 20% off new and featured items all month long!

Don’t forget to check out the Upcoming Events page for my full schedule of local markets and workshops. Tune in to this month’s episode of Hex Positive on your favorite listening app and check out the Redbubble shop for fabulous podcast merch.

Stay Safe and Happy Witching! 📚

Upcoming Events:

The Witches Table Discussion Group: Williamsburg Chapter (First Wednesday of each month) Next Gathering - Wednesday, July 2 2025, 6pm-8pm Upcoming Dates - August 6 | Sept 3 (Location TBD) Alewerks Taproom (Williamsburg Outlets) 5715 Richmond Rd, Williamsburg VA (USA) Hosted by The Witches Table (And check out the Richmond chapter too!)

The Witches Table - Spellwriting Workshop Wednesday, July 2 2025, 6pm-8pm Alewerks Taproom (Williamsburg Outlets) 5715 Richmond Rd, Williamsburg VA (USA) Hosted by The Witches Table

Spellwriting Workshop Sunday, July 13 2025, 630pm-830pm Fallout RVA, 117 N 18th St, Richmond VA (USA) Hosted by Fallout RVA and The Witches Table Tickets via Eventbrite

Spellwriting Workshop Saturday, July 19 2025, Time TBD 10369 Warwick Blvd, Newport News VA (USA) Hosted by Styx & Stones

As Above, So Below - Grand Opening Sunday, July 20 2025, 12pm-4pm 25 E. Mellen St, Hampton VA (USA) Hosted by As Above, So Below

This Month on Hex Positive:

Ep. 057 - Three Gremlins In A Trenchcoat - Battling Imposter Syndrome with Bree, Lozzie, and Lulu Check it out on your favorite listening app!

Imposter Syndrome, or the feeling of being unqualified for the position you’re in and undeserving of the accolades you receive, is something that’s usually applied to high-pressure industry jobs and creative circles. But it can turn up in plenty of other areas of our lives, including in our witchcraft. This month, Bree sits down with returning guest host Lozzie Stardust and newcomer-to-the-show Lauren Goodnight to discuss this insidious feeling, how it affects our lives, and how we can combat it, even on the days when we feel like three gremlins in a trenchcoat.

(And check out Bree’s guest spot on the latest episode of BS-Free Witchcraft!)

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: Anthology

Anthology - a collection of literary pieces by various different authors.

It can sometimes refer to the collected output of a single author (for instance, The Complete Works of William Shakespeare), but it generally refers to a compilation presenting many different writers.

Tips for Creating an Anthology

Here are three tips that could be helpful if you aspire to edit—in other words, assemble and publish—an anthology of multiple writers’ works:

Decide on a theme. While some anthologies are freeform, most gather together literary works around a theme. All the writers can be from the same locale, each story can share the same genre, every poem could be about love—the choices are limitless, but it will be to your advantage to narrow down what you want your anthology to be about thematically.

Make sure you have permission. Unless you’re trying to put together an anthology of works in the public domain, you’ll need to be sure you have permission to publish all the stories and poems you’d like. Get in touch with up-and-coming writers you appreciate and see if they’d be willing to contribute to one of your collections.

Solicit entries. You need to generate publicity in order to get writers to contribute to your anthology—when you’re starting out, that can mean just reaching out to them directly. Consider going on writers’ forums and websites and posting a call for submissions.

Tips for Contributing to an Anthology

Check out these three tips on how to contribute to an anthology if your goal is to see your written work published in a collection:

Find the right fit. There are more anthologies than you could count out there in the world, so it’s important to narrow down which ones you want to submit to. Maybe you’ve already been working on a story or poem that perfectly fits the mood, theme, and requirements of an anthology. If you haven’t, check out the guidelines for submissions at several anthologies and consider writing something especially for each of them.

Stand out. Reading widely—that is, exposing yourself to a variety of authors and types of writing—can be helpful when it comes time to craft a piece that will stand out compared to the other writers published in a given anthology. You should strive to write something that both fits and feels fresh for every anthology to which you hope to contribute.

Pitch to multiple places. It helps to cast a wide net when you’re submitting pieces, as there are probably a lot more than just one anthology that publishes the type of writing you’ve produced. Keep writing and scouring the internet and in-person literary circles to find places you can write for and submit to plenty of them.

The term anthology is derivative from the Greek words “anthos”—meaning “flower”—and the synonyms “legein” or “logia”—meaning “gather” or “collect.”

In other words, an anthology literally means “a gathering/collection of flowers.”

The term metaphorically referred to a collection of literary works even in the world of the Ancient Greeks, as evidenced by the early anthological work Anthologia Graeca.

This conception of compiling various literature as “flower gathering” extended to the medieval period when it was referred to by monks of the era by the Latin term “florilegium.”

Writing for an anthology allows you the opportunity to have your work published alongside like-minded writers and be exposed to a wider audience.

Some anthologies, like the Chicken Soup for the Soul series, are perennial bestsellers.

No matter what type of writing you specialize in—young adult, nonfiction, fairy tales, or something else entirely—odds are there is an existing anthology that publishes work in your genre.

Examples of Anthologies

Anthologies stretch across themes, types of literary output, and storytelling mediums. Here are four notable anthologies:

Anthologia Graeca: This Ancient Greek collection of writings is an early example of the propensity to gather together the work of various authors. This collection of literary works brings together an assortment of things: poems, epigrams (or sayings), satire, and more. It’s a compilation that allows you to glimpse into the mind of the Hellenistic world.

The Norton Anthology of World Literature: This anthology pulls together material stretching back centuries and across continents. Chinese, Arabic, Spanish, Portuguese, American, Egyptian, and West African writers can all be found here, as well as writers from many other countries and backgrounds. As with other esteemed anthologies, new editions are issued occasionally.

The Best American Short Stories series: Each year, this anthology series puts out a new story collection of American short fiction. Various authors from the United States—from Amy Tan to Roxane Gay—have served as anthologists (editors) for this yearly miscellany of shorter works.

The Best Poems of the English Language: This poetry anthology, a compendium selected by literary critic and compiler Harold Bloom, is annotated with his thoughts on the collection of poems included. The anthology features everyone from Geoffrey Chaucer to T.S. Eliot, and it provides a panoramic view of British and American poetry.

