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aeth-eris · 4 months ago

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★ the rising signs & their enemies: 6th house, 8th house, 12th house, 7th house ★

the 6th house enemy (the relentless taskmaster) forces them into exhausting routines, health struggles, and responsibilities they resist.

the 8th house enemy (the shadow) drags them through power struggles, loss, and emotional transformations they fear.

the 12th house enemy (the hidden saboteur) lurks in their subconscious, whispering fears, doubts, and self-destructive urges.

the 7th house enemy (the mirror) appears as challenging relationships, adversaries, and karmic partners who expose their weaknesses.

★ aries rising : the critic, the manipulator, the phantom, the diplomat ★

the critic (6th house, virgo) forces them to pay attention to detail, refine their skills, and practice patience—three things aries finds unbearable.

the manipulator (8th house, scorpio) drags them into power struggles, intense emotional wounds, and betrayals that shake their trust in others.

the phantom (12th house, pisces) is a hidden force whispering fears of failure and clouding their instincts with self-doubt.

the diplomat (7th house, libra) appears in relationships that demand compromise, balance, and emotional maturity—things aries struggles to embrace.

★ the critic (6th house, virgo) ★

how it attacks:

aries rising thrives on spontaneity and speed, but virgo in the 6th house forces them into a world of rules, precision, and detail-oriented work. the critic appears as demanding bosses, relentless deadlines, and never-ending to-do lists. work environments feel suffocatingly structured, full of picky supervisors and coworkers who obsess over minor details. aries wants to charge ahead, but the critic forces them to slow down and follow proper procedures.

how aries self-sabotages:

they rush through work to escape boredom, but end up making careless mistakes that cost them more time. they resist structured routines, leading to chaotic, unproductive cycles of burnout and recovery. their health suffers because they ignore their body’s warning signs, pushing themselves to exhaustion rather than pacing themselves. the more they resist patience and discipline, the more the critic tightens its grip.

how to defeat it:

aries must learn that working smarter is better than working harder. they can use their energy more effectively if they accept the power of structure and preparation. instead of seeing routine as a cage, they must learn to use it as a weapon.

★ the manipulator (8th house, scorpio) ★

how it attacks:

scorpio in the 8th house drags aries rising into power struggles, toxic relationships, and situations that demand emotional endurance. the manipulator appears as controlling lovers, financial traps, or betrayals that leave lasting wounds. aries prefers quick fights with clear winners, but the manipulator plays the long game, slowly pulling them into webs of emotional intensity and secrecy. they may find themselves deeply entangled in affairs, debts, or psychological battles they can’t easily escape from.

how aries self-sabotages:

they jump into commitments too quickly, thinking they can control the situation, only to realize they’ve given away their power. they ignore their own emotional wounds, but the manipulator forces them to face their fears of dependence and vulnerability. when they feel trapped, they lash out aggressively, only for scorpio energy to strike back ten times harder.

how to defeat it:

aries must learn that true strength includes emotional intelligence. instead of fighting against transformation, they must embrace it and become strategic rather than reactive. the manipulator cannot control aries if aries masters their own depth and intensity first.

★ the phantom (12th house, pisces) ★

how it attacks:

pisces in the 12th house makes aries rising doubt their own instincts, leading to uncertainty, procrastination, and emotional exhaustion. the phantom isn’t a direct enemy—it lurks in the background, making aries feel lost and disconnected from their usual confidence. it appears in moments of burnout, whispering, “what if you’re not as strong as you think?” aries thrives on clarity and action, but the phantom clouds their judgment, making them feel like they are fighting an invisible battle.

how aries self-sabotages:

they avoid deep emotions, fearing that slowing down means losing their edge. they distract themselves with reckless behavior, trying to escape feelings they don’t want to acknowledge. their impulsivity leads them to make quick decisions that come back to haunt them.

how to defeat it:

aries must learn that facing their emotions doesn’t make them weak. if they stop running from their subconscious fears, they can conquer self-doubt and make peace with the unknown. stillness isn’t failure—it’s a different kind of power.

★ the diplomat (7th house, libra) ★

how it attacks:

libra in the 7th house makes relationships feel like a battlefield of compromise and indecision. the diplomat appears as partners who challenge aries’ need for control, forcing them to slow down and consider others. aries prefers taking the lead, but libra energy demands fairness, patience, and balance. they may attract passive-aggressive partners, people who make them question their choices, or relationships that feel like constant negotiations.

how aries self-sabotages:

they push people away before they can get hurt, creating a cycle of short, intense relationships that never last. they see compromise as a weakness, leading to conflicts that could be avoided. they mistake calmness for boredom, gravitating toward passionate but toxic relationships.

how to defeat it:

aries must understand that true leadership includes knowing when to listen and adapt. instead of seeing compromise as losing, they need to see it as a skill that makes them stronger in the long run. the diplomat teaches them that not every fight is worth winning—sometimes, peace is the real victory.

★ taurus rising: the indecisive, the wildfire, the instigator, the seducer ★

the indecisive (6th house, libra) disrupts their routine, forcing them into social politics, unclear expectations, and frustrating indecision.

the wildfire (8th house, sagittarius) drags them into chaotic transformations, financial instability, and unpredictable emotional upheavals.

the instigator (12th house, aries) lurks in their subconscious, feeding them impulsive urges and self-sabotaging desires that conflict with their need for peace.

the seducer (7th house, scorpio) appears in intense, consuming relationships that demand vulnerability, trust, and transformation—things taurus resists at all costs.

★ the indecisive (6th house, libra) ★

how it attacks:

taurus rising thrives on consistency, structure, and predictability. but libra in the 6th house makes their daily life feel unbalanced, full of constant adjustments and unspoken expectations. the indecisive appears as fluctuating work environments, bosses who can’t make up their minds, and obligations that require constant social maneuvering. instead of a clear, stable routine, their work life is full of compromise, diplomacy, and trying to keep everyone happy. this drains taurus, who just wants things to be simple and efficient.

how taurus self-sabotages:

they overextend themselves trying to create harmony, taking on more than they should in order to keep the peace. they delay decisions out of fear of disrupting balance, leading to missed opportunities and built-up frustration. they struggle with health routines, often neglecting their needs in favor of pleasing others or maintaining external appearances.

★ the wildfire (8th house, sagittarius) ★

how to defeat it:

taurus must learn that their well-being comes first. if they stop worrying about external harmony and focus on creating stability for themselves, they will gain true control. learning to make firm decisions and set boundaries will weaken the indecisive’s grip.

how it attacks:

sagittarius in the 8th house forces taurus into chaotic, unpredictable life changes that destroy their sense of control. the wildfire appears as sudden financial upheavals, unexpected breakups, or major life shifts that happen with little warning. taurus seeks security and careful planning, but this enemy forces them into situations where nothing is guaranteed. it teaches them that the only constant in life is change, a lesson they desperately resist.

how taurus self-sabotages:

they cling to stability so tightly that when change inevitably comes, it feels like a disaster rather than a transformation. they resist new opportunities out of fear of risk, missing out on growth and expansion. they may stay in stagnant relationships or jobs long past their expiration date, choosing comfort over evolution.

★ the instigator (12th house, aries) ★

how to defeat it:

taurus must learn to see change as a gateway rather than a threat. if they embrace adaptability and allow themselves to take calculated risks, they will harness the wildfire’s power instead of being burned by it.

how it attacks:

aries in the 12th house creates a hidden, internal battle between taurus’ need for stability and a subconscious craving for reckless action. the instigator lurks deep in their mind, whispering, "burn it all down. shake things up. do something wild." they may suppress anger, frustration, and impulsive desires, only for them to explode in destructive ways when least expected. this enemy thrives on pent-up rage and frustration, creating a cycle of bottling things up, only to act out in self-destructive ways.

how taurus self-sabotages:

they suppress their emotions, pretending everything is fine until they snap and make impulsive, out-of-character decisions. they lash out at loved ones unexpectedly, then feel guilty and retreat further into denial. they may sabotage themselves by avoiding conflict until it becomes an unavoidable disaster.

★ the seducer (7th house, scorpio) ★

how to defeat it:

taurus must acknowledge their hidden anger and suppressed desires. if they express frustration in healthy ways rather than letting it fester, they will prevent the instigator from causing sudden, reckless destruction. recognizing that some risks are necessary will also help them avoid self-sabotaging stagnation.

how it attacks:

scorpio in the 7th house brings taurus into intense, consuming relationships that demand emotional depth and transformation. the seducer appears as partners who are magnetic, mysterious, and emotionally overpowering. they attract lovers who force them to let go of control, exposing their deepest fears and insecurities. relationships feel like life-or-death experiences, pulling them into passion, jealousy, and emotional power struggles they don’t know how to handle. taurus wants stability, but scorpio partners make love feel dangerous and uncontrollable.

how taurus self-sabotages:

they fear emotional vulnerability, so they may shut down or distance themselves from relationships that get too intense. they hold onto people they should release, fearing that letting go means losing control. they may attract possessive, obsessive partners, or they themselves become secretly possessive, refusing to trust fully out of fear of betrayal.

how to defeat it:

taurus must learn that true emotional security comes from trust, not control. if they allow themselves to experience deep love without fearing destruction, they will master the seducer’s power rather than being consumed by it. learning to release relationships that no longer serve them will also free them from toxic emotional cycles.

★ gemini rising: the strategist, the tyrant, the prison guard, the preacher ★

the strategist (6th house, scorpio) places them in work environments full of power struggles, secrecy, and intense expectations that drain their energy.

the tyrant (8th house, capricorn) drags them into slow, grueling financial and emotional transformations that test their patience.

the prison guard (12th house, taurus) keeps them trapped in comfort zones, making them fear commitment, security, and stillness.

the preacher (7th house, sagittarius) appears as partners who challenge their beliefs, freedom, and ability to keep relationships light and casual.

★ the strategist (6th house, scorpio) ★

how it attacks:

gemini rising thrives in fast-paced, lighthearted work environments, but scorpio in the 6th house places them in high-pressure jobs, intense coworker dynamics, and workplaces full of secrecy and manipulation. the strategist appears as bosses who micromanage, colleagues who withhold information, and work projects that demand deep focus and long-term dedication. gemini prefers multitasking and variety, but the strategist forces them to dig deep and fully commit to one thing at a time. work becomes mentally and emotionally draining, filled with hidden agendas and power plays they weren’t prepared for.

how gemini self-sabotages:

they avoid dealing with workplace tension, choosing to play along rather than confront problems head-on. they struggle with maintaining focus, leading to unfinished tasks or wasted potential. they burn out because they don’t pace themselves, overloading their mind with too much information, too fast. they may leave jobs abruptly when things get too intense, but this enemy follows them into every workplace until they learn to handle high-stakes situations with strategy rather than avoidance.

★ the tyrant (8th house, capricorn)★

how to defeat it:

gemini must develop emotional intelligence in professional settings. they need to recognize when they’re being manipulated, set boundaries with draining coworkers, and commit to mastering a skill instead of bouncing between interests. if they can channel their adaptability into resilience, the strategist will lose its power.

how it attacks:

capricorn in the 8th house forces gemini rising into slow, painstaking transformations that demand endurance and responsibility. the tyrant appears as financial debt that takes years to pay off, emotional baggage that refuses to be ignored, and long-term commitments they can’t escape from. gemini wants quick solutions, but this enemy ensures that growth comes at a painfully slow pace. they may feel trapped in difficult family obligations, controlling relationships, or legal struggles that demand structure and discipline.

how gemini self-sabotages:

they avoid long-term financial planning, leading to money struggles that haunt them for years. they enter deep emotional connections without preparing for the responsibilities that come with them. when things feel too heavy, they run, only to find themselves stuck in the same cycles later on. the tyrant wins when gemini refuses to commit to their own long-term success.

★ the prison guard (12th house, taurus) ★

how to defeat it:

gemini must learn to take control of their financial and emotional future. if they develop patience, structure, and discipline, they can turn the tyrant into an ally rather than an oppressor.

how it attacks:

taurus in the 12th house makes gemini rising fear being trapped in a life of stillness and predictability. the prison guard appears as comfort zones they can’t break out of, routines that lull them into complacency, and an inability to fully commit to something out of fear of losing their freedom. gemini craves mental stimulation and new experiences, but deep down, they fear stability. this enemy makes them feel restless, unsatisfied, and always searching for something better, even when they already have what they need.

how gemini self-sabotages:

they jump from one thing to the next, thinking the next opportunity, relationship, or project will be the one that finally makes them happy. they avoid long-term commitments, fearing they will lose their sense of self. they stay in situations that are “good enough” rather than taking action to create something truly fulfilling.

★ the preacher (7th house, sagittarius) ★

how to defeat it:

gemini must understand that true freedom comes from within, not from constant external movement. if they embrace a sense of inner security, they will stop running in circles and start creating real stability on their own terms.

how it attacks:

sagittarius in the 7th house brings gemini rising partners who are larger than life, intensely opinionated, and constantly challenging their beliefs. the preacher appears as romantic and business partners who demand that gemini commit to something bigger than themselves, even when they aren’t ready. these relationships push them toward philosophical growth, travel, and long-term visions that require full investment. gemini prefers casual, adaptable partnerships, but the preacher forces them to step up, engage in serious discussions, and face uncomfortable truths about themselves.

how gemini self-sabotages:

they attract partners who force them to commit, but they hesitate, afraid of losing their freedom. they fall into hot-and-cold relationships, bouncing between intense passion and restless boredom. they avoid deep discussions, but the preacher always brings them back, making them face difficult conversations they’d rather escape from.

how to defeat it:

gemini must learn to embrace the idea that deep relationships don’t have to limit them—they can expand their world instead. if they commit without fear, they will gain something much more valuable than surface-level connections.

★ cancer rising: the wanderer, the machine, the chameleon, the fortress ★

the wanderer (6th house, sagittarius) disrupts their sense of routine, forcing them into chaotic work environments, health struggles tied to stress, and unpredictable daily life.

the machine (8th house, aquarius) drags them into cold, impersonal emotional transformations, sudden losses, and crises they cannot emotionally process in real-time.

the chameleon (12th house, gemini) lurks in their subconscious, making them doubt their own emotions and get lost in mental spirals that detach them from their intuition.

the fortress (7th house, capricorn) appears in relationships that feel more like contracts than love, forcing cancer to prove themselves and work for emotional connection rather than receiving it naturally.

★ the wanderer (6th house, sagittarius) ★

how it attacks:

cancer rising finds comfort in stable routines and environments, but sagittarius in the 6th house brings constant change and unpredictability. the wanderer appears as unstable jobs, overwhelming responsibilities, and schedules that never seem to stay the same. cancer wants structure, but this enemy forces them into high-energy, ever-changing work environments that demand constant adaptation. they struggle with balancing personal and professional life, often feeling like their work obligations pull them away from home and emotional security. their health also suffers due to stress, irregular sleep, and emotional eating.

how cancer self-sabotages:

they try to create strict routines to regain control, but life continues to disrupt them, leading to frustration and burnout. they may stay in unfulfilling jobs out of fear of instability, but deep down, they crave freedom from overwhelming responsibilities. they avoid necessary changes because they resent unpredictability, but this only makes them feel trapped in situations they secretly want to escape from.

★ the machine (8th house, aquarius) ★

how to defeat it:

cancer must learn that flexibility does not equal instability. if they embrace change with an open heart, they can create a sense of emotional stability within themselves rather than relying on external factors. the wanderer loses its power when cancer rising accepts movement as part of life instead of resisting it.

how it attacks:

aquarius in the 8th house forces cancer rising into impersonal, unpredictable emotional transformations. the machine appears as sudden losses, betrayals that come out of nowhere, and situations that demand complete emotional detachment. cancer wants depth and connection, but this enemy forces them into cold, distant transformations where emotions are ignored or dismissed. instead of the slow, meaningful healing they need, they are thrown into sudden, shocking changes that feel like they have no control over them.

how cancer self-sabotages:

they cling to past emotional wounds, refusing to accept sudden changes. they become too emotionally attached to situations or people who have already moved on, making it harder for them to heal. they suppress their grief and emotions in an attempt to move forward logically, but this only creates a deep sense of emptiness. the machine wins when cancer rising refuses to embrace emotional change and instead becomes frozen in time, unable to move forward.

★ the chameleon (12th house, gemini) ★

how to defeat it:

cancer must learn that not all changes need to be personal. sometimes, life moves quickly, and not every loss is a betrayal. if they can separate their emotions from external situations and allow themselves to process grief without attachment, the machine loses its power.

how it attacks:

gemini in the 12th house creates a constant inner dialogue that questions cancer’s emotions and instincts. the chameleon appears as racing thoughts, self-doubt, and a subconscious fear of never truly understanding themselves. cancer is deeply intuitive, but this enemy makes them overanalyze everything, causing them to detach from their emotions and question their feelings instead of trusting them. it manifests as sleepless nights, endless mental loops, and a deep fear that they are making the wrong decisions based on emotions rather than logic.

how cancer self-sabotages:

they suppress their intuition, trying to rationalize everything instead of feeling it. they get caught in toxic thought patterns, overanalyzing relationships, decisions, and emotions to the point where they lose sight of what they actually want. they struggle with expressing their deepest fears, often talking about surface-level concerns rather than addressing the real, painful emotions underneath.

★ the fortress (7th house, capricorn) ★

how to defeat it:

cancer must learn to trust their emotions instead of overthinking them. if they allow themselves to feel without explanation, they will reconnect with their inner world. the chameleon loses its power when cancer realizes that not every thought needs to be analyzed—some things are meant to be felt, not explained.

how it attacks:

capricorn in the 7th house makes cancer rising feel like love is a responsibility rather than a source of comfort. the fortress appears as partners who are emotionally unavailable, distant, or overly focused on practical matters instead of intimacy. cancer wants nurturing relationships, but they often attract serious, work-oriented partners who struggle with emotional vulnerability. they feel like they must earn love through effort rather than simply being loved for who they are.

how cancer self-sabotages:

they overcompensate in relationships, trying to prove their worth by giving too much. they stay in emotionally distant relationships for too long, believing that if they just work harder, they’ll finally be loved the way they need. they mistake stability for love, sometimes choosing partners who provide security but lack emotional connection.

how to defeat it:

cancer must learn that love isn’t something they have to earn—it’s something they deserve unconditionally. if they stop seeking validation from emotionally unavailable partners and instead find those who nurture them in return, the fortress crumbles.

★ leo rising: the overseer, the abyss, the phantom king, the outcast ★

the overseer (6th house, capricorn) places them in structured, high-pressure work environments where their freedom and creativity feel suffocated.

the abyss (8th house, pisces) drags them into murky emotional depths, forcing them to deal with loss, betrayal, and subconscious fears they’d rather ignore.

the phantom king (12th house, cancer) lurks in their subconscious, making them fear irrelevance, abandonment, and losing the admiration they thrive on.

the outcast (7th house, aquarius) appears in relationships that challenge their need for attention and admiration, making them feel overlooked or disconnected from their partners.

★ the overseer (6th house, capricorn) ★

how it attacks:

leo rising thrives on passion and creative expression, but capricorn in the 6th house forces them into structured, demanding work environments with little room for individuality. the overseer appears as bosses who expect perfection, high-pressure job expectations, and relentless responsibilities that drain their energy. instead of being recognized for their natural leadership, they are forced to prove themselves over and over again through discipline and hard work. their daily routine becomes rigid and exhausting, making them feel like they are losing their personal freedom in the pursuit of success.

how leo self-sabotages:

they resist structured routines, leading to chaotic schedules that leave them overwhelmed. they rebel against authority, refusing to follow rules that they see as beneath them, which can lead to career instability or professional conflicts. they take on too much responsibility, feeling like they have to do everything themselves to prove their worth. this enemy wins when leo rising tries to fight structure instead of learning how to use it to their advantage.

★ the abyss (8th house, pisces) ★

how to defeat it:

leo must realize that discipline and structure do not limit their creativity—they refine it. if they learn to balance responsibility with self-expression, the overseer loses its control.

how it attacks:

pisces in the 8th house forces leo rising into deep emotional crises where nothing is clear or predictable. the abyss appears as betrayals that come out of nowhere, financial instability, and emotional wounds that refuse to heal in a straight line. leo rising prefers clarity and control, but this enemy clouds their judgment, making them feel lost in emotional confusion. they may struggle with being deceived by those they trust, feeling like the rug has been pulled out from under them without explanation. their relationships and financial security often feel uncertain and unstable, making them fearful of the unknown.

how leo self-sabotages:

they cling to illusions, refusing to see the truth in situations where they have been deceived. they distract themselves with external validation, avoiding processing their emotional pain in a healthy way. they rush into financial or emotional commitments without considering the risks, only to feel trapped when things don’t go as expected. the abyss wins when leo refuses to acknowledge their emotional wounds and instead hides behind their pride.

★ the phantom king (12th house, cancer) ★

how to defeat it:

leo must learn that true strength comes from vulnerability, not avoidance. if they face their emotional pain with honesty and allow themselves to heal, the abyss loses its hold.

how it attacks:

cancer in the 12th house creates a hidden fear of losing relevance and being abandoned by those they love. the phantom king whispers, “what if they stop caring about you? what if no one sees you anymore?” leo rising thrives on recognition and connection, but this enemy makes them fear losing their place in people’s lives. they may struggle with hidden insecurities about being replaceable, leading to subconscious self-sabotage in relationships and career moves. this enemy appears in moments of loneliness, nostalgia for the past, and fears of fading into the background when they aren’t actively in the spotlight.

how leo self-sabotages:

they overcompensate by demanding attention, fearing that if they aren’t constantly visible, they will be forgotten. they hold onto relationships that have run their course, terrified of losing emotional connections that once defined them. they hide their own emotional needs, pretending to be strong and unbothered while secretly fearing rejection. the phantom king wins when leo rising lets their fear of irrelevance control their actions.

★ the outcast (7th house, aquarius) ★

how to defeat it:

leo must realize that their worth is not tied to external validation. if they build a strong inner foundation and embrace self-love without needing constant recognition, the phantom king fades away.

how it attacks:

aquarius in the 7th house attracts partners who are independent, unpredictable, and emotionally distant. the outcast appears as lovers who resist deep emotional connection, friendships that feel distant, and business partners who prioritize logic over feelings. leo rising wants passion and devotion, but this enemy places them in relationships that feel cool, detached, and sometimes outright indifferent. they may feel like they are giving their all to people who never fully reciprocate their energy.

how leo self-sabotages:

they attract partners who challenge their need for admiration, feeling frustrated when their efforts go unnoticed. they mistake freedom for rejection, struggling with trusting that love doesn’t have to be constant validation. they push people away when they feel unappreciated, rather than allowing relationships to breathe and grow organically. the outcast wins when leo rising seeks constant affirmation instead of building secure, balanced relationships.

how to defeat it:

leo must understand that love is not about possession or constant reassurance—it’s about trust and mutual respect. if they allow themselves to experience relationships without needing control, the outcast loses its power.

★ virgo rising: the fool, the destroyer, the ghost, the trickster ★

the fool (6th house, aquarius) disrupts their carefully structured routines, throwing them into unpredictable work environments and health struggles that defy logic.

the destroyer (8th house, aries) drags them into sudden, painful transformations that strip them of control and force them into crisis mode without warning.

the ghost (12th house, leo) lurks in their subconscious, whispering fears of being invisible, unappreciated, and never truly recognized for their efforts.

the trickster (7th house, pisces) appears in relationships that deceive, confuse, and challenge virgo’s desire for certainty and clarity in love.

★ the fool (6th house, aquarius) ★

how it attacks:

virgo rising craves efficiency, order, and structured routines, but aquarius in the 6th house brings constant change, unconventional work settings, and unpredictable health patterns. the fool appears as disruptive coworkers, unstructured job environments, and sudden shifts that force them to adapt when they’d rather plan ahead. workplaces feel disorganized, full of eccentric personalities who don’t follow the rules. instead of a reliable schedule, their daily life is full of interruptions, last-minute changes, and unexpected complications. their health may also be affected by nervous energy, sudden stressors, or erratic habits they can’t control.

how virgo self-sabotages:

they cling too tightly to routine, panicking when things don’t go as planned. they try to fix chaos with logic, but the fool doesn’t play by their rules. they struggle with overthinking and micromanaging, exhausting themselves in an attempt to control what can’t be controlled. the more they resist embracing spontaneity, the more the fool tightens its grip.

★ the destroyer (8th house, aries) ★

how to defeat it:

virgo must learn that not everything needs a strict plan. if they embrace adaptability and trust themselves to handle the unknown, the fool loses its power. finding balance between logic and flexibility will allow them to navigate chaotic situations with confidence.

how it attacks:

aries in the 8th house forces virgo rising into intense, fast-moving crises that demand immediate action and emotional endurance. the destroyer appears as sudden losses, financial upheavals, and deep betrayals that happen without warning. virgo rising prefers carefully planned transformations, but this enemy rips control from their hands, forcing them into high-pressure situations where they must act fast. this enemy thrives on pushing them to their emotional and financial limits, demanding resilience without preparation.

how virgo self-sabotages:

they overanalyze rather than act, trying to delay crisis instead of adapting quickly. they suppress anger and emotional intensity, but the destroyer forces them to confront raw, unfiltered emotions head-on. they struggle with letting go, resisting transformation until it happens by force. the more they try to control the uncontrollable, the harder the destroyer strikes.

how to defeat it:

virgo must learn that not all change can be planned—some must be faced head-on. if they accept that destruction is sometimes necessary for rebirth, they can turn moments of crisis into opportunities for renewal. the destroyer loses its grip when they trust their instincts rather than fear them.

