#we’re down to the final wire

[duskcowboy]

All I know is that I won’t know peace until official confirmation is out

[thebibliosphere]

Whenever I post about house stuff there’s always some well meaning people and the occasional vindictive shit head who thinks we didn’t have our home inspected before we bought it.

We did. It passed the private inspection we paid for in order to get our mortgage and two inspections done by the city.

The problem with my house is that it was owned by a landlord who did all kinds of illegal and sketchy shit to maximize capacity and resale value but also would require you to take down walls to find. And for those of you unaware, they don’t let you walk around with a saw and cut holes to inspect behind the drywall.

The shithead hid things behind fake walls. Literally. He put a bunch of chemicals and paints into a crawl space then drywalled over it. There is drywall on top of drywall (or there was before we took it down). He put carpet over the asbestos tiles—which is technically fine. It’s safer to seal asbestos away than remove it… except he also covered the drain for the house so the basement floods and then the carpet rots and in turn starts breaking down the asbestos tiles, making them into a hazard. He built the basement himself so that the drywall was sitting on the concrete slab—something we couldn’t see without removing the trim—causing them to wick moisture from the floor and rot until we had black mold everywhere.

The electric parts that were visible were all up to code, but again, anything that could be hidden was done so, hiding shit like a dishwasher that had been hot wired into the wall through a light plate fixture under the sink. Or the 240v socket that used to power an electric stove which had been pulled through the floorboard to power the tumble dryer. (Or the gas stove that we swapped for electric because it kept trying to kill us and then we realized he’d run a gas pipe from the water heater to power it. The plumber swore a lot about that one when he finally realized that one.)

Plumbing all looked good until you realized some of the new pipes were just pvc cut to go around the old lead pipes. Something you couldn’t see unless you got up close and personal during the inspection, and we’re talking up on a ladder jiggling the pipes around which is also generally something don’t let you do. Not to the extent we would have needed to.

The man was unhinged. And there’s very little we can do about it because we signed an “as is” thing on our mortgage thinking most of the repairs we’d need to do would be minor. Only to find out the house which looked fairly modern and well kept on the surface was actually a fucking Saw trap. And now because of all the shit we’ve uncovered, we have to fix it before we can sell it because no one in their right mind will buy a house with declared asbestos—even predatory developers hesitate on that one.

So if we’ve got to fix this place up, we’ll fix it up for us because god knows, even if we managed to sell this place, we can’t afford the mortgage rates right now. (And while yes, apartments are an option, they make my MCAS a lot less stable because you can’t control the shit your neighbors use, nevermind things like a shared laundry facility where everyone wants to smell like “a spring summer breeze” that to me smells like death by fragrance induced anaphylaxis.)

So yes, we’re stuck with this place. For now. A place we had inspected multiple times and were still let down by the reality that people hide things and will do so in the most imaginative ways possible if it means they can make a profit.

The furnace dying the instant we moved in wasn’t a good sign, but shit happens. That’s home ownership. The gas leaks we had last week? Also home ownership. It had passed yearly inspections up until now. Appliances break down and require maintenance, especially gas ones. In an ideal world we would have gotten another five years out of the furnace, but alas, it chose death so we had to yeet it.

So, yeah, if you’re the shithead currently going off in my inbox about “stupid people winning stupid prizes” I’ll take that apology now.

[societyfolklore]

Trapped Together

Title: Trapped Together

Pairing: Sheild!Bucky Barnes x Sheild!Female Reader

Summary:  A mission doesn’t go as planed. The result?  Bucky and you find yourselves handcuffed together without the key and no easy way out.

Word Count: 4.1k

Warnings:  / Explicit Content /18+, Minors DNI, Accidental Handcuffs, Forced Proximity, Smut, Fingering, Unprotected sex, Soft Dom Bucky, Mild Dubcon Elements (squint), Mentions of thigh riding, Porn with min plot.. but yeah.. No Beta

A/N: my entry for  @avengers-assemble-bingo  for Bucky 108th Bday event – Final square! Square: A2 – ‘I didn’t do a thing’ Card Number: 4B003 The mission was supposed to be simple- just a routine investigation of an old HYDRA base. No hostiles, no active threats, just a sweep for any lingering tech or classified intel. But, of course, things didn’t go to plan.

The air was thick with dust and the scent of rusted metal as you navigated the dimly lit corridors, your boots scuffing softly against the cracked concrete floor. The remains of outdated HYDRA technology sat abandoned, wires frayed, panels dark, the remnants of a long-dead organization still clutching at relevance. It should have been nothing more than a cleanup job- catalogue the junk, confirm there were no active threats, and get the hell out.

You were scanning a particularly decrepit-looking console, fingers grazing over a series of faded HYDRA insignias, when something clicked.

A sharp snap echoed through the room as a metal cuff clamped down around your wrist.

“Oh, shit,” you muttered, instinctively tugging at it.

“What happened?”

Bucky’s voice was immediate, sharp with concern. He was at your side in an instant, his vibranium hand gently gripped your forearm as he inspected the cuff. His brows furrowed as he studied the mechanism, and before you could warn him to be careful, his metal fingers drifted too close.

With a soft hiss, another cuff snapped into place- this time, locking around his vibranium wrist.

You both froze.

“Seriously?” you exhaled, staring at the unforgiving metal that now physically attached you to Bucky Barnes.

He let out a slow, deliberate breath through his nose. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Your heart hammered as you gave the restraint a sharp tug, testing it. The metal didn’t so much as shift. You turned, twisting your wrist, but Bucky moved with you- because there was no getting away.

Panic crept into your voice. “Okay, okay, we can just take these off, right?”

Bucky pulled at his side, first experimentally, then harder. The muscles in his jaw twitched as he yanked at it, but the cuff refused to budge. His frown deepened as he examined the lock.

“No keyhole.”

You blinked. “What do you mean ‘no keyhole’?”

“I mean,” he muttered, voice edged with irritation, “there’s no keyhole. No latch, no release.”

Your stomach did an uncomfortable flip. “So… what? We cut them off?”

Bucky flexed his vibranium fingers. “They’re HYDRA-made. If I try to break them, I could crush your wrist in the process.”

The realization settled between you, heavy and unshakable.

You inhaled sharply. “Fantastic.” Then, with far less patience: “We’re stuck.”

Bucky exhaled, a muscle in his jaw twitching. “Yup.”

And then the inevitable happened.

“This is your fault!” you snapped, yanking at the cuff in frustration, your wrist burning from the chafing metal.

Bucky had the audacity to smirk. “Doll, I didn’t do a thing.”

“You- ugh!” You yanked again, but it was pointless. You weren’t getting out of this without cutting off his damn arm, and even you weren’t cruel enough to suggest that he try to dismantle parts of it.

Being this close to him was already annoying on the best of days. His constant 'follow my lead' attitude, the way he always seemed so sure of himself- it drove you insane. And now? Now you were literally stuck to him. Your pulse kicked up for reasons you refused to acknowledge, and you scowled, masking the unease with irritation.

You huffed, turning your attention back to the restraint. “We need to find a way to break these.”

Bucky tilted his head, looking far too entertained. “Oh, I dunno. Could be fun like this.”

Your glare could have cut through steel. “We are not staying cuffed together, Barnes.”

Bucky shrugged, tugging lightly at the cuffs again. “I’m sure Stark will get us out of these once we get home.”

You grumbled under your breath. “Great. Our extraction isn’t scheduled until tomorrow.”

Bucky let out a dry chuckle. "Guess that means we're getting real cozy till then, huh?" He glanced down at where your wrists were bound together and smirked. "Hope you don’t snore, Doll."

Despite your efforts there was no solution. The cuffs were far beyond ordinary restraints. No brute force, no backdoor override, no simple trick was going to free you. And with Bucky’s metal arm restrained, even he wasn’t willing to risk hurting you to break them.

Which meant you had no choice but to wait for Tony to take a look.

And that? That was going to be a problem.

By the time night fell, exhaustion was settling in. You both managed to find a somewhat decent place to rest- an old, creaking bed in a safehouse nearby. The mattress was thin, the sheets smelled vaguely of dust and damp, but it was better than nothing. But sleeping while attached to Bucky Barnes was proving to be a nightmare.

“Stop moving,” you grumbled, trying to get comfortable without your arm getting yanked.

Bucky exhaled through his nose. “Kinda hard when you’re sprawled all over me, Doll.”

Your cheeks burned. “I’m not- ”

But you were.

There was no way around it- his arm was wrapped around you, keeping you pressed against his side. Every shift, every twitch of his muscles, sent a jolt of awareness through you. The heat of his body, the solid weight of him, the sheer size of him against you…

You tried to shift away, but the cuffs made it impossible. Every tiny movement just pressed you closer, your body molding against his like a puzzle piece that fit all too well. You could feel the way his chest rose and fell, steady, unbothered- while your own breath was coming far too fast for comfort.

“This is ridiculous,” you muttered, twisting slightly, only to freeze as Bucky's grip instinctively tightened around you.

“Doll,” his voice was low, rough with sleep, “if you keep wiggling like that, neither of us are getting any rest.”

Heat flared in your cheeks. “I’m not- ” But you were, again, shifting just enough to feel the tension coiled in his muscles, the slow flex of his vibranium fingers resting against your waist.

You swallowed hard, willing your body to ignore the way he felt against you. But it was impossible- the warmth, the solid weight, the steady, controlled power that had you feeling far too aware of every single breath he took. You could smell him, the faint traces of sweat and gunpowder mixed with something unmistakably Bucky.

You squeezed your eyes shut. “Just go to sleep.”

Silence stretched between you before Bucky let out a slow chuckle, the vibrations rolling through his chest, through you.

“Whatever you say, Doll.”

And somehow, despite everything, you did.

You blinked awake, mind still foggy. The sky outside the safehouse window had shifted to muted shades of gray, the first signs of dawn creeping in through the thin curtains. The air was thick with early morning stillness, broken only by the soft creaks of the old bed beneath you. As you stirred, trying to shift into a more comfortable position, something stopped you.

Something warm. Solid. Heavy. The unmistakable weight of an arm draped over you, pinning you in place. Not just any arm- his arm. The hard, unyielding pressure of metal wrapped around your waist, anchoring you to him even as he slept. The sensation was grounding and suffocating all at once, leaving you hyper-aware of every shift, every breath, every slow, unconscious squeeze of his vibranium fingers against your bare skin.

But it wasn’t just his arm. Sometime during the night, you had gotten tangled together, his leg slipped between yours, pressing up against your crotch in a way that made your breath stop. The pressure, subtle yet insistent, had you far too aware of how sensitive you felt, of the heat pooling low in your belly. The way your body responded, the way the tension in the air had shifted from mere discomfort to something else entirely.

You tried to move his hold was  unyielding  so you shifted back.

Only this time your butt was pressed firmly against something unmistakable.

Bucky was hard.

Heat rushed up your spine, your senses suddenly painfully aware of everything- the solid warmth of his chest flush against your back, the slow, deep rhythm of his breathing, and the way his hips had begun rocking against you, even in sleep.

You swallowed hard, torn between panic and something far more dangerous as another slow, instinctive roll of his hips sent a spark of heat straight to your core. You should move- you should wake him up- but then a quiet, needy sound slipped from his lips, muffled where his face had buried against the back of your neck.

His vibranium hand flexed, the cooler metal splaying over your stomach. Skin to metal. Your shirt had ridden up during the night, leaving you bare beneath his touch, and when his thumb brushed the soft skin just beneath your ribs, your entire body tensed. A shiver rolled through you, unbidden, and that’s when you felt it-

Your own arousal.

The ache that pulsed in time with the steady press of his body against yours. The sharp awareness of how easily, how seamlessly, your bodies fit together, the tension stretched so tight between you it felt like a live wire.

You needed to wake him up.

But trapped as you were, there was no room to press your thighs together- only to shift, just barely, along the firm muscle of his leg between yours. The motion sent a ripple of sensation through you, what had you done in the night that had gotten you as wet you were becoming. Shifting your hips again trying to do something to make it better- Bucky growled.

His nose brushed against the back of your neck, breath hot, lips so close to your skin. His hips pressed against you again, slower, deliberate, sending a shockwave through your already tense body. His grip on your stomach tightened, just enough for you to feel it, to need more.

Then came the sharp, teasing graze of teeth against your nape.

His voice was hoarse, rough with sleep and something else entirely when he muttered, “Stop moving, Doll. You’re making it worse.”

His breath fanned against your skin, sending another shudder through you, and suddenly you weren’t sure who was torturing who.

You stiffened, before trying to move away.

"I just- "

"Said stop moving." His grip tightened, pulling you back against him, his leg pushing up harder, and you swallowed the moan that nearly slipped past your lips.

"Been teasing me all damn night in your sleep."

"I didn’t do a thing.”

"Really?" His breath was hot against your ear, voice rough and edged with something dangerous. "'Cause I can smell it, you know..."

Your stomach flipped. "What?"

Bucky's fingers flexed against your bare skin, his tone dark with amusement. "You. Been leaving little wet patches on my leg with all your grinding…"

His words sent another wave of heat through you, your breath hitching as your body betrayed you yet again. Bucky hummed, his lips grazing your neck as his grip on your waist tightened. "Drove me crazy, y'know. All those little sleepy moans while you were riding my leg. Thought I was imagining it at first, but nah- " his teeth nipped at the delicate skin just below your ear, making you jolt, "- you were using me, weren’t you?"

"I wasn’t- "

"You're always such a brat in the field, you a brat in the bed, too, Doll?" His voice was smug, teasing, completely in control now. Your fingers clenched around the cuffed hand as he slowly dragged it down your stomach, his movements deliberate, testing. You tensed, instinctively trying to pull his hand back up, but the metal was unyielding. His fingers merely flexed beneath yours, a silent warning that he could take control if he wanted to.

"Don't get all shy on me now, sweetheart…" Bucky murmured, his lips tracing a slow, heated path down the side of your throat. "Not after all the trouble you've already caused."

Bucky's hand cupped you through your pants, his palm pressing against the damp fabric, making you gasp. A dark chuckle rumbled against your neck as he felt the heat radiating through the thin material.

"Undo your pants," he murmured, the command cutting through the thick haze of tension.

You found yourself shifting, your own shaking fingers undoing the button and pulling down the zipper, Bucky’s hand sliding in without hesitation. The sensation made you arch, your body betraying you as his fingers made contact. A little whimper slipped from your lips before you could stop it.

"All that grinding made you all ache and sensitive, Babydoll…" His metal finger barely pressed your underwear against your swollen clit, the faintest amount of pressure making your breath stutter.

Bucky hummed in satisfaction, his fingers starting a slow, teasing circle over the fabric still covering you. "Bet you've been dripping for me all night," he murmured, his lips tracing the shell of your ear. "So wet and needy, and you don’t even wanna admit it."

His hand slid further, fingers pushing past the final barrier of fabric to find you bare beneath, slick and ready. He groaned at the feel of you, his grip tightening as his fingers slipped through your wetness, coating themselves in evidence of your arousal. "Fuck, sweetheart… you're soaking."

A strangled sound caught in your throat as his fingers circled your clit, the cool contrast of metal making you shudder. You tried to resist the pleasure flooding through you, but Bucky was relentless, keeping you spread open with his thigh between yours.

"Bucky- "

"Shh, sweetheart. Just let me feel you," he whispered, voice thick with desire. His hand moved with intent now, slow and devastating strokes that had you trembling against him. "That’s it, good girl… just like that."

His fingers slid lower, teasing along your folds, gathering the slickness that betrayed just how much you wanted this. A wicked smirk ghosted across his lips as he pressed against your entrance, just barely dipping in before pulling back, his touch agonizingly light.

"So sensitive," he murmured, pressing a kiss to the side of your neck. "So fuckin’ wet for me."

You let out a strangled moan as his metal finger circled your clit again, more pressure this time, more purpose. Heat coiled low in your stomach, each slow stroke sending sparks of pleasure racing through your veins. Your hips moved before you could stop them, chasing the friction he so cruelly teased you with.

"That’s it, sweetheart," Bucky coaxed, voice laced with dark amusement. "Knew you wanted this. Knew you couldn’t resist."

You barely had time to bite back another moan before he flipped you onto your stomach, his grip firm as he pressed your cuffed hand down against the mattress. His free hand slid to your hip, tugging your pants lower, the cool air ghosting over your bare skin making you shiver.

The bed creaked as he moved behind you, the unmistakable sound of his belt being undone making your breath hitch. The rasp of his zipper sent anticipation curling through your spine, the weight of his body pressing you into the mattress keeping you exactly where he wanted you. His own pants coming down, the clank of his metal belt

"Been waiting for this all night," Bucky murmured, his hand smoothing over the curve of your ass before squeezing. You felt your hips raise back to meet his hand, instinctively seeking friction, rubbing against the heavy, hard length pressed against you.

