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leejenowrld · 4 months ago

Text

new me — lee jeno smut

pairing — soft dom! jeno x reader, strangers to lovers

genre — smut, fluff

word count — 12.5k

synopsis — moving to a new college mid-term wasn’t part of the plan, but neither was jeno. all it takes is one tour guide, one party, one shared look, and suddenly you’re in his bed, legs wrapped around his waist, his cock stretching you so perfectly you forget why you ever hesitated. he’s addictive, and the way he fucks you—slow, deep, like he’s already yours—makes it impossible not to fall apart beneath him.

authors note — happy new year’s eve, my loves 🖤 this is my final fic of 2024, and what a year it’s been. my first on tumblr, and i’m so grateful to have found this community and shared my works with you all! consider this a little gift to celebrate the new year and hitting a follower milestone <3. honestly, this isn’t my best work, but who cares—I’m in a full-on jeno head rot. it’s just smut, with a little build-up, but the smut is so soft, so warm, it’s ridiculous. soft dom jeno is at a solid 10000/10 here. yes, oc and jeno just met. yes, they’re already stupidly possessive over each other. enjoy! also this is not proof read.

listen to this song whilst reading !

December 23rd,

The campus was unnervingly quiet, the kind of quiet that made the crunch of your boots against the frosted ground sound louder than it should. Snow-dusted trees lined the sprawling stone paths, and the chill in the air felt heavy, pressing against your chest. Your breath curled visibly as you approached the grand administration building ahead, its towering columns and arched windows casting long shadows against the gray sky. The facade, a blend of historic elegance and modern design, loomed cold and uninviting, its grandeur only making the campus feel more deserted. The email inviting you for an early induction had sounded welcoming, even reassuring, but as you walked through the silent, snow-covered grounds, a quiet unease began to settle in your chest. Without the usual hum of students rushing past, every step made the sense of not quite belonging sink a little deeper.

Transferring to a new college in the middle of the term was far from ideal, but the opportunity had been impossible to pass up. This wasn’t just any institution—it was one of the most prestigious in the country, known for its groundbreaking research and distinguished faculty. Among them was Professor Doyoung Kim, a name spoken with reverence in academic circles. As head of the engineering department, he was a pioneer in his field, renowned for his contributions to sustainable design and innovative technology. His work had been published in journals you’d once pored over late into the night, dreaming of a future where you might cross paths with such minds. This wasn’t simply a college; it was a launching pad for the kind of career you’d always envisioned. Despite the awkward timing, despite the upheaval, the chance to study here—under the guidance of someone like Kim—was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. The anxiety you carried was undeniable, but so was the quiet, determined thrill that you were here, stepping into a world you’d only imagined.

Inside, the warmth was faint, and the echo of your footsteps only deepened the emptiness of the halls. When your eyes landed on him, you almost stopped in your tracks. Professor Doyoung Kim greeted you at the main office, standing tall in a perfectly tailored suit that seemed to amplify his presence. His composed demeanor and sharp features radiated authority, a stark reminder of the name you’d read about countless times in academic journals. He wasn’t just an acclaimed professor; he was a pioneer, a mind you had long admired from afar. Seeing him in person left you momentarily stunned, the reality of his stature hitting you harder than you expected. Yet, despite his intimidating reputation, there was a kindness in his sharp gaze that softened the edges of your nervousness, making it hard to feel entirely overwhelmed.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice smooth and professional, “I’m glad you came in today so we could make you feel welcome and show you around—especially on such late notice.”

You nodded, your grip tightening on the strap of your bag. “Thank you. I appreciate the opportunity.”

Doyoung smiled faintly, gesturing for you to follow him down the hall. “You’re an exceptional student,” he added, his tone factual rather than complimentary. “It’s not every year we get someone with your academic track record. We’re excited to have you join us next term.”

You nodded again, your throat tightening as you fell into step beside him. His words didn’t feel like flattery—they felt like a challenge, a subtle reflection of the expectations you carried with you. Years of meticulous effort had built your academic reputation, but the thought of starting over, proving yourself in an unfamiliar environment, pressed heavily on your chest. Confidence in your abilities wasn’t the issue—it was the weight of living up to the opportunity you’d been given.

As Professor Kim walked you through the structure of the semester, your nerves began to shift, settling into a focused hum. He spoke about the program’s intensity, the emphasis on collaboration, and the resources available to students with the kind of precision that made his words reassuring. His voice was calm, steady, even soothing in its way. But just as you started to feel more at ease, you turned a corner and collided with someone, the impact snapping you out of your thoughts like a jolt.

“Oh—sorry!” you stammered, stepping back quickly as your bag nearly slipped from your shoulder.

The person you bumped into barely moved, his tall frame unyielding as he glanced down at you with an expression that was impossible to read. His dark hair fell into his eyes, brushing against furrowed brows, and his lips pressed into a firm, unimpressed line. He looked like he had better things to do, like your clumsiness had interrupted something far more important.

But then his gaze lingered, his sharp eyes catching on the curve of your face, the hurried apology spilling from your lips. The tension in his brow eased, the faintest shift in his expression betraying a flicker of interest. His gaze softened as it traced over you—curious now, lingering just a second too long. His disinterest cracked, just enough to reveal something more, as if you’d momentarily pulled his focus away from whatever had consumed it before.

“Great,” Doyoung interrupted smoothly, stepping between the two of you. “Jeno, meet Y/N. Y/N, this is Jeno. He’s one of our top students in the department. Jeno, would you mind showing her around? Make sure she gets the full tour.”

Jeno exhaled slowly through his nose, his expression settling into something impassive, though his jaw twitched slightly. He pulled his headphones down to rest around his neck, the movement deliberate as his eyes flicked from Doyoung to you.

“Sure,” he said, the word falling flat, edged with reluctance, though the weight of his gaze told a different story. His eyes swept over your face, sharp and deliberate, lingering just long enough to make your breath hitch. The curve of his mouth twitched, the barest hint of a smirk playing there, like he knew exactly what his presence did to you. “I’ll show you around. Try not to bump into anyone else, though.”

Doyoung nodded approvingly, clapping Jeno lightly on the shoulder. “Good. I’ll leave you two to it. Y/N, if you have any questions, feel free to reach out.” With that, he walked away, his footsteps fading into the stillness, leaving the two of you standing far too close in the empty hallway.

You couldn’t ignore the way Jeno’s gaze lingered, his posture relaxed but his eyes anything but. He didn’t look thrilled to be stuck with this task, but there was something else beneath the surface—an intensity in the way his gaze dipped briefly to your lips before returning to meet your eyes. It made the air between you feel heavy, charged, like it held secrets you weren’t ready to name.

“Hi,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper, though it felt deafening in the quiet.

He tilted his head slightly, his dark hair falling just into his eyes, and the corner of his mouth quirked up, almost imperceptibly. “Hi.”

The single word wasn’t warm or overly friendly—it was casual, almost dismissive—but the way his voice dropped made it feel personal, intimate. His gaze stayed locked on yours, unwavering, as though he was studying you, searching for something unspoken in your reaction.

“So,” he said after a moment, his voice low, his fingers adjusting the strap of his backpack in a slow, deliberate motion that somehow drew your attention. “Where do you want to start? Library? Labs? Or are we just walking aimlessly?”

“The library,” you said quickly, your voice trembling slightly under the weight of his gaze. “If that’s okay.”

He nodded, the slight tilt of his head carrying an ease you couldn’t replicate, then turned without another word, gesturing for you to follow. You fell into step beside him, your heartbeat quickening with every silent second that passed. His pace was slow, unhurried, the sound of his boots on the stone path matching your own as the quiet between you deepened—not awkward, but charged, as if even the spaces between his words carried weight.

The campus looked entirely different with Jeno leading the way. The snow-dusted paths that had felt cold and uninviting now seemed softened, the towering stone buildings framing your surroundings rather than looming over them. But it wasn’t just the campus—it was him. The faint brush of his arm as he walked too close, the subtle warmth of his presence despite the icy chill of the air, the way his voice resonated low and steady, grounding you in the unfamiliarity of the moment.

“That’s the dining hall,” he said, his tone casual, though a subtle rasp in his voice made the words feel heavier. “Food’s decent most days. Breakfast is worth getting up for, but lunch and dinner… well, you’ll survive.”

You nodded, your throat dry as you tried to focus on his words, but your attention was pulled elsewhere—drawn to the way his lips moved when he spoke, the casual flick of his hand as he gestured toward the building. His tone wasn’t unfriendly, but there was a distance in it, like he wasn’t fully invested in the conversation. Yet, every so often, his gaze would flick to you, quick and sharp, as though he was studying the way you reacted to him, the way your breath caught or your steps faltered.

When you reached the engineering labs—a sleek glass building that gleamed even under the muted winter light—his voice softened, the shift so subtle it was almost imperceptible. “You’ll probably spend most of your time here,” he said, his words slower now, his gaze flicking briefly to yours before continuing. “Professors are good, but they don’t mess around.”

“Sounds intense,” you said, your voice lighter, though the slight tremor betrayed you.

“It is,” he replied, but his gaze lingered, dark and steady, his eyes tracing the curve of your face before meeting yours with a heat that made your stomach twist. His lips curved slightly, the faintest smirk appearing as though he’d noticed your reaction and found it amusing. “But you look like the type who can handle it.”

The words hit harder than they should have, his voice low and deliberate, laced with something that felt heavier than casual observation. His eyes stayed on yours, unyielding, as if daring you to deny it. The air between you seemed thicker, his presence pressing into the space in a way that made your chest tighten and your breath falter.

You looked away quickly, your cheeks warming despite the icy air, but the weight of his gaze lingered, wrapping around you like a thread you couldn’t quite untangle. There was something unspoken in the way he looked at you, in the way his voice dipped just for you, and it left your pulse pounding in your ears as the moment stretched on, charged with a tension neither of you dared to name.

When you reached the library, the sheer scale of it stole your breath. Rows of books stretched endlessly in every direction, the warm glow of the lights above casting a golden hue across the polished wood floors. High ceilings arched overhead, their grandeur somehow both awe-inspiring and calming. Jeno stepped ahead of you, pushing the heavy door open with one hand, his other casually stuffed into his jacket pocket.

“Best place on campus,” he said, his voice carrying an unbothered confidence that seemed to come naturally to him. He stepped aside, holding the door open for you as though it required no thought, just instinct. “Quiet, warm, and the coffee’s decent—if you know where to get it.”

You stepped inside, the subtle warmth of the space enveloping you immediately. The scent of aged paper and polished wood filled the air, grounding you in a way that felt almost nostalgic. Even though the library was nearly empty, the quiet hum of central heating and the faint rustle of a page turning somewhere in the distance made it feel alive. You glanced around, taking it all in, and found yourself speaking before you’d even realized.

“It’s beautiful,” you murmured, the words falling softly into the stillness.

Jeno’s lips curved, faint amusement flickering across his face as his eyes followed your reaction. “Yeah,” he said, his voice quieter now, almost thoughtful as his gaze moved across the room—but not for long. His eyes returned to you, lingering, as though drawn back against his will. “It’s not bad,” he added, the corner of his mouth pulling into a smirk that felt deliberate, though his gaze seemed far more interested in you than the grandeur of the space.

He led you deeper into the library, his steps measured, his voice low as he pointed out various sections. His explanations were quick, almost perfunctory, as though he’d done this routine countless times. But there was something about the way he moved, the way his occasional glances seemed to linger on you before snapping back to the shelves, that made your heart skip.

“This is where most people camp out during finals,” he said, gesturing to a cluster of study tables near a large window. Snowflakes drifted outside, soft and slow, the courtyard below blanketed in white. “If you’re lucky, you’ll find a spot without someone snoring next to you.”

The dryness of his humor caught you off guard, and you let out a quiet laugh, the sound surprising even yourself. His smirk widened slightly, and for a moment, the distance he carried seemed to fade, replaced by something easier, more comfortable. There was a steadiness about him, an unspoken confidence in the way he occupied space, and though your nerves still hummed beneath the surface, his presence made you feel oddly grounded in the vast unfamiliarity of the moment.

Jeno led you out of the library and back into the chill of the afternoon, his steps unhurried as he gestured toward a path branching off to the left. The cold nipped at your cheeks, but his presence kept you anchored, the warmth of his voice cutting through the bite of the wind.

“There’s a café just ahead,” he said, glancing over at you briefly. “If you ever need a break between classes, it’s a decent spot to hide out. Quiet enough most of the time, though it gets crowded around finals.”

The path wound past a small courtyard, snow blanketing the benches and casting a soft glow under the pale sunlight. You followed him, falling easily into step beside him, and for a moment, you let yourself settle into the calmness he seemed to carry.

“It sounds perfect,” you said, your voice lighter now, the tension in your chest easing with each step.

“It’s not bad,” Jeno replied, his tone casual. Then, as though letting you in on a secret, he added, “The hot chocolate’s better than the coffee, though. Just don’t tell anyone I said that.”

You couldn’t help but smile at the unexpected confession, a quiet laugh slipping past your lips. “Noted. I’ll keep it between us.”

The café came into view, a cozy space nestled between two older campus buildings, its wide windows fogged with the warmth inside. Jeno held the door open for you again, his hand resting lightly against the frame as he gestured you in. The smell of freshly brewed coffee and baked goods wrapped around you the moment you stepped inside, and the soft hum of conversation made the space feel alive but not overwhelming.

“This is probably my favorite spot,” he admitted as he followed you in, his voice dropping slightly, as though the quieter surroundings demanded it. “I usually come here before late lectures. Keeps me sane.”

The warmth of the space settled over you, and for the first time since arriving on campus, you felt yourself fully relax. You glanced around, noticing the mix of students tucked into booths and perched at small tables, their heads bent over laptops and textbooks. A few of them glanced up as you walked by, their eyes trailing not you, but Jeno.

At first, you thought they were curious about you—your unfamiliar face drawing attention in a space that likely had its regulars. But the looks lingered, darting to Jeno with recognition and, in some cases, something like admiration. You caught snippets of whispers as you passed, words you couldn’t quite make out but felt like they weren’t about you at all.

Jeno, however, seemed oblivious—or maybe just unaffected. He moved with the same easy confidence he’d shown since you first bumped into him, his hands in his pockets and his shoulders relaxed. If he noticed the way people looked at him, the way their conversations quieted as he passed, he didn’t let it show.

“Want to grab something?” he asked, nodding toward the counter.

You shook your head, still distracted by the way the atmosphere shifted around him. “No, I’m okay. Thanks.”

Jeno only gave you a faint glance, his brows lifting briefly as if to say sure you are, before turning toward the counter. A few quiet words exchanged with the barista, and he returned moments later with a pistachio muffin and a steaming cup of hot chocolate in hand. He held them out to you, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips when you hesitated.

“Take it,” he said simply, his tone leaving no room for refusal. “Trust me—you don’t want to miss this.”

Flustered, you accepted the muffin, the warmth of the hot chocolate seeping through the paper cup as you cradled it in your hands. Your cheeks warmed as you tore off a piece of the muffin, the soft, nutty sweetness melting on your tongue.

“It’s good,” you admitted quietly, looking up at him as he leaned against a nearby table.

“Of course it is,” he said, taking the other half of the muffin and popping it into his mouth, chewing with a casualness that only added to the ease he carried. His gaze flicked to you briefly as you sipped the hot chocolate, your eyes widening slightly at the rich, velvety flavor.

“This is…” you trailed off, unable to find the right word, but the awe in your expression said enough.

He chuckled softly, his voice low as he leaned in just enough to make the moment feel conspiratorial. “Don’t tell anyone about this hot chocolate. It’s my secret weapon during finals, and if word gets out, I’ll know who to blame.”

You giggled, warmth curling in your chest at his tone. “I’ll treasure it, I promise,” you said, holding the cup up as though swearing allegiance to the drink.

His smile widened just slightly, a flicker of something warmer passing through his eyes before he straightened. “Good,” he said, gesturing toward the door.

The cold hit you again as you stepped back outside, the sharp air a stark contrast to the cozy warmth of the café. Jeno slipped his hands into his pockets, tilting his head toward another path.

“Next stop,” he said, his breath visible in the chill, “the engineering building. Probably the place you’ll end up hating most by the end of the semester.”

You followed him down a narrow walkway, the sleek glass exterior of the engineering labs coming into view ahead. Inside, the air was hushed, the long corridors lined with lecture halls and labs that hummed faintly with the buzz of equipment left running. Jeno’s voice softened as he showed you around, pointing out the key areas with an easy familiarity that made you feel less overwhelmed.

“That’s the main lab,” he said, gesturing through a glass panel at a sprawling space filled with machinery and workstations. “If you’re lucky, you’ll end up with a professor who doesn’t believe in piling on assignments over the weekend. If not…” He gave you a knowing glance, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.

“I’ll survive,” you said, smiling back.

“You will,” he agreed, his tone warmer now. “It’s not all bad. Once you get into a rhythm, it’s… almost fun. Almost.”

His dry humor caught you off guard again, and you found yourself laughing softly as he continued walking. The tension you’d felt earlier in the day had almost entirely faded, replaced by a quiet sense of ease you hadn’t expected.

Yet, as you passed by groups of students, you noticed the stares again—subtle at first, but growing more frequent. Heads turned as Jeno walked by, some students offering nods of acknowledgment, others sneaking glances that lingered just a second too long. You felt the weight of their gazes and assumed it was because you were new, someone unfamiliar walking through spaces they knew so well. But then you realized their focus wasn’t on you at all.

It was on Jeno.

He didn’t acknowledge it, didn’t change his stride or posture, but the quiet magnetism he carried seemed to draw people in without him needing to say a word. The way he moved—confident but not cocky, approachable yet distant—held an effortless allure, and the attention he received seemed so natural, so ingrained in the fabric of who he was, that he didn’t even notice it anymore.

But you did. And it left you wondering just how much more there was to Jeno than what he was letting you see.

