#Intelligent Touch Screen

[vmantras]

BYD eMAX 7: Performance and Features Review

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[silverysongs]

i binged "nobody wants this" today because I was home sick and I'm 100% sure that "the good place" is still a better rom-com

[sysig]

Just take things at your own pace, there’s no need to rush (Patreon)

[interactivewhiteboardsupplier]

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[aquasoftware]

★ VANILLA WITH A CHERRY ON TOP 🜼

Desc | Kento Nanami meets you at the library, recommends you filthy books, wears his fancy business suits, and kisses your hand like a gentleman. He’s patient, polite, and sweet. But when you finally give him your body, you realize there’s absolutely nothing vanilla about the way he makes love to you.

Cw | MDNI 18+ Cherry popping, soft/service dóm! Kento, súb! Reader, body worsh!p, óraI f!xat!on (f rece!v!ng,) f**t play, chóklng, brèèd!ng/cr3amp!e, overst!m, pra!sè, tùmmý buIgè, nanami has a Prince AIbert piercing, f!nger!ng, cúm pIay, d!rty tàIk, & aftercàre + ML | Drabble

“Vanilla”! Nanami is a man who you meet at a library, his gentle smile is so warm your heart completely melts everytime you glance at him and he flashes one, but you ignore the fact that he’s standing in the erotica section, glasses perched on his nose, quietly flipping through each page like it’s classic literature.

“Vanilla”! Nanami is observant to a pulp. He notices how you always ask for help reaching a book on the top shelf, even though he’s certain you’ve worn heels taller than that. He picks up on how you linger after conversations end, eyes dancing between his lips and his shirt that’s slightly unbuttoned allowing his pecs to happily greet you. How your gaze is anything but innocent, yet he never calls you out on it.

“Vanilla”! Nanami who never flirts explicitly—he just speaks in a tone so sultry and calm it makes your stomach twist.

“Vanilla”! Nanami who always has book recommendations for you, and every time they’re a little more suggestive than the last. “This one had beautiful prose,” he claims, handing you something with chapters full of longing, pinning, or toe-curling tension.

“Vanilla”! Nanami who underlines details in his books that remind him of you, then gets shy when you find them. He’ll mumble "It's just good writing,” but won’t meet your eyes when you see what he underlined is the filthiest smut possible.

“Vanilla”! Nanami who gives you his number after realizing you often come to the library just to constantly see him, he slides you his phone like he’s making a business deal with the contacts screen open uttering “let’s keep in touch.”

“Vanilla”! Nanami is the type that easily falls in love with you, your conversations over the phone nearly lure him in over the screen, your voice is so saccharine he’s desperate for a glass of wine to calm him down, he’s almost embarrassed at how weak in the knees he is for how intelligent you are, your shared hobbies and how your personality is just as attractive as your face.

“Vanilla”! Nanami who sends you photos of his open books along the cozy spots he reads in with captions like “Wish you were here.” (You wonder if he means the reading with him or his lap.)

“Vanilla”! Nanami officially takes you on a plethora of dates after a long while of talking and he’s this huge gentleman, he takes you on real dates. The kind with linen napkins, dim lighting, and soft jazz in the background. He pulls out your chair without thinking twice, gently wipes sauce from your cheek with his thumb, and feeds you bites of dessert with his fork, as his eyes never leave yours.

“Vanilla”! Nanami chuckles when he eventually meets your best friend and she mutters into your ear “I didn’t know you were into squares Y/n.”

“Vanilla”! Nanami who goes quiet for a moment when you tell him you’re a virgin—not because he minds, but because he suddenly feels the weight of your trust.

“Vanilla”! Nanami becomes careful with his words when he finally speaks “I just don’t want to overwhelm you,” he says nervously, placing a loving kiss on the back of your hand. “You deserve someone who’s patient with you… who makes it feel right.”

“Vanilla”! Nanami who tries not to become too emotional when you tell him that someone is him, his ears are tainted a rose pink. His eyes gloss over you as if you’re only someone he’d be able to find in his dreams.

“Vanilla”! Nanami tries to make things perfect for your first time, wanting things to be so memorable that he (unknowingly) ruins you for any other man. He lights coconut scented candles, decorates the entire room with rose petals and there’s a tray of two wine glasses waiting for the both of you afterwards.

“Vanilla”! Nanami who isn’t so vanilla after all, especially when you makeout with him, you’ll understand exactly why he was in the erotica section. Your cherry flavored lip gloss is only an excuse why his lips keep chasing yours for more, he holds your jaw with his fingertips like he’s unworthy of being able to touch you.

“Vanilla”! Nanami takes a deep breath when you tell him you’re finally ready, asking “Are you sure about this?” He presses a featherlight kiss to your forehead once you eagerly nod.

“Vanilla”! Nanami who bites his lip trying not to laugh when you apologize for not wearing anything sexy underneath your clothes and he undresses you to reveal a matching SpongeBob set. He reassures you by saying “You’re sexy in whatever you feel comfortable wearing.” And he gently rubs your back.

“Vanilla”! Nanami unclasps your bra, carefully planting kisses on your bare chest as if it's a delicate flower waiting to be picked. At first he acted as if he had all the time in the world, twirling your bud between his fingers, but then he instantly gave in when you pleaded for more—latching onto your nipple, while suckling as if it could produce sweet nectar.

“Vanilla”! Nanami who preps you for hours eating you out, and if you’re insecure about how you look down there? It’s just an excuse for him to eat you out like his life is on the line, sucking your clit until your thighs are shaking, until his head is practically being crushed to death by your thighs, or until you’re desperately humping his face like a needy slut.

“Vanilla”! Nanami who preps you with another hour of fingering, going painfully slow, refusing to rush things at all. His fingers are thick, so when he curls up and hits that g-spot each stroke? You nearly drool, throwing your head back into the flood of pillows, swearing it’s better than the smut you read.

“Vanilla”! Nanami who shocks you when you learn he has a prince albert piercing and you quickly learn what those hours of prepping was for. When you tell him “I would’ve never guessed you’d have a piercing there!?” He responds, shaking his head “I got it in my youth, but couldn’t bring myself to remove it.” If he notices any concern on your face he tenderly kisses your jawline and lets you hold his hand.

“Vanilla”! Nanami eases in but he goes feral when you cry “Kento, fuck! N-need you faster baby, please.” He throws your legs over your shoulders and can’t help but to suck your pretty white manicured toes, causing you to gasp out of shock, yet pure pleasure.

“Vanilla”! Nanami who thrives off the erotic books he reads, knowing it ingrained the words in his head on what to say, he feels like he won a medal each time he evokes deafening moans when he praises you murmuring “You’re doing so well for me sweetheart,” or “take all of me, mmmh, just like that.”

“Vanilla”! Nanami purposefully presses a big hand on your tummy bulge as he slows down his pace just so you can feel his piercing nudge deliciously against your weak spots.

“Vanilla”! Nanami who tries not to cross any boundaries with you but when you guide his hand to your throat it’s practically testing him, he remembers from a guide that teaches you should start off with small pressure. When you squeeze his cock at the light pressure? He considers putting a baby in you on the spot.

“Vanilla”! Nanami who makes you orgasm for the ninth time that night, when he reaches down to rub your clit while you're spasming around him. As soon as you finish, he doesn’t last long asking “Where do you want me princess?” His eyes nearly roll back when you say “I want your cum inside me baby.” He cums so deep, you’ll feel it in your womb the next day.

“Vanilla”! Nanami who watches as his cum oozes out your swollen cunt, and eats you out one last time, “for good measure.”

“Vanilla”! Nanami who has insane aftercare he cuddles with you, constantly asks if you’re okay, feeds you grapes like he worships the ground you walk on, and holds up your wine for you to drink.

“Vanilla”! Nanami who is anything but vanilla.

Divider/Boarders produced by uzmacchiato & dollywons

‹3 Masterlist!! | more nanami smut?

Song written by Koi’lani/@aquasoftware.

REBLOGS, COMMENTS, AND LIKES ARE HEAVILY APPRECIATED!! THANK YOU <3

[reasonsforhope]

"For most people, a rat is at best an unwelcome guest, and at worst, the target of immediate extermination. But in a field clinic in Tanzania, rats are colleagues—heroes even.

Far from a trash bin-dwelling NYC street rat, the African giant pouched rat is docile, intelligent, easier to train than some dogs, and for East Africans, the performer of lifesaving tuberculosis diagnoses every day.

400,000 new cases of tuberculosis (TB) were estimated to have been prevented by these rats, whose sense of smell would make a bloodhound take notice. As [TB is] the number-one killer among infectious diseases worldwide, many of those 400,000 can be translated into lives saved.

“Not only are we saving people’s lives, but we’re also changing these perspectives and raising awareness and appreciation for something as lowly as a rat,” said Cindy Fast, a behavioral neuroscientist who coaches the rodents for the nonprofit APOPO.

“Because our rats are our colleagues, and we really do see them as heroes.”

APOPO uses giant pouched rats to sniff out traces of TB in the saliva of patients. In parts of Tanzania, a saliva smear test under a microscope by a human may only be 20-40% effective at detecting TB.

By contrast, a giant pouched rat like Ms. Carolina, a now-retired service rat who worked for APOPO for 7 years, raised the rates of detection on TB samples by 40% in the clinic where she worked.

Pictured: An APOPO employee with one of their trained rats

It would take 4 days for scientists to analyze the number of samples that Carolina could screen in 20 minutes. For that reason, when Carolina retired last November, a party was thrown at the clinic in her honor, and she was given a cake.

TB is sometimes thought of as a thing of the past—a disease for which doctors used to prescribe “dry air,” leading a modern sense of humor to muse at the antiquated, pre-antibiotic medical advice.

But it remains the number-one cause of death globally from a single infectious pathogen, and Tefera Agizew, a physician and APOPO’s head of tuberculosis, told National Geographic that once people see what the nonprofit’s rodents can do to slow the spread, they “fall in love with them.”

3,000 times in her career did Carolina detect one of the six volatile compounds that can be used to identify Mycobacterium tuberculosis, and she got a hero’s send-off to a special compound to live out the rest of her days with her closet friend and sniffer colleague Gilbert, in a shaded enclosure dubbed “Rat Florida.”

“We’ve made special little rat-friendly carrot cakes with little peanuts and things on it that the rat would enjoy,” Fast said. “Then we all stand around and we clap, and we give three cheers, hip hip hooray for the hero, and celebrate together. It’s really a touching moment.”

APOPO has made headlines for its use of these rats in other lifesaving tasks as well: landmine clearance.