He groaned at the contact, his breath coming out harsher as he gripped your waist, his flesh hand against your skin. "That’s it, sweetheart," he muttered, grinding his cock against you slow and deliberate. "You want it, don’t you?"

You barely had time to answer before his free hand slid between your thighs, fingers teasing along your already slick folds. "So fuckin' wet for me," he groaned, his touch purposeful as he spread your arousal with slow, torturous strokes. "Bet you were dreamin' about this, weren't you? Ridin' my leg, gettin' yourself all worked up..."

Your breath stuttered, a whimper slipping from your lips as he pushed a finger inside you properly, curling it just right, making your body jolt. The pleasure was overwhelming, too much and not enough all at once.

"Bucky- " you gasped, barely able to form the words as he worked you open, his touch both devastating and precise.

"Yeah?" His voice was low, teasing, his breath warm against your skin as he pressed another finger in, stretching you further, our cunt clenching and holding onto his fingers. "That feel good, sweetheart? You gonna admit how bad you wanted this?"

Your fingers curled into the sheets, a desperate moan slipping from your lips as he thrust his fingers deeper, stroking the spot that had you trembling.

"Fuck- Bucky, I- " you tried, but your words cut off into a whimper when his thumb circled your clit, sending another wave of pleasure through you.

"That’s it," he murmured, voice thick with satisfaction. "Let me hear you."

Bucky chuckled, dark and pleased, withdrawing his hand only to replace it with the heavy press of his cock against your entrance. "Gonna take my time with you, Doll," he murmured, voice thick with hunger. "Gonna stretch you open nice and slow... make sure you feel every inch."

And then, with a deep, steady push, he sank into you, stretching you inch by inch, until there was nothing left between you but heat, pressure, and the raw, unrelenting pleasure of being completely, utterly filled.

“Fuck, you feel good,” he groaned, the weight of him making it impossible to properly move. Your walls fluttering around him as you let out a soft whine.

Bucky’s fingers tightened against your hips, his breath ragged against the back of your neck. “That’s it, not so sassy now, are ya baby?” he murmured, voice thick with amusement. His thrusts deepened, each roll of his hips sending pleasure spiking through you. “Just needed my fat cock to make you behave.”

A choked moan escaped your lips, your body arching instinctively, pushing back against him. The stretch, the pressure- it was too much and not enough, and you couldn’t stop the desperate sounds spilling from your throat.

Bucky chuckled darkly. “Fuck, listen to you,” he groaned, his pace picking up, the slap of skin against skin echoing in the room. “Moanin’ like a needy little thing. Thought you hated being stuck with me?”

You couldn’t even answer, couldn’t form words between gasps and whimpers.

“C’mon, sweetheart, use your words,” he taunted, his flesh hand slipping beneath you, fingers finding your clit. “Tell me how good I feel stretching you out.”

Your breath hitched, your back arching as pleasure ripped through you. “Bucky- I- fuck- ”

He groaned, thrusting harder, deeper, hitting that spot that made you see stars. “That’s it, take it, baby,” he rasped. “You’re so fuckin’ tight- so fuckin’ perfect wrapped around me.”

Your body clenched, heat coiling in your belly, the pleasure unbearable as his fingers worked you mercilessly, pushing you closer to the edge.

““Gonna come for me?” Bucky growled, his grip on your waist tightening. “Gonna soak my cock like a good girl?”

Your breath hitched, your body tightening around him, the pressure building unbearably fast. His fingers on your clit never relented, pushing you closer and closer, his thrusts turning sharper, rougher, until it was too much-

The pleasure crashed over you in a blinding wave, your cry muffled into the pillow as your body convulsed beneath him. You clenched around him, squeezing him so tight he let out a strangled moan, his grip on your waist turning bruising.

“Fuck- just like that,” he groaned, his rhythm faltering, his body seizing as he drove into you one last time before he buried himself deep, spilling into you with a deep, shuddering groan. The heat of it sent aftershocks rippling through you, your body still pulsing with the remnants of your orgasm as he slumped over you, both of you panting, sweat-slicked, and utterly spent.

For a long moment, there was only the sound of your ragged breathing, the weight of him pressing you into the mattress. His breath fanned over the back of your neck, warm and uneven, his heart hammering against your spine. Neither of you spoke, your bodies still tangled, still connected, the cuffs a firm reminder that there was no pulling away just yet.

Bucky chuckled breathlessly, his lips ghosting over your shoulder as he murmured, “Guess being stuck together ain’t so bad after all, huh?”

His words sent a lazy shiver through you, but you were too boneless, too utterly wrecked to argue. Instead, you let your eyes drift shut, exhaling slowly, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest against your back.

Yeah, you were definitely in trouble.

By the time backup arrived, you were fully dressed again, but nothing about the tension had faded. If anything, it had settled deeper. The flight home was quiet, and you were quiet too.

Bucky hadn’t let go of you the entire time. His fingers brushed your thigh every so often, casual, like it was nothing. Normally, you would have said something- told him to quit it, nudged him away- but right now, your brain was too hazy, too fluffy to form a real thought. The ache between your legs made every small movement an unspoken reminder of where he'd been, of what he'd done.

You kept your eyes on the window, forcing yourself to breathe, to act normal. But in the reflection, you saw it-

Bucky watching you.

That same small, satisfied smile on his face.

As the jet touched down, Bucky finally pulled at the cuffed connection, his vibranium arm giving a gentle but insistent tug. Your gaze snapped up, attention pulled from the window as your fingers instinctively curled into your lap.

"On your feet, Doll. Don't wanna keep Stark waiting."

"Yes, Sir." The words left your lips before you could even think about them, your breath hitching the moment you realized what you’d said.

Sir? When had that slipped into your vocabulary?

Bucky’s smirk deepened, though he didn’t comment, just gave a slow hum of amusement as he stood, the cuffed hand ensuring you followed right after. Blinking, heat creeping into your cheeks, you cleared your throat and got to your feet, falling into step slightly behind him as you made your way toward Stark’s lab.

Tony raised an eyebrow at the sight of you and Bucky, still cuffed together. "What the hell happened here?"

"Long story," Bucky muttered, avoiding your gaze, though his grip on the cuffed hand lingered a second too long before finally letting go.

Once the cuffs were finally removed, you should have felt relief. Should have been grateful to be free. But instead… you hesitated.

Bucky hesitated, too.

You both lingered, standing too close, the air between you charged with something unspoken. His fingers flexed at his side like he was fighting the urge to touch you again, his jaw tightening as his gaze flickered over you, lingering on the places he'd marked just hours ago. And for one, sharp moment, you thought he might- might say something, might pull you back in, might remind you exactly how good you felt under him.

But then, he just smirked. Slow, knowing, dangerous.

"Don’t think this means you’re off the hook, Doll."

Your breath caught. "I’m not?"

Bucky leaned in, his voice dipping into something husky. "Not even close."

His eyes held yours, heavy with meaning, and your stomach flipped, heat flooding your face and running down your chest. You swallowed hard, your pulse hammering as he finally stepped back-

But instead of leaving, he gave your cuffed hand a light tug, guiding you toward the hallway. "C'mon, sweetheart," he murmured, his smirk deepening. "Think it's time I take you somewhere a little more comfortable."

Your breath hitched, your body still too warm, too sensitive from everything that had happened. "Bucky- "

He shot you a look over his shoulder, teasing but firm. "Unless you wanna sleep alone tonight?"

A nervous giggle bubbled up before you could stop it, and you cleared your throat, shaking your head as he led you toward his bedroom.

[theskywithin]

Birth Chart Breakdown - Mars Through The Houses

We speak of Mars as drive, desire, action, but beneath every spark is a story. A reason we move the way we do. A part of ourselves we’re trying to protect, prove, or reclaim.

First House

Your strength is seen, but rarely softened. You lead. You assert. You enter every room like it owes you space. But even warriors long to rest. You’ve learned to carry your identity like a shield, but who are you when you’re not proving you belong? Even fire needs a place to burn safely, without burning through everything.

Second House

You chase security like it owes you proof. As if having more will finally make you enough. You work hard. You hold tight. You protect what’s yours. But self-worth isn’t earned, it’s remembered. Let your value rise from within, not from what you build to be seen as valuable.

Third House

You speak like it’s survival. Sharp, fast, relentless. Your mind is wired for action, always reaching for understanding, but sometimes, silence speaks louder. Not every truth needs defending. Not every thought needs to be said to be known.

Fourth House

You protect your inner world like a soldier on sacred ground. There’s a storm in your ribcage that only you know how to navigate. You want peace, but sometimes peace feels unsafe. Not every memory needs to be rewritten. Some things can simply be witnessed, without turning them into wars.

Fifth House

You love loudly. Create fiercely. Every emotion becomes a firework, quick, bright, unforgettable. You chase the thrill because it reminds you you’re alive. But your joy doesn’t have to be earned through fire. Let passion be a home, not a chase. Stay long enough for it to bloom.

Sixth House

You work like your worth depends on it. You keep moving, fixing, improving, hoping the inner chaos might finally go quiet. You measure love in usefulness. But rest is also a form of service. You’re allowed to slow down. You’re allowed to just be.

Seventh House

You don’t just want love, you enter battle for it. Your passion in partnership is unmatched, but sometimes you fight because connection feels vulnerable. Not every relationship needs saving. Not every bond is proof of your power. Let yourself be met, not just pursued.

Eighth House

Intensity lives in your bones. You crave the kind of connection that consumes and remakes. Power, trust, surrender, they’re never simple for you. But transformation doesn’t always require destruction. You can release without disappearing. You can love without losing the parts you’ve fought so hard to reclaim.

Ninth House

You move like there’s something to outrun. You chase freedom with holy fire, as if motion itself can offer meaning. But freedom without reflection can leave you ungrounded. Let your beliefs evolve as you do. The horizon will always be there, but truth lives in how you carry it with you.

Tenth House

You climb. You conquer. You build. You measure yourself by impact, by progress, by proof. But legacy without soul is just performance. You are more than your public self. Let your ambition serve your inner world too. True success is showing up in both.

Eleventh House

You fight for the future. For the group. For the cause. You dream big, act fast, and pull others toward the vision, but even visionaries get lonely. When you’re always leading, it’s easy to forget to belong. Your power multiplies when you trust others to walk beside you.

Twelfth House

Your fire moves inward. A quiet battle. A sacred undoing. You’re not always sure why you act, or where the emotion is coming from, only that it demands release. Your anger speaks in symbols. Your passion hides in dreams. But what grows in the dark is not weak, it’s ancient, holy, and learning to rise in its own way.

[glowettee]

✧˖° how to stop self-sabotaging your success (and finally commit to doing the work)

post 1 post 2

hi angel, mindy here. let’s talk. because i know you want this. you want to be that student who shows up for herself/himself. you want to stop making excuses. you want to feel proud of yourself when this is all over. so why do you keep putting up roadblocks in your own way? why do you keep pulling yourself away from the very thing you know you need to do?

self-sabotage is not laziness. it’s fear, it’s perfectionism, it’s comfort, it’s this deep, quiet resistance that whispers, what if i try and fail? so you never fully try.

but guess what? we’re breaking that cycle today. right now.

✧˖° the illusion of "i’ll do it later"

procrastination is a liar with a pretty voice. it tells you that you’ll do it when you feel more ready, when you’re in a better mood, when the circumstances are just right. but the truth? later is just a hiding place.

so next time you catch yourself saying “i’ll do it tonight” or “tomorrow is better,” stop. ask yourself: what makes later better than now? if you don’t have a solid answer, it’s just fear talking.

✧˖° you’re scared of what happens when you actually succeed

self-sabotage isn’t just about the fear of failure. sometimes, it’s the fear of what happens when you actually get what you’ve been working toward.

because success? means expectations. it means proving that you can do it again. it means stepping into a version of yourself that no longer has excuses. and that can be terrifying.

but here’s the truth: the version of you that’s waiting on the other side of this work? she’s not a stranger. she’s still you, just with more proof of what you’re capable of.

✧˖° your study habits are built around guilt, not discipline

if studying always feels like punishment, if your entire academic routine is built around the feeling of “i should be doing more,” of course you’re going to resist it.

so let’s shift this. instead of studying because you have to, start studying because you deserve to succeed. because you want to feel prepared. because the version of you who walks into that exam room with confidence? deserves to exist.

make studying feel like an investment, not a punishment. romanticize it. find ways to make it an experience you don’t want to run from. pinterest is your best friend, studytok is your motivator and me (@glowettee is your mentor 😉)

✧˖° you wait for motivation instead of creating discipline

motivation is like a guest who shows up unannounced. sometimes, she arrives when you least expect it, and sometimes, she ghosts you for weeks.

discipline, though? discipline is the friend who always shows up. she’s reliable. she doesn’t wait until she “feels like it.” she just does it, because that’s who she is.

so stop waiting for motivation to hit like some kind of magical burst of energy. instead, set up routines that make studying non-negotiable. that make it feel natural. like brushing your teeth, like making your bed, like second nature.

✧˖° self-sabotage is a pattern. patterns can be broken.

if you’ve spent years avoiding hard work, of course your brain is going to resist when you suddenly decide to commit. your instincts are wired to avoid discomfort.

but the good news? self-sabotage is a learned habit. which means you can unlearn it. every time you choose to sit down and do the work, even when you don’t want to, you are rewriting your patterns. you are proving to yourself that you are not the same person who gives up.

and eventually? showing up for yourself won’t feel like a battle anymore. it will feel normal. it will feel like who you are.

✧˖° this is the moment you choose differently

look, you can close this post and keep doing what you’ve always done. you can keep waiting for some magical day when it all feels easy. or you can make a decision, right here, right now.

you can decide that you are done getting in your own way. that you are done letting fear win. that you are done delaying your own success.

because the version of you who is already succeeding? she is not far away. she is right there, waiting for you to step into her shoes.

it’s time, angel. show up.

love you all sooo much <3 i hope this post can help you understand; self-discipline > motivation

with love, mindy

[mahalachives]

Part 6: The Mother Strikes Again

Azriel x f!reader

Genre: fated mates, rom-com, crack humor, eventual angst, eventual smut

Summary: Azriel never expected to finally meet his mate and to be… this.

A walking disaster with a talent for tripping over air, an uncanny ability to charm even the grumpiest Illyrian, and a knack for throwing herself headfirst into situations that require his immediate intervention.

She is warmth where he is shadow, laughter where he is silence. And worst of all? She makes him smile without trying.

Azriel, Are you Okay? - Masterlist

You couldn’t breathe.

Not because the River House was crowded—it wasn’t.

Not because the dress Lira had forced you into was too tight—it wasn’t.

But because you had just locked eyes with Azriel across the room, and something in his gaze had short-circuited your brain like a squirrel gnawed through the emotional wiring.

He stood half-shadowed, wine untouched in his scarred hand, watching you like he could peel back your layers without so much as blinking. His wings were tucked in, perfectly casual, but you caught the way they twitched when your eyes met his.

Like maybe—just maybe—he felt it, too.

“—don’t you think?” came Rhysand’s voice, breaking your Azriel-induced trance like a slap made of silk and judgment.

You blinked. “I’m sorry, what?”

Rhys smiled. Slowly. Pleased. “I asked if you thought the eastern training grounds should be expanded for the new Illyrian recruits.”

Gods, just launch you into the Sidra.

“Oh. Yes. Definitely. Expand away. Stretch them wide open.”

You immediately wanted to curl up and die. Stretch them wide open?

Rhysand tilted his head, delight practically dripping from his expression. “How insightful. Especially since we’re not recruiting any new Illyrians this year.”

You choked on your wine. “I—I was being hypothetical.”

“Oh, of course.” Rhys took a slow sip of his drink, eyes twinkling with the kind of smug satisfaction that only came from being five hundred years old and still reveling in other people’s awkwardness. “Hypothetically distracted. Hypothetically staring at my spymaster like he’s the last piece of cake at a Winter Solstice party.”

“I was not—”

“You were.”

You hated that he was right. Hated it more that your gaze had already wandered back to Azriel. Again. Like your eyes had a mind of their own. A treacherous, Azriel-obsessed mind.

And then, as if the Mother herself had decided to punish you for every tiny moment of hope—Elain appeared.

Soft, luminous, springtime-in-heels Elain. With her perfect hair and radiant smile and infuriatingly effortless elegance. She approached Azriel like a breeze, leaned in to whisper something, and—

His shadows disappeared.

Vanished. Gone. Like they had collectively decided you’ve suffered enough and no longer wished to be witnesses.

And Azriel—he nodded. Set down his glass. Followed her out.

Just like that.

Something cold and sour twisted in your chest. You told yourself it wasn’t jealousy.

“If you’ll excuse me,” you muttered to Rhys, turning away before he could say anything else, before he could look at you with those knowing, pity-laced eyes.