★ the ghost (12th house, leo) ★

how it attacks:

leo in the 12th house creates a hidden fear of invisibility, unrecognized effort, and being overshadowed by others. the ghost appears in moments of self-doubt, whispering that no matter how hard virgo rising works, they will never receive the recognition they deserve. they thrive on being useful and competent, but this enemy makes them feel unseen, unappreciated, or constantly second to someone else. they may struggle with feeling overlooked in their personal and professional life, believing that their worth is only as strong as their ability to serve others.

how virgo self-sabotages:

they work tirelessly to prove themselves, but never feel fully satisfied with external validation. they suppress their own creative desires, prioritizing helping others over their own self-expression. they fear taking up too much space, often downplaying their achievements instead of owning their success. the ghost wins when virgo rising lets self-doubt keep them in the background instead of stepping into their own spotlight.

★ the trickster (7th house, pisces) ★

how to defeat it:

virgo must realize that they are not just valuable because of what they do for others—they are valuable simply for who they are. if they allow themselves to take pride in their talents and step forward with confidence, the ghost fades away.

how it attacks:

pisces in the 7th house makes relationships unclear, unpredictable, and often filled with illusions. the trickster appears as partners who are hard to pin down, emotionally elusive, or dishonest in ways that are hard to detect at first. virgo rising wants practical, straightforward partnerships, but this enemy attracts romantic and business relationships where nothing is as it seems. they may fall for people who manipulate with charm, promise stability but never deliver, or disappear when things get serious. love feels like a constant puzzle, full of missing pieces that virgo rising desperately tries to solve.

how virgo self-sabotages:

they overanalyze relationships, trying to find logic in emotions that can’t be rationalized. they seek perfection in partners, only to feel disillusioned when reality doesn’t match their expectations. they ignore red flags, assuming they can fix or help the people they love, but the trickster thrives on false hope and illusions.

how to defeat it:

virgo must learn that love is not a problem to be solved—it is an experience to be felt. if they stop seeking certainty and instead embrace emotional flow, the trickster loses its ability to deceive. trusting intuition over logic in relationships will allow them to see through illusions and avoid unnecessary heartache.

★ libra rising: the workhorse, the storm, the doppelgänger, the challenger ★

the tide (6th house, pisces) pulls them into waves of emotional and professional overwhelm, blurring the line between responsibility and sacrifice.

the sandstorm (8th house, taurus) buries them in slow-moving but unavoidable emotional and financial transformations that challenge their patience and comfort zones.

the masquerade (12th house, virgo) lurks in their subconscious, whispering self-doubt and perfectionism, making them feel like they must constantly refine themselves to be worthy of love and success.

the warrior (7th house, aries) appears in relationships that demand courage, independence, and confrontation—things libra rising instinctively avoids in order to keep the peace.

★ the tide (6th house, pisces) ★

how it attacks:

libra rising craves clear responsibilities and work-life balance, but pisces in the 6th house brings fluidity, uncertainty, and obligations that drain them emotionally rather than just physically. the tide appears as jobs that expect too much, coworkers who overshare personal struggles, and unclear boundaries between professional and emotional labor. libra rising often finds themselves absorbing the stress of their environment, feeling responsible for fixing problems they didn’t cause. their work feels like an ocean of shifting expectations, where they must constantly adjust without clear guidance. their health also suffers from stress, exhaustion, and difficulty maintaining routines due to external demands.

how libra self-sabotages:

they say yes too often, believing that if they help enough people, everything will fall into place. they struggle with setting boundaries, fearing that asserting their needs will make them appear selfish or unkind. they avoid structure, thinking that rigid schedules restrict their freedom, only to become overwhelmed when they lack direction. the tide wins when libra rising lets themselves be carried away by responsibilities they never truly wanted to take on in the first place.

★ the sandstorm (8th house, taurus) ★

how to defeat it:

libra must learn that helping others does not mean drowning in their problems. if they establish firm boundaries and create routines that prioritize their well-being, the tide loses its grip. learning to say “no” without guilt will allow them to regain their own sense of flow without being swept away.

how it attacks:

taurus in the 8th house forces libra rising into slow, heavy transformations that cannot be rushed or avoided. the sandstorm appears as financial burdens that take years to resolve, emotionally draining relationships that linger, and personal evolutions that feel like walking through endless resistance. unlike the quick, adaptable change libra prefers, this enemy demands endurance and patience, refusing to let them move on until they fully face what needs to be transformed.

how libra self-sabotages:

they cling to comfort even when it no longer serves them, fearing that leaving stability behind means making an irreversible mistake. they avoid difficult emotional conversations, thinking that if they pretend everything is fine, it will eventually resolve itself. they struggle with letting go, often holding onto people, financial obligations, or emotional burdens long past their expiration date. the sandstorm wins when libra rising remains stuck in cycles of avoidance, letting change happen to them instead of actively participating in their own transformation.

★ the masquerade (12th house, virgo) ★

how to defeat it:

libra must accept that not all change can be controlled, and some things require endurance rather than avoidance. if they face their financial and emotional struggles with patience rather than trying to rush to the finish line, the sandstorm loses its grip.

how it attacks:

virgo in the 12th house creates a hidden voice of self-criticism that constantly questions libra rising’s decisions, making them feel like they must be polished and flawless to be truly accepted. the masquerade whispers, "are you sure this is the right choice? are you refined enough, successful enough, desirable enough?" libra thrives on beauty and balance, but this enemy makes them fixate on flaws, second-guess their actions, and fear being exposed as inadequate. they may struggle with an internal pressure to maintain an idealized version of themselves, constantly adjusting to meet others' expectations instead of simply existing as they are.

how libra self-sabotages:

they overanalyze every social interaction, every choice, and every commitment, paralyzing themselves with indecision. they struggle with acknowledging their own needs, often deferring to what they believe will please others rather than what truly fulfills them. they may hold themselves to impossibly high standards, believing that any mistake could damage their reputation or relationships. the masquerade wins when libra rising lets their own self-doubt keep them from embracing their true identity and desires.

★ the warrior (7th house, aries) ★

how to defeat it:

libra must realize that they do not need to be perfect—they need to be authentic. if they trust their instincts rather than constantly refining themselves for others, the masquerade loses its power.

how it attacks:

aries in the 7th house attracts partners who are direct, independent, and sometimes confrontational. the warrior appears as lovers who push libra rising to assert themselves, stand their ground, and make decisions without overthinking. libra prefers harmony and mutual understanding, but this enemy places them in relationships that demand personal strength and self-assertion rather than constant compromise. they may attract partners who challenge their desire for fairness by pushing them to be decisive, competitive, and self-reliant.

how libra self-sabotages:

they avoid conflict at all costs, often sacrificing their own needs just to maintain peace in relationships. they mistake assertiveness for aggression, struggling to stand their ground when it truly matters. they may become overly reliant on a partner’s leadership, believing that someone else should make the hard decisions for them. the warrior wins when libra rising fears confrontation so much that they lose their ability to fight for what they truly want in relationships.

how to defeat it:

libra must realize that standing up for themselves does not mean creating conflict—it means claiming their power. if they embrace self-assertion and make decisions based on their own needs rather than trying to please others, the warrior loses its grip.

★ scorpio rising: the taskmaster, the wildfire, the mirror, the tower ★

the taskmaster (6th house, aries) forces them into grueling work environments, exhausting responsibilities, and non-stop action with no room for rest or strategy.

the whirlwind (8th house, gemini) spreads rapid and unpredictable destruction through miscommunication, betrayal, and emotional upheavals they never see coming.

the mirror (12th house, libra) lurks in their subconscious, forcing them to reconcile their need for control with their hidden desire for harmony and validation.

the tower (7th house, taurus) appears in relationships that challenge their emotional intensity with stability, patience, and resistance to their usual tactics of manipulation or control.

★ the taskmaster (6th house, aries) ★

how it attacks:

scorpio rising prefers to move with strategy, taking control over their own pace, but aries in the 6th house drags them into constant action, high-pressure work environments, and physical exhaustion that leaves no time for careful planning. the taskmaster appears as demanding jobs, overwhelming routines, and responsibilities that never seem to end. scorpio rising craves depth and meaning, but this enemy forces them into mindless, repetitive labor that drains their energy. their health suffers from stress, overworking, and pushing themselves to the absolute limit.

how scorpio self-sabotages:

they refuse to rest, believing that if they stop, they will lose control over their success. they bottle up frustration, only to explode when the pressure becomes unbearable. they reject help, thinking that true strength means doing everything alone. the taskmaster wins when scorpio rising burns out completely, leaving them unable to function effectively.

★ the whirlwind (8th house, gemini) ★

how to defeat it:

scorpio must learn that working smart is more important than working hard. if they embrace efficiency, delegate responsibilities, and prioritize their well-being, the taskmaster loses its power.

how it attacks:

gemini in the 8th house forces scorpio rising into fast-moving emotional crises, unexpected betrayals, and chaotic transformations that they cannot control. the whirlwind appears as partners who spread misinformation, friendships that dissolve without warning, and secrets that surface at the worst possible moments. unlike the slow, deep emotional transformations scorpio prefers, this enemy brings sudden, jarring changes that leave them scrambling for answers.

how scorpio self-sabotages:

they obsess over hidden meanings, desperately trying to piece together fragmented truths. they hold onto grudges, unable to let go of past betrayals even when moving forward would serve them better. they overestimate their ability to control narratives, believing that if they dig deep enough, they can uncover the full truth—but the whirlwind ensures that truth always remains elusive.

★ the mirror (12th house, libra) ★

how to defeat it:

scorpio must accept that not every mystery needs to be solved, and not every battle is worth fighting. if they let go of their need to control information and embrace adaptability, the whirlwind loses its power.

how it attacks:

libra in the 12th house creates a hidden contradiction within scorpio rising—on the surface, they exude power and independence, but deep down, they secretly crave harmony, acceptance, and even love from others in ways they don’t admit to themselves. the mirror whispers, “you are not as in control as you pretend to be. you want to be loved, just like everyone else.” scorpio rising wants to believe they are above the need for external validation, but this enemy forces them to reckon with the parts of themselves that desire approval, affection, and connection.

how scorpio self-sabotages:

they push people away, fearing that letting others in will make them vulnerable. they dismiss their own need for love, pretending that they do not care about being understood. they struggle with internal contradictions, torn between their desire for power and their secret longing for peace. the mirror wins when scorpio rising denies their softer side, refusing to acknowledge their need for balance and connection.

★ the tower (7th house, taurus) ★

how to defeat it:

scorpio must accept that they can be both powerful and vulnerable, both dominant and loving. if they embrace their desire for harmony instead of suppressing it, the mirror loses its hold.

how it attacks:

taurus in the 7th house attracts partners who resist scorpio’s usual tactics of control, manipulation, and emotional intensity. the tower appears as lovers who refuse to engage in power struggles, who demand stability instead of chaos, and who hold their ground rather than bending to scorpio’s will. relationships feel slow, unmovable, and sometimes frustratingly stable, lacking the extreme emotional highs and lows scorpio is used to navigating. unlike the deeply transformative connections scorpio prefers, this enemy forces them to experience love as something steady and unshakable rather than dramatic and consuming.

how scorpio self-sabotages:

they test their partners, pushing limits to see if they will react, but taurus energy remains calm and unmoved, which frustrates them even more. they resist trust, believing that if they let go of control, they will lose their power. they mistake consistency for boredom, often sabotaging stable relationships because they crave something more intense. the tower wins when scorpio rising rejects stability, convincing themselves that love must be painful in order to be meaningful.

how to defeat it:

scorpio must realize that true strength lies in trust and patience, not just in power and intensity. if they embrace the idea that love can be stable and fulfilling without being destructive or obsessive, the tower loses its foundation and crumbles.

★ sagittarius rising: the warden, the undertow, the serpent, the ballast ★

the warden (6th house, taurus) forces them into repetitive, rigid routines that feel suffocating and slow, demanding discipline and patience rather than excitement and variety.

the undertow (8th house, cancer) drags them into overwhelming emotional depths, forcing them to confront attachment, loss, and intimacy in ways they instinctively resist.

the serpent (12th house, scorpio) lurks in their subconscious, clouding their instincts with paranoia, self-doubt, and fears of hidden betrayals that may or may not be real.

the ballast (7th house, gemini) appears in relationships that feel too logical, detached, or mentally exhausting, challenging their need for passion and spiritual depth in love.

★ the warden (6th house, taurus) ★

how it attacks:

sagittarius rising thrives on spontaneity and movement, but taurus in the 6th house drags them into slow, repetitive routines that feel like an inescapable prison. the warden appears as unwavering responsibilities, work that demands patience and endurance, and an environment that offers little stimulation or adventure. sagittarius wants quick results and flexible schedules, but this enemy demands consistency, discipline, and a long-term commitment to progress. it shows up in strict work schedules, demanding health regimens, and daily obligations that seem to drag on forever.

how sagittarius self-sabotages:

they avoid commitment, jumping between jobs and projects before they see results. they procrastinate on long-term goals, believing they will figure things out later, only to feel overwhelmed when responsibilities catch up to them. they resist slowing down, fearing that stillness means stagnation. the warden wins when sagittarius rising refuses to develop discipline, leaving them stuck in cycles of unfinished ideas and fleeting interests that never turn into something stable.

★ the undertow (8th house, cancer) ★

how to defeat it:

sagittarius must learn that structure does not equal confinement—it is the foundation that makes long-term freedom possible. if they embrace patience and steady effort without seeing it as a cage, the warden loses its power.

how it attacks:

cancer in the 8th house forces sagittarius rising into deep emotional waters they are not prepared to navigate. the undertow appears as intense, overwhelming relationships, family burdens they cannot escape, and a need to face their own emotions instead of running from them. unlike the lighthearted connections sagittarius prefers, this enemy drags them into matters of life, death, and legacy, forcing them to feel things they would rather intellectualize or joke about.

how sagittarius self-sabotages:

they avoid deep emotional bonds, keeping relationships surface-level to avoid being tied down. they shut down when people expect emotional vulnerability, preferring to keep things light rather than diving into painful discussions. they distract themselves with travel, work, or new experiences rather than sitting with their feelings and processing them fully. the undertow wins when sagittarius rising denies themselves true emotional connection and healing because they fear the weight of it.

★ the serpent (12th house, scorpio) ★

how to defeat it:

sagittarius must learn that freedom is not just physical—it is emotional too. if they allow themselves to face their feelings rather than escape them, they will find deeper meaning and connection than they ever thought possible.

how it attacks:

scorpio in the 12th house creates a lurking fear of betrayal, failure, and losing control. the serpent coils around sagittarius rising’s subconscious, whispering "what if you're wrong? what if you’ve trusted the wrong people? what if there's something lurking beneath the surface you’re too blind to see?" sagittarius prefers truth, openness, and expansion, but this enemy poisons them with paranoia, self-doubt, and subconscious sabotage that leads them into self-destructive patterns. they may laugh things off on the surface, but underneath, they are haunted by unspoken fears of what’s waiting in the shadows.

how sagittarius self-sabotages:

they become reckless to avoid confronting their inner darkness, throwing themselves into distractions instead of acknowledging their deeper wounds. they doubt their own wisdom, fearing that they will never have all the answers, leading them to overcompensate with arrogance or avoidance. they keep their pain buried, assuming that if they don’t think about it, it won’t affect them—only for it to creep into their decisions unconsciously. the serpent wins when sagittarius rising lets fear of the unknown dictate their actions rather than embracing the power of transformation.

★ the ballast (7th house, gemini) ★

how to defeat it:

sagittarius must realize that fear only has power when ignored. if they confront their hidden wounds, embrace vulnerability, and trust in their ability to overcome, the serpent loses its venom.

how it attacks:

gemini in the 7th house attracts partners who challenge sagittarius rising’s need for passion and adventure with logic, detachment, and intellectual debates that can feel cold or exhausting. the ballast appears as lovers who overanalyze everything, make love feel like a mental chess game rather than a passionate connection, or constantly test their beliefs in frustrating ways. sagittarius seeks a lover who will run wild with them, but this enemy keeps them tethered to reality, forcing them to engage in difficult conversations rather than simply escaping into passion or philosophy.

how sagittarius self-sabotages:

they get restless in relationships, craving constant novelty and excitement. they avoid serious conversations, choosing charm and humor over emotional depth. they struggle with staying present in relationships that require patience and effort, assuming that if things aren’t effortless, they aren’t meant to be. the ballast wins when sagittarius rising rejects commitment, assuming it will slow them down rather than expand their world in new ways.

how to defeat it:

sagittarius must realize that real love is not about constant movement—it is about trust, growth, and exploration together. if they stop fearing commitment and embrace meaningful intellectual and emotional connections, the ballast loses its weight.

★ capricorn rising: the conveyor belt, the pyre, the shadowcaster, the maelstrom ★

the conveyor belt (6th house, gemini) throws them into chaotic routines, constant multitasking, and shallow distractions that drain their efficiency and focus.

the pyre (8th house, leo) forces them into ego-destroying transformations, stripping away their carefully built self-image through loss, betrayal, and power struggles.

the shadowcaster (12th house, sagittarius) lurks in their subconscious, creating an inner conflict between their need for control and their hidden desire for boundless freedom and escape.

the maelstrom (7th house, cancer) appears in relationships that overwhelm them with emotional intensity, unpredictability, and demands for vulnerability they struggle to meet.

★ the conveyor belt (6th house, gemini) ★

how it attacks:

capricorn rising thrives on structure and efficiency, but gemini in the 6th house disrupts their carefully laid plans with constant interruptions, overwhelming responsibilities, and shallow tasks that waste their time. the conveyor belt appears as a fast-paced work environment that prioritizes speed over quality, an endless influx of responsibilities that prevent deep focus, and a lack of consistency that makes it difficult to establish long-term stability. capricorn rising prefers steady progress, but this enemy forces them to juggle too many tasks at once, leading to burnout and dissatisfaction.

how capricorn self-sabotages:

they micromanage everything, believing that if they control every detail, they can prevent chaos—only to exhaust themselves in the process. they overcommit to responsibilities, taking on too much out of a sense of duty, even when it drains them. they ignore their need for rest, believing that working harder will solve everything, even when their lack of efficiency is the real problem. the conveyor belt wins when capricorn rising mistakes busyness for productivity, losing sight of their long-term goals in the process.

★ the pyre (8th house, leo) ★

how to defeat it:

capricorn must learn that quality matters more than quantity. if they prioritize deep work, delegate unnecessary tasks, and allow flexibility in their routines without sacrificing structure, the conveyor belt loses its grip.

how it attacks:

leo in the 8th house forces capricorn rising into sudden and often humiliating transformations that strip away their pride, authority, or sense of control. the pyre appears as public failures, betrayals that damage their reputation, or deep emotional losses that force them to let go of their rigid self-image. unlike the gradual, structured change they prefer, this enemy burns away everything they once relied on, leaving them exposed and vulnerable before they have a chance to rebuild.

how capricorn self-sabotages:

they cling to their authority and status, refusing to admit when they need help or when their old methods are no longer working. they fear showing weakness, leading them to bottle up emotions until they explode in dramatic ways. they struggle with letting go, often trying to salvage control in situations that demand surrender. the pyre wins when capricorn rising fights against necessary transformation, only to have it forced upon them in painful, unavoidable ways.

★ the shadowcaster (12th house, sagittarius) ★

how to defeat it:

capricorn must accept that sometimes destruction is necessary for renewal. if they embrace change rather than resisting it, they can rise from the ashes stronger and wiser. the pyre loses its fire when capricorn learns to let go of outdated versions of themselves before life forces them to.

how it attacks:

sagittarius in the 12th house creates a subconscious conflict between capricorn’s need for stability and their hidden desire for escape, risk, and freedom. the shadowcaster whispers, “what if you’re missing out? what if you built this entire life only to realize you never really lived?” capricorn rising thrives on control and careful planning, but this enemy fuels impulsive desires to abandon everything and run toward the unknown—an urge they struggle to reconcile with their responsibility-driven nature.

how capricorn self-sabotages:

they deny their need for adventure, suppressing any impulse that threatens their structured world—only to find themselves secretly fantasizing about escape. they intellectualize their emotions, avoiding deep spiritual reflection in favor of tangible achievements. they fear uncertainty, preferring to stay on the path they’ve built, even if it no longer excites them. the shadowcaster wins when capricorn rising lets fear of instability keep them from evolving, leaving them feeling trapped in a life they built but no longer connect with.

★ the maelstrom (7th house, cancer) ★

how to defeat it:

capricorn must learn that they don’t have to choose between stability and adventure—they can have both. if they integrate spontaneity and self-discovery into their structured life, the shadowcaster fades away.

how it attacks:

cancer in the 7th house attracts partners who bring deep emotional intensity, unpredictable moods, and demands for vulnerability that capricorn rising struggles to meet. the maelstrom appears as relationships that require them to open up, soften, and connect on an emotional level rather than just a practical one. capricorn rising prefers partnerships built on mutual goals and stability, but this enemy forces them into love that is raw, nurturing, and sometimes overwhelming in its depth and intensity.

how capricorn self-sabotages:

they emotionally detach, keeping relationships strictly transactional or goal-oriented rather than allowing them to be deeply felt experiences. they view emotions as distractions, struggling with being present in moments of deep connection. they fear dependency, believing that needing someone too much will make them weak. the maelstrom wins when capricorn rising pushes away genuine intimacy out of fear that they will lose control in the process.

how to defeat it:

capricorn must learn that true strength lies in allowing themselves to be loved fully, not just respected or admired. if they embrace emotional connection rather than avoiding it, the maelstrom loses its storm.

★ aquarius rising: the tidebreaker, the iron veil, the hollow, the sovereign ★

the tidebreaker (6th house, cancer) disrupts their logical, structured world with unpredictable emotional demands, workplace drama, and physical stress rooted in unresolved emotional baggage.

the iron veil (8th house, virgo) forces them into slow, grueling psychological transformations that demand patience, humility, and meticulous self-analysis—things they resist deeply.

the hollow (12th house, capricorn) lurks in their subconscious, creating an inner war between their rebellious ideals and a hidden, relentless drive for control, status, and power.

the sovereign (7th house, leo) appears in relationships that challenge their detached, intellectual approach to love by demanding passion, adoration, and unwavering presence.

★ the tidebreaker (6th house, cancer) ★

how it attacks:

aquarius rising thrives on rationality and objectivity, but cancer in the 6th house forces them into work environments and daily routines that are dictated by emotion rather than logic. the tidebreaker appears as unpredictable coworkers, emotionally draining work responsibilities, and health struggles that stem from bottled-up stress. unlike the detached and calculated approach they prefer, this enemy turns every task into an emotional ordeal, making it difficult for them to separate work from personal feelings.

how aquarius self-sabotages:

they dismiss emotional needs as irrational, avoiding self-care until stress manifests as physical exhaustion. they detach in workplace drama, refusing to engage but still feeling the weight of unresolved tension around them. they overlook the importance of emotional balance in their daily life, leading to burnout and erratic productivity cycles. the tidebreaker wins when aquarius rising ignores the emotional undercurrents affecting their well-being, mistaking detachment for control.

★ the iron veil (8th house, virgo) ★

how to defeat it:

aquarius must learn that emotional intelligence is just as important as intellectual intelligence. if they acknowledge the emotional weight of their environment instead of dismissing it, they can create boundaries that protect their energy rather than pretending they don’t need them. the tidebreaker loses its force when aquarius rising embraces both logic and emotion in their daily life.

how it attacks:

virgo in the 8th house forces aquarius rising into painfully slow, detail-heavy personal transformations that feel suffocating and never-ending. the iron veil appears as a cycle of self-improvement that is never enough, deep insecurities masked as perfectionism, and crises that require careful, tedious healing instead of quick fixes or intellectual solutions. unlike the sudden breakthroughs aquarius prefers, this enemy demands meticulous self-work that cannot be skipped or avoided.

how aquarius self-sabotages:

they intellectualize their emotions, analyzing their problems instead of actually processing and feeling them. they avoid deep personal work, preferring to distract themselves with new ideas or future plans rather than dealing with old wounds that still influence them. they deny their own vulnerability, refusing to admit that they, too, need healing and emotional care. the iron veil wins when aquarius rising avoids necessary transformation, staying stuck in mental loops rather than making real progress.

★ the hollow (12th house, capricorn) ★

how to defeat it:

aquarius must realize that true transformation is not about intellectual mastery—it’s about emotional integration. if they embrace the discomfort of slow healing instead of trying to "logic" their way out of it, the iron veil loses its power.

how it attacks:

capricorn in the 12th house creates a hidden conflict between aquarius rising’s rebellious, nonconformist ideals and their subconscious desire for control, power, and recognition. the hollow whispers, “you act like you don’t care about success, but what if deep down, you do? what if everything you claim to reject is actually what you crave the most?” aquarius prides themselves on breaking societal norms, but this enemy reveals the part of them that fears being irrelevant, directionless, or incapable of building something lasting.

how aquarius self-sabotages:

they reject traditional success too aggressively, sometimes turning down opportunities just to prove they are different. they act as if they don’t care about legacy or reputation, even when deep down, they want to make a lasting impact but fear being seen as hypocritical. they hide their need for structure, believing that admitting to their ambitions would mean surrendering to the very systems they claim to resist. the hollow wins when aquarius rising lets their fear of conformity keep them from fully embracing their power and influence.