Source ⚜ More: Writing Notes & References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

[npookie0]

Hi! Can I request something? It's my first time requesting in tumblr Here I go! Can you do a one-shot with V with a reader who's a mute? I sorta need a comfort fic right now. If It's okay! I love your Ronin fanfic about it

Loud in the Silence.

V x mute!g.n.reader, comfort, fluff

Words: 3354

Cws: spoilers for Killer Chat!

"Mx Y/n, please try to say 'hi'." Your therapist told you, she's been telling you the same thing for years now.

Years of speaking exercises, therapy and many other exhausting things. Even with so many procedures, you were still unable to talk and your doctors were slowly losing all hope for your case. Every doctor you visited kept on reassuring you that you can overcome your muteness, but no matter how much effort you've put into the exercises, it all ended in vain.

This time was no different, you were leaving the doctor's office, resignation in the man's eyes, exhaustion on his face. You were a lost cause, you accepted it a long time ago. Not speaking wasn't so terrible... alright it was. It was a lot. You hated it, hated being treated like a lost child, like someone weak who needs others to do things for them, the special treatment. Being treated like some kind of alien because of your muteness was the worst.

I'm used to this. You kept on telling yourself, bottling your feelings inside, shutting away from the world and people who hurt you.

You've reached home, put your bag on its place, kicked off your shoes and made your way to your study-bedroom to work some more on your serial killer book. You wanted to be a new promising criminal novelist, that was your dream since forever.

Writing was the only form of escapism for you, the only thing you didn't feel judged for not talking. People only cared about the words you wrote, not the ones you said. It brought you comfort, something to keep you away from these overwhelming thoughts that made your mind so unbearably heavy.

This doesn't feel right".

You grunted in frustration, erasing a whole freshly filled page. This character, they felt so unrealistic, the murder was poorly executed, nothing made sense. You will never be a great author if you will continue on like this. It was fine time you touched some... less than legal resources.

After days of leaving interesting question on the dark web and feared your IP getting leaked anytime you received a reply to your posts.

You opened the site, wrote up a new post and clicked "send" then you noticed a new private message, you opened the chat, the person was marked as unknown. Of course they were. They sent you a link and a key, you were curious so you opened the link and filled in the password.

A chatting site showed up on your screen, you were in the main channel that slowly got flooded with welcoming messages. It was weird. A server with eight members, made specifically on the dark web of all places. It definitely screamed trouble from distance, but you already joined and there was an active threat that whoever owns the server has your IP, so why not stay?

<Y/n>: Hello, thanks for the warm welcome.

You sent your first message.

<goreboy>: your welcome darlin' <goreboy>: check out the rules, there's not much but y'know

You took a note of the person by the name "goreboy" words and entered the channel.

<goreboy>: be a serial killer, First rule of fight club <goreboy>: oh yeah and don't be transphobic, racist and just weird or angel will Snipe ya

<Angelic> And that's a promise, not a threat.

Serial killer? That has to be a joke or some stupid roleplay.

You thought, it was the most logical conclusion you could come up with. These people couldn't be serial killers, why would serial killers make a whole server anyway? It's probably some silly roleplay made by bored people who were too deep into their roleplay and decided to use the dark web as their domain. Yes, that sounds logical.

But what if these are real serial killers?

Doubts began to cloud your mind, there was no reason for them to lie about this either. You had to find out the truth some way. Asking them about it would be suspicious. A supposed serial killer asking other serials if they truly are who they say they are? Yeah that's your one way ticked to a grave.

You scanned the server members and an idea came to your mind.

Why not ask a specific person about their identity?

That idea should work, there was no way it would flop, or so you hoped.

<Y/n>: @/K9, are you the serial killer who kills other bad people?

You sent the message. Why did you choose that person? You didn't know, this member seemed to be the most interesting out of all the others.

<K9>: I refuse to be associated with these wild beast. I am a vigilante.

<goreboy>: don't Listen to v, he's As killer as The rest of us are.

Oh, I am seriously in a den of serial killers... how exciting.

Logic told you to leave, call the police and let them handle this, but something stopped you. You could use this as an opportunity to shape your story, get to know how the other serials operate, get inside their heads in a way. What better way to learn than by making them believe that you are one of them?

Two weeks had passed, you've been enjoying your time playing pretend with the killers and hoping that they won't learn about your serial killer persona being just an act.

You entered the #killer_shit channel to see some discourse started by Misaki about blood art, a curious choice for a topic, but these people also talked about gutting someone open or what torture methods are the most painful.

<goreboy>: hey Y/n, you've Been here for weeks by Now and we still don't know shit about ya <goreboy> isn't it a li'l weird?

Shit.

Of course, it couldn't be too easy. You should have expected them to catch up on the way you were more of a lurker and that you rarely participated in murder talk.

<LUCA_IS_SO_COOL>: Yeah dude you're totally rightttt

<Y/n>: Isn't being a mystery a good thing? ^^"

You didn't really know what to do so you had to improvise. A serial killer could want to not reveal a lot about themselves, right?

<goreboy>: i mean, if ya Want someone To open you up and see your li'l secrets then im After the job, darlin'

Okay maybe being an enigma wasn't such a great idea as you originally thought.

<goreboy>: c'mon, let's have A voice call Reveal

<hitmeuppp>: OMG yesss we should do that!!!

<LUCA_IS_SO_COOL>: I second this!!!1

<Felicite>: I third this...!

Oh you are in so much trouble.

You obviously can't join the call, unless you magically overcome your muteness in five seconds or less and telling them that you have to stay on mute would make you sound like some cop trying to get information about them.

Your hands were sweating as they hoovered over the keyboard, barely tapping on the letters you wrote.

<Y/n>: I'm very sorry, I can't call now.

You left the chat after you sent this, too stressed to see their replies, you didn't want to see their disappointment or anger.

While you were worrying about the consequences of your words, a pop up shown on your screen; K9 wants to DM you.

You blinked a few times. What does he want?

V didn't strike you as someone who would message you out of the blue, he didn't show up on the server much after you joined, unless Ronin made a new announcement or the topic was "immoral" enough.

You agreed to the request and then received a message.

<K9>: Is there a reason for your inability to call right now?

Oh wow, he's forward.