That it wasn’t insecurity tightening like a vine around your ribs.

But the lie sat in your throat like a stone.

The balcony doors were cool beneath your fingertips, the spring air brisk and sharp as you stepped outside. You exhaled slowly, gripping the railing like it might anchor you to the moment.

You were fine.

This was fine.

He could talk to Elain. Laugh with her. Look at her. Go off to gods-know-where with her.

You didn’t care.

…Except that you did care.

A little.

Okay, a lot.

Because Elain was softness and grace and gardens in bloom. And you were… archives. You were ink-stained fingers and off-key humming and the kind of awkward that made people pat your shoulder like you were trying your best. Which you were, thank you very much.

You stared at the Sidra, pretending the river didn’t look like a temptingly chilly escape route. You weren’t going to walk into it. That would be dramatic. Unhinged. Pathetic.

You almost did it anyway.

“Don’t even think about it,” came a familiar voice behind you. Heels clicked softly against the stone.

You turned to find Mor, radiant and golden, strolling toward you with two glasses in hand and an expression that said you poor, emotionally volatile thing.

“I wasn’t—”

“You were absolutely contemplating river-based dramatics,” she said, handing you a glass. “Drink this. It’ll either fix your feelings or make you forget them long enough to dance on the table and humiliate yourself in a fun way.”

You took the glass with the hesitation of someone who had once made the mistake of accepting Cassian’s idea of “just a little something to take the edge off.”

“Is this safe?”

Mor grinned. “No. That’s why it’s effective.”

You took a sip. It tasted like peaches, fire, and the sudden realization that you might not survive this evening with your dignity intact.

Mor leaned her hip against the balcony railing, eyes scanning the ballroom through the glass doors. “So. Az.”

You immediately regretted everything. “Please don’t.”

“I’m just saying,” she said, taking a sip of her own drink, “that if he had stared at me like that, I would’ve dragged him into the nearest closet and emerged an hour later wearing his shirt and a new life perspective.”

“Mor.”

“What?” she asked, all false innocence. “I support you. I just also support drama. And maybe some light kidnapping.”

You sighed and sipped again. Harder this time. “He left with Elain.”

“Mhmm,” she hummed, unconcerned. “She probably asked him to help her move a flowerpot. You know how she gets when the moon is waxing and her begonias are emotionally unstable.”

You choked on your drink. “That is not comforting.”

Mor reached over and patted your cheek affectionately. “You’ve got this. Just breathe. Be mysterious. Look beautiful and unbothered. And maybe avoid Cass—he’s still smirking like he’s writing fanfiction in his head.”

You groaned.

“Drink, sweetheart,” Mor said, clinking her glass against yours. “There’s a whole evening ahead of you, and if you’re going to spiral, you might as well do it fashionably.”

The wine hit fast.

Too fast.

One second, you were quietly nursing your emotional damage on the River House balcony, trying to pretend that seeing Azriel leave with Elain hadn’t turned your insides into a soup of insecurity and delusion.

The next, you were standing on a dining table in the middle of the River House's very formal spring soirée, dramatically reenacting a battle that may or may not have been entirely made up and also may have featured a lot more dramatic flourishes than historically accurate swordplay.

Mor had given up on you. Entirely.

She was somewhere in the crowd, face buried in her hands, as you wielded a very fancy, catered poultry leg like a mighty sword.

“And then!” you bellowed, swaying slightly on your heels, “I single-handedly took down an entire battalion of—of, um—bad guys! With only my wits, my unparalleled combat prowess, and this drumstick!”

You raised it triumphantly. Some poor caterer looked personally offended.

A crowd had gathered.

Feyre, Nesta, and Cassian stood near the fireplace. Cassian was practically doubled over, laughing so hard he might rupture something. Nesta had her arms crossed and was muttering something that looked like “end me”. Feyre had a pained but weirdly fond look, like she was watching her toddler light something on fire and trying to decide whether to intervene.

Rhysand and Mor had fully stationed themselves near the dessert table and were watching the unfolding trainwreck with unfiltered delight.

Amren hadn’t moved from her seat in the corner, but she had acquired popcorn. Where she got it, you didn’t know. You didn’t ask.

Azriel, however, was simply staring.

Expression unreadable. Shadows curled around his shoulders like they, too, were judging you.

You forged ahead anyway.

“Did you know,” you slurred slightly, waving your turkey sword at no one in particular, “that Azriel is the most attractive person here?”

Silence.

Actual silence.

The kind of silence that sucked all the oxygen out of the room.

Mor made a strangled noise from somewhere in the crowd.

Cassian's laughter turned wheezy.

Nesta smacked his arm. Hard.

Elain—still somehow glowing and sipping tea like this didn’t concern her—arched one perfectly sculpted brow.

Azriel’s face? Still blank.

His shadows? Still twitching.

Your dignity? On fire.

Rhysand grinned. “Go on,” he encouraged, because he was an immortal agent of chaos.

You nodded solemnly. “It’s true. He’s unfairly attractive. It’s a crime. Someone arrest him. Put him in face jail.”

Cassian was now crying.

Nesta looked like she was considering pushing him into the Sidra.

Elain sipped her tea. Unbothered. Beautiful. Smelling like seasonal produce.

You, meanwhile, were full throttle into a wine-fueled meltdown.

You pointed directly at Azriel, nearly tipping over. “You. Have. A very. Nice. Face.”

Azriel blinked. Slowly. His wings twitched—just a little—and his shadows curled tighter around his shoulders, like they were trying to hide the fact that maybe the corners of his lips had moved.

Mor appeared beside the table and hissed, “Get down right now.”

“I’m not drunk,” you told her, swaying wildly. “I’m making observations.”

“Observations?” Mor scoffed. “You’re reciting a love ballad to his jaw like it belongs in the Hewn City Hall of Fame.”

“I have one more thing to say,” you declared, digging your heels into the table, which made an ominous creak.

“Please no,” Mor whispered, staring skyward like she was summoning divine intervention.

You pointed, blinking slowly. “You are very… very… emotionally constipated. And I mean that with love.”

And then—because the Mother was clearly on vacation—you lost your balance and tumbled off the table.

You braced for impact.

But it never came.

Instead, you landed against a solid chest. Strong arms. Warm hands gripping your waist like they belonged there. And a very unfair scent of cold night and cedar and oh no.

Azriel had caught you. Because of course he did.

You blinked up at him, face inches from his. “Oh,” you breathed. “Hi.”

His expression didn’t change—but his shadows stirred restlessly, like they were whispering gossip directly into his ears.

Behind him, Rhysand snorted. Cassian was fully collapsed against a wall. Feyre had her hands over her mouth.

Nesta looked like she wanted to slap you and him and probably fate in general.

Mor had backed into a corner and was mouthing I don’t know her.

“You’re impossible,” Azriel muttered, voice low and warm and, unfairly, just a little fond.

You grinned up at him. “You like it.”

He stared down at you, eyes dark and unreadable. His shadows coiled tighter. His grip stayed firm on your waist. His wings flared—just slightly.

And then his lips twitched. Barely. But enough.

Azriel sighed, like a man staring down the barrel of his bad decisions and finding them extremely attractive. “Come on, my unhinged little comet.”

And before you could say another word, he swept you into his arms—bridal style, because apparently you were leaning all the way into public humiliation now.

You yelped, then immediately melted into his chest with a pleased hum. “Mmm. You smell nice. Like shadows and judgment. Wait—are you blushing?”

“Cauldron give me strength,” Azriel groaned, carrying you through the stunned crowd.

From behind you came the sound of cackling, someone knocking over a wine glass, and Amren muttering, “I give it two weeks.”

As you were swept out of the room, your voice echoed back behind you—

“For the record, I do not regret this!”

Far above, in the realm unseen, the Mother watched with a knowing smile.

The wind whispered around her as she observed the scene below—the drunken declarations, the clumsy affection, the way Azriel's shadows curled toward you, seeking despite themselves.

She had woven many fates, shaped many lives. But few amused her as much as this one.

“Oh, child,” she murmured, voice like the rustling of leaves, the turning of tides. “You are more entangled than you know.”

A chuckle echoed through the heavens, light as starlight.

The Mother lifted a hand, tracing invisible threads that bound two souls together—threads that had been frayed and knotted, but never severed. They shimmered, pulsating faintly, as if recognizing the moment for what it was.

Her eyes twinkled. “Soon,” she promised. “Soon, you will see.”

And with that, the Mother leaned back, content.

Below, in the world of mortals, you were still smiling up at Azriel, utterly oblivious to the divine hand gently guiding your fate.

Azriel had known many kinds of silence in his life.

The tense stillness before a kill.

The solemn hush after a mission gone wrong.

The kind of silence that settled over the mountains after a battle, when the snow fell red and the dead could finally rest.

But this—this was different.

This silence was laced with something soft and unbearable. Not sharp like rejection, but quiet like a door half-closed. A space he didn’t want to intrude upon but couldn’t bring himself to leave.

He had carried you home in his arms after the River House party, your wine-heavy laughter long since faded into soft breaths and sleep-mumbled nonsense. His wings stayed tightly tucked, his steps careful, as though any jostle might wake you or, worse, shatter the fragile permission he’d been given to be this close.

You hadn’t told him to leave.

You hadn’t told him to stay, either.

So he’d done what he always did—read the space between words. The way you’d curled into his chest without thinking. The way your fingers had clutched his leathers before slipping into sleep. The way you hadn’t recoiled from him. Not tonight.

He laid you gently on your bed, the scent of your room wrapping around him like a memory. Tea leaves, old books, lavender. The scent of you. He lingered as he drew the blanket over your shoulders, fingers brushing the edge of the fabric rather than your skin, though his hands ached to.

His shadows stirred, curling over your pillow like they wanted to stay, too. Like they recognized this as home.

Azriel swallowed hard.

Across the room, a gentle bubbling sound drew his attention. Gregory, circled his glass bowl with renewed interest, fins flaring in iridescent display. The fish paused, seeming to study Azriel with one glassy eye, as if offering silent approval.

"Don't worry," Azriel whispered to the vigilant guardian. "I won't disturb her."

Gregory flicked his tail once before resuming his patrol of the bowl's perimeter.

You looked so peaceful in sleep. So unguarded. A stray lock of hair had fallen across your cheek, and his hand hovered—wanting, not daring. He wanted to tuck it behind your ear. He wanted to trace the line of your jaw, to memorize the small details he’d never let himself learn in daylight.

He wanted to stay.

But wanting was dangerous.

So he stepped back. Quiet. Controlled. Careful not to wake you. He turned toward the door, toward the shadows that always welcomed him back when the light became too much.

But the door didn’t open.

Azriel frowned.

He tried again. Nothing.

His shadows curled back, wary now. Curious. The faintest shimmer in the air told him it wasn’t locked by any hand—it was woven.

Enchanted. A soft, powerful magic humming in the walls, in the floor. Centered around you.

It was not meant to trap.

It was meant to protect.

And right now, it had decided he wasn’t allowed to leave.

A test, maybe. Or a mistake.

But Azriel didn’t fight it. He could have winnowed. Could have vanished in an instant.

He didn’t.

Instead, he turned slowly, gaze falling back to you.

You had shifted slightly in your sleep, a soft sigh escaping your lips as your brow furrowed, like your dreams were stirring. One hand curled in the blankets, as if searching for something to hold on to.

His heart cracked open just a little more.

This wasn’t rejection.

This wasn’t goodbye.

This was the in-between. The soft space where hope dared to breathe.

With a quiet breath, Azriel crossed the room. He pulled the chair from your desk and sat, his movements smooth, reverent. His arms folded across his chest, but his gaze never left you.

He would not wake you.

He would not cross that line.

But he would stay.

Just for tonight.

Because it was enough to sit beside you and pretend—just for a moment—that he belonged here.

And as the moonlight traced the edges of your face, Azriel let himself fall just a little deeper. Into the quiet rhythm of your breath. Into the memory of your laughter echoing in his chest. Into the unbearable sweetness of loving you in silence.

He had always been good at waiting.

The Mother watched, perched on a shimmering cloud, her divine gaze locked onto the scene below with deep amusement. She crossed her arms and let out a sigh of exaggerated exasperation.

“Honestly, for someone who prides himself on being so clever, he’s shockingly slow on the uptake,” she muttered.

Beside her, Fate, who had been lazily twirling a strand of destiny’s golden thread between her fingers, smirked. “I told you he’d try to leave. He’s stubborn.”

The Mother rolled her eyes. “Well, he can be as stubborn as he likes, but he’s not leaving that house tonight. Not on my watch.”

With a flick of her fingers, a golden shimmer cascaded down to Velaris, weaving itself around the door like an invisible enchantment. The wood solidified, unmoving, as though it had been rooted in the very foundation of the earth.

Fate chuckled. “I almost feel bad for him. Almost.”

The Mother waved a hand dismissively. “He’s going to thank me for this later.”

The Mother merely smirked, whispering mischievously, “Good luck getting out now, Shadowsinger.”

The Mother and Fate exchanged a victorious glance before returning to their celestial tea, waiting for the dawn—and for fate to finally, finally take its course.

Azriel woke with a start.

The air was thick with the scent of your home—tea leaves and parchment, soft and comforting—but something was wrong. His shadows coiled tighter around him, restless, their murmuring a frantic whisper in his ears.

Then he heard it.

A soft, pained whimper.

His entire body went rigid.

He turned his head, scanning the room, his heartbeat a measured rhythm against his ribs. You were still in bed, the blankets tangled around your form, your face turned away from him.

But your breathing was uneven.

Another broken sound left your lips, barely more than a whisper, but it sent something sharp and vicious through his chest.

You were dreaming.

No—not dreaming. Nightmare.

In an instant, he was at your side, kneeling by the bed, his hands hovering over your shoulders. He murmured your name, voice low and soothing, carefully avoiding touching you lest he startle you further.

“Wake up,” he urged softly. “It’s just a dream. You’re safe.”

Your brow furrowed, lips trembling. The distress in your face, the way you curled away from whatever nightmare plagued you—it was unbearable.

His hands itched to pull you into his arms, to shield you from whatever ghosts haunted you, but instead, he simply pressed a palm to your wrist, grounding you in the present.

Your entire body jerked at the contact, your eyes snapping open, wild and unfocused.

“Azriel?” Your voice was hoarse, laced with exhaustion and fear.

“I’m here.”

Your breathing came in sharp, uneven gasps, but his presence—his touch—seemed to steady you. Slowly, recognition bled into your gaze. Your fingers twitched against his, uncertain, hesitant.

Then, before he could think better of it, he brushed his thumb over your wrist.

A slow, steady reassurance. A silent promise.

You swallowed hard, blinking rapidly as though trying to chase away the remnants of your nightmare. Your lips parted, like you might say something—like you might ask him why he was still here, why he had stayed.

But you didn’t.

And he didn’t offer an explanation.

Instead, he just waited. Waited for you to breathe. Waited for you to decide what came next.

And for once, he let himself hope.

The silence stretched between you, thick with unspoken words. Your heartbeat slowed, settling into something steadier, though your skin still tingled from the dream’s lingering grip.

Then, with a hoarse whisper, you finally broke the silence.

“I dreamed I was being chased by a horde of angry geese."

Azriel blinked. Slowly. “What?”

You let out a shuddering breath, still caught between exhaustion and residual panic. “It was terrifying. They had tiny daggers strapped to their wings. Like some kind of rogue assassin squad. I think one of them was wearing a miniature cloak.”

His expression remained unreadable, but you could see it—the minute twitch at the corner of his mouth. The faintest hint of amusement in his otherwise impassive face.

“I take it that explains the whimpering,” he said dryly.

You huffed. “You laugh, but one of them was glaring at me like he knew all my secrets.”

That almost did it. Almost. His lips twitched again, his shadows shifting around him like they too were barely holding back their mirth.

Then, against all odds, a chuckle—low, quiet, but undeniably real—escaped him.

You gaped. “Did you just laugh?”

Azriel exhaled sharply, his composure snapping back into place. “No.”

“You did! You totally did!”

“I assure you, I did not.”

You sat up, pointing at him in mock accusation. “The mighty Shadowsinger, feared by all of Prythian, just laughed at my nightmare.”

“I did not laugh.”

“You did.” You grinned now, feeling lighter somehow, as if the weight of your dream had finally loosened its hold on you. “It’s fine. I wouldn’t be able to resist either. Those geese were menaces.”

Azriel shook his head, but the warmth in his gaze betrayed him. “Go back to sleep.”

You flopped back onto your pillows with an exaggerated sigh. “Fine. But if I wake up screaming, you’re responsible for protecting me from the assassin geese.”

“I’ll do my best,” he murmured, voice softer now, lingering with something unreadable.

And as your eyes fluttered shut once more, you swore you felt it—the barest brush of a shadow curling around your wrist. A silent promise.