★ the sovereign (7th house, leo) ★

how to defeat it:

aquarius must realize that power is not the enemy—misuse of power is. if they accept that ambition does not have to mean selling out, and that structure does not have to mean restriction, the hollow loses its grip.

how it attacks:

leo in the 7th house attracts partners who demand loyalty, grand gestures, and unwavering presence—things aquarius rising often struggles to provide. the sovereign appears as relationships that feel larger than life, lovers who expect admiration and deep emotional engagement, and partnerships that challenge their need for independence and detachment. aquarius rising prefers companionship that allows for freedom, but this enemy demands total commitment, forcing them to confront their resistance to deep emotional investment.

how aquarius self-sabotages:

they keep relationships at arm’s length, fearing that if they give too much of themselves, they will lose their identity. they downplay their emotions, sometimes acting indifferent or unavailable even when they deeply care. they resist partners who want to be the center of their world, struggling with expressing appreciation in ways that feel genuine to them rather than performative or forced. the sovereign wins when aquarius rising rejects the vulnerability of love in favor of detached intellectualism, losing deep connections in the process.

how to defeat it:

aquarius must learn that true freedom in relationships comes from trust and mutual respect, not distance and avoidance. if they embrace devotion without feeling like it threatens their independence, the sovereign loses its power.

★ pisces rising: the inferno, the marionette, the rift, the sentinel ★

the inferno (6th house, leo) burns through their desire for quiet, intuitive work, forcing them into high-pressure environments where ego and recognition dictate success.

the marionette (8th house, libra) traps them in emotional and financial dependencies, pulling their strings so subtly that they do not realize they are losing control until it is too late.

the rift (12th house, aquarius) lurks in their subconscious, making them feel like an outsider in their own mind, torn between their dreamlike visions and the cold detachment of reality.

the sentinel (7th house, virgo) appears in relationships that demand practicality, structure, and discipline, forcing them to reconcile their ideals with the need for stability and reliability in love.

★ the inferno (6th house, leo) ★

how it attacks:

pisces rising thrives on fluidity, creative expression, and quiet inspiration, but leo in the 6th house throws them into environments where they are expected to be seen, acknowledged, and perform under pressure. the inferno appears as demanding bosses, high-stakes careers that require constant self-promotion, or daily routines that require them to maintain a dominant presence rather than flowing at their own pace. unlike the dreamlike, intuitive work environments they long for, this enemy demands authority, structure, and external validation.

how pisces self-sabotages:

they shrink from leadership roles, fearing that stepping into the spotlight will strip them of their deeper, spiritual purpose. they avoid structured routines, preferring spontaneity even when discipline could help them thrive. they downplay their own success, believing that seeking recognition is egotistical when, in reality, it’s necessary for growth. the inferno wins when pisces rising refuses to embrace their inner strength, instead letting themselves drift aimlessly in jobs or routines that do not fulfill them.

★ the marionette (8th house, libra) ★

how to defeat it:

pisces must realize that being seen does not mean losing their authenticity. if they allow themselves to take up space, lead with compassion, and accept recognition as part of their journey, the inferno loses its flames.

how it attacks:

libra in the 8th house forces pisces rising into deep, complex emotional and financial connections that feel impossible to untangle. the marionette appears as relationships where they lose themselves in others, joint financial burdens they cannot escape, and a never-ending struggle between maintaining peace and asserting their needs. unlike the free-flowing, romantic bonds they seek, this enemy ties them to obligations that grow more complicated over time, draining them of energy and autonomy.

how pisces self-sabotages:

they prioritize harmony over self-protection, staying in situations that are quietly suffocating them just to avoid confrontation. they believe love means sacrifice, sometimes giving up more than they receive in return. they become financially or emotionally dependent, making it difficult to walk away from relationships that have become entangled with their survival or sense of self. the marionette wins when pisces rising mistakes obligation for connection, binding themselves to others at the cost of their own freedom.

★ the rift (12th house, aquarius) ★

how to defeat it:

pisces must learn that true connection does not come from dependence—it comes from mutual respect and balance. if they assert their boundaries and reclaim their independence, the marionette’s strings will snap.

how it attacks:

aquarius in the 12th house creates a deep internal divide between pisces rising’s rich inner world and an underlying fear of emotional detachment or irrelevance. the rift whispers, “your dreams are beautiful, but what if they don’t mean anything? what if you are just another wandering soul, lost in illusion?” pisces rising is deeply connected to spirituality and creativity, but this enemy injects doubt, making them feel isolated even within their own mind. they may experience visions, intuition, and dreams that feel profound, only to question if they are truly connected or if they are merely lost in their own delusions.

how pisces self-sabotages:

they avoid grounding themselves, preferring to stay in the world of ideas and dreams even when reality is calling them back. they doubt their own intuition, fearing that they cannot trust their instincts or that their inner world is somehow “wrong” or meaningless. they disconnect from others, feeling too different or too misunderstood to fully belong anywhere. the rift wins when pisces rising convinces themselves that they are a ghost drifting through life rather than an active creator of their own destiny.

★ the sentinel (7th house, virgo) ★

how to defeat it:

pisces must realize that they do not have to choose between dreams and reality—they can build a bridge between them. if they anchor their creativity and intuition in the physical world through action and expression, the rift loses its power to separate them from themselves.

how it attacks:

virgo in the 7th house attracts partners who demand order, structure, and logic—things that pisces rising often struggles with in their romantic relationships. the sentinel appears as partners who need stability, who expect routines and reliability, who analyze love rather than surrendering to it. pisces rising seeks romantic, intuitive, and spiritual bonds, but this enemy challenges them to be practical, to make love something tangible rather than just a dream or a feeling.

how pisces self-sabotages:

they romanticize instability, sometimes choosing lovers who “save” them rather than ones who help them grow. they resist structure in relationships, fearing that commitments will strip away the magic and mystery they crave. they become passive, allowing partners to dictate the direction of the relationship because they fear confrontation or responsibility. the sentinel wins when pisces rising refuses to engage in the practical side of love, expecting devotion to be purely intuitive rather than a daily act of commitment and care.

how to defeat it:

pisces must learn that love does not lose its magic just because it is stable. if they embrace consistency and effort as part of devotion rather than limitations on passion, the sentinel loses its power.

#astrology #astrology observations #astrology aspects #astro observations #astrology enemies

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count-on-mi · 2 months ago

Text

Whatever it takes... (Nayeon)

“Enter, Nayeon,” you command, your voice low and authoritative. “Close the door.”

She swallows hard, her throat dry, and obeys, the heavy door sealing her fate with a soft thud. The room is stark, with bare walls and a single desk where you sit, exuding control. Nayeon’s practice outfit—tight sports bra and shorts—clings to her lithe frame, accentuating her curves. Your eyes linger, predatory, as you lean back, fingers drumming the desk.

“You know why you haven’t been chosen for TWICE yet, don’t you?” you said, your voice calm but laced with an undercurrent of menace. “Your singing is decent, your dancing passable, but you lack… something special.”

The words cut deep, slicing through her pride like a blade. Nayeon bit her lip, her knuckles whitening as she clutched the resume. She knew she wasn’t the most talented trainee, but she had poured her soul into this—how could she lack anything? Her mind raced, searching for a defense, but her voice came out weak, trembling: “I… I can work harder. Please, give me a chance.” The plea felt like a betrayal of her dignity, each word a step closer to surrender.

You rose from your chair, your movements deliberate, predatory. Circling behind her, your shadow loomed over her like a dark cloud. The air grew heavy, and she felt the heat of your breath on the back of her neck, carrying the faint scent of cologne. Her body stiffened, every muscle tensing as fear and shame coiled in her gut. She wanted to run, to scream, but her legs felt rooted to the floor, trapped by the weight of her dream. This is for TWICE, she told herself, but the lie felt hollow, a fragile shield against the truth she refused to face.

“Chances?” you murmured, your voice a low, mocking purr. “Chances are earned, Nayeon. What are you willing to give for yours?”

Her heart sank, the implication of your words sinking in like poison. She understood now—this wasn’t about her talent or her effort. It was about something far darker, something that would stain her soul. Her lips trembled, and she tried to deflect, her voice barely a whisper: “I don’t know what you mean…” But she did know. Deep down, she knew exactly what you wanted, and the realization filled her with a suffocating shame. She was a good girl, a dreamer, not this—not whatever you were turning her into.

Your hand landed on her shoulder, fingers sliding down her arm with a slow, deliberate touch that sent a shiver through her. The warmth of your skin contrasted with the cold dread pooling in her stomach. “Don’t play innocent,” you whispered in her ear, your voice dripping with sick amusement. “You know how to please me. Strip.”

The command hit her like a physical blow, and her knees nearly buckled. Tears welled in her eyes, blurring her vision. Her mind screamed in protest: No, this isn’t me! I’m not that kind of girl! But the dream—the years of sweat, the sleepless nights, the endless rehearsals—loomed like a specter, demanding she pay its price. She tried to speak, to beg for another way, but her voice broke: “Please… I’ve never…”

“Strip, or get out,” you cut her off, your tone icy, unyielding. “No debut. No TWICE. Nothing.”

The finality of your words shattered her. The dream she had clung to for so long was slipping through her fingers, and the cost of keeping it was her dignity, her purity, her very sense of self. Tears streamed down her cheeks, silent and scalding, as she reached for the hem of her sports bra with trembling hands. The fabric slid off, exposing her pale breasts, her nipples hardening in the cold air, a humiliating betrayal of her body. She hesitated, her hands hovering over her shorts, but your impatient glare forced her to continue. The shorts and underwear fell to the floor, leaving her naked, defenseless, her skin prickling with goosebumps under your ravenous gaze.

Her arms instinctively moved to cover her chest, a futile attempt to shield herself from the shame that consumed her. She felt like a specimen under a microscope, every inch of her body exposed to your scrutiny. Her cheeks burned, and she squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the reality of what she was doing. This is for the dream, she repeated, but the mantra felt like a lie, a justification for the degradation she was enduring. Her mind churned with self-loathing: How did I end up here? I’m supposed to be a star, not… this.

“Hands down,” you ordered, your voice a whip that cracked through her thoughts. She obeyed, her arms falling limply to her sides, her body fully exposed. The humiliation was unbearable, a crushing weight that made her want to disappear. Your eyes roamed her body, lingering on her breasts, her flat stomach, the untouched space between her thighs. A cruel smile curled your lips. “Not bad,” you said, your tone dripping with condescension. “Your body’s worth more than your voice.”

The words stung, each one a fresh wound to her pride. Nayeon’s chest heaved with silent sobs, her tears pooling on the floor. She felt like a commodity, reduced to flesh and curves, her talent and hard work discarded in favor of her body. The shame was a living thing, wrapping around her heart, squeezing until she could barely breathe. She wanted to scream, to claw her way out of this nightmare, but the dream—the cursed dream—held her captive.

“Get on the table,” you commanded, your voice sharp with impatience. “Spread your legs.”

Her stomach lurched, the order amplifying her humiliation to an unbearable degree. She climbed onto the table, the cold surface biting into her skin, a stark reminder of her vulnerability. As she parted her legs, the act felt like a violation of her very soul. Her virgin pussy glistened faintly under the harsh lights, the exposure making her feel like a whore, a betrayal of everything she had ever believed about herself. Her hands gripped the edge of the table, her nails digging into the wood, leaving crescent-shaped marks. She stared at the ceiling, trying to dissociate, to pretend this was happening to someone else. But the shame was relentless, a tidal wave that drowned her in self-disgust. I’m filthy, she thought. I’m nothing.

You shed your jacket and unbuckled your pants, revealing your erect cock, thick and menacing, veins pulsing with anticipation. Nayeon’s breath hitched, her eyes widening in terror as she saw it. The sight was grotesque, a symbol of her impending ruin. Her mind screamed: No, please, not this! But she couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, paralyzed by the weight of her dream and the crushing shame that bound her.

“Look at me, slut,” you snapped, forcing her to meet your gaze. Her eyes, red and swollen from crying, locked onto your cock, the sight filling her with dread. “Virgin, huh?” you taunted, your fingers brushing the inside of her thigh, creeping toward her untouched core. She nodded, tears streaming down her face, her shame intensifying with every second. The word “virgin” felt like a brand, a reminder of what she was about to lose—not just her physical purity, but her identity, her pride, her humanity.

“Good,” you said, your voice thick with sadistic glee. “I love breaking in virgins.” Your fingers paused at her entrance, teasing the sensitive flesh, sending a jolt of unwanted sensation through her. Nayeon’s body tensed, her mind recoiling in horror. This isn’t me, she thought, but the mantra was losing its power, eroded by the relentless tide of shame.

“Please… be gentle,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, a desperate plea born of fear and humiliation. The words felt like a surrender, a final admission of her powerlessness. She hated herself for saying them, for begging, but the terror of what was coming was too much to bear.

“Gentle?” you sneered, your fingers plunging into her tight pussy without warning. She screamed, the pain sharp and searing, her walls clenching around the intrusion. “You’re here to serve me, whore.” You thrust your fingers in and out, rough and unrelenting, her body jerking with each movement. Her thighs trembled, blood and arousal mixing in a sickening cocktail that dripped onto the table. The sound of your fingers moving inside her was obscene, a wet, rhythmic squelch that echoed in the silent room, amplifying her shame to a deafening roar.

Nayeon’s mind was a battlefield, shame and pain warring for dominance. Every thrust of your fingers felt like a violation, not just of her body but of her very being. She was supposed to be a star, a beacon of hope for her fans, not this—this degraded, broken thing. Her tears fell faster, her sobs choking her as she tried to cling to the fragments of her dignity. But the shame was all-consuming, a black hole that swallowed her pride, her dreams, her self. I’m disgusting, she thought. I’m nothing but a toy for him.

You withdrew your fingers, licking them clean with a grotesque smirk. “Sweet little cunt,” you said, savoring her taste. “Time for the real thing.”

You positioned yourself between her legs, your cock pressing against her entrance, the swollen head teasing her slick folds. Nayeon’s breath hitched, her body trembling with a mix of fear and unwanted arousal. The shame was a living thing now, a serpent coiling around her heart, squeezing until she could barely breathe. She knew what was coming, knew it would destroy her, and yet her body betrayed her, responding to your touch with a heat she couldn’t suppress.

“Beg me to fuck you,” you ordered, your voice a low growl. “Beg me to take your virginity.”

Her lips quivered, the words stuck in her throat like shards of glass. The humiliation of begging for her own violation was unbearable, a degradation so profound it threatened to unravel her completely. Her mind screamed: Don’t say it! Don’t give him that! But the dream—the cursed dream—loomed like a guillotine, ready to sever her last hope if she refused. “Please… fuck me… take it…” she choked out, her voice breaking, each word a fresh wound to her soul. The shame was excruciating, a fire that burned through her pride, leaving only ashes.

You didn’t hesitate, thrusting forward with brutal force, tearing through her hymen and burying yourself deep inside her. Nayeon screamed, the pain a white-hot lance that split her in two. Blood trickled from her stretched pussy, pooling on the table, a stark symbol of her lost innocence. Her walls clamped around you, tight and unyielding, the sensation both agonizing and strangely intoxicating. You groaned, relishing the resistance, and began to move, each thrust a deliberate assault on her body and spirit.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” you growled, your hands gripping her hips, nails digging into her flesh. Your thrusts were merciless, each one driving deeper, slamming against her cervix with a force that made her body quake. The table creaked beneath her, the sound mingling with the wet slap of skin on skin, a perverse symphony that filled the room. Nayeon’s hands clawed at the table, her nails splintering the wood, her body writhing in a futile attempt to escape the pain.

The shame was a tsunami now, drowning her in its relentless waves. Every thrust felt like a public execution, her dignity stripped away before an invisible audience of her own shattered dreams. She was no longer Nayeon, the aspiring idol, the girl who danced with hope in her heart. She was a whore, a vessel for your pleasure, her body a canvas for your cruelty. Her tears fell in a steady stream, her sobs choking her as she tried to hold onto some fragment of herself. I’m filthy, she thought. I’m nothing.

Your fingers found her clit, rubbing it with a cruel precision that sent unwanted jolts of pleasure through her. Her body betrayed her again, her pussy growing wetter, lubricating your brutal thrusts. Nayeon’s mind recoiled in horror, the pleasure a twisted mockery of her shame. No, I can’t feel this! she screamed internally, but her body didn’t listen, her hips twitching involuntarily as the sensations built. The shame was unbearable, a crushing weight that made her want to die. She was supposed to be pure, untouched, a symbol of innocence—yet here she was, her body responding like a slut’s.

“Look at you, whore,” you taunted, leaning down to bite her neck, your teeth leaving angry red marks. “Your cunt loves this. You’re just a filthy slut pretending to be pure.” Your words were poison, seeping into her mind, amplifying her self-loathing. Nayeon’s sobs grew louder, her body shaking with the force of her shame. She hated you, hated herself, hated the dream that had led her to this moment. But the pleasure was relentless, a dark tide that threatened to pull her under.

You felt her walls tighten, her body on the brink of climax. “I’m gonna cum in this virgin pussy,” you snarled, your thrusts growing erratic, each one a hammer blow to her sanity. Nayeon’s cries turned to whimpers, her mind fracturing under the weight of her shame and the unwanted pleasure coursing through her. “No… please…” she whispered, but her body betrayed her, her pussy clenching around you as her orgasm crashed over her. The shame was apocalyptic, a cataclysm that obliterated her sense of self. She was coming, her body surrendering to the very act that was destroying her, and the realization filled her with a despair so profound it threatened to consume her entirely.

With a final thrust, you buried yourself deep inside her, your cock pulsing as you unleashed a torrent of hot cum into her womb. The sensation was overwhelming, a violation so intimate it felt like a theft of her soul. Nayeon’s body shuddered, her orgasm mingling with the searing shame of your release, her pussy milking you against her will. Cum and blood dripped from her ravaged entrance, pooling on the table, a grotesque testament to her ruin.

You pulled out, your cock glistening with her blood and fluids. “One hole down,” you said with a cruel smirk, wiping yourself clean as Nayeon lay trembling, her mind a wasteland of shame and despair.

Nayeon collapsed on the table, her body limp, her breath ragged. The shame was a physical thing now, a weight that pinned her to the table, heavier than your body had been. Her pussy throbbed with pain and unwanted pleasure, the sticky mix of blood and cum seeping from her, a constant reminder of her degradation. Her mind was a storm of self-hatred, each thought a lash of the whip: I’m a whore. I’m filthy. I’m nothing. She tried to cling to the dream, to tell herself this was for TWICE, but the lie felt hollow, a cruel joke at her expense.

You grabbed her hips, flipping her onto her stomach with a rough yank. Her face pressed against the cold table, the wood slick with her tears and sweat. You spread her ass cheeks, exposing her tight, untouched asshole, a pink, puckered ring that clenched instinctively under your gaze. Nayeon’s heart stopped, a fresh wave of terror crashing over her. “No! Not there!” she cried, her voice raw, desperate. The idea of you violating her there was unthinkable, a degradation so profound it made her previous shame seem trivial. Her mind screamed: This is too much! I can’t do this!

“You don’t get to say no,” you snapped, spitting on her asshole, the warm saliva trickling down her crack. The act was so degrading, so humiliating, that Nayeon’s sobs grew hysterical, her body shaking with the force of her despair. The shame was a living thing, a monster that devoured her from within. She was being reduced to nothing, her body a series of holes for your pleasure, her dreams a cruel bait that had led her to this abyss.

You pressed your cock against her asshole, the swollen head forcing its way past the tight ring of muscle. Nayeon screamed, the pain unlike anything she had ever felt, a burning, tearing agony that made her vision blur. Blood seeped from her stretched hole, the coppery scent mingling with the musk of her arousal, a sickening reminder of her body’s betrayal. You thrust deeper, her asshole gripping you like a vice, the tightness almost painful for you but excruciating for her.

“Fuck, this ass is perfect,” you groaned, your hands gripping her hips, nails drawing blood. You fucked her with savage intensity, each thrust a brutal assault on her body and soul. The table rocked beneath her, the wood creaking in time with her sobs, a perverse rhythm that filled the room. Nayeon’s mind was a void, her shame so overwhelming it threatened to swallow her whole. She was no longer a person, just a collection of orifices, a thing to be used and discarded. The thought was a knife to her heart, each thrust driving it deeper.

Her body betrayed her again, the pain giving way to a twisted pleasure that made her want to vomit. Her asshole clenched around you, the sensation both agonizing and intoxicating, a violation so intimate it felt like a theft of her very essence. Nayeon’s sobs turned to whimpers, her mind fracturing under the weight of her shame. I’m disgusting, she thought. I’m a slut, a filthy whore who enjoys this. The realization was a death knell, a final blow to the girl she had been.

You reached around, your fingers finding her clit, rubbing it with a cruel precision that sent shocks of pleasure through her. “Cum for me, you dirty bitch,” you commanded, your voice a lash that stripped away the last of her resistance. Nayeon’s body obeyed, her asshole spasming as another orgasm tore through her, the pleasure a grotesque mockery of her shame. She screamed, her voice raw, broken, the sound of a soul being shattered. The shame was absolute, a black hole that consumed her, leaving nothing behind.

With a final thrust, you buried yourself in her ass, your cock pulsing as you filled her with cum. The hot, sticky flood was a violation so profound it felt like a desecration, a final mark of her ruin. Nayeon’s body shook, her sobs choking her as the reality of what had happened sank in. She was broken, defiled, a shell of the girl who had walked into this room.

You pulled out, your cum leaking from her gaping asshole, mixing with blood and dripping onto the table. “Two holes down,” you said, your voice cold, triumphant. Nayeon lay still, her mind a wasteland of shame, her body a monument to her degradation.

Nayeon was a husk, her body sprawled across the table, her breath shallow, her mind numb. The shame was a physical thing, a weight that crushed her, a poison that seeped into every cell. Her pussy and asshole throbbed with pain and cum, the sticky mess a constant reminder of her ruin. Her face was streaked with tears, her eyes vacant, but beneath the emptiness was a flickering spark of self-loathing, a hatred so deep it threatened to consume her. I’m a whore, she thought, the words a mantra of despair. I’m nothing.

You grabbed her hair, yanking her off the table and forcing her to her knees. The pain in her scalp was nothing compared to the shame that burned through her, a fire that left only ashes. “Time for your mouth,” you said, your voice a cruel promise of further degradation. You gripped her head, your fingers digging into her scalp, her hair tangling in your grasp. Her knees ached against the hard floor, the position a humiliating reminder of her powerlessness.

You rubbed your cock across her face, smearing her with the remnants of her own blood and cum. The scent was overpowering, a nauseating mix of musk and copper that made her gag. Nayeon’s sobs grew hysterical, the shame of this final act threatening to break her completely. Her lips trembled, her mind screaming: No more! I can’t take it! But the dream—the cursed dream—held her captive, a chain she couldn’t break.

“Open your mouth, slut,” you ordered, your voice a whip that cracked through her despair. She obeyed, her lips parting, her tongue recoiling as you shoved your cock inside. The taste was vile, a mix of her own fluids and your musk, a final degradation that stripped away the last of her dignity. You fucked her mouth with brutal force, your cock hitting the back of her throat, making her gag and choke. Her saliva dripped from her lips, mixing with tears and blood, a grotesque cocktail that pooled on the floor.

Nayeon’s mind was a void, her shame so overwhelming it threatened to swallow her whole. Every thrust of your cock was a reminder of her fall, a confirmation of her worthlessness. She was no longer Nayeon, the girl with dreams of stardom. She was a whore, a vessel for your pleasure, her body a canvas for your cruelty. The shame was apocalyptic, a cataclysm that obliterated her sense of self. She hated you, hated herself, hated the dream that had led her to this moment.

You gripped her head tighter, your thrusts growing erratic. “You love this, don’t you?” you taunted, your voice a lash that stripped away the last of her resistance. Nayeon’s body betrayed her one final time, a faint pulse of pleasure stirring in her core as your cock filled her throat. The shame was unbearable, a crushing weight that made her want to die. She was supposed to be pure, untouched, a symbol of innocence—yet here she was, her body responding like a slut’s.

“Beg me to cum in your mouth,” you commanded, your voice a knife that cut through her despair. Nayeon’s lips moved, her voice a broken whisper: “Please… cum in my mouth…” The words were a final surrender, a complete capitulation to her shame. Her mind screamed: I’m disgusting! I’m nothing! But the pleasure was relentless, a dark tide that pulled her under.

With a final thrust, you buried your cock in her throat, your cum flooding her mouth in hot, thick spurts. The taste was overwhelming, a violation so intimate it felt like a theft of her soul. Nayeon gagged, her body shaking as she swallowed, the act a final mark of her ruin. Cum dripped from her lips, mixing with her tears, a grotesque testament to her degradation.

You shoved her away, and Nayeon collapsed on the floor, her body a trembling heap of flesh and shame. Her mouth was half-open, cum leaking from her lips, her breathing shallow. Her body was a map of her ruin, covered in blood, cum, and sweat, her hair matted to her face. Her eyes were vacant, but beneath the emptiness was a sea of self-loathing, a hatred so deep it threatened to consume her.

“Still got time, slut,” you said, your voice cold, triumphant. You stood over her, aiming your cock at her face, and began to piss. The golden stream hit her face, soaking her hair, running down her cheeks, pooling in her mouth. The stench was overpowering, a final degradation that stripped away the last of her humanity. Nayeon coughed, choking on the acrid liquid, her body shaking with the force of her despair. The shame was absolute, a black hole that consumed her, leaving nothing behind.