The thought lingered, settling into your chest like a spark waiting to catch. He slowed as you reached a fork in the path, turning toward you with that same effortless composure, his hands still tucked into his pockets. His gaze held yours briefly, steady but unreadable, and for a moment, the air between you felt heavier than the quiet around you.

“Do you need me to show you anything else? Or…?” he asked, his tone calm, neutral, yet carrying an undercurrent that made your stomach twist.

You shook your head quickly, not trusting yourself to say much. “No, I think I’m good,” you murmured, your voice softer than you intended.

“You sure?”

You nodded again, though the look in both of your eyes felt unreadable—something almost feral and dangerous simmering just beneath the surface. The intensity of it made your chest tighten, your breath catching slightly as you managed a soft hum of confirmation.

He smiled then, slow and deliberate, and something about the curve of his lips made the tension between you feel impossibly sharp.

You never imagined your first day at a new college would end like this—naked beneath a man whose body pressed so intimately against yours, his heat swallowing you whole.

Lee Jeno.

His bare skin was warm and firm against yours, the weight of his body grounding you as though he was the only thing tethering you to reality. His face hovered just above yours, dark eyes soft but intent, holding a depth that made your breath catch. He wasn’t just looking at you—he was taking you in, like every detail mattered. A faint smile played on his lips, teasing but tender, as though he’d been waiting for this moment far longer than either of you could admit.

“Do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted this?” he murmured, his voice low, his breath brushing your lips. His words weren’t rushed or rehearsed—they spilled out like a confession, a secret meant only for you. “Since the second I saw you, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. About you.”

The sound of his voice sent a soft shiver down your spine, your body arching slightly toward him before you could stop yourself. His gaze flicked to yours, his smile widening just enough to show he noticed. Slowly, deliberately, he leaned closer, his lips brushing yours in a kiss that was gentle at first, testing, like he was savoring every second. But as you pressed into him, your hands sliding up to his neck, fingers threading into his hair, the kiss deepened.

You moaned softly against his mouth, the sound escaping before you could stifle it, but Jeno didn’t hesitate. He tilted his head, kissing you deeper, slower, his lips moving against yours with a rhythm that felt intoxicating. His hands slid along your sides, his touch featherlight but warm, steadying you, grounding you in the heat building between you.

“I don’t do this,” you murmured, your words breaking softly against his lips as you pulled back just enough to speak.

His brows furrowed slightly, his expression shifting as his gaze locked onto yours. “Do what?” he asked, his voice quiet but filled with curiosity.

“This,” you whispered, your voice trembling, the weight of the admission sinking into the space between you.

Jeno’s lips twitched, a flicker of amusement breaking through his seriousness, but there was no mockery in his expression—only tenderness. “What are we doing?” he murmured, his tone dropping lower as he leaned closer, his forehead brushing yours. “I’m not even—fuck—I haven’t even been inside you yet. All we’re doing is kissing.”

“That still means a lot to me,” you admitted, your voice quiet but firm, your eyes meeting his with a vulnerability that left you feeling bare in a way his touch never could.

His smirk softened, his expression melting into something warmer, more open. “Me too,” he said softly, his voice brushing against your skin as his hand moved to cradle your jaw. His thumb swept along your cheek as he kissed you again, slower this time, pouring everything unspoken into the touch of his lips against yours.

You kissed him back, your hands slipping down to rest against his shoulders, tracing the curve of his muscles as your lips moved together. “Can we just… kiss for now?” you murmured between breaths, your voice tinged with hesitance but steady. “I’m not—I’m not ready for more yet.”

Jeno pulled back slightly, his gaze searching yours as his hand slid down to rest against your waist. “Of course,” he said, his tone soft and filled with understanding, the words settling between you like a promise.

A faint laugh escaped his lips, the sound low and warm, as his forehead rested lightly against yours. You swallowed, your cheeks flushed as you took in the softness in his gaze, his warmth grounding you.

“I thought I was ready to fuck,” you whispered, the words spilling out before you could stop them. Your voice was quiet, trembling slightly, but the truth of it lingered heavily in the space between you. “But I’m not.”

Jeno paused, his dark eyes meeting yours with an intensity that softened almost immediately into understanding. His thumb brushed gently against your jaw, his touch steady and comforting.

“Hey,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing, “that’s okay.” His lips curved into a faint smile, and he leaned in, brushing the lightest kiss against your forehead before returning to hover just above your lips. “I get it. We’ll go slow. Whatever you want.”

The two of you melted into each other, the weight of your bodies pressed together as you kissed deeply. Jeno’s hands roamed lightly over your skin, not demanding, but exploring, each touch deliberate and careful. His fingertips grazed your sides, his palms warm against your waist as his lips moved against yours in a rhythm that felt unending.

Soft moans escaped both of you, the sounds mixing with the faint rustle of the sheets as you shifted closer, your bodies aligning instinctively. His lips traveled down to your jaw, brushing kisses along the curve before returning to your mouth, capturing you in another deep kiss that left your head spinning.

He pulled back slightly, his lips brushing yours as he smiled—a soft, almost shy smile that felt intimate in a way words couldn’t capture. And when you smiled back, his eyes flicked to your lips, his breath catching as though he couldn’t look away.

Time faded as you made out with him, your hands exploring the lines of his shoulders, the curve of his neck, while his touch mirrored yours with the same careful reverence. It wasn’t about rushing toward something more—it was about this, the closeness, the heat, the way his lips felt like they could drown out the rest of the world.

Between kisses, his lips brushed against yours in a pause, his voice soft and low. “I hope I’ve helped you settle in,” he murmured, the words carrying a quiet warmth that sent a shiver through you.

Your breath hitched, and you managed a faint, breathless laugh, leaning into him as your fingers tangled in his hair. “You have,” you whispered, your voice trembling slightly as you kissed him again, pouring the weight of your gratitude and everything unspoken into the connection.

December 31st

The golden light of the late afternoon filtered through the apartment’s sheer curtains, casting a soft glow over the room. You sat cross-legged on your bed, staring at the few clothes you’d pulled from your closet and thrown across the mattress. None of them felt right, and the familiar swirl of hesitation churned in your stomach.

Chaewon, your roommate, was perched on the arm of the couch in the corner, flipping through her phone but stealing occasional glances at you. She’d been patient—so sweet and supportive since you moved in—but her enthusiasm for the night ahead was clear.

“You know,” she began, her voice light and playful, “you’ve been staring at the same pile of clothes for the past ten minutes.”

You groaned softly, leaning back on your hands. “Nothing feels… right. I don’t know what to wear.”

Chaewon set her phone down and came over, her steps light against the hardwood floors. “It’s just a party,” she said, sitting at the edge of your bed and reaching for one of the sweaters you’d discarded. “You’re overthinking it.”

“I know,” you admitted, sighing. “I just—I don’t want to feel out of place.”

“You won’t,” she said, her tone reassuring but not dismissive. She pulled out a plaid skirt you hadn’t touched in months and held it up, eyeing it critically. “What about this? With that cardigan you wore last week—the cute one with the buttons?”

You tilted your head, considering it. “You think that’s okay?”

“More than okay,” she said, smiling as she laid the pieces next to each other. “It’s adorable, but not over the top. It’s perfect for New Year’s.”

You hesitated, your hands brushing over the fabric of the skirt. “I don’t know… it feels like a lot.”

“It’s not,” she insisted, her voice warm but firm. “It’s fun and cute and still very you. Trust me on this.”

Something about her tone made you relax a little. Chaewon had a way of making things seem easier, simpler, like the world didn’t have to feel so complicated all the time. You nodded, picking up the skirt and standing to hold it against yourself.

“Okay,” you said, glancing at her. “I’ll give it a shot.”

“Good choice,” she said, grinning.

The next half hour passed in a calm, comfortable rhythm. You changed into the outfit she’d suggested, smoothing the hem of the skirt and adjusting the cardigan over your shoulders. The warmth of the wool felt grounding, and when you caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, you didn’t hate what you saw.

Chaewon was busy slipping into her own dress, a sleek black number that hugged her frame perfectly. She paired it with boots that gave her just enough height to make her stride commanding but not intimidating.

“You look amazing,” you said without thinking, and Chaewon laughed, a soft, genuine sound.

“Thanks,” she said, running her hands over the fabric. “You do too, by the way.”

You smiled, fiddling with the buttons on your cardigan. “I don’t know if I feel ready for this.”

“You don’t have to be ready,” she said, her voice gentle as she stepped closer. “You just have to go. Try to have fun. That’s all that matters tonight.”

The simplicity of her words made you pause. She wasn’t pushing, wasn’t demanding anything of you—just encouraging you to take a small step out of your comfort zone.

“Thanks, Chaewon,” you said softly, your voice carrying more gratitude than you could put into words.

She shrugged, her smile easy and warm. “That’s what roommates are for.”

You both finished getting ready in companionable silence, the occasional murmur of shared thoughts filling the space. When you sat on the edge of your bed to lace up your boots, Chaewon glanced over at you again.

“Okay, be honest,” she said, tilting her head as she studied you. “Do you feel good?”

You thought about it, smoothing your hands over the fabric of your skirt. “Yeah,” you said after a moment, surprised by how true it felt. “I think I do.”

“Good,” she said, her grin widening. She grabbed her jacket from the back of a chair and threw it on. “Because tonight is going to be fun. I promise.”

Her optimism was infectious, and as you grabbed your own coat and followed her to the door, you found yourself starting to believe her. Maybe tonight wouldn’t be so bad after all.

You needed optimism. You needed something to distract you from the quiet storm that had been swirling in your mind ever since that night. You hadn’t told Chaewon about Jeno, about how he’d stayed at your apartment, how the two of you had crossed boundaries you hadn’t even known you were capable of crossing. It wasn’t something you did—hooking up with someone you’d barely met felt entirely too intimate, too raw, too unfamiliar.

And yet, it had happened. You could still feel the weight of his hands on your hips, the way his lips moved against yours like he was trying to memorize every second. It had been so much more than you expected—charged, overwhelming, and impossibly tender.

Maybe that was why you hadn’t reached out to him. The feelings it stirred in you were too intense, too complicated to sort through. You didn’t even know where you would begin if you tried to explain it to Chaewon. So, you’d kept it to yourself, burying it under the routine of settling into your new life here.

But as you walked out the door into the crisp evening air, you couldn’t help but wonder if the memory of him would follow you tonight. Would the warmth of his voice, the heat of his gaze, creep back in when you least expected it? You shook the thought away, determined to focus on the present, to let Chaewon’s easy laughter and excitement pull you into something lighter, something that didn’t weigh so heavily on your chest.

For now, you just needed to keep moving forward.

The Uber ride was quiet except for Chaewon humming softly to her playlist, tapping her fingers against her thigh to the beat. You stared out the window, the dim city lights reflecting faintly in the glass, a small pit of nervousness forming in your stomach. Chaewon had been so excited about tonight, her enthusiasm almost contagious, but as you neared the house, the faint pulse of music vibrating through the cold air made you grip your coat tighter.

“You’ll be fine,” Chaewon said suddenly, breaking the silence. She turned to you with a knowing smile, as if she could read your thoughts.

“I didn’t say anything,” you replied, glancing at her.

“Your face did,” she shot back, her tone light but laced with warmth. “Look, it’s just a party. You don’t have to love it, but you do have to at least pretend to try.”

You sighed, sinking back into your seat. “You sound like my mom,” you muttered, earning a laugh from her.

“Good. Then maybe you’ll listen,” she teased, nudging your arm gently.

By the time the car pulled up in front of the house, the music was pounding, loud enough to drown out your thoughts. Chaewon opened her door eagerly, stepping out and holding it open for you as she gestured toward the sprawling house.

“Here we go,” she said brightly.

The house was chaos. People spilled out onto the lawn, some holding red cups, others perched on the porch steps laughing or smoking. Inside, the energy was even more overwhelming—music thumped from every corner, the floor vibrating with the bass as a sea of bodies danced, talked, or hovered around the kitchen counters stacked with bottles.

“This is insane,” you murmured, your eyes darting around the packed living room.

Chaewon grabbed your arm gently, steering you through the crowd. “It’s college. Welcome to your first real party.”

The air was thick with the smell of alcohol, sweat, and faint traces of weed. Every corner seemed occupied—people were dancing with abandon in the middle of the room, making out in the dimly lit hallway, or lounging on the staircase like they owned the place.

You felt entirely out of place, gripping the plastic cup Chaewon had handed you so tightly that your knuckles whitened. She, on the other hand, seemed completely at ease, weaving through the crowd like she belonged there, greeting people with quick hugs and easy smiles.

“Relax,” she said over her shoulder, noticing your stiff posture. “You’re not going to bite anyone.”

You tried to force a smile, the knot in your stomach tightening as you glanced around again. “I don’t know if I can do this,” you admitted.

“Of course, you can,” she replied, giving your arm a reassuring squeeze. “Just breathe. Parties are about letting loose—not thinking too much. You’ve got this.”

“Whose party is this, anyway?” you asked, your voice barely audible over the music.

“Lee Jeno’s,” she said casually, but her grin widened as she saw your expression shift.

“Jeno,” you both said at the same time, though your voice was softer, more disbelieving.

Your eyes scanned the room again, and then you saw him.

Jeno stood near the staircase, his presence commanding without even trying. His dark hair was effortlessly tousled, framing sharp features that seemed almost unfairly perfect under the dim lighting. He wore a plain white shirt, the fabric clinging slightly to the defined lines of his chest and shoulders, the faint outline of muscle visible every time he shifted. His black trousers hung low on his hips, loose but just fitted enough to hint at the lean strength of his frame, his entire demeanor radiating a casual confidence that made it impossible to look away.

He was surrounded by people, their laughter too loud, their smiles too eager, as though just being near him was enough. And yet, his gaze seemed distant, uninterested in the crowd orbiting him like moths to a flame, making his magnetism even harder to ignore.

The room around you seemed to dissolve the moment his gaze found yours, the faintest flicker of recognition sparking in his dark eyes. His smile pulled at the corner of his lips slowly, as if he was savoring the moment, deliberate and laced with something you couldn’t name. He leaned closer to the group he was with, murmuring a few words that had them nodding, though his focus didn’t waver from you.

Each step he took in your direction felt unhurried yet purposeful, his frame cutting through the crowd with an ease that drew glances and whispers. His shirt clung lightly to the defined curve of his chest, his shoulders moving fluidly under the fabric. When he stopped in front of you, his eyes lingered, sweeping over your face in a way that made your breath hitch.

“Hi,” you murmured, your voice barely audible, yet his lips twitched, like he’d heard every syllable.

“Hi,” he replied, his tone soft, the single word brushing the air between you like a touch. His gaze flicked to your mouth for a brief second before returning to your eyes, a question hanging unspoken.

He tilted his head, his expression calm but intent, the faintest crease forming between his brows. His voice dipped lower, quieter, as he spoke. “You haven’t answered any of my messages.”

Your heart jumped, the guilt bubbling up before you could stop it. “I know,” you murmured, looking down at your drink. “I’m sorry. I didn’t… I didn’t know what to say.”

Jeno’s expression softened, though the intensity of his gaze didn’t waver. “You could’ve started with ‘hi,’” he said, a hint of amusement in his voice.

You let out a shaky laugh, lifting your eyes to meet his again. “I guess I could have,” you admitted quietly.

His eyes moved over you slowly, unhurried but purposeful, as though he was trying to memorize every detail. When his gaze finally met yours again, his teeth caught his bottom lip, a subtle movement that only emphasized the tension etched into his expression. There was no smirk, no teasing glint in his eyes—just something raw and unfiltered that made your heart lurch.

“You look pretty,” he said, his voice low and steady, each word carrying a quiet conviction that left no room for doubt. His lips parted slightly as though he might say more, but he didn’t. Instead, he held your gaze, his eyes locked on yours like he was waiting for your reaction, waiting for you to understand just how much he meant it.

Your lips parted slightly, caught off guard by the compliment. “Mmm, you look good too,” you said, your tone soft and unsteady as your eyes roamed over him.

He smiled, the corner of his mouth tugging upward just enough to reveal a hint of mischief. “I’m glad you’re here,” he said, his voice quiet but deliberate.

“Me too,” you replied, though the words felt heavy on your tongue.

He chuckled, leaning slightly closer. “You sure? Doesn’t sound like you’re having fun.”

You shook your head, smiling despite yourself. “This party isn’t really… my thing,” you admitted.

Jeno placed a hand over his chest, feigning a dramatic wince. “Ouch.”

“No!” you said quickly, laughing nervously. “I’m sure your parties are great. I just—I’m not a party person.”

“Yeah?” he asked, his tone light, teasing.

“Yeah,” you said firmly, though your voice still wavered.

He studied you for a moment, his expression softening. “Stay here, okay?” he said finally, his tone gentler now. “I’ll be back. Give me five minutes.”

You nodded, your breath catching as you watched him disappear into the crowd. The space he left behind felt stark, like the absence of him created a vacuum you couldn’t ignore. The buzz of the party pressed back in slowly, but the air felt different now—charged with the weight of unspoken questions and quiet murmurs that seemed to ripple outward.

You became hyperaware of the stares. People’s gazes flicked between you and the direction Jeno had gone, their whispers barely audible over the music but unmistakable. Girls leaned into one another, exchanging quick glances and hushed words, their eyes darting toward you before quickly looking away. The weight of their attention made your chest tighten, heat rising to your cheeks as you struggled to process the shift.

“Y/N.”

Chaewon’s hand closed around your arm, her grip firm but not harsh as she turned you to face her. Her expression was a mix of disbelief and something that bordered on awe, her eyes wide as she searched your face.

“What just happened?” she demanded, her voice louder than you expected, cutting through the noise of the party.

You hesitated, your chest tightening as you struggled to find the right words. “Me and Jeno met before,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper, almost drowned out by the thumping bass.

Chaewon blinked, her jaw slackening as she processed your words. “You what?” she asked, the pitch of her voice rising slightly. “When? Did you—did you sleep with him?”