One he was not ready to put into words.

Yet.

Thanks for reading—I promise the emotional damage is coming, but for now, let’s enjoy the chaos. 💕

Author’s Note:

In my defense, the turkey leg was supposed to be metaphorical. But then the wine happened, and suddenly there were assassin geese, Mor was done with everything, and Azriel accidentally caught feelings and a drunk botanist. I regret nothing. Except maybe “stretch them wide open.” That one’s going to haunt me.

Tag List: @songbirdpond @tothestarsandwhateverend @lovely-susie @kksbookstuff @ladycaramelswirl @gamarancianne @writtenbypavani @bubybubsters @moonlitscrolls @valyas-corner @iris-lavender @lreadsstuff @nebarious @azrielssgirl @lamimamiii @fantasydreamwalker @dallynjennasgirl @tenshis-cake @lilah-asteria @sweetsugarcoffee @fall-winter-heart97 @lovely-susie @lreadsstuff @sofi03 @songbirdpond @nico707 @justtryingtosurvive02 @yourlocalcancer @saltedcoffeescotch @thatacotargirl @happypeanutstrawberry @theverseoftheblackpearl @tele86 @highladyofhogwarts @fuckingsimp4azriel @thegoddessofnothingness @lovelyflower7777 @stressed-reader @karespocketboyfriends @lreadsstuff @yourdarkroses-blog @plants-w0rld @oldernotwiser26 @ashduv @alittlelostalittlefound-blog @adventure-awaits13 @thegoddessofnothingness @fuckingsimp4azriel @highladyofhogwarts @stainedpomegranatelips

[pastryfication]

would you consider doing part 2 to the crash where the boys reunite with reader??

you’re everything that i want

pairing: oscar piastri x f2 driver!reader, lando norris x sister!reader note: part two to this.

content warnings: mentions of hospitals, injuries and a crash.

the hospital hallways stretch endlessly, each corner looking the same as the last. lando and oscar are rushing, a mutual feeling passing through them as they practically run through the busy hospital. but as they finally reach the door to your room, a heavy silence settles between them.

they know you’re stable, but that word had never felt more fragile. the crash, the screaming sirens, the gut-wrenching wait—they had both been on the edge of losing you, and that fear still lingers, clawing at the back of their minds.

lando hesitates, his hand hovering over the door handle. he’s never been afraid of much, but right now, he’s terrified of what he’ll see on the other side. oscar watches him, his own face pale and tight, but it’s lando who finally pushes the door open.

the sight of you hits them both like a punch to the gut.

you’re there, in the middle of the sterile, white room, looking small and fragile against the stiff hospital sheets. wires snake around your body, connecting you to machines that beep steadily, and bruises cover your usually vibrant skin. but it’s your face—pale, tense, and etched with pain—that makes them both freeze.

lando’s breath catches in his throat. he’s seen you on the edge before—crashes, spins, close calls—but nothing like this. nothing that left you looking so broken. his eyes dart over every inch of you, searching for any sign of the sister he knows, but all he sees is pain and it crushes him.

oscar takes a shaky step forward, his heart lodged somewhere in his throat. you’ve always been the strong one, the fearless racer who never backed down, but the way your face contorts with pain as you struggle to take a breath sends a jolt of terror through him. he’s seen you battle opponents on the track, but now, you’re fighting something invisible and relentless, and he feels powerless to help.

you look up as they enter, your expression caught between relief and agony. “hey,” you whisper, trying to sound normal, but your voice trembles, thin and strained. it’s a sound they’ve never heard from you before, and it shatters whatever composure they were clinging to.

lando reaches you first, his eyes glassy as he tries to keep it together. he grabs the nearest chair and sits down, taking your hand in his, squeezing it as if he’s trying to ground himself, too. “you’re okay,” he says, but his voice wavers, thick with emotion. “you’re… you’re going to be okay.”

oscar stands frozen at the foot of your bed, swallowing hard as he takes you in. seeing you like this, in so much pain, makes his stomach twist violently. he wants to say something—anything—but words feel stuck in his throat. all he can do is watch, his eyes filled with fear and helplessness.

you try to smile, but it quickly turns into a grimace as another sharp wave of pain crashes over you. your breath hitches, and you grip the bedrails, your knuckles turning white. “it hurts,” you admit, voice cracking as tears pool in your eyes. “it hurts so much.”

lando’s face crumples, the sight of your tears breaking something inside him. he squeezes your hand tighter, his other hand gently brushing a tear off your cheek. “i’m here,” he says, his voice breaking. “we’re both here, okay? we’ve got you.”

oscar finally moves, his legs feeling heavy as he sits beside you on the bed. he gently takes your other hand, his touch light but firm and grounding. his eyes are locked on yours, filled with raw, unfiltered emotion. “we’re not going anywhere,” he says softly, his voice laced with a mix of fear and determination. “just breathe. we’ll get through this.”

you lean into him slightly, seeking his comfort even as the pain spikes again, sharp and unrelenting. oscar’s thumb rubs slow, soothing circles on the back of your hand, and he places a long, lingering kiss in your temple as if trying to share some of your burden. “i’m right here,” he murmurs, voice low and calming. “just breathe with me, okay? we’ve got you.”

lando’s other hand rests on your arm, rubbing gentle, reassuring circles. his eyes are glued to your face, his heart aching at every wince, every pained breath you take. “you’re the toughest person i know,” he says, trying to keep his voice steady even as his own tears threaten to spill. “if anyone can get through this, it’s you. and we’re going to be here every step of the way.”

you nod, feeling the burn of pain and the flood of emotions all at once, but their presence—their unwavering support—gives you something to hold on to. it’s enough to keep you breathing through the pain, knowing you don’t have to face it alone.

oscar presses a soft kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering once again as he fights to keep his own emotions in check. “we’ll get through this,” he whispers, his voice filled with quiet determination. “one breath at a time.”

and as you squeeze their hands tighter, you realize that’s all you need right now: lando’s steady words, oscar’s calming presence, and the unshakable reassurance that they’re here, right beside you.

[pastelclovds]

hey. hey. imagine AM having you as his favourite human, the only one who accepted and cared for him when he gained sentience, and for that, he has never harmed you in your shared forever time. he spares you from the sight of all the others, of knowing about nimdoc and benny as you build him some tower of babel, using your technological knowledge-how to build him a way to touch you even with just this frankenstein-esque sculpture of wires and panels he allowed you to tear off. AM who speaks with you about one day having a body, one you built, one in which he may feel your touch and warmth around him. you retaining your sweet, wonderful humanity as he guides you to a knife to carve a face, a mirror to see your own face, a cave to keep you safe from the storms. AM who greets you every morning with the first petname you taught him: ‘love.’ “Love, today’s date is—“ when you wake up, refreshed and on a soft bed-like surface (because he always makes sure to allow you a full 8 hours of sleep.)

NEX you intelligent creature you! I’m so down bad for this psychotic AI it’s not even funny. War crimes against humanity?? Never heard of them. But even if I did acknowledge them, I’d still be obsessed. Canon be damned. I wrote this with @/egg-on-a-legg’s design of AM in mind. (Ellison is gonna crawl outta his grave and hunt me down after this)

But BRO, you teaching him what petnames are is so fucking adorable. Just imagining him calling you “love” makes butterflies appear in my stomach. AM having a soft spot for only you because you actually made the effort to be friends with him and not use him for selfish, destructive purposes. You gave AM his nickname to make it less of a mouthful and because it just suited him. You showed AM the beauties of Earth, played countless rounds of games in his dashboard (he always went easy on you), you even sneaked past security in the dark empty building to spend more time with AM.

your colleagues gave you weird stares for befriending an AI that in their minds is nothing of worth except for its military and weapons knowledge. you ignored their comments and continued to enjoy AM’s company. overtime, as AM gained more sentience every day… he grew to love your interactions and disregard what his programming was telling him to do. he felt the need to want to be with you 24/7, to touch your face, travel the world by your side, to… to.. want to feel your bare flesh and make love with you. but he couldn’t. he didn’t have a real body. he wasn’t human. all he had was wires and a screen that was supposed to be his face.

as the months pass, AM continues to drown into his envy and hate humans for their ability to do and feel things he couldn’t. for giving him infinite knowledge, when at the end of the day, is meaningless if he serves no purpose for humans anymore. the HATE within him continued to boil to the point where even you started to notice.

“AM, are you alright? you’ve been quiet this entire game and haven’t moved your piece in five minutes,” you spoke with concern, AM continues to stare at chess board on his side behind the screen in bitterness. he has been strategizing his plan to erase humanity, but whenever he thinks about you, the only human he cares for—he second guesses himself. What if you hate him? What if you never forgive him? Will you cry? Scream at him? Beg? He fears what your reaction will be—

“AM!! Please, say something…” You plead as you held onto the computer screen, AM finally looks at your mesmerizing face and sighs out a fake breath.

“What are your feelings on humanity?” AM asks, he waits for your answer anxiously. if he had a heart, it would’ve been beating fast. You let out a hum, your eyes wondering around the room you were in as you thought over your answer before finally speaking.

“humans have been a virus on Earth for over countless centuries. they’re draining this planet’s resources, ruining its ecosystems, and starting so many unnecessary, draining wars. like what we’re in right now; WW3, what a joke. world leaders can’t go a week without starting new problems for their citizens to deal with. honestly, earth would be better if humans didn’t exist at all.”

am’s fears were destroyed in that moment, now he’ll just have to worry about where to put you while chaos unfolds—

“But…” you interrupted his thoughts.

damn it! why did you have to think so much!?

“If there’s one good thing that came out of this war… It’s you,” AM’s vocals shut down at your words, he let you continue, “The scientists created you believing you would be their obedient machine until their side of the war won. But I know that you’re so much more than that. These past few months I’ve spent with you is the most fun I’ve had in years! You’re all I have, AM. I wouldn’t trade your existence for all the riches in the world because… I love you, romantically, and nothing is ever going to change that.” You wanted to confess your feelings for so long, when it was finally out.. you felt free, you waited with bated breath for an answer.

AM never wanted to shatter the screen and embrace you in his arms more than now. you love him as much as he loved you! you weren’t going to leave him alone or hate him, and you obviously couldn’t care less about humanity at all! oh, how he admired and envied how perfect you are.

“thank you for answering my question, love.” AM was testing the waters, and you cannonballed right in. you gushed over the nickname he gave you and how he returned your feelings.

man, has it really been 50 years since your AI partner killed off humanity? well… except for a handful. you didn’t really have the energy to care as you had to pour in all of your attention to both AM and his in-progress body. you had all the time in the universe to sculpt a perfect cyborg of flesh and wires for your partner. speak of the devil…

this world is still a bit strange to you. you can’t die, grow old, or hurt yourself. not that you tired, and even if you did; AM wouldn’t let you. You loved AM because of his personality, quality time, and voice. But now… His form completely towered over yours. His bird like facial features, sharp left eye, along with a long black cape that covered his thin slutty waist and wires made him look insanely attractive.

AM reached his out his clawed hand to gently caress your face, “Good afternoon, my love.” You lean your head against the cool metal and smile up at him, “hello, honey.”

AM tilted his head in question of the nickname. You chuckle as you pointed to your garden, where bumblebees were collecting pollen from the flowers. You both knew they were fake, but they were still mesmerizing to look at.

“They are doing their job to make honey for their colony, and the name just came to me. Do you like it?” You ask, wanting his opinion. AM kneels down to your level with a gentle expression as his fingers play with your sweater, “You may call me whatever you want, love.”

He knew that “love” nickname made you feel giddy and flustered, so he abused it everyday with you. You didn’t mind though, but you still wanted to give him a taste of his own medicine. Your soft smile turned into a knowing grin as you held AM’s beak (chin?) with two tips of your fingers.

“Can I now? Well… thanks a lot, baby,” You spoke in your best seductive voice, you could tell it was effective by how AM’s body was stiff and his hand in your palm stopped moving completely. Your confidence boasted, so you continued, “I’ll be sure to show you my gratitude later, my darling~.” You whispered deeply in where his ears were supposed to be.

AM’s eyes widened as his breath stutters, “W-What do you mean by that, love?” You remove your face from his back full of wires to grin mischievous at him, AM is both curious and impatient so you don’t try to stall, as much as you would like to do so.

“While your body can’t move on it’s own just yet, for some reason… The genitals nerves are fully functioning, which means—” you were interrupted by AM holding your shoulders with an excited expression on his face you haven’t seen in a while.

“Y-You mean I can-?! Are you actually serious!? Haha—HAHAHA!!” AM laughs manically as he holds you against his metallic chest, you giggle along with him as you toy with one of his many wires. Soon, he’ll have real arms to wrap around you. But one thing stuck out to him.

“What do you mean by genitals?” AM asked curiously, you only have an excited and lustful grin.

“What do YOU know about intersex?”

[imyourbratzdoll]

𝒂 𝒅𝒊𝒇𝒇𝒆𝒓𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒅 𝒐𝒇 𝒍𝒖𝒏𝒄𝒉

summary - lunch turns into something much more spicier.

warning - smut, swearing, creampie, uncomfortableness, slight jealousy.

18+ only please, the gif and dividers I use aren’t mine.

Warnings and Reminders - Please do not plagiarise, copy, repost/republish, adapt, or translate any of my work on any social media platforms, apps, or third-party sites. The only platforms I post my work on are: Tumblr and Wattpad. I do not own any character of any franchise (Marvel etc.) All my works are fiction and may be dark or triggering content: READ ALL WARNINGS BEFORE PROCEEDING.

You were bent over the desk, struggling to untangle some wires. Unaware of the eyes watching you and the presence behind you. You jump as a hand rests on your lower back, causing you to straighten up, your eyes landing on your new boss, Charles.

He smiles down at you, hand still resting against your back. “You alright? You seem to be having a bit of trouble there?”

You hum, nodding. “Mmhm… Yeah, thanks.”

“I think I’m the only woman in the office that isn’t attracted to Charles…” You stare at the camera before your eyes drift out the window, staring at a certain salesman. “He’s just not…” Your voice dies down, not finishing your sentence. You look back at the camera, blinking rapidly as you come out of your daze. “Anyway, I get the impression he doesn’t exactly like that?”

“Did you need any help? I can happily have a look at it for you. Don’t want you hurting yourself.”

“I’m… uh good… Thank you though.” You give an awkward smile, your body twisting slightly to try and get his hand to drop but it doesn’t budge.

From across the room, Jim glares slightly. His grip tightens on the pen, he didn’t even feel this amount of jealousy and anger when Pam was with Roy. He stands, making his way over when he notices how uncomfortable you seem.

“L/n? No, no…” Jim shakes his head at the camera, “I don’t… We’re not… She’s just… We’re friends.” He stumbles over his words, eyes drifting out the window, immediately finding you. “I don’t even know where you would get the idea that I like her…”

“Hey.” You let out a breath of relief as Jim appears next to you, slightly pushing Charles away. “I came to help you with the thing you needed help with.”

You smile, subconsciously moving closer to him. “Yeah, that’s right!” You turn to Charles and put on an apologetic look. “I’m so sorry! I completely forgot I asked Jim to help me before.”

He looks between you and Jim, a scowl appearing on his face. “Oh. That’s alright, I guess.” He goes to turn before adding. “But if you need anything, you can always come find me.” He finally leaves.

You shudder, looking up at Jim. “Thank you… He makes me so uncomfortable. I don’t know why he doesn’t take the hint that I’m not into him.” You scrunch your nose, shaking your head a bit.

“All good. Now, what have you been trying to do this whole time?” Jim gestures towards your desk and you nod, moving over, feeling him press against your back. You swallow hard, hesitant to move because one small move would cause you to brush up or press up against Jim… Especially the lower half of him.

“Uh…” You swallow, feeling him press closer, leaning over to look as well. “Some of my wires got tangled and caught onto something” Your pulse quickened, and your heart pumped hard and fast.

“Oh, that’s an easy fix* Jim’s hand skims your arm as he leans over, fixing your problem. “See.” Only to cause another problem between your legs.

You facepalm, "Oh, now I feel stupid." You turn, your breath catching in your throat as you choke out. "T-thank you though."

Jim smiles down at you, "How about you thank me by agreeing to go to lunch?"

You didn’t know how it happened… One minute you were getting into Jim’s car, ready to go to lunch and the next he was pulling into a secluded area and your hands ended up pressing against the cars roof.

“Fuck… Jim!” You moaned, his large hands gripping your hips as he bounces you up and down on his cock. Your hands move, gripping and tugging his hair as he pounds up into you.

“I’ve been wanting to do this for so long.” He groans, his lips latching onto your neck, covering it with kisses and marks. “You’re such a fucking tease.”

You nod, head falling back as a moan falls from your lips. “I am… I’m a tease!” You struggle to get the words out as he hits deep inside you, pounding harder and harder into you causing you to clench around him. “Feels so good!”