You bit your lower lip. What should you do now? Lie? Tell the truth? You didn't want to hide the truth about being mute, but seeing it in your texts with someone felt humiliating.

Then, another idea popped into your mind. It was risky, could fail or give you more trouble, but it could also make one serial killer (or a vigilante in this case) side with you.

You prepared the item for your plan and called V, not asking him if is able to have a short call now.

To your surprise he picked up and he looked better than you could ever imagine a serial killer to look like. Beautiful eyes that looked at your coldly and judgemental, dark braids put up in a ponytail and falling down his shoulders. He looked majestic, you can't remember ever seeing as handsome.

Stop, stop, stop. This is not the time for this.

You scolded yourself in your mind, you can dote over the way he looks some other time, you had a plan to go through with.

Before you could say anything you moved the notebook that you were nervously holding in your hands to the camera, somehow the text on it wasn't inverted.

You watched him mouth the message you wrote; I am mute, I can't speak. His face froze in shock, shock turning into understanding.

Not pity, not sadness, not disgust like some other people you knew. Just pure understanding, acceptance. It almost made you tear up. For the first time someone didn't judge you for your disability, didn't flood you with uncomfortable questions or declared that they'll teach you how to speak.

"I see. it would be truly uncomfortable to join a call in this situation." He said.

Oh gosh, even his voice is just amazing.

You nodded your head and wrote another message, showing him the notebook again; Yes, I don't think that I'm ready to share it with the whole server, yet.

"Ah, of course, that's completely understable. You are in no way obligated to tell anyone about your situation." Hs words were rational, they were what you already knew, but for some reason they felt comforting. It felt validating to know that there was someone who agreed with you, who didn't expect you to spill everything out.

I'm glad you understand me.

You could swear that there was a hint of a smile on his lips.

"Well, now that we're here, do you feel comfortable answering my questions?"

Here we go again with the interrogation, why can't they just leave me alone?

At least this time you have a way out of this; Can we do it some other time? Admitting my disability was already a lot. It wasn't a complete lie, you did feel overwhelmed by coming clean about your muteness like this.

"Ah, yes of course, rest well, Y/n." V said before he hung up.

You were left alone with your thoughts again and the open draft for your story that you still needed to build a protagonist for. You will think about it some other time... You are in a dire need of rest now.

Some time later and you were on another call with V, this time he knew your made up serial killer alias, you learned his Modus Operandi and he decided to play a game of 20-but-I-will-make-it-3-since-you-so-kindly-asked questions on a call with you.

"Were you born mute?" His first question was bold, but you were expecting questions like this, even though other people usually make them sound much more gentle.

Yes, I can't remember ever saying a word in my life, nor does my mother or the doctors we visited. You replied, using your notebook again. V was very much alright with this method of communication, or he just never expressed having anything against your conversations looking like this.

"Mhm. I see." His response was simple, not prying on any more details than what you were ready and comfortable with revealing. You could respect him for this, it even made you feel very happy for some reason. "Do you not know sign language?" This question was... unexpected. No one was ever interested in that part, well mostly because they didn't know how to sign themselves.

Writing this reply took you longer than you thought, because you never had to think about an answer for so long before. I never felt the need to learn, more people knows how to read then how to sign and it's simpler. You didn't add the part about not having enough people in your life to learn how to sign for, he didn't need to know that part.

This response surprised him, he probably never met someone so laid back in a way when it comes to things like that. "Oh, I understand. Well, I know how American, British, German and a few other versions of sign language, if you'd ever feel the need I could teach you."

His offer caught you off of guard, V telling you that he could teach you how to sign? You thought that this could be a dream with how surreal it seamed. He was especially kind to you for the time you knew him, sure, but to the extend that he'd spend his time on being a teacher for a mute (supposed) serial killer? The more time you spend with him the more surprising V turned to be.

"Are you not okay with this?" You were so lost in your thoughts that you didn't realise that you still haven't replied to him.

Oh, no, no! I'm really thankful for the offer, I could consider taking you up on this if I ever felt like it. You replied and gave him a big beaming smile. Somehow the thought of V trying to teach you how to sign was exciting to you, it made the butterflies in your stomach flutter.

Oh, I'm so lost in this game.

The realisation was hard, sure, even confusing. Falling for a vigilante was never in your plans when you took this journey, but was it a bad thing? Well, yes! You could end up dead if he found you out, thought whenever you tried to bring you not being a writer up to him ended with him scoffing and saying that he knows how Ronin operates and that he'd never invite a non serial to the server.

Maybe it won't be as bad as you think it could be? V is tender, caring, he is easily flustered, his smile is sweet and he's a protector who deeply loves his animals, even if he never admits to the last part. Heck! He even found a bird and name it after you, is that not a perfect romance potential then what is?

I'm seriously insane for considering a killer my potential partner... Well! Taste is subjective!

January came faster than you thought, and so did a sudden love confession from V. His words made your heart melt, you reciprocated his feelings. You would be a fool if you didn't.

You really did take him up on that sign language offer, learning the most basic and easy signs that you could need the most.

"It would be easier if I could do this with you in the room with me." V sighed when your try to sign 'where' ended up with it being very floppy and apparently making an insult in another language.

These words birthed yet another genius idea in your creative mind. Then why don't you pay me a visit? All that trying to hunt me down and I'm to believe that you have nothing on me? A bold move on your side, but you either go big or don't go at all.

V looked at you, squinting his eyes like he was thinking about something really important. "You are right my love, why don't I teach you how to sign face to face?" He gave you a soft smile. "Did I ever tell you how smart you are?"

Yes, but you're free to praise me more, love. You stuck out your tongue at him when you gave him the response and his face flushed.

"There's not enough words, or signs, that could describe your genius or beauty, my love." And now you were the one blushing and losing your words.

Damn him, and his stupidly sweet praise.

Valentine's day. What a better time to meet with your serial killer boyfriend than that? Well, you probably could think of a few dates at the top of your mind, but Valentines worked as perfect as those other days too.

You were dressed up nicely, you would be meeting V for the first time you had to look at least presentable. You were fidgeting with your pen. This was seriously stressing you out in a way that you couldn't explain.

There were the butterflies, the excitement and love, but there was also worry, at he'd find out and harm you. You trusted V, but would he trust you if he knew? It was the uncertainty that scared you so much, you couldn't expect anything from a man who fed his animals with the people he killed.