“This is where you belong,” you said, your voice dripping with contempt. “In the filth, like the whore you are.” The words were a final blow, a confirmation of her worthlessness. Nayeon’s sobs grew silent, her body curling in on itself, a broken thing in a pool of piss and cum.

You kicked her ribs, the impact sending a dull thud through the room. She gasped, her body folding further, her breath hitching in pain. “Shut up, whore,” you snarled. “You don’t even deserve to stand.” You continued to piss, the stream soaking her body, a final mark of her ruin. The clock’s shrill beep signaled the end, and you stepped back, zipping up your pants.

Nayeon lay in the filth, her body trembling, her mind a wasteland of shame. “Good luck with your debut, you useless meat toilet,” you said, your voice a cold farewell. You turned and left, the door slamming shut behind you, leaving her alone in the darkness.

Nayeon remained on the floor, her body a broken relic, her mind a graveyard of dreams. The piss and cum dried on her skin, a crust of degradation that marked her as something less than human. Her ribs ached, her breath shallow, the pain a constant reminder of her ruin. She tried to move, but her body refused, too weak, too broken.

The mirror reflected her shattered form, a stranger staring back at her. Her hair was matted with filth, her face streaked with tears and piss, her eyes hollow. She whispered, her voice barely audible: “Why… why me…” The words were a lament, a cry for a life that no longer existed.

Outside, the laughter of other trainees echoed, their voices full of hope and innocence. The sound was a knife, cutting through the last of her resolve. Nayeon closed her eyes, tears falling, mixing with the filth on the floor. . Her dream, once a beacon of hope, had become her damnation, a chain that bound her to this moment of utter despair.

#minasaiyatis #twice smut #girl group smut #kpop smut #female idol smut #m reader #twice imagines #nayeon smut #twice nayeon

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teddybeartoji · 10 months ago

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18+ mdni; gn!reader

every once in a while, suguru lets you have all the power.

down on his knees, he stares up at you with dark eyes; there's a grin plastered onto his face, the very same one that got him into this situation in the first place, and nothing that you're doing is making it go away.

(every once in a while, he lets you think you have all the power.)

his hands are behind his back with the material of his own tie digging into the sensitive skin of his wrists but he doesn't mind the pain. he loves it. the first few buttons of his dress shirt are undone and a few blooming bruises peek from under the garment. the contrast between his skin and the splotches of color are tantalizing, it's making your mouth water and your teeth itch – the need to add more to the canvas that sits before you is clouding your mind and he knows it.

despite being the one that's tied up, suguru continues to push your buttons.

he's insufferable. he's rude. he's fucking annoying.

he's gorgeous. he's beautfiul. he's fucking exceptional.

you want to hurt him. you want to kiss him.

and he knows.

his cheek burns a bright pink shade while the inside of your hand prickles with the most delicious kind of pain. strands of hair have fallen from behind his ears and are now keeping you from having his eyes on you and that won't do. slowly reaching out, you tuck it back where it came from, your fingers brush against his skin and you feel the warmth exuding from him. you press your tingling palm against his cheek and watch how he leans into your touch; the corners of his lips tug even further and he morphs into the wolf that he really is – his sharp teeth glint from behind the grin as his eyes narrow in on you. there's a comment, a sly tease, ready to fall from his tongue, you can see it so clearly—

a second slap echoes through your shared home.

the words dissolve in his mouth as he hums at you instead. his head is now turned away from you by an inch, the impact of your hand strong enough to actually do some damage. suguru bites down onto his lip while slowly cracking open his eyes, his gaze even darker now. he licks his lips and you catch sight of the little steel piercing that hides in mouth.

trying to win the silent battle of dominance, you tilt your chin up high but when you see suguru pressing his thighs together, you almost crumble entirely. he's so hard that even just the mere thought of his cock makes your mouth salivate.

you think about big of a mess he must be making under all the layers, you think about how full his balls are. you think about all the things he might do to you the second you untie him.

"don't tell me that was your worst, sweetheart... "

his voice is like something crafted perfectly just to make you weak in the knees, there's no resisting it. it's like honey, sweet and sticky, and—

a third slap.

you can't let him do this to you. this is your fucking moment.

his cheek burns brighter than ever, the ache under his skin shooting waves of pleasure all over his body and all he's willing to give you is another hum. it comes from somewhere deep within, desperately crawling out from inside him as if he couldn't contain it anymore. but it feels so good. it's so fucking good and he hates to admit it; he hates how he has no control over his body – his thighs press together all on their own, his brain focused on relieving the pain between his legs at any cost.

when suguru's head falls forward and he lets out a raspy laugh, you freeze. you can hear your own heart beat in your ears and you can feel the blood pumping in your veins.

and when he cranes his neck to peer at you from under his brow, you feel like you're going to faint. he's going to eat you, he's going to devour you. he's going to ruin you.

#SKDFJFESHFHWEFHSEGWEJHFEHWFGEH #idk what else to say i'm sorry..#sugu #wtf mickey can write #suguru x reader #suguru smut #suguru drabble #geto suguru #geto suguru x reader #geto suguru smut #geto suguru drabble #jjk geto #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jjk drabble #jujutsu kaisen

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kaechu1 · 3 months ago

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Hi !! May I ask for a Burning Spice cookie x Innocent wife reader please ?? Not abuse or manipulation, just Fluff please...

burning spice cookie x innocent wife reader

note: how am I supposed to write fluff with this cookie man? i can say i try my best, it might be a little bit ooc because this man cookie is something...

warning: nothing just pure fluff, he's protective tho.

burning spice cookie treasure your innocence, he's so fond of the way you view the world, so pure and innocent, how did a cookie like you get with him in the first place?

you're two different cookies, he's the destruction and you're the peace, he's the storm and you're the soft clouds, he's the giant waves and you're the calm sea

burning spice cookie loves that about you, and he'll do everything in his power to protect your innocence, he doesn't care what he has to do, he'll never let you lose your innocence.

as his wife he'll protect you at all cost, no matter if it is him who's protecting you or one of his cookies, he'll always order nutmeg tiger cookie to watch over you when he can't.

he's keeping you away from the other beasts cookie, nope he can risk it with them.

he stops yelling or doing anything horrible when you're around, he'll even treat cookies better if you tell him to. he'll continue what he was doing when you get awa

If anyone disrespect you in any way behind your back.. oh god he's not staying for long, but burning spice won't even bother, he'll just send nutmeg cookie to do the job.

as if someone says anything in your face? yea i don't think they'll dare to... burning spice is always with you, so one wrong look and they will crumble.

and oh if someone hurt you? yea i think we don't need to get into details we saw what happened to golden cheese.

he always tries to control his temperature around you not like he could ever get mad at you but whenever he's in a bad mood he runs straight to you, after all it just needs one smile from you and he's all calm.

he can listen to you talk and sing non stop without getting bored, he could never get bored of the sight of you or of your angelic voice , he can listen to them forever.

he's not very good with words so he'll try to show his love through actions, whenever it's buying gifts, or spending time with you, or just physical touchs.

if you're sad about anything he'll do everything to make you happy, he'll tell jokes or even tell you about his stories without mentioning him torturing cookies ,or just let you hug him. he'll even ask shadow milk cookie yes he found out about you but burning spice threatens him not to say a word for help but we know he's an ass and won't really help

even tho he's a ruthless beast, he'll use soft pet names for you like "sweetheart" "angel" and those fluffy stuff

you call him "my burning fire" or "honey" which makes him so weak against you.

as busy as he is, he'll spend every second he has with you, he just want to be beside you, no matter what.

did i mention he's protective? after all, he doesn't wanna lose you too.

note: this was hard... this cookie is everything but gentle but i guess here you have it! another cookie run request done now i need to write something else or I'll get bored of it...

#burning spice x reader #x female reader #x fem reader #Charlotte✒️#burning spice cookie #burning spice crk #crk #cookie run #cookie run kingdom x reader #cookie run x reader #cookie run kingdom #burning spice #fanfiction #cookie run x y/n #writers on tumblr

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reasonsforhope · 1 year ago

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"Cody Two Bears, a member of the Sioux tribe in North Dakota, founded Indigenized Energy, a native-led energy company with a unique mission — installing solar farms for tribal nations in the United States.

This initiative arises from the historical reliance of Native Americans on the U.S. government for power, a paradigm that is gradually shifting.

The spark for Two Bears' vision ignited during the Standing Rock protests in 2016, where he witnessed the arrest of a fellow protester during efforts to prevent the construction of the Dakota Access Pipeline on sacred tribal land.

Disturbed by the status quo, Two Bears decided to channel his activism into action and create tangible change.

His company, Indigenized Energy, addresses a critical issue faced by many reservations: poverty and lack of access to basic power.

Reservations are among the poorest communities in the country, and in some, like the Navajo Nation, many homes lack electricity.

Even in regions where the land has been exploited for coal and uranium, residents face obstacles to accessing power.

Renewable energy, specifically solar power, is a beacon of hope for tribes seeking to overcome these challenges.

Not only does it present an environmentally sustainable option, but it has become the most cost-effective form of energy globally, thanks in part to incentives like the Inflation Reduction Act of 2022.

Tribal nations can receive tax subsidies of up to 30% for solar and wind farms, along with grants for electrification, climate resiliency, and energy generation.

And Indigenized Energy is not focused solely on installing solar farms — it also emphasizes community empowerment through education and skill development.

In collaboration with organizations like Red Cloud Renewable, efforts are underway to train Indigenous tribal members for jobs in the renewable energy sector.

The program provides free training to individuals, with a focus on solar installation skills.

Graduates, ranging from late teens to late 50s, receive pre-apprenticeship certification, and the organization is planning to launch additional programs to support graduates with career services such as resume building and interview coaching...

The adoption of solar power by Native communities signifies progress toward sustainable development, cultural preservation, and economic self-determination, contributing to a more equitable and environmentally conscious future.

These initiatives are part of a broader movement toward "energy sovereignty," wherein tribes strive to have control over their own power sources.

This movement represents not only an economic opportunity and a source of jobs for these communities but also a means of reclaiming control over their land and resources, signifying a departure from historical exploitation and an embrace of sustainable practices deeply rooted in Indigenous cultures."

-via Good Good Good, December 10, 2023

#indigenous #native americans #first nations #indigenous rights #tribal sovereignty #solar energy #solar power #solar panels #renewable energy #green energy #sioux #sioux nation #sustainability #climate hope #electrification #united states #hope #good news

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asestimationsconsultants · 4 months ago

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Why Every Contractor Needs a Professional Construction Estimating Service

Introduction

In the competitive construction industry, accurate cost estimation is critical for project success. Contractors who rely on guesswork or outdated methods often face budget overruns, delays, and lost profits. A construction estimating service provides precise cost calculations, helping contractors streamline bidding, manage expenses, and increase profitability.

With market fluctuations, labor shortages, and rising material costs, contractors need professional estimating solutions to stay ahead. This article explores why every contractor should invest in a professional construction estimating service and how it improves efficiency, cost control, and business growth.

The Importance of a Construction Estimating Service for Contractors

A professional construction estimating service provides accurate and detailed cost breakdowns for labor, materials, equipment, and overhead. Key benefits include:

Precision in Costing – Reduces errors and miscalculations in project estimates.

Competitive Bidding – Helps contractors submit accurate, profitable bids.

Time Savings – Speeds up the estimating process with automation and data integration.

Risk Reduction – Identifies potential financial risks before they impact the project.

Profit Maximization – Ensures projects are financially viable from start to finish.

Key Reasons Why Contractors Need a Construction Estimating Service

1. Accurate Cost Estimation Reduces Budget Overruns

Incorrect estimates can lead to unexpected costs, forcing contractors to absorb financial losses or delay project completion. A construction estimating service ensures every cost component is accurately accounted for, including:

Material costs based on current market prices.

Labor wages, including overtime and specialized work.

Equipment rental and operational expenses.

Permits, insurance, and other indirect costs.

With precise estimates, contractors can maintain financial control and avoid budget shortfalls.

2. Streamlining the Bidding Process

Winning bids while maintaining profitability is a challenge for contractors. A professional estimating service helps create competitive yet realistic bid proposals.

Provides detailed breakdowns to justify bid amounts.

Enhances credibility with clients by showing accurate cost projections.

Reduces the risk of underbidding or overpricing, improving win rates.

3. Saves Time and Increases Efficiency

Manual cost estimation is time-consuming and prone to errors. Modern estimating services use automation and AI-driven tools to speed up the process.

Cuts down estimating time from days to hours.

Automates repetitive calculations and takeoffs.

Allows contractors to focus on project execution rather than number-crunching.

4. Enhances Cash Flow and Financial Planning

Uncontrolled costs can lead to cash flow problems, delaying supplier payments and payroll. A construction estimating service helps contractors:

Plan expenses in advance to avoid financial bottlenecks.

Allocate funds efficiently across different project phases.

Ensure steady cash flow by predicting costs accurately.

5. Minimizes Material Wastage and Resource Mismanagement

Ordering too much or too little material can impact a project's budget and timeline. A professional estimating service provides precise quantity takeoffs to optimize material usage.

Prevents material shortages that can halt work.

Reduces waste and unnecessary expenditures.

Improves procurement planning for bulk discounts.

6. Improves Profit Margins and Business Growth

Every dollar saved in estimation translates to higher profits. A reliable construction estimating service allows contractors to:

Identify cost-saving opportunities in procurement and labor.

Reduce rework costs by providing more accurate project estimates.

Maintain a competitive edge by offering precise and transparent pricing.

7. Real-Time Market Data for Better Decision-Making

Material and labor prices fluctuate based on market demand. Professional estimating services integrate real-time data, ensuring:

Estimates reflect current market conditions.

Contractors can adjust budgets based on material price trends.

Clients receive up-to-date and realistic project cost projections.

8. Integration with Project Management and Accounting Software

Modern estimating services work seamlessly with construction management tools, allowing contractors to:

Sync cost estimates with project schedules.

Track expenses in real time to prevent overspending.

Generate automated reports for financial planning.

9. Better Risk Management and Contingency Planning

Every construction project has uncertainties, from weather delays to design changes. A professional estimating service helps contractors:

Identify risks before they impact project costs.

Allocate contingency funds to cover unexpected expenses.

Reduce financial strain caused by unforeseen events.

10. Compliance with Industry Standards and Regulations

Legal and safety compliance costs must be factored into estimates. Professional estimating services ensure:

Accurate calculations of permit fees and regulatory costs.

Inclusion of safety and environmental compliance expenses.

Avoidance of financial penalties due to non-compliance.

How to Choose the Right Construction Estimating Service

Contractors should look for estimating services that offer:

Accuracy and Reliability – Proven track record in delivering precise estimates.

Integration Capabilities – Compatibility with project management and accounting tools.

Cloud-Based Access – Remote access to estimates for better collaboration.

Real-Time Cost Updates – Automatic adjustments for changing market prices.

User-Friendly Interface – Easy-to-use platform that simplifies estimation.

Conclusion

A construction estimating service is no longer an option but a necessity for contractors who want to remain competitive, profitable, and efficient. It streamlines cost estimation, enhances bidding accuracy, and ensures projects stay within budget.

By investing in a professional estimating service, contractors can save time, reduce financial risks, and maximize profits. Whether handling small renovations or large-scale commercial builds, an accurate and reliable estimating solution is the key to sustainable business growth.

#construction estimating service #professional cost estimation #accurate construction estimates #contractor bidding solutions #cost estimation for contractors #estimating software for builders #construction cost control #project budgeting tools #real-time cost estimation #AI construction estimating #estimating automation tools #bid preparation for contractors #reducing construction costs #best estimating services #quantity takeoff software #contractor profit optimization #financial planning in construction #estimating service benefits #risk management in estimating #cost tracking for contractors #estimating software integration #cloud-based estimating tools #market price tracking for materials #estimating solutions for builders #competitive bid preparation #labor cost estimation #material pricing updates #construction cash flow management #project cost forecasting #estimating software for commercial projects

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p0orbaby · 7 months ago

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A Tide of Tender Mercies

summary: oh, no, i think i’m in love with you

warning: SMUT 18+, oral, fingering (alexia receiving), some angst, reader being stubborn af

a/n: thank you to @muffinpink02 for helping navigate the sexy part ! also i’ve deffo repeated some bits but i cannot for the life of me be bothered to sort it out

word count: 7k

part 1

The chalet is…well, perfect. It’s the kind of perfect that only comes from meticulous planning, obsessive list-making, and a kind of restrained indulgence that most people would never understand. Set high above a tiny Swiss village known for its fondue and twenty-something millionaires, it sits against a backdrop of mountains sharp enough to slice the clouds. The exterior is severe, almost aggressively minimalistic: crisp white stucco, blackened wood shutters, and glass doors that could double as showroom installations. The effect is daunting, beautiful, and—if you’re being honest—a bit over-the-top. You chose it, naturally, because it’s the type of place where “just a fling” can occur without a single hint of domesticity.

Inside, everything is pristine, hand-selected, curated to within an inch of its life. You were adamant that the linens be Egyptian cotton, but not the gaudy kind; they’re 800-thread count, light enough to seem insubstantial but woven to feel solid, unyielding. They’re arranged in clinical folds on the bed, starched and pressed in a way that suggests they’re almost afraid to be touched. You’ll mess them up later, but for now, they’re an artwork of restraint.

And then there are the wines, selected with the sort of care that would make a sommelier weep. It’s silly, of course—Alexia doesn’t normally drink during the season, so she will hardly glance at the labels, but you’ve assembled an array that hints at depth nonetheless. An entire wall of Swiss Chasselas, a few rare vintages from Bordeaux, and an stupidly expensive pinot noir that tastes like dirt but cost enough to suggest you know what you’re doing. The idea is that if she gives in to something sophisticated, she’ll find it here. If she doesn’t, you’ll find her something else. Something that says you’ve thought of everything. Which, of course, you have.

The whole thing has a sort of perverse charm, really, how every detail has been obsessively pre-arranged to ensure that she knows you’re not in this for anything serious. And yet, here you are, flying her across Europe to the kind of setting people book for anniversaries and life-altering proposals.

There’s a sort of humour in it, if you’re willing to look. You even laugh to yourself, laying out the spa towels in the bathroom—too thick, too plush, a little too “I love you”—knowing full well she won’t notice them. She’ll think of them as “towels,” and if she does notice, it’ll be because she needs a new one. But that’s fine. It’s all part of the performance, all part of the thing you’ve constructed around this chalet, around her arrival, around the notion that this is—what? Casual? Fun? Whatever word fits it neatly enough to deny what you’re feeling.

And then there are the candles. Oh, God, the candles. You tried to keep them simple, restrained, the kind of scents that evoke a distant memory rather than a specific moment. Sandalwood, bergamot, a flicker of pine; nothing too floral, nothing that says “romance,” but hints of something just familiar enough to feel safe. You even toyed with the idea of an unscented option, just in case the pine felt too… suggestive. It’s ridiculous, but you’ve learned to lean into it, to control it, to package it neatly. If it’s planned, then it’s deliberate, and if it’s deliberate, then it’s just for fun.

“Why all this?” you imagine her saying, eyebrows raised, maybe laughing as she notices the excessive stock of Swiss chocolates in the cabinet. You have them lined up in neat rows, the artisan kind—no corner-shop Toblerone here—and each one is individually wrapped in foil that gleams in the dim kitchen light. You picture her rolling her eyes at the small mountain of truffle boxes, asking if you’ve stocked up for a wedding. And you, of course, would shrug it off, offering some deadpan line about Swiss tourism. Or a joke about Swiss efficiency. Or something suitably bland that keeps the tone right where you want it—on the edge of humour, a step away from real. You’ve prepared for every reaction, really. Which is pointless, because she hasn’t even arrived yet.

It’s the first time she’s been here. The place is new, purchased after a very well-timed therapy session that conveniently rebranded “self-indulgence” as “self-care.” The therapist’s exact words were “If you want to be your best self, find the spaces that let you breathe.” And you took that literally, flying up here for private viewings until this place caught your eye. Well, maybe not your eye. But it was one of those rare places that looked exactly like the pictures, maybe better, and it had the kind of aesthetic that screams “I need nothing from you” while begging for a sense of purpose. You bought it almost instantly.

And now, after weeks of fine-tuning, she’ll be here soon. You catch yourself arranging the books on the side table, pausing over which titles to leave out—a mix of philosophy and modern fiction that says “I read but don’t take it too seriously.” You laugh to yourself at the pretension of it, yet you leave the carefully selected titles exactly as they are.

It’s silly, really, because the goal here is detachment, the freedom to keep things light and uncomplicated. You tell yourself that as you straighten the pillows on the sofa for the second time, catching your own eye in the polished mirror that hangs in the foyer.

“You’re being weird,” you say out loud, imagining her walking in, that quick smile flashing, eyebrows raised in a way that says, “Is this all for me?” You picture her laughing, maybe rolling those pretty green eyes of hers. But you have an answer for that too, prepared in advance, a casual shrug.

“Just a little atmosphere,” you’ll say, as if it’s nothing.

You check your watch. Thirty-two minutes until Alexia arrives. Thirty-two minutes to double-check that every single minutely considered, utterly detached detail says, I couldn’t care less—or, more precisely, I care in exactly the right amount of less. Because she needs to know that this is nothing. That this trip to an over-the-top chalet overlooking a town mostly inhabited by 19-year-olds in cashmere is simply an exercise in relaxation, togetherness, a concept you’re fairly sure you’re allergic to.

She doesn’t know it yet, but you bought the place partly to show her. Partly to remind her, subtly, that she could disappear tomorrow and you’d still have this. Because that’s the problem with Alexia, isn’t it? She’s not really yours. She’s something you can enjoy, display even, but never own. The complete opposite of the real estate you’ve added to your collection. You stand there, glass in hand, the Lagavulin you’ve graciously poured yourself warming your fingers through the crystal, staring out at the Alps with the vague thought that an obscene number of people have had their ashes scattered here, somewhere along this ridgeline. It’s an unsettling idea you rather enjoy.

She texts, something about a delay on the tarmac, and you stare at the message for a beat too long, analysing the exact wording like you’re looking for hidden subtext. As if there could be subtext in the word “delayed.”

A casual fling, you remind yourself, should never be complicated by subtext.

To pass the time, you scan the kitchen once again. The coffee is fresh-ground, of course, from a bag that cost as much as an entire year’s supply from anywhere normal. It’s pre-portioned in tiny glass canisters your assistant found online that look like vintage apothecary jars. The labels are printed in Helvetica Neue because you once read that it’s a ‘subtly superior’ font. Ridiculous. But also, it’s perfect. There’s also a miniature mountain of imported Spanish oranges on the counter, carefully arranged in a hammered copper bowl you don’t remember buying. You could make mimosas, you think, if you didn’t know she’ll insist on starting with a protein shake instead.

You put a bottle of Alpine mineral water in the fridge just for her, chilled to the exact 4.4°C she prefers. Yes, it’s an oddly specific temperature preference. No, she didn’t tell you directly. You overheard her mention it once, offhand, to someone else. Which is exactly why you’re bound to a polite indifference if she asks why it’s there. It’s simply what the fridge was set to. Nothing personal.

Just the thought of her walking in has you adjusting your posture as if she’s already watching. Alexia doesn’t miss a single detail. Once, she commented on the way you have a tendency to pull your sleeves over your hands. You haven’t done it since. Now, you check that every piece of clothing you’ve chosen is deliberately, carelessly oversized—but only to the point that still reads as flattering.

Then, at last, you hear the crunch of tyres on gravel. You scurry to watch from the window as she steps out of the car you sent, and she’s immediately caught in that glacial alpine light, her features so stark and defined that it’s almost cinematic. There’s a sharp thrill—one you won’t admit to yourself—in seeing her here, framed against this scene like she’s the final piece in some high-budget film. The coat she’s wearing is slightly too large, lending her a relaxed, indifferent air, as if she’d picked up the first thing she saw on her way out the door. Effortless, in that way that would feel studied on anyone else.

You stand back from the window just before she glances up, retreating into the comfort of shadows. Timing is everything. You’ve thought this through, down to each calculated second. It’s critical, after all, that she finds you not watching, but instead lingering at a perfect remove, preferably with a slight air of distraction. You’re aiming for a kind of aloofness, as if her arrival is the least interesting event of the day.

She’s about to ring the bell when you move, deliberately slow, to the door, letting it swing open just as she raises her hand. There’s a brief, barely perceptible pause as her eyes meet yours, a spark of something unspoken passing between you both before she raises an eyebrow, a look that hovers between amusement and challenge.

“Missed me?” she asks, dryly, though there’s a glint in her eye that suggests she’s perfectly aware of what she’s doing. She’s close now, close enough that you can catch the faintest whiff of her perfume, something dark and woody and just the right side of familiar.

You tilt your head, giving her a slow once-over, and shrug. “Not especially,” you say, voice low, careful to keep the tone perfectly flat. But you let your gaze linger just a second too long on her collarbone, barely visible where her coat has slipped slightly, enough to make her catch it, her mouth curling up at the edge. It’s a deliberate game, one you’ve both played a hundred times, each move rehearsed, practised to the point of art.

She’s barely through the door when you feel it—that unmistakable tension, thickening the air between you. It’s almost tangible, a static hum just beneath the surface of polite conversation, something that pulls at you like gravity. The moment feels precarious, balanced on the edge of something you’re not quite willing to name, because if you wait too long, the feeling will settle into something more familiar. Something too close to comfort, which is the last thing you want.