Your face flushed, the heat spreading down your neck as you shook your head quickly. “No, we only made out,” you said, the words tumbling out faster than you intended. “It was after I met him on campus, and he showed me around.”

Chaewon stared at you like you’d just confessed to something outrageous, her mouth opening and closing as though she couldn’t decide what to say first. Her grip on your arm loosened slightly, but her expression only grew more incredulous.

“Y/N,” she said finally, her tone slow, deliberate, like she needed to make sure you understood the gravity of what you’d just said. “Do you even know who Lee Jeno is?”

You gave her a blank look, unsure where she was going with this. “What do you mean?”

She let out a sharp, disbelieving laugh, rolling her eyes dramatically before leaning in closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “He’s, like, the most well-known guy on campus. Everyone knows him. He’s smart, he’s hot, he’s on the basketball team, and he’s practically impossible to get close to. People talk about him like he’s some kind of campus legend. And you’re telling me you just… made out with him?”

Her words hung in the air, the weight of them sinking into your chest as you replayed that night in your head. Jeno had been all of those things—charming, confident, and entirely out of your league—but in the quiet of your apartment, he hadn’t felt untouchable. He’d felt real, grounded, like he wasn’t the larger-than-life figure Chaewon was describing but just… Jeno.

“I didn’t know,” you admitted, your voice small, almost drowned out by the pounding music.

Chaewon shook her head in disbelief, her eyes narrowing slightly as she studied you. “Of course you didn’t. That’s why this is insane. You’re just sitting here like it’s no big deal when half the girls in this room would kill to be you right now.”

You looked away, your gaze drifting to the crowd as the whispers continued to ripple around you. The weight of their attention was suffocating, but it wasn’t their stares or even Chaewon’s words that lingered. It was Jeno—his calm, deliberate presence, the way his voice dipped when he spoke to you, the way his eyes lingered like he was seeing something no one else could.

Before you could respond, Jeno reappeared, a black jacket now draped over his shoulders, zipped halfway up to combat the chill of the night. The stark contrast of the dark fabric against the white of his shirt only made him look more striking, the clean lines of his lean frame framed perfectly. A bag was slung casually over one shoulder, his fingers curled loosely around the strap. His dark eyes, calm yet intent, settled on you with an ease that made your stomach flip.

“Wanna come?” he asked, his voice low, the casual tone of his question at odds with the intensity of his gaze.

You blinked, startled by the suddenness of his words. “What?”

“You think that the party’s dead,” he said simply, his lips curving into a faint smirk that felt more intimate than playful. “So let’s leave.”

Your heart raced as you stared at him, the heat of his attention making it hard to focus. The room around you seemed to blur, the noise fading into the background as his hand extended toward you, steady and certain. Without thinking, you reached out, your fingers slipping into his warm grasp.

You didn’t question it. Instead, you smiled softly, the corners of your lips twitching upward as you let him pull you closer. The smell of his cologne—a faint, woodsy scent with an edge of something sharp—lingered as he leaned in, his lips brushing so close to your ear that it sent a shiver down your spine.

“Can I kiss you?” he whispered, the words barely audible over the thrum of the party, but they landed squarely in your chest, making your breath catch.

Your eyes darted around quickly, taking in the crowd of people that still lingered nearby, their whispers and glances now tinged with curiosity. You bit your lip, your gaze flicking back to his as heat rose to your cheeks.

“Later,” you promised softly, your voice trembling just slightly, though the smile you gave him was steady.

Jeno’s lips twitched into a knowing grin, his dark eyes holding yours for a moment longer before he nodded. He tightened his grip on your hand gently, leading you toward the door with a quiet confidence that felt impossible to resist.

As the two of you weaved through the crowd, the whispers grew louder, people openly staring now as they watched him leave—watched you leave with him. The thrum of the music seemed almost muffled compared to the pounding in your chest, and as you reached the door, the cool night air washed over you like a sharp inhale.

“Wait,” you said suddenly, a gasp slipping past your lips. “You’re leaving your own party?”

Jeno glanced back at you, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah,” he said easily, shrugging one shoulder. “It’s my party. I can do what I want.”

His tone was light, almost teasing, but there was an edge of sincerity in the way he looked at you—like he meant every word. And before you could question it further, he squeezed your hand, pulling you closer as the two of you stepped into the night.

Jeno had taken you to a secluded spot along the riverbank, where the city lights shimmered faintly on the water and the distant hum of the party was little more than a memory. The air was crisp, the faint scent of the river mingling with the promise of snow, but Jeno seemed entirely unbothered by the chill. He led you to a cozy bench overlooking the river, the kind of spot that felt impossibly picturesque, where a blanket and a small bag of snacks were waiting.

“I told you, best view of the fireworks,” he said, his voice calm yet confident, as if the quiet intimacy of the moment had been crafted just for you.

You smiled at the gesture, settling onto the blanket he’d spread over the bench. Before you could fully take in the setting, Jeno’s attention shifted to a nearby vendor, where a small cart steamed with the rich scent of hot chocolate. Without asking, he stood and wandered over, returning moments later with two cups in hand.

“Here,” he said, handing one to you, his hand brushing yours in a way that made your breath hitch. The warmth of the cup seeped through your gloves, but it was his quiet, thoughtful gesture that really sent a shiver down your spine.

“Thanks,” you murmured, glancing up at him as he settled back beside you.

He smiled, soft and easy, before taking a sip of his own. “Hot chocolate always makes the cold easier to deal with,” he said lightly, the nonchalance in his tone almost making you laugh.

You took a tentative sip, the rich, velvety taste warming you from the inside out. “You’re right,” you admitted, nodding slightly as you turned to look at him, your breath visible in the cold night air.

Jeno’s gaze lingered on you, dark and steady, his lips curving into a faint smirk. “Told you,” he murmured, his voice dipping into something softer, quieter, as though the space between you had just shrunk.

Conversation had come easily after that, the hot chocolate warming your hands while Jeno’s presence seemed to settle the nerves that had been simmering since the night began. You talked about the most mundane things—classes, favorite foods, what New Year’s resolutions you’d already broken—and yet, the simplicity of it all felt impossibly intimate.

Still, it wasn’t long before the conversation gave way to something quieter, something heavier. Jeno’s hand brushed yours as he set his cup down, and the warmth of his touch lingered, sparking a need for closeness that you hadn’t anticipated.

His lips found yours in a kiss that was as gentle as the snow beginning to fall around you. At first, it was soft, exploratory, his hand cupping your cheek as though he was afraid to break you. But as you leaned into him, your fingers brushing against the nape of his neck, the kiss deepened, his lips pressing firmer against yours with a hunger that felt both cautious and consuming.

The fireworks began to crackle faintly in the distance, but you hardly noticed, your focus completely on the way Jeno’s mouth moved against yours. His breath hitched as you tilted your head, your lips parting just slightly, and he took the opportunity to pull you closer, his hands settling on your waist with a confidence that made your heart race.

Every time you tried to pull back, his gaze would catch yours, his eyes dark and intense, as though he couldn’t let you go even for a moment. And when he kissed you again, it wasn’t rushed—it was deliberate, a quiet exploration that left you dizzy and clinging to him.

“Jeno,” you murmured against his lips, though you weren’t even sure what you wanted to say.

He smiled into the kiss, his hand moving to cradle the back of your neck. “Yeah?” he whispered, his tone playful but weighted, like he already knew the answer.

You shook your head, a soft laugh escaping as your fingers tightened slightly on his jacket. “Nothing,” you whispered, leaning in to kiss him again, unwilling to let the moment break.

The fireworks continued overhead, lighting the sky in bursts of color, but neither of you paid them much attention. Every touch, every kiss, every soft sigh seemed to pull you deeper into the warmth of each other, the cold night air fading into irrelevance.

The plan had been to stay here until midnight, to watch the fireworks and celebrate the New Year together. But somewhere in the middle of his kisses, his hands sliding carefully along your sides, his breath warm against your cheek, your resolve shifted.

You didn’t want to wait for midnight.

You wanted him.

And now, somehow, you were here, pressed beneath him on his bed, your body trembling as his warmth consumed you.

The soft cotton of his sheets grounded you, but it was Jeno’s weight above you that anchored you completely, his warmth pressing into every inch of your body like it was made to fit against him. His broad shoulders framed the space above you, his lean, muscled frame draped over yours with a control that made every inch of your skin hyperaware of him. The planes of his chest, taut and warm, brushed against your trembling hands as you clung to him, your fingers curling instinctively into his skin.

His dark eyes stayed locked on yours, a quiet intensity softening into something tender, something that left you breathless and uncertain. His lips hovered close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath, each exhale ghosting across your cheek as his forehead dipped closer, brushing yours with infinite care.

“You need to ease up for me, okay, pretty girl?” he murmured, the gravel in his voice softened by the steady, soothing cadence of his words.

A soft whimper escaped your lips, trembling and unsure, as the stretch of his cock forced a fresh wave of shivers through you. Your thighs trembled on either side of his hips, your body tensing despite his careful pace. Each inch he gave you felt impossibly overwhelming, the fullness of him a constant, steady ache that bordered on too much.

Your chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven breaths, the weight of him pushing the air from your lungs with each shift of his hips. A tear slipped free before you could stop it, the overwhelmed sniffle that followed breaking the stillness between you.

“Hey, hey,” Jeno cooed, his hand finding your cheek like it belonged there, cradling you with infinite care. His thumb brushed the tear away before it could roll any further, his gaze softening even as his own breaths grew heavier. “I know, baby. I know it’s a lot.”

His words were gentle but steady, his tone so unwavering it felt like a tether, something to hold onto as your body struggled to adjust. He leaned closer, brushing his lips over the corner of your mouth in a kiss so soft it made your chest ache.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured, the heat of his breath grazing your trembling lips. “Just trust me, yeah? I just want to make you feel good. That’s all I want, pretty girl.”

Your breath hitched again, the sound breaking unevenly as you tried to steady yourself beneath him. The weight of his words, the tenderness in his tone, melted into the vulnerability pressing heavy on your chest. You nodded hesitantly, your fingers tightening against the curve of his shoulders as though you needed to anchor yourself to him.

But when you glanced away, embarrassed by the flush of heat crawling up your neck, his hand caught your chin gently, tilting your face back toward him.

“Hey,” he whispered, the warmth in his voice curling around you like a blanket, quiet but unyielding. “Talk to me, baby. I need to know you’re okay.”

Your lips trembled, the words caught somewhere between the lump in your throat and the butterflies swarming in your stomach. “It’s… it’s my first time,” you finally admitted, the words barely audible, your voice breaking under the weight of them.

Jeno’s movements stilled immediately, his broad frame freezing over you as the confession settled between you. His jaw clenched briefly, but the flicker of surprise in his eyes was fleeting, replaced almost instantly by something warmer, softer.

“Oh, baby,” he murmured, the reverence in his voice making your chest tighten. His thumb stroked along your cheekbone, his touch steady and patient as though he was trying to tell you everything he felt without saying a word. “I’m so lucky.”

The way he said it, low and aching with sincerity, sent a shiver down your spine, your body arching toward him before you could stop yourself. He kissed you then, his lips capturing yours in a kiss so slow, so deep, it felt like time itself had slowed to accommodate it.

When he pulled back, his breath was heavier, a faint tremor running through him as he studied you. “How are you a virgin?” he asked softly, his voice dipping low enough to send heat curling through your stomach. “If I’d met you sooner… I wouldn’t have been able to keep my hands off you.”

His words sent a flush of warmth cascading over your skin, your breath stuttering as you tried to respond. But the sincerity in his gaze held you, steadying you in a way you hadn’t realized you needed.

“Until now,” you whispered, your fingers curling into his shoulders like you needed to hold on to something solid.

His breath hitched, his lips brushing against your temple in a kiss so tender it made your chest ache. “Until now,” he echoed, the reverence in his tone making your stomach flip.

He shifted slightly above you, his hips tilting forward just enough to press deeper, and the stretch sent a sharp gasp tumbling from your lips. His movements stilled instantly, his hand sliding to your waist to steady you as his lips hovered close to your ear.

“Too much?” he asked softly, his voice so gentle it nearly undid you.

You shook your head, your breath catching as you murmured, “Just… just go slow.”

The corners of his lips tugged upward, a faint smile breaking through the intensity of his expression. “I’ll go as slow as you need, baby,” he murmured, his tone steady and sure. “We’ve got all the time in the world.”

His lips found yours again, capturing the soft sniffle that escaped as he began to move, each thrust measured and deliberate, his cock dragging against every sensitive part of you. His hands roamed gently over your body, his touch light but grounding as he whispered praises that melted into your skin.

“You’re doing so good for me,” he murmured, his voice low and reverent. “Taking me so perfectly. My good girl, always.”

The tenderness in his tone, the heat in his gaze, the deliberate care in every movement—it all combined into something overwhelming and impossibly sweet, a connection that felt far too intimate to put into words. Your walls fluttered around him, the stretch easing as pleasure began to bloom low in your stomach, each gentle thrust coaxing you further into the rhythm of his body.

His forehead pressed to yours, his breath mingling with yours as he murmured, “You’re mine, baby. All mine. No one else gets to see you like this.”

The words sent a fresh wave of heat pooling low in your stomach, your hips shifting tentatively against him as the ache dulled into something deeper, sweeter. His hand slid down to cup your hip, guiding you gently as his movements grew slightly more deliberate, the drag of his cock drawing soft whimpers from your throat.

“Fuck, baby,” he groaned, his voice cracking as his lips trailed along your jaw. “You feel so good. So perfect for me.”

Your fingers dug into his shoulders, your breath catching as his words melted into your skin, the heat of him overwhelming in the best way. Every inch of him, every touch, every whisper felt like a steady hum of electricity coursing through your veins, and as his lips found yours again, you felt yourself melting into him completely. But the burn was still there—sharp and all-consuming—and before you could stop yourself, your teeth pressed into the curve of his shoulder, a desperate attempt to muffle the whimper that escaped you. Tears slid down your cheeks, your breath trembling as you sniffled, your body shaking beneath him.

Jeno stilled instantly, his voice soft as he cooed at you, the words a balm against the ache. “Shh, baby, it’s okay,” he murmured, his lips brushing over your temple, your cheek, catching the tears as they fell. “You’re doing so good for me, angel. I’ll go slow, okay? Just the tip, just for you. You’ve got this.”

His thumb swept across your jaw, tipping your chin up so you had no choice but to meet his gaze, dark and molten, filled with nothing but care. “I’ll take care of you,” he promised again, the words dripping with reverence. “You’re my girl. Whatever you need, I’ve got you.”

Your breath hitched as he began to move again, slow and deliberate, every inch of him dragging against the tender stretch inside you. Your hands fumbled for purchase on his shoulders, sliding up to his neck, your touch shaky and desperate. “Jeno,” you whimpered, your voice barely audible, trembling with every word. “You—you feel so good.”

His lips curved into a soft smile, his gaze flicking up to meet yours. “Yeah?” he murmured, his voice thick with warmth, his hips tilting forward in a way that made you gasp.

“So good,” you whispered, your words tumbling out unbidden as heat flushed through your body. “You’re so big—so perfect. God, you fit inside me so well. I don’t—” You broke off, blinking up at him, your lips trembling as your thoughts scattered into a mess of heat and pleasure. “I don’t ever want you to leave. Jeno, your cock—it’s so good. You’re stretching me so perfectly. I can feel every part of you.”

A whimper caught in your throat as you babbled on, your head tipping back against the pillow. “I love it, Jeno. I love how you feel inside me. You’re so deep, so thick—I don’t want it to stop.”

His chuckle was low and rough, vibrating through your chest as he leaned in to press a kiss to your nose. “You’re such a sweet thing,” he murmured, his voice teasing but tender. “You’re doing so good for me, baby. So perfect. I’ll take care of you.”

Your thighs tightened around his waist as he shifted, the motion deliberate, deep, coaxing another broken cry from your lips. His hand slid along your side, pausing to cup your cheek as he brushed his thumb across your skin. “Look at you,” he said softly, his tone filled with awe. “Fucking perfect.”

The words melted into you, your chest tightening as you whimpered again, the sensation of him overwhelming and grounding all at once. “Please don’t stop,” you whispered, blinking up at him with glassy eyes. “Please, Jeno.”

“Never,” he murmured, his lips finding yours in a kiss so soft it made your stomach flutter. “I’ve got you, angel. Always.”

The promise in his words, in his tone, wrapped around you like silk, but even as you nodded, sniffling softly, you could feel the deliberate way his cock edged deeper, the fullness stretching you beyond what you thought possible. It was slow, so slow you could feel every ridge, every vein, and it made your breath hitch, a soft cry escaping your lips as tears slipped free.

“Shh,” he cooed, his forehead pressing harder against yours. “You’ve got this, angel. You’re so fucking perfect.” He shifted his weight slightly, tilting his hips in a way that made the stretch just bearable enough to keep going. “Fuck,” he groaned, the sound low and guttural as he bottomed out, his cock buried to the hilt. “Baby, you feel so fucking good. Like heaven.”

Your walls fluttered around him instinctively, the sensation pulling a soft, broken moan from your lips. “I—it’s so much,” you whimpered, your thighs trembling as you gripped him tighter, your nails digging crescents into his skin.

“I know, baby,” he murmured, kissing the tears from your cheeks, his lips impossibly soft. “I know it’s a lot, but look at you—look how well you’re taking me. God, you’re so good for me.”

Your breath hitched as his hand cradled your face, thumb brushing tenderly over your cheek, wiping away the tears that wouldn’t stop falling. His gaze stayed locked on yours, warm and consuming, his expression so unguarded it made your chest ache. “Let me see those pretty eyes,” he whispered, his voice low and steady, each word dripping with reverence. “I want to see you, baby. Every part of you.”

You sniffled softly, blinking up at him, your lashes wet, your lips trembling as you melted further into his touch. His thumb lingered against your cheek, slow and gentle, before he leaned in and kissed your temple, soft and lingering.