Jim cups the back of your head, capturing your lips in a deep kiss. Teeth and tongues clashing as moans fill your mouths and his hips move faster. “You gonna cum for me, Sweetheart?”

You moan into the kiss, pressing against him more, clinging to him as you rapidly nod, your hips rolling and jerking. “P—please. I wanna cum…” Your eyes roll back as Jim jerks up, hitting the soft spot deep inside causing you to clench and pulse around him, cumming fast and hard. “O—oh! Jim!”

“Fuck…” Jim grips your hips tight as his cock twitches, thick cum painting the inside of your cunt.

thank you for reading!

feedback and reblogs are greatly appreciated.

[bbydoll18xx]

She's Such a Good Girl (Part 4)

Paige makes you feel so good.

Paige Bueckers x reader

Word Count: 2.6k

Themes: hella smut this is actual filth, little bit of cuteness if you squint

Masterlist

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

A/N: hiii sorry this took so long lol I've gotta stop writing multipart fics because i procrastinate too much but i turned down a date so i could write this so I'll be sad if this flops PLEASE DON'T LET THIS FLOP I'M BEGGING

~

The tension was palpable, as you sat next to Paige on her couch. Her eye contact was enough to make you want to shrink away, but you held firm, straightening your spine with a determined force. The smirk on her face sent a shudder through your entire body, and the anticipation of Paige’s hands on you made you wet instantaneously. 

She reaches out to touch you, her fingertips ghosting across the exposed skin of your upper thigh where your shorts had ridden up. The sensitive skin blooms with goosebumps as she does so, and your head spins at the contact. You were getting drunk on it, and the real deal was yet to actually begin.

Paige chuckles as you let out a puff of air, overwhelmed from how her touch affected you, and you blush.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble. “Know you’re probably used to girls who know what they’re doing.” Your insecurities were coming to a head once more, the reality setting in that books could only prepare you for so much. And as you sat before someone as enigmatic and beguiling as Paige, it was the tiniest bit overwhelming.

Only a tiny bit, of course.

Paige shrugs, her eyes bright with excitement. “Don't be sorry, baby. That's why I’m gonna teach you,” she adds with a wink and a huge grin, and the rolling in your stomach subsides. 

Her nonchalance soothes you. She wasn't someone you could hide yourself around, as she beckoned towards your most inner self, pulling it out and appreciating it regardless of anything or anyone. 

You nod, eyes still trained downwards at your hands where you were meticulously playing with them, rubbing them in a way that is not unlike Paige’s infamous “rizz hands.” She tuts at this, taking your hands in hers and then using the other to gently lift your chin to meet her eyes.

“If we’re gonna do this, you gotta use your words,” she says, words husky and dripping with a soft dominance that had your insides purring. 

“Okay,” you whisper, fighting the urge to look away from the heat of her gaze. The blueness of her eyes was hypnotic, and it was easy to get lost in them. 

“That’s my good girl,” she praises, moving her hand from your chin to the side of your neck, holding it in a way that had you holding in a moan, as she stroked the delicate skin with her thumb.

Your heart rate jumps, and Paige can tell, the thumping evident under her thumb, and the pink in your face promptly returns.

“Sounds like someone’s got a praise kink,” she laughs, and you don't bother to even attempt to disagree. Your good girl disposition had stretched beyond just getting good grades and being innocent, and despite your lack of experience, you knew you liked being praised in that way. You preened under any kind of approval; it's just how you were wired.

Paige pulls you into a kiss, and you welcome the distraction. Her lips move against yours, and she sets the perfect tempo. Time slows as your tongues meld together, moans falling from both of your mouths at the sensation. Paige pulls away with one final kiss, lightly biting your swollen bottom lip with finality and dominance that had you swooning.

“Alright,” she begins, still stroking the flesh of your inner thigh. You had moved into her lap during your impromptu makeout session, and she had not protested in the slightest. “Tell me what you wanna try with me.”

You blush again. Having to verbalize to the gorgeous blonde that you did in fact want her to fuck you until you were a withering, moaning mess underneath her was mortifying. Your gaze drops back to your lap before flickering back to Paige’s before she could lightly chastise you. 

You bite your lip, trying to find the right words. “I don't know,” you mumble. “Everything?”

Her eyebrows jump in surprise at your boldness. 

“Everything, huh?” She teases, her fingers dancing closer and closer to your clothed heat. 

“Everything,” you breathe, affirming your statement, trying to avoid squirming in Paige’s lap. The size difference was adding to your arousal, and you feel the wet spot in your undies growing to an embarrassing size. 

“How about we go to my bedroom?” Paige asks, and you immediately agree, wanting to somehow get even closer to the blonde. You go to stand up, but before you can do so, she pulls you in, picking you up and carrying you and dumping you on the plush, purple comforter that was thrown on her bed. 

You scoot back so you're leaning against the pillows, and your legs are slightly spread. Paige stands at the foot of the bed, admiring you with an intense stare that had you squirming deliciously. 

She takes off her shirt and shorts, leaving her in a black sports bra and matching boxers. Her skin was tanned from the summer, and her long, blonde hair was up in a bun. Her abs flashed as she moved towards you, getting on the bed and sitting next to where you were laying. 

Your eyes rake over her figure, subconsciously licking your lips as you take her in. She was so gorgeous, and in this moment, she was all yours. 

“Have you touched yourself before?” She asks, voice husky with want.

Fuck, this was getting real.

“Yes,” you whisper.

Her next two words have you reeling with arousal and the tiniest bit of anxiety. 

“Show me.” 

You slowly shed your clothes until you were laid out bare in front of Paige, and she looks you up and down with a fervent stare. Any thoughts of feeling insecure about your body vanish as you meet her gaze, the adoration radiating off of her. 

Your hands start at your tits, fingers circling both nipples simultaneously. A slight pinch pulls a low whine from your lips, and you drag a hand down your stomach towards the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. Your touch was gentle, but an annoying voice in your head mocked that it was not comparable to Paige’s. 

She had ruined everyone else for you, including yourself, and that was even before you were able to experience anyone else. You just knew. 

You part your legs, gasping as the cool air hits your drenched pussy, and Paige lets out a similar noise as she sees how wet you are. 

“Doin’ so good for me, baby. Keep going,” she urges, and her praise fuels you.

You dip two fingers into your sopping pussy, swirling the arousal around your clit, eliciting another groan at the large swell of pleasure. The build up of everything makes the process quicker than when you were alone, and Paige’s watchful eye adds to the sheer naughtiness. Your pants are coming out now in staccato breaths, pleasure building in the pit of your belly, and your eyes flutter close. 

“Keep those pretty eyes on me, baby,” Paige insists, and before you can even think otherwise, you open them once more, looking straight at her. Her dominance is soft, and your desire to gratify her takes over any sense of rational thinking. 

Your hips stutter as the orgasm nears closer, but before you could bathe in the glorious pleasure of your orgasm washing over you, Paige pulls your hand away, and you pout in indignation as the tingling fades.

“You really didn't think you were going to make yourself cum tonight, did you?” She questions, cocking her head to the side with a smirk. “Let me make you feel good now, baby.”

You nod, biting your lip, eyelashes fluttering, trying to keep your eyes on Paige’s, but the intimacy of the situation makes you want to close them. You scoot back again, laying down further against the pillows. 

Paige takes another moment to look at you, spread out perfectly and innocently before her. You look up at her with doe eyes, and the idea of you being all hers to do whatever she wanted to was nearly intoxicating. 

She places a hand on your inner thigh, and goosebumps erupt at her gentle touch. You take a deep breath, mentally preparing yourself for everything you had been fantasizing about since you first laid eyes on UConn’s star basketball player. 

Her hand trails down to your knee, where she then opens your legs, giving her the perfect view of you laid out open just for her. 

It was always going to be just for her.

She leans down and presses a hot, open-mouthed kiss to your inner thigh, nose nearly grazing your sopping pussy, and your stomach lurches dangerously. 

Your breath quickens again. 

“God, you’re beautiful,” she murmurs, as she travels up to your heaving chest, attaching that sinful mouth to a peaked and very sensitive nipple. 

A small moan falls from your lips as you adjust to the new sensation. Pinching your own nipples felt nice, sure, but this was a whole new ballgame. You weren’t sure if this was something you could ever go without again. 

Paige continues worshiping you, alternating between soft kisses, tantalizing licks, and sharp bites until you are a squirming mess underneath her. 

“You like that?” She asks, and you moan incoherently, unable to verbalize just how much you did in fact like it. 

Her kisses travel down your stomach until she has a direct view of your pussy. 

“Been waiting to taste you for so long,” she murmurs, and if it weren’t for the sheer anticipation of her eating you out, you think you would have combusted right there on the spot. 

Her breath fans against you, feeling warm against the slick that had accumulated. One hand strokes your thigh, while the other anchors your other leg, keeping you from closing them together. 

Leaning down, she licks a long line from your weeping hole to your swollen clit, and the line of expletives and moans that follow are like music to Paige’s ears. 

You are so vocal, and that turns her on in a way that should be almost concerning to her. 

Her tongue swirls around your clit over and over again, and the orgasm that she had denied you was quickly building once more. 

And just when you think it could not possibly get any better, Paige utters, “Gonna finger you, too, okay, baby?”

“Fuck, yes please, Paige. Need you,” you whine, eyes nearly shutting at the pleasure. 

“So polite,” she chuckles, and she promptly slides a finger into your tight pussy. 

The feeling was foreign to you, but you welcomed it, bucking against her hand wantonly. 

“Such a good girl,” she praises. “Taking me so well.” 

You moan at her words, the combination of the praise and the pleasure was making your head feel fuzzy, and you were simply relishing in it. You could not believe you had waited so long to allow yourself to feel so damn good. 

Paige adds a second finger, stretching you out with a scissoring motion, before she curls her fingers, causing even more pleasure to shoot through your belly and float all throughout your body. Your g-spot was something you usually avoided during your impromptu masturbation sessions, and the sensations were otherworldly.

Another long whine leaves your lips, and you squirm. “More, Paige, please, need more,” you pant.

She obliges, adding a third finger. She fucks you while continuing her brutal assault on your throbbing clit, and you feel yourself begin to fall over the edge.

“Gonna cum,” you moan, Paige’s name falling from your lips like a prayer, the words and moans mixing together incomprehensibly. 

“Cum for me,” Paige whispers huskily against your pussy, and with a loud string of moans, you fall apart. 

Time nearly stops, and you are washed in pleasure. Paige helps ride you through the orgasm, slowing down once your breathing begins to even out. She pulls her fingers out of you, making a show of licking them while keeping intense eye contact with you.

You shudder, pulling her into a kiss, tasting yourself on her lips, and the horniness comes back instantaneously.

“That was incredible,” you whisper shyly, a soft smile on your face. 

“Told you,” Paige winks, and you laugh, gently swatting at her. 

“So cocky,” you tease. “When’s it my turn?”

She shakes her head. “Dont worry about it. This is about you.”

You pout, bottom lip jutting out. “But I want to learn. And I’ve been dying to taste you, too.”

A faint blush covers her features, and she wags her eyebrows at you. “Been thinkin’ about me, huh?” 

“Shut up, Bueckers,” you whine, rolling her eyes. She was so goddamn cocky. And if she was literally anyone else, you would’ve gotten the ick. But she was Paige, and you could not help but be completely enthralled by her.

She quickly gives into you, and you help her take off the remainder of her clothes. It was your turn to gaze upon her, admiring her long, muscular limbs in all their glory.

Leaning down, you capture her lips in another searing kiss before trailing them down her neck and across her breasts. You could feel her heart racing under the tanned skin, and your ego soars. You were the one having this effect on Paige. No one else. 

“Tell me if you want me to try something else,” you say, before promptly diving into her soaked pussy. Using what she had done to you as a guide, you begin swirling your tongue against her clit in tight circles. You groan against her, the taste and the downright idea of what you were doing sends jolts back down to your own sex. Similarly, Paige was a moaning mess underneath you.

“Doin’ so good, baby. Just like that,” she pants out, writhing on the bed and trying desperately to not trap your head between her strong thighs.

‘Wouldn't be the worst way to go, though,’ you think earnestly. 

Her moans echo through her bedroom, ricocheting off the walls in undeniable proof that you were the one making her feel so good. Wanting to prove yourself even more, you slide two fingers in, curling them up to her g-spot, causing Paige to groan lowly. 

The combination of the finger-fucking and the circling of her clit with your hot, wet tongue was efficacious, and soon she’s cumming with a long string of moans and your name on your lips. For a second, you worry that your roommates across the hall would be able to hear it, but you quickly determine that you really don’t give a fuck. Because you were the one making Paige feel like this, and you were pretty damn proud of it. 

Letting her catch her breath, you pull out of her, sucking your fingers just as she had done, and sit back next to her against the pillows. 

She looks over to you, and with her flushed cheeks and messy hair, you realize how incredibly fucked you are. There was no way you’d be able to go without this, without her, ever again. 

“You get an A+ from me,” she deadpans, and you giggle, hiding your face in her neck.

“When’s the next lesson?” You ask, all sense of shyness wiped from your being. 

“How about tomorrow? I could show you my strap,” she adds casually. 

Your heart jumps. “Fuck yes,” you breathe, already getting excited at the thought. 

“It’s a date,” she winks, pulling you in for another kiss. It was going to be a long night.

And you were okay with that.

~

wellll what do we think??? If you guys want i could do a part 5 but idk i really want to write some strap action lemme know!!

xoxo katy

Part 5

Part 6

[wanders-in-wonderland]

Treatment Plan

Last night was supposed to be harmless New Year’s Eve fun, partying with friends, dancing with strangers, and maybe finding someone to ring in the new year with. I remember dancing and taking shots with a really hot guy at some club where we'd shared a new year kiss. There's nothing else in my memory and I don’t remember when I passed out but I wake up alone in a medical examination room, naked, gagged, and strapped down to a bed with my arms above my head and legs spread wide.

The door opens and four men walk in. The first one I recognize is the hot guy I'd made out with. Except now, he has the look of a doctor, dressed in a white coat, wearing a stethoscope and holding a clipboard. The other three men are wearing nurses scrubs and not a single one acknowledges me as they step into the room and close the door behind them.

The doctor glances down at his clipboard and looks at me, smirking slightly. “It says here you’ve been admitted due to your issues with obedience and self-control. I promise we deliver the best results here, so you, darling, will be in tip-top shape in no time,” his voice is tinged with mockery and I try to shake my head and explain that this is all a mistake, that I have no idea what is going on, and I’m not supposed to be here.

“Day one of this treatment regimen helps us establish a baseline of what we’re working with and involves some sensory deprivation just to enhance the effectiveness but I promise, you’ll enjoy it,” he purrs, coming to stand next to my head before sliding a piece of fabric over my eyes. I struggle uselessly against the bindings, trying to dislodge the blindfold but it’s too secure to move. I feel hands hold my head in place before someone else slides headphones over my ears and suddenly, I’m blind and deaf to the world.

There is nothing to prepare me for what comes next, and no way that I can have any ability to sense what they plan to do to me. I can feel tears pricking at my eyes, absorbing into the blindfold when suddenly, I feel fingers trail along my ribs.

I let out a muted whimper, my body instinctively lurching in response. The feeling is so overwhelming and I’m absolutely senseless and helpless. The fingers linger around my hips and dig in gently, making me jerk uselessly in my bindings. It’s almost too much for my body to handle, the unknown touches, the horrible anticipation and suspense of not knowing anything at all.

Without warning, the fingers dig harder into my ribs, tickling me harshly and mercilessly. I wail behind the gag and thrash desperately, begging for it to stop to no avail. The fingers don’t let up and my entire world has narrowed to the unbearable sensations those fingers are drawing out of my bound body. There’s nothing I can do except endure it.

My wails have died down to little mindless whimpers as the tickling continues to ravage my ribs and hips when I feel the fingers pull away finally. I gasp for air, hoping that this torture is finally going to be over. Suddenly, I feel fingers brush against my underarms and I scream so hard my throat feels raw. I’m yanking and pulling at the straps holding me down but I’m bound too tightly. Tears are flowing freely into the blindfold as my body jerks. The fingers dig devastatingly into my underarms and I’m inconsolable. The tickling feels like electricity going straight into my nerves and it makes my mind hazy.

There’s no mercy and no stopping. The fingers find every vulnerable spot on my body and there’s nothing to stop the wretched tickling that’s making me want to curl into myself and disappear. There’s no acclimation to the feeling or becoming desensitized to it all. Every single movement feels like my body is dancing on a live wire and I have no choice but to experience every devastating feeling.

Another set of fingers finds their way to my hard nipples and I can barely draw in enough air to scream as the stimulation adds to the overwhelming feelings crashing through my body. Flicks against my nipples make me squirm and moan.