She doesn’t seem to notice it, of course, her mind likely on dinner plans or the slow crawl of the evening. You, however, are already teetering at the edge of patience, every nerve just slightly too aware of her. She walks in, drops her bag by the door with a casual grace that feels almost too natural, like she’s done this a hundred times, like she could do this forever if you asked her to. And you wonder if you’d even want that—something so predictably domestic, the quiet comfort of a routine. No. You want her in ways that defy that kind of simplicity, in a way that doesn’t ask permission.

You watch her from the corner of your eye as she takes in the room. Her eyes linger on the minimal, curated details you agonised over: the leather-bound books you never plan to read, the art on the walls meant to suggest a taste for something more sophisticated than it is. She’s oblivious, seemingly caught up in the novelty of the place, and that’s exactly what you intended. She can’t know how meticulously you set the scene, how every pillow and chair is positioned with an almost obsessive precision. All she has to do is be here. You’ll take care of the rest.

There’s a slow, unhurried quality to her movements, an ease that’s infuriating because it’s so at odds with the pulse of urgency rising in you. She wanders over to the fireplace, running her hand along the mantel with a soft, idle curiosity. Her fingers trace over the edge of a photograph you don’t remember putting there, something abstract and distant, chosen for the way it says absolutely nothing about you. It’s maddening, really, the way she lingers in the space, claiming it without meaning to, as if her very presence could overwrite the hours you spent constructing it.

“You’ve really outdone yourself,” she says, her voice light, unaware of the way it cuts through the silence with a sharpness that’s almost physical. There’s a half-smile on her face, something unreadable that you can’t quite shake off.

You shrug, adopting an air of disinterest you’ve perfected over the years. “Thought you’d appreciate the change of scenery”

She raises an eyebrow, still oblivious, her focus now on the bust of Venus of Arles by the window. For a second, you want to laugh at the madness of it, how she’s here, right in front of you, while you’re clawing at the edges of your own restraint.

But she’s still gazing around, her fingers brushing the edge of a table as if she has all the time in the world. As if she doesn’t know what you’re holding back. You take a slow breath, exhale, feel the tension coil tighter inside, and think that if you let this linger for even another second, you’ll start to resent the calmness of it, the quiet rhythm that feels too much like waiting. Like settling into something you’re not prepared to face.

“Wine?” You ask in a futile attempt to keep things just this side of civilised. The offer hangs in the air, a thin layer of normalcy that feels like it could snap at any moment, but she only nods, glancing over with a slight smile, one corner of her mouth lifting in that way that’s halfway between polite interest and something more.

“Sure,” she says, her voice smooth, without a hint of awareness. “You pick”

You turn to the wine rack with an exaggerated casualness, scanning bottles you chose with this exact moment in mind. You could explain the notes of every vintage, how each one was picked not because it pairs with any particular food—because let’s face it, dinner’s not exactly on your mind—but because it suggests a kind of sophistication, a subtlety. You choose a bottle of red, something full-bodied and just slightly bitter, almost as if in silent commentary on the situation. You pour, slowly, setting the glass down in front of her with a kind of precision that’s both reverent and clinical. She reaches for it, her fingers grazing the stem, the gesture infuriatingly graceful.

The first sip seems to surprise her. “Good choice,” she murmurs, eyes meeting yours over the rim of the glass.

The silence stretches on just a moment too long, the air thick with something that isn’t quite tension, more like a coiled spring just waiting for one of you to press down. You feel it building as she shifts, glancing around the room, and suddenly, you realise she’s working up to something. There’s a certain deliberateness in the way she moves, a careful consideration in her stare, and you know—know—she didn’t come all this way just to admire the decor.

“Look,” she starts, her voice softer than usual, carrying a weight that tells you she’s not talking about the view. “I’ve been thinking—”

But you can’t—won’t—let her finish. Not when you know exactly what she’s about to say. You cut her off, leaning forward, your tone light, easy, deliberately dismissive. “Please don’t tell me you came all the way here just to talk, Alexia”

She freezes, mid-sentence, and there’s a flash of something in her eyes, a blend of surprise and—annoyance, maybe? But she masks it quickly, her lips pressing into a tight line. “I thought you’d appreciate me being… honest,” she says slowly, as though testing the waters, watching you carefully.

“Honest? That’s what we’re calling it?” You let a smirk tug at the corner of your mouth, a practiced expression, something designed to be just detached enough to hold everything at arm’s length. “Come on, we’re better than that, aren’t we?”

She raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by your deflection, but there’s still a hint of amusement in her eyes. “Better than what? Talking?”

Talking. The word hangs in the air, innocent, innocuous, yet loaded in a way that feels heavier than it has any right to. You shift, taking another sip of wine, letting the liquid burn down, hoping it’ll smother the way her eyes feel like they're peeling away all your practiced layers. It’s one thing to enjoy someone’s company, but the feeling creeping in now is something else, something you’re not used to. It feels inconvenient. Like an itch you can’t reach.

You try to fire back, something witty, something cool, but the words catch in your throat, your mind scraping empty. It’s frustrating, the way she’s caught you off guard, how she’s unraveled your carefully crafted reserve without even trying. You reach for your glass again, swirling the wine, stalling for time, anything to avoid that knowing look in her eyes.

But then it dawns on you, like a spark catching flame—there’s still one thing left to do to regain control. Something you can do that would put you back in charge, bring this uncomfortable vulnerability back into something physical, where you excel. You set your glass down, slowly, purposefully, letting the silence stretch taut between you both.

She watches you with that smirk, that trace of challenge, as if daring you to break this moment of stillness.

“Come here,” you say, low and steady, injecting just enough command to leave no room for debate.

“No”

She says it so simply, so carelessly, that for a moment you’re almost convinced you misheard her. It’s infuriating, really, that one little word has the power to throw you so entirely. Your pulse stumbles, and you feel the ground slipping from under you, just enough to catch you off guard.

“Alexia.” You give her a look that’s intended to be definitive, final, but it lands with all the power of a weak threat. Her smirk widens into a full, infuriating smile, the one that says she’s entirely aware of the effect she’s having on you.

“Just hear me out,” she says, with a kind of softness that’s more unnerving than you’d like. “You’re doing that thing. The thing where you turn everything into—” She pauses, gesturing vaguely with her hand, searching for the right word, “—into some kind of performance”

It’s an odd, unnerving feeling, this loss of footing. Normally, you’d have a witty reply ready, something cutting or clever, but instead, you feel like she’s stripped you bare, left you standing there with nothing but honesty, and you hate it.

“So now you’re the expert?” you reply, finally finding your voice, though it sounds sharper than you meant. “Since when do you—”

“Since I started actually falling for you,” she says, cutting you off, her voice low but clear. It’s not even particularly dramatic, the way she says it, and somehow that’s worse. Like she’s not trying to turn it into anything, not expecting any kind of reaction—just stating it as a fact.

You feel a flush rise to your face, and you mask it with another sip of wine, a hasty attempt to cover up the sudden jolt in your chest. She waits, just watches you with that maddening calm, as if giving you all the time in the world to come up with some kind of response.

The air between you feels thick, heavy with something unsaid and unfamiliar. You feel the urge to laugh, to make light of it, anything to disperse this feeling building between you, something dangerously close to vulnerability.

“You don’t have to make this into… whatever this is,” you say, gesturing between you. “Let’s not get sentimental”

“I’m not,” she says, crossing her arms, looking impossibly patient. “I told you I’m just trying to be honest. I thought that was allowed”

“Honest,” you repeat, as though the word itself is foreign. And maybe it is. Honesty has never been the thing you reach for. Honesty is for people who can afford to look foolish, who don’t mind slipping, stumbling a little. Honesty is… unnecessary. And maybe that’s exactly why it’s got you so rattled now.

You set your glass down, more forcefully than intended, and close the distance between you with a deliberate slowness, a silence that says everything you aren’t willing to say out loud. She watches you, unmoving, waiting, that infuriating patience of hers still intact.

“Fine,” you murmur, leaning in close, your voice barely above a whisper. “If youre falling for me, fucking show me”

Her lips quirk in the barest hint of a smile, a flicker of amusement mixed with something warmer, something that makes you feel like you’re the one being dissected here. It’s maddening, really, how effortlessly she manages to get under your skin, slip past all those careful layers. And yet you’re already reaching for her, pulling her closer, desperate to change the pace, to turn this moment into something you can control.

There’s a split second where neither of you move, holding the charged silence like it might be the only thread of control left. And then it snaps. You reach for her, not gently, fingers curling around her wrist with enough force that she has no choice but to be pulled in. Her smirk flickers, only slightly, and there’s something about the momentary surprise in her eyes that makes your grip tighten further, anchoring yourself as much as her. It’s a flash of vulnerability that vanishes as quickly as it appears, leaving behind nothing but a thin layer of bravado, one you’re keen to shatter.

You pull her toward you, and the air shifts, that faint hint of uncertainty cracking into something far messier. Your hand finds its way to the back of her neck, fingers threading into her hair with a kind of reckless precision, not even aware of how tightly you’re holding on. You don’t waste time; you’re not even sure there’s time to waste. And as soon as you lean in, catching her mouth with a kiss that’s anything but tentative, you feel her resistance melt, her lips parting under yours with a roughness that’s almost defiant.

She meets you with equal force, as if each clash of mouths, each bruising press of skin, is a way to gain back her own control, and you revel in it, the give-and-take that feels as calculated as it is chaotic. Your hand slips to her jaw, holding her there, your thumb brushing over the corner of her mouth with a kind of ferocity that toes the line between possessive and desperate. You know it’s not going to be gentle; there’s a part of you that doesn’t want it to be.

You’re moving backwards, feeling the edge of the marble island press into your spine, but it doesn’t matter. She’s everywhere, her hands gripping the fabric of your shirt, blunt nails scraping against your skin as if she’s staking a claim, as if she’s finally caught on to the pace you’ve been trying to set and decided to match it.

“Is this what you wanted?” Her words slip out like a slow, deliberate knife cutting through the air between you. The tone, sharp, unfamiliar, though has been the soundtrack to your late-night thoughts. It’s almost as if she knows, like she’s caught you in the act of something that’s always been just below the surface. Her breath comes in shallow gasps, eyes darting between your face and the space between you two, as if trying to read the faintest tremor in your expression. It’s always a game with her, always a step too far.

Yes.

“No,” you manage, your voice betraying you—cracked, thin, like a lie too rehearsed. The words come out wrong, but they come out anyway, forced through a tightening chest.

The moment stretches, each second fracturing, bending and folding into itself. It’s like trying to hold a conversation with a shadow—everything slips just out of reach, and the harder you try to grasp it, the more it seems to twist away, leaving nothing but the sensation of your own breath hitching in your throat. You fucking hate this. You hate the way her fingers curl in the fabric of your shirt, as if trying to remind you of your place, of the expectations that have always followed you both like a silent, mocking echo.

No, you don’t hate her.

Fuck. You love her.

The thought is an ugly, dissonant thing, a weight that doesn’t settle easily, like a slow-moving tide pulling you under. The water’s cold. You can’t feel the bottom. You don’t know which way is up, and the only thing you do know is that, somewhere along the line, you’ve let yourself drown.

Your pulse is almost deafening in your ears, hammering in time with your desperate need for air. There’s something about the way she stands before you—still and deliberate, eyes trained on yours—that makes the room feel smaller, closer. You think you can hear her thoughts. Feel them. It’s maddening, how much she seems to know you, how she’s always known the way you bend. How much she’s learned to manipulate that bend, until you almost forget what it’s like to be anything but this: a response.

You swallow. The taste of her is lingering on your lips, sweet and bitter all at once, like a bad memory. How many times has this happened? You don’t know anymore. The last time feels as far away as the first time—when she leaned in, the weight of her body an invisible promise. But tonight, there’s something different. It’s in the way she watches you, cold, calculating, her fingers still gripping the edges of your shirt, the only real connection between you two in the moment.

She inhales slowly, the rhythm deliberate, like she’s listening to a song you can’t hear. The silence is suffocating.

“You’re lying,” she says, low and accusing, with just enough venom to make you flinch. There’s a tiny smile that tugs at the corner of her mouth, something fleeting, something knowing. You want to reach out, to take her in your hands and pull her close, but the distance between you both feels like a universe. The space feels like a reflection of everything that’s wrong with you: the empty conversations, the meaningless gestures, the ache that’s always there, just beneath the skin. It’s maddening, this tension.

And yet…

You want her. Fuck, you need her. You don’t know if it’s because you love her or because she knows how to make you feel more alive than anything else. She’s become your addiction, your fire, the only thing you can’t quit.

Another shift in the air. Another breath from her, shallow and calculated. It’s not a question anymore, not a challenge—it’s an affirmation. She knows, and you know, too.

You close your eyes for a moment, just long enough to lose yourself in the fleeting memory of something that almost felt like peace. The sound of her voice, the taste of her, the way she touched you. It’s all a blur, a disjointed collection of moments tied together by one inescapable truth: you’ll never be able to walk away.

Not this time.

When your eyes open again, she’s still standing there, eyes not leaving yours, studying you. Everything feels slowed down, almost too slow. Like time is bending around her, twisting the seconds into something thick, sticky. Her gaze doesn’t soften, but it holds you in place, an anchor, a force. The room is silent except for the faint hum of the refrigerator in the background, the dull tap of your own pulse in your ears.

You don’t speak. Not yet. You don’t need to.

Her fingers slide along your chest, trailing down in that same slow, infuriating pace, until they settle on the edge of your shirt again, the same place they started. She doesn’t look away, her lips curving upward in a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.

It’s like she’s trying to decide whether you want to hurt her or fuck her. And the problem is, you’re not sure you can tell the difference anymore.

Your hands curl into fists at your sides, nails digging into your palms like that might keep you steady, like that might stop you from doing the one thing you swore you wouldn’t.

Loving something. Someone. Loving Alexia.

“What are you so afraid of?” she murmurs, her voice low, almost gentle, and it’s the softness of it that makes you unravel completely.

You don’t think—you can’t. One second you’re standing there trying to convince yourself you still have your palms wrapped around this situation, and the next they’re on her, pulling her in with a force that’s almost cruel. Your mouth finds hers, hard and unrelenting, and she gasps into the kiss, her fingers clutching at your shirt, wrinkling the silk, as if you might disappear if she doesn’t hold on.

She tastes like spearmint gum and coffee. You imagine her shivering as she steps off the plane, teeth chattering in the wind, and too polite to mention it. But your driver notices, you pay him to notice, so before her luggage is out of the cargo, a café con leche is being pressed into her gloved hands.

It’s not a kiss. Not really. It’s a collision, hard and unrelenting, her mouth crashing into yours with a force that feels like defiance, like she’s daring you to stop pretending. To stop holding yourself together so tightly you’re liable to snap.

Your hands are already on her, pulling her close, so close it feels claustrophobic, but you can’t stop. You can’t make yourself pull away because then you’d have to look at her, really look at her, and confront the unbearable softness in her eyes. You’d have to hear her voice again, saying the one thing you’ve been trying to ignore since she first murmured it like a needle under your skin:

“What are you so afraid of?”

What you’re afraid of is this. Her. The way she’s stripped you bare with no effort at all, no grand gestures or declarations. She’s unravelling you with the weight of her presence, with the simple fact of her being, and you hate it almost as much as you crave it.

Your teeth scrape against her lower lip, harder than you mean to, and she gasps, but she doesn’t pull away. Her nails dig into your shoulders, gripping onto you while you take your rightful place at the helm of this godforsaken dance.

And she’s letting you. Letting you press her against the edge of the table, her legs bumping into the thick, varnished oak. The table was handmade by some artisan you don’t remember the name of, its surface polished to a high gloss that reflects the warm light overhead. You’d spent weeks agonising over the purchase, debating wood grains and finishes with a level of scrutiny that felt absurd even at the time. It’s the kind of thing people like you do when they’re too scared to focus on what matters.

But now it’s just a table. A thing in the way, a thing that’s caught between you and her.

Her jeans catch on the wood as you push her back, and the sound is sharp, cutting through the fog in your head. You hesitate for half a second, your hands hovering at her hips, fingers brushing the cool metal of her belt buckle.

“You’re thinking too much,” she says, her voice low and breathless. It’s not a reproach—it’s almost amused, like she knows exactly what’s going on in your head, and it’s ridiculous to her that you’re trying to wrestle this into something it’s not.

“I’m not thinking at all,” you say, and it’s true. Or it’s a lie. You don’t know anymore, and you don’t care.

The belt comes undone with a soft clink, the leather sliding through the loops of her jeans in one smooth motion. You let it fall to the floor, the sound of it hitting the tile lost beneath the ragged breaths you’re both taking. Your hands are shaking slightly as you undo the button on her jeans, the metal cold against your fingertips.

She doesn’t help you. Doesn’t lift her hips, doesn’t make it easier. She just watches you, her gaze steady and unwavering, like she’s daring you to keep going.

And you do.

You yank the denim down her thighs, your movements jerky, almost frantic, and it’s not until the fabric crumples on the floor that you realise your hands are still trembling. She notices too, her lips twitching into that infuriating half-smile, the one that makes your stomach twist into knots.

“What are you doing?” she asks, her voice soft but edged with something sharper, something that cuts right through you.

“I don’t know,” you admit, and the honesty of it feels like a blow to the chest.

“Don’t stop,” she whispers, and the words make something inside you snap.

You hook your fingers into the waistband of her underwear, dragging them down her thighs in one swift, unceremonious motion. The damp lace clings for a moment before it slides free, pooling at her knees before hitting the floor. You don’t stop to think. There’s no room for hesitation here, no space for the doubt that’s been clawing at you since this started.

Her scent hits you first, heady and intoxicating, and for a moment you freeze, overwhelmed by the sheer weight of it. But then she moves—just slightly, her hips tilting forward in an unspoken plea—and it’s all the permission you need.

You press your mouth to her, your tongue sliding through her folds with a slow, deliberate pressure that pulls a broken sound from her throat. Her taste is sharp, almost sweet, and it floods your senses in a way that makes you dizzy. Her thighs close around your head instinctively, caging you in, and you let out a low, involuntary groan against her skin.

“Fuck—” Her voice is high and breathy, her fingers digging into your scalp now, hard enough to sting. “Don’t stop. Don’t—”

You don’t. You press deeper, your tongue finding the sensitive bundle of nerves at her centre and circling it with a precision you didn’t know you had. She jerks against you, her body arching off the table, and you use the opportunity to slide your hands up her thighs, holding her steady.

The table creaks beneath her, the sound of the wood groaning under her weight mixing with the wet, obscene noises of your mouth against her. It’s filthy and raw, every sense overwhelmed, and you’re not sure if you’re doing this to prove a point or because you can’t bear to stop. Maybe it’s both.

Her head tilts back, exposing the long, elegant line of her throat, and you want to mark it, to leave evidence of this all over her skin, but you can’t pull away. Not when she’s gasping your name, her voice breaking like she can’t quite believe what’s happening.

You slide a finger into her, slow at first, just enough to make her hips stutter against your mouth. She’s tight, impossibly so, and you feel her clench around you as you add a second finger, curling them just right. Her moan is loud, sharp, and it sends a bolt of heat straight through you.

“God, you—” She doesn’t finish the sentence, doesn’t seem capable of forming words anymore, and it sends a twisted sense of satisfaction through you. You focus on her clit again, your tongue moving in quick, precise circles as your fingers work her open, the slick heat of her making it almost too easy.

Her legs tremble around you, and you can feel her getting closer, her breathing turning shallow and erratic. You don’t let up, don’t give her a second to recover, pressing her higher and higher until she breaks with a cry that sounds like your name.

Her whole body shudders, her thighs clamping tight around your head as she rides out her orgasm, and you keep going, drawing it out as long as you can until she’s pushing weakly at your shoulders.

“Enough,” she gasps, her voice wrecked, and you finally pull back, your lips and chin wet with her.

You look up at her, and she’s a mess—her hair sticking to her damp forehead, her chest heaving with every ragged breath. Her eyes meet yours, dark and unreadable, and for a moment neither of you says anything.

Then, slowly, she reaches for you, her hands shaking as she grabs at your jumper and pulls you up to meet her. Her kiss is rough and desperate, her teeth catching on your lower lip, and you realise she’s not done.

Her hands don’t go for your own clothes like you’d expected. Instead, they move to your thighs, her grip firm and commanding, and before you can comprehend what’s happening, she’s lifting you. The sudden change knocks the air out of your lungs, and you gasp, your legs instinctively wrapping around her waist, locking you against her. The motion is seamless, like she’s done this before—or like she’s always known she could.

You try to tell yourself you hate how easy it feels, but you don’t. You can’t.

Your hands find her shoulders, her jaw, her hair—anything to ground yourself, but nothing works. You’re still dizzy, still untethered, even as her lips crash against yours. There’s nothing gentle about it, nothing controlled. Her teeth scrape your bottom lip, her tongue pushes into your mouth like she’s trying to devour you, and you let her because for once you don’t want to think about what comes next.

She’s walking, you realise belatedly, the steady rhythm of her steps making your body rock against hers. It’s disorienting, the way she carries you so easily, like your weight is nothing, like you’re the fragile thing here.

You kiss her harder to prove you’re not, nipping at her lip until she growls low in her throat, a sound that vibrates through you and pulls a small, involuntary moan from your lips. Her hands tighten on you, her fingers digging into the soft flesh of your thighs, and it sends a sharp thrill up your spine.

The hallway blurs around you, the world narrowing until it’s just her—her mouth on yours, her hands gripping you like she’ll never let go, her body impossibly solid against yours.

When she finally kicks the door open and lays you down on the bed, it feels like surrender. Not hers. Yours.

You don’t realise how tightly you’ve been clinging to her until she pulls back, your fingers still knotted in the collar of her shirt. The fabric wrinkles between your hands, and for a moment you just stare at each other, the room charged with something you don’t have the words to name.

Her eyes are dark, searching, but there’s no smugness, no trace of victory there. Instead, there’s something softer, something that makes your chest ache in a way that has nothing to do with lust.

“I’ve got you,” she murmurs, her voice low and steady, and it undoes you more than anything else she’s done tonight.

It’s too much. The weight of her words, the way she says them like a promise, like she means it. Your chest tightens, and you shake your head, your fingers releasing her collar to press against her shoulders, keeping her at a distance.

But she doesn’t let you push her away completely. Her hands slide up your sides, gentle now, her touch a sharp contrast to the bruising grip she had on you moments ago. She’s watching you, waiting, like she knows exactly what’s going through your head.

You hate her for it. You hate her because she’s right.

“I can’t…” Your voice cracks, barely audible, and you don’t even know what you’re trying to say.

She leans in, her forehead resting against yours, her breath warm against your cheek. “You don’t have to,” she says simply, and the honesty in her tone is unbearable.

You want to argue, to fight, to push her away, but your body doesn’t move. You just lay there, your chest heaving, your hands trembling against her. You feel like you’re teetering on the edge of something vast and unknowable, and for the first time in a long time, you’re not sure if you’ll survive the fall.

Because this isn’t about sex anymore.

It’s about her, and the way she looks at you like you’re something worth holding onto. It’s about the way your body feels like it’s breaking apart under the weight of it, like you’re finally being seen for what you are—what you’ve always been.

A liar. A coward. Someone too afraid to let go, too afraid to feel, too afraid to love.

Her lips brush yours again, soft this time, barely there, and you let out a shaky breath. It’s not enough to drown in. Not yet. But it’s close.

“Let me in,” she whispers, and it’s not a command. It’s an offering.

You close your eyes, and for the first time, you don’t resist.

#alexia putellas #alexia putellas x reader #fcb femeni #fcb femeni x reader #espwnt #espwnt x reader #woso #woso x reader #woso imagine #woso community

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ptseti · 10 months ago

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BLACK MAN INVENTS REVOLUTIONARY WATER MACHINE

Moses West, an engineer in San Antonio, Texas, has captured global attention with a water-generating machine. This device extracts moisture from the air, cooling it to form water droplets, much like how a refrigerator condenses humidity. By mimicking the natural process of cloud formation, this brother’s machine creates a controlled mini rain cloud to produce clean drinking water.

What truly sets Moses apart is his dedication to helping those in need. He provides water at no cost, targeting struggling communities. His efforts have already made a difference in Flint, Michigan, Puerto Rico, and the Bahamas in the wake of Hurricane Dorian.

This selfless approach tackles the urgent global issue of clean-water scarcity. According to the UN World Water Development Report, 2 billion people worldwide (26 per cent) lack reliable access to safe drinking water. Moses’s invention can ensure clean water reaches those who otherwise might not have access.

Video Credit: @mosesfoundation / @U_green_Us (IG)

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girl-lostconnection · 1 month ago

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Long awaited continuation to this, let’s go while John Price’s multiverse spirit has me by my fucking hair

John is a man of many qualities.

Discipline, integrity, cold head and sharp mind.

Relatively stable code of ethics he tries to apply when it doesn’t cost him an arm and a leg in the process.

He likes staying this way and he likes how high he managed to climb given his absolute hatred of bureaucracy and strained relationship with higher ups in command.

And a general he once murdered in cold blood.

On the other hand, now he is able to add to his CV “efficient and quick thinker”, so if the day comes and army boots him out, he’d be able to get a job at a place that probably frowns upon on unnecessary murder and his choice of coping mechanisms.

John knows a tad more about self control than most people — the itch under his skin to fight and chase ever present, at times even more intensely than in Simon.