“There she is,” he murmured, his voice warm and filled with awe. “That’s my girl. So beautiful. So perfect for me.”

When he moved again, it was torturously slow, his cock dragging against every inch of you, the stretch deep and unforgiving, yet impossibly good. Your nails dug into his back, desperate for an anchor as his hips rocked forward, every motion deliberate and controlled. It burned, but the way he filled you, the way his body molded perfectly against yours, had your breath catching.

A soft whimper escaped, your lips parting on a shaky moan. “Jeno…” you breathed, the words trailing off as heat flooded your body, the fullness overwhelming but addictive.

“Fuck, baby,” he groaned, his forehead pressing against yours. His hips rolled deeper, and he gritted his teeth, the sound low and guttural. “You’re so tight—so perfect. Like you were made for me.”

Your laugh was light, bubbling out unbidden, and his gaze flicked up, curious but amused, his lips curving into the smallest smile. “What’s funny, huh?” he teased, his tone playful, his hand shifting to cradle the back of your neck.

You shook your head, breathless and flushed, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. “Nothing—nothing. You’re just… God, you’re so sexy.” Your voice cracked on the last word, your thoughts spilling in a soft, frantic rush. “The way you feel, the way you fuck me—it’s so good. You’re so good, Jeno.”

His smile widened, his eyes darkening as his hand slid up to catch yours, lacing your fingers together. “Yeah?” he murmured, kissing you with quiet intensity before guiding your joined hands above your head, pinning them against the pillow. “You’re mine,” he whispered, his voice dipping lower, filled with something possessive and raw. “I want you to be mine.”

Your breath hitched as he kissed your knuckles, slow and reverent, his other hand tracing your side, holding you steady as he pushed deeper. “I’ll never let go,” he promised, his gaze locked on yours, unwavering. “I’ll always take care of you, angel.”

His hips rolled again, a deliberate press that made you gasp, your head tipping back against the pillow as tears spilled freely. “You feel so good,” you whimpered, your voice breaking, your chest tightening with every drag of his cock. “You’re so perfect. So thick—fuck, you stretch me so good, Jeno.”

He groaned softly, his lips brushing yours in a fleeting kiss. “You love how I feel inside you, don’t you?” he murmured, his voice rough, teasing, but tender all the same.

“I love it,” you admitted, the words slipping out in a trembling rush. “I love your cock—it’s so big, so perfect. I never want you to stop.”

His grip on your hands tightened, his forehead dropping to yours as his lips curved into a smile. “You’re something else,” he murmured, chuckling softly, his breath fanning across your lips. “You’re incredible, baby.”

Your body trembled beneath him, every motion, every word sending a ripple of warmth through you. The intimacy of it, the way his hands never left yours, the way his eyes held yours, made you feel like you were falling deeper into him with every passing second.

“You’re everything,” he murmured, kissing the corner of your mouth before his lips trailed to your jaw, his hips moving in a slow, devastating rhythm. “So fucking perfect, angel. My perfect girl. You’re all I’ll ever need.”

And when his gaze found yours again, dark and filled with unspoken promises, you knew he meant it. His movements stayed soft, measured, every drag of him a reminder of just how much he wanted you—how much he adored you. His hand never left yours, his grip steady and unwavering, as if to say he’d never let go. You believed him. In every touch, every word, every breath, you believed him completely.

The rhythm of his thrusts slowed, each one deliberate, the deep press of him inside you stealing the breath from your lungs. Your body arched against his, desperate to meet every movement, and the sound of his name fell from your lips in broken cries that only seemed to spur him on. His cock dragged against every sensitive part of you, and the stretch—sharp at first, now addictively sweet—had your thighs trembling around his waist.

“Fuck,” Jeno groaned, his forehead pressed to yours, his lips brushing against yours with every ragged breath. His hand slid along your side, tracing the curve of your waist as if he needed to feel every part of you. His other hand tangled with yours, pinning it above your head, his grip steady and possessive. “You’re so perfect, baby,” he murmured, his voice rough with need. “So tight, so warm. God, you feel like heaven.”

Your fingers curled around his, clutching onto him like he was your lifeline. “Jeno,” you whimpered, your voice trembling as you struggled to find the words. “You—oh my God—you feel so good. So deep. I never—” Your breath hitched, your head tipping back as his hips rolled again, deeper this time, hitting a spot that sent white-hot pleasure spiraling through your body.

“Never what?” he teased softly, his lips brushing over your jaw, his tongue flicking against your skin in a way that made you shiver. “Tell me, baby. Never what?”

“Never felt like this,” you admitted, your voice cracking as a moan slipped free. “Never had anyone… like you. Fuck, you’re so perfect, Jeno. You fit so good—so big. I don’t ever want you to leave.”

He groaned, the sound vibrating through your chest as he captured your lips in a kiss, his tongue sliding against yours in slow, languid strokes. “I’m not going anywhere,” he promised, his voice low and steady. “You’re mine, angel. Always.”

The intimacy of it, the way his body moved against yours, the way his eyes never left yours, made your chest ache with something deeper than desire. His movements were slow but devastating, every thrust deliberate, his cock dragging against your walls with a precision that had you clinging to him, your nails scraping along his back.

“Jeno,” you whimpered again, your voice a desperate plea as the pressure built low in your stomach, coiling tighter with every second.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured, his lips brushing over yours. “Let go for me, baby. I’ll catch you. Always.”

And then, just as the tension inside you reached its breaking point, the faint sound of fireworks filtered through the room, muffled but distinct, a symphony of crackles and booms that seemed to echo the chaos in your body.

Jeno chuckled softly, the sound warm and low in your ear. “Happy New Year, beautiful,” he whispered, his breath hot against your skin.

You giggled, the sound mixing with a soft, breathless moan as your body tightened around him, the pleasure too much to contain. “Happy New Year,” you managed to whisper back, your voice trembling with affection and something deeper, something bigger than either of you.

His hips rolled again, the deep, steady rhythm pushing you over the edge, and when your release hit, it came in a wave that left you trembling beneath him. Your walls clenched around him, pulling a guttural groan from his throat as his movements faltered, his body shuddering with his own release. He buried himself deep, his name spilling from your lips like a prayer as you clung to him, your arms tightening around his neck.

The fireworks outside crackled louder, their light seeping faintly through the curtains as his lips found yours again, soft and lingering. His hand stayed wrapped around yours, his grip firm, as his other hand smoothed over your side, grounding you with the warmth of his touch.

“You’re everything,” he murmured against your lips, his voice steady now, filled with quiet reverence. “Everything I’ve ever wanted.”

And in that moment, as his warmth surrounded you, his touch anchoring you in a way no one else ever had, you knew you’d never forget this. The way he fit against you, the way he held you like he never wanted to let go, the way he made you feel like you were everything.

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homo-house · 2 years ago

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hey uh so I haven't seen anyone talking about this here yet, but

the amazon river, like the biggest river in the fucking world, in the middle of the amazon fucking rainforest, is currently going through its worst drought since the records began 121 years ago

picture from Folha PE

there's a lot going on but I haven't seen much international buzz around this like there was when the forest was on fire (maybe because it's harder to shift the narrative to blame brazil exclusively as if the rest of the world didn't have fault in this) so I wanted to bring this to tumblr's attention

I don't know too many details as I live in the other side of the country and we are suffering from the exact opposite (at least three cyclones this year, honestly have stopped counting - it's unusual for us to get hit by even one - floods, landslides, we have a death toll, people are losing everything to the water), but like, I as a brazilian have literally never seen pictures of the river like this before. every single city in the amazonas state is in a state of emergency as of november 1st.

pictures by Adriano Liziero (ig: geopanoramas)

we are used to seeing images of rio negro and solimões, the two main amazon river affluents, in all their grandiose and beauty and seeing these pictures is really fucking chilling. some of our news outlets are saying the solimões has turned to a sand desert... can you imagine this watery sight turning into a desert in the span of a year?

while down south we are seeing amounts of rain and hailstorms the likes of which our infrastructure is simply not built to deal with, up north people who have built everything around the river are at a loss of what to do.

the houses there that are built to float are just on the ground, people who depend on fishing for a living have to walk kilometers to find any fish that are still alive at all, the biodiversity there is at risk, and on an economic level it's hard to grasp how people from the northern states are getting by at all - the main means of transport for ANYTHING in that region is via the river water. this will impact the region for months to come. it doesnt make a lot of sense to build a lot of roads bc it's just better to use the waterway system, everything is built around or floats on the river after all. and like, the water level is so incomprehensibly low the boats are just STUCK. people are having a hard time getting from one place to another - keep in mind the widest parts of the river are over 10 km apart!!

this shit is really serious and i am trying not to think about it because we have a different kind of problem to worry about down south but it's really terrifying when I stop to think about it. you already know the climate crisis is real and the effects are beyond preventable now (we're past global warming, get used to calling it "global boiling"). we'll be switching strategies to damage control from now on and like, this is what it's come to.

I don't like to be alarmist but it's hard not to be alarmed. I'm sorry that I can't end this post with very clear intructions on how people overseas can help, there really isn't much to do except hope the water level rises soon, maybe pray if you believe in something. in that regard we just have to keep pressing for change at a global level; local conditions only would not, COULD NOT be causing this - the amazon river is a CONTINENTAL body of water, it spans across multiple countries. so my advice is spread the word, let your representatives know that you're worried and you want change towards sustainability, degrowth and reduced carbon emissions, support your local NGOs, maybe join a cause, I don't know? I recommend reading on ecological and feminist economics though

however, I know you can help the affected riverine families by donating to organizations dedicated to helping the region. keep in mind a single US dollar, pound or euro is worth over 5x more in our currency so anything you donate at all will certainly help those affected.

FAS - Sustainable Amazon Fundation

Idesam - Sustainable Developent and Preservation Institute of Amazonas

Greenpeace Brasil - I know Greenpeace isn't the best but they're one of the few options I can think of that have a bridge to the international world and they are helping directly

There are a lot of other smaller/local NGOs but I'm not sure how you could donate to them from overseas, I'll leave some of them here anyway:

Projeto Gari

Caritás Brasileira

If you know any other organizations please link them, I'll be sure to reblog though my reach isn't a lot

thank you so much for reading this to the end, don't feel obligated to share but please do if you can! even if you just read up to here it means a lot to me that someone out there knows

also as an afterthought, I wanted to expand on why I think this hasn't made big news yet: because unlike the case of the 2020 forest fires, other countries have to hold themselves accountable when looking at this situation. while in 2020 it was easier to pretend the fires were all our fault and people were talking about taking the amazon away from us like they wouldn't do much worse. global superpowers have no more forests to speak of so I guess they've been eyeing what latin america still has. so like this bit of the post is just to say if you're thinking of saying anything of the sort, maybe think of what your own country has done to contribute to this instead of blaming brazil exclusively and saying the amazon should be protected by force or whatever

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reasonsforhope · 5 months ago

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"In a historic step toward the first-ever restoration of the tiger population to a nation where they were once extinct, two captive Siberian tigers have been translocated from Anna Paulowna Sanctuary, Netherlands, to the Ile-Balkhash Nature Reserve in Kazakhstan.

This remarkable event is part of an ambitious program led by the Government of Kazakhstan with support from WWF and the UN Development Program to restore the Ile-Balkhash delta ecosystem and reintroduce tigers to the country and region, where the species has been extinct for over 70 years.

“It is a high priority for Kazakhstan to work on the restoration of rare species. For ecological value it is important that our biodiversity chain is restored. And that the tiger that once lived in this area is reintroduced here,” said Daniyar Turgambayev, Vice-minister of the Ministry of Ecology and Natural Resources of Kazakhstan.

In the early 21st century, genetic studies were carried out on bones and furs held in national collections which revealed that the population of tigers living between Iran, southern Russia, Central Asia, and the areas around the Caspian Sea was extremely similar to Siberian tigers.

This led scientists to conclude that Felis vigrata, the former name of the Caspian tiger, was simply the Siberian tiger that developed into a distinct population, but not a new subspecies, over generations of being separated by habitat fragmentation.

Bodhana and Kuma, the male and female tigers, will be housed in a spacious semi-natural enclosure of three hectares [7.4 acres] within the Ile-Balkhash Nature Reserve. Any of their offspring will be released into the wild and will become the first tigers to roam Kazakhstan in decades, and potentially the first-ever international tiger reintroduction.

They will play an important role in the establishment of a new tiger population in the region where they had previously been wiped out as a result of excessive hunting.

“Today marks a monumental conservation milestone to bring tigers back to Kazakhstan and Central Asia,” said Stuart Chapman Leader of WWF Tigers Alive. “This tiger translocation is a critical step to not only bring back the big cat to its historic homeland but also to rewild an entire ecosystem.”

Progress towards restoration of the area is already well underway with recovering and reintroduction of critical tiger prey species like the Kulan (Asiatic wild ass), and reforestation of over 120 acres with native trees. Being the apex predator, tigers will play a significant role in sustaining the structure and function of the ecosystem on which both humans and wildlife rely...

“With the launch of the tiger reintroduction program, we have witnessed a significant change—the revival of nature and our village of Karoi,” said Adilbaev Zhasar, the head of the local community group Auyldastar.

“This project not only restores lost ecosystems, but also fills us with pride in participating in a historic process. Because of small grants from WWF, we have the opportunity to do what we love, develop small businesses, and create jobs in the village, which brings joy and confidence in the future.”

From the very beginning, the local community around Ile-Balkhash Nature Reserve has been closely involved in the project. This includes support for improved agricultural techniques and the future development of nature tourism in the area.

The translocation of these tigers is the first of several planned in the coming years, with a goal to build a healthy population of about 50 wild tigers by 2035, starting with this pioneering pair for breeding. This initiative is not only a testament to the resilience of the species but also a powerful example of governments, conservation organizations, and local communities cooperating in wildlife and nature conservation."

-via Good News Network, November 27, 2024

#tiger #tigers #big cats #wild cats #kazakhstan #asia #central asia #biodiversity #endangered species #conservation #rewilding #wildlife conservation #ecology #nature reserve #good news #hope

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sightseertrespasser · 9 days ago

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Odds of Survival part 9

Jazz has an itty bitty teeny weeny severe mental breakdown.

Credit once more to @keferon for starting this au.

———————————————————————

Jazz never thought he’d find himself deeply empathizing with the xenomorph from Alien, but here he was.

Doing freak shit.

A lone lifeform trapped on a spaceship with no idea how their technology works, no means of escape and no way to sustain themselves. Skittering across the ceiling and one wrong move away from murdering someone on contact.

Plus, I pop out of my mecha like an actual motherfucking chest burster. So I’m sure that’ll go over GREAT.

The parallels were compounding into existential crisis territory.

It got way too fucking close handling that checkup with the medic. Trying to keep his cool felt like he was trapped in an hours long quick time event. Every question had to be snap judged for the safest possible answer. Completely make shit up and risk getting caught in the act, don’t give away any information and they’ll know you’re hiding something.

Jazz juggled that damn Catch 22 like a professional. Thank you.

Case in point, while one of his mechas arms was still non functional, Jazz managed to maneuver his actual arm inside the cabin to grope around for some water to chug. Without disconnecting from the mecha.

That particular stunt felt like splitting his brain in half with a splintery wedge. The water was absolutely necessary, but the pressure inside his skull rang like an air horn zip-tied open.

Right now the only coherent thought he could form was the overwhelming animal desire to find a dark hidden hole and crawl up inside it. Then repeat that motion by disconnecting from his mecha, finding the most secure hiding spot inside that, and passing out for oh just a quick little 24 to 36 hours.

The pilot paused. Down the hall, mechas- giant alien robots- had noticed his disappearance. Even through the language barrier, Jazz would recognize the opening lyrics to his personal theme song anywhere: “Oh fuck where’d he go?”

Hidden behind rows of pipes, Jazz counted his inhalations until the thuds of metal feet passed him by.

Was the alien invader from The Thing scared? If it had finished building its spaceship would the Thing really have tried to take over the world? Or was it just desperate to go home?

Jazz was panting. Or maybe hyperventilating. He made a conscious effort to pull air through his grit teeth at an even flow. Even though he couldn’t actively feel his human body, the dull droning dread pressed through the disconnect to whisper “You’re running out of time.”

He didn’t know how long he had left before his stupid flesh sack would start giving out, but he needed to be somewhere safe when it happened. He’d make it. He’d make it because he had to to make it. He was the best goddamn pilot in the entire program and that was for one reason and one reason alone: Failure Was Not A Motherfucking Option.

If his options were do it the hard way or not at all, then the hard way was what the world got.

Once the guards passed, Jazz slunk along the wall, reaching upside down to fry another security pad, only for the door to open automatically.

Risking it, Jazz peaked into the room and not seeing or hearing anyone, slipped inside.

Once the door slid shut behind him, Jazz lowered himself to the ground one handed, scanning the room more thoroughly.

More screens, inactive. A chair and a couch. Miscellaneous wall kibbling, a table, cabinets. Windows.

Jazz gasped.

Glowing clouds of light, layered like sheets stretching into infinity. Star clusters like paint splatters on black velvet.

White and amber. A haze of something pink.

Unconsciously, Jazz moved towards the window, until he could lightly tap his visor against the glass. His field of view consumed by galaxies.

Back when they first launched him into space, Jazz had come to terms with the let down that all he’d get to see was a black slate and maybe a couple dots. The space station didn’t have many windows to start with, and all his space walks took place when the sun was “out”, so Jazz never really got to see as much of the Milky Way as his inner child hoped.

Now, the child was quiet. Face pressed against the glass, Jazz felt his throat closing up.

At least I got this. Even if I’ve got a half life, I got to see the stars the way they were meant to be.

He hovered. Wanting to find a song to match this moment, but couldn’t find anything more fitting than his own breathing. The rush of blood in his ears was still loud, but a white noise that could substitute for silence.

Like a marble rolling off a table, Jazz felt his stomach drop a moment before his conscious mind could follow.

“It’s wonderful isn’t it?”