The sound of the doorbell rang in your ear. There's no time for doubts, no chance to back away now. You took a deep breath, looked at yourself for the last time in a mirror and made your way to the front door.

You opened them and felt your knees weaken when your eyes met him. As elegant as ever, with the softest of soft smile on his lips, gentleness and affection in his eyes.

You melted under his gaze. Your happiness getting the best of you because you almost pulled him into a hug.

"Hello, my love." He took your hand in his and placed a gentle kiss on the back of your hand. "You look absolutely wonderful today." He said.

With pink cheeks and new warmth in your body, you let him in, showing him the way to your living room.

The two of you sat down on the sofa, you were ready to give him a note proposing tea or coffee, but he was faster. He outsretched a hand towards you, he was holding a notebook in that hand.

With a raised eyebrow you took the notebook and opened it. You almost dropped it when you read what was written inside.

My love. No words can describe my feelings towards you, you made my life better with your presence alone, made me realise and find out so many new things about myself. I never felt this way towards anyone, I can't tell if this is how most people feel, but that is how I feel while bein in love with you.

You expressed your worry about being mute many times before, and I can't help but wonder what cruel people would ever dare to act this way and say such absurd words towards you. Mute or not, you are perfect and I am really glad that I am able to spend time in your company and have your love and be the person who you feel safe with and shared the secret with.

I love you, Valentin Viljoen.

You could feel the tears run down your cheeks. No one has ever done this for you, put so much effort into something for you. You tried to wipe away the tears, but with how many were there it was almost impossible.

You looked at V, your vision was blurry from the tears but your could see the gentle smile on his face and he cupped your face with his hands and caressed your cheeks.

"You are a good person, my love. Your heart says more than any words, you are louder than any person who can speak that I know. Communication is more than just words, it's your expressions, your actions. Don't think that your muteness makes you worse or any less of a person."

You wrapped your arms around him, hugging him tightly and letting those happy tears out.

Never in your life have you expected yourself to cry in someone's arms, know that they love you unconditionally even if they know that there are things you're hiding.

You let go off the hug and with shaky hands and the most crooked and probably stupid looking smile signed.

< I love you. >

Not even silence can conquer the feeling between the two of you.

Gahhhh it feel so good!!! I'm proud of this >w<

I want to thank my dearest discord parent Kage for making their music because it carried me through the process of writing!!!

I love you all!!! -N <3

[rjalker]

Flatland: A Romance of Many Dimensions, by Edwin Abbot Abbot, published in 1884, is public domain. That means it has no copyright, and belongs to everyone.

This post will have links to as many versions and adaptations of it as I can find, and will be updated whenver I find new links to add.

Feel free to copy and paste this whole entire post and make it a new post for your own blog too!

None of these links are piracy, because you literally cannot pirate what has no copyright. Anyone who tells you you must pay to read the original Flatland is scamming you.

The only time you should be spending money on Flatland: A Romance of Many Dimensions, is if you find a cool physical copy that you want specifically.

Check the original post before reblogging to look for updates if you are seeing this post days, weeks, or months after I originally post it.

____

Visual books:

Public domain:

The Original Novel:

Read online or ownload the original book in multiple formats from Project Gutenberg

Read or download from Standard Ebooks

Read and download from the Internet Archive. This also includes a computer-generated audiobook.

_

The 2024 translation:

Read online or download the 2024 translation in multiple formats from the Internet Archive. This also includes a computer-voiced audiobook.

Read the 2024 translation here on tumblr @flatland-a-2024-translation

-

The 2024 Summary:

You can read and download this from the Internet Archive in multiple formats, including editable documents. Or read here on tumblr.

You can also buy a physical copy here, or purchase the files from Itch.io.

___

Audiobooks:

The original novel:

Listen to the original book on the Internet Archive, read by Ruth Golding

Listen to the original book on the Internet Archive read by David "Grizzly" Smith

The 2024 translation:

Listen and read-along with the lazy audiobook of the 2024 translation on Youtube

(no audiobook available for the summary....yet)

___

Free visual media with full stories:

Here’s an animation from 1965. Contains some flashing lights.

Here’s a stop motion film from 1982 in Italian with English subtitles

Here’s an animation from 2006

The 2007 Flatland film by Ladd Ehlinger is free on youtube. Unfortunately Ladd Ehlinger is a virulently racist and misogynistic conservative who thinks feeding school kids is the same thing as slavery. His film is filled with almost constant flashing lights and spinning cameras that cause headaches, motion sickness, migraines, and seizures.

Here is a link to timestamps for these if you still choose to watch it.

The film ignores all of the politics from the original novel because the creator of the film agrees with the bigotry the novel condemned. You are much better off watching another visual adaption or reading the original or translated book.

Especially if you suffer from photosensitivity or motion-sickness, this film will make you want to throw up.

___

Shorter visual media:

In-universe

Part 4 of a Korean animation. from 2010. Haven't found parts 1-3 yet.

A short animation from 2020 showing an Equilateral being taken away from his Isosceles parents

Flatland Heist from 2013, A short animation from 2013 where the Narrator and Sphere team up to rob a bank :)

Flatland a Romance of Many Dimensions Alternate Timeline (without audio yet) 2024 Here's the version with audio

No Nonbinary Door 2024

A Visit to Lineland 2024

Up, Up, and Away 2024

Meta:

A short TED-Ed summarizing the math parts of Flatland from 2014

Another short animation explaining the math of Flatland from 2012

A long presentation (38 mins) about the math in Flatland. from 2017

Youtube Shorts:

A very short animation about the narrator meeting the Sphere

___

Related books by other authors, in publishing order:

Public domain:

An Episode of Flatland: or How a Plane Folk Discovered the Third Dimension. With Which is Bound Up an Outline of the History of Unæa by Charles Howard Hinton. (1907) Public domain, unlimited reading and downloading. It's terrible. But you can rewrite it to make it not terrible.

The 4D Doodler, by Graph Waldeyer. Also on Youtube as an audiobook.

Other copyright:

The Dot and the Line: A Romance in Lower Mathematics by Norton Juster (1963) Can be borrowed by 1 person at a time. A short....poem? Nothing to actually do with Flatland.