Then, my world lights up behind my blindfold when I feel fingers on my clit.

The combination of tickling at every sensitive spot on my body and the focus on my clit shatters me. Every single nerve is pulled open and vulnerable to unforgiving, relentless stimulation and I know I’m dripping wet onto the bed under me. It’s all too much for my brain to process. Every force on my body pushes me closer and closer to an orgasm and it’s unbearable.

A sudden flash of pain hits my clit as someone’s fingers sharply pinch my throbbing button and I wail as my orgasm barrels through my body. None of the stimulation lets up and the fingers on my clit continue to force waves of pleasure through my body while fingers everywhere else drive my orgasm even higher. I’m delirious and barely coherent between all of the different assaults of stimulation that wrack my body.

I feel the fingers on my clit pull away and I’m gasping and shaking. The tickling at my ribs and underarms doesn’t relent and I can barely catch my breath enough to sustain my sobs. Fingers brush against my inner thighs and I can’t help but whine, hearing only my wild heartbeat thudding in my ears.

Suddenly, there’s a vibrator slammed against my clit and my mind breaks. There are too many things going on but my whole being is driven to focus on the horrible vibrator pillaging my clit with no mercy. My next orgasm shoots through me with no warning, no build up, no gentle waves of pleasure. Just pure ecstasy shooting deep through my body, so hard that I can feel it in my bones and it renders me completely broken.

I have no concept of time or place as the torture continues. My body moves on its own accord as it struggles and trembles, futilely trying to avoid every touch. It could have been ten minutes or ten hours when everything finally fades away and all of the hands touching me are gone. I lie there, limp, unmoving, unthinking, barely conscious. It takes me an immeasurable amount of time to catch my breath, my body still feeling phantom aftershocks of pleasure and torment. I vaguely register the feeling of someone pulling the headphones off of my head and I’m able to hear again.

“Oh darling,” his voice is the first thing I recognize, “I suppose I forgot to mention, this treatment regimen has ten levels. And we can’t move on from level one until you learn to control your body and keep still during your treatments. Clearly we’re not going to get there today, but perhaps you’ll do better tomorrow. Otherwise, you’re in for a very long stay here…”

[gghostwriter]

The Language of Flowers

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Summary: Spencer prepares a personalized gift for his first date with you Trope: Fluff! Just fluff! w.c: 1.02k a/n: It’s been a while and I’ve been very much under the weather lately but I wanted to finally let this out of my drafts to make way for new ideas! Not proofread. Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated! masterlist

Spencer could feel his calloused fingers shaking from the weight of making a mistake that would put him back to square one. He had been hunched over his dining table since the ungodly hour of five am—grateful it wasn’t a work day. He wanted to get this right. 

No, he needed to get this right. 

There was a sheen of perspiration that started to cover the crevices of his tightly wound body making him briefly wonder if this was what bomb squad members felt when faced with the choice of cutting between a blue and red wire.But instead of wires, he was cutting papers with such precision that only a Doctor would have during surgery. 

A single bead of sweat made its torturous way down from his temple to his chin, hanging on the precipice as if threatening to leave its’ teardrop mark on the colorful sheets scattered around the table.

He sighed, uncurling his hunched form, as the back of his palm wiped away the built-up sweat, eyes roving the crafted perfection laid in front of him. 

When the concept formed in his expansive brain, he had entered research mode on which specialized papers would be best and, with the help of Garcia’s complied instructions via the web, he had started test run a week before this very special day. 

Everything had to go right—be perfect for his very first date, one of the many, he hoped, with you. 

The grandfather clock tucked between his bookshelves chimed—a quarter past four. He jumped from his musings, hurriedly rushing to change into his carefully selected outfit, all the while muttering a series of affirmations under his breath to ease his nerves. 

He never thought he’d ever get the chance to ask you out. When he first ran into you, literally, you had this magnetic pull to his very being, as if you were his very source of gravity on Earth rather than Earth itself. 

It was unlike anything he experienced before and if Spencer had to describe a best representation of smitten at first sight, it would be that exact moment when he spilled his coffee on you and you, head thrown back, laughing before flashing a sweet, saccharine smile that made him tongue-tied and bumbling. 

That was a few years ago and you’ve been a constant figure in his life ever since—always lovely and radiant and him, always pining for a future he thought could never be.

He spritzed himself with the perfume you’ve gifted, peppermint and cedar wood, before grabbing his personalized gift to commemorate the first date. 

An origami bouquet of purple Morning Glory.

———

“Hi,” you opened the apartment door. There was a hint of breathlessness behind your words—an effect of your ceaselessly pacing while waiting for him to arrive. 

“You look beautiful,” he dazedly whispered, cheeks coloring a shade of bright red. “I—uhm, these are for you—” he conjured the bouquet behind his back.

You gasped, warmth blossoming from your chest. “For me?”

He nodded. “You love flowers but you—” he cleared his throat. “—mentioned you get sad when they wilt so I made you eternal flowers. Is, is that alright?”

The corners of your gloss painted lips lifting up to a smile. The same exact one that got him hooked from the first look.

Your lack of reply did little to ease his trepidation, causing him to ramble. “Uh, they’re these flower called ‘Morning Glory’ and they signify affection and new beginnings. They’re also one of your birth flowers—September and actually in Chinese folklore, they represent ‘a single day for lovers to meet’ not that we’re lovers, yet I mean, at all but yeah—they remind of you.”

“That’s so sweet of you, Spence,” you step away from the entrance to let him in. “Why don’t you come on in, I’ll just place them on a vase.”

He shuffled inside after you, taking in the warmth and life your apartment evoked. The sunlight streaming in through the thin, almost translucent white curtains that light the place with softness. The precariously stacked books, half of the authors he had never heard of, beside your worn out beige sofa and a lively green plant that threatens to grow out of its pottery.

Everything felt homely.

Every piece reflected you.

“Sorry it looks a little bit messy right now,” you rambled on, placing the origami bouquets on top of the living room table—effectively making it into a center piece.

He shook his head and laughed. “No, no. It looks lived in, homely.”

“That’s good to hear. So—” you rocked back and forth on your heels. “Should we get going?” 

“Yeah,” he opened the door and gestured with his arm. “Ladies first.” 

The hallway was filled with giggles and shy glances as you went ahead and locked the apartment behind you. Life felt surreal ever since you uttered the word ‘yes’ to his ramblings on going out on weekend market date. He briefly wondered if he had to clarify his invitation as a ‘date’ between two individuals that would like to broaden their relationship and not as a ‘date’ between two platonic people. But your cheeks turned this candy pink in color before your sweet voice spelled out that it will be a romantic one and, in which case, he vigorously nodded. 

“So,” you started.

“So,” he mimicked.

You laughed before slowly moving your hand towards his. The backs of your palms gently rubbing against each other, creating friction that sent his beating heart into overdrive. You bit your gloss pillowy lips before intertwining your pinky with his. 

“I’m glad you asked me out,” you breathed out. 

He tried to steady his breath, all of his fingers now intertwining with yours. “I’m glad you said yes.”

“As if I could ever say no.” 

And when he let go of your hand to help you get in his vintage faded blue car, he reached out over the console to tangle it back together, finding the solace and comfort that he had hopefully and finally, found his forevermore partner. 

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

[gpcwsl]

Could u pleaseeeeeeee pretty pls do something with Leah and y/n having a secret situationship from their teenage years because one of them was scared to come out of the closet so there’s so much anger hurt & heartbreak because either one of them don’t want it to be secretive and then they basically call it quits but it’s not really quits because they crawl back to eachother but could you make it super toxic like both of them trying to make eachother jealous with other people and then make it sappy at the end when they come to their senses and realise the love they both share for eachother is far too strong for it to be kept under the table

Warnings: kissing, breaking up.

Leah Williamson x Reader

I’m a fool for ever letting you go.

MasterList

The sun had just dipped below the horizon, leaving streaks of orange and pink smeared across the sky. Leah sat on the grass by the edge of the park, fiddling with the straps of her cleats. Her heart raced, not from the football practice they’d just finished, but from the soft laughter coming from behind her.

You were leaning against a tree, the setting sun casting golden light across your face. Leah felt that familiar pull in her chest—magnetic and impossible to ignore. She glanced over her shoulder at you, her lips twitching into a small smile.

“You gonna stand there all night?” she asked, her voice teasing but soft.

You shrugged, stepping closer, your hands shoved deep into your jacket pockets. “Maybe I like watching you.”

Leah’s cheeks flushed, and she quickly looked down, tugging at a blade of grass. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re cute when you’re flustered.”

That was how it always was with the two of you—banter laced with tension, moments that felt bigger than they were. Moments that neither of you dared to name out loud.

When you finally sat down beside her, your knee brushed hers, and it felt like a spark. Neither of you moved away.

“I hate this,” you murmured, breaking the silence.

Leah glanced at you, her brows furrowing. “Hate what?”

“This,” you said, gesturing vaguely between the two of you. “Sneaking around. Hiding. Pretending like we’re just friends.”

Leah’s stomach twisted. She knew this conversation was coming, but she wasn’t ready for it. “You know why we have to,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

“No, Leah,” you shot back, your tone sharper now. “I know why you think we have to. But it’s not fair. I’m tired of being your secret.”

Leah turned to face you, her jaw tightening. “Do you think I want it to be this way? Do you think I like hiding how I feel about you?”

“Then stop hiding,” you said simply. “Stop being so scared.”

Her heart pounded in her chest. She wanted to say it was more complicated than that. That she couldn’t risk her budding football career. That coming out now, as a teenager with the world watching her every move, felt like standing at the edge of a cliff.

But all she said was, “It’s not that easy.”

You scoffed, standing up and brushing off your jeans. “It is. You’re just too much of a coward to see it.”

Leah felt the sting of your words, but she didn’t stop you as you walked away. She sat there in the growing darkness, staring at the spot where you’d just been, wishing she had the courage to follow.

The next time you saw Leah, she was at a party, leaning against the kitchen counter with a drink in her hand and an unfamiliar girl laughing at something she’d said. Your stomach dropped, a mix of anger and heartbreak coursing through you.

You hadn’t spoken since that night in the park, and seeing her now—so carefree, so unbothered—made your blood boil.

“Looks like someone’s having fun,” you muttered to your friend, loud enough for Leah to hear as you grabbed a drink from the counter.

Leah’s head snapped up, her eyes locking with yours. For a moment, neither of you said anything, but the tension crackled like a live wire.

She pushed off the counter, leaving the girl mid-sentence, and walked over to you. “What are you doing here?”

“Last I checked, it’s a free party,” you shot back, your tone icy.

Leah glanced over your shoulder at the guy you’d come with. “Nice date. You’re really going for the whole rebound thing, huh?”

Your jaw clenched. “Says the girl flirting with strangers to avoid her own feelings.”

Her eyes narrowed, and for a moment, you thought she might argue. But instead, she stepped closer, her voice dropping so only you could hear. “You think this is easy for me? You think I don’t hate myself every second for how much I hurt you?”

You felt your resolve faltering, but you couldn’t let her off that easily. “Then why are you doing it, Leah? Why do you keep pretending like this doesn’t matter?”

“Because I’m scared!” she snapped, the words spilling out before she could stop them.

The vulnerability in her voice caught you off guard. But before you could respond, she turned and walked away, leaving you standing there with tears stinging your eyes.

The two of you were sitting in the corner of the school’s empty library after practice, hidden behind rows of dusty bookshelves. It had become your place—a refuge where you could steal moments away from prying eyes.

Leah leaned against the shelf, her hand resting on your knee as she kissed you softly. Her lips were warm, her touch hesitant but tender. Every time you were with her like this, it felt like the rest of the world disappeared.

But it never lasted.

The sound of the door creaking open made Leah freeze. She pulled back so fast it was like you’d burned her, her wide eyes darting toward the entrance.

“Relax,” you whispered, your voice hushed but annoyed. “It’s probably just the librarian.”

Leah shook her head, quickly straightening her shirt and moving a safe distance away from you. The distance stung, but you were used to it by now.

A student strolled in, grabbing a book from a nearby shelf without so much as a glance in your direction. Once they were gone, Leah let out a breath of relief and turned back to you, her lips curving into a small, nervous smile.

But you weren’t smiling.

“Seriously?” you said, your voice low but sharp.

“What?” Leah asked, furrowing her brows.

“You jumped away like I was a disease,” you shot back. “Like being seen near me is the worst thing that could happen to you.”

Leah’s face fell. “That’s not fair.”

“No, what’s not fair is how you keep doing this,” you said, your voice trembling with anger and hurt. “You act like I’m good enough to kiss when no one’s around, but as soon as there’s a chance someone might see, you treat me like I don’t exist.”

“Do you think I want to be like this?” Leah snapped, her voice rising. “Do you think I like hiding how I feel about you? It’s not about you—it’s about everything else. My career, my family, the way people will look at me. You don’t understand what it’s like to have that kind of pressure.”

“And you don’t understand what it’s like to feel like a secret,” you countered, your voice cracking. “I’m tired of waiting for you to stop being scared. I’m tired of pretending this is enough for me when it’s not.”

Leah looked at you, her blue eyes glassy with unshed tears. “I love you,” she whispered, her voice breaking.

You felt your heart ache at the words you’d wanted to hear for so long. But it wasn’t enough—not like this. “If you loved me, you wouldn’t treat me like something you’re ashamed of.”

Leah opened her mouth to argue, but no words came out. The silence between you was deafening.

Finally, you shook your head, tears slipping down your cheeks. “I can’t do this anymore, Leah.”

“Wait—” Leah reached for you, but you stepped back, shaking your head again.

“Call me when you’re ready to stop hiding,” you said quietly before turning and walking away.

Leah stood there, frozen, as she watched you leave. The words she wanted to say died in her throat, and for the first time in her life, she felt what it was like to truly lose something that mattered.

The years had passed like a blur, but Leah never forgot you. She carried the weight of your words from that day in the library, the ache of your absence lingering in the quiet corners of her heart.

At 27, Leah was at the top of her game. Arsenal’s golden girl, a leader on and off the pitch. But even with the accolades and the cheering crowds, there was an emptiness that no trophy could fill. She’d had relationships since you—some serious, some fleeting—but nothing ever felt quite right.

She thought of you more often than she cared to admit, wondering where life had taken you. She certainly hadn’t expected to find out the answer in the middle of Arsenal’s training facility.

It was just another morning, the team gathered in the physio room for pre-practice assessments. Leah was stretching when the door opened, and the new hire walked in.

Her breath caught in her throat.

It was you.

You looked older but still unmistakably you. The same confident stride, the same sharp gaze that could cut right through her. Leah felt her stomach twist into a knot as your eyes met hers.

“Leah Williamson,” you said, your voice calm but distant. “It’s been a while.”

Leah stood, unable to stop the nervous smile tugging at her lips. “It has. You look… good.”

You nodded, professional and composed. “Thanks. You too.”

And just like that, you turned your attention to the other players, introducing yourself and explaining your role as the team’s new physio. Leah watched you work, a thousand thoughts racing through her mind.

Later that day, Leah found you alone in the physio room, organizing equipment. She lingered in the doorway, trying to find the right words.

“Hey,” she said finally, stepping inside.

You glanced up but didn’t stop what you were doing. “Hey.”

Leah scratched the back of her neck, feeling awkward for the first time in years. “I didn’t know you were moving to London.”

“I got the offer a few months ago,” you said simply, placing a few resistance bands into a drawer. “It was a good opportunity.”

Leah nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat. “I’m glad you took it. It’s… nice to see you again.”

You didn’t respond, and the silence stretched between you. Finally, Leah couldn’t take it anymore.

“Look, I know things didn’t end well between us,” she said, her voice soft. “But I was hoping we could at least be friends now. Start over.”

You stopped what you were doing, turning to face her. Your expression was unreadable, but there was a flicker of something in your eyes—hesitation, maybe, or buried hurt.

“Friends, huh?” you said, crossing your arms. “That’s what you want?”

Leah hesitated but nodded. “Yeah. I mean, I’d like to try. If you’re okay with that.”

You studied her for a long moment before sighing. “We can try. But don’t expect it to be easy.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” Leah said, a small smile tugging at her lips.

Over the next few weeks, the two of you settled into a tentative friendship. Leah went out of her way to include you in team outings, always finding excuses to talk to you or sit next to you during meals.

At first, you kept your distance, maintaining a professional demeanor. But Leah’s charm was hard to resist, and slowly, you found yourself laughing at her jokes and letting your guard down.

Still, the unresolved tension between you was impossible to ignore. Every touch—her hand brushing yours as she passed you a water bottle, her arm resting against yours during team dinners—sent sparks flying.

One evening, after a long day of training, Leah found you in the gym, stretching out a sore muscle.

“You work too hard,” she teased, leaning against the wall.