Jazz had his arm cocked back to turn the poor fuckers face into a plate but locked himself mid swing at the last second. The mech had lifted a tablet to protect himself, and the move was such a Bullied Nerd cliche it stopped Jazz cold.

Now that his heart rate was breaking highway speed limits again, the angry radio static that was his racing thoughts drowned out any coherent thoughts of what to say.

The mech peeked out from behind the tablet and wow. That’s a guy. That’s just a straight up dude. Prowl and Elita were bulky enough that Jazz could at least imagine where a pilot could sit. But this guy? He looked like the only thing he could throw out was his back. Jazz didn’t even know “elderly twink” was a look possible for a giant robot.

Mystery Codger was staring at him. Jazz still had a fist raised.

Do something say something do something say something you fucked up you fucked up either kill him or start lying just do anything brain please.

“Could you help me find my glasses?”

Jazz faltered. “Wu- What?”

The mech uncurled from his brief defensive huddle. “My glasses? Spectacles? Ah, object-sight-improve-positive?”

The pistons in his arm faintly hissed as the tension released.

Maybe-

As if this was all normal, the mech gently set the tablet on the table, before squatting and squinting at the floor.

Maybe I just have actual brain damage.

Acting on mental autopilot, Jazz took the opening to behave like a normal person. Crouching and scanning the floor for giant alien robot spectacles.

“My name is Rung by the way. I actually don’t think we’ve met previously.” Rung said that last bit with an odd inflection Jazz didn’t have the brain power to think about.

“Jazz. We definitely haven’t met.” He couldn’t quite keep the exhaustion from making that last bit come out snippy.

Rung simply hummed and continued his search. For his part, Jazz was taking the moment to center himself, preparing the best mask he could on short notice.

How long could he keep faking it? Prowl had been with him since he woke up and he didn’t show any signs of needing to sleep. They had doctors. Prowl cared enough about his “health” to take him to one. If Jazz collapsed in front of anyone, they’d drag his sorry ass back to the medbay and it’d be game over. He couldn’t just ask for a place to crash or else he ran the risk of tipping them off he wasn’t one of them if they really didn’t sleep.

A faint tapping sound made him twitch in his stupor.

“Now where could the blasted thing have gone.” Rung was sat crossed legged on the ground.

With Jazz. Who’d vaguely crumbled into a kneeling ball under a table.

Jazz stared at Rung tapping his glasses against his chin. The orange mech made eye contact, and Jazz swore to god he caught him smile.

He reached out a hand, pointing, “Found ‘em.”

The smile came to fruition. Rung aha-ed and held his glasses before himself, inspecting them fondly.

“All that trouble for such a small problem. And all I needed was to ask for help.”

Jazz let himself sag slightly against the wall. Dully thudding the back of his head. “Okay. I’ll cop that was a good trick.”

“It did pull you out of your spiral didn’t it?” Rung said sounding way too smug. He pulled a cloth out from where-ever-the-fuck and cleaned his glasses with it.

He’d been seeing these mechs pull out and disappear objects all day like a bunch of Looney Toons characters. That kind of lapse in logic didn’t bode well for Jazz’s mental condition.

He let his eyes close, rationing his remaining focus.

“How’d you know that’d work?” He mumbled.

“You seemed afraid. You stalled out when you saw I was afraid.” Rung simply stated before he then asked rhetorically, “You’re a protector aren’t you?”

Jazz made a noncommittal sound. Lying was his first impulse, but he really didn’t feel like giving this guy more material to hook him with.

The mech laughed once anyways, “You are. Unorthodox too. I can see why you have such a hold over Prowl.”

That got his attention, “I do?”

“Oh yes.” He heard Rung shift into a more comfortable position on the floor. “Even if he can’t recognize the feeling anymore, I think you give him hope.”

Jazz wanted to laugh and he would if he had the energy.

Instead Jazz sighed. “I’m kinda at rock bottom right now man. And currently? Lil bit fresh outta hope myself.”

And ideas.

Jazz was of the opinion that any problem was solvable if you were willing to get crazy enough, but this was like trying to solve treading water a million miles from shore with only sharks for company. He either drown slowly or get torn apart the moment the sharks realized he was there.

“Hopeless mechs don’t stop to stare at the stars in wonder, Jazz.” When he opened his eyes, Jazz saw Rung staring him down like he was insulted. “To be hopeless is to let yourself die. Do you intend to die today?”

“No.” He challenged back, body minutely tensing.

“Are you willing to do absolutely anything to keep living?” Rung poked him in the chest.

“Yes.” He responded just as quickly, but there was a rasp to his voice. Something small and quiet. Not easily caught. Not easily killed.

“Even ask for help?” Rung quirked his head at him, shit eating grin growing by the second.

Jazz deflated, groaning loud enough for his mecha’s speakers to vibrate his bones.

“Look, I appreciate the therapy session doc, but asking for help is legitimately not an option for me right now.”

Rung leaned forward, resting his chin on a servo, “Alright then. List your current alternative options that you alone can accomplish, devoid of any assistance whatsoever.”

Jazz didn’t respond.

The silence continued to linger.

“Go on.” Rung gestured.

Cornered, Jazz could feel his horns pin back and a burning sensation in his eyes. He rubbed a hand over his visor even though it didn’t actually help.

“Where’s Prowl?”

Rung chuckled, victorious. The scrawny orange mech scooted out from under the table and stood, offering a servo to Jazz to do the same.

The brief rest left Jazz jelly limbed, which was evidently bad enough to translate to a faint tremble in his mecha. Despite that, Jazz didn’t take Rungs hand because there’s no way in hell that guy could support him if he fell. Elita’s threat over harming her crew was still fresh and shiny in his mind.

“You’ll find his office down that way.” Rung pointed out the direction. “Down the hall, turn left at the first junction, pass by two more doors, turn right at that junction and then keep walking until you reach the end of the hall. His office isn’t labeled but I don’t think that’ll be an issue.”

Rung opened the door and then took a seat in the chair next to the couch. “I’d offer to have Prowl come to meet you here, but I have another appointment coming up shortly.”

Oh uh. He actually is a therapist.

Jazz laughed humorlessly, “Why not invite them to join the party? Make it a group session.”

Avoiding eye contact, Rung fiddled with a stylus, “Ah, that would not do I’m afraid. My next patient recently figured out how to “bite” people by quickly jabbing his helm forward and I’d rather that not be your first encounter with him.”

“Ah. Gotcha.” Jazz simply nodded numbly.

He paused at the doorway, running the directions through his head again, before turning back slightly. “Hey Rung? Thanks.”

“It’s Rung, and you’re… welcome?” The mech trailed off, looking at Jazz with surprise as the door slid shut behind him.

Walking away, Jazz got about thirty feet before realizing he couldn’t turn his head too quickly or else he’d start seeing double. Feeling the countdown drop into double digits, Jazz hurried along Rungs path.

And nearly crashed into another mech.

It had a head like an old school security camera, a single yellow camera lense cycling down to a pinprick at his appearance. The chassis was crazy long and pointed. Out of habit, Jazz tried mapping out what the interior would look like. The pilot seat would need to be horizontal but it was pretty doable. The limbs were definitely on the skinny side but sharp and fast looking. Bonus points for what was definitely front mounted guns.

All in all, solid design. 7/10.

“Hey.” The mech rasped.

Oh fuck right, Alien.

“Sup.” Jazz replied eloquently.

The camera lense eye loosed, upgrading to a coin sized pupil and clearly looking him over.

“Empurata?” The mech said casually pointing to his legs and visor.

“Uh, sure.” Jazz shrugged.

“Same.” Nodded camera-head.

“Cool.”

The two of them awkwardly stood in the hall. Camera-head seemed content to block traffic and Jazz was mentally banging rocks together in hopes of getting a spark of intelligent thought.

“Can I peel off your visor with a knife?”

The mech held a dagger pinched between its crab claws and Jazz had to bite his tongue not to ask why it didn’t just use those.

Instead, the brain rocks came through.

“Rung lost his glasses.” Jazz threw up a thumb, gesturing over his shoulder. “Needs help. Now.”

Good job brain rocks.

“What? He does?” The mechs head popped up like some kind of fucked up goose, before shoving past Jazz, knocking him into the wall.

“HOLD ON DOC I’M COMING!”

The mech folded inside out into a mother fucking helicopter?! Charging down the hall in a whirlwind so strong Jazz could feel it through his mecha.

Jazz counted to five, and crawled back up into the safety of the ceiling pipes.

He blinks, and he’s staring down another hall. Left turn, two doors, right turn. . . Wait. Was that a right or left he just did? He’s upside down so everything should be reversed right?

He doesn’t remember blinking but the hall is at a different angle. New hall? Or did he just turn his head?

Jazz wants to press the heels of his palms into his eyes until everything holds still but he can’t. So he keeps moving. Keeps hiding.

And then he sees the most beautiful goddamn mech in the universe marching down the hall. Followed by half a dozen substantially less impressive mechs with guns drawn.

Stilling, Jazz remained hidden behind the pipes. Evidently alien robots had the same peripheral blindness to ceilings that human security guards did, as none of them noticed him.

Except for Prowl.

Through the gaps, Jazz watched as Prowl gave rapid fire orders to the armed soldiers behind him. Six mechs. Six guns. Three too many for Jazz to take in his current state. Prowl went silent and his wings twitched. Shivering, Jazz got the deeply uncanny sense he was being intimately observed.

The lights were ringing in a tinnitus B flat. He had the audio feed from his mecha dialed way too high but he couldn’t afford to miss any detail of what would happen next.

Whatever Prowl was said next, it must have been in his native language. Which Jazz found deeply unfair after all the work he’d put into learning Common.

The black and white mech turned to his cohort, waving them down the hall ahead of them. Prowl did not follow, wings still minutely shifting position. Once they were out of sight, Prowl turned on his heel back the way he came. Flicking a single piercing look to Jazz.

Silently. Shakily. Jazz skulked along the shadows after him.

He mental map was fucked. Every time he blinked, Jazz lost track of the most recent few seconds of his life. If Prowl wasn’t stopping every fifty feet to not-so-subtly check that Jazz was still following him, the human didn’t know where he’d end up.

Finally, Prowl reached a door at the end of a hall and entered without any delay. Jazz dropped, moving inside before the door could close again.

“Please don’t freak out.” Jazz cut him off before Prowl could set the tone of this conversation. The mech closed his mouth and after a moment’s consideration, assumed a tense but mostly neutral stance.

“I will not ‘freak out’.” Prowl looked like wanted to say more, but Jazz couldn’t afford that right now.

“Awesome! Because right now I’m freaking out and I won’t be able to keep it together if you start freaking out too.” He was pacing back and forth, not really seeing the mech beside him anymore.

“Jazz.” A servo caught his elbow, stopping him in place. “Where have you been?”

“Oh you know. Here. There. Ceiling mostly. Shockingly unrelated, but I think a talking helicopter wants to wear my face as a hat.” Jazz nodded way too enthusiastically in a manner he hoped translated into an appropriately manic “Please god help me.” grit toothed grin.

Prowl was momentarily speechless before physically shaking off the latest deluge of confusion, “That sounds like Whirl. You would not have encountered them had you stayed in the med bay like you were supposed to. Now I’m asking you again: What are you doing and why are you doing it?”

Audibly cracking, Jazz tried to answer honestly but found his voice locked up. He couldn’t, why couldn’t he..? Why was talking suddenly so fucking hard?

Meanwhile, Prowl just looked defeated. He rubbed that spot between his eyes, not yet letting him go.

“If you cannot provide a reasonable explanation for your sudden shift in behavior, I will have to assume the worst. You leave me no choice but to-“

“I’M REALLY SHORT.” Great. Fantastic. Incredible work brain. Take five.

Prowls optics flickered. Brow furrowing as he looked up at Jazz’s clearly taller mecha.

“That’s not- I mean-.” Jazz clasped his head in his hands, switching back to English. “{I- I- don’t know if this is even real.}”

Something was gripping his arms. Black and white appeared in his vision. “Jazz, please. I can’t help you if I don’t understand what’s happening.”

Common was easy to learn but right now it felt like Jazz was playing Scrabble with a bad hand.

“Prowl, where do you go when you- when you change-body-shape?” He had to stop to breath midway.

Please, please, please this is the last chance for anything to make sense.

But instead the mech slowly shook his head in disbelief, “Where do I..? Nowhere Jazz, it’s still me, I’m not ‘going’ anywhere. My alt form is not a different person.”

The mech gently pulled Jazz’s hands off his head from where he’d been stressing the damage from earlier. “I understand if you’ve never seen an alt mode before but your behavior, your questions, they’re not making any sense.”

Prowl stopped. Optics going wide as placed his servos on Jazz’s wrists. “Jazz are you Crashing?!”

“What? What is that what you call a mental breakdown? Cause yeah I’m having one of those.” He said a little too breathlessly.

“Sit-“ Prowl pulled him down to the floor. “Sit down. I’m calling for a medic.”

“No!” Desperately, Jazz grabbed onto Prowl who was helpless but to join him on the floor. The floodgates opened and Jazz couldn’t stop.

“No no no no, please god no. They’re gonna find out. I need to to tell you. I need to tell you myself. Just, please I’m begging you don’t do it. Give me a chance. Just give me a chance to explain, I don’t want to wake up on a table, please Prowler.”

For his part, Prowl was handling the situation as well as to be expected. He didn’t try to leave again but did get into a more comfortable kneeling position next to the panicking mecha.

“Alright. Alright, I won’t leave. Speak.”

Jazz tried tapping an alternating rhythm on the floor, giving himself literally anything else to focus on. He swallowed back bile and his thrashing fight or flight instincts.

“I’m not-“ Jazz grit his teeth. Telling the truth felt like trying to pop a dislocation back into place. Actually no. Jazz had done that before and it had felt infinitely less unnatural than what he was trying to do now.

Prowl was patient. Bless his heart, motor, whatever he’s got in there. Remaining silent beside him.

The pilot forced himself to take complete breaths, “l. Am not. The same. As you.” One, one two, one two, one two, Jazz counted in time.

“I noticed.” Prowl stated flatly, then softening his expression, “You hadn’t realized you were an alien until now, didn’t you?”

Jazz laughed a little too hysterically, “No, no I Fraggin’ did not. Please don’t freak out.”

“Jazz, you are hardly the first alien species I’ve ever encountered. At least you actually look like a person.”

The pilot got very, very quiet.

“Prowl, what do you think of organics.” Resolutely, Jazz stared down the floor panels, refusing to look anywhere else.

Momentarily, Prowl opened his mouth to speak and shut it again. He shifted to kneel in front of Jazz. Sharp optics darting across his frame. Lightly, Jazz could feel him trace something along his undamaged shoulder. He shivered against his will.

“Jazz.” Prowl got down to where he had to look at him. He spoke so, so softly, “Were you created by organics?”

Well, when a mommy human and a daddy human love each other very much…

“You could say that.” Jazz rasped instead.

He hadn’t even moved, but the energy in the air just went burning cold. Prowl went from soft to deathly serious so fast Jazz visibly flinched.

“Listen to me. You do not have to go back. You do not ever have to go back. I swear on everything I stand for I will not let another one of those things anywhere near you again.” Unintentionally, Prowl was crowding into his space.

Despite himself, Jazz just kept drawing himself in smaller and smaller as Prowl closed in.

“No no no no you don’t get it, that’s not what I meant. That’s not what I am!” He started quiet and steadily grew in volume.

Prowl wasn’t getting it. Instead, raising his voice to match, “No you are wrong! You have a choice now! You aren’t just your function and you aren’t just something they made to die!”

He grabbed Prowl by the shoulders, shaking him, “I DID CHOSE THIS. I KNOW I’M GONNA DIE, BUT THAT’S NOT WHAT I’M FUCKING TALKING ABOUT.”

“Then what ARE you talking about?!” He shouted back.

“I’M ONE OF THEM.” His microphone peaked, and his voice broke.

The quiet hurt. Anything that wasn’t numb hurt. He gulped down air and couldn’t keep more than one eyelid up at a time.

Prowl ground his jaw tightly, practically steaming from reeling back a sense of calm by force, “You are not shorter than me. You are not thinking straight. And You. Are not. An organic.”

Jazz only semi involuntarily rolled his eyes.

“Fuck it.”

He disconnected, and everything hit at once.

Vision went and came back out of focus and way too close. His ears were ringing too badly to hear the sound of his mecha’s chest plates opening, though he knew that they were.

Every fiber of muscle in his body was torn and screaming, he’d throw up later if he had the strength. Jazz did not so much stand as he did lift off the pilot seat and then buckle forward. The hard shell of his pilot suit saved his knee from getting gouged by the corner of the platform he was slipping off of.

That’s fine. He’d land on the steps.

Except, his mecha had been leaning forward hadn’t it?

Like a rag doll, over the edge he went. A huge and blurry and black shape rushing to meet him.

———————————————————————

Is Jazz capable of telling the truth when it’s to save his life? No.

Will he do it out of spite just to prove someone wrong? Yes.

Also, secret props to @somerandomcockroach for showing how fun Rung is to write.

Bonus bit, Prowl finally let his EM field loose far enough for Jazz to notice! It was bad.

-SSTP

#tf mecha universe #writing

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halalchampagnesocialist · 8 months ago

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To understand why Israel keeps targeting UNRWA infrastructure and UNRWA workers (and by extension, human rights activists) aside from the accusations they're ~secretly Hamas~, we must put it into the context of which these organisations operate.

To put it lightly, Israel is not a fan of international NGOs and human rights organisations at all, but especially the ones whose existence revolves around advocating for Palestinian rights and exposing the crimes of the occupation. It is not a fan of Palestinian ones at all either, but that goes without saying. I would even suggest that Israeli organisations like "Breaking the Silence" and "BtSelem" fall under this category, even liberal ~coexistence~ type groups like "Standing Together" are seen with suspicion to a degree as they pose a threat to the status quo. The Israeli state and Zionists also see the work of such organisations as a method of "delegitimising Israel" and "singling out Israel" and so on. There is even a pro-Israel organisation called "NGO Monitor" which exists to combat this exact thing.