The Incredible Umbrella by Marvin Kaye (1980) Can be borrowed by 1 person at a time. I have not read it yet.

Sphereland: A Fantasy About Curved Spaces and an Expanding Universe, by Dionys Burger. (1983) Can be borrowed by 1 person at a time. It's racist. Was intended to be a sequel to Flatland, but the author's racist and failed every lesson Flatland tried to teach.

“Message Found in a Copy of Flatland” by Rudy Rucker (1983) free to read online from the author.

The Fourth Dimension, by Rudy Rucker (1984). Can be read for free online from the author. I have not read it yet.

The Planiverse: Computer Contact With a Two-dimensional World by Alexander Keewatin Dewdney (1984) Can be borrowed by 1 person at a time. Good 2D worldbuilding, nonexistant plot and boring abrupt ending.

Flatterland: Like Flatland, Only More So by Ian Stewart (2001) Can be borrowed by 1 person at a time. it's useless crap that unironically defends the bigotry against Irregulars from the original novel by pretending it's just natural selection that's totally natural and not at all artificialy and violently upheld to uphold the supremacy of the Circles.

Spaceland by Rudy Rucker (2002) Can be borrowed by 1 person at a time. I have not read it yet.

VAS: An Opera in Flatland (2002) by Steve Tomasula. no copies donated to the internet archive yet. I have not read it yet.

A 2024 Summary of Flatland. Buy a physical copy here. Buy a digital copy here.

__

Neopronoun short stories:

The Breaking Point, a short story of a Line and Isosceles in another country of Flatland, attempting to deal with an abusive officer of the military who's invited himself into their home. Almost 4k words.

First Day of School, a young equilateral has zov first day at school, and discovers that the "specimen" they're supposed to be studying is someone zo knows.

Gaining a New Perspective, a short story of the Sphere contemplating everything that's happened after throwing the narrator of Flatland back down to his plane. Almost exactly 5k words.

Other short fiction:

[link me your stories and a short summary to go here!!]

__

Please feel free to add more links and I'll add them to this original post.

Here's the first masterpost I made which has fewer links.

[walkawaytall]

How to Request a DMCA Takedown re: Word-Stream.com

(I, WalkAwayTall, am merely a messenger; this info was copied directly from this post on r/AO3 and posted here with permission from its author, @fuegopi. Use it as you see fit.)

----------

The relevant statute, FYI is 17 U.S.C. § 512 (c)(3)(A), available at https://www.law.cornell.edu/uscode/text/17/512

OPTION 1: MAKE A REPORT TO CLOUDFLARE

https://abuse.cloudflare.com/

Step 1: Select “Copyright Infringement & DMCA Violations”

Step 2: Fill Out the Form

(some notes below)

Your Full Name: I understand many fanfic authors prefer anonymity. However, your report/complaint may be taken more seriously if you use both your name and your pseud. For example, I would write, [MY NAME] (“FuegoPI” on AO3).

Holder’s Full Name: Again, that is you, the author.

Contact Information Fields: The DMCA only requires that, you provide “Information reasonably sufficient to permit the service provider to contact the complaining party” — An email address should be sufficient.

Infringing URLS: List the URL of every work you have made that is available on the offending website.

Describe the Original Work: I would list the names of your stories, the word counts, and give AO3 links.

For example: A Fanfic Story (200k Words), originally posted and available at [LINK].

You MUST check the box that says 512(f) acknowledgment, “Good faith belief, Authority to act” and you MUST provide a digital signature or your report will not be accepted.

OPTION 2: MAKE A REPORT TO GODADDY

OPTION 1: Fill out the form at https://supportcenter.godaddy.com/AbuseReport (you may not wish to do this because of the information requested; if so, I recommend sending a letter).

Step 1: Select “Make a Claim”

Step 2: Select Claim Type, “Copyright Infringement”

Step 3: Are you the Copyright Owner or an authorized representative? Select “yes.”

Step 4: Please enter the domain name associated with the website you are complaining about – Fill in “https://word-stream.com/”

Step 5: https://supportcenter.godaddy.com/ipclaims/copyright/infringement If you want to fill this out.

OPTION 2: The form is probably not for everyone, because it requires address information that the DMCA does not strictly require. As a result, I made a template letter for y’all. I recommend attaching to an email.

copyrightclaims@godaddy.com

[italian-lit-tournament]

Evangelina Alciati - The reading - 1905 private collection

Italian 🔥Lit(erature) Tournament Bookclub - first edition

After the Commedia dell'Arte micro-tournament ended and the start of the Beef Edition - that will be postponed just one week more, to reach enough options for a complete poll, it's time to present a long term project that I started to think about since this January: the ILT bookclub, a daily, weekly or monthly reading challenge, on the model of Dracula Daily.

My personal aim with the Italian Literature Tournament, since its start a year ago, is to "promote" certain italian authors that maybe outside Italy, or in a literature school program, aren't very famous; I already started it two years ago with Pinocchio Weekly and meanwhile I want to relaunch it now as a parallel project, at the same time I'm thinking to try with other Italian novels, as long as are all public domain.

I've already written a draft list (it's proposed at the end of this post, under the cut) but at the same time I want to engage all of you to the choice of the first novel, so guess what I opened another google fom so all of you can send to me your ideas, yaaay. When a certain quota of names will be reached, I'll open a poll here and we'll decide together the first title to our bookclub. In any case, check carefully the list below if the title that you have in mind is already present.

The novel that you want to propose must follow these criteria:

must be in the public domain - and digitalized: I want to use substack so anyone will have the chapter easily to read in its email address and follow its preferred reading pace;

translated in english - and of course the translation have to be like the point one: it depends actually (check point 3). The English translation will be an easy point for anyone who can't read italian, so must be out of coyright and already digitalized. The copyright for translations according US law usually is of 70 years after the death of the translator - in any case the terms are always written at the start of the book copy/index card on the editor website;

the second point fall if we all decide to read in Italian - in this case only the original work have to be public domain: non Italian speakers don't worry, I will search all the possible translations in english/other languaes and will link the other options beside the challenge post, so if anyone want to read it translated borrowing it from the library or in different terms - it could be possible!