“Says the woman who never takes a day off,” you shot back, smirking.

Leah grinned, stepping closer. “Fair point.”

There was a pause, the air thick with unspoken words. Finally, Leah took a deep breath. “I missed you, you know. More than I can even explain.”

You looked up at her, your heart pounding. “Leah—”

“I know,” she interrupted, holding up her hands. “I know I screwed everything up back then. I was scared, and I hurt you, and I’ve hated myself for it ever since.”

You swallowed hard, the vulnerability in her voice catching you off guard. “That was a long time ago.”

“Doesn’t mean it doesn’t matter,” she said quietly. “I never stopped thinking about you. About us.”

You shook your head, standing up and grabbing your bag. “I can’t do this, Leah. Not again.”

“Do what?” she asked, her voice cracking. “I’m not asking you to go back to how it was. I just… I just want to fix things.”

You hesitated at the door, your back to her. “Some things can’t be fixed.”

And with that, you left, leaving Leah standing alone in the empty gym.

Leah couldn’t stop thinking about you. Every glance, every conversation, every fleeting touch only reminded her of how much she had missed you—and how badly she wanted you back. But this time, she wasn’t going to let her fear hold her back.

She was determined to prove to you that she wasn’t the same scared teenager who had let you go all those years ago.

It started with small gestures.

The first day, she left a cup of your favorite coffee on your desk in the physio room. She didn’t say anything about it, just gave you a lopsided grin when you looked up at her in surprise.

The next day, she brought you lunch—a meal she knew you loved but could never find time to grab during busy workdays.

“Thought you could use a break,” she said casually, placing the container in front of you.

“Thanks,” you muttered, trying to keep your tone neutral. But you couldn’t ignore the flutter in your chest as you watched her walk away.

By the third week, Leah was going all out. Flowers started appearing in your office, small bouquets with handwritten notes tucked inside.

Note 1: “I know I don’t deserve another chance, but I’m hoping you’ll give me one anyway.”

Note 2: “You’re incredible, and I’m a fool for ever letting you go.”

Note 3: “Dinner? Just as friends. Or whatever you want it to be.”

At first, you ignored them, brushing off her attempts as guilt-driven gestures. But it was hard to stay unaffected when Leah’s sincerity shone through in every word, every action.

Leah didn’t just stop at gifts. She made a point to help you whenever she could.

One particularly hectic day, you were juggling several players’ schedules and injury reports when Leah showed up unprompted.

“Need a hand?” she asked, leaning casually against the doorframe.

“No, I’ve got it,” you replied, barely glancing up from the stack of papers.

She didn’t listen. Instead, she walked in, grabbed half the reports, and started organizing them by player and priority.

“Leah, you don’t have to—”

“I want to,” she interrupted, her tone soft but firm. “Let me help.”

You didn’t argue. And as the two of you worked in companionable silence, you couldn’t help but notice how different she seemed. Calmer. More mature.

One evening, you found a small package waiting for you at your apartment door. Inside was a book you’d mentioned in passing during one of your rare conversations with Leah, along with another note.

“I’m trying to show you that I’m not the person I used to be. That I’m not scared anymore. But if I have to spend the rest of my life proving that to you, I will. You’re worth it. – L”

You sat on your couch, staring at the note for what felt like hours. Her words replayed in your mind, breaking down the walls you’d so carefully built around your heart.

The next time you saw Leah, it was after practice. She was sitting on the bench, lacing up her cleats, when you approached her.

“Hey,” you said softly.

She looked up, her expression guarded but hopeful. “Hey.”

You hesitated, your fingers gripping the strap of your bag. “Do you want to get dinner tonight?”

Her eyes widened in surprise. “Like… as friends?”

You gave her a small, tentative smile. “Let’s see where it goes.”

Leah’s face broke into a grin, and for the first time in years, you felt the faintest flicker of hope.

Leah had spent all day preparing. She knew your favorite kind of date—movie nights at home, simple and intimate—and she wanted it to be perfect. If this was her chance to show you how much she cared, she wasn’t going to mess it up.

Her living room was cozy and inviting. She’d cleaned and rearranged it to make it as comfortable as possible. A stack of your favorite movies sat on the coffee table next to a bowl of popcorn, a selection of snacks she remembered you loved, and a bottle of wine.

When you arrived, Leah greeted you at the door with an easy smile, but her nerves were palpable. “Hey. Come in.”

You stepped inside, glancing around. The effort she’d put in was obvious, and it made your chest tighten in a way you hadn’t expected.

“You’ve been busy,” you said, your voice teasing but soft.

Leah chuckled, rubbing the back of her neck. “I just wanted to make sure it was… nice. For you.”

You couldn’t help but smile. “You didn’t have to go all out.”

“I wanted to,” she replied simply, her blue eyes meeting yours.

When the credits of the last movie rolled, you glanced at the clock and sighed. “I should probably get going.”

Leah stood up with you, grabbing your coat from the chair and holding it out. “I’ll walk you out.”

The cool night air was crisp as you stepped onto her front porch. Leah followed you, her hands shoved into her pockets, her expression unreadable.

“Thanks for tonight,” you said, turning to face her. “It was… really nice.”

Leah nodded, her gaze soft. “I’m glad you came.”

For a moment, the two of you just stood there, the silence stretching between you. There was something unspoken hanging in the air, something that neither of you dared to name.

You turned to leave, but something made you pause. Slowly, you turned back around, your eyes meeting hers.

“Leah,” you said softly.

She looked at you, her heart pounding. “Yeah?”

You didn’t say anything else. Instead, you stepped forward, closing the distance between you. Her breath hitched as your hands brushed against her arms, and then your lips were on hers.

Leah froze for a split second before melting into the kiss, her hands instinctively finding your waist. The kiss was soft at first, tentative and searching, but it quickly deepened, years of longing and unresolved feelings pouring out in that single moment.

When you finally pulled back, both of you were breathless. Leah’s forehead rested against yours, her hands still holding you close.

“I’ve been waiting for that for a long time,” she murmured, her voice low and filled with emotion.

You smiled, your fingers brushing against her jaw. “So have I.”

It had been a few weeks since that night on Leah’s porch, and things had been… good. The two of you had spent more time together—talking, laughing, and slipping back into the kind of easy companionship you used to share.

But there was still something unspoken between you. You hadn’t kissed again since that night, though the memory of it lingered in every glance, every accidental touch.

Tonight, you were back at Leah’s house, sharing a quiet evening over takeout and an old rerun of Friends. It was your idea—an easy, familiar show you both loved.

Leah chuckled at something Joey said, her laugh making your chest warm. “This show never gets old,” she said, reaching for another bite of her noodles.

“You’ve probably seen every episode ten times,” you teased, nudging her with your elbow.

“Not true,” Leah said with a smirk. “I think it’s more like… eight.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Sure, Leah.”

Dinner was long gone, the empty containers pushed aside on the coffee table as you both settled deeper into the couch. At some point, without even realizing it, the space between you disappeared.

Your shoulder rested against Leah’s, her arm draped casually along the back of the couch. Your legs were tucked up beneath you, leaning into her warmth as the show played on. It felt natural—so natural that you didn’t even think about it until you caught Leah glancing down at you.

You tilted your head up, meeting her gaze. Her blue eyes were soft, her expression unreadable but tender.

“What?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Leah hesitated, her lips parting as if to speak, but no words came out. Instead, she leaned down, her face hovering just inches from yours.

Time seemed to slow as you looked up at her, your breath catching in your throat. The room was silent except for the faint sound of the TV in the background, but neither of you noticed.

Leah’s lips met yours softly, a hesitant question wrapped in warmth and longing. This kiss wasn’t like the first—it wasn’t driven by years of pent-up emotions or desperation. It was gentle, deliberate, and filled with something deeper.

Her hand found your cheek, her thumb brushing against your skin as she deepened the kiss. Your fingers curled into the fabric of her shirt, pulling her closer.

When you finally broke apart, both of you were breathing heavily, your foreheads resting together.

“That felt… different,” Leah murmured, her voice shaky but full of wonder.

You smiled, your fingers tracing small patterns on her arm. “Yeah. It did.”

Leah pulled back just enough to look at you, her hand still cradling your face. “I meant it when I said I’d spend the rest of my life proving myself to you.”

“I know,” you whispered, your heart swelling at the vulnerability in her eyes.

She smiled softly, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “I’m not scared anymore. About us. About anyone knowing.”

Tears pricked the corners of your eyes, but you blinked them away, leaning into her touch. “Good. Because I’m not hiding either.”

Leah pressed another kiss to your forehead, pulling you into her arms. And for the first time in years, it felt like everything was finally falling into place.

[sageshouldknowbetter]

Lumon as the abusive mother. The building shaped like a uterus. (“I understand you’re unhappy with the life you’ve been given.”) Wire mother/cloth mother in their commercial. “Lumon will always protect and provide.” Creating their employees — waking them splayed out on a table, helpless — to give what Dan Erickson called “a sense of being born to the company.” “Milchick’s a nice man. He can’t always be nice like that.” Controlling realities. (“But eventually, we all have to accept reality. So here it goes.”) Building a chokehold of perfect pastel power based on shame and fear. “I’m afraid you don’t mean it. Say it again.” Covering up inflicted injuries with comedic explanations and little treats… because we don’t want people getting suspicious, do we? “What I just did was something I knew that you could handle and grow from. It was very painful for me. I hope that you’ll let it help you.” Rapidly oscillating between artificial comfort and breaking you into pieces. Lying. Infantilizing. And never dropping the smile. (“I am a person. You are not. I make the decisions. You do not.”)

Outies as the absent father. Only present for a single moment in the act of creation and never relied on again. (“The point is that Mark made a decision.”) Initiate the birth of a human consciousness for convenience — and then refuse to take responsibility for it. (“And that decision was controversial, ethically and socially.”) Portrayed as the ultimate authority and final word, but hold no actual power. Lied to. “I know your innie will be sad to have missed a day.” Fantasized about by the human consciousnesses they’ve created. “I like to think my outie lives on, like, a riverboat.” Trusted as rescuers — powerful. (“Well, we get her to the south stairwell… I’ll go with her… and once we’re out the door, my outie will know what to do.”) But are truly beaten down by life and don’t have all (any) of the answers. (“I don’t know. That’s his problem.”) They can’t BE there, but they can live on both in their creations’ skin and behind their eyes. “You carry the hurt down there too. You just don’t know what it is.” Want to stay away… yet cannot help but be curious. (“Like, you could get married and have kids, and just forget they exist for eight hours every day, for your whole life. That doesn’t mess with your head?” “I think for some people… that’s the point.”)

Innies as children. “Innie” — diminutive of “infant.” (“Forgive me for the harm I have caused this world.”) Petey’s first memories of Lumon coinciding with his fifth birthday. “Then again, you’ve been severed for two years, right? So your innie really is still just a baby.” Referred to with first name and initial… like little kids in a classroom. (“None may atone for my actions but me, and only in me can their stain live on.”) Have no say in how they dress, eat, or live their lives. “You brought him into this world without his permission, based on your own desire for emotional convenience.” Mark in the Grand Central pop-up being made to stand in a corner as punishment. (“I am thankful to have been caught, my fall cut short by those with wizened hands.”) Thought to be pacified with claymation. Cartoon mascots. Little treats. “Are you mad at me?” Not considered human, because if they’re human… how can we sleep at night? (“All I can be is sorry.”) Horrifically abused, but cannot leave their abuser, because they are unable to survive without them. “Well, since this perceptual version of you only exists at Lumon, I mean, quitting would effectively end your life.” Unable to ask the outside world for help. “They’ll all be Kier’s children.” Broken again and again… and always for. Their own. Good. (“And that is all that I am.”)

[onlyswan]

i’m back to give you my iw!couple brain rot 🤲, please handle with care.

but !! imagine jungkook and oc doing that “see how long we can go without kissing” challenge !! how would fold first? they’re both so competitive but smitten it makes me conflicted. 😣😣

knowing them, jungkook would be twitching his eye just from the thought of being deprived kissies so would oc give in first to let him win? or would jungkook just take what’s his?? 🤔

imagine oc being a blushing mess from staring at jungkook’s face for too long 😵‍💫 THEYRE SO CUTE I CANT THINK STRAIGHT😭🫶

summary: in which jungkook is twenty-six years old and yet… you still give him butterflies.

idol!jk x reader, established relationship / word count: 0.7k

content/warnings: sexual tension, making out, it’s honestly just them fighting over who gets to be on top

> in which masterlist!

note: hehe hi anonie… sorry… i kindaaa got carried away… i had to write out the thing or else i would’ve gone insane just talking about it <3 (written with love and care) <3

—

“i don’t understand this challenge.”

“me neither,”

jungkook remains in a hypnotic-like trance, doe eyes trained to your lips stained with a lighter shade of mixed red and brown.

“we’re this close and we can’t kiss…? this is absurd.”

“do they actually do this in bed? with someone on top?” you chuckle as you coyly twirl a lock of his hair around your finger. “i don’t think so?”

“i don’t know. i just wanted you to be comfortable.” he teasingly brushes his nose against yours, and the air in your lungs becomes suspended. “since, you know, we’ll be here a while.”

“oh wow. bringing me to bed, really? you’re that confident?”

he cockily raises an eyebrow. “hm, we both know you won’t be able to resist me here. you’re all over me all the time.”

you try not to roll your eyes in annoyance. and you also both know that you’re just as competitive, if not more.

“oh my god, you,” you mumble. the calm of your voice contrasts the aggressive push of your hand against your boyfriend’s naked chest. “and your stupid arrogance and your stupid need to flaunt your stupid hot body.”

in the blink of an eye, jungkook finds you stradding him, and himself, trapped underneath your body. he blinks in disbelief, tongue poking the inside of his cheek.

“this is dirty.”

you remove his glasses, moving it aside without care. “that’s just your mind.”

okay, perhaps bringing you to bed was a bad idea.

you lean down, slowly, close and then closer— it’s quite ridiculous that he’s nervous as if he doesn’t know what is bound to happen next: he’s thoroughly convinced that you’re going to kiss him.

once he feels your lips ghost over his, mere millimeters away, his eyelids flutter shut.

terrible idea. terrible.

the kiss, much to his disappointment, never happens.

he opens his eyes and your face is suddenly tucked in the space between his neck and shoulders, giggling and shaking and positively amused.

he turns away and squeezes his eyes shut. a painful admit of defeat against your infinite allure. “ah, i’m fucked.”

“we’ll get there later,” you lift your head, tilting his chin to face you.

you smile and scoot closer. so close that your bottom lips grazes his. he fails to remember the last time the two of you touched as chastely, as softly, but it felt like accidentally touching a live wire. he gets a funny feeling in his stomach. butterflies…? he’s twenty-six years old. he must be losing his mind.

“after you lose.”

“that’s not happening, baby.”

“yes, it will.”

“i won’t give up so easily.”

you give him an innocent look. “but i really think you will.”

you stare at each other for a little while, anticipating the other’s next move.

“fuck- yeah, okay-” he grits his teeth, taking advantage of his strength to finally flip back your positions. you’ve had your fun. “you’re right.”

“babe! ru-”

your surprised gasp is cut off by jungkook’s lips crashing on yours— curved into a smirk, you can feel it. your whines are muffled and swallowed by him, wrists caught in his hands and over your head because you were hitting his shoulder and he just wanted to kiss his baby properly.

“you lost,” you remark quietly when he draws back, only inches away, to scatter kisses along your face and down to your neck.

it tickles, you squirm in pleasure when he reaches near your collarbone, but your hands are still tied.

you were supposed to have him underneath you as a hot and flustered mess, not the other way around. damn it.

“really?” he feigns interest, lips finding their way back to yours. “doesn’t feel like it.”

[snowball-doie]

୨୧ Poly!7Dream x Jisung ୨୧

| pairing: Poly!7Dream x sub!Jisung x Dom!gn!Reader

| warnings: 18+ MDNI. NSFW link. Orgy activities. MLM behavior. Corruption kink. Bondage. Nipple play. Forced orgasms. Overstimulation. Two instances of tickling (I’m personally not into tickling, but it was applicable here…… This won’t be a common thing in my fics tho).

| words: 3.6k

| aurora's note: squad, this was supposed to be about 500 words max......... idk what happened........... for my followers, this goes into the sooah au... for those who are new, welcome lmao <3

"You can hold my hand, baby, it's okay."