In the case of UNRWA, there is a specific criticism made by Israel against them (aside from the secret Hamas operative one), and that is they "indoctrinate" Palestinians to hold onto their right of return by perpetually keeping them refugees. Obviously, it's a silly argument that is not worth entertaining. There are a lot of genuine criticisms to be made about UNRWA (which is largely to do with the NGOisation of the Palestinian struggle but that's another post) but they have helped sustain Palestinian existence and livelihoods by providing aid, employment, education and so on. In times of war and crisis, UNRWA has been providing important aid to Palestinians. It's hard not to see Israel's attack on UNRWA as an attack on that.

Even groups which are headed by Palestinians, both in the diaspora and in Palestine, such as International Solidarity Movement (ISM) or Youth Against Settlements, face constant attacks by settlers and soldiers. The purpose of these groups is to demonstrate civil disobedience and resist the occupation non-violently yet still face violence. Others exist merely to just document.

Israel is also so used to operating with impunity that any organisation shedding light on Israel's atrocities against Palestinians is a blow to their propaganda. All the reports, documentaries, and findings produce evidence that then becomes hard to deny or hide. There is a reason why Israel is currently not letting in any journalists or aid workers into Gaza, and even the ones it is letting in it is targeting as we've seen time and time again over the past year.

The problematic nature of NGOisation and the apoliticisation of the human rights framework aside, many of these organisations have played a role in presenting the case of the Palestinian struggle in front of a world audience. The ability to not just document or advocate but be believed is a privilege Westerners have and that's where these organisations tend to come in. As long as these organisations exist and/or have a reason to be in the West Bank and/or Gaza, then Israel cannot do what it actually wants to i.e. constant settlement building, attempted ethnic cleansing and more importantly, trying to convince the world that Palestinians do not have a justified struggle against the occupation and the allegations against Israel are merely "false."

#palestine #israel #ngos #prob more i could say on this but a basic 101 i guess

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deadsetobsessions · 1 year ago

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Danny no longer has a haunt. So… he decides to find another one. And while he technically has a whole world (other dimensions aren’t an option because he’s going to stay near where Jazz’s grave is, damn it) there’s only a couple of other places with enough ambient ectoplasm to sustain him. Nanda Parbat, Tokyo, and Gotham.

Nanda Parbat had a weird old musty immortal that kept trying to summon him and exchange power for the ability to “take a worthy body and rain as much destruction” as he’d like. As if Danny would need a body to bring the world to its knees.

Tokyo… it’s too far from Jazz’s grave. He could ask Wulf or even open his own portal but when Danny tried it out, Tokyo was too peaceful. Obviously there’s crime, but nothing… nothing big like Danny’s used to.

Danny ends up picking Gotham, even if the sewer zombies and the weird group of rich fruit loops with an adoption problem creeps him out. So, he destroys the portal, packs up his parents’ house and sells it, and hauls ass to the cesspool calling his name. His family’s stuff is stored respectfully in a vault located on the deepest parts of his personal haunt in the Infinite Realms.

And honestly, he’s doing better. Sure, he’s got a shitty apartment near another revenant’s almost-haunt and he feels like he’s drowning all of the time, but Danny isn’t in danger of turning into Dan, he’s catching up on royal paperwork, and he’s got like a job as a barista. In his own coffee shop that paid for using his parent’s money (who, despite their hazardous everything, made a crap ton of money off of their more normal inventions).

Gotham’s got some pretty interesting local gangs, most of which respected the sanctity of Danny’s cafe. Sure, they tried blowing it up and tried extorting money from him in the form of “protection costs” but after three months of failure, they gave up.

(Really, the local gangs gave up when they saw him take three shotgun shells to the chest and continued to work.) (They didn’t know it never hit him. Intangibility is extremely useful.)

The Rogues, on the other hand, just gave Danny flashbacks. Their gimmicks are different, sure, but after years of Box Ghost, Skuller, Lunch Lady, etc., Danny’s more than done with costumed villains. They don’t bother him either. Some of the reason is probably due to Harley and Ivy, who had walked into the cafe and (because they were bruised and scratched up from a fight) triggered Danny’s mother hen tendencies. They were promptly fed and watered and caffeinated and their hyenas were also similarly taken care of. They declared the cafe under their protection and that was that.

Red Hood stops by, and begins to interrogate him. But when Danny met his… helmet eyes? The crime lord paused, paid for his coffee, and sat in a corner table of the cafe for the rest of the day.

And he kept coming back?

But Danny figures it’s because Hood was a revenant and people who had come close to death tends to feel more comfortable around him.

(Considering this is Gotham where people almost die every other day? Yeah, he’s pretty much friends with everyone. Or at least, less likely to get shot.)

(Hood does stay because of the King’s presence and the Pit calming itself, but also Danny’s hot and he’s got a sleeper build and Hood definitely did not imagine himself in the place of the heavy box he saw Danny lift effortlessly onto a table. No.)

But of course, the peace couldn’t last forever. But by then, Danny was so antsy, he welcomed the trouble with open arms.

It starts with a clown. Danny knows who he is. He knows who Danny is.

So, Danny has no idea why the clown thought it would be a good idea to aggravate the owner of Gotham’s official neutral grounds. See, Clovkwork? Danny’s learned how to gauge his own political importance!

“HAHAHAHAHA! COME OUT, DANNY-BOY! LET ME TELL YOU A JOKE!”

Danny comes out and grabs a chair, and with a flat expression, says, “you’re not funny and I hate clowns.”

And then he swings and slams the chair into the Joker’s face. Over and over again until Danny’s sure the clown won’t get back up. The thing about Gotham’s outdoor chairs is that they’re mad out of steel and are bolted down to the ground to prevent undedicated thieves (dedicated thieves can and will steal the bolted down steel chairs). The Joker’s hired muscle just watched this scrawny twenty-something year old yank the steel chair and take some of the fucking ground and the bolts with it and beat the fuck out of their boss who is the literal Joker.

They surrender on the spot and is taken to jail. Danny just smiles at the officers who come by and since he’s got pretty privilege and they don’t want to mess with the guy who, again, owns one of Gotham’s official neutral ground and also beat up Joker without breaking a sweat, the officers just lets him go with a warning.

And then the bats comes, and wow, Danny’s playing mentor to a formally dead person again!

But before that, the Red Hood asks for an autograph on the Gotham Gazette article with a picture of a tired Danny standing over Joker’s prone body. Then Hood stammers through asking Danny out (which Danny said yes to because he’s tired, not blind, and Hood is built like a brick house and HOT).

Batman interrogates him. Danny, who can tell that this man needs therapy and is Sad TM, tells Bats that Danny’s died before and that’s why he’s like this. He also calls Batman a furry, but like in a nice way. And then he kicks Batman out with a coffee and a file on Nanda Parbat.

Now, Danny’s got a date to prepare for and he realizes that maybe this is what Jazz wanted for him- to be happy and mostly safe and happy. (Or, happier, he thinks. It’s been a long time since he’s been truly happy, but this might be a good start)

#bamf danny phantom #danny phantom #dc x dp #jason todd #Jason takes him to a library and they pick out books for each other #Danny asks him on a second date and they talk about the book over coffee #and then they watch the stars (Danny uses his ghost powers to clear a patch of sky)#but Danny just kind of watches Jason’s face and goes yeah this is just as good #Danny dngasf #Danny will throw hands with a clown #Danny thinks the Gotham Rogues are kinda cute #with their gimmicks #unimpressed bc they’re kind of obvious #and he’s seen worse and better #danny is Gotham’s Mom Friend

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theskywithin · 7 days ago

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🌞 Your Solar Return Sun in The Houses

Every year, the Sun returns to the exact place it touched when you first arrived into this world. It’s a quiet coronation, invisible to most, but your soul feels it. It marks the beginning of a new chapter, a new breath, a new becoming.

☀️ Solar Return Sun in the 1st House

This year, life cracks the mirror you've been using to judge yourself and places a window there instead. It’s not about how you appear anymore. It’s about how you exist when no one’s grading you. This season asks you to burn every mask you wore just to be loved, and walk bare-faced into the morning. It will feel disorienting at first, like losing a role you've rehearsed for years. But somewhere underneath the discomfort, you’ll find the raw, bright skin of your real self emerging. You are not becoming someone new. You are remembering who you were before the world asked you to edit it. This year, your body, your breath, your being, they are the message. You are not here to be understood. You are here to be. Let the world adjust to your light.

☀️ Solar Return Sun in the 2nd House

This year, life leads you by the hand into the garden of your own value and locks the gate behind you. It’s a season where you cannot keep leaving yourself for bargains dressed as love. The soil you plant into will be tested: are you building worth from what’s solid, or what’s shiny? Are you trading your roots for rented approval? Scarcity will try to whisper lies to you, that you have to grab, to hoard, to prove yourself. But beneath all that noise, this year offers a quieter truth: what you already carry is enough to sustain you, and anything that costs your peace is already too expensive. This isn’t about ownership. It’s about becoming unbuyable.

☀️ Solar Return Sun in the 3rd House

This year, the air around you buzzes with messages, but you are being asked not just to speak louder, but to speak truer. It’s not about winning debates or decorating conversations. It’s about cutting through the noise and reaching for the pulse underneath. Words you used to wield like armor will need to soften. Quick wit will be replaced by slow truth. This year, every casual conversation holds a portal. Every passing thought could be a seed. You are building bridges with your voice, not to escape yourself, but to call yourself home. Speak, even when it feels too small to matter. That’s where the real architecture of your year is being built: word by word, breath by breath.

☀️ Solar Return Sun in the 4th House

This year, life calls you home, not to a place, but to the parts of yourself you abandoned to survive. The walls you once built for safety will start to ache for windows. The rooms inside you that stayed dark out of habit will ask for light. It's not about fixing the past. It's about making peace with the soil that grew you. Family, whether chosen or given, will mirror back where your roots are strong and where they still need water. This is a year of restoration, of quiet revolutions beneath the skin, where nurturing yourself is not an afterthought, it’s the blueprint. Healing will not come in fireworks. It will come in how gently you hold your own name when no one is listening.

☀️ Solar Return Sun in the 5th House

This year, life dares you to risk joy without an escape plan. To fall in love with the act of creating, not the applause it may (or may not) bring. To laugh so deeply you forget who’s watching. To play without asking if you’ve earned the right to be light. Childhood wounds will flicker, reminding you where you learned that happiness had to be earned. But this time, you know better: joy is not a reward, it’s a rebellion. This is the year you dance barefoot over the broken promises of the past and build new worlds with the music only you can hear.

☀️ Solar Return Sun in the 6th House

This year, life teaches you that devotion is not a grand gesture, it’s built in the quiet hours. Healing becomes the way you brush your teeth, the way you keep promises to your future self. It’s the year where your body, your mind, and your spirit will ask for a truer rhythm, not the one that keeps you productive, but the one that keeps you alive. You will notice how chaos seduces you into self-abandonment, and how gentleness stitches you back together. It's not about working harder. It's about working with yourself, not against. This is the year you learn that maintenance is a form of magic too.

☀️ Solar Return Sun in the 7th House

This year, life hands you a mirror shaped like another person, not to lose yourself inside them, but to learn where you end and they begin. Love will no longer be about proving your worth by being needed. This is a season of partnerships that call you higher, not partnerships that ask you to shrink. You will see who holds you because they cherish you, and who holds you because they fear losing control. Relationships will become your classrooms but also your launchpads. It’s not about being chosen anymore. It's about choosing yourself, even inside love.

☀️ Solar Return Sun in the 8th House

This year, life invites you into the places where you still hide from yourself. Every buried hunger, every secret ache, every boundary you thought you could live without, they will rise. Not to punish you. To free you. Transformation is not gentle here. It peels. It burns. It strips away everything you thought made you safe. But underneath the ruin, there is resurrection. This is the year you stop surviving your life and start inhabiting it fully, even if it means breaking open first.

☀️ Solar Return Sun in the 9th House

This year, life tosses you a compass and sets your soul loose. It will dare you to believe that you are allowed to outgrow your beginnings. New questions will replace old certainties. Wanderlust won’t just pull you toward places, it will pull you toward parts of yourself you haven’t met yet. This is a season of becoming fluent in the language of your own freedom. You will no longer be asked to explain your expansion to people who never left their front porch. This is the year you live wide and love even wider.

☀️ Solar Return Sun in the 10th House

This year, life builds you a stage but asks first if you’re ready to be seen without the armor. Recognition is coming, but it’s not the applause that will matter. It’s whether you stayed loyal to yourself when no one was clapping yet. Authority is not something given to you, it's something you become when you decide you are enough. This is the year you sculpt your legacy, not out of success, but out of self-respect. Build what you once needed. Become who you once dreamed about.

☀️ Solar Return Sun in the 11th House

This year, life pulls you into a bigger story. Dreams that used to feel like daydreams will start to wear real names, real timelines, real forms. Community will no longer be a background hum, it will become a cornerstone. You will find your people, or your people will find you, but only when you dare to dream so loudly the world can't pretend not to hear you. This is the year you stop hiding your wildest visions. You were never too much, you were just ahead of schedule.

☀️ Solar Return Sun in the 12th House

This year, life draws the curtains to bring you back to yourself. It’s a season of invisible blooming, of silent alchemy. Healing will happen where you stopped looking. Miracles will slip in through cracks you once feared. You are not lost. You are becoming too vast to be mapped the way you used to be. This is the year you learn that surrender is not giving up, it’s growing beyond the need to control what’s already been promised to you. Trust the dark. That’s where your light is being remade.

#astrology #astro community #astro observations #astro notes #natal chart #birth chart #natal astrology #astrology tumblr #solar return #astrology readings #solar return chart #solar return observations #solar return astrology #solar return notes #astrology notes

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untitlzd · 1 month ago

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silence doesn’t stop rich boys

top!sim jaeyun x btm!male reader smut

Jake Sim's party invite arrives—thick cardstock, old-money cursive. You go because that's what people like you do. The champagne flows, his gaze lingers, and no one notices when you disappear into the penthouse's private wing.

continued in “rich boys don’t get dirty.”

warnings: noncon/dubcon, power dynamics, possessiveness, semi-public sex, oral sex, rough sex, breeding kink (implied), aftercare as manipulation, lowkey inspired by gossip girl

Old money has a scent. A blend of expensive leather, French perfume, and promises sealed generations ago. In this closed circle, luxury isn't ostentation—it's routine. Watches worth more than cars, dinners in penthouses that don't appear on Google Maps, and last names that function as keys. And among them stands Y/n.

He was never exactly one of them, but he learned fast. The son of an influential attorney—the kind who turns crises into lucrative settlements—he grew up between silent meetings and champagne toasts before even understanding what was being celebrated. He didn't inherit a centuries-old fortune, but carried something nearly as valuable: influence. And in this game, knowing how to use it is what truly matters.

To others, Y/n belongs. He wears the right brands, speaks with the confidence of someone who knows the backstage dealings, and maintains that discreet smile of someone who never falters. But behind the shine lies a fragile structure. Exclusive parties hide unstable alliances, and anonymous messages circulate more frequently than truths.

Because in this world, what sustains you isn't having the most—it's knowing how to remain silent when everyone is watching.

Despite not carrying a surname forged by generations, Y/n was always there—at the most private parties, at invitation-only gatherings, at the center of the group where few truly belong. His mere presence was enough to calm any tension: when your father commands one of the country's most feared law firms, scandals tend to disappear before they even take shape. Having Y/n around wasn't just prestige—it was protection.

So it came as no surprise when Jake's name appeared linked to the next big party. Jake belonged to a nearly extinct type of social royalty: his family synonymous with political tradition, silent influence, and inherited power. Even among the most well-connected, Jake stood out. The typical good guy—or at least, he knew how to play one. Always smiling, always impeccable, always untouchable. No one dared confront him. And at the same time, no one seemed to care enough to try.

Y/n wasn't the type to decline a party, but the invitation from Jake caused some unease. Reserved, careful, molded by the image his parents insisted he maintain, Jake rarely exposed himself beyond what was necessary. Still, the news spread fast. A single anonymous post on the city's most venomous blog turned the night into an event:

"Party at the politicians' house? Seems the new generation decided to play at freedom. Closed list, open bottles..."

The warning had been issued, and as always, everyone would pretend not to care.

Y/n dressed in silence as he read the post. No surprise—just the sensation that everything was following its course. He and Jake weren't friends. Never had been. But there was a silent pact between them: a strategic coexistence, without excess, without intimacy. Both knew where they stood, and more importantly, where they wanted to remain.

At the top.

It was as if they respected, without ever saying it aloud, each other's places in that hierarchy. Neither wanted to take the other's space—it wasn't necessary. But somehow, there was a strange companionship between them. An implicit recognition that even amidst so many masks, you could trust someone who didn't try to be you.

Jake's penthouse occupied one of the oldest—and most discreetly luxurious—buildings on the Upper East Side. The pale stone facade, wrought-iron balconies, and silent corridors covered by time-worn red carpets all seemed part of a New York that refused to die. A place where power needed no ostentation—just permanence.

When the elevator opened directly into the main hall, Y/n was met with an expected scene: warm lighting, music perfectly chosen to seem spontaneous, uniformed waiters circulating with crystal trays, and a group of people who knew exactly the value of being seen—and even more, the value of pretending not to care.

Jake appeared immediately, with that classic, trained, millimeter-perfect smile.

"So glad you came," he said, extending a glass to Y/n. His voice was low, his gaze a bit too intense for the casual tone. He was impeccable, as always. Light linen shirt, sleeves rolled to the forearm, cologne expensive enough not to be obvious. And there was something more there—a touch on the shoulder that lasted a second too long, a look that took too long to look away.