In the end: how to understand if a book is public domain? Easy: you can search it in various websites that collect and digitalized literary works, like Project Gutenberg, Internet Archive (attention: not all the works present there are open access, some are still under copyright but still present because Internet Archive makes them bookable like a virtual library for the subscribers), Wikisource, Google Books Advanced search (check "only complete visualization/solo visualizzazione completa" or use the publishing time option at the end). You can just search the translated version of the novel on amazon/google books/the press page and find when it was translated, in the colophon is written if it's still under copyright or you can calculate youself if it expired. Other useful links: wikipedia category for all the recent public domain entries.

A draft list of titles that I first thought under the cut

Public domain both in italian and english:

Malombra by Antonio Fogazzaro: One of the few gothic novel from italian literature, which inspired four movies (a silent film in 1917, a 1942 one that is aviable on Raiplay, a 1974 one that's actually a TV movie also this aviable on Raiplay, a 1984 one that's actually a porno).

The Betrothed by Alessandro Manzoni: A classic of italian literature with various movie, theatre and musical transpositions.

The Decameron By Giovanni Boccaccio: same as above.

The conquest of Rome by Matilde Serao: Francesco Sangiorgio is a newly elected deputy from a small province in Souther Italy. As he travels to Rome, he start to feel the weight of ambition, personal history, and the vibrant life of the city. The story unfolds against the backdrop of political and social dynamics of the time.

Fantasy by Matilde Serao: The novel is about the absolute but unhealthy friendship between the two female protagonists in the Naples at the end of the 19th century.

The Land of Cockayne by Matilde Serao: It explores the lives of various characters from the lower social strata of Naples, particularly focusing on their aspirations and struggles, centered around themes of fortune and despair, often represented through the lottery.

After the divorce by Grazia Deledda: Murder, catholic guilt, innocent people in jail, true love vs fail marriages, forbidden and ultimately destructive affairs!

Nostalgia by Grazia Deledda: Regina is a a young bride who has recently moved from her home in Sardinia to Rome with her husband Antonio. The novel explores the stark differences between her expectations and the reality of life in an unfamiliar environment, and Regina's struggle with homesickness and her journey of self-discovery amidst the vibrant yet isolating backdrop of Rome.

The house by the medlar tree (I Malavoglia) by Giovanni Verga: it follows the failing fortunes of the Malavoglia, a family of fisherfolk who are living through a period of political change following the country's annexation to Italy.

The late Mattia Pascal by Luigi Pirandello: a novel that explores the complex themes of identity and existential crisis through its protagonist, Mattia Pascal. After escaping an unhappy marriage to Romilda Pescatore, Mattia finds himself in Monte Carlo, where he unexpectedly wins at gambling.

Heart by Edmondo De Amicis: a children's novel which was the best known work from its era. Set during the Italian unification, and includes several patriotic themes and has been remade in various transpositions, including an anime.

The Devourers by Annie Vivanti: the author was italo-british and wrote this novel first in English then she translated in Italian. The book explores themes of family, loss, and the complexities of relationships through the lens of Edith Avory and her new family dynamics following the arrival of her half-sister Valeria and Valeria's baby. #familydrama #toxicmotherhood #motherdaughterism.

Pinocchio by Carlo Collodi: if anyone is interested click here.

Public domain in italian but not in english (translation exists but still under copyright):

Any novel from Emilio Salgari

Fosca by Igino Ugo Tarchetti: another of the few gothic novel from italian literature, there is a translation by Lawrence Venuti as Passion: A Novel. Is the basis behind an Ettore Scola movie and an awarded Broadway musical.

Zeno's Conscience by Italo Svevo: translation by Penguin Classics.

The Viceroys by Federico de Roberto: translated by Archibald Colquhoun, published by Verso Books (they often do discount if interested).

The Priest's Hat by Emilio de Marchi: translated by Steve Eaton & Cinzia Russi for Italica Press.

The Beautiful Summer by Cesare Pavese: translated by Elizabeth Strout for Penguin Classics.

[humalifehealthcare]

From Claims to Care

How RCM Efficiency Improves Patient Outcomes

Introduction In the healthcare world, clinical excellence is only half the equation. The other half—financial operations—often goes unnoticed until problems arise. Delayed reimbursements, mounting denials, and inconsistent cash flow can compromise both the quality of care and the sustainability of healthcare practices.

That’s why forward-thinking providers are turning to Humalife Healthcare, a trusted Revenue Cycle Management (RCM) partner, to bring efficiency, clarity, and control to their financial workflows—ultimately empowering better patient care.

RCM: More Than Just Billing Revenue Cycle Management isn’t just about billing and collections—it's the backbone of your entire healthcare operation. An efficient RCM system ensures:

Faster reimbursements

Lower denial rates

Improved operational planning

Better patient experience

When your revenue cycle is healthy, your organization can focus on what matters most: healing people.

The Hidden Link Between RCM and Patient Outcomes Here’s how optimized RCM directly improves patient care:

Reduced Administrative Delays Streamlined insurance verification and pre-authorization mean patients get timely access to care—without paperwork delays.

Financial Transparency Clear billing, upfront cost estimates, and fewer surprises at the front desk enhance patient trust and satisfaction.

More Time for Clinical Focus When providers are freed from financial bottlenecks, they can focus entirely on delivering quality care.

Reinvestment in Better Services Faster payments and fewer write-offs mean more funds can be reinvested into clinical infrastructure, staff training, and technology.

How Humalife Healthcare Delivers Impact At Humalife Healthcare, we integrate people, process, and technology to deliver RCM that performs. Here’s how we do it:

End-to-End Support From eligibility checks to denial appeals, we manage the entire revenue cycle with precision.

Domain Expertise Our team is trained in US and UK healthcare systems, coding standards, and payer rules.

Customized Solutions We align our processes with your workflows—no one-size-fits-all approach.

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Client Win in Focus Case Study: Mid-sized Hospital in the UK Challenge: 28% of claims were being delayed due to improper coding and eligibility issues. Solution: Humalife implemented coding audits and pre-verification workflows. Result: Denials reduced by 41%, and claim cycle time improved by 35%. The finance team reported improved forecasting, and patients received faster care with less paperwork.

Conclusion In today’s healthcare economy, RCM isn’t just a back-office function—it’s a patient care enabler. At Humalife Healthcare, we help providers transform financial processes into strategic assets that power care delivery and drive sustainable growth.