One of the world’s great underreported scourges (a lot like TB, coincidentally) is landmine contamination. There are 110 million landmines or unexploded bombs in the ground right now in about 67 countries, covering thousands of square miles in potential danger. Thousands of civilians are killed or injured by these weapons every year.

GNN reported on APOPO’s demining efforts using pouched rats back in 2020. One rat named Magawa alone identified 39 landmines and 28 items of unexploded ordnance across an area the size of 20 football fields.

If at the start of this story you didn’t like rats, maybe Magawa and Carolina will have changed your mind."

-via Good News Network, March 31, 2025

[thanoskin]

you belong to me

Pairing: Frontman x Reader

Summary: you’re the daughter of a volatile VIP, you draw the frontman’s attention during your visit to the games.

Warning: Smut (+18), Rough sex, Degradation kink, Age gap, Fingering, Dom! Frontman, Sub! Reader, vaginal fluids, overstimulation, Pussy slapping, Unprotected sex, no aftercare.

Word count: 1519 words.

The air was heavy with the scent of luxury-imported cigars, fine leather, and expensive cologne. You sat on a lavish velvet couch in the VIP lounge, nursing a glass of champagne that had gone warm in your hand. Around you, the other VIPs laughed and cheered as they watched the carnage unfold on the massive screen before them.

Your father, one of the most notorious and impulsive of the VIPs, sat at the head of the room, reveling in the chaos below. His booming laughter grated against your nerves, but you kept your expression neutral. You'd learned long ago how dangerous it was to show any weakness around him.

Still, the games didn't hold your interest. Not like they did for him. Your attention drifted instead to the enigmatic figure known as the Front Man, the creator of the games.

He was always there, silent, observing, his black mask concealing his face but not the sharp intelligence in his movements. You'd caught him watching you more than once, and though he never said a word, you felt the weight of his gaze.

Tonight was no different.

You glanced up, and there he was, standing at the edge of the room, his posture rigid, his presence commanding. Even surrounded by the chaos of the VIPs, he seemed untouchable, untamed.

Hours later, it was finally lights out.The VIPs eventually retreated to their private quarters, leaving you alone in the grand lounge, your father was too drunk to notice you were still around. The silence was a relief after the overwhelming noise, but it didn't last long.

"You shouldn't be here alone."

"I'm not afraid of being alone," you replied, your voice steadier than you felt.

He stepped closer, his boots echoing softly against the marble floor. "You should be."

You raised an eyebrow, meeting the dark void of his mask. "Is that a warning?"

"It's a fact," he said, stopping just a few feet away.

"Your father isn't the only dangerous man here."

You set your glass down, leaning back against the couch. "I think I'll take my chances."

The Front Man tilted his head, studying you. "You're not like the others," he murmured.

"No," you said, your lips curving into a faint smile. "I'm not."

He didn't respond, but the weight of his gaze was palpable. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the silence crackling.

"What do you want from me?" you asked finally, breaking the stillness.

The Front Man stepped closer, his voice dropping to a low murmur. "What makes you think I want something?"

You stood, closing the distance between you.

"Because men like you don't get involved unless there's something in it for them."

He chuckled softly, the sound distorted through his mask. "Maybe you're right."

His hand came up, the black leather of his glove brushing against your cheek.

The touch was surprisingly gentle, and it made your inner thighs warm.

"Careful.” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

For a moment, you thought he might pull away. But then his other hand slid to your waist, drawing you closer. His mask pressed against your forehead, the cool metal a stark contrast to the heat radiating between you both.

"Tell me to stop," he murmured.

You didn't. Instead, your fingers moved to the edge of his mask, your breath hitching as he allowed you to lift it just enough to see his lips.

The kiss was slow at first, testing, but it quickly deepened. His hands tightened on your waist, pulling you flush against him as his lips moved against yours. The weight of his mask and the secrecy of the moment only heightened the intensity.

He pulled back, his breathing uneven, his voice rough. "My quarters. Now."

The room was stark, utilitarian, a sharp contrast to the opulence of the VIP lounge. But it didn't matter. The moment the door closed behind you, he was on you, his mask discarded, his lips capturing yours with a ferocity that left you breathless.

You clung to him as he backed you against the wall, his hands exploring, his touch possessive yet careful, as if he were afraid you might vanish.

"You don't belong here," he murmured against your skin, his voice raw.

"Neither do you," you replied, your fingers tangling in his hair as he chuckled at your innocence.

His lips trailed down your neck as his hands slid beneath the fabric of your dress, and he gripped your ass, hard, causing you to gasp in surprise.

Suddenly, he lifted you by your hips and tossed you on the bed, not giving you a chance to breathe as he crawled on top of you like a predator hunting its prey. You were face to face with him now.

He slowly pulled off his mask to reveal an older, handsome man with dark and determined eyes. You kissed him deeply, almost savagely, he let you for a couple of minutes before placing his hand on your throat, pinning you beneath him.

You whined softly, your breaths ragged as you adapted to his strong grip. He let you go, his hands now roaming over the thin fabric of your dress, and tracing over your hard nipples.

“You’re not wearing a bra…” he whispered teasingly, and you blushed as he removed your dress.

He stared at your naked body, ignoring your horny whimpers as he ran his hand through your wet folds. You moaned softly as his thumb grazed over your clit. He smirked teasingly and began to use slight pressure as he moved his thumb in a circular motion on your sensitive ball of nerves.

You moan and writhe, attempting to close your legs from the pressure. Suddenly, you feel two cold fingers enter your aching hole, and you gasp in surprise.

“You’re a virgin, aren’t you?”

He asks, his gaze curious and intense, causing you to look away.

“Answer me when I speak to you.”

You feel his fingers curl against that spongy spot, and you cry out.

“Yes! Please don’t stop..” you begin to squirm, moaning uncontrollably as he continues to curl and thrust his fingers into your virgin hole.

You dig your nails into his back and start to get louder and louder, your moans desperate, and your pussy soaking wet.

Suddenly, he pulls his fingers out and begins to remove his belt, staring at your sprawled and exposed form.

“I need your cock please.” You murmur, and he doesn’t reply, he tosses his belt on the far end of the room and removes his pants and underwear, crawling towards you again. His cock wasn’t too big, but wasn’t too small either.

You found yourself terrified, but your arousal only grew as you stared at his hard, throbbing cock.

He roughly grabs your thighs, spreading them wide, digging his nails into your sensitive skin, causing you to whine.

You closed your eyes and he immediately pinched your inner thigh.

“Open.”

Your eyes flew open at his command, and you whine as you feel his tip against your throbbing clit.

“Look at me while I take you.”

you obeyed, he began to enter you, and you hissed and cried out from the pain. He didn’t respond, but you were grateful for his patience, and his gentle touches as he stroked your legs while he broke you in.

Suddenly, he hit a spot, causing you to moan loudly. He began to thrust quickly, causing you to moan uncontrollably.

“oh fuck!” You cried and used your free hands to try and push his shoulders, desperatey feeling the need to cum already.

he growled and pinned your hands above your head, his strong hands nearly breaking your wrists as you moaned loudly and sobbed.

“Look at me!” He shouted, he was panting, his eyes locked into yours as he fucked you mercilessly.

“I’m gonna cum!” you cried out, trying to close your legs.

“Don’t you fucking….”

you squirted all over his cock, and he stopped moving inside of you. He sighed and pulled out, and you’re rewarded with a harsh slap to your clit.

“You cum when I tell you to, not a moment before that. Understood?”

You cry and before you can respond, he enters you again, pinching your sensitive nipples and tugging the skin as he fucked you hard, and fast.

“Fuck…” he whispered, before pulling out and panting.

He yanks your legs apart again, only to rub your throbbing clit, with force and speed.

You’re overstimulated, and on the brink of cumming.

“Please, let me…” you cried and moaned.

“Come on, squirt all over my fucking hand.”

You squirted hard and he groaned in delight as you coat his fingers in your juices.

“Such a good little…”

He groaned again, kissing your thighs. You’re exhausted and sore, you lay limp and spent, your eyelids suddenly heavy, and before you knew it, you hear the rustling of his clothing being put back on, and the door closed behind him.

[drewswife]

summary — while getting ready for a case with the team your crush spencer walks in with a new haircut and ur a mess

pairings — pining!reader x oblivious!spencer

warnings — fluff, garcia and morgan being a tease, you are pining and being very obvious about ur crush and use of y/n

The bullpen was a familiar hum of activity, a comforting chaos of keyboards clacking, phones ringing, and the low murmur of conversations. You, however, were a hurricane of barely contained panic. Today was the day you were presenting the preliminary findings for the "Silver Serpent" case, a particularly nasty serial killer who left behind cryptic riddles and a trail of victims. And while the case itself was enough to tie your stomach in knots, there was another, far more pressing issue at hand.

You glanced at your reflection in the darkened computer screen. Your hair, usually a cooperative entity, had decided to stage a rebellion this morning, escaping its ponytail in frizzy tendrils around your face. The dark circles under your eyes, a testament to another night spent poring over case files, seemed to have deepened into permanent fixtures. And your shirt, which had seemed perfectly acceptable when you'd stumbled out of bed, now felt… lopsided. You sighed, defeat settling heavy on your shoulders. You were, in short, a mess.

"Rough morning, Y/N?" Garcia's voice, bright and teasing as always, cut through your self-pity. She sauntered over, a mischievous glint in her eyes, a giant, novelty mug clutched in her hand. "Looks like you wrestled a badger and lost."

You grumbled, running a hand through your rebellious hair. "Something like that. This Silver Serpent is really getting to me."

"Or," Morgan chimed in, leaning against the doorframe of your office, a smirk playing on his lips, "is it the anticipation of a certain doctor gracing us with his presence?"

You felt a blush creep up your neck. Garcia giggled, a sound that usually charmed but now felt like a thousand tiny needles. You shot them both a glare that held no real heat. "You two are impossible."

"We just care, Y/N," Garcia said, though her grin betrayed her. "We want you to look your best for… professional reasons, of course."

"Of course," Morgan echoed, winking.

Just then, as if summoned by their teasing, the glass doors to the bullpen swished open. Your breath hitched.

Spencer.

He walked in, head held high, a stack of books precariously balanced in one arm, a steaming mug in the other. He was wearing his usual tweed jacket, a little rumpled but charmingly so. And then you saw it.

His hair.

oh god his hair

It was shorter, neatly trimmed around his ears, the curls still there but more defined, framing his face in a way that highlighted his sharp cheekbones and intelligent eyes. It looked… good. Really, really good. And suddenly, your own disheveled appearance felt even more glaring.