Y/n smiled back, with that kind of calculated lightness he used when he didn't want to seem surprised. The environment enveloped him easily: flowing conversations, muffled laughter, soundtrack alternating between sophistication and faux nonchalance. The penthouse view framed the city lights, as if the world outside were just a backdrop for what really mattered—what was happening here inside.

The hours passed almost fluidly, dissolved in sips of expensive drinks and conversations that said little. Y/n drank slowly, as he always did. But at some point, he lost count. Maybe because he was too relaxed, maybe because the drinks were stronger than they seemed. Or maybe because Jake made sure his glass was never empty.

The music had shifted to something more sensual, and the spaces between bodies grew smaller. Y/n leaned against the frame of one of the wide windows, feeling the night air against his skin. The alcohol's effects were showing: the edges of the room softened, voices blurred, thoughts slightly tangled.

And then he noticed.

Jake was still nearby. Too nearby.

All night, he seemed to be watching Y/n. Never directly—but from time to time, a quick glance, a directed comment, a constant presence in the same spaces. It wasn't aggressive, nor was it clear. But there was something there. An excessive care, a proximity that bordered on intimacy, even if wrapped in the same facade as always.

The strange thing was that this intimacy had never existed. They'd never been close. Not like that. And yet, Jake acted as if there were something between them that only he remembered. As if he were just resuming a familiarity that had never truly been built.

Y/n looked away, as if trying to regain control of his own space. But even without meeting his gaze directly, he knew Jake was still there, firm, smiling as if everything were perfectly in order.

And maybe it was. Or maybe not.

But in that world, that was the rule: you could never be certain of anything.

The night wore on, and gradually the number of guests began to dwindle. Those who knew the right time to leave—before the shine turned to weariness—began saying goodbye with soft hugs and empty promises of "see you soon." Y/n took the opportunity to circulate a bit more, exchange some basic pleasantries here and there, maintain the social posture he knew by heart.

But as the room emptied, other presences took up the space—more intense, more distracted. Certain substances began appearing naturally, passing between familiar hands, hidden behind loose laughter and wandering gazes. And suddenly, it all felt like too much.

Y/n needed air.

He wasn't the type to make a scene, much less allow himself vulnerabilities in public. So without anyone noticing, he slipped down one of the hallways until he found a slightly ajar door. He entered silently. It was one of the bedrooms—well-decorated, immaculate, almost impersonal, like the rest of the penthouse. He closed the door behind him and sat on the bed. A few seconds later, he lay down.

He wasn't exactly unwell. But he wasn't fine either. Everything felt stifling, as if the air had grown thicker. Jake's insistent gaze all night, the never-empty glass, the conversations that always demanded a response, a reaction, a version of himself. It was too much.

His head throbbed silently. The ceiling seemed farther away than it should. For a few minutes, Y/n let his mind go blank, float, trying to organize what he felt—or perhaps just distance himself from what he didn't want to think about.

And then, the door opened.

At first, Y/n didn't even register it. He was somewhere outside himself, numb, as if the world beyond had slowed to a crawl. He only realized he wasn't alone anymore when he heard the voice—low and sweet, almost too careful.

"Hey, Y/n?"

Jake.

He was there, beside the bed, his gaze too gentle for someone who—as far as anyone knew—never got this close. His presence, unexpectedly near, cut through the silence like a whisper loaded with something Y/n couldn't yet name.

And even as his body sank deeper into the mattress, motionless, his mind was now alert.

Because in that world, nothing happened by accident. Not even sincere concern. If that's what this was.

"Are you okay?"

Y/n nodded almost reflexively, his voice stuck in his throat.

"Just... not feeling too well," he murmured, quiet, as if speaking louder would upset what little stability remained. It wasn't a lie. His body felt too heavy, his head spun at an odd rhythm, and everything around him seemed slightly out of focus.

Jake didn't answer right away. He sat on the edge of the bed, eyes fixed on Y/n with an intensity that seemed kind but was something more. There was something hidden there—a concern that wasn't just concern.

"You drank too much," he said, almost accusatory. Then, softer: "Should've told me you weren't feeling well."

Y/n frowned slightly, trying to understand why, exactly, that would be Jake's responsibility. But he said nothing. Couldn't.

Jake continued:

"Enjoying the party?"

The question was simple, but loaded with expectation. Y/n blinked slowly, fighting to keep his eyes open. Before he could answer, Jake spoke again, his voice still low, sweet... but now a little tighter.

"Saw you talking a lot with that guy..." He tilted his head slightly. "You hook up with someone?"

Y/n took too long to process. The question felt misplaced, invasive. As if they were having a different conversation in a different context. He tried to sit up a little, but his body still weighed him down. And then he felt it.

That initial concern—so delicate—now sounded like something else. Control disguised as care. A subtle demand hidden in a sweet tone. As if every word had been chosen to seem harmless but carried something heavier underneath.

Jake kept his fingers there, lightly stroking Y/n's cheek. As if marking his presence. As if reminding Y/n—without saying it aloud—who was here, who had always been watching.

"Just wanna know if you had fun... with me around," he said, still wearing that contained smile.

It wasn't just curiosity. It was something between a warning and a reminder.

Y/n's stomach turned. His head was still foggy, his body still heavy, and now Jake was too close, too demanding. He was smiling, but it wasn't the same smile as before.

And in that moment, it became clear: this wasn't concern. It was surveillance.

And worst of all—Jake didn't seem at all inclined to leave.

Y/n shifted, restless. The discomfort wasn't just emotional anymore—it was physical. Jake's presence seemed to fill more space than the room allowed. What had been a quiet bedroom now felt claustrophobic. The air was thin. With a silent effort, Y/n tried to sit up, to push away the weight of the situation.

But the moment his elbows left the mattress, Jake acted.

One hand shoved him back down against the bed. Not a subtle gesture—direct, firm, making it clear this wasn't about care. It was control.

"Stay down."

The words were still polite, but the tone betrayed the tension beneath the facade. Jake's face remained aligned with the image of the perfect heir, the composed scion of old politics. But his eyes said something else: impatience, dominance. Something that wanted more than answers—it wanted certainty that Y/n knew his place.

Y/n stared up at him, surprised, his body still hesitant. His mind, muddled by alcohol and the night's atmosphere, struggled to process this clearly, but the alarm bells were ringing now. This was far from a normal conversation.

Jake leaned in, bracing one arm beside Y/n's head, closing even more of the space between them. His posture was carefully relaxed. But the proximity was invasive.

"You didn't answer my question." The words came sharp, with the coldness of someone who wouldn't tolerate being ignored. Not a request. A demand. "Did you hook up with anyone tonight?"

Y/n's silence was taken as provocation.

Jake didn't back off. If anything, he pressed closer.

"Because..." He murmured, that tense smile still on his lips, "honestly, I don't get what you're still looking for out there."

Then came the gesture that sealed it. Jake's hand went straight to Y/n's hair. His fingers moved slowly, almost as if fixing something out of place. But nothing was out of place—it was just an excuse to touch. An intimacy too familiar for the superficial relationship they had. Almost possessive. Almost a warning.

"You know there's no one here like me."

His voice stayed quiet, but weighted. There was a tension there, masked by the same veneer of good manners as always. Not an offhand comment. This was territorial.

Y/n swallowed hard.

The music, the laughter, the voices from the party seemed to have vanished. Everything now revolved around that presence—suffocating, constant. Jake was here. Too close. Too firm. And still smiling.

But there was nothing harmless in that smile anymore.

Suddenly, the hand that had been stroking Y/n's hair slid down to his face—fingers firm, pressing into the sides of his jaw, forcing him to maintain eye contact.

"Cat got your fucking tongue?"

The question cut through the air like a slap. No more polish, no more well-bred heir persona. Jake's mask had slipped, and what remained was pure, aggressive, direct control. The entire room seemed to shrink under the weight of those words.

Y/n looked away, his pulse racing, body rigid under a touch that was no longer ambiguous.

"Jake... you're drunk," he said, voice low, hesitant.

But it was obvious Jake was completely sober where it counted. His gaze was steady, his speech firm, his movements coldly calculated. No confusion or clumsiness in his actions—just intent.

Jake didn't respond.

Instead, his fingers trailed down, slow and deliberate, to the first button of Y/n's white shirt. He began undoing them, one by one, without hurry, as if exploring territory he already considered his.

The silence between them grew heavy, suffocating. The room remained isolated from the rest of the world, time seeming to slow. The tension was palpable—and above all, dangerous.

Because Jake knew exactly what he was doing. And he made sure Y/n knew that here, he set the pace.

The air in the bedroom grew thick, charged with the scent of expensive whiskey and Jake's woody cologne. His fingers—always so careful in public—now worked with brutal efficiency on Y/n's buttons, like a merchant unwrapping a package he already owned.

"Bet sluts like you love attention, don't you?" Jake murmured, his voice dripping like poisoned honey. His breath was hot against Y/n's face as he leaned closer. "Show up and suddenly everything has to be about you, huh?"

The second button came undone with an almost inaudible snap. Jake smiled, his dark amber eyes glinting with a light that didn't belong to the room.

"Think a little toy can go around denying what its owner decides?" The word "owner" came out like a whip, just as his fingers found the waistband of Y/n's pants.

Y/n tried to move, but his body wouldn't respond—whether from the alcohol, the shock, or something deeper he refused to name. Jake chuckled low, the sound vibrating against Y/n's neck.

"Look at you," he whispered, the zipper sliding down with an obscene noise in the quiet room. "Don't even need help. Already know your place."

His hand slipped beneath the fabric, finding heated skin. Jake exhaled, as if rediscovering something long lost.

"All this time pretending you didn't want it..." His grip tightened possessively, making Y/n arch. "But your body always knew the truth, didn't it?"

The touch was both intimate and cruel, as if Jake weren't exploring but verifying what he already owned. His eyes never left Y/n's face, watching every microexpression like a scientist observing an experiment.

"Should've seen your face when I invited you," he continued, fingers now toying with Y/n's waistband, pushing it down in slow, deliberate motions. "Everyone watching. Everyone knowing." A calculated pause. "You liked it, didn't you? Knowing I wanted you here."

Y/n tried to speak, but only a rough sound escaped. Jake smiled, satisfied.

"Don't answer." His free hand gripped Y/n's chin, forcing their eyes to meet. "We've got all night for you to learn to say 'thank you.'"

Y/n froze, his body tense yet strangely pliant, as if some deep part of him already understood resistance was futile. His lips were slightly parted, his breathing uneven, his gaze locked on Jake's face—half desire, half dominion.

Jake didn't waste time.

With one rough motion, he yanked Y/n's pants down, exposing him to the cool air of the bedroom. He was already hard, precum glistening at the tip, and Jake didn't hesitate—he gripped the back of Y/n's neck and shoved his cock down that warm throat in one thrust.

"Open wider, whore," Jake snarled, fingers tangling in Y/n's hair as he pushed deeper, making him gag. Spit spilled from the corners of his mouth, tears springing to his eyes, but Jake gave no quarter.

"That's it, take it all, you fucking slut," Jake groaned, hips snapping forward, burying himself to the hilt, his coarse pubes grinding against Y/n's nose. "This what you wanted? All that attention?"

Y/n could barely breathe, his hands fisting the sheets, his body trembling between shock and submission. But for some reason, he didn't fight. Didn't try to shove Jake away. Just accepted it, as if some part of him had always known this was inevitable.

Jake grinned, triumphant, yanking Y/n's head back to stare into his eyes while fucking his mouth without mercy.

"Gonna swallow every drop, pretty boy. Every last one."

Y/n didn't realize when he started sucking in earnest. It was instinctive, like his body knew what to do even as his mind scrambled to process. His lips sealed around Jake's cock, tongue lapping at the salty precum as his head began to move, trying to please.

Jake let out a ragged moan, his grip tightening in Y/n's hair.

"Fuck, you learn fast," he growled, pulling Y/n's head back just to slam forward again, dragging his cock over that willing tongue. "Already sucking like a trained little cockslut."

Y/n could barely think, his body hot and pliant, but when Jake thrust deep again, forcing his throat to open, he choked, tears spilling over. Drool dripped down his chin, making an even bigger mess, but Jake didn't stop.

"Swallow it, bitch," he ordered, pounding into Y/n's mouth with brutal strokes. "Take it."

When Jake finally pulled out, leaving Y/n gasping and dripping, he grabbed his chin, forcing their eyes to meet.

"Now that you've got the mouth down," Jake murmured, rubbing the head of his cock over Y/n's swollen lips, "time you learned how to take a cock in that tight little ass."

Y/n's eyes widened, but Jake was already hauling him up by the hips, flipping him onto his stomach like a doll.

"Don't worry, sweetheart," he whispered, spitting into his palm and slicking himself up. "I'll make it fit."

And Y/n, somehow, already knew there was no choice left.

When Y/n blinked, he was on his stomach, fingers clawing at the obscenely expensive silk sheets of Jake's bed. His tailored slacks—the ones that cost more than a waiter's monthly salary—were bunched around his knees, trapping him like fabric handcuffs, leaving only his ass exposed to the dim bedroom light. His skin prickled with awareness as Jake positioned himself behind him, a predator moving in for the final strike.

Jake took his time. Spitting into his own hand with a crudeness that would've been vulgar anywhere else but here, in this locked penthouse bedroom, felt as natural as pouring an 18-year-old whiskey. His wet fingers rubbed over Y/n's tight hole, making him shiver.

"Gonna hurt less if you relax," Jake murmured, his voice equal parts threat and promise, as the thick head of his cock pressed against resistant muscle. "Still gonna hurt, though."

When he pushed in, it was like a banker closing a hostile deal—slow enough to be deliberate, hard enough to brook no negotiation. Y/n bit back a scream, his fingers destroying the expensive sheets, his teeth sinking into his own bottom lip until he tasted blood.

Jake gave him a cruelly short moment to adjust, his hands gripping Y/n's hips like handles. When he started moving, every thrust was a lesson, a territorial claim.

"Look at you," Jake rasped, watching Y/n's body give way beneath him, molding to his. "All prim and proper at the party, and now?" A sharp snap of his hips. "Just a ruined little slut on my cock."

Y/n tried to muffle his moans in the pillow, but Jake yanked his head back by the hair, forcing out a broken sound.

Jake wasn't gentle.

Every movement was a declaration, a brand made with his entire body—as if he needed to carve the truth into Y/n's skin: he was owned now.

And against all reason, Y/n stopped resisting.

The sounds spilling from his lips weren't protests anymore, but surrender, need. Broken, shameless, desperate—as if every noise was another piece of his defiance being ripped away.

This wasn't the Jake he knew. This was someone darker, more possessive, more real. And no matter how much Y/n tried not to think about it, his body responded like it had always belonged to him.

"Such a pretty little thing," Jake growled, crushing their mouths together in a wet, sloppy kiss. Spit smeared across Y/n's lips, mixing them together. "Finally admitting you're just a whore, huh?"

The pace turned punishing, each thrust deeper, harder, more claiming. Jake dug his fingers into Y/n's jaw, marking the bone beneath.

"Gonna come together, yeah?" His voice was rough, wrecked with lust. "Know you're close. Be a good toy for me."

Y/n could feel his own orgasm building, his body tightening in response to Jake’s relentless rhythm. He was so close—so close—and Jake knew it, his thrusts growing sharper, more erratic.

"Come on, baby," Jake panted against his ear, his voice breaking. "Come with me."

And then it hit them both at once—Y/n’s body arched, his release crashing over him like a wave, his moan muffled against the sheets. Jake followed instantly, burying himself deep as he came, his groan raw and unfiltered against Y/n’s skin.

For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of their ragged breathing, the heat between them, the weight of Jake’s body pressing Y/n into the mattress.

Then, as if flipping a switch, Jake moved.

"Should go say goodbye to everyone," he said, his voice already smoothing back into the perfect host's cadence, like the last hour never happened. He stood, his cock still glistening where it brushed Y/n's thigh, and cleaned up with a casual swipe, like an artist wiping his hands after a painting. "Can't just disappear."

Y/n didn't answer. Couldn't. Just closed his eyes, his body heavy, his mind hazy.

Jake smiled, adjusting his shirt, his hair, everything back into place.

"Get some rest, okay?" Soft, almost tender. "I'll be back soon." A pause. "You were such a good boy. Did so well."

Then he was gone, the door clicking shut behind him.

From outside, Jake's voice carried, bright and animated, mixing with the remaining guests' laughter, the clink of champagne flutes, the soft music. As if nothing had changed. As if he were still just the perfect Jake everyone knew.

And Y/n, as sleep pulled him under, couldn't tell which version was real anymore.

Or if, in the end, they both were.

note: hey! that's my first time writing something like this, so please be nice :) english is not my first language, so im sorry if something sounds off or weird! bye

#enhypen x male reader #kpop x male reader #kpop fanfic #kpop fanfiction #sim jaeyun x male reader #jake x male reader #kpop smut #jake x reader #jake sim #sim jaeyun #luke fics :)#enhypen smut #jake x yn

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parasolemn · 1 month ago

Text

X7 Acts 4-5 Summaries Transcription

Acts 4 and 5 (mostly 4) are the most likely to have errors since they're never completely clear, so please take this with a grain of salt! Suggested edits are appreciated.

I've already transcribed acts 1-3 here. Double check that the version you're reading is the most up-to-date one. :-)

(Updated as at 13/04/2025 at 2PM AEST)

Act 4 - The Doubt

Summary

Size: Large Playtime: ~5 hours Energy: Medium Emotional tone: Creeping doubt & feeling like an Outsider 70% Talking; 30% Action 50% Comedy; 50% Darkness

"Arriving in the Fourth Act, Cuno is officially furthest from his home that he's ever been, while Cunoesse is coming nearer to hers than she has been in the years after she escaped, and this [distinction?] is starting to get difficult to ignore. The presence of Hämärä Maa looms over them both, as the fabled archipelago lies just across the bay, across the [...]. Having disembarked from the Train virtually in the middle of nowhere, Cuno and Cunoesse come upon the Rhöne-Tréville (Royal) Penal Colony or the Tréville, but most people call it: a [...] centred around a former Royalist prison-labor camp. Being that geographically [...] to Hämärä Maa, the small community represents the closest point of contact between the archipelago and the world, participating in the trade of goods, legends and the profitable psychedelic marrow of an endemic cave fish. Meeting the locals, the kids will learn about the impending relocation of the surprisingly harmonious community-sustaining prison complex, and the complicated [...] between the coordinate [...] of freedom, imprisonment, community and [reunion? tension?]. They will also begin on their [...] is a growing sense of dread that Cunoesse got herself into something that is much darker and more morbid than he could have expected. In order to progress to Hämärä Maa to find out for themselves, the kids must [...]. [...] they must [...] Cunoesse's half remembered [...] family connections among the marrow traders, some of whom are now in the prison, or they might win their way forward with [...] and sneers, stealing a toy raft from a gang of violent girl children."