Ready to Transform Your Revenue Cycle? Get in touch with Humalife Healthcare to learn how efficient RCM can enhance your care, reputation, and revenue

[frokenkeke]

Making of Today Forever

Well, it finally happened. After much toiling I managed to finish Today Forever, the follow-up to last year's Ashes to Ashley. Like last time, I also want to talk a little bit about where it came from. By all means, check out Making of Ashes to Ashley as well for full context if you haven't already, as a lot of the points brought up there still apply to this new comic.

Today Forever continues the day after Ashes to Ashley. It is a story about what happens after your great coming out, when everything is new but life still moves on in its familiar mundanity. Despite the elation of last night, Ashley has trouble fully letting go of the past. The loss of the Ride shirt becomes a symbol for the jarring and complicated emotions of reconstructing yourself. It is a story about the nature of happiness, it is an awkward romance, it is somehow also about the 90s band Ride.

While writing Today Forever I gave extra thought to the idea of sequels, in particular the second installment of a story. You do something once and it is the whole of itself, you do it twice and it's a mirror reflection of contrasts, you do it any more than this and it's simply "another one". I always intended Ashes to Ashley to be an episodic series with self-contained adventures. The original comic may be complete, starting and ending satisfyingly; it doesn't need to continue, but nevertheless I wanted it to. I don't want there to be just one story, or even two stories. I want "another one" to be in the majority. Yet despite how much you iterate on something, the second entry will always be the domain of contrasts; number two reveals what was unique about number one. In the differences and similarities we establish the boundaries and understand how the story will both change and remain familiar from here on out.

With this in mind, Today Forever is intended to be the polar opposite of Ashes to Ashley. I selectively reuse only the parts that are most crucial. We still follow Ashley, she's on tour with her band, she's rediscovering herself through a trans lens, the tone is cute and lighthearted, everything is drawn on paper with an old worn down Bic mechanical pencil and digitally colored with an ugly sponge brush built into Photoshop. However, this time we go somewhere new, with outdoor scenes in broad daylight, everyone is enjoying their leisure, they're all wearing different clothes, some characters are more prominent while others are less, shoegaze remains a crucial central theme but no one ever picks up an instrument. These points both expand what Ashes to Ashley can be while simultaneously reinforcing its core. The audience understands the story more clearly. Heck, the author probably also understands the story more clearly.

These were the first preliminary character sketches I made for Today Forever, including the cover art concept which remained more or less intact until the end. I went for a "first day of summer" motif to signify everyone being on their day off. I can't remember why, but it's explicitly written in the script that Gabriel and Miki change outfits somewhere after the breakfast scene. This was probably not that necessary, but it is admittedly funny that Miki puts on her Lush T-shirt (featuring the lemon from the Split album cover!) while Ashley is mourning the Ride shirt. Is Miki teasing Ashley?!

It should be noted that the script and story didn't arrive fully formed in my head! Today Forever went through some pretty drastic revisions, and I kept changing around elements until the very end. Above is the beginning of the first draft, you can see how parts were both cut and reshuffled, while a few remain unchanged. In the first version of the story Ashley actually spent the entire day moping in the van. The intent was to focus on her dynamic with Kate, as Kate was the least featured character in the previous story. To reinforce this, I wrote the rest of the cast out of the plot by sending them off to an amusement park. It was a scattered mess of ideas, quite miserable. I felt lost with the whole thing until my girlfriend Alicia took one look at the draft and asked a simple but crucial question; Why doesn't Ashley go to the amusement park? This practically saved the entire comic, giving me a fun central theme to work with. The ideas wrote themselves, the tone got lighter, the initial story became a bookend for the gang running off to the fireworks factory.

Here are the initial panel layouts for the "final" script. Somehow 32 pages became 37.

Today Forever commits the fatal writing cliché of starting with the protagonist waking up in their bed. This was to immediately connect it with the ending of Ashes to Ashley, to the degree where Ashley is wearing the exact same getup, complete with smudged makeup and loose tights. Rules are made to be broken!

The band's van is bigger on the inside for the sheer writing convenience of having a spacious motorhome. This was inspired by the comic Tank Girl where a throw-away panel blurb states that "the tank is bigger on the inside like the TARDIS". No more explanations necessary.

Debbie getting awkwardly up-close and casual with half-naked Ashley is one of my favorite gags. It's goofy while also suggesting a lot about the characters. I like that Ashley feels comfortable enough with her friends to wear nothing but underwear in front of them.

Floppy Park was initially named Playland as one of several Ride references, subtly alluding to the 1990 Play EP. I ended up changing this because it sounded like a playpen for toddlers.

The panel where Ashley is admiring herself in the mirror is another one of my favorites. She has so much self-love! Also, her face looks funny when pressed on a flat circle.

I was worried about having sufficient space for the breakfast scene, but luckily I fit it all on one page without too many compromises. My biggest dilemma was having choose how Ashley would respond to her day off; either with a puzzled "Hmm...? Free day?" or an understated "Wow". Both felt in line with her personality, but there was only room for one. Looking at it now I'm still conflicted on which to choose. The wow line is still funny to me.

Debbie truly is the ultimate romantic foil to Ashley. While Ashley is painfully clueless and uncharacteristically slow for a bunny, Debbie is kind to a fault, accepting the smallest suggestion with full sincerity. Debbie assumes Ashley understands everything about the situation, Ashley doesn't even parse that there is a situation. Ashley's cluelessness is based on myself, I suspect I unwittingly live every moment like Ashley.

Drawing angry Ashley was heaps of fun. I played around with doodling a full-on "aaugh!" Peanuts pastiche, which evolved into other monstrosities like the Ashley blob and the big eyed Ashley I used to represent myself in the Transparency Aquanaut's Holiday video.

Having the cast argue about the number one shoegaze band was among the most crucial pages to me, remaining intact from the very first draft. I'm just really into shoegaze and have no other outlets for this! I get excited whenever someone tells me they actually sat down and listened to one of the mentioned bands. They're all important to me.