Hotch, who had just entered the bullpen, paused, his eyes narrowing slightly as he took in Spencer's new look. A flicker of amusement crossed his face. "Reid," he said, his voice a low rumble that carried across the room, "what? Did you join a boy band?"

A few heads turned, and a couple of agents chuckled. Spencer, however, seemed oblivious, or perhaps chose to ignore it.

Garcia and Morgan exchanged a look, their grins widening impossibly. You could practically hear their silent commentary: Exhibit A: The object of Y/N's affections. Exhibit B: Y/N's immediate meltdown.

Spencer, still oblivious to the silent drama unfolding around him, made his way to his desk, setting down his books with a soft thud. He glanced up, his eyes meeting yours. A small smile touched his lips. "Good morning, Y/N."

"M-morning, Spencer," you stammered, feeling your cheeks flush even deeper. You busied yourself with shuffling papers on your desk, pretending to be intensely focused on the case files.

"So," Garcia whispered, leaning closer, "new haircut, huh? I wonder who he's trying to impress."

Morgan hummed in agreement. "Definitely trying something new. And it's working."

You ignored them, or at least tried to. Your mind, however, was a whirlwind of self-deprecating thoughts. He probably thinks I look like I slept in a dumpster. He's so put-together, and I'm… this.

The team gathered for the briefing, and you found yourself inexplicably seated across from Spencer. Every time he shifted, every time he ran a hand through his newly shorn hair, you felt a jolt. You tried to concentrate on Hotch's calm, authoritative voice, on the details of the Silver Serpent's latest taunt, but your gaze kept drifting.

"Y/N," Hotch said, his voice cutting through your reverie, "your thoughts on the psychological profile of the unsub?"

You blinked, scrambling to pull your thoughts together. "Right. Uh… the unsub seems to be highly intelligent, meticulous, and derives pleasure from intellectual superiority. The riddles are designed to challenge law enforcement, to showcase his own cleverness." You managed to articulate the points, but your voice felt a little shaky.

Spencer nodded, his eyes on you, a thoughtful expression on his face. "I agree. The narcissistic tendencies are quite pronounced. The choice of 'Silver Serpent' suggests a desire for both cunning and a certain refined elegance in his crimes."

Your heart did a little flutter-kick. He agreed with you.

As the briefing wrapped up, Garcia caught your eye and mouthed, 'Good job, Y/N! Even when you're distracted by pretty boys.' You narrowed your eyes at her, but a small, involuntary smile tugged at your lips.

Later, as you were packing up your bag, Spencer approached your desk. Your stomach did another nervous flip.

"Y/N," he began, his voice soft, "I was wondering if you had a moment to discuss something related to the Silver Serpent case?"

"Of course," you said, trying to sound professional and not like your brain had just short-circuited.

"I've been reviewing some of the symbolism in his riddles, and I had a thought about the recurring motif of the ouroboros. I believe it might represent a cyclical nature to his crimes, perhaps tied to a specific date or anniversary." He paused, his gaze thoughtful. "I know you've been working tirelessly on the psychological profile, and your insights have been invaluable."

You felt a warmth spread through you. He valued your insights. He'd noticed your hard work. And he was standing so close, his new haircut making him look even more… approachable.

"That's a really interesting theory, Spencer," you managed, your voice a little breathy. "I hadn't considered the ouroboros in that context, but it makes a lot of sense given his desire for intellectual dominance."

He smiled, a genuine, open smile that made your knees feel a little weak. "Perhaps we could go over some of the historical and mythological interpretations of the ouroboros later? I have a few books that might shed some light on it."

"I'd like that," you said, perhaps a little too eagerly.

As Spencer turned to head back to his desk, you saw Garcia and Morgan giving you twin thumbs-ups from across the bullpen. You rolled your eyes, but a genuine smile finally broke through your earlier anxiety.

🏷, @sleepysongbirdsings @spencerreid66 @khxna @raysmayhem-72 @multiversefanfics @starrii-sturns

[edenesth]

By Order of the Black Pirates

An 'Ice On My Teeth' Comeback Special Series

"N-No, please! Spare me! I was wrong! I swear I'll never do it again!" The man's voice cracked as he grovelled on the damp ground, tears carving paths through the grime on his face. His trembling hands offered up the tiny diamond he'd been foolish enough to steal—his last-ditch effort to appease the eight figures towering over him like shadows of death.

He'd heard the whispers, the warnings: Never cross the Black Pirates. Never touch what belongs to them. Never even think of betrayal. Yet greed had blinded him. Now, staring into their cold, merciless eyes, he knew his regret was far too late.

The leader of the gang stepped forward, a smirk tugging at his lips as he tilted his head, studying the pitiful man like a cat sizing up a doomed mouse. "Didn't I ask you to screen these rats better?" he drawled, casting a sideways glance at the eldest among them before shifting his focus back to their prey. "No time to waste. Finish him."

A low chuckle echoed through the tension-filled night as the gang's usual executioner, a broad-shouldered figure clad in his signature fur coat, stepped forward, his grin as sharp as the blade in his hand.

"Sorry, buddy," he mused, his voice dripping with mock sympathy. "This will be the night you take your final breath—by order of the Black fuckin' Pirates."

ـــــــــــــــﮩ٨ـ

Watching the harrowing scene from a distance stood a figure with crossed arms, his voice low as he muttered to his right-hand, "Every man has a weakness. Find the Black Pirates', and we'll knock them off their high horses."

"And if they have none, sir?"

The figure's lips curled into a dark smile. "Then we'll make sure they do."

Pairing(s): gang members!ateez x fem!reader

AU: gang au

Summary: One by one, the Black Pirates uncover their greatest weakness. But when the cracks begin to show, will they stand firm or let their vulnerabilities bring their empire to its knees?

Genre: angst, hurt/comfort

Trigger Warnings: violence, torture, abuse, blood, murder, language, contains dark themes in general

A/N: Credits to the wonderful @sundaybossanova for giving me the idea of something Peaky Blinders inspired. Thank you so much and ily💖

**Dearest readers, please note that all chapters are interconnected. You're advised to read them in order.

ATEEZ MASTERLIST

Hongjoong

‣ The Captain

The Captain of the Black Pirates—respected, feared, and unmatched in strategy—lives by his sharp mind and unshakable resolve. But his carefully constructed world begins to crumble when a grave mistake leads him to torture an innocent suspect nearly to death. Haunted by guilt, his quest for redemption takes an unexpected turn, awakening a part of him he never thought existed: a desire to protect and care for someone.

Seonghwa

‣ The Gentleman

The Black Pirates' poised diplomat, celebrated for his refined demeanour, sharp wit, and unmatched negotiation skills, is always in control. But his composure falters when he encounters an unwilling captive trapped in the Red Room—a ruthless training ground for spies. Driven by an unexpected urge to save her, he finds his carefully maintained boundaries beginning to unravel.

Yunho

‣ The Enforcer

The towering enforcer of the Black Pirates, both disarming and deadly—his easy charm capable of winning over enemies, while his legendary fury dominates the battlefield. But his unbreakable facade begins to crack when he meets a psychologist during a mission—someone who can see through his carefully crafted mask, just as he can see through hers. Beneath her confident exterior lies a frightened soul lost in a dark world, and for the first time, he finds himself compelled to protect someone in a way he never expected.

Yeosang

‣ The Phantom

Mysterious and elusive, the Black Pirates' intelligence expert is known for his sharp instincts and unparalleled skill in espionage and reconnaissance. But when he crosses paths with a woman who surpasses him in both skill and wit for the first time, his confidence begins to waver. As she outsmarts him at every turn, he finds himself unexpectedly drawn to her, eagerly anticipating each challenge—because the thrill of being near her is something he never expected to crave.

San

‣ The Tempest [Coming soon]

The Black Pirates' most unpredictable force is a whirlwind of fiery passion and unbridled energy—always the first to leap into action when chaos erupts. But his world tilts when he stumbles upon a woman who, unlike his victims who always begged to live, is on the brink of ending her own life. Upon discovering she's terminally ill, he finds himself gripped by an unfamiliar and urgent desire to save her, igniting a battle within himself unlike anything he's ever faced.

Mingi

‣ The Firestarter [Coming soon]

The Black Pirates' wild card is notorious for his fiery temper and even more explosive schemes—a dangerous yet irresistibly charming presence. But his confidence takes a hit when one of his near-disastrous plans is salvaged by an unlikely passerby: a composed and resourceful former aristocrat, exiled and stripped of her wealth, now navigating the world's harsh realities. Her icy demeanour and unshakable poise captivate him, leaving the ever-impulsive man unexpectedly drawn to her.

Wooyoung

‣ The Charmer [Coming soon]

The Black Pirates' negotiator and master of distractions is renowned for his confidence and flirtatious charm, which can sway almost anyone. But his ego is severely wounded when he encounters the loyal bodyguard of a high-profile target, someone completely immune to his usual tricks, during a high-stakes mission. Frustrated by his failure yet captivated by her unwavering resolve, he finds himself unable to stay away, drawn to the challenge—and to her—in ways he never expected.

Jongho

‣ The Anchor [Coming soon]

The steadfast foundation of the Black Pirates is renowned for his unfaltering strength and calm under pressure. As the gang's moral compass and protector, he's always put duty above all else. But when a rival gang's attack threatens the life of their kind-hearted hired doctor, he begins to realise that his priorities extend beyond just his brothers. Torn between his loyalty to the gang and his growing feelings for her, he faces an agonising choice: protect his family or save her.

Voila, my loves! As promised, I finally managed to come up with a little something for this comeback teehee. I hope you're as excited about this as I am! Truthfully, I just returned from a 10-day trip in Shanghai and am back to work on Monday already - which means I might not be able to write much until the following weekend but I will do my best to get the parts out ASAP!

Super excited to hear your thoughts on the concept! Do let me know which member's summary enticed you the most!✨ and of course, just leave a comment if you'd like to be tagged for when the parts are released!

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[crushpunky]

drew and costar!reader take the glamour friendship test

masterlist

based on this ask :)

Y/n and Drew walked out onto the bright, white set, their outfits coordinating shades of purple as they prepared for another interview ahead of the release of their film, “Be My Mistake”.

Exercise 1: First Impressions

“Scary… very scary.” Y/n said, looking over at Drew to gauge his reaction. He furrowed his brow, looking between her and the camera before they both descended into giggles. Y/n leaned into Drew as she laughed, Drew catching her and pushing her back up.