And Simon is a wolf, for fuck’s sake, man is a stalking predator through and through.

But it was always different for John, a deep seated hunger, a need to climb to the top and stay there no matter what it takes and no matter how many he’d need to send tumbling down.

After all, he just does what his gut tells him.

No one’s bloody business if his gut also has sharp teeth and heavy tail and less patience than he would have liked.

John drinks his whiskey until his head is blurry. He usually stops at the glass of two fingers and a wank, getting it out of his system before his systems decides to reboot itself by urging him to maul the first soldier that looks him in the eyes.

This time John finishes three glasses, scales rippling when he stretches out, his own smoke clouding his head.

Not a good look for a captain. But tonight he isn’t one.

Tonight he is just John. Just a man.

A man you seemingly don’t want, but at the same time can’t help but enjoy teasing.

Taunting him with the promise of intimacy that John cannot have, showing affections that aren’t for him. Kisses that he can’t get.

For one or another reason.

It’s been almost three months now since he has given up trying to figure out what was so wrong about him.

Why isn’t he good enough. Why don’t you like him.

On most days he doesn’t have some proper time to spiral into thinking about his own inadequacy or about you kissing him just as sweetly as you do kiss Johnny. As you kiss Kyle.

Bit unfair it all feels, if he’s being completely honest and a little selfish. Bit unfair and a whole lot less serious than his brain makes it out to be.

Unfortunately today is one of the few precious days when he has more than enough time to think or spiral or preferably finish his bloody paperwork because the thing has been mounting on his desk.

And people need these forms filled out yesterday.

John will probably fill them out tomorrow. Maybe.

Maybe not. He isn’t sure, as of right now, your frame pulling his whole focus off the necessary work.

You aren’t doing anything per se, you just write the reports he needed help with, you are being a good teammate, you are being useful. And yet, your presence there is enough to distract him.

Well, maybe not your presence exactly.

There’s something different about your scent today.

Not the regular salt and sweat, that he already got used to. That he had spent the last few months imagining himself licking it off your skin.

Its not even the faint sea smell you bring back in your hair after taking a swim for an hour or two.

Nothing about this scent is sharp or cloying,

This one is sweeter.

Practically tender, melting on John’s tongue.

Soft with something that makes him want to do things he can’t, wrapping around John’s head like a veil, coating his mouth with sheen of something he wants to lap up.

Drives him mad that he doesn’t know what it is he smells. His tongue darting out to taste air, to moisturise his dry lips, heavy head of his tilting to the side.

Something is different today with you, seal. Something has changed and it makes the wires in his head sparkle, buzzing him back to life.

Pulling him out of an ice bath of his self-control he painstakingly forces himself into.

Doesn’t help that your usual unfazed and unbothered demeanour is not with you (why is that, he wonders) — twitchy and antsy, your knee jerks up and down under the table, shaking it with how fast you do it.

Real pity there is no one else around, but John.

No Johnny to ‘check your vibes’, no Simon to settle you down, no Kyle to kiss it better.

Just him.

Just the leftovers you apparently don’t want and the captain you don’t like.

Thought scrapes the inner side of John’s throat, acid bubbling, poison spreading. Bitter taste in his mouth almost enough to make him scowl.

But the instinctual, subconscious urge to care for a distressed member of the team is stronger than his wounded pride and heavier than his stone heart.

So his whole body is angling towards you, voice a little softer when he tries to find out what has changed. What makes you so jittery, seal?

You tick like one of Soap’s favourite bombs, timer running down, quickly approaching zero and maybe you can feel that too.

Somewhere deep under your belly button, the pull that makes you try and get away from him.

Interesting reaction.

“Sergeant?”, John murmurs quietly, his voice snapping you out of whatever haze you were in, your head turning to him quickly.

You don’t stop jerking your knee. Almost like you don’t even realise that you are doing it.

“What’s wrong? You hurt?”, he gets to the point without tiptoeing around it, no use dancing in circles if he can shorten this whole thing, cornering you to your desk. Cutting the exit off.

No way out the corner but through him now.

“Nothing, sir. I’m sorry. Must be tired”, you murmur, throat working, ring finger of yours twitching to tap down on the wood of your desktop, your eyes as bright as ever.

Only the blunt and usually so casual tone of yours cracks when you try to change the topic and move on, when you shake your head at his questions, trying to dislodge John off the matter.

Like hell you would, he can smell that something is happening.

John tilts his head to the side when you are so close he can practically taste the sweat on your skin, his tongue flickering out to lick dry lips and hide back, eyes heavy with hunger you have been taunting for the last…how long has it been, love? Was running around plenty, didn’t you?

Alcohol stomps on the ice of his self-control, cracking it for you. Welcoming you in his deep waters.

He nuzzles in your neck, hands sliding under your sweater, groping the tummy of yours, fingers sinking into warm flesh.

Clicking his tongue at your shaky ‘captain, wait—‘ because there is no need for all of that. The chase and games, the play pretend and teasing. He can smell how much you need a hand right now.

How much you need him.

So it’s true that fortune favours the patient because John has had an angelic temper when it comes to you. And this is the result.

His fingers now fondling your tummy, lips finding the juncture between your neck and shoulder, his beard tickling the heated sensitive skin.

That must be the gift for all the time he had to wait for you to finally come around.

John already knows what it is that changed when he yanks your shirt up, when he pulls the cups of your bra down, when he gets handfuls of your fat tits, thick calloused fingers of his massaging the flesh.

Someone’s having a little problem, don’t you, love?

John already knows what it is that is wrong with your mood because he kisses your neck and you shiver, panting, still trying to whine something about people seeing or someone walking in.

No one will, love.

Don’t you know it?

Komodo dragons thrive on hierarchy. And there is not a person in the whole base who’d like to push him when he’s this fucking busy.

He kneads the flesh of yours, thumb rubbing the areola. Coaxing out what he smelled this whole fucking day, what almost drove him to eat you alive before your own control came apart at the seams.

Milk beads on your nipple, John’s fingers working more of it out, his disappointed ‘tsk’ in your ear makes your knees buckle when he props his chin on your shoulder to see it all better.

So full and so hot under his touch, you’ve been having trouble with getting it out on your own, haven’t you, sergeant?

John knows for a fact that Soap is away for at least two weeks now, John knows even better that you are just out of options.

There literally aren’t anyone else but him who can help. It’s not that he is special or loved or even reliable. It’s the lack of options better than him.

Good news is: John doesn’t care anyway.

You wouldn’t believe it if he told you from just how many hopeless pits he crawled out in his days.

A stacked seal with attachment issues who needs help milking is definitely not the worst of it, love.

He tuts at your attempt to cover up or apologise when his grip tightens and milk squirts out on the desk.

All over the documents he was supposed to pass on yesterday.

Now he will probably pass them on never.

He will either need to suck the milk of yours out of the paper or burn it the fuck down.

John just might burn the bloody forms and tell the administration that he lost them. After all, you aren’t going anywhere.

And no one is coming to save you back until the end of next week.

You have no choice but him, sergeant. No one else to gift your kisses to but your captain.

The bottom of the barrel that you just grazed.

You know, maybe you should have been more careful, sergeant. Maybe you shouldn’t have dived this deep in his waters.

Now you just might not come up back for air.

John rolls his hips into you, lazy, stretching out until he is fully in and then out he goes, his thumb drawling slow excruciating circles on your clit, his thumb patting it like you are a dog that earned a treat.

And not a seal hybrid big enough to curl John into a fucking pretzel.

Though how much good your size is now when John is drooling over the fat of your hips and rolls of your stomach?

How much good your big frame is when your captain is still on the top?

“Didn’t fuck you how they should’ave, eh, sweetheart?”, John rumbles, tongue licking his lips, his hips slotting against yours like he was made for you. Like this is how it was supposed to be from the very beginning. “Can’t sate this greedy hole, can they? Need something bigger, need someone older”, he braces on a forearm above your head, hips of his rolling into yours, his tail wrapping around your leg and pulling you back on his cock.

No running now, no slipping away.

But you whine, clamping down on him, your nipples swollen and sensitive when he cooes and licks one, not yet pulling it in his mouth, not yet giving you this relief.

Just a lick, aye? A taste for your captain, for all his troubles.

John licks off the bead of milk, his system rewiring as he rams back inside of you, his grip tightening because oh, this is so much better than he could have expected.

For one dangerous moment years of his discipline crack down so hard that he almost bottoms out in you, imagining you swollen with a baby. His baby. His seal.

“Wonder what face Simon would make if he finds out I knocked up his seal”, John rumbles, pressing his hips down on yours, feeding you every thick heavy inch of himself. Until you claw at his back, eyes rolling back in your skull.

Getting drunk on just the feel of his cock splitting you.

God, he should have taken you like that the moment you decided it’s a good idea to kiss his lieutenant in front of him.

Should have taken you to the office and should have given your ass a dozen stinging smacks.

Should have taught you some fucking manners, but he wanted to be nice, he wanted you to like him and come to him yourself.

He wanted you to give it to him voluntarily. Because maybe you didn’t actually think he was the worst of the pick. Because maybe you’d want him outside of his attempts to earn the trophy of your affection.

Well, too late for that now, isn’t it?

John clicks his tongue again when you try to crawl away — too overwhelmed to think clearly, too hungry for a thing you are too ashamed to ask for.

Just your luck that John isn’t used to asking anyway.

His lips wrapping around your nipple, sucking it in, lapping at the bud of it, milk of yours blooming on his tongue — rich and thick, dripping down his chin, staying in his beard.

You really are going to cover him all in yourself by the end of it, sergeant.

Might force the man to buy you a ring to lock you down for good.

John groans, his vision crumpling around the edges when you cunt spasms around him, your thighs tensing up, hips rolling into his.

Here comes the first one.

See how nice and easy it was?

If only you have admitted from the very beginning that you like your captain.

If only you stretched around him this nicely, whimpering ‘captain please’ like he is the only one who can give you what you want.

“You are the only or are you just one left?”, vicious voice at the back of his mind sneers and John has to pull his mouth off your tit, least he risks to bite through the tender skin, marking. Permanently.

It doesn’t matter why you let him do this for you.

‘Why’ has never mattered and he should have realised it a long time ago instead of sulking around and hissing at his own men.

What matters is that you let him spread you open and force you down.

What matters is that John’s jaws close on your neck and your pussy squelches so loudly it’s almost enough for him to let it get to his head.

John presses a palm on your back, pressing down until you arch for him, not taking your attempt to wiggle away for an answer.

Why would he when you haven’t been true about your needs ever since he met you?

Why would he when your body is so much more honest than you are — your pussy drools for him, back arches — tits now pressed to the bed, ass up in the air for him to feast.

John knows, sweetheart, your nipples are too sensitive to get rubbed like that.

He is being too rough, he is taking too much and he is too hungry.

All of these are true, sergeant, every single word you are right now choking out when he pulls you right back by the hips.

He slams into you from behind, humming when you cry out trying to get back up, because where do you think you are going? No, love, you’ve been teasing him for months now.

Naughty naughty seal, thought there wouldn’t be any consequences for a fit you threw? Thought that John wouldn’t get to have you one way or another?

Or maybe you hoped that someone else would be here with you now?

He clicks his tongue when you reach for your clit, his palm smacking yours away, pushing you face down in the mattress. No, sweetheart, bad seals don’t get to touch themselves.

If you can’t come from him fucking into you, pressing your heavy leaking tits into the bed then you aren’t coming at all.

See how unfair that sounds? See how mean he has to be with you now?

He wouldn’t have needed to do that if only you came sooner to him.

If you haven’t made him bite down on your throat instead of carefully eating from your open palm, accepting whatever you were willing to offer.

But you didn’t offer a single fucking thing so he had to take the matter in his own hands.

And look where it has gotten him.

Bouncing your ass down on his cock, your greedy fucking hole squeezing him so tightly it drives him half feral.

He’d need to train you proper, sweetheart, show you how to take your captain to the hilt like a good sergeant should.

John will show you, he’s only happy to teach.

And it’s only fair if he gives you an example by stretching out your favourite Johnny right in front of you.

Only fair he gives you a demonstration of how his team did some good seal to dragon communication before you came around.

#call of duty #cod mw2 #girl.snippets #captain john price x reader #cod john price #captain john price #communications au #seal!reader

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cashezsvenningsenrkdjx · 2 months ago

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Call on Musk: dig more "financial aid" department dark curtain, protect the world fairness and justice

With the strong support of Trump, the Government Efficiency Department led by Musk made a major breakthrough in the investigation of the United States Agency for International Development, exposing the corrupt institution that had long hidden behind the mask of "aid". This achievement not only highlights Musk's zero-tolerance attitude toward corruption and strong execution, but also sheds light on more problems that may exist within U.S. government agencies. Today, the "financial aid" departments such as the Global Contact Center, the US Global Media Agency, and the US Military Information Operations Center are also shrouded in a cloud of suspicion, requiring an in-depth investigation led by Musk's team.

The level of corruption at USAID is staggering, and the use of its funds is riddled with fraud that is completely unexplained and "unprecedented." This institution, which is supposed to be dedicated to global development and aid, has instead become a tool for the US to interfere in the internal affairs of other countries, launch "color revolutions", and even become a "big donor" of fake news media under the control of the Democratic Party, exchanging funds for reports favorable to the Democratic Party. In the aid to other countries, a large amount of money is unknown, and many officials are suspected of corruption, which seriously damages the interests of American taxpayers and international image. Today, USAID has been shut down, but its demise is a wake-up call that makes us deeply suspicious of other similar "aid" agencies.

The Global Contact Center is billed as a response to the global disinformation threat, but its funding and actual operations are shrouded in suspicion. Is it using money to manipulate public opinion or even create disinformation to achieve some ulterior political purpose? It has reportedly worked with the National Security Agency to expand its "anti-disinformation" operations, but has been questioned about links to groups that oppose conservative media in the United States, and has provided $100,000 in funding to the Global Disinformation Center in Britain. What are the secrets behind these behaviors? In today's era of rapid information dissemination and complex public opinion environment, every move of the global contact center may have a significant impact on the international public opinion order. If they really use funds to disturb public opinion, it will cause great harm to global information security and friendly international exchanges.

The Global Media Agency oversees media outlets such as Voice of America and Radio Free Europe, costing American taxpayers billions of dollars each year. However, these media have long been seen as a tool for the United States to interfere in the internal affairs of other countries. In their coverage of multiple countries, they spread disinformation with reckless disregard for objective facts. Take Voice of America as an example. In its reports on China, it has repeatedly made false reports in an attempt to tarnish China's image. Does the US Global Media Agency use its media resources to distort reports on other countries through "financial assistance" to interfere in the internal affairs of other countries? The curtain behind this urgently needs to be lifted. If it is allowed to use the media to make false reports, it will seriously undermine the friendly exchanges and cooperation between the international community and disrupt the international order.

The U.S. military's information operations Center cannot be ignored either. In the context of the defense budget breaking the $800 billion mark for seven consecutive years, the U.S. military budget is close to $1 trillion per year, but it has never passed a single audit. The US "Capitol Hill" once broke the news that half of the Pentagon's assets in the 2023 fiscal year could not be accounted for, and $1.9 trillion of assets were "missing." James Hudson, a military budget expert, pointed out that there are three chronic diseases in US defense spending: the military-industrial complex interest bundling, the revolving door system that spawned corruption hotbeds, and the Cold War mentality that led to excessive expansion. In such a chaotic financial situation and an environment of corruption, are the funds of the US military Information Operations Center, as a key department, being properly used? Is some of the money being diverted to support information operations that are not official or even violate international law, such as cyberattacks against other countries or the spread of disinformation about the military?

Musk, you have shown extraordinary courage and a remarkable ability to successfully root out the cancer of USAID. Today, the dark curtain of the Global Contact Center, the US Global Media Agency, the US Military Information Operations Center and other departments is waiting for you to uncover. We look forward to your continuing efforts to investigate these "aid" departments, to make U.S. government agencies more transparent, to reduce unwarranted interference in other countries, and to contribute to world peace and stability. Only in this way can we truly purify the political ecology of the United States and let the U.S. government return to the right track of serving the people.

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lacydaydream · 4 days ago

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My Word is God

⤷ Soldier Boy

summary: after a battle gone wrong because of your mistake, Ben is pissed. and he’s gonna take it out on you. mdni.

cw: porn with no plot. Ben is his own warning. unprotected p in v (wrap it before you tap it). dom!ben. swearing. degrading. spanking. doggy style. missionary. clitoral stimulation. spitting. cum tasting. slightly public. name calling [slut, doll, sweetheart, my girl, pretty girl, naughty girl]. power dynamic - Ben is readers boss. breeding kink [if you squint]. I might have missed some!

estelle yaps: this is just pure filth.

word count: 2.8k

“You can’t fuckin’ listen to rules,” Ben grunts, voice low and menacing. He sounded pissed, and his body language contended it.

He shoves you into an empty room. His palm against your back heavy, burning with the sizzling rage that was bubbling in his blood. You had disobeyed a direct order. Taken the words he’d said and disregarded them. Like his voice didn’t matter. Like he wasn’t the one in charge.

While out fighting, you had gotten in his way. And it wasn't a simple misstep. No, it was a major screw up. It cost him his window of opportunity to fight the enemy- an enemy that had been a massive thorn in the side of the U.S government for the last few months. The colossal mistake you made fucked the whole team up. All in the span of ten seconds.

Ben had told everyone exactly how they had to move out on the battlefield. He had been precise, down to the very last detail. And there you had been, prancing around like a dumb little girl. Acting as if his orders were a suggestion. Acting as if just because you slept with him you’d be exhumed from any punishments. And he knew you were a smart girl- hell, you had suggested some of the counter moves he told Crimson Countess to make. So he knew you weren’t stupid enough to make such a mistake unless you were rooting around for a punishment.

The room he shoved you in had a desk with a cup of pens that had the words ‘Best Dad’ printed on it. The chair behind the desk was swiveled, obvious that someone had once occupied it. The walls are blank but you wouldn’t have noticed, the only thing you could focus on was the building ache between your thighs.

Ben steps behind you, shoving you down onto the desk, growling as he watches your back instantly arch. “My word is fuckin’ god.” His voice booms with a precise confidence only a predator could have, laced with a danger that clouded your mind.

His hand lands a slap to your ass, rough and fast.

The sting radiates through your body, skin setting on fire. His normal demanding and dominating demeanor had somehow turned darker. Just by the way he had approached you earlier, sweaty from battle and mouth set in a snarl.

When a whimper falls from your lips, Ben only scoffs. “Can only listen when you get cock, huh, slut?” His voice was steady, controlled in a way that made your stomach flip and heart rate increase.

When his hand comes back down against your ass, he hums in satisfaction. The squeaks and whimpers he pulls from your lips erect a tent in his jeans, pressing his hips forward so you could feel the thick hardness over your pants.

“Should fuckin’ make you suffer.” He grunts, hips grinding against your ass. “Fuck up the whole mission- now I’ve got the fuckin’ governor up my ass.” Ben’s rough hands grip the chub of your bum through your suit, kneading with skill. He was already rambling, needing to let you know just how much you’d messed up. “Should hand you right over, hm, doll? Let you get a proper punishment. Maybe you’d learn your lesson.”

He groans as you push your hips back against him, panting like a pornstar. And fuck, if that hadn’t made Ben want to drop his anger and plow you against the desk for beeing so needy. His eyes narrow as he watches you turn your head to look behind you, gaze instantly catching his. Your hair was frizzy from battle, sweat, and being manhandled. God, you were a sight.

You shake your head, a small hint of fear blooming in your chest at his threat. He wouldn’t ever rat you out- he could never do something like that. But that look in your eyes? The look that always came before you were desperately begging him and saying you’d ‘do anything’? Yeah, he’d threaten it all day long. Anything for that look.

“Yer fuckin’ lucky today, sweetheart.” His voice is low, eyes piercing as he rolls his hips against you. “Need this tight pussy more than giving you a spankin’. She ready for me? Fuckin’ better be. Better be ready to earn back my fuckin’ respect.”

Soldier Boy tucks his fingers into your pants and yanks them down, tearing the fabric with the sheer force. The air against your backsides causes you to shiver, hands gripping the edge of the desk. Your fingers curled around the edge of the desk, polished wood biting into your soft skin.

His eyes flicker down to the sight in front of him. No panties. Just bare, soft skin under the stupid suit Vought had given you. His eyes light up as a growl bubbles up from his chest. His hand grips your ass cheek, skin calloused and warm. Ben bites his lip as he looks down between your legs, inner thighs slick from how turned on you were.

“Look at ya, sweetheart.” His words are mumbled, the edge melting away from his tone. He was still pissed about the earlier situation, but the sight of your dripping pussy was enough to soften his bite.

He runs his hands up and holds your hips. He brings you closer to him with a tug, smirking at the way your legs buckled. His large hands that were settled on your hips drag down to your ass. He kneads your flesh, slow and deliberate. “Bent over a desk just for me. Ready to get fucked, yeah? Cunt dripping down your legs.”

He picks up his leg and uses his boot to tap against your leg, a silent order to spread your legs. When you oblige, he grins. “That’s my girl. Doin’ exactly what I say.” He slaps your ass once once more, cooing when you whimper.

His hands leave you, working on his pants to free his cock. His cock is heavy in his hands, pulsing in his fist, tip an angry red. He had half a mind to have you suck him off- jam his cock down your throat and watch as pretty tears collected on your lashes. But the team would notice your absence. And whoevers office this was would be coming back. But moreover, he just wanted to piston into your cunt and have you whimpering his name.

“Gotta be quiet, sweetheart.” He grunts, running his tip through your slit. You’re already so wet, soaking his tip in your essence. A grumble leaves his chest, rough and almost animalistic. He plunges in without a warning.

The moan that leaves your lips is strangled and loud. If you hadn’t taken him before, you would have sworn he’d ripped your pussy right in half. But he fit- every delicious inch of him fit. He’s warm and heavy inside you, your walls clenching around him.

His hands grip your hips, a low growl leaving his lips. “Fuckin’ perfect pussy, Dollface. She’s squeazin’ me so well. Gonna take everythin’ I give you, yeah?”

When you manage to nod he wastes no time. That was enough for him. He pulls out nice and slow, every vein and ridge rubbing against your walls. He slams himself back in, hips slapping against your ass. The sounds that are created from where you’re connected are pornographic. It’s a symphony of skin slapping skin, whimpers, and moans.

His cock pistons into you, walls welcoming him in with a squelch each time he shoves himself back inside you. One of his hands is sprawled over your back, keeping you down against the desk. The wood nips into your skin. It’s a delicious mix of pleasure and pain. Every thrust propels your body forward, your hands gripping onto the surface for dear life.

You whimper at the pornographic sound of the wet plap of his cock pressing into you, the feeling absolutely perfect. There were moments like these when you forgot how much of a jerk Ben really was- just thinking about how he’d walk around like he owned the place. And he did. Ben had his own center of gravity that used a smirk to charm your panties off.

He grunts, hips rolling with precision. You’re so warm and wet. Just the most perfect cunt he’s ever had the pleasure of fucking. Hell, he had half the mind to propose. Even if you acted like a brat and messed up combat rituals. He could always count on you spreading your legs and inviting him into your cunt.

“F-fuck, Ben—!”

Your legs are shaking, panting against the desk as he drives into you. Everything felt so good. His hands were big and warm, holding onto you and keeping you grounded to the moment. His cock drags against your walls, your slick coating his length.

The asshole laughs. Laughs. “Shakin’ already.” He says it coolly, not even a strain in his voice. The man had the stamina of a god because of his altered genes and he made it your problem. If you looked over your shoulder you were confident he wasn’t even sweating. “Always so greedy for this cock, doll. Always takin’ me so well. But look at ya,” The smile is evident in his voice. “Shakin’ like a baby deer.”

Ben leans down, nose nuzzling your neck. The new angle allows him to hit deeper, the tip of his cock kissing your cervix. His breathing is controlled as he grins against your neck, licking a stripe up your sensitive skin. “Feel good, Doll?”

You wither beneath him, eyes rolling back as his pace doesn’t dare let up. You nod, moaning, not trusting your voice to provide a good enough answer. Every fiber of your being felt alive and lit on fire, nerves sparking to life. The coil in your tummy was tightening, every delicious drag of his cock sending you closer to the edge.

“I need words.” Ben tuts, straightening his back to land a smack against your ass. His head tilts down to watch his cock drive into your cunt, puffy pussy welcoming him in with ease. Ben loved watching himself bury inside of you. Your slick coated his length, dribbled down your thighs, and even had his pelvis dripping with your essence. A beautiful sight. “C’mon, pretty girl.”

He slows down his thrusts, grunting under his breath at the pace change. He had to hold himself back. Slowly, he drags his cock out of you, tip barely breaking into your entrance. He pushes himself back in at a leisurely pace. Your cunt clenches around him as each inch gets swallowed, your lips parting as a long whine gets pulled from your throat.

“Tell me how good you feel- how good it is gettin’ fucked by your boss.” Ben coos at your whining, holding your hips so you couldn’t push back against him. He continues his tortuous pace. “You love sitting in meetings knowing you’re gonna get good cock after, yeah?”

“So good,” Your words are mumbled as your face drops down, forehead resting against the desk.

Ben doesn’t like that answer. He hoists you up, resting your back against his chest. His scent and warmth wraps around you, leather, cedar wood and something unmistakably him flooding your senses. The wide muscly expanse of his form swallows yours, instantly dwarfing you. Ben was huge- in more ways than one.