I absolutely love the panel of overly melodramatic Ashley sitting in front of the stereo blasting Seagull (she didn't even pick a sad Ride song, she just literally put on the Nowhere album!). Her graceful theatrical display of sorrow contrasts the scene towards the end where she cries for real. Happiness is one of the core themes of Today Forever. Ashley encounters it as a conflict. She declares today the best day and the worst day with equal hyperbole as she flip-flops between emotions. Sadness is a comfort, sometimes sadness is easier, eventually happiness makes her sad, happiness seems forbidden, yet happiness doesn't declare its presence. In the end happiness always finds her again.

Every now and then I needed to do some warm-up sketches, usually after a longer absence from drawing. At some point I drew old pre-transition Ash again out of curiosity.

The scenes at Floppy Park take direct inspiration from my own amusement park memories. In particular, the setting is based on Gröna lund, the local amusement park in Stockholm where I live and grew up. Just like in the comic, their fun house Lustiga huset is accessed through a cumbersome staircase, has a zigzag hallway and ends in a carpet ride slide. Conversely, the hall of mirrors is in a separate building, and there's no Escher Relatively room.

Like with the fun house, the ghost train is inspired by Blå tåget at Gröna lund, a ride where you sit in blue carts while ghastly horrors jump out at you. I went through a bunch of different ideas for the monster that spooks Debbie so much she exists the comic panel, but ultimately a simple jaw creature with dark shading did the job. The burning scarecrows are of course a reference to the Sonic Youth album Bad Moon Rising.

In hindsight, I probably should've cut the claw game scene for brevity, since it's similar enough to the shooting gallery. If I could revise it I would have Ashley fail the game, for contrast and drama. But whatever, I'll let her have this one. Several of the plushies in the claw machine are old comic characters of mine, they live on as commodified kitsch in Ashley's world.

Returning to the rest of the gang in the Ferris wheel for a crucial shipping report and some cocky evil Ashley's on top. Ashley gets a power boost whenever her femininity is verbally reaffirmed, like when Um Jammer Lammy hears "dojo, casino, it's all in the mind".

The rollercoaster is the big climactic payoff to the amusement park setting. The moment Ashley says "ugh... rollercoasters..." we know she'll inevitably end up riding one! The name Grasshopper is taken from the Ride track of the same name, it's a lengthy instrumental piece which features screams that sound like people riding a rollercoaster, the choice was clear from the beginning. Drawing terrified Ashley was a blast, Ashley's soul slipping from her dead body in sheer terror is an obscenely exaggerated visual. I did not use it because it posed too many theological questions.

The shooting gallery scene was conceived by Alicia, she loved the idea of Debbie posing with a gun. It gave Debbie some depth and a slightly rustic lean. Somehow I find Debbie's marksman skills more believable than Ashley's claw game luck.

As Ashley states, the shark plush is a reference to the cover of Ride's Today Forever EP, which is where this comic got its name. However, it is obviously also modeled after IKEA's stuffed toy Blåhaj, whose blue-pink-white color scheme made it a trans icon.

Ashley and Debbie sit down at the end to emphasize the emotional core of the story. Ashley is peculiar, but in a special way. Ashley finally thanks Debbie for what we can presume are years of patient kindness. They have the perfect romantic moment, yet are both too shy to bring it any further. Theirs is not a "will they-won't they" relationship, it's a "please just do it now god damnit" relationship.

The two pages where Ashley cries and the rest of the gang shows up were late additions to the comic. I felt a lack of emotional punch and a too abrupt cut to the next scene where everyone is walking back home. As the sort of "day after" story this is, Ashley is expressing the feelings I felt shortly after I began my transitioning. Just sheer shock at the realization of how sad I had been for my entire life. Like someone flipped a switch to turn on the lights. That the darkness was so overwhelming I hadn't ever noticed it.

In case the young folks were wondering, Kate is working with screenprinting here. A technique in which one covers a mounted net with a special coating that can be manipulated by burning a monotone motif onto it. Essentially you convert a picture into a shadow that preserves the holes in the net. Stroke a batch of paint across the net and you've got a print!

I had immense troubles drawing the ending scene. For whatever reason I had crammed it onto one page in the script, giving it no breathing room and an abrupt ending. Eventually I just spread it out across two pages to spare me continued pain. I'm not quite sure what "makeshift karaoke" entails, but I imagine the reader will come up with their own funny conclusion.

The last two pages to be drawn were the ones where the gang arrive at the park and Kate's phone conversation with Floyd. These were primarily shoehorned in to make every double page spread satisfying and cohesive. They were seeds of ideas that had been cut because they weren't fully necessary, however they ultimately contribute some last minute additions to the story. The park getting a big establishing panel creates breathing room among pages that are otherwise quite cramped, I also get to elaborate Ashley and Rachel's buddy dynamic. In the same vein, Kate yelling at Floyd was important for her redemption, to truly show that she DOES care and will stand up for her convictions.

While I had a clear concept for the cover from day one, I ended up having a lot of troubles with the finer details. Like how the first comic's cover paraphrases Loveless, I wanted Today Forever to paraphrase the early Ride covers for the Ride EP, Play EP and Smile compilation, which feature framed monochrome beds of flowers. Ashley and Debbie were supposed to be superimposed on top of this, but I wasn't fully in the clear on what they would do, how they would pose, what expressions they would wear. I ended up drawing a bunch of different ideas until I ended on the double blushed side-eyes.

On top of a cover, I also wanted a quick recap of the previous comic, as it had almost been a full year since I made it. I ended up with pulpy mugshots of the cast, taking inspiration from the recap pages in the Dragon Ball manga volumes I read as a kid. The mugshot of Ashley accidentally lacks her ear fluff, oops!

I am glad people enjoy Today Forever as much as Ashes to Ashley. I am still partial to the first one. I do have my problems with the new comic. There are parts that didn't quite come together like I had wanted, it's probably a bit too long, I feel the tone may be too juvenile at points. Mostly I felt frustrated going from one month to make the first story to an entire year for the second one. The last comic is strategically set in vaguely defined void rooms while this one keeps having to establish new locations and props. There are more panels of all the characters hanging out together. There was simply more to draw and less time to do it. Somewhere along the way I got lost in being more careful and meticulous about the clean-up and coloring as well. However, it doesn't matter now that it's all out, from here on out it's in your hands either way.

I will have to think over what I learned from Today Forever and keep that in mind while working on the third comic. Hopefully I can balance it all out. Maybe next time I figure out how long Rachel's ears are supposed to be!

/Kiki