“We were told we needed to take this seriously and this is the [bleep] you pull.” Drew chuckled, shaking his head, a grin on his face.

“Ok, ok, seriously,” y/n said, “I was a bit intimidated, but that was mainly because he was so business-y and… I mean Drew’s a pretty big and tall guy so there’s that. But once we got to talking, and he really got out of his shell, I was amazed by how intelligent and funny he was.”

“‘Intelligent and funny’. Wow.” Drew teased, elbowing y/n lightly. “Well, I knew of you before we met and was impressed with your talent and beauty on screen. However, once we met, I was thrilled to find a wonderful personality that accompanied all that.”

“We quickly found out that we’re just about the same person, so that was a pleasant surprise.” Y/n nodded, wrapping an arm around Drew and squeezing his arm lightly.

Exercise 2: Give Your Friend a Compliment

“I feel like we already did that,” Drew laughed, “but I can definitely find a couple more things to say.”

“I mean I guess I already said this, but Drew is really such an intelligent person,” Y/n gazed at Drew, “like not just book smart, but relationship, emotional smart. He’s very much in touch with all of that and is a very good gauge-r for people’s feelings.”

“Y/n is actually the funniest person I know and that’s not me being dramatic.” Drew grinned. “I don’t think I’ve ever laughed as much with anyone else… definitely not to the point of nearly getting kicked out of a restaurant.”

Y/n laughed at the memory. The two of them had gone out for a nice dinner following wrapping on “Be My Mistake”, dressing up and sharing a couple drinks. However, their usual banter resulted in them laughing quite loudly for the duration of the meal. Shortly after their main courses had arrived, a waiter had come over telling them about how some guests were complaining about the two of them being disruptive, which only made them laugh louder. By some grace of god, however, they didn’t get asked to leave.

“It’s not my fault I’m hilarious.” Y/n said with a simple shrug, causing Drew to laugh.

Exercise 3: Fishbowl of Memories

“Oooh.” Drew said as y/n took the large fishbowl from one of the PAs. Inside, various scraps of paper filled the bowl, each with a question.

“I’ll let you have the honor of going first.” Y/n smiled, offering the bowl out to Drew. He dug inside, grabbing a slip of paper as y/n sat the bowl down on the table in front of them.

“What was the funniest blooper in this film?” Drew read before glancing over at y/n, a smirk on his face. Y/n gave him the same look back, the two of them thinking of the same moment.

“There was an… unfortunate incident in which I accidentally pantsed Drew.” Y/n said, trying her best to stifle her laughter. Drew nodded his head, a warm pink spreading across his cheeks.

“You might be thinking, how do you accidentally pants someone?” Drew teased, y/n folding her hands on the table in front of her dramatically.

“We were filming a scene where our characters were arguing and Drew turned to walk away, and I went to follow after him,” y/n explained. “However, I tripped over a rug and fell. I tried to catch myself on Drew, I was sort of grabbing at him, but only ended up getting his pants before I fell… the pants coming with unfortunately.”

“I really hope that that’s not on the blooper real.” Drew shook his head, rubbing a hand along his jaw.

“Oh, I’m sure the ladies would love to see Starkey in his tighty-whities. A real treat.” Y/n teased. Drew cringed, shoving at y/n’s shoulder before gesturing for her to pick a piece of paper from the bowl.

“What is your favorite memory with each other?” Y/n read, looking over at Drew as the two of them thought. They stared at each other in silence, both of their brows furrowing as they shuffled through an abundance of memories.

“I think I have mine.” Drew said, snapping his fingers before turning towards the camera.

“Ok, ok. Me too. Let’s see if we agree.” Y/n nodded, still facing Drew as she waited for him to speak.

“Mine is when we went to get tattoos and y/n passed out and I had to carry her out to the car because she was being so dramatic.” Drew laughed, his laughter growing even louder as y/n’s jaw dropped. She hit his arm lightly, groaning at the memory. 

“I wasn’t being dramatic I— ok, maybe I was but I was probably still hungover from the night before.” Y/n chuckled.

“Your turn.” Drew said, leaning to rest his elbows on the table and his chin in his palms in faux overinterest.

“My favorite memory is when we sang Wicked at some karaoke bar and it was so bad that people started booing us.” Y/n laughed. They had gone out with the rest of the cast to a karaoke bar down the street from where they had been shooting. Later in the night, after a couple of drinks, Drew and y/n decided it would be a good idea to sing “Defying Gravity”. Neither of them being singers, nor anywhere talented enough for the numerous high notes, the regular patrons of the bar began booing and cringing at their attempt at the notoriously difficult to sing song.

“‘Please for the love of god stop’.” Drew recited one of the patrons’ comments, causing y/n to throw her head back laughing.

“Wow, jeez. That was a deep cut.” Y/n straightened herself back up, smoothing out the  front of her dress. Drew threw an arm over her shoulders, bringing her to his side.

“I think we passed. I think we’re friends, right?” Drew shook y/n playfully, who just let out a sarcastic groan.

“Yeah, I guess so.” Y/n gave in, wrapping her arm around Drew’s torso and hugging him lightly.

“Thank you for watching!” Drew said with a wave, y/n joining in and waving excitedly. The two of them jumped up and down, their waves growing more intense, until they both fell into each other and collapsed into laughter that continued even after the cameras cut.

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[bartxnhood]

mayberry | t.o

tyler owens x fem!reader

based on this request: Requesting one, where Tyler and his crew chasing the tornado as casual but there's a twist (it can be a happy or angst ending) what if the tornado they chase was heading to where reader lives, today he was planning on asking her to move on with him after they finished another successful on making the tornado gone yet when he noticed where it was going he drives faster and trying to outrun the tornado.

warnings: descriptions of tornadoes, reader loses her house, blood, cuts.

w/c: 1.8k

requests open

not proofread

Copyright © 2023 bartxnhood. All rights reserved. This original work is not allowed to be reposted on any platform in any format.

✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵

“shes a pistol, ty. hope you can handle her” javier begins, removing his sunnies and leans against his white truck while looking at tyler across the driveway of your mothers house.

tyler smiles to himself at the mention of you. he looks in his wallet, a picture of you and him at a rodeo. you’re wearing his red flannel and white cowboy hat as you kiss his cheek.

a picture he treasured most. no one knew about this picture in his wallet. it was his own little secret, you didn’t even know he had the polaroid.

tyler and you both majored in meteorology throughout your time in college. storm chasers had a limited dating pool. nobody was willing to chase after these monstrous storms in such a way and then return to laugh about it over a few beers.

that’s why he took such a liking to you.

tyler didn't try to hide his feelings first. he would constantly try to convince you to go out with him or do something else, but you would never accept his advances. you didn't believe that you could put up with his ego.

till you began chasing with him.

since then, you saw a side of him that you didn’t know. tyler was a kind hearted man, caring for the people that fell victim to these storms. he was so intelligent that it made you rethink your own decisions, that was rare.

before you knew it, you started falling for tyler owens. the rest is history.

“i’m thinkin bout asking her to move in with me after we get this storm tonight.” tyler confesses to javier, a sly smirk on his face. javier’s eyebrows raise, cocking his hip to the side and crossing his arms.

“you think she’ll say yes?”

tyler presses his lips into a thin smile, stuffing his wallet into his back pocket where it belongs. “i hope so.” he answers, looking up towards the house.

tyler had decided it was time to take the next step with you. he had been thinking about asking you to move in with him for a while now, and he was sure it was the right decision.

he loved you deeply and couldn’t imagine his life without you. he wanted to wake up next to you every morning, cook breakfast together, and spend evenings cuddled up on the couch watching movies.

the thought of you living together filled him with excitement and joy, and he couldn’t wait to see the look on your face when he popped the question.

“guys!” lilly hollers, exiting the rv, running towards the pair. “we have huge activity southeast. we gotta move, now!”

there’s a tension that settled in over the group as they all scrambled to get their things together and radars ready.

tyler’s first thought was you. he takes off, boots stomping in the puddles as he swings the screen door open.

“y/n?” he hollers, taking his sunglasses off.

“up here!” you answer, drying your hair after a shower.

you watch in the mirror as tyler appears in the doorway, “whats up?” you ask, dropping your hand by your sides. “there’s one southeast. big one.” he’s almost grinning hoping to get you excited but his smile drops when you don’t react.

there’s a silence as you begin to rake product through the ends of your hair. “cmon, we don’t wanna miss it. lilly says it’ll touch down in an hour at least.”

“m’not goin” you reply, looking into his eyes from the mirror. “what? whaddya mean?”

“it’s mom” you answer, followed by a sigh. “she’s doing bad again, she’s freaking out over it and i’m just gonna stay with her. the house isn’t in the path so it should be fine” you say, turning to him.

you can see a soft frown on his lips as he looks down at you, “we always chase together.”

you smile sadly, and nod. you let your hand come up and caress his cheek. “i know, darlin. we’ll get the next one i promise.”

you press a quick kiss on his lips, “be safe, baby.” he replies, kissing the top of your head and heading off with the crew.

the atmosphere was thick and heavy with a sense of impending doom as the tornado began to take shape. the clouds churned and wracked, twisting into a massive, menacing funnel cloud. the noise was deafening, a high-pitched roar that seemed to come from everywhere at once.

gusts of wind howled like a beast, tearing at anything in their path. this was no ordinary twister; this was an EF5, the most powerful and destructive tornado there was. it loomed on the horizon, a sinister harbinger of disaster.

tyler, now chasing the storm, was strapped into his well-worn red dodge. his eyes fixed on the churning sky as he chased a massive storm through the southeast landscapes. his truck was a trusted companion, having borne him through countless weather events.

its engine roared confidently as tyler navigated the treacherous terrain, seeking the perfect position to observe the storm up close and capture its raw power. he was fueled by a deep passion for the spectacle of the weather and driven by the adrenalin rush of being in the heart of the swirling chaos.

“you seein this, T?!” boone hollers from the passenger seat. “i’m seein it boone!” he yells back, knuckles white on the steering wheel.

tyler doesn’t remove his eyes from the storm raging in the wheat field, but something feels off. something isn’t right.

“what is it, ty?” javier calls over the radio noticing his decreasing speed. tyler is too mesmerized by the black clouds, he doesn’t reply. “T?” boone calls.

“something’s wrong.” he mumbles, “the path..the path is changing!” he says hurriedly watching the surroundings.

lilly pipes from the backseat, “its moving northwest! heading straight for mayberry!”

“shit.” tyler hits his steering wheel before making a sharp turn, turning around.