Player experience

[...] begin to suspect we are approaching a sinister [...] with the things we've been avoiding all along.

[...] more and more about Hämärä Maa [...] borders of a bad neighbourhood, like walking alone at [...] realising your GPS is leading you in the direction of [...] you've realised way too late to do anything about it.

[...] are more frightening if they are unseen. Hearing [...] tales about Hämärä Maa before we've had [...] establish what's there will build up the sense of dread [...] for the game's climax location.

[...] for the later endgame where Cuno breaks free of the bond.

The power balance between Cuno, Cunoesse and the player's conscience will again be tested as Cunoesse urges Cuno to brutally fight one of the Tréville girls in order to steal her raft.

The small self-sustaining community will present the player with the opportunity to engage with the full set of game systems, including game economy, Thoughts, substances, exploration and multiple-approach problem-solving.

Act 5 - The Arrival

Summary

Size: Medium Playtime: ~2 hrs Energy: High Emotional tone: [...] & Reality-Twisting 60% Talking; 40% Action 30% Comedy; 70% Darkness

"After all the fear and the mayhem, Cuno and Cunoesse are finally there: landing on the shores of Hämärä Maa, their promised shadow-land. Greeted with the sounds of shamanic singing and solemn drums, the kids will catch the locals in the midst of a funeral ceremony, gaining a glimpse into both the cultural practices of the Näkki and the strange and colorful faces of the island's population. The island has changed since Cunoesse has last called it home. Only her impossibly old grandfather remains, and her [sins?]. She knows she must do one last thing before she can plead to be readmitted into her tribe. Under the pretense of a Hämärän naming ceremony, Cunoesse pressures Cuno into ingesting the bone marrow of the psychedelic cave fish. As Cunoesse takes on the role of his fucked-up trip shaman, Cuno grapples with the growing clarity that her goal is deeply sinister: to bind him to herself, or kill them both trying. Cunoesse embraces him and throws them both off a pier, pulling him deep under water, triggering the stylish climax sequence of the game: the Underwater Psychedelic Trip. Reality will [...] as you seemingly sink for an eternity, fighting for your life and your identity as Cunoesse's true intentions come to light - to use the drug to manipulate Cuno into total and irrevocable ego death, and make him believe that he is Jaakko, the boy Cunoesse killed in the caves three years prior. That was her plan all along: to bring Cuno all the way from Martinaise to buy herself passage back into her community by replacing what she has broken. All she needs him to do now in order for her plan to work is to play along, *really* play along, so deeply that he will never recall being someone else ever again. Their showdown under water will determine whether Cuno will let go of his identity in one [...], or if he is willing to kill his other half in order to remain who he is. The Act spins off into up to five possible endings, depending on which one of the kids lives, dies or is brainwashed."

Player experience

We want a sense of culmination in every way -- the culmination the journey, of finally getting to see what Hämärä Maa is truly like and what Cunoesse truly is.

This should be a streamlined sequence, funneling the player [seamlessly] towards the end. We want the player to be unable to [...] the game once they've landed on Hämärä Maa, similarly to how Harry's story spirals tighter and tighter towards its resolution from the moment he steps onto the Deserter's Island.

We want the player to feel as if they are performing cultural [contact?] with an ominous insular community, something like Midsommar but with degenerate alcoholics instead of tradwives.

This is where everything we've tried to do over the course of the game comes to count. All the dual-character systems that make the player roleplay as both Cuno & Cunoesse, all the story beats that make the player internalise their respective stakes, all the emotional connection to this feral superorganism, if we can make the player feel like we're making them choose between two halves of themselves, we've achieved what we set out to do. If they feel torn apart, agonized over their choices, we've won.

#disco elysium #not par art #locust city #project x7

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cheriladycl01 · 1 year ago

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First time - Lando Norris x Innocent! Reader

Plot: Lando finds out his girlfriend is more innocent than he ever thought and that turns him on hard core.

Warnings: SMUT Innocence Knik etc MINORS DNI 18+

When Lando first started dating you he knew you were pretty innocent and oblivious to the world around you.

The first time he noticed it was when he first met you. You were in a club and he sat back watching you the whole night, run around like mother hen after your friends who ... arguably weren't being good friends to you and were using you as their sober ride home.

You were making sure your friends had clean drinks straight from the bartender and handing them tissues or hand gels when they touched anything dirty.

Your friends had left you that night, leaving Lando to take the opportunity to come and introduce himself. He wasn't shocked to find out this was your first time in a club, that you hated it and wanted to go home.

"So, what brings you to Monaco?" he'd asked you and you gave him this big gummy grin that he couldn't help but fall in love with.

"My friends and I are on a girls trip celebrating graduation!" you answered, trying not to yell incase the music went quiet but loud enough so he could hear.

"And that's why they've all abandoned you?" he chuckled walking you over to the bar.

"Yeah, I think they just have different ideas of fun than I do, we saw some really beautiful museums earlier which was my idea!" you smile thinking back to the earlier part of the day which you had favoured.

"Drink?" he asks you and you smile nodding your head.

"I'll have a Coors again and ..." he says naming his beer before looking at you.

"I'll just have a Spite please!" you order in French from the bartender who smiles at you.

"You can order something more expensive like alcohol i don't mind!" he smiles down at you, only for you to shake your head.

"I erm, don't drink! I've never drank alcohol actually!" you smile, pretty proud of you lifestyle.

"Yeah, I used to say I didn't drink and then my friends introduced me to it. Never been the same since!" he frowns in a joking manner making you laugh.

"You're funny!" you giggled.

You guys talked for the rest of the night, until it was the closing hours of the club and you had to part ways.

He'd regretted not getting your number.

The next time he met you was a complete coincidence. He was travelling around and caving in Vietnam. You were there building sustainable housing on your year after graduating. He knew it was you right away and everyone was so confused when he went running of to go say hello to you.

After that he got your number. He had to secure it after a second chance of meeting you which he'd been considering was gods gift to him.

After a few dates and texting back and forth for a while you started dating.

"Y/N, can we talk about something serious?" he'd asked you and you nodded coming to sit next to him on the sofa in his apartment.

"Yeah what's wrong?" you ask him with a frown thinking you'd done something wrong.

"How would you feel, about becoming my girlfriend..." he asks before presenting you with a little gift bag in papaya orange that had chocolates, flowers, a little card and a pair of expensive Cartier earrings. Not that you knew that until you got back to the hotel you were currently staying in and opened them up.

"Oh my! Yes! Please" you replied happily and he was trying so hard not to laugh at your super polite and formal answer to his ... well what now felt like a proposition

You were so happy and getting to spend time with Lando was everything! You came to races and everyone adored you, not just the people in McLaren with Lando but all the TV presenters, the fans and the other teams.

Lando was confused that after having dated for three months you hadn't done anything within a sexual nature. Not that it was an issue for him but he was just used to his girlfriends being bold and upfront compared to you, who was a little shyer and more reserved.

He knew he just needed to be a grown up and talk to you about it but he didn't think he could have this conversation with you. It felt wrong almost.

"Baby, can we talk?" Lando says patting the sofa while you were in the kitchen starting to prep for the lunch you were going to make the both of you.

"Yeah, what's wrong? Did I do something?" you ask looking at him carefully and taking a seat next to you.

"No, no not at all. It's kinda the opposite actually!" he laughs at his own joke not thinking you'd take notice of it.

"I haven't done something? I - did i forget to do my dished? I'm so sorry if i did!" you say looking back to the sink frantically thinking you'd missed your glass of orange juice and bowl of cereal you'd had this morning.

"No no, and don't think of it that way. I was just joking around - erm, I just wanted to say we've been dating for a while now and I was hoping we could start to be more intimate?" he asks holding your hand and your eyes widen and your cheeks redden.

"I- erm" you start to stutter and he rubs his thumb over your hand.

"We don't have too... if you don't want too! But I just wanted to ask!" he rushes out not wanting to make you uncomfortable.

"It's just that ... I've never ever done anything like that!" you say looking at him with those innocent doe eyes that made him go crazy.

"Like never ever?" he asks in shock, you were a gorgeous girl and even when he was out with you, guys would always be coming up to you, making conversation and flirting with you.

Now that he thought about it, you never actually could tell when you were being lightly flirted with. You were very oblivious too all moves guys made, unless they were literally asking for you number.

"Mmmm no, I mean ... you know you're like my first boyfriend right?" you ask him, cocking your head to the side.

"Wait, you've never been with anyone else other than me?" he asks, and fights to keep the smirk off his face. There was something so dirty, about the fact that you were so pure and untouched, and that it turned him on that he would be the first, and hopefully last to show you everything he could.

"No" you whisper and he looks at you, before cupping your face and pulling you in for a soft kiss.

"Will you let me show you, everything I want to?" he asks looking at you, brushing some of your hair behind you so he has full view of your collarbone.

"Yes..." you breathe out, feeling flutters in your stomach at both his words and actions.

"Now?" he asks with a little gulp, hoping the answer would be a yes.

"Yes, show me now Lan!" you say, climbing onto his lap getting excited about the actions to come.

"Okay, baby. Lets slow down" he laughs holding you in place. He shifts about so he's comfortable and starts to run his hands over your body. Little goosebumps rise to the surface coating your arms as his fingers roam across your collarbone, down over your clothed boobs and down until he had a firm grip on your hips.

"As much as I like your wearing my shirt baby, I'm going to take it off you now, is that okay?" he asks looking you in the eyes and you nod, looking down a little intimidated by the intense eye-contact.

"Words baby, you gotta tell me" he smiles at you and you smile.

"Yes, you can"

And he does, he fingers brush against you and a groan comes out of his mouth as he see's what he's been missing out on seeing. Your perky tits were currently clad in an orange coloured bra. He didn't know if that was a normal colour for you or if you'd brought it since dating the McLaren driver.

"You are so fucking beautiful" he says looking at you, teasing against the straps of your bra before slowly pulling down each of them, before reaching round the back and unclasping it so it fell off you.

In reflex your hands came up, to cover your exposed chest, it wasn't something you were used too.

"I want to see and touch baby, please let me!" he says softly.

You felt comfortable and confident enough with Lando that you felt like you could show this part of yourself to him, a part that no-one apart from you had seen.

The moment was getting more and more intimate as his hands started to fondle your boobs, pinching squeezing and kneading. Lando learning what you liked from the noises you were making as he continued.

The more intimate it got, the hotter and more impatient you got with the new sensation in you stomach and the slickness and heat building between your legs.

Naturally, your body is craving friction. Your mind is going haywire not really knowing what to do to get the relief its craving. So your body automatically started to grind down on him, and you could feel just how excited he was getting with the large bulge building in his sweatpants.

You could tell it was something he liked too from the little whines and groans that came out overtime pressure was applied.

"I- I want to make you feel good. But I don't know how" you offer and he nods.

"Do you want me to show you?" he asks and you nod. He takes your hand and starts to help you palm him through his joggers, breathy moans coming from him.

"That's it, and when your ready you can take them off" he breathes out softly, not wanting to rush you into anything.

You take him out of his jogger, having a grip on him that was tight and he couldn't help but moan at the sensation.

"That's it baby. Now just run your hand up and down in a fisting motion!" he says, but you make no move to start, his head that was thrown back raises to look at you in question.

"Can you show me?" you ask, wide eyes and he nods, taking your hand that was around him in his as he helps you start to move up and down, showing the pace and grip that he liked. His moans were constantly flowing out now as he let go to grip the edges of the sofa and lean back. You started to go a little faster, before slowly right down and placing a kiss on his cheek.

"I heard... from friends that you really like when we use our mouths?" you ask and look at him.

"You dont have to if you don't want to" he groans.

"I- will you enjoy it?" you ask.

"I think i'd enjoy anything you did to me"

"Then i want to do it" you nod and he sits up a little more.

"Okay, get on your knees baby..." he directs and you get to the floor in between his legs.

"You want my help?" he asks and you nod, he takes your hair into a ponytail to keep it out your face.

"Okay, open baby. Remember no teeth baby, it hurts!" he smiles and you start by what you thinks right and go straight in. You gag a little and he pulls you head back from the grip.

"No need to rush hunny. Just start with the head, and then you'll feel a vein on the underside that always feels good, okay? But don't rush to fill your mouth up okay?" he chuckles a little bit as he watches you listen to him.

You start with small movements around his tip, moving your tongue over his slit where pre-cum is leaking out. It was a strange taste that the first few times had your eyes screwing but you slowly got used to it.

You run your tongue along the underside feeling the throbbing vein he was talking about and he went crazy, moaning above you and desperately trying not to thrust up.

You slowly take more and more in your mouth and what you cant fit you decide to use your hands to cover the rest and use the movements you were doing earlier.

"Holy fuck! Are you sure you havent done this before baby?" he asks in shock of how good it feels. Maybe it was just because he was so in love with you that it felt 10x better than he ever had, or maybe you were just a quick learner and good at observing what he liked.

A minute later and he was coming into your mouth, you were quick to swallow all of him and leave his dick with a string of saliva attaching you together.

"Fucking hell baby" he smiles pulling you up onto his lap resting you on top of him, your knees either side of him.

"Was that good?" you ask, shyly. He can only nod as he catches his breathing.

"Your turn!" he smirks, one had on your hip the other one inching up your inner thigh under the skirt you were in. His hands starts to rub your clit through your underwear, and he smiles as your head falls into the crook of his neck and he can feel your breathing pick up against him.

His fingers curl round the edge of your panties pulling them to one side rubbing his fingers through your wet folds.

"Is this all for me baby!" he asks using his free hand to run through your hair as you keep your head in the crook of his neck rocking against his movements. His fingers eventually find there way in, the stretch a little painful at first.

"It's okay, it'll start to feel good in a minute" he says rubbing your back comfortingly.

"Tell me if i should stop yeah?" he asks and you just nod before quickly shaking your head, realising that may have come across as you want him to stop when you really don't now that a coil is building in your stomach and his fingers are feeling incredible inside you.

"Lando!" you whine starting to kiss along his neck and jaw, needing to occupy yourself with something to focus on the growing feeling inside you.

"Fuck baby, the things you do to me!" he exclaims feeling himself get hard again from the whole intimate situation occurring.

In seconds you're letting that coil go, not being able to hold it in any longer and gushing over his fingers. He pulls them out, taking them into his mouth, licking them clean groaning at the taste of you, his gorgeous girlfriend.

"I gotta have a taste of you baby!" he practically whimpers out, before laying you on the sofa and spreading your legs open. You shyly try to shut them but he just tuts.

"Lemme baby please!" he says softly and he stop resisting against his hands. He dives in, nipping and licking at the parts he knows are most sensitive, before devouring you as if your a five course meal. It felt incredible, better than his hands and you legs were shaking the whole time.

Your mind was fuzzy and you could only let out little swear words and his name to let him know just how good he was making you feel.

And only minutes later and you were releasing into his awaiting mouth where he fully cleaned you up. He draw back, a small sheen on his nose and corners of his mouth from your release that had you blushing.

"Lets finish this in the bedroom yeah?" he asks and you nod eagerly as he picks you up tossing your over his shoulder, giving your arse a light tap on the way out that had you giggling and squealing.

He places you gently on the bed hovering over you. He starts to take the rest of the clothing that was left on you off and chucking it to the floor before he starts to take his own off. He reaches into the bedside draw, grabbing a condom and opening it with his teeth before rolling it on.

"You are so beautiful baby! Are you ready?" he smiles, now lining himself up with your entrance. You hesitate for a split second, before remembering its your incredibly kind and beautiful and caring boyfriend Lando above you right now who wouldn't dream of hurting you.

"Yes" you nod, and he slowly starts to push himself into your warm, wet caverns. He moans at the tight feeling of you, kissing across your neck and collarbone trying to help you un-tense a little.

"Baby, you gotta relax" he guides you, starting to play with your boobs to get you feeling good. He pushes in a little more when he feels that you arent tensing as much and you sigh.

"Woah, your so big!" you exclaim, thinking he'd bottomed out from the stretch as you try regain your breath.

"Baby... hate to break it to you but I'm only halfway inside you" he laughs with a chuckle, nearly loosing his balance on his forearms that he is using to hold himself steady above you.

"What?" you ask opening your eyes too look at your laughing boyfriend.

"Thank you for the compliment though baby, that makes me feel really good about myself" he says honesty before he pushes the full way in, finally bottoming out. You wiggle a little trying to get comfortable before giving him a nod where he starts to move in and out of you.

It starts to progressively feel better and better to the point where you can start meeting his thrusts to make it a little quicker. The sounds in the room are anything but innocent, both of your breathy moans and your high pitched whines when he reaches in between you to rub circles on your clit and the sound of slapping skin.

"Lando fuck! I love you" you cry as the pressure builds up and up.

"I fucking love you too" he breathes out, his thrusts coming a little sloppier.

And soon your both releasing at the same time as he pulls you in closer to him, almost laying all his weight on you.

"I'm like so glad we had that talk!" Lando laughs pulling himself up to look at you.

"Me too, I cant wait for you to show me more!" you grin pulling him into a kiss making him groan and grab the pillow to put over his face. He was exhausted but ... round 2 sounded like a shout.

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