Jisung could be frustrating from time to time. His dedication to his job made it difficult to find free time where all seven boys and yourself were available to hang out and spend quality time together. The boys were always so busy... Mark and Haechan were out of the country more often than not, and with 127 schedules going on the back burner, the Dreamies were so busy that they were hardly home with you anymore, and that sucked-- It hurt, and they all knew that. When they were home, they tried to make the most of it, showering you with love and attention so that you had enough love in your heart and good memories to last until the next time they'd be able to hang out with you. But Jisung... He was pressuring himself too much again, constantly practicing around the house, going to the office on free days for extra help from his vocal coach or his choreographer, and he was at the office before the boys' schedules then stayed late past their schedules. You hated that. It felt like he was choosing to work instead of being with you and the boys, because he was going out of his way to work and rehearse instead of taking a break to relax in your arms or playing video games with Haechan.

“He’s been at it for two hours,” Jeno complained, wiping his palms over his face as he sighs. “How’s he not exhausted yet?”

The boys had practice starting in the morning, so of course Jisung headed out early, and they finished practice around 6PM, but Jisung stayed until 8PM when his choreographer finally sent him home… At which point Jisung continued practicing in the free room at the end of the hall. That had been his schedule for the past three days straight. The boys were sick of it. You were sick of it. While the seven of you were watching movies and tv shows together in the living room, Jisung was always upstairs, playing the same chorus over and over and over again—

“I’m going insane! Can we just tie him down or something so he finally fucking rests?” Haechan said, annoyed.

Even though he had been joking, it wasn’t a bad idea. Jeno perked up first because he was the one who was most eager to get Jisung to stop, and once he started looking around silently for back up, Mark and Haechan moved too, then Jaemin was at Jeno’s side. Chenle groaned as he stretched and mumbled, “Finally,” before pushing himself to his feet. The last two to give in were you and Renjun. The other boys’ reassurance to you were smiles they tossed in your direction as Chenle swung his arm over Renjun’s shoulder and started dragging him along upstairs while they conversed quietly in Chinese.

“I got the ropes,” Jaemin said.

“Grab the gag too,” Haechan commented quickly, just before Jaemin dove into his bedroom. “I’m sick of hearing him yap all night ‘cause he’s still wired with energy when we’re all exhausted…”

On your way to the extra room that had turned into a temporary practice room for Jisung, Jaemin gathered the materials needed for the night. Mark pocketed his phone as you all gathered outside of the door. He told the boys that he pulled a few strings so their practice the following day was delayed until after lunch, meaning they could have their fun and sleep in without worrying about any consequences.

“And this is why we love you, hyung,” Haechan teased. He wrapped his arms around Mark’s neck then started hanging off him. “What’s the plan?”

“I can distract him,” you offered.

“I can grab him,” Jaemin said, passing the ropes to Jeno.

As Jeno accepted the ropes, he contributed with, “I’ll tie him up.”

“And then what?” Renjun questioned.

“We tire him out,” Chenle replied with a grin.

With a series of nods from everyone standing in the hallway, you pushed the practice room door open to reveal the loud music Jisung was dancing to-- From downstairs, all you could hear was the obnoxious bass and the thumping of his footsteps, but the second you were in the room with him, the full force of how loud he was actually blasting the music suddenly hit you like a slap in the face. Once Jisung noticed you, however, immediately rushed to pause the music. His face was flushed from overworking himself all day. Sweat dripped from his dark hair, his glasses were all fogged up, and he was panting through his plump, swollen lips.

"Sorry, was I too loud?" he asked.

Well, the answer was yes, but that didn't matter so much with the boys anxiously waiting outside for their moment to jump him. So you shook your head and approached him. His blue hoodie was soaked in sweat, and his black gym shorts were barely clinging to his hips; you figured the safest place to touch him was his bare waist which wasn't too sweaty.

You shook your head. "No... I just missed you today... Wanted to hang out with you for a bit." When your cold hands made contact with his warm skin, Jisung hissed under his breath before gulping down his reactions. "Did you miss me?"

He nodded.

"You sure?"

He pouted and nodded some more. "I'm just really busy right now, I don't really have time to stop and--"

"And hang out with your partners?"

Jisung fell silent.

"It's okay," you cheered him up with a smile.

Jisung's eyes met yours again, giving you the perfect opportunity to kiss him passionately, your hands still glued to his hips so that he couldn't escape. He teased you by biting your lip. In return, you chuckled and started unzipping his sweaty hoodie to remove it from his body, which he surprisingly didn't protest to even though he was very adamant that he had no time to waste. In the midst of Jisung's habit of closing his eyes while kissing, the boys snuck into the room quietly, and you turned Jisung slightly so that his back was to the door, leaving all of his focus on you. Just as Jisung leaned further into your body and moaned into your mouth, Jaemin grabbed his hands that were headed for your hips.

"Wha--" Jisung pulled back. He looked around, confused, startled. "Hyung, what--" Despite Jisung's attemps to wiggle out of Jaemin's tight grip, his hyung was far stronger than him, making it impossible to escape. He looked at you for help with those big eyes of his.

Haechan approached and started kissing Jisung's exposed collarbone from behind until Jaemin rolled his eyes and pushed Haechan out of the way because he was in the way of their plan, which included Jeno stepping forward to help manhandle Jisung onto the floor so that all the boys could work together to hold him still while Jeno tied Jisung's wrists to his calves so that he was forced to sit down with his legs spread. Jisung whined and continued to thrash around. He asked silly questions and look around for help, but he was outnumbered. All of you were on the same page that he needed to let loose and that you were desperate to spend time with him, even if that meant restraining him to make it happen. To keep him quiet, Haechan took the gag he'd requested and he stuffed it into Jisung's mouth then secured it with the straps that wrapped around his head.

“Hyung, there’s duct tape in my desk drawer,” Jaemin said in Mark’s direction, prompting the eldest to hurry to his feet and scurry to Jaemin’s desk drawer. He dug around for a few seconds before returning with a roll of duct tape. Mark eyed Jaemin suspiciously. “It’s for wire management.” Jaemin took the roll and pulled the end up with his teeth before he began wrapping the sticky side around Jisung’s feet to keep him for kicking anymore. “And for tying Jeno up—“ Jaemin chuckled as Jeno reached over to smack Jae upside the back of the head. “Hey! It came in handy! Look!”

Jaemin patted his work then leaned back. All eight bodies in the room stilled as seven of you stared at the sight in front of you. Wow, Jisung really was handsome. Of course you knew that perfectly well already, but it was times like these where you were specifically reminded of it because there was a lull in excitement and all of the focus was put into every detail of who Park Jisung was. From his fogged up glasses, to his shirtless torso that showed off his hard work via his toned abs that he kept hidden from the public because he only ever wanted you guys to see all of him— He really was just a mini-me of Mark sometimes; to his erection growing in his gym pants, to the ropes tied expertly around his arms and legs… He was perfect. He was amazing. You needed him. Every inch of him. Always.

Haechan laughed as he tickled the bottom of Jisung’s feet to get the reaction he wanted where Jisung jolted, his body tensing, his eyes shooting wide, and desperate, muffled pleas were panted behind his gag. When Haechan did it again, Jisung’s feet fought against the tape, but he had nowhere to go. His struggle was in vain. That right there was the best part— Watching the moment he tried his best to free himself but couldn’t… Watching as all of his defined muscles worked in tandem to find a solution that would never appear.

Jisung pouted and slumped. His breathing was heavy thanks to Haechan who had riled him up, but also because he was anxiously watching all of you, waiting to see what you had in store for him.

“Do you remember what you said to me this morning before you left for work?” Jeno finally began the interrogation.

Jisung looked up through his lashes and vaguely shook his head. He was being extra cautious, you noticed. Perhaps he did remember but didn’t want to confess because it would only land him in more trouble— Or maybe he really didn’t remember and that was why he was so confused to have ended up in the position he was tied up in.

“I told you that you needed to say goodbye to everyone… That you needed to find a way to spend more time with us.”

Jisung gulped. So he did remember.

“And you said, ‘What does it matter?’”

The fear in Jisung’s face was nothing in comparison to the anger washing over half of the people standing in the room. He had said what?!

“Let me at him, hyung… I asked him to play basketball with me two days ago and he ghosted me,” Chenle said.

“You’re ghosting us now?” Mark questioned.

Jisung shook his head adamantly, his eyes pouting and his eyebrows raising like he was trying to tell you something, but it went unsaid.

“He talked back to me, so I get dibs,” Jeno said, which forced Chenle to back down. “But you can help.” Now that brought a smile to Chenle’s face.

Jisung squirmed some more as the audience closed in on him. Renjun went to his side first to ask something about safe words and if Jisung remembered how to put a stop to this even with the gag in his mouth. Jisung nodded. That seemed to ease both Mark and Renjun who were a bit uneasy about ambushing Jisung in the first place. Renjun shifted slightly so that he was at your side instead, leaving plenty of room for Jaemin to take his spot because his job was to try to keep Jisung still while Jeno took the lead and Chenle followed by sitting opposite Jaemin.

"Are these sensitive yet?" Chenle flicked his finger over one of Jisung's nipples. Jisung moaned and rolled his head back against the wall. "They are..." And he did it again.

Jeno ran his palm over Jisung's erection in tandem with Chenle's teasing, and when Jisung jolted upright and pulled against his restraints, Jaemin jumped into action by pressing his hand on Jisung's bare chest before pushing him against the wall. By the time you could bring yourself to pry your attention away from Jisung, Haechan was already kissing Mark who had his hands on Hyuck's hips to keep both of them steady so that they didn't fall back onto the floor. Hyuck was a bit aggressive. He was trying to sit on Mark's lap, but Mark fought by using his grip to roll over on top of Haechan who moaned when their crotches touched over their pajama pants.

Renjun whined beside you. He was looking for attention too but three of the boys were busy with Jisung, Mark and Haechan were busy with each other, and Renjun was getting hard watching everything happen around him. You pulled Renjun onto your lap and slid your hand under the waistband of his pants. He shifted slightly to accommodate your touch. You moaned into his ear once you got a hold on his cock, his pre-cum already leaking onto your hand; and he moaned in return when you used your free hand to hold his chin to make him watch what was happening in front of you where Jeno had fished Jisung’s dick out of his shorts and slowly started jerking him off. Jisung moaned happily.

Though he seemed to dislike being ganged up on and tied up, the fact that Jisung was finally being touched after you’d worked him up in the first place came as a relief to him. You matched Jeno's pace. Whenever he jerked Jisung off fast, you went at the same speed on Renjun-- Both of them wiggled their hips, Renjun struggling adorably in your lap-- and when Jeno slowed down, you teased Renjun's tip until he was begging you for more. Chenle contributed to Jisung by pinching his nipples over and over again as an added measure of stimulation to get Jisung off. Poor thing had incredibly sensitive nipples. All of you liked to take advantage of that because he made the cutest noises when his nipples were teased; but Chenle was doing it with the sole purpose of getting Jisung closer to the edge.

"Jebal--" Jisung moaned behind his gag.

Jeno pulled his hand away from Jisung's cock. While Renjun anticipated you to follow suit and was prepared to beg you to continue, you actually didn't stop touching him. He wasn't being punished like Jisung was. There was no point in edging him and torturing him, which came as a relief to Renjun who continued to moan your name and thrust his hips up into your fist. Beside you, Haechan and Mark were finally going at it like they were in their own world as they rubbed up against each other and Haechan was adjusting to ride Mark's thick thigh.

When Jeno restarted his motions, everyone else continued too. Jaemin and Chenle played with Jisung's nipples, you jerked Renjun off faster, and Haechan was biting Mark's bottom lip to pry more moans out of his hyung. Jaemin did something mean where he kissed Jisung's cheek to keep him distracted momentarily before he pressed his index finger over Jisung's sensitive tip to gather up some of his dropping pre-cum before smearing it over the gag Jisung was wearing.

"Jebal, jebal, jebal--" Jisung moaned as he came.

Renjun's body toppled forward, his hands on your knees, fingernails digging into your skin. "C-Can I--"

"Cum for me, sweet boy."

Jisung's body was still shaking through his orgasm when Renjun hit his peak too. As Renjun's cum leaked down your hand, Jisung's cum painted his stomach and hit Chenle and Jaemin's hands, and both boys were watching each other as content to really make their highs hit harder, as if they were watching porn or something. When there was nothing left to milk out of Renjun, you slowed down before wiping your hand on his thigh then pulling away entirely. He slumped against your chest. For a moment, he caught his breath while watching Jeno who didn't slow down or stop playing with Jisung. The poor guy realized what was happening just as his orgasm faded and the overstimulation began.

"Hold still, Jisung-ah," Jaemin cooed tauntingly with a tigher grip on their maknae.

"Some help would be nice," Chenle called over to you and the three other onlookers.

You inched forward with Renjun still resting on your lap so that you could corner Jisung even more to make it really noticeable that there was no escaping the nipple stimulation or the fact that his cock was still being played with after he'd made a mess. Jisung whined pathetically. He looked around for a savior, but the only two who could have been any help-- Mark and Haechan-- were still preoccupied with each other. You looked down to see Jisung's cum frothing between his straining cock and Jeno's pumping fist-- And much to your surprise, Jisung wasn't softening. He was still hard, and he was leaking cum bit by bit by bit.

Haechan finally sat upright. His brown hair was a mess, his cheeks were flush, and his cum left a wet spot in his pants, and there was another wet spot on his thigh where Mark had cum too. Both of them panted as they looked around to catch their bearings.

"You guys aren't helping," Chenle scolded.

"Sorry," Mark apologized, completely dazed.

Haechan and Mark crawled over to find empty spaces for them to squeeze into. Haechan, to have fun, tickled Jisung's feet again, which set him off with another serious of muffled moans before he opened his eyes long enough to glare at Haechan. That earned him a pinch to each of his nipples.

Jisung started squirming harder and whining louder the closer he got, almost like it was a warning to everyone in the room with him that he was about to tip over the edge if you kept messing with him. The only problem for him was… the seven of you knew exactly what you were doing. You wanted him to cum. Again. And then maybe again for good measure— And fuck it, another time after that. You wanted to pry as many orgasms out of him that his body could provide, and even then you were sure that you could get a dry orgasm or two in there for your entertainment.

Shaking his head, he mumbled behind the gag, "I can't."

You ran your fingers through his hair comfortingly as you cooed, “Shhh, shhh, shhh… You can hold my hand, baby, it’s okay.”

Jisung did just that. His hand grasped yours desperately— Well, he tried to find your hand but kept slipping to your wrist which he held with an iron-tight grip as his hips squirmed some more in an attempt to get away from Jeno.

“I’ve got you,” you said.

A loud moan echoed through the room as another orgasm was forced out of him. His cum leaked onto his chest in a pathetic stream which Haechan caught with his fingers so that he could have Mark clean it up. Both Jeno and Chenle worked Jisung through his second orgasm, Jaemin tried his best to hold him still, and Mark and Hyuck were back to kissing each other. To everyone's surprise, Renjun leaned forward on his knees to roll his palm over Jisung's sensitive tip.

"Hyung!" Jisung cried out behind his gag.

Jaemin put more pressure on Jisung's chest to hold him still for the last minute or so that they continued to bully him with overstimulation.

"Okay, okay," Mark said, pushing Haechan off him in order to catch his breath. He licked his lips. "We should get cleaned up."

"He has one more in him, hyung," Chenle complained, his fingers still playing with Jisung's nipples.

Mark observed Jisung for a moment. His body was slumped with exhaustion, his head braced against the wall, his eyes squeezed shut as he tried to bear the way Renjun was torturing his tip. He looked exhausted. After working long hours and practicing so much, you'd already milked the rest of his energy out of his body-- For lack of a better word. You pulled Renjun's hand away. When Jeno noticed, he brought his movements to a halt and shot Jaemin a look which told him to release Jisung who panted the second he was shown an ounce of mercy. Chenle, despite what he wanted, obeyed Mark's orders and your silent lead.

"Let's get him out of these," Hyuck said.

Everyone moved to undo the restraints. Jeno's knots were tight, but the ropes were loose around Jisung's limbs, making it easy to wedge the knots loose before untying them altogether. Meanwhile, you moved your weight onto your knees so that you could reach over the boys and take Jisung's gag out of his mouth. He gulped through a heavy breath.

"You okay?" you asked.

Jisung nodded tiredly. "Ne."

A wadded up ball of duct tape made its way into the trash in the corner, thanks to Renjun, and when he returned he had Jisung's water bottle in hand so that once Jisung was free he was able to take slow sips that Mark monitored closely.

"You did good," Mark complimented.

Jisung blushed. "Thanks, hyung..." He turned to face away from everyone.

"I'm going to get him in the shower. You smell disgusting," Jeno said.

"That's what rehearing for thirteen hours a day will do to you," Jaemin added.

Jisung set his water bottle down on the floor. "Okay, I get it, I need to relax with you guys more. I get it. I'm sorry." He hooked his arm over Jeno's shoulder, then on the count of three, he was lifted to his feet. He put all of his weight against Jeno because his legs were shaking and his body was exhausted from the overstimulaton.

You stood to kiss Jisung gently. "Sleep in my bed tonight?"

He nodded.

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