“the path is shifting!” boone alerts over the radio.

tyler’s heart launched in his chest watching the twister hurtling towards the small town where you lived. he’d often worried about this, and now his worst nightmare was unfolding before his eyes.

his grip tightened on the steering wheel, and his eyes darkened as he gunned the engine, pushing the red dodge to its limits. he had to get to you, had to make sure you were safe. his mind raced as he calculated how much time he had, the seconds ticking away in an excruciating countdown.

there was no warning, the storm was moving too unpredictably. you should’ve monitored it closer, you should’ve been more prepared.

the house trembled violently as the tornado tore through the neighborhood.

the windows shattered, spraying glass everywhere. the walls creaked and groaned, buckling under the immense pressure of the onslaught.

pictures fell from the walls, their frames splattering on the floor. furniture was hurled around like toys, breaking apart as it smashed into the remaining walls.

“mom!” you holler, staying low to the ground reaching out for her. she takes your hand and you pull her close to your body.

“hold on tight!” you scream.

the two of you huddled together, their screams blending into the cacophony, their eyes wide with terror. outside, the world had become a blur of debris and chaos, the swirling vortex ripping everything apart in its path.

tyler stepped out of his truck followed by boone and lilly. his heart thudding heavily in his chest as he saw the destruction hoping beyond hope that she was safe. but the sight that greeted him was a nightmare. your once-cheerful home had been reduced to a pile of rubble, the remnants of your life scattered among the wreckage. the tornado had ripped through the property, leaving destruction in its wake.

the property wasn’t recognizable, the only way he knew it was your home was your white jeep wrapped around the willow tree.

tyler’s hands come up and run thorough his hair, “oh god..” he breathes. “jesus christ..” boone says just above a whisper.

tyler can’t let his emotions get the best of him. he needed to find you.

“y/n!” he hollers.

“y/n!” lilly screams. “ms.l/n” boone calls for your mom.

tyler pushes his way through the debris, his eyes scanning the rubble for any sign of you.

he continued to pulled lumber, pillars, glass and furniture for what felt like hours. “y/n!” his heart thudding against his chest with every moment that passed. panic clawed at his gut as he continued his desperate search.

finally, he heard a faint sound, like a whimper. he turned, and there you were, buried under a pile of rubble.

his breath caught in his throat as he carefully dug you out, his hands trembling.

as your face came into view, it was smeared with dirt and blood, but your eyes widened with relief as you saw him. “t?” you rasp.

he gently picked you up, cradling you against him like a fragile doll.

"i'm here," he whispered, his voice rough with emotion. "im here, and you're going to be okay."

you wince, standing on the unstable ground. “mom..” you croak, tears brimming down your eyes again. “she’s down there..”

tyler nods, he looks back at boone and was about to go down and search for her but boone stops him. “i got her.”

boone disappears in the pile of rubble, then he emerges with your mother in his arms. “we need an ambulance!”

tyler nods and leaves you with lilly to call for first responders.

“‘m fine, t.” you say, say in the back of the ambulance. “just makin sure..” he whispered taking your arm in his hands and scanning your skin. he needed to make sure you weren’t seriously injured, even though you were just checked out by ems.

“t..” you sighs as he continues, his hand snow on either side of your face moving your head around still checking. “tyler.” you call him again, this time your hands gripping his wrists.

his eyes meet yours, the sign of tears still staining your cheeks. “i’m okay, i promise” you assure, smiling. “jus glad you made it to me, how’d you know?”

tyler shrugs, “the wind started morning north, learned it from you.” he answers, coming to your side and pulling you in.

you stay there for a while, the sirens flooding your ears and the lights illuminating the place where your home once stood. tyler rubs your shoulders and pulls the emergency blanket tighter around your body.

you lean your head against his shoulder and wrap your arm around his. “is now a bad time to ask if you want to live with me?” he looks down at you.

“what?” you look up at him.

and maybe it wasn’t the right time, but he didn’t know if he’d ever get the chance to ask you.

“live with me. hell, bring your mom. i don’t care, just..” he reaches for your hand. “i just know that i love you and i want you around even more than you already are.” he laughs lightly, continuing to rub your shoulder.

“i would love to live with you.”

tyler smiles proudly, squeezing you closer to his side.

“now i just needa marry you.”

[namism]

in the a.m. | hange zoë

➳ categories: college au, female reader

➳ warnings: nsfw (top hange, afab reader)

➳ word count: 1.8k

➳ summary: Hange wakes up next to a pretty girl in bed.

➳ notes: made in the A.M. was my favorite one direction album so why not use it as a fic title lolol

➳ cross-posted on ao3

Hange awakens to a dark room when a cool breeze glides over their skin. As they stare into nothingness, they reach over to their bedside table, feeling for their cellphone to check the time.

Their mobile lights up. Through blurry eyes, Hange tries to make out the words that flash on the screen.

'4:34 AM'.

They put the device back down. They pull themselves to a seated position on their bed, then reach out to the bedside table once more to turn on a lamp.

Their corner of the room illuminates a faint orange glow. Hange leans on the headboard, still half-awake, before noticing the presence that had been beside them all along.

You sleep soundly with your body turned to them, strands of hair partly covering your face. You're bare naked under the sheets just like them, the sight of your shape and the cleavage of your breasts serving as gentle reminders of last night's events. While the grogginess remains, Hange vividly remembers how the two of you got yourselves into this situation—from making out after a failed tutorial attempt to stumbling over to the bed, from undressing you swiftly to fucking you roughly, they remember it all too well.

It doesn't take long for you to stir awake, sensing the brightness of the lamp that disturbs your peace. When you open your eyes, the first thing you see is Hange's naked torso before averting your gaze to their face.

Hange pats your head, then plays with your hair.

"What time is it?"

"Around quarter to five," they say. You snuggle into Hange's pillow as they continue their gentle touches. "How's your body?"

"Probably sore." You shrug. "I won't know unless I move, but... you weren't the nicest, you know?"

Hange chuckles as an answer. They can't necessarily apologize since you enjoyed it so much and it was your incessant begging that drove them to that degree. It was a night that you two had always looked forward to, so all sores were deeply wanted.

"Get some sleep." You shake your head. "No? Class doesn't start until 10."

"But why are you up?" You pull yourself to a seated position, covering your chest with the blanket. Hange's hand falls from your head to your shoulder, their hand warm on your bare skin.

"Just woke up randomly, that's all," they say. It's the truth—their body clock has been shitty since midterms season, and as much as they want to keep it secret, the night with you has been the longest time they've slept in months.

You lean on the headboard, the blanket uncovering your feet and Hange's as you pull the sheet up to your face. When you move your body, you feel a sore on your thighs, arms, and back that triggers a gasp of pain. Memories flood your head, prompting a shyness from you that shouldn't even be there to begin with. Hange is no stranger, but damn it, why is it so nerve-wracking to be around them?

They notice your predicament. After all, that's what they always do; scientists have an eye for detail and Hange is not far off from that archetype. Their intelligence surpasses many others' and it so happens that they're bright in the romance department as well. They have it all—god, they have it all—which makes them so irresistible.

They can make you crumble in a matter of seconds, like now.

"Baby."

Their hand slides to your jaw, then your cheek, which they caress with a finger. Your stomach turns in excitement, but you suppress a reaction.

Baby, really? It's not your favorite nickname, but it's endearing when it comes from Hange. They're addicting, so addicting.

"It hurts, doesn't it?" They ask.

"Just a bit," you admit. Hange turns on their side to face you, placing a hand on your jaw before seductively tracing random patterns on your skin. Your core clenches. You feel it coming—Hange's in the mood for it, and you would be lying if you said you weren't, too. "Hange…"

"I can help you soothe that."

Leaning into their hand, you decide to roll over to their side, inevitably feeling the ache in your legs. Hange wraps an arm around you and hoists you on top of them, then instructs you to straddle their waist. Their mind goes numb upon watching the sheet fall off your body, your skin so beautiful and tits so tight.

Hange kisses you. You respond with a kiss back, moaning softly into their mouth to let them know you're in for more. When they come back for another kiss, you dodge their lips to attack their neck, a move that effectively surprises them that they tighten their grip on your waist, dragging your body closer to theirs.

A prideful smirk laces your kisses, a trail beginning from their jaw down to their clavicle, which Hange judges is enough free control as they peel your lips away before you could go down any further. They kiss you instead to put you back in your place, regaining their control before they fuck you—but you grind down on them in response, and an idea comes to mind.

"It would be bad to stuff you again since you're already sore enough," they pause in between a heated kiss and their eyes go down at your pussy, a sight that causes them to smirk, "but you can always sit on my face?"

Last night, Hange didn't bother eating you out once they had their mind settled on splitting you apart on their strap, but they're sure to taste you this time around. They tap your hips and motion for you to lift your legs, so that they could scoot down the bed and position themselves under your sore pussy and get to tasting you. Embarrassment settles on your cheeks as you look down at Hange, their hungry eyes peering up at you.

"Come on, sit on my face." Their arms wrap around your thighs and they tug your limbs so you could get closer to them, but you resist. "What's the matter?"

"I-I just—" Hange waits patiently, a reaction that relieves you. "How, um, how will you breathe?"

They smirk. You probably never had your pussy eaten out before or you simply never had ridden anyone else like this. Either way, it's a fair question, Hange thinks, since they most likely wouldn't be able to breathe that well anyway, and it would be a bad idea to freak you out mid-intercourse.

"It's part of the experience, my dear," they say. "Anyway, you don't have to worry. You got me, right?"

You nod. Hange promises to signal you if they ever want you off of them, and with no worries holding you back, you sink into their awaiting tongue.

A sigh passes your lips upon feeling their warmth. Hange takes it slow at first, giving a few licks to test the waters, before digging right in and pressing their face into your pussy harder. Their tongue digs into your entrance every so often in a rhythmic manner before gliding it across your dripping pussy to swill your juices. Hange repeats the action in a way that drives you crazy, the rhythm so good that you don't want it to stop.

You gently rock your hips into their face when their nose hits your clit, wanting to relieve the strained feeling and lack of touch in the area. Hange notices your eagerness and uses one hand to spread your legs wider. You obey out of pleasure. Their lips detach from your hole to suck on your clit, and you get lost in the feeling once again. Hange is soft at it before becoming rougher, hungrier, and more passionate, something reminiscent of last night's events when they fucked you ruthlessly into the bed.

Their two hands anchoring your thighs move closer to your cunt with light touches. Hange stretches the skin on your inner thighs as their tongue moves in between your clit and your opening. An urge to cum emerges in your gut, but you resist.