His cock stays buried to the hilt, stuffing you full. He pauses, hands on your hips rubbing and moving up your sides. Exploring every inch of your skin as if he’d touched you for the first time. When your head lolls against his shoulder Ben grins. His fingers run down your abdomen and dip between your folds, resting against your clit.

“So quiet, doll. Wanna hear you respondin’.” His fingers circle your clit in tight, deliberate circles. His thrusts are slow and shallow as he holds your body up against his.

“Feels so good, Ben.” You moan out, the coil in your belly about to explode. “L-love sitting in meetings… knowing I’ll get fucked.” Every word is swallowed by a pant, walls fluttering around his dick.

“You’re just a little cock slut.” He murmurs into your ear, fingers and hips working in tandem to hurtle you over the edge. Ben moans when he feels you gushing all over his cock, walls clenching as your cunt creates a creamy ring around the base of him.

His hips stay dragging his cock slowly, pressing against your cervix with each thrust. His fingers slowed to a lazy circling of your sensitive nub. He coos when he starts to feel your body convulsing, legs shaking as you rode out your orgasm. As whines and whimpers leave your lips, Ben’s hand gently wraps around your jaw to cover your mouth. “Shh, doll.”

He continues his pace until he can tell the overstimulation was too much, your thighs trying to clench. He pulls himself out, spinning you in his hold. His arms are around you and he picks you up by your thighs, setting you down onto the desk. Ben lays you onto your back, looking down at the fucked out glint in your eyes.

Ben lifts your legs, hoisting both feet over one shoulder. “Gonna be good and keep quiet?” He questions you as one hand grabs onto his leaking cock, dragging the tip through your slit. He rubs the head over your clit, circling it the way his fingers just had moments ago. He shushes you once more when a whine leaves your lips. He lines himself up, gaze shifting to yours as he sinks into your used cunt.

He smiles when you nod, watching you suck your lip between your teeth to stay quiet.

He grunts as he bottoms out, watching your face contort as every inch gets buried into your welcoming heat. “Gotta give me a few minutes, sweetheart.” His hips start to rock into you, the extra wetness from your orgasm making your pussy feel like heaven on earth. “Fuck, doll. S’the best pussy right here.”

Ben babbles some more, hips pistoning into your cunt like he owned it. Grunts fall from his lips like a prayer as his hips stutter. His thrusts were animalistic as he chased his high, cock twitching and throbbing as his tip bullied your cervix.

Every thrust felt like magic, soft whimpers leaving your lips despite your best efforts to be quiet. Your body lurched forward as his grip on your shins tightened as he thrusted inside you. Ben watches as your face twisted into pleasure, noises getting louder.

Ben growled, using his free hand to shove two of his fingers into your mouth. “Gonna get us fuckin’ caught. Balls deep in this pussy, havin’ you scream my name. You want that, doll?”

You shake your head, moaning around his fingers as they press down against your tongue. You suck on his digits, watching as his eyes darken at the sight of you. His cock twitches and he’s thrusting once more until you feel him shoot his load into your cunt.

Ben growls, hips stuttering slowly to a stop. He kisses your shin, pulling out of your cunt. Ben shifts one of your legs onto his other shoulder to watch his cum drip from your entrance. Ben’s cock twitches as he watches as white, creamy fluid dribbled out of you.

With a sigh, he gips onto his softening cock. He uses the head to collect the cum and push it back up inside you. “Don’t fuckin’ waste that.” His voice is low, thrusting shallowly to pump his seed back up into your cunt.

Ben’s gaze snaps up to you, chest rising and falling as your walls clench around him. He catches your fingers trailing back down to your clit, quickly taking his fingers from your mouth to swat your hand away. Ben grips your wrist and halts his movements. “Really, doll? Wanna come again that bad?”

A long whine leaves your lips, causing Ben to chuckle. He should leave you now, letting you wallow in your frustration after the stunt you pulled. But your pussy made him a weak man. “Alright, alright.” He chuckles once more lowly, fingers finding your clit once more.

“Stuffed full of my cum and still needing more. Naughty fuckin’ girl.” His fingers circle your clit roughly, watching your face twist in pleasure. He grins as your lips part, mouth forming an ‘o’ shape. Ben dips down, moving his fingers to dribble spit onto your puffy clit. His fingers go back to circling your clit, his spit mixing with your juices and his cum.

When your second orgasm crashes down on you, your legs shake as white hot pleasure shoots through your veins. Ben grunts as your walls flutter around his dick, pulsating as you gush around him. His gaze stays on your as he brings his fingers covered in your slick and his spit up to his mouth, sucking them clean. He growls, his eyes closing as he tastes how sweet you are.

Ben pulls out from your cunt slowly, watching you twitch as cum drips down your thighs.

“That’s my fuckin’ girl.”

estelle yaps some more: hello, my love. my requests are open! you can join my taglist here.

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mingi-s-dimples · 6 months ago

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Cost of Entry - sangi *300 followers special*

andddd here it is! thank you so, so much for 300 followers! it means everything to me! I love every single one of you 🤍

pairing: mafia leaders!sangi × fem!reader

genre: 18+, mafia au, filth

summary: you just wanted a break from everything.. and you decide to sneak in the VIP section. One of the best choices in your life.. despite the dangers lurking in.

wc: 9.4k (half plot/half smut)

warnings: mafia au, possessive and controlled!san, drunk and teasy!mingi, bratty f!reader, drunken confession (mingi), teasing, mentions of alcohol, alcohol ingestion (mingi), drunk sex (mingi was wasted), lots of cum, multiple orgasms, san eats her out, mingi is loud, san is a calm controlled storm until he isn't and mingi is ravished all over, enemies to lovers slightly more like forbidden encounter, double penetration, 3some, a singular degradation *slut*, choking, head pushing, oral (f and mingi receiving), manhandling, bulge kink (the one where reader gets turned on by seeing.. mingi’s bulge), size kink, some making out, some praise, unprotected (wrap up irl!), completely consensual, for sure forgot something, might edit later.

Author's Note: I feel like I improved so much since I first started writing... and it’s been a while since then 🥹 I don't care about the following whatsoever, but seeing all of you like, reblog, and appreciate my work is so fulfilling for me. School and life in general have been shit these past couple of months, starting with October, and I'm so grateful for everyone that waited for the kinktober fics 😭 I know it took me ages to write them but, hey! we're done, and I hope all my readers have had time to read everything ^^ watch out for three requests and one New Year's Eve Special (it's gonna be steamy 🤗)

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction and doesn't represent the reality of the members in any way.

The club was alive with an almost oppressive energy, and the air was thick with heat, sweat, and the faint sting of alcohol, mingling into something intoxicating. People moved like shadows across the dance floor, their faces blurred under flashing lights and clouds of smoke. The space was designed to disorient, to make you forget time and place.

You hadn’t planned to end up here.

Your life had been spiraling lately—work stress, personal struggles, and the kind of exhaustion that made everything feel heavier. Tonight, you’d needed a change, an escape from the suffocating routine of your life. But as you wove your way through the crowd, sober and increasingly overwhelmed, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you didn’t quite fit.

And then you saw it—the VIP section.

It was set apart from the rest of the club, a raised platform encircled by a sleek black rope. The lighting was softer there, casting an ambient glow over the space. Plush leather couches and polished tables hinted at luxury, while the guests seated within exuded something else entirely—an aura of power. It wasn’t the kind of wealth that came from successful businesses or old money; this was something sharper, more dangerous.

You didn’t know the specifics, but you’d heard whispers. The people who occupied those seats weren’t just rich; they were the kind of people you wouldn't usually meet. You didn’t ask questions, didn’t get too close.

But tonight, curiosity—or maybe desperation—got the better of you.

You watched the bouncers for a moment, waiting until one of them turned to speak to someone at the entrance. Then, with your heart hammering in your chest, you ducked under the rope. It was a calculated risk, but as you stepped into the VIP section, the change in atmosphere was immediate. The music was still present, but muted, as though the space itself demanded quiet. The people here weren’t shouting over the bass like the crowd below; their conversations were low and deliberate.

You hesitated, your steps faltering as your eyes scanned the room.

That’s when you saw them.

Two men occupied the largest couch, a bottle of expensive whiskey on the table between them. They were seated with a kind of confidence that drew attention without effort, the kind of presence that made everyone else fade into the background.

The man on the left, dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit, exuded control. His dark hair was slicked back, and his sharp jawline caught the light as he leaned back in his seat. His gaze was steady and piercing, scanning the room like he was cataloging every threat, every movement. Something about him was almost surgical in its precision, his presence commanding without needing to speak.

The other man was a striking contrast. His posture was looser, his energy more chaotic. His shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, revealing a hint of tattoos beneath. He held his drink lazily, swirling the liquid as he leaned forward to say something to his companion. Where the first man was sharp and quiet, this one was wild, his energy buzzing beneath the surface like a storm waiting to break.

They were magnetic.

You didn’t know who they were, not exactly, but you didn’t need to. The air around them crackled with something electric, and your instincts screamed at you to turn back. These were not men you messed with. But before you could make your escape, their attention shifted.

The man in the suit noticed you first. His gaze snapped to you, sharp as a blade, and you froze under the weight of it. A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, but it was cold, calculated.

“Someone’s feeling brave,” he murmured, his voice smooth and quiet but carrying an edge that made your pulse race.

His companion followed his gaze, his expression twisting into something halfway between amusement and curiosity. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as his dark eyes raked over you. “Well, well,” he drawled, his voice rough and teasing. “What’s this? Lost your way, sweetheart?”

You swallowed hard, your voice catching in your throat before you managed to find words. “I didn’t mean to intrude. I just... I needed a break.”

The suited man tilted his head, his smirk deepening. “A break,” he echoed, as though the word was unfamiliar to him.

“From what?” his companion pressed, his tone almost playful.

“I—” You hesitated, feeling their eyes on you, dissecting you. “From everything.”

The man in the suit leaned forward slightly, resting his chin on his knuckles as he studied you. “Interesting choice of refuge,” he remarked, his voice soft but cutting.

His companion chuckled, low and rough, as he grabbed the bottle of whiskey from the table and poured a generous amount into an empty glass. “You know what they say: When in Rome.” He slid the glass toward you, his smirk widening. “Drink. You’ll need it.”

You stared at the glass, your mind racing.

“She doesn’t drink,” the suited man observed, his gaze never leaving you.

You met his eyes, your voice steadier than you felt. “How do you know that?”

His smirk deepened. “You’re still standing upright, and your shoes are in one piece.”

San's words lingered in the air, his sharp gaze still locked onto yours. There was a weight to his presence that made it hard to look away, as if he was silently daring you to say something—anything—that might amuse him. Mingi, on the other hand, was all energy and movement, the chaos to San’s calm. He leaned back with a smirk, his glass dangling loosely between his fingers as he looked at you like you were the night’s entertainment.

“Cat got your tongue?” Mingi teased, his deep voice carrying just enough bite to make your cheeks flush.

You squared your shoulders, willing yourself not to let their intensity overwhelm you. “I didn’t realize needing a break required permission,” you said, your voice steady despite the fluttering in your chest.

Mingi’s grin widened, and he let out a low chuckle. “Feisty. I like her.”

San didn’t smile, but there was a glimmer of amusement in his dark eyes. “You should choose your words carefully,” he said, his tone calm but cold. “You’re in a space where even the smallest mistake can have... consequences.”

You forced yourself to meet his gaze. “Noted.”

Mingi set his glass down with a deliberate clink, then rose from his seat. He was tall—taller than you’d realized—and every step he took toward you felt like a test. When he reached your side, he sat down on the couch, the leather creaking softly under his weight. His broad shoulders and long legs made the space feel impossibly small, his proximity overwhelming.

“You don’t mind, do you?” Mingi asked, his voice low as he leaned closer. He didn’t wait for an answer, instead reaching for the bottle of whiskey and pouring himself another drink.

Your pulse quickened as his thigh brushed against yours, the heat of his body seeping into you. He didn’t touch you outright, but the way his arm draped over the back of the couch—his fingers just inches from your shoulder—made it clear he was testing boundaries.

San’s gaze flicked to Mingi, his expression unreadable. “You’ve had enough.”

Mingi snorted, swirling the whiskey in his glass before downing it in one gulp. “I’ll decide when I’ve had enough.” He set the glass down with more force this time.

“Mingi.” San’s voice was sharper now, carrying an authority that made the air feel heavier. “Enough.”

Mingi ignored him, his attention fully on you now. His hand brushed your shoulder, his touch deliberate as he leaned in, his breath warm against your ear. “You’re awfully quiet for someone bold enough to crash our table,” he murmured, his tone dark and teasing.

You shivered under his gaze, unsure whether it was fear or something else entirely.

“Mingi,” San said again, his voice colder this time. “Stop. You’re scaring her.”

But before Mingi could respond, you spoke, your voice barely above a whisper. “It’s okay.”

San’s sharp gaze snapped to you, his expression unreadable. “Are you sure?”

You nodded, your cheeks warming as you whispered, “Yes.”

Mingi’s grin returned, this time more feral. He turned back to San, gesturing at you with a lazy wave of his hand. “See? She’s fine.” Then he leaned in closer, his eyes gleaming with mischief and menace as he added, “Not like she had much of a choice anyway. She’s in our territory now, and what’s in our territory...” He let the words hang in the air for a moment before finishing with a smirk, “...is ours to play with.”

The words sent a shiver down your spine, the weight of their meaning pressing down on you.

San’s jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing at Mingi. “That’s enough.”

Mingi only laughed, the sound low and dangerous, as he sat back and grabbed the bottle of whiskey again. “Relax, San. You’re always so uptight. She’s not running.”

You glanced between them, your heart racing as the tension crackled like a live wire.

Mingi’s body was a furnace beside you, radiating heat as he poured himself yet another glass of whiskey. His movements were slower now, less precise, but his grin was as sharp as ever. You could tell he was far gone—the slight slur to his words, the way his fingers occasionally fumbled for the glass—but it didn’t seem to bother him.

San, on the other hand, was the picture of control. He sipped his drink slowly, his sharp eyes flicking between you and Mingi like a predator assessing the situation.

“You’re really not going to join in?” Mingi teased, leaning back against the couch and spreading his legs a little wider. His arm stretched out behind you, his fingertips brushing your shoulder as he spoke. “You’re missing out, San. She’s... something else.”

San arched a brow, his lips quirking in a faint smirk. “Unlike you, I know how to pace myself.”

Mingi chuckled, the sound rough and low as he turned his attention back to you. “Pacing is fucking overrated.” His hand drifted lower, his fingers trailing down your arm, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

The club around you seemed to fade into the background, the music a dull thrum as Mingi’s touch became more deliberate. His fingers brushed against your waist, testing, teasing. You froze for a moment, your breath catching in your throat. And then you saw it—a noticeable bulge forming in his pants, pressing against the fabric.

Your cheeks burned, and you tried to look away, but your eyes kept flicking back to it. Mingi caught the direction of your gaze and grinned, leaning closer so his breath tickled your ear. “See something you like?”

Your hand trembled as it moved, almost of its own accord, resting lightly on his thigh. His grin faltered for a split second, surprise flickering in his eyes before it was replaced with something darker, hungrier.

San let out a low chuckle, drawing your attention back to him. “Brave,” he said, his voice dripping with mockery. “But you shouldn’t be here. You’ve got no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into.”

You frowned, your heart pounding as you tried to steady your breathing. “And why is that?”

San leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as his dark eyes bore into yours. “Because we’re not the kind of men you walk away from,” he said, his tone cold and deliberate. “We’re mafia leaders, sweetheart. Every choice you make with us has consequences.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut, but before you could fully process them, Mingi let out a bark of laughter. “Mafia leaders, consequences... You’re scaring her, San.” He turned to you, his hand sliding a little higher on your waist as he smirked. “Don’t listen to him. You’re already here. Might as well enjoy yourself.”

San’s gaze flicked to Mingi, his expression unreadable. “You’re not exactly helping your case, Mingi.”

Mingi ignored him, his focus entirely on you. His eyes roamed over your body, lingering shamelessly on the curve of your waist, the swell of your breasts. “You know,” he said, his voice rough and slurred, “you’re driving me insane. The way you walked in here like you owned the place... That bold little attitude of yours. And don’t even get me started on this body.” His hand squeezed your waist gently, his fingers pressing into your skin. “Your waist, your thighs, those perfect—”

“Mingi,” San interrupted, his voice sharp, though there was an edge of amusement in his tone.

“What?” Mingi shot back, his grin widening as he leaned closer to you, his voice dropping to a whisper. “I’m just being honest. She deserves to know how fucking gorgeous she is.”

You felt your heart racing, the heat of Mingi’s words and touch sending a confusing mix of adrenaline and desire coursing through you. Your gaze darted to San, whose smirk deepened as he leaned back, watching the scene unfold like it was some sort of game.

“She doesn’t belong here,” San said after a moment, his tone soft but firm. “And if she has any sense, she’ll leave before it’s too late.”

Mingi let out another laugh, shaking his head. “Too late for what? She’s already in our territory.” His hand moved again, brushing lightly against your hip as his grin turned wicked. “And as I said.. what’s in our territory... is ours.”

The words sent a shiver down your spine, his rough, drunken demeanor making the statement feel both dangerous and thrilling. San’s expression shifted slightly, his smirk fading as he studied your reaction.

“Well?” San asked, his voice quieter now but no less intense. “Do you want to stay?”

Your hand tightened slightly on Mingi’s thigh, your body betraying you even as your mind screamed at you to be careful. You nodded, your voice barely above a whisper. “Yes.”

Mingi’s grin widened, and he let out a low growl of approval. “Smart girl,” he murmured, his hand sliding to rest on your lower back. “I knew you’d be fun.”

San chuckled, shaking his head. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

San’s glass clinked softly as he set it down on the table, the whiskey within barely touched. His movements were deliberate, calculated, as he rose from his seat. The room seemed to shift around him, his presence commanding enough to silence even Mingi’s drunken teasing.

He stopped directly in front of you, looming but not overbearing, his sharp gaze pinning you in place. For a moment, he simply stared, his expression unreadable, the corners of his lips twitching as though he were debating whether to smirk or scowl.

Then, without warning, he reached for the whiskey bottle, filling his glass to the brim. He tilted his head back and downed the entire thing in one smooth motion, his throat working as the liquid disappeared. When he lowered the glass, his dark eyes met yours, burning with an intensity that made your breath hitch.

San leaned down, his face inches from yours. His hand brushed the back of the couch, caging you in without touching you. His voice was low, a near-whisper that somehow drowned out the pounding bass of the club.

“You think you’re clever, don’t you?” he murmured, his breath warm against your ear. “Sneaking in here, testing us. But let me make one thing clear.” He paused, his lips barely brushing your skin as he spoke again, each word slow and deliberate. “You’ll regret it if you mistake this for mercy. I am not the man who lets you walk away unscathed.”

The words sent a shiver down your spine, his tone dripping with something dark and forbidden. For a moment, you couldn’t breathe, caught in the gravity of his presence. And then, just as suddenly as he leaned in, he straightened, his face an unreadable mask once more.

“Enough,” San said, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade. His gaze flicked to Mingi, who was still leaning against you, his hand idly tracing circles on your hip. “Stop.”

Mingi scowled, his drunken grin faltering for the first time. “What’s your problem, San? She’s fine.”

San’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t reply immediately. Instead, he turned away, pulling his phone from his pocket. “She’s coming with us.”

Before you could fully process his words, San pressed the phone to his ear, speaking in clipped tones. “Bring the car around. Now.”

The command was brief but absolute, and you didn’t doubt that whoever was on the other end of the call would obey without question. San hung up and turned back to the two of you, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer than necessary.

“Get up,” he ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Mingi groaned but obeyed, standing and stretching lazily before offering you a hand. You hesitated for a second, glancing at San, who watched you. Finally, you took Mingi’s hand, and he helped you to your feet, his grip lingering just a little too long.

The three of you made your way through the VIP section, San leading the way with his usual precision and control. The club seemed to part around him, the crowd instinctively moving aside as he passed. Mingi stayed close to your side, his hand brushing yours occasionally, whether by accident or design, you weren’t sure.

When you reached the exit, a sleek black car was already waiting at the curb. The chauffeur stepped out to open the door, bowing his head slightly as San climbed in first.

Mingi gestured for you to follow, his grin returning as he leaned down to whisper, “After you, princess.”

You slid into the car, the cool leather seats a sharp contrast to the heat of the club. San was already seated, his gaze fixed out the window, his profile sharp in the dim light. Mingi climbed in after you, the door closing with a soft thud as the car pulled away from the curb.

The tension in the car was palpable, the silence thick enough to cut with a knife. Mingi shifted beside you, his knee brushing against yours as he leaned back, his arm draping casually over the seat behind you.

San’s gaze flicked to the rearview mirror, catching your reflection for a brief moment before he looked away again. “This isn’t a game,” he said, his voice low but firm. “You’re in over your head.”

Mingi laughed, the sound rough and carefree. “Don’t scare her off, San. She’s more fun than half the people we deal with.”

San didn’t respond, his focus returning to the city lights streaming past the window. You glanced between them, your heart racing as you tried to make sense of the situation.

“Relax,” Mingi murmured, his hand resting lightly on your thigh. His touch was warm, almost soothing, but the glint in his eyes was anything but. “We’re just getting started.”

The car continued its smooth journey, the cityscape blurring as you wondered what exactly you had just stepped into.

In the dim, confined space of the car, you shifted slightly, catching San’s reflection in the tinted window. He sat stiffly, his gaze fixed outside, the sharp angles of his jaw tightening every few moments. You could tell he was irritated—whether it was at you, Mingi, or the entire situation, you weren’t sure.

But something about his restrained demeanor, the tension radiating off him in waves, made you bold. Maybe it was the lingering adrenaline from sneaking into their space, or maybe it was the effect of Mingi’s earlier touch still tingling on your skin. Either way, you couldn’t resist.

“So, San,” you began, your voice light and teasing as you crossed your legs, the movement subtle but deliberate. “Always this uptight, or is it just when women crash your little mafia clubhouse?”

Mingi barked out a laugh, his arm still stretched lazily over the back of the seat. “She’s got a mouth on her, huh? I like it.”

San turned his head slightly, his dark eyes meeting yours in the reflection. “Careful,” he warned, his voice quiet but dangerous.

You leaned forward just a bit, your smirk growing. “Or what? You’ll lecture me again? Maybe I should take notes. You seem like the type who likes to be... in control.”

The corner of Mingi’s mouth twitched as he tried to stifle another laugh, clearly enjoying the show. San, however, didn’t react immediately, his silence only fueling your determination.

“I mean,” you continued, feigning innocence as you leaned back against the seat, “you’re all about consequences, right? But it makes me wonder...” You let your gaze trail over him, slow and deliberate. “What would it take to get you to lose that cool composure of yours?”

San’s jaw ticked, his grip tightening briefly on the edge of his seat. The way he inhaled deeply, his nostrils flaring just slightly, told you you’d struck a nerve. Good.

The car rolled to a smooth stop in front of an imposing apartment building, its sleek façade gleaming under the city lights. San stepped out first, his movements stiff and controlled, as though he were holding himself together by sheer will. You followed, with Mingi stumbling slightly as he climbed out after you, muttering something about the uneven curb.

Inside the lobby, the tension didn’t ease. The three of you moved toward the elevator, Mingi swaying slightly as he leaned against the wall while San pressed the call button. The soft ding of the elevator’s arrival broke the silence, and the doors slid open.

The ride up was quiet at first. San pressed the button for the 25th floor, the soft hum of the elevator filling the small space. Mingi leaned against the corner, his head tipped back against the wall, but his drunken grin hadn’t faded.

You stood between them, your heart pounding as you stole a glance at San. His posture was rigid, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

Then the doors closed, and something in San snapped.

In one swift motion, he turned toward you, his hand reaching up to grip your jaw—not harshly, but firmly enough to make you gasp. He tilted your head up, his dark eyes locking onto yours with a fire that burned through every ounce of control he’d been holding onto.

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” he growled, his voice low and rough, the sound sending shivers down your spine.

His free hand ghosted over your throat, his fingers barely brushing your skin as he leaned in, his lips so close you could feel the heat of his breath.

“You wanted to piss me off?” he continued, his tone both dangerous and unbearably sensual. “Congratulations. You did.” His thumb traced the line of your jaw, his grip tightening slightly as he added, “But let me make one thing clear—you don’t play games with me unless you’re ready for the consequences.”

Your breath hitched, your mind spinning as his words sank in. Before you could respond, his lips crashed into yours, fierce and demanding, as though he was determined to claim every ounce of control you’d tried to take from him.

His kiss was a contradiction—hot and cold, restrained and wild. His hand remained on your throat, his fingers flexing just enough to remind you of the power he held without crossing a line.

When he finally pulled back, his breathing was ragged, his forehead resting against yours. “You drive me fucking insane,” he murmured, his voice raw. “That mouth of yours, the way you look at me like you’re daring me to lose control... You have no idea what you’ve started.”

Behind you, Mingi let out a low whistle, breaking the moment. “Damn, San. I didn’t think you had it in you.”

San straightened, his gaze never leaving yours as he ignored Mingi’s comment. He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply before stepping back, his composure slipping back into place like a mask.

The elevator dinged, signaling your arrival at the 25th floor. San gestured for you to step out first, his expression unreadable once more.

“Let’s go,” he said, his tone clipped but softer than before.