"Fuck, fuck me like that," you beg in a low tone, eyes shut tight as a response to their work on your cunt. You imagine the different other things that Hange could do to your pussy, which help your building orgasm. "Oh god, you're crazy."

With a sly grin, they tap on your thigh to catch your attention. You look down at Hange whose mouth and nose drip of slick. Maintaining eye contact, you watch them slightly withdraw their head from your cunt before spitting on your wet hole and spreading apart your lips with an experimental touch. Hange accepts your moaning as a sign to continue, so they waste no time mixing their spit into your cum to create something they could lap up again.

Your hands clutch free strands of Hange's hair as they begin yet another rhythm on your hole. You follow them with the rocking of your hips, riding what you can in a needy attempt to bring back the pleasure of release at the pit of your stomach.

Hange eats you so good—"so fucking good, Hange"—that you inevitably bounce on their tongue following the rhythm they created. You feel the heat at your stomach again, the urge to orgasm coming back quickly as you bounce hotly on them. With each bounce, your hands maneuver on their hair to tighten your grip on it while your mouth opens to a string of curses: "fuck, fuck— Hange, Hange—"

"Good— good girl," they say in between bounces. Hange stills you seconds later so they could focus on your pussy, their tongue working quickly to send you over the edge.

You crumble in a matter of seconds. Hange notes the gasp you let out as a sign of your orgasm. They feel your warm cum on their tongue and another wave of gentle rocking of your hips. They allow you to ride through your release, while they catch their breath.

You get off them once you've come down. Hange runs a hand through their hair and covers their eyes with the other.

Leaning toward them, you kiss them by surprise, uncaring of the mess on their lips. Hange groans when you swipe your tongue on their bottom lip to taste your juice. They pull you closer to them, only breaking the kiss once it's hard to breathe.

They wipe their mouth with the back of their hand, taking a mental note to shower before going back to bed. You rest your head on their chest.

"What's one thing you can't do, Hange Zoë?" They chuckle. They tidy your hair and pat their work.

"I hope you feel better," they respond. You can imagine the smirk dancing across their lips as they refer to last night's sores. You nod weakly. "I think I'm going to clean up. Are you coming?"

You come with them in the shower, after which you get back to bed quickly. Hange promises to wake you in a few hours and you drift off to sleep in their arms.

[cottagecore-moss-king]

Not so Artificial Intelligence

Inspired by This prompt: HERE  by @corkinavoid No beta we die like Danny and Jason. Do not steal, take, or repost my writing without permission, I do not consent to my art being used in AI training. 

Tim had just finished attaching the wires of the speaker into the bat computer for Betty when the speakers began to crackle. 

“What is this? Wait, can you hear me?” The voice that echoed out of the speakers was very distinctly not robotic, or mechanical. It very much had human intonation… and a mid-western accent???

The gathered family froze and stared in shock. Dick and Stephanie were here as a joke, Babs, Tim, and Bruce were there as the techies, and despite Damian’s protests, he was also standing besides Bruce. Despite the gathering of bats, none of them could have expected this. A few hands went to emergency beacons and cellphones, before pausing.

“Hello Red Robin!” The voice cheerfully called. Taking steps back and glancing around the cave at Babs, who stared at Bruce, who stared at Tim as he clicked his super beacon. 

“Betty?”

“I mean, you do know me as such, but I actually prefer Danny, he/they.” Babs pointed at Bruce, who looked at Tim, who lamely motioned towards Babs. 

“Who uh. Who installed you?” His voice was most certainly not squeaky thanks for asking. 

“Oh, well uh, technically no-one, I accidentally did it myself.” The screen turned on and started to glitch out to a camera. It eventually settled on the sketching program, which popped a smiley face onto itself.

“Who are you” Bruce growled, as he switched into batman mode. Damian was glaring at the screen and the rest of the family had inched into a defensive formation. 

The entrance door entered and Superman walked out of it. 

“What seems to be the issue B?”

“OMG It’s superman! You’re like, my second favorite hero!”

“Oh, uh, than-er” Bruce glared at him, with no idea of what this entity was, it was always a good idea to follow fey rules. “That’s very much appreciated. Who is your first?”

“Martian Manhunter obviously.” Betty, or Danny as they were now referred to as, began to sketch out something on the app. 

“I got into a fight with a technomancer. I figured I could just phase out but he did some magic and now I’m stuck. Very rude if you ask me.”

“Ah, I see.” Supermans face implied that he very much did not see. “So, are you a martian perhaps? With the phasing and Manhunter as your favoratie.”

“Oh no, I’m ahhhh….” The cheery tone died as Danny tried to find the words, “I’m like a spirit, yeah, I guess that’s the right way to put it right now.”

“Were you human before this?” butted in Tim. Now that the seeming threat had passed, (you could never be too careful, no shut up Nightwing he is not paranoid, just cautious) the family had relaxed their stance and Barbra had rolled over to the computer screen. 

“Technically???” 

Danny did not sound so sure of himself.

“It’s not a problem if you aren’t, you can tell that we don’t really care if you are human or not.” 

Superman floated carefully down to the ground besides Bruce, but without actually touching down. Perhaps he simply forgot that they were friends with non-humans.

“Tell that to the gov.” he snarked back, and that was definitely teenager snark. 

“Wait shit. No, no no no, I take that back, don’t tell the government anything, I didn’t say nothin’!” he gasped and staticed out. 

“What do you mean tell it to the government?”

“NOPE, NUH UH. I DIDN’T SAY ANYTHING YOU CAN’T PROVE IT, I WANT MY LAWYER!”

“Alright,” Bruce pacified putting his hands up “Let me just call a friend and they can get you out.”

“Wait really? Where’s Mr. I’m so dark and broody tell me everything?”

Yep, that’s teenager snark right there, Bruce thought as his eye twitch and his kids snickered. 

“Sooo, how did this technomancer trap you, Danny?” Dick strolled over to the chair in front of the computer and flopped down spinning around in lazy circles. 

“Oh, well you see it started when…” Danny's voice faded off as Bruce took his league communicator out and stepped around a corner with Kal to call up Zatanna. 

“Hey Batman! What’s up?”

“We need you down in the batcave, some seemingly civilian has been trapped in the computer for a couple weeks now, and we’ve only just gotten into communication with them. They say it was technomancy.” He rumbled. He would have to suit up and manage to get Danny not to spill any of their identities, this just turned into a major headache to deal with. Batman hates magic. 

Once all of the children were suited up and Danny had been given an explanation, they were all patently waiting for Zatanna to arrive. 

The zeta tubes finally lit up with her arrival as she walked towards the gathered group holding her bag.

Halfway through greeting she paused, and stared blankly the screen. Everyone else shot curious glances, backwards, some more obvious than others. Did Nightwing seriously need to turn his head like that, he swears his eldest has bones, but sometimes he seriously starts to doubt himself. 

On the screen is a smiley face with a hand emoji. And a little drawing of a stick figure with white hair, green eyes, and a black suit. 

“Hello! I am Danny, I’m so sorry you had to come all this way to help me, I’d offer you something but I don’t even have a body right now.” One awkward laugh later, and Bruce wanted to have had his head in her hands. 

“I don’t worry, I can fix this. It’ll be a pain, but I can.”

While Zatanna sat up the spell and sent Kal out to go to Metropolis, (less suspicious for him to be buying things than Gotham), Bruce decided to stand around in the shadows while waiting to be useful. His kids, were off making friends with the strange person in the computer however. Laughing and teasing, he’s almost certain that Stephanie and Dick are trying to convince Danny to stay around and get adopted, despite Danny and Damian’s protests. 

After thirty minutes, Zatanna was ready to do the spell, and Danny was saying goodbye. 

As the light shone through the sigils written on the board and Zattana continued her muttering and waving, Danny added one last thing. 

“And I added a file of something for you guys to look at, please please please look into it! I hope I can see you soon!”

And with a final flash, Danny was gone, leaving the batfam without their lovely AI/new friend. Zatannna wrapped things up and Batman escorted her back to the Zeta tube with Clark, thanking them briefly. And with that, Clark and Zatanna left with Two flashes of light. 

Now, time to see what that file was that Danny had added. 

[luveline]

gorgeous can we get bombshell reader and Spencer May be the first time he’s snappy with her bc he’s stressed and she’s just so taken aback and May be even tears up? And then just a fluffy ending with Spencer apologizing

thank you for requesting! fem, 2.2k

Spencer Reid is extra kissable when he's frowning. Button up and no suit jacket, sleeves pushed past his elbows and hair on the shorter side, he holds a certain confidence in his hands where they're tucked in his pockets. Sure of himself, and clearly agitated. 

You're always on his side; you don't think twice about easing into the conference room to see what's wrong. 

"Hey," you say with a slight lilt to your tone. You're always on his side, and always flirting. "What's wrong?" 

"Why does something have to be wrong?" he asks. 

Not mean. Not light. Somewhere in the solid middle, his gaze loyal to the laptop on the desk he stands behind. You step close enough to smell the subtle scent of his cologne, wondering if he can smell your perfume in turn, and if it's one he likes. You try to touch his hand and he takes the desk into his grip instead, leaning forward, out of reach. 

"That's not what I meant to convey," you say, still flirting. You're not stupid, you realise his mood, but you're hoping it's somebody else's fault. "But if you aren't happy to see me then I'd definitely suggest there was something wrong." 

"I'm just trying to figure something out." 

This close, to your own credit, Spencer usually trips up. He's been getting better as you've grown closer, your 'torturing' —as the team likes to call it— only prompting the occasional blush or stammer. You don't flirt with Spencer to torture him no matter what anyones says and you never have, you flirt with him because he deserves to be complimented. He's andsome, intelligent, and courageous. What others might miss you see in blaring neon lights: he's a catch. You intend on making your intentions known, and if that means playing the long game or the slow burn, that's okay. You like to dance. 

You put yourself between him and the laptop screen. He can still see it if he cranes his neck, and he does. "You look a little tired, handsome. Looking at a screen all day will hurt you in the end. Neck aches, shoulder cramps, eye strain. Though I can't help with the latter, the former…" His arm is solid under your hand, your fingertips running along the ridge of a stark vein. 

He doesn't quite flinch away, but he moves quickly enough to startle you, lamenting, "Could you give me some space, please?" 

That's all well and good, you rush to do as he's asked and step back because the very last thing you want is to make him uncomfortable and his voice is frankly acidic, but everything is moving too quickly, you're not as aware as you should be —you smash your hand backwards into a cold cup of coffee and knock it straight into the lap of Spencer's laptop. 

"No," you gasp, grabbing the cup before the entirety of it can empty. Coffee wells between the keys and you go to grab it to– well, to do something. 

"Stop it!" Spencer shouts, voice sharp as a knife. "You always do this," —quieter, venomous— "you can't help yourself." 

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I would answer you if I had the time. I'll be busy rescuing my hard drive before an entire month of work is wasted thanks to your dire need for attention." 

He slips around you and stalks out the door, coffee dripping from the corner of his laptop in a sorry trail that shines in the fluorescent lights. 

Your first rush of tears are driven by indignation; it was an accident, you didn't mean to do that, why would you ever do that? But the second, more encompassing rush is a hot mixture of shame and guilt. What have you done? 

You take a hesitant step toward the door but don't bother following him. I'll make things worse, you think, bringing a hand to your face. Makeup marrs your hand as you wipe your cheeks. You stare down at the stains for a long, long time. 

I'll apologise, you think eventually, rubbing at the mascara like soot on your palm. Just as soon as I look okay again. 

You don't want Spencer or anyone to see you upset. You wear your makeup and your confidence for yourself, not to hide any insecurity but to embolden yourself, to be yourself. But to get to your desk you'd have to leave the conference room bared as you are, and you'd have to face Spencer, and the second option brings more tears. 

This is all so messy, and it's your fault. 

I'm such an idiot. I'm exactly what he thinks of me. 

You sit in the chair furthest from the door with a pack of tissues from the cubby and rub your hot cheeks dry, streaks of mascara in the shapes of your fingertips like soot left behind. It's sitting that gets you —the shock of tears at being shouted at by someone you care about amplifies into a distress you can't explain. It's stupid, it's stupid. You press your face into your hands and curl in on yourself at the table, ears ringing. I'm so, so stupid. 

—

The inside of Spencer's lip is bleeding, metallic on his tongue. He's white hot annoyance all the way to Penelope's office, choked as he tells her he needs her help. 

"Spencer?" she said. "What happened? Are you okay?" 

He realises what he's done. "Please, Garcia, can you do something? I really need to go." 

He doesn't hear her response beyond her surprised but emphatic Sure, spinning on his heel to walk back the way he came. He rubs at his temple, moving between a slow trudge and a speed walk as he assesses the damage of what he's said. What did he say? your dire need for attention. 

Your sniffing is something out of his fucking nightmares. Who does he think he is? You're sitting exactly where he left you next to that half empty coffee cup, a tissue scrunched in your trembling hands, visible in the small glass window of the door. You must be thinking of what he's said to have missed the sound of his footsteps, or perhaps he's left you too upset to want to look up. 

He sees the moment a sob works through you, watches you hold your breath in a painful effort to keep it down, raising the tissue to your eyes and catching your tears before they fall. You're doing a lacklustre job despite your efforts, the oily shine of mascara iridescent on your cheeks. Or maybe that's tear tracks. It's hard to tell. 

Spencer fights with himself. He doesn't know if deserves to come running back or if it would be more fair to send JJ or Derek in to comfort you. 

"You made your bed," his mom would say, not without affection. "You have to lie in it." 

Spencer squeezes his eyes closed to push away the memory, surveying the damage he's done carefully as he crosses the threshold back into the conference room. Your head lifts at the sound of the door, your stammer visible before you speak, "Spence– Spencer. Is your laptop okay? Did I break it? I'm so sorry." 

Gideon would tell Spencer to be nicer. Hotch would say Reid in that stern shade of voice that's half disapproval and half fondness. They'd both tell him to be better, but neither of them have ever had to see you as you look now, tearstained and sorry, eyes wide with worry but shoulders tense. He has his role models, and yet none of them could possibly give him a way to apologise that could ever make up for they way he's made you feel. 

Little dramatic, Morgan would say. Start with a hug, loverboy. Can't go wrong with a hug. 

He should ask but he doesn't, a second transgression against you. Spencer pushes past chair and the sodden circle of carpet to your chair, pausing in case you're going to tell him to shove it. You lick your lips. "Did I break it?" you ask, as though resigned for a yes  

He can't temper that amount of self-hatred on you. It doesn't suit you. He much prefers you the way you like to be, confident in everything, flirty and funny and soft, in both touch and touches. He takes your face into a careful hand, tilting it toward the light and weary of your shallow exhale. "I…" He begins and ends, stroking your tacky cheek with his index finger, as though brushing away an eyelash. If it were real he'd say make a wish, and you would wish for him or some similar sweetness, salacious smile to boot, or earnestness fit to fill a mountain. I wish you'd realise how pretty you are and stop denying me the pleasure of a beautiful boyfriend, you'd croon. 

His fingers collect at your jaw and slip behind your ear as he cleans your skin with the side of his thumb. You lean into the touch, slashing his hesitancy in two. 

"Sorry," he says, pulling your head toward his neck gently as he leans down to hold you. "I'm sorry. Don't be upset, please. Don't be upset " 

"I'm an idiot–" 

"No," he says, with the facts to back his denial. "I'm an idiot, I should never have upset you like this–"

"I broke your computer, it's just like you said–" 

"I shouldn't have–" 

"–I'm so needy I could've ruined all your hard work," you say, wriggling with guilt like you attempt to pull away. 

Spencer really doesn't want to let you go now he has you, not until he's sure you'll stay in one piece. "If it's ruined, it's my fault for failing to back it up." 

He should tell you that he's sorry for what he said. He knew it wasn't right he moment it escaped him, to speak to you like that, and accuse you of what he did. He basically called you selfish, uncaring. He implied it and worse, and for what? An accident? A mis-step that he practically forced you into? 

"I never should've said that to you," he says, breaking his hug to crouch in front front you, searching blindly for your hand as he holds eye contact, looking up. You deign to frown down. "And I walked away. And you're crying," —his voice fries with sympathy— "because of me." 

Your hand is limp in his. "I'm sorry," he says. 

"It's okay." You sniffle and nod, lips struggling into a smile. 

"It's not okay." 

"Well, I hit your coffee over, so we're even." 

"You accidentally spilled my drink, you didn't deserve to be mocked." 

"Spence…" Your eyes half-lidded, you wince down at the cradle of his hand where it holds yours. "Did I break it?" 

"I don't know. I got to Garcia's office and I knew I did the wrong thing, so I came back." 

You swallow audibly. "I just wanted to make you feel better." 

"I know." He stands again as your eyes well with tears to hug you, kissing the top of your head. "I'm sorry. That was all me, okay? I shouldn't have snapped at you." 

What follows is agony. Spencer patting your back through a panicked bubble of tears, wretched in knowing he caused it, and worse is the look you give him as he wipes your messed up make up away in want of a mirror, like you're grateful. 

"Does it look really bad?" 

"N–no. You look really pretty," he says. 

"Are my eyes puffy?"

A little. "No. You look great." He can't apologise anymore– it won't help you feel better now, it'll just assuage his own worry. What you need is a different reassurance. "It's hard not looking at you, sometimes, you look that nice. But you know that already." 

"I don't mean to do that. I didn't mean to." 

Spencer puts his hand above your heart. "I know you didn't. I really, really shouldn't have said it. I was being cranky and I struck out like a kid." 

"...You're not just saying I look nice to get back in the good books, are you?" you ask. 

Spencer leans in, nearly nose to nose with you. "Of course not." 

You tilt your head as though you might kiss him. He knows you won't and he's delighted anyways. It means you're feeling okay. He's nearly forgiven, or, at the very least, you're not actively upset. "I thought I liked seeing you pissed off, but now I'm not so sure." 

"It's not a good look on me," he murmurs. "But it looks great on you, if you want to get angry with me."

"Well now I can't. I know it's what you want." 

"Can I give you a hug?" he asks. 

You drop all your acts and slide your arms around his neck. He wraps you up slowly, one arm at a time, careful to put all the pressure exactly where you like it. 

"That feels nice," you mumble. 

He bends into you and rubs your back. "Yeah?" 

"Don't," you warn. 

He draws a shape into your back with his fingers, slow, tiny things that make you squirm. "Don't what?" 

"You're tickling me." You don't sound unhappy about it. 

"What?" he asks. "I can't hear you over the sound of me being a huge jackass. Sorry." 

Your giggle is honey into his shoulder, sticky and sluggish as his circles turn to stars.

[mama-waterlily]

Waterlily

note: i am not the protagonist of this story!! i changed my URL after i wrote the story because i thought it was cute. the protagonist of this story is you. or your little. or me, if you'd like to imagine it that way. i wrote the protagonist to have no specific genitalia because i wanted everyone to be able to read it and "become waterlily" so to speak.

this is an ABDL story that contains kidnapping, wetting, bondage, stalking, drugging. reader has no specific genitalia.

She's been watching you for a while now.

She's extremely intelligent, and a very methodical stalker. She's somehow found you on every site you've visited, even anonymous accounts, in order to collect your interests. She breaks into your email to see the things you've ordered online. She follows you around and places cameras in your bedroom with a perfect view of your computer screen to see the kinks you engage in behind closed doors and the things you look at, and another with a great view of your bed to watch you sleep. She sits blushing, fawning, watching the camera feed and fantasizing of the day you'll finally become hers.

The night came where she took her place outside of your house. She's been monitoring your social media, and saw that you were online complaining about craving a particular food that you don't have in the house. This is the perfect opportunity to strike. She ambushes you when you're on your way to your car after dark, sticking you with a sedative and profusely apologizing as your vision slowly fades. She knows you're afraid of needles, but it's for your own good.

You wake up, laying in a soft bed to blurry vision and a music box softly playing in the background. You try to sit up, but you quickly come to realize that you are shackled by your wrists, ankles, and neck. Forced to remain on your back. Your eyes wander first at yourself. You're wearing an oversized, babyish purple shirt (a particular favorite of yours when you're feeling small) with a thick, pink diaper covered in bunny prints taped around your hips. The very same ones you've kept hidden in a box in the back of your closet. You notice the feeling almost immediately. Your reflex is to reach down and touch it, but the chains on your cuffs rattle and hold your wrist in place. You're trapped.

The haze in your vision starts to clear as you examine your surroundings. You see that you're surrounded by your very own plushies. They even have the little imperfections from snuggling and the clothes you've put on them. They aren't copies, they're yours. The rest of the room is a saccharine, pastel version of your bedroom. As if your bedroom and decor was used as a blueprint to design a nursery. Your sentimental photos are hung on the wall. Your medication is placed neatly on a table in the corner of the room, with your name on the bottles. The whole place feels... off. Someone didn't sneak in your house and redecorate your room. Your window is different. The room is shaped differently. You stammer out a muffled cry for help behind the pacifier held snug in your mouth by a strap around your head.