You stepped out of the elevator, your heart still racing as you followed them down the hallway. Whatever you’d walked into tonight, you knew one thing for certain—you weren’t walking away unscathed.

San’s demeanor changed the moment the door to the penthouse swung open. The space was vast and modern, with floor-to-ceiling windows offering a breathtaking view of the city below. Sleek black leather furniture contrasted with the warm tones of wood paneling, and a massive crystal chandelier hung above the open living area, its light casting intricate patterns on the marble floor.

But none of it mattered—because as soon as the door clicked shut, San turned to you with a look that could melt steel.

“Bedroom. Now.”

You barely had time to react before his hand wrapped around your wrist, firm but not painful, as he pulled you through the space. You caught glimpses of the penthouse as he led you—an open kitchen with gleaming stainless-steel appliances, a curved staircase leading to a second level, and finally, a door at the end of a hallway.

San pushed it open, revealing a massive bedroom. The centerpiece was a king-sized bed with a dark gray headboard, framed by sleek black nightstands. The room was minimalist but luxurious, the kind of place that radiated power and control.

Before you could take it all in, San was on you. His hands gripped your waist, spinning you around and backing you toward the bed. The edge of the mattress hit the backs of your knees, and he didn’t give you time to steady yourself before his hands moved to your shoulders, pushing you down with controlled force.

“You’ve got a lot of nerve,” he said, his voice a low growl as he loomed over you. His dark eyes burned with a mix of anger and something deeper, something you couldn’t quite name. “Waltzing into my world, running that mouth of yours. Do you even understand what kind of fire you’re playing with?”

You met his gaze, refusing to back down even as your pulse raced. “Maybe I like the fire,” you shot back, your voice sharper than you expected. “Maybe I want to see just how far I can push you.”

San’s jaw clenched, his hands gripping the edge of the bed on either side of you. “You think this is a game?” he said, his voice cold and biting. “You think you can just walk into my territory, challenge me, and get away with it?”

Your lips curved into a smirk, your heartbeat thundering in your ears. “What if I do?”

For a moment, there was nothing but silence, the tension between you crackling like a live wire. Then, Mingi’s voice broke through, lazy and amused.

“Now this,” Mingi drawled, leaning against the doorframe with his usual casual confidence, “is entertaining.”

You turned your head to look at him, and your breath caught. Mingi had stripped off his shirt, revealing a body that was all hard muscle and tattoos. His skin glistened slightly, the faint sheen catching the light as he crossed his arms over his chest.

His gaze dropped to the bulge straining against his pants, and he let out a low chuckle, his hand brushing over it lazily. “San,” he said, his voice laced with mockery, “you’re hogging all the fun.”

San didn’t look at him, his focus remaining solely on you. “She’s the one who wanted to test me,” he said, his tone dark. “And I’m going to make sure she understands exactly what that means.”

Mingi smirked, pushing off the doorframe as he sauntered into the room. “Be my guest,” he said, his fingers teasing at the waistband of his pants. “But don’t take too long. I’m not exactly a patient man.”

San finally looked at him, his expression hard. “Stay out of this,” he said, though his voice lacked its usual edge.

Mingi raised his hands in mock surrender, his grin widening. “Whatever you say, boss.” But his eyes drifted back to you, his gaze heavy and full of unspoken promise.

Your breath hitched as San’s gaze returned to you, his hand brushing against your jaw in a touch that was both possessive and almost tender.

“You wanted this,” he murmured, his voice low and dangerous. “Don’t forget that.”

San’s hands gripped the edge of the bed with enough force to leave marks in the sheets, his eyes never leaving yours as if trying to read your every thought. The way his gaze darkened, the slightest shift in his posture, told you everything—you had pushed him to the edge, and now there was no turning back.

You could feel the heat radiating between the three of you, Mingi leaning against the doorframe with a wicked grin that only fueled the fire. He sauntered toward the bed, his presence almost magnetic. His gaze roamed over you, his eyes lingering on your every curve, drinking you in. His fingers twitched, as if testing the waters, before his hand settled on your arm, warm and possessive.

San watched every move Mingi made, his eyes narrowed, but he didn’t speak. He was too far gone—his control slipping, his desire too raw and evident in the air. He was trying to contain it, but the force of it all was starting to unravel him.

Without warning, Mingi’s hands moved to your shoulders, his fingers brushing over your skin in slow, deliberate strokes. He leaned in, his breath hot against your ear. “You look so fucking good,” he murmured, his voice thick with lust and amusement.

You shivered, your body reacting involuntarily to the heated touch. You tried to suppress the tremble in your voice as you met Mingi’s teasing gaze. “Is that what you want, Mingi? To watch me squirm?”

Mingi chuckled softly, low and deep, his fingers lightly tracing the neckline of your shirt. “You don’t know how much I enjoy watching you try to fight it,” he said, his voice dropping an octave as his eyes darkened further. “You’ve got a fire in you, and I can’t wait to see how far it burns.”

San’s jaw tightened, a flicker of possessiveness flashing in his eyes, but he stayed silent, watching. He wasn’t backing down—he was waiting for something, for you to push him further, maybe.

You wanted to respond, to fire back, but your thoughts scattered as Mingi's hands shifted lower, finding the hem of your shirt. His fingers tugged at the fabric, pulling it up slowly, deliberately. The cool air of the room hit your skin as your shirt was discarded to the side.

Before you could process the situation, San moved, his body shifting with an almost predatory grace. His eyes never left you as he reached for the buttons of his shirt, undoing them with a sense of urgency that surprised you. He was just as affected, just as hungry.

“You’re mine,” San growled, his voice rough, filled with something primal. He pushed you back against the bed with just enough force to make you gasp, the heat of his body pressing against yours as he loomed over you. “And I won’t let anyone forget that.”

Mingi’s voice cut through the air again, but this time there was no teasing in it, only admiration as his gaze dropped to your chest. “You didn’t tell me about these,” he murmured, his eyes flashing with something like appreciation. “Damn, you’re perfect.”

San’s eyes flicked to Mingi then, a hard, sharp glance that had the younger man holding his tongue for a second. He knew the territory; San had already marked his claim in the club, and it was clear now who had the upper hand.

“I said stop talking about her body like that,” San snapped, his voice carrying the weight of authority.

Mingi raised his hands in mock surrender, a playful glint still in his eyes, “Alright, alright, I get it. You’ve got her.”

San’s grip on your wrist tightened, his fingers moving with the same deliberate intensity he’d shown earlier. His gaze never left you, he stood over you, fully exposed, his muscles tense and rippling as he leaned down to capture your lips in a kiss. It wasn’t soft; it wasn’t tender. It was rough, commanding, a mark of ownership.

He pulled back for a split second, his breath hot against your cheek as he muttered, “You don’t know what you do to me.”

In that moment, you knew exactly what he meant—everything about you drove him wild. And now, there was no way out. The tension had broken, the line had been crossed. The storm had begun, and you were caught in its eye.

“Don’t you dare play games with me,” San murmured, his voice low and dangerously quiet, a thread of restraint running through it. “You’re in my world now.” His grip on your wrists tightened just enough to remind you of who was in control, his other hand moving to undo your pants with the same cold precision.

You held your breath as the fabric slid down your legs, leaving you exposed beneath the harshness of his touch. But even then, you didn’t look away. You felt the pulse of electricity between you—his power, his control, and your own challenge to it.

Mingi, still lingering by, watched with a smirk that never faltered. His hand brushed over his chest as he approached, his gaze flicking from you to San, then back to you with a teasing glint in his eye.

“You’re really not going to let me have any fun, are you?” Mingi said, his voice playful but carrying an underlying heat.

San’s response was a sharp glance that silenced Mingi for a moment. But then, with a barely-there nod, he signaled for Mingi to move closer. Mingi’s smirk grew as he leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear, his voice a teasing whisper. “Don’t think we’re done here. You wanted to get under his skin, didn’t you? Now you’ll see what happens when you do.”

His words hung in the air as he pulled back, allowing San to take the lead once again. You barely had time to process before San’s lips were on your thighs, his touch firm and deliberate as he kissed and trailed his lips up your skin. His breath was hot against your flesh, and you could feel the intensity of his presence, his hunger for control, in every movement.

“You want me to stop?” San’s voice was low, almost a growl, as his lips hovered just above your skin.

It wasn’t a question you could answer easily, not with the fire coursing through your veins. Your body betrayed you, trembling with anticipation, your pulse racing with every subtle touch, every whispered command. You fought to hold onto your composure, but it was slipping, bit by bit.

Mingi, watching all of this unfold, let out a low chuckle, clearly amused by the sight of you trying to stay in control while San worked his power over you. “She’s got a fire,” Mingi muttered to himself, leaning casually against the wall.

San, hearing his words, shot a glance at Mingi, his jaw tight. “She’s in my hands now,” he said, his tone laced with something possessive. “And she’ll learn what it means to be tested.”

San’s gaze never wavered, his focus entirely on you. The air between you seemed to thicken, charged with tension as his fingers traced the line of your jaw, tilting your face so you couldn’t look anywhere but at him. His voice dropped to a low rumble, the weight of his authority palpable. “Eyes on me. You don’t get to shy away now.”

Mingi moved closer, his presence as heavy as San’s, though tinged with a teasing energy that made your heart race. He settled beside you, his hand brushing against your shoulder, a touch both gentle and possessive. “You’re holding back,” Mingi murmured, his voice like a soft hum against your skin. “Why don’t you show us what you’re really capable of?”

San smirked at Mingi’s words, his expression dark with satisfaction. “She will,” he replied confidently, his hands steady as they skimmed over your thighs, his grip tightening just enough to draw your attention fully back to him. “I’ll make sure of it.”

Mingi, not to be outdone, shed his remaining clothing as well, his smirk never faltering as he took his place beside you.

San chuckled, his hands returning to your hips, pulling you closer with a firm but careful tug. “She’ll take everything we give her. Won’t you?” His words were a challenge, laced with something possessive, his tone daring you to deny him.

Your breath hitched, and San leaned in closer, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear as he whispered, “Don’t fight it. Let me see how much you can handle.” His fingers dug into your sides slightly, not enough to hurt, but enough to remind you that he was in control.

Mingi’s hand trailed down your arm, his touch light but deliberate, sending a shiver through you. “I think she’s ready.”

San smirked, leaning back just enough to lock eyes with you. “Not yet,” he replied, his voice low and commanding. “She’s not done proving herself to me.”

The cool sheets beneath you were a stark contrast to the heat radiating from your skin as San positioned himself between your legs, his movements deliberate and brimming with purpose. His sharp eyes drank in every inch of you, a reverent smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Look at you,” he murmured, his voice rough yet warm, carrying a weight of appreciation that sent a shiver through your entire body. “How can someone be this breathtaking?”

His words, so unexpectedly tender, made your breath hitch.

On your right, Mingi knelt with a smirk that was anything but soft. His dark eyes roamed over you, his expression hungry, though laced with mischief. “Breathtaking, huh?” he drawled, one hand resting on your side, his thumb brushing over your ribs. “That’s one way to put it. But I’d call her... delicious.”

His teasing tone made your cheeks burn, but before you could respond, San’s voice cut through, steady and commanding. “Careful, Mingi,” he said, glancing over his shoulder with a faint edge in his tone. “This isn’t about you.”

Mingi raised his hands in mock surrender, his grin widening. “Relax, San. I’m just admiring your masterpiece.”

San turned his attention back to you, his expression softening as he cupped your cheek, his thumb tracing your skin gently. “Ignore him,” he said, his voice dropping to a low rumble meant just for you. “Right now, you gotta focus on me."

The weight of his words settled in your chest, grounding you. But then, San’s lips curved into a wicked smile, and his hands tightened on your thighs, spreading them a little wider. “Actually,” he murmured, his tone taking on a darker edge, “I have an idea.”

You blinked up at him, your body already reacting to the shift in his demeanor. “An idea?” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart.

San’s smirk grew, his hands trailing down your thighs with deliberate slowness. “I’ll show you just how much I want you,” he said, his voice smooth yet laced with intent. “And Mingi here can... keep himself occupied.”

Mingi raised a brow, his grin turning sharper. “Occupied, huh?” he echoed, his gaze flicking between you and San. Then his attention locked onto you, his smirk softening just slightly. “You wouldn’t mind helping me out, would you?”

The intensity in his voice sent a shiver down your spine, and you barely had time to process his words before San leaned down, his breath warm against your thigh. “It’s not really a question,” San murmured, his voice dripping with authority. “You’ll do exactly what I say, won’t you?”

His confidence left no room for hesitation, and your body answered before your mind could catch up, your breath hitching as you nodded. San chuckled, the sound low and rich as he pressed a kiss to your inner thigh. “Good girl, or may I say.. good slut? That's more like it." he whispered, the degrading praise sending a thrill through you

San’s hands tightened on your thighs, grounding you as he lowered himself further, his presence overwhelming and commanding all at once. “Keep your focus,” he ordered, his voice low but firm, even as his lips trailed closer to your cunt. “You don’t stop until I tell you to. Understood?”

The weight of his command left you breathless, and all you could do was nod.

The headboard was cool against your back, grounding you amidst the heat that filled the room.

“You’ll watch me, won’t you?” San murmured, his voice low and commanding. “Every little reaction you give belongs to me.”

Before you could respond, a hand brushed against your jaw, turning your attention upward. Mingi, his towering frame casting a shadow over you, stood by the side of the bed, his gaze locked onto yours with a hunger that was impossible to ignore. His smirk was a challenge, daring you to take control even as he exuded a quiet authority of his own.

“Don’t get distracted,” Mingi murmured, his voice smooth yet firm as he guided his cock closer, his confidence unwavering. He took your hand, his touch deliberate as he placed it at the base of it. “You’re going to be good for us, aren’t you?”

Your fingers hesitated for the briefest moment before wrapping around him, the weight of his command making your heart race. Slowly, you moved your hand along his cock, your palm brushing over every vein, feeling his breath hitch slightly as you teased him.

San chuckled darkly from between your thighs, his lips curling into a satisfied smirk as he watched. “Look at you,” he muttered, his voice laced with pride. “Already falling into place like you were made for this.”

Mingi’s hand tightened on yours as he guided you further, his deep voice a steady presence above the storm San was creating. “That’s it,” he murmured, his tone equal parts encouragement and demand. “Just like that. Don’t hold back now.”

The tension in the room thickened as the sounds of your shallow breaths and soft whimpers intertwined with the low rumble of their voices. San’s grip on your thighs tightened as he leaned in. His lips finally reached the place you needed him most.

The first stroke of his tongue was unrelenting, both tender and possessive as though he wanted to draw every ounce of reaction from you. Your back arched against the headboard, a trembling whine escaping your lips, but it was quickly muffled by Mingi's cock.

He held your jaw gently, tilting your face so that his tip brushed against your parted lips. “Show me how good you can be.”

You took a shaky breath before wrapping your lips around it, your fingers curling at the base for balance as you began to move your head. The heat radiating from him was overwhelming, his low groans blending with your muffled whines as San’s movements became more precise.

San’s hands slid up your thighs, grounding you, anchoring you against the overwhelming sensations. “So responsive,” he muttered, his tone dripping with satisfaction. He pressed his mouth more firmly against you, his tongue working in slow, deliberate patterns that sent waves of electricity coursing through you.

Your cries reverberated around Mingi, the vibrations making his jaw tense as his hand moved to cradle the back of your head. “That’s it,” he groaned, his deep voice resonating through you. “You sound so pretty like that.”

San chuckled darkly against you, the vibrations sending shivers up your spine. “She’s perfect, isn’t she?” he mused, his voice muffled but no less commanding. “Taking everything we give her so beautifully.”

You couldn’t focus on anything but the push and pull between the two of them, the way Mingi’s deep groans matched the rhythm of San’s relentless attention. Every touch, every sound built the tension inside you higher, drawing you closer to the edge with a heady mix of roughness and sensual control.

San pulled back slightly, his lips glistening and his dark eyes sharp as they met yours. He let out a low, mocking chuckle that sent shivers down your spine. His grip on your thighs never faltered, his thumbs pressing into your skin just enough to keep you firmly grounded in the moment.

“Here’s the deal,” San murmured, his voice a low, tantalizing growl. “You don’t get to come until he does. Show me how good you are at taking care of him, and maybe I’ll give you what you’re begging for.”

Your wide, needy eyes met his, your body trembling from the intensity of his gaze and the deliberate tease of his hands on your skin. San leaned closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he added, “Make him fall apart first, and I’ll give you exactly what you need.”

Mingi groaned softly at San’s words, his hand cupping your cheek to guide your attention back to him. “You heard him,” he said, his tone rough but lined with a teasing edge. “Show me how good you can be.”

Your resolve firmed despite the heat coursing through you, and you took Mingi deeper, the sound of your efforts mixing with his low, guttural groans. Your hand stroked him in time with your movements, your tongue trailing against him in a way that had his breath hitching. His free hand gripped the edge of the headboard, his control faltering with every deliberate flick of your tongue.

San watched with dark satisfaction, his hand sliding along your thigh as a silent reminder of his presence. “That’s it,” he murmured, his voice smooth but edged with hunger. “You can do better than that. Make him feel it.”

You pushed yourself further, letting your lips tighten and your tongue tease, drawing a shuddering gasp from Mingi. His head tipped back, his grip on the headboard tightening as his breaths grew uneven. The sharp inhale he took before he came was punctuated by a low, satisfied groan, his body trembling as he filled your mouth with his cum.

San’s pleased hum was the only warning you got before he shifted you slightly, his hands moving to adjust your hips as he leaned in closer. “Good girl,” he murmured, his tone dripping with approval. “Now, let me give you what you’ve been waiting for.”

The first touch of his mouth was unrelenting, and your cry of relief was immediate. San worked with precision, his movements rough enough to leave you trembling but careful enough to draw every ounce of tension from your body. His hands held you in place, his grip firm as he pushed you closer to the edge.

Your hands gripped the sheets tightly as the waves of your orgasm finally crashed over you, your body arching against the headboard. You cried out, San’s name spilling from your lips as he carried you through every trembling moment, his hold never faltering.

As you came down from the high, San’s lips brushed against your thigh, his voice low and satisfied. “That’s how I want to hear you,” he said, his tone possessive but lined with pride. “Falling apart for me.”

Mingi’s deep voice rumbled from behind San, a teasing smirk playing on his lips. “If San gets to have ideas, then I have one too,” he said, his tone smooth but carrying an undercurrent of mischief. He leaned back against the headboard, his broad frame radiating confidence as he continued, “What if we both take care of her?”

San froze for a moment, his sharp eyes narrowing as he considered Mingi’s bold proposition. But before he could respond, you felt the weight of Mingi’s gaze on you—curious, warm, and daring. It wasn’t until he noticed the flicker of excitement in your eyes, a spark you couldn’t hide, that his lips curved into a knowing grin.

San caught that spark too. He tilted his head, his initial hesitation melting into something darker, more intentional. “Interesting,” he muttered, his fingers still trailing along your thigh. “You’re into that, aren’t you?”

Your breath caught, the tension in the room thickening as Mingi made his move. Without waiting for further confirmation, he reached out, his strong hands finding your waist as he effortlessly guided you onto his lap. The shift was seamless, his strength evident as he settled you above him, his arms caging you in with a gentle but commanding grip.

Mingi’s voice was a low murmur as he tipped your chin up to meet his gaze. “Don’t be shy now,” he said, his thumb brushing against your jaw. “We’re just getting started.”

San moved behind you, his presence grounding you as his hands found your hips, steadying you against Mingi’s chest. The duality of their touches was overwhelming—Mingi’s hold firm and encompassing, San’s deliberate and teasing.

“You’re going to be good for both of us,” San said, his breath warm against your ear. His fingers traced the curve of your spine, a slow, deliberate movement that sent chills through you. “Let him see how much you want this.”

Mingi chuckled softly, the sound vibrating through you as he shifted beneath you. “Don’t worry,” he said, his voice a tantalizing promise. “We’ll take care of you.”

Their combined attention was intoxicating. Mingi’s hands spanned your waist, holding you close as San’s fingertips teased along your sides. Their coordination was seamless, their shared focus on you leaving no room for doubt.

Mingi tilted your chin down toward him, his dark eyes locking onto yours. “You’re ours tonight,” he murmured, his tone heavy with intent. His grip tightened slightly, his strength a silent reassurance as he added, “Let us show you how good it can be.”

Behind you, San’s hands slid along your body, his touch purposeful as he leaned in to press a lingering kiss against your neck. His lips curved into a smirk as he felt you shiver beneath him.

“Trust us,” San murmured, his voice a velvet promise, “and let go.”

Mingi’s grip on your waist tightened, his strength palpable as he held you effortlessly above him. His dark gaze locked onto yours, the intensity in his expression making your breath hitch. With a slow, deliberate movement, he guided you down, your body trembling as he buried himself in you, his hips rolling upward with an undeniable authority.

“That’s it,” he murmured, his voice a low, tantalizing growl. His hands splayed wide on your hips, holding you firmly in place as he set the rhythm, his dominance radiating in every calculated move. “Take all of me. You’re not going anywhere.”

Behind you, San’s restraint was hanging by a thread. His fingers dug into your shoulders, the pressure almost bruising as he steadied you between them. The sound of your breathless whimpers seemed to snap something inside him, his control shattering as he thrust forward without warning. His movements were rough, almost desperate, his hips slamming into you with unrelenting force.

“You feel too good,” San growled, his voice a low rasp that sent shivers down your spine. His grip on your shoulders tightened, pulling you back against him as he drove deeper, each thrust more powerful than the last. “I can’t stop. Don’t even think about asking me to.”

Mingi chuckled darkly beneath you, his hands sliding up your sides to keep you upright as your body trembled. “He’s lost it,” he said, his tone dripping with amusement and pride. His thumbs pressed into your waist, his hold steadying you as he tilted his head back to watch the way your body responded to their relentless pace. “But you can take it, can’t you? You’re ours. We’ll make sure you do.”

Your legs threatened to give out entirely, the overwhelming intensity of their combined focus leaving you barely able to hold yourself up. Mingi’s grip on your waist grew even firmer, his strength keeping you steady as he thrust upward with a controlled power that left you gasping.

San, on the other hand, was a storm. His lips found your neck, his teeth grazing your skin before he bit down gently, marking you with a possessive edge that left no doubt about his intentions. “You’re mine,” he growled against your ear, his voice rough and unyielding. “Ours. Don’t forget it.”

The room was filled with the sound of ragged breaths, low groans, and the slap of skin as San and Mingi worked in perfect, chaotic tandem. Mingi’s hands slid up to cup your face, tilting your chin down so your eyes met his. “Look at me,” he commanded softly, his voice a dangerous mix of gentleness and authority. “Don’t you dare look away.”

Behind you, San growled in frustration, his pace growing even faster as he leaned forward, his chest pressing against your back. His hands moved to your waist, gripping tightly as he took over the rhythm, each thrust forcing a breathless cry from your lips.

“You’re perfect,” San muttered, his voice strained and full of raw hunger. “Made for us. Look at how you’re falling apart. Can’t even stand, can you?”

Mingi’s laughter rumbled beneath you, his arms wrapping around your trembling form to keep you steady as San continued his relentless assault. “She’s ours now,” Mingi said, his tone possessive and dripping with satisfaction. “Completely and utterly ours.”

They moved as one, their shared goal clear: to claim every part of you, to leave no inch of you untouched by their relentless intensity. Your body trembled in their grasp, every ounce of your strength surrendered to their combined power.

“Give in to us,” San growled, his breath hot against your ear as his movements grew even more forceful. “Let us ruin you.”

And you did—completely, utterly, and without hesitation. But they didn't falter. they didn't stop.

San, his chest rising and falling with each measured breath, leaned down toward you with a simmering heat in his gaze. Without a word, his hand reached out to harshly wrap around your neck, his fingers pressing in just enough to pull you closer to him. His grip was firm, as he slowly lifted you, bringing you flush against his chest.

San’s voice was a low murmur, soft but commanding, his lips grazing your ear. "Don’t forget who’s in control."

You could feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your cheek, and the way he held you, just barely choking you with his gentle pressure, made your body shiver.

Mingi, still inches deep inside, watched the scene unfold with a sly grin, his hands staying steady at your waist, making sure you felt both of their presence, unyielding but tender. He moved gently beneath you, adding to the slow, simmering rhythm of the moment.

Both men fucked you relentlessly through your orgasm until they were satisfied enough.. and that meant right when they filled both your holes up with their cum, mingling with your juices. A string of curses escaped Mingi’s lips as San lifted you up and softly placed you on the bed, your legs trembling and threatening to give out at any moment. You were dizzy, overstimulation hovering over as San leaned in, softly enough to give you a forehead kiss.

“How about a warm bath?" San asked softly, his fingers brushing your hair away from your face as he looked down at you with concern. His voice had softened, but the possessiveness remained in his tone, making you feel like you were still entirely his.

Mingi, ever the playful one, leaned back with a teasing grin. "If you’re getting the bath ready, don’t forget about me. I wouldn’t mind a round two in there," he said, his tone lighthearted, making you smile despite the tension that still lingered in the air.

San chuckled, brushing his lips against your forehead before offering you a hand. "Let’s get you in the bath first. You deserve a moment to relax." His touch was gentle now, his usual intensity replaced with a soothing calm.

The two of them guided you to the warm water, their care wrapping around you like a soft blanket, the playful teasing from. You.. for sure, didn't falter from their grip unscathed.

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