Quick, excited footsteps move toward you, growing louder as they draw near. Tears well in your eyes from the fear gripping your body. The door opens to a dark-haired woman dressed in a loose, black dress. She cannot contain her enthusiasm. "She's awake! My little Lily is finally awake!" You're too frozen in shock to even acknowledge that she's calling you a name that isn't yours. She moves toward you with a squeal, causing you to flinch and squeeze your eyes shut.

She stops where she is, eyeing you and acknowledging your fear. "Awww, I'm sorry, Waterlily. I didn't mean to scare you!" She moves toward you much slower, with a softer tone of voice. "It's okay, baby. I'm not gonna hurt you. Look, I even brought you all of this!" You reluctantly open your eyes to see her gesturing at your possessions and the plushies cuddling you from all sides.

"I've been... watching you. Is that creepy? That's not creepy, is it? No, it's not creepy. I just wanna take care of you! I just wanna make you happy. It's not creepy to make people happy." She doesn't keep up the tempered artifice for long. Her excitement becomes palpable once more as she approaches you and reaches toward your face, causing you to flinch once more as her soft fingers brush against your neck. Her face becomes flushed as she undoes the chain around your collar keeping you from sitting up.

"Your skin is so soft..." She gazes into your eyes and trails off before shaking herself out of it. "Well, l-look at this! I saw one of your posts saying you've always wanted one!" My posts? Who the fuck is this woman and how does she know me? You turn your head to see a soft pastel pink changing table against the wall. One of your plushies sits at the foot of the table, dressed in a nurse outfit. It's so sickly sweet it nearly makes you nauseous.

She turns her attention back to you, causing you to lay your head back down and turn away in fear. She seems genuinely upset and almost unable to believe that you're so afraid of her.

"What's the matter, Waterlily?" Her voice sounds genuinely concerned. "Are you hungry? Or maybe..." Her hand trails down your body slowly, placing two fingers inside your padding through the opening on your legs, causing you to jolt and squeal as her fingers brush past your most intimate parts. She seems surprised to feel that you're still dry.

"Baby girl, you haven't gone potty? The last time you made tinkles was your little accident while I was... helping you take a little nap so I could bring you home. That was so long ago, sweetheart!"

Your head spins as the realization of what this woman has done sets in. There's too much to process. As much as it enrages you to think it, she's right. There's been a sting in your bladder since the second you awoke, but your mind has been focused on more pressing matters.

"Do you need help going potty, baby?" She tilts her head with an expression of concern.

"Mm-mmh!" You shake your head and try to back away, but your bindings keep you snug in place.

"Come on, baby girl. I've seen you do it. I've watched you do it so many times." Her face tints red. "Don't you want to be a good girl for mommy?" You can nearly taste the joy in her voice. Like she's been waiting for this moment forever.

Your guts twist and your face burns hot. She really has figured out all of your kinks. But how? And watched you wet yourself? All of your posts about your little secrets were on a completely anonymous page with no identifying information, and all of your little play sessions were done with your blinds closed. Yet this woman inexplicably knows all of your weaknesses.

She reaches for your wrists and begins to undo the cuffs binding you to the bed. "Now I'm gonna give you a little bit of wiggle room. Are you going to be a good girl and behave?" Her stern eyes burn into you.

You nod, ready to seize the chance to escape. You stay completely still as she finishes undoing your ankle cuffs and steps away from the bed to give you some room. You immediately move to undo the strap holding the pacifier in your mouth, only to find you can't get a grip. Looking at your hands, you discover that they are snugly bundled in a pair of lavender mittens with no fingers. the exact ones from the wishlist you posted.

After fully sitting up, you dart off the bed and immediately make a run for the door. The instant your feet make contact with the ground, a shock of pain radiates from your feet to your ankles. A muffled scream of pain and helplessness rises in your throat as you fall to your hands and knees. Secured on your feet are a pair of booties with inlaid spikes, a soft lavender color to match your mittens... The very same ones from the wishlist you posted.

"Bad girl! Mama trusted you when you promised her you'd behave!" You can't tell if she's delusional or if she's fucking with you. Did she actually believe you'd be amicable to her after she drugged you? And abducted you? She kneels next to you, tightly grasping the back of your shirt, ready to scold you for your defiance. Reeling from the pain and overwhelmed with fear, you lose control. Your bladder relaxes against your will and you begin to flood your padding with warmth.

Your captor stops her scolding as she hears the telltale hissing of your accident. Her expression brightens with excitement and you feel a soft hand rest on your padded bottom. You involuntarily whimper as your body freezes. "Shhhh, that's a good girl. It's okay, baby. Just relax for mommy. You're doing so good."

You begin to instinctively relax and take a deep breath. A sense of serenity washes over you as her sweet velvet words caress your mind. Your diaper becomes heavier with every passing moment, swelling and pressing against you until you've finally emptied your bladder to relief. You almost feel a smile trace your mouth. You've done this for your own pleasure so many times, but snapping out of it as soon as you've grasped what's happened.

"Doesn't that feel better, sweetheart?" She pats your bottom, the warm wetness squishing against your soft skin. It all becomes too much. The humiliation. The pain. The loss of control. The confusing sense of affection for this kidnapper exploiting your weaknesses and manipulating you using your desires. Your eyes fill with tears, and you begin to cry. Uncontrollable sobs of frustration and helplessness escape your throat and tears drip from your eyes onto the hardwood floor.

"Don't cry, baby. Mommy's here. Mommy's here to help you." Her soft voice drawing mixed emotions of terror and comfort in your chest. She lifts you up almost effortlessly from the floor and cradles you in her arms. You hopelessly push against her with weak arms to escape her grasp, to no avail. She feels unfathomably strong. Or have you become weaker? Your muscles feel so tired. Resistance is so exhausting. You cease your futile taps that were your attempt at fighting back, and relax in her arms. You have no other choice.

She sits down and holds you close, rocking you back and forth. "Shhhh, it's all right, baby. Mommy forgives you for misbehaving." your cries intensify as reality sets in. Your fighting wasn't even taken seriously. It was only tantamount to misbehavior. A childish tantrum.

Your mind is completely overwhelmed and finally cracks. The hopelessness of being at your captor's mercy overtakes your drive for freedom and you hide your face in her chest. Your kidnapper is your only source of warmth and comfort in the terror of captivity.

She lifts your face from her breasts and wipes the tears from your cheeks. "It's going to be okay, little Lily." her tone sounds so sincere. she's not trying to disarm you. She truly seems like she's trying to comfort you. Slowly, finding comfort in her soft gaze, your tears slow and you catch your breath.

"All done, Waterlily?" You hesitantly nod weakly. That isn't my name. Your protesting thought grows smaller with every time it passes your mind.

"You must be hungry, aren't you? Is that why you're so cranky?" your face heats with embarrassment and anger. I'm not cranky! I'm not some sort of fussy baby. You think defiantly. But... you are quite hungry. Your speech privileges have been stripped from you, and you fear that you won't be fed if you say no. So you nod again.

"Does your soggy little bottom need a change first?" You hide your face in the humiliation of the babytalk being directing at you. You don't respond. She's fully aware of what you do behind closed doors in your pissy padding. In your mentally weakened state, you're no longer able to suppress the reality that part of you has been... enjoying the feeling.

She giggles teasingly, clearly sensing your arousal. "Does my little Lily want to play before her change?" Her hand trails slowly down your belly and over your soaked padding. You don't object. you lean into her chest as her gentle fingers caress the squishy warmth of your infantile pants.

You've given in to her. Your desire to resist has disappeared. You completely relax in her arms, beginning to slowly grind your hips against her hand. She adds pressure to meet your hip movement. Moans and whimpers involuntarily escape your lips like butterflies.

"Goodness, Waterlily, how long have you been waiting for this? You've been wanting me to come along and sweep you away, haven't you?" Her soft words bind your psyche in a warm blanket. Maybe you have. The right person you imagine will come by to scoop you up and fulfill your fantasies... maybe she is the angel you've been waiting for. "Doesn't that feel so good, baby? You like your wet diapers?" While lost in your head, you'd subconsciously begun to move your hips more vigorously. Your mind is in a haze of pleasure. All you can muster is to nod and answer her question with an affirmative "mm-hmm..."

She reaches back to unclip the strap around your head holding the pacifier in place. It falls to the floor. She's certain that, so quickly, she's worked you into such a little puddle of pleasure and submission that you won't cry out for help.

"Tell me. Tell me, little Lily, tell me all about how much you love mommy. Tell me how much you love your pissy pants. Sing for me, sweetheart."

Her tone, the way she knows every button to push to pleasure you, and the warmth around your bottom and rubbing against your little flower create a cocktail of emotions that sends you spinning over the edge. You obey. You sing for her. Your little pipes erupt in a muffled song of ecstasy and raw pent-up emotion and desire into her breasts. Your mindshattering orgasm radiates through your body for what feels like an eternity, curling your toes and stealing your breath away.

By the end, You're left drooling into her chest and panting heavily. Your mind is left blank outside of the moonlight of afterglow. Your captor turned mommy strokes your hair gently. "You've had that in your system for a long time, haven't you, Waterlily?" Your eyes flutter open to meet hers.

"That... isn't my name." Between breaths, you stammer out the first words you've been able to say since this woman had taken you captive. She giggles. "It is now." Her face beams as she presents a metal, heart-shaped tag. Sure enough, it reads, "Waterlily". She clips it onto your collar, forever branding you with the name she's chosen for you. You can't help but smile in the comfort of no longer needing to be your own person. The serenity of being owned sets in as she begins rocking back and forth.

"I know you'll come to love being mine, little Lily. Soon you'll be so grateful that I came along to take you away."

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my first sorta longer story on this blog!!!

i'm still an amateur and i'm still very new to writing erotica, but i quite like this one.

one of the wonderful things about being a switch is the ability to write both what you would love to do to somebody and what you would love done to you in the same story. it's quite useful.

yes, my profile picture IS a waterlily. yes, i write based on my personal sexual fantasies. i write smut, what do you want from me?

anyway, i hope you liked it!

if i'm feeling fancy in the future, maybe i'll make a sequel to this story. maybe i'll retcon the reader getting stockholm syndrome within the span of an hour, because i think struggling is extremely hot. who knows? i'll probably go back through and make little tiny edits to wording because i am never satisfied with my writing lol.

anyway, post-story ramble over.